It seems like, after a few discussions with my husband over pricing, attending World Fantasy Convention in Toronto during November 2012 is feasible. I missed it when I came to Montreal to live by about a month. (Talk about tragic.)

11 years later, World Fantasy Convention is finally, finally within my grasp. I even reserved my hotel room at the Sheraton already. I suspect I got the last regular rate room. I went to confirm the total price on the room and all rooms of that type were sold out. le Gasp!

I’ve been soul-searching about this since I heard it would be in Toronto. I live in Montreal, so it is about 4-5 hours by train. 6 if I take the train that swings through Ottawa. (On the way home, I likely will be.)

So, why am I going to World Fantasy Con 2012? Because I can. Really, though, I’m going because I want to meet people. This will, likely, be a once-in-a-lifetime event for me. Unless I get super famous and a publisher pays for my convention hopping, of course. (Wishful thinking of the easily amused and the delusional, I assure you.)

I know, it is something like 9 months away. I’m aware. But, because it is such a huge investment, I actually have to pay for things in chunks. First thing I’ll be paying for is the attending membership as soon as I get a confirmation they aren’t, as some rumors have said, sold out. I don’t think they are, but I’m sure as heck going to find out if they are close to selling out before I do anything else. That’ll ding me $225 dollars. For 4 days, this isn’t too bad. I’ll be attending almost the entire convention. My arrival time on the 1st could be better, but there you have it. I’ll be leaving the morning after the convention ends, so I’ll get to enjoy almost the entire thing.

Here are a few things I wish to accomplish while there:

1: Talk shop with other writers.

2: Get to meet a few agents and say hello. I don’t expect anything to come from it, but I love talking about writing, and they love writing, so… sounds like fun to me. This same reasoning does, in fact, apply to item 1.

3: Write.

Wait. What? I want to go to Toronto, to World Fantasy Con, to write? Yep. You heard me. Four nights away from my husband. (This is a first for both of us, we haven’t spent more than a night or two apart since we got together. I did go to Ottawa once with a girlfriend.) So, I won’t have any cats trying to make use of my keyboard, no husband asking me to fetch things for him, etc, etc. Once I get all the conventioning out of my system, I will be finding a corner with my netbook or my clipboard and I will be writing like a mad fiend.

So sue me. I’m a writer. I write. Leave me alone!

4: Meet my favorite author, followed by my second favorite author. Both of them are guests at the convention.

I don’t think any amount of sugar on this planet is enough to match the thrill I get from seeing Mercedes Lackey and Patricia Briggs face to face. The only thing that could — in any stretch — come close is if Jim Butcher and Trudi Canavan showed up.

I think I need to excuse myself for a little while now. I just broke a few mental gaskets.

 

I am doing something a little different with this blog post. I polled people on Google+ with two questions.

The point of this experiment was to get feedback from a variety of sources. This was something I’ve always been interested in doing, because I am _not_ a reflection of the majority. I’m just one fish in a great big sea, so I’d rather see whole pictures whenever possible. This is also a very, very minor number of writers, but I found their responses quite fascinating.

Here are the questions.

For writers:

How has receiving reviews, critiques, or feedback on your writing influenced you as a writer?

For Reviews, Critiquers, and Readers:

When you give a writer or author feedback/reviews/critiques on their writing, what sort of response (if any) do you expect from them? Why?

A big thank-you to everyone who participated in this. It is really appreciated, seeing the different points of view and approaches.

These are in no particularly order, but I think they were posted in order of receiving the comments.

~

Shen Hart  -  As a writer receiving feedback, reviews etc has helped me greatly. I have learnt where my faults are and how to improve them, it’s also driven me to continue trying and improving. I’ve come on leaps and bounds the last year with huge thanks to people who have taken the time to give me feedback etc.
It’s also helped me find my focus and voice.

~

Matthew Graybosch  -  I depend on my wife’s feedback. Something that sounds good to me, or makes sense to me, might not make sense to her.

~

April Brown  -  Hi Rebecca,

Just to show I can’t follow the rules:
How did critiquing someone help me? I found they were making the same mistakes others said I was making. While easy to see in another’s work, seeing and fixing them in my own is difficult.

And to show I can follow the rules:
Most critiques I have received have been extremely general (not seeing enough emotion). One however, showed me the difference between a reviewer who reads, and one who skims. Said reviewer kept asking questions, that if they had actually read it, were answered paragraphs, or pages before. Learning to separate the useful, and ignore the unhelpful is a big task. Oh, and a some people think I use too many commas. I only use them when I need them.

When I review others work, what do I want and why? I want to learn about recognizing errors in my own. I want a good story. I want to help others. And, I’d like to know if my critique helped them, or was it unhelpful. Did I focus on what they needed? Did I go to far off on a tangent (especially a theme that struck me wrong). Would they want me to critique for them again?

Website: aprilbrownwrites

~

Huushiita Brooke  -  I will be honest and say that I haven’t received too much feedback from others. However, Jeff does critique my work relentlessly. I find this helps because it’s always pushing me to find the best and clearest way to write, among other things. Also, it helps me learn to not make the same continuous mistakes that I end up doing, since he does point them out. It’s a really good learning tool, that’s for sure.

~

Linda Horne  -  When you give a writer or author feedback/reviews/critiques on their writing, what sort of response (if any) do you expect from them? Why?

I do expect a thank you for the time I put in for the review. There are many times that I do not give “stellar” reviews, and perhaps not surprisingly, a lot of people have asked for private reviews. I do not expect glowing, raving appreciation. I also expect that if an author has questions about my reviews, they come and ask me. I have reasons for what I tell them, and although I attempt to be as objective as possible, there are times that my view is colored and I just can’t help it. They need to know if this is why I wrote something unsavory. It could be something as elemental as punctuation or something as complicated as what I think the market for their writing is doing. Any other responses are purely up to the author. Putting the review on their site, asking me to send the review to a particular site or physical store.
I know that because of some reviews, I will not always get a response I like, or even consider polite. I’m pretty hardy. I can take a scraping, and I hope that those that I review can take it too.
E-book It Reviews
www.ebookitreviews.com

~

Heather Dudley  -  Critiques, I believe, are vital to any would-be professional’s career. One of the biggest hurdles any writer will face is having to edit their own work, and if you can’t critique someone else’s, you’ll find it much more difficult to be critical of your own. In giving critiques, I’ve learned far more about what does and does not work than I ever could simply plugging away on my own works.

I work with a great critique group, who shares a variety of genres and styles that I would never read on my own. Reading these things that lie outside of my own comfort zone gives me a stronger grasp of my own storytelling skills!

Now, having my own work critiqued is something akin to watching someone perform abdominal surgery without anesthesia; it hurts. A LOT. But it’s a necessary pain, one that results in stronger works. The best critiques often come from those who don’t read fantasy, my primary genre. They will look at certain things that my fantasy readers would never twitch over, and want to know why or why not I chose this particular phrase, or why that action took place. It gives me an outsider’s impression. That’s something that’s important if I ever hope to appeal to a wider audience.

I firmly believe that critiquing, and being critiqued, are crucial aspects to a writer’s career. The best writers are the ones who are the most willing to hear their critics. And we all know what happens when a writer jumps the shark and decides that no one could possibly be a better critic than herself… and refuses the touch of any save herself.

Not that I’m naming names.

I don’t expect anything back from those I critique, other than a simple “thank you.” I don’t expect them to take all, or even most, of my suggestions. All I want is for them to understand where I’m coming from… a place where I genuinely desire to help. It’s never personal. As long as you take it for what it’s meant, and I get a thank you, I’m happy. :)

~

Owen Adams  -  As a writer, I find feedback to be essential. I really believe that writing is about communication, communication of ideas, communication of principles. Maybe just communication of a great story. If someone leaves me feedback, they’re telling me how well I communicated to them, if their feedback is negative they’re telling me my message didn’t get across. I’ve tried to take criticism in as much as I can because I feel like I’ll lose my audience if I don’t Has that influenced me? I honestly think that it has been the force that has shaped me as a writer the most. I used to feel like I was speaking a foreign language and struggling to be understood. With each revision I come closer to being a fluent author.

As the giver of advice, I don’t expect much. Not all advice is good and it’s the writer’s job to decide if they’ll be influenced. However, I do expect writers to be courteous. Most advice is given in good faith, not just to be cruel of obnoxious. A writer might disagree with a piece of advice, but they should never be rude to the person giving it.

~

Sharon T Rose  -  As a writer, feedback is the best and hardest part of my work. I love it when people love my writing. I cry when people don’t love it. I grumble and grouse when they “just don’t get it.” And I know that I have blind spots that only others can help me see.

One of the best crit sessions I ever had was with a friend over coffee. For almost an hour, he took a sledge to my plot, characters, et al, and I had to defend, explain, and evaluate everything I chose to do. It was a bloody exchange that left me battered and my story bettered.

When crits come in text-only format, it’s hard to gauge the intent of the person offering it. Those are the worst, because I don’t know if the person is being kind yet firm, or just a jerk. It’s very easy for a comment to crawl up under my skin and camp out when the reviewer did not mean it in any negative way. It’s also easy for me to miss something the reviewer wanted me to know.

When I give feedback and criticism, I expect a civilized response from the author. Since I have the same kinds of problems, I know what it’s like for them, and I know the importance of remaining calm and professional in the face of a challenge to a writing decision. I don’t expect the author to agree with or use all my suggestions, but I do expect something a little more mature than a screaming, profane tantrum. That sort of thing makes the relationship awkward.

~

Jillian Jenkins  -  Reviews have taught me a number of things about my writing, and about my genre. Most of the time, people are helpful in providing constructive feedback in both areas. Minus a couple of really mean reviews (and I mean, MEAN), I have yet to receive a negative review that didn’t have something in it I can use. Sometimes they’re my more favorite ones to receive because the good ones don’t teach as much. Or I like the ones where they’re in the middle. they liked it, but had a few things to point out that need some oomph.

~

T.B. McKenzie  -  Feedback has transformed my writing. Early on I paid for a MS assessment, believing of course I was ready to publish. The detailed feedback I received was the best money I ever spent. And that was still only led to a new draft that then got the attention of a publisher who then went on to edit is just as much again. Maybe one day I will be “editor proof” but for my first book, I needed all the help I could get. In purely quantitive terms, my original draft was over 200,000 words. Then it went down to 155k, and now, published, it is 120k. Just like a good stock, the flavour intensified as evaporation occurred.

~

I will let you draw your own conclusions. As for me, I thought these opinions were very interesting and well worth thinking about. Also, as an after thought, this demonstrates that everyone gets something out of receiving and giving critiques — but, as a caveat, that something differs for each writer, reviewer, or critiquer. Definitely something worth thinking about.

 

Today, it is with great pleasure that I introduce to you Ari Marmell. Ari, as you guessed by the pretty cover on the side that links to his website, is an author.

He has a lot of interesting credentials, ranging from novels to RPG publications. He has a great deal of experience with the different facets of publication. I’m very excited that he made the time to come talk with us today. Even more exciting is that Ari gives us a bit of a glimpse into some of the lesser-discussed aspects of publications — things like the contract.

Thief’s Covenant is Ari’s latest release.

 

 

 

 

Thank you for joining us, Ari!  Before we dig down into the dark world of genre fiction, can you tell us just how you managed to fall into so many branches of genre fiction? You’ve written novels. You’ve published short stories. You have broken into the RPG world. Is there anything genre related you haven’t done?

No script work yet, either for movies/TV, video games, or comic books. (Though I have done dialogue for an MMORPG.) So yeah, I don’t have a full house yet.

From your website, if I’m not imagining things, it looks like you have worked with over fifteen different publishers. What has been your largest challenge dealing with so many different companies?

Heh. Honestly? Formatting. It’s actually less of an issue with the fiction publishers, but with the gaming publishers, it seems like every company has its own rules for formatting things like headers, italics, section breaks, etc. Sometimes it seemed like keeping that straight was harder than keeping game rules straight.

When you started writing, did you have a dream publishing house? If so, which house was it, and did you end up acquiring that dream contract with them?

In terms of RPGs, the dream houses were White Wolf and Wizards of the Coast. (Remembering that Paizo didn’t exist at that point, and companies like Green Ronin weren’t household names yet.) I started my career with the former and did a lot of work with the latter, so yeah, I’d say so.

With fiction? No single dream house, but rather several publishers I really wanted to work with. (Again, Pyr Books didn’t exist at the time I first started, so the fact that they weren’t on my list at the time is no slight.) I’ve worked with one since then–the Del Rey/Spectra combine at Random House–but there remain several others that I haven’t yet gotten to work with. These would include–among others; this is not a comprehensive list–DAW, Roc, and Tor. You know, the little guys. ;-)

This is a little late, but congratulations on your partnership with your new agent. Have you had an agent before, or did you wade through the muck of making deals for your works on your own?

Thanks. I have the questionable distinction of having gone through more agents in a short span of time than any other author I know. Jessie (at JABberwocky), my current (and hopefully final) agent is actually my fourth. Some have gone on to other jobs. Some just proved not to be a good fit, style-wise. But yeah; four.

I’ve mucked through a few early novel contracts on my own, but I’ve had an agent for most of them. They don’t handle the freelance stuff like the RPGs, of course, so in those cases, I’ve always been on my own.

We’ve all heard a horror story or two about contracts. What is the truth of the matter? Are contracts from larger, well-known publishers as nebulous as some people state? Are they things to be feared, or approached with general caution?

They can be daunting–there’s a lot of material and details–but I wouldn’t go so far as to say they’re horrific or especially nebulous. (At least, not the ones I’ve been lucky enough to get.) You want to approach with caution, absolutely, and you definitely want to have either an agent or a lawyer look them over, but I don’t think they’re to be feared.

Without naming names (unless you’re comfortable doing so), what is the worst contract that you have been presented with during your career?

I actually would name names, in part because the company no longer exists, but I honestly don’t remember it. :-}

I do, however, remember the contract. This is back in the early days of the Open Gaming License, when 249 different tiny companies sprouted up to create D&D-compatible products. I was fairly early in my own career; I’d done work for White Wolf and a small company called MonkeyGod.

Well, this company approached me to write for them, and I was happy to do so at first… Until I saw their contract.

It wasn’t a contract stating “You will write a book on X topic, at Y length,” or “you will write Y number of words as part of a collaboration on a book on X topic,” as was (and still is) the standard. Oh, no. Their contract was “By signing this contract, you become part of our stable of writers. This gives you access to our bulletin board of topics on which we want books. You and any of our other writers can write a book on any of those topics, and we’ll buy and publish the one we like.”

…Yes. Really. And then they had the nerve to get huffy when I complained, saying that they had authors of bigger name than me, and they weren’t complaining. I told them–in much more polite terms, of course–to go screw.

I would just like to point out that I’m still here, and they never published a single book to my knowledge, so I’m pretty sure I made the right call. ;-)

Without naming names (unless you’re comfortable doing so), what has been the best contract that you have been presented with during your career?

I don’t know if I have a single “best contract.” I can say that the most lucrative (to date) have been the ones from Del Rey/Spectra.

I suppose one could argue that my firsts–first contract ever, first novel, first non-tie-in novel–would be among the best, just for personal reasons.

Are there any common pitfalls that genre writers should be aware of when they approach contracts?

I’m not actually sure how common they are, but you want to watch out for a few things. Some publishers will try to claim rights that you don’t need to give them. (Film rights, foreign language rights, etc.) Some don’t define certain important specifics, like percentages of e-books. And you want to make absolutely certain that not only payment/royalty rates, but also schedules, are clear.

Again, an agent if you have one, a lawyer if you don’t. Don’t sign a contract without one or the other looking at it first.

Have the contracts you’ve dealt with shared any notable similarities? I know in general marketing, there tend to be at least a few sections that are almost identical – ironically, it is about the same point in time that the other party starts talking about acts of gods and liabilities! Are there any clauses in the typical contract that keep showing up that you find humorous?

Well, they often have similar concepts, but specific similarities in terms of clause? Only thing that jumps out at me is that several companies still have delivery instructions that were written some time around the invention of movable type. Things like how they want hard copies printed and mailed, or what size floppy disks should be sent to them.

Note that, to date, none of them have actually enforced that. They’ve all been happy with e-mailed files. Yet the language persists, like a fossil in rock.

People talk about foreign rights, but I find that it is a confusing jumble of opinions and not enough fact. You have at least one book coming out in German. Were the contracts for your foreign rights kin to traveling up a slippery slope like so many like to say it is? Was there much involvement in your part for Die Touchter Des Kriegers to become a reality? (Also, I love the cover. I just wanted to say this.)

Heh. The contracts weren’t all that difficult. We had to go back and forth a few times getting some details worked out (such as film rights, as mentioned above, not being part of the deal), but it wasn’t especially troublesome.

Beyond that? I can’t say what the process is like. My part of it basically amounted to hearing from my agent that we had an offer, looking at the contract, deciding to accept, and signing it.

Since I brought up covers, can you expose the reality of how covers are handled by publishers in a brief summary? On your website, you mention that The Warlord’s Legacy and Die Toucher Des Kriegers share very similar (by that, I mean slightly modified) covers. Do you have any idea why Blanvalet would commission a new cover but use almost identical art?

That’s one of those things that varies from publisher to publisher. Some–and I believe this is the standard, so far as there is a standard–come up with their own cover, and the author has little if any input. Often, the author doesn’t even see it until just before it goes public.

Others, however, allow the author to be much more involved in the process. This is the case with Pyr, for instance, where I’ve been allowed to approve sketches at various stages of completion.

As for how the publisher decides? I have no idea. I know that they want to draw attention and sales, but how much is based on market research vs. gut instinct vs. “Ooh, shiny colors!” I couldn’t begin to say.

In terms of Blanvalet, the part of the cover they kept was the leather-clad female lead, so I have to assume that, in Germany as in America, ass sells. Why they’d keep her but commission a new background, I haven’t the slightest clue. Maybe they already had that bit of art lying around, and just liked it better? I really have no idea; it puzzles me.

I love ending my interviews with silliness. You have been captured by a mad wizard. You have been locked in a maze with a minotaur. After some ingenious on your part – and some general laze of the mad wizard, you have arrived at the end of the maze. However, the minotaur is blocking the exit. You have been given a bag with the following items: A mouse (live), a spool of fishing line (50 pound test), catnip, a domestic house cat, a carrot on a stick, a rabbit, a screwdriver, and MacGyver. How do you escape?

You mean other than giving all the stuff to MacGyver and saying “Get us out of here?” ‘cuz that’s my first instinct, honestly.

Assuming that’s not an option? Using the tip of the screwdriver against the stone, cut the fishing line into three long lengths. Tie one to each of the animals. Using the catnip and carrot, get the three animals running around chasing each other until they’ve attracted the minotaur’s attention and he eats one of them. Then wait for the fishing line in his intestines to cause bowel problems, and (depending on where he goes to do his business), either leave, or stab him in the back of the head with the screwdriver while he’s squatting.

And if all that fails, stab MacGyver in the leg with the screwdriver so I can run faster than him, and double back to the door while the minotaur’s eating him.

Hey, you asked.

 

Editing is one of the most time-intensive aspects of writing a novel. Some folks prefer to do it by their computers. I am someone who must work with hard copy on serious edits. I’ve tried it a lot of ways, and this is the only way I consistently produce higher quality edits.

Simply put, I see the pages and the words differently. It is easy to tell when a paragraph is too long and needs broken up. I can see the flow better. I can tell when I’ve omitted things. I can see where I repeated myself. But, when your manuscript stack is almost as tall as a coke can, it can be very, very daunting approaching the pile of papers.

The first photograph is of all of the supplies I require to start editing. I have the full, untouched manuscript. (You can see that to the lower left.) I have the stuff I’m actively working on. That is forefront in the lower part of the image. At the top, fanned out all neatly, is the stuff I’ve already edited.

 

This image shows what my desk actually looks like when I’m working on the edits. (I only keep out the scene I’m actively looking for.)

Finally, this image shows the carnage typical to a page of the manuscript.

My rough draft is not a completed piece of work. It is a foundation. This is where the magic happens for me. The more I have grown as a writer, the more time I spend on this phase. The more I _think_ about how things piece together.

After I do the carnage, I edit it _again_ as I copy the changes. A lot of the handwritten sentences are thoughts that I refine when I put them in the story. (Or try to, at any rate)

The materials I use include: Post-it notes, post-it tabs, post-it flags, my novel/series bible, a laser printer, and several dead trees worth of paper. (Fun fact: I end up drawing on the backs of the manuscript before they’re used as kindling for my fireplace. One manuscript is enough kindling for a _long_ time… and the ‘free’ sketch paper is definitely a boon.)

 

Greetings! It is my pleasure to present to you A. R. Silverberry, the author of Wyndano’s Cloak. He has kindly agreed to take a little time out of his schedule to talk to us about writing, his book, and a little on his experiences with publication.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Before we begin, please tell us a little about yourself and your book!

 

I’ve worked as a licensed psychologist for over twenty years. The writing bug bit me good in 1998, and I haven’t let up. Wyndano’s Cloak is for ages ten and up, and for readers who love stories with secrets, riddles, mystery, and intrigue. Here’s the synopsis:

 

Jen has settled into a peaceful life when a terrifying event awakens old fears—of being homeless and alone, of a danger horrible enough to destroy her family and shatter her world forever.

She is certain that Naryfel, a shadowy figure from her past, has returned and is concentrating the full force of her hate on Jen’s family. But how will she strike? A knife in the dark? An attack from her legions? Or with the dark arts and twisted creatures she commands with sinister cunning.

Wyndano’s Cloak may be Jen’s only hope. If she can only trust that she has what it takes to use it . . .

 

You are an independent author. Can you tell us what influenced your decision to take this route versus traditional venues?

 

I had submitted the prequel to Wyndano’s Cloak, as well as several storybooks, to mainstream publishers. I haven’t given up on that route, and plan to seek an agent for my next novel. If it doesn’t go anywhere, I can always go indie with it. One of my editors hounded me for an entire year to send Wyndano’s Cloak to an agent. I just had a very strong feeling that I wanted to do this one myself. I wanted complete artistic control.

 

Now that you’ve taken this route, do you feel that your book has done well?

 

The book has exceeded my expectations. It’s won a bunch of awards, including the gold medal in the Benjamin Franklin Awards, arguably the pinnacle of indie book awards. It’s gotten rave reviews. But the real measure of success is the response from readers. I’ve watched a girl at a book signing hug the book in arms. An author on twitter wrote me that her nine-year-old granddaughter was inspired to write near day and night after finishing Wyndano’s Cloak. At the end of my life, I can say that I had an impact.

 

We could ‘What if’ ourselves into gray hair, but how do you think your book might have performed if you had attempted traditional publication?

 

Traditional publishers have access to well-worn and well-greased pathways for distribution, promotion, and sales. The book would have gotten reviewed in major journals, and that would have resulted in library sales and wider distribution in brick-and-mortar bookstores. Initial exposure would have been much bigger. On the other hand, physical bookstores have to bring in new inventory. Shelf space is limited. They don’t leave books on their shelves for very long, unless it’s a perennial seller. Traditional publishers have shrinking budgets for book promotion. Both the traditionally published author and the indie author must shoulder the lion’s share of promoting their books.

 

What sort of things do you do to market your book? What has given you the best results?

 

The hardback was released in 2010, and the ebook was published a little over a year later. This resulted in different kinds of marketing efforts. For the hardback, I focused   on getting reviews; placing the book in over two dozen regional, national, and international expos; and entering book award contests. I lined up live book signings, where, so far, I’ve gotten my best results. They’ve been tremendously gratifying. Nothing beats making a real connection with real people. For anyone curious as to how I do these events, please see my blog article, Art of the Meet and Greet.  With the e-edition, I’ll continue seeking reviews, and I’m planning a blog tour. The incredible thing about the internet is that book marketing can continue indefinitely. The number of potential customers is virtually unlimited

 

What inspired you to write Wyndano’s Cloak?

 

I had just finished the prequel. The two worlds and most of the characters were fleshed out, as well as the antagonist that the heroine, Jen, would face. A gripping image popped into my head for what Jen would need to do at the climax. As soon as I had the end, I had the beginning, and I completed an outline for the plot in two weeks. The first draft streamed out quickly.

 

I don’t like describing books as plot driven or character driven. A good book should be both. But, if you had to label your book as either or, what would you label it and why?

 

I agree with you, and I would add a third leg, which is a unifying theme. Without that, the whole story tips over and falls apart. The characters can’t just be any old characters, they have to spring organically from the theme. Same with the plot, otherwise, what happens in the book is only a series of events. I was in the grip of the story when I wrote the first draft, so that part of the process was fairly unconscious. After that, I worked very hard on unifying the theme with the characters and plot. What I hope readers will find is this: children will get drawn into the story; older readers will enjoy the interplay between the characters.

 

What influenced you to become a writer?

 

In the late 90’s, my wife and I started reading the Oz book to each other. They inspired me to give writing a whirl. That got reinforced in 2000 after my wife, who is an artist, asked me to write some picture book text so she could work on her illustration technique. Things snowballed from there.

 

What influenced you to write fantasy?

 

My personality. In all the early photos of me, I’m staring off in a daydream. I was constantly making up stories in my head. I had one that ran in a continuous series that I resumed each night before I fell asleep. This went on for years. The first book I ever saw was The Way of the Whirlwind. My parents bought it for me and my brother before we were born. The illustrations were so colorful and magical, and the story was about the Dream People, the Aborigines of Australia. Then there were fairy tales, which I read and reread even as a teenager, and of course, all things Tolkien. It’s interesting, though, that I don’t tend to read much fantasy literature now. I’m drawn more to suspense, mystery, and thrillers.

 

What sort of work do you do as a psychologist, and how do you feel that it influences your writing?

 

When I came up for air on the first draft of Wyndano’s Cloak, I decided to focus on sinking more deeply into the story’s central metaphor and theme. One thing that influenced that process is the psychotherapy I do with children and adolescents. I’ve listened to their fears and longings; the environment and economy are just a few of the unprecedented challenges facing children today. In response to these challenges, I wanted to write a story that helps them feel capable of facing our complex and sometimes frightening world. Wyndano’s Cloak delivers a message of encouragement for young people to believe in themselves and trust that the treasures they carry inside will see them through.

 

What is your favorite part about writing?

 

The creative flow of the first draft. Seeing connections between story elements arising in unexpected places. Connecting with readers, particularly children.

 

What is your least favorite part about writing?

 

The second draft. Decisions about what to cut and what to keep can be painful. You have to do what’s good for the story. Funny thing, those cut elements often show up in other stories, so I try not to fret over them.

 

Editing is a serious concern for independent and traditional authors. How do you approach editing your books?

 

The whole process was fairly smooth. I hired two outstanding editors. One was a content editor, who looked at clarity, continuity, inconsistencies, and did some light line-editing for grammar and flow. I had a nasty habit at the time of dangling participles, which thankfully has been cured! The second editor was a copy editor, who looked for typos, spelling, grammar, and word usage. These two jobs are distinct, and you’ll put your best foot forward if you use two different people. The more eyes on the manuscript, the better. When choosing an editor, I suggest that people get references, and look at samples of their work. Find out what training they’ve had to edit. My copy editor passed a rigorous test, and I’m convinced he has the entire Chicago Manual of Style memorized! Finally, have them edit a chapter of your manuscript. You’ll find out fast if you are compatible. It’s important that you find someone who understands your work and what you are trying to accomplish.

 

What are you working on now?

 

I’m working on the second draft of a novel, part survival tale, part spiritual journey. It started out as a simple idea, but I’ve found that I have a huge amount of research to do at every turn.

 

No interview is complete without something off subject and fun. You have been transported to a fantasy land. During this transportation, you have gender swapped to a female. Not just a female, but a princess. Cast into this role, what sort of princess would you be and why?

 

My heroine, Jenren of Aerdem. I don’t have children, but she’s everything I’d wish for if I had one. She’s smart, determined, persistent, and has a huge heart. She bristles at injustice. She’s loved by her people, and can be found more often dancing in a country tavern than in court. She won’t rest until every man, woman, and child in her kingdom is safe.

 

Politics ahead. Be warned. But, this is censorship I’m discussing — and as a writer, this is a major concern.

I swear, politics is something that rears its ugly head day to day for all I try to avoid it. I prefer my politics in a fantastical world where I can devil’s advocate between two, three, five, or ten different Kingdoms without anyone looking at me as though I’ve grown a third head and a sixth eye.

But then I think about SOPA and all of the hidden caveats, the consequences, and the ripples that will sweep through the world as we know it. How will SOPA chance our lives?

How will SOPA leave me as a writer who wants to be published? I write Fantasy. I include politics in my writing. I share photography of other’s, though I give the photographers the credit they rightfully deserve. SOPA, if you consider online piracy, at first glance might be something that appeals to those who have copyrights. I can understand that. I’d like to be protected from piracy and theft if I get my precious book published. After all, it is my baby! It will be my income.

Then I thought about it a little harder, looked at it a little closer, and realized I supported a few basic principles that SOPA directly countered.

Here are the list of things I support.

  • Sharing Books with Friends.
  • Borrowing Movies from a Buddy.
  • Catching up on a TV Episode I missed… that won’t be available anywhere for months.
  • Watching TV in a language I do not speak and has been translated so I could enjoy watching it too. (I will often buy series I really enjoy and find ways to support the creators, despite the distance and language barriers.)
  • Going to the Library.

The internet has made these things easier. I can see a video or recording a buddy would’ve done for me through the internet. I can read a borrowed book. Hell, I can download a movie I already own but am too lazy to dig out of the cabinet. I’ve paid the piper.

Sure, not everyone shares these morals — or wants to do these things. But, what will the next step be? Twitter could be shut down because a user posts a link to a video they don’t own. Goodbye, Twitter. Facebook? We will only wish it will exist in the same functionality it once did? The supporters of this bill claim it will not happen, but is this the truth?

Google+? Buh-bye. I feel a bit bad for the photographers who get their images shared around with links back to them. I’ve learned of a lot of fantastic photographers and beautiful images I otherwise would not have known about through others. SOPA might very well mark the end of this sort of sharing. On a technicality, fair-use only goes so far and any disgruntled employee working with SOPA in the government could shut it down.

How long will it be before ‘protecting the copyright’ becomes a method of ‘censoring the people’? That is what worries me. Especially as I am a writer. Especially as I write about people in fantasy worlds faced with oppression. As a person who will be greatly concerned about protecting my copyright (because each copy of a book old is what will put food on my table…), I find myself questioning just how this law will be applied.

I am going to watch and wait. I’m not going to take sides, because I do not fully understand the ramifications. I’m a little ashamed (more than a little) that the bill is written in such a way I feel I need a doctorate in law to understand it. But one thing is clear to me: It may be the beginning of something far bigger and may change how people interact on the internet.

I find this sad. What websites exist that I love today that may not exist anymore once this law is put into place?

Just something to think about.

 

I have been reading a lot of articles on how the digital era of books has changed the publishing landscape. I’ve even read a few articles from less-than-reputable sources, as well as some from reputable ones, that talk about this very subject. There are too many to list. But, here is the one that made me feel like I wanted to put my opinion out there.

I am not doing a study. This is my opinion on the matter, and my experience on books that have gone digital.

I have purchased a lot more books now that I have the option of buying digital books.

What? Blasphemy! I buy more books because they’re digital? What happened to the sweet, sweet, dusty smell of a used book — the fresh, crisp scent of ink and paper of a new one? What about the starving writer who needs the hard copies to sell?

I am an impulsive person. I buy something I want. Digital books let me buy books immediately. I actually was infuriated that a big 6 publisher did not have a digital copy of a book I really wanted available. I didn’t have time to go to the book store. (I still go to the book store, by the way. I still buy a certain number of books in hard copies. These are books by authors that are my true favorites, when I really want to curl up in front of the fire with a real book. I even have two copies of these books. One on my kindle, and one in paper or hardback.)

Yes, yes, I had to buy a kindle. Boo hoo, woe is me. The kindle is actually better on my eyes, my back, and my neck. Ever since I transitioned, I got far fewer headaches from reading. I got to enjoy the books more. I was one of those people who swore never to give up the real book.

I changed my mind when I realized I could read without developing a headache, and that I was still prone to brush off the ‘page’ when I ‘turned’ it in my kindle. I forgot I wasn’t reading a real book. Because I was! The words were as real as before. I just got to enjoy them even more.

Perhaps the nature of the game has changed. Perhaps the ways books reach me have changed. But the truth of the matter is, I still go to the bookstore to scope out books to read. I still enjoy libraries and places where I can touch and enjoy real books.

But I buy most of my books as digital acquisitions. So there is more competition as self-published authors fight for the same market place, but when I want a really good book, I go to a bookstore.

Why? Because I still feel the quality books are there. I’ve taken my kindle into the bookstore and have purchased books on the spot I have found in the bookstore. I have — in that same trip to the bookstore — purchased real copies of books because I wanted that specific book on my bookshelf.

There is room for everyone. Adaption is necessary.

Self-pity at the fact things change is optional. Me? I think there is still a lot to be said for traditional publication. I know it does now — and forever will — hold a place in my heart. Why?

Sometimes there is nothing as comforting as the rustle of pages when turned, the scent of the ink and the paper, and sometimes — just sometimes — the staining of a page from tears when an author does their job.

 

Previously, I posted something a little more general about writing blocks. Today, I’m going to take it a step further and discuss one facet of writing blocks — the plot hole. Plot holes are events, sequences, actions, or dialogues, that break the consistency or plot of writing. They can include trouble spots that break the flow of logic. They can also include the lack of information. They can include events that couldn’t possibly happen due to the personality or nature of the characters, or events that just simply can’t suspend disbelief.

You can read a lengthy post from Wikipedia (Because it is so the fount of accuracy) for those who really want to get into the nitty-gritty of what a plot hole can entail. There are many other sources on the plot hole, but cracked has a rather amusing one showing the plot hole in its native habit… AKA, in movies.

They are sneaky, and can be something as little as one, tiny sentence that railroads your writing into a sequence of events you don’t like or shouldn’t happen in the story you have envisioned. I have encountered a plot hole that has been so little as four words, but broke the logic so much that I had to go back and correct it before I felt it was ‘safe’ to move on. Sometimes, they span entire scenes and chapters. In the worst of cases, the entire book can be one glorious plot hole. (I’ve done this. No, you can’t read it. It stays on my Wall of Shame for me to admire in the years to come.)

Plot holes are often blamed for writer’s block. I’ve fallen victim to it, and I’ll likely fall victim to it again in the future. I can’t tell you how to identify your own plot holes. That is something every writer has to figure out for themselves. However, I will share a little bit of my process.

I have people other than me read the work before I edit it. Beta readers are great for helping me pick out errors in my writing. I have a few who get rough, raw draft that hasn’t even seen a spell checker. (These people know what they are getting into, and tend to have no care for that sort of error. They just want to read a story and ignore the things of that nature.) They catch things like inconsistencies and plot errors. Because I know someone else is looking at it, I change how I read my own writing. I start catching those errors, too. Sometimes, I’ll even have corrected the errors before they get back to me about it needing corrected.

This is where critiquing comes in so very useful. The more I look for plot holes in other’s writing, the easier it became for me to spot it in my own writing. As I’ve progressed over the years, I’ve been able to spot more and more inconsistencies in my drafts without the use of outside help. This doesn’t stop me from putting up rough, raw draft on critique sites, however. The feedback on plot elements I hadn’t considered is usually priceless, and it sometimes gives me a good insight on how to improve my general skills.

As I’ve gotten better at writing — and I am by no means a master of the pen — I have noticed that I have needed to rely less and less on critique sites and beta readings to catch plot holes and inconsistencies. It might even get to the point I will only rely on private betas. I suspect once I get an agent and go to a traditional publisher, I will end up doing this because of all of the stipulations of contracts and the like. It would be a nice problem to have.

This is my process of identifying and dealing with a plot hole. (No, I do not make a checklist for these things. It just kind of happens naturally for me. I had to think about what I do to come up with this little list.)

  • Identify the problem scene.
  • Identify the problem.
  • Check what problems were caused by the problem.
  • Fix the problem.
  • Ripple through the entire book and correct all elements that changed due to the resolution of the problem.

The last point is the most important one for me, and the one that takes up the most time. It is just like a pebble dropped in a puddle. One event can trigger so many ripples you may not have anticipated. If you have a plot hole early on, it can change the entire course of your novel. This can be extremely frustrating. I know I have rewritten an entire book based off of the presence of a plot hole (or three). It was good for the book to have to be rewritten, but it also gave me a lot more respect for the editing process.

So, how do I identify a problem scene? This is a hard question. Sometimes it is a logic instinct. (I don’t like the use of ‘gut’ instinct. ) A gut-based feeling doesn’t necessarily mean the right thing. If logic can refute the gut instinct, I try to go with the logic. The logic is where I have put serious thought and effort into the writing. A gut instinct, or knee-jerk reaction, is often little more than someone slapping your knee with a hammer to watch your foot jerk. Do you want your novel to be based on that sort of reaction?

I certainly don’t. Gut instinct worked when I was just learning to write, but I’m trusting more and more in my brain and my conscious logic as I write.

Not everyone will agree with this, but hey — that is ok. This is what works for me. Not what works for you.

But, sometimes, that gut-instinct is good for identifying a problem. If it strikes a nerve and makes my foot twitch, something is wrong. I won’t use that instinct to fix it, but it does let me use my logic at that point to make the corrections.

I doubt that makes any sense to anyone other than me, but that is OK too.

You need to pick a system that works for you. Writing is often like this. There are no hard and fast rules. But, if a plot hole exists in your writing, you should fix it. If not for you, but for the people who will read your story. A plot hole often comes hand-in-hand with confusion and uncertainty. If you have something that breaks physics but works in your world and you explain it, it isn’t a plot hole. It is world building.

A plot hole is a negative thing. If it is an intentional, explained, accepted, and clear element of your writing, it isn’t a plot hole. It is a plot mechanism. (Terry Pratchett’s Disc World is a perfect example of this. In any other world, most of the events would be plot holes. In his, they are devices and they work.)

When you do find a plot hole, crush it ruthlessly and with extreme prejudice, even if it means you have to put in a lot of work to repair the damage. After all, don’t you want to build your house on a strong foundation? Plot holes are like a crack or hole in what holds your house up. Just some food for thought.

 

It is the very rare person who can escape a writing career without ever encountering the writing block. It has happened to me, and it has happened to every other writer I have ever had the chance to speak with. There are as many forms of writing blocks as there are people, and even the best writers will encounter it from time to time.

I used to suffer from writing block frequently. This would result in me writing in fits and bursts, and the fits would often last far, far longer than the bursts of writing. This changed over the years until the fits were mostly controlled and planned for, while the bursts were sustained work at writing.

It wasn’t easy, and I won’t lie and tell you that these tricks will be an instant cure-all. They won’t be. They might help you get better at writing along the way. They might even help you sustain your bursts of writing to last months instead of days, or days instead of hours. What they will do is show you how I managed to make my bursts last longer, and show you how I can bring non-writing fits to a halt.

I have two major excuses for not writing.

Excuse #1: I can’t think of what to write.

Cause: For me, if I am saying I can’t think of what to write, it usually is due to one of several things. I’ll make a nice, pretty list here.

  1. I have a plot hole.
  2. I don’t like the character(s) I’m writing about.
  3. I don’t know where I’m going with the story.
  4. I don’t care about the story.
  5. I’m in editor mode.

I’ll delve a little deeper into these things and why they are problems for me.

1. I have a plot hole

This has actually become a part of my method of writing. If I can’t pick up where I left off within an hour, I start looking for plot holes. I lose an hour here, but I fix it so I’m not stuck later on. Sometimes, the hour and ten minutes I lose fixing something now saves me days of lost writing time (or lengthy rewrites) later.

2. I don’t like the character(s) I’m writing about.

This is one of the hardest things for me to encounter. It often results in the scrapping of a story — for now — and shoved into the inactive folder. While this is labeled at #2, this doesn’t happen all that often… because I don’t get far writing about characters I don’t like or care about. Even the villains. Sometimes it is just the way it is to abandon a book (for now) because I can’t get behind the characters. And yes, readers know when that is the case, at least for me and the people who read my writing.

3. I don’t know where I’m going with the story.

This is a more common problem with me, and something that resulted in a general change in how I write. If I don’t know what the end goal of the antagonist is, how can I know what challenges the protagonists will encounter? I may not know the exact specifics of the ending, but I know what the goals of the characters are. If I don’t know this, I end up drooling at my computer monitor and questioning why I’m trying to write in the first place.

I try to know my conflict, climax, and resolution now before I start writing.

These are my quick thoughts on conflict, climax, and resolution just so we’re on the same page.

Conflict: The major driving force behind the book. The source of antagonism between the characters. It can be nature versus man, man versus man, man versus society… or many other things. But you should have something that doesn’t sit well with the characters and drives them forward.

In Lord of the Rings, one of the major conflicts was the possession of the Ring. The Protagonists had it, and the Antagonists wanted it.

Climax: The moment of truth. The moment where it could go either way. In the Lord of the Rings, it was the moment where Frodo hesitated at discarding the Ring on Mount Doom.

Resolution: How did the moment of truth resolve? It doesn’t have to be a good thing for the protagonists. In Lord of the Rings, Gollum bit of Frodo’s finger with the Ring and they fell into Mount Doom.

If I don’t know these things, I often get stuck. I need things for my characters to be challenged with, and someone in the background pulling the strings.

This won’t work for everyone, but it does work for me.

4. I don’t care about the story.

The same with not caring about the characters — if I don’t care about what the characters are doing, I won’t finish the book. If it bores me, how will this story entertain others? I read for pleasure, and if I’m not pleased by my own writing, I can’t expect anyone else to be pleased with it either.

5. Editor mode is turned to on.

Making something perfect is for edits. But, sometimes, I just am in the mood to edit. This doesn’t happen to me that often anymore, but it took a lot of discipline and hard work to change that. There is no easy way to turn the editor off except through experience at doing it. If you want to turn your editor off, don’t edit. Unfortunately, that doesn’t usually work for me. If I need to get the editor off, I go critique something. This feeds me editor and helps me as a writer. It may mean I spend an afternoon critiquing, but when I do this, I am also able to get back into the mode to write on my own stories after reading others stories.

That was a surprisingly long analysis of one aspect of writer’s block for me. Ouch.

Next up to bat:

Excuse #2: I don’t want to write.

This is laziness, pure and simple. It means I don’t want to earn my keep, I don’t want to do my job, and that I’m being lazy, lazy, lazy. There is no excuse. There is no cure beyond willpower and doing what I should be doing and not what I want to be doing. Bluntly, if my excuse is, “I don’t want to write”, it is because I am being a lazy scum and should get to work doing what I should be doing. I want writing to be a job, and that means working even when I don’t necessarily want to work.

Don’t think there is anything else I need to say on that one. If there is any reason other than laze for not wanting to write, it is best addressed in the I don’t know what to write category, not the ‘I’m a lazy person’ category.

I can’t hold your hand, but I hope that you might get something out of how my brain works. At the end of the day, resolving your writing blocks is your responsibility. Every person has a different method of writing, and what may work for me won’t necessarily work for you.

Good luck.

 

It is with great pleasure to share with you a story by Tad Williams. All text below is property of Tad Williams and is posted with permission.

~*~

Tad Williams’ new short story collection, A Stark And Wormy Knight, is available now, worldwide, as an ebook, $4.99 (or equivalent) for one month

http://www.amazon.com/Stark-Wormy-Knight-ebook/dp/B006P2QX3U

The following story is unique to this blog and a few others.  Happy Holidays.

THE SUGARPLUM FAVOR

(A Christmas Story)

Tad Williams

            Danny Mendoza counted his change three times in while the teacher talked about what they were all supposed to bring for the class winter holiday party tomorrow.  It was really a Christmas party, at least in Danny’s class, because that’s what all the kids’ families’ celebrated.  Danny had his party contribution covered.  He had volunteered to bring napkins and paper plates and cups because his family had some left over from his little brother’s birthday party with characters from Gabba Gabba Hey on them.  He’d get teased about that, he knew, but he didn’t want to ask his mother to make something because she was so busy with his little brothers and the baby, and now that Danny’s stepfather Luis had lost his job they had a Money Situation.  Danny could live with a little teasing.

Danny was going to buy a candy bar for his mother, one of those big ones.  That was going to be his Christmas present to her and Danny knew how much she’d like it — he hadn’t just inherited his small size and nimble fingers from her, he’d got her sweet tooth, too.  And she had just been talking about the Christmas a few years ago when Luis had a good job with the Sanitation Department and he’d brought her a whole box of See’s chocolates.  Danny knew he couldn’t match that, but the last of the money he’d saved up from raking leaves in the neighborhood and walking old Mrs. Rosales’ wheezy little dog should be enough to buy a big old Hershey bar that would make Mama smile.  No, what to get wasn’t a problem.  The thing that had him thinking so hard as he went down the street at a hurried walk, hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, was whether he dared to get it now or should wait another day.

In Danny’s San Jose neighborhood the Mercado Estrella was like an African water hole, not only a crucial source of nurture but also the haunt of the most fearsome predator in his 3rd grade world.  Any stop at the little market meant he risked running into Hector Villaba, the big, mean fifth-grade kid who haunted Danny’s days and often his nights as well.  Danny couldn’t even begin to guess how much candy and other goodies Hector had stolen from him and the other kids over the years, but it was a lot — Hector was the elementary school’s Public Enemy Number One.  About half the time his victims got shoved around, too, or even hit, and none of the grown-ups ever did anything about it except to tell their humiliated sons they should learn how to fight back.  That was probably because Hector Villaba’s father was a violent, drunken brute who didn’t care what Hector did and everyone in the neighborhood was as scared of him as the kids at school were scared of his son.  The last time someone in the neighborhood had called the police on Hector’s dad, all their windows had been broken while they were at church and their car scratched from one end to another.

Danny was still trying to make up his mind whether to risk stopping at the market today or wait for better odds tomorrow (when class ended early because of the holiday) when he saw Mrs. Rosales walking Pinto, her little spotted dog.  He almost crossed the street because he knew she’d want to talk to him and he’d spent a lot of time doing that already last week when went to her house to get Pinto nearly every day.  He was too close, though, she’d seen him, and Jesus hated being rude to old people almost as much as he hated it when kids lied, or at least that was what his mama always told him.  Danny wasn’t expecting much from Santa anyway, but if Jesus got upset things would probably be even worse.  He sighed and continued toward her.

“Look who’s here!” Mrs. Rosales said when she saw him.  “Look, Pinto mi querida, it’s your friend Danny!”  But when he waved and would have passed by she told him, “Hold on a moment, young man, I want to talk to you.”

He stopped, but he was really worried that Hector and his friends might catch up if he stood around too long.  “Yes, Mrs. Rosales?”

“I short-changed you the other day.”  She took out a little coin purse.  It took her a long time to get it open with her knobby old fingers.  “I owe you a dollar.”

“Really?”  Danny was astonished.

She pulled out a piece of paper that looked like it had been folded and unfolded a hundred times and handed it to him.  “I know boys need money this time of year!”

He thanked her, petted Pinto (who growled despite all their time together, because Pinto was a spoiled brat) and hurried toward the market.  Another dollar!  It was like one of those Christmas miracles on a television show – like the Grinch’s heart growing so much it made the x-ray machine go sproing!  This changed everything.  He could not only buy his mom’s present, he could buy something for himself, too.  He briefly considered blowing the whole dollar on a Butterfinger, his very favorite, but he knew hard candies would be a better investment — he could share them with his younger brothers, and it was Christmas-time, after all.  But whatever he got, he didn’t want to wait for tomorrow, not now that he had something to spend on himself.  Danny Mendoza had been candy-starved for days.  Nothing sweeter than the baby’s butterscotch pudding had passed his lips that week, and the pudding hadn’t been by his own choice.  (His baby sister had discovered that if she waved her spoon things flew and splattered, and she liked that new trick a lot.)  If he hurried to the market he should still get there long before Hector and his friends, who had many children to harass and humiliate on their way home.  It was a risk, of course, but with an unexpected dollar in his pocket Danny felt strangely confident.  There had to be such a thing as Christmas luck, didn’t there?  After all, it was a whole holiday about Jesus getting born, and Jesus was kind to everybody.  Although it sure hadn’t seemed like a lucky Christmas when Luis, Danny’s stepfather, had lost his job in the first week of December.  But maybe things were going to get better now — maybe, as his mama sometimes said, the Mendoza family’s luck was going to change.

He was even more willing to believe in miracles when he saw no sign of Hector  and his friends at the market.  As he walked in Christmas music was playing loudly on the radio, that “Joy to the World” song sung by some smooth television star.  Tia Marisol, the little old lady who ran the place on her own since her husband died, was trying to hang some lights above the cigarettes behind the cash register.  She wasn’t his real aunt, of course.  Everybody in the neighbohood just called her “Tia.”

Oye, little man,” she called when she turned around and saw him.  “How’s your mama?”

“Fine, Tia Marisol.  I’m getting her a present.”  He made his way past the postres to the long candy rack.  So many colors, so many kinds!  It almost seemed to glow, like in one of those cartoons where children found a treasure-cave.  When Danny was little, it was what he had imagined when the minister at the church talked about Heaven.  The only better thing he had ever seen in his whole life was the huge piñata at one of his school friends’ birthday party, years and years ago.  When the birthday boy knocked the piñata open and candy came showering out and all the kids could jump in and take what they want – that had been amazing.  Like winning a game show on television.  Danny still dreamed about it sometimes.

Danny realized that he was staring like a dummy at the rack of candy when every second the danger that Hector and his friends would arrive kept growing.  He quickly examined the big Hershey bars until he found one with a perfect wrapper, a massive candy bar that looked as if it had been made special for a commercial.  He would have loved to spend more time browsing — how often did he have a whole dollar to spend just on candy? — but he knew time was short, so he grabbed a good-sized handful of hard, sour candies for sucking, took several different colors of candy ropes; then, as worry grew inside him, as uncomfortable as needing to pee, he finally snatched up a handful of bubble gum and ran to the front counter.

“What’s your hurry, m’hijo?” Tia Marisol asked.

“Mom needs me,” he said, which he hoped was not enough of a lie to ruin Jesus’ upcoming celebration.  After all, Mom did always need his help, especially by this time in the day when she’d been on her own with the baby and the littlest brother since morning, and had just walked the other brother home from preschool.  He pulled the three dollars worth of much-counted change out of one pocket and mounded it in front of Tia Marisol, then put the Hershey bar and his own handful of candy down beside it before digging out the crumpled dollar Mrs. Rosales had given him.  She slid her glasses a little way down her nose while she looked at it all.

“Where’d you get so much money, Danny?”

“Raking lawns.  Taking Mrs. Rosales dog for walks.”

Tia Marisol smiled, handed him back twenty-three cents, and put everything into a paper bag.  “You’re a good boy.  You and your family have a happy Christmas.  Tell your mama I said hello, would you?”

“Sure.”  He was already halfway through the door, heart beating.

The Christmas miracle continued outside: other than a couple of young mothers with strollers and bundled-up babies, and the old men who sat on the bus bench across the street drinking from bottles in paper bags, the area around the store was still clear.  Danny began to walk toward home as fast as he could without running, because he had the bag under his coat now and he didn’t want to melt Mama’s candy bar.  Still, he was almost skipping, he was so happy.  Joy to the world, the Lord is come…!

Hey, Mendoza,” someone shouted in a hoarse voice.  What’s in the bag, maricon?”

Danny stopped, frozen for a moment like a cornered animal, but then he began to walk again, faster and faster until he was running.  There was no question whose voice that was.  Pretty much every kid in his school knew it and feared it.

“Hold up, Mendoza, or I’ll kick your ass good!”  The voice was getting closer.  He could hear the whir of bike tires on the sidewalk coming up behind him fast.  He looked back and saw that Hector Villaba and his big, stupid friends Rojo and Chuy were bearing down on him on their bikes, and in another second or two would ride him down.  He lunged to the side just as Hector stuck out his foot and shoved him, sending Danny crashing into the low wire fence of the house he was passing.  He bounced off and tumbled painfully to the sidewalk as Hector and his gang stopped just a few yards ahead, now blocking the sidewalk that led Danny home.  The hard candies had fallen out of his bag and were scattered across the sidewalk.  He got down on his knees, hurrying to pick them up, doing everything he could to avoid eye contact with Hector and the others, but when he reached for the last one Hector’s big, stupid basketball-shoe was on top of it.  The older boy leaned over and picked it up.  “Jolly Rancher, huh?  Not bad.  Not great, but not bad.”  He waved it in Danny’s face, making him look up from all fours like a dog at its master.  “I asked you what’s in the bag, Mendoza?”

“Nothing!  It’s for my mama.”

“For your mama?  Oh, iddn’t dat sweet?”  Hector’s fingers hooked under Danny’s chin and lifted.  Danny didn’t fight — he knew it wasn’t going to help — but he still flinched when he saw Hector’s round, sweaty face so close, the angry, pale yellow-brown eyes.  Hector Villaba even had the beginnings of a real mustache, a hairy smudge on his upper lip.  It was one of the things that made him so scary, one of the reasons why even bigger twelve year olds like Chuy and Rojo let him lead them — a fifth-grader with a mustache!

“C’mon, open it up,” Hector told him.  “Let’s see what you got for your mama.”  When Danny still didn’t offer up the bag, Hector’s friend Chuy put a foot on Danny’s back and pushed down so hard that Danny had to brace himself to keep from being shoved against the sidewalk.  “I said show me, maricon,” said Hector.  “Chuy gonna break your spine.  He knows karate.”

Danny handed Hector the bag, biting his lip, determined not to cry.  Hector pulled out the big Hershey Bar.  “Hijole!” he said.  “Look at that!  Something for your mama, shit — you were going to eat that all by yourself.  Not even share none with us.  That’s cold, man.”

“It is for my mother!  It is!”  Danny pushed up against Chuy’s heavy hiking boot trying to reach the candy bar, which didn’t look anywhere near so huge clamped in Hector Villaba’s plump, dirty fingers.  Chuy took his weight off for a moment, then kicked Danny in the ribs hard enough to make him drop to the concrete and hug himself in pain.

“If you try any more shit, we’ll hurt you good,” said Hector, laughing as he unwrapped the candy bar.  He tossed a piece to Chuy, then another to Rojo, who grabbed it out of the air and shoved it in his mouth like a starving dog, then licked his fingers.  Hector leaned down and gave Danny another shove, hard enough to crash him against the fence again.  “Don’t you ever try to hide anything from me.  I know where you live, dude.  I’ll come over and slap the bitch out of you and your mama both.”  He pointed to the hard candies still clutched in Danny’s hands.  “Get that other shit, too, yo,” Hector told Rojo, and the big, freckled kid bent Danny’s fingers back until he surrendered it all.

The Christmas chocolate bar, looking sad and naked with half its foil peeled away, was still clutched in Hector’s hand as he and his friends rode away laughing, sharing the hard candy out of the bag.

For a while Danny just sat on the cold sidewalk and wished he had a knife or even a gun and he could kill Hector Villaba, even if it made Jesus unhappy for weeks.  At that moment Danny almost felt like he could do it.  The rotten, mean bastard had taken his mom’s present!

At last Danny wiped his eyes and continued home.  It was starting to get dark and the wind was suddenly cold, which made his scratched-up hands ache.  When he reached the apartment he let himself in, dropped his book bag by the door, then called a greeting to his mama feeding Danny’s baby sister in the kitchen as he hurried on to the bathroom so he could clean up his scratches and tear-stained face and do his best to hide the damage to the knees of his pants before she saw him up close.  It wouldn’t do any good to tell her what had happened – she couldn’t do anything and it would make her very sad.  Danny was used to keeping quiet about what went on between home and school, school and home.

After a while he went out and sat at the table and watched as his mother fed green goop to the baby.  Even her smile for Danny looked tired.  Mama worked so hard to keep them all fed and dressed, hardly ever yelled, and even sang old songs from Mexico for Danny and his brothers when she wasn’t too tired…

And now that cabron Hector had stolen her present, and he didn’t have any money left to get her something else.

 

*

Later that night, when the house was quiet and everyone was asleep, Danny found himself crying again.  It was so unfair!  What had happened to the Christmas luck?  Or did that kind of thing only happen to other kids, other families?

“Please, Jesus,” he prayed quietly.  “I just have to get Mama something for Christmas – something Hector can’t take.  If that’s a miracle, okay – I mean, I know you can’t do them all the time, but if you got one…an extra one…”

 

*

Something woke him up – a strange noise in the living room.  For a moment he lay in bed wondering if Santa Claus might have come, but then he remembered it was still three days until Christmas.  Still, he could definitely hear something moving, a kind of quiet fluttery sound.   His brothers were both sprawled in boneless, little-boy sleep across the mattress they shared, so he climbed carefully over them and made his way out to the living room.  At first he saw nothing more unusual than the small Christmas tree on top of the coffee table, but as he stared, his eyes trying to get used to the dark, he saw the tree was…moving?  Yes, moving, the top of the pine wagging like a dog’s tail.

Danny had never heard of a Christmas tree coming to life, not even in a TV movie, and it scared him.  He picked up the tennis racket with the missing strings Luis kept promising to fix, then crawled toward the scraggly tree with its ornaments of foil and cut paper.

As he got closer he could see that something small was caught in the tree’s topmost branch, trying to fly away but not succeeding.  He could hear its wings beating so fast they almost buzzed.  A bird, trapped in the apartment?  A really big moth?

Danny looked for one of the baby’s bowls to trap it, then had a better idea and crept to the kitchen cabinet where his mom kept the washed jars.  He picked a big one that had held sandwich spread and slithered commando-style back to the living room.  Whatever the thing was, it was really stuck, tugging and thrashing as it tried to free itself from the pine needles.  He dropped the jar over it and pulled carefully on the branch until the thing could finally get free, then Danny clapped the lid on the jar to keep it from escaping.

The thing inside the jar went crazy now, flying against the glass, the wings going so fast that it made it hard for him to see for certain what it was.  The strange thing was, it actually looked like a person — a tiny, tiny little person no bigger than a sparrow.  That was crazy.  Danny knew it was crazy.  He knew he had to be dreaming.

“What are you doing?” the thing said in a tiny, rasping voice.  It didn’t sound happy at all.  “Let me go!”

Danny was so startled to hear it talk that he nearly dropped the jar.  He held it up to the light coming in from the street lamp to get a better look.  The prisoner in the jar was a little lady — a lady with wings!  A real, honest-to-goodness Christmas miracle!  “Are you…an angel?” he asked.

“Let me out, young man, and we’ll talk about it.”  She didn’t sound much like an angel.  Actually, she sounded a lot like that scratchy-voiced nanny on that TV show his mama watched sometimes.  Her hair was yellow and kind of wild and sticky-uppy, and she wore a funny little dancing dress.  She was also carrying a bag over her shoulder like Santa did, except that hers wasn’t much bigger than Danny’s thumb .

“P-Promise you won’t fly away?” he asked this strange small person.  “If I let you out?”

She had her tiny hands pressed up against the inside of the jar.  She shook her head so hard her little sparkly crown almost fell off.  “Promise.  But hurry up — I don’t like enclosed places.  Honest, it makes me want to scream.  Let me out, please.”

“Okay.  But no cheating.”  He unscrewed the lid on the jar and slowly turned it over.   The tiny lady rose up, fluttering into the light that streamed through the living room window.

“Oh, that’s so much better,” she said.  “I got stuck in a panoramic Easter egg once, wedged between a frosting bunny and a cardboard flower pot.  Thought I was going to lose my mind.”

“Wow,” he said.  “Who are you?  What are you?”

She carefully landed on the floor near his knee.  “I’m a sugarplum fairy,” she said.  “Like in that ballet.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind.  Look, thanks for getting me loose from that tree.”  She turned herself around trying to look down at herself.  “Rats!  Ripped my skirt.  I hate conifers.”  She turned back to Danny.  “I didn’t mean to scare you, I was just passing through the neighborhood when I felt somebody thinking candy thoughts — real serious candy thoughts.  I mean, it was like someone shouting.  Anyway, that’s what we do, us sugarplum fairies — we handle the candy action, especially at Christmas time.  So I thought I should come and check it out.  Was it you?  Because if it was, you’ve got the fever bad, kid.”  She reached into her bag and produced a lollypop bigger than she was, something that couldn’t possibly have fit in there.  “Here, have one on me.  You look like you need it.”

“Wow.  Wow!”  He suddenly realized he was talking out loud and dropped his voice, worried that he would wake up his mama and Luis.  He reached out for the lollypop.  “You’re really a fairy.  Do you know Jesus?”

She shrugged.  “I think he’s in another department.  What’s your name?  It’s Danny, isn’t it?”

He nodded.  “Yeah.”  It suddenly struck him.  “You know my name…?”

“I’ve got it all written down somewhere.”  She started riffling through her bag again, then pulled out something that looked like a tiny phone book.  She took out an equally small pair of glasses, opened the book and began reading.  “For some reason you fell off the list here, Danny.  No wonder you’re so desperate — you haven’t had a sugarplum delivery in quite a while!  Well, that at least I can do something about.”  She frowned as she took a pen out of the apparently bottomless bag and made a correction.  “Of course, they may not process the new order until early next year, and I’m not scheduled back in this area until Valentines Day.”  She frowned.  “Doesn’t seem fair…”  A moment later her tiny face brightened.  “Hey, since you saved me from that tree branch I think I’m allowed to give you a wish.  Would you like that?”

“Really?  A wish?”

“Yes.  I can do that.”

“You’ll give me a wish?  Like magic?  A wish?”

She frowned again.  “Come on, kid, I know you’ve been shorted on candy the last couple of years but is your blood sugar really that low?  I just very clearly said I will give you a wish.  We’re allowed to when someone helps us out.”

He was so excited he could barely sit still.  It was a Christmas miracle after all, a real one!  “Could I wish for, like, a million dollars?”  Then even if Luis didn’t find another job for a while, the family would be okay.  More than okay.

She shook her head.  “Sorry, kid, no.  I only do candy-related wishes.  You want one of those extra big gummy bears?  I hear those are popular this year.  I could bend some rules and get it to you by Christmas.”

He was tempted — he’d seen an ad on television — but now it was his turn to shake his head.  “Could I just get a big Hershey bar?  One of those extra-big ones?  For my mother?”

The little woman tilted her head up so she could see him better from where she stood down on the ground.  “Truly?  Is that all you want?  Gee, kid, I could feel the desperation coming off this house like weird off an elf.  You sure you don’t want something a little more…substantial?  A pile of candy, maybe?  A year’s supply of gumdrops or something?  As long as it’s candy-related, I can probably get it done for you, but you better decide quick.”  She pulled quite a large pocket watch on a chain out of her bag, then put on her glasses again.  “After midnight, and I’ve still got half my rounds to go.”  She looked up at him.  “You seem like a nice kid, Danny, and it doesn’t look like you guys are exactly swimming in presents and stuff.  How about a nice pile of candy, assorted types?  Or if you’d rather just concentrate on — what did you say, Hershey Bars? — I could probably arrange a shopping bag of those or something…”

For a moment his head swam at the prospect of a grocery bag full of giant chocolate bars, more than Hector the Butt-head Villaba could ever dream of having now matter how much he stole…but then another idea came floating up from deep down in Danny’s thoughts – a strange, dark idea.

“Can you do all kinds of wishes?  Really all kinds?”

“Yeah, but just one.  And it definitely has to be candy-related.  I’m not a miracle worker or anything.”

“Okay.  Then  I’ll tell you what I want.”  Danny could suddenly see it all in his imagination, and it was very, very good.

 

*

The school holiday party was nice.  Danny and his classmates played games and sang songs and had a snack of fruit and cheese and crackers.  Nobody brought Chips Ahoy cookies, but one of the mothers did indeed bring cupcakes, delicious chocolate ones with silver, green and red sprinkles for Christmas.  There were even enough left over that although Danny had finished his long ago despite making it last as long as possible, he was allowed to take home the last two for his little brothers.  He suspected that the teacher knew his family didn’t have much money, but for this one day it didn’t embarrass him at all.

After the bell rang Danny followed the other third-graders toward the school gate, holding one cupcake carefully in each hand, his book bag draped over his shoulder.  He was watching his feet so carefully that he didn’t see what made the other children suddenly scatter to either side, but as soon as he heard the voice he knew the reason.

“Look at that, it’s Maricon Mendoza, yo,” said Hector Villaba.  “What’d you bring us for Christmas, kid?”  Danny looked up.  The mustached monster was sitting astride his bike just a few yards down the sidewalk, flanked by Rojo and Chuy.  “Oh, yeah, dude — cupcakes!” said Hector.  “You remembered our Christmas presents.”  He scooted his bike forward until he stood directly over Danny, then reached out for the cupcakes.  Danny couldn’t help it — he jerked back when Hector tried to take them, even though he knew it would probably earn him another bruising.

“Punch the little chulo’s face in,” Rojo suggested.
Hector dropped his bike with a clatter.  The other kids from school who had stopped to stare in horrified fascination jumped out of his way as he strode forward and grabbed the cupcakes out of Danny’s hands.  He peeled the paper off one and shoved the whole cupcake in his mouth, then tossed the other to Chuy.  “You two split that,” he said through a mouthful of devil’s food, then turned his attention back to Danny, who was so scared and excited that he felt like electricity was running through him.  “Next time, you better remember to bring one for each of us, Mendoza.  You only bring two, that’s going to get your ass kicked.”

Danny backed away.  It was hard to look into those yellow-brown eyes and not run crying, let alone keep thinking clearly, but Danny did his best.  He dropped his book bag to the ground and out fell the stringless tennis racket that he had brought from home.  Hector hooted with angry laughter as Danny snatched it up and held it before him as if it was a cross and Hector was a vampire.

Que?  You going to try to hit me, little boy?”  Hector laughed again, but he didn’t sound happy.  He didn’t like it when people stood up to him.  “I’ll take that away from you and beat your ass black and blue, Mendoza.”  The bully took a step nearer and held out his hand.  “Give it to me or I’ll break your fingers.”

“No.”  Danny wasn’t going to step back any farther.  He lifted the racket, waved it around like a baseball bat.  It was old and flimsy, but he had come to school determined today.  “You can’t have it…you fat asshole.”

Behind Hector, Rojo let out a surprised chortle, but Hector Villaba didn’t think it was funny at all.

“That’s it,” he said, curling his hands into fists.  “After I kick your ass, I’m gonna rub your face in dog shit.  Then I’m gonna kick your ass again.  You’re gonna spend Christmas in the hospital.”  Without warning, he charged toward Danny.

Danny stepped to the side and swung the racket as hard as he could, hitting Hector right in the stomach.  With a whoop of surprise and pain Hector bent double, but when he looked up he didn’t look hurt, just really, really mad, his eyes staring like a crazy dog’s eyes.

“That’s…it.  I’m…going…to…get…you…Mendoza…” he said, then sucked in air and stood up straight, but even as he did so a funny expression crossed his face and he looked down at where he was holding his belly.  Hector’s hands were suddenly full of crackling, cellophane-wrapped hard candies, so many of them that they cascaded over his fingers and onto the ground.  He lifted his hands in disbelief to look and dozens more of the candies slid out of the front of his open jacket — candy bars, too, fun-size and even regular ones, Snickers bars, Mounds, Tootsie Rolls, lollipops, candy canes, even spicy tamarindos.  The other children from the school stared in horrified fascination, guessing that Danny had broken a bag that Hector had been carrying under his coat.  They were so scared of Hector that they didn’t move an inch toward any of the candy that was still slithering out of the big boy’s coat and pooling on the ground at his feet.

“Oh, man,” one of the other third graders said in a hoarse whisper, “Mendoza’s going to get beat up so bad…!”

But even more candy was pouring out of Hector’s belly now, as if someone had turned on a candy-faucet, a great river of sweets running out of the place where Danny had knocked him open with his old tennis racket.

“What the…?”  Then Hector Villaba looked down at himself and began to scream in terror.  Candy was showering out of him faster and faster onto the sidewalk, already piled as high as the cuffs of his pants and still coming.

Hijole, dude!”  said Rojo.  “You’re a piñata!”

Hector looked at him, eyes rolling with fear, then he turned sprinted away down the street squealing like a kindergartner, a flood of candy still pouring from him, Crunch Bars, M&Ms,  (plain and peanut) as well as boxes of gumdrops and wax-wrapped pieces of taffy, all raining onto the street around the bully’s legs and feet, bouncing and rolling.

Rojo and Chuy watched Hector run for a moment, then turned to stare at Danny with a mixture of apprehension and confusion.  Then turned from him to look at each other, came to some kind of agreement, and threw themselves down on their knees to start scooping up the candy that had fallen out of Hector Villaba.  Within a few seconds the other school kids were all scrambling across the ground beside them, everybody shoveling candy into their pockets as fast as they could.

Danny waited until he wasn’t breathing so hard, then started for home, following the clear trail of candy that had gushed from Hector Villaba as he ran.  He didn’t bother to pick up everything, since for once in his life he could afford to be selective.  He stuffed one pocket of his jacket with candy for his brothers, then filled the other just with Butterfinger Bars, at least six or seven, but kept walking with his head down until he spotted a nice, big Hershey Bar in good condition which he zipped in his book bag so it would stay safe for his mother.  The rest of the way home he picked up whatever looked interesting and threw it into the book bag too, until by the time he reached home he was staggering with its weight up the apartment building walkway.  For once, Hector Villaba had been the one who had run home crying.

He didn’t feel sorry for Hector, either, not at all.  Scared as the fifth-grader was now, he would be all right when he reached home.  Danny had made that a part of the wish and the fairy had said she thought it was a good idea.  Jesus didn’t want even mean kids to die from having their guts really fall out, Danny felt pretty sure, so he had done his best not to spoil the Lord’s birthday.  Of course Hector Villaba probably wouldn’t have a very merry Christmas, but Danny had decided that Jesus could probably live with that.

© 2012 On Writing Suffusion theme by Sayontan Sinha