Defining "Ready": A The Million Words post

My lovely retreat group and I have started a blog together, called TheMillionWords.net, where we talk about our journeys and the lessons we've learned along the path to publication. Here's my contribution to the launch.

(Don't worry, there will be more notes soon. But my life has been more hectic than usual, so that's going to have to wait for now. Thank you for understanding.)

"Focus on the Good, and Fight for That": a #HoldOnToTheLight post

.As I said in my previous post, there's been a lot of Stuff going on for me lately. Enough for me to have a personal investment in this initiative, even though this is nonetheless neither the place or time for me to discuss particulars. But this topic is important. The Mental Wellness for Writers panel at ConCarolinas this June was heartfelt, honest, raw, and hands down, my favourite one this year. And out of respect for all who participated and shared, it's not one I'll ever take notes at.

Timing's a funny thing, though. I had recently written this scene during revisions to my novel, SIGN OF THE STAR, which will be on submission soon. And it felt important to share.

Background: A princess with healing powers who escaped murder as a child must choose between being the healer she wants to be and the country that needs her. When she encounters a fugitive nobleman seeking the lost princess, circumstances force them to travel together, and she learns that guarding her secret also means guarding her heart. At one point the two are kidnapped, but before they can escape, the bandits are attacked by a warring group. As a servant of the Land, Janni must deal with.the aftermath—and its consequences.

*          *          *

Lingering tendrils of clouds, violet-edged with the last of sunset, curled about distant peaks, clinging to them like smoke capped a fire.

My stomach turned. I tasted bile. Grimacing, I glanced away.

“Are you all right?” Concern tinged Brennant’s voice, as it had since we left Karovar.

I ignored him and focused on the road ahead, pressing onward. Shoving away thoughts of the pyre smoke’s stench, of copper and musk, acrid and sweet.

“We should stop before it gets any darker.”

Hmph. Likely Hush would have purred her agreement, but the puma had already gone off to hunt. I kept walking.

Away from the ashes of our work. The grim task I’d suggested, and now wished I could forget. Days had passed since we’d left Baesh, and yet the mindless slaughter still ate at me.
The morning after the battle, building the pyre had consumed the rest of the daylight. None of the dead had been less than half the chief's massive size, and all were far too heavy to drag on my own. Brennant saw my struggle with a corpse and rushed to help me, but then Baesh cursed and sent me into the woods to gather deadfall instead. And when we were ready, both men looked at me to speak.

I opened my mouth—and faltered. This was no Deathswen ritual, where the names of the newly dead were spoken to honour their memory. There were no loved ones to mourn their passing, no scribes to log their fates.

There was only me.

“We stand before the fallen,” I said, grasping for what words I could find. “Soldiers and captives, worthy and wicked. As we release them from the Land into the sky, may their souls find peace.” Spreading my hands, unable I looked at Brennant for help.

He met my gaze with his own, gave a grim approving nod. “May their souls find peace.”

Baesh, torch in hand, set his jaw. “Aye.” He lifted the flame high. “May their souls find peace.”

With that, he set the pyre alight.

The bodies burned until dawn. None of us slept until noon.

Brennant and I stayed another night at the clearing, too heartsore and worn to resume the journey at once. At least, that’s how I’d felt. The next morning, Baesh had taken us as far as the northern Karish border, where the wilds and some semblance of a road resumed at last.

And I still couldn’t shake the ghastly scene, that cloying reek of the dead, from my mind.

So on I walked.

“Janni.” He sped up and grabbed my wrist.

I jerked it away. “Scorch it, Brennant. What do you want?”

“It’s been four days since we left Karovar, and you’ve barely spoken.” There was raw hurt in his voice. “What’s wrong?”

“It doesn’t matter. Come along.” I frowned at the road ahead. Maybe we could make it as far as the next mountain before full dark—

“Night falls quickly around here. You should have noticed by now.” He spread out his cloak, all he had left of the things he’d bartered from Derva. Everything else had been lost when we were kidnapped.

“What are you doing? We have to keep moving.”

Had to get to the vision-lady and her people before anyone else suffered.

He crossed his arms. “No.”

“Then catch up with me tomorrow.” I strode away.

Brennant snorted. “Fine,” he called. “Clearly you’re too foolish to listen to your escort. More proof that Sordinak made me go with you to protect you from yourself.”

That halted me in my tracks. How dare he.

“I have been summoned, Brennant. I have to get there, and soon. There’s nothing foolish about that—”

He threw up his hands. “There is when you won’t listen to reason! How can you help the woman if you’re injured—or worse, dead?”

“If I don’t hurry, who knows what else will happen?”

“We’re going as fast as we can safely. That’s enough—”

“It’s my fault they died.”

There. I finally said it. The truth I’d been holding in since the pyre, since the attack. I collapsed to my knees, my pack hitting the ground with a thud.

Brennant was on his feet and at my side at once. “What do you mean?”

“I keep seeing the bodies. The blood. The pyre. Every time I close my eyes.” I stifled a sob. “And I’m the reason for it.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Everyone who died in the battle perished because of me.” I sniffed. “The soldiers. The prisoners. Even Baesh’s men. If he’d paid more attention to them instead of protecting me, they wouldn’t have betrayed him. And all of them paid the price. All so I could live.”

His lips thinned. “That’s where you’re wrong.” Crouching, he took my hand, and as he stroked the palm with his thumb, for once I didn’t flinch. “What the men did isn’t your fault. It’s theirs.”

Bitter and hot, the tears I’d held back for five nights finally broke free. “But—”

“No. They were criminals and traitors. That raid happened so easily, it’s obvious they were colluding with the Korish.” He reached out and gently touched the spot between my shoulder blades, flooding me with warmth. “Besides, think of the good you’ve done. You healed the barkeep’s son. Baesh, too. And if not for you, Elasa’s daughter might have died.”

“That doesn’t matter. All that death—” I choked back another sob.

“You can’t blame yourself.” Shifting, Brennant took both my hands now and squeezed. “The Land has its reasons for all things. We have to focus on the good, and fight for that.”

I bit my lip. The words were a platitude he’d probably picked up in the priesthood, but Zira had often said the same over the years. I never quite understood; I was a healer, not a fighter.

But maybe that’s what they meant. I could help people. That’s all that mattered, and why I’d made my choice.

Releasing a ragged sigh, I squeezed back. Shivered at his intent gaze, and looked to the distant peaks, where the clouds had scattered. “So what should I do, then?”

“As you said, we’ll keep moving forward.” Brennant helped me to my feet. “But first, let’s get some rest.”

*          *          *

About the campaign:

#HoldOnToTheLight is a blog campaign encompassing blog posts by fantasy and science fiction authors around the world in an effort to raise awareness around treatment for depression, suicide prevention, domestic violence intervention, PTSD initiatives, bullying prevention and other mental health-related issues. We believe fandom should be supportive, welcoming and inclusive, in the long tradition of fandom taking care of its own. We encourage readers and fans to seek the help they or their loved ones need without shame or embarrassment.

Please consider donating to or volunteering for organizations dedicated to treatment and prevention such as: American Foundation for Suicide Prevention, Home for the Warriors (PTSD), National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI), Canadian Mental Health Association, MIND (UK), SANE (UK), BeyondBlue (Australia), To Write Love On Her Arms and the National Suicide Prevention Hotline.

To find out more about #HoldOnToTheLight, find a list of participating authors, or reach a media contact, go to the #HoldOntoTheLight Facebook group; or, check out the website or Facebook page.

Writing Characters with Disabilities (ConCarolinas 2015 Writing Panel Notes)

So it's been awhile. Definitely a lot longer than planned. But when Stuff begets Other Stuff and one's world implodes just ever-so-slightly, and then one finds oneself the unfair target of several negative people in multiple areas of one's life, and then one starts to question one's own sanity, until numerous others come forward and confirm that no, one is not imagining things... well. It has been an interesting summer. Complaints have been and will be filed. And at least for one of the situations, my next filked song will be, "Screenshots Are a Gir's Best Friend".

You read the title of the post right: this is my last set of notes from 2015 that slipped through the cracks in my rush to edit a manuscript and then subsequent jetsetting, attending my sister's graduation then flying to this year's ConCarolinas and my writing group's retreat. I exhausted my spoons but still came back creatively invigorated and refreshed.

Today's topic is very appropriate, since this is nothing if not Difficult Topics week here. Coming in a few days will be my contribution to #HoldOntoTheLight, the mental health awareness initiative from SFF authors and bloggers. (Hey, might as well go for the stuff that matters.) The authors here bring their experience writing about characters with disabilities, and in some case, dealing with their own issues. This is another important facet in the movement for diverse books. Enjoy!

* * *

Writing Characters with Disabilities

Rebecca Carter, Louise Herring-Jones, Dahlia Rose

 Moderator: Allen L. Wold

DR: Husband with PTSD

AW: Has written about disabled people; has strong opinions about this subject

RC: Writes short horror, focusing on people who are dealing with specific ailments, has a few issues of her own

LH: Writes much about people with various challenges, some with disabilities

Why would you choose to write about disabled people?

RC: It’s important to get a good read on the story. It’s hard when you can’t function the way you believe you should function. Wants to be able to relate to something.

LH: The story she wrote, the story structure, the deaf character came to her, and that diability became an ability.

DR: Husband came back from Iraq after two deployments, with a massive brain injury, and ptsd, and going to the VA, talking with other soldiers, felt like people wanted to pity them rather than seeing them as they really are. People see the scars, the injuries, and she shows in her books that they have to learn a new way of life and are not to be pitied. They don’t want a handout, they just want to learn to do it differently.

AW: The people are people, and don’t want pity.

What actually entails a disability? (Thinks it’s rude to say “differently abled”) What does comprise a disability and what are things not a disability?

RC: Anyone who has a physical or mental roadblock to be able to function the way society generally would.

LH: Skewed viewpoint, as an attorney: disability specifically defined in law, something that impairs a major life function. Not reading glasses, but yes special eyewear for legally blind. Looks at what people can do, not what they can’t.

AW: Saying something is “differently abled” is condescending to him. What about injured soldiers? Do you agree, DR?

DR: Agrees completely. Helped husband retain his right to his own power of attorney because it means more to him and her.

AW: Yes, disabilities are part of who disabled folks are. But that doesn’t mean it’s the only thing about them.

LH: The key is to write about it respectfully. If a not-nice character in your story has a certain characteristic, some readers might not like it. Everyone has logic, even if the logic is illogic.

AW: If you’re going to write someone with disability, acknowledge the disability, but that doesn’t mean you should spend much time with that disability if it doesn’t do much in the story. What is the point of the character?

How much time do you spend working on the disability in your characterization, and how much on the rest of the story (unless you’re making a specific point)?

DR: Just treats it like another characteristic. Yes he has a missing arm, but it should just be a thing, not the focal point that impacts the story.

RC: Trying to find the line, just because a little point is a fact in the character’s life. Unless that’s exactly what you’re writing about.

LH: Latest issue of Discover – about echolocation in visually impaired in the real world. Different btw people born with sight and live that way, but the earlier you lose your sight, the more skilled you are at echolocation.

DR: An accident required a corneal transplant, couldn’t see well for a few years, had to rely on other senses and found ways to work around that.

If it serves the story … how could you best portray a disability without being condescending or overly detailed?

AW: Not about the disability, but about something else.

LH: Jamie Lannister’s story arc since losing his hand, it’s the impetus for his character development.

Can you imagine a situation where a typical disability can prove to be the benefit necessary for the continuation of the story?

DR: Social awkwardness – with disabilities in general, when soldiers are scarred or injured or hurt, there’s the emotion, the anger, the self-pity, and they do lash out. You can’t just write a perfect hero, you have to write their mental and physical attributes because of what happened. Can cause destruction of a family, of a person who’s gone through it, and it’s hard to see a person who was so vital before drawing away from life in general and you’re trying to pull them out and you’re feeling a desperation. It affects the people around them, too.

How would you write folks with specific disabilities?

RC: Probably would, but what’s hard is that people can only relate to people who are different to a certain extent, and if the story’s not entirely about what they’re facing, then readers can’t entirely connect to the stories because it’s hard to understand what others are going through. You empathize the most with the people you can relate to most.

AW: If that’s just one facet of his personality and the rest of the character is interesting by themselves, you can definitely deal with that. Don’t dwell on it, but let it be a subtext that makes the character richer.

Aud: What if the purpose of your story is to open up your reader to the difficulties of a character?

DR: Sheldon is socially awkward. But as the show progresses, it shows different people opening up. Showing how nerds are just like regular people. A colour of a skin, a person’s social awkwardness, if you take a moment to learn about it, it gives your reader something to mesh with. It opens up the story to the readers.

AW: The first thing you have to do is give them only one problem and not seventeen. Limit the number. One disability, even if that’s not true, is something you can focus on and clarify, so that otherwise your character is sympathetic, someone you feel with them (not pity). So don’t layer on several things at once.

RC: Beyond sympathetic, don’t need to have too much. One thing at a time because a lot of people start to instantly feel guilt if there’s too much the person is suffering from.

LH: Not much into message literature. But there’s also a social issue of whether or not can a person of one race or ethnicity truly write about someone of another race or ethnicity? John Hartness “The White Guy” and learning to open his eyes, Alice Walker’s scathing essays –  LH disagrees, thinks it can be written. Whether it’s race, gender, ethnicity, disability, write it. Do it respectfully. And if it’s something you understand personally, then all the better.

AW: If you want people to be sympathetic to the character, having some knowledge helps you write it better.  

LH: And if you want to write something amazingly controversial, make a sff world and put those differences, and it’s amazing what you can get by with.

DR: Speaking as an African American, you don’t write them differently. You just write them as you would any other character.

AW: Portray people as people. Then if you can empathize with that character, then regardless of their disability or other characteristics, then

RC: People aren’t stereotypes. When you come to mental disabilities. The only stereotype you see of women with mental health issues is the “one type” of “crazy lady”. You rarely see women with legitimate mental disabilities.

Audience Question: What should we do if we want or need to include a person with some kind of difference? How do we portray that person: ignore it, accept it, or is it something that can affect the story? Show how they’ve overcome it?

DR: Yes.

Audience Question: Are characters with disabilities more prevalent these days?

AW: Less of a shame, less embarrassing, because we’ve been working on this for a very long time. It’s easier now to put them in fiction. If you’re embarrassed about somebody’s differences, you shouldn’t be including it in a story.

LH: A trend in calls, stories about people with disabilities, people “underrepresented previously in literature”. If you want to writer about an unrepresented population, now’s the time. Know people. Talk to people. Pay attention.

DR: Check out Michael Stokes Photography.

AW: We’re all still people, and that’s what we’re writing about. Stories with people.

sorry-not-sorry but kinda but not

My American friends laugh every time I say "sorry", but it's an ingrained habit. Besides, while I'm travelling abroad, I might as well keep up my image of the polite Canadian who stresses her vowels and can't help adding in the occasional "eh". I even had a shirt made up.

And the back says "Sorry". Even my clothing is apologetic!

So ... yeah. It's been awhile. I'm not sure if I want to apologize for my absence or not. Certainly I wasn't expecting to be away this long. However, multiple personal crises and family member health emergencies (on top of a few things that were good but added even more stress) hit me all at the same time, because when it rains, for me it freaking pours, and even this incurable optimist has been tested.

Yes, tested. Euphemisms and understatements are kinda my thing.

At any rate, one area of my life that also suffered in this clustercrush* of bad was my notes. Of which I have an embarrassment. So I'd like to try to get back to that, if for nothing else than the fact that I'm trying to build some good habits and patterns in my life.

I just thought y'all deserved an update, first.

* My word, but feel free to use. You get the satisfaction of "cluster", and the amusement of watching eyes widen in horror because of how people expect you to finish.

Stuff, revisited

So I haven't been as forthcoming with notes as I'd hoped this month. I have good reason. About two weeks ago, I received some news that the Stuff I've been dealing with is pretty much done with.

Which is a good thing, right?

Of course it is, but there's also a factor I've come to understand over the years: sometimes, when something so stressful, so life-affecting, finally goes away, its absence can take some adjustment. There is a grieving process, even when the news is good.

The other night a dear friend and writing comerade-in-arms told me something that I hadn't expected, even if I was aware on some levels of its deep truth: "It was badly affecting you." Hearing that from a person I deeply trusted, who I knew could understand Stuff's impact on my life and my writing, was powerful. I mean, sure, Don Rocko has been a wonderful, supportive husband (and I maintain that marriage is the ability to put up with each other's bullshit, and that we all have it, and in this past year and a half, I've certainly had a lot). But hearing it from a fellow writer and query-warrior, someone else who witnessed firsthand the impact Stuff was having on my life, was meaningful in a vital way.

And now it's over. And I am happy to move forward.

Next stop: ConCarolinas, which happens in two weeks! I hope to have more notes from last year to share on Monday.

And then maybe I can start to catch up?

Well ... baby steps. As much as I love sharing my notes, actually putting words on the page is *slightly* more important. #SorryNotSorry

Happy Friday, everyone!

Happy New Year!

"Those guys up there. They said they're not paying their rent."

It was the first of December, deep into the evening. Our landlord had texted us to let us know he'd be coming by ... two hours ago. By the time the knock sounded at our door, it was nearly our bedtime (okay, would have been nearly our bedtime if we were responsible adults) and we were honestly starting to get a bit worried. He's a nice guy. When he finally showed up, he was very distressed.

We live in a fourplex: two upstairs suites, two basements. We had the latter. And while we were reasonably happy with where we'd lived for the past seven and a half years, we knew the time was coming when we wanted a little bit more. Y'know, like a suite with ninety-degree angles. And a bathtub instead of just a shower. 

And while I secretly hoped a top suite would come available, it didn't seem like it was going to happen. Upstairs are a lovely couple who we get along with well enough that we feed each other's cats when the other is away. And Upstairs Next Door was a family that frankly, seemed pretty entrenched. Even if there were ... Issues. 

Yeah. Issues. Polite as I may be on here, you can be damn sure that those things will make it into my fiction. But now is not the time to dwell on drug dealers or obnoxious DJs, or people who threatened my friends for parking in "their" spot when in fact street parking is public.

So when Mr. Landlord came by late that night, he was panicked. And just like that, in part sympathy and part selfishness, we agreed to take the place.

By the fifteenth.

The next three weeks were a blur of packing, moving, feeding friends who helped us move coffee and doughnuts and then pizza and beer, then finally, unpacking. We are still not entirely unpacked, but by the 21st we kinda hit a wall and we needed to take a holiday break.

Which was great, because I came down with a nasty cold that still hasn't let up.

This whole moving caper came right on the heels of what is probably my last NaNo (long story). Which I successfully completed, in two weeks, because I came away from this year's SIWC with some important requests, and had to make some equally-important revisions before I could send stuff to agents. I also wrote a short story during Novemer, which felt so refreshing to do.

My point? The last few months have been insane. And that's not even factoring in Stuff. Which is still a problem because ... *mumblemumblemumblePeople*.

But one of my resolutions this year is to stop putting up with certain things in my life, and to make more space and time for myself. So I just wanted to say hi, Happy New Year, and yes, I'm still around. With hopefully some great things to share in the weeks to come.

Stuff

Stuff gets in the way sometimes.

Stuff can be a problem.

Sometimes it's stuff that can't be shared. Whatever the reasons.

Stuff is a clever thief. It takes and takes and then it when it seems like it's done taking, it takes the resilience last, so that it can take some more.

For the past two months, stuff has run me ragged. Stuff has stifled my creativity. And yes there's ownership, there's the acknowledgement that I've let stuff do this to me, but that does not mean that I am its source.

I am dealing with stuff as best I can.

But I am done with stuff keeping me from myself.