Current Projects

May 16, 2008

My final edits for Cry Wolf are done, and I've even gotten a couple of ARC's in. At a quick read, I'm happy with it. Of course, the problem with writing is that no matter how many times I've edited a piece, as soon as I start reading it I see things that could have been improved. You can hear me muttering, "Ouch, that was an awkward sentence. Did I really use the word 'amazing' three times in the same paragraph? There's a bit of prose that sings . . . like a raven with a headcold!" Still, on the whole it works, and it tells the story I wanted to tell, and that's really all an author can ask.

Bone Crossed gave me a bit of trouble for a while, but it's finally coming along nicely. I was stuck in one of those "uncharted regions" of the imagination, the kind where old maps would have said "here there be dragons". I had a starting point and a destination, but I couldn't seem to figure out just exactly how to get the characters moving. So I wrote lots of pages of the characters kind of milling around talking. . ..

OK, that sounds kind of silly. Let me explain. When I'm not sure where to take the story, I can either sit in my office playing Sudoku, and hope that the magic inspiriation fairy shows up to whack me with her magic wand, or I can look for inspiration. If I try to get analytical when I'm stuck, my inner critic just has a field day, and the inner dialoge sounds like this:

"Nice job, Patty. The book is overdue, the story is as flimsy as a honeymoon nightie, and your prose stinks. This is a fine mess you've gotten us into. You should have kept the day job girlie."

"Hey, no fair. This is a rough draft, the prose is supposed to stink . . . is it really bad?"

"Sheesh, Patty, I've seen your kids turn out better work in grade school. But on to the problem at hand. You've got this bunch of whiney were-wimps stuck in an old abandoned house, tracking a mysterious ghost, and you're not sure where to go from here? I know, why don't have them split up, only Ben won't want to go with Warren, so you'll have to throw him a Scooby-snack. Maybe two Scooby-snacks. You can catch the ghost using a hair-brained plan and a Rube Goldberg trap. Then when it's all done, and you find out the ghost was really the caretaker, Mr. Jenkins, in a sheet with phosphorescent paint, you can have him say something pithy like, 'I'd have gotten away with it too, if it weren't for you meddling weres'."

"Are you mocking me? I was going to have them split up, now I feel just stupid. Thanks a bunch!"

"Anytime, sweetheart, I'm your inner critic, I'm always here to help.

OK, so my inner critic is a real piece of work. If I listened to him I'd never write anything. Trying the analytical approach, at least when things aren't working well, isn't very productive (although that same critic is very useful when I'm editing). If I just sit down and start writing, however, the inner critic shuts up, and the creative part of my brain takes over. Usually just having the characters sit around and talk for a couple of pages lets me solidify everyone's motiviations, take stock of what each one knows about the problem, and chart a logical path forward. Naturally these little excercises are complete dreck that aren't included in the final book, but it's a technique that usually works for me. Emphasis on the usually. This time the characters seemed content to just sit around and talk, maybe break out some campfire songs, or start reminiscing about the crusades . . . anything but get off their butts and go do something useful.

So, when my favorite trick doesn't work, I resort to my fallback plan. Take my sweetie to lunch, talk about the book with him, then go back to the office and wait for the magic inspiriation fairy. The good news is that she finally showed up, I've deleted the pages of dreck, and the story is moving along like it's supposed to. You'd think that after writing as many books as I have that this would be a predicitable, well-worn path with no time-wasting obstacles, but it never seems to work that way <grin>.

March 27, 2008

The short story for Wolfsbane and Mistletoe is done, Cry Wolf is done except for looking over the page proofs in a month or two, and I'm way behind on the next Mercy book, Bone Crossed.

I've been behind the 8-ball for so long it's starting to feel normal. One of the strangest parts of being moderately successful as an author is that I suddenly have to think, at least a little bit, like a businesswoman. I am under contract to deliver a product, which other people depend on being available at a specified time. I'm trying to balance a budget, do some promotion, answer some of my email, attend conventions and still produce a product in a timely fashion.

However, writing is an artistic pursuit, as I've so often explained to my exasperated husband. If I'm stressed about deadlines or worried about putting a certain number of words on the screen every day, the creative part of my brain shuts down. The creative part of my brain thrives on tranquility, long walks, staring blankly out windows and occasionally sleeping in. It's also apparently allergic to stress. It doesn't like to worry about word counts or production schedules.

In the early days of my writing career I worked in my spare time. No schedule to worry about. Writing was a way to relax and refocus after a crazy day at work. Now it is the crazy day at work. Don't get me wrong, it's absolutely wonderful to be able to devote my time to writing. It's a dream come true. But I suspect even Cinderella eventually found that the prince snored, or that he wouldn't put the cap back on the toothpaste. Every opportunity is also a challenge.

So, I'm learning to live with a slightly split personality. I need to be responsible and businesslike. I need to be dependable, trustworthy, and deliver the goods I've promised. At the same time, I need to cater to my unpredictable, irresponsible, carefree creative side if I don't want the resultant book to feel like it was cut from Styrofoam. Trying to be creative when a deadline is long passed is a little like trying to ignore the fact that you're sitting on a tack. Practice makes perfect, they say, and I'm getting better at it. The next Mercy book isn't as far along as I'd like, but it's coming, and it feels good so far.

The Dabel Brothers, who do some absolutely amazing graphic novels, have agreed to do a series based on my Mercy Thompson novels. In fact, the series will start with a four-part original miniseries. I'm so excited about this project. The official press release is on newsarama. I'm very excited about this project. I'm also a little scared -- both of the Dabel brothers seem to be intelligent, sane people. However, they've asked me to write the text for the graphic novels -- and I know nothing about graphic novels except how to write them. They're providing lots of hand-holding, but if you'd seen my stick-figure art you'd join me in wondering just how sane they really are. On the other hand, the early art samples I've seen are amazing, and it won't be my stick figures in the final publication! Maybe there's hope after all.