Worth a Thousand Words

Except when I'm in hand to hand combat with a manuscript, I'm not often at a loss for words, a good thing for a writer.  But my husband threw me for a real loop this weekend, and here's why.

It was my birthday.  I don't advertise; really, after a certain age, the day's like any other, and since I'm always working anyway . . . no big deal.  The husband normally gets me something nice, but I've noticed this trend in recent years where he'll take me along and have me pick out my own present.  Honestly, that feels both kind of mercenary (oh, goody, what can I make him cough up now?) and lazy.  You mean, you're telling me that after almost 30-odd years of marriage, you STILL haven't caught a clue?

So I was kind of pissed when, a week ago, he and I were having this conversation--he was away at a meeting--and all of a sudden, he has this Bart Simpson moment: <DOH!>  Your birthday's next week!  Because, of course, he'd been too busy to think about a gift and so would I please go with him to this nice art gallery from which we've gotten stuff in the past and maybe pick out something I like?

Oh, I was so burned.  First off, I really wasn't in the mood for this crap.  I'm in the middle of a book; I'm working; can't you see I'm working?  Second . . . look, bub, I've figured out what you like, so give it two seconds' thought and see what you come up with.

But he just wouldn't let it go.  In fact, when I hadn't complained for a day, he'd bring it up again, just to annoy me.  I even bitched to my kids, and I never do that.  I was steamed.  Like, GAWD, you need me to connect the dots?

Anyway . . . so Saturday rolls around.  I get up extra early--we're talking 5:30 a.m.--just so I'll have a couple hours to work before we have to schlep south to Milwaukee.  Of course, he'd made this big production of having called the gallery owner, who's pulled some stuff we might like . . . I can't convince this guy that I don't want a damn piece of art; I want to stay home and work on my book!

We get there.  I happen to like this particular gallery, the Tory Folliard.  Tory's a lovely woman; her assistant, Christine, actually turned me on to a great collection in London.  The gallery's introduced me to some wonderful artists: Tom Uttech (a really nice, down-to-earth guy who doesn't live all that far away, so I've been out to his place; love hearing him talk about his art.  I mention him in The Sin-Eater's Confession and blogged about him here);

Brook Slane;

Robert Cocke;

Harold Gregor;

Laurie Hogan;

Cathy Martin;

and many others. 

So we hug.  We schmooze.  I mean, I don't hate these people; I just want to go home and work.  Christine wants to know if I want some tea.  We browse the new landscapes show (it really is a stunner), but I have to tell you: I am so outta there in five minutes. 

But I'm sort of relaxing.  We're looking at a Gregor. who's famous for his flatscapes--Obama has one--but broke his arm years back and so taught himself to paint left-handed.  His art really changed, and I honestly didn't care for it.  But after years of practice, his form's tightened up, and I'm starting to enjoy what I see.

But I am still so outta there.  I have no time for this bullshit.

So then Tory's taking us into this other room, and there are some nice pastorals by Kathy Hofman,

some photographs . . . "And then we have this really wonderful piece here," Tory says, pointing to the wall immediately behind me which, of course, I didn't see when I came in.

So, being a nice, essentially polite person (and still so outta there in five minutes), I turned--and saw this:

I am not often speechless. 

I don't normally burst into tears. 

I certainly don't cry for ten minutes straight--long enough that Christine came in with tissues and tea, and then Tory and Christine disappeared so I could hug my husband and weep on his shoulder.

I find out that my husband cooked up this idea a year ago, right around the time I was finishing up MONSTERS.  He knows what this series meant to me; he understands what it's been like for me to live and breathe just about every waking moment with these characters for the last four years.  So he set out to make a piece of art that was uniquely mine; that no one else had and yet would have meaning for me; and he enlisted Tory to help him make this all happen.

That painting: there's my work.  There are  the editions in the many countries where my story's found readers who've, in turn, found me (not all; I apologize in advance to my Turkish fans, but I had no say in  what books were chosen, guys; this was all on the down-low).  The husband tells me that I actually did notice something was up because, months ago, I was looking for the Spanish edition and couldn't find it.  He made some excuse: the dog ate it . . . or maybe that was a cat . . . or a kid took it to school.  I finally broke down and bought another copy for myself before my original mysteriously turned up.  Come to find that he was sneaking books from my shelves this whole year and taking them down to Milwaukee, to the artist he'd chosen, Jeffrey Ripple. 

The original painting was supposed to be of my website, and then Jeff--whom I've not met but my husband says he's the nicest, most talented guy--tried sketches and prelims based on the first book.  And then, somehow, the painting morphed into what it is.

And there is one in-joke, something that only I and the husband would know.  Look closely at the left side of the painting, that edition, Les Cendres. 

Guys, that's French.  But there is no French edition.  (Why?  Qui sait?)  Yet there it is, with back jacket copy, in French (done by Jeff's girlfriend) and a picture of me from waaay back when the husband and I were still in our dating days.  Yeah, me, on a hike (natch) and in the Shenandoahs, with autumn leaves tucked in my hair and that blue flannel shirt.

And on the back is this:

Not written.  Painted.  You can't see them, but even the lines on the fake label are painted.  (And the sentiment--that, perhaps in some other multiverse, there is a French edition--is just so perfect, given what I'm writing now.)

So.  This is a birthday I will not forget, and a wonderfully romantic gesture from a man who understands and supports me, and whom I have loved and will love forever.

Even if he won't let me have four cats.

A Hike Through MONSTERS

On my blog last week, I took us through some of the mines that inspired my take on Rule's mine in SHADOWS.  Do check that out if you're into arcane effluvia, like gold mining in Michigan (for real, folks).  This week, though, we look at a couple real locales that figure prominently in MONSTERS: Houghton, MI and Isle Royale.

Houghton really is a college town, home to Michigan Tech University. 

The Keweenaw Peninsula was also very big in terms of copper mining back in the day, and as I pointed out in my SHADOWS post last week, you can still visit the old Quincy Copper Mine and Hoist.  After a day of touring around (or to give you that necessary jumpstart), you can't go wrong with a great cuppa at the Cyberia Café,

whose owner was nice enough to open up early for a caffeine-deprived writer AND let her hang out on his internet because hers wasn't working.  And that brownstone synagogue Tom talks about near the end?  Yup, Temple Jacob, with its very beautiful copper dome, is there, too--

to the right of the lift bridge.

Michigan Tech's real claim to fame is that the university's home to the Isle Royale Wolf and Moose Project, the longest running, continuous study of predator-prey populations in the world.   Over forty miles long, Isle Royale is isolated and remote, the largest island in the largest inland lake in the world, and a place you really have to want to get to.  Most people come by ferry (about 5 1/2 hours from Houghton, 1 1/2 from Thunder Bay, Ontario, or 3 hours and change from Grand Portage, MN),

or--if you can scrape together the change and spring for it--about 45 minutes from Houghton by seaplane (after a 5 1/2 hour drive to the town).

There is nothing on Isle Royale other than a very small National Park Service lodge (with a grill and tiny restaurant), a lookout tower, a former fish farm (and a place that Rolf Peterson, one of Isle Royale's premiere wolf researchers, calls home)

some cottages from the days before the island was made a national park,

a couple water taxis, the research station (on the southwestern tip of this forty-mile long island), and a whole lot of backcountry with some of the most spectacular scenery and fabulous flora and fauna you'll ever see.

 

Why do research here?  In brief, the island's home to a number of isolated populations, and research has focused on moose and wolf populations, beginning back in the 1950s.  Now, moose can swim between the mainland and the island, but wolves can't.  So how did they get there in the first place?   Ice bridges: Lake Superior typically freezes over at least a few days every year, although the thickness of this ice varies from a few centimeters to several inches (enough to support vehicles on an "ice highway" between Bayfield, WI and Madeline Island).  Animals can cross ice bridges if they're thick enough, which is how the wolves got to the island in the first place.  Unfortunately for them, the last ice bridge anywhere thick enough existed between Thunder Bay and the island happened in 1985.  So the wolves are trapped, making them a pretty interesting population for study, and one that's been as high as 24 individuals in three different packs to where they are now: just eight wolves, in two packs, with a single female in a three wolf pack (The West End Trio), another three wolf pack (Chippewa Harbor) and two loners (one of which might be a female).  There's been lots of debate on whether or not we ought to interfere to save the population.  In a way, we already have; the wolves were decimated by parvovirus brought over by a tourist's (illegal) dog; and in 2012, a stunning seven wolves (including a female) died, three of them after falling into an abandoned copper mine shaft that has since been closed off.   So things have looked pretty bleak for the wolves. As I recall, either no pups were born or survived as of two years ago--but researchers at Michigan Tech have recorded evidence of a few pups this past year.   Study on these populations is year-round, but the most fruitful time for wolf study is during the winter, when there's no one on the island other than the researchers; Jon Vucetich, a wildlife ecology from Michigan Tech, leads the team and did a lovely series of blog entries on the research for the New York Times in 2012.

On the other hand, if you ever want to get into the act, you can volunteer to scrounge for moose bones during the Summer Research Season (but bring plenty of mosquito repellant).

Me, I just like to lace up the boots and hit the trails.

Because really, with vistas like this, no wonder Peter decided that, for him, this was heaven on Earth.

Trekking Through the ASHES Trilogy

I remember reading a scathing review of DRAW THE DARK a couple years ago where the person got all upset because I clearly hadn’t done my research or else I would know that Winter, WI (a real town, and a very nice one) is not even close to Milwaukee.  I think the person also complained that you couldn’t see Lake Michigan from there either, but I haven’t gone back to check because life is too short to indulge in masochism.

What I recall, though, is being a little ticked off because clearly the person hadn’t bothered reading my acknowledgements where I flat-out say that the Winter I describe in the book is not based on the real Winter, WI.  Really, I just loved the name and decided to go with it.  But that was my first clue that people take these things seriously, and I do understand that you need a certain amount of verisimilitude, particularly if you’re going to talk about a place, and most especially if the setting is a key determinant of the narrative’s direction.

I think it was Ben Winters talking about Concord, NH, the setting for his Last Policeman series, who said he really wanted folks to have a mental map of that town so that if they ever went, they could stand on a street corner and say, Yep, there’s thus and such.  People take Hobbiton tours and any number of Lord of the Rings tours; you can walk through the London neighborhoods where Holmes prowled, or—if your tastes are tad more modern—walk the beat around Lower Manhattan with Stabler and Benson from on Law & Order: SVU.

What we’re talking about here, of course, is setting.  Setting puts characters in context and, IMHO, ought to be treated as a character in its own right.  For me, if I can’t visualize or don’t know where my characters are, I really can’t construct them to be as real as possible.  People react to setting as much as they react to situation and other people, and in fact, setting can create situations and act to bring people into narratives.  Settings become so important that not only do people want to see where their favorite characters lived, but you--the writer--may even create a place your readers want to see for themselves.

I get a fair amount of fan mail about the ASHES trilogy, and many fans do ask about the places I mention in the books.  (I’m always particularly thrilled when folks who live in Wisconsin or Michigan say that they recognize a lot of what I’m talking about, even when it’s fictional, as the town of Rule is.)  But much of ASHES is based on real places, and so I thought that, over the next couple of weeks, I would take you on a bit of a guided tour through a few of the places mentioned in each book of the trilogy.  This way, if you’re ever in the neighborhood, you can decide for yourself just how accurate my descriptions are.  If they aren’t, please . . . don’t tell me.  It ain't called literary license and fiction for nothing.

ASHES
Sheboygan, WI: Yes, there really is a Sheboygan.  There are actually two; the other’s in Michigan.  The Everly Brothers did, indeed, write a hit song entitled, “Mention My Name in Sheboygan,” and it’s quite the catchy tune.

Alex's Aunt Hannah hails from here (and, yup, there are scads of Lutherans; Lake Wobegone hasn't got them all), and it's a beautiful place, right on Lake Michigan.

 

In the past, Sheboygan was a big manufacturing town for, of all things, chairs and ships.   I’m not kidding.  But it’s also heavily German, and so one of the other things it’s known for are its brats, something about which the New York Times wrote a nice article.  The places they list to get great brats?  Still here, and yes, Miesfield's makes brats to die for.  Purists soak them in beer first, and I’m completely okay with that . . . except it does seem like a waste of a good beer.


Rule, MI—Sorry, there is no Rule.  There are, however, scores of small towns that were wholly given over to mining (iron and copper), lumber, or grist milling once upon a time and which dot the Upper Peninsula.  There are six big iron-rich regions (ranges) in the area and one, the Gogebic, runs through the western part of the U.P. and into northern Wisconsin, and is where I envisioned Rule. Most MI mining these days is kaput, although there are a few active taconite mines.  Wander through any of these smaller towns, and you get a sense for how they were once quite well-to-do but fallen on very tough times.  Go through a tiny town with single traffic light or a four-stop at its center, and you’ve got Rule, in terms of what it once was, nailed.  Or tour through one of the U.P.'s many mining ghost towns for a taste of how busy and developed this area once was. (Fayette's fun while Mandan, a copper mining town in the Keweenaw Peninsula and further east and north than where I envisioned Rule, is downright spooky.) 

The region’s awash in mining history, too.  In the first book, I mention an iron mining museum, and there is a fabulous one in Iron Mountain, MI, where you can, indeed, ride an ore cart about 2600 feet underground into this drift mine.  (Yes, I’m jumping a little ahead of myself here since a mine doesn’t really become a “character” until SHADOWS, but let’s just go with it for a second.)  In case you can’t make it all the way to visit Big John himself, you can always watch this video of the entire tour.

As I recall, I believe that Alex mentions a big Cornish pump.  If she didn’t, shame on her, because this contraption, based in Iron Mountain, is an amazing piece of machinery.  Mines filling up with water was/is a huge problem in the area, and the pump, designed for the Chapin Mine, is the largest steam-driven pump in the United States and one of the largest in the world.  At the height of its operations, it removed about five million gallons of water (yes, that is million with an m) every day.  You can see, then, where I’m going with this and how I got the idea for stuff that happens later in the trilogy.  Anyway, if you’re in the neighborhood, you should stop by for a look-see.  There’s also a very nice iron mining museum right alongside.


 The Waucamaw Wilderness—nope, sorry, no Waucamaw either.  But there is the Porcupine Mountains Wilderness State Park—the Porkies, to those of us who love them—that run right into and up to Lake Superior, and I used them as the models for the Waucamaw.  Having hiked them a fair amount, I can tell you that what they may not have in height (these are pimples compared to the Shenandoahs, the White Mountains, you name it), these aren’t easy either.  My favorite treks include Lake of the Clouds,

the view  of Lake Superior from Summit Peak,

anywhere along the Presque Isle River and its gorgeous waterfalls,

Government Peak and Mirror Lake,

And loads more.  But nothing beats Lake Superior at sunset.  This photograph by Steve Perry really does capture just how breathtaking and magical this place is, too.

Next week, we wander through SHADOWS.

And a final note: only five days left to enter for your chance at a signed copy of MONSTERS and an ASHES backpack.  It's easy; just click the Goodreads link, on the right, top of the page!

Letting Go

The other day, someone asked how finishing a trilogy felt.  Sad came to mind although I wasn’t sure if that was exactly what I meant.  Empty is more like it, I guess, but I feel that way after any book, so finishing a trilogy isn’t all that different for me.  It’s one of the reasons that I make like a shark and keep moving on to the next project.  In truth, I didn’t feel quite as sad/empty after SHADOWS because I knew there was more to the story and yet another book to come.  (But I was plenty grumpy; just ask the husband how relieved he was when I started WHITE SPACE.) With MONSTERS now out, there’s a certain finality, a true closing of that chapter, and I feel the end—and loss—of this series much more intensely than I thought I would.  I wouldn’t say it’s more than my standalones; I know that I always wonder what happens next for all my characters.  But leaving this series is definitely tough—and more so, now that it’s actually on shelves. 

I’ve never finished a trilogy before, so I really wasn’t prepared for just how intense the ride and loss are.  Notice that word: finished.  Once upon a time, back in my Mechwarrior days, I was on tap for a trilogy; I’d even written the first two books and was looking forward to the third.  Unfortunately, the line disappeared beneath my feet (or my keyboard, as it were).  That happens.  Imprints go away; licenses aren’t renewed; publishers fold.  I remember being sad then, too, but in a different way because I really wanted to finish this character’s story.  All I could think was, whoa, there she is, little Katana Tormark, with only one friend left to her in the whole wide world . . . and it just so happens that he’s also the psychopath who murdered just about everyone she ever loved.  (God, I loved that psychopath to death.  Jonathan was a gas, so flippin’ fun to write, because he was so perverse.  I mean, we’re talking really really perverse, and in the most deliciously seductive way.  When I was a forensic shrink, I paid attention.)

Talk about an unfinished life.

The same thing happened to me with a character arc and set of stories I was developing—and had already set up in previous novellas—in the Star Trek: SCE series.  Never heard of them?  I’m not surprised.  SCE was e-book only (with compilations released in paperback a year later).  The series editor, Keith DeCandido, understood the importance of e-books before they really caught on, and so the series fell victim to the fact that there just weren’t many platforms and the experience wasn’t so hot.  I think you could read them as pdfs or something; I know I squinted through several on my first little Palm Pilot.  (And how times have changed; go back and watch the first two seasons of NCIS, and see Kate poke her Palm with a stylus.  A decade ago, that was hot stuff.)  Anyway, that series was ahead of its time in so many ways, and was eventually axed by Paramount, even though the paperbacks did fine (and, in fact, the one in which my two-parter, WOUNDS, appeared did extremely well in paperback, and still does pretty fine, all things considered).

Anyway, because Paramount pulled the plug, the fabulous four-book arc I was planning and set up in the WOUNDS sequel/follow-on, GHOSTS never got off the ground.  So Elizabeth Lense remains strained on Earth, a character in limbo—and still pregnant, by the way—and now I’ll never know what happens because I can’t write that character’s story anymore.  She belongs to Trek, not me.

But these ASHES guys are my characters, my babies.  So I guess what we’re talking about here is when and if you finally let go and a character—or characters—leaves your life, which isn’t all that dissimilar to letting go of a kid, a sort of go forth, young man kind of thing.  Some author-parents are better at tolerating that empty nest than others.  Me, I fill the emptiness with other stories and new kids to worry about.  But I can see how, as often happens, writers want to revisit these characters and the story to which they’ve got this incredibly intense attachment.  I’ve certainly read blogs where writers talk about how they wish they could’ve written a fourth book (or more), only their publisher wouldn’t take it, or whatever.  Conversely, I’ve seen a few reviewers’ blogs—not many, but some—where they say, up-front, that they hope that an otherwise fine writer moves on to something new and different.

I’m only talking about myself here, but I think I can understand both sides to this story: the desire to continue versus the need to let go and leave the story as it stands.  I even understand the calculus of an editor or publishing house.  Clearly, if there truly is more to say—or a series has velocity and a writer has the enthusiasm and more story to tell (I think we all know series where there was no more story, but the series was doing so well, that people just kept coming back to that well; and, conversely, how a series was left to quietly die by a house when the story wasn’t even close to being done)—then, yes, writing that next book makes sense.  In a traditional house, you might even have had that discussion with an editor ahead of time, maybe as soon as you realized there was more to say and do.

But I also think—and, again, I’m only talking about myself here—that, after doing what you set out to do, you have to be able to step away for a little while and just wait a bit.  Be patient; let things settle down and all the emotions even out.  Sure, it’s hard.  It hurts.  You feel awful and even worse when people tell you how much they love what you’re doing (and you’re convinced, as I am so often, that you’ll never write anything half that good again).  But it’s a little like deciding whether you’ll call your kid every week, or leave it up to your kid to decide what she wants.  I have two kids; one likes to touch base every week; the other is perfectly happy to talk for hours, but she’s also fine with zero contact for a good long while—and that’s okay.  I’ve left all that up for each to decide what fits best.  I’m confident they’ll talk to me when I want, and vice versa.

So I guess what I’m trying to say is that if and when a writer feels the need to revisit a series . . . maybe it’s wise to decide if that’s what the series wants and needs, whether you self-pub or go the traditional route.  Obviously, it’s a lot easier to jump into another book if you self-pub; you don’t have to wait for someone to decide it’s okay. 

But . . . hold on . . . wait a second: are you doing it because the series is just begging for another book, or you are?  I’m serious here.  See, I said good-bye to MONSTERS several months ago: there was the writing of the book and then the revisions and then the copy-edits back and forth.  A lot of months of getting myself all worked up and then crashing every time I finished the book (again) before picking myself up, blowing my nose, and moving on.  Now that it’s hit shelves . . . I’m having to really focus on not looking over my shoulder, not longing for that series—which feels so much more polished (because it is) than the miserable specimen of a book I’m currently drafting for the first time—and not giving in to the idea/temptation/desire to go back to characters I adore and lives with which I am so intimately familiar.  It’s a real struggle.

Now, is there another ASHES book (or two or more) in me?  I want to say yes; I even know what the fourth book would be about and where I’d go from there.  But will I write it?  No, not now and for more reasons than just one.  First off, I have other people/characters/kids I care about, and their books to write.  But I also understand that returning to the trilogy right this second is seductive because it’s familiar and I’m so comfortable with these kids.  Yet I’m not totally convinced that, at the moment, they’ve picked up the phone; that they’re actually dialing and trying to connect.  Before I return, I need to be sure that they’ve called me because they need me . . . not the other way around.

So, for now, let’s say that the next move is up to them.  

***
Before you go: don't forget to enter the Goodreads giveaway for both a signed copy of MONSTERS and a nifty ASHES backpack stuffed with some nice survival gear.  Give my kids a home, why doncha?

Oh, and in the spirit of moving on . . .  a bunch of you chimed in on those profile pics (and thanks; it was interesting to hear how people respond to a picture).  Anyway, as you can see . . . I've changed the pic because, honestly you really do want to stay away from my cheese.

 

Facial Recognition

As you recall, two weeks ago I posted about an upcoming book whose cover seemed to take its cue from the ASHES series.  This week, I'd intended to follow up with more examples of just how important a distinctive look is for any series author and talk, in very general terms, about branding,  the importance of both establishing a series "look" as well as cueing readers to the genre in which a book falls--because we all know this, right?  That covers follow genre conventions?  Yes?  Anyway, I had all these great covers for Lee Child's Reacher series lined up--but then, Kristine Kathryn Rusch beat me to it.  As always, her entire entry is worth reading; she covers not only this topic but the Patricia Cornwall court case; stats on kids' reading habits (good news for both ebook and print devotees, and to which from my n of two kids, I can personally attest is absolutely true); and--one more time--the importance of sustained and determined effort to writerly success.

Kris's comments and examples of branding follow her discussion of the Cornwall case, and to be honest . . . I really don't have much to add.  Clearly, her comments have more valence for those writers who are putting their own work out there, but I've certainly noticed how much the various overseas ASHES covers, which I posted about here, play into both a) prevalent trends in YA lit and b) romance conventions.  Neither observation is surprising given that many YA readers are female.  Anyway, the point is that if you're going to put out your own stuff, creating a distinctive style--a cover signature as it were--while also cuing potential readers as to genre expectations will not only help your fans find you but also alert new readers about what to expect when they crack open or download that book.  (Oh, and her point about the importance of interior design?  Also worth reflection: I can't tell you the number of times I've actually tried to read a particular book I would really LIKE to like--no, I won't tell you which one--only to give up because the interior design makes the bloody thing unreadable.  So not only will I probably never read it, I won't recommend the book to anyone either.)

Anyway, like I said, hop on by Kris's site; read what she has to say.  All true, and if I were putting out my own books at the moment, I would seriously consider signing up for that online design course both she and her husband, Dean Wesley Smith, offer.  Guys, you could do way, way worse.  These people know their stuff.