Girls & Monsters Halloween Giveaway

It's no secret: autumn is my favorite time of year, especially because of Mother Nature lashing out her brightest colors before killing everything for winter. And then there's Halloween, the celebration of the Dead and the Un-Dead. So pretty the skulls and spiders adorning the neighborhood, the pumpkin grins and the skeleton dances, so inspiring for future stories to come.

 

 

And so I want to spread the dark joy of scaring people, of making people squeal in disgust and hide in fright by giving away a signed copy of my collection of dark tales for young adult, Girls & Monsters, as well as The Monsters Collection of Skellies. Of course, I won't be celebrating alone, so please visit my fellow Coffin Hoppers blogs and websites for other scares and goodies by clicking the sexy zombies, up above.

*Girls & Monsters Giveaway*

1st prize winner gets a signed copy of Girls & Monsters plus The Monsters Collection of Skellies, made by moi.

2nd prize winner gets a digital copy of Death By Drive-In, an anthology featuring stories written by 24 horror authors/Coffin Hoppers.



To participate, click here: a Rafflecopter giveaway

Beginning on Octobre 24th and ending on Halloween at midnight (east), the contest is international, the winners will be picked by ramdom.org, and the prizes shipped the next day. Good luck♥

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.

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.

 

When Story Comes Together

This will be short and sweet, just a nice little bon mot I want to share.  This may not seem like much either, but trust me: the moment itself was huge.  

Earlier this week, my Egmont USA editor, Greg Ferguson, and I were going over his comments on MONSTERS, the last book in the ASHES trilogy, and we'd been on the phone a good hour and a half before finally getting around to talking about the last scene and sequence.  Greg asked a great question about how I wanted people to feel when all was said and done; I told him; and then he mentioned that, well, he thought that was true and the tone was nearly there, but he really suggested that we needed to look at this one sentence about three, four paragraphs from the very end.  I was a little puzzled because it seemed like a perfectly fine line to me.  But then he read the line out loud a couple times, and it was very strange . . . but hearing it come out of someone else's mouth really was a lightbulb moment.  I realized then that he was onto something; there was something not quite right about the sentence, although I was darned if I knew what it was.

So we played around with the sentence, pulling it apart, looking at all the words.  I wish I could say that  I figured it out first, but it was Greg who said, "Well, what if we get rid of the word but?  Change it from a conditional to an affirmation, something positive."  So he did just that, read the sentence back--and damn, if that one little word wasn't the make-or-break moment.  Simply brilliant.

Why do I even dwell on this?  Why is it worth tucking away as one of those fabulously collaborative moments that, all too often, we don't let ourselves experience?  Because: sometimes I think writers can get proprietary, losing sight of the huge contribution a very good editor can make toward shaping a manuscript.  I know a ton of writers who get all torqued when editors come at them with revisions or comments.  I've already admitted that, yes, the first edit letter I ever got from Greg made me collapse into a weeping puddle of goo because it was so detailed, I thought the guy truly hated what I'd written.  It took my husband to observe that, you know, the guy loved the series or he wouldn't have bought it; and another pro writer friend to point out that an editor who invested this much into producing such detailed notes and questions was a) rare and b) someone from whom I could learn a great deal.

If there's one thing I've repeated over and over again and in many different venues, it's this: not every word deserves to live.  A writer has to be ruthless when it comes to editing out extraneous stuff, and I'm pretty good when it come to throttling up my weed-whacker.  Normally, I'll kill about 15-20% of a final manuscript.  I'd like to think that I catch every errant word, but of course, I don't.  No one does.  But I guess I'm fixated on that single moment as a terrific example of what working with a gifted editor can be: not dictatorial but collaborative.  An editor like Greg is not only going through a manuscript with a flea comb; he's not only interested in pacing.  He's interested in how a book will make people feel.  He's invested in clarity.  We agonized over one bloody line because we both wanted the message to come across in a very particular way.  This wasn't about killing a word; it was about reinforcing an emotion.  

Now, am I saying that we let editors rewrite our work?  No.  Do we always agree?  Of course not.  Yes, we spin the stories.  Yes, sometimes it can feel as if the comments are nits and silly; I can always tell when Greg's getting punchy from the tone of a question, and we're comfortable enough with one another now that I can kid him about it, too.  

So, yeah, stick to your guns; defend your work because, when push comes to shove, no one cares as much about your book as you.  But always remember, guys: The best editors are, first and foremost, tremendous readers, people who want to be swept away into that perfect moment when story comes together and language does not fail.