Limitless

No this is not a post about that new movie starring Bradley Cooper (although - yay, Bradley Cooper!)

At my household of late we've been watching the X-Files, which I missed when it was on back in the day because at that point in my life my scare tolerance was about a 2 on a 1 - 10 scale (1 The Dark Crystal, 10 being The Shining). Over time I've scaled up to around an 8 with a few variables thrown in. I enjoy a good fright, but still have no tolerance for gore. All of this adds up to me rounding up films and television shows that were once upon a time too scary for me, but am now devouring as quickly as I can find them.

I was thinking about why I particularly love the X-Files, which lead to more broad speculation about sci-fi and fantasy - which I'll always take over other genres - and why I'm mind-boggled when encountering people who say "I just don't like fantasy."

And that's that. It's not that they haven't found the right type of fantasy. This group of people don't like any kind of fantasy. They don't even like Harry Potter (fantasy blasphemy!!)

I've run into many such persons in the course of my life, and now that I'm writing fantasy I encounter even more usually in the contest of "I'd like to read your book, but I don't like fantasy. Will you write something else?" *facepalm*

The X-Files finally brought me around to an answer to this conundrum of speculation-haters. In the series Agent Fox Mulder engages in a constant tug of war with Agent Dana Scully. Mulder searchers for evidence of the fantastic in the world: ghosts, magic, monsters and, of course, aliens. Scully is the skeptic, always demanding fact and scientific proof and hoping to explain away through reason what on the surface appears impossible.

I think the population might be divided up into Mulders and Scullys: and it's all about competing visions of one's ideal world. Hailing from the Mulder camp I look at the world as full of possibility. And what terrifies me is the idea that all our imagining could be explained away. I don't want to live in a world where the magical and mystical have no traction, where miracles don't exist. That is what I'm afraid of.

Scullys are the opposite, finding comfort in a world that has boundaries that are fixed, rules that will not be broken. I don't mean this post as a criticism of said persons - only that I think I'm finally understanding their worldview and how radically divergent it is from my own.

These oppositional approaches to the world are based largely in fear. What is more frightening: a world where the fantastic and frightening may exist, or where they can be proven not to?

When asked why I write fantasy I often answer it's because of the freedom. I write to create worlds that explore things unseen, that test the limits of possibility.

I want to live in a world that is limitless. I want to believe.

Retreat

I'm not posting as often as usual - apologies - but it's because I've entered the wonderful, all-consuming world of THE FIRST DRAFT.

As I've discussed before, my brain gets hijacked by my novels, making life for me and those around me rather difficult. I knew I'd truly entered the writing zone when I drove 30 minutes west on Hwy 94 when I needed to be going east.

I was late for my appointment and I know there's more shenanigans where that came from.

It's worth it though, for the sake of the story.

What am I writing?

The fourth book in the Nightshade universe. Same world, different characters and VERY different time and place. This book is set in the 1400s, mostly in Scotland and uncovers the origins of the Witches War. I am loving it.

Lost in the book as I am, you may not see me as often as usual.

In the mean time, here's a teaser song from the Bloodrose playlist:

Know Your Worth

There’s quite angry (and occasionally bewildered) buzz afoot in the publishing realm due to one James Frey. For those of you asking “Who’s James Frey?” He gained notoriety a few years back because of his memoir, parts of which were fiction, and over which he got into a big kerfuffle with Oprah and the publishing industry at large. The feud created enough noise to generate a South Park parody.

Frey has, however, has cannon-balled back into the writing world with his new book packaging scheme Full Fathom Five. The first book created by this machine is I Am Number Four, a YA book that will soon be a film.

Today’s articles, however, are less about the book and film and more about the model Frey has created as a vehicle for his book/film/merchandise factory. He’s recruiting young authors to write for him under a profit sharing model. The writers sign on for a $250 payment and then receive 30 – 40 % of the overall profits (if there are profits).

At this point I start to squirm, there’s a lot to rant about but I don’t really want to go there. You can read the articles in the Wall Street Journal and New York and make your own judgments about Mr. Frey’s attitude and motivations. What I do want to say is this:

One of the most amazing things I’ve experienced as an author is meeting aspiring writers. Young, talented, creative people are so wonderful and full of enthusiasm. I am always honored to meet aspiring authors and to hear about their unique journeys.

The dream of being an author leads to a tough road full of waiting, rejection, and dejection. The part of Full Fathom Five that rankles me the most is that this publishing model targets hopeful young writers at their most vulnerable. Before you’re published that goal is the most elusive, shining thing in the world. And most writers would consider selling their souls to reach that goal. It’s hard to keep a reasonable perspective in that scenario. What Mr. Frey is doing is akin to offering moldy bread to a starving person. M.F.A. students want more than anything to be published, know that the scales are tipped against them, and they are likely drowning in debt. As one writer said, “It’s a crappy deal but it’s a great opportunity.”

I wonder if it is (an opportunity, that is, because the contract terms are heinous). The hard climb from unpublished to published with awesome agent author is so difficult because it takes time to find the right place for yourself as an author – both in the case of finding the best agent to represent you and the best house to publish your work. I am grateful each and every day that I have incredible agents at InkWell working for me and I know that they care about my well-being as an author and as a human being. They are concerned about my craft and my development as a writer, not just how commercial a book I can produce. My publisher, Penguin, treats me with respect and are equally invested in my journey as an author. You can’t put a price on those relationships; they are simply invaluable.

The book packaging model that Frey is touting as radical (I’m sorry, but since when is Fordism radical?) makes sense for someone who wants to become a juggernaut in publishing which is subject to the free market. That’s fair enough. Mr. Frey wants to build an empire - that's literally his business.

What I want to say to young and aspiring writers (of all ages) is know your worth. I will honestly admit there was a time when an offer like Mr. Frey’s would have seemed like a good bet to me because I was so hungry to be published. Now I know better, don’t let your talent be exploited. Find agents and publishers who are invested in you and who don’t just sell your ideas, but instead support your dreams.

You Can Take the Writer Out of the Story...

One of the most frequent questions I get is: Where do you come up with story ideas?

It's a difficult question to answer because I don't find the ideas - they find me. I've never had the experience of thinking "what should I write about" - ideas sneak up on me and once they grab hold, they don't let go. My life as writer reflects the way I move through the world, which is that I'm never quite fully here. Part of me is always looking around, watching, waiting, knowing the next idea will soon strike.

While this way of being is fantastic for my writerly self, it makes life difficult for those closest to me.You know how some people are really charismatic? Great listeners, the people that make you feel like you're the only other person in the world?

I will never be one of those people because I'm never fully present in a moment. It's both a strength and a flaw. The good of this is that I see the world in layers of possibility, the bad is that I can be distant and spacey with friends and family.

Case in point: about a month ago I was at a wedding of close family friends. The wedding took place at the Minnesota Arboretum. It was wonderful and beautiful.And I was totally fixated by this:
To run-of-the-mill Arboretum guests this structure was what it was toted as. A living sculpture.

For me? Pagan sacrificial hut. (Wicker Man, anyone?)I couldn't stop talking about it. I went from being totally freaked out by it, to fascinated, to demanding pictures.
This is a typical example of what life with Andrea is like. I can't have a conversation, or go on a trip without the world of story bleeding into the life I'm leading. In a way I'm always living with a foot in this world and a foot in the writing world.

So if I seem distracted, just keep this in mind: it's not you, it's me.

My Heart Aflutter!

I think one of the most thrilling moments for a writer is having another writer say nice things about one's book. *You like me! You really like me!*

When it is a phenomenal writer, like Cynthia Leitich Smith, the thrill quickly morphs into hyperventilation and fainting spells.

NIGHTSHADE just got its first blurb. From the amazing author of so many wonderful books, but most recently TANTALIZE and ETERNAL (raise your hand if you are so excited for BLESSED), and creator of the deep well of writing resources that is Cynsations.

“Filled with love, lust, action, suspense, and mayhem, NIGHTSHADE is a glittering dark gem. A finely-wrought, compelling tale of romance and treachery that artfully explores the relationship between loyalty and servitude.” -Cynthia Leitich Smith, author of TANTALIZE

Someone hand me the smelling salts. SWOON.

In the Arms of the (Fallen) Angel

Autumn is the perfect time for a ball. I'll be attending Willow Manor's fete.

In this dress.


My date: Patch from Hush, Hush. And no, you may not have the next dance with him. Happy release day, Becca!!

Fifty!

Fifty followers! Hooray (and thank you!) From my first post, I loved blogging (because hey, it's writing) but wondered whether anyone would ever read what I'd written. Thank you so much for sharing this journey with me. I sincerely hope each of you can say in the future "well, I was a follower before she was famous!" (See my last post on the danger of delusions - I'm not good at taking my own advice.)

Speaking of delusions, have just gotten news from editor Jill and publisher Michael about absolutely fabulous cover plans!! Top secret for now, but will share as soon as I'm able. Speaking of amazing, but creepy artistry check out this Wolf Parade video. Happy Wednesday!

Diagnosis: Delusion

Dreams are great - they're more than great, they're vital. However, sometimes we can let dreams morph into delusions that lull us into irresponsible procrastination (a little procastination is healthy) or steer us off a cliff into the chasm of unreasonable expectations.

My little post derives from a much bigger, and excellent, post by agent Holly Root. Holly describes a problem she sees among new writers that she calls "cart-before-the-horse-itis." First of all, big points for awesome virus name. Second, let's all take a big dose of reality check as Holly suggests.

I'm not a patient person (that's an understatement), but I'm experiencing necessary patience growing pains because writing and publishing require lots of time and patience. Without allowing for one's craft to develop, your readership to grow, your ideas to evolve and make even better books, a writer's delusions can end up a career train wreck. Writing is a way of life, not a manuscript, not a sale, not a signing. Dreaming is good, delusions get us nowhere.

From Here to There

Last Saturday I had the opportunity to meet one of my writing heroines, Maggie Stiefvater. Because she is so fabulous she is on an amazing book tour and had some stops in my city (she will soon be in London, continuing said book tour, ack! so jealous!!)

The reason I admire Maggie is not just for her beautiful prose and thrilling plots - she's also a startlingly impressive human being.

Take her post on the difficulties of becoming an author. When I signed with my agent and then got my book deal I felt as though I was walking on stars. I still feel that way. If I am so lucky as to be able to write books for the rest of my life I don't think that feeling will ever go away. But the star-filled life is also very hard. As Maggie points out there is doubt, there is rejection (lots of rejection), there is the sense that you might be crazy and that you may be the only person who understands why the dream of starwalks defines your very existence. It can be a lonely, lonely road.
But the choice to walk it belongs to you alone, and the reasons for which the path matters also belong to you alone. If you believe, that is enough. Listen to Maggie; after all, she's been on the New York Times bestseller list for several weeks now and still going strong. And...she just got a movie deal - ahem.

Known

I had a surprise left at my front door this morning. I looked at the package for awhile, shook it, and wondered what it could be. Who it was from. Or if I'd ordered something on amazon.com and forgotten about it (wouldn't be the first time).

Inside the box was this:

My fluffy Penguinlet was sent by my best friend from age 5, Katie. What was really profound about this oh-so-joyful and perfect surprise is that Katie lives in Madison and so she hasn't been around to see my twirling and chirping "I'm a Penguin! I'm a Penguin!" up and down the streets of Minneapolis since I got the offer.

But she knew. She always knows.

Katie understands why I need to write. She was there for the earliest scribblings. And she always believed in me. She still does.

Being truly known by another person is one of life's greatest delights; to be believed in when you no longer believe in yourself is what makes the journey possible. From my brother's assurance when my book went on submission, "Your book will sell, I have no doubt. There is no question of whether or not it will sell," to the constant response I received when I admitted I wanted to become a novelist, "Well of course. You've always been a writer. That's what you do." (And this coming from folks who haven't had regular contact with me since I graduated from high school!)

When my dream came true of going from aspiring author to author with a two-book deal I was greeted by the hugs and screeches of happiness from my family and friends.

Their elation made my own shine even brighter.

Sharing the excitement has been the highlight of this crossroads because the people who have been supporting me from the beginning are those who truly know what a victory it is. How long it has been a dream and how much it means to begin living it.

Thank you to everyone for believing, for knowing, for celebrating. This is only the beginning!

SQUEEEEEEE!!!!!!

I'm floating, floating, floating to the moon!

My wonderful and fabulous agents, Richard Pine and Charlie Olsen of Inkwell, have landed me a two-book deal with Penguin.

Happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy!!!! And thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you to family, friends, and wonderful writer folk who helped me get here.

Keep dreaming big dreams!!

Over the Pond

In a few short hours I'll be winging my way across the Atlantic (on a jet plane, alas I have yet to sprout wings). The next two weeks will see me pouring over very, very, very old books and manuscripts in the British Library.
I love London, and I've been fortunate to have spent a lot of time in this city. But the doldrums of grad school kept me away for half a decade and I'm eagerly awaiting my reunion with the sights and sounds of London town.

I'm staying in Bloomsbury and hope to pull on the lingering spirits of the Bloomsbury group for inspiration as I write and wander the streets.

From Whence We Came

It takes four hours to drive from Minneapolis to Ashland. When I'm alone I use this time to write. Of course I'm not literally writing (other drivers can stop screaming now), but I come up with many plot twists, key dialogue, and new scenes while listening to what my mother dubbed my "muse music" as the miles roll by.

When I'm not alone, I'm either listening to public radio and discussing current events or, in the case of the last trip home, playing games from childhood. Namely MASH. That's game the where you use a cryptic formula to scry your future, not unlike this.

Since my friend Casey and I had already gotten to adulthood we came up with a new twist on this slumber-party favorite, we created a chart that pulled together a movie using categories like "Who would play you?" "Who is the villain?" "Who directs?" "Who wrote the soundtrack?"

In my film I was played by Lauren Ambrose who had to fight Dracula with a slingshot while serenaded by the music of Tangerine Dream. So that's how it went, and it was loads of fun.

Being in my hometown always gets my mind churning over my life as a child and after revisiting the world of MASH, I started to wonder if the games we play as children don't predict our paths as adults.

My friends and I spent hours upon hours in the woods near my house. We invented innumerable worlds and characters and played out scenes in fantastic places from dusk till dawn.
Is the creative life one we start from the very beginning? Is it reflected in our childhood pursuits?

How did you play as a child?

From Toxic to Bliss?

There have been some interesting posts recently that discuss expectations, jealousy, and ideas about navigating the emotional rollercoaster that is the writing world.

Here's my two cents:

The ups and down of writing, revising, attempting to get an agent, get published, get reviewed, and the list goes on, inevitably produces the full range of human emotions from euphoria to rage to despondence. More often than not, this mental yuck will be directed at those of whom we're jealous or who we blame for our current dire-seeming circumstance.

Rather than hiding from these volatile feelings or pretending that we don't experience them, I think it's best to find productive ways to move through the toxic mire of envy and self-doubt to the Elysian fields of hope and confidence. To achieve this end requires conscientious, thoughtful traversing through one's own psyche.

When it comes to human relations I still don't think you can get much better than the golden rule: Do unto others as you'd have done unto you.

There's a reason this saying has been enshrined at the United Nations.

But even with the best of intentions, it's important to acknowledge and experience the emotions that come with the darker sides of writing life, namely rejection. So how can we rage without doing permanent damage?

I think I found the answer in the All-American Rejects song "Gives You Hell."

With this wickedly catchy song and what is perhaps the funniest video I've ever watched, the message is clear:
Yes you'll get angry, yes you'll be frustrated, yes you'll feel crazy, but at the end of the day it's all about walking a mile in the other person's shoes, knowing we're all in this together and that we're all human.

Notes from an Historian

I had the pleasure of hearing a plenary address from Laurel Thatcher Ulrich last evening. In the history world Ulrich is known for her work on early American women, and in particular her Pulitzer Prize-winning book, A Midwife's Tale.

Most people don't know that she's the person who coined the phrase: "Well behaved women rarely make history."

For all the accolades she's received Ulrich is an incredibly humble and gracious woman. In her remarks she had two points to offer that I thought were particularly salient to aspiring authors.

One: "You're not in this alone."

The writing world is a collaborative one. What would we do without families cheering us on, beta readers giving hard, but fair critiques, fellow bloggers sharing their experiences and aspirations, agents championing our work? Writing is often a solitary activity, but at the end of the day we're part of a community that we couldn't survive without.

Two: "You can't be rejected when you know you belong."

This point derives from the fact that Ulrich's prize-winning book examined the life of Martha Ballard, an eighteenth-century midwife whose existence had been dismissed as "unimportant" by historians for decades. Laurel Ulrich brought Ballard's harrowing experiences into the world at a time when women's history had barely drawn its first breath and still had many years to fight for the legitimacy of its existence.

Writers face rejection constantly. The mantra of authors, agents, editors, and writing gurus remains the same - keep writing. We write because we have to. We write because we know we belong. It will happen, keep writing, keeping dreaming.

And finally, in honor of Utah (where I'm at a conference for the weekend), I give you one of my favorite teen dance vids from bygone days when I had big hair and I wish you all "Something Good."

Into the Wild

It's official - my manuscript scampered off into the forest of editors TODAY in search of a happy, profitable home. (Commence nervous twitching now).

Charlie Olsen and Richard Pine of Inkwell are the agents who've put their stamp on the novel (thank you, thank you, thank you!); the agency has been amazing and I'm grateful for all the enthusiasm they have for my writing.

Wish me luck, folks, updates will appear on this blog. I'm not known for my patience, so waiting will be hard, but I do believe that dreams and wishes can come true. Waiting for the brightest of our hopes to take flight is well worth it.

Daydreams and Ferry Trips

I'm blogging from the homestead, Ashland, Wisconsin - small town settled on the South Shore of Lake Superior.

I'm here because my bathroom is currently being demolished. A leak had developed beneath the floorboards and had it gone any further, I might have ended up like this:

http://kstp.com/article/stories/S506173.shtml?cat=1

Fortunately, that crisis was averted, but I'm temporarily homeless but for the grace of my wonderful parents.

I dragged a fabulous colleague into the Northwoods with me and she's been an amazing companions. In the midst of academic hell this past year we found soul sistership; she dreams of creating films the way I dream of writing novels. Needless to say, we became fast friends.

Yesterday we boarded the ferry to Madeline Island and gazed out over the velvet blue expanse of Lake Superior. It was cold and spitting rain, but we still beamed and frolicked on the island.

We also plotted. And found a promise...a promise to ourselves and each other: To have that elusive site, the artist's retreat.

Someday we'll find an island or coastal hideaway in which to be our best creative selves. That making such a place a refuge amidst the obligations of life will be a priority and will help us realize our dreams.
Turning the eyes and mind heavenward to stretch toward dreams is both comforting and essential to the survival of an artist's soul. It helps to think of the ways we might best cultivate that side of ourselves, which the world so often smothers beneath harried tasks and mundane obligations.

What are your dreams of the future? What place or event would make your creativity take flight?

Acronym Dreams

Those of you connected to the book/writing world are probably, like me, all too aware that the BEA takes place this week.

Those readers not connected to said professions just collectively went "Huh?"

BEA stands for Book Expo America. This mammoth love fest for writers, publishers, and agents takes place in New York City and features exhibitions of shiny new books, with shiny debut authors, and their shiny autograph pens.

Does my tone sound a little snarky? It is (sigh), only because I am totally, totally jealous of everyone who gets to be at BEA this week and especially of the shiny writing debutantes. I soooooo want to be one of those chosen authors who gets their two-hour signing slot at their publisher's booth.

BEA also offers a chance to snatch up ARCs. ARCs are Advanced Review Copies - books that won't be out until later this year, but if you pay $700.00 (yes, that is the correct figure I've just typed) to attend BEA you are able to purchase ARCs before they become available to the masses.

The ARCs I really want to get my hands on are Maggie Stiefvater's Shiver and Guillermo del Toro's The Strain.

Moreover BEA presents a fascinating glimpse of the book industry. Now I know any mention of the "industry" side of writing and publishing makes most writers curl up into a fetal position and I can hardly blame them, but I do harbor a (morbid?) fascination with the juggernaut of agents, editors, publishers, and distributors congregation in a single frenzied space of days to make the printing world go round.

I'd like to see it. I hope someday I will and as a participant, not just a spectator.

On another note, my neighborhood is currently subject to a strange natural phenomenon: a cotton explosion.

In front of our home grows a massive cottonwood tree and at the same time each year it sends millions of fluffy white spheres into the air.
The atmosphere is so thick with parachuting seeds a glance out the window would make you think it's snowing in May (unfortunately in Minnesota that would not be a completely unheard of occurence, but thankfully in this case that isn't what's happening).
(Many thanks to Gwyn and Rocco for posing in this photo, under normal circumstances they'd be standing only on green grass rather than a layer of what looks like a cross between snow and dense cobwebs. Go spring!)

"A hope unreasonable and highly jarring..."

As a faculty member I'm expected to attend the annual commencement ceremony at the liberal arts college where I work.

I'm a new employee, and last year I skipped it.

I have a strong aversion to highly structured, large group activities. I hated school field trips and summer camp. I'm a loner. "Organized fun" is arsenic to my soul.

So I attended this year's graduation festivities with gritted teeth laced with a healthy dose of guilt at my own selfishness about my time (I had some really wonderful seniors this year and I was happy to see their accomplishments), though I think most writers are time-hoarders like myself.

For the most part it was what I expected. Platitudes, sentiment, congratulations. The unexpected came in the words of the college chaplain, who gave the invocation to the ceremony.

She asked that students move through the world with "a hope unreasonable and highly jarring." This phrase shook me out of my own thoughts and struck me as not only raw in its truth but profound in its timeliness.

The graduating class enters a failing job market and an unstable world. The keynote speaker at the commencement, a United Nations officer whose job takes him face to face with child soldiers in Africa, described the atrocities of war and a lost generation of children. Needless to say, his address was more sobering than inspiring.

In light of these truths, hope becomes unreasonable and the act of dreaming remains highly jarring. These dual processes, essential to a thriving soul, are all to elusive in a world that is often lonely, merciless, and alienating.

Writers are hope junkies. We have to be. We strive to create against the odds of getting an agent, being published, having success, one day making enough by writing in order to quit our day jobs.

We have hope that is always unreasonable and beliefs in our ability to continue this work that are always highly jarring. Our maladies are self-doubt, depression, despondency. We tread water amid high seas with stones chained to our ankles.

I mentioned in my last post that I was about to attend a reading by Rick Riordan. His visit was in a huge space that was brimming with children and parents, standing room only. I can't describe the elation I felt at seeing so many young boys and girls, hands stretched to heaven, waiting for their questions to be answered and shrieking with delight at discussion of their favorite characters from his books.

Riordan was a middle-school teacher for 15 years and at this reading he announced two new book series he's writing and that the movie of The Lightning Thief will be out this February.

In light of such impossible twists of fate an aspiring author might despair, could decide "that will never be me." But did I?

No.

My hope unreasonable and highly jarring remains to one day stand before an audience, like Riordan, and share the love of my books.

Sounds of the Seasons

Are there songs or albums you can only listen to at certain times of the year?

I'm not talking "Silver Bells" at Christmas or "Monster Mash" at Halloween here. The weather's gone all summer-like in Minneapolis and I'm suddenly itching for tunes that match the heat of the day. Why are certain sounds tied to seasons?

I always want to listen to Beck's Guero in the summer. And it feels wrong to listen to Bjork's Vespertine if there isn't at least frost on the ground.

I've written in the past about the diverse places from which my stories derive, but I've yet to mention the preeminence of music in my writing.

My books all have soundtracks - not just playlists, but actual soundtracks for the scenes that occurs. My characters also have what I'd dub "theme songs" that reflect their major traits and/or life situation.

One of the things I love most about music is the way a song can catapult me into a scene I've been writing or conjure up an entirely new scene or character.

Or sometimes, an entire book.

Like today, when I was driving home, windows down enjoying the gorgeous, sun-drenched afternoon when "Fresh Blood" from the Eels forthcoming album Hombre Lobo (June 2) came on the radio.

And I was immediately in the sequel to my novel. I've never heard this song before this afternoon and yet it encapsulates the spirit of the book and I was thrilled.

On a related note, sometimes I imagine how lovely it would be to have a book with a cover. Here are a couple dreamings of that ilk.