What’s with “Billy”?

Getting into Jamie’s head was far too easy. I’ve been him. I’ve lived through those days. And there are some phenomenal lines from Ricker here that perfectly capture the mindset of Jamie (and the everykid he represents). This story, part of Speaking Out!, is a perfect example of the anthology as a whole – LGBTQ youth tales from youth voices dealing with life the way it is for LGBTQ.

My friend and colleague ‘Nathan Burgoine gives a shoutout to my story “The Trouble with Billy” on his Red Room blog. I wrote the story while I was in the beginning stages of working on my next novel, The Unwanted, and started getting into the heads of not just Jamie, but also Sarah and Billy. As you might guess, since it’s a fantasy novel, things take a definite turn from this very much real-world story.

There are a lot of other good real-world stories in this anthology by writers like Sandra McDonald and Alex Jeffers. Check it out. Also, ‘Nathan is reading a short story a day this year, so take a look through his previous blog entries to get some of his recommendations. I’ve got a couple recommendations myself, which I’ll share later.

You can’t buy your mother’s love, but you can buy this story

I know we all hate (or are supposed to hate) self-promotion, but you know what I love to do? Write. I also like a good deal as much as anyone else, so here’s the deal. My story, “Maternal Instincts,” is on sale for 40% off over at Untreed Reads. That’s the cover over there on the right. It’s a story about a recently undead stay-at-home mom who’s just trying to keep her family together while she controls her new-found thirst for blood.

Or as I like to call her, a desperate housewife with fangs.

It’s only on sale until Mother’s Day, though, which is this Sunday. So get it while it’s cheap. (Granted, it’s only 99 cents regular price, but like I said, who doesn’t love a deal?)

Also, don’t forget to send your Mom a card, or at least call her this weekend, geez.

Staring down the barrel of the thesis, 750 words at a time

Now that this semester (and the first year) of grad school is over, I’m back home enjoying some down time with my partner and our dogs, and catching up with friends.

And working on my thesis.

At the moment, my goal is to finish my degree by next May. The project I’m planning for my thesis is a novel. I wrote a first draft of it back in 2010 and then put it in a drawer, and recently started coming up with an idea for a revision involving some of those characters. It would, however, be an almost completely new novel. So, yeah, knock out a draft by this fall and revise it in time for a May graduation date. Simple, right?

For a while, I tinkered with the idea of working on a collection of short stories for my thesis. This past year I wrote seven short stories in class, not to mention the stories I wrote for submission calls and the other ones that I started because they wouldn’t leave me alone. My slush pile has six or so finished stories, and three or four that are in my “working” file that might (I should heavily emphasize that word, “might”) be worth salvaging.

But, I really want to finish a draft of this novel. I feel like it’s time, and I don’t want to let myself off the hook.

Of course, I also have this idea for another novel that would more or less be a sequel to The Unwanted, which is coming out next March. So what I really need is a time turner so that, like Hermione, I can get more work done in the same amount of time. That, or I need a mad man in a blue box to come and give me a lift and find some extra time for me.

But one thing at a time. Between now and the end of August, a novel draft. One thing I learned this spring doing an informal weekly writing group with my friend Sugar is that I write well under deadline, even if that deadline is only 30 or 45 minutes. The thing about a novel (especially on a short deadline) is that I can easily become paralyzed by not knowing where to start when, in fact, starting anywhere is better than not starting at all.

My friend Laurie Ann tipped me off to a website called 750 Words. The idea’s simple: write 750 words, every day. It also keeps track of how long it takes you to write that, how many words per minute you type, how many times you’re distracted during your writing, and so on. It’ll even analyze your writing for things like mood and content. So far I can tell you that my novel is introspective, family-centered, depressing, and on the violent side. And I haven’t even killed off any of the characters.

Yet.

On her blog recently, writer Tayari Jones posted a list of goals (mid-year resolutions, if you will) that she wants to accomplish between Memorial Day and Labor Day. I like lists. If I were to make one, it would be:

1. Finish draft of thesis.
2. Finish short story for submissions call with September 1 deadline.
3. Lose another five pounds and get below 180 for the first time in a long time.

So that’s what I’m up to. What’re you working on this summer?

A reading and a panel at Saints & Sinners

As I mentioned before, I’ll be giving a reading in May at the Saints & Sinners Literary Festival in New Orleans. I always look forward to this conference, and I’m especially excited to be reading from my forthcoming novel (which I’ve also mentioned before and will likely mention again and again and again…) a YA fantasy titled The Unwanted. I’ll be reading in the same series as Fay Jacobs. Again. If you’ve never read her books or listened to her read, well, first of all pity that. Second of all, she’s hilarious. The last time I did a reading with her, she went right before me, and had everyone in stitches (myself included). As I was walking up to the front of the room to read, I heard someone in the audience mutter, “Poor Jeff.”

Yeah, that’s what following her is like. She’s that awesome. But, I’ll do my best. I may at least garner some sympathy from the audience. (I’m not proud; I’ll work any angle I can.)

I’m also going to be on a panel, “Young Adult vs. New Adult: The Complications of Writing for Teens and Tweens,” with Trebor Healey, Greg Herren (my editor!) and Sassafras Lowery, so I’d better know what I’m talking about. My colleague Rebekah Weatherspoon recently wrote about this on her blog as she’s trying to sort out just what New Adult means as a category. Katie Baker also wrote about it at Jezebel. Is it a legitimate category, or a creation of marketing? A byproduct of the growth of self-publishing? Haven’t writers always been writing about these sorts of characters? Wouldn’t Less than Zero and The Secret History technically fall into this category? Is this a rose by any other name? “And hey, what’s with all these questions?” you ask.

Looking at the schedule, I don’t know how I’m going to choose among all the other panels and readings on offer. So many good and intriguing options. I can’t wait!

Food, food, oh my God, food

(Bonus points if you get the paraphrased reference in the subject line.)

I think I’ve probably said before that, in my time in Vancouver at graduate school, I can’t say that I’ve missed St. Louis all that much. Yes, I miss Michael, and yes, I miss my dogs, as well as my friends there (and also my most favorite bookstore on the planet). But I’m going back in a week, and I’ll be there through the end of July (working feverishly on my thesis) before returning to Vancouver.

Any of you who live in St. Louis, or know the Midwest in general, likely know what July in St. Louis means—temperatures in the mid-nineties (mid to upper thirties for my Canadian friends) and 90%-plus humidity. No breeze, and no ocean in sight. Also, allergies.

This, I am not looking forward to.

So maybe it would be more accurate to say that I don’t miss St. Louis weather. Mind you, I also don’t miss spending time in one blue dot surrounded by a whole lot of red-state stupidity. (I’m looking at you, Todd Akin, Phyllis Schlafly, and Rush Limbaugh.) Which is not to say that Missouri or the United States has cornered the market on stupidity. Canada also has its share of dumb and dumber, of course. I mean, look who’s in charge.

But one thing did come to mind this week when I got into a conversation about gelato with some friends here. We’ve gone for frozen yogurt on a number of occasions, and when the topic of gelato came up, I mentioned that I hadn’t noticed very many gelaterias. People made a couple recommendations and I eventually made my way to Bella Gelateria down by the convention center (although I suppose I should spell that “centre,” this being Canada and all; and I should probably put the comma outside the quotation marks, but I have my limits).

Later someone asked me how it was. “It was good,” I said, “but there’s this place back in St. Louis called Gelato di Riso on the Hill that I like better.”

This was the point when I realized I’d had this conversation before. Italian food? “Oh, there’s this place back in St. Louis called Zia’s….” Beer? “Oh, there’s this microbrewery called The Civil Life….” Pizza? “Oh, the Chicago style at Blackthorn Pub back in St. Louis….” Lebanese? “Saleem’s out in West County….”

So yes, there’s one other thing I miss about St. Louis: the food. They really know how to eat—and how to cook. Which is not to say there aren’t good places here in Vancouver—I don’t think anything quite compares to The Naam, and hello, poutine—but when I’m back in St. Louis starting in May, I suspect there will be a whole lot of eating going on.

And I’ll come back to Vancouver a few pounds heavier.

(Still wondering about the title reference? Here’s the answer.)

Random Friday bloggy brain dump

If ever there were a week to make you question your faith in humanity, I suppose this would be it. Mind you, I don’t think I have all that much faith in humanity, so there’s that, at least.

I finally finished the last story I needed to turn in for one of my workshops, so my first year of grad school is pretty much done. It was a story I originally wrote for an anthology call, started thinking about more, and decided I wanted to flesh out a bit. Apparently, “a bit” meant turning it into a 10,000-word monstrosity and I don’t even know what it is anymore. I was tempted to tell (beg) the professor not to read it. Now that that workshop is done, I have six stories in various states that are waiting for revisions. That may be a project for this summer.

From my writing for children workshop, I’ve got a picture book manuscript, a YA short story, and the beginnings of a middle-grade novel. Then there’s my graphic novel workshops; the best thing I did there was this story about an alien whose UFO crash-lands in Oklahoma. Yeah, I don’t even know. Webcomic? My drawing skills would have to miraculously improve in the meantime.

That’s assuming I want to pursue any of them. It’s a bit early to tell if there’s material worth salvaging there. I won’t really be able to tell until I get enough distance from them to gain some perspective.

Next week I’ll start working on my outline for my thesis. (Actually, I’ve already written some of it, but it’s mostly a few thousand words of exercises trying to get into the main character’s head and figuring out how I want to tell it.) This weekend I’m taking off and doing nothing but reading and decompressing. That started with a movie last night (No starring Gael García Bernal—he’s pretty swoony, isn’t he?) and will continue this evening with The Place Beyond the Pines starring Ryan Gosling (double swoon). There will likely also be bread baking and a long run.

A propos of nothing, here’s a photo of the cherry trees up the hill from where I’m staying here. They put on a pretty impressive show this month.

 

Coming up for air, and a writing prompt

I’m almost done with my first year of grad school. To say that’s a relief would be an understatement, but at the same time I’ve really enjoyed the experience. I have one story left to revise for a workshop, and once that’s done I’ll be turning my attention to my thesis, which is going to be a science fiction novel. That’ll keep me out of trouble this summer while I’m back in St. Louis.

Yes, I realize I’m going back to the Midwest at the worst possible time of year, when summer hits. Summer in Vancouver is supposed to be lovely. July in St. Louis? If you haven’t experienced it, count your blessings.

I’ve written a lot during the past eight months, more than I typically would, which is of course one of the big reasons I signed up for an MFA. (That, and the high volume of quality feedback and sense of camaraderie. I’ve met and made friends with so many writers this year that I never would have otherwise met. It’s been wonderful.)

I’ve also been taking part in an informal writing group that my friend Sugar and I have organized every Sunday. A few of us gather and come up with a writing prompt, and then we write for about half an hour or forty-five minutes and see what we come up with. I’m always amazed at how much I can generate in such a short span of time that I’ve taken to writing in 30-minute sprints lately. It’s at least one way of breaking down longer projects into manageable chunks.

I’ve also been on a mailing list from writer Sarah Selecky for a daily writing prompt. It gives you something to write about and always includes the instruction “Write for at least 10 minutes. Write by hand, in your notebook.” I’ll admit, I don’t do them every day, but I did one this morning: “Write a list titled, Other People’s Children.” Here’s what I came up with:

Other people’s children should be seen and not heard.
Other people’s children should sometimes not be seen, either.
No, other people, I don’t think your children are adorable.
Other people’s children usually look like Winston Churchill when they’re born.
Other people’s children are not angels—unless angels scream, poop, and keep you from getting a good night’s sleep.
Other people’s children are miniature human-shaped bundles of need and eternal “I want”-ness.
Other people’s children make me wonder how the human race has managed to perpetuate itself for thousands of years.
Other people’s children eventually grow up. Or they don’t.
Other people’s children never stop being other people’s children.
Other people’s children all eventually become orphans, though this may take a while.
Other people’s children eventually have children of their own.
At that time, other people’s children may forget that they were once other people’s children too.
Other people can often take a sense of vindication from this.
Other people’s children don’t always have children of their own.
Other people’s children sometimes wonder if they’re missing something.
Other people’s children without children sometimes make good aunts and uncles. Or not.
Other people’s children always wonder when they’ll finally feel grown up.
Other people’s children sometimes miss that transition entirely.
Other people’s children, sometimes, just feel old.