It’s Throwback Thursday already!
Women Hurting Women
This post could be sub titled, let me take a break from talking about writing to complain about something that pisses me off almost every day.
Women uphold what we refer to as ‘the patriarchy’ more than any man I have ever seen.
This post could also be sub titled, “Let me piss off some people who don’t want to hear this.”
Don’t believe me? Think about it. When was the last time a man told you that you couldn’t do something? When was the last time a random guy you didn’t know made you feel judged?
When was the last time a woman did that to you?
Women, we are way too quick to judge other women. What we wear, what we do for a living, how we raise our kids, if we even chose to have them! And we are really good at inventing new ways to do it, too.
Skinny/fat shaming
I am neither skinny, nor fat, so I used to keep out of that whole mess, until I realized a rather nasty fact. There are some who do consider me fat. And I know who they are, because they make a point of letting me know that I’m fat, but that it’s okay. As though wearing size sixteen jeans is akin to a deformity.
We all know the stereotype. Skinny, thin girls are bitchy, because they don’t get to eat cupcakes like us jolly fat girls. Only dogs like bones and real women have curves too.
See what we’re doing there? We’re being just as catty and judgmental as we perceive thin women to be. Worse is the insinuation that thin girls only do things to impress men. Do you really think that women’s drinking a kale smoothie because she wants some man to think she looks hot? Maybe she just wants to look hot all by herself. Leave her and her kale smoothie alone.
The dreaded Mommy Wars.
Parenting is hard. We are raising people, doing the best we can every day and just pray that they don’t end up serial killers or stoners playing guitar in our basements.
So maybe we should leave each other the hell alone.
I am as bad about this as anyone. Parents who don’t read to their kids, or let them watch Spongebob, let them drink soda, listen to Kesha, all of these are parents who I hate. Women who tell little boys that they should let the girls go first because that’s what gentlemen do, I hate you.
But it is none of my damned business when it comes to your family. It’s none of anybody’s business. My kids, my family works because of the decisions that my husband and I make. I’m sure the same can be said for you. (My one exception is vaccinations. Please vaccinate your kids, so that all of our kids die.)
It’s also none of anyone’s business whether a woman has kids or not. We don’t do assume men will eventually have kids, do we? No guy’s ever heard his mom tell him about his biological clock. There’s no rush to marriage, or at least not nearly so early in a man’s life. I know a lot of people have said this, but I don’t think some people heard, so can I say it louder? Not every woman wants to have kids!
Slut shaming/ burqas/ what we chose to wear.
Full disclosure, I used to be really bad at this. I’m working to be a better person, I am. There was a time when I could not shut my mouth about women who were dressed ‘slutty.’ They were terrible, they obviously didn’t like themselves that much, and they behaved as though they had nothing to offer the world besides their bodies.
I have no idea what the hell makes me think I have got any right to judge these other women.
I don’t know why any of us have a right to judge another woman’s appearance. What we wear, or don’t, how much makeup we wear, or don’t. How we chose to express our faiths, or not. If she’s over eighteen, it’s no ones business.
Opening our mouths in front of our kids
What don’t you like about your appearance? For those of you with daughters, do you talk about it in front of them? If you’re having a fat day, or eat too much, or hate how you look without makeup. “Don’t take pictures of me yet, I’m ugly!” we yell in front of them. “I can’t believe I had all that. I’m such a cow.”
“Ugh, look at those crows feet.”
“This dress fit a few months ago, I’m so fat!”
“I can’t stand how red I look.”
I guess a lot of us forget this, but our kids think we are perfect, at least for a little while. Girls look to their moms for an example of how women are supposed to act. We’re teaching them, as women, that we hate ourselves.
They should hate themselves, too. That’s what they hear. We hate ourselves, and they should too.
That, I really think, is the core of this. We don’t like ourselves. We are taught at a young age that we shouldn’t like ourselves. We are taught, by our mothers, to be hypercritical of everything so that we can be better. We want to be faster, smarter, more beautiful, and those are admirable things. I want to be smarter, I want to be better. But I am done making myself feel bad about who I am right now. I am a pretty cool person. So are you, man or woman.
If you’re running marathons or eating Oreos, running carpool or running a business, hitting Sephora or hitting Staples, you’re cool. If you’re being nice to people, and you like how you spent your day, go you. You should keep doing just what you’re doing, girl or guy. You should let other women do the same.
Stop holding up the patriarchy, ladies, and let your sisters be who they want to be.
Writing Fantasy Characters We Aren’t Sick Of Seeing
Everything I write starts with a character. There are other schools of thought, sure. Lots of writers start with a situation and work from there, and that’s fine and all. But I start with characters, and this is my blog, so that’s where we’re starting.
The stories in a fantasy characters are not, generally, people you could toss into any other sort of story. In fact, you can turn a story into a fantasy story just by including some sorts of characters. The mage, the Elf, the Troll, the Dwarf, the Dragon. You just don’t find trolls in murder mysteries, sadly. These characters are steeped in myth, and tradition. You just can’t have a fantasy book without at least a few.
Which is why so much bad fantasy is shitty reproductions of stories we all read already!
Sorry, but it’s true. The unsure of himself human, the mage apprentice who is just learning his power, the smith dwarf. I am sick to death of it! If I read about one more elf archer I’m going to shot someone with an arrow myself. And I can do it, having studied archery while researching Woven.
Here’s what I do, to create characters for my fantasy novels that are actual characters, and not examples of the archetype.
It all starts with realistic societies.
This is important with any world building, but even more so with a topic that has been viewed too often. Let’s take elves, for example. Every damned time I see an elf, they are serene, calm people. They’re at one with themselves, and their surroundings. They make homes in forests, and are steeped in generations of wisdom and amazing sleek that they only ever use for selfless things.
Are there no seamstresses? No political dissenters? No lazy screw ups still living with their parents? Are there not jerks, or elves with hot tempers? What about elves that like to get drunk and dance on bars?
There might be, there might not be. It all depends on what sort of society they have. What’s socially acceptable, what sort of habits do they have? What sort of habits are frowned upon but still exist? What kind of everyday people are in a random village in your story?
Consider the person your character would be, if she wasn’t what she is.
What if your dwarf wasn’t a dwarf? What if she was an alien? What if she was a human? Would she still be who she is? More importantly, would this character be interesting at freaking all if she wasn’t a dwarf? If the answer is no, then you need to rewrite that character.
There are weirdos in every breed, and other things I learned from Harry Potter.
I am not the only writer who praises Dobby as a really well written character. He’s part of a species that is, all by itself, pretty boring. An elf that cleans people’s houses. Okay, it’s a nifty touch, but not that interesting. But Dobby is nothing like the rest of his kind. He wants freedom, at least as far as he can understand the word. He loves socks, he’s fearless and he’s a full blown person. You could make him a human being, take away the distinctive house elf language, and he would still be an interesting character. Dobby’s not the only example, from the series, either. Hell, literal snakes in the book were their own people.
If you cannot create your own mythical being, dig deep into mythology for something not played out.
I learned all about basilisks, griffins, and they mythical wolves who will devour the Earth at the end of time. Fernier is his name, and he has some awesome stories.
There are some great mythical creatures and stories out there. If you don’t want to create your own fantasy creatures or mythologies, don’t fear. Dig deep into any mythology and you’ll find something no one’s ever heard of.
Good stories start with real characters, no matter the genre. Have fun.
Market, Shock Totem
Shock Totem is a literary magazine, but right now they’re closed to submissions.
Wait, why am I mentioning them then?
Because they’re open to novel and novella submissions! (See, I told you there were places to submit novellas to.)
Genre- Horror and dark fantasy.
Word Count- At least 17,500 words.
Wait time- 90 days or less
Payout- A 50/50 split of proceeds.
Reading time- The open reading times are from February to May, and then August through November. So, if you don’t have your book done by May, save it until August.
Here is your list of complete submission guidelines. Best of luck, guys
Legendary Stories, What went wrong?
Note: The deadline for this is March 30! It’s short notice, so I wanted to give you a heads up right away.
I just had to tell you about this one, though. The premise is too funny to pass up. Because I couldn’t have summed up what they want for this anthology any better, here’s what they posted in their website.
We’ve all had that day when a spell went south, a glitch ate the code in your doomsday device, and negotiations broke down so aliens are on the move eat your brains. Okay, maybe we haven’t all had that day. We want a story about what went wrong. Tell us about the best laid plans and what turned them on their ear. Make it dark or funny. Make it sci-fi or fantasy. Just make it something we haven’t seen before. We’re looking for an eclectic mix of stories that are unique and feature strong storytelling.
Genre- See above
Word Count- 2,000 to 8,000
Payout- $30
Submission date- March 30
What Adult Fiction Writers Can Learn From Children’s Writers
Throwback Thursday time!
Music
My family always loved music. I remember, when I was a very little girl, Mamma would start singing whenever my sisters would fight. It always calmed them down. At night, Papa would play his violin for us. He played every night, even when he was tired, and he was often tired.
He played and Mamma sang while the gestapo was closing our clothing store. He played and Mamma sang while we sewed star shaped patches on all of our clothes. He played until they moved us into the ghetto, and took his violin away. Even after that, Mamma kept singing. Right up until they shot Amber.
I found myself craving music, more than I craved anything else from our old lives. More than food, or warmth, or safety. I hummed to myself, but I was often hushed by the other seamstresses. Especially if a guard was near. I tried to sing at home, but it made Mamma tear up, and Papa would say, “Not now, Emma.” But he would never say when later, when I could sing, might be.
Is it any wonder that I was drawn to the music at the wall?
I first heard it one cold day, when we were sent outside for lunch. I was sitting on the ground, with my back against the wooden wall that surrounded our ghetto. The other women were quiet, sipping the thin soup they gave us.
In the silence, I heard the strains of a violin. It was a simple tune, but the first I’d heard in so long. I glanced around, trying to tell where the song was coming from without drawing attention. Who had managed to sneak a violin in here? Perhaps it had been too old and worn to be worth much money.
The player had not been playing very long, I could tell. His violin squeaked, and he started over many times. It was nothing like how Papa had played. But still, it was music.
Too soon, the guards called us back inside. I went without hesitation, but it made my heart ache to leave the music behind.
“Mamma, I heard someone playing a violin today,” I said as we set the table that night.
“You did?” Evelyn, my sister, asked. “Where?”
“Hush,” Mamma said. “Evey, don’t encourage her.”
“But I only heard it during my break. I didn’t do anything against the rules, Mamma,” I said. At least, I didn’t think I had. There were so many rules, it was hard to keep track sometimes.
“You are imagining thing,” Mamma said, “No one could have a violin in the ghetto.”
“What is this?” Papa asked, coming into the room.
“Someone has a violin,” I said, “I heard him playing today. But he doesn’t play as well as you. Maybe you could teach him.”
“Emma,” he said, making motions for me to hush. “What are you doing?”
“I am only telling you,” I said.
“Yes, and what you tell me can be overheard. What if the guards hear? They will hurt this man you heard playing.”
“They might also hurt you, for listening and not reporting him,” Mamma said. “Really, Emma, it’s better to tell yourself that you imagined it, and forget it.”
The next day, Evelyn and I walked together to the sewing house. We did not talk, but we were sisters. We didn’t need to. So I was not surprised when she followed me to the wall during our break, and sat down beside me. We drank our soup, and waited.
The music came again. Evelyn tried not to give any outward appearance of having heard it, but I saw her hands tighten around her bowl. When the man hit a sour note, she almost laughed.
We didn’t speak of the music until we were in bed that night. “I don’t think you should listen again,” she whispered.
“Why not?” I asked.
“Because it will only make you want to hear more of it, and when it goes away you’ll be sad.”
“How do you know it will go away?” I asked, and she gave me a look that I richly deserved. It was good. Of course it would go away.
“I’ll tell Mamma,” she said. “I don’t want you ending up like Anita’s brother.”
“I’m not going to kill myself because I can’t listen to someone play the violin badly anymore,” I said. “Go ahead and tell Mamma. What is she going to do to me?”
The only benefit of having nothing is that your parents have nothing to take away from you as punishment.
Evelyn knew she didn’t have anything more to threaten me with. So she did her best to ignore me when I went to the fence the next day.
Again, the music came. Again, it was a simple song. The man could not have been playing more than a few months. This song was one of my favorites. I listened as he got closer to the chorus. He seemed, there, to run into a particularly troubling note. He started over again, fouling up at the same place.
After two more attempts, I couldn’t stand it anymore. I opened my mouth, and sang the chorus for him. Maybe that would help him get it right, I thought.
Then, I heard boots crunching. To my horror, I realized where the music had been coming from. The guards barracks at the other side of the wall.
I crouched down to look through the gap at the bottom of the wall. I saw a pair of heavy, black boots, then the knees of two gestapo guards as he bent down to see me!
For a moment we looked at each other. Then, I sat back up. I stayed where I was, frozen. I would hear him running in a moment, coming for me. Would he beat me, or worse?
But I didn’t hear any running. Instead, he started to play again. And this time, he got the note right.
Plans for March, The Fantasy Genre
It’s March already, and that means a lot of things at my house. It means planting, more park trips, and the start of birthday nagging from the older monster.
It also means we get a new theme.
This month, I want to do a basic overview of the fantasy genre.
Which is to say, I will spend a lot of time talking about different details about the fantasy genre in the months to come. I also talked a lot about fantasy in May of last year when we talked about world building. But for now, I want to just talk about what makes fantasy different than any other genre.
I love fantasy, the whole thing. I love writing it, I love reading it. It is my core genre, after all. Brandon Sanderson and Tamora Pierce are names you’re familiar with if you’ve read PBW for any length of time.
What do you think of the fantasy genre? Are you all about magic and dragons like me? Let me know in the comments.
I’m an indecisive feather in the wind, and I need to stop it
I hold tight to many of my convictions. While I consider myself an open minded person who’s willing to consider others ideas, I am pretty much set on the big core values of life.
What I lack is any conviction when it comes to running my little business over here. I, sadly, am a fan of the trend.
I read a lot of business blogs, and I get some great ideas from them. And when you read a lot of business blogs, you notice patterns. Months ago, the trend was mailing lists, and newsletters. I didn’t have a newsletter at the time, and I didn’t really want one. With a few exceptions, newsletters are the things I get because I wanted some nifty thing that they were offering with the sign up. One exception I have to mention is Ninja Notes, from ByRegina. I love that. She puts a lot of effort into the posts she sends out in those, and I enjoy them.
I didn’t want to do that. I would rather put my best material here, where everyone will see it. I don’t run the same kind of business as these women I read about, for the most part.
But everyone was saying that I should totally do this.
And so I made a newsletter. About seven people subscribed to it. I wrote good content for it, and even included a market list for it, to give it more value. And I hated writing it, every month. It took time away from making content for PBW, and all of my other writing projects. It wasn’t fun for me. I was constantly unsure how it should be ‘different’ so I wasn’t just rehashing the content here. I hated promoting it, too.
But everyone was saying that I should totally do this.
Then I found this new blog, called The Middle Finger Project. And I read this post, about why you shouldn’t just do a newsletter because everyone else does a newsletter.
And that’s when I started feeling like a freaking idiot.
So I told you all that to tell you this. I was reading a different blog, and came across a piece about author’s websites. I was in the middle of the PBW revision at the time, so I was on that.
I came to realize, though, that I didn’t agree with any of the things this blogger was saying. They suggested that while it wasn’t terrible to post short stories or even book chapters on your website, what was the point? They also suggested that your website should be your calling card, a place to get information, not your full work.
But why should anyone buy my books if they have no idea if they like my stories? I buy books often because I love the creator’s website. I love the free stories and art they gave me on their site.
This advice was not for me. And yet, it made me question my whole business model!
Another piece of advice I got recently was to publish short stories in literary magazines to help promote your book. That advice was either given by someone who has never tried to publish anything, or who lives in a magical world where editors aren’t buried under manuscripts, horribly suggestive, and often have months long waiting times.
Now, I’m always open to new things, new experiments, and new ways to promote my writing. My word this year is Wonder, as in, ‘I wonder what would happen if I did this thing I’ve never tried.’ So I’ll continue to read my blogs, and try new things. But from now on, whether I stick with a thing or not is going to depend more on my personal results than what anyone else thinks my results should be.
How about you?
Writing About The Horrors
I’ve been wanting to write something along these lines for awhile now. I decided that the month I’ve devoted to short fiction would be a good time, since I tend to explore dark topic in short fiction.
I just finished writing a story about the Holocaust. I’m actually surprised that it took me so long to do it, because I have a fascination with the subject.
Yeah, it’s kind of a weird thing to be interested in. But I’ve read some really amazing stories based on it. Number The Stars, The Boy in The Striped Pajamas, Maus. Jacob The Liar is one of my favorite movies, and not just because Liev Schriber is in it.
Honestly, I don’t know why I do this. I read this stuff, and I cry. I read stories about wars, and abuse, and things that make me cry in general. Why do I do this?! Why do I read it, why do I write it? Why is there so much fiction about it?
If you’ve lived through a true horror, like abuse, drug addiction, wars or losing a child, there are a lot of reasons to write about it.” Click to Tweet
For one, it’s therapeutic. Sometimes an experience can be so big, that it’s impossible to wrap your brain around it. I’m sure that you’ve had experiences like that. Writing about it, either in non fiction or fiction, can be a way to start to understand what happened to you. To see the experience objectively, as a part of your history.
Your story might also help others. Full disclosure, my ex was abusive, both physically and emotionally. I didn’t believe it for a long time, until I started reading accounts of other people who had experienced abuse. It’s so subtle, the way it starts. The flashes of anger aren’t anything compared to the every day controlling behaviors and the slow, subtle things that break your sense of self worth down. I had convinced myself that I was just overreacting. He wouldn’t yell at me if I didn’t deserve it. Maybe if I wasn’t such a screw up, he wouldn’t have to do this. To put this in a little perspective, I now have a good day job that supports my whole family, a gorgeous husband who takes great pictures and cooks like a mofo, two brilliant children. I’ve published two books, written four, and make the best tuna casserole you have ever tasted. He’s unemployed, living off of his new girlfriend’s unemployment. So, perspective.
Huge historical events are important for future generations to understand. Like, for instance, 9/11. I was thirteen when 9/11 happened. Someday, I’m going to write about it, because I don’t think kids realize how different the world was before that day. I don’t know that we’re any safer these days, but I do know that we’re a lot more afraid. I want to write about it because I watched the world change.
Of course, it will be written about from an historical point of view. But that won’t explain how it felt to live through that day. Similarly, we can read the history of the Holocaust, but it’s not the same as reading Ann Frank’s Diary.
Finally, it can help us comprehend the shared horrors of the past. Like, for instance, the Holocaust. Knowing what happened, the absolute gruesome things that human beings did to other human beings, is more than my brain can handle. So I read about it, and it helps me grasp it. I write about it, and I try to understand. Being a Christian American, I’m trying to understand what it must be like to have something like that in your history. I don’t know, and I’m thankful for that ignorance. But I still want to understand.
What do you think of writing about horrors? Have you written about some dark historical moment, or just something dark from your own past?
Paper Beats World 
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