I’ve been so busy with art and a new manufacturing job that I have completely neglected the Blue Night blog. Sorry, folks, I’ll try to carve some time out for bloggy stuff. In the meantime, I really love my job.
First, a PSA: If you know someone going through a traumatic and dangerous breakup/divorce/etc, make sure they have *local* and *trustworthy* contacts who can do welfare checks. I have two different friends on opposite sides of the country who are in this situation, and it’s nerve-wracking for those of us watching from a distance. We’re talking ‘guy might snap and shoot someone, and law enforcement is predictably no damn help’ scenarios.
At the very least, boost the person’s Patreon/Etsy store/etc. Because in both cases, a lack of money is seriously endangering mom and kids’ ability to stay safe and sane.
Second, an update. I haven’t been writing fiction, other than small poems for book art. My home and work life are (hopefully) settling down enough for me to start scene writing in my head, for later transcription. The side-story LEOPARD OF SABA is still on at 26K of a projected 45K, as is the first sequel to MORO’S PRICE. I’m figuring out exactly how much to tell of an extremely laaaaarrrrggge story in THE HERETIC, tentatively the sequel to THE PURIST.
I have a couple of M/M standalone pieces I really want to finish, as well. MASK OF FALLING STARS was somewhat inspired by Joan Vinge’s SNOW QUEEN. It features a cynical detective, a nearly-blind young maskmaker, professional torturers (who are some of the Good Guys!), a once-in-three-generations festival with a dark secret, and a space fantasy setting.
RED AMBER is an expansion of an older short story of mine. Aio and Tarhan become fast friends as children, but their separate cultures are determined to keep them apart as grown men. Kind of a Neolithic faerytale.
Third, some subtexty rants.
I missed #CopyPasteChris and the latest scandal in plagiarism. More on that as it develops. At last count, a Brazilian ‘writer’ copied at least 70 other authors, then paid ghostwriters on Fiverr to cobble the pieces together. All I can say is I somewhat blame the readers for enabling such a ploy…it’s industry-wide, and it’s crippling real writers.
I’ve largely stayed out of the Representation Wars in YA romance and fantasy, but I’m following them enough to realize I am very glad I don’t write YA. And I may never write YA, for several reasons.
And now, the main rant.
I’ve been writing since 1987, and writing publishable stuff since 2011. I can say by direct and painful experience that when someone (certainly me in 1999) claims, “There’s nothing wrong with my writing” when they wonder why they haven’t snagged a literary agent/big commercial contract…yes, the writing very likely is a problem. I’ve been around enough small-press and self-pub writers to estimate this is probably true in about 85% of the authorial-whinging episodes I see online.
Yes, there are massive problems with representation and diversity in publishing. Any writer from outlier cultural groups is going to always wonder if (and sometimes even be TOLD) that the agent’s or editor’s “I just can’t connect to the character” is code for “Sorry, it’s not mainstream enough”.
Those of us not in the mainstream can push back. We can amplify each other, as long as we don’t tear each other down in messy little tribal skirmishes. We can submit work to those big glittery agencies and publishers and workshops, because self-censorship and self-doubt are still some of the biggest reasons why we don’t have enough diverse voices, especially in genre fiction.
But sadly, one of the best ways to at least even our chances in genre and romance is also one of the hardest: do the goddamn work. Become stronger writers. Not necessarily in a sanctioned commercial ‘voice’, but hone the strongest versions of *our* voices.
To get there (and it’s a lifelong journey, not a destination), we have to take a very hard look at our writing. Not as we want it to be, but as it is right now. I get how traumatic that can be, for folks who’ve had absolutely shitty lives and have tied up their self-worth in their writing. I know. I’ve been there. There’s a personal cost of admitting that a story or a piece of art isn’t what you wanted it to be. At what point do we balance ego with necessity, ‘good enough for publishing’ with a drive toward perfection?
Each of us has to do that, every day, with every act of creation. But it starts with honestly understanding our flaws, not whining about how unfair the world is. It is. We’re working on it.
Let’s work on ourselves at the same time.