The Blue Candle Society

It is, of course, axiomatic that traditional authors, save perhaps for really famous, powerful ones, have no influence over the cover designs of their books, and that, generally speaking, they hate the covers they get.  This is one of the reasons for self-publishing, actually – at least an indie author can pick their own cover art, and title for that matter.  Of course, a lot of indie authors don’t really have the wherewithal to design a good book cover on their own, and let’s face it, a lot of authors have no idea what kind of book cover art would be helpful in selling something, which is why traditional publishers try to cut them out of the process.

But it is still disheartening when a book ends up with a cover that has nothing to do with the story, or clumsily misrepresents events, characters, or settings within it (and not to put too fine a point on it, but this often involves boobs), because it shows a certain lack of respect for the tale.  An author hates to think people aren’t carefully reading the book, and it is even worse when someone who was, in fact, paid to read the thing couldn’t be bothered.

That brings us to Azure Bonds.  Azure Bonds is a Forgotten Realms book, which to the uninitiated, is like a Drangonlance book only a bit darker (Dragonlance, to the even less initiated, is a series of novels written by various folks set in a particular Dungeons and Dragons campaign world).  Now, the casual observer of that book cover would assume that we’re looking at a classic example of the phenomenon I was describing, right down to the boobs.  Obviously, that armor would be no real use in a fight, and that woman doesn’t exactly look like a grizzled warrior.

But here’s the thing (Spoiler alert for anyone planning on reading a Forgotten Realms novel published in 1988 who hasn’t quite gotten around to it yet) – that armor is explained in the story, and figures prominently (so to speak) in a scene late in the book as a plot point.  Likewise, the peculiarly un-battered appearance of the main character, who is, after all, supposed to be a warrior, is a plot point.

So, by golly, that cover art was clearly put together by someone who carefully read the book, and got clear to the end – kudos to him.  I had, in fact, spun quite a fantasy in my head of the cover artist as a tortured soul, driven to draw cheesecake by corporate masters at TSR, inc., but distressed over the thought of turning out something that lacked fidelity with the plot that Kate Novak and Jeff Grubb had labored so hard over.  “I’m an artist, dammit!” he shouted to the walls of his studio in my imaginings.  “Not some hack turning out prurient nonsense that has nothing to do with the plot!  The story is all!”  Then he reached the penultimate chapter, and realized that Novak and Grubb had gifted him with a way to satisfy both his own artistic integrity and the suits at TSR.

Well, that was my fantasy anyway, until I happened to check out the artist’s website.

Posted in General writing things

All writers should be well-versed in computer games, obviously.  Some computer games are simply useful for educating writers about great literature, while others can be used to hone the skills one needs as an aspiring author.  The Novelist, a game due out soon, is certainly an example of the latter.  It may not give a writer much practice in, you know, actually writing, but I’m a great believer in learning life skills from computer games, and every writer needs to know how to balance writing with all those other irritating demands on one’s time.  I suppose it doesn’t hurt to practice being a ghost, either, just to be on the safe side.

After all, what better way to learn how to balance the many demands on your time than putting in a few solid hours every day on a computer game?

Posted in General writing things

In the latest of my posts where I yell at people for misusing cliches, I thought I’d tackle the mistaken use of “Like a trooper” or “A real trooper”, to indicate gumption and stick-to-itivness, which I’ve been seeing a lot lately.  I suspect that I’ve been hearing it even more, but I wouldn’t know, because of course the correct use is the homonym “Like a trouper”.

Nope

Now, far be it from me denigrate the gumption and stick-to-itivness of troopers, be they state police, cavalry, paratroopers, or Isuzu owners (and I certainly won’t get into which of those groups has the most gumption, etc. – that is one batch of folks I don’t want to get in the middle of if they are arguing).

Not that either

But the fact of the matter is that the phrase is meant to describe plucky troupes of performers, with their famous “show must go on” attitude.  It simply isn’t fair for some other group, no matter how plucky they may be, to appropriate the phrase just because of an accident of pronunciation.  After all, you rarely see women whose siblings have children going on about how “aunts never borrow, aunts never lend” when you ask them for money (and rarely do they discuss “aunts in your pants”, at least those in my acquaintance don’t).

But of course, all this discussion of grammar is a bit self-absorbed, and I don’t want to be accused of naval gazing.  Not sure what the point of looking at a bunch of ships is, anyway.

Posted in Grammar Gripery, Metaphor!

There are many classic battles, of course, conflicts that define the combatants even as those foes fight and die.  Pirates versus ninjas, Ford versus Chevy, alligators versus gars – would these entities even know how to carry on without their adversaries?

But of course, there is one struggle that rises above all of these, and it is only fortunate that the contenders gave discovered a way to play out their conflict without tearing each other limb from limb, and possibly harming innocent bystanders.

Yes, this is probably best, all things considered.

Also, it is nice that the poets managed to win something, since it will likely be their last experience with that.

Posted in General writing things

Okay, my plan for today was to post a link to a video of a hillbilly dancing with a raccoon, but I recently got a link to here from Carnival of Words, and that kind of cornball antics won’t play with the new folks I expect to visit the blog and class up the joint (not that there is anything wrong with the people already reading it – love you guys).

So, on to a serious literary topic.  There is plenty of advice for the aspiring writer out there – N.E. White has been going through a bunch of them from the good folks at Pixar, for example.  A lot of these rules focus on the getting out there and getting the wordcount up, fighting writer’s block, fighting through feelings of crippling inadequacy common to all writers, etc.  Heck, that’s pretty much NaNoWriMo in a nutshell.  Much of this advice is useful, I’m sure, to all those single-minded, driven, hard-headed writers out there who can focus like a laser on a given topic, and maybe just have trouble keeping up momentum on that project.

But what about the likes of me?  In computer science, there is a term “thrashing”, that basically describes what happens when multiple users or programs are competing for the same resource (virtual memory, say), and the computer spends more time allocating resources and switching back and forth than it does actually doing any of the things it was allocating resources for.  That tends to be my problem.  I don’t have trouble writing per se, it’s just that I generally have so many varying works in progress and beta reads and so on that I can find myself switching back and forth between projects, writing a few hundred words here and a few hundred words there.  It is progress of a sort, but not the kind that would amaze an onlooker.

Alas, I suspect that my tendency toward thrashing is related to my inability to write a decent outline of a plot until I’ve already finished a first draft; just a personal flaw I can’t do much about.  But if anyone has any great advice on ignoring all but one writing project, let me know.

Of course, I also do find other ways to procrastinate.

Posted in General writing things

As I recently discovered, according to the “I write like” test, I write like a dynamic combination of Jane Austen and Stephen King, so you can imagine that it was an exciting week for me, when not only did word come down that Jane Austen will soon be on the ten-pound note in the UK, but I discovered an interesting interview with Stephen King that focused on the opening sentences of novels.

Sadly, it will likely be a long time indeed before Stephen King gets his likeness on money (of course, when he does, it is unlikely that anyone spearheading the effort will unleash a storm of moronic abuse by people who desperately need something better to do with their time, like throwing themselves into moving combine harvesters), but he is a wise man when it comes to openings of novels (although the opening of “It” is a wee bit clunky, in my humble opinion.  But when he does finally land on some money, there will be plenty of Stephen King opening lines to choose from to put under the portrait.  Personally, I think the obvious choice is “‘umber whunnn yerrrnnn umber whunnn fayunnn’ These sounds: even in the haze.”

Posted in General writing things

But I did want to mention this reading nest thingy.  The thing is, while it is very nifty and all, as a nest-shaped structures go, it doesn’t seem particularly “read-ish” to me.  From what I can tell, there seem to be a few uncomfortable chairs occasionally in it, so while I could see it being kind of secluded and cozy, it could really use a few comfy chairs, or at least some benches, if you want people to hang out there and read.  Although I suppose if it is aimed primarily at kids it might work – they are quite capable of lounging on brick pavement, if the book is good enough.  Or at least I was, back in the day.

Posted in General writing things

Inspired by real-life events

Bob shuffled closer to the head of the line, slapping at a mosquito that buzzed near his head.  Sweat trickled down his back, despite the fact that the sun had set hours ago.  Ahead of him, two teens shoved each other in a good-natured argument over who would pay for the sundaes they had ordered, then moved on.

A woman stepped up to the window and launched into a long order of cones and dishes of ice cream for her family waiting back in the car.  Bob leaned back and looked up.  He wished he could see the stars, but the yellow-orange glow of lights under the ice cream stand eaves turned the night sky into a black smear.

Finally, the woman was done and Bob stepped up to the window that glowed cheerfully in the night.  It was surrounded by countless signs, haphazardly hung, advertising various kinds of frozen treats – shakes and floats and sundaes and dozens of flavors of ice cream, soft and hard, as well as things no one in his right mind would order at such a place, like hot dogs and hamburgers.  Cold air from the air conditioned interior washed out over him as he neared.

“What’ll you have?” asked the clerk, a tanned young man in a backwards baseball cap and faded varsity football t-shirt with the sleeves torn off.

“What kind of … sprinkles do you have?” Bob asked.

“We’ve got chocolate and rainbow,” the clerk replied.  He reached up to swing his hat around so the brim faced forward.  “And sprinkles that taste of a kiss once offered but never taken.  Sprinkles that taste like spiritual awakening and sprinkles that taste like the tears of your enemies.”

The boy looked around the cool, cluttered interior of the shop, reminding himself of his inventory.  “We have contentment sprinkles and fame sprinkles.  Sprinkles that taste like opportunity missed and sprinkles that taste like wealth.”

He paused and peered under the counter, and Bob heard a rattle as he shook a plastic container.  He straightened, took off his hat and fanned himself.  “And it looks like we still have a few sprinkles that taste like what you thought you’d do when you grew up, back when you were a child, and just one serving that taste like the best things you thought you’d end up doing when you were a teenager.”  He put the hat back on, and spun it backwards.  “So what’ll it be?”

“Well,” Bob said after a moment.  “I’ll go with chocolate, I guess.  I was going to have peanut butter ice cream, and I don’t think any of those other would really go with it.”

“That’s true,” said the clerk, and reached for his scoop.

Posted in General writing things, Metaphor!

So the latest news in the big “JK Rowling is also Robert Galbraith” story is that her law firm has fallen on its sword and taken responsibility for the leak, which doesn’t speak to their being good at the whole confidentiality thing.  It may cut down on a few of the rumors about the whole thing being a ploy on the part of her publisher to boost sales, though (I think we can assume Rowling herself didn’t do it, since at some point why would she need more money?  I think she already has enough to fill up the deep end of her swimming pool of money and allow for diving).

Anyway, I was rather interested in some of the detective work that went into confirming that she wrote the mystery.  In a way, it seems similar to the “I write like” test, only more sophisticated and less vocab-based (for those who are interested, I write like Stephen King or Jane Austen, depending on what “S.M.” stands for).  It also seems as though there may be more to the story.

Anyway, I just thought it was interesting, this talk of a writer going by initials and banging out several bestselling books.  Not that I’m saying that just because I write under “S.M.” I’m also a famous author.  I’m not saying that and neither is my lawyer.  But if I was, well, it would certainly be wise to grab up copies of everything I write now, right?

Posted in General writing things

I had an interesting experience with the nature of choice the other day.  I was driving along, and got a hankering for a milkshake, as one does when the weather is ludicrously, unreasonably hot.  I stopped at one of those roadside ice cream stands, and after a good long wait in line, ordered my shake.  While I waited for it to be shook (shaken?) I happened to hear the man behind me in line ask what sort of sprinkles they had.  Now, the person behind the counter answered, naturally enough, “chocolate and rainbow”, and the man decided that he didn’t want sprinkles on his ice cream after all.

So.  What did he expect his flavor options would be?  Given that chocolate and rainbow are the two, and only two, flavors that every single ice cream stand in the United States has.  Also, they both basically taste like corn syrup – chocolate sprinkles have just a hint of cocoa flavor to them, and the rainbow sort have just a bit of the flavor of visible light that has been refracted into its component wavelengths, but only a bit.  Oh, I suppose it is possible that ice cream sprinkles exist out there that are not chocolate or rainbow, and possibly even have a real flavor, but surely anyplace that sells them would advertise their dulce de leche or basil sprinkles with prominent signs, making a real selling point of it.

So, clearly, this man was not truly expecting some particular kind of gourmet sprinkles.  No, I think the whole exchange speaks to a deep yearning for that which is barely understood, that which can barely even be.  For how else to find this ineffable something, this  wondrous magic, than to ask after it whenever a choice presents itself?  So you keep asking, you magnificent bastard.  Keep looking for those sprinkles.

Now, that being said, what is up with the white sprinkles?  Clearly, white sprinkles are the precise opposite of rainbow sprinkles – rainbows are what happens when white light gets split.  So let’s have no more of that.

Posted in Uncategorized