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The authors is always the last to know.

. . . oh.

Huh.

Apparently one of the things this book is about? Is identity.

You’d think I would have noticed it sooner, what with the stuff with Eliza and the stuff with Dead Rick and now that I think about it the stuff with Cyma — come on, Hodge, jump on the bandwagon; you know you want to — hell, even Owen has identity stuff going on. But no, I had to get nearly 70K into the book before I saw the obvious, and even then I only did because I was grumbling to myself about how many times I’ve changed Cyma’s name. I thought, you’ve got identity issues, and then I thought, oh.

And I was just about to ask myself what the hell this has to do with the rest of the book, when it occurred to me that that’s obvious, too.

Subconscious, you’re a real bastard sometimes, you know that?

Memes that AREN’T so good

So this meme goes around, where you plug in a sample of text and it tells you who you write like.

I give it four selections from the prologue of Midnight Never Come and get four different results, ranging from Dan Brown to James Fenimore Cooper. I roll my eyes at the uselessness of the meme and move on.

Then nojojojo links to this post, which points out that <sigh> yet again it’s the same old carnival of white guys, with a tiny number of white women (and Jewish men) tossed in for “variety.” Sure, it’s a stupid meme, who really cares — except some of us do care, because that’s a problem that gets iterated over and over in other places, and it got old a long time ago. (Especially the responses the guy gave when called on the homogeneity of his list.)

THEN, just to thicken the plot, Jim MacDonald at Making Light points out that the meme results come with advertising for a well-known (and well-criticized) vanity press. Yes, folks, this appears to be a promotional tool for a scam.

So. What started out looking like a dumb meme turns out to be sketchy from several different directions, quite apart from its failure to carry out its supposed purpose in an effective way.

Meh. Give me more Old Spice riffs, please. This one was broken from the start.

Edit: It appears that the promotion of the vanity press came after the meme took off. Still. Not cool.

Memes I wouldn’t object to

Now this? Is a meme I could actually get behind.

The Old Spice commercials are some of the only ads I’ve seen in . . . years, maybe, that genuinely entertain me, and not just on the first viewing. Of all the things that could turn into meme seeds, this is a lot better than most.

apologies I only sort of mean

Dear Dead Rick,

I’m sorry I’m a horrible person.

Tomorrow morning kurayami_hime will read this and say, “You’re not sorry at all,” and she’ll kind of be right — but I have to say it anyway. Because one of your levers is more like a giant knife sticking out of your heart, and sometimes I just have to give it a good twist.

Sorry.

If it’s any comfort, I suspect you have some RIGHTEOUS FURY OF REVENGE scenes coming up later in the book. It’s got that feel in my head, even if I don’t know the specifics yet. I hope that helps.

Love and apologies,
A mean, mean person

ID’ing the pattern

I’ve gotten a number of reviews of both Midnight Never Come and In Ashes Lie that say some variant on, “this takes a while to get going, but once it does, it’s pretty awesome.” (Or sometimes, “this takes forever to get going, and I gave up.”) I fully expect that as more reviews come in for A Star Shall Fall, I’ll get a few that say the same thing.

And I’ve finally figured out how to characterize it in my head: these books are arrangements of dominoes.

That is to say, the opening stages of each book are about lining up the stones, creating patterns that will — once set in motion — crash into each other in (hopefully) interesting ways. And the important part of this epiphany is, I’m not sure I could write these books any other way. Not so long as they are both (1) historical and (2) full of intrigue. I have to set the scene (in terms of both time and place), and I have to set up the political board (to steal from the metaphor I had Walsingham use in the first book). If I skip either of those steps, the dominoes will not fall as they should, because the reader will have no idea who these people are and why they’re doing what I just said they did.

So I don’t feel like this is a flaw, per se. Just a “mileage may vary” kind of thing. There are better and worse ways of doing the setup, and my success with it has probably been uneven; I’ll certainly be looking at the opening parts of this fourth book with an eye toward making the setup as engaging as it can be. But my feeling that the current scenes for both Dead Rick and Eliza kick them into a higher degree of motion than they were before? That’s just how these books go. The dominoes have begun to fall, and pretty soon the various lines I’ve laid out will begin to collide with one another, revealing the pattern of the whole. It’s like Lune’s Act III conversation with Tiresias in Midnight, or Vidar’s appearance at the end of Part II in Ashes, or [redacted on account of spoilers for Star].

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go knock down some more dominoes.

The reviews begin!

Okay, so they actually began with Stephanie Burgis’ ARC giveaway last month. (Her verdict: “I loved Book One in Brennan’s Onyx Court series (Midnight Never Come, which was really fun), and I admired Book Two (In Ashes Lie) for how ambitious it was, but A Star Shall Fall is my favorite of Marie Brennan’s novels so far.”) Now we can add to that a review from David Forbes:

A Star Shall Fall is a a marvelous, magical novel that evocatively brings to life 18th Century London through interesting and believable characters and a wealth of historical details. The magic is interesting and surprising (the Clock Room is a great concept), as are the details about the dangers Faeries face when in the mortal world. Highly recommended.

So, we’re off to a good start!

Heh.

It just occurred to me that this particular plotline amounts to industrial espionage.

Well, it’s the Industrial Age; it fits. It just makes an odd little mirror to the Walsingham-style intrigue of Midnight Never Come.

Okay, brain; a few more paragraphs of revision on this scene, and then we can go to bed.

Launch party for A Star Shall Fall!

On August 31st, A Star Shall Fall comes out.

On October 7-10, I will be at the Sirens Conference in Vail.

I have therefore decided to have my first (slightly belated) proper launch party for a book, at the conference. It will take place on Saturday the ninth, in the hour leading up to the costume ball. There will probably be giveaways of the book at that party, but there are also two chances to win special prizes.

WHETHER YOU ARE ATTENDING THE CON OR NOT — we’re holding a contest to design a faerie-themed (non-alcoholic) drink to serve at the party, with the winner to be announced that night. If you aren’t present, I will ship your prize to you when I get home, which is a signed copy of Deeds of Men, the Onyx Court novella.

IF YOU ARE ATTENDING THE CON — since the party will take place before the costume ball, I’ll also be awarding a prize for whoever shows up at the party in the best Onyx Court faerie costume. You don’t have to present as a specific character; something in the general style is fine. The winner gets signed hardcover copies of Midnight Never Come and In Ashes Lie.

Full details for both contests are here. If you have any questions, just let me know. (And yes, I will be showing up in costume to my own launch party. Assuming everything works out the way I’m currently trying to arrange for it to do.)

Latin rusty; please help

I totally have to surrender my Latin geek card in shame, but attempting to figure out this phrase is stalling my forward progress in the scene, so I’m just going to toss it out to the LJ mind and get on with what Dead Rick is doing.

How would you say “Two worlds joined as one” in Latin?

short story news, not all of it mine

I’ve done another reading for Podcastle: “Väinämöinen and the Singing Fish,” by Marissa Lingen (mrissa). My apologies to both Marissa and my erstwhile Finnish teacher for any mispronunciations I may have committed in the course of recording that story.

(This is what I get for telling the Podcastle editors what foreign languages I’d studied. Though in checking that e-mail, I see I didn’t even mention the Finnish, because I only studied it for only two weeks. I hope they never find out about my two weeks of Navajo . . . .)

Also, it turns out that both “Once a Goddess” and “Letter Found in a Chest Belonging to the Marquis de Montseraille Following the Death of That Worthy Individual” got Honorable Mentions from Gardner Dozois in the most recent Year’s Best Science Fiction. Given that I only had seven stories out last year, I’m pretty pleased with that average.

True Blood: initial thoughts

(No, it isn’t available streaming. kniedzw moved it up in his DVD queue, which I’d been too lazy to do.)

I’ve only seen two episodes so far. But I wanted to post about my initial reaction, because it’s so strong: I don’t remember the last time I saw a show create character and setting so vividly, so fast.

I don’t know what the deal is, either. Really good writing, acting, set dressing, etc? Do the writers try harder because the backwaters of Louisiana aren’t as familiar to viewers as Midwestern suburbia or New York City? Maybe it’s just that it isn’t familiar, so even mediocre writing and acting and so on will strike me more vividly, because I haven’t seen what they’re presenting a hundred times before.

But that’s really how it feels: like I’m seeing something new. These aren’t the same characters I’ve seen in a dozen other shows. It remains to be seen what I think of them; maybe they’ll annoy me or be badly written or develop in ways I think are ridiculous. Or maybe they’ll turn out to be awesome. The setting, socially and physically, is very different; I don’t know how accurate it is, but with more evidence I’ll be better able to guess. The show talks more bluntly about race than I’m accustomed to; I’m interested to see what it uses that bluntness to say. All of those judgments are in my future: I can’t make them based on only two episodes.

One judgment, though, I can make. From the first minutes of the first episode, True Blood had my attention. And that’s more than a lot of shows can say.

On Cruising

I’ve been on two cruises in the last few years — first for my honeymoon, more recently for a friend’s wedding — which is funny, because I used to think of them as really expensive things only done by old people. These days, I know that I really enjoy them . . . though they do provoke some thorny thoughts, which I’ll get to in a minute.

There’s some truth to my old view. Let’s start with “cruises are expensive.” The thing about them is that their cost is fixed; when you make an ordinary trip, you can choose piecemeal what kind of hotel to stay in, what kind of food to buy, cutting corners or indulging yourself at each point. But when you crunch the numbers, they turn out to be quite reasonable: your ticket buys your hotel room (small, but you also have the rest of the ship to roam about), your transportation (zero hassle, compared to trains and ferries and flights between destinations), your food (generally quite good, though you have to pay extra for sodas and booze), and entertainment (if you want to take part in shipboard activities). A la carte, that stuff adds up to about as much as a cruise ticket, unless you really do it on the cheap.

What about old people? Depends on where you are and what you’re doing. The honeymoon cruise was in the Mediterranean (expensive, and expensive to get to), and it lasted for eleven nights; that kind of free time and disposable cash isn’t often found among the young. The wedding cruise was a weekend in the Bahamas, and the average age on board that ship was probably about thirty years lower.

The great thing about cruises is that they are relaxing. You can pretty much be as lazy as you want. You can also be active; they have onboard gyms, you can sign up for energetic shore excursions, or arrange your own sightseeing, more or less as you would on any other trip. The “less,” of course, is that you’re pinned to an external schedule: you can’t decide you want to stay a day longer, or swap one destination out for another, and you have to be back on board by a particular time (usually circa five o’clock) or you’ll be left behind. There are times when that may feel restrictive. But if you want to see a bunch of (sea-adjacent) places with a minimum of logistical difficulty, while being well taken care of, cruises are great.

It’s the “well taken care of” part that gets thorny. As one of my friends said this weekend, cruises are flagrant examples of conspicuous consumption. They’re basically floating hotels — complete with restaurants, lounges, theatres, gyms, swimming pools, shops, even casinos that come with a list of pay by phone slots right from the rooms — and the number of staff they carry to keep the place running is borderline absurd. Very international staff at that (the Bahamas cruise had people from sixty countries), but of course it isn’t egalitarian; it’s stratified like whoa. kniedzw and I noticed patterns on the Mediterranean ship, certain nationalities gravitating toward certain roles. Most of the bartenders, for example, were from the Philippines. The ship officers, entertainers, and other passenger-facing positions that were less about direct service skewed European/white; as you move toward the more menial and below-stairs positions, the staff become darker, come from less affluent nations. A room steward might be Brazilian; the person who washes the dirty linens taken away by the room steward might be Cambodian, and you would never lay eyes on her. Thinking about patterns like that tempers my enjoyment of the luxury.

Having said that, I generally have to give cruising a thumbs-up. I wouldn’t do it often, even if I had the money; it’s only one flavor of travel, and not one I would want to do all the time. But if you are in a mood to indulge yourself, to relax and take it easy while also seeing interesting places, they turn out to be a pretty decent deal.

Picture time!

Coming home with a cold yesterday made me forget to post the new tidbit for the countdown to A Star Shall Fall.

So here it is, a day late: pictures! These are from my research trip to London last year. It’s only a small subset of the whole (I’ve got a bunch of blurry photos from inside museums I’m not inflicting on you), but I hope it will help with envisioning the places and things that appear in the book.

post-cruise report in brief

I am back from the Bahamas. I brought with me:

1) a Christmas tree ornament, for my collection of same
2) a doll, ditto
3) a cold, which I really could have done without.

I have various bloggy things to say — some about the cruise, some not — but those will have to wait. For now, sleep.

leaving on a jet plane (and then a ship)

Don’t expect to see much of me in the next few days. It’s not that I don’t love you all; it’s that I’ll be on a cruise ship in the Bahamas for a friend’s wedding, and I love sunshine and the sea and friends I haven’t seen in a year more. You know how it is.

Ta!

The LXD!

Ballet is so the wrong icon for this, but it’s the only dance icon I have.

The LXD has FINALLY started airing! There’s material up at their site, but it’s easier to sort out what’s what at the Hulu page, where episodes are clearly numbered. So far there are two; I’m not sure how often new ones will be added.

My one gripe so far is that the episodes are short. Well, it’s a web series; what did I expect? Awesome dancing, though — especially in “Antigravity Heroes” — and I’m looking forward to them getting past the introductions of the characters and into the story itself, since after all, that’s the other half of the draw: awesome dancing in the context of a superhero story.

One thing that really struck me in both episodes is, you actually see guys dancing with each other. Not just on the same floor at the same time; they physically interact, with holds and lifts and such, and if you come out of a more classical background (as I do) that’s a really unusual thing to see. Men and women dance together in pas de deux; women join hands and such for corps de ballet numbers; you don’t really get guys partnering up. It’s just one detail of what amounts to an entirely foreign aesthetic for me. (I said after watching Stomp the Yard that it was like a foreign film with no subtitles: a character would do something, and I would know from the reactions of those around them that it carried a particular meaning, but I couldn’t translate it myself, because I don’t know that style of dancing at all.)

Anyway, I know several of you were excited about this when I linked to it before. So if you’ve been waiting for the series to actually launch: it’s here at last.

60K, with rather more speed

Thanks to some revision work that added non-trivial numbers of words to the manuscript, I’m at 60K already. This is satisfying, as I’ll be leaving for a friend’s wedding on Thursday, and intend to take a break from the book while I’m gone.

I’ve been doing this a lot, and it’s weird. Used to be, when I wrote a novel, it was a thousand words a day come hell or high water, and I gave myself enormous guilt trips over every day I missed. But I built in extra safety time to my schedule this year, so I’ve been doing a lot of alternating between down time and bursts of high activity. Hey, if it works, it’s good, and in this case I really think I should give myself the time off.

Since I’m going to be on a cruise to the Bahamas. ^_^

Anyway, one more day of work tomorrow; need to figure out if the next Dead Rick scene should really be what I currently have planned, or if it’s one of those things I’ll probably end up ripping out a few weeks from now, in which case I’ll push forward with Eliza or Cyma while I give Dead Rick more thought. I need another 20-25K by the end of the month, which will require some 1500-word days to pull off. As long I know where I’m going, though, it’s entirely doable.

Word count: 60,006
LBR quota: not nearly as much blood as Dead Rick was expecting. Which should tell him something — but he’s not good enough at intrigue to sort that tangle out.
Authorial sadism: sorry, Galen. Apparently I didn’t spend enough time torturing you in your own book.

Residual Self-Image

You know the bit in The Matrix when Neo’s been freed, and then they put him into the loading program and he’s got hair again and Morpheus says it’s his residual self-image?

Mine is apparently stuck at age twelve.

In my head I am both more tan and more blonde than I am in reality. This has nothing to do with our culture’s valorization of those qualities — at least I don’t think so — it’s that I used to be such a person, and my hindbrain hasn’t quite gotten the memo that years have passed since then.

As a kid, I spent literally hours a day in the pool. I did swim team in the morning; I played around in the water during the afternoon. And fortunately the Scandinavian genes did not win out, because I tanned instead of burning to a crisp. In college, I worked on digs for a few weeks each summer; my first two years of grad school, I took outdoor jobs for the entirety of the season. I like being outside; I like getting sunshine. I often don’t realize how little I do that anymore. So when I see a photo of myself, my reaction is generally “good GOD what happened?” For some reason, looking in a mirror doesn’t do it; it’s not until I look at a picture that I realize how ridiculously pale I’ve become. Okay, sure, yay for less risk of skin cancer — but being tan makes me happy, because it tells me I’ve been in the sun, and the sun is a major source of joy in my life.

Where the hair is concerned, it’s more genetics than lifestyle (though the lack of sunlight has some effect). Like my mother and brother, I started out very blonde, and have gotten darker over time. Which is fine . . . except that again, my brain hasn’t caught up. I’ve only just wrapped my mind around the fact that I can no longer call myself even a dark blonde. My hair is brown, folks — which will come as no surprise to anybody who’s seen me, but apparently I’m a bit slow on the uptake. In my head, I’m a twenty-nine-year-old version of my twelve-year-old self.

To a lesser degree, it extends to other things, too. Most of them ballet-related. What do you mean, I can’t drop cold into the full front splits anymore? (I can still get there, but it takes warming up. I haven’t used that as the start of my stretching since I was sixteen.) My physical therapist had me doing one-foot toe-raises on the edge of a step, so my heel sinks below the horizontal, and I was appalled to discover that three sets of fifteen was (and still is) WAY beyond my capabilities; I’m up to three sets of ten, and that’s progress from where I started. My days of pointe, they are far behind me. But sometimes I forget that.

I know I’m not the only one with this kind of discrepancy between self-image and reality. We mostly hear about it in the context of weight, though: either the anorexic who sees herself as still fat, or the legions of women who feel they ought to be five or ten or twenty pounds lighter than they are. I’d like to hear about the other aspects, the weird little points where your brain is still stuck in the past, or an alternate reality that never truly existed. What’s your residual self-image?