Rogue’s Curse: Happy Release Day!

I’m about to embarrass the hell out of Jason Beymer. He deserves it.

You know what day this is, right? Of course you do. It’s the release day for Rogue’s Curse, Jason Beymer’s debut novel, available from Lyrical Press. (For only $5.50. My lunch costs more than that. C’mon. It’s worth it.)

Seeing this book debut is like watching my firstborn child leave for their first day of school. If I had a firstborn child. If I wasn’t as child-friendly as an uncovered electrical socket. The point is, when a book is published its successful release isn’t just the pride of the author and his family, friends, and demon minions. It’s the pride of all the people who worked on it: the copy/content editor(me!), their senior editor(s), the line editors, the cover artist, the production manager, the review coordinator…the list goes on and on. It’s a group effort, one where the author is central but not entirely alone in their investment in the book. There’s a whole team of people who care about that book, who take pride in its success.

I definitely take pride in Rogue’s Curse, and in Jason.

It’s only by random chance that I ended up working on this book. I’ve only been with Lyrical Press for about six months now; before that I was working as a freelance editor. When I first started I was told I’d be taking on some previously contracted authors they thought would be a good fit for me, until I started to pick my own from the slush pile. So here I was, several books already on my list, all of them interesting, exciting, fun. Apparently my senior editor gauged my tastes well, because I’ve yet to edit a single book that I didn’t love.

Jason, though…Jason was my first.

I’ll be honest: I didn’t know what to expect. I was used to authors coming to me as a contractor, hiring me because they trust my expertise, and generally placing the reins in my hands. The relationship works a little differently when you work for a publisher. I’d heard horror stories about dealing with difficult authors on the publisher’s side: everything from delayed releases caused by author meltdowns to month-long arguments over non-conventional apostrophe use as visual art. In truth, I expected Jason to be a nightmare. Arrogant, stubborn, utterly lacking in common sense, and refusing to budge on so much as a misspelled word or a godawful pet phrase.

Instead he proved why you should never make assumptions or believe stereotypes.

His sense of humor caught me from the first page of Rogue’s Curse, and proved utterly infectious – to the point where my senior editor made me tone down my silly comments when I left editorial notes throughout the book. (I believe there was something in there about Godzilla and octogenarian poontang.) Before I’d even really had a significant dialogue with him, I learned to like him through his book, his characters, his humor, his storytelling, his style – but I learned to value him from an editorial perspective when I sent his first round of edits back. Rather than whine about the amount of work asked of him or argue that his book was perfect as-is, he threw himself wholeheartedly into editing with all the enthusiasm and professionalism anyone could hope for.

Not only that, but he took my questions about plot points and went one step further: he refined the entire story to the point where it was practically a new book. Rather than viewing criticism as a negative point, he instead used it as a jumping-off point to come up with some wildly creative solutions that more than proved his talent and ingenuity. Sometimes I almost couldn’t keep up with him as he spun through ideas, changes, and cheesy one-liners that left me spraying diet coke at my screen on an alarmingly regular basis. His wife, too, has a wonderfully sharp eye; she was always there, looking over Jason’s shoulder and catching that one letter out of place that neither of us noticed after staring at the manuscript for the eleventy-millionth time.

Oh, there were a few points of contention. A few things had to be deleted for the sake of house rules, and darlings (and sheep) had to die. There was a particularly knotty wrangle about italics that left us both so confused we didn’t know if we were coming or going, but we never wanted to see another verbalized sound effect in our lives. Renee, She Who Commands All, nearly killed me over a slight oversight on the cover text. (Seriously, never make a pregnant woman angry. I swear I found three more grey hairs the next day.) Jason had to be threatened with a ruler across the knuckles if he didn’t stop picking at things that were already tweaked to the point of exhaustion. He’s a bit of a perfectionist, in case you can’t tell. He’s also paranoid, neurotic, and utterly hilarious when he starts biting his nails over every tiny little thing. One of these days he’s going to stress himself to a heart attack. I’m probably callous enough to point and laugh. I’m an editor. It’s what we do. All part of crushing your spirit and destroying your artistic vision.

Ahem. Back on topic. More than anything, Jason is a witty, fun, engaging person, and a wonderful author to work with. Just by being himself and dedicating himself to polishing his book, he made my investment in Rogue’s Curse personal. He proved that when an author and editor work together rather than against each other, a good book can transform into a great one. We may not be friends, but I’m damned happy to be his editor.

Maybe if Jason hadn’t been my first author, I wouldn’t love working for a publisher so much. Maybe if Jason hadn’t been such a delight to work with, I would have doused myself in holy water and run screaming back to the freelance life and my private client roster. But “maybe” never happened, and I consider myself lucky that out of all the contracted books pending editorial assignment, my senior editor decided to send Jason (and my other starting authors, because yes, I love you all) to me.

So thank you, Jason. Thank you for being my first Lyrical author, for being wonderful, and for trusting me with your next book, Nether.

Thank you, and happy release day for Rogue’s Curse.

…

Now excuse me. I need to go drown something small and fluffy before people start thinking I’m human.

Is this really what you want in a man?

Guilty not-so-secret confession: I love romance novels. I started reading them as a boy, when they were my only outlet to secretly explore certain things that confused the hell out of me. As an adult I have a little-indulged soft spot for romance, and adore a smart, engaging romance novel with a good mixture of conflict, wit, heart-warming moments, and of course the steamy pages that make romance novels what they are. In my later years I’ve grown a bit more discerning about what makes it onto my shelf of favorites, though; it’s not enough for the books to have lavish descriptions of period dress and a swarthy, broad-shouldered, swoon-worthy hero. I need characters I like, relationships I can understand, love scenes that don’t make me snortgiggle at the euphemisms (or if they do, it’s with that sort of charming self-awareness that many exhibit), and plots that won’t unravel with the simple question of, “Well, why didn’t you just tell him that like a normal person would, saving this entire intricate mess from happening?”

So lately I’ve been rereading some old favorites, as well as exploring a few new titles from the authors of said favorites. Some are modern, some are historical, some are the classic bodice-rippers, but in a large number of them I’m noticing a disturbing trend:

Controlling, domineering, irrational men with very few redeeming traits. They’re insensitive, bullheaded, temperamental, impossible to talk to with any level of honesty, misogynistic, arrogant to the point of self-delusion, sadistic, prone to using physical force to get their way, borderline (and often outright) cruel, difficult to reason with once they’ve made a conclusion, and generally in some position of authority over the heroine’s life and well-being – whether placed there by others, rank, an unfortunate and perilous situation, or themselves. These traits, while superficially infuriating to the heroine, in the end only serve to endear him to her as signs of what a man he is, a true man’s man, an uncompromising force of nature who will protect her and eventually give her many fat babies. And naturally his flaws are forgivable because he’s handsome as the devil and the most amazing lover on earth, and he knows it.

I get the lesson: love isn’t perfect, but it can pave the way for accepting a few character flaws in your mate. And I’m aware that all these traits can exist to some measure in real men, in a variety of concentrations and combinations. And I’m aware that many women (and men) have different tastes in what makes a man attractive. But seeing all these traits combined to such extremes that they make an unappealing caricature of a dominating man-child, I have to ask…

Is this really what women want in a fantasy man?

Why Writers Need to be Readers

This morning I woke up and thought of all the things I planned to do today. Top of that list were proofreading my recently-rewritten manuscript, working on the crackfic, and reading a friend’s manuscript. Nowhere on that list was a dedicated effort to sit down and finish any of the half-read books scattered about the house, my place in their pages marked with scraps of paper, bills, bookmarks, even post-its.

Then I realized how long it’s been since I actually finished a book, and hung my head in shame – because by not reading more avidly, I’m doing myself an enormous disservice as a writer.

More than studying grammar, more than workshops, more than peer critiques, writers need to read. They need to read often, read widely, and read outside of their circle of comfort; read not just the kind of books they write, but the kind of books they’d never write. Reading offers insight, offers knowledge, offers a view into what works and what doesn’t; it provides inspiration, demonstrates the many proper ways to frame and pace a story, and gives the writer an intuitive eye for good story-crafting that no instructional lecture or essay can deliver.

When you read, you learn. You learn new ways to approach style, pacing, and characterization; you learn new perspectives, new ideas, new theories; hell, you even learn new words, and frankly I enjoy a book where every once in a while I have to stop and grab the dictionary because I didn’t know a word – though you also learn when not to take that too far, to the point of making a story incomprehensible. You learn what’s been done before, what’s been done to death, and what could be exciting if explored even more.

And if you ever stop learning, you stop growing as a writer.

The act of writing itself can serve as something of an isolation chamber. It’s easy to get so locked into the act of writing that you lose all objectivity towards your writing, all sense of how it pertains to the outside world. When your writing loses its connection to the outside world, you lose your connection to the reader. So read, to see views outside your isolation chamber. Read books, read the news, read blogs, read short stories. Read anything that makes you think, makes you question, makes you wonder “What would happen if I…?”

Just read. Find worth and merit in others’ writing, so you can impart worth and merit to your own.

Read, and remember why you wanted to be a writer in the first place.

Tiny.

I found the Brewer’s Dictionary of Phrase & Fable in Hikaru’s book collection.

My weekend is now lost. ~dives into the pages~

So now “mainstream” = “white?”

The other day I read a feature spot on a new author (who shall remain nameless because he seems like a nice guy, a good writer, and he can’t be blamed for what’s written about him). In this spot he was described as a “writer of color,” which rocketed my little brown behind right back to 1960 (a miracle when I wasn’t even alive then) and made me wish I could tame my unrepentant waves into an afro so I could be a “writer of color,” too.

The author of the article went on to praise him for choosing, despite his color, to write a character and storyline that broaden their appeal by being “mainstream.”

Let me translate that for you, in case you missed it.

He praised the black guy for choosing to write a white character anyway, because white characters are more popular to a predominantly white audience.

Don’t get me wrong, I understand the demographics of the North American reading public. The majority of people who buy books and read for pleasure are of some Caucasian descent; it’s undeniable fact, and a rather sad one at that. While the brown people of the world may no longer be a true minority considering our widespread populations and growing buying power in the middle class market, the hard numbers show that (in North America, at least) most of us just don’t read – so in the book-buying demographic, we’re still very much a minority.

But I thought we’d moved past the race of the protagonist mattering to the reader’s ability to empathize with them, as long as the story is well-written and the characters sympathetic. I can understand a white audience not wanting to read 50 Cent’s reprehensible G-Unit books; I don’t want to read them, and I’ve spent parts of my childhood surrounded by the kind of lifestyle they promote. But cultural differences denoted by skin tone have become either marginalized or more widely accepted in North America, and considering how many people of a rainbow of colors share a similar lifestyle, it shouldn’t be so hard to have a protagonist of some shade of brown that’s still considered mainstream. Hell, I write non-Caucasian protagonists…just not all the time. My characters range the human color spectrum, and I’d like to think both Remilliard and Kensington have appeal despite standing on opposite ends of that spectrum.

Many authors write non-Caucasian protagonists. Justine Larbalestier’s (say that three times fast) main character in Liar is most certainly not white, and it created an understandable stink when the original cover for the novel depicted a Caucasian girl. Yet the story is one that anyone can love, and it’s most certainly mainstream enough to reach a broad audience.

She’s just one example. There are many more, and many entirely mainstream books that feature non-Caucasian protagonists while still retaining wide appeal (Le Guin, anyone?).

So why are we still viewing characters “of color” (are we picking up my disdain for that term yet?) as a detriment?

Eh. It’s only one person, one article…but I can’t help but wonder how many still share that view, and why. Especially when we really need more diverse protagonists that will not only make non-Caucasian characters more mainstream, but engage readers in multi-ethnic markets so there’s no longer such a paucity of us with a stake among the book-buying public. Many authors have taken steps to demonstrate that ethnic characters can and do have widespread appeal; I’d love to see more join them, until our fictional worlds are as diversely populated as our real one.