Monthly Archive for March, 2009

To the Stars

Ad Astra was a great time. Huge thanks to the programming coordinators for having me out, and to all the authors, editors and other attendees I met and spent time with. This is my first time in Toronto, and everyone’s made me feel right at home.

I learned some important lessons: don’t wear heels you’re not comfortable running up and down a flight of stairs in, carry both of your business cards and your name plate at all times, don’t be afraid to pause and write something down (because you’ll kick yourself when you can’t remember it later), and don’t expect anyone to remember a thing you’re saying to them if the hockey’s on in the bar.

One of the best lessons I learned was from Ken Lillie~Paetz: When you moderate a panel, half of it goes the way you planned, half of it doesn’t. But don’t worry about it, because the half that didn’t always ends up being even cooler than the half that did.

He was, needless to say, right.

I feel like I offered some important lessons, too. It was gratifying to be able to express things I’ve learned in my editing experience and watch people nod in strong agreement, or lower their heads to write down my advice. It was great to be able to reassure writers that em dashes do exist on their computers, and explain how to find them.

It was great to meet up with the brilliantly entertaining Dragon Moon Press author Erik Buchanan, to talk with him about the editing process, the marketing process, and how approachably ruthless I’m going to be on his next book; and also to spend time with people like David G Hartwell, Robert J Sawyer, Adrienne Kress and Lesley Livingston.

Most of all, it was great to have an opportunity to express to a room full of writers why I love what I do—why I choose to work with the enthusiasm of new writers, and with the small press structure that allows real rapport to develop between writer and editor. I’m Editor-in-Charge, but I’m also working with the authors, doing my share of the actual copyediting and substantive editing. That’s the fun of it for me: recognizing a rough gem and giving it the little tap here and there that guides it into the jewel that it can be.

I welcome correspondence, I’m available for freelance editorial work in addition to my position as Editor-in-Charge at Dragon Moon Press, and I’m happy to accept questions and answer them here on the blog.

I can also be found on Facebook and LinkedIn as Gabrielle Harbowy, and on Twitter as gabrielle_h, but I like to receive at least an introduction and know who you are before I link back.

  • Share/Bookmark

Word Count and Page Count

In standard submission format, what is the usual difference in length of a book in manuscript to printed copy? If I have a hundred pages in Microsoft Word, is it really going to be a hundred pages in print?

It’s impossible to say, without actually seeing your layout, what your actual printed-book page count is going to be. It depends on font, spacing, trim size, margins, where on the page your new chapters start, whether hyphenation is on or off, and other various and sundry related factors.

Don’t worry about your final page count. Don’t even worry about your final word count, yet. Not while you’re writing. Worry about telling the story you have to tell. Once you’ve told it from beginning to end, then look at your word count and evaluate from there.

While the industry defines a novel as 50,000 words and up, the industry standard for a novel is actually around 80,000. That, more than a set number of pages, should be your goal. 50-70,000 may be too short and hard to market; 100,000 may be too expensive for a publisher to want to print.

The industry standard assumes 250 words per page. You can look at your word count in Microsoft Word and divide that number by 250 to get a rough idea of your page count. Even then, it won’t be completely accurate—different word processors have different algorithms to determine word count—but it’ll give you as close a count as you need.

  • Share/Bookmark

Evil Monkey’s Guide to Kosher Imaginary Animals

It’s just a couple short weeks until the start of Passover (the holiday comes early this year: sundown on Wednesday, April 8th). As you’re beginning your holiday preparation, keep a copy of the guide to kosher imaginary animals nearby.

It’s hard enough to stick to a restricted diet while on a normal vacation, much less when stranded in a mystical ocean or enchanted forest, but Ann VanderMeer, practicing Jew and editor of Weird Tales has contributed her knowledge so that we all might benefit. Small enough to print and store on the shelf with your cookbooks, this guide will soon be a kitchen reference staple!

Just as all scholarly Jewish writings do, this one invites interpretation and further question. Be sure to browse the comments too, to learn when it’s appropriate to wrap bacon around a hobbit.

  • Share/Bookmark

Up and coming

SOLOMON’S GRAVE is now in print! Congrats to author Daniel Keohane, with whom it was a pleasure to work. You can purchase the book from Amazon.com via the link above, or by clicking on the book cover in my sidebar.

The fantastic podiobook NINA KIMBERLY THE MERCILESS will be arriving in print on May 15th. To celebrate the print edition, author Christiana Ellis is offering a new and improved version of the podcast. Listen to the first installment!

Also scheduled for release in May is THE NECROMANCER’S BONES by Deby Fredericks. This is the sequel to the excellent novel THE MAGISTER’S MASK. While the second book can stand alone, the first is an intriguing fantasy/mystery and well worth a read! Order MAGISTER’S MASK now, so that you can be ready for the release of NECROMANCER’S BONES.

For those curious, or in the area, here’s my current panel schedule (subject to change) for Ad Astra:

Sat 10:00 AM — Ballr. East — What’s In a Name (MODERATING)
What are the challenges and trends in naming characters, locations, races, etc? Where can you find names? Is there a push for more realistic-sounding names? Do more fantastical names turn some readers off?

Sat 12:00 PM — Ballr. East — How Not to Submit Your Work
Panelists present all the things you should never do when submitting your creations. There’s a right way and a wrong way to present the fruit of your labours, whether it’s a novel, comic, short story, art portfolio, or other creative work.

Sat 1:00 PM — Ballr. East — How to Edit Yourself
Authors and editors share tips on how to spot the problems that are so easy to miss in your own work, how to add a bit more polish to your writing, when and why you need to find a second reader, and how to prepare your draft so that editing goes as smoothly as possible.

Don’t be afraid to drop me a line via my contact page if you’re going to be at the conference and want to say hello.

Also, a reminder, I do have openings in my schedule and I accept queries for editing projects through my contact page, as well!

  • Share/Bookmark

Challenging the “future”

In one of my posts a while back, I said that when you build your world and your setting, you need to keep your technology consistent or keep it plausible. It doesn’t have to be both, but it must be one or the other.

In science fiction, it’s most common for writers to adopt metric as the standard of measurement. Second most common, I’d say, is inventing your own original system.

Why?

Because a lot of science fiction takes place in the future, and there seems to have been an assumption made somewhere down the line that the metric system is more “futuristic.” (Ooh, it’s the future! We’ll all have converted to metric by then!)

When you create your setting, you get to choose whether you follow the standard conventions of the genre. Don’t feel pressured to do something a certain way just because everyone else does. Don’t feel obligated to break the mold just to be different in ways that are going to be distracting to your reader, either, but do take the time to think about the choices you’re making and why you’re making them.

If you want your universe to operate in feet and miles instead of meters and kilometers, go for it. Just keep it consistent; and if it isn’t consistent, keep it plausible. Have a reason for the inconsistency. Use it to your advantage, even! Different governments or worlds having different standards is certainly a valid and plausible reason — maybe it can even cause friction when those two bodies try to work together.

Don’t worry that your work isn’t going to be “sci-fi” enough if you don’t use metric; that’s like worrying that your work isn’t going to be “fantasy” enough if it doesn’t have elves. But at the same time, don’t worry that you’re “caving in” by deciding to use the standard, either.

Standards have a purpose: they give readers a familiar framework that keeps them from being distracted by the minutae, so that they can focus on the story. At the same time, if you make your break from the standard a part of the story, it can set your universe apart, or shift readers out of that comfort zone in ways that you can use.

Remember my post last monday about the haunted house? There are certain conventions, like a solid floor, that we take for granted. I encourage you to question the conventions and make your own choices instead of just adhering to them blindly.

I even encourage you to challenge them.

  • Share/Bookmark

The Art of the Unspoken

Monday I gave you an example of how the things left unseen can be scarier than anything overt that someone else can show you. Today I’ll show you how that applies to your writing, why it so commonly snares writers, and how to be aware of it and use it to your advantage.

If you don’t remember any of that stuff, though, just remember this:

Your imagination is your own worst enemy.

This is the foundation that successful horror is built on, but it applies to any kind of fiction writing, too. You want to get the reader invested in your characters and immersed in your world, then provide just enough detail to spark the imagination, and sit back and move out of the way while that imagination runs wild. Remember that your readers’ own minds will come up with something ten times scarier, vivid or more disgusting than anything any heaping pile of adjectives could ever inflict on them. If you give them (as they say) just enough rope to hang themselves with, they will. Every time.

There’s a scene in American Psycho where (not to give anything away), an implement is pulled out of a drawer. We never see the implement used; we don’t even have any idea what’s going to be done with it. I had nightmares about that movie for days. Not about the gore or the death or the bizarre stuff, but of that hand removing that item from that drawer. My mind ran off with that image like a dog let off the leash, so powerfully that I couldn’t get it to come home.

You have your own triggers and buttons that hit your own particular weak spots. So does everyone else. By leading the reader along the path and making them see things your way, you’re guiding them too closely, showing them the things that you want them to be scared by, instead of showing them what scares them. By leaving the buttons in your work unlabeled to a certain degree, you allow each reader to come up with the images most vivid and frightening to him. And getting the reader emotionally connected and invested in your work is exactly what every fiction writer wants.

You have to hold yourself back. What’s so hard about that?

As a writer, you feel it’s your job to write. To describe. To explain. You want your readers to see things through your eyes, you want to convey an image as clearly as if they’re viewing it on a movie screen. It’s hard to step back and trust them to take themselves to those places, or to accept that it’s okay if their places are a little different than yours.

A lot of inexperienced writers fall into the adjective overkill trap—the tendency to over-describe anything gross or disgusting or scary. You don’t need to hit the reader over the head with a thesaurus to convince them of the ick. One line of vivid, evocative imagery will trump a whole paragraph of goo, gore and slime every time.

It’s an especially common pitfall for the sort of writers who under-describe everything else. It’s almost as if they’re saving up their adjective rations and using them all at the end. I don’t know what the main character looks like, what his house looks like, or what his town looks like. But the slime dragon at the end of the book? I could tailor him a suit that fit perfectly on the first try—and it would match his glowing luminous demonic orbs of bulging emerald terror, too.

If you think you might be going overboard, compare the passage where you introduce your hero to the passage where you introduce your monster. The goo and the non-goo should get equal time.

Is this a subset of “good parts and other parts“? Does the writer sketch over the trek down the mountain because they want to get to the slime monster scene?

Maybe.

But it’s more often an issue that stems from a lack of confidence: Lookthis thing is really disgusting. It’s really, really gross, honest! I’m going to spell out just how gross it is, to make sure that you believe me. Are you convinced yet? How about now?

When writing the gross, the creepy and the disturbing, less is more. Don’t worry about convincing your reader that your horror is horrific. Pick just a few well-chosen words that tug viscerally at your readers’ imaginations, and they’ll convince themselves. Trust me.

And, more than that: Trust you.

  • Share/Bookmark

The Art of the Unseen

Last week, I featured an interview with horror writer Jack Kilborn (also known to his fans and his wife as JA Konrath). After the interview, I mentioned that Kilborn’s book AFRAID perfectly demonstrates one of the key concepts of horror writing: less (description) is more.

This week, I want to get a little deeper into that concept. Today I’ll show you a real-world example of it, and Thursday I’ll show you how to incorporate it into your writing to make your horror—and your descriptive fiction, altogether—stronger.

When I was about thirteen years old, on a trip to the county fair with my dad, I went through the most terrifying haunted house ever.

Nothing jumped out at me, nothing sprayed gore or strobed disorienting lights, or cackled or threatened to bite my neck. It was a single long hallway, just too wide to be able to put my arms out and feel the walls. It was pitch black. I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face. All I could see were the geometric patterns my eyes made to fill in the darkness. I’d entered during a quiet lull, so I was the only one inside. There were no voices, just the muffled sounds of the carnival outside, and there were no moments when a door would open to provide me with any hints of light.

All I had to do was walk the length of the room.

I didn’t see the challenge at first. Thinking about it now, I probably figured the thing was broken and I was the sucker (there’s one born every minute, you know!) who’d just been cheated out of six tickets, or that someone had accidentally shouldered the light switch. I started across, with the intention to make it to the other side and continue on to something more entertaining.

…and stepped right into something rubbery and squishy…and completely freaked out.

In the darkness, the only point of reference I had was the floor—and the floor, every time I would get used to it, would change. It was squishy. Then it was sticky. Then it was a series of wooden rollers (with handrails provided for that one). There was a stretch that vibrated. I was shaking like a leaf as I moved forward. Each step was hesitant, testing; not sure what I would encounter next. By that point I could see the faintly lit outline of the door at the end, but it seemed impossibly far away.

And then my toe bumped something solid. It was a step, and the faint light from the door showed me that there was a small flight of about five of them. Stairs weren’t a big deal after all those other things, and I was almost out, so I stepped forward with confidence. This would be the easy part.

But it wasn’t. The stairs were equipped with thick, flexible rubber projectiles that poked out from the walls. They brush my ankles stiffly from both sides and quivered against my skin.

I think I jumped straight up in panic. I know I jumped backwards, off the stairs. My head was racing with thoughts of insects, spiders, slimy things… My heart was pounding, and I actually backed up a few paces and crouched down, squinting into the darkness and tilting my head (I didn’t have a cell phone back then, so I didn’t have a horror-diffusing light source on me), trying desperately to see what those things were before I could let them touch me again.

Now, not only was I imagining being trapped in the dark by giant, infinitely patient spiders, I was also picturing being trapped there for hours. Overnight. Forever. How long would it take my father to figure out where I was and come in after me? Would the sun set? Would he be mad? Would he go home without me and let the spiders get me? Maybe they only came to life after dark.

Maybe they’d be…hungry.

Finally, after what felt like about five or ten minutes, someone else entered the room to start their own adventure, and I had enough light to see the projectiles for what they were. Then I could finally cross them—quickly, and sideways, with high steps that gave them as little contact as possible—and leave.

The experience impressed me and fascinated me. It had a profound effect on me and my perception of, well, perception. I was in awe of how something so simple had been able to make me so deeply afraid. It taught me a lot about the nature of fear, about how important it is to have the impression of control over one’s surroundings, and especially about how willing and eager my own imagination is to kick me in the butt when I give it half a chance.

I learned that the things unseen can sometimes be far more frightening than the things that are seen. The imagination, left to its own devices, can fill details more terrifying (and, details personalized to the very own fears of the person doing the experiencing, at that) than any fake blood or plastic skeleton or rubber mask, no matter how lifelike the special effects.

And I learned to what degree I take the floor beneath my feet for granted. We expect that when all else fails, when all else is uncertain, we’ll still have what’s beneath our feet as a frame of reference. As something sure, that we can count on. Cast someone’s most basic expectations into uncertainty, whether it’s the solidity of the literal floor or a metaphorical one, and you strip away all their control, leaving them with no frame of reference for expectations or assumptions. They will be left with nothing. Nothing will be sure.

And then, once all of that has been stripped away, the slightest nudge will give the imagination a wild, unapologetic field day.

  • Share/Bookmark

Be AFRAID of JA Konrath

JA Konrath, author of the Lt. Jacqueline “Jack” Daniels thriller series, busts out his “serious horror chops” (says Publishers Weekly) with his new novel: AFRAID, written under the pseudonym Jack Kilborn, debuts March 31st. It’s a pleasure to host a stop along his blog tour.

Keep reading to see what JA Konrath has to say about the author/editor relationship and to learn his secret superpower… No, not the ability to scare the pants off us with his writing—his SECRET superpower!

JK: Thanks for having me here, Gabrielle.

GH: Thanks for stopping by, Joe!

How important is a writer’s rapport with his editor? What builds that relationship? What weakens it?

JK: This is a great question, because very often you’ll be at odds with your editor.

The thing to remember is that she wants to get your best, and wants your book to be the best. It may be at odds with what you think is best for your book, but she probably reads more than you do, and likely knows better.

Some basic human nature comes into play as well. If an editor makes a suggestion, and you follow that suggestion, she now has a vested interest in your book, because she contributed to it. That means she’ll fight harder for it, champion it at sales and marketing meetings, talk it up to everyone within earshot.

In other words, the best thing you can do is listen to and work with your editor to strengthen that relationship. The worst thing you can do is argue with her. That’s a no win situation.

You don’t have to be subservient. But respect goes a long way.

GH: Everyone has their own pet mistakes they make as a writer—words or phrases they use too often or frequently misspell. What are yours, how do you become aware of them, and how do you defend against them? By changing your writing habits, or going back in with awareness of them when you edit?

JK: I like beginning stories with dialog, using action instead of speaker attribution, and starting sentences with “And.”

None of them are considered good form. And I frankly don’t care, so I keep doing them. If you make mistakes often enough, they aren’t mistakes any more. They’re style.

GH: What was the first book you sold? What was the difference between it and the manuscripts that you’d written before it?

JK: I wrote nine novels before finally selling number ten. The first five were lousy. The next four weren’t bad, but they couldn’t find publishers. Publishing, even though people won’t admit it, is largely based on luck. Get the right book in front of the right editor at the right time, you’ll have a sale.

Have you ever read a bestseller that you thought was crummy? That’s proof talent isn’t much of a factor in sales.

If you’d like to read some of my unpublished books and judge for yourself whether they deserved to sell or not, they’re available as downloads on my website for free.

GH: What have the benefits and pitfalls of using a pen name been for
you? Has creating a separation in your work by genre been a help or a
hindrance? How do you feel about “secret identity” pen names?

JK: AFRAID, my first pen name novel (my pseudonym for that book is Jack Kilborn) comes out at the end of March, so I don’t know yet if a pen name was a good idea or a bad idea.

My wife thinks it’s a good idea, because now she gets to sleep with two different men.

Because AFRAID is horror, and my JA Konrath books are a mixture of humor and scares, I thought it would be a smart idea to use a new name and crack a new demographic. We’ll see if horror fans embrace the book. It will also be interesting to see if Jack Daniels fans (she’s my series character, and I write those thrillers, all named after drinks, under the name JA Konrath) will embrace the horror novel.

Best case scenario involves a lot of embracing.

GH: Speaking of secret identities, what’s your superhero name and what
are your powers?

JK: I knew you were going to ask that, because I have the superhuman ability to see eight seconds into the future.

The secret of a good series is to keep things similar, but dynamic. Readers love the familiarity of reoccurring characters. It’s like visiting old friends. But they also like for things to be shaken up and chance. That’s why I killed a longtime character at the end of Fuzzy Navel, my last Jack Daniels book.

However, I didn’t say who died, because I didn’t want to get any hate mail.

There’s a poll on my website, with readers voting who died.

GH: What are the qualities that a series needs to keep readers wanting
the next book?

JK: I answered that eight seconds ago.

GH: Who would you want to see portray you in a movie?

JK: I’d love to pick someone really cool, like George Clooney. But it would wind up being Jack Black.

GH: Will electronic and audio formats ever replace physical dead-tree books?

JK: Yes. CDs are dying. Newspapers are dying. Books will die as well. Digital formats keep getting better and cheaper.

The only thing that will never be replaced by a digital version is beer.

GH: One space after a period, or two?

JK: One space. And no spaces between periods in ellipsis…

GH: You’ve got a busy month of blog-touring ahead of you! What’s your
cure for jetlag?

JK: Jetlag is a myth, like writer’s block and insomnia and a GOP majority.

Now I’ve got a question for you. I’ve got the first few chapters of AFRAID posted on www.JackKilborn.com. Does it scare you and make you want to rush out and buy 15 copies of the book? Or does it make you wonder why you offered to interview me in the first place?

You actually don’t have to answer. I knew what you’d say eight seconds ago…

While I’m not a fast enough reader to go through three chapters in eight seconds, it did only take about eight seconds for me to start squirming in my seat. AFRAID is a page-turner that will keep you reading, even if you’re reading through the tiny peekhole you’re pretending not to leave open between your fingers when you cover your eyes; those three chapters went by way too quickly and left me clawing at my screen for more.

Do go and read the first few chapters of AFRAID, but first, turn on all the lights in your home and make sure your sweetheart’s accounted for. Seriously, this is damn good writing, but it’s not for the faint of heart. Jack Kilborn turns your own imagination against you and makes it your unapologetic worst enemy, just like good horror should. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

After you finish, preorder AFRAID on amazon.com. Also check out JA Konrath’s website and A Newbie’s Guide to Publishing, his excellent and inspiring blog.

  • Share/Bookmark

Put Your Garlic Away

Wednesday, March 4th is National Grammar Day, and since what’s meant to be a lighthearted, tongue-in-cheek sort of event is getting all sorts of extreme response, I thought I’d set the record straight, at least as far as this editor is concerned.

National Grammar Day was founded by the equally tongue-in-cheek Society for the Promotion of Good Grammar, or SPOGG, as a day to appreciate grammar. Some suggested methods of celebration include holding grammar parties at which you “drink Grammartinis”, and even “eat high-fiber foods (because they’re good for the colon)” — rimshot, please?

I’ve explained my position on ridicule of grammar before in this blog. I’m a grammar vampire, not a grammar vigilante or spelling snob, and certainly not a Grammar Nazi.

I’ll edit for a friend if they ask me to, but I have to be invited in. I’m not going to pounce on every typo in every e-mail, blog post, comment, online forum and chat session. I typo-spot in public, I giggle at mistranslations and I might even sneak my own photo of an especially amusing leap of spelling, grammar or logic—but even then, I’m not going to roam around armed with a permanent marker or a stack of apostrophes to make my own corrections.

So, enjoy National Grammar Day, but keep it in perspective. It’s a fun day to make puns and joke and laugh, and make strings of paper dolls shaped like ampersands and hang them as garlands, and snicker at unintentional cannibal references. It’s not a call to arms.

And you can put your garlic away; I’m not going to be coming after you. Except, maybe, to share pictures.

  • Share/Bookmark