How Much Do You Want This?

Filed in: blog | writing    Tags: motivation | rsswwf

Blogging about the Ruby-Slippered Sisterhood’s Winter Writing Festival and how I’m trying to stay motivated.

For me, it all starts with this question: How Much Do You Want This?

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Ruby Sisters’ Winter Writing Festival

Filed in: blog | writing    Tags: rsswwf | ruby-slippered sisterhood | writing challenges

The Ruby-Slippered Sisterhood Winter Writing Festival starts today and goes for 50 days. During last year’s writing fest, I finished My Fair Concubine, which is going to be a June 2012 release. I’m counting on the festival to save my butt again this year.

Come join for support, camaraderie and, of course, prizes!

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News from the Bedside

Filed in: blog | book reviews | slice of life | writing    Tags: courtney milan | justin hill | meljean brook | stephanie dray | susanna kearsley | upcoming releases

Rather than news from the Desk of Jeannie Lin.

As my Recent Update states, I’ve been on “hiatus” — more specifically bedrest as I incubate my little twins. I sincerely don’t want the blog to turn into a personal journal of my everyday ramblings or a baby blog, which is why I chose instead to remain a bit quiet rather than feel the need to chime in via blog, Twitter or Facebook. My newsletter has also been quiet since October. Typing is rather hard while laying down, but I finally found a comfortable position where I can use my computer now that I’m in the hospital, so I thought it was time for a little update post.

Hospitalization always sounds scary to me, so I didn’t want to alarm anyone. My little zygotes are doing well at 28 weeks and I’m getting good care as I try to incubate them a little longer. First pregnancies are scary things under normal circumstances and mine has been a bit of a roller coaster.

So let’s get on with a few Jeannie Lin authorial things…

***

Thank You

Thank you so much for all the little notes and messages from readers either about the books or wishing me well. I really do read each one, but have been a little slower in responding due to bedrest and hospital visits. Each note gives me a much needed boost and I promise to eventually reply to everyone.

Also thank you to everyone for reading and reviewing or mentioning The Dragon and the Pearl and The Lady’s Scandalous Night. I really had to cut all promotion efforts short for this book and was a bit sad that I was only able to do one booksigning and a few blogs.

***

From the writing front:

My doctor was concerned because one of the biggest problems with bedrest is boredom and feeling unproductive. Everyone seemed a bit worried about my mental state having to go on such long-term bedrest. I revealed that though I had to go on leave for my day job, I did have a couple books on contract that I needed to finish. My doc was thrilled to hear that. She’s a fan of medical thrillers (surprise!), a big reader and had always been curious about what I was reading whenever I came to the office.

And it’s true…I do have a couple of titles contracts, novels and short stories, that I’ve been working on from bed. I wasn’t worried about boredom. I’ve always liked summer breaks as a kid. I was always able to find things to do — write in my journal, make up games, draw, and of course, write stories.

It is rough though. My brain hasn’t been as active without other tasks to keep me moving. I don’t want to blame “baby brain” either, but I do think about the little zygotes a lot. I can spend hours with my hand to my baby belly just feeling them squirm. I tell them to stay with me a little longer and try to become dragons (The Year of the Dragon starts Jan. 23, 2012).

Mostly, I try to brainstorm. My ideas don’t come flying at me as they do with many other authors (jealous!). I need to spend a lot of time developing them. I replay what I now call “the movie versions” in my head and do a bunch of what ifs and director’s cuts. A LOT gets thrown out, because I can see the storyline isn’t compelling or viable. I incubated my third novel for a good nine months before I really sat down to outline and write it in three months.

Tee hee…so try as I might, it takes nine months to make a baby.

What I’ve found is that now there are certain expectations about what to write next to “build readership”. I don’t mind. My editor and publisher have been lovely about giving me freedom in my stories, but there are still schedules and expectations for what comes next and it’s not always the most compelling story in my head that they want next.

I find myself course correcting a lot, which is not something I used to do. I’d start one project only to find I needed to redirect to another one. My latest dilemma was trying to write a short story linked to my next release, My Fair Concubine. I discarded so many scenarios trying to find a linked tale that would fit in a short story format. Because I started out as a short story writer, I take a lot of pride in my Undones and want them to be complete works of some merit. In this regard, sometimes I angst over them as much as I would a novel…maybe more.

But I’m putting words down now. I’m writing like I used to write on those long summer breaks in my notebook. Scene by scene. Raw. Just to keep writing.

***

Publishing news!

I have the title for my next novel release which is MY FAIR CONCUBINE. I believe it’s slated for some time next summer–June or July. By then, the US and UK releases should be synchronized. I’ll keep everyone posted. I’ve been very lucky to be able to retain all my working novel titles: Butterfly Swords, The Dragon and the Pearl, and now My Fair Concubine.

As the title suggests, it’s a nod to My Fair Lady in Tang Dynasty China. It’s lighter in tone and a departure from the usual political intrigue and angst of my first two books, but I hope readers will enjoy.

The title for my next Undone short release is CAPTURING A SILKEN THIEF. This story is what I consider the most “Tang Dynasty” of all my stories, depicting a classic match-up between an imperial scholar and a song girl. (Yes, in the Tang Dynasty, the heroes were scholars. If you ever wonder about how deeply the emphasis on education goes in Asian culture, this is a big clue)  I drew a lot from my time as a student at UCLA when writing the story (funny where inspiration comes from), at the same time it’s a glimpse into the culture of the entertainment district of Changan, at least as I imagined it. No official release date yet, but I’m really looking forward to sharing this one.

***

Awesome Bedrest Reads

So what have I spent most of my time doing?

Reading. Reading and reading and reading.

I bought an iPad when I knew I was going on long-term bedrest and it’s been wonderful. All of my Kindle books transferred over and I’ve been able to read a book a day for nearly a month, making a huge dent in my TBR pile. I’m a little sad because there are still a bunch of paper books stashed downstairs in my basement that I want to read too, but dear hubby has been so busy attending to me as well as getting ready for the babies all by himself that I didn’t want to bug him — “Honey, down in my office, there’s a pile of books on the coffee table. Can you rummage through them and bring me The Shadow and the Star?”

He’s already complained about how many books I have lying around as he needs to convert my office into a guest bedroom.

Blame the hormones or the freedom (due to bedrest) to immerse myself in books without any distractions, but I’ve been blown away by so many great stories. I’m a bad objective reviewer of books, because I really give over a lot of trust to the author when I read. I want to be swept away. I want to believe.

So here’s my hit list of awesome bedrest reads:

The Winter Sea by Susanna Kearsley

I’ve had this on my TBR forever. Everyone was raving about it and then I met Susanna at RT in Los Angeles. We became convention buddies as we kept running into each other. I was so impressed by the dual storylines, past and present, and how they were woven together in this book. Each one enhanced the other and I just devoured the pages. I felt this book was as good, if not better, than The Time Traveller’s Wife. The historical detail was incredible and the story craft was the sort that filled me with writer envy. This book and the ending resonated with me a long time after I finished it.

Heart of Steel by Meljean Brook

One of the books I was hovering over to buy on release day. Great adventurous follow-up to The Iron Duke which also blew me away. This is probably the best steampunk worldbuilding I’ve encountered, though I’m a relatively new fan of the genre. I just love traveling in the world that Meljean has created and how she mixes in historical tidbits (they’re chasing after Leonardo Da Vinci’s sketches in this one), steampunk technology, and settings all over the globe. So much fun. I would love to see movies made of these books!

Unclaimed by Courtney Milan

I hate it when I read a review of one of my books that starts with “I had misgivings about reading this…” It always makes me sick to my stomach and then even if they ended up liking it “more than they thought they would”, it’s like having someone meet me and say, “Wow, you’re a lot nicer than I thought you’d be.”

So…um…I had some reservations about the hero Mark through the initial chapters. I love Courtney’s writing and also the psychological nature of her conflicts. In Unveiled, I wasn’t swept away because the hero was so superior to the heroine. Kind of smugly so. Power and emotional differentials are important to me when reading romance, and though Courtney’s heroines are also super-strong, her heroes as of late can be too noble, too self-assured, too perfect. It’s kind of the opposite vibe I get from Sherry Thomas whose characters are so broken and fascinating.

Ha, that’s another problem when I’ve read an author’s entire backlist. Baggage from other books. In any case, I was swept away by the courtship in Unclaimed. I loved how Mark was seeking true love and his idea of it was so very different from what everyone else assumed about him. I cried and cried when his heart was broken. (Oh, also I usually love Courtney’s books for the heroines, but Unveiled and Unclaimed definitely were more hero-centric.)

I said I was a bad objective reviewer, but that doesn’t mean I don’t analyze my reading experience to death.

The Song of the Nile by Stephanie Dray

I’ve been following this series from the first book, Lily of the Nile, and this follow-up took some bold moves. The magical realism or historical fantasy or whatever you call it in this series just pulls me in. I’ve said it before, but I do feel like I’m reading one of Marion Zimmer Bradley’s epic historical fantasies whenever I read a Stephanie Dray book. These books take me back to that time in my life when I hung around the library and books spoke so loudly to me. (Ah, the teenage years) Dray’s Cleopatra Selene is epic, unconventional, larger than life, yet very human in depiction. It’s the type of book that makes me want to Google for hours afterwards, reading up on Augustus Caesar and Selene and the lives of everyone mentioned in the book. I can’t wait for the third book and then I want to sit down and re-read the entire series.

Similar to how I felt with Susanna Kearsley’s book, Song of the Nile makes me believe, as fantastic as it seems, that this was how it happened.

Passing Under Heaven by Justin Hill

I came across this book while researching the life of Yu Xuanji: courtesan, poetess, and a bit of a rebel of the Tang Dynasty. I had come across one of her poems where she laments that her silken robes (being a woman) obscure the lines of her poetry (keeps her from being recognized for her talent). There’s another poem where she mentions being jealous of the list of imperial scholars. Something about her voice, coming from over a thousand years in the past, has always spoken to me.

Passing Under Heaven is a retelling of her whirlwind, restless, and ultimately tragic life. I don’t like Chinese tragedy for the sake of melodrama, but this book was more than just a lament about the trials of being a woman in imperial China. Yu Xuanji’s life provides a rare glimpse into so many aspects of Tang Dynasty culture since she was a concubine, a  Taoist nun, and a courtesan. Plus I loved seeing the depiction of Tang Dynasty culture, the North Hamlet, the justice system, the imperial exam system…I have so few reference works to go to that this was just a special, special find for me.  I would love to have a conversation with the author about Tang culture.

My doc says she likes to check out what her patients read because it says something about them. I guess you can see my hot buttons: stories about remarkable woman, throughout time, across cultures–real or imagined.

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What I learned from the New Voices contest

Filed in: blog | writing    Tags: mentoring | new voices contest | writing reflection

I’m a mentor for the Harlequin Mills & Boon New Voices contest and my assigned finalist and I just spent a fast and furious weekend working on Chapter 2. Now, as a mentor, I’m supposed to answer questions and help guide the finalist through the revision and submission process for the contest, but I found that I learned quite a lot while working with her.

First of all, I know that the editors saw “something” in her as an author based on her chapter. I read the chapter myself and formed my own thoughts about her strengths and possible weaknesses before engaging her. I can honestly say I really liked the first chapter. I loved the scenario, I loved her characterizations. The hero had that je ne sais quois hero appeal. The setting showed great promise even from the first chapter.  But the fact that the M&B editors selected this chapter clued me in that they definitely saw something publishable about the writing.

See there’s good writing and there’s writing that gets noticed. I always say that good writing isn’t enough. There are a lot of good writers out there competing in that slush pile. Good writing is par for the course.

As I was working with my finalist (See my switch to possessive there? She’s mine…mine!), I reflected on what was working for me in her second chapter and where I thought I would make suggestions. As a mentor, it felt like I was assigned to a writer that already had some chops. It was more my role to assess and to guide and focus rather than to teach.

And then I thought about teaching. What things are really hard to teach because really there are elements writers just have to take back to the bat cave and hash out for a while before they figure it out themselves? Now I love to teach. That’s why I love doing workshops on writing. Teaching doesn’t mean you KNOW. It means you’re THINKING. And I’m always thinking and evaluating what works.

Well, as I was reading Chapter 2, I found I was really pleased because the finalist did seem to have a grasp of those elements that were very hard to teach. That were ephemeral and unique to each writer. It made me wonder, is that what agents and editors are looking for? I mean, every one will tell you a list of what they are looking for — and those lists are ephemeral and unique to each agent/editor. A great story, is the only thing they’ll universally settle on.

Perhaps they’re looking for those things that can’t…or are very hard to teach. No manuscript comes in perfect. I definitely don’t think the first manuscript I sold or any there after was even near perfect. But of the many possible flaws a manuscript can have, there are deal breakers and there are things that are fixable–at least in an editor’s eyes. (Whenever I talk about editors or agents, I’m just supposing, BTW. I don’t know what makes them tick or what their selection process is, but as someone who queried and submitted and took in nearly a hundred rejections before selling, you can bet I spent a lot of time trying to figure it out.)

For me, these were the elements that I really appreciate seeing. These were the things I don’t think I could have taught her in the short amount of time we have:

Deep characterization

I know we usually talk about POV and POV is a part of this perhaps. So often when you get a manuscript critique, people talk about whether they “liked” or didn’t like a hero or heroine. These are valid reader responses, but what does that mean to a writer trying to improve? Like is so subjective and it’s so easy to dismiss dislike as a subjective response of that particular reader. So I’m not talking about like or sympathy or identification. Those things are…ta da…fixable! I’m talking about the ability to really get close to a character. To not hold back or be distant, but get into their minds and see what’s happening. You can complain that an author has created someone you didn’t really like, didn’t really feel for, etc. But is the root cause that the character feels distant to you? Sort of walled off and impenetrable? I’m not saying their traits consist of being walled off and impenetrable–cause come on…that would take away half the romance hero population! I’m saying the execution of the character makes them seem flat and distant. The execution is holding back. My finalist wasn’t afraid to go in deep and get close and personal with her character’s psyches. As a mentor, that meant I could go in and comment on specific behaviors that might or might not work, but I wasn’t commenting on how to make it work. I could trust my finalist to make those decisions herself.

Romantic tension/Emotionality

This may be an offshoot of deep characterization, but I think it’s separate. It’s the interplaying of the characters so the emotions come out. It’s the selection of dialogue and setting and situation to bring out those feelings. Because there are a lot of choices as a writer. Sometimes a scene is trying to get from point A to point B. Sometimes we’re setting up danger and adventure and a bunch of other things. So romantic tension or emotionality is having that compass continually pointed to highlighting emotions. It may not be necessary for all genres, but it’s critical for romance. I’ve read scenes that were supposed to be emotional that fell flat — so it’s not as obvious and easy as you would think. In fact, it’s not easy at all. It can be taught. It can be practiced and mastered, but if a submission doesn’t show that core is there, then it’s a non-starter. As a mentor, I can point out spots where it would be good to bring out more emotion, but it would be much harder to try to explain how to get that emotion onto the page, especially with someone else’s setup, characters and prose. Fortunately, I didn’t have to.

Distinctiveness

I say this all the time in my workshops. It’s something that can’t be taught so the explanation is very quick. I can’t teach you how to do that voodoo that you do, I can only say…give me more! Highlight it. Focus it. Word choices, perspectives, descriptions can’t be cliched or generic. I don’t think you get past first base if you’re generic — no matter how sparkling your grammar may be.

Turning a Scene

There’s probably some special term for this that I don’t know yet, so I have to explain. Sometimes you read a scene and it’s good and it does what it’s supposed to do. But there’s something special in a scene that has some levels to it. Having a high point or a low point, depending on the scene, is one part of it and a necessary part. But sometimes a scene can really benefit from being turned. From having something unexpected happen — I’m not saying shocking, explosive, a monster just busted through the wall and kidnapped your girl. Sometimes a bit of dialogue can just turn a scene and make it deeper than it would have been. Make is something special. It might be better if it’s NOT a big occurrence. If it seems natural. I value my Little Sis as a critique partner because she doesn’t tell me if my scenes are passable or how to fix them. She gives comments that will turn a scene. I don’t know how you tell someone to do this if it’s not there. I think my mentee/finalist knew instinctively that a scene should have these levels. That there are ways to turn it around a little. Leave something unsettled. Make what you thought was going to be cut and dry a little bit more special.

Ability to take direction

You can’t tell this from a page, only from working back and forth with someone. Perhaps this is why M&B thought New Voices would be a good way to find new authors. I think every writer must be able to take feedback and make revisions, but the ones with staying power are really able to take some basic suggestions and really run with it and not be afraid to play around, to break things, to sew them back up. I don’t think you can teach this at all. It’s about whether they have the instincts and the strength of will to hold onto their own sensibilities and make the improvements their own. Sometimes it’s hard to know if you’ve been clear enough in your feedback. Were you too verbose? Too dictatorial? Or worse, were you too vague? As a mentor, you don’t want to tell the finalist how to write their entries and you don’t know until you get the revisions back whether you truly were able to help or not. My editor never tells me what to write or how to change things…only that things need change. The how is always up to me.

I’m crossing my fingers that my finalist makes it to the next round, but I hope that no matter what, she’s learned something from the process. I know I did.

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Inside the Critique Process: Revised Opening

Filed in: blog | craft | excerpts | writing    Tags: brenda novak auction | critique | my fair concubine

Sorry this is late! Had an odd day…but here it is.

If you’re just seeing this, you can see the original version of the opening and the feedback:

Original Opening – 1st post

Feedback and Commentary

Thursday I’ll go into what I was trying to address with the revisions.

***

Tang Dynasty China, 824 A. D.
Chapter 1
(First scene remains the same)

***

“Jilted lover,” the cook guessed.

Yan Ling’s eyes grew wide. The stranger had stormed up the staircase only moments earlier with a sword strapped at his side and the glint of murder in his deep-set eyes. She’d leapt out of the path of his charge, just managing to hold onto her pot of tea without spilling a drop.

She stood at the edge of the main room, head cocked to listen for sounds of mayhem upstairs. Her heart raced as she gripped the handle of the teapot. Such violence and scandal were unthinkable in their quiet town.

“Should someone stop him?”

“What? You saw how he was dressed.” Old Cook had his feet in the kitchen, but the rest of him strained as far into the dining area as possible. “Man like that can do whatever he wants.”

“Get back to work,” the proprietor barked.

Yan Ling jumped and the cook ducked his head back through the curtain that separated the main room from the kitchen.

“Worthless girl,” her master muttered as she rushed the pot of tea to its intended table. She pressed her fingers against the ceramic to check the temperature of the pot before setting it down. Cooler than ideal, but still hot enough to not get any complaints.

It was late in the morning and the patrons had thinned, but that was never an excuse to move any slower. Lately it seemed nothing she did was fast or efficient enough. She’d never known any life but the tea house. The story was she’d been abandoned as an infant in the room upstairs, likely the very same one where a new scandal was now unfolding.

She paused to stack empty cups onto a tray. At that moment, the young woman and her companion hurried down the stairs, leaving not even a farewell behind as they swept out the door. Yan Ling expected the sword-carrying nobleman to come chasing after them, but only an uncomfortable silence followed their exit.

The patrons began to whisper among themselves. Her master should be happy. This incident would have the townsfolk lingering over more than a few extra teapots worth of gossip.

When he finally emerged, the gentleman appeared surprisingly calm. He descended the stairs with a steady, powerful stride and his expression was as still as the surface of the moon. Instead of leaving, he marched directly over to the proprietor and flashed an official-looking jade seal. At that point, even the proprietor’s wife flocked over to welcome him. They ushered him to an empty table at the center of the room, nearly breaking their backs bowing with such enthusiasm. Her master shot Yan Ling a sharp look which she knew immediately. Bring tea and fast. She rushed to the kitchen.

“Is there a lot of blood?” the kitchen boy asked as she pushed through the curtain.

“Shush.”

She poured hot water into a fresh pot of leaves and flew back out with her hand around the bamboo handle. Back out in the main room, the stranger didn’t even spare her a glance as she poured the first cup for him.

His robe was of fine woven silk and richly dyed in a dark blue. He wore his thick hair long, the front of it pulled back into a knot in the style of aristocracy. She was stricken by strength of his features; the hard line of his cheekbones and the broad shape of his face which narrowed slightly at the chin.

With a cursory bow, she set down the pot and moved away. There were other tables to tend to and most patrons wanted to drink their tea in peace. Yet her attention kept on wandering back to the stranger. Hours later, he was still seated in the same spot. He wasn’t even drinking his tea anymore. Instead, he had taken to staring into his cup.

Government official, they guessed in the back room, though he traveled without any escort and had a sullen expression that continued to sink lower as the day slipped by. Her guess was that he needed something stronger than tea.

By the end of the day, Yan Ling moved from table to empty table in a restless circle, wash rag in hand, as she wiped away at wooden surfaces rubbed bare from long use. The tea house crowd had dispersed to return to their homes. Only the nobleman remained, still hoarding his cold tea.

As long as he stayed there, she was supposed to attend to him. Her master had made that very clear while he sat comfortably in the corner, tallying up the cash. The wooden beads of his abacus clicked together, signaling that the day should be done.

Her feet ached and no matter how much she wriggled her toes in her slippers, the feeling wouldn’t quite return to them. The clang from the kitchen meant that the cook and his boy were cleaning their pots. A mountain of cups and bowls and little plates would be waiting for her.

Cook tried to get her pry information from the man, but of course she wouldn’t do such a thing. He’d suffered enough public scrutiny that day to deserve some privacy. She guessed him to be twenty-five years. He had a slight crease between his eyes that she imagined came more from deep contemplation than age, and she was beginning to feel for him. After his initial rage, he handled his grief with such dignity and bearing.

Gingerly, she approached the table. “Does the honored guest need anything?”

She reached for the clay tea pot only to have him wave her back with an irritated scowl. For a gentleman, he was uncommonly rude, but she supposed wearing silk and jade gave him that privilege. He propped his elbows onto the table, shoulders hunched to return to his vigil. From the emptiness of his stare, the young woman had to have been someone close to him. His wife? But no man would let his wife escape with a lover after catching them together.

Yan Ling turned to wipe down her already cleaned table once more when the stranger spoke.

“I need a woman,” he mumbled. “Any woman would do.”

Her stomach dropped. She swung around, her mouth open in shock. The stranger raised his head. For the first time, his eyes focused on her, looking her up and down.

“Perhaps even you.”

Any sympathy she might have had for him withered away. If his tone had been leering, or his look more appraising, it might have been less offensive. But the coldly pensive way he’d said it along with the addition of ‘perhaps’ as if to plunge her worth even further-Yan Ling grabbed the teapot and flung the contents onto the scoundrel.

The stranger shot to his feet with a curse. With a choked cry, her master jumped up from his table and his wife soared like a windstorm from the kitchen, apologizing profusely. Even the cook and his boy were gawking through the curtained doorway.

“Get out!” The master’s wife shrieked at Yan Ling before turning to fuss at their precious patron. The front of his expensive robe was stained dark with a splatter of tea.

“We are so sorry, my lord,” she crooned. “So sorry.”

Yan Ling clutched the tea pot between both her hands while she stared.

The nobleman swiped the tea leaves away in one angry motion while his eyes remained fixed onto her. He had lost that distant, brooding expression he’d worn all day. The look he gave her was possibly worse than the one she’d seen as he’d charged up the stairs. Heat rose up her neck as she stumbled back.

What had she done?

“That know-nothing, good for nothing girl,” her master railed.

Her ears rang as she ducked into the kitchen through the beaded curtain. Steam enclosed her, but the clang of the pots couldn’t block the nobleman’s deep voice as he complained about such disrespect. She could hear her master and his wife agreeing wholeheartedly.

It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been taunted before, but over the last years the teasing had taken on a different tone as her bone-thin figure had curved its way into womanhood. She’d learned to deafen her ears and stare ahead, never meeting any of the not-so-subtle glances thrown her way. Yet to suffer such insult from someone who appeared so refined. It was unbearable.

Ignoring the curious stares from cook and the kitchen-boy, she slipped through the back door. Her palms were damp and she wiped them restlessly against the sides of her gray tunic. Fear set her heart skittering.

The tea house was where she’d lived all her life, but it was not home. The proprietor and his wife were not father and mother. This had always been clear to her and she’d had to earn her bed, this roof, and every meal with service and obedience.

One moment of hot-headedness. She’d lashed out at a well-dressed nobleman, of all people. She wasn’t even a servant when it came to this man. She was the humble servant of humble servants. Who was she to be outraged? She wasn’t allowed it.

She would certainly be scolded by both master and mistress, each separately and then together. Yan Ling could hear them already. She had become too much of a burden to feed, to clothe. She wasn’t even pretty enough to bring in more customers. They might even be angry enough to take a bamboo switch to her.

A beating was all she’d have to suffer, if she was lucky.

***
Now, I don’t mean to get a complex, but our joint critique is up for $2.00 at Brenda Novak’s auction. That’s less than a Starbucks.

Edited to add: Apparently someone bid since last I checked, so it’s now up to $15.00. I’ll make it worth your while, promise.

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Inside the Critiquing Process: Feedback on opening

Filed in: blog | craft | events | writing    Tags: brenda novak auction | critique | little sis | my fair concubine

Yesterday I posted an opening to a manuscript. If you didn’t get a chance to read it, you can check it out here. Working title – My Fair Concubine.

To be fair, my sister read the entire manuscript before commenting on the opening. So she’s working in not just whether this scene works or not, but what can be done with it in the larger context of the entire story.

Little Sis’ critique

When Yan Ling first meets Fei Long at the tea house–can you combine this to be the same tea house/inn that Fei Long finds his sister at and kicks out? I want Yan Ling more active from the start. It’s cute that her feet are tired, but if it’s combined, then all the servers will already know the scandalous story and she can be gossiping with them (this also colors the environment more. right now a little flat overall)–so she can be a little more sympathetic to his plight, admiring of the first noble that she’s seen, admiring of his bearing and manners, ect, until he throws out that line about needing a woman (then sparks fly and she dumps tea on him–so much for all her sympathy! he’s just one of those sleazy nobles, ect).  However, when he explains the plan, she can already be partially on his side, not just because of the money, but because she sympathizes and has thought, “Well if I were Pearl, I wouldn’t throw away such an opportunity…”  Because she has been described more than once as practical–show how she is practical.

On a tangent (sorry, my mind’s not as organized), Dao has a backstory where Yan Ling does not. That also makes Dao more of an interesting character. That’s why these first opening chapters can do a lot more. As well as having Yan Ling more active, having her talk to the other servers, having more of her thoughts, and her interacting will also give you a chance to build her character and her background. Why is she so much more practical? Why is she at the tea house? Has she no family?

Jeannie’s commentary on the critique

Whenever someone gives me feedback, the comments need to garner a sense of trust before I’ll accept them. With my sister, we already have an established critiquing relationship, but even if we didn’t, there are certain things about her feedback which make me trust it.

First of all, feedback doesn’t mean that the scene I wrote is all wrong. I’m wary if someone comes in and immediately says something like “the book starts in the wrong place” or suggests that I re-write the scene without sufficient backup. Sure, rewrites like that are sometimes needed, but if the feedback shows that the commenter understands what I was trying to do with the story, rather than just rejecting my work outright, then it builds that trust.

Sis discusses Yan Ling’s character development in a way that tells me she gets what I was trying to do. At least she appreciated the cute detail with Yan Ling’s aching feet. Sometimes when I get feedback, I’m not sure whether the reader just didn’t pay attention or whether I really failed in what I tried to do. Because I’m not sure and the trust has not been established, I’m not sure whether I should fix something. Little Sis has demonstrated an understanding of my opening and what I wanted to do with the characters. She does this by echoing back specific details — I did want to highlight Yan Ling’s practical, no-nonsense nature. I wanted her opening to be sort of cute. I wanted her to show a bit of a temper, but not be completely temperamental or feisty.

Sis also points out a fundamental weakness that became more evident as the book progresses — namely that Yan Ling doesn’t have enough backstory from the beginning. We’re dropped into the story here where she’s presented as a servant and very quickly embarks upon the story adventure which takes her away from that life. Dao is another character introduced later that Sis thought was overshadowing Yan Ling in terms of having more intriguing backstory and characterization — which would be a bad thing since Yan Lin is my heroine and Dao is a secondary.

Most importantly, Sis earns my trust by giving me some very specific and usable suggestions. Instead of saying — “Include more of the five senses” or “I want to get a better sense of the tea house” or “I feel like your heroine isn’t active enough”, her suggestions about making the tea house the same location as the inn and showing Yan Ling interacting more vividly with the other servants are both changes that I could visualize and see myself executing to the story’s advantage. She also explained her thought process behind the suggestions and what purpose they would serve. So if it was the case that I didn’t like the suggestion, I could still address the underlying gaps that she’s identified. Immediately, I could see how the pacing, tension, and characterization of the first two scenes could be vastly improved by these changes.

Tomorrow: I’ll post the updated opening based on Sis’ critique.

Want Little Sis and me to critique your first 30 pages? Bid at the Brenda Novak auction and get both of us cheap.

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Little Sis & I: Inside the critiquing process

Filed in: blog | craft | events | excerpts | writing    Tags: charity auction | critique process | excerpts

Little Sis and I are offering not one, but two joint critiques for auction:

Brenda Novak online auction for Diabetes Research

Get Bria Quinlan to RWA

In conjunction with that, I wanted to give a peek into what the critique and writing process is like between us. I’ve posted before that I think Little Sis has killer instincts and knows how to take something I’ve written and guide it to a stronger, better place. She taught me how to critique and thus, pretty much how to be a better writer.

The blog this week will go through a recent opening I wrote, how Little Sis responded, and then my revised opening based on her critique. Throughout each step of the way, I’ll discuss my reasoning and commentary on her critique. I’ll cover what makes a good critique for me and how I know to trust feedback — as I actually get many readers in addition to Little Sis. P.S. Bria Quinlan is another one of my trusted readers.

***

Breaking Good Writing

In workshops, I talk about how the most important lesson I learned was that good writing wasn’t enough to take you to the next level. The hardest part of the game is when your pages are good, solid, workable– but how to make them better?

Here was an example of an opening that I thought was good. I thought it achieved its purpose and hit all the notes I wanted to hit. It made it through several rounds of readers as well, but Little Sis eventually gave some feedback that turned things around.

This is a risk for me because this hasn’t been accepted by my editor yet. So the caveat is it may all change in the final version. You, the blog reader, may also find that you don’t like this opening at all or you would have totally written it differently. Or that my writing isn’t THAT good. That’s all fine. Please don’t take this as an example of how to write a good opening. I’m trying to illustrate the critique process and I hope to learn something myself by deconstructing it in this way.

Version 1:

This is a draft of an unpublished manuscript, prior to any professional editing or copyediting. This is how the story opens.
Tang Dynasty China, 824 A. D.

Chapter 1

Fei Long faced the last room at the end of the narrow hallway, unsheathed his sword, and kicked the door open.

A feminine shriek pierced the air, along with the frantic shuffle of feet as he strode through the entrance. The boarding room was a small one. The inhabitants, a man and a woman, flung themselves into the corner with nowhere to hide.

His gaze fixed onto the woman first. His sister’s hair was unbound and her eyes widened with fear. Pearl had their mother’s thoughtful features: the high forehead, and the sharp angles that had softened since the last time he’d seen her. She was dressed only in pale linen underclothes. The man who was with her had enough daring to step in between them.

Fei Long glanced once to the single wooden bed against one wall, the covers strewn wide, and his vision blurred with anger. He gripped the sword until his knuckles nearly cracked with the strain.

“Bastard,” he gritted out through his teeth.

He knew this man he’d come to kill, this boy. At least he’d been a boy when Fei Long had last seen him. And Pearl had been a mere girl. Now she was a grown woman, staring at him with a fearful question in her eyes.

“Fei Long.” Pearl’s fingers curled tight over her lover’s arm. “So now you’ve come.”

The soft bitterness of the accusation cut through him. Pearl had begged for him to come back a year earlier when her marriage had first been arranged. He’d dismissed her letters as childish ramblings. If he had returned then, she might not have thrown herself into ruin. Their father’s spirit wouldn’t be floating restlessly between heaven and earth.

The young man stretched himself before Fei Long, though he failed to match him in stature. “Not in front of Pearl,” he implored.

Though he trembled, Han fought to keep his voice steady as Pearl clung to him, hiding just behind his shoulder. At least the dog managed to summon some courage. If Han had cowered or begged for his life, he would already be dead.

“Step away, Little Sister” Fei Long commanded.

“No.”

“Pearl.“

“I’d rather die here with Han than go to Khitai.”

She’d changed in the five years since he’d seen her. The Pearl he remembered had been obedient, sweet-tempered, and pleasant in all things. Fei Long had ridden hard from Changan to this remote province, expecting to find the son of a dog who had stolen her away.

Now that she stood before him with quiet defiance, he knew she hadn’t been seduced or deceived. Zheng Xie Han’s family lived within their ward in the capital city. Though lower in standing, the Zheng family had always maintained a good reputation. His sister had turned to Han because she had no one else.

The tension drained out of Fei Long, stealing away his rage. His throat pulled tight as he forced out the next word. “Go.”

The two of them stared at him in disbelief.

“Go,” he repeated roughly.

Fei Long lowered his sword and turned away while they dressed themselves. Shoving his sword back into its sheath, he faced the bare wall. He could hear the shuffle of movement behind him as the couple gathered their belongings.

The bleakness of the last weeks settled into his gut like a stone. When he’d left for his assignment to the northwestern garrison, Fei Long had believed his home to be a harmonious place. Upon news of his father’s sudden death, he’d returned to find his sister gone and debt collectors circling the front gates like vultures.

His father’s presence had been an elaborate screen, hiding the decay beneath the lacquered surface of their lives. Fei Long now saw Pearl’s arranged marriage for what it was: a desperate ploy to restore the family honor-or rather to prolong the illusion of respectability.

When he turned again, Pearl and Han stood watching him tentatively. Each of them had a pack slung around their shoulder. Off to face the horizon with all their belongings in two tiny bags.

Han bowed once. “Elder Brother.”

The young man risked his temper to deliver the honorific. Fei Long could bring himself to return the bow. Pearl met his eyes as they started for the door. The heaviness of her expression struck him like a physical blow.

This was the last time he would ever see his sister.

Fei Long took his money pouch from his belt and held it out. The handful of coppers rattled inside. “Here.”

Han didn’t look at him as he took it.

“Thank you, Fei Long,” Pearl whispered.

They didn’t embrace. The two of them had been apart for so long that they wouldn’t have known how. Fei Long watched their backs as they retreated down the long corridor of the country inn; gone like everything else he had once known to be true.

* * *

Yan Ling moved from table to empty table in a restless circle, wash rag in hand, as she wiped away at wooden surfaces rubbed bare from long use. The tea house conversations had quieted hours ago. The crowd had cleared away except for a single patron.

He’d been there for hours and he wasn’t even drinking his tea anymore. Instead, he had taken to staring into his cup. He was seated at the center of the room, drawing attention in every way.

The man had set a sword onto the edge of the table upon arriving. That was when Yan Ling had first noticed him. His robe marked him both as an outsider and a man of high rank. It was of fine woven silk and richly dyed in a dark blue. He wore his thick hair long, the front of it pulled back into a knot in the style of aristocracy. She was stricken by strength of his features; the hard line of his cheekbones and the broad shape of his face which narrowed slightly at the chin.

In lieu of money, he’d shown a jade seal to the proprietor. Her master and his wife had nearly broken their backs bowing and welcoming him. Government official, they’d guessed in the back room. Though he traveled without any escort and had a sullen expression that sunk lower with each hour. Her guess was that he needed something stronger than tea.

After a day that had begun with the first light of the sun, Yan Ling simply wanted to sit. She envied the proprietor, who was seated quietly in the corner, tallying up the day’s cash. The wooden beads of his abacus clicked together, signaling that the day should be done. Her feet ached and no matter how much she wriggled her toes in her slippers, the feeling wouldn’t quite return to them.

The clang from the kitchen meant that the cook and his boy were cleaning their pots. A mountain of cups and bowls and little plates would be waiting for her. And yet this one patron was still hoarding his cold tea. One more customer and she could rest for just a moment. The tea house was so humble that it couldn’t ignore any earnings, not even a few coins from a traveler who wanted to nurse his tea for hours.

She guessed him to be twenty-five years. With a slight crease between his eyes that she imagined came more from deep contemplation than age. Really too young to be muttering to himself out of senility. Yet he was doing it. Again.

Gingerly, she approached the table. “Does the honored guest need anything?”

She reached for the clay tea pot only to have him wave her back with an irritated scowl. For a gentleman, he was uncommonly rude, but she supposed wearing silk and jade gave him that privilege. He propped his elbows onto the table, shoulders hunched to return to his vigil.

He was never going to leave! Occasionally the tavern at the other end of the street would need to throw out drunks, but it had never been an issue here. She stood a respectful distance away and looked to the proprietor for help.

Her master was deep into his coins. His wife was shouting orders back in the kitchen. No help was coming. Defeated, Yan Ling turned to wipe down her already cleaned table once more when the stranger spoke.

“I need a woman,” he mumbled. “Any woman would do.”

Her stomach dropped. She swung around, her mouth open in shock. The stranger raised his head. For the first time, his eyes focused on her, looking her up and down.

“Perhaps even you.”

If his tone had been leering, or his look more appraising, it might have been less offensive. But the coldly pensive way he’d said it-and then the addition of ‘perhaps’ as if to plunge her worth even further.

Yan Ling grabbed the teapot and flung the contents onto the scoundrel, expensive robe and all.

Suddenly there were plenty of people crowding the tea room. Her master jumped up from his table. His wife had come like a windstorm from the kitchen, rag in hand as she apologized profusely. Even the cook and his boy were gawking through the curtained doorway.

The stranger had shot to his feet. The front of his robe was stained dark with a splatter of tea.

“Get out!” The master’s wife shrieked at Yan Ling before turning to fuss at their precious patron. “We are so sorry, my lord. So sorry.”

Yan Ling was still clutching the tea pot while she stared.

The nobleman reached up to swipe the tea leaves from his chest in one angry motion. His eyes remained fixed on her the entire time. He had lost that distant, brooding expression he’d worn all day. Heat rose up the back of her neck as she stumbled a few steps back.

What had she done?

“That know-nothing, good for nothing girl,” the proprietor railed.

Her ears rang as she ducked into the kitchen through the beaded curtain. The steam enclosed her, but the clang of the pots couldn’t block the nobleman’s deep voice as he complained about her. She could hear her master agreeing wholeheartedly, accompanied by the cooing apologies of his wife.

It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been taunted before, but over the last years the teasing had taken on a different tone as her bone-thin figure had curved its way into womanhood. She’d learned to deafen her ears and stare ahead, never meeting any of the not-so-subtle glances thrown her way. Yet to suffer such insult from someone who appeared so refined-it was unbearable.

Ignoring the curious stares from cook and the kitchen-boy, she slipped through the back door. Her palms were damp and she wiped them restlessly against the sides of her gray tunic. Fear set her heart pounding.

One moment of hot-headedness. She’d lashed out at a well-dressed gentleman, of all people. She wasn’t even a servant when it came to this man. She was the humble servant of humble servants. Who was she to be outraged? She wasn’t allowed it.

She would certainly be scolded by both her master and his wife, each separately and then together. Yan Ling could hear them already. She was too much of a burden to feed, to clothe. She wasn’t even pretty enough to bring in more customers.

They might even be angry enough to take a bamboo switch to her. A beating was all she’d have to suffer, if she was lucky.

Jeannie’s Commentary:

Now I know the pages have to stand on their own. The author never gets to explain why they did things to the reader. So I’ll just say I felt this opening was solid when I sent it on to beta-readers and Little Sis. It set up both my hero and heroine as sympathetic and interesting characters (hopefully!) and also eased readers into my world. Nothing says wuxia and adventure like a good ol’ tea house, you know?

Tomorrow I’ll post Little Sis’ comments with more discussion.(See feedback on opening.)

In the meantime, check out my auction items at Brenda Novak’s auction which opens today:

For writers: Joint critique with Little Sis

For everyone: Butterfly Swords fan pack (the one-of-a-kind annotated copy is included)

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Workshop section updated

Filed in: blog | pitching | promotion | workshop | writing    Tags: handouts | workshops

I’ve updated my workshop section with handouts from the recent workshops I did. I was actually quite pleased with being able to do the one hour Selling the Hard Sell on Saturday (I only got 50 minutes) and then expanding the Keeping Them Hooked workshop on Sunday to a three hour class. We got to cover a lot more than just me barreling through the list of things to think about–plus maybe I just like to talk.

Workshop Handouts

I do like speaking and don’t charge any fee other than travel expenses, so if you happen to have an open chapter meeting you’d like to fill, don’t hesitate to drop me a line. I’m what you call a cheap date. *wink*

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Can’t talk…writin’

Filed in: blog | event | writing    Tags: Fast Draft | rsswwf | ruby-slippered sisterhood | winter writing festival

You have reached the blog of Jeannie Lin. Jeannie is temporarily on blog hiatus so all her words can be poured into her current Fast Draft for the Ruby-Slippered Sisterhood Winter Writing Festival.

Wanna join?

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On meritocracy, modern language…and other conundrums

Filed in: blog | research | writing    Tags: feminism in ancient times | poets | Tang dynasty

I happened upon this article about female Chinese poets throughout history from the Cultural China website: Women Poets in Past Centuries – Raising One’s Voice in a Male World. Not surprisingly, the article describes how women of noble families were often highly educated and literate and, though at times were able to gain some notoriety, never had as much public recognition as their male counterparts.

While reading about the struggle of female poets, my thoughts went back to a discussion that Courtney Milan began on her post, Fairytales of Meritocracy, about the historical fantasy inherent in much of historical romance where modern ideals of meritocracy are inserted. Her very well-written post sparked some great conversation. I for one, LOVE that Courtney pinpoints some of the true “fantasies” at the heart of romance. The feminine fantasy is not the superficial one so often lambasted of wearing pretty clothes, having a great body, and landing a ravishing rake of one’s own. The fantasy is one of meritocracy: that worthy deeds will be rewarded. That characters, in any walk of life, vie for a better life and can achieve it. Yes, it comes with finding your true love as well. We want it all. HEA.

In a comment to Courtney Milan’s post, I stated an idealistic idea that feminism and meritocracy are not strictly modern ideals and that history itself doesn’t show a linear progression of subjugation to liberation, by any means.

Robin expressed the balance very well:

“I interpret (this) as finding the moments and pockets in history where what we recognize in the present is also discernible in the past.

That notion comports best with hist Rom to which I generally gravitate — those books that I can connect to through my current moment in time but without feeling that they are modern books in historical costume.”

While reading the Cultural China article, I found myself moved to nearly the point of tears by the words of these female poets who, very clearly and in ancient times, expressed this same desire to be recognized.

First, the example of private versus public independence. I think this is something Westerners often misinterpret when pushing the idea of the meek, subjugated Asian female:

From Cultural China:

“Take the example of Bao Linghui, who lived in the fifth century. She was the sister of the renowned poet Bao Zhao, and was highly educated too. Women were not discriminated. They were the ones who would stay home and educate their children while men would serve. They would even help their husbands to pass the imperial examination”

This couldn’t help but bring to mind Virginia Woolf and her conundrum of Shakespeare’s gifted sister with no place to exhibit her creativity in A Room of One’s Own. Chinese women did have a room and a sphere of their own – though it was a private one: inside the home, the inner chamber, the so-called “red chamber”.

And then the lament of Yue Xuanji, female poet of the Tang Dynasty:

“I resent these gauze robes of mine which conceal poems’ lines, I raise my head, envying the names on the roster of successful candidates.”

“I resent these gauze robes.” — Such a beautiful vision evoking femininity, the desire for recognition, and ideal of meritocracy. And this was in the 9th century.

In these cases, the need for public acceptance and recognition eludes these women, but in modern times the path of meritocracy is also fraught with obstacles, is it not?

I have received several comments that my characters exhibit modern behavior. I don’t know whether this is in their speech or their independent and outspoken natures. In both cases, I wholeheartedly accept such criticisms without argument other than the ones I’ve laid out here. I’ve “modernized” the speech in that I’ve made little effort to shy away from contractions and language that flows without any sense of being stiff or stilted. After reading the words of the Tang women, I can’t fathom in my head how to make them sound “ancient” and still do justice to the absolute command of the language I sense in their words. Though of course, as an author, there’s simply the case that perhaps I chose the occasional word that triggered a modern feeling, and I accept that shortcoming too. It could be that I simply, plainly, did not get the job done in a convincing manner.

In terms of independence and wanting to be recognized as equals, in terms of expressing these opinions openly and eloquently — again I defer to my muses, the women of the Tang Dynasty. How could their words and feats have survived more than a thousand years, surviving revisionist efforts of subsequent generations, if these thoughts had not resonated deeply in their own time as well as today?

My characters are modern, but my characters are historical. I chose them for that reason, and I must accept all such criticisms of anachronism. I must embrace these critiques in light of the choices I’ve made.

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