Twenty Random Facts

            Mel accused me the other day of being ungrateful for my new blog.  “You haven’t posted anything new.”

            “I know.  I’ve been busy trying to help you get ready for your first eBook, and trying to help you finish two more.  My brain is starting to melt.”

            Mel claimed hers felt the same way.  I recommended that since the public would soon get to know her pseudonym, they might be interested in the woman behind Kate Russell.

            Surprisingly, Mel agreed, and the list below has been approved by her.  I hope you enjoy getting to know her a little better.  Sometimes she over shares, but deep down she’s a very private person.

            Until next time,

            Cordelia 

Twenty random facts about Mel that you probably wish you still didn’t know:

1. When Mel was seven years old, she fell in love with Timothy Dalton in Flash Gordon, and decided she would marry him.  Sadly, he didn’t wait for her.
2. Mel read Gone With the Wind in second grade.
3. Mel’s To Be Read pile comes naturally.  When she was small, her mother read a stack of books to her every day.
4. The only book that Mel and her sister (who normally hated reading as a teenager) both loved was The Count of Monte Cristo.
5.  Every single time Road House comes on T.V., Mel watches it.  Every single time.  It may be one of the absolute worst movies ever made, but Patrick Swayze is in it.  Duh.
6. Mel likes to eat dinner for breakfast.  Lasagna, meatloaf, chicken and rice—it really doesn’t matter.  She also likes to eat breakfast for dinner.
7. Squirrels are her arch enemies.
8. Sometimes Mel’s characters’ looks are based on actors and actresses.  No, she won’t tell you which ones.
9. After meeting Mel for the first time, her future mother-in-law asked Mel’s now-husband what country she was originally from.  Later, she would be tempted to change out “country” for “planet”.
10. In relation to the Harry Potter series, Mel is a cross between Hermione Granger and Luna Lovegood.  However, when she’s grouchy, she channels pure Bellatrix Lestrange.
11. Mel loves red hair.  As a kid, she would soak her hair in vinegar and sit outside in the sunlight, trying unsuccessfully to turn ginger-haired.  She later acquired a mother-in-law and two nieces who are redheads, and a husband who’s a strawberry blond.
12. Mel learned to drive in the desert.  That explains a lot.
13. In high school, Mel learned many things, including how to make checkers.
14. Mel loves the movie Tremors.  Sometimes she makes guests watch it with her.
15. Mel’s favorite flower is the hyacinth.  She dislikes carnations because they remind her of funerals.
16. Mel used to know how to imprint Bibles.
17. One of her upcoming books began with a bizarre dream she had in middle school.  No, it’s not the vampire one.
18. Instead of English, Mel almost majored in History and Political Science.
19. In tenth grade, despite braces, questionable foundation and blue eye shadow, stepping on her dress and getting stuck on a fake bridge, and completely screwing up her Q&A session, Mel somehow won 4^th Runner-up at her school’s Beauty of the Orient pageant.  I know, I can’t believe it, either.
20. Although several authors have been kind enough to write back when Mel sent them fan letters, her favorite one is a handwritten note and envelope from Lloyd Alexander a few years before his death.  She cried when she read it.

GOODBYES AND HELLOS

 This post originally appeared on Julie N. Ford's blog for Cordelia's Corner.

            Dear Readers, this is not what I had intended to write.

            You’re probably too familiar with this phrase from me. After all, in my last post, I mentioned that I had several posts ready/almost ready to go. It’s still true, and I contemplated uploading at least the first one, which was originally part of the Manwhores, Baby! Yeah! post.

            Obviously, this is not it.

            Several things have happened since then. Julie and Mel had breakfast one morning, and Julie had a brilliant suggestion. Why didn’t Mel let me have my own blog, so that she could also put up her own essays that hadn’t found a home? Mel wasn’t sure, since she’s still not that great with technology, but I knew something important:  I deserve it.

            And you know what? I think Mel deserves it, too.

            Anyway, Mel and I started going back and forth; just trying to figure out the style we could both agree on. Finally, we were getting somewhere! However, my wishes had to be put aside for the time being, because other stuff happened.

            Mel, after many first readers and my questionable skills as an editor, submitted her short story/novella sample to the Christian internet company she was targeting. Then she was promptly sick for the next week or so with a sinus/bronchial infection that kept her propped up, high on medicine and Lysol.

            I’ll give credit to the publisher. They sent Mel a response the following week. Mel checked her emails the day before Thanksgiving and saw two from the publisher. Shaking from both nerves and the effects of the medicine, she thought, “This is it.”

            Well, she was right. When she clicked on the older email it was a standard polite rejection letter. At the bottom was a list of common reasons that people get rejected. Swallowing her dismay, she clicked on the newer one. They must have made a mistake, and this was the correction. They wanted the manuscript. She knew they did.

            When the email opened, she had to get rid of her small piece of hope. The publisher did not want the manuscript. The email was simply an exact copy of the previous one.

            Mel cried, texted her husband, cried, emailed Julie, cried some more, and sent a polite thank you to the publisher. She still wasn’t feeling well, and her stuffed nose and head were that much worse from all the crying. I told her that licking her wounds was unsanitary at that point.

            She channeled Niagara Falls off and on, and when her husband wrapped his arms around her, she cried some more. Honestly, I was a bit concerned, because Mel is one of those blotchy-face criers, and as everyone knows, that’s just not really attractive. She and I were both surprised when she blurted out, “I guess I’ll be self-publishing this.” Her husband just said, “Okay.”

            Self-publishing has been in the back of her mind all this time. There were some things holding her back:  for many years, there was the stigma of self-publishing; she wanted an editor, if not also an agent; and the support that came with a publisher. However, that hasn’t worked out for Mel, and that’s just the way it is. She’s finally realized she’s okay with it.

            By that evening, Mel quit crying. She had a plan. She was going to go ahead and self-publish her work in the eBook format, and not worry about paper books for awhile. The explosion of eReaders was making the playing field completely different. Mel could now publish short stories, longer works, and quirky things that couldn’t find their niches. She didn’t have to worry if her fantasy manuscript could only be one book, in case a publisher didn’t want to deal with the rest of the story. She could write it the way she wanted. She could also price her books the way she wanted.

            She could live up to her full potential as the control freak she’s always been.

            Oh, there’s a downside to this venture, just like with everything. Her work may get bad reviews. Nobody may buy her eBooks. She regrets not getting to pay a professional editor, but instead is grateful for the kindness of other first readers and writers who have given helpful feedback. Also, Mel’s mother, a former teacher, did a thorough editing the other week. I told Mel that I didn’t care that Mel’s mother should have become an editor; she was NOT taking my place.

            There are bank accounts to set up.  There are questions to brothers-in-law who are accountants and to other writers.  There's formatting that has to be done for each edition of the same book.  There’s the issue of marketing.  There’s…

            There’s always something.  This is what Mel wants.  She has always been writing, dreaming of people reading her work, getting paid to do what she loves and is driven to do.  This is a way of getting to live her dream in a practical way.  She doesn’t want to wait until she’s 65 years old and—still not having found a publisher—decide to finally do it.  Why shouldn’t she do it now?  After all, what does she have to lose at this point?

            When she was first almost published, her children were small.  Lizzie and Logan made her promise that when she got published, that she would take them to McDonald’s and let them get Happy Meals and play inside, instead of going through the drive-thru.  Mel doesn’t think her now fourteen- and nearly twelve-year-olds will still want to do that, so she’s coming up with something else, that will probably involve ordering off the adult menu.

            So this is it.  I will miss posting here on Julie’s blog, and getting to share Mel’s progress with you as her unpaid assistant, as she sought to change her unpublished status.  She’s reached her goal, but it’s just a different path than she’d planned.  This Wild West of the publishing world is confusing, frustrating, and pretty wonderful.  Thankfully, Mel and I like westerns.

            I doubt I would have ever made my public appearance had it not been for Julie’s encouragement.  Mel and I will always be grateful for the opportunity she offered, when she believed in us enough to associate with us.  For those of you who don’t know Julie personally, you’re missing out.  However, Mel and I are lucky enough to have her as a dear friend, who loves Chick-fil-A breakfasts almost as much as we do.

            So where do we go from here?  My blog, like the Nashville interstates, may be under constant construction.  But that’s okay.  After all, Mel’s not that great at technology, but she’s learning, one brain cell at a time. You can find me now at cordeliablackfaire.blogspot.com. 

            As for Mel?  She’s trying to get everything set up, so her first eBook will be available for sale at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, etc. early- to mid-January.  Mel, with her penchant for separating her personal life from work, will be going under her pen name, Kate Russell, for Is This Seat Taken?, a short, sweet romance.

            Dear Readers, all that’s left to say is thank you.  Thank you for reading; for taking time out of your busy schedules to find out what’s been going on with Mel’s writing.

            Mel and I appreciate you so very much.  We’ll see you out in cyberspace.

            Until next time,

            Cordelia

PAVING WITH GOOD INTENTIONS

This post originally appeared on Julie N. Ford's blog for Cordelia's Corner.

            Sometimes life doesn’t want to cooperate with my plans.  It’s been forever since I’ve been able to post anything.  My sincerest apologies to you marvelous readers.

            They say that confession is good for the soul.  I quite agree.  The reason I’m so dreadfully late updating?

            It’s all Mel’s fault.

            Now, before I am accused of throwing Mel under the bus, you need to know that this is the fourth essay I’ve written since my last posting.  The first three were too personal for Mel’s tastes.  Since it’s pretty much impossible to slip anything by her, I had to bow to her wishes.  Such is the life of an unpaid editorial assistant to an unemployed writer.

            Cue long-suffering sigh.

            As insistent as Mel was about not airing her dirty laundry for the world to see, she was sympathetic.  “I know you’ve worked hard,” she told me, “and when I’m ready, you can write more about my personal life, but…”

            “You do realize a lot of what you write comes from personal experience,” I interrupted.  “And before you start, I know you’re not a one-fourth vampire.”  The one about the girl in exile from another world might explain a lot, though I didn’t have the heart to tell her that.  “I reserve the right to discuss your writing style, its influences, and how you put yourself into every manuscript.”

            “Fine.  Later.”

            I couldn’t resist.  “Especially those sex scenes.  I promised my readers a few posts back that I’d let them know how you write them.  Or, how you try to write them.  You know, the embarrassing stuff.”

            Mel just rolled her eyes and told me to get back to work.  I resisted the temptation to tell her the same.

            Dear Mel understands my frustration at not being able to complete what I’d set out to do.  She has been busy with a lot of Real Life right now, just like every single person on the planet this summer.  However, she and I both believe she may be living about four peoples’ lives at the moment with everything going on.  In my last post, I mentioned that she would be done writing for the Curriculum Committee at her church by the end of June.  They just finished two days ago.  Next, Mel has been trying to finish the suggestions and edits I made while we were at the beach.  She kept going off on one of her famous tangents, but I did my best to rein her in.  Also, she is embarrassed that she asked her faithfully patient friends and family to be ready to read it months ago, and it’s still not quite ready.  It’s not as if it’s going to be a classic to torment schoolchildren for the next century.  I do so wish she wouldn’t put quite so much pressure on herself.

            In addition, she has been writing, rewriting, and submitting some pieces, hopefully for some cash.  She says she is tired of me whining about my lack of funds, especially since I got to go along for free on her vacation with the 18 others that make up her husband’s side of the family.  One humor piece has had quite a journey:  it has now gone through three massive rewrites.  A few years ago, it was just a 500 word essay about something funny about Mel’s attempts at motherhood.  Then the local magazine she was querying got rid of their freelance humor section. The piece was dragged out again when Mel was researching Christian magazines, and changed it accordingly, making it about 1,000 words, and in Mel’s opinion, better.  She queried, then almost simultaneously passed out and threw up when they wrote her back and said they wanted to see it.  She mailed it off with a cover letter, and waited.  And waited.  And waited some more.

            Two months past the time she was supposed to hear back, Mel wrote a polite note, with her SASE (self-addressed, stamped envelope), and got nothing.  Another couple of months, she wrote again, letting them know that she was making it a simultaneous submission.  Again, nothing.  Disappointed, she realized they just weren’t that interested.  Later on, out of curiosity, she looked them up online.  After she queried, she got a response that their magazine had closed, and for her to try another one of their magazines.  Funnily enough, Mel and I have seen that closed magazine in the store several times since.  Nothing ever came of the query she sent to the new magazine under the old umbrella.

            Mel was disheartened.  She was starting to question her writing efforts, especially after two other writing projects fell through around the same time.  She had friends who were published.  She also had extended family members who were published in different areas:  academic, memoir, coffee table art books, astrology, and adult fiction.  I gently (I can do gently!) suggested she put the humor piece away, and she did, even though she pulled it out every so often to tweak it a bit.

            Several months ago, she finally got the courage to try again.  I had done some research into Christian and secular magazines where her humor pieces might fit.  She had submitted to the Christian one, and got a polite rejection note.  I told her to suck it up, but she said she was busy with other projects.  Last month, I made her look into the secular market again.  She picked one that looked like a good fit, for one of the humor sections.  She just planned on tweaking it again since it was about the same length.  Then we got an unpleasant surprise:  the section she was planning on applying to had closed to submissions several months earlier for the year, and the only other one that accepted humor was one for 500 words.  I was sick.  Can you believe the amount of work I had to do?  Cutting an essay completely in half?  That Mel loved?  Ugh!  I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.  Except for my mortal enemy, and believe you me, I’d like to wish a few other things on her.

            Just so you know, Mel insists it’s that it’s beneath me to wish for bad things to happen to dreadful people, even though they are stupid faces.  I wanted to use stronger words, but again, Mel said no.  She did assure me that she would kill my mortal enemy off in fiction.  “A nasty ending?” I asked.  “Yes,” she said soothingly.  “I promise.” 

            Anyway, now that you’ve seen the dark underbelly of the way Mel and I think alike, back to our humor piece.  (There’s something wrong with that sentence, especially since it wasn’t a dark humor piece.  Oh well.)  After many hours, ink, and paper, it was finished.  Mel and I were emotionally and mentally wrung out.  I emailed it for her, and we just have to wait at least 60 days for their response.

            Distancing myself in order to make those drastic cuts was painful.  Mel and I work so closely together, it’s almost like we’re one person.  She writes this stuff, and as her first reader, I get used to seeing her vision for things, and try to help her polish it until it’s the best, as perfect to Mel, as it can be.

            I don’t believe it’s arrogance for writers to feel their work is kind of perfect, at least in their own eyes.  They know it’s really not, but…it’s more like you love what you’ve created.  You’re exhausted—you’ve poured soul and heart into your words, your characters, your universes, until you’re thoroughly sick of reading the same material with each additional revision.  You know that you’ve gotten it right, and yet a niggling thought in your head tells you that maybe it’s completely wrong.

            There is a balance that has to be achieved.  You have to love your work so completely to share it with others, to cry when you kill off beloved characters, to fight for what you believe when change is demanded.  At the same time, you also have to become detached enough to give in to necessary changes.  What are necessary changes?  Some are obvious; some are deemed necessary according to the individual requesting them.  Compromise is how your manuscript goes from your initial vision, to its final incarnation for the most important part of your work:  your readers.

            Mel and I continue to work on compromising.  She insists that if we work together, we can produce great things.

            Maybe she’s right.

            Until next time,

            Cordelia

           

ENDINGS TO BEGINNINGS

This post originally appeared on Julie N. Ford's blog for Cordelia's Corner.

            Well, they’re done.

            That’s probably not the most exciting intro you’ve ever read for any blog essay, but for Mel, it’s a Very Good Thing.

            Mel complained the other day that my previous entries misled you.  “They’re going to think I never finish anything!”  As much as I wanted to say, “If the shoe fits…”, I realized I wasn’t giving her enough credit.  While Mel has many ongoing and unfinished writing projects, it may surprise you that she’s actually finished several over the past couple of years.  Believe me, I’m stunned, too, and I’m her assistant.

            The majority of Mel’s writing has been on a volunteer basis for her church’s children’s ministry, mainly three projects.  She’s the first to admit that it has been a difficult blessing—there’s no money involved, and yet, she has a ready audience. 

            For her first project, she’s written several puppet skits for VBS, Lads to Leaders (their team won third place this year for their division), and some that were just meant to be enjoyed either at her home congregation or in the mission field.  Ironically, one thing that is not well-known about Mel is that puppets give her the creeps.  They’re okay during a performance, and she loved The Muppets and Fraggle Rock, but whenever she goes into the puppet storage room for meetings, she tries to avoid eye contact as much as possible.  It’s probably for the best that someone else is writing the puppet skits at the moment.

            Her second project has been adapting Sunday School curriculum for the past few years, as one of the writers for the curriculum committee.  Mel has been amazed at the quality of work, written and visual, her fellow curriculum committee members have put forth.  The lesson plans should be completed by early July, and the visual aids and other odds and ends by September (she thinks).  She’s proud of the work she and the others have done, but she also appreciates the gravity of influencing young souls.  I was always concerned that the other members would kick her out of the committee for having to miss meetings and running behind on lesson plans, but instead they embraced the craziness that is Mel, and memorized her order for their lunches at Demos’.  My fears that she would accidentally harm herself using the laminating machines and paper cutter were also never realized, although the old copier nearly gave her a nervous breakdown.

            Mel’s third project involves live-action VBS skits.  She did a handful last year, and she was excited to get asked again.  Two weeks ago, she finished four of them, two short, two long.  Mel tried to make them funny and poignant and scripturally sound; appealing to children and adults.  The last one she finished was The Good Samaritan, and reading over the live-action one, and the one she did for a puppet skit last year, she and I were amazed at how completely different they were.  We edited those four skits, rewrote entire sections, and emailed them as each one was completed.

            Mel will probably not see those skits performed.  Last year she was busy in one of the nurseries, and this year her son, Logan, is having his tonsils out, so she’ll probably miss these, too.  I think it’s odd that she’s only ever seen three skits, puppet or otherwise, that she’s written.  Something always happens.  I asked her if it bothers her that she doesn’t get to see the finished project, since inevitably things have been changed from the last draft to the performance.  She said that it didn’t.  It was important to her that her work got out there, and that the kids enjoyed it.  It was just that simple. 

            I don’t quite believe her.  There’s something magical about seeing something you wrote coming to life, even though there may be enough improvisation and editing that you frantically start looking back at your sheets to see if the actors at least kept the best parts.  Maybe that’s why she doesn’t mind not seeing the performance:  she can pretend that it went exactly the way she wrote it.

            So the skits are done.  The lesson plans are almost finished.  What’s next?

            As long as they want Mel, she’ll write for different ministries at her church.  However, I’m glad she can now focus on manuscripts she keeps putting off.  She has no more excuses.  I mean, I’ve been writing these essays for her since she’s been so busy. 

            Mel and I are currently editing Is This Seat Taken?, the short story I’ve mentioned before.  I (as well as all of her friends who were nice enough to promise to read the latest draft) can hardly believe it—it’s nearly done.  Part of the problem is that the manuscript keeps getting longer, which pleases Mel’s daughter to no end, since she has always loved the story.  “Make it a full-length novel,” she demanded a couple of months ago.  Mel tried to explain it was really meant to be a short story.  “Fine,” Lizzie said.  “I’ll just write the sequel myself.”

            “Come up with your own idea!” I told her.  Really, I can’t decide if Mel should be flattered or infuriated that her own children want to write fanfiction about her stuff.

            (I should note that Logan and Lizzie are pseudonyms that Mel’s offspring picked for themselves.  They stressed under no circumstances was I to write their real names because their mother embarrassed them enough and they didn’t need me to do it as well.)

            Mel is also working on her other manuscripts, the Vampire Romantic Comedy that Logan enjoys, simply because he loves what half-blood fire demons are capable of when they don’t wear their gloves; and another, The Siren’s Daughter, that Lizzie insists she doesn’t like.  At all.  When I asked her why, she said that it was boring. 

            I will have you know that it is not boring, not at all.  The Siren’s Daughter is quite exciting, and my personal favorite out of everything Mel has ever written.  Lizzie has no idea of what she’s talking about.  She’s a teenager, after all.  What do they know????

            Mel, surprisingly the voice of reason in this scenario, reminds me that I must not get overwrought, and to consider a few things:  First, The Siren’s Daughter is a YA (Young Adult) novel.  Lizzie is a young adult.  She reads young adult books.  Second, Lizzie is a teenager.  Teenagers typically like the opposite of what their parents want them to.  Maybe Lizzie would like the book better if someone else had written it.  Third, and it’s totally a lie, the book could be boring.  Mel hopes not.  I have assured her that it is a fun read, and once she cleans out all those tangents that can be found in her previous drafts, then it will work a lot better.  Plus, those tangents have already led to two other partial manuscripts, so maybe those little side trips were for the best.

            Mel says that she appreciates my defense of her, but that I may be protesting a little too much.  I told her to get busy writing.  She’s got a lot of work to do.

            Anyway, thanks for following along with this meandering tale of the recent past, present, and future of Mel, whose goal is to be published and paid. 

            Which reminds me, she owes me dinner.

            Until next time,

            Cordelia

CHRISTIAN ROMANCES: HEAVEN OR HELL?

This post originally appeared on Julie N. Ford's blog for Cordelia's Corner.

            This is not what I had intended to write.  I had a rather nice piece about the rejection Mel has faced in her supposed publishing career.  The ups, the downs—especially the downs—of not getting her work in print and paid for it.  It was almost complete; I was simply trying to edit it.  However, Mel has been exceptionally grouchy because of a week-long illness on her part, strep throat for both children, numerous meetings, and appointments for doctors and physical therapists.  The only thing that cheered her up was seeing Robert Pattinson dirty and tanned at the movies earlier this week.  I just wanted his character to turn into a vampire and eat the villain.  Or the lions.  I wasn’t picky.

            I know how Mel has felt, so that is why I simply bit my tongue Tuesday night when she looked over my work and said, “That’s so depressing.  I thought you were going to write something funny.”  I wanted to say, “Right back at you,” but I refrained.  I mean, the woman still hasn’t finished the short story she’s been working on for the past couple of months.  What does she do with her time?

            I took a deep breath.  I asked her, quite snippily, I might add, “What do you suggest?”

            “Tell them about yourself.  Let the readers get to know you better.  Things you like, things you don’t like.  That sort of thing.”

            “You mean like how I sometimes like to watch the Twilight movies just so I can yell at them?”

            I should note that Mel has a differing opinion of the Twilight movies.  Not only is she blushing and giggling whenever Edward Cullen strides into a scene with indie rock music swelling in the background, but then a few scenes later she’s screaming, “Put on a shirt!  Pull up your pants!  Don’t you even own a belt?”  I think Mel would make a horrible cougar, even though she did have that great-great aunt of hers that was a looker whose third husband was a couple of decades younger than her.  For those of you who skimmed the previous sentence, I said “looker”, not “hooker.” 

            Just wanted to be clear. 

            Anyway, back to what I’m supposed to write about.  Mel said that she was thinking more along the lines of reading tastes.

            Fine.  Here goes.

            I have a love/hate relationship with Christian romances, also known as inspirational romances.

            As much as I would like to say how glad I am to have that off my chest, I do need to explain.  Mel and I read across the board, from Christian to erotic romances, but mostly stay within the middle.  Sex scenes make Mel blush, and writing them, well, that’s another post I’m working on.  Fade-to-black is perfectly fine, but graphic can be, too, as long as it flows with the story.  I like the fact that when I read a Christian romance, I can expect that it’s going to be a story dealing with one or both of the main characters struggling with his/her/their faith(s), a sweet romance, and they’re planning on waiting until marriage to consummate their relationship.  When it’s done right, it’s a keeper, and gets recommended to everybody and their brother.

            However, I get really tired of Christian romances where the people are perfect Christians, those goody-goody people who never step wrong, who don’t make mistakes, who really are holier-than-thou.  No flaws to speak of.  Let’s face it, Christians are people, and because of that, they’re flawed.  Also, I’ve noticed a trend that at least one of the main characters has to run an after-school program for disadvantaged youths.  A worthy endeavor, but after a while it’s like authors are worried we’ll dislike the hero or heroine if the only volunteer work he/she does is teaching Sunday School because he/she has an actual job to pay those pesky bills.

            What about scenarios that make your eyebrows rise in disbelief?  I’m not talking any deus ex machina here, because I can accept miracles in Christian stories, as long as they aren’t contrived.  I’m talking about when a woman is being stalked and her house broken into.  Where the hero leaves her at her house that night and says he’ll pray for her safety, before going home.  You see, they’re worried what the neighbors will think if he spends the night. 

            How about this?  Who cares? 

            If I were the one being stalked and terrorized, and somehow or another, the police weren’t going to do anything (really?), at the very least I’d have the hero no more than two feet away from me.  If I could Velcro myself to him, I would.  I’d worry about saving my life first before Nosy Neighbor Lady’s opinions on the matter.  The rumors could fly with abandon, but I WOULD STILL BE ALIVE.  Needless to say, the book’s ending with the heroine’s response to the villain finally made me throw the book against the wall.

            How about this scenario?  The heroine is stuck on an island due to bad winter weather with an old flame, and his aunt who lives next door.  The aunt whose every breath begins with quoting scripture.  I was ready to scream after the fifth or sixth time she did this, and it happened constantly, because THE GIRL WAS STUCK ON THE ISLAND!  If I were the one stuck with that annoying creature, I would have been tempted to go all Rambo on her, or begged to at least have gotten voted off before I did some damage.  When the inevitable happily-ever-after came, I wanted to ask the heroine if she was sure she wanted to marry into that annoying family.

            Look, I totally get that this doesn’t bother some readers; some seek out these types of stories on purpose, and that’s fine.  What annoys me doesn’t annoy others, and vice versa.  It’s the same as with any other genre/subgenre.  I may love something, and someone else may detest that very same thing.  Unfortunately, in my limited experience with Christian romances, I’ve discovered more things that have irritated me than pleased me.  However, like I mentioned earlier, there are some keepers:  Allie Pleiter – I will forever associate rugby with gorgeous British bankers; Carolyne Aarsen – one of her books I was screaming in mortified laughter when the heroine and I realized who the guy on the horse really was; and Deeanne Gist – her characters are flawed, scenes are realistic, and historical detail is second-to-none.  There are others, but these three immediately come to mind.  They are also why I keep going back to Christian romances.

            A fun fact for Mel:  Deeanne Gist’s aunt and Mel’s mother-in-law are friends.  Ms. Gist has no idea that Mel exists, but Mel has begged Polly to mention what a fan girl she is the next time Polly’s friend is in town and they have lunch.  I begged Polly to do so before I throw Mel against the wall.  Believe me, it’s coming.

            Until next time,

            Cordelia

WHEN THEY WERE HUMAN

This post originally appeared on Julie N. Ford's blog for Cordelia's Corner.

            Mel and I were recently going through old drafts of manuscripts she’s currently working on, namely a romantic vampire comedy (RVC) and a superhero story.  What’s in common with these two?  They’ve got (mostly) non-human characters, whether vampire, fire demon, or someone who might have some super powers because of exposure to alien rocks, genetically altered mosquitoes, or because he inherited them. 

            However, these stories actually got their start by the characters being human.  Emma, the heroine for the RVC, started out as a legal secretary in love with her boss’ best friend for a short story contest (that Mel obviously did not win).  By the third draft, she was an overworked business consultant who was in love with her best friend’s brother.  Her flighty best friend was named Sam.  More about her a little later on.

            Even though Mel enjoyed writing the now-unfinished draft, it didn’t really work.  Then there was a submissions call for a supernatural creatures anthology for an online publisher.  Mel dusted off the old manuscript, and said, “Why couldn’t Emma be a vampire?” and “She should be the black sheep of the family, have trouble with really, really bad dates, and not be able to keep a job.  I could have fun with this.”  I asked her if she was seriously considering chick lit, considering it was at the tail-end of its popularity, and for goodness’ sake, the vampire market was saturated.  She shrugged.  “It’s a story.  People can think it’s chick lit if they want to.  I have nothing to lose.”  Against my better judgment, that’s what she did.

            It should be noted that Mel found out about the anthology about two weeks before submissions were due.  (I am going with her figure, even though remember it being almost a month, and I am rarely wrong.  Mel said her timeline made the story more dramatic, but whatever.)  She rose to the occasion, forgot to eat, ate unhealthy food when she did; avoided housework, but scrubbed like mad when she was trying to figure out why a character was acting the way he was; the result was a finished manuscript.  As Julie can attest, Mel takes forever to write, so this was a miraculous feat.  I attempted to help her with the synopsis, which neither of us had ever done, but at 2:30 in the morning, we were just hoping it made sense.  Mel and I were incredibly shaky from caffeine, lack of sleep, and sheer nerves.  At the time, she was satisfied with that hot mess.  I wasn’t, but did she listen to me?  Of course not.  It wasn’t ready, and I did enough cringing for both of us.  The online publisher sent her a very polite “no thanks”, and while Mel was disappointed, she knew better than to get her hopes up.  I had been trying to make her see a realistic picture.  Mel claims I’m a pessimist—I just don’t want to see her get hurt.  Since then, she’s been rewriting it, stopping, and rewriting some more.

            But let’s see what happened to Sam.  Mel grew up collecting comic books, and imagining herself as Diana Prince and Wonder Woman.  She watched the Superfriends religiously on Saturday mornings, along with every other super hero cartoon or live-action show and movie that appeared.  She even made up her own superheroes and sidekicks and gave them adventures that worked around their college classes.  Needless to say, they didn’t get much time in the spandex and glossy boots.  Plus, the hero was majoring in biochemistry, and after little research (she was only 12 with no internet—it was the 80’s, after all), she decided she was in over her head.  Three years later, she met a woman who did artwork for an underground comic book starring a gay superhero and they had a nice long discussion during a plane ride.  Mel was impressed, but filed it away.

            Skip forward about two decades.  She started to play with the idea of what it would really be like to be a superhero’s girlfriend, or even better, his ex.  Sam, who would always be human, started hanging out with a bunch of superheroes.  She was no longer flighty, but instead but was a bit jaded, and conversely wanted that superhero idealism.  What if her boyfriend came from a superhero lineage?  Would his family approve?  What if their public personas were very different from her experiences with them? After all, Miss Ultimate might be beloved by the world, but still treat Sam like she was going to obliterate her during a family dinner.

            Mel has always maintained that regardless if they were supernatural or just super, these characters are people, with all the things that would normally make them human:  they love, they hate, they worry about pleasing families, etc.  In other words, they live.  These characters rattle around in her head.  I mean, they never seem to shut up.  It’s really, really annoying.  The woman only has so much room in that brain of hers.

            It’s always interesting to see how characters develop, the journey from where they began to where they end up.  Sometimes they are pretty much the same as when they started.  Sometimes they are complete opposites:  The villain after numerous drafts and tangents ends up as the hero.  An adult novel might turn into junior fiction.  Time travels end up as real world vs. fantasy world.  Kill off a beloved character?  He or she might be saved in a later draft.  Characters’ names can change, as you try to find just the right fit.  Titles are in flux.  Outlines and character synopses are laughed at down the road.  Filing cabinets and thumb drives are crammed full with edited manuscripts that document these changes that take place over weeks, months, and sometimes years.

            I’ve noticed that writers are a curious bunch.  They try to see why people act the way they do; wonder about strangers’ stories.  Most importantly, they ask that magical phrase that gives birth to fiction:  “What if?”  In that moment, anything is possible.  After all, writers are first and foremost dreamers.  And as we all know, sometimes dreams change.

            A postscript of sort about my name, since this whole essay has been about change:  I was named for Cordelia because Anne Shirley loved it, and my last name is derived from Mel’s self-appointed nickname, The Black Humor Fairy.  I was born Cordelia Black-Faire as a way for Mel to cope with writing stresses.  I later became Lucinda Blackfaire, and then finally, I was Cordelia Blackfaire again.  I have warned Mel to leave me well enough alone because I’ve grown comfortable with my name.  I may have also mentioned that I know where she lives, and she has to sleep sometime.

            Until next time,

            Cordelia

INTRODUCTIONS, PLEASE

This post originally appeared on Julie N. Ford's blog for Cordelia's Corner.

            Julie was gracious enough to allow me, Cordelia Blackfaire, a chance to share some of my limited experience with the writing world with you.  Please know I am not in any way upset or jealous that her first choice, Mel, was unavailable.  I am above that sort of thing.

            What qualifies me?  I’m an assistant to a currently unpublished writer, the above-mentioned Mel.   I’m her first reader, the one who tries to make sense of the mess she makes of her manuscripts.  Although grammar and punctuation aren’t my strengths, I’m still better than Mel.

            I would like it noted on record that I am severely overworked, when the muse hits her, and dreadfully underpaid (nothing).  Mel says she appreciates me (ha!) and that I should help her out of friendship and love.  I’ve been promised something chocolate, preferably expensive, if I complete this essay, as she is busy with several different projects.  I told her I expected a nice dinner out whenever she gets one of her little stories published.

            I really should look for other work.  My hours are erratic, at best.  Either Mel is furiously writing, or she’s moaning that she can’t manipulate the words to make sense.  I mean, really.  When she cries, I just feel like shaking her.  “Suck it up,” I tell her.  “You wanted to pursue this passion of yours.  Your husband supports you and tells you you’re at the beginning of your career.  Your children enjoy listening to your stories about fire demons, unwilling sirens, and sweet romantic heroes.  Your friends generously give you feedback when you ask.”

            After a few tissues, Mel gets back on track.  I mean, seriously, I should buy the stuff in bulk.  She complains that I am not sympathetic to her plight, but the woman needs to put on her big girl panties and either stay the course or else quit.  Mel is of course horrified when I mention quitting.  “I can’t quit!  I’ve tried.  You know that,” she tells me.

            I do know that.  Unlike Mel, I have an excellent memory, of which I like to remind her at every opportunity.  I know that she got so frustrated that she wanted to lug a tub full of manuscripts down her driveway, and then dump the whole thing in the street.  She hoped it would get hit by a semi.  When I pointed out the facts that semis never traveled her quiet street and more importantly, she had a bad back, she screamed in frustration.

            She’s such a drama queen.

            I admit I was a bit worried when she told a close friend that she would burn every piece of paper she ever wrote in a large bonfire if she could “get relief from the madness.”  I reminded her that she almost burned the kitchen down on several different occasions when she got distracted as she cooked, and asked her if she had indeed changed out the batteries for the smoke detector. 

            Some people are fortunate to write because they enjoy it.  Mel isn’t like that.  She writes because she is driven to it.  Words and thoughts and characters consume her until she writes just to let them burst out of her.  Enjoying the process?  Sometimes, if she’s lucky.  However, there is nothing she likes better than when the words come together exactly the way they’re supposed to.  The way they were meant to be, or some other such nonsense.

            Do you see what I put up with on a continual basis?  If I didn’t love Mel like I do, I wouldn’t even bother.  I admit I do enjoy her characters and their exploits.  But if you say a word to her about it, I will vehemently deny it.  She would be insufferable.

            I hope to give you some more insight into Mel’s pursuit of publishing her work.  Sometimes it’s mundane and heartbreaking, but it’s usually hilarious.  She is known for her dark side; after all, she didn’t give herself the nickname The Black Humor Fairy for nothing.

            Until next time,

            Cordelia