Abby babble -- The official blog of Abbyland

another character

2009-12-25T13:24:00.000-08:00

I modified a drawing I had using a stylus and Photoshop, to recreate a character from my Torth series. This is Alex as a prisoner (Book 1).

Jonathan Stead

2009-12-22T13:16:00.003-08:00

One more piece of my own fan art. I can't say much about this character without giving spoilers, but he has quite a reputation. If you've read Book 1, CITY OF SLAVES, you'll recognize him as Jonathan Stead.

human slaves

2009-12-22T13:13:00.001-08:00

More of my own fan art.

These characters are Rhianna, Cherise, and Margot, shortly after being enslaved to the Torth.

Those green collars around their necks ensure that they wake up and sleep when the Torth want them to. Green means it's a work shift.

I draw my own fan art

2009-12-22T12:58:00.001-08:00

I've colorized some ink drawings from my TORTH series of novels. I like drawing fan art for my own books. It's almost like having a fan.

This character is the Indigo Governess. She has the power to telepathically absorb knowledge and memories, whether or not you want her to. But does she use this power to help people? No. She uses it to gain personal power.

Quote: "When I want something, you give it to me."

raving fan girl book review

2009-11-04T22:09:00.000-08:00

A lot of really great books get overlooked by the general public and best-seller lists, a fact which saddens me. Of course, "great" is a subjective opinion. Still, sometimes I'm baffled when I find gleaming treasure that no one else seems to have noticed.

I just finished re-reading Tad Williams' four book Otherland saga. This series is everything The Matrix films should have been, and better. It's just a stunningly awesome tale. It's deep on many levels. It's about the nature of reality, the nature of religion, the way humans perceive things, the nuances of the human psyche, all wrapped in a shell of epic science fiction with romance, adventure, and overtones of fantasy. It blows my mind that so few people have enjoyed this series, or even know what I'm talking about.

The only reason someone might be off-put by Otherland is the density of the writing. Tad Williams is wordy. He's obviously a LotR fan, and he delights in fantastical descriptions. But you know what? He's good at it. His descriptions are masterful. I'm happy to sit there and let him describe the horror of being chased by a giant Egyptian god, or the wonder of stepping off a cliff and finding yourself able to fly.

The first Otherland book was published in 1996, and it's a tiny bit dated in terms of technology. It was written during the end of the virtual reality craze. But it still holds up well! Otherland is about a near-future where people have integrated their daily lives with online lives. People wear virtual sims (avatars) to do their online shopping and business. Kids spend their free time in virtual worlds that sound a lot like World of Warcraft, although Tad Williams wrote this series before WoW or Everquest. People form close friendships with people in distant countries, whom they've never talked to or seen in real life. People take pride in making their virtual reality bodies look super-awesome or super-realistic, or both. Aside from the virtual reality factor, this is visionary stuff, considering that it was written in the early 1990s.

In a virtual world where real people choose their own body/voice/identity, relationships get complicated. It's great. Two of the main characters are a teenage boy & girl (friends) who wear heroic male identities. When the boy finds out that his best friend is really a girl, he starts having protective feelings towards her, and worries that he's gay. For her part, the girl thought it was fun to be a guy, but she has to sort out the way people react and treat her differently when they discover that she was lying for years.

There's a blind woman whose virtual body looks very generic--but she is a pivotal character and not at all generic in personality. And best of all, there's a man who wears the body of a baboon, which really complicates his love life. There's also a teenager who looks like a giant robot. That's always good.

Enemies? This series has awesome antagonists. Felix Jongleur is a multi-trillionaire whose body resides in a vat of gels designed to keep him alive. He's over 200 years old, but he wants immortality, and he does some truly vile things in pursuit of that goal. I mean REALLY vile. I can't say it without giving away the ending of the series, but it involves incest and clones.

My favorite character is Paul Jonas, the amnesiac wanderer and target of everyone. Paul is simply awesome. In the beginning of the series, he believes that he's a trench soldier fighting in WWI. He has no memories of being placed in a virtual simulation world. As the series progresses, Paul slowly figures out that 1) he belongs in the 21st century, and he must be in a virtual network more realistic than any he's ever encountered, 2) he's being hunted by scary figures with weird abilities, a la Agent Smith in The Matrix, and 3) he has no idea where his real body is, or why he can't disengage from the network.

Paul's memories come back to him bit by bit, like puzzle pieces, as he flees from virtual world to virtual world. He hides in a post-apocalyptic version of London, and remembers 21st century London. He glimpses a princess in another virtual world, and recognizes her as someone he loved in real life. He talks to a swashbuckling hero and finally meets someone real, whom he's sure isn't just A.I. He interrogates an oracle in a Venetian underworld, and learns a few secrets that allow him to travel through the Otherland network more easily. But through all of this, Paul is lonely and terrified, unsure who to trust, or who is real. Paul isn't even 100% sure that he's real, himself.

Paul eventually meets up with the rest of the ensemble cast, other real people stranded in the vast Otherland network, unable to unplug. Their real bodies are in comas. Some of them are in hospitals, or are cared for by family members. But there's a difference between Paul and everyone else: Paul did not plug himself into the network. As far as Paul remembers, he doesn't even have a neurocannular (a jack that allows him to plug into virtual reality). No one else is being hunted by the most powerful agents in the network; only Paul. And only Paul is visited by a strange angelic apparition who gives him riddles and advice, sort of like a brain-damaged game character. When Paul stumbles into a virtual simulation of Homer's Odyssey, he finds himself in the title role, assailed by sea monsters and goddesses. Since everyone who dies in Otherland winds up dead in real life, Paul is desperate to survive. He is very much an ordinary man who has to become a hero.

I could rave on and on about how awesome this series is. Aside from the battle between the forces of narcissistic trillionaires and ordinary people trying to save their comatose family members, and aside from the question of who is real or not real, there is a central mystery that gets answered in a stunning reveal at the end of the series. The mystery: What is Otherland? Otherland is a collection of interconnected virtual worlds, but those worlds seems indistinguishable from reality, far beyond any technology known to mankind in this series. People trapped in Otherland can die there, or go blind, or feel as if they're being tortured. People trapped in Otherland can't unplug. Otherland seems more than the sum of its human-designed code. Strange figments roam the Otherland worlds, virtual children who have the traveling privileges of real people (users), but who have no memories of any other life. Then there's Paul's angel, the woman who appears to him in different guises and different worlds, but who seems drawn to him. The angel can only appear to him once in each world, and she follows game logic, a set of hard-code rules--she's unable to converse on a human level--yet she also embodies elements of a real person whom Paul once knew.

I guess it takes a certain kind of patience to read this series. It is dense with words. Still, I can't believe it isn't more popular. I can't believe Hollywood hasn't made it into a trilogy of movies yet. The second time I read it was just as amazing as the first time. This is a work of genius, one of the few books/series I will ever speak of in such terms.

I can be cynical and critical, but right now, I'm a raving fan girl!

Book 3: City of the Dead

2009-06-02T21:19:00.000-07:00

I began writing the third novel in my Torth Empire series in January 2009. I completed it on June 1st. This first draft weighs in at 128,000 words (roughly 500 pages), and I hope to shave off a few thousand words on the second pass. But it was an absolute joy to write. I would have completed it much faster, if real life didn't keep me so busy. I poured in a few hours here, a few hours there, usually late at night. The characters showed up vibrant in my mind, ready to continue their story. It all came together nicely.

I'm still high from the experience of writing it, so don't trust my judgment ... but I think this is the best novel I've ever written.

Of course, that's not saying much, since this is the first NEW novel I've written in over seven years. I've improved as a writer and as a person since the early 2000s. But the experience has taught me that I am a writer at heart. It is in my blood. I enjoy it too much to deny it. I will write many more new novels in the coming years.

Book 3: City of the Dead picks up where Book 2: Caves and Canyons left off. The characters think they're escaping to safety, and then ... well, I can't dilvulge the details. You'll have to read to find out. And by the way, I am always interested in test readers. I welcome feedback, even criticism, and I will never pressure you to finish reading, so there is no obligation involved. Let me know if you'd like to test read!

Just for fun, here are a few out-of-context quotes from my new novel:

"My calculations would take an average genius weeks to work through. I did it in half an hour."
"You have free will. Now turn around once in a complete circle."
"I recommend that we fly into the sun and kill ourselves."
"They have a system called justice. I very much like the idea."

If you know my characters, you can probably guess who said each of those quotes.

And now I will begin to climb the mountain of marketing. I have plans to make an official author site for myself, which will include a high quality, interactive TORTH section. What do you think? The TORTH net will include an alien encyclopedia (with information about culture, physiology, and native habitat for each intelligent species), a guide to choosing your own spacecraft, a photo guide to Torth and their ranks, and either a web comic based on the Torth universe, or an interactive "Thomas Guide," where the user can view Thomas's childhood on Earth in a series of animated vignettes which Thomas comments upon. If you can suggest other ideas, please do so.

My time for marketing is now. I've come to the stunning realization that I can market my work before I get published. The science fiction book genre industry is a fickle business, and some of my newly discovered heroes among authors include Scott Sigler and Mark Jeffrey, who put a lot of effort into networking with fans and marketing their books, as well as honing their writing skills by welcoming feedback. I admire how they built their careers from the ground up, circumventing the traditional route of agent-editor-publisher. Like every other unpublished novelist, I want to go the traditional route, but in this economy and with the changing climate of publishing, there are no guarantees. so we'll see what happens. But I have confidence that someday, my Torth series will see the light of publication--and I hope that my readers, new and returning, will help me get there.

The Odyssey Writing Workshop

2004-07-29T12:00:00.000-07:00

Back to reality. As I write this--long hand--I'm flying back to California after attending a six-week workshop devoted to genre writing. "Why long hand?" you may wonder. Well, I've become pretty handy at it after writing two to three critiques per day! Using the school's printers turned out to be more of a hassle than it was worth (I'm a night person), and I was doing line edits anyway, so I practiced my handwriting. It's nearly illegible. At least I can read it to type it up.

The Odyssey Writing Workshop completely exceeded my expectations, which were high to begin with. Admittedly, when I received the acceptance letter, I had some momentary doubts, wondering if they let just anyone in. But it turned out that all sixteen students were the sort of experienced, determined, talented writers that you rarely (if ever) find in online critique groups open to the public. Everyone had useful insights, and it was interesting to be able to talk with each author in person, and learn from their critiques of each other. The workshop teacher, Jeanne Cavelos, comes from a professional editing background and has a skill for adapting her advice to each writer's needs. I'm grateful that she was able to offer me fresh ideas and new angles on the novel series I've been writing and rewriting for years.

The guest lecturers and writer-in-residence (George R.R. Martin) added their personal experiences in the publishing industry, and plenty of interesting anecdotes and advice about writing. Looking back at my notes, I see that I've covered 8 pages from G.R.R. Martin alone. And, of course, some of the best things about the workshop included networking with other hopeful writers, and the pleasure of focusing solely on genre writing for six weeks. I've come out of this workshop with a new feeling of confidence. I believe that I've improved as a writer, and I also have a clearer view of the publishing industry, so my old reservations about submitting to major magazines and agents are gone. I'm eager to see if I can make pro sales and win awards!

My writing plans now consist of a lot of revising. I want to revise all of my unsold short stories, including novels and screenplays, and submit them to my top choice publishers. That will be an immense task . . . but you know I'm shamelessly crazy about writing, so I'll give it a try. And yes, I also plan to write new stories. I'll fit that in somewhere. Oh, and yes, I'm going to keep reading books and participating in my critique group. I'm back on my hectic my-computer-takes-up-my-entire-life schedule.

Two of my short stories were published while I was at Odyssey. The Blur can be read in Twilight Times, and Sunrise (longer yet sexier) is available in this month's Cyberpulp e-book/PoD anthology. This is my first story in print!

Novel status:

The Illusionist was rejected from Mundania Press in a polite and timely manner. Thanks to an insightful critique from Dave Fallon of DargonZine, and other test readers, and the Odyssey Workshop, I'm really seeing that this novel has problems. I may retire it until I have time for a major rewrite.

I heard through the writer grapevine that Baen Books lost everything in their electronic slush pile a month ago. If this is the case, they didn't notify the authors, and you can imagine my frustration. My novel Yeresunsa Book 1 was there exclusively since February 2004. Maybe (hopefully) it's still there. I've considered resubmitting it to them, but after Odyssey, I've oscillated back to my original ambition of querying literary agents. There are a few major ones I haven't tried yet. I still have a lot of faith that this book has major sales potential. Test readers have responded extremely well, and I'm going to revise it ASAP to get a better reaction. Now I just have to manage not to freeze up when it comes to querying agents. The problem is that I'm really proud of this book, attached to it in a way that I don't feel for my shorter works, so I'm paranoid that I'll ruin its chances with a bad query letter or synopsis.

Wrap up:

This is where I usually launch into short reviews of the most recent books I've read and movies I've seen. I'm too tired! I hope everyone is having a good summer. Best of luck to you all with your writing, artwork, or whatever your passions may be.

eulogy for Billy

2004-12-01T12:00:00.000-08:00

I had a shock today when my mother called and told me that my dog died. He was a golden retriever named Billy, and he died from a ruptured spleen and other complications at the age of twelve. I knew this death was coming, because he was getting old, but I'd thought he'd live another year. I'd hoped to visit him one last time and let him know that I hadn't forgotten him. The last time he saw me was in August 2004, three months ago. I'm writing this now because Billy was a dog who deserves to be remembered. He was the finest example of a dog that I've ever known.

He was born from a family of golden retriever show-dogs. My family adopted him in the winter of 1992, when he was three months old. I was thirteen at the time, and nervous around dogs, having had a few unpleasant experiences with them. Billy was a surprise. I came home from a winter camp to find that we had a puppy in our house. But he was gentle and innocent, so I found it impossible to be afraid of him. My parents caged him in our basement at night, but he cried, and soon I let him sleep in my bedroom, on the condition that my sister and I take full responsibility for training him. Billy was extremely intelligent. House-training him took a few weeks, and he learned every conventional doggie trick in a few months. He slept at the foot of my bed until he grew bigger, and then he slept under my desk. Eventually he slept downstairs with a dog we bought to keep him company, a female tri-colored collie named Layli. Billy had a lot of funny personality quirks that I'd never imagined in a dog. For instance, he would try to smile by holding in his lips so his teeth showed, but his face was relaxed, not like a growl. He had superstitions about robotic toys and floating balloons; both were things to be avoided, probably because of the weird way they move. He also learned how to communicate with people by shuffle-dancing (when he wanted something), making noises in his throat (he made low whining sounds that were almost like questions or comments), and pointing by looking back and forth between the object and the human. He had a bin full of toys, and he assigned each toy to a specific person. If he wanted to greet me, then he would search though his toy bin and find the human-doll. If he wanted to greet my sister, he would find the duckie-doll. He had a toy for each family member, and different toys for friends. I thought it was cute that he always greeted people with a toy, no matter what. There were a few times when he rooted through his toy bin to the bottom and whined because he couldn't find the correct toy to greet someone with. Usually the toy had been left under a cushion or in another room.

While the dog-tricks are cute, Billy's best trait was his compassion. He was a companion to my grandmother, who lived in our house for a year, and who disliked dogs until she met Billy. He offered comfort to people in pain by resting his head in their lap, and by giving them extra attention and sympathetic looks. Although he was energetic during his puppyhood, and he grew to be 90 lbs, he knew when to be gentle. He never jumped on anyone aside from healthy family members who could handle it. He never knocked anyone over. He never bit or growled at people. At one time, my mother (a social worker) brought him to her patients as a therapy dog. And I can't neglect to mention that Billy was a wonderful friend to me; he was a being whom I absolutely trusted, and who trusted me unconditionally. I'm not sure I would have survived my teenage years without Billy. At the very least, he kept me from slipping into a pool of self-loathing. He kept me sane. The hardest part of leaving for college was leaving Billy behind. During my first or second semester away, I heard that Billy had run past the dog-gate and into my bedroom, leapt onto my bed, and wouldn't leave for a day. I wish I could have taken him with me to college. The first few times I returned home to visit, he cried more than I'd ever seen him do before. After a few years, he got more used to it--but I wish my long absences didn't hurt him. I noticed that he grew more lethargic and took to barking at night, both traits that he hadn't had until after I left.

I have a lot of happy memories of Billy. I'd like to share them all, but I could go on for pages. I'll mention a few highlights. Billy liked to play squeaky-under-the-rug. This would involve me (or anyone) hiding one of his squeaky toys underneath a small rug. I'd press the squeaky so he could hear it. Then Billy would pretend he was stalking it. He'd rear up and leap upon the rug like an attacking bear. I'd move the squeaky around so it wasn't where he'd expect. Eventually, he would throw the rug aside and grab the squeaky, then do a dance of triumph. He would prance around in a circle, snorting, tossing his head, and squeaking the squeaky. In later years, he'd do the triumph dance with the rug in his mouth instead; I guess he considered that a bigger trophy. He also liked to play fetch, and he would chase balls down flights of stairs and swim after them as well. He knew every variation of the terms "walk" and "food", and how to spell all of them, so our family was eventually reduced to using code phrases like "Let's do a W" (take Billy for a walk) or "Is it time?" (to feed Billy). If he understood what we were talking about, he would expect us to carry through with it immediately. If anyone said the word "walk," he would run and get his leash. If anyone said "dinner", he would look at the kitchen and make noises until he was fed. Of course, if we failed to carry through, he would look dejected and sigh a lot. Yes, he could actually guilt-trip humans into walking and feeding him. He had very expressive eyes and eyebrows.

I've missed Billy for eight years now--that's how long I've been gone from home--but he was always close in my heart. I will continue to miss him now that he's gone, and mourn him. This is the best I can do, and I know that it's less than he deserves. He's earned the respect and love of this particular human.

Billy
b. October 15, 1992 -- d. November 30, 2004
Rest in Peace. I will never forget you.

Some weird fun with Photoshop

2005-03-29T12:00:00.000-08:00

I like using my Wacom tablet. The furniture photos, by the way, are from my parents' house.

I plan to have a real update here soon. The short of it is this: My story Leveling Mountains is featured in this month's issue of Aoife's Kiss. I'd appreciate a vote!

digital camera joy

2005-12-23T12:00:00.000-08:00

Yay! My parents very nicely bought me a Nikon S4 for Hanukkah. Now I can show you the pretty view from the balcony of my condo, which I just moved to. Check it out:

I mean, it's no big deal to most people, but in So Cal (Southern California), the houses are spaced so close together than most windows look upon other people's houses. This is the first place I've lived in since college where I can look out my window and see mostly sky. It's sunny and pretty. Directly below me is a courtyard-like park where dogs and kids sometimes play.

Now I'll set about making a photo section for my website!

ComicCon 2006

2006-07-21T00:46:00.000-07:00

So far, I've been to two ComicCons, each more crowded than the last. Nerds take over the entire city of San Diego! Look at them all:

Last year, in 2005, I had the supreme honor of being a guest at a private fan dinner with author Robert Jordan. This year, I had a lot of fun hanging out with my friends Brianne and Heather. Here we are in front of the Star of India, a sailing ship near our hotel:

We met a number of pirates, but Captain Jack Sparrow had a certain allure, so we took photos with him.

Part of the joy of being an Attending Professional is avoiding lines. Comic Con attracts over 150,000 people from all over the world. Some of them wait in line for hours just to enter to convention center. Here's a line we skipped:

Last year, I avoided the crowded floor and spent most of the weekend at panels, which were fun and enlightening. This year, I avoided the panels and browsed the floor. The San Diego convention center is so huge, no photograph can convey its size. There are over 5,000 booths in one massive room. There are contests, clothing and jewelry, prints and fine art, comics and toys, celebrities, costumes, novels and author signings. You can spend a day on the floor and not see it all.

Here's a sliver of it:

We met some storm troopers and Jedi:

And Heather met some comic book heroes:

We saw lots of strange costumes, including five women dressed like Wonder Woman, a giant panda on a tricycle, and a naked old man. The thick crowds made it hard to snap shots of individuals. Here's some strange ones:

Finally, we took breaks and explored beautiful downtown San Diego. We went to clubs (full of Comic Con attendees) and restaurants (full of Comic Con attendees). Here's a view of the harbor within walking distance of the convention center:

Will I go again? Surely! But if the convention keeps growing like this, they'll need to rent a larger city.

Lost River, NH

2006-07-26T02:35:00.000-07:00

NOTE: This should be dated July 26, 2006.

I visit New Hampshire every summer. I live in California, but it's nice for me to remember where I grew up (and why I moved). Anyway, during this trip back east, I went on a day excursion to the White Mountains with my friend Amy. We drove from Manchester for about 2 or 3 hours north, to the White Mountain National Park. This is basically a gigantic forest. It stretches from Eastern Canada all the way to the Southern USA. The northern New Hampshire part of it is extremely unpopulated. You might find a quaint town or two, but mostly, it's trees. Lots of trees. The mountains are furred with pine trees and look like hills or clouds from a distance, because they're round and hump-like, but up close, you can see they're taller than hills. The tallest White Mountains are known as the Presidential Range (named after U.S. Presidents), and they tend to have tundra or bare granite peaks due to the awful weather at the top. In midsummer, the tops of these mountains experience freezing rain and the highest windspeeds on Earth. In winter, it gets worse.

We didn't visit any granite peaks on this trip. Instead, we visited Lost River Gorge.

This is one of several parks in upstate New Hampshire where you can explore granite caves (the most well-known one is the Polar Caves). At Lost River, you follow the trail, which consists of walkways between, over, and under giant boulders in the woods. Every so often, you'll see a crack between boulders with a sign inviting you to enter the cave. If you can contort your body through the crack, you're fine. Some of these caves involve spaces that a child has trouble crawling through. Seriously, you need to be flexible and NOT claustrophobic.

Here's a man emerging from a cave:

Here's a view of the White Mountains. Appalachia at its finest!

So, what does one find in a Lost River cave? Somtimes chilly little underground ponds. Sometimes old-style lanterns. Sometimes ladders made out of sticks that you have to climb in order to get out. Sometimes children (or adults) looking for an easier way out. Not much else!

At least it's a fun hike, and there are plenty of nice views.

Lake Tahoe and Squaw Valley

2007-03-20T11:31:00.000-07:00

I went on a ski trip this weekend! It was St. Patrick's Day and the snow was melting, but we had a great time. Click the photo to see more.

Dune Buggy Ride

2007-06-16T22:48:00.000-07:00

I have a photo gallery on my website, but I've decided to give blogging with photos a try, since Blogspot makes it so easy.

So Phil took me on a dune buggy ride for our 6 month anniversary of dating. It turns out that we can't rent dune buggies and drive them ourselves. I guess there's some kind of liability involved, since it's somewhat dangerous. So we rented a ride from a guy in Desert Palm Springs, and let him drive us around.

Here's the rental place:

The ride was somewhat wild! The dune buggy was actually a VW bug chassis with a topless shell on it.

At one point, our driver pointed out this oasis:

And had us hike to see it up close!

Later, we visited the windmill farm and finally learned why those windmills exist. Apparently each windmill is sponsored by a different company (like Texaco, Enron, etc.) and produces tons of electricity, which they sell to the grid for a profit. The companies pay to maintain their own windmills.

The windmills are a highly efficient energy source in the wind corridor of Desert Palm Springs. According to our guide, each windmill generates enough electricity to power a small town. Why don't they build these things across the windy deserts of America and save on oil-based fuels? Anyone who's driven from California to Arizona or Nevada knows there's hundreds of miles of empty land.

Photos of New Hampshire

2007-08-01T00:29:00.000-07:00

I just returned from a vacation to Colorado (4 days) and New Hampshire (7 days). I figured I'll post the photos in order of most recent to earlier, so they'll show up in correct order to anyone who scrolls down my blog. So here's the "last" installment!

Above: I grew up in a historic district of a New England town. I always found the thick woods to be creepy. In summer, it's a bug-filled jungle. In winter, it's a Robert Frost poem.

Below: High noon in New Hampshire during a thunderstorm. It doesn't get very bright even during the rare cloudless days, because the trees block out the sunlight.

Ah, the old view out my bedroom window. I grew up with this view. No matter what time of year, it was always gloomy, because the overhang of the roof and the trees blocked out the light.

I like to try to describe New England to Californians, because it's such an alien place to anyone who grew up in the western states. This is a typical road in New Hampshire. They're hilly, winding, in poor repair, overgrown with trees and other plants, with many blind turns and hidden houses. You never know what's around the bend. You can't see it until you get there. Very often, street signs and even STOP signs are obscured by plant growth during the summer months.

Here's an oak tree that serves as a landmark for many locals. In California, the trees are fewer but older, whereas in New England, trees grow like weeds and are mostly younger than a century or two. This tree is unusual because it's more than two hundred years old.

One of the many things that always struck me as weird about my hometown was how much trash and litter you can find on the roadsides, despite the love of nature professed by the locals. I don't see this much litter in western states.

Some more typical New England scenery. This is in Manchester, New Hampshire.

And then my vacation ended, and it was time to fly back! (Don't worry, I'll post more of these vacation photos soon.) For now, here's an aerial view of New Hampshire.

As you might suspect, the logging and paper industries are big in northern New England. So is the export of maple syrup. Lots of tree products. The forests grow back very quickly, and logging companies tend to plant new trees in deforested areas.

Above: I got a lot of nice cloud shots from the airplane trips. More to come.

Below: Back in the West! This was approaching Las Vegas.

Southern California Fires

2007-10-28T13:27:00.000-07:00

I get tired of living in a disaster area ... actually, it could have been a lot worse. The fire department fought quickly and efficiently. Every time a new fire started, it looked as if helicopters were dropping water on them immediately. They stopped a lot of fires before they even got going.

These photos were taken last week, when the smoke started rolling in.

Pretty, but I had a sore throat all that week!

Several neighborhoods near me had to evacuate. None of them lost their homes. Unfortunately, thousands of people did lose homes in San Diego and other regions of Southern California.

Right now, the sky is a clear blue and back to normal. We finally got some rain.

Moving to Missouri

2008-01-29T23:36:00.000-08:00

If you include my four years of college, I've lived in the same Southern California valley for nearly 12 years. Now I'm going to enter a new decade of my life by moving to the American midwest.

Why Missouri, you ask? Well, 1) boyfriend is waiting there, 2) new job is waiting there, 3) house and lower cost of living, and 4) just for the change. As much as I enjoy living in California, I've grown increasingly bored with the lifestyle. It's almost too easy. I can go to Disneyland or San Diego, ocean kayaking or skiing, out to the high desert or up to wine country, clubs or theatres, whenever I want. And all my friends are here. Oh, okay ... so I'll miss California. A lot.

All the same, I'm excited about this new lifestyle awaiting me. I never expected I'd end up in Missouri, but then, I never expected I'd live in California for 12 years, either. Here's a photo of Phil and our Missouri "front lawn" (actually a park across the street):

I don't know how many tornadoes we're going to face, or how my new job will compare to the old, but I look forward to all of it. And I will continue aiming to get my novels published. That hasn't changed.

As my new life gets started, I will make an effort to update this blog more often. For now, let me show you some pretty pictures of California and what I'm leaving behind.

I drove from Los Angeles to St. Louis, Missouri

2008-05-24T18:12:00.000-07:00

Earlier this year, I drove 1,650 miles with my friend Val. We managed the drive in 4 days and included some sightseeing along the remains of old Route 66.

CLICK HERE for a photo journey of our trip.

Cities we spent the night in:

Flagstaff, Arizona
Albuquerque, New Mexico
Oklahoma City, Oklahoma
Springfield, Missouri
St. Louis, Missouri

Sites we saw:

Calico Ghost Town, California
Petrified Forest, Arizona
Painted Desert, Arizona
Old Town Albuquerque, New Mexico
Amarillo, Texas
Tulsa, Oklahoma

The trip was a lot of fun. If you check out my photo journal and would like to use one of the photos, just let me know. Here's a small sample of the Painted Desert:

The Next Big Move

2008-06-27T10:19:00.000-07:00

Some people may be wondering if I've disappeared off the map. I wonder the same thing myself sometimes. I've had a lot of R&R time here in Missouri, more than I thought possible for myself. So what have I done with all this amazing mana-from-heaven free time? Did I use it to further my career? No. Did I change my life in any fundamental way? Nope. Did I get engaged or married? No, but I got a puppy. Did I get a novel published? No, but I'm still trying. Did I write a new novel? No, but I wrote the first half of one.

Mostly, I spent the last few months trying to decide what to do with the rest of my life. I'm at a major crossroads. Do I want to remain in the game industry or seek a new start? Do I want to work for myself or for a major corporation? Do I ever want to settle down and raise a family? How much effort is my writing non-career worth, and what balance should I seek?

These may seem like simple choices to you. You've probably already made the decisions, and they're sealed ... or you have a very strong idea of what you want in life.

When I was in high school, people would tell me how envious they were of my ability to KNOW what I wanted in life. They would say, "You're so lucky you're an artist; you know what college to go to and what job you'll have afterwards." And I felt lucky. I loved having my shining future planned out. Of course, at the time, I never doubted that I would be highly happy and successful by the age of 25. I saw myself as the next James Baxter of animation, or maybe I'd be like Brad Bird and direct my own blockbuster animated features.

Okay, I'm not in Los Angeles any more. What's more is, I don't particularly WANT to move back to Los Angeles. The city is loud, smoggy, expensive, pretentious, and animation is often not the glamour job it's reported to be. I lived in Los Angeles for twelve years. I have unpleasant memories of applying at TV and movie studios, and taking on crappy freelance jobs. My animator friends have similar experiences. The industry hasn't changed. But I've changed. My tolerance for the low pay, job instability, and lack of respect towards artists has gone way, way, way down. I almost enjoyed it at age 22. I wear my bad experiences like a badge of honor. Animation is like a fraternity; you have to get hazed by bad jobs before other animators will admit you're one of them. But my hazing days are over. I've been there and done that.

I'm moving to Austin, Texas, with my boyfriend Phil. Austin is a city of technology and video game development. I took a break from full-time work while we lived in Missouri, but I plan to pick up my career in Austin. I have a lot of worries about what sort of job I'll be able to find. I want something that's fun, challenging, and pays well. I'm worried that such a job doesn't exist, so what do I settle for?

And then there's my love life. I won't be airing any details here (sorry to disappoint), but Phil and I disagree on one major, important issue. I'm afraid to think in terms of engagement and marriage right now, because this one issue does not allow for compromise. Could I ever be a mother and raise kids? If you know me, you know my reaction. And being a mother means making all kinds of sacrifices that I think would lead me into deep depression. I don't feel as if I've fulfilled my potential in life yet. I don't want to cut short my remaining opportunities. Yes, I really want to leave a mark somewhere. I want to have an impact in the book industry, or in games, or on the internet. I feel as if I can make an impact, given the right time and resources. I don't feel as if my "destiny" (using a cliche here) is to be someone's mom. You may go ahead and cite J.K. Rowling as an example of a mother who made her mark, but I dare you to name another.

And then there's my goal of being a career novelist. I've aimed a lot of effort into this goal over the past ten years, and so far, the tree ain't bearing no fruits. My mantra is "I will keep trying to get published, even when I'm 80 years old." But now the question becomes one of balance. How much time is this effort worth? I write novels instead of making new friends. I write novels instead of updating my animation reel and applying for jobs. I write novels instead of furthering my software skill set. I get nice reader reactions, but I have trouble inducing any literary agents or publishers to look at my work. I write because I believe in my ability to communicate and affect readers, and because it's fun ... but should I refocus my efforts on another project in another medium? Maybe I should create my own animated show. It would require more work and it might be a hair less fun for me, but it would get more immediate reactions and hone my art skills.

I could work on my Darwin's Gap project and finish a funny webisode or two. My short animations might gain noteriety in contests and stuff.

I could make a more serious animated show, set in my Torth universe, and put it all online for free. This might generate interest in my novels.

I could create and maintain an educational website about a subject I'm interested in, and keep it entertaining, thereby gaining noteriety.

I could found my own art outsourcing company for video games, and try to make life better for video game artists.

I could finish my horror-thriller screenplay, enter it in contests, and try to get my foot into the screenwriting industry. Maybe I'll have better luck there than in novels.

I could get a job as an environmental artist to further my 3D skills (I already know animation and low poly modeling), use this knowledge to create an amazing 3D short film set in my Torth universe, and use the film to generate interest in my novels or get a job at Pixar.

I could write story and dialogue for video games, and possibly design a game based in my Torth universe, thereby generating interest in my novels.

I could go into architecture or marketing, and learn completely new things in a completely different industry.

Or I could continue writing novels and wait for one of them to sell to a major publisher.

Tell me, what would be the best use of my time? I can't decide. I can't do all of the above (unless I get another 300-400 years of life). Every option has pros and cons, and I always second-guess my choices.

Enough of that. For your viewing pleasure, I've posted puppy photos of Saphira (below). She's a nine-month old heeler-basenji mix. We adopted her from a shelter. She's very sweet, friendly, and playful, and oddly quiet for a dog.

And our cat Fiona is up on the LOLCATS website! Here's the links:

Fiona 1
Fiona 2

So is our neighbor's cat, Mary:

Mary

Doggy graduation!

2008-11-12T00:31:00.000-08:00

I work at home, so this dog is my full-time companion. We take daily hikes. I've owned her for six months!

After her graduation, I took her to the RedBud dog park in Austin. It's on an island, so the dogs can't easily escape. What a great park! There were about thirty dogs on the island, chasing and wrestling each other, fetching balls, swimming. Saphira had the time of her life. I had a good time too, chatting with other dog owners while our furry friends played.

Home Sweet Home

2007-10-13T23:49:00.000-07:00

I've had an eventful week, but I'm going to blog about something news-related. Last night there was a major accident that closed the 5 freeway at the Newhall Pass. Several people died in flames. Traffic was stopped on the freeway for upwards of 7 hours.

On Friday, I spent the day with a friend who visited me from New Hampshire. We toured around Los Angeles and saw the play "Avenue Q" in the Ahmanson Theatre. Then I dropped my friend off at her hotel on Wilshire Blvd. and headed north for home. That was around 10:30pm.

First of all, it was raining. This was the first rain we've had in many months, and traffic accidents always happen in L.A. during rainy nights, so I was prepared for some heavy traffic. I figured I'd be home by 11:30pm.

I needed to get to any northbound freeway in order to get to the 5 freeway. Most freeways of Los Angeles feed into the I-5, which runs through the center of the city and continues south to San Diego and Mexico, and north to San Francisco and other states. I drove over a bridge across the 110 freeway and saw how clogged it was, so I skipped it and headed towards the 170 Hollywood freeway. In my limited experience, the 170 moves fast.

I crossed Hollywood Blvd. and headed up Highland Ave. Traffic stopped. It inched along, and then it completely stopped. I sat at the same block for half an hour. I figured a concert must have just gotten out from the Hollywood Bowl, and decided that the 170 was a bad choice. So I turned around as soon as I was able, which involved a lot of manuevering and luck. I made my way through a warren of traffic-clogged alleys and finally back to Sunset Blvd., which was mostly empty. I decided I'd cross the city on surface streets and take the 405 freeway.

Around 11:30pm, I was on the 405 freeway. I passed a sigalert roadsign that said the 5 freeway was closed, and there was a detour at Balboa Blvd. (a two-lane street). I thought: WTF?! The 5 freeway DOESN'T close. Impossible. It's a vital freeway to the city. The last time it closed was when the Northridge earthquake destroyed an overpass in the year 1994. As far as I knew, there was no reason for it to close. I drive it every weekend, very often on Friday or Saturday night, and I've never seen it with heavy traffic near midnight. The heavy traffic is reserved for rush hour...

I saw brake lights around a bend. A bunch of cars quickly exited at the nearest exit. I got into the exit lane, and figured I'd use the next exit if traffic turned out to be really slow.

It stopped. For 7 hours.

I was very fortunate, because I was only stuck for 2 and a half hours. I don't know what happened to the cars in the other lanes; I suspect that some of them were stuck there until dawn or later.

I had no entertainment except for radio and music. The guy in the car next to me had a reading light and was reading a book or magazine. I shifted my gear into park, and there it stayed. People were getting out of their cars and walking around in the rain, trying to see what was holding up traffic. I tuned in to the radio news stations.

The news claimed that the 5 freeway was closed, and so was the 14 freeway, and the 210 freeway. Balboa Rd. was hopelessly clogged. In other words, there was no way for anyone to get to the suburbs 15 minutes north of L.A. unless you took a loooooooooong detour of 3 or 4 hours. None of the channels could give an ETA of when the freeways would open. Every channel reported a different story of what the accident was. One report claimed that four big rigs had collided and caught on fire. Another report said it was fifteen trucks. Another said they were in a tunnel that was collapsing from the heat. But none of them explained why that would close an entire freeway of 6 lanes northbound and 6 lanes southbound, or why two other freeways were closed. I later learned that the explosions in the tunnel created a danger of road collapse. All of the surrounding freeways and surface streets near the accident were clogged enough to necessitate closure.

I listened to this news, and I considered taking an obscure mountain route home. The obscure road is known as "A Street" in Filmore, also known as route 23. It has a section of tall, sheer cliffs and hairpin turns. It's a dangerous road to take at night in the rain. This is mudslide country.

Even so, I had hours in which to ponder. The obscure route 23 is not common knowledge even to local residents. I'd be home in under two hours if I could exit and get on the 118 freeway towards Moorpark.

I happened to be parked near the next on-ramp. As I pondered, I watched cars drive up the ramp, pile up, and then drive down the ramp on by one, in reverse. It was like a parade.

Around 2:15am, a motorcycle cop wove between the parked cars and went to the on-ramp. He began directing cars to drive down the ramp. At long last, traffic was moving ... off the freeway. Even so, most people chose to stay. I guess they didn't want to lose their place in line, and they believed traffic would HAVE to move soon. Traffic accidents are statistically common in Los Angeles. Locals depend on the fact that accidents get cleaned up swiftly. Otherwise, we'd be stranded all the time. The city is too spread out for freeway closures.

When I exited the freeway, I had no idea it would remain closed for days. Like everyone else, I believed it would be open within a few hours; I just was unwilling to wait those hours.

I drove down the least clogged surface street until I was well away from the freeway. Then I stopped at a gas station for a bathroom break. While I bought a drink for the road, a man in white collar business attire walked up to the register and asked me if I knew what had happened on the 5 freeway. He'd been stuck there since 11pm. He lived in the same town as me, and was also trying to get home. I told him about the obscure mountain road, but I couldn't remember the street names necessary to give driving directions. He was distraught, because he had nowhere to stay. He bought a toothbrush and asked the gas station attendant for directions to the nearest motel.

I'm fortunate, because I have someone to stay with. I called up my boyfriend, Phil, and warned him that I might need to crash at his place for the night. Then I headed for the obscure mountain route.

As soon as I got onto the westbound 118 freeway, I saw a line of traffic on the eastbound side, all of them trying to get onto the 405 north, where I'd been parked for the last two hours. I finally pictured the scope of this traffic jam. The standstill went for miles and miles. These freeways all have 4 to 6 lanes. They can carry hundreds of thousands of fast-moving cars. If it had gotten to this state between 11pm and 2:30am, it would get much worse with the morning traffic.

If I turned back, I'd get stuck in the eastbound 118 traffic trying to get to the 405 north trying to get to the 5 north. Wow. But it wasn't too bad yet. In a few more minutes, it might be.

The rain became a downpour. I imagined myself navigating the hairpin turns on the edge of that cliff, with the road slick from dust and oil loosened by the season's first rain. The road might become impassable from a mudslide.

I turned around, and I made it to Phil's place by 3am. I'm grateful that I had a place to go. I kept thinking about all the cars still stuck there, and the exhausted man who had to get a motel room less than 15 minutes from his home.

In the morning, I watched the news to make sure the 5 freeway was open. It wasn't.

I got a horrible, frustrated feeling that's hard to convey here. I couldn't get home. I wanted a change of clothing, and I needed to do my laundry, and so forth ... and I couldn't. My home was less than 40 miles away, but it might as well have been in another state.

We researched detours. It turned out that the obscure mountain route 23 was being used by trucks bound for Los Angeles and San Diego. I shuddered to think of all those trucks on that cliff. I imagined them shoved sideways on the hairpin turns, or stuck in mud. The auto traffic was diverted to Calgrove Blvd. and the 14 freeway. Estimated travel time to my home: At least four hours.

I spent the day with Phil. He cheered me up, but I still had to face a long journey to get home. The drive usually takes me half an hour. Instead, I figured I'd go all the way around to Ventura County. That would be about three hours, if traffic stayed light.

I changed my mind mid-drive and headed for mountain route 23 after all. The radio news reported that southbound I-5 traffic was diverted that way, but they never mentioned northbound. I figured it was worth the risk, since traffic tends to be light around that time, and it wasn't raining.

What a pleasant surprise! I encountered no northbound traffic whatsoever. I began to think the 5 freeway was open again. Then I saw a long line of cars and trucks heading southbound over route 23. Now I'm left to wonder why northbound traffic wasn't diverted that way. I made it home in less than two hours.

The latest news is that the 5 freeway might be open as early as Tuesday. Until then, thousands of suburban commuters have no useful way to get to their jobs. All the residents of Los Angeles and San Diego who flocked to Northern California for the weekend will have a hard time getting home. All the trucks that deliver produce and goods to these major cities will have no good way to deliver them.

The 5 freeway closure had to happen, because that was a hell of a serious accident. But I think this is a warning that a valley with only a few routes in and out can become a trap. I hope something good will come from this disaster. Maybe whoever is in charge of Los Angeles infrastructure will add a few more roads through the mountain passes.

Sculpting a Novel

2007-05-25T00:08:00.000-07:00

A couple of weeks ago, I finished the rough cut of my novel rewrite.

I'll assume that most readers of my blog haven't followed along with the trials and tribulations I've experienced with this project, so let me give you a quick recap. I wrote the original first draft in the year 2000. It was 519,100 words (roughly the size of Stephen King's unabridged The Stand). When I look back at that original, I judge the story to be good, but the writing to be amateur and bloated. I went through a long learning process. I split the book into three books to make it more palatable to editors. I reduced the total word count to 475,600 words. I let strangers read it and give me their honest reactions. I edited and polished it frequently. I submitted it to literary agents and publishers, and got one excited manuscript request (without a follow up) from a well-known agent, and one rewrite request from Baen Books.

As I became a better writer and learned the ways of the genre book industry, I realized (around 2004-2005) that my masterpiece needed a complete overhaul. So I set out to restructure it, to tighten the pacing and get rid of the bloat.

In order to focus on this huge task, I shoved aside my other writing goals and projects, many of them ideas which I was (and still am) excited about. I immersed myself in Thomas's and Alex's journey until I got sick of it. I reread my original epic in bits and pieces, then sliced it up and pasted the paragraphs into new places, and reread them, and slimmed them down, and changed details, and reread them again. I took notes on my own writing so I wouldn't forgot what I'd put where. I applied techniques I'd learned at the Odyssey Writing Workshop and since to my reborn novel. I gained more of a social life while I procrastinated facing this huge project every night. I gained a sense of the work involved in being a professional writer.

After all that, I won't know if my hard work paid off until years from now. I have a feeling that it will, but I've never trusted hunches or feelings. I only know that this confidence is highly unusual for me. Even though I'm sick of the project, I still look back and think it's good. I still get excited about it. I hear opinions from people who've read the first three chapters or more, and I hear good news. I don't think this is wishful thinking, since I've heard and given my share of harsh critiques. I can tell when readers genuinely like something.

But there's no immediate payoff. By now, everyone around me must think I'm a jack-off, just someone who creates endless busywork for herself and talks big. I know I'm not this person. When I started this rewrite, I knew I'd be in for a difficult journey, with a gamble for a payoff. I took the journey, gamble and all, because I believe in the power of my words. I'll market this book any way I can, because I see a fan following in its future. I'm fully aware that I may be self-deluded here, but I can't ignore the possibility that I'm right. Had I decided not to do the rewrite, I'd be second-guessing myself for the rest of my life, always wondering if it could have been the next major best-seller. What's the point of living if you don't take risks like this?

I combined the first two sections of my original and reduced the word count from 278,300 to 127,400 words. That's amazing. That means my total word count (including the original, unrewritten third section) is down to 324,700 ... and I'm positive that I can cut out another 100,000 words from that third section (it will be book 2 instead of book 3, now). The story didn't change. The characters are the same. Most of what I removed was excess description and wordage.

Is this new version much stronger than the original? I'm not sure. I wish I was. Parts of it are definitely improved. The whole is lighter and faster, with tons of excess wordage deleted, but I'm afraid I may have accidentally deleted crucial bits of character development and story pacing. I might have taken out the spice that gave it its bite. If it turns out that test readers respond with less enthusiasm than they did for the original, I'll try to fit the missing character development back in there without overinflating the word count.

But these are worries for later. Right now, I'm working on new material for the first time in two years. It's a short story!

Yay!!!!!

I absolutely needed the break. I needed to write something fresh before I forgot how a first draft feels. It's pure joy. And I also need a couple of months when I'm not thinking about slavery, snobby mind readers, and berserk giants who kill people.

In July, I'll return to the Yeresunsa universe and polish my rewrite. My goal is to have it readable by September 1st. Would you care to be a test reader this winter? Here's the synopsis!

Thanks for reading my blog.

The Blame Game

2007-04-16T22:04:00.000-07:00

Against my good judgment, I'm going to blog about a current event.

I just went to a section of BBC.com where readers can post comments about the Virginia Tech shootings. As I scrolled through the comments, I saw a few condolences for the victims and survivors. I saw a lot of America-bashing and pro- and anti- gun control rants.

Why is it that when a tragedy makes world headlines, people IMMEDIATELY fling accusations and blame around? People seem unable to just sit and absorb the news. A disturbed man murdered 33 innocent students. This is not the fault of the students, the school faculty, the senators, the NRA, America, or TV and video games. It's the fault of the guy who locked students in a building and shot as many as possible. Please, assign blame where it's due. He deserves your anger. He's dead, but that doesn't make him any less guilty.

Scott Smith's "The Ruins"

2007-03-07T02:08:00.000-08:00

It's been a long time since a book made me so angry as the one I just finished.

I can't stop thinking about it, which I suppose is the sign of a successful author. And I finished it, which is usually a sign of enjoyment. I'm not compelled to finish books I hate. Yet I'm angry. I wouldn't recommend this one. I can't voice my criticism without giving spoilers, so brace yourselves. There's spoilers.

SPOILERS *** SPOILERS *** SPOILERS *** SPOILERS

This is a book about a man-eating vine. It sounds stupid, but it's surprisingly well written. This author has been compared to Stephen King, and I understand why: He can make you believe anything. Giant alien spiders that lure children into sewers? Sure. Sentient jungle plants? No problem. Scott Smith is one of those authors who brings you into the weirdness step by careful step, starting in the land of normalcy and ending in the land of lunacy. He takes you into the characters' heads in such an intimate way, you feel their terror, and their struggle with insanity as they try to comprehend the incomprehensible. This is Horror fiction.

But I felt like I was watching a train wreck. The self-absorbed idiocy of the characters had me wincing from the beginning. They harbor secret resentments towards each other. At first, I struggled to like them, because the quality of writing drew me in. They hiked into the jungle for a good reason, to find their buddy's missing brother. So what if they ignored all the classic signs of impending danger? I mean, if it were me, I would have turned back when the creepy truck driver said, "This is a bad place," and drove off in a hurry. But not everyone thinks like that.

When they became trapped on the vine-covered hilltop, surrounded by natives with pistols and arrows, I read breathlessly to find out how they would escape. They heard a cell phone ringing at the bottom of a mine-shaft. They decided to send someone down to find it. Did they check the rope? No. The rope had been sitting out in the weather for countless weeks, and no one bothered to uncoil it or test its strength. Of course, the rope broke, and we've got our first major injury. Pablo broke his spine. He's lying at the bottom of the shaft, screaming. What do the characters do? Well, they spend the entire rest of the day figuring out how to send someone else down there to bring Pablo up on a backboard. Meanwhile, they're rationing their water, the hilltop is littered with the skeletal remains of previous people who've died there, and they can't escape. WTF? I'd think they have bigger worries than the guy with a broken spine. He's already a goner. Yet the characters keep whining about how they need to get Pablo to a hospital, as if they have any way to accomplish this.

By that point (about 1/4 through the book), I knew these characters would die from terminal stupidity. Maybe Jeff, the relatively smart one who used to be an Eagle Scout, would survive. The women were annoyingly dumb. I can't stand how so many male authors write about survival situations with dumb, whiny female characters. Why not make one of the women competent? In fact, I think women are better suited to survive trauma than men. Also, resourceful characters are easier to like.

I wouldn't want any of these characters for friends. Let me tell you, this book terrified me on multiple levels. It works as a horror novel for all the good reasons. There's suspense, there's gore, there's tons of creepy scenes. And then there's the horrific idea of having to die with a group of idiots. What if you were trapped in a deadly survival situation, and your only companions want to drink tequila instead of planning a way to gather water when it rains? What if no one around you even thought about escape? What if you had to trust your life to their thoughtless non-vigilance? Scary! I get chills thinking about it. And Scott Smith made these characters very, very believable.

I came away from this book with fresh cynicism about humanity.

Before I wrap this up, I need to mention a few great ideas that never occurred to these characters. I wonder if they occured to the author.

1. My escape idea.
The natives keep watch day and night, and the vine makes an alarm noise if anyone tries to sneak past the sentries. But what about a diversion? Pablo, the guy with a broken back and hastily amputated legs, is shrieking in agony. They could drag him down the hill, let the natives shoot him to death, and flee while they're busy. Pablo would then die for a good cause instead of in vain. Okay, I'll concede that the natives might not fall for this diversion, or it may be too quick. But there's always victim #2: Eric. Eric is slowly bleeding to death from multiple self-inflicted wounds made with a dirty knife. By the second day, they all know he'll die without medical attention or food. He could martyr himself to save the rest of them. But no one thinks or suggests this idea. They discuss eating Amy's corpse on the third day, but they never discuss any practical escape attempt. Even Jeff, the former Eagle Scout, doesn't think of this. I hate them.

2. My communication idea.
The natives don't speak Spanish, which is why they were unable to warn travelers away. I don't buy this. The natives live in Mexico, and they obviously trade with Mexicans, because they have things like bicycles and T-shirts. At least one of them must speak enough Spanish to communicate. Jeff (who speaks high school level Spanish) should have tried communicating. Also, these natives are too cruel to be believed. They just let travelers wander into the vine, again and again, and hold them captive until they die. Why don't they flat-out kill them? Why do they waste resources by watching the travelers suffer in a long, drawn-out process? What if a little child or baby came with the travelers? Would an entire village--men, women, children--let a child die slowly like that? I don't believe these people.

3. My S.O.S. idea.
The vine yanks down any sign they put up. They find old S.O.S. signs hidden around the base of the hilltop, the sort of signs that might have warned them to keep away. But why don't they carve into the trunks of trees? That's what I'd do. If the vine covers their etchings, they could climb up and spend all day hacking off tree branches. That would leave some strange-looking trees, which might be enough to warn other innocent people to keep away. It might even be noticed if an airplane flies overhead.

4. My suicide idea.
Every character dies in a unique, tragic, gruesome way. By the third day, the remaining survivors (all three of them) know they're doomed. Eric skins himself alive because he's convinced the vine is inside him, Mathias gets stabbed in the heart, and the final survivor, Stacey, slits her wrists and bleeds to death. Why, oh WHY, don't any of them think to set the hilltop on fire??? They have a book of matches and a bottle of tequila. The vine recedes when it gets burnt. I'd say it's time for a Molotov cocktail and a forest fire. At least that way, they'll have saved future travelers from much pain and suffering.

Okay, I feel better now. Stay away from "The Ruins" unless you enjoy torture.

Rejected

2003-03-31T12:00:00.000-08:00

I got my first rejection letter. The agency responded very quickly, and did not provide any details. I suspect they may have been put off by my original dry synopsis (I have rewritten it since then). Then again, maybe they just aren't interested in this particular flavor of over-the-top fantasy science fiction, or maybe they didn't like my writing style. I will keep submitting The Illusionist to other agencies.

What now? My problem is that I would rather spend time writing stories than trying to market them. I have a short story, DEMON CHILD, that I would like to see published, and I could (and should) go back to Yeresunsa and revise Part I as a stand-alone book... because I consider that particular saga to be my best work... but right now, I would rather write some new stuff.