Fan Art Is Good For The Soul

I haven't had a lot of fan art so far, but I do love what I have had... so much so that I keep a Pinterest board of it. I've been word-slinging non-stop since the end of May, and while that's not a complaint (boredom is my worst enemy), I do sometimes have to remind myself that absence can be what makes the heart grow fonder.

So I took a few days off for the 4th of July weekend, partly because I was road-tripping and partly because it was time to separate from GIVEN TO THE SEA for a breather before diving back in for the grand finale. A little bit of space can mean all the difference in delivering a satisfying ending, rather than rushing for the finish line because it's in sight.

But a few days away from the keyboard can also serve to remind you how much easier it is to not write. There's no that's-not-quite-the-right-word-but-I'm-going-forward-anyway syndrome, no idly tearing off your fingernails while waiting for the subplot to tie itself off in your mind, no wondering why that supporting character won't stop trying to steal the page.

So while I was enjoying my freedom, I was also a little sluggish on social-media, taking some true Mindy Time. I picked up my phone and hopped on Twitter at one point to see what was up, and a follower drew my attention to an amazing piece of art by Charlie Bowater that had been inspired by NOT A DROP TO DRINK.

Seeing someone else take put this much care into representing Lynn was pretty awesome, and I have to say I think the art is just breathtaking. Fan art is a good reminder for writers that while writing is a solitary endeavor, the end product is anything but.

The Beauty Of Pantsing It: The Character You Didn't Expect

I've got a lot on my plate right now, but I mean that in strictly the metaphorical sense because I definitely just clean plated my breakfast. Farm eggs, man. Can't beat 'em.

The first draft of my fantasy series, GIVEN TO THE SEA, is due somewhat soon, and I also need to do an edit on my 2016 release THE FEMALE OF THE SPECIES, which is a rape-revenge vigilante justice contemporary. It's possible that one day I will write something where the description doesn't make people cringe a little, but don't hold your breath - that's what I keep telling my mom, anyway.

So with all this work staring me down, the coffee pot on overtime and the cats tossed outside so they can't sit on my face, I've actually been getting a lot done. The fact that it's been raining non-stop in Ohio for the past two weeks has been a big help, as my outdoor soul isn't contending with much guilt from nice breezes and warm sunshine.

All that being said, it's still work, and cranking out the words is never easy. There's always the author's biggest enemy - procrastination - staring you in the face (well hello blog post, I should write you, yes?). But what stalled me the other day was something else, something that I only have myself to blame for.

I'm a pantser, complete and total. Whenever I turn in a synopsis to agent or editor it comes with a heavy warning that some people I earmarked as survivors may actually die, and I might decide to kill those who got a reprieve in the initial concept. I also might wander down paths I didn't know existed, which is where my subplots always come from. It's a lovely thing when an organic subplot pops up, and that happened to me yesterday, in the form of a character I didn't know existed.

He had a few things to say. He's quietly masculine and made of honor, and while I only meant to give him a line or two of comfort to a stricken female, he showed up again a few chapters later and kept talking. I was like dude, what are you doing - I didn't even give you a name, so shut it. And suddenly I had to give him a name, because he kept talking to my female character and the pronouns were getting old, and once I'd given him a name I gave him a wife and a kid, and suddenly he had a subplot and possibly his creator had a little crush on him.

This is why I love being a pantser - a subplot I never intended, but neatly ties together my overall arc came about organically, nicely tied up in a cool dude with armor and a conscience.

I'll take it.

My Dad Read to Me - And That's Awesome

I want to talk about two things that go hand-in-hand in my memory.  My dad, and kid's books. I come from a farming family, and anyone who knows anything about farming knows that farmers work hard - and often. My dad came home right around our bedtime, and was usually back in the fields before we were on the school bus. But he made time to read to my sister and I, one book for each of us. Mom would offer - Mom would darn near beg if it was getting late and he wasn't home yet - but we wanted Dad, cause he was our reader man.

Sister and I had a lot of books from the Weekly Reader Book Club, and if you were born in the same decade I was you probably had books whose first page looked like this:

Yeah, that's right, I spelled my name with a "b" at one point in my life. Actually, due to my confusion regarding the number of bumps in an "m" or an "n" and the (I felt) misleading nature of the letter "d," I often identified myself as "Mimby" when claiming my books, something my immediate family like to remind me of whenever I forget that I can be wrong sometimes.

I had a lot of awesome books from Weekly Reader, and other places too. Sure, I had RUNAWAY BUNNY and MIKE MULLIGAN and yes, they rock. I also had some awesome books that haven't stood the test of time in the sense of the big picture, but in my house they were golden.  

I had books that originally belonged to my Dad. And those books have his name on the inside cover - he spelled it right, by the way.

So, I want to hear about those unsung children's books that you wouldn't let your grubby little hands put down. Tell me about the authors and books who've passed down from parent to child, inspiring those moments when you don't need to turn the page because you know the words, even though you haven't laid eyes on it in twenty years. And don't forget to tell someone who read to you: