The "Right" Way To Publish A Book--The Stars in the Sky and a Man Named Mordecai

     Since the day I gave in to the writing bug I've been very much stuck on the idea of traditional publishing, i.e. finding an agent and getting in with a big publisher.

     Why?

     Honestly, I'm not sure.

     I guess I just had it in my head that it was the best way, though I now know that is not true. There is no best way to publish a book. The world of publishing is changing, and I truly think it's a great thing. There are so many options out there for writer's today, and none of those options are necessarily right or wrong.

      The "right" way to publish depends on the writer, the book they've written, the current market, what's trending, the position of the stars and the planets, and whether or not at the time an agent or publisher is reading your submission that somewhere in the world a cross dresser named Mordecai is currently dancing in the kitchen with a broomstick to the Divinyls song "I Touch Myself." Unfortunately, one cannot know for certain if a path is the right one until after they choose to take it. But, I suppose that is true about every aspect of life.

     To reiterate my point that there is no right or wrong path in publishing I'm going to share some thoughts imparted to me by literary agent Sara Megibow of KT Literary. Sara lives in my state, so I've had the pleasure of meeting her twice. Once at a conference in November of 2014. I pitched my vampire novel (which at the time I thought was complete) to her. I am very shy and was ridiculously nervous. She is friendly, nice, and funny and instantly put me at ease and even got excited about my book. Yay! I sent her some sample chapters, but she later rejected my novel. However her rejection led me to realize that the book needed some revisions. Six months later I queried her again for the same novel (not all agents accept re-submissions. Before doing this it is a good idea to check their website to make sure of it.) She again requested sample chapters. Yay! Unfortunately, she politely rejected them again. I've since looked at my revisions and had a friend give it a good thorough shake-down (thanks Elly) and realized that it was far beyond ready. And I'm of course embarrassed that I sent it to roughly 30 agents and about 5 small publishers, and subjected Sara to it twice. But, after checking out many writer's blogs, I know I'm not alone. While I do wish that I'd been able to see that my story wasn't ready, I learned a lot from the experience and don't regret it. I'm currently rewriting my vampire novel (I might've mentioned this once or twice). When it's complete I think I will focus on small/niche publishing houses rather than searching for an agent. That is because I believe it is the best route for this particular story, not because I'm forever done with searching for agents. Absolutely not.

     I met Sara again (though did not speak with her personally) at a presentation she gave in the summer of 2015 for the Northern Colorado Writers. This was a two hour talk about agents and what they do and don't do. Many people wonder why agents do not give feedback. The answer: it's not their job. They receive thousands of submissions and actually have very little time to read those submissions. If they gave everyone feedback, they would never have time to sell books to big publishers, work on dealing with rights, and all that other business-y stuff that doesn't sound nearly as fun as reading submissions. Sara's presentation focused mainly on the process of getting an agent and what one will do for you. She did however touch upon self-publishing and small publishing houses (many of these don't require agented submissions). She mentioned several times that none of these routes is right or wrong. She didn't even seem to be biased towards traditional publishing.
 
     So, I take this as truth. Every writer needs to find the right path for themselves. I'm even going to take this further and say that it's not even about the right path for every writer, but the write path for a particular book. Now that I have three books (all with beginnings, middles, and ends--though none fully polished) I realize the truth of this. I think there is a different "right" path for each of my novels. Like I mentioned above, I think a small publishing house is the right path for my vampire novel, though if that doesn't work out I will probably eventually consider self-publishing. For my yet un-named mystery novel that I wrote for NaNo, I think it might be (so far, anyway) my best bet at the traditional route.

     For my YA paranormal fantasy, Caribou Canyon, I've recently begun to think even further outside the three "main" routes of publishing. Caribou Canyon has three main characters, which in and of itself is a lot, but there are also a lot of important peripheral characters. As I was writing it, I wound up falling in love with just about every one of these peripheral characters. Needless to say, the story got away from me. Waaaaay away from. The handful of people who've read it are probably laughing, because you guys know just what an understatement that is.

     The polished first draft is 250k words, and that's with the ending summarized, so it would probably be closer to 270k. And most of that is actual story. Some of it could be trimmed down, and some of it is over explaining, but for the most part, it's all usable story. What happened was I got caught up in the drama of all these characters who I loved so much.

     To sum up, the main plot is about a small town with a ghost problem and a conspiracy. This was supposed to be the main focus of the story, with the drama of the three main characters only coming up every now and then. Well, that's not what happened. I loved the characters so much that the exact opposite happened. I even went off on the drama of the peripheral characters.

     I've discussed many different solutions with my writer's group. The most obvious is to cut out most of the drama and zero back in on the ghost/conspiracy angle. If I want to keep my original vision of a stand-alone YA paranormal (and I really do want a stand-alone, because my vampire novel will be a trilogy and I don't want too many series' going at one time) this is what I should do. But I'm loving the characters and the drama of their lives. I'm really proud of what I've done with this story, and it's only a first draft. I think I've brought up some important issues and would actually like to expand upon them rather than trim them down. Can I do that in one normal length book? I've told my friends I can, but the truth is I'm probably being delusional.

     Another solution is to give up on the stand-alone idea and make it a series. I'm not completely opposed to this idea, but it still isn't exactly where I'd like to go with the story. Part of the reason is because as far as the ghost/conspiracy aspect goes, I really can't think of how to split this into separate books with distinct arcs.

     I've recently begun to think of another solution, one I can't take credit for. My friend Branden suggested that I publish it on a serial site. He explained that he thought it would fit really well in the serial format due to the many characters, their individual story lines, and the way I go off on chapter-long tangents that don't have a thing to do with the main plot.

     Confession:

     I (at times) tend to be a stubborn person. Because I've been stuck on the idea of traditional publishing for so long, and also stuck on the idea of Caribou Canyon being a stand-alone novel I pretty much let Branden talk while I sat there thinking "no way am I even considering serializing this story" (Sorry, Branden. It's nothing personal. Sometimes I get stubborn and can't see further than a foot in front of me).

     Well, I've started to have second thoughts about the serial idea. I think Branden might be onto something. I've never read serial fiction, but thinking of TV shows I can see what he means. The best thing I can think to compare Caribou Canyon to is Pretty Little Liars, only with ghosts. (I'm thinking of Pretty Little Liars the TV show, not the books. I've never read the books.) I definitely need to research serial fiction and how it all works, but I'm starting to seriously consider it. The great thing about it is, if I chose that route Caribou Canyon is pretty much ready as is. Each chapter would need a bit of editing of course, but it wouldn't need a full rewrite. In the serial format I could keep it in all its 250k word glory. Heck, I could even add words (and yes, there are actually things I want to add). I'm very excited. So, thank you, Branden, for the idea. And if there's any one else from writer's group who had this idea I'm forgetting to give credit to, thank you. And thank all of you wonderful friends for reading all 250k (or even 100k of them) words. Not everyone would do that. That is a lot of words.
 
     I think part of the reason why my stubbornness is letting up and I'm willing to look at other publishing methods is because I now have 3 stories under my belt. When I had only 1 baby it was really scary to think of trying anything other than the traditional route (which is irrational, considering that not all traditionally published books sell well). But now that I know my 1 book was not a fluke I think I'm willing to try things and I'm ready to get my feet wet and just see what happens. And while I'm doing that, I will be writing, writing, writing. Always.

     If anyone has any thoughts or suggestions on the subject, or knows anything about serialized fiction, I'd love to hear it!

Seven Deadly Sins of Writing

My Twitter friend (tweep?) and fellow writer Kay tagged me to do the Seven Deadly Sins of Writing. Apparently this is a thing going around, and since I got tagged it must mean that I'm now one of the cool kids. Yay! I've waited so long for this moment. Thank you, Kay, for not only validating my coolness, but also giving me a free blog topic, because I'm always searching for topics.

All right, let's begin.

The following questions are based on the seven deadly sins and are relevant to reading and writing.

1. Pride – Share a line or small scene that you’re really proud to have written.

Okay, there are tons of things I'm proud to have written, but now I can't think of any. So...moving on. 

All right I'm back, though if you're reading this chronologically (which you probably are, if you're not you're weird) it doesn't seem as though I left at all. 

So, here's a line from one of my drafts of my vampire novels. It's one of my favorites, but may or may not survive into the final (the real actual honest-to-goodness final) draft. 

I wasn't concerned about falling hundreds of feet to my death; I had far too many other things on my mind. 

2. Envy – Tell us about a book you wish you’d written.

Wow, these are hard questions. 
Wish I'd written seems like a strong statement, but I'll go with it. 

Okay, I guess I'm going to have to go with Daughter of Smoke and Bone Trilogy by Laini Taylor because of all its wonderful feels, excitement, and human emotion all strung into a wonderful fantasy world. It's fantasy taken to a higher/literary level and that is what I strive to do in my fantasy stories. 

3. Wrath – Tell us about a trope or cliche that makes you furious.

The male continuously being ridiculously annoyingly over-protective of the female, to the point in which they are constantly arguing in like every chapter. I think that it's great for a man to be protective of a woman (although this should go both ways), but at a certain point the man should respect his friend/lover/sister/whoever's feelings and wishes and trust in her strength.

That being said, apparently I'm a bit of a hypocrite because I unknowingly did this in one of my stories. In my defense, I did have the man eventually back down and stop being overly protective, but I do plan to completely fix this in the next rewrite, which I'm currently working on. He is going to worry about her, but also trust her and have faith in her. Cause it's 2016 for crying out loud. 

4. Gluttony – Tell us about a trope you can’t get enough of.

Oh crap. I don't have any idea. Next question. 

5. Lust – Tell us about a character you’d do unspeakable things to.

Unspeakable things? We're talking hand holding and walks in the park, right? Right. That's what we're talking about. 

Okay, I admit that I'm totally in love with Eric from The Southern Vampire Mysteries (I'm talking about the books, not True Blood the TV show. Boo on the TV show. Yay for the books. Book Eric is way more awesome than TV Eric.) I would totally take unspeakable walks in the park (at night of course) with Eric. Though I could never be in a relationship with him. No way. He's way too full of himself and controlling. So just unspeakable hand holding and park walking, no relationship. 

Also, I've accidentally fallen in love with several of the male characters I've created. So much so that I've accidentally given them romantic story lines that I hadn't initially planned to give them. Whoops. Must rein in that impulse. 

6. Sloth – Tell us about your favorite form of procrastination.

Are we talking writing procrastination? Because this is not a problem for me. To be honest, I think I have the opposite problem. Sometimes I have to force myself not to write and instead actually relax. Although sometimes social media can be a bit of a distraction from the writing. 

7. Greed – Tell us which author’s top of your auto-buy list.

No one currently. There are many authors that I love, but I've recently been trying to read a variety of stories by different authors, more as a learning experience to better my writing than for pure indulgence. Not that I don't enjoy it, because of course I do. 

All right, I am invoking the sin of sloth and skipping gluttony. So there. 

Elly, I am tagging you and therefore anointing you as cool. And giving you a free idea for a blog post. You're welcome.   :) 

The brilliantly terrible; ground-breaking, yet cliched; poorly well-written first novel

     Hey, I have a crazy idea: let's talk about my vampire novel! Because we haven't done that for awhile, right? I think two posts ago at least. 

     Seriously, though. What I would actually like to talk about is not so much the plot of my vampire novel, but the fact that it's my first novel, first novels in general, the process of writing them, and what I've learned so far from the experience. 

     Let's start at the beginning. There was light. The light from that white blank page that didn't stay blank for very long because the moment I finally decided to put pen to paper (so to speak) I had a lot to say. 

     Like many new writers I was absolutely certain that the story I was writing was unique, ground-breaking, spectacularly brilliant, and something that would make jaws drop and people would say, "Wow. That was amazing. Where has Becky Munyon been hiding? She is the most amazing writer on the planet." Yeah, I really did think that, more or less. So, when my first novel was finished (ha ha. It had a beginning, a middle, and an end. A feat for sure, but finished? Not by far) I decided to share the first chapter on an online critique site. I excitedly awaited for the appraising (and somewhat jealous. Yeah, I admit it. I was that cocky) comments to come in. 

     Wow. Did my bubble get burst. It was like someone pushed me off a cliff. The basic message behind the comments was that my writing needed work. A lot of work. Not only that, but the mistakes I'd made were the same mistakes hundreds of new writers make. Telling instead of showing; using way too many adjectives and adverbs; using too many big, technical words because I was trying to show how awesomely smart I was; thinking that describing my MC by having her look in a mirror was a brilliant idea that no one on the planet has ever thought of; thinking that clever dialogue tags (admitted, countered, argued, put in, stated, added, etc.) was a brilliant idea that no one on the planet has ever thought of. The list goes on. 

     That was a hard pill to swallow. I spent the next two days crying on and off, certain I was a hack, had just wasted a year of my life, and could never, ever be a good writer. After some encouraging words from my friends, some books on writing (who would've thought?) and a lot of reading, I picked myself up and vowed that I would make my book awesome. So I revised. And revised. 

     And revised some more. 

     Five years later I am revising again, though there were roughly two years in there that I was working on different projects. 

     Something I've heard over and over on the internet from various people is that their first novel (sometimes their first two or three novels) will never see the light of day. Most people seem okay with this. They've accepted the fact that when they wrote their first novel they just didn't have the skills necessary to make it presentable. Now that I've spent time away from my first novel and started two others, I can see why this happens. I think that at a certain point one has to try new projects in order to learn and grow. After starting my second and third novels I went back and read what I thought was the near-perfect and complete version of my first novel and was shocked. It wasn't bad; it simply was "good enough." Not brilliant and spectacular and not nearly as well written as even the polished first draft of my 2nd novel. How is that possible? 

     By writing new characters in new settings with new conflicts we allow our brains the opportunity to expand. Now that my brain has done that (Yay!), I want to go back to novel number one and make it great. The problem is, I fear that might not be possible. But since I hate to say never or to think that a task is impossible, I'm going to give it all I've got. That being said, I understand why some people say there is just no hope for certain stories. I think one reason for this is that I've spent so much time looking at this thing that my mind is stuck back in amateur mode because I've seen it a certain way for so long. Even though I'm completely rewriting it, those old lines and sequences are so burned into my brain that it's extremely difficult to evolve the writing. I'm having a hard time doing with my old characters what I can now easily do with the new ones. It's very strange and frustrating and daunting. But I'm not giving up. 

     My vampire novel is my first baby. I love my characters and want to work hard to elevate them to new places. I wish I hadn't been so stubborn and arrogant when I first started writing. I thought I knew everything I needed to know. If I'd recognized that I had a lot to learn I might've gotten to where I am now faster. But, hey, it's a lesson learned and better late than never, I guess. 

     When I finally did realize that I wasn't born knowing everything there is to know about writing fiction, I was so devastated that I blindly listened to every piece of advice I got. This lead me to writing lines that weren't consistent with my voice or my character's voice, and to include conflicts that didn't have a place in the story. I now find myself putting things back to the way they were in the long ago second draft. This isn't to say that getting advice is bad. It isn't. It's necessary. Unfortunately, there is no formula for knowing which advice to take and which advice to flush down the toilet. It can sometimes be extremely difficult, but I'm getting better at it. The important thing is that I've learned to trust my own instincts again, which I'd temporarily stopped doing when I was knocked off my pedestal. 

     I guess the main message here is balance. It's important to be confident, but not so much so that one is unwilling to see their own flaws. It's also important to give a project everything you have, but not to make one project the end all be all of one's writing career. You can't learn if you don't take risks and try new things. So, here's to giving it my all! 

     (Wish me luck.) 

The important story I'm terrified to share

     Have you ever had this thing that you desperately want to talk about and share because you need to let it out, you need to be heard, and you know that your story will  help others? Have you ever had the equally desperate desire to keep that same story buried deep inside you and pretend it doesn't exist and not ever let it out ever for the hope that it will eventually disappear completely from existence even though you know that will never happen?
     If you have, you know that it's very confusing. In the process of trying to share, because you really really do want to, you spend a lot time staring at a blank page, or looking at the person you're trying to talk to and not saying anything at all, wishing the words could just be pulled from you because you want them out there but you don't want to actually go through the process of putting them out there because it's painful and heartbreaking and terrifying and horrendously embarrassing and humiliating.
     Yeah, that. I have one of those and this giant preamble is just my way of continuing that stalling process yet I wouldn't be writing this at all if I didn't truly believe that sharing is important. All right, I'm going to stop typing and stare at this page for a while before continuing.
     Yep, staring.
     I should probably cut to the chase before people stop reading.
     Still staring.
     Okay, here we go. Doing it. Of all the many, many insane hardships and crap I've been through (and there's a lot of it) there's really only one experience that has caused so much dissonance in me. (Stalling some more.) That one experience is what I've started to think of as That Night. Of all the many nights in my life there is only one That Night. That Night was January 30th 1999. Yep, not forgetting that date any time soon. I feel like I should, because it was seventeen years ago and that's a long to go not getting over something. I used to beat myself up over that, but I guess there's some things you just never get over.
     That Night was the night I went on a date with this guy who I only went out with because three of my girlfriends thought he was hot and were totally jealous that he asked me out and not them. Stupid, I know, but I was 19 and stupidity is a part of being 19. I actually didn't really like him all that much. He wasn't my type and he seemed kind of conceited, but I was ridiculously shy and NEVER got the attention of guys so I decided to go.
     I met him at a club and the horrible irony is that I was dancing and he was watching me for a good ten minutes. He was just standing there watching me. He was seriously creepy. I knew he was creepy. I knew he was bad. So I glared at him, kept dancing and tried to pretend he wasn't there. The problem was, he was standing by the stool I'd sat my jacket down on. He may or may not have known this, I'm not sure if he watching me before I went out on the dance floor. Eventually I was too tired to keep dancing, so I stalked off the floor and grabbed my jacket without looking at him at all. I then went into the very crowded smoking room and found a seat on the crowded bench and forgot about Mr. Creepy.
     A few minutes later this guy came up and started talking to me. He was really nice and really friendly. Really, really charismatic and friendly. So friendly in fact that it took me a good five minutes before I noticed that he was the same creepy guy who'd been watching me. (Plus, it was dark on the dance floor, and much lighter in the smoking room.) By the time I realized it was the same person, I convinced myself that my instincts were wrong. I'd misread him. So we talked some more, 2 AM rolled around and we exchanged numbers. That was when my girlfriends found us and later told me that they'd been checking him out for weeks. I may have even been thinking, "well, you can have him" but of course my ego was given a boost, so, like I said, I went out with him two nights later.
     It didn't end well. Not for me anyway. For him, I suppose it went exactly as planned. I'm not going to give more details than that just yet, because I can't. I should probably say the word, but I can't, so I'm not going to.
     I was left with a ridiculous amount of crazy emotions. Guilt squared, shame squared, confusion, regret, blame, blame, blame, sex issues, etc. etc. I've talked to my best girlfriends about it, some boyfriends, a therapist, and written many poems about the experience. These things have helped, but nothing makes the pain stop. Nothing makes it go away.
     Every time I hear about a publicized rape (there, I said the word), date rape, this crazy shit on college campuses, rape culture, and blah blah blah, I really want to share my story. I've had this post planned for months and just kept stalling on sharing it, thinking eventually I'll share it. I'm writing it now and will probably have a panic attack when I hit post, but that goes with the territory.
     Back in 2011 I helped moderate an online poetry group. I had the major poetry bug back then. Most of the poems I've shared here were written during that time period. I was reading a poem a woman had written about her sexual abuse. One of the commenters had suggested that she write the poem through the perspective of the abuser, for healing purposes. That was when I had the idea to do the same thing. It was a horrible/wonderful, crazy idea. But, like everything I write, once an idea is in my head, I cannot ignore it.
     So, I wrote a poem about my date rape (there, I said it) through the perspective of the rapist (there, I said it.)
     Is this insane? Maybe.
     Am I masochistic? No.
     Did it help me? Yes.
     It helped ease some of the guilt. Putting myself in his position helped me to see what he may have been thinking and to see that things were not my fault and I was not at blame.
     Unfortunately, sharing the poem was a traumatizing experience and spent an entire day hiding in the walk in closet crying. Mainly people understood that the situation the poem was about was bad, but they didn't see it as rape because no physical force was involved. After freaking out, I got online and told people that date rape doesn't usually involve physical force. Just because physical threats or force isn't involved doesn't mean something isn't rape. Trust was violated. In my situation I was roughly 30 miles from home with no transportation, no phone (it was 1999), and no money. If I didn't do what he wanted things might've been much, much worse. I don't actually know this for sure, because we can't ever know what might've happened. This is part of what plagues me. I said no three times before I stopped saying no. You shouldn't ever have to say it more than once.
   Side note: (  There was this one time I was making out with this guy, and I stopped things before they got out of hand. I of course felt bad for stopping things so I said no, then apologized. He said, word for word, "Never be sorry it it's what you want." I can't even remember this guy's name, but I'll always remember what he said, because it's important and it stuck with me. )
     All right, back to the poem. I was freaking out over people's comments and I wished I hadn't written the stupid thing. I was ready to take it down when a woman commented, "Thank you for sharing this." She went on to say that she had gone through something similar and that my poem helped her. So I decided to leave it up. A few days later another woman sent me an email giving me similar thanks and urging me to submit it to a magazine. Two people. Two people were helped by my poem and that was enough. I have submitted it a couple of times, but it's long and ugly and without the explanation of what it is it can be taken in a very different way than it's intended.
     I want to note that I usually put a lot of time and effort into my blog posts. Meaning, I reread and edit them several times. I'm not going to do that with this one, because it was too hard and painful to write and if I think too much about it I will chicken out and not share it. So, there may be more typos than is my usual standard.
     All right, now that I've explained myself, I'm going to share the poem, but not without a warning. First I want to be clear: it is not sexually explicit. It describes the events leading up to and following the event (can't say it) not the event itself. That being said, it isn't pretty. It is probably triggery. I personally think it's one of the best poems I've ever written, but it's ugly. However it did help me heal. Okay, now I'm rambling.

The Predator

I recognize her in the crowd right away.

She’s exactly what I’m looking for.

It isn’t that she’s aesthetically pleasing; oh, she is

But this club is filled with attractive women. 

It’s the sight of her darting doe eyes that arouse me.

It’s clear in the way her shoulders shrug forward:

A turtle slinking back into her protective shell.

She scoots against the wall, her black clothing camouflaging her.

Or so she thinks; she jumps at my approach.

Her eyes show the war between desire and caution but

Common courtesy won’t allow her to ignore me.

My warm smile and friendly words easily penetrate her barrier

And her digits are in my hand in less than five minutes

And I’m saying a swift goodbye with a glint in my eye.

She answers on the first ring when I call her.

When I come to get her I keep her waiting,

Show up an hour late; she isn’t mad.

I find myself fascinated by the way in which

I’m disgusted by the type I love so much,

But even I sometimes tire of my own voice.

The meek little thing is so nervous she barely answers.

Has this one never had the attention of a man before?

It’s going to be a long night.

She won’t eat; coffee’s all she wants.

She relaxes as I offer her a bite of mine

With a compliment about her delicate hands.

Finally she’s loose and its time to reap the rewards

Of my tedious night’s work. 

She stiffens again at the sight of my apartment

But not enough to stop her from entering my bedroom.

The way she teeters apprehensively

On the edge of my bed pumps my blood

More than the sight of the red bra strap

Poking from her black tank top.

She isn’t as bad a kisser as I thought she would be.

I easily maneuver her from the edge of the bed so that

Her back is against the wall.

She freezes as my hands plunge downward and

Tells me no with a shaky smile

And a distinct hesitation to her kisses.

Her wishes don’t stop my roving hand.

This time I’m taken aback by the strength of her grip

As she removes my hand from her belt buckle and says

No, not tonight

In a stronger tone than I thought her capable.

The little thing has more fight in her than I thought.

I’m not deterred as I calmly recite my respect for her.

Her lips soften again as she’s reassured of her control.

But soon my actions defy my words and

Her grip is ever so lighter as she lifts my hand away.

It’s her voice that shakes in the absence of her smile

As she again utters her protest. 

But I’ve had enough of this foreplay.

So I again grip the waistband of her jeans

And meet her gaze where I see

Reality flash in her wide eyes

As she see’s through my disguise.

The excitement of my victory charges through my veins

Thrilling me more than the sight of her surrendered body.

The ride home is silent.

I don’t care to pretend that I enjoy speaking with her.

The music blares as I swiftly kiss her goodbye

In the car.  I don’t walk her to the door.

I drive away, thinking that I’ll call her tomorrow. 

Cover my bases in case she decides to call the police.

I’ll call her and pretend I want to see her again

After our night of passion between two consenting adults.

But it’s only a precaution.

She won’t call the police.

They rarely do.

Goodbye, Goblin King

     I was very sad to hear that David Bowie passed away last night. I felt more sadness than I would've expected to, considering that I didn't actually know him personally. But I think his death has touched me more than that of other icons because some of the things he's created have held special places in my heart.

     First, Labyrinth (I just today learned that it's called Labyrinth and not The Labyrinth like I always thought) is one of my favoritest (yes, that's a word) movies ever. My sister and I must've watched it about 80 million times. I think the 81 millionth time is going to have to happen soon. As much as I love the whole movie, including the ending, I have to say, "Sarah, what were you thinking?" Jareth was super awesome and was going to give you the world, and you had to be all nit-picky about him being a bad guy and all. Details.

     Okay, so maybe I'm in love with the Goblin King. Sure he was evil, but just a little bit evil. He wasn't ALL bad. It's not like he was going to kill Toby. He was just going to turn him into a goblin. But he would've been a prince. That's not so bad, is it? And he was going to make Sarah queen. And Jareth is a sexy name. He gets points for the name alone. And those pants. Points for the pants. And when they danced in her dream to As the World Falls Down? Yay. And his voice. Points for the voice. Come on, what was Sarah's problem?

     Okay, so it's possible I'm a bit biased. I am in love with vampires, after all. And really, when you think about it, what's the difference between a vampire and a goblin king? Hot sexy vampires, hot sexy goblins--totally the same thing. Right up my alley.

     All right, I'm getting off topic. The point isn't goblin love, but that Labyrinth is something very special to me and David Bowie helped to give it to me, so I thank him for the warm fuzziness it brings me.

     I'm not a mega fan of David Bowie's music. Some of it is just like--eh, it's okay. But there are of course some songs that are special to me personally. I remember dancing to many of his songs at various goth clubs, goth nights, and eighties nights. "I'm Afraid of Americans" was a particular favorite among goths--the dance floor was always super crowded when that one came on.

     "China Girl" is a particularly special song to me for an interesting reason. Back in my early twenties my friends and I would spend practically every Saturday at a nearby bar for karaoke night. The bar was in walking distance so we could all get happily wasted, sing karaoke all night, and then stumble home. Good times.

      Pretty much every woman on the planet who's ever spent 5 minutes in a bar knows that going to one can feel like you're putting yourself at the mercy of every sleazy guy within a hundred mile radius. I used to wish they had bars that had an upper age limit so young women could go out without the middle aged men harassing them all the time. Not that the 20-something men were all perfect gentlemen, but I personally have had more issues with men twice my age than the ones my own age.

     There was this one fifty-something man named Mike who came to karaoke night every week and called himself Mike "The Diamond." I'm not kidding. He always sang "China Girl". Always. Without fail. Sometimes twice in one night. He was always hitting on me and girlfriends and just straight up driving me nuts. I tried to give him subtle hints to go away, but he wasn't taking them.

     One night I was sitting at a table with my old friend from high school, Josh, who I hadn't seen in awhile. We were talking when The Diamond came up to me and got right in my face and said something. I don't remember exactly what he said, but to a casual observer he appeared friendly, but to someone he'd been harassing for a few weeks (me) it was intrusive and rude. Not to mention the fact that I was sitting and he was standing, so his crotch was about two inches from my face. Not cool. That was the last straw for me, so I told him to leave me the F alone (only I used the actual word.) He acted all surprised and offended like I was being unreasonable and witchy. But it worked. He forever ignored me and the rest of my girlfriends (though unfortunately not the other female patrons, but at least he left me and my friends alone). Yay for getting rid of the creep.

     In case you're wondering--yes, this story has a point.

     After The Diamond walked away with his ego bruised I was really worried that Josh would think I was a crazy witch for yelling at this guy who appeared to be being nice to me, since Josh didn't know that he'd been harassing me for weeks. But even before I explained the history Josh cheered me on and said he thought it was totally awesome that I stood up for myself. Yay. Josh and I later started dating, then moved in together, then got engaged. The song "China Girl" became a running joke between Josh and I--even years after we stopped going to karaoke night. Josh would randomly play the song and do a hilarious impression of The Diamond singing it and I would yell and cover my ears until the song was over.

     Sadly, Josh passed away nine years ago. To my surprise, I suddenly starting loving "China Girl" and now listen to it all the time. It reminds me of Josh and the better times we had together. Josh also really loved some of David Bowie's other songs (more than I did actually). So I guess that Bowie's passing makes me feel particularly sad because it makes me think of my own losses too.

     So, thank you David Bowie (always my Goblin King) for your wonderful contributions to music, movies, art and the world. Rest in Peace. My condolences and best wishes to family, friends, loved ones, and weird crazy fans like myself.

   

Fiction-Opolis vs. Fiction-Ville

     Since I started my first novel nearly six years ago one of the biggest issues I’ve had is deciding whether to set it in a real city or to invent a city. I eventually chose to create a fictional city, mainly because my story has very specific needs that must be present in order for it to work. It made more sense to build a city to fit those needs rather than struggling to make the story fit into what was already there.

     Creating my own city would be all fine and dandy except I’ve never felt fully confident about the city of New Halcyon, other than its name. I love the name. Halcyon refers to a time of peace and calm. Also it is a mythical bird similar to the kingfisher that is said to bring peace. Since my story is post-apocalyptic, I loved the irony.

     New Halcyon is a large metropolis set in Colorado, and is essentially a mash-up of Denver and Boulder. Even though it’s post-apocalyptic, it’s still set relatively in the current time. My problem is that I feel weird putting this big city in the middle of an area that already has a big city. I fear that readers will be going, “Hey, what happened to Denver?” or “This sounds like Boulder” or “I’ve never heard of this place, what do you mean it has an airport, a major hospital, and a convention center?” Because of my concerns I’ve felt really awkward even mentioning the state. I seriously considered not mentioning the state at all, but since I mention other states it might be weird not to mention the state the story actually takes place in. Sure, that stuff might fly on The Simpsons, but I don’t think I can get away with it in my book.

   

     I’ve wondered if some of my concerns come from the fact that it is a big city, and not a small town. In another book I’m writing I created a small fictional town and I’m not having any of the same confidence issues with it. It’s a wonderful creepy little town inspired by other creepy little towns like Twin Peaks and Derry. It seems much less disruptive to create a small town rather than a large city. By creating a large city I feel like I’m messing with the natural order of things.

     Adding to my anxiety is the fact that I’m having a hard time thinking of other fictional large cities that are set in present day (other than in comic book universes.) Authors invent small towns for books all the time, but I don’t see a lot of big cities created. If there are, I either haven’t read them or have forgotten about them, and I would love to know if anyone knows of any.

     I’ve been trying to pep talk myself into having confidence in my fake city. I keep saying: If I own it, readers will accept it. But as I started my umpteenth revision last month I still didn’t have faith in it. I was at a loss until this past weekend when I was up in the mountains. Much of my story takes place in the woods, so I guess the scenery was right for inspiration. I was suddenly hit with a wonderful epiphany (I hope) of how to make my story work in the Colorado that already exists. It’s funny how long it can take for an answer to come.

     Even though I’m saying goodbye to New Halcyon, I’m still interested in learning other people’s opinions on this subject. Would you “believe” a large city that doesn’t exist in reality when it’s surrounded by places that do exist? Were all my fears just baseless? I’d love to hear people’s thoughts.

     As always, thanks for commenting, reading and sharing. Here’s hoping my epiphany is a good one.