Here’s the blurb:
Mario Guzman is trying out for the swim team, his ticket to paying his way through college. When he meets Jordan Lewis, an outspoken writer for the school’s paper, he considers coming out even though he’s been very private about his sexuality all his life.
Violence intended for Jordan takes Mario out of consideration for the team and threatens his best hope for an education. He lashes out when Jordan tries to help him in his time of need. Eventually Mario regrets driving Jordan away, and his need to apologize takes him to the scene of the attack, where he confronts his pain and terror. This time Jordan is there to help him face the biggest obstacle in his path.
Hearts and puppies,
To anyone who thinks women aren’t constantly marginalized in our civilized modern society: You’re wrong.
Just this morning I’ve read about:
1) A woman who was followed down the street and harassed for the crime of walking home unattended.
2) A woman who was made so uncomfortable by a man at the gym that she hasn’t gone back yet.
These are two women who I know who had two gross experiences this weekend. What really disturbed me about these events when looked at together is that they are so innocuous. You know what I mean. These women weren’t touched or harmed so everything is fine, right? These are just things guys do. Sometimes they catcall you. Sometimes they stare at you. No big deal.
What I’m most angry about, I think, is that neither of those women felt they had any recourse beyond pretending it didn’t happen. Both of these stories involve a woman who feels threatened and doesn’t say anything for fear of something worse happening. This isn’t something new that just started because some crazy guy killed people. This happens every day. Every fucking day. To women you know.
And afterwards, if we do tell anyone, we’re made to feel silly. He was just being friendly. He was admiring you. You should feel flattered. He’s harmless. That last one is particularly insidious. We’re conditioned to ignore our instincts and avoid confrontations.
On further reflection, I’m most angry at myself. It’s been a long time since I felt this way and outrage has a way of diluting with time. I’m embarrassed that I could have forgotten for even one minute what it was like to be so thoroughly disrespected and objectified. I remember now, though.
I remember the way my heart raced when the car slowed down next to me. I remember wishing there was place I could hide. Ignore them. Don’t look. I shouldn’t be walking alone, even though it’s not dark. Pretend the memory of this won’t keep me awake for weeks wondering what that noise outside was.
I remember a strange phone call at a place where I worked nights. I remember how nice he seemed, how flattering. I remember being terrified. Don’t hang up. Don’t tell anyone because somehow it’s my fault. Stop smiling at the customers. Pretend I’m not afraid every night thereafter that he’ll be waiting for me when I leave.
The heart of this issue isn’t that particular men are crazy or assholes, it’s that any man thinks it’s okay to treat another person this way. EVER.
I don’t have a magic bullet for fixing this problem. In fact, I don’t believe one exists. I’m not naive enough to think I will ever be able to walk alone at night. But I refuse to pretend anymore and I refuse to be quiet. I’m afraid, and I shouldn’t have to be.
The subtitle for this post is: And Why Your Story Doesn’t Suffer Because Of It
Since around September of last year Diversity in SFF has been a conversation a lot of people are having. I have some rather strong opinions on the matter that I might have mentioned on this blog a time or two.
Most of the time, it’s hard to get people to care about more equal representation in fiction, especially genre fiction. We tell stories about aliens and artificial intelligence, isn’t that diverse enough? I have heard so many variations of “It’s the story that matters” and I shake my head every time. The common argument is that using diverse characters gets in the way of the story and makes it somehow hard for some people to relate to your character. Here’s the flipside of that. Is there a real story reason your main character has to be a straight white guy? If there isn’t, shouldn’t you change it in the interest of making the story better? In fact, isn’t the story made more interesting by making your main character someone you don’t expect? Let’s take an example, just for laughs.
Let’s say we’re going to rewrite Robin Hood in modern times. We could make Robin a white guy, just like the original story. He runs around stealing from the rich and giving to the poor because someone in a position of authority killed his family. I don’t know about you guys, but I really don’t feel the need to tell that story again. You know what I do want to tell? A story about a Mongolian girl who turns a gender biased system on its head and becomes a hunter. When someone she cares about is killed in an accident caused by a greedy company executive, she vows to avenge their death by bringing down the corporation. The bones of the story are the same, but isn’t the second version more interesting? Yes, you do have to do a lot more research to make an authentic story about the Mongolian girl. I didn’t say this was the easy path. It’s certainly not, but it is the right path.
Why is it important? Why does it matter? Because Art is a reflection of Life. Our world is magnificently diverse. There are all kinds of people. So many different kinds of people that it makes my head spin to think about it. Why shouldn’t they all get stories? The Mongolian girl who became a hunter despite the fact that girls don’t get to be hunters? She deserves a story. The Filipino boy who wanted nothing more than to become a model? She deserves a story. The dancer who lost a leg but doesn’t give up on dancing? She deserves a story.
Everyone in the world deserves a story. Don’t you want to tell it?
I hinted earlier this week that I made my first sale but I wasn’t sure if I was clear to talk about it. Now I am! My first story as a professional writer (meaning that someone else paid me for a story) was sold to Dreamspinner Press for their 2014 Daily Dose. The Daily Dose is a collection of themed romantic stories that are sent out over a month that you can buy as a set or individually. This year’s theme is Mended, love stories that feature healing. “Deep Water” was my submission to this collection. DW is one of my favorite short stories and the most sweetly romantic story I’ve ever written. Pre-orders for the Daily Dose collection will be up soon, and the stories will be available on June 1st. I’ll provide the sale links as soon as I get them.
Yes, sweet readers, I’ve been a slacker. This shouldn’t come as news. I blog when the muse moves me, and she’s been a frugal bitch lately. Actually, that’s not really true. I’ve had some wonderful story ideas that I’ve been busily scribbling down. In the last month I have finished, in no particular order, a dark fantasy Christmas story (yes, really), a mermaid story, a secondary world fantasy story, and a steampunk flash fiction story. See, I wasn’t kidding, I’ve been busy! Three out of those four are out on submission right now, and the fourth should go out the door later on this week after a final editing pass.
I’ve also been doing yet another editing pass on Summoner’s Circle, with the intention that I will start agent submissions with that novel no later than April 30th. Finally, I started a science fiction story that I’m really in love with that I like to call “Last of the Mohicans in Space.” I’m not sure how long LotMiS will end up being yet, but I think it has a lot of potential so far.
Since attending Viable Paradise last year, I have received twelve form rejections, one personal rejection, and one acceptance. That’s not a bad ratio, all told! I’m not sure yet if I’m clear to discuss the particulars of my first purchased story, but rest assured as soon as I know, you will too!
Part of the increase in productivity has been my use of GMail’s tasks. I’ve been using it to keep track of my projects and goals since the middle of March and it’s changed everything about my writing life. I can actually see what’s coming! Want a sneak peak? Aside from getting Summoner’s Circle out the door, I’ve got a new novel I’m dying to work on that’s a dystopian. I’m going to revisit a science fiction heist short story called “Optical Occlusion” that has been rejected a couple of times and possibly lengthen it into a novella. I’ve also got a project slated for later on this year with the wonderfully wicked Nikka Michaels that I am SO excited about.
Honestly, I’m so damned proud of the writing I’ve been doing lately that I really want to show you some of it, but I can’t. *sad trombone* Thus is the writer’s burden. Well, one of them, anyway.
That said, I’ve managed to dig up for you something that is not recent, but does feature two of the characters from the dystopian I’m going to start work on soon. Like most of the scenes I write very early in the writing process, this will likely never make it into the actual story, but serves to help me flesh out characters and their relationships.
The boots parked under Andi’s table when she entered her cabin were familiar ones. She held back a relieved sigh and glanced over him before saying anything. He seemed intact and no worse for wear than the last time she’d seen him. His sun-weathered skin and shaggy white-blond hair made him seem older than she thought he was, though he’d never admitted his exact age to her. He had the lean, rangy frame of a man used to demanding physical work and not enough meals. The burn scars on the left half of his face always made her wince, but he insisted they didn’t pain him any longer.
“Been a while, Cole. I thought you were dead in a ditch somewhere.”
He looked up from the map in front of him on the table, his eyes a shade of green that reminded her of sea glass. “Too ornery to die.”
She smiled. Despite how weary she was, seeing him always improved her mood. “Thanks for lighting the fire.”
“I figured you’d come back with dinner. The least I could do is warm the place up.” He eyed the gutted rabbits Andi held. “I can start those while you clean up.”
Andi passed him the pair of rabbits and headed to the alcove that housed her bed. She shucked her outdoor garb, hanging the heavy pants and jacket out of the way in the hope they might shed some of the ever-present grit before she had to wear them again. She knew better. They could make a lot of things about their new lives more pleasant, but getting rid of the grit that scoured the world now wasn’t one of them. It invaded everything, digging into every crevice. Some folks said the dust was the ground-up bones of the billions of people that had once walked the Earth, but she didn’t believe that.
She used a handful of water from the basin beside her bed to wash her face, and her survival instincts complained at even that small extravagance. She wiped away the remaining grit with a soft cloth, and then slipped into her lighter house clothes.
She crossed the main room of the cabin again, pausing at the table to look over the map. The paper was yellowed and looked to be near tearing at the folds. Notes in Cole’s cramped handwriting marked several areas of the paper. “What’s this for?”
He responded without turning from his work at the single counter that served as her kitchen. “Same as always.”
So, in summary, 2014 is my year. I’ve put my flag in it and claimed it as my own. I’m good at sharing though, so if you want it too, I’ll let you have some.
Huge hearts and fuzzy puppies,