Monthly Archive for March, 2009

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A Selkie Legend . . .

Here’s a great example of the sort of Selkie myth that inspired Tempest Rising.  Thank you very much to Sigurd Towrie for allowing me to reproduce this from his wonderful site, Heritage of Orkney. 

The Goodman o’ Wastness

The Goodman o’ Wastness was a handsome, well-to-do young fellow.

Strong, well-liked and with a profitable farm, it will come as no surprise to learn that many of the unmarried local girls had their sights on him.

However, despite their ample attentions the Goodman was a man who was simply not interested in marriage.

Their advances spurned, the local girls soon began to treat the Goodman with contempt.

Describing him as “an old, young man” and “old before his time” in their eyes he was committing the unpardonable sin of celibacy.

The Goodman, however, paid these malicious creatures little heed and as is more often the case, the gossips soon turned their attentions elsewhere. When questioned by his friends as to the reason he would not take himself a wife, the Goodman would smile and simply explain:

“Weemin ir lik minny ither tings in dis weary wurld, only sent fur a trial tae man an’ I hae trials aplenty withoot bein’ tried be a wife. If yin owld fool Adam hiddno been bewitched be his wife, he might still be in the Gerdeen o’ Eden the day.”

Women are like many other things in this weary world, only sent as a trial to men and I have enough trials without being tried by a wife. If that old fool Adam had not been bewitched by his wife, he might still be in the Garden of Eden to this day

One old woman who heard this oft-repeated speech, remarked:

“Tak thoo heed theesel, fur thou’ll mibbe be yursel’ bewitched wan day.”

Heed well what you say, you will maybe be bewitched yourself one day

“Aye,” replied the Goodman, laughing. “That’ll be when thou waaks dry-shod fae the Alters o’ Seenie tae da Boar o’ Papey”

That will be when you walk from the Alters o’ Seenie to the Boar o’ Papa [Orkney placenames] without wetting your feet

So it came to pass that one fine day the Goodman was down on the ebb when he saw, a short distance away, a number of selkie-folk lying out on a flat rock.

Some of these selkie-folk were sunning themselves in the afternoon warmth while others jumped and played in the clear water. All were naked with unblemished skins as white as snow. Their enchanted seal-skins lay strewn carelessly on the sand and rocks around them.

The Goodman crept closer to their basking rock.

As he neared the place the selkie-folk played, the Goodman leapt to his feet and ran towards them for all he was worth. With a shriek the selkie-folk snatched up their seal skins and quickly retreated to the safety of the sea. However, swift as they were, the Goodman was quicker and he managed to seize a skin belonging to one beautiful seal-maiden.

In the hasty rush to safety this poor creature had forgotten to retrieve her skin.

The selkie-folk swam out a little distance and turned to gaze mournfully at the Goodman. He stared back and realised that all, save one, had taken the shape of seals. Grinning, he put the captured seal-skin under his arm. Whistling a merry tune he set out for home.

No sooner had he left the ebb than he heard the most sorrowful wailing and weeping coming from behind him. Turning, he saw a fair woman following him. She was a most pitiful sight. Sobbing and howling in grief, she held her arms out and pled to have her skin returned. Huge tears ran from her large dark eyes and trickled down her ivory cheeks.

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Falling to her knees, she cried:

“O bonnie man! If thur’s inny mercy in thee human breest, gae me back me ain selkie skin! I cinno live in da sea withoot it. I cinno bide amung me ain folk waythoot me selkie-skin.”

Oh handsome man, if there is any mercy in your human breast give me back my seal-skin. I can not live in the sea without it. I cannot live among my own people without my seal-skin

The Goodman was not a soft-hearted man but he could not help but pity the poor creature. Pity, however, was not the only emotion he felt. With the pity came the softer and sweeter passion of love.

The icy heart that had yet to love a mortal woman was soon melted by this seal-maiden’s beauty.

Eventually the Goodman managed to wring from the Selkie Wife a reluctant consent to remain with him as his wife. She had little choice in the matter for as you all Orcadian know, she could not return to her kin in the sea without her skin.

So the sea-maiden went with the Goodman and stayed with him for many a day. She turned out to be a thrifty, frugal and kindly wife and although she was a creature of the sea the Goodman had a happy life with her.

The Selkie Wife bore the Goodman seven children.

Four boys and three girls came from their union and it was said that there were no children as beautiful as them in all the isles. And all the while the sea-wife, and her human husband, seemed content and merry.

But all was not as it seemed – there was a weight in the Selkie Wife’s heart. Many was the time that she was seen to gaze longingly out to the sea. The sea that was her true home.

So to all the islanders and to the Goodman himself all seemed well with his family. But as is always the case in these tales, the bliss was not to last.

One fine day, the Goodman and his four sons were out fishing in their boat. With the menfolk out of the house, the Selkie Wife sent three of the girls down to the ebb to gather limpets and whelks for their tea. The youngest girl had to remain at home because she had hurt her foot climbing on the sharp rocks by the shore. As usual, as soon as the house emptied, the selkie wife set to looking for her long-lost seal-skin.

She searched high and she searched low. She searched “but” and she searched “ben”. She searched out and she searched in but to no avail.

She could not find the skin.

The time passed and the sun swung to the west, lengthening the shadows. The peedie lass, seated in a straw-backed chair with her sore feet on the creepie, watched her mother carry out the frantic hunt.

“Mam, whit ir thoo luckin’ fur?” she asked.

Mother, what are you looking for?

“O’ bairn, dinna tell, bit ah’m luckin’ fur a bonnie skin tae mak a rivlin dat wid sort thee sore fit.” replied the Selkie Wife.

Oh child, don’t tell but I’m looking for a pretty skin to make a shoe that would cure your sore feet

“Bit Mam, ” said the bairn. “I ken fine whar hid is. Wan day when ye war oot and me Fither thowt I wis sleepin’ i’ the bed, he teen a bonnie skin doon, gloured at hid for cheust a peedie meenit, then foldit hid an’ laid hid up under dae aisins abeun da bed.”

But Mother, I know where it is. One day when you were out and my Father thought I was asleep in bed, he took a pretty skin down, glowered at it for a short time, then folded it and put it away in the aisins over the bed

When the Selkie Wife heard this she clapped for joy and rushed to the place where her long-concealed skin lay.

“Fare thee weel, peedie buddo,” she said to her child as she ran from the house.

Rushing to the shore she threw on her skin and with a wild cry of joy plunged into the sea. Shifting again into her selkie form she swam out through the waves where a selkie man was waiting for her and greeted her with delight.

All the while, the Goodman was rowing home and happened to see these two selkies from his little boat. His wife uncovered her beautiful face and cried out to him.

“Fare thee weel. Goodman o’ Wastness. Farewell tae thee. I liked thee weel enough fur thoo war geud tae me bit I love better me man o’ the sea.”

Farewell Goodman of Wastness. Farewell to you. I liked you because you were good to me but I love my husband from the sea more.

That was the last the Goodman ever saw of his sea-wife.

Often though, in the twilight of his years, he could be seen wandering on the empty sea-shore, hoping once again to meet his lost love.

But never again did he look upon her fair face.

Published on March 11, 2009 in Tempest Rising. 7 Comments Tags: , , .

YAY!!!

Orbit’s new lineup is out and Miss True is looking SASSY!

Check it out!

http://www.orbitbooks.net/fallwinter-09-titles-from-orbit-us/

Published on March 11, 2009 in Nicole Peeler and Tempest Rising. 0 Comments

Over at the League . . .

I’m talking about SEX!!!  YAY SEX.

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See you there!

Published on March 10, 2009 in Uncategorized. 0 Comments

Un Pocito de Nada

This is sort of a Status Update.

So I’m about halfway done with my outline, and I’ve done lots of brainstorming over the weekend.  I discovered with my second book that I had to outline less pedantically than I did with my third.  I am getting better at this whole writing thing, it appears.  Either that or I am simply getting lazier.  

I also discovered with Tracking that I do less erasing if I have a more skeletal outline that I continue filling in as I write.  One of the things that people keep saying when I talk about my obsessive outlining (I’ll outline you if you sit still long enough) is that things end up changing, anyway, so why outline?

Which is very true, but also, for me and my intentions for my series, all the more reason to outline.  I have a big series planned – six books in total – and I know where I want each of them to end up.  There’s LOTS of small to medium-sized spaces for wiggle room, but the big stuff is sewn up already.  And I don’t want to lose that.  So I find that having the big stuff already in place (there’s four or five things that HAVE to happen in this book; doesn’t matter where, too much, and I’m only now figuring out how; but they HAVE to happen) helps me keep The Big Stuff in mind as I flesh out the rest.

And that’s the “rest” that is more malleable; that I’m able to play with.  Which is where the “Socratic” dialogue comes in.  It’s also where you start playing with the genre.  After all, my UF is loosely based (right now) on the crime or mystery genre.  This is the book where it shifts into something a bit different.  But the first two books, and this one, are sort of “who/whydunnits.”  So a lot of my questions to myself are about genre.  ”What would happen in a ‘normal’ crime drama to resolve this situation?  How can I UF that?  Would it work better if I didn’t?  What might a reader expect?  Should I give it to him or her, or should I upset their expectations?”

Another big change in this book is that Jane has very much been the Watson in the first two novels.  She’s not the initiator, not the aggressor.  She’s new to this world, and relatively weak in the first two books.  We’re seeing a very different Jane in the third book.  She’s been training and she’s feeling her magical oats.  I need to make this transformation believable so I really need to get in Jane’s head.  But it’s such a pleasure to do so.  The coolest/weirdest (and possibly more than a little crazy) thing that I’ve discovered about the writing process is how much I love my characters.  Seriously, starting this new book feels like my good friends are suddenly back in town and we get to play.  I enjoy spending time with them.  I want to know what they’ve been up to since I last talked to them (It’s been a whole year in their world!).  I want to find out how they’re doing; how they’ve changed.  I can’t wait to see what they do over the course of this next adventure.   Because they do always surprise me.  The ending of Tracking?  NEVER saw it coming.  And it rocks, btw.  Even my editor was like, “OMG, I had no idea that was going to happen.”  

So that’s where I’m at.  I am outlining; but more comfortable with a more bare bones approach.  I am SO EXCITED about this book, and the plot (at the moment) is coming along very easily.  I’m also introducing some VERY exciting new ladyfriends in this book, who I hope you’ll see a LOT more of.  A LOT more.  They rock.  

I also came up with a new goodie, who’s AWESOME and inspired by a “new” myth no less, as well as a new baddie, who is super creepie.  Super.  Creepie.  

I think that’s about all that’s exciting.  But I’ll keep ya’ll posted.  Any questions?  Just ask!  Any comments?  Fire away!

Thanks!

Published on March 9, 2009 in Tempest's Legacy and Writing Process. 2 Comments Tags: , , .

Finally. Le troisième libre.

So right now I’m in my robe, sitting on my ball, drinking my morning coffee and smoothie.  I am a creature of habit.

But today I get to re-embark upon my favorite new habit of starting a new book.  I’ve only done it twice before, and I’m a bit nervous, still.  What if it doesn’t “go?”  I’m far less anxious, however, than I was starting the first.  In fact, I’m barely anxious at all, really.  But that fear is still there, nestled in my heart of hearts, and I know it is the same fear that used to keep me from even beginning a project.

Indeed, I had never seriously tried to become a writer because of this fear.  I took a creative writing class in high school and one at Boston University, both as electives.  In those classes, I wrote really good bad poetry.  It was bad poetry because it wasn’t really poetry.  That said, they were good tableaus of particular instances.  Indeed, as I illustrated in my academic work, there was no question that I was a capable writer.  But I wanted to be an Artiste, a Genius . . . I wanted to write the Next Great American Novel.

So I would sit down and stew and stew and think and think (never outlining, of course, because the Muse does not answer to an Outline), until, finally, I would sit down and Begin Writing.  Usually I never got past the first sentence.  I would write something crap, I would realize that the Muse was apparently passing over my lintel, and I would give up.  For those creative writing classes, however, I had to finish my short stories.  And, once again, they were fairly well written bags of garbage.  I would inevitably try to imitate Joyce, and I would have an “epiphany,” only mine would involve watching someone smoke, or rake leaves, or buy toilet paper, and then my protagonist would realize something nonsensical, and then the story would peter out.

So I finished, for all intents an purposes, two (short) stories in my entire life, before I wrote my novel.  I’d embarked (by writing a bad first line) upon many more, but had almost instantaneously given up.  Which means that I was as surprised as anyone else when I thought to myself, “I’m going to write this particular kind of book . . .” and then had a copy in hand around three months later.

Clearly, something happened to that girl who couldn’t even commit to putting pen to paper to make her the woman who sat, staring in an admixture of shock and pleasure, at the completed manuscript on her monitor.  

That something, my friends, was grad school.  Obviously, I don’t recommend going to grad school just to become a writer.  It is a hellish process, and only for the insane, masochistic, and those who genuinely love the subject they are embarking upon to study.  The lesson I learned was also a very roundabout lesson, and it’s the lesson I’m sure people learn (in an equally painful manner, but without having to read Deleuze) through working in writer’s critiques groups for years.

It’s a simple lesson, so simple that the girl at BU would have snorted in contempt had someone told it to her, because it seems so obvious.  But it was holding her back, and she couldn’t see that yet.  Here’s your lesson, people.  Keep in mind you normally get charged tuition for such fortune-cookie wisdom:

Rough drafts are supposed to be rough.

Duh!  Obvious!  No shit, Sherlock!  But I didn’t understand that supposedly simple fact.  When a perfect, untouchable, beautiful sentence didn’t pop out of my brain the minute I sat down to write my Magnus Opus, I thought, “Oh, shit, that means I SUCK.”  And when I first started my PhD., and I sat down to write my first chapter, and out popped something rather inane, I thought, “OH MY GOD I CAN’T DO THIS I’M NOT SMART ENOUGH WHAT WAS I THINKING.”  So I would research more, to become “smarter,” when the real problem was that I was a yellow-bellied wussy.  I was never going to think through my own ideas until I sat down and thought them through, on paper.  I was certainly never going to be able to express my ideas in a coherent fashion until I sat down and thought them through, on paper.  But the last thing I wanted to do was put them ON PAPER, because I felt that once I did, that was it.  I would be judged on that writing and I couldn’t take it back.  

Finally, my supervisor at the time MADE me turn something in.  And she ripped it apart.  It was terrible: badly written, half-baked, and fairly silly.  BUT it had a few golden ideas and a few sentences where I’d finally cracked the style they expected me to use.  When I realized that she was happy with what I’d done, bad though I knew it was, I became happy with these results.  So she sent me back and I rewrote it.  And she ripped it apart, again, but there was more gold stuff there.  This happened till it was good.  And it happened with every subsequent chapter and every subsequent supervisor, until I had a thesis that passed and I earned my doctorate.

What I learned from that process (which I would have told you I knew already, but I now realize I didn’t), was that rough drafts are about getting it out.  Get it out, and then you can polish it.  But if you don’t have anything to work with, the work never begins.  And rough drafts are supposed to be rough.  They get less rough, as you gain experience, but they’re always going to be rough.  Rather than a bad thing, however, this is really an opportunity.  It’s like roughing up a surface before you try to glue something to it; in a draft that’s weak you can see where it needs to be made stronger and you can address those issues more easily.  And if you go at it knowing it will be rough, you are more likely to take advantage of this precious, malleable stage, and really start engaging with and improving your writing, rather than complacently accepting second-best.

Lemme know what you think.  Is there a particular stage of the process that is your particular bear trap?  Do you struggle with starting projects?  Or is finishing them your downfall?  What helped you “crack” the process?

Thanks!

Published on March 7, 2009 in Tempest's Legacy and Writing Process. 8 Comments Tags: , , , , .

The Oubliette is where you put people . . . to forget about 'em

So I’m STILL GRADING.  The end is in sight, however, at least for this weekend.  

In the meantime, I’ve posted something about pithy one-linerish descriptions of UF over at the League.  Basically, my issue is that few people I know in RT have any idea what UF is, and I can’t buy everyone a “starter pack.”  Meanwhile, when I try to describe the genre, I inevitably get stuck, or I make assumptions about other stuff they know.  How would you describe UF to, let’s say, a psychologist who hasn’t read anything but Freud and Foucault for the past twenty years; doesn’t own a TV; and hasn’t been in a bookstore since she discovered interlibrary loans?

This is my dilemma.  They also tend to be people who are really smart, and I end up getting nervous and saying something “Nikkish,” such as, “Dude, UF is awesome ’cause it’s got raunchy supe sex.”  And they’re all, “we hired you???  Did you get your doctorate from Valley Girl U?”  And I’m all, “Supe sex!  Yum!”

Embarassing!

There’s other fun things afoot for the future, as well.  On the 13th, I’m going to NYC.  I’ll be staying with my AMAZING friends, Dr. and Mrs. Whisky, and  I’ll also be going to “meet,” (drink with!) the fine people at my agency, McIntosh and Otis, Inc., and at Orbit Books.  I’m not sure whether or not I can take photos of their organizations; I remember getting run out of various grocery stores when I was a teenager and we were trying to film ourselves shopping.  Why?  I can’t remember, and I don’t think we ever really had a motivation.  Anyway, if I CAN, and I can share them (I am a little gun shy after Jewel-Osco threatened to call the POLICE on my petty-bourgeois ass), then that will be a big feature.  

I will also be getting author photos taken VERY shortly (as in the 21st).  And there might be some posts (there will definitely be posts regarding my anxiety; I would rather have a root canal than have my picture taken) that ask you for your help deciding on a photo.  Not sure yet, and it depends on how many “good” ones we have to choose from.

Anyway, this has become a large post about nothing.  I consider it a “trailer” post.  Or a “preview” post.  Fun things will be happening.  Oh yes.  Fun things.

Published on March 5, 2009 in Nicole Peeler. 2 Comments Tags: , , , , .

Still in my Grading Oubliette

So I’m still furiously grading and haven’t really had time to do anything on the third book. I also have a coooold. Boo to that!

But I did post a rather interesting (at least, to me) discussion on why the upsurge in popularity of UF, and why now, over at the League of Reluctant Adults.

So go check that out, if you’re interested, and I promise to probe by inner-working as a writer, more, when I actually get to be a writer again. Thanks!

Published on March 3, 2009 in Nicole Peeler. 0 Comments Tags: , .

The (purely symbolic) Awakening

So it’s March 1, which means I’ve officially started Tempest’s Legacy, the third book in the Jane True series.

I say, “officially,” because I don’t have time at the moment to do more than start a folder, called Tempest’s Legacy, and start two files, one called “Tempest’s Legacy Brainstorm,” and one called “Tempest’s Legacy Outline.”

This is how I work.  First I sit down and I brainstorm.  I outline where the characters are “at” in their lives.  This book is going to start one year after the close of Tracking the Tempest, which ends with many Big Bangs.  And I don’t mean Big Bangs as a euphemism for sex.  Or a sudden, and alarming, penchant for large ’80′s hair.  I mean bangs, although some are, indeed, metaphorical.  Sorry, I’m getting distracted.

Anyway, Tracking the Tempest ends with a series of big bangs, and a lot of things up in the air.  So I could take the third book in a lot of different directions . . . If I hadn’t had the whole series nailed down to start with.  That said, there’s still a lot of room to play with Jane and Co., and this book is going to be a bit different than the first two.  The subject matter is darker, and Jane is, paradoxically, both more powerful – magically – than she’s been in the first two books, and more vulnerable – emotionally – than we’ve seen her before.  I’m really putting Jane up against it, in this book.  Which almost makes me feel bad.  Almost.  Until I remember how much I enjoyed beating her up in book two, and I acknowledge that little streak of sadism every writer must, inevitably, have.  

Therefore, I will first do a big brainstorm, in which I define where the old characters are “at.”  Then I devise some new characters, to mix things up.  This is fun, and I’m going to try to integrate some new mythological creatures into every book.  Then I start brainstorming the plot in two ways.  First I outline the Big Plot Points.  What is the BIG arc of this book?  Then I start asking myself the questions I need to fill in that arc.  For example, if I have Jane end up in Toronto, how does she get there?  I’ll literally engage in a Socratic (if Socrates urban fantasized, which I bet he would have if he could have) dialogue with myself, on the page.  Yes, I am apparently schizophrenic as well as sadistic.  Why I live alone?  Most probably.

So in the coming weeks I am going to be going through my process of writing, and I hope to take the readers of this blog (Hi, Mom!) with me.  My process is certainly not everyone’s process, and it is, realistically, a very “academic” process.  Although my process, as an academic, is not every academic’s process, either.  But it is very organized, very outline-driven, and very OCD.  

So drop me any questions you’d like answered about “my” process, or about the books, or about anything you’d like me to discuss in a comment.  

Thanks!

Published on March 1, 2009 in Tempest's Legacy and Writing Process. 10 Comments Tags: , , , , .