Title Reveal for the latest novel from Autumn Rain (OMG!!!)
Tag: Books
Pet Peeve
A couple years ago I read Petals on the Wind by V. C. Andrews. I confess that her first book, Flowers in the Attic, is something of a morbid fascination for me, but the sequel was … excessive.
SPOILER: Every man the main character sleeps with conveniently dies at the perfect moment.
I suppose that there was something of a generation gap going on as well, because the incest didn’t bother me at all (it was the only relationship that was actually built on genuine emotional connection), but the pedophilia was extremely disturbing — especially because it was a contributing factor to one of the characters committing suicide — yet all the other characters were like, “Lol, whatev’s.”
ANYway, part of the way through the book the main character has a baby and is left as a single mother, because, you know, every man she sleeps with dies. In her determination to prove her independence, she gets a job and has her younger sister move in with her for daily babysitting.
Then her sister commits suicide and she finds another man to sleep with. All of those normally time consuming things like toddlers and work fade into the background so she can go catting around instead. Childcare and paying the bills? Pshaw! No where near as important as those sex scenes.
This is one of my biggest pet peeves in fiction: when activities that normally require massive amounts of time in the real world are completely ignored with no explanations.
Children in particular are often used as handy little props that disappear when they aren’t required, and as a mom, I find this irksome. In the real world, they are always there, calling for you, following you everywhere you go, watching you poop. Whenever you realize the room is unnaturally quiet, you panic and start yelling for them. THAT is the true nature of children.
As for jobs … it sure would be a fantasy if my husband could take time off whenever the whim struck him, but that would probably get him fired fairly quick. Work takes up enormous amounts of time and energy, and it’s necessary for things like food and shelter. You can’t just decide that you’re bored of it and not suffer any consequences.
Which is why it annoys me so much when fictional characters have it unrealistically easy for no reason — other than those juicy sex scenes I guess.
Thank you for sharing my work!
Terrible Reader
I confess that I’m a terrible reader. Every time I pick up a book, I think, “This time I’ll read every word,” then sooner or later, I get bored and start skipping through.
“Why is the author taking so long to call the wagon green?”
“Meh, sex.”
“Okay, this character is stupid.”
“We get it already, they had a good time at the picnic.”
When I read out loud to the children, I adopt that bored, “Let’s get through this massive paragraph as quick as possible” monotone voice, and I’m afraid it’s pretty obvious that I don’t enjoy it.
It always feels like there’s a huge number of words getting in the way of the story, and I can’t remember the last time I found a book engrossing. Sometimes I could swear that authors actually want readers to skim over half of the novel, and throw in lots of filler just to look more impressive at first glance.
“In my book, it takes 800 pages for fifteen characters to make a single grilled cheese sandwich. It’s rich with subplots about running out of bread, taking bathroom breaks, and even falling in love. I also included numerous philosophical discussions about the merits of cheddar versus colby jack, and the different methods of toasting the bread. I included lots of poetry. There’s even a surprise plot twist where it turns out that half the characters are actually grilled cheese sandwiches themselves! The novel ends after the characters burn down the house and die because they tried to make it in the toaster.”
Oh wow!
No way!
The funny thing is, when I read my own stories with the same method I use to read other novels, I do get the whole, “WOAH this story is progressing crazy fast!” feeling. My style really isn’t best experienced by charging through. I do always “test read” my stuff before putting it out there, and following the natural flow of my mind without trying to speed up or edit anything feels good to me, so that’s how I keep it.
I skip writing the stuff that I skip reading. Which is a lot. But hey, that also means that there isn’t anything for you to skip over either, because I’m probably WAY worse than you about that.
Lol.
Thank you for sharing my work!
Writing Lessons from Bob Ross: Embrace the Process
Sometimes I like to turn on Bob Ross to absorb how calm and mellow he is, and I find it relaxing to sit and watch him paint for a bit. Children are highly chaotic entities, so I know how to appreciate the change in pace that comes with everyone sitting together watching a show that we can all enjoy.
It occurred to me that one could also learn how to write from Bob Ross, as long as you think metaphorically.
He doesn’t simply slap down blobs of color and call it done. He blends the paint, adds shadows and highlights, and is mindful of the details. He also doesn’t overwork the paint or try to control every single aspect of the picture, instead working with the textures of the brush strokes and allowing elements to evolve naturally.
And, as everyone knows, “There are no mistakes, only happy accidents.”
A lot of writers stop at the blobs of color phase. They’ll free write whatever passes through their minds then hit ‘publish’ without any more thought about the story. These sorts of writers can produce a lot of content in a short amount of time, but it will all feel unpolished and unsatisfying. Often, when I have tried to explain how these writers have good potential but they need to dedicate more attention to reworking their story, they get upset rather than accepting the advice (even when I’m responding to their request for criticism). So, remember, blobs of color are your foundation, but they are not your finished story. The first draft should not be your last. And no, your blobs of color are not more genius than anyone else’s. They all pretty much look the same.
Others will overwork the story to death. They’ll edit out the spontaneity of adventure, and reduce their characters to props who serve rigid roles, instead of letting them shine as quirky individuals. These writers don’t let the overall picture evolve naturally, and their stories feel formulaic. While they are often well intentioned, they don’t know how to let the story flow on its own.
There are also writers who put in too much detail, and create overly-busy stories with no clear focus. They forget to leave the background in the background. They throw too much information at the reader all at one, or create more characters than there’s room for. They describe the condiments instead of the picnic.
When you are in the process of editing, take a step back and try to visualize the story as a painting. Is there enough detail without being overdone? Did you let elements evolve naturally and follow the flow? Did you flesh out the foreground and leave the background appropriately hazy? Is it something that you would hang on *your* wall? Remember, you can always fix it.
And the next time you watch Bob Ross, just imagine that he’s speaking in metaphor and soak in all of his encouragement.
Thank you for sharing my work!
Jamaica Inn by Daphne du Maurier
When I was in middle school, a friend excitedly told me about a book titled Rebecca, and recommended that I read it because the main character was a lot like me. I’m still not convinced of the similarity between me and the main character, but I definitely liked how dark and gothic the story was. Rebecca became one of my favorites.
A few years ago, my copy was stolen out of our car by a pot-head, who probably thought that the red satin cover meant it was a trashy sex book. Hopefully, she enjoyed it anyway.
I decided that it was time to get around to replacing my copy, and picked up something else by Daphne du Maurier in the process. Despite how much I liked Rebecca, I had never felt any interest in reading any of her other books before now.
I settled on Jamaica Inn.
The horror and suspense are very well written; subtle and unrushed, which gives the reader time to properly appreciate the dark situation the main character finds herself in. I think that the impact of the BIG REVELATION was a bit lost on my modern Millennial mind, given that we currently live with mass murder being a depressingly common thing and all, but it wasn’t hard to appreciate it in the context of the book.
However, the romance was the weakest point, and the overall story would have been improved if it had been left out all together. It came across as a strange mixture of Mary-Sue fantasizing and self-loathing, and didn’t feel natural in the slightest. Every mention of love could have been blacked out and the plot would have remained entirely unchanged.
There was a very bad attempt to hand wave away a glaring plot hole two-thirds of the way in, and the story never quite recovered afterward.
My favorite character was the vicar, and I wish that he had more “screen time” so to speak. This probably attests to how weird of a person I am, but his lines were the ones that made my heart quicken with excitement, and I would ravenously devour any book that was written all about him. Unfortunately, he only appears a few times, and serves as a handy prop to make the ending more DRAMATIC. Still, I liked him.
The ending was not what I would have written, and I personally found it unsatisfying. While I am mindful of the fact that this book was published in the 1930’s and society was different back then, I still think that the choices the author made were lackluster and cowardly. Why does fiction have to be so black and white all the time? Real life sure as heck isn’t.
Finishing the book left me feeling disappointed and morose.
My rating: 4/5
Thank you for sharing my work!
Book Covers
My husband found The Regiment (published 1987) in a used bookstore back in 2010, and a few days later handed it over to me with the instruction that I *had* to read it. The Regiment is a scifi novel that is deeply philosophical, with a subtle element of spirituality woven in, and it influenced the way I think of every day life. It’s definitely one of my favorites.
It was never unpacked after our last move, and now currently resides in a box in the basement, so it’s been awhile since I’ve read it. One of these days I’ll get around to unpacking those boxes, but that day is not today.
The thing is, my husband and I got a very good laugh about the cover, and we still occasionally reference how bad it is. The picture is only vaguely related to the novel at best, and the tagline is so badly wrong that I suspect whoever wrote it hadn’t even read a summary. Excellent book, terrible cover.
I purchased Wicked Lovely when it was a new release in 2008, back when I was young and trusting. I consider it to be a guilty pleasure, since while I adore the idea of faerie courts in the book, I think that it is put together in a way that is shallow and a touch crude.
Mind you, I’d still rate the book 3.5/5, and I even followed the author’s blog for awhile clear back then, so I mean it when I describe this as a guilty pleasure. I read the sequel, Ink Exchange, and every now and then ponder whether or not I should get more books by Melissa Marr, just to see how her writing has been coming along. Unfortunately, the premise of the novels never unfolded in a satisfying fashion, so I continue to hold back. There’s just too much of a modern twist in her writing.
Wanna guess why I bought this book back then?
The cover.
It was pretty.
The contents therein did not match expectations. If the cover had actually reflected the story, I wouldn’t have spent my hard-earned pennies on it, because I’m not a modern sort of person by any stretch of the imagination. Now that it’s 11 years later, I might cut the cover off, frame it, and hang it on the wall where I can look at it, but I’m not all that inclined toward reading the novel again. It’s probably a good thing that this book is also squirreled away in the basement.
I might, at some point in the future, write my own version of faerie courts to tell the story that I had wanted to read back then, though my cover won’t be anywhere near as pretty if I do. I’ll have to rely on the strength of words alone to generate appeal, and we all know how well that will work, le sigh.
At least I’ll have the satisfaction of a good story.
I don’t judge books by their covers anymore; beauty is only skin deep.
Thank you for sharing my work!
Why I don’t read contemporary books
I’ve said repeatedly that I don’t read anything that was published this decade, because I’m a cranky bitch who hates everything about modern living … and all that. Hur hur.
I’m not doing this to be an irrational hater, but rather to analytically illustrate what I think is wrong with contemporary literature. At random, I have selected a paragraph out of a book titled, Meet Me at the Cupcake Cafe, because another blogger linked to it recently (hello!), and I think it serves as a good example of why I have dismissed this decade’s literature all together.
Disclaimer: I have not read this book, cannot review the quality of the story itself, and haven’t the slightest idea of what the writing is like outside of the preview available on Amazon. I have absolutely no opinion on the book itself; my complaint is with contemporary writing practices.
From the sample:
They both turned to look out of the window of the assisted living facility in north London. Issy had installed Joe there when it became clear he was getting too absentminded to live on his own. Issy had hated moving him down south after he’d spent his life in the north, but she needed him close to visit. Joe had grumbled of course but he was going to grumble anyway, moving out of his home to anywhere that wouldn’t let him rise at 5:00 a.m. and start pounding bread dough. So he might as well be grumpy close by, where she could keep an eye on him. After all, it wasn’t as if anyone else was around to do it. And the three bakeries, with their proud, shiny brass handles and old signs proclaiming them to be “electric bakers,” were gone now; fallen prey to the supermarkets and chains that favored cheap white pulp over handcrafted but slightly more expensive loaves.
First, for some unfathomable reason, authors have all decided that they have a raging allergy to commas. Maybe they think it’s more conversational, that commas are outdated and useless, or they simply never learned how to organize a sentence during their schooling; whatever the case, reading feels more like delving into an overgrown forest where one is expected to hack their way through alone. It also makes it significantly harder to read out loud, since being expected to run on and on without any pauses in one long unbroken sentence gives a monotone effect that can be really quite hypnotic … Woah, sorry, got sucked into the wrong dimension there for a moment.
The worst, in my opinion, is something that I think of as “THE TWITTER EFFECT.” You never, ever, not in a million years, see sentences longer than 280 characters (most will stay under 140, which was Twitter’s original cut off point), even in novels. Yes, I know that Moby-Dick was ridiculous for having sentences that spanned more than one page, but that doesn’t mean the answer is to only write short, choppy, status updates in lieu of actual paragraphs. I blame social media.
The longest sentence in the quoted paragraph is 258 characters, including the improperly used semicolon. Four of them are shorter than 100 characters, which accounts for more than half of the sentences in the paragraph.
So, let’s rewrite it. After all, if I’m going to claim that I can do better, I might as well back it up!
They both turned to look out of the window of the assisted living facility in north London, where Issy had installed her grampa Joe after it had become clear that he was getting too absentminded to live on his own. Issy had hated moving him so far from his home, but she had wanted him close by for her to visit, and they had no other family members who were willing to help take care of him. Joe had grumbled, of course, but he was sure to be grouchy anywhere that wouldn’t let him rise at 5:00 a.m. to start pounding dough, so he might as well be grouchy where she could keep an eye on him. The three bakeries of his past, with their proud, shiny, brass handles, and old signs proclaiming them to be “electric bakers”, were gone now, fallen prey to the supermarkets and chains that favored cheap, white pulp over handcrafted, yet slightly more expensive, loaves.
The length is the same, but I combined the seven sentences into four to decrease the choppy effect of countless periods, and enhance the overall flow of the story itself. I used a lot more commas for clear organization, and with any luck, you should be able to read that sucker out loud without stumbling. Give it a shot, and tell me if I’m wrong.
Thusly we have learned: Use commas and think longer thoughts, ’cause I ain’t got nothin’ to read.
I need a rest after writing this post. Whew.
Thank you for sharing my work!
Literary World
Whenever I take a gander at the hottest new releases on Amazon, I can’t help but feel like there really isn’t a place for me in the literary world. It’s not that I don’t believe that I have the skill to write, but rather, I think that society’s tastes have drifted too far for my novels to have much appeal.
I’m old fashioned, and I like sentences that flow well together as an easy thought, that can be read out loud to others. I like to focus more on straightforward storytelling, and I don’t particularly care about impressing anyone with my command of purple prose. I’m nothing like Game of Thrones, and I don’t feel any desire to erase my own voice in order to imitate the bestsellers. I don’t have any points to prove; I’m just make-believing because I like to, and savoring the process of filling up page after page.
I really couldn’t care less about what celebrities or the New York Times say about anything. Their opinions are more of a disincentive, to be truthful, and I will feel like an epic failure as an individualist if I gained their approval.
Sometimes I think that the real world is all about hyper-conformity, and trying as hard as possible to be “3 edgy 5 you” to prove how thoroughly you belong in the 21st century. Me? I’m enamored with the basics of True Love and Motherhood, and it doesn’t bother me that I don’t particularly belong to any century.
Ultimately, it doesn’t much matter. I’ve never been one for approval seeking, and in many ways I’ve lived my life to the opposite. As long as I’m happy and fulfilled, nothing else really matters.
I just kind of wish that I wasn’t so gosh darn weird compared to everyone else. Why can’t there be more weirdos in the world?
Thank you for sharing my work!
The Chosen One
A trope that I see every now and then that drives me absolutely batty goes something like this:
Congratulations hero! You are the CHOSEN ONE! You have special powers that no one else does!
The intro is all about letting the audience know how super awesome this character is, being the Chosen One and all, and you think that you’re in for some impressive ass-kicking all around, literally and/or figuratively.
Then, as the story progresses, it turns out that the character isn’t that awesome after all, because:
- They don’t want to be the Chosen One.
- A dozen other characters are introduced who also have special abilities.
- Their power turns out to not be anywhere near as cool as it sounds.
Any one of those three would put my teeth on edge, but for whatever reason I usually see all three of these together. I used to try to finish stories that pulled this trope, but experience has taught me that the ending never gets better.
So, let’s break down my bullet points:
- They don’t want to be the Chosen One
I suspect that the writer is trying to be subversive with this one, but societal context has changed to the point that aspiring to be a mediocre nobody is par for the course — you can even decorate your home with quotes about how you will never do, say, or think anything unique or special. Personally, I have been heavily criticized every time I’ve taken on a new responsibility, often because others treat it as some sort of enslavement.
You have four kids? How on Earth are you ever supposed to do anything?
Oh, I don’t know. Occasionally the kids take off the shackles and I’m allowed a bit of sunshine; just enough to keep me going. So tell me, what do you do with your freedom? Work all day, then veg out on the internet?
Anyway, it would be far more refreshing to see a character who actually wants to be the Chosen One and takes the responsibility seriously.
- A dozen other characters are introduced who also have special abilities.
I wish I could say that this is due to a lack of imagination, but I can’t shake the suspicion that it’s wish fulfillment on the part of the writer. Usually, the main character is no longer set apart, instead belonging to a tight-knit group where everyone knows everyone else’s pain, and never has to face the possibility of loneliness.
After the cadre has been formed, the enemies start popping up with even stronger powers to justify it all, and the hero is looking less and less unique and interesting. But at least the writer vicariously has imaginary friends!
- Their power turns out to not be anywhere near as cool as it sounds.
This is the natural consequence of the previous bullet points. Even if someone is uncertain at first, they’ll naturally be drawn into enjoying ULTIMATE POWER when they realize what they can do with it, so in order to keep up with the mediocre aspiration, the ULTIMATE POWER can’t actually be all that seductive or useful. You also can’t make your friends feel bad by being obviously better than them, and the battles need more suspense by dangling the question of whether or not the entire group has what it takes to defeat the single bad guy. Working alone. Against all of you.
Wait, who was supposed to be the Chosen One again?
It’s a terrible trope, which unfortunately plagues the fantasy genre, so I keep coming across it. Le sigh.
Maybe we could try something new?
Thank you for sharing my work!
Disguised Genres
About ten years ago, I purchased a book that described demonic possessions in the summary on the back cover, and the first chapter was about the main character performing an exorcism. Seemed legit, and I had yet to learn to be jaded, so I went ahead and paid my scant pennies for the thing. However, after about a hundred pages in, the book was spending far more time and attention on gay BDSM than demons, and by the end it had never turned around. It turned out that the exorcism in the first chapter was the only exorcism in the entire book.
I had really wanted the demons.
Around the same time, I had purchased my field guide to demons (on clearance at Barnes and Noble, lol) and was ravenously studying everything I could find on demonology, so I thought it would be fun to throw in some brain candy on the same topic. When I had purchased the book that I had described above, I had been looking for a very specific sort of story, but what I got was completely different genre. The description never mentioned anything about BDSM or homosexuality, and I had been too naive and earnest to risk spoiling the plot by turning to page 150 to figure out what I was actually getting myself into.
It was such a huge disappointment, that it was the last newly released fiction novel I ever purchased. The best way I can describe it is that the author didn’t actually know what to do with her initial idea, so defaulted to the adage “sex sells” with the hope that no one would notice. As the reader, I felt like I had been sold fetish erotica in disguise, and I hate it when the product doesn’t match the labeling on the box.
So where on Earth is the literature for a girl obsessed with spiritual themes?
I still haven’t found it.
By Autumn Rain 