Siblings

Hi everyone! I’m Leah Cypess, guest-posting for Melissa Marr, who is on vacation in Scotland.

*pause while everyone is jealous of Melissa Marr*

I write YA fantasy. My first book, MISTWOOD, is about an ancient shapeshifter trapped in the form of a human girl. The secondary characters include a prince and princess who love each other deeply, but whose relationship is overwhelmingly about protectiveness, dishonesty, scorn, irritation, dismissiveness, and jealousy.

Sounds seriously unhealthy, right? One of those romances where you feel like yelling at the characters, Get out! Just walk away! And while you’re at it, walk to the nearest therapist!

Except it’s not a romance. The characters are siblings.

Changes things, doesn’t it? Because here’s the thing about sibling relationships: you can’t get out. You can put distance between yourself and a sibling, but you can’t make them stop being your sibling. You didn’t choose this relationship, yet it will probably be the longest-lasting relationship of your life.

And these relationships come in as many varieties as there are people. Supportive. Antagonistic. Protective. Friendly. Jealous. United against the world. Embarrassed by each other. Bane of each other’s existence. Or, sometimes, many of these things at once... which is when it really gets interesting.

Thinking over the recent books I’ve read that feature compelling sibling relationships, what strikes me is how different all these relationships and their trajectories are:

WHISPER by Phoebe Kitandis. About two telepathic sisters with an antagonistic relationship (but is it, really?) Plus, family secrets buried in the past!

THE DEMON’S LEXICON & THE DEMON’S COVENANT by Sarah Rees Brennan, about two sets of siblings who are tight-knit allies against a hostile world. Plus, family secrets buried in the past! (um, you might be seeing a trend here…)

THE NIGHT OF THE SOLSTICE by L.J. Smith. Before The Vampire Diaries, Smith wrote this novel about four siblings called upon to… save the world. Because hey, it is fantasy. But the best part of the book is the relationships between the siblings, especially when it is strained by their mission. No family secrets buried in the past, but I can forgive this due to the book’s general awesomeness.

SPLIT by Swati Avasthi, about the fractured relationship between two brothers who grew up together in an abusive household, until one escaped and left the other behind. This one isn’t speculative fiction, but it is one of the most complicated and heart-breaking and hopeful sibling relationships I’ve ever read about.

If I thought about it longer, I could probably list dozens of books with relationships between siblings that are completely different, yet have in common that unique bond. But, well, I don’t want to think about it all by myself, so let’s hear from you: what books about siblings do you recommend? And yes, there’s a giveaway! Any comment will be entered, but if you recommend a book, that will be two entries! And the giveaway is for a signed hardcover of MISTWOOD *plus* a copy of any of the other books on that list—reader’s choice! Open internationally. Ends Monday, August 9 at midnight.

...And we have a winner! Jennifer (jpetroroy), you should have already received an email notifying you. Everyone else, thank you so much for entering and for all your fantastic book suggestions! My TBR list is on the verge of explosion. Which is a good thing.

Book Porn

A little fun today since as readers and writers we are united in one thing: Our beloved books deserve a little somethin'-somethin'.

Oh, c'mon. You know you want it.

This is like a wine cellar, but for books. It's called 'Crafted' by dbd Studio.

The Console reading bookshelf bench by Stanislav Katz.Collect Bookcase by Ole Jensen.

A cow-shaped bookcase now that I live in Dallas part-time? Hm...but does it make my books look fat?
Decay by Katz. Rawr.

Expanding bookcase by Reiner de Jong. You're going to need this as long as everyone in the Supernatural Underground keeps doing their job!

There. Was it as good for you as it was for me? ;-)

Welcome to the world, little bookie

Last week my sixth novel, Eternal Kiss of Darkness, was pushed out into the world. Don’t worry, I’m not going to do that cliché thing and say that my book is my “baby” in this post. A book is not the same thing as a baby. I know this because I’ve seen my two sisters give birth, and while producing a novel is a long, sometimes painful process, there’s (usually) a lot less blood, pain killers, and screaming involved ;-).

Still, a book release is a time of excitement, nervousness, exhilaration, and a few pangs of letting go, too. For the past year and a half (yes, that’s about how it takes from when I start writing a book to when it hits the shelves) these characters and this story was exclusively mine. It started out as an idea about two people that I kept churning around in my head until it became more than a few abstract scene fragments with Mencheres and Kira. Then once I started writing their book, the real growth spurt began. I’ve admitted before to being more of a “pantser” than a plotter, so writing a novel for me consists of about 30% pre-conceived plot and 70% “whoa, I didn’t know that was going to happen! I love you, subconscious. You’re much more interesting than I am!”

By the time I’m done with the novel, I’ve delved far more deeply into existing characters I *thought* I had figured out, plus I’ve met new characters who tease me with interesting glimpses into their pasts, too. Then, once the first draft is completed, I go back and smooth out the spots where I can more clearly see that I’ve gotten off track with the story. Once that’s done, I send it to my critt partner, who is wonderfully blunt in pointing out what’s still off track. After that’s done, it goes to my editor, who will point out yet more ways that I can improve the story. A copyeditor takes her crack at it next, then a managing copyeditor, and finally, back it goes to me for one more set of fine-tuning. Throughout this entire process, the book is still – ultimately – mine. Yet something amazing happens on release day: the book morphs from something that was mine into something that – ultimately – belongs to others.

My little bookie, all grown up, doesn’t need me anymore. My only function at this point is to step back and leave it to the people that it belongs to from now on: readers. I hope you enjoy it, readers, but if you don’t, you won’t catch me screeching “how can you say something bad about mah bay-bee??!” because really, it’s not mine anymore. It’s yours :).

And to celebrate the changing of the guard on Eternal Kiss of Darkness, I’m offering a giveaway. Grand prize, a hardcover edition of the book (if you didn’t know it, EKOD is available in hardcover from Rhapsody Book Club) shipped to anywhere in the world the winner lives. Second prize, two winners will receive the mass market edition of EKOD, also shipped wherever in the world they may live. Winners will be chosen by Randomizer. To enter the contest, simply leave a comment telling me what you enjoy most about reading. Contest opens now and closes on Saturday the 7th at 11:59pm EST.



Good luck!
Jeaniene Frost

All About the Characters

It's now August 2, so the giveaway draw has closed, the "sorting hat" has sorted and the results are:

The Heir of Night ARE (US/Canada Posters Only):

Sharon S
Patricia Lynne

Thornspell (Signed Copies) (International)

Crystal
Violet

Please contact me on contact@helenlowe.info with your postal address so I can get the books to you.

Thank you again to everyone, for participating and see you back here again next month--or you can come visit me at Helen Lowe on Anything, Really any time you like.


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Last month, when I blogged about why I love Fantasy, I talked about possibility and wonder, the excitement of new ways of looking at the world, and the flexibility to play with those possibilities. I also talked about world building—but what Nicholas Johnson said in his comment also resonated with me, both as a reader and a writer:

“For me, it's the characters that make fantasy great. People who have all of the normal challenges and problems of just being human, but then have the additional challenges that come about from the world they live in.”

I love world building, and in some cases I believe the world itself can be so vividly realized that it becomes a “character” in its own right. This is certainly true of both China Mieville's overlapping cities of Beszel and Ul Qoma in The City & The City and Catherynne M Valente’s Palimpsest (both of which are finalists in the Best Novel category of this year’s Hugo Awards.) Ursula Le Guin’s Winter (in The Left Hand of Darkness), and PC Hodgell’s thieves’ city of Tai-tastigon are all examples of worlds that aspire to the status of character in their own right.

But New Zealand Maori, the indigenous first people of this country, have a whakatauki or proverb:

“He aha te mea nui o te ao?
He tangata! He tangata! He tangata!

What is the most important thing in the world?
It is people! It is people! It is people!”

For me, this is very true of reading and writing fiction, although I would substitute “characters” for “people”, as not all great characters in Fantasy-SciFi are people: e.g. the ent, Treebeard, in JRR Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings; the dragon Morkeleb in Barbara Hambly’s Dragonsbane; or the daemon Pantalaimon in Philip Pullman’s The Golden Compass.

As a reader, the characters are almost always what makes the difference between my liking a book and loving it. I enjoy interesting and quirky ideas, and worlds that stretch my imagination, but if I don’t care about the characters, then it’s very hard to really care about the book. Whether I love them or hate them, I want to be engaged by the characters. I want to laugh and cry with them through the action of the book, to hold by breath when scary stuff is happening, and breath a sigh of relief when the protagonist wins through—or feel devastated when that's not the case, e.g. with Ned Stark in GRR Martin’s A Game of Thrones or Roger at the end of The Golden Compass. (I apologize if these are spoilers for some blog readers, but hope these books have been around long enough that this is not the case.)

But I’m also a writer and creating character is an essential part of the process. I still want to be engaged by them—after all, if I’m the author and not engaged by my characters, then it’s unlikely anyone else will be!—but not necessarily to like them. And sometimes, it’s when someone tells you that they don’t like a character that you think: “A-ha, my work here is done!” This happened with my novel due out in October, The Heir of Night, when an early reader said: “… but I just hate the Earl of Night. He’s such an anal retentive @#%*$&!.” He couldn’t quite understand why I immediately punched the air, but in fact I was over the moon, because I had worked really hard on that particular character and the reader’s response was exactly right.

And sometimes it is the characters you have to work hardest on that are the most rewarding—not because they are likeable necessarily, but because they are human. So the Earl of Night is an anal retentive @#%*$&!, but that is not all he is. Working to achieve that fine shading as the story unfolds is very rewarding for me as a writer.

Yet writing character can also (I imagine, since I’ve never actually done it myself) be a little like quarrying for gemstones. Some characters you have to chip away at patiently until the shape of the personality reveals itself; with others it’s just a single tap and the perfect jewel falls into your hand. The character of Sigismund, the prince in Thornspell, was like that. (As you may recall from last month, Thornspell is a retelling of Sleeping Beauty from the perspective of the prince.) One moment I was sitting in a darkened theater watching the ballet of Sleeping Beauty—the next I was bolt upright in my seat, thinking: “What about the prince? What’s his story?” In that moment, the character of Sigismund was just there.

I had a similar experience with a character in the Heir of Night, as well. She was just a minor character, until the moment I changed her name—when she suddenly put her hands on her hips, stepped forward, and said: “I’m here and I’m important. So you’d better listen up and pay attention!” The character’s new name was Asantir and she is an important part of the Heir story—but you will have to decide for yourselves whether I was right to listen up and pay attention. [Grins.]

Where do characters come from? To be honest, I’m not quite sure. Some, like Sigismund and Asantir, seem to spring fully formed from the air. Others, like the Earl of Night, evolve through the telling of the story and with much patient and delicate chipping away from the author. But in the end, however they arrive, each character has to be real and alive once they step onto the page. They all have to have their backstory and reasons for being who they are, even if it is not important to the telling of this story. Even bit characters, I believe, have to be important to themselves; otherwise they won’t be real enough to keep a reader absorbed in the world on the page.

That’s what I think, anyway.

But what about you? Is it the characters that make or break a story for you? Do you have any all-time favorite characters—and why? (And remember, this is Fantasy-SciFi, so they don’t have to be people.) Or is your best loved character really a place or a world?


And Yes: there are give-aways! My editor, Kate Nintzel, is putting up another two AREs of The Heir of Night (but for USA/Canada readers only, I’m sorry) and once again, I’m also adding in two signed copies of Thornspell for readers anywhere in the world.

You can earn points (i.e. the number of times your name goes into the draw) by:

+1 Posting in the comments section
+1 Linking to this post on Twitter
+1 Linking to this post on Facebook
+1 Linking to the Supernatural Underground blog on your own blog/website

Just post the total number of points that you’ve earned in your comment (and say whether you’re from the USA/Canada for the Heir AREs. You name will be entered in the draw again for every point you earn. Eligibility will close at midnight today, July 1, EST. (Do remember to check back, or to post your email with your comment so that I can get in touch.)

And as for last month, if you visit me on my blog: Helen Lowe on Anything, Really you can also go in the draw to win one of two further copies of Thornspell, once again for readers anywhere in the world.

Explaining the unreal

Thanks to everyone who commented. The winner of a signed copy of Song of Scarabaeus is Barbara E! Barbara, please contact me at saracreasy@gmail.com with your postal address.

As writers and readers, how do we define the difference between the science fiction and paranormal genres? Both are “unreal” (in that they are fictional) and “speculative” (in that they extrapolate from existing ideas). The paranormal by definition breaks the laws of physics, but science fiction often does too (warp speed, anyone?).

I think the difference comes in what each genre needs to explain. For example, classic vampires can’t be exposed to sunlight without terrible consequences. Readers of paranormal fiction know this fact about vampires. If the writer chooses to contradict the convention by having her vampires run around the sunny beaches of Santa Barbara, readers expect a (paranormal) explanation: that old sunlight thing is a myth, the vampire has a magic ring, or this is a tribe of new improved vampires.

On the other hand, readers of science fiction base their expectations on the natural world. If a certain creature explodes into flames in sunlight, which contradicts what we know about the natural world, the writer needs to provide a (natural) explanation: the “vampire” has a medical condition such as a total lack of melanin, or, more exotically, the vamp’s unstable atoms are prone to decay when exposed to photons of a particular wavelength.

As readers we bring a stack of wonderful knowledge with us, drawn from mythology and the real world, saving the writer from having to describe and explain everything. But when a story contradicts that knowledge, often for interesting reasons of course, we want to know why!

In the paranormal stories you’ve enjoyed, did the writer deviate from standard mythology or stick with the tried and true? Could the vampires cross running water? Did the ghosts fall through the floor? Did the werewolves eat off silverware? As for science fiction, how convinced were you by the scientific explanations for events that seemed to contradict the laws of physics? Post your thoughts and I'll enter you into a draw to win a signed copy of my debut novel, Song of Scarabaeus. Contest ends Sunday 1st August at midnight and the winner will be listed at the top of this post.

- Sara Creasy

Paranormal? Let's get real

     
The giveaway is over! The winner is JUDY. Please contact me at dakota @ dakota-banks.com to claim your prize of a signed copy of Sacrifice, a bookmark, and a pen.

Thanks to everyone for your thoughtful comments! - Dakota

I attended ThrillerFest, a great conference in NYC, earlier this month. I kinda have to, because I'm a board member of International Thriller Writers, the group that puts it on (shameless plug for ITW!). At the Awards Banquet, I was at a table of other board members and after a couple of glasses of wine the subject turned to the paranormal. Not the kind I write about, but the real stuff like ghosts, prescience, and remote viewing. The guy two seats over asked me if I was a believer. I was pinned. Even though the table was round, I was backed into a corner. I came up with this lame answer: "I'm not a disbeliever."

Can you imagine? A wimpy double negative in austere company? Fortunately, he was ahead of me in glasses of wine and nodded at my answer. Then he launched into a rambling story of a haunted house in England. He was an enthusiastic believer. Sandwiched between the two of us was an author who said, "There's certainly things we don't have explanations for," proving that wine causes authors to turn into grammar dummies. Still, I wish I'd thought of his answer.

 I've hesitated to say what I feel about paranormal events because I didn't want to be tossed into the group wearing aluminum hats so the aliens can't read their thoughts. But this seems like a perfect spot for a chat. Let me set the scene. We're in a snug cabin in the woods, a fresh snowfall outside. it's the middle of the night, and we're sitting around a crackling fire. I'm in a chair near the fireplace, a blanket across my lap and a cup of cocoa in my hand (marshmallows, of course). I'm totally relaxed and ready for anything.

 Join me?

 I believe in ghosts and I've seen several. The night my father died, I was forty miles away. I was awakened at night by a soft, familiar voice calling my name. Sitting up, I saw my father in a nearby chair. He didn't have a solid appearance, but it was easy to tell who he was. We talked for a long time, during which he said some things that were new to me. I later found out that my father had died of a heart attack at the time he first appeared to me. When I asked my mother to confirm the things I'd learned, she said they were true and that they were secrets the two of them had kept from us children. This wasn't my first, or my only, direct experience with ghosts. But it was the most meaningful.


Part of my childhood was spent in a remodeled 19th century funeral parlor. There I heard things at night, bumping, rustling of curtains, footsteps traveling across the floor. In the basement of the house, which used to be the embalming room, I saw the same ghost several times, a well-dressed man sitting on the floor in the corner, overcome with grief. When I approached him, he disappeared. I always imagined that he'd accidentally killed someone, and deeply regretted it.

 I'm a cat lover and have had quite a few kitties in my life, and they tend to live long lives, 20 years or more. When one of them dies, our bond doesn't go away immediately. I'll get a glimpse of the cat walking down the hallway, lying curled up in her favorite spot, even feel the cat in my lap. What tips the experiences from a grief reaction to paranormal is that I can pet the cat in my lap, feel her fur, hear her purring, and once had an over the top experience: my tears were licked from my cheeks. Some may say that cats don't have spirits, but you can tell I'm not among them.


How about another cup of cocoa? I'm getting one for myself.

 I've also experienced times when I knew what was going to happen. It's not a controllable thing, so no lottery winnings for me. I'll be driving home and suddenly see a mental image of a deer crossing the road just ahead, usually accompanied by a stab of nausea. I slow down or stop if the road permits, and when I get to the spot, I see the deer's alert white tail disappearing into the woods.Both the deer and I have made it through safely. Most of the time, I don't have any idea how far into the future I'm seeing, though--it could be years. I haven't said anything scary yet, but these experiences are not all benign. I'll talk about only one event. I was in a bathroom stall at a rest stop on Interstate 70. I was about ready to leave when a spray of blood appeared on the door in front of me, then a couple of bloody hand prints, and a pool of blood formed at my feet.


Clutching that cocoa a bit tightly, aren't you?

 I have never written about or revealed any of this before. It was hard to do here, but once I got started the words just poured out of me. I do not wear an aluminum hat. These are my experiences, I swear, and I've left out some.

 I invite you to tell me your paranormal stories. I'll listen and I won't doubt you--how could I? Think I'm nuts? That's okay too! Maybe you'll meet me halfway and come to think, as my dinner companion did, that "There's certainly things we don't have explanations for."

I'm having a giveaway of a signed copy of my new release in the Mortal Path series, Sacrifice, along with a bookmark and pen. The book comes out August 31st, so I won't be able to mail the winner a copy until that time. Just leave a comment. The contest runs until midnight July 31st, and I'll mail internationally. The winner will be listed at the top of this post after the deadline, so if you enter, please come back to check if you've won.

What Would You Do...?

I swear that I had a blog topic in mind that had more to do with things like reading, writing, romance, and other such pertinent readbytes, but then this happened. And I just couldn't write about anything else.

So instead of blogging about my wordcount (currently: 0—but I'm ahead of schedule, and don'tjudgeme) or about my eventual debut novel release (Blood of the Wicked, just in case you were, you know, curious), or about the various ways I like my heroes (much like I like my coffee: stuffed into a sack and slung over the back of a donkey by Juan Valdez). Instead, I'm opening the shutters, beating away the dust bunnies—but not the dustbun, as that would be cruel—and offering you lovely voyeurs a peek into my home.

This is life in the trenches, folks. Real gritty stuff. (Not really, but hey, life can be its own trench, right?)

I dare you to read this, to look at these pictures, and then tell me what you would have done...

Some background.

I hav—ahem, had three cats. From top to bottom, youngest to oldest, we had Lucian (the Princeling), Olivia (Princess Pantaloons), and Kabriel (the Tank).

Let me take a brief detour and describe to you these animals...

Kabriel—easily the largest of the three. Easily larger than two and three put together. The cat weighs about 25 pounds of solid freaking muscle. He's a tomcat all the way (and don't get me started on how adorable he was when he was just a baby ball of white dryer lint).

He's also a scaredy cat. Classic. He's so afraid of life that he spends all day hiding under the bed, and only comes out in the earliest morning to hunker in bed with us, or out in the evening. (At night, he stalks the halls like some predatory beast of prehistoric ages past...)

He's so afraid that when a car door slams out in the parking lot, he growls and flees to the safety of the bed. That's my guard cat.

Olivia—truly the princess of the lot. She's the most catlike of all our cats... well, except for the fact that she plays fetch and stares at the door all day until her man comes home. She's affectionate (when she wants to be) and sweet (when she wants something). Otherwise, hands off, please.

She won't have much to do with me, mind.

Lucian—It's so hard to be a little black cat. This princeling lounges all day, until he's decided that he's had enough and wants attention right bloody now. At which point, he jumps into the nearest lap and hunkers down for an extended stay.

The catch: If one of us is home alone, we're so not worth his time. But the instant someone else comes home, he comes to visit. Apparently, this one needs an audience of at least two to feel appreciated.

Then, we add Juno, our rabbit, and we've a full house. Plenty of furry love to go around, right?

Right?

Apparently not.

The mancandy is, shall we say, a bit of a soft touch. He can't turn away critters in need. We rescued Olivia from a horrendous situation, and picked up the two boys from cages at our vets' office. That said, the very last thing I expected when he got home from work yesterday were the following words...

"Don't be mad at me!"

...Followed closely by, "This is Charlotte."

Um... Excuse me?

I turn around, and there's this little white... thing in the mancandy's arms. I call it a thing because, let's face it, when one is dreading the result of looking too closely at a Tiny White Ball of Cute, one hesitates to name things.

Except he already did.

Apparently, this little girl was being dragged through the mall by several unpleasant kids. I'm not sure of the exact details—all I know is that I took one look into those soulful blue eyes (erm, the mancandy's, not hers), and I knew it was too late for me to decide anything.

She'd stolen his heart.

Well, that part of it that hadn't already been neatly claimed by the other four animals.

Siiiiigh.

What else could I do? I became a Field Marshal. A drill sergeant. With the speed of thought that would make any battle commander proud, I marshaled the troops (i.e. his attention), and laid down a battle plan. First, a bath. Then, a trip to the store for some emergency flea medication for all the animals—this little girl was crawling with them.

Then, a house cleaning session.

"But, but..."

The mancandy's pleas for mercy availed him nothing but my laughter and scorn! Ha ha ha ha! There would be no mercy for the weak of heart!

Well, what I actually mean to say is... No rest for the strong of compassion. We owed it to this little girl to give her a good home, a cleaned home, and one free of any fleas she carried in.

Oh, and her name really isn't Charlotte. She doesn't look like a Charlotte, and while we always name our animals after romance book characters, we couldn't agree on a name that suited. Until the mancandy suggested, "Hey. What about Naomi?"

It stuck. She's a Naomi.

So you tell me: could you have looked into these sweet blue eyes, hearing her purr so happily, watch her as she inched across the carpet to rest her chin trustingly in your palm, and made any other decision?

... I'm such a sucker.

Do you have pets? Can you imagine life without them once they've taken over your heart and home? And what do you name them? (Worth pointing out: Xaphod Beeblebrox was jokingly offered as a name, but I was afraid that she'd grow a second head just to spite us if we did...)

Oh, dear. Four cats and a rabbit? I'm her... I'm the Crazy Cat Lady.

Is this where I put on a funny hat and start laughing maniacally?