Thursday, February 24, 2022

Negotiating with the Dead - Part Six

Dear Margaret Atwood,

Today, we don't meet in person, not even in my imagination.  Today, I am writing on this page and you are my reader, though I do not expect you to ever read what I have written to you.  

Nobody to Nobody

I dread this conversation.  The nobody to nobody dynamic is awesome.  It takes a great deal of imagination for me to conjure up a benign reader.  I imagine the woman in the hospital.  It's me in disguise (obviously).  That's my happy place (as unfortunate as that is).

I'm going to be honest with you, invisible Margaret.  Readers terrify me.  Anytime someone tells me to my face that they've been reading one of my books, my entire body seizes up and I think for a second that I might fold myself in half and puke between my feet.  

People I know are always apologizing for not reading my books.  Either they've bought them and not bothered to read them or they will never read one because I'm not their cup of tea, so they're apologizing for that.  I always tell them it's fine and I mean it.  People I know do not need to read my novels.  Most people want a few degrees of separation between them and the novelist they read whether they are aware of it or not.  Who the hell invented the signed copy?

The idea of a reader reading the way I read things spooks me.  Sometimes I think being a writer is the worst thing in the world. 

When I go somewhere to make a public appearance, I gear up like I'm going into battle.  My favorite thing to wear is metallics, like an actual suit of armor (I'll pair this with something very black so I don't look cheesy, only glamorous in a way most people wouldn't dare).  I'll curl my hair too so that I can look feminine and weak at the same time.  It is a two-pincered defense.  I decide which defense I'm going to take by the look on my face... because it does feel a little bit like everyone wants to attack me.

Them: "Did you go to university to become a writer?"

Me: "Most newspapers are written at a fourth-grade level.  Why would I need to go to university to write at a fourth-grade level?"

Them: "Have you sold many books?"

Me: Crooked eyebrow.  "Are you casing my cashbox?"

Basically, I can't control how people are going to react to my writing.  Just now, I went and checked the reviews and ratings for my novel, His 16th Face, where I got two one-star ratings with no reviews attached to them.  I think that book is a major achievement, but apparently, not everyone thought so.  The reader gets to decide, and that's horrifying. 

The urge to live like a recluse and only have my novels published after I'm dead is pretty strong, except... sadly... that won't work at all.  Not everything is timeless and if there's a time that someone could appreciate my writing, then it's probably now.  

You talk about suicide a lot in your book because authors have been driven to it.  That seems likely.  The author parted the curtain of their skin, let someone else in, and the reader spat on the author's heart and lungs, told them they were no good... and that poor author felt that something was fundamentally wrong with them.  Was there even a place for them in this world?  Because they were chosen to be a writer and if they can't do that then they can't do anything.

Authors are supposed to have thick skin, but this whole subject matter makes me wish I had no skin.  And I want to go back to being a nobody who is writing to nobody.

Thanks for reading,

Nobody

Novelist

Tuesday, February 15, 2022

Negotiating with the Dead - Part Five

Dear Margaret Atwood,

Today for our meeting, we've come to a church, but no matter where we look or who we talk to, we can't seem to figure out who or what they worship.  The doors are locked, so we're walking around the grounds, looking at the inspiring arrangement of the garden and talking about the morality of the writer.

Prospero, the Wizard of Oz, Mephisto & Co.

I chuckle.  I enjoyed your chapter.  Once I wrote a character who wears a Mephisto mask revealing that he secretly wants to experiment with being the devil or that he's a devil under the persona he usually wears.  It was all quite wonderful.

Questions about the morality of the author don't bother me.  Regarding how I spend the money I earn as a novelist and do I have a social responsibility to give that money away?  

As a novelist, I am a beggar living.  Even though according to my inner accountant, I should have dropped dead already.  Frankly, I would love to have enough money as a novelist to have this problem.  I would wager that something crazy like 0.00001% of all people who call themselves novelists actually has this conundrum.  

I find most of the time, people use the words 'writer', 'author', and 'novelist' ignorantly when referring to themselves.  They don't write novels to instruct, delight, or even as a way of making money.  They don't write novels (plural) at all.  They use the labels as a way of boasting about themselves.  They want to seem interesting and mysterious and they think the one book they wrote on their laptop that one summer and they really want to finish, qualifies them to use the word.  After all, any person who picks up a pen and writes a sentence is a writer.  They wrote, so they're a writer.   

They're taking a gamble labeling themselves as such, but it's a measured risk.  Most people are not enthusiastic readers and vague words describing literary success are more than enough to achieve the desired effect of appearing as both an intellectual and a mystic.  The risk pays off... unless they are talking to me.  I have no desire to flatter the arrogant and the lazy, so I ask pointed questions like, "Where can I buy your book?", "When was this published?", and the ever painful, "Are you going to have a book published this year?"

They are exposed as charlatans and they are ashamed.  And that is the exact place where they are wrong.  

They are wrong because they misunderstood the true meaning of the words 'writer', 'author', and 'novelist'.  There is nothing particularly noble about being a writer.  All writing is derived from real life, real ideas, work other writers have created, and other things the author has seen.  It didn't come from nowhere.  A good author is someone who takes a truth they have discovered somewhere, picks it off the ground, puts it in their mouth, and chews on it until they can blow it out like bubblegum and no one can tell what it was to begin with.  

This can be done on the fly, thus that 'writer' should be able to, with the grace of their tongue, lead me away from the topic of their unpublished self so skillfully, so charmingly, that I don't even remember that they didn't really answer my questions.  

Me: "Where can I buy your book?"

Them: "Oh, it's not in print."

Me: "When was it published?"

Them: "On multiple dates.  I can't remember exactly.  Maybe it was the end of 2018.  Maybe the beginning of 2019."

Me: "Are you going to have a book published this year?"

Them: "It's hard to say.  I'm struggling with the cover art.  I have a limited budget, so I'm having a hard time deciding which artist to hire.  I only get one shot at this and I want the cover to represent my inner vision."

At that point, I'll start asking them questions about their 'inner vision' because the mentioning of it would remove my focus from anything with permanence.  It's the way most women get carried away.  However, most people lack the skill to BS on this level.  People are used to their dialogue reading like a news release, a history class, or a documentary.  Nothing but the truth.  They're not used to using their creative brain to make their dialogue every day more evocative.  

People who do that are liars--silver-tongued devils.

Now, we've arrived at the truth.  Writers are liars.  But we're good liars, right?  However, we can't just say it.  We have to prove it with our writing.  That's why we have to work so hard to justify the morality of the writer.  The true nature of what we're doing is fundamentally against the moral code of our society.  We have to convince our readers that our lying is for a good cause.  

When I was 13, my bishop (who was also one of my English teachers) approached my mother and told her that I was the best BS artist there ever was.  "That girl could convince anyone of anything," he said.  It is interesting to note that he said this with a smile, praising me.  Like that was a trait that was admirable.  

When reviewing the Ten Commandments given to Moses in the Old Testament, it is interesting to notice that 'Thou shalt not lie' is not one of them.  Instead, the Lord gives Moses the commandment, 'Thou shalt not bear false witness', which goes more along the lines of not digging a hole for your neighbor with the hope of them losing and you winning.  This means that... BIG BREATH IN... If you are trying to make encourage injustice with your writing--that's immoral.  

What's justice?

That's where you are absolutely right, Margaret.  The author doesn't get to decide what's justice and what's injustice.  That's for the reader to decide.  

Perhaps the most humiliating thing that could ever happen to a writer would be for the audience to feel that the work destroyed the principles the author was trying to promote.  That would be a good deal more embarrassing than merely being called out as being a bit of a phony, as happens to our wanna-be writers mentioned above.  

As it stands, even very earnest writers feel fake on the inside because no one can really measure up to what other authors have built in the minds of others.  Writers have the power to change the definition of words, therefore they can make the word 'author' mean anything they want.  They can create that dignity, power, mysticism, and authority they desire and the people around them are so suggestible, they believe it.   I blink funny when I read quotes from Stephen King or Earnest Hemmingway where they say that the best thing in the world is reading.  Yup boys, if you honestly felt that way you would never have written a word.  They're promoting themselves with every flick of their tongues.

We've walked all the way around the church now and there's a woman coming up the walk carrying armfuls of shopping bags wondering what we're doing on her property.  It turns out the building was a church once, but now it's someone's home.  We apologize and offer to help her with her bags, but she's very annoyed, so we try not to giggle while we run away.

Thank you for spending the afternoon with me,

Stephanie Van Orman

Novelist

 

Monday, February 7, 2022

The Blood that Flows

 

Hello Dear Ink Drinkers,

This has been a particularly busy week for me.  First, I am proud to present this new edition of my novel The Blood that Flows.  It's a unique piece in my collection.  It doesn't really feel like anything else I have published in the last ten years.  For starters, though it has romantic elements, it is not a romance novel.  I have been defining it as a horror, paranormal detective novel with a woman sleuth.  I don't normally write detective novels, perhaps because this novel was published over ten years ago and it was a flop (dear reader, please do not get spooked by the idea that it was a flop.  It was the first novel that I tried to publish and I didn't know much about launching a book.  I also had no reputation as Stephanie Van Orman and was only known under my pen name Sapphirefly.  However, even with all that against it, it did make me more money than I spent, so in that way, it was a success).  Because it was less successful than I felt it deserved to be, I thought I must not have written it very well.  

I released a half-edited version on my account on Quotev.  Sometimes doing something like that helps me understand if a project is worth revisiting or if it's better off dead.  When I reread portions of The Blood that Flows, I was actually impressed by how good it was.  If a baby author handed it to me and asked me to look at it, I would have told them it had a ton of potential and was worth working on.  So, why not say that to myself?

The low points in the preparation process were these.  First, I had to go through all the edits my old publishing company had suggested and decide which one of us was full of poo.  It turns out that I was more full of it than I thought and I ended up accepting more of their changes than I rejected.  I hate admitting that I don't always know the best way.  Second, there was a pirated version of this book available on Amazon before I even uploaded my ebook on Amazon.  Were they stealing it off Quotev? WTH?  

The high points were these. When I ran it through the editing software on the last go, I had very few errors.  That's never happened before.  It gave me a lot of confidence that my editing process is getting more effective.  I have read more than my fair share of articles over the years saying that you can't do your own editing,  You'll miss stuff.  You can't see it the way an editor can see it.  Blah, blah, blah... blah.  For another thing, I really enjoyed the tagline on the back of the book.  Would you rather die for love or kill for love?  Awesome!

Here's the synopsis:

My sister lives her life looking through rose-colored glasses. It comes from looking at the world through blood... a vampire's gaze. It's a world where everyone wants to drink her blood like she's wine. How much can she give before she flows over? And how many people do I have to kill to make it stop?

Here's the excerpt:

    My sister lay motionless on the bed with a glassy look in her eyes. Actually, she hadn’t looked sharp since before she became a vamp, but this expression was more vacant than usual. Her dark hair curled around her white face and she stared off into space like she hardly noticed my arrival.

    I closed the window, locked it, and drew the curtains. Then I went into the bathroom attached to her room and got a bandage to stop her bleeding. Vampire blood didn’t clot at all compared to human blood. After all, a vampire was only two steps from being a corpse. It would take ages for her cuts to close. As I wrapped her wounds, she yanked the blanket out from under her and pulled it over her chest. If she was cold, he must have drunk quite a bit.

    I  shuddered. What had London done to her body and for what? It would take her over a year to close up, even after she stitched herself shut. Sometimes I thought vampires were more like Frankenstein’s monster than Dracula.

    I whispered quietly, “How much has he drunk? A cup? A liter?”

    Silence.

    “Two liters?”

     She averted her eyes.

I was more pleased with this book than I expected to be.  Here are some goodie links:

YouTube link to the trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J1d9BJnxEFk

Commaful link to the short version: https://commaful.com/play/sapphirefly/

Amazon link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09RYSLYCT/ref=sr_1_2?crid=3UR5LQFHIP2VH&keywords=stephanie+van+orman&qid=1644298914&sprefix=stephanie+van+orman%2Caps%2C145&sr=8-2

IN OTHER NEWS!

I gave my website a massive overhaul this past week, and it now looks almost completely different.  If you have a minute, why not go have a look?

https://tigrix1.wixsite.com/stephanievanorman

Because The Blood that Flows is not a steamy romance, it will not be very successful.  Nothing that is not a steamy romance is very successful these days, but I was pretty pleased to offer this book for free.  I was pleased when Free-ebooks.net featured it on the front of their website.  I was happy with the new cover that I bought ages ago and still looked good when I brushed it off.  I was happy with the last line of the book.  And even though I was too nervous with the gore level in this book to label it as anything lower than 18+, I would give it to my 15-year-old self and wish her the best.  She liked the gory stuff.  I hope all of you enjoy it.  In an odd way, it is probably the closest thing I have ever written to chick-lit.  



Cut Like Glass

One of the things I really enjoy writing is novelettes.  I wish I had discovered them sooner.  They are SO MUCH FUN! 'Cut Like Glass'...