Saturday, May 28, 2022

Free Review Copies!

 

Do you know what makes a book look really classy?  That's right!  Several hundred reviews on Amazon.

Do you know what's hard to do?  That's right!  Getting even 50 reviews on Amazon.

Right now, I'm looking for reviewers for my upcoming novel, 'If Diamonds Could Talk'.  Reviewers get a free copy of the ebook in exchange for an honest review.  In order to qualify for the team, you have to have read the first book 'His 16th Face'.  After that, all you need is an email address.  Just sign up on my website and when the book becomes available you'll receive an invitation in your inbox.  Follow the link provided and download your FREE copy.  Once you've finished reading it, you post a review or two and we're all happy as clams.  

Here's the link to my website where you can sign up! https://tigrix1.wixsite.com/stephanievanorman

You can also sign up for my newsletter too!  If you do, you'll get a FREE copy of my novelette 'Tiny Wishes'.  The newsletter is FREE (I'm just delighted anyone is curious about what is going on with me) and I only send it out four times a year.  

You can also watch a trailer for 'If Diamonds Could Talk' on YouTube.  Here's the link:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dYn5Hbily04&t=11s

Thanks for reading!

Thursday, April 14, 2022

Ink Drinkers

Today's post is all about why I call my readers Ink Drinkers.

I'm a novelist.  When I first started addressing my readers, sending out ARC invitations, newsletters, and such, I felt that I needed to call them something.  I needed a pet name to call all of them that showed my love for them without the hassle of writing to each of them individually.  Here were the choices:

Bookworms: I have never liked this term.  On a lower level, I dislike it because of all the little cartoons of worms with glasses that inhabit libraries.  If books represent the highest form of imagination, as books can be about every subject in the world, then why are they always being represented by a worm with glasses?  BORING! 

On a higher level, I think about some of the fanciest libraries in the world and how quite a few of them house colonies of bats to eat the bugs that are trying to eat the books.  Can you imagine how desperate you'd have to be to intentionally house a colony of bats?  You'd rather clean up after the bats than have your books eaten from the inside by silverfish, booklice, and linoleum beetles.  Seriously, opening your book and realizing it has one of these problems is probably worse than noticing your child has lice.  Your kid just needs a hair treatment.  How much of that book has already been eaten?  

The whole thing is so disgusting, I can't bear to call my readers bookworms.  

Read Rats: When I hear this term, I think of two things.  One is using the word rat in a personified sense, meaning people who skip out on other things they are supposed to be doing in order to read... which is cute.  On the other hand, it is also the word rat, which makes me think of a literal rat, an animal with no blatter control who can't help but smear his pee with him everywhere he tracks his little rattish butt... which is not cute.  

I can't call my readers something that leaves a pee pattern wherever it goes.

Library Mouse: I can't help but wonder what sorts of experiences people have had with mice over the course of human history that has made them ever want to personify a mouse.  Yet this happens all the time.  Mice shred paper to nest in.  So, the idea of a mouse (or a rat) living in the wall in the library makes me want to get the traps out, not write a children's book where mice live happy little lives in the walls.  Were the mice just an inevitable part of library culture for so long that people decided to draw cute pictures of them?  Thinking something like, "We're not getting rid of them, so we may as well draw them in fancy clothes dancing around."

Okay... but that's not the world I live in.  No non-flying rodents in the library.  .... .... ... Yes, I know.  Bats aren't bugs... or rodents.

Book Horse: I think of someone dangling a book in front of their horse instead of a carrot.  Then I strike that image from my mind and imagine a boy carrying his backpack on one shoulder and a pretty girl's backpack on the other.  He thought he was doing her a favor by offering to carry her bag for her, except she has The Stand by Stephen King and all the Wheel of Time books.  That boy is a book horse.  

Book Moth: I find this a thousand times more appealing than the bookworm thing because the design opportunities to replace those bespectacled worm posters are so resplendent.  However, as soon as I think of moths in the closet, it's all over.  You don't want a moth in your closet, your hair, or your bookroom.

Book Shark: This sounds like a plagiarist or some other pest who keeps stealing the book you want.

Book Caterpillar: A thousand times cuter than a worm because I think of a furry worm instead of a naked one.  This should be a thing.  Not a thing for my readers, but a thing for somebody.

Book Swallower: This is a good one.  It does things to me.  Mostly I think of the man swallowing chains in The Great Divorce by C.S. Lewis.  

Reading Maggot: The first person to be called this did something unforgivable.  They know what they did.

I gave my own definition to the next three.

Book Slut: This is what your mom calls you when she finds your erotica collection.

Word Wasp: This is what you call someone who keeps throwing insults at you that are way over your head.

Page Mage: This is what you call your child when you can't get them to read anything except Harry Potter and you want to make them feel like they can read more.

Book Bug: Not great, but still better than a worm.  It also has that nice alliteration.

Book Eater: If I was a man, I may have gone for this one or book swallower.  They both have nice masculine edges to them.

Ink Drinkers: This is translated from a French term.  I love it.  As soon as I saw it, I knew this was the one I was going to use.  When I hear this term, in my mind's eye, I see a woman wearing a black dress with tassels at the hem.  She's sitting in a grungy art club in the 1920s.  Aside from the dark flapper dress, her hair is shingled and she's wearing a headband with a single black ostrich feather arched over her head.  The walls are green/black grunge and a yellow flower is flourishing in a green glass bottle, offsetting the environment, especially the weird white lightbulb that hangs over the table.  A waiter in a white shirt and black vest brings her order.  It's a martini glass containing the darkest of black ink.  It is garnished with a quill that has had most of its feathers sheared almost like the fletchings of an arrow.  What that sharp length of the quill is spearing inside the drink is a mystery because the ink is completely opaque.  We already know that the ink is something she should not drink, but what is speared inside?  Certainly no olive.  She raises the triangular goblet to her blood-red lips, closes her eyes, and... Blink!  When next she opens her eyes, she knows something she didn't know before, a kind of knowledge that only the daring acquire.   

And that my Ink Drinkers, is how I think of you.

When I was finished writing this, I asked my husband which term he liked best.  He replied that all of them are weird.  Which one is your favorite?


If you'd like to become one of my beloved Ink Drinkers, please sign up for my newsletter on my website.  It's free and sent out quarterly.  https://tigrix1.wixsite.com/stephanievanorman

Tuesday, March 29, 2022

Magical Book Bingo


Hi Ink Drinkers!

Welcome to my Magical Book Bingo!  This little beauty was part of my newsletter bundle for spring.  I offered prizes to my newsletter subscribers.  If you're interested in joining, my newsletter is free, it comes out quarterly, and freebies are offered from time to time.  Sign up on my website: https://tigrix1.wixsite.com/stephanievanorman  However, I'll let all of you see the card if you're looking for your next big read.  

Now I'm going to give a sneaky little peek into each book, which means I'll leave a synopsis but a grouchy one like an Honest Trailer (but shorter).  Enjoy!

Stolen Songbird by Danielle L. Jensen:  This is the first book of a trilogy.  The first book really got me.  It's about an opera singer who is dragged under the mountain to be the bride of the troll prince.  I have tried to read other books by this author and it hasn't worked out for me, but this book kills me.  Overblown romantic stuff always makes me howl with laughter and this is it.  It gets very warlike in the later books, which was a pity.  Eventually, it takes itself very seriously.

Shadow of the Fox by Julie Kagawa: This is the first book of a trilogy.  It's fun.  It's like reading an adorable anime.  There is a great deal of combat.  However, it's not oppressive and is generally a fun read.

The Singular and Extraordinary Tale of Mirror and Goliath by Ishbelle Bee: So far there are two books in this series.  This book earns the highest rating from me, in that I feel it might be inappropriate for younger readers as it might scare them.  However, I fell for Mr. Loveheart in a way I have rarely fallen for a fictional character.  I loved him so much I'd switch out the o in loved for a heart.  May as well use a heart for the v as well.  I L❤❤ed him!  Very violent book.  I have rarely enjoyed anything so much.

An Enchantment of Ravens by Margaret Rogerson: This is a stand-alone and I wish there were more books like this.  It is a fanciful romance novel.  I went on to read her other book, Sorcery of Thorns.  It was weird because the author had obviously grown so much as a writer, as there were many aspects that were improved in Sorcery of Thorns, but she completely blew the romance.  It was such an incredible let-down for me.  Try this one instead.

Foundling by D.M. Cornish: What are you still standing around here for?  If you haven't read this series, you're failing at life.  This is the first book of a trilogy about monster hunting and though that doesn't sound very thrilling, I have a story about this book. I leant this book out to six adults and had them all return the book with the following review: "It was boring.  I only kept reading it because it was short."  At which time I said, "Well, then you didn't understand it."  I was then accused of being a literary snob (which is true... you can't say horrible, true things to me and expect me to get ruffled).  So, I took them through the plot of the first book and pointed out all the hints they missed and when I reveal what is actually happening, the person I'm talking to is stoked and they've taken the next book, which may be three times as long.  Very excellent.  Top marks.

The Witch of Blackbird Pond by Elizabeth George Speare: This is a stand-alone about witch hunting.  It's also quite old.  It may be the oldest book I'm recommending.  The reason I'm recommending it is that it was one of my favorite books when I was a teenager.  The other day, I got a new copy of it.  It has aged very well.  

The Last Unicorn by Peter S. Beagle: This is a classic stand-alone.  This was my favorite cartoon as a child.  I used to trudge through the snow to my grandma's house to watch the movie rather than go home.  The book is even more enchanting then the film.  

Heap House by Edward Carey: This is the first book of a trilogy and you're going to need a strong stomach.  It's about a boy who is an aristocrat who lives in a collection of mansions in the middle of a landfill.  I got it from the 9-12 section at Indigo.  I also read the first bit of the second book to a class full of sixth-graders and scared the hell out of them.  It's one of my fondest memories.  

Howl's Moving Castle by Diane Wynne Jones: This is the first book of a trilogy.  The second book, Castle in the Air, is really charming.  Since the Studio Ghibli film, I imagine most of you know all about this.  I put it on as an easy square for my readers.  I argued with myself that perhaps I wanted to recommend Fire and Hemlock instead.  If you're looking for a unique read, and you've already read Howl, go for Fire and Hemlock.  It's more romantic and left a feeling of wistful longing inside me that still hasn't been blown away.

Echo North by Joanna Ruth Meyer: This is a stand-alone that is a re-telling of the story of Cupid and Psyche.  As some of you may know, I am a complete sucker for Cupid and Psyche.  I will buy anything on that subject and give it a read.  This was an interesting retelling and it's less academic than Till We Have Faces by C.S. Lewis.  I am on a never-ending search for the book that fixes the fact that the story gets really boring once she discovers he's Cupid.  This book doesn't fix the problem, but none of them do.  I'm not sure how to fix it myself.  That's why I always want to buy the next book where someone else has tried to conquer the problem.  

Mort by Terry Pratchett: This is sort of a stand-alone and sort of part of a series.  It's a comedy about a guy who becomes Death's understudy.  There are tons of Terry Pratchett books to enjoy.  If you haven't gotten started yet, this is a great one to get the ball rolling.

The Night Gardener by Jonathan Auxier: This is a stand-alone about a girl and her crippled younger brother looking for work.  They get jobs working at a house that has a tree growing through the middle of it.  It might scare the living daylights out of you, or it might tug at your heartstrings so hard you never stop crying.

The Hero's Guide to Saving Your Kingdom by Christopher Healy: This is the first book in a trilogy.  I read books like this all the time and of the many series' of fairytale/fantasy parodies, this one stood out to me as the most enjoyable.  This is the youngest of the books I'm recommending, as in this is really geared toward a younger audience.  It's about the princes in fairytales and how they don't get any screentime.  Hilarious.  Really stupid.  Go get it.

The Promise by Monica Hughes: This is the second book in a series and I've never bothered to read the first book.  I recommend you skip it too.  This book is probably the most meaningful to me personally of all the books on my Magical Book Bingo.  It's a straight-up story about a princess who has to learn to become a desert hermit.  It really got me... in the feels... At the very least, it is very short if it's not your jam.

Dragon Sword and Wind Child by Noriko Ogiwara: This is the first book in a two-part series.  It follows the rules of writing a book in odd ways, so it gets top marks.  It's about a girl who is supposed to choose a husband at a festival and ends up getting hauled off to marry the God of Light, only for things to go completely mental.  TOP MARKS.

Enjoy!  If you have any thoughts on any of these books, I'd love to hear them.  Bite back.

Thursday, March 17, 2022

Bad Boys in my Books

The other day, it came to my attention that the bad guys in my books have something in common. 

Luckily, no one pointed this out to me and it was just something I figured out for myself.  Let's go through them.  Be warned of SPOILERS.

Dominic - Whenever You Want

Dominic seems like he's interested in Christina, but he isn't.  He's putting up a facade because he thinks she matches girls he's used in the past to entertain and control his brother, Alexander.  So, he's more like a sex trafficker than a predator for his own needs.  This actually makes me feel better because he's a little different than the others in this way,

Rylan - Kiss of Tragedy

Rylan is Hades in different skin, so when he was the God of the Underworld, he was used to playing by a different set of rules.  Therefore, conquering his woman was par for the course, and if you know anything about pillaging, that means rape.  So, he does that.  Currently, no one likes men who do that.  So, he's a villain.  

Schroder - The Blood that Flows

Schroder is in love with Sweeper, but she's too young when he meets her and he doesn't want to kill her, so he keeps his hands and his fangs to himself.  Until he can't anymore, then he bites Sweeper's older sister, London, in order to get his jollies.  He claims repeatedly that he loves Sweeper and he could never hurt her, but in her place, he hurts her sister repeatedly.  

Armand - Rose Red

Armand wants Paige all to himself.  He wants all her rights stripped.  He wants her to be his slave and do whatever he wants.  It's pretty alarming how much he wants to make sure she is in a position lower than himself.  He arranges for someone else to hurt her in his place, so she'll turn to him for comfort.  He even wants her to be legally his possession with no money or resources of her own... only his.  

Evander - Behind His Mask

If you've read Behind His Mask, it's probably interesting for you that I am characterizing the main male lead as the antagonist, but he is.  All his hangups revolve around his fear of becoming a sexual predator.  He does not become one and in that way, the story is a success and the antagonist is defeated.

Charles - His 16th Face

I nearly wrote something that was HUGE spoiler for the second book in this series, 'If Diamonds Could Talk', but then I stopped myself.  Lucky me!

Antony - Hidden Library

Antony is super bad and I'm going to hold back on him because I have not released this book for free anywhere.  The book opens with him running invisible fingers down Veda's leg, so he's got a sexual fixation with her and it goes badly.

Carver - If I Tie U Down

Carver gets hung up on Shannon.  He sees her kidnap Fletch instead of him and he gets this idea that if she had kidnapped him instead of Fletch, they would have had this really hot romance.  Instead, Shannon is having that hot romance with Fletch and Carver is so jealous, he's about to lose it.

So... why are all the bad guys intent on being sexual predators?  Why don't I have any female antagonists?  Why isn't there another story?

I wondered at my own lack of creativity for about five seconds before I could answer this.  Very simply, I have endured an insane amount of sexual harassment.  I could count on one hand the number of times a girl treated me unkindly in jr. high and high school put together.  Frankly, I don't think any of them saw any point in getting in my face.  I was getting grabbed in the hallways of my school by guys in grades above me and instead of telling on the boy or waiting for someone to save me, I'd fight him in the hallway.  No one was going to save me.   The vulgar, hateful things guys said to me as a matter of course were handled... by me.  The truth is that I can't imagine what antagonism from a woman would even look like.  But I know exactly what an oxytocin switch looks like.  Frustrated lovers get like that.  They love you one day and hate you the next.  

I'd like to write a different kind of antagonist.  I really would, but the most natural enemy is a guy who wants to get with me who I'm refusing.  I wrote a book about my teenage life called A Little like Scarlett, but I left out so much of the sexual harassment.  You've heard it once, you've heard it a hundred times.  

Thinking of the contents of my book A Little Like Scarlett, I recall that I actually have been antagonized by women.  When I left home, I moved into a house with six girls and most of them hated me.  It stemmed from their rage at my popularity with guys, which they didn't experience, and they felt was unfair.  I dunno... it doesn't really feel like novel material.  Or at least, it doesn't feel like something that was not adequately discussed in Gone with the Wind.  Girls who have the audacity to talk to men and amuse them with their prattle are annoying to women who lack the talent.  HOWEVER... I come from a household where I wouldn't have learned how to talk if I wasn't willing to talk to men, so... let's all be nice to one another.  

I feel that settles it.  

I do have a female antagonist in the works, so perhaps all is not lost.  We'll see how she turns out.  

With love,

Stephanie Van Orman

Novelist

Tuesday, March 1, 2022

Negotiating with the Dead - Part Seven

Dear Margaret Atwood,

Today we are at a cemetery in Calgary.  It's the kind that doesn't have any raised gravestones.   There is snow on the ground and it has covered all the graves nicely, thus we do not know if we are stepping on a dead person's head, or their tail, on their ashes, or on their stones.  

It is to be our last meeting as this is the last chapter in your book.

Negotiating with the Dead

One time I had a conversation with my daughter about what different fascinations really mean.  She was telling me how she found the furry movement to be difficult to understand and how it led to cruelty to animals.  I told her that I thought that it was harmless in most cases.  The furry had probably just got overly hung up on being a helpless animal like a squirrel or a bunny.  They wanted to check out from the stresses of regular life and pretend to be a deer as that best represented their happy place.  

Then we talked about werewolves and the shifter thing when someone goes from being a person to being a wolf.  I told her that I thought it was a little different from the bunny thing.  In that case, a person craved freedom, nature, and close family ties.  They want to run with a pack. 

Then my daughter turned to me and asked me what my thing was.

I replied that I had been a vampire in a previous life.  I told her that the creepiest forms of vampirism ranged from treating other people like food (to be used and abused to feed the vampire's appetite) to necrophilia.  I explained that I have the highest respect for other people's humanity and I have no interest in corpses.  My interest in vampirism stemmed from an interest in death.

As an author, I rewrite the story of Persephone in my novel Kiss of Tragedy where I turn Persephone into a body thief who has found that stealing a drowned young woman's body is the best way to escape the Underworld and Hades.  In that story, I hop over the lines between being dead and alive like hopscotch.  

In my novel His 16th Face, I jump to a different challenge.  How do we even begin to bridge the gap between being what we are now to becoming a god?  Let's break it down into smaller problems and see how we can solve them.

I've always thought my preoccupation with the subject was merely my personal preference, and now you say that all writers seek to answer questions about death as that is the most pressing question on most readers' minds.  How delightful.

Except, I am not concerned about my own death.  I am not rushing to write things down to ensure some kind of immortality for myself.  Having never experienced much popularity in life, it seems kind of hopeless to expect it after death.

And though what you wrote for the end of your book was so beautiful, I almost wept, I don't go down into the hole of the underworld to get the story like it already existed somewhere else and I am the medium that brings it into our world.  I'm a religious person, and yes, Moses says at the beginning of the Bible that all things were created in the spirit before they were created in the fresh.  Thus, spiritual instructions on how to make something like Noah's Ark and the Arc of the Covenant are not unheard of.  Sometimes I write things that way--not the way I want to write, but the way God wants my piece written.  The act is mostly reserved for when I am asked to deliver religious devotionals, which is not often.  When I write my books, I find that spiritual inspiration is there for when I'm stuck, but most of the time, I'm building something intentionally.  I mentioned in the beginning that I build a story with bricks and blocks.  I'm making it on purpose.  I'm not uncovering the blocks like an archeologist.  I'm making the cement that creates the blocks like a builder.

In my dealings with God, sometimes he has a story he wants me to tell.  When I share my testimony, I have felt Him pressing down on me to say what He wants everyone to hear.  In those cases, I am not the author, I am the medium, like a little prophetess who says the will of the Lord.

When I write a book, I am more like His daughter, and like any good father, He backs off so that I can grow up by trying something, failing--using the garbage can he gifted me--and trying again.  Because the story isn't just about whatever book I am writing right now.  It's also about me.  I hate to admit it, but the book might be nothing more than a byproduct of my growth, like I am an apple tree that blooms, bears fruit, and anyone is free to eat those apples since they would go to waste otherwise.  

Perhaps the book created by my growth is meant to be a substitute for the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil.  You read the book instead of partaking of the fruit (experiencing the story through the protagonist) and in so doing, you learn about a particular pitfall that can be avoided.  I've always thought that it was a pomegranate on that tree, the food of the dead.  And that's what books may be.  The dead give us books and we leave food on their graves because we cannot imagine what they want in the next life.  I imagine that what they really want is for us to tell them a bedtime story because even in death, the dead still hunger for more knowledge.

I realize it's time for us to say goodbye and I cry because I can't help it.  I'm a silly little thing.  I've always thought I was a silly writer because all I want to is teach my little reader what a healthy relationship looks like.  I write the Knowledge of Good part of the tree because literally, everyone has tasted the Knowledge of Evil part of the tree.

Now we're standing near the grave of my father.  He has enjoyed listening to our conversation, and he's trying to hide his annoyance because he wanted to be part of the conversation.  Just kidding, he wants us to quiet down and listen to him tell us all about death because we're clearly misguided in some way or another.  

You remind me that it's not really goodbye.  It's just a time to go there and come back again like a spirit going to get a body and coming home without one.  Or like a person giving up their body to visit the Underworld only to one day pick their body up again on the way out.  We will meet again.

Goodbye, Margaret.  I have enjoyed our chats.

Stephanie Van Orman

Novelist

P.S. Write me a few lines sometime.  I'd be happy to hear from you.

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

 

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