According To Hoyt

Some of you know that over Summer I was struggling with an on-spec space opera tentatively called The Brave And The Free.

It’s almost done, truly, but I couldn’t finish it. The reason I couldn’t finish it, is that I’d got myself in one of my amnesiac centipede modes. No, don’t gawp at me. You know what I mean – I exactly resembled a centipede who, all of a sudden, couldn’t figure out which leg it should move first.

This is a mode I get into – yes, after twenty finished novels – and I can’t even explain how or what triggers it. I just know it happens. In fact, my first attempts at sequels for Darkship Thieves came out like that too. All of a sudden I get tied up in “how do I Heinlein the world right up front?” “Am I queuing in enough information?” And then I get in a mess and I can’t write.

This time around I slid effortlessly into Darkship Renegades, and the voice is there. Yesterday I spent the morning doing my site, though, and I brought out The Brave and The Free to put a sample in the corner booth section. This is when I realized that I could see all the mistakes, and all the bits of misaligned/doesn’t belong here info on the first three pages.

What does this mean? Well, it probably means that once Darkship Renegades and A Few Good Men unclench enough to let me go – probably after third or fourth pass and their arrival at Toni Weisskopf’s desk – I can finish The Brave and The Free in about a week or two.

After which I need to finish Noah’s boy, the third book in the Shifter’s series, and a book in a newly sold heteronymous series (details on this tomorrow) which is due before next year.

What else am I working on? Well, I’d like to, at long last, do the novel I’ve owed Eric Flint for… five years? The Shakespeare Gambit for which Jim paid me before he died, would be the first of a new reimagining of the concept of time wars – time wars as a tool of asymmetrical warfare/terrorism, as opposed to conventional war, as most people (though not all) have done them. In this book both sides, etc. would be shadowy, as we follow a group of people kidnaped from many dimensions/times. If it “takes” then it will become a series.

Then there is this idea I’ve had for very long for a series of Orphan Kittens mysteries. Probably written under Elise Hyatt, as it’s one of my lighter mysteries. Someone rescues cats and kittens and gets involved in murders along the way. The first book is sitting incomplete on my desk under the name “A Deadly Paws.” Thank you, thank you. You may throw rotten tomatoes at your convenience.

Meanwhile, if you haven’t checked out Naked Reader Press, please do. It carries a story I did for fun with my friend Sofie Skapski. It’s A Touch Of Night, Pride and Prejudice set in the world of the Magical British Empire. Not everyone’s cup of tea, but it was a lot of fun to write and I’m sure it’s at least somewhat fun to read. They’re also publishing Death Of A Musketeer, my first Musketeer mystery under my historical mystery pen name, (aka my maiden name) Sarah D’Almeida. Again, look up at my schedule. The sixth mystery The Musketeer’s Confessor, is half written, but I need to find time to finish it, and that implies having at least reasonable income out of the one out with NRP. If you’ve already bought it, thank you. I hope you enjoyed it. Would you consider leaving a review on Amazon, or perhaps posting a review on your blog? All help much appreciated.

And now I’m going to stop gabbing at you and go work. Look for an announcement of sale and a sample tomorrow.

Let me begin by saying I didn’t grow up with daylight time change, in a rural nation. I don’t remember – exactly – our electricity consumption being particularly high, either. Okay, this might have something to do with the fact that when I was very small there was maybe one lightbulb per room, and it didn’t so much illuminate as cast deeper shadows. Also, we had blackouts and brownouts so often everyone kept an oil lamp or ten handy. But never mind that…

The point is that when daylight savings time came, I was excited. We were now more like the more industrialized nations…

It didn’t take me long to become very tired of it, though, and wonder what exactly it serves. Look, I know old Franklin thought he was onto something. Something about people using up candles at night, while in bed in morning while daylight was on, or what gives.

If Franklin came home now, he’d get the shock of his life. We have become to a great extent the nation that never sleeps. All the time change does, is now I’m getting up while it’s still dark, and using then the light I save in the evening. Yeah, this makes sense. Besides, illumination is no longer our primary form of energy consumption. There’s computers, for instance, which in this house often go on before the lights do. And there’s cars. And trains. And airplanes. And even in illumination, how many office buildings leave the lights on all night? Most factories work around the clock. Retail shops most of the time (except for people blessed with a downtown shopping area, really) have no windows, so the light is on all the time.

And yet the bad idea heard around the world keeps going on, proving nothing is harder to kill than the misfiring of a misguided genius. Is there any savings? Unlikely. Does it equal confusion, absenteeism and man-hours devoted to changing non-digital clocks? Ah! But like the law of the Medes and the Persians it shall be obeyed.

And if I needed one, just one example of what’s wrong with planned economies and top down control, I’d use this.

Benjamin Franklin was a genius. No one disputes that. But even a genius can’t know about everyone’s profession, even in his own time. Oh, sure, he made a difference in the factories of the nascent industrial revolution – maybe. But the farmers of his time got up with the sun and couldn’t care less for his time. And farmers were most of the population in that era.

As far as I can tell he made it easier on people like himself: early risers, who liked to read and whose vision was starting to fail. And THAT was before technology made his society and all the rhythms of it as divorced from our life as the life of Rome or Greece were from his. No, possibly more.

Had his bad idea been limited to persuading a state or two to do this, we’d have gotten over it already. Instead, he made it a national law. And other nations who wanted to copy us and didn’t know which parts were relevant (bill of rights, guys, bill of rights) went ahead and did it too. And now all around the world, people spend two weeks every year stumbling around, sleepy and confused, and – those who know – wishing Franklin had got zapped while playing with lightning.

But not only am I mid-novel and totally empty headed, but what mind I have is taken over by watching the stuff unfolding in Japan. If you haven’t, this is a good site: http://www.lawrenceperson.com/?p=4209

Several thoughts come to mind, among them of course and foremost, my thoughts and prayers are for the people of Japan and I feel great gratefulness that their devotion to engineering and good technology has kept deaths and destruction to a minimum.

Second, this seems to be a cluster of disturbances going around the pacific. Sort of bracing for it to hit CA and worried about all my friends there.

Third and distant but of concern — in a world roiled by political turmoil and financial crisis, how will natural upheaval affect it?

So, you see, no mind to blog.

*I am now — after ten years of being published only in Fantasy in long forms — getting used to the idea of being referred to as “Science Fiction Writer Sarah A. Hoyt” However, I’ve — for very long — been told that even my fantasy has an “sf flavor.” I guess this comes from not being able to write anything I don’t believe in. And here, to justify this thought is my friend and fan of Draw One In The Dark and Gentleman Takes A Chance (and the upcoming Noah’s Boy) Tedd Roberts, explaining the — er — totally scientific background of my Shifter Series.*

FOIA release 2011.214.b.morph

The study of “shifter” genetics began in the 1990’s with a Defense Advanced Mystic Research Agency effort to produce a “stealthed amphibious air assault force.” All investigations of shifter existence and capabilities was immediately classified, and identified shifters already in the armed services were instructed to “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” – or more appropriately, “Don’t Shift, Don’t Tell.” Faced with the literal usurpation of the role and prestige of Navy and Marine S.E.A.L. teams, the Secretary of the Navy, in his now famous* “The Shift Stops Here” memo convinced the Joint Chiefs of Staff and Congress to defund the DAMRA project, resulting in the famous agency shakeup of 2003-2005. The agency invoked a complex maskirovka in the form of the “Gambling on Terrorism” project and the dismissal of Admiral Poindexter to bury the evidence of the “Somatomorph Project.” The recent voiding of DADT regulations has had the unexpected side effect of unearthing the Somatomorph files, allowing the release of this report under the Freedom of Information Act.

The following is taken from the notebooks of Professor Tedd Roberts, faculty of epigenetics, Southern Medical School, West Carolina:

Origins

The North American Shapeshifter, Homo sapiens odo (HSO) was best described in the documentary writings of Professor d’Almeida Hoyt, and date from the original DAMRA project. The taxonomic label was later found to be in error, since the eponymous “Odo” was found to not be H. sapiens, but a member of Amoeba schlockii species of carbosilicate amorphs, however, the name had the virtue of brevity and was retained for taxonomic classification of H. sap. metamorphs. The first known appearance of HSO can be found in the indigenous Amerind writings of dragon and wolf shifters, the most famous being the tales of Coyote, the Trickster. The dragon variant shifter is believed to derive from the Asian Shapeshifter , Homo sapiens draco (HSD) which primarily emulates the form of a dragon. In contrast to HSD, the HSO can take any form, and that form appears to derive from epigenetic factors and is not gene-coded. All known members of HSD appear to be confined to the winged dragon shape, while the European and North American varieties are varied in species emulated by the metamorphic ability.

Genetics

A major finding of DAMRA’s Project Kafka was the identification of the shapeshifter gene locus on Chromosome 22, sequence 43.3. The 3,219 base pair sequence encodes a 1,073 amino acid protein named 3′-iso-5′-metamorph (HUGO Gene Nomenclature Committee apbbreviation: mrph) by project staff. The essential basic amino acid sequence remains the same across all known shapeshifter variants except for a single three amino acid sequence at residue sequence 42 which exists as Cysteine-Alanine-Threonine in the HSO, Alanine-Threonine-Cysteine in the HSD, and Threonine-Alanine-Cysteine in the proposed stealth soldier variant developed by Project Kafka. The three gene sequences appear to be the result of a single loop-splice variant, and have no effect on the metamorphic properties of the gene product.

It was immediately determined that the mrph gene was not inherited by strict Mendelian genetics, exhibiting neither dominant nor recessive characteristics. Thus It is possible to have one or both parents with the mrph gene and still not exhibit the shapeshifter ability, said ability seeming to appear during puberty as a result of epigenetic factors. In addition, the animal species emulated by each ‘shifter is not hard-coded in the mrph gene, but appears to derive from a side chain substitution of the mrph protein – presumably at the C-A-T or T-A-C site. The A-T-C site is refaractory and does not support a side chain, and as stated above may be the source of the stable draco metamorphs of asian descent. It should be noted that the insect variety shapeshifters documented in d’Almeida Hoyt’s first volume of field notes from the Goldport metamorph preserve has a controversial taxonomy, and may be an offshoot of the Homo insecta parkerii and not H.sap. at all.

Epigenetics

The counter-Mendelian nature of mrph gene inheritance means that the when one or more of the parents are shifters, offspring that exhibit shifter behavior may emulate a form similar to one parent or the other, or may adopt an entirely new form. The case study of Tom Ormson (draco) and Kyrie Smith (felis) led to much speculation among researchers as to the potential shifting ability of potential offspring. However, one thing that was made quite clear by the DAMRA study was that shifter emulation was not subject to base genetic sequencing, and could not be combined, thus Tom and Kyrie would not have “kitty-dragon” offspring as was speculated by some program staff. Rather, the epigenetic tag attached to the mrph gene appears to have a mitochondria DNA origin, and as such may have originated from a retroviral source. As of this date, at least 65 epigenetic side chains have been identified, ranging from Ms. Smith’s pnth sequence to Mr. Ormson’s drac epigene. It should be noted that Mr. Ormson’s shifter form varies subtly from the Asian draco form due to the epigene sequence and the invariability of the HSD genome.

Another epigenetic factor is the immediate early gene (IEG) activation of the mrph protein into active form. In some cases, onset of shapeshifting ability appears in puberty, in others, not until a particularly severe stress. It was subsequently found that the stress-produced Heat Shock Protein-90 (HSP-90) has been demonstrated to induce the IEG cyclic-AMP(adenosine monophosphate) response binding protein (CRB), and it’s phophorylated active form (pCRB) which in turn triggers expression of the mrph gene and binding of the side chain. While abundant CRB is found in pre-adolescents, pCRB is typically low and only elevated post-puberty. Sudden stress or extreme emotional state trigger phosphorylation of CRB to pCRB and thus the metamorphic abilities of the shifter. Depending on the metamorphic emulation, and hence the mrph side chain, the scent of hemoglobin has also been demonstrate to trigger involuntary metamorphosis, most likely due to iron binding of the serine phosphatase which metabolizes pCRB. Blockade of the metabolic pathway results in overproduction of pCRB and consequent overstimulation of the mrph gene.

Interbreeding

The epigenetic control of the mrph gene results in a low incidence of shapeshifters in the second and third generation crosses. One of the difficulties of DAMRA Project Kafka was obtaining *any* ‘shifters in the F1 generation. Fortunately the DAMRA labs produced a mouse transgenic model to track the mrph gene and epigenes – at least until the Mus loxodonta cross destroyed the laboratory in 2004. Only when the exogenous side chains were supplied was there any control over the metamorphic outcome. Several findings immediately became apparent – (1) shapeshifting was *rarely* inherited (1 in 100,000 crosses) when mating two ‘shifters in the F0 generation , (2) there was a higher incidence (1 in 1,000) when mating one shifter with a non-shifter, (3) mates with incompatible epigenetic side chains produced incompatible chimerae, resulting in extremely low fertility and no metamorphic abilities in the few F1 through F5 generation offspring produced, (4) the only way to guarantee shapeshifting offspring was for the parents to mate while shifted – again precluding any chimeric species. The latter resulted in offspring that were genetically similar to the emulated species, rather than Mus musculus, occasionally shifting from emulated to base form, but mostly exhibiting characteristics of the emulated animal form. The relatively few tragic cases of shifted human crosses resulted in offspring that spend most of their lives in the emulated animal form and find themselves unable to function as human adults.

Project outcome

DAMRA Project Kafka was quietly closed down in 2005 and the subjects moved to the Goldport preserve under the auspices of the witness protection program and the Treasury Department. The NSA ODO database was established to track the movements of wild-type shapeshifters and target them for relocation to Goldport if necessary. Tactical shifters were treated with silencing RNA (siRNA) delivered via adenovirus vector to suppress the epigenes. To date there has been one reported failure of the gene therapy, resulting in the temporary release of a single H.sap.odo carcharodon which was quickly contained by DAMRA agents within the Goldport community. The ODO search is currently monitoring known shifters in California (eudyptes), Oregon (castor), Colorado (erinaceus), North Carolina (rattus) and Texas (eerex).

In retrospect, Project Kafka was deemed a failure, except for the case of subject BR-549, Keith Vorpal. Mr. Vorpal was referred to Project Kafka after reporting the feeling of being another person in the same skin. The subject was found to have the mrph gene and produce the corresponding protein, but did not exhibit any of the 65 identified epigene side chains. Mr. Vorpal was tested extensively with stimuli designed to trigger the pCRB activation of the mrph gene, but failed to exhibit any overt signs of metamorphic transformation, despite his subjective observations of sensations consistent with shapeshifting. The project leaders were forced to conclude that Mr. Vorpal was indeed a shapeshifter, but that his shifted form was every bit as human and his base form. Mr. Vorpal’s file designation is thus Homo sapiens odo sapiens a may represent the most positive outcome of the entire study.

Kevin J. Anderson uses a popcorn analogy to illustrate two methods that beginning writers can use to break into print.

One of them consists of writing a single novel and polishing it and perfecting it until it is the absolute best it can be. He compares this to putting a single grain in a pot with just the right amount of oil, at the right temperature and waiting till it pops to produce the perfect single kernel of popcorn.

While this can work, if the kernel you put in is a dud, or if the one novel you concentrate all your work on is unpublishable, for reasons having nothing to do with how well crafted it is (theme, market, events in the world that make your premiss untenable) you’re going to fail.

Then there’s the other method that I – and a lot of other people used – you throw some oil in a pot at as close to a perfect temperature as you can make it, and you heat it. A whole bunch of them are going to pop, even if you get a few duds. (This doesn’t mean by the way that we care less about each individual kernel… er… novel. And it doesn’t mean that in the middle of the “okay” kernels there won’t be one or two perfect ones. Possibly not the ones we expect.)

This approach, of course, takes its toll on the writer, but it has the opportunity for bringing the greater rewards.

What Kevin didn’t say is that for at least the last ten years and probably more, publishers have taken this approach to writers themselves. It used to be they carefully selected a writer and often invested considerable time and effort in helping him or her perfect the craft and improve. Perhaps there are still editors out there that do that. One or two of mine have been very good, but often work with limited time, because these days their job is not to help the writer progress, improve or even become more commercial. At best, if they’re interested in you, they give you a call and make suggestions. My friend Rebecca Lickiss, for instance, at one time got asked to write a “bigger” novel. But that was all the guidance she got.

Gone are the days of legendary editors shaping a house to their vision and keeping writers for years as long as they were paying their own way, trying to help that writer develop a following.

These days, and I think since publishers have been able to control every process of distribution and exposure a writer can get/have so that they could “comfortably manufacture bestsellers” at will, they have used the popcorn theory with authors.

Well, not quite, because they do have favorites. In the center of the pot, they would clear a little space and drop one or two little favored kernels they shepherded to the popping into bestsellerdom. The rest of the kernels were thrown in haphazardly, around the edges, where it might be too hot or too cold. And if they didn’t pop they got thrown away and other kernels thrown in.

This total absence of response to market signals – in fact, inability to get market signals – since what the system was rigged for was GIGO, that is to give you back what you put in, didn’t bother anyone, because those perfect kernels that popped meant great profits for the houses. Also, the smart ones were aware that the house giveth and the house taketh away and they would toe the line. The dumb ones… well, there were always replacements for those.

But now in the brave new world of electronic publishing, which will only grow faster as paper books grow more expensive – and for our friends across the pond, this is guaranteed as our price of energy is skyrocketing, thereby skyrocketing manufacturing and transport as well – anyone with a name, no matter how acquired has a great incentive to publish him or herself. As Dave Freer detailed in his Monday post at Mad Genius Club, there is no real reason for bestsellers to go with mainstream publishers anymore, and sooner or later they’ll all realize it.

This means the popcorn theory of publishing is dead. Heaven alone knows how many publishing houses it will take with it.

To me this seems amazingly obvious, as it seems amazingly obvious that the only way for a publishing house to stay afloat and prosper is to establish a brand – a taste if you will. The only way for a publishing house to stay afloat is to return to the days of legendary editors, say a Hugo Gernsback or a John W. Campbell, who take authors in whom they find a glimmer of something that could be great and mold and shape them and help them find their audience.

The big ones will still escape – unless you really make sure your brand is a value added (and you might. I know people who read everything Baen publishes, for instance, just for the brand) – but by the time they escape they’ll have been writing for you for years and getting incrementally better. And those who aren’t total SOBs might even write for you, on the side, for years after they start a solo-publishing career, because they’re grateful for the help you gave them.

Why aren’t any of the businessmen in publishing houses seeing this? Have I made some huge mess in my reasoning? Because this has gone beyond “obvious” to “plain as the nose on your face.” I don’t understand how anyone can miss it, much less people whose livelihood depends on the current, soon to become toxic, model.
*crossposted at Mad Genius Club and Classical Values*

Today I wrote about 11k words, a few to finish a story, the rest in Darkship Renegades. I’m not particularly happy with either set, but I’m sure they’re both editable to brilliant… well, as brilliant as I ever get, at least ;). *The gentleman in the back row CAN stop guffawing. I’m all too aware of my own shortcomings.*

Meanwhile the thought of doing a blog post threw me into a pit of despair. I’ve been thinking about things I’d like to write about, but… not tonight.

Tonight — a snowy night in Colorado — I’m going to go to bed. I don’t even feel like reading, and that’s like … an addiction before going to sleep.

I’m just going to go and sleep. If we’re all very lucky, there will be a coherent post tomorrow.

Meanwhile, if any of my audience — except my beta readers (duh) — has read both my collection “Wings” and my mystery series, Daring Finds, tell me what two characters appear in both. Send me a message, I’ll put you down for a copy of a Fatal Stain, whenever I get one.

When I was a young girl I succumbed to one of the fads of my time. I loved The Little Prince, by Antoine de Saint-Exupery. In a way, even if a lot of the story now seems like an extended cliche, I still do.

When I was re-reading Darkship Thieves, before setting about writing the sequel, I was haunted by a quote from Saint-Exupery even though I hadn’t re-read The Little Prince in… thirty years: “What moves me so deeply, about this little prince who is sleeping here, is his loyalty to a flower–the image of a rose that shines through his whole being like the flame of a lamp, even when he is asleep . . .”

I don’t know if this is just me – of course, Darkship Thieves is my book, so I would feel this more, right? – or if it communicated itself to other people, but after not reading the book for two years (and trust me, as much as I’ve written since, it feels longer ago) I suddenly felt as though what made the book powerful were the parts I never went into: the weight of history behind Kit and Thena, the dank, dark, blood soaked history of the mules; the clawing of a space of safety and life for the descendants of the bio-improved people;the repression on Earth.

Perhaps it is because the second book deals with a lot more of that history, and how it comes back to bite you in the behind when you least expect it. Perhaps it has to do with the fact that, as my sons reach an age when their moving out of the house is (hopefully – if their plans go right) within a very short reach of a couple of years or so, and then my life will change completely – and the years of raising them that seemed so long in passing now appear to be no more than a fast blink, in the rearview mirror.

All of a sudden, I find myself thinking in an historical dimension, generations following generations, each no less important, not less individual, no less intense, but made, shaped, confined and somehow changed by all that went before and what they wish to make sure comes after.

It’s a humbling view, like looking at the sea and realizing that before you were born it was beating at this same shore, close to the same spot – that millennia after you’re dust in the dust it will still be doing so. At the same time, it is an exalted view, because while you’re alive – you, ephemeral and passing as you are – can build a cement barrier and change where that wave hits. Or you can walk down to the shore, let the ocean bathe your feet, and leave a little of your warmth and life in it, forever. Who we love and hate, what we believe and fight for, all leave a mark – even if it might seem minute.

It’s exactly the same with characters, at least in my mind. And what makes Thena such a powerful character, for me, is her love for Kit. As interesting a personality as she is, what makes her come alive for me is her love for this deeply flawed man, for whom she would rebuild the universe over, if needed.
It shines in her, even when she’s completely still.

Perhaps this makes me a complete fool, or at least a romantic one, but it is in their feelings for each other, in their intense involvement in their brief moment on the page, in their unspoken love – which perhaps doesn’t fit into words – that I find my characters alive on the page and vibrating with a purpose and mind of their own.

I was reminded of this problem this week, as I have a short story due for an interstellar exploration anthology.

Now, you guys know though I’ve written for Analog, I’m very far from being a scientist. I mean, sure, I took all the fast track science and stuff, until 9th grade when, due a concatenation of personal, political and historical circumstances I landed my rebellious little (back then!) behind in the so called liberal arts.

As we all know, a lack of mathematics atrophies certain areas of the brain, an atrophy possibly encouraged by regular doses of Cliff’s Notes. (Look, I read Shakespeare and Jane Austen and can even take Goethe in small doses, but really, no. That modern Portuguese novel they made us read, where the whole point was nothing happened? Wagner’s librettos? The sheer suckiness of most of what calls itself magic realism? [I said most. Hint, friends of Castro can’t do magic realism for the Marx. Seriously.] All of this was digestible only in Cliff’s notes form. Because otherwise I’d have punched holes in my parents’ walls. And my parents’ walls are made of two-foot-thick stones, so you see the problem. (Though I’ll note the instance of big literature test where I’d happily managed to forget the book even existed and had failed to provide myself with cliff’s notes or the Portuguese equivalent. When I realized the test was happening, and I couldn’t contrive some emergency to post postpone it or close the school for the day [you TRULY don’t want to know] I read the prologue. From the prologue I guessed the rest of the book. My answer – essay – ran to ten pages, focused on the prologue and how it foreshadowed the entire book. I had an A. And that, children, is when I decided to be a fiction writer. Also, when I learned to despise that type of author with the withering disdain of those who do for those who pretend.)

What this comes down to is that when my two, intensely science track sons ask me a question, it only goes to further their opinion I’m mentally retarded. Or weird.

Oh, I read all sorts of popular science books, because I’m INTERESTED. And I can, given time and a pad of paper come up with reasonable extrapolations.

BUT – and this is a big but (yes, the one with two tt too. Office chair sprawl) – it’s been years since I did science fiction SHORT STORIES. Novels, yeah, but not a short story.

Somehow working on this story catapulted me back to my original view of what it took to write science fiction short stories – their being you know, smaller and therefore more concentrated than novels. (SF short stories, now with twice the science!)

And here’s what I believed when I started out:

1- Science fiction short stories have to hinge on a science puzzle or effect.

2- Since all of the easy puzzles or effects have been written, it takes years of research to write one science fiction short story.

3- You must spend at least three afternoons in calculations (which at this point requires me to spend a week learning the math again) to verify your premiss.

Despite the fact that this directly contravened the instructions the two editors gave me, by Friday night and more than halfway through the story, I’d worked myself into a “can’t breathe” panic, convinced what I was writing was wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong.

Thank heavens one of the editors was more patient than he should be, even if he now probably thinks I’m insane. (I’m not revealing names till I sell the story!)

And now that my head has been reset on science fiction short stories, (again) perhaps I can send a story to Dr. Schmidt and stop hiding from him at conventions. (Besides, I think he’s onto the false nose and the moustache.)

Oh, yeah, and (#4 – You MUST use a slide rule. EVEN if you have three scientific calculators in the house. You MUST check your calculations with a slide rule.) I suppose I should get back to second-son’s room and return to him his “toy” slide rule that I absconded with. Right?

For those of you who read Darkship Thieves, the novel is the sequel to it, and then there’s the sister of the sequel. So, you see, it is a serious threat.

This used to happen all the time. My kids started noticing signs and would say “uh, oh, mom is coming down with a novel.” It was the little things that gave it away – like the fact that mom only rushed out of the office to use the bathroom, then rushed back again, muttering, forgot to eat, sometimes answered them with sentences that made no sense. Or perhaps stumbled around the house with a vacant look, walked into things and said stuff like “but that ending won’t work” in the tone of voice of one in pain. Usually things stopped short of watering the cat and giving cat food to the plants, but there was the time when I went to the store with a frozen chicken under my arm, leaving the purse safely stowed in the freezer.

It’s been a long time since a novel took me this way. Most of the time these days, I can work nine to nine, then read a bit and go to bed, but there’s time for eating and cooking and cleaning. The only thing approaching that white hot rush has been the last two/three chapters, before the book closes.

But now Darkship Renegades and A Few Good Men (don’t yell) have taken me that way. I’m having trouble even reading short stuff – like … offers – which I need to read. I’m spacing out in the middle of conversations with the family. Today, I officially ran out of clean underwear, so I’d better do some before tomorrow.

What is it? Is it that the kids are finally old enough that I can concentrate on work without fearing they’ll burn down the house? Or is it these particular books?

I don’t know. I know posting here will be erratic – oh, every day, but don’t be surprised if it’s sometimes at midnight and sometimes at ten AM – and might sound about as coherent as giving cat food to a plant. But know this – I’m being held hostage by a novel and I’m having a GLORIOUS time. It’s like an altered state of vivid dreaming, but the writing is much easier when I’m like this.

The first one should be done – latest – by end of month. Second, G-d willing, late April. If I’m not out by then, send dogs and perhaps native guides!

It’s funny how many fairytales and myths revolve around skin. Not just selkies, but also swan maidens. If you took their skins, you had them forever.

Recently I’ve been thinking of my writing as a process of removing my skin.

Before you go “ew” and try to claw out your eyes, let me explain.

All of us walk around in hard shells. We have to. Oh, maybe it was different at one time for each of us, I don’t know. When was the time you got stomped on and learned to put up a front, learned to put up a shield? When was the time you walked, puppy like, up to a group of other kids, expecting they would of course like you, and ended up pounded?

I remember the moment for my older son with almost painful clarity. No, he didn’t get pounded. If you knew you, you’d know that’s silly. He’s always been… well… built like the proverbial brick sh*thouse. But he was our first and we thought would be only child, born after six years of infertility. And he was a good baby. Slept through the night at four weeks. We delighted in him, and in his first year of life never even raised our voice to him, much less showed him impatience. He was healthy and we protected him, so he was never hurt.

And then we took him for vaccinations. They asked us to hold him, so he wouldn’t move, and they stabbed him quickly on each thigh with the syringes. The look of sheer betrayal in his face. It wasn’t the pain, I don’t think. It was the betrayal that we’d taken him here, allowed him to do this. And though of course, he doesn’t remember that, I swear he’s been more wary since.

Now, by the time most of us reach adulthood, we’ve had hundreds of such experiences, and we’ve learned to shelter ourselves from the… slings and arrows of capricious fortune. Part of it is the “I didn’t want it, anyway” and part of it is the “I’m too old to expect they’ll love me at first sight.” Etc.

This works okay in life. It would be very weird, frankly, to be an adult sauntering into a party with the eagerness of a two year old. And I think if you went around putting everything in your mouth – yes, yes, you, you know who you are – just to see how it tasted, someone would probably put you away. (Hey, my oldest used to eat dead bugs. From the windowsills. Until I caught him…)

So in life, we need our skin, our tough shell, our protection.

The problem is when you bring that protection into writing. It’s lovely in a way, isn’t it? You can write and keep it at a distance from yourself, from the parts of yourself that count.

This means different things to different people. Many people are afraid to write about sex, for instance, because it’s too close. Others will not write about emotion. Or pain. (You try reading a book that’s all joy joy, happy happy, then tell me it was any good. Even feel good books have dark moments. Some people flinch from the supernatural. Others from murder.

I confess to having had problems with all of those, at different times in my career. But there is more to it than that. Weirdly, I noticed something while listening to books. Listening somehow makes it more personal. I listen to books while walking, too, which I guess makes it more intimate – there’s no distraction of a physical book in front of you.

Anyway, I noticed that all the really good books, the ones that grab, have what can only be called “writer personal hang ups.” For instance, it’s clear that Heinlein liked cats. Or that Terry Pratchett nurtures a taste for the same sort of greasy spoon I love: the acid coffee, the burnt crunchy bits.

For me those are probably the hardest part. It’s the silly stuff you like or don’t like that’s really close to your heart. If you let it out there, people will be worried. Or shocked. Or bored. They won’t understand. They’ll make fun of your toys. You’re that little kid again, walking up to the group of older kids, and you just know they’re going to pound you.

And then there’s letting my characters bleed. I mean, really bleed, really suffer. I don’t want to. It’s not even that I don’t want to hurt them. It’s that I don’t want people to see it. What? People might think I enjoy my characters’ suffering. And besides everyone is entitled to privacy in their distress, right? No, no they’re not. It turns out people who love your characters love them more if they see them bleed. Not cosmetic bleeding, but go for the jugular and follow it down, in detail, while they bleed and twitch.

Lately I’ve been writing with no skin on and it leaves you oddly sensitive, oddly raw to the world afterwards. You have to remember “I must put my skin on again. I must go out in the world and be normal again.”

In that sense, it is the opposite of the swan maidens. When you have your skin on, you’re just someone like everyone else. You have to take the skin off to be the magical being beneath.

And even if it hurts – a keyboard is a blunt implement to remove skin with – you dance so much freer on the page without it.