Author: Jeffe Kennedy

This Is Voice

Jeffe Kennedy / / Blog

10_6_15Santa Fe had a mass ascension of our own this morning, as the fog lifted out of the valley. Just gorgeous.

I had a very interesting experience recently regarding voice that I thought you all might be interested in.

Writers talk a lot about voice. There’s all kinds of debates and classes about it, thoughts and rules. Inevitably every convention – for readers or writers – will have a panel or workshop on the topic. Clearly it’s not an easy concept to define. Or rather, we all kind of know what it IS – just not how to explain it to someone else.

In general, voice is what readers will love about an author’s work, regardless of genre. We recognize it when we settle into a new release by a favorite writer, or into one of our comfort reads from her. We sink into that world and voice with a sense of delight and kinship. It’s kind of like love – we sense it, but can’t force or constrain it.

So, I’ve been watching old Taylor Swift documentaries and concerts. There are REASONS for this. She only came onto my radar with last year’s album 1989. Which I love, love, love. Before that I thought of her as a teeny-bopper Country & Western star and had never paid attention. Also, I’m not much for C&W music. I almost never hear it. David is even more definitive about it than I am. He hates the twang and, as soon as it comes on the radio, he switches stations.

Then Taylor crossed over into pop, produced this tremendous album – that I only listened to because so many of my writer/agent/editor friends loved it – and I fell in love, too. Imagine my surprise, then, when I recognized one of Taylor’s early C&W songs. It was one I’d improbably heard a few times and really enjoyed. It stuck with me, though I had no idea who sang – or wrote – the song. (That older song of hers was Our Song, for those interested.) But the lyrics, the cadence, the sensibility behind it, had all grabbed me – in the exact same way her songs in a different musical genre did years later.

This is voice.

Within the same couple of weeks, something else similar happened. I’ve mentioned more than once on this blog my mad love for Amanda Palmer. I think she’s a brilliant singer and songwriter also. And if you’re out there shaking your head about me liking both Taylor Swift and Amanda Palmer, then you’re not paying attention.

So, one day I wanted to send a friend a snippet of the lyrics to The Ship Song. As you do. She’d quoted Jimi Hendrix’s Little Wing and that song was covered by Concrete Blonde on their Still in Hollywood album, back in 1994, along with The Ship Song. They have a similar feel, making them forever connected in my mind and that one of my favorite albums of all time. So I looked up the lyrics to The Ship Song, to be sure to get them right. Guess what? Amanda Palmer wrote that song. I never knew it and didn’t discover Amanda Palmer until she connected with favorite writer Neil Gaiman in 2009. I loved her work before I knew who she was, just like Taylor. And I love Neil Gaiman’s writing – and Neil and Amanda connected first as artists, then as lovers and spouses.

This is voice.

This is what makes us who we are, as human beings. The questions we ask, what we seek to answer, the stories we tell – these all come out of our deepest selves. More, I think we’re attracted on some profound level to those others who are in the same place, asking and answering about the same things. We connect with each other, as readers, as listeners, as writers and musicians.

This is voice.

 

 

Monsters from Beyond the Veil

Jeffe Kennedy / / Blog

Goodreads Book Giveaway

Dark Secrets by Rachel Caine

Dark Secrets

by Rachel Caine

Giveaway ends October 31, 2015.
See the giveaway details at Goodreads.
 

Enter Giveaway

Last week saw the release of DARK SECRETS: A PARANORMAL NOIR ANTHOLOGY. What – you didn’t know “paranormal noir” was a thing?

IT IS NOW!

I finally got a chance to read the stories by my sister contributors and it’s really a cool collection of stories. We really had only those two elements in common – something paranormal and noir shading – but the overall feel is remarkably consistent. At any rate, there’s a Goodreads giveaway going on for it, if you’d like to win a copy. But it’s only .99 cents, so quite the bargain if you choose to buy.

I’m over at Word Whores, talking about intelligences crossing into our minds and hijacking our stories.

Keto Spiced Pumpkin Latte

Jeffe Kennedy / / Blog

001Longtime followers know of my mad love for Starbucks, and in particular for the Pumpkin Spice Latte. Hold on, all you pumpkin-spice haters – we know of your revulsion and we celebrate your difference. Go on with your bad selves. This is not the keto recipe you are looking for.

BUT, if you are like me – a person of exceptional taste and high standards – and lurv the Pumpkin Spice Latte AND if you also shudder at all that sugar, this is totally the recipe for you!

David and I have been doing the Ketogenic Diet since January 1. David wanted to do it for health reasons and I was willing to give it a try for weight loss. I’m happy to report that I’m at my lowest weight in five years. It’s also been great for my health overall – my energy levels are more even, I feel good. Even my teeth and gums are better.

Since I keep below 50 carbohydrates/day, and a grande Starbucks Pumpkin Spice Latte is 50g of carbs right there, having one simply isn’t an option. There are no “treat days” on the keto diet and, really, if you have too many carbs, it bumps you out of ketosis and then you get sugar cravings. Totally not worth it.

So, I set out to make my own! And I’m pretty pleased with the the results.

Ingredients

1 pie pumpkin
4 T butter
Stevia
1 tablespoon ground cinnamon
2 teaspoons ground ginger
3 dry allspice berries
1 whole star anise pod
½ teaspoon fresh ground nutmeg

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Cut the pie pumpkin (smaller ones are sweeter and more tender) in half, scrape out the seeds and baste the insides with 1T butter. Fill glass baking dish with about 1/2″ water. Put the pumpkin in shell-side down and bake for ~15 min, to get it nicely browned. Then invert and bake another 30-45 minutes. Basically the pumpkin should be really tender when poked with a fork.

Scrape the cooked pumpkin into a food processor. Put the empty shells in the compost bin. 🙂 Melt 3 T butter. Process the pumpkin and the butter together. (You can use more or less butter, according to taste, but it adds to the richness of the flavor. And, if you’re doing keto, you want to bump up the good fat anyway.)  I had some nice buttery/roasted pumpkin leavings in the glass pan from the water baking down, so I scraped that up, diluted with a bit of water, and added that, too.

Spice to taste. I used this recipe and put in about half of what I made.

Blend all until smooth. You can sweeten the pumpkin batter with Stevia, but I prefer to sweeten the coffee. I kept the batter in the fridge for two weeks with no problem.

To make the latte, brew the coffee (or espresso, if you’re fancee). I have a frother that is the light of my morning. Because too much dairy gets to me, I use 1/2 cup soy milk in the frother, but you could use cream. Once it begins stirring, I drop in about three spoonfuls of my pumpkin batter. (I do both froth and heat.) Depends on how much pumpkin flavor you like! Then pour the finished blend into the coffee cup. Like I mentioned previously, I sweeten my coffee with Stevia first. I sprinkle a little of my pumpkin spice blend on top, for added aroma.

As one cup of pumpkin has 8 carbs and my pie pumpkin made about two cups, that makes the carb content negligible. Plus, it’s delicious and satisfies my pumpkin spice latte longing. Helluva lot cheaper, too!

And questions or modifications you’ve tried?

Dark Secrets Release Day!

Jeffe Kennedy / / Blog

Today sees the release of DARK SECRETS: A PARANORMAL NOIR ANTHOLOGY!

I’m so privileged to join this group of terrific writers, who’ve all written just stellar stories. And the talented Rachel Caine made this fab book trailer, too. Whee!

Six award-winning authors bring you this spellbinding collection of stories about dark desires, mysterious worlds, and danger that lurks in the shadows of the night. Where nothing is black and white; where things might not be as they seem; where magic and mayhem rule.

HEART’S BLOOD by Jeffe Kennedy, a Twelve Kingdoms novella

A dark fairytale retelling of a princess robbed of rank, husband and even her name.

Nix is nothing. The Princess Natilde—her former waiting woman—attacked her on the journey to wed Prince Cavan, stripping her of everything and taking her place. With no serving skills, Nix becomes a goose girl. Perhaps if Nix keeps her promise never to reveal who she really is, Natilde won’t carry out her vile threats. Prince Cavan entered his arranged marriage determined to have a congenial, if not loving relationship with his future queen—for the sake of both their kingdoms. But, his wife repels him more each day and he finds himself absurdly drawn to the lovely Nix.

With broken vows, anguish and dark secrets between them, Cavan and Nix struggle to find the magic to restore what’s gone terribly wrong… if it ever can be.

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Buy the Book

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Feminism and Romance Novels

Jeffe Kennedy / / Blog

CPoaBK0UYAQHKF8I got this photo the other day, on the autumn equinox. Maybe it’s the Celtic ancestry, but I love to commemorate the solstices and equinoxes. Part of marking the journey of the year.

Last spring, at the RT Convention, I gave a workshop on Walking the Line of Consent. (I also teach it online or can visit to give it – description here.) This is a topic I’ve been interested in for a long time, one that I’ve written and talked about a fair amount. And one I’ve gotten grief for. In fact, when I proposed this workshop, a couple of author friends warned me against doing it. They said I might get myself in trouble.

And the RT book reviews website asked me to write a short article about my thoughts on the topic, which generated good conversations. Another author, however, started a bit of a witch hunt among her followers against me, making me out to be a terrible person for championing anything less that full consent.

Which I do, in real life. I maintain that fiction is something else, a place where all fantasies are acceptable.

At any rate, the workshop went off amazingly well. A gratifying number of people attended and they all stayed for the whole thing! After the fact, one of the gals who attended, , contacted me and said she was writing an article on the topic for Aeon Magazine, and asked if she could quote me since I said such smart things about it.

How could I say no to that?

So today the article came out and it’s so good. She articulates a lot of the same ideas I’ve had about romance novels for most of my life. In an era where the media loves to sling about terms like “bodice ripper” and “mommy porn,” just to up the click rate, it’s terrific to read something both smart and romance-positive.

I’m flattered to be included!

Growing Up and Facing the Bullies

Jeffe Kennedy / / Blog

snapshot_000DC5D89D0F_20150918175453David got this pic of me, without my knowledge, with a video surveillance camera he was playing with. Which is why the colors are so stark. Always interesting to see a view of myself when my attention is totally on something totally other than being photographed – in this case, on getting the photograph *I* wanted.

I want to tell you all a story. I think I’ve referenced it before, but I’m pretty sure I’ve never told the whole thing. I’ver written it in my head enough times that I’m not sure, however. It starts with 8th Grade.

See, I had English as the last class of the day, every day. I had kind of a love/hate relationship with English class in general, especially in middle school. On the one hand, I got to READ, for school, even! And I loved to write. Both were very easy for me, so much so that I almost held them in contempt. Surely something so easy wasn’t worthwhile. Also, while my math and science teachers gave me accelerated assignments to work on, to keep me interested, there wasn’t anything like that in English. I was bored a lot of the time. And, because I was 13, I didn’t have the sense or poise to disguise that fact. I also had started menstruating when I was 12 and I was full of sexual feelings. Feelings for which I had little outlet, beyond masturbation and illicit reading. It did come out in the poems I had to write for English class, probably much more so that I realized. I don’t think my stuff was at all graphic – I mean, we had to read them out loud – but it was full of sensual language. I know because I kept a list of “good words,” many of which I still use today in writing erotic scenes. I also had all kinds of adolescent sexual energy behind what I wrote.

Looking back, at the fact that I’ve become a writer, not a scientist, this all makes perfect sense. But I didn’t understand it at the time. Also, being a 13-year-old girl, I had zero idea how to handle boys.

There was a group of boys in that class – four or five of them that were friends, all football players. I remember two clearly. One I’ll call John, a gentle guy who I had a bit of a crush on, and the other was a guy I’ll call Doug Smith. Now, Doug was quite the star. Athlete, tall, dark hair – all the girls liked him. He was the leader of this little group. And for whatever reason, they fixed on me. This all goes back to the thing of “when boys like a girl, they tease her.” Well, they did more than tease. Every day after class ended, they would follow me out of class and grab my ass.

This is one of those montage things. It felt like it went on forever. It felt like they all tried to grab me, put their hands between my legs. Doug Smith did the most. I tried various tactics. Waiting to talk to the teacher, leaving class really fast. If I managed to evade them, their laughter would follow me.

No, I never told anybody about it. Not even my friends.

If my mom is reading this, she’s probably all upset that I never told her.

Why didn’t I? I don’t know. It was that shame thing. I didn’t understand why they were doing it, only that I felt terrible and wanted them to stop. I didn’t want anyone else to know about it because that would only make it worse, for people to know.

And that’s not even the relevant part of the story. It came to an end, probably because we graduated 8th grade or they moved on to some other target. I think I got better at fighting it – I kicked one of them once, pretty hard. I even rode rides at the amusement park for 8th grade graduation with my crush John, though that never went anywhere. Doug Smith went on to be the high school superstar in many ways and I fell out of his orbit of notice, thankfully.

The weird part of this story is that, about a year or so ago, Doug Smith sent me a Facebook friend request.

Right? Like a bolt from the blue. And all those awful feelings rushed back, though I have the maturity now know to process them and know them for what they were. So, turns out Doug is an artist these days. As a career. After sitting on the request, and mentioning the history obliquely to a few friends, I finally accepted the request. I kind of wanted to see what he’s about, these three decades later. He’s very chipper on Facebook – about both his art and my writing. He sometimes comments about my various successes and invites me to attend his shows.

He’s working the social media, you know?

And I find myself wondering – does he remember what he and his pack did to me? Maybe they thought nothing of it. I might have been some pretty girl they thought they were flirting with. When I read stories about people confronting their childhood bullies as adults, it seems that a lot of the time the bully had no concept of their impact. Mostly I try to reconcile this very macho, dick-swinging, callous teen with who appears to be a thoughtful and sensitive artist today. I sometimes wonder if he’s gay and out now, and that all that meanness and sexually related cruelty came from his struggles with that.

I don’t have an answer to any of it. Probably there are none. I think mostly I’m mulling this idea I have that a person who’s an artist can’t also be cruel, which I think is wrong. I also believe people can change and obviously that was a long time ago. I’m not the girl I was then. He’s clearly not the guy he was.

But I’ve never replied to him on Facebook. I just watch, and think about this.