Changing the SFF World, One Boy at a TIme

Jeffe Kennedy / / Blog

It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas!

And now, my gift-shopping is not done. It’s only partly begun. I’m thinking about it though, making my lists, and I have high hopes for the weekend.

So, I’ve been noodling what books to get for my nephew. He likes a lot of fantasy, so I’ve been introducing him to my old favorites for Christmas and birthdays. On the last go-round I gave him Neil Gaiman’s American Gods and Orson Scott Card’s Ender’s Game. My nephew really liked them (of course) and, amusingly, informed me in a serious tone that I have good taste in books.

Yeah, kid, listen to the master.

For this year, I was mulling how what he might like, and might not have read already. With Anne McCaffrey’s recent passing, I thought I should give him some of her classics. My next thought was, oh, those might be too girly.

Which brought me up short.

Over and over I see discussions of how women will read both male and female authors, but men tend not to read female authors. This preference is often blamed for further imbalances: male authors receiving more awards for their books, lists of “classics” and “bests” that heavily favor male authors. All of this despite the fact that female authors outnumber male authors by a rather significant amount.

(No, I didn’t go Google the statistics, but I’ve seen them repeatedly.)

Subjectively, I think this phenomenon is even worse in Science Fiction and Fantasy, which seems to be the last bastion of the boy books. You know what I mean. Lots of sword-swinging and female characters present mainly as cardboard cutouts, with no discernible personality. (Jim Hines writes about this very well. Here’s one example.) It just kills me when I see the SFF canon listed with maybe two female authors. No, I won’t post links to those, because they annoy me. In my annoyance, I think, “if these guys would just read the female authors, then this would change.

And here I am, not wanting to impinge on my nephew’s masculinity by giving him Anne McCaffrey.

Totally part of the problem here.

So, I’m going to give him books by female authors this Christmas and we’ll see what happens.

After all, I have really good taste in books.

Burble Burble

Jeffe Kennedy / / Blog

Our rain finally changed into snow and it’s looking quite picturesque here.

I did have a thoughtful post planned for today, but I think I’ll have to save that for tomorrow. I’m just all pleased and burbling over with the news that Sapphire received a Top Pick from All-Romance E-Books (ARe Cafe). Even better, the reviewer totally “got” the story and that’s the best part for any writer.

So, I just have to share:

I expected Taylor to evolve, but in Ms. Kennedy’s capable hands, her transformation is surprisingly original and completely unexpected. She’s intelligent and driven, and those qualities do not disappear just because she’s met a man with a great set of whips and chains. Even more shocking, Adam, who I wasn’t sure I liked for half the story, also comes out of this a better person. I love that the submissive isn’t the only one who is floored by an encounter.

At the end of the story, there’s an unexpected twist that I don’t want to give away, but it blew me away. Nothing ends up being generic. I love stories with strong women, and I love hot, sexy, erotic, BDSM stories. Jeffe Kennedy delivered on both counts, compromising on nothing. The result is one of the highest-quality BDSM romances I’ve ever read. It’s a stunningly original love story with complex characters and sizzling sex.

So, here’s the link, though you’ve already read the good stuff.

And, I know – that makes two shameless promo hits this week. Must be the commercialism of the season invading my brain.

Want a cookie?

On the Job, Naughty or Not

Jeffe Kennedy / / Blog

Something about these bird tracks in the snow seems heartbreakingly sweet to me. They make good neighbors, the birds. Yesterday they were busily eating all the seed they could, ahead of this storm. They must be tucked in somewhere today because it’s very quiet out there.

I’m at one of those funny crossroads places.

I mentioned yesterday that I’d finished The Middle Princess. Now I have a brief window of time before I get edits for The Novel Formerly Known As Obsidian. That’s right – we’re retitling. It’s my own damn fault. With Sapphire out there, Obsidian sounds like a sequel, which it is most decidedly not. So, if any of you who’ve read Obsidian – hell, even if you haven’t – feel free to suggest better titles. Something that suggests the fantasy/science theme. 

Get busy, would you?

My plan is to write a new BDSM short, to please at least one of my editors, but I’m not feeling it. Part of my mind is still with my princess and her adventures. A huge part is taken up with better ways to present the graphics for this deliverable for the #dayjob. And still more is lining up when I can put up the Christmas tree and which cookies I should make. Kinky sex is just not in the mix right now.

But this is where I have to pull out the professional chops.

I know, I know – it sounds ridiculous to refer to writing naughty stories as buckling down and getting serious. Still, just like I have to make myself work the #dayjob when I don’t want to, some days I have to apply the will power to focus on a writing project that contributes to the career.

Maybe I’ll sneak in a batch of Christmas cookies, too.

On Not Being Finished

Jeffe Kennedy / / Blog

We have a Winter Storm Watch in effect and the moon is giving its own misty ring of warning.

It’s funny, when I finished drafting The Middle Princess last month, I didn’t feel much of anything. No exuberance. No post-partum sorrow. I’m not sure I even mentioned it here.

I understand now that this is because I knew I wasn’t really finished with it.

Oh, I’d written clear through to the end. I’m a beginning-to-end writer, writing the story as if I’m reading it. Which is often how it feels: write the next page so I can find out what happens! But I also knew the ending wasn’t right. I had an idea of how the problems should resolve and I kept thinking it would pop up. Maybe in the next scene? And then the story was done and this magical thing I thought would appear never had.

So, I went straight back to page one and started revising.

I knew all along I’d have to immediately revise. I’m starting to learn my own process and that’s just part of it. Now, let me make clear that this was a painful growth step for me. I know – it sounds absurd. All writers have to revise. But I don’t like it. (Though apparently I do like italics, especially today.) Back in my younger and far more arrogant days, i.e. college, I composed all of my papers on a Brother Correctronic typewriter. For those of you young-uns, this was before the popular use of the home computer and word processing and my typewriter could remember and correct an ENTIRE LINE of text. This was a miracle after years of struggling with white-out and correction tape. In the snow. Uphill both ways. Seriously, people in my dorm lined up to use my typewriter.

Anyway, I wrote all of my papers in one sitting, composed on the typewriter, with no revision. I mostly got away with it, too.

But what I’ve learned about myself as a fiction writer is, because I don’t (can’t) pre-plot, the story drifts as I go. I discover new things about the world and the characters that I didn’t know at the beginning. I’m now more resigned to the ugly need for a “do-over” on each draft.

This is totally how it feels to me. Like I didn’t get it right the first time and I have to do it again. In my head, I understand this is not a reasonable attitude, but…

So, I went back to page one and began revising, reworking and smoothing the story as I went. Making the histories consistent. I hoped that, as I approached the end for a second time, this magical something would appear.

It did.

Hallelujah.

I don’t know how I missed it the first time, but last week, I found the missing scene. The one that ties up all these little clues I found along the way. I wrote it yesterday and sped right through to the end. Everything fell into place.

This time I felt the relief, the exuberance and sorrow of finishing.

I only wish I could have whipped that final page out of the typewriter with a triumphant flourish.

I kind of miss that part.

Reel It In, Buddy!

Jeffe Kennedy / / Blog

A remnant of the winter storm clings to the upper reaches of Sandia this morning. Otherwise, we’re clear and COLD!

Many years ago, David and I visited two friends who were doing a bald eagle watch in northern Arizona. This is the kind of job wildlife biologists get: camp out all summer and keep an eye on the nest and the eaglets. Sure, there are many fun things about this job, but it also gets monotonous and the heat was unending, even at night. Desert camping usually guarantees at least cool nights, but in this place, the rock absorbed all the heat and radiated it back all night long.

So, they would make the hour-long hike to the bottom of the canyon, to swim in the little stream there. Never mind that the climb back up took longer and you arrived hot and sweaty – it was still totally worth it. We enthusiastically agreed to this proposition and made the jaunt with them.

Now, the bottom of this canyon was full of desert scrub, thorny bushes and cacti. You had to be really careful navigating it. Plus, free-range cattle had to be avoided. They told us this story about how, on one hike, they saw a bull and cow going at it. The bull was humping away until our friends startled them. The bull and cow broke apart and took off running.

Only, the bull still had his bullish manly parts extended, swinging in the breeze, as it were.

The male half of our biologist couple, appalled as the bull crashed through the thorny brush and cacti with his long pink delicate bits exposed, yelled out “Reel it in, buddy! Reel it in!”

We laugh about this story still.

And I thought of it the other day, when a friend and I had a conversation about people oversharing on the internet. There’s lots of discussion on this topic – how much is too much, etc. It’s good to connect with people in a personal way, but at some point, if you’re walking around with your entrails hanging out, people just wince and look away.

Reel it in, buddy. Reel it in.

The One, True Garden Stake

Jeffe Kennedy / / Blog

So, here’s how it came about.

A few weeks back, I was cleaning up the garden for winter (which turns out to be a good thing because we’re in full-blown blizzard conditions right now) and I managed to gouge my hand on a garden stake. Right in the center of my palm. It wasn’t a bad scrape, but it looked unsettlingly like a stigmata.

Naturally, being a Twitter junkie, I tweeted about my new stigmata (stigmatum?) and dubbed myself #HolyJeffe.

I have it on good authority that several people took up the epithet and used it in good health.

Now, a number of people asked if they should worship me, which is just wrong, wrong, wrong. No, I said, you should worship that which gave me the stigmatum (“stigmata” sounds better), from whom all holiness flows. The garden stake.

Being in The Netherlands, Sullivan McPig, somewhat anxiously inquired if any garden stake would do. I had to deliver the bad news that, while all garden stakes are images of the One, True Garden Stake and one should always express courtesy and reverence towards them, that only the One, True Garden Stake would do for offerings.

Being the generous soul that I am, I agreed to be a conduit for all such offerings.

Holy Jeffe cares about you.

So, Sullivan, and his cohort, Voodoo Bride, who does book reviews here, got their owner to send tribute to the One, True Garden Stake.

It was acceptable.

Delicious, too.

Good Sinterklaasavond to Sullivan, Voodoo Bride and Carien and her partner today!