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Antebellum still on Submissions, Apostasy in Editing
Last modified on 2010-04-19 01:56:56 GMT. 0 comments. Top.
Hello all,
I’ve more or less decided to keep this blog purely for professional updates. You can visit my livejournal to the right if you want more frequent updates on my daily writing life. I’m funny, and I ask a lot of questions. 
Right now Antebellum is still on submissions, and I’m working on editing the second book, Apostasy, for my agent. So far it’s lost 20,000 words (hooray!) and is shaping up to be not bad at all.
I’m also working on several new novels, including a SciFi called A Clear and Beautiful Lie (I posted a sample chapter a few months back), and a literary fiction about sisters in Kentucky (not sure if it’s YA or Adult yet).
I’m still a frequent contributor to Let The Words Flow, which is doing so many awesome things and has more to come. It’s really incredible and you should totally come visit me
Ta,
Vlog: New Project, Query Week 2, and Happy Valentine’s Day
Last modified on 2010-02-16 03:05:47 GMT. 0 comments. Top.
Vlog for LTWF: Failing Better
Last modified on 2010-01-30 20:32:26 GMT. 0 comments. Top.
A video blog I did for Let The Words Flow
Failing Better
Huntsville (a poem)
Last modified on 2009-12-15 13:38:19 GMT. 1 comment. Top.
December 14, 2009
Huntsville
They test the rockets at odd times,
and I wonder if the neighbors cringe as much as I do
when the rumble comes to our street on a Sunday at 5:00,
abrasive, like sheets of metal shaken by a tall machine.
From certain hills you can see the tower, the tester,
the only riser in the forbidden part of Huntsville.
Some places you need a badge to get into;
you have to write down your cousin’s married name,
and exactly how many generations your spouse is
from a foreign mother tongue.
They didn’t tell me before we moved here,
but this city is high on the list of places
that are targets for nuclear attack.
I was 11 when I saw the second tower collapse on TV,
but I remember how it happened on a quiet, sunny day.
Since that morning we have lived with the Fear.
The first time I heard the testing was in August,
visiting the Botanical Gardens with my sisters.
In the calm, bright lair of every flower, I called home,
listening for the shockwave.
“Did something happen?” I asked my mother.
“Is everything okay?”
She couldn’t hear the rumble that came to take us.
I looked for the speck of a bomber in the clear, hot sky,
and pulled my sisters onto the bench beside me.
We would die among the vines and the colors,
our shadows burned into the concrete walk.
Nothing came. The rumble faded.
Somewhere, in a room with no windows,
men with badges cheered, or sighed.
We left the Gardens and drove home,
spooked by the voice of this town.
“Oh,” you said months later, “yeah, the testing. You get used to it.”
I remember that day, looking up through the leaves,
a waterfall tinkling somewhere in the distance
as the rockets roared.
Each Sunday morning, each Wednesday afternoon,
for two minutes, the Fear goes on forever.
The Importance of Setting
Last modified on 2009-12-09 14:41:17 GMT. 0 comments. Top.
As seen at Let The Words Flow:
Think of your favorite book. Think of the characters; what do you love about them? What do you see them doing?
More importantly, where are they?
Today I’d like to talk about the importance of Setting, and how it impacts both your writing life and your future readers.
Let’s switch gears a little bit and talk about Harry Potter. I assume most of you out there are fans. What do you think has led to the prominence of Harry Potter fan fiction on Fanfiction.net? Is it the characters? Is it the widespread popularity? I propose to you that what makes Harry Potter so popular is its setting.
If you’ve read one of the Harry Potter books, then you know what Hogwarts looks like. In your mind you know exactly where the Gryffindor common room is, what the doors to the dining hall look like, which direction Dumbledore’s office is facing, etc. You might not be able to draw a functional map of it, and your ideas of where everything is might not match J.K. Rowling’s ideas at all, but the point is that you have a very vivid mental picture of Harry Potter’s primary setting, and in your imaginings during History class or a work meeting you could follow all the characters up and down stairs, across courtyards, through fields, etc., making up new stories and events for them.
The Setting is the playground of the book. If you have a clear idea of your setting, and fully understand the different elements in it, then you could take your book in any direction you wanted. You might go off in several direction before you actually decide on one, all because it’s so easy to think up new scenarios for your characters.
In the Antebellum series, I have very clear, very vivid ideas about the homes and cities of my characters. It’s not hard at all to go there in my mind and hang out with my characters, watching them go about their daily lives. I could lead them into any situation I wanted, and I know exactly where they would stand and what objects would be around them. It’s like a computer game, but for your mind.
I feel very confidently that you can move about the rooms of your favorite books with the same amount of ease. I am also sure that you, like me, run into serious problems when you can’t envision exactly where your characters are.
The realization of the importance of setting came to me very recently as I was working on what I hope will become my newest novel. It involves time travel, and primarily five settings: two houses, an apartment, and two towns. My problem is that I have no idea what any of these places look like. It’s not a matter of research, it’s a matter of orienting myself to their world. What direction do these houses face? When you come through the front door, are you greeted with a staircase, a kitchen, or a reception area? What floor is the apartment on? Is it near a library, a supermarket, or the ghetto, or all three?
Until I figure out the world through my characters’ eyes, I cannot connect with them. I feel lost when I write them; it’s the same feeling as when you take your already-well-known characters and move them into a new setting. You’ll notice it with books sometimes; for just a scene the author will move their characters into a setting completely different than those we visit in the rest of the novel. If the author doesn’t have a clear idea of what that setting looks like, it comes across in their writing, and one of my senses goes dark. I can’t see what the characters are doing anymore. I can hear them, yes, and feel what they’re touching, but my sight is gone until they return to areas I’m more familiar with.
Even though I signed up for NaNoWriMo last month, as soon as I realized my setting predicament I stopped working on the story. I refuse to go back to my novel until I know exactly how to move about the rooms and worlds of my characters. Otherwise I’ll just be stuck in the same spot, flailing around in the dark, offering description and movement but no insight. I can’t make my plot develop if I don’t know what direction my characters are heading next.
Realizing the importance of setting explained for me why some earlier attempts at novels never went anywhere; I had one room, or one piece of scenery, cast out into the void like an island.
How do you pick a setting? Some stories you work on might not come with their settings magically imprinted into your head. Sometimes you might have to work at it, and in that case, I find it helpful to have something to base your setting off of. I recommend the following sources for finding settings:
1. Flickr (or other photo-storage sites). Flickr has this awesome feature when you search for photographs; you can specify your results by ‘most recent,’ ‘most relevant,’ or my favorite, ‘most interesting.’ I’ve found some gorgeous photos of scenes I wanted by doing a ‘most interesting’ search on Flickr.
How it worked for me: I got some really inspiring images for Go Look There involving butterflies that really captured the mood I was going for.
2. Icon Communities. You have to be on livejournal for this one. Livejournal has some awesome communities where people create and share icons. My favorite is gaffe; it shows beautiful, artistic, high-fashion icons, a lot of which remind me of my characters or specific scenes and give me something to start with in order to imagine a new world. Gaffe is often the spark that lights my setting fire (yeah, I totally went there). Icons and conceptual art are also good if you’re writing a story that doesn’t take place in modern times, or even on Earth.
How it worked for me: I based the North Hall building in Antebellum off of an icon I saw once. Icons were also very instrumental in designing some of my characters, like Laina, Charoleen, and Mercoush (I saw a conceptual picture of a black man meditating with a chain around his head and knew what Mercoush had to look like), and also helped pick the outfit style in the North Hall.
3. City Websites. Want to set your story in a city or part of the world you’ve never visited? Visit that city’s website to get a feel for their building style, any landmarks you should be aware of, etc.
How it worked for me: I researched various towns in upstate New York for help with my comedy novel Of Coffee and People.
4. Relevant movies/television. It sounds silly, but you can learn a lot about cities you’ve never been to by watching movies or television shows that were actually filmed there. This really only works for the big cities, though, unless you know of a movie whose small-town setting matches the feel you want for your book.
How it worked for me: I based a beach house and surrounding town in my potential new novel off of ones in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and various episodes of Sex and the City, and several spy/action movies set in Africa or the Middle East for the introduction to A Clear and Beautiful Lie. Minority Report also helped give me a basis for the technology level in ACABL.
Personally, I think settings are half the fun of writing; the stage upon which your characters get to act. Your setting can be anything you want it to be, in a way that real towns never can.
So good luck, happy writing, and may all your settings be complete.
-Savannah J. Foley
Sudden Novel Death Syndrome
Last modified on 2009-12-03 23:22:17 GMT. 1 comment. Top.
~~~
Sudden Novel Death Syndrome: Why It Didn’t Work Out
or:
“Why That Novel You Were Really Excited About Dead-Ended Into A Black Hole of Guilt and Lack of Plot Development and What To Do About It”
By Savannah J. Foley
I have them and you have them: failed projects. No matter how exciting the initial burst of inspiration, no matter how striking and significant the initial chapters, something causes the story to descend into a frustrating nothing, subsequent chapters diluting themselves into a boring parody of that first, promising beginning. As a writer, your excitement turns to hesitation, then panic, then disgust, and your project gets shelved and locked into the back files of your computer, never to be developed further (except for those occasional, guilty tweakings).
Why does this happen? What, if anything, can be done to prevent it? I’ve compiled a list of reasons—and solutions—to this stagnation, and I hope it’s a help to you:
1. The first rule of writing is: Don’t talk about your novel.
2. The second rule of writing is: Do NOT. TALK. ABOUT. YOUR. NOVEL.
Discussing ideas with your friend or audience seems to be a sure-fire way to kill a project from the very beginning. There’s just something about debating possible plot options that effectively stops production in its tracks. My theory is that it turns your project into an attempt to please everyone at once. Others suggest it distracts you from the delicate process of actually working on the project; you become the type of writer who is always talking about his/her book without ever actually writing it.
This phenomenon has been noticed by other writers as well. Consider the following quotes:
Sleep on your writing; take a walk over it; scrutinize it of a morning; review it of an afternoon; digest it after a meal; let it sleep in your drawer a twelvemonth; never venture a whisper about it to your friend, if he be an author especially. ~A. Bronson Alcott
I think it’s bad to talk about one’s present work, for it spoils something at the root of the creative act. It discharges the tension. ~Norman Mailer
Solution: Don’t talk about your project! Don’t you dare let anyone encroach upon the amazing process that belongs only to you and your writing. Your friends can’t write it for you, and they can’t be there in your head when you’re working out all the details, so why would you involve them at all? Let them read the finished product, not influence a work in progress. Rule of thumb: Consider it bad luck to discuss the details of a project until it is finished. Bring out your novel or story like it is Athena emerging from your head: fully-formed and beautiful.
One last quote to pound the point home:
Writing is a product of silence. ~Carrie Latet
3. Beginning Too Soon
This is my biggest problem: trying to start work on the project when you don’t really have any idea what you’re doing yet. I have three pet novels in a suspended state of animation because I tried to work on them too soon and killed them: a YA about orphaned sisters, a scifi about global warming, and a steampunk about… well, I’m not really sure, but it involves poisonous, addictive perfume, and gangs.
The way my writing works is that I get a flash of an idea, typically just one scene or concept, and then work the plot around this idea. All I ever want to do is immediately begin writing so I can record this idea in explicit detail and start working on giving it the same vibe I envision in my head, but in the long run it’s better to wait. Remember what they taught you in school, and practice abstinence.
Working on a project too soon causes overstimulation, like touching a budding flower or playing rough with a newborn kitten. It’s just a baby idea; give it a little time to grow and develop before you start to mess with it. If you recall my earlier post, writing is a sort of mental disorder; you have to learn to trust your subconscious and let it develop plots and characters on its time. The conscious brain is a marvelous thing, but it’s not a very good writer in general. The best writing comes from the heart, the subconscious, and it can be terribly flighty.
Another metaphor: Think about your idea as a feral animal you have just caught sight of out in the wild. You have to be very still, very quiet, and very non-threatening before it will start to approach you. No sudden movements, lots of praise and encouragement, and before you know it you’ll be gamboling with that wild creature like you’re the best of friends.
A relevant quote:
As for my next book, I am going to hold myself from writing it till I have it impending in me: grown heavy in my mind like a ripe pear; pendant, gravid, asking to be cut or it will fall. ~Virginia Woolf
Solution: Develop a list of things you MUST have before you begin writing. For example, the names and personalities of all your main characters and their families/significant others, a strong sense of setting, where/when the main characters/love interests meet, etc.
4. Panicking (Writer’s Block Happens)
You’ve given yourself enough time to fully flesh out your characters and plot. You’ve kept the existence of your next work-in-progress as secretive as possible. “Yes,” you say to your friend, “the reason I’ve been so busy lately is because I’m working on a new project. No, I don’t want to talk about it until I’m finished.” Then, without warning, you hit the Wall.
You’re not alone. “Every writer I know has trouble writing,” said Joseph Heller. We all experience that jarring moment when you realize that you’re facing a great chasm in your writing, with no way to get to the other side. Sure, you know where you want the plot to end up. Your characters are well-developed and strong-willed, but how in the heck are they going to leap across this plot gap and make it safely to the next planned-out plot development?
Rule of thumb: Relax. Take a break. You’re probably working too hard:
Writer’s block is a disease for which there is no cure, only respite. ~Laurie Wordholt
We are cups, constantly and quietly being filled. The trick is, knowing how to tip ourselves over and let the beautiful stuff out. ~Ray Bradbury
Listen to Bradbury on this one; sometimes you just run out of creative juices. It’s okay; don’t panic, just take a break. Read a book; it’s how you get filled up with inspiration again. Watch television, take a walk, draw something, phone a friend (you haven’t talked to them in a while, have you?). Avoid thinking about your project, and when you do, think of it only as a dear friend. Only when you can’t wait to get back to your story and start working again should you approach your work-in-progress.
Need a different solution, or on a deadline? Try sleeping.
If I’m trying to sleep, the ideas won’t stop. If I’m trying to write, there appears a barren nothingness. ~Carrie Latet
The only cure for writer’s block is insomnia. ~Merit Antares
5. Not Getting Your Daily Dose of Inspiration
When writing a novel, it’s easy to lose track of the other recreational things in your life. You go to work or school, you come home, grab a bite to eat, maybe do some housework/chores/homework, but then you’re writing! This ties back into what I said above; sometimes you don’t allow yourself enough time to get properly relaxed and inspired again. Imaginations have to be fed and watered like anything else, or else they will stagnate and shrivel.
My favorite solution to counteract this stagnation is reading. When I was reading two books a day, in school and later when I worked at a bookstore, I read a wide variety of books, from fiction to self-help to comedy, poetry, scifi, fantasy, cultural, travel, biographical, etc. Reading other people’s styles and descriptions fires your own imagination.
One must be drenched in words, literally soaked in them, to have the right ones form themselves into the proper pattern at the right moment. ~Hart Crane
Solution: My favorite books to read for inspiration are either poetry (Billy Collins ftw), or the biographies or autobiographies of other writers. Shell Silverstein’s biography A Boy Named Shell, and Hunter S. Thompson’s biography The Joke’s Over by his best friend Ralph Steadman are two of my favorites. Others would include Maya Angelou’s autobiographical series, the most famous of which is I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, Stephen King’s On Writing, and anything by James Thurber (if you haven’t heard of him, immediately get on Amazon and order Lanterns and Lances. Seriously. Do it.).
Well, that’s my list. What problems do you encounter when writing, and what solutions have you developed to counteract this? Or, share your favorite writing quote about the process.
~~~
Savannah J. Foley is the author of the Woman’s World (now known as Antebellum) series on Fictionpress. She has written five novels, owns her own freelance writing company, and is signed with the Bradford Literary Agency trying to sell Antebellum. Her website is www.savannahjfoley.com.
I am now on livejournal
Last modified on 2009-11-19 01:10:15 GMT. 0 comments. Top.
I’m now on livejournal for all you out there who would prefer to follow me through that medium.
Writing as a Mental Disorder?
Last modified on 2009-11-11 14:34:06 GMT. 0 comments. Top.
Today my first article comes out at the Let The Words Flow blog, entitled Learning to Trust Your Instincts, Or, Writing as a Mental Disorder.
EXCERPT:
If you’re a writer, and I mean a Writer, then you are probably somewhat insane. Consider the following quotes for context:
Writing became such a process of discovery that I couldn’t wait to get to work in the morning: I wanted to know what I was going to say. ~Sharon O’Brien
First, find out what your character wants. Then, just follow him. ~Ray Bradbury.
Being an author is like being in charge of your own personal insane asylum. ~Graycie Harmon
Writing is a socially acceptable form of schizophrenia. ~E.L. Doctorow
When I first began writing Antebellum (formerly known as Woman’s World), all I had was a premise: What would the world be like if women had been the dominant gender throughout the ages, not men? I wondered if there would be peace or war, slavery or freedom, what the government would look like, who would raise the children, would children even be important, and what would men’s roles be? I wanted to examine this world, our world, in a different light. Ultimately I decided men would be kept as slaves: menial workers and companions, both holding the nation and families together as caretakers and the working class, leaving women to pursue knowledge, science, and art.
I began with a female character about to take her first slave. I didn’t know her name, or his name, or anything about their society at all. But as the sentences began to pile on top of each other, it became clear that my characters knew everything I didn’t. I followed them as a tourist, stalking them through my keyboard, learning about their customs and responsibilities, their emotions and struggles. They wanted things, and would fight for what they wanted. I was enthralled.
I also thought I was a little crazy. In school I was taught that the writing process had definite steps; first there was a brainstorming session, then a rough draft, then three re-edits until you had a final copy. In elementary school, this was the way writing was done, and there was no room for negotiation. In fourth grade, I knew I wanted to be a writer, and loved the creativity of just going at it on paper, but hated this drafting/editing process and knew I would never be able to take being a writer if I had to do that nonsense all the time.
Continue reading this article at the Let The Words Flow blog
Launching Let the Words Flow!
Last modified on 2009-11-02 20:37:47 GMT. 2 comments. Top.
Just letting you know that LTWF has officially launched today!
I was so excited when my new writer friend Sarah J. Maas invited me to join a blog collaboration she and her friend Mandy Hubbard, author of Prada and Prejudice, were putting together: Let the Words Flow.
LTWF is a blog by Fictionpress writers who are published, have agents, or are working hard to get an agent! I remember posting on Fictionpress when I was just a freshman in high school, and it’s so amazing to see how rewarding that experience was and how it just keeps giving back to me as time goes on. LTWF is going to be an amazing collaboration; I’ve written two articles for it already, to be posted throughout November, and we’re coordinating interviews from established authors such as Elizabeth Naughton and the reclusive Fictionpress group for authors who have been violated by plagiarism: Plagiarism Haven.
So come by and check out Mandy’s article on THE CALL (you know THE CALL… you get it from an agent offering representation, or from a publisher offering to sell your book!). My article on inspiration and writing as a mental disorder comes out next Monday!
Thanks to all the Fictionpress supporters; you guys have always been and will always be the best.
-Savannah
Snippets Saturday: Horror-themed!
Last modified on 2009-11-01 03:18:23 GMT. 1 comment. Top.
Below is a chapter from my fifth novel, Go Look There. It’s about rites of initiation and bravery, and it’s super gross, too!
This is also a Snippet Saturday post. At the end of the story you can read other horror-themed snippets from my fellow writers!
The horse’s mouth gaped, its jaw unhinged and wide, yawning, revealing a rotting tongue and maggot-filled cheeks. The carcass was screaming, with the back of its head blown out, eyes swollen and pushed forward, slimy with a gelatinous blue liquid, nostrils flared and ripped, screaming a ghoulish shriek for the agony of its dead body, as if death could be pain-filled, and pray to God that it’s not.
Torpid, sallow skin sunk in on its ribs and the hide was patchy, turning green and mushy down by the swollen belly, whose surface curled and waved with wormy scavengers. The delicate, fuzzy skin on the skull was sealed airtight around the bones, only peeling around the small, black hole in the center of its forehead; hairy ears curled like crumpled leaves, stiff and leathery. Shrunken hooves curled tightly inwards from bony, knobby feet. If the horse’s crumpled skeleton could be animate, in some macabre, undead way, despite the broken femur jutting out of its back leg, it wouldn’t get very far on those claws.
The smell in the still, summer air was putrid and overwhelming, full of something sweet and foul. The group of boys, some standing, some still straddling their bikes, couldn’t get any closer than fifteen feet without retching or having to stave off a swarm of satisfied flies looking for a cozy corner to drowse in.
“Go on, Henry,” the lead boy said, dust-streaked shirt stuffed up against his nose to filter out the air as best it could. “Go get it.”
Henry gulped, trying to keep his preparatory spit down. He could see the mandible bone in the horse’s jaw beginning to poke through, a great, jutting tusk, threatening to pierce and kill little boys who dared approach it. If Death could ride a horse, surely he would saddle up this one and take it stalking in the spooky countryside.
Henry closed his eyes to make the scene go away, but the moldy, ripe stench of rotting horse meat fumes shimmering from the radiating sun pervaded all rational thought. If he walked away now, he wouldn’t have to approach that thing. He’d get beaten up, sure, and miss out on an opportunity to impress his older brother, a senior member of the gang as a soon-to-be fourth grader, and maybe even forfeit stammering a bragging retelling of the story to Sula, the petite, bright-eyed girl down the road who rode in her own female neighborhood pack; he would give up all that, but at least he wouldn’t have to get close to the monstrous, disgusting flesh-pit that made his vision swim and his stomach shrink. At the moment, Henry didn’t know which option was the most appealing –induction, or saving himself from the horror.
Henry clutched the spoon tightly in his right hand. It couldn’t be that bad. Every one of these boys had to do something like this to prove his worth. Just a minute of putrescence and spilling his guts to the dusty ground, and then he’d have endless summers of friends and baseball games and neighborhood rowdiness and beating up the younger boys, all the way through primers and up to high school. He’d be one of them.
“Yeah, go on, Henry!” The boys echoed behind the leader. Someone jabbed him in the shoulder with a pointy finger.
Henry took a step forward, shivering, as not ten feet ahead of him a small, flesh-eating rodent skittered away from its feast in fear.
“Hurry up, you big mama’s boy! I don’t wanna stand here all day!” The leader’s bravado was met with guffaws of laughter.
Henry took another step to contradict the insult, not daring to take his hands from his mouth to retort with some elementary comeback. He reached out his tongue instead and tasted, then bit, his own fingers, covered in sweat and salt, just to distract himself, to have something to focus on besides the repulsion ahead.
“Shore is lucky you found this here daid horse, Elliot,” one of the boys said, liking to hear himself talk, and a small, young kid grinned from the back as his elder brother put a proud arm around him.
“Yup. Shore is,” the other boys commentated. “Henry make it through this one an’ he’ll be like… like a gawd!”
“Yeah! Like a gawd!” The followers echoed.
“Go on, Henry!”
“Yeah, you can do it, Henry!”
Henry wasn’t so sure. He’d rather have a cat or a dog, or even some possum, just nothing as big and terrifying as an entire horse corpse, especially one that was leaking entrails and crusted intestine-filth all around it. Curse that mama’s-boy Elliot Baxter. Henry resolved to just kick him the next time he got the chance. Kick him hard, ‘til he cried.
Henry took another step. Some boys cheered, but some were distracted with competing for who could breathe the sick air the longest without retching. Six seconds was the record so far.
A wobbly fly hit Henry in the face and he spooked, jerking reactions sending the silver spoon flying behind him.
“Hey!” The standing boys scattered, pushed apart by fear of getting hit with the airborne object, and the bike-riders ducked, crouching in defense, their calloused feet clinging to the pedals, prepared to flee. Someone lobbed the spoon back at Henry in the following joshing and laughter, barely grabbing the utensil between repulsed fingertips, as if it were contaminated already by association with Henry, Henry who was rubbing his hands all over his face, trying to get the feel of hairy fly off his young skin.
“Take your spoon, Henry!”
“Yeah, you pick up that spoon, Henry!”
The boys jeered and mocked, forgetting their scare, hands on hips, channeling caricatures of their mothers.
Henry bent, thick blood pounding to his head, and picked up the spoon.
Just you do it, his mind told him, brain flashing images of the rewards he would reap, blind with the sight of pretty Sula and his older brother by a year approving of him; blind with the sight of bicycle gangs, fishing, skinny-dipping where they shouldn’t, summer baseball games, teasing the younger kids, and most importantly of all: summer-browned arms curled around his shoulders in brotherhood. Almost without his permission, suddenly Henry’s feet were pounding the ground, running at the hulking, diseased body. Henry fell to his knees and dug the spoon deep into the meaty chest of the horse as if he were plunging a fatal knife into an enemy’s heart. The flesh gave as easily as pushing into rotted pumpkins, and came up with a sickly, decayed, grainy glop that dripped with slimy brownness, green fat clumps crumbling off the sides, the stiff upper layer of dried hair and skin flaking off like an old scab in the dusty wind.
“Eat it, Henry!” The boys yelled, cheering in the background, crowding just a little closer to get a better view of the unholy induction ritual that was about to take place in front of them.
“Say the words, Henry! Don’t you forget to say them words, or you go back for another bite!” The leader warned, the whites of his eyes ominous and threatening.
“I…” Henry’s voice warbled, cracking, as the fumes of the deadness eased down his throat.
“You almost there, Henry!”
“Say it, Henry! Just say it!”
“I pledge allegiance to the He-Men Of Heck-“ Henry croaked.
“From where, Henry! Don’t you forget to say where from!”
The anticipation was at a fever pitch, with each boy staring, panting, recalling the feel of slime on their tongues and the bitter, rancid taste of road kill in their throats, eager to see their future brother partake of the holy sacrament and prove his worth.
“Keep going, Henry!” His older brother yelled out, the only words he’d said the entire time.
“From…” Henry continued, though his eyes were wide with horror, stomach already rumbling with abhorrence. “From fif’ street and-“ Henry gasped for breath, hyperventilating. “First.”
Excited, triumphant yells burst from the group, coupled with disgusted groans and fake retching, as Henry shoved the decaying spoonful of rotting horseflesh into his mouth.
Their cheers echoed around the gravel pit, swallowing up the revolting sounds of Henry’s vomiting, and then ten, twenty hardened hands were grabbing his shoulders, his neck, his waist, hauling him backwards and saying his name, over and over, hearts swelling in camaraderie, faces grinning with the joy of torture and induction, each mouth murmuring words of praise and acceptance as Henry’s eyes leaked and his throat tried to leap from his mouth.
“You did it, Henry. You did it.”
Anya Bast
Eliza Gayle
Juliana Stone
Michelle Pillow
Lauren Dane
Moira Rogers
TJ Michaels
Jody Wallace
Ashley Ladd
Kelly Maher
Shelli Stevens
Shelley Munro
Mandy Roth
Mark Henry
Happy Halloween!
2 Blog Projects and a Halloween Treat
Last modified on 2009-10-28 14:06:56 GMT. 0 comments. Top.
Recently writer Sarah J. Maas (her Fictionpress can be found here) contacted me about some startling similarities we share: we’d written fantasy novels, had similiar pen names, had widespread popularity on Fictionpress, were both young, blond, and engaged, she got her agent a month after I did, in January 2009, and both of our novels are out on submissions right now. We became quick friends and exchanged books (her novel Queen of Glass had many more fans on Fictionpress than I did, and no doubt you’ve heard of it. I think we even went up against each other in some online polls for best Fantasy story… she won, of course, lol).
Sarah and a friend recently began a Fictionpress writers blog called Let The Words Flow, of which I am proud to be a contributor. LTWF is just starting up, so check back soon as we all post our introductory posts, then we’ll move on to articles about writing, answering your questions about the agent and publishing process, and giving you updates on our own progress with new and existing novels. One of us is even published already! It’s so exciting to see some of the people I knew on Fictionpress coming together to collaborate and share our real-life stories (for once!).
Let The Words Flow is only the first bit of exciting news, however. The second part is actually some old news, but I’m actively participating with it this time: Snippet Saturdays.
Snippet Saturdays is a project founded by the other writers of my agent, Laura Bradford, but has since grown to include outside writers as well. Snippet Saturdays work like this: We come up with topics, such as fight scene, or first kiss, or dramatic exit, and then if one of your stories includes the topic you post just that part of the story (or ‘snippet’) on your blog on Saturday, with links to the other writers who are doing the same thing. Readers can go from blog to blog this way, reading excerpts from up to 20 different novels all focused on the same theme!
This Saturday’s theme is, appropriately, Horror. You can be sure I’m going to deliver; I plan to put up an excerpt from Go look There. Prepare to be grossed out, slightly nauseated, and definitely horrified. =)
See you on Saturday!
Moving [on, up, out]
Last modified on 2009-10-15 03:49:25 GMT. 0 comments. Top.
Here’s my secret: I am 20 years old.
That’s pretty young, even for a ‘young’ writer. Sometimes I feel insecure about my youth, because I feel like people won’t take me as seriously as older writers, even those with just a few years on me. Alternatively, sometimes I’m afraid to share my age for fear it seems like bragging: “Yes, I’m 20, I’ve written 5 novels, I have an agent, and I own my own freelance writing company.”
If I ever need to ‘prove my worth’, these are the accomplishments I list off. I figure, if I can present myself as this involved with my writing career, perhaps people will look past my age and believe I actually know a thing or two about it (being 6’2 and ‘mature’-looking helps as well.)
Here’s another secret (sort of): Tomorrow I will own my first house. I will live on my own for the first time (I never got around to getting an apartment, and my family life is stable enough that I didn’t feel like I needed to move out or go crazy.) This is causing me to do a lot of reflecting.
When I was younger, growing up in the 90’s, every time I watched a television show there were always teenagers acting like ‘teenagers’: loud music their parents couldn’t understand or didn’t approve of, sneaking out, taking the family car, drugs, provocative clothing, disrespect, dumb decisions, etc. I understood and sympathized with the adult figures every time. I wanted to shake those ‘teenage’ characters: snap out of it! Can’t you see how dumb you’re being?! The last thing I wanted to be was a ‘teen’. I would be absolutely mortified if anyone ever winked at my mother and said ‘oh, she’s a teenager all right.’
I had many fears about growing up. I didn’t understand how things worked like taxes or licenses or driving cars (I didn’t know you had a free right turn on red lights until driving school… at the age of 18, lol.) and feared what I couldn’t understand. I dreaded school, but I dreaded college and work even more. I remember being very frustrated with my mother before 6th grade when I was about to start taking classes that required changing rooms and/or teachers every class. The concept was so foreign to me that I was completely confused about a class set where I had literature one hour, then social studies the next, in the same room, with the same teacher. I had no frame of reference for this, and it just didn’t make sense in my head. Being an adult would be like that, I feared.
Now that I AM an adult (though just a new one), I reflect a lot about my impressions about adulthood when I was a kid. You know, when you’re a kid your youth is marketed to you. You are told that being young is the best age; you’re attractive, strong, fast, smart, and infinitely more cool than adults. Then you grow up and your understanding of social interaction expands along with your knowledge of the world and you realize a lot of the things you cared about as kids just don’t matter anymore, or never really did (Playground gossip, or Nanobabies, anyone? Or a million other fads we all experienced and discarded?)
What I’m trying to say is, I never thought I would get to this point. I always imagined that somewhere in the future I would live alone as a writer, suave and rich and chic and devoted to my craft, but I didn’t know how I would get there. I had never met anyone with that magnetic bond of attraction and companionship I later stumbled upon in my fiancé (and now there are two in my future, not just one), so in my head it was always me, alone physically but in constant company of my characters and thoughts and inspirations.
It is strange to see part of that dream come to life, even for just a few months before I get married. 10-year-old me would be proud of 20-year-old me. I made it happen for us. I was brave enough to learn about the adult world and participate in it, to learn how to succeed, and to make our dream of publishing come true.
As I go through this time of reflection, I feel like I must be brave for both of us, for the me now and the me in the past. I trusted myself to do this. I am carrying the hopes of my 10-year-old self. I am the responsible, knowledgeable, confident adult who will take care of us.
I will own my own house tomorrow. I still can’t believe it. Pics when I can, promise.
How do you feel about your younger self? Are you where you wanted to be? Do you even want to be in that place anymore?
I’m in the paper, and I’m giving away prizes!
Last modified on 2009-07-29 13:41:05 GMT. 0 comments. Top.
News and Updates: I have got to tell you, it has been an amazing few weeks.
Yesterday I sent what is hopefully the final manuscript to my agent (who has a twitter now: bradfordlit), and that means we’re going to start selling soon! This also means the story has to come down pretty quick from fictionpress, which is so unfortunate because I’ve gained several completely new fans over the past few months.
I also updated the sample chapter (under Books: Antebellum, then click on Read Sample Chapter). My agent had me add little bits of Shae’s perspective all the way throughout, so you should go over there and see what was going on with him that first day.
In other news, did you know I have my own freelance writing company? Yup, I started my own business back in June: SJF Writing. I’m proud to say that I have several clients and am working on several different projects, and have recently been hired to work for an actual magazine! It’s a new one, but it’s gorgeous. Visit Rocket Magazine and click on their previous issue to see.
I’m also appearing as a guest blogger at The Bradford Bunch, which is a group blog for the writers of my agent. I will also be giving away a FABULOUS bracelet at writer Lauren Dane’s blog. Click the link, leave a comment, and you might be chosen to win it!
I think that’s enough news… on to the article!
As seen in the Madison Spirit section of the Huntsville times, this article is also online at al.com:
Writing service helps get the message out
Wednesday, July 29, 2009 By Gregg L. Parker
Co-workers and bosses often asked Savannah J. Foley for help with writing. She developed a let-me-help-you attitude, which led to founding her own business.
SJF Writing provides technical and creative writing services, along with editing.
By fourth grade, Foley was exchanging her obsession to be an astronaut with writing and storytelling. At 14, she wrote her first novel, “Antebellum.” “Though it has nothing to do with the Civil War,” she said.
Two years ago, Foley finished her fifth novel.
In June 2008, she became administrative assistant to Joe Uptain, president and chief executive officer of Medco Services Inc. She soon founded the company newsletter. “I became the ‘go-to’ girl for document cleanup,” Foley said.
During Medco training, she met Dr. Larry Little, director of The Enrichment Center, a non-profit counseling organization. They collaborated on his self-help book, and Foley realized the potential market for “literary guidance on corporate or personal projects.”
Proofreading accounts for the bulk of Foley’s work. She checks press releases, corporate letters, thesis papers and technical documents. “Even e-mails that need a second opinion.”
She also writes newsletter and brochure articles and speeches. Foley helps writers find a literary agent.
Currently, she’s working on a media guide for Rocket City United, a non-profit soccer organization going to playoffs.
Foley assists with autobiographies. “My grandparents had amazing life stories. I recall a few but most of their lives are truly lost to me. Most people have an incredible story to tell.”
What’s a manager’s worst mistake in writing? “Wasting their time fighting with it,” Foley said. Her clients are usually excellent communicators verbally but aren’t comfortable with writing.
Currently, she is the sole employee but hopes to employ a team of writers. Her goal is to create “an industry” to give full-time projects to freelance writers and offer internships and part-time jobs for high school and college writers.
“Breaking into the writing industry is so hard,” Foley said. “I’d like to give talented young adults the chance to live their dreams and get some real work experience as paid writers.”
Diversity is her work’s prime asset. “Some days I’m proofreading proposals and other days I go out and conduct interviews,” Foley said.
“Huntsville and Madison are experiencing some wonderful growth, and I’m very proud to meet the demands of the community,” she said.
A native of Washington state, Foley moved with her family to Chicago for a year before settling in Madison in August 2007. “Living in the South has been wonderful,” she said.
“I literally met my fianc here in an ‘enchanted forest.’ ” Foley is engaged to Christopher M. Horlick with The Enchanted Forest garden center.
For more information, visit the Web site www.sjfwriting.com.
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Small misprint correction: Chris doesn’t work at the Enchanted Forest; I was working there when we met.
Complete and Total Failure
Last modified on 2009-07-29 13:24:33 GMT. 0 comments. Top.
Last Saturday my beloved MacBook, named Baby Too, experienced a complete harddrive failure, and I lost everything.
Ironically, I had investigated backup equipment and programs a few months back, but the total cost wasn’t something I could just easily hand over, and I chose to take the consequences as they came (which at that point might have hopefully been never). My reasoning was that all of my important files (Books, poetry, etc.) had been emailed or uploaded to various websites, and I could always go and retrieve them whenever I liked.
Standing at the Genius Bar in the Mac Store, I dicussed data recovery options with the technician, but it would be $400 or more and results were not guaranteed. I said forget it. I was still a year within my warranty, so Baby Too was shipped off to some repair warehouse, and I received Baby Three back on Friday. Same body, different brain. Without getting too sappy about it, it was like seeing a friend who had suffered total amnesia.
Ultimately, I only lost a few snippets of Shae’s perspective I had been working on, about 10,000 internet pictures (lolcats, etc.), some pictures I had often used in association with Antebellum, and a lot of older poetry. More importantly, I lost older versions of all my books, including original notes and brainstorms, which are not important any longer, but nice to have around for nostalgia. I also lost a document called ‘Tidbits and Inspirations’, where I stored random ideas for future projects I’ve had for the past five years.
I’m still going about the process of tracking down the latest versions of my books (and all my poems are in pdf form from when I sent collections of them to friends, ugh, so now I have to retype them all), but almost losing my entire body of work made me realize exactly how important it is to me.
In a way, this was a good thing. I now have a very blank, 4 GB harddrive (yeah, I upgraded two weeks before the failure, go figure), containing only the bare essentials. My lesser quality work was never sent to anyone, so now it’s gone forever. I would never have had the strength to delete it on my own, because I’m very big on recording my emotional journey. I feel much lighter, and cleaner. It’s a fresh new start, and maybe it came at just the right time. I’m working full-time, I launched a freelance writing business, I’m taking online courses, and of course still making edits on Antebellum, so I need a little clarity of space. Also, the people at the warehouse totally replaced my keyboard, trackpad, and surrounding plastic so those ugly palm marks are gone.
All in all, a good, if painful learning experience. But, I tell you what, I will now be making monthly email backups of all the big items (forget expensive backup equipment; email’s free!). I encourage you to take a moment and do the same.
On a more positive note, my name is now up on my agent’s website! Check it out: Bradford Literary Agency
First Chapter of A Clear and Beautiful Lie
Last modified on 2009-06-13 15:33:42 GMT. 0 comments. Top.
Dark red congealed along the horizon line like blood in a fish tank.
Kiera took off her air mask and wiped away the grime caked beneath her eyes, a paste mixed from sweat and the terracotta dust that got into everything.
The window glass giving her such a raw and piercing view was the same glass as in the mask –a standard-issue Pure130, its screen mixed with a special chemical to deflect the Sun’s now-unfiltered radiation. Her room was dark; she didn’t rate high enough for the special privilege of powered lights at night. For Kiera, the darkness was a cool respite from the heat and glare of her day’s work. She had grown up with the Power Ban starting at 8:00 in the evening, so feeling her way around a room was familiar and comforting, and one of the only consistent habits between here and her childhood apartment in Massachusetts.
This was her last chance to witness a Serengeti sunset, and she was not sorry for it. Kiera preferred the constant gray cloud of home to this vivid and terrible land, where the sun glowered bloodily from its heavenly throne while the region gave one heaving gasp after another to survive the constant poison of exposure. This used to be a beautiful place, but the local government was too poor to afford inclusion in the Grid when it first went public, and what couldn’t be carted off by Samaritan groups had died here. By the time Façade Industries joined forces with the UN to bring life back to everything –not just the places that could pay through the nose- it was too late. Elephants, giraffes, lions wildebeasts… all in zoos or dead, but not here anymore.
This hub was the very last stepping stone in completely globalizing the Grid. The radiation from today would hopefully be the last Kiera ever experienced. Perhaps she would come back, not soon, but in a few decades, and see if her efforts to bring Africa’s greatest natural preserve back from the brink of extinction had come to fruition. Maybe she would like it then.
Kiera had been looking forward to this trip, expecting to feel some kinship with the land and its people, but she felt nothing for the place of her ancestors except pity and revulsion. Everything here was dead, save the Masai and their few, sick cattle. That was Kiera’s job; helping to negotiate between the officials of Kenya and the officials of America in order to get the Grid set up, streamlining the implementation of the final hub and coordinating all the proper committees and forms needed for taxes and grants and sponsorships. For such a desperately-needed development, every government fumbled the urgency with their petty politics: who maintained the hub, where it was located, who got to publicly announce ownership of it, etc.
The Grid was expensive. Not monetarily, because the UN paid for all that, but in energy. Energy, which was more valuable now than the bits of paper and metal acting as currency. Try to sell coal and you’ll be shot on sight, not that there’s any left, but bring a couple of solar panels in and you can have free range of the place. It takes a lot of energy to keep the Grid active, and that had to be coordinated too: where the energy came from, who owned it, who spent it, and how it was transferred.
For use of their land the Masai got paid in continued life for themselves and their cattle, but someone had to make them understand that before Façade could send in trucks and workers. For the trouble of hosting, Kenya got paid in tax breaks and good press. And Kiera? She was paid in education. Government jobs, even this one as an Energy Ambassador (read: administrative aide), paid for any school she could get into, along with housing, her electrical bill, and all-expenses-paid trips like these to any part of the world that needed her.
It had been an honor to be included on this final installation, and now the arduous task was finished. She was going home, returning to headquarters with Kisme and the rest of the team. Home, where she didn’t have to wear the air mask, where the glass was unfiltered and the sky never burned but merely stormed silently above the force fields.
She paid her respects to the African sun, then stepped into a warm shower. It never got cold enough here; water could only be as cool as the earth they stored it in, and no one would waste electricity on cooling water. Now that it was her last day, Kiera was thankful she hadn’t cut off all her hair like the Masai women, though it might have been the best course of action when she first arrived. Her short, springy dreadlocks kept a mop of heat over her at all times, but at least now she could return to Washington looking moderately the same as when she left, save for the tan and the weight loss. She’d probably fit her Celebration Ball gown like an anorexic model, still the preferred look in the States. At least that would make Kisme feel reassured in his decision to get her on the guest list. Brushing shoulders with both the players on the Hill and Façade’s bigwigs could only help her career, and she’d earned the right to celebrate with both those who had worked hard to make it happen and those who merely funded it in either investment or public endorsement.
She stepped out, from one darkness to another, and stared out the window again to a night now sparkling with stars through its storm clouds.
Stars. That was the one good thing about Africa. Here she could still see stars. That was half of her dream, at least. In America, nothing was ever up there except the eternal swirling clouds of gray and brown held back from the cities by the Grid’s force fields. It was just like that old television show they were always talking about. Everyone said, ‘look how far we’ve come,’ while the world degenerated into something resembling a new and inhospitable planet, like the atmospheric mess that is Venus.
Kiera changed into night shorts and a tank top and climbed into the top bunk of the bed she was sharing with another Ambassador. It was strange not to hear the noise of celebration outside on this last night, as had been heard in all the other cities across the world. St. Petersburg, Hong Kong, Sydney… all these had shouted for joy when they announced their global hub was fully functional, though it wouldn’t be turned on until the ceremony the following day. Nairobi was quiet, like a sickened child approaching death. Of course, it didn’t even have a local hub, and its global one wouldn’t be functional until the world was ready to put on the ceremonies and galas and press conferences associated with the completion of the project. Good news was so hard to come by these days in terms of the environment, and everyone wanted to make a spectacle out of something finally going well, but didn’t they know that every day counts to a land that is dying?
Kiera hated what this region was now, but she hated more what had been done to it to take away the majestic beauty so far gone it seemed mythical. Still, whatever the journey, the destination was now in sight. Now, at last, things would get better. The Grid would go up, even people outside major cities could breathe again without the air masks, and when Karman Inc. released their miracle product into what was left of the ozone layer the sky would be repaired before everyone’s very eyes in a matter of years.
After twenty years of pollution storms, Kiera would experience something she hadn’t seen since she was a little girl being fit for her first Air Mask: a natural, clear, blue sky.
The New Companion
Last modified on 2009-06-07 16:48:16 GMT. 0 comments. Top.
Among writers, we say it is bad luck to discuss a project before it is finished. However, I wanted to share with you what the process is like for me when working on a new novel, and I feel confident enough in the eventual completion of this book that it’s safe to talk about it a bit:
As with my last and most favorite book, Go Look There, the title came first, this time when I was driving. I make it a habit while doing so to not listen to the radio or any CD’s. Instead, I use the silence to let my mind wander in a meditative sort of way, bouncing around different topics like we do when we’re dreaming. Then the title rose out at me with the same sense of weight that I felt when discovering the other novels for the first time. Personally, I can always tell the ‘good’ ideas from the bad because they have a certain feel in my mind. They feel inevitable, like when you know you need to sleep, or eat, or go to the bathroom. There’s a firmness of the future: Sometime soon these things must be done.
It was the same way with the Antebellum idea, and Of Coffee and People, and Go Look There. Now, I haven”t worked on a new novel in two years, so it was with some hesitation that I accepted and began to explore the new story, afraid at any moment it would go away from me if I played with it too much. The title that captured my imagination and broke my two-year dry spell will be my a modern science fiction novel named A Clear and Beautiful Lie.
There, now isn’t that special? Once I had the title and a topic the ultimate ending revealed itself, and then the main characters began ambling their way onto the scene, cautiously, like wild animals approaching food left out by humans. I wasn’t writing on them then, but giving them a chance to cement in my mind before I tried to explore a story line I didn’t know anything about.
Over the course of a month I brainstormed about the world they were living in (Ours, thirty years in the future), the type of technologies that would be available, what global politics and the environment would look like and what would be the prominent social issues of the time. Ending already in place (which of course I can’t give away), the beginning began to develop along with the relationships between characters, their motivations, their fears, etc.
The main character is Kiera, a mixed-race young woman working for the government as an Energy Ambassador (read: administrative aide), helping to set up power hubs across the world that will support the Grid -a force field built by Facade Industries now going global in order to protect everyone from both extravagant amounts of pollution but also radiation from the sun caused by a depletion of the ozone layer.
When the Grid finally goes up a second company begins chemical therapy with the atmosphere exiled above the force fields to try and repair the damage that has been done and return the Earth back to its normal state. Everyone is told to expect results within a few years, and Kiera looks forward to seeing blue sky for the first time since she was a child.
However, after the excitement of a global Grid dies down problems begin to surface, primarily that solar power has mysteriously stopped working, causing an economic and social crisis threatening the death of millions through starvation or anarchy. Kiera’s department is called upon to investigate Facade Industries and find out if the Grid has anything to do with the failure of their most important energy sources. When it becomes clear that the Grid is operating the way its supposed to, Kiera and Jonathan Hollander, young executive and heir apparent to Facade, begin a trans-continental journey to discover the truth about the power failure. What they learn will both shock them and threaten their lives now that they know the truth behind the clear and beautiful lie.
I finally felt confident enough to write the first chapter for ACABL on Friday, and I’ll post it here once the excitement from reconnecting with all my Fictionpress reviewers has died down. It’s so good to hear from everyone again, and I’m excited to continue to work with you through this blog!
Why I think Facebook is Going to Change Everything -For the Better!
Last modified on 2009-06-07 16:51:16 GMT. 0 comments. Top.
Let me tell you three things I’ve done this past week:
1) Stopped eating sugar (mostly)
2) Started exercising again (for the first time in… let’s not talk about it)
3) Got my oil changed and tires rotated (6 months overdue)
Now, let me tell you why: Guilt and Peer Pressure from… Facebook.
Facebook and similar networking sites (Myspace, Twitter, etc.), have created something never before experienced in human history: Widespread, international, constant communication.
I can talk to friends, family, schoolmates, workmates, former neighbors, celebrities, and even my local cashier clerk at the grocery store. I can choose whose lives I get updates on, and see exactly what they’re doing approximately two –if not more- times a day.
Now, guess what my friends are doing lately:
1) Eating right
2) Exercising
3) Being responsible.
Compare that list to the list above. Positive Peer Pressure inspired me to get out there and do what I was supposed to be doing all along. Seeing my friends’ constant tweets and status updates about the fun and healthy things they are doing makes me want to do them too.
This is why I think Facebook is going to change this generation. For the first time we can tell each other what we’re doing at any given moment –and the pressure’s on.
I’ve been watching my former classmates out globetrotting and doing some amazingly wonderful things (volunteering, getting their degrees, getting married, starting businesses, ministering in foreign countries, staging protests, etc.), and sometimes I feel a little bad for not participating in the world to my maximum capabilities. If everyone’s out being fabulous, what am I do sitting at home with my fiancé on a Friday night (except homework and surfing the internet)?
Of course, while you can use Facebook as a tool to stay connected, get inspired, or just entertain yourself, like everything it can also have negative consequences. It goes with the old saying, ‘If you hang out with a bad crowd, you will be like them.’
Remember, on Twitter and Facebook you can choose who to hear from. On Facebook, you can friend someone, but then remove their updates from your feed so that you never actually see their statuses. I used this feature to block out people I wasn’t particularly interested in hearing about, and those who were constantly negative or, worst of all, boring. Those who are left provide me with a constant chatter about the involvement, commitment, and joy in their daily lives.
It’s the same with Twitter. On my personal one, you’re welcome to follow me, but I’ll only follow you back if I a) know you or b) think you are interesting and relevant to my life. The independent artist from San Francisco who just wrote a rant about frogs? Follow back! The realtor dishing on all the gossip about local developments and construction? Eh, not for me.
Tonight I’m going to go home, exercise, eat some low-carb dinner and then study for my no-deadlines summer Biology class (If I don’t keep myself on schedule, no one will). You know what my friends are probably doing?
The same thing.
So, what do you think? Am I right or crazy? (Those are the only two choices.)
Welcome from Fictionpress!
Last modified on 2009-05-16 01:05:08 GMT. 0 comments. Top.
If you have just come from Fictionpress after reading an update from the story known there as ‘Woman’s World’, there is something I want to say to you:
Thank you. Five years ago when I was just writing my first novel, it was the positive feedback from the reviewers that kept me going, and kept me inspired to keep writing this story. When I moved on to other novels and projects, it was your support that gave me the confidence to write alone with no one to praise or criticize my work.
Even now that I am no longer advertising WW on Fictionpress, I get a lone reviewer every now and then who reminds me again of how much enjoyment both I and other readers have gotten from this series. I am serious about publishing those novels and making them available to the public at large, and I am inviting you to watch me do it.
Because I now have my literary agent I figured this was a good time to create a website and make this thing official. Additionally, I will shortly be taking down the WW story so it is not available for free when I am trying to sell it to a publishing company, and so I wanted to give my reviewers a resource for keeping track of the series, especially since I have changed the name of the first book to Antebellum.
Here you can read about Antebellum and my other novels and stories, as well as find out some more information about me. You can also follow me on Facebook or Twitter. The addresses for those can be found on the top menu under ‘Contact’.
This website and blog may be new, but check back frequently as I plan to make regular posts discussing writing, the publishing process, and fun/cool things readers and writers will find interesting.
As ever, I’m here if you need me. Thanks for coming over here and checking it out, and I hope to see you around.
-Savannah
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