No, it’s not erotica.

Really. It isn’t.

We’re in the early stages yet — researching our options and planning accordingly. And writing, which is why I’ve decided to make my process public as I work on “Heart’s Ink”. If nothing else, those interested will get a good look at how I write a story, from the first idea to the finished result. And hey, maybe it’ll drum up interest in the anthology, too.

Planning out this story contains factors that I usually don’t need to consider. Since “Heart’s Ink” will be part of a collaborative anthology, half of the challenge is about meeting the goals we all decided on:

- A strong if not dominant tone of humor.

- Themes of tentacles (to boost the humor quotient) and messy love (as in, unrequited love, disillusioned love, etc. Not… not ACTUAL messy love).

- Shorter word counts. Novellas, short stories, poems, flash fiction, etc.

For the humor factor, I’ve decided to go with the cheekiness and bite of a comedy of manners. Mining funny from social conventions and ways. Where a disgraced reputation is more serious than murder. Where what is right is not nearly so important as what is proper.

With this in mind, I’ve decided to give “Heart’s Ink” a dieselpunk setting, and its characters a society that clings to Victorian ideals and manners even as it hides its ugly underbelly beneath the gleam of machinery. How is this conducive to tentacles? Mad scientists. And arcane matters. I’ve yet to separate science and the supernatural in my writing, and I’m not about to start here.

Word count. I’m aiming for 20K. Short stories aren’t my strength, but I’m comfortable with the roomier space of a novella.

These are broad decisions, the first swipes of the pen as I begin sketching. As concepts solidify into ideas and then into firm story elements, I’ll post about them.

Rest in peace, Ms. Jones, and thank you for all the amazing stories.

1. Have confidence in the story. Doubt infects, weakens, and kills. Then it spreads. Like projectile leprosy.

2. Nothing makes up for writing on a regular basis.

3. Writing something that makes me uncomfortable is often a good sign.

4. Don’t wait until I “know more” to get better at something. Write NOW to get better at it.

5. Monsters make everything better.

What are your personal writing rules, if you have any?

Mind, I don’t think steampunk is inherently superficial as a genre, and I also don’t think mainstream examples should be considered proof that it is, when there are eddies of counter-movements against Euro-centric, non-punk steampunk. But it is a newer genre, and one that’s very popular, and so one that people jump into, slapping goggles onto their MC and describing faux-Victorian clothing to nab that label.

And I’m going to pull out my Opinion Hat and say that I think this is why setting-heavy stories so easily end up as tin-men. More emphasis on what would be cool to describe, and what would gleam brightly for the reader, than what would work as a structural foundation for the story, which leads the worldbuilding to overwhelm instead of accentuate.

Hey, I’ll admit it: I’m a worldbuilding snob, both as writer and reader. I want to see the roots of these motherfuckers, not just the reflective gleam of their surface. It’s why I personally despise the Rule of Cool — throwing in what sounds good and gluing it together with more of what sounds good.

I love worldbuilding that is completely merged with the story. Say two characters have a conversation for plot and personality development. I’d like to see the worldbuilding permeating this scene — where these people are, what words they consider to be profanity (c’mon, if we’re talking a sex-positive culture here, “fuck” isn’t going to have the negative nuance Westernized cultures today recognize and are aware of), whether they have to speak in a certain way if there are social differences between the two, whether they are eating or drinking, and if they are, what. The possibilities are endless, and for a scene that isn’t even primarily focused on setting.

In other words, I feel worldbuilding has a larger chance of overwhelming everything else when it’s used as skin instead of as veins and arteries. Hiding a story’s heart instead of feeding it blood.

When I look for heroines, I look for heroines who choose violence as a tool because it works for them, not because it’s thrust upon them. I want heroines who are powerful for power’s sake. Who are honestly, truly, really, scary. Not sexy-scary. Not girl-next-door-scary. But genuinely someone who you’d be terrified to bump into in a dark alley. Because they are so good and unapologetic about what they do.

It’s rare to find this type of heroine in urban fantasy, or spec fic in general. Typically, a woman who is ambitious and willing to use violence is a villainess, not a heroine. Furthermore, she often doesn’t commit violence herself, but in true femme fatale fashion, manipulates men to do bloody deeds by enticing them with her bodacious body. Death via sex, in true Salome fashion.

So a protagonist who commits violence with her own hands, feet, and teeth? One who does so not because she *has* to, but because she wants to? Definitely unusual. Definitely refreshing. Definitely something I want to see more of.

No, I mean the self-aware ones who know they are unsympathetic and couldn’t care less. They are arrogant, ambitious, daring. The ones that will punch you in the nose if you stand in their way of getting what they want. They are often seen more as antagonists or sharpened into villains than as protagonists.

I honestly find this type to be fascinating when written well. I don’t need to sympathize with a main character to want to follow them through their story — just find something to admire or empathize with in them. Or not even that; the main character in The Physiognomy is an outright asshole for much of the story, but he’s so damn entertaining that I was sucked in within the first several pages.

How do you feel about this type of main character? Can’t stand ‘em? Enjoy ‘em? Something in between?

Luckily, the machine has pre-drawn plans. Unless you’re writing Finnegan’s Wake, most of these machines do. Plots as pistons, characters as crankshafts… you get the idea.

But still. I look at this mess and how much work is needed to turn it into what my plans promise, and my feelings can only be summed up as “exhilirifying.”

A lot of books I admire and love are on this list, which isn’t even comprehensive beyond one decade, and some of them are really mind-boggling. After the red cleared from my eyes, I chose two to review: The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood, and Blood and Chocolate by Annette Curtis Klause.

There’s something ironic about a novel on censorship being censored, isn’t there? Add that to the fact that The Handmaid’s Tale is one of the best dystopian stories I’ve read, and you bet I’m picking it for the spotlight.

In a world that used to be a lot like ours, women are relegated to strictly enforced roles in their society. They have no rights and no privacy. Some even have their personal names taken from them. They are only hands to do work, wombs to carry children, and tongues to spread propaganda, depending upon what role was chosen for them.

Main character Offred is a Handmaid, whose only duty is to get impregnated by her Commander (a man of the ruling class) so he can have an heir. Offred’s point of view is written as stream-of-consciousness — disjointed flashbacks, memories, and perceptions that slowly form a bleak picture of totalitarian rule.

Now I know some spec fic readers and writers cringe at The Handmaid’s Tale because it’s unapologetically feminist and feeling-oriented and eewwww, that’s not really dystopian. My reply is fuck you, it is. The fact that it is consistently banned is damn good proof of its power to push buttons and provoke, and I can’t think of anything more reflective of dystopia. It’s ambiguous, frighteningly realistic, and best of all, written to treat readers as a perceptive, intelligent audience that can be left to draw its own conclusions.

In comparison, Blood and Chocolate may seem like a bit of fluff, banned not because of the concepts it represents, but for mundane reasons like sexual content and violence. But I think that glosses over a lot of what this YA novel offers.

Sixteen-year-old Vivian is a werewolf, part of a pack that recently moved after their alpha (who was also Vivian’s father) was killed by suspicious humans. As her pack struggles to regroup and find a new leader to guide them, Vivian finds herself enamored with a human named Aiden. He seems sweet and gentle, unlike the rougher males in her pack. A nice change of pace.

Yet at the same time, one of the alpha contenders, Gabriel, warns her that she can’t trust a human to not break her heart, should she ever reveal herself… and when Vivian does, the consequences become life-threatening.

The conspiracy theorist in me wonders if Blood and Chocolate isn’t banned so much for descriptions of gore and sex than because Vivian is a teenager aware and comfortable with her sexuality. Not in a “HOYEAH SCHOOLGIRL SLUT FANTASY” way, but in being straightforward with what she wants and who she wants it with. It feels very lupine, the sort of “This is my body, this is what it feels, so why question these urges?” mentality, and actually works really well in separating her mentality from that of a human’s.

On a more general note, it’s really unusual to find werewolves who feel primal even as humans, and it’s this characteristic that lifts Klause’s work above the swarm of werewolf novels out there. For that alone, this book should not only not be banned, but given a gold star.

But I figure I’ll open up a little and reveal what’s stewing in the creative cauldron. Also, I’m going to join NaNoWriMo this year, so that’ll offer a lot of material to work with.

So on that note, here’s my project stats:

The Bone Grind. Urban fantasy with werewolves, metal familiars, and people that can turn their hands into guns. Currently in second draft stage, and tentatively scheduled to be finished and sent to betas by the end of this year.

Ruby Fed. Dark fantasy about a serial killer who agrees to a political marriage and unexpectedly falls in love with his new wife. Currently in early planning stages, and tentatively scheduled to be this year’s NaNo project.

The Thirteenth Rib. Science fiction with flesh harvesting factories and a MC searching for his sister in a city where nothing is safe and no one can be trusted. Currently in planning stages. The first draft will commence after NaNo.

Wolf Healer. Dark fantasy novella about an apprenticed healer whose village “cures” werewolves through bleeding and contagious magic. Will be lengthened into a novel-size manuscript.

The villain is introduced immediately, which doesn’t bother me. What makes my head tilt to the side much like a puzzled dog’s is that he is introduced as the villain immediately, if that makes sense. In other words, the kind of actions that make a reader go, “Holy shit, they’re a twisted, maniacal kitten killer!” are the first impression of this character.

And it’s done well. Really well, actually, in that I was horrified by reading it. Vivid, creative, effective. Yet… I feel like I’m cheated a little as a reader, as if it could have been even more effective if my first glimpse of this character had happened during his “safe” mode, creating a gentler first impression that would have been turned upside down as it extended into the full scene.

Instead, the character is firmly entrenched in my mind as Crazy Madman Baby Eater, and he’s going to stay that way. Oh sure, depending on where the story goes, he may become Crazy Madman Baby Eater who likes to quietly garden, or Crazy Madman Baby Eater who loves his pet mutant bird, but these details, if they happen, will remain secondary.

Why? Because first impressions stick with us, no matter what. Even if further characteristics smudge them. Even if a twist ending completely obliterates them. They’re still there, a faint outline that can’t be completely erased.