Busy weekend!

Got the second rough draft of the current WIP done! That means I’ve done the first cut (I cut 47 pp) and also taken care of the 30+ notes-to-self to fix continuity etc, which added back about 6 pp. The story’s now about 123,000 words, which isn’t bad. I’m sure I’ll wind up doing a final cut and knocking it down a bit more, but this is good for now.

The accumulated clean-up notes are sometimes totally trivial: if somebody uses a knife in the last scene, she’d better HAVE a knife in some earlier scene. That’s easy: find a place to insert the knife, put it in, all done.

Then there are the trivial-but-annoying fixes: does everyone who’s supposed to have an accent have one all the way through the story? Checking this means reading over every single scene a character appears in all the way through. You don’t want to overdo the references to the accent, either, so you have to evaluate each scene to see if the references to the accent, if any, seem appropriate. Same sort of thing with physical description: too much? Too little? Does that character have blue eyes all through, is that one consistently bald? Same again with the physical description of the landscape: don’t want to bog things down, but I want to do enough description to put the reader in the scene.

This sort of checking is so VERY VERY tiresome. It’s this sort of thing that makes me bored with the manuscript by the time I send it off for a second opinion. Luckily I get un-bored as time passes, so when someone requests revisions, that’s not usually such a trial.

Then there’s the need for re-checking big, important aspects of the book. Oressa’s relationship with her father is not the same as Gulien’s. Relationships have to stay consistent, or change in appropriate ways, as the story unfolds. If I reinterpret one character toward the end of the book, then I have to go back through and smooth that out from the beginning — initial scenes with that character may have to change, everyone’s relationships with that character may have to be tweaked — lots of decision making and judgment calls. This is not as tedious, but it is hard.

At the end, I routinely wind up not sure whether the characterization works. This is a big, big reason I need another opinion. Like in the Griffin Mage, Book 2: I couldn’t tell whether the relationship between Gereint and Beguchren worked. It was supposed to be a subtle relationship, but it’s central to the story and very important and it was harder than putting in a romance because you know the reader understands how romances work and will “fill in” the appropriate emotions, but a subtle nonsexual relationship between two men? You have to do it all yourself because that relationship could take so many different shapes.

So the notes that are left? They are permanent notes about conflicts and relationships. Those notes never go away, because I refer to them over and over as I do the final revision. And then I hope my second readers tell me how great the characterization is. Always a relief when I hear that!

AND! Taking a break now, because I’m dying to read the rest of Marsden’s Tomorrow series! I hope the rest of them arrive TODAY!

I can talk myself into thinking the characterization works or doesn’t work — I can talk myself into and out of both beliefs in a surprisingly short period of time — so it’s extremely helpful to have an objective reader tell me that Yes, it’s fine; or No, they can’t see that character acting like that in this scene.

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Preview —

Take a look at the current WIP, if you like. This should be just about exactly the final draft; I find that for me, the beginning doesn’t usually change much as it passes from my hands through my agent’s and an editor’s. Presuming it gets an editor’s comments, of course.

This one is a bit unusual, though, because it didn’t start out as the beginning. It started out as the first part of Chapter 3. Then I was so charmed by Oressa that I made her the primary point-of-view character, demoting the character I thought was primary, and moved her introductory chapter up front as part of this promotion. I think this works well; substantially better than what I initially had in mind.

Anyway — here it is:

* * * *

Chapter 1

They were talking about her.

Oressa, tucked up in the tiny space underneath her father’s chair, hidden by the silk draped over the seat, breathed soundlessly through her mouth, tensed and relaxed all her muscles in turn to keep from getting painful cramps in her legs and back, and listened.

Oressa had known her father and brother and Lord Meric and Magister Baramis would be talking about important things. Her father never sent all his servants and attendants away unless he was wanted to talk to his closest advisors about things that were important. Sometimes these things turned out to be boring, as when her father and Baramis spent an hour arguing about whether to compel the dyer’s guild to sell dyes and fixatives at a low flat rate to a favored merchant house that had just brought in a load of Markandan silk – Oressa had vivid memories of being stuck for ages, listening to that argument.

She had guessed that this morning’s topic would be more exciting, though. She’d suspected her father would want to talk about Tamarist, or actually the Tamaristan ships in the harbor. She’d been right about all that. But she hadn’t guessed that she would hear her own name appear in the ensuing argument, or in what context.

The Tamaristan ships worried a lot of people. Oressa already knew all about that. Everybody knew the king of Tamarist had suffered a stroke or seizure or something and was probably on his deathbed, and so of course everybody knew that the Tamaristan princes were all positioning themselves for the fight over the succession. In Tamarist, the succession was always exciting unless the king declared which of his sons was going to be his heir and had the rest killed, and this time the king had collapsed too suddenly to do either, and from what Meric had said at least three princes looked well-positioned and ambitious enough to try for the throne. So now everybody was worried about Tamarist. There were a lot more ships than usual slipping back and forth in the Narrow Sea, Meric said, and Oressa gathered that lots of them had the slim lines and swept-back prows of warships rather than merchanters, and lots of the sailors who came ashore swaggered like soldiers.

But from what she’d overheard this morning, Oressa gathered that Baramis didn’t agree with Meric at all. Baramis doubted Tamarist actually intended to attack anybody on this side of the Narrow Sea. After all, he pointed out, sometimes merchanters did use sleek-lined ships, and many sailors swaggered. Anyway, hadn’t Meric heard? All the Tamaristan ships had abruptly recalled their sailors yesterday and sailed out, so apparently they were going home. Which made sense because every Tamaristan prince ought by rights to be more concerned with the succession at home than with foreign adventures. If the king died and his brothers started fighting over the succession, any prince on this side of the Narrow Sea would surely forfeit his chance at the throne. Did Meric think any Tamaristan prince was both ambitious enough to attack Whetsee and yet not ambitious enough to fight for his father’s throne?

Oressa thought all that might be true, but she didn’t like Baramis and she thought he sounded especially condescending this morning, so she was on Meric’s side. And anyway, she thought it would be better to worry about Tamarist and be wrong than not worry and be wrong about that.

Meric said all the ships acting in concert that way was not reassuring; acting all together was characteristic of ships under military command, not merchanters. Just because they’d sailed out yesterday didn’t mean they couldn’t sail in back tomorrow. He said a Tamaristan prince might very well consider a foreign base useful as part of his strategy for the struggle over the succession, and if he did, he would certainly think of Whetsee, and especially Caras. Everyone in Tamarist would know the Whetseen guardsmen and militia had been weakened by the plague of the past spring. It wasn’t the kind of thing that could have been kept secret, and anyway nobody had tried to hide it. They hadn’t realized, then, that there would be any reason to keep it secret.

The spring plague hadn’t really been too serious. It hadn’t come as one of the creeping red or purple or black mists that got into everything – those were the worst – but as a three-day rain of crystalline cubes, pattering down like fine white salt out of the bright, hot sky. Like salt, the crystals dissolved in water. Unlike salt, anyone who touched the crystals or drank the water in which they dissolved got first fever, and then chills and a higher fever with hallucinations, and then went into convulsions. Finally they died. Lots of people caught it, especially once it got into the city’s cisterns. But it killed so slowly that almost no one had actually died of it. Only hours after the rain finally stopped, the Kieba had sent a great cloud of tiny biting black flies on a stiff wind from her desert.

The flies had sparkled in the sun like black enamel and glass and their swarms had hummed in a descending chord of minor notes, so everybody had known right away that the Kieba had made them. Everyone had opened their shutters and doors to let the flies come into their homes. The insects had been especially attracted to anybody with a fever, but they bit everyone. The bites raised ugly welts that itched fiercely, but only a few of the flies would bite any particular person, and anyway both the welts and the itches faded in a few hours. The people that had been ill mostly got better after that, and anybody else who caught the fever mostly didn’t get so sick, and almost nobody died.

But even now, months later, the fever’s weakness lingered. People who’d caught it were slow to regain their full strength and endurance, and that meant the guardsmen and the soldiers and the militia, too. Whetsee was much less able to defend itself now than usual – especially in Caras, where the white-crystal rain had lingered longest. So with the sudden scramble of the Tamaristan succession added to the lingering effects of the plague, Oressa wasn’t surprised that Meric thought the Narrow Sea between Tamarist and Whetsee an inadequate barrier. She couldn’t tell yet whether he’d persuaded her father to be worried, too.

“It’s awkward for Tamarist to get a large force across the sea, but not that awkward, and if one of the princes wants to establish a foothold on this side of the sea, it’s a good time for him to get it done. And unfortunately all the Tamaristan princes have to know that,” said Meric, summing up half an hour of argument that had struck Oressa, in her cramped position, as unnecessarily repetitive.

“Prince Gajdosik is posturing,” said Oressa’s father, speaking for almost the first time since he’d sent away his attendants and told Meric to speak freely. His voice was worn, unmoved, flat with indifference. The chair creaked as he shifted his weight. “The desert is dry, the sea is wet, and Tamaristan princes posture. None of this is new. Gajdosik wants trade concessions so that he can show his supporters he is clever and would be a strong king, but it is unlikely he wishes to spend men and gold on this side of the Narrow Sea. Find out what he wants and offer him something he’ll settle for, and there’ll be an end to it.”

Gajdosik was the prince they all apparently thought was behind the appearance of those suspicious ships in Caras’ harbor. The king of Tamarist had a lot of sons and Oressa had never tried to keep them all straight. She knew Gajdosik wasn’t the oldest, but she was pretty sure he wasn’t the youngest, either. She dug her fingers hard into the muscle of her right calf, which was beginning to cramp after all, and wondered how much longer this argument would take.

“It’s not just posturing,” Meric said. “I’m sure it’s not, sire. What they want – at least Gajdosik and maybe one or more of the others – is a chance to pillage and maybe a foreign territory to exploit. You dead, their own man as governor, and our people hardly better than slaves: remember what Tamarist did to Haipastat, and that wasn’t so very long ago. Gajdosik’s an ambitious man: I don’t think he’ll settle for trade concessions.”

“In a year, in another month perhaps, our soldiers and militia will have regained their strength,” answered her father’s worn voice. “And the Tamaristan succession will be settled, or nearly so, I should expect. Perhaps we might consider ways in which we might delay an ambitious prince, if one or another of that brood indeed directs his ambition toward Whetsee. Gajdosik, yes,” he added, to Meric, Oressa assumed. “Or any prince. Well?”

“If Meric is indeed correct that a Tamaristan prince isn’t merely posturing, well, Oressa’s finally marriageable,” Baramis said smoothly. “Offer her to Gajdosik, or whatever prince it proves to be. I imagine that with such a prize promised to his hands, we’ll find a prince cares little about more general plunder.”

Oressa twitched so hard she rapped her head against the underside of her father’s chair, but luckily the sound was covered over by everybody else speaking at once.

Baramis was continuing, “Perhaps such an offer might help settle the succession, too, which would be useful. A token concession such as Oressa’s hand in marriage might be just the symbolic victory a prince such as Gajdosik could use to bring the Tamaristan armies under his banner. More than that, an offer of formal alliance with Whetsee, one gained without the need to spend men or gold, ought to be worth a great deal to any intelligent prince.”

There was a brief silence. Oressa bit her wrist to keep from making a sound.

“My sister is a token concession?” said Oressa’s brother, Gulien, speaking for the first time. Gulien didn’t ordinary say very much during these meetings: their father expected him to keep quiet and listen. Their father said: You should leave the arguing to your advisors, and decide, and then allow no more argument. But Gulien said now, “My only sister? We might think twice before giving Oressa away to any Tamaristan prince, intelligent or otherwise. We might also ask ourselves whether it is so wise to establish a formal alliance with Tamarist, however expedient such an alliance seems at the moment.” His tone was extremely mild, which Oressa knew meant he was furious.

“A signal honor, I should have said,” said Baramis smoothly. “But one that costs us, in practical terms, very little.” He turned to the king. “I’m sure you agree, sire, that there’s no benefit bestowing your daughter’s hand on any rich merchant from Carst or gilded Markand lordling. A prince of Illium might do us some good, but there’s no unwed Illian prince. No, sire, think on it: offering Oressa to a Tamaristan prince such as Gajdosik would be much more to our advantage. And the more aggressive the prince, the greater the advantage to us – so long as we are careful to channel that aggression. We have an opportunity to do that here.”

Oressa’s father said nothing. She imagined he had nodded or waved for Baramis to go on or looked at Meric – ah, the latter, because Meric said, “Well, sire, it’s true that a Whetsee princess might be just what Gajdosik needs to press his claim over his brothers.” From his tone, he actually agreed with Baramis. He never agreed with Baramis about anything. Oressa thought this was an awful time for him to start. But he said, “Getting Gajdosik away from Whetsee, getting him to go home and fight his brothers, would be perfect. The princess and an alliance might be costly, perhaps, but think of it as an investment. A civil war in Tamarist would give them a much better use for all their hot-blooded young men than sending them across the sea and against us!”

Gulien started to say something, his tone sharp, but then he stopped. For a long moment, no one spoke at all. Oressa thought probably her father had put up a hand for silence.

“Lord Meric, we will think over all you have said,” the king said. “Magister Baramis, we will consider your suggestion.” His tone remained flat, but it carried a finality that prevented anybody from trying to continue the argument. “Gulien . . . I will see you tonight. Later would be better, I believe. An hour before midnight will do. You will not speak of this before that time. To anyone.” There was a rustle as the king got to his feet. The chair creaked. “For the present,” said the king, “you may all retire.”

There was a murmur of acquiescence, followed by the low sounds of footsteps. The door opened, and the steps moved away. Oressa counted the steps and stayed where she was, bent low beneath the king’s chair, trying to ignore the sharp pain in her legs and the increasing ache of her back and shoulders and neck.

The door closed, a decisive little click. There was a pause. Then her brother said, his tone resigned, “All right, Oressa. Come out.”

Oressa crawled stiffly out from under the silk draping the king’s chair. She’d been too cramped for too long to stand up. She stretched her legs out gingerly, pounding her calves and thighs to unknot the muscles, concentrating on that so she wouldn’t have to look at her brother. She asked, “How did you know I was there?”

“Heard you. You little idiot.”

“Nobody ever catches me but you.” Oressa began to shrug, then winced and stretched her neck out to one side and then the other. Her neck hurt, her shoulders hurt – she was stiff all over, and angry. She glared at her brother. “Would you have told me? Or let them take me by surprise? ‘Oh, Oressa, guess what! You get to marry a Tamaristan prince! It’s so much cheaper than conceding fishing rights and he can wave you like a flag in front of his armies when he starts a civil war!’ Gods dead and forgotten!”

“Don’t swear, Oressa,” Gulien said automatically. But then he came to sit next to her. “If Father hadn’t given me leave to tell you tonight, I’d have written it out. Here, let me –” He came up on one knee behind her, and dug strong fingers into her shoulders.

“Ouch! Oh, that’s better. Thanks. Gulien –”

“It’s a stupid idea anyway. Marry you to Gajdosik? That’d be an act of war right there. He’d invade us just to force us to take you back.”

Oressa giggled. But then she said, “Well, it is a stupid idea. Anyway, I won’t do it. Marry a Tamaristan prince? I won’t marry Gajdosik or any of them. I’ll . . . I’ll . . .” A brilliant idea occurred to her. “I know! I’ll marry Kelian, quick before Father can stop me.”

Kelian was a young lieutenant in the palace guard. All the palace girls were determined to marry him, but so far he hadn’t shown special favor to any of them. But of course a mere lieutenant who fell in love with the only princess of Whetsee would be too shy to make the first declaration. Oressa knew he was just waiting for her to speak first.

But Gulien snorted. “You idiot. You will not.”

“He’s gorgeous and brave and nice to me and oh, yes, not a Tamaristan prince with a stupid name like Gajdosik! I’ll elope with him and then it’ll be impossible to marry me off to anybody.” She glared at her brother. “What? It’d work.”

“Father would kill Kelian,” her brother said succinctly. “He’d hang him and then he’d lock you up in the highest tower room until he could marry you off, which he would do so fast the gossip wouldn’t have time to get outside Caras. If not to Gajdosik, then to somebody else.” Gulien gripped her shoulders and shook her, gently. “Idiot. Probably Father will just dangle promises before Gajdosik for the rest of the year while we build up our strength and then marry you to some Whetsee lord at the last moment.”

“I don’t want to marry any Whetsee lord, either,” Oressa muttered. “I think Kelian is a much better idea.” But now that he’d pointed it out, she knew Gulien was right about her father’s response. She eyed her brother. “I’ll run away to Carst. No. To Illium. I’ll be a temple girl and carry the fire in the procession and dance around the sacred fountain every solstice and equinox – don’t laugh at me!”

“I’m not laughing at you.”

“You are. I can tell,” Oressa said darkly. She glared at him harder. “I won’t marry Gajdosik. I’m not joking. Get me out of this, Gulien. Get Father to see it’s really a stupid idea.”

Her brother looked at her.

“What?” said Oressa. “You agree with me it is a stupid idea, right? Gulien?”

“I’ll think of some other idea,” Gulien said. “But I don’t think it’s exactly stupid. I think Gajdosik would probably use you to seal an alliance with us, use our support to take Tamarist’s throne, and then eventually, if he’s really ambitious and has energy left over, invade Carst instead of Whetsee.”

“Oh, well, that’s all right, then,” Oressa said.

“The worst practical objection to that plan is, even if we support him, he might lose the fight with his brothers and then who knows what would happen?”

“Gulien –”

“Father probably had every possible move in the game figured two hours after we heard about the Tamaristan king’s stroke. Seizure. Whatever.”

This was probably true. Oressa glared at her brother. “You’d better tell me exactly what he says tonight. Or –” she cut that off. Maybe it would be better if she listened to that conversation herself . . .

“If you try to sneak into Father’s private rooms, they’ll catch you for sure, and then he really will lock you up in the highest tower.”

“Would I try such a thing?” Oressa laid a hand over her heart to show how shocked she was at this suggestion. She didn’t tell her brother that she’d managed this exact feat once before, when she was eleven, just to see if she could do it. She’d pretended to be a servant boy, and actually she’d come pretty near being caught and hadn’t even learned anything worth knowing. She’d sworn to herself she’d never try it again. But now she didn’t know. She was afraid Gulien wouldn’t tell her what their father said or did or decided, not if he thought it was better she didn’t know, not if their father ordered him not to. She couldn’t dress up as a boy anymore, not very successfully anyway, but she’d thought of two other ways she might get in if she tried. But Gulien was too good at catching her. She said, “You don’t need to protect me, you know –”

“You don’t try nearly hard enough to protect yourself! You’ve got to stop sneaking around, Oressa. If you’re caught once – just once – you have no idea how seriously Father might take this.”

Oressa found herself beginning to get angry. How could he say that? Of course she knew how angry Father would be – how could she not know – she knew better than anybody, better than Gulien did –

Her brother put a hand under her chin, lifting her face to make her look at him. He said seriously, “The next time I catch you, I’ll call you out right then, in front of everybody.”

“You –” wouldn’t, Oressa meant to say. But her brother looked very serious and she wasn’t sure.

“I would. I will.” Gulien let her go, rose, and stood for a moment with his fists on his hips, staring down at her. “I’ll check the hall is clear, Oressa. But this is the last time I’ll help you. You’re not a servant’s brat. You need to start behaving with a princess’s dignity.”

Oressa didn’t protest that she already did behave with dignity, most of the time, when anybody was watching. She got to her feet, ignoring the hand Gulien held down to her. Then she brushed the dust off her skirt, straightened her shoulders, ran her hands through her hair, lifted her chin, and put on a proper royal attitude like a cloak, or a mask. “You may check the hallway, if you like,” she said, as regally as she could. And once he had, she strolled away from Father’s counsel room toward her own rooms as though she could imagine nowhere at all she’d rather go.

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The (next) end is in sight!

I’m kind of thinking I can finish the entire first clean-up and cut of the manuscript by Friday. Probably. Certainly by Monday even if things go slower than I expect.

I’m going straight through from top to bottom right now, editing and cutting as I go, trying not to keep moving forward rather than going back over and over a scene I’ve just altered. Let it rest, let it go, it’s fine for now, and I know I’ll have better judgment about whether the scene works better LATER.

You know what’s weird is when you’re approaching a scene and it occurs to you that of course you should change it in some obvious fashion — edit out a particular character, give an action or piece of dialogue to one character rather than another — and you get to that scene and LO! The change has already been made.

I have no memory of editing that scene before. If particularly friendly and specialized brownies are doing my job while I sleep, well, I hope they keep it up.

I’ve got it down to 388 pp now; that’s 125,000 words, more or less. Progress! I have to remind myself sometimes that cutting paragraphs and whole pages is still a good thing, I shouldn’t just concentrate on cutting words and phrases — that’s for later. I definitely mean to cut at least 5000 more words, that’s about 15 pages, but three times that would probably be better.

So, break time when I get it done! I don’t know about another quart of double-chocolate brownie chunk ice cream, because I try not to do that too often, but I definitely have a celebratory book picked out as a bribe to myself to get this revision done! Five books, actually: I just discovered the Tomorrow series by John Marsden. It’s a set of seven short YA novels involving the invasion of Australia by an unspecified nation.

I’ve read the first two and they are SO GOOD. I am so impressed by Marsden’s characters. He has quite a few and they are all distinct and well drawn and the way everyone responds to what’s going on — perfect! I love his plotting, which is tight and clean. And his writing is great, it just disappears so you can fall right into the story.

And I think it was so clever of Marsden to avoid specifying the bad-guy invader nation. Honestly, there IS no possible real-world candidate for a nation that both could and would invade Australia, and he totally side-steps this whole problem by just deciding up front not to try to shoehorn a country that couldn’t work into that role. That is so much better than trying to twist things around to make something work when it couldn’t.

So, anyway, I’ve got the other five books ordered and they should all be lined up in a row waiting for me just about exactly at the time I finish this revision. Can’t wait!

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A special visitor to the garden

Not that I’m crazy about deer, they stomp all over my planting beds with their sharp little hooves, and they treat my gardens like their own private buffet . . . but . . .

Okay, I have to admit, that’s pretty cute! This little critter was tucked a foot away from the vegetable garden fence when I took this picture. Naturally my mother asked whether its mother might have abandoned it, and luckily I was available to say, as firmly as a conservation agent, NO, THE BABY IS FINE, THE MOTHER IS FINE, LEAVE WELL ENOUGH ALONE.

Which we did, and in fact this little guy has been back, finding hiding places here and there around the house. Under a smoke tree, for example, right next to the house. My dogs have no idea or they’d go nuts. At this age — the hide-and-freeze age — fawns have little to no scent, so predators have a hard time finding them, and that includes my dogs. Luckily there are the cicadas for the dogs to chase, so they’re not too deprived!

I’ll post a piece of my current WIP pretty soon . . . I’ve cut 32 pp so far, condensing three of the early chapters into two — that was a big and very necessary job. I’m still in the clean-up stage, and will be for a while. But yes, I did really enjoy my celebratory quart of double-chocolate brownie chunk ice cream, after finishing the rough draft. I ate it while reading a YA dystopian novel that’s kind of getting some buzz — Divergent, by Roth.

Both the ice cream and the book were very good — an important plot twist that I predicted didn’t happen, or hasn’t happened yet (maybe in the sequel?), and I’m still deciding whether I think that’s good or bad (it was a neat plot twist, and I’m not sure I believe that it could fail to happen given the way Roth set up her characters).

Do all popular YA dystopian novels have to be written in the first person? Roth did a fine job, it’s not that I was bothered by the first person pov, but I’m wondering whether young readers today expect / depend on / need the first person narrative in order to connect to this kind of dark-ish dystopian novel? Or are authors just following the herd? Haven’t decided that yet, either.

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The Best Chocolate Chip Cookie

So a few weeks ago I mentioned I was going to make a lot of different kinds of chocolate chip cookies, each purported to be the BEST CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIE IN THE WORLD, and have a taste test.

I actually have seventeen different chocolate chip cookie recipes in my “everyday cookie” file, each of which looks different enough or interesting enough to keep. I didn’t have time to make all seventeen kinds for the test, but I made eight. One doesn’t really count because it had vanilla chips and dried cranberries in it, but no real chocolate chips. (I knew at least one person didn’t like chocolate, and she did like these.)

So, seven cookies — pretty paltry, but enough for a first wave of testing, right? The recipes varied in whether they called for shortening, butter, or margarine (yes, one called for margarine specifically); in the proportion of white to brown sugar; and in the use of oats and / or nuts. I used top-quality Gheradelli chocolate chips for all the cookies. They’re by far the best chocolate chips I know of — I did my own taste test for chips first.

We actually had a tie between a pretty ordinary cookie with one interesting twist and a very unusual cookie. Just in case you’re interested in trying out some fantastic chocolate cookies, here are the winners!

1) Lindsay’s Chocolate Cafe Cookies

These are from an article I saw someplace that featured them as The Best in the World. I don’t remember where I saw the article, but I googled Lindsay’s Chocolate Cafe, and it turns out it’s in St. Louis, so it may well have been a local newspaper or something. These are basic chocolate chip cookies, but very good. The use of butter rather than shortening and the inclusion of walnuts and grated chocolate are what set these apart. Shortening is used in lots of chocolate chip cookie recipes, including the (quite decent) Tollhouse Cookie recipe. It gives a good texture to the finished cookie, but of course misses the butter taste, which is one reason I think Lindsay’s cookies were one of my winners.

2 1/2 C rolled oats
2 C flour
1 tsp each baking powder and baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
1 C butter, softened
1 C sugar
1 C brown sugar
2 eggs
1 tsp vanilla
12 oz semisweet chocolate chips
1 1/2 C chopped walnuts
4 oz grated chocolate (easiest to grate cold chocolate in a food processor)

And the standard directions for cookies: Combine the dry ingredients, cream together the butter and sugar, beat in the eggs and vanilla, stir in the chocolate chips and walnuts and grated chocolate, drop on cookie sheets and bake at 375 degrees for 10 minutes or so.


Now, the weirdest recipe, also a winner and my personal favorite! I have no idea where this recipe came from. Some ingredient or combination of ingredients gave these cookies this fantastic chewy texture. If you don’t like graham crackers, try these anyway — the graham cracker taste morphs into something completely different and far superior when used in these cookies.

2) Toffee Chocolate Chip Cookies

1/2 C butter, softened
1 can sweetened condensed milk
2 C fine graham cracker crumbs (grind in food processor)
3/4 C flour
2 tsp baking powder
2 C semisweet chocolate chips
1 C English toffee bits

Beat together the butter and condensed milk. Combine the dry ingredients and stir in. Stir in chocolate chips and English toffee bits. Drop on cookie sheets, back at 375 degrees for 10 minutes or so. I always line cookie sheets with parchment paper, and I definitely suggest it here, as I suspect the toffee bits would stick if the sheets were unlined.


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424 pp total, don’t remember the word count, but it’d be something like 140,000 words. Too long! At least, too long for this story, quite a lot longer than I want it to wind up. So! First, the clean up, then the first cut, then the final read-through-and-cut, and then I can send my newest baby off to be read by objective, analytical eyes . . . always a trifle nerve-wracking.

However, before that, I think a quart of double-chocolate brownie-chunk ice cream is in order. And what’s the point of really good ice cream unless you have a really good book to go with it? I need to pick up a copy of Veronica Roth’s “Divergent”, which I read the first chapter of a week ago and have been dying to get back to. How ’bout that for a recipe for a rewarding evening?

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Finished! Read More »

Still working . . .

Did I get my manuscript finished by the 6th, as I had planned? No. But mostly! The thing is a hair longer than expected, and the last 70 pages or so were painfully slow, but I should definitely be finishing up this week some time. I finished the climactic scene yesterday; now I’ve got the tie-up-loose-ends scenes, which I always particularly enjoy, so that should go faster.

During the past three weeks and 170 pages, I’ve also accumulated 28 notes about details to fix. I hate stopping to fix things on the run, as it were, so during the last push to finish a book, I just make quick notes: remember this character should have an accent all the way through the story; just gave that one guy an important medallion, so go back and insert it in earlier scenes; our understanding of this Oressa’s father changed in significant ways through the course of the story, so be sure that works; my conception of the personality of her brother changed, so definitely have to go back and re-do his earlier scenes so he’s consistent throughout. Is there a romance subplot between the two pov characters or isn’t there? Time to decide and, if there is, put it in; and if there’s not, make sure there really isn’t. I’ve always known where the real romance is, so the only question is whether there’s another romance around the edges or not, and if so, is it all in one character’s head or in both? Still don’t know.

Then AFTER dealing with all the notes, there’s the first real effort to cut. It’s 405 pp now; I think the final rough length will be about 430. I’ll want to cut that back to 350 pp or so. That’s about a 15% cut, which certainly won’t be too much. Then I’ll reread the whole thing from top to bottom, cutting on a sentence-by-sentence level, but really reading for coherence and flow.

Then I’ll send the ms. to my brother, with a request to please let me know if in fact I fell down somewhere on coherence — of the world, of the characters, of the plot. If any character does anything or plans to do anything (unintentionally) stupid, Craig will tell me and I will fix it. If any aspect of the story doesn’t make sense, ditto.

THEN I will be ready to send the ms. to Caitlin, my agent, who will send me about a three-page (judging from the past) editorial letter about pacing and stuff. That will lead to the final revision — well, final until an actual editor requests revisions, (I hope)! So that’s when it’s over to my agent. Me, I’ll stick the thing on a mental shelf labeled “not my problem, out of my hands” and forget about it. I’ll have taken breaks while I wait for Craig’s comments and then for Caitlin’s, so when I shelve this ms., I’ll probably be ready to start work on something else.

I’m thinking next . . . the story set in an alternate Ottoman Turkey. But not sure! I could change my mind a dozen times between now and then, and probably will. Got a good idea for a main character from one of Elizabeth Moon’s recent books — might see where that idea takes me instead. Or maybe one of the fifty books on my To Be Read pile will spark a great idea. So we’ll see!

But in the meantime, it’s FINISH THIS WEEK OR DIE.

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Still working . . . Read More »

I know, it’s been a few days —

But I’ve been busy!

The semester ended six days ago, so busy busy busy trying to get things done before the summer session starts on June 7th. Not just writing, though that, too! It’s always great if I’m motivated and ready to go right at the beginning of a break like this, because who wants a project to drag on and on when you can just do it and get it done?

I have two dog shows before the 7th (and one or two more in June, and then there’s the big specialty in July . . .), so around the edges of other stuff, it would be kind of nice to re-teach Dara that it doesn’t hurt to let the judge check her bite. But it’s not crucial, she’s not terrible about it, she doesn’t flail around in panic when the judge goes to touch her head, she just flinches and draws back. No, she’s never been hurt nor, as far as I know, frightened. She just doesn’t like strangers touching her mouth (would you?). All it’ll take is a pocket full of treats and some cooperative strangers. If I get to it. Sigh. I’ve been here before with Dara, but dogs are not robots and you can’t program them once and expect your job to be done.

I prefer the judge to ask me to show the dog’s bite, btw. It’s the judge’s option whether he or she does it or whether you do it, and that’s fine in principle, but besides a possible flinch, it’s really not sanitary to have the same judge touch one dog’s mouth after another all day. My girls are vaccinated against bordatella and the canine flu and everything, but especially when you have a pregnant girl or young puppies at home, the last thing you want to risk is bringing home some nasty show-dog crud because a judge insisted on checking bites personally.

Also, busy gardening! Weeding, weeding, weeding, plus trying to get plants set out between cloudbursts and thunderstorms. More rain all day today, then more expected on Saturday and from then on as far as they can see. Too bad, though very good for writing! I’ll be putting more baby shrubs (my much-cherished Korean evodia seedlings) up in gallon pots tomorrow, since heaven knows when they’ll be able to go in the ground. What a pain!

And, yes, of course, I’ve been writing! Mornings and evenings, every day! My goal was to finish my current WIP by bringing the complete draft in at about 300 pages.

I know, right? Not likely! “Short” is not my natural length, though I keep striving for it.

My REAL goal is to finish my current WIP without letting it go over 400 pages, which is looking possible. It’s at 275 pp as of this afternoon. (The most I ever overshot was for the third Griffin Mage book, which reached a draft length of 499 pages before I started cutting. I cut exactly 100 pages before I sent it to my agent, but my hope is that I will never overshoot that far EVER AGAIN. Especially not while writing under a deadline, like I was for that one!)

Anyway, I spent the morning shuffling the order of the chapters around and studying the effect. I wound up putting the girl protagonist first (chapters 3 and 4 just became chapters 1 and 2) to reflect her increasing tendency to take over the story plus (imho) her out-and-out charm is hard to beat. Added bonus: the story now starts with a fun scene that gets things moving faster. I think it works much better this way, but now that the girl is kind of the primary main character, I can see I’ll be cutting some of the boy’s storyline, especially in chapters 3, 4, and 5. Not worried about cutting just yet, though! We are MOVING FORWARD because this sucker is GOING TO BE FINISHED BY JUNE 7th and I am not kidding.

Which brings us to motivation!

I don’t know how other writers do it, but the single most important thing I do to start working on a new ms, or speed myself up when hit the doldrums, or get myself through a painfully slow scene that I know I will cut later but have to write first, or force a difficult scene that isn’t cooperating — to move ahead rather than bog down, in other words — is simply to keep a daily log of progress. Just the date and the number of pages written and the total page count as of that date.

That’s it.

The first time you note down 2 or 6 or 10 pp written, you sneer at it: Wow, 10 pages. Ooh, impressive.

But you write 10 (or even 2) pages every day and by golly it adds up. Gives you this sense of conquest, rather than mere accomplishment! Looky there, sixty pages in six days, whoa, I am SO COOL, I am a REAL WRITER, look at it go! Whoosh! (It helps if you can sincerely believe that a good part of what you’re writing is really pretty good.)

Plus, I decided I would write an average of 8 pp every day for the 22 days of this break, which (as I trust you instantly realize) would amount to a total of 176 pp. Since I already had 226 pp when the break started, that would bring me to 402 pp, or in other words I expected to be typing THE END in there someplace, which was the whole point, right? And knowing that the finish line is in sight is a big motivator, too.

I actually have written 10 pp every day so far, even though THREE WHOLE DAYS so far have actually been pleasant and sunny and I have also done gardening and stuff. So the page count is adding up faster than I expected, and again, I get this great feeling that I’m getting somewhere, which of course I am. Plus I am avoiding revision, mostly, except for shuffling the chapters around like I said, because revision is a great and good thing, but it is not your friend when you are trying to reach the finish line!

Now, for me, the OTHER great motivator when I have a break like this and can spend a good bit of time with my laptop, is that I can start to live in the story. This is why I try to arrange to write the last part of a book during a break, because for me this is the part that goes fast if it gets a chance. I have actually met writers who say the end is the slow, hard slog for them, but I think that’s pretty rare. Sometimes the beginning is fast, too, but almost always the end.

For me, this is where the plot finishes working itself out — I think of new cool plot twists and bits of dialogue and it suddenly occurs to me that I can swap chapters around or combine two characters or HEY GUESS WHAT, that minor character who has no real role except to be eye candy? He’s not just a good-looking idiot, he’s actually a traitor, and no he’s not working for this one guy like you’d expect, either, but that one, and look, THERE goes the plot, THAT way!

But getting to this point? And keeping it going when I hit a tedious bit that I have to get through before I can write the next cool scene? Just a straight-up day-by-day page count where I can admire the accummulation of pages.

Now, gotta go. I’ve just dropped the good guys into the frying pan and they’re just about to climb out and realize they’re in the fire! Don’t quite know how they’re going to dig their way out of the coals, but it’ll come to me — and way before June 7th.

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I know, it’s been a few days — Read More »

End of finals week tomorrow!

Which will give me three weeks off during which I should finish my current WIP. I think!

I have 226 pages done so far, and I want it to come in at about 300 pages long, but I can tell you right now, I am going to overshoot that length. Too bad! I could in theory, if I had the ending solid in my head, and if the weather was cruddy so I was forced to stay inside, and if I didn’t have any dog shows or anything to interrupt me, write eighty pages in less than a week.

But I don’t think I have the ending THAT solid, and I expect to need more than eighty pages anyway. Plus the weather is finally warm and less wet, AND I have two dog show weekends in there, plus I am making ALL the desserts for the party my mother’s having for the choir on the last Sunday of the month . . . it’ll take every bit of those three weeks, I expect. Still! The end will be in sight the minute I sit down with my laptop and open the WIP file.

I will be having a Best-Of-Chocolate-Chip-Cookies bake-off, by the way, in which I will furnish nine kinds of chocolate chip cookies that have all won contests (not for me! I copied them from here and there, and this will be a No-Really-Which-Is-The-Best taste trial. Also, for those who don’t like chocolate chip cookies (I know at least one attendee will fall into this category) I will make a cheesecake and an apple cake and maybe these neat little marzipan-wrapped petit fours-types of mini cakes, if I have time. And maybe something light? Like a trifle? I made an orange trifle for mom on Mother’s Day and that turned out well. I’ll think about it.

A busy second spring break for me!

Then the summer session will start . . . lots of people optimistic enough to sign up for algebra classes in the eight-week summer session. Fun for all!

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End of finals week tomorrow! Read More »

Recent reading —

Got stuck in a traffic jam on Saturday. Thirty minutes stop-and-go, and what did I get to show for it? A lousy reserve ribbon. It’s officially “Reserve Winners”, but unofficially “First Loser”.

And the girl that beat my lovely Kenya? Not a tenth as good as she is. The judge goes on my “To Avoid” list, since we apparently have fundamental disagreements about correct type and movement in Cavaliers.


But! Nice weather, for a change! Hot, even! Since this was a nearby show, I was home every afternoon. Planted out the peppers, at last! And the zinnias — at LAST! They weren’t in great shape: too long in small pots under lights. But I started a bunch of ’em, so if half survive, that’ll be enough.

Also read several books, starting with A Princess of Roumania, by Paul Parks.

This book was a World Fantasy Award nominee. I really wanted to love it, and I honestly thought I would, but honestly, I couldn’t get really attached to any of the characters. Yes, I liked the dog. I loved the whole concept of the dog! I loved a lot of the concepts, in this book, but I didn’t love the book.

Also, for me, there was too much time spent in the point of view of the evil Baroness. I mean, she was well-drawn and everything, but I found myself just skimming her chapters.

Overall take on the book: neat concept, neat world, excellent writing, didn’t like it. Too bad!

So then I read Maximum Ride by James Patterson. Again, I thought I would really love it — again, it fell a little flat for me. For totally different reasons. It’s meant to be a YA and I get that, but there were too many suspension-of-disbelief problems for me — regarding the underlying idea and the plot both. We’re superstrong and can punch like mules kick, only we also have light bones! Explain how we don’t shatter our bones when we hit someone?

And the bad guys — sorry, didn’t believe in them much.

Also, the superpowers were a little much of a muchness! We can fly! AND talk to animals! AND breathe underwater! AND read minds! O-Kay.

Anyway, kind of a relief I wasn’t overwhelmed, since there are zillions of books in the series and now I don’t have to buy them. Though I’m tempted to get the one that focuses on Fang. I did like Fang.

THEN I read Ghost Country by Patrick Lee.


That was a thrill ride. Fast paced? You have no idea. I can’t think of anybody who can make you turn the pages faster. Loved this book. Better than the first, even, and I loved that one! I read the whole thing in one swift evening, stayed up late and everything (I never do this!).

Patrick Lee is the very newest addition to my preorder-anything-he-writes list of authors. I’m dying for a sequel to Ghost Country, but hey — anything he writes, I’m right there.

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Recent reading — Read More »

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