All aboard the blog train!

September 1, 2015

As part of the Stonecoast MFA Blog Train organized by J.R. Dawson, I’m going to take a moment to introduce myself both as a graduate of the fabulous program and an author.

I write Middle Grade and Young Adult fiction with fantastical elements (mainly magical realism) while dabbling in poetry and adult fantasy. This is not a literary path I saw myself on when I began the program over two ago, but being at Stonecoast enabled me to discover it. I graduated in July having finished my first MG novel, The Dollmaker, which was also my Master’s thesis. The Dollmaker tells the story an enchanted doll named Karolina and what becomes of her in the human city of Kraków, Poland. I drew my inspiration for it from the fairy tales collected by the Brothers Grimm, Slavic mythology, E. T. A. Hoffmann’s The Nutcracker and the Mouse King, and my own travels in Europe as an undergraduate.

And to think a year ago, this book was only an idea!


My thesis and the real Karolina

I often joke that writing is my sole talent, other than charming cats and being able to horrify audiences worldwide with my double-jointed elbows. Writing really is my life and has been for over a decade now. “All sorrows can be borne if you put them into a story or tell a story about them,” Karen Blixen once said, and as someone who loves fairy tales and often frames her own life in them, I hold that to be the most fundamental truth in my life.

When I’m not spending time in imaginary places with equally imaginary people, I work in a haunted hotel, study German and folklore, generate inside-jokes with my best friends, and take walks around beautiful Colorado. I live in a household of human women and male animals. This menagerie includes a black cat named Colonel “Boo” Brandon, who might just be my familiar.


He’s also vital to the creative process.

The next person on the blog train is another Stonecoast graduate, Dallas Funk! Dallas was in my very first workshop, where she provided thoughtful comments about my piece and we discussed a series we both love, Kushiel’s Legacy  by Jacqueline Carey! I still remember her graduate reading last winter; it featured a vivid action scene I could visualize blow-by-blow, which as any writer can tell you is quite a feat! Here is her blog post for you to enjoy!

The dreaded second novel

August 21, 2015

My Middle Grade novel is currently in the hands of many talented writers who are ruthlessly picking it apart so I can make it the best book possible.

The reading of the first chapter I did at my graduating (!) residency at Stonecoast was well-received, which made all the time and effort I put into the novel feel worth it. Well, that and my fancy hood. I felt very much like a Wizard of Fine Arts rather than a Master of Fine Arts at the ceremony. Just look at my robe and my magical professors!


Nancy Holder, James Patrick Kelly, myself, Theodora Goss, and David Anthony Durham

With my MFA on the wall, a new job at a haunted hotel to fill my bank account, and my first book temporarily out of my hands, I’m now embarking on a new challenge: writing a second novel.

The idea of producing a second book is almost more intimidating than committing the first one to paper or screen. When you sit down to write without a novel already under your belt, you don’t know what to expect. You’re blissfully unaware of the highs and the lows, the potential pitfalls, and the long revision process at the end of the journey. Now, I have some idea of what awaits me.

In some ways, this is good. I can correct issues as I see them cropping up instead of having to make major revisions at the end of the process. On the other hand, I now understand the scope of the universe I’ll have to build, character by character and word by word.

I tried to remember how I had done it before. Was I in a particular state of mind that I should attempt to recreate? What music did I put on in the background? Why did I settle on that story and not the half dozen other ideas I had? But recreating the situation I wrote The Dollmaker in would be not only strange but uncomfortable. I hammered out the first draft for NaNoWriMo in a lawn chair with my cat stretched out across my lap as I listened to Tchaikovsky in the hopes of ignoring my neighbor’s aggressively cheery pop music. This method didn’t feel magical then and it doesn’t feel magical now.

And the truth is that I already wrote my second novel between May and July, frantically typing away at night and on the bus to work every morning. I worked on the book I had wanted to write three years ago and didn’t for various reasons. However, as the story wound down, the only possible ending I could think of was too depressing to even consider. Who wants to read a novel about a girl who goes on an adventure and returns, broken, to exactly the same place she began?

I was at work the other day when I realized that I couldn’t figure out how to wrap things up nicely because the book was the backstory for another novel altogether. The ending was really the beginning, one I needed to write in order to understand where the characters had come from.

Here I sit, poised to write my 2,000 words or more for the day, and I’m still intimidated by the task ahead of me. But I’m less intimidated than I was even 10,000 words ago.


The sidewalks of Miami speak the truth

“An Amateur’s Guide to Time Travel” is now out at Daily Science Fiction!

Falling has become an almost iconic means of traveling between worlds, time periods or even between parts of a story. John “Jake” Chambers in Stephen King’s The Gunslinger falls to his death in Mid-World and arrives back on Earth. Amy Pond and Rory Williams from Doctor Who throw themselves from the top of a building to return to their original world (or die trying) after becoming trapped in an alternate timeline. In A Song of Ice and Fire, Theon Greyjoy jumps with Jeyne Poole in his arms from the battlements of Winterfell, thus exiting one story and entering another. Indiana Jones must perform a leap of faith in The Last Crusade to retrieve the Holy Grail, leaving the “mundane” world behind as he does. And so on and so forth.

This piece also deals with what it would be like to be a time traveler in our world and to carry such a secret with you. How would it feel to never fully be able to fit in? How could you cope with constantly losing people and languages and cultures you loved to the steady march of history? I tried exploring these questions in a novel once, but I found that the story I was trying to tell was not the right one. I abandoned it, though I could not quite shake the protagonist, a young Chinese woman who takes to the winds of time after suffering a great loss.


The time traveler in question, drawn by Avialan @ Deviantart (who also designed my website!)

Here, she returns as the subject but not the teller of the tale.

Just who is the teller?

Well, that’s another story entirely…

The road goes ever on

July 1, 2015

My writing schedule is a bit odd nowadays.

I write about 1K on the bus to work every morning, 1K on the bus back, and 1-2K when I return home. My new project is based on the infamous story I mentioned in this post about the girl who befriends and runs off with the monster rather than the hero. I have about 50K and am debating about how much I need to scrap now that I finally a clear idea of where the story needs to go. Books can be like that; they aren’t always forthcoming with you. And because I try to be creative during my free time, even if I’m not writing, I made puppets of the characters to put on my desk.

Yes, puppets.


“You’re a bloody puppet!”

I finished the second draft of The Dollmaker two weeks ago and after a short break, I began work on the serious edits. I decided I needed to par down the book by at least 15K to make it an acceptable length for a Middle Grade novel and tighten up the second half, which was less cohesive than the first half.

Writing new material is far easier for me than editing, so the weekends are the best time for me to do heavy revisions. I got through about 30 pages of the book on Saturday, sitting in a sunny Barnes and Noble cafe with my red pen. At that rate, I thought I could have another draft by the end of July.

Then I got an email from a teacher who wanted to see the entire manuscript as soon as possible.

I edited over 150 pages between Sunday afternoon and Monday night in a whirlwind, because who needs sleep when you have Coke Zero and ambition? I’ve powered through the last three years of my life on both.

It occurred to me midway through the session that I’ve put nearly a year into this novel, the premise of which came to me at last summer’s Stonecoast residency, and I have no way of knowing if all my hard work will ever pay off. What I do know is that this story is important to me and I would very much like for more people to meet these characters.

So, I’ll continue to press on.


Research and realism

June 18, 2015

Recently, I’ve been watching the Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell miniseries, as the book it is based off of is one of my favorites. Author Susanna Clarke went through great lengths not only to incorporate real history into her world of magicians and faeries, but to write in a style reminiscent of famous 19th century authors such as Jane Austen. I loved what she did, but I know other readers found that the historical details and writing style bogged down what they thought was an otherwise interesting story.

One of the challenges we as writers face is how much research we need to do on a topic we’re going to be writing about–and how much of that research should actually end up in the novel. This is particularly relevant to those of us who write historical fiction with fantastical elements in it. If your novel is about vampires in the Civil War, will an adherence to historical accuracy allow the reader to submerge themselves in your story or will it alienate too many modern SFF fans?

When I was in middle school, I cowrote a pseudo-medieval fantasy with a close friend. We were in the middle of a very dramatic scene in which I had the hero’s lover leave a note on his door when my friend burst out laughing. When I asked her what was so funny, she pointed out that I had the hero’s lover tape this note to the door. Since she and I had been writing for fun, “medieval tape” became a running gag between us, but it also took us out of the story. If I had seen an obvious anachronism like that in a published piece of fiction, I probably would have stopped reading and complained about it to whoever was around.

Don’t assume your primary audience is made of experts. You may have one or two people who will throw down your book in disgust because buttons on your hero’s uniform are wrong, but they won’t be the majority of your readers. At the same time, you are doing a disservice to history if you completely misrepresent the time period you’re writing about and instead use the “Hollywood” version. History is a much more interesting subject than your high school teachers most likely made it out to be, full of sweeping love stories, great tragedies, and totally absurd incidents that seem stranger than the contents of any novel.

To tell the story of The Dollmaker, I needed to find the answers to odd questions. How many people had telephones in Poland in 1939? What did identification papers look like? Who were famous Polish artists and composers that the protagonists would be familiar with? When my Stonecoast mentor pointed out to me that acrylic paint was not widely used until the late 40s, I had to ask myself what would be used instead. And I looked at the photographs I’d taken of Krakow when I visited the city as an undergrad; certain areas are almost frozen in time after sustaining little damage during the war.


The Rynek Główny or Main Square of Krakow in 1870

My advice is to do as much research as possible before embarking on a historical fantasy novel, then pick and choose what kinds of information you want to include based on what will serve the story best. Accuracy can make your setting vivid, but it’s all too easy to get bogged down in the details if we aren’t careful.

Narnian exiles.

May 14, 2015

To say I was obsessed with The Chronicles of Narnia as a child is an understatement.

I spent about ten years convinced that I could find my way to Narnia if I knocked on the backs of enough closets and wardrobes. (Yes, this included custodial closets in elementary school. Narnia sounded like a much better place to be than math class.) And when I finally gave up, I chose to enter other worlds through a different means: by writing. But I was still thrilled when I heard that The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe was being made into a movie. I remember waiting for an hour for my dial-up connection to load the first trailer.

The Lion, the Witch , and the Wardrobe is not a perfect adaptation of the world I spent so much time inhabiting as a child. It suffers for the post-Lord of the Rings tendency to turn all fantasy films into action films. There is also a strange of thread of realism that runs throughout the film. It is tonally dissonant from the books, but I found it appealing nonetheless.

This realism means that when Peter Pevensie goes into battle, he is not suddenly an expert swordsman; he looks so weary by the end he can barely lift his sword when he duels with the White Witch. It means that magic is greeted with extreme (if amusing) skepticism by Susan, who at one point reminds her siblings that their parents sent them away from London to spare them from being in the middle of a war. It means that the movie opens not with the Pevensies exploring the Professor’s house, but with the London Blitz, and Jadis grounds us further in the Second World War by throwing a Nazi salute to silence her followers at the Stone Table.

As an adult, this Narnia felt like a real world that could exist next door to our own, one where there were tangible consequences to every action. After leaving the theater, I began to think about what would happen to these Pevensies after they returned to England. In the books, the four kings and queens of Narnia seem to have no adjustment issues, but I couldn’t see that being true for their film counterparts.


Photo by Rebeca Cygnus

A few years after The Lion, the Witch, the Wardrobe was released, I tried to answer this question in the form of a novel called The Never Bridge, a deconstruction of the portal fantasy. It was about four siblings who returned from another world and were unable to cope with the transition back to being ordinary teenagers after a lifetime spent as monarchs. In desperation, they turned to a magician who claimed that he could return to them to their lost fantasy kingdom…for a price.

While the protagonists inhabited the bodies of teenagers, it never fit comfortably in the YA genre, which made is very difficult to write for any specific audience. There were no epic battles, no romance, and the protagonists made no attempt to find their footing in the real-world. There were uncomfortable questions about underage sexuality and what it was like to perform childhood. The ending was a complete downer, with the magician revealing that he had been unceremoniously booted out of a fantasy world himself as a child and lost most of his marbles in the ensuing decades. And the siblings became dysfunctional adults themselves.

So in many ways, I relieved when Lev Grossman’s The Magicians came out. “Thank God,” I thought to myself. “Someone else wrote that book, so now I don’t have.” But Grossman’s trilogy has received polarizing reactions. It’s a series readers either love or hate. It’s my opinion that The Magicians seems to appeal to a very specific type of adult, one who was once a “gifted” but troubled young person. The protagonists are all intelligent but destructive teens and twentysomethings who refuse to invest their energy in anything that doesn’t offer physical or mental stimulation. They are selfish, arrogant, and self-loathing all at once. Having been that type of young person, I felt a strong kinship with most of the characters and admired Grossman’s often harsh take on what magic would look like in the real world.

Because of my fascination with stories that deal with children and teens who come back from magical lands, I was thrilled to hear that Seanan McGuire will be releasing her own take on the idea next spring, Every Heart a DoorwayBeing YA, McGuire’s book will probably not be as dark as The Magicians, and I wonder if friends who were displeased with Grossman’s series will find it more appealing. Either way, I’m excited to see another writer’s take on the subject of Narnian exiles.

“Hello, everyone! I’m Amy’s imaginary friend. But I came anyway.”

— The Doctor

A few years ago, a fellow writer and I were walking through Target. We had gone there to get something purely practical, but as we were making our way to the checkout area, the other writer paused in front of a tacky turquoise lamp fringed with blue feathers and sapphire rhinestones. I couldn’t imagine why she was so interested in it until she said, “One of my characters would just love that hideous lamp.”

To someone who doesn’t write fiction, this might seem like a strange response. But we writers spend more time with our characters than do we with some of the flesh and blood people in our lives. This means that we think about our “imaginary friends” constantly.

Character development is the driving force behind any story. No matter how fascinating the worldbuilding or how exciting the plot is, a story will fall flat if the reader doesn’t connect with at least one of the people in it. They don’t have to necessarily be someone we’d like to have tea with, but we should at least feel something about them, whether that’s affection or disgust.

When I workshop stories, the compliment I hear the most is that my characters are very vivid. (I’m still working on that “plot” thing everyone keeps telling me about.) I started to think about this as a craft issue but unfortunately, I’m one of the lucky writers whose characters frequently show up on the doorstep of the house in my imagination almost fully formed.

But how do you really get to know your characters, whether they arrive in your head with suitcases full of emotional baggage to be explored or they’re complete strangers to you?

  • Interview them about their history, likes, and dislikes. What is their favorite food? How about their worst childhood memory? How many people were in their family? Did they like their hometown or did they escape as soon as possible? Finding out the answers to these questions may give you insight into what motivates them, even if the material never makes it into the story itself.
  • Propose scenarios, even if those scenarios won’t make it into the story itself, and allow your characters to explain how they would handle them. As a writing exercise, I once put two characters I was stuck on into the Hunger Games universe to see how they would react to stress. Obviously, I’m not Suzanne Collins and I can’t use the material from that story, but it helped me get to know my characters better and solve a tangled plot thread.
  • Create a Pinboard about your character. You can gather pictures of actors who you could see playing them in a movie, clothing they would wear, quotes that remind you of them, and even pictures of what their house or bedroom looks like. These are all details that can help your character come to life in your own mind and if you can do that, you can translate it for your reader. Here is a board I made for my character Mei-Xing, who is the subject of a flash piece that is going to be published soon and a novel that I have been writing on in various forms for years.
  • Make a playlist of songs your character would listen to or that make you think of them.

A few of these characters might be cagier than others when it comes to talk about themselves but be patient–they’ll eventually open up to you. Some of these fictional people may even become semi-permanent residents in your head, determined to stick around until you get their story right. I joke that I’m haunted by two particular characters who have been knocking around my imagination for over seven years.

Even when we hate our stories and are deathly sick of looking at them, characters force us to return to our desks and put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard) once more. They can be demanding–but they lead us to the most extraordinary places and we should listen to what they are telling us.

I’ve always been secretly embarrassed by what I write, but not in the way that most genre authors are.

I never had a high school English teacher or undergrad professor dress me down for writing fantasy instead of literary fiction. I’ve never left a critique at my grad school feeling that I was metaphorically bleeding. And yet, I sometimes feel that the themes and characters I tend to fixate on are unworthy.

As writers, we are quick to point out that we are not our stories. How else could we take criticism and improve our craft without weeping over every cut scene and character we have to kill for the sake of the plot? And while that generally is true, it is equally true that our stories do tend to reflect some corner of our internal landscape. It stings when someone attacks their cores.

My embarrassment was heightened by an experience that made me feel that someone had taken my very best things and dismantled them in the vein of Sid from Toy Story in order to fit their vision. It left me questioning the value of the story I’d originally wanted to tell with that set of characters, as the message I received was that I could write reasonably well–but I couldn’t write that story. That story had no value. Wendy Darling always goes with Peter Pan, not Captain Hook, silly girl.

So, I twisted it to make other people happy. Then I stopped telling it altogether.

When I first began at Stonecoast, my work was very different than it is now. Some of it from a place of truth (albeit a dark place), but I was often writing the books I felt other people would want to read. Marketable books, books that were about the Right Things instead of the things I valued or that stirred something in me. Why? Because I was afraid that the stories I really wanted to tell would be received with the same derisive air they had been before and/or that someone else I admired would tell me: “You can’t write that. That’s stupid. No one is ever going to like it.”

Then, on a whim, I turned in a fairy tale to my first Stonecoast mentor. I was probably blushing when I hit send; the story felt childish and too earnest. But I did it anyway–and my mentor loved it. She said that I had finally found what Marian Rosarum sounded like, not what Marian Rosarum was trying to sound like.

I considered this. I ended up watching Hayao Miyazaki’s adaptation of Whisper of the Heart (a film I think all writers can relate to) during the semester break and I realized, looking at the heroine’s journey to find her own voice, that my mentor was right. I stopped thinking so much about writing and just wrote from the heart. The end result of that course was my thesis, a story I’m very proud of.

Here are a few suggestions for finding your own voice.

  1. Look at the books that mean the most to you and think about why. It is the characters? The style? The worldbuilding What is it about these stories that resonates with you so much?
  2. Go back and read your early writing. Yes, even the Mary Sue magical girl epic you wrote in the 6th grade. I’m not suggesting that you try to salvage these works–most of them, frankly, won’t be salvageable. But you may discover an emotional truth to them, a point of origin for the themes and characters you find yourself returning to as an adult, and that can be greatly inspiring. “These rambling tales were of course not very good, but they possessed a certain sparse magic that I often still marvel at,” says Sarah Taylor Gibson. “I think that we as authors are always trying to re-capture that old magic, whether we know it or not.” I happen to agree. It would be safe to say that my thesis would not exist if it hadn’t been for a novella I churned out when I was twelve.
  3. Ask yourself what your obsessions are and run with them. Are you into fly fishing? Ancient Greek philosophy? Environmentalism? The First World War? You can build a story around anything, so long as you can generate the same passion in the reader that you feel about a subject.
  4. Acknowledge that your writing might sound a little (or a lot) like the work of the authors you admire most in the beginning. That’s okay! When you discover your own voice, you’ll find that you no longer want or need to imitate another writer’s.
  5. If someone tells you that your story is wrong, they are probably not the best critique partner for you. A story cannot be wrong. Your characters might be coming off as a little flat, your plot could be a hot mess, or you could be using problematic stereotypes you’ll need to reconsider. But if you genuinely want to tell a particular story, don’t let someone else dissuade you from doing it. Surround yourself with people who want to help you put the world inside your head onto paper in the best way possible.

What happened to the story I dropped all those years ago?

A month ago, I took a deep breath and I picked it up again. I handled it delicately at first; I felt like I was holding a porcelain doll and one false move could reduce it to splinters once again. I’m still shy about approaching it, but I’m working on regaining my confidence.

I have 20k thus far. Let’s see where it goes, shall we?

mer·cy (noun)


1. compassion or forgiveness shown toward someone whom it is within one’s power to punish or harm.

My new poem, “A portrait of the witch at sixteen”, is now available online at Abyss and ApexIt is the story of a young girl who learns the trick of resurrection and uses it to revive the unloved dead.

Here is a secret: the witch of the title is a real person.

She reunited me with someone who is incredibly precious to me, and she granted many of the people I am closest to second chances through simple acts of compassion and forgiveness. The witch taught me a very important lesson in doing these things: there is more strength in showing mercy than there is in seeking revenge.

As for whether or not she can raise the dead…

I’ll leave that up to you to decide.

When I first started to become aware of oppression, I was angry.

Not only that, but I was angry all the time.

Suddenly, so many of my life experiences or those of my closest friends were put into a new context, and that context was ugly. The world seemed like a very dark place where the people with the most power in our society were actively out to screw me. I entered the Tumblr social justice community in the hopes of educating myself further and began to read about campaigns such as #WeNeedDiverseBooks.

Generally, these were good things. I embraced being POC instead of framing myself as white, critically analyzed the media I was consuming from a feminist perspective, and committed myself to having diversity in my own fiction. But because my avenue into social justice was Tumblr, I was exposed to “call-out culture” and encouraged by then-friends to engage in it.

Call-out culture, for those of you who don’t know, is the idea that in order to be considered truly progressive, you must publicly confront anyone who says something racist, homophobic, sexist, or transphobia. If you “value” a person’s “delicate fee-fees” over pointing out oppression on a public forum, you have failed at activism.

As #keepYAkind has proven, someone being embarrassed or hurt by civil discourse about an offensive comment they made is far less important than treating marginalized groups with respect and not erasing them. But call-out culture isn’t about discourse. Call-outs themselves are generally full of witty, sarcastic quips, often include character attacks, and tend to end with the author calling the “problematic” person “filth”, “trash”, or “garbage”. They don’t differentiate between genuine ignorance about terminology (which is incredibly classist, as it assumes that everyone has the same level of education) and the intentional use of vicious slurs and stereotypes.

Things hit rock bottom for me when someone who frequently made call-outs told me that a man we were both acquainted with had “traded in his humanity card”. Therefore, we “didn’t need to feel guilty” about anything we did or said to him.


I subsequently spent the next five minutes doing this.

I do still speak about politics and oppression on social media platforms in order to call attention to various issues. But for the most part, I allow my fiction and poetry to express my views for me; a story that resonates with a reader is much more likely to change their mind about a topic than an angry comment on an internet thread.

Thankfully, call-out culture has been coming under fire in the last few months and this time, it isn’t privileged people who are discussing its harmful effects. Asam Ahmad, a queer man of color, recently wrote an excellent article critiquing it. Trans woman and feminist Julia Serano wrote in her book Excluded: “The best thing for us to do moving forward is to create intentionally intersectional spaces where we both talk and listen to one another, and where we give people the benefit of the doubt.” Evan Flory-Barnes, an African-American jazz musician, expressed similar sentiments. “I had a teacher who once told me, you can’t get angry enough to heal all the atrocities of the world,” he said. As someone who tried to use my rage to change the world, I believe he’s right.

Since leaving Tumblr’s social justice culture behind, I’ve called people in (to use Ahmad’s terminology) on sexism, homophobia, and racism. All of these affect myself and my loved ones, and I obviously feel very strongly about them. And while I was firm when I discussed these topics, I didn’t resort to implying that the person I was talking to lacked any semblance of human decency for having a problematic viewpoint instilled in them by a problematic society. I’ve been met with positive responses more often than not. Most of the people I spoke to legitimately didn’t know they were being some stripe of *ist and vowed to do better in the future.

Marginalized people don’t have to stay silent and be used as punching bags, nor are we obligated to educate those with privilege at every turn. But we all live in a world that is classist, sexist, homophobic, transphobic, and racist, and even someone who is invested in social justice is still unlearning those scripts.