Biography Like much of what she writes, Emery Sanborne is a work in progress. When she isn’t exploring the wilds of Philadelphia, old cemeteries, or the vagaries of her own mind, she can be found in her home of many colors, curled up with her cat and a good book.
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I may have scared my muse away again. Which means I’m sitting around in my downtime thinking instead of writing. And we all know how well too much thinking turns out.
At the moment, I’m trying to puzzle out why Grey and my Arcana Ancien series just isn’t selling. Both of us have had great luck with M/M/F threesome stories in the past, with very little marketing on our parts. Yet with Arcana Ancien, we’re at a complete loss as to why Graeme, Peter, and Diana haven’t found an audience.
Our solo M/M/F stories were both historicals and odd time periods at that. Grey’s Sanctity of Marriage takes place in the late-1800s, and my Modus Vivendi at the tail end of World War One. Neither are times one thinks of when they hear “historical”. Of course the question then becomes whether our modest successes were due to writing historical M/M/Fs or that our historicals were more unique time periods.
In contrast, the Arcana Ancien books are in a contemporary setting. For the most part, contemporary M/M/Fs tend to fair pretty well. Not as good as M/M, but what does?  The series also has paranormal aspects, which is usually a fairly popular area. However, it’s a different area of paranormal. We deal primarily with magic and the occasional demon. No vamps or weres.
Also, our characters are older: late-thirties to early-forties. Did we cross some age line that M/M/F readers don’t care for? Then again, Grey’s Sanctity dealt with characters at least in their mid-thirties. So…
Or is it maybe due to the fact that we have both of our names on the cover? Should we maybe consider broadening our India identity’s horizons, or maybe figure out a threesome and het joint identity to write under?
We love the Arcana Ancien characters and the world we’ve created so much that it’s disheartening when so few people read it. Ultimately, it’s not about the numbers for us, though high numbers are really nice. It would just be nice to figure out why our other M/M/Fs work and this one doesn’t.
And thinking about one thing leads to another, and now I’m fretting about poor Landa and Last Thought with its many pairings and odd focus in the paranormal.
Time to stop thinking and have some chocolate. That makes everything better, right?
It has been a very long, very cold, and uninspiring winter. From November until probably the end of February, I was rather meh about everything. Yes, “meh”. Perfectly valid as a mood descriptor, I assure you. If you couldn’t tell from my posts, writing with Grey was about the only writing I felt remotely motivated to do—and even that was like pulling teeth sometimes (sorry, Grey). It wasn’t for lack of ideas or even “writer’s block”. I just felt tense and kind of ill every time I considered trying to work on one of my own stories. Which is not something writing should ever entail for me. When the thing that brings you joy starts brining you the complete opposite, what do you do?
Walking away and never writing again wasn’t a consideration. Writing is too much a part of who I am to ever give it up. However, I did consider “taking a break” so to speak. If I’m fighting myself every step, something’s up.
So, I ordered books; real paper books to read. And went back to crocheting, not knitting. True to form, once I made all of the alternate plans, my characters starting speaking to me again. The last two weeks or so I’ve made serious headway on my second Landa book and have been a bit more eager to tag with Grey. On the downside, I’m too gunshy at the moment to think too far ahead on my solo stuff or even discuss more than one project at a time with Grey. I don’t want to go back to not liking writing again.
And that, my friends, is why I will never be able to make a living as a writer. I love doing it too much for it to become “work”. Because when writing becomes more work than pleasure I get stopped up. To an extent you can force yourself to write and get through a story, meet a deadline, etc. But if you wind up hating the end product and the process itself, is it really worth it?
This is why I have a job that isn’t being an author. I need writing not to be “work”. If I don’t have that distinction, I’m miserable. Though I’m loathe to say that writing is my hobby or past-time. It’s more than that. I guess passion is the right word. And I love writing far too much to ruin it with all the stressors that making it a real, true job would do.
In other words, I think writing stared getting too close to the realm of jobness for me to continue. And that realization means I’ve got some serious thinking to do still. How to pursue my passion but not get bogged down by it.
Of course, the massive stint of editing I did in the late fall probably didn’t help matters any. But that’s a whole different story altogether.
On a happier note, the sun is shining and the temps are rising. Spring is on its way at long, long last, which means things are only going to get better. Or that could be the caffeine talking.
Last Thought now available from Liquid Silver Books.
I know! Another one. But I’ll tell you what, it sure feels good.
What are you in store for this time? Well, like The Tender Trap, I wrote this one in first person, though this time it’s a woman instead of a man’s head I’m in. Oddly enough, first or third person, I find the guys way easier to deal with. Maybe because being inside my female characters’ heads is a bit too close to being inside my own head and, well, I like to avoid that.
In addition to delving into new POV territory, I dip my solo toes into the paranormal world. Grey and I deal with magic and the odd demon in our Arcana Ancien series. In Last Thought, there’s no magic, no demons, or the overused vamps and weres. Nope, in Last Thought, my heroine gets to wrangle with the last thoughts of the dead that she happens across (See what I did with the title there? Cute, aren’t I?). This has more or less been a sometimes annoying, occasionally amusing thing for her. Until she starts tripping over some murdered girls in the woods. Not quite literally. Lucky Landa. While trying to figure out whodunit, Landa also gets to navigate the fun of a threesome with her two best friends from childhood and interest from a State Trooper with killer dimples. Murder, sex, and (I hope) a hearty dose of humor. Where can you go wrong?
Only in fiction can life in Northern Michigan be so fun. Must be something in the water. Hrm, I might need to think about modifying that as a tagline.
As an added bonus, those familiar with the area I grew up can play “Spot the Real Places”. There may be a few other treats in there as well. On top of a well-written, fun story, of course.
Additionally, Sea of Sin rounded out ARe’s 28 Days of Heart yesterday. Both Grey and I dropped the ball on that one. We love Chris and Kieran too much to forget them like that, not to mention the money goes to a fantastic cause.
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, that is. More specifically Sherlock Holmes.
Though I know I read a couple stories in high school (The Adventure of the Speckled Band stands out), but aside from what the speckled band was, I couldn’t tell you much about my overall impression of the writing and Holmes in general. So, in need of something short and hopefully well-written, I sought out a collection of Holmes stories—The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes from Project Gutenberg.
Story one was A Scandal in Bohemia. Interesting premise, but overall a bit flat. And I think my slash-goggles are permanently and firmly in place as several of Watson’s comments led me to far more interesting places than the narrative was. My biggest issue is that Conan Doyle seems to be very big into telling vs. showing. I’m beginning to believe that the heavy weight placed on showing is a more modern development, but it’s hard to shake once it takes hold. With Watson as narrator, Conan Doyle has limited himself in this respect. Holmes goes off and has a bit of investigative fun without Watson, so the only way we hear about it is after the fact, when Holmes tells Watson. From an editorial standpoint, if it’s important enough to tell after the fact, why not show it in the first place? But Conan Doyle chose Watson as our entrée into this world, so we and he are limited by this choice. I’ve never been shy about criticizing “great authors”, and I won’t back down here. Sherlock Holmes’ adventures would be a hell of a lot more engaging if we were in his head. Not that I don’t love Watson, but… Then there’s the argument that perhaps Holmes’ head is too overwhelming of a place to be, even for his creator. Food for thought, that.
Also read The Red-headed League, which I think I may have read back in high school as well. Considerably more show vs. tell in this story, since Watson is present for the bulk of Holmes’ investigation. Definitely more enjoyable all around, I thought.
But there I gave up and decided to track down the “proper” order of stories (all hail Wiki!) and went back to the beginning.
A Study in Scarlet definitely read much better, at least in the beginning. Finding out a bit about Watson’s past and how he comes to live with Watson, not to mention their first meeting and settling into life together…brilliant stuff. Even without slash goggles. Things start to fall apart after Holmes and Watson first become involved in the investigation. Initially Watson is present at the seen, and the Doyle shows a considerable amount more than he tells. But by the end of it, we’re getting told events again—this time even poor Holmes on the receiving end from the rival Scotland Yard detectives. And Homles’ solving of the case was really very deus ex machina as well.
Grey pointed out that, difficult as it may be, I should try to read it in the context of the times. And she’s got a point. I know I wouldn’t have been half so critical reading this in college—and I did get my degree in English, after all, so how sad is that? If I knew back then what I know now… Life and writing and editing has made me extremely critical of what I read. Maybe that’s why I’ll probably never be the voracious reader I used to be. I can’t just read any old thing. Okay, sometimes I can, if in the right mindset—I did unfortunately read Twilight. But the exception proves the rule, as they say.
Back to Holmes. I wonder if he’s stood the test of time in spite of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s less than impressive writing. The characters rise above their source and take on a life of their own. And that would have made a brilliant analytical essay in college. Still, I was always more focused on being a writer than an academic anyway.
Well-written, brilliantly cast shows are hard to come by. So when I find them, it’s a rare treat that I try to hang onto, not to mention mainline when possible (thank you TV on DVD and online streaming). However, some shows just don’t grab me. I like the stories and care about the characters…but not enough to continue watching.
Being Human is a prime example—the story of a vampire, werewolf, and ghost trying to make a go of it in the “real” world. I fell in love with the pilot and grew to accept and like the recasting when the show was picked up. But unless it was a conscious, active decision to watch an episode, I never really developed a desire to watch more than what I already had. Sure I wanted to know what happened next, but was fine checking up on online reviews and Wikipedia to find out.
The same is true for Caprica. I cared about the characters before the end of the first half of the pilot and was fascinated by the world and how it was starting on the path that brings it to the world of Battlestar Galactica. Again, I’m interested in where things go, but not enough to want to watch it over something else. Of course with BSG, I went back and forth. Sometimes I had to absolutely see the next episode, but others I was fine never watching it again.
Then there’s Mad Men, a period show with a number of elements that should make it a show I’d fall for. Unlike Being Human and Caprica, Mad Men left me mostly cold. Well acted with good stories, but this time I didn’t care what happened to anyone. While with the other shows I was able to form an emotional connection of sorts, I couldn’t here. Maybe it’s because I didn’t really like any of the characters. I’ve fallen for bastards and villains, but here there just wasn’t enough to make me like anyone despite who they were or love to hate them.
Of course I’ve found it difficult to be a casual viewer anymore. If I can’t fall head-over-heels for a show, it kind boils down to why bother to watch at all? There’s too much else out there and going on in my life to waste time on something that just doesn’t click.
Which brings me around to my writing. I have a number of WIPs just languishing for attention. It’s not for lack of love for the characters or the worlds or even for story. For some reason, I get to a point, stop, and no matter how many times I revisit the piece, I can never see it through to the end. Occasionally, it boils down to a matter of timing. The right moment hasn’t come for me to finish them. Which has happened. The Tender Trap took me about two years to write from conception to completion. What’s worse is that it was maybe only a chapter or two done for about a year and a half of that time. Then a submission call spurred me onto finish it, even though the story went to another house entirely.
Maybe that’s what it comes down to in the end: timing. I absolutely hated The English Patient when I saw it in the theater, but years later I did a complete one eighty and fell for it, hard. Of course, I was also at a very different point in my life. When it first came out, I was, what, fifteen? When I saw it again, I was near the end of college, I think. Very different mindsets. So, with the aforementioned shows and my languishing stories, it could very well be a case of not being at the right point in my life to connect with those things. The time may come, or it may not. Which is a somewhat exciting prospect.
Now available from Liquid Silver Books: A Blanket of Bitter Frost. This is the third book in Grey and my Arcana Ancien series and follows the continuing story of Diana, Graeme, and Peter in world filled with magic and the mysteries of the human animal. A bit of a challenge to write, but well worth it in the end.
Go, read, enjoy.
On this past weekend’s menu: Time After Time, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead, and the first hour of the 2009 UK Royal Shakespeare television production of Hamlet.
Time After Time was maybe a bit cheesy in parts, but on the whole rather enjoyable. H.G. Wells (Malcolm McDowell—always freaks me out when he’s not the bad guy) actually invents a time machine, which Jack the Ripper, aka John Leslie Stevenson, uses to escape capture by Scotland Yard. Without the auto return key locked, the machine returns so H.G. can pursue the Ripper to 1979 San Francisco, where he meets and falls in love with Amy (Mary Steenburgen). Well acted for the most part and a decent story. I was just left wondering if Steenburgen has a knack for landing roles where she falls for time travelers.
Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead was a nice bit of meta that I didn’t watch half as closely as I should have. A nice study on the futility of things. Plus it had Gary Oldman, who I am a sucker for and I can’t really explain why. Not to mention Tim Roth and Richard Dreyfuss.
Lastly, Hamlet. I love Hamlet even if Hamlet is an emo boy and the play is so overquoted (though I rather adore catching lines in different places). Kenneth Branagh’s version is far an away my favorite, because it’s Branagh and the film is gorgeous. I think Mel Gibson’s version still inspires revulsion—and I saw it before Branagh’s. One of these days I do have to check out Laurence Olivier’s because he’s Olivier (though I’ll probably be one of the odd ducks that is unimpressed with him, much as I am by, say, William Faulkner—a story for another day).
Anyway, this version has David Tennant as Hamlet (the Tenth Doctor or Barty Crouch, Jr., to the rest of you) and Patrick Stewart as Claudius/the Ghost(if you don’t know he is, then I don’t want to talk to you). Tennant is utilizing his English accent here, save when he gets really emotional and his natural Scottish slips through. Though I still prefer Branagh, Tennant does have some good moments (the boy can do crazy far too well); however, he really needs to watch the heavy breathing with his super deep emotional scenes. I blame the wine, but it took me too long to stop thinking that the Doctor was playing Hamlet for some reason or another.
Then there’s Stewart who…yeah, the man is a god of stage and starships. I dare you to disagree with me. I’d love to see him in other plays. I’d really love to see him live. I did note that IMDb says he’s in an upcoming production of MacBeth, so I’ll be checking that out. Outside the broad strokes, my knowledge of MacBeth is rather fuzzy as I’ve only read it once and never watched it…no, wait, I may have seen a version with Ian McKellan and Judi Dench in college. Must seek that puppy out. And thinking of Ian McKellan and Shakespeare makes me want to watch Richard III again. I think I know what’s on the agenda for next weekend. Sadly, I think I got rid of the DVD in my moving purge, so off to the wonders of Netflix.
Overall, way better quality viewing than last weekend’s movies.
Once again, I bring you a mixed bag of a blog post. And, believe it or not, I’ll actually talk about writing for part of it. Writing, not not writing.
Heck, I’ll start out talking about writing, why not? Although, now that I think about it, I really should save that for my India Harper post on Friday, but…I’d probably forget what I wanted to say anyway. Not that I can’t blog ahead. I just hate the delay. Read me now. Or something like that.
Right, writing. Grey and I finally landed upon an idea for a new story not tied into our previously established ‘verses. She wants us to branch out and do new characters and stuff, which is always a good idea. But it’s difficult to put aside the toys you love and know so well. Ah, well.
On the solo front, I’m still poking ahead on Landa’s second book. I’ve also decided to go ahead and rework my detective and designer story that’s been languishing into a first person M/M/F to hopefully pair with The Tender Trap if all goes well. We’ll see. And for some odd reason, not only did the character want first person, he wanted first person present tense…which is driving me a bit batty. So what little forward progress I made will have to halt as I rework things into past tense. First person is divergent enough for me. Though not so divergent as it seems to have become the norm in my solo stuff with recent writings. Weird.
What else? Saturday was my birthday, number twenty-nine. Something I’m okay with, but also kind of shocked by. How the heck did that happen? I bought a condo, have been living on my own and supporting myself for five years, and have been legally able to purchase alcohol for eight years. Yet I still feel like a poser, as if someone’s going to come along and revoke my adult status. Maybe that’s why I still have those nightmares about having to make up high school classes.
Nevertheless, I did actually venture out and treat myself to a fab little dinner at St. Stephen’s Green, this brilliant little pub-ish restaurant on 17th and Green here in Philly. If you’re ever in the city, it’s well worth checking out. The standard fare is delicious, but the dinner specials are well worth coming back for. Always something different and always good. Had a pan-seared ribeye in a peppercorn sauce that was beyond delicious. Even ate the asparagus. Probably should have had something a bit more festive than the Yeungling to go with it, but it was good.
And to celebrate Valentine’s Day, I did my taxes. Turbo Tax is my friend. Really, if you have any doubts about doing your own taxes, don’t. Yeah, you have to pay a bit and I’m sure I could do the real forms on my own, but it’s nice to be walked through it. And less expensive than an accountant, even though I would be smart to maybe look into one to at least get the whole 1099-MISC stuff for writing and editing squared away. But in any event, I came out ahead. Way ahead, thanks to the condo purchase. Federally, at least. Once again, the State needed money from me…due to the writing and editing. Not much, but annoying. The only downside is that due to the whole home purchase thingie, I have to snail mail the return. Could be worse, right? And while I’m doing my best not to count on the return, after I pay off George and Gracie, I’m replacing the water heater stat. And maybe the fridge. Cross your fingers.
Actually, there’s a second downside to the taxes…nightmares. While going through the whole rigmarole of the home purchasing fun, I don’t think I had a single nightmare or anxiety dream. If I did, they were mild and forgettable. Not so last night. Last night, I seem to have purchased a $3 million shithole out in California that sort of had some promise but I sure as hell couldn’t afford to help find it, let alone buy the place. While it had an ocean view and a ton of rooms, the place had connecting doors to other residences with creepy men wandering through and a homeless guy who “lived” in my new place. I think I may have had connections to an Eliot Spencer type guy, who I think might have been a co-worker, that I was counting on to help make this all go away. The one good thing to come out of this was that I realized just how much I love my little home.
Now if only spring would hurry up and get here. Hate being cold. Maybe that’s why I was dreaming of California. Hrm…
Tuesday night I got into a very long and winding discussion with my mother on the phone, stemming from the fact that I changed my “religious status” on Facebook from “agnostic” to “atheist”. One of my cousins, who happens to have been my Confirmation sponsor, saw this and called Mom in a bit of a tizzy. “OMG, what’s going on? Why is she saying atheist?” And Mom is all, “Oh, it’s agnostic, you’re just reading it wrong.” So I of course get to tell my mother that, yes, I did mean atheist. And it’s been atheist for awhile, but agnostic was the safer answer. People tend to be way more accepting if you say you don’t believe in any specific tenants but still hold the belief that there is some deity (or more) in charge of everything. But saying you don’t believe in any deity (or deities) at all is, sadly, anathema.
What amuses me about the whole experience is that my family barely batted an eye when I started publishing erotic romance, but when I decide to out myself as an atheist it becomes a major event. As a whole, most of my family members aren’t what you’d call religious, and yet…
Mom brought up a valid point, though: did I do it to “shock” people? I’d be lying if I didn’t say deep down part of me does want to shock people with some of things I do. That’s not the sole reason I would ever do anything, but I can’t say I don’t hope for a “No, you’d never do that, really?” type of reaction. The grasshopper tattoo, the genre I write in, my sexual experience…rarely gets me any major OMG response. Yet I post that I’m an atheist on Facebook and hold the phone! Humans are strange, strange creatures.
Or the Snowpocalypse or whatever you want to call it. Being from Michigan, the foot-plus of snowfall in Philadelphia this weekend really didn’t even make me blink. Though out here, inches induce mass panic, so “serious” snowfall is kind of impressive for a change. If it’s going to be cold, there might as well be snow. Still, I thought I had left major snowfall behind me when I left Michigan. Seems I just got off easy the previous four winters. On the upside, having bought a condo instead of a house means no shoveling for me. I so don’t missing digging out my mother’s driveway with foot-plus snow fall and ice chunks from the city plows. My back is grateful.
So while the other citizens of my fair city were busy shoveling and/or freaking out, what did I do with my time? Well, I had intended to do my taxes this weekend, or see if I could do them with the whole condo purchasing fun of the past year. I didn’t. The stack of 1099s and other assorted tax docs for loans, my W2, etc., just made me go “meh” and do anything but. Managed to clean my floors and do some laundry, so I wasn’t completely unproductive. The rest of my weekend was spent faffing about on the internet and watching really bad disaster movies. Basic spoilers, so avoid if you care, but I highly doubt you’ll be wanting to watch any of these.
Movie one was Virus from 1980, with actual recognizable stars like Robert Vaughn, Olivia Hussey, and Edward James Olmos. There were a couple other notables that I always know by face but not by name. The premise was hardly unique with the government manufactured supervirus that wipes out everyone on the planet. Although, unlike say The Stand, the only survivors are the lucky few with natural resistance, but a lucky submarine crew and a group of international scientists down in Antarctica. So the execution was something different, that counts for something. And the psycho military dude who set the automatic nuke system into action did have a payoff of sorts. It’s hardly a movie I’d watch again, but wasn’t an utter waste of time.
Of course, women get predictably shafted in the post-apocalyptic world. The station has more than eight hundred men and…just eight women. Which means, you guessed it, women are the new rare, valuable resource. Women must “suppress” their natural instincts and the men reign in their primal urges, so that the propagation of the species happens with the greatest genetic diversity. Yup, a system of appointments of various men with the few women is set up. I can see the “logic” in the arrangement, but Jesus. But what really pissed me off is that the whole conversation came about after one of the women came before the “government”, supported by the other women, after having been raped and beaten. And essentially it all boils down to, “Sucks to be you, honey, but that does raise an interesting point. We need to start making babies.” Personally, I would have either grabbed the nearest gun or went for a nice icy swim or quite possible bundled up, grabbed some food, and took my chances on my own. The human race is on its last legs, I’m going to enjoy what’s left to me, not fight a losing battle. But I’m just selfish like that.
The next movie I watched was Deadly Harvest from the late ‘70s, and the only notable face was Kim Cattral. Essentially, the climate has gone wonky and disrupted the food production enough that the human race is on the brink of starvation. The farmers are down to their bare stores and can’t really grow more, and the city folk are in more dire straits as their rations have been cut off. So the city folk raid the countryside and the farms for the food. People die in the crossfire. Blah blah blah. And not once did anyone consider cannibalism. Very disappointing.
I watched The Last Winter on Netflix Instant Watch, much more recent (2007) and more suspense with strains of disaster. Ron Perlman was the growly head of an oil company in the Arctic Reserve who basically spent most of the movie having a pissing contest with the environmentalist. Partly over a girl, partly just because. And then really bad shit starts to happen with temperatures rising and people going crazy. All but the girl wind up dead, but her chances don’t look so hot as nature is fighting back with mad weather and driving other people crazy outside the Arctic.
This I followed with The Chaos Experiment from 2009, starring Val Kilmer, Armand Assante, Eric Roberts, Patrick Muldoon, and assorted nameless others. Val is a rather batshit ex-professor who had some theories about the end of the world in 2012 and global warming. To prove his theory of how people are going to lose it, he locks six people in a steam room and lets heat and psychology work their wicked ways, with a bit of help. Or he might just be making it up. But if it did happen, it’s happening now or it happened months ago. And Armand the cop has to figure it all out. I’ll certainly never listen to Bolero the same way again. It wasn’t a horrible premise, entirely, and there were some okay moments, but the end just sort of fell apart. There’s sort of an answer as to whether or not it did happen, but not when or who all was involved.
Lastly, I dug out one of my favorites, Ravenous with Guy Pearce, Robert Carlysle, Jeffery Jones, and David Arquette. Cannibalism at an 1840s military outpost in California. I’d classify it as a dark comedy with fair writing and decent execution. I have far worse guilty pleasure movies, that’s for sure.
And I did tag a bit with Grey, so there was some writing this weekend, not just a bunch of bad movie watching. Really.
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