Raven O'Fiernan

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Surprise! #IWSG 08/07/2019

August 7, 2019 By ravenofiernan 10 Comments

This is my second post for The Insecure Writer’s Support Group.

Before we get to the monthly post, I want to first apologize to all the people who wrote to me in June, which was my first post for IWSG. My brain apparently took a leave of absence. I had written the post and posted it early in May so I wouldn’t forget, and somehow thought I would receive email notifications when there were comments. But I didn’t get any email notifications and instead of actually checking here (the smart thing to do), I just assumed no one had responded. Late June/Early July was crazy, so I missed that month’s posting, but did do a blog hop at the end of July and found all the responses waiting for my approval! So, first of all, thank you for writing, and then second, please forgive me for not seeing/responding to them until last week. I will be more responsive this time now that I know I won’t be getting email notifications!

I will also plan to check out some of the other blog posts this time, too!

Anyway, on to the question:

August 7 question – Has your writing ever taken you by surprise? For example, a positive and belated response to a submission you’d forgotten about or an ending you never saw coming?

I’m always surprised when I am writing, to be honest, and it doesn’t seem to matter how much or how little outlining I do. I’ve done detailed scene-by-scene outlines of the whole book, and also jumped in with only a line or so and no plan at all. Obviously, I’m surprised when I have no idea, but even when I outline, I start diverting from the planned plot about a quarter of the way through and by the time I am half-way through, the plan no longer works. As a result, I now do broad plotting, if any (having an idea of where I want the story to go and some main points I want to get to), for the whole book, and if I want, more detailed planning of the beginning, and as I go. I think the “as I go” planning is called headlight planning.

So that’s sort of a process question, but let’s get to a specific moment of surprise. I have started writing Prime Tower*. It’s basically an epic science fantasy dystopian novel about an amnesiac. Think Bourne Identity mixed with something like 1984 or Zamyatin’s We. The plot is more spy novel/epic fantasy than dystopian, but the setting is pretty dark. And it’s both futuristic and has magic.

While I was developing the magic part of the world, I had a flash of insight, and I saw the whole climax play out before my eyes. It was just amazing and perfect, and it linked the characters and the world and the plot in a way that resonated with the theme of the story. I can’t wait to get there!

*You can read about Prime Tower and other works in progress on my Works in Progress page!

INSECURE WRITER’S SUPPORT GROUP

FOUNDED BY

Ninja Captain Alex J. Cavanaugh

Writers supporting, encouraging and learning from each other. Post on your own blog about your struggles, your triumphs, and your successes. Talk about your works in progress the good, the bad and the ugly or some other writing relating topic on your mind. Read others, interact, comment, and grow within this wonderful author community. Every month there is an optional question for those who may need help figuring out what to post about.

Twitter is @TheIWSG Hashtag: #IWSG

Join in yourself!

IWSG Website

And here are the awesome co-hosts for the August 7 posting of the IWSG!
Renee Scattergood
Sadira Stone
Jacqui Murray
Tamara Narayan
LG Keltner

Filed Under: #IWSG, Reflection

I – The Magician

July 30, 2019 By ravenofiernan 12 Comments

I – The Magician

The first time I jump, I fall into darkness. Then I wake up. The ground is hard, but I don’t feel bruised, so I don’t know how I got there. It is dark, but off in the distance, I see a bright light. I feel the dirt below me and hear drips. I stand, shaky, and test out my legs. I feel young and alive. I walk toward the light, letting my eyes adjust, but when I exit, it is still a shock. The sun is overhead, but seems to be all around, and yet somewhat filtered by tall trees, both hardwoods and evergreens. When I turn around, the cave is gone, just the edge of a mountain rising behind me, and no door or other entrance. But I’m used to that by now, and suddenly, I want to do something.

All this time I have been following, being guided, but now it’s time for me to act, not merely react. Even though I don’t know where I am, I see a clearing in the distance and head that way. The clearing is unusual because there is a table in the middle, but no one around. On the table are various tools I have never seen before. A shining brass plate inscribed with leaves. A silver chalice filled with some kind of sparkling liquid. Along the top edge lies a curved sword. And right in front of me a golden stick with two gems, one on each end. I pick it up.

I like the heft of it in my hand. One end is blue and the other red, but as I watch, the colors swirl and change. Yes. I can do something with this. I can make something. But first, I need to stake my claim on this place, so I set it down again, and pick up the sword. With the sword, I draw a circle in the dirt around the table, and then a star. I don’t remember my name, but I know I came from the stars, so I make it my signature.

I want to create life, a plant, a tree to grow in this clearing long after I am gone. One that will greet anyone else who comes out of that cave. Back at the table, or perhaps altar is a better word, I pick up the wand with the glowing tips. I raise it to the sky, pointing the other end down toward the brass plate. I feel the sunlight hit the tip of the wand. It is warm and electric, and I almost drop it, but I’m so excited about the plant that I manage to hold on to it. It gets hotter, almost too hot.   I stand firm, and as I watch, the lower gem turns bright emerald green. A stream of life bursts forth, bursting off the brass plate, blinding me. I close my eyes against the brightness, but keep my hand grasped firmly around the wand. It shudders for a moment, but then, it steadies and cools.  The painful light outside my eyelids recedes into delicious coolness.

When I open my eyes, I see a tiny hawthorn sapling sitting on the brass plate. I point the wand at an area of dirt near the altar, and watch as a hole appears, just large enough for the sapling. I set the wand down, and plant the sapling in the hole, covering it with dirt. I look back at the altar. Something seems incomplete and I realize that I have used all the tools except the cup. I take a drink from the cup — pure fresh water that is somehow magical. But as I move away from the altar, the altar begins to shimmer. It is translucent; I can see the grass and dirt through it, and soon, it has disappeared. I am left holding only the cup.

I pour the rest of the water over the hawthorn. In just seconds it begins to grow, growing and spreading until it is fully grown. In the distance, I hear a dog barking, and out of the corner of my eye, I see a glint of silver from the chalice. I rest beside the hawthorn a moment, but I know I cannot stay.

It is time for the next adventure.

The End.

Filed Under: Flash Fiction

Genre Confusion #IWSG 06/05/2019

June 5, 2019 By ravenofiernan 14 Comments

So, I have just joined the Insecure Writer’s Support Group, which is fitting, since I am a writer and very insecure!


INSECURE WRITER’S SUPPORT GROUP

FOUNDED BY

Ninja Captain Alex J. Cavanaugh

Writers supporting, encouraging and learning from each other. Post on your own blog about your struggles, your triumphs, and your successes. Talk about your works in progress the good, the bad and the ugly or some other writing relating topic on your mind. Read others, interact, comment, and grow within this wonderful author community. Every month there is an optional question for those who may need help figuring out what to post about.

Twitter is @TheIWSG Hashtag: #IWSG

Join in yourself!

IWSG Website

JUNE CO-HOSTS:

DIANE BURTON / KIM LAJEVARDI / SYLVIA NEY / SARAH FOSTER / JENNIFER HAWES / MADELINE MORA-SUMMONTE

QUESTION FOR JUNE 05, 2019: Of all the genres you read and write, which is your favorite to write in and why? (Always optional)


This is a good question for me. I don’t really have one favorite genre to write in, or to read in, for that matter. Sometimes I need light fluff. Other times I want something intellectually dense, but not too emotional. Other times, I yearn for emotional intensity. So, when it comes to writing, I want to have books like those out for others who read. It doesn’t help that ALL genres have books on all ends of this spectrum, for the most part.

That said, as my subtitle suggests, what really draws me is the weird. Usually, this means some sort of paranormal, fantasy, or science fiction element. I also love puzzles and mysteries, the sort Agatha Christie is famous for, so most of what I write includes a mystery, either as the main plot or as a subplot. And I love solving problems in ways that are a little unconventional: thievery and spying and assassination are really fascinating to me, as are serial killers and secret organizations.

So, what genres do I write in, then? Cipher, the novel I am revising, is an urban fantasy. As the first book, it sets up the world of vampires, and other paranormal creatures. I’m also planning on including a secret society, and most of the plots will be intrigue or mysteries.

The Neighborhood Witch Watch series is paranormal cozy mystery: the premise is a neighborhood watch made up of witches and other supernatural beings. I’ve flirted with putting them in the same universe as Cipher, but have decided not to. The supernaturals in this series are more flavor than core elements, so the mechanics are more simplistic. I’ve written the first book, but have not yet revised it, nor planned any more yet.

Prime Tower is a standalone science fantasy. The main plot is a mystery in that the main character is amnesiac. Think Bourne Identity with future technology, dystopian government, and natural magic. So, it’s not mystery in a traditional sense (no one is solving a crime), but it is a puzzle, with secret powers and spies. I’ve started writing this.

And then, I am hoping to write a series around The Rookery — a Renaissance-esque fantasy about a monastery of thieves and spies who can turn into ravens and use chess pieces as messages. Lots of play on the word “rook”.

As you can see, while I write in many different genres, the core pieces always seem to come back.

What genres do you like to read and/or write?

Filed Under: #IWSG, Reflection

0 – The Fool

April 23, 2019 By ravenofiernan 12 Comments

0 – The Fool

I remember that day perfectly: the sun shining so bright that I kept my head down, the scent of the flowers so overpowering that every breath was a mouthful of perfume. I was taking a walk through the meadow singing to myself when I realized I had no idea where I was. The landscape in all directions was the same flat flowered field. Like my life of sixteen years: all the same, no adventure. As I looked to see any sign of the way back, I heard a dog bark. It was a short playful bark, and as soon as I identified its direction, I saw a path form in the grasses.

Coincidence? Maybe. But I was curious; I didn’t really want to go back home yet. The day was still young, and I wanted to explore. I wanted to meet the dog. I took one look, then started along the path. Mother wouldn’t miss me for several hours anyway. After some time I could still hear the dog ahead of me and the sun was still in the upper East. How was that possible? But I was curious, so I continued.

I became alarmed when the grass grew. I wanted to go home. It felt like I’d been walking forever. Grasshoppers hopped from the top of the blades, which were now shoulder height. And then, I looked behind. Big mistake. A wall of grass—so high I couldn’t see past it—blocked the way back. I tried to push through it, but it was too thick and dense. There was only one way to go: forward. So I walked on and eventually the grasses gave way to rocks, and along with the dog, I now heard the sound of waves crashing.

The path ended. I stood at the top of a cliff looking down to a tumultuous sea below. Mountains rose to either side of me. Home was gone. From a cave in the mountains, a small spotted black and white dog came running. He barked and jumped at me, and ran up to the edge of the cliff and made circles, chasing his tail. Then he looked up at me expectantly, joyfully wagging his tail. I looked over the edge at the sea, and suddenly the dog hurtled off the cliff. My heart froze in horror, but the dog shimmered in the air and disappeared.

I had to know what happened. So, I leapt.

The unknown became home, and the dog was always ahead of me.

The End.

This one also happens to be featured in It Happened in a Flash: An Anthology of 64 Bite-Sized Stories. The anthology is free as an e-book, so be sure to check it out!

Filed Under: Flash Fiction

Interstellar Student Exchange

April 24, 2018 By ravenofiernan 13 Comments

Welcome back to the next Storytime Blog Hop!

Interstellar Student Exchange

No, no, no, no, no, he thought and ran faster. They have her. They can’t have her. He felt the rasp of breath in his throat and the painful twinge in his side, but he had to get to the clearing. Everything was wrong. How had he not seen? Lured away with a promise of an exchange for money when they didn’t even want money. They just wanted her. He would have given them everything to get her back safely, but when he got to the exchange site, there was no one there, just a message that he was too late.

Then, he’d started running, and now, he could hear the sound of the rocket. He had to get there before they left, before they took her for who-knew-what experiments. His daughter, his little girl, even if she was sixteen now. What was the phrase? You’ll always be my baby? Yeah.

So he ran, but he didn’t know if he could make it. Already, the breaths were coming too short and his legs felt like rubber. But he made it. He made it to the clearing. The rocket was still there, it hadn’t left yet. There was still hope. He ran up to it, pounding on the sides even as he felt it begin to shudder. He didn’t know how it was powered, didn’t know if he would burn to death in an explosion like Earth-rockets. He pounded at the doors, and one of them opened.

“Alright, get in,” ordered one of Them.

“No, I want my daughter. She doesn’t need to–”

“Daddy?”

Alexis was sitting calmly, her arms entwined with one of Them. Oh, no.

“Why are you here?” she asked.

“To bring you home!” he realized he was screaming as his words echoed off the walls of the chamber. “They abducted you, they are going to do horrible things to you. Come home!”

Two of Them blocked his view, then parted so he could see her better. She was sitting with one of Them, its arm, a tentacle, around her shoulder, looking oddly comfortable against the gleaming wall.

“Don’t worry, Daddy. I agreed to go. It will be like a study abroad. Lots of teens are doing it these days.”

“ABROAD?” he thundered. “Abroad is Italy or Spain or heck, maybe Africa. And so what if lots of teens are doing it. If they–”

“Jumped off a cliff? Look. I signed their contract thingy. It says no harm will come to me as long as I obey their orders. And it’s just for a few days unless . . .”

“Let’s relieve him of his anxiety,” the one he hated most said, the one with its tentacle wrapped around her shoulders.

“Okay,” she said, smiling, standing up and weaving her arm around Its. “April Fools!”

Arm linked with Its, she pushed past him getting off the shuttle.

One of the others looked at him sharply before he could follow his daughter. “You will keep my boy safe,” It commanded. “He is here on a student exchange. We will be back.”

He turned back to see his daughter still waiting, arm interlinked with the alien’s. “Well? Aren’t you going to invite him to dinner?”  She didn’t wait for an answer, as she started back down the path to their house.

The End

Continue on to the next story here: The Ghost Fighter, by Bill Bush

List of All Stories:

  1. A Snow White Morning, by Katharina Gerlach
  2. The Letter, by Juneta Key
  3. Trick or Treacle, by Angela Wooldridge
  4. Sugar in the Raw, by Karen Lynn
  5. Inferno, by Fanni Soto
  6. Tae, by Barbara Lund
  7. This story:  Interstellar Student Exchange
  8. The Ghost Fighter, by Bill Bush
  9. Hare, by Elizabeth McCleary
  10. The Widow, by Vanessa Wells

I hope you enjoy this spring’s stories!  Come see us again in July!

Filed Under: Flash Fiction

13 Tips for Success with NaNoWriMo

October 1, 2017 By ravenofiernan Leave a Comment

I write a novel usually every November for National Novel Writing Month, abbreviated NaNoWriMo, and further abbreviated to NaNo.  I’ve been doing NaNo since 2004 and I almost always win (if I’m writing a novel —  sometimes I have done revision instead, and my success is more mixed with revision), and usually finish the novel, which means I usually end up writing more than the 50,000 words required to win.  Last year, 2016, I won with over 96,000 words with a finished novel.  So, now that I’ve presented my credentials, on to the advice!

Caveat: This advice (well, except for #1) might not work for everyone. I think #1 is absolutely necessary for everyone. Oh, and #10, too.

1. HAVE FUN. If you aren’t having fun, you’re doing it wrong. That doesn’t mean you enjoy every single second. Sometimes, you will get discouraged or have bad days, and that’s normal. But overall and in looking back, you should remember it mainly as a time of fun. You should do silly things and go a little crazy.  In fact, sometimes when I do get discouraged or have bad days, I turn them around by deliberately doing something extra silly.  Even if the words are bad, I end up having fun.

2. HANG OUT WITH THE OVERACHIEVERS AND LET THEM INSPIRE YOU. They are proof that not only can this be done, but that even more can be done. Maybe you won’t match them, but let yourself be amazed by them and work towards meeting and exceeding your own personal goals.  Some people get discouraged, and I get that, but at least for me, it’s a choice.  I can choose to be discouraged or to be inspired, and when I choose to be inspired, I write more and better.  This might be in the category of “easier said than done” for some people, so if that’s you, try it a few times when things are going well for you and build up the practice.

3. USE A TIMER AND MEASURE DIFFERENT LENGTH SESSIONS. This is how I found out at one point that I was best with hour-long sessions. My averages for shorter times and longer times were less words per minute than for the hour session, but that has changed. My averages now are more consistent across the board: 5 min=150 words, 15 min=500 words, 30 min=1,000 words, 1 hour=2,000 words, 2 hours=3,000 words. But when I originally started tracking, I was only getting 400 words for 15 minutes and 800 words for 30 minutes . . . and still 2,000 words in one hour. So, two 30-minute sessions would only give me 1,600 words, while one 1-hour session would give me 2,000. Same amount of time, but because it took me awhile to warm up, I was faster in the second half-hour if I had already been writing. Sometimes, I still did shorter sessions because it isn’t always about the most efficient plan but any plan. Some people do best at 15 minutes or 3 hours.

4. TRY EVERYTHING. By this, I mean read lots of different advice and try different things out. This might span multiple years, too. Pants a novel. Plan a novel. Just plan the plot. Just plan the characters and setting. Edit as you go. Don’t edit anything, even typos. Break each scene up as separate documents. Write the whole novel in one document. The more you try, the more you learn about what works for you and when. I found out in my first NaNo (failed) that I *need* to edit. If I leave in all the typos and do not at least comment on the bigger problems, I end up with a big SUCKY NOVEL black cloud that hangs over my head and makes me miserable and makes me hate even thinking about the novel, so then I just stop writing. It makes me violate Rule #1. If I at least note that there’s a problem, it cues my mind that the problem has been dealt with at least for now and I can keep having fun. Others end up in a morass of eternal editing-not-writing if they even stop to correct one typo.

5. TRY TO WRITE EVERY DAY. But forgive yourself and move on if you end up missing one or more days. I used to always have a few 0-word days and I still usually won. Now I don’t because of that darn write 30 days achievement and also not wanting to lose my streak at 4thewords.**

6. MIX UP YOUR ROUTINE. Especially if you feel stuck. Go somewhere else. Write on paper instead of the computer. Ask your characters what’s wrong.

7. FEEL PROUD OF YOURSELF. If you have done more than you would have without signing up, you are winning. And darn it, you are writing a novel (insert other crazy “impossible” goal for rebels)! You are doing it!

8. COMPETE WITH YOURSELF AND OTHERS. Don’t lose sight of #2, though. Compete with the people who are close to you in word count — sort your Writing Buddies by Word Count – High to Low and try to get onto the first page by slowly beating the people on the same page as you. Try to beat your personal bests.  This requires knowing what they are, so track your progress.

9. UPDATE YOUR WORD COUNT AND POST (sparingly if you get distracted easily) ON THE FORUMS. Because you will see your bar and that will inspire you to write more.

10. BACK UP YOUR WORK. You don’t want to lose it in a storm or fire or something. Make copies if you aren’t working on a computer and save those copies in another place. Print hard copies and save your work in multiple places if you are working on a computer.  This is your novel!

11. SURROUND YOURSELF WITH NANO. Wallpapers, special playlists, etc. Have reminders everywhere, so you feel the urge to up your word count wherever you are.

12. CREATE WRITING RITUALS. They shouldn’t be necessary (that is, you should still be ABLE to write without the ritual), but have certain things that you do to signal that it is writing time – like setting the timer in Rule #3.

13. WHEN YOU ARE IN A WRITING SESSION, WRITE. However you choose to delineate a writing session, do not allow yourself to go away from your novel for any reason. If you have bodily issues, take care of them before starting a session, unless they are a complete surprise. And do not just stare at the screen. Write. Something. Anything. Write.

You can do it!

**For information on 4thewords and other writing resources, check out my Writing Resources page!

Filed Under: Writing

Meet Hazel Kanetzki

August 16, 2017 By ravenofiernan Leave a Comment

Hazel Kanetzki is the owner of the Kanetzki Funeral Home (fictional) in the town of Stevens Point, WI (real town).  She is a member of the Order of the Good Death (real organization), and provides a number of services for the deceased and grieving.  She is also adept at reading the Tarot.

Hazel was born Hazel Connolly, the eldest child of the Connolly family, which is an old witch family (fictional) of Stevens Point.  She has twin siblings, a brother, Rowan, and sister, Ashley, who together run the Sun and Moon Coffeehouse and Bookstore, which is located on Main Street leading into what used to be a mall and which is now Mid-State Technical College (this is my rebellion against the Children’s Museum which ran my favorite Coffeehouse, The Supreme Bean, out of business several years ago — in my fictional universe, the Children’s Museum does not exist, and the Bean is now the Sun and Moon).

As a member of an old witch family, Hazel sits on the Watch Council.  The Watch Council monitors supernatural activity in Stevens Point and Portage County in general.  They maintain the Gate at Iverson Park, and provide services to supernaturally-aligned individuals who choose to join.  The Watch Council is essentially part HOA, part union.

Hazel married Peter Kanetzki, the heir to the funeral home, and inherited it upon his death two years ago.  When Peter died, Hazel discovered an ability to go into trance while preparing a body.  During these trances, she creates artwork that is somehow meaningful to the deceased and/or to her.

I have already written the short story in which Hazel prepares Peter’s body and discovers her ability, and hope to publish it in the near future.  I am also planning a series of murder mysteries in which the images within the art provides clues (including Tarot-based clues) to Hazel as she navigates various crimes.  She has a huge black Maine Coon cat, Belladonna, who is the reincarnation of one of the old Connolly matriarchs, and who will occasionally help Hazel with her cases.

Let me know what else you would like to know about Hazel!

Filed Under: Hazel's Series

The Rose Tender

July 25, 2017 By ravenofiernan 19 Comments

The Rose Tender
by Raven O’Fiernan

Lord Sirio looked over his landscape to make sure everything was as it should be. He was hosting his daughter’s coming out gala in a fortnight, and it was essential that nothing be out of place. He turned his gaze to the south, where a row of poplar trees grew, creating a natural fence and backdrop. Then he looked back at the design of Fortunato’s line of trees. No, as he suspected, the trees were not right. They were too tall and skinny, and there were too many of them. He’d only planted the twelve indicated on the garden plans, but there were, he counted, nineteen now. Some of them must have put up shoots in the early days. He’d told the gardener to uproot them, but apparently the man hadn’t gotten them all. That was the problem with having an ordinary gardener instead of a Botanist. A Botanist could have used magic to make the change at any time, but now, if the gardener removed any trees, it would leave unsightly empty gaps. But after his brother had bankrupted the family coffers, Sirio could not afford to hire a Botanist, so he had to make do with the gardener. He hoped the other nobles wouldn’t notice the differences.

The line of trees wasn’t the only area of concern. To the east was the rose garden, patterned after Lady Emilia’s exquisite garden. It wasn’t quite right even from the beginning because some of the varieties of roses had been impossible to find, so he’d had to settle for similar varieties. It was a disappointment, especially since the new varieties didn’t bloom at the same time as the originals, and some of the roses, whether new or original, were susceptible to bugs. Some were even dying and the gardener said he didn’t know if he could save them. The man said that certainly a Botanist could cure them, but not a common gardener.

At least in the north and west, Sirio had obtained a measure of success. The south was an orchard of peach and pear trees. Those at least were perfect, exactly as the late Lord Francesco had recommended. And the west was empty — just rocks and sculptures reminiscent of the poet Gregor’s collection. It was all ready for the gala.

He sighed, looking again at the line of trees in the south and the imperfect rose garden where the gardener was weeding. It would have to do. If Rochesa was going to get married, it had to be as good as possible, and he’d invited all the eligible men in the realm. If they weren’t impressed, if they saw the imperfections, it could affect her happiness, and that wouldn’t do.

He called her out: the gala was two weeks away, so they still had time.

“Yes, father?” she asked.

Sirio frowned at her. Her hair was too light to match the painting he had bought of the Black-Haired-Irina, and her eyes were blue instead of black. He’d tried to make her into the old beauty, but nothing seemed to take.

“Go to town. Go see the magician,” he told her, handing her some coins, hoping it would be enough. “Ask again about the hair. And the eyes.”

“Yes, Father,” she said and left.

A palpable emptiness spread over him. Something was wrong. Was it the trees? He looked again at the poplars and back to the design. He’d talk to the gardener. Maybe there was still something to be done. Maybe the man knew a Botanist that would be affordable.

As he turned to the south to approach the gardener, he saw that his daughter had not followed his instructions. She was bent over the roses with the gardener, who had his hand at the small of her back. As he watched, she reached out a hand, and one of the dying roses suddenly bloomed, fresh and new. She clapped her hands and let out a gale of laughter as the gardener spun her around.

But what Lord Sirio wanted to know was: when had his daughter become a Botanist?

The End

Thanks for reading!  Please check out the other stories in this July’s Storytime Blog Hop:

The Last Sleeping Beauty by Tamara Ruth

Freeman by Elizabeth McCleary

Hell’s Play by Juneta Key

The Token by Eli Winfield

Moshe 4th by Chris Makowski

To The Moon And Beyond, by Fanni Sütő

Surprise by Katharina Gerlach

In A Picture by Erica Damon

The Past Tastes Better by Karen Lynn

Revealing Space by Barbara Lund

 

Filed Under: Flash Fiction

My Review Guidelines

April 26, 2017 By ravenofiernan 1 Comment

I will try to remember to link to this every time I write a review, to let you know the guidelines I set for myself.

1.  I will recommend everything I review.  Basically, the point of a review, even if I discuss problems, is to share things I love.  I have no desire to spend time writing about or discussing things I don’t love.

2.  I will state where I obtained the item, and if it is legally available online, I will provide a link where you can get it.

Filed Under: Reflection

Why you don’t need “thick skin” to be a writer

December 22, 2014 By ravenofiernan Leave a Comment

A lot of you have probably run into the expression that if you want to succeed as a writer, you need to have thick skin. The idea is that since you will get critical feedback from others, you need to be somewhat impervious to that criticism. Having thin skin, on the other hand, means letting the criticism “get to you” in some way. There are some major problems that can only happen if you let criticism “get to you” emotionally, which is why people advocate “thick skin”: if the criticism doesn’t get to you, you won’t react in a way that will harm your career.

So, here are some of the problems with “thin skin”:

1. Unprofessionalism. The most obvious reason people tell other writers to get “thick skin” is that they have seen an example of a writer doing something unprofessional. Some writers have lashed out defensively at people offering criticism, often their own readers. This alienates readers, publishers, other writers, other professionals, and the general public, including other potential readers.

2. Hubris. Another problem with letting criticism “get to you” is that it might keep you from making changes to improve your writing. If you feel the criticism too sharply, it’s easy to retreat into the idea that the critic is stupid and that therefore, the criticism is useless. While it is important to be confident as a writer, ignoring useful feedback is dangerous, even if you do it privately.

3. Writing paralysis. The most dangerous problem is that you’ll become paralyzed and not be able to either sell your current work or not write new work because you are upset about the criticism. According to Dean Wesley Smith, the only way you can kill your career is to stop writing. So if the criticism stops you from writing or selling your work, it is harming your career.

Obviously, having “thick skin” avoids these problems. However, there is an alternative, at least for writers. Almost all criticism comes to writers in the form of writing. This usually means that you are in a private place when you receive it. Maybe family is present, but the critic himself usually is far away. This privacy is why I say that you can still have “thin skin” and avoid the three problems above if you are a writer.

That alternative is to develop resilience. This is my method. When I receive criticism, it does get to me. For anywhere from an hour to a day, I am overwhelmed with the emotional impact of the criticism. But because I know I have thin skin, there are two things I don’t do during that period: 1) I don’t make any decisions concerning my work, and 2) I do not react to the criticism in any way the public or the critic can discover. I keep my reaction private, and I usually remind myself and others that this will pass. It always does. And then, I think about the criticism rationally, and I deal with it as if I had thick skin.

Only I don’t. And there are advantages to using the resilience approach rather than the thicker skin approach.

If you actually have thick skin, it means you aren’t letting the emotional impact hit you, or you are softening the blow before it hits your core. This makes it much easier to avoid giving up on writing, ignoring useful feedback, and behaving badly in public. That’s good. But it also means you aren’t feeling as deeply. Since a lot of good writing comes from intense emotion, having thin skin allows you to draw on emotion much more easily.

What about you? What are your strategies for dealing with unpleasant criticism?

Filed Under: Reflection

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