Babel Clash

It’s till next time!

Jaye and I always love coming over to Babel Clash, and Dane has done a great job by us. So thanks to him, to Borders, and to everyone who visited while we were here.

As for me, my fourth book, Eye of the Tempest, comes out at the end of July. I’m waiting on final cover art, buy buttons, and the lot, but then I’ll have my Jane True Series tab on my website full of info for book four. In the meantime, you can go there to find info on books 1-3.

If you think you’d like to take a shot at my series, and you live in the USA, you’re just in time. For, starting tomorrow, Orbit’s offering Tempest Rising as their digital Orbital Drop offer at just $2.99.

If you have any questions for me, drop me a line at iheartselkies(at)gmail(dot)com, or hit me up on Twitter or Facebook. I love to stay connected.

Till next time!

In comments about Jaye’s post on Tuesday, I saw something we’re all used to seeing: a little vampire hatin’.

For all of you out there who hate the vampire, Imma let you finish.

But let me just say something first . . .

I get it that there are a lot of people who see Twilight as the sort of cultural monolith they have to scorn. It’s the scorn version of a rubber mallet hitting an elbow. After all, the Twilight phenomenon is huge. It sparkles. Teen girls love it so much they swoon, while their moms, embarrassingly enough, are right there with them.

Personally, I love that Twilight got young people reading. I love seeing message boards where–rather than just imbibing Twilight’s mixed bag of messages as if they were custard–young girls debate those messages. And I love it when I get an older teen reader who writes to me, “I loved Twilight when I was younger. But I wanted something more. Then I found Jane.”

In my secret fantasies, I consider Jane the Anti-Bella, but we won’t get into that.

What I will get into is that vampires aren’t the enemies. All of the centuries of amazing mythology coming from every single corner of the globe should not be dismissed. The fact that vampires  have terrified the human race for centuries, in multiple incarnations, should not be dismissed. They fact that the act of sucking life essence from our bodies is a fear so primordial and so charismatic we’ve had to touch upon it, as a species and throughout our existence, should not be dismissed.

The fact vampires offer up a raft of double penetration jokes should not be dismissed.

And yes, vampires have been silly over the centuries. Let’s not forgive the legendary goat-sucker, the chupacabra. But vampires have also always fascinated humanity. Indeed, why they’ve always fascinated humans gives us such insight into our own dark depths. They are, after all, the walking embodiment of that mystifying connection between thanatos and eros–between death and sex. Even the Twilight series, in its admittedly awkward and rather puerile way, tried to work out just how this connection functions for us, and why it rivets us as a species.

In other words, don’t blame the vampire for how it’s been portrayed. It couldn’t help Gary Oldman’s boob wig any more than it could help the sparkles.

All it wants to do is live happily, seducing mortals with its unholy offerings of pleasure and death. All it wants is our blood, our souls, and our bodies. And throughout history, humans as a species have been helpless not to want to give in.

Last Friday, Jaye discussed how she likes to take familiar or famous settings and give them a little twist. Riffing on that idea, I’m going to to tell you about how I like to use settings. Which is to visit them, first, and then write about them, second.

I’m by no means saying one has to travel everywhere one writes about. The fact is, I have the travel bug. It takes the form of itchy feet and antsies in my pantsies. If I don’t travel somewhere, anywhere, at least once a month, I start to second guess my entire existence. Why am I working this hard if I haven’t packed a bag and gone somewhere recently?

My frenetic traveling is not normal, to be honest, and it’s also only possible because I’ve got two jobs and I’m a lone wolf (which is romantic for utterly alone). But it’s what I do. I travel whenever I get the chance.

And I have to tell you: if traveling’s by no means a requirement for writing, it is very much an absolutely inspiring way to write. The sights, smells, and rhythms of life in a new place get under your skin, and you start imagining what your characters would do in that market, or what a new character would be like if she was from this city, or how your protagonists would interact in this particular cafe.

I’ve definitely mined my own life for my locations. I love Maine, and was only recently in Eastport. I went to school in Boston, where book two takes place. As a student at BU, we’d often go up to Montreal to drink and eat stinky cheese, tracing a rather similar trail of hedonism as Ryu and Jane in book one. Finally, book three is all over the place, but all the settings are places from my life. For example, I grew up in a city called Aurora, IL, that looks strikingly similar to Borealis, I’m now living outside of Pittsburgh.

Books five and six, meanwhile, are taking us international. I did my PhD in Scotland, and cross the pond about twice a year to visit friends. So book five is going to take place in England and book six will journey north into Scotland. All are set in the cities I either know well, like London and Edinburgh, or have been learning on my recent trips, like Brighton and York.

Why do I do this, you ask? First of all, it’s because I want my books to be an adventure for me and for my readers. When I write Jane into a new place, I feel I have to learn it, first. It’s a challenge to me, as a researcher and a writer. And I then want to share that place with my reader: another challenge to my powers of description–to my ability to breathe life into a new locale.

I also get to mine all the feelings I get from traveling. I’m so inspired by new places, new people, and getting away from my everyday life. I hope that, as a writer, I can bring some of that freshness and inspiration to my characters and to my plots, so that my readers may enjoy them vicariously.

I know I’m really lucky that I get to travel the way I do, and I love being able to spread some of that luck around. It doesn’t hurt that I enjoy a tax deduction, either.

So I’ve talked way too much about me in this post. How do you guys feel about fleet-footed, travel-happy protagonists? Do you like being with them on their adventures? Do you think settings are better the more exotic they are, or do you prefer your characters staying at home, where characters belong? Or is there anywhere you ever visited that you feel inspired you in some way? Let’s talk about settings, folks!

First of all, do you like how I riffed on Jaye’s title? Didja? Didja didja? Huh?

That’s why I make the big bucks. *flexes*

Of course, when I read Jaye’s post, I had my usual thought when I read the word “romance.” It goes something like this . . .

“Romance Schmomance. What about the sex?”

What can I say. I’m that guy.

Seriously, though, I think that the settings and worldbuilding that Jaye describes in her post help not only to define urban fantasy as focused on more than romance, they also mean that UF authors can’t always make relationships all that romantic. After all, if a character is in love with another character, but there’s a war going on, chances are they’re not going to slip away for a candlelit dinner.

Meanwhile, in UF, there’s usually a war going on. My characters have been at war from the beginning, although they didn’t know it. Jaye’s characters are on the verge of war, or have forever been fighting a cold war, depending on how you look at it. In fact, most UF series I can think of feature a war, or at least a fuck ton of violence.

(I’m going to start swearing now, so if you’re not into swearing, I’d look away. Or you may have to bleach your eyes.)

The fact is, a lot of character development happens in UF through two forms of action: fuckin’ and fightin’. Our characters have to fight, a lot. Jane started out all soft and sweet, and now she’s all, “BRING IT, BITCHES.” But is that all she’s become?

Of course not. At heart, she’s still my sweet Jane, although her opportunities to show her soft side are growing fewer and fewer, as altercations escalate. So when is she able to be sweet?

You guessed it . . . when she’s fuckin’.

The problem is, as Modernists such as Hemingway articulated so beautifully, war and romance don’t make for good bedfellows. War makes us want the bedfellows part, as we’re afraid we’re going to bite the big one any minute. War also makes us feel so intensely, so that attractions form and dissolve with the intensity of tectonic shifts. Unfortunately, it’s hard to recreate those shattering emotions of wartime during peacetime. Which means that just as Jake pines after Brett who pines after everyone else, I’m afraid UF characters often do quite a bit of bonin’, but we rarely see a white wedding.*

(And by “afraid,” I mean I’m abso-fricking-lutely delighted.)

But think of the opportunities both fighting and sex give us, as authors and readers of urban fantasy. Think of the character development. We get to see just how far these characters are willing to go, both on the battlefield and in the bedroom. We get to see characters who have to be guarded all the time finally let those shields down with their lovers, and then ratchet them right back up for war. Their ability, or inability, to do these things teaches us so much about them. And then there’s the physical acts: how a character fights, what weapons she uses, whether she fights dirty, if she’s merciful. Then we shift to the bedroom (or the floor, or kitchen table, or cave, or tent) and suddenly we see how she touches her partner, how she takes off all that armor (both literal and figurative), and whether or not she’s really open to pleasure after so much pain.

Epic fantasy often doesn’t have time for sex, at least not in its classical incarnations. Instead, in many instances we’re supposed to know everything we need to know about characters through their external, public acts: their feats of bravery, the way they face an enemy, the way they die on the battlefield, or the sacrifices they’re willing to make to uphold their honor.

Urban fantasy lets us judge characters on another level besides this public one. It allows us to present our characters in private and at their most vulnerable. Anybody can pick up a sword, but how often do we really offer up our hearts? When I see a character really put herself out there, emotionally, I’m awed at her bravery. And that’s what we get to do, in urban fantasy. We can explore that seductive moment when a character who has no problem wielding a sword against an enemy has, finally, to drop her weapons. In that moment, our heroes become humans. We catch a glimpse of that urge for connection that  makes us great, as well as the courage in pursuing such connections that makes humans true heroes.

True heroes . . . get it? Didja? Didja?

So, yeah, it’s Valentine’s Day. Which, if you think about it, isn’t very Urban Fantasy. I mean, how does one save the world from evil bloodsuckers, or stop a war between lycans and trolls, or do any of the other ridonkulous thing we expect out of our UF heroes and heroines, and still have time to date?

Jaye and I thought that such expectations were too high, so we wanted to give you a more UF-style valentine. Which means MONSTERS! And we’ve roped in our characters Sabina, Giguhl, and Jane to help.

(Yes, this was orginally a Halloween video. Yes, I sort of did a ghetto job making it into a Valentine’s day video. Stop judging, Judgie McJudgerson!)

Because I love it when they do! I gotta admit: I’m a swearer, as is Jane. I sometimes wonder how I got such a potty mouth, then I go home and watch as various members of my family drop F-bombs like they’re pilots during the Blitz. It’s like I was raised by a horde of Midwestern pirates prone to stubbing their toes. Cover your ears if you go to the Peeler’s, people.

So, I don’t mind swearing, and I’ve already established I adore a little filth. I also like it when people poke fun at sex, because it is funny, and I have Jane’s libido say some purposely ridiculous things. What I don’t enjoy is when people mean the F-word…and then they say something else. You know what I’m talking about.

The Dreaded Euphemism.

Now, I get it that writers have to be careful. An author writing a sensual scene might not want to risk sounding porny by going all Lawrentian and throwing about the “C” word. There are also a lot of times when a softer, more subtle approach that closes the door gently in the reader’s face works wonders for the imagination as well as the libido.

What I don’t like is when people write what’s pretty intense sex…but don’t use a single “real” word. Instead, they attempt to disguise their writing in euphemisms, as if sex and sexuality need to be stuck in evening dress to be presentable. Here are just a smattering of my least favorite, fairly commonly used euphemisms. Huge thanks to my friends on Facebook and Twitter for helping me compile this list:

Firstly, there’s the “garden variety” euphemism. I don’t know about you, but I sometimes wonder why I want to start planting flowers after I read some sex scenes. Then I remember that “petals” are now labia, which have been described as drenched in “dew.” “Rosebuds” have taken over for bits that are anything but(t). Other people have reported spotting “purple tulips,” “aching buds,” and “nests.” But not the kind sparrows live in! Finally, there’s the dreaded “manroot.”

Then there’s the group of euphemisms that I normally associate with jewelry, but what do I know? Clitori becomes “pearls,” which are not to be confused with “beaded,” as in nipples, unless they ARE confused, and then you should just go ahead and rub everything vaguely pointy. But be careful, in case the nipples are “rubies,” or “diamonds,” or “pebbles.” Fruity pebbles?

And where do I begin with the Weapons-Grade Euphemism? “Swords” fit in “sheathes,” but not so much the “lances.” They just poke at high speeds, presumably. As do “shafts.” “Torpedos?” Really? But I’ll take a torpedo, any day, over a “battering ram” charging at my “gates.”

Finally, and this is where I always get a little squicked, there’s the adjectives. Now, don’t get me wrong. I know that describing sex shouldn’t always be scientific, and I know that a lot of words of which I’m not a fan will push another person’s love-nubbin-of-pleasure. But here’s a short list of words I’m either tired of seeing, or a little squicked out by:

• Throbbing. Do you need an Advil, for the love of all that’s holy?
• Pulsating (see above)
• Fleshy. Does one ever grasp the thing described this way and discover, to one’s shock, it’s TITANIUM?
• Oozing. I know things ooze. I know it’s accurate. But there’s the whole “connection to sores” thing.
• Straining! I see puppies. Happy, frolicsome puppies.
• Turgid. Turgid Turnips Turnabout!
• Spicy. Nothing ever described as “spicy” really tastes “spicy.” Ever. So don’t go thinking you can make a curry.
• Moist! That is all.

And then there’s my absolute LEAST favorite . . . the thing that makes me both vomit, a little, in my mouth AND makes me crave some chips and dip . . .

• Creamy.

I can taste the cool ranch, even now. Now where DID I put those Lays?

How about you guys? What euphemisms have you read, heard, or (gods forbid) said that really knocked you for six?

Jaye and I’ve been going back and forth about humor, heroism, vulnerability, et cetera, and I really couldn’t think of anything to add, especially after Jaye’s great latest post. To be honest, I was a bit stuck. Then I went back to square one, and began thinking about what else I think makes my Jane a bit different, as a heroine.

When I wrote Jane, I was playing with an idea that really attracted me. This idea was inspired by two things: the fact that Jane’s part selkie (a mythological creature that can be quite hedonistic), and the fact that I was a little tired of reading about women who were Much Better People than I am.

The idea in question was that of my favorite vice: Greed.

I am a very greedy girl, on a number of levels. When I like something, I want lots of it. Whatever it is, I want to roll around in it, immerse myself in it, have it till I can’t take any more. And then I want something else.

It’s not something I’m particularly proud of, but neither am I ashamed. In fact, I think it’s a facet of my personality that’s at the root of some of my greatest strengths as well as a few of my greatest weaknesses. But it’s there, and I know I’m not the only one who shares a similar vice.

That said, the women in books tend to be so…good. They say no, and they say no, and they say no, until they don’t say no. But by that time, whatever it is they want (whether it’s a man, a lifestyle choice, a new job, a new adventure) has been proven to be so throughly good for them that it’s lost a little bit of the sinfulness I, for one, like lacing my indulgences.

So when I was thinking what kind of heroine I wanted to write, to shake things up a bit, I thought about writing an unrepentantly hedonistic female character. A female character who doesn’t apologize for her lust for pleasures of all sorts, or, better yet, a character who’s really never even considered apologizing.

The idea of such a woman fit in well with the selkie myths. All in all, and except for the risk of clubbing, seals seem to have a pretty good time rolling around the waves and carousing on beaches. Add in the fae element, with selkie men and women (especially the men) known for doing more than their fair share of seducing the mortals, and I had the makings of a very unapologetically sensual character.

From these ideas sprang Jane. She’s gonna eat carbs. She’s gonna have that one last drink. She’s not gonna have to be in love to have sex. And she’s definitely, definitely going to let herself have a wee moan when she really enjoys something, even if it’s not entirely appropriate.

For me, it makes Jane fun to write, because I like people who like stuff, and I love seeing other people enjoy things. We live in a weird world where everything is so abundant, and yet so bland; we have so many opportunities, yet we’re taught to fear our own capacity for pleasure. Jane’s my little black-eyed answer to such first-world demons. And I love writing her pleasure.

When Jaye ended her last post by asking me, “What’s so funny about writing the every woman?” the answer to me was obvious: I get to write about real life!

Real life is ridiculous. Humanity is ridiculous. Sex is ridiculous. Eating is ridiculous. Society is ridiculous. I could go on and on. At the same time, all of the above is also fun, heartbreaking, pathetic, limitlessly engaging, heroic… Again, the list is endless. It’s real life people: It’s messy, it’s complicated, and it’s irresistible.

So, you might be wondering, why the hell do you write urban fantasy if you want to write about real life, Dr. Peeler? It’s because the only thing I like more than real life is satire. And what better way to call attention to just how absurd things are than by contrasting the absolutely normal with the entirely paranormal.

Jane’s “everywoman” as a heroine was, therefore, the natural choice for me. Like Gulliver, she could have crazy, supernatural adventures that titillate reader’s imaginations at the same time she plays with reader’s assumptions about values such as heroism, goodness, love, et cetera. Not that I think I’m Jonathan Swift, by any means. He was a man on a mission and me? I just wanted to tell a good story, with a few extra layers.

So what are those layers? And how does an “everywoman” heroine help skin them?

Let’s start with heroism. When we think of heroes, our culture usually points us in the direction of figures such as Conan. Musclebound, seemingly unstoppable, and gifted with preternatural abilities of size and strength, this is definitely a type of Epic hero. But what about a more quiet type of heroism? For example, I’ve always been fascinated by women like my mother and my sister-in-law. The former has taught special ed all of her life, the latter is a nurse. They’re not musclebound or gifted with preternatural abilities, and yet they’re still unstoppable. Women like my mom and my sister-in-law do what they do despite the dangers, not because of them. They do what they do knowing that they will get hurt, both emotionally and physically. They admit to being afraid, constantly, that they’re not doing enough, or that they could do more, or that they’re not really making a difference. And then they get up and go to work, despite those fears.

So yeah, I think heroism takes a lot of forms. And writing a character who isn’t kick ass is my way of asking people to reevaluate their definitions of strength.

Through subverting such assumptions about “values” commonly made in urban fantasy, I also wanted Jane to subvert the assumptions about female agency that some kick-ass heroines unwittingly recycle. Take, for example, the idea that Jane’s “everywoman” status makes her vulnerable. In some ways, yes, it does. She gets her ass kicked more than a few times, and she needs rescued, physically, even more.

But in reading Jaye’s post I realized something about Jane. She’s nobody’s foil. She’s not crashing around, reflexively whacking back at life as it whacks her first. Jane isn’t perfect: she makes a lot of mistakes and she can be a bit clueless. She’s also oftentimes influenced by the actions of others. But throughout the books, she’s still thinking, all the time, about her life and what she wants out of that life. She’s not just reacting.

Jane’s the one making the jokes. She’s the one who sees through what’s around her: she sees the sublime in the ridiculous, and the ridiculous in the sublime. Granted, she usually does so on the way to find a bathroom or a bite to eat. But don’t we all spend a large portion of our lives in either one of those two positions? And those are the moments no one ever writes about in UF. Nobody ever pees! Or needs a hot dog. But I’m sure even Conan needed both, at some point. The paradox, meanwhile, is that by acknowledging that bugbear, the human condition, this kind of character refuses to reject our lived experience as unworthy of the subject of fiction. Instead, characters such as Jane embrace real life, helping us to see how our own lives can, sometimes, be downright magical.

Especially when that hot dog is covered in chili. And cheese. And served with a Dr. Pepper. Ummm . . . Is anybody else hungry?

Like Jaye Wells, I seem to have become someone “known” for snark. And so, because we’re friends and because we like to hear our own voices, Jaye and I’ve had a few conversations (all of them snarky, por su puesto) in which we’ve attempted to define snark. During such sessions we’ve been drinking, but that has less to do with snark and more to do with wetting our whistles (or whetting our whistles into shivs, as the case may be).

And yet, despite our mutual identities as mistresses du snark, Jaye and I write very different books. Our covers say it all: the imposing figure of Jaye’s vampire/mage assassin, clad in leather, introduces the world to Sabina’s patented “fuck you” stare. Meanwhile, my Jane peers, naked and vulnerable, from her liminal position: halfway between earth and sea, halfway between human and paranormal. My books feel lighter than Jaye’s in tone, our heroine’s are totally different, but both Jaye and I are shelved under “snark” as much as we are “urban fantasy.”

So what is it about snark that makes this possible?

I would argue that the thing that makes our books similar, and that makes the two of us friends, is the same thing that differentiates “snarky” from “being an asshole”: the art of self-deprecation.

Jaye hit on the idea that snark is often a defensive weapon, honed by those of us who always knew we were a little…different. For me, I realized very early that I was never going to be the “pretty girl”: the head cheerleader or the homecoming queen. With that revelation, I figured I had three choices: get angry about that fact (and be an asshole), try to attempt a pale imitation of that identity (and be pathetic), or I could become popular in my own way by making fun of myself. By outlining in painstaking, humiliating, and hilarious detail exactly why I could never be the cheerleader (legs like drumsticks!), I not only got people laughing, but I could also then evolve that mockery into something more: for example, subverting the superficial ideas of “identity” we so often clung to in high school.

In other words, I figured out that if I made fun of myself, first, and got everyone laughing…I could make fun of anything.

It was an epiphany. I stopped being the shy, too-smart girl with her nose always buried in a book, and instead developed a persona who loved working a room. By admitting my weaknesses, I introduced people to my strengths and, more importantly, I got my audience rooting for me.

I didn’t invent this strategy, of course, and it was used most famously by Cyrano de Bergerac, in Rostand’s play of the same name. When The Vicsount makes fun of Cyrano’s nose by calling it, “very big,” Cyrano responds, “Is that all?…You might have said at least a hundred things,” before continuing to list over twenty ways to make fun of his own nose.

Meanwhile, as Cyrano constantly suggests, the art of self-deprecation is exactly that: an art. Too much, and it sounds like you’re looking to host a pity party. Too little, and you risk sounding glib (Tom Cruise!).

Granted, such self-deprecation is, as Jaye points out, a defense mechanism. But it’s a subtle, much nuanced self-defense mechanism that shouldn’t be underestimated. I would even argue that snark implies as much strength as it does vulnerability. Indeed, the “just right” amount of self-deprecation says the following: I can take it on the chin; I came by my right to the funny the hard way; and I know who I am, drumstick legs and all.

I’ve got the same questions Jaye had, as this post is more an addendum to her post than a challenge. How do you define snark? How does a character being snarky change that character, for you? Is it a strength? Or the unwitting display of a whole backlog of personality issues?