publishing

And Suddenly, a Book Release: Namesake

I know I’m supposed to do something grandiose for a book release, but my anxiety is already through the roof. So, I’ve pulled the trigger and I’m moving on. Namesake is now available on Amazon.com.

This is your courtesy notice, haha.

Namesake book release

The Book Release Saga: What Took So Long?

One of the many issues that I battled last year involved determining where my writing was going and whether it was time to throw in the towel and move on. I love to write, but I’m not a responsible author.

(See the above casual book release for a reference point to that statement.)

The publishing world is flooded with hard-working people who seem to have clear goals and ambitions. I.e., the exact opposite of me. It’s easy, on reading their experiences or advice, to feel like I have no clue what I’m doing, that I’m only pretending, that I don’t belong in this industry, that I’m doing everything wrong, and that everything is futile anyway.

And when that happens, my anxiety disorder flares and claws its way up my throat from my stomach, and I unplug from life for a couple of days. NBD.

In late April, I went to lunch with a dear friend, Tamara Passey, who graciously discussed her first-hand experience as an indie author. During our conversation, she asked me what my goals were.

And I confessed that I didn’t have any, other than to write really, ridiculously well. (I’m working on it, guys. I totally am.)

Among other encouragements, Tamara gave me permission to make temporal goals. And she provided me with the framework for how to set up an imprint.

So I did.

And that’s what took so long.

Eulalia Skye Press

Eulalia Skye logoYou might notice, going forward, this handy little sigil in or on my books. I may or may not start switching titles over. I may or may not open those titles up for wider distribution.

I may or may not commit to half a dozen things, but here’s what I have done:

  1. I registered an imprint. It took me about a month and a ton of brainstorming to settle on a name. I love that it is oddly quirky and that it plays with fantasy elements while still having a sense of grounded-ness to it. Somehow, random as “Eulalia Skye” is, it fits my writing.
  2. I bought a block of ISBNs. This commits me to this industry for a few years yet, mostly because it wasn’t a block of 10. With seven books out, I’d blow through those without batting an eyelash. (Yes, I have 100 ISBNs. I’ve used 2 so far for Namesake. Only 98 more to go. Breathe, Kate.)
  3. I registered with the Library of Congress. Namesake has an LCCN. It’s listed on the print-edition copyright page and everything.

There have been a million other tiny processes and procedures. Each has been a personal battle, because in many ways I feel like I’m stepping down a path blindfolded.

But I’m doing what I can to move forward. One… terrifying… step… at a time. And, theoretically, the next book shouldn’t take nearly as long on the publishing side.

(Theoretically. Ha.)

Last Hurrah

If you’ve read this far, thank you. I have been blessed by so many who have given encouragement when they didn’t even realize I needed it. (And many of whom may not have known they were giving it.)

You guys are awesome and inspirational. When I grow up, I wanna be like you.

Cover Reveal and Summary: Namesake

At long last, a cover reveal!

But first!

Good things come to those who wait, but better things come to those who work. I have spent the past few months in what I affectionately call “cover hell.” Consequently, I’ve avoided places like the internet in general and my own website in particular where I might have to account to others for my dealings. I here apologize. It is a character flaw that I’m likely to embrace to my grave.

And now, to the eye candy!

Cover Reveal:

cover reveal: Namesake by Kate Stradling

 

Summary: Namesake by Kate Stradling

“Who needs magic in an age of electricity? I can flip the switch on the wall with the best of them.”

Anjeni Sigourna bears the name of a legendary goddess, but her resemblance to that honored figure ends there. Eighteen and jaded, she has cultivated sarcasm instead of the elusive magic everyone expects her to possess. Such mystic power lacks purpose in her modern world.

But when an adverse encounter with the Eternity Gate lands her in an alien realm, magic marks the boundary between life and certain death. Anjeni alone holds the keys to saving an ancient people from a savage enemy. Her bitterness notwithstanding, now she must create a legend instead of living in its shadow.

Best of Intentions

“Cover hell” consisted of a multitude of ideas with middling-to-poor execution. None of them made it past the drafting stage until I stumbled on this one, and then it went through four different builds (including a first, quick run in PSE where the program shut down when I tried to print, and I hadn’t saved so I lost everything, hahaha). A last-minute rework on that epic fireball sealed the deal this afternoon. I am in love.

(For now.)

Namesake is schedule for release in August, providing everything goes well. And by that, I mean my files are uploaded and under review. If the physical proof looks good, I’ll hit “Approve” and let you all know.

In the meantime, you can read excerpts from the book over on my critique group’s site, Novel Three: here and here.

Stay tuned!

Honing In on What Matters Most

AverageEverygirl092

Last week, in the midst of procrastinating a fair number of tasks, I read a book. It was a decent story, sound in writing mechanics, pretty good dialogue, interesting plot points, and so forth, but there was one major problem: its pacing was

so

very

slow.

I wanted to like this book, I really did, but I kid you not, it took eight pages—eight—for the protagonist to wake up, get dressed, and go down to the kitchen for breakfast.

Eight pages.

There was backstory aplenty and introspection galore, and even a little eavesdropping on other characters Doing Things, but the end result was a narrative that dragged like a legless dog on a leash.

Which was tragic because, again, the writing was sound. This was a skilled author.

I’m not passing judgement. I’ve been there before, so deep in my character’s life that I included every minute detail and motivation and thought. To some extent, it’s part of my drafting process, to reassure myself that I know my character, that I know my plot, and that I know what’s happening at any given moment.

But the reader doesn’t need to know 90% of it and may well get annoyed at the surplus of information. We live in an age of instant gratification. No one wants to wade through eight pages of prose just to transport a main character from their bedroom to the breakfast table. Those details might make it into the first draft, but that doesn’t mean they should stay for the final one.

The Value of a Crisis Mindset

I’ve heard publication dates referred to as “book birthdays,” but I prefer to view them as another life event entirely: they are manuscript death-days. The book, once published, exits the creative process. Sure, you can make minor changes or corrections here and there, and the modern indie industry actually allows for full-blown plot overhauls and rewrites, but going forward, any drastic changes will disrupt the trust relationship between author and reader. The goal in publishing has to be a polished end-product.

The publication deadline, then, presents a crisis—an end-of-the-world scenario, if you will.

And, as with real-life crises, it gives the author cause to hone in on what is truly essential.

The drafting process, hard work as it is, has a carefree angle to it. You can create a whole cast of characters, endless gratuitous scenes, and witty dialogue that runs on for pages and pages. Eventually, through this drafting stage, everything gets cobbled together into one flowing narrative, and you type “The End” with a final flourish on the last page.

But that’s actually only the beginning. With a first draft complete, the looming crisis of publication engages. You enter the editing stage.

Some authors edit as they go along. (I do, certainly.) They get to the end of a draft and feel as though their project is complete. (Again, guilty as charged.) There is a fundamental difference between the drafting and the editing stages of writing, though:

Drafting is for the author’s benefit; editing is for the reader’s.

Pretty much any project that does not consider its audience’s needs separate from its creator’s intentions will fall short of its full potential. The purpose of the editing stage is to refine that raw material produced in the drafting stage.

This is a time to strip away all the extra descriptions, break up with the unnecessary characters, ditch the irrelevant scenes, and train a narrative’s focus upon the fundamental themes of the story. It’s a time to honor the reader by considering their expectations and ensuring that the story delivers on any promises it made.

The crisis mindset allows an author to sit down with their manuscript, acknowledge that the two will soon part ways, and to reinforce the story’s most important principles before sending that little bundle of joy out into the world to get shredded to pieces by the rabid readers that await.

(Only kidding, readers. You are mostly wonderful.)

While there’s no possible way to please 100% of an audience—and I’m not saying anyone should try—the end goal, simply, is to present the most polished story that an author can for where they are in their writing journey.

As difficult, tedious, and headache-inducing as the editing process can be, it’s nothing to bemoan. Editing is where the true craft of writing begins.

It is, in short, essential. Carefully attended, it allows an author to meet that crisis of publication with confidence and bid farewell to their lovely manuscript with no regrets.

 

Deadlines Are My Mortal Enemy

Inge_Cover_Final

Happy June, everybody! Here’s a new book for you to read!

Click here for the Kindle version!

The print version should show up in a day or two. It has at least 2 typos, found 10 minutes after I clicked the “publish” button. I’m sorry. They never emerged in multiple layers of proofreads, of course, and I’m too done with this hoop-jumping project to correct them now. (They’re corrected in the Kindle version, though, because that was easy to do. So that’s the version I’m going to pimp, hahaha.)

I know, I know. I’m supposed to set up pre-orders and hype a cover reveal and join a blog tour, and half a dozen other marketing strategies. Sorry I’m such a cynic. The honest truth is that I don’t really respond to those efforts from others, so I’d feel like a raging hypocrite implementing them myself. Maybe sometime down the road I’ll ease into that sort of thing. Until then, it’s just me running outside, banging pot lids for five minutes, and then going back in to mind my own business. (That was an analogy. I only really bang pot lids on pre-1995 New Year’s Eves.)

Full disclosure: I have been in a love-hate relationship with this novel ever since its first wisps of inspiration germinated in my brain. I know I’m supposed to tout it like it’s the greatest literary event since Pride & Prejudice hit the shelves in 1813, and my candor here is a complete marketing taboo, but such it is. I do love it, warts and all. It’s a fun story, a fun setting, and a fun cast of characters. I’m not really sure if it’s too far in my comfort zone or too far outside of it. I haven’t ever read another book like it, so that’s probably what’s making me nervous. But I truly, truly hope you enjoy it!

A few words on the cover:

1. Imma be honest. It offends my minimalist sensibilities. I like clean and simple, and I waffled over this cover forever because of that. However,

2. It’s inspired by the Franks Casket, which I adore. In that respect, it really does reflect some minimalist principles (have you seen how crammed those panels are with people?), which makes me like it better.

As an aside, if you want to transliterate an English text into the runic alphabet, futhorc.com has provided a lovely little tool. You’ll need Junicode (the modern linguist’s dearest friend) to use the runes in any projects, but that’s just a matter of downloading a free font, for which they provide a link. And Junicode is awesome in its own right. Everyone should have it installed. (I’ve had it for about a decade. #humblebrag)

3. Blue is probably my favorite color. So that makes me happy.

4. In general, I strongly dislike faces on book covers, especially stock photo faces. With few exceptions, the models never look like the characters in my head, and the cover becomes a disappointing distraction instead of a reason to read the book. There are exceptions! But they belong to other authors. With my visual brain and high expectations, there is no possible way I could ever match my characters to a representative photo, which is why I take the illustration route. Not that I owe anyone an explanation, but I’m just putting the information out there. Transparency, you know.

Also, go to a stock photo site and search for “Viking girl” or “Viking woman.” Yeah. Haha. You’ll find about 12-15 kinds of ridiculousness, and much of it scantily clad, as though it’s not routinely -112° in that part of the world.

That’s all the procedural matters for now, I think. Happy Reading, you beautiful people!

Sneak Peek: The Legendary Inge

Prologue

Dirt and blood filled his senses, gritty and glorious. The heady reek of his midnight kills always exulted his spirits, confirmed that he was terrible, invincible. He thrived on shadow and darkness and the destruction he could wreak under their cover.

Tonight was no different. He had infiltrated the same hall, had slaughtered his nighttime meal, and now he picked its flesh from within its armored shell as its fellows scrambled away in fear.

The creatures were so pitifully weak. His razor-sharp claws made short work of the ones that tried to fight back. He would eat his fill, gorging on their flesh until his belly swelled, and then lope away into the night, back to the darkling warmth of his nest, there to sleep away the long day to come.

Another sinewy lump slid down his gullet. Shouts rang from the hall’s entrance and the fire of torches followed. The light pierced his eyes. He raised one scaly arm to block it from sight, only to meet the heavy blow of a double-edged sword.

Pesky creatures, to think that they could harm him.

Lightning-quick his claws lashed out at the attacker, but they met not the armored shell nor the muscled flesh it guarded. Power flared and forced them back.

Magic.

He feared neither blade nor spell. He was immune to magic and metal both, had been endowed with those immunities by his creator. The one who wielded them both would be a troublesome pest, however. His meal forgotten, he sought to silence that newcomer.

It was lithe, even for his swift movements. The blade caught his skin and glanced off again two, three, four times. Magic filled the room and the other creatures, emboldened, started forward with weapons of their own. His claws could not strike. Spells and that double-edged sword both moved to defend almost before he could attack. Torches flashed before him, waved with menacing cries as their bearers backed him into a corner.

There would be no more feasting tonight, not with such resistance as this.

He leapt bodily over the pathetic cluster, felt the sword glance off his hide yet again, and escaped through the same window he had entered. Wrath coursed through him at the disruption, and his stomach gurgled its protest, unsated. Behind him, the creatures vaulted from the window and followed him into the waning night.

No one had ever given him chase before. He made his way slow enough not to lose them, could hear them behind him even now, the fools. If he lured them far enough into the forest, he could secure the rest of his meal. The hunted was truly the hunter. Dawn was near, with its cursed, piercing sunlight—nearer than he had thought—but his cave was not too far distant. There he could take refuge.

It would make the perfect trap for the meal that pursued him.

Even as he bounded on that course, though, a tantalizing smell drifted across his path. He skidded to a halt and breathed the aroma deeply. It was young, fresh and tender, a smell that made his mouth water. Accustomed to sinewy meals, he treasured those rare, supple morsels of youthful flesh. His heart lurched with anticipation and his legs instantly carried him in pursuit of that smell.

It was not far away, the young one. He crashed through the woods into a clearing and paused to take stock. Gleefully he surveyed the youth, saw the horror flash across its hairless face, felt a twist of gluttony in his gut at the rare treat of which he would partake. The pursuers shouted in the forest behind him, but he had more than enough time to kill this prey and carry it away with him to his nesting place.

The youth saw its death in his eyes. It swung the sword in its hand into a defensive position, body taut with terror.

With a leering grin he lunged. He feared no blades; the metal would glance off his skin, ineffective. As his claws extended to capture his delectable treat, the sword shot forward. It connected with the spot directly between his eyes, and he did not flinch.

There was a sickening crunch of bone, and agonizing pain. Surprise coursed through him in that fleeting instant before death.

Alas, the blade was not metal. It was wood, to which he was not immune.

My Swedish Grandmother Made Me Do It

“And now, Beowulf, best of men, I wish to love you in my heart as my son. From this time forth, keep well this new kinship.”

(Beowulf, lines 946b-949a)

It's all fun and games until someone's hair catches fire.

It’s all fun and games until someone’s hair catches fire.

My grandmother is a full-blooded Swede and an avid genealogist. The daughter of immigrants, she honored her heritage throughout her life and distilled drops of it upon her children and grandchildren. Her garden had tomten instead of elves. Her house had orange dala horses and blue-and-yellow motifs. Christmas Eve with its smorgasbord was the focal holiday instead of Christmas Day. And Denmark was inherently inferior. (I’m sorry, Denmark. I’m sure you and Sweden are on much better terms now than you were a hundred years ago.)

We ate Swedish pancakes, and pepparkakor, and meatballs. A badge of honor went to anyone brave enough to try the pickled herring. We celebrated St. Lucia’s day with saffron buns and candle wax in our hair. Sweden, or an echo of it, was in our blood.

When I was in my early teens, Mormor took a handful of us cousins with her to the family history library, there to search out a collection of missing great-something half-uncles. Their father’s surname had been Kjallstrom, but the army changed it to Valler or Waller. One of the sons, as Valler/Waller, enlisted as well, only to be given the surname of Holst. The three brothers had immigrated to the Midwest, where their trail went dry.

Mormor didn’t know whether to look under Valler, Waller, or Holst, or even Magnusson (the patronymic of their father’s given name). We found them under Holst (all three of them, despite only one of them having received that surname from the army), in Iowa.

What, you might ask, does any of this have to do with Beowulf? All through my formative years, I was taught to value anything even remotely Scandinavian. The Old English epic takes place in Denmark and Sweden (or Geatland, as it’s called in the poem, and Götland, according to modern maps). In my years as a Beowulf skeptic (described in this post), its connection to Sweden was probably the only thing I thought worthwhile about it.

Except that it mostly took place in Denmark. See the above note. (I’m sorry, Denmark! I really am! You are wonderful in your own right!)

So, growing up, I was programmed with elements of Swedish culture and tradition—elements a hundred or more years removed. Thus, when a handful of lines from Beowulf spawned a story idea, and then that idea jostled around in the mental cocktail of my brain, what emerged—almost immediately—was heavily influenced by that Scandinavian heritage. It was as though all those childhood ghosts rose up as one and said, “This story is ours. We claim it.”

And, ultimately, I wrote it to entertain my grandmother.

She turned 90 on March 26. Happy Belated Birthday, Mormor! This one’s for you!

IngeTitlePlate

Plagued by misfortune, Ingrid Norling treks into the woods to clear her head. She emerges a monster-slayer, the shaken executioner of a creature so ferocious that even the king’s strongest warriors could not destroy it. In a land that reveres swords and worships strength, this accidental heroism earns Inge an audience at court and a most ill-fated prize: King Halvard impulsively adopts her and names her as his heir.

Under constant guard to prevent her escape, Inge confronts the ignoble underbelly of the royal court: a despotic king, a clueless princess, a proud warrior, and a dangerous intrigue. As secrets unravel around her, the castle threatens to become an elaborate deathtrap. Inge must keep her wits close and her weapons closer. The monster in the woods was only the beginning.

Despite the Scandinavian and classical literary influences, this book is firmly planted in the fantasy genre. Look for it in June. Probably.

Happy April Fools’ Day!

Coming Soon! A *Mostly* Unnecessary Sequel!


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“That’s the ending? You can’t just end it there!”

These are the words my mother uttered when she finished reading my first draft of Kingdom of Ruses. It has a sort of open ending, I’ll admit, but intentionally so. The major plot points are resolved, the hero has triumphed, and all is well, so the story ends. (Sorry for the spoilers, all ye who have not read it: Surprise! It’s not a tragedy!)

Continue Reading →