First thing’s first; I have yet another review of Beth Revis’ Across the Universe up on the Best Damn Creative Writing Blog. I feel almost like I’m picking on Beth (though it’s a positive review!). Definitely not my intention–it’s just that this book, which is being released today, has a ton of marketing and hype around it and people seem inclined to say stuff like, “Oh, you’ve read it?! Write about it for us!”

Anyway, pick it up. It’s tasty stuff.

So things have been crazy. I know I’m always saying that, that things are crazy (it has been a crazy year), but in this case, it’s very much true. First the holidays, and then, yesterday, my mother had to go in for surgery. No worries. She’s okay. But such things are always stressful. I lost track of my writing for a few weeks with all the travel I was doing, and then impulse-bought a laptop (it’s brown! With a faux-wood finish! And awesome!) in hopes that I’ll keep up better with my creative impulses this way. Already, things feel improved–and I feel improved. It sounds dysfunctional, but I feel cruddy when I can’t write. Writing makes the hard times easier.

Anyway.

I’ve been chugging forward on Daughter of Earth and have also started plotting/drafting a new project, which I’ll call Son of Godzilla 2000 for the time being. The first draft of DoE is nearly finished–I’m at 58k and close to the climax! But I’ve decided to stop forward progress for the time being to massively rehaul the beginning.

I’m usually not a massive-rehauler. But one of the good things about a writing group is that they can tell you where you’re going wrong before you’ve really become cemented into your wrongness. And apparently, I need to work on building the tension more organically and smoothly in my book’s first half. So I’m shimmying stuff around, drafting a new opening.

I’m a little nervous about this beginning; it states, up front, what the book’s central theme is, and it’s one that agents don’t always love: growing up in the shadow of grief (other things introduced sooner: the core tenet of duty, how fucked up Terra’s dad is). But I think it’s the best one for the book, and I need to be a slave to that, not agent-tastes.

Here it is, DoE‘s new beginning. Let me know what you think!

Daddy said it was my duty to look nice for Momma’s funeral, that wearing white would be a misva. I ran the word over my tongue as I straightened the thin funerary cloth down against my shoulders. Teach had told us about misvas just a few days before—how every good deed we did for the other citizens of our ship would benefit us, too. He said that doing well in school was a misva, but also other things. Like watching babies get born in the hatchery. Or paying tribute at funerals. When he said that, he looked across the classroom to me with a kind of watery gleam welling in his eyes.
That’s when I knew that Momma was really dying.

In the hours after the fieldworkers came to take away her body, Rian locked himself away in his room. That left me with Daddy. He didn’t cry. Instead, he wore a thin, brave smile as he pulled off his dark work clothing and tugged the ivory shirt down over his head. I watched him while I held my kitten Pepper to my chest. It wasn’t until the cat pulled away and tumbled to the floor that I lost it.

“Pepper! Pepper, come back!” I said, drawing in a hiccupping breath as he scampered out of my parents’ open bedroom door. Then I brought my hands to my cheeks and touched the streams of wetness there. For some reason realizing my tears only made it worse. I wheezed with grief.

Daddy turned to me, the stays on his shirt still undone. I’m sure I would have seen a few ugly chest hairs straggling out if my vision hadn’t been so completely blurred.

“Terra,” he said, putting a hand against my shoulder and squeezing. My answer was an uncontrollable bray, an animal noise. I let it out. I thought that maybe Daddy would draw me into his arms for comfort; after all, that’s what Momma would have done. But he only held me back at arms’ length, watching me through steady eyes.

“Terra, pull yourself together. You’re soaking your blouse.”

I knew then that he wasn’t Momma. Momma was gone. I brought my hands up to my eyes, veiling them. Like I could hide from the truth behind my fingers.

After a moment, between my own panted breaths, I heard him sigh. Then I heard his footsteps as he drew away from me.

“Go to your room,” he said. “Compose yourself. I’ll get you when it’s time to go.”

I pulled myself up on weak legs. My footfall down the hallway was measured, careful, as plodding and as empty as my heart. But when I reached my bedroom door, I pounded my fist against the keypanel hard. Then I launched myself past the door as it slid back, and thrust my body down into my waiting bed. I heard Pepper approach. He let out a curious squeak. But I ignored him, my hands clutched around my belly, my face pressed against my soggy sheets.

Oh my god, guys! I’ve been so busy! So busy that I half-started a post on Wednesday’s YA Highway Roadtrip Wednesday Topic (because, as someone about to give away all of her furniture, move, and get new stuff–including a new desk; I can’t wait!–I have a lot to say about it!). But alas, it’s been sitting here, half-finished, for two days now. And probably will remain that way.

No loss, I assure you. When it comes down to it, all I was going to say was that I want to get an expedit desk from ikea.

It doesn’t help matters that I’ve decided to go ahead and finally give twitter a whirl. Poor timing, you know? I’ve resisted for years now–seeing the service as redundant in a world of real blogging, facebook, and google buzz (which I love–but no one uses!). But aaall the writing peeps seem to use it, so, since I have a guest post forthcoming on YA Highway, I figured it was time to jump in. My first foray looked promising. And last night, for the first time in a decade, I ended up in what was essentially a chat room with a bunch of real, live, working (and some publishing) writers. Sure, I still think it’s silly to essentially reverse engineer an AOL chatroom–but, damn, I’d forgotten how much I’d loved real-time chat back in the day. It was really exhilarating. I lost 30 minutes of writing time, but ended up feeling pretty inspired and pushing myself to 56,000 words last night, which wouldn’t have happened otherwise. I also got to hear about how Maggie Stiefvater was dancing around her living room to her own audio book. Adorable!

Anyway, Cindy Pon tweeted about an article she wrote over at Supernatural Underground about upcoming trends. The first trend there was “mermaids”–and I wanted to comment and be like, “Yes! Mermaids! Everyone should want to read about those!”

I hesitated, though, because I couldn’t help but think, “Damn, I’m trendy.”

It’s not like I don’t know that I’m writing to an up-and-coming trend. I’ll come right out and say it: I never would have started writing SEAS RUN DRY were it not for an agent’s tweets about how much she wants mermaid manuscripts. But I also never imagined that I’d be the type of person who writes to trends (and here I have to wonder–do any writers see themselves that way at all?). But what Ginger Clark’s tweets did was spark inspiration in me–or not even precisely inspiration, but rather memory. Because I thought, “Man, what the hell kind of story could I write that features mermaids?”

And then I remembered that, at fifteen, I’d started writing one.

I was never a big mermaid person generally. That was my sister, who collected them. They were all over her room when we were kids. Mermaid toys. Statuettes. Pictures. Books. Her mermaid love was so well-known in our family that our aunt bought her a toy mermaid as a get well gift when, at sixteen, my sister got mono–despite the fact that she was far too old and too cool for such things.

In contrast, I was a bit of a tomboy. I liked The Little Mermaid well enough, and even had an Ariel Barbie. But I didn’t play with her all that much. I did play with her tail, though, which was fabric and removable. I had this boy doll, the prince from the LadyLovelyLocks line, and I’d put the tail on him and make him a merman. He’d swim around underwater and have adventures.

Years later, when I was in high school, I stumbled upon a book of short stories about mermaids that had survived on my sister’s bookshelf through the Great Mermaid Purge of 1995. The stories there were pretty dark, and vivid, and sparked an idea in me. You see, we’d been reading The Odyssey in high school, and I felt for Telemachus. As a kid who had lost her own father pretty young, I saw his journey as the more significant one: how he believes, against all hope, that his father is alive, and how he journeys out to find him. I wanted to write my own Telemachus story. So I started writing this Telemachus/mermaidmerman mash-up about a half-human merman who tries to find his human father.

Like most of my writing projects back then, I didn’t get very far with it. But the idea stayed embedded in my mind for years. The merman, named Loril, was a surprisingly vital character. And so when I heard that people actually, you know, wanted to read about mermaids, I initially giggled–but only for a moment. Because then Loril came back to me, fully formed.

The story’s evolved since its incipience, of course. Because back when I was fifteen, I was pretty cheesy. In fact, I recently found the old version of this story buried in the netherlands of my harddrive. And . . . well, here; I’ll share my (unedited, with authentic ninth grade grammar intact) notes with you. They speak for themselves:

Loril Walker: Dead at Seventeen
I. Introduction
A.Loril Walker, age seventeen, is alone in New York City
1. He is hungry.
2. He is alone.
3. He believes his journey to the city is a mistake.
4. He is bitter and angsty.
5. He throws out his copy of “The Odyssey”
6. He is searching for his father.
7. He is different.
a. Emotionally-feels old, tired, weary of life.
b. Physically-has webbed fingers, bright emerald eyes, dark hair. Possible reference to breathing underwater or gilled legs.
8. He wishes to return to the sea.
B. Mazai births a human boy.
1. Mazai is a “creature of the sea” (don’t use mermaid)
2. Her people warned her against this.
3. The other women come to see the new child after his first breath. They are horrified.
4. She further offends her people by naming him Loril. a. Loril-”Song bringer”
b. From an ancient poem- “The moon rose in darkness above the waves and over the golden foam/Young Loril’s song spun red knots into the hearts of old/He took his shell and trumpeted, notes rising to the starry sky/The Gods lie dead in the seaweed, but their spirits would never die.
c. Loril was a hero akin to Moses. He led his people to off the coast of Florida, wrote their laws, and established their civilization as a major sea power. According to myth, he was a musician of the highest ranking whose songs could soothe the sea during a storm. He was brought to the monarch for a minor matter, but when disease struck down all at court accept for him, he took it apon himself to relocate his people.
5. She refuses to give him up. The women warn her that she’ll have to live with the consequences of being the mother of a “legger.”

Oof.

I have no idea what the title was all about, since I’m pretty sure the character was never going to die. And I have no idea what was up with all the angst in the first half (and it’s now set at the Jersey shore, which is a much better choice. Mermen in NYC? Unlikely!) The second half of the outline isn’t that far from some stuff that’s made it into the actual book, though; Loril is still named after a mythic character, and I still rarely use the term “mermaid.”

I’ve also since learned to spell “upon.”

Anyway, I still can’t deny that I’m writing to a trend. If I hadn’t heard that the subject might potentially be a popular one, I wouldn’t have thought of Loril or his story. It would have remained buried in my memory, latent. But so many people buck against the idea of writing trendy stuff. “I don’t write about vampires!” they say, “I write about paranormal romance about rabid foxes! FROM SPACE!” or “I’ve heard the next idea they’re pushing is mermaids–HA! AMIRITE?”*

All I can say is, and I’m sure it’s true of many people writing things they hope will sell someday, even if trendiness was the incipient motivation for writing SEAS RUN DRY, my story is no less important to me for it. Even if it never sells, I’ll be glad that I finally went ahead and wrote it down. After all, I’m not writing about a merman for those big merman bucks (sand dollars?)–I’m writing about a merman because he’s real to me, because he breathes (possibly underwater), and because I thought his story was worth telling.

*I’ll admit it–I laugh too! Snort! Mermen! Redonkulous!

Looks like I’ve won a blog award! From two people, at that. Thanks to Ellen and Liz! The image below is probably the girliest thing on my site ever.

And apparently, with a great blog award comes great responsibilities:

1. Thank and link back to the person who gave you this award.
2. Share 7 things about yourself.
3. Pass the award along to 15 bloggers who you have recently discovered and who you think are fantastic for whatever reason! (In no particular order…)
4. Contact the bloggers you’ve picked and let them know about the award.

7 things about Phoebe:

1. The last time I did one of these things was probably 2006 or so. Then, I made my answers all about orgasms, nose-picking, and tickling.

I’d like to think I’ve matured since then, but since my book features the phrase “merparts,” it’s pretty clear that I haven’t.

2. I almost went to art school. No, really, I’d put down the deposit and everything! I decided about a month and a half before I was supposed to leave for Baltimore that I wanted to be a writer, instead of an artist. This was partially because I was burned out from the application process (I hate you forever, Cooper Union home test!) and partially a financial decision. Had I gone to MICA, I would have been around $80,000 in the hole.

3. As it turns out, though, I’m still about $40,000 in the hole from graduate school and undergrad. This, despite going to a state school in New Jersey! If I have any advice for high school seniors, it’s to avoid debt. Though I’ve done okay for myself in many ways–steady work, fat cat, awesome husband–it’s limited my options quite a bit. I’m not sure if I ever would have had the opportunity to move out of my mom’s place in New Jersey had it not been for graduate school.

4. Speaking of husbands, mine was only the third person I ever kissed! In fact, I made it through high school without locking lips even once. This was a source of abundant angst for me at the time, but not I realize I had plenty of chances to make out that were ruined by shyness. Girls, seriously, if you haven’t been kissed, don’t be scared to go for it. There’s no reason to miss out on kissing, which is pretty much the greatest thing ever invented.

5. I never planned on marrying the third boy (man?) I ever kissed. Back when I was sixteen, I imagined that I’d grow up to be a free-spirited, non-monogamous wanderer. This makes me snort a bit at myself, because I’m fairly monogamous by nature.

6. I wrote my first novel at the age of ten. It was fanfiction about a minor character in Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves called The Fire of Sherwood. I bound it and illustrated it myself. One of these days, when I’m in New Jersey and feeling motivated, I’ll have to scan it to share it with you. Only thing is that I’m pretty sure tons of the letters were written backwards. I had a problem with that in elementary school.

7. I love naps. I didn’t discover the wonder of naps until college, when between classes I’d come back to my dorm, watch Passions and pass out. And I could really go for a nap right about now.

Note: I’m fairly certain that some of the people I’m tagging won’t do this, but you should look at their blogs anyway; they’re fantastic.

1. grey-girl.tumblr.com
2. Glen Akin
3. Jaimie Teekell
4. Gretchen McNeil
5. Diya
6. Abby Stevens
7. The Foosball Wizard (the hubs!)
8. Kirsten Hubbard
9. The Catbird Seat
10. Ms. Ray Gunn
11. Michele
12. Ian
13. Tricia
14. Sara
15. The Unprofesh Critic

Whew. That’s a lot of bloggy blogness.

Not all of these are recent discoveries. But christ, guys. I’m tired!

Today’s teaser explains some of the mechanics and biology of my mermaids. I have to admit that I winced a bit when I read this excerpt from Hannah Moskowitz’s blog from her current work-in-progress, which also features a merman, and raises similar questions of biology. But, hell, if you’re writing about mermen that do it, you really have to address the Mermaid Problem!

(Teaser removed)