Neither Here Nor There

I’m seriously considering revising my bio; reducing it, in fact, to a single, says-it-all sentence.  “Risa Aratyr has a day-job.”

 I mean.  How do they do it?  How do people cover all the daily basics plus the perennial extras and blog prolifically?   It took me nearly three months to start this post; it’s taken me another month to cobble together the couple of hours I needed to finish it.

 I trust I didn’t leave anyone on tenterhooks with that last entry?  Picking up where I left off – YES, I did go to the World Fantasy Convention in San José and back again.  Alone.

 True, it wasn’t the “alone” part that intimidated me.  It was the prospect – and reality – of the incessant not-aloneness.  It was the socializing, networking, hand-shaking, small-talking and, omigod, schmoozing that stressed me out.  I haven’t an ounce of shyness or inhibition in front of an audience.  Throw a spotlight on me, I shine.  Throw me into crowded room and pin a nametag on me… on a par with listening to fingernails scraping on a blackboard, if you ask me.

 That’s why I planned not to go down alone.  The plan was to go to the Con with my honey.  He’d bought his membership and everything, then suddenly remembered he was performing that weekend, playing “Harry Brock” in Born Yesterday (the Broderick Crawford role).  Alack and alas, no spouse to buffer the social blow.

 I’d also planned to go down to SJ with a little artwork – a trial sketch of a Darkdays-esque image and an amazing drawing of a tiny Blackthorn with his foot stuck in the bog and a gigantic, scary, gorgeous white stag with truly prodigious hedge-of-knives antlers at the edge of the trees, looming dangerously over him.  My excitement over the idea of good graphics overwhelmed my reticence about the Book Signing.  It was a great plan.  I’d set up the Éirinn pic alongside a few copies of Hunter, set up the Darkdays sketch on its own as a talking piece, set my husband in the chair beside me, and I’d be set for some serious schmoozing.

 But hubby wasn’t there.  The Éirinn artist neglected to handoff his drawing before departing for Oregon to save trees (intentional, I suspect… I doubt he’ll ever be “done” with the pic and ready to share it with the world).  The Darkdays artist didn’t have time to do anything at all.  By the time the Saturday Night Signing arrived, I was so crowd-fried, I procrastinated for an hour, finally dared the hall, stood in the deafening noise and milling humanity for about 30 seconds, then fled back to my room.

 After a half-hour or so on the phone with my daughter (long-distance therapy – thanks, sweetie), I gathered my Hunter copies, my colored pens, and went once more into the breach.  My personal weekend savior found me there (thank you, Dave), and pointed out Jim Frenkel.  Jim had read 100 pages of Shadow’s Road ‘round about last May and asked my agent for the rest of the book.  My ms. has been sitting on his desk ever since.  This was a guy I simply had to meet; I owed it to myself as a writer.

Deep breath, friendly smile… I went over to introduce myself.

“Hi.  You’re Jim Frenkel?” I held out my hand.  “I’m–”

He withdrew into himself as he turned to me, as reticent as Renfrew turning to face Count Dracul.

“I’m Risa Aratyr,” I persevered, smiling still.  “It’s a pleasure to–”

“I’m sorry!  I haven’t read your ms. yet!”

It was more a “Back off!” than a “How do you do?”  His gaze darted about the room looking for an escape, and lit on two big-name signers at a nearby table.

“You know Mr. X and Ms. Y?” he asked — but not really asking.  He’d already turned his back on me and was racing to the signers for shelter.

My cue to depart, I suppose, but I lingered, still smiling inanely.  Finally, he turned to me again.

“I’m sorry, I haven’t read your book,” he said again.  “I– I really–”

“Of course,” I reassured him.  “I know you’re terribly busy.  I just wanted to take this opportunity to say hello.  I thought it might be nice for you to have a face to go with the tome on your desk.”

My smile never waned as I slid my hand in his and pressed the flesh for a brief moment.  Then I fulfilled his heartfelt wish, and walked away.

 I felt sorry for him, really.  Apparently, he’s so used to being accosted by angry writers who’ve been waiting for months (and months and months) for a response, he couldn’t help but assume I was one of them.  I did my best, but it was hardly the easiest, most pleasant or most graceful business connection I’ve ever made.

 I spent most of the Con weekend with Dave Smeds and Steven R. Boyett.  They’re old chums, and since I’d glommed onto Dave, Steven kindly put up with me.  It was fascinating, listening to them reminisce about old Cons and compare it to the current one.  I’d attended one other WFC myself – back in Baltimore ‘95.  This was different.  Back then, there was so much wheeling and dealing.  Books were pitched in elevators between the 2nd and 9th floors.  Contracts were negotiated in the lobbies and bars.  A word here or there could make things happen, spark interest, initiate a round of letters, proposals, anthologies.  In SJ, there were a few agents and editors buying their writers drinks, but no sense of marketplace, no bartering, no haggling, no hawking of wares.

 The Con boasted two (count ‘em – 2) workshops on the publishing industry.  I missed the first.  Drinking Tequila with Dave and Steven seemed far more important at the time, and certainly more entertaining.  By all accounts, I didn’t miss a thing.  I made a point of attending the other panel, three big booksellers discussing “The Future of the Publishing Industry; Where Will it Be in 10 Years?”

 That panel was truly educational, not because of what the guys had to say, but because of what they refused to say.  First words out of their mouths:  “We want to be clear right at the start, we will not be talking about e-books, on-line publishing, self-publishing or alternative publication media and methods at this workshop, or answering any questions on those subjects.”

 ?!?

 The central, essential topic everyone had come to discuss, and they weren’t going there, so don’t even bother asking!  Do the words “ostrich” and “sand” have any relevance here, do you think?

 What I gleaned from random chatter beyond the official panels is that print-publishing is not at all well.  E-books still have another generation or so to go before hitting big, but the technology will happen.  E-books will live.  Print books will die.  The real debate is over whether writers should keep aiming for the big houses (assuming they will somehow make the transition to the new century and control profits from e-literature) or follow the napster/hulu model – find sponsors for our sites and put our work on the web for free.

 Despite that Tor hasn’t yet nixed my book(s), my faith lies with the second option.  But that option requires time and abilities I simply don’t have – to research the budding e-literary industry, to edit, self-publish and promote my own work.  The successful writer of today is a sociable on-line presence with computer savvy and multi-faceted marketing skills.  I’m not that person.

 Instead of coming back from the Con all charged up and inspired, I came back well discouraged.  Sure, I like to say I’m a writer, but I don’t even have time to write a blog.  I’m a Theatre Arts instructor and part-time production manager.  It was time to face facts.  Time to accept the truth.  Time to quit.

 Would’ve done, too, even though it meant disappointing Mark and Sal – terrific guys I’d met at the Con, guys with great suggestions and advice to give an old lady writer a foothold in the 21^st century.  Then I read Dave Smed’s short-story collection, and fell in love with the way he introduced his brilliant tales, as if he was chatting one-on-one with each reader.  I followed it up with Steven R. Boyett’s Ariel; the back-story of how the book came to be and what happened next spoke straight to the heart of me.  Then I got an email from an accomplished, amazing artist who claims he’d like to illustrate my work.  Check out artofwarble.com – it’s a treat.  And to top it off, I received a couple of emails from fans in Russia.  In Russia, fer fuck’s sake – in Novocherkassk and Snezhinsk!

Haven’t quit yet, so.  Sal, don’t give up on me; I’m going to make that on-line chat thing happen (late March, maybe?) and we WILL grab a pint and a meal, anon.  Dave and Steven, I owe you big time.  Mike, hang in there, I almost have the space to think about art for Éirinn.  Здравствyйте Эдуард и Алексей!  Thank you, everyone – from India to Canada, family, friends and fans.  You are my inspiration.

The year my book hit the stands — that all-too brief and giddy time when I had every reason to call myself a writer and every excuse to attend SciFi/Fantasy events — I attended both the Nebula Awards and the World Fantasy Convention.

That spring, the Nebs were held in NYC, the autumnal WFC in Baltimore.  Both were big fun, though the real pleasure was in being on my own and on the road again, even if only for a weekend.  The event-related delights of meeting people, making connections, banqueting, wheeling & dealing, hobnobbing and schmoozing…

Well, I met a few nice folks and didn’t make any enemies, but schmoozing is hardly my forte. Operating under the illusion that my passion and talent for storytelling should and surely would trump my lack of social and business  acumen, I made no real effort to meet the “right” people or talk them up.  The memories I treasure from New York are of the Peruvian musicians on the street (I still have their CD), of stumbling on an Earth Day celebration in a mid-city park where I listened to a hale and handsome Christopher Reeve speak on behalf of the planet, and of a night on the town with my sister-in-law Mona — a Jamaican dinner followed by a hole-in-the-wall theatre’s imaginative production of The Gilda Stories, a vampire tale that so intrigued me, I bought the book when I returned home.  In Baltimore, I played hookey as well, sneaking off to the re-designed harbor and spending a day in the town’s justly-praised Aquarium, then ducking out the next day to score a crab feast for one.  I had a great time on both trips, but the time I spent at the events that prompted the journeys was the least of it.

My wiser and well-intentioned author-friends did their best to curb my antiquated habits and make a modern writer of me.  Dave encouraged me to get on-line and visit the SFWA chat rooms.  I found them boring, annoying, a waste of time.  Why chat about writing, when I could be writing?  Janet invited me into an anthology.  I didn’t want to force a short story from my muse.  Besides, I was already writing another novel.  James, bless his soul, persisted longest, reminding me periodically that I was more than welcome to tag along on his convention adventures.

About three years ago, after my third novel/second Éirinn tale had made the publishing-house rounds to no avail, I finally saw the light.  What a fool I’d been, pinning my hopes on a material manuscript, when we’re living in a virtual world!  Without a web-presence, I didn’t exist.  My name, my icon, my opinion didn’t show up anywhere on anyone’s radar, and hadn’t for nearly a decade.  I was invisible to editors, publishers, agents, fellow writers — a non-entity.  The quality of the work isn’t the issue; unless it’s a first book, the work of a non-entity will garner little interest and will not sell.

So, that summer I surrendered to reality.  I stopped writing what I wanted to write and focused my time and energy on writing my website.  I started to blog.  I called James and told him I’d be hitching a ride with him to whatever Con was next on the docket.  And when I heard that the county’s September Book Fair would be highlighting SciFi-Fantasy, I boldly called the event organizer and got myself on the Saturday panel.

My website went up, thanks to my honey.  But it wasn’t until my honey had some marked success with his own blog that I realized that successful blogging is another form of the social networking I despise — and that posting poetic essays on my own sparsely visited website wasn’t going to help my career in the slightest.  As for the Con, the Book Fair… lovely ideas, but ideas don’t pay bills.  Stage managing Equity productions puts cash in the family coffers, as does teaching theatre management at the local JC.  I made more money that fall than in any season before or since, but well I should’ve done.  I was working two jobs and seven days a week.  A trip out of town was out of the question.  The day of the Book Fair panel, I was running a 10-out-of-12 hour Technical rehearsal in a whole ‘nother county.

Every summer, time opens up for me and I fall headlong into the gap.  Every summer, I start writing again — and then start thinking I can be a writer again.  Every summer, I succumb to the siren’s call of my tales, taxing my health, forsaking family and friends, shirking my homeowner responsibilities and declining all other activities, opportunities and enterprises for midnight’s embrace, the percussive rhythms of the keyboard and the dream of making words my life’s work.  This past summer, dazzled by the light of creative satisfaction, I screwed my courage to the sticking point, ponied up money I could ill afford, and bought myself a ticket to this year’s World Fantasy Convention in nearby San José.

And here I am, a one-trick pony whose literary claim to fame is fifteen fucking years old, wondering what possessed me.

Many thanks for your many responses to my “Éirinn Poll.”  :)

Depending on your expectations, the results are either no surprise, a big surprise, or surprisingly varied.  Just fyi and in case you’re curious, here’s how it all panned out…

Query #1:  Should I relaunch [my first novel] as Hunter of the Light?  Or should I take this opportunity to restore my original title, The Hunter of Éirinn?

-  The Hunter of Éirinn beat out Hunter of the Light by a wide margin, almost 3-to-1.

-  Everyone in favor of leaving well enough alone first encountered the book as Hunter of Light.  Some simply prefer this title.  Others brought up the issue of name recognition, suggesting that changing the title could negatively impact my future sales.  Still other HOTL readers voted in favor of switching back to The Hunter of Éirinn.

-  People who read the book, a draft of the book, or even knew of the book prior to its publication — and therefore first encountered it as The Hunter of Éirinn — voted almost unanimously to make the change.

-  Two voters advise that if I am launching both my Éirinn novels as a series, the title change is a good idea.  Conversely, if I am only re-launching the already-published novel, they suggest I leave it as Hunter of the Light.

-  One voter is equally happy with either title.

Query #2:  Should Feargna Óg remain “The Necromancer”?  Or can I exploit this opportunity to re-name him “The Ghost”?

-  “The Necromancer” retained its hold on the Wizard of Sliabh an Óir by garnering slightly more than half the votes.  Half the definitive votes, anyway.  This question elicited a fair sample of ambiguous or qualified responses.

-  Mr. B strongly dislikes both titles.  Ms. J doesn’t just prefer “Necromancer;” she loves “Necromancer.”  Ms. L wishes I’d given her a third choice.  Ms. E is ok with “Ghost,” but wonders if there isn’t a better “ghost-oriented” option out there.  And, yes, one voter says she’s equally happy with either title (and no, it’s NOT the same person who is equally happy with HOTL and THOÉ).

-  The true Celts and most serious Celtophiles among my readership want to drop “the Necromancer” for “the Ghost” (or for Taibhse — “ghost” in Irish).   “The Ghost” is also preferred by the respondent who noted that when Feargna Óg finally uses his gift at the Battle of Márrach, his pale “ghost” leaves his body and drifts away to speak with the fallen, then returns and reinhabits his seemingly lifeless flesh.

-  Many of you contend that “necromancy” so exactly describes Feargna Óg’s gift, it makes no sense to drop it.

-  Some of you dislike “the Ghost” because it’s not in keeping with my other Wizardly titles — the Dancer, the Destroyer, the Weather-Worker, the Flyer,  etc.   (Point taken… though there are ex-Wizards of Éirinn mentioned in HUNTER whose titles don’t end in “er” — Dáithí Two-Winds and Eochaidh the Stone-Eye, to name but two.)

Go raibh míle maith agat!  A thousand thanks for your time, attention, votes and comments.  I’ve taken them all to heart.  Best regards,

–risa

Yes, I do have a plan to get my new work out there, hell or high water.  And Step One is nearly complete.

For the past few months, I’ve been revisiting Hunter of the Light, making sure that Blackthorn’s Éirinn seamlessly matches the Éirinn of Shadow’s Road and fixing the book’s gazillion-and-a-half typos.

So, I’m making changes?!?

Well, yes – but they’re tweaks, not re-writes.  A snowdrop is now a dog violet, a coney turned into a hare… that sort of thing. Even when the odd sentence cries out for revision, I turn a deaf ear.  I’ve already written Hunter, thank you.  I’ve no desire to write it again.

That said, I have made one actual change (added just a few words to fully realize a crucial moment — you’re welcome, Dave), and I am considering two more.  This is where YOU come in.

The two changes I’m considering are listed below.  Check them out, then tell me what you think.  Good change, worth doing, absolutely?  Or no way, forget it, not worth the time and effort?

You can post your reply here, or you can go to my website (link is in the menu bar to your left, then from the website, go to “contact” and shoot me your reply from there).

OK.  Here goes:

__________________________________

- When they bought my book, the only change HarperPrism asked for was a new title; marketing didn’t want any Irish words on the cover.  I like Hunter of the Light, but it was my second choice.  So…

  Should I relaunch it as Hunter of the Light ?  Or should I take this opportunity to restore my original title, The Hunter of Éirinn ?

- The Dancer, the Deceiver, the Conjuror, the Flyer, Stone-Eye… all of Éirinn’s Wizards have colloquial titles, save for Feargna Óg.  I’ve never liked the Necromancer’s highly Latinized epithet; I simply couldn’t come up anything better at the time.  So…

Should Feargna Óg remain “The Necromancer”?  Or can I exploit this opportunity to re-name him “The Ghost”?

 ___________________________________

That’s it.  The Poll is done.  Go raibh míle maith agat – thanks so very much for participating.

best regards — risa

Hi, all.

Latest news –

I’m investigating self-publishing, small print-run publishing and on-line publishing options for my 2-book Sons of Muirne series.  I’d like to start by re-launching a very slightly revised version of Hunter of the Light (I’m at work on it now, fixing typos and other errata, Jacque Kruzic will be doing artwork for it, and I’m debating whether or not to restore the original title, The Hunter of Éirinn — feel free to weigh in).

After I sort that out, I intend to release Book II, Shadow’s Road on the world.  Finally, I’m hoping to enlist Jacque as collaborator on my space-noir Darkdays and release it as an on-line and/or print graphic novel.

Meanwhile I’m keeping a kung-fu practice journal (poetry and essays) on Open Salon.  I’ll probably be re-posting some of that poetry here (as I did with “April’s Moon”), but I’d love you to visit me at OS, as well.  The url is:  http://open.salon.com/blog/risa_aratyr

One more tidbit, I just completed a fun gig judging some of the SciFi/Fantasy/Speculative and SciFi/Fantasy/Young Adult submissions to the 2009 Maryland Writer’s Association Novel Contest.  How did MWA find me?  SFWA Directory?  Makes me glad my last name starts with an “A.”

Ciao, belli.