Although the alternate title could now be Teen Elf, I'm still pretty pleased. It's definitely a YA book. The end of the book is the culmination of romance that develops over the series of the adventure. Sure, there's heartache and there's a tone of bittersweet for some of the characters as well.

And interestingly, it sets itself up for a Decorah sequel.

At any rate, now the plan is to write all this into reality. I have an entire week off next week, and I will spend it working on this book.

It feels so good to have a map, finally.

Off to read some other people's work. I have a full manuscript (about halfway through that one) and a couple of short stories in the hopper, so I'm excited to do it.

Catherine

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Right now, I'm in that whole 'nother place, one of the big reasons I keep coming back to writing in the first place. The happy place.

I'm back on the troll story pretty much in full force, and after discovering that what I've already done mostly works, I'm feeling very encouraged to move forward. The way before me is not clear, and I know I'll throw away more stuff before I keep it. I'm clearing a lot of debris out of my brain by zero drafting. Then the real stuff shows up, and I sketch it down, then flesh it out.

The plan is to get the plot and action, smooth out the glitches and add the transitions, look at what the characters are thinking, and add the emotional veneer over the top. Very structural and work oriented, yeah?

Except now I am in the spot where I realize that this story is about someone and something.

Sometimes my stories are not about anything. Sometimes they are about everything. Substance of Shadows is both about life as an abused child, yet at the same time is a love affair with my husband, because one of the characters reminds me of him, and I'm sharing him with the world, in a sense.

The Winter the Troll Danced with Old Nick is in part my way of exorcising issues with my mother, but it is now turning into my love affair with my friend Lisa.

Lisa and I were almost inseparable at one time. We spent a great deal of time together, as much as we could, and enjoyed each others friendship very much. We still do when we get together.

But...life happened. We were entirely swept away by becoming too busy to see each other, except on occasion, the way these things work, whether you're far away from each other or closer to home. The fade away was both easy and hard for both of us, as these things are.

Part of this story encapsulates that. There's a close friendship between the two new characters in the story that's almost painful, yet is incredibly close. They're at an awkward time, but deep down there is closeness and concern, a sort of friendship that can be rewarding at its best and painful at its worst. It takes me back to times that were not always easy, but were most often rewarding, and I hope it will do the same for my friend when she reads it.

I'm not trying to make a statement about friendship or love. I'm trying to portray what they are like, as true in my experience. It makes me feel good when it feels that there is more to my writing than moving words around on a page. It makes me feel like my writing has a soul.

Do you find yourself drawing on your life experiences as you write, and in what ways?

Catherine

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There's always a special one, though. Toby died at the end of 2006. He was the victim of the poor pet owners across the street and Urinary Tract Infection. This is the story I wrote when he died. It still makes me tear up, because he was that well-loved. My apologies to those of you who have seen it.

Yellow Cat and the Man

Yellow Cat looked left, and then right, and then across the street. Across the street, The Man stood on the tip of a ladder, doing something to his porch. “This man understands me,” said Yellow Cat. “He likes to climb things, like I do. We will be the best of friends.” Yellow Cat padded across the street, all eagerness. It had been a while since he had been cuddled and tickled, and surely, surely The Man would cuddle and tickle him.

At first The Man seemed frustrated with him. “Get down from there!” Yellow Cat decided to amuse The Man with his high climbing prowess. “Come on! That’s no place for you!” But then The Man smiled, and he went into his big house, and came out with The Woman. The Woman was also amused, but she seemed less so than the man. “You stinker!” said The Man. “I think he’s a stray,” said The Woman.

Both The Man and The Woman couldn’t see the difference between Yellow Cat and Peanut. Peanut was also a yellow cat, but he wasn’t Yellow Cat. Peanut had a bushy tail and didn’t like people. Yellow Cat had already decided to adopt The Man and The Woman. They figured out the difference one night when they saw them together outside. Some things had to be made obvious to The Man and The Woman.

The Man was easy. He worked outside more than The Woman. Yellow Cat liked his big yard with fluffy leaves to jump and play and pee in. The Man liked to hold Yellow Cat. When the weather became colder and ruffled Yellow Cat’s fur, The Man would snuggle with Yellow Cat, and he even allowed Yellow Cat to climb inside The Man’s coat. Oh, how Yellow Cat loved The Man’s coat! So warm, and it smelled just like The Man, and eventually, a bit like Yellow Cat. It became scarred and pilled underneath Yellow Cat’s claws, and The Woman would complain, but Yellow Cat didn’t care, and he knew that The Man had too much good sense to care.

The Man built him a little house. This was good sense, as Yellow Cat planned on spending time on The Man’s porch, and he needed somewhere to entertain, or at least to wait for his new Man and his new Woman to come home from that place they went to every day. At first they seemed to want him to go back across the street. Foolish Man! Foolish Woman! Someone had to look after them now. He wasn’t one to shirk his new responsibilities, not Yellow Cat.

Snow began to fall, but Yellow Cat was constant. His People needed him. He waited on the porch of The Man and The Woman’s big house. From within, other cats hissed at him, but he wasn’t one to shirk his new responsibilities, not Yellow Cat. The Woman was not easy, like the Man, but one night The Man came to Yellow Cat. Putting Yellow Cat inside his coat, The Man carved a hole for Yellow Cat in a new home, a large palace just for Yellow Cat, and The Woman smiled at Yellow Cat just a little more.

The Man was sometimes a little slow. Yellow Cat would bring him something to eat, and The Man didn’t want it. He would go so far as to take things from Yellow Cat. “That’s what cats do,” said The Woman. The Woman was harder, but she understood Yellow Cat’s motives. The Man took away rabbits, squirrels, and birds. Yellow Cat learned to eat first and hide food from The Man, but The Man must have had a good nose, because he almost always found the food. Stupid man!

Still, Yellow Cat loved The Man most of all. The Man bought him an outdoor swinging couch, and the two of them napped there in the summer and the spring and the fall. He called Yellow Cat nonsensical things, like Buddy Boo, and Turd, Stinker, and Mr. T, Toblerone, and King Tiger. The Woman did that too. The two of them would let him lie on his back and tickle his tummy. When he wanted them to stay, he would grab their hands with his paws, and they played well, and didn’t mind the nicks. He protected them too. He chased all the stupid other cats out of the yard. One old white cat they chased out of the yard after a stupid time of letting him stay. That was only fair.

The Man came to see him every day. He told The Woman he had to polish the cat, and Yellow Cat would sit with The Man. These were the best times. The Man would let Yellow Cat into the crook of his arms, smashing his head as though he could love The Man more by smashing his head into him. Yellow Cat wanted The Man to know that he was the most important thing in the world to Yellow Cat, and that Yellow Cat took his responsibilities seriously, even if The Man wouldn't let Yellow Cat take proper care of him.

The Man adapted well for Yellow Cat. He bought a clawless paw and played with Yellow Cat. He gave Yellow Cat food every morning and every night and petted Yellow Cat. He poured water for Yellow Cat to drink every morning, even though in the cold weather it turned into a block of ice. The Man came to the cold garage in the winter and sat with Yellow Cat. He dug a path for Yellow Cat from the garage to the house in the coldest weather, so Yellow Cat’s paw pads wouldn’t be quite so cold. Yellow Cat loved The Man, and Yellow Cat knew The Man loved him.

The Woman would play games with Yellow Cat and The Man sometimes, and that was when Yellow Cat was happiest. Yellow Cat climbed from one set of their shoulders to the others, purring with glee. This was best in the cold garage on cold winter nights, because it was warm and their coats were thick. They would pretend to talk for him in a high, squeaky voice. Yellow Cat felt that he was doing enough talking by purring, but they were his people, and he would humor them.

One might, Yellow Cat hurt his leg. He dragged himself home, and he waited for his people. He knew that they could make him feel better. The Woman was the one to hold him and sit with him, but The Man was always near, so near he could smell him. There were many days of pain and loneliness, but Yellow Cat knew his people would come for him. He worried about them a little, because it was so unlike The Man not to come.

Finally, The Man came, in his coat. The Woman came too. Yellow Cat climbed into The Man’s coat, and all the pain and loneliness and fear were still there, but there was nothing that The Man and Yellow Cat couldn’t last through together. When they were together, it was always the best of times, and Yellow Cat nustled into The Man, burrowed into him. “I love you,” said the Man. “You’re my Buddy Boo.” Yellow Cat knew it was so. He purred to let The Man know that it was so. He was so happy his people had come, and he could look after them, finally, after worrying about them for so long. He closed his eyes, and they whispered to him, and stroked him for a long, long time. He started to clean himself, because he didn’t want his people to see him messy, to show his people that they were his, and he would take care of them.

The Man and The Woman cuddled and petted Yellow Cat, and then Yellow Cat grew so very, very sleepy. He was happy though. He was with his people again, on The Woman’s lap, and The Man stroking him, and everything smelling like The Man. “Shhh,” said The Man. “You’ll be all better soon. Visit me in my dreams.”

The Man was right. Yellow Cat went into a deep, peaceful sleep on the outdoor swinging couch, the wind ruffling and kissing his fur. Every night, just as The Man went to sleep, he would wait there so The Man could polish the cat. After all, The Man was his, and Yellow Cat wasn’t one to shirk his responsibilities.

***

The Vet Hospital will send us Toby's paw print in a couple of weeks. They were fantastic. We had a special room to say good bye in, ironically the first time Bryon, Toby, and I had been INSIDE a building together. The doctor and her assistant kept talking about how much Toby had touched them, and how sincere they were to say that, that they saw a lot of animals, but he was special, and how we must have loved him so much, since he was so full of love. We can't even begin to take credit for any of that, because that was just Toby, God's gift to us for three short years.

Good night, Buddy Boo. Good night.

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***

Tonight I've written about 1200 words. Sure they're sketchy and not well-crafted, but they're new. I'll take it.

***

I understand that a box of Hulk Hercules: Professional Wrestler books will be ordered for me on Friday, and I should get them as soon as they are printed and shipped. I will let you know when they are in the house. I'm playing this low key, but it'll be nice to have them.

I gotta go clean the kitchen. Because that's the way I roll.

Catherine

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I've been public about my experiences as a sexually abused child for some time, inasmuch as I'm not afraid to talk about being a survivor. My hope is always that somewhere being public can help those who are still living with the big secret to realize that there is a world outside of their victimhood.

I'll probably cut this about here, because this might not be something all of you want to read, and I can respect that. I'm going to talk about Mo'nique's portrayal and why I believe that we've got to encourage children of abuse to make that first step. This is a very different kind of post than Jim's post because I am talking about children.

The hardest part of viewing Precious for me? All of it was tough. I had a conversation just last night before the Oscars with a member of my Bible study, who felt he couldn't watch the movie because the portrayal of the father raping his daughter was too graphic. It is. That's hard to watch. Strangely enough, what I remember the most about that scene was Precious' mother in the background, watching the incident.

Later, a social worker is helping Precious talk to her mother about why the abuse occurred. The idea that the mother puts forward is simple: she needed someone to love her, so she put up with her daughter's abuse so she could keep her husband. She then transferred her anger and guilt onto Precious. Because Precious didn't scream or cry out, she must have wanted her father, her mother's man. At the end of that interview, Precious walks away from her mother.

This isn't unlike my experience. If the secret comes out, sometimes the victim imagines that the parent who wasn't the abuser will be their champion. Instead, it is likely that there is a relationship of co-dependency.

My mother's first reaction floored me. Conversationally, she said, "I thought there might be something going on." Then she pretended that she'd talked to my dad about it, and told me that he hadn't hurt me that badly. There was also something wrong with her, and as I look back, I can see that someone would have to be ignoring signs actively to not know what was going on in our home. Part of the reason I don't see her any more is because I have suspicions about my older brother and the family tradition, and she lets him live in her home. And she still professes to love my father, and has his picture on her wall, even though she knows he molested all of his children.

I don't know about the experience of molested kids everywhere. We have this idea that the molesters are usually creepy strangers who lure you away. They can be. Like with rape victims, however, children are molested more often by those close to them, those they should trust. Because we trust these people, we are convinced that these behaviors are normal. I know I thought that every family had this secret when I was growing up because I had no gauge of normal.

I believe strongly that we've got to talk more openly about this with our kids, not to the point of frightening them, but there has to be some way to let children know this isn't the behavior of loving adults. I also feel we need to work hard to create safe environments so that kids can approach someone outside the family. If Precious and I are any indicators, staying inside the home doesn't always help.

I have seen educational materials that tell children that they should tell someone, and if someone doesn't believe them, they should keep on telling. Speaking up is the only way out for children, so social services can do their job. Of course, this isn't easy. The question is how can we give our children that confidence, even if it means doing something that feels terribly wrong to them. Because it did to me, and I didn't speak out.

There are mandatory reporters. When I was a teacher, it turned out I had a young girl who was taken away from her parents because her step-dad was raping her. After the principal let me know, I almost ran my hand through a wall in the classroom. Because I thought I could tell. Special insight. We can't always know. However, if we see signs, we should say something. There are ways to get trained to know what you're looking at.

Please talk to the children in your life, and let them know they can come to you for anything, and if you have suspicions, don't be afraid to report them. Many adults are paranoid about getting involved. I know some are concerned that they might falsely accuse of abuse because of interference, but that's a risk I'm prepared to take. If I save one kid from abuse, I guess I'm prepared to make a mistake.

Children don't have a choice if they're in an abusive situation. We should do everything we can if we know of one, or see the earmarks of one. We should listen to them and encourage them to talk. We should encourage our children to listen, and if they hear anything funny, we should say something. It's easy for taboo and shame to keep us quiet. It's important to help children in these situations to know that they are not at fault, and this is not normal.

I don't pretend to have all the answers here, but if you have ideas on how we can create this environment, the comment thread is open.

Catherine

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1. While the film was as uneven as Tim Burton films often are, Alice's champion armor from Alice in Wonderland is first rate, and I can see my frost elf girls dressed similarly.

2. Scott Lynch has me wanting to read the rest of Red Seas under Red Skies after a mere four pages. That's writer power, that is.

3. Resubmitted Empress Dark, now out at Flash Fiction Online. Got over the sting of the rejection for The Make-Over and sent it out to Fantasy Magazine.

For writing stuff, that's it today. I hope to get some words down tomorrow.

Catherine

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***

As it's March and all, this means it must mean it's time for the writerly update.

Appearing Soon Somewhere Near You

Hulk Hercules: Professional Wrestler: The last I heard, we are a go for April. I plan on reading from it for the first time ever at this year's Wiscon.

Still Out There

Crystal Vision: Currently at Swill. It will keep making the rounds.

Empress Dark: Currently at Strange Horizons. It will undergo a tightening and revision when it comes home, and then will go back out.

Mark Twain's Daughter: Almost currently at tor.com. It will keep making the rounds.

What I'm Working On

Viable Paradise Profiles: Yup. Got the raw data for the first one. I'll be cobbling that together soon.

The Winter the Troll Danced with Old Nick: I'm going to be hitting this hard for the next two months. I'll be playing and letting the story find out what it really wants to be, then doing some judicious pruning. I would like it to be ready for agent roulette early May. We'll see. I've failed every goal I've set with this one.

*rolls up sleeves* Tomorrow is another day!

Catherine

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I've written quite a few stories and some books over the years. Yes, many of them are staying hidden where they belong, but these are the things I find myself returning to over and over.

1. The abused kid who makes good. This young hero or heroine starts life in less than auspicious circumstances, perserveres, and comes through as a worthwhile person, if a little broken. Gee, I wonder where this theme comes from? In addition to trying to work out my own demons from a rotten childhood, I've read waaaayyyy too much Dickens, who was trying to do the same.

2. The character whose origins are not what they seem. More melodramatic action from Chuck Dickens coupled with my hope as a child that I was an abandoned alien or one of those Witch Mountain Kids.

3. The character reversal. I love it when characters have surprising depth, and they take off in a direction I didn't expect. It raises them above simplistic morality and makes them complicated.

4. The complimentary stalwart. If I can work a gentle big guy or a really decent sort into stories, I will. The story I'm working on sort of has one as the main character, even.

5. Witches and/or faerie godmothers. Much more interesting to me than princesses, I tend to tinker with themes of wisdom and age.

6. Folklore variations. I love doing research and learning about the myths and folklore of other cultures. This can be a good thing or a bad thing, because I have a tendency to insert knowledge to show off, rather than when it relates to the story.

7. Spunky YA and MG leads. You can almost always count on a funny, spunky kid heading up the cast in these kinds of books.

8. Literary reference. Read a lot. It's bound to happen.

What do you think you continue to write about and revisit? Why do you think you return to certain ideas and things?

***

In closing, here's another wonderful, tongue in cheek muse reference from Sandy Ackers.

Catherine

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Jools writes a quasi-mystic, historical flavor of fantasy that I predict will make her a lot of lovely money some day.

Enjoy. I'm off to have some sushi.

Catherine

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It has been a very busy morning. I had to squeeze a trip to the doctor in. I don't want to get TMI on you, but we think the Tea Rush of the Yukon has caused some unusual topology. I've been ordered off caffeine for a while (mmmm...Sprite Zero), and there will be blood drawn, and magnetic imaging. No one is very concerned, but it did mean I lost the hour I'd use to write this exciting blog today.

***

Now, for some real content. Julia Rios has a story out in I Do, Two, an anthology in support of gay marriage. Proceeds go to Lamda Legal.

Off to teach,

Catherine

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