It doesn’t get easier

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7 years ago today, I was on the TODAY show. I remember being in hair and make up and thinking, “This is it. I have arrived. Smooth sailing baby.”

Oh, you poor naive child.

Before that, I used to think, “My life will be so much easier if only I was published.”

Once I was the anxiety changed. I had been on national television in front of millions of people. That is archived, 32 yr old Betsy looking pretty damn good. Now I feel like I need to judge myself everyday against that. I actually had someone tell me I looked so much better on TV. I’ve taken to not doing public appearances as I explore my identity and have had health problems.

Aside from looks it also became a race to stay relevant. Meaning, publish or perish. So SPELLED came out. It performed so much past expectations, it sold out its print run in 10 days. No one expected it to be more than a little fun fractured fairytale. I credit the awesome cover by Sourcebooks. Those shoes were killer.

So then I became, “the shoe lady”. I finished that series, the second book taking forever and somewhat disjointed as my daughter was in the hospital for a chunk of it and the deadline came and went. People noticed. My husband had to block Goodreads from our router and my Amazon pages so I couldn’t read reviews. What if people hated it? You are only as good as your last book, so what if my sales suck? Then my career is over.

I took a much needed break after the trilogy and 2 books on finishing. 5 books in 5 year. They had done alright, none as well as Spelled, but still good numbers outselling my advance.

Then it came time to write a new book. The anxiety came back strong as ever. What should I write? What is upmarket? What if my agent hates it an won’t rep it? Well that happened twice. I’ve got them in a file. I’ll revisit them some day.

Finally, I finished a book that I love, but there’s a catch. The climate in 2020 is very different than 7 yrs ago. People are extremely, I’d say some over, sensitive about cultural appropriation, cancel culture, and just slipping and saying something dumb. With my current MS, the cast is diverse. The lead sub character is lgbt. So am I. Check, I have permission to write that character. The world is magic and mythology. I’m a practicing neo-pagan with an emphasis on Qabalah and Pantheons, so being a witch is my culture, so okay to write. My worry is that my MC is biracial. I am not. So that begs the question, why would you write a black character? Not lightly. I waffled a lot. The story is in Baltimore, a city where the majority is black. So I could fairly represent my city (I love in B’more) or I could write another white savior story.

So I took a leap and started reading. (shout out to the folks at Writing with Color, Nisi Shawl, Daniel Older, Octavia Butler, Dark Matter Anthology and more). Then I started talking to people. Offending the first few I’ll be honest. I actually said, “I can write a dragon, so why can’t I write a black person”. (inner cringe) I’m happy to say I learned a lot since then. And I’m grateful to the people in my community that called out my stupid.

Now it’s time to try and sell my book. I’m all, I have an agent… this will be easy. Yeah… universe called and said no. My biggest fan and agent needed to take a break for family reasons, which I totally get because with my special needs kid, I’ve needed to drop everything too at times. Still, that means I’m back querying agents again. I really hate that part. And it’s the same anxiety I had before being published. I have to send cold emails to people who don’t know me with a paragraph about a very complex book. As you can see above, I’m long winded so I don’t condense well.

So here I am. 7 years after my first book and nervous as hell that I’ll never get to publish another one.

As I said at the start, it doesn’t get easier. It changes. We will have to see what happens next

In which we ramble about getting old

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We are getting old. Me, myself and I… which makes we. Apparently the getting old is a thing. I don’t care for it. I can’t run like I did 10 years an 2 broken feet ago. My boobs prefer to stare at the floor versus the sky. And apparently I’m a “boomer” despite being born in the 80’s.

In a fruitless attempt to youngify myself and get hip, I have been updating and going on the twitch and twitters. I’ve been chirping. I have caught few worms. It’s fine because I’m mostly there to follow other people who amuse me. I’m @BetsySchow if interested.

One thing I’ve noticed is the generational thing. My parents hated tv and rock. For my kids I despised Sugar pop and Youtube. Why watch Youtube? If it’s a let’s play, just go play the game. Go do something.

I stand corrected. After get schooled by my kids I have discovered that some of these YouTube entertainers are funnier than sitcoms with canned laughter from my day. They interact with their fans. The small ones directly, the big ones, like Jacksepticeye, still try to find a way to interact with a community that is 28million strong. They guys are the rock stars and movie stars of a generation. As a writer… I feel like an endangered species.

I have no videos or imagery to watch and catch peoples eye. My voice doesn’t enter your home. Just my words. It’s like being 2d in a 4d world.

People I know are use Patreon and Kickstarter to fund their writing. Me? I long for the days of Stephen King–where you could isolate yourself in a cabin, going slightly mad, and churn out bestsellers. Those days have past. I can either evolve or go extinct.

This is me trying to evolve. Attempting to emerge from my hermitage and social anxiety through the interwebs in small spurts. Then I ran back under my heated blanket, my bones creaking and popping.

My kids are the generation of social media. So instead of being bullied by a class of 15 kids from town, they can be bullied by millions across the world. It makes me terrified and glad I went through my formative years without cell phones and had to walk to school up hill both ways in 6 inches of snow.

What’s up with writing in 2020?

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So, 2020 eh?

In 2019 I wrote a book. The first in a new world, maybe a new series?

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I call it Accidentally Immortal. It’s a YA contemporary fantasy that is a mix of American Gods and Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Since this was a book that I wasn’t already paid for, I wasn’t on a deadline and I could just be free to write what I wanted. I had so much fun! I just let my imagination roam through all the cracks and alleyways of things I’ve been interested in of late. At present, that is Baltimore, racial and lgbtq issues, and oh. Magic and Mythology.

What if the Gods, all of them, were real? Maybe they interact with our modern world and pull the strings to move humanity towards their own agenda.

What if you “accidently” stole something from the Gods and screwed up their plans royally?

These are the types of questions that lead me down rabbit holes. I just keep asking what if and let my brain run wild.

With SPELLED, I did little research because I was already a fairytale geek. For IMMORTAL, I did exhaustive research on pagan traditions, mythologies, and Baltimore City History. The characters in the story are diverse in race, nuero challenges, and gender identities. While I consider myself to be non cis/ non het, I still needed to get a lot of input from some of local teens in the lgbtq and trans communities. I am also very very white. So reaching out to teens from the the black and biracial community here in Baltimore was important. Everyone I interviewed and had beta or sensitivity read was awesome and very encouraging, even when I messed up.

For example, do not describe tone of skin as a food or dessert. So milk chocolate skin got kicked right off the page. Also black girl hair magic is real, and damn I was exhausted just watching the beautiful braids and twists.

The book world is slow, meaning since I publish through traditional means, you guys won’t see this book for a while. Right now it’s with my agent, getting ready to submit to publishers.

After that, hopefully an editor falls as much in love with the story as I did.

I will of course keep everyone posted.

in which we ramble about rambles

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White and Black 2020 with Confetti Hello all. It’s a New Year and time for a new format. New format you ask? As opposed to the crickets because you haven’t blogged in years? Yeah, shut it. This year I’m going to ramble. Rambles are good for the soul. A sort of free therapy if you will. I am not going to proof the rambles, so expect the grammar to be atrocious and for me to not give two fox about it. Free writing is what allows creativity to flow, to be uncensored.

I wrote the bulk of Spelled in just over a month, and it worked because I just ran free. I didn’t know you were supposed to hem and haw and try to write perfectly. After I became a “writer” I learned I was supposed to suffer over these words. That I needed to be right. To be great. Which made it so I didn’t write anything? Took me over a year to write Wanted, and I’ll be honest, the book suffers from incoherent spots because I was writing in staggering bits and pieces and couldn’t get me head in the game. I was too worried how to get a big idea on a little page.

Not only that, I had that trouble now talking to my writing peers and fans. I needed to say the right thing. To be interesting. Not to offend. Everything I said would be used against me. I would be compared even to myself, to what I said years ago.

Welcome to 2020 and I’m trying to just be me. Imperfect, evolving, and mostly crazy me. And I’m convinced there are a fair number of other people out there trying to hide the rolly lumpy bits and only show their best insta and social media selves to the world.

Screw it. Be you. Be weird. And quit worrying about people who don’t like you. Because if people only like the plastic version you show to the world, they don’t really like you anyway since you haven’t given them a chance to know the actual you.

Ok. Intro ramble over.

Cya next time

Spelled Deleted Scene: Welcome to the Dollhouse

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*Spoiler Alert* Do not read these chapters until you have finished reading Spelled.

 

This is a fun scene that took place up in the cloud storage. It was how Hydra originally got her rainbow spectacles back from the giant child, Willhamena. In the end, my editor cut it for time and we trimmed the scene to take place without the giants in about half the time.

The scene opens with Hydra telling our trio exactly where she thinks her glasses are and how they are supposed to get them.

 

ENJOY!  Spelled deleted scenes

SPELLED BONUS CHAPTER: Prince Kato’s POV

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Today Spelled is being released. YAY. To celebrate I thought I would write up a quick alternate beginning chapter from Prince Kato’s perspective.

** Warning: This chapter contains minor spoilers and is best enjoyed after reading at least the first 6 chapters of Spelled.**

 

Prince not-so- Charming

“Rule #3: To win the hand of a maiden fair, one must be well groomed of attire, charming of manner, perform actions of dashing, and always be most complimentary to the lady. Lie if you have to.”

                                                                                                                –Definitive Fairytale Survival Guide for Him

 

 

“My Lord, Kato. Sire. Your frostacularness. If you have but a moment…”

“I will have far more moments if you would get on with it, Bobbledandrophous. What is it?” I paused ratcheting the cinch on the horse’s saddle long enough to look over my shoulder—and way up. The chief advisor, while beloved, was both a figurative and literal pain in my neck since he was by far the most towering of all my beastly Chimera subjects.

Bobbledandrophous shuffled his gargantuan feline paws and chewed on the tip of his left wing.

With a groan I brushed a wave of wayward dark reddish hair out of my eyes so that my glare might hold more weight. “If you have counsel, by all means give it. But I will not be swayed from this journey. Both you and I know that I must bring the girl here. Whatever it takes.”

“Why yes. Yes, the council agreed on this point. It’s just…”

“Just what?” My voice pitched low and coarse like rumbling rocks.

“If this girl is truly the Fire Priestess…”

“For Libraria’s sake, she will be,” I insisted. A fine layer of frost spread on the ground around my cracked basilisk-hide boots, the ice magic flowing through me betrayed the worry I refused to voice.

“Ah, yes, but…” Bobbledandrophous shivered and dropped his head to the ground, stirring up a miniature dust and petal storm amongst the petite daisies. “Surely you can’t mean to greet our deliverer wearing that?”

“And why not? There are no holes in my tunic.” I’d sewn up the last of them myself just that morning. “And my leather breeches are best suited for the hard day and a half ride to Emerald.” True. They were a bit worn, but that was to be expected since they used to my father’s.

“But it’s not proper! Here.” Bobbledandraphous wriggled and squirmed until he created enough space that the tip of his dragonesque tail could sneak around him. One of the spikes held something atrocious—the silk and linen monstrosity of a suit that green witch had left behind as an offering of good will. The outfit she said I should wear when I came calling, but surely she had been making a jest at my expense. “Could you not tamp down your pride to mere embers and at least take it with you. She was most insistent.”

“No. And I thought I put that in the burn pile.” The suit had more frills and shiny bits than my mother had worn when she was alive.

“Ah, yes. You did.” My chief council coughed to hide what looked like a smile. “But this note appeared.”

As if on cue, a charred bit of scroll floated out from under Bobbledandrophous. It danced and twirled toward me, despite the absence of wind—smudged with ash but the scrawl still legible.

I Scorch-Proofed your suit so it could make it to the ball in one piece.  You’re welcome because you’ll thank me later –Verte

“I don’t have time for whatever game she thinks she’s playing. If the White One’s prison goes dark, the rest of Story will not be far behind.” Crumpling the piece of paper, I cursed that Emerald sorceress and the dozen other oracles that had come before her. All claiming to know how to keep the fires from going out. A dozen wild goose chases later, they had all turned out to be liars. Yet I had no choice but to resume the chase at the green skinned witch’s invitation. Not wanting to delay any more, I grasped the reins and pulled myself astride my mount in one fluid movement while giving him the cue to gallop off.

I could hear my retainer calling after me, his voice fading the farther away I got. “My Lord. You forgot-“

“No I didn’t,” I said to myself and shuddered. Humiliation of looking like an overgrown blumerrang bird aside, what matter did clothes have in ensuring the safety of realm. With my eye on the spiral towers of the Emerald palace, I rode hard and fast.

“In a fortnight, you must go to the Emerald palace. Not a moment before. Not a moment after,” Verte had said.

When I asked why she replied, “Because that’s when you’ll be able to find our princess and see her great worth. She has the strength to be the hero we all need.” The witch trailed off with something that sounded quite like I hope…

For the love of Grimm, just this once.

Because I didn’t know how much longer I could hope to rule a crumbling kingdom without becoming buried in the rubble.

*******

The outer battalion gates to the palace appeared unguarded, yet I felt like I was pulling ten trolls weight behind me as I forced my horse through.

Something other than men stood vigil over the entrance.

Whatever protection spell had been laid around the Emerald city was invisible to the eye, but magic always leaves a trace. If not by sight, then by smell and my nose detected the scent of burning bread. Both comforting and warning at the same time.

I made it to the other side of the enchantment with a pop, relieved to be free of the crushing pressure. A young girl with silver spun hair stood on the outside looking in, her pale hand held up, her face pinched with longing. And then she looked at me, like someone who could see water just on the other side of the desert.

I shook my head to clear it and spurred my mount forward to the palace’s stables. If she was on the outside there was likely a good reason for it to be so. In Fairytale, if you only looked with your eyes, you didn’t live to look very much longer.

Once I walked inside the palace walls, I severely hoped that principle held true. Every facet of Emerald was adorned with something gaudy and shiny which seemed to serve no purpose at all. Servants dressed as well as kings bustled about carrying more garnishments to hang here and there. Luxury and frippery as far as the eye could see. What kind of hero could possibly be born from such softness?

I strode through the palace’s marble halls, searching for why I was here in the first place. Verte’s black hat towered above the chaos, so I wound my way through the fleet of servants to the grand ballroom.

She cackled high and off key, patting my shoulder like we were old battle comrades. “Oh good, you done made it after all.”

“But for what is the question.”

“Why to woo our Princess at the Muse Day ball. You did bring it didn’t you?” Verte bobbed her head around my body searching for something that I clearly didn’t have in my empty hands. The pat turned to a solid whack upside my temple. “You ninny. You had one job. One job. And that was not to show up dressed like this! I’ll have you know that little bit of Glinda high fashion cost me my best staff.”

“Who cares?” I rubbed the side of my head.

“You will in about—“ Verte’s warning was interrupted with a loud roar that shook the floating globed chandeliers. “Pixie pus. It’s starting already. Well, good luck.” She looked me up and down before scurrying away like her broom was on fire. “You’re gonna need it.”

While I was pondering exactly what that meant, I spied a woman watching me. Intently. She was older, dressed simply, but elegantly. Far too old to be a maiden, I suspected. But I was not here for anything as useless as romance, despite what Verte said.

Walking toward me, the lady’s movement and the way she carried herself screamed her authority before she uttered a word.

The promised hero.

“You are not from here I suspect,” she said, her eyes narrowing. Unlike the witch, she didn’t look at my travel worn clothing, but stared hard into my eyes.

“I am Prince Kato, the next in line to become the King of Beasts.” It took a good deal of effort to meet that gaze and not turn away. My efforts were rewarded with a slight nod of acknowledgement. As one might give to an equal. “And you would be the Princess of Emerald.”

Her calm expression cracked for a moment when a brief trill of laughter escaped. “Once perhaps. But now that honor belongs to my daughter.” A high pitch wail stopped her from saying more. She rubbed the middle of her forehead and excused herself before storming off in the direction of the commotion.

“Dorthea Gayle Emerald! Do not take a single step outside that door.” The queen’s stern warning made my blood chill, impressive since I was part ice elemental.

I followed—at a safe and respectable distance—and found a place to observe with the gathering crowd. Servants and guests alike chattered amongst themselves as the Queen reprimanded a noble lady who had apparently misbehaved. The girl was stunning, her lips in particular seemed to be painted with rubies. A breathing work of art. Unfortunately,  those delicate lips were ruined by pouting while she whined like a petulant child.

The girl put her delicate hands together and pleaded with the queen. “Please please please please. I’ll do anything you want if you let me outside for just a little while.”

“Who is that?” I asked, grabbing the nearest servant trying to watch without being noticed.

“Best steer clear of that one. That be the cursed princess. She’ll burn ya to cinders just fer looking at her.” Too stunned, I let go without asking any follow up questions.

That was the Emerald Princess. The hero strong enough to save all of Libraria. The fire priestess my people had been waiting centuries for? The girl was throwing a tantrum because for some reason she was not allowed out to play.

There was no way this girl could help. Taking her to the Chimeras would only be a burden. The witch had lied to me. We were all doomed.

In my anger and despair, I could feel my control of the ice slip. Frost crystals formed on the green and gold stained glass windows.

Verte mouthed something from across the room and I could hear her voice in my ear as if she was standing right beside me. “I am never wrong.”

I watched the rest of the argument, searching Princess Dorthea for a hint, a glimmer of the strength and regalness her mother possessed. If it was there, it remained well hidden under mounds of jewels and silk.

So intent on finding the answer to the puzzle the witch posed, I didn’t realize the crowd had left. And that the princess was glaring at me with her little nose crinkled in disdain. “If you’re the new gardener, the hedges are overgrown and in need of a trim.” She pointed in the direction of the courtyard where a man moped about with a small net. “While you’re there, you can help the king with the wisps.”

Not used to be spoken to without respect, I didn’t move. If I had, I might have frozen her lovely curls in place.

She stamped her foot and pointed more forcefully. “Off with you. Courtyard’s that way. Be sure to clean those awful boots before coming back in.”

The deeper I looked the more shallow this girl seemed. This had been a colossal waste of time. Just another golden goose chase.  The disappointment was almost more than I could bear. “Someone told me I’d find a princess of great worth here. One with the strength to be the hero this realm needs.” I spun around and strode away, but frustrated, I couldn’t help tossing a final insult at my disappointment. “It appears she was mistaken.”

Though I continued on without catching her reaction, the satisfaction of putting her in her place did lighten my mood from frostbite to blizzard. Normally I was above such things, but something about Princess Dorthea…

The witch’s whisper still tickled my ear.

            I’m never wrong.

Now Playing on the FABLE Channel

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The Real Princesses of Storybook County

This season on The Real Princesses of Storybook County:

Aurora takes a good long look in Snow’s mirror… will she like what she sees?

Courtesy of Tori Wright
Courtesy of Tori Wright

Beauty finds true love’s kiss… but it’s not with the Beast

Courtesy CC and Morgan Crauch
Courtesy CC and Morgan Crauch

Jasmine’s had enough and takes revenge on one of her fellow castmates… but which one?

Courtesy of Vitaliy Kuptsov
Courtesy of Vitaliy Kuptsov

 

If you want to know who won’t be getting their Happy Ever After, Tune in to the Fable Channel on your telemirror set this season

SPELLED Snacks: Chocolate wands

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In Spelled, Princess Dorthea’s favorite snack is a little something called a Chocolate Wand. If you want to really get into the book, why not read and much your own wand?

There are a couple of ways to do it.

chocolate wands
Photo Courtesy Potter Pinterest

You can use a tube of Pillsbury breadsticks, taking apart one to roll out into a thin thread to spiral around the “wand”. Or you can mold the dough into any shape you want. Bake until crispy, then let cool.  Next melt down some chocolate in a double boiler. White chocolate, dark chocolate, milk or semi-sweet. Whatever flavor you are feeling. (If you want to get really fancy, you can dip your bread stick in caramel first) Dip 2/3 in, leaving a handle. Then add sprinkles before the chocolate dries.

Set and Voila. Thick Pretzel rods work well too.

It’s pretty easy, but if you want the feel without the work, Pocky Sticks are a sort of ready made solution. In fact I regularly chowed down on the while writing Spelled. Enjoy and if you make some wands, please tweet me a picture of the magic @BetsySchow or email me betsyschow@gmail.com

 

SPELLED Inside Scoop: Who are the Storymakers?

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When I created SPELLED, I imagined a world where every character ever written could interact with each other. A world called Libraria. My story takes place more specifically within the realm of Fairytale. When I was writing Spelled, I began to think about the culture that the inhabitants of Fairytale might have. (I’m a cultural anthropology minor–assuming I ever find time to finish my degree) How would these characters see there own lives? What sort of view of destiny would they hold? What sort of cosmology and religion?

I decided that just as I believe I was created by a God who watches over me, so too do these characters believe. Except their Almighty Power is a pantheon of “Storymakers” that determine their traits, character arcs and happy ever afters.  Like the Greeks had Zeus, the characters of Fairytale had Grimm at the head of the pantheon. There is also a host of other patron Storymakers.

Martine Leavitt teaches a writing class at LDStorymakers
Martine Leavitt teaches an intensive writing workshop at LDStorymakers

In the real world of “Kansas” and Provo, Utah, there are Storymakers everywhere. But we know that we are anything but Almighty beings. Quite often we start writing with a beautiful outline, only to have our characters hijack the story and take it into a whole new and unexpected direction.

The name “Storymakers” actually came from an author’s guild I belong to, LDStorymakers. I was so fortunate this past weekend to attend a conference with other members of the group such as James Dashner, Brandon Mull, J. Scott Savage, Jennifer Nielsen, Martine Leavitt, and hundreds more. From NYT best-selling writers to those working on their first drafts, we all came with one thing in mind. To Learn. To Grow. To Create. To Build up more characters and then let them loose to find their own fates.

Spelled is a fun romp through fairytales, but if you read closely, you’ll also feel a theme of how I interpret the world, personal accountability, and the role the divine plays in our society. I wanted people to think about whether their own “Storymaker” wrote every twist and turn of their lives or if they were ultimately responsible for their own happy ending.

PAGE PIX: Creature Feature

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Strange Creature Sighted Flying Over Sherwood: Hallucination or Invasion?

Ever since Princess Dorthea of Emerald made the wish that upended all of Story, strange occurrences and illustrations have been flooding Flitter accounts through Libraria. The most recent is the report of an unknown creature soaring through the skies with a damsel hanging from its mouth. One shopkeep made an etching of the beast that appears to have a lions body, broad feathery wings, sharp and twisted horns, as well as a whip-like dragon’s tail.

Etching used with permission of artist Heather Carr
Etching used with permission of artist Heather Carr

One Flitter user, BlackCrow76, called the beast a “Chimera”, though no record of such a creature could be found in our fact-checking. As the sketch and description don’t match any entries in the Beast’s book titled, Animal Attractions, this reporter can only surmise that the reports are another intentional hoax or mass-hystoria, similar to the frog-prince-plague last week.

If you have evidence of this “Chimera” tag us @BetsySchow and prove me wrong.