Zombies versus Ornithopters
There are many joys in my married life, and many things to be grateful for. My James cooks and cleans, stays home with the girls, and notices my haircut (albeit only after coding the expense on our spreadsheet a week later). One of the best bits, though, is that we both write. He understands my passions and my quirky obsessions, and he cheers on my successes without reserve. And though we both write YA, we're truly without rivalry.
Let's see if we can ruin that, shall we?
By coincidence we're both starting novels just now. I have finally found a workable way to open my long-stalled SORROW'S KNOT, which required me to scrap -- joyfully! -- most of the existing scribbles. It's about a world hanging by a thread: beset by hungry ghosts and protected by women called binders, whose knots are the only thing that can baffle the dead. The young hero Otter is the proud daughter of a powerful binder, and is about to learn that power is not necessarily a good thing to have. It's sort of a quiet, reflective zombie story. (But not moaning and decaying zombies. The quiet reflective kind.)
James, meanwhile, has a hot new idea for a novel called ICARUS DOWN, about a human colony that ends up (accidentally) on the less habitable of two sister planets, where life again hangs by -- well, a cable, in cities suspended in canyons between the deadly fog forest below and the scorching sunlight above. If the first chapter is anything to go by, buckles shall be swashed and vast conspiracies shall be intrepidly unravelled and punk shall be at least slightly steamed. There's already an ornithopter that goes down in flames.
At the beginning of the week, we were both about three thousand words -- one dramatic opening chapter -- in. And we thought: hey, we could race! We could announce our race publically! We could ask our followers (who are legion, I assure you) to throw breadrolls at the rival authors. We could vaguely do something which sort of has to do with buzz.
So this is that: a public announcement of the race between SORROW'S KNOT and ICARUS DOWN. I have a slight edge because I've been working on SORROW'S KNOT for (approximately) ever, and have a pretty good idea of how the opening half-or-so of the book goes, whereas ICARUS DOWN is just an inkling of an idea and still the subject of more diner-table give and take than actual writing. But, on the other hand, James is historically a much faster writer than I am. You could say he's a swooper and I'm a basher, but that really doesn't do either of us justice. It's more accurate to say he's a born storyteller with a transparent prose style and I'm a poet with a genius for language and the plotting ability of a miniature French poodle. So call it even.
If I win I get shoes! (And other privedges of marriage.) If he wins he gets an iPod, which I assure you he does not need. If you cheer us on, you get .... I'll think of something.
I have picked the shoes already, so you should root for me.
Let's see if we can ruin that, shall we?
By coincidence we're both starting novels just now. I have finally found a workable way to open my long-stalled SORROW'S KNOT, which required me to scrap -- joyfully! -- most of the existing scribbles. It's about a world hanging by a thread: beset by hungry ghosts and protected by women called binders, whose knots are the only thing that can baffle the dead. The young hero Otter is the proud daughter of a powerful binder, and is about to learn that power is not necessarily a good thing to have. It's sort of a quiet, reflective zombie story. (But not moaning and decaying zombies. The quiet reflective kind.)
James, meanwhile, has a hot new idea for a novel called ICARUS DOWN, about a human colony that ends up (accidentally) on the less habitable of two sister planets, where life again hangs by -- well, a cable, in cities suspended in canyons between the deadly fog forest below and the scorching sunlight above. If the first chapter is anything to go by, buckles shall be swashed and vast conspiracies shall be intrepidly unravelled and punk shall be at least slightly steamed. There's already an ornithopter that goes down in flames.
At the beginning of the week, we were both about three thousand words -- one dramatic opening chapter -- in. And we thought: hey, we could race! We could announce our race publically! We could ask our followers (who are legion, I assure you) to throw breadrolls at the rival authors. We could vaguely do something which sort of has to do with buzz.
So this is that: a public announcement of the race between SORROW'S KNOT and ICARUS DOWN. I have a slight edge because I've been working on SORROW'S KNOT for (approximately) ever, and have a pretty good idea of how the opening half-or-so of the book goes, whereas ICARUS DOWN is just an inkling of an idea and still the subject of more diner-table give and take than actual writing. But, on the other hand, James is historically a much faster writer than I am. You could say he's a swooper and I'm a basher, but that really doesn't do either of us justice. It's more accurate to say he's a born storyteller with a transparent prose style and I'm a poet with a genius for language and the plotting ability of a miniature French poodle. So call it even.
If I win I get shoes! (And other privedges of marriage.) If he wins he gets an iPod, which I assure you he does not need. If you cheer us on, you get .... I'll think of something.
I have picked the shoes already, so you should root for me.