by Mayumi-H | Jul 21, 2012 | Uncategorized
Back when I was writing fan stories, I was very concerned about hit statistics. I would check my hit meters every day, and, if I didn’t match my numbers from the day prior, I’d get a little depressed, or I’d worry about why I was “losing readers.” Was I not making them happy? Were they bored with my story? What had I done wrong? I’d wring my hands over this nonsense, even though – rationally – I knew the numbers meant nothing. I could get 150 hits in a day…but it’s not like anyone would ever leave me any feedback, which was what I really wanted.
A typical hit stats graph
I still check my hit statistics on posts and stories, but I’ve become so much less affected by them. If a story or post goes days without garnering any interest, I feel a little sad, mostly because I think of my stories as part of myself. And I don’t particularly enjoy feeling neglected. But then I’ll look at another piece that gets a lot of hits, but very little feedback, and I’ll be reminded that it’s not the numbers that make me feel fulfilled.
It’s not important how many people glance through a post or a story. What’s important to me is when I’ve made someone laugh, or cry, or reflect a little on their own lives, with my words. And if they take a moment to let me know that my story affected them in some way? That’s one of the best feelings in the world. I’d much rather have one person be genuinely touched by my story, than a hundred or even a thousand who just take a glance and feel nothing.
Some people will tell you that hits are valuable: essentially, they’re a measure of your success. Others will tell you that hits mean nothing. I’m here to tell you that – in my experience, at least – hits can represent popularity and how successful you are with reaching your audience…but they truly don’t matter, so long as you love what you’re doing.
Which would you rather: get the hits, or love what you do?
What are your feelings on hit statistics?
by Mayumi-H | Jul 14, 2012 | From Hell (A Love Story), Uncategorized
I freely admit it: I like the happy.
Many stories dwell on the conflicts that arise from anger, misery, and hate. Those can be very powerful stories, as they resonate with men and women who have felt those same emotions in their own lives. I enjoy those stories, too, at times.
But I have to be honest. I prefer seeing the light, rather than dwelling in the dark.
Many of my stories deal with the darknesses of the human heart: jealousy, fear, vanity, hubris, and more. My protagonists suffer from them, in the way that I’ve suffered and seen people around me suffer from them. But, while that darkness brings a certain necessary drama to stories, I don’t enjoy dwelling in those dim recesses.
Rodin’s beautiful and frightening _Gates of Hell_ [Public domain]
I don’t fit in, in this place.
I’ve been denounced for writing characters who are happy, stories that see the good rather than let the evil swell and overcome. But when you see people you love turn gaunt and ghostlike in a hospital bed, or hear a mother screaming for her child, you don’t want to spend your talent poking through those horrors. You want to give meaning to the losses; you want your characters to overcome their trials, and grow and be happy, even if you couldn’t do.
That’s why I like finding the happy when I put on my writer’s or reader’s glasses: I see enough of sorrow when I take them off and look around the regular world.
by Mayumi-H | Jun 16, 2012 | Uncategorized
Recently, I was nominated for the Beautiful Blogger award, by the writers over at Limebirds UK. (Update: I was also nominated for this award by 4amwriter!) Check them (both) out!
I blog mostly for my own amusement, so it was both a pleasant surprise and an honor to be nominated by the Limebirds.
I don’t know who started the Beautiful Blogger award, but if you are reading this, please let me know – I would like to give you credit! (A quick Google search sadly yielded no pertinent info.)
With this nomination comes responsibility, and by accepting the award, I must:
- Thank and Linkback to my nominator (in my case, the Limebirds).
- Post the award on my site.
- Pass this award on to (nominate) 6 or 7 (or more; or fewer) bloggers whom I consider worthy.
- Tell folks 10 things about myself, that they might not already know.
With 1 and 2 taken care of, let’s get to my nominees. It’s hard to keep up with so many blogs, but these are ones I always make time to read:
- Castelsarrasin, whose fiction and real-life stories always inspire.
- Lucid Gypsy, where I can always find a photo, fiction, or travelogue to make me smile.
- Sjbwriting, where remembering what it’s like to be a child helps give insight into what can make us better adults.
- Conversing with Novels, where Ottabelle doesn’t just show us pieces of her work, but pieces of herself, too.
- Soul and Sweet Tea, whose work both on the page and off it reminds me to think first about the world and people around me before myself.
- And, of course, thespooneytoaster, who’s been my online pal for many years now, and who’s willing to ask questions even I can’t stomach, sometimes.
Check out these beautiful bloggers when you get the chance!
Now, for those facts….
Photo by Celeste Giuliano Photography:
http://www.lunarlightstudios.com/
- I first learned to write – my name, followed by stories – from my big sister…whose opinion still matters to me.
- I love writing romance stories…but I don’t like reading romance novels. Go figure.
- I enjoy being a pinup model, on occasion (like in the photo above)!
- I’ve been reading comic books for most of my life, and have been playing videogames for almost as long.
- I have the most mock-able degree in the world: English Literature major, with a Classics minor. (But I got to read The Iliad in the original Greek!)
- I lovesurfing, even though I’m not very good at it. (I keep getting on that board, though!)
A low-level popup at PB, CA
- My very first published work was a short story called “A Day in the Life,” based loosely on a Killraven story about a twenty-four hour man.
- My second published work was a science fiction short-comic collaboration with my friend Pete Stathis, called “Sins of the Fathers.”
- Most of my heroes/heroines have daddy issues…though I maintain a very good relationship with my own father. (Maybe it’s from growing up with all those Disney princesses.)
- I don’t believe in failure. Only in never trying.
Thanks again to the Limebirds for the nomination, and I hope those of you who have been nominated keep this trend going!
by Mayumi-H | Jun 9, 2012 | Uncategorized
I have a friend whose young daughter is interested in fantasy comics and anime. This is not a bad thing. This friend’s daughter is so inspired by these comics and cartoons that she has decided she wants to write her own stories in these worlds. This is not a bad thing, either.
The bad thing is that I’ve read some of those stories, and they’re…pretty terrible.
She’s young, impressionable. I want to help foster her love for stories and creating worlds with words. I was like her, once, and I know how valuable it can be to have your work accepted and – yes – praised. Because when all we hear is criticism, it often leads to a quick trip to the toilet, to flush our stories and ideas down the drain forever.
I do not want to do that to this girl. Because I’ve been there, standing over that bowl of bluish water with the words of my dreams half-crumpled in my fist, wishing for all of the world that somebody would just understand me. (Cue melodramatic pre-teen angst.)
I now wish some of my ideas were this clear…!
I’ve worked with a lot of students here at university, and I have no trouble talking with them about what works and what doesn’t in their stories. They are (usually) mature enough – both emotionally and intellectually – to understand that any critique they’re given is not a personal attack. (“You asked me for help. I am trying to help you.”)
I don’t want to dash this girl’s hopes and excitement by pulling out a red pen. But I also know that if she receives only praise for her work, that will hurt her in the long run. She needs a balance. (“I really like what you did with part A. But you might want to rethink part B.”) How do I walk that line of supporter and critic without turning this young woman off to a joy of writing?
For those of you who edit, teach, or have aspiring young writers in your family: what would be your approach to my conundrum?
by Mayumi-H | May 19, 2012 | Process, Uncategorized
Just like with any skill, editing takes practice.
The first words from my pen tend to paint detailed pictures, which can sometimes be nice to read…but it does nothing for the story. It’s just a lot of background filler that takes up space, and unnecessarily so.
Writing challenges that require me to stay to a low wordcount have made me think about the use of my words, and how to give them more impact, since I have to do more with less. Now, I’m not as good as some people out there (and I still enjoy creating a well-imagined world), but I think I’m starting to get the hang of this.
Here’s a little science fiction piece I wrote a while ago, about a group of stowaways.
Take one, 521 words:
Lelie curled her fingers around the edge of the cargo hold door and gently swung it open.
“What do you see?” Tyc whispered from behind her.
Lelie craned her head around and shushed him. As she turned back to the hold, she held her breath.
It was a wide, open room, about as big as the old galley at the Institute. Metal hold containers lined all four walls, and with the exception of a few emergency lights along the stairs and floor, the hold was completely dark, a thankful allowance given their predicament.
She crept out of the container and, with one finger pressed to her lips to remind them to be quiet, she beckoned her companions forward.
Short, compact Tyc came out first, peering around from behind those over-sized goggles that helped pilots focus in Darkspace. The eyewear was usually connected to a navigation computer, projecting a heads-up display of vehicle location and statistics to the wearer, but without a precious computer (or ship, for that matter), the goggles were essentially just a trapping. Tyc still wore them, though. Bred as a long-haul pilot, he would have felt naked without them.
Lithe Imien was next, her fingers stretched out before her, the subtle electro-receptors along her skin glowing faintly in the dim light. She stepped lightly, her bare feet noiseless against the metal floor. She cocked her head to the side. “I can feel the engine – it’s about two levels below us. I’ll need a map for anything more.” She turned to Lelie and blinked, uselessly. The cipher had been blind since birth: all the better to open her peripheral senses to the programming of being a sensitive.
Stoll was last from the container, cracking his neck as he stood to his full height. Bio-engineered to be a soldier, he was both tallest and broadest among them. Even at the end of adolescence, he was all sinewy muscle, without hint of the age or paunch of the guards at the Institute. He was also the most capable in a fight, should things come to that.
“Just find me a gun,” he muttered to Imien.
Lelie shook her head. “No. No guns.” She took a step toward Stoll. “You promised.”
Stoll leaned toward her, dropping his voice further. “Lel, I can’t protect us without something to use as a weapon.”
“No guns,” Lelie repeated, emphatic. She raised both of her smooth, slender hands in a warding-off gesture. She straightened. She was not as tall as he was, but she had presence; all concubines did. “I want to be a Substantive as much as you do,” she murmured. “But the only thing guns will get us is killed.” She looked beneath the dark hair in front of his eyes. “I didn’t risk everything to get out of the Institute just to be shot on a nameless cargo freighter, did you?”
Stoll glanced away, unable or unwilling to hold her gaze. He might have been able to snap her neck with a single quick motion, but there were still some ways that she was stronger than him, and they both knew it.
“Well,” he said. “We can’t stay here.”
It’s all right. I mean, I don’t think it’s utter dreck; there are a few little nice bits in there that could be fleshed out to create something pretty cool. But it plods, and doesn’t go anywhere, quickly or slowly.
Now, here’s take two (365 words).
The ship was quiet. Save for the skeleton shift on the bridge, there was no movement, no talk, no breath.
Or, there shouldn’t have been.
In the hold below decks, close to the engine, one cargo container creaked, shifted, and then burst open, its door clattering to the metal floor.
“Quiet!” Lelia hissed as she crept from the container, pressing a finger to her lips.
Short, compact Tyc was first behind her. “Doesn’t matter,” he muttered. “We’ve already shifted into Darkspace.”
Lelia looked at him. “How can you tell?”
He peered up at her from behind his oversized pilot’s goggles, his snub nose curling in something like disdain. “Can’t you feel it?”
“He’s right,” Imien said, as she stepped from the container, too, her fingers outstretched before her. The electro-receptors along her skin glowed, like the lines of emergency lighting beneath their feet. “Engines are running hot.” She turned hear head toward Lelia, too, and blinked, uselessly. “Is there a comm panel nearby?” she asked. “It should have a map I can download.”
Stoll was last from the container, and he cracked his neck as he stood to his full height. “Just find me the armory,” he said. A rotation of shoulders made another cracking sound. “I need a gun.”
Lelia shook her head. “No!” she said. “No guns. You promised.”
Stoll leaned toward her, dropping his voice. “Lel, I can’t protect us without a weapon-”
“No guns,” Lelia repeated. She wasn’t nearly as broad as he was, nor even as tall, but she had presence; all of her kind did.
She laid her hands on his chest, looking at him but speaking to all of them. “The only thing guns will get us is killed,” she said. “I didn’t risk everything to get away from the Institute just to get shot on a cargo freighter. Did you?”
There was no answer from Tyc, or from Imien; both of them knew better than to get between the paramour and soldier.
At last, Stoll glanced away. He could snap her neck in an instant…but she was still right, and he knew it.
“Well,” he rumbled as he pushed past her. “We can’t stay here.”
You see what I’m saying? I tell the same moment, with the same pertinent details, but taking out all of that useless explanation makes the whole thing move at a quicker pace. Not fast, yet, but quicker. (It still needs a lot of work.) Nonetheless, it’s a good exercise, to learn what you can cut and still get your story across.
What lessons have you learned from editing your own work?
by Mayumi-H | Apr 23, 2012 | Fearless, Persona 4 Fan Fiction, Short Stories, Uncategorized
My entry to the 200-word Flash Fiction Contest over at Joey Francisco’s Soul and Sweet Tea blog…which you should go and check out, because it’s chock-full of creative goodness! My only regret is that I’m only finding her site now, and so I have so much to catch up on!
I took my prompt from Ms. Francisco’s photograph of the watchtower at Fort Matanzas:
Fort Matanzas, photo by Joey Francisco. Used without permission.
Stone stairs and the blood of Landstanders foolish enough to raise arms against him disappear beneath Fin’s boots, as every step takes him closer to the top of this tall, windowed tower, and to the girl trapped within.
“Wavewalker!” a guard warns, but he’s silenced by metal tines already streaked red; it’s the same for his partner beside. And up Fin runs, never stopping.
His muscles ache, his lungs burn, but the door is just ahead, and suddenly he’s crying her name as his spear splinters the heavy wood:
“Cauda!”
He’s barely broken through when she rushes up, arms thrown around him. And though her eyes are wide and frightened, her voice drifts to him with such gentle love, like the dreamy sway of the coral among which they used to swim. “You came.”
Time is short – more Landstanders are surely already racing to reclaim their princess prize – but still he cups her face, so sea-pale and soft, and kisses her, for fear it will be the last thing he ever does.
He draws back at the taste of tears.
“There’s no way out,” she whispers.
The spear creaks in his fist. “There’s always a way.”
As per the instructions, I stayed within the 200-word limit (mine comes in at 198 words), and I didn’t think too much about plot or craft. I just wrote.
I don’t usually jump for contests. And, to be honest, it’s not really the contest that interested me, in this case. I’ve just been having such fun playing in the 100-Word Challenges for Grown-Ups over at Julia’s Place that, when this came up in my Twitter feed via @speechwriterguy, I had to see if I could write something a little bit different than what I’ve been doing with the 100-Word Challenges.
This fantasy conflict is actually one of the earliest plot ideas I had for what became Fearless, believe it or not. It never went further than a very basic and archetypal idea of princesses and warriors, of course, and the more realistic, personal love story between Ross and Amber won out for me, in the end. But it was quite a bit of fun to revisit, in a way, those original concepts, here. And, who knows? Maybe I will flesh out the conflict between the Wavewalkers and Landstanders, one day.
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