Awards Season

Another quality post brought to you by Steve!

Hey, kids!  I was going to post an Eek! today, but since Mary already did on Monday, I'll just keep that in my back pocket for now.  In a way Mary did me a favor because there was something else I wanted to talk about...and also to ask you a favor.

As the end of the year approaches, it means one thing in the literary community: awards season.  I mean, also NaNo.  And also the Christmas push.  And also that thing in Iceland where literally everyone buys books.  But I digress.  One of the things it means is awards season.

Now, I can only come at this from the perspective of the horror community, but hopefully through the power of synecdoche you can get an idea of what awards season is like for the other genres as well.  Since everybody loves a listicle, here's one of those.

1.)  Blogger and Reviewer Best Ofs

Last year I was absolutely flattened when awards season came.  BRAINEATER JONES was named one of the Top 5 Horror Reads of 2015 on Confessions of a Reviewer, one of the best horror reads of 2015 on Hey Said Renee, and the best read of 2015 by Horror Made.  All this in spite of being released in 2013.  :)  But that's fine.  When it comes to reviewer awards, it's what they read that year.

Winning blogger awards is really cool and definitely good for your self esteem.  You can also include it in your editorial reviews on Amazon.  (You do know how to update your editorial reviews on Amazon, right?  If not, this video should get you pointed in the right direction.) 

What they probably won't do is push sales or get you noticed by an agent.  There are actually very, very few review sites who will get you sales based on appearing there alone.  There are a couple, but even then we're talking about maybe one or two sales.  The important thing about these sorts of awards is that you know you're doing good work, and you know you're getting your work in front of the sort of people who appreciate it.  And don't forget to thank your reviewers and share their posts.  That's just common courtesy, and you'd be surprised how much they appreciate it because so few people have common courtesy.

2.)  Mid-Level Awards

Since people are more familiar with the way movie awards work, let's compare literary awards with that.  Blogger and reviewer awards would be the equivalent of a critic's top ten list, or in general terms, critical acclaim.  (Book sales in this metaphor would be your box office, and, as we all know, sales do not necessarily translate into critical acclaim.)  Then there's the Oscars, which we'll get to in a minute.  Everybody wants an Oscar.  But leading up to the Oscars are all those other awards that are great to get and raise your star, like the Golden Globes, the SAG Awards, People's Choice, that sort of thing.

Again, I only know about horror here, but I think most literary genres have the same basic set-up.  There's one big award that you can plaster on the cover of your novel and maybe get you noticed by agents.  Then there are all the more mid-level awards that suggest more that you're a rising name in the industry, not that you're at the pinnacle yet.

The Shirley Jackson Award is probably the big mid-level award in horror.  (Although I'm sure a lot of you will shout at me in the comments and say that it's actually the big one.)  The Shirley Jacksons are a very intellectual sort of award, chosen by a jury of horror experts and not by popular vote or anything like that. 

There's also the Goodreads Choice Awards, which are going on now.  That's entirely a popular vote, and they've got awards for every genre.

Oh, and, hey, you know what's another pretty good mid-level award?  The This is Horror Awards!  And, hey, now that I think about it, my very own HUNTER OF THE DEAD just so happens to be eligible for this year's awards!  Of course, I can't nominate any work I'm affiliated with.  All I can really do is encourage my fans and friends to e-mail This is Horror and include a single sentence about why they think HUNTER OF THE DEAD is worthy of best novel, alongside any other nominations they wish to make.  So if you happen to run across any of my fans or friends, maybe let them know about that. 

3.)  The Big One

And then, of course, there's the biggie.  For horror it's the Bram Stoker Awards.  Everybody wants a Stoker unless:

a)  they're far too cool to care about awards period because it's supposed to be all about the art, man, or,

b)  they already have one, in which case, they completely downplay the importance of awards in general, because it's supposed to be all about the art, man

So, yeah.  Basically everybody wants one.  I know, talking about awards in general can be crass.  And awards systems are, at the best of times, unscientific, so a lot of people get left feeling let down, or even excluded.  Yeah, it sucks.

But awards are also a nice thing.  They're a way of telling people that all that hard work they did was noticed.  They're a way of congratulating your peers with more than just a pat on the back.  They're a way of bringing a community together and opening discussion about what's good, what's bad, and what's great.  Despite the corruption that I'm not going to pretend isn't real, there is some foundation in awards that good and right should be recognized, and that's a good thing.

And I just realized I've kind of gotten off topic.  Maybe that'll be a post for another day.  What I was supposed to be talking about is the Bram Stokers.  And frankly they're a bit confusing.  You might say it's something like our electoral system in that it seems like a contest between two (or more) books, but there are a bunch of ins and outs like primaries and polling and the electoral college and it all gets a bit complicated figuring out who won. 

The Stokers are partly elected by popular vote by the members of the HWA.  But they're also partly appointed by a jury of editors.  Then they come out with a long list that's not actually the selections, it's just notable works of the year.  Then they come out with a short list that's the actual nominations.  Then I think there's a popular vote up and down the line.  Like I said: I'm not real clear on this and it seems to have a lot of ins and outs.

I've submitted so far the two of my works which I felt were worthy of a Stoker to the jury, the short story "The New Dark Ages" last year and HUNTER OF THE DEAD this year.  Last year I didn't even make it onto the long list, and this year well, I'll let you know.  I suppose having a This is Horror Award couldn't hurt, you know, the way having a Golden Globe couldn't hurt your Oscar chances...

Anyway, what do you know about literary awards?  Have you been nominated for any?  Won any?  Got your eye on any?  Think they're all total crap and wish I hadn't brought them up?  Let me know in the comments.

Belated EEK! Put Some Pages Up For Criteek!

A post by Mary Fan

Hey y'all! So I've been in a helluva writing slump (actually, a helluva life slump) for several months
now, so when my turn came to do an EEK last month, I had literally nothing. Since then, the life slump has kept slumping, but at least I managed to beat a few thousand words out of me (the motivation/productivity seems to be returning in abrupt waves).

So here, for your consideration, are a few pages from my new project... that disastrous ball of insanity I have no business writing but can't stop writing anyway. It's a YA magical realism about six modern-day teens from different backgrounds whose lives bump into each other in unexpected ways.... Here's one of them, an aspiring opera singer named Rae (this is actually the start of Chapter 3, her first POV chapter)

Rae could always tell that the latest diet plan her mom stuck her on was working when her boobs started shrinking. Judging from the number of times she’d had to pull up her bra straps while carrying boxes into her third-floor dorm, it was. She considered letting this one—no carbs, no trans fats, and pretty much no meat—keep going long enough for the rest of her to shrink too. But she knew better. The moment her parents went home—leaving her alone and free at camp—she’d go back to eating like a normal person. It was the eternal tug-of-war of being sixteen—both in age and dress size. Part of her wanted to listen to her mom and believe that skinny was the answer to all her problems, and part of her was like, Fuck it, I’m me, and you can deal with it.

So far, the fuck it side was winning.

She reached across the narrow twin bed—less than half the size of what she had at home, but whatever—tucked her purple sheet over the corner. Straightening, she felt her bra strap slip off—again.

The tiny, single room was stifling in the June heat, and the building was so old, there was no AC. Still, she breathed more easily here than she ever had anywhere else. Fireflies danced around her as they always did, though in the daylight, many mistook them for the gross kind of bugs. If only they’d stick around long enough to see how magical they could be.

“You sure about this, sweetie?” Mom looked like she was literally about to clutch the string of pearls above her sweater set. “Home’s only ten minutes away, and—”

“Moooooom!” Rae dragged her voice out. “I’m living on campus, and that’s that! So deal with it, okay?” She’d been dreaming of attending the Silver Star Creek Summer Arts Festival since she was in kindergarten, and living on the Rexford University campus was part of the experience. She wasn’t about to let Mom take that from her.

A whole summer of nothing but music and fellow young artists and independence—it was like a dream come true. And Rae was certain that hers were about to. The festival—which brought together aspiring young performers from across the country for two months of intensive training with world-class mentors—was breeding ground for future fame, and talent scouts knew that. They flocked to the end-of-summer showcase that exhibited the best of the best, and lots of greats had gotten their start here. Rae was the kind of operatic soprano that could make audiences gasp and weep, even though, as a teen, she’d barely begun to develop her talent. Imagine what’ll happen when my voice matures.

Surely, the scouts would notice too, and she’d get invited to all sorts of conservatories and young artist programs around the world. This was the start she’d always hoped for, that she’d been working for since she’d started taking voice lessons at age three. She’d been watching other opera singers triumph on stage for as long as she could remember.

She’d always known that someday, it would be her turn.

“Remember, we’re just a phone call away.” Mom placed a hand on Rae’s shoulder. “You got the list I sent you, right?”

Rae made a face. Mom’s lists were always full of nitpicky crap, like what Rae should and shouldn’t eat or what hours she could be out without an adult chaperone and other Mom-ish stuff.

“Relax, honey.” From the doorway, Dad chuckled. “She’s sixteen, not six.”

“Yeah, and I’ve got an audition this afternoon, so I don’t have time for your fussing.” Rae crossed her arms. “Go home so I can practice.”

“Wait, you have an audition already?” Mom frowned. “I thought the program didn’t begin until Monday.”

“Not for the festival.” Rae rolled her eyes. “Arthur Theater, remember? They’re staging a new opera about World War Two, and they have open auditions for the chorus.” The community theater specialized in undiscovered talent—both on and off stage. Growing up in an artsy town like Rexford, she’d always been surrounded by fresh ideas on the cusp of becoming something great. Now that she was old enough, she could finally take part.

This time, it was Dad who frowned. “Wait, you want to do an opera and the camp? Are you sure you can handle both?”

Rae didn’t dignify that with an answer; she simply lifted her brows and angled her mouth in an expression that said it all.

She’d find a way to make everything work, and nothing would stop her now.

Tackling big issues

Sigh. This election did not turn out the way I had hoped. My husband tried to cheer me up with his calm, rational optimism, but I would have none of it -- sometimes a person just wants to be upset. Anyway, how are you doing? Are you okay?

I wanted to blog today about tackling tough issues in one's writing -- something that seems in line with the current political climate on a multitude of levels. And when I say, tough issues, I don't mean craft shit like plot, characterization, setting, etc; I mean tough issues such as racism, homophobia, anti-Semitism, sexism. You know the fun stuff dreams are made of.

I'm currently working through the hardest book I've ever written, a YA mystery set in 1995 featuring a M/M pairing. It's my passion project, but it's also a beast to write. I wrote 75K words and then realized I lost sight of the story (my mystery threads practically cannibalizing the book), and I started over. Now, I'm 50% through and while I think the story is structurally better, I'm still struggling because if I'm going to write a mystery featuring two gay teens in the mid-90s, then there is no way I can, nor should I, glaze over the blatant homophobia prevalent in that decade.

I mean, the 90s was a period where we used "that's gay" as freaking slang (I was guilty of this). Where words like faggot and homo were thrown around without any regard. Where politicians actually called gay people "morally weak." I purposefully set my book in 1995 so I could tackle some of these issues. But, I also have to make sure I don't bash my readers over the head with a point. There's a balance beam one must walk in writing fiction, careful not to tip over into the Preach Pit or on the other side, Way Too Subtle. I'm striving to entertain while making my readers empathetic and thoughtful, and communicate my message and themes.

What are your thoughts on this? Have you tackled or plan to tackle a tough issue? And what were your concerns?

5 Things No One Told Me About Being an Author

Many writers are currently pushing themselves for NaNoWriMo. I’m not. I keep saying maybe one year. Apparently, this wasn’t my year. Again. I think part of it is I’m always in denial when November comes around. I refuse to accept another year is almost over. Anyway, I figure those who are participating don’t have time for a long blog post (which I seem doomed to write). So here’s a quickie for you to enjoy during a break from your literary madness.

5 Things No One Told Me About Being a Writer

1. Reading would take on a whole new dimension.

Just about every established author tells the newbies they need to read if they want to be a strong writer. I considered it to be the best perk of being an author—justification for why I couldn’t take my nose out of a book. What no one said was that I’d start reading those books in an entirely different way. I can no longer just get lost in a story. I have to critique and edit and analyze the entire time. The way I rate a 5-star book these days is if it can make me forget I’m an author and pull me into the story.

2. My verbal communication skills would diminish.

This is especially noticeable for me since I no longer work outside the home, and I don’t get to practice my verbal communication as often. More often than I’d like to admit, I find myself in a conversation wishing I could run to my computer and send an email instead. My fingers have replaced my mouth and it’s a struggle. Maybe if I tried typing on an invisible keyboard while I talked. That wouldn’t be weird at all.

3. I’d become a creepy observer.

I always enjoyed people watching, but now it’s a required job skill. I am observing, taking mental notes of nervous ticks, mannerisms, reactions to situations—really everything you are doing, I’m watching. While creepy, I assure you I’m harmless. Unless you see me whip out my phone and start making a note. Then you may need to worry that I’m plotting your fictional demise.

4. I’d spend a lot of time on Google, researching weird facts.

Was there a full moon on October 10, 2014? What year did INXS become popular? Does a fire extinguisher leave a smell or residue? Do people say soda or pop in Colorado? On and on and on . . .

I had often chuckled at the search suggestions Google would pull up when I started typing in the search box. I’d think, “Who is researching this stuff?” Then I became and author. Click.

5. I’d become Dug.

You all remember Dug from the movie Up, right?

Yeah, creativity is like a magnet for distractions. I’d sit down to type and suddenly I’m rearranging my desk. I’d start researching some weird fact and then fall down a rabbit hole of fascinating useless facts. I’d go to answer emails and get sucked into blog post after blog post. I’d get on Facebook to post to my page and—SQUIRREL!

~ Carrie

It's Our Blogiversary!

 A Post By Jonathan 

Okay, guys. We really need to start keeping a calendar or something because we missed our Blogiversary again! Actually, I'm going to blame myself for this one because my last post was on October 6th, 2016 and our first post was almost exactly two years earlier, October 9th, 2014!!!

I can't believe we've been doing this thing, every Monday and Thursday rain or shine, for two whole years. Most blogs pack it in after a couple of months... This has got to be some kind of record or something, right? Anyway, keeping Across the Board alive has taken a lot of hard work and dedication. Here's to another great year (or just a little over eleven months now...) of insightful posts and the occasional mail-in! It hasn't always been pretty, but we have definitely kept on rolling.

A huge shout out to Stephen Kozeniewski who keeps us on track with his weekly emails, and to the other founding members: Carrie, Kimberly, and myself. A special thanks to Brenda and Mary who have been part of the team for an entire year now. And we're so happy to have our newest members, Cheryl and Abigail, "on board". We're really enjoying your super awesome posts! And to our past members, Amy, Brianna, Nilah, Alison, Beth, Tara and Leandra. We couldn't have done it without you! Please let me know if I forgot anyone... *crickets*

Lastly, I'd like to thank my mom for birthing me, my wife for standing by me as I freak out about what I'm going to write about each month, and my boss for ignoring the fact that I usually author my blog posts at work (like I'm doing right now)... Anyway, give us some blogiversary love, everyone! We deserve it, don't we? 

NaNoWriMo -- Your (Marginally Helpful) Week-by-Week Guide

There are a lot of great resources out there if you're planning to join the #NaNoWriMo2016 crowd. There's the official National Novel Writing Month website, itself, Buzzfeed has some helpful gif-inspired tips, and even Bustle has a series of helpful articles, including one on best-selling books that started off as Nano novels.

If you're looking for helpful hints, tips, tricks...this isn't the post for you. If you're looking for a bit of humor and some tongue-in-cheek advice/strategies...read on!

NaNoWriMo Day 1:
There is a reason NaNoWriMo starts on November 1. Last night was Halloween. If you or your kids celebrated in any way, chances are there's a lot of candy floating around your house. Obviously, you need extra energy for all of the writing you're going to be doing, so it's important to pick your favorites from the stash and hide them away. If you could pick a few extra Reese's for me, please, that would be fab. (My kid got tons of Haribo and ZERO chocolate last night, which is a travesty, yes?)

NaNoWriMo Day 7:

Every writer has that friend who writes insanely fast and "wins" NaNoWriMo in the first week. If you're like me, you need to unfriend and/or mute this person if you haven't already. Only for the month -- I'm not advocating severing friendships over this. BUT it's super discouraging to be barely eking out your 1,1666 words per day and have a friend declare "done". I don't know the person who wrote this text, but I feel like maybe they could be my best friend.

NaNoWriMo Day 15:

By now, you're deep in the trenches -- wondering if you should have plotted more, cursing your inner editor, missing television. You're halfway there and doing the math on how to squeeze in your remaining words. If you're on schedule, you've got 25K to go. If not, I'd recommend doing the math with a glass in hand. Preferably filled with your favorite adult beverage.

NaNoWriMo Day 23:

You've got one week left. Hooray! Oh, God! Bloody hell! And, hate to break it to you, but if you celebrate Thanksgiving, that's in there, too. Obviously the only thing that will provide the proper encouragement is a Ryan Gosling meme. Failing that, a week is still plenty of time, and NaNo does provide the perfect excuse to bail on those Turkey Day dishes!

NaNoWriMo Day 30:

The End. Well, the official end, anyway. Maybe you made 50K, maybe you didn't. Either way, you focused on your craft and your writing for a month, putting in 30 days of effort at the expense of lots of other things you could be doing. That looks like winning to me. Now, go pat yourself on the back and have a celebratory drink/ice cream/burger. You've earned it!

The Edification of Horror

In honor of October and things that go bump in the night, I'm writing about the times in my life when I was scared shitless by horror. I admit, I was inspired by Stephen Kozeniewski's recent post on different types of horror, and my love/hate relationship with this genre. Dredging up the past was painful, it's like visiting the gravestones of long buried fears, exhuming them one by one, and contemplating the edification of horror. 

"From goulies and ghosties and long-legged beasties and things that go bump in the night Good Lord, deliver us!"

The first movie that I had no business watching was The Bad Seed staring Patty McCormack. I was maybe nine or ten years old, I already had a dysfunctional fear of the dark, and this movie only served as confirmation. It is the story of a young girl who was born bad to the bone and I'm not talking 'mean girls' here. She is a self indulgent little girl, who looks and acts like an angel, so no one suspects she is capable murder. Her behavior is so unsettling it had me questioning the very nature of my most trusted companions. Eventually we find out her biological grandmother was a psychopathic killer. The movie suggests killers are genetically determined and the thought that this could lead one to kill without remorse is troubling. I remember glancing sideways at my angelic sister and wondering if either of us had a dark side buried deep in our genetics? I slept with a nightlight for several years, okay, until I got married.

The next horror movie I got talked (coerced) into seeing was The Exorcist. My best friend promised, "It's so ridiculous it could almost be considered a comedy." A scream, I'd say. It was released the day after Christmas in 1973. I was a young teen by then, barely over The Bad Seed, and now I'm confronted with a possessed teenager, and two determined priests. Most of the movie involves these priests trying to exercise the devil from a young Linda Blair who does an amazing head spin, floats in thin air, stabs her vagina repeatedly with a cross, and barfs green slim. It is the most horrifying, disturbing, immoral film I have ever seen. I spent most of the time with my eyes closed fantasizing about the beach on a warm sunny day. I was completely traumatized and perhaps this is the reason I became a Catholic. This movie introduced me to the idea that an innocent person could unwillingly be controlled by an evil presence. Who writes this shit? I thought this would be the end of my short horror movie career but it was not to be. 

I started dating Larry in high school, when he finally got his driver's licence, I was promised popcorn, ice cold soda, and a great movie at the drive-ins. I wanted to appear sophisticated and maybe a little dangerous so I eagerly agreed. When the title scrolled across the screen, Texas Chain Saw Massacre, I turned a few shades lighter, the nausea came later (Linda Blair style). I spent most of our date on the floor of the truck and if that wasn't impressive enough I screamed right through the chain saw scenes to drown out the sound. If not for his adorable curls and sweet disposition (haha) this could have been our first and last date. The movie is about two siblings who are attacked by a family of cannibalistic psychopaths while visiting the grave of a grandparent. I feel compelled to mention meat hooks are involved. The movie is so unbelievable the trauma is actually minimized, if that is even possible, and the fact that I fit comfortably in the foot space of a truck is pretty damn impressive. 

I have to admit, my forth exposure to horror was intentional. It was early December, 1983, in my first month of marriage. Larry could not believe I hadn't seen the "iconic" movie Psycho, a pretty descriptive title, but I was naive (in love). So we snuggled together on our second-hand couch and settled in for a horrible experience. I had to get up and pace it out in the hallway a few times but I made it to the end. This movie explores issues of mental illness, identity, and showering in hotel rooms. It does not end well. Of course there was a storm raging outside, we lived on the outskirts of Portland Oregon, and I didn't sleep a wink that night. A few nights later, still feeling spooked, I went into the bathroom to wash my face before bed. Our bathroom was located in the middle of the apartment with no exterior windows. It was very dark. When I pulled back the shower curtain to reach for my washcloth, I encountered a strange man standing in my shower, holding a butcher knife. I screamed bloody murder, popped a few veins, and I'll only admit this to you, I peed my pants. Larry worked for Proctor and Gamble at the time and he 'borrowed' a life-size, full color, cardboard display of a man pointing to the shampoo aisle. He cleverly duck-taped a kitchen knife to the raised hand. He thought it would be hysterical to surprise me with this unexpected guest. I tore that display to shreds, slammed the door to our bedroom, after throwing Larry's pillow in the hall. He slept on the couch until about 2:00 am when fear outweighed my anger. What a comedian. 

I avoided horror movies for at least another decade. Then it happened one night, almost organically, when I was all alone. Larry was traveling for business and I just put the last kid to bed. I switched on the television and the movie Halloween was just starting. I was a full fledged adult for goodness sake and my sister lived only seven minutes away. How bad could it be? The movie is about a psychopathic killer who returns to his hometown for a killing spree on Halloween. Trust me when I say it builds, and perhaps you'll understand why I called my sister late that night, and demanded she spend the night. She was eight and a half months pregnant, but she waddled over with her overnight bag, and climbed into bed. That's my sister. Her water broke in the wee hours of the morning, Larry's side, karma's a bitch.

So that is my walk down horror lane and one that I hope to never repeat. I decided in honor of October I would read a scary novel instead. Since this post was inspired by Stephen Zoeniewski, I decided to try one of his novels. Billy and the Cloneasaurus should be arriving any day. I'll be sure to let you know how it goes...

Love to hear about the edification of horror in your life. Join me in the comments?

Itching for more? Visit me at Living in the Gap a lifestyle blog minus the horror.