Yes, "Book Two" Has a Name – SYNOPSIS

I'm garbage at working titles. Three-day old, baking in the sun, rotting garbage.

Now, I've been told otherwise, but I take pride in being my biggest critic. Long before I ventured into the world of grown-up publishing, back in the days of journals and neopets, I'd sit at my desk staring at the garbage title for the not-garbage project and think: If they can just get past the title, they'll love it.

But we all know that's not how it works. Spines and covers are judged long before the blurb, and that is why I am grateful for the people who make me a little bit less garbage-y – the critique groups, agents, editors, publishers, and everyone in between.

^^me, alone, front flipping into a working title^^

If you follow me on Twitter, Facebook, or have ever endured more than one drink with me, you've no doubt heard me throw around the phrase "Book Two" more than a few times. "Book Two" was what I jokingly started calling the project I picked up right after getting ZHUKOV'S DOGS out the door. At that time "Book Two" was a twisted saga about hackers living with post-traumatic stress. I abandoned that project ~30k words in, at which time, I began another "Book Two" about teenage elementals, racism, and war. Got a bit further along with that one, but ultimately abandoned it, hopping over to tell the story of a pill-popping exorcist instead.

Long story short, "Book Two" was a working title for me. I have commitment issues when it comes to writing, and I defaulted to "Book Two" to make the inevitable breakup easier to deal with.

BUT NOW

Now "Book Two" is done! "Book Two" has a beginning, middle, and end – and yes – now it has a name. It's an official working title that's likely to change as I hurdle and hack my way through the publishing process, but for now, I'm lovingly calling it THE PLIABLE RUSE.

There's a fun story behind that title. My good friend Evan, who is not a writer by any means but has supported my insane pursuits and tolerated my general awfulness since 2009, is due some credit here.

I was strangely hung up on getting a title for this one, not content to just slap a "you know what this is, amanda, go to bed" in the save bar. I think I knew this was going to be the one, so I started texting Evan, the only person I knew would be up and coherent at that ungodly hour. Evan asked what my two favorite words were out of the ~8k I'd written that day, and somehow, it worked out fittingly. He wasn't smug about it at all. I continued calling it "Book Two" as the months went on, but from day one, I knew I had my title.

SO WHAT'S "BOOK TWO" ABOUT?

a.k.a.

HERE'S YOUR SYNOPSIS

THE PLIABLE RUSE is a ~117k word gaslamp fantasy that tells the story of an exiled lord prone to arson, an overworked shaman with horrible taste in men and waistcoats, ambitious spiders, and clowns. It acts as the first book in a trilogy, (working) titled PECULIAR.

Intrigued? Repulsed? Hungry? Whatever you are, here's the synopsis:

You can always go home. You can’t always leave.

It’s a miserable winter’s eve when Sterling Hawtrey is dragged home by threats of treason. The newly appointed Magister of Argent was enjoying his twelfth year of exile an ocean away, rounding up mercenaries, pirates, and bastards, when his brother’s black, lard-clogged heart ruined everything.

Shoved to the forefront of a colony he wants nothing to do with, Sterling immediately sets to work dismantling his foul family’s legacy. What should have been a simple task of numbers and handshakes takes a deadly turn as the layers peel away, and Sterling soon finds himself smack in the middle of a century-old feud with the very witches his ancestors chased off the island. With cousins catching fire left and right, and the clock ticking on his escape plan, Sterling must turn to the circus for help.

Witch doctor Wylie Rook has plenty of reasons to hate the world, and every one of them is a Hawtrey. Branded as a criminal in a land where magic is not only frowned upon, but punishable by death, the shaman has been living quietly among the gilded undesirables of Garnet & Garnet’s Traveling Spectacular since his release from prison.

When the circus sets up shop in the capitol, Rook is determined to learn the truth behind his sister’s death, even if it means breaking a few laws along the way. In his search for answers, he ends up robbing the one person who might hate Hawtreys more than he does – the new Lord Argent himself – and gets tangled up in a dangerous witch hunt he wants nothing to do with.

It will take more than herbs and potions to undo the damage Sterling’s crusading ancestors did, and Rook quickly realizes he’s in over his head. A few witches he can handle, but a few witches and a handsome lord that shamelessly defies every expectation of his birthright? Well, that just won’t do, not when someone’s trying so desperately to kill the man. Sterling is relentless in the face of rejection, though, but in his eagerness to prove to the shaman he’s not a monster, settle his family’s affairs, and flee the colony, will he get them all killed?

Right, now it's time for coffee, cookies, and queries. Let's chat again soon, blogosphere.

Today's blog is accompanied by the unstoppable musical prowess of the incredibly talented, always flawless, lovely, lovely LP.

Inbox Is Burning

Diving back into the query game like:

But for realzies. It's terrifying. So much has changed, and yet, everything's the same. It's still a polite game of "hey, so, here's my baby... please don't punch it in the face" – only now, all the resources I used in 2013 (querytracker.net, agentquery.com, etc.) are horribly outdated. I feel like one of those ol' folks trying to get into the hip new lingo all the youngsters are reppin' 'round tha' block.

I'm turning 26 this August. THE PLIABLE RUSE is only the second novel I've attempted to sell. I know I shouldn't be panicking, but o lawd it's a scary time to be agent hunting.

To be fair, I did this to myself. I dove into the grown-up author game as a YA/NA sci-fi writer, and over the past three years, my lovely agent Kimberley has been nothing but supportive. This new project wasn't up her alley, though, and I knew there'd be risks diving into the steamy, wonderful world of adult gaslamp fantasies. Alas, the story of Sterling Hawtrey had to be told, and with six or so half-finished YA dabbles sitting on my desktop, I took the plunge and finished what I needed to finish.

I'm proud of my new work, proud of my old work, and proud to still be repped by the fantastic Ms. Cameron. So, that said, it's into the fire I cannonball, determined to resurface with a new agent for my new venture.

Send pizza.

A Year in the Life

Yeah, no. I'm still here. Let's play catch-up.

IN 2015 I

in order of appearance

• Enjoyed year two of continued success at grown-up job

• Moved**

• Wrote ~50k words (Witch Doctor)

• Abandoned ~50k words (Witch Doctor)**

• Cried

• Cut off my hair**

• Vomited random ideas all over my computer

• Abandoned all random idea**

• Cried

• Quit grown-up job to write grown-up books**

• Moved

• Wrote ~60k words (Spark)

• Abandoned ~60k words (Spark)**

• Cried

• Cut off my hair

• Wrote ~90k words (The Pliable Ruse)

**mistake

That's all you missed. 2015 was chill.

Unrelated: I'm one chapter away from finishing Book Number Two.

Noteworthy: This will be the first book I've finished since Zhukov's Dogs and I am quietly losing my mind because of it.

Brace yourself, Internet. I'm back and ready to kick ass.

#sorrynotsorry. #unlessyournameiskimberleycameron #inwhichcase #kimberleyiamsorryittooksolongtogetmyshittogether <3 #ty4beingthebest <3

TL;DR - Me going into 2016:

Grown-Up Problems

Dearest readers,

I am secretly 12. Well, not really, but that's the the disclaimer I often find myself attaching to the everyday. If I didn't have a job, bills, and a dwindling metabolism, I assure you I'd be doing nothing but playing video games, building LEGO towers, and immersing myself in the fictional worlds I create while hunched over a keyboard. Life is hard at 23, and 24 is rapidly approaching.

This year, I traded a freelance career for a big-girl job with an Internet conglomerate, starting out as a coordinator in the content department then climbing my way into management. I love my big-girl job. I love the 9 to 5, the people I work with, the projects I'm working on, and how much I've grown as a writer and editor since taking the job. The only drawback is that it cuts into my personal writing time. I knew that would be an issue going into the grown-up world, but I've been forcing myself to dedicate at least half an hour to creative writing every day. Sometimes, all that comes out during that half hour is "blaaaaagh, I'm too tired for this nonsense," though, so some days are better than others.

That said, I'm buckling down -- I'm determined to have Book Number Two finished within the next three months. Given my current word count, that roughly translates to writing a minimum of 500 words/day. Totally doable now that I'm in crunch mode. I'm pushing to do closer to a minimum 800 words/day so I have ample time to edit within the 90-day period.

We'll see how this goes. During the final two-week haul for Zhukov's Dogs, my immune system kindly requested I go fuck myself and took a long holiday that ended with me in the hospital. I wasn't working full-time back then either, so I expect Book Number Two will likely kill me. When I'm gone, dearest readers, please use my tragic death as an excuse to buy more copies of my books.

As a closing thought: Book Number Two finally has a title! It will probably change, but for now, I'm calling it The Spark. It's a delightful blend of fantasy, sci-fi, and action that's neatly wrapped up in the New Age genre, and I can't wait to share it with you.

Book Number Two

I hate to say there's an upside to my fiance working nights, but there kind of is. I always did my best writing in the evening hours. Now that Boeing is driving him like a brilliant slave between the hours of 10 p.m. and 6 a.m. I'm making tons of progress on Book Number Two! It's a win-lose situation though. I'm thrilled with my word count and depressed by my lack of cuddles. Woe the life.

Speaking of Book Number Two (as it will henceforth be known until I come up with a better title), I have a question. Is it strange to know the exact ending of your novel 40K words before it happens?

Technically, I figured out the ending closer to 60K before it happens, which is just absurd to me. Anytime I've taken on a project of this size I've always had a general idea of where I wanted things to end, but as I've mentioned before, I am NOT a fan of outlining or setting things in stone. I prefer to let stories pan out in front of me with very little concrete framework. The story always seems to flow better that way. Plus, remaining lucid helps me step back and reassess the big question of "What's the worst thing I can do to my character right now?"

This time is different, though, and it bothers me!

Let me preface my frustration so I seem slightly less insane. Book Number Two is a first for me in more ways than one.

1. My main character is an adult with adult problems, not an older teen with adult problems.
2. My setting is 100% real. Modern day Seattle. Nothing fanciful. No floating kingdoms or underground cities.
3. My genre is mystery/sci-fi. Mystery. Yes. Serial killer, handsome detective, intrigue and the whole lot.

At a glance that sounds like a pretty straight-forward book, aside from that sneaky little sci-fi bit I slipped in at the end there. That's where things get interesting. I do not write straight-forward books. Remember that.

My main character is an adult with adult problems. He's also a witch doctor born to a family of practical surgeons, suffers from PTSD and sarcasm, and is a recovering addict who surrounds himself with organic/semi-illegal drugs on a daily basis.

My setting is 100% real. Seattle is my city and I love it, as does my main character. We both recognize its petals, thorns and oddities. Better yet, we're both eager to show off it's true colors -- not just the copious amounts of gray.

My genre is mystery/sci-fi. I'm loving it... except for the fact I know who the killer is (or is it killers?) how they did it, why they did it and who their next victims are. Ugh. I know, don't complain. I was the one who decided this would be a good idea. It is a good idea, a great one even, I just kind of wish I'd gotten to enjoy the mystery side of it all.

I've rambled long enough I think. Here, have the first sentence of Book Number Two as a thank-you-for-listening.

Some men spent their Saturday mornings reading the paper, lazing about in their shorts as they debated whether or not the lawn could go another week without mowing—others spent it hacking their way out of a giant iguana's small intestine.

Outlines. Why I Hate Them & Why I Made One.

Ladies and gentlemen, I have just realized something extraordinarily life-changing. Pokemon are not getting uglier. Those of us born to generations Red and Blue have simply grown older. We're jaded. We're like the angry old man who sits on the porch and shakes his fist at kids who get too close to his lawn of 150 original, perfect blades of grass. While I pity the seven-year-old who excitedly begins his first Pokemon adventure with X and Y, who am I to tell him that he's doing it wrong? A sentimental old fool who begins every battle with "Back in the day we played our Pokemon in black and white, two-dimensional peace. I think that's what heaven will be like some...TURN DOWN THAT DUBSTEP NONSENSE!"

So that's my nerd rant. I should probably talk about writing now to redeem myself a bit.

I wrote an outline! Resentfully and with some help from my Absolut friend, I wrote it! This might not sound like some grand achievement to most of you, but let me explain. I haven't written an start-to-finish outline for anything other than school papers. Even back then I only wrote them if they were being collected for a grade. I do not outline. Plain and simple. I prefer to write things as they come to me, living in the moment just like my character does. Yes, it's a bit reckless and has gotten me into a fair share of (long) writer's blocks, but I hate laying out the entire story before it happens. I enjoy sharing that 'what now' moment with my character and I feel that it lends to the believability of the story.

So what was different about this time, you ask? Well, put simply, it's complicated. There are too many elements that I have to juggle and I'm not familiar enough with any of said elements to neglect a single one. As I've mentioned before, I looooove research because a story's integrity and believability are very high on my priority list. I'm learning some hardcore hacking and coding, digging into subdivisions of the CIA with limited public access, crosschecking facts with professional and basically setting myself up for a fun conversations with the NSA. It's a lot. So the other night as I sat there surveying the mess in front me I realized how easily something could get lost in the pages to come--something including me.

Thus, the outline was born.

It took four hours and sixteen pages (I don't mess around with my bullet points) AND IT IS MAGNIFICENT. That said, however, I will strive to never write another outline as long as I live. It will be helpful to me as the story progresses, yes, and it's not set in stone or anything, yes, but my God I cried at least twice! Spoilers! Spoilers everywhere! I feel like I've completely ruined the story for myself. It's not a journey anymore, it's a game of connect the dots.

Do I regret outlining? A bit, yeah, but at the same time I feel like I can focus more on writing the story now and less about getting my facts in place. I guess it's a double-edge sword. Outlines make stories easier in the long run and help keep writers out of ruts, but if you're weird like me it isn't always worth it. I'm sure things will change as I write and the story may even end up going in completely different directions. For now, though, I'm off to play a game of connect the dots.