The Dreaded Slump

Bollocks.

I'm pretty sure I've fallen into the dreaded "week 2 slump" that tends to plague NaNoWriMo participants yearly.

Usually when I participate in NaNoWriMo, I'm what our local group affectionately refers to as a "cyborg" -- meaning that I can hammer out 1000+ words in 15 minutes. I hate that idea, but when we're sprinting and doing word wars, it makes for better competition when you have a group of people ALL pumping out 1000+ words in 15 minutes.

Last year, I wrote 150,000 words in the month of November. Before that it was 77,000 while working 3 jobs totaling 70 hour work weeks.

Suffice it to say that only 1 of the stories I've written has made it through the editing process without making me wanna barf or with me giving up on the story in general with the intention to come back to it at a later date.

I don't typically fall for the "slump" of a writing deadline like this. In fact, I typically thrive under the pressure. And, if I do end up with a slump, it usually hits me around the 22nd or so, right in the homestretch.

So I'm a little bit lost.

It isn't writer's block. Far from it. I have all the ideas in my head, I know where the story needs to go and where I want it to go. It's just that procrastination is coming so much easier to me this month than ever. Sitting at my computer means that I'm either filling my brain with useless things or scouring the depths of social media or just doing something completely unrelated to writing.

I just don't know what's wrong with me, and it's frustrating. Not even caffeine is helping. Nor is getting "enough" sleep at night.

I think this is the "slump" that all insane NaNo'ers talk about.

Still, I'm doing something right. I have my butt in my chair and I'm forcing myself to peck out a few words here and there, even if they're not the huge amounts of words I usually spew forth.

Anyone have any useful suggestions for making the words work?

Oh God WTF did I just read?

Okay, so I love to carouse fan fiction. I love it. It's hilarious, disgusting, thought provoking, emotionally draining, and a lot of the times is a serious ego boost for me.

And once in a while, you find some absolute gems.

Hell, a couple of very good friends of mine were met and made through fan fiction.

But I've also had my (un)fair share of reading REALLY REALLY GODAWFULLY BAD fan fics.

I have a few triggers, and lately I have unintentionally found all the stories that make me want to bleach my brain and gouge out my eyes. I have the worst luck ever.

But thinking about it, I have to stop and laugh. It's just so insane.

I was also talking to my sister about this, about the horrible, scary fan fics out there, and how we KNOW most of the actors who portray these characters are aware that these stories exist. So my sister asked me a very interesting question.

"What would your reaction be, Kai, if you found out there were stories written about you like this?"

First off, I'd be flattered. Even if it wasn't ME per se, but just my CHARACTERS? Oh hell yes, GO FOR IT. I think that means I've reached a certain level of notoriety right? If my characters are busily humping each other in someone else's mind? Cool. I'm cool with that.

If you're writing about me specifically? (And don't deny it, it exists.) Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! You really couldn't think of someone better to fantasize about?

Okay, well, let's pretend that someone out there is writing fan fics about me. Based on what I've read, my reaction would be three-fold after I get over the initial flattery, shock and embarrassment.

First, wow. What most of these bad fics are suggesting is highly unlikely to be possible. I'm afraid of heights, even standing on a chair to change a lightbulb or get something off a high shelf SUCKS. And I'm honestly not THAT flexible. I get it, it's fantasy, but you gotta work with realism. (I'm not gonna let myself be tied in a knot and put on a shelf for a harem of sex-crazy demons to do what they please with. Or whatever the hell that was that was happening in that fan fic.)

I AM NOT THAT FLEXIBLE. I don't think anyone is. Try to remember that, okay, erotica writers?

Two, just 'cause YOU think it's sexy, doesn't mean we all do. Gotta remember those triggers, man. If you wanna know what my big ones that hit the "NOPE" switch are, just ask. I'm really not that pervy, I just pretend like I am because this is the internet and girls aren't welcome here.

And finally...

Dudes, seriously? You're writing bondage? And you have to stop the 'action' to get something to tie your characters up with? Holy SHIT. I wear a paracord bracelet 99.9% of the time, and if I'm not WEARING it, it's somewhere close at hand BECAUSE I CAN NEVER BE WITHOUT MY STUPID FUCKING ROPE.

Good Lord, I guess it all really does boil down to realism, doesn't it?

Well, now, I guess I should go back and finish reading these bad fan fics. I don't plan on sleeping any time soon...

Kai Kiriyama lives in the frozen north known as Canada with her pet snake, Rhaegar.

Yes, she actually does have a paracord bracelet. The current one is purple.

If you wanna know what makes her tick, feel free to contact her at any of the following locations:

email: thekiriyamaheir@gmail.com
twitter: @thekiriyamaheir
facebook: facebook.com/authorkkaikiriyama
tumblr: thekiriyamaheir.tumblr.com

Wibbly-Wobbly, Timey-Wimey, ball of Editing... Stuff

Remember how I said I HATE EDITING? Like... a lot?

Well, I've found myself faced with a deadline for a submission, so I'm finally getting off my lazy-creative, busy-as-all-get-out butt, and am working on editing a novel I wrote just under a year ago.

Now, I love this novel. A lot. I love the content, I love the plot, I love the concept, everything. It's new, it's exciting, it's a genre blend and I don't have to worry about political correctness, or with censoring myself, and there's no way that it could be misconstrued as a YA novel. (Which is a joke and is better left off unexplained until another blog post because I don't feel like going on a tangent about THAT can of worms right now.) And I've been sitting on this particular gem for almost a year, so I'm pretty detached from the world I so frantically built. (Normally, I like to edit immediately, but that was out of the question for this one, which is, again, another story for another time.)

Anyway, the first draft -- because that's what it currently is -- ended up at about 77,000 words. I was honestly impressed with that number, and wondered how many of those words would need to be cut when I edited. (So far, I haven't cut any, but there's probably around 20,000 that need to be completely rewritten.) Then I found out that the submission guidelines are looking for 80-90,000 words but would consider works with less than that.

Ouch.

Okay, so 3000 words to make it to the minimum number isn't a lot, in fact, it's a number that I'm strangely comfortable with.

But if you know me, you know that I'm a bit of an over-achiever.

I decided to aim to add about 15,000 more words to the manuscript because, why not? My only question was "where do I put all those new words?"

So naturally, I fretted about it, and fretted about it, and sent myself into a mini panic attack and then figured out where to put all those extra words in the middle of the night when I couldn't sleep.

I decided that I would take my book's plot and split it into three sections, plus a prologue and an epilogue. (Because I love prologues. It's like a film teaser that warms up your audience and gets them excited before you bore them to death with back story and exposition. Ha ha! I'm an evil tease.)

Well, now you can see my problem: my plot. There's no real holes in my plot, but there are a few half-formed ideas that could be fleshed out and made more whole, more tangible, as it were. There's at least two characters who can be given a little more depth and dimension, and a few plot points that could be expanded upon. And, while we're at it, might as well give this world a bit of history, too.

Now it's looking like those 20,000 words that I was contemplating cutting get to stay with minor adjustments, because, why not? The ideas are there, and adding the extra words and splitting the story into three separate pieces means that each section has its own identity. It means that I can treat each section like a mini novel with a beginning, middle and end that leads into the next mini novel and so on.

It also means that I have to tear the manuscript apart and mess with its timeline.

It's one of my favorite things about being a writer, though. You get to pull apart your own timeline. You get to make it all wibbly-wobbly as you move pieces around to make a linear, coherent story. And, of course, there are fixed points in your story that you can't mess around with or else it creates a paradox!

My problem with this is that it is SO time consuming, and the copy and paste process of moving time around is kind of boring.

So basically, I put on a scarf and pretend I'm a TimeLord. I've gotta get back to this editing thing, before the world implodes.

Allons-y!

Kai Kiriyama lives in the frozen North, also known as Canada, with her pet snake Rhaegar. She is a novelist and a screenwriter (working towards publication) and is a regular contributor to Zombie Training Magazine. (www.zombietraining.com)

You can get in touch with Kai at any of the following locations:

Email: thekiriyamaheir@gmail.com
Twitter: @thekiriyamaheir
Facebook: www.facebook.com/authorkaikiriyama
Zombie Training: www.zombietraining.com

Milestone: First Rejection

I got my very first rejection letter today.

This is a new experience. I've been rejected before, for other jobs and whatever, but this was the first fiction story I've submitted to anything. Hence the first rejection letter I've ever received.

It was a simple, two line email that I made the mistake of reading before I was fully prepared to deal with anything today. [read: before I was properly caffeinated.] My initial reaction was to cry and to ostrich myself away forever. I didn't do either of those. My second reaction was to begin drinking immediately. But there was no alcohol in the house. I have since purchased some beer but have not started drinking yet, as I don't really feel the need to drown my sorrows with alcohol anymore.

I started to think about what this rejection means for me.

Well, first off, it means that I wasn't what the publisher was looking for. And that's okay. This was a short story that I had put an amazing effort into and yes, I'm pretty proud of how it turned out. I am smitten with my own ending. Definitely not something that I usually write, so that's a plus.

Secondly, it means that this story now has several options.

I could edit a bit more and submit it elsewhere, I could add more to the story and make it an actual novel (or novella if I'm feeling lazy) and submit it elsewhere, considering that it's a zombie story, I could probably get it cleared by ZT and have it printed in several instalments in the magazine, I could publish it on my blog for free reading...

The possibilities are not limited to what a single publisher is looking for. I am really only limited by my own time and imagination and drive to actually work on this story.

And that's all right, too.

I have a bunch of other projects on the go. Some are writing projects, some are personal projects, some are crafts, some are gifts... I'm really just limited by my own personal priorities and promises.

So now that I can look at this rejection with a clear head, and a more reasonable amount of caffeine in my bloodstream, what am I getting out of it?

Well, for one, I'm a little less cocky about it today. I went into submitting this story with full on confidence. I was utterly convinced that I was gonna get accepted and this would be my first official story published. My ego has taken a beating today and it's making me seriously reconsider my other works. Maybe I need a little more fine-tuning? Maybe I need to be more creative? Maybe I need to streamline my work? (I dunno how that last one is possible. I write screenplays that have no unnecessary scenes because I'm so to-the-point!)

I also realized that inflating my ego and being cocky is awesome. It makes the period of mourning about rejection a lot less brutal than it could be. I mean, I'm not crying. I'm not drunk. I'm sitting at my computer and I'm about to get back to work on another project while I decide what to do about this one. Being as cocky as I get means that the rejection hits hard, but I can bounce back pretty easily. It could be a lot worse. I don't deal with rejection well. You should see me when I get dumped. That's a horrible sight.

And is also a little bit off topic.

It means that I know that I can handle a rejection without spiralling into despair and madness (any more than I already am, anyway.)

It means that I have a story that could theoretically be submitted elsewhere and is fine tuned enough that I'm comfortable sending it out.

The point is that I have made peace with the rejection, understand that there are other fish int he sea, so to speak. I'm not angry, it's part of the game, and this is a game that I plan to keep playing for a long time. Writing is my craft and is going to be my full-time job. This story just wasn't meant to be the kick start I needed. And that's cool, too.

I dunno why I was rejected. I just wasn't what they were looking for this time.

But that's awesome, right? Because now I know that there are worse things than being rejected.

The Princess and the Punk

DISCLAIMER:

Before I begin, I'm being ranty, opinionated and probably relatively misogynistic. In real life I am a woman, I have gone through all sorts of ego busting, self-doubt, self-hate, hating on everyone else, low self-esteem and pretty much any negative aspect you can throw at a girl in general. I'm not writing this to pick on anyone. I'm writing this as a commentary on the way I view the media since I'm working my way into it slowly. Feel free to argue with me in the comments or wherever you feel most comfortable contacting me. I'm cool with that. I want to see your opinions, read your thoughts etc. I don't care if you're male, female, transgendered, alien, white, black, Asian, Hispanic, Atlantian, zombified, rich, poor, famous, obscure, or any combination of adjectives you care to throw at me. I'm observing, and commenting. And I have no problem in arguing with you 'till we're both blue in the face. However, I will not tolerate demonizing or invalidating my opinions, so let's keep it civil. Cheers.

Now, read on.

*****

I love the fact that there are such eager stereotypes that women in [the media] are thrown into. In my opinion, it boils down to three or four distinct types that are essentially broad generalizations, if not outright Tropes. There's the Princess, the Sweetheart, the Diva, and the Punk.

I find that these broad generalizations happen regardless of what you're doing. You're a woman, you're in any form of media and you're pretty much typecast. There are probably a hundred variations and sub-classes but for now, I want to focus on these four major stereotypes.

First off, there's the Princess. This is the golden child, the royalty of the media world. This is the girl who can do no wrong, and if she does, there will be another chance, another book, another film, another sex tape, etc ad nauseum. I find that this is where the up and coming stars fall once they "make it big". Kirsten Dunst, Reese Witherspoon, Lindsey Lohan, Drew Barrymore and so on and so on. They have all been in this spotlight at one point or another. They are (or were) the royalty of the silver screen for a time. These are the women who make headlines and are on the cover of every rag mag forever -- regardless of what sort of crazy fabricated drama is happening -- and are still making movies/books/music whatever. The Princesses are the cash cows, the golden calves, the most sought-after young talent who will annoy you forever. The Princesses will go one of two ways, typically: they either stay in Royalty mode, appearing to make headlines when they get another deal, or the turn into Divas. Princesses who remain Princesses are the women who will show up in a major blockbuster five years after we've forgotten about her without the typical downward spiral that we (as an audience) come to expect. Scarlett Johannsen is prime example of movie royalty. Emma Stone is a current Princess as well, in my opinion. They are sought after by movie executives and producers and star in amazingly big roles consistently without the drama of a drug binge or whatever sort of drama you're likely to see on the internet or in the rag mags. Very much royalty in that sense.

Then there's the Sweetheart. These are women who are very much like the Princess, but are generally super bubbly and cute. Some people call them "Manic Pixie girls" which I can now understand. Zooey Deschanel is the biggest perpetrator of the Sweetheart stereotype. I use the term stereotype as there is no better way to describe this. I'm sure all of the women I mention are decent humans, but for the sake of argument, these are all stereotypes that we've been given to digest. Sweethearts are the ones who show up on talk shows and are all manners and soft spoken or bubbly. Exactly what you think a 'Sweetheart' would be if you called your friend that. These are the women who are expected to be super nice all the time forever and who rarely hit tabloids for fabricated drama (unless there's a divorce/romance involved) and even then, it's usually fabricated or blown out of proportion.

Divas, on the other hand, are the women who you EXPECT to be on the cover of tabloids. Any Princess can turn into a Diva by having a fit. Diva is not used in the old-school term here, more in the way that they will throw a fit if everything isn't perfect. These are the women who can't handle the Princess lifestyle and tend to end up photographed drunk, doing drugs and generally being bad for publicity. This is not to be confused with Punks, which I will get to in a moment. I find that anyone who falls into the Diva category is someone who either shouldn't be famous but still is, is only famous for being rich/having a sex tape/ etc, or is so over the top that you can't help but allow them to be famous for whatever they're doing. You can figure out who's a Diva int his sense on your own.

Finally, we have the Punks. These are women who stand up and out and will not be conformed by wearing pink and relying on men/fate/whatever to dictate their shit (within reason of remaining in their current profession.) Although, I suppose that with today's technology and things like Kickstarter, the true Punk women are taking a lot more control over things. My biggest examples of successful Punk women are Amanda Palmer and Avril Lavigne. These are women who do what they want, when they want and give a big ol' middle finger to the expectations of the media and have made a successful career for themselves.

Having said all of this, I get to the overall point of this rant.

I find that women who fall under the Princess or Sweetheart category are typically more successful than Punks. Divas are successful for reasons beyond my worldly comprehension and I assume black magic is involved with anyone who ends up like Lindsay Lohan or Britney Spears.

I can respect the women who fall under the Princess or Sweetheart category. I really can. In my opinion, some of my favorite female actors fall into one of those two categories. And I applaud their success.

Now the question is: do you HAVE to start out as a Princess or a Sweetheart to make it anywhere these days?

I'm definitely not a Princess. I'm a genuinely nice person in real life, but I do very much appreciate the word "fuck" in everyday conversation. Does that make me less of a Sweetheart? Probably. I love action movies. I love fight scenes, I love "guy" movies. I love to read books that involve adventure and fighting and pillaging. I'm turned off my chick lit or chick flicks or romance. Hell, I don't even read erotica. I listen to punk music, and heavy metal, and I will happily drink beer over a Cosmopolitan any day and yet, I can cook, clean, sew, crochet and generally run a house like any good wife should be able to do.

But what I write is definitely not what you'd expect from a Princess or a Sweetheart.

I march to the beat of my own drum (and that drum typically sounds like a rowing beat on a Viking longship) and I don't let the opinions of the general public get to me. I wear my hair short and would rather pull on a pair of jeans than a dress and flip off the camera instead of blowing a kiss to the photographer. 

But is my Punk nature going to make me second fiddle to the literary Princesses? Is my Vikings-versus-Aliens intentional B-movie going to be rejected in exchange for a Sappy Romance Drivel B-movie?

I'll never know until I try, but right now, it feels like there's very little hope for women who refuse to play the Tropes,

Never afraid of a bit of controversy, Kai lives in Canada in a stuffy room with her laptop and too much caffeine. She spends her days performing menial and mundane tasks that her so-called real-life demands and spends her nights not sleeping due to chronic insomnia. 

Kai is also a contributor to Zombie Training Magazine. www.zombietraining.com

Kai loves to chat (and she loves a challenge). If you wanna get in touch with her, you can do so at the following places:

Email: thekiriyamaheir@gmail.com
Twitter: @thekiriyamaheir
Facebook: facebook.com/authorkaikiriyama

The Story of Thor and Skrymir (Kai's version)

One day, Thor, Sif, Tyr and Loki were having an argument about who the mightiest of them all was. It is worth noting that the gods were all fairly drunk at this point, and that we're talking about huge Viking gods, not the pitiful Marvel adaptations who are little more than aliens. Anyway, the argument got rather heated, as the mead continued to flow long after the other gods all went to bed for the night.

Each of the gods claimed that they were the mightiest, and if the stories are to be believed, only Thor could really  back that claim up, but still the arguments were presented.

Finally, Loki convinced the others that if they really wanted to test their might, they should all go to the coldest place that they could find and perform various feats of amazingness, and since Joutenheim was off limits, they went to Midgard, to the Arctic Circle.

So off they went in Thor's chariot (which as you know is pulled by two male goats and is not the most glamourous thing there is to travel around in.) In retrospect, Thor realized that it was a good thing that his father was asleep because Odin doesn't approve of drunk driving. (Let this be a lesson to all of you, there's no excuse for drunk driving and Odin will punish you if you do it.)

With a less than elegant landing in a snowdrift, the gods disembark from Thor's chariot and they all begin building snow forts because there's nothing else to do in the North Pole.

Sif's snow fort was a multiple roomed castle, complete with a sauna.

Thor build a squat longhall with a burning fire in the center of the room.

Tyr said fuck that and built a modest igloo but tamed a pair of polar bears to guard his new house.

Loki just sat and watched his friends build their snow creations with a smirk on his face. When the others were finished their creations, Loki stood slowly, shaking the snow from his shoulders. He transformed himself into a giant, a giant even more giant than regular giants because he was Loki and his ego demanded it. With a laugh, he began kicking apart the snow forts that his friends had built. Tyr's polar bears tried to stop him but he picked them up and tossed them over the arctic tundra and they didn't come back.

"Loki!" Thor cried. "You douchebag!" (Douchebag is an ancient Norse word that is, of course, translated to mean 'he who is a bag of douches.) "Now we are cold, and drunk and have no place to sleep. Also, my goats have been eaten by those polar bears you threw and we're stuck here until we're sober."

"No! You foolish Thunder-bitch!" Loki replied. "While it is true that we are trapped here until morning, I have proven once again that you are all silly and that I am the mightiest."

Tyr scratched his head with his one good hand. "How's that?" He slurred drunkenly, more than a little choked up about the loss of his polar bears.

"Well, as you know, I'm not a simple Aesir like you. In my blood runs the tolerance to freezing cold because I'm awesome and part giant." Loki explained impatiently. "And so I can withstand even the coldest temperatures in all the Nine Realms."

"We're still stuck, Loki." Sif said grumpily. "You moron."

Loki simply laughed. "My point, dear sister-in-law, is that I can sit here all night and not complain, but you all will freeze and die and I've half a mind to let you."

"I"m telling Father." Thor said pompously.

"Tattle-tale." Loki snapped. With a dramatic sigh, he took off one of his gloves and dropped it to the ground. "I was going to give you my vest, but you're all so ungrateful that you can sleep in my glove and just deal with it." He folded his arms over his chest and spent the rest of the night sulking.

Thor and Sif and Tyr, however, all climbed inside the glove and had the best sleep of their lives snuggled in the fingers of Loki's glove.

None of them would admit to Loki being the mightiest, though.

The End.

Kai likes to make things up, and this is her version of why Thor and his friends would have slept in Giant-Loki's glove. 

Send Kai your feedback, she loves it. 

A moment of Randomness...

I was in a bad mood and decided to vent the angry with a silly.

So I wrote a song.

I also have a habit of intentionally derailing Internet arguments by instigating Nazis, (not sure how that works,) or by arguing religion as an Asgardian Worshiper. Whatever. Enjoy. Or not. I don't much care, I am insane right now.

I present, the Nazi Song - sung in the key of Llama:

Here's a Nazi, there's a Nazi,
And a fucking lot of Nazis.
Happy Nazi, Grammar Nazi,
Nazi, Nazi, Duck.

I used to be a Nazi,
In Auschwitz I would play,
Until the Allied Forces showed up and saved the day.

Did you ever see a Nazi?
Touch a Nazi? On a Nazi?
Half a Nazi, Femi-Nazi,
Nazi, Nazi, Duck.