Update, not of the poetic kind, although I’m sure I could dip down into my murmuring soul/soil and find something there. But! Last month I finished the first draft of Throwaways, which has been a torturous journey since I began it three years ago. I’m taking a short break to work on a young adult novel tentatively titled “Fall on Me” (yes, after an R.E.M. song), about a young lady who finds herself at odds with a gang of roving tornadoes…I’m about 14k into it at the moment. When I’m done, I’ll plunge into the revision of Throwaways so I can quickly dust off my hands like it was never part of my life. I’ll be so glad when that book is behind me, although I love it very much, and it helped me power through some tough times. Tomorrow I’ve got a story out at Extract(s), which I’m excited to unleash upon the world. Until then, my fair friends.
I forgot to post about this in June, when it first came out. Since I have another piece coming out at a different venue tomorrow, I thought I should post to it now.
You can read “Your Words are Your Life, Your Death” at BookLifeNow.com
So, in a weird twist of fate that I’ll totally embrace, I was invited to attend this year’s Norwescon, which runs from March 28-31, 2013, at the Doubletree Hotel located at the Seattle Airport.
Here’s my schedule. Hope to see some wonderful people there! I’ll be helping out with the Baen Party on Saturday night, so be sure to come visit!
You can visit the website here.
Norwescon 36 Pro Schedule for Lauren Dixon
A reading! From “Throwaways” Thursday 6:30pm-7:00pm Cascade 1
An abused runaway meets the Immortal, who travels through doors no one else can see. Is he hiding something more sinister? When Susie winds up with some of his powers, she finds out.
Writing Poetry Friday 10:00am-11:00am Cascade 6
Writing poetry and sending it to markets for publication. An overview of markets. Form vs. free verse. How can writing poetry impact your writing of short and long fiction?
Panelists: Mae Empson, Camille Alexa, Lauren Dixon
Residential Writing Workshops: Clarion and More Sunday 2:00pm-3:00pm Cascade 3&4
Learn about the major genre workshops like Clarion, Clarion West, Odyssey, Viable Paradise, and more. Are you ready to attend a residential workshop? What will you learn? Each workshop has advantages and disadvantages, so which workshop will work best for you?
Panelists: Leslie Howle, J.M. Sidorova, Lauren Dixon, Tod McCoy
When external forces conspire against you, let them go.
So, I’m participating in the Clarion West Write-a-thon. This organization is a huge part of my life, and I’d like to give as much as I possibly can back to it. One of the ways I can do that comes through the annual Write-a-thon, which occurs during the workshop itself. While those brave souls are out weathering the writing storm, I’m cowering within my office, trying to concoct the best works I know to write. Since today was the first official day of the Write-a-thon (and yesterday the first unofficial day), I’m posting the words I wrote here. This is an unedited excerpt from my work-in-progress, “Throwaways,” a young adult novel that has been eating away at me for the better part of a year. If you’d like to sponsor me, you can do so by visiting my Write-a-thon page here.
And there is a power that holds, that sways her to do as it suggests, that makes her sit when it says to sit, to beg when it says to beg. She always follows, even when it burns, the words that say “yes, please” a catch on her throat, acid that eats through everything she might have been, might have seen. But she doesn’t know how to do those things anymore, to follow the man when he says he’s to be obeyed, to be honored and trusted and acknowledged as the one who truly knows.
Who is it that she follows? She tries to see the world through his eyes, tries to look beyond the quivering acquiescence that rattles through her, even when she tries to shake it off. All the edges blur into a prism of the not-right, of the mistaken. She sees fire, a haze of black that clouds and suffocates, a billowing breeze that swells into her throat and shakes her lungs into spasms of yes and no, before it spits her out into a mess of blood, a red river that drips thick drops into broken ditches bursting with dead things like crawfish, drowned grasshoppers, spiders and, somehow, even snakes.
“They’re not ours,” he says, quiet, in her ear.
She whirls, but he’s not there. Of course not. A shadow in her mind, he waits for her to break. How he bridges the walls, she doesn’t fathom. “They made a choice.”
“Like I get one,” she says, ready to crush the bugs showing her up, exposing her weaknesses. She just followed, as usual, and look where that got her? She glances at her wrist, veins blue against paper skin.
“You know your answer was already written.” Though she can’t see it, she can hear the voice sneer, a reminder. No control, remember? You were destined to take my place, it says. To give me back the power you found through the ever-lasting loophole.
A lump pushes back at her when she tries to swallow, to ignore the stupid reminder. Every day, the annoying pest that says, “you were built for this.”
“There’s nothing I was built for,” she tries to say, but the words just sicken her, a swirl of rotted thoughts she can’t control.