Category Archives: Catwaxery

Next Big Thing Memery

I’ve been double-tagged by Nerine Dorman and Joan de la Haye, and I was going to be a slacker and pass, but then Tammy February said, “No, do it,” and I am a sucker to peer pressure so here you go.

What is your working title of your book?

New Hob Book. I know right? It’s genius. See, it’s a new book in the Hobverse. GEDDIT? Amazing. *rewards self with giant knickerbocker glory*

 

 Sometimes I have great titles, but mostly I scavenge for a title at the end. Okay, so sometimes should read never and mostly should read always. Except for that one time where I wrote a book called The Whine of Tiny Violins Dogs Me Through My Morose Existence of Moroseness. That was pretty epic.

Where did the idea come from for the book?

From other things? I dunno. I never have one single idea that feeds into a story. I collect and filter data obsessively, instinctively. I am the sea cucumber of writers.

Wait, this possibly makes my books the equivalent of sea cucumber shit. Do sea cucumbers shit? I must know.

Okay, back from my friend google. Not only do sea cucumbers make number twos, but their poo helps save the world. You heard it here first.

What genre does your book fall under?

Secondary world fantasy. Basically, stuff that happens in an imaginary world that is not this one. People who have read my work probably spot bits and pieces of Cape Town and Joburg and Knysna and Kleinmond woven in to the scenery.

Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?

 

Um…ones that look like people would be nice. Acting skills would also be good. I dunno. I can’t even remember the last movie I watched. Oh wait, yes I can, or at least, my partner can. I asked him. He said Emmanuelle. God that was dreadful. I swear he only made me watch it in revenge for forcing him to watch Withnail and I with me. (In case there is any misunderstanding, Withnail is genius. Some people can’t see the genius but psshh whatever.)

 

What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?

I haven’t thought of one yet. It’s about a midwife who takes the magic out of babies’ heads. Then he* agrees to FORM A MAGICAL BABBY with someone in exchange for busting his sister out of prison. And some stuff happens. Shhhhh. I don’t know, I’m not done yet.

Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?

Who knows? The book is set in the same universe as When the Sea is Rising Red and there are things that happen in the story that feed into the later events of Felicita’s time with the Whelk Streeters. The industry is a fickle beast so I’m not running predictions on anything.

How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?

Ha! You’re so cute. I’m like . . . not even half way through the first draft.

What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?

 

Um? I mean, I know who I’d like to be compared to, but let us not get ahead of ourselves. People who like fantasy books that are more about people than magic, internal struggles over external, character-driven over plot-driven – those readers might like my work.

Who or what inspired you to write this book?

My Muses and Me. See them skip about. See me cry and gnash my teeth. See my coffee taste like salty pain.

 

What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?

I have no idea. See. I’m great at this. Oh okay, if you liked Lilya and her wild magic from When the Sea is Rising Red, then this story will probably be for you. Also if you like people struggling to fit into the roles their family history has decided for them, sexual identity/attraction confusion, sister love-hate, red-headed boys, and awkward, desperate decisions that backfire horribly, then yeah I’d say you might go for this one. This time there are less tea shops and drugs, and more wetlands and card-sharps.

So If you’re interested in playing, I’ll tag five other writers. They’re cool people, so whether or not they do this, you should go read their stuff because basically. Yes.

 

Ryan Gebhart likes bears. I mean, really likes bears. He’s like John Irving for kids. With less rape and incest. Okay, not like John Irving at all. It’s not Paddington, is what I’m saying.

Catherine Knutsson wrote an amazing, beautiful book about shamanism and a new world – Shadows Cast By Stars. One of my favourite reads of this year.

Not the queen of Carthage, luckily for her, Elissa Janine Hoole writes some of the best contemporary YA I’ve read. She’s insightful and lyrical and honest in her writing. Go read Kiss the Morning Star for roadtrippin’ with bears and yes.

Love Sucks author Sage Collins is secretly a mad scientist who plans to take over the world, until then, she writes books about people who may or may not be superheroes.

And sticking with out superhero theme, Grace is possibly an actual superhero trying to save the world (from Sage? who knows?) She also has some of the coolest fan art I’ve ever seen and I’m not at all jealous, oh no.

*Yes.

 

My home gym

Also known as, my home.

After my visit down to cape town where I realised I was now officially the fattest person in the family, I decided to do something about it:  clean my house.  That and garden.

Obviously.

Dailyplate is giving me some crazy readings, none of which I actually trust – 870 calories burned doing housework and gardening? Uh…yeah. Whatever.  I am noticing a difference in my arms already though — obviously hauling around watering can after watering can to water my new veggie beds is paying off. (I don’t have a hose, and I’m considering not getting one.)

Null and Void went slowly today, I wrote about another 600 words, if even. Slacker Cat is a slacker.

I did like bits and pieces though, so at least I’m not going to delete the whole thing in a tantrum any time soon.

stats:  7126 / 90 00o

snippet:

 

On we go, until the sky is greying, and the first sparrows wake to astonish the sky. Pigeons wheeze in the eaves of the buildings around us. The last of the stars are almost gone, and only the signal star still revolves, lamp-lit and singing so high that my ears ache.

His arms are folded across the heaving sea.

The Slave and I did a dry run tent-raising, and I cannot begin to express the amount of love I have for my pink tent. It is tres fab. I snuggle it.

I wish wish wish I could take a picture but alas I can haz no camera. Boo.

Today has been pretty whack in terms of actually getting anything done. In theory, I’m supposed to clean my house and organise stuff to pack and do home school with Sprog the Elder. I’ve done like . . . half of these things.  Failcake surprise!! Only not really, because we all know I am a lazy lazy person.

This morning I managed to write a staggering 323 words. But then a Very Important Potato pointed me at this bonsai story tree at critters. Ans so I spent the morning creating bizarre word poems out of old and new manuscripts.

 Heavy velvet curtains fell from outside influence.

and

 and double-checked the fact that the day is a bizarre orange shade

and

 His fingers are blinded at the flapping lines.

Or even this

 The sun was still scraping by, but he unfolds his pockets, and he finally stands there, trembling.