Category: writing

I am not a plant

There’s a discussion on Nicola’s website (scroll down to the last question) about the role of music in her work. I’m curious about how you use music in your writing? Thanks.

Anonymous

I’ve been enjoying that conversation. Music has always been essential to me, but it took that question and Nicola’s response to make me think in more detail about how I feel about music and how I use it in my work.

I’m a verbally-centered person. Language is my primary tool to ground myself, to express myself, to connect with others. That’s part of the writing deal, of course, but it can be limiting. Some things are not so easily expressed in words. Sometimes a person just has to dance, or cry, or throw their arms out and try to hug the world. Music is my conduit to this part of myself.

There are things I’ve learned about myself only through particular pieces of music that have taken hold of me throughout my life. Music is one of the few things in the world that I respond to by wanting to move, to feel, to think, all at the same time, instead of giving preference to thinking as I often do. And it has meaning for me beyond just the words and the beat. Some music has become a part of my self-identity in a way that’s hard to articulate –” not just I like this or I get this but I am this: this particular intersection of rhythm and voice and word and sound is about me, for me, of me.

My work so far tends either to use music overtly in this way, or to pretty much ignore it as an emotional force and just treat it as another feature of the environment. Strings is an example of the former, as is my most recent (unpublished) story in which a woman imagines herself a rock star. Those stories are, in one particular way, the most revealing and personal pieces of fiction I have written. In Solitaire, music is background.

It’s hard for me to imagine using music in my work the way Nicola does in hers. We have a fair amount of overlap in our musical tastes, but we experience even the music in very different ways. What a surprise (ironic smile): Nicola and I are different. Different people, different writers. Segue to one of my hot buttons: I get grumpy sometimes at assumptions that my work must automatically always be informed by hers, as if she were the sun and all the rest of us are plants or something. Someone commented online a while ago that since Nicola and I are partners, I had clearly modeled Solitaire on the themes of Slow River. I find this more annoying than I can possibly express.

Please don’t misunderstand me, I am not slamming your question –” in fact, I appreciate the careful setting of context (“this discussion on Nicola’s website made me wonder…”) without the actual request to “please compare and contrast yourself to Nicola.” And of course I do compare and contrast myself to her, as she does to me. Maybe I should give her approach to music-in-fiction a whirl just to see how it goes. It’s good to stretch. But I’m not sure that I could assign specific pieces of music to a moment in the story without wanting to go all the way with it and turn it into the sort of experience for the character that it is for me. And that’s not always right for the work.

As I write this, I am listening to what I think of as the early Aerosmith “trilogy”: Get Your Wings, Toys in the Attic, and Rocks. Steven Tyler is wailing about being back in the saddle again. The bass line kicks ass. I am dancing in my chair. Time to go do some work.

New cover

This one is for everyone here… And for the occasion, I’ve brought a huge punchbowl of lime jello (it’s spiked). However, there’s a catch: There is only one spoon. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be communal. I did bring a package of plastic spoons for the seriously cootie conscious. But I must say that it’s not as fun that way.

I was just wondering what everyone thought about the rumored cover change for the 2004 paperback Solitaire.

I like the cover the way it is, but something about it has always (well, since the day I picked it up) reminded me of Tori Amos. I think it’s the little open square. There’s nothing wrong with Tori Amos (two words: Kate Bush. I’m being cursed by a Tori fan right now, I’m sure). Has anyone else felt that way about it? Perhaps it wouldn’t look so “Tori” if half of her face was being pulled away…like the painting (the one that was in the style of Munch’s, The Scream) in Solitaire. Or, if half of her face was white with a black smudge for an eye…like the other painting. I think it will be interesting to see what changes, if any, are made in the cover.
 
In the 3rd grade, my mom got rid of cable. I got in trouble at school for drawing inappropriate Halloween scenes. It was an art project –” we had to cut out a haunted house. This was done with black construction paper. Then we had to paste it onto Manila paper. The houses had windows with shutters. In each window, we had to draw something scary… for Halloween. While everyone else had pumkins, bats and witches behind their shutters, I had a severed head on a platter, a blood stained crucifix on a blood spattered mattress, a hand clenching a bloody machete, etc., etc…. My brother, who is seven yrs. older than me, let me watch the movies he and his friends watched. We didn’t even get the movie channels, but everyone knew that if you undid the cable box and stuck a pin in a strategic location, you’d get them. So, I saw “Friday the 13th”, “Halloween”, “The Exorcist”, “Heavy Metal”, “The Wall”, “Trilogy of Terror”… you name it. Needless to say, I had a different idea of “scary”. And maybe, for more personal reasons than I thought, I’d like to see a more dramatic cover (minus all the blood, of course) –” something in the style of Estar.

Anyway, that is all.

Lindsey

I’ve just recently seen the new cover and it rocks. I think you will not be disappointed. It’s fantastic, I love it, and it’s very different from the current cover.

It’s designed by Archie Ferguson, an artist and designer who works for Knopf and has designed a truckload of wonderful covers including William Gibson’s Pattern Recognition.

This could have come out of Estar’s brain, for sure. I will be interested to hear what people think of it. I’m feeling quite fortunate. I’ve had two great covers with very different images –” two chances to reach different audiences.
 
The Scariest Movies In The World for me have been Alien, Jaws, and The Haunting Of Hill House (the original, not the silly remake). Anyone who enjoys great writing and has never read The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson, yikes, do yourself a favor. She wrote beautifully. Other scary novel favorites: Ghost Story by Peter Straub, The Shining by Stephen King. It’s always a treat when a writer is good enough to tell a frightening story without having to serve up a buffet of body parts. The Texas Chainsaw Massacre or any other of the million billion Grade-B horror movies or novels running loose in the world just don’t do it for me. Graphic violence is no substitute for good writing or good storytelling.
 

What about some short stories?

I believe I’ve read all the short stories on your website, and I loved every one of them. What are the chances of you publishing a short story anthology so that I can read more of them, take them home and give them as presents to friends? Or maybe you and Nicola could do a short story anthology together…

Nicola and I do kick around the notion of doing a joint collection, and tend to think that would be more attractive to publishers right now than a single collection from either of us (because there’s the whole couple spin for marketing purposes, and the academics and reviewers can have a field day trying to figure out who stole what from whom). I honestly don’t think I could sell a single author collection right now1. I don’t have enough of an SF reputation to support a collection in the genre (that’s a really hard sell), and mainstream publishers wouldn’t touch it. So there you go.

I’m glad you enjoyed the stories. If you were signed up on the mailing list before January 1, you’ve also read an as-yet unpublished story (“Shine”) that I sent out to the list as a Happy New Year gift. Otherwise, you’ve read everything there is for a while, at least.

1 — But maybe in a few years (grin)…

Revenge and love in Solitaire

Hello, Just a note with bits and bites of my thoughts on your book.

Nicola might have passed on i posted on the AOL lesbian reading group bulletin board that i really liked Solitaire. Anyhow, in no particular order, here are some thoughts.

Hope you get the Nebula. And the Lammy.

Oops spoiler here i guess, the book didn’t really kick in for me until the elevator attack. I stopped reading at that point and had a deep breath. Then she gets the option of going into VC and when she says ‘I don’t think i can be alone for eight years’, wow, i stopped there again. That’s really where this book went BANG for me and then i was hooked lined and sinkered. The first part was mostly set up, but there were bits of Jackal and Snow that made me think they weren’t going to be cut off. At least it made me pull for the characters to come out ok.

I noted how the story doesn’t touch revenge or getting even. I didn’t find it necessary, just somewhat unusual.

Jackal doesn’t even get mad at her parents, at least not her father, nor Neill, nor KO and it’s so easy to hate some big corporation. But i guess the corporation in a way is home to her, it’s where she went while in VC.

I thought the line where Snow tells Neil that Jackal loves him just stuck out, didn’t go anywhere. He’s important but to use the word ‘love’ was a bit far. ‘Love’ is between Snow and Jackal. You had some lines there (i can’t recall them anymore) that really felt spot on for me. I know the book wasn’t intended to be romantic, but there was a bit of it the way i read it.

Boy, do they drink a lot. (g)

What about a sequel? More, more.

Thanks for writing a thought provoking, heart rending read.

Please leave off my email if you post this on the virtual pint. Nice name that.

Cheers, V.

I’m glad you liked it. Thanks for taking the time to share your response.

No Lammy for Solitaire. The nominations have been posted, and Solitaire is not among them (although Nicola’s novel Stay has been nominated, which is a Very Fine Thing). Thanks for your kind wishes about the Nebula. Win or no, it will be fun to turn up at the ceremony and spend time with people that we haven’t seen for a while. I very rarely really feel like part of the science fiction community, and it will be unusual and interesting to be right in the thick of it for a few days.

Revenge in books is mostly wish-fulfillment. That’s fine, but not what I wanted to do in Solitaire. I think we’d like to believe that we can get even when bad things happen to us, but usually it doesn’t work out that way. Just think about the language — we want to get “even” with the people who have hurt us. But that’s not possible. If someone damages me or the people I love, how can I make that even? How can there be a balance for that? At the end of it all, Jackal has to live with what’s happened, and so do we. I do think she’s mad at her parents, at Ko, sometimes at the whole damn world. But the book isn’t about someone being bitter. I said in the previous question that Jackal behaves the way I would like to, and that’s also true for what we’re talking about here — I hope that when my foundation drops out from under me in one of the several inevitable ways, I will find a way through it rather than being swallowed up. Sometimes the things I write about are a kind of rehearsal.

We can disagree about proper applications of the word “love.” It’s the word I meant to use, and I think Jackal does love Neill, although not the way she loves Snow, or her parents, or the Ko greenbelt, or the feeling of being a Hope, or any of the other degrees of attachment and vulnerability possible along this particular emotional spectrum. It’s a shame to make one poor little word do so much work, but there it is. Your mileage may vary.

They do drink a lot, don’t they? (grin). I wonder where they get that from.

Cheers.

ASL and JME

Just some ice water…had a bonfire in the snow last night…a break-up party for a friend… too much schnapps in the Swiss Miss.

I was wondering about a couple of things. In a previous question, you mentioned your interest in sign language. Did you start that program? Is it really good? And, have you ever seen the movie Children of a Lesser God? I loved that movie –” when she describes the sound of the ocean –” when she screamed, “Hear my voice,” I was bawling my eyes out. That movie made me want to learn sign language. And for a year I had a crush on Marlee Matlin (sp?)…I was thirteen. I never did get around to learning it though. I know the alphabet and I used to know how to count. But that’s all. If it had been there when I was in school, I probably would have taken it instead of french.

In Solitaire, Scully’s aftershock behind the bar made me think of seizures. I’ve never seen a real one. Have you? I have JME and have had plenty of seizures (haven’t had one in 9 yrs and no more zombie meds either)… Anyway, friends and classmates would tell me what I looked like when I was having one. When Scully looked like he was going to reach out, when he made the nasty strangled sound and his eyes rolled back… that whole scene (except that his body was relaxed during the aftershock), was scary for me to read because, in a weird way, it was as if I hit play on the VCR and there I was seizing in front of myself. What Jackal does for Scully, other people have done for me… move stuff out of the way etc., etc. So, have you seen a seizure? Have you ever had to move stuff out of the way for someone? Just curious.

Thanks for taking the time to answer yet another one of my questions,

Lindsey

I enjoy your questions, it’s nice to have an extended conversation.

I did start my class and I love it. Love love love. I study at ASLIS, the American Sign Language & Interpreting School of Seattle. It turns out that many students in my class moved to Seattle specifically to study at the school, and that kind of commitment makes for a pretty tight bonding experience. It’s a great place to be if one is serious about ASL. Classes are small (and will get smaller next year, since some people take class as a foreign language credit for the University of Washington, and won’t be staying for the full program). We get a lot of teacher attention (also known as nowhere to run, nowhere to hide…) There’s a big emphasis on community involvement and learning about Deaf culture. It’s focused and intense and treats us like grownups, all of which work well for me in a learning situation.

I have seen Children of a Lesser God 2 or 3 times and really admire Marlee Matlin’s work. I love the scene in which she dances, feeling the music. I recently saw a repeat of an episode of The Practice that she did in 2000, in which she played a woman on trial for killing the man who murdered her daughter. There was an amazing scene between Matlin and Camryn Manheim (side note, Camryn Manheim rocks) –” they have an argument in ASL and as it heats up, Manheim stops voicing, and there’s a good 60-90 seconds of (silent) ASL between two very pissed-off people. No subtitles for the ASL-impaired; either the viewer keeps up or she doesn’t. It was exciting to watch, and very powerful.

I don’t believe I’ve ever witnessed a seizure –” I’m guessing the images and notions I have mostly come from books and movies/TV. I’m glad you don’t have to make a daily choice between seizing and zombification –” that sounds pretty unhappy either way. This is the first time I’ve really thought about the fact that people who experience seizures might not know what one is like (what they look like, or how people react). I imagine it’s unsettling to know something about yourself only from others’ perceptions, especially if the people around you are afraid. I hope your friends and classmates were sensible, although so much of that depends on our particular socialization (“bodies are icky and illness is embarrassing and what if I do the wrong thing?” versus “bodies are part of the package, they get wacky or hurt sometimes, and we just have to do what we think is best to help”).

So few of us are trained how to approach new and urgent situations, and how to trust ourselves in action. Specialized knowledge is good, but damn, there’s no substitute for common sense and the willingness to take some responsibility. Jackal behaves the way I hope I would: and now that I’m thinking about this, I realize that my next book looks at this issue (how people behave in crisis) more intentionally. Hmm. I wonder how many little moments in Solitaire reflect themes or ideas that are important to me but still subterranean, that I will explore in future books, maybe forever.

Don’t blame genre

Oversized mugs of hot chocolate for everyone!!! Oh, and there’s fluff, little marshmallows, whipped cream and shaved chocolate if anyone wants some. I’m assuming it’s -2 everywhere… Noreasters (sort of like Dairy Queen blizzards) for those in warmer places! I know… I’m taking the virtual beverage thing too far. But it’s fun.

I just wanted to say that I agree with you about the pleasure of story. I mean, it was all that I took away from your short stories that led me to Solitaire in the first place. I’ve been on this need-to-know-more kick. I read five really good stories this month, one right after the other (Solitaire, the fifth), and so I’ve been thinking and thinking and thinking. And thinking. Restless, really. And then I thought, “Wow. I don’t know as much as I thought I did”. And so, the need-to-know-more thing…

And second guessing, which is new to me. Without realizing it, I think I just wanted to know what Solitaire meant to you (and everyone else here), because I know what it means to me. For whatever reason, knowing what it means to me isn’t enough. Maybe I should find a book club that plans to read Solitaire (I’m laughing).

Have fun,
Lindsey

Don’t laugh too hard (smile)! I would love book clubs from coast to coast to throw their arms around Solitaire and hug it hard. It’s one of the best ways to make a book successful.

The thing is, I know why you’re laughing, too, because it’s just not really book club fodder, is it? I’m not sure exactly why I think that only a book club brave of heart would take it on. Well, I know partly why — I think of book clubs as mainstream organisms, and expect them to be more enthusiastic about Bridget Jones and the Ya-Ya Sisters than they would be about a young woman with an identity crisis and a crocodile in her head.

I am grateful for anyone who reads at all, even if they never touch my work, but I do think that many readers have a fairly narrow band of taste (even if the band is in some extreme part of the spectrum). People tend to like certain kind of stories, or certain ways of storytelling. I wish more readers knew that it’s not necessarily the genre they like or dislike, it’s the storytelling style or the story’s concerns. Nicola and I often remark on how many people have said to one of us I don’t like science fiction, but I love your stuff! Well, if they like our stuff, of course there’s a lot of other SF they won’t like, because it’s told differently, with different conventions and concerns.

I can understand people saying I’ve never before read any SF that I enjoyed, which is to me a very different statement. But genre no longer means prose style and plot content. Things have become more subtle than that. I think genre these days is more about particular storytelling assumptions, freedoms and limitations that help us define something as SF or thriller or Russian Depression Novel. I do think there are plenty of formulaic books in all genres, but at the heart of each book is the story that wants to be told. Either a reader will connect with the story and the way it’s told, or she won’t.

And speaking of connecting, please join me in a virtual toast to the Nebula Jury who liked Solitaire well enough to put it on the final ballot for the Nebula Award, doing great honor to the book and giving me a very interesting start to the week.

Numbers game

Hi Kelley:

I read “Strings” as a result of an email sent (and posted) to Nadja. Wow!!!!!!! Thanks for the taste. I can see Solitaire is next on my list.

Great work and website. Isn’t it nice to be “riding high on the crest of public approval.”

Aren’t we all imprisoned by a means of our own device?

Scott

I’m very fond of Strings, glad you liked it. I’m assuming since you found the post on Nadja’s website, that you also followed the trail to C.A. Casey’s article at Strange Horizons (but here it is again for people who may not know about it). I enjoyed the article thoroughly, and was jazzed that Nadja actually read the story.

Riding high on the crest of public approval doesn’t suck, for as long as it lasts. The trick is not to turn it into heroin, because one day the fix just won’t be there. Public approval is ephemeral, and contextual. Solitaire got a very strong response for a first SF novel, but that same response might be considered mediocre for a mainstream novel with same caliber of advance quotes and the same amount of pre-publication buzz. And if the critical approval doesn’t translate into sales, well… publishing is a business, and they don’t pay royalties on good reviews.

I don’t know how much you know (or care) about the business of publishing, but what I’m waiting for now are the sell-through figures. I know how many books were printed, ordered and shipped to booksellers. If stores are going to return large quantities of the book (because they think they will never sell them, or they’re tight on inventory space, or they have policies about turning inventory on a regular schedule), they will generally do so within about 6 months –” in my case, by the end of February. It’s nice when stores order lots of books, and bad when they return lots. At the end of all this, HarperCollins will look at the percentage of books that “sold through” (shipments minus returns) and use this to roll their numbers and determine whether the book has been a financial success for them.

At the same time, bookstores will have noted the individual store sell-through. When my next book is published, they’ll go back to these records as a guide. The worst place a writer can find herself is on the downward spiral of “well, we ordered way too many last time, let’s cut that order in half this time” (as opposed to, “wow, her last book did well for us, let’s bring in a few more this time”). It’s better in some ways to sell 90% of 100 books than 50% of 180 books.

In the meantime, I am not ungrateful! I’m delighted with the response. Happy writer. I like being approved of. And even though Solitaire certainly hasn’t been universally praised, the criticism has almost always been intelligent and interesting. And really, the best part is the growing interaction I have with readers through this site. I even find myself answering Virtual Pint questions when I should be working on my new book (grin).

Sure, we’re all prisoners of our own device (the Eagles said so, it must be true). That’s what fear is. Solitaire was written on some level for anyone who’s experienced the liberation of kicking down one of her own particular walls.

The dream pub

It seems strange that my first contact with the world of authors’ sites would be after reading only two chapters of a writer’s book (and nothing of her stories), but that is a sincere tribute to the person, the book, and the site. I’m looking forward very much to cozy nights in the pub exploring the worlds of Kelley Eskridge and Nicola.

John Young

I hope the virtual pub is comfortable and properly provisioned. I’m finding it pretty cozy myself, really enjoying it. And, of course, I hope you enjoy the book as well, and would look forward to any comments you might wish to share.

I’m curious about what brought you here after only two chapters. Please note, this isn’t a veiled request for lots of ego strokes about marvelous writing or whatever, but rather a question about the psychology around the access made possible by the web and an individual website. Did something in the book make you curious about me specifically? Do you generally go out and look for more information about artists whose work interests you? What are your criteria for sticking with a site like this? This is an open question for anyone, really. Those of you who have read through the material on this site know that I’m interested in notions of access and connection. I know what kind I’m willing to grant — less than some, more than others — and I know what kind I hope for from people whose work I admire. But that’s just me. I’m guessing that mileage varies wildly in this regard. If anyone wants to talk about this, I would find it interesting and instructive.

Your comment also got me imagining my dream pub. A neighborhood place, a little shabby from the outside with an entrance off the main road, so that the regulars can feel safe and just that bit smug about our good fortune. There would always a table free for me and mine, of course (grin). A main room with just enough bustle that never got too far on the wrong side of noise and crowd. A snug with soft leather armchairs and a lovely fireplace. Oranjeboom, Redhook, Fullers ESB and proper Dublin Guinness on draft. Decent champagne and brandy. A couple of startling and dramatic wines. A bartender who is a renaissance person with an extensive lending library and a genuine talent for making people feel welcome. Giant hamburgers with homemade buns and sautéed onions, and special handed-down-for-generations mayonnaise-based secret sauces. Fried zucchini and fried okra. Haddock and the best chips in the universe. Hummus with enough lemon, served with hot Greek pita. Vegetarian chili and cole slaw layered in pita bread (trust me). Sandwiches from Boat Street here in Seattle (artichoke-heart-salad, or pate and cornichons, or poached chicken with roasted red peppers, all on crusty baguettes) and The Other Coast Café (amazing deli concoctions, also in Seattle, lucky us). Good music. Indirect lighting. A room at the back with pool tables for Nicola.

My local isn’t Kelley’s Dream Pub, but it’s a great place. Good Philly cheese steak sandwiches and imperial pints of Bass. A fireplace. My kind of music. They like us and take great care of us, although there’s that tricky matter of not having my favorite table always waiting whenever I want it…. However, I’ve learned that one advantage of being a writer is the ability to visit the pub in off-hours and have the run of the place. We met a good friend there recently and parked ourselves in front of the fireplace for an entire weekday afternoon; Nicola took Official Virtual Pint Photos; and we all found that lovely drinking pace that maintains rousing good spirits without veering into conversational stupidity. A grand day. I’ll take as many of those as I can get.

Mileage varies

Dear Kelley,

Chocolate milkshakes.

Ah. Damn… And I’m usually pretty good with metaphors. I pulled a Buckner on that one (Red Sox player, ball went flying between his legs, lost the World Series, attempted suicide after the game, but the bus went between his legs). I completely missed it. I thought the crocodile was a metaphor for madness…

I am new to science fiction and have been reading more and more of it since last month.. trying to understand the scientific part of it. I think I overlooked the metaphor in order to understand something that I didn’t really need to… which is crazy… when I was in high school, I lived for metaphors… and even crazier when, here, it’s kind of the whole point. Well, now that I know the crocodile is a metaphor for that fear you mentioned, I’m going to reread Solitaire.

take care,
Lindsey

No Buckners here, amiga. You didn’t misread. The crocodile is certainly a metaphor for madness. That’s even made explicit in the text (“She wanted to lie back and rest in the jaws of madness.”) It’s just that I think the equation “well, she was alone for a really long time so she went nuts” is too simplistic. Madness, like anything else, is a specific experience. So it was my job to imagine it specifically, and to make it particular to Jackal. That’s why I describe the crocodile as being one embodiment of her fear –” she is so afraid of “not being herself” that her fear threatens to pull her apart and swallow her up.

I believe this happens. Things we fear come to rule our lives, if we allow it. Jackal’s fear is influencing her to make bad choices right from the opening of the book. For me, the VC section was (among other things) my chance to explore that intersection of fear and choice. Jackal fights off the crocodile and doesn’t give in to madness, but that’s not the end of her struggle with fear. She falls into a much more subtle trap of fear when she turns herself to stone, when she erases the people and things that she loves so they can’t hurt her anymore. And so on. Fear has many ways to control us, some of which seem so sensible and comforting at the time. I regret the impact it has had on my life, which is of course one reason I write about it.

And please remember that this is just my version of the story. You get to read Solitaire any way you want. I can tell you what happens to Jackal, and I can tell you what it means to me, but it’s your job to decide what it means to you. That’s one of the biggest pleasures of story for me (and story can be words, music, movies, theatre, visual art) –” it becomes mine, filtered through my experience, my imagination, my hopes and fears. The best stories help explain myself to me, or show me something that I want to be or feel or do. And if all someone takes away from Solitaire is a newly-discovered taste for brandy and orange juice, that’s cool with me. It’s the connection, large or small, that matters.

The value of art

Dear Kelley,

I ran across Solitaire a week or so before Christmas, attracted by the cover image, and was amazed and delighted to discover that you had finally written a novel. My first encounter with your work was when I read “Strings” in the (’94?) edition of The Year’s Best Fantasy and Horror anthology. Perhaps it was partly the nature of the character that made that story so precious to me (I’m a violinist as well), but it instantly became (and still is) one of my favorite pieces of short fiction. I’m not easily overwhelmed, but by the final page I was weeping. Reading it aloud to my girlfriend a little over a year later, I couldn’t keep my voice steady when I came to the end. Your work is extremely powerful, and I felt blessed just to have read that one story — it caused me to make a serious inquiry into what I value about life, and living. I can say without hesitation that it changed me.

After my experience with “Strings,” I sought out the rest of your work, and loved it, but since ’99 or so I’d been tormented by the “is this it? is that all?” sensation one feels when waiting (and waiting . . .) for a favorite artist to produce something new. And then, finally, I found Solitaire, and I rushed home with it, and I read and re-read until I became completely absorbed in Jackal Segura’s life, and her story. Then, when I finally set it down (I usually devour books at an alarming pace, but this one I savored, taking it a few chapters at a time) I realized I didn’t have any words to use to tell you how grateful I am. You gave me a journey I can make again and again, and a whole world.

I don’t mean to be so effusive with my praise, but there are very few authors whose work I can connect with on so many different levels, and I value those few quite highly. Your writing inspires me to live as fully as I can, to create, to dream, to love . . . and to hope.

Sincerely,
Aislinn

These are lovely words to give to any artist, and it means a great deal to me to receive them. Thank you.

The waiting wasn’t so much fun on this end, either. Nicola and I share a metaphor about writing, which is that there are points where a work-in-progress becomes a desert — nothing but dust ahead, nothing but dust behind. All the writer can do is stick her chin out and keep slogging. There were a couple of years of dust during the writing of Solitaire, when the work went particularly slowly because of the demands of my job at Wizards of the Coast, and also because I made a serious wrong turn in the narrative. I had to trash about 15 or 20 thousand words, about a year’s worth of work at the time. That was a very bad day. It took a while to get back on track. So, thanks for being patient.

I’m still getting used to the fact that strangers have read my short fiction and liked it well enough to go out looking for more. I’m not trying to be coy — it’s literally amazing to me that someone might pick up Solitaire and think (some version of) hot damn, Kelley Eskridge wrote a book! My stories have been so few and far between (at least in publication terms, although not in terms of my own process) that it hadn’t occurred to me that people would persist in seeking out my work.

Nicola and I were talking last night about the ways that art gets in and stirs up the soul. I’m not sure I’ve ever experienced art that changed me like a lightning strike, but there are particular works that have influenced me incrementally but immensely, like weather systems moving across the ocean. They are works that speak to the deepest parts of me, and force me to recognize things within myself –” values, as you’ve said. In almost every case, they are works that confront me with the truth that I can be more than I have let myself imagine –” I can work harder, be braver, see more clearly, endure more, go farther, have more joy.

And then there are those experiences of art that are like mainlining joy, struggle, sadness, fear and courage, hope, loss, redemption. Emotion speedballs. Music does that for me, and movies, and particular piercing moments in books. There is nothing like it, for my money. I will always be fascinated by the quality of humans that compels us to seek out such moments, and to create them for each other. I think whatever power there is in my work comes from this place, but that’s me looking at it from the inside out. You are a musician –” is making music like this for you? I know there are other uses for art, and perhaps one day they will interest me more than this one. But not now (grin).