Ask the Author: Mab Morris
Answered Questions (10)
Mab Morris
My own forgotten past.
Apparently there’s been a lot of disassociation. I haven’t had a terribly tough life. My family has been part of history, some eventful parts of history, but minor, but.. why the gaps? Year long gaps? Is it normal, or was there a reason?
Apparently there’s been a lot of disassociation. I haven’t had a terribly tough life. My family has been part of history, some eventful parts of history, but minor, but.. why the gaps? Year long gaps? Is it normal, or was there a reason?
Mab Morris
I don’t have a summer reading list. I have a To Read List… and this summer I read books from authors I know, books for future publication. Let’s just say Jane Lindskold and Layton Green are good writers.
Mab Morris
Maybe it’s lame, but I’d go to Yezgin—my own country, on my own world—and talk to Kuen. Or earlier, and talk to Phayaden.
Mab Morris
She put her feet on the pedals for her stick shift; the door was closed. The susurration she heard… was it leaves… or a snake?
Mab Morris
For my recently published novella, The Red Khémèresh, it was a combination of a story in The Epic of Gilgamesh, where Enkidu leads Gilgamesh to defeat the Ogre of the Pine forest—this was before the more recent discovering of more to that part of the story. There’s a clay mask in the British Museum of this ogre, Humbaba, that is labyrinthine. The knowledge of what a good Labyrinth is for—often a rite of passage or transformation, beyond a merely good meditative walk. Another part came from the life history of Genghis Khan, his blood brother, and the significance that relationship had in the Shamanism of ancient Mongolia. I did do a good deal of research in Mongolian and Siberian shamanism. There was also my own past experience. Combine that with questions that echo, “What if….” The story percolated for about five years, and when it came together, I wrote it in three days—one of the more truly “the book came through me” type experiences.
That said, I still did the work to edit it, and it did go through revisions. I intentionally kept it as close to folklore or mythological type writing, within a fantasy story, as it's roots were so entrenched in ancient myth and shamanism, because, well, that was part of the story's Idea.
That said, I still did the work to edit it, and it did go through revisions. I intentionally kept it as close to folklore or mythological type writing, within a fantasy story, as it's roots were so entrenched in ancient myth and shamanism, because, well, that was part of the story's Idea.
Mab Morris
It’s like being in a relationship. Ideas try to woo you—like an idea is asking you out. You have to accept the invitation or not. Do you want to date this person (idea)? You can try it out for a while, see if you can be in a serious relationship or not. The only way that relationship will ever work, however, (in real life or writing) is if you fully participate with it. I’ve put myself in this intense, sometimes glorious, sometimes frustrating relationship with writing. I’ve opened myself up for the possibilities, and I give time to do the work of writing as well.
I had a fascinating character pester me for years between books and during lulls in the writing process. I would tell him, “You truly are interesting. I already adore you—but no plot, no book.” I was only a matter of time. I was patient, and it wasn’t as if I didn’t have anything to work on. Surely a character that interesting would have a story. I read books like Sam Kean’s _The Tale of the Dueling Neurosurgeons_, or Campbell’s Mask of God series, just participate in life as best as possible… and just be *available* to any ideas that come. Like any good relationship I participated in it, in joyous times and tough. And that works. That character did have a story.
One day the plot came. It could only do that because I put myself in a position to be open to its… advances.
I had a fascinating character pester me for years between books and during lulls in the writing process. I would tell him, “You truly are interesting. I already adore you—but no plot, no book.” I was only a matter of time. I was patient, and it wasn’t as if I didn’t have anything to work on. Surely a character that interesting would have a story. I read books like Sam Kean’s _The Tale of the Dueling Neurosurgeons_, or Campbell’s Mask of God series, just participate in life as best as possible… and just be *available* to any ideas that come. Like any good relationship I participated in it, in joyous times and tough. And that works. That character did have a story.
One day the plot came. It could only do that because I put myself in a position to be open to its… advances.
Mab Morris
Currently I’m working on a fantasy series I call Three Rivers, with working titles _Sen of the Woods_, _Legend of the Gem_, and _Ugly Grotto_.
Some of the series came to me on a walk near my home, other parts came from Victor Turner’s _Forest of Symbols_, Etruscan myth, and so many more places, like the world building of a lost novel I wrote in the early 1980s, as well as a writing exercise 15 years ago. Most of my plans for the series have already been tossed out, so there’s not much more about it that I can say. It continues to develop, giving me that mind blowing awe of, “Yes! This will work!” along with those frustrated moments of wanting to take my editing pen and impale the draft with it—stabby, stabby, stabby pen!—that tells me that no one gets impassioned when something is blah. I will say that the experience has broadened my understanding of how weaving a series together might work. I tend to write standalone books.
However, I have three more books that need one more pass of the editing pen, or are ready to send out. _Fate of the Red Queen_, Seek the Monster_ and _The Bone Reader_. I also have two more drafts that need serious revision, as well as a rough outline for the second book in the Bone Reader fantasy mystery series. There is also a fun “Writer’s Bucket List” serial I use to play with during down times to get me out of my comfort zone.
One of the ways I work is to finish a draft and set it aside so that I can revise something else, or write something else—and then get back to it. This leapfrog approach is useful because of the distance it gives me from my work. When I put fresh eyes on the book, I can revise with much better clarity. I do not know that this technique will always be the way I work; I’m certain it’s not even the best method for most people, especially if they have deadlines. So far it has worked for me.
Some of the series came to me on a walk near my home, other parts came from Victor Turner’s _Forest of Symbols_, Etruscan myth, and so many more places, like the world building of a lost novel I wrote in the early 1980s, as well as a writing exercise 15 years ago. Most of my plans for the series have already been tossed out, so there’s not much more about it that I can say. It continues to develop, giving me that mind blowing awe of, “Yes! This will work!” along with those frustrated moments of wanting to take my editing pen and impale the draft with it—stabby, stabby, stabby pen!—that tells me that no one gets impassioned when something is blah. I will say that the experience has broadened my understanding of how weaving a series together might work. I tend to write standalone books.
However, I have three more books that need one more pass of the editing pen, or are ready to send out. _Fate of the Red Queen_, Seek the Monster_ and _The Bone Reader_. I also have two more drafts that need serious revision, as well as a rough outline for the second book in the Bone Reader fantasy mystery series. There is also a fun “Writer’s Bucket List” serial I use to play with during down times to get me out of my comfort zone.
One of the ways I work is to finish a draft and set it aside so that I can revise something else, or write something else—and then get back to it. This leapfrog approach is useful because of the distance it gives me from my work. When I put fresh eyes on the book, I can revise with much better clarity. I do not know that this technique will always be the way I work; I’m certain it’s not even the best method for most people, especially if they have deadlines. So far it has worked for me.
Mab Morris
My advice to any aspiring writers is not to talk about it, but do it.
Over the years I’ve participated in the industry in various roles—fact checker, editor for a small press, formatting and indexing, ghost writer—I’ve learned to listen HOW an aspiring writer talks about their work.
Yes, you could say I get judgmental, but that discounts my favorite writer. Her first novel was among the roughest writing I’ve ever seen—not helped by being in the absolutely wrong writers’ group—but in her first three paragraphs I wanted to know what happened to her main protagonist. I was happy to help her with substantive editing. I did not know at the time that that “novel” had gotten so unwieldy that it surpassed the novel in the Wonder Boys by… well… quite a lot. It was probably hip high, if not taller. There was not a lot I could do at that point to help edit her book, but I could talk with her about the main themes in the stories to help her hone it down. The thing is, I loved her because she did the incredible amount of work needed. When I read her subsequent draft, years later, it was a reasonable novel size, the story telling was better, even while she still had to work on the craft of writing.
She talked about her story, and was clearly in the midst of it, any discussion was about how to make it better—but most of all: She got to work.
There are many, many more aspiring writers that talk about their book and it quickly becomes clear that this is all that they are doing, It reminds me of a friend listening to her husband’s plans for a new project finally got frustrated and delivered a devastating, “Well, what have you done *lately*?” The thing is, from what I understand, he’d already built a small plane, years before. Perhaps he was coasting on that rather impressive glory. He just hadn’t done anything… lately.
In some ways it’s an indication that it’s less about the book than their ego—and yes, I can point the finger at myself here too. When I let my ego step in, the writing gets all jammed up, making writing a messy, frustrating exercise in Zen. I’ve come to learn that when writing is more about the book, there are a LOT more tools available to support the process. The chances that you’ll send it out when its ready, and not because you’re “supposed” to, is higher. Even if agents don’t bite, they’ll take note of you being a strong writer and hope you’ll work on it some more and send it in again.
Don’t worry about your word count. Frankly, how many words you write per day doesn’t matter. In some ways it only matters if you *wrote*—that is, if you’re not in the idea gather part of the process, and that to my mind counts as long as you then *write*. And it doesn’t matter if it’s great or not—there’s always the revision/editing part of the process to make it better.
Don’t talk about writing when you’re not doing it. Just, well, DO it.
Over the years I’ve participated in the industry in various roles—fact checker, editor for a small press, formatting and indexing, ghost writer—I’ve learned to listen HOW an aspiring writer talks about their work.
Yes, you could say I get judgmental, but that discounts my favorite writer. Her first novel was among the roughest writing I’ve ever seen—not helped by being in the absolutely wrong writers’ group—but in her first three paragraphs I wanted to know what happened to her main protagonist. I was happy to help her with substantive editing. I did not know at the time that that “novel” had gotten so unwieldy that it surpassed the novel in the Wonder Boys by… well… quite a lot. It was probably hip high, if not taller. There was not a lot I could do at that point to help edit her book, but I could talk with her about the main themes in the stories to help her hone it down. The thing is, I loved her because she did the incredible amount of work needed. When I read her subsequent draft, years later, it was a reasonable novel size, the story telling was better, even while she still had to work on the craft of writing.
She talked about her story, and was clearly in the midst of it, any discussion was about how to make it better—but most of all: She got to work.
There are many, many more aspiring writers that talk about their book and it quickly becomes clear that this is all that they are doing, It reminds me of a friend listening to her husband’s plans for a new project finally got frustrated and delivered a devastating, “Well, what have you done *lately*?” The thing is, from what I understand, he’d already built a small plane, years before. Perhaps he was coasting on that rather impressive glory. He just hadn’t done anything… lately.
In some ways it’s an indication that it’s less about the book than their ego—and yes, I can point the finger at myself here too. When I let my ego step in, the writing gets all jammed up, making writing a messy, frustrating exercise in Zen. I’ve come to learn that when writing is more about the book, there are a LOT more tools available to support the process. The chances that you’ll send it out when its ready, and not because you’re “supposed” to, is higher. Even if agents don’t bite, they’ll take note of you being a strong writer and hope you’ll work on it some more and send it in again.
Don’t worry about your word count. Frankly, how many words you write per day doesn’t matter. In some ways it only matters if you *wrote*—that is, if you’re not in the idea gather part of the process, and that to my mind counts as long as you then *write*. And it doesn’t matter if it’s great or not—there’s always the revision/editing part of the process to make it better.
Don’t talk about writing when you’re not doing it. Just, well, DO it.
Mab Morris
People often ask me, or my twin sister, “What’s it like to be a twin?” How does one answer that? What’s it like not to be a twin?
There are so many good things, it’s hard to find what tops the list. I’ve just let one of my books out into the world. The joy of setting it free was huge, but I think the greater joy is less about me, than the book in the hands of a reader. If I’ve done my job, then the best thing might be that a reader will fall in love with the cultures and characters in the book. That they will love the book for its own sake.
There are so many good things, it’s hard to find what tops the list. I’ve just let one of my books out into the world. The joy of setting it free was huge, but I think the greater joy is less about me, than the book in the hands of a reader. If I’ve done my job, then the best thing might be that a reader will fall in love with the cultures and characters in the book. That they will love the book for its own sake.
Mab Morris
I have experienced something akin to the popular definition of Writer’s Block, and I have friends who suffer from it greatly. The thing is: I have so many ideas, and so many books in my head that I call the similar experience a PAUSE.
Rosanne Bane’s _Around the Writer’s Block_, confirmed that writing isn’t always about sitting down with fingers to the keyboard or pen to page. (Check out her book for useful tools to motivate your writing, and get around blocks.) With the amount of research I do—a far more random process than true research—I had to accept that there were times of idea gathering. Those times I felt ready to write, but nothing worked, were not symptoms of, “My work sucks” syndrome, or even a block.
They were a pause. I needed one more element for better world building, or plotting, or characterization; or my attempts to hammer an idea into place needed to give way to better storytelling. When I let my ego step in, I’ve noticed, the storytelling gets stuck. (Ten novels deep—some good some wretched—I’ve had a lot of practice rounds to learn about my writing.)
Allowing myself to be at peace with the pauses render any writer’s block with less power. I’m not saying I’ll never experience it, but for now, quoting from Stephen Pressfield’s _The War of Art_, “Someone once asked Somerset Maugham if he wrote on a schedule or only when struck by inspiration. ‘I write only when inspiration strikes,’ he replied. ‘Fortunately it strikes every morning at nine o’clock sharp.’”
I have found that this to be true. During an enforced pause because of my day job, I did not have time to write. The next free writing time, I sat down, drinking my coffee preparing to work and, as if on cue, Ideas came.
Again: It’s not that I discount the devastating experience of blocks, but there are times what feels like a block might only a pause for your book to garner more power. Calling it a block, when it might not be, can enslave you into not moving forward. Calling those experiences a PAUSE give you greater control. Accept it, use it, but never use it as an excuse not to write—or then *you* are the Block.
Rosanne Bane’s _Around the Writer’s Block_, confirmed that writing isn’t always about sitting down with fingers to the keyboard or pen to page. (Check out her book for useful tools to motivate your writing, and get around blocks.) With the amount of research I do—a far more random process than true research—I had to accept that there were times of idea gathering. Those times I felt ready to write, but nothing worked, were not symptoms of, “My work sucks” syndrome, or even a block.
They were a pause. I needed one more element for better world building, or plotting, or characterization; or my attempts to hammer an idea into place needed to give way to better storytelling. When I let my ego step in, I’ve noticed, the storytelling gets stuck. (Ten novels deep—some good some wretched—I’ve had a lot of practice rounds to learn about my writing.)
Allowing myself to be at peace with the pauses render any writer’s block with less power. I’m not saying I’ll never experience it, but for now, quoting from Stephen Pressfield’s _The War of Art_, “Someone once asked Somerset Maugham if he wrote on a schedule or only when struck by inspiration. ‘I write only when inspiration strikes,’ he replied. ‘Fortunately it strikes every morning at nine o’clock sharp.’”
I have found that this to be true. During an enforced pause because of my day job, I did not have time to write. The next free writing time, I sat down, drinking my coffee preparing to work and, as if on cue, Ideas came.
Again: It’s not that I discount the devastating experience of blocks, but there are times what feels like a block might only a pause for your book to garner more power. Calling it a block, when it might not be, can enslave you into not moving forward. Calling those experiences a PAUSE give you greater control. Accept it, use it, but never use it as an excuse not to write—or then *you* are the Block.
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