Susannah Kline, novelist

Bookshelves

Fri, 11 Jul 2008 04:39:08 GMT

Some measure success by finances. Some have a career goal they want to reach. Some want to win an award.

Personally, I will know I've made it when I have enough bookshelves to fit all my books. I won't have stacks of books set aside in the closet. I won't worry about where I'm going to put more books when I buy them.

I will have beautiful bookshelves and they will be stocked full and wonderfully organized for at least a few days before chaos resumes.

And once I no longer have to stow away books somewhere else and have easy access to all my books, I'll know that I've Arrived.

Currently I have a ton of books stowed away in my closet or crammed onto bookshelves that already are doubled up.

What do you do with your overflow? Do you have enough bookshelves? Do you have any grand plans for organizing your books? I want to know!

I worked at a Waldenbooks for four years, and at a library before that, so I'm always interested in book organization.

No, that's your jewelry! That's your phone! That's your television!

Mon, 07 Jul 2008 00:01:09 GMT

So the fictional character gets upset. Maybe she broke up with her significant other, so she takes her diamond engagement ring and throws it into the ocean. This is supposed to signify the fact that she is now free.

Or she wants to get a guy off the phone with his work, so she tosses the phone out the window, where it flies and breaks into pieces when it hits the ground. This is supposed to signify the fact that there are more important things than work in this world, especially when you're with your family.

Or a guy is so enraged by what he sees on television that he throws a large object at it, breaking the television. This is supposed to signify that...he is really pissed, I'd assume.

This writing device drives me nuts. It's so unnecessary. You don't throw an expensive diamond ring into the ocean for the fishes. You sell that diamond ring and give yourself a vacation or luxury trips to the spa.

You don't throw away someone's phone. How rude is that? What kind of neurotic person takes another's expensive electronic device and ruins it? Plus there's the obvious fact that work isn't the only reason for a phone.

If you don't want the phone used, just take the battery out and hide it. Ruining a phone serves no purpose. That stuff costs money, especially the ritzy phone of a guy who works a lot.

I think it would hurt inside to see a fictional character throw an iPhone out the window. I've not seen it yet, but it's probably in the works somewhere.

And why would you ruin your own television, which probably cost you hundreds of dollars? Turn off the tv or change channels! It's not that difficult. There are buttons.

To be fair, though, I can think of a couple times when the TV destruction writing twist was managed effectively. The most recent example in my memory is in BBC's miniseries Jekyll. I remember thinking, "Wow, I actually understand why he wrecked the tv." It was a mind game between himself and his alter-ego, Hyde. When it's a mind game (or, let's say, supernatural forces which keep the tv on even when it's turned off), then it becomes more acceptable.

But if the character is upset by things people say about him on television, or if his favorite team lost and he had an irresponsibly huge bet on the game, or any other matter that can be solved by just changing the channel or turning the tv off, then the character has completely lost me when he destroys the tv.

Writing devices like these are guaranteed to remind me that what I'm seeing or reading is fake, because they're entirely impractical in 'real life.' Well, at least from what I've experienced. I'm sure someone somewhere throws other people's phones out windows or into lakes. And I want them nowhere near me, please.

I dunno; has anyone you've known ever done something like this? Ruined an expensive electronic device or thrown away something worth lots of money that could be pawned? What goes through your mind when you see this stuff happening in fiction?

Apparently I Read a Lot of Romance Books

Sun, 15 Jun 2008 01:13:02 GMT

Today I noticed someone googled "duke disguise stable romance marry" and arrived at my site. I felt all proud and proficient, because I knew exactly which romance they were looking for, just from those search terms.

So now I wish I could get in contact with that searcher, and say something like:

Oh dear google searcher who arrived at http://www.susannahkline.com, you are welcome here! The book you were looking for is Man of My Dreams, which happens to be my favorite Johanna Lindsey romance. Yes, we're full-service. That'll be five cents, please.

I haven't read it in years, and actually I don't own it anymore (too many moves) but the memory made me smile.

I'll have to pick it up sometime and see what I think, years after loving it. I'm a sucker for hidden identities. In this novel, a duke masquerades as a horse stable thingy person. Yes, that is its technical, historically accurate term. I read it on wikipedia.

And he ends up falling in love with the daughter of a squire, who hates him, but can't help being attracted to him, 'cause the boy was fine. There's an interesting scene that takes place in the stable; no spoilers but it's a good scene.

I don't have any Johanna Lindsey books left, and that makes me sad, 'cause they were my first, and as the saying goes, you never forget your first, especially if it had Fabio on the cover.

My first year in college, I attended a private art school in Chicago. My best friend there forced me to read romances. I was all skeptical, because I was Miss Serious Reader, Literary Only, thank you very much.

"No, really!" she insisted. "You'll like them!" And she described the whole plot of one of her favorite Johanna Lindsey books, intriguing me. So when she shoved it into my hands, I read it. And then I borrowed another, and then another--and now, eight years later, I write romance books.

So what was your first romance book? How did you come to enjoy romance?

The Heir Apparent: Not Quite Patient

Sun, 08 Jun 2008 18:29:09 GMT

I don't think I've mentioned it here, but I've never had writer's block—actually, I thought it was something made up for movies and fictional books until I was about sixteen. Ideas always insinuated their way into my notice, so for years I wrote about ten stories at once, and thus satisfied my muse by multi-tasking.

When I finally decided last year to focus all energies to one novel, I chose one of the ideas I'd spent barely any time writing. Devil in Disguise contained the plot that drew me in the most.

For years, I'd envisioned a woman dancing happily at a masquerade, all of a sudden getting the rug pulled out from under her (metaphorically speaking) when she discovered her dance partner's identity: "Gah—not him!" as she finds the man she's so enjoying is the one she refused to marry years ago. This plot above all others was the one I wanted to read as a finished novel.

Now that I'm almost finished with it, I'm so glad I chose it. With my overactive muse, though, there's always another story poking at my brain, insisting to be written. My second planned novel has acted the impatient heir, plopping itself down in my consciousness. It rudely sits in close proximity, waiting for its benefactor to be carried to the next world, where finished novels go (hopefully one calls this land 'published fiction').

I've scribbled down the bits and pieces it's sent me, but I keep reigning it back as I do so. "You have no more patience than a two-year-old," I lecture Novel Number Two. "Learn your place." I shouldn't be surprised that something out of my imagination demands to be heard; the apple doesn't fall far from the writer. Which is good, 'cause I like apples. It'll have its day.

PS: It's been a bit since my last post because I've been writing up a storm, endeavoring to finish Devil in Disguise very soon. Here's hoping!

Choosing a seat in class

Sun, 18 May 2008 02:53:20 GMT

When I was at the University of Iowa, I tended to sit in the second row during small classes. "I want to sit in the front row," this action meant, "but I dislike the connotations of a goody-goody who sits so close to the teacher." I would tamper my eagerness by sitting a row or two back. After all, I didn't want to be a cliché.

But yes, I was eager to learn and be heard, and there couldn't have been a better place for me to thrive in my geekery than in the classics department. Our classes were filled with grammar and verbs and syntax and all the glory found within these elements when mixed up in ancient languages. You cannot become a classics student, I think, without being a bit too much in love with grammar than could otherwise be considered healthy. I once wrote a mini fairy tale about the gerund, if that clues you in to anything.

So yes, I was one of those students who sat near the front—but not too near, so as not to be obvious. Where did you sit in your classes, and why? Question inspired by this webcomic. Not completely true, but true enough.

Failing at venetian blinds and how it affects your time traveling

Mon, 12 May 2008 02:04:33 GMT

While looking at window blinds today, I figured that if I suddenly am thrown into the past, I could thrill them all by this amazing invention. But I couldn't figure out the string and pully system that sent it up and down, and had to resign myself to not being able to understand the engineering of window blinds. I actually felt dismay at not being able to bring this astounding system to the past.

So then I looked up the history of Venetian blinds (I love the internet), and apparently they've been around since the 1700s anyway, and various blinds have been around even longer. Ancient Egyptians made them out of reeds. Very cool!

I'm convinced that my mind wasn't given to comprehending the structure of Venetian blinds (shush; they're complicated) because when I got to 1806 or whenever, they'd only laugh at me and ask why I wasted my time, because didn't I know they were already used throughout Europe? And then I would be embarrassed. It's much better for all of us that I don't understand how they're made anyway, so I don't make that faux pas.

I'll just have to become famous in the past by writing poetry books of Leonard Cohen lyrics, writing symphonies out of songs by The Decemberists and investing in an digging expedition to California in the Sierra Nevada mountain range before they discovered gold in them thar hills. I'll get by somehow.

What would you do to capitalize on your sudden arrival in England, sometime in the 19th century?

Good luck makes good planning irrelevant.

Sat, 03 May 2008 05:32:40 GMT

Before today, I knew exactly what my second romance novel will be about. I had the characters, I had an outline, and I'd written a couple chapters for speculation's sake.

I was so prepared! I was so responsible!

Tonight, the muses thought they'd have a bit of fun, and let me find out what my second novel is really about. It was like being nudged mentally by a gust of wind. My eyes widened as the idea wrapped around my mind in the space of about a second, because I immediately knew all those preliminary plans signified nothing.

Same heroine, completely different hero. Oh man. I'm in love already. Everything must be re-worked. That's ok. It'll be worth it.

For I Am a Pirate King

Tue, 29 Apr 2008 01:40:43 GMT

Oh, better far to live and die
Under the brave black flag I fly
Than play a sanctimonious part
With a pirate head and a pirate heart.

My favorite opera is Pirates of Penzance by Gilbert and Sullivan. The pirates could have made their way on land, with more security and more immediate respectability, but they would have been doing it "with a pirate head and a pirate heart."

When I heard those lyrics for the first time, my immediate reaction was, "Me too." I've never been able to dismiss the urge to write for my career. Last year, I decided to make it happen.

I'm almost done with Devil in Disguise, my first romance novel. Within the next six weeks, it should be completed. Also coming soon: website with excerpt.

Stay tuned. Welcome to my writing blog, where we practice piracy.