Blog Posts - Jennifer Eifrig, Author

Lessons From Frozen

5/27/2014

C'mon, admit it. You've seen the movie, anyway, so you can admit the title to this post caught your eye.

Maybe not in a good way. Maybe you're expecting some schmaltz about the magic of Disney, what a relief it is to see "positive role model female characters," the usual. Or even more trite, a paean to the fabulous music. Well, you've got admit that film's got some catchy tunes, but I promise, this post won't suddenly burst into song. For one thing, the intellectual property police would be on my tail in the proverbial nanosecond…

Nope, instead I'm going to tell you the story of two sisters.

I took my girls to see Frozen during the tail end of a blizzard in February, which also happened to be the tail end of the film's theater run, pre-Oscars. We were dying to get out the house, and once I convinced the six-year-old that she would survive (she doesn't take cinematic dramatic tension well, to say the least), we braved the weather, paid our matinee admission, and enjoyed a screening with two other brave souls, a father and his approximately seven-year-old son. My nearly-nine-year-old had seen the movie once already in November with her father, so she was prepared and enjoyed it thoroughly. While the little one hid behind the seats during the scary bits, both she and her sister could belt out the mangled, off-key lyrics they'd learned on YouTube and the school bus to their hearts' content without bothering anyone else. Seriously, always take your kids to the movies during snowstorms. It's so much less stressful.

Fiction Is Life Distilled Into Lies

3/31/2014

Whoa.. yes, it's really I, posting. Much going on in my life that has prevented me from connecting with you, dear reader; some of it good, some of it not as much, but all interesting.

Here's what I've been thinking about lately: a writer friend of mine is revising a novel. It addresses a difficult and painful subject - sexual violence - and tries to reach some kind of happy outcome for the characters. This friend is having difficulty, due to the temptation to bring too much reality into the book. Too many details, too many subplots, too many extraneous motivations, too much emotion that distract from the horror of the subject. Yet, the author says, all of the extras are real.

Fair enough. I don't envy the author; this is a truly challenging topic, and frankly I stay away from "real" problems as much as possible in my writing. (There's a reason I write speculative fiction, after all.) But my friend has chosen to wrestle with the subject, so I'm here to support the effort as much as I can.

And in so doing, I've been trying to articulate what exactly the role of "reality" is in fiction. My friend's novel would probably come under the genre heading of Women's Fiction. The Romance Writers of American define women's fiction as "a commercial novel about a woman on the brink of life change and personal growth. Her journey details emotional reflection and action that transforms her and her relationships with others and includes a hopeful/upbeat ending with regard to her romantic relationship." OK, then. So how does reality figure into the plot, the setting, the dialogue, and the character development?

That question led me to a more fundamental one: how does reality figure into any novel? And in pondering, I've deduced the following answer: it doesn't. Somewhere on my bookshelf of "respectable" literature is a little tome left over from my expensive undergraduate education, called Resisting Novels: Ideology and Fiction by Lennard J. Davis. There's more to it, but the gist is that novels are in essence, lies. They are a structure of ideology, carefully crafted to subvert the reader's hold on his own reality and ensnare him in another world order.

The Enemy of Progress Isn't Hard Work...

2/26/2014

… it's exhaustion.

I don't think I've ever been as freakin' tired as I am right now. I mean, my brain feels as sludgy as liverwurst. My eyes actually hurt to be open. And let's not even mention the headache. I want nothing more than to just curl up and black out.

And yet, I'm listening to little girls tap out "Old Macdonald" on a tinny electronic keyboard next to me. Because I'm still mom. I'm still "on." And there's no rest in sight. Ugh.

It's been exactly two months since my last blog post. WTH have I been doing all this time?

Well, the good news is I've started another novel. And I've been THINKING about Shadow King and my looming editing work. I've gotten lovely useful comments from my beta readers. And there's another short story brewing in my head. Sounds like author heaven, right? All wheels turning, all cylinders engaged.

The bad news is I've been dealing with yet another health crisis with yet another parent. January seems to be a sucky month in this respect. And there's been a slew of snow days, which have meant I'm on mommy duty more than author duty.

I don't know how you imagine your 40s, but I never thought I'd understand so clearly and keenly what the term "sandwich generation" means. It means stuck in the middle, with two equally beloved and equally cranky and needy groups of people vying for a dominant piece of my pie. Or, I suppose I should be consistent in the analogy: vying for a bigger slice of ham and cheese. (If you're a vegan, think hummus.) I had a realization the other day: this is what the rest of my life will be like. And I thought, how did I get here? I'm not even that nice of a person.

Seriously, I'm not. I'm no selfless angel. I don't live to serve. I don't get off by denying myself. How can I possibly fit into this role of caregiver that has been thrust upon me, by choice in the case of the children, and circumstance, in the case of the parents?

The beta readers I mentioned above both had a similar reaction to one element of Shadow King: that of the plain-clothes, off-the-mountain, earthly Jesus. They were freaked out a bit. Without giving away the plot, I can say that Max encounters the divine not in the way we often imagine - a garden of blazing light, with angelic choirs and celestial majesty. Nope. His Jesus shows up in khakis and a sweater. He carries a pocket knife; he plays checkers, drinks whiskey, and talks about sex. He's ordinary, but pushy; he gets into Max's head and messes around there. He doesn't go away, doesn't take kindly to being ignored, and won't let Max step away from what he's been called to do.

So why is this Jesus freaky? I think because he's so real. He's so close. He's so human. He's just around the corner; Max bumps into him all the time. Transcendent encounters with the divine are easy to accept in literature, because so few people ever have them. They sound beautiful, comforting, not scary. A God who drinks your Perrier at a cafe is freaky because it could happen to you. And then what would you do?

Like Max, I'm feeling selfish. I don't want to sacrifice myself for the sake of others. I don't want to love my neighbors as much as myself. I can't imagine I'm that good of a person. But that same Jesus that's bugging Max won't leave me alone, either. He's drinking my coffee. He's messing with my head. He keeps calling, and because he's infinite AND human, he'll keep at it.

I guess I'd better stop ignoring. Can I be myself and the sandwich? Maybe so, with the right help. I'll let you know how it goes. Peace to you all.

The Time Between

12/22/2013

I've had reason (more on that shortly) to look back at my blog posts, and I was surprised and more than a little horrified to see that my most recent post was three months ago. Three months! My goodness, time just flies, especially in the last quarter of the year. Here it is, nearly Christmas already.

Not that I've been idle during this period of blogging inactivity. Far from it, actually. I'm happy to report that I've FINISHED the first draft of the second book in the Discovering Ren series, now formally titled The Shadow King. With luck, it may be released in spring 2014. I hope all of my loyal and lovely readers are champing at the bit to get their hands on the next installment in the Ambrosines' story. I have to say, I love this book. I mean, I love the first one, too, but this one was such a challenge to write and in the end, I'm pretty darned happy with the result.

In the meantime, if you just can't wait, here's your help. Cogwheel Press has just released a brand-new anthology of short stories by the members of the author "family." I had the privilege of serving as the editor and writing the introduction to this collection of spooky, funny, disturbing, and provocative tales. Readers of Discovering Ren will recognize one of the characters in "From Here to Where" (hint: he's a werewolf). I also hope you'll enjoy "The Stowaway," written by my steampunk alter ego Evelyn Grimwood. If you love speculative fiction - and really, who doesn't? - every story in A Turn of the Wheel is a great read, just in time for holiday giving.

So, the "time between" is not a void. Stuff happens, but it's really a long interlude between two significant events. In Discovering Ren, the Almighty tells Isadora that she lives in the time between, the period of existence after humanity's fall from grace and before the last judgment. No one knows how long this time between will last. None of us does. We have many little "times between" in our lives, and of course our entire existence is bookended by birth and death. It's easy to forget, or to ignore, or to become despondent when faced with the realities of the time between. Waiting, after all, is very hard to do.

Advent is the season of waiting. Today marks the last Sunday in the Advent season. In a few days it will be Christmas, but we're still waiting for the second Coming. Waiting. Watching. Hoping.

Make the most of your time between, for in it you will accomplish everything. This is the time you've been given. Savor it. Make the most of it. Cherish it. Rejoice in it.

May Christmas bring you renewed hope, and may the new year bring you joy. Peace.

Interview With Deb E Howell

9/27/2013

I have another installment in my author interview series to post today: say hi to Deb E Howell, author of The Healer's Touch (Kristell Ink Publishing, 2013). Deb E is a wonderful combination of science geek and fangirl, and has an inspiring sense of humor. I encourage you to check out her blog, like her on Facebook, follow her on Twitter, and of course, to buy her book.

Now, on to the interview!

I like the premise of your book: someone who can heal herself, but only at the expense of others. It takes the usual notion of a positive ability and makes it much darker. How did you come up with the idea?

I honestly can’t remember. I developed a character with this power (the giving and taking) some 15-16 years ago. I was at High School at the time, so I would have been watching a lot of super hero cartoons, which no doubt played a part. Because I was a teenage girl, of course my character back then was a strapping young man. Llew will never forgive me for sticking her with it...

Deb E's childhood nights were spent falling asleep to cover versions of Cliff Richard and the Shadows and other Rock ’n Roll classics played by her father’s band, and days were spent dancing to 45 LPs. Many of her first writing experiences were copying down song lyrics. She graduated to scientific reports when she studied a nematophagus fungus in the Zoology department of the University of Otago, trading all traces of popularity for usefulness… then traded both for fiction.

This interview is part of the Bandit Book Bloggers book tour series

When a Little Knowledge Is a Great Thing

9/27/2013

Those of you who know me well, know that I'm 1) a huge fan of paranormal adventure and alternative history; and 2) a stickler for getting things right. Okay, we all make cock ups now and again, but when they get in the way of my enjoyment of a good spectacle, I get annoyed.

I've been enjoying the ridiculous fun of Fox's Sleepy Hollow. After all, it features a RevWar hottie with a pony tail and great boots, AND a headless horseman - what's not to like? But in last week's episode I found I couldn't concentrate on Tom Mison's awesome cuteness when he was running along machine-milled hollow steel catwalks in his "18th-century" underground tunnels and and when he struck a match to light a lantern. And then his modern-day co-star referred to being "so far down a rabbit hole," and Mison's Ichabod Crane seemed to understand the reference.

Seriously? History PhDs are a dime a dozen out there. The screen writers couldn't pay one of them in Starbucks gift cards to review the script for basic accuracy? Heck, they couldn't use Wikipedia? Sheesh. (For those of you playing at home, extruded hollow steel pipe is a post-Civil War-era material, the first modern, self-igniting match was invented in 1805, and Lewis Carroll's Alice's Adventures in Wonderland was published in 1865.)

And, when I saw a novel entitled Spank Me, Mr. Darcy, I was not offended by the subject matter or premise, but by the fact that the cover image featured a modern reproduction of a Victorian corset, NOT a Regency-era one. Again, c'mon, people, just do a little research! That's all the fangirls are asking.

Ok, enough ranting! Peace, everybody.

The Utter Irrationality of God

9/19/2013

Those of you who've read DR might be surprised to learn that I don't, in fact, know the lectionary by heart. Not even close. So when this past Sunday's Gospel lesson was read, I was pleasantly surprised by it. You see, I based an entire, almost-completed sequel to DR on its premise: that not only does God work in mysterious ways, S/He is, by human standards, completely insane.

Yep, you read correctly. Insane. Wacko. Freakin' no sense whatsoever. Don't try to apply logic to the Almighty. It just doesn't work.

Calm rationality is touted as the way to solve human problems, especially interpersonal ones. I get that. Nothing happens except hurt and maybe violence and bloodshed if two people or groups or nations are screaming at each other so loudly they can't possibly hear anything, let alone a dissenting voice. And when leaders make decisions that affect a larger group, they have to make choices that will do the most good for the most people. I get that, too.

But we, as human beings, are limited by space and time and available resources. We need to be rational about our decision making. Not so God. God is infinite, without limits. Therefore, God doesn't need to abide by rationality.

So he told them this parable: "Which one of you, having a hundred sheep and losing one of them, does not leave the ninety nine in the wilderness and go after the one that is lost until he finds it? When he has found it, he lays it on his shoulders and rejoices. And when he comes home, he calls together his friends and neighbors, saying to them, 'Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep that was lost.' Just so, I tell you, there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety nine righteous persons who need no repentance.

"Or what woman having ten silver coins, if she loses one of them, does not light a lamp, sweep the house, and search carefully until she finds it? When she has found it, she calls together her friends and neighbors, saying, 'Rejoice with me, for I have found the coin that I had lost.' Just so, I tell you, there is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents."

When Good Enough Just Isn't

9/11/2013

A dear friend of mine, who happens to be a voracious reader, just told me that she keeps seeing a facebook ad from an indie author claiming that Jodi Picoult was "completed absorbed" by his book, and wouldn't we all like to buy it right now???

Okay, deep breath while I heave myself onto a three-story soapbox before proceeding. Here's my reaction:

1. I love indie authors. I want to believe in them. I want to support them. I do not want to discriminate against, patronize, or otherwise belittle them. After all, I have published with an independent small press, putting me more or less in the same camp.

2. Like it or not, indie authors are held to a higher standard than traditional press authors. Rant, whine, howl, whimper, or erupt in fury as you see fit. Sorry, but it's the truth.

Is it fair? I suppose not, when has life ever been fair? Indie authors are pioneers. You guys are like the first women in the military, the first African Americans in Congress, the first whoever to do whatever - you have to work twice as hard and be twice as terrific in order to be considered acceptable. As we know from previous "firsts," eventually you'll be accepted, at first grudgingly, and then openly, at which point you can be judged on your own merit. In the meantime, don't screw it up for the rest of us.

Seriously, just don't. Don't put out ungrammatical Facebook ads with errors that a spell- and grammar-checker would have caught. Don't forget to use Oxford commas consistently. (Don't know what the Oxford comma is? Look it up.) For the love of all that's holy, know how to use an apostrophe! Don't exclusively self-edit. Know all the rules backwards and forwards and work within them before you even think of breaking them. You have to earn the right to be an iconoclast. Bad grammar, poor spelling, poor usage, weak structure and style, and sloppy editing aren't signs of closet genius. When you've sold a few hundred thousand copies, you can be "colorful." Until then, you're paving the way for those coming behind you.

See? The individual indie author is carrying a huge weight on his or her shoulders. S/he is breaking ground. Sure, it's not fair that those in the vanguard have to work so hard, but that's the reality. Think about it. And then, make sure your work is so squeaky clean perfect that we don't notice the details at all.

I completely expect howls of dismay from the peanut gallery for this post. Bring 'em on! Peace, everybody.

Victorian Technology & the Steampunk Vision, 9/4/13 7 p.m. Forbes Library

8/28/2013

If your idea of “high tech fun” involves gears, goggles, and corsets, you’re probably a steampunk fan. This popular genre of fiction and film imagines an alternate Industrial Age, in which steam power and Newtonian physics reign supreme. Imagine if Victorian science fiction were real, and you’ll get an idea of what steampunk’s all about.

My fellow Cogwheel Press author Bruce Hesselbach and I will jointly present an introduction to the kinds of Victorian-era technology that really existed, and inspire steampunk authors today. Our illustrated lecture will take place at Forbes Library, 20 West St., Northampton, MA at 7:00 p.m. I'll be talking about examples of Victorian domestic technology I've encountered in my work as a museum consultant, and Mr. Hesselbach will introduce “strange but real” inventions reimagined in steampunk literature. Both of us will be available to sign copies of our books.

Hope to see you there!

Bruce Hesselbach is an attorney living in Newfane, VT, and the author of Perpetual Motion, a steampunk alternative history novel. His web site is www.hesselbachwriter.com.

Reflections On the Meaning of Life

8/24/2013

It's the end of August. Almost the end of summer. The garden's dying and needs to be cleaned out. The house needs tidying, the pool has to be drained and put away. The apples are almost ripe and ready to be transformed to sauce. Lots to do that's bittersweet.

Yesterday marked the 19th anniversary of my father-in-law's death. Today is my 22nd wedding anniversary. Bittersweet, again.

And I had these thoughts:

I'm not rich - indeed, I often wonder where the money's coming from to pay the bills. But I have a safe, comfortable place to live and sleep, and I never go hungry.

I'm not famous, but I have a published novel.

I'm not a trendsetter, but I have friends.

I'm not a supermodel, but I have beautiful children.

I struggle every day with impatience, imbalance, ineptitude, and inequality, but I have the love of God in Jesus Christ.

In fact, I'm blessed beyond measure. And I'm truly grateful. Being happy is an exercise in both choice, and seeing what's actually real and right before our eyes. Don't waste time wishing for what's out of reach, and in the end, just vanity.

Peace, everybody.