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It's time for the return of Teaser Tuesday! Floodtide doesn't have enough chapters to post a teaser from each chapter weekly up to publication day in November. I plan to do regular Tuesday posts intended to stir up buzz and anticipation. Some will include teasers, some won't.

I have belatedly discovered that I'm most happy with how my books start and end when they have some sort of "bookend" scenes that refer to each other but somewhow stand apart from the rest of the narrative. Not everyone has been quite as enthusiastic. I got a few comments on the epilogue of Daughter of Mystery that readers felt it was unnecessary. (In retrospect, perhaps, but since I had no idea I was writing a series, I wanted to make it clear that Barbara and Margerit got their happily ever after.) But bookending DoM with brief omniscient scenes made it a lot easier to set up Barbara as a character at the beginning, and to provide that HEA promise at the end.

In Mother of Souls, I bookended the story with a description of the river dynamics of Alpennia as they related to floodtide, which provided a foreshadowing at the start of the part the weather curse would play, and a foreshadowing at the end of the main plot of Floodtide.

I didn't do this sort of bookending for The Mystic Marriage and, in retrospect, I think I would have had fewer problems around the concluding paragraphs (and been happier with the result) if I had. If I'd begun the story with some sort of stronger metaphoric connection between Antuniet's life and her alchemical work, and then ended more clearly emphasizing the connection in her mind between creating alchemical gems and developing strong interpersonal relationships. Maybe someday I'll write those scenes just as an alternate version.

But for Floodtide, I knew I was going to do bookends again, and I knew what the theme of those bookends would be because it was the very first scene I wrote. Searching back through my old LiveJournal entries, I was startled to remind myself that I write the opening scene of Floodtide in August, 2014. Almost five years ago. To be sure, that's because I wrote it when I was just barely starting the draft of Mother of Souls, but there's also that two-year gap in getting the books out.

Here's what I posted in 2014 as my idea for the opening of Floodtide.

* * *

You know the scent of lavender on the fresh sheets when you get them from the linen press for the housemaids to take up? You breathe it in, remembering the long rows of purple spikes in the summer sun. Then you imagine the smile on the Maisetra’s face when she settles in for the night on a new-made bed with that scent still lingering. That’s what I always imagined love would be like. But loving Nan was like the hours spent stripping the lavender spikes for the stillroom, back in Sain-Pol. The sharp resin climbed up your nose, making your head throb and ache, and the memory of it clung to your hands and your clothes for weeks so that you’d think you’d never be free of it. That was how they found us out: because I was never free of thinking of her. I‘d watch her from the laundry room door as she went up and down the stairs to the family rooms, and find excuses to call her over to ask about some mending she’d brought down. Then at night, even when we were so tired we could barely talk, we’d kiss and cuddle in the narrow bed we shared. My head was so full of her and it was never enough. We had to keep quiet so Mari would think we were only whispering about the day’s work. I didn’t think she’d rat on us; lots of girls in service have their bit of fun. I don’t think Mari told, but someone did. Old Mazzik the housekeeper took Nan back into her parlor and closed the door for a long time and when Nan came out she’d been crying and wouldn’t look at me. Then Mazzik took me by the arm without a word and dragged me across the yard and out the back gate and threw me down onto the cobbles.

* * *

And here's how the opening of the manuscript currently stands:

* * *

You know the scent of lavender on the fresh sheets? When you take them from the linen press, you breathe it in, remembering the long rows of purple flowers in the summer sun. You think of the smile on the maisetra’s face when she settles in for the night with that scent still lingering. That’s what I always imagined love would be like.

But loving Nan was like stripping the lavender spikes in Aunt Gaita’s stillroom back in Sain-Pol. The sharp resin filled my head and the memory of it clung to my hands and my clothes. I’d say the prayers to Saint Cheler with my aunt as we distilled lavender water and mixed herbs to add to the soap. Sometimes I’d get a warm stretchy feeling at the base of my belly, like the one I got during the mysteries at church.

When I was in the middle of the lavender harvest, I’d forget about everything else. I wouldn’t think about how lucky I was that Aunt Gaita picked me out from my brothers and sisters to learn a trade and teach me how to behave proper in service. I’d forget about tending the boiler where the linens were soaking. My mind would wander off and she’d box my ears and threaten to send me back home to mind the babies. I knew she didn’t mean it, but the scent was that strong it could drive everything else out of my head.

Loving Nan was like that. I was never free of thinking of her. I‘d watch her from the laundry room door as she went up and down the stairs to the family rooms, and find excuses to call her over to ask about some mending she’d brought down. I’d lean close and breathe in how lovely she smelled. Then at night, even when we were so tired we could barely talk, we’d kiss and cuddle in the narrow bed we shared.

Nan was the one who taught me what to do with that feeling in my belly. We’d never meant it to go further than the ordinary sort of keeping company. Most girls in service have a special friend. You get lonely away in the city with no family about. But it did go further. I was so hungry for Nan we’d be up late into the night, trying not to make noise and wake Mari in the next bed, and then stumbling bleary-eyed through the morning chores.

I don’t think Mari told on us. Why would she? But someone did. That morning Mefro Mollin, the housekeeper took Nan back into her parlor and closed the door for a long time. I watched the door until Nan came out crying. She ran upstairs without looking at me. Mollin saw me standing there and took me by the arm without a word and dragged me out the door, across the yard, and out the back gate then threw me down onto the cobbles.

* * *

It's longer and has more details, but for all intents and purposes, it's nearly identical to that original idea. Not all my openings stay that stable from first idea to final draft! But the image stuck, and I always knew that the closing images of the book would touch back on the lavender metaphor. I didn't always know how they'd do it, but it gave me a clear end-point to work towards.

(This is an essay I've had kicking around in draft for a while, but the first couple paragraphs exaplain why I decided to polish it up and post it.)

I've been watching the most recent Twitter conversations about the Romance Writers of America RITA award process, specifically the ways in which it demonstrably reinforces a very narrow (and very very white) vision of award-worthiness, in part due to the crowd-sourced "popular choice" nature of the process. In the past, it hasn't just been a matter of clearly excellent books by authors of color and/or featuring non-white characters getting overlooked, but of books with immensely problematic themes and characters getting elevated.

I have no dog in that fight. I'm decidedly removed from the RWA award process, primarily because I have yet to write anything that would be solidly recognized as "a romance novel" in structure. But also because the very tentative steps RWA has made toward acknowledging and accepting queer romance wouldn't make me feel welcomed if I did. (And those steps for the most part fall solidly in the field of "women writing m/m romance" so even the current level of acceptance doesn't feel welcoming to me.) But this post isn't specifically about RWA or about romance, it's about how an award system -- any award system -- gains or loses prestige, and consequently gains or loses value to both the authors and readers who use it as an index of excellence.

What the RITA awards are flirting with is embracing irrelevance.

Very few awards achieve prestige from the start. You can't build it in by fiat, though you may be able to get a leg up by borrowing an existing level of prestige either via the founding organization, the decision makers, or the initial works and people who are recognized.

If you are a well-known, well-respected book-related organization and you decide to create a new award or awards program, you can start with existing prestige that will be lent to the recipients of the awards and coast on that momentum until the award program itself either justifies the borrowed respect or fucks up enough to lose it.

If you begin a brand new award program by bringing in highly respected judges with a track record of reliably evaluating and identifying excellence in writing (for whatever interpretation of "excellence" you're aiming for), then people are going to start with a certain level of good will toward the outcome of your process, even if (or especially when) awards go to unexpected or unknown works and writers.

If you start an award program that recognizes the excellence of works or writers that your audience already considers excellent...well, this one's tricker. How transparent is your process? Are you going to be perceived as trying to borrow glory or ride coattails? Are you also recognizing less known works and authors within a process that leads people to check them out and agree that they share characteristics with the already-famous winners? This method can work, though people may reserve judgment a bit longer.

But if you're an unknown, with a selection process that involves people of unknown or unproven judgment (which may include crowd-sourced judgment), presenting awards to works or authors who don't have an existing track record of performance...well, let's just say that the prestige and value of your award will need to prove itself over time and in the pudding. (An example of a relatively new award that has yet to establish this sort of track record--and consequently hasn't yet developed the prestige it hopes to attain, is the Dragon Awards given out in a number of genre categories at Dragoncon.)

If you're an existing awards program that regulary, consistently elevates works that have glaring problems, or that regularly and consistently overlooks eligible candidates that the majority of your audience considers to be better than the works/authors that won, you're flirting with losing whatever existing importance you have in the field. And if writers of recognized excellence decline to participate in your award system, sooner or later, your award winners might start thinking that what you're offering isn't much of an honor after all.

But how is an author--especially a brand new author or one who doesn't have the benefit of mentors in the field--supposed to navigate the multitude of book awards to determine which are worth their interest (and especially, which are worth the expense of participating)? How do you figure out which awards or nominee/finalist lists are going to mean something to your audience in the long run and which boil down to empty self-congratulation? And especially, which will be a red flag to people in the know that you're either naïve or think that your audience is?

Anyone can create an award. Anyone can hand out certificates and shiny gold "award winner" stickers for your book covers. In fact, there's practically an industry built around this awards program model. But let's look at a few examples, just to explore some of the possibilities. Because outside of simple name-brand recognition there aren't hard and fast rules for identifying awards the confer respect and awards that maybe send a message you didn't mean to send.

Being an award nominee or finalist (never mind winner) can provide at least three types of usefulness for your career as an author.

1. The actual cachet of having an independent entity say, "This is a book that we consider to be worth your attention."
2. Internal permission to talk about your book--especially useful for those of us who feel guilty any time we do self-promotion. Nomination/finalist/award status is a socially permitted context for doing so.
3. Convincing your audience that you have received #1 regardless of the status of the award in question.

Within these purposes, the different types of status (e.g., nomination vs. finalist) and the nature and exclusivity of the award itself will affect reception of your promotion to the extent that your audience knows about differences in that status/nature. For the undiscerning audience, "My book is has been nominated for the Arglebargle Award!" may be impressive. The more discerning audience wants to know exactly what the process is to be nominated for the Arglebargle and whether there is any filtering involved. If they feel that the Arglebargle (or the status of "nominee") is functionally meaningless--and especially if they suspect the author knows that--then the claim can have the opposite of the intended effect.

For example, among Science Fiction and Fantasy awards, the Hugo Award is pretty far up there in terms of established prestige. And being a Hugo Finalist is usually treated as being only very slightly less prestigeous than being a winner. But being a Hugo "nominee"? There's a reason that "nominee" isn't an recognized status for the award, because everyone who's a paid member of the relevant conventions is a nominator and all it takes is one person (including you) putting your work into the nomination process to technically be a "nominee". (Though it takes a certain threshold for you to be able to prove it, as even the list of the long tail of nominations that is released after the awards are presented has a numeric cut-off below which titles/names are not identified.) So while it certainly is A Thing for some people to puff themselves off as a "Hugo nominee" because their best friend Bob said they nominated them, it's a thing that will tend to attract derision.

Similarly, there are well respected book awards that require an entry fee for consideration (though see more about entry fees below) as well as submission of copies of the work for consideration. Technically, anyone who pays the fee and submits their work is then "a nominee" for the award. But it does seem a bit odd for an author to treat that status as being an honor it itself. (There's a fuzzier line where maybe your publisher has selected specific works to submit for consideration for the award and has paid the fees. In that case, it may well be a mark of your publisher's confidence in your work to do so, and something to be pround of. But it still isn't a status that has emerged from the award selection process itself.)

Let's talk about award entry fees. Fees exist for a very practical purpose: manageability of the numeric logistics. (Also: profit. But we'll get to that.)

Crowd-sourced award systems, where large numbers of people have volunteered to participate in the nomination and selection process, and who obtain works to evaluate out of their own pockets manage these logistics by the distributed and voluntary nature of the system. There will be overhead for data management, the physical awards, and the context of presentation, but it's more or less a fixed cost and doesn't increase with the numer of potential works/people eligible for consideration.

At the opposite end of the scale, a juried award where a relatively small number of people have committed to read and judge all eligible works has to have some system for making that a manageable workload. Even in the rare case where the judges are being compensated for their time. The system might involve a separate pre-filtering process (of unspecified nature). It might involve procedural hoops that need to be jumped through that not only reduce the number of people who consider it worth the effort, but that--when applied by many award systems--reduce the number of awards systems an author is willing/able to do the work of submitting for. (It used to be that the sheer cost and effort of mailing in multiple physical copies of a book for consideration was enough of a hoop. E-books have changed this dynamic significantly.) But a very practical system that not only sets an entry filter but also supports the incidental expenses of the award system is to have an entry fee. It forces authors to consider not only whether the award itself would be worth the investment should they win, but also forces them to consider which of the many existing fee-based award systems it might make sense to focus on. Ideally, ones their works are suitable for and that would provide genuine prestige from being associated with.

It's easy to calculate that if an author can enter a book award program with no fee, and can submit e-books for consideration, and IF the award program has genuine prestige and no way to crowd-source the work of evaluation, it's going to burn out the judges on the first go-round. We hear a lot of bashing of "gate-keepers" these days, but gates are a way of keeping logistics to a manageable number. It's going to happen one way or another or it isn't sustainable.

If some respectable award systems require entry fees, does that mean that having an entry fee shouldn't be used when judging whether to enter your work for award consideration? Absolutely not. But it does mean you need to look at two factors.

1. Does the award actually convey prestige? I don't mean "Could you get some publicity mileage out of being able to say your book has won an Arglebargle Award?" I mean, "Have you ever heard of any of the previous winners or their authors? Have previous winners been recogized in other contexts besides the Arglebargle? Do previous winners show any other signs of being quality books that you would be proud to be associated with?"
2. Can you follow the money and see how it works? How transparent are the numbers involved? How many books are submitted for consideration? What percentage end up as winners/finalists/honorable mentions? Other than the entry fee, what other financial "opportunities" does the award involve? Are winners/finalists encouraged to pay for special certificates or award stickers? For publicity packages?

Yes, I'm calling out a specific awards system business model here. It's one that I see a lot of new and especially self-published authors lining up for, not realizing that experienced professionals wouldn't touch those awards with a ten foot pole. There are a LOT of awards out there that use this model. Often they identify themselves with a specific city or region, or have some other distinguishing "faceplate". But the model is so cookie-cutter one would be unsurprised to find that many are fronts for a single organization or are franchises of some sort. (Or, I know for a fact, some are set up by well-meaning but naïve people who think this model is simply an accepted practice and don't realize why they get a lot of side-eye for it.) Here are the hallmarks to look for:

• The award has a lot of categories. A LOT. They are highly-specific categories. A single book is likely to fit into several of them.
• The entry fee is startlingly high. Like, in the $100 range. Though you may get a "discount" for entering the same book into multiple categories at a time.
• Each of the many categories has a single winner but may have many finalists. The award organization treats being a finalist as being almost as good as being a winner. Finalists are encouraged to think it's a great achievement.
• There is no transparency regarding how many works were submitted to any given category. There is no way to know whether, in fact, there were any submissions that are NOT winners or finalists. The selection process for winners and finalists is opaque. This may be framed as protecting the judges' privacy, but for all you know, they drew slips out of a hat.
• Winners and finalists are strongly encouraged to buy book-cover stickers proclaiming the book's achievement. Minimum order, 100 stickers. A brief and unscientific survey of current award programs of this sort indicate that they charge anywhere from $20-$40 for each roll of 100 stickers. A quick check of a promtional sticker printing services suggests that the award organization might be paying as little as $2 for each of thos 100-sticker rolls. Winner and finalist certificates for your wall are usually also offered at a similar mark-up. Do the math.

Rather than end on that note, I want to get back to the question of how, as an author, you evaluate whether to focus your efforts (or your hopes) on a particular award program. (And for many of the most prestigeous award programs, you have absolutely no control over whether your work will be considered. So it's a matter of "hopes" rather than "efforts".) One approach is to look at past winners and finalists of the award and ask yourself, "Is this company I would be proud to be in?" And perhaps more importantly, "Is this work that I would proud to lose to?"

This is where we circle back around to the current RITA controversy. And to similar backroom discussions about other award programs. An award program can embrace its own irrelevance if too many people look at the works being recognized--or the works being excluded--and find that the answer is "no."

I'll confess that when my debut novel came out, I put it in for consideration by a variety of award programs. (Though none of the "buy our finalist stickers" ones!) In part, it was simply the exhuberance of being a real author and wanting that experience. In part it was feeling out the landscape. But I also took a look at the results, the track records, and the contexts of those award programs and made some different choices going forward.

Only one of my books has won an award: the Gaylactic Spectrum Award given to Mother of Souls. I look at the past winners and finalists of the Spectrum and I can sincerely say that I would have been proud to have lost to any of them. That's what makes it possible for me to be proud of winning.

Things move very quickly once we get into discussions of cover design! What do you think?

(I confess I do feel left out of "cover reveal culture", which doesn't seem to be a thing among lesbian presses. I always find out what my cover looks like when it pops up online.)

ETA: Almost forgot -- I also have cover copy!

The streets are a perilous place for a young laundry maid dismissed without a character for indecent acts. Roz knew the end of the path for a country girl alone in the city of Rotenek. A desperate escape in the night brings her to the doorstep of Dominique the dressmaker and the hope of a second chance beyond what she could have imagined. Roz’s apprenticeship with the needle, under the patronage of the Royal Thaumaturgist, wasn’t supposed to include learning magic, but Celeste, the dressmaker’s daughter, draws Roz into the mysterious world of the charm-wives. When floodwaters and fever sweep through the lower city, Celeste’s magical charms could bring hope and healing to the forgotten poor of Rotenek, but only if Roz can claim the help of some unlikely allies.

Set in the magical early 19th century world of Alpennia, Floodtide tells an independent tale that interweaves with the adventures.

Lesbian Historic Motif Podcast - Episode 97 (previously 32c) - Book Appreciation with Katharine Duckett - transcript

(Originally aired 2019/03/16 - listen here)

Heather Rose Jones: Last week, we had Katharine Duckett on the show to talk about her own historic writing with queer female characters. In this segment, she's here to talk about some works in the field that she's particularly enjoyed. Welcome back, Katharine.

Katharine Duckett: Hello.

H: So, tell us about the books you like.

K: The first book that I want to talk about is one that I loved when it came out, and I'm actually rereading right now, and that is The Last Nude by Ellis Avery. And this is a terrific novel that is real, not a takeoff on the real history. Tamara de Lempicka who's a terrific artist, queer artist, and who was living in Paris in the 1920s. And so this novel is steeped in the history of that time and has many amazing shout outs to real history in Paris at that time--Shakespeare and Co.--and it's just beautifully written, a really lovely story of someone discovering their own sexuality, and the real history of this artists who actually has long been one of my favorite artists.

H: Yeah, that was a fabulous time for queer women in Paris as I recall. So, next book.

K: The next book is actually a novella, and this one is Passing Strange by Ellen Klages.

H: Oh, yes. Oh, yes, we had her on the show. [laughs]

K: I was lucky enough to work on this actually when I was working at Tor.com in publicity, so that was such a treat to get to work on this book. This book unfolds in 1940 in San Francisco, such a fascinating time for the queer community. San Francisco, obviously, a bastion of queer culture, long a haven for queer people. It's just so alive with the sense of these real women and their real relationships and their real struggles. It brings in also the history of the pulps, which is fascinating and as someone who has been long a science fiction fantasy genre fan, that was something I loved as well. And there's a touch of magic as well. It's a really lovely story.

H: Yeah, I really enjoyed having Ellen on the show to talk about it, it's been so lovely seeing it gather all the awards.

K: Yes, it's great. Then my third book is another incredible historical fiction story. This one, like my book, draws on real history but then also draws in a lot about what can't be known about certain things of the period, and that is Hild by Nicola Griffith.

H: Oh, yeah.

K: That is this great exploration of the life of this woman who clearly was this incredible, intelligent-

H: Well, let's remind the listeners where and when it's set.

K: Yeah. So, in seventh century Britain, Hild was actually a woman who was basically someone who clearly had quite a lot of power and insight and was a very learned person, but we know very little about her. And Nicola Griffith actually writes quite a lot about this on her blog and wrote as she was writing the book about how little is extent in the historical record about this person. And so from what little is available, she creates this tome really, I have the hardback and it's just a beautiful text [laughs] that explores what this woman's life might have been like, and what life as a queer woman might have been like for her at the time. It's just an incredibly detailed vision of life at that time from what little is actually known.

H: And she envisions an approach to sexuality that it's an imagined approach, but how queer sexuality might fit into Anglo-Saxon society at a time on the cusp between the pre-Christian society and the introduction of Christianity. And it's a very lovely way of imagining other settings, other categorizations.

K: Yes, and not defined by our idea of sexuality as it stands now. And so it's just a really amazing look at that.

H: Yeah, I really enjoyed it. Thank you so much for sharing some of your favorite historical books with queer women with us.

K: Thanks.

Show Notes

In the Book Appreciation segments, our featured authors (or your host) will talk about one or more favorite books with queer female characters in a historic setting.

In this episode Katharine Duckett recommends some favorite queer historical novels:

Books mentioned

• The Last Nude by Ellis Avery
• Passing Strange by Ellen Klages
• Hild by Nichola Griffith

Links to the Lesbian Historic Motif Project Online

• Website: http://alpennia.com/lhmp
• Blog: http://alpennia.com/blog
• RSS: http://alpennia.com/blog/feed/
• Twitter: @LesbianMotif
• Discord: Contact Heather for an invitation to the Alpennia/LHMP Discord server
• The Lesbian Historic Motif Project Patreon

Links to Heather Online

• Website: http://alpennia.com
• Email: Heather Rose Jones
• Twitter: @heatherosejones
• Facebook: Heather Rose Jones (author page)

Links to Katharine Duckett Online

• Website: https://www.katharineduckett.com
• Twitter: @kekduckett