I’ve been thinking a lot about this concept lately in regard to my own books. My stories are full of examples of the liminal. I have a soft spot for marginalized characters—mixed-bloods, down-and-out faery drag queens, Recreant mages, dozens of characters struggling to reconcile their desires with duty. These are characters on the fringe of polite society and I go back to them over and over.

I also utilize the concept of liminality in my settings and plots. In SILVER-TONGUED DEVIL (out this week), Sabina Kane goes into a liminal realm—aptly called “The Liminal”– that exists between our mundane reality and the magical underworld to fight her demons, both literal and figurative. It is only through interacting with liminal characters, exploring strange, new settings and being forced to explore the margins of her own psyche that she can truly transform.

Please understand that when I refer to the liminal in my own works, I am not suggesting that my use of the concept is anything revolutionary. Separation from society and its norms is a critical element of most fiction. Joseph Campbell’s lectures on the hero’s journey are chock full of references to characters who are forced to leave the status quo and explore the murky wastelands of the unknown as a requirement for growth.

However, as I thought about my own use of the in-between, I realized that urban fantasy is itself a liminal genre. It exists on the threshold of several other genres, unapologetically taking the beloved conventions of other genres and mixing them in new and unexpected ways. I have yet to attend one conference or convention where a panel I’m on doesn’t devolve into a debate over what qualifies as urban fantasy. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been told that what I write is not “real” urban fantasy, as if it is a genre that anyone has adequately defined and codified.

I believe these arguments about what is or is not UF occur because, as my friend and colleague Nicole Peeler said recently, we are not comfortable with ambiguity as a society. We like everything placed in neat categories (except for ourselves, which is a topic of another post on another blog at some other time). I believe this gets at the heart of why urban fantasy as a genre has been such a polarizing genre. It revels in its liminality, thank you very much.

And therein is the danger of the liminal in general. It’s a place where rules don’t apply and that scares us. Which is also, by the way, why I think urban fantasy has been so popular. Even as the liminal frightens us, it’s incredibly fun to explore through someone else’s eyes. So even though we may avoid going through the looking glass of our own psyches, it’s safe and fun to follow Alexia Tarabotti or Dante Valentine or Jane True or Sabina Kane in there.

I hope the next time you pick up an urban fantasy you’re encouraged to explore the in-between spaces in your own life. But if not, that’s okay—our characters are happy to have you along for the ride. What are some of your favorite uses of the liminal in urban fantasy?

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I fall into the can’t-write-without-it-camp. Music not only helps me get into the right headspace to write particular scenes, but specific lyrics have helped me figure out the themes of entire books.

I thought since the latest book in my Sabina Kane series, GREEN EYED DEMON, comes out in the UK on February 3 (and March 1 in the US), I’d share my playlist for the book, as well as some notes about why each was included.

“The Witch Queen of New Orleans” by Tom Jones

Other than the fact this song is about voodoo and New Orleans–two huge elements in the story–how could I not have the cheesetastic, hip-grinding Tom Jones on this soundtrack?

“I Bleed” by the Pixies

I love me some Black Francis. Plus this song mentions both bleeding and vampires, both of which appear in spades in this series.

“Queen of Apology” by The Sounds

This is a classic Sabina song. She’s so pissed she’s feeling vulnerable. This song has a great attitude and kicky tempo.

“Hoodoo” by Muse

Atmospheric and mysterious, this song reflects the strong, dark vein (pun intended) of voodoo in the story.

“I Touch Myself” by The Divinyls

This may seem an odd choice, but once you read the book and meet Brooks, the faery drag queen, it will all make sense. Plus? Tell me you don’t love this song. I dare you.

“Dancing Queen” by ABBA

Another Brooks song. Plus it’s not healthy to write by angsty music alone.

“Happy Ending Story” by Hole

Sabina’s theme for the book. Courtney Love might be a hot mess, but no one else puts so much gritty rage into lyrics.

“Brother”  by The Organ

The baseline and tempo get your heart pumping. Great song for a fight scene.

“Shade and Honey” by Sparklehorse

Sigh. I adore this song. It’s a ballad but it’s also filled with darkly beautiful symbolism. Totally an Adam and Sabina song.

“The Path to Decay” by Sirenia

Dark, gritty and filled with attitude. Great mood music for when Sabina’s ready to kick some ass.

“God is a Bullet”  by Concrete Blonde

I briefly considered include Concrete Blonde’s more famous “Bloodletting” on this soundtrack because a) it mentions New Orleans and B)is about vampires. But it almost seemed too obvious a choice. “God is a Bullet” has far more urban fantasy attitude with its growling guitar and pounding baseline. “God is a bullet– have mercy on us, everyone.”

“Gimme Shelter” by The Rolling Stones

I don’t want to know anyone who doesn’t like this song. Can’t you  just feel the humid, ozone-scented air? Brace yourself–the storm’s coming.

“Voodoo Child” by The Jimi Hendrix Experience

Oh come on! How could I resist this classic for a book set in New Orleans? It’s got such great raunchy swagger.

“Bloodsport” by Sneaker Pimps

“Love is just a bloodsport, son.” Ah, the thin, dark line between love and hate. What would fiction be without it? This is by far the sexiest song on this playlist.

“Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door” by Guns N’ Roses

I played this on repeat when writing the last few scenes of GREEN-EYED DEMON. I can barely listen to it anymore without tearing up. It’s the perfect song for a character who is condemned to live with her choices.

I’ve posted this playlist, as well as those for my other books,  on iTunes if you’d like to add any of these to your library: GREEN-EYED DEMON, THE MAGE IN BLACK, RED-HEADED STEPCHILD. Rock on!

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Well, I can’t speak for other writers, but today I’m going to tell you how I do it. Kind of.

But first, imagine for a moment that I am not Jaye Wells, author and bon vivant. Instead, picture me in an kicky fedora and wielding a spade (the shovel, not the playing card). That’s right, my friends, today I am Jaye Wells, international archeologist of mystery. If this were a movie, it’d be titled  Indiana Jaye and the Book of Doom.

I’m standing in a desert, a vast wasteland. Let’s pretend I’m working on a hot tip that under all this sand, there’s artifacts from a mysterious and fascinating civilization. I don’t know much about it, but I have a feeling there’s a potentially huge discovery somewhere under my feet.

Buzzards fly overhead, waiting for me to stumble so they can swoop in and eat me alive. But I’m a woman on a mission, so I put the buzzards out of my mind and start digging. After a while, I find a pottery fragment. After examining it for identifying marks, I grab my trusty notebook and jot down everything I know about this shard–shape, colors, size, etc. More digging. Another shard. This one is different. At first I can’t figure out if it’s part of the same pot as the last one. They don’t seem to fit together, but, hey, it’s another discovery. Like before, I jot down what I know about this piece.

I continue digging and jotting until I can’t dig anymore. By now, I’m sweaty and sunburned and dying for a drink. For all this work, I have maybe 10 to 20 shards. I still have no idea how they fit together. But I gather them up and take them back to my workshop.

After I’ve rested and liberally applied aloe (aloe naturally representing alcohol in this metaphor), I carefully lay each shard out on a table. Looking at them all laid out, I’m discouraged. Some of the pieces are really cool, they’re crazy shapes and have splashes of interesting colors. Some pieces, though, don’t look they they belong at all. Maybe they belong to another pot. Or maybe they’re really just petrified fecal matter. Either way, I set those aside and focus on the interesting stuff.

Much shuffling ensues. Eventually, after playing for a while, a picture starts to take shape. It’s still incomplete, but now I can see how some pieces work together. I can also see the holes. Lots and lots of gaping holes. More shuffling. Some head scratching. I grab the aloe and reapply.

Usually, I end up going back to the sand to look for more shards. Sometimes I find the exact piece I was missing–the one that makes all the other piece make sense. Other times all I find is the shriveled mummy of the last author who dug there. (Which is cool because, hey, who doesn’t like mummies?) Sometimes I curl up in the fetal position under a cactus clutching my trusty bottle of aloe.

Eventually, though, I end up with enough pieces–found or created–to cobble together a urn-like structure. Now that I know enough, I start gluing it all together. It’s not easy work. Some shards don’t make the cut. They crumble like dust or turn out to be buzzard droppings. Some have to be twisted to fit. After all this work, I have a messy pot with ugly seams. But it’s definitely an urn. I carefully polish the seams until they’re invisible.

The next step, of course, is to send it to the curator who gets final say about whether my urn is ready for display.  She sends me several pages of detailed notes pointing out every hole I missed in excruciating detail. Or she tells me to get my ass back to the desert.

But that’s a story best told over several bottles of delicious aloe.

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The other reason I watched it again is my next book, The Mage in Black (out April 1), contains an homage of sorts to Palahniuk’s brainchild in the form of a Demon Fight Club. I think we can all agree the idea of watching two demons beat the crap out of each other is wholesome entertainment for the entire family. Or it’s unwholesome entertainment for those twisted enough to enjoy my books. You’ll have to read it and let me know which.

Anyway, because my brain is an interesting place, thinking about these two fight clubs led me to another permutation: Author Fight Club.

I’ll give you a moment to let the awesome sink in. Don’t worry. Take your time. Makes your brain happy, right?

Literary history is filled with famous feuds between authors. Perhaps you’ll recall my own scandalous altercation with one Nicole Peeler, whose totally self-aggrandizing account of the brawl can be found here. Up until now I have refrained from discussing the incident on the advice of my attorney. Also I seem to be suffering some long-term memory loss from the cheap shot Dr. Peeler foisted upon me with a metal chair. But I digress.

For the most part, the days of author-on-author violence have sadly dwindled into random verbal skirmishes in hotel bars during conventions or, even more pedestrian, passive aggressive snarkfests on twitter. But I think we need to resurrect the good old days where true catharsis was found in bloodied noses and split lips. Instead of book tours, publishers can host cage matches. The combatants will be chosen from the house’s stable of authors. Or better yet, publishers can hold cross-promotional events wherein they pit their bestsellers against each other. Naturally, editors will referee the matches and reviewers will provide the color commentary.

What say you Orbit fans? What authors would you like to see duke it out in the ring?

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It was actually a fair question. Despite the proliferation of violence in my fiction, I am, in the real world, a wimp. In fact, the only fight I’ve ever been in was a schoolyard slap fight with Christy Cates (no relation to Avery Cates) in the fourth grade. Instead of instilling a healthy blood lust in my young self, the experience resulted in a healthy dose of tears and mild psychological trauma.

So how does one write convincing fight scenes without any real life experience with physical violence?

Well, first, all these years of not fighting have built up a healthy dose of repressed anger. On the outside, I may look like a suburban soccer mom, but inside I’m a roiling sack of rage. Just ask anyone whose been on the receiving end of my intimidating passive aggression.

Second, forget the whole “write what you know” thing. The truth is a savvy writer gets really good at researching to fill in knowledge gaps. In fact, for me, that’s one of the most fun parts of writing. I’ve taken self-defense classes, attended workshops on fighting, watched Youtube videos of martial arts demonstrations, read books and articles on weapons and fight theory, etc. Hell, I’ve even acted out fight scenes in my office. (I recommend you only do this when at home alone. Mime fighting is rarely not embarrassing.)

Third, it helps to know your character’s strengths and skills. It helps that my main character is a vampire and a mage. She’s got an impressive bag of tricks to pull from. But she’s also female, so she’s physically smaller than most of her opponents. This means that as I’m writing, I have to be aware of her lower center of gravity and using her opponent’s momentum against them.

All that said, my motto is pretty much, “When in doubt go for the ‘nads.” Keep that in mind if you ever decide to challenge me.

Also, if my mother thought the fight scenes in RED-HEADED STEPCHILD were troubling, I can’t wait until she gets a load of the Demon Fight Club scenes in THE MAGE IN BLACK (out April 1). Just sayin’.

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The Twelve Days of An Urban Fantasy Heroine

On the first day of my UF novel, my author gave to me a demon in my pantry.

On the twelfth day of torture, the Satanic wordsmith gave to me, twelve minutes till apocalypse–eleven dead assassins, ten whooped werewolves, nine staked vampires, eight mages bleeding, crap I’m out of bullets, six brained zombies, damn it my ribs hurt, four neutered hell hounds, three festering bullet wounds, two hot guys (one of them’s a traitor), that demon drank all my beer, and–kill me now– the promise of a sequel.

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After I turned in said story, I received an email from someone who had the power to kill the story. She said she wasn’t sure anyone would get the tribble joke.

Now, here’s what went through my head in order of appearance:

1) Who doesn’t know what a tribble is?
2) OMG I hope she doesn’t make me take out that joke. It’s one of the funniest lines in the story.
3) Wait. Seriously? Who’s never heard of a tribble?

I’m fairly certain the majority of Orbit’s readers know exactly what I mean when I mention tribbles. Further, I’d expect anyone out there who doesn’t get the reference would Google it. Those of you who don’t understand both tribble and Google, well, welcome to 2009! We’ve been waiting for you.

Now, to my point. When I write, I tend to expect that most of my readers are reasonably intelligent.** So, if we can assume readers are smart, isn’t it also reasonable to assume that if they don’t know a cultural reference they’ll look it up?  Or at worst, ignore it?

But what about foreign phrases or big words? Another word usage issue I’ve been called on is the phrase vagina dentata.*** Now, since phrase isn’t commonly bandied about at the typical water cooler and it’s Latin to boot, I’d assume some people don’t know what it means (see footnote).

But in my mind, this just underlines my point.

Isn’t part of the joy of reading to learn new words, ideas and concepts? To my thinking, it’s not my responsibility to write at an elementary school level. First, my books aren’t for kids. Second, it would be impossible for me to write books appropriate for kids since so many words I use would get their mouths washed out with soap. Or perhaps that’s proof I do write at a childish level, after all. But let’s not get sidetracked by a discussion about my (lack of) maturity.

The point is, I don’t think writers should have to change carefully chosen words just in case someone might have to look it up. And I’m assuming most of you–already avid readers–would resent your favorite authors favoring monosyllabic words for the same reason.

But you know what they say about assumptions … And if you don’t, well, please refer to the aforementioned Google.

P.S. In case you’re wondering, the tribble reference stayed in the story, but was modified to include the phrase “from Star Trek.” This change still bugs me. As for vagina dentata, I changed it to the more colorful “fanged vagina,” which I think we can all agree is a pretty awesome substitution.

*Okay, it was more than slightly inappropriate, but that’s not neither here nor there with regard to the point of this post.

** One could question this supposition on the basis that reading me in the first place brings one’s IQ into question, but that’s a topic for Amazon reviewers to duke out.

***Please Google the term “Star Wars Saarlacc images” to get an idea.

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6:15 Wake up and stumble downstairs to start coffee. Heads will roll if I am out of this life-saving, life-affirming elixir.

6:30 Get Spawn dressed and fed.

7:20 Drive Spawn to school. He’s wearing jeans and t-shirt. I’m in PJs and slippers. Yes, I’m that mom.

7:40 Return home, chug another cup or three of coffee. Boot up ye olde Internet. Check email, Twitter, Facebook, Google Reader, IM. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

10:00 Finally shame self into closing down Internet.

10:30 Really shame self into closing down Internet. Sometimes crowbar is necessary.

10:40 Okay, really, SHUT DOWN THE INTERNET.

11:00 The cursor taunts me. Winking, winking, winking. Write a few words. Delete them. Write a few more words. Reach for coffee mug. It’s empty. Get up for a refill.

11:30 Didn’t we already talk about this Internet thing? Seriously.

11:45 Have one page done. Convince self its drivel. Reread, nitpick, move some sentences around.

12:30 Stomach starts growling. Stumble downstairs for chocolate and more coffee. Crap, the pot’s empty. Switch to Diet Coke. My kidneys surrender.

1:00 Actually writing now. Hmm, this is pretty good. Characters are behav– Crap, where did you come from? I didn’t plan on having a weremonkey in this story. But you’re kind of awesome. Make notes to go back and work weremonkey plot into earlier pages.

1:15 Begin Googling weremonkeys. Because, you know, research. Somehow end up on Amazon to check my sales rank. Make the mistake of Googling self. Shamed into getting back to work.

3:00 Hey, somehow I’ve managed to write six-to-ten workable pages. That means it’s time for a reward. Let’s see if anything’s happening on Twitter. Oh, look, all my author friends are procrastinating too. Convince self this is promo and spend an hour making jokes about weremonkeys.

4:00 Realize I’m still in PJs. Rush to take shower and put on real clothes before husband gets home.

5:00 Mr. Jaye gets home. Asks me how my day was. I tell him I’m very excited about weremonkeys. He gives me The Look. Tells me he spent his day in meetings and fighting traffic. I pity him. He asks if I did any laundry since everyone in the house is out of clean underpants. I laugh at him. We go get Spawn.

5:30 After my stressful day, I simply can not cook. We eat at one of the restaurants we cycle through each week.

6:30 Get home, help Spawn do homework. Then it’s his bedtime routine of running through the house naked as I try to wrangle him into the shower. Manage to bathe child and wrestle him into PJs. Read to him. Lights out.

7:30 Head back downstairs, crack open laptop and spend rest of the evening playing Bejeweled and live Twittering whatever TV show I’m watching.

10:30 Get in bed and read a few chapters of whatever novel I’m into.

12:00 Realize I have to be up in six hours. Curse self for not getting more sleep. Dream of weremonkeys.

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