I managed to overlook Shawn Speakman's article on Suvudu.com defending George R. R. Martin and the ongoing siege fans of his A Song of Ice and Fire series are waging against him. 

Shawn's article is thorough and well thought out, allowing a measure of criticism for Martin's "unprofessional" behavior while generally defending his writing style and the long process of completing a beloved series.

Shawn was the first person I've heard describe Martin's problem as unprofessionalism.  It really does encapsulate it well: if Martin is truly guilty of anything, he's guilty of setting unrealistic goals and putting them in writing -- of making promises he should have known he couldn't keep.  That aside, you can't really fault a writer for the way his own process works.  Shawn makes a good argument that that is truly the heart of the issue: the combination of Martin's free-writing style and his strict editor's eye makes for a long writing process, and one that is frequently subject to drastic change:

George is, from what I understand, a Freewriter.

So, what does that mean? Well, it means George does not plan in advance what he writes. As a result, George will often write several chapters, which takes up several weeks, decide on a different and better course of direction, and have to erase those chapters--and quite possibly several others that came before them. Those weeks are gone with no output to show for it other than having a better sense of where he is going. According to him, that very thing has happened several times over the course of the last few years, delaying A Feast For Crows and now A Dance With Dragons. Unlike King, who sometimes has lackluster endings to his novels due to, in my opinion, lack of planning, George is an editor who will not publish something unless it is done right. The manner in which George writes can be volatile to the reader who believes George just needs to spend a certain amount of time at the keyboard to produce a manuscript.

But writing for George is not a science. He is a Freewriter. To try to make him other than that is folly--and disrespects the earlier work that has given such joy.

Shawn also brought up the subject of what he calls "the creative wall," a realism of the writing life that many writers have described in many different ways:

Every writer I have spoken to comes to a point in their creative day where, no matter how much they wish differently, the written word just does not happen the way it should. The writing becomes stagnant; it becomes useless and is simply not good enough to be published. No matter if the writer sits and tries to hammer their way through, nothing changes. To sit at the keyboard during that time is a waste of time.

I call it the Creative Wall.

All writers come to that Wall during their writing day, at least all writers I know. The average amount of time differs between writers. For instance, Terry Brooks spends between five or six hours a day before he is simply burnt out. Steven Erikson, on the other hand, doesn't come to his Creative Wall until seven or eight hours have passed. For me, it is four or five hours. Every writer is different; every writer deals with it.

George comes to a Wall during his writing day too.

Hemingway described the experience, and how he dealt with it, in A Moveable Feast: "I had learned already never to empty the well of my writing, but always to stop when there was still something there in the deep part of the well, and let it refill at night from the springs that fed it."  He often advised writers to stop consciously short of that Wall, saying that it was best to stop when you were still going good, to leave on a high note, essentially, while you still knew what was going to happen next.  By so doing, one could begin the next day of writing that much more easily, having saved a bit of starter material.

But I digress.

Suffice it to say that Shawn's post is a worthwhile read for any Martin fan disgruntled over the long-delayed publication of A Dance with Dragons, and The Accidental Bard wholeheartedly joins him in his Defense.

Carrie Vaughn is like Laurell K. Hamilton, only better. I liked Hamilton's first five books, but her recent efforts have been redolent with existential angst, precious self-awareness, and bizarre sex acts. Her increasingly redundant story lines--will Richard come to terms with being a werewolf? Will Damien grow a spine? Will Anita overcome her guilt?--now come at the expense of a plot. While I continue to read her books out of a sense of loyalty, I miss the good old days when her books were tightly written, funny, and exciting.

Enter Carrie Vaughn: in Kitty Raises Hell, the latest installment in the "Kitty" series, Vaughn gives us just the right amount of political intrigue, frightening creatures, action, violence, and human foibles--with a kick-ass heroine to lead us through it all. In this classic urban fantasy theatre, Vampires and werewolves have been "outed", and now live among us in relative peace. Vaughn treats us to all the old standards we've come to know and love: a vampire "Master of the City", a contentious werewolf pack, and plenty of skeptical humans. There's an underlying tension between those who want to preserve the "old ways"--"might is right" and let the chips fall where they may--and those "new world order" Democrats, who want to lead by consensus. The question becomes, how can Kitty lead her pack effectively, influencing them toward the "right" choice without sacrificing her ideals?

In the eighth installment of the "Kitty" series, Kitty discovers--the hard way--that she's not quite done with the Band of Tiamat. Or, rather, the Band of Tiamat isn't quite done with her. After a series of inexplicable attacks, Kitty realizes she needs all the help she can find. Help comes in the form of a popular reality TV program, "Paradox PI", and its intrepid crew--a group of people who turn out to be more than they seem. Along with Rick, the Master Vampire of Denver, they race to understand the nature of this new evil before it's too late.

Kitty Raises Hell could be cliché, but it isn't. While to some authors these standards are a crutch, to Vaughn they're merely a starting point. She takes them in stride and uses them to craft an original work. Nothing about her universe feels stale or worked over; if I didn't know better, I could easily assume she was alone in her field. The Denver of the "Kitty" series is remarkably believable--as are the problems Kitty and her fellow citizens face. While their adventures are unquestionably epic--battling ancient Babylonian cults, demons, even law enforcement--they don't have that fake "watch me save the world before dinner" feel. They're blissfully free of the kind of posturing that characterizes Goodkind's books.

Vaughn's focus is right where it should be, on her characters. Kitty is highly convincing, realistic protagonist; she's a strong woman, but she's also a vulnerable woman. A radio host and independent business owner, Kitty's career struggles, to some extent, mirror her experiences as Alpha of her pack. She doesn't always know the right answer or make the wisest decision, but she's sincere in her expectations of herself. It's refreshing to find a protagonist who has, dare I say it, "normal" issues--who isn't consumed with anger over old hurts, who doesn't spend several hundred pages ruminating on how difficult it is to be emotionally shut down. Most of us want a heroine whose challenges, whether emotional or professional, make sense to us. Within the first few pages, Kitty comes through loud and clear as a real person.

Her cast of supporting characters is excellent, as well. Kitty's relationship with Ben, her husband, isn't perfect--but it's believable. If you're getting a little sick of the "will he or won't he" drama, perpetually broken hearts, and overly self-aware pity sex so common in other urban fantasy series, then you'll find the "Kitty" series really refreshing. Here, her relationship plays an important supporting--not a starring--role. Ben is not only a real person, but also a meaningful partner; he helps Kitty save the world with his skills as a lawyer, not his penis. It's refreshing to see a fictional couple that can connect outside of the bedroom.

Moreover, for a wonder, Kitty actually has friends and coworkers who are more than just cardboard cutouts! In Kitty Raises Hell, Kitty makes some new friends, and I really enjoyed following their growing relationship. She also deepens her connection with some old friends. In a field that's become overcrowded with clichés, stereotypes, and one trick ponies, Vaughn is a very refreshing change. Even her bit players stayed with me after I finished the book.

And there's just enough sex to keep your attention. Sex occupies the same exalted role here that it does in real life: it's an expression of passion, sometimes comfort, and usually love. Vaughn uses it to reveal Kitty's vulnerability, and let us understand a little more about her relationship with Ben. Like any good writer, Vaughn doesn't need paragraph after paragraph to get her point across; she conveys a world of complexity in just a few sentences.

If you're looking for paragraph after ponderous paragraph about thrusting, heaving, and releasing, this series isn't for you--but if you're longing for a book that's actually about something, this series will be one of your favorite discoveries this year. Kitty Raises Hell might not be the most original book I own, but it's a gripping read nevertheless. Revisiting this Hamilton-esque world is comforting, like pulling on a favorite sock--you know what to expect, and that's part of the thrill. The "Kitty" series is a familiar--and very welcome--thrill.