Tuesday, July 30, 2013
Tuesday Review: Please Forgive Me
It was one of those things that the things I read this week didn't blow my skirt up enough to write about it, you know? BUT I am reading a book now that I'm really enjoying and plan to talk about next week.
In the meantime, what are you reading?
In the meantime, what are you reading?
Monday, July 29, 2013
The Creative Itch
My friend Pam and I like to do something special in the
summer. Usually we get together and go to plays that the local University
produces, or maybe find a new place to eat or both. We make it an event. Last
year we didn’t do this and we felt the effects; so this year we signed up for
some art classes at the local pottery place. It’s about tapping into the
creative.
So the project we did was a “leaf bowl or vase”. We were
each given about a pound or so clay that was to be rolled out like pie dough,
then we’d roll real tree leaves (that the art place provided) into the clay,
cut out around the leaves and then sort of clay-glue them together and make a
bowl. Once we got the gist, we went to town. I myself was having a great time
and felt twenty years younger back in high school, in art class, doing pottery
again.
Then Monday came. Not only did I have to go back to work,
but my hand was kinda itchy. I scratched. It got worse. By Wednesday, I had
something on my face about the size of my hand, like I had been slapped.
Lovely. And there was a rash spreading up my arms and my hand? Oh, it still
itched like wildfire. Where had I gotten this rash?
I rolled back through the activities of the weekend and
deduced it could have either been this leaf class or the activity in the garden
on Sunday, except I’ve gardened before and it hadn’t done this. I emailed my
friend Pam to see if she had a rash. She said no. I was confused, but I went
home from work Wednesday and slept in hopes of taming it a bit. I took off
Thursday as well and went to the doctor who told me I had contact dermatitis.
We surmised it was probably the pottery class after I told him my theories.
Thursday, Pam wrote back and said she’d gotten some rash on
the back of her hand. By Sunday she was texting me to ask where I had gone to
the doctor and what I had gotten to treat it. I told her to have them give her
a shot because I had cream and though it helped, I still itched like a mo-fo.
Long story short (too late): we had run-ins with poison ivy
via the class. So has the teacher, incidentally, which I thought was only fair
since SHE provided the leaves. Mind you the leaves I used were maple leaves…and
Pam had some elm, but clearly poison ivy had spread its joy somehow on the
leaves and we were all affected.
Point being, we now hated our vases. We couldn’t look at
them with any degree of appreciation especially while we were itching. Now it’s
been about six weeks, about two weeks or so after the itching finally cleared
up, and only now am I thinking remotely fondly of my artwork. Where I might be
willing to finish it with some glaze and fire it again.
I think my writing goes a bit like this. In the beginning
I’m struck by the need for creativity and fun, and I’m all enthused with my
masterpiece and have shaped out a nifty beginning-middle-and-end, but then I
get something that’s akin to poison ivy. Something that pretty much happens
with every book. I get itchy. I want to get away from it. I want to pretend I
never fucking heard of this book to begin with. And no matter how much I
invested in it, I don’t want to go into the shop, bring it home, and display it
anywhere because all I can think is: this stupid thing is godawful and I never
ever want to speak of it again.
Then some time passes and you’re away from the book. You
stop itching. Maybe you work on another project and that takes your mind off
how awful the last one was. Anyway, enough time has passed you think it might
not be bad to revise the thing. Someone tells you the project actually came out
really good during the firing. It just needs its other stuff, you know?
Revision and polish.
Poison ivy during a project is very normal, I’ve decided,
though technically speaking I never want to make another leaf bowl. Ever, ever.
It’s okay to itch though and hate your work for a while. But it’s important to
come back to it when the pain has past and you’re no longer close to the pain
so you can see the beauty in it again.
Scratch on, my friends, scratch on.
So how are you feeling about your writing lately? Still on
good terms or like you’re in the midst of a batch of poison ivy?
Friday, July 26, 2013
Snuff The Magic Dragon...Lived By The Sea...
As you all know by now, due to my incessant pestering this week, SNUFF THE MAGIC DRAGON is out. In fact, I know some of you have read it already - which is awesome but not too hard to believe because it's only 123 pages.
Anyhoo - it got me thinking. I had some other plans for other Non-Bombay projects, but I've decided to put them on hold and do one more collection before the year is out.
I had a LOT of fun writing this book. I'll admit that I was nervous because short stories aren't really my thing. But I've been assured in the last five days that fans like this idea and want more. So that's what I'm gonna give them.
The only thing is trying to come up with six more stories. I have a few ideas:
- Something set in the wild American West - there were lots of baddies with weird names like 'Crazy Legs Pete' (Okay, I made that up but I'll bet there's someone out there somewhere that fits that description;
- Something where the first Bombay went rogue and had to be hunted down - creating that rule. Someone said on FB that they wanted to know more about how the (ironically) Draconian rules of the Bombay Family came from. I think this is a good way to showcase that, maybe;
- Something maybe a little supernatural - I always wanted to try that. Not sure what that would be yet, but I'm working on it.
I'm open to ideas. What in the Bombay's history would you want to see?
The Assassin
Wednesday, July 24, 2013
Past Influences
Influence: “Atonement” Epic Score (Epic Action &
Adventure Vol. 9, 2011)
The day was muggy, I remember that much. The sun was
partially hidden behind the clouds and the humidity spiked so high the summer
stole your breath away if you stepped foot outside. MTV played in the
background as I doled out the cards for a new game of Uno. My sister whined,
bored, sick of losing and hot because even the A/C wasn’t enough to cool a body
down.
It was mid afternoon, not quite three. Two hours before open
gym started for my freshman year of high school. Excitement fluttered in my
stomach all day. My cousin and I had been practicing for this day for years.
This was my first tryout for high school ball. The first time I’d step on the
court in the raging summer and prove my worth to make the team. All the quiet
time I’d spent practicing my dribbling and the relentless amount of developing a
free throw technique (catch,
deep-breath-ball-on-hip-eye-the-orange-rim-from-under-bangs, spin, bounce,
bounce, spin, bounce, bounce, set, eye, shoot). All the times when I’d been
knocked down by the older kids and helped back up. The bruises and blistered
and triumph and heartache- I was going to pour it into this first open gym. My
practice jersey was laid out. I’d washed my practice shorts yesterday. Number
40 gleamed even in the dim light of our tiny shared bedroom.
I’d show the coach I belonged on the varsity squad. I
deserved to play. I wanted the feeling of pride even through the sweat and
tears and triumph and heartache. The pulled muscles and bruised skin. The
sprains and breaks and dislocations- fight with the will to win and never give
up even when you’re down thirty points in the second quarter. Because even when
you’re down and you feel like giving up- there is someone who believes in you.
Knows you’re not a superhero, you’re just a little girl who loves to play
games. And for me, when I was a little girl, I grew up knowing that my grandpa
would be in the front row, mid court, eating popcorn and cheering so loud not
even the proudest parents could drown out. I grew up knowing even though I was
a girl that wouldn’t stop me from doing something I wanted to do or stop me
from achieving goals I set for myself. My cousin was a senior. For three years
my grandpa sat on the bleachers every home game in the middle of the court,
eating popcorn and cheering for my cousin. And every time she stepped to the
free throw line she looked back at grandpa and he would beam as if the sun rose
and sat on my cousin standing on the free throw line. Then he’d say to me
without taking his eyes off the court, “That will be you. Just keep practicing.”
That will be you. Just
keep practicing.
But when the phone rang and it was the hospital those are
not the words I remembered. And when they asked for my mother and said it was
an emergency those were not the words that stuck with me. My hands trembled
violently as I turned my back to the living room where my sister turned the TV
volume up for a song she liked on MTV’s countdown. Time seemed to slow, my
weight seemed unbearable to the bowing of my bones against the partition. No
longer was my day about the number 40 and how much playing time would coach
actually give me, a freshman.
“My mother isn’t here. She left for the hospital a half hour
ago.”
Because my mother had gone into town to pick up my grandpa
from the hospital. He had surgery to remove cancer and they thought he was
going to be fine.
I’ll be at your game. I
won’t miss it.
He died before my mother got there.
As a little girl I couldn’t imagine life without grandpa. I
spent a lot of time at his house. And when you’re a child, you feel like staple
adult in your life are always going to be there. But you don’t realize that
life is not that way because you’re not old enough to understand loss and how
it affects you not only in the present but in the future too. These losses
shape you and mold you and teach you, but that lesson doesn’t lessen the loss
in the moment. He promised he’d be there and then he wasn’t. You float around
in this world fixated on a promise, focused solely on these words that hold no
meaning now that he was gone.
Still to this day I think about that; but it’s not so much
the promise of his words that taught me the biggest lesson, it was his confidence in those words spoken like a fact:
That will be you. Just keep practicing.
I skipped open gym all summer- the kiss of death for a ball
player. I broke my foot just a month after grandpa passed and missed all of
softball season. And when October rolled around and practices started, my
cousin didn’t try out for the basketball team- a devastating blow to the coach.
My foot wasn’t up to snuff and practice left me hobbling, limping, crying in
the locker room after two brutal hours of drills and running. But when I wanted
to give up I looked at the bleachers, the floor level at half court. The sun
always beamed in through the ceiling high windows in the gym and on the weekend
when we practiced early, the sun bounced off old hardwood and faded lacquer on
the bottom bleacher at half court. And I kept going. I put on number 40 and
shouldered responsibility as captain all season long. It was the worst season
coach had suffered in years. It was the worst season of my life. But if I’d
given up, if I’d quit what would that have proved? My cousin couldn’t bear to
be on the court knowing when she looked at half court there was no grandpa; at
least I’d been spared that memory.
And I think writing is like that. You strain and strive to create characters that are human with quirks and flaws and so real. All the little moments
that build up the background and backstory of your characters, it’s just
bundled up inside your character shaping them into who they turned out to be. Sparing
yourself the memories by pouring them out onto the page and tweaking a few
details to fit the purpose. Teaching lessons others have learned and we have
learned along the way. We, as writers, are constantly telling ourselves "someday that will be me" and we keep striving towards that goal and practicing on paper until our character is unique and flawed and full of memories so that they are shaped by their past.
Practice and a writer's appreciation to detail are what makes characters real. Adding in those memories give those experiences that leave us at a loss. And we as people are the same way. We are just the main characters of our own lives. Something that happens today shapes us for how we react in the future.
Practice and a writer's appreciation to detail are what makes characters real. Adding in those memories give those experiences that leave us at a loss. And we as people are the same way. We are just the main characters of our own lives. Something that happens today shapes us for how we react in the future.
How do you shape your
characters past and how does that influence how they act and behave in the
future? What is your favorite past influence to read in a character? For me
I think reading about character’s loss is easily identifiable to me as a
reader. I can relate to that influence the most. But without being too personal (or you can get personal if you want)
what do you relate to the most when you’re thinking up a background and past
for a character?
Monday, July 22, 2013
Living on the Fringe
I was recently on FB and commented on something on my
newsfeed. Another author was venting, pissed at finding herself dissed from a
conversation within a group. I wasn’t sure what she meant, so I asked for a bit
of specificity. She said it was a group discussion, where someone walks up and
inserts self, then takes over, dismissing who she doesn’t consider important
within the group.
Ah! I knew what she was talking about. I call it being
fringed.This happens to me. Sometimes it is because of a specific person who deliberately eliminates those they don’t know or consider unimportant. Sometimes, I truly believe people do it without realizing they are doing it. Their energy is so intense or overwhelming, they intimidate and or take over without meaning to. It happens.
Sometimes a group just grows too large and naturally splits.
And people are just shuffled to the outside.
Why do we stay there? On the edge? Well, we are easily shuffled and don’t really
know how to re-establish our position. We might just shrug and leave, it isn’t
worth risking giving the impression of pushiness.
Yup, I’m one of those.
It happens within social groups. It happens within so many
avenues. If we complain, we are told to be more assertive. That we need to
speak up for ourselves. And undoubtedly we do.
Ah, but I am so tired of being told if I were
more…assertive, pushy, confrontational, loud, secure…then I’d be more
successful, more part of, more everything.
The thing is, I’m not a shy person. I am not terribly
reserved. I am sensitive to offending. (Despite the impression I give sometimes
when I blog.) I am sensitive to being rude. I was taught to be polite, to a
fault. If you are dismissed, you go. You don’t impose. You don’t insert.
Yet, I know there are better words for what I should do…and
most of it is my perception of how to define the right thing to do. The right
way to act.
Now, when I put a pirate hat on at convention, I change.
Same convention, I wander without the hat and I’m once more living on the
fringe.
Every situation of being fringed calls for a separate
evaluation. And living on the fringe can be a choice. In fact, it likely is a
choice. I know I’d like to be aware of making that choice.
I’d like to start a movement. The fringed movement. We
count, we are there and we aren’t invisible. We aren’t mice, we aren’t timid.
We are aware, sensitive and polite. We are everywhere. We inhabit the
borderlands. We write stuff that doesn’t quite fit in, (like romantic adventure
featuring pirates.) We are the lady writers of scifi/fantasy, who are dissed by
the great white men. We are the self-pubbed who aren’t best sellers. We are
here. Always have been. And despite my FB manifesto last week, we aren’t
invisible. It just feel that way sometimes.
I think everyone
feels fringed now and then. I need to design some buttons… Any suggestions for
our slogan? Ever felt that way yourself?
(Yes, it was Terri’s turn
to blog today, but she begged off…speaking to me on Saturday of an oncoming
coma she intended to be in come Monday.)Friday, July 19, 2013
Re-Reads and the Desert Island Scenario
I know a lot of people reread their favorites. The crew here
has chatted about that, which got me thinking about what I read again and
again. And I realized, for the most part, I don’t reread anything. My sis reads
the Lord of the Rings Trilogy every year, like a gift she gives herself. I have
read those multiple times, but not with any regularity.
I think, when I was younger, I would reread books. But the
last ten/twenty years? Nope.
Just don’t have time and there are so many new books out
there waiting for me.
There is only one thing I do reread. My own writings. That
is a pretty constant thing. I read something from beginning to end, or think
about a scene I wrote in that alien one or the DBSM (that will never see the
light of day) and I’ll go find it and read it.
Why?
Well, sometimes it’s just about reassuring myself that I can
write.
(Are writers the most insecure people on the planet, or
what?)
Sometimes it’s because I’ve learned something new so I dive
in and edit as I read. (Honestly, I always edit when I read.)
And sometimes? Well, I just want to read the story I wrote
for entertainment value. (Did I say we were insecure? Or was that egotistical?)
Because of my insecurity, there are reams of books I won’t
read, even for the first time. I fear corruption. I fear finding out what I
hack I am. I fear the green eyed monster soaring into the sky and blocking out
my light. And that can be true from books I’ve heard are really good, to books
I’ve heard are really bad and still made the author a fortune.
I’m an equal opportunity non-reader sometimes. I don’t even
reread the books I really enjoyed! Well, mostly. I have gone back and reread
some mystery series. When I’m on a real terror. So, I’ll read all 14 volumes of
the George Chesbro books. Or the 50+ Nero Wolfe books, or the Miles Vorkosigan
scifi saga. I think about reading Asimov’s Foundation series again, or Dune one
of these days… For a geek, those two are bedrock books, especially Foundation.
Also read 2001, A Space Odyssey and a few of the real golden age authors.
Clifford D. Simak and A. E. VanVogt.
And yes, I am a scifi geek. But really only the older
authors, who aren’t around anymore. It’s sorta odd.
For mystery? Well, a bunch I don’t read…because they are golden
era mystery. Rex Stout (Nero Wolfe) and Agatha Christie is probably the closest
I come to those. And Holmes, course.
Fantasy? Tolkien – yup, read him. C.S. Lewis I imagine,
nope, never read him. Marion Zimmer Bradley – some of her. Anne McCaffrey, read.
(But not all.)
I know most of ye pirates are romance readers from a very
early age. I’m not. And I’m not sure I’d want to read the golden age, because
the genre has changed so much, writing style. (Same with the other genres,
trust me.)
You’ve hooked my on Eloisa James. I’ve read a Susan
Elizabeth Phillips, Kristin Higgins, Jill Shalvis and others. Nora, Cherry… But
honestly, nothing I’d reread, as much as I enjoyed them the first time through.
It’s a bit sad, I know. But when you stand in front of a section
at a bookstore, the titles are overwhelming! So many new things! Reread? I
barely have time to read the first time through! Now, I can watch the same
movies over and over again…but it’s more of partial attention. Books really do
require full attention. (Shut up, Terri!) (Yes, I know, I miss things when I
read…) (I know!) (I get the gist of things!) (Oh, that’s right, she isn’t here
today…) (Nevermind.)
Anyway! I could ask
what books you’ll never read again, but I know we don’t like to stir up things
like that on the Revenge. Now, if I was stranded on a desert island and could
only take one book with me… I’d take
Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman. But I find poetry can be reread and will
constantly mean something different according to the mood. What ONE book would
you take with you?
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
Making the difficult decisions
I'm not a fan of making decisions. I'm one of those indecisive people who never knows what restaurant they want to go to, or which movie they want to see. I tend to make sweeping changes to my life on whims, rather than based on any reasonable decision-making.But there are times when I need to make a firm decision instead of just following a whim, and in those moments, I'm never quite sure how to go about it.
I've been revising the same book for four years now. I've had an agent waiting on it for over two years. So far she hasn't dropped me from her client list for a complete lack of ability to produce anything, but I wait daily for the announcement. And I am SICK of this book. I'm drowning in the details.
And worse, I don't have the time to finish it. It still needs tons and tons of work, and I have maybe 20 minutes a day to write. On a good day. Let's say I manage to finally
So there's a part of me that says I should just let this book go. Pull the trigger with my agent myself, and take the pressure off myself. Start a new book fresh and use those 20 minutes I have each morning to enjoy writing a story again, instead of banging my head against the wallw ith revisions. Wait until I have a few books ready and then start over with the agent/publisher search in a few years when I'm not chasing a toddler.
The other part of me says that I cannot possibly give up now. This book is good, or would be good, if I could just finish it. And writing is a skill that develops over time--I can't just stop and expect to pick it up later without consequences. Giving up sounds very, very dangerous.
What do you do when faced with a bid decision? Are you naturally good at making sound decisions, or do you waffle like me? Do you fear giving up? How do you motivate yourself when giving up starts to look tempting?
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
While the Bo'sun's Away....
You know how if you're in a writing group, you share snippets of your WIP, the best of the best of your stuff, in little boosts of encouragement to keep you running to the finish line? Right. So the Pirates do that; and I had availed myself to what I thought was the best of the best of the Bo'sun's debut book. Joe was a delightful cranky pants; Beth was...finding herself. Sid was fantastic, stealing every scene she was in. I mean, I knew the book was good. It finaled. It was bought. The whole nine yards.
But I bought my "hard" copy--because I refuse to read digital--and had packed it with three other "must-have" romances for the summer. Because one of the books didn't come out until late June, I had to wait until early July before I got my books. (I'm very Scottish about the free shipping.) I then proceeded to read the other books first because, well, I had read this one. In snippets. I already knew what I had.
It was sorta like seeing thirty different movie trailers for Pirates of the Caribbean. Seriously, how much more to the story could there be?
After exhausting the other books from the box, I was sitting this weekend, going, "Hmm, you know I could go ahead and read Terri's book. It won't take long because--" You know. I'd read it before. Well, I did finish it in about a day--staying up to 2 a.m. on Sunday morning to finish the very last page. I sighed at the how the black moment played out; I wondered how it would come around; I was thrilled with the happily ever after. There is MORE to this story than any snippet Terri has shared--and I know she's shared a few to tease readers into buying.
It's the sort of book that you can imagine how it would play out on a movie screen. Only I won't get into that because I'm certain Terri and I didn't agree on what Joe looks like, and I like "my version" best. Best part of books. You can imagine everyone however you want.
So if you're not going to the conference this week and you don't know what book on your TBR pile to read next--and you're foolish like me and haven't read this one yet (despite all the snippets you've read), go get it. It should take about one or two days max of the conference before you need to start looking for something else to occupy your time again. I hear Candy Crush is pretty distracting. But read MEANT TO BE first.
What are you reading this week?
But I bought my "hard" copy--because I refuse to read digital--and had packed it with three other "must-have" romances for the summer. Because one of the books didn't come out until late June, I had to wait until early July before I got my books. (I'm very Scottish about the free shipping.) I then proceeded to read the other books first because, well, I had read this one. In snippets. I already knew what I had.
It was sorta like seeing thirty different movie trailers for Pirates of the Caribbean. Seriously, how much more to the story could there be?
After exhausting the other books from the box, I was sitting this weekend, going, "Hmm, you know I could go ahead and read Terri's book. It won't take long because--" You know. I'd read it before. Well, I did finish it in about a day--staying up to 2 a.m. on Sunday morning to finish the very last page. I sighed at the how the black moment played out; I wondered how it would come around; I was thrilled with the happily ever after. There is MORE to this story than any snippet Terri has shared--and I know she's shared a few to tease readers into buying.
It's the sort of book that you can imagine how it would play out on a movie screen. Only I won't get into that because I'm certain Terri and I didn't agree on what Joe looks like, and I like "my version" best. Best part of books. You can imagine everyone however you want.
So if you're not going to the conference this week and you don't know what book on your TBR pile to read next--and you're foolish like me and haven't read this one yet (despite all the snippets you've read), go get it. It should take about one or two days max of the conference before you need to start looking for something else to occupy your time again. I hear Candy Crush is pretty distracting. But read MEANT TO BE first.
What are you reading this week?
Monday, July 15, 2013
Here Comes the Conference!
I wasn't sure what to write about today, so I'm making a toast to all the conference goers.
A Toast to the RWA Atlanta Conference Goers
May you never run out of hot water;
May your lack of sleep not show.
May laughter ring from every corner;
May it be only happy tears that flow.
Debutantes, may your books sell out;
And Old Hats, may you be stalked and screamed.
And newbies and wanna be’s that fill the seats,
May you achieve every one of your dreams.
May the chicken on your plate be edible,
May the chocolate at dessert always flow,
May you not get a stain on your best blouse,
And may a stall be open when you have to go.
May your words to a prospective editor,
Not be littered with hmmm’s and eerrr’s
May you be, if you’re in an elevator,
As winning as a smooth barrister.
But don’t worry if you’re not as contained
As a Miss America about to be crowned.
If nerves be tight and you might die of fright,
There’s always another drink to go down.
Once you’re into the groove of the conference,
You’ll be as fevered as a hunter after a buck.
You’ll be here next year, never you fear,
And you’ll be wishing the newbies good luck.
What do you wish for the conference goers this week? Do you wish you were going? (Or are you like me, rather terrified by the prospect?)
A Toast to the RWA Atlanta Conference Goers
May you never run out of hot water;
May your lack of sleep not show.
May laughter ring from every corner;
May it be only happy tears that flow.
Debutantes, may your books sell out;
And Old Hats, may you be stalked and screamed.
And newbies and wanna be’s that fill the seats,
May you achieve every one of your dreams.
May the chicken on your plate be edible,
May the chocolate at dessert always flow,
May you not get a stain on your best blouse,
And may a stall be open when you have to go.
May your words to a prospective editor,
Not be littered with hmmm’s and eerrr’s
May you be, if you’re in an elevator,
As winning as a smooth barrister.
But don’t worry if you’re not as contained
As a Miss America about to be crowned.
If nerves be tight and you might die of fright,
There’s always another drink to go down.
Once you’re into the groove of the conference,
You’ll be as fevered as a hunter after a buck.
You’ll be here next year, never you fear,
And you’ll be wishing the newbies good luck.
What do you wish for the conference goers this week? Do you wish you were going? (Or are you like me, rather terrified by the prospect?)
Friday, July 12, 2013
Rejection is Not an Emotion
So, I imagine the idea that rejection isn’t an emotion might
sound like old news. For others, they are blinking and going…wait! I’ve felt
rejected before! It’s terrible! It made me feel horrible!
Yup, well, horrible is sorta the same as saying I feel
rejection. Horror can be an emotion. But horrible? I’m not sure.
You see, I’m in couples’ counseling with the spouse and we
have a fabulous guy helping us restore lines of communication, etc. I mean,
things break down after 33 years. Just sorta slides into a rut of sameness.
We’re working on climbing out of the rut. It’s a good thing. (Don’t worry about
us.)
The language of communicating emotions is a treacherous one.
My poor husband is floundering like a fish out of water. He’s an engineer. Plus
he grew up with the message that there are bad emotions and good emotions and
that about summed it up. He feels good or he feels bad. That is about as deep
as he goes.
After a particularly difficult session, I told him about the
Emotional Thesaurus, and he asked me to get one for him. (He’s great about
wanting to figure it all out.) Most complex feelings are buried so deep, he
needs a backhoe to find them. If not something bigger.
While me? Oh, I pride myself on expressing what is going on.
I am a word person, right?
Uh, no. I went through an episode a few weeks back that
opened my eyes to how far away I was from actual experiencing my emotions.
The convo went something like this… (I’m also summarizing,
it took a lot longer than this.)
“How did that make you feel?”
“I felt rejected.”
“No, how did you feel?”
I tilt my head, narrow my eyes, my brows knit. “I…I felt
rejected…”
He changed his tactics… “What does rejection feel like?”
BIG LIGHTBULB MOMENT.
“OH. It…hurts.”
BINGO!
It took some digging but I found the base of my emotions
regarding rejection. There are a lot of emotions that can stem from
experiencing rejection, from hurt, to anger, to elation (you sick masochists
out there!)
You never know where a lesson in writing and deepening a character’s
reaction will come from. It might be in the middle of a counseling session! The
word rejection is a distancing method from the actual feeling. It gives it a
label and makes it easy to slot into a category of good or bad emotion. But! It
isn’t going deep enough. Think about that the next time your character knows
rejection. Choose the deeper path or the lighter path and make it feel right
for that character.
I know this now.
Can you think of any
other word we use to create distance from the actual emotion? What else should
I, and others, keep an eye out for?
Wednesday, July 10, 2013
On Secondary Characters
The story I’m writing has a pretty big cast. Part of it was on purpose. Something wipes out their hometown (population 23) and I just couldn’t bring myself to kill everyone. Call me soft.
Part of it was because they insisted on being there. This is the first story I’ve written where the characters feel so alive to me. So, in the beginning, while I was stressing that all these characters were going to trip over each other, they were very adamant about being alive.
What could I do?
But having all these people milling around has created difficulties. Here are some complications I’ve found both from writing a large cast and from other stories I’ve read with big casts.
1) Keeping them distinct – Characters have specific characteristics. If they don’t appear separate of each other enough or if they’re too similar, they blend together. It can be confusing for a reader if they aren’t different enough. Worse, it can be boring for a reader. And we all know we don’t want to bore a reader.
2) Their subplots become distracting – I’ve read some series with large casts where the author spends so much time in secondary characters’ points of view that I found myself thinking, “Please get back to the story!” As a writer, I’ve tried to remember that and spend only the most necessary amounts of time in my secondary characters’ heads.
3) TOO much action - I’ve had lots of action scenes in this book. If I focus on every single person, there’s so much going on, it’s like a Michael Bay movie on crack. Even my ADD hurt. I had to be very conscious of whose POV I was in and only give what was going on for them.
Have you written anything with a large cast? What has been your biggest challenge? Do you read stories with large casts? Is there anything about it that you like? That you find irritating?
Part of it was because they insisted on being there. This is the first story I’ve written where the characters feel so alive to me. So, in the beginning, while I was stressing that all these characters were going to trip over each other, they were very adamant about being alive.
What could I do?
But having all these people milling around has created difficulties. Here are some complications I’ve found both from writing a large cast and from other stories I’ve read with big casts.
1) Keeping them distinct – Characters have specific characteristics. If they don’t appear separate of each other enough or if they’re too similar, they blend together. It can be confusing for a reader if they aren’t different enough. Worse, it can be boring for a reader. And we all know we don’t want to bore a reader.
2) Their subplots become distracting – I’ve read some series with large casts where the author spends so much time in secondary characters’ points of view that I found myself thinking, “Please get back to the story!” As a writer, I’ve tried to remember that and spend only the most necessary amounts of time in my secondary characters’ heads.
3) TOO much action - I’ve had lots of action scenes in this book. If I focus on every single person, there’s so much going on, it’s like a Michael Bay movie on crack. Even my ADD hurt. I had to be very conscious of whose POV I was in and only give what was going on for them.
Have you written anything with a large cast? What has been your biggest challenge? Do you read stories with large casts? Is there anything about it that you like? That you find irritating?
Tuesday, July 9, 2013
IT HAPPENED ONE MIDNIGHT, Julie Ann Long
So you know what I'm going to say here. It's what I always say when I read a Pennyroyal Green series book. It's what we're all thinking.
WHEN are Olivia and Lyon going to finally get together?
I mean, honestly, haven't we been waiting an archeological age for these two star-crossed lovers to set aside their prejudices and start kissing as if their lives depended on it? When is this going to happen already?
At this end of this delightful novel--NOT about Olivia and Lyon--a reader finds the answer Ms. Long has placed there: not freaking yet.
And in all honesty, we haven't really ever actually seen Lyon and Olivia on the page together--they may have outgrown each other by now. But God, I hope not. Every time you read about them on the page, it feels like the equivalent of the dry shampoo of lighter fluid: passionate, soul-searing flames.
Flames.... Flames, on the side of my face, breathing-breathl- heaving breaths. Heaving breaths...
Wait, sorry, that's that movie CLUE. You'd have had to have seen it. Mrs. White (Madeline Khan) is to die laughing for. Whatever. Every time you read about Lyon and Olivia, you need to sign up for a cold shower because all you're going to get is sexually and relationshipally frustrated.
Back to the book at hand. So in this book, IT HAPPENED ONE MIDNIGHT, we get to hook up with Jonathan Redmond (one of Lyon's younger siblings who has been left to deal with the irascible father that Isaiah has become since Lyon stomped off, making Isaiah realize, his kids are no longer listening to him.) Being several of the Redmond kids have gotten their own books, and each one has delighted in thwarting the old geezer by doing the exact opposite of what he demands, you'd think Isaiah would catch on. But he doesn't. It doesn't matter. Children need a villainous parent so they'll break free, make their own independence, forge their own way, and thumb their nose at said parent, in order to get them out of the house. It's a fact. If my parents had been just a bit meaner, I probably would have left far sooner. It's their fault really I mooched as long as I did.
Meanwhile, while Jonathan is living, well, a rather sheltered life in my opinion, but learning quickly to get it together so he doesn't have to do whatever the guy with the money demands of him, we meet Tommy--a delightful red-headed girl, not exactly approved of in society. Wrong side of the tracks...and the blanket and issues of that nature. This girl can rally, my friends. Not sheltered. Totally running a racket when it comes to her background and keeping up a fine artistry of maintaining mystery, allure, yet appearing as if she belongs in society when her living circumstances are nearly a step from the gutter. She has chutzpah.
You really do want to see both of them succeed, though perhaps I wanted it a bit more for Tommy because her circumstances were that much more...harrowing and she was a single woman in a rather unforgiving time-period (though she didn't dwell on that nearly as much as I did.) Anyway, it's a very charming, delicious, delightful book--and it went really fast. I can't say it was my favorite in the series...that's still WHAT I DID FOR A DUKE or perhaps A NOTORIOUS COUNTESS CONFESSES; however, this book might deserve a reread to see if it gets better with rereads, you know? I've had books that do that. I prefer the other books because of the emotional punches were bigger for me than this one, but not everyone will react the same. This book may be someone's WHAT I DID FOR A DUKE. Disclaimer aside, I repeat, it's a charming, delicious, delightful book. Go find it.
And then you'll be just as excited to see that Ian Eversea is the hero of the next in the series--who was in WHAT I DID FOR A DUKE--and it will be interesting to see how Ms. Long makes Ian into a heroic character considering the time I met him (WIDFAD), he was less than gentlemanly, let alone heroic! Then, then, I'm hoping for some Lyon and Olivia closure, but I won't hold my breath. The Pennyroyal Green series is a brilliant funny emotionally-vivid place...it'd be a shame to lose it as well.
What did you think of IT HAPPENED ONE MIDNIGHT? Liked it more or less or the same as the others in the series? Do you also wonder how Ms. Long redeemed a man who was trying to shag another man's fiancée and is basically forced to crawl out of the window naked...all the while saying "It hadn't gotten that far yet." Yet. Now there's justification. Oh, I hope he suffers. I cannot wait to see.
What are you reading?
WHEN are Olivia and Lyon going to finally get together?
I mean, honestly, haven't we been waiting an archeological age for these two star-crossed lovers to set aside their prejudices and start kissing as if their lives depended on it? When is this going to happen already?
At this end of this delightful novel--NOT about Olivia and Lyon--a reader finds the answer Ms. Long has placed there: not freaking yet.
And in all honesty, we haven't really ever actually seen Lyon and Olivia on the page together--they may have outgrown each other by now. But God, I hope not. Every time you read about them on the page, it feels like the equivalent of the dry shampoo of lighter fluid: passionate, soul-searing flames.
Flames.... Flames, on the side of my face, breathing-breathl- heaving breaths. Heaving breaths...
Wait, sorry, that's that movie CLUE. You'd have had to have seen it. Mrs. White (Madeline Khan) is to die laughing for. Whatever. Every time you read about Lyon and Olivia, you need to sign up for a cold shower because all you're going to get is sexually and relationshipally frustrated.
Back to the book at hand. So in this book, IT HAPPENED ONE MIDNIGHT, we get to hook up with Jonathan Redmond (one of Lyon's younger siblings who has been left to deal with the irascible father that Isaiah has become since Lyon stomped off, making Isaiah realize, his kids are no longer listening to him.) Being several of the Redmond kids have gotten their own books, and each one has delighted in thwarting the old geezer by doing the exact opposite of what he demands, you'd think Isaiah would catch on. But he doesn't. It doesn't matter. Children need a villainous parent so they'll break free, make their own independence, forge their own way, and thumb their nose at said parent, in order to get them out of the house. It's a fact. If my parents had been just a bit meaner, I probably would have left far sooner. It's their fault really I mooched as long as I did.
Meanwhile, while Jonathan is living, well, a rather sheltered life in my opinion, but learning quickly to get it together so he doesn't have to do whatever the guy with the money demands of him, we meet Tommy--a delightful red-headed girl, not exactly approved of in society. Wrong side of the tracks...and the blanket and issues of that nature. This girl can rally, my friends. Not sheltered. Totally running a racket when it comes to her background and keeping up a fine artistry of maintaining mystery, allure, yet appearing as if she belongs in society when her living circumstances are nearly a step from the gutter. She has chutzpah.
You really do want to see both of them succeed, though perhaps I wanted it a bit more for Tommy because her circumstances were that much more...harrowing and she was a single woman in a rather unforgiving time-period (though she didn't dwell on that nearly as much as I did.) Anyway, it's a very charming, delicious, delightful book--and it went really fast. I can't say it was my favorite in the series...that's still WHAT I DID FOR A DUKE or perhaps A NOTORIOUS COUNTESS CONFESSES; however, this book might deserve a reread to see if it gets better with rereads, you know? I've had books that do that. I prefer the other books because of the emotional punches were bigger for me than this one, but not everyone will react the same. This book may be someone's WHAT I DID FOR A DUKE. Disclaimer aside, I repeat, it's a charming, delicious, delightful book. Go find it.
And then you'll be just as excited to see that Ian Eversea is the hero of the next in the series--who was in WHAT I DID FOR A DUKE--and it will be interesting to see how Ms. Long makes Ian into a heroic character considering the time I met him (WIDFAD), he was less than gentlemanly, let alone heroic! Then, then, I'm hoping for some Lyon and Olivia closure, but I won't hold my breath. The Pennyroyal Green series is a brilliant funny emotionally-vivid place...it'd be a shame to lose it as well.
What did you think of IT HAPPENED ONE MIDNIGHT? Liked it more or less or the same as the others in the series? Do you also wonder how Ms. Long redeemed a man who was trying to shag another man's fiancée and is basically forced to crawl out of the window naked...all the while saying "It hadn't gotten that far yet." Yet. Now there's justification. Oh, I hope he suffers. I cannot wait to see.
What are you reading?
Friday, July 5, 2013
History, How I Love History
Yup, I bet that surprises most of you. But I really do love
history. Once upon a time, I read a great deal of historical fiction. The heavy
stuff, from Leon Uris, James Michener and Allen Drury to William Manchester.
I devoured American History, Irish History, Native American
History…I just couldn’t get enough. I even thought, at one point, that I would
write tomes such as Uris, Michener and the like. But…I discovered as much as I
enjoyed reading it…I really didn’t want to write it.
I didn’t want to write REAL history. I discovered the joy of
my life…mucking with history, trampling thru the facts, rewriting what happened…
I wanted to write Hollywood history! (Really, Hollywood never gets it right.) When
real history gets in the way of a good story, the solution is simple. Change it.
If you change it a lot, like toss in vampires, zombies or
overt paranormal elements, it isn’t too hard. And it’s easy for readers to see
it, recognize it and know this isn’t about the facts, ma’am.
If you change it a little, add in a new person who meets
famous people, or turn a well-known figure into a solver of mysteries…ala the
ones I read where Jack London solved mysteries in the San Francisco Bay…you can
get away with it. As long as you don’t interfere with what is known as
historically accurate.
But if you claim you’re writing what really happened, you
have to get the facts right. All of them, from dress codes to furniture to
available food items…street names…I mean, be accurate. Because if you aren’t…someone
is going to care and spell out to you exactly how much of an idiot you are.
Now, I write adventures. And in my adventures, I write
deliberately inaccurate history. I know that pirate ships of the 1690’s didn’t
have ship wheels. They had a whipstaff. Tortuga was actually a tiny little
ramshackle town, perched on the rocky shores of a small island, not an
established pirate city, with merchants, a mayor and all. And Port Royal was a
city of great sin, not a calm British settlement, the center of the British
realm in the Caribbean.
Yeah, I know these things. I know chocolate wasn’t readily
available. I know coffee wasn’t available. I know Elizabeth didn’t marry and
leave the crown to her children. I know England didn’t release Ireland as a
possession in the 1700s. I know…well, I know a lot.
But that isn’t fun. And it doesn’t fit what I want my
characters to experience. I do try to make it plain, in my blurbs, in my
blathering about the books…but I still worry someone is going to attempt to
nail me on getting a historical fact wrong. I’m considering a sticker for my
books… Warning: Deliberately Historically Inaccurate.
Yet, I love history. As I sit here, on the Fourth of July,
writing this, the television is playing a series called The Revolutionary War.
A historical step by step of the American War of Independence. Love. It.
What do you say? Do
you have a favorite historical period you like to read? A book? Are you
interested in the books which rewrite or muck about with historical truth, or
does it irritate you? If you could rewrite anything of history…what would you
do?
Wednesday, July 3, 2013
A Pirate Curse Writing Prompt
Recently, I discovered this fantastically awesome writing prompt blog that includes details on core writing anchors for each prompt. It not just about the creative side of a writing prompt, but also about exploring the type of writing that is needed in certain scenes. Does it need to be persuasive? Informative? Should it develop a narrative that includes clear event sequences?
What do you need a scene to accomplish to more your story forward. This is something I desperately need to work on, the idea that every single scene must move things forward.
So, today I'm offering up this writing prompt to not only stir your creativity, but to also look at it as an exercise in considering at what part of the story is this scene happening and what is your goal with it.
Curse away ye pirates of The Revenge!
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
LORD OF WICKED INTENTIONS*, Lorraine Heath
I loved the premise of this trilogy, which was a bit like the princes in the tower (Richard III who locked up his nephews and did away with them so he could rule), but with a happier ending--a friend--a magnificent heroine (of 12)--frees the boys and the boys take off to find places in the world until they are old enough not to be locked away and killed by their uncle.
LORD OF WICKED INTENTIONS* rights the happy ending needed for the youngest brother, Rafe Easton, who was sent to the workhouse by his brothers. Although the older brothers have returned and righted the past (i.e. got rid of the uncle), old wounds take time to heal, and it's five years after the return of the brothers that Rafe is still not really on speaking terms with his brothers. Partly he was ticked off they left him in a workhouse, which was a horrible existence to say the least, and partly because he feels he's done such horrible things to survive, he doesn't deserve to be with them any longer.
Oh, those poor souls seeking redemption. How I do adore you in romances!
So that's the backstory. The story actually starts out by meeting a perfectly charming young lady named Evelyn, who is the apple of her father's eye, and her father is on his deathbed, asking her older brother to take care of her. Seems legit. The brother promises; the father dies; and the brother reveals himself to be a ogre. Not a real stretch for him. He remains a tool beginning to end, basically.
The brother brings over a selection of men to the house and makes Evelyn talk and mingle with them, implying he's going to have one of these men marry her. No. See, she's illegitimate and Brother Dearest hasn't forgiven Evelyn for making his mother cry when his father brought her home and made her raise the daughter as one of the family. What he has planned is to sell her to the highest bidder as a mistress and pay down his debts. (He's really such a tool.)
Rafe Easton isn't one of the men the brother had in mind. He's actually the guy the brother owes all the money to, but being Rafe is our reluctant hero, he meets Evelyn and despite the fact he doesn't have a kind or compassionate bone in his body, he can't bear to see her sold to one of these loobies and he tells the brother, he'll take her. The end.
Clearly this is the beginning because Evelyn still hasn't been told she's auditioning for a mistress role yet...and that little dastardly info is left to Rafe to inform her because her brother--see: TOOL--doesn't want to bother himself with the details. She'll figure it out. I mean, really, how could she have possibly thought she was WORTH marriage, when her mother was such a whore?
By now, I'm sure you think I've told you 9/10th of the book, but we have just begun. As has the drama. (I know, right? The drama has just begun? Are you serious? Yes, I am.)
So now we have two people living together with very different expectations; and Rafe who loves nobody and doesn't want to complicate his life finds himself falling for her. And she who can't stand this jerk who bought her for sex is in a very similar predicament.
Now don't forget there's still this whole "reconciling him with his brothers" that I thought would take another half dozen books to accomplish because this guy is really the limit in avoiding his brothers. But Evelyn challenges him and he can't resist doing things to please her. Yes, despite his best efforts, Rafe is hero material.
You should really read to see how they work it out. It's really quite beautiful. A definite keeper; and a wonderful ending to the trilogy. I can't wait to see what Ms. Heath has next for us!
Has anyone else read this series? Anyone else a Lorraine Heath fan?
*Correction: LORD OF TEMPTATION and LORD OF WICKED INTENTIONS are two books in the same series. Rafe's book, the one I'm talking about today, is LORD OF WICKED INTENTIONS. Mea culpa. Though I doubt I'm cool enough to bandy around that word.
LORD OF WICKED INTENTIONS* rights the happy ending needed for the youngest brother, Rafe Easton, who was sent to the workhouse by his brothers. Although the older brothers have returned and righted the past (i.e. got rid of the uncle), old wounds take time to heal, and it's five years after the return of the brothers that Rafe is still not really on speaking terms with his brothers. Partly he was ticked off they left him in a workhouse, which was a horrible existence to say the least, and partly because he feels he's done such horrible things to survive, he doesn't deserve to be with them any longer.
Oh, those poor souls seeking redemption. How I do adore you in romances!
So that's the backstory. The story actually starts out by meeting a perfectly charming young lady named Evelyn, who is the apple of her father's eye, and her father is on his deathbed, asking her older brother to take care of her. Seems legit. The brother promises; the father dies; and the brother reveals himself to be a ogre. Not a real stretch for him. He remains a tool beginning to end, basically.
The brother brings over a selection of men to the house and makes Evelyn talk and mingle with them, implying he's going to have one of these men marry her. No. See, she's illegitimate and Brother Dearest hasn't forgiven Evelyn for making his mother cry when his father brought her home and made her raise the daughter as one of the family. What he has planned is to sell her to the highest bidder as a mistress and pay down his debts. (He's really such a tool.)
Rafe Easton isn't one of the men the brother had in mind. He's actually the guy the brother owes all the money to, but being Rafe is our reluctant hero, he meets Evelyn and despite the fact he doesn't have a kind or compassionate bone in his body, he can't bear to see her sold to one of these loobies and he tells the brother, he'll take her. The end.
Clearly this is the beginning because Evelyn still hasn't been told she's auditioning for a mistress role yet...and that little dastardly info is left to Rafe to inform her because her brother--see: TOOL--doesn't want to bother himself with the details. She'll figure it out. I mean, really, how could she have possibly thought she was WORTH marriage, when her mother was such a whore?
By now, I'm sure you think I've told you 9/10th of the book, but we have just begun. As has the drama. (I know, right? The drama has just begun? Are you serious? Yes, I am.)
So now we have two people living together with very different expectations; and Rafe who loves nobody and doesn't want to complicate his life finds himself falling for her. And she who can't stand this jerk who bought her for sex is in a very similar predicament.
Now don't forget there's still this whole "reconciling him with his brothers" that I thought would take another half dozen books to accomplish because this guy is really the limit in avoiding his brothers. But Evelyn challenges him and he can't resist doing things to please her. Yes, despite his best efforts, Rafe is hero material.
You should really read to see how they work it out. It's really quite beautiful. A definite keeper; and a wonderful ending to the trilogy. I can't wait to see what Ms. Heath has next for us!
Has anyone else read this series? Anyone else a Lorraine Heath fan?
*Correction: LORD OF TEMPTATION and LORD OF WICKED INTENTIONS are two books in the same series. Rafe's book, the one I'm talking about today, is LORD OF WICKED INTENTIONS. Mea culpa. Though I doubt I'm cool enough to bandy around that word.
Monday, July 1, 2013
The Tale of Three Writers: With Much Apologies to J.K. Rowling
Once upon a time, near dusk, the only time of day when all
writers are truly awake, three writers were walking the path to a preferred pub
where they frequently bought drinks for each other until they were able to
write. This evening, the three writers crossed paths with a famous writer, the
most famous actually (yes, J.K. Rowling) and they nearly spun themselves in
circles, vying for her attention.
The second writer went home, key clutched in hand, and opened the cupboard in his room that held his treasures. This time he touched ribbons and awards that were new. Writer of the Year. Best Book of the Decade. And many more, but the most precious of these awards was a small golden plaque, showing he’d written the best book in his genre, ever. The second writer went to his writing desk to begin work again on his current WIP, but found he couldn’t write. Nothing he put on the page compared with what had garnered him his awards. He sat at his desk, waiting for the right words to come, the words that would outshine those he’d written before. They never came.
Soon it became apparent that Ms. Rowling did not wish it
known that she was traveling about in the neighborhood; and the boldest of
writers offered their collective silence for help from the most famous of
writers, something for each of them to help their careers. Ms. Rowling
unwillingly agreed to such a bargain and asked the first writer what he most
wanted.
“A pen!” he cried. “A pen that never runs out of clever,
wonderful stories, so I will be a writer forever.”
Ms. Rowling seemed reluctant when she reached into her
pocket and drew out an ordinary Bic blue pen and handed it to the writer. The
writer didn’t even bother to thank her, but immediately began writing in his
notebook.
The second writer paused thoughtfully, then asked for an
award, proof that he was wonderful, the best of all writers. Ms. Rowling gave him
a key that she said unlocked a cupboard in the second writer’s bedroom.
The third writer stood for quite some time, but finally
asked Ms. Rowling to give her the best thing a writer could ever ask for. Ms.
Rowling looked at the writer for a long moment, then handed over a lidded box.
Then, having granted each of the writers with their requests, Ms. Rowling
disappeared into the evening gloom, unmolested.
The three writers agreed that there would be no pub drinking
tonight and each parted their separate ways. The first writer remained where he
sat, writing in his notebook, unable and uncaring he was in the elements,
because he could only writewritewrite. He did not take time for food or rest…or
even basic shelter, and he died there under the tree during a snowstorm, his
pen still writing.
The second writer went home, key clutched in hand, and opened the cupboard in his room that held his treasures. This time he touched ribbons and awards that were new. Writer of the Year. Best Book of the Decade. And many more, but the most precious of these awards was a small golden plaque, showing he’d written the best book in his genre, ever. The second writer went to his writing desk to begin work again on his current WIP, but found he couldn’t write. Nothing he put on the page compared with what had garnered him his awards. He sat at his desk, waiting for the right words to come, the words that would outshine those he’d written before. They never came.
The third writer went to her writing nook and opened the
box. Inside were pages and pages of blank lined paper, smelling of wood dust
and ink, the best smell in the world outside of books. She stared at the paper
for a moment, ran her fingers over the pages, and never questioned what Ms.
Rowling meant by giving this to her. The best thing indeed for any writer is a
blank page because only on a blank page could anything happen. The third writer
took out her pen and began writing. She’d send Ms. Rowling a thank you card
after.
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