I went to see The Duchess, the new period piece costume drama with Keira Knightly. I’ve been itching to see it for a year. I’ve talked about it incessantly to even people who hate period dramas, so much so that when I bring it up, they say, “Oh, that one about the duchess?” Finally, finally it came to my town. I paid full price, opening night…and I bought popcorn. My friend and I repeatedly made reverent cooing about how much we were going to love this movie. We sat, the movie came up…and it was okay.

 

Oh-kay? I bought popcorn, people! It should have been brilliant! It should have been the best movie I saw all year! But on the contrary, we were decidedly underwhelmed by it.

 

The costumes were gorgeous; and I’d say everyone acted their parts believably, but there was no emotion. I never felt a part of the movie. And that’s the best part of movies, you know: being a part of them. It’s the best part of any story; it’s what makes stories real.

 

It’s the Rooting for the Home Team vibe.

 

At no point was I rooting for this woman.

 

What’s funny is that the story is based on real people. I imagine the sex between the husband and wife was very real. *laughs* I’d say you’d have to see it, but I don’t want you paying to see this movie. Let’s just say this guy’s idea of foreplay was: “Go lie on the bed.” Literally. You’d think I’d feel a bit more for the girl because I’ve had that kind of sex. You don’t want it documented. It’s best to forget it as soon as possible.

 

And I’d say the unhappiness all throughout the movie was real. It had very real elements, but I felt as engaged as if I were watching a football game. Actually I probably would have felt more emotion watching a football game. Loathing, at the very least. But watching this, I felt indifference. I didn’t care about these characters. I wanted to check the time to see how much longer the movie would be. We’ve all been to a movie we’ve been excited about…and then been decidedly disappointed when we saw it, right? So what was wrong with the movie? It lacked believability. It lacked realness. It lacked a reason to be told. I didn’t care if anyone won; and in the end, nobody did.

 

With this movie being about real people, you may point out, maybe that was the problem. Believe me, they had plenty of errors. There always is when you’re making History by Hollywood. Let me list the movies I’ve bought into that’s littered (littered) with historical errors: Braveheart; Dangerous Beauty; King Arthur; Kingdom of Heaven; Casanova; Immortal Beloved; Elizabeth; Shakespeare in Love (it could’ve happened!); Stage Beauty; The Libertine (Johnny’s right; I don’t like him); Amazing Grace; Rob Roy; The Scarlet Letter; Last of the Mohicans; The Patriot; Quills; Becoming Jane. Most of these based on real people with unhappy endings. So why didn’t The Duchess work for me? Was it because Mel Gibson didn’t fly out of one of the bedrooms, arranging his kilt, waving his sword, and screaming “Freedom!”?  

 

I’m thinking, unlikely.

 

Was it the historical stuff? No, I don’t think The Duchess was any more historically accurate than Braveheart was; and I could spend five or six blogs outlining the historical inaccuracies in that beloved movie. I love Mel in a kilt, but I hope nobody is getting his 13^th century history knowledge from that film.

 

Was it the director? The screenwriter? I didn’t think it was the actors themselves; I liked them.

 

No. There was just no reason to care. It didn’t seem to start with a point; it didn’t seem to end with a point. What was the theme? What was the reason for this movie? I remembered all the references in the movie reviews that this woman was the great-something-or-other of Princess Diana, who also married a higher up who didn’t love her, a guy who treated pets better and also slept with everyone else, even though she was the prettiest girl in the world. The Duke of Devonshire is the only man in London not in love with his wife. But who cares if this woman is like Princess Diana? Why should we care about her? It’s like assembling your home team and saying, “Root for them because they’re a lot like the Bengals.” What? No. You should be liked for yourself; not for any other reason.

 

I don’t know. I don’t know how to tell you to make your character likable. I just know you better be careful about assembling a cast of characters who aren’t really likable, who really don’t have a point, who are easily forgettable if it weren’t for the fact you paid full price for your ticket and for popcorn too. So I turn this to you guys: What makes a character likable or unlikable? Name a movie or book you were excited about, but disappointed you? Why did it disappoint you? Was it the characters or the style itself? Oh, and what is the most glaring historical inaccuracy you’ve ever seen in a costume drama?

You’ve been there. You had a Dream, a bright shiny dream of change (sorry, can’t resist the Obama poke), and now after all this time of struggle, it’s a little less…desirable. You almost start not wanting it as badly because the emotional effort you’re putting into it is not paying off. You’re being rejected at every turn.

 

You have to ask yourself: Just how bad do you want it?

 

Sometimes dreams are best shelved, goals change…whatever…but before you shelve it entirely, you need to ask the question. Just how bad do you want it?

 

Some Saturdays I’m reading my book, laying on the couch in a near-vegetative state, and suddenly, I have a dream of Twinkies. But they are in another room, far, far away, and I have to ask myself, Just how bad do I want them? Usually not enough to disrupt my cocoon, not unless I also need to use the bathroom too. (I’m a multi-tasking vegetable, never doubt it.)

 

And then some Mondays, I’m doing my presses in my BodyPump class, kicking my feet to distract myself from the burn, listening to the instructor as she assures me I’m going to have a chest to weep over if I just hold out and keep doing reps. So I kick my feet and do my reps. (I really want that perky chest.)

 

I have wanted sex badly enough to do in it broad daylight and not realize windows were open; I have wanted to see movies badly enough that I have dressed in costume, taken time off from work, and gone to midnight showings; I have wanted specific dishes enough that I have cooked them from scratch even though I wouldn’t get to eat them until three hours later—and had to stand over the stove and babysit it. In all these cases, I wanted it bad enough to do just about anything to have it.

 

So what’s the difference now?

 

I mean, I can’t be any more naked than in broad daylight and in front of windows; I can’t be devoting more time or detail than making my own costume and showing up at odd hours; I can’t be putting any more work into it than I do when making my Chicken-Sausage Gumbo. There is no difference.

 

I just have to remind myself I want it. You know that hokey little saying that a friend is a person who knows the song of your life and plays it back to you when you forget? That’s what you have to do as a writer. You have to sing that dorky, hokey little song of the New York Times Bestseller’s dream to yourself until you remember it.

 

And if you can make a Harry Potter costume—and be a dead ringer for old Harry himself; if you can make a gumbo that even Cajun Joe would be proud of; if you can show up naked in the middle of the day and not even flinch—well, then, clearly, you need to be institutionalized…or well, you have exactly what it takes to get published.

 

You just have to want it bad enough.

 

Today’s inspirational message was brought to you by Secretaries Gone Wild! and Hellion in the Kitchen. What have you wanted badly enough that you went to extraordinary lengths to get it? (And was a man involved because those stories are always so much more funny….)

 

Ok, I'm not a huge Rob Thomas fan, but DS was watching "Meet the Robinsons" this week (Ok, I was watching it and he was disregarding it pretty thoroughly, whatever, if I can't use my one and a half year old for an excuse to watch Disney movies...) and this song is on the soundtrack.

It made me question the way I have been viewing the process of writing.

This time, while I float in unpublished obscurity, is a gift.   These "small hours" while I ply away at my craft, while I stretch my creative wings, will shape the artist I hope to be one day.  And while I crave publication and the opportunity for others to read the characters I've come to love so desperately, this time is mine.

I write now for myself.  Each twist of phrase that feels “just right” is mine.  Each chuckle or tear I shed is mine.  Selfish but there is something heady about writing for oneself.

There’s only one time to finish that first book, there’s only this time of being unfettered by expectations.  I’m not saying I won’t or we shouldn’t keep moving forward, I only mean that we should find joy in the entire process, that each step is its own reward.

All the pressure, all the anxiety, all those self-doubts.   We need to just “let it roll right off our shoulder” because when we publish “we’ll only just remember how it feels.”  These small hours when we weren’t published are an experience we'll never forget.

So tell me, have you had any inspirational epiphanies recently?  Let’s shore up the old confidence today.  What’s the best bit of encouragement you can offer us or the best bit of advice you've been given?

 

So I'm going to cheat this week.

Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. *covering ears and mumbling*  Pirate.

In the world of fiction writing the only feedback we get are through our readers. May it be critique partners, writing groups, reading groups, girlfriend sleepovers, trusted family members, a random person sitting beside you at the library- whatever, it doesn't matter- forget the details. What matters here is that these people you let into your world they are all readers, voyeurs into the world you've created for your characters and they are who helps you decide if what you're doing is actually working or not. Feedback invaluable to a writing career. It helps grow character. Or atleast that's what I like to tell myself while I'm huddled up in the dark thinking of new ways to torture someone.

Since, I think one of the most important aspects of a writer's perspectives is what they gain from reader feedback that's why I'm coming to you today. I may not be published. Hell, I may not have even finished a manuscript yet, but I write these blogs every week and I want to hear from you. You've faithfully stepped on board the ship every weekday for almost a year and you've heard us talk about a variety of things. What do you want to read about? What makes you want to respond to our outlandish antics? Is it a particular subject or topic, or is it how you relate to someone else?

So let me have it. What topic in regards to reading, writing and the such do you want me to blog about? What would you like to see me discuss in my own pathetically weird way on Wednesdays?

This is your time to use your voice. Though, you might need to yell over the commotion. I have a feeling the capt'n is going to have a conniption. 

Anything you throw out there, as long as it's deemed readable materal for a open form blog, I will write about and discuss on my blog days. So it's all up to you today. Good luck.

I was so worried about my topic of the week*, and then, like manna from Heaven, my Urban Word of the Day delivered this to me: manicorn. I haven’t been this excited since the word “mantastic” and I got to explain to my best friend what a Narwhal was. (You’ll have to google “mantastic” to get why Narwhal was associated with it. Believe me, it’s worth it.)

 

What is a manicorn? So delighted you asked.

Manicorn: (noun) a mythical male creature who is successful (read: pursuing his passion and can pay his electric bills/rent), funny, chivalrous, masculine (read: not chauvinistic), adventurous, artistic (read: not suicidal).

The shelves of Romance Land are littered with manicorns. Hell, Jane Austen wrote the most famous manicorn of all, the original (a sort of Byerley Turk of manicorns), Mr. Darcy; and we’ve all been creating our versions ever since. I have my favorites: Richard, from Jill Barnett’s Dreaming; Kyrian, from Kenyon’s Night Pleasures; and ‘Ring, from Jude Deveraux’s Mountain Laurel.

 

I even love writing my own manicorns. I’ll find myself in the middle of a scene, thinking, This would never happen in real life. Then I’ll giggle and think, Isn’t fiction grand?

 

Here are the top favorite manicorns, where to find them, and how to bag them and take them home.

 

The Warrior: wounded, battered, but determined to protect his lady at all costs, this Manicorn is a universal favorite. Who doesn’t adore a guy who can slash away the bad guys with one hand, but still needs you to mend his wounded heart? Location: anywhere there is danger and a cause. Attract his guy by being both feisty and clearly in need of a protector. Run after danger so he is compelled to come after you to keep you out of trouble. But don’t thank him for his efforts. Yell at him for interfering with your plans to save your family estate. This will confuse him. The grumpier he becomes (and his breed is awful testy), the closer he is to falling in love with you entirely. Win him entirely by almost getting yourself killed so he knows how close he came to losing you.

 

The Boy Next Door: in possession of a dimpled grin and an aww-shucks expression, this guy has been breaking hearts since he was in diapers. Most notable for being the poor guy you tell all your woes too, while you’re desperately in love with the Captain of the Football Team. But when that jerk breaks your heart and dumps you at prom, does he say, “I told you so?” Nope. He just sweeps you up and dances you right out the door into Love. Location: I don’t know, why don’t you: Check. Next. Door. Geez, people. Attract this guy by being a chesty cheerleader who is completely out of his league. I hear ponytails also distract this guy, like a sort of hypnotic device. String him along by needing him, but never actually dating him. He won’t be able to help himself as he gives advice how to hook up with the Mortal Enemy; and he won’t even tell you that he overheard the ME talking trash about you. The quieter he gets, the further he’s fallen; and when he’s completely blended in with the other Wallflowers, you know he’s a goner. Win him entirely when you realize the ME is really a jerk (almost too late!) When the Boy Next Door rescues you, though he’ll come out more damaged, offer succor and some chocolate chip cookies as you apologize for being so blind.

 

The Intellectual: the rarest of the manicorns, he’s not only successful, funny, chivalrous, and masculine, but he’s smart too. Location: only in fiction. Only kidding, I hear there is one in England, married to a Mrs. Q, but clearly this breed is on the endangered species list. If you spot one, call the Protection of Rare and Noble Creatures immediately! We want photographs. Attract them by being smart yourself. Duh. Nobody has the patience for stupid people, not even manicorns. Keep him by organizing his PDA…and putting Novocain in your lipstick.

 

So what is your favorite manicorn, and do you have any real-life examples of your favorite “breed”? And since this is rather sexist, are there any girlicorn archetypes out there? Or is the Madonna-Whore Girlicorn it?

*I totally apologize to you guys for not having a more original topic this week. Blog writing is sorta like baseball....

It’s almost been a year since I started writing a blog at least once a week. Doesn’t seem like time should’ve flown by that fast. When I was little, a month would drag by. Summers seemed to last forever, and the time between Labor Day and Christmas was the longest stretch of time ever. Now, I can’t breathe without three months passing me by faster than I can snap my fingers.

 

I’ve learned a lot from the blogs this past year. It’s funny how we can all talk about one subject and have a different outcome that makes sense. I’ve also learned that life is meant to be lived to have fun, enjoy yourself and those around you. And not to mention, life is lived so that you can live it a different way through your writing.

 

Writing, for me, is an exercise in clearing my conscience. Redoing things I wished I’d done different, living life vicariously through my main characters. It’s one of the best things about writing a story. You are someone different when looking through a different POV. I give myself up to the feelings of first love, betrayal of someone closest to you, deceit, lying, cheating, begging, and relying on no one but myself. All these emotions claw their way to the surface when on the page. But also, writing teaches you a lot about yourself. Things you keep firmly locked away seem to bubble up until you’re unable to lock it away anymore.

 

Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. The best way to get it over with is to just get it out.

 

For the writing, the life of the character is everlasting until that last page when you have to say goodbye and move on. It’s not painful to say goodbye to a good story when you know you’ve given them the right ending. But what happens if life gets in the way of that happily ever after ending and the story must go on through a new POV?  It’s hard to let go then because you know somewhere in the story it went wrong. Your emotions swung the story onto the path less taken and no matter how hard you try; you can’t find your way back. That’s life breathing through your writing. My writing holds more emotion when I write this way. It’s painful for me, but I like the end result. This makes me think about life more often and how short it really is. How sometimes the most important things to us get swept aside in our quest to have bigger and better things. Makes me think about what we have to sacrifice to have what we think we want instead of just what we need. When I write, life is simpler. It’s as easy as that.

 

I have a theme song for writing. I’ve loved this song for so long that even when I haven’t listened to it for a while, I can still sing it without missing a beat. Love unrequited except for a single night. Lovers who can’t find a way to be together and each second they can spend together draws them further apart. The song is so heartbreaking to listen to but it’s hypnotic. I use this song when I need help remembering what’s worth sacrificing in life, in writing. I think about what it would be like to look at someone from across the room and pretend I didn’t know them. To walk past them and remember the way his fingers felt on my naked skin, the way he looked in the moonlight and the stars shining in his eyes and the way it felt when he kissed me goodbye. It’s that type of emotion that traps a reader and makes them turn the page and I needed to be reminded of that.

 

What sort of life do you put into your writing? Readers, do you find yourself reading a certain type of book based on what kind of story is being told? If you don’t fancy those questions, I’m curious about music. What kind of theme song would you give your life?

 

I have been having a love/hate relationship with my first page.

This week, it’s more hate than love.

A first page has to drag the reader under and make them not want to come up for a breath.  It needs to be smooth.  It needs to be compelling and enticing.   It needs to have them begging for more.

Sadly, mine is bumpy, boring, and begs for the lighter to incinerate that puppy.

Ok, ok, it isn’t that bad.  But it isn’t perfect yet either. 

I have already cut off (between first-first draft and currently first draft) about three pages.  I wanted to get right to the action.  But I've been debating cutting off even more. 

I read everywhere that agents/editors can tell so much about you in the first pages.  And I want my pages to tell them whatever it is they need to hear to get them to sign me up.

My love affair with my first line has also taken a sour turn.  Not that I am in severe hatred of it, but it just isn't right yet. 

“At the witching hour, Miss Corinne Wagner employed her supernatural powers for a pressing task: silencing her grumbling belly.”

 It’s certainly no “Call me Ishmael."

 On the positive side, it tells a lot about my story.  It says my heroine has magic powers.  Sort of important to know.  And, it expresses my light tone.  My witches aren’t dark or brooding, so I wanted to give that away quickly.

 On the negative side, it doesn’t have the punch I wish it had.

One of my CPs told me that I will likely never love my first page.  I’d imagine, in her infinite wisdom, that she’s right.  But I’ve reached obsessive proportions.  I can’t help myself from tweaking it again and again, hoping that I stumble across the exactly right configuration.  Then, maybe, I’ll stop.

 So, what’s your first line?  How has it changed?  And if you don't feel like sharing, what do you like best in first lines?  Any other famous first lines that really strike you?