I had planned a fun post for today, but instead decided to spend my creative efforts on a final nitpick edit run. Not that I finished the edits, but I did get several chapters done and since it's been a little while since my six hundred and twelth time reading this thing, I was enjoying myself. All right, maybe I exaggerate slightly, but I've read it a lot.
My fractured ankle is starting to bother me less. I'm officially off my crutches and down to hobbling in my walking cast. Which is nice because I'm falling woefully behind on my flowerbed cleanup project that I'd begun before misfortune caught up with me.
To further overload myself, I've picked right now as the time to paint and redecorate my living room. Why on earth would I do that now? Our tv blew up. Seriously. Tiny flames and several puffs of smoke and all. Which means a new tv is required to view few shows we do watch. Which means we have to get the newest tv, the kind that doesn't require our current mammoth entertainment center. Which means dismantling said mammoth entertainment center and finding new homes for the far too many knick knacks that it has become the home for over the past eleven years. And while this is all going away, what better time to paint than before the much smaller entertainment center and new tv arrive?
I'm also in the midst of rethinking a short story that needs revising before going back out into the world and coming up with better blurbs for all my work than I currently have so I can post it on my new page writing page here.
You know, if there ever came a point in life where I only had one project going on, I think I'd self-combust out of boredom.
Monday, May 17, 2010
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Motivation
Nothing makes me all warm and fuzzy inside quite the same way as chatting on the phone with a fellow mom and hearing that her child is still plugging away at their NaNo Novel even six months after our school NaNoWriMo Young Writers program has ended.
Contented sigh. Another kid turned on to the joys of writing.
I've run into several of my writing program kids in the past weeks while doing volunteer work in both the elementary school and middle school where I run the writing program. Several of them are still writing, others are looking forward to next November. On days when I feel down about my own writing, I think of these moments and feel successful.
I'm not a teacher. I'm not an awesome public speaker. In most social cases, I'd rather be in my writing cave, but doing this program for the last three years has been a very gratifying experience. It has driven me to start submitting my work so I have something to show for my efforts and to set an example of success. I'm very excited to have something to show them this year, and by November, I hope to have a couple more.
Ah, goals and a deadline, they are a powerful motivation.
Contented sigh. Another kid turned on to the joys of writing.
I've run into several of my writing program kids in the past weeks while doing volunteer work in both the elementary school and middle school where I run the writing program. Several of them are still writing, others are looking forward to next November. On days when I feel down about my own writing, I think of these moments and feel successful.
I'm not a teacher. I'm not an awesome public speaker. In most social cases, I'd rather be in my writing cave, but doing this program for the last three years has been a very gratifying experience. It has driven me to start submitting my work so I have something to show for my efforts and to set an example of success. I'm very excited to have something to show them this year, and by November, I hope to have a couple more.
Ah, goals and a deadline, they are a powerful motivation.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
An interesting way to waste time
I'm innocently critiquing a story last night during Lost's commercial breaks when my husband says, "Go check this website out. The pictures of Dubai are amazing."
So I do. It's both cool and a little disturbing. At least I think so. Sure makes me think twice about doing any gardening in a bikini, that's for sure. Yeah, I know, that sounds weird already, but I'm not one of those people who can just sit and sunbathe. That lasts for five minutes (unless I'm in the midst of a really good book), and then I start looking around at all the things that need doing in the yard. I might as well do two things at once.
But someone somewhere could be unknowingly capturing that unflattering pose and posting it for all to find.
On the other hand, there have got to be a million story ideas hidden among these photos. What could those two people at the theme park be doing? Who is the woman talking to on her cell phone as she walks down the street? And my personal favorite, why is there a man standing in his underpants in what looks to be a construction site?
So I do. It's both cool and a little disturbing. At least I think so. Sure makes me think twice about doing any gardening in a bikini, that's for sure. Yeah, I know, that sounds weird already, but I'm not one of those people who can just sit and sunbathe. That lasts for five minutes (unless I'm in the midst of a really good book), and then I start looking around at all the things that need doing in the yard. I might as well do two things at once.
But someone somewhere could be unknowingly capturing that unflattering pose and posting it for all to find.
On the other hand, there have got to be a million story ideas hidden among these photos. What could those two people at the theme park be doing? Who is the woman talking to on her cell phone as she walks down the street? And my personal favorite, why is there a man standing in his underpants in what looks to be a construction site?
Monday, May 10, 2010
Looking back
After I 'finished' my first novel -- turns out I was far from finished, but at that time I did manage to finally write 'the end' to the long-winded, backstory-ridden, learning experience that it was -- I needed a break. I needed to step out from under my rock and learn about craft. To begin this journey, I wandered into fanfic territory. It seemed a little less intimidating than joining an actual writer's group.
Playing with existing characters in an established world helped me to learn to write in various points of view and learn to get a character's voice right, to keep them seperate and keep them acting consistantly. Because if I didn't, whoa boy, did I hear about it from other fans! I had to do some research. Me and Google got real familar with one another. I learned how to give and take critism. And I met some great people. (Hey Gracie!)
I've been on a nostolgic kick lately, likely spurred by digging back into the sequel -- which was the second big thing that I'd written -- so I reached into my archived files and pulled out my fan fic novella, my first forray into writing something completely different. A western.
Honestly, I had been entertaining the thought of stripping out all the fanfic bits and rewriting it into something original, maybe a fantasy short.
I remembered the bumbling romance story as a little corny with a side of cheese and a bit awkward in a few places, but it had been well received by readers. Egads, memories really gloss things over.
Things I've learned since then, as illustrated on the first page:
1. Paragraphs should not be huge blocks of text that take up a quarter of a page. Maybe one here and there, but not every. single. one.
2. Proper formating. Double spaced with indents everyone?
3. Adverb control. Round those villians up and shoot them. Except that cute one with the big brown eyes. One or two can remain alive for flavor.
4. Omni is not my best choice for pov. *cringes*
5. Dialogue tags are not needed every single time someone speaks.
6. People that are getting beaten usually react in some way other than (or at least along with) glaring daggers at their assailant.
7. All you critiquers that complain that I don't describe enough would be squealing with glee in the midst of the description overload in this monstrosity.
8. Commas are my friends when used correctly.
9. A story is better shown than told. But it was startling and bizarre, I tell you!
10. A lot of blood doesn't mean someone is automatically dead. Feel for a pulse, you idiots.
After recovering from the dizzy spell brought on by all the head shaking and ironing my forehead from all the brow scrunching, I'm not sure I can do anything with this other than call it a learning experience, but it was gratifying to see how much I've learned since diving into this writing thing more seriously.
I don't know if I can make it through page two. But really, how much worse could it get?
Playing with existing characters in an established world helped me to learn to write in various points of view and learn to get a character's voice right, to keep them seperate and keep them acting consistantly. Because if I didn't, whoa boy, did I hear about it from other fans! I had to do some research. Me and Google got real familar with one another. I learned how to give and take critism. And I met some great people. (Hey Gracie!)
I've been on a nostolgic kick lately, likely spurred by digging back into the sequel -- which was the second big thing that I'd written -- so I reached into my archived files and pulled out my fan fic novella, my first forray into writing something completely different. A western.
Honestly, I had been entertaining the thought of stripping out all the fanfic bits and rewriting it into something original, maybe a fantasy short.
I remembered the bumbling romance story as a little corny with a side of cheese and a bit awkward in a few places, but it had been well received by readers. Egads, memories really gloss things over.
Things I've learned since then, as illustrated on the first page:
1. Paragraphs should not be huge blocks of text that take up a quarter of a page. Maybe one here and there, but not every. single. one.
2. Proper formating. Double spaced with indents everyone?
3. Adverb control. Round those villians up and shoot them. Except that cute one with the big brown eyes. One or two can remain alive for flavor.
4. Omni is not my best choice for pov. *cringes*
5. Dialogue tags are not needed every single time someone speaks.
6. People that are getting beaten usually react in some way other than (or at least along with) glaring daggers at their assailant.
7. All you critiquers that complain that I don't describe enough would be squealing with glee in the midst of the description overload in this monstrosity.
8. Commas are my friends when used correctly.
9. A story is better shown than told. But it was startling and bizarre, I tell you!
10. A lot of blood doesn't mean someone is automatically dead. Feel for a pulse, you idiots.
After recovering from the dizzy spell brought on by all the head shaking and ironing my forehead from all the brow scrunching, I'm not sure I can do anything with this other than call it a learning experience, but it was gratifying to see how much I've learned since diving into this writing thing more seriously.
I don't know if I can make it through page two. But really, how much worse could it get?
Friday, May 7, 2010
Tagged: Seven awesome things
Thanks to Spammy, my planned post will have to take the back burner while I ponder the seven most 'really awesome' things I've read about in any book.
1.Dune's sand worms that create spice to make people live longer. Really Awesome. We just won't mention how they create it.
2. Again from Dune: The Bene Gesserit litany against fear.
3. And again: Weirding modules. When a word has real power, look out!
4. From the Taltos series: Morganti weapons - they don't just kill you, they kill your soul too.
5. From the same: assasssins that kill your body for money but if you have enough money and are found quick enough, you can be revived from the dead. Say it with me: I'm not dead yet!
6. Thieves' World: for introducing a M/M character relationship to their mix back when they were not so publically accepted or widely written about.
7. Bill the Galactic Hero: For just being silly and making me laugh. How can a solidier who literally has two right arms, be wrong?
And now what I've revealed my awesome things, I'm to tag four people. These lovely four people will then have to ponder seven things of my chosen topic: Seven most interesting ways a character has died in a novel you've written or read.
Bontanist - I know you have plenty of dead characters to work with
Marion Sipe - Here's a topic for you and your shiny new blog. :)
Penelope Barber - You've been quiet lately. Hopefully that means you're busy writing.
Owllady at Letter Go - Have you managed to work 'death by drumsticks' into a story yet?
Have fun.
1.Dune's sand worms that create spice to make people live longer. Really Awesome. We just won't mention how they create it.
2. Again from Dune: The Bene Gesserit litany against fear.
3. And again: Weirding modules. When a word has real power, look out!
4. From the Taltos series: Morganti weapons - they don't just kill you, they kill your soul too.
5. From the same: assasssins that kill your body for money but if you have enough money and are found quick enough, you can be revived from the dead. Say it with me: I'm not dead yet!
6. Thieves' World: for introducing a M/M character relationship to their mix back when they were not so publically accepted or widely written about.
7. Bill the Galactic Hero: For just being silly and making me laugh. How can a solidier who literally has two right arms, be wrong?
And now what I've revealed my awesome things, I'm to tag four people. These lovely four people will then have to ponder seven things of my chosen topic: Seven most interesting ways a character has died in a novel you've written or read.
Bontanist - I know you have plenty of dead characters to work with
Marion Sipe - Here's a topic for you and your shiny new blog. :)
Penelope Barber - You've been quiet lately. Hopefully that means you're busy writing.
Owllady at Letter Go - Have you managed to work 'death by drumsticks' into a story yet?
Have fun.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Oh frak!
I fall in love with alternate swear words on tv. I freely admit to using Frak, Frell, Dren, and even the more obscure Felgercarb in conversation as if they are socially acceptable substitues for the real things. If I'm out with friends, I'll likely use the real thing. Unless I'm conversation with fellow geeky friends -- then those other words seem to come up as if they are some special code only the cool, geeky people know. That may seem like an oxymoron, I know.
Stubbing my toe often brings forth a string of, 'frak frelling frak!' Somedays my writing resembles a big pile of dren. Forgetting to record a tv show might result in a muttered 'oh felgercarb.'
I get that on tv, we get alternate words because it allows the characters to swear and keeps the censors happy.
In stories, this sort of thing bugs me. Sometimes.
In sci-fi stories, I'd much rather have characters actually swear in familiar terms. Sure, in the future I'm sure we'll come up with new obsenities, but I can relate to the current ones so they work for stories set in current day or the future.
Whereas in fantasy, I'm not fond of the 'f word' but other milder words don't bother me, however alternate world or religon based swearing seems more effective. Using something different helps establish an alternate world or time period feel.
Not all books need to contain this sort of language, but in others it is part of the characterization. I've written stories with and without swearing, both real and made up, it just depends on the character and situation if its called for or not.
I've received enough positive critique comments for using real obsentites in my sci-fi novels that it leads me to believe I'm not alone in my somewhat twisted preferences. Yet, in perusing publishers websites, I've run across a few who refuse to consider any works containing real swear words, though made up ones are acceptable.
Out of curiosity, what do you prefer?
Stubbing my toe often brings forth a string of, 'frak frelling frak!' Somedays my writing resembles a big pile of dren. Forgetting to record a tv show might result in a muttered 'oh felgercarb.'
I get that on tv, we get alternate words because it allows the characters to swear and keeps the censors happy.
In stories, this sort of thing bugs me. Sometimes.
In sci-fi stories, I'd much rather have characters actually swear in familiar terms. Sure, in the future I'm sure we'll come up with new obsenities, but I can relate to the current ones so they work for stories set in current day or the future.
Whereas in fantasy, I'm not fond of the 'f word' but other milder words don't bother me, however alternate world or religon based swearing seems more effective. Using something different helps establish an alternate world or time period feel.
Not all books need to contain this sort of language, but in others it is part of the characterization. I've written stories with and without swearing, both real and made up, it just depends on the character and situation if its called for or not.
I've received enough positive critique comments for using real obsentites in my sci-fi novels that it leads me to believe I'm not alone in my somewhat twisted preferences. Yet, in perusing publishers websites, I've run across a few who refuse to consider any works containing real swear words, though made up ones are acceptable.
Out of curiosity, what do you prefer?
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Sequel update
I know you're all just dying to know how this sequel project is coming along. Ok, maybe a little feverish? A cough or a mild headache? I'll settle for distant concern.
Anyway, the answer is: Slowly.
Not for the fact that I don't know where the story is going or the characters aren't cooperating, I just haven't had the time to devote to it. Ten to twelve hour work days are just not conducive to creativity.
And now I've managed to complicate matters by fracturing a bone in my ankle so I'm not getting as much done work-wise or any-other-wise as I was before wednesday when I dashed for the business-line phone on a sleeping foot. Snap! Ouch! Let me tell ya, the answering machine can get it next time.
Hopefully work will slow down soon -- just a little would be nice -- and my ankle will heal up quickly so I can get back on track.
The Trust query is to a possibly workable stage, despite Gamnock's antics.
One short story is out in submission. Another is ready to head out very soon. The newest was to be from the pov of something not human. And so for inspiration, I turned to this Flight of the Conchords song- which turned out not to really inspire the short story at all -- other than the use of a robotic(ish) pov. But their songs always make me laugh and who can't use a good laugh now and then? Enjoy.
Anyway, the answer is: Slowly.
Not for the fact that I don't know where the story is going or the characters aren't cooperating, I just haven't had the time to devote to it. Ten to twelve hour work days are just not conducive to creativity.
And now I've managed to complicate matters by fracturing a bone in my ankle so I'm not getting as much done work-wise or any-other-wise as I was before wednesday when I dashed for the business-line phone on a sleeping foot. Snap! Ouch! Let me tell ya, the answering machine can get it next time.
Hopefully work will slow down soon -- just a little would be nice -- and my ankle will heal up quickly so I can get back on track.
The Trust query is to a possibly workable stage, despite Gamnock's antics.
One short story is out in submission. Another is ready to head out very soon. The newest was to be from the pov of something not human. And so for inspiration, I turned to this Flight of the Conchords song- which turned out not to really inspire the short story at all -- other than the use of a robotic(ish) pov. But their songs always make me laugh and who can't use a good laugh now and then? Enjoy.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Tag debate
He asked VS. He said
Ray Rhamey of Flogging the Quill often cites that using 'he asked' is redundant because the dialogue is already shown as a question. Therefore the tag should be the traditional 'he said' to avoid the anvil of telling the reader that the dialogue was a question.
"So why do so many crit partners flip out over the use of he said when dialogue ends in a question mark?" he asked.
"Is it because we're so used to seeing he asked?" he said.
I consider myself mostly converted. Here's why:
'He said' is a tag to identify the speaker.
'He asked' is a tell of how the dialogue is spoken. Which is then no different than he whispered/ mutttered / sputtered / hissed / or the good old, ejaculated.
As writers, we (I'm sure I'm not alone here) often fixate on little things like this. Are we showing or telling? Are we doing the right one in the right place? Are we insulting the reader's intelligence by telling them that the dialogue a question in case they don't understand what a question mark means?
Oh, so many questions over a single word change. And this one of the many reasons why we're often seen staring off into space looking like we're not doing a darn thing when we say we're writing. We're pondering, debating, skimming our favorite memorized passages of other novels and wrting help books for guidance. Or maybe we really are daydreaming.
Two questions for you:
As a writer, which do you use?
As a reader, does said vs. asked stick out as wrong or does it look natural?
Ray Rhamey of Flogging the Quill often cites that using 'he asked' is redundant because the dialogue is already shown as a question. Therefore the tag should be the traditional 'he said' to avoid the anvil of telling the reader that the dialogue was a question.
"So why do so many crit partners flip out over the use of he said when dialogue ends in a question mark?" he asked.
"Is it because we're so used to seeing he asked?" he said.
I consider myself mostly converted. Here's why:
'He said' is a tag to identify the speaker.
'He asked' is a tell of how the dialogue is spoken. Which is then no different than he whispered/ mutttered / sputtered / hissed / or the good old, ejaculated.
As writers, we (I'm sure I'm not alone here) often fixate on little things like this. Are we showing or telling? Are we doing the right one in the right place? Are we insulting the reader's intelligence by telling them that the dialogue a question in case they don't understand what a question mark means?
Oh, so many questions over a single word change. And this one of the many reasons why we're often seen staring off into space looking like we're not doing a darn thing when we say we're writing. We're pondering, debating, skimming our favorite memorized passages of other novels and wrting help books for guidance. Or maybe we really are daydreaming.
Two questions for you:
As a writer, which do you use?
As a reader, does said vs. asked stick out as wrong or does it look natural?
Monday, April 26, 2010
The crate
"I've got it!" Gamnock grins from ear to ear as he waves the top lid to his consolation prize crate in the air.I lean over in my chair to see what he's so excited about -- and if I'm in for trouble. You can never trust the damned Pirate Guild. "What did they send you?"
He pulls out a sheet of yellow padding. "Looks like a bottle of some golden liquor."
"Ah yes, that was from a Xander scene when Mr. MC got a little buzzed and did too much internal thinking. Had to cut that one and just make the conflict happen instead of him musing about what might happen."
Gamnock holds up a triangle of metal. "Why did they send me a toy Guild fighter ship?"
"You think they could have fit a real one in the crate?" I resist the urge to add 'Duh'.
"I suppose you're going to tell me why this is in here too?"
"Since you asked, sure." I'm just glad there isn't a real fighter ship sitting around here somewhere. That's all Marin, assuming he's still alive, or Nekar need to find. "That was from a scene where Mr. MC and the rest of the gang flew off to do a little scouting of the Fragians."
"Looks like a nice ship, why did it get cut?"
"Mr. MC had enough things he was relatively good at, piloting a ship didn't need to be one of them. One too many ablities, you know? Too many things in his favor, and he becomes totally unbelievable. Not to mention that it seemed silly that important people were off on a scouting mission when they have underlings for that sort of thing."
Gamnock feels around at the bottom of the crate and comes up with a paper. He holds it up and pours over the scribbled words that I can't make out from my chair.
"What does it say?"
He looks up at me with a beaming smile. "I think you know."
"Umm, nope. Enlighten me."
"You're putting me back in."
"What?" I rip the paper out of his hands. "Let me see that." Stupid Pirates and their secret codes. I have no idea what it says.
I shake the paper and sputter for a moment. "I've considered about putting you back in the sequel. That's as far as I've gone. Besides, you wouldn't be the character you were before. Not exactly, anyway."
"But I get to keep my name. Admit it, you like me. You really like me." He spins around, looking like he should be a giddy sixteen year old girl instead of a rugged Caltessian man in his late twenties.
"Stop it! That's way out of character for you. Either of you. Just stop."
"Sure thing, boss. Whatever you say." He slips the toy ship into his shirt pocket and tucks the bottle of liquor under his arm.
"Don't get all exicited. I only said I'd think about it."
Gamnock vanishes.
Ah crap. I guess thinking about it is all it takes.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
From each cut, a lesson
Gamnock struggles against his sticky bonds. "Lift it up! What are you waiting for?"
"I had one more thing I wanted to say before I get to you."
He slams his head onto the desktop and lets out a frustrated growl. "You've got to be kidding."
"Don't hurt yourself. Sheesh." I pull one strip of tape off. It's not nearly enough to give him room to escape, but seems to ease his frustration a little.
As dear Botanist pointed out in a comment on a previous post, not all is lost with my host of discarded characters. With each one I learned something new. Something about what not to do, more often that not, but it's part of that whole learning from mistakes thing, right?
Often I found that the characters I cut, their scenes and back story, had a part in shaping the MCs, fleshing them out, making them real. But upon learning to wield my editing knife, I discovered that those things I cut were for me, to learn about my characters, or to expand my world building, which needs to happen, but not all of it needs to be on the page.
For example... Gamnock.
"FINALLY!"
"I know, sorry about the long wait." (I'm not really all that sorry. I enjoy aggravating my characters.)
Gamnock was meant to be Mr. MCs man. His one trusted, devoted, what-can-I-do-for-you guy. Mr. MC and Ms. MC weren't getting along. Mr. MC needed someone to talk to.
But he already had someone. An established character.
Mr. MC needed a friend.
He already had two of those, both established characters.
Xander needed a mentor.
Xander got cut.
Mr. MC needed someone he could trust. Explicitly.
Great! Except that side plot got cut back because that whole not getting along plotline was taking way too darn long. Not having Gamnock there brought more tension and less passive MC mulling.
Gamnock showed me that Mr. MC had grown, he'd gained the loyalty of men willing to listen to him over Ms. MC. He was ready to make a stand for his independance. He was ready to charge forward with what must be done. (Is it scary that I'm picturing a scene montage in my head complete with a pulse-stiring soundtrack?)
Montage aside, none of that needed to happen in the book. It could be implied. Which brings me to my next point: anvils.
"Hold your anvils. Can you let me go now?"
I pull away the tape, trying not to snicker as he gasps when I yank the tape from his bare skin.
"Thank you, Gamnock, for being so patient. The Pirate Guild sent over this crate as a consolation prize for getting cut from not one, but two books."
"I knew those guys wouldn't forget me." He wipes the tape residue from his hands and neck and grins. "I don't suppose you have the opening code?"
"Sorry, no. You'll have to find a pry bar." I try to remember what I cut from the Pirate Guild that they might have sent to Gamnock.
He rubs his hands together and runs off.
I guess we'll both just have to wait to find out.
"I had one more thing I wanted to say before I get to you."
He slams his head onto the desktop and lets out a frustrated growl. "You've got to be kidding."
"Don't hurt yourself. Sheesh." I pull one strip of tape off. It's not nearly enough to give him room to escape, but seems to ease his frustration a little.
As dear Botanist pointed out in a comment on a previous post, not all is lost with my host of discarded characters. With each one I learned something new. Something about what not to do, more often that not, but it's part of that whole learning from mistakes thing, right?
Often I found that the characters I cut, their scenes and back story, had a part in shaping the MCs, fleshing them out, making them real. But upon learning to wield my editing knife, I discovered that those things I cut were for me, to learn about my characters, or to expand my world building, which needs to happen, but not all of it needs to be on the page.
For example... Gamnock.
"FINALLY!"
"I know, sorry about the long wait." (I'm not really all that sorry. I enjoy aggravating my characters.)
Gamnock was meant to be Mr. MCs man. His one trusted, devoted, what-can-I-do-for-you guy. Mr. MC and Ms. MC weren't getting along. Mr. MC needed someone to talk to.
But he already had someone. An established character.
Mr. MC needed a friend.
He already had two of those, both established characters.
Xander needed a mentor.
Xander got cut.
Mr. MC needed someone he could trust. Explicitly.
Great! Except that side plot got cut back because that whole not getting along plotline was taking way too darn long. Not having Gamnock there brought more tension and less passive MC mulling.
Gamnock showed me that Mr. MC had grown, he'd gained the loyalty of men willing to listen to him over Ms. MC. He was ready to make a stand for his independance. He was ready to charge forward with what must be done. (Is it scary that I'm picturing a scene montage in my head complete with a pulse-stiring soundtrack?)
Montage aside, none of that needed to happen in the book. It could be implied. Which brings me to my next point: anvils.
"Hold your anvils. Can you let me go now?"
I pull away the tape, trying not to snicker as he gasps when I yank the tape from his bare skin.
"Thank you, Gamnock, for being so patient. The Pirate Guild sent over this crate as a consolation prize for getting cut from not one, but two books."
"I knew those guys wouldn't forget me." He wipes the tape residue from his hands and neck and grins. "I don't suppose you have the opening code?"
"Sorry, no. You'll have to find a pry bar." I try to remember what I cut from the Pirate Guild that they might have sent to Gamnock.
He rubs his hands together and runs off.
I guess we'll both just have to wait to find out.
Monday, April 19, 2010
To each character, a purpose
As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted by a discarded character tirade...
Gamnock will now illustrate-
"How can I illustrate anything? You have me bound the desk with masking tape. I can barely move!" He struggles against the sticky layers.
"I meant figuratively, dear Gamnock. Now hush, or I'll get the tape out again."
I'd sort of learned my overpopulation lesson by the time I'd reached the near conclusion of book one. I thought I'd just toss a few characters in, like Xander and Gamnock, establishing them in book one so they would be ready to go in book two.
Great idea, but what if someone didn't read book one? I mean, these should be stand alone novels, right? Tossing in new characters toward the end that don't play into the main plotline makes for loose ends. They're just hanging out, screaming to the poor reader, "Tune in next time to see why I exist!" The reader doesn't want to pause to think about next time, they want to sit back (or hopefully perch on the edge of their seat) and enjoy the conclusion of book one.
Besides, I have enough work ahead of me in re-establishing the central characters that are vital to the story. I really don't need any more work and words wasted supporting characters than absolutely necessary. We want to leap into the sequel's plot for goodness sake, not have four chapters of refresher material.
Gamnock slams the backside of his boots on the desktop, making a horrible racket. "So I'm not memorable? Is that what you're saying?"
I whip out my handy roll of tape and secure his feet. "I said, shut up."
Ahem.
To prevent more Gamnocks - who really is a good character, by the way -
"Why, thank you."
I rip off a piece of tape and dangle it over his face.
"Right. Sorry. Shutting up now."
I now consult my handy checklist whenever the urge to toss someone new into the story strikes.
-Are we in the later half of the story?
----Do we really need someone new now when we should be focusing on who and what we've built up in the first half?
-Is this a bit part?
----Can it be filled by someone already established instead?
----Does this bit part player really need to become a full character?
-Is this character set up for something that doesn't even happen in this particular story?
-Is this character being planted in the opening chapters and then will not be mentioned again until a big reveal near the end, where no one will remember them because they haven't been mentioned in twenty-six intense chapters packed other drama and action, and thereby will totally spoil the reveal for everyone but me?
-Is this person going to be killed by my MC within the next few paragraphs?
----Haven't they killed enough people to make the point that they kill people already?
----Does the killing have major impact on the MC and plot?
----Would it have more impact if s/he killed someone already established?
-Isn't there someone just like this in the story already?
-Are we in the first quarter of the story? Will this character play into the plot later, or am I wandering off on an unnecessary side plot?
-Is this person appearing out of nowhere and now is going to require me to go back and establish them earlier on?
-----Will it be worth the work and/or screw up other elements of the plot?
"Good thing, you didn't have that list when you started," Gamnock says quietly.
I consider reaching for my tape, but he's got a point. "We have learned a lot together, haven't we? Besides, it would be awfully quiet around here without all of you."
"So you'll let me go now?"
I slip my fingernail under the edge of a strip of tape...
How about you? How do you pick and choose when and if to include new/unplanned characters?
Gamnock will now illustrate-
"How can I illustrate anything? You have me bound the desk with masking tape. I can barely move!" He struggles against the sticky layers.
"I meant figuratively, dear Gamnock. Now hush, or I'll get the tape out again."
I'd sort of learned my overpopulation lesson by the time I'd reached the near conclusion of book one. I thought I'd just toss a few characters in, like Xander and Gamnock, establishing them in book one so they would be ready to go in book two.
Great idea, but what if someone didn't read book one? I mean, these should be stand alone novels, right? Tossing in new characters toward the end that don't play into the main plotline makes for loose ends. They're just hanging out, screaming to the poor reader, "Tune in next time to see why I exist!" The reader doesn't want to pause to think about next time, they want to sit back (or hopefully perch on the edge of their seat) and enjoy the conclusion of book one.
Besides, I have enough work ahead of me in re-establishing the central characters that are vital to the story. I really don't need any more work and words wasted supporting characters than absolutely necessary. We want to leap into the sequel's plot for goodness sake, not have four chapters of refresher material.
Gamnock slams the backside of his boots on the desktop, making a horrible racket. "So I'm not memorable? Is that what you're saying?"
I whip out my handy roll of tape and secure his feet. "I said, shut up."
Ahem.
To prevent more Gamnocks - who really is a good character, by the way -
"Why, thank you."
I rip off a piece of tape and dangle it over his face.
"Right. Sorry. Shutting up now."
I now consult my handy checklist whenever the urge to toss someone new into the story strikes.
-Are we in the later half of the story?
----Do we really need someone new now when we should be focusing on who and what we've built up in the first half?
-Is this a bit part?
----Can it be filled by someone already established instead?
----Does this bit part player really need to become a full character?
-Is this character set up for something that doesn't even happen in this particular story?
-Is this character being planted in the opening chapters and then will not be mentioned again until a big reveal near the end, where no one will remember them because they haven't been mentioned in twenty-six intense chapters packed other drama and action, and thereby will totally spoil the reveal for everyone but me?
-Is this person going to be killed by my MC within the next few paragraphs?
----Haven't they killed enough people to make the point that they kill people already?
----Does the killing have major impact on the MC and plot?
----Would it have more impact if s/he killed someone already established?
-Isn't there someone just like this in the story already?
-Are we in the first quarter of the story? Will this character play into the plot later, or am I wandering off on an unnecessary side plot?
-Is this person appearing out of nowhere and now is going to require me to go back and establish them earlier on?
-----Will it be worth the work and/or screw up other elements of the plot?
"Good thing, you didn't have that list when you started," Gamnock says quietly.
I consider reaching for my tape, but he's got a point. "We have learned a lot together, haven't we? Besides, it would be awfully quiet around here without all of you."
"So you'll let me go now?"
I slip my fingernail under the edge of a strip of tape...
How about you? How do you pick and choose when and if to include new/unplanned characters?
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Max occupancy: ?
You may be wondering, why, dear woman, did you have so much time and energy invested in all these characters that are now doing nothing more than milling about your writing space? Wouldn't outlining or at least some form of pre-planning have saved you so much aggravation?
Well. Yes.
But we all begin somewhere, don't we? I didn't begin with outlines or preplanning. Outlines were those boring things they made us do in school when we wrote reports. Reports are stiff and structured. They aren't free flowing and creative works. Writing should be fluid, not confined to any concrete string of events. Right?
Sure, as long as you don't plan on having anyone else try and make sense of what you've written.
I wrote. I wrote a lot. I liked characters. Ands lots of them! Because more characters, planets, tech and all the gobs of plot-stiffling, info-heavy paragraphs that go with them, make a book more involved, deeper and more exciting, don't they?
Well. No.
But I didn't figure this out until I'd already written book one. And it hadn't really sunk in until the rough draft of book two was on paper - not literally, I don't do the paper thing anymore. Too hard on the hands.
"Ahem."
"Gamnok, I'm getting to you."
He slips down from the Farscape Scorpius bobble head next to my monitor that he's been perched on for the last few days and storms over. "You said, I would get my post when you were done screwing around with that query letter."
"I'm not done with the cursed query letter, but I'm working on your post."
"Funny, it sounds like you're going on about all of us," he gestures to the other milling characters going about their business, "instead of me, like you promised."
"We're getting there. Be patient."
He takes a deep breath and sighs. "Fine."
Anyway, as I was saying, a little general planning, or at least restraint when the urge to toss someone new on the page, is something I learned along the way. My more recent novels don't suffer from this problem. In fact, they seem to suffer from a lack of words, because I'm so set in the editing mode of pruning words and characters. One of these days, I'll happen on a middle ground.
"Oh, come on!" Gamnock kicks my keyboard. "How the heck are you going to relate me to middle ground? Excess characters is one thing, but this?" He shakes his fist at the words floating on the monitor before him. "This has nothing to do with me at all."
"It does. Let me get back on track here, would you?"
"No. I want my post." He starts jumping up and down on the keyboard.
dd&a4q548pd;ld....
"Stop that!"
To be continued...
Well. Yes.
But we all begin somewhere, don't we? I didn't begin with outlines or preplanning. Outlines were those boring things they made us do in school when we wrote reports. Reports are stiff and structured. They aren't free flowing and creative works. Writing should be fluid, not confined to any concrete string of events. Right?
Sure, as long as you don't plan on having anyone else try and make sense of what you've written.
I wrote. I wrote a lot. I liked characters. Ands lots of them! Because more characters, planets, tech and all the gobs of plot-stiffling, info-heavy paragraphs that go with them, make a book more involved, deeper and more exciting, don't they?
Well. No.
But I didn't figure this out until I'd already written book one. And it hadn't really sunk in until the rough draft of book two was on paper - not literally, I don't do the paper thing anymore. Too hard on the hands.
"Ahem."
"Gamnok, I'm getting to you."
He slips down from the Farscape Scorpius bobble head next to my monitor that he's been perched on for the last few days and storms over. "You said, I would get my post when you were done screwing around with that query letter."
"I'm not done with the cursed query letter, but I'm working on your post."
"Funny, it sounds like you're going on about all of us," he gestures to the other milling characters going about their business, "instead of me, like you promised."
"We're getting there. Be patient."
He takes a deep breath and sighs. "Fine."
Anyway, as I was saying, a little general planning, or at least restraint when the urge to toss someone new on the page, is something I learned along the way. My more recent novels don't suffer from this problem. In fact, they seem to suffer from a lack of words, because I'm so set in the editing mode of pruning words and characters. One of these days, I'll happen on a middle ground.
"Oh, come on!" Gamnock kicks my keyboard. "How the heck are you going to relate me to middle ground? Excess characters is one thing, but this?" He shakes his fist at the words floating on the monitor before him. "This has nothing to do with me at all."
"It does. Let me get back on track here, would you?"
"No. I want my post." He starts jumping up and down on the keyboard.
dd&a4q548pd;ld....
"Stop that!"
To be continued...
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Another day of waiting
The middle-aged man sits on the edge of my desk, kicking his feet over the edge.
"Sorry, Gamnock. I meant to work on your post today, but instead, I had the inclination to spend three hours banging my head on my desk while trying to compose a query letter. Again. How a couple short paragraphs can manage to consume countless hours on many occasions, I'll never know." I shake my head and join him on the desktop -thankfully its a sturdy desk. "It's like query letters are blackholes of time and writing ability."
I can't help but notice Gamnock sending 'I'm watching you' looks to Xander who is sitting below on a stack of scribbled on paper. I also can't help but notice the distinct foot of distance between him and Ms. Wildstar beside him. Both are talking to the hands in their laps rather than looking at each other.
Ms. Wildstar also seems to be out of her armored suit and back into her frumpy teen clothing which does a much better job of hiding her lithe form.
It occurs to me, with a shudder, that I don't what to know what they were doing when Gamnock saw them under my desk or how Ms. Wildstar came to be minus the armored suit, nor where or when she changed back into her regular clothing. What I am happy to see, is that she has someone to talk to other than Zsmed, who only wanted to flirt or worse, or Delilah, who only wanted to talk about flirting or worse.
There's just something about Ms. Wildstar that makes me get all motherly and want to protect the girl. Maybe its just that I don't want to see her turn out all emotionally screwed up like Ms. MC.
"Whatever you said to them, thank you."
Gamnock nods. "Do I get my post soon?"
"Assuming I'm not spending my writing time working on query letter version fifty-six, I'll see what I can do."
"Sorry, Gamnock. I meant to work on your post today, but instead, I had the inclination to spend three hours banging my head on my desk while trying to compose a query letter. Again. How a couple short paragraphs can manage to consume countless hours on many occasions, I'll never know." I shake my head and join him on the desktop -thankfully its a sturdy desk. "It's like query letters are blackholes of time and writing ability."
I can't help but notice Gamnock sending 'I'm watching you' looks to Xander who is sitting below on a stack of scribbled on paper. I also can't help but notice the distinct foot of distance between him and Ms. Wildstar beside him. Both are talking to the hands in their laps rather than looking at each other.
Ms. Wildstar also seems to be out of her armored suit and back into her frumpy teen clothing which does a much better job of hiding her lithe form.
It occurs to me, with a shudder, that I don't what to know what they were doing when Gamnock saw them under my desk or how Ms. Wildstar came to be minus the armored suit, nor where or when she changed back into her regular clothing. What I am happy to see, is that she has someone to talk to other than Zsmed, who only wanted to flirt or worse, or Delilah, who only wanted to talk about flirting or worse.
There's just something about Ms. Wildstar that makes me get all motherly and want to protect the girl. Maybe its just that I don't want to see her turn out all emotionally screwed up like Ms. MC.
"Whatever you said to them, thank you."
Gamnock nods. "Do I get my post soon?"
"Assuming I'm not spending my writing time working on query letter version fifty-six, I'll see what I can do."
Monday, April 12, 2010
It's monday...
and I meant to get a post ready over the weekend, but work and family happened instead of blog writing. Then I was going to work on a post this morning, but a critique I received last night inspired me to cross off one of those nagging projects from the list I posted last week.
So instead of a fun post, I can at least say I finished editing and cleaning up my short and got it submitted this morning. It is still morning right? Whew. I still techincally have five minutes of morning left.
Now I'm stuck dealing with this character pacing my desktop, looking none too happy with me for being bumped off his scheduled debut.
"Sorry, pal, life happens."
Gamnock crosses his arms and glares at me. "What about my life? Remember, the one you deleted?"
Great, another character with a grudge. "Why don't you go find Xander for me and make sure he and Ms. Wildstar aren't doing anything totally inapproriate under my desk?"
"Xander is here?" He leans over the desktop, then pops back up with a red face. "I think I need to go have a talk with the boy." He scrambles down from the desk and disapears into the shadows.
So instead of a fun post, I can at least say I finished editing and cleaning up my short and got it submitted this morning. It is still morning right? Whew. I still techincally have five minutes of morning left.
Now I'm stuck dealing with this character pacing my desktop, looking none too happy with me for being bumped off his scheduled debut.
"Sorry, pal, life happens."
Gamnock crosses his arms and glares at me. "What about my life? Remember, the one you deleted?"
Great, another character with a grudge. "Why don't you go find Xander for me and make sure he and Ms. Wildstar aren't doing anything totally inapproriate under my desk?"
"Xander is here?" He leans over the desktop, then pops back up with a red face. "I think I need to go have a talk with the boy." He scrambles down from the desk and disapears into the shadows.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Busy busy
Thanks for all the great title advice everyone! I am busy brewing ideas. I'm also really busy in general so today's post is going to be a short update of what is occupying my writing schedule.
Book One is in the process of getting one last shine edit.
My brain is bleeding from pondering query letter and synopsis content that might be marginally better than what I already have come up with. Maybe.
The Sequel is coming along nicely... or it was until I discovered a huge section that I might have to toss because of the changes I made to the first chapters to make it mesh with all the changes I made in Book One during the countless major revisions I made after originally finishing it and writing the sequel's rough draft.
I recently discovered that tend to spawn really long sentences. I don't know when that happened. I'm usually a short, clipped and fragmented kinda girl. Honest. If you made it through that last one in one breath, find yourself some chocolate and pretend its from me.
The short story I've been working on needs to get fixed and submitted in the next two weeks.
I'm trying to avoid looking at Xander and Ms. Wildstar who are mollifying each other's teen angst with an uncomfortable amount of face sucking and deep throat exploration. "Really guys, take that somewhere else, would you?" I don't think they even heard me. Ugh.
Also in the works, another Victims of the Knife.
Book One is in the process of getting one last shine edit.
My brain is bleeding from pondering query letter and synopsis content that might be marginally better than what I already have come up with. Maybe.
The Sequel is coming along nicely... or it was until I discovered a huge section that I might have to toss because of the changes I made to the first chapters to make it mesh with all the changes I made in Book One during the countless major revisions I made after originally finishing it and writing the sequel's rough draft.
I recently discovered that tend to spawn really long sentences. I don't know when that happened. I'm usually a short, clipped and fragmented kinda girl. Honest. If you made it through that last one in one breath, find yourself some chocolate and pretend its from me.
The short story I've been working on needs to get fixed and submitted in the next two weeks.
I'm trying to avoid looking at Xander and Ms. Wildstar who are mollifying each other's teen angst with an uncomfortable amount of face sucking and deep throat exploration. "Really guys, take that somewhere else, would you?" I don't think they even heard me. Ugh.
Also in the works, another Victims of the Knife.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Titles
I'm having a heck of a time coming up with a title for this sequel I keep yammering about. This means the new novel is relegated to being referred to as 'the sequel'. Poor thing. It really does deserve a name of its own.
For me, titles either come to be during the concept stage or once I've finished the rough draft. This one is elusive. Maybe because I've got it in the back of my head that this title needs to relate to the first title, keeping in some sort of theme or matching type name - both single words, for instance. Book one's title fit so perfectly and the angels sang when it came to me. Is the sequel having performance anxiety?
Since I keep reading that titles often get changed by agents or publishers -- here I go being optimistic again -- I sometimes wonder if I shouldn't bang my head on the desk over the title quite so much. Yes, it will need one, but perhaps more of a placeholder effort will do at this stage.
If I could even come up with a placeholder.
Since I keep reading that titles often get changed by agents or publishers -- here I go being optimistic again -- I sometimes wonder if I shouldn't bang my head on the desk over the title quite so much. Yes, it will need one, but perhaps more of a placeholder effort will do at this stage.
If I could even come up with a placeholder.
How do you come up with titles? Where in the process does it come to you, and do you find it easy or hard?
Monday, April 5, 2010
The truth among the lies
And for those who got through my massive award post last week:
1. When I was in second grade, I all out punched a boy in the face. Hey, he deserved it. He cut in line. As the tallest girl in the class, I had bully issues, okay? Thankfully, after a week of having to stay after school everyday, I grew out of them. LIE: I hit him in the back because another boy dared me to, and I only got a scolding from the teacher.
2. Two years ago, I learned to knit. There are only so many practice scarves and mittens that I needed around the house, so I thought I'd dontate them to our local homeless shelter. When I brought my offerings in, the lady at the drop off counter refused them, saying that the quality was too poor. I was so embarrased. I haven't knitted anything since. COMPLETE LIE: I don't knit.
3. I used to manage a fast food restaurant, and in looking for some fun team building activities, I came up with the idea for a sleep over. In the restaurant. Me and eleven teenagers set up our sleeping bags and then stayed up late into the night, making all kinds of experiemental food from what was in the cooler. Well, until the cops came. They weren't happy about our being there at all and demanded to call the owner at 2am to verify that we had persmission to be there. I couldn't reach her - who answers their office number at 2am? I didn't have her home number! He took all our names, addresses and phone numbers and then threatened to arrest me if I we didn't all leave immediately. I spent the rest of the night driving a bunch of teenagers home. LIE: The cops did come but just shook their heads and wished me luck with all the teens after I explained what we were doing.
4. After a late night socializing at my sister-in-law's house, I was driving my family home when a car squealed through the intersection ahead of us. The carload of drunks managed to make a tight turn, narrowly missing a telephone pole, and swerved onto the road we were on. They came straight at as... for about five seconds. Then they proceeded to sweve across all five lines several times while they tried to regain control, careening off the curb on either side. I had no where safe to pull off an no way of knowing which lane to pick to avoid them. We collided. Thankfully they only clipped the back quarter of my car and no one was hurt. The cops carted the drunk driver and his friends off to jail. LIE: I managed to avoid them and I have no idea if they were drunk, but they sure drove like they were.
5. On the way home from the bar several years ago, I got pulled over. I rolled down the window. The cop immediately demanded that I hand over the drugs. He could smell them. There was no use hiding them. He would go easy on me if I cooperated. Umm, I didn't have any drugs. I've never done any drugs. However, the bar I'd just left smelled like a particular drug. A lot. And apparently so I did I. I tried to explain this to him, but he was having none of it, seemingly intent on making an arrest for the evening. He demanded to search my car. I let him. He demanded to search my purse. Sure. He searched me. Still nothing. Because nothing was there! He drove off one very aggravated and annoyed cop. TOTALLY TRUE
6. My natural hair color is blonde. LIE: though I did dye it blonde once... and then dyed it blue an hour later.
1. When I was in second grade, I all out punched a boy in the face. Hey, he deserved it. He cut in line. As the tallest girl in the class, I had bully issues, okay? Thankfully, after a week of having to stay after school everyday, I grew out of them. LIE: I hit him in the back because another boy dared me to, and I only got a scolding from the teacher.
2. Two years ago, I learned to knit. There are only so many practice scarves and mittens that I needed around the house, so I thought I'd dontate them to our local homeless shelter. When I brought my offerings in, the lady at the drop off counter refused them, saying that the quality was too poor. I was so embarrased. I haven't knitted anything since. COMPLETE LIE: I don't knit.
3. I used to manage a fast food restaurant, and in looking for some fun team building activities, I came up with the idea for a sleep over. In the restaurant. Me and eleven teenagers set up our sleeping bags and then stayed up late into the night, making all kinds of experiemental food from what was in the cooler. Well, until the cops came. They weren't happy about our being there at all and demanded to call the owner at 2am to verify that we had persmission to be there. I couldn't reach her - who answers their office number at 2am? I didn't have her home number! He took all our names, addresses and phone numbers and then threatened to arrest me if I we didn't all leave immediately. I spent the rest of the night driving a bunch of teenagers home. LIE: The cops did come but just shook their heads and wished me luck with all the teens after I explained what we were doing.
4. After a late night socializing at my sister-in-law's house, I was driving my family home when a car squealed through the intersection ahead of us. The carload of drunks managed to make a tight turn, narrowly missing a telephone pole, and swerved onto the road we were on. They came straight at as... for about five seconds. Then they proceeded to sweve across all five lines several times while they tried to regain control, careening off the curb on either side. I had no where safe to pull off an no way of knowing which lane to pick to avoid them. We collided. Thankfully they only clipped the back quarter of my car and no one was hurt. The cops carted the drunk driver and his friends off to jail. LIE: I managed to avoid them and I have no idea if they were drunk, but they sure drove like they were.
5. On the way home from the bar several years ago, I got pulled over. I rolled down the window. The cop immediately demanded that I hand over the drugs. He could smell them. There was no use hiding them. He would go easy on me if I cooperated. Umm, I didn't have any drugs. I've never done any drugs. However, the bar I'd just left smelled like a particular drug. A lot. And apparently so I did I. I tried to explain this to him, but he was having none of it, seemingly intent on making an arrest for the evening. He demanded to search my car. I let him. He demanded to search my purse. Sure. He searched me. Still nothing. Because nothing was there! He drove off one very aggravated and annoyed cop. TOTALLY TRUE
6. My natural hair color is blonde. LIE: though I did dye it blonde once... and then dyed it blue an hour later.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Award fest!
I've been hoarding awards. I admit it. Now it's time to pass them on ... after I do my ceremonial duties.
AJ Frey at Eyes 2 Page passed on the “Creative Writer” award.
1. When I was in second grade, I all out punched a boy in the face. Hey, he deserved it. He cut in line. As the tallest girl in the class, I had bully issues, okay? Thankfully, after a week of having to stay after school everyday, I grew out of them.
2. Two years ago, I learned to knit. There are only so many practice scarves and mittens that I needed around the house, so I thought I'd dontate them to our local homeless shelter. When I brought my offerings in, the lady at the drop off counter refused them, saying that the quality was too poor. I was so embarrased. I haven't knitted anything since.
3. I used to manage a fast food restaurant, and in looking for some fun team building activities, I came up with the idea for a sleep over. In the restaurant. Me and eleven teenagers set up our sleeping bags and then stayed up late into the night, making all kinds of experiemental food from what was in the cooler. Well, until the cops came. They weren't happy about our being there at all and demanded to call the owner at 2am to verify that we had persmission to be there. I couldn't reach her - who answers their office number at 2am? I didn't have her home number! He took all our names, addresses and phone numbers and then threatened to arrest me if I we didn't all leave immediately. I spent the rest of the night driving a bunch of teenagers home.
4. After a late night socializing at my sister-in-law's house, I was driving my family home when a car squealed through the intersection ahead of us. The carload of drunks managed to make a tight turn, narrowly missing a telephone pole, and swerved onto the road we were on. They came straight at as... for about five seconds. Then they proceeded to sweve across all five lines several times while they tried to regain control, careening off the curb on either side. I had no where safe to pull off an no way of knowing which lane to pick to avoid them. We collided. Thankfully they only clipped the back quarter of my car and no one was hurt. The cops carted the drunk driver and his friends off to jail.
5. On the way home from the bar several years ago, I got pulled over. I rolled down the window. The cop immediately demanded that I hand over the drugs. He could smell them. There was no use hiding them. He would go easy on me if I cooperated. Umm, I didn't have any drugs. I've never done any drugs. However, the bar I'd just left smelled like a particular drug. A lot. And apparently so I did I. I tried to explain this to him, but he was having none of it, seemingly intent on making an arrest for the evening. He demanded to search my car. I let him. He demanded to search my purse. Sure. He searched me. Still nothing. Because nothing was there! He drove off one very aggravated and annoyed cop.
6. My natural hair color is blonde.
I'm tossing this one over to Ms Kitty at Jordan's Croft Happy lying. I have a feeling you'll have fun with this. :)
Scott Free at Ergo handed the Over the Top award my way.
AJ Frey at Eyes 2 Page passed on the “Creative Writer” award.
The rules state that I must lie to you five out of six times. You get to try and guess which one is the truth. Happy guessing. I will announce the truth in next monday's post.
1. When I was in second grade, I all out punched a boy in the face. Hey, he deserved it. He cut in line. As the tallest girl in the class, I had bully issues, okay? Thankfully, after a week of having to stay after school everyday, I grew out of them.
2. Two years ago, I learned to knit. There are only so many practice scarves and mittens that I needed around the house, so I thought I'd dontate them to our local homeless shelter. When I brought my offerings in, the lady at the drop off counter refused them, saying that the quality was too poor. I was so embarrased. I haven't knitted anything since.
3. I used to manage a fast food restaurant, and in looking for some fun team building activities, I came up with the idea for a sleep over. In the restaurant. Me and eleven teenagers set up our sleeping bags and then stayed up late into the night, making all kinds of experiemental food from what was in the cooler. Well, until the cops came. They weren't happy about our being there at all and demanded to call the owner at 2am to verify that we had persmission to be there. I couldn't reach her - who answers their office number at 2am? I didn't have her home number! He took all our names, addresses and phone numbers and then threatened to arrest me if I we didn't all leave immediately. I spent the rest of the night driving a bunch of teenagers home.
4. After a late night socializing at my sister-in-law's house, I was driving my family home when a car squealed through the intersection ahead of us. The carload of drunks managed to make a tight turn, narrowly missing a telephone pole, and swerved onto the road we were on. They came straight at as... for about five seconds. Then they proceeded to sweve across all five lines several times while they tried to regain control, careening off the curb on either side. I had no where safe to pull off an no way of knowing which lane to pick to avoid them. We collided. Thankfully they only clipped the back quarter of my car and no one was hurt. The cops carted the drunk driver and his friends off to jail.
5. On the way home from the bar several years ago, I got pulled over. I rolled down the window. The cop immediately demanded that I hand over the drugs. He could smell them. There was no use hiding them. He would go easy on me if I cooperated. Umm, I didn't have any drugs. I've never done any drugs. However, the bar I'd just left smelled like a particular drug. A lot. And apparently so I did I. I tried to explain this to him, but he was having none of it, seemingly intent on making an arrest for the evening. He demanded to search my car. I let him. He demanded to search my purse. Sure. He searched me. Still nothing. Because nothing was there! He drove off one very aggravated and annoyed cop.
6. My natural hair color is blonde.
I'm tossing this one over to Ms Kitty at Jordan's Croft Happy lying. I have a feeling you'll have fun with this. :)
Scott Free at Ergo handed the Over the Top award my way.
According to the rules of this award, I must answer these questions with one word.
Your cell phone: Green
Your hair: Faded
Your mother: Gone
Your father: Balding
Your favorite food: Sushi
Your dream last night: Weird
Your favorite drink: Rum
Your dream goal: Published
What room are you in: Bedroom
Your hobby: Writing
Your fear: Loss
Where do you see yourself in six years: Older
Where were you last night: Bed
Something you aren't: Understated
Muffins: Yum
Wish list item: Cash
Where did you grow up: Michigan
Last thing you did: shopping
What are you wearing: clothes
Your TV: big
Your pets: alive
Your friends: happy
Your life: good
Your mood: awake
Missing someone: always
Vehicle: green
Something you aren't wearing: coat
Your favorite store: grocery
Your favorite color: Blue
When was the last time you laughed: Earlier
Last time you cried: Spring
Your best friend: Funny
One place you go to over and over: kitchen
Facebook: yep
Favorite place to eat: restaurant
Your cell phone: Green
Your hair: Faded
Your mother: Gone
Your father: Balding
Your favorite food: Sushi
Your dream last night: Weird
Your favorite drink: Rum
Your dream goal: Published
What room are you in: Bedroom
Your hobby: Writing
Your fear: Loss
Where do you see yourself in six years: Older
Where were you last night: Bed
Something you aren't: Understated
Muffins: Yum
Wish list item: Cash
Where did you grow up: Michigan
Last thing you did: shopping
What are you wearing: clothes
Your TV: big
Your pets: alive
Your friends: happy
Your life: good
Your mood: awake
Missing someone: always
Vehicle: green
Something you aren't wearing: coat
Your favorite store: grocery
Your favorite color: Blue
When was the last time you laughed: Earlier
Last time you cried: Spring
Your best friend: Funny
One place you go to over and over: kitchen
Facebook: yep
Favorite place to eat: restaurant
And the award goes to: Botanist at Views From the Bald Patch for your ability to name eighty characters in one novel.
Zella Kate has tagged me to predict my future in ten years. Hmmmm Let's see.
Older. Grayer. Wiser - hopefully. Published - hopefully. Egads, a grandmother? It could happen. Scary. A few more novels finished, really finished -hopefully. Full of hope. Definitely. Still trying to get over that grandmother realization. In good heath. Yeah, hoping again. Two kids in college. Hmm, in debt. Certainly. OMG a grandmother? Caring for kids who are taking internet college courses from their locked rooms. Yes! There we go.
Quick, take this tag and run with it before I dwell on this anymore. AJ Frey at Eyes 2 Page you are hereby tagged.
Monday, March 29, 2010
And you are?
As I sit here writing, I catch a glimpse of a new face amidst the mountains of paper and milling characters. He looks a little familiar, older maybe than the last time we met. The dark-skinned young man stands against the wall, minus an armored coat (or armored suit) -- which is good, there seem to be too many of those around here these days -- looking like he might be up to no good. Or maybe he's just trying hard to look up to no good.
"Don't I know you?"
He nods but doesn't have the courtesy to fill me in.
I glance over his slim form, not finding any of the usual lumps and bumps of weaponry that other discarded characters often show up with. “You’re not from the first novel, are you?”
“Not exactly.”
“I don’t remember writing you in the sequel.”
He shoots me a look that makes me wonder if perhaps he is up to no good after all. “That’s because you deleted all my set up from the first novel, reduced me to a few scant mentions to flesh out Ms. Mc. Then you dropped me from the sequel like I fell off the known universe. I wasn’t needed."
"Sorry about that. You're not alone." I point to the host of characters around him.
"Oh, I know. There’s a whole bunch of us coming. I’m just the first to find my way here.”
“Find your way? Where have you been between the first novel wrap up and the sequel revision?”
“Hanging out on the hard drive in your character reference file. I was hoping you’d reconsider.”
I run through the reference file in my head. “You must be Xander Tuck.”
“I still can’t believe you cut me. I was a good kid. Then Mr. MC sent me off to a school I where didn’t fit in. My grades sucked. My dad was pissed, and then I totally embarrassed Ms. MC and Mr. MC had to give me a new job and name for a fresh start.” Xander stares up at my computer longingly. “I always wondered what role I’d have in the sequel. Now I’ll never know.”
“You and Mr. MC had some good, touching moments. I always liked how you brought out the mentor side of him and mirrored the relationship he had with his own father figure.”
“Exactly!” His face lights up with a wide grin. “We had a good thing going. I was supposed to work with him, under him, you know? Mr. MC was going to help me regain my father’s respect, and I’m sure I was going to do more of that mentor/fatherly bonding thing with him. Can’t you find a place for me? Please?”
“Sorry kid. I made him a father instead. I don’t have a use for you anymore.”
His shoulders slump. “I see.”
Darn it, now I feel bad. It’s always easier to cut them when I don’t have to do it to their face.
Muffled swearing comes from under my chair. I look down to see Ms. Wildstar poking at the armored suit with the end of an unfolded paperclip.
“Xander, I take that back. I do have a use for you. See that girl?”
He nods.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but, see if you can get her out of her clothes and keep her busy.”
He glances at her and then at me and back to her. “All right!”
“No. Not like that. Or like that.” I shake my head. “Just be careful, and I don’t want to know about the details, okay?”
“No problem.” He heads over to Ms. Wildstar with his charm turned on high.
What have I just done?
"Don't I know you?"
He nods but doesn't have the courtesy to fill me in.
I glance over his slim form, not finding any of the usual lumps and bumps of weaponry that other discarded characters often show up with. “You’re not from the first novel, are you?”
“Not exactly.”
“I don’t remember writing you in the sequel.”
He shoots me a look that makes me wonder if perhaps he is up to no good after all. “That’s because you deleted all my set up from the first novel, reduced me to a few scant mentions to flesh out Ms. Mc. Then you dropped me from the sequel like I fell off the known universe. I wasn’t needed."
"Sorry about that. You're not alone." I point to the host of characters around him.
"Oh, I know. There’s a whole bunch of us coming. I’m just the first to find my way here.”
“Find your way? Where have you been between the first novel wrap up and the sequel revision?”
“Hanging out on the hard drive in your character reference file. I was hoping you’d reconsider.”
I run through the reference file in my head. “You must be Xander Tuck.”
“I still can’t believe you cut me. I was a good kid. Then Mr. MC sent me off to a school I where didn’t fit in. My grades sucked. My dad was pissed, and then I totally embarrassed Ms. MC and Mr. MC had to give me a new job and name for a fresh start.” Xander stares up at my computer longingly. “I always wondered what role I’d have in the sequel. Now I’ll never know.”
“You and Mr. MC had some good, touching moments. I always liked how you brought out the mentor side of him and mirrored the relationship he had with his own father figure.”
“Exactly!” His face lights up with a wide grin. “We had a good thing going. I was supposed to work with him, under him, you know? Mr. MC was going to help me regain my father’s respect, and I’m sure I was going to do more of that mentor/fatherly bonding thing with him. Can’t you find a place for me? Please?”
“Sorry kid. I made him a father instead. I don’t have a use for you anymore.”
His shoulders slump. “I see.”
Darn it, now I feel bad. It’s always easier to cut them when I don’t have to do it to their face.
Muffled swearing comes from under my chair. I look down to see Ms. Wildstar poking at the armored suit with the end of an unfolded paperclip.
“Xander, I take that back. I do have a use for you. See that girl?”
He nods.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but, see if you can get her out of her clothes and keep her busy.”
He glances at her and then at me and back to her. “All right!”
“No. Not like that. Or like that.” I shake my head. “Just be careful, and I don’t want to know about the details, okay?”
“No problem.” He heads over to Ms. Wildstar with his charm turned on high.
What have I just done?
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Subjectivity: What drives a writer to drink
Chapter one of the sequel went under the crit gun last week. Talk about mixed signals...
Being a first draft and all, I knew this would need some major work. I've been in revisions on the first novel a long time. I needed some insight on how far back the opening chapters of the sequel needed to step to get readers up to speed or lay things out for those who did not read the first book.
Well, I received a lot of insight. It might take a few meditation sessions and a bottle of rum to connect it all, but it's there.
As I search for some ice and a glass, I'll share some of what drives me to this moment.
Five critiquers read the past novel. Seven did not. Neither group agreed on any particular point in majority.
Half liked the opening for the same reason. Half did not for various reasons
There are too many things introduced in the chapter. There are just the right amount.
The pace is too slow. The pace is too fast.
There is much confusion over too much going on. Others follow along with little or no problem.
A few get frustrated and stop halfway through or sooner. Some really like the chapter. Some love it and want the next one right now.
Some don't like the couple longer sentences. Others aren't bothered by them.
There are too many tags and action beats slowing down the dialogue. There are just the right amount. Others want more tags.
On the bright side, everyone finds typos, and not all the same ones. Thank goodness for many sets of eyes.
What to take away from all this - after I find some coke to mix with this rum? I need to do some explaining without info dumping, along with slowing down while speeding up and clarfiying speakers without adding tags or beats. I need to add background to my world and characters without adding backstory and break up my long sentences with invisible punctuation.
In short, I need to do some major rethinking because this chapter clearly isn't working despite the fact that I really like it.
I raise my glass to my wonderful and helpful critiquers. Onward we go.
Being a first draft and all, I knew this would need some major work. I've been in revisions on the first novel a long time. I needed some insight on how far back the opening chapters of the sequel needed to step to get readers up to speed or lay things out for those who did not read the first book.
Well, I received a lot of insight. It might take a few meditation sessions and a bottle of rum to connect it all, but it's there.
As I search for some ice and a glass, I'll share some of what drives me to this moment.
Five critiquers read the past novel. Seven did not. Neither group agreed on any particular point in majority.
Half liked the opening for the same reason. Half did not for various reasons
There are too many things introduced in the chapter. There are just the right amount.
The pace is too slow. The pace is too fast.
There is much confusion over too much going on. Others follow along with little or no problem.
A few get frustrated and stop halfway through or sooner. Some really like the chapter. Some love it and want the next one right now.
Some don't like the couple longer sentences. Others aren't bothered by them.
There are too many tags and action beats slowing down the dialogue. There are just the right amount. Others want more tags.
On the bright side, everyone finds typos, and not all the same ones. Thank goodness for many sets of eyes.
What to take away from all this - after I find some coke to mix with this rum? I need to do some explaining without info dumping, along with slowing down while speeding up and clarfiying speakers without adding tags or beats. I need to add background to my world and characters without adding backstory and break up my long sentences with invisible punctuation.
In short, I need to do some major rethinking because this chapter clearly isn't working despite the fact that I really like it.
I raise my glass to my wonderful and helpful critiquers. Onward we go.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Suits me
In working on my sequel, I've discovered another good reason to get at least the first several chapters done before sending book one off into the big world: I'm finding things I thought I needed for set up in the first novel that I can do without, which equals further reduced word count. Hooray!
Ms. Wildstar turns in front of the mirror, admiring her black-clad form. "Does this make me look fat?"
Zsmed ventures over from the crate of adverbs he's been sorting with Nekar and hands her a card.
"Curvaceously?" She blushes. “That’s quite a word.”
He shrugs. "I found it in the box. I thought of you when I came across it."
I snicker to myself. Really? He’s working hard to get back in her graces. Not that Ms. Wildstar isn't shapely, it’s just that she's more the tall, gawky teen just coming into her body type than Delilah who has been drinking milk and has all the right curves in all the right places.
"Just because it’s in the box, doesn't mean it works. That's why she got rid of a lot of those." She points at me as if I'm some distant giant that can't possibly see or hear them.
Zsmed admires the sleek, skin-tight suit adorning Ms. Wildstar's body. "Where did that come from?"
"I found it lying on the floor this morning. I've never seen it here before."
"Must have come from the sequel. Did you take a look at it yet?"
She waves her hand at the hill of freshly crumpled and torn paper beside my desk. "Some. At least we finally have some new reading material."
He picks up a few pieces and holds them together, scanning the text. "Is it any good?"
"It's different. Looks like everything is getting trashed so far, I don’t have much to go by. Much better than the stuff we came from though."
"So what's the suit for?"
"Armor, as far as I can tell from what I’ve pieced together."
Zsmed glances at Nekar. "Uh, don't the main characters already have armored coats? Did they really need suits too?"
"Apparently not." Ms. Wildstar pokes at the suit. Her finger doesn’t even make an indent in the heavy cloth. "According to the discarded text, it’s supposed to be even stronger than the coats." She chews her lip for a moment. "Want to try it out?"
"I don’t think it would fit me."
"No, silly. I want to see how it works. I'm sick of sitting around here doing nothing. Borrow a gun from Nekar."
“You want me to shoot you? Are you crazy?”
No, no, no. What the hell? Ms. Wildstar is getting far too Ms. MC for my comfort. I put my foot down.
The room shakes. Paper goes flying. Characters fall to the floor.
I consider not taking myself so literally next time.
“Sorry about that.” I help Zsmed back to his feet. “There will be no gunfire, no armor testing, and no borrowing guns.”
Ms. Wildstar crosses her arms over her chest. “You created this armor. You should know there’s no harm in testing it out. Come on.”
“No. Take it off. Now.”
She sighs and reaches for a zipper. There isn’t one. She runs her hands over the suit, finding nothing to aid in its removal. “How does one remove this thing?”
I scratch my chin. “This is the problem with playing with discarded tech, Ms. Wildstar. I have no idea how it gets put on or taken off. I hadn’t written that yet. I can tell you how it’s created and by whom, but that’s all I know.”
“Well, that doesn’t help me at all.” She pouts. “Does anyone have a scissors or a knife?”
“Why don’t you go check over there?” I point to a mountain of crumpled, yellowed paper. I can’t remember editing out either of those items, but I’d rather she kept herself busy for a while. Goodness only knows what kind of trouble she’ll end up next.
Ms. Wildstar turns in front of the mirror, admiring her black-clad form. "Does this make me look fat?"
Zsmed ventures over from the crate of adverbs he's been sorting with Nekar and hands her a card.
"Curvaceously?" She blushes. “That’s quite a word.”
He shrugs. "I found it in the box. I thought of you when I came across it."
I snicker to myself. Really? He’s working hard to get back in her graces. Not that Ms. Wildstar isn't shapely, it’s just that she's more the tall, gawky teen just coming into her body type than Delilah who has been drinking milk and has all the right curves in all the right places.
"Just because it’s in the box, doesn't mean it works. That's why she got rid of a lot of those." She points at me as if I'm some distant giant that can't possibly see or hear them.
Zsmed admires the sleek, skin-tight suit adorning Ms. Wildstar's body. "Where did that come from?"
"I found it lying on the floor this morning. I've never seen it here before."
"Must have come from the sequel. Did you take a look at it yet?"
She waves her hand at the hill of freshly crumpled and torn paper beside my desk. "Some. At least we finally have some new reading material."
He picks up a few pieces and holds them together, scanning the text. "Is it any good?"
"It's different. Looks like everything is getting trashed so far, I don’t have much to go by. Much better than the stuff we came from though."
"So what's the suit for?"
"Armor, as far as I can tell from what I’ve pieced together."
Zsmed glances at Nekar. "Uh, don't the main characters already have armored coats? Did they really need suits too?"
"Apparently not." Ms. Wildstar pokes at the suit. Her finger doesn’t even make an indent in the heavy cloth. "According to the discarded text, it’s supposed to be even stronger than the coats." She chews her lip for a moment. "Want to try it out?"
"I don’t think it would fit me."
"No, silly. I want to see how it works. I'm sick of sitting around here doing nothing. Borrow a gun from Nekar."
“You want me to shoot you? Are you crazy?”
No, no, no. What the hell? Ms. Wildstar is getting far too Ms. MC for my comfort. I put my foot down.
The room shakes. Paper goes flying. Characters fall to the floor.
I consider not taking myself so literally next time.
“Sorry about that.” I help Zsmed back to his feet. “There will be no gunfire, no armor testing, and no borrowing guns.”
Ms. Wildstar crosses her arms over her chest. “You created this armor. You should know there’s no harm in testing it out. Come on.”
“No. Take it off. Now.”
She sighs and reaches for a zipper. There isn’t one. She runs her hands over the suit, finding nothing to aid in its removal. “How does one remove this thing?”
I scratch my chin. “This is the problem with playing with discarded tech, Ms. Wildstar. I have no idea how it gets put on or taken off. I hadn’t written that yet. I can tell you how it’s created and by whom, but that’s all I know.”
“Well, that doesn’t help me at all.” She pouts. “Does anyone have a scissors or a knife?”
“Why don’t you go check over there?” I point to a mountain of crumpled, yellowed paper. I can’t remember editing out either of those items, but I’d rather she kept herself busy for a while. Goodness only knows what kind of trouble she’ll end up next.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
I'm in love
...with my novel's sequel.
When I sit down to pound out a novel, which usually happens for NaNoWriMo each November, it just sort of flows out of my fingertips of its own accord. The beginning is me getting in touch with my characters, the first third is me exploring the plot I'd set out in my head (sometimes very, very loosely. Very.) The middle is where I'm wondering how I'm going to make what I'm doing now connect with the end (which I usually DO have in my head by the first few chapters) and the end is a lot of work to pull it all together.
Not this time.
I've never had the need for a sequel before. Everything else I've done ended neatly in 100k or less. But not my first novel, my baby. I wasn't ready to let that one go. And so to convince myself to finish the darn thing, I allowed myself a sequel. Amazing how easily the 'The End' came after that. Of course, that meant I got to sit down and play with my characters anew.
That was four years ago.
Any idea how much my writing has changed in the past four years? Let's just say (incredibily understated) lots.
With the baby novel now sitting in quarantine for one last tweak, I'm tearing into this partial rough draft of the sequel to see if there's anything here I can do without that would allow me to cut setup from the first novel. So far: 637 words. The sequel has its redeeming moments, but it needs a (again, incredibly understated) lot of work.
Know what I love though? I know the characters. All of them. Very well. I know the world and the tech. I know the feel of the novel. I had an ephiphany that showed me a fresh beginning, middle and end, the twists and how it all fits together. It's nothing like writing a fresh novel from the ground up.
After countless revisions on my baby novel it feels so good to explore and create with these characters agian. I've missed them. It's about time we had fun together. We deserve it.
Does this mean I'll start leaving room for more sequels in other novels? Not likely. It's a whole different challenge.
But that's a post for another day.
When I sit down to pound out a novel, which usually happens for NaNoWriMo each November, it just sort of flows out of my fingertips of its own accord. The beginning is me getting in touch with my characters, the first third is me exploring the plot I'd set out in my head (sometimes very, very loosely. Very.) The middle is where I'm wondering how I'm going to make what I'm doing now connect with the end (which I usually DO have in my head by the first few chapters) and the end is a lot of work to pull it all together.
Not this time.
I've never had the need for a sequel before. Everything else I've done ended neatly in 100k or less. But not my first novel, my baby. I wasn't ready to let that one go. And so to convince myself to finish the darn thing, I allowed myself a sequel. Amazing how easily the 'The End' came after that. Of course, that meant I got to sit down and play with my characters anew.
That was four years ago.
Any idea how much my writing has changed in the past four years? Let's just say (incredibily understated) lots.
With the baby novel now sitting in quarantine for one last tweak, I'm tearing into this partial rough draft of the sequel to see if there's anything here I can do without that would allow me to cut setup from the first novel. So far: 637 words. The sequel has its redeeming moments, but it needs a (again, incredibly understated) lot of work.
Know what I love though? I know the characters. All of them. Very well. I know the world and the tech. I know the feel of the novel. I had an ephiphany that showed me a fresh beginning, middle and end, the twists and how it all fits together. It's nothing like writing a fresh novel from the ground up.
After countless revisions on my baby novel it feels so good to explore and create with these characters agian. I've missed them. It's about time we had fun together. We deserve it.
Does this mean I'll start leaving room for more sequels in other novels? Not likely. It's a whole different challenge.
But that's a post for another day.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Novel in a Blender 3
Where was I before I got so distracted? Oh yes...
While I am a big fan of the Orson Scott Card's Ender Saga, my favorite novel of his is Songmaster. Based on his short story "Mikal's Songbird", Songmaster follows Ansset, a beautiful young boy whose perfect singing voice has the power of amplifying people's emotions, making him both a potential healer and destroyer.
The depth of emotion portrayed this book is what makes it so great. You truly feel for Ansset. This is the first book that made me cry while reading. Not that crying stopped me from reading. I just had to grab a tissue so I didn't get the pages wet.
Whenever I reach an emotional scene in a novel I'm writing, I try to achieve the depth in found Songmaster. I want to make you weep!
This novel does deal with homosexuality, so if that's an issue for you, be forewarned, but it's a great read. If you're searching for inspiration on how to pack more emotion into your novel, I can't think of a better place to look.
While I am a big fan of the Orson Scott Card's Ender Saga, my favorite novel of his is Songmaster. Based on his short story "Mikal's Songbird", Songmaster follows Ansset, a beautiful young boy whose perfect singing voice has the power of amplifying people's emotions, making him both a potential healer and destroyer.
The depth of emotion portrayed this book is what makes it so great. You truly feel for Ansset. This is the first book that made me cry while reading. Not that crying stopped me from reading. I just had to grab a tissue so I didn't get the pages wet.
Whenever I reach an emotional scene in a novel I'm writing, I try to achieve the depth in found Songmaster. I want to make you weep!
This novel does deal with homosexuality, so if that's an issue for you, be forewarned, but it's a great read. If you're searching for inspiration on how to pack more emotion into your novel, I can't think of a better place to look.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Creative leak
I did actually get some writing done today -- editing on my current short story and writing a couple pages of Trust's sequel. Yay for that. Yet, I've found myself with an excess of creative energy lately, and it's been bursting out all over.
My afternoon was spent coating my old dining room table in fleckstone to get rid of its outdated santa fe look that we purged from the rest of the house ten years ago. The leak really started two weeks ago when I decided I couldn't take our living/dining room anymore and it needed to face lift. Preferably, right now. That didn't happen, but I have been working away at it here and there, picking out paint for the walls, sewing slipcovers for the furniture, recovering pillows, laying out the area for the laminate flooring I want under the dining table, and painting said table.
Today, as I was innocently checking my blog reading list, I came across a post by Liana Brooks about doing a blog facelift, and darn it, there went three hours. Dinner was a couple hours late. I was too busy figuring out HTML and taking pics of my favorite fabrics from my huge stash for potential background images. Don't interupt me people. You know where the kitchen is if you decide you're starving and can't wait any longer.
So there you have it. Like the new look? Hate it? Suggestions?
My afternoon was spent coating my old dining room table in fleckstone to get rid of its outdated santa fe look that we purged from the rest of the house ten years ago. The leak really started two weeks ago when I decided I couldn't take our living/dining room anymore and it needed to face lift. Preferably, right now. That didn't happen, but I have been working away at it here and there, picking out paint for the walls, sewing slipcovers for the furniture, recovering pillows, laying out the area for the laminate flooring I want under the dining table, and painting said table.
Today, as I was innocently checking my blog reading list, I came across a post by Liana Brooks about doing a blog facelift, and darn it, there went three hours. Dinner was a couple hours late. I was too busy figuring out HTML and taking pics of my favorite fabrics from my huge stash for potential background images. Don't interupt me people. You know where the kitchen is if you decide you're starving and can't wait any longer.
So there you have it. Like the new look? Hate it? Suggestions?
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Why I didn't get any writing done last night
I sat down to write, but before starting, I checked my blogroll because I'd had a busy day and had not yet had the chance to do so. That led to reading a post that reminded me that I needed to write a post. Which made me look at my bookshelf for my next Novel in a Blender selection. At which time I spotted George R.R. Martin's A Game of Thrones. Which let me to his blog to see if the long awaited next novel in the series, A Dance with Dragons, was anywhere near a press yet.
Sadly no.
(If you haven't yet indulged in A Song of Ice and Fire yet and enjoy fantasy, of the epic sort -- done correctly with not a single boring part -- with a wide array of characters that leap off the page, where near everyone gets a chance to be both good and evil depending on the pov, get yourself to the nearest bookstore and start reading.)
Which led me to wonder how the HBO series of A Song of Ice and Fire was coming along. Which let me to this wonderful video that puts pictures with the cast names. I must say, I'm very impressed with the casting. Everyone is much like I'd envisioned them.
Though I've seen the cast list before, seeing them in person makes me entirely giddy and now can't wait for the series to air. The bad news is that reports say that won't happen until spring of 2011. Though, I suppose that gives me a chance to reread the series first so I can fully appreciate the visual feast.
Oh, and I suppose that also gives me time to get some writing done.
Sadly no.
(If you haven't yet indulged in A Song of Ice and Fire yet and enjoy fantasy, of the epic sort -- done correctly with not a single boring part -- with a wide array of characters that leap off the page, where near everyone gets a chance to be both good and evil depending on the pov, get yourself to the nearest bookstore and start reading.)
Which led me to wonder how the HBO series of A Song of Ice and Fire was coming along. Which let me to this wonderful video that puts pictures with the cast names. I must say, I'm very impressed with the casting. Everyone is much like I'd envisioned them.
Though I've seen the cast list before, seeing them in person makes me entirely giddy and now can't wait for the series to air. The bad news is that reports say that won't happen until spring of 2011. Though, I suppose that gives me a chance to reread the series first so I can fully appreciate the visual feast.
Oh, and I suppose that also gives me time to get some writing done.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Caving in
We all need a change of setting. This includes our beloved characters.They do what we tell them to (most of the time) and perform as expected (most of the time) but to really get to know them sometimes it's interesting to step outside the story and see what they would do if put somewhere completely out of their element. These scenes don't belong in the novel necessarily, but are for your reference, to dig into your character's mind.
I spent my weekend in a car for seven hundred miles and my saturday night in a cave. While the car part wasn't a complete change of setting for me, I can count the number of nights I've slept in a cave on one finger. It was an awesome experience.
I was tired, muddy and sore from our wild cave tour and glad to be warm in my sleeping bag in the moist fifty-four degree air. Yet, sleep eluded me as I lay there with the metal bar of my rudimentary bunk digging into my shoulder blades.
To entertain myself, I wondered what some of my characters would do if they had to spend a night in the cave.
Mr. MC - Would enjoy the moist air and the natural surroundings because he's always complaining he doesn't get outside much and his favorite place is by water. He'd be grateful to have a bunk rather than having to sleep on the floor.
Ms. MC - Would think it was cold and would bitch about the endless noise of the waterfall that wouldn't let her think. She'd also complain about the bunk, wake up in a foul mood and take it out on poor Mr. MC.
Mr. Secondary - Would be annoyed that he was stuck in a cave with seventy-six other men and only four women and no privacy to make it any fun.
Would they enjoy crawling over rocks, mud and water, on their bellies?
Mr. MC - likely wouldn't fit in some of the places we went. He's a larger statured sort of fellow, but he'd try if Ms. MC ordered him to. Enjoy it? No.
Ms. MC - Hell no. She'd order Mr. Secondary to blow the tunnel larger so she could walk through, and she'd only bother if there was something great to be had at the end. Sightseeing is not her thing. As much as she likes nature, she prefers it hot and humid.
Mr. Secondary, would bribe someone to get in line behind the female in the group so he could appreciate the view as they crawled along.
No matter where I go, my characters go with me. They are ever so much more entertaining than counting sheep.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Shadows of the sucessor
Ms. Wildstar holds up her hand. She's staring at her fingers. I see she's painted her fingernails black, and they are an inch and half long. And filed into points. I shake my head. I knew she'd been bored since Zsmed ditched her for Delilah and then wandered off to sort adverbs with Nekar, but giving herself freakish manicures wasn't what I'd pictured her doing in her down time. She'd always seemed more the bookish or doodling sort.
She spreads her fingers wide and takes a swipe at the empty air in front of her. A satisfied smile creeps across her lips.
That's when I recognize the nails and that smile. They belong to her older, far more jaded and violent incarnation. I clear my throat. "What are you doing?"
"I found these lying around." She waves her hand of claw-like nails. "I was just trying them on. They feel so right."
"Those are Ms. MC's. Not yours. Take them off."
"But..." Ms. Wildstar glances at the shadows under my desk where I see Delilah pouting and casting longing looks at Zsmed.
Maybe this young woman does have some of the backbone of her replacement after all. However, I don't need her honing her revenge skills. Having recently cleared out a fifty pages of Ms. MC's similar lack-of-sympathy-inducing antics, I really didn't need to deal with the issue all over again.
I adopt my best accusing motherly tone. "You're not planning on doing anything to anyone with those, are you?"
Her gaze falls to the floor and her shoulders slump. "No, of course not."
That's more like her. "Good. Hand over the nail implants. They got dropped from the story for the same reason as those eyeballs that are rolling around here somewhere. Besides, you could really hurt someone with those. They're metal and sharp. Ms. MC ripped out a few throats with them in her time."
"I know. I've read." Ms. Wildstar limply points at the litter of a thousand torn pages that forms the landscape her world. "She gets to have all the fun."
"If you'd like to be tortured by having your nails ripped out one by one, I'll gladly go get the pliers, but I didn't think you were into that sort of thing."
She pales. "Um, no. That's ok. I'd forgotten that part." She backs away. "Maybe I'll go have a talk with Delilah and see if she wants to come with me to talk to those boys who don't get blown up anymore. They're kind of cute."
I try to picture Ms. Mc saying such a thing as a teen and fail. They can't be the same people. I never intended them to be the same. Nah, can't be. I smile and wave her off to her awaiting friend and impending giggle-filled adventure.
She spreads her fingers wide and takes a swipe at the empty air in front of her. A satisfied smile creeps across her lips.
That's when I recognize the nails and that smile. They belong to her older, far more jaded and violent incarnation. I clear my throat. "What are you doing?"
"I found these lying around." She waves her hand of claw-like nails. "I was just trying them on. They feel so right."
"Those are Ms. MC's. Not yours. Take them off."
"But..." Ms. Wildstar glances at the shadows under my desk where I see Delilah pouting and casting longing looks at Zsmed.
Maybe this young woman does have some of the backbone of her replacement after all. However, I don't need her honing her revenge skills. Having recently cleared out a fifty pages of Ms. MC's similar lack-of-sympathy-inducing antics, I really didn't need to deal with the issue all over again.
I adopt my best accusing motherly tone. "You're not planning on doing anything to anyone with those, are you?"
Her gaze falls to the floor and her shoulders slump. "No, of course not."
That's more like her. "Good. Hand over the nail implants. They got dropped from the story for the same reason as those eyeballs that are rolling around here somewhere. Besides, you could really hurt someone with those. They're metal and sharp. Ms. MC ripped out a few throats with them in her time."
"I know. I've read." Ms. Wildstar limply points at the litter of a thousand torn pages that forms the landscape her world. "She gets to have all the fun."
"If you'd like to be tortured by having your nails ripped out one by one, I'll gladly go get the pliers, but I didn't think you were into that sort of thing."
She pales. "Um, no. That's ok. I'd forgotten that part." She backs away. "Maybe I'll go have a talk with Delilah and see if she wants to come with me to talk to those boys who don't get blown up anymore. They're kind of cute."
I try to picture Ms. Mc saying such a thing as a teen and fail. They can't be the same people. I never intended them to be the same. Nah, can't be. I smile and wave her off to her awaiting friend and impending giggle-filled adventure.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Plotting
Not evily. Not at the moment anyway. But as I'm working on rewriting my sequel, I'm reminded of my favorite chapter of Sol Stein's, On Writing that I read a few years ago.
If you haven't read this wonderfully informative and humorous book yet, get yourself a copy. You'll be glad you did. Thanks to Ray Rhamey at Flogging the Quill for recommending it.
The chapter I found most enlightening discusses 'The Crucible'. As in: An environment, emotional or physical that bonds two people. This could include situations such as being trapped on a lifeboat, being in the army, a family, marriage, business partners, etc. Essentially what this boils down to is the thing that keeps your character(s) locked into the situation where they must seek resolution from the main conflict.
The (biggest) problem I had with my first novel was that the plot was weak. There was a good guy and a bad guy, but there was so much going on that there was no concrete direction. Enter the crucible! Ah ha! Having that solid 'this is the crucible' statement really helped pinpoint the main plot and helped me shave off countless subplots that weren't as important as I'd originally thought they were -- even though some of them were my favorite scenes.
Focusing on the crucible can also help up the tension level, especially in what can often becomes the barren wasteland known as the 'middle of the novel'.
Now I keep this lesson in mind during all my first drafts. It's really helped cut down on frivolous subplots and extraneous characters. Which is good, because looking down at the masses under my desk, this is a lesson I wish I had learned a lot sooner.
If you haven't read this wonderfully informative and humorous book yet, get yourself a copy. You'll be glad you did. Thanks to Ray Rhamey at Flogging the Quill for recommending it.
The chapter I found most enlightening discusses 'The Crucible'. As in: An environment, emotional or physical that bonds two people. This could include situations such as being trapped on a lifeboat, being in the army, a family, marriage, business partners, etc. Essentially what this boils down to is the thing that keeps your character(s) locked into the situation where they must seek resolution from the main conflict.
The (biggest) problem I had with my first novel was that the plot was weak. There was a good guy and a bad guy, but there was so much going on that there was no concrete direction. Enter the crucible! Ah ha! Having that solid 'this is the crucible' statement really helped pinpoint the main plot and helped me shave off countless subplots that weren't as important as I'd originally thought they were -- even though some of them were my favorite scenes.
Focusing on the crucible can also help up the tension level, especially in what can often becomes the barren wasteland known as the 'middle of the novel'.
Now I keep this lesson in mind during all my first drafts. It's really helped cut down on frivolous subplots and extraneous characters. Which is good, because looking down at the masses under my desk, this is a lesson I wish I had learned a lot sooner.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
And now for something completely different
This has nothing to do with writing really, other than perhaps staying alive to write another day. However, when I saw this on Janet Reid's blog last week, and having walked away from a horrible car accident with nothing more than a few bruises just months ago, I knew I had to make time to share it.
(You may want to get a tissue first.)
Find more videos like this on AdGabber
(You may want to get a tissue first.)
Find more videos like this on AdGabber
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Novel in a Blender 2
Back in the mid-eighties, I branched out from mainly reading fantasy and fell upon sci-fi. These books were littered with male main characters. Which is fine, yet, not as fun for a young women looking for someone of the same gender to identify with that wasn't playing a dutiful secondary character or love interest.
Ms. Wildstar was having a hard time finding a spine, and I needed some inspiration, darn it. I wandered off to the bookstore.
What's this, a women in a lead role and a man as her underling? I like it!
I quickly realized that this was the final book in a series, but it sounded so good, I didn't care that the other books weren't available in the store at the time. When I finished it, I hunted down the original three books that had been published ten years previous. The first of which turned out to be C.J. Cherryh's first published novel, the Gate of Ivrel.
In trying to get back to my original mindset now that I'm working on the sequel, I've pulled the Gate of Ivrel back off the shelf. Unlike many of my other old favorites, this one is still as good of a read as it was before my critiquing eye ruined my joy of getting lost in a novel. It's currently in my coat pocket so I can squeeze a few pages in where ever I happen to find the time.
Neither of these novels appear to be sci-fi upon first glance at the cover, which is probably what drew me to them in first place -- having just come off a fantasy binge. There are swords, magic and horses, and gates, various planets and time travel! Yes, young readers, there were transportation gates before any Stargate movies or series.
This is where the seed for Jumping came from as well as the inspiration for a certain Mr. MC's name, whose original name was much more befitting of Ms. Wildstar's early draft than that of her current bossy incarnation. Though, you won't find Mr. MC's teen self milling about the Barthromians, he's been reincarnated -- the only character to date to have had that honor.
If you happen to be looking for a book/series with an old race that used time travel and transporation gates, a strong female lead, magic, swords, an honorable but conflicted male character, no swearing or overly adult situations, this one might be for you. Who knows what seeds might get planted in your head.
Ms. Wildstar was having a hard time finding a spine, and I needed some inspiration, darn it. I wandered off to the bookstore.
What's this, a women in a lead role and a man as her underling? I like it!
I quickly realized that this was the final book in a series, but it sounded so good, I didn't care that the other books weren't available in the store at the time. When I finished it, I hunted down the original three books that had been published ten years previous. The first of which turned out to be C.J. Cherryh's first published novel, the Gate of Ivrel.
In trying to get back to my original mindset now that I'm working on the sequel, I've pulled the Gate of Ivrel back off the shelf. Unlike many of my other old favorites, this one is still as good of a read as it was before my critiquing eye ruined my joy of getting lost in a novel. It's currently in my coat pocket so I can squeeze a few pages in where ever I happen to find the time.
Neither of these novels appear to be sci-fi upon first glance at the cover, which is probably what drew me to them in first place -- having just come off a fantasy binge. There are swords, magic and horses, and gates, various planets and time travel! Yes, young readers, there were transportation gates before any Stargate movies or series.This is where the seed for Jumping came from as well as the inspiration for a certain Mr. MC's name, whose original name was much more befitting of Ms. Wildstar's early draft than that of her current bossy incarnation. Though, you won't find Mr. MC's teen self milling about the Barthromians, he's been reincarnated -- the only character to date to have had that honor.
If you happen to be looking for a book/series with an old race that used time travel and transporation gates, a strong female lead, magic, swords, an honorable but conflicted male character, no swearing or overly adult situations, this one might be for you. Who knows what seeds might get planted in your head.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Quit watching me!
As I sit here, I can't help but feel the gaze of unreal green eyes. Why unreal? They're cybernetic implants. They can see in the dark, but they don't glow. I'm never sure when they are watching or who happens to be playing with them. Which, you can probably imagine, is a little unsettling for me as I often write in the dark -- less distractions that way.
When is too much tech bad for a story?
- When the word count gets crazy high.
- When your MC starts to sound too much like a superhero, and she's not.
- When the tech creates plot holes the size of Idaho.
- When your realize it's nothing more than ornamental because that scene you intended to use it for never came into being.
What to do about it? Whip out the editing knife.
Ms. MC narrows her freakish green eyes. The iris is solid green, no pupil. They give me the creeps. They kind of creep out Mr. MC too, which is another issue, because he's supposed to be somewhat attracted to her.
"Just what do you think you're going to do with that knife?"
"Hold still, this will only hurt for a couple minutes until I find/replace all mention of your artificial eyes."
She hops up on my keyboard and stomps on the space bar. "You're going to do what?"
"Get off there!" Empty pages fly by as the curser speeds down the screen. "Look what you're doing to the document!"
"I happen to like my eyes." She lays off the space bar and crosses her arms over her chest "You can't just delete them, there's an entire chapter of backstory that shows how and why I got them."
"I know. That's the whole idea. Have you seen the word count lately?"
Ms. MC snorts. "Why would I care? You knocked my pov to the backseat, remember?"
"Exactly, and that's why you don't need as much page time." I grasp the knife and go for her eyes. Two minutes and a lot of struggling later, we're done.
She shakes her head and blinks, holding her hands in front of her face and peering at them. "Huh, they don't look any different."
"Notice anything else?" I point at the new short scene that took the pace of the entire chapter of backstory.
"I don't have to lose my original eyes in a horribly graphic and painful scene that made our readers say 'euw'?"
I put my knife down. "Nope."
She peers over the edge of the desk at the characters below and waves to Nekar. I suppose it makes sense that they'd be getting along better now that the eye gouging scene is gone. I smile to myself.
Nekar looks up from his adverb crate and gives her a tenative wave back.
Ms. MC stops waving and flips him off.
He spins around, pulls two words from the stack and whips them at her.
Hatefully and Vulgarly make it as far as my chair.
So much for getting along.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
My mojo is back!
My laptop arrived (again) this afternoon. This time, I plugged it in right away and was relieved to see that it is charging. It's now loaded with my latest updated files. I'm all comfy with my blankets. My type is no longer lagging between my keyboard and my monitor. Now, if it weren't for these two new mysterious pin prick spots on my monitor that appear to be in the screen itself as they wont wipe off no matter how hard I try... that are right in my line of sight as I type and are blatently apparent on a white screen... which I type on all the time...
But it works and I'm cozy and I should be writing. This sequel isn't going to write itself. Apparently. I've given it a couple days to try. No luck.
Guess its up to me.
But it works and I'm cozy and I should be writing. This sequel isn't going to write itself. Apparently. I've given it a couple days to try. No luck.
Guess its up to me.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Novel in a blender
My more recent novel efforts have rather flowed onto the page by themselves. Mostly thanks to NaNoWriMo and the need to produce a plot and a host of characters out of thin air in thirty days. However, my first novel took forever to write and was influenced by all sorts of things. The novel grew and morphed as life experiences, books and tv shows were added to the blender. 
Where did I fall in love with sardonic character voice, assassins and the idea that assassins can be heros too? Right here.
Vlad Taltos is the man. His telepathic jhereg companion is a close second. Their thoughts and private conversations still make me laugh outloud. I've read this book -- along with the rest of the series -- so many times over the years that the spine is more cracked than printed. Pages are falling out. The cover is taped on. Yep. I enjoy it that much.
When the internet hit and authors got websites, I even reached out of my writing cave far enough to email dear Mr. Brust to gush about his wonderful book. And he emailed me back. That was many, many years and many computers ago. I don't remember exactly what was said on either end, but I do remember that it made my day. Likely several of them.
That's when it hit me that authors were real people, not just names on book covers that I looked for on my weekly trips to the bookstore. It also then occured to me that I liked to write and I happened to be a real person too. hmmmm
Where did I fall in love with sardonic character voice, assassins and the idea that assassins can be heros too? Right here.
Vlad Taltos is the man. His telepathic jhereg companion is a close second. Their thoughts and private conversations still make me laugh outloud. I've read this book -- along with the rest of the series -- so many times over the years that the spine is more cracked than printed. Pages are falling out. The cover is taped on. Yep. I enjoy it that much.
When the internet hit and authors got websites, I even reached out of my writing cave far enough to email dear Mr. Brust to gush about his wonderful book. And he emailed me back. That was many, many years and many computers ago. I don't remember exactly what was said on either end, but I do remember that it made my day. Likely several of them.
That's when it hit me that authors were real people, not just names on book covers that I looked for on my weekly trips to the bookstore. It also then occured to me that I liked to write and I happened to be a real person too. hmmmm
Saturday, February 13, 2010
But if you keep drinking milk...
As I unpack my newly arrived shipment of exclamation points, I look over to see Ms. Wildstar frowning at the shadows beneath my desk. Since Marin had vanished into the blackness of the dustbunny wildlands, I'd been going about my days without too much annoyance from discarded characters. I mark a full week down as a record, sigh, and give the angsty teen the attention she's craving.
"What?"
“Look at them.” She points to where I can now make out two people sitting on the ground holding hands, gazing at each other and doing all that lovey-dovey crud that generally makes me queasy.
“Is that Zsmed?”
She twists her fingers in front of her and nods.
Is that jealousy I spy? I look a little closer and it all becomes clear. “Delilah? Is that who he was with last week when I was looking for him?”
She bites her lip and nods again.
Ms. Wildstar’s friend and cast off from failed cheesy sequel 1.0. Ouch. Not that I can blame Zsmed. See, I got a little carried away with Delilah. Her name was totally intentional and played up every aspect of her biblical namesake. I should also mention that she has a killer body, and we’re not talking murder here. Oh, and one more thing…
“Hey, Zsmed, you do realize she’s only seventeen, right?”
“What?” He drops Delilah’s hand and runs over to me. “Look at her, she can’t be seventeen.”
I pat the distraught fighter pilot on the head. “You weren’t created yet, but see, there were these milk commercials...”
He gives me one of those raised brow what-the-heck-are-you-rambling-about looks.
“When she was created, I was a teen, and therefore most of my characters were teens. But teens are typically gawky and unsure of themselves and have zits. I needed her to fit in with the other characters but fill her role in which she needed to be really attractive and confident. And there were these commercials were they took those teens and told them if they drank milk, they’d be hot and healthy in a few more years.”
“You made Delilah drink a lot of milk?”
“Um. No. I gave her the hot college girl’s body but made her seventeen, because that’s the age everyone else was in the story.”
He turns bright red. “But that means I just spend the last week…”
“Yeah, but maybe her parents are okay with that, I mean, she is an alien after all”
He goes from red to white and grabs ahold of my chair with a trembling hand. “She’s what?”
“Sorry, I probably should have made her blue and given her some tentacles or something to clue people in. Besides, what do you care, you’re not human either.”
“True.” Zsmed takes a deep breath.
“Just be glad I wrote you with short hair. No telling what she might have done.”
He runs his hand over his head and grimaces. “I think I’m going to lay off the women for a bit. If you need me, I’ll be over in the corner sorting adverbs with Nekar.”
"What?"
“Look at them.” She points to where I can now make out two people sitting on the ground holding hands, gazing at each other and doing all that lovey-dovey crud that generally makes me queasy.
“Is that Zsmed?”
She twists her fingers in front of her and nods.
Is that jealousy I spy? I look a little closer and it all becomes clear. “Delilah? Is that who he was with last week when I was looking for him?”
She bites her lip and nods again.
Ms. Wildstar’s friend and cast off from failed cheesy sequel 1.0. Ouch. Not that I can blame Zsmed. See, I got a little carried away with Delilah. Her name was totally intentional and played up every aspect of her biblical namesake. I should also mention that she has a killer body, and we’re not talking murder here. Oh, and one more thing…
“Hey, Zsmed, you do realize she’s only seventeen, right?”
“What?” He drops Delilah’s hand and runs over to me. “Look at her, she can’t be seventeen.”
I pat the distraught fighter pilot on the head. “You weren’t created yet, but see, there were these milk commercials...”
He gives me one of those raised brow what-the-heck-are-you-rambling-about looks.
“When she was created, I was a teen, and therefore most of my characters were teens. But teens are typically gawky and unsure of themselves and have zits. I needed her to fit in with the other characters but fill her role in which she needed to be really attractive and confident. And there were these commercials were they took those teens and told them if they drank milk, they’d be hot and healthy in a few more years.”
“You made Delilah drink a lot of milk?”
“Um. No. I gave her the hot college girl’s body but made her seventeen, because that’s the age everyone else was in the story.”
He turns bright red. “But that means I just spend the last week…”
“Yeah, but maybe her parents are okay with that, I mean, she is an alien after all”
He goes from red to white and grabs ahold of my chair with a trembling hand. “She’s what?”
“Sorry, I probably should have made her blue and given her some tentacles or something to clue people in. Besides, what do you care, you’re not human either.”
“True.” Zsmed takes a deep breath.
“Just be glad I wrote you with short hair. No telling what she might have done.”
He runs his hand over his head and grimaces. “I think I’m going to lay off the women for a bit. If you need me, I’ll be over in the corner sorting adverbs with Nekar.”
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
From yay to YAY!
Remember what I said about not hearing back on a submission in the last post? Well guess what? I just got good news on my short story submission! Solitude will appear in the Fall 2010 edition of Tales of the Talisman!!!
I may need to break out a new crate of exclamation points!
I may need to break out a new crate of exclamation points!
Friday, February 5, 2010
From yay to disappointment
I wish that had to do with hearing back on a submission. The limbo of not knowing is not a fun place.
Deep cleansing breath.
Today, the delivery truck pulls up and I'm jumping up and down because my laptop has safely arrived back home. The angels sang. The sun shone. I grinned from ear to ear.
I pull my beloved laptop from the box, untangle the charger and run upstairs for some long overdue bonding time. The computer boots up. Glee! All of my programs and settings are just as I left them. With no time to waste, I get comfy and do a little web surfing.
What? I should have been writing? Yes, probably, but I'd been doing that all morning on my desktop computer. My characters are demanding to be written, and I couldn't make them wait for the laptop. I'm well into chapter two of the sequel as of this afternoon and I'm quite excited about how its coming along.
With my celebratory web surfing cut short by having to get some work done--the kind that actually pays the bills--I plug the laptop in to charge and wander off.
Four hours later, I grab my thumb drive, ready to transfer the sequel back to its rightful place on the laptop. I open the laptop. (insert long string of profanity here) It hasn't charged. (insert cursing of repair workers) Why did I send it in the first place? It wasn't charging! I send the adapter. I sent the battery. They knew the issue.
Yes, I had a fine rant going by this point and felt that a customer support chat window just wasn't going to be a good option. I needed a live human. Not so that I could chew them out, but because it’s so much easier to be nasty through words on a screen. Since there are probably hundreds of these support people, the odds that I would connect with the one I really wanted to rant at were darn slim.
The helpful phone service person did far more testing than the online service person did and decreed that I needed to ship my beloved laptop back.
Disappointment.
Deep cleansing breath.
Today, the delivery truck pulls up and I'm jumping up and down because my laptop has safely arrived back home. The angels sang. The sun shone. I grinned from ear to ear.
I pull my beloved laptop from the box, untangle the charger and run upstairs for some long overdue bonding time. The computer boots up. Glee! All of my programs and settings are just as I left them. With no time to waste, I get comfy and do a little web surfing.
What? I should have been writing? Yes, probably, but I'd been doing that all morning on my desktop computer. My characters are demanding to be written, and I couldn't make them wait for the laptop. I'm well into chapter two of the sequel as of this afternoon and I'm quite excited about how its coming along.
With my celebratory web surfing cut short by having to get some work done--the kind that actually pays the bills--I plug the laptop in to charge and wander off.
Four hours later, I grab my thumb drive, ready to transfer the sequel back to its rightful place on the laptop. I open the laptop. (insert long string of profanity here) It hasn't charged. (insert cursing of repair workers) Why did I send it in the first place? It wasn't charging! I send the adapter. I sent the battery. They knew the issue.
Yes, I had a fine rant going by this point and felt that a customer support chat window just wasn't going to be a good option. I needed a live human. Not so that I could chew them out, but because it’s so much easier to be nasty through words on a screen. Since there are probably hundreds of these support people, the odds that I would connect with the one I really wanted to rant at were darn slim.
The helpful phone service person did far more testing than the online service person did and decreed that I needed to ship my beloved laptop back.
Disappointment.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Lost: Mojo - if found please return...
My laptop, my writing baby, is out being serviced for power issues. I've been spoiled. Now I'm unable to get into the writing mode at my desk. Give me a soft bed or a couch. Make me warm and cozy! But no. I'm sitting in what used to be considered my comfortable chair, at my quiet keyboard with my nifty mouse and large monitor.
You know what? My chair isn't near as comfortable as the couch. My keyboard lags! How on earth did I never notice this before? Have I just become that much faster at typing? I don't think so. My mouse makes my hand cold. My monitor... okay, I like the bigger monitor. But the fans on my computer emit this high pitched hum that sits right on the edge of hearing. It's so distracting. How did I write like this, happily, blissfully, for years?
I have a first page to get ready for a contest. I worked on it on and off all morning. Tweaking a word here and there. Deleting this and adding that, all within the sacred 250 word limit. I've stared at it so much, I don't know if its complete dren or if it works.
Laptop, return to me! I need my writing mojo back!
You know what? My chair isn't near as comfortable as the couch. My keyboard lags! How on earth did I never notice this before? Have I just become that much faster at typing? I don't think so. My mouse makes my hand cold. My monitor... okay, I like the bigger monitor. But the fans on my computer emit this high pitched hum that sits right on the edge of hearing. It's so distracting. How did I write like this, happily, blissfully, for years?
I have a first page to get ready for a contest. I worked on it on and off all morning. Tweaking a word here and there. Deleting this and adding that, all within the sacred 250 word limit. I've stared at it so much, I don't know if its complete dren or if it works.
Laptop, return to me! I need my writing mojo back!
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Pick up the pace!
(And no, I'm not talking picante sauce. I swear, I'll never get that darned commercial out of my head.)
Ways to make your novel drag #1 - Really drive home the point by repeating yourself. This includes repeating characters.
I wanted Ms. MC to have some emotional issues in her past to explain her actions in a current relationship. She couldn't be betrayed once. Not twice. Three times sounded so much more tragic. I created three men. All cut from the same general bad guy mold. All betrayed her, though in different ways. You can just feel the word count swelling, can't you?
Yes, well, in most cases, swelling indicates something is wrong. And it was. The pacing wasn't pacing or even walking, it was crawling.
To fix this, I took the best - or worst, in this case - of all three men and lumped them into one. He got to stay and become Mr. Tragic Past. The others, well, that's where Marin and Nekar come in. Which rather explains why they are both bearing grudges and aiming guns... at each other? I didn't see that coming.
Nekar fires a bullet into Marin's armored coat, knocking him back but not down. Nekar turns to me. "Just because I'm helping you, don't think I forgive you for editing out my shape shifting abilities."
"Sorry about that. I really liked the shape shifting. Nothing personal, it was a matter of necessity to cut word count."
He gives me a conciliatory nod and then scales my chair, all the while searching for a better shot at Marin.
Marin ducks behind my box of pens and takes a shot at Nekar. He misses.
“I read what you did to those boys,” Nekar says. “A horrible death. Heartless. You deserve to be cut from the novel.”
“They were young men, not boys. Besides, she made me do it.” He points his gun at me.
An unfamiliar male voice calls out, “Over here.”
I look down to see two grinning, young men. Ah yes, more characters happy to not have to die horrible deaths. They’ve cleared a path to the door.
“Thanks, but I’d rather stay and see how this plays out.”
They look at me like I’m crazy and run.
More gunfire. My pen box tips over, spilling pens across my desk and onto the carpet. Marin is gone. Nekar jumps over the rolling pens and dashes to the backside of the desktop.
On my tiptoes, I maintain my distance as I peer over my desk. “Where did he go?”
“Back there.” He points downward.
I cringe, thinking of the masses of rabid dust bunnies and cable mazes awaiting Marin. “We won’t be hearing from him for a while. If ever.”
Nekar gives the black void one last long look before climbing off the desk and down the chair. He retrieves his crate of adverbs and walks back to his corner. “We can only hope. But just in case, I’ll be waiting.” He pulls an adverb out and holds it up. Vigilantly.
Ways to make your novel drag #1 - Really drive home the point by repeating yourself. This includes repeating characters.
I wanted Ms. MC to have some emotional issues in her past to explain her actions in a current relationship. She couldn't be betrayed once. Not twice. Three times sounded so much more tragic. I created three men. All cut from the same general bad guy mold. All betrayed her, though in different ways. You can just feel the word count swelling, can't you?
Yes, well, in most cases, swelling indicates something is wrong. And it was. The pacing wasn't pacing or even walking, it was crawling.
To fix this, I took the best - or worst, in this case - of all three men and lumped them into one. He got to stay and become Mr. Tragic Past. The others, well, that's where Marin and Nekar come in. Which rather explains why they are both bearing grudges and aiming guns... at each other? I didn't see that coming.
Nekar fires a bullet into Marin's armored coat, knocking him back but not down. Nekar turns to me. "Just because I'm helping you, don't think I forgive you for editing out my shape shifting abilities."
"Sorry about that. I really liked the shape shifting. Nothing personal, it was a matter of necessity to cut word count."
He gives me a conciliatory nod and then scales my chair, all the while searching for a better shot at Marin.
Marin ducks behind my box of pens and takes a shot at Nekar. He misses.
“I read what you did to those boys,” Nekar says. “A horrible death. Heartless. You deserve to be cut from the novel.”
“They were young men, not boys. Besides, she made me do it.” He points his gun at me.
An unfamiliar male voice calls out, “Over here.”
I look down to see two grinning, young men. Ah yes, more characters happy to not have to die horrible deaths. They’ve cleared a path to the door.
“Thanks, but I’d rather stay and see how this plays out.”
They look at me like I’m crazy and run.
More gunfire. My pen box tips over, spilling pens across my desk and onto the carpet. Marin is gone. Nekar jumps over the rolling pens and dashes to the backside of the desktop.
On my tiptoes, I maintain my distance as I peer over my desk. “Where did he go?”
“Back there.” He points downward.
I cringe, thinking of the masses of rabid dust bunnies and cable mazes awaiting Marin. “We won’t be hearing from him for a while. If ever.”
Nekar gives the black void one last long look before climbing off the desk and down the chair. He retrieves his crate of adverbs and walks back to his corner. “We can only hope. But just in case, I’ll be waiting.” He pulls an adverb out and holds it up. Vigilantly.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Throwing the gauntlet down
"My name is Marin the assassin. You cut my character. Prepare to die!"
"About that..." I pick up my editing knife, wondering if it will work against a character already cut from my novel. Best to back away from my desk just in case. "How about coming up with your own dialogue instead of mooching off movies?"
Marin, a muscled assassin wearing a long armored coat loaded with all the weaponry he had on him when he left my novel, scrambles up my chair. "I don't have much choice since you're not writing me anymore, do I?"
He jumps to the desktop and pulls a gun, waving it around. "You've got some nerve! I stood with you through countless rewrites. I went from being dominant, to looking like an incompetent fool. Even then I didn't get all difficult to work with like Delyn did. Yet, you still cut me."
"I wouldn't call you a fool. You got played. That's all."
"Played?" He laughs. "By you or Delyn? You meant to axe me right from the start, didn't you? That's why you didn't even bother giving me a last name."
I look down to see the Barthromians cheering and shaking their fists. "Oh, shut up. None of you even had first names." Where is that pilot, I could really use a little help right now. "Zsmed?"
Ms. Wildstar points under my desk where I can just make out some moaning. "He's busy."
Good grief! Now? Really? I don't even want to know who he's with.
With my editing knife held out like a shield, I make my way toward the door. "Marin, you might notice that I rarely give supporting characters last names."
"You gave him one." He keeps his gun on me as he points beyond the Barthromians to a man sitting alone in the corner sifting through a crate of adverbs. The words very, angrily and violently sit at his feet.
"True." I recognize Nekar Viceres, whom I'd forgotten about. "I cut him a full revision before you though. That should say something positive about you, right?"
"You cut us both, but you at least had the consideration to make him not look like an idiot first."
I notice Nekar watching us. The ex-member of the Pirate Guild stands up, his armored coat also filled with weapons. A wave of hope washes over me. Marin was right, Nekar had been cut on pretty good terms. "Hey, Nekar, how about a little help here?"
"Yeah, Nekar, how about a little help here?" Marin nods toward me.
Nekar kicks the crate of adverbs aside. A flurry of suddenlys goes flying into the hushed crowd of Barthromians. His face splits into a wicked grin. He whips out a gun.
Oh, crud.
"About that..." I pick up my editing knife, wondering if it will work against a character already cut from my novel. Best to back away from my desk just in case. "How about coming up with your own dialogue instead of mooching off movies?"
Marin, a muscled assassin wearing a long armored coat loaded with all the weaponry he had on him when he left my novel, scrambles up my chair. "I don't have much choice since you're not writing me anymore, do I?"
He jumps to the desktop and pulls a gun, waving it around. "You've got some nerve! I stood with you through countless rewrites. I went from being dominant, to looking like an incompetent fool. Even then I didn't get all difficult to work with like Delyn did. Yet, you still cut me."
"I wouldn't call you a fool. You got played. That's all."
"Played?" He laughs. "By you or Delyn? You meant to axe me right from the start, didn't you? That's why you didn't even bother giving me a last name."
I look down to see the Barthromians cheering and shaking their fists. "Oh, shut up. None of you even had first names." Where is that pilot, I could really use a little help right now. "Zsmed?"
Ms. Wildstar points under my desk where I can just make out some moaning. "He's busy."
Good grief! Now? Really? I don't even want to know who he's with.
With my editing knife held out like a shield, I make my way toward the door. "Marin, you might notice that I rarely give supporting characters last names."
"You gave him one." He keeps his gun on me as he points beyond the Barthromians to a man sitting alone in the corner sifting through a crate of adverbs. The words very, angrily and violently sit at his feet.
"True." I recognize Nekar Viceres, whom I'd forgotten about. "I cut him a full revision before you though. That should say something positive about you, right?"
"You cut us both, but you at least had the consideration to make him not look like an idiot first."
I notice Nekar watching us. The ex-member of the Pirate Guild stands up, his armored coat also filled with weapons. A wave of hope washes over me. Marin was right, Nekar had been cut on pretty good terms. "Hey, Nekar, how about a little help here?"
"Yeah, Nekar, how about a little help here?" Marin nods toward me.
Nekar kicks the crate of adverbs aside. A flurry of suddenlys goes flying into the hushed crowd of Barthromians. His face splits into a wicked grin. He whips out a gun.
Oh, crud.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Oh, oh! Cut me!
Way to make your MC totally unsympathetic #1: Have him kill a guy in a jealous fit of rage. I'm talking totally losing his temper and just obliterating the guy. Over the top? Pretty much.
Not to say Zsmed didn't earn is fate just a little. He was rather disrespectful and went heavy on the insults. Still, there's a point where an anti-hero can be too much anti to be a hero anymore.
Mr. MC has always had a hard time walking that line, which led to quite a few of the casualties glaring up at me from the floor. Thankfully, Zsmed isn't one of them. One of the glaring ones, I mean.
When I informed him that he was getting cut, he jumped up and hugged me.
"You mean I don't have to suffer a horribly painful death?"
I put my editing knife down. "Nope, you're free to go."
"Wait, does the mean I don't get to sleep with Ms. MC?"
"Sorry. If you want to live, I'd caution against it."
Zsmed sighed. "Fun as it was, I'd much rather live. Off I go then, thanks!"
He even took out a few of the more ambitious looking Barthromians for me. He spends most of his time flirting with young Ms. Wildstar, who has no idea what to do with the attention of a thirty-something alien pilot other than blush and giggle.
That more recently cut assassin is looking guiltier every day. He's up to something. If only Zsmed was more of a fighter than a lover, I'd put him on the task of taking the assassin out.
I wonder who else I could rely on…
For the love of sci-fi
In the very early eighties, along with every other sci-fi loving kid, I ran home from school to watch Star Blazers. They had an awesome evil comet ship, evil blue alien guys and Derek Wildstar. Really, how can a guy with a name like that not be just the coolest guy ever?
It was fitting then that I blessed my first human--I had a thing for writing about animals as a kid--character with the last name of Wildstar. This instantly made her cool, and she could do no wrong in my eyes.
The story, however, could be very wrong. Horribly cheesy wrong.
It did have some redeeming bits. Very tiny bits. Those bits slowly morphed into an entirely different story. Ms. Wildstar grew older and far less cheesy.
She looked in the mirror one day and turned back at me with a glare and the knife I'd written into the story for her in her hands. "You bettter change this stupid name, or you'll be sorry."
I took out my editing knife and waved it around. "Voila! All better."
She pointed at the typewriter and shook her head. "The first name too. It sucks."
"Right. Sorry." I waved my knife around a little more.
Anastassia Delyn looked in the mirror and smiled. "Much better. Now, get back to work."
"Yes, ma'am."
There are days I miss that young, cheesy Ms. Wildstar who dances around amidst the milling Barthromians. She was much easier to please.
"You're not watching those worn out VHS tapes of that stupid cartoon again are you?"
"Um... no, ma'am."
"Good, get writing."
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
The aliens are watching me
It's been twenty years since I cut these folks, but the vile Barthromians are still out to get me. Or make me snicker. I try not to let them see me laugh, it just makes them angrier.
Not only did I slight the Barthromians by replacing them with nastier aliens, I’d cursed them with a name that sounded like they were spawned in a bar bathroom.
The problem was, well, once I got around to reading to story out loud, they made me snicker. It’s hard to be evil when you make people laugh. Not only that, but they weren’t very alien. They looked human. They talked human. They just lived underground on some far off planet that looked like a cave here on Earth. The pure fact of living underground didn’t give much weight to their evil rating.
They did mistreat my main characters, talked down to them a little, threatened to hurt them, but the Barthromians never really followed through. They just weren’t committed to being the bad guys.
I didn’t give them any warning when I replaced them. They went from the page to the floor in a matter of seconds - the first casualties of my then very dull editing knife - probably more like a spoon, actually.
The Barthromians have been milling about, shaking their fists and glaring at me ever since. Each time another character gets culled, they pounce on them, enlisting them to their cause.
I’m not sure what their cause is exactly, but I’m glad I didn’t make them very effective bad guys.
But that assassin I cut four months ago? Yeah, I'm keeping my eye on him.
Not only did I slight the Barthromians by replacing them with nastier aliens, I’d cursed them with a name that sounded like they were spawned in a bar bathroom.
The problem was, well, once I got around to reading to story out loud, they made me snicker. It’s hard to be evil when you make people laugh. Not only that, but they weren’t very alien. They looked human. They talked human. They just lived underground on some far off planet that looked like a cave here on Earth. The pure fact of living underground didn’t give much weight to their evil rating.
They did mistreat my main characters, talked down to them a little, threatened to hurt them, but the Barthromians never really followed through. They just weren’t committed to being the bad guys.
I didn’t give them any warning when I replaced them. They went from the page to the floor in a matter of seconds - the first casualties of my then very dull editing knife - probably more like a spoon, actually.
The Barthromians have been milling about, shaking their fists and glaring at me ever since. Each time another character gets culled, they pounce on them, enlisting them to their cause.
I’m not sure what their cause is exactly, but I’m glad I didn’t make them very effective bad guys.
But that assassin I cut four months ago? Yeah, I'm keeping my eye on him.
Monday, January 18, 2010
So, I wrote a novel.
Eventually. It didn't start out that way.
Twenty some years ago it was six pages of scrawled pen marks. Then I took a creative writing course in school and the story grew to a hundred pages on an ancient clickty clack typewriter. Barrel of liquid white out anyone?
I wrote sequels!
At this point I realized the first story needed work. I don't remember why I realized this exactly. Sanity slipped in for a second, most likely. I rewrote the whole thing and expanded it. It was the most awesomest novel ever.
I let someone read it.
They informed me that it wasn't the most awesomest novel ever.
I rewrote it again and decided to go crazy and switch the entire novel from the pov of the female main character to the male main character. This was a great move, as it turned out, but whole loads of work. I lost track of how many times I rewrote it to get the male pov firmly inserted and the female to take the back seat. She did not like that! Not one bit. She's never forgiven me for it, in fact. Oh, but I had fun exploring the new pov. He grew and flourished and made the story everything I wanted it to be. Ah, bliss.
Then I let some one read it.
They informed me that it most certainly wasn't bliss.
What? How could they not love my 385,000 word novel? How, I ask?
At this point I joined a critique group and saw the light. And the editing knife. It was shiny. And sharp.
Three more rewrites, minus 267,000 words, and a host of cut characters and their corresponding subplots later...
I wrote a novel.
Twenty some years ago it was six pages of scrawled pen marks. Then I took a creative writing course in school and the story grew to a hundred pages on an ancient clickty clack typewriter. Barrel of liquid white out anyone?
I wrote sequels!
At this point I realized the first story needed work. I don't remember why I realized this exactly. Sanity slipped in for a second, most likely. I rewrote the whole thing and expanded it. It was the most awesomest novel ever.
I let someone read it.
They informed me that it wasn't the most awesomest novel ever.
I rewrote it again and decided to go crazy and switch the entire novel from the pov of the female main character to the male main character. This was a great move, as it turned out, but whole loads of work. I lost track of how many times I rewrote it to get the male pov firmly inserted and the female to take the back seat. She did not like that! Not one bit. She's never forgiven me for it, in fact. Oh, but I had fun exploring the new pov. He grew and flourished and made the story everything I wanted it to be. Ah, bliss.
Then I let some one read it.
They informed me that it most certainly wasn't bliss.
What? How could they not love my 385,000 word novel? How, I ask?
At this point I joined a critique group and saw the light. And the editing knife. It was shiny. And sharp.
Three more rewrites, minus 267,000 words, and a host of cut characters and their corresponding subplots later...
I wrote a novel.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)