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.

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

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.