An Apology Is In Order and 500WC Chapter 24

I can't believe I missed a whole week!  I was doing so well at posting on time!  Bah!  I blame the Muffin.  Not that he can actually do anything to affect me sitting in front of a computer and getting my lazy butt in gear.

A few more weeks and it will be a different story all together.  (9 more to go!)

Several writey type things are happening.  One, I'm still submitting work for publishers.  I'm sure I will post about it if I get picked up by an agent.  I think my head might explode from excitement.

Two, I got my issue of the May/June 'Writer's Digest' and my (real) name is actually in print!  Yay!  So that's super fun.  I will post the story that won the Honorable Mention here in a few days.

Three, I've started editing Becca's story.  I still don't have any idea how it is going to end.  But I think if I go over the beginning chapters and adjust them to match the later chapters better, I'll have more of an idea about what I want.

The writing itself started out very light and snarky, but as it went I feel it grew to be more serious.  Maybe that was a reflection of her growing and realizing what was at stake.  But I also feel a disconnect between the first bit of it and the second.  Mostly because at the beginning, I was sure she and Jeff would end up...not together, since one of them had to die, but coming to an understanding of sorts.

As I went along, though, I really started rooting for Kevin.  Whether he dies in the end or not is still up in the air.  I do realize that the girl torn between two guys who both love her is perhaps the single most overdone plot in the the history of mankind.  I bet I could think of half a dozen books with that plot right now.  Ready go:

1. The Iliad.
2. Sense and Sensibility
3. Twilight (by the way...blech.)
4. Legends of the Fall.  Technically three guys, but same idea.  And it's a movie.  Whatever.
5. Her Prairie Knight, by B. M. Bower, whom I lurv as a writer.  She's hilarious.
6. Um....

Okay, five.  Five plots off the top of my head that have a 'oh-woe-is-me-how-shall-I-choose-between-them?' plot.  Still.

I suppose its how I work work the plot that makes all the different.  There are only so many different stories.  And that, I suppose, is the secret to being a great story teller, as opposed to a good writer.

Sigh...

This post kind of got long, as usual, but here's the next bit of the 500 Word Challenge.  Enjoy!
Chapter Twenty-Four
Word Count: 529


Renee bounced with impatience on the front walk, wringing her hands together.

Colton put a hand on her shoulder. “Calm down.”

“I can’t!” she said, tapping her foot.

He had to smile at her whine. “You’re going to be sick.”

“No, I’m n-” she gasped, her hand shading her eyes. A black car pulled in. It had barely clear the gate when the back door opened and a man and a woman came rushing out. Renee launched herself at them. Colton stayed well back as they cried, each talking over the other. Her parents held her between them, pressing kisses to her forehead, looking at her face, hugging her.

Colton blinked his eyes clear. He missed his parents. They weren’t as demonstrative as Renee’s family obviously was, but they had been good loving people.

“This is Colton Savage.” Renee said, leading them over.

Colton held her mother as the woman sobbed into his shoulder.

“Thank you,” Mr. White said, shaking his hand. Renee had his eyes, the same shape to her face. Colton could well believe they’d been out backpacking; Mr. White looked like a mountain man, his beard shaggy.

“I can’t believe it!” Mrs. White said, dashing tears from her cheeks. “I just can’t believe it!”

Colton herded them inside, all three of them talking at once. Rosa and Mancini were bestowed with grateful hugs and tears as well. Rosa took in stride, but Mancini made a quick exit.

Colton listened absently as Renee told her story yet again. Even she sounded bored with it, using the same phrases, the same descriptions. She reached over and squeezed his hand.

“And Colton wouldn’t take no for an answer.” She said, smiling at him. He managed a smile back. He realized Mr. White was peering at him oddly.

“Please, you must be hungry,” he said, standing. “Rosa?”

“Of course. Right this way.” The woman bustled Renee and her mother out of the room.

Colton was not surprised when Mr. White held him back, his strong hand on his shoulder.

“Colton, is it?”

“Yes, sir.”

The man looked up at him, wiry and hard, everything Renee and her mother weren’t. “I have to thank you for helping my daughter, Colton.”

“I had to. I lo-”

“Lucky, that she found a Spanish national so eager to marry her and give her some rights here in this country, just when she needed it most.”

Colton stared blankly back. “Yes.”

Mr. White smiled. “Let’s go eat.”

Colton watched them eat, the White’s doing justice to Rosa skill.

“You can stay here,” Renee offered. “Colton has an extra bedroom, if you want.”

Colton’s stomach tightened at the thought of having to sleep with Renee again, even if it was necessary.

Mrs. White laughed. “A hotel would be fine, if Colton wouldn’t mind?” She took his hand and patted it. “I know its expensive, you flying us out here and everything.”

“Its no problem,” he assured her. “I’ll have Alice find something close by.”

Mrs. White planted a kiss on his cheek before he could stop her. She was crying again, hugging Renee close.

Colton excused himself to call Alice form the safety of his office.

500 Word Challenge Chapter Sixteen and sundries

So, sorry about the break in the posts.  Had a crazy busy weekend and start of the week and didn't get my ducks in a row as I should have.  And I was tired when I had a moment and went to sleep instead of getting online.  Growing a baby is hard work. :) 3 months to go!!!

I have been thinking about Cousin of the Crown lately.  I wrote it with the intention of it being a sort of narrow story, with only a few characters and a plot that stays nice and tight.  However, it's kind of a weird length at 30,000 words.

That's too long for a 'novella' and too short for a 'real novel.'  So, when I go around looking at different submission requirements, it doesn't really fit into anything.  Submitting stories to magazines and journals and things is good way to get feedback and maybe get in print.  And win awards, which is always fun.

So, do I wade through the plot mercilessly and chop out bits to shorten it up?  Or, do I think of ways to flesh out the story, make it take a little longer, maybe give more history as to why the countries have been fighting?  More drama in the palace while Terran is thought to be dead?  A coup?  A kidnapping?

Oooohhh...does Lahdel have the baby before Terran gets back?  Or maybe Terran is declared dead and Gulin and Lahdel get married!  There's all sorts of wonderfully dramatic things I could do.

I suppose I just answered my own question.  Making it longer seems to me to be easier than shortening it up.  Many bits of it already feel rushed to me.

Any opinions?



500 WC Chapter Sixteen
Word Count: 627

I don't think I need to repeat my whole disclaimer, so will summarize with: I no absolutely nothing about things pertinent to this plot and am making up facts as I go.  Be sure to go back and read a few previous chapters if you're lost.  They're short.  :)

Until she came down for dinner.

He choked on his drink, coughing.

His aunt and uncle were telling him all about their time on the Mediterranean. He gaped over their heads as Renee slipped into the living room.

Selene saw his face and turned. “Ah, Renee darling.”

“Selene.” Renee went to her and took her outstretched hands. “And this must be Uncle Ivan.”

The man stood and bowed over her hand, kissing it. “I am very pleased to meet you, Renee.” Renee blushed prettily as Ivan beamed at her, moving to sit next to Colton. He eased away from where her thigh touched his.

She entered the conversation, giving him a moment to gather his thoughts. They had scattered, like water dropped in a hot skillet as she’d walked in, leaving him speechless.

Rosa was wrong. She was gorgeous.

Colton shook himself, blinking. She wasn’t gorgeous. She was cute, dressed up to be beautiful. Where Mancini had rummaged up a cocktail dress in the scant hours between his aunts visits was beyond him. But Renee was wearing it, a flaring red thing that made her creamy skin glow.

Colton dragged his attention back to the topic at hand.

“The doctor said I could take them out in a day or two,” Renee said, indicating her stitched forehead. “It doesn’t really hurt anymore. Just stings.”

“I can’t believe it!” Selene said, her hand at her heart. “How terrified you must have been!”

“Yes,” Renee said with a laugh. “But I was more furious than anything. I didn’t even think. I just saw him open his jacket and…” she shrugged. “I figured if I was going to die, I’d better do it fighting.”

Rosa saved Colton from trying to find anything to say as the three of them talked. His voice was missing somewhere.

“Dinner, Mr. Savage.”

Renee pulled him to his feet, tucking her hand into his elbow. The dining room was lit softly, the summer sun coloring the walls pinkish red.

Colton couldn’t get dinner over fast enough. But then, they’d go to bed. They would go to his bed.

He drained his glass again. It wasn’t helping.

Ivan started in on the Corporation, asking Colton questions about the factories in China. Colton seized on the topic eagerly, though he watched where Renee and Selene whispered together with unease. They flicked him glances every now and then. It was very alarming.

Finally, Selene yawned and Ivan claimed he’d had enough business talk for the night.

Renee kissed them both and disappeared upstairs.

“I like her,” Selene said, squeezing her nephew’s hand. “You are a lucky man.”

“Yes.” Colton agreed.

Ivan elbowed him, grinning lewdly. “Lovely little thing, isn’t she?”

Colton’s smile was forced, but they just laughed. He excused himself, knowing they would just tease him until he retreated, red cheeked.

He blushed anyway as he climbed the stairs.

The shower was running, the door shut and, he was sure, locked. He stripped out of his shirt and tie, rummaging in a drawer for something to wear to bed. He didn’t usually wear anything, but he doubted Renee would appreciate that. He shuddered imagining her reaction and tugged an old teeshirt over his head.

He was staring at the bed, wondering if he should sleep on the floor, when Renee came out in a cloud of steam. She was dressed for bed, too, a teeshirt and athletic shorts. She saw his frown and laughed.

“We can share a bed, Colton.” She said, grinning. “Its big enough, anyway. Besides, you’re still sore from the explosion.”

He nodded, moving to slide beneath the sheets. He really didn’t want to do this.

She lay down and flipped of the light next to her head. “’Night.” She said, yawning.

“Good night.”

What to do when your characters become whiny brats

I have been pondering this issue for awhile, ever since I decided to take a break from Becca's Story.  (Now awesomely titled: The End of Summers)

My main motivation behind this pause: I was running out of steam for the plot.  I had set up some crazy plot twisty things and I didn't feel ready to make decisions about the ultimate end of the book.  There are lots of them:  Does Becca actually die?  Does someone sacrifice himself?  Does Kevin get killed off?  Does Jeff kill Kevin or vice versa?  How does Elsie tie into it?

I didn't really intend for Elsie to be in the story this long, but she kind of just hopped on board.  Now, I'm stuck with her.  I could ax her, but that feels too easy.  Something has to happen that is plot pivotal to break up their little team or to get her or Kevin dead.  Or arrested.  Arrested would be alright.  Maybe she gets captured and all her power sucked out or something...hmmm...

Anyway, back to topic. The way I recognized I was having plot troubles with Becca is she suddenly became incredibly whiny.  I could sense it in the few chapters leading up to the place where I stopped.  They took a long time to write and everything got all personal and she became super annoying.  Then I wrote a bunch of short scenes that all sounded lame in which she basically regressed into a spoiled twelve year old, flopping around and complaining about everything.

I have come to realize this is my brain telling me to take a break.  This usually happens when the character in question is about to go through some sort of mental transformation.  They have reached a pivotal point where they need to make decisions and perhaps alter their way of thinking.  They can't be swept along by external events any longer.  They become the driving force behind the story, more than the circumstances that got them into this story in the first place.

Sometimes this whininess is a good thing.  In my zombie Apocalypse book, the female character is pretty much useless.  The book is partly about how she bucks up takes charge of her life, even if her life is now fleeing from cannibals.  She realizes how useless she is/was towards the end of the book and resolves to be more like the male main character.  Just in time for her to rescue her man.  Convenient?  Why, yes, yes it is...

I know it sounds crazy, but I'll say it again and again.  Many times my characters DO NOT do as I wish them to do.  They plow ahead on their own.  If I try to force them into my plot, they either baulk completely or become the aforementioned twelve year old girl.  They are indecisive, they make stupid mistakes, they sit and talk about their problems forever like an especially terrible episode of Star Trek.

I have a couple ways I have played with to break through this problem.  One is to simply take a break, as I did with Becca's story.  Give it some time to breathe.

Another is to jump ahead in the story, skip over the decision entirely.  I have had mixed results with this technique.  If I jumped ahead and write a whole bunch, I am essentially trapping myself into a plot, which as we know doesn't work very well.  But sometimes I can write the place where I want my characters to go and then bridge the gap between.

Related to this is to jump backwards.  Do some character development, especially if one of the characters has had some trauma in their past.  Write about that, then see how you can fit it into the story.  I wrote a ton of background stuff for the main male character of my zombie book and ended up using almost all of it in the book itself.  It showed why he was so capable and unwhiny, while the female was still struggling.  He had already gone through something so personally traumatic, that the reduction of humanity to roving bands of cannibals was no biggie.

Another way I've tried with some success is to keep going with the external forces aspect of the plot.  If the characters have reached a decision forced on them by events outside their control and I can't get them to do something, a final event can take the decision away from them and make them to act.  Sometimes this clears things up and sometimes it comes out sounding really stupid and I just erase it.

And sometimes nothing helps.  Sometimes it is just a bad plot.  Or bad characters.  Or even just a plot and characters I haven't thought through enough.  Why are they doing these things?  If I don't know, even subconsciously, then my characters sure as heck don't.  And if they have no motivation for saving the world or chasing down a murderer or fighting zombies, then why should they try hard at it?

It is painful, but sometimes I have to ditch a plot and start over from scratch.  It hurts.  A lot. Especially if I've put lots of time into it.  But it has to be done.  I don't usually erase a large body of words, just hide it somewhere deep in my files and let it stew until I can face beginning again.  I have several that are in that stage right now and I am avoiding looking at them.  I can feel the potential there, but I just can't face all redoing all that work just now.

Which ironically, makes me sound whiny and indecisive.  Art reflects life, I guess...

Plotting Ideas

So, I've been in a dearth of writing the last few months.  I really feel much better, except for when the muffin decides to kick me in the stomach.  That is not so fun.  But I'm still arid of ideas.

Lucky me, my dreams came to the rescue.  I had a very long, involved dream about an archaeological dig. So I decided to go with it.  Why not?

Here is where I ran into my first troubles.  One, I don't know anything about any real archaeological digs.  Two, I decided I wanted to set it in South America.  I didn't want to do anything with Egypt or biblical lands.  That's been done a lot and kind of infringes on Indiana Jones/Mummy/Tin Tin territory.

Then I decided I wanted it to be post WWI but pre-WWII, mostly because the twenties were a raucous time all themselves and also to avoid the 'Nazis as bad guys' plot - see Indiana Jones note above.

Since I have no idea about anything happening in the South American ancient burial sites scene during the twenties, I did some google searches to see what I could come up with.

Mostly: nothing.  Seems nobody cares about early 20th century South America.  There was tons of stuff about the conquistadors.  And 'South American Explorers' always came up with Lewis and Clark or the American Southwest.

Then I found this guy, Thomas Athol Joyce.  He wrote a bunch of books about South and Central America, all published before 1923.  So, anybody who would be digging about in the dirt in the twenties would probably have read some of these. (now they are downlaodable as ebooks.  Joy!)

So now it looks like I will have to read them to know what my character peeps would now. Right after I finish reading about what a dork Napoleon was.

What Do Rabbits and Novels Have In Common?

Any guesses?  Well, I'll tell you.

Yesterday, I bemoaned the fact that, even thought I had 'decided' on my NaNoWriMo plot, going so far as to actually 'plot' and get somethings organized, I was having second thoughts.

One second thought, actually, for a different - I mean completely different - plot for my novel.

Apparently, novels are like rabbits.  First there are two.  Aren't they cute and fluffy?  The lady at the pet store said they were both girls...however...

Now I have another idea.  That makes three.  With only a two weeks to go, I really wanted to be settled in my ideas.  I have lots of other stuff to do in November.  Stuff not remotely related to writing novels.  Concerts, ballet, Thanksgiving, book club, rehearsals.

Now, I know that if I don't finish the 50,000 words, nothing happens.  There is nothing serious riding on this.  I can write any day of the year, whenever I want.

However, I've got a competitive streak a mile wide.  I'll bet you five dollars it's twice as big as yours.  I want to finish this challenge.  I'll stay up all night on November 29th if I have to, going straight from Nutcracker rehearsal to typing until my eyeballs bleed.

(Husband and I never play each other on video games.  It gets ugly, real quick.  We each played sports as children and teens and are both musicians.  It's better for our marriage if we never compete at anything.  Trust me.  You should see the gloating when we play Castle Crashers and we're even on the same team.)

(I'm the orange guy, who is way cooler than the red guy, no matter what Husband says.  So he can shoot lightening.  Who cares?)

Anyway,  My three ideas are now as follows:

1.  Stick with Ghost.
2.  Use a short story I wrote for a Writer's Digest Competition as inspiration and write...duh, duh, duuuuh! What happens next!  I can't let you read the short bit itself, since its in the rules for the competition that it can't be 'published' anywhere else.
3.  This one is a little harder to explain.  One of my new favorites is Rick Riordan's Percy Jackson and the Olympians  (PS, the movie? LAME!) and the Heroes of Olympus series. (The next one doesn't come out until next year!  I'm going to die from impatience!)  I love love love young adult right now, which is a little pathetic, but true.  Though I hate hate hate Twilight.  Sorry, peeps.

I was watching something on TV, don't know what, but they were talking about old American currency, which used to be way cooler.  Check this out:

This is a silver certificate issued in 1896.  The, er, scantily clad lady in the center is Electricity, the most powerful force in the universe, at the time.

What if, following Mr. Riordan's example, these 'forces' actually exist, kind of like muses?  The classical portrayals of the elements of the universe?  Steam, fire, electricity, knowledge.  Here's a depiction of History, who was one of the Greek/Roman muses:

She's teaching America, by the way, showing the path to...greatness or something.

My idea is:  what if some scientists managed to 'capture' these natural forces?  Somehow trapped Electricity and drained her power.  It has all the makings of a adventure book as she and the Male Lead (duh, there's a Male Lead) search for her power so she can rescue her sisters.

I don't particularly want it to be young adult, but we'll see how it turns out.  If I even go with that idea.  Maybe I'll prove my over-acheiverness once again and do two novels.

I just knew it...

So, yeah.  You know how I've been all forward thinking and stuff and started plotting for NaNoWriMo?

Check this out:

All those little colored bars at the left are scenes I've plotted out.  Characters, in red, I've decided upon.  Location, notes, 'storyboards', etc, all aimed at organizing my Ghost story.  I spent most of last week thinking about it and planning to out.

And now...I think I've changed my mind.

Curses!

It happened at my writer's group on Saturday.  The lovely ladies were obliging and accomodating and read two short stories I am submitting to a contest.  They had great feed back and I lurv them.

Then one of them said: "I want to know what happenes next."

Oh, the curse of the 'next' question!  I have been here before, oh yes I have.  It's a dangerous place.

But it got me thinking.  What does happen next?  What if they...what if he...maybe someone survived and...suddenly, all my confidence in my plot, my decision, my steadfastness - phsssst!  Gone.  Maybe now I want to do something else entirely.

Well, I have two weeks and two days to change my mind.  I suppose I could change my mind after I start, but I really hope it doesn't come to that.

So, now I need to start plotting for my new idea and see if it's viable.  I write a lot of first scenes that go nowhere.  Unfortunately, the rules state no writing until midnight of November first.  I guess I'll take that first day and write like crazy on both and see which one holds my interest.

*sigh*

Plotting for Werewolves

So, my other idea is to do a novel based on werewolves.  Why am I so paranormal right now?  I thought I was in a historical fiction kick, but apparently not.  Next year, I guess.  For some reason I really want to do a plot around Napoleon.  But that will take some research.

But I digress.  For werewolves, these were my ideas:

1. There are several kinds of werewolves in science and mythology. One: psychosis, believing one is a wolf.  Two:  A genetic mutation that makes you all hairy.  Three:  a 'disease' that you can get from being bitten by a werewolf.  Four:  a kitsune type, or a spirit of some sort embodied by a wolf or a fox.  Usually a female.  You can be born as one from kitsune parents.
2. My idea would combine some of these.  A person would be able to 'be infected' and become a werewolf.  It is a extremely rare affliction that is hushed up because there are kitsune type werewolves running around.  They have their own society, they interact with humans, but disdain them.
3. The Main Character Female's father is infected somehow.  He is taken and put in a mental hospital.  Not every person infected comes out the same.  Some are the werewolves of popular myth, ie. aggressive, mindless, bloodthirsty.  Some function very well as humans.
4. You can be cured of being a werewolf.  The treatment doesn't work for everyone.  MC Male is a 'cured' werewolf.  Why though?  What motive did he have for being cured?  Anyway, his 'pack' the alphas think he betrayed them, turned his back on them.  Did they bite him on purpose?  How and why was MCF's father infected?  Hmmm...That stupid motive thing again...
5. MCF is trying to find out what happened to her father.  Breaks into mental hospital, that sort of thing.  MCM finds out about some plot going on and teams up with her to stop...whatever it is.  I haven't got that far yet.
6. Oh, and the time would be 1850-1890's or so.  London?  Maybe New England...I love this time in literature and music.  Everything was all about paranormal stuff and sleepwalking and ghosts.  Very fun.

Plotting for Ghost

I don't know why I am doing this.  I know I write better in a linear, stream-of-consciousness sort of way.  If I plot too much ahead of time, I plot myself into a box and I can't can't can't write anything.  I need to have a general idea of what's going to happen.  But mostly I'm like: ooh, wouldn't it be cool if...

So, at the risk of totally derailing myself, I am going to list the ideas I've had for the plot of my Ghost Story.  Then I'll tackle the Werewolf one and we'll see which I like better.

For whatever reason, I'm really seeing Ghost more like a movie.  At least at the beginning.

Scene 1:  Have Ghost looking down from a pass or gap.  He sees the posse chasing him.  Use this to describe the place and the time. Sets up where he's going to make his stand.

Scene 2:  Posse's POV, wondering if Ghost is dead.  Someone breaks cover and gets winged.  Show dissent in group and the belligerence of the posse leader about Ghost's guilt.

Scene 3:  Posse just hanged Ghost.  Posse leader orders doctor to check if he's dead.  More mutters about his family/cousins retaliating when they hear the news, coming to town to cause trouble, etc.  Want to cut him down, but Posse leader orders them to leave Ghost.

Scene 4:  Modern time:  Have Main Character and others telling ghost story about Ghost's murder and how he haunts the pass/gap.  Something like 'on stormy nights you can hear his horse galloping from the posse that wrongfully killed him' or something.  Tell how the families took sides and the town split.  Finally some Law from elsewhere had to step in and stop the violence.

Scene 5:  Needs to set up the Female MC.  What's her job, her reason for being in town?  Does she work there?  Is she on vacation?  Does she believe in ghosts or not?

Scene 6:  Big storm and tada!  Ghost appears.  Heads to FMC's house.  She doesn't want to help him, understandably creeped out.

That's about as far as I've gotten.  I don't want to try too hard.  Somethings need to be spur of the moment.  This at least sets everything up and starts the plot rolling.  We'll see what else comes to me.

NaNoWriMo

Alright, you may recall my post here about my two song-inspired ideas for National Novel Writing Month.  While both are supremely awesome, I am drawn more toward the Ghost Rider idea.

Here are my thoughts so far:  (the rules state you can plot and character develop all you want before 11/1, but no writing).

1. The Ghost is a cowboy who had been hanged for murder.  Whether he actually committed the crime...I haven't decided and I want it to be ambiguous anyway.
2. During a particularly nasty thunderstorm somewheres in CO/UT/NV/WY/SD/Central Plains, he gets chucked out of limbo into modern times.  (I just groaned.  Am I seriously going to write a paranormal/time travel book?  Seriously?  *sigh*)
3. He is found by some woman, who happens to be a descendant of the person he supposedly killed (?)  Or maybe the woman he loved back then or something.  Some sort of connection to make him want to hang around her while she's like...er, who are you strange dude?
4. The murder and his subsequent execution flared up an old blood feud.  The families basically killed each other off until some moved away.  A few 'old timers' still remember their grandfathers talking about.
5. Ghost has to find what really happened to set himself free.  Time limit?  I dunno...something to make it imperative.  Maybe he has from the anniversary of the murder to the anniversary of his own death to solve it.  Yay for arbitrary rules of the cosmos!
6. There needs to be a big hush up scandal about it.  Maybe the real murderer killed the victim because they caught them stealing silver or something from a mine.  The 'richest person in town' is their descendant and enjoys their ill gotten gains or something.  If this is so, maybe it needs to take place in a bigger city?  Not a CITY but a larger town.
7. But why would this descendant not want the truth to come to light?  Did the real murderer also get sent back?  Is this dude trying to take control of the city or something?  Hmmmm...motive, always a good thing to have.  Or maybe the descendant is embezzling or something as well and Ghost stumbles across it.
8. Also a good question:  What happens when Ghost solves the mystery?  Does he die?  Or does he stay and live out his life, since his was taken?

Any suggestions?  I have a notebook I'm scribbling ideas in.  We'll see if I can make some sort of coherent sense of them come November!  :)

Like a Bandaid

Well, that was fast.

Sent three queries out on Saturday.  Waiting for me this morning in my inbox was one 'no.'

And actually, it wasn't so bad.  More like...oh...bummer.

And it got me thinking about my first five pages/chapter.  Problem is, the first you read can't be:

Oh, Snap!!!  There are zombies attacking!

It's this thing called exposition.  You need it to set up the zombies/whatever so it makes sense.  in movies, it is usually covered by an announcer person while you watch slow motion video.  Think beginning of Lord of the Rings or something.

Another problem: the main character the books starts with is a limp noodle.  But only for the first few chapters!  See, she learns to be tough and self-sufficient.  It's part of the story, her growth and her taking control of her future.

But, when said agent says:  "Doesn't fit our list at this time"  do they mean, hey cool idea, but we're not in the market for a zombie story right now, keep up the good work?  Or do they mean:  YAWN!

Hmmmm....I think I have the first chapters memorized, I've been over them sooooo much.  But I guess I'll work them over again!  Practice makes perfect, yes?

The Best Medicine

So, here I am, working feverishly on my novel.  Sadly, if any of you are/have known a writer and/or poet, this usually means staring blankly out the window while your screen saver dances uninterrupted across the computer screen.

I am trying to get everything all wrapped up by the end of the month to submit my novel to agents in September.  I won;t make too much mention of this here, other than the idea of this makes my stomach go all buterrfly-ish.  To facilitate this submitting process, I've petitioned some members of my local writers' group to read my draft.

I was kind of half excited/half terrified about it.  I want people to read it, but I have this uncontrollable, irrational fear that they'll be like: this sucks!  I hate it!  I know this is just part of being a normal human being and being creative.  But it was still a wrench to force my finger to click 'send.'  It didn't want to.  It wanted to keep my brainchild safely ensconced on my laptop.

As you may have guessed, I received a return email from one of my readers the other day.  I've been pouring over it again and again, reading the sections they pointed out, considering their suggestions.

And as you may have guessed, too: as a writer as well, they found all the flaws in my prose.  All the bits that I was ignoring, either willfully because I didn't want to face some arduous character development.  Or willfully ignoring because I simply had no idea how solve the plot problem.

I had braced myself for my own disappointment in my skill as a writer.  I was ready to accept it and push past it, with a dash of stiff upper lip and a pinch of masochism.

However, as should have been obvious, and probably was to everyone but me, my reader was/is incredibly supportive and encouraging.  I lurv them.

Even more strangely (feel free to roll your eyes here, I won't mind), I feel fantastic.  Energized.  Ready to tackle the remaining problems with the plot and characters.  I have a bazillion ideas.  I sketched out some scenes while reading the email for the hundredth time.  I know exactly how my too weak main character is going to come into her own and prove her metal toughness, the change I've been hinting at for nearly the whole book.

You'd think I would understand this concept.  That feedback is nearly always good, criticism is essential to artistic growth and working in a vacuum rarely allows personal development.  I'm a professional classical musician, for heaven's sake.  I live and breathe performance art.  It thrills me to my toes when I walk out on stage and people clap for me and cheer and smile.  I love playing solos, I love being center stage, I love flaunting my hard earned skill, hours and hours of practice condensed into one moment of the best music I can make.

And it did take hours and hours of practice; thousands of hours, years of practice and study to get to that point of confidence in my own playing.  But now, I can rip off sonatas, solos, concertos, ballades, duets, and symphonies without a qualm, only pleasure at playing my favourite pieces and sharing them with others, bringing music to life for my listeners.

But, I can still remember the very first time I performed a solo.  It was the very absolute first time I stood up alone in front of a crowd and played by myself.  I don't remember the piece.  Something painfully simple and basic, maybe with five different notes that stretched my pitiful range, uncomplicated rhythms that distorted the music into something only vaguely resembling the original song.

It was a Christmas Recital, I know that much.  My private teacher, who taught piano, flute, trumpet, everything, had arranged a recital at a local retirement home.

It was dark out, raining, I think, but cold.  My feet were cold in my fancy shoes, patent leather and shining in the Christmas lights strung all around the room.  The room itself was cold, but I think that was just me, shivering with terror.  I know there was a fire going, an electric one behind a glass front.

I remember admiring how the lights sparkled off my flute.  It was a clunkly, barely playable student model, but to me it was beautiful.  I don't have it anymore, but I've seen a hundred like it.  Dull nickel finish, the pads under the keys fuzzy and pale, when they should have been smooth and firm, nothing next to the professional flute I own now.  No wonder my tone was so unfocused.

We, the performers, lined up along one wall, ready to walk to the front when it was our turn.  There was an electric keyboard set up, a music stand and a table with a vase of poinsettias.  I found my parents sitting towards the back.  They smiled and waved; I don't remember a camera.  At least, they never dredged up the footage to embarrass me with at family parties.

The boy in front of me finished his piece.  It was my turn.

I was sick.  I could barely walk, my legs were so rubbery.  A phenomenon I had read about but never experienced: my knees were knocking, shaking and barely holding me upright.

I gripped my music and flute and went forward as my teacher waved me to the stand, grinning.  She was very supportive.  Too many teachers, music and otherwise, are all negative, scaring children away from the subject.  I know my confidence in my playing now was due in part to her unwavering push and encouragement, even when I was terrible.


I bowed, staring at the carpet for a count of three, then straightening.

My lip plate was slick with sweat.  My fingers were icy cold and stiff.  I couldn't breathe, my tongue was leaden.  The music wavered before me.

I played.  I know I did.  But for the life of me I cannot remember what the piece was.  I think it was "What child is this?"  Maybe "Up on the housetop."  I can remember just about every other solo I've ever done.  I can't remember that one.

I bowed again.  I gathered up my book and went back to my seat and put my flute away.  My parents gave me hugs and it was over.

Some people grow accustomed to stage fright.  I'm not terrified anymore.  As I mentioned, I love going out to applause, standing at the end of concert from my place in the woodwinds and bowing once more in recognition of my solo in the tone poem or scherzo we just finished.  It doesn't scare me anymore.

But, every time I stand alone on stage, no matter if it's a piece I've performed a hundred times, a piece I have memorized, a piece that is so easy I sight-read it that morning to fill in for some one who came down with a cold at the last moment, every time my knees shake, go wobbly and unresponsive.

I know it is just the adrenaline.  Just my body getting ramped up, ready to push a large amount of air through a thin metal tube, ready to control that air to make it screaming loud or whispering soft.  About thirty seconds into my piece, it hits me.  I have to brace myself against sagging, keep my firm posture, the support in my abdomen.

I finish, usually with a few minor flubs and usually in places where I've never made a mistake before.  Such is life.  I bow and grin at the audience, even if they're not paying me any attention, eating or talking or whatever.  Then I go back stage and take deep breaths and pace to work out my nervous energy, the sharp click of my heels tapping along the floor in the green room.

I don't think there's really anything I can do to prevent this.  Beta-blockers have been suggested, but I'm stubborn and don't like taking any form of medication.  I think all that could cure it is time. Time on stage, under the blinding lights, smearing the audience into a dark, faceless mob, feeling the sweat bead on my lips.  Maybe when I'm fifty, I'll be immune to it.

Until then, I will wear skirts that cover my knees, so no one can see them shaking.

E.T.

Playing Catch Up

Wow!  What a week I had.  There is so much to talk about, I'm not sure where to start...

First off...go to your favorite search engine (I confess, I only tried google) and do a search for 'writing rampant.'  I'll wait...

See!  Hopefully it worked and my blog can now be searched.  It couldn't before, for some reason I only vaguely understand.  I had to take a general studies computer literacy class in college and while I am a crack-whiz at MS Word and Excel, html still escapes me.  Probably because class attendance wasn't required, so I never showed up and only turned in the homework.  Sorry, but Contemporary Music History was much more important at the time.

Still, today I fiddled around with some stuff called metatags and hopefully I'll get it all sorted out soon.  I need one of those dummies books.

Now to the meat of things.  I was in vacation in Idaho in a resort town called McCall.  It is GORGEOUS there.  It was perfectly warm and sunny, the lake was cold and crisp and everything was lovely.

We went hiking up to Boulder Reservoir and Lake.  The lower lake is kind of muddy and so-so.  But if you climb up to the higher lake - and I mean climb - it is the coolest thing I've ever seen.  It is not for the faint of heart, but the rewards are worth it.  Check this out: boulder lake panorama.  I don't know who those guys are, but he got a good picture.

The upper lake has been dammed and it fills up right to the very brim, like an enormous, mother nature infinity pool.  The waterfalls down from the lake are simply amazing.  There's alpine meadows for miles and miles behind it, with more lakes and streams and mountain perfection just waiting for some backpacking. 

So, you see my problem.  I had intended to use my vacation for some serious writing, like my own private writing retreat, just without the grant money.  But there was just so much to do.  And not do.

I probably spent a third of my time awake lying on the dock and reading books, soaking up some sun.  We went backpacking and took a bazillion pictures of wildflowers to identify in a field book.  We kayaked and threw sticks into the lake for the puppy to fetch until she was exhausted and fell asleep right on the beach.

We ate smores and super delicious burgers.  We saw tons of wildlife and the puppy was very cranky when a deer took a nap by the cabin and she was not allowed to go out and chase it away.  Overall, fantastic time was had by all.

Alas, not much writing.  And what I did do convinced me to change around the end of my novel.  Completely.  The end is still the same, but the penultimate adventure is all different.  So I technically made negative progress.  Crap.

That's one of the real frustrations of writing.  You work hard and get x thousand words down.  You read and re-read.  You edit and polish.  You adjust and add detail.  Then you decide that it's totally not what you wanted and have to start over.  I think anyone can write a novel.  It's this business about finishing a novel that's hard work.

Wish me luck....grumble

E.T.

Unfinished Business

So, something I meant to do after finishing Cousin of the Crown, but forgot until just now, was write a little about how I decided who everybody should be and their names and stuff.  I always think that's really interesting to peek into someone's creative process.  Sometimes it leads to cool observations.  Sometimes it all boils down to "I made it up."

BTW, there's a chipmunk barking at my dog in the backyard and it's driving her crazy.  It's like a squeaky fuzz-covered car alarm.

Anyway, so.  Now comes the hard part.  Trying decide how I decided to do things in CoftheC.

First off, I named Terran Terran to imply he was solid.  Unmovable.  Steady.  Determined.  Terra plus 'n'.  The earth or stone or gravity, that sort of idea.

I picked the names of the countries by looking at old maps of Europe and picking some that sounded cool.  Nothing really special there.  I do that all the time.  Saves making up names.

Gulin...it wasn't really for 'gullible' but I like the name because it sounded weaker than Terran.  Sorry if anyone in the world is actually named Gulin.  He had to be less firm than his older brother.  Less concerned with his duty.

Henry, pronounced all french like, if you want, was a minor character that I randomly assigned a name to and then never changed later.  Lazy author.

I recently discovered someone who is really named Alea, even though I thought I'd just made it up.  I liked it for a girl name because of the vowels.  Most girl names end or start with an a or e and it sounds soft and feminine, even though she is not at times.  She was an opera singer to show her slightly rebellious side, flouting convention, that she was passionate and driven, but still disciplined.  You can't be a great musician without being willing to buckled down and work hard and do things you don't want to.

Also, I think it led credibility to her ability to act like nothing was wrong.  It gave her an escape and a way to manage the problems she was having.  Lahdel, on the other hand, was a terrible actress, though Alea loves her too much to even suspect.  I tried not to make it too obvious about L and G, but the hints are in there.  Was it effective?

Hmmmm...the setting was just me like "I want to write a quasi-fairy-tale-thing."  I'm not sure about the landlocked lake...I just thought it would be a cool way to get Terran to be shipwrecked without the possibility of losing him across an ocean.  That would have been too unbelievable for him to make his way back without the story lasting for years and years.

I still think the plague should have had more part in the story, but then it would need a lot more exposition and development of other characters.  I wanted to keep the plot tight, centered around just the four main characters, very intense and personal.  If too many other characters require development, I think it would lose the focused quality it has, making it too long and rambling.  I love Robert Jordan, but heavens-to-Betsey, that man was verbose.

So, yeah.  I can't think of anything else I made a conscious decision about at the moment.  I did write the opening chapter first, with no pre-character development.  Then I expanded from there in both directions.  I wasn't going to write any before at all, but I felt that would make it feel odd.

I usually write in a straight stream of consciousness way, letting things get made up as I go.  I usually have a goal in mind.  Like I knew Lahdel would get pregnant.  I just didn't know when or how...well, I knew how, but...oh, you know what I mean...*blush*

So now the next story!  This one I haven't finished and am not sure how I am going to finish it.  I like to keep some options open.  Maybe I'll have a vote.  Or a choose your own ending...Hmmmm...So many words so little time!

Oh, and a friend of mine has made a cover for CoftheC.  It's fabulous!  I lurv it.  Maybe I'll get it up soon!

E.T.

Writer's block is back...sigh...

I had a real streak there for a couple days, but it's back again and is taking its vengeance.

I usually write in a stream of conscious sort of way, leaving exact details blank and going back again to smooth things out.

In my novel, the number and age of siblings and various families members has changed at least a dozen times as I try out different theories.  My main characters are generally set when it comes to big details, but the little side characters, set in place to emphasize a story point or provide a sounding board for the main action, change all the time.

My problem now is I know exactly where I want the story to go.  I just can't make it get there.  The end action and everything is all mapped out in my brain, but I'm stuck in "act two." The act where everything starts to go to pieces just in time for the hero/heroine to step in and do their stuff.

Act one is all about creating a picture of their world and of them.  Who they are, how they act.  Setting up the tensions to explode later.  Now I'm at the exploding part and I can't quite make it work.  grumble, grumble...

I even tried writing the end scenes first, to see if I could bridge the gaps between them, but it didn't feel right.  One of the characters needs to go through an extreme life changing experience before the action climax.  Because he hasn't done it yet, meaning I haven't written it yet, I can't seem to know just how it has affected him.

This all sounds really silly.  He's my character; I can make him do whatever I want.  But sometimes he just won't do what I want.  Or he behaves perfectly, I write three thousand words and I read it and delete it with a grimace because it is absolutely the very last thing he would conceivably do.

Then, like today, I get completely sidetracked on a minor character and write ten thousand words about them and barely get five hundred for the plot that is actually important.  Bah!

E. T.

ARRRRG!

As you may have guessed, I am having a bit of trouble with my novel.  I cannot wrestle the plot into shape.  I know what I want to have happen, but getting it to happen is another thing entirely.

I think the problem is that I'm not completely convinced by the characters involved.  Most of them are reoccuring characters that already have their own stories.  They behave in perdictable ways, so their reactions to my main characters is not the hard part.

It's these two new characters that won't do as I say.  Everytime I try to write a scene, it just doesn't feel right.  I can't explain it any other way.  I read what I've written and go...meh.  Then I rework it.

Mmmmm...rework it again.
No, no, no, no...again.
grumblegrumblegrumble....and again.
No!  Stop that!...AGAIN.

Until finally:  ARRRRG!

That's where I am now.  I've tried changing perspective, writing scenes earlier and later, doing research, changing the timeline entirely, even writing little background pieces about the minor characters in the novel.

Nothing.

My imgaination is as but a dry desert, parched for meaningful plot.

*sigh*

E.T.