NEW RELEASES
Plotting
I certainly learned a lesson with my short story. I knew my characters, my supernatural element, my tone – so I eagerly got started. I was more then half way through when it was very obvious what I didn’t have was a plot. Like a lot of writers, I tend to write by the seat of my pants. I can write thousands of words a day (if no one is bothering me, Ed) with no problem. Thousands of words that I sometimes don’t need! I swear, I’m going to stop doing that. The short story was supposed to be approximately 15,000 words. No exaggeration, I threw away that many. It took me four days to come up with a plausible plot AND I’m still not sure it works. Here’s the lesson: work out your plot before you start writing, it really helps.
Amylynn is always griping about rewrites. I sent out Night Shift to a few trusted people last evening and so I’m expecting an avalanche of revisions and edits! I’ll keep everyone in the loop while I revise because I am determined to submit the story by tomorrow.
Speed Bumps
All three of the Sisters have encountered bumps in the road this week. I want to emphasize how important it is to have a sounding board with which to work through these things. As you’re writing, the smallest little hiccup can put a grinding halt to the proceedings. It’s so easy to obsess over some part of the plot and get stuck there. Then you find yourself working and reworking the scene and you get nowhere fast. You effectively strangle the poor muse and while she sits there crying, helpless to assist you, you just keep making things worse and you can’t move on. You know something doesn’t work, but you can’t figure out what, or how to fix it. The horrifying truth that niggles in the back of your mind is that you may have to scrap something and start that part over. Don’t panic! The three of us have found that sometimes just talking it over outloud with someone that can ask leading questions, or look at it with a new perspective can save you literally hours of agony. I know it sounds easy and simple and you may even be reading this and saying “well, duh”, but the fact of the matter is, writing is a lonely gig. It’s very easy to cocoon yourself with your computer and resist the urge to share your work with someone until it’s perfect. The breaking news is: It’s never “perfect”. Give up that pipe dream now. But you can make it the best you can with the help of trusted compatriots. Find yourself a critique group that you really trust. Show them the problem areas especially. A good critique group wants you to succeed.
Good luck out there. Keep writing and reading and learning your craft. It’s all going to payoff in the end.
An Ode to Howard Allen…
Our purpose on this website is two-fold…to be a resource to every other struggling writer, and to share our literary ups and downs as we work to get published. In my continuing quest to become a better writer, I sometimes find that some people do know what they are talking about. One such person is Howard Allen. He is a local friend to our Romance Writer’s of America chapter, and has spoken to us a couple times on creating dialogue that shows the reader what is happening, instead of narrative that tells the reader what is happening.
Reader, I must admit that I was hesitant…at first. The gift that this man has is astounding. He is able to take random pages of description from any famous author’s novel and turn it into a riveting dialogue that not only keep’s you engaged, but allows you to feel as if you’re standing in the room watching every bodily expression unfold. This, my friends, is harder than it seems. SO… in the spirit of putting it all out there, here is my own small attempt. These are excerpts from my novel, as I tried to make the character’s interior dialogue more impactful and show the reader that her perception was different from that of her family’s:
Original paragraph:
Avery walked slowly behind her family contemplating the impact of her entrance into society. With the tragedy now two years old, she hoped for some semblance of normalcy. She did, however, doubt the existence of any man that would actually marry her. She had, after all, killed her sister. And even if her family wouldn’t admit it, she knew that they couldn’t look at her without seeing her twin.
Re-written as dialogue:
“Do you really think I will make a match this season mama? I can’t think of anyone that would offer for a girl who killed her sister.” These words slipped off her tongue as if she had resigned herself to living happily ever after with the guilt, yet she hadn’t. Why did she say things like this? Before she could take it back, her mother’s smile faded.
“Sweetheart, how many times do I need to tell you it was an accident? Really, Avery, you need to move past that.” As if trying to move past it herself, she stopped Avery and looked into her eyes. “It was just a horrible, terrible accident,” and with tears gathering and a hard swallow she said, “Please enjoy the life you were spared. It was not your fault.” Almost as an affirmation, she leaned forward and hugged Avery tightly.
“I am so sorry Mama, I hadn’t thought of it that way.” Avery really hadn’t. It was sometimes so enlightening to talk about her guilt. She was still surprised that her family didn’t blame her, but felt that maybe her mother was right. Maybe it is time to move on.
Well, what do you think? Try it yourself with something that you have written and let me know how it goes! And please visit Howard Allen’s site, it is in our resource links as Scriptdoctor.com. Thanks Howard!
My Comeuppance
I don’t know why I feel compelled to tell you this story, dear Reader. Perhaps in the essence of fairness. After all, you will recall my response to my husband’s pool story (see Oh How I Giggled).
So Sassy and The Bandit and I took My Honey to the mall today to get his father’s day present and do some errands. We decided to grab some lunch in the food court and afterwards we hit the bathrooms there to destickify The Bandit. The kids and I went into one of the family bathrooms, and My Honey sank down into one of the big leather club chairs there to wait. If you haven’t been in a family bathroom before, there is a changing area for babies, a regular size toilet and, the big draw, a small toilet and sink for kids. While we were in there, I insisted that everyone go potty. Lot of good it did me since the minute we were the farthest from a bathroom we could get, Sassy had to go again.
So Sassy is using the wee toilet and I am using the big one. That’s when The Bandit decided to open the door. No matter how often or how loudly I screamed “NO!”. So this is what the entire Food Court saw: The Bandit giggling with glee and me screaming and crab walking across the floor all while trying desperately to stop the flow.
And what was My Honey doing? He was laughing hysterically.
Probably serves me right.
My Life is Now Complete
You know how every once in a while you stumble across something that makes your life complete? For example, the perfect bottle of red wine or the cutest little polka dot dress. Sometimes “the perfect” item is bigger or more important in the long run than others, but really it’s one of those in-the-moment occurrences that makes you want to do the Snoopy dance of joy. Well today, dear Reader, I can hardly contain myself. I’ve already told you of my predilection for research (and a possible side career on game shows), and the Sisters and I have already shared some of those great links with you on the side bar over to the right.
Go ahead, cruise around a little over there, I’ll wait.
Today I discovered GoogleBookSearch. I say discovered like those mariners of old that “discovered” new lands even though there were scads of people already living there . I’m sure the natives were just thrilled to be found, what with all the languishing around with no diseases, or fire arms or slave owners and all.
But anyway, this link is GENIUS. There are so many fields to narrow down your search. Think of something outlandish and hit the button. I’ll bet it’s there. I found 2,500 entries for Mud Pies, 689 for Untangling Hair, and 120 references for Crawdad Recipes. Many of the listings have pages to preview and if you find just the right thing, of course there is a handy dandy link to Amazon right there. I was able to get much of what I was looking for right from the preview-able pages.
So there you are. Hope I’ve helped. If, however, you’re sitting in your chair reading this and laughing because you’ve known of GoogleBookSearch for ages, then shame on you for not sharing. Or, thank you for not contributing to my deliquency. I’m not sure which.
I wish my dialogue was this good
So this morning Sassy (age 6) and The Bandit (age 4) are eating granola bars. Sassy’s has chocolate chips in it and The Bandit asks if he can have a bite. Usually, they are very good at sharing. Sassy is all solicitous and sweet when she says, “Do you want a chocolate chip? Do you?” Of course, he does so she gives him one, even going so far as to put it sweetly in his mouth for him. Then she says, again sweet as pie, “Was it good? Did you like it?” He nods that it was indeed very yummy. She puts her face right up to his, I thought she was going to kiss him and I was thinking, Wow, isn’t she a nice little girl. Then she whispers, “I got it off the floor.”
Seriously.
An Island with a Hammock
I have a dream. Really, I’m not that politically inclined. It’s more of a fantasy. Here, now. Just because I’m a romance writer, you don’t need to go there either. This dreamy fantasy of mine involves a beautiful tropical island, me, two shady trees and a comfy hammock suspended between them. Here is the key part, also washed up on the island is a huge trunk of books. All kinds of books: classics, history, poetry, literature. All books I haven’t read but have been meaning to but never have the time to dedicate to such serious literature. Like Don Quixote and stuff like that. So I lay in my hammock, swaying gently in the tropical breeze, under the shade of the trees (remember my sunburn issue) and read and read and read. No work to go to, no revisions to complete, no whining kids, no telephone. And when the books are all finished, lo but another trunk washes up on the beach and a whole new batch of books.
And if Johnny Depp should happen along with a nice peanut butter and jelly sandwich that would be OK, too. Maybe I’d let him rub my feet, so long as he didn’t talk because I’m trying to read. Ya know?
It’s Done
The short story is done. Hallelujah. It took me exactly 2 weeks to write it: 14,000 words – 71 pages. I typed the last word at 3:08 am Sunday morning and today I really just don’t want to touch the computer. I don’t want to check email or read an ebook, and I certainly don’t want to work on revisions for Seeing Love Clearly.
My brain has been sucked dry, I tell you.
I took a four hour nap on the couch today. Apparently I was so zonked out I slept through all the noise and commotion that can be made by Sassy and The Bandit and a 1 year old coonhound – and as I told you yesterday, that can be significant.
I’ve sent the pages to the Sisters so they can tear it apart. We will rebuild it. We have the technology. Better than it was before. Better, stronger, faster. Like the Six Million Dollar Man.
So for tonight, I give myself the night off. True Blood is on tonight and my love affair with Eric Northman the Viking can resume.
No, No, Amylynn . . .
. . . you’re not thinking clearly. THEY will find you in a tree-house. Think about it, no matter where you are in your house, under your house, on the side of your house or on top of your house – THEY always find you. Admit it, you’ve hidden in places in your house where the FBI or McGyver couldn’t find you . . . and yet . . .THEY always do.
I had no idea you were experiencing the same problem I was today. Here’s an example of my writing from earlier:
Jerrilyn closed her eyes tightly before she looked at the home pregnancy stick. No, you cannot go into your brother’s room and kill him. You can’t because I said so. She prayed it was positive. The ketchup is usually on the door, on the second shelf, next to the mustard, unless someone put it away other than me. She’d made up her mind that having Jace’s child would be a dream come true, a family of her own. I know it looks like I’m sitting here doing nothing. but I’m writing. That’s why you hear keys clicking. You don’t hear keys clicking? That’s because you’re all too damned loud – now go outside and play!
Forget that tree-house. I applied on-line with NASA for the space program. I signed the three of us up, as a team, for the very next year long space shuttle mission. THEY will never be able to find us in space, I think . . .
I want a tree house….with a rope ladder
As I said in my earlier post today, I have a lot of writing to do and I’m in the zone. I have it all up on my head and I can barely have a conversation with my husband because I’m so busy mulling it all over. I want to get it out. I need to get it out before it gets lost…over run by the names of all the Disney Princess, the lyrics to Gilligan’s Island, the Latin names of dinosaurs and other such nonsense. Here’s the rub….THERE IS NO WHERE TO GO! I’m yelling because there is no way you’ll be able to hear me over the Hannah Montana music and Hot Wheels race tracks zooming by and the million and eight questions fired at me about every conceivable topic under the sun. Obviously, I can’t concentrate. I’ve gone to my room and shut the door just for the door bell to ring and for Poppa to come over to chat.
Now I’m sitting on my bed, surrounded by kids and their toys, and the cat, and the idiot dog, all demanding attention. Deep sigh.