So BZZZ Busy…

So looked at my calendar and realized that OMG I NEED TO GET A POST DONE!  So huge apologies for the very brief post this week but man, oh man, has it been busy. Small fires flaring up everywhere, the Prankster Duo turning my hair gray (not like it had far to go), and then just hours ago realizing that the third revision of chapter 2 for book 3 must be re-written.

And here’s why Chapter 2 is up for another rewrite and a small peek into a writer’s brain–

You have a rogue werewolf who’s chasing down his ex-girlfriend who’s dumped him and was out clubbing with friends before hooking up with a new guy.  Furball takes exception to the rival and leaves him in a bloody heap, not breathing.  Then proceeds to corner ex in a club.  There they argue and she turns her back on him and walks away. Now, what’s more believable?

A.  Furball gets mad, Xander confronts him and he proceeds to head to the alley and the rumble between him and Xander ensues.  This means the humans are still in the dark about the existence of shifters.

or

B.  Furball gets mad, Xander confronts him and he proceeds to lose control tearing apart the varied humans around him causing a panic which limits Xander’s ability to reach him.  When she finally does, they rumble admist a screaming storm of body parts and panicking humans.  Now Division gets called in, Warrick the Alpha gets called in and it’s one big cluster.

So which makes more exciting reading?

Yep, I’m with you..so back to the drawing board and we’ll start drafting Version B.

*SIGH*  Even with an outline this book is being a stubborn ass from the get go.  Just when I think I have it all figured out, my characters snicker, slap me across the face and dash away.

I love being a writer…

–Wicked

A Visit with Xander…

On my way to do some serious writing today, I was doing my karaoke best to keep up with Bush when I realized I had a passenger. After ensuring that I didn’t end up as a trailer hitch to the Dodge Challenger in front of me, I snuck a quick peek at the new arrival.

Battered biker boots draped with the necessary chains were propped against my pristine dash tapping in time to the bass (those scuff marks better come off!), lightly tanned legs interrupted by a short plaid skirt. The exact kind I would have loved being able to pull off at any point and time in my life, except I’ve let reality win and given up. Besides, as young as my mind thinks I am, my body is not in an agreeable mood. Fingers tipped with some bright green nail polish, tap on one bare knee. Etched leather cuff with bits of flashing metal wrap around one small wrist, strong arms (damn, this girl’s got some seriously good genetics!), over the white fitted t-shirt which any breathing male would appreciate, past the leather choker with some tribal type pendant, and then under the purple tipped spiked blonde hair was a delicate patterned tattoo spanning temple to chin on the right side of the most feminine face I’ve ever seen. Without those markings a person could easily be fooled into believing her some delicate fairy princess of punk. Not a smart move, because under the wrapping lay the cunning intelligence of a lethal predator.

“Hey Xander, nice outfit.” The Dodge in front of me was pulling away and since it wasn’t Raine sitting next to me, it was safe to concentrate on driving.

“You like? I figured I’d take advantage of the sun while I”m here.” Voice like smoke wove through the music. “Since my last trip to your little edge of the desert wasn’t exactly a day at the spa.”

The edge of a growl lacing her words had me cringing mentally, but I kept it hidden. Didn’t do to let the wolf next to you see you cringe. Not like I could hide the sudden spike in my pulse or the tension ringing through my body. “Ummm, yeah, about that….sorry?”

A bark of laughter. “No you’re not.”

Okay, true, but…”Look, I didn’t know Warrick-”

“Vidis,” she corrected.

Right because the only one who gets to call the Northwest Alpha by his first name was the woman glaring at me from her deceptive sprawl in the seat next to me. “Vidis,” I answered, “was going to go that far.”

A tense moment or ten passed, then she turned to watch the passing traffic. I tried not to sigh at the relief of being out from under that intense regard, but by the small grin on her face, I knew I’d failed.

“I wasn’t ready for this.” The words were low, an admission of a weakness she didn’t like to acknowledge aloud. “I know.” I’m not a cold hearted bitch, I know she wasn’t ready for this, but even in writing, this was life. You get thrown a curve every time you think you have it all figured out. No matter how much you think your path is set, there are always detours.

Xander straightened, turning to face me, her arms crossed. “He’s going to fight all the way down.”

I swallowed, “Yeah he is.”

“You’re backing me into a corner.”

Tightening my grip on the steering wheel, I clenched my jaw. “No, I’m not.”

The snarl that filled the car raised every hair on my body. “Not giving me options is not smart, Jami.”

I shook my head, my own frustrations rising in spite of the little voice in the back of my head yammering to shut the hell up. “You have options, Xander, you just have to decide which ones you’re going to take.” I slant a quick look at her. “Let me ask you something.”

“Ask.”

“Who’s more important–Vidis the man or Vidis the Alpha?” I’m not being fair, I know that, but life rarely is and here was part of her problem–duty versus want.

“For him they are one and the same.”

Compassion stirred as I caught the flicker of uncertainty in her words. ” But you and I know they aren’t.” I turned into the parking lot at my favorite coffee shop and put the car in park. I turn until I can face the woman next to me. “You’re a protector, Xander, it’s who and what you are, but underneath that you’re a woman who loves a very powerful man. A man like that needs one person who he can be himself with.”

She won’t look at me, but stares out the windshield. “He won’t expose himself to that extent. An alpha can’t afford to be seen as weak.”

“So make him.”

Her hands curl into fists and a grim smile appears, adding the age of painful experience to that youthful face. “Easier said than done.”

I laugh, because whether she realizes it or not, she’s the one female in the whole world that can make Warrick Vidis remember there is more to life than being an Alpha. “I have faith in you.”

“Glad someone does,” she growls.

I turn to grab my laptop from the back seat and when I turn around, she’s gone. Poor Vidis.

–Wicked

Pesky Internal Voices

Here’s the deal with diving into your next work in progress after spending an incredible amount of time editing your last piece–your inner critic refuses to shut the hell up!

We’ll refer to mine as VON (voice of my nightmares).

Von showed no fear when I threaten to take her out and dump her in the hole I dug out back in the swamp just last week for such an occassion.  Oh no, she kept right on.  “Don’t tell me, show me!” 

Show her?  Ohhh, I could show her all sorts of cutting repartees that will leave lasting impressions.  Instead, I gritted my teeth and tried to drown her under the pounding melodies of Seether and Nickleback.  When that didn’t work, I brought out the big guns–Korn and the greatest of them all…Trent Reznor.  But still, Von’s venemous whispers wafting through my mind.

I was in the midst of getting Xander back to her partner and a dead body in book 3, when Von broke through.

“That is not going to work. Who told them about the body? Who found it? How come the Pack knows, but no human is involved? And where’s Warrick?”

Really? I refrained from slamming my head into the wooden surface of the table next to my laptop by the barest fraction.  Wouldn’t do to upset my baristas, besides I might spill my drink.  Gritting my teeth, I went back an re-read what I had written.  Damn it…Von’s right…so I went back and rewrote. 

For awhile Von was placated with frappacinnos and coffee cake, while Xander and I worked through a few challenges.  Yes, some of them involving the alpha of the Northwest Pack, but still, we were getting there.  Then Von butted in…

“Why?”

Stumped by the strange question that contained no extranous commentary, I sat there blinking.  “Huh?”

“Why? Why kill this one?  What does his death do to the pack?”

Umm, okay, because…and I explained to her-again-why we were doing this.  She hummed under breathe and sipped her frappacinno.  “Okay, that should work, but we’ll have to see..”

Here’s the thing with Von. As exhausting as she is to work with when I’m writing, she’s an even bigger pest as I’ve been trying to figure out the cover of Shadow’s Soul.  Last week, I asked for feedback on Shadow’s Edge cover over at Cover Art Review blog and got exactly what I asked for.  Don’t mistake me, I’m actually really happy with what I got back.  There were no rave reviews, but the actual feedback was helpful.  However, it did give Von some serious ammunition as she peeked in on what I was considering for Shadow’s Soul.  I have a feeling that until I hit the big leagues or discover some unknown artistic genius residing deep inside me, I’m going to have to make what I have access to for cover art–work.

As for Von–I’ve tried luring her over to Eerie and Mischevious’s neck of the woods, but short of tranqualizing, blindfolding, and trucking her out that way, she seems determined to stick around and torment me.  Even making her play darts with the Muses doesn’t seem to do anything except make her more crabby!  Maybe if I turn up my music, she’ll get bored and go pester Snarky!  With my luck she’ll have a twin or hell, be part of triplets, and then all three of them can torment the rest of the Evil 7 and drive us all insane!

–Wicked

New Year, New Story…

Okay so the New Year has arrived and it’s time to get back to writing.  Shadow’s Soul is out being eviscerated, I mean critiqued, by the other Evil Six so I decided to start the year off write…I began to plot out Raine and Gavin’s next adventure.

But to get to this point took time.  Here’s a little insight into the schizophrenic maze known as a writer’s mind. 

I’ve spent the last few weeks prepping the Prankster Duo, the knight in slightly muddy armor, and the hellhound for the holidays.  We had to hunt down holiday gifts, bind them and then deliver them out to the other Swamp residents.  The Swamp Thing family has had a rough time this season so we had to sneak in late one night to leave their gift on the doorstep in an effort not to be dragged into their “martial discussions”. The Prankster Duo managed to get in and get out without any major setbacks (fires, explosions, dismemberment, etc.) while delivering Smokey, Quirky and Jedi’s gifts.  The knight and I took on the tougher residents. Evading Snarky’s newest whip was perilous and dropping off Eerie and Mischievous’ gifts, well I won’t go into detail. Suffice to say the hellhound was in need of some bone therapy afterwards, and knight’s armor had a few more dents to add to his collection.  Don’t tell Eerie, but I think I lost a blade to one of the shambling hordes.

Regardless, we made it through the season.  The Prankster Duo has increased their weaponry supply with some new additions and they’ve been tormenting the zombies scuffling through the Swamp.  The hellhound was quite pleased with his decapitated duck and unidentified leg bone.  Overall it was a lovely Holiday!

While hunting down and setting sneaky traps for our holiday gifts, I decided to pare down the towering pile of nightstand books and got caught up with some of my favorite stories.  When I finished with that, it was time to face the ominous quest looming on my horizon… the creation of my next book.

For those not familiar with a writer, let me explain why your writer friends seem to morph into bi-polar maniacs with multiple personalities in-between their Works in Progress (aka WIPs).  We all fear the blank page or screen that mocks us with its whiteness. 

Typing the last word on your last story is a relief, until you realize you have to start all over again.  Regardless if you’re doing a stand-alone or a series, beginning a story is terrifying.  Let’s follow along with my neurosis as I begin a new WIP.

First question that hits—can I do it?  Can I really get another three to four hundred pages that will keep a reader on the edge of their seat? Am I all tapped out? Was writing that last book, was that it?

A few deep breaths and a handful of chocolate later I’ve managed to smash that stupid voice into silence.  Yes, I’m a writer, damn it, I can do this.  I’ve done it before.

Next question—so do I continue with Raine and Gavin or do I let other characters have their own story? Should I go back to that other story line and take a break from Raine? If I continue with Raine, I’ll have to pitch to my editor for book three, if I don’t I’ll have to go back out to the vicious world of pitches and throw myself on the mercy of another editor.  What to do?

I re-read the 125 pages I have of the other WIP and it hits me…this isn’t going to work without some major re-writing.  Where do I start? Should I throw it away and just start from scratch? I mean, I really like some of it, but other parts are going to have me sporting a Sinead O’Connor look real quick.  Oh man, maybe it’s not so smart to go back to that one just yet….okay let’s think about Raine. 

What do I need to do next? Where is the overall story arc going? Every book has to accomplish something or why write their story? Fine, let’s torment the newly established couple, throw in some twists and turns and then…miracle of miracles, words are spitting across the page.  A plot emerges.  This is good, I haven’t lost the ability yet. 

Okay so I have a plot, but I’m still thinking this year I’d like to get two books done, so where do I focus?  How do I choose which gets to be done first? The massive re-write or begin Raine’s latest adventure?

Dear God I think the voices in my head are going to stomp my brain into mush and it will leak out of my ears and then neither story will get written.  ARRRGHHH!!!

I manage to piece together Raine’s story and I’m turning over how to re-write the other story, but in the meantime those around me are giving me a wide berth.  Maybe it’s the fact I’m continuously mumbling under my breath while wildly gesturing to get the voices to lower to a dull roar, or maybe it’s the fact that while eating a lovely dinner with family, I blurt out, “She’s being hunted by a psychic psychopath!”

Chairs scrape a few more inches away from me, the Prankster Duo just shake their heads, and knight simply responds in a gently voice, “Do you want some more chocolate, babe?”

And the year has barely begun…

Wicked!

Agatha Christie’s Notebooks

When I first started writing one of the pieces of conventional wisdom for writers was to keep a journal. Well, I tried–many times in fact. I purchased books on journaling. I purchased blank journals of all descriptions, from the everyday schoolbook to the fancy leather covered works of art.

The results were uniform. I’d write in them for a few days, and then quickly tapper off to nothing.

The reasons?

• I wasn’t happy with my cursive handwriting.
• I tried too hard to make nice sentences.
• I stopped frequently to lookup words.
• What I was writing in the journal provided little help for my current WIP.
• And the worst? I tried writing as though someone else would read my entries.

What a revelation then to read ‘Agatha Christie’s Secret Notebooks’ by John Curran. The 73 notebooks were discovered after the death of Agatha Christie’s daughter. They are plain school composition workbooks. Her handwriting described as ‘chicken scratches’, and she miss-spelled many words without bothering to look them up. She rarely bothered to write in complete sentences.

What she did do is use the notebooks as a sounding board. She worked out plots, characters, settings, etc., frequently arguing with herself about the merits of various ideas. She used them to work out scene outlines as well as details such as the effects of various poisons.

She apparently never figured anyone would ever read the notebooks, so felt free to let her thoughts roam where they would.

It is interesting to see how her stories developed from a simple fragment/thought to a well plotted, character rich story.

Bottom line?

I’m going to give journaling another shot with some cheap composition books using her approach to thought collecting. And, of course, I’m recommending John Curran’s book to anyone interested in the subject.

If it works out for me, I’ll report back in the future. If it doesn’t…

Smokey Dwarf

the frightening world of a writer’s mind…

In one of my many writer group links (yep, I belong to some and my inbox tends to crash on occasion at the many conversations running around out there) someone sweetly shared a link to a very insightful blog about being a writer. After picking myself up off the floor, I quickly forwarded it on to the other ED’s, and then, because I’m mean, I made my hubby sit down and read it.

I sat on pins and needles (okay so I basically stood over him with a blunt object) and waited for him to be swept away by the genius evident in the post.  He laughed, which was good–nice to know the warped sense of humor I married him for all those eons ago is still there–and then he looked at me with (gasp!) pity?!!! What the hell?  No, no, no, he was suppose to say, “Oh honey, now I understand why the Prankster Duo and I have to exist on unidentifiable left overs and delivery, while you sit in a dark office illuminated only by the flicker of a computer screen and why you sometimes resemble Gollum from Lord of the Rings (that’s the weird little dude who glows in the dark for you non-nerds).  It all makes sense!”

Did he say that? Um, nope.  Instead his response is, “It’s okay baby, I knew that when I married you and I still said ‘I do’.”

Seriously?? Did he not see the mad genius that exists in each writer’s mind? The mad babble of voices that fight for supremacy while leaving things like groceries, doctor appointments, eating, basic hygiene in their frenzied wake?  There’s a reason a writer will stare at you with a bemused smile while their eyes keep darting off to the side in the midst of your conversation.  Really, they’d love to listen to you but it’s a bit hard when the worlds in your head start to get pushy and demand exclusive attention.  I know, it sounds a bit psychotic, but it’s not our fault.  It’s why we write!

This week I read something that clicked. They said to make great art, you had to expose your soul and some things are better left safely in the dark. Those that fear exposing such darkness are constantly tormented by the fact they can almost touch the creative beast, while those who grit their teeth and reach out may burn, but the beauty of such exposure ensnares those around them.  Much like music, playing or creating, writing demands a price from its creator.  Every writer uses their own experiences in some way or fashion to help put life into their words, but it’s one of the scariest things they’ll ever do.

The next time you run across one of us, be gentle and understand, regardless of the genre (poetry, children’s books, songwriting, screen writing, mystery, romance, etc.) published or unpublished, we are writers and it’s not as simple as sitting down and typing out a string of words.  We’re sharing with you something infinitely precious, so if you damage it expect repercussions.  We may not all be Stephen King, but we are all story tellers.

So here’s the link:

http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2011/08/10/what-its-like-being-a-writer/

For those with sensitive minds, please don’t go there and check it out. I really don’t want your family members contacting me and insisting I pay for  your medical bills.  For those who can stare into the abyss and survive, go forth and enjoy!

 

Wicked

Recommended Article by Steven James

The current issue of Writer’s Digest (July/August 2011) features four articles dealing with revision. Each article has something to recommend it, but the one I found most interesting, by Steven James, deals with character status.

What?

Characters have status?

To quote Mr. James: “When readers complain that a character is one-dimensional, flat or ‘cardboard,’ they may not realize it, but they’re actually noting that the character—regardless of the social context in which she appears—always has the same degree of status. She might always be angry or ruthless or heroic, but the more uniformly she responds to everyone and everything, the less interesting she’ll be.

People in real life are complex.

Fictional characters need to be, as well.”

Which I take to mean the character can be so predictable in their responses that the reader loses interest. Characters need to have varying status levels. For example: A character may have low status with their boss, but high status as head of family. It is the shifting status that generates interest.

When Clark Kent worked at the daily planet, his status was low. The red cape raised his status to the max.

Think about it, and pick up the article if you get a chance.

Smokey

Armageddon, Dean Koontz and Odd Thomas

Well…we seem to have survived Harold Camping’s prediction of the end of the world. Either that or we’re one of the 200 million he said would survive. In any case, I held off publishing my Saturday rant just in case.

So back to writing. I’m currently trying to get my head around what makes the perfect protagonist. My fellow dwarves would have me believe all heroes should have a dark side. Besides saving fair damsels, they should have a bit of ‘nasty’ in them. Heroes who are nice and sweet provide no interest to readers they say.

Is that true?

Thinking back over many decades of reading—especially epic fantasy as well as other genres—I conclude there is a sliver of truth in current dwarf-think.

By the same token, I can think of many stories (perhaps even a majority) where the protagonist is indeed nice. Nice doesn’t deter the protagonist from killing bad guys, monsters, or other evil beings. Good versus evil can be taken literally in many classic stories.

By way of example, I would use Odd Thomas. Dean Koontz has used Odd Thomas in four books to date. Not once has he been anything other than good. He even spent am entire book as Brother Odd and lived in a monastery.

Is Odd Thomas an interesting character? I, along with millions of other readers, think so. He hangs out with the dead after all…

My conclusion is…when my characters have failed the ‘interesting’ test, it’s not simply because they don’t have a dark side. It’s because I’ve not properly built enough interest into them.

Smokey

A Writer’s Mind is on-call 24/7

There are times when a writer, like me, will have those far away eyes. You know what I mean, one minute you’re having a conversation with a writer, then they seem to check out for a few minutes. Where do they go? I’ll tell you. They’re tying up that latest plot twist. They’re trying to remember what you call that ramp you walk down to enter a plane. They’re figuring out how their protaganist is going to get out of the jam they put him in. It’s always in the back of a writer’s mind. It’s all part of the process. You could spend a lifetime trying to explain it. If you’re a close friend or family member this will happen more frequently. Why? Because they feel more comfortable doing it with you then an acquaintance which could cause some uncomfortable moments.
Be understanding when this happens. The writer can’t help it, their brain is wired to manufacture scenes in their mind before it reaches their keyboard and if they wait until their sitting in front of the computer to get it done, it’ll take a decade to finish a short story. So they wander. They take that excess time we have each day to unwind and turn it into a productive business meeting. Consider it a conference call for the imagination.
So the next time you’re driving in a car with a writer and notice them staring out the window for a length of time. Don’t be surprised when you ask them what they’re doing and they turn to you and say, “I’m working.”