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

What’s in a name?

Welcome back, all! Sorry for the disappearing act last week.  Wish I could tell you the reason behind it involved fame and fortune, instead it was more along the lines of bills were due and if I want the ability to pay them to continue I must fulfill my oath to the cubicle gods and do what I promised. So I did.  All week long.  I even survived the strange liquid they call “rain” for it.  Oh the sacrifices I make.

Enough wallowing…on to our last editing piece of advice–the usage of names.

I’m not sure about other writers, but I snagged slots of time where I can to sneak away and put my stories to paper (or input into a computer, as the case may be).  The drawback to this approach is that while your story’s timeline maybe cruising right along, your writing timeline is not.  Therefore, what eventually reads as a mere five minutes for your characters across five pages, in reality took you two weeks to get down just right.  In this strange time warp of writing, I found that I have a tendency to think my readers may forget who they’re reading about. Probably because I’m so frustrated by various bumps and detours in those five pages, I’d rather give up and start with fresh new characters.  In a whole new story.  But I digress.

Imagine how shocked I was when one of my brilliant editors pointed out, quite gently and so compassionately, that perhaps I needed to discover the word “she” and “he” once more as prospective readers may suffer severe brain damage from being bashed continually over the head with my character names.  Mortification was immediate.  Said brilliant editor, then went on to explain that the words “she” and “he” are invisible to the readers unless you start too many sentences with those pronouns.

In keeping with my sharing actually examples, here’s my last one for you from Shadow’s Edge (if you want more, you’ll have to buy it when it comes out in November!)

Gavin came at her in a blur. Barely blocking his first hit, she responded with a snapping series of punches and kicks then dodged back out of reach. He pursued her. His hands struck out, followed by a quick foot-sweep.

She landed on her back, twisted to the side, crouched, and got her feet set, before kicking out. A solid hit to his thigh knocked him off balance just enough for her to pull back and set up for her next move. Back and forth they moved, focused and deadly, the silence broken by occasional grunts and the thick sound of flesh hitting flesh. Fifteen minutes later, they stepped back and bowed to each other.

Raine, chest heaving, was grateful to see Gavin breathing equally hard. There would be bruises and aches tomorrow, but the rage was banked for now, leaving her calmer, steadier. She met his eyes and found an echo of the primitive joy she always felt after a fight. Watching Gavin in predator mode touched her primal female core. Without thinking she gave him a fierce grin, receiving a similar baring of teeth.

“So, now that the preliminaries are out of the way,” she said. “What next?”

Gavin chuckled and shook his head. “You’re one of the few females I know, Raine, that gets off on fighting.”

“Hey a girl has to have a hobby.” Raine’s voice was muffled as she wiped the sweat off her face with a towel. “You have to admit it was fun.”

“It’s definitely one way to blow off a little steam.” Grabbing his own towel, he began to wipe his chest. Her eyes caught the motion.  Her breath hitched briefly before steadying out. His chest was truly fascinating, but looking was a dangerous indulgence, especially right now. However, her silent warning did not stop her damn hormones from clamoring for attention.

“I can think of other things that work just as well, if not better,” he offered, his voice darker, seductive. The flare of arousal in his green eyes let her know she’d been caught staring. “Like what you see?”

More than he’d ever know. “It’s distracting, but I’ll live,” she responded, knowing this attraction was a mess, just waiting to happen.

In this scene, if we remove a few proper names we get a more fluid scene.

He came at her in a blur. Barely blocking his first hit, she responded with a snapping series of punches and kicks then dodged back out of reach. He pursued her. His hands struck out, followed by a quick foot-sweep.

She landed on her back, twisted to the side, crouched, and got her feet set, before kicking out. A solid hit to his thigh knocked him off balance just enough for her to pull back and set up for her next move. Back and forth they danced, focused and deadly, the silence broken by occasional grunts and the thick sound of flesh hitting flesh. Fifteen minutes later, they stepped back and bowed to each other.

Raine, chest heaving, was grateful to see Gavin breathing equally hard. There would be bruises and aches tomorrow, but the rage was banked for now, leaving her calmer, steadier. She met his hooded gaze and found an echo of the primitive joy she always felt after a fight. Watching Gavin in predator mode touched her primal feminine core. Without thinking she gave him a fierce grin, receiving a similar baring of teeth.

“So, now that the preliminaries are out of the way,” she said. “What next?”

He chuckled and shook his head. “You’re one of the few females I know that gets off on fighting.”

“Hey a girl has to have a hobby.” Her voice was muffled as she wiped the sweat off her face with a towel. “You have to admit it was fun.”

“It’s definitely one way to blow off a little steam.” Grabbing his own towel, he began to wipe his chest. Her eyes caught the motion and her breath hitched briefly before steadying out. His chest was truly fascinating, but looking was a dangerous indulgence, especially right now. However, her silent warning did not stop her damn hormones from clamoring for attention.

“I can think of other things that work just as well, if not better,” he offered, his voice darker, seductive. The flare of arousal in his green eyes let her know she’d been caught staring. “Like what you see?”

More than he’d ever know. “It’s distracting, but I’ll live,” she responded, knowing this attraction was a mess, just waiting to happen.

So now that we’ve covered some of the basic editing rules in the last few weeks, go forth, prepare and get ready to write.  Besides, NANO is just around the corner. Put your new-found skills to work and create your masterpiece!

Until next week! I’m going to go enjoy my Blood Red Eerie brought me!

Wicked

It’s hell on the weak when the strong are around…

We’re almost to the end of the editing tips journey, aren’t you happy?  This visit I thought we’d examine the infuriating world of strong versus weak, or what some like to call, active versus passive.  Many of us spent years in English class learning the difference between verbs that sit there and do nothing and those that rise to the top and poke your eyes out. 

Every writer faces this challenge and every reader has hit those passages that make them want to scream, “Just do it already!”.   No writer wants their reader to get bored and move on. That is not our goal as story tellers. We want our readers to stay up late through the night to finish “…just one more page” regardless of the fact that at the crack of dawn you have a meeting your entire career hinges upon.  That’s why there’s such thing as coffee and make-up.  It’s so much easier to dump artifical nerves and spackle on skin tone cover up to dimish the impact of exhaustion.

The key to recognizing and beating the crap out of passive voice is not to add -ing to every verb in your sentence, but to make your sentences do something.  For example, in Shadow’s Edge (deal with folks, it’s my first book and this is where all the really good lessons are coming from!) my editors kindly pointed out this particular sentence was way too passive:

Natasha’s look was unfriendly.

The best way to smack that line into submission and make it do something:

Natasha threw her an unfriendly look.

Can you hear the difference?  The first draft is almost eerily (No,E,  I’m not calling you home from the Werewolf Monastary! By the way, bring me back some Blood Red!) to close to telling versus showing.  See how well all these little pointers merge together!

Here’s another example (yep, from Shadow’s Edge):

Gavin and Talbot continued talking for couple of minutes.  Then Talbot was shaking Gavin’s hand and saying good night to Raine.

A few tweaks and viola! New and improved:

Gavin and Talbot continued talking for a couple of minutes.  Then Talbot shook Gavin’s hand and said good night to Raine.

See how it moves your scene, makes it more “real”?  Using the word “was” means you’ve begun to travel down that passive trail and meander into some boring territory. Spice it up, people. Kick it around, make it scream for your readers. 

So remember, when your writing starts to chicken out, put it in a cage fight and knock “was” out of the ring.  Trust me, you’re readers will love you for it!

–Wicked

It’s coming… #AmWriting

And man-o-man, I can’t wait.

This Thursday (Yup, only 3 days away *squee*) the Evil Dwarves are heading out of the desert and going up the mountain to this beautiful cabin in the forest.

Our First Annual Write-In weekend.

From Thursday to Sunday, we’re going to hang out, chill… and get a TON of writing done. Woot!

Isn’t it gorgeous? LOL.

Day 10 of Nanowrimo

Dear World,

It’s day ten of the writing frenzy known as National Write a Novel Month. I am amazed that I’m on track and have experienced nine days of consistency. (today’s words have yet to be spun) I sit atop 14,908 words written in 9 days. A hard fought battle has been waged, the wear and tear is beginning to show on my face but I’m seeing it through. During this entire process I’ve also been fighting the flu, which for some odd reason, is taking its sweet time with me.  Fighting the flu AND consistency issues at the same time has required me to don my poker face and double down. I tried bluffing one day, but no matter what–the words wouldn’t write themselves. The keyboard called my bluff, and I had to fold. That was the day I wrote 1667 words with 102 fever, a severe cough, accompanied by incessant moaning and whining. It was ugly. I have yet to go back and read those words. Admittedly, I’m afraid of what I might find. But the bottom line is–I wrote. I stayed the course. And even if I have to re-write or edit the hell out of those 1667 words–I wrote them. For Nano that is enough. Crap is fully accepted, and is even expected.

I’m basically 1/3 of the way through a novel and 1/3 the way through my month-long date with consistency. It’s been an interesting ride so far. Most of the days went well, especially when I was able to write early in the day and experience the satisfaction of a job well done. A few other days felt more like I was being stalked by my commitment. Why did I commit to this anyway? I’d ask myself. What the hell? I’d complain. From the other room I’d hear the keyboard calling my name (not so different from when chocolate does this)–and I’d ignore it. “Later,” I’d say. Later would become even later, leaving me struggling for words at nine o’clock at night (remember the flu was ever-present).

Those nights each word was slow to form, feeling forced, difficult. But I kept writing.

Even when my kids said, “You don’t look very good, you should go to bed. Do you have to do this right now?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Who are you writing this for?” my daughter asked.

I thought about that for a few moments. Sure–I was writing for Nanowrimo, and that seemed to be responsible for keeping me on track thus far. But really this was about more than that. I told her, “I’m writing for myself.” Nothing more, nothing less. Just for me.