So my Stalker Love Letter contribution is a debut for a couple of characters from a book in the research and development stage. Somehow, the leading man seemed like he could stalk my heroine if so inclined. It's a medieval mystery with a lot of creepiness going on and it just fit the theme.
Please stop by World of My Own to read the other entries and post comments. Enjoy!
***
Sir Edric to Philippa,
I know this letter will come as a shock to you. I've never revealed my feelings; in fact, I've purposely concealed them. But I can no longer contain all the things I've felt for you. I've watched you carefully since we first met. Originally, out of curiosity about the things I'd heard, but then out of a genuine desire to know you better. I only wanted to observe at first. But meer observation no longer satiates me. I know your wanderings and the sway of your hips as you haunt the hallways after dark. I long to know your thoughts and what must haunt you as you walk. I imagine reaching out for you from the shadows and reeling you in to my embrace. The taste of your lips, the feathery softness of your cheek against mine. So many things I wish to say and hear said. I must know your feelings though I expect nothing. Please share your thoughts, I beg of you.
Farewell.
***
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
New Blogfests!
I'm participating in three exciting blogfests over the next few weeks. Join in the writing mania if you haven't already!
Also, feel free to mention any blogfests you've joined that are upcoming. Let it begin!
- Saturday, July 31: Stalker Love Letter hosted by Ashelynn D. Sanford
- Saturday, August 14: Weather hosted by A Little Slice of Nothing
- Friday, August 27: Word Paint hosted by Dawn Embers
Also, feel free to mention any blogfests you've joined that are upcoming. Let it begin!
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
One Idea Leads to Another
I experienced the domino effect with ideas this week. I have a fantabulous short story idea and I know the trail that led to it. This is how it went:
Now to make time this week to draft it. What trails have led to some of your stories?
- I read "Change" by Greg Schwartz on A Fly in Amber the other day while surfing markets for another story. Seed planted.
- Then I did a writing prompt with my sister ('unrequested love'). Nothing wonderful came of it, but my mind got jogged for new concepts. Seed watered.
- That night I met a friend for dinner and she said something completely innocent about the gas stations near her new apartment. Seed sprouted.
- Yesterday afternoon, while getting ready to go out, the concept took full form. Now I don't have just a seed, but a plant.
Now to make time this week to draft it. What trails have led to some of your stories?
Monday, July 26, 2010
How Important Are Emotional Connections With Characters?
Along with so many other layers to a novel, giving your characters a strong emotional draw is so important. I'm working on adding more into my WIP so my readers will have a stronger personal connection to my characters. Thinking back to books I've read, some lacked emotional pull though strong in other areas and lost me, while other books may have lacked in other departments but had such strong emotional angles that I couldn't stop reading.
When it comes to the former, A Poisoned Season by Tasha Alexander instantly comes to mind. I loved the premise, loved the setting, but could not for the life of me care a lick about the main characters! I actually felt more for the minor characters Jeremy and Cecile than the protagonist and her boyfriend (whose names I've now forgotten). I regret that because the plot was intriguing and fairly well-executed. But I've never felt a desire to read more of the series.
As to the latter, I think the Kathryn Swinbrooke mysteries by C.L. Grace are a good example. Not the best writing ever or even necessarily the best mysteries, though the plots were always interesting. But I still devoured the series because I wanted to know what happened to Kathryn and Colum (and had to know if they ever got together). I still recommend those books, if you're fortunate and find them in your library or buy them used, because the main characters are delightful. And I was invested in their story beginning to end.
To some extent, I feel like creating an emotional connection between reader and character is more important than technical execution. It's all important, of course, but I'm quicker to forgive an author for some technical issues if I'm emotionally invested in the characters. I'll read on just to find out what happens to them, regardless of the plot or actual writing. Maybe that's just me, but the more I pay attention to what readers say, it's hitting me how important it is to infuse heart into your stories instead of just technical know-how.
What novel(s) would you cite as a great example for emotional investment? What book(s) failed in that department despite other things that were right? And, to top it off, how do you feel about the importance of emotional connections and characters?
When it comes to the former, A Poisoned Season by Tasha Alexander instantly comes to mind. I loved the premise, loved the setting, but could not for the life of me care a lick about the main characters! I actually felt more for the minor characters Jeremy and Cecile than the protagonist and her boyfriend (whose names I've now forgotten). I regret that because the plot was intriguing and fairly well-executed. But I've never felt a desire to read more of the series.
As to the latter, I think the Kathryn Swinbrooke mysteries by C.L. Grace are a good example. Not the best writing ever or even necessarily the best mysteries, though the plots were always interesting. But I still devoured the series because I wanted to know what happened to Kathryn and Colum (and had to know if they ever got together). I still recommend those books, if you're fortunate and find them in your library or buy them used, because the main characters are delightful. And I was invested in their story beginning to end.
To some extent, I feel like creating an emotional connection between reader and character is more important than technical execution. It's all important, of course, but I'm quicker to forgive an author for some technical issues if I'm emotionally invested in the characters. I'll read on just to find out what happens to them, regardless of the plot or actual writing. Maybe that's just me, but the more I pay attention to what readers say, it's hitting me how important it is to infuse heart into your stories instead of just technical know-how.
What novel(s) would you cite as a great example for emotional investment? What book(s) failed in that department despite other things that were right? And, to top it off, how do you feel about the importance of emotional connections and characters?
Thursday, July 22, 2010
The Follies of Excessive Editing
Do you ever get out of control when you edit or revise? I get so excited about revisions sometimes that I can turn into an editing fanatic and cut things that don't deserve it. Then I end up either writing new material to flesh out what's left after the massacre or put old material back in.
I think part of my problem is I read a lot about what to chop from a novel but not so much about what to leave in. A story is more than bones; it's muscles and skin and freckles. So if you chop, chop, chop until all you have is the skeleton, it's not going to be a very exciting read (or long one). There needs to be a balance. Just because details or information aren't necessary from a plot perspective does not always mean they should go. Books are only interesting if you have enough time and details to know the people involved in the story too. And that takes words.
I've talked about cutting extraneous information from novels, which is also necessary. But you can go to the other extreme too. And I have. So I really believe there needs to be a balance. Don't write a novel full of pointless scenes or dialogue, but don't cut out everything just because it's not related to the main thrust of the story. I've decided this is an art in itself and one that I'm still learning.
How do you decide what to leave in and what to edit? Do you ever get a little cuckoo and cut too much?
I think part of my problem is I read a lot about what to chop from a novel but not so much about what to leave in. A story is more than bones; it's muscles and skin and freckles. So if you chop, chop, chop until all you have is the skeleton, it's not going to be a very exciting read (or long one). There needs to be a balance. Just because details or information aren't necessary from a plot perspective does not always mean they should go. Books are only interesting if you have enough time and details to know the people involved in the story too. And that takes words.
I've talked about cutting extraneous information from novels, which is also necessary. But you can go to the other extreme too. And I have. So I really believe there needs to be a balance. Don't write a novel full of pointless scenes or dialogue, but don't cut out everything just because it's not related to the main thrust of the story. I've decided this is an art in itself and one that I'm still learning.
How do you decide what to leave in and what to edit? Do you ever get a little cuckoo and cut too much?
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Blogfest of Death Story!
Here is my contribution to the Blogfest of Death! While it's not in Dead Locked, this is a side story I wrote related to the backstory of my novel. I had planned to post it later on after my book came out, but it was too perfect for this challenge. I'll just have to write another story for later on. Enjoy!
***
Sunk
Off the coast of Rhode Island
17 August, 1720
Horizontal rain cut across Captain Isaac Crewe's face like razor blades. In the gray light, he watched the ship's wheel spin at dizzying speeds. He and his crew had gotten caught in a tropical storm that was throwing the double masted sloop back and forth like a child's ragdoll. Some still clung to lines though they had lost control of the ship a long time ago. Ten foot waves lifted them into the air and then bottomed out. Crewe closed his eyes as they crashed, the water turned into rock beneath them. He pictured the hull snapping in half. Amazingly, when he opened his eyes, the ship was still in one piece.
Crewe gripped the side of the ship, looking out in time to see land bright and clear as they collided with it. Screams blew away with the wind as jagged points impaled the ship's starboard side, splintering the thick beams like twigs. Crewe rolled to the port side, knocking his head into the beams. He faded out for a moment and when he awoke, sea water poured into his lungs, burning his insides. He flailed, pushing to the surface, spluttering and coughing, then inhaling precious air. He could barely see through the salt and rain, but he swore he could see land right in front of him.
Crewe fought the waves and currents now trying to control him. His arms burned but he was no closer. Suddenly, a rogue wave lifted him up from behind, hurling his body toward the sand. He flailed, getting sucked under, water swirling him upside down and around. He surfaced, pushing harder despite every muscle begging him to give up. Another swell carried him closer, dashing his legs against rocks on the bottom. He dropped to his knees, crawling toward the beach. His hands sunk into sand, and he dropped onto his belly, gasping and spluttering salt water.
His eyes closed and he imagined a voice calling him from far away. He fought to open his lids and saw a figure in white running toward him against the rain and wind. His time was coming. Justice was being meted out. Isaac Crewe's days of pirating were over.
***
Georgiana Cooke kneeled over the bedraggled figure in his blue woolen coat, now shredded around his back. His hands were wrapped around the earth like claws, his brown hair matted around his face in clumps. Georgiana shivered, her lips already blue from running the distance from her family's home on the breakwater to the beach. Her brown hair blew crossways in front of her eyes and she struggled to stay in one spot.
"Isaac!" She said, but even she couldn't hear it.
She gripped Crewe's back, leaning toward his face and said his name again. She stroked his hair, wishing she had a way to get him back to her home. She could not go back and tell her father. He would bring Isaac back all right. He would bring him back and see him hung as a pirate - and his daughter's lover. Georgiana felt tears fall from her eyes but they were indistinguishable from the rain. She shook Isaac, and lifted up an eyelid. It was dawn. Her family would soon be about the house. She had to go back before they knew she was gone.
Georgiana pushed Isaac over onto his back, feeling for a heartbeat. She put her ear up to his mouth, but could hear and feel only rain and wind. He still didn't respond. She clasped his bearded face in her hands and kissed his mouth. She followed the gold chain stuck to his neck down to an oval locket the size of the center of her palm. She ripped it off, gripping it in her hand so it wouldn't blow away. With sand and salt chafing her cheeks, she dragged Isaac's body, already stiffening, back to the water. Waves crashed on top of the beach as she dragged and then pushed him into them.
Standing back, she watched as white peaks rose and folded over, engulfing her beloved Isaac. He disappeared from view and when she felt sure they had taken him to rest, Georgiana Cooke turned into the wind and rain. Gripping the locket, she looked back one last time at the sea before dashing up the wooded path back to her home.
THE END
***
Sunk
Off the coast of Rhode Island
17 August, 1720
Horizontal rain cut across Captain Isaac Crewe's face like razor blades. In the gray light, he watched the ship's wheel spin at dizzying speeds. He and his crew had gotten caught in a tropical storm that was throwing the double masted sloop back and forth like a child's ragdoll. Some still clung to lines though they had lost control of the ship a long time ago. Ten foot waves lifted them into the air and then bottomed out. Crewe closed his eyes as they crashed, the water turned into rock beneath them. He pictured the hull snapping in half. Amazingly, when he opened his eyes, the ship was still in one piece.
Crewe gripped the side of the ship, looking out in time to see land bright and clear as they collided with it. Screams blew away with the wind as jagged points impaled the ship's starboard side, splintering the thick beams like twigs. Crewe rolled to the port side, knocking his head into the beams. He faded out for a moment and when he awoke, sea water poured into his lungs, burning his insides. He flailed, pushing to the surface, spluttering and coughing, then inhaling precious air. He could barely see through the salt and rain, but he swore he could see land right in front of him.
Crewe fought the waves and currents now trying to control him. His arms burned but he was no closer. Suddenly, a rogue wave lifted him up from behind, hurling his body toward the sand. He flailed, getting sucked under, water swirling him upside down and around. He surfaced, pushing harder despite every muscle begging him to give up. Another swell carried him closer, dashing his legs against rocks on the bottom. He dropped to his knees, crawling toward the beach. His hands sunk into sand, and he dropped onto his belly, gasping and spluttering salt water.
His eyes closed and he imagined a voice calling him from far away. He fought to open his lids and saw a figure in white running toward him against the rain and wind. His time was coming. Justice was being meted out. Isaac Crewe's days of pirating were over.
***
Georgiana Cooke kneeled over the bedraggled figure in his blue woolen coat, now shredded around his back. His hands were wrapped around the earth like claws, his brown hair matted around his face in clumps. Georgiana shivered, her lips already blue from running the distance from her family's home on the breakwater to the beach. Her brown hair blew crossways in front of her eyes and she struggled to stay in one spot.
"Isaac!" She said, but even she couldn't hear it.
She gripped Crewe's back, leaning toward his face and said his name again. She stroked his hair, wishing she had a way to get him back to her home. She could not go back and tell her father. He would bring Isaac back all right. He would bring him back and see him hung as a pirate - and his daughter's lover. Georgiana felt tears fall from her eyes but they were indistinguishable from the rain. She shook Isaac, and lifted up an eyelid. It was dawn. Her family would soon be about the house. She had to go back before they knew she was gone.
Georgiana pushed Isaac over onto his back, feeling for a heartbeat. She put her ear up to his mouth, but could hear and feel only rain and wind. He still didn't respond. She clasped his bearded face in her hands and kissed his mouth. She followed the gold chain stuck to his neck down to an oval locket the size of the center of her palm. She ripped it off, gripping it in her hand so it wouldn't blow away. With sand and salt chafing her cheeks, she dragged Isaac's body, already stiffening, back to the water. Waves crashed on top of the beach as she dragged and then pushed him into them.
Standing back, she watched as white peaks rose and folded over, engulfing her beloved Isaac. He disappeared from view and when she felt sure they had taken him to rest, Georgiana Cooke turned into the wind and rain. Gripping the locket, she looked back one last time at the sea before dashing up the wooded path back to her home.
THE END
Friday, July 16, 2010
TV and Bribes for Great Writing
I had this experience last night for the second time with my novel. I rewrote the climax after getting an idea I thought was more exciting than the original. With a movie playing in the background, I flew through the scene without pausing to think too much or complain about word usage (I swear I used the word "swerve" a hundred times). Normally, that would drive me nuts. But last night it was all about the creativity. I let loose and had fun and that's usually when things really come together.
Now to the second point of my title: bribes! Yes, people, bribes work just as well with yourself as with anyone else. I don't always employ this trick but with a future project competing for attention with my WIP, I decided a little bribery could speed things along. So I made a deal with myself a day ago. Get this round of revisions done within a week, and you can take a day and work on the next project.
Guess what? I got all my revisions except for the last scene or two done, including writing four new scenes, in about 5 1/2 hours last night. I couldn't believe it. And it was a night of beautiful, pain free writing. So except for a few minor additions, what I expected to finish by the end of next week will be done this weekend. I'm telling you, bribes work! Try it!
How do you keep your Editor at bay while the Writer works? What would you bribe yourself with to double work efforts?
As a reminder, Sunday is the Blogfest of Death hosted by the delightful Tessa's Blurb. Tune in for the best death scenes ever! Happy weekend everyone!
Photo by Frankie Roberto
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