The Burger of a Novel.

Writing a novel is the fun part. It's like the meat in a taco, a burger in its bun, that delicious gooey apple filling in a Apple Cinnamon donut at Dunkin' Donuts. Unfortunately for those of us who prefer to wipe off the cinnamon and just eat the delicious pie filling, writing doesn't work like that. You cannot have an epiphany in the morning, then write a brilliant novel, and be done with it. As nice as that would be, it doesn't work that way.

Research. Research has always been my nemesis (or maybe that was plot?). I have to sit down at my computer and open ye olde Wikipedia (shhhh, don't tell) and try to figure out what it was like to be a street rat in Prague in 1604 AD. I don't get to watch Aladdin and assume that every street rat everywhere in every time wears a purple vest as has a goofy pet monkey. I suppose I could assume that, but it wouldn't make a very good novel, would it? So we begrudgingly do our research. At least we've got it lucky! About fifteen years ago, a diligent writer would have to spend days in the library, cracking open encyclopedias for the knowledge we technology hermits have at our fingertips. Research: that is the top bun on the burger.

The bottom bun is editing. As much as we all like to think we're brilliant on the first shot, I triple-dog-dare you to put aside a manuscript that you love for a year, don't touch or think about it, then pick it back up and re-read it. You're gonna be embarrassed for yourself - trust me on this one. The characters are flat and the plot is draggy until the last ten pages and you really aren't even sure what that word was supposed to be... and you typed it! So it's back to the old drawing board we go. Does that mean your story should be scrapped?  Absolutely not!  Just... you know... changed.  A lot.

Then, there are the toppings.  Personally?  I like my burgers with Colby Jack cheese, french fried onions, barbecue sauce and ranch... and even bacon if I've got some.  It's not a very healthy burger, but it is delicious, and your novel should be too.  Don't put in a sappy love triangle if you don't think it belongs, just because someone else thinks you should.  Would you put pickles on your burger just because your best friend thinks they're totally delish?  Noooo.  The intrigues and imagery and little laughable moments are just as important to the writing of any good novel as the plot and characters are.

And maybe nibble on that pickle.  It might turn out that you'll like it.  If you do, maybe you'll put it on your burger, then.  While someone else's advice isn't always necessary, it certainly is helpful, and people give their opinions for a reason.  If you can trust your best friend to tell you honestly that yes, that bathing suit does make you look fat, then you might be safe to believe her when she tells you that Johnny Good-Looking doesn't seem like the chain-smoker type.

Burger?  Check.  Bun?  Check.  Condiments?  Check.  Dig in!

How Online Communities Compliment my Writing Life.

The title says it all: "how online communities compliment my writing life". It's something so sad and so true that I couldn't come up with a more amusing title for it.

I live in Southern New Hampshire, and I know a lot of writers. Some are my age, some younger. For the most part, everybody I know wants to, is, or has written a book. There are even some writers from New Hampshire (you may have heard of Robert Frost or Dan Brown)! But for the most part, we live in our tiny little hamlets and avoid each other as though we're afraid there's going to be an outbreak of the Bubonic Plague. It's not that we all hate each other, it's that, well... it's the way we are. We are the people of suffering winters and melting summers - hard weather makes a hard people, and we protect our own... and sometimes, that means our stories, too.  I dunno.  Maybe we all hate each other.  I wouldn't rule that out either.

I think what I'm trying to say is there aren't many writing groups in New Hampshire... and there are certainly none in my area.  We're all busy, busy!  No time for fun in our little hamlet of the world!  Besides, that would mean we would need to rearrange our busy schedules to see people. ...  Yeah, I'm a little bitter.

A couple years ago, a bunch of my friend!writers decided that we were going to start a group. We even had an online forum, which I managed. We called ourselves "Something to Correct," because lets face it... there's always something to correct. We were badass writers and editors, and we didn't poke at each other's work with toothpicks... we took out the Uzis! We last two meetings before the Brain of the operation got too busy, and I think the forum died shortly thereafter.

It's difficult, in the real world, to be a writer and survive. Where I live, nobody has a 9-5 job. We're lucky if we work the same hours two weeks in a row. Scheduling a meeting between two people is difficult, let alone a meeting between seven people. This is why I have grown attached to online forums as a writing community - they give us the chance to be a part of that type of community... just in our own time, in our pjs, and with a tea and Devil Dog (am I the only person out there who eats Drakes and Hostess as a guilty pleasure?).

There are a lot of things that can be said about the internet, but when it's the only writing support system I've got, I can't be thankful enough for it.  It's so much easier to write when you have people cheering you on and offering advice.  When you're like me and find that it's practically impossible to get that in real life... use the sources you have.  There are writing websites everywhere (I'm hooked on NaNoWriMo) where lone writers can find a little bit of support, or friends.

Sometimes we may feel like it, but we are never in this alone.

Camp NaNoWriMo

So today is the second day of the second session of the first ever Camp NaNoWriMo. For those who don't know what this is: it is the opportunity to join with a group of writers worldwide and write a 50,000 page novel in a month. For more information, go to NaNoWriMo.org and/or Camp NaNoWriMo.org. I think that OLL (the Office of Letters and Light) explains it best themselves.

To be honest, I'm very excited about my novel. This is my second NaNoWriMo event, so I'm still a NaNo-Infant, but the idea of writing 50,000 words in a month is exhilerating. I'm trying to get all my friends to do it. I'm pretty sure they think I'm mental.

Currently, the site is still buggy so I can't update my word count, but I'm right on schedule, which is where I like to be. And unlike the last NaNo event I did, I knew what my novel was, basically, at least two days before I started writing. I joined the site Halloween last October, giving myself approximately six hours to plan a novel! Yeah, I'm a "pantser"... someone who takes an idea by the seat of their pants and runs with it.

I think NaNo is an important event, because it gives us a deadline. That is what helps for me. I can write 2,000+ words a day when properly motivated, and as a writer, that was a big deal to learn.

I will leave you all with my jibberish thoughts and excitement about Camp NaNoWriMo with this:



That's my novel cover. Isn't it pretty?

Popping Gum, Tapping Fingers, and 101 Things We Love to Hate

You’ve been standing in the checkout line for five minutes, and the poor cashier is visibly distressed as she tries to rush all the customers through. You’ve only got a candy bar and a head of lettuce, plus the grocery store is air conditioned, so it’s not the end of the world. The lady in front of you has an overflowing carriage, and - you can tell from the size of her chunky wallet - a lot of coupons. You know it’s going to be a while, so you’ve taken to flipping through a magazine sitting at the checkout counter.

That’s when you hear it. At first, you think it might be a trick of your desperate imagination – but no! There it is again! You look up at the man who has just strolled behind you, and realize he is the source of the subtle hint of wintergreen in the air, and the source of that noise.

Suddenly you’re aware of all the noises – not just the elastic snap of chewing gum bubbles, but also manicured fingers tapping, neck joints cracking, off-key whistling… it fills the inside of your skull until you feel like you have to scream.

These little quirks, the things that trigger our irrationally angry responses, are the ones that lead us to negatively judge the people around us… and the characters we read.

Take Dolores Umbridge for example. We knew we hated her from the moment she first stuck her mousy little face into Harry’s business. Nothing Umbridge did at the start was wrong, per se, but we instantly knew we hated her. It was in the details. Her pink cardigan sweater was too “pretty” for the mystique and magic of Hogwarts. Her kitten plates were disgustingly cute. Every time she wanted to say something, she said, “Ahem.” It was that “ahem” that had us from the start.

It’s brilliant, really.

Writing an annoying character is no different than experiencing one. Think – what are the little things? The things that make us want to strangle a complete stranger? You don’t want to tell your reader that

George was an annoying git. From his head to his toes, there was not a single thing about him she could stand.

but rather

George sniffed at the air with repulsion and began picking at the dirt beneath his fingernails, clicking his tongue along with the second hand on the clock.  She covered her ears, but the noise echoed in her head, and all she could see when she closed her eyes was his nose in the air, like he was better than her.

Which one would you rather read?  Which one gives a clearer image of George?  The real majesty of villain - major, minor, or annoyance - is in the details, because the details connect to the reader, and suddenly it's a little easier to fit into the protagonist's shoes... because we all know someone a little like Dolores Umbridge, and we'd like nothing better than to set centaurs loose on her.

Great Scott!: Why Everyone Knows Who Doc Brown Is.

You might not know his name.  You may not know he was played by Christopher Lloyd.  But when someone tells me to envision a crazy, wild-eyed scientist, you know who I think of?  Dr. Emmett L. Brown.  His character stands out as one that is well rounded, an intriguing personality, and frankly - I think we all wish we knew somebody a little like him.  But don't worry - I won't tell.

I'm not the only one that thinks Doc Brown is remarkable.  Empire Magazine ranked him #76 on their list of the 100 Greatest Movie characters, and this is what they have to say on the subject:

The white hair may be standard issue mad scientist, but Doctor Emmett Brown, creator of the flux capacitor and a man incapable of normal social interaction because his head is too busy buzzing with ideas, is a genuinely likeable creation, a world away from stereotypes. So much so that, when he gets shot by Libyans ten minutes in, we're sad even though we've only just met the man. And joyous again when we meet his younger self. Now that's acting.

And that last sentence says a lot:  Now that's acting.  If George Clooney or John Goodman were to step into the character of Emmett Brown, it wouldn't be the same.  He'd still be charming, but he wouldn't be him.  Part of the charm of the character comes directly from the quirkiness of Christopher Lloyd himself.  The actor brings just as much to the character as the writers do.

Why does this all matter in a writing blog?  How much different are books from movies?  In the end, they both tell a story, just through different mediums.  Characters are of equal importance in both.  It is the characters that the readers/viewers fall in love with, the characters they talk about.  Sure, Lothlorien is lovely, but isn't Galadriel haunting?  The world can only handle so many Harry Potters, so many Edward Cullens.  There comes a time to break through the mold and start creating Doc Browns.

Let me tell you a little more about Doc Brown.  First of all, he has his signature appearance:  the crazy white hair is a must.  It's Einstein-esque, which gives him the feel of an inventor from the very first.  His eyes are always very wide, as though he is discovering something new every moment.  He's very conservative - you never see Doc Brown in bold colors.  The brightest we get is a muted blue Hawaiian shirt, and if you live in a touristy place, you know that is a darned conservative Hawaiian shirt.  It's also important to see that Doc never changes - they make a sort of joke about it in the second movie when they say he's (basically) had plastic surgery to make himself look younger, so he's wearing a mask so Marty will recognise him.  Lo and behold - when he takes off the mask, he looks exactly the same.

These sorts of things are only stereotypical when for a reason, and they are never blown out of proportion.  I sincerely doubt that the way Doc dresses and looks, anyone can truly state his age.  That ambiguity means a lot - the traditional age-related assumptions go out the window.  That's great!  Also, notice how un-James-Bond-like he is.  The further away from a perfect appearance you can get, the better.

Personality is next.  Doc is quirky, to be sure, but we all are in our own ways.  He's not so quirky that he cannot talk to people, but he chooses not to associate.  He doesn't stand out in a crowd the way a stereotypical "crazy" would - or, at least, the high schoolers at Hill Valley high in 1955 don't seem to notice he's around.  I think my favorite part of his personality is how literally he takes everything.  Certainly, this is realistic enough because as an inventor he is trying to understand everything, but it also makes for subtle comedy:  I think my favorite line is when Marty say's "That's heavy..." and Doc says "There's that word again; 'heavy'. Why are things so heavy in the future? Is there a problem with the earth's gravitational pull?"  You also know that Doc doesn't like to be alone, because he keeps a pet dog at all times (Copernicus, then Einstein), and he marries and has children in the third movie.  He is passionate, and needed someone to understand his passion.

And, do I need to go into catchphrases? Whenever someone says "Great Scott," soon to follow is a conversation about Doc Brown, the Back to the Future trilogy, and/or time travel.

With a closer look at Doc Brown, is it so difficult to see why he's such a likeable character?  He is his own person:  charming, witty, intelligent, caring... but at the same time, he struggles with the same basic human needs as the rest of us.  He doesn't have to be tall, blonde, or dreamy to be a truly great character... he is a great character because of his reality.

So go, writers all, and show me that you you have a unique, interesting character in all of you.  Show me your Doc Brown.

And, as a side note for those Back to the Future fans and Behind the Scenes nerds like me out there - here's an old promotion for Universal Studios Florida, filmed in 1988, starring Christopher Lloyd as Doc Brown, your tour guide.

research: the story of my life

Research. Ri-surch. From Old French resercher. Circa 1570-1580. Noun. Meaning "diligent and systematic inquiry or investigation into a subject in order to discover or revise facts, theories, applications, etc.". Thank you Dictionary.com.

As a writer, I get to research all over the place. I've been working on an extensive guide to Paradox, my NaNoWriMo future novel (can you tell I'm excited about it?) and while I'm procrastinating on researching things for my history classes, I've been researching for that.  If I ever want to publish a book, I need to keep doing research on how to get it done (as Kiersten White so humourously points out in her Monday post, you can't cut in line, you've gotta do it the long, slow way).  My whole life is filled with research, and I'd like to snobbily say that I think I've gotten pretty good at it.

Example.

Right now, I ought to be working on my Roman Empire paper.  For a paper, I'm actually enjoying writing it (maybe my title will give you a hint why it's amusing - "When in Rome, Do as the Romans Do:  Murder and Sex as a Path to Power for the Imperial Roman Nobility").  I'm not to worried about it, even though it needs to end up at fifteen pages and at the moment, I have six.  Let me reiterate that:  I have six, and I'm halfway through the first book I am using.  Out of five.  My problem has never been about getting the research done.  It's been about cutting things out and choosing the important stuff.  I'll write a thirty page paper, then cut it to the core later.

I'm graduating college on May 7th at 1pm.  It's difficult to answer when people ask me "what are you going to do next?"  Simple answer:  I Have No Freaking Clue.  Complex answer:  I'm going to keep learning and keep writing and work hard at whatever job I can find to make ends meet.  I'm going to get married to my wonderful Bryan and we're going to England in October and I'd like to get my Masters at Brown, but that's hours away and incredibly expensive, so basically, I'm going to keep doing everything I can to survive... kind of like you.

Then they ask me that killer question:  "Well, what's your major?"  It's like they think they're going to have some divine influence over me if they know my major.

"History," I say.  Their expression falls.  Dayamn.  What to do with that?

"You can teach, then," they suggest, usually in a low mumble.

Oh, what a world, what a world.  See, the funny thing about a History major?  It's essentially an English major with a different subject matter and a few added perks (dooms).  We read an exorbitant amount of books (sometimes literature, but mostly non-fiction).  We write tomes... I mean research papers.  We critically analyse and tear apart works... sometimes down to the use of a single word (I kid you not... spent half an hour in class yesterday discussing why Edward Gibbon chose the word "Christian" to put in his first sentence of The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire.)  Then we do one more thing that I don't often hear about English majors doing - research.

Back to that, de researcher.  As much as I prefer the idea of diving into something with just my imagination and tea and possibly pretzel M&Ms to accompany me, research has been infinitely helpful in my writing process.  The first chapter of Fate is the result of research about the Spanish Inquisition that I did for my Atlantic History class, coupled with personal research about the Salem Witch Trials.  In fact, some of the things Jessica says in her trial are taken directly from the transcripts of Rebecca Nurse's examination (I think I've altered them a little during edits, but my favourite lines were always "You do not know my heart" and "I cannot help it, the Devil may appear in my shape").  I truly believe that chapter, chapter one, is my very best in the entire novel.

Other things from my studies also appear.  The pantheon of gods in Fate is certainly similar to the Greek pantheon (seventh grade, language arts, studying mythology but specifically the siblings Artemis and Apollo), but the most focussed-upon deity is Kantra, the Mother Goddess, which I pulled from my knowledge of Wicca (eleventh grade, sociology, final paper).  The world around Kyrix is desert, dry and the city resembles Constantinople (junior year of college, Crusades; senior year of college, Islamic worlds) whereas Malai is rich and green with knights and valor (freshman year of college, Medieval Europe).  All of my worlds are surrounded around research and my knowledge of historical cultures.  All my best writing is that way.

I also studied basic chemistry (mostly through Wikipedia......) to work through the science-fiction world of Strange last NaNoWriMo.  Getting the picture yet?

Research is so important to my writing process.  I'm not sure how it happened, but now that it has I realise that it is absolutely indispensable.

In short, for better, for worse... research is the story of my life.

And that is why I'm a history major.

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Last Movie/TV Viewed: Protocol. It's on Netflix and has Goldie Hawn in it. Very 80s. Not 80s high school, though. It was on the television. I sort of paid attention.
Last Song Heard: "When I Grow Up" The Pussycat Dolls. ... To be fair, though, it was on Just Dance 2.
Last Google Search: "Babelfish". There are just some verbs in French that I don't know. But I will.
Today in History: Mattel's Barbie doll toy by Ruth Handler made its first appearance in New York at the American International Toy Fair in 1959.

so you want to be a writer?

Whenever I think about the writing process and all the drafting, and the querying, and the fact that only one agent in five will maybe take on two new writers a year, I get a little disappointed.  Because I'm a writer, I don't have a very good grasp on the quality of my work.  I think it's swell, but that's because I'm writing about what I like.  My plot in Fate?  Crazy black holes everywhere.  The characters in Strange?  Pretty flat.  Realism in Element?  Well, lets just say the pregnancies were a little quick.  So I do realise I am not a great writer, and while I do work on my craft (every. single. day.) I also realise that even if I can work myself into being a fabulous writer, I have ultimately a 99.7% chance of never being read.  Even in this world of Kindles and other e-readers, when you writer YA Fantasy, you're in the lowest of the low.  Well, maybe not lowest of the low, but definitely in the bracket which implies low success rate.  Yeowch.

That said, I also like to think that someday masses of crazed fans who back-read blogs will be reading this and commenting things like "you were sure wrong!" or "writing is a really difficult process, but I'm glad you made it" or "you're so whiny" or "how do you feel about strawberries?"

My writing process plan is as follows:

1.)  Write initial draft.
2.)  Put aside for at least a month.
3.)  Edit initial draft to pieces.
4.)  Rewrite.
5.)  Resist editing again and print out three copies of the manuscript to give to volunteers to edit.
6.)  Rewrite.
7.)  Put aside for at least a month.
8.)  Edit personally
9.)  Rewrite.
10.)  Resist editing again and print out three copies of the manuscript to give to three different volunteers to edit.
11.)  Rewrite.
12.)  Put aside for at least a month.
13.)  Make any small, remaining changes.
14.)  Research agents and discover at least 25 who will currently accept YA Fantasy (if there's that many even out there anymore).
15.)  Query agents 5 at a time, waiting about two months inbetween query letter sets.
16.)  If all are rejected - and they will likely be - put the manuscript aside.  Maybe pick up in a couple years, re-edit, and post as an e-book.  And print one copy for me.

Yeah, hopelessly optimistic plan, right?  But, fact of the matter is, there's a lot more to writing a book than writing a story.  I feel like I have to be pessimistic, because otherwise, rejection will be terrible.  All a writer really needs is one person to read their book... and as long as there's one person out there somewhere who wants to read my stories, then I'm happy.

However, I'm still going to go through my game plan.

drafting.

I'm not a published writer.  I may never be.  But I do my homework.

Every single published writer who's taken the time to stick up a blog or an "about my writing process" page that I've read all say the same thing:  there is no such thing as a perfect draft.  Therefore, I get really vexed when someone says "oh hey, I've written a story!" and they hand it to me and say "I wrote it last month.  It's perfect."  Bgah.  It's not.

And this is where I need to stop and clarify:  there's no such thing as a bad story.  But just because you have a good story doesn't mean that your writing is up to snuff.  You can be a master storyteller on your first try, but that sure as heck doesn't mean that your book is ready to go to the publisher on the first run.  Seriously.  Don't do it.

Seriously, I'm not a professional editor, either, but there are reasons why my peers have always given me their "stuff" to edit.  I'm an avid reader.  I read books objectively.  Good story, love this character, this one's flat, a couple blaring grammatical errors in chapter three.  It's not a good book or a bad book, and if you ever hear me use those words, it is reflecting my opinion of the story and whether or not I, personally, enjoyed it.  Well-written and poorly written, on the other hand, are a completely different can of worms.

If I tell you that you shouldn't be capitalising your colours, for example, it's not because I'm trying to take away your creative license or make you look bad.  It's simply that your creative license only extends as far as content goes, and you cannot change the rules of the language.  Seriously, I know.  I regularly spell things in British English (did you see the "u" in "colour" up there?) but I live in New Hampshire and I darned well know better than to stick that in anything short of something like this - a blog entry that will account to nothing.  On my own time, I spell "a lot" as one word, and that's all fine and good, until I want something published.  If I'm too self-centered to change the spelling to something that is proper American English before sending it out to an agent, then I'm just wasting the agent's time.  Grammar, same deal.  For real, people.

Sometimes - okay, a lot of the time - I'm pretty snobby about my own writing.  I love my characters, I really want Jacob and Jessica to remain mortal enemies, not people-who-hate-eachother-at-first-and-then-fall-desperately-in-love.  However, as much as I may defend my point in the beginning, I think that you'll often find that when I go back and change things, I really do change things.  I say this because I want to make a point:  I practice what I preach.  I have been writing and rewriting the same story for the last ten years, and last year, I bloody finally finished the manuscript.  Note that word:  manuscript.  Not book.  I haven't finished the book.  The book isn't finished until it's bound and has a publishing house insignia on the side.  When I draft, I don't just fix things.  I rewrite.  So when I mark up someone's manuscript (ah!  That word again!) I don't expect the writer to do anything more than I do.

And, seriously, that being said, if you think that I'm harsh to you, you should see this page that I'm looking at right now of my own manuscript.  I think I've got something scribbled about every third word.

So, yes, you can write a very slow book (see "John Green") or a very fast book (see "Stephen King").  Your proliferation depends on who you are.  But in the end, only about 5% of that finished manuscript is going to be gold.  You know what that means?  That means 95% is rubbish.  Take the advice or leave it; it's not my advice.  It's wisdom I grabbed from John Green, from Laurel K. Hamilton, from Tamora Pierce, Jodi Picoult, and Stephen King.  If you don't like it, that's your problem, but all five of them are published and successful.  Shout "but that book totally sucks!" as many times as you like, but clearly millions of people disagree with you.  These people are doing something right.

Dunno about y'all, but I'm going to put my lot in with them.

So, here I go.  Draft X of Chapter Six of Fate, here I come.

Last Movie/TV Viewed: Lie To Me, S2Ep11
Last Song Heard: "All the Small Things" by blink 182
Last Google Search: "pizza hut" (guess what I had for lunch).

aint' i pretty, it's my city...

Today is Day One of my first ever NaNoWriMo.  I'm crazy excited for it all.  I've been thinking about doing it since my sophomore year of high school, since the day my friend Nikki told me there was such a thing.  Every year I had an excuse.  Heck.  I have an excuse this year.  Rehearsals three nights a week, plus all my classes... I've got papers to write, fiction and poetry to write... just for school!  But I signed up anyway.  Why, you may ask?  Part of me is crazy, I think.  And part of me just wanted to try something new.

And so, here I am, Day One into NaNoWriMo.  My story is science-fiction where I specialise in fantasy.  I need to research science-y things just to pass as reasonable.  I got up at about 7:35am this morning, and started writing immediately.  I had hit over the requirement by 8:45am.  By the time I headed to town today for classes, I was at 6,079 words, which is where I am still.  I'm still 2,000 words ahead of all my buddies - I'm feeling okay about where I am today, and I will write more tomorrow.  It's going really well, all things considered.  I'm really happy with everything.  And I wrote out a plot during class today.  So now I know where I am going.

For now, I am calling it a day.  Between writing for NaNoWriMo and adding about two pages to my term paper, I'm written-out for the day.  I've my alarm set for 6:00am tomorrow morning, then I start again.

Now, I am going to enjoy Newsies and Smartfood popcorn and life and feeling accomplished.

Last Movie Quoted:  Newsies.
Last Song Heard:  "Carrying the Banner" from Newsies.
Last Google Search:  "set yourself on fire"
NaNoWriMo Word Count:  6,079.

flash fiction thursday: the top of the world.

The Top of the World.

Ellianne looked down from her cloud and smiled at the sparrows that were playing the grass below her.  The were little companions to her, the sparrows.  Like mice to sit in her pockets, only the sparrows were free to go where they pleased, anywhere at all.  And she would follow them.  She smiled and the wind pushed her blonde hair around her like a fuzzy scarf.

She liked autumn.  It was her favourite time of year.  In fact, she liked it so much that she waiting until mid-November to fly south with the birds, just so she could enjoy the Vermont foliage to its fullest.  When she was alive, Ellianne used to collect the brightest and most beautiful leaves, and her mother would place them as the centerpiece on the dinner table.  Even when the wind kept extinguishing the fire in the hearth, and when the turkeys and does were hard to come by, the cabin would be bathed in the most beautiful shades of orange and red.

The sweet brown-speckled sparrows hopped among the golden leaves and from her cloud, Ellianne watched them, her hazel eyes glued to the sheen on their oily feathers.  Chill was on the wind.  Soon, she and the sparrows alike would have to go south, to the Carolinas, and to Florida.  Sometimes, when the wind was cold enough, she could see their faces form in the frosted haze.  She didn't like that, and that was why she she went with the birds.  The haunts should not be haunted.

Ellianne plucked a tendril from the cloud and wrapped it around her finger.  She looked up at the sun, and its white light blinded her so she couldn't see anything.  She sat on the top of the world and looked down at the birds, who still lived their lives as simply as people did when she was alive, when a blizzard meant that you may not wake up in the morning.

And, try as she might, she couldn't forget the stiffness of her mother's body, or the way her father's eyes had stared up at Heaven, as though he could see something she could not.

.

 Author's Note:  I swear, this started off as a much happier piece.  For some reason, I kept thinking of Emily, the little girl in Hocus Pocus, and of how horrible it must have been to be living in a world much different than ours is today, much like the lives of the earliest settlers.  I have all the comforts of the world, and I am still cold when winter begins to creep in.  I cannot begin to understand the struggles of our ancestors.  In my opinion, it is a wonder they survived.
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Last Movie Quoted:  Beetlejuice.
Last Song Heard:  "Jump in the Line" by Harry Belafonte.
Last Google Search: "Odin".

inspiration.

I just finished Mockingjay a couple of nights ago, even though rightfully I should have been doing homework instead of plowing my way through one of the most impressive series I've ever read.  I could fill this post with spoilers, but I'm not going to; I'd rather have people actually go read the trilogy.  I've actually been pushing it in the general direction of a lot of people.  Most of these people - to their own loss - have been ignoring me.

The writing style really struck me as I read the trilogy.  At first, I didn't like it.  It was first person.  It wasn't first person present, though, so I didn't hate it.  I got over my frustration with that pretty quickly, though.  I began to notice the setting and the characters.  The descriptions weren't too much, though.  They were enough.  Enough to spark my imagination.  Collins said "electric fence" and from there I created the interior of the coal-mining town that was District 12.  She described the clothes that Katniss was wearing, but only when it was important and related to Cinna.  It wasn't over-detailed, like some aspiring authors do, and it's wasn't brand specific (it couldn't be, of course).  Nobody could feel out-of-the-loop about her descriptions.  I think that's really important.

Her plot was mind blowing.  I keep saying "it's just a distopia book" and it is... but at the same time, it isn't.  I really want to go back and re-evaluate 'Tweens now.  I want to look at my characters and make sure they're flawed.  I want to describe more.  I want to pinpoint specific references to popular culture and eliminate them.

I want to make my stories very real.  Fantasy enough that the reader can step out of them, but real enough so they cannot forget.

the importance of an interesting character

I consider myself an artistic person.  If something has words or pictures, I can create it.  I'm not blessed with the gift of agility and balance, or with a lovely voice, so dancing and singing is pretty much out of the question.  Everything else, however, is free game.  Writing anything, sketching, painting, scrapbooking and other various crafty things... love 'em.  Writing (obviously) is very close to my heart, but so is one other thing - the theatre.

I made my first stage appearance as Clara in a production of the Nutcracker Suite.  Granted, it was fourth grade, and I hit some guy in the audience with my slipper instead of the Rat King... but we don't need to go there.  Ever since, I have been theatrically inclined.  When I learned that I fail at projection (and singing.  and dancing) I moved to the world of improv theatre, and it came to me naturally.

In theatre, the creation of character is essential.  In larger productions, someone has already created the character for you and all you need to do is apply it and expand it within certain limitations.  Improv is much different.  You step on to that stage a blank slate, and you have about thirty seconds (if you're lucky) to create a fully rounded character.  You can't go on stage and say "hi!  I'm like, Mary Sue, and I like,  like, stuff!"  No.  That is fail!improv.  You have to create insta-backstory, motive, fears, likes and dislikes, consistent personality traits, allegiances... everything.  And if you don't do it well, you lose your chance to charm the audience.

Writing isn't a whole lot different.

I'm not going to under-appreciate essential points like plot, theme, setting, style, spelling and grammar... but characters are incredibly important in the creation of a good story.  I have kept reading books that I disliked because I liked the characters in them.  I know there are other readers out there like that, too.  I want to feel, breathe, and embrace every major character (and some minor characters) I come across.  I want to feel like, as I read the story, I can step into that character's shoes and actually be in her world.  Don't you?

Obviously, we shouldn't make them too complicated, because then the audience won't relate at all, and we'll get those metaphorical tomatoes thrown at us.  But it's the little things that arouse sympathy and empathy that are important.  I have an acquaintance who loathes the Potter books, but loves Harry because they share a birthday.  We don't call Marion a traitor in Scarlet because we know that she loves Bran (even though she hasn't said) and what she's doing, she is doing for him.  All the bits and pieces.  I can say honestly that I am upset with J.K. Rowling because I feel like Draco Malfoy showed definite signs of redemption, and she denied him that opportunity.  Who knows?  Even a well-placed character may turn your audience against you (but they'll keep gobbling up your books).  But Kristin Nelson reminds us that appealing a character to the reader is important.

So.  My questions for you are:

1.)  Who are your favorite characters in fiction of all time, and why?
2.)  Have you ever put down a book because you didn't like the characters?
2b.)  Have you ever kept reading an uninteresting book because you loved the characters?

flash fiction thursday: thief in the temple

Thief in the Temple

As Artemis' moon hung big and round and orange in the sky, and Zandra hid behind the towering stone columns and glanced over her shoulders, down the steps of the temple at Delphi.  In the darkness, the streets were empty.  She clasped her hands close to her breast and felt the pounding of her heart.  It was so terrifying and different, it could hardly be her own.  She felt the eyes of Athena on her, and was unprepared for her wrath.  The Oracle was corrupt, and she took the sacrifices and indulges the people brought to her to give false prophecies.  Only a fortnight ago the Oracle had assured her brother's survival, but now he was dead, in the skirmishes in the countryside.  Adelphous' story was not the first of the Oracle's treacheries; he was one of many casualties of her clouded eye.

And so, taking back the gold pieces that they had given the Oracle to barter with the Goddess... it wasn't thievery.  She could steal nothing from the goddess if it had not been presented to her.  Without Adelphous to mind the household in their father's continued absense and to help with the grain harvest, they could scarce afford food to survive.  Her mother had already dismissed what servants they could  afford, and now, the family was desperate.  So Zandra had said nothing and disappeared with the cover of night.  She would not tell her mother, her sister.  She would not shame her family.  She would not be caught.

Zandra took her sandals in one hand and took the hem of her white linen dress in the other.  From her many visits, she knew the layout of the temple well.  At night, the Oracle disappeared to a separate room, where she attended to herself, for nobody could see her face.  The priestesses would be retired throughout the temple.  In the moonlight, she could barely make out the shapes of them as the rested on the stone floor.

One step at a time, she walked between the soundly sleeping priestesses.  The altar was at the farthest end of the temple, and she need only to be slow and soft in her footsteps.  There was no sound but her own footsteps, and the breathing of the priestesses.  Sometimes she could feel their breath on her feet as she moved.  The altar stood in front of her now, piled with treasures.  She let the hem of her dress fall to the ground and reached out her free hand to grasp some coins by the edge.

"Awaken!  Awaken!"  a female voice rang like thunder to the sleeping priestesses.  Zandra froze, but even as her mind was paused with fear, her feet knew to flee, and between the rousing devotees of Athena, she ran.

"Awaken!" the voice continued to appeal.  "The Oracle!  Athena has taken the Oracle!"

Zandra did not stay to hear the details.  She ran as quickly as her feet would carry her and did not stop until the Temple at Delphi, now lit with candles, was less than the height of her hand.  In the escape, she had dropped both of her sandals, but it hardly mattered.  She would do without.

Goddess protect them all, the Oracle was dead.

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Author's Note:
I've been sitting on this idea and will definitely come back to Zandra and Adelphous in a more refined short story, preferably not written while watching Pirates of the Caribbean:  At World's End.  I don't think that I could comfortably write a full-length historical fiction novel, but sometimes it's nice to work with it in short stories.  Gotta use my degree for something, after all.  Was inspired to write something ancient-Greek since I saw My Life in Ruins and Cassandra Jade's recent post inspired this specific story.
Much love,
Amber

the edit monster says "omnomnom!"

Yesterday I blogged about my difficulties with one of my characters and speaking in her voice.  That is part one of my difficulties with editing Fate, and this is part two: the Edit Monster.

I think everyone has their own Edit Monster.  Mine has wrinkly orange skin and bronze-colored plates like a stegosaurus.  He's reasonably well-trained and never nips at me.  Edit Monsters certainly do tend to have their own qualities.  Mine, like any child, loves eating out.  Meaning that if I'm editing a friend's story, it will bleed.  Lots.  And when I edit my own, it bleeds lots too, but later on I find that the Edit Monster hid the brussell sprouts under the napkin and put way too much ketchup on its meatloaf.  After the whole process, yes, I've cut out a great deal, but suddenly it seems as though I have a thousand words more than when I started editing.  Um, doesn't that kind of defy the point?

Personally, I've always been a prolific writer.  I volunteer to do the single twenty-page essay because I know that if I try to do the 3-seven-page essays, I'll end up doing 3-twelve-page essays.  It's a gift, and sometimes it's a curse.  I know I'm not alone.  Sammy, over at Access Approved, finished her first novel at over 200 pages.  Mine doesn't get that far.

So what I want to know is... what type of writer are you?  Does editing sometimes seem add to your work instead of fine-tuning it?  And, most importantly, what does your Edit Monster look like?

Cheers!

hello darkness, my old friend

Let me set the scene for you.

The air inside the cabin is dank and musty, and you feel your allergies acting up, so you step outside on to the rough wood porch overlooking rolling fields.  The sun is just creeping up behind the farthest green hill, and the sky is splattered in pink and blue.  You're not alone on the porch, even though it's just barely sunrise.  But you're not surprised.

Leaning against the dipped wood rail, her hands are wrapped tight around the bone china teacup.  She doesn't say anything to you; just flicks her short red hair over her shoulder and takes a sip.  It's a little strange, seeing an experienced army pilot watching the sunrise and drinking herbal tea from a cup painted with dainty yellow flowers.

Meet Jylouna Martin.

She is my nemesis.

For the last I-don't-know-how-many-weeks I have been fighting a silent battle with her.  I avoid writing in her perspective because she simply disapproves of it.  Just.  Can't.  Get.  Into.  Her.  Voice.  Ever. I love her character (I love all my characters) but whenever I read back what I have written I feel like crumbling up a piece of paper and throwing it violently at... something.  Only I write on my computer, and it's harder to crumble my laptop screen.

I was pacing back and forth in my room when I reopened Chapter Four of Fate for editing.  Partially because Jyla was up to her old "you're-going-to-write-in-my-voice?--I-think-not" tricks, but my difficulties were also coming from a different character:  Timothy Brown.  Since my goal is to finish 'Tweens by the end of the year, I've been writing, even thinking a lot in Timmy's voice.  So as I was trying to write Jyla, I was writing Timmy.  Editing is slow.

Ever have that problem?  A character voice you have a lot of trouble writing in?  What is your greatest difficulty when switching efforts from one work-in-progress to another?

Also, I wanted to share this.  I know I'm three months early, but I just discovered the band All Caps and I thought maybe some people could relate to the sentiment of this video.

flash fiction thursdays: acceptance

Acceptance

Her eyes lurked in the shadows.  She saw the haggard man there and the scuffed iron pistol he held in his shaking hand, but she pretended she didn't.  If Vengeance deemed she was going to die between these red silk covers, then so be it.  But she would die with dignity.  When the gunshot sounded and the burning metal pierced her soft bronze skin, she was ready.

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Author's Note:
In both my writing courses this past year at college, my professors emphasized that a story doesn't have to be long to be a story.  I recognize length as one of my weak points in creative writing.  I am inclined to be incredibly long, even if I don't need to be.  I think these five sentences give enough information to relay character and basic setting to the reader, but I'm interested in your thoughts- how can I make this better without making it longer?
Much love,
Amber.

pink is the new evil

Nathan Bransford posted a question in his blog:  who is the evillest villain ever?  I couldn't decide for myself, as characteristically, I have a soft spot for villains (Draco? Smeagol? Vader?  They've all got their reasons for being evil).  So, I decided to peek through the answers and see if I agreed with any of the ones there.

Vincent Kale gave this response, and I wanted to share it, because it made me smile:

"Greatest Villain in Fiction goes to:
Dolores Umbridge, HP:Order of the Phoenix

No one character ever got under my skin more than she did. Sure Voldemort is trying to kill everyone and take over the world, blah, blah, blah.

But Umbridge's sadism, sense of propriety and the insufferable decor of her office (so much pink!) just made me squirm.

Stephen King agrees, as he "noted the success of any novel is due to a great villain, with Umbridge as the "greatest make-believe villain to come along since Hannibal Lecter..."."

So, even though I remain undecided (Vogons? de Glanville?  The Man in Black?)  I dare open up the question to you:  who is the most terrifying literary villain of all time?  Since I am undecided, this is a wonderful opportunity for you to convince me that your favourite villain is the only villain for the job.

Greatest Villain in Fiction goes to:
Dolores Umbridge, HP:Order of the Phoenix

No one character ever got under my skin more than she did. Sure Voldemort is trying to kill everyone and take over the world, blah, blah, blah.

But Umbridge's sadism, sense of propriety and the insufferable decor of her office (so much pink!) just made me squirm.

Stephen King agrees, as he "noted the success of any novel is due to a great villain, with Umbridge as the "greatest make-believe villain to come along since Hannibal Lecter...".

the world around us

As a writer, I am terrible (terrible) at setting.  I know in my head what I want, and I see it all very clearly, but I often forget to actually relay it to my readers through the written word.  For example, in 'Tweens, Timothy has a recurring dream where he starts standing at the top of a spiral staircase that descends deep into the earth.  I know for a fact that I have relayed that the staircase is wooden, rickety, and painted white.  The white paint is chipping and peeling off, and it leaves little flakes like dandruff on the creaky steps.  That's what I tell the reader.  But there is so much to setting that I don't tell.

I don't tell that there are pine trees and elm trees in the distance, and the sky is a dull, grayed twilight.  There is a gentle wind, but barely enough to move the stagnant air.  The air itself is warm and heavy with humidity, but the breeze, when it does come by, is cool and refreshing.  The abyss itself is an anomaly.  It's a hole in the earth with crumbling dirt walls that harden to rock the deeper into the earth one travels.  The air smells like rotting meat and honey from a buzzing bee-nest that is buried in the ground a few feet away from the hole.  The land all around the hole, until it stretches out of the trees and to the distant mountains, is grassy plains.  In some places, there are dandelions, and in some areas the grass is much taller.

All those things are beautiful and they paint the image in my own head.  Where, in writing setting, should we draw the line?  I've learned through photography that no matter how good the camera, how good the photographer, we cannot grasp the true image as our eyes see it.  What is enough?  What is too much?  Great writers, such as C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien spent pages devoted to the setting.  How much does it take for The Modern Reader to get bored?  That, in the end, is where the line is.  If The Lord of the Rings had been written in 2010 exactly the way it was when Tolkien first published it, I don't think it would get the same response, because The Modern Reader doesn't have the same patience as he used to.  Two pages into the twelve (twenty?  fifty?) at the Council of Elrond would be enough to make the reader put the book down.

How much time do you spend devoted to setting?  How important is setting to your work(s)-in-progress?  How many details are too many details?

the slush pile

In a recent entry, Nathan Bransford (San Francisco agent extraordinaire) wrote about something called the "slush pile".  Essentially, he explained that this "is a repository of hopes and dreams for the authors who populate it, and a Herculean and Sisyphean task for those charged with making the pile go away to make way for the deluge still to come. The slush is full of half-baked ideas, the truly out-there, the very occasional undiscovered gems, but mostly good-solid efforts by perfectly respectable writers, who are up against simple math that simply isn't in their favor: maybe one in a thousand, if that, make it from slush pile to publication with a major publisher, and the odds are getting steeper by the day."  The image I get in my head of that is like a pile of dusty gemstones, lost and forgotten by a dragon who (rightfully) found himself interested in something bigger and shinier.

As I read his entry (which mostly touches on the expansion of e-books and equal-opportunity-publishing-thanks-to-things-like-Kindle), I found myself missing the point entirely and straying to think... I have my own "slush pile".  It's certainly smaller than the one Bransford is talking about; perhaps it would be more just to call it a "slush puddle".  It's the place where all the good ideas go.  There are plots with no characters, characters with no story, old first chapters, half-written stories, short stories I'm not fond of... all these things that will never probably see light again.  There are so many good ideas in the world that there is no way everything can be recognized.  So we writers - like agents, editors, and publishers - only pluck the biggest, reddest apples from the trees.  A lot gets lost in translation, for better or worse (usually better).

The writing world is still hard, though.  Even if you've picked your reddest apple and given it to the trickiest hag to deliver, that doesn't mean Snow White is going to want to eat it.  This week, she may be partial to kiwis.  Even people with great manuscripts and amazing agents (and I would never, ever try to publish without an agent, but that's my personal belief) may never get published, and that's the way the world works.

Even outside of being a writer, working in that industry is difficult.  It's all about the people you know.  Bransford has written a blog entry on this, too, and he says that pretty much the only way to get in is to know someone already there, or if you're lucky enough to get an unpaid internship... count your blessings.  I just did a search of agencies and I personally would have to move to New York City to even have close enough access to one.  Publishing companies?  I'd have to go to Boston.  Since I live in New Hampshire and currently work in corporate retail, there is no way I could afford to go to either of those cities and live on an unpaid internship.  Yikes.  So what then?

Then, we cut corners.  Maybe we dream of editing fantasy YA, but the closest thing we've got is a travel magazine, and that's still an hour's drive for an unpaid internship.  Still, it's better than Boston or New York (with all the love in my heart), so that's what next summer will look like for me, with a little bit of luck.  I don't want to be a person thrown into a slush pile... shiny, but not shiny enough.

Meanwhile, keep rubbing elbows with the people that you know.  Because they may make all the difference.

P.S. If you don't follow Nathan Bransford's blog and you want to be a writer... do it.

flash fiction thursday: come on, get higher

So far so good on another weekly commitment- I bring you this week's "Flash Fiction Thursday".  All typed on my boyfriend's computer while he is at work.  And he has this snazz-tastic illuminated keyboard.  Squee!

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Come On, Get Higher

L'Hotel Promenade in Paris overlooked the most beautiful, bluest part of the Seine.  From her balcony, Adrienne could feel the north wind picking up her ebony curls, carrying with it the fresh smells of croissants and perfume.  Indeed, it was signature feel of Paris, and she had come here for the same reason that every other single woman in her twenties came to Paris:  for love.  Romance novels always made it seem so simple.  All a woman need do is slip on a pair of treacherous high heels and a form-fitting black dress, and a man in a tuxedo with a cigarette clutched between his fingers was supposed to sweep her away into the yellow lights of the city.

She tapped her glossy pink nails on the metal rail of the balcony and sighed irritably.  It wasn't that easy.  Nothing in life was that easy.  She thought any reasonable girl would kill for a chance to spend her life "just sitting and looking pretty".  It only happened to woman like Audrey Hepburn and Grace Kelly.  Princesses of the silver screen.  And what was she?  Adrienne was practically a doormouse compared to them. A wannabe fashion designer who hadn't been able to make herself a name in New York.  So what? she thought to herself and took a gulp from her half-empty glass on chardonnay.  Paris was le centre de la mode.  If you wanted to be a fashion designer, you wanted to be in Paris, not the Big Apple.

Adrienne swung her body around, sloshing chardonnay on the wire balcony and it dripped to the sidewalk below.  Go to Paris, she had told herself, Be a model, fall in love, make a lot of money.  Then nobody will question the dip of your necklines or the length of you skirt.

She set the glass on a cluttered counter, covered in unopened bills.  Some belonged to her roommate, but most of them belong to her.  "Helene!" Adrienne shouted into the dimly lit living room, where she knew her roommate wasn't.  "I'm going to go climb the Eiffel Tower and fall in love."

When Helene didn't respond (Of course, she is at work, Adrienne scolded herself), Adrienne sat stubbornly on the floor and pulled on her favourite pair of bright red Prada stilettos. She wobbled out the door, leaving her wallet, bills, and woes behind her.

Paris; le ville de l'amour....