Jennifer Crusie's Blog, page 295

Next Who Sunday: The Runaway Bride, Russell T. Davies

Note: I managed to forget to post this all week. Well, it’s been a full week. Sorry!

Remember the screaming bride at the end of “Doomsday?” That’s Donna, and she’s not happy about being yanked out of her wedding as she’s walking down the aisle. I was ambivalent about Donna at the beginning of this episode–such a screaming bitch–but by the end, I was sorry to see her turn down the Doctor’s invitation to travel. Fortunately . . . no, wait, that’s a spoiler. So, weddings, mothers, treachery, and Donna, the stroppy moral compass of Who.

“Cold Hearts” 5: The Third Draft

So this is where we are now. It is by no means finished, nor are all of the problems fixed. The hero still isn’t on the page enough to be Courtney’s opposite number, for example. There are plot holes big enough to drive a truck through. The antagonist drifts which is never a good thing. If I ever write this novella, it’ll go through many more rewrites. But this is a good place to leave it until I get the rest of the novella done. It’s strong enough to serve as a starting point, and then as I write the story and new things crop up, I can tweak this to make it better. At the end, when I have the last scene in final, truck draft form, I’ll come back to this and do a final rewrite. But for right now, I don’t have to get it perfect, I just have to get it to the point where it’ll support the rest of the story.

This is the end of the “Jenny Revises a First Scene First Draft” series. I sincerely hope it was valuable. If it was, let me know and we’ll do it again sometime if my beta readers can stand it.

And now, here’s Courtney:



Cold Hearts, Scene One, Third Rewrite.

Courtney Maxwell was putting the Orion watches in their black velvet cases when she realized her hands were shaking. Well, that was what rage did to you. And frustration. And fear and loathing and—

“Red, this is your song,” Henry, the security guard, said as Laura Nyro started “Wedding Bell Blues” on the shop stereo.

“I’m never getting married again,” Courtney said and slammed the lid down on the last watch box. “I hate all men. Except for you.”

“Jordan being a bastard?” Henry said, his deep voice deeper with sympathy.

“He said one more mistake and I’m fired.” Courtney put her palms flat on the glass case in front of her and looked down at the array of diamonds below.

“You don’t make mistakes,” Henry said.

“Jordan makes mistakes and blames them on me,” Courtney said. “But trying telling Jordan that.”

On the store stereo, Laura sang to Bill that she’d been on his side when he’d been losing. That would be good, to have somebody on her side against Jordan. Actually, not losing would be good for a change, too.

She looked up and met Henry’s eyes. “I’m going to lose this job.”

“No,” Henry said. “I will not let that happen.”

Courtney smiled in spite of herself. She had Henry on her side. Sixty-eight-year-old, big-as-a-bear, recovering-from-a-heart-attack Henry. That really was something.

“Don’t let the bastards get you down,” Henry said, holding out his hand. “Come on. Cut a rug.”

She laughed and went around the corner of the display case, and let him dance her across the polished floor of the jewelry store, even though his dancing was closer to lumbering-in-time, and she sang with him that she was the one who’d come running when he was lonely, letting him spin her around, finally belting out “Come on and marry me, Bill!” with him, loudly and off key, feeling much better about life in general. Life had its Jordans, but it also had its Henrys. And Laura Nyro on the stereo.

“Okay, you were right,” she said.

“I’m always right, Red,” he said, and then they both heard somebody knocking on the massive wood door. She turned to look and there was a guy there, smiling and waving at them through the small bullet-proof window, broad-faced and curly haired, the boy-next-door made flesh.

Henry had put his hand on his gun, but he relaxed when the guy smiled and waved again.

“See, you sing it and it happens,” Henry said to her. “Positive thinking. This might be the guy.”

“There is no guy,” Courtney said. “Especially one that shows up after closing.”

On the stereo, Nyro moved on to “Stoney End,” which was much more appropriate.

“Sorry, we’re closed,” Courtney called to the guy and went back to the counter to put the Orions in the small safe. Junk, she thought as she stacked the boxes, no matter what Jordan said. “It takes a certain level of taste to appreciate these, Courtney,” he’d said. “These are ten thousand dollar watches.” Fuck you, Jordan, shoddy craftsmanship is junk no matter what they cost.

Jordan didn’t like Laura Nyro, either, which told you everything you needed to know about Jordan.

The guy knocked again. She shook her head at him in the universal We’re closed, go away sign, but he didn’t leave.

“Persistent,” Henry said. “Good smile. Maybe his name’s Bill. That would be a sign. Go for it.”

“I’m not letting him in. He comes in here, something goes wrong, and Jordan fires me for breaking the rules. I’m not losing this job just because some guy can’t read a ‘Closed’ sign.”

“We don’t have a ‘Closed’ sign,” Henry said, “and Jordan’s a dope.”

The guy knocked again, and Courtney said, “No!” and glared at him.

He opened the door and came in.

“What the hell?” Courtney said.

Henry had his hand on his gun, his face grim. “I locked that door.”

“Really sorry about this,” the guy said as he slammed the door behind him. Then he reached into his coat and pulled out a gun.

“That’s it,” Henry said, and lifted his gun.

“No!” Courtney lunged between them, spreading her arms out, terrified. “No, you will not shoot Henry, he’s a grandfather! And I’m a single mother!”

The guy looked at her in disbelief. “Do I look like I’m interested in the demographics here?”

Courtney backed up until she was against Henry, keeping her arms out. “Don’t shoot Henry. I mean it. You drop that gun right now, mister.”

The guy sighed. “Henry, put your gun on the floor and kick it to me, and I won’t shoot you.”

“Hell, no,” Henry said, calm as ever.

“Henry, give him the damn gun,” Courtney said, glaring at the intruder. “I am not explaining your bullet-ridden body to Junie, and I’m sure as hell not leaving Leroy an orphan.”

“It’s my gun,” Henry said.

Courtney closed her eyes, exasperation cutting through her fear. “Henry, kick that damn gun over to this asshole, or I will never speak to you again, I will never bring Leroy over to play Minecraft again, and I will tell Junie that it was your own damn fault you died. Assuming I make it through this.”

Henry hesitated, and the guy said, “Henry, kick it over here or I shoot the single mother.”

Henry put the gun on the floor and kicked across, and the jackass picked it up and put it in his jacket.

Courtney put her arms down. “You’re going to hell,” she told the jackass.

“No doubt about it.” The guy reached in his jacket and pulled out white cable ties. “Now tie Henry’s hands behind his back so he doesn’t change his mind.”

“Henry’s got a heart condition,” Courtney said, putting as much outrage as possible in her voice.

“I do not,” Henry said, disgusted.

“Henry, you just had a damn bypass.”

“So, it’s fixed,” Henry said. “I’m not weak.”

“That’s not helping,” Courtney snapped.

She took the ties, glaring at the jackass, and then went behind Henry. “Do you have a plan?” she whispered to him as she tied his hands as loosely as possible.

“Back door,” Henry whispered out of the side of his mouth. “You run for it.”

“No whispering,” the jackass said.

“No, he’ll want the safe unlocked which means me.” Courtney gave a final tug, keeping all her fingers inside the cables so they stayed loose. “You go.” And don’t have a heart attack on the way out. She looked over Henry’s shoulder and called to the jackass. “Now what?”

He waved the gun toward the back of the shop. “Now we go to the vault.”

“Vault?” Courtney said. How does he know about the vault? “You mean the safe? Of course. But I think Henry should sit down–” She guided Henry backwards, around the counter and toward the stool by the storeroom door and escape. “—because of his bad heart–”

“My heart’s just fine,” Henry said.

“Shut up, Henry,” Courtney said, and sat him down on the stool. She reached under the counter there and hit the panic button, and then jumped when somebody knocked on the door.

“We gotta get a ‘Closed’ sign,” Henry said.

“You expecting somebody?” the jackass said.

Yes, the cops, now that I’ve pushed the button, but not that fast.

Courtney squinted through the window. Whoever this one was, he was tall and male. “Yes. That’s my fiancé. I’d leave if I were you. He knows krav maga.”

“Get rid of him,” the jackass said, “or he’ll know bullet wounds.”

“Right.” Courtney waved the guy at the door away, calling out, “I have to work late. You go on without me.” Get out of here, whoever you are, before you get caught in the crossfire with the cops.

The guy at the door knocked again.

“You go on,” she yelled again and waved him away with more enthusiasm.

The guy turned the knob and walked in.

Courtney looked at the jackass. “You didn’t lock the door?”

“Yes, I did,” he said, looking as annoyed as she was, and then the new guy was beside her, tall, skinny, wild dark hair and sharp, dark eyes.

“Hi, honey,” he said, putting his arm around her. “I’m home.”

Courtney stared up at him speechless.

“So you’re the boyfriend,” the jackass said. “Your relationship just hit a bump.”

“I’ve been thinking the same thing,” the new guy said. “We’ve been going along here, everything fine . . .” He leaned closer to the jackass. “. . . the sex is great!”

“Excuse me.” Courtney tried to get out from under his arm, but he had a grip like a python.

“But we’re kind of stuck, you know, so I came on down tonight because I think it’s time we took it to the next level and tied the knot–” He beamed down at Courtney without stopping his speech. “. . . so how about it, honey, let’s pick out a diamond and make it official . . . ” He looked back at Colin, leaning in again, lowering his voice. “. . . that’ll make her mother happy, you would not believe that woman–”

“Shut. Up.” The jackass raised his gun higher, and the new guy stopped.

“Oh. Wow.” He looked down at her again. “Honey, I think you’re being robbed.”

“Yes,” Courtney said. I’m stuck in a store after hours with a heart patient, an armed robber, and a lunatic.

“You okay, baby?” the new guy said to her.

A heart patient, an armed robber, and a lunatic walk into a bar . . .

“Red?” Henry said, sounding concerned.

“I’m having an odd evening,” Courtney said.

“Try mine,” the jackass said. “Okay, what’s-your-name—”

“Bill,” the new guy said.

“Ha!” Henry said.

Shut up and escape, Henry.

The jackass nodded. “Fine. Take off your jacket, Bill. Slowly.”

“Absolutely,” Bill said, finally letting go of her. He shrugged off his jacket, stepping in front of her as he pulled it off his arms and held it out to the jackass. “Here you go. No problem.”

“Drop it,” the jackass said, and Bill dropped the jacket while Courtney tried to see around him.

She glared at Henry and jerked her head toward the storeroom, hoping Bill was enough of a screen that the jackass couldn’t see her.

Henry sighed and stood up, silently.

“Okay,” the jackass said, taking cable ties out of his pocket. “Let’s do this again. Tie up Bill.”

Bill looked down at her and grinned. “We’ve never done this before, honey.”

“And we never will again,” Courtney said and reached around him to take the ties.

This time she tied them tightly. Bill might be a great shield, but he was also nuts. Plus he’d opened a locked door which meant he was a crazy person with an agenda. It didn’t matter. Whatever the hell was going on, she had to get Henry out the door before his heart imploded again. And then give the jackass whatever he wanted and pray he didn’t shoot her. Maybe if she kept Bill in front of her . . .

“The vault,” the jackass said, and Courtney thought, If he knows there’s a vault, there’s no point in denying it, it’ll only annoy him.

“Right,” she said and moved toward the other side of the store, drawing the jackass away from Henry and the storeroom and escape.

“Hold it,” the jackass said, and she turned and bumped her nose on Bill’s shirt front. “Bill, you’re not going with us.”

Bill ignored him to smile down at her, his face all planes and angles in the reflected light from the diamond case. “Can’t leave my woman alone with a gun.”

“If I shoot you, she’ll be alone forever,” the jackass said.

Bill kept his eyes on Courtney’s face, steady and sure. “If you shoot me, you’ll go down for murder. Doesn’t seem like your style.”

“This was supposed to be a simple job,” the jackass said, but he sounded philosophical about it. “Okay, protect your woman, Bill, but do not get in my way.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Bill said. “Go open the vault, honey.”

More men telling her what to do. And then Jordan would fire her. The stereo fell silent and then Nyro began to sing again. “Gonna Take A Miracle” this time.

“Laura Nyro,” Bill said. “Gotta love her.”

“Who’s Laura Nyro?” the jackass said.

“Greatest singer/songwriter ever,” Courtney said, raising her voice to make sure Henry heard. “You probably heard her big hit, ‘Get the Hell Out of Here Now’?”

“No,” the jackass said. “The vault. Please.”

“You can do it, honey.” Bill pushed his body against hers to move her, and she turned and walked back to the vault, stealing a glance at the storeroom door.

Henry was gone.

She took a deep breath and relaxed. “I don’t even know why you’re robbing us,” she said to the jackass to keep him distracted. “There are a lot bigger jewelry stores. We’re just a little hole in the wall. We can’t even afford a ‘Closed’ sign.”

“Really?” the jackass said. “What a shame. Still, might as well look as long as I’m here.”

Courtney reached the curtain to the vault room, pulled it aside, and bent down to the handle, feeling Bill move around behind her, exposing her to the jackass as she flipped the latch. So much for Bill the Hero, protecting her. His name probably wasn’t even Bill.

“Open it,” the jackass said, his voice sharp, and Courtney said, “Fine.”

She straightened, pushed the vault door open and then stumbled as Bill shoved her inside, hearing the jackass yell and the door slam as she caught herself from falling, and then she looked around and saw Bill, standing inside the vault with her, flipping the lock.

“No!” she said, but it was too late.

She stared at him in disbelief. He’d locked the damn door. She’d tied his hands and there he was with both of them free, inside the vault with her, and the best case scenario was that one bad guy was about to meet the slowest cops in the city while she was trapped in a vault with another bad guy. Until Monday.

“Why?” she said to him. “Why, why, why?”

“You didn’t want to get robbed, did you?” Bill said.

“I didn’t care,” Courtney said. “I just didn’t want Henry to have a heart attack. And now he could be out there with an armed jackass, and we’re trapped in here. And I tied your hands, how the hell did you get out of that?”

“Swiss Army knife,” Bill said. “Be prepared. Look, Henry went out through the storeroom and we’re safe. When the cops come, they’ll let us out–”

“No,” Courtney said. “The only person who can let us out is the manager, Jordan. He’ll be back on Monday.”

“Oh,” Bill said, looking around. “This place have a bathroom?”

“Oh, god,” Courtney said, and let herself slide down the vault wall to the floor.

“I mean, I’m okay, I went before I came in, but you–”

“Shut up, Bill.”

“My name’s not Bill.”

“Of course it’s not,” Courtney said and closed her eyes and tried to think.

“Cold Hearts” 4: The Beta Readers

Note: This is really long because I combined what was going to be the fourth and fifth posts. I’d split them because it’s so long but I don’t think it makes sense since they’re talking about the same thing, and the last in the series should be tomorrow with the third draft. So LONG POST WARNING.

Somewhere around the twentieth rewrite, I have polished the scene until I can’t see it anymore. I’ve just spend too much damn time with it and I have no distance. That’s when I call in beta readers. For the purposes of this series, I gave my critique group, the Glindas, and my McDaniel students a second draft and asked for volunteers, which was awful of me, they should have gotten a later draft, but hey, education. You can see below how amazing they are, and what a huge, huge help good beta readers can be. As in “essential.”

Most used some variation of the Glinda/McDaniel scene critique form:

1. Who is the protagonist and what is his or her goal?

2. Who is the antagonist and what is his or her goal?

3. What expectation does this scene create?

4. What needs work?

5. What must be kept?

Please note, nobody told me how to fix things. Beta readers don’t rewrite because they’re acting as readers, not editors. They’re telling me where they tripped as they read. I need to figure out how to fix it on my own, but I can do a much better job of that when I know where my readers had trouble.

I would like to repeat my heartfelt thanks to all who put in their time on this scene. You all make me a much better writer.

Note: These critiques were done on two private writers’ blogs, There Are Many Roads To Oz, the Glinda critique group, and The Good Time Girls, the McDaniel 2012 class critique and support blog. Private blogs are a great way to critique with people you trust who are too spread out geographically to meet in person. You put the scene to be critiqued in the post and the critiques in the comments. Highly recommended as a way to do critiques.

SUE DANIC:

1. Who is the protagonist? Courtney Maxwell

2. What is the protagonist’s goal? To protect Henry and herself from the robbers

3. Who is the antagonist? The red haired robber

4. What is the antagonist’s goal? Rob the store

5. What do you expect will happen next in the story, given what you read in this scene?

Courtney will somehow connect with the 2nd guy – she doesn’t trust him, but he’s got the right level of smarts and attractiveness that he’s going to end up not being in cahoots with the 1st robber. He’s protecting her at every stage, moving between her and the gun. Playing along with her. (So, I don’t believe that he’s working with the robber.) I read this once, and trusted him despite her suspicions. Then the second time I read it, I felt more sure – the robber wouldn’t need to “set up” a 2nd person to be let in the door. Once he had the gun on them, he’d just open the door to a second person. And he wouldn’t care about making Bill take off his hat or coat. He might know “Bill,” but it’s not because he’s working with him. Courtney will find this out in the next scene.

6. What in this scene must be kept at all costs?

1. The relationship between Henry and Courtney. It’s lovely and tells me she’s likeable.

2. Courtney’s smarts – getting Henry safe and dealing with the robber by locking herself in the vault.

3. The dialogue.

4. The actual robbery feels believable and tense

“He’d be better looking if he showed up before closing.” – love lines like this

“Let him in,” Henry said.

“He’s engaged,” Courtney called back.

“Kick his ass out,” Henry said, and Courtney laughed, and the good-looking guy pulled a gun on her.

- Love, love this exchange and the ramping up of the beats when he pulls the gun

“No!” Courtney lunged between them, spreading her arms out, terrified. “No, you will not shoot Henry, he’s a grandfather! And I’m a single mother!”

- I love that she’ll do anything to protect Henry.

- I love a robber who says “sorry” and “Do I look like I’m interested in the demographics here?” and then sighs. It makes me want to root for him a bit, though pointing the guns at both Courtney and Henry makes me hate him. He’s also “philosophical” so he’s not a straight out bad guy.

“You’re going to hell,” Courtney told the jackass.

“No doubt about it.”

- I love this exchange too. It does make me like the robber despite her telling me he’s a “jackass.” But since she said “fuck you” to Jordan earlier and thought about kneecapping him in her imagination, the robber seems the lesser evil. Until she then thinks about kneecapping the robber: “kneecapping the asshole with the gun.” Then he’s equivalent to Jordan.

Don’t talk about what you don’t know, Jordan had said.

Fuck both of you.

- Okay, know I’m loving her rage towards both men

“If he copped a feel, she was going to slap him, but until then he had a nice hard chest and he wasn’t pointing a gun at her, plus she could use him as a shield, so for the moment, she was in favor of him.”

- Love, love, love this. I love “Bill.”

“You’re a thief,” Courtney said, and pointed the gun at him.

“That’s one interpretation,” Bill said.

-Love this. Love it. I can’t wait for the next scene to see who Bill really is. I suspect he’ll keep hiding a lot of what he knows. Not sure where this story will go. The robber has been thwarted. She’s got the gun. All the real problems seem over. I’m not worried for her, just curious what will happen next.

7. What in this scene needs work?

If she slammed the door and spun the combination, doesn’t that make it locked? I guess I was a little confused between vault and safe. Do most jewelry stores have both? Was she in the vault when she spun the combination to the safe? Why wouldn’t the robber just want in the safe which seems to be more in the front area of the store?

“Fuck you, Jordan, they’re junk no matter what they cost.”

– this seems overly aggressive for our intro to Courtney. As a reader, I haven’t seen Jordan to know he’s a jerk. He might be as clueless as she says, but I’m not loving Courtney for saying “fuck you” over what seems insignificant right now. It’s only a watch and sure it might represent his misguided belief in his superiority, but I only have Courtney’s opinion to go on, so I’m not buying it yet.

“Jordan didn’t like Laura Nyro, either, which told you everything you needed to know about Jordan.”

- I love this line even though I haven’t a clue who Laura Nyro is. It delivers judgment without any unpleasant smugness.

“As clueless as Jordan, who’d had the nerve to correct her in front of a customer and be wrong. Jordan knew as much about diamonds as Courtney knew about quantum mechanics, but he’d made her look like a fool.”

- “the nerve to correct her in front of a customer” makes her seem a bit unlikeable to me. Okay she says he is “wrong,” but she’s concerned about being made to “look like a fool.” I’m not loving her here. Maybe if I saw his posturing in action, then I’d be rolling my eyes at him right along with her. But just having her description of his behaviour doesn’t endear her, nor does it seem vital to what’s happening in the story at this time.

Jordan is “clueless”, a “dope” (according to Henry), he’s accused her twice of being “careless with security,” she wants to “kneecap him”(there are many more references to him than just this) – there’s a lot of time being spent on Jordan and his behaviour. If it’s not essential, I’m not sure why it’s here. (Unless, of course, Jordan is connected to the actual robbery i.e. he’s set it up.)

“What?” she said dumbfounded, and then he was knocking her back with the door as he pushed his way in.”

-the dumbfounded part doesn’t work as well. It’s a telling rather than showing. Though I love the showing of her being knocked back

“leaving Leroy an orphan.”

– I thought Henry was old enough to be a grandfather. So this feels over the top. What are you telegraphing with the name “Leroy?” It makes me think 1970’s “Good Times” TV show. Yes, I know, stereotypes abound.

“She widened her eyes at the jackass. “Please don’t shoot us.” Come back tomorrow and shoot Jordan.

The jackass sighed. “You have no idea how tempting that is, but no.”

-she doesn’t say shoot Jordan out loud, so why does he respond as if she did? And now I’m committed in believing the robber knows Jordan and doesn’t like him.

“it was that he thought that he could come in there a big ass gun and hurt people she cared about and that she was so dumb she’d have to do what he wanted—“

- love this, it tells me tons about her insecurities and motivations – you might be missing a “with” a big ass gun

“She straightened, pulled the door open, lunged inside, and slammed the vault door shut, catching Bill on the shoulder as he fell in after her. The jackass stuck his gun hand through the door, and Bill slammed it shut on his arm and the gun fell to the floor of the vault as the jackass yelled in pain. Then he yanked his arm out and Courtney slammed the door closed.”

-Love the action of this, but something about it doesn’t quite work. How can she slam it “shut” if first it’s clipping Bill and he’s falling in, then the guy’s arm is in it?

ELLEN H.

Protag: I think it’s the jackass, as he’s the one with the active goal. But Courtney is certainly our POV character

Goal: To rob the store

Antag: Courtney

Goal: To stop him

What happens next: Bonding in the vault between Courtney and “Bill.” The mystery of his connection to the jackass will be explored at least somewhat. We get to know them both a little. Something blossoms between them, although it’s largely unspoken because she doesn’t trust him and *really* doesn’t want to be played for a fool.

What must be kept: Great snappy dialogue. I like Courtney’s clear-eyed perspective on what’s important, her level head in a crisis, her resourcefulness. I mostly like her running inner chatter. I like the running gag about the “Closed” sign. Overall, huge entertainment value here and great intriguing setup and I would most definitely keep reading, so I’m hooked. And Henry. I love Henry.

What needs work: The big question mark for me is tone. If I’m meant to be scared for Courtney and Henry, or even truly worried about them, the scene didn’t achieve that for me. It feels almost farcical, with the back-and-forth patter between Courtney and Henry and Courtney and the robber, Courtney’s irreverent inner chatter, the door that keeps getting knocked on, the long-suffering, put-upon robber. It’s fun and funny, great stuff, but I can’t take it seriously. I’m not worried that anyone’s really in danger. So I’m not sure whether that’s the feel you were going for, but if I was meant to feel worried, I didn’t really.

I think the robber might be too interesting. I am assuming Bill is going to wind up being the love interest, and he is intriguing, but he’s a bit blank slate — I can’t get much of a read on him here. Meanwhile, the robber is interesting, not actually very hate-able to me despite the gun, and says unexpected things. I see potential. Not sure I’m supposed to.

Couple of logistical niggles for me. First, I wish she had a better reason for opening the door to the jackass. He’s persistent, and Henry’s pushing her to let him in, but the whole thing felt risky to me, and she herself points out she’s been in trouble about being careless with security, so I just have trouble believing she thinks it’s safe to open the door to him at all — there’s not even a chain lock to keep the door from being pushed open. Maybe if there is a chain lock that she puts her trust in, but he breaks it. Or maybe he’s dressed as a cop and holds up a badge and says they’ve had a call and he needs to check things out. Something. You’re setting her up as having a hot button about being called stupid or perceived as stupid, so I don’t think she can do anything here that is actually kind of stupid. She needs to be smart — she can still make a mistake that even a smart person would make, but it has to be set up so that the reader (feeling smart) would’ve made the same mistake. That twists the knife a bit more on her “but I’m not stupid!!” thing — if she doesn’t do anything stupid but still ends up looking like she did something stupid, that’s gonna sting.

Second little thing is that I’m not sure why the robber would have her open the door to the second guy. Obviously there’s something between them that we’re not privy to yet, so I’m willing to wait and see on this one, but I hope there’s a good reason because it would’ve been really easy for him to say, “Ignore that, we’re going to the vault.” Unless he knows something we don’t, it seems quite likely that whoever this knocker is will give up and go away, no fuss, if no one answers. So why does he take that risk?

Third little thing — where’s her cell phone? She’s a mom, so she’d have a phone that she keeps on her nearly all the time because whoever’s watching her kid might call if he/she gets sick or bumps his/her head or whatever. I am vigilant about my phone when I’m away from my kid because it happens every now and then that the school or the babysitter has to call me about something, and I’m paranoid about missing those calls. So she doesn’t have to have it, but it needs to be noted — she put it down on the counter right before she went to the door, she was charging it at the plug on the far side of the room. Just a quick mention so I can stop thinking about it, especially once she’s trapped in the vault with Bill and I wish she could call the cops from in there once she has the freedom to do so.

And what Sue said about the “no idea how tempting that is” line from the robber. Tempting to shoot Jordan? Seemed like a response to her unspoken thought.

Just read the first line again and realized why she calls the second stranger “Bill.” Nice one.

CORY LAVITT

Protag: Courtney

Antag: The guy with the gun.

Goal: Save Henry. Yes, she wants the store not to be robbed but Courtney’s primary goal is for Henry to get away, even if it endangers her.

What works:

Ellen mentioned a trouble with tone but I think you walked a Whedon-esque line (is that a word? It is now.) with this chapter and it works great. It’s not going to work for everyone but it’s a very clear and distinct tone/voice and I’m worried messing with that will make it bland. Her love and fear for Henry came across as very clear and if suddenly she’s terrified, then I think she’s a different person and this is a different book.

Just my two cents on that one.

Love how Courtney thinks on her feet and I now have “Marry me, Bill!” as an earworm. Thanks a lot, Crusie.

Henry’s personality also comes through very clearly as well, especially being mullish about giving over his gun.

Love the mystery of what might happen next, I’m fascinated at the possible connection between the thieves, and how it’s all going to work out.

And I hate Jordan already.

What needs work:

Just logistics that should be fixed easily. I think giving the name of the singer adds one too many names in the beginning of the story, at least for my poor brain to handle. Maybe just say “and the next song on the album started to play. Jordan hated this music…” but your wording will be better.

The blocking of the vault and how they’re opening it could be clearer, as I’m not sure what’s where as yet and had to stop and read a few times.

And that’s it. The voice comes through in spades. Don’t mess with that.

MICKI Y.

Protag: Courtney, who wants to go home (negative goal is to keep the store from being robbed.

Antag: You’ve got three guys antagonizing her . . . but I don’t think Henry is the real antag of the scene. I’d say she feels Unknown Guy is the biggest danger, but Bill is the guy she ends the scene with.

Needs work: When Henry’s asking for grandkids, I assume Courtney is single, so Bill’s entrance is a bit of a surprise.

You’ve got one bad-guy Bill in your canon, so eventually, you might think about a name change for the fiance. No hurry.

You drop a big hint that the Unknown Guy is going to be the romantic lead, and UG starts out apologetic. But, now that we know the robbery was a planned, inside job, it seems unlikely that UG is just an “accidental criminal.”

Keepers: I do love the twists in this short scene — UG goes from a romantic figure to bad guy; Bill goes from somewhat bearable fiance to bad guy (worse guy, actually). And it’s so funny. I love the Krav Maga line, and the “he’s going to know bullet wounds” follow-up.

JILL W

1. Who is the protagonist in this scene and what is her/his goal?

Courtney wants to close the shop, go home to her kid and fantasize about kneecapping her boss.

2. Who is the antagonist in this scene and what is her/his goal?

The Jackass with the gun. He says it’s a robbery, but I don’t think it’s the usual kind.

3. What expectations have been raised by the scene? (What do you think is going to happen in the next scene, much later in the book, at the end of the story?)

I expect it’s a love story, because the first thing I learn is that Henry the security guard is perpetually on the lookout for a man for Courtney. It should be one of the two guys in the first scene, but I don’t know what to make of them. Jackass is good-looking, has a warm smile, and is funny which makes me like him despite the gun and the robbery. Weird but true. Bill is terrific looking, great smile, fantastic dialogue, plus Courtney automatically calls him her fiancé and names him Bill (she’s just been singing ‘C’mon and marry me, Bill’). And he holds her close and has a great chest, and he gets locked in the vault with her, so I’m thinking it’s him, even though he’s a mystery and he actually says ‘no heroes here.’

I think it’s a caper because I have no feeling of jeopardy. I’m not scared for Courtney or Henry at any point, even though Jackass and Henry are both armed, and Jackass is making threats. I think it’s a comedy because neither side seems very competent. Courtney opens the door – twice – knowing she should not, and the vault isn’t even locked. Henry is a security guard but he’s not exactly poised for action. Jackass needs Courtney’s help to tie Henry up, doesn’t even check that she’s done it properly, allows her to let Bill into the shop, allows Henry to sneak out the back door, loses his gun and messes up the heist. Neither Courtney nor Henry seems truly afraid, and Jackass has all the time in the world. Bill fits right in and plays along. The dialogue is fantastic.

I think the true bad guy of the story will turn out to be Jordan. He comes across as a much bigger asshole than Jackass or Bill. If I’m writing the rest of the story in my mind, I think Jordan did something bad to Jackass or has something that belongs to him that Jackass wants back. Bill is involved in the situation somehow – so he’s not a cop, can’t be an insurance investigator (because of Ford in Faking It) but he’s got that kind of feel. Courtney and Henry will help Jackass to get the Thing back. Courtney will end up with Bill but she won’t know exactly who/what he is for most of the book.

Getting way ahead of myself, I could even imagine more than one story with Courtney and Bill as a team, doing whatever he does, solving problems.

4. What needs work in this scene? (Be specific without rewriting.)

I guess it’s deliberate that I don’t know where I stand with either Jackass or Bill, don’t even know their names, but it left me disoriented. I’m with Courtney, but I don’t know who else I’m with or against, except I’m against Jordan.

I never got the impression that Courtney was scared, even though you said she was terrified. It didn’t worry me, because the first thing Jackass says is “Really sorry about this,” which means her subconscious might have decided he’s not going to shoot and she’s free to be feisty with him. Plus it would seem natural for the ‘fight or flight’ adrenaline rush to lead Courtney to fight first and feel scared later. (I once walked in on a twentysomething guy robbing my office, going through my handbag. I charged across the room, grabbed him by the front of his shirt and lifted him off the floor, yelling for the police. Later the police kindly pointed out that wasn’t the smartest thing I could have done.)

In the first instance I wondered why Courtney and Henry didn’t decide to stay safe and let Jackass take the diamonds. Courtney’s a single mother, she despises Jordan, and she even says she’s not going to get shot for some stupid diamonds. I understand that when Jackass calls Courtney stupid he presses the hot button and then everything changes and she has to defeat him.

I can understand that Courtney opened the door to Jackass, even though she wasn’t supposed to. I had a problem with her opening the door to Bill. She’d just made a big mistake with Jackass, who looked harmless. Bill looked tall and shadowy. By the end of the scene I’d decided the story was a caper, so I relaxed about all the things that had initially worried me – Courtney being as bad about security as Jordan said, Henry being a sloppy guard, Jackass being a not-very-good robber, and Bill just strolling in and fitting seamlessly into the action rather than being freaked out to find himself in the middle of a robbery.

I get that Jordan is a moron, that he’s perpetually belittling Courtney, and that she loves to hate him, but I felt a little bit hit over the head about it. I would have easily got there on my own and enjoyed doing a little more work.

Small point, but I wondered why there wasn’t a silent alarm linked to the police. Any jeweler that has bullet proof glass and an armed guard would surely have had an alarm button or two around the place. Sometimes at foot level. One of Henry or Courtney should easily have been able to trigger an alarm. Unless (say) it needed fixing and Courtney should have done it, and hadn’t.

I wasn’t 100 per cent sure whether Jordan knows a hell of a lot about diamonds or thinks he knows a lot but does not. I was 100 per cent sure he’s an obnoxious dickhead.

I was mostly occupied with who Jackass and Bill were and what they were really up to. I wasn’t really worried about how Courtney would defeat them, so I was entertained when she locked herself in the vault but I didn’t get a big payoff from it.

5. What must be kept?

I really enjoyed this scene. It was a lot of fun to read.

I liked all the characters, even the ones I’m not sure I was supposed to like.

I loved Courtney’s angry, cranky, funny voice. She’s my kind of heroine.

I hope I got the general idea of the story right, because I liked the slightly slapstick feel and I’d love it to continue that way.

Jackass and Bill are both hot, which put a smile on my face right away.

There was great chemistry between all the characters. I’d like to see more of Bill and Jackass, and I want to see them team up with Courtney to bring Jordan down. I haven’t even met him and I hate him already.

I loved the dialogue, which was snappy and engaging and funny.

I’d buy this book. I’d love to read the rest of it.

ELIZABETH E:

Read through the scene a few times and I’d definitely keep reading to see what happens next. Really enjoyed Courtney, but then I’m a sucker for angry snarky heroines – possibly because I am an angry snarky heroine myself. Henry comes across as a kindly bumbling sort – not exactly what I’d look for in a security guard, but he adds a nice family feel to the scene. I like the fact that the true natures of the jackass and Bill are a mystery at the end of the scene and neither one is painted as irretrievably bad off the bat. The pacing of the scene was really engaging once Courtney finished her mental Jordon remembrances and started the action and the dialog rang true.

That said, there were a couple of things that didn’t quite work for me. First off, why does Courtney open the door? Sure Henry is making comments about grandkids, but Courtney is closing up and wants to go home – why does she open the door even if it is just to say they are closed. I could see if she decided to open the door because she needed just one more sale to show Jordan she could out sell him, or some such thing, but otherwise, what real motivation does she have to go to the door – especially if Jordan has “accused me twice of being careless with security.”

Second, why doesn’t the store have an alarm or a panic button or something and why is the vault open? Not that I know anything about vaults in jewellery stores, but it surprised me that it would be open and that easy to access.

Third – and what gave me the biggest pause – why doesn’t Courtney just let the jackass take what he wants? She has a kid – wouldn’t playing it safe make more sense than letting him push her “she was so dumb she’d have to do what he wanted” button. There is no indication that the store or its contents are important to her, so why take the risk?

JEANNE E.

It’s interesting that no one else found Jackass a real threat. Hamlet says, “…a man may smile, and smile, and be a villain,” and that was my take on Jackass–he was a smiling, damned villain. Using a gun to rob a store is aggravated robbery because exponentially incresases the chance somone’s going to get shot. I read Jackass as a sociopath who would smile while he shot an old man and a single mom to get what he wanted. Which is why his catching his arm in the vault door and losing his gun really rang a false note with me (and not the wedding bell blues).

Courtney tells us she’s terrified, but that doesn’t really come across in the action. As many people get killed by incompetent criminals as psychopathic ones–maybe even more, if you believe the Cohen brothers–so.I felt like she should have been terrified–thinking desperately that she doesn’t want her kid being raised her his/her father, or fleeting thougts of things she hasn’t had a chance to do–your basic “life flashing before her eyes” stuff.

I liked Courtney enough I would have been willing to read more of her, even without the recommendation of the book being a Crusie novel, but the scene read like a play script–all dialogue and stage direction. (I suspect this is what Jenny’s eary drafts generally read like, though I don’t know that.)

The other thing I’m not sure about is Courtney being so interested in marriage. As the scene starts she’s singing along to “Wedding Bell Blues,” she banters with Henry about giving him (not really) grandkids, and she immediately casts Bill in the role of fiance. Taken together, in such a short space, that makes her come across as husband hungry. That feels out of synch with today’s view of marriage as a much less desirable state than it used to be.

MICKI (responding to Jeanne)

Yeah, but that’s not the meme (-:. If the bad guy says he’s sorry about all this, he’s probably a good guy at heart, just forced into this by circumstances. I don’t see Jackass as the real bad guy at all — I expect he’s going to be the romantic hero of the piece.

Note on Laura Nyro:

Brilliant singer/song writer. Although most of her songs were hits for other artists–”When I Die” for BS&T, “Wedding Bell Blues” for the Fifth Dimension, “Stoney End” for Streisand–an impressive number of musicians cite her as a major influence, including Joni Mitchell, Elton John, Elvis Costello, Bette Midler, Todd Rundgren, Cyndi Lauper, and Steely Dan. I love that list because their music is all over the place, but they all learned from Nyro and talk about her influence. So she’s a behind-the-scenes genius, feeding other people’s genius. I think that’s Courtney in a lot of ways, too. Nyro is one of my role models; she never became hugely famous, but she did good work and she inspired others to do good work. That’s a pretty damn good legacy. Click here for her version of Wedding Bell Blues.

And back to me . . .

So, the third rewrite. Big changes needed.

One of the things you may have noticed in the critiques was that they pinpointed different things. It’s always better to get several critiques because different readers see different things. Also if there’s anything you’re resisting changing and more than one critiquer mentions it, cowgirl up and fix it.

So I learned A LOT from those critiques. There were a lot of little fixes–clear up the different between the safe and the vault, for example, and Courtney opening the door and a silent alarm–but that’s just mopping up, and thank you all very much for the directions.

The harder stuff: Courtney as an protagonist (Ellen didn’t think she was because she’s not the pro-active one in the scene; she has a negative goal), tone (is this supposed to be funny or frightening?), and that hero. Let’s start with him.

The hero has to change completely. He’s just not interesting, there’s no juice (a problem with my writing lately), so there’s no reason for Courtney to engage with him, so he makes no impact. There should be impact when a romance heroine meets the romance hero. He should move the heroine out of her comfort zone and not just because oh-my-god-he’s-hot because that’s just dumb. Anybody can stammer because a guy is good-looking; I need to see who and what he is jack into her deepest hopes and fears (which means I have to get some of that on the page so the reader knows about them). When a romance hero is so vanilla that readers don’t recognize him as a hero, there’s a problem.

And that takes me back to Courtney because she’s the center of my story, so the hero has to be Courtney’s Guy, the character she falls for in spite of herself. As she’s on the page, she’s still too shrill, too bitchy about Jordan, too all over the place. She has a thing about being underestimated, starting with her college prof father who thinks she stupid because she got Cs all the way through school, her boss Jordan patronizes her, and now Colin, the robber, thinks she’s too dumb to know what’s going on (well, she doesn’t, but she’s smart enough to know there’s something hinky about the robbery). Except that’s not working, so new fear/anger-button. Enter the new hero. Somehow who and what he is has to push her over the edge and propel her into the next scene where she’s locked in a vault with him and ready to kill him. And whatever that is, it would be good if made them doppelgangers or opposite numbers, some kind of deep identity relationship that will pull them together. No, I have no idea what that could be, this is only the third freaking draft, people. I won’t get that until about the twentieth. But if I ever write this, it’ll be there eventually because I know it exists.

Courtney’s fear also has to be real in this scene, not terror, it’s a caper, but she has to be pushed outside her normal actions by strong emotion. But this scene also has to be a harbinger of what is to come, because her story antagonist is not Colin. Colin’s a minion, a good minion, a minion for hire who will probably switch sides later, and he is the antagonist in this scene, but the subtext is that the conflict will be between Courtney and the story antagonist, foreshadowing the complications to come. She’s caught up in a conspiracy, but she doesn’t know it yet. That makes it harder, but she should see something shadowy moving in her peripheral vision, metaphorically speaking. She should catch a scent of the story antagonist, she should think, “This is weird, there’s something about this that’s off,” she has to set up the expectation that there’s something nasty in the woodshed. This scene has to set up the entire novella and right now, it’s just Courtney bitching.

Which brings us to tone. The tone is all over the place because I don’t know what the tone for the novella is yet. It’s the problem with writing the first scene first. You really can’t write the first scene until you’ve written the last scene because the first scene sets up the last scene. But I need to write the first scene first so I can keep writing and see what happens until I get to the end. I know the slapstick feel is because the pace here is still frenetic. The suspense aspect is because there’s a gun in the room, no matter how charming Colin is being as he waves it around. The tone has to come from Courtney, and she’s the only person who doesn’t have a clue about what’s really happening. So as it always does, it comes back to the protagonist, who she is, what she wants, what she’s afraid of, how she’s going to interpret her problem and the actions she takes to handle it.

So Courtney’s tired. It’s been a long day. Jordan was a jerk. It’s Saturday night and the store is closed on Sunday. She just wants to get home. But that’s not enough, it’s not enough that Jordan is a jerk, there has to be more, so Jordan tells her that one more screw-up and she’s fired, even though she hasn’t been screwing up, he has. Frustration, outrage, fear, that’s good. And Henry does not have arthritis, Henry has a heart condition, he just had something done, he should not be under stress. Then I have to get Leroy out of the equation (it’s hell writing a sequel) so he’s somewhere with Prescott and Nanny Joy and Trudy and whatever Trudy’s husband’s name is (can’t remember), and he’s safe, and she’s supposed to join them the next day (Sunday) and she’s dreading that, and then in comes Colin with his gun, spurring Henry’s heart to pump faster and putting Courtney into action. That’s MUCH better. Of course 90% of that can’t be on the page, so that’s harder to write, but at least it makes sense.

The first beat is Courtney and Henry in the stable world, closing up shop, Henry trying to comfort Courtney, singing with Nyro to make her laugh. Then Colin shows up with the gun, and Courtney reacts to that: She’s not stupid. She’ll protect Henry and hit the panic button.

The second beat has to be Courtney in action, getting Henry out before he has a heart attack, giving Colin whatever he wants, stalling for the police, setting a good plan in motion before Ten walks in the door.

The third beat is Ten coming in and changing the dynamic. BRAND NEW HERO. The antagonist is still Colin, but Ten complicates things, gives Courtney another plate to spin, must amend her plan. Not sure that’s enough to rachet up the tension, swing things in a new direction. Well, a new entrant into the conflict is always a new direction, but he’d better be amazing. Of course, he has to be amazing anyway because he’s the goddamn hero. ARGH.

The fourth beat then is Courtney putting her amended plan into action, which of course, goes wrong. The two things she really needs in this scene to fix the problems the betas found are a plan and action. Oh, and motivation for not just handing over the damn diamonds, which I can’t think of, so she’s going to agree to hand over the damn diamonds. And it has to be a plan that gets her into the vault with Ten, which pushes her into the next scene and makes the reader turn the page to see what happens.

Okay. I can do that. I may not get it all in the next draft, but I can keep chipping away at it. I just need to cogitate . . . .

Back tomorrow with the third but not nearly the final draft, although it’s the last one I’ll post here. Rewriting. Argh.

“Cold Hearts” 3: The Second Draft

The first rewrite is never going to be the finished scene. In my experience, the tenth rewrite isn’t going to be the finished scene. You have to fix the glaring problems so you can see the ones that are merely evident. And then you have to fix the evident ones so you can see the one that are just bad. And then you have to fix the bad ones to see the one that are iffy. And then . . . The more rewrites you do, the better the scene gets, and the more clearly you can see its warts and bones. So the first rewrite is still going to be bad and it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that it’s better . . .

“Cold Hearts” Scene One First Rewrite/Second Draft

Courtney Maxwell had just finished belting out “Wedding Bell Blues” with Henry the security guard–putting some real effort into “C’mon and marry me, Bill”– when somebody knocked on the massive wood door to the shop and waved at them through the small bullet-proof window at the top.

Henry looked over the colored diamond case with his hand on his gun and then relaxed when the guy smiled and waved again, broad-faced and curly haired, the boy-next-door made flesh.

“Not bad looking, honey,” Henry said to her.

“He’d be better looking if he showed up before closing.”

On the CD player, Laura Nyro moved on from “Wedding Bell Blues” to “Stoney End” as Courtney put the last of the Orion watches in their black velvet case and put the case in the safe under the counter. Junk, she thought, no matter what Jordan said. “It takes a certain level of taste to appreciate these, Courtney,” he’d said. “These are ten thousand dollar watches.” Fuck you, Jordan, they’re junk no matter what they cost.

Jordan didn’t like Laura Nyro, either, which told you everything you needed to know about Jordan.

“He’s a redhead like you,” Henry was saying. “I could use some redheaded grandkids.”

“Unfortunately, you are not my father,” Courtney said.

The guy knocked again. She shook her head at him in the universal We’re closed, go away signal, but he didn’t leave. As clueless as Jordan, who’d had the nerve to correct her in front of a customer and be wrong. Jordan knew as much about diamonds as Courtney knew about quantum mechanics, but he’d made her look like a fool. She slammed the door to the safe and spun the combination.

“You’d still bring ‘em over for cookies and milk. Junie’d really like that.”

“Junie’d really like your ass home on time tonight, so no we are not opening up for this guy just because he’s cute.” I’m not that stupid. No matter what Jordan thinks.

The guy knocked again, harder this time.

“Persistent,” Henry said. “Good smile. You been alone too long. Go for it.”

“I’m not letting him in here. Jordan has accused me twice of being careless with security; I’m not getting any more lectures just because some guy can’t read a ‘Closed’ sign.”

“We don’t have a ‘Closed’ sign,” Henry said, “and Jordan’s a dope.”

The guy pounded again, and Courtney walked over and opened the door just enough to show a friendly but unyielding smile. “I’m sorry,” she said to him. “We’re closed for the evening. We’ll open again tomorrow at ten.” Jordan will be here. You can talk to him. He knows everything about diamonds. Just ask him

“It’s an emergency,” he said, his easy smile undercutting his words. “I’m getting engaged in fifteen minutes, and I’ve lost the ring.”

His brown eyes were warm and full of humor and he had a good strong jaw, and Courtney thought, Go away, I want to go home to my kid and some gin and imagine kneecapping my boss.

“Let him in,” Henry said.

“He’s engaged,” Courtney called back.

“Kick his ass out,” Henry said, and Courtney laughed, and the good-looking guy pulled a gun on her.

“What?” she said dumbfounded, and then he was knocking her back with the door as he pushed his way in.

“Really sorry about this,” he said, and slammed the door behind him.

“What the hell?” Henry said, and the guy swung the gun to Henry.

“No!” Courtney lunged between them, spreading her arms out, terrified. “No, you will not shoot Henry, he’s a grandfather! And I’m a single mother!”

The not-nearly-as-goodlooking-as-before guy looked at her in disbelief. “Do I look like I’m interested in the demographics here?”

“Don’t shoot Henry,” Courtney snapped. “I mean it.”

The guy sighed. “Henry, put your gun on the floor and kick it to me, and I won’t shoot you.”

“Hell, no,” Henry said, calm as ever.

“Henry, give him the damn gun,” Courtney said, glaring at the intruder. “I am not explaining your bullet-ridden body to Junie, and I’m sure as hell not leaving Leroy an orphan.”

“It’s my gun,” Henry said.

Courtney looked back at him, exasperation cutting through her fear. “Henry, kick that damn gun over to this asshole, or I will come back there and do it for you.”

Henry hesitated, and the guy said, “Henry, kick it over here or I’ll shoot the single mother.”

Henry put the gun on the floor and kicked across, and the jackass picked it up and put it in his jacket.

“You’re going to hell,” Courtney told the jackass.

“No doubt about it.” The guy reached in his jacket and pulled out white cable ties. “Now tie Henry’s hands behind his back so he doesn’t change his mind.”

“Henry’s got arthritis,” Courtney said, putting as much outrage as possible in her voice.

“I do not,” Henry said, disgusted.

“Not helping,” Courtney snapped and took the ties, glaring at the jackass before she went behind the counter with Henry.

“Do you have a plan?” she whispered to Henry as she tied his hands. “Because I’m not going to get shot for some stupid diamonds. I have a kid to raise.”

“Back door,” Henry whispered back. “I’ll distract him, you run for it.”

“He’ll want the vault.” Courtney gave a final tug, keeping her fingers inside the cables so they stayed loose. “I’ll take him back, you run for the cops.” She looked across the shop and called to the jackass. “Now what?”

He waved the gun toward the back of the shop. “Now we go to the vault.”

“Of course we do,” Courtney said.

Somebody knocked on the door.

“We gotta get a ‘Closed’ sign,” Henry said.

“You expecting somebody?” the jackass said.

Courtney squinted through the window. Whoever this one was, he was tall, his face in shadow under his hat. “Yes,” she said. “That’s my fiancé. I’d leave if I were you. He knows krav maga.”

“Get rid of him,” the jackass said, “or he’ll know bullet wounds.”

“Right,” Courtney said and went to the door, thinking about kneecapping the asshole with the gun.

No, she had to get serious. She had to make a plan. There had to be a plan, one that didn’t involve people ridden with bullet holes, especially if those people were her and Henry.

“Don’t try to be smart,” the jackass said, and the last of Courtney’s fear evaporated in rage.

Don’t talk about what you don’t know, Jordan had said.

Fuck both of you.

Courtney turned the lock and opened the door just enough to smile at the new guy. “Bill! Honey! Something’s come up and I have to work late! I’ll see you at home later!” Be a smart guy, know something’s wrong, call the cops.

“Not a problem,” he said cheerfully, and pushed the door open, shoving her back even though this time she’d put some back into keeping the door closed. She glared at him, and then he slid his arm around her waist, tightening it around her as she tried to move away and he looked past her to the jackass. “Something wrong?”

Across the room, the jackass pointed his gun at Henry’s head. “Nothing’s wrong,” he said, patience palpable in his voice. “This is a robbery. Take off your hat, Bill.”

Courtney tried to move away again, and Bill shifted so that she was closer to the door, away from the jackass, his arm still tight around her. Then he took off his hat, and Courtney blinked up at him. Thick dark hair, clear blue eyes, cheekbones that could cut diamonds—

“Good-looking grandchildren,” Henry said.

“You’re kidding,” Courtney said to Henry around Bill’s back. “You’re doing that now?”

“Don’t be a hero, Bill,” the jackass said. “Or I shoot the single mother.”

“No heroes here.” Bill tossed his hat onto the nearest counter, not relaxing his grip on her. “So what do we have to do to get out of here alive?”

“Well, you could have left and called the police,” Courtney said, and he looked down at her and smiled. Hundreds of women had probably felt faint at the sight of that smile.

I don’t need a damn smile, pretty boy, I need somebody to call the cops.



“You’re coming back here with Henry, Bill,” the jackass said. “I have more cable ties.”

“No,” Courtney said, and gripped Bill’s lapel. “Please don’t leave me, Bill.”

The jackass cocked his head at her. “Really. Bill walks in and you become a clinger?”

No, Henry needs a clear path to the back door. “I’ve always been a clinger.” Courtney clutched Bill’s lapel harder. “Just ask Bill.”

“It’s true.” Bill pulled her closer. “I’m here for you, honey.”

If he copped a feel, she was going to slap him, but until then he had a nice hard chest and he wasn’t pointing a gun at her, plus she could use him as a shield, so for the moment, she was in favor of him.

“This was supposed to be a simple job,” the jackass said, but he sounded philosophical about it. “Take off your jacket, Bill.”

Bill let go of her and took off his jacket. No concealed weapons.

You are a huge disappointment, Bill. There had been a tiny little hope that he was law enforcement, but no, he had to be an ordinary, clueless citizen . . .

She watched Bill meet the jackass’s eyes, calm but alert, and then she looked again at the way they were staring at each other.

They knew each other. Something in the way they regarded each other, cautious but with recognition . . .

“And now we open the vault,” the jackass said, and waved his gun toward the back.

“You can do it, honey.” Bill pushed her gently toward the back, and she thought, They’re working together.

Well, fine. He still made a dandy human shield.

“If you say so,” she said, keeping him between her and the gun.

The jackass moved toward them and Henry took a step toward the back door.

Careful, Henry. Courtney began to walk toward the curtain at the back, dragging Bill along by his shirt. “I don’t even know why you’re robbing us,” she said to the jackass. “There are a lot bigger jewelry stores. We’re just a little hole in the wall. We can’t even afford a ‘Closed’ sign.”

“Really?” the jackass said. “What a shame. Might as well look as long as I’m here. Right, Bill?”

“I would,” Bill said, putting his arm around her again, and Courtney thought, What do you think I am, stupid? but clearly they did, or they wouldn’t be pulling this crap on her.

She reached the curtain to the vault room and pulled it aside, motioning the jackass to go through first. He gave her a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me look, but behind him Henry disappeared into the storeroom on his way to the back door, so she went inside, Bill close behind, followed by the jackass.

The vault door was closed but not locked. Courtney bit her lip. “Oh, no, it’s locked.”

“And you don’t have the combination,” the jackass said. “What a surprise.”

“Only the manager can open it. That’s Jordan. And he won’t be back until tomorrow morning at ten.” She widened her eyes at the jackass. “Please don’t shoot us.” Come back tomorrow and shoot Jordan.

The jackass sighed. “You have no idea how tempting that is, but no. The vault is not locked. Open it.”

Damn it. “Fine.” Courtney bent down and flipped the latch on the vault. It wasn’t that she cared about the damn diamonds, it was that he thought that he could come in there a big ass gun and hurt people she cared about and that she was so dumb she’d have to do what he wanted—

“Open it,” the jackass said, his voice sharp, and Courtney said, “Fine.”

She straightened, pulled the door open, lunged inside, and slammed the vault door shut, catching Bill on the shoulder as he fell in after her. The jackass stuck his gun hand through the door, and Bill slammed it shut on his arm and the gun fell to the floor of the vault as the jackass yelled in pain. Then he yanked his arm out and Courtney slammed the door closed.

The thud from the door echoed in the silence as Courtney grabbed the gun from the floor and then leaned back against the door, breathless but reassured by the half dozen clicks that told her that the lock had engaged.

Bill smiled at her, his blue eyes beaming honesty and trustworthiness as he rubbed his shoulder. “That was unexpected.”

“You’re a thief,” Courtney said, and pointed the gun at him.

“That’s one interpretation,” Bill said.

“I’m aiming for the knees,” Courtney said and slid down the wall to sit on the floor, keeping the jackass’s gun trained on the other guy she couldn’t trust.

It was going to be a long night.

“Cold Hearts” 2: Brainstorming the Fix

So now there’s rough draft and it’s lousy but that’s okay because the rough draft is just the place I start. But now I have to ask myself some hard questions. Like “What the fuck is going on here? Why doesn’t she just give him the damn diamond? Is she an idiot?” Below are my notes on rereading twice during the next two weeks.

Okay, this is a mess, so let’s run the basic conflict box:

Who’s the protagonist? Courtney

What’s her goal? To get out of the shop alive.

Who’s the antagonist? Colin

What’s his goal? To steal the diamond.

The problem here is that Courtney can get out of the shop alive by giving Colin the diamond. Colin’s a thief, not a killer, although Courtney can be forgiven for not knowing that. No, she’d know that. So Courtney’s goal is to stop Colin from stealing the diamonds, but she has no motivation for that goal.

Note to self: Get goal.

Then there are the beats:

Beat 1: Close up shop and get rid of Colin to go home

Beat 2: Colin’s inside the shop: Save Henry (and herself)

Beat 3: Use Nick as a shield while distracting Colin so Henry can escape

Beat 4: Lock herself in the vault to stop Colin

Man, that goal problem really shows up there. It’s not that it’s not feasible that her goal would shift like that during a robbery, it’s that it’s not good for the scene. Because it shifts, the scene’s escalation is sloppy:

Escalation of goal:

1. Wants to go home.

2. Wants to keep herself and Henry alive and go home.

3. Wants to keep herself and Henry alive and foil Colin and go home.

I’m not buying any of that.

Escalation of tension

1. Tired, no danger.

2. Colin has a gun, must protect herself and Henry

3. Then what? How does it get worse than that? Inside job, so she’ll be suspected? Henry will be suspected? Must foil robbery? Because otherwise, she should just give him the rock.

4. Then locks another thief in the vault with her.

Crap, no escalation. Worse, the pace is too fast, but it doesn’t escalate, so the worst of both worlds.

Plus I’m really screwing up Courtney’s character. She’s too over the top, frenetic, all smart mouth, no depth. Granted she’s in trouble and in conflict (YAY, got that right), but if a guy points a gun at her, she’s going to think about her kid, not just smart off.

Then there’s Nick, coming in as Bill. I’ll buy she’d be suspicious of him, but it’s not playing on the page. It’s too fast, I’m not setting it up.

And all that stuff about men seems clunky and stupid. She knows all men aren’t bastards. Makes her sound dumb, bitter, mean.

Also, how does Nick get into the vault? How did he not get hit with the door? Why didn’t Colin grab the door? Makes no sense.

I had things to do so I stopped thinking about it for a couple of days. The Girls like time to think. But eventually I went back, looked at the scene again, and made these notes:

Courtney wants to stop the robbery. Why?

Colin wants to commit the robbery. Obvious motive.

1. She tries to keep him out.

2. She keeps him from shooting Henry.

3. She tells him about the safe under the counter to distract him.

4. She lies to him about fiance.

5. She tells him the vault is locked.

6. She locks herself inside.

It’s all kind of throw-it-against-the-wall stuff. Delaying until Henry can get out?

WHY DOES SHE CARE? Previous attempt to make her look bad?

Jordan thinks she’s dumb; tries to pin his own failings on her?

Colin hits a nerve?

It’s Valentine’s Day. People have been putting a price tag on love?

Oh, please. Theme mongering with a heavy spread of ick.

Bill/Nick: Complication. Introduces love interest. Should be something there. I don’t want her reacting to how pretty he is because she’s mad and won’t care. But there has to be something there for her to notice, even subconsciously. Also, he’s not that damn interesting. Make him interesting.

Okay, pull back. What’s her motive for the whole novella? Establish a new life? Take back her power?

Tired of being helpless in the hands of fate. Establish her turf.

Prescott left her and she couldn’t stop him. Jordan patronizes her and she can’t stop him. Colin is threatening her; last straw?

Then later with Nick, she makes the decision.

This is the day that is different. How?

Her actions today start the story. How?

Plus, she’s angry. (All my heroines are angry.) She’s got a lot of rage and nowhere to put it until Colin shows up. Free-floating rage. So unattractive.

Okay, she’s suspicious of both guys, which is common sense, not paranoia. Her boss is duplicitous; smart not to trust him. She’s alone (sent Henry away), she has to save herself, not just from Colin but from the consequences of the robbery. Plus she’s tired of people thinking she’s dumb (yes, I know, that’s my problem, too) so she has to show she’s smart?

Argh.

So I left it again for awhile. The rest of my life keeps interrupting my writing. Must do something about that. And then I did the first rewrite; tune in tomorrow . . .

“Cold Hearts” 1: The First Draft

In an attempt to give something back here after last week’s wallow, I finally finished a five six-part rewrite series I drafted awhile ago. The idea was to put up a first draft, analyze it, do a first rewrite, hand it over to beta readers (even though usually I’d do five or six more drafts before I showed it to anybody) and get their feedback, analyze the scene again, and do a third rewrite. That would give me, in theory, a starting place for the novella although I can’t do a final rewrite on a first scene until I’ve done the final rewrite on the last scene. It seemed like a good idea. Then life sideswiped me again and I put it to one side. And now I’m back.

The big thing to remember about first drafts is that of course they’re terrible. They’re supposed to be terrible. It’s like bringing home a stack of lumber, putting it in the garage, and saying, “That is one really terrible table.” It’s the raw material of your scene, nowhere near the finished product. So this first draft is very bad, but I don’t care, I got something on the page, and if I can do that, Katie bar the door, I can fix that scene. It’ll take me twenty rewrites, but I’ll get it. The hard part is getting anything on the page to start with.

So a little background: A long time ago, I wrote a novella called “Hot Toy.” There was a supporting character in there I loved, the heroine’s sister. She was cranky, she was self-pitying (she had reason), she loved her little boy, she was coping the best she could, she was tearing the arms off gingerbread men and dipping them in gin. Her name was Courtney, which I’d forgotten, and I’d thought off and on about writing her story, but setting it two years later when her Crazy Time was over, when she’d pulled herself together and was going after a new life. But there’s no market for novellas and I didn’t have a story and my life pretty much came unglued and no voices, so I let it go.

Then awhile ago, Courtney showed up. I wouldn’t say the voices came back, but there were whispers. So I wrote this first draft:

“COLD HEARTS” Scene One, First Draft

Courtney Maxwell had just finished belting out “Wedding Bell Blues” with Henry the security guard–putting some real effort into “C’mon and marry me, Bill”– when the cute guy knocked on the door to the shop.

Henry looked over the semi-precious counter with his hand on his gun and then relaxed when the guy smiled and waved through the safety glass window in the upper part of the massive door, broad-faced and curly haired, the boy-next-door made flesh.

“Not bad looking, honey,” Henry said to her. “Redhead like you. I could use some redheaded grandkids.”

“You’re not my father,” Courtney said and put the last of the case diamonds in the safe under the counter, shaking her head at the guy in the universal “We’re closed, go away” sign.

“You’d still bring ‘em over for cookies and milk. Junie’d really like that. She loves it when Leroy comes over, but she really likes babies.”

“Junie’d really like your ass home on time tonight,” Courtney said as the guy knocked again.

“Persistent,” Henry said. “Good smile. You been alone too long. Go for it.”

“No. More. Men. Ever.” Courtney slammed the door to the safe and spun the lock. Then she walked to the door and opened it just enough to show a friendly but unyielding smile. “I’m sorry,” she said to Cute Guy. “We’re closed for the evening. We’ll open again tomorrow at ten.”

“It’s an emergency,” he said, his easy smile undercutting his words. “I’m getting engaged in fifteen minutes, and I’ve lost the ring.”

His brown eyes were warm and full of humor and he had a good strong jaw, and Courtney thought, Go away, I want to go home to my kid and some gin.

“Let him in,” Henry said.

“He’s engaged,” Courtney called back.

“Kick his ass out,” Henry said, and the cute guy pulled a gun on her.

“Really sorry about this,” he said, and pushed the door open, making her stumble back.

“What the hell?” Henry said, and the guy swung the gun to Henry.

“No!” Courtney lunged between them, spreading her arms out. “No, you will not shoot Henry, he’s a grandfather! And I’m a single mother!”

The not-nearly-as-cute-as-before guy looked at her in disbelief. “Do I look like I’m interested in the demographics here?”

“Don’t shoot Henry,” Courtney snapped. “I mean it.”

The guy sighed and shoved the door closed with his back. “Henry, put your gun on the floor and kick it to me, and I won’t shoot you.”

“Hell, no,” Henry said, calm as ever.

“Henry, give him the damn gun,” Courtney said. “I am not explaining your bullet-ridden body to Junie.”

“It’s my gun,” Henry said.

“Henry, kick that gun over to this asshole or I will come back there and do it for you.”

Henry hesitated, and the guy said, “Henry kick it over here or I’ll shoot the single mother.”

Henry put the gun on the floor and kicked across, and the jackass picked it up and put it in his jacket.

“You’re going to hell,” Courtney told the jackass.

“No doubt about it.” The guy reached in his jacket and pulled out white cable ties. “Now tie Henry’s hands behind his back so he doesn’t change his mind.”

“Henry’s got arthritis,” Courtney said, putting as much outrage as possible in her voice.

“I do not,” Henry said, disgusted.

“Not helping,” Courtney said and took the ties, glaring at the jackass before she went behind the counter with Henry. “Do you have a plan?” she whispered to Henry as she tied his hands.

“Back door,” Henry whispered back. “I’ll distract him, you run for it.”

“He’ll want the vault.” Courtney gave a final tug, keeping her fingers inside the cables so they stayed loose. “I’ll take him back, you run for the cops. No arguments.” She looked across the shop and called to the jackass. “Now what?”

He waved the gun toward the back of the shop. “Now we go to the vault.”

“Of course,” Courtney said, and then somebody knocked on the door.

“We gotta get a ‘Closed’ sign,” Henry said.

“You expecting somebody?” the jackass said.

“Yes,” Courtney said. “That’s my fiancé. I’d leave if I were you. He knows krav maga.”

“Get rid of him,” the jackass said, “or he’ll know bullet wounds.”

“Right,” Courtney said and went to the door.

She could see through the window that this one was tall, and he was wearing a suit so he wasn’t a cop, which would have been helpful, but she couldn’t see his face because he was wearing a fedora that cast a shadow. She turned the lock and opened the door just enough to smile at him. “Bill! Honey! Something’s come up and I have to work late! I’ll see you at home later!” Be smart, know something’s wrong, call the cops.

“Not a problem.” The guy pushed the door open and slid his arm around her waist, moving her back with his body as he came in. “I’ll wait with you.” He closed the door behind him, and then he looked past her to the jackass, his arm tightening around her as she tried to move away. “Something wrong?”

Across the room, the jackass pointed his gun at Henry’s head. “Nothing’s wrong,” he said, patience palpable in his voice. “This is a robbery. Take off your hat, Bill.”

Courtney tried to move away again, and Bill shifted so that she was closer to the door, his arm still tight around her. Then he took off his hat, and Courtney blinked up at him. Thick dark hair, clear blue eyes, cheekbones that could cut diamonds—

“Good-looking grandchildren,” Henry said.

“You’re kidding,” Courtney said to Henry around Bill’s back. “Now?”

“Don’t be a hero, Bill,” the jackass said to the new guy. “Or I shoot the single mother.”

“No heroes here.” Bill tossed his hat onto the nearest counter, not relaxing his grip on her. “So what do we all have to do to get out alive?”

“You’re coming back here with Henry,” the jackass said. “I have many cable ties.”

“No,” Courtney said, and gripped Bill’s lapel. “Please don’t leave me, Bill.”

The jackass cocked his head at her. “Really. Bill walks in and you become a clinger?”

No, Bill walks in, and I don’t trust either one of you, and Henry needs a clear path to the back door.

“I’ve always been a clinger,” Courtney said, clutching Bill’s lapel harder. “Just ask Bill.”

“It’s true,” Bill said, and Courtney leaned in to him just a little.

He was probably another jackass, but he had a nice hard chest and he wasn’t pointing a gun at her, plus she could use him as a shield, so he was ahead on points.

“This was supposed to be a simple job,” the jackass said, but he sounded philosophical about it. “Take off your jacket, Bill.”

Bill let go of her and took off his jacket. No concealed weapons.

Damn it, Courtney thought. There had been a tiny little hope that he was law enforcement, but really, what were the chances?

“And now we open the vault,” the jackass said, and waved his gun toward the back.

“You can do it, honey,” Bill said and pushed her gently toward the back, and she thought, They’re working together.

Well, fine. He still made a dandy human shield.

“If you say so,” she said, and gripped his shirt, keeping him between her and the gun. Goddamn men, taking what they wanted and then leaving her to pick up the pieces.

The jackass moved toward them and Henry took a step toward the back door.

Careful, Henry, Courtney thought and walked toward the curtains at the back, dragging Bill along with her by his shirt. “I don’t even know why you’re robbing us,” she said to the jackass. “There are a lot bigger jewelry stores. We’re just a little hole in the wall. We can’t even afford a sign.”

“Really?” the jackass said. “What a shame. Might as well look as long as I’m here. Right, Bill?”

“I would,” Bill said, putting his arm around her again, and Courtney thought, I knew it, they’re working together.

She reached the curtains to the vault room and pulled them aside, motioning the jackass to go through first. He gave her a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me look, and behind him Henry disappeared into the storeroom on his way to the back door, so she went inside, Bill’s arm still around her, followed by the jackass.

The vault door was closed but not locked. Courtney bit her lip and said, “Oh, no, it’s locked.”

“And you don’t have the combination,” the jackass said. “What a surprise.”

“Only the manager can open it. And he won’t be back until tomorrow morning at ten.” She widened her eyes at the jackass. “Please don’t shoot us.”

The jackass sighed. “You have no idea how tempting that is, but no. The vault is not locked. Open it.”

So the jackass had inside information.

Damn it. “Fine,” Courtney said, letting go of Bill. She bent down and flipped the latch on the vault. It wasn’t that she cared about the damn diamonds, it was that he just thought he could come in there a big ass gun and hurt people she cared about and she’d just do what he wanted—

“Open it,” the jackass said, his voice sharp, and Courtney said, “Fine.”

She straightened, pulled the door open, lunged inside, and slammed the vault door shut, narrowly missing Bill, who had slipped inside behind her.

The thud from the door closing echoed in the silence, followed by half a dozen clicks as the lock engaged.

Bill smiled at her, his blue eyes beaming honesty and trustworthiness. “That was unexpected.”

“You’re a thief,” Courtney said, and slid down the wall to sit on the floor.

It was going to be a long night.

Who Sunday: Army of Ghosts/Doomsday, Russell T. Davies

One of the problems of writing Dr. Who has to be upping the stakes for every finale. “No, THIS ONE is the worst!” It’s the Buffy problem: “We have to save the world AGAIN?” The smaller episodes of good people in trouble (see “The Girl in the Fireplace”) have more warmth, I think, and often more suspense. We know the Doctor is going to save The World, but he doesn’t always save The Person (see Rose’s daddy). A lot of the emotion in this one isn’t about losing the world, it’s about Rose and the Doctor losing each other. I think every epic needs, at its center, personal crisis, one single heart in danger of being broken, or it just becomes a lot of sound and fury and big gleaming robots.

Cherry Saturday: 6-22-2013

June 22nd is National Chocolate Eclair Day.

You know what you have to do.

The Real Writer, Writer’s Anacusis, Further Cogitation, Thank You

So, four things to follow up on previous blog post and then Next Week on Argh:

1. “The Real Writer”: I screwed up communicating on that one completely. What I was trying to say was there are a lot of people who say a Real Writer doesn’t get writer’s block, she just puts her butt in the chair and writes without whining, and fine, by their definition, I’m not a Real Writer. I know I’m a real writer, I’m just having trouble with the voices, which those Real Writers wouldn’t let stop them. I communicated that VERY badly and I apologize. For the record, I am not only a real writer, I’m a FABULOUS writer. I just have this little problem . . .

2. I don’t have Writer’s Block, I have Writer’s Anacusis (which means total deafness which is not exactly my problem because every now and then I get voices). I can write non-fiction just fine, it’s the voices I’m missing. Although now that I can call it Writer’s Anacusis, I’m feeling much better. That sounds serious, not like whining.

3. LOTS of good stuff to think about from yesterday which is why I responded to so many comments (except the ones I liberated from pending because they disappeared before I could answer). I like Laura’s idea of changing things up, which made me think of trying to get movies instead of radio plays. That’s going to be tough because I’m not a visual writer, but it’s worth a shot. Also, everybody who said, “Maybe there’s too much going on,” had an excellent point. And the good news there is that I’m almost finished with the McD curriculum (not the lectures, but hey, that’s non-fiction, so I can do that later), and the house is with a month or two of being livable, and Milton is completely recovered and leaping about like a small, elongated mountain goat, and all my stuff is moved here, so by September, it may be quiet enough in my head that the voices will come back.

4. Mostly I just want to say thank you for the comments. That was such a self-indulgent, self-centered post that I was really inviting a lot of “get over yourself, you’re the luckiest woman we know” comments (and that’s so true) but instead I got great advice, even the stuff I couldn’t do, and amazing support. I am very, very lucky to be part of Argh Nation and I know it.

I really do hope the comments made that post valuable, and to make up for all the navel-gazing this week, I’m putting together a five-part series on rewriting next week so we can talk about craft for awhile because I haven’t given back much to this blog lately. (The Doctor Who weekends are because I love the Doctor, so it’s most fan squee even when I try to make writerly points about the episodes.) I wrote a first draft of a first scene for a novella I’d been thinking about, and it was terrible but that’s okay because hey, first draft, not supposed to be good. So that’s Monday’s post. Then Tuesday, I have the notes I made on re-reading it several times during the following week, pinpointing the most egregious flaws. Wednesday, you get the rewrite after my notes. Then I gave it to beta readers, and on Thursday you get their notes (and they were all fabulous readers, too, absolutely right in their comments) and then on Friday you get the next rewrite which has no juice, but it’ll do for now. Not the last rewrite because I can’t write the final draft of the first scene until I’ve written the final draft of the last scene, but it’s to the place where it’ll serve to start the story without causing me too much pain when I read it. As I said, it lacks juice, but at this point, I’m good with that. It’s a start.

So coming soon on Argh: The End of the Rose Years on Doctor Who–get the Kleenex–and a five part series on how I try to make really terrible first drafts into okay-I-won’t-kill-myself-when-I read-this, good-enough-for-now, third drafts.

And again, thank you so much for your support.

Self-Absorbed Musings About My Writing; Feel Free To Skip

I’ve been thinking a lot about writing for the past twenty plus years (I started in 1991). I’ve been thinking about it a lot more since I started teaching the publishing class at McDaniel three weeks ago (there’s the blind leading the blind). One of the things I forced my hapless students to do was examine what they wanted from a writing career and beyond that, lurking in the subtext, why they wrote. It’s a big question for me because I was not born to write novels. I think I was born to sit on a bed with one or more rescued dachshunds and read novels; at least that’s what comes naturally to me. And yet there are these stories in my head. The problem is, I’m having a helluva time writing them.

My closest friend is a natural storyteller. She got her first publication at eight–just ask her, she’ll tell you–and never stopped. She’s been going through hell the last ten years or so but she never stopped writing. She can’t stop writing. She writes the way I eat pizza, because it’s there. If they stopped paying her tomorrow, she’d still write. It’s in her blood, it’s part of who she is. I admire that, I envy that, I don’t have that.

I think I became a writer because I read so much. I loved what Georgette Heyer and Mary Stewart and Margery Allingham and Michael Gilbert and Rex Stout and Emma Lathen and all the rest did for me. No matter how awful things were as I was growing up, there were books and they had worlds in them. My favorite book of all time is a YA called Green As Spring that I read so many times that its language is part of my writer DNA. It was a romance novel about Frannie Gay, a high school student in the fifties (forties?), a much more innocent time, who one day realizes that she’s in love with her best friend. I loved that realization scene: she’s in a swimming pool with all of her friends (great community in that book), treading water, her nose just above the surface, when she realizes what’s happening and almost drowns from the shock. I loved the pairing of the thought and action, the shock of the thought and the water up her nose, drowning in emotion and chlorine. And there was all this wonderful dialogue because everybody got the best lines. I loved that world, those people, I wanted to be Frannie Gay who after many trials and tribulations gets the boy at the Big Dance, telling him that she’ll be dating a college guy, too, and then smiling as he bends to kiss her. At some point in one of many re-reads, I realized that I didn’t just want to read Green as Spring, I wanted to write it.

And with that realization, I got water up my nose. Because much like Frannie knows it’s impossible that she’ll ever have Michael, I knew it was impossible that I could become a published writer. I wasn’t smart enough, I didn’t have enough worldly experience, I was all hat and no cattle (all talk and no plot?), it was never going to happen. If you’ve ever read Sizzle, my first book (although not the first one published), you’ll know how right I was. Or at least how clueless. I think what saved me was the need to win. I don’t need to defeat other people; what other people are doing has nothing to do with me. But I sure as hell need not to fail. Add a good dose of hypomania into that, and I became an absolute fanatic about learning to write fiction. I read books, I took classes, I made people who were good readers read my stuff and tell me brutally what wasn’t working, I slaved at my craft. That part was all right, that made sense, that was controllable. But that was only half of it. The other half was the voices in my head.

It always sounds so cute: I have voices in my head. Well, they’re cute because they’re not telling me to save France or blow up Congress, they just chat away. Sometimes they talk dirty to each other. Sometimes they have big fights. They do a LOT of wisecracking. But they start talking and I write them down and then, somewhere along the way, I find a story in the chat, and I start thinking about antagonists and all the craft stuff and about eighteen months later there’s a book. Which I then revise twenty times, but hey, it’s a book. It’s what I call my truck draft; I give it to Jen and tell her that it’s not where I want it to be, but if I get hit by a truck, she can publish it. That worked really well until I hit menopause, and something happened to my brain chemistry, and the voices went away.

I can’t begin to tell you how lonely that was. And terrifying because by that point, the voices in my head were paying my electric bill, but mostly just lonely. An entire inner life full of people in my brain just went away. Every now and then a crumpled ball of paper would blow across the dusty floor up there, but mostly it was just silence. And silence for me meant failure. And I do not fail. Cue small mental breakdown.

It was about that time that I started collaborating. For those of you who’ve wondered: I had to. I couldn’t write on my own. If you’ve read my parts of Don’t Look Down, you can see my problem. I’m there, I’m trying, I’ve got the craft down, but aside from the Wonder Woman scene and a couple of others, the voices never came back. (And a big thank you to Bob Mayer for carrying me on that book.) Writing with Eileen and Krissie in The Unfortunate Miss Fortunes was a little better; Mare was a gift as soon as she showed up in full battle gear, and she’s still one of my top fave heroines. And then came Agnes. Agnes didn’t just talk in my head, she snarled; I had to type faster than I ever had before just to get it all down before the silence came back. Because that was the problem, the silence kept coming back. I’d think, “Now I have it again!” and it would disappear like mist in the sun, just gone.

I stuck with collaborations and loved both of the next ones, but I knew I had to write alone again, just for my own mental health. And then the universe sent me a gift: two little girls who came as a package deal with a friend who moved in with me. Two incredibly smart, incredibly emotional, incredibly vocal little girls who made me look at everything in a different way. And because of them, one day, a book I’d been working on and getting nowhere suddenly came to life because there was Alice in my head, and when Alice started talking, Andie answered, and then North entered the conversation, and Southie and May and Carter and Lydia and Flo and Isolde and Dennis and pretty soon, I was typing fast again because they all had so much to say. And then I finished the book, and the voices went away, and that crumpled paper skittered across the dust in my brain again.

At this point I’m getting boring because I haven’t made my point, so I’ll get to it. Because I wasn’t born to be a writer, because I don’t think in story, because I cannot write fiction unless I can hear the damn voices, I don’t have a lot of control over what I write. I have friends who plan stories, who say, “This is what I’m going to do next and after that I’ll do this,” and then–this is the part that astounds me–they write those stories. They get the idea, they develop it into a story, they send it to their editors. They’re born writers. Meanwhile, I have readers who are annoyed because I haven’t written a sequel to Bet Me. Aside from the fact that there can’t be a sequel to Bet Me because of the last chapter, I would so write a sequel to that book if I could. I would do it in a New York minute. Bet Me Again. Bet You. Bet Me in Space. Bet Me with Zombies. Hell yes, I’d write those. I just can’t hear the voices. (Although Bet Me with Zombies has huge potential . . .)

Worse than that, I get partial voices. I have scenes that are so vivid in my head that I have to write them down. I love these people. I love where these stories could go. I have an entire world built for a fantasy series. But the damn voices don’t stay. So I try to write without the voices and seriously, it’s very bad. So I have You Again, the reboot with some lovely scenes between Zelda and a ghost out on the terrace. I have two short stories started in that fairy tale world I built, love them, love the characters, they’ve stopped talking. I have a great novella about Alice in middle school started; Alice is evidently now sulking in her room. I have another novella I like, great premise, love the angry heroine, she threw her fit and now, as Pink Martini sings, she’s gone.

Those of you thinking that real writers don’t wait for inspiration are right. As I have mentioned before, I’m not a Real Writer. Every book I’ve written has been a mixture of voices because my brain chemistry is a little off and a helluva lot of craft building. You just-put-your-butt-in-the-chair people would not like what happens when I just put my butt in my chair. Proof: I tried to finish You Again after the voices went away, and my editor rejected it even though it was under contract. I found that manuscript a couple of weeks ago and tried to read it, and it was incoherent. When a book is so bad that Jen Enderlin can’t fix it, a writer has a problem.

So this is an interesting stage in my career. (May you live in interesting times.) I have the stories I want to write. I know how to write them thanks to a million years of studying craft. I have contracts for them. They’re marketable as all hell. And yet . . .

I tell myself it’s because my life has been so chaotic and awful for the past three years. I tell myself that now that I’m in a great place emotionally and physically, that the voices will come back, especially once I get this cottage out of derelict stage which should be by August (not finished, just not tripping over lumber and looking at the basement through the hole in my kitchen floor). I want to write You Again, I want to write the Liz books, I want to write the Fairy Tale Lies stories, I want to write the “Cold Hearts” and “Spooky Alice” novellas. Beyond that, I want to write Haunting Alice and Stealing Nadine. I know how to write all of those stories. All I need now is the voices.

**crickets**

So I’m thinking of moving to non-fiction. I don’t need no stinkin’ voices for that. But still, deep down inside, there’s one last little voice that I think belongs to Frannie Gay saying, “I didn’t give up, why the hell are you?” So maybe I’ll try again. The voices used to come at night. I could get candles. Sacrifice a chicken. There must be a way.

Apologizing if you made it this far. It really was all about me, nothing entertaining in there, but it feels good to verbalize it. I’d try to write something entertaining to make up for all this navel-gazing, but it’s finally dark, so I’m going to take my laptop and go sit in the bed with the lights off and wait. I don’t have a chicken, so it’ll just have to be dumb luck. Which come to think of it, is how I got this far. It could work.

I hope.