Pat Bertram's Blog, page 297

Dazzling the Audience

When I was invited to speak at the Scribbler's Retreat Writers' Conference in St.Simons Island, I accepted, though I hadn't a clue how to give a speech. The last time I stood in front of a group to give a formal talk was during a speech class freshman year in high school. We were supposed to give a demonstration speech, I remember, and I decided to be clever. So, when my scheduled day came, I stood in front of the class and announced I was the representative of the Emperor's New Clothes Manufacturing Company. I held up one invisible garment after another and proceeded to describe every style, every fabric, every frill. When I finished, the teacher frowned at me and said, "Your speech was very good, but it would have been better if you had used real clothes."

Just goes to show you, one shouldn't try to be too clever. And I took that to heart when I wrote my speech on "Creating Incredible, but Credible, Characters" for Scribbler's Retreat. It was simple, more of an introduction to the art of creating characters than a full-blown exposition. I wanted to spend most of my hour showing them how to create great characters, not telling them, so I prepared a character questionnaire to help them delve deeper into the social, physical, and psychological aspects of their character. My plan was to have them create a character as a group so they could see how conflicts, plot, and subplots grow along with a character.

I didn't have time to practice my speech before I left, so I figured I'd do it on the plane. Yeah, right. It had been so many years since I'd flown that I didn't realize how impossible it was to do anything on a flight except get through the hours. When my idea of studying my speech on the plane didn't work out, I figured I could do it once I got to St. Simons. That would have been a good idea except for . . . Did I mention this was a resort area? Right on the ocean? In the south? I went for a walk on the beach, and happened upon a trolley leaving for a tour of the island. I hopped aboard and was entertained with tales (and some tall tales) of the island's history. When we returned, I was still in tourist mode, so I went to the lighthouse, and walked up all 129 steps to the top. And so the time went.

Despite not studying my speech, I wasn't nervous. Until . . .

I'd met fellow speaker Chuck Barrett, author of The Savannah Project, so I particularly wanted to hear his speech, which came right before mine. He talked about point of view, a difficult topic that he handled well, and at the end, everyone applauded. All of a sudden, it occurred to me that people would applaud at the end of my speech, and that thought panicked me. So I went to the front of the group, thanked the woman who introduced me, and froze. Just for a second. Then I remembered that this was my party, and I could do what I wanted, so I smiled, told the story about my Emperor's New Clothes Speech, and sailed right through the rest of my talk. I think I might have stammered a few times, but people were kind. Then, when we got to the questionnaire, I dazzled!!

Well, it was more that the audience dazzled me. When they caught on to what we were doing, their eyes lit up, and I knew I had them. Many people contributed to our character — a beautiful 27-year-old woman of French descent and a shady past. A certain fellow in her life wanted her to make them a fortune as a stripper, but she was resisting him. She wanted a simpler life, the life of a writer. She had a best friend, who loved her, and a sister who hated her. And she had a daughter she'd given up for adoption when she was sixteen.

We could all see this woman, as if she were a part of the group. Afterward, several people told me that I helped them see how to overcome problems they were having with their own characters, which is exactly what I'd hoped for. Oddly, I can't remember the applause. I only remember looking at each of the participants and thanking them for making the experience so wonderful.

Tagged: character, Chuck Barrett, creating characters, giving a speech, Scribbler's Retreat, The Savannah Project

Leaving on a Jet Plane

My bags are packed, I'm ready to go, but I have a few minutes before I have to start donning my traveling togs, so I thought I'd say good-bye. Unlike Mary Travers, I do know when I'll be back again — late Sunday night. I'm going to take notes and photos to show you, but most of all, despite 100% humidity (yikes!!), I'm going to have fun. It's been so long since I've had fun, I'm not even sure what the word means any more, but I intend to find out.

I had an interesting revelation today, and oddly, it wasn't even my revelation. I showed the preparations for my Scribbler's Retreat Writer's Conference presentation to a couple of people at different times the past two days. One said, "You have enough here for a book." The other said, "This would make a good book." And it would. I'm surprised I didn't think of it, but sometimes we're too close to things to see the truth. So, I haven't even left for my conference, and I already have what I hoped to gain from it – a new direction and the confidence to go where it takes me.

Knowing I have something to do after my grief book is published will give me the impetus to type and edit the writings from my year of grief. My first year of grief. I'm still not over it, though I am healing every day. And perhaps I've outlived my stay at my grief support group. One woman brought a poem to read today, purportedly from our loved ones on the other side. At the end, everyone was wiping away tears but me. I was horrified by one of the lines: "everyday is the same here." When I mentioned my horror, it sort of broke the mood. Ah, well. I'm mostly there for the hugs and to help the newly bereft however I can. They (whoever "they" is) say that grief brings strange blessings, and mine appears to be the ability to put into words what others are thinking.

The past few days have been so busy, I'm looking forward to doing nothing but sitting back and letting the plane take me where it wills. And even the five hour layover in Atlanta is even looking good. I was on top of the situation the whole time until Facebook decided to archive my old groups unless I acted immediately, so I couldn't wait till I get back.

I have a favor to ask. If you belong to one of my facebook groups, and if you have time, will you go to the group, scroll down the wall (and click "older posts" when you get to the botttom of the page), look for discussion threads and make a comment? That brings the discussions to the top of the group page, and is a way of keeping them from getting lost. I'll do it when I get back, of course, but any help will be appreciated.

My facebook groups: Suspense/Thriller Writers, Genre Book Club, and Second Wind Publishing.

I already did Help Support Independent Publishers,, but feel free to stop by and comment in a discussion anyway, especially the one where we are posting the first sentences of our books.

My ride is here. Gotta go!

Tagged: Facebook, Facebook groups, grief, grief support group, new directions, Scribblers' Retreat Writers' Conference, traveling

What's Next? Updating My Life.

It's hard for me to believe, but exactly a week from now, the Scribbler's Retreat Writers' Conference will be over, my speech will all but be forgotten, and I will be on an airplane, probably over Kansas somewhere, heading back here.

I'm not sure what to think about that. I've used this conference as a beacon, something to light my way through the darkness of my grief, and soon I will have to figure out what to do when the conference is over. I'll work on my grief book, of course, and I'll have to figure out what to do with all my facebook groups. For some reason, they are "new and improving" them to the point of unusability, at least for my non-nefarious purposes. We had some great discussions, and the discussions will no longer be available. Don't know what the point of that is. All of that collected wisdom just  . . . gone. I also can't procrastinate too long in upgrading the groups, or I will lose all the members. Sheesh. What a mess.

To a certain extent, it's the impetus I've needed to rethink my promotional efforts both for me and for my publisher, Second Wind. To that end, I will be doing something I've never considered — emailing lists. At least they are something I would have control over. Don't worry — I won't be adding anyone who doesn't want to be on the list. (Unless you responded to giveaways, and most of those had a note to the effect that your email address could be used to notify you of future giveaways and contests.)

But after that? Haven't a clue. I was talking to someone today about the conference, and she asked if I'd ever taught before "other than on the internet", and it occurred to me that in a roundabout way I have been teaching writing all along. So perhaps I'll do writing workshops here on this blog. It wouldn't be that much different from my various online discussion groups, but it would be more structured. Perhaps post a tutorial every Sunday night? And something similar to my presentation for the conference – creating incredible but credible characters – would be a good place to start. Besides, I need a new focus for this blog.  Grief only goes so far.

I'm not in the throes of grief anymore, at least not much — I keep myself too busy. I figure, if my life mate doesn't want me to be thinking about him, he shouldn't have died. Can you detect a hint of anger here? He used to tell me I needed to keep a pilot light of anger. He said it would fuel without consuming me. And what do you know — there it is. And it does help.

Funny how life coalesces at times. Everything of my old life (both online and offline) seem to heading for another turning point. Of course, that could be an illusion (or a delusion), but it's true that this is another time of many changes.

I'll keep you posted. And for sure I'll get photos of the conference.

Speaking of photos, you've all seen the rather blurry photo of me I use as an icon. The photo accompanying this post is the picture it's cropped from — my parent's 60th wedding anniversary party, just a couple of months before my mother died. Happy mother's day, Mom. Hope you're at peace.

Tagged: blogging, blogs, character tutorial, discussion groups, Facebook, Facebook groups, grief, loss, Scribblers' Retreat Writers' Conference

Grief Update: Looking For Adventure and Whatever Comes My Way

In exactly one week, I will be on my way to St. Simon's Island, GA to speak at the Scribbler's Retreat Writers' Conference. It's been a long time coming — I was originally scheduled for last August, but I had to postpone due to the illness and then the death of my life mate. These past months I've been looking to this conference as a borderline of sorts, a life-changing experience, maybe because it's something concrete to plan for rather than a hazy future of aloneness to drift into.

And now the conference is only a few days away.

Several people asked me recently if I'm excited, others asked if I'm scared, but the truth is, I'm just tired. I'm tired of grieving, tired of trying to make sense of life, and most of all, I'm tired of shopping.

Shopping? Yep. Of all the subjects I never expected to discuss on this blog, shopping would head the list. I've never liked shopping for clothes, and the truth is, I never had to. When one is a virtual hermit, one doesn't need very much. But a world-class author (according to the Scribbler's Retreat people, anyway) does need more than a simple top to throw over comfortable slacks when she is being introduced at a banquet, giving a presentation, attending a reception. I've been lucky in that a couple of weeks ago, two friends took me shopping to pick out the clothes they think I look best in, and then this past week, my sister came and picked the things she liked on me. This leaves me with a wardrobe that is not me. Or at least not the pre-death me. Perhaps it's who I'll become — a bit classy, a bit dramatic, a bit arty. Not a bad image if I can pull it off. And there's no reason I can't. I've survived fifty-eight weeks of grief. I can do anything.

It's strange to think I'm going somewhere my life mate never visited, stranger to think I'm going without a single article of clothing he ever saw. There will be nothing on this trip (except my lingering sadness) to remind me of what I lost. There will be just me, heading out on an adventure, accepting whatever comes my way.

Tagged: death, grief, loss, shopping, St. Simons Island, traveling, writing confrerence

Scribbler's Retreat Writers' Conference

Scribblers' Retreat Writers' Conference

St. Simon's Island, Georgia

May 12-14, 2011

Through the years, the abundant beauty of the Georgia coast has inspired artists of every stripe, including poets, novelists and playwrights. You too can find inspiration on this beautiful island while enjoying fellowship with other writers and students. During the two-day conference, ten world-class authors, editors, publishers and other literary professionals will impart their own wisdom in a classroom setting.  Each conference begins with an Opening Ceremonies Banquet Thursday evening and ends with an Evening with the Authors cocktail reception Saturday evening. An added bonus — I'll be there! As you can see, I am one of the speakers.

Phillip Margolin – How to Write a Novel in Your Spare Time 

June Hall McCash – Writing Historical Fiction

Victor DiGenti – Revving Up Your Narrative Drive

Dr. Anya Silver – Writing Poetry: The Enchanted Craft

Denise Tompkins – Effective Query Letter Writing

Ricki Schultz – Online Presence-Building, Made Easy

Jane Wood – Schools, A Niche Market

Pat Bertram – Creating Incredible, but Credible, Characters

Chuck Barrett – Who's Point of View is It Anyway? How Not to Confuse Your Reader

 www.scribblersretreatwritersconference.org

800-996-2904

King and Prince Beach & Golf Resort

Tagged: Scribblers' Retreat Writers' Conference, St. Simon's Island, writers conference

I Am a Thirteen-Month Grief Survivor

Yesterday at my grief support group we were asked to complete the sentence, "After he died, I was surprised that . . ." Everything that happened in the thirteen months since the death of my life mate — my soul mate — has surprised me. No, not surprised me. Shocked me.

I was shocked that the end came so quickly. He'd been sick such a very long time, his health fading slowly, that his dying became our way of life. When he was finally diagnosed with inoperable kidney cancer, we were told he had three to six months to live. He had only three weeks. And those weeks seemed to evaporate in just a few hours.

After he died, I was shocked by the very presence of grief. My brother died four and a half years ago, and my mother died a year later. I handled both deaths well, so I thought I could cope with the death of my mate. I didn't know, had no way of knowing, that one didn't grieve the same for every loss. I didn't know, had no way of knowing, that there was a physical component to the death of a long time mate, that it would feel like an amputation.

After he died, I was shocked by the depth and breadth of my feelings. During the last year of his life, and especially the last six months, he'd begun withdrawing from the world and from me. This withdrawal, this lessening of a need to be with others is a natural part of dying, and my response to his withdrawal was just as natural — an increased determination to live. He might be dying but I wasn't, and I had to untangle our lives, find a way to survive his dying and his death. I thought I had successfully completed this task, but his death rocked me to the core of my being.

After his death, I was shocked by his sheer goneness. Because I'd spent so much time alone that last year, I thought life without him would feel much the same, but it isn't like he is in another room or another city or another country – it's like nothing I'd ever experienced before. I still have no words to describe the finality, the undoableness, the vacuum of death. He was part of my life for thirty-four years. We breathed the same air. We were connected by our thoughts, our shared experiences, the zillion words we'd spoken to each other. And then he was gone from this earth. Erased. Deleted. I still can't wrap my mind around that.

After his death, I was shocked that I felt so shattered. So broken. And I am shocked that I still feel that way at times. I am shocked that no matter how strong you are, how well you are healing, grief can slam into you at any time, especially after a good day when you're not expecting it, and the pain feels as raw as it was at the beginning.

After his death, I was shocked by the scope of grief. You grieve for the one who died and you grieve for yourself because you have to live without him. You grieve for all the things you did and the things you didn't do. You grieve for what went wrong in your shared life and what went right. You grieve for the past and you grieve for the lost future. You grieve for all the hopes and dreams and possibilities that died with him. It's amazing that anyone can survive all that pain, but we do, and that shocks me, too.

After his death, I was shocked by how complicated human emotions can be. You can feel sad and unsad at the same time. You can be determined to live, yet not care if you live or die. You can know in your depths he's gone, but still listen for him, still yearn for him, still worry about him.

Mostly I'm shocked that I am still the same person I was before he died. Such emotional trauma should have changed me, made me stronger and wiser perhaps, yet I'm still just me. Sadder, but still recognizably me. Well, there is one change. I've always been a worrier, but now I try not to fret about the future, try not to wonder how I'm going to cope with growing old alone. After his death, I am no longer shocked that life can remain the same year after year. Nor am I shocked that it can change in an instant.

Tagged: coping with grief, death, dying, grief, grief support group, kidney cancer, loss, loss of a lifemate, soul mate, withdrawal from life

Advice to Aspiring Writers

I just got an email from my high school, requesting my participation in a Q&A for a magazine that goes to parents and alumni. The question they want a response to in 60 words or less is, "What advice would you give to aspiring writers?" Of course I said I'd participate. The only hard part is distilling ten years of research and experience into so few words.

I could go with a single word: "Write!"

I could be cynical and say, "Don't write unless you have to. It's a heartbreaking business."

I could be business-like and say, "Learn everything you can about good prose, story elements, query letters, promotion, and publishing because the competition is fierce – millions of people have written a book want to write a book. But no matter what happens, keep writing."

I could be philosophical and say, "Start with a single word. That's how every book through the ages was written — one word at a time. By stringing single words together, you get sentences, then paragraphs, pages, chapters, an entire book."

I could be more story-oriented and say, "Ask yourself: what story do you want to write? Why? What do your characters want? Why? How are they going to get what they want? Who is going to stop them getting what they want?"

I could plunge into the action and say, "Sometimes it's hard to find the confidence to bring complex scenes to life, to juggle the many elements that comprise a compelling scene, so plunge headfirst into action. Write fast and fearlessly; let the words fall where they may. You can always clean up the mess in rewrites."

So, what advice would you give to aspiring writers? What was the best advice anyone ever gave you? What was the most helpful advice you ever read?

Tagged: aspiring writers, writing, writing advice, writing complex scenes, writing fiction

Grief: Blindsided by Lilacs

Who knew I would find lilacs in this desert community?

My life mate — my soul mate — loved lilacs. We once saw a house with lilacs lining the long driveway, and he wanted to live there, but we couldn't afford such luxury. Shortly after we moved to the house where we were to spend the rest of his life, we dug up the lilacs that blocked a gate and replanted them around the perimeter of the yard. When we moved to that house, it was like living in an aquarium — there was absolutely no privacy. By the time he died, it was such a lush environment, it was like living in a terrarium — and there was total privacy. And the gate was once again blocked with lilacs. Apparently, we'd left just enough rootstock that the bushes grew back.

We planted all sorts of bushes and trees in addition to those lilacs, and the thrill of watching our seedlings grow to adulthood was another thing we shared in a twinned life that was all about sharing. It should have been hard leaving the place, but I was in such grief over his death that one more loss didn't really make much difference to my sorrow.

I still don't miss the place, or not that much. A place is just a place. I am homesick, but homesick for him. He was home. I miss him. I miss our life together. If he were to call and tell me he was waiting for me, I'd go to him wherever he was — mountains or desert, city or country, there I would be. But he's never going to call. For months after I came here to the desert to try to figure out what comes next, I'd listen for the phone, hoping he would call and tell me that he was well and I could come home. That feeling is finally fading, but the loss of that feeling just makes me sadder — he is gone and I have to deal with the vicissitudes of life by myself.

I have minor upsurges of grief a couple of times a day, but I try to be upbeat. I have a new book published. I am getting new clothes, trying to reinvent myself from the outside in. I have made new friends (mostly people who have lost their mates. It's amazing how quickly you can get to know someone when you cry together). I've been handling myself well.

And then . . .

Today, strolling around the neighborhood (it was too windy to walk in the desert), I happened to smell lilacs, and instantly, I was back in full-fledged grief mode. People keep telling me one never gets over grief, you just learn to live with it, and that appears to be true. Grief seems to lurk in dark places, ready to gush forth when one is least expecting it. And I was not expecting it today. How could I have known I would encounter lilacs growing in this desert community?

Tagged: coping with grief, death, desert, grief, home, lilacs, loss, loss of a lifemate, loss of a soulmate, surviving grief, upsurge of grief

Wonderful Review of Light Bringer

I just received the most wonderful review of Light Bringer, my speculative fiction thriller. You have to love a review that talks about the author's "broad knowledge and brilliant imagination." The author, in this case, being me. 

The reviewer, Sandra Shwayder Sanchez from BookPleasures.com, also says: "The plot, replete with secret sinister underground corporate experiments, extraterrestrial creatures, a couple of budding romances, could have been the stuff of trendy comic books or yet another television series but the author's excellent characterizations make it real, original, the stuff of literary fiction. Stylistically the author is adept at moving between lyrical poetic descriptions of nature, wryly funny dialogue and perfectly paced suspenseful writing."  Yep, she's talking about me again. Wow.

I can't tell you more because of copyright infringements, but you can go to Book Pleasures to read the whole review: Pat Bertram's Light Bringer Reviewed By Sandra Shwayder Sanchez of Bookpleasures.com

To download the first 20% of Light Bringer free at smashwords.com, click here: Light Bringer

To read the first chapter of Light Bringer online, click here: Light Bringer

Tagged: Book Pleasures, Light Bringer, Light Bringer review, Sandra Shwayder Sanchez

On Writing: Tell, Don't Show

In Description, Monica Wood commented: Don't enslave yourself to showing. "Show don't tell" is a guideline, not a rule. Sometimes telling is more effective and thrilling as long as the prose is interesting and engaging."

As a reader, one of my pet hates is when one character is talking to another, and they retell the entire story up to that point, so as a writer, when I get to a place where one character has to tell another what the reader already knows, I write something like, "and Sam told Sally about the woman who tried to kill him and how he ran off instead of trying to find out who it was." Avoiding repetition is one reason telling is so much better than showing at times. Makes the story move faster. Might not be immortal prose, but it moves the story along.

The worst offenders of the tell, don't show suggestion are lawyer books. They spend the first half of the book laying out the story, then the second half repeating that story in a courtroom setting. If a reader can skip a whole slew of chapters and not miss a moment of the story, the writer has not done his or her job. If the writer wants to do the courtroom scene, then make sure what is shown is new. Otherwise, simply tell what went on in a few short sentence and get to the good stuff.

Another time telling is better than showing is if a scene has no conflict, no surprises, no twists. If a character sets out to do something and accomplishes it without any problems, then showing is a waste. Just tell it. Don't build up to  . . . nothing.

A way to know if it's better to show or to tell is to decide what you want to accomplish with a scene. If the immediacy of a scene is important, show it. If the reactions of a character who was not involved in the scene are most important, then it's possible to have one character tell the other what happened and then show the character's emotion.

When writing More Deaths Than One, I worried that I was cheating readers by doing the big disclosure  at the end via letter (in other words, telling), but the importance of the scene lay not in finding out the truth of who Bob was but in the different ways Bob and Kerry reacted to the truth. It was about them and their relationship more than the deeds themselves. It was also about the emotion of the person writing the letter and how that emotion bound all of them together. So basically, the letter was all about telling rather than showing the disclosure, and showing rather than telling the emotion it evoked.

When do you tell instead of show? (I mean you personally, not writers in general.) How do you make it effective and thrilling?

Tagged: characters, description, emotion, Monica Wood, scene, scene goal, show don't tell, showing, tell don't show, telling, writing