Jennie Marsland's Blog, page 5
December 10, 2010
Folk Friday, and Heart edits have arrived!
I received my edits for Heart the other day, have gone through them (no major changes - phew!) and am ready to ship them back. It looks like I'll have an e-book release by Christmas! If you'd like to enter my CONTEST win a copy, or a critique by freelance editor Patricia Thomas, PLEASE SEE MY LAST POST.
I'm including an excerpt below, of Chelle's first meeting with Martin. And, for this week's Folk Friday, Kathy Mattea's beautiful rendition of "Mary, Did You Know?" Enjoy!
Excerpt:
She hurried down the slope and, as she expected, found a young lamb caught by its fleece in the bramble's thorns, nearly exhausted from struggling.
"You've got yourself in a fine mess, haven't you?" Chelle didn't relish the thought of getting her hands in among those thorns, but she didn't see much help for it. After a quick glance around, she wrapped one hand in her cloak and started pulling the branches away from the lamb's fleece.
In spite of the protection, the thorns reached through to her skin. The lamb didn't help. Not as exhausted as Chelle had thought, as soon as she freed it from one clinging branch it struggled and got caught by another. By the time she lifted it out of the bush, she'd earned a couple of nasty scratches and mislaid her temper.
As she bent to set the lamb on its feet, a dog's bark startled her. Still crouching, Chelle spun around and faced a grizzled black and white Border Collie, standing a few feet away with its teeth bared and hackles raised. Luckily, the dog's owner stood close by. Her heart in her throat, Chelle released the lamb and slowly raised her gaze from a pair of heavy boots to eyes the color of a stormy sea.
"Come, Gyp." The dog returned to the man's side at the curt command. Hands in his pockets, he watched Chelle straighten up. She felt herself blushing under his cool stare.
He'd be as tall as Trey, perhaps an inch or two taller, but with his bulk he didn't look it. He reminded her of Charlie Bascomb at home, broad in the shoulders, thick in the legs and torso, but the resemblance stopped with his build. Charlie was quiet and easy-going, always wearing a smile, but there was nothing approachable about this man with his lowering brows, grim mouth and slightly freckled face. His features, along with his rusty hair, told Chelle who he must be.
"Hello. I'm Chelle McShannon. You must be Martin Rainnie."
The Collie stood braced beside his master, the fur still standing up on the back of his neck. Mr. Rainnie looked no more welcoming. He spoke as curtly as he had to his dog.
"Aye. What are you doin' out here?"
It seemed Jean had done the man a favor by saying little about him, or perhaps Dales farmers were usually rude. Chelle lifted her chin and showed him her bleeding hand.
"That's obvious enough, isn't it? That lamb's fleece was caught in this bush. I freed it."
Mr. Rainnie looked her up and down with those cold gray-green eyes, then softened his tone and made an effort to curb his broad Yorkshire. Perhaps he'd recalled that his daughter was living with her family.
"So you're Jack's niece. I didn't know you'd arrived yet."
"We arrived yesterday." Chelle fished a clean handkerchief from her skirt pocket and wrapped it around her scratched hand while she fumbled for something to say. "I've been out for a walk to the end of the fell. The view is lovely."
His tenacious-looking mouth twisted in a sardonic grin as he stepped closer. "Aye, but it's not very sustainin'. Not much but sheep will grow up here. This is Carswen fell, and the village down below is Carston."
Chelle took in his well-worn work clothes and large, work-roughened hands. Martin Rainnie's face showed the effects of wind and weather, but she thought the lines around his mouth and eyes came from bitterness. He looked like he could do with more sleep and less of the whiskey she smelled on him. With the breeze plucking at the sleeves of his faded canvas jacket, he seemed as much a natural part of the landscape as the sheep and the moorland grass, and just as rugged.
"I thought as much. Dad mentioned it, so I came out for a walk to see it for myself. I was on my way back when I decided to follow this trail and heard the lamb."
He shrugged and stuck his hands back in his pockets. "You could have spared yourself the trouble. This is my flock, and I check on 'em every day. You'd best get home and look to those scratches." With that, he strode past her toward the sheep, his dog at his heels.
Chelle watched him go, his shoulders high, his broad back stiff with annoyance. Because she'd rescued one of his silly sheep? She turned on her heel and started back toward the village, muttering under her breath.
"I'm sorry for your daughter, Mr. Rainnie. As for me, the next time I find one of your animals in trouble, I'll be leaving it alone."
I'm including an excerpt below, of Chelle's first meeting with Martin. And, for this week's Folk Friday, Kathy Mattea's beautiful rendition of "Mary, Did You Know?" Enjoy!
Excerpt:
She hurried down the slope and, as she expected, found a young lamb caught by its fleece in the bramble's thorns, nearly exhausted from struggling.
"You've got yourself in a fine mess, haven't you?" Chelle didn't relish the thought of getting her hands in among those thorns, but she didn't see much help for it. After a quick glance around, she wrapped one hand in her cloak and started pulling the branches away from the lamb's fleece.
In spite of the protection, the thorns reached through to her skin. The lamb didn't help. Not as exhausted as Chelle had thought, as soon as she freed it from one clinging branch it struggled and got caught by another. By the time she lifted it out of the bush, she'd earned a couple of nasty scratches and mislaid her temper.
As she bent to set the lamb on its feet, a dog's bark startled her. Still crouching, Chelle spun around and faced a grizzled black and white Border Collie, standing a few feet away with its teeth bared and hackles raised. Luckily, the dog's owner stood close by. Her heart in her throat, Chelle released the lamb and slowly raised her gaze from a pair of heavy boots to eyes the color of a stormy sea.
"Come, Gyp." The dog returned to the man's side at the curt command. Hands in his pockets, he watched Chelle straighten up. She felt herself blushing under his cool stare.
He'd be as tall as Trey, perhaps an inch or two taller, but with his bulk he didn't look it. He reminded her of Charlie Bascomb at home, broad in the shoulders, thick in the legs and torso, but the resemblance stopped with his build. Charlie was quiet and easy-going, always wearing a smile, but there was nothing approachable about this man with his lowering brows, grim mouth and slightly freckled face. His features, along with his rusty hair, told Chelle who he must be.
"Hello. I'm Chelle McShannon. You must be Martin Rainnie."
The Collie stood braced beside his master, the fur still standing up on the back of his neck. Mr. Rainnie looked no more welcoming. He spoke as curtly as he had to his dog.
"Aye. What are you doin' out here?"
It seemed Jean had done the man a favor by saying little about him, or perhaps Dales farmers were usually rude. Chelle lifted her chin and showed him her bleeding hand.
"That's obvious enough, isn't it? That lamb's fleece was caught in this bush. I freed it."
Mr. Rainnie looked her up and down with those cold gray-green eyes, then softened his tone and made an effort to curb his broad Yorkshire. Perhaps he'd recalled that his daughter was living with her family.
"So you're Jack's niece. I didn't know you'd arrived yet."
"We arrived yesterday." Chelle fished a clean handkerchief from her skirt pocket and wrapped it around her scratched hand while she fumbled for something to say. "I've been out for a walk to the end of the fell. The view is lovely."
His tenacious-looking mouth twisted in a sardonic grin as he stepped closer. "Aye, but it's not very sustainin'. Not much but sheep will grow up here. This is Carswen fell, and the village down below is Carston."
Chelle took in his well-worn work clothes and large, work-roughened hands. Martin Rainnie's face showed the effects of wind and weather, but she thought the lines around his mouth and eyes came from bitterness. He looked like he could do with more sleep and less of the whiskey she smelled on him. With the breeze plucking at the sleeves of his faded canvas jacket, he seemed as much a natural part of the landscape as the sheep and the moorland grass, and just as rugged.
"I thought as much. Dad mentioned it, so I came out for a walk to see it for myself. I was on my way back when I decided to follow this trail and heard the lamb."
He shrugged and stuck his hands back in his pockets. "You could have spared yourself the trouble. This is my flock, and I check on 'em every day. You'd best get home and look to those scratches." With that, he strode past her toward the sheep, his dog at his heels.
Chelle watched him go, his shoulders high, his broad back stiff with annoyance. Because she'd rescued one of his silly sheep? She turned on her heel and started back toward the village, muttering under her breath.
"I'm sorry for your daughter, Mr. Rainnie. As for me, the next time I find one of your animals in trouble, I'll be leaving it alone."
December 7, 2010
McShannon's Heart Holiday Contest!
I don't have an exact release date for McShannon's Heart, but I'm expecting it to be available as an e-book before the end of the month, so it's contest time! Here's how this is going to work: post a favorite holiday recipe as a comment, and you'll be entered in a draw for one of three e-copies of Heart, AND a very special prize: A critique of fifteen manuscript pages by freelance editor Patricia Thomas. Pat is an RWA chaptermate of mine, and a good friend. She's worked for several publishing houses and edited critically-acclaimed novels including Drive-by Saviours by Chris Benjamin. The winner of her critique will be a lucky writer indeed. So, bring on those yummy sweet or savory holiday recipes, and good luck in the draw!
December 2, 2010
Folk Friday: The First Canadian Christmas Carol
I love traditional English Christmas music, but this uniquely Canadian carol has always been a favorite of mine, as much for the story behind it as for the music.
The Huron Carol was written in 1643 by Father Jean Brebeuf, a Jesuit missionary priest to the Huron nation in Quebec. Written in the Huron language, the song was Brebeuf's way of conveying the meaning of Christmas to his charges.
By all accounts Brebeuf was a capable, well-intentioned and highly charismatic leader, but the success of his mission among the Huron became a double-edged sword. A split occurred between those who wished to hold on to their own traditions and those who embraced European ways. Weakened by division and by European disease, the Huron were overrun and destroyed by the Iroquois, and Father Brebeuf became one of the first Canadian martyrs.
Blame it on the writer in me, but to my mind the sad story behind the Carol adds to its poignancy. I've heard it performed in French, English and the original Huron. I enjoy playing it myself. The English lyrics are as poetic as the melody is haunting. Enjoy!
November 26, 2010
Folk Friday: Sugar and spice and something nice
I had my second monthly weigh-in at Curves yesterday, the first since recording my baseline. Five pounds down and five inches lost. Not bad, considering I really haven't been dieting. Slow and steady wins the race. Now, as long as I don't undo the progress over Christmas! But I don't intend to forego the pleasures of the season. I just have to remember that one small piece of Mom's cranberry pudding – with a little less rich cream sauce (sigh) – is enough.
Fortunately, there are delicious deserts that are actually healthy. Here's a recipe for one. I find that this custard has all the yum factor of pumpkin pie, without the calories of pastry. Hey, pumpkin is a vegetable! The maple syrup gives it character, and the crystallized ginger on top adds zing.
PUMPKIN MAPLE CUSTARD
Ingredients:
1 1/2 c milk
4 eggs
¾ c maple syrup
¾ c pumpkin
1 tsp cinnamon
½ tsp nutmeg
¼ tsp salt
Heat milk until steaming, not boiling. Whip eggs and syrup together until smooth. Whip milk into egg mixture slowly, stirring to avoid cooking eggs. Add pumpkin, spices and salt Mix until smooth, then pour into 6 custard cups. Skim foam if any. Place custards in a pan, put in pre-heated oven, then pour boiling water into the pan until it reaches half-way up the custard cups. Bake at 325 degrees for 45-50 min or until set. Serve warm or cold, with whipped cream and grated crystallized ginger on top.
As for this week's music selection, the word about this has been going around. It's far from folk, but I couldn't resist including it. It epitomizes the spirit of the season. Enjoy!
Fortunately, there are delicious deserts that are actually healthy. Here's a recipe for one. I find that this custard has all the yum factor of pumpkin pie, without the calories of pastry. Hey, pumpkin is a vegetable! The maple syrup gives it character, and the crystallized ginger on top adds zing.
PUMPKIN MAPLE CUSTARD
Ingredients:
1 1/2 c milk
4 eggs
¾ c maple syrup
¾ c pumpkin
1 tsp cinnamon
½ tsp nutmeg
¼ tsp salt
Heat milk until steaming, not boiling. Whip eggs and syrup together until smooth. Whip milk into egg mixture slowly, stirring to avoid cooking eggs. Add pumpkin, spices and salt Mix until smooth, then pour into 6 custard cups. Skim foam if any. Place custards in a pan, put in pre-heated oven, then pour boiling water into the pan until it reaches half-way up the custard cups. Bake at 325 degrees for 45-50 min or until set. Serve warm or cold, with whipped cream and grated crystallized ginger on top.
As for this week's music selection, the word about this has been going around. It's far from folk, but I couldn't resist including it. It epitomizes the spirit of the season. Enjoy!
November 19, 2010
Folk Friday, and 'Tis Almost the Season
November winding down and December almost upon us. The flood of Christmas advertising has begun. I find that the older I get, the less interest I have in the Christmas rush. There are no children in our family to buy for, and we've agreed to forego drawing names for stockings this year. I'm looking forward to a simplified holiday season.
I've always loved Christmas rituals – decorating the tree, baking, carols, parties with friends and family. We'll be celebrating with my parents, and it will have extra meaning this year after my father's health scare earlier in the fall. He's fully recovered from his surgery now, and we can't be thankful enough.
I haven't yet included a Christmas scene in one of my books, but I'd like to some day. Perhaps I will in Shattered – a Christmas a few years after the Explosion, when Liam and Alice are enjoying their HEA. A couple of years ago, I did write a Christmas carol for Beth and Trey from McShannon's Chance –I'll post it a little closer to the day. I find it easy to picture them celebrating in their cabin, with a candle-lit tree, home-made ornaments and gifts for their four children (If you haven't noticed, my imagination carries me away sometimes.) Chelle, the oldest, is dark like Trey, but with her mother's blue eyes. She has Beth's independent streak and wants to study art in Europe. The second, Michael, is tall and rangy like his father, but he's blond like his grandfather Colin. He's the dreamer in the family and wants to go to sea. The next, Ethan, has his mother's red hair and freckles, and so does the youngest, Abby. They're both children of Trey's heart, as attached to the ranch and the horses as he is. I have a few chapters of a WIP that takes the family forward fifteen years, when young Chelle is getting headstrong and has a crush on Nate Munroe's son, who is a chip off the old block. Maybe someday.
We might be getting a dusting of snow tomorrow, the first of the season. I like snow. I'd much prefer a white Christmas to the endless November that sometimes passes as winter in Nova Scotia. Time for comfort food recipes, brisk walks with the Terrible Tollers and lots of writing. And for Folk Friday, here's an old favourite 'comfort tune' – John Denver's Song of Wyoming. The simplicity and poetry of this one always get to me, and the video is very easy on the eye. Enjoy!
I've always loved Christmas rituals – decorating the tree, baking, carols, parties with friends and family. We'll be celebrating with my parents, and it will have extra meaning this year after my father's health scare earlier in the fall. He's fully recovered from his surgery now, and we can't be thankful enough.
I haven't yet included a Christmas scene in one of my books, but I'd like to some day. Perhaps I will in Shattered – a Christmas a few years after the Explosion, when Liam and Alice are enjoying their HEA. A couple of years ago, I did write a Christmas carol for Beth and Trey from McShannon's Chance –I'll post it a little closer to the day. I find it easy to picture them celebrating in their cabin, with a candle-lit tree, home-made ornaments and gifts for their four children (If you haven't noticed, my imagination carries me away sometimes.) Chelle, the oldest, is dark like Trey, but with her mother's blue eyes. She has Beth's independent streak and wants to study art in Europe. The second, Michael, is tall and rangy like his father, but he's blond like his grandfather Colin. He's the dreamer in the family and wants to go to sea. The next, Ethan, has his mother's red hair and freckles, and so does the youngest, Abby. They're both children of Trey's heart, as attached to the ranch and the horses as he is. I have a few chapters of a WIP that takes the family forward fifteen years, when young Chelle is getting headstrong and has a crush on Nate Munroe's son, who is a chip off the old block. Maybe someday.
We might be getting a dusting of snow tomorrow, the first of the season. I like snow. I'd much prefer a white Christmas to the endless November that sometimes passes as winter in Nova Scotia. Time for comfort food recipes, brisk walks with the Terrible Tollers and lots of writing. And for Folk Friday, here's an old favourite 'comfort tune' – John Denver's Song of Wyoming. The simplicity and poetry of this one always get to me, and the video is very easy on the eye. Enjoy!
November 9, 2010
Passionate characters in fiction and life
Model writing postcards, Carl Larsson, 1906Tomorrow night, I'm scheduled to do a workshop at a local senior's centre on "passion in our lives". I'll be talking about my characters from McShannon's Chance – about Beth's passion for painting, Trey's passion for Thoroughbreds, and their passion for each other. It's got me thinking about the many meanings of 'passion' and how it applies to the characters I write.
In real life, we're all attracted to people who have passion in their lives, whether for their work, their family, an art or an idea. For me, the same is true in fiction. Characters draw me in and hold me if they come across as passionate people.
Sometimes that passion can be in the form of hate. Think of Moby Dick. Sometimes it's a passion for justice, as in many classic Westerns. It can be a passion for freedom, as with Cat in Judith James' Highland Rebel. For my Beth, it's her art; for Martin Rainnie in McShannon's Heart and Alice O'Neill in Shattered, it's music. These are the things I latch on to when I'm getting to know my characters.
In some romance novels, the sexual passion between the hero and heroine is not just the main element, it seems like the only element. And some of these are still great stories, but they have to be extremely well done. So far, I've tried to give at least one of my main characters another passion as well. I just find it easier to know them and write them that way.
I'm really looking forward to the session last night. I'm sure the audience will have some great stories to tell about the things and people they've been passionate about in their lives. Who knows, I may come up with a few new story ideas. People of blogland, what do you think? Is it important to you that fictional characters live with passion?
November 3, 2010
Dona Nobis Pacem
'Dona nobis pacem' means 'grant us peace'. It's the slogan of the annual Blog Blast for Peace, which takes place today, November 4.
I found out about this event from RWA chapter mate and blogger extraordinaire Julia Smith. It's an opportunity for bloggers all over the world to raise their voices for peace. Participants post about peace on their blogs and fly a peace globe for the day.
There's nothing I can say about peace that hasn't already been said, so I've chosen a series of quotes on the subject. I hope you find them inspiring. I'll leave you with Vince Gill's version of 'Let There Be Peace on Earth".
War does not determine who is right - only who is left. ~Bertrand Russell
It'll be a great day when education gets all the money it wants and the Air Force has to hold a bake sale to buy bombers. ~Author unknown, quoted in You Said a Mouthful edited by Ronald D. Fuchs
I dream of giving birth to a child who will ask, "Mother, what was war?" ~Eve Merriam
The release of atom power has changed everything except our way of thinking... the solution to this problem lies in the heart of mankind. If only I had known, I should have become a watchmaker. ~Albert Einstein
The direct use of force is such a poor solution to any problem, it is generally employed only by small children and large nations. ~David Friedman
"There are no atheists in foxholes" isn't an argument against atheism, it's an argument against foxholes. ~James Morrow
Sometimes I think it should be a rule of war that you have to see somebody up close and get to know him before you can shoot him. ~M*A*S*H, Colonel Potter
If we do not end war - war will end us. Everybody says that, millions of people believe it, and nobody does anything. ~H.G. Wells, Things to Come (the "film story"), Part III, adapted from his 1933 novel The Shape of Things to Come, spoken by the character John Cabal (Thanks Bill!)
A great war leaves the country with three armies - an army of cripples, an army of mourners, and an army of thieves. ~German Proverb
The world has achieved brilliance without wisdom, power without conscience. Ours is a world of nuclear giants and ethical infants. We know more about war that we know about peace, more about killing that we know about living. ~Omar Bradley
Every gun that is made, every warship launched, every rocket fired signifies in the final sense, a theft from those who hunger and are not fed, those who are cold and are not clothed. This world in arms is not spending money alone. It is spending the sweat of its laborers, the genius of its scientists, the hopes of its children. This is not a way of life at all in any true sense. Under the clouds of war, it is humanity hanging on a cross of iron. ~Dwight D. Eisenhower, speech, American Society of Newspaper Editors, 16 April 1953
What a cruel thing is war: to separate and destroy families and friends, and mar the purest joys and happiness God has granted us in this world; to fill our hearts with hatred instead of love for our neighbors, and to devastate the fair face of this beautiful world. ~Robert E. Lee, letter to his wife, 1864
Everyone's a pacifist between wars. It's like being a vegetarian between meals. ~Colman McCarthy
Nations have recently been led to borrow billions for war; no nation has ever borrowed largely for education. Probably, no nation is rich enough to pay for both war and civilization. We must make our choice; we cannot have both. ~Abraham Flexner
Draft beer, not people. ~Attributed to Bob Dylan
The problem in defense is how far you can go without destroying from within what you are trying to defend from without. ~Dwight D. Eisenhower
War will exist until that distant day when the conscientious objector enjoys the same reputation and prestige that the warrior does today. ~John F. Kennedy
Never think that war, no matter how necessary, nor how justified, is not a crime. ~Ernest Hemingway
You can no more win a war than you can win an earthquake. ~Jeanette Rankin
You are not going to get peace with millions of armed men. The chariot of peace cannot advance over a road littered with cannon. ~David Lloyd George
Sometime they'll give a war and nobody will come. ~Carl Sandburg
In war, there are no unwounded soldiers. ~José Narosky
We kind o' thought Christ went agin war an' pillage. ~James Russell Lowell
If we let people see that kind of thing, there would never again be any war. ~Pentagon official explaining why the U.S. military censored graphic footage from the Gulf War
I have no doubt that we will be successful in harnessing the sun's energy.... If sunbeams were weapons of war, we would have had solar energy centuries ago. ~Sir George Porter, quoted in The Observer, 26 August 1973
It is forbidden to kill; therefore all murderers are punished unless they kill in large numbers and to the sound of trumpets. ~Voltaire, War
October 29, 2010
Folk Friday and middling
Friday again. This week has gone by with the speed of lightning. I'm waiting for my students to arrive, so I thought I'd better turn my attention to Folk Friday.
I'm smack dab in the middle of Shattered right now. Had a good writing evening last night, got the first scene transition in Chapter 10 worked out. Not a huge number of words, but a roadblock out of the way. I think the next couple of chapters will go quickly.
So far, the middle of a book has been the most difficult part for me. I start quickly, full of the momentum of my new characters, and with an idea of the ending clear in my mind. Then I hit chapter eight or nine and the flow of words slows to a trickle. I know where I'm going, but which of the countless possible routes will I take? Do I need to go back and add plot threads to keep the middle from sagging? Do I need to throw in a twist that will take my characters in a completely different direction?
I know this is a common problem, especially with writers who are pantsers like me. With McShannon's Chance, I solved it by writing the end and working backwards. Eventually the two halves met in the middle. Once I allowed myself to stop trying to write linearly, ideas started popping into my mind to fill the void.
Authors who can plan their plot in detail – and then follow it! – amaze me. So do authors who write scenes in no particular order. There are as many ways to deal with a book's sagging middle as there are authors. Some use a collage or storyboard. I've tried collaging and enjoyed it, but didn't find it particularly helpful as a writing tool as I have a strong visual image of my characters and setting from the beginning, and end up simply looking for pictures to fit that image. Perhaps I'll experiment with a storyboard. Writers of blogland, how do you deal with the middle of a story? Anyone have any innovative ideas to share?
Oh, yes, folk Friday! Last week, an RWAC chapter mate of mine, Carolyn Laurie, posted a wonderful video on Facebook of Raylene Rankin, Cindy Church and Susan Crowe performing together in Alberta. It's been a while since I heard three such wonderful voices that blend together so well. Enjoy!
I'm smack dab in the middle of Shattered right now. Had a good writing evening last night, got the first scene transition in Chapter 10 worked out. Not a huge number of words, but a roadblock out of the way. I think the next couple of chapters will go quickly.
So far, the middle of a book has been the most difficult part for me. I start quickly, full of the momentum of my new characters, and with an idea of the ending clear in my mind. Then I hit chapter eight or nine and the flow of words slows to a trickle. I know where I'm going, but which of the countless possible routes will I take? Do I need to go back and add plot threads to keep the middle from sagging? Do I need to throw in a twist that will take my characters in a completely different direction?
I know this is a common problem, especially with writers who are pantsers like me. With McShannon's Chance, I solved it by writing the end and working backwards. Eventually the two halves met in the middle. Once I allowed myself to stop trying to write linearly, ideas started popping into my mind to fill the void.
Authors who can plan their plot in detail – and then follow it! – amaze me. So do authors who write scenes in no particular order. There are as many ways to deal with a book's sagging middle as there are authors. Some use a collage or storyboard. I've tried collaging and enjoyed it, but didn't find it particularly helpful as a writing tool as I have a strong visual image of my characters and setting from the beginning, and end up simply looking for pictures to fit that image. Perhaps I'll experiment with a storyboard. Writers of blogland, how do you deal with the middle of a story? Anyone have any innovative ideas to share?
Oh, yes, folk Friday! Last week, an RWAC chapter mate of mine, Carolyn Laurie, posted a wonderful video on Facebook of Raylene Rankin, Cindy Church and Susan Crowe performing together in Alberta. It's been a while since I heard three such wonderful voices that blend together so well. Enjoy!
October 26, 2010
Dialogue and Layering and Stuff
I'm working on Chapter 10 of Shattered, where Alice and Liam tentatively decide to take a chance on a relationship. The chapter involves a lot of dialogue between them, and with Alice's family. When this happens, I often handle it by just writing the dialogue, omitting the thoughts and body language that go with it. Afterwards I go back and fill in the narrative.
I find this useful in a couple of ways. If I have trouble adding thoughts or actions, it makes me take a second look at the dialogue. Would Liam really say that, and if so, why? What does Alice really mean by her reply? Leaving the narrative until later also lets me write the dialogue quickly, without stalling on the exact words to describe what someone is thinking or angsting over whether I have too much narrative or not enough. I still do that when I go back to write the next layer, but having the dialogue already in place makes it easier.
Then I often find myself going back to add a third layer – emotion. I usually don't include a lot in my first draft. I used to think that having a rather flat, unemotional first draft was a weakness, but now I understand that it's part of my process. First I have to tell the story.
In a recent blog post, my RWAC chapter mate Donna Alward used the term 'discovery draft'. That's what this run-through of Shattered is becoming. Writers of blogland, how do you approach a first draft? Do you write a lot of words and scenes and then prune later? Do you layer like I do? Do you sometimes write dialogue only?
P.S. on my fitness program – got my monthly weigh and measure done yesterday, the first one. This is my baseline. Instead of updating each week, I'm going to wait until my next weigh and measure in November. I'm making my workouts and watching what I eat, so at this point I'm pleased. Slow but steady is the plan.
October 22, 2010
Folk Friday: Wild Women and motivation
I'm really not an analytical person – a bit surprising for a former lab technician I admit. I guess that's why I'm not in a lab anymore. When I write I just tell that person's story as it comes to me. Now I want to see my characters from a different angle.
Take Liam, for instance. What does he want? To heal emotionally and physically and get on with his life. What else would an injured war veteran want? But let's get specific. He needs to work, and he likes physical work, but would he want to work for someone else? Maybe he'd rather have his own company. Maybe he'd like to build houses. Perhaps he was in the process of starting his own construction business when the war intervened.
As for Alice, she wants to teach music to gain some independence, but would she really rather perform? If she didn't need to support herself, what would she do? I think she'd rather be on stage, where her dyslexia wouldn't matter.
The joy of a first draft is discovering the characters. The joy of retreating, and brainstorming, is the creative energy it generates – and, of course, the plain old fun.
This week's Folk Friday is a tribute to my chapter mates - those 'wild women' full of creativity. Enjoy!
Take Liam, for instance. What does he want? To heal emotionally and physically and get on with his life. What else would an injured war veteran want? But let's get specific. He needs to work, and he likes physical work, but would he want to work for someone else? Maybe he'd rather have his own company. Maybe he'd like to build houses. Perhaps he was in the process of starting his own construction business when the war intervened.
As for Alice, she wants to teach music to gain some independence, but would she really rather perform? If she didn't need to support herself, what would she do? I think she'd rather be on stage, where her dyslexia wouldn't matter.
The joy of a first draft is discovering the characters. The joy of retreating, and brainstorming, is the creative energy it generates – and, of course, the plain old fun.
This week's Folk Friday is a tribute to my chapter mates - those 'wild women' full of creativity. Enjoy!
