Susan Trombley's Blog, page 6

Holiday Burnout

I’m tired.

The End.

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But seriously, the bill has come due on all this holiday stress, leaving me exhausted and in the lowest possible mood for holiday cheer. I’m not gonna lie. I have a tendency to overdo things. Which I very much regret later. (Usually around January

Do You Prologue?

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Photo courtesy of my daughter’s new hobby.

Updates

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I may have been a bit too optimistic about getting two books out before the end of the year. Final edits for The Princess’s Dragon are going okay, but I still have yet to complete all of the necessary steps for pre-launch, and I have no cover to speak of. I really don’t want to reuse the old cover, as awesome as it is, since this is a new edition, with new content, I wanted a fresh, updated cover.

As for my other book, the alien romance, I just don’t feel like it’s ready. I’ve been working on it until I’m about to lose my mind! It just wasn’t coming out the way I wanted it to. I finally decided to seek professional help. (No, not that kind, but after all this, I might need some of that too!

It’s All a Matter of Perspective

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When I started out writing Lilith’s Fall, it looked a great deal different than it does now. One of the biggest changes I made was in switching from first-person Point of View (POV) to third-person POV. There is a distinct reason that I chose to make this change.

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I should mention one of the big advantages to first-person POV is that the reader spends most, if not all, of the book in the head of the main protagonist. This has the tendency to build a deep emotional bond between the reader and that character. As opposed to watching things happen as if we were following along like observers maintaining some distance from the characters with third-person POV.

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Sometimes third-person can feel a little distant.

I personally believe that both methods work equally well if they are applied properly, but I am most comfortable with third-person POV, which is why I abandoned first-person for Lilith’s Fall (among my other many, many changes). I felt that third-person allowed me to explore other characters (for which there were more than just the Hero and the Heroine). First-person usually feels too restrictive for the type of book I was going for.

As a matter of fact, I’m so uncomfortable writing first-person POVs that Lilith’ Fall was the first manuscript I’ve ever attempted for it. And it turned out to be the last. (Weeeellll, maybe not the absolute last—turns out I have one or two more attempts that didn’t get past the early chapters. About halfway through the manuscripts, I decided I just couldn’t do it, and I switched back to third-person.

Despite my own comfort level with writing in third-person over first-person, I wouldn’t say one perspective is better than the other. Some stories are best told in first-person, where the reader is carried along almost inside the head of the main characters. This can create such a strong feeling of full immersion for a reader that they never want to leave.

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Oh yeah, I’m immersed.

In fact, in some cases, I find third-person to be a little more clinical. However, I like to write limited third-person, which can still bring so much of that heart a good story needs, despite the distance between the reader and the main characters. The beauty of third-person POV is that it allows me to build a world filled with differing perspectives that aren’t seen in first-person, especially in romances where sometimes first-person POV can become somewhat claustrophobic.

Of course, probably the biggest reason I struggle with first-person POV is to not author-insert. It’s a dangerous tightrope to cross, writing in first-person but making sure that person whose head you’re in doesn’t start to sound like you. I can manage to do this for short works, but the longer the work, the more of a problem of my own personality sneaking past my internal filters. Then I start bossing around the characters, instead of having them write their own story.

This little bit of cut-content below is from the earliest draft of Lilith’s Fall (don’t worry, the book has gone in a completely different direction). Those who have read it will notice a major change. This is how I write in first-person.

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“Lil, enforcers incoming!” Stacia whispered.

I could feel the tension ripple through the mall plaza and the food court and wondered that I hadn’t noted it earlier. Stacia was always a better sensist then I. If even I felt the shiver of other people’s fear like crawling ants over my skin it must be drilling into Stacia’s mind.

It didn’t take long for the steady babble of shoppers and diners to fade into a heavy silence as people took notice of the silver-clad enforcers. I heard the sound of an infant’s angry cry abruptly cut off as somewhere a mother desperately tried to avoid attracting the notice of the enforcers.

The enforcers moved swiftly enough that soon they passed our own small café table. Our frozen smoothies sat half-emptied, and we didn’t dare to move a muscle to stir the melting slush. The silver helmets turned to regard our table, nothing visible beyond their blank visors, and then the enforcers moved on. This time, they took no one with them.

Several moments after their exit, the babble of shoppers started up again, although this time there was an undertone of frantic and false cheerfulness to the din which suggested that we were not the only ones whose shopping trip had been ruined by the reminder of the regime we lived under.

I hate them. I would never voice the sentiment out loud, though there were those who did. No one really knows what happened to the ones that were overheard. Enforcers never physically harmed someone in public. Instead, they simply escorted an offender away, out of sight, never to be seen or heard from again.

What made them so awful was that you never saw one unless they were sent to find someone.  In the beginning, when the Elders announced that the people of Artura IX would no longer be ruled by a tyrant dictator and the last dictator was cast out, the pact made with the Lords of the Outlands seemed like a blessing. Artura IX prospered and freedom led to innovation. Then, the enforcers came—servants of the Lords—and people began to disappear.

“Come on Lil, what are you sitting around moping for? Your smoothie is totally melted, and I still want to stop at Shonna’s before we leave. They have the cutest jumpsuit. Would you believe it’s made entirely of moonfloss?”

I followed Stacia to Shonna’s, studying the line of stores we passed. Music blared from an audio shop and children screeched merrily as they played in the neighboring toy store where a frantic clerk pleaded with parents to reign in their brood. A serious older couple stood outside the twisted branch archway of the Exotic Plants shop, arguing the merits of the plants beckoning from the window.

I paused longingly at the boot shop, but Stacia continued on to Shonna’s. If I didn’t follow she would leave me behind in her eagerness to reach her moonfloss jumpsuit, and I would lose my ride and be forced to take the subterranean crawler back to my dome.

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It seems like every book I read lately is written in first-person POV, and I’ve often wondered whether I shouldn’t go back and revisit that perspective for new manuscripts. It’s possible that I’m missing something by not exploring this perspective more fully. At the same time, I wonder if the casual reader even notices the difference. Or cares.

What do you think about the different perspectives? Do you have a preference for one over the other? Have you noticed a trend of one type or another? I’d definitely be interested to hear some feedback on this.

November? What happened to October?

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I’m starting to realize that my Monday deadline should be more of a suggestion really. I haven’t posted a blog in quite a while, which has not been my intention, and I would love to fill this post regaling you all with wondrous tales and adventures I could have been a part of if space aliens had only been so kind as  to abduct me. But, as usual, they totally dissed me once again.

So the boring and mundane explanation for my absence was due to a trip we took for about a week, where my loving husband brought home a “delightful” souvenir. The lovely Strep throat. Oh yes, the family definitely went into quarantine. I can’t tell you how stir-crazy you get sitting the same house day-in and day-out, and to be sick on top of it all. Miserable. Lucky me, I only got bacterial tonsillitis—the worst case the medical professional who diagnosed it had ever seen. So needless to say, I was laid up for over a week, not in any condition to work on my writing, which has been driving me bonkers.

The good news that comes out of this is that I had some time to do a little editing on The Princess’s Dragon and on the other book I want to release at around the same time, which will be my science-fiction romance with a hero that is definitely unconventional, seeing as he is part scorpion. I want to release both these books this year. That may be wishful thinking, but with some excellent time management, I think it can happen.

The stories themselves are in the last phase of their development: going through final edits, but then I need a cover, and a catchy book description.

The closer I get to release date, which should be soon, I will keep you all updated.

I hope you are all doing well. I wish I had a more organized blog for you today, but the truth is, until I get these next two projects published, I’m going to be somewhat strapped for time.

Please let me know your thoughts. How has the seasonal change affected you? Did you have a Halloween Party? I did…too bad I had a nasty bacteria lurking, waiting, to take me down and put me completely out of commission. Ah Well! My blog is back to business. Let me know what kind of things you’d like to see posted in the upcoming months. Feel free to comment, like, and share this post.

Morbidon’s Bride: Chapter 22 and Epilogue

Author’s Note: I won’t be able to post to my blog next week, so I wanted to get this last chapter and epilogue out and put this story to bed for everyone who has been following along. I hope you like the ending.

As before, it’s probably a bit raw. Some crazy things have happened in my personal life so I’m not at the top of my game at the moment. I would have liked to have run this through a couple more days of edits and revisions, but unfortunately, I don’t know when I would have the time to dedicate to that, and I think it’s just better to give you guys the ending before you forget everything that came before.

Morbidon’s Bride: Chapter 21

Author’s Note: I am sorry I wasn’t able to finish editing the entire end of the book. I only finished one chapter, and unfortunately, I have a little family drama going on that means even that wasn’t done to my best ability. At least it was written before everything went down, so I’m able to publish it today. I apologize if it is too rough and raw. I didn’t want to miss my deadline, and I wanted you guys to have something.

I just wanted to note that there is a scene in this book that is happening concurrent with the climax of The Child of the Dragon Gods, so if it seems like I don’t spend enough time on describing it, there is a reason. I don’t want to be too spoilery for that book. Morbidon only had a peripheral role in that book, and you will see that role in this chapter.

As always, feel free to give comments or critiques. Any feedback is appreciated! I love hearing from you guys. Thank you so much for supporting me by taking your time to read these chapters. You’ve made this a really worthwhile experience!

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Chapter 21

Green vines lovingly clung to the mellow cream-colored marble that capped the exterior stone of Vivacel’s First Temple. At the elaborately carved double-doors, guards clad in gleaming silver armor stood at attention.

The several mile long, stone staircase that made up the temple’s approach hadn’t been any challenge to Morbidon as it switched back and forth up the side of Mount Vitality, though he’d passed many a pilgrim who’d been forced to take a knee on the stone steps carved into the mountainside because they weren’t able to make the climb in one go. For them, there were small bowers overhung by lilac vines or webs of morning glories, offset into the rock, where other pilgrims and the priestesses maintained a supply of food, water, and healing salves to aid the pilgrims in their climb.

Morbidon had no need for these things, but he was irritated that he’d had to make the climb at all. Vivacel had warded her temple against his magic, so he hadn’t been able to simply appear inside her domain. Even now, her wards pushed back against his soul as he forged on towards the temple entrance. He felt the calming, constraining influence of her power, slipping around his soul like bindings. He wasn’t thrilled with it, but since Vivacel had refused to respond to his summons through the familial link they shared, he had to see her in person.

Despite her reluctance to respond to him, the doors of her temple opened at his approach, welcoming him in the way she used to.  The guards were clearly unnerved by him, even though he had changed his appearance so that he was garbed in a simple gray robe with a cowl to conceal most of his features. They were her elite guard, and were not easily fooled. They must have realized that he was no ordinary pilgrim coming to her temple.

Within the suffocating vital interior of his sister’s temple, where plant-life flourished in such abundance that it was not clear whether the temple was a building of stone or of living plants, worshippers made their pleas to the healer priests and priestesses of Vivacel, who moved through the verdant nave like white-clad ghosts—far more silent and serene than any of Morbidon’s spirits.

Morbidon sought out the sanctuary for the statue of his sister that stood at the center of this place of worship. That statue was her strongest link to this world, though Vivacel did not have a separate kingdom like he did. She instead chose to live her life among the mortals, leaving them unaware of her true nature, which meant that she must be summoned by her priestesses unless she felt the need to meddle on her own.

Perhaps one of her priestesses had already summoned her upon seeing him approach, because they, like the guards, would not have been fooled by his disguise. By the time he reached the nave, Vivacel’s statue was a marble figure no longer. Now, the woman herself stood before him, her body flesh and blood, her eyes—so much like his own—flashing at him in anger.

“What is the meaning of this unwelcome visit, brother?” she demanded in a clipped tone.

Her anger sparked his own, but the healing, calming magic of her temple immediately quenched the flames of his soul, leaving him frustrated at his weakness in the presence of so many of her worshippers. It had been a risk to approach Vivacel in her own domain, but despite the terrible suspicions he had about her possible betrayal, he hadn’t truly believed she would harm him. “I came here to ask you some questions, Vivacel.”

She lifted her chin. “I did not come to your aid when you nearly killed your bride because I could not.”

This startled him. “What do you mean, you couldn’t help me? You know how to quench the heat of my flames! Your magic is doing it even now.”

She shook her head. “Within my temple, my sphere of power is great, but you would have had to bring her to me, and any use of your magic to transport her could have caused your soul’s flames to burn even brighter, consuming her before she even made it here. You should know by now, brother, that my magic is much weaker in your realm.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me this before?” He stepped closer to her, pointing an accusing finger at her. “Why let me believe that you weren’t helping Febe just to punish me.”

Her glowing face dimmed, and he felt the weight of her sadness on his soul. “Why did you assume that I would ever do such a thing to wound you, Morby? Why do you forget how much I love you?”

Had he been wrong in what he’d felt when Vivacel had left him struggling to save Febe’s soul on his own? He’d thought she’d been punishing him. That her anger and petty revenge were what he’d detected in the tiny bond that had remained between them—a bond neither of them could ever break even if they wanted to, and Morbidon had wanted to on more than one occasion. Yet, now she denied it, and her act was convincing. Convincing enough that he had doubt. “Did you send the shades to terrorize my bride while she was with Marcos?”

A brief flicker of guilt revealed the truth before Vivacel was able to conceal it. Her calm, melancholy expression didn’t change, but Morbidon felt it through their bond.

His rage returned. “You did try to harm Febe!” He struggled to free his power from Vivacel’s influence, but to no avail. Her wards continued to suppress the fire of his soul.

She shook her head, her hands up as if to stop a physical attack, which Morbidon had not even considered, despite his rage. “No! I would never have hurt Febe. I do not like to take life, brother. You should know that better than anyone! I truly believed she would be happier with a mortal like herself, living in the world above and not forever trapped in the Underworld. My trick was only to make that happen, and free you both from this marriage I don’t believe will make either of you happy.”

She reached a hand to touch his cheek, but he jerked it away before her fingers could make contact with his skin. Her lips tightened, and her eyes flashed, but her voice was soft, soothing, attempting for a persuasive tone. “Please believe me when I say that I never wanted to hurt either of you. I truly believe that she won’t make you happy, Morby. She will never love you the way you deserve to be loved. She won’t appreciate how blessed she is to have your devotion.”

“Your jealousy is inappropriate, Vivacel,” Morbidon bit out between clenched teeth. “She is my soul mate! The woman I have searched for, for eons! And you, my own sister, conspired to steal her away from me. Do not pretend your motives were altruistic. You have no concern for either me or Febe.”

She shook her head, looking devastated by his harsh words, though the bond between them revealed that much of that was an act. She was far calmer than her expression let on, which made Morbidon suspicious that her remorse was an act, like so many Vivacel played. He sometimes mourned the loving, caring girl she’d once been. This new creature she’d become after growing into her power was far harder, more cynical, and manipulative. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, Morby. I swear that is something I never wanted to do. You must believe me!”

He felt sick just being in her presence. Sick at heart. Sick to his very soul, which her magic now cradled, quenched, keeping his flame from sparking to reveal his anger and grief. “I cannot break the bond between us, Vivacel—the bond forged in the womb of our mother. But I can turn my back on you forever. You will never be welcome in my kingdom again. From this day forward, the rivalry between us is all that shall ever be.”

True distress finally trickled through the narrow bond between them from Vivacel as she rushed to him, grabbing for his arm with both of her trembling hands. “No! Morby, please, wait! Let me make this up to you! Give me a chance to earn your forgiveness! Do not just shut me out like this!”

He shrugged off her grasp, but froze as a trickling chill passed through him, causing him to shiver. It was not coming from the bond with his sister. In fact, it felt almost as if it came from the very blood in his body. He glanced over at Vivacel to see that her eyes had shifted from silver to charcoal gray. “What’s happening, Vivi?” Just like that, they were children again, afraid of the strange powers that lived within them and having no one but each other to turn to.

“It’s father!” her whispered words were harsh, and her voice broke on the last word.

He shook his head. “That’s impossible! Father is trapped in the Void!” Yet, now that she’d identified that terrible chill creeping over him, he realized that she was correct. There was nothing else that could possibly affect him so deeply. There was nothing that could seem to almost take hold of the very blood that rushed through his veins. His divine blood, shared by his sister, and the monster who had spawned them on his unwilling mother.

“He’s here,” she cried, her voice taking on a hysterical note.

Fury burned through Morbidon, but it remained suppressed by his sister’s power, which only seemed to grow stronger now that her father, their father, was somehow coming into this realm. “If that’s true, then we must destroy him, before he destroys everything we care about.”

Her eyes wide, she stared at him as if he were a stranger. “How do we destroy him? How can anyone possibly stop Solendar? He is the first divine dragon! We don’t have that kind of power!”

She was correct, of course. Trying to fight Solendar would undoubtedly lead to their own destruction. Yet, neither of them could afford to sit back and let him come into this world, because the only thing Solendar wanted was to wipe out anything the Creator had made. He was the antithesis of creation, where he had once been the instrument of it. He’d become this way because of the love of a mortal woman. The crazy part of it was that Morbidon could finally understand what had driven his father to become the monster he was. The Creator had taken away the one thing Solendar had truly cherished, and Solendar was determined to return the favor.

If someone had taken Febe from me…. He stared at his sister’s face, once so dear to him. He’d been ready to completely sever his ties to her for eternity because she’d tried to do just that, and she hadn’t even planned to kill Febe, as the Creator had taken the life of Solendar’s lover. But I would never have become a monster. In that, I am not like my father! And now, we will stop him! Whatever it takes!

He took his sister’s hand in his, noting that her fingers were like ice as the light within her dimmed. Closing his eyes, he focused on the bond between them. A bond like a tiny thread that they’d both worked to shrink to almost nothing. There was another bond within him now, a precious bond that he couldn’t bear to think of breaking, but he would have to lock that bond down to protect Febe from what was happening. If his father somehow succeeded in possessing him, then he would have access to Febe through that same bond. Morbidon shuddered to think of what Solendar would do to her.

He was able to isolate his bond to Febe until it was protected and shielded from his own distress by the most powerful of his spirit wards. Hopefully, those were strong enough that even Solendar could not break them. Unfortunately, now that she was behind those wards, Morbidon couldn’t feel her anymore. The trickle of emotions that had come through even the minor shields he’d built between them before to give them privacy had completely stopped. He had no idea what she was feeling or thinking now, but he couldn’t afford to check. Not until Solendar was defeated.

The bond between himself and his sister burst wide open, expanding as he poured all of his power into it. Suddenly, they were linked again as they had not been since they first left their homeworld and joined Cindara, the second divine dragon—Solendar’s spurned soulmate.

 

Solendar had stolen the human form of his child, the one child he and Cindara had created together. That child, the child of the dragon gods, was the most powerful dragon in creation, and Solendar now had access to that power. He was using it to his advantage, despite still being trapped in human form.

“Come to Daddy,” Solendar shouted mockingly as Morbidon, Vivacel, and Solendar’s other children, Terroc, Zephrona, and Aquea, hovered in the air above the town of Centinel where he’d been summoned through a portal of bone. The sky was filled with dragons—the entire pantheon of the Allgods. But Morbidon’s focus was on the form of what looked to be a fragile human below him, standing within the temple staring at the hole that Terroc had torn through the roof of the building.

Solendar’s dark soul seemed to leak out of the body that contained it as he marshalled the power within that same body in preparation to defeat his children.

Together, we will defeat him, Morbidon and his sister said in unison, acting as one mind in two bodies now as they had not done since they were children. Their power coalesced, built upon itself, amplified by their shared bond—by a unity no other paired dragons could match, a unity of blood born in the womb. With a cry of rage that came from both of their draconic throats, they unleashed a spiritual blast aimed directly at the dark soul languishing within the body of the child of the dragon gods.

Solendar staggered from the psychic lash, and Morbidon and Vivacel took advantage of what would only be a momentary weakness to dive on him in an attempt to shred the mortal body of the one he possessed.

But that body was too fast, too agile, and they were trapped in their dragon forms, leaving Morbidon and Vivacel at a sudden disadvantage within the confines of the temple. As they fought for space, their wings battering at each other, their link snapped, unable to hold up after the strain of their attack on Solendar.

The first dragon didn’t give them an opportunity to shift back into human form or even recover from the brutal breakage of their spiritual bond. He marshalled all the power within the body he possessed and fired it at Morbidon and Vivacel in the form of energy swords, which lashed at their bodies even as it pushed them backwards into the sky.

They couldn’t get their wings to work as the agonizing pain of their wounds caused their blood to spray down onto the town splayed out below. With a cry of despair, Vivacel plummeted to the earth, and Morbidon followed soon after.

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The End…Kinda

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Ah, there’s nothing quite like typing the last line in an epilogue! I was going to do a cart-wheel of joy, but came to my senses before I ended up in traction. Instead, I settled for a victory dance that left my cats traumatized and confused just by bearing witness to it.

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No! My eyes! Someone get me brain-bleach!!!

The epilogue of a story is the culmination of all the work I’ve done up to that point, but it’s more than that. It’s also where I finally see what happens to my characters and how they now fit in this new world that exists after the climax of their tales. Sometimes, I am just as surprised by the way a story ends as my readers probably are. I can’t always plan out their endings because the characters themselves take on a life of their own.

Morbidon’s Bride is finished in its first draft which takes a lot of pressure off of me to get chapters finished before the deadline. I’m not sure yet if I will publish the last two chapters and epilogue on Friday or not (though I will be publishing at least one chapter). That really depends on how much I get done on editing them over the next couple of days. If I can get it all done, then I’m definitely going to put it out there, but honestly, the end of the book is the most critical part of it for me, and I feel like I have to get it just right (while at the same time being certain that I can’t get it perfect!).

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I know that the beginning of a novel is what gets a reader hooked, but the beginnings always seem to come easy for me. Hooking someone is not as difficult as avoiding the possibility that you will disappoint them in the end. Therefore, it’s always the end of a novel that I face with trepidation and a great deal of stress.

Ultimately, I must accept that as long as I am satisfied—and more importantly, that my characters have gotten the ending they’ve been heading towards—it will be enough. Of course, a lot of my endings point to new beginnings, which is exhausting because as I type the final words in someone’s story, I see new stories spawning and taking off, demanding I pursue them. Sometimes, it’s like releasing a bag of cats in a field.

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You know you want to follow me

I’m both relieved and a little sad whenever I end a story. I know that I will return to it again and again as I revise and edit it, but at the same time, I’m no longer in that discovery phase with my characters. We’ve moved on to the comfortable, less chaotic part of our relationship, where that new-car smell has worn off, but your butt has made the perfect impression in the driver’s seat, letting everyone know the car is yours.

There’s excitement in every beginning. You don’t really know where it’s going to go, even if you try to plan it all out. Even the best-laid plans can change as characters take on personalities and hijack your narrative. It’s this very eventuality that makes it difficult for me to walk away from the computer when I’m in the middle of a manuscript. It’s because of this new relationship excitement that I forget to get up and stretch my legs and go get a drink of water before I end up dryer than a silica gel packet.

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Must…drink…water…but…just two more chapters to go…

I’ve managed to stretch the development of Morbidon’s Bride out by only publishing one chapter at a time, and I can say that it has been a good experience for me. That initial disappointment at reaching the end of a tale has taken a while to get here, so it’s less shocking to my system, less abrupt, and the relief and sense of accomplishment are more pronounced because I’m not suffering from that overwhelming sense of sorrow at finishing a good story (yeah, I believe all my stories are good. What can I say? I might be a little biased.

The Evolution of Story

Yes, I know it’s Tuesday. Someday stole Monday. Just came in the night, stealthy like a ninja, and snatched it away. I’m pretty sure it was Time who did it. That guy’s a real jerk sometimes.

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Anyway, I missed Monday’s post because I spent all day doing story revisions. I mean all day! Like wake up, sit at my computer, start working, look up and it’s dinner time. It was one of those Mondays. Good news is, I finished the first round of revisions. Bad news is, there will be at least one more round, and hopefully, I won’t wear myself out on doing it.

I have a hard time stopping in the middle of the story to take a break or come back to it later. If my mind is snagged in that world, I won’t be able to concentrate on anything else, so these marathon sessions are just par for the course, unfortunately. Believe me, I wish I could write in nice, neat timed little sessions, stopping at a set time each day to tend to other things…like my life. Because you can’t press pause on life. Everything is still going on around you while you’re plugging away at creating an imaginary world.

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But this post isn’t so much about my writing challenges as about my observations while I was doing these revisions. This is the first time I’ve really sat down and thought about the evolution of the story from its starting point to what I finally decide to publish.

With my first book, I published after the first couple of drafts, and it remained fairly close to the original draft in terms of structure. I even had that one professionally edited, though I still see a lot that was missed on that. Of course, back then, I didn’t really know anything about “the craft” (not the cool witchcraft, though. Just writing. Apparently there are rules or something, and I broke most of them.)

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My second book, much like my first, was pretty close to the original idea. This was when I was still writing naively—before I knew anything about target markets, demographics, choosing a genre, etc. I was just trying to write a story that I would love, secure in the knowledge that if I loved it, then so would someone else. Sigh. Poor, naïve, innocent past-me.

Since then, my stories have gone through a greater evolution during the revision process. Or even the writing process. I wrote three complete manuscripts for this alien romance that I’m working on. Three! And they are all completely different stories featuring the same cast of characters and set in a world I dreamed up years ago for a completely different cast of characters and a completely different story.

This is the most I’ve ever struggled to get to a product that is even closed to finished, because I have so many story ideas, but I’m never quite sure which ones will end up being the most successful, and sadly, I’m not that innocent past-me who doesn’t think of those things anymore.

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I still use what I love as a barometer though, which is why I think I’ve finally pinned this story down—because I got caught up in reading it, and that’s usually when I know it’s where I want it to be.

However, there have been stories I’ve written that I loved reading, but which will not ever be polished for publishing. They are the proto-stories, the seeds of the stories that have made it to Amazon’s virtual shelves. Both Lilith’s Fall and Balfor’s Salvation were significantly different in their infancy. Far more controversial. Far more potentially upsetting to readers.

And that’s where the evolution of story comes in. As I write the initial draft, I just go with what I want, focusing on the initial plot, the initial characters—the ideas as they are, no matter how gritty, how raw, how distressing they are.

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Then, I begin revision, and inevitably, I soften those story elements that are too jagged, too gritty, too distressing. I’m sorry. Maybe this means I don’t have artistic integrity, but I want an audience for my books, and I’m already in a niche genre. I don’t want to scare anyone away with the darkest of my works, when I can still write an enjoyable, much lighter version.

And ultimately,  I love the revisions just as much as the originals. I reread the finished versions of my books all the time, and not just because I have to, to maintain continuity between sequels. I just love these books!

Still, it’s interesting to note this evolution, and I can see it in each subsequent draft of my novels. Quite often, I like to return to the earlier versions and reread them for inspiration for new stuff. These versions are all part of what I refer to as my “personal library.” I write many manuscripts that will never be published.

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How do the stories evolve, specifically? That depends on each one. Jessabelle’s Beast evolved not at all from my original plot and characterization. Lilith’s Fall and Balfor’s Salvation had massive changes in characters, their actions, motivations, and behaviors. I started with a demon/angel premise, and in the initial versions, I didn’t pull any punches. My umbrose were far more demonic than they ended up in the final draft.

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I changed some pretty major plot points in Balfor’s Salvation as well. I even changed who the romantic female lead was. Stacia was supposed to end up with Jack Caruthers at the end of Lilith’s Fall. I’m much happier with her and Balfor as a couple, but that never happened in the initial draft, and his book was far, far darker. As in, I would never have published it as is. I probably couldn’t have even marketed it as a romance, despite the happily-ever-after ending, but would have had to list it as horror-erotica.

So why do I even talk about this? The truth is, I’m always looking for feedback, because changing my stories from their original intent sometimes grates on me. I feel so much self-doubt about whether I’m doing the right thing. I also spend a LOT of time working on one book, when other writers in my genre are pumping out books left and right.

Of course, I also want to be separate from the ideas I put into my work. I don’t want people to think I’m in anyway like my characters! I’m not, by the way.

Morbidon’s Bride: Chapter 20

Author’s Note: As I near the end of any manuscript and the number of bullet points on my outline shrinks down to the last handful, I have an unfortunate tendency to get short-timer’s disease. I know the end is near, and I’m just slogging towards it.

For my usual WIPs, I know that I’m going to have the chance to go back and clean up those sloppy endings, with their sparse details, rushed actions, and hastily tied-off plot threads. First drafts are supposed to be rough. Otherwise, they’d probably never get done at all. At least, that’s how it would work for me.

However, since I’m publishing this as I write it, I didn’t want to do that to you all (I wanted to put y’all. I really did. It’s a struggle!) who’ve been gracious enough to come on this journey with me. So, I’m trying to take extra care with these last few chapters. I want them to be as complete as possible, and because of that, they are turning out to be longer than I’d expected, so these ending events may end up taking more chapters than I’d initially plotted out.

I hope you enjoy this latest installment, and I hope there’s no sign of short-timer’s disease in this writing.