Ginger Voight's Blog, page 10

The Fifth Day of Christmas: Mr. Mouth, It's a Wonderful Life and YES... another #free #ebook #Kindle

FAVORITE CHRISTMAS MEMORY

If you've been around more than one Christmas with me, you probably know about my Mr. Mouth story. It was Christmas, 1978, and I had a bounty of presents waiting under the tree, many I was proud to deliver myself on Christmas Eve.



I got Baribe stuff, of course. I had recently discovered Barbie dolls and wanted to expand my collection. You can only dress up your dolls so many times without boring yourself to tears. I wanted to populate my Barbie universe with all kinds of characters, though I really didn't know why at the time. I think this Christmas I added Barbie #3, along with some clothes and a wicker dining room set. (It was the 70s, after all.)

Though I rarely remember what kinds of gifts I got over the years, this Christmas brought two very monumental gifts. One was an AM/FM radio featuring Sesame Street's Bert and Earnie. The other, was a game called Flippopotamus, a variation of the Mr. Mouth game.



(It's there, right under the aforementioned wicker furniture.)

The mechanical hippo head was attached to four "arms" complete with hands you could operate thanks to the spring mechanism. The object of the game, naturally, was to flip colorful plastic disks into the head as it oscillated around. The person who got all their disks in first, won.

My family didn't really play games much. Honestly, they didn't really connect much. Mom worked full time, and Dad... well Dad had a lot in common with Archie Bunker. He was gruff and argumentative, and for everyone else in my family except me, he was quite the pill. My sister was already a mom herself, so we had nothing, really, in common... except that we couldn't get along. So a game of this nature was a brand new thing for me.

I didn't know this at the time but my mother loved to play games. She loved cards and dominoes, she just couldn't really get anyone on board to play with her. Years later, after my dad passed, we would pass our time playing Hearts, Rummy, Dominoes and Uno - which was one of my mother's favorite games of all time. Nothing tickled her more than to shout out "Uno!" when she was about to win.

Mom didn't have a whole lot of "wins" in her life, so she got a free pass to enjoy it.

Anyway, we got this game and somehow convinced everyone to play it. We set up a card table in the middle of our living room, and I, in my new jammies I also got from Santa that year, sat with my family for an entirely experience.



We. Had. A. Blast. I don't remember a time in the history of my childhood when we had that kind of fun. It was so fun, in fact, that I had to buy a Mr. Mouth for my own kids some twenty years later.



Here, Tim hams it up for Grandma.

Bottom line, you don't remember the stuff. You remember the way the stuff made you feel. The stuff goes away, particularly when you're a kid. I can't tell you how many things I bought for the boys that ended up lost, broken or discarded. But what remained was how we all connected, whether it was the holiday or not.

I'm ashamed to say I haven't played as many games with the kids as they've wanted to. But guess what? It's Christmas. And the best gift of all is that I can turn that all around. We can take the time. We can make new memories.

Of course, now that they're adults we play games like Cards Against Humanity (which I gave to Jer last year,) casino games like blackjack and poker. The heart of the gift, though, remains the same.

So if you're driving yourself crazy over what to get your kids, give them your time. It's the most valuable asset you will ever possess. Make a memory. They last way longer than stuff.

FAVORITE CHRISTMAS SONG

Are you feeling sentimental? I'm feeling sentimental...



(And yes... Hal Sparks is every bit as awesome as that video suggests. Hence why I made it.)





JEFF N' GINGER'S HOLIDAY WHOOVIE

I can't believe it took me until the last year or two to see "It's a Wonderful Life." I have no excuse, really. It's a movie tailor-made for me. It fits my philosophical bent to the letter, and reminds me why I fight so hard for the causes I do.

And am I the only one who sees some striking similarities between Mr. Potter and a certain other person all over the news? :-X

Honestly, I think this one is going to be a hard one to watch. Jimmy Stewart was my mother's favorite actor, so I know I'll think of her often and miss her twice as much when we watch. I guess I can take comfort in the fact that she already earned her wings. And I hope, no matter what, she can say she had a wonderful life, because I know so many of us wouldn't have been the same without her.



And for our Who-liday... the hardest epi for me to watch. I have to muster up all my stamina to watch it. It is... The End of Time, where we bid adieu to my doctor, #10 - David Tennant, and make way for #11, Matt Smith.

I didn't watch it while it aired. I refused. And I refused to watch the first season with Matt. Though I only have one heart, I loved #10 enough for two. Eventually I came around and warmed up to Matt, but I refused - REFUSED - to watch the episode where Ten regenerated. As far as I was concerned, if I didn't see it... it didn't happen.

(Yes, I realize I've gone over to the Geek side. What can I say? Steven was a carrier.)

It would take many Christmases later, when Steven was balls deep in a Doctor Who marathon, that I was ambushed with the episode.

I just can't...



It's a Whoovie sob-a-thon. (Told you I was feeling sentimental.)

TODAY'S #BAKEITFORWARD MOM-APPROVED CHRISTMAS RECIPE

Spent most of the day working, so I didn't have time for the #bakeitforward challenge, (as per usual,) so instead I'll feature another recipe that my mom loved.

Today's treat: MISSISSIPPI MUD CAKE

My mom made this decadent treat with an unappetizing name around 1980. With cocoa and marshmallows and a rich, fudgy, nutty brownie base, it is practically Christmas in a pan. Jeff and I had already become friends by the time she rolled out this treat, and I decided to take a piece to school to share it with him. He was rather put off by the name, reluctant at first to give it a go. It's gooey, with crackled sweet chocolate right on top, so it really does look like something you'd dig up.

One taste, though, and he was in heaven. We've decided to make this treat the next time I visit him in Texas, in honor of my mom.

Word of warning, though. It is really, REALLY sweet. Like divinity, or fudge, a couple of other things my mother loved. Take it to a gathering so you can spread the riches among many. You'll regret it if you don't. I have the thighs to prove it.

SECOND DAY FREEBIE

For today's freebie, I offer THE UNDISCIPLINED BRIDE, one of my standalone books that was probably the most surprising of mine to write. I hated the heroine at first. She was such an entitled princess. And I had no idea how a couple of supporting characters would demand that their story be told as well. Eventually, though, they all won me over. I was proud to be a part of their story, even if it was mostly just as a spectator/stenographer.

An excerpt:

*****

“Do you have a cigarette?”

“I do,” a deep, masculine voice said from behind. She whirled around to find Mateo leaning against the open door frame in his tuxedo like some leading man from a movie from the golden age. She watched his hand reach deep into his pants pocket to withdraw a pack. His fingers were long and strong as he withdrew a cigarette for her, offering it just a few paces away from where she stood, making her cross the final steps between them.

She snatched it from his hand. He had the nerve to chuckle. “What’s so funny?” she demanded.

“You don’t strike me as the kind of person who smokes,” he shrugged. His eyes fell on her mouth as she put the cigarette between her lips.

For a split second all the humor was gone. Instead Peyton saw something else there… something she could control. She saw his hunger. With a slow smile she met his eyes and said, “I guess I have an oral fixation.” To her delight his eyes darkened. “Have a light?”

He withdrew a lighter and this time he closed the scant inches between them to light her cigarette. He watched her suck in a breath as his eyes locked on her mouth. “So what did you think of the food?” he asked softly. "You left in such a hurry," he added with a teasing smile.

She shrugged. “I don’t see what the big deal is, personally,” she offered evilly. The food had been exceptional, but there was no way in hell she’d let him know that.

He chuckled again, the warm sound of his rich, deep laugh tumbled across her senses. “Guess we’ll have to do better next time.”

Her perfectly tweezed eyebrow arched. “What makes you think there will be a next time?”

It was his turn to shrug. “Just a hunch,” he said. His eyelids drooped lazily as he inspected her. “You don’t seem like a woman who will give up on anything until she’s completely satisfied.”

Her chin jutted out. “You’ve got that right, at least.”

His eyes traveled over her face, then down across the exposed skin of her chest and arms. “Damn shame you have gone unfulfilled for such a long time already,” he said softly.

She gulped. “What is that supposed to mean?”

His voice was quiet but powerful. There was a cadence to his speech, as though he was striking every word with a hammer. The softer the words, the harder the hit. “You tell me. When is the last time someone fully met every aching need?” He wanted to know as he stepped closer. “I’ll bet never. And that’s why you’re so pissed off, isn’t it, Princess? You can have everything you want… yet, you never have.”

She shuddered despite herself. “You have a lot of nerve talking to me like that. Don’t you know I could have you fired?”

He stepped even closer, until their bodies were a breath apart. “But you won’t.”

She glared at him. “You’re a cocky son of a bitch, aren’t you?”

Before she realized what was happening his arm snaked around her waist and he pulled her to his rigid body. “You tell me.”

Her brain scrambled as he manhandled her. His grip was strong and true, and if she struggled she would feel every inch of his hard body contained in that fine tuxedo. “Let me go,” she gritted between clenched teeth.

His face was next to hers, his mouth mere inches from her ear. “Is that what you want, princess?” His hand slipped down from her waist over the graceful curve of her ass.

It was inappropriate as hell, and no one – absolutely no one – had ever treated her in such a disrespectful manner. Instead of the anger she would normally feel, for one insane moment she was tempted to reach the remaining inch between them and crash her mouth against his, to taste the raw hunger of this stranger’s kiss once and for all.

Her eyes widened as she pushed against that rigid chest, rippling with muscles she had never experienced so close before. “Fuck you,” she breathed as she stumbled away. She nearly lost her footing and it was Mateo who prevented her from landing face first on the hard concrete.

“Maybe someday,” he said with that same damnable smirk. “But not today.”

With that he left her alone on the terrace as he disappeared back into the kitchen. She nearly snarled with rage as she tossed the cigarette off onto darkness.

*****

Get THE UNDISCIPLINED BRIDE for free, December 18, 2015!

The Fourth Day of Christmas, to honor all those days it doesn't *feel* like Christmas.

FAVORITE CHRISTMAS MEMORY

There's a reason I love Christmas so much, and it's usually the reason so many people don't love it at all. I love the season of perpetual hope, where everything shines a little brighter, where you're both expected to and often fight for reasons to be happy. Let's face it. My Twelve Pains video is on the money. Christmas is stressful. You eat too much, you spend too much, you chase around all these expectations to "look" right and fit in, particularly with people you don't usually see throughout the year. Family get-togethers, work parties, forced socialization - all that is nightmarish for those of us who struggle with such things.

In a season of such shared experiences, it can be isolating and lonely if you don't fit some Norman Rockwell painting we've come to idolize over the years.

Back in the early 1990s, my life was no fairy tale. I had small children I had to fight to support on a regular month, much less filling the empty space under the tree. Worse, I was married to someone who was bipolar, who would have violent reactions to his inability to "fit it." I was so singular in my focus never to let it touch my kids memories that I probably went a little overboard doing whatever I could to spoil them and make them happy so that when they thought back to Christmases past, they wouldn't remember it as a time of stress, lack or fear. They would regard Christmas the same way I did - the one bright spot in an otherwise dysfunctional childhood.

My upbringing was anything but traditional. My father was a stay-at-home dad, and my mother worked, way before such things were accepted. "Mr. Mom" may have been a novelty to people going to the moves in the early 1980s, but not to me. Worse, we weren't your typical "Little House" or "Waltons" family, despite how we prized both family and faith. Instead, we were more like "All in the Family," where our main form of bonding came from bickering.

"Mama's Family" was painfully all too real.



In fact, I couldn't even laugh at the Mama's Family sketches because it hit too close to home. The only exception are the ones where either Tim Conway or Vicki Lawrence endeavored to make their cast-mates break character. (I have been known to use the "Playing hockey with a warped puck" line a time or two myself.)

The most famous example of this, of course, is the Elephant skit.



Despite the arguing, bickering and resentment that normally took up residence in my childhood home, around Christmas our family finally looked like everyone else. Around Christmas, I finally felt, for lack of a better word, "normal." It was what I wanted to give to my kids if nothing else. And I became rather obsessive about it. I wanted it picture perfect. I threw myself into making memories for my kids that weren't marred by the ugliness I juggled.

One of those traditions that had been missing from my own childhood was the family portrait. I say family, but really - there was only way to make those portraits perfect back then. I had to keep both me and my husband out of them. Thanks to Dan's unchecked mental illness, one that we didn't even know to treat, there was domestic abuse in the home, where Dan would randomly flip out and become this scary shadow of his former self, particularly when he felt forced to participate in anything "normal." He felt such self-loathing for his inability to provide, and we bore the brunt of it. Not with beatings and bruises, but the subtle terror we lived under for years, where we were too afraid to cross the many lines he'd drawn in the sand.

I struggled with self-loathing, too. At the time, one of Dan's main problems with me was my weight. I had gained sixty pounds with both pregnancies, and was the heaviest I had ever been. It strained our marriage on a daily basis. I suspected he was right - that I was this huge fuck-up because I dared to "let myself go."

To make the holidays picture perfect, then, I had to take me out of it. That's why you won't see many photos of me from the early 1990s.

The one exception happened around Christmastime. It was 1992. Tim was nearly three, and Jer was a few months old. They were gorgeous kids (still are,) so I made it a point to get those portrait packages whether I could afford them or not. So I dressed them all cute and headed down to Sears for their holiday special. Dan didn't go with me, because he wouldn't, and so I made peace with the fact these photos would just include the kids. Considering their parents were their biggest liability at that point, I figured it was better that way. This drove most of the portraits I kept back then.



That's the great thing about photos. You can edit out all the parts that don't fit into the memory you're trying to preserve. And needless to say, I "edited" myself out of quite a few photos of my kids' childhood.

But not Christmas of 1992. Christmas '92, when I took my beautiful boys to the portrait studio, the photographer decided I needed to be a part of it. He asked me to sit for one pose, which I totally didn't want to do. I wasn't dressed for it, for one thing. I think I was even wearing sweat pants, since - all those pounds later - that was pretty much all I could wear back in those days. I had a festive top on, but nothing "portrait" worthy. The last thing I wanted to do was take a photo, especially since Dan wasn't there.

This is not a memory I wanted to preserve for my kids.

But, people pleaser that I am, I decided to sit for the photo anyway, just so I wouldn't make any waves. When you're the victim of domestic abuse, you tend to go out of your way to avoid conflict. I knew I'd hate the picture, because I hated most pictures of me at that point. I was so much heavier than I had been as a teen, when I thought I was so unforgivably fat then.



But then I got the proofs back to approve. And I hated how I looked in it, sure. But there was something more important going on there. I was with my babies, the ones I loved more than life itself. And it was Christmas, with a perfect backdrop to mask our imperfect life.



Basically, aside from Dan's absence - or maybe, truthfully, because of - this was the happy childhood I wanted to give to my kids, but just couldn't pull off. It was a hope of all we could be.

It was a memory worth preserving. And it taught me well about "editing" myself right out of my kids' lives, just because I wasn't perfect.

I was never going to be perfect. And the perfect Christmas, as far as I'm concerned anyway, is to find the love and the merriment and the happiness despite that. That's what the hope of Christmas truly means to me, and why I cherish it so.

Years later, after Dan got treatment and began to heal, we finally did get that family portrait. And I knew how far we'd come just by the fact we could finally take it together.



As you can see by how much happier the kids appear, this photo proves that by editing myself out of the picture because I wasn't "perfect" - as if such a thing exists anyway, I did a much greater disservice to my kids. I may never like how I look in any of them. But I'll never, ever be ashamed of how I loved. And now they have the photos to prove it.

FAVORITE CHRISTMAS SONG(S)

I typically shy away from most "traditional" Christmas music, opting instead for silly, fun stuff that keeps the mood light on the holiday season no matter what is going on.



Needless to say... I don't mind a little irreverence...



The way I see it Christmas is a time where we all get to be kids again, no matter how old we are. Christmas is timeless - and so are we. How awesome is that??



I suspect I get this from my mother, who thought this song was the funniest song ever, even though she was a happy grandma when it was released.



So make me laugh and keep it light... those are the songs that I love most of all.



JEFF N' GINGER'S HOLIDAY WHOOVIE

Okay. So I haven't been able to live-tweet these movies like I've wanted to. My bad for putting such an ambitious project in the middle of all the other stuff we have going on. But the Whoovie-thon is still in progress, and tonight (after the epic BIG BANG THEORY moment this Shamy-lovin' fan has been waiting years for, which I WILL live-tweet, schedules be damned) we're going to watch one for Brittany, who loves an atypical Christmas movie brought to you by the demented but beautiful mind of Tim Burton. This fits my theme for the day better than any movie I could bring you.



TODAY'S #BAKEITFORWARD CHRISTMAS RECIPE

Another casualty to the busy season, I wasn't able to make anything for today's #bakeitforward. But never fear... I have a recipe to share nonetheless, in honor of my mother.

Today's treat: Strawberry Bread.

Strawberry bread was a staple around the holidays thanks to my Aunt Gertrude, who first made this yummy treat in the early 1980s. My mother, who loved the bread, carried on the tradition throughout the decade. I, myself, haven't made the recipe (yet,) and in fact thought that the tradition was long buried in lost recipe books. But thanks to the Internet, I found what looks to be the same recipe, though I'm fairly sure that my Aunt put red food coloring in hers, which was a moist, delicious dessert bread.

Either way, you can find the recipe on my Pinterest board I created in honor of my mother's favorite things.



FOURTH DAY FREEBIE

In keeping with my not-so-Christmasy theme... a not so Christmasy freebie. My novel TASTE OF BLOOD is unlike most of the books I've written. It was adapted from My Immortal to fit the story idea presented to me by a director I worked with in the mid-2000s, who wanted a gritty urban tale that mixed the movies "Se7en" and "Interview with a Vampire." He loved my flawed heroine, which I got to really twist around in the novelization of TASTE OF BLOOD. Instead of being reincarnated from a vampire, like Adele was, Reese Mackenzie is an unwilling and unenthusiastic clairvoyant, whose scary visions and unusual psychic ability get her into trouble more often than not.

So if you want a scary tale of suspense, download TASTE OF BLOOD, which is free today, December 17th.

What do you have to lose? (If you don't count sleep.... O_o)

An excerpt:

*****Reese bolted straight up in bed, a scream strangled in her throat. The room was dark, and the only sound came from her bed mate, who snored softly.

Reese tried to still her racing heartbeat with a few deep breaths. She inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly. She counted backward from 20. She softly sang the Alphabet Song. Finally she reached for her purse sitting right next to the bed. As she dug for her meds, she came across the pen recorder. A moment of indecision passed before she pulled it from her purse.

With a click, it started to record. Her whispered words came out in staccato bursts. “Black veil. Bat. Girl from morgue.” She gulped. “Dead.”

She jumped as Brody grumbled in his sleep. She stopped the recording and tried to determine if he was awake, and more importantly, if he had heard what she said. He simply turned toward the opposite wall. Since he still had one foot on the floor his entire body went tumbling off the bed with a loud thud. “Brody!” she cried out as she lunged for him. He didn't even wake up as he curled into a ball where he lay.

She had to smile. He was being a good sport about things, considering. With a sigh, she took off the top quilt from the bed and tossed it around his body. She placed the recorder back into her purse, right next to the pills that she decided not to take.

The morning sun found Brody on the floor. He awoke with a bit of confusion as to why exactly he was down there. He glanced up at the bed, but it was empty. His eyes scanned the room until he finally saw her; asleep on the ledge by the window. She had been awake when he had drifted off to sleep, although she had pretended that she wasn't.

She fought her own personal war against sleep – and somehow he knew it had dick to do with the job. She wasn't trying to muscle him out of a byline. This girl was running from the demons that seemed to lurk in her sleeping mind. He knew that because of the little bottle of pills she had needed even after the airplane ride, and the way she'd moan in her sleep after she succumbed to them.

He had no doubt that she had fought sleep bitterly throughout the dark morning hours, finally crawling out of bed to sit vigil at the window until sleep had overtaken her.

On his way to the bathroom, he noticed her camera sitting on the dresser. He hadn't told her about the ass-chewing he'd received from Martin regarding Reese's little stowaway stunt, and he knew she hadn't answered her own phone to face the music either. It was as if she knew a pink slip waited for her when they got back. She'd risked everything to get away from something that still chased her.

There was one thing he could do to help ease her mind.

He was going to save her job.

He threw on some pants, grabbed the camera, and headed downstairs.

As he bounded down the last few steps, he called cheerily to his innkeeper. “Hey, Olga. Where's the nearest place I can use the Internet?” The words trailed off when he caught sight of the old woman, who scattered seeds at the doorway of the inn.

Off his look she replied, “Vampires must count seeds whenever they see them. This will keep him at bay.”

“I didn't realize vampires were obsessive-compulsive,” he responded with a good-humored grin. Olga took a folded newspaper from under her arm and swatted him in the head with it before she threw it at him.

With one look at the cover he knew Reese's insomnia was about to get a whole lot worse.

Reese and Brody were back at the morgue just after ten o'clock in the morning. A heavy police presence was there already, and tape blocked off most of the building. A crowd had gathered and tried to press in, which kept many of the officers busy with crowd control. The tabloid reporters used this chaos to their advantage. They crept around to the back of the building and discovered one of the ramps that delivered the dead out onto the loading dock. They pushed through the door and climbed up the incline until they reached a darkened part of the morgue. Voices echoed through the hallway just outside the cold, sterile room where they hid behind the door.

“What are they saying?” she asked him in a hushed whisper.

“Dunno,” he responded. “Murder, vampires, and police jargon aren’t exactly taught in conversational Romanian.”

“We gotta get into that room,” she said and she glanced around. White lab coats hung on pegs near the door. They both shared a smile.

The hub of the activity was in one of the examination rooms. Official people milled about like confused ants, so it was easy for Reese and Brody to camouflage themselves as they made a direct path for the room with the brightest lights and the loudest noises.

Brody exclaimed an expletive under his breath when they finally got a peek inside.

The pristine white walls were stained bright red with blood. It was so much blood it looked like the victim had literally exploded right in the middle of the room. In the corner, under a black tarp, was the figure of a person – no doubt the victim whose blood now dripped from the ceiling like ghastly scarlet raindrops.

As if in a trance, Reese stepped further into the room toward the body. She really didn’t want to know who lay there, but she knew she couldn't leave that room without seeing for sure. It was in this very room just the day before she got a violent, brief glimpse of white tiles bathed in thick blood. It had been so gruesome that she had quickly tried to suppress it – but now she stood there in that room facing an unthinkable reality. The remnants of her dream nagged at her subconscious, and though it terrified her, she knew she had to verify once and for all her dream wasn't a dream at all.

It was a premonition.

*****

The Third Day of Christmas + the hubby's birthday! And YES! Another free ebook!

FAVORITE CHRISTMAS MEMORY

We've talked in length before about one of my favorite gifts, a leather-bound copy of MY IMMORTAL that my darling hubby had printed for me way before I was published "for real." It is such a great gift, in fact, that I often wonder how I'll ever match it.

Truth is... I already did.

Today is not just the third day of Christmas, it's also Steven's birthday. He turns the big 4-5 today. (Yes, that means I robbed the cradle by about a year.) As anyone who has a December birthday can tell you, sometimes you really get cheated out of the big birthday stuff, simply because there's a major effin holiday (or, more accurately, something like 30 different holidays) around that time. A lot of the time the two gifts are combined, particularly when they're big ones.

The biggest gift I ever gave my hubby was not only a Christmas gift, but a birthday gift, and an anniversary gift... for like... five years solid.

It was 2002, and we had left Texas for a short-term stay in California to help out a sick family member. While we were there, we ended up going to a mall that had a pet store. (Yes, yes. I know, I know. Hear me out.) Because the prices were fairly steep in said store, and these animals were all pedigree, I knew that there was zero chance we'd leave the joint with an animal.

We're great big ol' softies, you see. Especially when it comes to animals. We have had up to six animals at a time, just because we couldn't bear to part with them. Neither of us has any self-control in the matter. If we see something cute and cuddly, and we have room to keep it, we generally fold like a cheap lawn chair.

Well, nothing in this pet store was cheap, so I knew we were in the clear. I decided, just to put a smile on Steven's face, to let him check out the Pug puppies. He'd always wanted one. I wasn't quite convinced. (I wanted a Jack Russell.)

So we meet this eight-week old male Pug puppy that we promptly take back to the play area. Within about a minute, this puppy reaches up to Steven and starts to nibble on his beard. We have come to refer to this as the "taste test," because after this, the puppy was all about us.

And we were frankly all about him. I fell like a ton of bricks the second this puppy claimed Steven.

Well, of course our credit sucked so we couldn't get approved to buy him. (Told you. Lawn chair.) If it were not for a generous loan made by said family member, which took me about six months to pay off, we never would have been able to bring our little bubbas home.

I've never for one day regretted it.

We were warned ahead of time that Pugs were needy, and they always wanted to be with you, and they could easily overheat or get exerted, and shed practically a new Pug every day. I think they said these things to deter us. Didn't work, even though each and every trait is 100% on the money.

But I can safely say I've given no greater gift to my hubby, who has never wanted anything more than he wanted this dog.

*Clears throat* Excuse me... this person with fur.

Thirteen years later and Winston Q. Pooter, as he has come to be known, continues to bring joy into our lives every single day.

So happy birthday, baby... again! And Merry Christmas. And Happy Hanukkah. And Happy Festivus.



FAVORITE CHRISTMAS SONG

There's a meme going around that says, "The older I get, the more I realize that the best Christmas presents aren't things." You don't need to be an older person to realize this. You learn this every year you and your spouse put yourselves dead last so that you can give your kids the best Christmas you can, even when you can barely give them anything at all.

Steven and I have weathered these kinds of economic challenges in the course of our marriage. There have been some very lean years, when all we really had to give each other is... well, each other.

It's always, always been enough. I don't need one damn thing under that tree to have a good Christmas. I just need my family. I've learned the hard way that they're much more valuable to me than anything that can be bought with something as banal as money.

And so... here is our Christmas song for the day, a version I discovered last year and just loved.



JEFF N' GINGER'S HOLIDAY WHOOVIE

Okay. I kinda skipped the Whoovie yesterday. But I have a good excuse, Teach. The kids had rented some movies, so we decided to have some family time instead. But I won't leave ya hanging. Tonight's Whoovie is a Doctor Who Double Feature, "The Christmas Invasion" and "Runaway Bride," to get us caught up on our Doctor Who when Steven can watch too, since Doctor Who is his absolute favorite and it's his birthday besides. He'll be able to rev his geek engines just in time for the release of the new Star Wars movie, and I think that's a fitting way to spend his birthday. We'll start between 8:00 and 8:30pm PST, to make sure that dinner and all that good stuff is out of the way.

Knowing how scheduling works with me, that may make it after nine. Just fair warning. I don't think I've ever been on time for anything in my life.

Except dessert. Bah-dah-bump.





We'll probably also throw Love, Actually in there, because why not? It's British. It's romantic. And it's Christmasy. I probably won't live tweet that one though. It begs for some serious cuddle time.



TODAY'S #BAKEITFORWARD CHRISTMAS RECIPE

My elf Brittany decided to dedicate her next baking project to Steven. It's a red and green velvet birthday-slash-Christmas cake.

And since it's for Steven, of course Tigger was in charge of quality control. (Spoiler: He loved it.)



This was out of a box, but she added her own kind of flair like she always does. I, personally, think it counts.

SECOND DAY FREEBIE

It's only fitting that the freebie I offer on Steven's birthday is the book that would have never been written without him, our baby... COMIC SQUAD.

COMIC SQUAD tells the story of a lonely girl and and an awkward geek who share only one thing in common: their love for all things Joe Dakota. These comic book fans have been searching high and low for a special comic book/3-D glasses combination, never knowing that used together they actually open a portal between our world and the world of Joe Dakota's Chastenville. Worse... the only way they figure it out is by accidentally releasing the villain, the dastardly Dr. Horror, into the real world. It is a world that makes him even stronger and harder to fight. By no coincidence, it has the opposite effect on their favorite hero.

These two fans and their outcast friends must summon the courage to face off this villain, before he destroys their entire town, all on their very own.

This is a book for all ages, so if you have some kids on your list - this would make a great gift. My story talks about being brave enough to be your OWN hero, and to recognize the heroism in your own family and friends. I love this story, mostly because it wouldn't exist without Steven. He's been reading comic books since he was a kid, and used to manage a comic book store in Fullerton way back in the day. He was going to Comic Con way back before it was cool. Not only did he consult with the story, but he also wrote most of the comic book store dialogue.

It is a perfect mix of the both of us.

Plus he created Twitch. And I love Twitch.

So get your copy of COMIC SQUAD today, December 16, 2015, completely FREE! Merry Christmas... from BOTH the Voights.



An excerpt:

*****

With Joe Dakota safely tied up in one of the examination rooms, Dr. Horror was free to put the finishing touches on the green potion. Using tongs, he delicately poured it from a beaker into a test tube, and secured it with a cork.

Twitch picked up the beaker to examine the strange, glowing fluid.

“Put that down!” Dr. Horror barked. Twitch was quick to comply. “It’s the only batch in existence. All I need is for some nitwit to pour it out… or worse yet, drink it.”

Outside the room Alice suddenly found herself hunched down by the door, the 3-D glasses hanging by one of the straps of her overalls. She looked inside the room, and gasped when she saw Dr. Horror and Twitch, and the bubbling tube of green.

“What would happen if someone drank it?” asked Twitch.

Dr. Horror smirked at him. “You ever dissolved snails with salt?” Twitch nodded. “It’s like that.” Dr. Horror spilled a drop of the liquid on the lab table. It bubbled and smoked and sizzled right through the metal surface. “Only it hurts.”

“So what’s it going to do to Joe Dakota?”

Dr. Horror chuckled. “Joe who?”

“Joe Dakota. You know. That big, strong guy who comes along and messes up all your plans...”

“I know who, you twit. But after tonight, I think he might be more of a what.”

Alice flattened back against the wall. A million questions flooded her brain at once, the most important of which was how to get out of there without getting caught. The second most important: how to get out and take that strange and dangerous potion with her? She grabbed the magical glasses.

One thing was certain; she could do neither without them. She tucked them into a pocket for safe keeping.

She peered back around the door to find both Dr. Horror and Twitch standing with their backs to her. She knelt down and quietly duck-walked across the room, then hunched down beside their lab table. Listening for their steps going in one direction, she managed to go in the opposite direction, remaining hidden from their view as they turned for the door.

“Come,” Dr. Horror told Twitch, “let’s make sure that Joe is safely secured for tonight’s main event.”

They departed the room, leaving the beaker and test tube on the table. When she thought the coast was clear, she peered over the edge of the table, her heartbeat so loud it thundered in her ears. She found herself staring directly into the creepy, bubbling, green fluid in the tube.

She gulped as she reached for it, hesitating only slightly as she spotted the deep hole that one drop had burned into the table’s surface. She’d read the books, she knew what Dr. Horror had created this stuff to do. Just as the original formula had reinforced every cell inside Joe Dakota’s body, reinforcing them with the power to rejuvenate at the least little hint of destruction, this new formula was created to do the opposite. Injecting this potion into a human body would cause each cell to break down and combust. The destruction would be quick and total. That was why she knew she couldn’t take a chance and leave it behind. Just as her hand touched the tube, lightning filled the room and thunder rattled the windows; Alice nearly came up out of her overalls.

Finally, before she could lose her nerve, she grabbed the tube and stuffed it into one of her many pockets and prayed the cork would hold.

She sprinted to the door and checked to see if the hall was clear. She crept out slowly and quietly with no idea where she was heading, but determined to make sure that potion never went anywhere near Joe Dakota.

*****

The Second Day of Christmas, with a brand new featured freebie! #free #ebook #Kindle

FAVORITE CHRISTMAS MEMORY

It should surprise no one by now that when it comes to Christmas, I love tradition. From the foods we make to the movies we watch, even the way we trim the tree, the things I've always liked to do have become the things my family has grown to do, and I know these traditions will last for generations. It's a beautiful thing.

I've always embraced these continuing traditions, even when I was a kid. I loved putting out the same decorations, or trimming the tree the way we always did. One of my favorite decorations happened to be a lanky Santa Claus who made appearances around my house throughout my childhood.



You can't tell to look at him, but he had a chiming bell in his torso, so he was a lot of fun to play with as a kid. And as you can see, he watched over us all from his faithful perch on my mom's old treasured china cabinet, just to make sure we Santa properly in his place.

I couldn't even tell you what happened to him, although I suspect a garage sale was to blame. I hope he brought lots of joy to his new family. Meanwhile, I do my part to add to my collection every year, buying ornaments that symbolize the important events of the year. Last year, I added Olaf to the tree thanks to an epic birthday trip to Disneyland with my entire family.



This year's ornament is inspired by a pretty epic story I'm in the midst of creating. All I can say is ... "stay tuned."



*Funfact: That Opus in the background is another one of my treasured decorations, one that I've had since the 1990s when my bestie gave me one to match the one on his tree. See? Tradition.

FAVORITE CHRISTMAS SONG

Another take on The Twelve Days of Christmas... one sure to be a big hit with those who are already tired of the holiday season...



JEFF N' GINGER'S HOLIDAY WHOOVIE

Another holiday tradition that is brand new to my life, courtesy of my darling hubby Steven and, of course, the BBC: Doctor Who. Surprisingly, though I'm not a huge sci-fi fan, I'm fairly in love with this show, despite the way they systematically try to destroy Christmas. Sometimes this is done by introducing creepy aliens that take all our favorite symbols of Christmas and turn them into scary little nasties to terrify us. (Did you know that you could be attacked by a Christmas tree or a snow man? Me either.) Other times we get our hearts ripped out when we lose those we've come to love. For those who don't know, Doctor Who is based on a time-traveling alien named The Doctor, who is a Time Lord from the planet Gallifrey. This alien doesn't carry a gun, has two hearts, and can "regenerate" into a completely new person at least a dozen times. Thanks to the sadistic storyteller Steven Moffat, we've actually lost two beloved Doctors ON Christmas specials.

Despite this, I can no longer imagine Christmas without Doctor Who, and neither can Jeff, who became a Whovian like I did thanks to Steven.

There have been 10 previous Christmas specials, so I decided to add those to the Whoovie list to lead us all the way up to this year's Christmas special.

If you want to watch along, we'll be watching "The Christmas Invasion," David Tennant's first full episode as The Doctor, tonight after 10pm my time. Keep an eye on my Twitter for details!



TODAY'S #BAKEITFORWARD CHRISTMAS RECIPE

Part of the #BakeItForward challenge involves tagging other people so they can participate. Fortunately, I happen to live with a Christmas-loving elf who loves to cook.

My son's girlfriend Brittany provides today's treat: M&M Christmas Cookies!



You can find the recipe over on my Twelve Days of Christmas Pinterest board.

SECOND DAY FREEBIE

And finally, your free ebook download, available all day today, December 15th, MY IMMORTAL. I've talked a good deal about this paranormal romance in the past. This Gothic tale of blood, lust and destiny started me on my journey to become an optioned screenwriter, particularly my lead character, Adele. The story itself can be read as a standalone, with room to expand the story later. I mix horror and romance with this one, y'all, so all the normal warnings regarding my content apply.

If you need a warning to read it... you probably shouldn't. But if you want to, it's free for you today!

A big, big thanks to Hal Sparks, who generously granted permission to use of "Indian Summer," one of my favorite songs from his band, Zero 1, for the trailer. Honestly I could have used at least three or four from their debut album to tell this tale, the album is that atmospheric. If you liked the song, go give him a follow at @HalSparks on Twitter and let him know! (I personally think it's one of the sexiest songs that he has done, but judge for yourself. ;) )

The First Day of Christmas 2015; Memories, Movies, Music and a FREE EBOOK!

Here we go again, my annual Twelve Days blog-a-thon! Along with my normal holiday homage, featuring of all my favorite movies, songs and memories, this year I've decided to end a rather sucky year with a bit of a bang. I'm going to offer TWELVE WHOLE DAYS of free ebooks, a new one featured every single day.



So let's get started!

FAVORITE CHRISTMAS MEMORY



Ah. Just look at it. It's the 1970s all over again. Shag carpeting. A console TV. Fake fruit in a large, gawdy vase and I can't even talk about those clothes. Christmas 1973 gave me quite a haul, and I preen proudly in front of one of my favorite gifts of all time... that table. Whether it was because it was made for kids, so only I could sit at it, making it special by default, or the fact it was such a rich black color that shined so pretty when it was polished, this table witnessed some of my earliest creativity. Namely: Play-Doh art.

As a young child, I found quite a few Silly Putty eggs in my Christmas stocking, but nothing - absolutely nothing - beat those fun yellow jars full of brightly colored Play-Doh. I always wanted those little kits where you could shape and cut it, although I never got one. Probably just as well. I'm a bit of a Play-Doh purest. Play-Doh was best when it was fresh and bright, before you'd end up accidentally blending them together in muddy colored blobs that lose all their visual appeal. I preferred not to mix it if at all possible.

To this day, if I open a tiny canister of Play-Doh, I'm transported right back to this living room at that table, with unlimited possibilities of what I might create sitting in front of me in lumps of child-friendly clay. Some how or another, Steven ended up with a mini jar of bright pink Play-Doh, which I kept at my desk for the longest so that I might get a whiff of my childhood whenever I wanted. It's probably still around here somewhere.

Suffice it to say, you can stuff my stocking with Play-Doh till I'm old and gray. And who knows? Maybe one day I'll get one of those kits, too.

(Don't judge me. It sparkles!)

FAVORITE CHRISTMAS SONG

I mean we kind of have to start with this one, don't we?



Also as a child of the 1970s, I was (and still am) a huge Muppets fan, so naturally that version is my favorite rendition of the original song. And John Denver... I mean... can it get any better than that?

If you haven't done so, check out The Muppets' new sitcom on ABC. It's a hoot and I enjoy it quite a bit. Here's one of my favorite scenes. I'll let you figure out why.



I laugh every time I see it, to the point I have it saved on my DVR list just in case I need an emergency chuckle. Long Live Beakie!

JEFF N' GINGER'S HOLIDAY WHOOVIE

You may or may not know this, but I have a best friend named Jeff, whom I've known since we were ten years old. We met in the fifth grade and have been best friends ever since. That friendship was tested when my mother moved us away from Amarillo, where he lived, back to Abilene, where I was born. We were two twelve-year-olds with nearly three hundred miles between us. Back then, we had two choices if we wanted to maintain a friendship. We could call each other, using expensive long distance where you paid by the minute to talk to people who were out of your area code. Or we could invest in twenty-cent stamps and write each other.

We did the latter. On Muppet stationary, no less.

Over the course of our thirty-five-year friendship, we have seen technology change our world in ways we never could have predicted in Mrs. Sherwood's English class. We've seen vinyl lose the battle to CDs, only to resurrect itself once again. We've gone from landlines without answering machines, where you would miss a call if you weren't there, and no one could get in touch with you if you were busy talking to anyone else, to phones plastered to the palms of our hands, a piece of our life most of us would be lost without.

Thanks to technology, Jeff and I have been able to do some amazing things. Back in 1980, when I was a lonely latchkey kid, he would call me early in the evening and we'd chat all night long, just so I didn't have to be all by myself. To fill up these hours of conversation, we'd often watch TV together, even though we lived several blocks away from each other.

Thanks to the Internet and Netflix, this tradition continues to run strong in the 21st century. We call these our "Whoovie" nights, as we "time-travel" between Texas and California to orchestrate these movie/TV marathons across more than a thousand miles and two time zones. This year, he's agreed to join me for a twelve-day holiday extravaganza as we watch some of our favorite holiday classics.

Tonight's offering is one of my favorites: RUDOLPH THE RED NOSED REINDEER. I've been watching this show every year for most of my life, courtesy of its annual broadcast. I love this little misfit, this underdog who had all the odds stacked against him. I know a bit how that feels. Watching him in his hero's journey is one of my most treasured holiday traditions, one I was proud to pass down to my kiddos.

Tonight we'll sit down together, with Jeff, who is three states away, and watch this holiday classic. It's not Christmas until I've seen Rudolph. Check my Twitter after 6:00pm PST for Twitter updates if you want to watch along with.

TODAY'S CHRISTMAS RECIPE

Also new for this year, a baking project featuring everyone's favorite homemade gift: Christmas cookies!! This year, Food Network is partnering with No Kid Hungry to raise money for needy families. And it couldn't be simpler. Bake your goodies like you normally do. Post your photo and tag a friend, using the hashtag #BakeItForward. For every entry, Food Network will donate $1 to No Kid Hungry, which equals 10 meals. Their ambitious goal would provide one million meals for needy families. Let's make it happen!

Today's treat: Buttery Thumbprint Cookies.



You can find the recipe for these cookies over on my Pinterest Twelve Days of Christmas board. It was my first try making this particular recipe. I had been using another recipe that called for almond extract instead of vanilla, but I ran out of almond extract. So I gave this one a try. Pretty tasty! Very delicate texture, and I used a strawberry-blackberry jam to fill the cookie. I love how the tartness of the berries contrasts with the sweet buttery cookie base. Best of all, it was a pretty easy recipe to make, and according to my son, Tim, "The powdered sugar was a nice touch."

FIRST DAY FREEBIE

And finally, a gift from me to you. My book, LOVE PLUS ONE, is available for FREE through Amazon all day today. This sweet little story was one of my first romances, written in the vein of the traditional romances I grew up on. It isn't (technically) part of a series, although you do see some of these characters again throughout other books as supporting characters. There's not a lot of sexy sexy in this one, so feel free to gift this one to those people on your list who like to keep their romances sweet and conventional.

Fun fact for those fans who have read GROUPIE, FIERCE, SOUTHERN ROCKERS, THE FULLERTON FAMILY SAGA, and THE MASTERS SAGA: Love Plus One is where Jorge Navarro got his start.

Enjoy!

Starting December 14 - Ginger Voight's annual Twelve Days of Christmas Blog-o-thon.

Mark your calendars. This one is going to be epic! Be sure to follow the blog for all the daily updates. Let's get our Christmas on.

Ho Ho Ho!!

Nanowrimo Day Twenty-Eight: Gestation

As you can see, it’s been a while since I’ve checked in. Ten days to be exact. I allowed for real life to take priority throughout my birthday and the holiday, which is typical for this time of year. I don’t usually take a whole lot of time off, I can’t afford to, but sometimes those breaks are necessary.

After this year, y’all, I need a vacation in the worst way. Preferably somewhere tropical, where I can drink frosty, frothy drinks that taste like coconut and pineapple, and get fanned by two hunky, tanned cabana boys named Rico and Javier.

#nextyear

Instead I just unplugged and spent time with the fam, which is even better.

It doesn’t mean I wasn’t working, mind you. For an author, there is writing work and non-writing work. I call the non-writing work “gestation.”

Over the last ten days, I’ve done a lot of mental preparation to complete this project and start new ones. I’ve released another book, which is the publishing part of my job. That never ends even if I do take the rare week or two off here and there.

But in the creation process, where Nanowrimo lives, it’s all been brainstorming and preparation.

My best friend and I have come up with an idea for a TV show that will demand a lot of research, given the periods of time it is set within. Yes, I did say “periods.” Most of my truly ambitious work involves history, mythology, and all those other wonderful things that are so research-heavy I can’t jump in with both feet like I normally do. Rather, I circle the idea, hand to chin, calculating the best and most efficient course of action to complete the project.

And that’s really the heart of Nanowrimo. Yes, we’re given a month to do “the impossible” – to write a book start to finish – but it’s not so much the time frame in which we do it, but the fact that you actually finish a project at all. Far too many writers are thinkers who just have an idea, and a long list of excuses why they don’t have time to write it.

Nano challenges you to change the placard over from “Want” to “Did.”

The only difference between the writers and the thinkers is that we make the time. We steal those precious minutes or seconds to mull over, plan, consider, debate or brainstorm story ideas that will get us so excited that we pounce all over the very first second to write that presents itself. Yes, there are families and jobs and holidays and commitments, like I’ve shown you with a ten-day hiatus. But you’ll note I didn’t take that hiatus until after I reached the goal of 50,000 words. I still worried about families, jobs, holidays and commitments, particularly the one I made to my manager about this kick-ass TV script idea, but I found time to lay some groundwork for a book I will complete and publish later, probably in time for next year’s Nano. I’ll fill it in later with all the other little goodies and advice that I had outlined to share. I’ll do more research, I’ll make it even more helpful. It’s nowhere near done the way I want it, and so I can shelve it while I work out all the other stuff to make it the kind of book I want it to be.

This takes time. Many times more than it takes to complete a first draft start to finish.

In other words: it’s okay to wait. Sometimes it’s necessary to wait. Remember all those naysayers who griped about Nano, who said that no good book could be written in 30 days so why bother?

Most of the reason they say that isn’t because of how long it took you to write a book. No one cares about that, not really. If they read your book and they think it’s great, they’ll bring their own prejudices with them. If they ask later, and they might, they might be thinking that you had to take ten years to write your masterpiece, just because that’s the accepted wisdom of such things. You can surprise them later, and I hope you do, by producing a strong, well-written, engaging story, maybe even one right after the other, to pop a hole right in that theory, to prove there many more ways up the mountain than just the one, singular, narrow path everyone expects you to follow.

That most of those people who feel that way are NOT writers should tell you how useless their advice truly is. They say it can’t be done because they’ve never done it, and that’s just a baseless standard for anyone. I can’t physically run a mile, but that doesn’t mean that others can’t. The limitations of others don’t define you. (And thank God.)

However, and this is key, this is not to suggest that you shouldn’t take your time to get it right.

By November 28, there are basically two types of Nanowrimoers left. I’m going to take a second to speak to you both.

First up: The “Never-Gonna-Get-It-Finished” Nanoer.

You are the writer who has more to write in the next two days than can ever be written, even if that's all you do. As much as you might like to, you're not going to finish in time to "win" the bragging rights you set out to claim November 1. Generally you fluctuate somewhere between “Why the hell did I sign up for this crap?” and “Eh, maybe next year.” You realized too late just how daunting a task this would be, or underestimated your ability to fit writing a book into your current schedule. Either way, just like the other 80% of Nanowrimoers, it just ain't gonna happen for you this year.

This is perfectly okay. So you didn’t get the 50,000 words done, so what? If you wrote one sentence, you have the perfect excuse to get BACK to the writing, and you don’t need Nano to do it. Granted, it’s a lot more fun when everyone else is sharing your misery to write a book, which is probably why Nano is so successful and popular in the first place. But some stories take time, that’s just how it is. Sometimes your life takes priority. If you need to put food on the table, you need to focus on things that bring in an income, not some “hobby” of writing a book.

This is not a failure. You attempted, and good on ya. It’s hard to write a book, especially on a tight deadline, which is why many people will attempt Nanowrimo, but only 20% or less will actually finish on time.

What’s not okay is using that as an excuse to stop for good.

For you, the gestation period requires that you prioritize your writing so that you may complete your project one day, whether it’s in December, or next November. It’s still up to you to get it done, and you totally can… IF you make it a priority.

I had planned to write a full book in the month of November, just to prove that it can be done. When it comes to a first draft, I’ve gotten the process down to knocking one out in about a month, thanks to the preparation work I use in the gestation beforehand. So I had full faith I could prove this by showing you this process day after day.

Life happened. Other priorities came first, even if it was just taking a day off because I’ve written or completed five books this year and that takes a lot out of a person. This was technically Book Number Six, so I gave myself permission to take some time off and regroup, no matter what my slave-driver of a boss had to say about it.

(She’s such a bitch. I really don’t know how I’ve lived with her day after day for 46 years.)

Sometimes you need time away. Sometimes the story gets so convoluted in your head that you need to step away from it, for clarity – and for sanity. Last year, my Nano project was a page-one rewrite of a “morally ambiguous” YA title sure to be banned in all southern states, particularly Tennessee. It was without doubt the darkest story I have ever written, and I’ve been known to plumb the depths. This book, however, was something I was writing with someone else, whose ideas pushed me even further than I ever wanted to go.

Some folks need a trigger warning to read a book about the things I explored in this title. I needed a trigger warning to WRITE it.

By the end of November I barely limped across the finish line with 50,000 words, but the book was nowhere near done. I didn’t finish it until this year, when the OTHER 50,000 words nearly drove me to therapy.

I needed time to finish that book. And after it was over, I needed space to heal from it. We just signed the publishing contract on it last month, so I’m sure that the rewrites/edits will be coming hard and fast very shortly. I should be ready to deal with it, but odds are… I’m not.

That’s the thing about deadlines. Doesn’t really matter if I feel it or not. I’m expected to finish it on their timetable, not mine.

Nano has been a good teacher in that regard.

But it did take me a LOT longer than I thought to write that book, the longest I’ve taken to write any book in a long, long time. Not because I cared any more about it, but just because that story needed more time to tell. It took more out of me. It raked me across the coals. So I cried “Uncle” whenever I needed to, just to get from one little baby step to the other.

All of this is perfectly okay. It’s normal. Every writer has likely done this, even Mr. “2000-words-a-day” Stephen King. It’s one thing to write, it’s quite another to complete a project, and if you need time to make that happen, then take all the time you need.

It is still on you to make it happen. You can move slowly, but you gotta keep moving if you want to get anything done. True in life, especially true in writing.

It’s okay to say that other things have taken priority when they do. It’s not a bad thing. It’s not an indictment on your character as a writer.

But if you want to be a writer, you have to find your way back to the writing. There is extra time to be found, you just have to make it a point to find it.

Like I said before, I hope you do. There’s no greater feeling on this planet than finishing a project that you created from scratch. It is honestly where we are most godlike. By no surprise, there’s this delirious euphoria that hits whenever you’ve done it that is better than any drug. There’s a sense of accomplishment that no one can take away from you. YOU created something. YOU did it. You can hold hundreds of pages in your hand that prove how much blood, sweat and tears you poured into a project, with characters you love and a story that captivated you so much that YOU couldn’t stay away from it.

That’s a pretty good indication that some reader out there will feel the same. It may sell ten copies, it may sell a million, but as long as one person reads it and loves it, you have done something astounding.

Find your passion first and you will attract the passion of others. That’s just how it works.

So take your time. Circle the idea, your chin cupped in your hand, as you figure out a way to make it happen.

Then Make. It. Happen. Because you totally can, whether or not you could “win” Nano.

There’s always next year, right? And I guarantee if you take some of the hints mentioned, you can prepare yourself for a more successful run in the future. For those who are intrigued by the challenge of writing a book in 30 days, that’s an itch you won’t really be able to scratch until you do it. Nano will be there for you when you’re ready to try again.

(I really, sincerely and truly hope that you do.)

Now for the other 20% or so of you...

The “I-Can’t-Believe-I-Actually-Did-It-Lemme-at-What-Comes-Next” Nanoer.

You have either written all 50,000 words or are in spitting distance, with no quit left in you as you race towards the finish line.

First of all, congratulations. It is no easy feat to write a book at all, much less in 30 teeny tiny days. Good for you for setting a goal and doing whatever you needed to do to make it happen. I know from experience this wasn’t easy, and my hat is totally off to you that you stand tall and strong among the tired and victorious.

You have now reached the delirious euphoria mentioned above. You’re giddy with excitement as you hold your newborn creation in the palm of your hand. (If you haven’t printed out a copy of your baby, I highly recommend you do, just so you can see the fruits of your labor and truly appreciate the journey you’ve just taken.)

Now that you’ve “given birth,” you may think that your time of gestation is over.

Au contraire, mon frère. What you’ve just experienced is the first stage of labor. For those of you who are unaware of the different stages of childbirth, that was just getting your body ready for the hard work ahead of expelling a human life into the world.

Your baby may look complete, but it is not yet ready in the least to face the marathon it must run (and win) against more mature works.

You’ve written a first draft of a book. That’s amazing. But as we’ve covered before, A FIRST DRAFT IS NOT READY FOR PUBLICATION.

People who slam Nanowrimo have one legitimate complaint. People who finish a book, who are stoned silly on that natural high of completion, are far too quick to send off their unpolished babies into a market that is already saturated by a lot of poor writing, incomplete writing and sticky, smelly, goo-covered babies who weren’t yet ready to leave their parents.

Now that you can self-publish in the click of the button, what normally ended up in “slush” piles in every agent/manger/publisher office known to existence now clogs up places like Amazon and the like, making it that much harder for people who “took the craft seriously” to be seen.

Writing a publishable book is only the first step. Next comes marketing, which is a helluva lot harder for most of us.

We fight for every one-click dollar against dozens of new books releasing every single week now.

Writing quickly and publishing quickly doesn’t guarantee you a quick payday. Often you have one shot to make a first impression with your readers, and they’re a lot more unforgiving than you’d think. Unlike your family and friends, who love you and support you and think everything you produce is pure gold simply because it comes from you, anonymous readers just want to read a good book. If they pay money and find that the book is lacking in any way – even if it’s just a matter of something happening that they don’t like – you’re going to get slammed. Hard.

Even if your book is critically hailed as the second coming of Harper Lee, there are still readers out there who can’t stand Harper Lee.



That doesn’t mean the readers are your enemy. The readers will make your career. Have a little respect for them, and for yourself, and for your book, and only present something that you feel is the very best of what you can produce.

I write like a maniac, finishing between five to seven projects a year, and I can tell you with all certainty that a first draft of anything – no matter where you fall as a writer – is NOT the best you can produce.

You want proof?

If you’re still in absolute love with your book, I want you to take the month of December away from it. Put it away. Don’t open it. Don’t read it. Give yourself till January 1 before you revisit it at all.

Not only does this give you some distance from the material, it helps wipe your short-term memory. This is what helps you mentally fill in every gap you may have left in the writing, something that someone new to the material will spot with glaring clarity, but you might miss entirely because after all… you knew what you meant.

Once you get to January 1, give yourself a day to devote to reading your book. Yes, it may only take a few hours for you to read a book for pleasure, but I’m pretty sure that you won’t find this experience as “enjoyable” as you might think you will. This will begin your editing process, and believe me, that process takes excruciating hours of time.

When you’re reading, every single time you have to re-read anything twice to understand what you meant, highlight that passage. It will need to be fixed. Every time you find a typo, highlight it. Every time you find some kind of inconsistency, highlight it. Every time you cringe, because what you read is NOT brilliant, but rather hackneyed or contrived, highlight it.

You don’t have to change any of it as you go, just highlight it.

Then, when you’re done, peruse your book to see how much work is left to be done.

You’re going to need at least another day to do it.

Once you’re done with that, you have a draft that is now strong enough for someone else to read and give feedback. I keep saying it and it’s still true, first drafts are for YOU, not for anyone else. Once you see how much you light up your manuscript like a Christmas tree, you’ll get exactly what I mean by that. You’ll be both embarrassed that you thought it was so awesome, and relieved that you didn’t show it to anyone or worse… publish it for the whole world to see.

Once you have a solid second draft in place, you’re going to need some input from the outside world. I recommend at least five beta readers. (Beta = second.) One or two can be your buddies, particularly if they're avid readers, but unless they’re writers themselves, they can only offer an overview from the point of the reader. Completely necessary, but you do need to get some technical input as well if you’ve never published a book before. Join writing groups, make friends with other writers who participate in groups simply because they want to help out their peers. For people who do such solitary work, we really blossom in community. You’ll see that when you join the different groups, many of which offer peer-to-peer reviews, which, if you're an inexperienced writer, are critical to your process.

This criticism will be way more constructive, just from a professional point of view. Your mom telling you that it’s a sure bestseller is nice to hear and all, but you need to know where the problems are in the work so you can make it as strong as possible. Find people who love and respect you enough to be honest with you, even if it's not what you want to hear.

When these beta readers return your book with their notes, pour yourself a strong drink and consider what they have to say. If more than one person repeats a criticism, you need to address the problem. If they tell you something isn’t clear, pay attention. You are not an objective reader, but they should be. And if they tell you that something doesn’t make sense to them, the error isn’t theirs to correct. If you find yourself at all saying, “What I meant to do here…” then maybe that idea was not completely fleshed out. Instead of explaining yourself, fix the passage so that no explanation is needed.

Once your third edit is complete, you may feel like you have a strong book that is ready for the market. If you’re trying to publish traditionally, you may start sending out queries and getting some interest. If you plan to publish independently, you still need the input of an actual editor. Yes, they’re expensive, but if you’ve never worked with an editor before, you cannot miss this step. It will cost you more in the long run.

If you’re trying to make any money off of your work at all, you will need professional editing. If you’re freelancing or working through a traditional publisher, you will be edited HARD. And this is truly the competition for you when you publish independently. Your competition isn’t the other first draft of another newbie writer who hit publish too soon. That book is going to sit untouched on Amazon the minute anyone realizes that it was haphazardly thrown together and slapped online for a quick buck.

They WILL realize this. Readers are smart. And they don’t particularly like it when they pay for a book only to find out it wasn’t produced with thought and care and respect for whoever might read it later.

No, your competition is the book that was produced with thousands of dollars thrown into the editing and the marketing. You’re expected to meet a certain publishing standard if you want to dance toe to toe with the big boys.

Only a professional editor can get you there, because it’s their job to know what that standard is.

Here is a snapshot of an edited version of my book CHASING THUNDER, which was published through a traditional publisher, just so you can get an idea of the standard you need to meet:



Find yourself an editor who understands the publishing industry and let them have at your book. Word of warning: they will likely hack it to pieces. It’s going to hurt to read it, especially after all the work you put into it already. By Draft Three, you might think that you’ve gotten it as perfect as you can. This is probably true. You’ve gotten it as perfect as YOU can.

Let them guide you the rest of the way. With every editor you work with, you learn something new. Consider this a part of your ongoing education. Pour an even BIGGER drink and just muddle through it.

*Editing tip: You don’t have to change everything they tell you to change. Only change what feels right to you. You’ll know whenever something is made better by the editing, and that’s all you really have to change. It’s still your story and you get to tell it your way. Editing is made to enhance. Unless they’re telling you what readers have echoed, you can pick and choose what to change when it comes to story.

Make your changes accordingly and then put it away for a week or two, maybe even a month, depending on your personal publication schedule. (Hint: It’s not December 1, 2015.)

Once you read through it again, take note of any straggling errors. Even after all these safeguards, you will find errors. People miss things, even when they’re looking for them. Our brains have a funny way of correcting the information it processes.



This is why you need to go over it more than once, and you need to have more than one stranger look it over as well, to catch what you didn’t. This is why a first draft isn’t ready for publication, nor is a second, third or fourth draft.

You may have written a draft in a month, but in order for it to be ready for publication, you’re going to have to double, triple, quadruple that gestation period to get it ready. You’ll come to realize what so many of us have, that writing the book – while difficult and time-consuming – isn’t the real “work” involved in producing a book.

Whether you finished Nanowrimo or didn’t, you’re about to face a whole new gestation period, one with a little more liberal of a timetable than just 30 days. (And thank God for that.)

Take. Your. Time.



As for me, I will be shelving this book while I work on my TV pitches, as well as let a few other ideas that have been circling the runway land so I can get started on them in the new year. In this past month alone, I’ve come up with a new book idea along with a 7-season TV series, which will make the SECOND TV pitch I have to work on, and possibly a web series as well. This is not to mention a second installment of my Wyndryder series, which I had planned to start by January, and four other books I had already planned. (And that doesn’t even count the two scripts I have planned.)

People always wonder what drives me to juggle so much all the time. The short answer? I know I can make these things happen. So I do.

As usual, I’ve got a lot of work in front of me, and so I’ll let this little ditty marinate until summer, when I’ll turn my focus back to it so I can prepare it for publication by next November.

In the meantime, I’ll take lots of notes whenever I think about this project, to add to, to take away from, to make clearer and more helpful, so that the next time I open this file, it will have properly gestated in preparation of “birth.”

When I publish it, you’ll see in clear detail what had to be changed to make it worth publishing “for real” in a book, rather than just some blog installments. The two are very different things.

Trust me when I tell you that you must allow for things to gestate. It’s a process I rigorously follow because I do care about the craft, even if I’m a passionate and devoted Nanowrimoer. Some will suggest that my insane work schedule, which produces quite a bit of content relatively quickly, makes me a hack, and that’s okay that they think that. They’re not who I’m trying to win over anyway. I never could. These are people who are looking for reasons to overlook me, and believe me there are plenty of reasons for that.

For my readers, who have made my career possible even when it was against all the odds, putting me securely in the Top 20% of all writers when the competition was stiff (and getting stiffer by the day,) they clamor for more, more, more and I’m all too happy to give it to them. That doesn’t mean I will just slap anything online for a quick buck. You don’t claw your way into the top 20%, or even the top 10% where I have peaked before, by being a hack. You have to respect the process, respect your books and respect the readers who will buy them.

So take your time. Get it right. The universe will reward you in ways you can’t even imagine.

See you next year, my valiant, faithful warriors of the written word.

We’ll do it all again.

Together.



Started First Draft: November 28, 2015 9:56am PST
Completed First draft: November 28, 2015 11:33am PST
Word Count of first draft: 3,821
Completed revisions: November 28, 2015 10:52am PST
Updated WC: 4,503/65,993

ONE WEEK! All your questions will be answered. Check out this excerpt from #MastersForever!

Excerpt from MASTERS FOREVER, book three in the Masters Saga, my most sizzling series yet. Spoilers to follow for those who haven't yet joined Coralie's and Devlin's story. Start with MASTERS FOR HIRE, currently rated 4.2 stars out of 5 on Amazon!

It's all about to come to an explosive conclusion. Get caught up now!

**If you're not a fan of cliffhangers, you might want to time finishing book two, MASTERS FOR LIFE, at exactly midnight, November 27, 2015! **

******“Suzanne Everhart is a dangerous woman, Coralie.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m so sick of hearing all all-powerful she is. Did you see her in that meeting, Devlin? She was running scared. She knew I could blow over her house of cards like that,” I said as I snapped my fingers. “She’s all bluster and hot air now. Kind of like her husband.”

“You’d be a fool to underestimate her.”

“No, Dev. She’s a fool to underestimate me. You may be okay with her keeping you on her chain, but she has no power over me. I’m not some hot guy she can corral in her stable of studs. There’s nothing she can get from me.”

“Don’t you see? Your being a woman makes it that much worse. She’s always more sadistic to the women. Remember what Caz already told you about Lydia?”

“Excuse me but I’m a little bit more than some barmaid. My name has power. So does my reputation, especially now.”

“That’s why you have so much more to lose,” he said as he leaned forward. “This isn’t a game, Coralie.”

“Of course it is,” I snapped. “I just didn’t know I was playing it until one night in early October. Now I get to make some rules of my own. Suzanne Everhart is not going to threaten me, coerce me or intimidate me into doing what she thinks I need to do. She’s already taken everything away from me she can steal. There’s nothing left.”

He pondered that a bit before he placed his glass on the coffee table. He rose to his feet.

“Please. Join me for dinner.”

I stood too. “No.”

“Come on,” he cajoled. His voice dropped a notch and those eyes inhaled me as he gave me the once over. “You’re too skinny.”

I glared at him. “I thought you said I was perfect just the way I was.”

“You were,” he admitted before he turned towards the formal dining room. I fumed as I followed him.

“What is that supposed to mean?” I demanded as we reached the table.

“It means you used to be lovely. Sweet. Voluptuous,” he added as his gaze swept across my breasts. “You were soft, like sinking into a dream. Now you’re hard and rigid, just like every other rich bitch who thinks she runs the show.”

“Fuck you,” I gritted.

“Love to,” he said. “I’m free now. Are you?”

I knew that was his way of asking me if there was anything going on with Caz.

“You know what? I don’t need this,” I decided as I stalked back to the library where he had placed my purse. I had my own set of keys. He couldn’t keep me there against my will.

I quickly learned I was wrong. My purse was no longer in the spot where he left it. I turned to Dev, who leaned against the other wall. “So this is what we’ve reduced to? Kidnapping?”

He chuckled as he straightened. “How can it be kidnapping when you want to be here?” He turned back to the dining room, forcing me to follow.

Two plates were now set upon the table. A uniformed maid finished lighting the candles on the table before she gave me a polite smile and disappeared back into the kitchen.

“Sexy maid in her uniform?” I asked. “A little cliché, don’t you think?”

He sat at the head of the table, where he pulled one of the linen napkins into his lap. “What can I say? I’m living my fantasies these days.”

“You are such a bastard.”

“Right as always, Mrs. Masters,” he said before digging into a bite of his meal.

“I’m not your wife, Devlin. How many times do I have to make that clear?”

“Marry someone else and I might believe you,” he said as he drank some wine. “But face it, Coralie. You’ll never get me out from under your skin.” He looked back up at me. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have been ready to fuck two men just so you could be with me again.”

I hated how he could still read me like a book. “I hate you.”

“And yet if I touched you, we’d be in that bedroom within ten minutes and you know it. That’s what you hate most.” He pointed to the plate. “Now, please. Griselda has prepared a lovely meal. Let’s not let it go to waste.”

I held out for a moment more before I finally sat at the table. Maybe if I just indulged him, he’d get bored with me and let me go.

Long quiet minutes passed before he finally said, “So tell me what you think you know about overture.”

“How about you tell me what it is, and we’ll compare notes?”

“No,” he said.

“Then no,” I responded.

He leaned back in his chair and watched me. “Fine. I’ll make you a deal. We each get one question and one answer. You can ask any question you want, and the answer can be as simple as declining to answer. But for this one date, I will do my best to answer one of your questions.”

“This is a date?”

His eyebrow lifted. “Is that your question?”

“No,” I snapped. “I want to know what overture means to Suzanne.”

He chuckled softly. “You really want to waste a question on something I’ve already answered?”

“So what’s the point? No is going to be your answer for everything.”

“No is still an answer, Coralie,” he pointed out. “If I ask you to drive with me to Vegas, tonight, and get married, you’d say no.”

“You’re damned right I’d say no.”

“And that’s still an answer,” he said. “You’d expect me to respect it. And to accept it. That’s all I’m asking you to do.”

I took a deep breath. “So I’m supposed to just magically come up with the question you might answer?”

“Consider it a challenge.”

I glared at him for a long moment. “Do you love Suzanne?”

“No,” he said.

“Is that the answer? Or is that the refusal to answer?”

He smirked, and damned if it didn’t shoot fire to every single nerve ending. “One question. One answer. Any question. Any answer. But there’s only the one. This date anyway,” he added before letting that suggestion sit a bit. His eyes darkened. “My turn. Do you love Caz?”

I arched my eyebrow. “No,” I responded. Two could play his game.

He laughed. “You were always a quick study, Coralie. One of the things I always loved about you, from the first time you stripped for me.”

I shivered. “Why do you have to torment me, Dev?”

He wagged his finger. “One question. One answer.”

“Fine,” I relented at last. I was exhausted from playing these stupid games. I had too much to do to waste another minute. “Tell me what you want to tell me so I can get the hell out of here.”

“Now you’re getting it,” he murmured. “Tell. Don’t ask.” He drained his glass of wine. “You made an enemy of Suzanne today. She doesn’t like to lose, and your little power play in the conference room was a sure way to draw a bull’s eye on your back.”

“I’m not afraid of her.”

“You should be,” he said softly. “You’re in the big leagues now, Coralie. She has a network of very powerful friends, who have made sure that there is zero accountability or responsibility should the shit go down. And eventually it goes down. I just don’t want you to be buried with it.”

“Why do you care?” I said, before cursing myself for asking yet another question.

To my great surprise, he answered it. “Because I love you. I always did. And I've never stopped.”

“Then why–”

“One question…,” he started.

“One answer,” I answered with him. I heaved a frustrated sigh.

“I know you’re confused. But I really need you to trust me.” I scoffed, but he continued. “I’ll keep Suzanne distracted. It’s what I do best. In return there’s something I want from you.”

Knowing I couldn’t ask another question, I just arched my eyebrow.

“One date every week. You and me. Here at the house, very civilized and proper. And every week, I will answer any one question you might have. This way we rebuild what we lost when we came back to Los Angeles last year.”

“No, thanks,” I declined at once.

“You may want to reconsider, Coralie. Just think. You show the world, and Suzanne, you’re dating Caz, but really you’re here with me. I would be cheating on her with you. Sweet karma.”

My eyes narrowed into slits as I stared at him. “That maybe a fine deal where you come from Devlin, but nothing about that sounds appealing to me.”

His eyes swallowed me whole. “Bullshit.”

I sucked back my gasp. Why ask me anything? He knew it all.

Like magic.

“I’m not interested in your proposal, Devlin. You’ve wasted your time.”

He smiled softly as he rose from his chair. He walked over to where I sat, his crotch practically in my face as he reached into his pocket to withdraw his set of keys to my car. He laid them on the table in front of me before he caressed the curve of my face briefly with his hand, his thumb brushing ever so slightly against my bottom lip. “Time is never wasted with you, Coralie.”

He said nothing more as he walked away from the table and down the hall. When I walked back out to the foyer, I saw my purse returned to the spot I left it. I practically snarled in frustration as I snatched it from the table and marched out the door.

******

Pre-order MASTERS FOREVER now! Available through Amazon, Barnes & Noble and iTunes!

#Nanowrimo Day Eighteen: "Show, Don't Tell" and Other Worthless Advice

Whenever you become a writer, writers and non-writers alike will offer what I call “bumper sticker” advice. It’s short, sweet, sounds good on a bumper sticker, but is woefully incomplete. “Show, Don’t Tell,” is basically another version of “Write What You Know.” It sounds good. It’s rooted in very sound advice. But it’s a little murky.

It’s the writer’s equivalent of, “Yo, that was pitchy, Dawg.”



Basically the reader knows something is wrong, or off, or out of joint. You’ve lost your excitement and made it a chore for them to read. This is the nugget of truth behind this standard advice, which is why it has persisted, though it often only scratches the surface of the problem.

If you're the reader, you know something is wrong because you’re dissatisfied. The author simply didn’t dig deep enough, and tried to cover it up with some glossy overview that you found lacking.

It’s okay to say that. It’s helpful to say that. It’s kind of your duty to say that, if you want your criticism to be constructive.

Example time…

I binged on Danielle Steel when I was a kid, this is no secret. It’s also no secret that Ms. Steel mixes “tell” and “show” quite a bit, to varying degrees of success.

Considering she’s a bestselling author who can boast millions of books sold to millions of happy, loyal readers, I’d say she sinks the ball far more often than she misses.

Part of that has to do with the genre in which she writes. Some are simply more forgiving of this particular style than others, and she has flourished very well in the romance/saga genre with her brand of storytelling.

Back in the 1980s, when I found her, I liked that exposition background stuff that got you “up to speed” with the character and the world in which they lived. It was like the first, clanking incline of a roller coaster, which takes its sweet time getting you to that first drop where you can do nothing but hang on afterwards.

If you’re familiar with the kinds of things Danielle does to her characters, you’d know why a safe passage of exposition was often needed. This woman knows angst. Her basic formula is Girl Has Everything. Girl Loses Everything. Girl Gets Everything Back. Girl Loses It Again. Girl Finally Triumphs. Though they are considered “romances,” these stories covered every single facet of life as a woman, as mothers and daughters, sisters and friends, wives and mistresses, survivors and victims.

I’m known for my angst because I have followed this particular formula. Story is all about conflict, remember. And I have been told more than once that I was nearly responsible for broken e-readers.

All I have to say to that is if you ever have any problem with the things I throw at my characters, pick up a copy of “Zoya” and get back to me. I know this angst because I was taught this angst, and it works very, very well for me. (Thank you, Danielle.)

Sadly, I lost some steam as a fan in the 2000s, particularly when I realized that Danielle’s heroines were almost always going to be the kind of thin, fabulous women that have always dominated modern romance. Some view that as part of the “fantasy.” I do not. I prefer to see women like me represented on the page, which is why I’ve built my entire career making it so.

Fast-forward to 2010, when Danielle Steel published her novel “Big Girl,” which – surprise, surprise – finally starred a larger woman. This was about three years after I had started writing my “Rubenesque” romances, and I was beyond curious to see how she would pull this off, given her earlier work was so pivotal to me as a storyteller.

I'm no Danielle Steel by far, but by the time I got around to reading this book in 2014, I knew a thing or two about storytelling just from experience alone. I had written and published fourteen "Rubenesque" romances to varying degrees of success all my own. So I felt confident in my ability to pinpoint exactly where this particular book fell flat for me.

The biggest reason for this was that the exposition and overview that used to take place in the first chapters of her previous work dominated the narrative throughout “Big Girl.” This left me frustrated and dissatisfied both as a reader and as a fan.

As a writer myself, I was able to take everything apart and examine what went wrong with a little bit more authority... which is what I did. (You won't set out to do this, by the way; you'll both want and seek to lose yourself in the story. It just happens, occupational hazard.)

I can only assume this lackluster storytelling had something to do with the fact that while Danielle Steel knows more than I will ever know about being thin, rich and fabulous, she wasn’t able to channel the experiences of a big girl because she’s never actually been one. This means she broke two bumper sticker rules in one. She didn’t write what she knew AND she spent most of the book telling instead of showing as a result.

There were a lot of things missing from her book that should have been there, scenes and experiences that are commonly shared by most girls and women who are heavier than their peers. The world around us is set up to be critical and derisive, and it shades our entire lives and everything we live through, from the very moment we figure out (or, more commonly than not, told) that we’re different. Someone who hasn’t shared that experience might miss these tiny details, leaving the story half-baked and unrealized, particularly for someone who knows what is missing.

I can tell you why “Duck, Duck, Goose,” was one of the more traumatic experiences of first grade, because I was slower than all my peers and, as such, a favorite target for the “game” I was set up to and often did “lose.” I can share in painful detail, either in scenes or exposition, why co-ed P.E. was stressful when we had to “suit up” in similar clothes that only made me stand out even more. I can tell you what it was like to have boys tease me in the lunch line, calling attention to me and mocking me by acting like they were interested so all their friends could see how the fat girl responded to a popular boy dangling the “dream” in front of her face.

In my books, you’ll live those scenes, experiencing them in every harrowing detail.



People who simply “tell” their stories often do so because they don’t have the background to show us through action. This is Problem One. They haven't done the research, they don't fully know their topic enough to translate it for the reader, or they have no emotional connection with the work and just want to treat significant scenes as if they aren't all that significant. This is where you will get cold-busted for exposition. Readers recognize immediately when you’re trying to “cheat” the process. This is the meat behind the advice, “Show, don’t tell.” By no coincidence, it’s also the reason we’re told to “write what we know.”

Or at the very least, “write like you know.”

Spending an entire book “telling” me how this character responds to her world is not as emotionally satisfying as showing me what she has to face and how she overcomes it. This is why the story demands to be told in the first place. You need those action scenes to drive the story, to engage the reader, to make them care. Confidently put yourself in the shoes of your character and live in their skin a while. See how life would treat you, experience it down to the most seemingly insignificant detail. When done well, these “snapshots” of action will tell your story far better than you can on your best day.

Problem Two: You don't trust your readers to fill in the dots.

Consider my writing sample many days back when I added the small detail of making my fictional social worker’s attaché scuffed to show that she had been on the job a while. That detail wasn’t needed for that passage, but it was a good way to convey the information in a subtle way that the reader will pick up on, even subconsciously. This adds layers and dimension to the story, fleshing it out and coloring it in with vivid color.

Inexperience demands that you over-explain, rather than trust your reader to tie the pieces together on their own. You keep hitting the same notes and that will put your reader off as well. Give them a little bit and move on, which is the real intent behind “show, don’t tell.”

But sometimes you do need those exposition passages because those are the best, most emotionally satisfying, most efficient ways to tell that part of the story. I challenge anyone to show me a successful book that is strictly action from start to finish without some form of exposition added to enhance the narrative.

Most great books I’ve read marry the two forms together so seamlessly you really don’t know the difference. You’re swept along by the momentum of the story and the finesse of an experienced storyteller. (Notice I didn’t say story SHOW-er.)

Problem Three? You simply don't have the experience to know the difference, and you won't until you write boring exposition passages that you have to correct later, when someone shows you why they failed and how to fix them.

This is what makes “Show, don’t tell,” so freaking useless to a brand new writer, who regurgitates onto the page a mish-mash of everything they’ve ever read. They need to know why it doesn’t work for that particular scene/passage.

“Show, don’t tell,” often boils down to the fact your exposition has bored the reader and bogged down the read itself, enough for them to realize there’s something wrong with how it was done even if they can't articulate it. Maybe you’re balls deep in a “talking heads” scene, where your characters are transcribing action rather than showing you the action. Maybe you’ve glossed over something that the reader needed in order to properly engage or empathize with the character, like what happened in “Big Girl.”

It’s a marriage, a yin and a yang. Absolutes like “Show, don’t tell,” only confuse new writers who haven’t yet learned how to strike this balance. This can’t be your only advice to them, even though it fits ever so neatly on a bumper sticker.

The only place that “Show, Don’t Tell,” is a firm, no-room-for-error rule is in screenwriting. Everything you write on the page has to translate to the screen in moving pictures that the audience can physically see. Exposition is wasted in a screenplay if it’s not spoken in dialogue, which is usually cautioned against because it, too, will bog down the action and screw up your pacing. Instead you have to provide those deeply layered scenes that define your character in a very limited space, with pictures that pack a punch, and carefully constructed dialogue that tells you what you need without telling you that you need it.

Take, for example, the award-winning movie “American Beauty,” by the amazingly talented screenwriter, Alan Ball. For those who haven’t seen it, the story revolves around an all-American family that is nothing what it looks on the surface. This family includes young Jane Burnham (Thora Birch,) who is a sullen, alienated teenager who hates her parents, her body and her life in general.

When enigmatic Ricky Fitts (Wes Bentley) moves in next door, he is immediately fascinated by this girl, which is brand new experience for her. Normally her vivacious bestie, Angela (Mena Suvari) gets all the attention, even the creepy, pervy attention of Jane’s own father, Lester (Kevin Spacey.)

When Ricky finally approaches her at school, singling her out and vocalizing his interest, Jane decides to accompany him for a walk home, where they end up at his house. There she learns a little bit more about him, like we do as the audience. He takes her into the room where his militant father keeps all his guns in a case to protect them. Also in this case there’s a white plate with black trim. Very simple in design. Ricky pulls this plate out to show it to Jane, instructing her simply to, “Turn it over.”

There, on the back, is a swastika.

In one very powerful visual, we get all we really need to know about Ricky’s father. They didn’t need to sit for five pages talking about it. He didn’t have to share his history with her, no matter what great stories he has to tell, and we already know from their walk from school that he has some interesting ones to share, ones that warranted the time taken to tell them.

In this scene, he just has to show her one very small, very important detail that she would have overlooked had she not turned over the plate.

(This, by the way, fits in with the theme of the movie to “Look closer,” which makes the scene even more genius. We’ll get into this subject before the week is over, and you’ll see why this chapter needed to happen first.)

Since Alan was juggling six primary storylines in this movie, Lester and his frustrated wife, Carolyn (Annette Bening,) Jane, Angela, Ricky, and Ricky’s father, Colonel Fitts, he didn’t have a whole lot of time to worry about exposition. He had to marry it with killer dialogue, which he did, and artistic visuals, which he did. Some scenes needed a little more exposition than others, so he had to strike that balance by being extremely economical with his choices, piecing those tiny bits of rope together in ways that delivered the quickest, strongest punches.

Like say, showing a swastika. Jane gasped when she saw it, as did most of the audience.

You can do that in your books. You will do that in your books. You will learn to layer your writing with all the necessary elements to keep your readers engaged. You will learn to walk the tightrope. Experience will teach you this delicate ebb and flow.

In the beginning, though, hearing, “Show, don’t tell,” without being told how or why is a bit like being told you’re lost, but given no map or directions to get you back on course.

It’s only as useful as you make it, and it’s too limited to be useful on its own.

Here’s how you can make “Show, Don’t Tell” work for you, particularly in the framework of Nanowrimo. You have plenty of room to tell your story with these “moving pictures.” Nano only asks for 50,000 words, and adding action scenes will help you reach that quota quicker than exposition, or on-the-nose dialogue. If I tell you how my day went, I can condense that into a paragraph or two. If I “show” you, with action and dialogue, it’ll beef up the narrative with things that the reader can “see” and experience along with me.

As an experiment, write both. Write what happened to you yesterday in a glossy overview, and write every single thing that happened to you in action scenes. Odds are extremes either direction will bore the piss out of you. You’ll see that the second option of "showing" will give you way more words than the first, but it will also likely bog down the read with a bunch of unnecessary details that mire down your pacing.

In the end, I think you’ll find that you’ll marry the two together more often than not, which is a trick you learn by doing, not hearing.

Sometimes showing the action is necessary. Sometimes it’s not. Sometimes you’ll do both at the very same time, like that aforementioned scene from “American Beauty,” where Ricky then goes on to tell Jane that a lot of people hoard Nazi memorabilia, but his father only has the one plate.

That added bit of “telling” dialogue reveals a lot about Ricky’s character. He didn’t need to narrate this detail; a savvy observer from the audience can see that there is only one plate in the case. But that he felt the need to describe it says something about Ricky himself. He both wanted to alert Jane to what kind of man his father was, but he felt a need to protect him as well.

See? Layered. This is how deeply faceted storytelling can be. That’s why the most useful advice has to be deeply faceted as well.

If a scene you’ve written bores you, or your own eyes glass over when you read it, (and they will,) then ask yourself how you can convey this information in another way. Maybe there is a scene you can interject there, where you can “show” the reader something instead of merely “tell” them. Dig deep. Visualize something from that character’s life that illustrates what you want to say without actually saying it.

This is often a challenge in and of itself.

If it’s some boring talking heads scene, you need to figure out ways to pick up the pacing with action, rather than dialogue. If you need some inspiration, read movie scripts and see how they do it. Pick apart why it works. Try to explain why it doesn’t. Take it all in as part of your education to become a more efficient storyteller.

When you’re describing action, it should work as a gas pedal, something you can blast through your story full-throttle, keeping your reader on the edge of his or her seat as they turn page after page to see what happens next.

If you’re “telling” the story through exposition, then that works like your brake pedal, useful when you need to slow things down so we can all catch our breath. Maybe you need to piece together periods of time that would bulk up your book to over 200,000 unnecessary words if you explained every single scene that gets you from point A to point B. You only need the scenes that propel the story forward, and sometimes those need to be bridged together.

Hence, the “Describe Your Day” experiment above.

You’re a storyteller and that’s what you do. You find the most efficient, exciting and engaging way to convey your ideas. If you hit all the points that emotionally satisfy your reader, your sins of “telling” when you could have been “showing” will be forgiven, because you’re going to do both, guaranteed.

There is no absolute beyond this: If you don’t balance this art well, believe me, readers will tell you. Sometimes it will be as frustratingly unhelpful as, “Show, don’t tell.” Take that cue to reexamine where you lost them. Maybe they’re 100% right and you do need to put a scene of action there. Maybe you need to scrap that part entirely.

It’s bogging down the read, and you need to deal with it.

Trust your instincts to do that.

And teach yourself the skill to know the difference, so that when you’re spoon-fed half-baked advice, you’ll know how to use it.

Started First Draft: November 18, 2015 8:21am PST
Completed First draft: November 18, 2015 9:23am PST
Word Count of first draft: 1,891
Completed revisions: November 18, 2015 10:52am PST
Updated WC: 3,002/61,271

#Nanowrimo Day Sixteen: Write Big and Use Lots of Words

One experience that both writers and non-writers share goes all the way back to grade school, junior high/middle school or high school. There we were all no doubt tasked at some point to write an essay or report that consisted of a certain number of words about a specific topic in a certain time frame.

Nothing could have been more daunting. With multiple choice options we could take our chances, jogging our memory of facts and figures with one of the choices presented. But essays? We had to come up with our own interpretation of these events and hope and pray it would be enough to cover a word count, word by painfully chosen word, in sentences that we knew would get picked apart for every minor mistake.

By no surprise, not many find this challenge particularly “fun.”

When my kids were much younger, I thought I would foster a love of reading by giving them special treats and prizes for each book that they read. I remember the days back when I was a kid, checking off every book I could read during summer break reading challenges, just for bragging rights, feeling all accomplished every time I added another read book to my collection.

Surely… surely… my kids would get excited about this, too.

There was only one little problem. I had to be certain that they read the books. So I got the ever so brilliant idea that they would turn in a one-page report they’d write to tell me what the book was about.

I figured if nothing else, it would inspire them to at least try to read the book if they knew they’d be tested on what they knew about it. Needless to say, it didn’t work, even when I offered cold, hard cash.

Turns out not all folks like to write, and will do everything in their power to sidestep it. For those who aren’t all that comfortable with using the written word to communicate a cohesive idea, the temptation to cheat the word count is strong, just to get it done and over with. Write big, take up lots of room on the page, and use a lot of words to convey the same thread-bare information.

We got called on that back then, and rightly so.

Overwriting is never a good idea.

Or is it?

The short answer is: it depends. If you’re just trying to stuff 50,000 words into a story that won’t accommodate it, then you’re in a bit of a pickle. No amount of words will ever do the trick if the material doesn’t warrant the space taken. If, however, you are still trying to figure out what you’re going to say and how you’re going to say it, like most first drafts, I’m a big proponent of throwing it all out there and sorting it through later. It should be crystal clear by now that I have no problem using a lot of words to make my point. I would much rather get to 60,000 words and cut them down to 50,000 that rely on filler to barely get me where I want to go. This is why all my revisions have added words, rather than take them away. I’m still squarely mired in Draft 1, even though you get to see what is being written as it is being written. (Mostly.)

Consider it Draft 1.5.

There’s a time for fixing everything that doesn’t work later on, in the editing process. What I added for clarity will be deleted for the same reason, once I get all the pieces in place.

Right now I’m just laying the ground work. And there’s a lot to be discovered in the overwriting process. Overwriting is kind of like circling a runway. You’re allowed to take the time and burn the fuel as long as you arrive safely at your destination.

I’ll give you an example, going way back in time to 1984 when I wrote my first novella, “My Father and Me.”

We’ve talked about this before, in that I was inspired to write a book based on a song by Barry Manilow. This gave me a pretty good idea where I wanted to go with the story, but as you’re probably aware by now, a song does not a book make. It’s a skeleton only, even more limited than any kind of outline you might draft. You can plot your story from the inciting incident to the climax and resolution, but there are a lot of little details you’ll have to flesh out throughout the writing process. Hopefully these scenes spring up from the story itself, but sometimes you have to really work hard to piece together all the tiny steps needed to get from Chapter One to The End. This is particularly true if you have a specific word count.

If you plan to get paid for what you write, you will almost always have a word count requirement to meet. It started when I was freelancing and it still holds true, 26 published books later. Commercial fiction will deal with that dreaded word count, no matter what you happen to write. Genres where you make up your worlds, such as science fiction and fantasy, allow a little more room for you to do what you’re going to do, whereas a simple boy-meets-girl romance can be as half as long.

But you’re still expected to meet the industry standards, no matter how hard it is to fill in the spaces.

Agents themselves will tell you that they can tell a lot by the query just by the word count. If you’re trying to pitch a 150,000-word novel that isn’t fantasy or historical romance, they’re going to assume that you are not familiar with the genre you’re attempting to write. If you write a 50,000-word mainstream title, they might assume that you do not have a fully realized idea.

I’d much rather hack away at an overwritten piece than struggle and hem and haw trying to fill up a bone-bare story. We have a wealth of words available to us at any given time. It’s up to us to sort through them to find just the right one. And I prefer having my choice, rather than unearthing them in the cold, hard ground with a broken shovel.

Just like that kid stressing out about a 1,500-word essay about Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, a writer is challenged to fill that word quota effortlessly. You are a wordsmith. Words are your tools. You’re expected to use them. Most of us love them to the point of eye-rolling verbosity, indulging ourselves and choking on our own self-importance.

This is a delicate balance we all manage to varying degrees of success. I myself have set aside a book before because it spent a half-page telling me about an apple.

It happens. We all walk the line between giving the reader just enough to keep them engaged and making their eyes glass over as they scroll or skip past monotonous passages.

I learned this first lesson on the subject back in 1984, when my “word count” for myself meant filling up one of those 70-page spiral notebooks. I didn’t know squat about word counts back then. I just wanted to have a physical “book” and figured the pages in between that spiral notebook cover would suffice for what I was trying to do.

It was my first real exposure crafting a long-form story, and I hate to admit that I wasn’t all that good at it.

The scene that sticks out in my mind specifically was an engagement scene between my two lead characters. My main character, Paul, was an adult when his estranged father came calling, so he had a life all his own. He had a great job (he was a lawyer,) and a steady girlfriend, (Ivy,) whom he loved, and she loved him right back.

One of the ways he tried to manage this newfound chaos in his life was taking that next step with his beloved. He would have done it anyway, but the fact that his life had been turned upside down made it even more important for him, which, one would hope, would make it even more special for the reader. All the pieces were in place. I just had to get from the beginning of the scene to the end.

What I had hoped would be a romantic scene (at the beach at sunset no less,) turned out being one of the most overwritten and painful passages I’ve ever created.

If you know me, you know that’s saying something.

As a baby storyteller, I knew instinctively that Act II demanded that my character do whatever was possible to get back to the way things were. He was desperately trying to hold on to who he was and what he knew prior to the conflict introduced by the antagonistic force, in this case his estranged dad. Looking back now, that was kind of genius that I would even come up with such a scene, since it really didn’t play into the overall arc of the story I was trying to tell. I simply added it in because I knew I needed to piece the story together and flesh it out, and this particular scene was organic to my characters and the plot.

Of course, I wasn’t going by any kind of outline back then. I wouldn’t have even known where to start filling up a story like that. I was a Pantser through and through, allowing the story to take me where it willed.

So while I didn’t set out for Paul and Ivy to get engaged, it made sense that they did.

My intentions were spot on, but my execution left a lot to be desired. If I remember right, the passage took on a playful, almost joke-y question and answer tone, where I essentially beefed up the word count by overwriting the hell out of the scene with unnecessary, on-the-nose dialogue, which effectively robbed it of its emotional impact.

After I completed the book, I turned it in to my seventh grade English teacher, Mrs. Wiseman.



I didn’t do it for an assignment, just to see if I could pull it off, and I turned it into her because I think I had mentioned it to her and she had asked to see it. Bless her soul, she read the whole thing and gave me critical feedback when she was done, like only an English teacher could. She was quick to point out that I had cheated with my word count, telling me that some scenes droned on without building any tension or advancing the story.

Like say, a romantic, beachside engagement at sunset.

Just like that student who fooled nobody when he or she wrote bigger on purpose to fill a page-requirement, I was a newbie writer that had been cold busted by a reader who saw right through what I was doing when I was simply trying to get from one step to another in the plot.

We think we’re so slick. But they catch us. Oh, do they catch us.

And I knew she was right at the time. We writers know when we’ve taken shortcuts. If you get your manuscript 89% where you want it, you can be 100% sure any feedback coming will point out the 11% you tried to sweep under the rug. When the critique comes back, it’s only telling you something you already knew, even if you don’t want to acknowledge it. That’s part of the storytelling instinct as well. You know when you sink the ball. You know when it’s a foul shot.

But, and here’s the important part, you often have to miss the basket a lot to learn how to sink the ball on the regular.

Overwrite to get to that 50,000 words, it’s okay.

Remember, the first draft is for you. It’s a trial run. It’s a first effort. It’s a practice shot. You’re not going to sell it as is, no matter how perfect you get it. So if you overwrite parts just to get connect the dots, who cares? Remember, nothing you write is chiseled in stone. You can fix it later; you just need to get over the hump today. And who knows what you’ll learn about your story and your characters in the meantime?

This is the biggest reason I don’t mind overwriting in a first draft. It’s all the extra clay I need to craft my sculpture into a masterpiece. Most of it may end up on the floor, but that’s okay. What I keep is always, always more important, as is the lesson I take away from it.

I have never regretted that scene to this day because of what it taught me. I was on the right track adding a scene like that, which was doing what it was put there to do, even when I didn’t know it had that job to do in the first place. I overwrote the crap out of it, which gave me the opportunity to learn how to convey my information a little more seamlessly.

In other words, I’d still write their engagement scene if I rewrote that story today, it just wouldn’t take five pages because I had five pages to fill. It wouldn’t have ten lines of back-and-forth dialogue that didn’t advance the scene, saying basically the same thing in five different ways just because dialogue is an easy way to cheat a word count.

These days, I’d find a way to layer that scene so that it does double and triple duty. I would know why it exists and utilize it to the fullest. This is a skill I learned after years of getting the verbosity kicked out of me.

Yes. I used to be worse. If you don’t believe me, read the first draft of MY IMMORTAL that my loving husband had bound for me.

Oh wait. You can’t. Why? Because it’s a first draft… and first drafts aren’t fit for publication. If you could see it, you’d know why.

Back in my Pantser days, when I was meandering through each event, ping-ponging towards every plot point I knew had to be hit in order to tell the story, I did a lot of unnecessary writing. I honestly didn’t know what would stick and what wouldn’t. It was all part of the discovery process, which many Pantsers love. That part was for me, getting to know my story and fall in love with it through a First Draft courtship.

Communicating the idea to an audience, however, requires a little more finesse. Fewer, more carefully chosen words pack a stronger punch, which is why editing is so important to the process. I don’t care who you are, you can’t get away from that part of it. In fact, you’ll never stop tweaking it yourself. I don’t read past work because of the temptation to make tiny changes along the way.

Works of art are never finished, merely abandoned. This is why I vehemently resist the “More Time = Better Work” idea. Of course it’ll be better a year or two or five down the line, because you’ll be better. Eventually, though, you just have to pull the trigger and put your little darling on the market if you ever want to have any kind of career. Far too many writers use the “more time” thing is an excuse for timidity and never accomplish anything at all. That doesn’t automatically make them a “better” writer than someone who gets on their computer day after day, churning out thousands of words so that they can prune the tree in months rather than years to complete a project they can be proud of.

If you need extra time, by all means take it. But don’t you dare look down your nose at writers who don’t take that approach. They’re not hacks that don’t take the process as seriously as you do, just because they reach the finish line quicker than you do. It’s not a cheat. We do all the same work you do, just with a fixed date to finish. Working writers don’t have the luxury of time. They have to do their best working within a schedule, and believe me, that’s just as hard as simmering on an idea for a year, or two, or five.

We turn writing into a job, and like many other jobs, you have to wring quality out of quantity sometimes, in a very short period of time.

Screenwriting was the best teacher of all in that regard. Unlike a book, where you have room (and time) to spread out and get comfortable, each word in a 100-page screenplay is weighted. You become very adept at whittling away what doesn’t work. A scene with five pages of dialogue in a screenplay grinds the pacing to a halt. Terry Rossio, whose credits include “Pirates of the Caribbean,” “Shrek,” “The Legend of Zorro” and “Aladdin,” once said that writing a screenplay is like tying together a bunch of tiny bits of rope, with each tiny piece of rope representing each and every scene. Get into the scene late and leave early. It’s the best way to keep the story flowing.

To keep things moving you have to leave breadcrumbs, not shove entire loaves down their throats. Whether a novel or a screenplay, you will have to hack to pieces whatever you write, just to protect that flow. It’s inevitable. It’s going to happen. The only thing you can do about it is make peace with the idea.

But that’s an editing issue. Right now, you’re smack dab in the middle of the creative process, and you have no idea what you’re going to use or what you’re going to discard until you can see it in the whole scope of things when you’re done, particularly if you’re a Pantser.

Overwrite. It’s okay. Aim for about 10,000 words over your word count, because I guarantee you that you’ll cut at least that many when you’re done. Add those scenes to fill up the empty spaces. Write all that on-the-nose dialogue that totally and unnecessarily narrates the action. If you’re a new writer, your instincts are firing and trying to catch on something. Give yourself room to figure out what you’re going to say so you can determine the best way to say it. Use a lot of words, those evil adverbs included. Say whatever it is you feel like you need to say to explain the story to you, because even if you’re a fastidious outliner/planner, I’m certain you’re going to make a lot of interesting discoveries along the way.

Leave the door open to that discovery. Out of those five pages of dialogue, you may land upon one killer line worth saving. You might land on one idea worth pursuing. Be willing to take the long way around. Just like taking a vacation, you won’t keep or share all the photos you take, only the ones that fully capture the feeling and the experience of your journey. Your book is no different. No matter how much effort it takes pulling each word out of your soul, not all of them will serve you in the end.

Commit to yourself that what you write in this first draft is not publishable. Remember, even the award-winning “To Kill a Mockingbird” went through two years of editing to get it where it was suitable for the market. Your book is going to be changed, whether you do it or someone else, even if you have some beautiful scenes and sharp, witty dialogue. It’s going to be forged in the white hot fires of editing, which will sacrifice the working pieces just for the overall message.

As you become more skilled, your storyteller instincts will sharpen. You’ll know what will work and what doesn’t, usually before you even write it down. In some respects you already do, like I did when I was a clueless fourteen-year-old.

If you’re stuck, just muddle your way through it. Throw all those crap words together on the page to patch a bridge from one scene to the other. Later, when you read back, you’ll know that it isn’t strong enough to keep and you’ll either change it or edit it.

Today your job is to simply keep moving. So write big. Use a lot of words. Who knows? You might even be able to keep a couple.

Started First Draft: November 16, 2015 9:51am PST
Stopped First Draft: November 16, 2015 11:50am PST
Resumed First Draft: November 16, 2015 1:37pm PST
Completed First draft: November 16, 2015 2:04pm PST
Word Count of first draft: 2,621
Completed revisions: November 18, 2015 8:04am PST
Updated WC: 3,487/58,358