Erika Mitchell's Blog, page 20

Finish Line, Baby!

Here’s hoping this blog posts finds you in a post-Valentine’s Day chocolate euphoria haze. I’ve noticed that, like many things, Valentine’s Day is a lot more romantic fun when you don’t have little kids around. Don’t get me wrong, little kids are a hoot on Valentine’s Day, but it’s a lot tougher to spend hours slaving away on a romantic meal for your loved one when you’ve got wailing children hanging off your leg, complaining of starvation and the criminal lack of attention you’re paying to them.

Still, it’s possible to have fun. For our family, we have a tradition of baking Irish Car Bomb Cupcakes together (Guinness chocolate cake, whiskey ganache filling, Bailey’s buttercream frosting). My son and I spend all day baking the cupcakes (because it does take all day), and then Wes brings home takeout for dinner (because ain’t nobody got time to cook dinner when there are homemade cupcakes that need frosting), and then Wes and I enjoy wine and Godiva chocolates after the kids go to bed.

It’s no fancy candlelit dinner (I ate my takeout Gyro while standing over the mixer, adding powdered sugar one cup at a time while making sure my son didn’t add French fries to the frosting) but it IS fun. I think so long as you can all have fun together even though you’ve been married awhile and have kids and no longer remember what it was like having uninterrupted conversations during daylight hours, you’re going to be just fine.

And just like what happened in real life, the point of this post has gotten buried among the strata of Valentine’s Day minutiae.

I FINISHED THE FIRST DRAFT OF MY BOOK!

It’s technically my fifth book, though the public at large will never get to read my first one. It’s the second book of my Bai Hsu, Chinese CIA super spy series, and I’m really pleased with how it turned out. It’s got an explosion, fight scenes, car chases, gun fights, intrigue, conspiracies, grand larceny, and someone getting tackled through a window.

It may just be my most action-packed book yet, though the first book in the series has a car chase between an ATV and an armored school bus, so that’s pretty cool too.

So now all I have to do is clean up my drafts, craft a pitch, and then go woo a big-time agent at the conference in NY this summer. Easy peasy, right?

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You guys, I think writing all those books may have been the easy part. Gulp.

The Trouble with Nonplussed

Ron Swanson does not approve of changing the dictionary to suit people who misuse words.

Nonplussed is a troublesome word. It in no way sounds like what it means, and is, in fact, one of the most commonly misused words in the English language. It makes Inigo Montoya of all vocab fiends, who have no choice but to place sympathetic hands on their friends’ shoulders while saying, “I do not think that word means what you think it means.”

It’s recently come to my attention that the good folks who govern English dictionaries are making allowances by appending an informal definition of the word. The proper definition of nonplussed is: (of a person) surprised and confused so much that they are unsure how to react.

Most people, however, think the word means unconcerned. Perhaps because it sounds like it should mean unconcerned. Now, there’s an informal definition of the word in the dictionary that takes this into account and states that the alternate definition of the word is: not disconcerted; unperturbed.

I’m of two minds about this. On the one hand, language evolves all the time. Words drop out of use, and every generation thinks the additions of the next generation are going to be the end of the English language as we know it.

Then again, by amending the definition of nonplussed, they’ve made it a useless word. It now means confused AND unconcerned? Those two are somewhat mutually exclusive. If you read the sentence: He was nonplussed, and left the room. You now have no idea what the sentence means and have to search for context from the surrounding sentences.

If someone describes someone as nonplussed, you must now ask for clarification. The dictionary editors have ruined the word, and I think that’s a darn shame because it was such a nice word. I’m sure it has all sorts of lovely Latin roots we’ll never know anything about, now.

So that’s the trouble with nonplussed. Too many people used the word the wrong way and now it’s ruined. And the only people who are upset about it are dinosaurs like me who still look words up in the dictionary because we love them.

Here’s to Saturday

At the time I am writing this, I’m sitting in a Starbucks, free from the clutches of kids who have been nonstop sick since New Years. No one has sneezed in my open mouth in thirty minutes, and I haven’t had to wipe anyone else’s nose since I got here.

It’s really nice.

When I left Wes, he was wrestling our daughter into a clean diaper for the second time in an hour, and also getting her a new outfit because she managed to smear unspeakable filth all over her first outfit of the day. My son was sniffling, coughing, and demanding cuddles on the couch, and the sink was full of dishes from the cupcakes I baked with our son this morning.

I offered to stay and help, and Wes flung out his arm to stop me, saying, “Get out of here.” His tone and posture seemed to convey, “Save yourself. There’s still a chance for you!” I felt a little like I was leaving him as a sacrifice for tiny, pestilent little zombies so I could make a clean escape.

And oh, how I did. I’m drinking a beverage I didn’t have to make. Listening to music that would not interest my children at all. Typing out words and no one is interrupting me to ask me a question, or asking me wipe something, or destroying something I’m responsible for keeping clean.

Saturday afternoons on my own are always wonderful, restful, and exactly what I need.

Today, though? After a month of nonstop whiny, clingy children?

FREAKING. BLISS.

Series Are Tricky Beasts

Progress on the new book is going well. I’ve assigned it the somewhat cheeky title, “Take the Bai Road” for now and I’m pleased with what I’ve gotten down so far. It’s a very different book than “Bai Tide,” though, and has so far been a fantastic writing exercise.

“Take the Bai Road” is the second in my Bai Hsu, Asian CIA superspy series. I’ve never written a series before. The benefit to having been a reader my whole life, though, is I’ve read plenty of series and have a pretty good idea of what to do.

For example, back story. Back story is always kind of a tricky beast to work with, what with it’s relevance and tendency to slow down the story, but it’s of particular importance in a series. You as the writer have to assume that some of your readers have read the previous book in the series, but some haven’t yet. It’s a fine line between supplying context and bogging down a story with unnecessary information.

For another example, an overarching character arc that spans multiple books. It’s a larger character arc than I’m used to plotting out, so it’s been a great opportunity to expand my scope of familiarity. I have definite plans for who Bai is and where I want him to end up, but getting him there over many books is easier said than done.

I also feel like “Take the Bai Road” is a different story than “Bai Tide” was. “Bai Tide” was easy to write, it practically wrote itself and I didn’t need to do much in the way of rewrites when it was done. “Take the Bai Road” will need some doctoring at the beginning, I think, but it’s too soon to say for sure.

What I know for sure is that I’m 22,000 words into the first draft, which means I’m 1/4 of the way through. I like what it is and where it’s going, and it’s giving me a great chance to practice my Spanish.

Just in case you don’t follow me on Facebook and Twitter (I can forgive you for not paying attention to my every digital move, don’t worry), “Take the Bai Road” is Bai’s next mission after the events of “Bai Tide.” The plot can be summed up in three words: Cartels. Conspiracies. Chaos.

Wes says I’ve been speaking Spanish in my sleep. Does that mean my dreams are the writing equivalent of method acting?

I Don’t Mean to Be Rude, But…

I have a confession: I am sometimes rude on purpose. Not rude rude, more like unfriendly rude. And almost always on Saturdays. Let me explain.

Saturday afternoons when I escape from the house and set up shop at my favorite Starbucks, writing to my heart’s content while no one interrupts me by being my small child. As a result, I’m somewhat protective of my writing time on Saturday afternoons. It’s precious, it’s limited, and it’s the one time all week I am guaranteed to write until I feel done, as opposed to having to stop because someone needs something from me.

Invariably, though, there’s someone seated next to me at the Starbucks (sometimes even in my favorite comfy chair. Quel horreur!) who’s lonely and chats me up against my will. I just cannot fathom what about my laptop and refusal to make eye contact encourages these people to keep trying to talk to me, but still it happens. Every freaking Saturday.

I’m normally a very friendly person. I’ve even been called a human Labrador. But on Saturdays? I’m rude. I don’t want to talk to you, I don’t want you to talk to me, and I would appreciate it very much if you would stay the heck out of my favorite comfy chair.

I should feel bad about this. I should. I should want to give comfort and fellowship to these poor lonely people, and yet I find myself with a profound lack of remorse.

Then again, shouldn’t they feel bad for foisting conversation upon someone who so clearly doesn’t want it? Isn’t there a reasonable expectation of leave-me-alone when someone’s parked behind a laptop at a coffee shop?

 

Once More Unto the Breach!

The twelve pages of fastidious notes I took during my research for this book. They only make me look a teensy tiny bit like a serial killer, no?

Things might get a little bit quiet around here in the coming weeks. I just started writing a new book a couple days ago and it’s in that fragile brand-new-butterfly-with-wet-wings-all-shaky-and-tottering-around stage, which means it’s consuming most of my waking thoughts (and some of my dreaming ones too).

This one’s tricky. It’s kind of a squirrely plot that even I can’t see clearly yet, which, if you’re familiar with my books, you’ll know is really saying something. If it’s so twisty that even I have no idea what’s going to happen yet, then chances are good it’ll make for some good reading someday.

Or, you know, maybe not. Maybe I’ll get a ways into the sucker and it’ll be terrible and I’ll drop it. It’s too early to say at this stage. What I CAN say is that Bai Hsu, Azzam’s CIA handler from Blood Money, is the main character, it takes place after the events of Bai Tide (which is unpublished and thus, this will mean very little to you), and it centers around the Mexican drug war. For now, the working title is Take the Bai Road.

From here, I can see a lot of cool stuff in the plot. Deserts, cartels, maybe an assassination, and definitely a plot twist (or two {or three}). Now we’ll just have to see if I can keep all the threads together in my increasingly spacey head.

Wish me luck. I’m going back in!

I Knew Them When…

I got to do something fun last night. A few months ago, I got an email out of the blue from a local high school junior asking me to come lead a workshop on creating realistic fiction for writing club. Giddy just to be asked, I accepted and promptly spent the next few months alternately fretting about it and researching what to talk about.

To my amazement, December came and went and before I knew it, January was here. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, January had arrived and brought with it my workshop date. Thankfully, I’d spent so much time thinking about it beforehand that I was quite prepared when the big day arrived.

I normally get nervous and shaky before public speaking, but it wasn’t so bad this time. I think it’s because I was speaking about writing, which is mostly all I ever think about, and also because it was a great group of kids. I think a receptive, enthusiastic audience can make all the difference in a speaker’s level of nervousness.

We had a lot of fun, actually. More fun than you’d think talking about character arcs and inciting incidents can be. I brought along a few writing exercises, we discussed the pros and cons of North Korean tourism, and I managed to not get led down too many rabbit trails (which, if you know me, you know is pretty impressive considering I’ve never met a rabbit trail I didn’t like).

It was fun to see what the creative young minds did with these concepts. When we were discussing protagonist motivations, I urged them to go deeper than just “Save the world” and, to their credit, they did. I was impressed with their grasp of realistic motivations and enjoyed hearing how they came up with fresh ways to tell old stories.

One of the kids even asked for my autograph after the workshop, and that made me feel like a rock star. I have no idea what the kids will do with the information. For all I know, I talked way too fast (as is my wont) or used words that were way too big (as I am perpetually predisposed to doing) and most of it washed right over them, but given the way they participated in the discussion I think the information got in there just fine.

What will be really cool is if some of them end up being bestselling authors someday. They’ll be sitting down on a talk show someday and say, “A pivotal moment in my writing career was a workshop with this author named Erika Mitchell.”  I’ll be able to say I knew them when they were just green little authors helping me make up stories about milk runs gone wrong.

I’ve Got a Ticket to (Hurl?)

Over the weekend, my family and I took a little jaunt over to Seattle. The waterfront has a relatively new addition, the Seattle Big Wheel. Last year, we watched cranes erect a gigantic white Ferris Wheel right on the boardwalk, and have watched tourists and locals riding it around and around ever since.

The minute our car entered Seattle, my son insisted that the Ferris Wheel had to be ridden. Immediately. Sooner, if possible.

We bought tickets and then I watched my family file into one of the little cars, content to wait out the ride from the ground. The safe, not-likely-to-collapse-and-kill-me-ground, where there was absolutely no possibility of me getting motion sick.

My husband and kids had a marvelous time; Wes was considerate enough to record a short video for me to watch so I’d get part of the experience. The whole thing made me wonder, though: What exactly is my obligation to my kids vis a vis riding amusement park rides?

I used to be quite the thrill seeker, riding roller coasters with impunity. At some point, however, my vestibular system sought revenge in the form of crippling motion sickness that assails me viciously and often in cars, boats, planes, 3D movies, and sometimes plain old regular movies as well. (Sidenote: Dear Movie Directors, Camera shots that spin around or revolve around something are not cool. They are nauseating. Sincerely, Erika The Party Pooper)

I’m going to assume my kids will not have my motion sickness hang-ups, which leads me to wonder whether I’m obliged to just power through and do amusement park stuff with them anyway, or whether it’s acceptable to just let that be something their daddy does with them while I take pictures.

What did your parents do? Did it irreparably scar you to ride roller coasters without one of your parents?

The Lipstick Debacle

I’ve long been leery of lipstick. The application of it takes time to master, there’s a science to picking just the right shade, and I’m so unused to the way I look with it on, I can’t help but think I look like a clown school reject with it on.

There are just too many things to practice and learn about wearing lipstick, and ain’t nobody got time for that. Nobody being, of course, stay at home mothers who are also authors. I’m sure all you other women have the time and skills necessary to wear lipstick without having to write a blog post about it. Though I suppose an effective argument could be made that in the time it takes me to type this blog post, I could be perfecting my lipstick game. Well, played, counselor.

For my eighth anniversary a couple weeks ago, I decided I wanted to fancy things up a bit. I had just gotten my hair cut and colored and thought some lipstick might just be what was missing. I talked myself into trying some on, and did my best to convince myself I wasn’t intimidated by all the shades and accessories. I found a shade I thought worked, bought it, and dutifully applied it before my date with Wes, thinking I was all chic and fancy and capable of pulling the red lipstick look off.

Wrong. False. Incorrect. Within minutes I discovered a few problems with lipstick:

Kissing someone is a very bad idea when you’re wearing lipstick. Especially if you don’t want your husband looking like a reject from the Rocky Horror Picture Show. This is kind of a deal breaker when you’re on a romantic date with your husband celebrating your anniversary. This isn’t Wuthering Heights, y’all. I’m not into expressing my affection for him with meaningful glances from a chaste distance.
Lipstick gets on your teeth. Not sure how, but it does. So you either get full coverage of your lips and walk around looking like a red-toothed idiot, or you don’t put it on all the way around and look like a fool who doesn’t know what she’s doing. When both of these are the case (the idiot and the fool) you may just be the wrong kind of girl to wear lipstick.
Lipstick gets all over your food. Wes and I went to a Dim Sun restaurant and I ate some soup and oh, what is that? Am I bleeding? No, no you are not, there’s just lipstick on everything in your life now. Husband, teeth, food, oh and yes, let’s get some on your hair too. RUE THE DAY, LIPSTICK OWNS YOU NOW.

In a fit of pique, I wiped off all remaining traces of lipstick and ate my meal in peace. And you know what? A little colored chap stick and some lip gloss later and I was good to go. Not as fancy, but 1000% less paranoid and uncomfortable.

I’ve been assured that I will one day master lipstick, and to that I say sure. I can think of a hundred other things I’d like to put my energy into perfecting first, but I won’t discount the notion of someday being one of those impossibly graceful women who wear lipstick and make it look easy.

Until that day, though? Feh. Feh and nope. I figure confident and unstressed is preferable to insecure and paranoid any day.

The Dreaded Synopsis

You know that manuscript I’ve been blathering about, featuring Bai Hsu, the intrepid CIA spy from Blood Money? I’m entering it into the PNWA literary contest soon. Real soon.

I’ve had friends and family critiquing and revising my submission for me for weeks, and thought I was basically just about ready to submit my entry when I realized what I was forgetting.

The

Synopsis.

Dun dun DUNNNN!!!

Those of you who are fiction writers who’ve survived writing a synopsis will know why I punctuated this like that.

Oh my GOSH, was there ever a more crucial, pain in the butt piece of writing than the synopsis? For those not in the know, a synopsis is a summary of your whole book, plot start to finish, preferably kept to one page.

Seems simple, right?

WRONG.

Not only do you need to hit all the major plot points in the story, you also need to convey some of who the characters are and what makes them special. Oh, and don’t forget to avoid cliches, keep it in the present tense, and make sure you lend the flavor of the book to the synopsis so the story doesn’t come across as boring.

Oh, and in case that wasn’t intimidating enough, most of the time your synopsis will determine whether the agent/publisher/whoever even bothers to read your story, so it has to really pack a punch. If it doesn’t? Your manuscript will never see the light of day.

So, you know, no pressure. The fate of your whole book rests squarely on your synopsis’s shoulders, which is kind of funny when you realize that writing the synopsis may just be harder than writing the whole frigging book in the first place.

Now, if you’re a real pro, you’ll procrastinate on writing the synopsis and just write a splenetic blog post about writing synopses instead.

Because that’ll help.