Judith Post's Blog, page 61

Tips for Writing Action Scenes

Great advice for writing action scenes from Mae Clair.

Story Empire

Hi, SEers. You’re with Mae today for a look at writing action scenes. Of all the types of scenes that go into constructing a novel, I used to dread action the most. Not so much these days, but they’re still the scenes I tweak and re-tweak most during editing.

When writing an action scene, there are a few tips to keep in mind:

Use Short Sentences

Short sentences generally work best in action scenes. Keep your reader pumped up and immersed in the moment. Don’t leave them stumbling over a tangle of lengthy sentences. Intersperse longer sentences with dialogue and/or shorter sentences to propel the action forward.

Avoid Weak Verbs

Actions scenes call for strong verbs. Avoid verbs that are overused (turned, pulled, looked, moved). A trick I use when I write action is to focus on the urgency of the moment. As an example, people don’t just turn or

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Mystery Musings

Well, darn.  I’m a late comer to J.D. Robb’s Death series, but once I read the first one–Naked in Death–I had to read the second, Glory In Death, and the third, Immortal in Death.  I enjoy the grittiness, Eve Dallas’s character trying to stay true to herself as a cop while falling hard for rich and handsome, Roarke, who’s been known to bend the law, and the compromises they both make to make their relationship work.  The mystery never takes a back seat to romance, stays the main plot line with the romance as a subplot.

So, when I saw one of J.D. Robb’s books on sale, I bought it, even though it was WAY ahead in the series–#43 of the soon-to-be 51 books.  I mean, I’m so far behind in the books anyway, I thought What The Heck?  The first three books build on each other, but they were easy to read as standalones, too.  I thought Eve and Roarke’s relationship might have evolved quite a bit by number #43, but I expected pretty much the same type of story.  And it IS still a gritty crime that becomes Eve’s case, along with the usual cops who work with her.  And she and Roarke are still crazy about each other, and he still fusses over and helps her because he worries about her.  Nice.  But the TONE of the book really threw me off.  I found it so annoying, I had to make myself stick with it, and I have to say, it wasn’t until the last half of the book that I felt like I was reading J.D. Robb again, that she settled into the rhythm I enjoy so much.

Because books do have a rhythm–and not just words, sentences, and paragraphs.  It’s a balance of concentrating on plot, subplot, and developing and fleshing out characters.  I’m just as hooked on Eve and Roarke’s relationship, her interplay with her friends and fellow cops, as I am in the crime they’re solving.  And for the first half of the book, there was scarcely enough of that for me.

It felt like Robb was telling the first half of the book in staccato.  I went from one scene of Eve snapping orders at one person to Eve snapping orders at someone else.  I understand the intent.  It was to build a sense of urgency.  Which it did.  There was one shooting after another with intermittent interviews of witnesses and searching for clues because Eve knew the killer was just getting started.  And each time she struck, she’d kill more and more victims…because she could.  Occasionally, Roarke just felt like Eve’s lackey, and I didn’t like it.

Finally, a little after the first half of the book, Eve zeroes in on who’s committing the crimes, and Robb let more character interaction enter the story.  The pace settled a little, and I felt like I was reading one of my favorite series again.  The voice AND the tone felt right.

Everyone has his own personal likes and dislikes, and most people are going to like the fast pace and building tension of this book.  Robb created two well-developed villains, especially the girl.  A great character study of a psychopath.  And once I got to the middle of the story, I was a happy reader again.  I finished the book satisfied.

Snippet Friday

My last Muddy River mystery came out, and I really haven’t done much with it.  I tried to get it on BookBub, but none of the Muddy River novels have enough reviews, so they didn’t take it.  I didn’t want to pay for the usual ads I use, so I just sort of stalled out, because marketing takes time, and I needed to write pages for my sixth Jazzi Zander mystery.  But I’m feeling a little guilty about almost completely ignoring it, so I thought I’d post the beginning of it today so it would feel a little love:

Snow blanketed Muddy River. Raven was working from home today. As our town’s enforcer, December was a slow month for him. Paranormal, local crime didn’t pick up near holidays, and wandering rogues weren’t attracted to such a remote area of Indiana during the cold seasons. I, on the other hand, had to hold the interest of restless students who were more interested in sugar plums and presents than learning a new spell.

Claws and I decided to trek across the street and down the long drive that led to my witches’ school rather than drive. Strike’s sister, Odifa, who’d begun co-teaching with me, would be at Muddy River’s public school this entire month, teaching her type of magic to the young Faes who attended there. Since she and her husband had settled near Amulet Avenue, a small enclave of fellow Faes, she’d learned that young Faes’ training was sadly lacking.

As I left the house, Raven gave me a long, lingering kiss that would keep me warmer than my long, black skirt and knee-high boots, but then my fire demon was always a hot commodity. To teach, I always wore a flowing, black skirt, boots, and a snug, black T-shirt. I thought it gave the mind set I wanted the students to feel. Raven thought it was sexy, but he’s a fire demon, and you know how demons are. They radiate sex.

This sounds sexy, but it’s pretty much a cozy, so nothing explicit, and soon Hester and Raven get caught up in a mystery and have to stop a voodoo priest from building an army of undead.

Just Do It

A little while ago, I tweeted that I’d hit 30,000 words in the book I’m working on, and going to the dentist began looking better than sitting down to write.  Finding the right words was like beating my head against the wall.

I’m now up to 37,000 words, and it’s amazing how much difference reaching the actual middle of the book can make.  Ideas are picking up again.  Every writer’s different, so someone out there must enjoy middles, but they’re work for me.

I have friends who are pantsers, and they often tell me that when words don’t flow for them, they know something’s wrong with their manuscript, so they let the story stew for a while to find out how to put it back on track.  I get that.  But I’m a plotter, and I fight with my story structure before I start writing.  So when I glare at my computer screen and curse whatever I’m working on, I know it’s just par for the course.

Now you’d think that wouldn’t happen when I have ideas for every chapter, wouldn’t you?  But the book still becomes a jumble in my head somewhere along the line.  Characters do things that aggravate me or don’t do what I expected them to or don’t turn out the way I wanted them to, and I pretty much don’t like the entire thing by then.  And I’ve learned from experience, the only thing that works for me when I reach this point is to just keep writing.  With my plot points, I know I’m not going in the wrong direction and I’m making headway, so even if the words stink and the characters are flat, I can go back and fix them…once I like them again.

My sad truth is that there are days I love writing, and there are days I’d rather toss my keyboard in a lake.  The good days BY FAR outweigh the bad, but to get to more good stuff, I have to glue fanny in chair and keep going.  This does NOT work for some of my friends.  Their stuff just keeps getting worse if their brain is telling them something’s wrong and they ignore it.  But for me, writing is as much of a discipline as a joy.  It’s like exercise.  If I stop, it’s hard to get started again.  So good or bad, it’s better for me to slog through it.

And it never gets easier.  I thought it would, but there are rhythms to my writing.  The first fourth of a book is exciting–introducing characters and new ideas.  The second fourth starts strong and fizzles as it goes until I feel like a tortoise trying to make it to the actual middle.  The third fourth picks up when the protagonist digs in and gets serious about meeting her challenge, but by the end of that fourth, I feel like I’ve run an obstacle course… and the course won.  When I finally reach the last fourth, it’s a race to the finish line.  I pick up speed as I go, and I might even like the book again.

I’ve gotten used to the love/hate relationship of each story, so when I loathe it, I know it’s temporary.  And I write on.  I understand the writers who start lots of stories and never finish them.  The sparkle wears off.  The writing becomes sweat equity.  But it’s part of writing a book.  So don’t give up.  Don’t despair.  Just keep at it.  And happy writing!

Mystery Musings

Someday, I’m going to Malice Domestic.  I intended to go this year.  It’s one of the big writer conferences for mystery writers.  Kensington, my publisher, has a presence there.  I met a few really nice authors at last year’s Kensington mini-con for the Midwest, and I looked forward to seeing them again.  My husband’s aunt and uncle lived in Bethesda, and we visited them a few times.  I love the area.  I love being a tourist in Washington, D.C.

Malice takes place in early May.  I meant to sign up for it in January.  But plans go awry.

My younger grandson is in the marines.  He called to tell us that he was planning on taking leave and coming home in May.  I’m a dedicated writer, but I haven’t seen him for two years.  He trumped the conference.  Last week, he called to say that he moved up his trip to March 4-24.  Yay!  But I have a book due on May 4.  Panic!  When he’s home, I still need to find writing time.

He and his brother mostly grew up in our house.  My daughter was a single mom so lived with us until they graduated because she’s a nurse and worked nights.  We ran the boys to school and Little League and whatever else was going on.  Nate said he wanted to spend time here, just to sit on the couch and hang out with us.  And for me to cook his favorite foods:)  We’ll see how long that excites him, but we’re thrilled.  Even though I still need to write.

BUT since he’d be back on base at the end of March, that opened up May.  Except that then my daughter, the nurse, called to tell us that she took a traveling nurse post in Georgia and would start work on March 23.  She said that it would be wonderful if, once she got settled, we could drive down to see her.  Our second daughter called to tell us that where she and her husband live in Florida is only five hours away from where our older daughter will be.  When we leave Georgia, why not stop in to stay with them a few days?  Which sounds wonderful.  And fun.  And we’ll probably do it sometime in May.

So, this year, Malice Domestic will have to wait.  Way back when I was selling short stories, I attended it a couple of times, did a few panels there, and enjoyed it.  I’d really like to go again.  Maybe next year.

Do you have any favorite conferences?  Which ones?  And why?

 

 

 

How much is good writing? And how much is subjective to what you like?

I’ve often told my writers’ group that being a really good writer isn’t enough.  There have been many times in my life when I got back notes from editors that said, “Great writing.  Great characters.  Great story.  I really enjoyed this, but not right for us.”

Okay, so how do you fix that?  You write something different.  Because when you’re writing the wrong thing at the wrong time, it doesn’t matter how good you are.  You’re going to be rejected.  No one wants what you’re trying to sell.

But, how many authors can you think of that you buy because of their great writing?  And what IS good or great writing anyway?

There’s so much competition these days, that I think that being a good writer isn’t enough to make you stand out.  You have to have something extra, something special.  Now mind you, you can be a best-selling author because you hit the pulse of what appeals to readers at the moment.  And really, isn’t that enough for most of us?  To be best-sellers?  And just to be a devil’s advocate, isn’t it a sign of talent when your writing DOESN’T call attention to itself?  When the story flows and the reader doesn’t realize how smooth the words and ideas move from one scene to another?  Isn’t that a skill in itself?

BUT, to have your use of language noticed, that’s an extra compliment, isn’t it?  I might be wrong, but I think there’s a difference between great storytellers and stellar artists.  I think of myself as a storyteller.  I hope my characters and ideas hold the interest of the reader and entertains him/her until the end.  I try to make myself invisible as a writer so that no one notices my words, just the story.  But some writers go beyond that.  You notice their words, their use of language.

When I got serious about reading mysteries, I felt that Nancy Pickard and Martha Grimes, Elizabeth George and Alice Hoffman were so eloquent, you couldn’t help but stop to admire their skill and the beauty of their words.  I felt the same way about William Kent Krueger when I started his series.  And Sarah Addison Allen and Mae Clair when I read their books.  I have a dear friend–Rachel Roberts–who’s never hit it big, and I think it’s because her language is so subtle, so poetic, that she’s often overlooked.  She wrote This Red Earth and a sequel, and I actually read those books more slowly just to savor what she’d said and HOW she said it.

So, I ask you.  What do you consider GOOD writing?  Here are my thoughts:

Clarity–if the words and sentences confuse you or you have to go back to reread them, that’s a problem.  Words should convey what they need to.  Thoughts should be clear and concise.  If you confuse the reader, you’ve failed.
 Characterization–characters should ring true.  They should feel real.  They should stay true to who they are and not be manipulated for plot purposes.  Very few people are one-note characters.  They have strengths AND weaknesses.
 Plot–a big question has to be introduced at the beginning of the book and answered at the end of it with no extraneous distractions.
 Pacing–no slumps or pages to skip to get to the good stuff.  The plot moves, gets more complicated, and builds momentum along the way.
 Conflict–if everything’s too easy, the book’s a bore.
 Setting–we need to see where we are so that we can picture ourselves in the story.
 Emotion–Let’s face it.  We read books because we want to FEEL what the protagonist is feeling and feel like we earned a win at the end of the book (or a loss if it’s a tragedy).
 A satisfying ending.  The saying that how a book ends determines if you buy the next book is real.  How dismal is it to finish a book and hate the ending?

There are probably more points, but I’m blanking on them at the moment.  But these, for me, make for a good book.

BUT, what do you consider a GREAT book?

I think language makes the difference between good or great.  And what makes for great language?  I’d argue that is has a lot to do with what you READ.  When I was in college, I read lots and lots of classics.  These days?  I’m happy to go with great entertainment.  And that doesn’t always equate to beautiful imagery and perfect word choice (although the two can go together).  You know the saying, “You are what you eat?”  (Every time I hear that now, I think of a book by Patricia Briggs about a vampire who proved that saying true.  Ugh.  And awesome at the same time.  It made for a great story.)  But back to the point, I think it also applies to “You are what you read.”  I’m not saying that anyone should try to write like a famous classic author.  You probably wouldn’t sell in today’s market.  But I think great literature begets great literature.  So does poetry.  The use of imagery and specific word choices, cadence and rhythm add a beauty to language that you notice.  They elevate the writing to a new level.

These are just my thoughts when I’m tired at the end of the night.  What are yours?  What do you think?  Are you happy being a GOOD writer (and lots of authors I love spring to mind) or do you want to be a GREAT writer?

Way, way back in the day, my friend and I watched the movie RICH AND FAMOUS with Candice Bergen and Jacqueline Bisset, and she immediately wanted to be FAMOUS.  Me?  I’d be happy being an Agatha Christie, who doesn’t get many accolades for great writing but gets LOTS of accolades for great stories.  What about you?

 

Mystery Musings

How much do you want to think?  Concentrate?

I read at the end of the day, usually for an hour or two.  Some days, my brain is worn out by then.  But once in a while, I still enjoy stories that challenge me, that make me think.

I recently finished WHEN GODS DIE, by C.S. Harris.  It’s a Regency mystery, and I really enjoyed it.  But the plot was so complicated, I had to concentrate to follow it and the characters involved. It’s not for the faint of heart…or tired of brain.  I have a special fondness for the Regency period, but politics played such a big part of the story, I felt like I needed a notebook to keep track of who sympathized with the Stuarts, who was loyal to the king, even though he was half-mad and his son, the Prince Regent, was a spoiled, self-indulgent leader who got booed in London.  And that was just a start.  BUT, it was all worth it.

The bad guys had no pricks of conscience when they killed.  They were mean and scary.  And in the middle of all the intrigue, Sebastian St. Cyr discovers he’s been deceived about his past.  Almost everyone knew the truth but him.  He was only a boy and didn’t understand what was really going on.

When he’s disillusioned even more, he joined the military and fought the French.  He returned home six years later, his intelligence and survival skills honed.  Many, and I mean MANY people try to kill him in this book.  And they all ended up dead.  The fight scenes were great.  I’m no specialist, but St. Cyr’s tactics felt believable to me.  When he walked into a room and people got out of his way, it made sense.  The man was intense and focused.  And smart.

His relationships were as complex as the plot.  He and his family had their differences.  And secrets.  His romance with Kat, an actress who won’t marry him because she loves him too much, had tender, endearing moments.

I recommend this book and will read the next one, even though I need a break first.  It’s not a fast read.  And there’s a lot of action.  Some nights I went to bed, and the story kept whirling in my head.  St. Cyr came alive for me.  So did London–the good and the bad of it.

Everything Slows Down

I’m so glad I have plot points, because somewhere in a novel I’m writing, I can’t remember what I’ve said and what I haven’t.  I lose my sense of direction, and ideas don’t bubble and flow like they did in the beginning.  I just reached 30,000 words of the 72,000 I’m hoping to write.  And the words are getting harder to find.  Everything’s slowing down.  Becoming work.  And I know some of you are rolling your eyes because you write volumes of words and then have to cut.  But not me.  I write lean and then have to go back to add descriptions and emotions.  All the extras.

The middle.  Ugh.  It’s a juggling act, keeping all of the story points in the air.  Even the best juggler, though, eventually times the balls wrong or gets tired, and the balls crash down.  That’s what the middle feels like to me.  So far, I’ve accomplished what I wanted to.

 Jazzi’s sister, Olivia, finds the new girl she hired for her beauty shop dead in the chair that’s tipped back at the wash basin.
 Jazzi’s ex-fiancée comes to her for advice, worried that his new wife is going to leave him.  And then she disappears.  And then the cops find her empty car near a field in the country with her purse on the front seat.  If she met someone to run away, why leave her purse?  Unless….
 I’ve started introducing suspects, witnesses, and clues.  There are plenty to choose from for Misty.  Not many people liked her.  It’s slim pickings for Chad’s wife.  Everyone liked her.  And of course, he’s the main suspect.
 At the same time Jazzi’s trying to piece together clues, she, Ansel, and Jerod are working on a Colonial house to flip.  Its rooms are huge, and they’ve decided to make this house a little more modern than what they usually do.
 They’re trying to finish the flipper and help Ansel’s brother, Radley, and his fiancée Elspeth move into the house they bought on Wilt Street before Easter.  Easter’s a big event–a big family celebration.

I like the mix.  I just don’t like middles:)  But the only way out of them is to trudge forward.  So that’s what I’m doing.  Trudging, one word, one chapter at a time.  And I have a lot more to go.  And eventually, clues will add up, the pace will kick into gear again, and the words will flow faster.  Until then, no one said that writing was always fun.  Fulfilling, but that’s a different matter.  Sometimes it’s just a win when you get the words down.

Whatever you’re working on, good luck.  And Happy writing!

Listen and Just Be There

I think the planets must not have aligned right last month.  I got lots more phone calls than usual.  Friends and family members alike were having problems.  Not huge ones, but upsetting, frustrating crap.  Stuff I couldn’t fix or help with.  All they needed was to vent.  And I was there to listen.

Venting is good.  It’s healthy.  It takes something that seems big at the moment and helps release what looms large into something easier to deal with.  I believe in venting.  Holding emotions in gives them more power than they deserve.  And that’s where listening can help ease a burden.  Occasionally, and thankfully it wasn’t true last week, something is so big, it’s too overwhelming, but if you can share it and have more shoulders bear the burden, it becomes tolerable.

That was my function last week.  To listen.  Just to be there.  And it made me think about Jazzi, my amateur sleuth.  One of the things she does best is to listen.  In the book I’m writing now, The Body in the Beauty Shop, she tags along with Detective Gaff to meet the roommates of the girl who was killed.  These girls are a little on the rough side.  They clam up when Gaff tries to interview them, but they’re more than happy to share their grievances with Jazzi after she tells them her sister’s none too happy that Misty’s body was found in her beauty salon.  They have something in common.  Misty cheated all of them.

Amateur sleuths can’t make anyone talk to them, so they just need to be there and trigger a conversation, then listen.  Years ago, when a friend and I attended one of our first conferences, she was so nervous, she wasn’t sure she could even attend all of the panels, so she asked me how she could feel more secure.  The only advice I could think to give her was to be more interested in the people she met than she was about making a good first impression.  I told her to ask them questions about themselves and their work, and then to listen.  And that worked for her.  It helped her to get out of her own head, her own fears.  We had a great conference.  There are many skills we develop to be better writers, but to listen is often underrated.  But I think it helps.

Hope you have a good week.  And happy writing!

 

Snippet

Thought I’d share a short excerpt from my latest Muddy River supernatural mystery, TATTOOS & PORTENTS:

Festus took a swig of beer before saying, “You know I travel a few times a year for my job.”

I nodded. “You write ads for small businesses and do online advertising for them, but once in a while, you have to meet with them to keep up to date.” The warlock was a whiz at clever campaigns and images.

“This time, I drove to a town east of here on the river, like we are,” he told us. “I met with the business owner and was ready to start home when I must have blacked out in my car. Thank Hecate I made it that far or I might have crumpled on the street. I don’t know how long I was out, but when I came to, I had the tattoo, and I’ve been having the same nightmare over and over again every night since it appeared.”

Raven scowled and looked my way. “Have you dealt with anything like this before, Hester?”

I shook my head. “Sounds more like Fae magic than ours.” I studied the dark ink, a Celt symbol. “May I touch your tattoo?” I asked Festus.

He rolled up his sleeve again, and I placed my hand on it. “I feel both Fae and witch magic.” Keeping my hand on the tattoo, I cast a spell, and suddenly, an image appeared in the air before us, a scene that played out as a movie.

We were seeing the images through someone else’s eyes. Whose, I couldn’t tell. But we were walking along a river bank, picking leaves and roots to brew for potions. We felt the sun on our backs, but the air was cool. Leaves were changing colors, and some had already fallen to the ground. Autumn. Late October maybe?

We could feel the seer’s thoughts and emotions. Whoever it was, was new to the area, surprised by how many varieties of plants grew there. She almost had her basket full when the sound of movements made her glance up. A swirl of spirits raced toward her and whirled around her like a gray tornado of dead souls. Wisps of faces flashed past her.

I’d seen spirits like these before at the voodoo village across the river. I knew the spirits could do no harm, but this girl was frightened. She screamed, dropped her basket, and threw up her hands to defend herself. Then, she heard more movement behind her, but before she could turn, pain exploded in the back of her head and oblivion overtook her.

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