Cate Morgan's Blog, page 21

YOU’VE BEEN FLASHED: “Love Potion No. 9”

Hail, readers and fellow Word Wranglers! This week’s challenge from the Venerable Penmonkey Chuck Wendig was to use a Random Fantasy Character Generator to find a potential flash fiction scenario and present it to him with all, er, veneration. My random draw was “A nebbish sorcerer tries to get a date”. And so I present, all venerated-like:

“Love Potion No. 9″

Reginald the Wary stood alone in the leaky, night-slick alley at the door of the Doxy’s Moxy. His robes displayed stains even the color-blind couldn’t miss. His hair stood at wild angles, and the eyebrows above his potion-bottle glasses were singed. He trembled visibly, and not with cold.

Inside, there was Daisy, bright as a hot-pink sun. His glasses fogged over at the thought.

He raised his spotted chin, girded his overactive but shy loins, and opened the door.

Someone sailed through at chest-level and knocked him flat as a set of ten-pins.

So Orlav was in. Good.

He righted himself, weaving slightly, and plucked his twisted glasses from the cobblestones that had so conveniently broken his fall. He wiped them fastidiously on his sleeve with indifferent results, and tried again.

He made it all the way to the bar this time, managed to avoid being spotted by the radiantly spinning Daisy despite tripping over his own feet.

Orlav’s brow furrowed, eyebrows crashing together like colliding caterpillars. He perched his bulk on a stool meant for lesser mortals, too good to stand behind the bar like other innkeepers. “So? You got it?”

“Right here.”

Orlav’s brow cleared as he took the small vial in his meaty palm. “It even looks like money,” he approved. The rich green liquid inside cast a golden faerie glitter. Orlav removed the cork with this teeth and took a whiff with his wide, hairy nostrils. He spit out the cork. “Smells like it, too.”

“A few drops per bottle should be sufficient. Do we have a deal?”

“Sure, sure.” Never removing his eyes from the vial, he extracted a slip of folded paper from about his person.

“Are you sure this will work?”

The caterpillars crashed again, with unprecedented violence. “You doubting me, you sputtering squirt?”

“No, of course not.” Reginald made good his escape, but not before a tinkling voice waylaid him. “Leaving already, Reggie?” An upside down face dropped from heaven. Raspberry hair was pinned jauntily with a bright, overlarge daisy.

“S-s-sorry,” he stammered. “B-b-b-business.” He fled.

Seeming moments later he slammed the door of his lab behind him, hyperventilating and without any clear idea of how he’d gotten there. The rented space was organized to the point of concern. Blast marks indicated those occasional accidents that involved more than setting his eyebrows on fire.

He hung his outer robes on a peg by the door and repaired to his workbench. Eight half-full bottles with peeling, mocked him from an overhead shelf. He carefully unfolded the paper with trembling hands.

The disappointment was palpable. The instructions scrawled in a barely coherent hand—one he suspected belonged to the tortuously literate Orlav—concluded in yet another version of Windegast’s All-Consuming Elixir, designed for the sole enjoyment of the writer rather than the potion-maker. Reginald’s one and only experience with the stuff still gave him nightmares.

Reginald’s forehead thunked on his workbench. Hot pink visions of Daisy danced in his head, adding to his predicament. He groaned.

After a humid moment he glared at the formulae on the paper before him. Old Windegast had been a joker, and no mistake. No wonder some determined revenge-taker had left behind nothing but a pair of smoking shoes.

If only Number 7 had some of Windegast’s staying power—and therein lay a joke he didn’t even want to consider.

His rebellious mind began to tick over, sluggish at first, but then at its familiar, frenetic rate.

He’d have to stabilize the over-enthusiastic, delusion-inducing charm effect that had proven such a problem, but Number 4′s mellow bliss should see to that. Of course there was the side-effect of wanting to eat everything in sight to consider…

One week and a new pair of eyebrows later, Reginald reentered Doxy’s Moxy with something resembling triumph. He even remembered to avoid the propelling patron this time.

Orlav looked well-pleased to see him, a good sign. “This it?” The potion was hot pink, just like Daisy. “Well, then, pull up a chair and buy me a drink.” He motioned his bartender into action, who immediately presented two foaming leather tankards. “Tol’ja it’d work, dinnit I?”

Orlav gave the vial a vigorous shake, causing an involuntary squeak to issue from Reginald. “Why not give it to ‘er yerself?”

“If she knew I’d potioned her the spell would break!”

“Fair enough.” He shook it again. “Hardly seems worth all the trouble, doxy like that.”

Reginald came over all hot pink himself—with rage. As Orlav turned away he snuck another vial from his sleeve. He uncorked it and dumped the contents into the other man’s tankard. Reginald lifted his in a toast. “To love!”

“To doxies!” Orlav drained his tankard.

Reginald stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled. Every head in the place turned. Every woman in the place shrieked and tackled the surprised Moxy owner, their feet not touching the floor. “To Old Windegast,” Reg murmured as he plucked Love Potion Number 9 from Orlav’s outstretched, twitching hand.

“Reggie?”

Horror struck every nerve as he turned. “I thought it was your day off?”

Daisy shook her head, eyes wide as her boss was more or less torn apart in being loved to death. “Filling in for Mabel—I mean, ‘Velvet’. What happened to Orlav?”

He was too shocked to lie. “He called you a doxy not worth any trouble.”

Her eyes got wider. Then she grinned. “‘Bout time, the surly bastard.” Then she shocked him further by turning that smile on him. He nearly swallowed his Adam’s apple. “Fancy a drink?”

Reginald nodded, rendered speechless.

“Good. There’s a new seafood place just opened I’d love to try.”

“Only…Daisy?”

“Yes, Reg?”

“Let’s leave now, shall we?”

Author’s Log: What’s My Motivation?

 It’s no secret that writers and actors alike use (and sometimes abuse) the importance of back story when developing a character. (And if it seems like I’m lumping in writers in with actors, it’s because many techniques apply to both crafts, especially when it comes to characterization).

It’s pretty simple, when you think about it–what happens in our lives affects our future selves. Especially those all-important milestones, things like the first day of school, first kiss, etc. Firsts are a great way to pinpoint those moments in a character’s life that shapes who they became, and who they’re destined to become at the end of the story.

With life experience comes a unique blend of issues that make up the messy psycological stew that informs how we react in certain cicurmstances. Only instead of meat and potatoes and veggies, the stew is made up of fears, issues, and desires–or, the gut, the head, and the heart.

It’s no co-inky-dink there are nerve clusters of strong feelings in each. It’s why we have gut feelings and reactions, our hearts get broken, and our heads mess with us. This is the source of internal conflict, something I like to give my characters in spades, because I’m an evil bastard like that. Bwa-ha-ha-haaaa!

For example: In Big Dang Projeckt, I’ve got a fallen knight who desires redemption from past mistakes, fears failure, and has serious parental approval issues, especially when it comes to disappointing his father. This is exacberated by the mistaken impression his younger brother is perfect. The Golden Son is, of course, far from perfect–he just hides it better due to some of the same issues.

Another example: In Waking Muse #1, my heroine is the daughter of a well-known concert violinist who died young, and her family fully expects her to live up to her mother’s stunning talent–but by their limited terms. Because of familial and financial burdens, she fears letting everyone down, but desperately wants to be free of their well-meaning natterings. To make matters worse, her musically brilliant brother’s life is being cut short by muscular dystprophy and thus requires expensive, round-the-clock care. He’s a wild spirit not bound by mere disease, and she adores him.

So beyond the lesson that family has a knack for really messing a person up, like an unexpected kamikaze June bug does a perfectly good gumbo, what else can be gleaned from this?

That external and internal conflict need to mesh to the point where they almost become one. It does no good for my story if my broken, fallen knight isn’t forced into a leadership role in a time of crisis–which leads to more people getting hurt on his watch, though it’s not entirely his fault. It does my erstwhile violinist no good if I don’t give her a taste of freedom, only to take it away from her. (Don’t forget–evil bastard.)

What’s that character-defining moment that starts a person down a certain path in life, the one that rings destiny’s bell? I’m on the hunt.

How about you guys? What insights into the human condition have you discovered recently? Word-wrangling minds want to know.

Author’s Log: Getting To Know You

 First of all, let me wave the Happy Mother’s Day flag to all the Mama Bears out there–it’s a tough job being a Mom. I know, cuz I was one tough kid to contend with. Thank you for all that you do, all that you sacrifice. You da Awesome in da Sauce.

So this week I’ve been deep into character development. I have four steps to my character development process once I identify the protagonist (not necessarily a Good Guy), antagonist (not necessarily a Bad Guy), a Helper and/or Romantic Interest: Sketch/profile, back story, dream, and wardrobe.

This is one of my favorite parts of writing–getting to know my characters. Sometimes I go out in public and stare at people in creepy-writer fashion until I think I’m somehow getting telepathically into their heads. I call this power the Writer Mind Meld.

This week has been all about the sketch work. It has all the stuff you might imagine–hair and eye color, where and when they were born, distinguishing characteristics, where they live, the car they drive, etc. Also, being a former theatre geek and unapologetic Netflix junkie, I like to watch actors at work–how they move, their vocal inflections, etc. We all have physical and vocal mannerisms that make us unique. Actors develop these mannerisms from character to character by making informed decisions based on their own creative set of criteria. What is that character’s story, and how does it in reflect the way they move, sit, walk, and talk?

I watch a lot of actors. A LOT. Good, bad, middling…I try to learn something from them all. And this, inevitably, leads to “casting” my characters. Something about tapping into what actor would play one of my characters immediately solidifies that character in my mind forever. I’m equally frustrated when I can’t cast the role. It makes them a cypher, no matter how much I know about them.

Sometimes all it takes is a familiar character type. Examples from TV, movies, and books help me understand my characters, especially their internal conflict. Internal conflict informs EVERYTHING we do as human beings. A reclusive character, for instance, who is trying to make up for past mistakes won’t trust themselves, and may let shame affect their body language: closed-off posture, use of few words, perhaps some self-anger expressed outward. How will the Inciting Incident begin to change that?

Villains are especially fascinating to me. What makes a Big Bad tick? The best villains really think they’re the good guys. One compromise leads to another, and another, and another…until BOOM. Where does the reasoning, the justification come in? Do they really believe it, or are they lying to themselves? They are people, after all–not labelled a villain until a series of events lead them down that road and choices based on internal conflict are made. Whatever the reasons, they have to be believable, and even a little sympathetic. Darth Vader started out as an innocent little kid. We ALL start out as innocent little kids.

Figuring out character is a study in humanity.

And now, for something completely different:

Tidbit the First: Yesterday I picked up my first pair of glasses in something like eighteen years. I’d given them up in favor of contacts when I became a dance teacher, as the studio I worked for had very stringent ideas about what their teachers should look like, in addition to practical considerations. It is very strange, and is taking some getting used to. I am amazed at how thinly they can grind the lenses these days–by all rights I should be wearing coke bottles or telephoto lenses. Also, the Ninja Kat known as Thing Two doesn’t quite know what to make of them. And as she spends a significant portion of time in my lap, well…here’s hoping the glasses last the week.

Tidbit the Second: After the glasses came a viewing of Iron Man 3. All in all very pleased with the conclusion of this particular arm of the movie franchise, and felt only relief when they gave Gwenyth Paltrow something to do other than be shrill and demanding. Also, the movie provided some twists I wasn’t expecting, which I suspect had something to do with Joss Whedon’s input, but I could be wrong. It just felt like his hand, between the humor and the flipping of convention. “Anyone who’s read the comic books will expect THIS, so let’s give them THIS OTHER THING instead.” It’s kind of like being visited by the Cat in the Hat, with all the shenanigans implied.

Tidbit the Third: Have just finished viewing Netflix’s second original series, Hemlock Grove. Found it wonderful, and surprising, and OMG they didn’t just do that! Also, best werewolf change EVER, and Bill Skarsgard is proving to have inherited some of his dad’s nuance. The show is chilling, and heartbreaking, all at once. Famke Janssen is, well, Famke Janssen, which is to say superlative. Extremely well done–between this and House of Cards, I’m eager to see what Netflix will do next.

What about you guys? What have you read or seen lately that has surprised you in a good way?

Author’s Log: On Spinning Plates and Kicking Cranes

“There is no overacting; only untrue acting.” ~Stellan Skarsgard, actor.

Ah, May. A fresh, shiny new month stretches before us, full of sunshine and promise. Begone, Wintery doldrums! I banish thee until (at least) next February.

I’m in Florida, there are palm trees out my front windows, and birdies taunting the Ninja Katz out the back. The Evil Day Jobbe Project From The Deepest Pits of Hell (the ones even Dante didn’t have the cajones to explore) is officially OVER, another semester of school for the Tech Monkey is officially tagged and bagged, and once more I feel as though I can actually BREATHE.

*inhales*

*exhales*

This means that, as of this weekend, I’m in peak planning mode. The highs and lows of the last few months have taught me some things about myself:

My creativity doesn’t flourish well at a desk. Between back issues, sporadic midnight attacks of IBS, and the constant struggle of managing curious and demanding Ninja Katz, I’ve found I do much better reclined on the couch or recliner with my laptop. This alleviates any back pain I might be experiencing, and gives the Ninja Katz a comfortable place to join me should they desire my company and frequent ear scratches. My office is therefore reserved for the business of writing–planning, editing, marketing, and branding.
Nor does my writing flourish when it comes writing for word count. By focusing on the quanitity of wordage rather than the quality, I lose that certain something that makes me unique–my voice. It’s missing from my characters, from the balance of melody and harmony that gives me that lyrical tone I’ve developed through the years. It means I’m talking, when I should be listening. Overwriting is untrue writing–I must remember that.
This leads me to pacing myself. By trying to do too much, I become stressed and cranky and an altogether less-than-pleasant writerly person. Writing stops being fun. And if anything stops being fun, you’re doing it wrong. And this HAS to be fun, else why bother? When you lose the joy, you lose motivation. And when you lose motivation, you lose productivity, and perspective. I’m not writing chamber music here. I need the notes to soar, and that requires unfettered, but masterly crafted, joy.

So this weekend I’ve been considering my production schedule for the summer, which means refining my own personal process with a view to scheduling it in such a way as to maximize my productivity without trying to push myself to do too much. Some things to keep in mind:

My goals: Three novellas and one novel per year. Also, I want a polished draft of Big Dang Projeckt to shop around beginning in January 2014.
Workshops: There’s a new Campnanowrimo in July. This would be the perfect opportunity to write my first draft of Waking Muse #1. Also, I want to get back into critiquing, as I have severly slacked off on that this year. BAD, BAD WORD MONKEY!
Flash Fiction: My readers deserve More Free Stuff. Writing flash is in excellent exercise for me, and it turns out I’m actually kinda good at it (who knew?). Also, did I mention Free Stuff? FREE! YAY!

What this all comes down to is that I’ve aligned the three steps of my writing process–development, drafting, and editing–to balance out the different creative parts of my brain, and leave me more free time to let it rest. The brain, I have learned, must rest lest it leak and steam like an overheated radiator. Ew. And, mainly, Ouch.

Planning (including development) will not only get me properly into writing mode, but will act as a warm-up to the actual writing (drafting) part of the process. Editing will act as a cooldown, bringing me back down to earth after the high of heightened creativity. I don’t have any problems switching between projects, as long as I’m not in the drafting process of more than one. This means some creative plate-spinning on my part. Development on Project A, Drafting on Project B, and General Editing or Reading. This last might be editing a project for Editor Awesome, in preparation for submission, or critique duties. Reading would be for pleasure and relaxation, but also with a critical eye open for craft.

Sounds like a lot, doesn’t it? This is where careful planning comes in. Development is essential for me. I spend a solid month of my process on character development, with very specific things that need to be accomplished–but that don’t, neccessarily, take a lot of time. So as long as I pace myself throughout the week, this should serve as a effective warm-up. I can then spend another solid month on plotting, as it grows naturally from character. Only then can the drafting process begin: One month for a novella of 25-30k words, three months for a 90k novel.

Am I going to write every single day the sun brings? No. But at five-six days a week, a few hours a day, this should be a doable schedule. As long I know exactly what I have to accomplish in a given day, but make those daily goals attainable without overdoing it, I just might reach my best productivity ever.

I’ve blocked out the time. I’ve strapped on my magic Karate Kid headband. I am ready to rock my new, improved production schedule and kick the ever-luvin’ bejeezus out of my goals.

Who’s with me? *game face*

AUTHOR WATCH: An Acute Case of Voices in the Head (#IWSG)

 Like most writers, I suffer from Voices in the Head syndrome. Beyond characters whispering sweet nothings into my ear while I sleep (a lot less sexy than it sounds, believe me) there are also there ever prevalent voices of my Infernal Editor (the proverbial wolf in sheep’s clothing) and my even-cunninger Divine Muse (the sheep in wolf’s clothing, conversely).

In other words, my brain is filled with an angry mob, waving torches and pitchforks. As any doomed victim of an angry mob knows, the reason of the mob is directly divisible by the number of mobsters, while their need for attention is multiplied exponentially by each individual mobster’s fears and insecurities.

This is why writers have so many ideas, and why we write–so can get these damned people and their stories out of our stinkin’ heads.

It’s awfully crowded in here, y’all. And noisy. Did I mention noisy? Yeah.

What with all the jibber-jabber it can be difficult to focus. Lack of focus makes my delete-trigger finger twitchy. I don’t feel like I’m doing my best work lately, and I hate that feeling. HATE it. It makes me feel like I’m wasting my time, and few things get up my nose as quickly.

First, the good news: Keepers #2 is back in the hot editorial hands of Editor Awesome. Keepers #3 is in rough draft form, bubbling away and marinating nicely. It’s nice having a lovely little bucket brigade in the wings, ready and waiting to make my readers happy. This makes ME happy.

Not so good news: I’m not so sure about Big Dang Projeckt. That is, I love the story. LOVE IT. I truly feel in my wee writerly heart this book is meant to be written. I can just tell it’s destined to have its birth pains, and then some. A myriad of false starts, one or two computer crashes, and the latest concerted effort at Campnanowrimo has produced words and substance, but not, I feel, my BEST words and substance. I’m pushing along, but there is dischord. And I know it’s because I’m not in tune with myself. I’m not tapped into the music of writing.

This worries me. First, because I want this book written. The story has haunted me far too long, and I yearn for it be complete and polished, oh-so-shiny and out in the world being awesome. Second, because I’m in the development stages of a new novella, the first in a new series, and it’s something new I’m trying. It’s a different kind of writing for me, not fantasy oriented. Same instrument, different style of playing. I’m going from rock and roll to classical. Which means I’m going to have to weed out a lot of my go-to techniques. It’s going to require a more raw, certainly more serious, voice on my part.

The writer’s voice is the most powerful tool in their arsenal. What it I lose my grip?

The first order of business is to clear my head. I know I’m capable of this new challenge. But in order to do it I need to focus. Which means taking a break and refilling the creative well. Not a long break–just one involving putting away the computer and breaking out the notebook and pen, old skool. Walking away from the internet and technology and triggering that internal switch labeled “writer”.

There’s something magical and musical about ink flowing from a good writing pen onto fresh, pristine paper that gets my creative juices flowing. It silences the voices long enough for me to recapture my confidence in my abilities with the written word. No distractions, no noise.

Just a writer, paper and pen, and the music of words. Bliss.

Author’s Log: Of Champions and Heroes

 I’ve spent the last week thinking about what happened in Boston, as I’m sure we all have. The question most on everyone’s mind, as far as I can tell, is “Why?” (right after the “Who?”, of course).

That’s not my question. My question is “What gives them the right?”

I don’t get depressed about these things. I don’t fear for the human race. Maybe I’m weird that way.

I get angry. Really, really angry. And when I hear about the people who fearlessly run toward danger to help those in need, I cheer. Like the medical professionals who just got done running 26 miles throwing off their exhaustion to respond to the emergency, I cheer. I heard a story about a guy who scaled a fence and dove into a sea of injured to help, and I did a dance. YES! That’s what I’m talking about!

It’s this capacity to risk everything in order to help is what inspires me to write. Because the ability to transcend such an event and do right without thinking excites me. Compassion, bravery, unity…it sounds sappy, but I love it.

This whole thing also got me to thinking about the difference between champions and heroes, because both are running themes in the stories I write. Up to now, I’d been using the terms synonomously. But the events in Boston got me thinking.

A champion, I decided, was someone who faces danger to help innocent people because it’s their job, or their destiny, or both. Law enforcement, medical professionals, the armed forces, etc. Law enforcement and firemen during 9/11 are prime examples of this. There are other mitigating factors, of course–they made a conscious choice to go into these dangerious fields.

A hero, on the other hand, are those who face danger and do the right thing simply because it is the right thing. Joe Citizen, scaling a tall fence to dive head-first into a pool of injured bodies to see what can be done. The father who walks or pushes his disabled son 26 freakin’ miles in his wheelchair because the son has ambition to participate in the marathon.

Both are pretty stupendous in my book.

As for the parties behind the explosions–well, yeah. There be a whole lotta bad guys in this world. But you know what? Like Patton Oswalt put so well, there are an awful lot more good guys. Because humanity, as a whole, is a whole lotta awesome–all this sort of thing does is unite disparate forces together against the perpetrators.

Take note, bad guys: These actions do NOT make you awesome, or powerful, or legends anywhere other than your own deluded minds. No, it makes you weak, and cowardly, and in a mess of trouble. So get the fuck off our planet, and take your quivering, despicable darkness with you. Because there is no possible reason or excuse that gives you the right.

And the rest of us are coming with the light that will ultimately destroy you.

Author’s Log: #IWSG and Perspective

Or, Insecure Writer and the Undercooked Supporting Character

When last we blogged about Writer Insecurities, we lamented over the ups and downs of the writing life. In the meantime I’ve watched Gordon Ramsay’s Best Restaurants on ye old Netflix, which turns out to be one of the best things I could have done this early in my professional writing career. Also, it turns out, one of the more uncomfortable.

Let me set the scene: Being in Round 1 of editorial revisions (pre-contract) for Keepers #2, both Editor Awesome and the Stunt Monkey have pointed out my essentially flat hero, especially when paired with my more colorful heroine. As I respect and adore both parties in this equation, I was forced to have to face a rather unfortunate home truth–while my heroes tend to be layered and flawed, my romantic interests aren’t quite as layered and nuanced as they should be. In other words, I’m not giving my readers a chance to truly know and care about them. This isn’t gender specific–I recently experienced the same problems with Big Dang Projeckt.

So I had to turn around and face the issue head-on. (I’m Irish–”fight” is my default setting–kinda like the Hulk.) This is what I do. As artists and craft-monkeys, this is what we all have to do. Why? I wondered. Why do I have such an issue with conflict when it comes to romance?

There could be a couple of things. First, there was a decided lack of drama in my own whirlwind romance with the Tech Monkey. We’re in lockstep probably 90-95% of the time and neither of us has any patience with unneccessary shenanigans. Life is too short to waste time not communicating with your life partner, we feel. The closest we came to kids was Ninja Katz, and that suits us fine. Second, too often (I’ve found) romantical complications in books, TV, and movies equates to aforementioned shenanigans and, unfortunately, ANGST.

Angst has its place, don’t get me wrong. But sometimes it gets so silly that it’s exhausting. I know I hate it when a hero panders to a romantic interest so unlikeable I want to smack both parties, especially when hero is otherwise competent and there’s a better romantic interest on the horizon (it was this very scenario that inspired Big Dang Projeckt). So I’m trying to keep away from melodrama, probably by going to the other extreme. It’s difficult enough to fully develop a loving relationship between two people within a novella setting (on the cusp of the apocalypse, no less). But if my readers are going to fall in love with my characters, they have to be able to get to know them first.

Which brings me to Gordon Ramsay. In this show, he pits two restaurants of the same ethnic cuisine against each other as the “Best Restaurant” of that cuisine in the UK. In the first episode (Italian), the chefs were a team of brothers whose management side is run by their parents. The lads were incredibly bold and experiemental and ridiculously talented, but Mom, as Front of House, defended her boys against customers at every turn and only gave them the “good” feedback, loathe to hurt their feelings. Gordon eventually helped them to see that they’ll never get better without the bad and occasionally ugly–if plates are coming back with the same feedback, it’s probably true, and needs to be fixed. Gordon, for example, ONLY wants to hear the bad, because that’s how he learns, and improves.

As creative types, writers have to be incredibly brave. Not only do we have to put ourselves on the spot with every word written, every word edited, and every manuscript submitted, but we have to face criticsm as professionals. It’s tempting to only want to hear the good, but we’re not going to improve and develop without the rest as well. The trick is in knowing–and respecting the craft of writing enough-to accept true feedback for what it is and implement a plan to fix it.

So I’m reworking my hero’s profile for Keepers #2, and have already (I dearly hope) fixed the issue with Big Dang Projeckt. But now that I’ve accept the issue as something that needs addressing, if I do my homework in future I can forgo the problem altogether, and be the better writer for it.

Author Watch: Of Plot Bunnies and Wabbit Holes

 Greetings, fellow Word Monkeys!

Where to begin?

*thinks*

*shuffles notes*

*clears throat*

Well, I suppose we should start with the State of the Empire, as it stands today:

Keepers #2: We’re still in revision status here, although I did get notes back from the eagle-eyed Stunt Monkey–or, rather, one BIG note what needs addressing. So my three-day Easter weekend was spent in re-profiling my hero so he can be better known to my readers (More of this to come in my monthly #IWSG post on Wednesday). All other notes have been addressed and crossed off the list. One more pass to incorporate new info and give it a final polish, and off to Editor Awesome it goes. YAY.
Keepers #3: In rough draft status. Revisions on Keepers #2 is giving it plenty of time to marinate in its own creative juices (ew), so once I have signed a contract on 2 (hopefully), I’ll return to 3 with the Red Pen of Death.
Waking Muse #1: I’m getting to know my characters. My heroine, who has yet to acquire a first name I can live with, is otherwise pretty solid at this point. Predictably, my hero has proven more elusive. I’ve come to accept and curse the fact this is one of my weaknesses as a writer. Must write harder, better, stronger than ever before. *game face*
Big Dang Projeckt: I’ve joined the April session of Camp NaNoWriMo, wherein my goal for the month is to get Act I (approximately 30k words) back into fighting trim. I have my cast, my plot milestones, a bomb shelter, and enough coffee to last me for the month.

March saw some great books accost my TBR pile. Some standouts:

The Replacement and The Space Between by Brenna Yovanoff. Devastating, stunning prose and magnificently damaged characters. Like Tahrareh Mafi’s Shatter Me,  this is the soul-rending writing I’m attempting achieve. Blew me away. Yovanoff is now on my must-read without worrying what the book is about list.
Speaking of the superlative Tahrareh Mafi, I read her interim novella Destroy Me, told from the antagonist’s POV, and Unravel Me, the official sequel to Shatter Me. Both were very good, though Unravel Me was definitely a “middle book”. Without Juliette’s voice in the unique prose that made Shatter Me so effective, I felt the pacing a bit slow and I was missing a little something special that was being filled by a little too much teenage angst for my liking, but otherwise the conflict and searing heat level were beautifully done.
Gail Carriger is another of those authors whose books I immediately order without worrying what the dang-blasted book is about. I ripped through her Etiquette&Espionage toot-sweet and had a roaring good time–one that reminds me of visiting Pratechett’s Discworld. Other than one teeny-weeny speed bump in regards to a character action that didn’t quite make sense, it was delightful joyride in a purloined airship–with pirates.

And because all writing must have beginning, middle, and end:

My Netflix addiction knows no bounds. In March, I watched/studied:

House of Cards: Does the awesome that is Kevin Spacey have any limits? I don’t think so. I love sympathetic, evil bad guys and Majority Whip Francis Underwood is right up there with my favorites. I don’t enjoy “evil for evil’s sake” as a rule, but Francis brings out the maniacal evil laff in me. This show is also an example of unexpected twists and turns–as a wide reader and an author, I can generally see the signs of a twist coming, but House of Cards got me more than once.
Mad Men Season 5: There is nothing about this show I do not love. Flawed characters, thematic and complex storytelling at its best, gorgeous set and costume design. Also, Christina Hendricks is officially my hero and I’d tune in just to see what the saucy, bombshell redhead is wearing. Luckily this show is so much more than that.
Weeds Season 8: A wild and wonderful ending to the series (let’s hear it for redemption after the travesty that was Season 6 due to production issues), and highly satisfying. Andy finally found his cajones, which was great, but I found it difficult to see future-Shane in fake mustache and still not see murderous fifteen-year-old Shane in a bad mustache. I’m glad Silas finally found peace.

How about you guys? Did you enjoy your Easter? How’s the reading/watching/writing coming along? Any good goals for April?

Author’s Log: #IWSG and Random Ramblings

 Writing is funny thing. Not funny-lol, just funny peculiar. One day we’re flying high, the awesome in the proverbial sauce. The next we plummet to Earth with a big ol’ SPLAT. One day we’re burning the keyboard to charcoal hunk with the fierceness of our productivity, the next we’re staring at the blinking Cursor of Doom like a writer trying to figure out a math problem.

Good days, bad days. Up, down, up, down, up, do–

Jane! STOP THIS CRAZY THING!

Honestly. No wonder so many of our brilliant forebears hit the Absinthe a mite too enthusiastically. It’s exhausting, this writing gig.

Don’t get me wrong: I loves it, precious, and all that. I can’t not do it–to make the attempt is to implode from the need of getting the stories out, so they let me sleep at night, straight jacket and all.

But, yeah. Exhausting. Liberating pent up emotions is often that way. It was the same when I was a dramaturg (where all maladjusted misfits who can’t afford therapy end up). As soon as I keyed into what made a character tick I tended to drive off like Ferris with the Ferrari. I find myself pushing myself through to a breakthrough when I’m writing–beat up those characters until they can’t be beat no more, and then hit ‘em again.

Search for the pain. Root it out. Rub salt in the wound. Mock them. Punch your first through their chest and rip out their still beating hearts. Dig them a hole so you can take them even lower, to the core. Tap into your own pain, and make it resonate.

And then find a way for them to rise above, to WIN. Make them fly, and take your readers with them.

There’s nothing better. But you can’t take your characters (and readers) to the highest point, until you take them to their lowest. You have to take them to Hell before you can take them to the stars.

If you’re doing it right, and you’re writing deep and hot enough to scar, the experience can be cathartic. But it can also take it out of you. And doing it over and over again can be difficult on your equilibrium.

So take a break. Walk away for awhile between drafts or even scenes if it’s a particularly difficult one. Refresh yourself. Do something silly and fun. Get your balance back.

Because then you’re going to be sending the thing to Beta readers, or agents, or an editor. And the emotional rollercoaster starts all over again, in another way, and you still have to keep writing.

Author Watch: Wibbly-Wobbly and Timey-Wimey

 February has proven to be a busy, busy month for a certain Writer Monkey. Somehow, through some crazy sauce juxtaposition of space and time, every week this last month seemed to produce an extra day. Every week I thought it was one day when it was actually the day before, or something, and yet, still ended up with only one Friday.

Perhaps someone in the cast of Rocky Horror did the Time Warp unsupervised beyond the acceptable boundaries of performance space. Or maybe the Doctor took us for a spin in the Tardis and then wiped our memories (in which case I feel ROBBED, and I demand a do-over).

It case you missed my celebration blog over President’s Day weekend, a stunningly rough draft of Keepers #3 now exists. I managed to hit the mark on Saturday of that weekend, saved the draft, and went to email Editor Awesome the good news…only to find an email from Editor Awesome with revision notes for Keepers #2.

All’s I can say, folks–I am hella-happy I did indeed hit my mark on Keeper’s #3 when I set out to. Also, Editor Awesome has some serious IMPECCABLE timing. Like, creepy-town impeccability.

That same week my company aquisitioned another and then ALL HELL BROKE LOOSE AND RAN OVER MY FACE. I have spent my ensuing (very little) free time more or less collapsed in a dead man’s sprawl, reeling from the impact. This is definitely a case of life interruptus extremus.

It would have been so easy, y’all, to don snorkel and heave-ho into briny deey of revisions. I was anxious to, but that eager anxiety to GET IT DONE NOW and SEND SEND SEND has been my downfall more than once. So I gave Keepers 2 some space, so I had time to cogitate what needed to be done and how I was going to approach it. Instead I worked on character files for both Waking Muse #1 (next novella on the docket) and Big Dang Projeckt.

Last weekend I re-approached Keepers 2 with a healthy amount of trepidation. It had been many months since Keepers 2 and I had, without so much as a mild haraunging of wit between us. How bad would it be? How much blood and sweat would I have to part with this time? Should I have a transfusion team on hand, just in case?

It could have been worse. Notes from Editor Awesome were as follows:

1. Head-hopping = dizzy readers. Stop that. (Yes, ma’am.)

2. Develop emotional/romance arc further between hero and heroine.

3. Expand/elaborate/push stakes in climax/catharsis scene.

My first revision pass went well–and fast. I feel confident that when Perfectly Polished In Every Way, this is going to be a fun and satisfying read for you, Darling Readers (after all, that’s why I actually do this).

A second pass to clear up a nagging plot inconsistency, further enbiggen the romance angle (heh), and deep the catharsis with Stakes Most Terrifying, and I’ll send the thing off to Stunt Cate (BETA reader extraordinaire), act on her notes, then return it Editor Awesome for more Awesome Editing ™.

So that’s the State of the Empire, dear readers and fellow Word Wranglers. How did your February go? Looking forward to spring?