Cate Morgan's Blog, page 22

Author’s Log: Random Musings-Of Wants, Desires, and Yearnings

“Creativity is a habit, and the best creativity is a result of good work habits.” ~Twyla Tharp

This week I tasked myself with coming up with a Wants list for my characters, principal and supporting, for Big Dang Projeckt (ignore that Big Dang “ZERO” in the margin). As a former student of the theatre, I understand the need-and jokes-regarding a character’s need for motivation. “Wants” has never been a favorite term of mine when it comes to character motivation, as it conjures the wrong picture in my mind. I “want” a shiny new toy, more books, Chucks in Burberry plaid. “Wants” doesn’t do the job of what I’m really going for.

Even motivation can sell its own idea short—motivation is an incremental, meta-step of character desires. “Desire” comes closer to the mark, but still misses it. It does the job in a pinch, but doesn’t quite convey the soul-tugginess of what can drive a character to desperate extremes. It doesn’t drive conflict. The kind of conflict that can ramp up story, and its readers, like a motorcycle jump by Evel Knievel.

So what does?

“Yearning” works for me. It not only hits the nail on the head, it makes a reader want to give it a whack, too. Yearning resonates. A story without well-paced yearning driving behind it is a pristine blanket of snow without a plow to clear the way.

So, yeah. Yearning. It’s what drove Gollum to seek his Precious, and Frodo to the edge of madness. It drove Luke to cut his Jedi training short when his friends were in trouble, and Han to chase the girl that drove him bananas in more ways than one. Yearning drove Buffy to become a better Slayer, and made Angel do the right thing more often than not (and never quite give up on Buffy). Yearning is life.

So that’s what I’ve been working on this week. Searching deep for the heart and soul of Big Dang Projeckt. Also making similar, preliminary notes on Waking Muse #1. Example:

Big Dang Projeckt: Protagonist seeks redemption in the form of forgiveness for past mistakes and paternal approval.

Waking Muse #1:

Protagonist seeks relief from guilt, both the guilt she places on herself, and that provided by a well-meaning family. She yearns to play the violin well enough to live up to her mother’s memory, live down her father’s coping strategy for grief, and to make up for her brilliant-but-ill brother’s missed chance to play himself.

How I Do It: In Scrivener (totally not necessary, it’s possible organize efficiently in Word, Google Docs, or any other software of preference, or even in hard copy), I have a folder just for characters (same for plot and setting). Each character gets an Index card on the corkboard. Principal characters get folders, as multiple text docs will end up getting filed within as I continue to development process. They also get labelled Green, and statused as “To Do” until the primary character work is done. Supporting Characters just get text I can throw notes and whatnot in, and labelled Dark Blue (no status), and minor characters yet another shade of Blue (no status). Yearnings get listed as primary Wants in text on the index cards. This way, whenever I’m working on character or need to refer back to it, their motivation is always front and center.

For me, Principal Characters are limited to Protagonist, Antagonist, Helper, and Romantic Interest (if not the same as Helper, or Antagonist, in the case of some romances). Big Dang Projeckt being fantasy, there are going to be plenty more characters where this came from. The index cards, in addition to helping keep track of motivation, lets me see where the connections and conflicting Wants lie.

Thus begins my Book Bible. In the Binder, you’ll notice Character comes before Plot, which comes before Setting, followed by the actual manuscript, in three acts. For a novel-length work, I generally structure my story architecture in 9 Chapters apiece to keep pace on Word Count milestones at key plot points, and the stepping stones in between. (In case you’re wondering, I get a lot of my process from Robert J. Ray’s The Weekend Novelist.)

What about you, readers and fellow Word Wranglers? Experienced any yearning lately?

Timing Is Everything

*cue Big Brass Band*

It’s Done! It’s Done!

It’s not pretty. Hell, I’m not even certain it’s any GOOD. But by Cthulhu’s Big Damned Tentacles, it’s DONE.

Keepers #3, that is. Rough draft.

Did I mention it’s done? *mrmph*

Now just to send a quick little email to Editor Awesome with one hand, as I pop the champagne cork with the other, and…

What’s this? An email from Editor Awesome? Well, that’s handy, I’ll just see…

Wait.

*clears throat*

Move along, citizens. Nothing to see here. Just a revision request for Keepers #2.

*falls over*

Arrows Betwixt Us

HEY, YOU GU-UYSSS!!

The Divine and Gracious M. Pepper Langlinais has agreed (divinely and graciously) to post my flash fiction story “I’m With The Band” at her wonderful new share-horde, .

She’s tacking it up on February 5, so have a peeksie and be sure to check out the other flash fiction stories she’s already mugged burgled accepted from other Word Wranglers. Enjoy!

Author Watch: Words, Words, Words

I suspect Shiny New Laptop has made Clunky Desktop jealous.

It’s my fault, really. I’ve been neglecting it (although the Ninja Katz are still in residence).

First, it let in a virus that allowed hackery hijinks into my secondary–and professional, password-protected–email address. Then, it nommed my flashdrive–backup numero uno–to crunchy bits. Next, it fragged my external hard drive, backup number two. Then I discovered, to my howling dismay, that Scrivener auto-backups every session to the same location as the primary file unless manually re-directed. I’m still learning Scrivener, so, alas, did not realize this until much too late.

As in, prior to harnessing my Inner Dark Side and reformatting with an Evil Laff ™.

Beware the power of the Dark Side, y’all. It takes you literally.

Also, all super villains possess the fatal qualities that eventually lead to their own downfall.

I postured. I cursed. I used force lightening until the Ninja Katz’ fur stood on end. All assuming, of course, that I was backed up from here to Korriban.

“Wipe them all out,” I intoned, giving my desktop another zap of lightning for good measure.

It did.

Or, rather, I did.

The good news: Keepers #3 is alive and doing well, although occasionally it whimpers in the dark of night.

The bad news: Big Dang Projeckt is utterly, irrevocably space dust. All 10K of it.

Did I mention “sigh”?

In other good news, I posted a new, FREE, flash fiction story for your enjoyment, dear readers. I’d like to post one of these per month, time permitting. There’s a link in the margin (FREE!) for your convenience.

In other other good news, I reflexively tapped into the Clouds of Inspiration and, through some crazy-sauce juxtaposition of forces, captured the bolt of lightening that carried the name of the Steampunk series I’d like to start this year: Blood & Steam. Blood, because the series will center around the Carlisle family, and Steam because, well, steam.

How about you guys? Ever fall victim to the power of your own Dark Side?

You’ve Been Flashed: Blood, Ink, and Mrs. Fortescue

In his latest flash fiction challenge, The Great Penmonkey Chuck Wendig has flogged asked us ever-so-very-nicely to choose a motif, genre, and setting to inspire our latest endeavors. Frequently one to avoid a challenge, this time I put quill to parchment in hopes of throwing him off the trail next time.

The Dice of Cursedness (which do, indeed, come with complimentary fez and negative sanity points) declared my aspects shall be Eyes, Cozy Mystery, and Train. Naturally I went with an Agatha Christie send-up, something I’ve always wanted to try. So, yanno, YAY.

Naturally this valiantly failed attempt will also be available (for FREE!) in my growing Flash Fiction collection on the Goodreads (NOM NOM NO-oh, wait). Just click on the sexy top hat lady in the margin and see where she takes you.

BLOOD, INK, AND MRS. FORTESCUE

In Which There Is No Such Thing As A Humble Opinion

The piercing cry of the train whistle startled Mrs. Hettie Fortescue from her nap. The gentle rhythm of wheels on tracks had rocked her straight to sleep, her crocheting draped across her knees. That, and the strange, distant sound of what she could have sworn was a mandolin. She tried, unsuccessfully, to suppress a yawn and reached for the bifocals stung about her neck so she might check her watch. Surely they must be nearing Stokery St. Cross–it was nearly dusk.

Her glasses had just touched down on her rather prominent nose when another shriek caused her to drop them to her matronly bosom once more. The shriek would have been remarkably train-like, had it not been so much more remarkably male in tone. She did, however, give points for gusto.

“Oh, really.” She heaved herself to her sensible shoes as doors hammered open along the corridor. She opened hers with rather more decorum. Her neighbors thundered past to the cabin at the end of the hall, where they jostled and crowded in a most unorganized manner. She supposed she had best see what was happening.

“Pardon me,” she barked in a loud voice. “What is happening here, please?”

No one answered. Well, let that be a lesson to them, then. She did give fair warning.

She removed her best heirloom pearl hairpin from her respectable chignon and lodged it an inch deep in the nearest posterior. The resulting yelp and shuffle proved most satisfying. “I say, what is all this?”

The yelper gave her a baleful look not unlike the late Mr. Fortescue’s, adjusting his tweed britches. “There’s been a murder, madam. It’s best you return to your cabin.”

Mrs. Fortescue huffed. “Don’t be ridiculous, young man. Move aside, I’m a respectable widow.”

The scene within was not pleasant. A young man of about the same make and model as Tweedy Britches lay prone on the floor, limbs unpardonably askew. An old-fashioned quill, adorned with a bright peacock feather, protruded from his neck. Blood seeped from the wound, mixing with the ink from the pen.

It was all rather more Agatha Christie than strictly made her comfortable.

One of the half-dozen or so gawkers, a nervous, fluttery sort of woman, agreed. “It’s just like a novel!” She pronounced “novel” as “nov-ille”, as though this was how proper persons spoke. Of course, proper persons  hardly ever read novels, however they were pronounced.

She knew she should have taken the 4:15 from Paddington when she’d had the chance. If she hadn’t decided upon the later train she might have been spared all this.

There were additional items of interest about the corpse, who looked as startled as everyone else by the whole situation. A sheet of stationary, lined with neat rows of flowery cursive, ended midsentence.  And shattered pieces of black, glossy pottery of what appeared to once of been a cat. What remained of the head appeared to be missing its eyes.

The fluttery one squeaked when she pointed it out. “I know who it is!”

“So do I,” Tweed Britches declared, waving his newspaper. “It’s Mr. Chatterleigh!”

Mrs. Fortescue glared at him. “Mr. what? What sort of a name is that?”

“Umm, a fake one, madam.”

“Don’t ‘umm’ at me, young man, and explain yourself.”

He waved the paper again, a little less enthusiastically this time. “It’s a pen name, madae. Mr. Chatterleigh—whoever he is—

“Whom,” she corrected automatically. There was no excuse for bad grammar.

“Whomever he is, writes a society gossip column in the London Times. There have been several, all using the same name.”

She snorted. “I suppose that explains the absurd quill.”

“At any rate, he was given the cat statue by a Mrs. Abigail Featherstone as a gift for covering her latest affair so favorably. It had emerald eyes.”

“Oh,” sighed the fluttery one. “Isn’t she supposed to be seeing that divine Spanish tango singer rumored to be a spy for the Axis during the war? I hear Spaniards are horridly jealous.”

“Horribly,” Mrs. Fortescue murmured, picking up the unfinished letter. She ignored them all as they erupted into excited conversation, competing to be heard. That was trouble with people today, she mused. No one paid attention anymore.

Something half-remembered niggled away at the back of her mind. She ignored it, too, knowing it would find her of its own accord.

The letter wasn’t, as she expected, an unfinished column. It was a love letter, breaking off an affair. “I don’t think her jazz player is the only one Mrs. Featherstone was carrying on with,” she said out loud.

That stopped them. “Tango singer,” Tweed Britches volunteered, smug in correcting her for a change. She glowered; his face fell.

The niggling thing in her mind came forward with a suddenness that took her breath away, bold as brass. Her satisfied smile seemed to worry Tweed Britches more than her glower. She made a mental note to study the effect further on the young men in her own village at first opportunity. In her humble opinion, the young men of Stokery St. Cross had it coming.

“Tell me,” she purred. “Do Spanish tango singers play the mandolin?”

They all went quiet. There was no mournful strain of a mandolin now. But there had been; they’d all heard it.

“I’ll get the conductor,” Tweed Britches said breathlessly. “The train will have to stop in the next village so the police may be summoned.” They all thundered off again, some to fetch the conductor while the others attempted a heroic citizen’s arrest.

The satisfaction left Mrs. Fortescue in a rush. She had no wish to be delayed further than necessary. “Surely this can wait until Stokery St. Cross?”

But no one was listening.

Solar Storm by Mina Carter

Great, big Congratulations to my fellow End of Days author, Mina Carter. This sci-fi romance sounds fuh-mazing, but don’t take my word for it. Check it fer yer veryownself:

Solar Storm by Mina Carter.

She’s the one who got away. Now she’s uncharted territory…

Ten years after her rich-girl life fell apart, Rhys Devin is a changed woman—her name, her face, and her attitude. Now the fast-talking, hard-as-nails captain of the Grey Lady sails the most dangerous solar roads in the universe. Times are tough, but she gets the job done, sailing alone. Always watching over her shoulder.

The last thing she needs is a delay, but when she runs across a stranded sailor, she has no choice. The law of the road demands she rescue him.

Kelwin Sayeed is a soldier without a war. The retired War Commander’s latest and most ambitious hobby, the solar flyer Artemis, was supposed to prove him worthy of the famously reclusive Solar Sailors. Instead a catastrophic computer failure has him at the mercy of the most hazardous road of all: Icaria.

Confident he won’t be left to die in the golden spray, he waits for another sailor to come along. One that’s born and bred to the roads, with skin wizened like beaten gold. What he gets is a woman whose voice does things to his body that should be illegal. Whose golden-tinted skin sparks erotic fantasies.

The bride who ran from him a decade ago…

Author Watch: In Which We Survive 2012

Take That, Mayans!



Happy New Year!

So, the End of Days, other than a certain book release (ahem), doesn’t seem to be upon us after all, making the whole 12/21/2012 thing join the slightly embarrassed ranks of Y2K. But that’s good, right? A fresh new year! A clean slate! Shiny new toys! YAY!!

Captain Tech Monkey, brilliant and darling spousal unit that he is, made it through another semester of school. If all goes well, I should be able to retire from Evil Day Jobbe by 2015 or so. It’s impossible to know, geographically speaking, where we’ll end up after he graduates and (hopefully) lands his Dream Job, but we Have A Plan and we’re Sticking To It, whilst leaving wiggle room for flexibility, which is about all you can do. I must admit the idea of returning to a cold weather climate after so many years in Sunny Florida as me whimpering just a bit.

Say what you like about the drivers (believe me, the stories are all too true), it’s the weather and variety of food and entertainment that’s the real draw. I love my little condo. I loved waking up in the morning (especially Christmas morning), looking out my window with coffee in hand, and seeing bright blue skies and palm trees. That’s right–palm trees, my good sir.

I SAID PALM TREES!

Ahem.

Also in News that is Awesome, I have a shiny new editor at Samhain, the intrepid and lovely Holly Atkinson. Welcome, Holly! I hope I don’t break you–er, I mean, I hope you have fresh batteries. And a charger. And capacity for copious amounts of alcohol.

So, what does your friendly author monkey hope to accomplish in 2013? Let’s break out the slides, shall we? *ignores groans and self-inflicted stabbings*

Write/submit 3-4 novella manuscripts. Two of those will probably be for Keepers, one for a new series of contemporary romance with a running theme of creative endeavors I’m tentatively calling Waking Muse, and one I’d like to be a steampunk romance series I’m calling The Carlisle Chronicles, which will be a sort of Tomb Raider meets steampunk family saga. I don’t know if Samhain will accept a steampunk manuscript, so I may end up having to research other markets. I may also consider self-publishing. I love Samhain so much, though, that I hope they’ll take it.

Finish Big Dang Projeckt. This is something I’ve been pecking away at as much as possible over the years, with many loft ideas of how long it should take to finish a polished draft. I love the worland characters so much, though, that I find myself lingering there. However, I have a fully detailed outline so I should finally be able to buckle down, get this be-yotch written, polished to within an inch of its life, begin the BETA/critique process somewhere in the 3rd quarter or so.

Branding.  It’s time to get out in the community more. This means providing more First Chapter critiques over at the Online Writing Workshop for Sci-Fi, Fantasy, & Horror, hanging out at Query Tracker, and, of course, participating in A Round of Words in 80 Days, and the feeding frenzy that is social media. Most important, though, I’ve decided subscribe this blog into domain status, and to get some really cool, professional artwork and possibly make a few (minor) changes.

How about you, dear readers and fellow Word Wranglers? Do you have any creative goals for the year? Share in the comments!

Neverwhere! Neil! Explosions!

Things that make me vera, vera happa. Scroll down for Neverwhere news (such gorgeous casting has no right to exist, but yet, somehow, does):

Author meets world

Posted byNeilat3:26 PM

Hullo world

I’m currently living in a house Amanda and I have rented in Cambridge MA. She wanted to be out here to be able to be here for her friend Anthony, who is going through some particularly gruelling cancer treatments. It’s a large, strange house, all oak-panelling and odd-shaped rooms we didn’t notice the first time we walked through it. I’m loving it, despite living out of boxes.

Amanda thinks, correctly, that it’s too big, but is humouring me. (She’s using the Cloud Club as an office home-base.)

The thing I’m missing most being out here is the dogs: Cabal is not doing well physically currently. He has Degenerative Canine Myelopathy and his back legs are liable to slip out from under him and he can no longer do stairs. When I got out here I realised that he wouldn’t be able to manage this place and regretfully abandoned my plan to bring the dogs with me. He’s got his world that he loves out there, and so I am going to go back to the Midwest and be with him whenever I can. (Lola, on the other hand, could come out here like a shot, but she’s his company.)

Thanksgiving was spent at Amanda’s mother and stepfather’s, but over the Thanksgiving period all of my kids came in from all over the US.

I’m starting to get writing rhythms back, which is good.

I missed the shooting of my next Doctor Who episode, although I’ve seen a rough assembly already. Warwick Davies is really good in it, and I asked the impossible of Matt Smith and he pulled it off with aplomb. (Watching the rushes of Matt getting gloriously, apologetically, sweary at fluffed takes of some of the dialogue stuff I’d asked him to do made me grin like a mad thing.)

Right now, also due to being in the wrong country — like this minute — I’m missing this, which arrived a few hours ago:



That’s left to right, Benedict Cumberbatch, David Harewood,  Natalie Dormer, Dirk Maggs, James McAvoy, David Schofield and Anthony Head, all gathered today to record the BBC Radio 4/Radio 4 Extra production of NEVERWHERE.


(It’ll start on Radio 4 and then go over to Radio 4 extra.) The adaptation is by Dirk Maggs, who did the last three Hitchhiker’s Guide Radio adaptations. He’s co-directing it with producer Heather Larmour, who is the one who went off and made this happen after a small enthusiastic chat in a London coffee shop much earlier this year — the kind of conversation that you have that normally just leaves you feeling happy, but doesn’t actually turn into anything real. This time it did.

The cast includes…
James McAvoy                Richard
Natalie Dormer                 Door
David Harewood               Marquis
Sophie Okonedo               Hunter
Benedict Cumberbatch      Islington
Anthony Head                   Croup
David Schofield                 Vandemar
Bernard Cribbins               Old Bailey
Romola Garai                    Jessica
Christopher Lee                Earl of Earl’s Court
Andrew Sachs                    Tooley
George Harris                    Abbot
Don Gilet                            Fulingous, Ruislip, Blackfriar
Abdul Salis                          Sable, Sump, Clarence, Homeless Man
Paul Chequer                     Gary, Guard 2
Lucy Cohu                          Lamia
Yasmin Paige                     Anaesthesia, Tenant 2 – female, Match girl
Johnny Vegas                    Lord Ratspeaker
Stephen Marcus                Varney, Homeless man, Letting agent, Guard 1
Karen Archer                      Sylvia, Old Woman, Dream Hawker, Mother…

…and lots more (including an author, who recorded his bits last month). It will go out in six episodes.

Am I excited? I am. Very much so.

(Also, CHRISTOPHER LEE IS GOING TO BE SAYING LINES I WROTE. This makes me happier than I have any right to be.)

It will be broadcast somewhere in the first 4 months of 2013. And you will be able to listen to it wherever you are in the world, using the BBC’s iPlayer.

I’m currently listening to Tor Dot Com’s AMERICAN GODS MIX TAPE while I work on the HBO American Gods pilot episode. http://www.tor.com/blogs/2012/11/the-complete-american-gods-mix-tape

Right. Back to work…

Reposted from Neil’s Journal at http://journal.neilgaiman.com/2012/11/author-meets-world.html

Meme! Big Dang Projeckt Edition

What is the working title of your next book?

The Minstrel’s Daughter

Where did the idea come from for the book?

From a story I really, really loved, but one particular aspect of it–one seriously unlikable character–pissed me off to no end, to the point of making me lose respect for the hero. Then I thought it would be awesome sauce if the premise were somehow affixed to a different genre/setting, and poof! +7 to Inspiration.

What genre does your book fall under?

Fantasy.

What actors would you choose to play the part of your characters in a movie rendition?

Skeet Ulrich for the Hero, Amanda Righetti for the Heroine, and Stellan Skarsgard as the Big Bad.

What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?

A fallen knight returns home from exile, only to have his past mistakes follow him and threaten everything he means to protect.

Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?

HOPEFULLY by an agency, but only time will tell.

How long did it take you to write the first draft of the manuscript?

Still drafting, in between writing my novella series, Keepers of the Flame.

What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?

I would say it’s a strange clash of something Melanie Rawn or Kate Elliot would write, and David Eddings mucked about with. If I ever find a good, true comparison I’ll have to make note for the next time I get asked.

Who or what inspired you to write this book?

The idea of a broken hero finding redemption–and love–where and when he least expected to find it. Also, my deeply ingrained passion for music melding with the need to write a love interest who actually helps said broken hero, instead of hindering/arguing with him every step of the way. The minstrel thing actually became a significant part of the world-building and mythos for the story.

What else about the book might pique the reader’s interest?

Small town politics reacting to big world intrigues, fighting for survival, music, and finding romance and redemption out of the ashes of past mistakes.

What about you, fellow writer and reader monkeys? Ever find a story you loved, only to lose respect for the main character in some way? Ever hated a supporting character so much, despite loving everything else about the tale, that you wanted to smack them upside the head or give up entirely?

In Which We Give Thanks

‘Tis that time of year again: time to take stock of what we’re thankful for.  Here’s my list, not necessarily in order:

Captain Tech Monkey: a.k.a. the Darling Spouse (D.S. for short). Oh-my-mashed-potatoes-and-gravy, y’all. BEST. HUSBAND. EVAR. He cooks. He cleans. He fixes my computer. He makes sure the Interwebz be active. He clears the litter boxes, plural. Daily. He thinks it’s awesome that I write, and shills by books upon innocent, unsuspecting bystanders he encounters throughout the day. He puts up with all my writerly foibles. AWESOME.

My Readers: I know, at this very early stage of my career, that it will take some time to build up a solid eadership (not that you guys are all squishy or anything). But you bought my book(s), taking a chance on a new author with your hard-earned moolah. Or you’ve at least considered it, tagging my modest contributions “To Be Read” on Goodreads, or signed up for a giveaway or two.  Or you are aware, vaguely, that I have book(s). At least, you are now, if you’re still reading at this point. I love you guys. Raaaaaally, I do. *hugs*

My Publisher and Editor Awesome: For taking a chance on me, then, upon realization of what they’ve gotten themselves into, didn’t immediately eject me via the nearest airlock. For putting up with me. For pairing me with the likes of Karen Erickson and Mina Carter, whose company I am humbled to keep. For being one of the Good Guys. *more hugs*

The Stories: Without the stories (i.e. The Voices In My Head), I couldn’t be a writer. And I am so, so grateful to be a writer. To have access to a computer, to paper and pen, to words. Words make me vera, vera      happa.

The Necessities: It’s natural, during this time of year, to turn our attention to Christmas–what with shelving ornaments alongside Halloween candy at the local market–before Halloween. It’s easy to feel rushed, to start gearing up for The Season. To go “Oooo, shiny–IT MUST BE MINE!” It’s easy to forget there are so many people who don’t have new shiny toys to look forward to, or to buy for someone else. So easy to forget so many who don’t have the basic human needs in life covered that we might take for granted-food, water, shelter, the respect and dignity of being treated like a human being. So thank you, Powers That Be, for giving me those things. Please don’t let me forget those that don’t, and help me do what I can to help.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone–may you all be happy, and healthy. Go forth and be awesome.