Rumer Haven's Blog, page 9

Madness to the Method, Part 2: The Outline

In my previous post, "Madness to the Method, Part 1: The Brainstorm," I discussed how all of my stories originate from a very sloppy, scattered place: my brain. And the only way to get them out of my head is to kick up a windstorm in there and blow the ideas out onto paper like so much debris. At some point, though, these ideas need to be swept up into a plot pile, which then gets tidied into a story arc.

I've written short stories and vignettes here and there ever since I was a kid, and in crafting those, I usually do just sit and write from start to finish, having a general idea of where I want to go but pretty much making it all up along the way. So when I first took a crack at writing a novel, I automatically assumed I could approach it the same way. Which, when I now think about it, was incredibly naive and insane. Writing a few hundred or thousand words is one thing (don't get me wrong, short stories also benefit from advance planning), but taking on several tens of thousands is quite another. It can become a management nightmare if you just run into such a vast and wild, unexplored frontier with all creative guns blazing and no strategic plan. So as I continue to revise this first manuscript (the one I wrote before Seven for a Secret ), I have had to learn the hard way that backing cohesion and effective pacing into a novel is difficult as hell, and it would have behooved me to have an outline first.

Which is what I did for Seven for a Secret . I gathered my miscellaneous brainstorming and started to slot it into sections. Taking a page out of Agatha Christie's book, who incorporated nursery rhymes into her plots several times, I decided to use the "One for Sorrow" rhyme (traditionally used to count magpies) as my story's structure. It both suited what I already wanted to write about as well as aspects I wasn't certain of yet, thereby helping shape some turning points. So this was essentially my outline. Still spastic scribblings in my journal, by no means neatly divided into tiers of A, B, C, i, ii, iii, but guidance nonetheless. This bullet-pointed bird's-eye view helped me tremendously by giving a sense of the story's shape and direction without also confining my creativity. I wasn't bound to every idea that I jotted down here, nor were any of them fleshed out enough to dictate every step of the journey. Some writers might prefer a more detailed outline than this, but I've found I personally thrive under this balance between the concrete and the as-yet abstract. The organized and the organic. That gives me the breathing room I need to let myself change my mind if the characters want to head somewhere else, and it allows for those moments of magic when, truly and almost inexplicably inspired, you just write without knowing where it's going and end up creating something better than you could've ever achieved if you'd thought about it too hard.

Giving myself over to the story this way inevitably demands script changes, then, and sometimes I still manage to write myself into a corner. I leave certain aspects open to possibility so reach the inevitable fork in the road where I must commit to one outcome versus another. And I don't always want to go with what I originally planned--or have written myself so far outside that scope that it isn't even an option anymore--at which point I'll sit with pen and paper yet again and hash it out. In the case of Seven for a Secret , I was closing in on the final chapters when I needed to stop, step back, and brainstorm my way through a State of the Story outline: basically, Here's where my characters are at right now. Is this where I want them to be, and, if so, what are their options from here? It became a decision tree of sorts that ultimately helped me work out the solutions (and bust through my writer's block).

Ultimately, every writer needs to find what method works best for him or her, and surely the process continues to evolve with experience. With only two novel manuscripts down and a third still in the brainstorm stage, I have personally learned that I will never again attempt one without some semblance of an outline and especially encourage the practice to anyone out there who is writing a novel for the first time. 

Cover Reveal for SOMETHING WICKED, by Carol Oates!

Something Wicked by Carol Oates

New Adult
Historical/Contemporary Supernatural 

Releasing January 20, 2015
from Omnific Publishing 

DO judge this book by its cover, because this is one talented author who does dark and supernatural ever so well. 
SUMMARY:Infected by the vampire virus on the streets of Dublin in 1886, the search for a cure brought Henry Clayton to London and to the brink of madness. Salvation and friendship arrived in the form of Dougal, an immortal Highlander with a devilish sense of humor and a love of life. 

Amidst turmoil in vampire society, Henry returns to modern day Dublin. The Circle, a cult determined to awaken their Celtic blood god, the first vampire, is once again active. 

When Henry meets a young American woman who sees past his human pretense, he fears exposure. However, his fear is overshadowed by curiosity. What is the source of the strange energy between them? Why are vampires stalking her? Determined to find answers, Henry takes Ari into his home and under his protection. 

As their connection grows, Henry begins to suspect Ari isn't what she claims to be. Their shared history may hold the answers to his uncontrollable bouts of rage and thirst. Perhaps, even a cure for his wicked blood.

Add it at Goodreads


AUTHOR BIO:
Carol Oates came into the world on Christmas morning, in an elevator. Raised just across the street from the childhood home of Bram Stoker, author of Dracula, it was only a matter of time before Carol’s love of all things supernatural would emerge. 
 
She began experimenting with fiction at school and keeps the notebook containing her first unpublished novel in her desk drawer. Over three decades later, all her stories still begin life scrawled on paper. 
 
When not writing, Carol can be found exploring history, old buildings, castles, and tombs. 

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NEW BOOK RELEASE: Shani Struther's RUNAWAY EX!

The Runaway Ex by Shani Struthers
 
Adult Contemporary Romance
Released December 23, 2014
Amazon | Barnes and Noble

SUMMARY
The Runaways are back...

For Layla Lewis, life is finally back on track. After her "runaway year" in Cornwall, another year has passed—an idyllic year spent with sexy new love, Joseph Scott, in the sultry heat of Florence. For best friend, Penny, life has also changed. Having recently given birth to a baby girl, she’s busy embracing motherhood. But, for the runaways, life is never that easy...

A chance encounter with Joseph’s ex-girlfriend, Tara, has explosive consequences for the new lovers, and all three are forced back to Cornish shores. Meanwhile, motherhood is not the joy Penny thought it would be—she’s heading for a breakdown and fast!

The bubble is burst, the idyll shattered.

Tara has a secret and only Joseph knows what it is. Despite being asked to trust him, Layla can’t help but question what the secret is and what it has to do with them. As Penny arrives in Cornwall too, some friends will pull together, others will not.

This secret, Layla suspects, will tear them all apart.
Goodreads

AUTHOR BIO
Born and bred in the sunny seaside town of Brighton, one of the first literary conundrums Shani had to deal with was her own name - Shani can be pronounced in a variety of ways but in this instance it's Shay-nee not Shar-ney or Shan-ni - although she does indeed know a Shanni - just to confuse matters further! Hobbies include reading, writing, eating and drinking - all four of which keep her busy enough.

After graduating from Sussex University with a degree in English and American Literature, Shani became a freelance copywriter. Twenty years later, the day job includes crafting novels too. She is the author of contemporary Cornish romance - The Runaway Year - published in 2013 by Omnific Publishing. The Runaway Ex is the second in the Runaway series.


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Ghosts of Christmas Past and Present...

...and, in a visual nutshell, what inspires my writing:

[Getty Images photos by Peter Macdiarmid. Source: http://mic.com/articles/107156/delightful-photographs-conjure-up-ghosts-of-christmas-past-in-london-s-streets]
Hope you had a very merry Christmas, my rein-dears, and have a happy New Year. Cheers to the future!

~ Rumer

There's a SEVEN FOR A SECRET SMORGASBORD goin' on at bril...

There's a SEVEN FOR A SECRET SMORGASBORD goin' on at brilliant author Jennifer Lane's blog.

Read what Jennifer thought about the book, what sparked the story and setting in me wee noggin, what projects I'm currently working on...

Aaand leave a comment at her blog for a chance to WIN A FREE EBOOK!

http://jenniferlanebooks.blogspot.co.uk/2014/12/seven-for-secret-by-rumerhaven-review.html

Madness to the Method, Part 1: The Brainstorm

In a recent post, I shared the random freewriting that planted the seed of a story several years ago. At the time, though, I had no clue what sort of plot I could shape around that and never believed that I'd ever have enough ideas (or time) to seriously write a novel-length fiction. Freely written vignettes were more my thing back then and are still what greatly help dislodge ideas from my scattered brain so I can find some cohesion among them on paper if I can't in my mind.

My brainstorming process isn't pretty. I admit it. But the only way I can write is to write everything down that swarms inside my fool head. I wrote my two manuscripts on the computer, but they both started out as pen-to-paper scraps of ideas, which I wrote on literal scraps as well.

The photo above is where my novel Seven for a Secret was born: character profiles jotted on the back of my husband's resume at Cafe Nero in London, popular 1920s names listed on hotel stationary in Singapore, the catalyst and its ripple effect on different characters scratched onto a torn piece of paper who knows where, and the draft plot outline, key questions, and possible scenarios scribbled into a notebook at a cafe in the French Alps.

Yeah, it probably all sounds very Hemingway and romantic, the expat writer crafting her stories in foreign cafes and hotels when she's not at her typewriter up in a garret, smoking and sipping absinthe all the while, but the reality isn't all that quaint (or substance-abusing). My creative process is messy and mental and just plain mean to me sometimes.

And the lame reason why I ended up alone and able to outline my entire tale in the Alpine village of Val d'Isere is because I don't ski. While everyone else went frolicking into the majestic mountains to flaunt their athletic awesomeness, I needed something to do at loser--I mean, lower elevation. Hot toddies were certainly in order, but my mind was too restless to even read. So, pictured here is the pretty (cheap) lil' journal I bought in a small shop that day, documenting that I outlined my story in early 2011.

And over three years later...huh. Let's just say I've never been so happy that I don't partake in winter sports. :)

Ghost Host with the Most

So, when I post stuff like this, which is the vast majority of the time, I'm totally joking.


But when I recently posted this, I was only half-kidding...


...much to my own surprise. Now, you can consider me a "ghost" writer in a rather literal sense considering Seven for a Secret and my works in progress all involve the paranormal to some extent. I'm also an avid fan of shows like Ghost Hunters, Celebrity Ghost Stories, and Ghost Whisperer with a very open attitude toward the possibility of grounded spirits. That doesn't mean I don't have a degree of skepticism, too.  There are several incidents appearing in Seven for a Secret and one of my WIPs that actually happened to me, but unlike in my stories, my real-life experiences had completely natural explanations. They might've given me an initial fright, but their causes were readily apparent. Things like that make for great material, though, so I love to let my imagination explore the supernatural explanations that would create a more interesting tale.

What happened to me last weekend, though, I truly can't explain--and not for lack of trying. It really doesn't make for the most exciting story (so please adjust your expectations accordingly), but I'm going to relate it here anyway. It all began at a wee Tudor cottage in Herefordshire, England.


My husband and I, both US expats living in London, decided to enjoy a long Thanksgiving weekend in the countryside. We arrived in the evening, so just decided to settle into our holiday cottage and snack from the welcome basket that the owner had so graciously provided. Sitting in the living room, I noticed movement in the corner of my eye, so I looked directly at my husband's wool scarf where it hung on a coat tree across the way and saw a few pieces of its fringe lift up. It was sort of an awkward, hesitant motion, but I was about to dismiss it as my eyes playing tricks on me until my husband said, "Did you see that, too?" 

I know what you're thinking: drafty old cottage. Hey, I've seen enough Ghost Hunters to know to try to debunk this stuff! But this was also a newly renovated cottage with its hatches effectively buttoned up; everything's pretty well fitted, insulated, and air-tight. Nonetheless, we checked the area around the scarf for a draft, but there was nothing (and it would've taken a gust to reach it from the door--and just the one, as it didn't happen again--but it wasn't even windy outside), and there were radiators, not air vents blowing heat. Plus, nothing else hanging near the scarf had been disturbed. The few fringes that moved were almost selectively so.

Then not very long afterwards, I watched our bag of crisps teeter side to side. Not out of the corner of my eye but straight on, right in front of me at my feet. The tiny coffee table was covered with stuff, so we'd set the bag on the floor, propped against a table leg but standing fairly upright. We didn't kick it with our feet or anything--I hadn't even moved my legs, and my feet were several inches away from it, my husband's even further. Even if it had simply lost its balance, I'd think it would've fallen on its side from the angle that it had tilted, not lean over then sway back to where it was. And again, no draft whatsoever--there wasn't even a door or window on the other side of the room where the source would've had to be, just enclosed space. My husband, for the record, had been looking at his laptop at that point so hadn't seen the bag, but he heard it scrape against the table when it moved. He even tried to recreate it by swinging his foot, but it only caused a slight breeze that barely ruffled the bag--and that was when kicking at pretty full force, which he obviously hadn't been as we were just sitting there relaxing.

I proceeded to have an incredibly vivid dream that night about seeing a little girl's ghost. I had risen from the bed to see my husband already standing by a table next to it, and the girl emerged from a wardrobe with a single eye that eventually became two. She wore her blond hair in braids, and I had an entire, comprehensible conversation with her--not dream babble that didn't make sense or that I couldn't remember when I woke up. I learned that her name was Sarah, and I asked if she minded that we were there; with a shrug and shake of her head, she said she didn't at all. I also asked her if there was anyone else with us in the house, to which she gave a sort of vague, noncommittal answer; at the time and even now, I'm not sure whether she was being dismissive because another presence was nonexistent, nothing to worry about, or simply something she didn't want us to worry about. Ignorance is bliss. 

In any case, we didn't experience anything after that--unless you count my husband's toiletry bag crashing to the floor while I was taking a bath the next morning. But I can see that happening if it was just ever so slightly off balance and gradually leaning, leaning, until it felt off the wooden beam. The hot water heater could've caused some vibrations that got that going. Who knows, as I didn't see how precariously his bag had been sitting to begin with. Yet surely the scratching that woke us the morning after that was just a mouse in the rafters. 

Regardless, we weren't surprised to find afterwards that the village has earned some honorable mentions on the Haunted Hereford and Hereford Paranormal sites. And we think it makes sense that whatever was there would be curious each time a new visitor arrives at the rental cottage. That it would poke about a bit, feel us out, and on deciding we're harmless, leave us alone to peacefully coexist. We'll never know. 

One thing for certain, however, is that the atmosphere in the entire place was HEAVY. I found myself taking extra breaths just to relieve some of the pressure bearing down on me. That's a sensation I first felt at Ground Zero in New York City and proceed to feel in old buildings all over London. For now, I won't confirm that I believe in ghosts, but I do believe in energy and that some places are heavy with the weight of their own histories.

So wherever we go, whatever we do, let's work on leaving happy imprints behind us. :)

It All Started with a Purse

Whenever I'm asked for advice on how to get started writing a novel, my response is pretty simple: "Start writing." The only way to do it is to, you know, actually do it. You can't sculpt anything without the clay. There is no novel to polish and perfect without the first draft. A really rough, rambling, rookie first draft. That's what you cut your teeth on.

Easier said than done, perhaps, when you don't have any idea what you want to write about. My answer is still the same: Write. Write about everything; write about nothing. Writing a novel isn't about facing a blank computer screen and starting at Chapter One, Page One. Before there's a first draft, there should be an outline. But even before the outline, there are usually chicken scratchings jotted down on any surface you can get your hands on: notebook paper, a journal, an envelope, a napkin... You need to brainstorm ideas and simply stretch and flex your creative muscles by writing about anything whatsoever. Writing prompts work for me when I find myself in a rut, whether from an actual book of them or based on a random thought I might have while out walking or in the shower. Watch people and things; observe behavior and sensory detail. And when you write something down about it, don't put the pressure on yourself to make it perfect. That all comes in due time. For now, just let go.

Reflecting on my own path to publication, I'd like to look way, way back--before I ever attempted writing a novel, before I was remotely close to having an idea for the first manuscript I wrote, let alone the second one that was actually my first to get published ("debut" novels are so rarely the first that a person writes!). As you might have seen in my website's Thrift Shop, there's a little black purse that I purchased several years ago at a vintage sale. I was busy full-time teaching back then; my time was too filled with lesson-planning and grading and barely grasping my sanity to even fathom carving out more for writing novel-length fiction. But I liked to dapple in short stories and vignettes, just to give my imagination somewhere to wander aimlessly. And for whatever reason, that little black beaded bag sparked my fancies enough for me to sit and dash off this freewriting:

She heard the drain from above release from some lucky gal’s late-night bath. Flipping through the pages, she paused for a moment’s thought, and her eyes unconsciously drifted to the evening bag still setting on the floor where she had left it several nights prior, nesting in the original brown bag of its purchase. She found even when she became conscious of the object of her line of sight and was plucked from her pensive pause, as her eyes focused they still did not seem to do so...enrapt were they in the celestial body of the beading, as though staring into the milky heavens, a private observatory of unrestricted skies, free of constellation form and twinkling the more for it. With a zoom-in motion, her eyes and mind were lured, and it was only then that she became aware of the increasing volume and intensity of the water trickling through the piping above, though it did not seem of the direction of the general vicinity of the bathroom, but encompassing her, about her, around her, within her, deafening her, the drops streaming then beading on her skin, the blood trickling through her veins with a new coolness. The zoom-in was no longer a stationary movement as she found she had risen from the sofa and approached the dazzling hexagon, swept open its glittering lid and stared into the reflective remnants of the former mirror’s backing, seeking out that which sought, until, in a flicker irretrievable, she saw them. A pair of fogged green eyes glaring back.

I didn't worry about grammar or if what I was saying even made sense; I just wrote without stopping. And now six to seven years later, an adapted version of this rough sketch appears in the third chapter of Seven for a Secret --not because I was feeling unoriginal and wanted to lamely rehash whatever I'd already written, but because that very last sentence (that spewed out off the top of my head without thinking about it very hard) ultimately gave me the idea for this book.

Just goes to show how those random observations are worth the time you give them. And those scraps of paper you scribble on are worth holding on to as pieces of an as-yet unknown puzzle. You never know if or when their time will come to develop into something much more. So what miscellaneous little whimsy might you pen some words about in the next few minutes? On your mark...get set...GO WRITE!  

Guest Post by Patricia Leever, Author of the DIVINITY Series

Greetings my delicious little love monkeys!! Tis I, coming to you live from the inner blog cave of Rumer Haven to talk to you about Entity! More specifically the big baddie from Entity, Beautiful Illuminations.

We've all been here right?


Granted it may not have been food storage containers, it may have been make-up, candles, kitchen gadgets, jewelry, jeans, or even naughty gizmos. Whatever the case may be, we have all attended one of those home demonstration parties. Heck, you may have even been talked into becoming one of their minions...er....I mean demonstrators. Mind you, I feel I can call them minions because I've been there. Yep, I was a consultant for a company which shall remain nameless.

Now, I do know a lot of people that are demonstrators of some sort and they absolutely love what they do and that's great for them. And yeah, I give them a hard time about it, especially my make-up pusher friend, because that's how I show love.

Beautiful Illuminations is sort of an amalgamation of all those home demonstration party businesses, founded and run by the elusive Spectoral demon Anabael. What is a Spectoral demon? Well, I'll let Alex tell you...

“A Spectoral demon is a nasty one, and quite wily, as Zachary pointed out,”... “They have no physical body, therefore they must inhabit a host of sorts, preferably humans. When they enter into the physical body of a human, they bind themselves to the soul, taking over everything about that individual. Some possessions, if you will, happen at a very young age, unfortunately, but theoretically it could happen at any point in a human’s life. These demons liken themselves to gods. They crave the power of having followers to do their bidding."

I know right!! Want to know more about that, you're going to have to read Entity ;-)

I'd like to thank the beautiful and glorious Rumer Haven for having me over to her blog!

Until Next Time,
Patty <3

Find PATRICIA LEEVER at:patricialeever.comGoodreadsFacebook @Patricia_Leever
Buy ENTITY at :AmazonBarnes & Noble

NEW BOOK RELEASE: Patricia Leever's ENTITY!

Entity by Patricia LeeverReleased TODAY!  patricialeever.comGoodreadsFacebook @Patricia_Leever
“I’d been face to face with some of the most vicious and evil creatures in this world and the next. Heck, I’d even stared into the eyes of Lucifer himself. But I’d never had a deeper, more intense feeling of dread in my life.”



SUMMARY
Sometimes I liked to imagine, just for a second, that I was plain old Evelyn with nothing better to do in the morning than lie here with her man.

But that’s not how it was. That’s not who we were...

Evelyn Brighton and Daniel Summers are demon hunters, and they wouldn’t have it any other way. Or would they, given the choice again?

Los Angeles is crawling with demons in disguise, and Evelyn and Daniel are a dynamic and fearless demon-slaying duo. Under the authority of Lebriga Corporation and protection of their Divinity blades, this duo has never felt more ass-kicking against evil or more in love with each other.

But something is rotten in the state of home demonstration parties—and it’s not because a seal’s broken in the Tupperware. Beautiful Illuminations is the latest rage in home-consulting cosmetics, founded by Annabelle Simmons. But beneath the layers of makeup and human flesh lurks Anabael, a disembodied Spectoral demon that inhabits people and steals their physical form. To a spirit like that, an ageless demon hunter has a body to die for.

And Evelyn just might.

As Lebriga battles Anabael mind, body, and soul, Evelyn and Daniel must draw on the strength of their relationship to win the war against the Spectoral menace. But what if winning the war means losing their love?

Hunt the Demons Yourself... Enter the Rafflecopter giveaway!a Rafflecopter giveaway
AUTHOR BIO
Patricia Leever is a wife, stay-at-home mom of four and owner of one dog and one really old cat. On the average school day she runs about town like a lunatic picking up and dropping off kids and trying to find a moment of quiet to write down a word or two.

She's a sci-fi geek that loves to dress up like a zombie and participate in the local zombie march down Main St. and laugh as much as possible; laughter frees the mind and heals the soul.

Live. Breathe. Write.