C.L. Ogilvie's Blog: Chick Lit Army, page 2

Have You Heard the One About the Chubby Girl?

When I was younger, I decided I wanted to be funny.

It wasn’t my first choice. I wanted to be beautiful. (Not the most enlightened goal, but cut me some slack; I was only five and obsessed with Disney princesses.) Unfortunately, it turned out I wasn’t a natural beauty. I had mousy brown that would frizz if you looked at it, thanks to a metal allergy I had to wear glasses with thick plastic frames, and I was just heavy enough to turn every gym class into the adolescent equivalent of medieval torture.

And unfortunately, the other kids noticed my so-called shortcomings. I hated going to school and having to be around others. I couldn’t understand why I was being teased for things I couldn’t change. (Believe me, I tried. But that’s a post for another day.) I was teased by the boys and dismissed almost entirely by the girls. In grade five, my best friend dropped me completely when she was given an ultimatum by her other friends: lose the weirdo. I was fortunate enough to find another circle of friends, real ones, but I carried that slight with me for years. The worst was in eighth grade when I became of a nickname the boys had given me. To this day, I consider it to be the worse name I’ve been called and I used to be a telemarketer. I still cringe when I think about it.

When I started high school, I decided the only way I was going to survive was if I gave my classmates something else to focus on, something to draw their attention away from my appearance. My grades weren’t good enough to be a Brain and after a spectacular basketball tryouts failure, it was pretty obvious I wasn’t going to be a Jock.

But people always told me I was funny. I didn’t really understand how or why (I just thought I was being honest about how I saw the world), but whenever I made these observations, other kids would laugh. More importantly, they weren’t laughing at me. I realized, this could be my thing! I could be “the funny girl”. (Not the Class Clown, though. Too disruptive. Come on, people; we’re here to learn.)

But what makes a person funny? Is it just something you’re born with or is it a skill that can be learned, like driving? Why are some people funnier than others? Why do some jokes work and others land like a bag of rocks? Not all of my jokes made people laugh. Sometimes, I was told I was just being annoying or disrespectful. If I was going to figure this out, I needed to do my research.

So, I started watching comedy specials and it was AMAZING. Appearances didn’t seem to matter at all! Comedians came in all different shapes, sizes, genders, ethnic backgrounds, sexual orientations, etc. It seemed like a club anyone could join. Nobody cared if you wore the “wrong” clothes or didn’t listen to the “right” music. You just had to be funny! I never missed an episode of Just For Laughs and Comedy Now! I grew up quoting Steven Smith (NATIONAL. TREASURE!), Glen Foster, Mike MacDonald and Carla Collins. I got most of my news from This Hour has 22 Minutes and Air Farce. There was even a period of time when I was twelve that I could pull off an almost flawless British accent because of the amount of British comedy shows I watched. (On one of our first dates, my husband quoted Father Ted and it was pretty much the moment I knew I was going to marry him.)

But it wasn’t until was I fifteen that everything clicked into place. That was the year I took Drama. As an insecure, awkward kid, I should have been terrified , but it ended up being one of the greatest learning experiences of my life. I learned about the important of timing and line delivery. I learned how to drop one-liners and weave running gags throughout a narrative without losing the plot. When we studied movies, I learned the value of sight gags and staging. For my final year-end project, my partner and I performed a parody of the Scream movie franchise I had written. It was a hit, earning me a very rare A.

More importantly, it’s what helped me find my voice, a way to share my thoughts and views with a sense of accomplishment. I already knew I loved to write, but now I finally knew what I wanted to write. I wanted to write the kind of stories that would make people smile, give them a chuckle when they’ve had a crappy day. I wanted to help other people the same way all those comedians helped me when I was struggling. (Besides, everyone knows laughter is great abdominal exercise.)

Not all forms of comedy work for me, though. Gross-out humor is hit or miss. (Personally, I think there’s a time limit; it can be funny, but not if it goes on for too long. Five seconds seems to be my max.) Cringe comedy is my least favorite, but that may have to do with my own personal history. I don’t like it when you can feel the character’s humiliation (I want to help them, not laugh at them.) Improv depends largely on the actors. And don’t even get me started me on the “goes on for so long, it stops being funny but gets funny again” tactic. (In my opinion, only two shows have successfully pulled this off: The Simpsons with the now infamous Sideshow Bob vs. the rakes gag, and South Park’s 100th episode, which only works due to Cartman’s sheer commitment to keep the joke going.)

While I am in no way an authority on comedy or humor, there are a few comedy tropes/techniques I enjoy and regularly apply to my own writing.

Starting/Continuing to Eat During Dramatic Scenes/Plot Twists

Food can be a great way to add humor to a scene or land a punchline, and this one almost always gets a laugh out of me. I have no idea why I find this so funny, but I love it whenever someone does/says something inappropriate in tense situations (I think anyone with kids can relate to this). Think Peter Griffin loudly crunching potato chips while the Frank family hides from the Nazis. All opinions about Family Guy aside, this is a solid gag. (What sells the joke is that he continues to eat as everyone watches him in horror.)

Character Oblivious to Impeding Doom/Background Conflict

Oddly enough, this is a favorite in horror/slasher films to build tension and suspense. There’s just something I find highly entertaining about watching two people carry on a mundane conversation while something much more interesting or pressing is happening in the background. It’s the “How Stupid Can They Be?” principle. And the more mundane the actions/conversation of the character, the harder the joke lands.

Subverting Audience Expectations

You know that scene in The Big Lebowski where the Dude meets with Jackie Treehorn at his Malibu mansion to search for clues on Bunny’s kidnapping? Jackie takes a call and immediately begins writing on a pad of paper. When Jackie leaves the room, taking the note with him, the Dude hurries over to the pad and starts shading over the indentations  to see what was written. Everything about this scene suggests the Dude is close to discovering a major clue. The music, lighting and placement of the shot are all designed to heighten the sense of mystery and danger. The audience watches as the Dude continues to shade, just as eager as he is to find out what’s going on. And… it’s just a dirty picture. The payoff for the tension built is so ridiculously meaningless, you can’t help but laugh.

Sneak-Peek One-liners

A personal favorite of mine, these are what I call jokes that give a brief flash of insight into the character outside of the current plot/situation. I love these jokes because they’re a great way to quickly add dimension to your characters without the risk of slowing down the narrative. (The Mindy Project does this extremely well.) For example, in Skipping Out on Henry, Posey makes a throwaway joke about an ex-boyfriend who was Goth. It’s a light, funny way to show her past taste in men without going into a lot of detail. (At least, I think so. Others may feel different.)

Running Gags

This is the ultimate goal for me as a writer, especially one who writes romantic comedies: a joke so funny, it can be used multiple times in different settings with losing its impact. When they work, running gags can become part of the story’s universe. When they don’t, they become grating over time. My favorite example of a running gag that works every time is Kimmy Schmidt’s insane physical strength, and the fact she can’t whistle. The first gag works because it’s in direct contrast to her sunny, cheerful personality. We don’t think of adorably perky redheads as being physical strong, let alone strong enough to lift a manhole cover (see above: subverting expectations). The second joke works because it’s a relatable character trait that can be brought up multiple times without becoming implausible.

It all comes down our sense of humor, though. Some people love gross-out humor. Others could watch hours of cringe comedy. I don’t pretend to be an expert. There are probably lots of people out there who still find me weird and annoying. But if I tell a joke and you laugh, that’s good enough for me. My job is done.

“A day without laughter is a day wasted.” ~Charlie Chaplin

Review: The Way Home

The Way Home

Author: Stefanie Simpson

Sold By: Amazon Digital Services LLC

3.5 Stars

Em Riley was queen of the night life once, but after caring for her dying father, her grief makes her take stock. She wants to move on and put the past behind her, but when ‘Mr. Tall Dark and Scowls’ moves in across the street, he proves to be quite the distraction.

Ryan, ex-army and double amputee, can’t shake the feeling he’s met this gorgeous pin-up girl before. Making friends, much less starting relationships, has never been easy for him, and it’s about to get harder, especially since both of them are still struggling to come to terms with their own painful history.

Neither of them is ready for what they find in each other, but it might be just what they each need.

Let’s just get this out of the way: I don’t think I’ve picked up a romance novel since I was a teenager. I love Rom-Coms, but I usually prefer the “com” to the “rom”.  Romance novels are often so sensationalized and dramatic, I end up rolling my eyes throughout them. (Come on, 300+ pages and no one rolls over onto someone’s hair even once? No one’s ever feeling a little bloated and just wants to binge Breaking Bad? Am I doing romance wrong? Probably.)

But the moment Em and Ryan’s backstories were revealed, I was HOOKED. First of all, how awesome is it that not only does the main love interest fully earn his “dark and brooding” nature, he’s a double amputee? Simpson took a character that would normally be regulated to sidekick status (or even worse, used to show how, underneath it all, the hero is a caring, compassionate guy) and put him front and center, as a fully fleshed out character. Ryan isn’t solely defined by his status as an amputee, but the author also doesn’t shy away from the effect it has on him.

The issues like depression and PTSD are handled with deft and sincere ease. I loved the importance the author placed on rehabilitation and counselling. Too often in romance novels, the romance/relationship is depicted as a “cure”. Simpson does the opposite, using the character’s intense bond as a driving force for Em seeking out these resources. Em and Ryan want to be better for each other, but also for themselves. And once the plot moves past the sniping and bickering, Em and Ryan’s dynamic is very engaging. While it sometimes veered a little too close to Insta-love for my liking, I understood it. These are two very lonely people who have felt disconnected from others for a long time. My heart broke for these characters.

It is a romance novel and yes, you should heed the author’s disclaimer about explicit material. There are frequent sex scenes, but nothing I would call offensive. (Unless you’re a prude. If you’re a prude, don’t read this. Stick to Nancy Drew books.) (I can say that because I own the series.) In fact, I was impressed with how sex-positive the novel is. Em is fully in control of her body and desires. Neither character is ever placed in a position where there’s an imbalance of power. More importantly, boundaries are established and respected.

My only criticisms (and they are based solely on personal preference) was I had difficulty with the prose and sometimes struggled with the slang or phrasing. The shift from Em’s internal perspective to Ryan’s sometimes felt jarring and I wished it had been split into alternating characters. I also didn’t like how hard Em was on herself concerning her past because I didn’t think she did anything bad enough to warrant her internal scolding. There were so many great moments of confidence and empowerment, I wished she had more of them. But the scenes where she did stand up for herself were great and I just really wanted more of that. But again, the character work was strong enough that I could see where she was coming from. I didn’t like it, but I could understand it. (Although, more than once I wanted to shout, “Just own it, Em! Let yourself be happy!”)

Simpson has crafted a very moving (and steamy!) love story with realistically flawed characters, a strong combination.

Sneak Peek: Have a Little Fate

(Fair warning: Holly has a mouth as considerate as her personality, so foul language ahead.)

A Quick Synopsis:

Holly Papadopoulos has been blessed with good fortune. Her father’s inheritance gave her financial freedom. She married  her college sweetheart, David. And she’s the youngest marketing executive for Toronto’s top frozen yogurt restaurant chain where she works with her childhood best friend, Annabelle.

Too bad she doesn’t appreciated any of it.

In reality, her trust fund is gone, squandered on her selfish, materialistic desires. Annabelle is her assistant, who Holly degrades on a daily basis. She’s cheating on David with a co-worker. And she’s about to betray her husband’s father to gain control of his company. After injuring a pedestrian in a drunk driving accident, she’s visited by the Fates—Past, Present and Future—who are not pleased with her lack of appreciation for their gifts. Fed up with Holly’s selfish attitude, the Fates have decided they’re taking them all back.

With her wealth, success and friends now gone, Holly finds herself working as a farm hand on the dairy farm for the company she was once poised to rule. Determined to reclaim her former status, Holly makes a deal with the Fates: if she can learn three lessons (one from her past, present and future), they will return her good fortune. But the more Holly tries to regain her old life, the more she questions whether she wants it back.

My head is pounding. I try to swallow the bitter taste in mouth, but my tongue seems to have swollen to twice its normal size. It feels like it’s pushing against my teeth and my tonsils at the same time. I want to open my eyes, but I’m afraid that any exposure to sunlight will anger the small rodent currently trying to scratch its way out of my skull.

I’ve never been this hungover before. This is worse than the morning after last year’s office Christmas party when I drank so much, I tripped over the stuffed reindeer and fell into Santa’s gift bag. My entire body is aching. Every time I move, the bed sheets scrape across my skin like sandpaper. I open my mouth to yell for David to get his skinny ass in here with the aspirin, but all that comes out is a hacking cough. I feel like I’m choking on a mouthful of dirty cotton balls.

I know I’ve said this before, but I swear I am never drinking again.

Take last night, for example. It had to be one of those crazy drunk dreams. Those three crazy women claiming to be the Fates. And that horrible accident. Like I would really be stupid enough to drive in that condition. As if I would be callous enough to leave an injured man on the street. It had to be a dream.

Had to be.

I should really get out of bed. I can’t be late for work, not now. It wouldn’t be professional and I’m practically the boss now.

A wave of nausea hit me and I have to swallow back a sudden rush of stomach acid. Oh God. Sebastian found out about the board meeting. David called, furious with me. Do I even still have a job? Did I manage to convince them of my innocence before passing out?

I relax a little. If the accident was a dream, then so was the phone message. Sebastian doesn’t know anything. I’m still safe.

Which brings me to my next question: where am I? Did I fall sleep at the hotel? I must have, otherwise David would’ve woken me up before he left for work. But I certainly don’t remember the hotel bed having such cheap, lumpy sheets. Remind me to complain about this when I check out.

With a near-Herculean amount of effort, I manage to crack open one eyelid. The assault is just as vicious as I feared. This is what staring directly into the sun on Venus must feel like. Any minute now my eyeballs are going to melt out of my head like the Nazis when they looked at the Lost Ark.

Eventually, the bright lights fade and my vision clears. With a cry of disgust, I bolt upright in bed. Only it’s not a bed, it’s a futon. I scramble out from under the sheets and my heel lands in a half-empty bowl of soggy cereal. The threadbare carpet under my other foot is littered with dirty clothes and discarded shoes. I look down at my chest in confusion. I’m wearing a worn cotton t-shirt and faded pyjama pants that feature monkeys dressed in bikinis.

These aren’t mine, I realize. More importantly, I don’t know anyone with a predilection for slutty monkeys.

I glance around the strange apartment, trying to get my bearings. Directly across from me, there’s a tiny kitchen equipped with scratched countertops and appliances that look like they came over on the Mayflower. Next to the ancient kitchen, an open door reveals a bathroom the size of an airplane lavatory. If I wanted to, I could wash my hair in the shower while sitting on the toilet. A dank, moldy smell hangs in the air and the passing feet outside the windows tell me that I’m currently below sea level.

Maybe I actually managed to guilt Byron into taking me back to his place. But a quick look around the room reveals what a ridiculous idea that is. Byron is a man of incredible good taste (nicknamed penises notwithstanding). He would never deign to sleep on anything that came from Ikea. And he certainly wouldn’t be living in a bachelor apartment, much less a basement bachelor apartment.

In fact, I am pretty sure this is a woman’s apartment. There are fashion magazines stacked next to the bed and makeup containers lined up on the vanity dresser. The empty liquor bottles scattered across the laminate dining table would suggest she threw a party recently. Did I stumble across some random celebration and decide to join in?  I realize that I’m standing on a discarded pair of pink panties and kick them away from me in disgust.

Suddenly, the telephone rings, startling me. It’s a landline with built-in answering machine. I didn’t think they still made those. I reach for the receiver, wrinkling my nose at the sight of the overflowing ashtray next to it, but I freeze. The ringing is like an ice pick to my temple, but if I let the answering machine pick up, maybe I can figure just where the hell I am. Unfortunately, it takes another five rings for the answering machine to engage. My skin breaks out into tiny pinpricks as I listen in astonishment.

“Hey, I’m out living my glamorous life, so leave a message and if you’re lucky, I’ll call you back.”

That’s my voice.

The beep sounds, followed by a female voice I don’t recognize. “Holly, this is Kathleen. I just got a call from Gloria and she said you didn’t show up for work this morning! I’m in Muskoka for my sister’s wedding. You promised you would cover my shift today. I’m calling your cell phone. You’d better be on your way in.”

She hangs up and a few seconds later, another phone rings, this time from the depths of the crumpled bed sheets.

Seriously, what the hell is going on? I don’t know anyone named Kathleen. I tear through the bed sheets until I locate the source of the ringing. Oh gross, it’s a flip phone. I answer it because I honestly don’t know what else to do. “Hello?”

“Where the fuck are you?” Kathleen snarls on the other end. “Gloria is totally losing her shit! You were supposed to help her open the coffee shop this morning!”

Whoa, Kathleen. Let’s take the attitude down a notch.

I struggle to maintain a polite tone. “I’m sorry, but I have no idea what you’re talking about. I think you have the wrong number.”

“Very funny, asshole,” she snaps. “Did you forget that you were supposed to start at seven? Wait, don’t tell me—you were out clubbing last night and overslept.” I open my mouth to correct her, but she cuts me off. “I should’ve known you’d pull a stunt like this. I must have been crazy to think you would actually come through for once.”

I knew I shouldn’t have answered the phone.

“Screw you, Holly. I don’t even know why I’m bothering to tell you, but Gloria said if you don’t make it in for the afternoon shift, don’t bother coming back at all.”

And with that, she hangs up on me. Sheesh, what a bitch.

But I close the phone and take a closer look at my surroundings. Slowly, like a Magic Eye poster, things begin to pop out at me. The gold locket hanging from the necklace rack on the vanity. It’s the same as the one my father gave me for my sixth-grade graduation. And that dresser looks an awful lot like my grandmother’s antique wardrobe. A small, nagging feeling is beginning to grow in my stomach. A memory floats to the surface, but it’s distorted and blurry under the rippling waves of vodka still soaking my brain.

The three women. The Fates.

We’re taking it back.

I toss the phone back onto the bed and run into the bathroom. I catch a glimpse of myself in the water-stained mirror and grasp both sides of the porcelain sink, reeling.

My own anguished face stares back at me, but it’s not my face. It can’t be. Instead of my beautifully highlighted mane, my head is now the resting place for a hideously botched dye job. My eyes are lined with enough black eyeliner to star in their own Pat Benatar video. My lips are stained with traces of pink lipstick that can only be described as electric. My face is a graveyard of clogged pores, and the shine from the lingering oily concealer is almost blinding. This is impossible. I only use brand name makeup. I exfoliate every night!

I hurry out of the bathroom and begin rummaging through the nightstand. I find a handful of utility bills and flip through them. All of them have my name on them. They’re all overdue. Like, really overdue. One company is threatening to send me to something called a collection agency, which sounds scary and dangerous, like some guys are about to show up at the door with a bat. But that doesn’t make any sense. What happened to my trust fund? And my executive job?

“It’s a dream,” I murmur aloud. I toss the bills onto the floor and sit on the bed with my head between my legs. “It’s not real. I’m still dreaming.”

I grab the meatiest part of my inner thigh and twist it. It doesn’t do anything except make me want to scream out in pain.

I raise my head and pull on my bleached hair. “Get it together, Holly. There has to be a rational explanation for all this.” I brighten as a thought occurs to me. “Maybe someone stole my identity!”

Yes! There’s some jealous, obsessed woman out there who looks exactly like me and resents my success, so she dumps me in her rat-hole of a life and steals mine. That happens, right?

Okay, shut up. I know that doesn’t really happen.

My eyes fill with tears as I survey my surroundings with mounting despair. They really did it. All my good fortune, my money, my success, everything I took for granted. The Fates took it back and left me with nothing. Manic Sundaes, David, Annabelle… it’s all gone.

I glance at the digital alarm clock on my nightstand and feel a fresh thrill of terror. Shit. And I’m late for work!

I Gotta Have Faith – My Top Ten Favorite Optimists

Can I just say how happy I am that the optimists seem to be making a comeback?

Don’t get me wrong, I love a good anti-heroine/hero. Over the past decade or so, it seems like there’s been a resurgence of protagonists with—gasp—flaws. But with all the gritty reboots and bleak dystopias, there are still characters out there who never lose hope, no matter what the world throws at them. They soldier on, confident that things can get better and good still exist in the world. I love these characters. I love reading about them, I love writing about them. Evil only wins in the absence of hope. (My glass is always half-full, in case you can’t tell.)

So I thought I’d share my top ten favorite optimistic characters, from movies, TV and literature, ones who never fail to lift my spirits and inspire me to keep going, keep fighting.

Willa Tobin, Twin Piques

Brand new to the list, I absolutely adore this character. Her unwavering optimism was her sword and shield. Whether it was her love life, her career, or her relationship with her sister, Willa always believed the best in everyone, even romantic rivals.

Betty Suarez, Ugly Betty

Seriously, how can you not love a woman who strolls into the high-end fashion magazine, Mode, wearing that poncho and still manages to take it by storm? She was smart, capable and never lost faith that there was a place for her there because she made one, dammit. And those braces were adorable!

Bay Waverly, Garden Spells and First Frost

Okay, so this character had a little help, so to speak. Bay’s “Waverly gift” was that she always knew where things belonged. I loved her confidence in her abilities, and her frustration with others when they couldn’t see that she was right. It made it all the more satisfying when she finally got her perfect moment.

Becky Bloomwood, Shopoholic series

Oh, Becky. You made me want to bang my head against the wall sometimes. I bailed on this series eventually (there’s only so many times you can scream, “You don’t need another pair of shoes! You need to pay off your credit cards before Visa sends Bubba and Hacksaw after you!” before you finally put the book down and move on with your life), but I always loved her positive attitude, even when it was veering into delusional thinking.

Maryann Dashwood, Sense and Sensibility

Maybe she was a little naïve when it came to Willoughby (you send a gazillion notes at all hours of the night and still no response? Sweetie, he’s just not that into you), but I love how she flaunted social norms in the name of love.

Anne Shirley, Anne of Green Gables

When I was little, Anne Shirley was my ideal. It didn’t matter if people thought she was strange or gangly or too much of a dreamer. Despite everything she had endured, Anne never lost sight of the beauty in the world.

Officer Judy Hops, Zootopia

Sorry, but I have to include this character in my list. First of all, Ginnifer Goodwin’s casting in this movie was inspired and her delivery impeccable. The first bunny cop ever (and apparently the only female in her squad, but that’s a post for another day), they didn’t make it easy for her. But even saddled with a 48-hour deadline and little more than a go-cart to solve the crime, she rose to the occasion.

Luna Lovegood, Harry Potter series

Do I really need to explain why she’s on the list? Fine, if you insist. Luna didn’t let school bullies get the best of her because she believed everything has a way of finding its back. She was the only one who could comfort Harry after Sirius died. And during the Battle of Hogwarts when Harry was swarmed by dementors, Luna was the one who gave him the strength to keep fighting. ‘Nuff said.

Dirk Gently, Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency (TV series)

Let me start by saying I’ve never read any of the books, and I know the television series differs greatly from the source material. If you prefer the original, more power to you. You do you. But I absolutely love this character. I find his wide-eyed innocence and enthusiastic willingness to just go with whatever insane situation he finds himself in to be extremely refreshing. If I ever end up on the wrong end of kitten/shark, I hope I stay as positive as him.

Kimmy Schmidt, Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt

I can’t even count how many times I’ve re-watched this series. I watch it when I’m home sick. I watch it after a hard day at work. I watch it while I’m bumming around the house doing chores. The theme song is part of my workout mix. It’s my pick-up when I feel like I can’t keep going. Please just give Tina Fey all the awards for creating this amazingly strong (literally! She can lift a manhole cover!) female protagonist.

Review: Twin Piques

Author: Tracie Banister

Genre: Contemporary Romance

Sold By: Amazon Digital Services LLC

Rating: 4 stars

Forensic accountant, Sloane, and kooky pet psychic, Willa, may have the same face, but that’s the only thing these identical twins have in common. Although she’s been looking for “The One” for what feels like forever, optimistic Willa refuses to give up on love. Sloane has zero interest in romance. Her passion is her job, where she uses her gift for numbers to take down slimy embezzlers and asset-hiding spouses. When she’s assigned two high profile cases, Sloane feels confident the promotion she’s been angling for is within her grasp. To get what they both want, can Willa and Sloane band together and rely on each other’s strengths? Or will their differences drive them apart once and for all?

Willa and Sloane are two very different characters, with two very distinct voices. Willa’s unwavering optimism becomes the heart of the story in a way that is both inspiring and deeply relatable. I loved that she was legitimately psychic with a genuine ability to communicate with animals that was plausible and realistic, without veering too far into fantasy territory. Willa’s idealistic nature was her sword and shield, and it made for a very interesting contrast to her sister’s more level-headed and ambitious sensibilities.

Sloane was a more frustrating character, simply because she was more judgmental and cynical than her sister, especially when it came to other women. One of my pet peeves in women’s fiction is gratuitous girl-hate, but these moments were grounded in the character work the author had done with Sloane. Willa may be the heart, but Sloane is the one on the emotional journey. Banister does an excellent job of depicting her heartache and feelings of abandonment, using the character’s past to explore her current relationships.

There is also the bonus of getting not just one, but two love stories, each filled with adorable banter and devastating setbacks. There is a raw honesty to Banister’s more emotional scenes, especially between Sloane and Gav, that gives the reader a true sense of what was at stake for the characters. Banister isn’t afraid to allow her characters to behave poorly or selfishly and what’s even more surprising is she holds them accountable for their bad behaviour. I was fully invested in these characters and rooting for them the entire time.

I would love to see this become a series with Willa and Sloane teaming up again.

To Know Her Is To Love Her (Even though she hasn't earned it.)

I'm a little worried one of my main characters is in danger of becoming a Mary Sue. I’ve written her as smart, tough and for every dangerous situation she gets into, she gets the upper hand. And while that’s very empowering as a woman to write, I’m not sure I’ve given her the necessary background/gravity that would justify it. Or saddled her with the realistic emotional baggage that would result from those actions and decisions.

It wasn’t intentional. As a reader, I love unlikeable female characters. They’re usually shoehorned into the role of villain, someone for the sweet (and almost always virginal) protagonist to triumph over. (Seriously, my kingdom for the end of the “Mean Girl” era. Gratuitous girl-hate is one of my all-time pet peeves.) The emergence of the anti-heroine is an exciting development. Katniss, with her surly, stubborn personality that still managed to inspire a nation. Krysten Ritter’s Jessica Jones, who is arguably the biggest asshole (albeit quite understandably) to done the superhero garb. I love characters who are stubborn. Characters who hold a grudge or make mistakes that have real, sometimes tragic, consequences. We’ve all done things that don’t sit well with us. Actions we regret. Words we wish we could take back. In short, I want characters who are held accountable for their actions.

So why are Mary Sues still a thing? As much as readers complain about them, they’re still around. Bella Swan, Sookie Stackhouse, Stephanie Plum. (She blows up a car in every single book, but people keep lending her their vehicles? I accidentally backed into a mailbox once eight years ago and my family still brings it up.) The truth is, there is still a certain appeal to them. As much as I like to read about flawed characters, I won’t lie: I read the entire Twilight series. And eight of the Plum series. Mary Sues still have a certain charm to them.

I mean, think about it; who wouldn’t want to move to a new town and instantly be swarmed by classmates gagging to be your friend? Who wouldn’t want to attract the notice of the hottest guy/vampire with absolutely no effort? (Or, in the case of Bella and Edward, no discernible shared interests. Seriously, what did they talk about??) It would be great to explode car after car with no ramifications or insurance hikes.

As a writer, it’s easy to fall into the trap. We love our characters. They’re real to us and while we make jokes about trapping them up trees and throwing rocks at them, putting them through emotional Hell is still difficult. Mainly, because we have to tap into something deeply personal to get those scenes on paper. So maybe the existence of the Mary Sue is merely writers trying to spare their characters pain. But when I think back on every difficult, painful time in my life (and believe me; as a former military spouse, I’ve had my share), I can see how it helped me grow and evolve into who I am now. I’m not necessarily a better person having gone through those times, but I’m definitely stronger after them.

And I think the same needs to be said about the characters I write. It’s not fair to deny them that growth. One of the main reasons I lose interest in series is the lack of character development. Good people do bad things. I need to be willing to explore that. I need to be willing to reconsider my definitions of “good” and “bad.”

More importantly, I guess I have some re-writes to do.

The Worst Critic

As writers, I don’t think there’s anything more frustrating than writer’s block. It’s something every writer suffers from at some point. We’re our own worst critics. We tell ourselves if we were really so talented, we wouldn’t get stuck in the first place. But that’s just not the case. I’m a big believer in using outlines (my first book was written without one and in all honesty, it was a sprawling mess; unnecessary characters, long-winded paragraphs that added nothing to the story, scenes and events included simply because I didn’t yet know every word from my brain wasn’t brilliant--the list is endless), but even that doesn’t always safeguard against the dreaded Block.

But the thing is, stories change as we write them, don’t they? The narrative takes on a life of its own. Secondary characters horn their way into the main plot. Love interests just don’t seem to have the right chemistry with the protagonist. I’m in the middle of one manuscript right now where I realized I enjoyed writing scenes between my main character and another character (originally intended to only be a platonic friend) so much that they’ve now become a slow-burning love interest. Stories change. And it can wreak havoc with my well though-out outlines.

When I do find myself stuck, I usually take a giant step back from the creative aspect of writing and focus on the technical side, editing. I know a lot of writers prefer to get the whole novel on paper first and then go back over from the beginning, but sometimes I find it helps to read the previous chapters. Do they still mesh with the theme/feel of the story? If it becomes obvious that I've veered off-track (which happens more often than I'd like to admit), I have two options: I can cut/rewrite the scenes that are throwing off my narrative or I can re-work earlier scenes to continue in the new direction. Either way, it gets me thinking critically about my work and helps me see problems that I may have missed when I was focused solely on getting words on the page.

Another excellent idea is to read. Anything. Everything. Take the opportunity to read all those novels you’ve always wanted to or ones that you’ve already read, but absolutely loved. Go back and read the books that first inspired you to become a writer.

I’ve read tons of advice from other writers for beating writing block and this is a common one, for one simple reason: IT WORKS. Take a break and read something other than your own words. They say you need to love the story you’re writing because you’re going to be reading it. A lot. But sometimes that’s the problem. I get so immersed in this world I’ve created, my brain shorts out and I run out of steam. It’s only natural. Reading a new and different story helps reboot my brain. There’s a reason every single writer is an avid reader, too. We love stories. We love studying the craft. And it can help me realize what might be holding me back. Sometimes my problem is that I’m playing it too safe, not taking enough chances with the story or characters. If nothing else, at least I have the opportunity to experience a really great book.

But I’ve found the best way to overcome the Block is to stop beating myself up when I do get blocked. The bottom is line is I write because I love it. Because I don’t feel right if I stop. Don’t push yourself to the point where writing isn’t even fun anymore. Just forgive yourself when it hits. It doesn’t mean you aren’t talented. It doesn’t mean you don’t have an amazing story to tell. It just means you’re human.