M.B. Weston's Blog, page 4

Writing is Hard: M. B. Weston’s Writing Diary – 07/25/16

Writing is hard. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Writing isn’t just telling a good story. It’s telling a good, seamless story within word count, that sounds professional, with good character development, ample adjectives, and of course with impeccable grammar.

I’m slogging through round three of my urban fantasy pulp novella, and I’m currently in the “wading through cement stage.” At least, that’s what it feels like. It’s a pulp story, so I’m editing pages of unending action, and action scenes are so difficult. I have to describe all the blows, running, fights, and the pain from all of the above in short, sweet bursts that don’t get redundant and still convey a mental image. How many different ways can you say a guy’s legs are aching from sprinting before you bore the audience?

Hard, yes, but what really kills the writing session is finding out that you’ve forgotten an important detail in a prior scene that you need to add in. And trust me, those kind of changes are never easy.

Tonight, I discovered two separate problems. 1) My hero, Michael Lodestone, wears a jacket lined with a loose form of iron chain mail to protect himself from magical spells sent in his direction. (Yes, it’s heavy. He’s strong. It will work. Lay off.) In my story, he gets hit in the chest with a spell, and it drops him. Obviously, this is a problem because he’s wearing an anti-magic jacket that covers his chest. Basically, I’m going to have to go back into the very first scene and either have him take off his jacket (which would be out of character), open his jacket (again get out of character), or have him get hit in the head or legs. Or I will have to make up something that explains how the spell made it through the jacket.

I decided to leave that problem for a future writing session. 

More important is 2) Michael is chasing a van, and the van manages to escape. In my draft I came upon a not telling myself that somehow Michael needs to catch up to the van (which is never easy) and slap a GPS tracker thingy somewhere on the van. (I also need to figure out the real name of the GPS tracker thingy.) If Michael doesn’t get the thingy on the van, I don’t have a story. I literally had to comb through the van chase scene to find a spot where Michael could get close enough to attach said thingy. The I had to rewrite parts after that to explain why he was no longer panicking over losing the van. 

I’m sharing this to encourage those of you working on your own stories who might feel like giving in. These types of things happen to writers all the time, and they are perfectly normal. Writing is hard, and that’s okay. Editing really is like wading through cement. Don’t give in! Keep writing, even if you have to spend the rest of your evening redoing a scene so your hero can slap a GPS tracker thingy on a van.

Anyone else have a fun editing story?

Cheers!

M. B. Weston’s Writing Diary: 7/24/16

My little girl turns 8 months old tomorrow. She is quite the cutie, and I’ve been fortunate to be able to stay home and raise her. She is a handful, however, and I’ve been struggling to get back to writing. Two nights ago marked the first time I have been able to write in my own home instead of a coffee shop, and I am floored. I’ve claimed the corner of the living room as my new workspace (I lost my office to the nursery), and I’ve written three days in a row! I’m feeling more like my own person again, and it’s wonderful!

I’m going to try to keep my online writing diary going again, the way I did before I became pregnant. I’ve got to get this pulp novella finished, and I definitely need The Elysian Chronicles Book Three done as well. So here we go on my first writing diary entry in over a year.

I figured I would focus on what I’ve done to help myself start writing again.

Carve out a writing space. I put my desk in the corner of my living room, even though the furniture didn’t match. (The desk is white, and the rest is dark wood.)
Keep “negative vibes” out of your writing space. This might not matter for you, but it is crucial for me. Bills and email tense me out. I’ve finally learned that I can attach my negative feelings from administrative tasks to the same physical space where I write. The negative ju-ju sucks out my creativity. (And it makes my stomach churn.) I eventually avoid the space, and that isn’t good.
Know how you function. Our environment affects how we write and create. Some writers need music. Some thrive in chaos. I need perfect neatness and no music. For some reason, the white and sky blue color scheme relaxes me, so that’s my desk theme. I’m done trying to pretend I can work in chaos. My desk is organized. Each project has a box that it stays in if I’m not working. My little OCD self gets to be happy and relax, and the rest of me can make up fun stories.
Have a consistent time (if possible). I can’t do anything until Eleanor goes to bed at 7:30. Then I either have to put in earplugs while my husband watches TV or wait until he goes to bed before I can write. While the exact time isn’t set, I know that writing happens at night, and that helps me (and others in my family) plan for it. I’m trying to make it part of my routine, and that is helpful.

I’m sure I will think up more tips later, but these are a good start. Hopefully they might be of use to a few people. 

Three nights of writing in a row has been great, and I hope it continues!

The Writer’s Panacea: A Review of Starbucks’ Molten Chocolate Latte

  

Espresso, chocolate, mocha, more chocolate, more mocha. Starbucks‘ Molten Chocolate Latte should pack enough decadence in a cup to satisfy a writer’s need for a mid-draft pick-me-up, right?

If you are a writer like me, you probably have a coffee/tea problem. Actually, if you are like me, you are a coffee and tea affectionado with a writing problem. 

Some writers use different types of music to help them write; I use the caffinated beverage, which varies depending on the situation. A latte fills me up and give me a kick when I’m working my table at a convention. Harney & Son’s Hot Cinamon Sunset Tea makes my bad days feel good and helps with action scenes. A mocha makes me stop hating the world on an ultra-bad day, which is useful when my words need a lighthearted tone. Earl Grey makes me feel like a writer and helps me get down to business.

You can imagine how my chocolate-craving heart leapt when I saw the ad for Starbucks’ Molten Chocolate Latte, available only from February 8th through 14th. This drink, I thought, could surely be one of the perfect concoctions to help jumpstart a writer needing a shot of “get going on that manuscript” in the arm. I decided to try it and post a review here.

To understand the Molten Chocolate Latte, you must first understand the basic mocha and how it is made. (I once worked as the manager for a coffee shop, so I am initimately familiar with this process.) The barista first mixes a shot of espresso (or two or three depending on the size of the drink) with chocolate syrup by swirling it around in the cup until the chocolate syrup has melted and the mixture is evenly distributed. (As in, no chocolate syrup is stuck to the bottom of the cup. If the chocolate syrup and espresso are still separate from each other, you’re not done mixing.) Then the barista pours steamed milk into the espresso-syrup mixture and tops it with whipped cream. (Chocolate drizzle is optional.)

The Molten Chocolate Latte is similar to a mocha, but with a few extra ingredients. (I found these in this article at bustle.com):

Espresso, the staple ingredient in all coffee drinks
Milk, the other staple
Chocolate chips, which are melted into the espresso along with:
Bittersweet Mocha Sauce
Mocha and espresso infused whipped cream
Espresso Mocha Drissle

That is a heck of a lot more chocolate and coffee than a normal mocha, and it definitely has potential to put a writer into bliss at least for a while. (We writers are a grumpy bunch.)

Once I received my latte at the Starbucks drive through, I found a parking space. I wanted to judge the drink as though I was in the coffee shop instead of putting it in my cup holder and driving home, leaving the whipped cream to melt and the foam to separate from the milk. (But I don’t obsess over my coffe or anything…) If course, trying to savor a coffee beverage with my dog whining in the car and my two-month-old crying in the back seat is not exactly the Starbucks experience either…

Obviously, the first few sips were bliss. Seriously, chocolate mocha infused whipped cream drizzled with chocolate… No one could screw that up.

  Once the whipped was gone, however, the rest of the drink tasted just like a regular mocha. I was expecting much more chocolate flavor in the actual drink. I couldn’t figure out why until I reached the last few sips, which were basically chunks of half-melted chocolate chips. (See the pic on the right.) Then I realized that adding the chocolate chips to the espresso-chocolate-syrup mixture made it hard to mix completely. I decided to try again a day later, but encountered the same problem. Here is the weird thing. Despite my frustrations with the chocolate chips not being mixed well and the actual drink tasting like a regular mocha, I am finding myself craving another one of these. I think it’s the chocolate whipped cream with the chocolate drizzle.

My advice: if you get the Molten Chocolate Latte, let it sit for a few minutes–but just a few. The whipped cream will melt a bit into the drink, and the chocolate chips will have time to melt. And swirl the liquid a bit in the cup as you drink. (Pretend it’s a red wine.) This will help melt the chocolate chips, it feels good, and makes you feel like a writer.

Oh yeah, and bring along a romance scene that needs work.  

Check Out My New Horror Short Story, “The Blue Lights,” in the Cinched Anthology

My newest short story, “The Blue Lights,” has just been published in the Cinched: Imagination Unbound anthology edited by John Hartness.

The parameters of the anthology were simple: write any kind of story you want under 9,000 words as long as a corset is prominently featured in the story. I’m not to big on romance, so instead of a bodice ripper, my story immediately turned to classic horror.

“The Blue Lights” takes place on the moors of Dartmoor. (That’s Baskerville territory for Sherlock Holmes fans, and yes, research devoted to The Hound of the Baskervilles came in handy.) It follows three men riding in a carriage across the moors. The carriage enters a patch of smoke from a controlled burn, and upon exiting the smoke, the men look down and notice a bloody corset sitting in a once-empty seat. The anthology is currently on sale on amazon.com in both trade paperback and kindle versions.

I’ve included a little teaser of my story below. Enjoy!

THE BLUE LIGHTS

Never trust a coincidence. Looking back, I wish I heeded that advice. I was an up-and-coming force in the banking industry, I knew what many often called coincidences almost always led to a trail of embezzlement. Why I couldn’t apply that knowledge to regular life, I’ll never know, just as I’ll never know why I didn’t sprint the other way the moment I saw him.

I first saw Captain Lawrence Wilson at Paddington Station in the crowd of people. He stood just over six feet tall, and his yellowed, pitted face drew him unwanted attention. I suspect, however, most people noticed his angry, pitiless eyes more than his complexion.

Seeing the captain brought back memories I had forced back into the recesses of my mind where only dark things lay. He resurrected visions of a face I intended to keep forgotten. Blue eyes, blond hair, soft curls. Her voice reminded me of wind chimes—especially when she said my name, John. Unfortunately, her pleasant memory no longer brought me joy. Instead, thinking of her only made my stomach feel twisted. I took a few deep breaths to steady myself, and pushed her memory away yet again.

I noticed Wilson just as I purchased my ticket. He should be dead, I thought. He would be dead, but for you, I reminded myself. He would have stood trial for murder, if I possessed a shred of courage. Instead, I watched him board my train—alive.

Coincidence, I told myself.

I should have asked for a refund on my ticket. Instead, I lingered back, staying out of the captain’s sight until he entered his railcar a few down from mine. I boarded my own car, hoping the Wilson would disembark at a separate stop.

I took a seat next to the window soon forgot about the captain. An excited, anticipation-filled flutter filled my stomach. I pulled an ivory envelope out of my pocket and grazed my fingers over the Duke of Exeter’s blue and red coat of arms prominently displayed on the envelope’s flap. I opened the envelope and re-read the contents.

Mr. Blackburn,

The Duke of Exeter has heard of your fine work, and he would like to invite you to interview for the position of managing his assets and personal affairs. Please arrive at the Newton Abbot Train Station on Friday, October 12, 1883 at 2:00pm sharp. I will send my carriage for you.

Yours Sincerely,

Harold J. Meadows

Secretary to George Holland, Duke of Exeter

I felt the same shivers as I did when I first received the letter, excited that someone finally noticed my hard work and loyalty. While this position would take me away from the contacts and business partners I built in London, it promised a higher salary and the potential to return to London with even better prospects. I took every effort to ensure my interview ensemble looked perfect. I borrowed a friend’s top hat, which would make a better impression than my bowler, and I spent more than I could afford on a pair of luxurious, black leather shoes. I wore my midnight-blue, silk waistcoat and my best coat. I considered wearing my warmer, second-hand jacket—especially considering the current October cold spell, but it sagged in the shoulders. I preferred the duke see me in fitted clothing, and I could handle the cold for a day. I intended to warm up later at the hotel, hopefully in celebration of a new job.

A quick flash of her face in my memory jostled away my elated fantasy. I forced it out of my mind and stared out the window as the train pulled away from the station. I rarely left London, and I relished the chance to see a world free of congestion and never-ending buildings. I yearned to breathe air uncontaminated by smoke and manure.

“Where are you headed?” asked the gentleman sitting next to me. I used gentleman loosely. His chapped lips covered his five remaining teeth, and multiple patches dotted his jacket and trousers. He probably bought them fourth-hand, I surmised.

I kept a straight face even though I wanted to wince from his unspeakably foul breath. “Devon,” I replied, unsure of the duke’s exact location. “Somewhere near Dartmoor.”

“Ah! Beautiful territory. I’ve traveled there quite a few times myself. Planning on going out on the moors?”

“Not likely.” I hoped my indifference might keep him quiet. I wanted to mentally run through my accomplishments and make sure I remembered everything that might help me secure the position with the duke.

“You be careful if you do decide to go exploring. The moors look innocent, but they’re dangerous. I lost a pony in there once.”

As much as I wanted to ignore the man, I couldn’t help but give him a quizzical look. How did one lose a pony? Did it run off? It probably feared the chap’s breath, I reasoned.

“It fell into one of the bogs,” he explained. “Couldn’t pull him out. Sank to its death. That’s why they call the moors the Dartmoor stables. The final resting place for ponies that get trapped. And sometimes people.”

The thought horrified me. I knew of bogs, the low-lying swampland on the moors filled with decayed peat and who knew what else, but I never thought about their dangers.

“Almost got stuck there myself once,” he continued. “You get a foot caught in the quagmire, and it sucks you in. The harder you fight, the more it pulls.”

“Then how did you escape?”

“First, you don’t panic. Panic will kill a fellow. Use slow movements, and keep your body low to the ground.” He bent over and illustrated an almost swimming position. “Try to get one foot free, even if your other sinks a bit. Crawl—or swim—out. Whatever you do, don’t stand until you reach solid ground.”

I nodded to placate him.

“Of course, it’s best to keep away from bogs altogether. You’d best keep to the heather. That means dry ground. If you see too much moss, or the earth isn’t stable, well that’s a sign you’re nearing a bog.”

“I appreciate your advice.” I turned my gaze back to the window, hoping to avoid talk of drowning ponies and people. And what did he mean by unstable earth?

“Oh, and avoid the blue lights.”

Once again, I involuntarily gave him my attention.

“Across the moors at night, sometimes you’ll see a greenish-blue flash of light floating across the ground. Legends say they’re the spirits of the poor souls who lost themselves in the moors and died. Their lights lure you in, and you never come out. You’d best stay away from them or risk becoming one yourself.”

I kept my face serious, but I chuckled a bit inside. “I assure you, sir, that I have no intentions of venturing out on the moors—especially at night.”

“That’s what they all say.” He sighed. “I’ll never understand how such dreadful landscape can tempt so many reasonable chaps to their deaths.” He leaned back against his seat and closed his eyes, leaving me to enjoy the rest of the train ride in peace.

The train finally stopped at Newton Abbot Train Station. I took my bag and stepped off the train. I inhaled. I could still smell the engine’s burning coal, but I also caught a faint undertone of wet grass and soil. A light mist—clean, grey, and so unlike London’s toxic yellow fog—hovered over the ground. I felt more confident in my decision to interview. The breeze picked up, blowing straight through my coat and waistcoat. I rubbed my arms, wishing I dared to wear my warmer jacket.

I picked up my luggage and headed to the station to wait for the duke’s carriage. I leaned against a post watched the other passengers disembark. My heart fell into my chest when I saw Captain Wilson leave his car as well.

Coincidence, I reminded myself, this time with a hint of doubt.

I turned my back to Wilson and instead faced the first class rail car. A diminutive, grey-haired gentleman wearing an impeccable suit and shoes caught my eye. His mustache hid his arrogant sneer. I took an involuntary step back. I feared this man, the Earl of Castleton, more than I feared Captain Wilson. Castleton inherited the title and the vast amount of land that came with it, but little cash to keep it up. In a matter of years, he turned his assets into ample cash flow and became one of the richest men in all of England, though not through purely honest means. The earl inspired fear among the commoners—normal folk without any titles trying to make life work. Castleton took what he needed from whoever crossed his path.

An unsettled feeling grew in my stomach. Castleton could make anyone do his bidding with the right motivation. I’m ashamed to say he once found my trigger point. She suffered for it. Her name was Mary. Mary Meadows—a name I vowed never to repeat.

I pondered the chances of Lord Castleton and Captain Wilson arriving at the Newton Abbot Train Station at the exact time as me. Coincidence, I told myself.

They glimpsed at each other, and each immediately looked the other way. Then, Captain Wilson saw me, and his face took on a paler shade of sallow.

I should have marched up to the ticket booth and purchased a return ticket to London. Instead I opted to stay, refusing to let fear keep me from the interview. Soon, the rest of the passengers left the station, leaving Captain Wilson, Lord Castleton, and me—each of us refusing to acknowledge the other as we waited for our rides. Castleton stood as far as he could to the right, smoking a pipe while he waited. Wilson stood to the left, staring out at the landscape. He pulled out a pipe and filled it with tobacco. He felt around his pockets for a light, but found nothing. Instead of troubling either of us for one, he dumped the tobacco and put the pipe back in his pocket.

I took out the invitation once again and read the instructions. Please arrive at the Newton Abbot Train Station on Friday, October 12, 1883 at 2:00pm sharp. I will send my carriage for you. I craned my neck and read the sign above the depot: Newton Abbot Train Station. I checked my pocket watch and then the station’s clock, which read 2:05pm. I re-pocketed the envelope and turned around, confident the carriage would arrive soon.

To my dismay, the captain took an envelope bearing the duke’s coat of arms out of his pocket and double checked it as well. Though Lord Castleton never pulled out an envelope, I suspected he waited for the same carriage.

As minutes passed, I kept reliving memories I wanted to forget. Mary’s blond hair. Her blue eyes. I thought at the time that I loved her. Lord Castleton had employed her as his governess, a prime, but difficult position. His three children, while trained in all manners of etiquette, knew nothing of kindness or obedience.

The pit in my stomach grew. All three of us knew what happened, but none of us would ever talk about it. The sly captain knew enough to stay quiet. Lord Castleton’s wealth and power cushioned him from worrying about the law. As for me, shame and fear kept my lips tight.

We waited for an hour-and-a-half. The wind turned icy, and I again wished I brought my warmer coat. I checked my pocket watch. The captain looked visibly impatient. Lord Castleton showed little emotion. I pulled out the letter again to reconfirm the time and date.

Finally I caught a glimpse of an open-air cart bearing the duke’s coat of arms pulling up by the station. I took hold of my luggage and stood up. So did the other two.

I should have run for it. Instead I waited.

The coachman, a young, slight man with black hair and focused, brown eyes, approached and introduced himself to the earl. “Lord Castleton, I presume.”

Castleton nodded. “I expected the Duke of Exeter’s carriage to arrive in a timelier manner.” He eyed the cart with disdain.

“I apologize, my Lord. We were going to bring the landau, but one of the wheels gave us some trouble.” The coachman opened the cart’s door and ushered Castleton in. Castleton took a seat in the back on the left corner, facing forward. The coachman turned to the captain. “Captain Wilson?”

Wilson handed the coachman his bag and climbed onto the cart as well. He paused for a moment, looking as though sitting in such close proximity to Castleton might make him vomit, and finally took the seat across from Castleton facing backward.

Even in the cool weather, beads of sweat formed on my forehead. I wondered what strange chances caused Lord Castleton and Captain Wilson to board the same vehicle as me, and a chilling thought entered my mind. What if the duke knew our secret?

The coachman turned to me. “John Blackburn?”

I paused, unable to breathe. Should I pass off this encounter as coincidence or turn back to the station? After a deep breath and a long exhale, I nodded and handed the coachman my bag. I needed the job, and I refused to allow coincidence to interfere.

He took my bags and held the door open for me.

Even with my decision made, an involuntary shudder vibrated down my arms. I dreaded sharing a cart with either man. I finally stepped inside, convincing myself that neither would attempt conversation. I sat next to the captain, giving in to station and allowing the earl his own seat. Wilson scooted farther against his side of the cart, and I did the same. I never heard such loud silence.

The coachman hopped on the front and grabbed the reins. He turned around. “I apologize, Captain, but may I ask you to move to the right corner of the seat by Lord Castleton. For weight-distribution purposes.”

The captain scowled at the coachman but obliged, leaving me the seat alone.

“We’ve got a two hour ride,” said the coachman. “Let me know if you need anything.”

I honestly didn’t know if I could survive looking into the eyes of both Castleton and Wilson for two hours. Fortunately, all of us avoided eye contact.

We wound through the country road, and I kept grabbing my hat to make sure it stayed on my head. The wind swirled around us, and I wished the coachman brought the carriage instead. Soon I caught a glimpse of the moors. They looked like innocent rolling hills that produced their own unnatural fog. I found it hard to imagine that such territory contained the bogs the stranger on the train told me about. Crooked granite rocks formed at some of the hills taller peaks. These were called tors, someone once told me. The barren, treeless countryside looked dreary. Not the London dreary, where rain and fog occurred daily in a bustling city, but the kind of dreary that settled around rural areas and seeped into the bones, making one feel alone on the rolling landscape. Maybe I liked city life, after all.

I kept my body twisted toward the front, staring ahead at the horses instead of at Castleton and Wilson. Each time I saw Castleton’s eyes, I remembered back to the day it all started.

Back in my youth, I had worked as clerk in a bank in which Castleton sat on the board of directors. I still remember looking at a list of deposits, withdrawals, and interest for the earlier week and then noticing that the actual receipts differed from the books. The numbers differed only by a few hundred pounds dispersed here and there. I chalked it up to a mistake in bookkeeping and continued about my own business.

A week later, my curiosity overcame my complacency. I again recalculated actual receipts verses what the bank had recorded and realized that again, the numbers didn’t match. I checked a few weeks later and found the same occurrence. I dug a deeper and discovered that each time, the discrepancies ended up in Castleton’s personal account.

I kept the information to myself for a few weeks—long enough for Castleton to discover my newfound knowledge. I found myself staring at a huge promotion in return for my silence. I accepted. I still can’t eat when I think about it.

I tried to think of something other than my past mishaps and wondered about Castleton’s and Wilson’s business with the duke. Maybe Castleton planned to visit with him over the weekend. Wilson’s position as an army captain could indicate any number of potential business opportunities. Again I convinced myself that coincidence drove this unlikely meeting.

My thoughts left my conceived ideas pertaining to each of our visits and unfortunately settled on why I despised them. Mary, the governess. Her beauty grabbed more than my attention. It also grabbed Castleton’s. Rumors said she spurned his advances. I suspect that spelled her doom—even before the whole thing started. Stubborn Mary always adhered to her principles.

“We’ll take a shortcut to make up for lost time,” the coachman announced. He turned off the main road. The cart bumped and jostled across the uneven terrain, and the seat cushions did little to shield us.

“I can’t imagine why the other carriage’s wheel needed fixing,” Wilson mumbled.

Ahead, a line of fire and smoke rose into the sky. The coachman turned around. “Don’t be alarmed. It’s called swaling. We do it out on the moors every so often in order to keep the underbrush from becoming too much of a nuisance.”

Soon thick, blinding smoke surrounded us. My eyes and windpipe stung from the fumes. I shut my eyes and covered my mouth and nose with a handkerchief.

Finally, the smoke began to clear.

“Confound it, man!” yelled Castleton. “Did you have to drive us directly into it? Is this even a road?”

The coachman ignored Castleton. I rubbed my eyes, waiting for the last of the smoke to leave. When I finally opened them, I saw Wilson staring wide-eyed down at the seat next to me.

I looked down as well. Horror filled my throat, constricting it more than the smoke. On the seat cushion—empty only a few moments ago—lay a pinkish-beige corset covered in dried blood.

Introducing Eleanor Rose Weston

 

My daughter, Eleanor Rose Weston, was born via emergency c-section on 11/25/15 at 11:20pm at 6 lbs 14 oz.

We had a bit of drama during the delivery. I had what is called a “concealed placental abruption,” which means my placenta tore away from the uterus wall when I was only dialated at 6 centimeters. Instead of the blood gushing out and letting the nurses know there was a problem, the blood went into the amniotic sac with her. The nurses noticed her heart rate had fallen drastically and immediately descended on me in the room. They got me into surgery in less than 15 minutes, which included my OB having to wake up in the middle of the night and drive to the hospital. Five minutes more, and we would have lost Eleanor, and I would not  have been too far behind. If I had chosen to give birth at home or somewhere other than a hospital, we would both be dead.

Thanks so much to the labor nurses at Naples Community Hospital whose quick actions saved both Eleanor’s and my lives. (If anyone from The View is reading this, yes, the nurses used stethoscopes, and yes, they saved my life because they were the ones who found the problem and communicated it to the doctor in such a way that he knew he needed to come in.) Thanks also to my OB who is one of the best in town in an emergency, which is why I chose him.

Happy Belated Thanksgiving and Merry Christmas! I will rejoin the land of the living soon… (As soon as it “gets better,” which is what people keep promising me will happen…)

Guest Blog Post: Urban or Epic? By Gail Z. Martin

My friend, author Gail Z. Martin, offered to do a guest post on my blog for her Days of the Dead blog tour. She is an amazing writer and person, and I encourage everyone to check out her work.

Urban or Epic? By Gail Z. Martin

How do you like your fantasy—urban or epic?

Is that a trick question? Because my answer is, both!

I write both epic fantasy and urban fantasy and have new books coming out in both genres, so this is a question I get to think about a lot!

I love urban fantasy because it’s contemporary, and it’s cool thinking about supernatural creatures prowling modern-day cities. My Deadly Curiosities series is set in modern-day Charleston, SC which is a fantastic place for an urban fantasy series because it’s already one of the most haunted cities in North America. I do the Atomacon convention in Charleston, which provides a great chance to go down early and do some research, tour historic buildings, visit museums, and get inspiration for the next book.

Charleston is one of the oldest cities in the U.S. It’s been home to pirates and hanging judges, very wealthy families and slave traders, plenty of brothels and enough churches that its nickname is the Holy City. And it’s that friction between good and evil that I think gives Charleston a lot of its urban fantasy mojo. It’s exactly the kind of city where you’d find spirits with unfinished business or who are doomed to wander until they make atonement. It’s also chock full of antiques and odd artifacts, so the antique store, Trifles and Folly, that my main characters run seems completely at home—including its mission to get dangerous magical items off the market and out of the wrong hands.

The second Deadly Curiosities book—Vendetta—comes out in December, and I’m very excited because it’s the kind of book that could only be set in Charleston. I do my best to weave threads of the city’s history, landmarks and lore through the books, making the city a character as well as a setting. It’s also fun being able to use modern language, make some pop culture references and create characters you feel like you might just run into if you visit the city.

Epic fantasy is fun, too. The stories and the scope are big, the stakes are huge, the action is sweeping. Kingdoms and dynasties hang in the balance. Battles rage. Magic becomes a weapon of mass destruction. Shadow and Flame is the fourth (and last) book in my Ascendant Kingdoms Saga, a post-apocalyptic medieval epic fantasy series. (Try saying that five times fast!) The action takes in much of one continent and ranges up to the arctic. Control of a ravaged kingdom is at stake, warlords fight over the spoils, magic is destroyed and then partially restored, and the people of Donderath struggle to rebuild after the cataclysmic outcome of a devastating war.

It’s a lot of fun to write something on that scale. Of course, it’s the characters who are the heart of a book, and Blaine McFadden and his convict friends have their work cut out for them as they return to save the kingdom that sent them into exile. So not only are the stakes big for the kingdom, they’re huge on a personal level for the people involved, the ones at the center of the action. For them, it’s the adventure of a lifetime, one for the legends—if they survive. And if they don’t, the kingdom is plunged into warfare, famine and a tug of war between mortals and immortals for the crown. No pressure.

It’s also fun switching mental gears between sub-genres, especially when you’re working on one book and have to suddenly stop to do an edit or read a galley on the other book. There’s some creative whiplash involved on those days, as you flip from modern to medieval and back again. On the other hand, writing multiple series in different sub-genres keeps it all fresh. I love each of my book worlds, but doing too much of anything in a row gets a little stale. Switching it up from urban to epic to steampunk to space means it always feels fresh and new.

So the answer to the question, epic or urban? Yes!

My Days of the Dead blog tour runs through October 31 with never-before-seen cover art, brand new excerpts from upcoming books and recent short stories, interviews, guest blog posts, giveaways and more! Plus, I’ll be including extra excerpt links for my stories and for books by author friends of mine. You’ve got to visit the participating sites to get the goodies, just like Trick or Treat! Details here: www.AscendantKingdoms.com

 

Book swag is the new Trick-or-Treat! Grab your envelope of book swag awesomeness from me & 10 authors http://on.fb.me/1h4rIIe before 11/1!

Trick or Treat! Excerpt from my new urban fantasy novel Vendetta set in my Deadly Curiosities world here http://bit.ly/1ZXCPVS Launches Dec. 29

More Treats! Enter to win a copy of Deadly Curiosities! https://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/show/160181-deadly-curiosities

Treats! Enter to win a copy of Iron & Blood! https://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/show/160182-iron-blood

Treats Not Tricks! Read an excerpt from Bad Memories, one of my Deadly Curiosities stories http://bit.ly/1xigNgz

Halloween Loot! Here’s an excerpt from Bad Ass Fairies by Danielle Ackley-McPhail http://www.sidhenadaire.com/books/BAFCrossroads.pdf

 

Bonus Goodies! An excerpts from Bad Ass Fairies 2 http://www.sidhenadaire.com/books/BAF2GuardianEx.pdf

Win some Weird Wild West awesomeness! https://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/enter_choose_address/138364-the-weird-wild-west

About the Author

Gail Martin, Dreamspinner Communications

Gail Z. Martin is the author of the upcoming novel Vendetta: A Deadly Curiosities Novel in her urban fantasy series set in Charleston, SC (Dec. 2015, Solaris Books) as well as the epic fantasy novel Shadow and Flame (March, 2016 Orbit Books) which is the fourth and final book in the Ascendant Kingdoms Saga. Shadowed Path, an anthology of Jonmarc Vahanian short stories set in the world of The Summoner, debuts from Solaris books in June, 2016.

Other books include The Jake Desmet Adventures a new Steampunk series (Solaris Books) co-authored with Larry N. Martin as well as Ice Forged, Reign of Ash and War of Shadows in The Ascendant Kingdoms Saga, The Chronicles of The Necromancer series (The Summoner, The Blood King, Dark Haven, Dark Lady’s Chosen) from Solaris Books and The Fallen Kings Cycle (The Sworn, The Dread) from Orbit Books and the urban fantasy novel Deadly Curiosities from Solaris Books.

Gail writes four series of ebook short stories: The Jonmarc Vahanian Adventures, The Deadly Curiosities Adventures, The King’s Convicts series, and together with Larry N. Martin, The Storm and Fury Adventures. Her work has appeared in over 20 US/UK anthologies. Newest anthologies include: The Big Bad 2, Athena’s Daughters, Realms of Imagination, Heroes, With Great Power, and (co-authored with Larry N. Martin) Space, Contact Light, The Weird Wild West, The Side of Good/The Side of Evil, Alien Artifacts, Clockwork Universe: Steampunk vs. Aliens.

#Writing: Adding Action vs. Raising the Stakes

It’s easy to add in a few action sequences to get your story moving, but without raising the stakes for your protagonist, the story might still fall flat.

I’m working on the second draft of my urban-fantasy, pulp novella, and unfortunately, I’ve had to reconstruct the entire last quarter of the story. (You know, the part that includes rise to the climax and the climax. No big deal, right?)

This is a pulp novel, meaning it requires fast pacing and a plethora of action sequences. Because I’m rewriting the last four chapters, I’m having to start over with my writing process. I’ve practically been writing each chapter from scratch and pulling out bits and pieces from the old chapters. As usual, my first attempts at writing any scene involve basically dialogue and a bit of stage directions. As I’ve been looking over each of the chapters, I’ve been telling myself, “This is pulp. Add some action.”

Technically, it’s a savvy statement. Pulp needs action or it isn’t pulp.

However….

Today, I discovered a colossal difference between just adding in random action scenes and actually raising the stakes for the protagonist. With action scenes, my protagonist is running around from one scene to another without any glue and without any raised tension. It gets kind of boring after a while. (My rule: If I’m bored with the book on the first and second run through, then my reader is bound to get bored with the book.)

Raising the stakes is much different than adding in action scenes. It means increasing the protagonist’s danger and risk as the story moves forward. It means each chapter not only brings action, but also brings a sense of impending doom if the protagonist fails at his or her mission. (It means I have to go back through the first eight chapters and add in a few things.)

It also means, however, that I now have a more cohesive web of intrigue my characters must weave through. It makes my action scenes feel less random and more purposeful. It gives my story the glue it needs to stick together. It tightens my story.

Here are a few ways you can raise the stakes in your story:

Add in a time element. Example, if they don’t reach the bomb in two hours, it will explode. (Romances use the impending wedding the same way action writers use bombs. If the boy doesn’t stop the wedding, he loses the girl forever.)
Have your villain become more powerful and/or more deadly with each passing moment. Each day a serial killer is on the loose is a day he can murder someone else. With each day a kidnapped victim is missing, the chances of rescue diminish. Your magical villain might gain power by absorbing it from others. Your brilliant mad scientist might only need a bit more time to create the bio-weapon we’ve all been dreading.
You villain might taunt your protagonist by hurting others. It’s the classic superhero plot.
With each chapter, your protagonist might discover new evidence of a far-reaching heist, crime, or impending terrorist attack. Your detective might discover your villain isn’t just looking to steal from a bank but to knock out the financial systems in half the world in order to give another country power.

Each story is different. Increasing the stakes in my novella involves me adding in a bit of all of those throughout the story until they all come to a head at the climax. You might have to try something different.

How about you? How have you increased the stakes in your stories?

Watching Character Develop – M. B. Weston’s Writing Diary: 10/01/15

I love it when characters start developing right in front of me as I write them. I’ve been working on the Michael Lodestone urban-fantasy, pulp novella, and I’ve been stuck on a few plot points. I used to let getting stuck in plot issues mire my writing for days, until a few years ago when I just started “writing through them” to keep momentum going with the story. Now when I come to a part in unsure about, I use brackets to indicate what I still need to add in so I can keep going with the scene and at least develop dialogue between the characters and few action scenes. It will look something like this:

Jack and Jill went up the hill. [Not quite sure why they are going up the hill yet. Need to figure out their motivation later.]

This little trick helps me continue writing action and dialogue that I know will happen and keeps the story going. Usually, I find that the plot figures itself out as I write.

Characters also show themselves to me during this time as well, especially since I tend to focus on them when I get stuck on plot. Yesterday, I made some lovely discoveries about two of my characters.

Michael Lodestone: Michael is my centuries-old, immortal wizard on a quest to hunt down and kill the evil immortal witches and wizards bringing havoc on the world. (Lots of backstory I don’t have time to explain here.) He’s great at fighting magical people but lousy at relating to humans because he’s been around for over 500 years, which will make anyone a little gruff. I’ve been looking for a way to humanize him–to flesh out his character and bring in a few qualities that make him a person instead of just “every hero.”

Yesterday while I was writing a scene that takes place at Cafe DuMonde, I discovered that he has a special passion for beignets (and some kind of caffeinated beverage that he drinks constantly because he won’t allow himself to drink alcohol. You can imagine that drinking and magical powers might  it mix well.). It’s not much, but it’s something that makes him more relatable.

JT Scott: JT is Michael’s behind-the-scenes internet guy. He’s usually on a computer looking things up while Michael does his work. (Kind of like Tom Arnold’s character in True Lies.) His real name is Julius, so Michael calls him Caesar. They have a seriously juiced-up van (with anti-magic weapons and loads of tech equipment) that they take with them everywhere. JT is fun, but I’m still wading through my second draft and he is a little flat. Yesterday, I figured out two things about him. First, he is definitely passionate about the van. It is his baby. He keeps it in pristine condition to an obsessive level. This will help me create a little more comic relief during action scenes. Second, he is not good under pressure. It gives him a weakness I can exploit during this story and fire stories as well.

With both of these character discoveries, I didn’t say to myself, “Why don’t I make JT love the van…?” It just kind of…happened as I wrote. It’s hard to explain. Sometimes, characters just develop right before your eyes.

The only way to make these kinds of discoveries is to write. Even if you are writing through a part with a massive plot hole you can’t figure out, just write. I am still stuck on a few issues with this chapter, but two of my characters just became richer and gave me a starting point for more material and dialogue.

How about you? Have you ever had a character reveal himself to you as you were writing a scene about him or her?

M. B. Weston’s Writing Diary: 09/02/15 – Observing Life’s Details Can Improve Your Writing

Observing even the smallest details that surround you in life can help add color and spice to your writing.

I haven’t done one of these in a while, and I’m trying to start back up. If you have ever attended one of my writing workshops on description, you may have heard me say, “Your world needs to haunt your reader.” The world that you have created, including the landscape and folklore, should stay with your reader even after she puts the book down. Infusing your story with rich sensory details can help you accomplish that goal.

I’m currently vacationing in the Smokey Mountain area of North Carolina, and I have enjoyed a few hikes in the woods (as much as I can in my 3rd trimester). 

So many of my stories, especially those in the Elysian Chronicles, take place in the woods. I “put on my writing hat” so to speak. As I walked through the forest, I tried to pay attention to the sensory details surrounding me with the hopes of improving my stories. Here are a few things I noticed:

The forest has sounds. We all know this, but actually being in a forest reminded me of how many sounds it has. Wind moves the trees and leaves. Birds sing–a lot. And the insects! Some sound like crickets, constantly chirping. Some swarm. I realized that as often as I have written about bird noises, I rarely talk about bug noises.
Woods have tree roots. These make excellent character-tripping devices. ;)
Spiders live in the forest, too. Not only do spiders bite, but they weave webs–often across pathways. (Guess how many webs I ran into today?) Adding in little details such as running into spider webs can create tension, comic releif, or both.
The trees in the Smokies grow close together. This doesn’t really matter for most people, but my Elysian Chronicles characters are angels. (I call them cherubians .) They have wings, and I must take their wingspans into account when I write them. My characters would not be able to fly in this forest. Upon that thought, I realized just how unique my RSO’s are. They feel comfortable fighting in the woods–even when confined to the ground. This realization gives me several paths to follow in future books.
Only certain animals pose a threat to cherubians. A panther or tiger–a beast that sneaks up on prey, would be more dangerous to an angel than a bear who usually announces its presence. An angel can fly to escape the bear, but can’t escape a surprise attack. I started thinking more about creatures that were dangerous to angels, and I think I have one to two new types of scary monsters I can bring in to a new story.

A two mile hike gave me loads of new material for stories because I tried to pay attention to details I normally miss. It’s a good lesson for all of us to pay attention to the world around us as we pass through because the little details make out stories feel real and end up haunting our readers.

How about you? Have you ever noticed something in your daily life that you can apply to your stories?

Working With Editors: Eliminate Forms of “To Be” & “Had”

I’m currently working on the corrections my horror/thriller short story, “Blue Lights,” which will appear in an anthology edited by John Hartness. I figured I would write a few posts about some of the things I’m working on during the editing process. (Be sure to check out my last post, “Working With Editors: Send in Your Best Work.“)

As I mentioned in that post, I worked up to the deadline to complete this story and only slept for a few hours during the final days of finishing the story. Unfortunately, I committed one of writing’s the cardinal sins: using forms of to be and have/has/had too often, and my exhaustion kept me from catching them. Editors hate the overuse of those two words, and John mentioned it to me in an email:

Go through and excise every use of the verb “to be” all is, was, had been words must go. Then put back in the ones that you must have, but nine times out of ten the story will be better suited with stronger verbs.

Here are some of the comments that he gave me in the manuscript itself.

Go through and carefully examine every usage of the verb “to be” and excise it wherever possible. “He was tall” is lazy. “He towered over the room” is interesting. Also take out “filter words” like “it appeared.” Don’t have something appear to happen, make it HAPPEN. Pick better verbs.

Too many “had”s in here – removes urgency – find a way to recast this sentence in a more active voice

That was page one. By page three, his gave me much more … colorful … comments. I don’t blame him. I used over one hundred forms of had/has/had in a twenty-seven page manuscript, and I didn’t bother counting the uses of to be.

A few of you might be wondering why editors hate have/has/had and to be verbs.

Often, to be verbs indicate passive voice. I have blogged on passive voice here: Writing & Editing: Find and Eliminate Useless Verbs and On Writing: How to Break the “No Passive Voice Rule” & Get Away With It!. The best way to explain passive voice: when the subject of your sentence is not the action of the sentence. For instance: The ball was thrown by John. John is the one throwing, but the ball is the subject of the sentence. Flip it around and make John the subject. John threw the ball is more concise.
To be and have/has/had are weak verbs. Stories and scenes are about action. We read stories to find out what happened. Your verb is the backbone of your sentences, which when put together make scenes. Make your verbs strong and vibrant. (I’ve blogged a bit on that here: Writing & Editing: Find & Eliminate Undescriptive, Empty Words.)
Have/has/had is often unnecessary, and it slows down a story’s pacing. They become fall back words. They sound awkward when overused. And sometimes, had is used when a different verb should be in its place. I had a lot of of has/had verbs sounds much less polished than I used a lot of has/had verbs.
To be verbs take up too many words. Word count is precious. Her hair was dark and disappeared into the night wind takes up more words than Her dark hair disappeared into the night wind.

Knowing editors hate to be verbs and have/has/had is one thing. Eliminating them is another thing entirely. A writer can’t just look up to be or had in a thesaurus and replace the words. Usually you have to reorganize the sentences–or even whole paragraphs.

Here are a few types of fixes you might need to employ:

Have/has/had

I used quite more had’s than normal in this manuscript because so much of my characters’ actions in the present relate to their actions in the past. Technically my had’s were correctly used, but used to much, which hurt the rhythm and pacing of my story. That’s what I get for trying to write a complex story with a backstory that explains character. Urgh!

NOTE: Some forms of had are not only correct, but also necessary. If your character should have done something, you probably need to let that one stay. However, I have often found that you rewrite even technically correct usages of had into something better.

The simple fix: take it out.

Original: Seeing the captain brought back memories I had forced back into the recesses of my mind…

Technically, I correctly used had here as the action of forcing the memory into his mind happened in his past. As stated before, since I used the words so often throughout the manuscript, I took the word out. I will let my editor sort through whether a had is needed.

Edited:Seeing the captain brought back memories I forced back into the recesses of my mind…

The more complex fix: Reorganize.

Notice I used should have which, again, is technically correct, but I took it out and replaced it with better, more complex and mature wording, which gave the sentence a bit more punch.

Original: I wore my best midnight-blue, silk waistcoat and I decided to travel in a thinner jacket than I should have with an October cold spell threatening.

Edited: I wore my midnight-blue, silk waistcoat and my best jacket. I thought about wearing my warmer, second-hand jacket—especially considering the current October cold spell…

(Why does the jacket matter? The story takes place in Victorian England where clothing was expensive and often purchased second hand. My character’s preoccupation with his clothes and appearance are part of a character flaw that comes into play later.)

To be verbs

The simple fix: change it around.

Original: My warmer, second-hand jacket was slightly too big in the shoulders.

Notice that I also used slightly too big–an adverb and a modified adjective. Seriously, big? I left big in a finished manuscript? I moved the wording around in the paragraph, and added the phrase below to a previous sentence talking about the jacket.

Edited: …but it sagged in the shoulders.

Instead of saying it was slightly too big, I gave the audience a specific word picture: a jacket that sags in the shoulders, which also lets the audience know my character has a smaller frame.

The more complex fix:  Reorganize

Original: He was missing a few teeth, and his clothes were probably on their fourth owner.

Both uses of was here take away a chance to plant a more specific picture in the reader’s imagination. I changed this sentence to read like this.

Edited: His chapped lips covered his five remaining teeth, and multiple patches dotted his jacket and trousers. He probably bought them fourth-hand, I surmised.

With a few words added in here an there, the reader now sees that my character has chapped lips and only five teeth. The reader understands that the jacket is old, not because I told him but because I showed him by mentioning the patches.

The Grenade Fix: just rewrite the entire thing.

When editing, you might encounter a paragraph chock full of to be’s and have/has/had’s. Sometimes, you just have to rewrite the whole thing. My advice is to concentrate on how the situation affects your character physically and mentally. Focus on your character’s reaction and what he/she senses. Make your prose character-based instead of using it to deliver basic information.

Original: What were the chances of Lord Castleton, Captain Wilson, and I each boarding the same carriage? My instincts insisted this was not a coincidence.

The coachman turned to me. “John Blackburn?”

I should have shaken my head and pretended I was someone else. Instead I nodded. Statistics be damned; I needed the job.

This paragraph took some time on my part.

Edited: Even in the cool weather, beads of sweat formed on my forehead. I wondered what strange chances caused Lord Castleton, Captain Wilson to board the same carriage, and a chilling thought entered my mind. What if the duke knew our secret?

The coachman turned to me. “John Blackburn?”

I paused, unable to breathe. Should I pass off this encounter as coincidence or turn back to the station? After a deep breath and a long exhale, I nodded and handed the coachman my bag. I needed the job, and I refused to allow coincidence to interfere.

Eliminating my  to be’s and had’s not only allowed me to concentrate on my character’s emotions, but also to increase tension for the reader earlier on in the story by alluding to a secret.

You might be reading my original sentences wondering why and editor wouldn’t like them and why I would spend so much time fixing them. Generally, defaulting to sentences using to be as the main verb don’t describe your story as well as they could. The few changes I made with these sentences shortened word count and also gave the reader a more accurate visual image.

It took me a while, but the end product was worth it.

How about you? Have you ever struggled with rewriting to be or have/has/had words?