Lady Notorious

SFFS Snipet -- February 11th

2012-02-10T21:05:00.003-05:00

I was trying to think of what to post for my SFFS snippet this week, when a writing prompt struck me. I didn’t get a chance to finish the prompt (work, you stink!) but I wanted to post what I had started so far. Here goes!

Snippet --->

The shadows came and went. They weren’t waves and they weren’t predictable. It was the shielding of a body on the upper walk here, a momentary cloud over the sun there; each no more than a puddle. If she knew the pattern she could skip like a stone across them all, finding a way in darkness to the street’s other side.

Instead she hung back under the awning, waiting like a starving child for a crust of bread that was never going to come.

She’d have to gamble.

The pennants atop the buildings undulated in the breeze, their fairly stable shadows offering her the best entry point. They’d betray her in a strong gust, but if the wind held steady she could make it halfway across the street without too many acrobatics.

She checked the charge on her transparency generator: still getting the orange “go” light. The mini-field was big enough to surround her and her alone, and while it offered decent cover in low-light areas, the cheap photon emitter couldn’t hold up an illusion under sunlight.

…more to come! :)

Check out the other fabulous snippets at http://scififansat.blogspot.com/

Random Poem Day -- Writing Prompt #40

2012-01-06T13:42:00.005-05:00

As always, a quiet blog is a good news for my writing, and this latest chunk of silence brings with it new EG pages. Broke the 49,000 word mark! Come laziness or gaming (hell and high water being such a cliche) I am breaking the 50,000 word mark this weekend. I promise.

For today I'm trying to make it through the last work day of the week and struggling. This, of course, brings on a writing prompt! Today's prompt is easy: write a random poem. Before any poem-fear strikes you, know this. I do not write poems. Ever. But! Writing prompts are for stretching your writing muscles, as well as for writing without critique or edits, so this is the perfect time to try out poetry.

Besides, once you read mine you'll automatically feel good about yours. ;-)

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Here's mine:

It’s one-thirty I’m losing my mind
Negative gears are going full grind
Wish I could leave get away and unwind
Negative gears are going full grind

Heard all of nothing and it all sounds the same
Work sleep work sleep dying in this game
Legs so bent joints are all getting maimed
Work sleep work sleep dying in this game

Parallel hours make the light long and black
Sleep deep curl wish for not going back
Dying mind fails at picking up the slack
Sleep deep curl wish for not going back

It’s one-thirty I’m losing my mind
Negative gears are going full grind

SFFS Snipet -- December

2011-12-16T18:44:00.002-05:00

This is my first Saturday participating in the Science Fiction Fantasy Saturday snippet posting! Thanks to Heidi Ruby Miller for directing me over to the Science Fiction Fantasy Saturday blog.

I decided to post a quick snippet from my current wip, Empress Game. This is the end of the heroes’ first full conversation:

Their kiss in the arena sprang to mind even as she changed her grip on the hilt of her kris daggers. Alone with him, this close, she caught the heated scent of his skin: old-fashioned imperial soap. A scent sadly lacking on Altair Tri.

He held his hands up—away from his sides, fingers spread—keeping a careful eye on her daggers.

“I mean to make you an offer you can’t refuse, Shadow.”

“And I mean to sheathe my dagger in something soft if you don’t back the hell up and get out of my room. Now.”

“We’ll finish this later.” He slipped out before she could reply.

Entangled Publishing Open Call for Anthology Submissions

2011-12-09T13:15:00.003-05:00

Here's an awesome open call for submissions by hot new boutique publisher Entangled Publishing. Check out the super cool theme: Geeks! The submission deadline is April 15th, so get those stories in!

CALL FOR SUBMISSIONS

Forget the meek—the geek shall inherit the earth, and it’s their turn to find out just how much love bytes. We love seeing beauty and brains combined, whether geeks are dealing with the tiresome rigors of tech support, arguing Star Wars vs. Star Trek, brewing coffee in beakers, pwning the opposing faction in an MMORPG, or single-handedly bringing down an unstoppable robot army. No longer shall geeks be pushed to the bottom of the social ladder. The geek revolution is now, and we want to hear their stories.

Entangled publishing seeks submissions for a 2012 geek collection on the Ever After line. Submissions must:

• Be 20,000 to 40,000 words in length.
• Contain strong romantic elements.
• Involve a geek as a primary character, anything from a programmer to a starship engineer.

All heat levels will be accepted, but erotic elements must not be the main focus of the story.

Previously published material will not be considered, nor will manuscripts that have already been rejected by Entangled.

Manuscripts that have been chosen for the anthology will be released as ebooks in 2012, with the possibility of a print compilation at a later date.

To submit a manuscript for consideration, please send the full manuscript (RTF format) and a one-page query letter briefly describing the premise, heat level, and word count to everafter-submissions(at)entangledpublishing(dot)com. Query letters should be addressed to Adrien-Luc Sanders. Please include “Geek Collection” and your title in the subject line.

Submissions are open until April 15th, 2012 and final decisions will be made by May 1st. Standard Entangled Publishing royalty rates apply. Standard Entangled Publishing royalty rates apply.

Harlequin’s Newest Editor!!

2011-12-09T13:11:00.000-05:00

After 6 months of waiting and 6 different editing tests, I have been contracted as a freelance editor for Harlequin! I am over the moon with excitement :)

What this means for me: Those books you’re seeing on the bookstore shelves? The novels you’re buying on your nook or kindle? Yeah. I touched that. I edited that. I helped shape that. Wow. I am so excited about this opportunity and looking forward to helping good authors improve already great books! :)

Wish me luck!

Didn’t See That Coming – Writing Prompt #39

2011-12-09T11:50:00.002-05:00

I’m currently reading a Sci-Fi novel, Stardoc by S.L. Viehl, that I didn’t expect initially to enjoy very much. I picked it up at a yard sale for maybe $1, if that, and it was in a moment of boredom that I plucked it off of my shelf to give it a shot. I am SO glad I did. :) While not life-changing or the best book I’ve ever read, it is entertaining, and most importantly, surprising! I am hooked in a way I haven’t been with my reading lately.

When reading yesterday I hit a spot that the writer in me applauded.

The main character is a diminutive female doctor named Cherijo. She’s only 18, grew up sheltered and also dominated by an overbearing father. She’s out of her element on a frontier colony, and pushed to her breaking point in an understaffed, underequipped FreeClinic medical trauma unit.

She’s not my typical fave hero, because I prefer knife/sword-wielding badasses, but I like her all the same despite her being more healer than martial.

When, in a totally freakish moment, the man escorting her somewhere grabbed her quickly and established a mental link with her, without her permission I was outraged! He locked up her body and I felt her complete surprise, horror and fury over it. Turns out the man was trying it on her to see if he could. When he finally releases her and apologizes, the author surprised me by going outside of the healer mode for Cherijo and doing something I found 100% believable: She had Cherijo draw back and punch the man square in the face with all her fear and outrage burning through her.

That was what I didn’t see coming, the realism. Which, of course, inspired a prompt!

I’m not sure it’s possible in the space of a prompt, but, see if you can put a character in a situation where they can surprise a reader, believably, with their actions.

Ready… go!

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Here’s my attempt:

Other than the fact that it was red, the toaster oven was almost completely useless. It slow-baked when you wanted it to toast, and considered 350⁰ close enough when you set the oven temp to 400⁰.

Karen sighed at the warmed brick that should have been a delicious piece of sourdough toast and cursed the toaster oven, swearing once again she’d replace it if it didn’t shape up.

She wouldn’t.

The lifetime of frugality she’d learned from her mom would prevent her from tossing out an item that, though it sucked, wasn’t truly broken.

Karen caught fossilized crumbs on her plate and settled at the kitchen table with a book. She managed only a few pages before her cell phone rang. It was a fairly rare occurrence at night, for which she was thankful after listening to the chiming double-ring of the phones all day at work. Her family rarely called, their lives allowing barely more free time than the seconds it took to punch out a text, and the hour was such that if it was her dad, he’d been drinking and probably wouldn’t remember tomorrow that she’d ignored his call tonight.

She didn’t want to talk to whoever it was but her safety nature made her cross to the desk, book still in hand, and glance at the phone’s display.

Her boss’s ID.

She picked it up, faked the phone-smile-voice, and answered.

A coworker had to call out. In her boss’s opinion, being down one man left them in a desperate situation, and could she come in early. Right. Because when the business world didn’t start to panic until market open, they’d certainly get slammed at 5 am. She rolled her eyes as she agreed to the 4 am wake up time like it was really necessary. At least the Chicken Little was grateful when someone soothed his ridiculousness.

She dumped the phone back onto the desk, then cracked open her book. Where was she. . . .

The phone rang. Her boss again.

God damnit.

Unless he’d realized he was being a complete tool about having her come in early, she definitely didn’t want to talk to him again.

“Hello?”

Ah. The weekend. It was the same employee who was scheduled on this weekend, who also couldn’t cover that. Could she? She’d rather poke her eye out. She already had to cover all of New Year’s.

“Uh…”

They could really use her.

“No one else could do it?”

He hadn’t asked anyone at the larger office because despite it being 9 pm on a Thursday and no one else caring if it was scheduled yet or not, he couldn’t sleep until he knew someone was covering the weekend he wasn’t even the back-up on.

“I guess I could. . . .”

Great. She was a lifesaver. Of course he would have done it, if he could, he said. He’d love the overtime, but of course he didn’t get it. He worked 10 breakless hours all day all week he reminded her. As if he ever let anyone forget it. And he didn’t even get overtime, he reminded her. Right. Because he hadn’t known that was the case when he accepted the supe job they’d offered him.

Complete tool.

She made all the non-committal noises of sympathy she could handle while he talked about how he never took days off, wanting both to say “stfu,” and “I’m trying to read, gtf off my phone.”

Working the weekend. Again. She thought of the Christmas shopping she had to do, of the errands she needed to run, the dinner out she wanted to have with her boyfriend…scrapped. The weekend shift meant never being farther from her computer than the laundry room, ready even in the dead of night to work at the drop of a hat. Sure, with a laptop and wifi she could sit at a coffee shop and wait in case work came in, but she couldn’t be off the grid for the time it took to get there. Just. In. Case.

Paid OT was a minor compensation when she thought of how she just couldn’t afford to work the weekend and try to keep up with the rest of her life.

Grrr.

He could take his OT, his “I never take a day off, I hate to stick you with this,” his sky-is-falling paranoia and shove it.

The OT…

She went to her kitchen, unplugged the shiny red toaster oven and marched down to the dumpster, pjs, slippers and all, to heave the useless appliance inside. She could afford to by a real toaster. She didn’t need to keep being frustrated by that abomination.

She made it three steps before the guilt set in. Five more before it really hit her. She made it to the outer door before she caved, pjs, slippers and all, and marched back to the dumpster to retrieve the not-really-broken appliance.

God damn.

But . . . I need you – Writing Prompt #38

2011-12-02T11:55:00.001-05:00

Taking a quick break from grinding out a scene in EG to do a writing prompt. I’ve been trying (against my nature) to work on EG without an outline. It has been helpful in some aspects, letting me just write and not stress too much over the plotting right now. With only a rough idea of what happens next in each scene though, it’s a bit like walking through a house in the dark. You only vaguely know where things are.

A short and snappy writing prompt is just what I need.

Today we’re tackling dialogue like a hit and run. The scene of the crime? Each prompt starts with “But . . . I need you.” Write someone’s response to that sentence. It’s a one-line offense and you need to keep it moving. How many can you attack?

PS. These don’t have to make sense to everyone, but it’s not just about random words, either. You should know why your characters reply like they do.

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Here’s mine:

“But . . . I need you.”
“You don’t need me, you need my car.”

“But . . . I need you.”
“You should have thought of that before you set fire to my eggs.”

“But . . . I need you.”
“Like you needed her?”

“But . . . I need you.”
“I’ll be back in just a minute with help. Hang on.”

“But . . . I need you.”
“So does my cat.”

“But . . . I need you.”
*just a cold look, no words*

“But . . . I need you.”
“You don’t even know me.”

“But . . . I need you.”
“No one needs anyone. Not really. All you need is yourself, and you are complete. I certainly don’t need you.”

“But . . . I need you.”
“I’ll be here, right where you’re leaving me.”

“But . . . I need you.”
“You . . . you do?”

“But . . . I need you.”
“Like a lion needs an antelope.”

“But . . . I need you.”
“Don’t sound so surprised.”

“But . . . I need you.”
“In the end, that’s not enough. You have to want me. Do you want me? Or do you only need me, against your will.”

“But . . . I need you.”
“I can’t stay.”

“But . . . I need you.”
“Saying what I want to hear doesn’t make us any more real.”

“But . . . I need you.”
“Tell me you love me.”

“But . . . I need you.”
“Great. A zombie needs me. Now my day is complete.”

Rough Draft Progress – Empress Game

2011-12-02T10:23:00.005-05:00

I have definitely been slacking on my writing prompts, but I can't be sad since the time has been spent working on EG. Hit a big milestone on the rough draft yesterday, broke the "40% done on the rough draft" barrier! woot!

The thanks goes to my awesome crit partners, Jen Brooks and Diana Botsford, who have been inspiring me with their own writing efforts.

41,000 / 100,000 (41%)

Out of the Light – Writing Prompt #37

2011-11-16T10:25:00.001-05:00

It has been too long since I’ve done a writing prompt, which is both good and bad. Bad because I miss the free writing and randomness of it. Good because I’ve been working on EG. Whatever spare minutes I’ve been able to steal for writing have been spent on my wip. But I’ve had ideas for prompts scratching at my brain, begging to be let loose, and I had to take some time to run with one.

Today we’re back to conflict, a conflict of desire surrounding something as simple as light. Two characters are in close proximity, either starting in light or darkness. One wants light, the other darkness. Why?

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Here’s mine:

He passed through the portal with the relief of escaping. He stepped into darkness, the breath easing from his chest. Already his shoulders relaxed with the lifting of tension. Wings coiled too tightly unfurled, stretching with a leathery rustle. He dropped the last shreds of glamour clinging to him and freed his soul from its bindings. Here he was not mortal. Here he did not have to be a human.

The balm of his freedom touched the ragged places. Damn, it felt so good. He moved unerring in the dark to the mouth of the cave, craving the release of being himself in the greater abyss of the cavern ahead.

Alive.

Here he lived. Here, he was truth.
* * *
She bided her time amid the shadows, claws clinging to the stone above as she hung in wait. He would be here soon. Talons stroked the dark in a caress, rippling through the blanket of safety without a disturbance. He would smell like them. Stink like them.

Too long had he been gone from her company.

His wing-claw scratched his arrival across stone. Still she waited. He would leap to flight when he reached the shelf, spread his wings and remember who he was supposed to be in the embrace of darkness. He had spoken to her of the release he felt when returning home from his travels, the joy of it.

Joy he did not deserve.

She spoke the Word when she felt him near and light sprang to being. He cringed back. Wings that should never be shamed furled. He rose on two legs as he shrank. The heat shimmer of foul magic wavered and he became less.

“And that is who you are now. The light hides that which you should never have forgotten. Begone. The Caverns welcome you no longer.”

Stop Torturing Your Characters for a Moment – Writing Prompt #36

2011-11-02T12:20:00.002-04:00

I recently spent an amazing weekend at the beach and got to spend time with 2 of my favorite guys. Well, one of them was my bulldog Buri, but, he still counts. Despite chilly water temps, we bundled up in wetsuits and went for a SUP (stand-up paddle board) session on the water. The wind was quiet, the waves mild and the beach was nearly deserted. It was just us and the water in the mid-afternoon light. Here’s a shot of me enjoying myself. I entitle it simply, “Happiness.”

Too often my writing prompts center on something negative. Maybe that’s where all the conflict is, and conflict is the heart of story, but that isn’t all there is to life. Even if that’s all I seem to write about. ;-) I challenge you to write something positive for your character, to draw a moment that could be titled simply, “Happiness.”

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Here’s mine:

“Damnit!”

Inrialan summoned a touch of frost and pressed a fingertip to her burning earlobe. A snagged earring dangled from the lacy edge of the handkerchief she’d tucked into her sleeve, glinting in the magelight. She plucked the bit of metal and threaded it back through her ear with a frown at the handkerchief.

“Blasted thing.”

She shook her fiery , chin-length hair back over her ear. Perhaps something a bit longer? Her mirrored image confirmed her initial choice. Beaten mithril peeked from beneath the blunt edge with just the right amount of flash. Perfect.

Silk slid against silk as she smoothed a gloved hand over her scarlet and deep violet robe. Sweet luxury, oh how I’ve missed you. Homespun and wool garments had suited her purposes for the arduous week. They were, however, infinitely better suited to their current purpose: as bedding for her kitties. After that she’d donate them to the orphan matron.

Sorintha blinked at her from her perch atop Inrialan’s velvet dressing chair, yawning in feline somnolence at her activity.

*surely we’re not going out again*

“Must you sound so disgusted, Sori?”

Sorintha bent to lick a paw. *I’ve had all I can take of that dreadful flying carpet of yours. The thing smells like a yak in the rain.*

“Suit yourself.” Despite her determination, Inrialan was loathe to leave her rooms in the Mage Tower today. She’d had enough of being jostled by grubby peasant children stuffing their faces in the candy-filled pumpkins she was trying to extract treats from. One more day of that and she might scream. One more day of dressing like a farmer and going town to town to trick-or-treat and someone was getting lit on fire.

She could have bought that demanding little brat a barrel-full of marzipan from Dalaran’s confectioners, enough to keep him high off the sugar for a month, but no. He wanted the disgusting taffy the commoners made during the holiday and only passed among each other. So it had been a week full of dressing in costume, resurrecting the hated vernacular of her former life and begging treats.

“Ridiculous.” Worth it, though, assuming the child honored their bargain. Even Sorintha agreed on that score.

Inrialan selected her violet velvet cloak from the stand and swirled it around to settle on her shoulders. She spent only a few minutes perfecting the fall of the fabric before grabbing the offending sack of candy and heading for the portal. Time to trade.

* * *

Inrialan minced along the sidewalk, careful to keep out of the dusty street. She had the perfumed handkerchief pressed to her nose and the hand holding her candy plucked at her skirts to keep the hem from trailing. Acrid orange fog rose in patches along the broad thoroughfare, gifts from the Horde. At least the fiends had left off tossing their stink bombs, for the moment.

She hurried along. Slippered feet made no sound against the red brick walkway. The few shopkeepers brave enough to open their doors to the noxious fumes dipped her polite curtsies as she passed, some smiling, some avoiding her gaze. She passed through the portcullis of the inner wall and paused. Blue sky spread in an arc between the inner and outer curtain walls, normally a welcome sight. Today she scanned instead for the disfigured blot of an orc or Forsaken against the morning sun.

Nothing.

She wouldn’t for the world do something as undignified as run the length of the Heroes’ Walk to the city’s front gate, but she couldn’t keep a scurry from her step. The relative shelter of the gate beckoned. Beyond she could see the first of the tents were Elwyn’s peasants had gathered for their Hallow’s End celebrations.

He had better be there.

She wove among the people until she found the cluster of orphan children playing on the edge of the commotion. Barefoot girls in tattered frocks chased each other around wearing masks while the boys set fire to crude wickerman dolls.

There he was. The tow-headed one with the crooked teeth, shorter than the rest. His face was suspicious until his gaze landed on the full sack in her hand. All thought seemed to flee his mind and he almost looked wondrous.

“You brought the taffy?”

Inrialan tucked her handkerchief away again and opened the sack, letting him peer in. She kept a grip on it when he reached out a brown hand. “Where’s Findarae?”

He gestured absently behind him, eyes full of the candy.

Huddled against a bush, his abused tail curling behind, sat a tattered cat missing one half of an ear. His sable coat was spotty but his green eyes glowed like none she had ever seen. It let out the tiniest “mew” in her direction.

*Help me*

Inrialan dropped the sack to the child and knelt in the mud, her arms held out. Findarae, as the kitty called himself, ducked farther down into the bush, hiding, his eyes flitting between the scampering children and her welcome. She waited unmoving. A minute. Two. One of the girl children let out a shriek that sounded like “where’s kitty?” and Findarae flew from the bush. He hurtled himself on Inrialan like a furry comet and burrowed against her cloak.

Inrialan clutched him to her. She smiled, rubbing her cheek against his head. “I’ve got you now,” she murmured. He trembled as the kids started to protest her taking their cat away. Fire crackled on her palm when she reached out one hand toward the brats. “Back off.” The bravest looked like he might still approach. She launched a flurry of sparks at him, just enough to singe his clothes and hair. And eyebrows.

Findarae hissed at the pack of children and she whirled to carry him away. It wasn’t until she was halfway back to the Mage Tower that he finally relaxed. Then he melted against her, a ragged purr vibrating in her chest.

*Thank you* He nuzzled her chin.

She hugged him and scratched his uninjured ear with a finger while she hurried. He was hers now. In her life of fire and ice she knew much of rage and much of silence. Most other emotions eluded her, but this, this was what they called happiness.

Rough Draft Progress – Empress Game

2011-10-25T08:40:00.004-04:00

I hit a big milestone for my rough draft over the weekend. Based on my intended word count, I am 1/3 of the way through EG's first draft!

34,000 / 100,000 words

The First Taste – Writing Prompt #35

2011-10-24T12:58:00.002-04:00

I recently had my first adventure in windsurfing. Okay, it was technically my second, but since the first included only a number of attempts to stand up on the board in the seven position, followed by a whole lot of wiping out and no actual windsurfing, I’m counting this as my first.

Anyway.

I wasn’t too sure what I thought of windsurfing before that. Sure, it looked cool, but, eh. How much fun could just going back and forth on the water be?

Wow! What a zing I got. Once actual windsurfing occurred it was a whole new game. I only took a few passes back and forth on flat water at minimal speed, but…what a first taste. Definitely whetted my appetite for more.

Write about your character experiencing their first taste, literally or figuratively, of something. Anything.

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Here’s mine:

“You’re not Imperial, are you.”

Kayla shook her head, unable to deny the obvious. The reawakening of her psi powers had been too catastrophic for him to miss, Vayne’s even more so. Their connection was live electricity, arcing back and forth, splitting through the crowd that separated them. They’d overloaded the brains of dozens of unshielded Imperials and their unconscious bodies laid a path between her and Vayne.

Only Malkor had known how to shield himself and now he stood beside her, careful not to come between her and Vayne. Malkor glanced back at her twin before his gaze locked on her.

“Wyrd.”

The word was whispered, and she couldn’t be certain if those backing away from the scene had heard him, but that mattered was that she had.

He knew.

She let out a breath, her chest emptying of air. The release felt like a hundred years washing away from her. When she expelled the last of the breath she’d been holding for 5 years, she drew in.

Air.

Fresh air.

Free air.

She was free.

The truth was so sweet tears came to her eyes.

She was herself again. She gasped, coughing the air out and breathing again, deeply, greedily. She was living, drinking in air as a free Wyrd citizen.

Lady Evelyn and Shadow Panthe died.

“Who are you?”

“Kayla.” The words, murmured, had more power than a shout. “Kayla Reinumon; ro’haar to Vayne and Corinth Reinumon.” She burst free of the crust of exile. “I am Wyrd.”

Her first tastes of freedom in five years would be her last as she entered another kind of imprisonment, but it couldn’t matter. She was free. She was herself.

And she was known.

More Excitement in Crit Partner Land!

2011-10-20T08:03:00.000-04:00

One of my two fabulous crit partners, Jen Brooks, received yet another request for the full manuscript of her novel, Wishstone! This makes three requests in the space of 9 days! No surprise to me, since I am in love with her writing, but it is so great to see the agent response to what is a killer novel.

Wish her luck with this latest request. Soon she’ll have her pick of agents to choose from, sitting in the catbird seat.

Congrats, Jen!

Love, Scrambled – Writing Prompt #34

2011-10-14T10:15:00.000-04:00

Time for some writing reps, build those writing muscles. See how many times you can rock the same metaphor/simile:

Love is/is like an egg.

Remember to rest between sets!

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Here’s Mine:
(these are all “in character” and completely unrelated to my own thoughts about love)

1) After the affair, their love was a painted Easter egg. Ornately decorated on the outside with the hope of life blown out through one end.

2) He liked the guy, he really did. They were bros. Tailgating buddies, fishing partners and amateur mechanics together. He respected him, but jesus. What was all this talk of feelings? The guy was weirding him out with the tears and the midnight confessions. They’d been through a lot together, but…love? Love was like eggs, in his mind. They came from a woman.

3) And there it was, their love. Whole and shining. A little asymmetrical, true. And when life spun them ‘round fast enough, they wobbled. But it was there.

4) Their love, grown in the sheltered microcosm of a college campus, turned into the egg in a 7th grade science project when they hit real life: swathed in the false protection of suffocating Styrofoam, jammed into a peanut butter jar and thrown out the third story window. No one wanted to see the results when they hit the bottom.

Those Who Can, Do. Those Who Can’t…

2011-09-26T11:55:00.002-04:00

I have hated all my life the saying “Those who can, do. Those who can’t, teach.” It’s horrifically insulting to teachers who are, in my opinion, great shapers of the future. It also doesn’t take into account the altruistic nature of teaching. I think it should be, “Those who can, love their discipline so much they want to share their knowledge, passion and talent with others so that they too can enjoy the subject as much, and thus they teach.”

That said, I’m feeling my own version of the quote coming on. Driving home last night I was struck by the idea that “Those who can, write. Those who can’t, edit.”

I can’t get the thought out of my head.

Since the moment I decided that I wanted to pen a novel I’ve called myself a writer. It’s become part of my identity and self-definition. When people ask, “what do you do?” I say, “I’m a writer.” Lately though, I’m feeling a little like a fraud.

I’ve done very little writing over a very long stretch of time and I’m wondering if I can still even call myself a writer. Do I still have the drive it takes to write a novel? Do I still have the love for crafting? Am I a writer, or just an editor?

I said it. I used “just” when referring to the job of editor.

Editing is essential, every author knows that. We probably do more editing than actual writing on a novel when all is said and done. Producing professional manuscripts requires no less, and nothing makes prose shine so brightly as removing the clutter around it that threatens to drown the beauty of the words.

Editing, though, is not creating.

It is not sitting at the computer grinding out page after page of prose and dialogue and action and heartache. It is not crafting something from nothing, rediscovering the world from an entirely new perspective or taking someone on a journey only your imagination could conceive.

Editing is taking a creation, yours or someone else’s, and working like a scientist on it, analyzing, weighing and measuring. You edit grammar, punctuation, inconsistencies, repetitions… you trim word fat, seek and destroy passive voice, axe adverbs and generally act like a writer’s assistant. A valuable and essential assistant, but an assistant nonetheless.

Have I become an assistant, instead of a writer?

I edit non-fiction for my full time job. In my spare time, which could be used for writing, I somehow find more editing to occupy me. First I worked on my crit partner’s fabulous novel, Wishstone. 100% worth every second of effort spent on it and I’d do that again and again. It was a whirlwind and exciting and I am thankful to have been a part of the whole process. But after that, did I get back to writing?

No. Instead I took on more editing to help me avoid writing. First some editing for Entangled Publishing, next 6 editing tests for Harlequin, each from 50-100 pages long. Then judging a writing contest. Now editing a paper. All good causes, but, is this what I’ve become? An editor, instead of a writer?

And at what point do I have to give up the belief that I am in fact a writer and settle for being an editor?

Writing Prompt #33

2011-09-23T15:12:00.002-04:00

I’m sitting in my office on a slow Friday afternoon sipping at a cup o’ soup. Chicken noodle, of course. Why have I resorted to such extreme measures, you ask? I’ll give you a hint:

Breakfast…cereal
Mid-morning snack…cornbread
Lunch…more cereal

Guess who hasn’t grocery shopped in far too long. I’m reduced to foraging in my office kitchen…it’s not pretty.

That, of course, led to a prompt!

33) Choose several of your characters and name two foods for them. The first is what they’ve been eating the most of recently. The second is their favorite food/dish. Explain the how or why as you see fit.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Here’s mine:

Kayla

Most Recently: Protein-packed synth steaks that vaguely remind her of the flesh of a tua-tua fish. The tua-tua fish is native to the oceans of Ordoch and was a staple of her diet back home. It’s traded widely among the Wyrd Worlds but isn’t available even on the black market in the Empire.

This is the first time she’s had access to a fully stocked food synthesizer in five years and she has a hard time stopping herself from gorging on the tastiest, heartiest, most nutrient-rich foods she can program into the thing. It’s not til she arrives on the ship that she realizes she’s been slowly starving for her last five years. She limits herself on the rich dessert menu, but enjoying a healthy diet of lean proteins. When she’s not nabbing yet another serving of the flaky-fleshed synth steak, she’s encouraging Corinth to eat two of everything on the list.

Favorite: I am going with favorite treat instead of favorite dish on this one. It would have to be crystallized honey. Her twin Vayne would purchase the rare sweets for her, often shaped into flowers or polyhedrons, at special occasions. Their luxurious melt-in-your-mouth feel was a delicacy for her.

Malkor

Most Recently: Malkor and his octet had been enjoying some leave when someone *cough* the emperor *cough*put together a fraudulent holocast of Prince Arden finally calling the Empress Game. With the news reaching every planet in the empire, the damage was done. Arden, Malkor and Isonde thought they could take their time finding a body-double for Isonde before they called the game. Instead, they’re in a mad-scramble to find someone who fits the bill before the commencement of the Game.

Malkor called his octet in to help, and together they did a blitz-style study of possible candidates from the more obscure planets, burning the candle at both ends and rushing the search. As a result, Malkor has been downing caffeinated quiox of the non-synthesized variety by the liter.

Favorite: Anything real. He’s not particular about his food and he’d take simple fare over scrumptious, delicately programmed synth-food any day. Especially fresh fruits and vegetables. Not synthesized, not flash-frozen, not dehydrated or reconstituted, but fresh from the vine/bush/tree/plant, so-ripe-it’s-juicy, worth-every-exorbitant-credit-on-Falanaar, I-just-picked-it-this-morning fruit.

Writing Prompt #32

2011-09-22T11:34:00.000-04:00

I’m waiting in the airport to head home from vacation and thought I’d grab the time to write a quick prompt. I visited the south for the first time in my life really, excepting a short stint into Disney World. We were ensconced deep amid the Spanish moss on Edisto Island, SC, and the vegetation was as beautiful as it was intriguing. This, of course, leads to a prompt about setting!

Your character arrives in previously unknown setting, how do they perceive it? This can be a foreign land, another planet or something only as exotic as another person’s bedroom. All that matters is that your character has never seen this “world” before.

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Here’s mine

Isovien kept her eyes tightly shut as the residual energy of the teleportation spell washed through her, grounding her hard in the Alliance base in the Arathi Basin. The last of the magic shivered its way out of her skin. She opened her eyes to the sound of the company reorganizing itself around her. The clatter reverberated against the bare planks of the staging shack they stood in. Absent was the usual banter, replaced by the creak of buckles being drawn tight against leather armor and swords sliding in and out of scabbards as they were checked and rechecked for readiness.

Isovien turned her attention to the League of Arathor’s stronghold. If such a collection of uneven and badly laid planks forming floor, walls and ceiling could be called a stronghold. Rain ran in along a gaping seam on one side. The stained boards there were already growing a snowflake-patterned mildew design. She pulled her cloak a little tighter against her and shifted away from the rat droppings lining one wall.

The captain clomped down hollow stairs and she followed him out, anxious to escape the mustiness of the shack before it permeated her gear. Mist dusted her blonde hair. She crossed the grassy yard, the beaten leather of her leggings stained darker by her passage through a stand of wildflowers. The knights-captain’s eager readiness came up hard against the iron scrollwork encircling half a league of graves.

“Here,” he said, eyes shining with purpose as he pointed down the hill. “That’s our first objective.”

She turned at his voice and got her first look of their battlefield.

It was surprisingly serene in the watery late-afternoon light. Sporadic paving stones made a path from the stronghold down to what looked to be a stable.

(That’s as far as I got)

Writing Prompt #31

2011-09-15T11:42:00.005-04:00

I feel like I've been up to my eyeballs in editing lately, and I haven't written in two weeks. I love editing, but too much looking at other people's work is driving a need in me to actually create something for a change.

No work on EG just yet since I don't have the time to delve deeply enough into it, but I did snatch a few minutes for an impromptu prompt!

It's a dose of fan fic free writing. Choose your favorite novel, shared world, video game, what have you, and write something set in it.

-----------------------------------------

Here's mine:

Isovien sat astride her mare in the shallow depression sunk into the hills of the Arathi Highlands that housed the outpost known as Refuge Pointe. Things were still in the pre-dawn light. Jiahana’s hooves clomping on the ground as they’d entered camp and the faintest jingle of her tack had been the only sounds on their arrival.

Isovien preferred it that way.

She ducked farther into her hood against the chill fog that wreathed the hollow and scanned the lean-tos for a place to rest. The onus of her new assignment was an uncomfortable weight on her shoulders that she couldn’t shrug off, and the bitter taste of resentment lingered on her tongue. More than anything she needed a moment to herself. Time to brace herself for the indefatigable optimism of the League of Arathor knights. Time to hide her disappointment and frustration. Time to assume the guise of enthusiasm and cheery determination necessary for her new role as medic to the defenders.

She spotted an unoccupied berth at the end of a row and led Jiahana there. She tethered the mare to the nearby post, retrieved her bedroll and ducked inside the tent. They’d discover her arrival soon enough, but for now she wanted her last moments of silence and peace. She wrapped herself in her cloak, keeping her head covered, and curled up on her bedroll.

(I wrote more on this prompt, check my "comments" farther down on this thread to see the rest)

Writing Prompt #30

2011-08-29T14:29:00.004-04:00

Your character is in a kitchen, could be their own, a friend’s, a restaurant’s, etc., you choose, and they think they hear an intruder approaching! They grab. . .what! Rock the characterization with this simple choice.

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Here’s mine:

Genie paused, soup spoon half to mouth, ramen dangling precariously, and listened. The drip-plop of a noodle landing back in the bowl obscured only for a second the creak she thought she’d heard, but nothing silenced it a third time.

Ice seared her system and she burst out in goosebumps. Who the hell was in her house? Would he know where she was? Her gaze locked on the doorway to the kitchen. Hide or fight?

Part of her mind tried to reason that she might be able to escape if she ran for the door now, but she was too scared to move toward the sound. She could maybe scramble through the kitchen window, but she couldn’t for anything turn away from the doorway and expose her back to the potential threat.

The creak came closer.

Holy shit.

Soup spewed when she dropped her spoon and pushed away from the table with both hands, shoving herself backward before standing.

Weapon. No knives. Weapon. No knives.

Law & Order: SVU and CSI: Miami had drilled it into her brain. People who didn’t know how to use knives were more likely to get themselves injured than their attacker.

With her gaze bolted on the kitchen entrance, all she could see was the mug of cooking utensils she kept in the corner of the counter. She grabbed the heftiest item in there—the potato masher. Maybe she could bash his head in with its wavy edge. Maybe if she caught him on the top of his skull. Maybe if she bashed him with all the spastic, strangling fear rushing through her limbs so fast they shook.

Maybe.

Against the revolting of her stomach she kept her back plastered against the counter and crept along toward the refrigerator, inching closer to the doorway.

She needed surprise, it was her only hope.

She was near to hyperventilating and three feet short of her goal when she locked up, unable to make herself move any closer to the doorway. She should hold the potato masher in her right hand and cock her arm back, ready to lunge and brain him the sec he came into view. Instead she gripped it in both fists, holding it in front of her like a shield. She couldn’t fight the instinct to curl inward and protect her core.

Done!

2011-08-29T09:22:00.002-04:00

It is with some relief that I sent off my editing tests to Harlequin this morning. As much as I enjoyed working on (most of) them, it is nice to have such a major project completed and off my desk.

Now…for the wait. They quoted a response time of October. While that wait might kill me, it is at least much better than having no idea if there would be any response initially. As much as working for Harlequin would be lovely, I’m not leaning one way or the other on my hopes for the job, since it would be a second job for me, and I already do quite a bit of work at my first. Let’s see how things shake out, shall we?

Now to get back to my first love: writing!

Empress Game Progress

2011-08-20T15:06:00.013-04:00

Was able to steal a little writing time this week in between editing, here's where I'm at on EG:

26%

107 / 400 pages

Dry Spell

2011-08-17T07:28:00.011-04:00

On a prompting hiatus once again to work on edits. This time it's editing tests for romance giant Harlequin. I'm very excited to be working on 5 category romances and 1 single title. The Harlequin lines represented are:

Intrigue
Nocturne
Desire
Superromance
Love Inspired

I'm also working on a book for their HQN imprint. One of my all-time favorite futuristic romance authors, Susan Grant, (second only to the amazing CJ Barry) is published with HQN, as is guaranteed good read historical author Nicola Cornick. And of course, they've published historical powerhouse Bertrice Small.

I'm three novels in and I've already seen 1 cowboy, 1 sheriff, and 1 cowboy turned detective turned cowboy. Not that I'm complaining...

Here's my fave CJ Barry cover. I swear it's not because the hero bears a striking resemblence to the Farscape character John Crichton.

Okay, maybe there's a slight resemblence...

Broke 100!

2011-08-09T09:54:00.001-04:00

Happy news! I broke the 100 page mark on Empress Game last night!

300 pages left to go...

Writing Prompt #29

2011-08-05T09:54:00.000-04:00

29) Write a sentence for each of the following made up words:

1) Glamaccord
2) Heartangle
3) Whipfire
4) Intrafall

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Here’s Mine:

1) They descended the stairs together, catching the eye of all with their glamaccord. The stylishly mutilated off-one-shoulder grey sweatshirt and high side-ponytail were in full evidence. Too many pairs of legwarmers swaddled calves. They were zombies from their pasts, crawling straight from I Want My MTV to the pages of Us Weekly.

2) She grieved for the acuteness of his heartangle. Had it been right he might have been swayed. Even a small expansion of the minor arc of his emotions would have let doubt in. Almost she wished he could be obtuse. Any fool with arms that wide deserved the serving of advantage taking they got, but it would have spared him the ache his ray sped toward.

3) “I love you.” The words burned like whipfire, searing though his skin to the core of guilt beneath. What good is love, when you don’t want it? (Inspired by kickass lyrics from The Brother Kite)

4) Kayla sprinted for the magchute, her only route to Corinth. The air tearing from her lungs couldn’t slow her frantic effort. The lift pod hung in the intrafall between polarization reversals, its descent a millisecond from switching to a breakneck launch. Fear reached its hand out. Gravity failed her. Her last step flung her into a swimming stroke that ricocheted her off the door before sending her spinning away, fingers grasping air.

Encouragement...

2011-08-05T08:38:00.003-04:00

Thought for my day, and my ongoing dilema of which novel to work on:

No time spent writing is ever wasted.

A reply to Writing Prompt #26

2011-08-05T08:33:00.002-04:00

My dear friend David Medinnus took the time to write a fabulous (and chilling!) response to writing prompt #26, but blogger wouldn't fit it in the comment box. I am posting it here for him so that you can enjoy his unique view of a shattered life.

Thanks so much for the post, David!

Here's his work:

Jon stared at the weapon that lay disassembled on the coffee table. Unassembled, the Steyr GB 80 didn't look particularly menacing; for the most part the pieces appeared to be just the miscellaneous flotsam and jetsam of any engineering shop. When assembled, however, they were so much more than the sum of their parts, and the honored forefather of the entire Glock manufacturing philosophy. Developed during the end of World War II, the Steyr had been mass-produced to replace the aging P38 pistol used by European law enforcement. They had seen decades of service until the mid 1980's, when the Glock line of polymer and polycarbon frames had replaced them. A remnant of the age of dark steel and cold iron, the Steyr was well-past its usefulness.

Like its owner.

Jonathan Stone had an affinity for the tools of the trade of his (some would say) mis-spent youth, and often used their care and maintenance as a form of meditation. The cleaning solutions, lubricants, and cleaning patches almost moved by themselves as Jon recalled what was likely to be his final conversation with Marlene Rogers, who had been his lover until a few hours ago.

The evening's downturn had started with an innocent telephone call. Jonathan had been in the shower; he had been in the catacombs of a data center, running new cable between demarcation and switch. The enclosed space between the raised flooring and the concrete slab was a spiderweb of ethernet, fibre optic, and electrical cabling, all of which could easily become unplugged when transversed by the unwary, and the work being done required meticulous concentration. By the time he'd finished, Jonathan was dirty, sweaty, and exhausted.

When he had finished his shower, he had dressed and returned to the living area. He could almost feel the chill from Marlene.

"There is something wrong?" he asked, a master of the completely obvious to the end.

"You got a call from Grizzly48. He was curious to know how you're holding up," she began, ice water dripping from every word. "He said that you and Freya36 were close, and he was worried."

Jon went still inside, and he felt his emotions recede in the distance, as if he'd loaded them into the back of a moving truck.

"So, how are you holding up... Zero9?" she continued, her voice going from a rigid frigidity to blazing sarcasm in milliseconds.

"I'm fine, Marlene," Jon lied. He listened to his own voice, which had gone flat; even he didn't really believe his answer.

Jon didn't remember in detail what she said next, although he remembered the subtext; he didn't love her, as love can only come with trust. He didn't trust her, or he would have told her about having worked for the state department as part of an "urban counter-terrorism team". That he'd signed the Official Secrets Act was apparently not germaine.

She didn't understand -- and he wouldn't want her to be able to -- that he hadn't been handling out civil citations. When his team went into the field to 'arrest and detain', it was with the knowledge that any mission where they actually arrested and detained anyone had been a failure.

When the state department cried "Havoc!" and released their team, it was understood that there was not enough evidence admissible in a court of law to ever convict. It was understood that judgment had already been passed down, and that the object of the mission represented a "clear and present danger" to their country.

What they didn't tell you was that every time you pulled the trigger of your gun and watched the innards of another human being splatter against the wall, a small sliver of your soul withered. They didn't tell you that the powerful bonds with the rest of your fire team could be shattered into rage and raw grief, and that when those scarred over you were left with an instinct to cringe away from human contact. They didn't tell you that when your knife entered another human's body just under the sternum, avoiding the rib cage on its way to the aorta that you would feel the death as it claimed him, traveling from his body to yours like an oil spill across a body of water.

They didn't tell you that the only people who would understand were the same people in the process of destroying their own souls for God and country - because they couldn't. The members of a fire team had a notoriously high churn rate, and were too valuable to waste in promotion to command.

Jonathan had left while there had still been a modicum of his own soul left intact, knowing full well that if he was not a model of discretion, he could very well find himself under the category of a Clear and Present Danger.

In the two decades that followed, he had learned that the only way around the emotional crippling he'd endured was to re-open the wounds and keep them open while they healed.

He'd learned that the way people looked at you changed if you didn't reflexively flinch at the carnage to which the human flesh is heir, whether by accident or malice.

He'd learned that a lover's gaze inevitably turned to stone if they could ever internalize and understand what you'd done, regardless of the reason. He'd learned that some pain, some anguish you couldn't share with anyone, and that some actions were beyond redemption.

He'd learned that when you gazed into the Abyss and it looked back at you, you never saw its gloating stare at claiming another victim.

He'd learned to swallow grief like 200-proof vodka, and not to share or show anyone else. In trying to help they'd ask questions he couldn't answer, which led inevitably to confrontations about trust issues.

Marlene had slammed the door on her way out - out of the apartment, probably out of his life. Jon had walked to the closet, removed the false wallboard panel hidden my a home-made shoe caddy, and taken his "box of toys" to the living room.

The Glock 26, disassembled, cleaned, and oiled. Four clips loaded with 9mm 110 grain hydrostatic shock rounds.

Each of his three throwing knives, sharpened on a stone, cleaned, and oiled.

A finger tree saw that had never been drawn across wood, oiled and re-coiled.

The Steyr GB 80 was the final instrument taken from his toolbox. It had belonged to Sharp21, who had been his first fire team operations "manager". It was both a tool and reminder, a legacy reeking of blood and cordite.

One day, the tools of his former trade were likely to not be replaced in the box, but rather to end up in a forensics pathology lab. Jonathan would be beyond the pain that meant he still had the capacity to heal.

But not today.

Writing Prompt #28

2011-08-03T09:31:00.001-04:00

28) Merriam Webster defines Character as: one of the attributes or features that make up and distinguish an individual. Let’s talk the character of characters.

List three strengths and three weaknesses, no matter how big or small, of your character.

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Here’s mine:

Malkor

Strengths:
1) Commitment to an ideal – justice
2) Desire for non-violent solutions despite his physical strength
3) Quick mind

Weaknesses:
1) Rigid view of the feminine ideal
2) Not opposed to bullying in order to get his way
3) Perhaps too much faith in Isonde and Arden

Struggling to come up with three weaknesses for Malkor, a character I’ve just started working with, made it clear that a) he is a bit too Mary Sue and b) I need to work on making him more 3 dimensional!

Writing Prompt #27

2011-07-27T08:16:00.001-04:00

27) Describe sunlight without using definitions or descriptors for light.

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Here’s Mine:

It hides, cat-like, here one moment and gone the next. There you spot it before the forest shifts and it darts away, leaving only coolness behind. You walk into the open and it pours forth. The liquid warmth tumbles down, hitting your skin with instant energy. You close your lids. Red backs them as you tilt your face up to receive the caress. The clouds roll. The sensation deflects, fades into ambiguity. Its presence touches everything but leaves no distinctness until the clouds roll again to reveal blades of intensity. Summer reigns.

Switching Gears

2011-07-21T10:18:00.001-04:00

My critique partner is wrapping up her edits on her novel, and I think my part in the process is done. After my round of edits she made changes, then passed it on to her beta readers (non-critiquers) to get their reactions. That feedback is coming in and she’s onto her very last phase: proofing the ms for errors. After that she might have it out to the agent tomorrow, if all goes well!

For me, I am going to be getting back to writing!

The problem I am having (among other things) is the need to switch gears. After reading a grammar book, a high-level plotting technique book, a book on editing fiction for a late draft, and then going into edit mode on my crit partner’s late-draft ms, my mind is fully focused on trying to write super tight.

That, however, is not helpful for writing my first draft, which is where I am at on my current wip, hereafter known as EG. I spent hours on Monday staring at the scene I was trying to work on, eking out a word at a time, restricted by every “rule” about writing tight. It stopped me in my tracks.

Last night I had a talk with myself. Basically, it went like this:

“Dear Self,

I hereby formally give you permission to ignore every so-called-rule you know about writing tight. Writing tight is second draft work. Adjective, adverb, dialogue attribution, pov-distancer weeding can be done once you have words on the page, but you need to have words on the page first. What you need to focus on right now is the story. Just moving through it. Getting a draft down. Once that’s down, THEN you can cut words, reshape plots, fix characterization and all of the wonderful re-crafting that happens in a second draft.

For now—sprawl. Write with abandon. Indulge in voice. Just write.

Sincerely,

Self.”

Writing Prompt #26

2011-07-21T09:21:00.002-04:00

26) Your character messed up . . . bad. They hurt the one they love and they realized it too late. They begged their love to give them another chance, but no. No more chances. How does your character react?

Write a scene or just describe it.

----------------------------------------------------

Here's mine:

Kayla stared out the forward viewport of the starcruiser, trying to lose herself in the pink-green wash of hyperspace. The Imperial homeworld fell away behind her; she felt the pull of it. Rather than diminish, the string on her heart tying her to the hated place drew tighter, stretching into pain as the distance opened up.

Even now, decision made, bags packed, her body ached to run back.

Not that it would make a damned bit of difference.

She couldn’t sit outside IDF headquarters every day hoping to ease her gaping loneliness by catching a glimpse of him, and he had made it clear he wouldn’t speak to her again.

Better to run now.

Vayne came up from crew quarters and stood silently behind her, trying to offer comfort. He reached out with his mind, tentatively brushing against her mental shields, hoping she would speak to him. Her only response was to draw the barriers tighter against him. The presence of her twin exacerbated the shame and self-loathing she felt.

“Kayla. . . .”

“Leave me alone.”

“Maybe, after a little time—”

“I said back off.”

He cleared the deck without another word and she stared straight ahead, ignoring the tightness in her throat and the fresh wash of tears that threatened.

More Congratulations!

2011-07-12T06:33:00.003-04:00

My critique partner is furiously working on her rewrites. While the agent is waiting to see Wishstone, he requested ANOTHER of her books! She is sending him sample chapters of Prosorinos, her first novel, this morning!

Wish her luck that he falls in love with both novels, and that she survives her rewriting bonanza.

Congrats are in Order!

2011-07-08T09:28:00.002-04:00

Wonderful news, my crit partner got a request for her full manuscript from an agent!

Now she is furiously rewriting the ending and I am furiously trying to keep up with my edits. Worked a little too late on them last night, this is me this morning when my alarm went off:

Prompting Hiatus

2011-07-07T06:40:00.002-04:00

Taking a break from writing prompts to focus full time on my crit partner's YA fantasy novel WISHTONE. She completed a full draft and I'm going through a round of intensive edits with her.

Going to be a fabulous manuscript when she's done!

Writing Prompt #25

2011-07-01T08:23:00.001-04:00

25) Describe what it’s like to eat the following foods without using taste descriptors, or, choose your own foods to describe!

*Lemons
*Sushi
*Cotton Candy
*Ice Cream
*Peanut butter

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Here’s mine:

*Lemons: It’s three in the afternoon on a hot, sunny day in summer. The humidity is barely there and the heat seems to suck the moisture from your skin as soon as your body can produce it. You’ve been mowing the lawn and, dusty and partially sunburnt, you come across a pool of icy water. Biting into a lemon is like dipping your foot in that pool of water: surprising, contrasting and somehow refreshing.

*Sushi: It’s like watching a group of fat, hairy men in barely-there floral sundresses talk to children at a carnival. There’s way too much of it and it can’t end fast enough.

*Cotton Candy: It’s like catching snowflakes on your mittens. It’s a unique occurrence that melts away too quickly.

*Ice Cream: Eating ice cream is like a sailing competition off the coast of Cape Cod. It’s a race against time to the finish, but the trip is better than reaching the end.

*Peanut butter: It’s like walking a mountain trail during peak foliage season when a recent rain has turned the dirt into a tacky mud. It’s a bit of a slog, but well worth the effort.

Writing Prompt #24

2011-06-29T10:29:00.004-04:00

A new friend stopped by last night and caught a glimpse of my plotting whiteboards up on my wall. It was readily apparent from my character names that my current wip is a fantasy novel. Today’s prompt comes from his first question:

24) Where do you get your character names from?

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Here’s mine:

Because I write fantasy for the most part, I get to have a lot of fun with naming. My names, like my book ideas, come from all over. I like the freedom of naming, and naming main characters is serious business for me. I have a couple of ways that I work, here’s how some of my characters got their names:

* Ishtae – Because she’s a badass, I wanted a short, one syllable nickname for her to go by, something with a hard consonant. I tried a lot on for size. Kat was an initial thought, but a) it’s overused, and b) it wasn’t “fantasy” enough for me. The sound “Ty” came to me, and I had to figure out how to work it in.

Tae needed a longer actual name, something that marks her former life of being a daughter of a wealthy family, destined for a court existence, something more feminine. I liked the softness of “Ish” but couldn’t go with Ishty because it would get mispronounced as Ish-tee. Same with Ishtie. I decided on Ishtae (which rhymes with buy and tie) and she’s rocking the latin pronunciation of the ae sound. Of course, I created my own new pronunciation issue since people want to pronounce it “Ish-tay” but I loved the spelling once I found it, so Ishtae it is.

* Razul – Razul was easier to name than Tae. He is from a combination desert/plains people who are nomadic. Their culture is centered on a tribal structure and they are skilled horsemen and horse-breeders. I started off knowing I wanted a Z in the name. Initially I was thinking I wanted to start with a Z sound, but most of the names I came up with sounded more like wizards than saber-wielders.

Putting the Z in the middle allowed for the same Arabian feel but gave me more options. I came up with Razul, which appealed to me because of the contradiction of sounds that the Z unites. “Raz” can sound a little harsh, and “Zul” (pronounced “zool”) has a sleeker sound. The final sound can be dragged out a little, “Razooool” and I think it adds a touch of mystery to the character, which suits his reticence.

* Silmande – Silmande’s name has an entirely different origin. Her name came from the computer game Neverwinter Nights. I was clicking on the random name generator function for making a new character and it popped up. I was rolling a fighter at the time, so I quickly passed on it, but it stuck with me. Once I started naming characters for my current wip the name Silmande came back to me.

For my current wip I’m focusing on less “western world” sounding names and aiming for more exotic sounds. Silmande (the e is silent) fits the bill. It’s not right for a fighter, but for a softer (but still determined) female who relies on diplomacy and a subtle form of magic, it’s perfect.

If I wanted to really play against type I could have named a male character Silmande (how perfect was Simkin’s name, from Weis and Hickman’s Darksword series?) but from the very beginning of the story planning process my lead’s name was Silmande.

* Iokoe – Silmande’s sister’s name came not from sound but from print. I love names that start with I (I’m a super sucker for them). I love names that involve I’s and K’s, and I love the look of the I-O combo. Honestly, I haven’t even decided on the correct pronunciation of Iokoe (eye-oh-koh versus ee-oh-koh) but I love the way Iokoe looks on paper.

As far as naming fantasy characters, I HIGHLY recommend trying out the Seventh Sanctum Name Generators. They have a bunch of generators which are good for several things. Firstly, entertainment value! They come up with some seriously comical names. But what I really like it for is the wide variation. And the unique pairing of sounds that only a random generator can come up with.

I’ve gotten the flavor of my naming for my current wip from odd sounds I saw in names from seventh sanctum. It’s definitely worth a look if you’re stuck on names; it’s a great jumping off point. I also use a book of baby names organized by astrological signs (99 cents at the grocery checkout line) and Sherrilyn Kenyon’s amazing Character Naming Sourcebook.

Mostly though, I make my names up, using resources as a starting point. I have so many other naming stories but I’ll stop here. ;-)

Writing Prompt # 23

2011-06-28T09:55:00.001-04:00

23) Write a physical description for the same person from two different characters’ POVs. Really play up their voice and rock the indirect characterization!

Writing Prompt #22

2011-06-24T09:13:00.000-04:00

22) World-building. It’s a given when you write fantasy that you’re creating a whole new world, but we all do world-building. Whether it’s creating the laws of magic that govern your fantasy world or describing the layout of your character’s apartment, world-building is a necessity. What’s your latest run-in with the world-building monster?

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Here’s Mine:

I’ll be honest, I’m not a huge fan of some world-building aspects. I love characters and I’m known for appreciating good dialogue over a richly detailed world, but creating the physical reality of my characters is a must, so I drew up a map.

My current fantasy wip takes place on a chain of volcanic islands. As a geologist, I love the idea. Tectonic plates sliding over a hot spot on the earth’s crust? Fabulous! (Think Hawaii) So with that in mind I drew up a series of islands that might have formed based on the fictional (but hopefully realistic) movements of a tectonic plate. I feel like I did pretty well with it and was proud of how it came out.

Enter the problem:
When world-building and plot collide.

Several of my ereyns (think of it like a clan, or a ruling House) have been warring for some time, everything from all out battles to skirmishes. The enmity between the ereyns shifts back and forth depending on who has the most power, the best resources and so on. My current plot involves a situation between 3 of the currently major ereyns.

Because of the islands’ formation, they stretch out in an arc rather than clustering, and I had it designed so that each ereyn mostly occupied their own island. The problem came when I took a hard look at why they were fighting, and why they would continue to fight rather than reaching something of an equilibrium.

Now, we all know people will fight for any number of stupid reasons, and I’m allowing for that, but I also wanted a strong foundation for ongoing conflict between the ereyns. I currently have them all enjoying roughly the same religious structure, but, if needed I could rewrite that and add religious conflict in. Due to the fact that they all originated from one large ereyn on the main island, however, a similar religion isn’t all that farfetched. And the geographic area is relatively small.

The idea that makes the most sense to me is conflict over resources. Considering the logistics of bringing war to another island, and in the end controlling resources you’ve taken, geography becomes an important factor. You’re much more likely to take over your neighbor’s land first. That’s not to say that you wouldn’t skip to the next island if they suddenly discovered a new ore that’s great for making weapons, or someone has the ideal timber for making ships (it is an island nation, afterall), but it needs to be realistic.

Since I want to have an ongoing triangle effect, and the movement of the characters through the geography demands a certain course due to plot events, the single island in a line chain no longer suits my story perfectly.

I made the decision that the volcanoes forming the islands could have vents, so that the placement of volcanoes would not have to be perfectly linear. Toward that end, the real world-building began. I took the map I had drawn, cut each of the islands out and started sliding them around like puzzle pieces to find a new configuration.

The final conclusion? I’ll have to change the shapes of some islands once they get moved, which upsets me a little because I’ve grown attached to them, but welcome to hands-on world-building. :)

Open call for submissions

2011-06-23T07:11:00.002-04:00

I found this call for submissions from Cindi Meyer's excellent blog on market news:

Editor Thomas K. Carpenter of Black Moon Books is seeking submissions for a new anthology on the theme of Augmented Reality. This science fiction anthology seeks to explore the human condition as revealed in the use of technology. Stories should be 3000 to 6000 words, any setting or sub-genre. Payment will be 2 cents to 5 cents a word. The deadline for submissions is July 8, 2011. For submissions guidelines, check them out at: http://blackmoonbooks.com/2011/04/08/mirror-shards-anthology-annoucement/

Writing Prompt #21

2011-06-22T07:16:00.001-04:00

In reading Robert McKee’s Story, I’m finding all sort of areas where I can improve my writing, especially in the slimming down of the language. Not quite an absolute of “less is always more” mentality, more a “you’re already doing so much with less, you don’t really need to add any more.” Part of this idea is the concept of subtext. That the language being used might answer questions on a conversational level and seem to follow a surface flow, but have entirely different meanings internally.

21) This might be hard to do off the cuff, but, try to script a quick dialogue scene that involves some subtext of some sort, and strip it down. Don’t over explain the subtext, let the reader try to find it.

Writing Prompt #20

2011-06-20T06:29:00.002-04:00

I had such a disturbing dream last night that I can’t even write down the details of it. I want to scrub the inside of my brain and erase the image/memory entirely. I feel ill when I think about it. Naturally, such a terrible phenomenon leads to a writing prompt!

20) Write a dream/nightmare for one of your characters. What do they fear most when they’re sleeping? What dream would make them want to scrub their eyeballs and minds when they wake to get rid of the memory?

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Here’s mine:

Kayla could hear Corinth calling for her through the fog that shrouded the room. He spoke. Did he? No, that was his voice in her mind, calling, calling.

Kayla? Kayla! Where are you!

Without sound she couldn’t tell what direction to run in. Without sight she couldn’t be sure what she was running into.

Kayla they’re here! KAYLA!

She ran.

Or did she? Nothing moved, nothing changed, but she propelled herself forward, Corinth’s voice screaming in her head.

They’re taking me!

She changed directions. Veered toward the pull she thought she felt in her chest.
Or was she running in the opposite direction? She stopped, turned again, then again. Which frickin way? How could she help him?

Corinth! her mind cried out, but he wouldn’t hear her.

Then she heard.

Sound. Actual sound, not imagined, not feared.

Worse than feared.

Boots. Shuffling. A struggle. A grunt of pain.

She sprinted in that direction and the voice she’d feared since she arrived on Falanar purred out of the fog.

“It was only a matter of time.”

The kin’shaa, Dolan.

She was shouting something incoherent. Curses and rage and Corinth’s name in desperation.

Arms pumping, legs straining.

And then she broke free.

A clearing in the fog, a smoky cave.

The flash of teal and indigo—IDF. And kneeling, his arms wrenched behind him, his head tilted back by a cruel grip in his hair, was Corinth.

Dolan turned to glance at her over his shoulder, the smile on his face twisting the spiderweb of scars around his eye. “Just in time, ro’haar.”

His knife drew a line of red on Corinth’s neck.

Not Corinth. Vayne.

Her twin died while she watched.

Writing Prompt # 19

2011-06-13T06:36:00.000-04:00

19) You’re stuck. Really stuck. It’s not writer’s block, it’s ‘what in the hell happens next’ block. What do you do? How do you move forward?

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Here’s mine:

I am at this point in two manuscripts right now, so it’s an excellent question for me. (Odd that, my having picked the writing prompt…)

I had been plotting, working on larger character arcs and the overall spine of the story. I wanted to move forward with the story at the same time and thought, “okay, now is the time to start outlining.” (I’m something of an outliner, working on a scene before I write it, and something of a wing-it type of writer)

So there I am, staring at my whiteboard, dry-erase marker in hand.

I’d outlined the idea of my next sequence: Hebrion and Silmande arrive. Their hope/expectation is to keep safe (Hebrion) and remain anonymous (Silmande), so of course, they are discovered. But, that’s really all I had. I don’t even know what the place looks like when they arrive, or where exactly they arrive, (Fantasy world…they need creating) what their plan is exactly when they arrive, and how they get spotted.

Staring at the whiteboard produced no more specifics than that.

I have one scene to write before that which is actually outlined, so I thought,Clearly, straight plotting isn’t working, let’s go to the source.

The Source?

Writing.

I walked away from my plotting and sat down to just write, hoping that writing the scene I did understand would lead to my mind unlocking the secrets of the next scene.

When all else fails, I switch modes. If staring at the blank computer screen for an hour isn’t prompting anything I get up and walk, talking to myself over the plot notes I have. (“Ok, so she thinks this, but how does that make her feel?”) If thinking over plot points and scene arcs isn’t helping, I go to the written word. Switching back and forth is how I keep discovering new things and (hopefully) move forward.

Writing Prompt #18

2011-06-08T06:14:00.001-04:00

High and past time for another prompt! In reading Story, Robert McKee talks about “the gap,” or that space that opens up when a character takes an action, expecting one outcome, but receives another, forcing them to respond in a different way.

18) Write a bit where a character takes an action and the result is something other than what they expected, forcing a new action by the character. Go as far as you want with this, gap after gap.

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Here's mine:

The hours he’d spent in the belly of the ship had felt like days, grinding painfully on each other in a slow progression. Hope had long since abandoned him, and only habit kept him down here, sitting next to her corpse. There was no other place on the ship for him, with her here.

The words of Silmande’s crazy maid rang in his head.

You’ll know when.

When had long since passed him by. When had been at the moment of poisoning, days ago, when she still breathed. When was not here in this airless space.

And yet, the vial sat heavy in his hand. He knew its shape by heart, the peculiarities of its design. The chip on the rim of the mouth, the burr two-thirds of the way down, the way the interior curved in on one side, limiting volume . . . these were all familiar to him.

If his mere presence could have saved her, she’d long since have arisen.

Movement.

A twitch of the body.

The lantern swayed with the roll of the ship, the cavorting shadows and smoke combining to fool sight. He rubbed his stinging eyes.

There again. A tremor.

Or did he dream?

When the next shudder wracked her body his stomach heaved. The unnatural motion of the corpse brought on nausea, fear, and an almost painful wave of hope. He retched once, spitting bile into the bucket beside him before he stood.

A single step brought him to her side. No pulse beat against the pallor of her throat, no breath parted her lips, but there. A quirk. A tick of a jaw muscle and a shiver through her frame.

In the space of a heartbeat he had the vial unstoppered and her shoulders lifted from the bier. He forced her mouth open with the vial and poured the concoction into her, frenzy gripping him. He could save her. . . .

He slapped his palm on her mouth and let her head loll back, shaking her, trying to force the liquid down a throat that wouldn’t swallow.

“Drink it,” he growled.

Nothing.

His grip on her upper body tightened. One hand slid down her cold arm until he found her fingers and he threaded his own through hers. His gaze locked on her face, watching, waiting in agony.

“Please Silmande.”

The creak of the ship almost covered it, but there it was. A gurgling sound. In the next instant her whole body tensed and she sat all the way up, breaking free from of his grasp. She coughed, choked, and finally spat out the fluid he’d poured into her before taking a heaving breath. She doubled over, still sputtering as her chest expanded, desperate to fill lungs that had lain empty for far too long.

He wanted to touch her all over, to believe the miracle of her renewed life and just hold her, but he gave her a moment.

When she could breathe she wiped her mouth on the sleeve of her funeral gown before turning toward him. Betrayal filled her hazel eyes, betrayal and horror.

“You didn’t Sing me free,” she rasped out, then burst into tears.

Congratulations Are In Order!

2011-06-03T11:45:00.004-04:00

A co-worker of mine got THE CALL late last night! His agent sold his book to an independent publisher after searching nearly 5 years for the right home.

WOW!

Talk about perseverance and dedication to a novel.

Congratulations!

Writing Prompt #17

2011-06-02T09:54:00.003-04:00

17) Write 2 bits, one where your character is drinking something (anything) on a good day, and one where they’re drinking something on a bad day.

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Here’s mine:

a) Razul sipped at his saín, the steam from the pungent red brew curling up in a wave. The heat felt good on his lips, his tongue, and he enjoyed the first taste of home in far too long. To find such a delicacy here in the tangled backwoods of Pencheira : bliss. He sipped again, peace seeping into him. The other Swords were out scouting, but they wouldn’t find anything. Helat was as quiet as their contacts had claimed. Razul indulged in the luxury of wincing in pain as he shifted his injured leg. Tae would insist on halting their search for days they couldn’t afford if she knew the extent of his injury. Instead he’d just take his ease tonight and hope the stiffness lessened in the morning.

Part b to follow, busy work morning so far, but wanted to get the prompt up. Get crackin'!

Okay, got a chance to bust out a quick second bit.

b) Razul eyed the inhabitants of the inn. His gaze shifted from the mercenary at the bar to the somber young soldier who’d clearly just been blooded. He took in details, mock-drinking from a mug of stale beer he’d nursed for an almost obvious amount of time. Across from him Derek signaled the barmaid for another round, clearly thinking the same thing.

“He’s not coming,” Derek muttered.

Razul scanned the room, never looking directly at the door he watched so carefully. “He had better.” He caught his fingers tightening dangerously around the clay mug and loosened them, lest his tension show in a shower of clay fragments. “Or so help me. . . .”

The barmaid knew enough not to react when they handed over their half-full mugs for new ones.

Tae sauntered over, fresh from an Outs victory. Her light step contrasted with the wariness in her silver eyes. “We either need to get real raucous real quick or make our way out. We’ve attracted enough notice as it is, just sitting here.”

Writing Prompt #16

2011-06-01T07:56:00.001-04:00

16) Write a paragraph/scene that begins with “There I was,”

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Here’s mine:

There I was, sitting at my computer trying to write something because today I had a writing prompt. I thought it was a nice change of pace for a prompt, something of a free-write. In fact, I thought it would be easy. But, random creativity seemed to be escaping me.

I was in full-blown plotting mode.

Reading books on craft had really got me thinking. Where before I had had (I thought) a solid start to my story, there were now huge gaping holes in my mind. Wind whistled through empty space where conflict, action, pacing, characterization and “why in the hell would they do that” should have been. Suddenly, I was overwhelmed with the unknown.

Did I just use “suddenly?” Hadn’t I just edited out every instance of that from the pages I worked on over the weekend?

Free-writes aren’t edited, I told myself sternly (adverb). Shut up, internal editor, shut up.

I was obsessed with writing a stronger novel this time around, in all aspects, and that obsession was going to get me stymied, I feared. How could I write, I asked myself, a single page when I hadn’t worked out (blank). Fill in the blank here with a million details on world-building, plot, motivation and so on.

I needed to focus.

I needed to make lists.

These holes needed to be filled, and they needed to be filled well, not just with the first thing that came to mind. The amount of work I was suddenly facing was enormous. But the challenge…oh the challenge.

Behind this mountain, when I could imagine that the gaps in my knowledge had been filled, I could see the very tip of what this novel could be. I had in my mind a vision of what I could do with this ms, if I put the hard work in now.

Those holes, those missing answers to the what-ifs and whys, they will be filled.

I can do this.

Writing Prompt #15

2011-05-30T08:09:00.002-04:00

In Story by Robert McKee, he makes a distinction between characterization (the age, weight, gender, dress, lifestyle, friends, causes of a character) and character (the truest self of a character, illustrated by their choices under pressure). This got me thinking—and realizing—that I know very little about my main characters, and I have a lot of work to do in that area. Toward that end, here’s a prompt:

15) Describe the decision your character would make in the following situation:

Your character is in what they consider to be a permanent relationship. This might mean marriage, might not, depending on their views. They are in a relationship that they considered would probably last them the rest of their lives. They’re on a journey far, far away from their spouse/partner, when suddenly, they meet The One. There is no doubt in your character’s mind that this is their soul mate, the person they were meant to be with, and the other character knows it too. However, they have no idea how much time they’ll have together. What does your character do now?

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Here’s mine:

Hebrion:

Hebrion is considered to be my most honorable character in my current wip. He is loyal and honorable in all of his dealings, and represents his House well. In this instance, let’s assume he is married, and not only married, but married to the sister of the person whom he comes to find is his soul mate.

Ideally, if he were at home, he would go to his wife first and explain the situation. He can’t resist the desire to be with his soul mate, long-time marriage or no. Scandal in front of the entire House, honor bedamned, he has to be with Silmande.

However, a world away from his wife and his House, faced with the possibility of having to wait who knows how long before he can divorce his wife and be with Silmande, Hebrion decides the marriage doesn’t matter. The minute he found his soul mate, the marriage was void. He is already divorced in his heart, at that point, and the law is a formality. He would never want to hurt his wife, he loves her in a way and respects her, but to him, soul mate comes before all. He would be with Silmande as soon as possible, and while he wouldn’t make the decision lightly, he would not be tortured by his decision. In his mind, it is right.

Getting Started

2011-05-28T08:00:00.003-04:00

Here I am, bright and early on a saturday morning, getting started on round 2 of the editing test armed with my essentials.

In my editing tool kit are:

-Colored pens (rocking the pink today)
-Lined paper for notes (which necessitates a blue pen)
-Strunk and White's Elements of Style
-Grammar Girl's Quick and Dirty Tips for Better Writing (because I happened to have it on hand)
-A thesaurus
-Chicago Manual of Style, 15th ed. (which I will be using in lieu of a house style sheet)
-and the most crucial: a huge coffee from dunkin donuts, extra-extra style

Hope you're enjoying your saturday morning as much as I already am enjoying mine!

Writing Prompt #14

2011-05-26T07:45:00.001-04:00

A friend mentioned that he was pitching a short story to his editor and invited me to join in on the fun. Alas, I know nothing about the genre, so I had to pass, but it gave me an idea for my next writing prompt.

14) You’re in the elevator with your dream agent. Quick! You’ve got thirty seconds to pitch your novel. (which, in this case is going to be the story of you). Try more than one, in different tones. Or, if you prefer, pitch your current wip. Keep it short and hooky!

--------------------------------------------
Here’s mine:

14)

a) Little Red Riding Hood, wandering aimlessly through the wood, is suddenly beset by the Big Bad Wolf. She sprints for her life but he chases her relentlessly, forcing her to run without end. When she finally falls to exhaustion and no attack materializes, she realizes that she is the Big Bad Wolf, and she had long ago swallowed Little Red Riding Hood whole.

b) It’s The Breakfast Club meets Must Love Dogs. Lady Notorious is part of a disparate (and occasionally wacky) group of editors who start their day way too early at a newswire service, where they juggle angry Chinese clients, an ice machine that projectile vomits ice by the metric ton and really, REALLY big spiders. She’s given up hope of ever finding a nice, normal guy, and decides to marry the next guy her bulldog picks out for her.

(Note: The stuff about work is true, the part about the romance is not. I am definitely not on the market, and while I love Buri, he would pick out someone who would play tug with a Frisbee the longest. I’m not sure he’s qualified to be making those decisions…)

Books!

2011-05-25T07:57:00.006-04:00

So, I have actually *gasp* started writing again on my current wip (work in progress)! It's a heady feeling. What I'm feeling overwhelmed with is the plotting. The writing I can always fix later, once I get the basic language down. But plotting....I hate to have to rewrite huge swaths of the ms because I didn't take the time to really sit down and plan the book.

Toward that end, I picked up (again) Story, by Robert McKee, which my crit partner claims is the quintessential book on plotting. I'd picked it up before, made it about 30 pgs in and drifted off. I hadn't really been into writing again at that point. This time I picked it up, and ignoring all his bemoaning the state of plotting these days, everything really resonated. I'm about a chapter in, but wow. I found myself nodding with it. It really inspired me to get serious about craft again. Not just writing, but studying writing again.

Toward that end I'm making a reading list.

Craft books on it so far are:

-Story by Robert McKee
-Beginnings, Middles and Ends by Nancy Kress (at least the section on middles for now)

Writing books are a separate list:

-Grammar Girl's Quick and Dirty Tips for Better Writing by Mignon Fogarty
-Getting the Words Right by Theodore A. Rees Cheney
-Write Tight by William Brohaugh

I am currently reading Story and Grammar Girl's tips. We'll see what others get added down the road!

A Gift!

2011-05-23T06:20:00.003-04:00

A friend of mine, who is an extremely talented microhero artist, took the time to whip up a microhero of me! He might have been a little ... ah ... generous, in some areas, but he still did an amazing job. The best part is, of course, the addition of the Buribabes to the shot.

What do you think?

Writing Prompt #13

2011-05-20T12:46:00.001-04:00

13) It's the 1950's and there you are, at the office, drinking your lunch. What are you drinking and who are you with?

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Here's mine:

13) She crossed the room in neat, tiny strides, her pencil skirt restricting her movement. There was a satisfying click as each heel landed, punctuating her determination to get this over with. She paused only long enough to fix them each a drink before advancing on his desk. No novice to the game, she perched on the end of his desk with an accented lift of her hip that sent the fabric of her skirt stretching tight across her bottom. The movement drew his eye.

He reclined in his chair as she went to hand his glass to him. The buttons she’d undone before slipping into his office gaped as she leaned over, giving him a view of delicate lace and flesh. His interest noticeably peaked. She felt nothing but the hardening of her resolve as she sipped at her sidecar, wondering how long she had to play coy before he would make his power play.

His lack of finesse was legendary in the office. Hopefully it wouldn’t take long; she had things to do, including tackling a pile of manuscripts. She resisted the urge to look at the clock. Another sip of her sidecar. A coy glance. A short trill of laughter after an inane remark of his, just the way her mother’d taught her. A pause in the banter—the moment presented itself. She didn’t hesitate before pressing her lips to his, tumbling into his lap. This was a working lunch, and she damn well deserved a raise.

Writing Prompt #12

2011-05-18T13:25:00.001-04:00

12) Submission time! How do you handle the agonizing wait after you’ve sent something out?

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Here’s mine:

12) Everyone says the best cure to the waiting anxiety is to get started on the next book/story right away, but, come on! All I can think about is that email I just sent out. I’m checking my email every 5 minutes for a reply, even though I know better. Worse yet, I’m checking my spam folder, just in case.

And I didn’t even send in a work of fiction…we’re talking about a resume and editing sample.

Still, the pain is fairly acute.

I’ve been through the submission mill enough times to know that the farther away you get from the submission date the less you obsess over it, but I am still in the obsessed state. That, more than anything, drove me to send a follow-up email (something I rarely do).

Good news! I should hear back on Monday. Bad news! I have to wait til Monday….With it being Wednesday right now, that’s 5 days too long to wait.

My game plan for surviving the wait? Considering how much I want this opportunity, I think I just plan to obsess and sit by the phone, in case the managing editor makes a decision earlier. Don’t call me! I need the line free….

Writing Prompt #11 a & b

2011-05-17T10:20:00.001-04:00

11a) How do you prefer to edit your own work? Describe your process at any level of draft.

11b) Write a paragraph/scene involving the words “supercilious,” “dog” and “envy” in any tone, first person.

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Here’s mine:

11a) I definitely write using a computer, but I prefer to edit pen and paper style. Despite the vast amount of paper it consumes, I print my draft and red-line it by hand. Well, maybe pink-line it. Purple, depending on my mood. I’ll do that at any stage, rough to final draft, then go through and enter all of my edits into the word doc. I find I’m more effective at catching things that way, and I read more thoroughly on paper.

Yeah, I’m old school like that.

11b) I cornered the dog, almost smiling as his gaze darted to my left and right, seeking an escape he wouldn’t find. His shoulders hunched and he seemed to shrink in size. He backed away til his heel hit wainscoting, as effective as a doorstop wedging him in place. In my mind I saw the supercilious grin he had employed all evening. It was a thin disguise, no more masking his hunger for the young gel’s innocence than his off-hand remarks had disguised his envy of her suitors.

Writing Prompt #10

2011-05-16T08:59:00.002-04:00

10) Describe one thing that keeps you from writing

There many reasons why I stopped working on my current wip, but one thing that has been stopping me from getting started again is the pressure. I spent SO much time on Sworn Sword, poured so much into and it didn’t end up getting published. Partly to be expected, and I don’t regret any part of the effort. But, with that said, I am determined (hopeful) to go through all of the same effort on my new wip, this time ending with publishing contract in hand.

That’s in my mind every time I approach my wip. So I am always feeling the self-imposed pressure to write tighter/smarter, to craft a more sophisticated plot, to deepen characterization, to take scene outcomes in different directions…to do whatever it takes to get this wip published. The pressure to do all of that makes writing this novel feel “too hard,” especially where I haven’t been writing.

In the end, I know I’ll put the same amount of effort into this novel and be just as satisfied with the final product as I am with Sworn Sword, pubishing contract or not. I need to keep that in mind and just write.

Phoenix

2011-05-16T07:19:00.001-04:00

After yet another hiatus from writing, I am doing my best to get back to my craft. The inspiration, you ask? My critique partner. She’s finishing up her MFA shortly and about to get to work on the next full draft of her novel and her getting fired up about it is getting me fired up about writing.

That and it’s just been way too long.

Toward that end I am resurrecting my writing prompts blog. Sadly it’ll be on blogger.com this time instead of livejournal for the simple reason that I can’t access livejournal at work. I’ve rescued some of my previous prompts from my old blog, and I’ll do my best to go back and fill in the gaps as I can.
For now, some are archived if you want to go back and try an older one.

Happy writing!

-Lady Notorious

Writing Prompt #9 a & b

2011-05-16T06:59:00.001-04:00

Writing Prompt # 9a & b

9a) List your favorite name that you used for a character. Not your favorite character, just your favorite name. Might change all the time, but pick your favorite today.

9b) Write a scene/start in a NON-COMICAL tone that involves galoshes on a dry day, and eggs for a vegan.

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Here’s mine:

9a) Crookedturn

9b)

Whoever decided that galoshes were in-style this season ought to be shot. Ariana stood on the subway in her smart black and white checked boots and tried to ignore her sweaty feet. First day back from spring break and she was already tired of the commute.

The T finally lumbered its way above ground and the Towers came into view. Not soon enough for her feet. The arch support in a pair of rubber boots was surprisingly lacking. The doors creaked open and deposited her into the dubious March sunshine, mid-street.

Lovely.

She dodged the drivers who were clearly intent on hitting pedestrians, and made her way back to her dorm.

She had three things on her mind while waiting to pass through security: dropping her heavy bag just inside her door, kicking off her now detested boots, and cuddling her illicit kitten, Bastet.

When the elevator finally delivered her to her floor, she breathed a sigh of relief. That relief was short-lived when she saw the festive basket that sat outside her door. A gay pink and green, the plastic easter basket trailed cellophane “grass” across her mat.

Ire rose, swift and fierce, at the thought of what she’d find inside: brightly dyed, boiled eggs. The tag read: Happy Easter, love Trevor.

Her ex really knew how to tweak a vegan.

Writing Promt #8 1 & b

2011-05-16T06:54:00.001-04:00

8a) Name one book (yes, limit yourself to just one, this time), that inspired you, either as a reader or a writer.

8b) Write a scene or scene start, in ANY tone, fiction or non-fiction, that begins with:

"Dear Diary,

This will be my last entry."

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Here are mine:

8a) Redwall, by Brian Jacques, first book in the Redwall Series.

This is such an easy choice for me. It is the first “long” fantasy book that I ever read. My mum is a big reader, but no one else in my family is into fantasy, so I did not have a childhood filled with C.S. Lewis and Terry Pratchet.

My fantasy exposure came from fairy tales for the most part, and I have a much abused copy of the Brothers Grimm that I read hundreds of times as a child. Redwall opened up a whole new world for me. It’s the only YA fantasy that I read, I jumped right from there to Melanie Rawn, but that stepping stone was a pivotal moment in my life as a reader.

Besides, high fantasy ideals coupled with adorable animals? Irresistible.

8b)

I decided to write this from the pov of a character in my current wip.

Dear Diary,

This will be my last entry.

The outcome has ever been the same: betray one friend to benefit another. The only question came from deciding whom to betray, and whom to save.

Though in the end, it may appear that I have betrayed both.

So be it.

Silmande will live, and even if she holds me in enmity, I stand by my decision.

I waited too long to act against the tide I saw coming in across the horizon. My own unwillingness to stir, to admit, brought me to this place. Had I bespoken Lannus, given him counsel in all urgency that he might consider his actions in a light previously unknown, I might now be standing with my liege against the threat, rather than acting against his wishes with subterfuge unbecoming of an Enchantress.

Perhaps he needed only one.

One to strengthen his worn down dedication to peace.

Silmande he would never involve, and I, in my inaction, declined.

In the end, though his word forced my betrayal, only I created the place in which I stand.

The order is soon to come, and guards will follow, so let this be my last declaration.

A life saved, through faith broken, is the best of my actions in storm-cycles.

Inriad forgive.

Writing Prompts #3 a & b

2011-05-16T06:53:00.001-04:00

3a) What was the first book you read seriously about writing once you decided that you were, in fact, a writer? Can be about craft, the business, or even the writing life. Was it helpful? Why or why not?

3b) Write a simile or metaphor that you have NEVER used before for each of the following colors, and, which one was hardest to come up with something for?

Red
Orange
Yellow
Green
Blue
Purple
Pink
White
Black
Grey
Brown

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Here’s mine:

3a) The first book I read once I decided that I was a Writer was “The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Getting Your Romance Published”, no lie.

I found it EXTREMELY helpful! It did two things for me. 1) got me started thinking about romance as a specific genre, with specific needs and requirements. This in turn started me thinking about the romance novel I wanted to write. 2) it gave me what I felt was a VERY realistic view of the odds of getting published, and the reality of how much money published authors don’t make. I have always written toward the goal of publication, and I feel that this started me off on the right foot. It didn’t give me a fairly tale version of a writer’s life. It laid out clearly (in general terms) how advances, taxes, contracts and other paperwork bits really worked. What I learned from reading the book has only been confirmed and expounded on since then. It was a great place for me to start.

3b)

Red as the inside of a dragon’s mouth
Orange as a car on fire
Yellow as a smoker’s once white walls
Green as five week old bread
Bluer than your fingers after a bag full of cotton candy
Purple as the Revenant Chestpiece (ok, that one failed >.< )
Pink as an unfortunate bridesmaid’s dress
White as a skunk’s stripe
Black as Halloween nail polish
Grey as the snow in boston
Brown as twisted sourdough pretzel

And purple was my hardest. Red I wrote first.

Writing Prompts #2 a & b

2011-05-16T06:51:00.002-04:00

2a) What’s the last line you wrote, the last time you wrote? (Not including prompts)

2b) Same challenge as yesterday, this time with a COMEDIC/FARCICAL tone.

Here’s the prompt: Write a scene starter, no more than 300 words, that starts with: “A (wo)man walked up to the bar.” Any genre, focus on a particular element and really work it – character, plot, setting, dialogue, milieu (world creation). Rock it.

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Here’s mine:

2a) The tea she offered him was lukewarm, as if it too had been waiting on Silmande for some time.

2b) (note: I hate trying to write comedy besides witty one-liners, so, this is likely to stink, but, here’s an attempt!)

A woman walked up to the bar in Glug Glug’s. All right, she sort of sidled up to it. Can one really sidle when one only has one leg and a wooden peg where the other belongs? Okay, so she sort of hop-hobbled, but damn if she wasn’t the most graceful semi-mobile biped he’d ever seen.

Or…at least seen for a week. Who could say. He’d been sober for a grand total of…wait, what day was it? Huh. Maybe he hadn’t been sober. Maybe if he were sober ole peg-leg wouldn’t have looked so good.

Then again, maybe she would have. Was he partial to wooden limbs? He wracked his brain, trying to remember. Huh. Whelp, she was the only one in the place who didn’t have scales or smell like the inside of his mouth after a three day binge tour of the galactic bar circuit, so hey, prime meat she was!

He did a little sidling himself, angling for her coordinates. The thing that rammed his side might have been a table he lurched into, or kidney failure, he couldn’t rightly say, and did it really matter, in the end?

He finally caught up to where she had been standing, if a little unsteadily, at the bar. “Whatcha frinking, little thing?” He smiled crookedly at her, or perhaps his teeth were crooked, he couldn’t remember the difference at the moment.

She eyed him, then spat out, “Whatever you’re not frinking.”

“Whelp, that’ll be tough, think I’ve tried ‘em all. Um, ‘cept Glug Glug’s dishwater out back, though, I’m game if you are.”

He impressed himself with the novelty of his suggestion. A girl liked an adventurous man, afterall, didn’t they?

Writing Prompts #1 a & b

2011-05-16T06:50:00.001-04:00

1a) Describe yourself as a writer in 3 lines.

1b) Write a scene starter, no more than 300 words, that starts with: “A (wo)man walked up to the bar.” Any genre, but the tone today SERIOUS or dramatic, if you will. Focus on a particular element and really work it – character, plot, setting, dialogue, milieu (world creation). Rock it 

(feel free to change the “a wo/man” to “I” if you want to write first person POV, and the “walked” to “walk” or “walks” to fit your tense. I just roll in 3rd person past, usually)

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Here’s mine:

1a) I am a perfectionist, which means to say that my writing is never good enough for me. I constantly edit myself, even on a rough draft, so badly that I handicap my own writing process. I live to write, and it’s my own laziness that keeps me from living most days.

1b)
A woman walked up to the bar, looking as buttoned down as a beach house in hurricane season. Her black pencil skirt was all business, sleek and severe to just past the knee, revealing calves that flexed when she settled onto the high bar stool. Her tailored blouse fit perfectly, and the ribbon about her throat matched her black satin pumps.

The loose bun in her hair and the shoulder bag she carried said business traveler, but the cosmopolitan she ordered said otherwise. It was 11 am in the bar of the hotel located in Logan Airport, and she drank the pink concoction much too quickly.

Sure, I nursed my jack and coke without remorse for the early hour, but she would have a hard time discussing target financials and powerpoints if she didn’t take it easy.

The bartender eyed her from the end of the bar where he stood chatting with a coworker. Making an approach was clearly his intention, and I could almost see the man turning lines over in his mind. From the way she angled her head, staring at her drink when she wasn’t gulping, neither looking left or right, I knew the man was in for disappointment. From the look on his face he knew it too, but hey, a guy had to try, right?

Ms. Neat-and-Tidy must have sensed the same because she signaled him over before he could make his move. She ordered another cosmo, then sleekly turned to glance out into the airport at the arrivals board, avoiding the pass completely.

Smooth.

Her scarlet lips moved ever so slightly as she studied the board, as if repeating a number to herself over and over. Who, then, was arriving that had such a tight little package drinking her courage?

First Things First

2011-05-16T06:37:00.005-04:00

Introduce yourself and what you write.

Lady Notorious or Miss M. I write high fantasy, adventure fantasy, romantic fantasy,urban fantasy on occassion, fantasy fan fic, historical romance (Regency), futuristic romance, paranormal romance – all novel length with the exception of fan fic, and the 2 short stories I’ve written in my life.

Current writing goal?

Writing in the blog at least twice a week

Writing mascot?

The Buribabes

Writing must haves?

Athena, the laptop. I edit way too much to work in pen and paper, and for some reason signing on to the laptop (as opposed to Pico the Super Computer) just says “writing time” in my brain.

Favorite time to write?

First thing in the morning, I’m useless in the evenings.