I've been
absent for far too long. Not just from blogging, but it seems sometimes, from
life. Like so many people, with each ripple effect of Covid, my morale ebbs
further out of reach and with it, my motivation. A general malaise rides the
current, at times threatening to draw all optimism under. I've been diligent in
following rules and have led an insular life, my husband and my two pups pretty
much my sole companions. They are also my soul compadres, which makes me
incredibly fortunate.
I always
thought that I would enjoy a quiet life. The concept of moving to one of the
smaller islands and cloistering away from the larger world seemed serene and
ideal. But the appeal of some quiet time is an entirely different thing than
day in and day out of staid sameness. It seems interaction is not an optional
component of life for me, but a necessity. I'm craving it. I want to be with
friends and laugh. I want to sit in a park and watch children playing and teens
hanging out. I even want to be bumped and banged and irritated in a busy mall.
I want it all—the whole busy crazy mashup of humanity colliding.
I remind
myself constantly about how very lucky I am. I am secure. I am loved. I am not
mourning personal loss. These are gifts that an unfathomable number of people
cannot claim. However, there is an emotional toll for all of us and the tension
these days is both dissipating and swelling. A return to normal, albeit an
altered one, is just around the bend…yet still out of sight. The heart buoys at
the thought and sinks at the wait. Perhaps, because waiting is all we have been
doing. And doing is what keeps our
spirit up. That and people. People. People. People.
Hi everyone! Today I have something fun to share...a special chance to win some help with your writing bills. Awesome, right?
Some of you may know Angela Ackerman and Becca Puglisi of Writers Helping Writers. Well, today they are releasing a new book, and I'm part of their street team. I'm handing the blog over to them so they can tell you a bit about their Writer's Showcase event, new book, and a great freebie to check out. Read on!
Certain details can say a lot about who someone is, like a character's goals, desires, and backstory wound. But did you know there's another detail that can tie your character's arc to the plot, provide intense, multi-layered conflict, AND shorten the "get to know the character" curve for readers?
It's true. Your character's occupation is a GOLD MINE of storytelling potential.
Think about it...how much time do you spend on the job? Does it fulfill you or frustrate you? Can you separate work from home? Is it causing you challenges, creating obstacles, or helping you live your truth?
Just like us, most characters will have a job, and the work they do will impact their life. The ups and downs can serve us well in the story.
Maybe you haven't thought much about jobs in the past and how they act as a window into your character's personality, interests, and skills. It's okay, you aren't alone. The good news is that The Occupation Thesaurus: A Writer's Guide to Jobs, Vocations, and Careers is going to do all the heavy lifting for you. You'll be able to pick the perfect job for them and discover how to weave it into the very fabric of the story. (Here's one of the jobs profiled in this book:FIREFIGHTER.)
GIVEAWAY ALERT: THE WRITER'S SHOWCASE IS WAITING
To celebrate the release of a new book, Becca and Angela are running a giveaway from July 20th and July 23rd. You can win some great prizes, including gift certificates that can be spent on writing services within the Writer's Showcase. Stop by to enter if you like!
Resource Alert: A List of Additional Jobs Profiles For Your Characters!
Some of the amazing writers in our community have put together additional career profiles for you, based on jobs they have done in the past.
What a great way to get accurate information so you can better describe the roles and responsibilities that go with a specific job, right?
Keep in mind that I am not a huge fan of television and, as such, I am incredibly judgmental and easily disinterested.
We just finished watching the Netflix series “Rectify.” I will mourn its end, but will savour and contemplate it for weeks to come. For those who like a good film or show, it is a slow burn with exemplary acting and a solid story line.
For the writers who read my posts, buckle up. It is an endless lesson in craft. The dialogue is incredibly authentic. Simple and raw, it is peppered with the quietest sense of humour, bringing relief to the most angst-ridden moments. Conceptually it is metaphorical and philosophical, yet somehow remains grounded in earthy believability. The characters are drawn from (and the actors deliver) every man— people we all know...or someone we are. They’re thrown into this impossible “what if” situation. The writing has such contemplative depth and has the courage to let the space between the words speak for itself. It is a masterpiece of show don’t tell...both in the writing and acting.
That’s it. All I’ve got to say. Check it out. Hopefully, it will help fill the void many of you are facing these days.
(Warning: Spoilers in the Vulture Article linked below.)
And so it begins...bagging and boxing, hoping my treasures travel safely to their new home.
I found packing my non-fiction books depressing. At first, I thought it was because it was like saying goodbye to old friends, but then I realized it was something else entirely. It was depressing because I registered how little time I’ve spent in their company in recent years. I miss them. I miss researching historical events and stumbling across minutia that make my heart hum. I miss writing historical fiction.
So as I placed them in their cartons and methodically dragged the tape across the top, snugging them closed, I made a promise to them and to me. If I can write YA and contemporary romance at the same time, why can’t I add a third? History will once again become my present.
A friend said that she doesn’t respond to my Facebook posts
because they’re always so positive and they make her sick. Now, that is her
unique and wonderful sense of humour shining through, but I’ve thought a lot
about it. About how we present to the world, and the reality behind the
pictures and posts. All is not what it seems. It never is.
There is a lot of ugly in the world, perhaps more so now
than in many decades. In this day and age of social media platforms, the bombardment
of negativity can be overwhelming. Many people use their Facebook as a place to
vent, to share their frustrations, or to promote their political point of view.
And that is absolutely fine. That is their choice, but it’s not mine. I share
snippets of my life, for friends near and far. However, there is a caveat that
led to my friend’s statement. I only share the positive which, I suppose, is not
just misleading but somewhat disingenuous.
The posting of all things good creates the image of a
seamless infallible life. While I believe I am blessed in so many ways, life is
far from perfect. I have spent years writing, rewriting, agonizing over it, and
rewriting again.I’ve written far more
than anyone will ever see. There are rejected novels and novellas in dormant
folders on my computer, manuscripts sitting in a cabinet, yellowing with age. But
what you see is a published author, thrilled to promote her books. This spring
we worked endlessly on the yard, watering and weeding, cutting and digging sod
until I literally popped a vein in my thigh, but what you see are lush gardens
with vegetables and flowers in bloom. Due to a health scare, I reconsidered
some of my choices. I began to work diligently at good eating and exercising,
but what you see is—voilà—I’m looking better than I have in years.
Nobody’s life is flawless. Everybody experiences anguish and
pain, worries and fears, and has to climb his/her own mountain, whatever it may
be. This, of course, is not apparent in many posts, mine being no exception. But
so often, the positivity of a photo is simply the trick of a distant lens. Zoom
in and the reality can be very different.
These red chairs in my yard are the perfect metaphor. Look
how wonderful they appear from far away. Look closer. Despite painstakingly sanding
and painting them each spring, they actually are in terrible shape. And that is
what we have to keep in mind when glowing images make us feel as though our own
lives pale in comparison. Behind every cheery red chair, there is one cracked
and peeling and dolloped in bird poop.
I’m not much for television. I don’t even know
the magical sequence of the myriad of controls that my husband uses to turn it
on. During his absences, they lie dormant in a basket, and the house is filled
with silence. Or music. Depends on my mood. But, as happens in everyone’s life,
things change. This particular change has come in the form of Netflix. Oh my, what took us so long?
The absence of commercials is a terrific
feature. Its intuitive design—tracking your viewing, knowing where you left
off, analyzing your tastes and basing suggestions on them—well that’s crazy
modern and downright convenient. The absolute best thing about it is that you
can fall in love with a show and then just keep watching it. And watching it. And
watching it. Which happened last month with Downton
Abbey.
Now, I have always found the vast array of
brainless gibber on television uninspiring and, often, downright irritating. I
felt I gained nothing when I watched it, which led to years of avoidance. But apparently,
I had simply been choosing the wrong programming. Not only was Downton Abbey vastly entertaining, it
informed my writing.
It used every trope, some of them several
times, and wrung every last drop of emotion from them: Edith’s rags to riches
and Sybil’s riches to rags; Mary’s forbidden fruit…enemies to lovers, love
triangle, friends to lovers, second chance at love (My, Mary was busy!); Violet’s strong character, a woman of steel with a heart of gold; The
Grantham’s dabbling with the mid-life crisis in marriage. That’s a small
sampling.
For me, there was no better story line than Anna
and Mr. Bates. An unlikely pairing, they were perfectly suited but constantly
challenged. Every time it looked as though they were going to enjoy their
happy-ever-after, their worlds were torn apart. It is the stuff and business of
romance novels. Seeing it play out on the screen, feeling the angst and rooting
for their success, proved to me that it works. There is nothing entertaining
about a smooth relationship. When all is well, put up a roadblock. Make them
miserable. Give them hope. Then make it worse. The triumph in the end is so
much sweeter for it.
There were so many small stories woven
throughout, each one serving a purpose to the larger story. Poignant, philosophical,
and at times, heart-wrenching, the tension is often broken by laugh-out-loud
moments. It is an exemplary model of a writer’s craft enhanced by actors who
are masters of show-don’t-tell and who have the courage to take the time needed
with their lines. For it is often the spaces between the words that speak the
loudest.
If I don’t post for a while, you’ll know what I’m
up to—re-watching Downton Abbey. J
Every once
in a while, I catch a hint of fall on the mid-afternoon breeze. The evenings are
cooling down quicker and the nights are getting a touch chillier. As autumn
gently eases in, a sense of excitement grows within me. Renewal. Beginnings.
Possibilities.
Maybe, it’s
because for two thirds of my life I headed off to school each September. As a
student, as a teacher, and as a principal, each new year was filled with
anticipation. There was always so much to look forward to—new people, new
learning, new experiences. The nerves days prior, the sleepless night before,
and even the anxiety as I drew close to the school, were all part of the hype
of a new year.
Conversely,
it was also a return to the mundane and the predictable. Everything became
scheduled. You knew when you’d be in motion and when you’d be sedentary. Even
your body readjusted to timing the sating of simple physical needs like
eating and using the washroom. And there was comfort in that,in knowing what
comes next, in being back in routine. There was also satisfaction in it. I
knew, without a doubt, I was going to accomplish something each and every day.
This week
marks the fifth fall since my last return to a new school year, yet I still
respond the same way. After a whirlwind summer of visitors, social outings, and
many fabulous outdoor adventures, I am excited and ready to restructure my days
and get back into the groove. My pencils are sharpened. My laptop is charged.
Story lines are unrolling and I am anxious to get them down.
For me, autumn is not the beginning of the end of a year, but the first shiny season of a new one. May it be the same for you. Happy fall
everyone!
When was the last time you did something for the very first
time?
This is a question posed by a friend of ours. She uses it to
push herself into new adventures. Well, my husband and I took up the challenge
and went sea kayaking for the very first time…and loved it! Our fantastic
guide, Brian, from Wilderness
Kayaking gave us the perfect first experience—a five-hour tour with a
delicious picnic lunch on the shores of the stunning Sansum Narrows. We’ve
already signed up for a moonlight kayaking outing during the next full moon. How
awesome is that?
And, next week? We’re trying paddle boarding. I’m not sure
the photos of that adventure will be as impressive. J Still, I’m totally pumped to
give it a shot.
So, what say you? What’s your answer? When was the last time
you did something for the very first time?
There’s nothing like a bright shiny new idea. My heart
flutters, my hands get a little clammy, and as excitement races through my
veins, I head to the laptop to get the thought down. Inevitably, I stare at the
essence of the concept and then become a blank slate. As in barren, empty,
blindingly vacant. No grand plot, no intricate details, no sense of what I am
supposed to do with this glossy image in my mind. It used to frustrate me, but
now I know what to do.
I bore my brain into submission.
Others may need stimulus to spark creativity. I need bland
mind-numbing tasks. In the winter, I get on the elliptical. I despise the
elliptical, not simply because I am not a fan of exercise, but also because it
feels like such a waste of time. As the minutes tick by, my mind becomes
desperate to escape the monotony. It digs beyond the stagnant frontal
lobe into the corners, unearths that idea, and starts to rub it to a polish again.
A little plot insight here, a little character trait there, and suddenly my
brain is running faster than my legs. I quite literally chase my story, huffing
and puffing the plethora of particulars into my voice recorder.
At this time of year, I don’t use the elliptical to outsmart
the stubborn creative cortex of my brain; I use gardening. More specifically,
weeding. Now, there is no more boring outdoor task on a beautiful spring day
than kneeling in your flower beds and pulling out quack grass, clover, and
creeping vetch (Yes it’s a weed. I looked it up. J).
And while some may claim it’s satisfying in the end, it doesn’t negate that it
is also one of the most tedious gardening tasks. Which is great for me. With each
weed I yank, my mind recedes from reality and returns to its own garden, taking
those seeds and nurturing them into full-grown stories.
I have a bright shiny new idea. It’s for a series. There’s a
lot of thinking that needs to be done. I may have the nicest gardens on the
block this year. J
Life on the island is unending indolent pleasure. We begin each day with coffee in bed with our fur babies. After a shared breakfast, we walk for an hour and enjoy the bucolic landscape that comforts us with its serenity. For the remainder of the morning, we are in proximity of one another, but for the most part, lost in our own activities. Keev journals, then plays piano or works on languages, and rehearses for his upcoming performance. I write.
We enjoy lunch together and then take a walk with the girls. Afterwards, at this time of year, the four of us curl up together ostensibly for a nap, but it’s usually just a snugglefest with quiet conversation and belly rubs…for the girls, not us. J Our afternoons are filled with shared house and garden chores, followed by quiet evenings of reading, or more often than not, socializing with the many wonderful people who share our lives.
It’s no wonder that we haven’t left our little corner of the world very much in the almost three years we’ve lived here. Celebrating a landmark anniversary, we decided it was time to venture further afield. Last week, we headed to the city. It was our first trip to Vancouver and we had a blast. We walked for hours each day, exploring the nooks and crannies of Stanley Park, Gastown, China Town, the Olympic Village seawall, and Granville Island. Our B & B was decadent and breakfasts were drool-worthy.
We had a fabulous time…and were entirely thrilled to come home. I enjoy travel. I enjoy new experiences. But I enjoy my life here more. Wrapped in the beauty of the island, surrounded by good friends, and warmed by a love that remains true and strong after all these years, there truly is no place like home. I am living the dream.
It's the first year anniversary of the release of Cutting to the Chase. To celebrate, I'm giving away 3 e-book copies! On my Young Adult social media sites, I have been sharing glimpses into my writing life for #AuthorLifeMonth. Pop by one of them and leave a comment, or follow me there, for a chance to win. Contest ends February 28.
On Tuesday night, we went to see the documentary Us & Them. Filmed in Victoria, British Columbia, it explores homelessness and addiction by following the lives of four homeless people over the course of ten years. It’s incredibly powerful, and their stories put a human face on folks we far too often pass with little more than a brief thought. While I highly recommend seeing it, it is not the film that I want to talk about, but the emotion that it stirred in all of us who attended.
As I watched, I stifled the urge to cry, sniffling as quietly as I possibly could. Beside me, a stranger’s shoulders shook as she wept, but she made no sound. When we left, my husband commented that he had a headache from fighting back tears. What is wrong with this picture? We were watching the pain of very real people. It was hard. We hurt along with them. We hurt for them. Why were we all so determined not to show that thing that we complain is lacking in our world—empathy?
Why do we suppress the public display of a very human reaction? Is crying not as natural as laughing? It’s not overtly taught, but somehow we have all gotten the message—it is embarrassing, shameful even, to cry openly. Stay strong. Chin up. Carry on. We hear these words of encouragement all of the time. Are they the wrong words? Is the subliminal message if you don’t do these things you are weak, you are cast down, you will stay down?
In reflecting on my own tears through the years, in my youth, I rarely cried. If I did, it was usually out of frustration or anger, and very much in private. I was perceived as a strong, competent young woman who was sure of herself and up to any challenge placed in front of her. I liked the image, so I fought any tears of pain, and certainly hid them if they fell.
As the years have passed, that has changed. Oddly, now that I truly am a strong competent human being, I cry more frequently. I think, in part, not because I feel more deeply but because I feel more widely. Years bring too much insight, too much knowledge, too much awareness of the larger hurt in our world. I rarely cry for me. I cry for others. What hasn’t changed is the fight against doing it in public. I don’t always win it, but I still struggle to contain tears when others are around.
Which brings me back to why? Our society, both subtly and explicitly, teaches boys that tears are weak. We’re working to change that, but it will be a long overhaul. As women trying to gain a level foothold in the world, are we also carrying the burden of that message? Do we think we are lesser if we show emotion? Does withholding our tears make us equal?
I don’t have the answer. However, I do know that I was more uncomfortable withholding my emotions the other night than I am when I let them loose. Like laughing, crying can be more than freeing; it can prove to be downright healing. And maybe tears, like laughter, need to be shared. Perhaps, that is how we create a kinder, more compassionate culture.
A writer friend shared an article on Facebook. In it, Author Kate DiCamillo answers the following question with great thoughtfulness.
“How honest can an author be with an auditorium full of elementary school kids? How honest should we be with our readers? Is the job of the writer for the very young to tell the truth or preserve innocence?”(Why Children’s Books Should Be a Little Sad)
The question was asked by another author and I followed the link to his original story. I liked what DiCamillo had to say. I lovedauthor Matt de la Peña’s story as well as his thoughts on shielding children from tough subjects. It resonated with me and I’ve been pondering it all day. Now, I don’t write for young children but I have spent a good part of my life working with them and I heartily agree with his reflection on his own child’s first brush with grief.
“But maybe these minor episodes of loss are just as vital to the well-adjusted child’s development as moments of joy.”
Further on he contemplates an image in his new picture book, Love, that his publisher was hesitant to include. It's a young child hiding beneath a piano with his dog while his parents argue. The involvement of alcohol is implied by an empty glass on the piano.
“In the book world, we often talk about the power of racial inclusion — and in this respect we’re beginning to see a real shift in the field — but many other facets of diversity remain in the shadows. For instance, an uncomfortable number of children out there right now are crouched beneath a metaphorical piano. There’s a power to seeing this largely unspoken part of our interior lives represented, too. And for those who’ve yet to experience that kind of sadness, I can’t think of a safer place to explore complex emotions for the first time than inside the pages of a book, while sitting in the lap of a loved one.”
I remember trying to find books to support children going through tough times. Those books were few and far between, often kept on separate shelves for teachers so that a child wouldn’t accidentally pick up a book that might be traumatic. Attitudes have changed since then and there is a growing number of amazing books.
His thoughts on this appealed to the educator me. His conclusion lent affirmation to the writer me. In my stories, I dip into the darkness with teens. It is something I don’t take lightly. I have agonized as I navigate the line between authentically representing traumatizing moments and not taking it too far, making the emotional aspect unbearable for the teen reader. I strive for that balance. My greatest wish for my novels is that teens either see themselves in my stories and find comfort in that, or recognize others and develop empathy. For me, that is the ultimate writing success.
“That’s why I write books. Because the little story I’m working on alone in a room, day after day, might one day give some kid out there an opportunity to 'feel.'”—Matt de la Peña
Last year, my husband and I decided to start a thankful box. Each Sunday, we separately wrote, on a small slip of paper, something we were grateful for in the week that passed. We were as equally thrilled when we wrote the same thing as when one of us highlighted something the other didn’t recognize. Our plan was to go through the notes tonight in celebration of all that was good in 2017. Too many of the grateful statements are still fresh in our minds. We’ve decided to wait for our anniversary in March so that memories that might be fading can be illuminated.
I think it’s easy to get caught up in the negative and let all of the good slide by unnoticed. And there’s a lot of amazing things that happen each and every single day if only you look for them. The bonus of consciously seeking out those moments is that it is synergetic. The more you do it, the more you find. To be grateful, one must be aware.
My life is full in every way. I am blessed, I am humbled, and I am grateful. We both remain healthy. We continue to enjoy each other’s company after almost 33 years together. Our fur-kids are turning eleven. They are happy and in good shape, and they bring smiles and laughter to us every day. We are surrounded by good friends, old and new. Around the globe, friends reach out to us and connect and fill our hearts.
We both enrich our lives with things that make our minds and our hearts sing. My husband pursues languages, piano, and vocal music. He is learning not to rely on our wonderful friend and contractor and figure out things around the house himself, comforted in the knowledge that our new friends on either side are there at a moment’s notice to advise or help. He is pleasantly surprised by his own competence.
I was lucky enough to tap into my theatrical side and perform a number with my husband in December. It is the first time I have stood in front of an audience since 2014. It was like coming home. This year two friends urged me to get a Fitbit and it has propelled me into a habit of daily walking. I am addicted to getting outside and moving. I have surprised everyone, including myself, with a passion and determination for gardening. The hours cultivating, planting, and nurturing have proven to be incredibly soul filling. As well, amazingly, I am now a twice-published author. Can life get any sweeter?
So much to be grateful for. I think even in the bleakest of times if you can look for those moments, no matter how small, you will find a little light break through the darkness. That is my New Year’s wish for all of you. Many moments of gratitude. So many that you can’t close the box and the goodness overflows.
As for me, I look forward to reading 104 statements of gratitude in 2018.
I successfully reached the fifty-thousand-word goal for National Novel Writing Month. More importantly, I trudged past that line and completed the novel. It is a skeleton but the bones are solid. I will now distance myself from it and leave it on the cyber shelf for a month or two.
When I go at it again, I will be looking to tighten up some places and expand on others, as well as ensure that the story flows. Continuity issues often get caught during the second run. The third run will be for technical aspects of grammar and word choice. The fourth run is usually an auditory listen. It’s amazing the mistakes you hear, errors that your eyes have flown past. Then my amazing husband focusses solely on the story. After that he edits for grammar. I take it back for a final go-through. So it’s a long way from being a novel that moves from my eyes to anyone else’s except my husband’s…and even he doesn’t see it until it’s in decent shape.
Still, I spewed out a novel in a month. Not a shabby achievement. I’ve done it before. Would I do it again? No. This time it consumed me. When I wasn’t writing, I was thinking about it. I was lying awake plotting. It haunted my sleep, when I managed to get some. Invitations felt like intrusions. Actually going out into the world was stressful. How would I get my words down?
As I get older, the one thing that is becoming abundantly clear is life is finite. And, unlike NaNo, we don’t know the finish line. On December first I asked myself, if November were to be my last month on this planet, would I feel as though I had lived it fully? Definitely not. I was anxious the entire time. I ignored friends and missed out on social occasions. I neglected my puppies and my husband. I was absent in my own life.
I love writing. I love that I have a shiny new story. But I love my life more. The beauty is that I don’t have to give up one to have the other. I just need to slow the pace down so that life doesn’t slide by me while I’m engaged in a fictional world. I will live a few hours each day in the pages of my imagination, but from here on in, I will readily step out into the real world and relish every vibrant flesh-and-blood person and every single moment.
I am participating in what is affectionately known by writers as NaNo. The idea is to spew words out every day during the month of November. There is no expectation that at the end of the month you will have a polished novel. The goal is to have a finished one, and that's half the battle. It's a format that works well for me. I hate competing with people. That is not why I participate. I compete with myself. Can I hit the minimum needed, 50,000 words? Can I get more down today than I did yesterday? Can I write in both the morning and the evening? (I am typically a morning-only writer.)
Cutting to the Chase was written during NaNo. It underwent many revisions afterward but the basic story remained intact. It's amazing what your mind shares with you when you have no time to censor it or to nitpick about what you've put down on the page. It's a freeing experience.
You can see my actual wordcount progress on the widget at the right of the page. Below is a gadget that should track percentage, although I'm not sure it works when embedded in a post. If it still says 11% after tomorrow, know that it is a static icon and it's not tracking anything. Check out the widget instead.
To all my writer friends participating, happy words to you! To all my non-writing friends, have a terrific November!
Today I am happy to be part of Writers Persevere!, an event that authors Angela Ackerman and Becca Puglisi are running for the next few days to celebrate their release of their newest book, The Emotional Wound Thesaurus: A Writer’s Guide to Psychological Trauma. This book looks at the difficult experiences embedded in our character’s backstory which will shape their motivation and behavior afterward.
Hi everyone! When you set out to find examples of inner strength, you don’t have to go very far. Right here in the writing community we see it every day. Writers more than anyone understand the swirl of emotions as we work toward publication. We dream of making it and seeing our books in the hands of readers…yet doubt and frustration can be a constant companion. For us, there is a lot to learn, much to steel our nerves for, and unfortunately, a host of real-world problems that can try to derail us. And, even as we slowly move forward and grow, we can sometimes feel like impostors. This is a tough road.
But the fact that writers face this battle, day after day, and KEEP GOING…this should be celebrated! We need to be reminded that we are much stronger than we sometimes believe. We dream, create, and force ourselves to keep striving. Through the ups and downs, we persevere!
Have you encountered something on the writing road that made you question yourself? Have you faced an obstacle that required a force of will to get past?
If so, we want to hear about it! Join Becca and me at Writers Helping Writers from October 25-27th, where we are celebrating writers and their stories of perseverance. Stop in, and tell us about a challenge or struggle your faced, or if you like, join this event by writing a post on your own blog and share it using the hashtag #writerspersevere. Let’s fill social media with your strength and let other writers know that it’s okay to question and have doubts but we shouldn’t let that stop us.
GIVEAWAY ALERT!
We also have a prize vault filled with items that can give your writing career a boost, so stop by Writers Helping Writers. I would love for one of you to win something that will help you get closer to your goal!
If you struggle, remember to reach out to others. We are in this together, and by supporting one another, we cross the finish line together (and then keep going!).
I am writing, although I have not mastered my daily schedule. I'm optimistic that I will return to a solid routine this coming week. With my second YA novel launching in two weeks, I have been distracted by aspects of promotion. It is this writer's bane, as I far prefer sitting in self-enforced solitary confinement and babbling through my fingers onto the page.
Here is my latest promo effort, a short trailer for Color Me Gray. I'm hoping its simplicity is appealing. I may play in Movie Maker to create a longer one, but when you stray from images owned into the plethora online, you risk infringing on copyright. Hunting down free-use images or permission is another rabbit hole that I've been trying to avoid. We'll see. I may tumble down it yet.
I’m finally dipping into Save the Cat this weekend. Written by Blake Snyder, it’s a craft book for screenwriters that is highly recommended for writers of fiction. Basically, the concept is that if you want people to invest themselves in your novel, your protagonist needs to do something fairly early in your story that makes your reader feel sympathetic or empathetic towards him or her. It has to be meaningful enough to provide some insight into why a reader should hang out with your character for a few hundred pages.
We watched St. Vincent the other night, starring Bill Murray as an alcoholic curmudgeon. The writer starts Save the Cat moments very quickly tapping into Murray’s grumpy quirkiness as he feeds the neighbour’s son sardines, insists the kid buckle up in the car, and funds a hooker’s ultrasound. As a result, you’re rooting for this loser to find his way out of the quagmire of his life.
In Cutting to the Chase, Lizzy is not a likeable protagonist. She’s not meant to be. Told through her point of view, she is an angry teen submerged in pain. Yet she has a Save the Cat moment fairly early in the story. We get a glimpse of Lizzy’s core when her father bails on her brother’s basketball tournament. She steps up and goes to the tournament in place of their father. Interesting that it’s there even though I did not consciously choose to insert a Save the Cat moment. Of course, as Lizzy’s life unravels, we get more and more insight into what is going on, but the tournament is where we first see clearly that there are layers to this unhappy girl.
There is much more to the book and I look forward to exploring Snyder’s concept of beats. For now, my husband is thrilled because I actually want to watch another movie this weekend. He loves movies and I’m just not a big fan of sitting and watching television. So he will be getting his fix, while I get to apply and analyze the craft of scriptwriting. It’s a win-win!
Many of you have read this news elsewhere, so I apologize for the repetition. However, I have some people who only check in here so I’d like to ensure they have the most recent update on my writerly life. Mags’s story has officially been picked up by Evernight Teen Publishing. Color Me Gray should join Cutting to the Chase out in the world in October.
What does this mean for my writing goals? More energy, more drive, and even more enthusiasm. It was incredibly affirming to see my first novel in print. To be fortunate enough to have two published? Well, darn it all, it makes me feel like I just might be a real writer!
I’ve always
loved hot weather—the hotter, the stickier, the better. But the last few weeks
of 30-degree-plus weather, combined with the haze of smoke from forest fires on
the mainland, knocked the stuffing out of me. I was lethargic and unmotivated.
I continued to walk my hour a day but switched it to early morning before it
got too hot. I still worked for a couple of hours in the garden each day, but it
was sweaty, uncomfortable, and not remotely fulfilling. Fatigued by heat, I
could not summon much enthusiasm to be productive in the afternoons.
Last night it
rained for the first time in two months. Not a deluge, mind you, but some
honest-to-goodness splattering on parched soil. Today the skies are blue, the
sun is bright and the air is refreshingly cool. I’m sure I can hear the flowers
and trees burping in contentment. My energy is surging along with the rivers
and ideas for writing are popping up like the neon green buds in the pasture
beyond our property.
I guess I’m no
longer a summer girl. I’m more of a spring woman, appreciating the gift of new
opportunities for growth whatever time of year they arrive. Thank you, Mother
Nature, for nurturing the land. And now, riding on the high of crisp smoke-free
air, I’m off to cultivate the fallow field that has been my mind these past two
weeks.
I wrote this…I think. It’s in my notes dated March 22, 2017. I usually attribute quotes, so I’m pretty sure it’s mine. If not, please correct me. I tend to jot down short poems, single stanzas, isolated sentences, capturing random thoughts, transient memories, elusive emotions. I scribble them in my notepad or dictate them into my iPad. They are everywhere—a writer’s chaotic comfort.
This is the third time I have to apologize for my delinquency. I haven’t even kept up with reading blogs that I love to follow. Blogs, not just of interest, but written by people I want to support because they are good and kind and talented. I apologize for that too.
Alas, I have been busy with the “in between.” I’ve been enjoying a season of gardening and outdoor living, editing the final copy of Mags’s story, relishing in the company of good friends and struggling with personal loss. Life.
I think I’m back now, ready to move ahead on so many projects, including returning to historical fiction and historical romance. I still have some YA stories that need to be told, so I suspect I will be playing in the writers’ playground of see-sawing genres and spinning on the carousel of ideas. It’s an enticing vision and, like a child, no doubt I will exhaust myself and go to bed each night dizzy, weary and smiling.
So third apology. But third time’s the charm, right?
Wow! This was a longer absence than I planned. We had a lovely getaway on Salt Spring Island and enjoyed a week-long visit with friends. We’ve freshened up our verandah downstairs and refinished our side deck. In the spirit of full disclosure, I must confess that I have been preoccupied with overindulging…too much food, too much wine, and too much fun. Is there really such a thing as too much fun?
It’s back to work for me this week. Mags’s story has rusticated on the shelf for a month. It’s time to pick it up, dig through it and see if I’ve got a second YA on my hands. I’ve been looking forward to it and will be diving in as soon I post this.
This month I’ve had amazing feedback on my historical romance, Love Denied, as well as a “revise and resend” from two publishers. Revision ideas are percolating in the back of my brain. One publisher has a call out for novella-length stories. I have three that I haven’t looked at in a while. Perhaps I should be delving back into those and seeing if they’re up to snuff? I’ve been missing historical research and am pulled toward returning to my Raven’s Path sequel as well. And, as always, new concepts beckon—in young adult, in historical romance, and in historical fiction.
I am grateful that my well of ideas is full. Now I just have to figure out how I want to go about emptying it.
Hi everyone! When you set out to find examples of inner strength, you don’t have to go very far. Right here in the writing community we see it every day. Writers more than anyone understand the swirl of emotions as we work toward publication. We dream of making it and seeing our books in the hands of readers…yet doubt and frustration can be a constant companion. For us, there is a lot to learn, much to steel our nerves for, and unfortunately, a host of real-world problems that can try to derail us. And, even as we slowly move forward and grow, we can sometimes feel like impostors. This is a tough road.
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