Sownding Dumb

I like to think I have a decent grasp of spelling, punctuation and grammar. I graduated high school. Got an accounting degree and my MBA. So I had to write a lot of papers. Granted, the subject of these papers was usually something like “The Relevancy of Statements of Auditing Standards 99,” or “The Evolution of the Movie Theater Industry.” Not exactly thrilling reads. But still. Papers. With words and everything. I considered myself a decent writer. And I thought my experience would help me when I started writing novels.

            But sometimes, I’m not very smart. And by ‘sometimes,’ I mean, ‘a lot of times.’

            I mispronounced “hors d’oeuvres” and “epitome” for WAY longer than I should have. Like well into my 20’s. And the ridiculous part about that is I could use those words properly in conversation, and I totally knew what I was saying. But the pronunciations didn’t register with me when I read them. Those are just a couple of examples.  

            My terrible memory compounds my problem. Even if I find a pronunciation guide, if I’m not using a word regularly it slips away from me.

            Between these two issues, some ridiculous things have slipped into my writing.

            Are you willing to forgive a few grammatical or spelling errors if the story is good? If the author says, “My interest was peaked” instead of “My interest was piqued?” If so, is there a magic threshold an author crosses before the errors go from mild annoyance to I’m done?

I hate to lose the reader’s trust in my abilities. So I try to read as much as I can. Do crossword puzzles. Write (obviously). But I’m always going to make silly mistakes. My hope is that I'll be able to laugh at them along with whoever so graciously pointed them out to me (hopefully a trusted critique pal!)

 

Then I'd like to learn from them.

 

 

Flash aaaaaa

*sings Queen*

No I'm not here to talk to you about Flash Gordon....nope, I'm here to talk about flash fiction.

I LOVE flash fiction. In fact, before I started writing my novel all I wrote was flash fiction.

Flash fiction is like a super short short story. It's usually no more than a few pages. Most often it's just a page. A story in a tiny box. The challenge is making sure the story makes sense, the characters are alive, and that you build a world in the least amount of words as you can.

It's hard, but if done right, flash fiction can be quite amazing. Done incorrectly, it seems to lack luster and just falls flat. It's a precarious balance to tell a story, but only tell it with the bare bones enough to make the audience interested.

It tests the skill of the writer, and is a great writing practice. Exploring different writing avenues is always great for personal growth as a writer.

I'll leave you with one of my own flash fictions, (I'm quite proud of it).

            She squared her shoulders, as they dragged her to the post. A picture of strength as they tied her into place. Inside she shook as fear grabbed her gut in its fist. The rough wood scratched her back. She looked for anything to focus on, anything to distract her from the fear welling up within her.
            “A cross, where is a cross?” she asked the man arranging the wood around her ankles. The fear smothered her, causing her to gasp. “I need a cross, please”
            He nodded and fashioned a small one from the pieces of wood arrayed for her burning. Focused on the task for the Maiden. He handed it to her, as if it was made from gold. Carefully, she grabbed it. She pressed it to her lips with a murmured prayer before allowing them to tie her hands behind her. The cross she placed in her belt, a comforting presence. A reminder.
            Again she held her head high, firm in that she did no wrong. She was innocent of all charges except belief. But the fear was still there, secretly turning her heart against her.
            “A cross,” her lips whispered as they lit the fire. The flames licked the wood, hungry. In front of her, a cross was held, steady by a friar in brown robes, his eyes sad. Her eyes never left the crucifix even as the tongues of fire caressed her feet. Fear began its whispering.
            She screamed. The fire rose higher, burning her without a care, its dancing light deadly to her flesh. “Lord, save me,” She listened for the Voices who would comfort her, who would soothe her fearful heart, like a balm of healing oil.
            She screamed again and again as the flames engulfed her, embraced her in their arms. Even through the pain, the fear, she held firm, nary moving a muscle. Never doubting her God and his path. If this is what was to be asked of her, she would endure. The smell of burnt hair and flesh filling her nostrils. Her hair and flesh.
            One last scream, “My God!” and she died, eyes fixed on the cross in her belt.
             They spread her ashes on the cool river, watching as they faded into the water. Fear grew in their hearts.
            But Joan never died. Not truly. For a Legend won’t ever die.

A Taste from the Past

About a week or so ago, I went to my first Ren Faire.

I should have went years ago. It was a blast. Even though I was almost swallowed up by mud and it rained half the time, I still enjoyed myself.

I've always been fascinated by the medieval era of history. True it wasn't the best of times for the people living it, and I wouldn't like to live back in those times, but it doesn't diminish the intrigue of it for me. I was basically a kid in a candy store at the faire, getting a chance to peek into a part of that past.

Now albeit it wasn't all completely historically accurate but....I loved the freedom that the players felt to make up their own stories.

I actually got to see jousting, up close and real with splinters from the lances flying and mud from the horses hooves coming at my face. I cheered and booed along with the crowd.

I saw a jester and laughed at his jokes and all around silliness.

I saw minstrels, singing ballads and traditional love songs.
                                                

I saw so many people, dressed up and enjoying themselves that it was hard not to join in.
                                                 

I also saw a TARDIS but that's besides the point.


It made me think about why I love the time period. What is it about that part of the past that drew people? And I think it is because of the stories. We have stories of knights and dragons, fairy tales, outlaws....so many stories. It was an age of magic and logic.

I highly recommend going to a Ren Faire yourself, its a lot of fun.

Chelsea watches Anime

I've been watching a lot of anime lately.

Oh have I not mentioned that I love anime? Well I do, and I know not everybody does. (Believe me it takes a while to get used to it, I didn't really like it at first. Now I can't imagine not liking it.)

Kirito from Sword Art Online

Let me explain anime to you.

Anime is basically a Japanese cartoon, but not just for kids. There's an anime for everyone and I mean...everyone.

There are many different types of anime, from shonin, which is basically fights and geared toward boys and shojo, which are romantic and geared more toward girls. And within that are many different subtypes. 

And most animes have typical characters: the hero/heroine, the sidekick, the goofy character, ect ect ect. (Sometimes with hard to pronounce and even harder to spell names)

But what I love most about animes is the character development and storytelling.

Each of the main characters, even though they start out simple and typical, grow into their own through each episode. You get back stories, sometimes tragic, confessions, epiphanies, and breakdowns. 

Even though you may see a twist coming, or know what exactly is going to happen, the story is still told in such a way that you enjoy it.

Anime helps me in my quest to be a good writer, believe it or not. By seeing how other cultures/people tell stories broadens my own storytelling style. Plus, by studying character development that I believe the Japanese do so well in their animes, aids my own characters in their developments. It's something I aspire to do in my writing, to tell good stories.

But that aside, I just really love the characters and the adorableness....

Mokona from Tsubasa

Self-Publishing

The concept of self-publishing both fascinates and terrifies me.

 

I have come to terms with the very real possibility that no matter how hard I work or how much I revise or query, I might never land an agent. And even if I do, that might not translate into a book deal.

 

And if that is the case, I can’t decide what I would do. Trunk my novel and write another one? How do I know if this is ‘the one’? What if I think this isn’t ‘the one,’ so I write another book, and it’s even less of ‘the one’ than the first?! If I feel good about my book but I can’t find a home for it, should I self-publish?

 

I’m a very analytical/research oriented person. I comb blogs and websites, looking for little nuggets of information to store away that I can use later (yanno, once I finish revising my book). I’ve giggled my way through Evil Editor posts, cringed at the poor souls who needed a shot with the clue gun in the Snarkives, and read everything Mr. Nathan Bransford has ever been gracious enough to share about the agent/publishing world. And I’ve come to realize there is no ‘right’ or ‘good’ answer to the best way to publish a book.

 

Self-publishing sounds not just difficult (although I’ve never given up on something just because it’s difficult), but like it involves a set of skills that I just do not possess and do not feel comfortable trying to locate via the internet. Clearly many authors have done it (finding varying degrees of success).

 

But I don’t know if it’s really right for me.

The Most Asked

A week or so ago, I went to dinner with some friends, one of which I only see once a year. After the initial catching up, he asked the inevitable question.

"What's your book about?"

I really don't like this question. Yet it is the one most asked.

And now you are going, "Woah Chels, YOU ask this question!"

Why, yes, yes I do and then I open up the cover and read the little synopsis and decide whether or not I want to read it. I understand the question; I understand why it is asked. But I hate it.

And here's why.

When people ask this question are they wanting to know the events/characters/plot or do they want to know what the book is about?

Because it's often after I read I book that I realize that what it is about and what is in the inside of the cover are two different things.

My book is about the the bond of brotherhood, of friendship no matter what happens. But that's not what my friend wanted to know. Nope, he wanted to know what happens in the book, so as to decide whether or not it would be interesting or not.

In that case my answer is: Well, two boys go sailing around on the ocean searching for Book of Merlin, and along the way discover secrets about themselves.

(They of course wanted more details, but I told them they would have to wait till it's published)

I guess what really bothers me about the whole "What's it about?" question is that most of the time I feel like people are pushing me. (I hate being pushed. It kicks my stubborn into gear and then I'm a pain in the butt to everyone involved) I don't know exactly what my book is about because I haven't finished writing it yet! It could change from one page to the next. My only concern is getting my thoughts onto paper, writing the story as I go. 

(Now I realize that this is my writing style and does not work nor apply to everyone. But I honestly think it is because I write this way that I have such a problem with people asking what my stories are about)

Holding Still

I refused to turn around.  I held perfectly still.  Looking through the castle window, my shoulders were tense.  The muscles in my back, my arms, my whole body for that matter, were strong enough to fight any battle or run for days but I refused to move. Any other man in his right mind would leave but unlike most of them, I resisted the easiest path.

What would she have me do? She’d tell me if she could. But I’d burn at the stake before I would speak another word to her.

Damn her.

Even with my eyes closed, I could almost feel her standing next to me.  Her words, her touch, her kiss, everything about her made sense. Even the smell her hair and the sound of her breath, were now a part of me.  But I would fight this need for her.  I flexed my hands into fists. I wanted to hit something, someone.  Make it hurt so I wouldn’t have to because it hurt to love her. She was my one weakness. Warriors were as good as dead, if they allowed themselves even a hint of vulnerability. She could bring me to my knees with one word.  Well, three actually.

Why did she have to speak?   

They claimed she was dying.  I raced through the night, a demon possessed, eager to be by her side.  When I arrived, I could have inquired about her from a servant, not come bashing into the room ready for battle. But bashing I came. I had to see her for myself.  Thank the Northern stars, she was alive. The healers had bound her wounds and said her fever would pass by evening.  Kneeling at her bedside I whispered her name, not daring to touch her hand. Her eyes remained closed. Seat covered her body as her mind raced with fever but she spoke.  She responded to my voice, saying the three words that stopped time.

My breath caught.  Her omission created the greatest foe I would ever face and the battle began.  My love for her and the logic that been beat into me since birth, took opposing corners. 

‘Create no ties that will stay your sword’ had been shouted to me since I was young. Then it became the twisted, hypocritical words of comfort when the nights were cold and the days were lonely.  I foolishly believed they made me stronger.  Enemies had power over only me. No threats of harm to loved ones could ever hinder my actions.  Even my faint family memories had long been pushed aside, rarely haunting me. Then she slipped into my life and wisps of doubt began to tangle around my determination to live a warrior’s life.

I could have denied my feelings for her longer, perhaps I still would.  My ability to bury any tender feelings was almost equal to my skill with a blade.  How else could I run a man through with my sword? Watch as his life bled out and then sleep at night having no regrets? It was by putting my feelings in the dark, quiet corner of my mind and thinking only of the coming battle.  Then she, with her clever whit and soft, slow kisses, pulled me back into the light.

I rose from her bed and walked to the window.  The morning sun was growing strong.  I wanted to run, leaving her and this place far behind.  But I didn’t move. I just stood. 

What if she calls out to me? Will I go to her if she does? My fists squeezed tighter.

She stirs, “William?”

Laying on Concrete

So today I laid on concrete for an hour outside my public library.
Just. Laid there.

Technically my sister and her friend were laying next to me, but they were having their own conversation which is fine with me.

As I was laying on this cool, hard, concrete, I thought to myself "Where do I go from here?"

I didn't mean here as in the sidewalk. Or even here as in the library. I meant here, this point in my life.

No answer.

And that was fine with me. Because I don't have to know or figure it out now. Taking life step by step is the best way, that way I can enjoy the plot twists and characters that make their way into my own story.

Books to Movies

I love this movie. One of my favorites, and I often quote it whenever I can. It's hard not to with lines like, "As you wish," and "That does put a damper on our relationship" and it is just overall awesome.

Well, one day while walking in a bookstore I saw the Princess Bride by William Goldman and I thought to myself. Why haven't I read you yet? So I picked up the book, bought it, and brought it home with me.

To which I read it in less than three days. I couldn't put it down. I LOVED it. It was fantastic. I laughed constantly, and fell in love with the characters more deeply. It was basically the movie with more detail and backstory. Which got me to thinking of all the book to movie adaptations out there.

Warm Bodies- Loved the book, and was excited to find out it was going to be a movie. Loved the movie, almost more than the book. A brilliant and wonderful adaptation.

Lord of the Rings/The Hobbit- I. Love. These. Movies. Like seriously, love them. And I love the books, (Well to be fair, I've only read the Hobbit back in Jr. High and the Fellowship. I'm halfway through the Two Towers. They are good books but dense) From what I've read, Mr. Jackson has casted it perfectly (PERFECTLY) and I love it when fans make things.

The Invisible- I really like this movie (it is sad, but good) and found out it was based on a book. Read said book. Didn't like it. So, this was one of the rare cases where I love the movie over the book.

Percy Jackson- I liked the movie when I watched it, but my sister suggested that I finally read the series. I am now a wholly invested fan of Percy Jackson and his adventures. The movie isn't bad, but it isn't the best either. The casting was fine, but they messed up some plot points and little details.

Eragon- Wait, they made a movie? (It was terrible, so terrible. The only thing they got from the books was the names and dragons. I tend not to think about it cause it was so heartbreaking awful)

The Hunger Games- I enjoyed the books (not a huge fan, but they were good) and the movie is great as well. There were minor changes but the got the gist and majority right. Casting was perfect though as was the costume and set designs.

Twilight-I admit it, I liked the books. The movies...disappointed. Seriously. Casting was mostly bad (sorry cast) and I just...I can't put my finger on it but it just didn't translate well to the screen. However, I did like the last movie a lot. Mainly because Lee Pace was Garrett who was my favorite character in the books (he totally deserves his own story...and yes I know you only meet him in like the last half of the book, I do not care, Garrett is awesome and amazing and I love him. And then they go and cast Lee Pace and I die of happiness) Ahem. Sorry...moving on.

Howl's Moving Castle- Yes this is a cartoon (tech anime but ok) but I LOVE THIS. I love Miyazaki's work, and Howl is my favorite hands down. It got me so curious that I bought the book, and though I love the book, Miyazaki basically took the characters and made them his own. They both have awesome merits but I suggest not comparing them, for you will enjoy both in different ways.

The Princess Bride- PERFECT. CASTING. WRITING. SETS. COSTUMES. EVERYTHING. PERFECT!

I understand why movies cannot be exactly like the books. I truly do, but I don't think it's an excuse to not try. Like the Princess Bride and Warm Bodies show it can be done.

Finally

Finally, I have finished it.

My rough draft anyways.

Now comes the hard part. The editing.

I don't quite how the others do it, but I'm going to explain my writing process. Usually, it starts like this:

1. Get an idea/character: It can happen at any time. Mostly, my stuff is influenced by what I read, listen, or watch. Anything can potentially inspire me.

Here I can take two paths.
A) Think it out: I don't mean plan it out, like with a timeline and stuff. I mean think it out. Think about the character, think about the plot, think about the world, the motivations, the villains. I think about it all untill I have a pretty good idea what I want to do. Or
B) Start writing: Sometimes I get an idea or character and I just have to write it down. That's when numerous of random notebooks come in handy. I have one by my bed, in my dresser, in my car. Everywhere, so that I have easy access to paper. Also, a writing tool is needed, so I have those stashed everywhere as well. Usually what's in my head is a scene or character description.

2.Then I write: Just. Write. I don't care over much about the grammar or the spelling. I just get the story in my head onto the page. I don't even break it into chapters, because for me that breaks the flow of my story. (Weird, you can say it) Sometimes I have to research and that's fine.

3.After months of writing and thinking and writing and changing my mind, I will have a finished story (sometimes though, I lost interest and that story is filed away for another time)
Now it is time to edit.

When editing, I make a note of what my final product is. Then I read through the entirety of my story and make sure my consistancy is there, and all the little character devolpments I may have missed. Also I may change my mind about a detail and change it here. This inital readthrough is also when I break my story into chapters.

Next, I hand it to a select few of people who will read it. These are called beta-readers. They are to tell me if it works or not. If not, I go back and read through and make more edits. If it does, then off it goes to find an agent.

And through it all, my critique partners are there. Every step. (except maybe the first one since that's in my head and they can't be in there)

Truthfully, I haven't made it to beta readers stage yet, but that is how I will do it when I get there. I'm just so excited that I have finished something other than short stories/flash fiction and that it could potentially be something.

Walking in their footsteps

That’s exactly what we did.  Two weeks ago my family got the opportunity to walk or Trek as we called it along the same trails that the Mormon pioneers took coming to Salt Lake City, Utah in the 1800’s. The planning for this huge undertaking began last January.  Six out of the eight members of my family joined a group of 500 that spent a week just outside of Rawlings, Wyoming.  We retraced the paths taken by the Martin and Willie Handcart Companies. 

The facts of their journeys were these: they left Iowa City too late in the season, had to take Handcarts that were made with green wood, encountered the worst winter storms in Wyoming’s history and suffered more than we will ever know to get their Zion, Salt Lake City.  The miracles, feelings, and experiences of those incredible people is quite a different story altogether. And I’m humbled to say so was my time out in the sage brush and vast nothingness of Wyoming.

My surroundings were not of blizzarding snow, freezing drifts or the ever present torment of starvation but instead scorching heat, dehydrated teenagers, latrines and the constant layers of sand covering every inch of me.  It would have been easy for me to hold tightly to this list of complaints, add more to it and conclude that my time there had been miserable but instead I followed the example of those early saints, saw beyond the physical irritations and embraced the spirit of that place.  I’m in no way saying that the conditions we dealt even began to scratch the surface of what those brave people endured only that we had a decision to make on how we viewed our experience. We chose to think on that time as incredibly spiritual and feel pride that we earned the right to feel it.  It was definitely one of the hardest things I’ve ever accomplished.  Pulling a real handcart down dusty roads in  above 90 degree heat while trying to keep eight teenagers (that were not mine but assigned to my husband and I as our ‘Trek kids’) hydrated and on task was a bit daunting at times to say the least. But I’m still marveling over the fact that after four days these kids are wrapped up in my heart.  Four days.   I know they are mine because we worked, pushed, pulled, sweat, gasped, laughed, cried, loved, ate, worried, talked, hugged, all of us together.

I woke up the morning after we got home early, which was crazy because I was tired enough I thought I’d sleep for a week.  Phrases and words pulled me from my coma-like sleep 6:30 am.  They whispered thoughts and feeling about our incredible experience.  The writer in me had been inspired with a ferocity that would not let my tired body rest.  I grabbed my journal and took it out to the cool morning air of my front steps.  Words and tears flowed freely for the next three hours.  I couldn’t get it all down fast enough.

 

 

I’d like to share a part of it with you.

 “The sun never neglected its duty on our trip.  Not once.  It shown down on our heads with the determination of creating human jerky. This fact coupled with our own resolve to drink water as though our life depended on it (it did) created the women’s bathroom line phenomenon.  The scourge of Trek.   The women in these lines had four layers of clothing between them and the foul smelling, although better than sage brush, latrine.  Add to the fact that we were sweating everywhere made the wait for each girl impossibly long.   I fell victim to it all.  Someone must always be last in line.   It is the nature of lines.  Someone will be first, lucky girl and someone will be last, me.  I was last out of the latrine in Martin’s Cove.  Trent (my husband) was told to go on and I’d catch up.   I came out and everyone was gone.  We had already been walking at our ‘let’s get there first’ pace and the thought of going even faster to catch up made me more than a little upset.

Combine mad thoughts with the opportunity to stomp quickly in the dirt and you’ve got one very dangerous Beckie (me) at the end of the trail.  Poor Trent took the brunt of it with both barrels.  I not only had to cover the distance between us quickly but I had to maneuver around other carts and their families.  And to top everything off I was half way back to my group when I realized I’d left my water bottle back in the bathroom.  Just great!  Once I’d caught up, everyone had enjoyed their rest, filled their water bottles and were quite ready to walk through the sacred Martin’s Cove.   I however was not.  Trent being the sweet husband that he is told one of the coordinators about my missing water bottle’s location and carefully came back over to me.  That man deserves a metal more often than not.

There was a path that wound through the rocky hills. (The picture above is from Martin's Cove) Sage brush popped up through the dirt and huge bouldering rocks created a secluded ravine. This was Martin’s Cove. Leaving our handcars at the bottom, we walked silently through the hills because our LDS Prophet had declared it sacred ground.  We were to respect it as though we were in one of our LDS temples. 

  I think with any normal winter storm those pioneers would have found a bit of shelter from hills but they did not endure a normal winter storm.  They suffered through the worst storm in Wyoming’s history.  Snow, hail, drifts and 70 mph winds tormented them.  All the while, they pushed hand carts with their loved ones.  Elderly, small children.  One thirteen old boy who survived went on to write in is journal, “No mouth nor pen could describe our sorrow”.  After my own time spent there, I know his eloquent but simple words had to be true.  The vast desolation and utter nothingness in the landscape would consume you.  Add to that the snow.   White blizzarding snow.   You wouldn’t at times even have the satisfaction of knowing you’d made progress down the trail, not being able to see anything in front or behind you.  The complete despair and discouragement at the hopeless of it all would have been overwhelming.  I can feel the spirit of that place now that I’m sitting here writing it down.  But I didn’t at the time.  No at that time I was mad, hot, and sick of walking so fast.  In hind sight, I missed out on something invaluable because I let my nasty temper get the best of me. 

After it all, I also wondered about the poor souls back then, who for one reason or another, got separated from the group as well.  The desperation and isolation they must have felt were beyond any little fit I had from being left behind. I struggle with perspective when I’m angry. Need to work on that I think.”

That was just one of many beautiful experiences I had on our Trek.  It is a time I will always treasure.

Yes, we walked were they walked and we’ll never be the same because of it.

 

Where did the Goal go?

So, I had a goal three months ago to have my WIP finished and into the editing stage. And here I am three months later, not finished.

It isn't that I haven't been working on it, because I have...

Every time I put my laptop on my lap and open up my novel, I just reread my last few paragraphs and sit there. Just. Sit there. And it is really frustrating that the words just aren't there. I see the scene in my head; I see it so clearly. But the words.

 Just. Aren't. There.

So I wonder why I cannot meet my goal and if there is something wrong with me for not have met it. Until today. I came unto the conclusion that it was perfectly fine not to meet your goal in the rough draft stage because that is what it is...a rough draft. You are still figuring stuff out, moving pieces around, and changing your mind. The words will be blocked from time to time, and it's no big deal.

Some authors take YEARS to write a book, and you can better believe that it is awesome. Because of all the time and love they poured into it.

That is something I want. An awesome book, and if it takes me a little longer than expected or planned the pfffttt at least I'm putting my heart into it.

Picking Favorites

What is that one character that you love above all others?

With every book, movie, tv show that you read/watch people inevitably pick a favorite character. Even if you love them all (which sometimes happens) there is just one person that edges out above the rest.

That's a sign of a good story, I like to think. That a character speaks to you. And someone's favorite character could be the next person's hated one. You're choice says something about you. I'm not sure what, because I haven't figured that part out yet, but it says something.

For example, my favorite characters are usually the tortured ones. Either internally or externally, doesn't matter. And it isn't because I enjoy seeing them in pain; no, its because it shows their strength. Tragic heroes, love 'em.

But then you have those characters, that out of all your favorites, they are on top. You will defend them against any bad word. You will expound upon their awesomeness. You will never understand why no one else sees their worth. And that is a truly great testament to the creator of the character.

I compiled a list of such characters, for me:

Eugenides, from The Thief- He is by far my favorite character out of all characters. He's witty, smart, and perfect. He is a master of deception, often making people underestimate him. Even when his hand was chopped off (I cried for him, I screamed when it happened), he recovered and stole a country. Because he is awesome. And my favorite of favorites. Hands down best character.

Dustfinger, from Inkheart- So if Gen wasn't in the picture, Dustfinger would be my absolute favorite, poor sad soul that he is. He is so homesick that it literally impacts all of his decisions. He watches people, and often thinks of himself as a coward. To a degree that's true, but deep down, he's brave. Plus, he is a fire eater. Fire talks to him. I have a thing for fire, guys, can't help it. It is because of Dustfinger that I threw Inkspell, literally threw the book and bawled. Therefore, he is my baby and nobody should ever hurt him again.

Nico di Angelo, from the Percy Jackson/Heroes of Olympus series- Don't ask me why, for I don't know, but I adore Nico.* He's my darling. And guess what, tortured (if you haven't noticed, all these guys are) by the loss of his sister and the fact that his dad is Hades. You can't be son of the lord of the underworld and not be affected. But I love him, and I haven't quite figured out why.

Murtagh, from the Inhertiance series- Granted, after the second book, this series dragged out too long (my opinion) and it isn't my favorite book series ever (doesn't even make the top ten) it does however have on of my most favorite of characters in it. Murtagh. My poor poor Murtagh. I was his greatest advocate when the whole world turned on him. I defended him against untrue words, (he isn't evil! He's being used. It's not his fault!) and guess what? I. Was. Right. Completely. He got the short of the stick in the series.

There you go. My favorite of favorites.

A love for History

Let me tell you something: I love history.

I cannot properly tell you how much I love history. I think I was one of the few children who would sit and watch a history documentary with my dad and enjoy it. And although I have my favorite areas of history I love learning about (Medieval times, ancient Rome and Egypt and random highwaymen/outlaws/thieves to name a few) all of history is pretty cool to me.

I just. History is awesome. It's like a giant book of our past; all of us characters with our own back story. (maybe that's just the writer in me, I don't know) The human race writing itself. Most of the time without a thought that we are doing it.

History also helps the future. If we learn from the mistakes and successes from the past, then our future would be brighter. We can avoid the pot holes and blunders of times past, and maybe make up for it.

As a writer, I find inspiration in history. For example, my current work in progress is about two brothers who go off to find the Book of Merlin. A great sea going adventure. Even though no such book exists, the story is influenced by Arthurian legend. I had to research pirates and 1700's sailing techniques and other such bits to make sure my story was at least reasonably accurate.

I cannot tell you how often I lost track of time just reading up on random history. Pirates, after looting a ship, returned a stone fireplace they stole because it belonged to Jack Daniels. Poland avoided the Black Plague because it was cleaner than other countries around it due to it's populace being mainly Jewish. George Washington's teeth were not made of wood, but instead from cow teeth.

I understand that not everyone shares this love as history as I do. (Yay for me that my whole family enjoys history.) In fact, some may even find history-gasp-boring. To each their own. I, for one, cannot stand math. But I need to have a working understanding of it to function. Also, it's useful in writing, believe it or not. Same goes for history. It's important to know something of history when writing; you never know when it might come in handy.Characters and worlds in your writing have history as well. Without them, well, your people and the lands they live in is just blank. And blank is boring. Build the history, because that gives purpose. It explains things. I'm not saying tell your readers the complete history of the country of Arei and the rulers. But sprinkle that history throughout the story to flesh it out.


Plus, those people miss out on awesome stuff like this:

Or this:

( These are my favorite song and skit from a children's show in Britain called Horrible Histories which is fantastic. Sadly, it is not available here in America. I suggest looking it up on Youtube, it is both hilarious and informative)

When Your Mind Plays Tricks on You

Earlier this week, my husband and I celebrated our seven-year wedding anniversary. I can still remember the special details of that day – the look on my husband’s face when we saw each other for the first time, my dress, our first dance, the cake (I love cake with all of my heart - almost as much as I love my husband).

The thing I was most excited about was walking down the aisle. I had dreamed of that moment for years and I knew exactly the music I wanted – Canon in D. I love how it starts out softly, but by the end it’s practically soaring.

When the big day arrived, I was so excited and nervous. I spent hours getting ready, making sure every single curl stayed right where it was supposed to, my tiara was on straight, and my something old, new, borrowed and blue were in place. Finally, it was time to start the ceremony. I stood arm-in-arm with my dad outside of the sanctuary, anxiously waiting for the moment we could start walking. After what felt like forever, the ushers opened the doors. The music swelled as we started our walk. At the end of the aisle was my husband-to-be, looking just as excited as I felt. I sailed down the aisle with my dad, blinking back tears and smiling as he escorted me to the love of my life. It was perfect.

A few months later, my husband and I decided to watch our wedding video. I couldn’t wait to hear how the music sounded. But something wasn’t right. In my short walk down the aisle there were tempo changes, missed notes, and one very awkward three-second pause.

“What’s wrong with the video?” I exclaimed. “That’s not what it sounded like on our wedding day.”

My husband looked at me like I was nuts. “That’s exactly what it sounded like. It was terrible.”

He was right. It was terrible. But I’d been so excited, my mind made it sound how I wanted it to.

I have a tendency to fall into this trap when I’m writing. I’ll get so caught up in a scene that I don’t take that step back to remind myself that the reader is not in my head and I have to paint him/her a clear picture. If I don’t, I risk jarring him/her with missed notes and tempo changes. I’ve imagined a whole world filled with characters, but I can’t put everything about them in my story. If I did, my characters would never be able to get anything done. But what does get into the story has to be consistent.

I struggle with this problem even more after I start revising – did I leave that earlier part in that affects this later part? Or did I take it out? How can this character jump from a castle window to the ground below when earlier I had him swimming across a moat to escape?! Why did this character’s name switch spellings after chapter 3?!

I’ve noticed that like the situation with my wedding video, these little issues seem to pop when I’ve spent time away from my book. When that happens, it usually doesn’t take too much effort to fix them.  

It also helps to have critique buddies that pay very close attention to the details!

I have a Dream of Knives and Words

My sister graduated Saturday. As I watched my little sister cross that stage to shake the hand of school officials and receive her diploma I was reminded of when I walked across that stage. The only thought running through my head was, "Please don't trip. Please don't trip. Please don't trip. Don't look at the crowd," (Even though I had performed on stage before being an orchestra student, I still didn't like the attention)

After that stressful part of the ceremony, after realizing that I was finally done, I thought about what life would hold for me know. No longer was I bound by the school structure. My dreams were there in front of me, just waiting for me to grab them.

Now, I haven't really achieved all my dreams yet, and some I probably never will. But that doesn't stop me from thinking of them from time to time. So, here are a few of my dreams:

Write a book- Always there. No matter what scenario I put myself in, I was always a sideline author or full time writer. Writing was always a part of my life.

Become a Zoologist- Sadly, this one was left behind in my childhood. But because I wanted to at one point, my thirst and love of the Animal Kingdom has never been forgotten.

Have a personal Library- I'm working on this one. I have a bookshelf overflowing, two totes under my bed, a stack in my closet, a drawer full, and random piles of books everywhere.

Learn archery- I don't mean with today's compound bows (they are ugly) but with traditional bows (longbow, recurve that sort of thing) I would also love to learn to throw knives/fence.

Travel the world- I've a pretty good start on this one, though I have yet to make it out of the country.

I have other little odds and ends I would like to do and see, but  these are the ones that I keep constantly in mind. If we lose sight of our dreams, then it seems like the world has grown dimmer around us. But with our dreams, even at the edges of our minds, the world seems just that much more bright.

A Whole New World

            The setting of my current WIP (a YA Fantasy) is something that I’ve come to think of as “vaguely medieval.” By that I mean there are some elements of magic set in somewhat medieval times, but I took some liberties with styles of speech, etc.

            Creating your own world can be both exhilarating and terrifying. What do people eat? How do they dress? I filled my world with some things most people would probably expect to see in YA Fantasy – castles, kings and queens, spell-casting wizards, knights, travel by horseback.  

            Then there were some things that popped into the pages that I hadn’t thought through.

            Throughout the story, characters reference angels, hell, etc. Not a lot, but enough. I hadn’t even thought about it when I was writing the story. But after reading a few chapters, one of my friends pointed out that if I had created a new world, how would they know about the Christian faith?

            Well. I guess they probably wouldn’t.

So do I leave the references in? Make up a different religion? But religion isn’t really central to the plot of the story. I don’t want to spend five pages explaining the religious beliefs of a people I made up. I’ve got a story to tell! So do I not mention religion at all? But all cultures have some sort of religion, right?

This friend also told me I kept describing the passage of time in terms of hours, seconds, minutes.

            Guess what? Not a thing in medieval times. Gotta figure out a different way.

            This is what I struggle with.

            Turns out that the excitement of creating a whole new world is counteracted with the difficulty of putting something together that’s consistent without turning into just a bunch of stuff I cobbled together. I don’t want to get into such crazy world building that my story gets lost in the details of the setting. I’m not writing high fantasy. This is not an epic journey requiring the aid of four maps, a translation guide, and an index on the history of the kingdom in order to understand the story.

But I don’t want to lose credibility with my readers for not looking like I at least tried.  

The words I use will (hopefully) conjure clear pictures for my readers. If I write, “A princess sits on her throne,” you’re going to be able to picture that in your head. If I write, “A snarthox sits on her gammawatts…” well, nobody knows what that is because I just made it up. It’s so much easier to use the first description if that’s the general idea I’m trying to get across.

            Obviously I’m not going to say “everything about this world is exactly like medieval times, except there are flying cars and everyone addresses each other as “bro.” No one heats up a Hot Pocket for lunch, goes to happy hour, or asks the king if he knows the score of the Yankees game. But I’m having trouble finding that happy medium. Little pieces of modern times keep managing to sprout up no matter how hard I try to weed them out.

            And maybe there is no happy medium. At the end of the day, I have to do what is true to my story. Just writing out my feelings on the subject has been very therapeutic (as writing seems to be quite often!)

            What I’ve been doing so far is trying to keep things as consistent as possible. I don’t want my dialogue to be exactly the way people talked in medieval times – obviously I want to keep it clear of modern slang, but it would change the whole tone of the story. I’m trying to keep it light. But I don’t want people to read it and think ‘light’ means ‘the author is too lazy to do her research.’ If I don’t know something, I try to research it as best as I can and then move forward with the story.

           

Inspiration

On Saturday, my sister (who is a senior this year) had an art gallery at the high school. There were a lot of talented artists there, and I was impressed by some of the pieces. And sometimes I wondered at what influenced them.

Living in the same with an artist is difficult. Well, it is when it's my sister. Art supplies are strewn everywhere, at times the room smells strongly of paint, and it looks like a fire hazard. But in spite of this, I love her art and  encourage her in it.

She gets inspired mostly by actors or tv shows. (or whatever happens to be floating in her brain) As a result there is a lot of Doctor Who and anime.

A Painting of Kyo
It's my favorite birthday present from my sister

And that got me thinking. What am I inspired by, in my writing?

Music, books, movies, art, they all inspire me. Either with a character, or scene, or even plot line. History inspires me a lot as well, because sometimes the real thing is stranger than fiction.

Basically anything and everything could have the potential to inspire. Living life, liking things, going new places, trying out hobbies they all can have an impact on your writing.

Just came to me...

I was minding my own business, listening to the soundtrack of the Last of the Mohicans when this scene came to me. It was so powerful I had to stop  and give it life.
Thought I'd share -

The twisted sagebrush clumped together, hard and unyielding.  There is no comfort, warmth or welcome, only a man who stands alone.  The wind pulls at his hair, his clothes, yet he stands unmoved and stares. 

Will she come?

She has to, he will be broken otherwise.

Storm clouds rumble in the distance, he waits. Nothing but the smell of rain reaches him.  No color, bright flower or inviting thing breaks the scene before him, only gray . He searches every detail of the horizon, hoping, praying to catch movement of her approach. The wind howls across the land with nothing to break its relentless energy.  

Still he stands. Still he waits.



Your Story

            Last week I got to tell you all why Chelsea is a great critique partner. This week it is Beckie’s turn!

            Beckie is amazing at character consistency and reactions. I have a tendency to get so caught up in the plot when I’m writing that I accidentally forget to talk about my MC’s emotional state. Or I know I need my MC to stand up to the king, but the way I go about it is completely out of character for her. Beckie is always there to point out that perhaps my MC would be more distraught about being ripped away from her parents instead of joking around in the next scene, or that my MC would never sass the king that way!

            In one of my scenes, my MC reacts passively to what is going on around her, allowing peripheral characters to take the lead for awhile while she kind of follows along. Beckie wrote me a great note along the lines of, “Your MC is coming across as very weak right now. I know there is still a lot of story to go and she will probably grow more, but right now she is not shining. But at the end of the day it is your story and your characters. You know how you want it to go.”

            I really appreciated that she phrased her criticism such that she was telling me how she perceived the scene, but still acknowledged that it was my story and I should tell it the way that felt true to me. I had wanted my MC to struggle more during this section of the book, because I wanted to show her growing throughout the rest of the story. But I had clearly gone too far, and Beckie pointed out that some readers may not like my character (and therefore my story) the way I had written it. So I went back and made her a bit feistier (but not too feisty! Had to leave room for some character development). In the end, Beckie’s suggestions made the scene much stronger.

            I feel like I could write pages and pages about how my critique partners have helped my writing. But this will have to do for now J

Partners in Words

I think Alice had an excellent idea last week. So excellent that I want to do the same. I have the most awesome critique partners ever and to a writer, that's important.

I met Beckie on an author's blog. Maggie Steifvater was holding a Critique meetup for writers who needed partners. I thought to myself, why not? I wasn't quite where I needed to be, novel-wise, but it wouldn't hurt to start a relationship.

So I posted my "call" and Beckie answered! (I was checking out another potential partner too, but she didn't work out.) I connected with Beckie, her writing was great, and she was euthisastic. I had never met someone who was so excited about writing as I was; refreshing.

With my writing, Beckie helps me keep in mind that I need to be better at showing/explaining. I have to remember that my readers can't see the stuff in my head unless I write it properly. She often points out character issues or when she's confused by what's going on.

She also helps remind me of the end goal: Publication. Whenever I'm in my "Don't worry about the boring aspect of writing, because what matters is the story and the quality of writing, everything else can wait" moods, Beckie listens to my opinions and then firmly continues to keep us on track with our goal of authordom. Without her, I doubt I would know as much about the other side of being an author as I do.

My other partner, Alice, I met through Beckie. She asked if she could bring in another person, and I had not problem with that. And after I read a piece of Alice's writing, I knew she had to be a part of this and make our duo a trio.

She keeps me on track with grammar (for I am horrible at it) and continuity. A lot of times I decide to switch something in my story unconciously or forget a detail and Alice is there to remind me. She often envokes me to think about what my characters are actually doing and if it makes sense. And my tenses. Those she often points out as well, thankfully.

Both of my critique partners are great writers in their own right, and I'm glad that they are my partners, dedicated to helping me become the best writer I can be. As I do for them. Not saying I always agree with them, for you can ask either of them and I'm hundred percent sure that they will tell you I'm quite the rebel when it comes to some writing aspects. I'm often the one saying "um no," or typing out long explaining emails why I did something the way I did it. (And then I realize that if I had to explain it that means I didn't write it well enough and I better go back and re-write it)

But without my critique partners my current novel would never would have been written. Nor would it be as well-written. I wish every author had such sweet, awesome, amazing, well-read partners as I.

The Afternoon I met Anne Perry

I can’t decide if it’s more fun to anticipate something or be pleasantly surprised by it.  The afternoon I met Anne Perry I had no idea how exceptional that next hour was going to be. Delightfully surprised.

Anne was the keynote speaker for the Story Maker’s Conference in Utah, last weekend. Her legendary skills are used in a different genre than I normally read, so I was not familiar with her work.  I instantly became a fan. Her beautiful British accent caught my attention first but as she continued to speak, the eloquence of her words surpassed the way she spoke.

 Usually when a keynote speaker presents at one of these conferences, a dull murmur of conversation continues throughout but not with Anne. The entire room was silent. She is a recent convert to the LDS church, a lover of poetry and a legend in the industry.  Her entire address had threads of writing advice, poems, life lessons and mentions of deity woven beautifully together.

The only way to describe it was magical.  The kind of magic, that gives you goose bumps, steals your breath and makes you wish everyone you knew could hear it with you. Ultimately I sat there wondering how I had been so lucky to hear it myself.

The next day I snuck into Anne’s class to hear two more hours of her wisdom but this time is was centered solely on the craft of writing.  I had to sneak because I hadn’t signed up for it to begin with.  I’m so glad I did.  She said things like “Keep it simple, cut out repetition. Write from the heart.  Don’t describe a scene, tell how the characters feel about being in it.  Create echoes throughout your book. Shimmering is a great word to write once, not fifteen times. The scent of something can be powerful.” She made me want to write better, research more and be elegant.  I realize being elegant is not necessarily a character trait of a great writer but I wanted to do it anyway.  I wanted to have tea, use a British accent and talk about white roses in the moonlight. 

Anytime you have an experience that elevates you, inspires you, makes you want to be a better person, I believe you should cherish it.  Speaking as someone who loves to write, I say you need to write it down, you have to.  Write it down in every detail so that you can go back and live it again and again.

That’s the way I felt after meeting Anne Perry, inspired.



And

            A good critique partner is hard to come by. You want to find someone who ‘gets’ your story, but isn’t so in love with it that they’re just a cheerleader and can’t offer advice to make it better. You have to find someone who can articulate their feelings, instead of just saying “this character isn’t working for me” or “this part of your story just dragged on.”

            I’m so lucky that I have two wonderful critique partners, Beckie and Chelsea. I wanted to do a little 2-part series about some ah-ha! moments they’ve directly influenced in my writing.

            I’ll start with Chelsea. The first time she read part of my story, she bluntly told me, “you have a problem with the word ‘and.’ That conjunction sneaks into your writing everywhere!”

            I reread my chapters. She was completely right. I used ‘and’ all the time! But what really blew my mind was that I had NEVER noticed before! And once she pointed it out, it was so obvious. My use of the word ‘and’ totally threw off my sentence structure, making my writing sound repetitive.

            Chelsea is never shy about calling me out on things either. In one scene, my MC shoots a bow and arrow. In the margin she commented, “Alice, I’m sorry, but have you ever held a bow and arrow before? Because it doesn’t sound like it.” Busted. I have pretty thick skin so I appreciate that she can just give it to me straight.

            Next week, Beckie!!!

A Night at the Theatre

I rarely get to go to the theatre. And I'm not talking the movie theatre. I'm talking about the people-acting-in-person-in-front-of-you theatre. I love it. I love the feel of being there, of experiencing something that has been around for years. The only problem: Tickets are pricey. But, I just got paid and they were showing Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream. The ONE play I've always wanted to see. Couldn't pass it up.

And it was so worth the money.

The Indiana Repertory Theatre, in Indianapolis has one of the most awesome troupe of actors. (I may be biased since I live here, but the statement still stands.) And they did an excellent job with Shakespeare's comedy. They were casted perfectly. Lysander was adorable, simply adorable. And Puck...he was perfect.

But while watching the play it hit me. Shakespeare wrote this play, over a hundred years or so ago, and it is still making people laugh. How many authors or people in general can say that about their work? I giggled at how Lysander and Demetrius were fighting over Helena. I laughed as Puck ran about the stage, making mischief. I had tears in my eyes as the players were trying to put on their play for the wedding party.

The fact that Shakespeare can make people laugh, cry, and feel even in a completely new century and country, is amazing to me. People all around me were in tears, and you could see on the actor's faces that they were enjoying themselves. At one point they were evening stifling laughter themselves.

Granted, it was sometimes hard to understand what they were saying, through all that old English and flowery language, but the gist of it was there. And Shakespeare knew his audience. He wrote both for the nobility and for the common people, and therefore had aspects that appealed to both.

As a writer, this is a skill I would love to learn. I want to make people smile, laugh, cry, yell, feel with my writing. This is my ultimate goal.

My night at the theatre was time well spent. Not only did I get a lovely couple hours of fun entertainment, I also came away with a sense of purpose as a writer.

I highly recommend going to the theatre when you get the chance. It's a different style of storytelling, that could impact your own. And if A Midsummer Night's Dream is showing, go. \

Just go.

"The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, are of imagination all compact,"
-Theseus, from Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream

Partners in Art

There is just one thing that I want right now, more than anything. And that is: a desk.

Not just any desk. But a writing desk. Someplace where I could sit and just write. To have the space needed to plot or keep track of characters. Instead of what I am currently doing-laying in bed. This is the only place I have to write.

I cannot have a desk. Because I share a room with my sister. There is no space to be had. Since I was seven I have shared this little room with my sister. We've had ups and downs, and there were times where I wished I could just shove her out to the garage to live. (She's horribly messy, and while I'm not the definition of organized myself, I do have a semblance of order)

Nowadays we get along great and understand each others differences in taste and personalities. She's an artist-a good one if I may say so-and so has her artsy stuff all over the place and sometimes the room reeks of paint. I'm a writer so I have books in piles at random places and often am up late tap-tap-tapping on my keyboard while she's trying to sleep.

But there is one thing that I cannot do without. That is: my sister.

She listens to all my plot lines and character arcs, pokes holes in them often, and encourages me. I point out the flaws in her art and applaud her as she works hard on a masterpiece. We can always count on the other to be truthful, nothing held back. I get her, she gets me.

I've learned to appreciate my sister, that I have someone who is so supportive and caring of me.

I still want my own room with a nice writing desk, though.

Coming Out of Your Shell

 

             If I had to pick five words to describe myself, none of them would be along the lines of ‘Outgoing.’ I’ve just never been one of those people that can walk up to a stranger and start a conversation. I get nervous, I don’t know what to say. Or I just ramble on until the other person can politely excuse herself and wander over to the punch bowl.

            So when I went to my first writing conference almost two years ago, I found a nice chair in the corner of the room, by myself. I had my water bottle and my notebook and my pen. I was ready for the day.

            Except the conference was more popular than I had anticipated. Soon all of the chairs were full. I ended up sitting next to a lovely woman who immediately smiled and introduced herself as Mary. She asked what I was writing.

            I had never spoken about my story out loud. Besides my husband, no one even knew I was writing at the time. But I couldn’t tell her “nothing” or “none of your business.”

            “It’s an urban fantasy.” Saying those words out loud was scary. But at the same time, it made my writing feel real. I wrote an urban fantasy novel.

            Mary’s eyes lit up. “I love urban fantasy! Tell me about it.”

            So we talked.

            I told her about my story. She told me about her paranormal romance. We sat next to some other women at lunch and exchanged more stories. That day, I talked to six different people about not just our plots, but the life of a writer, our struggles, our victories, our dreamsfor our novels. Seeing their passion made me excited about their stories, and excited to talk about my story as well. I found that I could hold my own in a conversation if the topic was something I was passionate about.

 

 

            If you ever find yourself at a writers’ conference, don’t be afraid to strike up a conversation! You already know you have something in common, and you could be making a life-long friend.

Wonky

Sometimes you do something so scatterbrained you have to set down and think about it. I found myself setting down on a bench in sunshine yesterday morning doing just that.

I woke up early yesterday morning, made a list and packed my bags. I wanted to be at the Marriott in Provo, Utah at 11:30 for a writer’s conference.  The activities started at 12:30 so I thought arriving there an hour early would give me enough time to check in, get settled and head down to whatever ballroom they had reserved.  I pulled into the parking terrace at 11:28 feeling pretty good about things. Unfortunately my normal routine is to run a bit late, so I was doing really well. With my hotel confirmation in hand, I headed into the classy hotel lobby and waited my turn to check.  I looked down at the dates listed the paper. May 9 through the 11^th.

What?!

It was May 2.

Then the hotel desk clerk was ready for me. I think his name was Matt.

Matt: “How can I help you today?”

Beckie: “I really hope you can. I think I scheduled my room for next week instead of this week and I’m here for the conference. ”

Matt: “Are you here for the Women’s Conference?”

Beckie: “No, the LDStorymakers conference.”

Matt: “That’s next week.”

Beckie: ???

Matt: “…so your reservation is correct. Yours rooms will be ready for you on the 9^th through the 11^th.”

Beckie: “….ok.” Stares at the ceiling as if the answers as to how she could screwed-up by a whole week would be written there in red.

Matt: “Can I help you with anything else?”

Beckie: Smiles pathetic smile, “No thank you.”

I walked outside in the sunshine, looked up at the blue sky. Thought of my favorite swear word that starts with Sh… and saw a bench. I sat on it, looking at my car and trying to decide what I should do next.

Matt came out for some reason and joined me. I liked Matt. He was Samoan I think, with a nice blue blazer and a big smile. He sat down, asked me if I would come back next week, I said yes. I told him I was a little overwhelmed because I had  not only made arrangements at work but with my six kids and had everything ready for the conference. He said he understood completely. We sat some more. He said I should go shopping for the day and not go back to work.

 Like I said, I liked Matt.

After calling my husband and my boss, I decided the same thing.

The day was not a loss. I shopped for things I really didn’t need but enjoyed buying anyway and ate my favorite chicken wrap at Red Robin. The day wasn’t as good as my conference but overall, not bad.

So if you every find that you’ve done something a little wonky, I suggest finding a bench in the sun and a friend named Matt.