Last night after a strenuous round of Dance Dance Revolution, I was sitting splay-legged on the floor and was like "Gawrsh, this hurts." My feet were approximately four feet apart. Even I can admit that's pathetic. I used to be able to kick so high that I could touch my knee to my forehead (without bending forward). Granted, I'm no longer in high school, but still... it got me thinking of other things that need to be stretched.
Not only have I neglected my physical muscles but I think I've neglected my writer muscles, too. I have been so focused on DRAGON QUEEN and FURY that I haven't even thought about a new novel. Now, I know that DQ isn't finished, but it's almost finished, so I should be bouncing around ideas, right?
So, I did.
And I came up with something weird.
A mainstream novel. That, of course, quickly morphed into a paranormal novel. But, still, I haven't thought about writing a paranormal novel (especially when there are so many out there). But I was... intrigued. Like most of my novels, it started from a title (admittedly a weak title, but...). Anyway, the title was Soul Pieces.
However, since ideas aren't protected by copyright, I'll keep the rest to myself.
But this got me motivated to finish DQ by the end of this month, as well as (GASP) finish editing FURY. And then (yes, my friends, this is TRUE) send out query letters. So what does that mean? By the end of this month I will be A) exhausted and B) suffering from a constant stomachache--which is what I do when I'm severely anxious.
I guess I'd better get crackin'. Wish me luck!
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Tuesday's Tip: Repeating Beats...er, Sentences
Last time I compared sentences to music. Each sentence has a specific rhythm/beat, and when those rhythms are repeated too often, the story, despite its content, can seem monotonous.
However, repeated rhythms have their uses.
For example, when the author/narrator wants to draw attention to something specific--whether it be a moment, an emotion, or an action--a repeated beat can express that desire.
She stood at the edge of the practice ring, sword in hand. She watched. She waited. She learned.
The most common example of repeating beats is done in threes. It's also called parallelism. It can also be done in a single sentence.
Maria liked the dewy mornings, the misty mountains, and the foggy grove.
Notice how each direct object has a certain number of beats? The result is that the sentence reads like a line of poetry, with a certain pace and emphasis. If you had the desire, you could even point out the stressed and unstressed sounds.
If you're familiar with poetry, you can relate that certain rhythms express certain moods. For example, short, choppy sentences give a feeling of tension or excitement. While long, flowing sentences give more of a feeling of ease. (I know this is where some people might argue with me. I know there are exceptions!) If you consider the two examples above, what sort of feeling do they evoke? You have to admit, the first example is more likely to get your heart thumping than the second one.
However, repeated rhythms have their uses.
For example, when the author/narrator wants to draw attention to something specific--whether it be a moment, an emotion, or an action--a repeated beat can express that desire.
She stood at the edge of the practice ring, sword in hand. She watched. She waited. She learned.
The most common example of repeating beats is done in threes. It's also called parallelism. It can also be done in a single sentence.
Maria liked the dewy mornings, the misty mountains, and the foggy grove.
Notice how each direct object has a certain number of beats? The result is that the sentence reads like a line of poetry, with a certain pace and emphasis. If you had the desire, you could even point out the stressed and unstressed sounds.
If you're familiar with poetry, you can relate that certain rhythms express certain moods. For example, short, choppy sentences give a feeling of tension or excitement. While long, flowing sentences give more of a feeling of ease. (I know this is where some people might argue with me. I know there are exceptions!) If you consider the two examples above, what sort of feeling do they evoke? You have to admit, the first example is more likely to get your heart thumping than the second one.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
What's the Word?
Do you remember the good ol' days of vocabulary tests? I had them all through elementary, middle and high school. They were something that I viewed as tedious, but now I am thoroughly grateful for them. Every writer needs an extensive and colorful vocabulary. So, on that note, here are some words I've stumbled across recently.
Susurrus [soo-sur-uhs], noun, plural -rus-es
- a soft murmuring or rustling sound; whisper
I love this word. You will see it a lot in FURY simply because the word sounds like what it describes: a hissing whisper.
Another fun word:
loquacious [loh-KWAY-shuhs], adjective;
- Very talkative.
- Full of excessive talk; wordy.
Just imagine the scenario you could create by combining those two words! A conversation between two very talkative people speaking in whispers!
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Tuesday's Tip #1
I've decided to start a "Tuesday's Tip" in the hopes that I can provide at least some sort of useful information on this blog for other writers (instead of just gabbing about my writing all the time). So, without further ado, here we go.
Tuesday's Tip #1
When reviewing sentence structure, I find it useful to think of the sentence as a piece of music. Each sentence has its own beat or cadence, and, in order to keep the reader interested, you want to make sure that you don't have too much of one beat structure.
For example: Susan went to the store. She picked up some soup. She bought a dozen eggs.
Notice how each sentence has the same rhythm? Of course, this is the most obvious form, since all the sentences have the same structure: Noun/Pronoun + verb + direct object.
When you repeat a sentence structure, it subconsciously sends a signal to the reader, and after a while it will begin to sound like a metronome. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. And even if the story is intriguing, a reader might find themselves bored after a while.
An improvement on our three sentences: Susan went to the store. After perusing the groceries, she bought soup and eggs.
Read the sentences aloud. Notice how your voice dips and rises? Even when you read silently, some part of your brain (at least, in my case) recognizes the sounds and rhythm of the words. Lack of sentence variation (or rhythm variation) can kill a good story. Often when I see the work of a fledgling writer, this is one of the mistakes that catches my eye. It's easy to fall into a pattern of writing, and it's really easy to use what works. My suggestion: Treat your sentences like pieces of music. The more varied, the better. (Though repeating beats have their uses, too. I'll save that for next time!)
Tuesday's Tip #1
When reviewing sentence structure, I find it useful to think of the sentence as a piece of music. Each sentence has its own beat or cadence, and, in order to keep the reader interested, you want to make sure that you don't have too much of one beat structure.
For example: Susan went to the store. She picked up some soup. She bought a dozen eggs.
Notice how each sentence has the same rhythm? Of course, this is the most obvious form, since all the sentences have the same structure: Noun/Pronoun + verb + direct object.
When you repeat a sentence structure, it subconsciously sends a signal to the reader, and after a while it will begin to sound like a metronome. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. And even if the story is intriguing, a reader might find themselves bored after a while.
An improvement on our three sentences: Susan went to the store. After perusing the groceries, she bought soup and eggs.
Read the sentences aloud. Notice how your voice dips and rises? Even when you read silently, some part of your brain (at least, in my case) recognizes the sounds and rhythm of the words. Lack of sentence variation (or rhythm variation) can kill a good story. Often when I see the work of a fledgling writer, this is one of the mistakes that catches my eye. It's easy to fall into a pattern of writing, and it's really easy to use what works. My suggestion: Treat your sentences like pieces of music. The more varied, the better. (Though repeating beats have their uses, too. I'll save that for next time!)
Monday, October 26, 2009
What Weekend?
I finally managed to pick the lock on my unsocial cage and ran around all weekend like I was sixteen again. But with my own car. And no curfew (unless you count an expectant boyfriend who is waiting for hot wings).
Friday, I had sushi for lunch with a friend from work. No biggie. I do that a lot. Lunch with work friends, not sushi. (Unfortunately.) Then, I was supposed to have coffee with Ashley (friend from high school) but the coffee place was closed (sigh) so we went to a new restaurant called Razor's Edge. (If you live in Northwest Arkansas, that name makes perfect sense. Razorbacks, anyone? It still sounds like a salon name to me, however.) While there, we caught up and split an order of "Killer Fries". Which I paid for (in all ways). Lots of fun, though. And lots of girl time. I was like "OMG, I actually feel like a silly 23-year-old girl with no worries." FUN!
Saturday. No plans. Then Mom calls and off we go on a day of shopping and perusing. Me, with no money, still found two books (Stephen King's On Writing and Piers Anthony's Castle Roogna), lots of candy (for trick-or-treaters, of course) and two dance pads for DDR and a new game. I was living the high life, for sure. But, by the time I got home, I was ready to call it a day. (The Killer Fries were still doing their best to lay me low.)
That didn't happen. About 8 p.m., Boyfriend's friends show up already half-smashed. So, what do we do? Proceed to get drunk (well, they did. I had ONE beer) and play DDR (that's Dance Dance Revolution for those of you who aren't geeks). Hilarity ensues. I kick everyone's butt. Though, really, they didn't have a chance. They leave around midnight. Half of my trick-or-treater candy is gone. :(
Sunday. I make breakfast for two and then, over a cup of coffee, start working on DRAGON QUEEN. I know, I'm such a good girl, right? Boyfriend (who is wonderful) is cleaning house. I start feeling a tad guilty (and distracted--there is really nothing sexier than a man washing dishes), so I pitch in. And then I start eyeballing the dining room and living room. What happens? Let's rearrange! The dining room and living room look so much better now (and cleaner). My novel, however, is only a few paragraphs longer than what it was.
Mom shows up. We go to an auction. Buy $5 worth of stuff. I bought butterfly trivets, a chili dog (I learned absolutely nothing from the fries incident) and a diet coke. Antiques were being bought for NOTHING (and if I'd had a few hundred dollars in my pocket, I would have come home with an antique bed, a parlor set, and a hand crank washing machine).
Other friend from high school texts me (this would be Tiffany) and we decide to get together. So, as soon as I leave the auction, I'm on my way to her house. We go out to eat (I have a turkey sandwich this time) and then go SHOPPING. Old Navy. Target. I end up buying blouses and pants for work (writing them off as, well, I NEED them). Get call from Boyfriend. "Will you please bring me home some hot wings?" Of course.
But, before we head home, we have to get Coffee! So Tiffany and I munch white chocolate-covered pretzels and sip mochas. It is now 8:30 p.m. My body is starting to shut down. I drop Tiffany off. Go home. Boyfriend loves me so much more now that I brought him hot wings. I watch Stargate SG-1 and then pass out.
And, for some reason, I had dreams about vikings. And treasure. And zeppelins. Weird.
But, my point is, I need another weekend.
Friday, I had sushi for lunch with a friend from work. No biggie. I do that a lot. Lunch with work friends, not sushi. (Unfortunately.) Then, I was supposed to have coffee with Ashley (friend from high school) but the coffee place was closed (sigh) so we went to a new restaurant called Razor's Edge. (If you live in Northwest Arkansas, that name makes perfect sense. Razorbacks, anyone? It still sounds like a salon name to me, however.) While there, we caught up and split an order of "Killer Fries". Which I paid for (in all ways). Lots of fun, though. And lots of girl time. I was like "OMG, I actually feel like a silly 23-year-old girl with no worries." FUN!
Saturday. No plans. Then Mom calls and off we go on a day of shopping and perusing. Me, with no money, still found two books (Stephen King's On Writing and Piers Anthony's Castle Roogna), lots of candy (for trick-or-treaters, of course) and two dance pads for DDR and a new game. I was living the high life, for sure. But, by the time I got home, I was ready to call it a day. (The Killer Fries were still doing their best to lay me low.)
That didn't happen. About 8 p.m., Boyfriend's friends show up already half-smashed. So, what do we do? Proceed to get drunk (well, they did. I had ONE beer) and play DDR (that's Dance Dance Revolution for those of you who aren't geeks). Hilarity ensues. I kick everyone's butt. Though, really, they didn't have a chance. They leave around midnight. Half of my trick-or-treater candy is gone. :(
Sunday. I make breakfast for two and then, over a cup of coffee, start working on DRAGON QUEEN. I know, I'm such a good girl, right? Boyfriend (who is wonderful) is cleaning house. I start feeling a tad guilty (and distracted--there is really nothing sexier than a man washing dishes), so I pitch in. And then I start eyeballing the dining room and living room. What happens? Let's rearrange! The dining room and living room look so much better now (and cleaner). My novel, however, is only a few paragraphs longer than what it was.
Mom shows up. We go to an auction. Buy $5 worth of stuff. I bought butterfly trivets, a chili dog (I learned absolutely nothing from the fries incident) and a diet coke. Antiques were being bought for NOTHING (and if I'd had a few hundred dollars in my pocket, I would have come home with an antique bed, a parlor set, and a hand crank washing machine).
Other friend from high school texts me (this would be Tiffany) and we decide to get together. So, as soon as I leave the auction, I'm on my way to her house. We go out to eat (I have a turkey sandwich this time) and then go SHOPPING. Old Navy. Target. I end up buying blouses and pants for work (writing them off as, well, I NEED them). Get call from Boyfriend. "Will you please bring me home some hot wings?" Of course.
But, before we head home, we have to get Coffee! So Tiffany and I munch white chocolate-covered pretzels and sip mochas. It is now 8:30 p.m. My body is starting to shut down. I drop Tiffany off. Go home. Boyfriend loves me so much more now that I brought him hot wings. I watch Stargate SG-1 and then pass out.
And, for some reason, I had dreams about vikings. And treasure. And zeppelins. Weird.
But, my point is, I need another weekend.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
What my writing means to me...
People write for many reasons, and I won't begin to even try to list them all, but a main reason I write is to address issues in my own life through my characters. This is especially true in FURY. I wrote the book as a way to address some of the "wrongs" that were going on not only in my life but in the world around me with the intent of it having an invisible depth. It's more than just a story of a shapeshifter, a demon, and a warrior. More than a love story. And I really hope that people can see that.
I was reading tips from Donald Maas on Writer's Digest about firing up your fiction, and some of the questions he encourages you to ask are:
I was reading tips from Donald Maas on Writer's Digest about firing up your fiction, and some of the questions he encourages you to ask are:
What in the world of your story makes you angry? The way people treat Fury makes me angry. The injustice of her situation--being scarred for a 'sin' she did not commit--makes me angry. The way people can use your own weaknesses against you makes me angry.
What is the most important question? Are the flawed redeemable?
What puzzle has no answer? Are we ever worthy of the ones who love us?
What is dangerous in this world? The obvious answer would be the Devourer, but she is so much more than that. The dangers are: self-hate, self-doubt, greed, anger, obsession, ambition, pride and unwillingness to forgive.
What causes pain? The misguided and, at times, thoughtless actions of those who are supposed to love us--including ourselves.
As you know, I've been in a love/hate relationship with FURY, but these answers made me remember what it was about the story that begged me to write it. Because it is so much MORE than what it seems to be. Even on the surface it's not your typical love story.
And my protagonists aren't the typical protagonists of a fantasy, either. Both Fury and Caden, the MCs, struggle with self-loathing and that often projects onto someone or something else. I recently read that heroes aren't supposed to have a lot of darkness in them. I disagree. Maybe it's because I have learned that the true heroes usually aren't the ones that are bright and shiny and made into action figures, but the ones that have real flaws--deep flaws--and are still redeemable. Maybe it won't work. Maybe everyone will hate my book. But I'm not going to change it.
They say write for your audience. Well, I guess I just have an audience of one. :) (Hopefully there are people out there who will want to read this anyway, however.)
Friday, October 16, 2009
Give me back my Voodoo doll!
I'm sick. AGAIN. Not fun.
I've been told that it's because my immune system is so overloaded with fighting off stress, that it inadvertently lets the bugs in. First: upper respiratory infection. Second: stomach virus. I would take FIVE upper respiratory infections over the stomach virus ANY TIME. I, seriously, thought I was going to die there for a little while. (I was actually praying for it.) And then you know it's HELL when you finally go to the Dr. and in your feeble-minded, ego-bruised, I-just-want-to-die mentality takes another slap in the face when they force you to step on the scale and you've gained FIVE pounds.
WTF? I hadn't eaten anything in three days and I'd GAINED weight? If I'm going to puke myself to death I want to die looking skinny, people!
So, really, whoever has my Voodoo doll can you give it a rest, please? I think we're even.
To sum up this rant: I was sick. No, I did not work on Fury or Dragon Queen. I tried to work on DQ today but didn't get far. When I get home, I'm going to sleep and seriously hurt anyone who tries to wake me up.
I've been told that it's because my immune system is so overloaded with fighting off stress, that it inadvertently lets the bugs in. First: upper respiratory infection. Second: stomach virus. I would take FIVE upper respiratory infections over the stomach virus ANY TIME. I, seriously, thought I was going to die there for a little while. (I was actually praying for it.) And then you know it's HELL when you finally go to the Dr. and in your feeble-minded, ego-bruised, I-just-want-to-die mentality takes another slap in the face when they force you to step on the scale and you've gained FIVE pounds.
WTF? I hadn't eaten anything in three days and I'd GAINED weight? If I'm going to puke myself to death I want to die looking skinny, people!
So, really, whoever has my Voodoo doll can you give it a rest, please? I think we're even.
To sum up this rant: I was sick. No, I did not work on Fury or Dragon Queen. I tried to work on DQ today but didn't get far. When I get home, I'm going to sleep and seriously hurt anyone who tries to wake me up.
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