Confessions of a Wimp

Yesterday was not a fun day. Interesting? Okay, I’ll give you that. Scary? Definitely. Mesmerizing? In a peek-through-the-fingers kind of way. Calming? No. I say again, no.

I left the house at 2 p.m. Got home around eight. In-between I watched seven lasik eye surgeries. Aaaiii. No, it did not get easier as the day wore on.

It all started because my husband decided to get lasik eye surgery. He got the left eye done yesterday and will get the other done in two weeks. He can’t drive himself home, so I went along. The place we went to has two waiting rooms. The first one was full, so we went to the one in the back. … The waiting area right by the glassed-walled surgery room.

Aaaiii.

Not only can you watch every movement of the doctor and nurses, they have a big monitor with the close up of the eye as the doctor works. Aaaiii!!

You see them clamping open the upper and lower eye lids. You see them slicing off the upper layer of the eye. You see them in color mopping and scrubbing and lasering and aaaiii!!!

By the time they got to my husband, there were only three people left who didn’t work there. A woman and her husband who refused to leave the front waiting room ... and me – the pacing, cringing, grimacing, peeking-through-fingers idiot in the back area. It’s much worse watching it being done on someone you know. Aaaiii!

This is why I don’t write horror. Now … I’ve written some intense scenes from the antagonist’s point of view. But I don’t like horror movies and I don’t write horror. And I could imagine a horror scene or two based on what I saw yesterday. Shoot, someone may have already written such a thing, but since I don’t watch or read horror, I wouldn’t know.

I am … a wimp.

Loglines

A logline is a VERY short description of a script. It’s not used much for books, although some writers will include a version of a logline in their query letter. Since it’s a good exercise for writers, novelists should try their hands at writing a logline. It'll force you to get to the core of your book, to the nugget that will excite an agent, lure a publisher, and sell a reader.

In general, a logline should be about 20 words long and should capture your storyline.

The problem is that you rarely see actually loglines that short! Here's one I saw as a sample on ScriptShark:
A college freshman girl's arrival to campus spawns mysterious killings revolving around the football team.

Okay, from that we know the protagonist, where it takes place, and that it's probably horror ("mysterious killings", "spawns"). But we don't know what the protag's goal is or who the antagonist is. It fits the word count, but, in my mind, it's not complete.

Here are a couple of more (and I'm sorry to say that I've forgotten where I gathered these):
A playboy manufacturer rescues 1,100 Jews from certain death. Appalled by atrocities in Nazi Germany, he hoodwinks the Nazi brass and converts his factory into a refuge for Jews. Based on Oskar Schindler's true story.

A conscientious sheriff relinquishes his gun and job to marry a pacifist young woman, but on the way to the honeymoon they pass a band of outlaws riding toward their peaceful village to take it over.

Both of those are over 20 words and the second sample only implies the goal. But both are compelling and would be hard for someone to pass up. (And they didn't, since they're both produced movies.)

It's good to include the protagonist (and goal), antagonist (and goal), and the big disaster or turning point. But it doesn't have to be straightforward. A friend of mine used this as her logline on her query and it worked more often than not: <>

Jonathan Treisman as wrttein an informative article on writing loglines for scripts. Reading through the examples in the article will give you an idea of what loglines are -- catchy and pitchable. All of them tell who the protagonist is, most tell the antagonist (which is not always a person) and what the goal or theme of the movie will be, and most of the time you can tell what kind of movie it will be just by the wording.

Screenwriters take their script and condense it into a 10 page synopsis, then squeeze that to 3 pages, then 3 paragraphs, then 20 words. Give it a try on your book. And remember, make it irresistible and complete.

No problem. Right?

Drowning in Characters

Today I had a surprise visit from my brother-in-law who lives in Georgia. He was in town to spend a few days with his brother. Since I hadn’t seen him in about a year, we did a lot of talking over coffee. I told him about my family and he told me about his. There was more to talk about with his family since he’s not only a father, he’s a grandfather and a great-grandfather! Gracious, I’m not even a grandmother yet.

Problem is – and I hate to admit this – I got lost in all the kids and kids of kids. I couldn’t tell which kids belonged to which kids, let alone where everyone lives nowadays. Seemed to me, his grandkids should be adolescents, not having practically grown kids of their own. What I needed was a written family tree to look at and take notes on as he talked.

I feel that way about some books I read. There are so many characters I get totally lost. I scan back through the book, trying to remember exactly who they are and how they’re “related” to the protagonist. I read a name and I can’t remember whether Winston was the plumber or if that was Wendell. Was Elizabeth the third in line to the throne or the lady in waiting?

I’m a big believer in limiting characters or at least introducing them slowly so the reader has time to adjust. I also believe in giving characters distinctive names – unless there’s some particular reason to do otherwise.

Basically, I want to be able to read a book without having to wonder who’s who. Otherwise, I want a legend in the back to refer to.

Deja Vu Reading

How many of you have favorite books you re-read many times? Maybe a childhood favorite that every few years you drag off the shelf and read again. Maybe a new book that was so different and interesting, you revisit it to make sure you didn’t miss any fabulous tidbits or ideas.

My husband will do that with movies. I might watch a movie at the theatre and later rent the DVD to watch. My husband likes to buy DVDs so he can watch movies over and over. He’ll pick something like The Bourne Identity and watch it, then watch it again a month or so later and then … again and again. I can’t do that. About the only movie I can tolerate more than perhaps twice is Jumping Jack Flash, my favorite, although I haven’t seen that in years.

My daughter gave my husband, for Christmas, a full season of the TV show 24. Dave is a huge fan of that show. He watches it every week and if he’s out of town, I have to tape it for him. He’s seen them all. But that didn’t stop him from beginning a 24 marathon the day after Christmas. Aaakkk.

We’re not even on the same wavelength when it comes to some TV shows. He likes 24, obviously. I like Boston Legal. But, oddly, we tend to like the same books. We’re both into Lee Child and are working our way through the series.

I don’t see myself re-reading the Child books, but lately I’ve been thinking about re-reading The Time Traveler’s Wife. I want to study the structure or skeleton of the book.

Honestly, I don’t re-read many books. When I do it’s usually because I want to study something about the writing or once or twice because the movie was coming out and I wanted to review the plot. I’m usually ready to move on to something new.

Talking about Talking

Hope everyone had wondrous and joyful holidays. We did at the Ginger house. Not only did both kids come for Christmas, they both came Christmas Eve and spent the night. We broke a couple of traditions and started a few new ones.

For Christmas dinner, we had the four of us, plus four more – my sister, her son, her husband, and her husband’s mother. That made it fun – eight of us around the table laughing and trading stories. With that many people talking, you end up sometimes listening to one person, sometimes breaking up into two or three simultaneous conversations, and sometimes trying to keep up with two stories at once.

That makes for lively dinner talk. I’ve found, though, that it doesn’t work so well in a book. When you’re writing a scene with multiple characters, having that many people interacting is too confusing. More than about three people talking together is too many. If it’s a play, a movie or a TV show, you can do more characters – the audience can see and identify easily who’s talking. In a book, it’s either confusing or boring with constant tags to identify the speakers.

I might call this a general rule, but like all rules, there are exceptions. There are ways around a limited pool of three speakers. You could have three talking at a table or football game, long enough to establish who they are in the readers’ minds, then have one or two more come into the conversation, then exit. You could have six or eight at a dinner table, but have them broken up into three or four conversations, each going on separately with the main character focusing in on one interaction.

Fiction may imitate or mimic real life, but it’s not an exact copy.

Aim and Click

Here’s a suggestion for writers – carry a camera with you. You never know when you’ll come across something you’ll want to use in your book. Maybe a house that would be perfect as a restaurant in the small town where your book is set. Maybe a conglomeration of conflicting road signs all on one post. Maybe a wonderful river banked by large draping trees where your characters could sit for a picnic.

What brought this to mind was that yesterday while doing Christmas stuff I took a break and opened email. There was one there from a neighbor saying the shuttle would be flying directly overhead in a ten minute time period. And it was exactly that time. I grabbed my camera and raced outside. And, there it was. I got two pics before it disappeared. Now, those pictures are probably worthless since it was so far up and my camera is just an ordinary digital.

But it was a thrill to see it. And it made me think of the different ways a writer could use a camera to keep track of ideas inspired by our surroundings or to have a physical reminder of some image or place we might want to use in the future.

If you don’t want to lug a camera in your purse or pocket, consider putting a disposal camera in the glove compartment or suitcase. Once you print the pictures or put them on your computer, label them as to date and place. That way, if you want, you can go back to do more research.

A picture may be worth a thousand words, but a picture can also inspire those words.

Conflict

Every story needs conflict, not just mysteries or thrillers. Romances need conflict, so do Sci-Fi novels, even Humor pieces and Mainstream. Not all of it, in any genre, is physical. Conflict can be psychological, mental, the tug and pull of opposing ideologies, man versus nature, man versus woman, man versus animal, man ... boy, man is contrary, isn't he?

As you write, and especially as you re-write, you need to be aware of the conflict in your story. Rarely do authors have to lessen the conflict. Usually, the problem is revving it up.

As you work on your story, here are some things to keep in mind:

As much as possible, keep the action on stage. As readers, we don't want to be told what happened. We want to see it occur. Whether that conflict is a physical fight, an argument, a debate, sexual tension, or whatever, let us live it along with the characters. Maybe it's hard for you to write about the subject or maybe it's difficult to get the dialogue right ... all the more reason for you to put it on stage.

As the story progresses, the problems facing the characters, especially the protagonist, should get tougher and tougher to solve. The tension should wind tighter. The conflict should become more important. Obviously, some problems will be resolved along the way, but don't be too quick to get your protagonist out of trouble. Just when he or she gets out of one situation, put them in another.

To do this, look at each scene and ask yourself, what could go wrong here? What is the worst thing that could happen? What would this character NOT want to happen? Then do it. Put your character in an even worse situation. Give him a conflict that he didn't expect. And when he maneuvers his way out of it, do it again, each time upping the stakes.

Go through your novel. Make sure every scene has conflict. One way to manage this is to look at each character as an individual, with his or her own story. No matter what the situation, no two people want the same thing. Whether the conflict is overt or hidden, it's there. Each character has an agenda, a backstory that affects the way they talk and
think and react.

Your novel will also contain more conflict than just what is going on between the protagonist and antagonist. Layer the conflict. Doing that will make your secondary characters more interesting. It will enrich your story, give it depth.

Make your story more of a "big" book than just a one-dimensional plot. Build up, spread out, intensify the conflict. Just because your book is Mainstream, don't think it doesn't need or have conflict. Life would be pretty dull without conflict. And life is what you're writing about.

Believe in Yourself

Are there any among us who haven't had self-doubts? Is there anyone who is elated to get rejection after rejection? Haven't most of us, at one time or another, questioned this career of writing?

Self-doubt and even depression are normal. Some of us get down after finishing a novel. It may take a while to get started on the next one. We may have periods when we think, "Why in the world am I doing this?" And, certainly, we can have ambivalent feelings about querying. If you're querying agents or editors, it means you've accomplished something and you're ready to move onto the next step. You anticipate replies as you walk to the mail box. And you feel that knot in your stomach as you read the rejection. (And sometimes the elation of the acceptance or check.)

Writers have to handle more than just rejection, though. We have critique partners who disassemble our work, readers who complain about errors or research mistakes, editors who insist on inane changes, bookstores that forget to stock our book or just won't. We tend to work alone at our computers or typewriters. Sometimes our progress seems so slow, we wonder if there's any forward movement at all.

But every time you get "down" or suspect that you must be a second-rate hack or you would be published (or be a best-selling author or at the top of your editor's list or whatever), remember that these feelings will pass. Do something to soothe your spirit.

But do NOT beat yourself up. There are plenty of people out there willing to do that for you. Some of them even enjoy doing it. (Try to cut those people out of your life, or at least limit your contact with them.)

I repeat, don't beat yourself up. We're in a business where we have to live with bad news. But, very rarely, are those rejections directed at your personally. Your article didn't fit that magazine -- but that's not a dig at you as a person. The agent thought your synopsis was a pile of warm spit. Yeah, it hurts. But it's not the end of the world. And in the scheme of your life, it's not a major event -- unless you let it be.

If you take a cat-o-nine-tails and start beating on yourself, you weaken your resolve, you put dents into your armor of confidence, you hurt your inner spirit. Sure, after a rejection, you can take a little down time to recover, but use that time to learn, grow, do something enjoyable, focus on some neglected aspect of your life. Okay, so you're a little down. But if you start kicking yourself while you're down, it'll only be harder to get back up.

Books Make Great Gifts

It’s nice to see people out buying books as Christmas gifts. I went to the bookstore yesterday. I called to order a book, but the store closest to me didn’t have it in stock, so I trekked across town to another. The store was packed! I even saw people I knew. The checkout line was about twenty people deep, even though they had five or six cashiers. The guy behind me in line was on the phone sort of grumping about the line.

But I didn’t mind the wait. It moved fairly quickly and, to my mind, it meant people were buying books. It’d be nice if they all bought the books of friends of mine, but any book is a good gift. You can find something to suit anyone’s taste. Even if they don’t read, there are always coffee table books with luscious pictures. I believe I’ve bought either six or seven books to give this holiday season. I probably buy that many every year.

There’s one thing I wish bookstores would do this time of year. I’d like for them to set up two tables -- one that has autographed books and one that displays books by local authors. The second bookstore I went to (yes, it’s like chips – you can’t visit just one) had a table of books by local authors. That’s interesting to browse, but they only had one book that had been autographed. Usually I get books autographed during the year and have them ready to give. I didn’t do that this year, but I still like to give autographed books.

I had to walk the aisles, looking for books signed by the author. I only found one that I thought the person I wanted to give it to would like. Plus, it was time-consuming to find autographed books. They usually have a sticker, but the sticker’s on the front cover, not the spine.

I think more people would buy books if they were autographed and easy to find. So I would like stores to set up tables of these kinds of books and I’d like more local authors to sign stock and encourage stores to set up these kinds of tables. Not just because it would make my life easier, but because it would also increase sales.

Coincidences

Coincidences happen in real life. It’s best not to use them in your writing. The killer and the detective just happen to cross paths in Central Park. Not likely. The beautiful woman from Kentucky and the handsome man from California ride the same subway in D.C. and fall in love. Maybe, but will your readers believe it?

My husband and I went on an eight day trip earlier this month. Dave caught the flu. I’ve been trying not to leave the house so I won’t expose anyone else. I didn’t develop the flu (probably because as soon as I got back I visited my doctor who put me on Tamiflu and gave me a flu shot), but I have gotten a cold. My Christmas shopping has stopped and I had not done much before we left. And I seriously need to go to the grocery store.

Yesterday I received a box from my fabulous cousin in Tennessee. Every year she sends something. This year it was boxes of fruit – apples, pears and oranges. We had no fruit in the house except for a wrinkled apple. I immediately ate a pear and this morning had an orange. Now that’s a coincidence.

The fruit arriving was real. But I wouldn’t put a character in dire need of a weapon and, voila, the gun he ordered two months ago arrives. Even if you did set it up, the reader would not accept such a divine coincidence.

I’m glad they happen in real life, though. I’m having an orange for lunch.

Using Words to Establish Mood

Think of the words you use and how you string them together. Fast, choppy sentences tend to rev up the tension. Longer, complex sentences slow things down.

Is her dress blood red? Or rose red? Do the stars twinkle like 4th of July sparklers? Or blink like a million ogling eyes?

Use the senses to set the mood. Two characters on the beach begin to kiss. How do things smell, taste, feel, sound? Remember, you're establishing an atmosphere.

Does John nuzzle Allana's neck, breathing in her lilac perfume, then kiss the salty sweat at her hairline? Does he feather his fingers along her arm, drawing goose bumps?

Does John nuzzle Allana's neck, breathing in her bologna breath as she sighs, then spits hair and sand as he tries to kiss her earlobe? Does he go to caress her arm, but rams his elbow on her hair, yanking her head to one side and spilling the pitcher of ice tea across his sunburned back?

A woman has had a long, arduous day at work. She draws a bath, pours in foaming oil. She touches the bubbles as they build. They're soft, like whip cream. She steps into the tub and slides down until the bubbles tickle her chin. How does the bath smell? Cherry? What kind of cherry? Is it a cherry-Coke float? Cherry cough syrup? Cherry sour balls eaten in the darkness of the movie theater? Grandma's hot cherry pie?

Each one brings up a different image, sets a different mood.

Choose your words, your sentence construction, your details so that they set a mood. Each scene has an atmosphere.

This is not to say that if your book is meant to be humorous, then every scene must be funny. There will be an ebb and flow. You don't want your novel to be monochromatic. But all the scenes together establish the overall mood of the book. Use your words--you are a writer, after all--to create the atmosphere of your book's world.

Oh, Those Details!

There are so many things to think about when you're writing a book--plot, characters, POV, opening hooks, chapter hooks, dialogue, narrative, show-don't tell, and on and on. Well, here's one more--the mood of the story.

I'm not talking genre, like romance, mystery, horror, suspense, etc. A Romance can be eerie and gothic. Horror can be humorous. A Thriller can be tongue-in-cheek. By mood, I'm talking *atmosphere* of the book.

Think about the atmosphere you want to create for the plot, the characters, the setting. Then establish that mood through your use of details, the way you put words and sentences together, your use of the senses.

A character walks down a long hallway, dark and quiet. A clock sounds. Is it the deep bass bonging of a grandfather clock? Or is it the shrill clucking of a coo-coo clock?

The setting of a scene is a lawyer's office. How do you, as the writer, furnish the room? Big, heavy furniture; lots of wood; a Tiffany desk lamp? Is that all? Or is there, hidden among the knick-knacks, a worn-leather book on ancient incantations? One thing that throws the scene, the atmosphere, off-kilter.

Your character goes to church. What kind of church is it? You can't just say it's a big fancy church--you have to show us. And what you show us about this church sets the mood. Do we see the long pews, the floor-to-ceiling stained glass windows? Do we see a rubber duckie floating in the baptismal tank? Is the choir dressed in royal blue with white collars, or ill-fitting faded purple robes? Does conversation come to a deadly stop when a certain character enters? Does a cell phone ring during the sermon and we see a head of curly brown hair slide down in the pew?

Details, details.

Make them count.

Back to the Future

You can go back, but it’s never the same.

I spent the first ten years of my life in a small house in Smyrna, Georgia. After that, my mother moved us to Texas and I’ve been here since. My father lived in that house for many years afterward. I went back once or twice, the last time about twenty-five years ago when my next older sister and I went out there to take care of my father. After we got him out of the hospital we arranged for him to come to Texas to live near us.

At that time, I was an adult looking back at her childhood home. I was floored by how different it looked through grown up eyes. I knew the house was small, but now I realized it was really small. As a child, I had taken it for granted. As an adult, I admired that Dad had built by hand part of it, and how small it must have been before he added on that part.

When I was very young, my mother didn’t sit me or my sisters down in front of the TV. We were sent outside to play in the woods next to our home. I remember running through the trees, entertaining myself, for hours. And yet, when I went back, I saw how small and sparse those “woods” were. At the time, they had been, in my eyes, huge – a forest to play in. Knowing they weren’t didn’t alter my memories or emotions, but it did show me how perspective changes as we age.

I wrote about those woods and that house, letting them be seen through the eyes of a young girl, then showing the change in perspective when the girl returned home as a woman.

And now, on this cross-the-south trip my husband and I took recently, I re-visited that house. The changes this time around were even bigger – and final.

My husband and I were in South Carolina and the next day we were scheduled to fly out of Atlanta. Try as we might, we couldn’t get back to Atlanta before dark. Smyrna had changed so radically, we ended up having to get a map just to find the area. Once we got close, though, I easily directed him where to turn. That surprised me since it had been so long since my last visit and I had been very young when I actually lived there.

We turned up the street and there was the little house. Except it wasn’t the little house I lived in. The last time I’d seen it, my father still lived there so it was as I remembered it. Now other people lived there. Even the street number had changed.

Because the new people had Christmas lights strung up, I could see the changes. It looked like they’d done some remodeling, enlarging it a little on the side that Dad had added on. The giant holly bush was gone. The driveway had been paved. Siding was up.

The woods were still there. No one had built in that area. I wondered why not, but was glad to see them still there. The area behind my old house, where there used to be a drive-in theatre, looked dark. The rest of the neighborhood seemed welcoming. Still small houses, but well-kept. Before getting there, I half-expected to see bigger homes, the area gentrified or McSized. It’s probably coming.

We sat in the car in front of the house for a while, then I directed him to my old elementary school, about a mile from the house. It, too, had changed. No longer a small building; it was now a complex. I doubt kids still walk to school as we did. That quiet road is now a fast-moving thoroughfare.

It was very different seeing it this time – this last time, I expect. Before that, when we went to get my father, it was still my home. Now it’s someone else’s home. It’s been altered physically, not just by the passing of time and maturation of the child.

It’s something to remember when you’re writing a scene where a person goes home again. Things change not just with time and alterations, but because of perspective, emotions and attachment people and characters have toward the “thing.”

You can go back. But it’s not back to your past. It’s back to someone else’s future.

Home Again, Home Again

My husband and I are back home after our trip through the south. The last few days were not what we expected. We had thought the last two days would be relaxing and fun. Didn’t turn out that way.

Earlier in our trip, while in South Carolina, Dave had spent the better part of two days giving talks. After we left there, we went to Mississippi to see relatives, then on to New Orleans. Monday morning he woke up not feeling well. Shortly thereafter he got a call letting him know several of the group he spoke to on Saturday were down sick.

We did a walk through the Quarter in the morning and that was it for him. He hit the bed and didn’t get up until he forced himself on the plane home the next day. It’s Thursday and he’s still in bed. The flu has hit and hit hard. I’m hoping I don’t catch it, but am doubtful.

So for the last two days I’ve been crazy woman trying to catch up on Christmas. With the trip and a day spent either at the doctor’s or in the incredibly long lines at the pharmacy, I am so far behind.

I was scheduled for four hours of wrapping for the Bess Whitehead Scott Scholarship Fund today. I cancelled because, although I do not feel sick at all, I was afraid it might be coming and I’d expose others. Thank you, thank you to my friend Sally who so generously agreed to take my place. Now, that’s a true friend who will drop what she’s doing less than two weeks before Christmas and do volunteer work in your stead.

Despite those last days, the trip was fun. Loved Charleston. Had a nice time in Mississippi. Glad I got to see firsthand the devastation still evident in New Orleans. And thankful I got to drive by my childhood home in Atlanta.

Sorry I missed parties with good friends. My apologies to all who won’t get cards from us this year. I hope they will all read this blog and know how much I appreciate them and send my love and best wishes. Hopefully tomorrow I can tell you about the trip to my old home in Smyrna, Georgia.

Notes on New Orleans

Not much about writing in today’s post. Mostly comments on New Orleans, the last leg of our cross-the-south tour. We landed Saturday, rented a car, and headed north to Mississippi.

As one of those who live far from New Orleans, I was amazed at the Katrina destruction still evident. For miles on either side of the highway, houses stood empty, abandoned. Some showed life with trailers parked out front. Whole shopping centers were empty or razed. Acres of vegetation seemed to be dying.

After one night in Mississippi, we’re back in New Orleans. We checked into our hotel and walked to Bourbon Street for dinner. I haven’t been to the French Quarter in years and to Mardi Gras once. Even so, Katrina seems to have had a big impact here as well as in the outer areas. Not much of a crowd was evident and the places open were either t-shirt shops, restaurants or sex shows. And Bourbon Street was quite dirty with empty cups and trash lining the gutters.

Today, we went out again and headed deeper into the Quarter. Street sweepers had been through and the place looked cleaner, but very few shops were open. We also walked into the more residential area and found many more “for sale” and “for rent” signs than places occupied. If you want to eat, though, this is the place to be. Every street block has two or three restaurants.

Tonight we’re going to dinner at the Court of Two Sisters and possibly to Harrah’s. I suspect casinos are most likely up and running. But New Orleans is definitely not back to The Big Easy.

A special Hello to my friends back in Austin. I’m having a great time on this trip, but hate it that I’m missing two parties. Tonight was Christmas Bunco, which is always fun. And probably going on right now is a party hosted by a friend of mine, Sally Baker. She throws great parties with fabulous food and the best of guests. Hi to all the Irregulars!

On the Road

Hi folks. No blog posts for the past two days – we were moving all day. We woke up in Charleston and said adios to the sailboats (wish I knew someone who had a sailboat and how to sail it. I’ve been on one sailboat before and pert-near drowned my husband, but that’s a story for another day).

From the hotel we drove out to a huge plantation which is now, of course, a tourist attraction. I shouldn’t say “drove.” What we did was more like go hither and yon. I’ve decided that South Carolina does not like to tell you what street you’re on. They may give you a sign that indicates a particular road will lead you to the major highway you’re looking for, but once you’re on that road, there won’t be a street sign or directional sign for miles, no matter how many times that street forks, splits or turns. Sometimes you luck out and get where you want to go. Sometimes you find yourself re-crossing the same river you traversed twenty minutes before.

Once at the plantation, we had the choice of either walking only the formal gardens or adding on the main house. We did just the gardens, although there was no “just” about it. There were dozens of gardens, some highly manicured, some with lakes and rivers, some row after row after row of flowering shrubs and trees. I would love to go back in March or April when everything’s in bloom. It would be breath-taking, for sure. Since it was December, very little was in bloom; it was freezing cold and the wind was blowing. We had coats, but no gloves or hats. We relished spots of sunlight or big shrubs to block the wind. I took pictures, but I’m not sure how they’ll turn out since my hands were shaking.

Besides the gardens, we visited the slave church, part of the slave cemetery, the freehouse and the stables and work demonstration area. Very few tourists were there so we got one-on-one with the knitter/weaver, the wood worker and the metal worker. Excellent opportunity for anyone doing research for a period piece.

As we headed back to the car, we walked by the reflection pond where there were lots of geese and two swans. The swans were rather timid, swimming away from our approach. Not like the two swans I used to swim with when I was a mermaid. Those two were mean. Actually, the term we used then was “vicious.”

During one part of the show, the mermaids have an underwater picnic. We raise the lily pads so they’re upright. Next, we sit on the lily pad, sliding our mermaid tails under a metal bar, like a lap bar on a ride. This keeps us from floating up. Once settled, we take off our masks (so the audience in the submarine can see our lovely faces, donchaknow). Once the mask is off, though, we can’t see squat. It’s all a blur. First, before we feed ourselves, we feed the fish. Waving and crumbling a ball of fish food lures in hundreds of small fish. Once they’re fed, we open our picnic bags and pull out our celery (or banana, occasionally), salt it and eat it bite by bite. Smiling, waving, and putting the end away with a flourish of the stalk leaves. Next comes our drink, opened with the can opener tied to our bag. Then we drink it down swallow by swallow, except sometimes when we feel silly and down it all in one long gulp. Then we twirl the empty bottle upside down, watch it float upright, fill with water, then we catch it with our bag. We wave goodbye, release the air valve on the lily pad and swim away.

Now, at some point during all that, while we’re blind as moles in sunlight, the swans swim overhead and dip their long necks down. And they yank on our hair. We don’t know when it’s coming and we can’t stop them. Our hair, floating in the current probably looks like something good to eat. But day after day after day, it’s not. And they never figure that out. Or maybe they like to watch us jump. I think the tourists get a kick out of us screaming.

Eventually, they moved the swans, or maybe the swans got tired of their shenanigans and flew the show area in favor of the open river.

Before I end this post, go back and look at my swan story. I wrote it as if it were a flashback. I’d been writing in the past tense, set up the trigger, went into the flashback and you can see that it’s different because I switched tenses, then signaled I was out of the flashback by moving back into the past tense. Okay, not a great flashback – I would have made it more immediate than that -- but the technique is the same.

Well, since this post is getting pretty long, I’ll save the story of going back to my childhood home for next time.

Facing Out

Happy Thursday. Being out on the road is disconcerting because I lose track of days. I have to check the calendar on my computer to know the day of the week, let alone the date of the month. But here it is, Thursday, and I’m still in Charleston.

One thing I forgot to mention about my trip yesterday to the Books-a-Million store in Columbia, South Carolina … and this is something I would suggest you consider doing … is that I walked the aisles checking for books by friends. I found books by two friends, Susan Wittig Albert and Diane Fanning. I’ll email them both to let them know the store stocks their titles. After finding their books, I also turned a couple of their titles face-out. A book with the cover facing out is more likely to be picked up by a browser than one with only the spine showing.

I’ll mention, also, that last night I had dinner with Ted Turner. Okay, not actually with him. He was in the same restaurant, one table over. But I saw him. As he went to the restroom. And again as he came back. So far this year, I’ve been in close proximity to Ted Turner, James Wood and Denzel Washington. Woo-woo.

Actually, I’m enjoying all the sailboats out my window more than any celebrity.

Sailboats a MIllion

Hello all. Sorry about this blog entry being posted late in the day. I’ve been on the road most of the day. We left Atlanta yesterday and spent the night in Augusta, Georgia – a surprisingly busy town. Then we got up and headed to Columbia, South Carolina. While there, I visited my first Books-a-Million store.

To tell you the truth, I didn’t even realize they had physical stores; I thought they only had a cyberspace presence. If you’ve never been in one, they’re quite big. This one was as large as one of the bigger Barnes & Noble stores. It didn’t have the sit-down-and-read chairs like B&N, though. I only counted four chairs in the entire store. It did have the requisite coffee shop that seems to be in all of the bigger book stores nowadays.

And, yes, I bought a book. As I mentioned, I finished the Michael Crichton book I’d brought. Last night I stole my husband’s Lee Child book and read the first two chapters, but knew I couldn’t keep doing that. So, at Books-a-Million, I picked up Darkest Fear by Harlan Coben. I’ve read him before, although not one in his Myron Bolitar series. I probably should have started with the first in the series, but so far I’m not lost.

After Columbia, we headed to Charleston. My first time here. We came straight to the hotel, so I haven’t seen much. But I like what I see. Our hotel is right on the Ashley River. I’m looking out at hundreds of big sailboats. Got the balcony door open. As soon as I finish this, I’m gonna see if I can get a glass of wine, or a bottled water at the least, turn up the music (right now, A Whiter Shade of Pale is playing) and sit out there and watch the sun set. Then I’ve got to get cleaned up and head to dinner with friends.

So far, this trip has been sort of hectic, but at the moment, life is good. Peace out.

Boring Scenes

Have you ever noticed that few scenes are set in a hotel room? That’s because nothing happens there! I know because I’m sitting in one right now in Atlanta. Bor – ing. ‘Course, some suspense or mystery books will have something unexpected happen in a hotel room, like killers breaking in. A hotel room scene is like characters eating in a restaurant. Something interesting or unexpected had better happen, ‘cause otherwise the reader is bored. If it’s just people talking or watching TV, then move it to a setting that’s more interesting.

So, “hello” from and to Atlanta. I’m on a journey across the south this week. Arrived here last night. Today, I’ll move on to Augusta. Tomorrow – look out South Carolina!

When I left Austin, I had Eragon by Christopher Paolini packed in my suitcase to read on the plane. But on the way to the airport, I stopped at a bookstore. Sort of like a chocoholic dropping into a candy store. I bought Next by Michael Crichton to give to my son for Christmas (luckily, he doesn’t read this blog). Figured if I wanted to read it, I’d better finish it before I had to wrap it. I wasn’t too far into Eragon, anyway. Now, I’m thinking I should have brought it as well, since I’m already on page 211 of Next. Next is not an easy read. Not because of all the technical verbiage, information, and supposition (that, I’m finding interesting), but because there are so many characters who don’t have anything to do with each other. Some of them are beginning to have a connection, but for the most part, it feels very disjointed.

Right before the book starts, Crichton has this sentence on a blank page: “This novel is fiction, except for the parts that aren’t.” I’d really like to know exactly what he made up or “added to.” And what is reality. Seriously. I want a “Breaking the Next Code.”

Okay folks, gotta go explore. Thinking about going on the Internet and getting a map of where I lived as a child. May swing by and see if the house is still there. Probably not. But, who knows…

Opening Hook Revised

Okay, we’ve talked a bit about hooking your readers with the first lines and paragraphs of your book. Then I showed you the first draft of the opening of my manuscript Dismembering the Past. Now I present the actual opening. You’re going to notice three things right away. One, it’s totally different, not a word of the first draft survived. Two, it has a completely different feel to it. And three, I broke the rule of starting with the protagonist; this starts with the antagonist. First, the opening, then a couple of comments.

<< Oliver sat back on his haunches and watched the sleeping woman. He'd been in this position for close to an hour, mesmerized by her, memorizing her. Brown hair, heavy and separated by sweat, draped across her flushed cheeks. Her mouth hung open as she drew air in trembling gasps. Body curled into a ball, she clasped long fingers beneath her chin. A chain attached to her left ankle stretched across her bare buttocks and fastened to the metal anchor plate on the wall behind her.

She released a long sigh, then inhaled with a low whimper. Her hands twitched, fingers fluttering like leaves in a spring breeze. She stirred from her sleep. Finally.

Oliver reached behind his back and touched the knife sheathed in his belt. >>

This was the opening page that placed second in the "Go Fishin'" contest. Is it better? I think it's more suspenseful, and this was, after all, a suspense book.

That's an important point to remember. What kind of book are you writing? Humorous? Suspense? Cozy? Romance? An opening has to do so much: hook the reader, set the tone, establish the plot, introduce characters, maybe even drop clues or foreshadow the climax.

I may not have used the original opening, but I didn’t totally trash it. That scene appears later in the book.

The opening is important. It may be the most important part of your manuscript when it comes to getting an agent or an editor. It could determine whether your book gets bought or left on the shelf. But, on the other hand, don't spend your life trying to create the perfect beginning. Write it. Then go on with the rest of the story. Then go back and edit. This opening has been revised many times, and I’m sure I’ll go back to it again. But you have to keep moving forward.

If you don't get the story written, then a fabulous first page doesn't mean much, does it?

Dismembering Dismembering

Okay, on Thursday we talked about opening hooks. I said I’d give examples from my own writing, so here goes. I’m going to put two openings here -- both from the same book, yet totally different. Today, I present the opening I wrote first. On Monday, I’ll show you what I ended up with.

When I wrote Dismembering the Past, the first draft started this way:

<< The first things Kelly noticed when she raised the lid on the freezer were the eyes. Eighteen glazed eyes reflected light from the frost-encrusted bulb. Heads and necks bent backward and blank faces tilted upward toward the sliding baskets of ice cream and ground beef.

Propping open the freezer door, she turned to the elderly man and woman behind her. "She killed all nine?"

Hoyt nodded. Sparse sprigs of hair fluttered around his ears. He shifted his balance and limped a half-step forward, pushing the silver-colored walker in front of him. Once he re-established equilibrium, he leaned heavily on the walker's metal frame and looked at Kelly. His left eye focused on her face; the right one remained closed except for a black slit barely visible through a curtain of snow-white lashes. "Yep, every last one."

"And they were like this when you found them? The police didn't alter anything?"

He turned his head and spat on the cement garage floor. "Police didn't do nothing. That's why Dot insisted we hire a detective."

"Now, Hoyt, that's not exactly true." Dot stepped around her brother-in-law and turned her watery eyes in Kelly's direction. Dot's tightly coifed hair seemed to be held in place by invisible rollers. "They came out, Kelly, and talked to us. We gave them a picture of Mabel, but they said there wasn't much they could do since Mabel was a grown woman. Said there wasn't no law against a grown woman killing all her chickens, then hightailing it away from home." >>

Not bad. I liked it. I thought it had a good first line that would hook a reader. It had a twist that might make someone want to keep reading. But … maybe too many adjectives, too much description, for the opening of the book. I edited that scene and kept it, but didn't make it Chapter One.

Next time – what I ended up using to start Dismembering the Past.

Beyond the Computer

Yesterday, I talked a bit about opening hooks. I’ll continue with that tomorrow. But today, I wanted to switch gears because of something that happened last night.

I went to a holiday party. It actually was the first time I’d ventured outside all day. For two days now, Austin has been having icy cold temps with howling winds. My upper deck didn’t thaw out until about 3 o’clock in the afternoon. And I’ve been without heat upstairs. Last night I slept in socks, sweats, sweater and blankets.

But before going to bed, I went downtown to the Bob Bullock Texas State History Museum for a party. I knew no one, yet still had a great time. Mostly that was due to my friend, Sally, who went with me. Despite the fact I was the client of the law firm putting on the party, Sally was the one who knew people. We ate, drank, talked with total strangers, and, the best part, got to talk to each other. I thoroughly enjoyed getting to spend two hours with Sally.

On the subject of writing, the event reminded me that when I tell new writers to do research, I usually mention the Internet and libraries and visiting cities where the book is set. I should also mention taking advantage of wonderful research opportunities right in your own backyard. If you’re writing a book set in Texas, go visit the Bob Bullock Museum, even if the manuscript is not historical. You can find out so much about Texas and Texans there. Whatever state you’re from, there’s probably a state museum somewhere close enough for you to visit.

The same is true for other areas you might need to research. For example, Austin now has the fabulous Blanton Museum of Art. If your book or a scene has to do with art, go to an art museum. You can learn terms and artists by searching online, but there’s nothing like seeing the real thing or experiencing the atmosphere of an art museum or an art exhibition.

If you have a scene set in a bar or nightclub, but you don’t frequent bars or nightclubs, grab a friend, date or spouse and go. You can’t just imagine the dancing, the barstools and the music, you want to smell the room, hear the chatter, and feel the pulse.

So, although it seems that nowadays you can find out anything without having to leave your desk chair, some things just have to be personally experienced and discovered. So grab a compadre and go for it.