tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28361441867910459012024-02-19T16:41:37.720-08:00Denise Weeks, Mystery AuthorShalannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05503978745207805622noreply@blogger.comBlogger83125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2836144186791045901.post-49386792999904034662018-04-10T09:52:00.001-07:002018-04-10T10:17:03.900-07:00Increasing people's reading comprehension (a lost cause, I know)Someone remarked (recently):<br /><br />
~It's as though our country's systematically stripping the dictionary and the thesaurus down to a very small pamphlet.~
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I agree. Writing instructors and many editors promote this, directly or indirectly, in all the workshops and on all their blogs. They exhort you (although they'd NEVER use an "uppity" word like "exhort") to eschew (there I go again) any word that isn't in the basic teevee vocabulary. Beta readers circle words and say that they "pulled me out of the story." My response ("Then increase your reading comprehension so that you can garner a meaning from the context and look it up later") is generally said to be one of the reasons I "never succeed." Most people who are in the workplace now just tweet or give very brief e-mail responses to any question they're asked. If you leave a long, reasoned response to any query, you will get "tl;dr" as an answer and everyone will laugh at you. ("Too long; didn't read." I expect to get that in reply to this one, too, from the peanut gallery. At least they're not allowed to throw shells any more because of widespread peanut allergies.)
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RANT: This triggers another rant of mine--the "it pulled me out of the story" whine that critique groups have been taught to yodel all the time. It makes me wonder who in the hell taught them to read in the first place. Because when I learned to read, I figured out pretty quickly that there would be a part of my mind that is seeing the "vivid, continuous dream" as projected on the mindscreen, and a part that is the Overmind, which is the part that can chuckle appreciatively at puns the author makes, or take note that the author has misused a comma or a word, or has made some other mistake with the mechanics of the text. The Overmind can take notes and notice such things, while the Watcher (for want of a better term) could continue enjoying the tale. I never got "pulled out of" a story. I might give UP on a story because the prose clunked along, or there were so many mechanical errors that I didn't think the author had any respect for her readers, or there were plot holes, and so forth. But I never got "pulled out of" a story by any mechanical error. I wish they'd stop teaching that phrase.
/end rant
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Anyway. The dumbing down of everything and the reading level of fifth grade that seems to be the new normal in so many places, sigh. I know of no way to counteract this trend. Our society is on its way to being postliterate, and is proud of that. I'm constantly trying to get people interested in being precise again, but they want sound bites and they don't want to have to think in order to process the input. Sad to see the English language, rich and expressive for hundreds of years, going to pot.
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But, as they tell me, "that's the way it rolls! Language evolves! Deal with it!"
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*sigh*<br /><br />
I think we should stop dumbing down books for ALL readers, including children and young adults. Acquaintances of mine have told me that their editors have asked them to remove/replace words that aren't commonplace--some words that are more evocative or more precise than others--citing the belief that readers would be "pulled out of the story" (aaarghh). Even when the protagonist is discovering some new pursuit and finding out the specialized vocabulary for that hobby or pursuit, readers aren't being given credit for being able to figure it out on the fly. As Sheldon Cooper might say, we need to be able to pick up the specialized vocabulary of computing or medicine or whatever so that we don't hear a brain surgeon referring to the eighth cranial nerve as "that grayish thing that looks like a loose rubber band" or whatnot.
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Learning stuff doesn't hurt. I promise.
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When I first became well enough heeled (in my first post-college job) to buy a Canon SLR (single lens reflex) camera (second-hand; I didn't make THAT much), I had no idea what they meant by f-stop or aperture or exposure. I could have given up, but instead I bought several popular photography magazines (which at the time were not yet all about digital stuff) and simply read through the articles, BLEEPING (as Sally Brown in "Peanuts" once said) through words that I couldn't get from the context. Soon my right brain started forming concepts around these words and phrases (f-stop, bracketing exposures, pushing film--wow, this tells you just how long ago all this took place, before digital imaging cameras were out there) and my left brain took hold of them to see whether it now had an educated guess or some structure to build on. It did, and by the end of the second week I could read a "glossary" and understand what they meant, sort of.
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(Aperture is how big the "hole" is that lets light reach the film or digital sensor. F-stop is a way to describe standard sizes of aperture. Shutter speed means how long the film or digital sensor is exposed to the light while you are taking a photo. In bright daylight, 1/125 at f/11 is a good place to start if you have manual controls and want to try it out. And so forth.)
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Now, did I get "pulled out of the story" by words I wasn't familiar with? No. I soldiered gamely on and was rewarded with new "nodes" in my internal knowledge base. This knowledge that we internalize is the basis for educated guesses of the type you see Jeopardy players making all the time. It is the basis of your wisdom and so on. It is a good thing to have. If you always look everything up on the 'net or using your smartphone, you will not develop this very useful tool. If you always quit or start crying when you encounter a word you aren't already familiar with, you'll never learn much, IMHO.
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So! What should we teach new readers to do when they encounter a word they don't know? I must have been taught these things somehow, but I don't remember how. However, here they are.
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Terms that could occur in even young children's books are those related to going around in boats (ships!) or airplanes or training animals and the like. Must we dumb these things down?
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We don’t want to be unnecessarily obscure. But do good readers really stop in their tracks or derail entirely (note use of railroading terminology in metaphor!) when they come across a new word?
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As a child, anytime I came across an unfamiliar and/or unusual word while reading, one of four things would happen:
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(A) I would semi-skip over it. This is the best option for things like: “‘Luff, you lubbers! Haul on those sheets!' roared the captain, as the sail went aback”: I didn’t have to know the exact meaning of the words; I could see that the ship was in difficulties and the captain was worried, and that was enough. Luff and lubbers and aback, and their ilk, got stuffed into a mental category of "mysterious words that sailors use." (As did "ilk," in fact. And that’s pretty much where they still are. Well, not "ilk," but the true definition of that one might surprise you because that's not how it's typically understood. Now we're getting into connotation vs. denotation, and let's not, for now.)
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In 'The Tale of Mr. Toad', I didn't worry when I came across: " 'My Uncle Bouncer has displayed a lamentable want of discretion for his years,' said Peter reflectively" - I got the point that Peter was criticizing Mr. Bouncer, and skipped on to the next bit, which was clear enough: "...'but there are two hopeful circumstances. Your family is alive and kicking; and Tommy Brock has had refreshment. He will probably go to sleep and keep them for breakfast.'" I used to read this book aloud to my teddy bears when I was five. I don't know whether they understood it, but they were unfailingly polite and attentive.
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(B) I would pick up the meaning from the context. On reading that the Flopsy Bunnies fell asleep because lettuce is "soporific," I didn’t go to the dictionary. Neither did I make a conscious mental note that soporific must mean something to do with making you sleepy; the word merely took on a contextual color, or flavor, which I would recall the next time I encountered it. Children are good at making these associative leaps because this is how they learn their own language anyway. It may lead to the occasional misapprehension, but such things are generally cleared up by experience. (Of course, you may say "muzzled" or "my-zulled" for "misled," because you don't connect the written word with the one you've heard. But you'll eventually figure that out.)
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(C) I would ignore the word entirely and carry on, which is what I still do if I’m reading, say, a 19th-century literary essay with bits of original Greek poetry dropped in here and there. Eventually, it might float back to the top and I would take a guess at what it meant and later check that in a dictionary or by asking someone knowledgeable.
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(D) I could look the word up in the dictionary, either immediately (if I had a Kindle, that would have been the way) or via writing it down for later, or I could carry the book to my mother and ask, “What does this word mean?”
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All four of these options are perfectly legitimate and we ought to be making sure children feel OK about employing them. A healthy reader should be like a healthy cross-county runner whose steady pace is not interrupted by obstacles and stumbling blocks. A confident child reader should have the toughness and elasticity to leap over the odd unusual word and keep going. And how are they going to acquire that confidence if every text they read has been raked and weeded flat?
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An acquaintance offered this commentary:<br /><br />
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When I was young, the King James Bible was standard reading for everyone. At the age of seven, my classmates and I were expected to learn pieces of prose and poetry by heart. One week it was this:
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“Once upon a time there were four little rabbits and their names were Flopsy, Mopsy, Cottontail, and Peter. They lived with their mother, old Mrs. Rabbit, in a sandbank underneath the roots of a very big fir tree…”
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The next week, it was this passage:
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“The beauty of Israel is slain upon thy high places: how are the mighty fallen!<br />
Tell it not in Gath, publish it not in the streets of Askelon, lest the daughters of the Philistines rejoice; lest the daughters of the uncircumcised triumph.<br />
Ye mountains of Gilboa, let there be no dew,<br />
neither let there be rain upon you, nor fields of offerings,<br />
For there the shield of the mighty is vilely cast away…”
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I can still recite the whole of David’s lament for Saul and Jonathan, and I loved it as much when I was seven as I do now – maybe even more, in fact. “They were swifter than eagles; they were stronger than lions. . . .”
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Did I know what "uncircumcised" meant? Of course not; I didn’t have a clue and didn't need to at that age. Certainly no grown-up offered to explain it to me. IN CONTEXT, however, I understood perfectly well that it was a pejorative. Clearly the daughters of the uncircumcised were – for David – the daughters of people he disapproved of. That was enough for me at the time; nor does a clearer understanding of the procedure of circumcision add anything essential to this beautiful and troubled lament.
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And Gath and Askelon and Gilboa: where were they? Again I didn’t know, but again it was obvious from the context they were towns or cities, and their names were beautiful – and just hearing about them made the world wider and more mysterious and exciting.
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I kind of hate that they don't make people memorize and recite any more. I can see where the Bible would be controversial in school (although not in Sunday schools, I should hope), but Shakespeare should not be. It would be cool to have children spouting quotations from A Midsummer Night's Dream. What if those cadences stuck with them? Wow.
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Don't worry; I'm not suggesting we return to making children learn great swaths of the Bible by heart. But I am suggesting that the best way to learn something is to do it yourself, not to have it always done for you. Instead of worrying about individual words and their possible difficulty, shouldn’t we encourage children to throw themselves into a story and keep going to the end in spite of the odd word they don’t quite understand? Learning not to be afraid of strange words is exactly like getting down the length of the swimming pool without minding the odd wave that hits you in the face.
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You discover your own ability, and it’s more fun that way.
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One of the reasons I enjoy some books so much (like Pat Walsh's The Crowfield Curse) was that the author makes no attempt to explain all the strange words. At the very end the glossary allows readers to look back, and I am often pleased that I was mostly right about my guesses.
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Part of the wonder of reading The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe for yourself at age eight is discovering and then using unfamiliar words and phrases. To deprive children of this joy is to do them a disservice. Descriptive, evocative language is not to the taste of the mainstream reader any more, but it sets a feeling and an atmosphere just by the sound and rhythm, whether or not the word itself is fully understood immediately.
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If we only exposed children to words they already knew, nobody would ever learn to speak. I feel very strongly about this. I totally agree with those who talk about the flavor of the unfamiliar and being able to cobble together the general gist. Also the delights of the dictionary. I would quite often go to look something up and end up spending an hour reading the dictionary instead. I know a five-year-old who has picked up on his parents' rather florid way of talking to each other (Renfaire types, they are) and uses phrases such as "Here's a radical notion."
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The universal dumbing down of everything reduces people's ability to figure out new things and simply enrages those who are trying to figure out what they really meant by the dumbed-down stuff.
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Here. Here's a fifteen-dollar word for you.
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hebdomadal (heb-DOM-uh-dl): adj., occurring or appearing every seven days, weekly.<br />
Also, in an obsolete sense, lasting seven days. Not that this isn't rare itself. Contrast with diurnal, daily, from the same source. Borrowed in the early 17th century from Latin hebdomadalis (long A mark on the A), from hebdomad, a period of seven, from the Greek stem form of hebdomás, week, from hébdomos, seventh, from heptá, seven.
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NOW IF YOU HAD USED THIS WORD JUST TO USE IT . . . maybe people could carp.<br /><br />
OR if you ran around saying, "Wovon man nicht sprechen kann, darüber muß man schweigen."<br /><br />
But just using a normal vocabulary should not be the death knell for a book.<br /><br />
If you are ever assigned one of those "read a book and write down every unfamiliar word, then look it up later and give definitions," read Harlan Ellison's essays. I never read one of them (An Edge in my Voice, etc.) without encountering several rarely used words that SHOULD be used more often. He is so erudite. He doesn't write much nowadays. We shall not see that sort of writer again, IMHO, and I mourn the loss.<br /><br />
Meanwhile . . . why not increase your reading comprehension? Or go back to re-reading TWILIGHT. Whatever floats thy boat.
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Shalannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05503978745207805622noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2836144186791045901.post-14274332198849247842017-10-30T13:03:00.002-07:002017-10-30T13:03:55.800-07:00All Hallows' Eve. . . .<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMlapAjeEcV3-h_pCErhvjDM_lmzFUA9tAoFg4-fAXw7O09g02kd2PLw1uB7J1-qzhGfMt3rWTmluNzW0nWQEVXCwvoz4h2r7DTihpHdJYzOV7F9vRg3pWdO0gCpTQuX8ga92j78wKVl4V/s1600/all+hallows+poen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMlapAjeEcV3-h_pCErhvjDM_lmzFUA9tAoFg4-fAXw7O09g02kd2PLw1uB7J1-qzhGfMt3rWTmluNzW0nWQEVXCwvoz4h2r7DTihpHdJYzOV7F9vRg3pWdO0gCpTQuX8ga92j78wKVl4V/s320/all+hallows+poen.jpg" width="214" height="320" data-original-width="428" data-original-height="640" /></a></div>
Shalannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05503978745207805622noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2836144186791045901.post-54310977743892581702017-08-07T14:44:00.001-07:002017-08-07T14:44:20.255-07:00Got Ideas? Yes! You have! (Article)Here's one of my columns from the late great FUTURES magazine. Modified a few times over the years, but still amusing. . . . (I wouldn't write the same article today. For one thing, Mama's crossed over now, and my family/friends say different things about my work. But this is a good flashback about inspiration, anyway.)
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WHERE DO YOU GET ALL THOSE CRAZY IDEAS?<br />
A GUIDE FOR THE DESPAIRING WRITER<br />
By Shalanna Collins</center><br /><br />
When asked (for what must have been the billionth time) "Where do you get all your crazy ideas?" Harlan Ellison reportedly said, "From a crazy-idea factory in Hoboken." Others say there's a mail-order catalog source. A few writers are likely to retort, "I wish I knew! I'd go right back and get some more!"<br /><br />
But there are those of us who feel there just aren't enough years in a lifetime to write all the novels that we'd like to finish. (Although we'd also say, like Woody Allen, "I don't really want to live forever through my work. I want to live forever by not dying.") We're filled with story ideas that just keep coming, and we despair of having enough time to work on them all, to keep them alive and exciting in the backs of our minds or notebooks until the current project is complete. What's our secret--if there is one?<br /><br />
There's a secret to it, all right--but it's not so secret. It's nothing more than learning to recognize and cherish the great ideas that bombard us every day from all corners, and being unashamed of writing them down, no matter where you happen to be. You can learn to preserve and use all those story ideas that escape your notice every day, but you must be methodical and persistent. I suggest using four steps to uncloak the mystery of finding those story ideas and then to conjure the courage to put the plan into practice. I write fiction, but the same method could be applied to finding article topics.<br /><br />
1. Don't buy the hype. The act of creation only seems esoteric and mysterious to us because it has so often been advertised that way by instructors (and reinforced by the eccentric film and television portrayals of creative people.) It seems that unless you experience some magical "inspiration" all at once, you aren't being creative. Everything has to leap forth fully formed like Athene from the mind of Zeus, and it must be as dazzling as "Creation," the Sistine Chapel fresco with God's hand touching man's, or it's not Art. No second try with that slab of marble: you carve it right the first time. No wonder that's daunting to many people, who think (or have been told by educators--professional educators, who "must know what they're talking about") that they're "not creative." Unlike being not-female or not-Chinese-Irish, this is more a state of mind than a permanent condition.<br /><br />
Sometimes the spontaneous Song from the Muse does fill my ears, and when it does happen, it's wonderful. (Often it's Thalia, in charge of comedy.) But the rest of the time, it's more practical for the working writer to remember what Einstein said: all great inventions result from 10 percent inspiration and 90 percent perspiration. Creating a novel, poem, story, or essay "out of nothing" is a fantastic accomplishment, whether or not it ever sees print. It seems weird, extraordinary, difficult, tiring, an act of God (though I'm not saying it isn't all of these--at least just a little). It's something that could never happen to you. . . .<br /><br />
Not unless you let it.<br /><br />
I might compare the way I come up with a story or story idea to with the mundane act of deciding whether to ring a doorbell. First I hesitate on behalf of the people inside: should I bother them? Shouldn't I have called first? What if I'm interrupting something? My fingertip goes slowly forward; hesitantly, I touch the bell. But, at last, there's a moment of heedless courage when I experience the flash of decision--Just do it now!--a moment when I give myself permission to reach out and BEGIN.<br /><br />
I have to be typing or penning something--anything; a shopping list, titles of books to read, baby names--before I can hope to capture those ideas. Sit before that blank page. The idea is coming--give yourself permission to freewrite, to succeed, to fail, or just to amuse yourself. First nothing's there but the "ether"; then, all of a sudden, a phrase, scene, or situation is ready. What if. . . that old man sitting on his front porch as I drive home every evening were really a spy in disguise? . . . a visitor from another planet? . . . a Nazi war criminal, still in hiding? Has he ever left this little town? Will he ever? Does he sit there all day, just watching? Or waiting for someone? Anyone in particular, or would I do? Hundreds of possible ideas could come out of this "I wonder." Yet most of us would dismiss it all with, "But it's been done. I can't do anything new with that idea."<br /><br />
Don't extend that thought to its concluding absurdity, saying that, since "there is nothing new under the sun," you couldn't possibly invent a different slant on it. You are a new and unique person. Start typing. You can always recycle the "good parts" later on if it doesn't work out; at least you'll have something. To get started, type out one sentence out of a newspaper article, a joke told on the elevator, a chance remark you overheard down the hall at the copier. If it's written down and allowed to germinate, to change, to percolate through the wrinkles in the gray matter, it can become the basis of a short story; inspire a scene, character, thematic idea, or some other part of a novel; or even lead to an article like this one.<br /><br />
Hope your family and friends aren't as nosy as mine. But if they are. . . .<br /><br />
2. Start today. I used to put off everything so long that by the time I was ready to start writing it, either the deadline had passed or the freshness of the idea was just completely gone. It was dead, and it was like trying to make grass cuttings into a fragrant lawn full of interesting bugs: it just wouldn't work. So don't let it all get away. Let the stream of words flow freely now and edit later. Make time today for those things that have set you aflame.<br /><br />
This is the simplest of the four rules, but so often it is the one ignored. "When I get the time. . ." can turn into "if I'd only used my time" before you realize it. Remember the doorbell analogy: there's no catalyst but yourself. Set the alarm for 3 AM and write for those hours before work. Do whatever it takes. How badly do you want to write? Or do you just fantasize about having written a bestseller, without desiring the act of creation itself?<br /><br />
Nobody will remember tomorrow whether you vacuumed the carpeting or folded the towels. Possibly not even in two hours, after the kids have tracked in mud and the cat has made a bed out of the laundry basket. But your writing has the potential to speak to future generations and give you literary immortality. Which is more important?<br /><br />
3. WRITE things DOWN! Somewhere, right when you find them. You might have the germ of an idea that you think you'd never forget, but if you don't write it down right away, it is gone. Even if you're working on something else at the time, you must record these ideas. Once I kept a little notepad in my purse on which to jot down these things, but I'm ashamed to say that, after many scuffles with the family (who would steal it for phone messages, or just read it and snicker), I changed my methods. I think I invented coded speedwriting after the morning my husband announced to the contents of a crowded van pool, "What do you mean by, 'She's all over me like baby poop?' We don't even have a baby." (He had read one of the "interesting colloquialisms" I'd recorded for later use.) In fact, I used that line of dialogue as the first line of a short story for young people; eventually, it was "tightened" out, but it had started the whole thought process that led to the story "Mademoiselle Kate."<br /><br />
It would've been even worse had he found the list of elf names for my fantasy trilogy. Trust me on this one.<br /><br />
These days, I also hide gems like these electronically: they reside on my computer's disk in word processing files I name sequentially, such as "Ideas.001" (and .002, .003, etc.) When I'm driving, I also write ideas on Post-Its™ and stick them in the zippered pocket of my purse. (I pull over first.) They survive the trip back to the computer much more often this way.<br /><br />
Actually, you probably shouldn't even let the wrong person read the first draft of your pieces. It can be quite uncomfortable if while they're reading your story thinking it's them in the bad guy mode and you were about to ask them to please do the laundry. There are many people who won't comprehend (or can't handle) your subject matter, and can ruin your story in its incubation stages--before the caterpillar has unveiled its gossamer butterfly wings, if you will, or has at least turned into a moth, if such be its destiny. I once experienced a terrific scene when my mother read some stuff I'd left lying on the sofa by mistake after a full night of editing:<br /><br />
"Where in the world are you going to send these crazy stories?!" she yelled in exasperation, waving a sheaf of papers as I walked in bleary-eyed (this was before breakfast, and normally I don't get up before eleven unless it's Christmas morning and I heard reindeer on the roof the previous night; I don't even see in color until noon.) "Like this one about the two LDS missionaries who walk in on the meeting of the snake-handlers' church. You can't exactly send this one in to the Baptist Standard!"<br /><br />
"Relax," I said. "I'm working on a novel."<br /><br />
This sent her into a serious vale of tears, as she apparently had hoped to hear I had an interview at Penneys that afternoon. "Get a real job!" I could hear her moaning through her sobs.<br /><br />
This ugly scene could have been avoided if only I had kept those early drafts out of sight. And, please, don't ask people who don't read for pleasure to read your work! If they can't be amused by anything that moves slower than MTV on fast-forward crack-cocaine speed, how can you expect them to give you any helpful feedback on the romantic beginning of your historical novel set in Italy during the Renaissance? Most of your co-workers, unless you know them to be leisure-time readers, will develop the attention span of a three-year-old when confronted with a sheaf of boring old manuscript pages. They are the types who walk into your living room where the bookshelves are and exclaim in astonishment, "Have you really read all these books?!" And they're serious. Trust me on this one, too.<br /><br />
4. Don't waste it on "telling" or kill it with over-research. These two are insidious. I've been so excited about some of my ideas that I rushed right out at lunchtime and blabbed the whole storyline to shocked or appalled co-workers. DON'T do it. If they don't completely discourage you with their complete apathy ("Uh-huh. What?" "That's nice, dear," or maybe "Aw, mom! I'm trying to watch TV"), they'll either think you're strange, or they will pick away at flaws in the unformed idea as if they were helping rid you of an old scab on your knee, so fiercely that you go away thinking your great idea was completely stupid.<br /><br />
Also beware of the allure of endless research. (Don't we all love libraries?) You may find you need to ask a question of someone who knows about snakes or plumbing or whatever (this is called either an "interview" or an "imposition," depending on your viewpoint), but be careful. For example, say you need to ask a computer whiz whether, when you delete a file on a certain type of PC, the file is actually erased, or is just marked for deletion later. Your fictional detective needs to "undelete" a file to catch the killer. and you need to put it on the proper computer I'm not telling you that if you have a difficult part in a tale that you shouldn't go to an expert and ask, but I don't recommend you let on that "it's for a story." (Asking is the lazy way out, because everybody knows you should really research this in the library--but I try to stay away from the library during months in which I hope to get some work done; they appreciate it, too, because then someone else has a chance to check out some books.)<br /><br />
Go ahead: ask your expert--how about that co-worker who happens to be an enthusiastic computer hobbyist?--those enticing leading questions. Only keep the reasons for asking to yourself. Just imply (in the perennial student's famously vague and preoccupied way) that you need to know the answers for school or work--a research paper, or something; match the reason to what you think the person being questioned would consider "worthwhile" (translation: "real work"). Not everyone is willing to answer questions if you let it be known that you ask because you're writing a story: to many, that's an open invitation for them to start asking you about your publication credits or to start laughing because you are "wasting your time with that." There are so many ways to flatter a person with a question that you should have no trouble getting an enjoyable ten-minute lecture on the subject, if you have chosen your teacher properly.<br /><br />
If you ever had parents, you already know how to do this. My mom, for example, has little time for novel-writers and story-crafters, but will drop anything to tell you all about (any one of her diverse areas of expertise, such as) wallpaper hanging or bread baking or finding the area under a curve or what Hamlet's tragic flaw is--if she thinks it's for something "legitimate" like a term paper, a book report, your continuing education class, or (in my case) if you've really changed your lazy ways and are ready to learn homemaking at last, after all! You know how to do similar "adjustments" to the truth without exactly lying--after all, you will take that college course one day, won't you? If not, you're a writer--use your imagination. Once you know so much you're sick of the entire subject (or when your hidden tape recorder runs out of tape), thank your helper. Then smile enigmatically.<br /><br />
And don't do all the research up front; just circle or underscore the facts you need to check, and continue with the flow of the words. After all, how do you know you won't edit that out before you need to know whether all flamingoes are the same shade of flamingo pink? (They aren't.) Then you know all the things you'll need to find out about after the first rough draft is finished. I know research can be slightly embarrassing. In fact, I'm known around my workplace and my neighborhood as a nice but slightly eccentric person who's apt to pipe up after church, "Does anybody know the easiest way to pluck a chicken?" But they're used to me now.<br /><br />
As a result of my bravura and curiosity, I've learned even stranger things than that. I can't spend any more time discussing it, though, because now that I've given the secret away, it's working for me again. I can't wait another moment to begin the tale of the little girl who just appeared in the doorway of my imagination, and said, "Come quickly! I need to show you something. . . ."<br /><br />
With my finger on the proverbial doorbell, I begin to write.<br /><br />
<center>-The End-</center>
Shalannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05503978745207805622noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2836144186791045901.post-14669054262448676342017-06-09T22:11:00.001-07:002017-06-09T22:11:56.244-07:00ARIADNE'S WEBI've changed directions because I got hopelessly bogged down in the YA non-fantasy I have been working on. Everyone says what they want to read is a sequel to MURDER BY THE MARFA LIGHTS. So I already had the opening, and now I've got five chapters of it and a good idea what's going to happen. I think I am finally in a good place to write (the depression is still here but not as heavy, and I've gotten the cataracts fixed).
<br /><br />
Here's the opening.
<br /><br />
Porpoises have sonar. RuPaul has gaydar. My sister Zoë has Zodar.
<br /><br />
"Something's about to happen." Zoë handed me one of the Pink Thing ice cream treats she'd just bought. Who'd have thought a thirty-two-year-old would be hooked on a kiddie treat? But she loves them, and I often suspect we seek out roadside carnivals just to find them. Sometimes I eat one to be nice.
<br /><br />
"Please. Not in the mood. We're here to have fun." Standing in the midst of the crowd on the parking lot of the old east Renner mall with the music from the carousel drowning out the screams of the teens on the Barf-a-Whirl was no place hear predictions of doom and gloom. "Let's ride something. How about that?" I pointed at The Spyder, a large and menacing-looking contraption in which each car spun horizontally as the spider's arms rotated vertically, just to irritate her.
<br /><br />
"I do not ride things that go around and around." She glared at me under the Spyder's flashing colored lights. "I like to keep the contents of my stomach from reversing back up. But mark my words. Something's afoot. Something not good."
<br /><br />
On cue, my cell phone trilled.
<br /><br />
She frowned. "Did you forward your stupid work phone again?"
<br /><br />
I peeked at the Caller ID. Unavailable. "I had to. Remember, I cover evenings on Tuesdays."
<br /><br />
She waved me away. "They won't be able to hear you."
<br /><br />
I stepped under the awning of a cotton candy vendor where it was somewhat quieter, plugged my free ear with one finger, and picked up. "Aqualife Tech Support, The Fishes' Lifeline. This is Ari French. How may I help you?" I recited mindlessly.
<br /><br />
"Yes," said a strained voice. "Are you"--the voice consulted a rustling page--"um, Arnelle. . . ."
<br /><br />
The voice trailed off, unsure, as most do when they encounter my full name. I go by Ari, but it's actually Ariadne, pronounced "R. E. Oddney" and straight out of Greek mythology.
<br /><br />
"Ariadne Diane French?" I prompted.
<br /><br />
"Yes. The niece of Agatha Suzette French of Pacific Grove, California?"
<br /><br />
A spider eight-footed its way up my backbone. "I am, at least one of them, I mean."
<br /><br />
"I'm sorry to have to be the bearer of ill tidings." The voice went on for a minute or so, but I could barely comprehend it. When it quieted, I thanked it and poked at the screen to terminate the call.
<br /><br />
Zoe wandered back over to me as the teens on the parachute ride shrieked in freefall. "What?" She eyed my Pink Thing, now dripping all over my hand.
<br /><br />
I handed her my melting treat, not having taken a single lick. "Aunt Suzette. She's dead."
<br /><br />
~~~
<br /><br />
"She had a good run." Zoë tipped back her bottle of Bubble Tea and drained it before settling back into one of her rattan dinette chairs. "You know Mother's family doesn't make it far past seventy. Eighty, max."
<br /><br />
"But sixty-eight. That's still young." I looked down at the information the voice had given me. "It doesn't make any sense that she'd have an aneurysm. It runs in families, but not in Mother's. I can't accept it."
<br /><br />
"This person gave you the date and time for the service?" She stood, apparently unable to stop pacing for long. My legs were too heavy to walk around just now.
<br /><br />
I nodded. "Auntie had a pre-arranged plan. Her sisters in Eastern Star are taking care of a lot of the other things."
<br /><br />
"I don't know why they called YOU when Suzette is my middle name." Her lower lip threatened to push out.
<br /><br />
"They got my number somehow. I don’t know. Maybe off her cell phone. I call every year on her birthday and at Christmas."
<br /><br />
Before she could look up sharply at me (I wasn't implying she should be doing the same, merely explaining), I add, "Someone has to keep the family in touch because you know Mother certainly won't."
<br /><br />
"You know they won't go."
<br /><br />
Meaning our parents.
<br /><br />
"Probably won't even send a 'floral tribute.'" My sister put the phrase into air quotes.
<br /><br />
"I know." Mother had been estranged from her sister for years after a nasty fight over our grandparents' estate. It had been worse because of that crazy extremist church they'd joined soon after. They weren't as devout about it now as they had been back when Zoë was sixteen and pregnant and they threw her out of the house to survive on her wits, but they hadn't gone back to mend any fences or un-burn any bridges or whatever it was, either. "I kind of want to go anyway. I want to pack up Auntie's photographs and family stuff that I know she'll still have. There's nobody else who'll care, but I don't want to see her and Mama's baby pictures hit a flea market. And just to see her house again. I love that area so much."
<br /><br />
Zoë held up both palms. "We know, we know. The world has heard it over and over every day."
<br /><br />
"Maybe not every day."
<br /><br />
"Trust me, we know that the Pacific Grove area is beloved of monarch butterflies, sea lions, and my sister." Zoe hit her freezer and took something out, then loaded it into her microwave. She and I both have this comfort eating thing, but I haven't settled into being zaftig yet, or at least not as zaftig as she is. After all these years I'm still stuck with the fifteen pounds I gained as a freshman at Southern Methodist University, but men seem to like me with a bit of pinchable flesh on my hips, go figure.
<br /><br />
Zoë calls herself "statuesque" or "Rubenesque." She's not only two years older than I am at thirty-and-a-half, but also three inches taller and quite a bit wider. No one will ever hear me say that aloud.
<br /><br />
Her hair isn't naturally red, either, but a sort of chestnut with auburn highlights like mine. You can bet your bippie nobody'll ever say THAT aloud, either.
<br /><br />
The microwave buzzed, and she handed me a Twinkie. She buys them in bulk when they're on sale., then freezes them. When she wants a snack, she microwaves a Twinkie and garnishes it with chocolate syrup out of a bottle. I sometimes eat one to be nice.
<br /><br />
"God, I hope she didn't have some smarmy Holy Joe in her church that we have to deal with like we did with Aaron." Zoë rolled her eyes. Privately I think she had sort of a crush on Gil, Aaron's neighbor and pastor who led us through the circumstances of Aaron's death. But of course she'd rather have her toenails pulled off by a team of rabid pit bulls than admit to it.
<br /><br />
"No, like I say, the Eastern Star ladies are doing most of the stuff. I don't think you have to worry."
<br /><br />
"Maybe we should just send a nice floral tribute."
<br /><br />
"We have a moral obligation to go as the representatives of the family. And the butterflies will be returning to Pacific Grove next month."
<br /><br />
"Who can afford to lollygag around out there for a month?" She could, that's who. Me, that's a different story. "You can get a color postcard from the Chamber of Commerce." She squirted the chocolate syrup on a plate. "I found out it's better to dip the Twinkies so they don't get soggy."
<br /><br />
I made a noncommittal noise. She was just making the requisite protest. I waited.
Zoe adjusted her half-moon reading glasses (she's far too vain to admit she needs them, so she won't wear bifocals, just gets Wally World cheapies with purple frames) and looked down at the folded newspaper in front of her. She does the crossword puzzle every day. In ink, naturally.
<br /><br />
Today she had filled in less than a third of the blanks.
<br /><br />
She pointed her Twinkie at me. "Of course you understand I will not fly." She'd made an exception for me when my ex-fiance Aaron died last year, and she never let me forget it.
<br /><br />
"It's only a three-day road trip from here. We'll get to drive all the way across Texas"--Renner is one of the northern suburbs of Dallas--"and New Mexico and Arizona as well as California." I made my voice happy. "We need a road trip."
<br /><br />
Her glasses slipped a few millimeters down her nose. "We can't afford that. My old Mercedes would never make it."
<br /><br />
"We can take the Navigator."
<br /><br />
"You still making those payments?"
<br /><br />
"Well . . . mostly." I had "inherited" Aaron's Lincoln Navigator along with the payments. They were a little steep. I might be behind one or two months.
<br /><br />
"Get real, Airhead. You're going to get a call to surrender that any day."
<br /><br />
"They're working with me. I might be able to catch it up." Unspoken between us was, "If she left me any money."
<br /><br />
Zoë shook her head. "Forget it. Auntie always said she'd be leaving her entire estate to the Cat Rescue Crew of Greater Carmel. I believe her."
<br /><br />
"Well, maybe. Let's wait and see." I searched my denim hobo bag for a scrunchie and pulled my long hair back into a ponytail. "That's not why I want to go, though."
<br /><br />
"I know."
<br /><br />
Aunt Agatha had been the only family member who was willing to help Zoë and shelter her until Ricky was born. She'd paid for Zoë's plane ticket to Pacific Grove and then another to get her and the baby back here and settled. She even helped her get work at a day care center here in Renner through a lady in the Eastern Star who'd moved here when California became too expensive for her on her retirement income. Zoë had made good on her own and now she was the owner of two day care emporiums nearby. She checked on them now and then, but she had others to manage them. She didn't like to go inside because since Ricky died she gets sort of sick whenever she sees little kids, especially six-year-old boys for some reason. If Ricky had survived the leukemia, he would have turned fourteen last month.
<br /><br />
She squinted. "You going to eat that Twinkie?"
<br /><br />
I handed it to her.
~~~
This is going pretty well. Yay?
Shalannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05503978745207805622noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2836144186791045901.post-62538903499211853552016-11-19T13:24:00.000-08:002016-11-19T13:24:32.794-08:00Change of pace for a momentFor a change of pace, let's see how many of these questions people know the correct answers to.
<br /><br />
How many branches of government are there?<br />
How many members are there in the House and Senate?<br />
Who’s third in line for the presidency?<br />
Describe the difference between the Declaration of Independence and the Bill of Rights.<br />
What are the term limits for the American president and the representatives/senators?<br />
<br /><br />
You probably had an easy time of the first. Executive, legislative, and judicial. There are checks and balances built into the way these three branches function so that we have a fairly level system.
<br /><br />
Easy answer on the Senate--fifty states, two Senators each, so 100 Senate members. The House is tougher. The number of voting representatives in the House is fixed by law at no more than 435, proportionally representing the population of the fifty states.
<br /><br />
The line of succession is President, Vice President, Speaker of the House, President Pro Tem of the Senate, Secretary of State. If we ever had to go further than that, we'd be in BIG TROUBLE. (LOL)
<br /><br />
The Bill of Rights consists of the first ten amendments to the Constitution, while we declared our independence with the other document. Do you know the Preamble to the Constitution? We used to have to memorize it in seventh grade.
<br /><br />
The President now has a limit of two terms (after it appeared that FDR could serve forever.) Congresscritters have no term limits and can return over and over. There's a movement afoot to slap term limits on them, as well. Now, why did the Founding Fathers not put limits on them? They had NO IDEA there would ever be such a thing as a career politician! To them, it made sense that someone would put himself out there for a few years and serve the country, and then return to his huge land holdings to manage his business affairs. They couldn't have envisioned the way it works today.
<br /><br />
How do you feel about the Electoral College? Never mind . . . don't need a flamewar. LOL<br />
Shalannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05503978745207805622noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2836144186791045901.post-10057526432617825642016-08-19T19:34:00.000-07:002016-08-19T19:34:21.665-07:00Two series/serieses--why? Why not?On FB, we were discussing whether or not to do character sheets/character questionnaires. I don't do this, because the one time I did for a class, I lost all motivation and interest in writing about the character. I would be the person who put all those details in instead of only the ones that were needed. I do keep a file with significant information, such as hair/eye color, occupation, and that sort of thing for each character. I sometimes need to know who knows Morse code or whatever without searching the file.
<br /><br />
But once I realized I was writing two mystery series, both with thirtyish female amateur sleuths, I opened a file called "Jac vs Ari." Jacquidon's book is in intimate third person; Ari's story is first person. Jacquidon is the college grad who had such great career opportunities, Ari the loner who had a distant mother and an admired elder sister who got into trouble young. Jacquidon is the elder sister to Chantal; Ari is the younger sister to Zoe. Zoe had a child who died last year; Chantal is single and has a boyfriend who never comes on the scene in person but is a comic relief figure who has often JUST called and is often invoked or quoted or has given Chantal some piece of the puzzle somehow (or sent just the right tool to use to fix something)--this is used for comic effect as well as to advance the plot. He's like Mrs. Columbo--remember, we never saw her int he original series, but he was always saying, "MY wife--she thought of this, and I wanted to ask...."
<br /><br />
That kind of thing. But the reason for that file was so that I could show others that they weren't at all alike and that I couldn't possibly "just make both books about the same sleuth" for the sake of having one series. The books are rooted in the world known to each character and what happens/plausibly occurs to her.
<br /><br />
Jac's books are light, funny, witty, Snoop Sisters-type, like the Anne George novels crossed with Joan Hess (or so I fancy). Ari's stories are darker, deeper in a sense, have more emotional development and change (at the end of the first book, Ari's sister has come out of her self-imposed hermit state somewhat in the process of solving the crime, and may come back out into the world from which she retreated when her son passed.) Jac's story clues use technology/computers. Ari's are more traditional mystery clues.
<br /><br />
So now you know. I could NOT "combine" them, no matter if that was a Penguin editor saying so. Note that Penguin has discontinued most of their cozy mystery series just a couple of weeks ago. They no longer have that hashtag on Twitter. SO they're serious about it.
Shalannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05503978745207805622noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2836144186791045901.post-16910570368362251182016-07-02T23:25:00.000-07:002016-07-02T23:26:35.815-07:00Plot Nuts and Bolts, Part II (Conclusion)Last time, I talked about plot bolts--a way to keep your story's threads tied together.
<br /><br />
Okay, now for the PLOT NUT (nope, that's not a fan who has all the plotlines in the old STAR TREK series memorized.) What I'm talking about is a "helper" for your plot bolt. It's a reaction to the plot bolt that strengthens the connection. It's the equal and opposite reaction to whatever it was that prompted the "plot bolt." And it starts an entire string of events by its very presence or existence. This is tough to explain without an example. So--
<br /><br />
Let's take an example from my upcoming standalone traditional novel, <bold>Southern Discomfort</bold>. Let's say that Christopher and Diane (two City Council members) know that Kimberly (a shrew, and his stalker--um, I mean she has a major jones for him and intends to win his heart however she can, even through blackmail or whatever) is watching them through the surveillance camera at the spa (she got a job there as an aerobics instructor just so she could follow him when he works out, say.) Chris and Di wait for a quiet moment in the hot tub and strip, starting to make out, just when they KNOW Kimmie can't get aloose and come bursting in on them (she's stuck covering the security cameras or something while others are at lunch.) This isn't real attraction, but just X-rated implication to frustrate and torment her. Let's say that, furthermore, they are doing this while they whisper about the conspiracy working against Kim (to reveal her theft from Chris's campaign's money when she was on his staff as treasurer.)
<br /><br />
Twist the nut on a little: Kimmie shoves in a blank DVD where there's a convenient machine and records the whole "show." Then she mails it to, um, the local TV station--these two are high-profile city council members, let's say, and are assumed not to be involved with each other because of a conflict of interest, not to mention that they are both "taken." Whoa--the plot thickens! The station manager shoves the disc into his pocket and heads off to blackmail Chris.
<br /><br />
On the way, the station manager has a fender-bender with a little old lady (in her car, not as a pedestrian!) as he's headed for the council meeting to confront Chris. He throws off his overcoat (which lands somewhere on the hood of his car) to change her tire and then to help the man hook up the tow truck for his Ferrari (these things are expensive, you know--you can't have Just Anyone touching the axle, or whatever.) The video DVD (you saw this coming, but you were giddy for it to happen, weren't you?) slides out of his pocket onto the pavement, of course. The tow truck guy picks it up to hold it for him and forgets to give it back. Guess what is in the pocket of the tow trucker's coat when the trucker gets back to pick up his wife, who runs the city's biggest day care place . . . and the owner's bratty kids pull it out, thinking it is their Rainbow Frog video he promised to get off the Internet for them. Suddenly, on the screens of the kids' day care room, there is a suggestive picture that does not go unnoticed. . . .
<br /><br />
As someone said, imagine those smart missiles during the Gulf war suddenly showing DEBBIE DOES DJIBOUTI. And trying to find THAT target. (Not to worry: nothing graphic is going on at the beginning of the recording, at least not YET.) It's not a pretty sight, all those caregivers and mothers screaming and dashing for the DVD player. The one who ultimately snatches the disc out is the best friend of Chris's long-time girlfriend, a woman who has long hoped to "wake up" her friend and make her dump Chris because of what she feels are his Unethical Practices. She'd love to get him off the city's power base.
<br /><br />
Now she has the ammo!
<br /><br />
I'd say that this item is a little more than a maguffin, perhaps a Plot Nut that holds that Plot Bolt (which was the intersection between the Kimmie-is-stalking-Christopher thread and the City-Council-Scandal thread) firmly on. It helps to make the coincidences and implausibilities in the plot seem a lot less so.
<br /><br />
I've used this technique to connect two wildly varying plotlines, such as subplot 1, the girlfriend who wants Chris and her friend to break up (hey--possibly so that SHE can snag Chris for herself, or so she can snag her girlfriend for her homely brother Gus who is in place to console her . . .) and subplot 2, the mayoral race in which Chris hopes to be a candidate, and which would be lost for him if he were caught fooling around with Diane, who is the wife of the current mayor. (This book is part screwball comedy.) Tensions heighten and the audience squirms in delicious anticipation of the blow-up that is sure to come.
<br /><br />
Let's try something more subtle. Henry does not talk about his family, ever. In this mystery, the prologue and some scenes from the (unnamed) murderer's POV have established that he's doing it to protect a secret in his family. Every time anyone asks about Henry's holidays, relatives, etc., he quickly deflects the question, never having to answer. (There's the plot bolt.) Everyone suspects Henry, of course. (A nice diversion.)
<br /><br />
Late in the book, Theo (our sleuth) is at a party where the punch is spiked and also (unknown to any of the party-goers) doped with a fashionable party drug. Theo (our heroine) is the only one besides Henry (and the real killer) who does *not* drink the Mickey Finn punch, leaving her the only one to deal with the killer who drugged the punch. Naturally, she's now convinced Henry didn't drink it because he spiked it, and therefore the killer blindsides her when he takes Henry hostage. The hero arrives, and the two of them play out the final confrontation with the killer, who now has Henry as a hostage. (Here comes the plot nut.) The reason Henry never spoke of his family is because he's ashamed: his father, who's all the family he has, has been jailed for (hot checks?) drunk driving (and has dodged the bullet once with a vehicular manslaughter charge) and is an alcoholic. And that's why he didn't drink the punch: he saw the gin being surreptitiously added, and he won't touch alcohol. The suspicion (a bolt throughout the book) is answered and ties right into why he's the only other one left on his feet for the confrontation, forming a plot nut.
<br /><br />
Naturally, MOST of the best plot bolt and nut combinations are serendipity. Usually, when you were writing the first scene, you didn't realize why you were putting in that part about the alcoholic daddy until it came time that the later scene was flowing from your fingertips. And then people ask how you come up with these tight plots. Only another writer could understand the unexpected thrill of that plot nut screwing into place!
<br /><br />
You can, of course, plan a connection between your subplots from the very beginning. That's why the subplots are there--to enrich the main story--and thus they need to be related. If you can come up with something that really sets up conflicts between major characters, such as his being a pilot and her being totally petrified of any thought of heights or flying, so much the better. Then she'll HAVE to get in the plane with him, barfbagging it or cowering on the floor of the light plane while they do the dogfight, or whatever. Conversely, maybe she turns out to be right about heights when he realizes the plane will NOT get off the ground in the shape that it's in, and then they jump out and let the criminals steal it and crash it into the stand of trees just across the road from the airstrip.
<br /><br />
. . . this is called "setting up your crisis early" with things that your critique group tries to get you to cut, claiming you don't need these little hints that are obviously in there only for characterization. NOT!
<br /><br />
The heck with them, say I. Plan your plot bolts, and place them throughout your book to strengthen it.
<br /><br />
And if you find a nut for one of them, twist it down tight!
Shalannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05503978745207805622noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2836144186791045901.post-53769770928517928592016-06-03T07:54:00.002-07:002016-06-03T07:54:50.206-07:00Plot Nuts and Bolts, Pt. 1WOW. We just went without the Internet or cable television for a week, after a storm knocked a tree down on the cables that run from the house to the pole (narrowly missing the power as well, because other trees caught the top of the falling tree just short of that), and it was tough. I went to Starbucks a couple of times with my tablet to check mail, and I used an antenna to pick up some local stations to monitor the weather, but otherwise I was without global communication (LOL). I knew that Facebook was my major social outlet (most of my close friends keep in touch that way), but I didn't realize how isolated I would feel once I couldn't check in regularly.)
<br /><br />
The world is wired in nowadays. I needed to do LOTS of business transactions by phone, and I'd always be regaled with how much easier it would be if I'd only come into the 21st century and do it online. I explained to people, and they said to move. (LOL)
<br /><br />
ANYWAY! Let's talk for a moment about plot nuts and bolts, something I learned about in a long-Long-ago workshop that's worthy of your attention if you want to write stories.
<br /><br />
(The article "Plot Nuts and Bolts" by Shalanna Collins is copyright 2016. A version of this appeared years ago on the FUTURES Web magazine site, but has been offline for a while.)
<br /><br />
You've heard people talk about teaching or learning "the nuts and bolts of writing," right? Some time ago, SF writer Michael Stackpole coined the term "plot bolt," and now I'd like to discuss the concept, along with the nut that sometimes goes with it (and I'm not talking about the writer.)
<br /><br />
What, you may ask, is a plot bolt? Just as a bolt fastens objects together by sticking through them and "hanging them from the holes," a plot bolt extends _through_ the plot of a story and helps to hold the parts together. Plot bolts pull a story together by helping the reader to see the connections and how things "all come together as a connected whole." The role can be played by a minor character (a "foil," for you literary types) who flits between the two major characters--perhaps the nosy neighbor ? la Mrs. Kravitz on "Bewitched," or a pet bird who flies between the two houses, or a cat like Pyewacket who runs away and has to be rescued; maybe, instead, it's a "maguffin" or semi-valuable object like the Maltese Falcon. These "minor" things are not so minor, and their scenes are not mere incidents, because the items or characters keep reappearing, helping to complete the circle of the story.
<br /><br />
In the film "Bell, Book, and Candle," the cat familiar Pyewacket goes over to the Jimmy Stewart character's house and causes him to march over to the Kim Novak character's shop to return him? The cat also causes several other events in the tale connected to reconciliations or another fight. When he runs away, the viewers know that Gillian has lost her powers from being in love. All these functions bolt the story together at places where we'd otherwise have no connections (or maybe have to rely on coincidences).
<br /><br />
Character "business," "tics," or "tags" may also add to the wholeness of the whole. Perhaps a characteristic little bit of action like Shalanna tugging at her earlobe when she's lying can irritate Drynxnyrd at first, until he figures out that she's always fibbing (she wouldn't go further than a compassionate white lie) or telling the incomplete story when she does it, and this can reveal to the hero later that she's not telling him the whole truth about that old boyfriend of hers who shows up later. It is something that starts out as characterization, and then the reader giggles when she sees it, but later she exclaims, "Of course! I should have expected that to be useful."
<br /><br />
In Mary Stewart's THE GABRIEL HOUNDS, the narrator always reacts to the presence of a cat, even when she can't see it. This is established in an early chapter, when a kitten spooks her. Later in the book, she realizes that another character, supposedly a relative of hers, is an impostor, because the real relative shares this reaction--but the impostor doesn't even jump when a cat walks into the room. This one's related to all the movie scenes in which a character is "passing" for another character UNTIL the dog growls or snaps at him or her, and people realize that can't be good old Harryette. . . .
<br /><br />
A plot bolt basically ties one strand of the plot into an entirely different strand. This may be the only thing that makes the subplots related. It's the realization of the reader that the romantic subplot that's been running through the last five chapters has just crossed paths with the minding-the-store thread, and they mesh. The reader doesn't see it coming in advance, but once it's there, it's inevitable. It's the only way things *could* be. And the book is praised as "tightly plotted."
<br /><br />
Next time, the PLOT NUT (nope, that's not a fan who has all the plotlines in the old STAR TREK series memorized) and how it ties these bolts together so we have a framework that makes sense and the reader gets a wild ride through the tale.
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Shalannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05503978745207805622noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2836144186791045901.post-77254682614879906222016-05-17T23:58:00.001-07:002016-05-17T23:59:13.334-07:00Musing: why is there air? (Warning: thinky)"Why is there air?" asked Bill Cosby on an early comedy album, WONDERFULNESS.
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"To fill up basketballs. To fill up pool flotation devices."
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Sure! It's that simple. For the persona in Bill Cosby's early comedy album, anyway. That's the important reason that there's air! A sports reason!
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But then those of us who BREATHE it say, "If you don't think breathing air is important, try not doing it for a while."
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The point being that we are all prisoners of our own viewpoints, and we often react by seeing what we expect to see or what we're accustomed to seeing. Why is air important to the coach? Filling up basketballs. Why is air important to the hot-air balloonist? We've gotta have lift. Why is air important to the rest of us? *cough cough*
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But anyway . . . when you're writing, your character will notice what he is inclined to notice. It's probably not the same things about the room that you, a writer, would notice. Or that you, a firefighter, would notice. Or that you, a police officer, would notice. Are there fire exits and are they marked? Is there a place someone could lurk and surprise you? You see what I mean. Always question what you are doing, in the smaller and larger senses.
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People who don't question what they're doing aren't usually doing anything important.
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Is what you're doing important? Is what you're writing going to be significant to other people's lives? Is it going to make them see the world in a whole new way and encourage them to change their lives accordingly?
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In order to understand if what you're doing is worth it, you must question everything. Ask yourself what you're trying to do. So many writers really just want to "have written."
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Why do you write? You can try to answer this--and most have tried--but you probably won't be able to come up with a pithy, quotable answer. PLEASE don't cop out with, "I can't not write," because that only means you need a creative outlet of some sort. This isn't your fault. It's like asking "Why do you want to live?" It's not that the answer is bad, but that the question is stupid.
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Why do you write? Is it to tell a story? To impart some wisdom and meaning to people's lives? To play with words and string them together into a progression of interesting thoughts? To present an idea that hasn't been presented before? Is it to entertain? To make money? To explain your life or views?
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These are all valid reasons. Any combination of these would be a decent explanation. But you should think about which applies to you.
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Why? Because if you know what you're doing, or trying to do, you're going to have less doubt about it. You're going to have confidence. You're going to find your mission in life.
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And you won't leave this world without fulfilling your eternal destiny.
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Your job is to find out what it is, and then start on that path. Now.
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Shalannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05503978745207805622noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2836144186791045901.post-13492174430093940932016-04-26T20:19:00.000-07:002016-04-26T20:20:51.776-07:00Cozies being cut by major NYC mystery houses--AAAACKI was sorry to hear of the many cozy series being dropped by the major NYC houses. The astounding part of it for me is that many series are still popular, but aren't making money for the house, so they're discontinued. Also, some of the authors won't be able to take the series elsewhere because the characters or series name/identity is owned by the publisher.
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I will venture a guess as to why the industry decided to downsize them, though. I realized the other day that the last six or eight cozy mysteries I have read were VERY similar in setting/form/setup. The sleuth is a woman who runs a shop on the restored main street of a small town or resort town. (A pickling shop, a cupcake shop, a popcorn shop, a yarn shop, or whatever.) She is next door to other women who are running similar businesses. She lives above the shop or nearby. A murder takes place and she is a suspect or her best friend/neighbor is. The circle of people she interacts with is full of suspects. The shop is popular when she is not under suspicion (and the town must be full of extremely unhealthy people, for they come to the chocolate fudge shop or cupcake shop daily to fill up! I have never seen such successful small businesses! LOL) and business falls way off when she is under suspicion or suffers from rumors. The sleuth usually has an estranged hubby who would like to either get her back or sabotage her. She also has a boyfriend (sometimes two!) and probably a dog or cat who helps defend the turf. Often the detective is a love interest.
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OK, I will admit that I read and enjoy them mostly BECAUSE of the mundane details. I wish I could find such a town free of economic or environmental issues in real life. The recipes, the talk of neighbors, the puzzle (not generally super-challenging, though), the lack of overt gore and extreme violence porn (most of the time), and so forth make the books a reliable bubblegum read. You usually don't have to worry about animals getting seriously hurt (although there have been exceptions) or descriptions of extreme torture porn or yuckiness (ditto). You can usually relate to the protagonist, who is "determined to make it on her own without help from the ex and despite the town turning against her."
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Those old ropes do fray, however. The problem is that there's so little originality and so much similarity. You could just about exchange one book in a series for another book in a different series and track right along. It stretches credulity that the shops could all be viable in a small town--because many stores are having to go out of business in real life, and this just isn't realistic. The authors are not stretching themselves creatively and the reader is getting into a rut. I'm pretty sure that this is another reason that the genre is being downsized. We need some new tropes and different plotlines. (Yes, the caterer's food was poisoned by a baddie who wanted her put out of business as a nice side effect. Many, many times. How about something new? True, there is nothing new under the sun. That IS a difficulty.)
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Sorry to sound so harsh, but maybe the abandoned authors will now stretch and go to a more traditional mystery format. A traditional mystery that is not a cozy can be set elsewhere and might have different tropes. My own MURDER BY THE MARFA LIGHTS is a paranormal without being a zombie/vampire/witch/werewolf deal, and NICE WORK explores the seamy underside of the BDSM lifestyle (and the minds of unscrupulous people.) Different, but still mysteries with the normal mystery feel. (Who did it? Why? Justice must be done. Goodness must prevail. Love conquers all.)
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Who knows--the new books could even revitalize the field. After all, we do not want another "Twilight" fad with werewolves VS zombies or something to overtake the industry . . . aack! ;) Let's see if we can turn this to our benefit. Not to say that I never want to read another cozy-knitting shop-cozy again, but perhaps it IS time for the next fad to take hold. (Just hope it isn't more zombies.)
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Shalannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05503978745207805622noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2836144186791045901.post-11180932723828206632016-04-04T16:20:00.001-07:002016-04-04T16:26:43.714-07:00Ensemble casts, part 1The ensemble cast is what keeps readers/viewers coming back for more, every week (on TV), every few years (in the movies), or every few months (in books). What makes an ensemble cast so charming?
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First, let's look at a few ensemble casts I see as being near-perfect.
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The cast members must have chemistry. By this I mean they've got to have that spark when they interact. They must make me BELIEVE. (Alan Young of MISTER ED never gets enough credit; he made me believe the HORSE IS TALKING! That's what I mean when I say the actor makes me buy into it and I *believe*.)
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My husband hates any show I like (and pretty much does it for spite, IMHO--LOL), so he hates EVERYBODY LOVES RAYMOND with Ray Romano and cohorts. But even he has to admit that this ensemble cast is nigh-unto perfect. Note-perfect with the relationships and with how they interact. I *believe* that Robert is the neurotic cop. I *love* Frank (did you realize that he's the one who played Frankenstein's monster in "Young Frankenstein"? They pay homage to that in one of their Halloween episodes!) And I would normally HATE any woman who acted as Debra is often forced to, because I just hate bee-yotch characters . . . but she HAS to get angry and be mean very often in the show, and I find myself saying, "Yes! Deb is in the right! No one could do any differently!" And thus I like her character, against all odds. I even like the interefering mother-in-law, Marie, because she is letter-perfect at being like my own mother and mother-in-law when they got That Way (not all the time, like Marie! Just occasionally.) The cast has chemistry and I *believe* that Robert and Ray are brothers. Watch a couple of episodes sometime and you'll see what I mean. There are almost no false notes (not even with Amy and her parents), and that's why I rank this one up top even above I LOVE LUCY (another ensemble that would not work without all four of them) and THE BOB NEWHART SHOW (the original) and even THE MARY TYLER MOORE SHOW ("You have spunk. I hate spunk.")
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My own ensemble casts, I hope, are like this one. I think Ari and Zoe French are a duprass of sorts; there are fans who want to see them in action again ASAP, and even fan fiction being written about them. They function well and are a sort of Bickersons pair. Compare to Jackie Gleason and Art Carney. When they get into it together, Katy bar the door!
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Another of my ongoing ensemble casts encompasses Jacquidon Carroll and her sister Chantal. They are more like Lucy and Ethel, it has been said often, and they don't argue as fiercely as Ari and Zoe, but they complement one another when it comes to sleuthing. They have an ongoing foil in the form of Chantal's long-time main squeeze, who is referred to as "Smedley" most of the time. He's like Mrs. Columbo in that we don't see him, we don't hear him talk on the phone, but we hear about him and what he's doing or what he is about to do. It's part of the comic relief. It's a schtick, sure, but (I hope) a good one.
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Often your ensemble cast will include a boyfriend/girlfriend or serious marriage prospect of the moment. I have this situation in both LOVE IS THE BRIDGE and in LITTLE RITUALS. If you don't have this, then you'd better have all sorts of flirting and the like going on with one of your main characters, because it's a big draw. Make the decision in the first book as to whether you will have explicit nookie scenes or will draw the curtain and let the waves crash onto the beach as in FROM HERE TO ETERNITY, when we didn't get to see Burt Lancaster's hoohoo. Oh, well. But readers have distinct preferences as to whether they think a cozy should have hardcore scenes or not, so decide right away so as not to anger readers who skip that sort of stuff because they're older than fourteen and don't need an instruction booklet (can you tell which type of reader I am? Except for Henry Miller. I make an exception for Henry Miller. Don't ask me why. But if you want porn, you couldn't do better than Henry Miller, because he has interspersed sex scenes with his philosophical musings and other activities. Try the SEXUS/NEXUS trilogy. Or try D. H. Lawrence. If you want class with your, um, *ss, they're the ones, I guarantee. *Unless you can find a good translation of Baudelaire.*)
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Other members of your ensemble cast will probably fill roles such as Sidekick, Mentor, Jester, Lovable (or not) Rogue, Guide (Spiritual/Moral Compass or Tour Guide), Guardian (or Threshold Guardian), Shapeshifter (this can be metaphorical, and generally is, at least to some extent), and even Trickster. Chantal and Zoe are (purportedly) the sidekicks in my mystery series books. Mentors come and go in all my books, but will be apparent when they first appear (so to speak, or "soda speak" as Kevin Robinson, mystery novelist extraordinaire, would say.) Gil Rousseau in MARFA LIGHTS is a Lovable Rogue--Tour Guide who is also possibly a Threshold Guardian and could even play Trickster in a pinch. Tricksters are a lot of fun to write, but you must be certain they're not taking over the story. Your heroine/sleuth/whatever MUST solve the puzzle for herself, save herself, have an epiphany of her own, experience growth and change at her own pace. Someone else can't do it for her, or the reader feels cheated.
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So, anyway. You need to make sure your ensemble cast functions well together so that your readership will want more and will come back for more.
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Your setting will often (ideally) be a character and will shape the way your cast interacts and what they do for fun (you ski in Denver, but you go tubing in San Marcos (TX) and you surf in Santa Barbara.) The best settings are the ones with a personality of their own and eccentric residents that are already familiar to your readers. For example, in New Orleans your characters will encounter street jazz musicians (and jazz funeral processions!), French quarter tourists, and voodoo priestesses. In Marfa, Texas, you will get the typical artists' colony weirdies plus the Marfa Lights followers. It's also a Western town, so you might even meet a few cowboys in their Airstream trailers. Consider your setting carefully, and be sure you do your research. A few road trips might be useful in this endeavor.
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Next time--more about the archetypes and minor characters, and how they fit into this scheme.
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Shalannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05503978745207805622noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2836144186791045901.post-46967743250190510092016-03-28T21:29:00.000-07:002016-03-28T21:32:10.355-07:00For writers and readers: thoughts on structureThe beginning of a novel--ideally, the first few lines, unless we are in a prologue, about which more next time--should open a window and set a scene immediately. Readers should be able to see, hear, smell, maybe touch, and sometimes taste the setting and surroundings very soon, if not right away (because we're in a character's mind, or we're observing something closely, frex.)
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Readers must know within moments who the main character(s) is/are and the situation at hand (the story world, the "ordinary world," if you will). Also, the TONE of this opening paragraph needs to signal to the reader whether this will be a light-hearted romp or a heavy, philosophical, convoluted read. However, this is all preliminary to "THE STORY." A novel doesn't have liftoff (even if we have readers already immersed in the Vivid, Continuous Dream that their minds should be constructing) until we pass through the Doorway of No Return.
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What?!
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What do I mean? Well, we're about to lose that ordinary world. The footing is unsure. A chasm is about to open beneath our feet. There is a door standing ajar, and perhaps a monster in pursuit of Our Heroine. Once she accepts the challenge and steps through the portal, she won't be able to get back home until the major plot problem is solved AND she has changed, fundamentally, herself. (A book has to be about the most important thing that has ever happened to the main character, and she has to undergo a transformation. Ideally, she will face her worst fear and conquer it. This doesn't hold for mysteries and series blorfs, but it SHOULD.) This challenge should be before the 20% mark or first 1/5 of your book, or else readers will get bored and drop the book. It really should be much earlier than that, for today's readers.
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Is your hero or heroine intriguing, charming, worthy of following for 200+ pages? Is there a disturbance in the opening pages that pulls readers forward to know what will happen and/or if the character will succeed? Does this set the proper tone for the rest of the book? (Don't have a Torture Porn opening if you're then going to do a screwball comedy in the rest of the story.)
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And most of all, for the author who is beginning to tell the tale: Can YOU live with this character, love her, root for her, put her through the wringer, for up to a year as you write the book? If not, you'd better go back and rework it so that you DO want to spend time with this person. Because if you don't like this character, readers won't, either.
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Oscar Wilde Quote of the Day:<br />
"There are men nowadays who cannot distinguish between the truth and the last thing they happen to have read." <br />
Shalannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05503978745207805622noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2836144186791045901.post-5767560686937209112016-02-05T14:04:00.001-08:002016-02-05T14:04:25.903-08:00Chapter 1 of the new Ari-Zoe story--quick peekHere's a peek at the opening of the sequel to MURDER BY THE MARFA LIGHTS.
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"How did you find his body?" my sister Zoë asked, not because she wanted to know, but primarily to irritate me.
</br></br>Tabitha looked around furtively, then spoke in an exaggerated English accent while pretending to peer through fake pince-nez. "Acceptable, my dear Watson."
</br></br>She and Zoë guffawed. "More than acceptable, surely," Zoë said, setting the bait.
</br></br>"And don't call me Shirley," added our other lunchmate, Samantha, in a Groucho voice. This sent both of the others into peals of laughter.
</br></br>"Look over at the next table. The one in the red jacket. Hubba hubba hottie," said Tabatha between chortles. Rather too loudly.
</br></br>"Cougars," said Samantha. "The kid can't be more than sixteen."
</br></br>This observation--quite true--led to renewed hysteria.
</br></br>"Quiet," I finally hissed, even without benefit of any esses. "He'll hear you."
</br></br>"I don't care if he does, Ari. Men are all crazy." Tabitha dabbed at her eyes with the orange cloth napkin. They do it up right at Zorreia's Tex-Mex, even down to tablecloths of real linen and candles inside screened glass. "Want to hear what Lunkhead said to me after our fight?"
</br></br>"Even though you're a fat bitch, I love you anyway." Zoë has always been droll.
</br></br>All three of our companions started crying from the supposed hilarity. "He really didn't say that. Did he really?" Samantha wiped at her eyes with the hem of her tunic.
</br></br>"Yes, I'm afraid he did." Tabitha nodded, then pantomimed pulling up one's overalls. "Boy howdy, he's a chubby chaser, all right. Always knows just the right thing to say."
</br></br>"Ranks up there right after 'For a fat girl, you don't sweat much." Sam giggled.
</br></br>None of us were fat. But it wouldn't matter if we were in Divine's league. Body size and shape did not define a person. Although I was grateful not to be constantly losing the battle of the bulge, at least not yet.
</br></br>"I prefer the ever-popular 'Does your butt still hurt from where you fell out of Heaven?" Samantha looked at me, as though still believing I would come out with some witticism, or at least half of one.
</br></br>The waiter interrupted their general hilarity. "Would anyone like to order? Have you heard today's specials?"
</br></br>Zoë adjusted her half-moon reading glasses (she's far too vain to admit she needs them, so she won't wear bifocals, just gets Wally World cheapies with sparkly purple frames) and began to read, even though she has memorized the items on offer. "You still have the avocado enchiladas? Made with large crescents of avocado?"
</br></br>"Certainly."
</br></br>She slammed her menu. "With double rice, no beans. And a large peach iced tea. Unsweetened."
</br></br>I ordered my usual, veggie quesadillas with a side of guac (which Zoë deplores, terming it "gorilla snot") and the other two got the lunch special, chicken fajitas to share. They'd probably take most of it away in a doggie bag, judging from their dieting obsession. Lucky doggie.
</br></br>"Well?" My sister raised an eyebrow and looked pointedly at me. "What did you think of the waiter? Hottie, or snotty?"
</br></br>"Shut up," I explained patiently. "You know I hate to categorize people by appearance. He was perfectly adequate. Maybe not the body beautiful of the world, but at least a Doll-Boy." I frowned down at the menu. "But what does it matter to us? We're not in the market."
</br></br>"Speak for yourself, honey." Samantha's phone rang, and when she read the screen, she rose from the table. "Gotta take this." She headed for the front door.
</br></br>"Apparently we're not to be privy to her special secrets." Zoë frowned. Surely (Shirley!) she wasn't actually irritated.
</br></br>"Oh, no," Tabitha said, taking a large sip of her water-with-lemon. "It's probably work, and it's confidential."
</br></br>"We're not exactly Close Personal Friends," I allowed. "Classmates don't qualify until they've been through initiation."
</br></br>Zoë inclined her head to agree. "I'm just being mean," she admitted. Typical external behavior, although she was a cream puff inside that steel-clad barrier she'd built for protection.
</br></br>We had signed up for this travel photography course at Renner Community College on a whim. Actually, I had signed both of us up, thinking it might be a good way to get Zoë out of her house for a change. She hadn't been going out much since we got back from Aaron's funeral in Marfa, and I was afraid she had slipped back into the slough of despond. Of course, she was entitled to, since my nephew Ricky had passed away only two years ago this month. Grief has no timeline. They tell you time heals, but it only makes it recede a little. You never got over something like that.
</br></br>The class turned out to just barely make, with the only students being Zoë and I, these two (also sisters, although ten years younger at twentysomething than we were at thirtybouncing), and a tall kid who kept his baseball cap (worn forwards, for once) pulled down over his forehead and never said a word. Either reticent, or the FBI plant, we figured. At any rate, we'd looked at each other after the first class and agreed on lunch, and here we were making it a regular appointment. At Zoe's favorite restaurant.
</br></br>"Anyway, here comes our food," I said in a deliberately cheerful tone. I was going to enjoy myself despite their sexist and appearance-ist conversation, by Zeus.
</br></br>"Plates are hot," the server warned. And was right. I almost singed my fingers adjusting the platter.
</br></br>I hadn't even taken a bite when Tab's phone rang and she also rushed out. I shot my sister a significant look.
</br></br>Hating to not be the center of attention, my phone warbled.
</br></br>I picked up. "Ari French, how may I help you?" I said without thinking. I'm used to answering phone calls at my job on the help desk at Aqualife, "the fishes' place." Had "Hello" gone out of style?
</br></br>"Um. Yes," said a strained voice. "Are you the"--the voice consulted a rustling page--"the niece of Agatha French of Rachel, Arizona?"
</br></br>A spider inched up my backbone. "Yes, I am, at least one of them, I mean."
</br></br>"I'm sorry to have to be the bearer of ill tidings." The voice went on for a minute or so, but I could barely comprehend it. When it quieted, I thanked it and gently placed the phone on the tablecloth.
</br></br>Zoe eyed me suspiciously. "What?"
</br></br>"Aunt Agatha." A heavy sign escaped me. "She's dead."
</br></br>For once, Zoë was speechless. "Not to put too fine a point on it," she said at last.
</br></br>"I saw no reason to tease you and drag it out." Slipping my phone back into my purse, I spied our companions returning. "Cheezit until later. No use upsetting them."
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Shalannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05503978745207805622noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2836144186791045901.post-29146603178681680122016-02-03T14:23:00.002-08:002016-02-03T14:25:20.150-08:00A Few Instructions--merely offered upIt has come to mah attention that someone is teaching, "Never use ellipses in fiction except to indicate that you are leaving part of the sentence out." **SIGH** Who do these posers think they are, changing the rules of punctuation at whim? This is total bullcorn (as Daddy would say if he knew I was in the room.)
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They're talking about when you leave out part of a quotation or summary. You write, "Washington said he chopped down the [...] tree." This indicates you have left out "cherry." (Although I can't figure out why.) You use the brackets with the ellipsis points. This has to be what confused them.
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But it's perfectly fine to use ellipsis points when a character is trailing off or stopping for a moment. {Perhaps your perp just realized he was about to give himself away, and has stopped himself to reverse the sentence. "Sure, I was right there when Henry brought the . . . I mean, that silly man! Yeah, that's the ticket! The silly man brought the lunches.") How else would you indicate that your character is trailing off at the end of the dialogue? "I don't know what I think about Henry. . . ."
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(Implying that your character needs to think about this, or has more to say but knows it's imprudent to state it.)
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Note that it's THREE ellipsis points when you have a pause or a "gasp" sort of stop-and-continue. It's FOUR when you are trailing off, because one of those dots ends the sentence. NEVER is there a proper reason in "real" writing to use more than four points. They must be separated by a space as shown. I don't CARE what Word auto-"corrects" that to. They are wrong. Your manuscript should not have those weird squashed points.
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Dashes mean that your character broke off. It isn't like ellipses.<br />
"What are you--stop!"<br />"Why is he--" "Shut up, everyone!"
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See the Harbrace College Handbook, eleventh edition. That one won't steer you wrong.
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In other news, are you passionate about something today? What's important to you today? Don't be obnoxious (you'll turn your listeners/readers off, possibly forever.) Don't be mean (in other words, if you are mad at Elaine today, you shouldn't post something nasty about her--that's unjust.) But be bold and speak up if you feel the need. Be nice! But firm. Preach it, sister and brother!
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"In Germany, they came first for the Socialists, and I did not speak out—<br />
Because I was not a Socialist. <br />
Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out— <br />
Because I was not a Trade Unionist. <br />
Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out— <br />
Because I was not a Jew. <br />
Then they came for me—<br />and there was no one left to speak for me." (Martin Niemöller)
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"The tongue has the power of life and death" (Proverbs 18:21)
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"In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God." (John 1:1)
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"The Lord has set apart the Redeemed for Himself. Therefore He will listen to me and answer when I call to Him." (Ps. 4:3)
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"If you don't SAY anything, you may be polite, but you're missing the opportunity to correct a wrong." (Shalanna Collins, today)
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That is all.
Shalannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05503978745207805622noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2836144186791045901.post-63553174742127913802016-01-10T13:57:00.001-08:002016-01-10T14:25:49.260-08:00Vote! Decide which novel I should polish and finish next.Here's an opportunity that does not come along often.
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I have two novels that I've worked on and been excited about in the past, but have always had to set aside when something more pressing came up to make me work on another novel that's now out. (The circumstances include winning contests that had publication as a prize, or getting an agent who wanted to market a particular series, or needing to work on the sequel to something successful, working with an editor to get a different novel out on time, and other similar things.) I always had these two on the back burner as Books Of My Heart. I love them both and believe in their potential. I'll finish both--I simply need to establish the order. Now I need to know which one would interest more readers.
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So I'm coming to y'all! Here are the openings of both novels. Tell me in the comments (or answer in the Facebook poll) which one you would most likely buy and/or read.
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The first is romantic suspense with a political edge. The second is for fantasy lovers and those who love a good "good witch" sort of yarn, like an episode of "Bewitched" or "Sabrina" (or even "Charmed," which is so much darker) gone wild. If you love fantasy, skip down. If you like romantic suspense with banter-dialogue, read on.
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IN THE PUNDIT'S CORNER is the story of a woman who runs a cable TV program featuring a Rush Limbaugh/Bill O'Reilly-style pundit who comments on the political news of the day and always has a homily at the end, as though he were a priest--which is how many of his followers see him. Kate Underwood Fisher, however, knows he is at heart a showman. She doesn't let any of the politics bother her until the day a "consultant" shows up to evaluate the performance of her and her staff . . . ostensibly. She soon discovers his true purpose, which is to figure out if and how her personal pundit is sending signals and communications to a group of terrorists arranged in cells across the world. It doesn't help that their attraction is like that of huge electromagnets at their opposite poles. Soon it seems that the bad guys are "on" to them, as "accidents" and incidents begin happening, and she and Whit begin to run for their lives. . . .
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<center>In the Pundit's Corner by Denise Weeks</center>
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Chapter One
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All the Underwoods have guardian angels.
<br /> Furthermore, most of them claim to have seen their angels at least once during this life. A few are sure they've barely missed out--having heard the rustle of a drapery or caught a flash of light just as the save took place, but having been too occupied with the crisis in progress to pay attention until it was too late and the angel had flown.
<br /> Kay Underwood Fisher was one of the latter.
<br /> She hadn't seen her angel, but she definitely had one. Otherwise, that black Ford F-150 would've taken her out a nanosecond ago.
<br /> "Help!" she shouted, flailing her arms from the muddy puddle at the curb where she'd landed. "I've broken my ankle."
<br /> The parking lot of Dallas Cable News Network was full of responsible types arriving to work right on time. The first to reach her was a rangy man in a plaid sportcoat. As others saw him taking charge, they detoured around, and she found herself looking him full in the face. An interesting face.
<br /> The face of a young leprechaun. Dreamsicle-toned hair in that boy-next-door-who-just-leaped-out-of-bed style. And freckles. Only a few scattered across his nose and cheeks, but still, enough to lend him a Dennis the Menace appeal.
<br /> The little-boy image faded from her mind as his resonant tenor filled her ears.
<br /> "Are you all right?" He offered his arm, a little awkwardly. Then he apparently realized what she'd said, and amended with, "I mean, other than the ankle."
<br /> A quick mental inventory told her everything was intact, except that her left foot was numb. It didn't hurt--it was oddly deadened, which worried her a lot more.
<br /> "I don't know if I can stand on it just yet." She tugged her skirt down over her knees. It had scrunched up to reveal quite a few inches of thigh, but it felt as if it had flown over her head in exactly the same way her dresses used to do when she was five years old.
<br /> "Where does it hurt?"
<br /> "My dignity," she choked out as a cloud of exhaust blew past. "My social standing. In fact, my standing at all." She rubbed at the ankle and tried to smile, but felt it turn into a grimace.
<br /> Skid marks traced a circuit around the parking lot and out onto the main road. Had nobody else heard or seen the truck? Maybe it had been really "black," in the sense of those secret government helicopters.
<br /> But no, because the stranger turned his head to peer down the street, although even the dust trail behind the vehicle had vanished. "Looked like a pretty close call to me." His flat accent was Garrison Keillor midwestern. "What happened?"
<br /> The truth? She'd seen a flash of movement behind her, but only as it reflected off the inside of her glasses lenses. Cold metal had brushed against her thigh, and the concrete rushed up to meet her elbows. She knew both her feet had been off the ground for a moment. There hadn't been time to think, let alone jump out of the truck's path under her own power. She had an inkling about what kind of power had pushed her clear, but she couldn't exactly say that she believed she'd been saved by her guardian angel. Whatever had happened, it was over.
<br /> She managed a self-deprecating smile. "I must've tripped on the curb."
<br /> "Hmm," he said noncommittally. "Then that truck peeled out just as you fell?"
<br /> "I suppose. I wasn't paying attention."
<br /> He didn't look convinced.
<br /> Above all, she didn't want to sound like a Hysterical Female. "It's probably not broken. I just panicked."
<br /> Without warning, he reached down and poked a warm fingertip gently into the spot atop her foot that was starting to swell. She gasped, but more from surprise than from pain.
<br /> He nodded sagely. "If it were broken, you'd have unbearable pain. You wouldn't be able to keep yourself from yelping when I press."
<br /> She begged to differ. "My cousin broke her leg, and she didn't feel anything until they got to the emergency room and tried to set it. Then she screamed." Kay bent her knee to lever herself up, ignoring the twinges in her tailbone, and found she couldn't stand on the foot. He was still brandishing his arm, so she caved in and gingerly grasped it. "I suppose you're going to have to play Florence Nightingale."
<br /> He reddened a bit, but met the challenge with a grin. She managed to get to her feet with minimal wincing. But a few flashes of pain made themselves known, and she felt slightly dizzy.
<br /> "All right?" He held her elbow until focus returned and she could steady herself.
<br /> She whooped involuntarily as she shifted to her left foot. It refused to take any weight, even though she'd recently lost fifteen pounds.
<br /> He looked grim. "Let's get you to the nurses' station."
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*to be continued*
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Now, here's the scoop for fantasy/"Bewitched"/"Sabrina"/"Charmed" fans. MIRANDA'S RIGHTS (yes, I know, someone stole my title last month for their mystery series, because this has been up on various teaser sites, so I might change that to RITES, but that is so much more hardcore, don't you think?) is the story of a woman who is surrounded by witches (GOOD witches . . . white witches . . . not semi-tricksters like Serena and Endora, much as I love them. Endora must be named for the Witch of Endor, don't you think? The one God warned against visiting?) and just takes it in stride now that her mother is one (retired, mostly), her tenant is one, her best friend is one, and now she works for one. Pagans galore, but she's still a staunch Episcopalian with an attitude of live and let live. Until her thirtieth birthday, when she wakes to find said best friend in the middle of putting a spell on her. An unknown spell. Her mother and tenant aren't worried, but when the effects begin to show up once Miranda is at work, she goes into action. Zepp, her ensorcellor, insists this is to help Miranda. After all, her husband Alex has recently moved out for "some space," but Zepp thinks Miranda needs to get over that and move on. Little does anyone know that Alex is in the clutches of yet ANOTHER witch . . . this time, not so "white" or even neutral. Zepp's spell and Miranda's use of it results in a witch war of sorts, and as it plays out, Miranda must ask herself what path she will take and how she will deal with events. If Alex does come back . . . does she even want him? (The romance takes second place to the screwball, madcap, side-effects-ridden magical ride. It's very like an episode of "Bewitched" gone mad.) This one also has a prologue starring the antagonist! So if you hate prologues . . . tell me.
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<center>Miranda's Rights by Shalanna Collins</center>
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PROLOGUE
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The demon Asperioth felt himself being conjured just as he was finishing up a complex three-day working.
<br /> Because the first tug came when he had his hands full, he couldn't even try a countermeasure. The working was too strong, anyway; someone out there must have his Name. He rose up into the air tail-first, cursing and dropping the components for the last step of his spell as he was sucked into the vortex between the demons' realm and that of the mortals.
<br /> The feeling was like being pulled butt-first through a knothole. A too-small knothole.
<br /> He materialized in a deep-forest clearing bathed in the light of the full moon. Someone must know a little about what they were doing. His hooves crunched on pine needles; the scent turned his stomach. Looking down, he saw he stood in the center of a salt-encrusted pentagram inscribed in a double circle engraved in the soft dirt. Apparently, someone knew quite a bit.
<br /> Or had been reading up on Summoning in the occult literature.
<br /> He blinked. As his infravision adjusted to the harsh light, he could make out a petite figure. A human female stood before him with black-draped arms upraised, her toetips barely tangent to the edge of the magickal figure.
<br /> Her voice squeaked forth with a whiny nasal accent. "Asperioth, I command thee!"
<br /> She'd heard his Name somewhere, or read it in a book, he supposed. That made things tougher for him: once they knew your Name, you couldn't resist the conjuring when you were called. That was part of the reason he'd been pulled so suddenly. And unless you could fool them, you were compelled to obey. Within reason.
<br /> "What do you seek by calling me, O woman?" He boomed it out with an echo, hoping he sounded properly fearsome. Asperioth couldn't quite remember the language, the exact phrasing that he was supposed to use. It had been so long since he'd had his Name called by a mortal. "I have little time to spend here. Tell me your desire."
<br /> "I want more power." Her eyes gleamed in the moonlight. "More power at my command without all these material components and . . . rituals." Her lips parted, revealing slightly pointed canines at the edges of her smile, and she glanced over her shoulder.
<br /> Asperioth followed her gaze to a naked human male, almost as young as she, panting on a woolen blanket behind her. The youth lay unnaturally twisted and still, as though stunned from a working. It was a sophisticated method of raising power; she was no newcomer to the Craft, nor apparently to the rules of diabolical magick.
<br /> "I could give you more power in the same way this one has given it." Asperioth beckoned, hoping he wasn’t leering too obviously. "Come hither into the center of my pentacle, and I shall grant your request."
<br /> "I am young, but not one day old, dear." She grimaced. "A demon child is not in my plans. Anyway, I've never heard of going into the pentacle with the demon."
<br /> Asperioth winced. “Please--we prefer the more correct term, ‘antiangel.’”
<br /> She rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”
<br /> Asperioth spread his arms wide, then pulled them in a bit as a shower of tiny blue sparks shot from the edge of the pentacle’s central pentagon, in which he stood. “I will do you no harm and plant no seed. You will find I can give you great pleasure as I increase your power.”
<br /> She gave him a hard look. "Don't mess with me. You can give me power at my command with a single word. I want that word of power."
<br /> Well, it had been worth a try.
<br /> "All right. But within the confines of this figure, I feel cramped and uneasy. When I am made to be so, I cannot think." The pentagram seemed claustrophobically small; it was squeezing his potbelly and his rear pillows. "Rub out a line so I can come forth, and I will grant you a word which will allow you to command power in an instant."
<br /> "Forget it." She glared at him. "You're not coming out here, and I'm not coming in there. Do I look stupid? You stand right there and think fast. Just give me the word."
<br /> All right, he would give her a word. But first he had to know what it was worth to her. "What is the payment you are willing to give for each use of this word?"
<br /> She scowled, pushing her wild dark hair back behind one ear. "What are you talking about?"
So she hadn't read up as thoroughly as all that.
<br /> "I mean there is a cost for each use of the word. The power does not come from the sound of the word alone. It must be paid for by the sacrifice of some mortal component."
<br /> "Component." Her voice wavered a bit.
<br /> He paused for dramatic effect. "Your pet . . . the use of your right arm . . . your singing voice. . . ."
<br /> "Those things are not negotiable. They're too personal." She squinted into the blue light that surrounded him, as if thinking, although he doubted it was remarkably deep thinking. "What about another person?"
<br /> "That could be satisfactory." Asperioth looked at her with new respect. He had to admire her ruthlessness and her brazenness in demanding such things so confidently of a power like himself. And she was almost as free from the burden of compassion as he was. However, she should have had all her dragons in a row before Calling him. "This grows tedious. State your exact offer."
<br /> "I don't know yet. Can I state it at the time I use the word? Another person, still to be named."
<br /> "Named at the time of the casting. All right." He felt he was giving her ample exception.
<br /> But she paused. "Wait a minute--let me think if I want that, or if there's a better way." Stroking her chin as if she were an aspiring member of Z Z Top encouraging her beard, the human appeared ready to muse until Tuesday.
<br /> His own abandoned spell would be ruined, unrecoverable, if she kept him here much longer. He could feel steam rising out of both ears. "Do not anger me, mortal woman. Show the same courtesy you would use to a fellow magician, or better. You forget what I am and what you are."
<br /> "Sorry. Jeez--"
<br /> He clapped his hands over his ears before her invocation of Light could do any damage. "Please! No need for that kind of language. I have your word of power." After waiting one suitably solemn moment, he pronounced a word in the magickal tongue. Guttural and hissing all at once, it would be a challenge to her.
<br /> "Can't you give me an easier one?" She squinted at him as if things were blurring over, which would mean her hold on him was fading. She was running out of energy.
<br /> "The words are the words." He sent a hostile light out of his eyes to convince her. "They cannot be other than what they are."
<br /> "All right, all right. Say it again clearly so I can get it, and you can go."
<br /> He pronounced it once more for her, slowly, to be fair, because she had proven herself brave as well as admirably wicked. “Use it wisely. Remember the price.”
<br /> She smiled and raised her arms. “I release thee, Asperioth, and return thee to thy proper realm.”
<br /> He felt himself slipping back into his own dimension. "Thank you," he heard her calling as he clattered back onto the floor of his own workroom.
<br /> He bared his fangs in what passed for a smile. Her fatal mistake was a beginner's error. She had failed to pronounce the peace. She should have ended not with a stupid thanks, but with something like, "Depart now, and may there ever be peace between me and thee. So mote it be."
<br /> So now he had her. When she Called him next--if there was a next time--he had no obligation to comport himself with peace. "Mortals today," he muttered, picking himself up and dusting off his legs, which were sticky and covered with dried cinders from the floor. "Complete fools. But when has it ever been otherwise?"
<br /> Rhetorical question.
<br /><br /><p>
Chapter One
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On the morning of her thirtieth birthday, Miranda Callahan came awake with the certain knowledge that her best friend was casting a spell on her.
<br /> "The moon enters the house of the dragon, and Hecate works her magick on me." Miranda groaned, raising her head off the sketches for her latest cartoon panel. She'd fallen asleep at her drawing table again.
<br /> Charcoal sketches are unforgiving. The entire page was smudged like yesterday's mascara. In the gentle morning light, the new cartoon seemed particularly uninspired. Her fingers flew to her temples, where they automatically started massaging in circles.
<br /> What could be worse than waking to unfamiliar magick--except, of course, waking up in a cold bed without Alex. Which she'd cleverly avoided by conking out at her desk around three in the morning.
<br /> She had to put a stop to this enchantment, immediately. Being manipulated was never her preference, no matter how well-meaning the manipulator.
<br /> But the spell was already working on her.
<br /> This spell was benevolent, though, she'd swear. She felt optimistic, for a change, and a little buzzed, as if she'd been affected by the margaritas she vaguely remembered drinking in her dreams.
<br /> Her stomach guggled. She hadn't been spelled unexpectedly like this since her mother had semi-retired from the Craft.
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*more to come*
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Well? Which one? I can get back into either of them. I don't know which one to devote my first energies to. You decide!
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Shalannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05503978745207805622noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2836144186791045901.post-52500179904254982052015-12-16T14:52:00.000-08:002015-12-16T15:10:04.499-08:00I was on the talk radio! You can listen to the podcastHere's the link to the Red River Radio show that I was interviewed on for an hour (the other guest had an emergency, so I just kept talking when she didn't show up!)
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<a href="http://www.blogtalkradio.com/rrradio/2015/12/15/red-river-radios-no-limits-with-barbara-m-hodges">http://www.blogtalkradio.com/rrradio/2015/12/15/red-river-radios-no-limits-with-barbara-m-hodges</a>
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Here is a SORT OF transcript of the show, or at least what I meant to say on the show. Some of this I said, and parts of it I didn't, but I thought it might be amusing for you. She didn't ask me all of the ten questions I prepared at the end, oddly enough. . . .
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<center>SHORT BIO</center>
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I've been writing since I could hold a crayon.
<br /><br /><p>Stories (or what passed for them) since I had chicken pox the second week of first grade (ruining my perfect attendance record) and Daddy brought me Robin Hood and Toby Tyler and other books from the library that he'd read as a child, and told me for the first time that books didn't drop from the sky fully formed like the Bible and the CRC Mathematical Tables had, but were written by mortals. However, Mama said that "storying" was "lying" ("storying" was one of her Southern words for lying) and it took her a long time to approve of fiction. Basically, until I was well into my thirties. Meanwhile, she told the child me that my plots and ideas were too juvenile, so I launched into a study of English grammar and usage and of literature that has stood me in good stead. My father, a mathematics professor and rocket scientist, died when I was fifteen, so by the time I was ready for college, my family told me I must major in a scientific field so I would have something to fall back on and MAKE MONEY.
<br /><br /><p>Born here in Dallas and lived in Houston while Daddy worked at NASA and then back to Dallas where he taught at UTD and worked at defense contractors.
<br /><br /><p>I graduated from Southern Methodist University a National Merit Scholar (how else could I have afforded it) with bachelor's degrees in computer science and in mathematics (with a minor in English); you'd have to look under Donolda Denise Gerneth, because that was before I married into the famous Welsh Weeks family. So my teachers from elementary school through high school who had such high expectations of me, this is how I turned out. For many years, I worked as a software engineer in defense and telecom. But I was always "really" a writer. All the while I was scribbling, scribbling.
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I'm one of those two-headed authors--not two-faced--I write under two names, using a pen name for YA fantasy.
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I play the piano and have tutored math. Used to belly dance and as a kid was a baton twirler (but no fire batons ever again, by order of the Fire Department)
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Amateur radio operator call sign N5UTI (UTI! You women are laughing because you're a woman and you know what doctors mean by that, but in Morse code UTI is a palindrome and I have an affinity for palindromes. I prefer University Trained Idiot or, as one fellow ham came up with, Usually Talks Incessantly.)
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Until last week, I was the sole caretaker of my 85-year-old mother, who has been disabled for years but was diagnosed with dementia last January and has spiraled down quickly. She can no longer stand, and has serious confusion and panic . . . they wouldn't let me bring her home from her Thanksgiving Day hospital visit. The doctor insisted on sending her to a nursing facility, and it has been an agonizing adjustment for both of us. I hadn't realized how difficult and all-consuming it has been taking care of her. She required every moment of my time and I could write and clean house only in stolen moments. She wouldn't talk to me when I called to tell the facility staff to listen in here, by the way. She's angry with me for not coming over to pass along my viral bronchitis and sinus infection to all the residents. But oh well.
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My husband and I have been married *bleep* years and live in a northern suburb of Dallas, Texas, with our beloved yappy Pomeranian, Teddy.
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I wrote my first book when I was four. It was a coloring book with captions. Pictures of a bug, our car, our house, and even God. (You couldn't see anything because He was behind a HUGE cloud, so all you saw was the foot of the throne under the cloud and the crown sticking up over the top.) Taped together. Made of that old onionskin typing paper. My mother had this up until a few years ago when her house burned down.
<br /><br /><p>My dad had a home office (which was not standard in 1964 when I did this) and I would go in there to type stories on his blue Royal portable. A favorite name for a hero was "Werty." Look at the keyboard and guess why.
By third grade I was sending my typed poems and short stories to the New Yorker. I'd get them back with sweet little scribbles from their interns who surely knew I was nine, then twelve, and they were very encouraging. I was on an Archy and Mehitabel kick for a while (you should read those books if you get the chance), and then I wrote these depressing Southern gothic flash fiction things. Not what you see in today's New Yorker. Still, that kept me convinced that I could do this.
<br /><br /><p>The first non-juvenilia novel I ever finished was high fantasy, PALADIN SPELLBOUND, about a preteen girl in a totalitarian medieval walled city who was coming into her healing powers by laying on of hands--"Alyncia," a COOL name I made up. DAW wrote to say they loved the first three chapters, but there wasn't an entire novel at that time to send to them. My famous first non-juvenilia trunk novel. It really didn't deserve its fate as a trunkie. But it just grew and grew and I didn't know how to keep every secondary character from jumping in and grabbing the reins and taking us in yet another subplot direction. Oh, well.
<br /><br /><p>Agents--I had an agent for a year, but we parted company over issues of changing MY book into HER book (without editorial decree--these were things SHE thought would make the book sell, such as explicit erotic scenes, gory violence, and what they call "torture porn," which didn't fit my artistic vision. But over the years, many MANY times I came THAT close with various books and various agents. As Agent 86 used to say, "Missed it by THAT much." Some agents were lovely to me and I still keep in touch with them. Still, they never believed that my earlier work was commercial enough. Often I would do revisions for a particular agent, but ultimately I couldn't spend my time doing revisions on spec.
<br /><br /><p>(As Heinlein said, never revise except to editorial letter AFTER the contract.)
<br /><br /><p>I had a health scare that was pretty scary a few years ago, and coincidentally the Kindle and small press publishing were just taking off. Everyone was publishing. So I decided that I'd take my next novel down the new path rather than starting over with agents and waiting up to a year to hear back at all.
<br /><br /><p>That's when I went with Muse Harbor Publishing and Oak Tree Press and Pandora Press. I do not think of Oak Tree Press as a small press, by the way. Pandora is a TINY press with four authors, but OTP comprises fifty or more, and they're prolific. Still, New York publishing sees all of us as indie or small press.
<br /><br /><p>Let me tell you, I was pretty frightened, because I had always been told that it would mean I'd never be taken seriously by New York houses, and that I would be a pariah. That situation has definitely changed. New York is no longer the ONLY place in the world, apologies to the New Yorker.
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First public appearance as an author was in Borders bookstores, signings of DULCINEA, my first published novel and a YA fantasy. I also appeared at several conferences and spoke on panels and at schools.
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Most high-profile was at 2014's Left Coast Crime in Monterey CA where we launched APRIL MAYBE JUNE and I got to meet my brilliant Muse Harbor editor and the lovely publisher of Oak Tree Press, as well as several wonderful fellow authors. I didn't get to do as much as I had planned because I suffered an outbreak of shingles two days before we left on the trip, and it hung around. I mostly stared at the ocean waves hitting the rocks and thought about how Poseidon would love to get me down there in Davy Jones' locker where they keep all the Monkees memorabilia.
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Awards--Golden Rose for APRIL, MAYBE JUNE, first prize and publication for NICE WORK, lots of minor readers' awards--I have found that awards seem to have little influence on sales at my level. Perhaps if I won a Macavity, Hugo, Nebula, Pulitzer. But down here, readers don't take the bait.
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Influences: C. S. Lewis, Roald Dahl, Harlan Ellison, Phil Dick, Shakespeare and Shaw, Jane Yolen. The Bobbsey Twins and Nancy Drew series, which I read starting around age four or five. I can't remember when I couldn't read. My dad sat around reading and writing on his mathematical proofs all the time, so that's what I did, monkey see. An only child back in the sixties didn't have a tablet and smartphone to make up for having no playmates.
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<center>HYPOTHETICAL QUESTIONS</center>
<br /><br /><p>1. I see that you write both fantasy and mysteries (including romantic suspense). What do you enjoy about both genres? What do you find difficult?
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A mystery is at heart like the old morality plays of the Medieval church. It shows that justice will be done, and exposes the trouble that someone can get into when he gives in to temptation or acts rashly in his own self-interest. In a mystery, the reader is shown a crime being solved and the perp caught and (presumably) punished, and thus the imbalance (of the murder) goes away and balance is restored. All's right with the world. At least until the next installment of the series! I want to spend time in a universe where villains can’t hide forever, where right prevails, and where struggle is rewarded as a sense of order is restored. You don't often see that in the real world. With a mystery, I have to do a little planning so as to plant clues and red herrings. It has to be more logical and things must be believable in the context of the story, even if it veers into the paranormal, as MURDER BY THE MARFA LIGHTS does, and as LOVE IS THE BRIDGE explores in more depth.
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Fantasy also has to be consistent within the rules of the game that the author has set up. Fantasy has its own magnetic vibe; as the story opens, it invites us to play the game. Enter into the imagined world. "What if?" A willing suspension of disbelief. A curiosity about what might happen if an untrained teenager got hold of an ancient magical item, and then the magic got hold of her. What might happen if two preteen girls were summoned (magically!) by their outlaw cousin because the cousin says she needs to be rescued, but then the tables are turned on them and they must figure out how to use the villains' own magic against them. In APRIL, MAYBE JUNE, technology comes into play as well when April must figure out how to summon help with no bars on her cell phone. In DULCINEA, a semi-peasant girl, daughter of an apothecary in a rural town, discovers a new kind of magic altogether and gets dragged into sorcery, intrigue, and saving the town when her father gets a new apprentice who is not what he seems. In both books (and in my other fantasy such as my Kindle shorts), the rules are laid out and followed, even if they include being able to turn people into toads or fly on magical dragons. So the fun part is that anything can happen as long as you have the reader's sense of wonder engaged and their willing suspension of disbelief, and you don't break any of the internal rules that you have made apparent in the story. That last bit can be a challenge.
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2. Why do you use a pen name for your fantasy novels and your real name (for whatever value of "real" there may be out there) for your mystery/suspense and mainstream works?
<br /><br /><p>As the man said in "The Graduate"--a great film, holds up well, by the way--"I have one word for you. BRANDING." Author branding. Readers expect to be able to pick up a Shalanna Collins novel and have it take them on flights of fancy. They expect a read accessible to smart/advanced middle grade to YA to adults.
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In the same way, readers expect to see realistic or mainstream mystery/suspense from Denise Weeks. Even if there are paranormal elements, the books will be aimed at adult readers. It's like Nora Roberts writing as J. D. Robb. Works for Joanne Rowling!
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3. Why do you write both young adult and general fiction for grown-ups?
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I can't remember who I'm quoting here, but they say, "Get 'em while they're young and you got 'em for life!" I read all of C. S. Lewis because I loved the Narnia stories so much as a fourth grader. I also enjoy reading a lot of young adult fiction--look at Harry Potter and how it has universal appeal. Twilight, The Hunger Games. My DULCINEA and APRIL, MAYBE JUNE are both called "Young Adult" novels, but adults have repeatedly said they read and enjoy them, just as they read and enjoyed Harry Potter. Both books are the first in a series.
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I get all sorts of ideas from the Muses. The way I start. I get a character first, standing unsure on the threshold, and then his or her situation/dilemma comes into focus. The story question is raised and the character's emotions come through to me. I generally get the entire first chapter and a fuzzy idea about how the book will progress and end right there. You could call that the song of the Muse. It might be a grown-up tale, it might be YA, or it might be a sequel to one of my current works. I don't know until I start writing.
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I think that the more advanced YA novels and series can be enjoyed by adults, the same way the Harry Potter series engaged the world and the way Twilight and the Hunger Games have captured adult imaginations.
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On my website at <a href="http://shalanna.wix.com/aprilmaybejune">http://shalanna.wix.com/aprilmaybejune</a> I have published several study questions intended for a reading group or for classroom discussion of that book. Some readers enjoy that and book groups and schools use them.
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4. When did you first determine to be a writer? (Somewhat a rehash of what I opened with)
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At age six, when I had chicken pox and missed the second week of first grade. My dad had brought home several books for me to keep me occupied, including Howard Pyle's Robin Hood and the original Peter Pan. (I don't remember when I learned to read, but it was around age four, WAY before school; I got into trouble at school because I already knew how to read. But anyway, this was 1965.) He was talking to me about books and I discovered these tomes had not fallen from the sky like the Bible and the CRC Math Tables, but were written by mortal men and women. At that moment I determined I would figure out how to tell my stories, the ones my stuffed animals and dolls and I acted out during the lonely-only-child days before the Internet and cable teevee. It didn't hurt that writers at the time were considered public intellectuals and got lots of respect . . . unlike now. LOL!
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5. Why are you spending your life writing books, when most people today prefer video or videogames and aren't as into text as they once were?
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Books are important. My dad believed that, my teachers believed that. Books should be worthy of your time, and most of them have something to teach you. Stories help us make sense of life through illumination of the eternal human condition and showing us how to cope with situations we see vicariously (or how not to do it, in other books.) Good stories will feed your soul. That's why I am spending my life writing them.
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Art is supposed to motivate us toward higher ground and model "right action" for your life (even if the author or director does this through an antihero, showing her mistakes and their consequences). My work generally asks the questions, "What is right action? How should we live? How can we live morally in a world that has lost its moral compass?" (But not asked straight out!)
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Readers exercise their imaginations. They must enter the vivid, continuous dream in which they create the backdrop, the characters, the atmosphere of the tale. This, I believe, is a more fulfilling and helpful vicarious experience than that of watching a movie or attending a play, although all of those activities beat video games for me. I can't engage with videogames at all--never could.
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6. How many books have you written?
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Not counting the ones I constantly refine and am never quite satisfied with (LOL)? I have several still in revision. I have new books slated for Christmas release on Christmas Day, when people will have their new Kindles and be sick of sitting around the tree with the family, LOL. A new and controversial YA is THE DARKNESS AT THE CENTER by Shalanna Collins, which I hope to have as a Christmas/New Year's release.
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Actually in print are 4 as Denise Weeks (my mundane identity). I have two traditional mystery series. NICE WORK is the first in the Jacquidon Carroll Snoop Sisters series and won the 2011 Oak Tree Press contest. MURDER BY THE MARFA LIGHTS kicks off the Ariadne French mysteries with a somewhat paranormal take on things. If you want something with supernatural or mystic overtones that is actually FUNNY and rollicking and full of character-revealing events, try LITTLE RITUALS, a screwball literary chick lit story of a grown woman's coming of age through exploring ritual and luck. LOVE IS THE BRIDGE is a techie ghost story romantic suspense that investigates the nature of reality and asks whether anyone is truly safe on the Internet (and being so dependent on technology.)
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3 books from Shalanna Collins--as Shalanna, I write YA fantasy/adventure. APRIL, MAYBE JUNE is a Golden Rose Grand Prize Winner about two genius-girl preteen sisters who undertake a journey to rescue their rebel cousin . . . but things are not at all what they seem. It investigates the question of what family is, and what is an appropriate sacrifice to keep family safe. CAMILLE'S TRAVELS is the story of an abused runaway who finds even more trouble on the road in the form of a magician who is pursuing her. She and her companions hide in a Renaissance Faire, on a freight, and at the National Hobo Convention (yes, there really is one.) But they're actually just searching for the safety of a home. DULCINEA is a more traditional fantasy novel like the works of Jane Yolen or Diana Wynne Jones, about an apothecary's daughter who discovers a completely new kind of magic and gets pulled into saving the town. I also have several Kindle Shorts up, one called THE SPLATTERFAIRIES, a fantasy about naughty fairies who cross the Veil to our human world once a year. One is a Christmas memory that's fictionalized--A CHRISTMAS MEMORY (oddly enough), by Denise Weeks. It should go up as a free download around Dec. 24th.
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7. What's your favorite movie?
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A tie between It's a Wonderful Life and To Kill a Mockingbird. If you insist on COLOR movies, how about the original Parent Trap and Trading Places. The original Parent Trap, NOT the remake!
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8. What would you caution young or new writers about most strongly?
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Aside from plagiarism, I think the worst danger is dumbing down your individual voice after you take all the workshops and go to critique groups. I see writers whose work becomes vanilla after they do all the things that everyone suggests. Use your judgment. Some things people say will simply be wrong for you and your work, although if more than one critiquer mentions something, it's probably an issue.
<br /><br /><p>Don't bombard social media with news about your book every day. People will stop following you. I learned that asking for reviews was a good way to be banned from groups!
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9. What do you think makes a good story?
<br /><br /><p>There must be an original spark and the main character must be engaging and intriguing. Otherwise, it's just a rehash of stories that have been told over and over until no one can stand them. A good story is one that YOU would like to read, but can't find on the shelves, so you end up writing it yourself.
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Whether a story is "slow-moving" or "gets right to the shooting," there must be a purpose or else the reader gets to the end and the book hits the wall--you feel you've spent all this time and then there was no closure, no fulfillment. People like to learn something when they read, even fiction.
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10. What is something about you that might surprise people?
<br /><br /><p>I was one of eight finalists in the Scotch Brand Most Gifted Wrapper Contest in 2008, back when the finals were held at Rockefeller Center. We wrapped various odd-shaped objects, including a baby grand piano! I won a prize in the Robert Benchley Society essay contest when Bob Newhart was the judge. He wrote me a congratulatory note, which I framed. I was a National Spelling Bee multi-county semifinalist back in the day and we were on WFAA-TV channel 8. I used to belly dance. I have been a finalist in the Dallas News Christmas Cookie contest.
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MY WEBSITE <a href="http://shalanna.wix.com/aprilmaybejune">http://shalanna.wix.com/aprilmaybejune</a>
<br />
MY BLOGS <a href="http://deniseweeks.blogspot.com/">http://deniseweeks.blogspot.com/</a> (DUH)
<br />
<a href="http://shalannacollins.blogspot.com/">http://shalannacollins.blogspot.com/</a>
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Follow the blog of NICE WORK's main characters, Jacquidon
and Chantal Carroll:<br />
<a href="http://jackiesjotting.blogspot.com/">http://jackiesjotting.blogspot.com/</a>
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MY AMAZON PAGES
<br /><a href="http://www.amazon.com/author/deniseweeks">http://www.amazon.com/author/deniseweeks</a>
<br /><a href="http://www.amazon.com/author/shalannacollins">http://www.amazon.com/author/shalannacollins</a>
<br /><br /><p>MY FACEBOOK PAGES
<br /><a href="http://www.facebook.com/shalanna.collins">http://www.facebook.com/shalanna.collins</a>
<br /><a href="http://www.facebook.com/DeniseWeeksBooks/">http://www.facebook.com/DeniseWeeksBooks/</a>
<br /><a href="http://www.facebook.com/shalannacollinsbooks/">http://www.facebook.com/shalannacollinsbooks/</a>
<br />MY AUTHOR EMAIL shalanna.collins@gmail.com
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Shalannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05503978745207805622noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2836144186791045901.post-71412202964513140912015-10-11T20:34:00.002-07:002015-10-11T20:39:38.339-07:00Pet Peeves and How Mysteries Differ--Cozy versionDon't you hate it when you're watching someone do something you know you're good at, and they keep screwing it up? I mean . . . I wince when I hear the results of lack of practice at most kids' piano recitals (I'm bad! I know!), I roll my eyes when people can't add one-digit numbers when they're on game shows (yes, it's tougher when you are under the spotlight, but still), and I go crazy when writers pull a fast one. It's as if I'm Houdini watching David Copperfield (no, not the Dickens character) saw a chick in half, and it's too easy to see the false floor and the wires and pulleys. You're supposed to rise above doing it the easy way (although I don't always do that myself. Raising the bar for published authors everywhere!)
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I know you have pet peeves as far as your own reading. I do wish the mystery publishing industry would get tired of some of these creaky old overused tropes and start doing other things that we can make into peeves.
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My own pet peeves in mysteries include:
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That depressingly "heartbroken" "dark" hero or heroine. This sleuth or amateur sleuth is taken up with thoughts of the wife/husband or fiance or spouse-and-children who were violently or suddenly taken from them and are in Heaven now. This tragedy may have happened a while ago, but the sleuth has been scarred. Not scarred enough, I might note, to avoid immediately taking up with whoever is the detective assigned to the current case! Lots of pages are filled up with how wonderful the ex was and how wonderful the new one is. This romance is typically started in the first book in the series and thus has to be featured in the next book. Man, that same detective got assigned to the other murder she stumbled across! And he is in love with her, and vice versa! Sometimes that hampers the plot a whole lot.
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I don't have this situation in my books because I find it so ubiquitous in all the other series. [In the NICE WORK series] Jacquidon broke up with college beau Colin almost a year ago. They'd been cohabiting when she discovered him cheating casually. With a man. He had been dismissive of her and was ruining her self-esteem anyway ("You're not really good enough for me," "I wish I could find someone better.") So she bought her own house, knowing her job was secure over at CSD where she had a very encouraging boss. Ha! Anyhow . . . we don't dwell at all on this, and there's exactly one reference to the past romance when she is shown to be attracted to Fred Gordon and her sister urges her on. A past co-worker, David, is also attracted to her, but she has to discourage his interest while still getting the info she needs out of him.
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[In the MARFA LIGHTS series] Ari had pretty much gotten over Aaron's desertion, although she kept thinking she'd surely hear from him soon, when she hears he has crossed the Veil and has left her all his worldly goods (probably because he took so much from her and used her credit cards to buy the stuff he used to travel and relocate with, promising he'd bring her to be with him once he was set up in "the wilderness.") We don't dwell on that romance. She has enough trouble discouraging Gil, the creepy preacher who was Aaron's best friend in the new location, and a few others out in Marfa where she goes to hear the reading of Aaron's will and pick up whatever documents she needs to handle the disposal of the rest of the estate. So we don't get lots of dwelling on that one. Although at the end, her sister keeps wondering whether this has all been a huge scam and Aaron has actually used them as pawns--he was always a player, and it would be just LIKE him to disappear this way if, say, he were in Witness Protection (as a result of having written that code for crypto and getting into trouble with various federal agencies and corporations) and had been relocated. After all, they never saw the "body in the box" because they were busy being pursued by the perp during the service, and it was closed casket in the first place by Aaron's dictum. So who knows whether he might show up in a future story? For now, she has to shake off the tentacles of Gil and isn't dwelling on any of it.
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I hate the way readers seem to LOOOOVE those romance deals with the cop on the case--and I despise it when they complain (loudly) that I could/should have squeezed down Jacks' romantic interludes with Fred and Dave. Just because they're not cops! Everyone else gets away with it, but I get dinged. Dumb-asses. /rant
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No, really. Why can't MY characters have a romantic subplot when you tolerate the romances with detectives that all the rest of 'em have? I also think that the "keep out of the investigation" stuff coming from those cops would make more of an impression on ME, were I the sleuth. And I disbelieve the leaking of info they always do when on the phone with the sleuth!
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Now, really, /rant. No, really.
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I agree with this author, whom I met online (and may meet in person if I win the lottery and get to attend some conferences): "I would so much rather see a fully developed marriage with all its complications, than watch the falling-apart of the bereaved detective. Some authors seem compelled at some point in their series, to put the protagonist through this dark valley. I don't know why."--Siobhan Kelly, author of the new <em>Through A Shot Glass Darkly: A Nebraska Mystery</em>
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I think the authors feel they have to compete with all the other dark, pathetic, twisted, bereaved/deserted protagonists who can NEVER be HAPPY.
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There's something to be said for a cheerful protagonist. Jacquidon Carroll is basically happy and cheerful, despite her situation (being a suspect in the murder of her boss--whom she does mourn!! That's another of my pet peeves, when NO ONE cries or mourns or feels sad when the victim is offed), and her sister Chantal is the "happy moral compass" of the stories. True, Jacquidon does get kind of messed up emotionally while she is targeted as a suspect, and the visits to the BDSM clubs really unnerve her (they're checking out leads, not just having adventures, although these are adventures). She gets emotional when she thinks about the guy she worked for (whom she liked and believed to be a good person who liked her back--up until the last week or so there) having crossed the bar, and she gets upset when one of her ex-co-workers makes it clear that he has a "thing" for her, and she certainly has times of being terrified. But she's basically not a depressive and not always thinking about someone dead or some awful thing in her past. Refreshing!
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Now, I have to be a bit shamefaced in this admission: Ari French (my other sleuth) is kind of a depressive. She is so much more like ME that it isn't funny. She *does* think about her losses (her nephew, her fiance Aaron who abandoned her and then did the Big Abandonment against his will) and her sadnesses (being estranged from her cult-entangled sociopathic parents, being burned out on her former passion for software and software testing, being reduced in circumstances because of Aaron's unwise decisions and things he did to her while he was alive). She does think deeply about some of these matters, and it can get heavily philosophical. She's vulnerable to people who make her endorphins pop for a short time (in other words, she might sleep around accidentally now and then, unlike Jacks and Chantal and even her own sister Zoe, who learned that lesson the hardest way and disapproves entirely of the two-backed beast.*) She is a thinker who weighs her options. If my potential reader is not a deep thinker and is one of the majority of Americans who are impulsive and approve of the "act now, even if it's wrong" and "ask forgiveness later because it's too much of a hassle to ask permission first and risk getting a NO" attitudes, that reader may see Ari as "too thinky" to identify with. However, she's more REAL (IMHO) than many of the perfect-figure perfect-everything heroines, so I think there's an appeal to a vertical audience who will BOND with Ari and will appreciate all that she goes through as she's sleuthing, and even when she's not.
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* (Did you get that reference? Did you Google it? Should the editor have stricken it from my copy with the justification that "nobody will know what you're talking about, even in context"?)
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Ari can be happy, though. We see it when she's with Gil (even as creepy as Gil can be) sometimes, we see it when she's bantering with her sister, we see it in her reflections upon her time with Aaron; we even see it when she's experiencing the Marfa Lights (terrifying though they may be on her second encounter with them). She is witty. She has witty internal asides. Again, this may not be some readers' cuppa. That's fine! Not every book is for every reader. But that doesn't make it a BAD book. It just means this particular style is not for you, and that you should seek out my other series where there's less thinkin' and more doin'.
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AAAAAND back to general pet peeves in mysteries.
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OH WHOA IT'S A CLUE--BUT LOOK, SOMETHING SHINY! REALLY SHINY!! This is when Our Heroine finds a Real Live Clue, but we can't let her immediately grasp what it means and how important it is, because then the book would be over. So for a hundred pages or more, the reader is "carefully distracted" from whatever it was, even though someone else might mention it just to keep that "fair play" ball in play. Suddenly, about three-quarters of the way though, someone says something innocent that reminds the sleuth about this clue. Aha! Aha! AHA! Now we know what that meant!
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Sometimes authors can pull this off. Many do, I'll admit. BUT the worst thing in the WORLD is when the sleuth realizes the importance of that dull paper clip--and DOESN'T SAY SO. The sleuth jumps up from breakfast yelling, "I know! I know how Bogdorp offed Manimal!" And then proceeds to make phone calls that we don't overhear and go running around to set up police officers to be lurking in the background when the perp is confronted. The perp is cornered and either pulls a gun or does a full confession. Shades of "Murder, She Wrote"! Grrr.
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If you are going to do this, TELL US what it is that she/he realizes. Don't be COY. I hate COY!
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Also, why do these accused people give a full confession when cornered? I'd sure be over there with, "I was in Luxembourg at the AccordionFest when this happened. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it." Especially when the only evidence Mrs. Fletcher has on me is that I plugged the wrong electric guitar into the amp. Even ONE fingerprint can be explained away if I often visited that victim's house (why couldn't I have stumbled two weeks ago over the victim's cat and caught myself on that framed needlework on the wall, and that's why my blurred print is on the glass, not because I touched it by accident while beating Aireheadina over the head with a tire iron that you still have not found?) Flimsy stuff like that would fall apart during a court trial!
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Then there's the stunt that is endemic to category romance. "If You Don't Know, I'm Certainly Not Gonna Tell You." So many plots hinge on something that a character doesn't tell another character, even when it would be perfectly natural and usually obvious to tell. If they'd just TALK to each other and ask what that line MEANT, or ask for clarification, there'd be no plot, so we get to suffer through as we flip pages and moan, "Why doesn't somebody just ASK why the sweatshirt was inside-out? Why assume that it means the same as flipping the bird?" And don't talk to me about when a person sees someone with someone attractive and jumps to the conclusion that s/he is cheating, and then it turns out to be a long-lost sister or cousin or mom, or a talent scout from MGM. *gnash* JUST ASK, WHY DONCHA.
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If your detective doesn't ask questions that a five-year-old would think of, readers assume you intend us to think the detective is stupid. We hate that. If he can't bring himself to ask, get a five-year-old. There is very little that a five-year-old will restrain herself from asking. "Mommy, is Tayllorr a lady or a man?"
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AND . . . your heroine must save herself. You cannot have someone else accidentally open the door and rescue her. It's OK if she manages to send smoke signals to the cops, or if she manages to flash the miniblinds in an SOS pattern, or if she gets a cell phone to connect while the bad guys are discussing how to dispose of her body. She must do whatever it is that spurs the rescuers on. Or she has to kick the guy in the groin herself and RUN to the nearest police station. Make her be the HEROINE! Make her be the one who figures it all out, if you can.
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PLEASE don't get me started on Too Stupid To Live. DO NOT have your heroine go to a secluded place or dark alley at midnight to get info from someone ALONE. If someone calls me with immediate sensitive info but I have to meet them in South Oak Cliff at a long-closed haunted house, I hang up. Who needs it? So should your heroine. And then she can suffer from not having the info. But I'll bet the person would pursue her to give her the info or get whatever it is he wants out of her. Ha.
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And . . . So what? Who cares about my pet peeves? Do you have pet peeves? Let's hear 'em so I don't do 'em in the next book!
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Shalannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05503978745207805622noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2836144186791045901.post-62916896193134001302015-03-20T20:18:00.000-07:002015-03-20T20:23:50.187-07:00How reading has changed . . . part II'm old. I'll admit that. I just had a birthday, and I am so tired! (LOL)
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I didn't grow up in the Greatest Generation like my mother, though. I was on the tail end of the Baby Boomers, the hippie sub-section, in the late sixties and the seventies. I feel as if I got the best of all worlds, beause not only was the nation still in a postwar boom, but we had a lot of respect for intellectualism and had a so-called "middlebrow culture" in which people felt it important to at least know many authors of "canon" novels and be aware of classical music (Western art music), acknowledging that these things have stood the test of time and must have merit (even if you personally don't prefer it.)
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Nowadays, everyone has an opinion, and all opinions are equally valued. People post their opinions and views everywhere and consider that their say is just as valid and important as that of an expert in the field. We see a lot of people contradicting what scientists who are working in the field say, and we see people dismissing the advice of those who are studying whatever it is (world events/politics, music, whatever) and saying that their opinions are just as valid as the experts. "The End of Expertise" has been bemoaned (note my appropriate use of the passive voice, heh), and I think it IS a shame. Doctors know more about how to treat patients than the patients do. Professors of a discipline know more (even if you don't like what they say) than novices in the field.
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The ancients were neither stupid nor ignorant. We are where we are because we stand on the shoulders of giants. Much that we know today is based on research and knowledge from the past. I mourn the Library at Alexandria and wonder just how much we've had to rediscover because of its burning. We can learn much from listening to the greats (and even the lesser lights) or the past. We can learn a lot from just watching and listening to those of today, too. We might find out a lot if we don't discount the views of those who seem to oppose us.
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BUT ANYWAY. I've noticed a change in the way that readers read, and it kind of hurts me.
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Once upon a time, the "average" reader appreciated many of the allusions and literary r3eferences in books. Lots of people were conversant with Shakespeare's plays and with the King James Bible (as literature and history, at least), and many were conversant with a large section of the Great Books (by which I mean the Odyssey, Lysistrata, She Stoops to Conquer, the Commedia dell'Arte, The Importance of Being Earnest, etc.) The Western Canon was not despised but was largely revered. My dad and his mentor Angus Pearson knew EVERYTHING. You could ask either of them anything and they could provide an answer that was correct--sometimes as a result of an educated guess. If you ever watched the PBS series "Connections," you understand what I mean when I say that the knowledgebase you have will allow fairly accurate predictions in related questions. I saw my dad and Angus as perfect. When I was a child, I determined to be just like them when I grew up.
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Now I find people complaining about encountering any sort of cultural reference in a novel or story. They say it "is just there to fill pages" and that it irritates them, and often they don't get it at all. People have asked me why I would have any reference in my novels to other novels or to plays, movies, and so forth.
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Great Books founder Mortimer Adler (I think) was the first to use the term <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_Conversation" TARGET=_blank>"The Great Conversation"</a> to refer to the body of work that is the Western Canon in English (and other books that didn't get on the list, as well.) He points out that authors have a Great Conversation going with one another. If you "get" the allusions and references, it deepens your understanding of what the author you're now reading is saying. It adds resonance to the current story and relates it back to what has gone before. Donald E. Westlake used to get away with a LOT of this, as did Lawrence Block. Some now call them self-indulgent for doing it. I disagree.
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If an author writes that a character looks like Cary Grant or Frank Sinatra . . . it's probably ME, so let's reframe that . . . I am using those older icons for a reason. I believe that most people have seen Grant and Sinatra on the screen and will twig to what I mean, that the character's general demeanor or charm makes you think of the actor. If I write that someone sounds like Garrison Keillor, perhaps that is a bit more obscure (he hosts Prairie Home Companion on PBS radio and has for many years--his "Lake Wobegon Days" was a huge best-seller and I still get lots of inspiration from his radio programs.) Still, those who get it will get it, and I think it will deepen their first impression of that character AND of the character who sees him that way. In other words, if Kay perceives Whit as sounding like Keillor, then you know she is the sort to listen to PBS.
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Oh, I don't know. Perhaps it's fruitless to discuss this. Either you like this sort of thing or you don't. I don't use references to ephemeral things that won't be remembered in a couple of years because I know that will date the text badly. I think that most literate people should have some knowledge of the Western canon and of the culture before hip-hop ruled and baggy pants were on everyone's radar. I could, of course, be wrong.
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But if you're thinking those allusions are just thrown in to fill space, or if they're tossed in without a lot of consideration, you're wrong. I always have a reason for referring to "It's a Wonderful Life" or "All About Eve" or whatever. I think other authors do, as well.
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Just clearin' that one up for the Gipper.
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Shalannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05503978745207805622noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2836144186791045901.post-65081662530894008942015-03-09T13:41:00.000-07:002015-03-09T13:42:57.066-07:00Life Lessons Learned From Bad BookWhen I moan about my miserable sales figures, people tell me to "read what is selling and write something like that." I did read several of the bonkbusters (sex plus violence::=simulated plot), but I can't write like that. Yuck! How could I live with myself or those characters for the year that it takes to write, revise, polish, beta-test, and fix a book?
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But I figured out several life lessons from these books, and I want to pass them along.
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I write mysteries (among other genres), but I do not put stuff in there that is grossout or psychotic. I believe the artist has a responsibility to society as far as not giving ideas to those among us who are twisted and who will pick up on these things and go out to actually do them. Ugh. The "from the psycho's POV" chapters especially bother me because they have such explicit psychotic thoughts. The author(s) must be psychopaths or they couldn't think this stuff up. My promise to my readers guarantees that you won't get thoughts such as, "Which body part will I cut out of this victim and keep in a jar?" or anything similar. Ugh!
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ANYway. *ahem* I came up with several LIFE LESSONS people can learn from the idiotic actions of the idiots contained within these tomes.
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LESSON: Have a "safeword" or codeword that you will use to signal to someone who gets your e-mail or phone message or phone call that YOU ARE IN TROUBLE. "Banana" or "puce" or "ankendosh." This is a word you will slip into any email you are forced to write or phonecall you are forced to make. Conversely, you may choose to put a different safe word somewhere in your legit emails so that the recipient knows you are OK or can guess where you are being held. Yes, some criminals will twig to what you are doing, but most evildoers are too dumb to figure it out. It's worth trying. SOME form of this should be in your bag of tricks.
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One protagonist's sister supposedly sends her this email including "don't try to find me." This is so out of character that if it had been legit, it should have had the "banana" codeword in it. Because it does not, you know this is fake. OR . . . during the phone call that someone gets from her child while she is being held hostage (and you're supposed to convince the child you are not being held hostage), if the keyword "banana" is slipped in, the child knows there's trouble. This is something your child should have for herself! If someone shows up to pick her up from school or a party and does not give the codeword, RUN!
<br /><br />
LESSON: If your sister or friend disappears and you go into her home, CHANGE THOSE LOCKS IMMEDIATELY. Duh!! Also, install a spycam to see who comes and goes. In this book, Amy hears someone who has a key actually opening the front door of Becky's apartment while Amy is in there. She didn't change the locks! She didn't do a spycam! Dumb! TSTL! If neighbors have had keys, take them away and change those locks. Take any laptop computers with you the first time you visit the place. Also any pets. This is just common sense!
<br /><br />
LESSON: Never have a locking room or closet that locks from the outside with a hasp and doesn't unlock from inside. This guarantees (in these novels) that you will be locked in there, either to die or to suffer. If you see someone has installed a padlock and hasp, RUN. Have your cell phone charged and ON YOU at all times, like in a pocket. When I broke my kneecap and had surgery, my mom tied my cell phone around my neck on a long shoelace. This isn't completely wack, because then I could walk on the crutches and still have the phone if I didn't have pockets. Anyway--you don't need a room that locks you in from the outside. Which is worse--having someone steal some rusty garden tools out of your backyard shed, or getting locked into it?
<br /><br />
LESSON: Have a hidey-hole in which you keep cash and a weapon (knife or even a Glock). This should be a fake electrical outlet or a fake cable TV outlet in the wall of your bedroom by the headboard OR in your bathroom. That way you can get to these things when the bad guy lets you go to the bathroom. It is insane NOT to have something hidden too well for the people to find. In a previous book by the same author(s), the search described of the property would not have turned up the hidey-hole and she could have gotten away. But then there would have been no book. Keep a screwdriver to remove door hinges. Whatever you might need. Or have a hidden panel like Lawrence Block's Bernie Rhodenbarr, in the back of the closet that you will hide in when the perp comes to get you.
<br /><br />
And obeying the order to "not call the cops" and instead going solo to meet a stranger in a strange place . . . TSTL.
<br /><br />
Slutty behavior is not a plus for me, so I don't respect the women who do this stuff at all. In MARFA LIGHTS, yes, Ari is weak and she takes comfort one time when she definitely should not have. But she did know the guy and he had been "vetted" by Gil and by society in general, so it wasn't as risky as it could have been. The incident was meant to show that she was so shaken up that she needed some sort of comfort, and that was what was available. Also, it was the opening move in the endgame because it allowed the dude to steal something of hers. Slutty behavior is when the women try to hook up all the time with whoever and don't seem to have any sort of standards. (IMHO, in a book!)
<br /><br />
So . . . if you read a book like this, learn those life lessons it offers. Do as I SAY, not as THEY DO! Keep yourself safer out there.
<br />
Shalannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05503978745207805622noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2836144186791045901.post-69870506686570035922015-01-13T07:07:00.000-08:002015-01-13T07:07:11.421-08:00GOODREADS GIVEAWAY!<div id="goodreadsGiveawayWidget122541"><!-- Show static html as a placeholder in case js is not enabled -->
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<a href="http://www.goodreads.com" target="_new">Goodreads</a> Book Giveaway
</h2>
<div style="float: left;">
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/22129347"><img alt="April, Maybe June by Shalanna Collins" src="https://d.gr-assets.com/books/1400839762l/22129347.jpg" title="April, Maybe June by Shalanna Collins" width="100" /></a>
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/22129347">April, Maybe June</a>
</h3>
<h4 style="margin: 0 0 10px; padding: 0; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">
by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1176586.Shalanna_Collins" style="text-decoration: none;">Shalanna Collins</a>
</h4>
<div class="giveaway_details">
<p>
Giveaway ends January 18, 2015.
</p>
<p>
See the <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/show/122541" style="text-decoration: none;">giveaway details</a>
at Goodreads.
</p>
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/enter_choose_address/122541" class="goodreadsGiveawayWidgetEnterLink">Enter to win</a>
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</div><script src="https://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/widget/122541" type="text/javascript" charset="utf-8"></script>Shalannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05503978745207805622noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2836144186791045901.post-32680557013308248382015-01-03T22:00:00.001-08:002015-01-03T22:00:36.113-08:00Orts: Find New Books and Vote on Covers"Orts" are little snippets of information, such as links to contests or helpful Heloise-like hints. (Anyone remember Heloise?! My mom had ALL her books in mass market paperback. They eventually crumbled to paper dust, though.)
<br /><br />
First, the Ultimate Reading Quest is on, sponsored by a homeschooling/teachers site!
<br /><br />
Do you search for something new to read fairly often? So do I. I read books as part of judging contests, but that's not enough new material. So I think you should take the quiz/quest and get some suggestions for new reads.
<br /><br />
(Please excuse the tone of the paragraphs that follow and the ugly yellow button. It's what the people who run the Reading Quest site sent us to use. Bah! But I didn't want to edit it TOO heavily.)
<br /><br />
<caption id="attachment_1081" align="aligncenter" width="500">
<a href="http://questteaching.com/wordpress/ultimate-reading-quest/" target="_blank"><img class="wp-image-1081 size-full" src="http://questteaching.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2014/10/jointhereadingquestsmall.png" alt="jointhereadingquestsmall" width="500" height="93" /></a>
<br /><br />CLICK THE UGLY BUTTON ABOVE TO START SEARCHING FOR BOOKS </caption>
<br /><br />
<iframe src="//www.youtube.com/embed/7MqwgByd7Us" width="560" height="315" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen"></iframe>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ff9900;">WATCH THE VIDEO TO LEARN MORE ABOUT THE READING QUEST</span></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Happy New Year from all the authors in the <strong>Ultimate Reading Quest</strong>! This year we want you to enjoy your reading more than ever. So in 2015, the Ultimate Reading Quest has more, more, more. More authors and more books means more mystery, more danger, more intrigue, and more edge-of-your-seat adventure. We want you to fill that Kindle, tablet, or E-reader you got for Christmas.
<br />Who doesn't love searching for treasure? The ULTIMATE READING QUEST is about finding books that are perfectly suited to your reading taste. AND to thank you for participating, the authors have decided to give away oodles of prizes for free. Enter your name to win Amazon cards and free books from authors. Treasured books are waiting to be discovered!</p><br />
Don't forget to enter the raffle on the first page of the Quest. And please leave comments or questions for the authors of the Quest. We would love to hear from you.<br /><br />
Click on the big ugly gold button above or below to get started on your <span style="font-size: 12pt;"><strong>QUEST </strong>for the next<strong> ULTIMATE READ.</strong></span>
<br /><br />
<caption id="attachment_1081" align="aligncenter" width="500"><a href="http://questteaching.com/wordpress/ultimate-reading-quest/" target="_blank"><img class="wp-image-1081 size-full" src="http://questteaching.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2014/10/jointhereadingquestsmall.png" alt="jointhereadingquestsmall" width="500" height="93" /></a><br /> CLICK ON THE BUTTON ABOVE (DUH)</caption>
<br /><br />
Next, you can vote for my book covers in a contest that will win my books some promo! No money at stake, just promotion, which I need almost worse than money. You get to vote for ten covers--and three of mine are in the running, believe it or not. (Believe it!)
<br /><br />
See all the covers <a href="https://www.facebook.com/capybarapromotions/photos/a.1003408209675085.1073741828.989858667696706/1003408236341749/?type=1&theater" TARGET=_blank><strong>here</strong></a>.
<br /><br />
Then go to the poll (it's just one page--you mark the ten covers you liked best. APRIL, MAYBE JUNE is in the top third, then NICE WORK, then LITTLE RITUALS at the very end! Pick seven others and submit poll. Grin!)
<br /><br />
<a href="http://freeonlinesurveys.com/app/showpoll.asp?qid=595530&sid=26my4ogsxk35c5a595530&new=True" TARGET=_blank><strong>POLL</strong></a><br /><br />
You can only vote once in the poll . . . so be sure you do it right. (LOL)
<br /><br />
APRIL, MAYBE JUNE page:<br />
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<div class="fb-post" data-href="https://www.facebook.com/capybarapromotions/posts/1004215406261032:20" data-width="466"><div class="fb-xfbml-parse-ignore"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/capybarapromotions/posts/1004215406261032:20">Post</a> by <a href="https://www.facebook.com/capybarapromotions">Capybara Promotions</a>.</div></div>
<br /><br />
NICE WORK page:<br />
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<div class="fb-post" data-href="https://www.facebook.com/capybarapromotions/posts/1004215406261032:21" data-width="466"><div class="fb-xfbml-parse-ignore"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/capybarapromotions/posts/1004215406261032:21">Post</a> by <a href="https://www.facebook.com/capybarapromotions">Capybara Promotions</a>.</div></div>
<br /><br />
LITTLE RITUALS page:<br />
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<div class="fb-post" data-href="https://www.facebook.com/capybarapromotions/posts/1004215406261032:2" data-width="466"><div class="fb-xfbml-parse-ignore"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/capybarapromotions/posts/1004215406261032:2">Post</a> by <a href="https://www.facebook.com/capybarapromotions">Capybara Promotions</a>.</div></div>
<br /><br />
Isn't it cool how you can include a Facebook post in your very blog post itself? I copied the HTML ("embed post"), so don't be too impressed. Most of my HTML is hand-coded and is very basic.
<br /><br />
Anyhow . . . what are your New Year's resolutions?<br /><br />
Mine include getting my mother's health and situation straightened out so that taking care of her doesn't take up all of my time and more, and getting my books out there so they are noticed by readers. I know that if I can only reach the proper audience, they could take off like a goose who got goosed by a gander.
<br /><br />
Happy New Year! May this year be WAY better than the crappy one we just tossed!
<br />
Shalannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05503978745207805622noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2836144186791045901.post-47325856065905612012014-12-03T19:24:00.001-08:002014-12-03T19:26:50.340-08:00Deconstruction of a story OR Why I Do It This WayI'd like to try an experiment. Let's deconstruct the Christmas story I just put out as a free Kindle Short (it is now back in the store at under $1.00 because Amazon only gives you five days for "free" promos, and I need to have this go free on Christmas Day as well). I would like to point out why I did the things I did in the story.
<br /><br />
Critique groups will always carp on something or another. When a powerhouse agent was considering taking on MURDER BY THE MARFA LIGHTS, she sent me a list of issues. One of the issues was that Ariadne owned a carved wooden box that Aaron had given her back at the height of their love (or whatever it was). The box had a unicorn motif. When *I* see a unicorn motif, it evokes the Unicorn Tapestries at the Cloisters museum, from Renaissance times. It evokes a sense of mystery and mysticism. I think of the boyfriend I had who said I reminded him of the Jimi Hendrix song "Little Wing" and how I had come unto him as he sat quietly, as a unicorn approaches a virgin. This tidbit is in Ari's history as well.
<br /><br />
Guess what? The agent wrote, "Unicorns are things for young girls. Why would she want a box with that on it?"
<br /><br />
Well . . . I didn't want to enumerate all that stuff in the narrative. I had already hinted at the unicorn being a symbol of innocence and of the Virgin Mary (which is what it represented in medieval times!), and I had let readers know the box was sentimental to Ari. I thought that was a silly thing to carp about, and I didn't change that in the final text.
<br /><br />
She didn't take me on for representation, either.
<br /><br />
But now writers are freed from the tyranny of agents/big publishing. We now live by the tyranny of being unable to get the word out about our work instead. (LOL)
<br /><br />
However, I think it might be instructive to take a look at the reasons I did what I did in this story. You may bring up questions and problems in the comments. That would be fun.
<br /><br />
A CHRISTMAS MEMORY: MY GREATEST GIFT
<br />A fictionalized memoir of an imagined Christmas miracle
<br />
by Denise Weeks
<br /><br />
I'll never forget the year I almost missed Christmas.<br /><br />
(This is the hook, presumably. I am not satisfied with it, because it telegraphs what happens, in a way, but readers say that without this, many people won't engage with the story. So it stands, for the moment.)<br /><br />
On the afternoon before Christmas Eve, our final bell rang, dismissing school for the next entire week and a half for Christmas break.<br /><br />
(Setting the date and time. Also, we are taken into the past because we're now reading about that year mentioned in line one.)<br /><br />
Mrs. Mischen turned from the whiteboard and smiled down at our sixth grade classroom. "Y'all have a great holiday. And come back ready to work!" She dusted her hands as every desk instantly got vacated. She called after me, "Madeleine Pierce, remember you owe me a book report on the book I lent you!"<br /><br />
(This gives you the age of the protagonist. She's in sixth grade. We don't need to quibble about exact age. Also, we see that Madeleine is the teacher's pet, and perhaps you'll think that is disgusting. You know that she goes by her full name.)<br /><br />
I waved in reply. Of course I would be reading it at my first opportunity so I could write one of my typically prolix (SAT study word) analyses. This teacher always wrote comments back that made sense, which is why I always enjoyed doing extra-credit work.<br /><br />
(Readers should now suspect her aspiration to be a scholar and get a scholarship. She does extra-credit work and already has a list of SAT study words. But she has a supportive teacher. Wonk!)<br /><br />
Despite being slightly delayed by this exchange, I was one of the first out of the school. As I skipped down the concrete steps, tiny snowflakes dusted my head and arms. I smiled. The cold didn't bother me . . . nothing could bother me. It was finally Christmas!<br /><br />
(Yes, she does have some enthusiasm for the holiday. . . .)<br /><br />
"Christmas won't be Christmas if I don't get everything I want." Michelle Stevens' voice pierced the cloud of falling flakes directly behind me. "It'll really suck. I asked for a tablet and a new smartphone and a cashmere twin set and some other stuff, and I'd better get it all." She huffed, but I didn't think it was from the cold. "I cannot abide my brother and I can barely be civil to my parents. I hate to think of being cooped up in that house with them for nearly two weeks."<br /><br />
(We see the attitude that some people have.)<br /><br />
"I know, right? I can't stand my family." Lindsay McIrate commiserated in a vicious tone. "If there weren't presents, and good ones, I would never be able to stay in that house at all."<br /><br />
I resisted an eyeroll because someone would be sure to see it and report back, and then they'd start with me, just when I was almost free. I was polite and civil to everyone, don't get me wrong, but I couldn't understand these ungrateful rich girls who didn't socialize with anyone below A Certain Station or people who didn't have designer clothes. Maybe our family doesn't have that much--even less now that Dad had remarried and was "forgetting" to send his child support check most of the time--but I'd rather be on food stamps and Medicaid than have such a lack of appreciation for what we had, the way they did. It was almost comical the way those two complained about their fancy this and their designer that and how they just couldn't wear something from Sears or whatever. Give me a break.<br /><br />
(You will notice that Madeleine is not walking out with a friend. The situation is that her best friend moved away a month ago and she hasn't made any other special friends, but I couldn't shoehorn that in--I already have backstory and telling here. Readers who are sharp will surmise that she's kind of a loner, though.)<br /><br />
But I had to concede they had a point about being stuck at home. If only I were older and could drive. My sisters and I got along fairly well as long as they stayed out of my stuff, but could I take them in close proximity (another SAT word) for the entire break? My mother was beginning to be difficult because she had no idea that she needed to relax her helicopter status, since logically you couldn't still put the same restrictions on me as you did the younger ones. She couldn't let go and realize I was becoming a teenager, so sometimes it was a little touchy with her.<br /><br />
(She has issues and right now doesn't entirely appreciate her family. This is to show how she changes by story's end.)<br /><br />
As soon as I was out of sight of the crowd (especially those two), I skipped along, catching cold little snowflakes on my tongue. The snow wasn't sticking, so there was no problem walking in it, although my eyes began stinging a little from the cold.<br /><br />
At the bottom of the hill was our house, a humble abode completely unlike the one Dad now shared with Miss Hotpants, but it was all ours and had no residue from the screaming and fighting Mom and Dad used to do all the time. Actually, we all got along pretty well as long as my little sisters stayed out of everyone else's things. I would just deal with it.<br /><br />
(More foreshadowing.)<br /><br />
Shucking off my heavy coat (it was a size too small already, but I managed with scarves to fill the gap) and the mittens that I'd crocheted from recycled yarn (I unraveled Lissa's old sweater that had so many holes), I heard Lainie's boom box blasting Frank Sinatra Christmas carols. She'd always had a thing for the Rat Pack and swing music, which she could indulge at Christmastime with very little teasing.<br /><br />
(The family is struggling and her coat is already too small, in case readers missed the hints from before.)<br /><br />
"Madeleine?" Mama called me into the kitchen. She had her cat-ate-canary face on.<br /><br />
My sisters were watching me from around the big room where they were wrapping last-minute presents and putting the final touches on the tree. That was unusual in itself--all of them cooperating. I'd seldom felt such a sense of expectancy hanging in the air.<br /><br />
Lainie, although the second oldest, after me, could never keep a secret. "You'll never guess . . . but we're going to have a little money this year."<br /><br />
"Elaine," Mama said in her warning voice. "This is Mother's news."<br /><br />
Lissa (Melissa), only six, couldn't contain herself. "The lady in the big house on top of the hill wants a 'girl' to help serve and clean up on Christmas Eve and Christmas morning for her huge gathering." I didn't even know she knew the word "gathering."<br /><br />
"Mrs. Franzblau?" I couldn't keep the surprise out of my voice.<br /><br />
"We do speak, you know." Mama smiled. They knew one another from women's church auxiliary and from Eastern Star, which for some reason Mama is still in although Daddy was the Mason. "And guess who she mentioned, by name?"
"Me?" I wasn't sure if my heart was pounding from excitement or trepidation.<br /><br />
"Yes! I know you've been saying you want more independence and freedom, and this tells you I've been listening." She winked. "You'll go over there around noon on Christmas Eve and help in the kitchen and hand out food and take coats and such. Then in the morning you'll fix the big breakfast and help with whatever until they're done. They've promised you'll get a present." Mama was obviously expecting me to get something GOOD. "Of course, you'll get paid." She named a handsome figure. "We really need it this year."<br /><br />
(Yes, quite a surprise. We now see that Mama knows that Madeleine is chafing at the bit somewhat and thinks she needs more independence. She thinks Madeleine is ready for this sort of thing. Or does she? Maybe she is hoping this will be a lesson of sorts. . . .)
<br /><br />
So there are reasons an author does what she does. They may not be good reasons, but by Jiminy she has them. . . .
<br /><br />
Shalannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05503978745207805622noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2836144186791045901.post-34156295964904807482014-11-30T11:03:00.000-08:002014-11-30T11:03:19.348-08:00ACTUAL WRITING INFO AND ADVICE FOR A CHANGEACTUAL WRITING INFO AND ADVICE FOR A CHANGE! NO LINKS TO MY WORK AND VERY LITTLE WHINING!
<br /><br />
I'm currently helping someone design a workshop, and I just read, once again, the silly “Show, Don’t Tell.” This advice has now exceeded the limits of my medication. This confuses so many writers because ALL storytelling is TELLING, isn't it? "Show" means DRAMATIZE, meaning "make a scene out of it with background, action, conflict, talking," and "Tell" means "narrate or summarize/encapsulate, OR briefly do what Dwight Swain (XOX) calls "sequel" with the character musing about what happened and what may need to be done next." OK?
<br /><br />
DRAMATIZE, don't NARRATE, all of the SPINE scenes and the interesting action. Cool stuff mustn't happen offscreen. Put it in center focus. This is not a play, where you can't portray some locations, nor is it a film, where the producer won't pay for you to travel to Outer Gorotoland to film the scene on the waterfall. This is text! Write anything you can make me believe!
<br /><br />
And dramatize what the characters are like instead of telling me about it--he's a cheapskate, so make him pick up a penny left on the counter by someone who wanted to help a person who's short a penny. (A shopkeeper at a bakery did this in FRONT of ME the other day--she looked down at her countertop as I was checking out and said, "Oh, look, a penny, so I'll take it," and snatched it up--so I will never go THERE again!) She's nice, so even though she has just been drenched by the neighbor's sprinklers as she cut across the lawn because she's already late, let her save the cat out of the tree for the children. Don't JUST tell me she's nice. You can foreshadow by having someone say, "That nice Jane?" But then you can twist it by later showing Jane being meeean and the lady either lying, kidding, or easily fooled/mistaken.
<br /><br />
Also, SKIP the boring parts--don't tell me that "she got into the car, started it, turned the wheel, left the parking lot, drove down the street to the bar, parked in a terrible spot, walked onto the sidewalk, got into the bar, visored her hand to look around the disco, etc." I see this in endless published novels put out by the major NYC houses, and I wonder what was wrong with the editor. Just do a scene break from when Joe slaps down the ten-dollar bill and says, "Go find her," and "Leslie visored her hand against the flashing lights of the disco." Three octothorp(e)s, centered, indicate a scene break in manuscripts.
<br /><br />
Oh, and when you ARE telling, use that strong and artful voice of yours. Make it fun to read, and readers will lap it up. Never let a critgroup, partner, or editor dumb down or dilute your voice and make you sound like everyone else.
<br /><br />
That is all.
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Shalannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05503978745207805622noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2836144186791045901.post-46393873140079659582014-09-25T07:53:00.000-07:002014-09-25T07:53:01.376-07:00Banned Books Week! Read something they don't want you to.Please, people, get one of my books banned so people will read it under the covers, in the closet, or right out in the open as an act of defiance!</ br></ br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNpY9H4MskLe1eq1GwdNRSGyOfxCSnJoZ1Fy8YzWqNJ4LjEZXB0peXmBxUIoPfzb50drBr22KEn1sOxgK2f6AJ9Cr4zUX2pXKQgk98aAlF1DYZmTD2LD7jS9Uti40DbqiN2AePac_k4wzD/s1600/Banned+Books+Week.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNpY9H4MskLe1eq1GwdNRSGyOfxCSnJoZ1Fy8YzWqNJ4LjEZXB0peXmBxUIoPfzb50drBr22KEn1sOxgK2f6AJ9Cr4zUX2pXKQgk98aAlF1DYZmTD2LD7jS9Uti40DbqiN2AePac_k4wzD/s320/Banned+Books+Week.jpg" /></a></div>
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Shalannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05503978745207805622noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2836144186791045901.post-25998534633446250502014-07-28T16:01:00.001-07:002014-07-28T16:07:07.845-07:00REMINDER: Book Event August 9 11-1 at Lucky Dog Books/Lochwood! And musings, o'courseREMINDER to all DFW denizens! The Jenny Milchman World Book Tour stops in Dallas on August 9th from 11 AM to 1 PM at Lucky Dog Books, Lochwood location, in Dallas, Texas. There will be discussion and door prizes as well as refreshments. Be there or be L7. (Are you old enough to remember "L7," let alone "be square"?!) Not only will we have Jenny's new book, but we'll have Kevin Tipple and his short stories and ME . . . with both my Denise Weeks mysteries/mainstream novels and my Shalanna Collins YA fantasy/adventure books. You'll get to meet people and have fun. Come on and show up!
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<center>"It took me fifteen years to discover that I had no talent for writing, but I couldn't give it up because by that time I was too famous." ~ Robert Benchley</center>
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Here's some food for thought in case you are thinking. I don't recommend thinking, at least not in this heat, but maybe when the storms arrive, you can have a brainstorm. We can discuss this sort of thing at the book event.
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What does a fiction writer do?
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* provide a vivid, continuous dream about a vicarious experience<br />
* present characters and/or situations readers can empathize with, giving them a broader base of "experience" than their own single life can provide<br />
* allow readers to project onto their inner viewscreen a movie that they co-create with the author as dreamer, meaning that readers of books will have different experiences of the books more often than viewers of video will<br />
* tell lies<br />
* tell lies that people willingly suspend their disbelief for in order to learn or gain some insight from the story
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Orson Scott Card writes in <em>Characters and Viewpoint</em> that the highest purpose of fiction is to teach readers something profound about people (paraphrase). Storytelling is archetypal, and it is a universal human occupation/obsession to hear and rehear or tell and retell stories.
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Michelangelo said, "I know the creator will go, but his work survives. That is why to escape death, I attempt to bind my soul to my work."
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Why *I* write? To entertain and inform, naturally. Because I hear the Muses singing, and I'm fascinated by what they send me to create with. But also for a selfish reason. So that someday after I've crossed the veil into the next world, perhaps someone will find and read one of my books, essays, or stories, and I will live again. I will be remembered unto another generation. My work is a tour of my mind. It's a way of doing a <em>neener-neener</em> to death, which eventually makes each of us disappear into the next world and be forgotten by this one . . . except for artists and writers. Look at those ancient Greeks who are still applauded and loved by many today who read their plays and other works.
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<center>"i don't want to disappear"
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"I don't want to live forever through my work. I want to live forever by not dying."--Woody Allen</center>
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Discuss.
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Shalannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05503978745207805622noreply@blogger.com0