Monday, March 26, 2012

Lucky Seven Meme Award

The internet is such a wonderful way of connecting to people from all over the world. I've been lucky to have met some very talented ladies who fast become my friends. And I've even been awarded a few cool badges to put up. So without further ado....

Dawn Brown and Christine Warner both tagged me with the Lucky 7 Meme award!


The Lucky Seven game goes like this:

1. Flip to page 77 in your current manuscript.

2. Scroll down to line 7.

3. Copy and share the next 7 lines of that story.

4. Tag 7 friends.


So here's what's going on in my romantic suspense manuscript "Letters from Inside" on page 77.


“How about we call a truce? I’ll be nice to you, and you’ll...uh, talk nice me, deal?”
“Deal." She clasped his hand then realized her mistake; the warm calloused palm sending shivers up her arm. "You’re right about one thing," welcoming the diversion. "Normally I don’t step foot in the diner without punching in. I came over to talk with Joe about switching shifts. I want to be home in the evenings with Jessie.”
Tom nodded. “I think that’s a good idea. Especially now.”
Linda raised her brow. “Now? Is there something going on that I don’t know about?”


And since I was tagged twice, here's my second snip from "Man of her Dreams" page 77, line 7.

The taste of her mouth filled his memory, the breathless rise and fall of her chest dusted with shimmery gold powder clouded his judgement. Jay tried to forget how good her arms felt around his neck, her breasts pressed against him. Plump, perky nipples that poked into his chest. Lucky for him at least one brain cell fired, preventing an even bigger mistake than just kissing her.


Whew! That was fun. Okay. Here's the place where I'm supposed to tag seven others but I think anyone who wants to play should feel free and take a turn. Join in and post your seven!

I also recieved the simply sweet award presented from Margo Hoornstra.

Now that I have these wonderful blog awards to post on my walls, I'd better get busy. What can I say? Isn't that...sweet?



Thanks gals!

Wednesday, March 21, 2012

Writing when there's no time

Have you ever felt like you had so much to do and not enough time to get it all done? That’s a feeling I come up against more often than not. And although I get up at the crack of dawn, seriously, my rooster, AJ, isn’t even up yet, some days I barely stand still long enough to watch the tail lights of Jim's truck disappear down the driveway.




Usually the early morning hours are my favorite time to write. Armed with hot coffee and swaddled in my comfy old robe, I find it easy to slip into my characters without the distractions that seep in with the sunlight.

Yesterday I'd spent time reexamining the situation I’d left my characters in and discovered new ways to torture them and looked forward to writing that scene.
But with everything I've got to do today it looks as if my writing will have to wait….

Hold on a minute! My characters won’t have to dangle precariously over the cliff or stay locked for days in some steamy embrace waiting breathelessly for me to write the perfect intrusion. Because even though I have a million things to do today, I can still work on my wip (work in progress).
It doesn’t matter if I’m driving across town or home scouring the bath tub- because although there’s nothing I’d rather be doing than writing- I learned early on ‘you can’t always get what you want.’ There is the next best thing.

I can continue to write even while completing all the mundane stuff that fill up my To-Do list. Okay, I may not be able to actually sit down at my favorite writing spot right this minute, but nothing can stop my mind from thinking about the story. Do you smell the smoke? Or maybe hear the gears grinding? That's the wheels spinning in my head while plotting out more sticky bumps in the road.

I'm busy darting to and fro like a nesting bird when my cell phone rang. It was my granddaughter who asked so sweetly if I could give her friend a ride home because she'd stayed after school to work on a project and had missed the bus. How could I say no? But, let me describe how rural we live. Cable and internet won’t be in our area for Years, so a kid riding a school bus around here has an awful long ride. Like hours. Seriously. And of course this lovely child lived at the end of the road. Yep. Some ten miles of hilly and but very scenic route in good old small town USA.

Cruising along with the window down my thoughts drift...I hadn’t been over this way in years.



Why didn’t I remember how lovely it was? And really, how can one rush when you’ve got two very bubbly girls in the back seat? I'm approaching a crossroad when suddenly golden rays dropped from the sky like a halo and rest upon a forgotten landmark. The perfect general store for my novel. Tucked neatly alongside that narrow backroad that twists through grape vineyard country.




The store is exactly as I pictured Harvey's Gas & Go would be. The front porch has gray weathered plank boards. Thick rusty sign and uneven slats of crooked steps that lead up to wide double-doors with dusty glass windows. (contentment) You bet. I swear I can smell licorice from a smudged candy counter.


Writing. Here or there...or anywhere. Just do it. : )

Tuesday, March 13, 2012

Baggage—not the kind we take on vacation; but then again, maybe we do. And everywhere else, too.

Land ho—mates! Clear days ahead! One can hope, right?
I’m not complaining. It’s just that this weekend I lost an hour of my life and with another season quickly approaching, I paused to wonder why the draggy steps when usually I adore spring.
But there’s a nagging feeling something’s off. So…being a writer, I decided to use this blah mood to my advantage and make an article out of it.

I’ll call it Baggage. Every well developed character should have some. Maybe not traumatic enough to require white coats and meds, but characters need issues to make them believable. Behind every curtain and locked door are the events that shaped their lives. Don't hesitate to look under your character’s skin for the scars, bruises and ribbons. Because the things that make us cry, also make us care.

Let’s visit the places our characters have been. For a few moments we'll ‘walk a mile in their shoes.’

A great place to look for baggage is in biography books. I’ve discovered fascinating facts regarding some of my most beloved characters this way.


Did you know although the search for Scarlett O'Hara included many hopeful actresses, David Selznick still hadn't found her when the burning of Atlanta scene took place. He gave the signal and the set began to blaze. One guest arrived on the arm of Laurence Olivier, a vibrant, attractive Vivien Leigh. Selznick watched as the dying flames lit up the pale green eyes Margaret Mitchell had described so vividly in her novel and knew without a doubt he had found his Scarlett.



But go a little farther and uncover the juicer material. This is a great way to find traits to sprinkle on the characters in your own story. (I say sprinkle because you take a snip here and a tag there.



Suppose you need a really demented individual for a story and in searching the archives hit upon someone like Ed Gein. His outward appearance seemed as normal as any other man living in rural Wisconsin and farming in the 1950’s.





His mother, Augusta, described as a demanding and overbearing woman who, after her alcoholic husband died, suffered a stroke one year later. Confined to her bed, her shrill voice unknowingly created a monster as she repeated the phrase to her son that he could never survive without her. So often, in fact, that Ed prayed his mother would never die. And when she did...well. Gein’s arrest made headline news and snagged the attention of Alfred Hitchcock, who recognized the value of such outlandish evil and used this trait to create Norman Bates in Psycho.

Or maybe you need a different type of character. Someone gentle, tender but pretends otherwise. My favorite kind. Like Mickey Rourke who played a detective in Angel Heart.





And many other great movies. After watching him in "The Wrestler" I was compelled to dig around a little bit and learn more. This passage I found in the biography titled "Mickey Rourke- wrestling with demons" written by Sandra Monetti.
The book reveals Mickey’s parents divorced when he was boy and he would be a grown man before he saw his father again, leaving Rourke only a worn photograph of his father flexing his muscle. The two are reunited and despite the years, Mickey used every opportunity to apply the word Dad.

'“Dad, would you pass the salt?” and “Dad, shall we get another drink?” so his father would know he still thought of him “Dad.” In another emotional moment, he touched his dad’s upper arm just like he used to do when he was a kid- but this time there was no muscle there, the skin was just soft. Mickey felt his stomach lurch. He couldn’t believe this was the same powerfully built man whose picture he had been carrying around for the last seventeen years.'



Can you feel the sadness and disappointment? The baggage left over from empty promises, missed birthdays and lonely weekends without a father’s love and approval. It adds a whole other dimension to the person I didn’t know before. * Notice I dropped the word character and added the word person. Because now he’s become more than a character, but a real person. And of course, although he is, (real, rather than fictitious) when we build our story characters, the moment they start to feel and act like real people is the greatest feeling. When it happens, you know you’re on.


Let's mix this up a bit. Snip and add. Our character is a young girl whose family has split but her father comes every Saturday for the first two years. He gives her a watch so she can count the time until his next visit. Abruptly weekends pass and he doesn't show. No word or explanation. Just gone. Now lets up the ante. Secretly, the mom is jealous of all the attention lavished on the child and sells the watch, claiming they need the money for bills. Taking from the child the last remaining tie.
This is what transpires....

The man I always longed for
was difficult to find.
I searched for him high and low, and found him drunk on wine.
He looked at me through blurry eyes and tearfully he said, "I hate for you to see me, darlin'. I wish that I were dead."
The mattress that he lay upon was matted down and gray. I reached for rags and covered him. And then he passed away.
I kissed his dirty whiskered face. And held his wrinkled hand.
He was the one that I loved most. My father was the man.

Baggage. It's what characters are made of. Have fun with it!