Saturday, Novel Progess: Which Draft is it Anyway?

Saturday is as good as any other day to talk about novel progress or the lack thereof. Lucky for me, the progress hasn't been so bad. This week itself, only found me a couple of good novel writing days. But I have added lots of new words, new chapters, and structure.

What the hell is it with structure? It's so important but as hard as finding a great title.

I started this novel, working title, Shades of Blood, back in January of 2010. And the main reason was for the year long novel class I was enrolled in. I needed to have something to go into the class with. Over that year, I wrote nearly 3/4 of the novel. In my head, I wrote the whole thing. Just didn't have the actual words down on paper.

A lot of things happened that year to stall me, to make me rethink where I was going with it.

The first one, I lost my flashdrive and everything I had written. Not just the novel, every little snippet and piece of drivel, every short story up to that point. 8 years worth of work. Gave me a new perspective. And I found a better way to save stuff. But losing the novel progress was a bit of a blessing.

I gathered  back as much as I could from the pieces that had been reviewed in class and kept on going. Found my stride and wrote back to where I had been, with a new focus in mind.

As much as I loved the support of the class, it had it's drawbacks. In that, everytime the class didn't think something was working, or a character was emerging as much more interesting than the original protagonist, I started to believe I had to look at it more closely. This caused me to rewrite so many times, too many, trying it from different points of view to find what worked the best. And it confused me.

I don't blame the class. It's totally me, and my sometimes neurotic personality and deluded need to please everyone. I know I can't please everyone, but that doesn't help the neuroses.

So I let the novel sit, nearly all of last year. Looked at it periodically, added a bit here and there, but couldn't get into that ever so important groove. I stewed. I considered. I talked with unbiased writers and friends.

And then in November really started looking at it again. But December I really found focus. And started working on it. Hard.

The one thing that was holding me back...a story line that needed to be there, but I couldn't figure out how to do it so it didn't take over the story. It was all backstory and in a forward moving story, it stalled the progress.

I considered a series of letters, scattered throughout. I considered sections for each character. I considered way too damn much and wrote too damn little.

And finally, I found it. As overdone as it may be, it's the only way I comfortably can see to get that story line in there, in a way that doesn't distract from the rest of the story.

Excerpts of journal entries. Thank you, Dean Koontz.

And my main character has changed, thanks to the feedback of the class, but the story will work.

So I have written a good chunk of journal entries. Inserted some of them into the main manuscript and there we go. A novel in progress.

Just to reiterate. This novel is mostly done. The stuff I am working on has been in the story for over a year, but is being rewritten yet again. And will come out far better in the end. The only thing I really have to do, as time goes on, push through to the end.

It's so close I can taste it. And I am frustrated to be rewriting, but no matter what order it's done in, it would have to be rewritten anyway. So which draft am I really on?

I don't know. Feels about the fifth or more. But since I haven't actually completed to the end, even though I know the end, it's really only the first.

Until next Saturday...

Into the Wild...

She's a three foot and a little bit, animal. The devil's spawn if there ever was one. I want to take her out into the wild and set her free. Since, at three years old, she already thinks she knows everything and does whatever the hell she wants. No is not just a word...it's what she believes and all that she stands for. Defiance stronger than a three foot layer of ice on a lake.

The morning has gone a little something like this...she comes running into my room with a band aid saying she has an "ow". She doesn't have an "ow". It's her new favourite thing, everything is an "ow" and everything requires band aids. Granted, we made the mistake of buying her some cute little Tinker Bell band aids a while ago and she thought they were a toy. Everyday she wanted to wear one on each hand or each foot. But if there really was an "ow" she didn't want it. But now that the band aids...which weren't cheap by the way...are gone, she gets into the regular band aids.

Child locks don't work on the bathroom door anymore. She can get them off. Plus with the newest milestone of potty training, we can't very well keep her out of the bathroom all the time. Anyway, she has the band aid in hand when she comes into my room. And of course, instantly I knew I was not going to like what I found in the bathroom. I could smell it before I even got out of bed.

Every lotion she could get a hold of, what remained of my anti-frizz oil for my hair, and toothpaste, combined together in the sink and on the counter into one big greasy, minty, flowery, musky mess. And water. Water everywhere. The counter, the floor...inside the medicine cabinet...a slippery mess. And to make matters worse, she decided she was going to try and pee on the potty without any help and as of yesterday, doesn't want to use the potty seat on the toilet...so since she couldn't get up there herself, she peed all over the floor instead of coming to tell me she had to go.

She's been doing so good on that front for the past month. With only a few minor accidents. I don't fault her for peeing on the floor. It happens.

So of course, I'm barely out of bed, and ready to lose my mind. I put her in her room until I could calm down and clean up the mess. But then...

Then...she flat out refuses to put on panties. She gets mad, slams the door and resorts to her newest technique of letting us know she's pissed - starts throwing all her toys at the door. I ignore her, I'm getting kind of good at ignoring the tantrums, and clean  up the mess, not before wanting to pull out my hair and being on the verge of tears because the frustration keeps building. I don't want to talk to her, I don't want to see her.

I clean the mess and take a shower, knowing she's fine in her room. The shower doesn't help.

I try to talk to her afterwards. Gentle and at her level. But she is apparently not ready to talk because she hits me in the face and slams the door again all the while screaming, "MY ROOM. MY ROOM." I take that as..."get the f#&k out of my room". (Can't wait until she's 15) Or something very close. So I go to my room, lay on the bed and want to scream. Throw a tantrum. But I know it doesn't work for her, so why should it work for me.

Instead I wrack my brain trying to figure out what to do to make her listen. There has to be something. Not ALL 3 year olds are like this are they? I got nothing. There need to be consequences for her actions, but I don't have a clue what those consequences should be. What's appropriate for a 3 year old?

Only solution I have at this point...DRINK!

I've Been Thinking...

About a lot of things the last few days. Good things, of course. It's a new year and open to so many possibilities.

There's the fact that it's supposed to reach 13 degrees today. In Calgary! In January! Almost felt like I could go outside in a tank top. I didn't of course, cause it's not 13 yet...but still. It's bright outside, so sunny it makes the heart sing and makes me dream of summer.

And of course my mind is full of writing related thoughts. Like this morning, I am thinking about character development and the things that make a person who they are. And how some of those things and the reactions of the character to a certain situation can be so contradictory to the norm. Yet, if we build the character well enough, their contradictions can seem reasonable.

Early on in writing, we are taught the basics. You know, things like:

What the character looks like?
Hair colour?
Eye colour?
Height?
Weight?
Distinguishing features?

Then we are told to dig deeper.

When is your character's birthday?
Did they finish high school?
What is there relationship with their parents?

And we need to know information about the parents too. Because depending on the generation, parents leave different impressions, scars, on their children. So we ask all the same questions about the parents and piece together the influence they may have had on your progtagonist. Like, what if the parents were raging alcoholics? That would certainly have a different impact on the child compared to a child raised by devout Catholics. (or Mormons or Hare Krishnas or Wiccans) What if your character lost their parents? Or one parent? What if there is a long line of mental health problems? The list could go on.

But what about the difficult things that influence our lives. The choices we've made, the horrible outcomes, the things we lock deep in the shadows and very few know about it? I think we all have them. Those cliched "demons in the closet".

Our deepest, darkest secret that we only share with the people we trust. Think about that one thing (or maybe there's more, but pick one). How has that incident shaped who you are? Was it something that was bad in the eyes of the law or something that is just bad in your own eyes? Does that memory surface on a regular basis? Or have you healed from it and can safely move forward?

Now think about your protagonist. What is his/her, darkest secret? How has that incident shaped who they are at the time of the story? This is where depth comes from. Is your character stronger because of it? Or is she weak? Timid? Afraid?

Are you stronger because of your personal experiences? Or are you afraid and go to the bottle every time things get difficult?

Take that scary stuff and work with it. Your characters will thank you for it. And so will your readers.

Book Review: Wild & Wicked by Jenn Nixon

A pinch of romance.

A dash of suspense.

A spoonful of mystery.

A heap of erotica.

Mix together and what do you have? The novella, Wild & Wicked by New Jersey writer, Jenn Nixon.

Veronica Chance’s sister is missing. Her high profile family doesn’t give a damn so she has taken it upon herself to find the missing sibling.

 Veronica infiltrates the strip club, Foxxes, where she knows her sister was last working. Under a false name she becomes a waitress at the club and quickly meets Mason Storm, a retired cop, who has an affinity for the girls, but does little more than flirt.

 Mason quickly learns the truth about why Veronica is there and offers to help. From there we are led on a thrill ride of mystery, into an afterhours sex club at Foxxes, as they search together to find the missing sister. In the middle of it, a romance buds between the pair. Or rather a lustful need to satisfy the sexual tension between them.

 The focus of the story is to uncover what happened to the sister. And this story line is done very well. The tension of the blooming relationship between the pair is also well done. But the actual physical interactions between the pair? Not that I would say they were gratuitous because they seemed to be in all the right places and necessary, but…but…they were overdone.

 Please find me a real woman who can have multiple orgasms or a man who can last long enough to give a woman multiple orgasms, because I would love to meet them. And when I say multiple, I don’t mean a couple, I mean like FIVE. Five or more orgasms. IN A ROW!

Can this happen? Between a girl in her early 30’s and a man pushing 40? I think this falls somewhere into the land of the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy…and Santa Claus.

Wild & Wicked is a really well written story with all the right ingredients. Great plot. Interesting characters. Lots of action. Lots of well written, arousing sex – even if bordering on the edge of fantastical.

If this is your kind of story, I think it’s worth the read. And it’s a novella, so you can almost read it in one sitting.

For more information check out  www.jennnixon.com

Why The Hell Else Do You Wear a Toque?

Sitting in my writing spot. Laptop open in front of me. Husband is in the kitchen. He turns to me and says," What are your doing?"

I turn around slightly, "Writing." Cause why else would I be typing furiously and basically ignoring everyone and everything?

"Why are you wearing that toque?"

"To keep the creativity in."

D'uh!

(plus it looks cool and I'm cold)

Goals for 2012

WELCOME TO A NEW YEAR!

I don't believe in New Year resolutions. I believe in making small, attainable goals at any time during the year. But I suppose it can't hurt to have a few goals. I am only going to post one. One big goal for me and me alone.

So here it is:

My goal for 2012, to finish my novel by the end of the year.

It's also said it helps to reach your goals if you have to be accountable to others. So...I am also going to blog about my progress. My frustrations. My accomplishments. And of course all the other random shit that goes on in my head and around me most of the time.

There are millions of bloggers out there blogging about their novel progress. And I wish I could say I would be different and original. But chances are pretty damn good that I won't. It will be the same old stuff you see all the time. The only difference?

It will be me writing it.

Now that I think about it...that's two goals for 2012.

So in my effort to not have New Year resolutions, there they are.

My goals.

For the coming year.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Oh Crap...

Shoot.

There are only two more days left in 2011. Two days. Where has the year gone?

I don't feel like I've accomplished much this year.

A few book reviews written and published. A few stories written and rejected. One story published this year.

Barely touched my novel all year. Only in little bits and pieces.

Resurrected 6 year old research for another novel and began to tackle it again, full force. Even did more research. New stuff I never got to do back in 2005 because life just took over and got in the way of writing. And I've even made some progress on the written part of that one.

I have a lot of unfinished stories to complete, a few stories to revisit and probably edit, a lot of book reviews to write, and two novels to work on. Should keep me busy in 2012.

Hope you all accomplished a little bit more than I did.

On the book review note...I will be publishing book reviews on Mondays. One review a week. Unless I happen to get more done, but I think that's reasonable and doable. Until I run out of books to review.

Don't forget, if you have a book you want reviewed, contact me. I'll get it done as soon as I can.

ONLY TWO MORE DAYS! HAPPY 2012.

I redid my website. Check it out.

Still trying to work out the redirection kinks from my domain registrar, but I am much happier with this one than any of the previous I tried to do. And it's super easy. Easy is always good. Gotta add a few more things but for the most part, it's done.

Went to a bridal shower last night. I'm not usually a big fan of showers and the silly games that are played. But I have to admit, I had a lot of fun with the whole toilet paper wedding dress and the who has the most crap in their purse and the clothespin grab (can't say the groom's name or cross your legs). I didn't do well on anything although our toilet paper wedding dress came in second and I never did lose any of my clothespins, and gained one.

And, have you ever seen a cake so amazing?

I left before it was demolished. Just too pretty to eat.

Anyway, all in all. Fun times.

Only a couple days until the end of the year and the start of the New Year.

2012 will be full of great things for everyone. I'm sure of it.

Child woke obscenely early this morning. Apparently a nightmare or something. Woke up screaming and then wouldn't go back to sleep. Too early for me. I plopped her in front of the TV and tried to grab a few more hours of sleep. To little avail. Got a few zzz's here and there but she kept needing something. So of course, it wasn't what I would have liked. My fault I suppose for staying up way too late reading.

So now, coffee in hand, today I'm making an effort to get back to normal. It's not going so well. In my heart I want to write, but my body is telling me otherwise. Telling me, lay down, get some more sleep. But that's not happening either so I am up and now I am writing this post and wondering what the rest of the day will bring.

Would be great to be able to predict the future.

I have a couple of reviews to start working on in my effort to post at least one book review a week. There is plenty of the actual paying work to do. Getting ready for the new year and new writing programs. Also wouldn't be a bad idea to start working on my intro creative writing course I am hopefully teaching starting the end of January. Still time. But we all now how time can get away from us. Before I know it, the course will be upon me and I will have nothing done and I will stress.

That should probably be a New Year resolution. To not stress so much about little things. To be more organized and get more accomplished. We'll see.

Only a few days of 2011 left. How will I make the best of the remainder of the year?

Tell you what I am going to do. I am going to end this post and go work on an important part of my novel that is stewing around in my head. Better to get it done and on the page before it's gone.

Post Christmas Confusion/Chaos

Getting back into the regular and mundane is so bloody hard after the holidays. It's worse than taking a two week vacation in the Bahamas and trying to get back to work.

The house is chaos. Chocolate wrappers, unwrapped Christmas gifts scattered all over the floor, still tucked under the tree. Holiday leftovers overflowing from the fridge, it won't all fit you know. A stead non-stop vibration of the dishwasher trying to play catch up just as much as me. And the family glued to the newest most exciting gift of the season.

For hubby it's his new laptop. For daughter, it's our OLD laptop. Funny when you realize you really didn't have to give the child anything. Just give her the old hand me down and she's happy as can be.

For me, I don't know what it is for me. I got some great gifts, but I really wanna do is get back to writing but the motivation is still skirting somewhere along the fringe of normal life and post Christmas laziness.

The problem with the Christmas season, I think, is the few days you are supposed to get back to work, get back to normal, and then WHAM! in the middle of it all, another fricking holiday. A holiday by the way, that is just no good for us old people. I can't party and drink like I used to. With each passing New Year, it's a constant reminder of just how old I'm getting.

I know, I know. Many will say, you're not even 40. And they're right. But I am too old to stay up partying and trying to deal with the hangover the following day. It's just not how it used to be.

Anyway, I am getting quite a selection of books for review for 2012. Still accepting more, so send them my way. Need all the motivation I can get to get back to the daily grind.

Happy New Year, peeps. Hope you're getting over your post-Christmas chaos.

Old Nick to Krampus

By Verna Bewick

A response came in from Old Nick to Krampus.
Beware, this is not the Santa we know and love.

Merry Christmas!

Krampus,

You were not my love, nor my first “wife,” and you should not have written that letter. Mrs. Claus is the woman who showed me the way; she’s the one who taught me that all is not lost, that redemption is always possible. People look at me now with adoration, not the fear and loathing that I received while with you. They still leave gifts by their hearth, but out of love and welcoming, not fear. The fear is gone. They even leave their precious babes asleep alone upstairs. I cannot belong to you. I belong in this world now.

I do remember those nights on the sleigh, but over the centuries, it became tiresome. I could no longer stand the hatred borne upon me by the children’s families. They were naughty, but Mrs. Claus has shown me that there is goodness in each of us, especially the children and even me.

Do you still have the big, black kettle hanging in the fireplace? I remember the sweet taste of stew made from potatoes, turnips and the flesh of bad little boys and girls. But I am no longer that person. I don’t even eat reindeer meat.

I must admit, I do think of those nights, locked away together while the year passed.  What I remember most is the sour sting of our sweat and soot upon my tongue, and the smell of copper. To this day, I always keep pennies in my change pocket and sometimes even slip one into my mouth. That was another world with you, another time. The world has moved on.

I went on the run last night. It is long and tiresome, but I know I spread joy. You recall the little people who inhabited this land long before we ever arrived? The ones we hunted mercilessly in those early years? Now, they live in our village, caring for the reindeer and maintaining the sled. The sled no longer has bone runners, but is instead made of hickory – the very same wood that goes into our baseball bats and doll houses. 

I did get fat. And are you still the serpentine creature that I knew so intimately for centuries on end? I can still feel the slip and slide of our bloody bodies against each other. I really didn’t mean to bite off your toe that time I was licking your feet, but it did make me want to suck even more. I’ve never had a more delicious orgasm.

Krampus, remember when they feared us? When they hid in cellars and prayed we wouldn’t come. Now they throw tantrums to get X-Boxes and I-Pods. Whatever happened to little tin horns and little toy drums? Not only do they request, but they expect. Due to “self-esteem,” I am not allowed to drop coal into stockings. The missus thinks I should take each year as it comes. She says it’s only a parenting phase and will soon end.

The children need to learn respect.

She loves me, Krampus, in spite of the babies that I ate, in spite of the horrible “accidents” that we always manifested near Christmas Day – the candle lit trees that happened to catch fire and sleds with loose runners. Mrs. Claus has shown me the Christ, and he is love, just like her. I cannot leave her. I cannot let her down.

But then, that leaves you in that hole with no one. Does the fire stay stoked? Are you lonely 364 days of the year? Have you found another?

Mrs. Claus has her God, her Jesus, and her elfin friends, but you are all alone.

Is a cat wrong for killing a mouse or a bird when it is only in the cat’s nature to hunt? Oh Krampus, you should never have written me. You should have left me behind that wall. I fear you, the temptation of you. I fear


~~~ 


I have killed the reindeer. Krampus, I am alive! I have ripped my fangs into their soft flesh, looking in their eyes and knowing they see the terrible knowledge that it’s Santa’s talons holding them down. The ermine on my coat is dripping and I’ve thrown the pennies into the snow. I can see my toes again, and the old member, disused these many years, is ready for action.

Mrs. Claus is singing softly to one of the newborns. You will have your Christmas wish in spades, my love, and once again we will take back the night.

I can hardly wait for next year.

Yours forever more,

Old Nick

Merry Christmas!

Thank you for visiting Writing on the Wall. That's true dedication and I love you for it. However, it's Christmas Day so I am kinda busy, as you should be, too.

We have probably already opened our gifts, the child is probably hopped up on all the chocolate she can muster, the hubby is probably sprawled on the couch, drinking beer and watching the tube, with my brother. Though the bro is quite possibly playing with his neice. And me, well I am probably slaving in the kitchen with my Mom, preparing all the fixings for a holiday feast. And drinking wine. With any luck, maybe I am passed out drunk on the floor and my Mom is cooking, but I doubt it. Maybe I'm close. If not, there is still hope for the rest of the evening.

Wishing you all the very best this holiday season.

Come back tomorrow. I promise to have something worth checking out.

The Magic of the Holidays

Santa's warming up his sleigh and exercising the reindeers. All in preparation for tonights extensive and speedy journey. I hear Rudolph has a bit of a cold so his nose is especially shiny tonight. So if you find dirty tissues in the morning, it wasn't Grandma leaving her snotty rags inside the chair cushions. It was just because Santa's sleigh has no room and he needed to find someplace to stash them.

Anyway, tonight is the night little kiddies. So go to bed early. No fight, no fuss, for tomorrow the magic begins. The magic of family.

Eat lots, enjoy the true spirit of the holidays. Treasure it more than that new Barbie house or that video game you've been longing for because what you're going to remember ten or twenty years from now is not what gift you got, but the togetherness.

The food.

The holiday squabbles with Uncle Mortimer and Cousin Timmy, the one with the black mohawk and the bone through his nose.

The love.

The Night Before Christmas

by Clement Clarke Moore or Henry Livingston

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;

And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter's nap,

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! on Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen!

To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,

So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.

As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;

A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.

His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;

He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,

And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night."

I, You, He/She

The right point of view (POV) in a story can make or break it. Sometimes it takes awhile to play with it, try different things before you find the right fit, like searching for that perfect pair of shoes. If you don't get just the right fit your feet will hurt and you'll get blisters. But sometimes, all it takes is a little breaking in.

When reading a story, personally, I am a huge fan of 1st person POV. That is, a story told using I, me. I walked to the store and got hit by the car. I'm not sure why I like it so much. Maybe it's because I feel more a part of the story this way and get a real close and personal look into the mind of the protagonist.

When I write, I often write from the 1st person POV but also feel quite comfortable writing from the 3rd person POV. So instead of me getting hit by the car, she walked to the store and got hit by the car. (Thank God. Better her than me. I don't deal well with pain or near death experiences.) This is somewhat easier when telling a story with more than one important character.

Tucked in with 3rd person are two other alternatives. Limited 3rd person or omniscient. Limited only means you're still in only one characters head, your protagonist. But still told in he or she. Omniscient is different because the narrator is not actually in the story at all. It's kind of like a fly on the wall kind of thing, where the narrator can see and hear everything, and if he's really good he can also read minds, but it's not that common and for me, it's really hard to read. I can't even think of a story told from that point of view.

Then there is the 2nd person POV. That is a story told using you. You walked to the store and got hit by the car. It's not a common POV I think because it's difficult to write. If you don't do it properly, it can sound very close to first person and can easily confuse the reader. Or in a lot of cases, piss off the reader, because it's like the writer is talking directly to the reader and telling them what they did or what they are going to do or what they are doing. (No one likes to be told what to do.) But when it's done right, it can be an incredibly powerful tool. Especially for emotional situations that are hard to write about. For me, I find the 2nd person tends to slow down the tone of a story. It makes the reader, in this case me, really pay attention to what's going on because it's got to be something important if the writer chose to tell the story that way.

Choosing a POV can come down to preference in the writer. Or can be based on the protagonist. Maybe your main character has some really interesting quirks and thoughts, and an undeniably intriguing voice so the only possible way to tell it is from his POV. First person.

Maybe you're writing a story about a really difficult topic. Maybe it's a true story about something that happened to you, or loosely based on something that happened to you. And in that case, third person helps the writer create a distance between themselves and the story.

The same can be said for 2nd person. It creates somewhat of a distance. The writing is putting the bad thing that happened onto someone else. Or good thing, but more often than not, I think it's bad or sad. Evokes more emotion that way.  I just recently started reading, Kalila, by Rosemary Nixon. The story is told from multiple points of view from multiple characters. But it's the 2nd person POV that really draws me in for some reason. And it's beautifully written. And it's on a really difficult topic. A sick newborn baby and the parents dealing with it each in their own way.

Long ago I tried writing in 2nd person and found it limiting and difficult to maintain. But I also don't think I was doing it right. So I stuck with what I knew. What I was comfortable with. That is, until recently.

I was once again on Twitter, and came across a tweet from Sarah Selecky, doling out writing prompts. One of them really struck me. It was, write a story titled The Way to Amsterdam. Yes, I was drawn in simply because the only European country I've spent much time is the Netherlands and that's where my hubby is from. And, I really liked the title.

So I took the challenge and started a story called, The Way to Amsterdam. And what do you know, but much to my surprise, the story automatically started coming out in 2nd person. I didn't plan it that way. It just happened. (Sometimes you just have to go with what feels right.) And even though I still don't quite know what the story is about, I can feel something coming. Something unexplainable, something sinister (maybe) something emotional and raw. Perhaps even bone chilling. And that's not how I usually write. But heck, there's nothing wrong with stepping out of your comfort zone now and again.

Anyway, the point is, I am trying it again and I like it. In this one instance. I really like it. And who knows, maybe I will end up doing it well.

Ultimately, my only recommendation would be, to stick with what feels right. If you're unsure. Try it multiple ways. A recent exercise I did with my critique group was quite eye-opening. We took the first paragraph of a story (that someone else wrote) and changed the POV. Rewrote it, to see how it sounded. The big thing I learned was that a simple POV change can alter the tone of the story significantly. For the better. Sometimes for the worse.

But if a change makes it worse, you know your initial choice was the right one.

So go with it.

Maybe I will share The Way to Amsterdam when I am done with it.

Happy writing and happy holidays and all that fun stuff.

LOST SIMILES

Last seen back in October or November. Sure I used them, just can't remember where I put them. If you find them, please let me know cause I just can't survive without them. Without similes, and good ones, all I'm left with are cliches. Bad, bad, evil cliches.

Dead as a doornail. Soft as a baby's bum. Quiet as a mouse. Dry as the desert. Dirty as a pig. Party like there's no tomorrow.

Ack. Kill me now.

Please, please. If you find my similes, I would be forever grateful.

So Close, Yet So Very Far

Speaking of rejections...

I've been sending out a story all year that has been rejected time and again. Twice early in the year it came close: made the short-list for a contest and another magazine, "decided" not to take it but wanted to hold onto it for a possible later issue. I didn't let them hold on to it. Pulled it a short while later and sent it off to other places where it was subsequently rejected.

The latest one, was a good rejection, if there is such a thing. We writers say "good" when the editors of a specific publication provide positive feedback. It gives insight into just why the story wasn't selected.

In this case, the letter indicated the story had made their short-list but went on to add what was great about it and what was problematic for some of the editors. (I say some because it looks like there was one person who wanted the story to be chosen but the others had problems.) The problem for this one, the ending. Apparently seemed too neat and tidy to be plausible. They also wanted a little more backstory. All things I will look at in the New Year.

Needless to say, rejections aren't all bad and demoralizing and make you want to hide under the table and drink yourself into oblivion, or pound your head against the wall. (However you choose to cope.)

Being short-listed in such a competitive market is a success all on it's own.


On another note: Where did all my page views come from? I go away for a few days and find I've gone up nearly 1000 page views in a week. Not that I'm complaining.

Thank you to everyone who follows my ramblings. It may not always be interesting, there may not always be something new, yet you stick around. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Merry Christmas to everyone!

Surviving Rejection

I recently came across a Twitter post where the tweeter suggested there should be a workshop of sorts called, Surviving Rejection. Kind of a how-to approach to dealing with a writer's worst fear. That someone does not see the vision they worked so hard on.

I've been thinking about this ever since.

How do we survive rejection? Why don't we all just curl up in the fetal position and pray the creativity is stripped from us?

I guess the first question is to ask yourself, why? Why do we do it in the first place? Because we want to tell a story. Because we want to have our voices heard in a way that hasn't been done before. To put your own spin on the world and hopefully, in some way, find meaning.

This begs the question, why do we write for other people? Why not just keep your thoughts closeted in a drawer or stuck safely away in a folder on your hard drive? Why do we want people to notice?

Because we're suckers. We like the pain, because it makes us feel as though we are still doing something. That we have come into our own as a writer. Face it, if we weren't getting rejections, it would mean we weren't submitting anything for the world to see, and in turn, how can we call ourselves writers if we aren't trying? Just because someone sits down and writes a letter to a long lost friend, doesn't mean he's a writer. Just because someone journals everyday to deal with the demons in our past, doesn't mean she's a writer. Or does it?

What does the term writer really mean? A writer is someone who puts pen to paper and creates sentences, and then paragraphs, then stories. Fact or fiction.

I've heard it said, if you want to be a writer you have to write. Seems simple enough. But then the only way to make the world (or your friends) really believe you're a writer, and for you to really believe it, you have to send stuff out. You have to face the rejection all writers face. You have to feel demoralized and doubt your talent.

Doesn't seem fair does it?

So we branch out. We send stuff off in the hopes of getting it published. And then we wait. And we wait and we wait. Our heads create all possible scenarios. They're taking a really long time to get back to me because they are considering it. They lost it. The post office lost it. They stole it. It's been published somewhere under someone else's name.

Oh we can dream up anything. Because we're writers and we have the imagination to do so.

Finally, the email or letter arrives. You're still imagining all possible scenarios. They liked it, they didn't. They want to offer you the biggest advance you could dream of. It's just THAT good. Your heart pounds, you tear into the envelope or double click the email.

Thank you for allowing, (insert publication here) to consider your work. We regret that we are unable to accept it at this time. Although we would like to respond to each submission individually...yada, yada, yada.

The words become a blur. A big black smudge on the screen.

Then you continue to imagine. What was wrong with it? How could they not like it? Why, why, why?
You begin to doubt yourself. I'll never be a writer. Who am I kidding? What a waste of time and energy?

You go to the cupboard and pull down that big bottle of wine you've been saving for a special occasion. Screw it. Gonna get drunk now. (By the way, I really believe that's why there's a close relationship between writers/artists and alcoholism.)

But guess what? It's okay to mourn. It's okay to feel sorry for yourself for awhile. It's okay to question your self-worth.

It's okay.

Anything worth doing isn't easy. There will be obstacles. Rejection is just one of them. The simple fact remains, if after you come out of your drunken delirium you still want to be a writer, you have to keep going. Keep trying. If at first you don't succeed...yeah, yeah. We've all heard it. But it's true.

Many seasoned writers will tell you, the moment you get a rejection, send it out again. And keep sending it out.

I've also heard it said, every rejection brings you that much closer to an acceptance. Some writers have had one story rejected twenty plus times before it was finally accepted.

Listen to your peers. Listen to those who have been doing this for a long time. They know what they're talking about.

You're not a bad writer.

You just haven't gotten enough rejections yet.

Oh and if I were to teach a workshop on this...it would involve a lot of alcohol and tissues.

2012 Books to Review

Along with the rest North America, I am drowning in Christmas. But it's given me time to think about how I might make some changes in 2012. And because I was thinking about it, I decided to write a blog post. A little escape from the excessive energy of one recently potty-trained 3 year old.

It's not a resolution per se. But a committment. To read at least one book every month and write a review.

But now, it seems, my pile of books to review is dwindling. So I am reaching out to anyone with books soon to be released, or just released, self-published or trade published, paperback or e-book.

Now, I say my pile is dwindling, but I do still have a few to get through. But send me your stuff. I would love to have at least 12 new books for review to remain committed to my "one a month promise".

The review will be posted one of two places. Right here at Writing on the Wall, or on Suite 101.com

I know there are lots of self-published writers out there looking for publicity. And I love to read. And write. How can you go wrong?

So, check out the specifics for book reviews in the side bar to the left of this post. I won't promise I will like your book, I won't promise to write you a stellar review. But I will promise you, no matter what, it will be fair.

The Best Christmas Gift Ev-ah

Just when I thought she would be in diapers until she was 21, my child decided it was time. Time to discard the diapers for regular panties and...wait for it...actually do her business in the potty.

Really, I thought this day would never come and quite honestly, I was just entering the acceptance faze. When voila.

I can safely say, I have not had to change in a diaper in 3 days. It's heaven.

Maybe it's because Grandma is coming in a few days to spend the holidays, maybe it was my constant begging and pleading with her. Or maybe, and it loathes me to even consider this...but maybe, she just wanted to do it on her own time and the time was now. Who am I to complain? Except I like control. Too much. And when I don't get my way, well, no I don't kick and scream like she does, but I go into my special place and quietly sulk. Wonder why and how the world could do me so much wrong.

People have told me time and again, "She'll do it when she's ready. Don't worry she won't go to school in diapers." I desperately wanted to believe them. I desperately wanted to make it happen faster. ON MY TERMS!

But that's just not how it works. And now that she is going regularly, it feels as if it is just the way it was supposed to be.

And you know what? It is!

Now if only I could figure how to get her to keep her clothes on.