#NaNoWriMo: Writing Prep

 

Writing Prep by JC Rosen

 

With NaNoWriMo less than two weeks away, our heroine thought it might be helpful to share some tools. They can be used for any project, of course. Some may work for you, some may not. Just as we all learn differently, we all approach our projects differently. As an example, clustering only works for me as I unsnarl a plot point rather than for huge swaths of plotting. I tried the method and learned how to label it for my writing toolbox. Other methods have been tossed aside when they didn’t work for me at all.

I’m a hybrid, neither pantser nor plotter. I call my prep process “outlining,” but that’s a misnomer. My outlines are basic and very loose. I use the outline to describe story and character arcs in general terms. I also input bits of research I don’t want to lose in the process. I fill in a spreadsheet of characters’ information as I go. Okay, I *try* to do that.

While I may explore major plot points and characters more deeply using other methods, I don’t do the intense planning many do. There are times I wish I did. Most of the time, I’m grateful for allowing the story and characters to wander into places I didn’t know existed in the story’s landscape. Secondary characters take on whole lives. It never fails, and thank heavens for it. As such, I don’t plot so tightly there’s no room for breathing within the structure of the writing.

Johanna Harness, founder of #amwriting on Twitter (archives for the site), explores many plotting methods. Her blog and YouTube channel are often my go-to for inspiration. Her info is always accessible and useful. I’ll share a couple as well as some other plotting methods.

 

Clustering:  Johanna first suggested clustering for a snarled up short story because of the effects of my migraines on my writing. I can go full tilt writing with a migraine, but cannot plot or edit for beans. She sees clustering as a right brain/left brain processing difference. To do it, one uses (*gasp*) a pen and paper, drawing bubbles of thoughts all over the page, willy-nilly. I found it helpful when I had a migraine, though mine looked more like a flowchart. I guess I just think too linearly. Check out Johanna’s blog article as well as her video (embedded on page) for more on clustering.

 

Snowflake Method: Known as “The Snowflake Guy,” Randy Ingermanson’s Snowflake Method for novel writing is immensely popular. He calls his process “designing a novel.” Take a look at this article which is full of interesting ideas. As no two novels are exactly alike, no two snowflakes are, either. The article teaches how to design a novel which is perfectly individual. Please read the whole article for full impact.

 

Phase Drafting:  This article by Lazette Gifford, It’s Just a Phase, is from 2003. It’s no less helpful today. Lazette’s ideas about outlining a project are fresh and inspiring. She leaves room for growth and fleshing out the story. Don’t miss this one.

 

Big Board Planning: This is one of my favorite methods. It’s another by Johanna Harness and you can see the video about it. Do you organize your ideas on note cards or post-it notes? (Do you think you should, but don’t?) I started the post-it note habit when Johanna turned me on to Big Board Planning. It’s as simple as taking a large poster board and putting your cards or post-its on the board. It’s handy for juggling bits of your story, putting them together like a puzzle, or for putting reminders amid the storyline notes. I use a tri-fold poster board so I can fold it up and put it somewhere safe. Johanna shares ideas on how to organize using colors and placements. Scrivener has a version of this, but I like it being tactile.

 

There are plenty of methods to try. Read about each you find and glean which bits might work for you. You may end up – probably will end up! – creating an entirely new method, one based solely upon your needs as a writer. With NaNo breathing down my neck, I’ll be trying new combinations of tools. I may use clustering to get the basic outline of plot points figured out. (Bet it still looks like a flowchart.) I’ll use a spreadsheet for data on each character’s physical and personality characteristics. Big Boarding may help me if I get stuck during November.

Who knows? Anything can happen during NaNo!

 

Interested in adding me as a writing buddy on the NaNoWriMo site? Please do! I’m JC_Rosen. (clever, huh?)

 

 

 

 

photo credit: Simply Bike via photopin cc

#FlashFiction: See How They Fall (Conclusion)

<– start at Part One

 

JC Rosen, See How They Fall

 

Molly, still done up all girlie and sweet, sat on a divan with Sylvia. George – no, wait, Arnie – took a wingback facing him.

A door he hadn’t noticed opened above the bookcases and a woman stepped in. The door and the staircase leading down were the same shell color as the wall, so she seemed to float along the wall down into the library. Her gauzy gown flowed around her. She appeared somewhat older, her thin face pinched as it pointed at him. “I told you he wouldn’t recognize me,” she announced to the others. Recognize her?

Michelle went to the older woman, perhaps a handful of years older than Rich. The woman stroked Michelle’s cheek tenderly. “You’ve done all you promised and then some. Such service will not go unrewarded, my dear.” Michelle seemed to tip her head slightly and step away. The woman came toward Rich and stood out of reach. Close enough for him to examine her features.

He went still. “Pamela?” he whispered.

The woman’s eyebrows shot up. “So you do remember me. Do you remember what you did to me?”

Memories, hidden from his awareness all these years, buffeted Rich’s mind. Pamela, darling and so pliable as his girlfriend at Ithaca College. He knew she was looking for an MRS degree, her goal being marriage rather than an education. School was merely an excuse. He filled the bill, but only to a point. Her family was reasonably comfortable, but not the high and mighty he wanted. Still, her grandfather and father attended Dartmouth Law, his dream. It didn’t take much to convince her father to write a glowing recommendation for the clean cut, devoted boyfriend. He even gave Rich his Dartmouth ring with his blessings. Rich realized absently he was twisting that ring around his finger.

“Pamela Lightner?” He shook his head. “Wait, how are you Miss Stemple?”

Pamela sighed theatrically. “You paid close attention, didn’t you? Stemple was my mother’s maiden name, Rich.” Her eyes narrowed. “My middle name.”  She turned away from him, her gown fluttering, to address the assembled. Her conspirators. “Oh yes, he paid attention. Paid attention to my father’s Dartmouth connections, to my good name, even to my future. When he proposed – that’s right, he proposed to marry me – I gave him everything.”

She closed her eyes and went very quiet, not moving but for the shaking of her hands, barely visible in the folds of her dress. “Rich pulled away quickly once accepted at Dartmouth.” He separated his hands, letting go of the ring, and rested them in his lap. “My sorority sisters shunned me after he dumped me. After all, I was tarnished. They at least married their lovers. Oh, I’ve been invited to all the balls and charity events. At least, my checkbook has.” Pamela hissed. “Acceptance into their society, though? Never. Sacrificed on the altar of Richard Brandt’s ambition.” When she turned back to Rich, her lip curled.

A vague memory niggled at him. Quietly, he spoke in her silence. “I was sorry to hear about your parents, Pamela.”

Her eyes widened and she paled. “How dare you? Even now, you use everything you can against me? Where was your sympathy when they were killed? Did you so much as call after their accident?” Abruptly, tears trailed down her cheeks and she sobbed briefly, one hand covering her eyes. “Of course not. You were busy with your goals: a career, a rich wife.” She dropped her hand and bent toward him, tears highlighting the crazy in her gaze. “Poor Pamela, too lowly for Richard Brandt. Used and discarded.” She whirled away, dismissing him.

In a sudden change of tone, she laughed. “Too lowly. Joke’s on you, Richard. Daddy invested well, taking a chance on some tech industries early on. Microsoft ring a bell? Apple? He made sure I had the best of everything, including stock market advice. There is more money than even you ever dreamed of having. My life became a gilded prison.” Rich shut his eyes. So close. He had been so close.

“May I, Pamela?” Michelle asked, raising a hand.

“By all means, darling.” Pamela touched Michelle’s fingers lightly as though handing off in a game. She draped herself in a vacant loveseat, crossing her legs and peering at him with a vicious smile.

Michelle came to him. Bracing herself with hands on the arms of his chair, she lowered her face to his. Her breath misted against his ear as she spoke against his cheek. “You had your fun, didn’t you, Rich? With Miss Stemple. With me. Now it’s our turn. You’re getting screwed royally.” When she laughed lightly, Rich lost it. He grabbed her by the waist and surged out of the chair, throwing her to the Persian rug. In seconds, he was smashed back into his chair, meaty hands on his chest. George’s dumpiness turned out to be Arnie’s protective brawn. Rich gasped for air while Michelle rose, laughing.

As she told the tale, Rich envisioned it clearly. Pamela sat at a juice bar at the club. Straining to listen to whispers about her, she overheard a former sorority sister. “The Vengeance Vixen did it all. Cost a bit, but got me everything. Prenup? What prenup?” The woman and her friend laughed as they left, unaware of the seed planted. Ironically, Pamela’s research for this vixen used the same technology which raised her beyond Rich’s league.

“I knew Miss Stemple was searching for me, but I was working a project,” continued Michelle.

Pamela interrupted. “When I opened the envelope and found the card with Michelle’s name on it, I knew immediately who she was. No mention of her nickname, just her name and no number. An elegant introduction, don’t you think?” She nodded to Sylvia. “Your turn, I believe.” Michelle raised her chin slightly, but yielded the floor.

Sylvia cleared her throat and sat up straight. “You’re an asshole, Rich.” She laughed with everyone but Rich. “So good to get that out finally!” Apparently, according to Sylvia, she was an assistant and not a secretary. “Do this, fetch that. You were supposed to be teaching me, mentoring me for advancement, not treating me like some girl Friday. I was the joke of the company.”

“Why didn’t you talk with me, Sylvia?” Rich asked, surprised at how calm his voice sounded.

“Like that would have done any good. No, Miss Stemple’s stipend and promise of retribution kept me with you.” She leaned forward as she explained. Rich leaned back, taking it in. Sylvia was with him for several years.

He looked to Pamela, then to Michelle. Pamela was the crazy, but Michelle was the source. “How long?”

She grinned. “Oh, at least three years. Long before you quit smoking.” Her eyes shone merrily.

Before he… oh no. No. The enormity of this plot finally began to sink in. His head dropped wearily.

Michelle rose and stalked toward him. “Miss Stemple was too lowly for you? You’ve no idea how lowly you are now. Not yet, anyway.” He saw the pointy tips of her boots near his Italian loafers. “Raise your head and look at me, Richard Brandt!”

When he met her eyes, he knew he was lost. They were dark and flat, a menace within them he’d never seen in her, in anyone. A shiver passed through him and he looked away, looked at Molly. Michelle followed his gaze. “Oh, Molly? Yes, she’s been your attorney for what, two years now?”

“About that,” Molly piped up, grinning. “Right about the time your previous attorney at that firm retired early.” Rich nodded, remembering vaguely how jealous he had been. “With a nudge from Miss Stemple, the partners gave me his clients. I led you to Arnie’s accounting more easily than expected, too.”

With an exaggerated and so-fake tone, “George” drawled, “Oh man, you handed over the keys to your groovy kingdom. I had so much fun with your stock portfolio, duuuude.” He chuckled.

Rich all but spat, “You obviously already destroyed me with all this. Why go so far as corporate espionage with the fire, for God’s sake?” Rich rose and began to stalk the room. Michelle stilled Arnie with a headshake when he made to put Rich in his chair again.

Michelle’s words brought Rich up short. Quietly, she said with a shrug, “Why not? The espionage would just put you in a country club for a prison. How long do you think you’ll last in a real one?”

Chill tendrils trailed down Rich’s spine. “You’re all mad!” he cried.

“Angry perhaps, but not quite mad,” Arnie put in.

Vengeance Vixen, she was called. Years of plotting, who knows how much spent on his destruction? He slumped. “You maneuvered well, even holding my bail,” he conceded.

“Miss Stemple is the proud owner of your freedom on that count.” He looked over at Pamela, whose eyes glittered with hatred.

“Are you thinking of running away, Rich?” she asked acidly. “I suppose you could try, but how would you get away from here?” She was right. Even if he could get out the door, he had no transportation and the location was remote. He had no money, either. They’d seen to that. His legs were shaky when he returned to his chair and dropped his head into his hands for a moment.

Looking up, looking around at them, he felt lost. “What now?” Only then did he see Pamela fondling a small plastic bag with several cigarette butts in it. His eyes widened, hands tingling. “You … you can’t be serious. Haven’t you done enough?”

There was general laughter, but Pamela’s was a crazed cackle. She handed the baggie to Michelle, who strode back to him and dangled it before him just out of reach. “We’re not monsters, Rich. We decided to put you out of your misery.”

She waved her hand and they rose. Molly and Sylvia murmured a goodbye as they passed him. Arnie actually patted his shoulder and said, “It’s been groovy, man,” and then laughed as he left.

Pamela stopped before him.  Her voice was cutting. “You earned this, Richard. Your legacy will be shameful, heartless, and selfish. You will be remembered as the bastard you are.” Turning, she said in a sweet tone, “He’s all yours, Michelle.” Without so much as a farewell, she left.

He couldn’t see exactly what Michelle was doing as she crouched near the fireplace. He boggled at what she left behind as she came to him. A wicker tray with the cigarette butts smoldered on a metal frame above a bowl of some sort of liquid. He saw other butts scattered near the back of the stone fireplace. She stroked his cheek with a gentleness not reflected in her gaze. “Take care, Rich. We’ll watch for a bit, so don’t do anything stupid, okay? There’s a good boy.”

He stared at the fire when the wicker caught, listening to her heels click on the parquet foyer floor before the big door slammed shut.

 

 

photo credit: rezavoody via photopin cc

#FridayFlash: See How They Fall (Part Five)

<– start at Part One

 JC Rosen, See How They Fall

Rich sat in the generic chair in his suite at the Hyatt. Only then did he realize he rode back from the restaurant in George’s old Audi without feeling self-conscious. Body blows, each mysterious revelation by Molly and especially Michelle. “Be there at eight,” Michelle said. The address on the card she gave him indicated an exclusive area outside of Georgetown, way out of his budget even when he had a budget. He shook his head, but the pieces of the puzzle still didn’t quite fit together.

His phone buzzed on the table. “You say you quit smoking some time ago?” Kitterick sounded jovial, skipping a polite greeting. “Very interesting. I’m eager to hear how you explain your DNA on the cigarette butts we found at the fire.” Click. Holy hell. His DNA? Rich shivered, twisting the Dartmouth ring, a cold sweat beading his upper lip.

He was getting railroaded, but his normal mental agility was sprained. His DNA at the fire. Brandt and Associates, BandA, stealing his own deal. All that work on the Stemple project down the drain. Insurance? That was a dream. He looked around, wondering if the Hyatt was now beyond his means. Maybe George had a spare room. He barked a hoarse laugh, splashed some vodka in a plastic cup, and downed it.

As seven o’clock approached, Rich decided to face whatever was coming with his usual strengths. A fresh shower and suit helped him set his own stage. No more vodka, though it was tempting. He needed a clear head. At the half hour mark, he made his way to the lobby with long strides, a man with a purpose. George pulled up, his ride to Michelle’s place, and Rich pretended the Audi was a glittering chariot taking him to the arena.

“So what’s going on, man? Michelle’s got something brewing, sounds like.” George’s attempt at conversation didn’t fit Rich’s image of himself at the moment. No small talk for him. George soon dropped it and just drove.

They pulled into a circular driveway before a stone … well, demi-mansion was all Rich could call it. Huge, three stories, but fit into a smallish plot of land near other similarly well-appointed houses. More like edifices. Rich stopped and looked around at the neighborhood, each home lit up in the growing darkness. “Come on, man. We’re going to be late.”

It didn’t occur to Rich that George invited himself until Michelle opened the thick oak door and wrapped her arms around George’s neck, standing on her toes to give him a quick kiss. She wrinkled her nose. “At least you’ll be able to get rid of that beard finally, Arnie.” George laughed and squeezed her in a hug. Rich stared at them, his self image drooping.

“We’re being rude, Arnie,” Michelle announced in a silky voice. “Do come in, both of you. I told a little white lie, Rich. This isn’t my home per se. It belongs to my client. Miss Stemple wanted to be sure you’d answer the summons.”

Summons, was it? Rich stiffened his shoulders and lifted his chin. No one summoned him. They invited, he accepted. “I’m here, so let’s get on with this charade. Or are we unraveling one?” Michelle’s smile was slow, but her eyes were cold. Not at all his Michelle. This Michelle dressed in stiletto boots and a short skirt. His Michelle wore flouncy skirts and chunky high heels, pretty blouses, all flowers and light perfume. No, this was not his Michelle. Apparently, it wasn’t his George, either.

He followed Michelle through a foyer with a huge floral arrangement on an antique round table in the center. They entered a large room, a well stocked library. Familiar faces grinned at him, some nearly leering with anticipation. Gritting his teeth, he sat in a wingback chair as Michelle indicated.

“Please, make yourself comfortable, Rich,” she told him. Yeah. Comfortable. That would happen.

 

 

Conclusion scheduled for posting next Friday!

 

 

 

 

 

photo credit: Prayitno / Thank you for visiting ! (3 millions ) via photopin cc

#FridayFlash: FlashFic: Trying to Leave

 

Trying to Leave, flash by JC Rosen

Even a real flower…

 

After putting the last unisuit into the case, Tessa sealed it in, taming the overflow. She took a sad look around the unit. Her gaze stopped on a holo from a few years before. She and Tony looked so happy. She closed her eyes and blew out a breath. It was a long time since happy. She trudged through the hatch and spun the lock. It was over.

Tony still left gifts outside the hatch to Petra’s unit two months later. No surprise he figured out where she went when she left him. Ear drops, tongue fizzles, even a real flower one day. So lovely – if she didn’t know him so well. Creepers since she did.

Alry and Petra’s relief when she left Tony surprised Tessa. She hadn’t hid the bruises and jumpiness as well as she thought. Her friends were encouraging, helping her through the fearsome fits and backflashers. Tony’s little presents didn’t help. They weren’t meant to help.

The gifts stopped, replaced by notes. Sweet words, cajoling tones. She could hear Tony’s voice, all soft and kind like in the beginning, when she read them. Petra tossed the first one into the cycler. Tessa saw the wisdom and cycled them each upon arrival. She went cold and still when the first angry one arrived. Petra didn’t throw that one in the cycler. She kept it for the law takers. Kept it and all the ones following. Alry insisted on giving her a lasertaze to carry in her handsack. “Better to have it and be safe,” he told her. Tessa put the taze in her sack, hand shaking.

Ever since, she was freakered, imagining she saw Tony in the sea of workers commuting each day. Ridiculous. His work assignment was too precious to him. He’d never risk it by coming all the way to this side of the dome during worktime. She shook it off again today, forcing herself not to reach into her sack and clutch the lasertaze.

Working late was super sour, but she took a wage slice when she moved across dome. The overwage helped. Tessa scurried to join a group of people waiting to cross a pedi zone. She caught a single glimpse of Tony off to the side, his eyes glittering in the genny light. The crowd surged forward and Tessa was carried along, her belly shivering. No freakering this time. It wasn’t her imagination. The taze was cool against her palm.

She took a crosswise pedi zone on the other side, ending up across the motor zone on another blocking. A mob of people was in front of the flimsiplex. She mixed into the crowd. A small group broke free, walking a blocking before taking the next pedi zone. She walked beside a tall woman. Tessa figured seeming like an anonymous couple in the dim lighting might hide her. Tossing a glance over her shoulder swiftly, she thought perhaps she lost him.

Her walking partner shot her a look when Tessa kept up to the next blocking. Survival instinct told her to shift her path. She joined people taking the left pedi at the next turnout. She felt more than actually tweaked a look at the imminent danger behind. More freakering? No, she didn’t lose him after all. She gave in and tapped her temple, muttering Petra’s name to buzz up her vidscreen. “Tony’s following me,” she squeaked to her friend’s image.

Alry yelled from the background, “Where are you?” She darted a look at the glowbox on the building she was passing and read it quietly. “Law takers are on the way,” he called out. “They have your PhysIdent. They’ll find you.”

“Bono, Alry. Breaking comm, need to think.” Without waiting, Tessa tapped her temple twice and reached into her sack to grip the lasertaze again.

Hurrying through the next pedi, leaving complaints in her wake, she heard her name called out. Breath caught in her throat, she again darted a look over her shoulder. Tony pushed his way toward her. His thunderous face made her go cold, her feet heavy and slow. A roaring filled her ears as she tried to drag in air. Her numb fingers gripped the taze.

Tony grabbed her shoulder roughly and yanked her back against him. At the same moment, something cold and sharp bit her throat. An actual old-timey knife? He didn’t want just to scare her this time. “Come with me, Tessa,” he hissed, pulling her back even harder.

“Yes, Tony. I’ll go with you. Please don’t hurt me,” she whimpered, caught in backflasher and trying to placate the monster he became.

Vicious laughter sent warm breath against her ear. “You’ll get what you deserve. No more, no less,” he warned. As she trembled, the knife cut more deeply. She felt hot blood dribble from the cut. It sliced through the backflasher. Anger boiled in her belly as she thought of what he put her through, before and after she left. What he was putting her through right now. A flick of her wrist in the sack.

ZZZZZTTT!

The smoking hole in the sack told the story as much as the shock paralyzed on Tony’s face. He dropped like a plasteel chunk. Tessa held her hand to her bloody throat, relief flooding her as she took in the sight of him, still and gurgling. The shiny blade clattered, falling with him. Law takers surrounded him and someone gently tugged her away.

Dazed, shaking within her warm mylar cocoon, she held up her chin so the medic could seal the slash. “Lucky he didn’t have good aim, lady,” the medic murmured.

Petra’s voice was distant. Tessa opened her eyes and startled. Petra was right next to her. “Tessa, you’re safe. It’s bono, you tazed him.” Her friend’s hand was warm as it cupped her cheek.

Tessa replayed the scene over and over as the medic finished. Her thoughts alternated between Tony falling and that hateful look on his face beforehand. “Where is he?” Her whisper was hoarse.

Alry leaned in to where she sat in the medimotor. “All smooth, Tessa. The taze wore off and the takers got him talking to a lawbot now. He’ll be underground longtime. You stopped him.”

“All bono, yeah?” Petra’s smile sparked a faint one from Tessa.

“Bono, yeah.” Super smooth.

 

photo credit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/pagedooley/3724807427/ By Kevin Dooley

#FridayFlash: Work (redux)

 

Work, by JC Rosen

Chris decided to walk to work. She had a bounce in her gait and whistled off-key. The odd looks her way made her laugh.

The project would finish today. She’d fly home tonight and the next ten days were hers and hers alone. No more projects, no deadlines. Ten days to work on her novel. Another laugh bubbled up. Chris didn’t mind people peering as they passed by. They’d never recognize her under the wig and makeup. The mobs of people served as camouflage. She was just another blur going past in the city.

She glanced at the café as she walked by. Beautiful people in the beautiful weather. How they could stand the exhaust of the vehicles while they ate, she’d never know. More than miles separated her home from New York City. The corner table had a reserved sign on it. Chris mentally checked that off her list.

11:08. As she entered the building on time, she made another check on her list. The doorman held the door for all the worker bees heading to lunch. She wove her way among them, passing the reception desk unnoticed. Check. Slipping into an empty elevator, she waited for the doors to close before she hit the button for the twentieth floor.

A glance at her watch put extra speed in her footsteps as she left the elevator, heading for the stairs. Nearly two minutes off schedule. Her heart thumped, but she handled everything smoothly. A wire here, a button there. She imagined the worker bees in Security puzzling over the snow on their monitors. Practice did make perfect. 11:23, check. They’d get to the café any moment.

Chris tied a scarf over her wig and pulled the fancy sunglasses out of her handbag. A huge vent was near the roof door. Her case was tucked under its ledge. She snagged it and settled into the shadow of a billboard. Assembly was easy. Tab A into Slot B. Check. As she worked, a part of her listened, smelled, felt, and filed everything away.

The binoculars showed him being seated at the corner table as usual. A waiter removed the reserved sign. Chris watched through the lens as he got comfortable. Three joined him. All in boring business suits, all carrying attaché cases. As she watched, they ordered. 11:52, within the estimated timeframe. Check. Time to set aside the binoculars for a different lens.

When the waiter put a bowl of soup on the table, Chris nodded inwardly, taking her cue. Amusement registered within the part of her on observation duty. She took a slow breath and eased off the safety. He bent to his soup. Between breaths, she squeezed the trigger. He splashed into the soup. She broke the weapon into components. No time to waste. The security system would be back up in three minutes.

As always, she was disappointed she couldn’t watch the mark and aftermath up close. The feeling was filed away with other details. She stayed on schedule and was in her hotel room by 12:35. The bank manager’s murder already splattered across the news. She hardly noticed as she typed up observations.

Research made a novel come to life.

SPILLWORTHY by Johanna Harness Debuts

Congratulations to my dear friend, my mentor, Johanna Harness, on the publication of her novel SPILLWORTHY! It’s a remarkable story told in such a clever manner, the reader will inhale it in one sitting. The characters are beautifully exposed in their own writing. As the story unfolds, the suspense builds urgency. SPILLWORTHY is so worth your time. If you found this book, you were meant to find it.

SPILLWORTHY cover

SPILLWORTHY, by Johanna Harness

Surely you know Johanna Harness, at least by name, if you’re a writer or reader on Twitter. She created the enormously popular #amwriting hashtag and community. Whether you know her or not, take a look at her bio at the bottom of this piece.

Have you read the excerpt Johanna posted? Oh, do read it! It’s a choice segment from the start of the story which introduces a charming, somewhat jaded young man. Reading it will make the next part of this blog make more sense. Go on, take a moment. We’ll wait.

See, the fascinating mind of Johanna Harness suggested writers put together cameo appearances of one of *our* characters within the SPILLWORTHY world. That’s what’s coming next. So much fun to write! My character, Dawn Garson, writes in first person. She appears in the first book of my Mirror saga, as yet unpublished.

Did you read the SPILLWORTHY excerpt yet? Yes? Good. Here’s Dawn’s cameo, which does NOT appear in the book:

 

SPILLWORTHY, Cameo of Dawn Garson

Encouraged by my sons, I took a vacation in this world. Of course, they didn’t know of my sojourns into the other one. Having heard so much about Portland, I chose it as my destination. The last two days proved it was the right place. So green and lovely.

I’m not exactly made for tromping around sightseeing, but my cane and I made good use of the time. I found myself in a little neighborhood not far from the hotel which suited my budget. Glancing around, I caught sight of a second hand store. On impulse, I crossed the street to it and browsed a bit. I found a pretty blouse and a couple of beautiful coffee mugs which would be practical in both worlds.

As I left the store, still stuffing the new items into my shoulder bag, a shop window grabbed my attention. It was a music shop, a lot like the one in which I worked so many years ago. While the medium changed over the years, music store windows did not. This one was plastered with promotional posters, still album cover sized. Rampant images and color gave way to… what was that?

I honed in on the unlikely poster. It was not a poster at all. In fact, it looked like a pizza box top, complete with a couple of grease stains. Dense handwriting covered it. I stepped closer and read about Keats. It was like stepping into a cloud of happiness. The writer not only analyzed Keats’ writing well, the prose was positively lyrical. Clearly, someone with a poet’s soul wrote from his joy. I wished I could meet him or her and share a meal, just jabbering about whatever came up. Giddiness bubbled inside me at the thought.

Hungry by then, I stopped in at a nearby pizza place. I guess I was inspired by that not-a-poster. A couple supreme slices later, I had the rest boxed up to put into the minifridge in my hotel room. As I left, a kid quietly stopped me and asked if I would give him the leftover pizza. Poor kid was grubby and wore clothes made for someone of another size. I didn’t have to think about it. “Yes, please take it and enjoy. It’s still warm.” His face lit up and after thanking me, he walked to the corner and sat next to an old man with a dog to share the feast.

Portland. Such a good choice.

 

Johanna Harness bio, as taken from Goodreads: Johanna Harness writes middle grade and young adult stories in both Northwest and fantastic settings, often forgetting which is which. She created the #amwriting community on Twitter.

My opinion of her bio? Far too short, but once the writer starts on a complete picture of this woman, it’s hard to stop. Not just a talented writer, she’s a mother, wife, homeschooler, caretaker of critters large and small, and so much more.

You’ll want to read SPILLWORTHY, available in paperback and Kindle format. I predict awards and great things for this novel and for Johanna herself.

 

Thinking outside the #Flash

 

Lightning strikes

Photo by West Texan

Our heroine is going through a dry spell, Dear Reader. Grinding and grinding on old work, novels and flash alike, trying to make them better. Is the theme there? Is the hook set? Does each sentence propel the story forward? Are the voices different enough? And heaven help me, is this world consistent in its building?

ARGH!

Recently, I shared a flash with a friend from #SciFiChat and gratefully received her feedback. Before sending it, I expanded it beyond strict flash rules, but it was still flash length. She was charming in her comments, but through them I saw a major flaw with the story as written: it’s too damned short. Given the assignment of a flash, it would probably answer the question well enough with some tweaking. Given the opportunity to tell the whole story? Time to think outside the flash.

I’ll still write flash, of course. It’s a wonderful editing muscle which keeps me in shape for other projects. My novels improved with my editing skills. Giving myself over to the story must take priority, though. Let the story dictate its format. Just. Write. Sound familiar? It should if you read my blog, especially around NaNoWriMo time each year.

Who knows? I might just become a writer again.

How are you doing on your project right now?

Take care,

JC

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