Writer Be Aware

In completely unrelated news, I'd like to announce that if I didn't have mom, wife, cleaning lady, chef, frozen fundraiser pie delivery, field trip to the library, and visit to Grandma's and Doctor responsibilities today I would be heading to the department store make-up counter in pursuit of the perfect shade of red lipstick. Today feels like a good day to own a tube of red lipstick. I don't mean an off-shade like burgundy or wine, I mean RED. So red that people see my lips coming in the door before me. Well, okay, maybe not quite that red, but a red that looks great for the fast-approaching holidays. That is all I have to say about that.

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I recently wrote a sex-scene for my Nano novel. I've never written one before and quite honestly, I had to tap into the memory bank of all the lovemaking scenes I've ever seen in the movies. That task accomplished, I went on with my Nano-ing for the day, finishing at a respectable amount of words as I've been doing everyday since November 1^st.  (Expect yesterday, but I felt getting a bit ahead and taking a break was probably a good idea since I was beginning to feel a bit of a love-HATE thing for my story, more on that another day...)

I happily told my husband about the scene I'd written after the kids went to bed. I was excited that it had turned out quite well, in my opinion. I didn't want to write a porno-scene, but I didn't want readers to be bored with it either. All was well, my husband congratulated me and then asked a simple question that actually caused me to take a step back. He asked to read the scene. Of course I am happy to let people read what I've written, but my goodness... what if my nano-novel actually turns into something good and gets published and... my mother reads that sex scene, or worse, my Grandmother! My neighbor, my son's teachers. To use an expression from my old Jewish boss, "Oy vey ishmere!"

This past summer I heard the newly published Kelly O'Conner McNees speak about her book The Lost Summer of Louisa May Alcott (http://kellyoconnormcnees.com/ ). She was a very good speaker and I enjoyed listening to her as well as reading her book. One thing she talked about during her lecture was how surprised she was when she realized that people were reading her book. She mentioned a time that a perfect stranger commented on a scene from her book and she thought, "How did they know I wrote that in there?" It wasn't until then that she really realized what being published meant. It means anyone can pick up your book and read your words. All of them.

I'll likely keep the sex scene in the book, and in fact, I have planned an additional scene that I might not normally discuss with my mother or grandmother otherwise, but the story needs it. The scene will be food for the reader, and it is necessary to the story, I feel. But, let the words of those that have come before me whisper in your ear as you write, "EVERYONE will read this!"

*Gosh, if the fear of a bad critique isn't enough to scare you away from writing, now there is the awareness that if you do publish your book people will read it! LOL!

I should be nano-ing

I haven't posted in awhile and thanks to www.nanowrimo.org I've discovered something exciting that I really wanted to share with the world.

As usual, I have only just discovered this new and exciting thing, but I am certain others have known about it for a long time.

I was nano-ing along, starting at the beginning of my story like a good little first time nano-er, when suddenly I had an idea for a scene that would occur much later in the book. I didn't sit on the idea and wait to type my way to the part in my story I'd use it for, I stopped what I was working on to type that scene and it came out quite lovely, if I do say so myself. Then later I did it again! And then again until I was jumping all over the place in my story and that is just about when something peculiar began happening...

I was typing away when suddenly this tall handsome man walked into my story and said, "Hi, I'm Will, the husband." Then it happened again later when a boy strolled in and explained that he was the third son, Bradley. I was amazed. Characters seemed to be appearing from no where in my story. I admit, I was a little taken back when a lady sat across from me on the screen and explained she was at the funeral. Funeral?? But who died?! Brilliant!! Brilliant!!!

So, at the end of Nano I'm not certain anyone will be able to read my story from beginning to end at first, but after a little rearranging I think it will be okay.

Oh, so the neat-o thing I learned: I've never been very good at coming up with the middle of a story. I can write amazing beginnings with decent endings but rarely fill in the middle very well in my opinion. So, what I've figured out is that by not trying to do that, but instead focusing on each scene I am able to write a great beginning, middle and ending with no problem. My character goes to the gas station. I can write when she arrived what she did and when she left. Breaking it down like that seems to really be helping me. Now, I am not nearly ready to start rearranging these wonderful scenes I've written and trying to make the story readable from the actual beginning, but I think having figured out to write it scene by scene and not even in order, for that matter, is really working well for me.

12,841 words written as of yesterday. Today I am procrastinating a bit, but by this evening I'll be on my way to India with a French poet in search of.... well, I can't really tell you that, now can I? [smile]

My first ever critique

This was over a year ago. Should this stall my writing? Probably not. It has. I think because there is a comment on nearly everything I've written. Scary.  

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Chapter 1

 

These mys jumped out at me. Although they don’t necessarily need to be taken out, you could simply leave the my turn out and eliminate one of them.

            I tap my hand on my jeans to the beat of the blaring salsa music waiting my turn in line at the coffee shop. My mouth starts to water at the familiar aromas that waft all leave out around me.  Many mornings I drive out of my way to Lorraine's Coffee House for her amazing brew hoping Lorraine's flea market and antique shop treasures will be the perfect remedy to fix what's been leave out ailing me. I love to sit in her funky chairs and marvel at her crazy trinkets. The porcupine that sits leave out in front of the fireplace, the delightfully patterned sea horse shaped vase she has next to the door for umbrellas and the Elvis mannequin who sits leave out in the corner with his fake spilled cup of coffee on the table in front of him. See if this isn’t better. The porcupine in front of the fireplace, the patterned sea horse-shaped vase next to the door and the Elvis mannequin in the corner with the fake-spilled cup of coffee on the table in front of him. That Elvis, he never could hold his drink.

            I listen to Lorraine the Coffee-Lady going on as usual about her fresh baked scones. I nearly forget how great the place smells wondering why no one has ever told her how horrible her scones actually are. Well, what would she have to drone on about if not her scones; I shutter at the thought.

            "Gwen! Good morning to our famous writer. Famous writer in the house." Lorraine jests as she sticks her pointer fingers in the air and performs a modified version of The Twist. I laugh; I’d take the I laugh out. And watch the use of semi-colons in fiction. Read the sentence and see if it wouldn’t be best broken into two sentences or if you can simply use a comma. Semi-colons and colons lend a sense of formality to your writing, and especially in this piece, you want a relaxed fun feeling. And then make a new paragraph here. Otherwise you’d have Lorraine’s dialogue and Gwen’s dialogue in the same paragraph…that’s a no-no.

            Lorraine is sort of cute in her own Coffee-Lady kind of way. "Good morning, Miss Lorraine" I say through my fake smile and think enjoy livin' the dream, sister; because That’s three of those boogers in less than 300 words. And this one should really just be a comma. it's not gonna last forever. I order a cup of her house blend and notice she does not offer me a scone. She must be onto me.

            With a half hour to spare before the meeting with my agent, I take a seat at a tall, round hot pink table.   Now I have a great view of the front door and a bamboo bead curtain that leads to the unisex restroom—a perfect people watching spot. a half hour to spare before the meeting with my agent, I take a seat at a tall round hot pink table with a great view of the front door and a bamboo bead curtain that leads to the unisex restroom on my right; a perfect people watching spot. You are way to in love with semi-colons. I am entertained for a few minutes watching the folks in their business suits carrying briefcases, laptops and newspapers talking into the air about their ever so important day, mouthing their orders and pleasantries to Lorraine so the person on the other end of their [phone thingy] doesn't hear them. My mind drifts to my meeting with Jill. She will surely yell at me, I will defend myself, she will yell at me for defending myself. Oh, what excuse can I give this woman? I simply cannot write anything. I do not know why. The creative section of my brain is on vacation. Use contractions whenever possible. It’s more conversational, which is the style you’re using.

            I look up from my coffee in time to see a very old, and very tall, skinny, balding man wobble in the door wearing what is likely his Sunday best. He looks directly at me and for a moment. He looks directly at me and I’m afraid he’s going to mistake me for his internet hook up and hit me with a line like, “I look older in person” and explain he only uses his cane to get a handicap parking space. I'm afraid he's going to walk over mistaking me for his internet hook-up with a line like, "I look older in person" and explain he only uses his cane to get rock star parking in handicapped parking spaces. But instead, he takes a seat next to the front door. The man takes a seat next to the front door in one of Lorraine's crazier flea market finds.

            I tighten my ponytail while I try to imagine why the old man is there. He didn't order coffee, or even buy a scone. He came in, looked at me and sat down. Odd I think. Odd, indeed. This is kind of a cart before the horse sentence…I think it would make more sense like this…The old man doesn’t order any coffee, or even a scone. He just walked in, looked at me and sat down. I tighten my ponytail and try to imagine why he’d be there. Odd, I think. Odd, indeed.

            A dark headed handsome twenty-something ordering a floofy coffee drink catches my attention. I debate whether I'd be too old for this guy and finally decide too old or not, I'm totally not interested in someone who drinks a floofier coffee than I do. I stand up to leave, check my pocket for my keys and apply a fresh coat of Chapstick. As I turn toward the door, I notice the old man is now standing next to the colorful flea market chair he’d been sitting in. The hair on the back of my neck tries to decide if it should stand up as well because this man is definitely on the "doesn't belong side" of one of these things does not belong.  ?? Maybe just say……man is definitely on the “doesn’t belong side” of my list.

            I check my table one last time to make sure I didn't forget anything, which would be hard considering I only ever leave out carry keys and Chapstick with me. I attempt instantly gathering my wits about the old man because the shop is not very big and I will be walking past him in less than two point five seconds. Luckily, I notice a black bird flapping around outside the door in the parking lot. Great distraction, now I can stride past him and not worry about looking freaked out. I decide I need to gather my wits about me since the shop isn’t very big and I’ll be walking past the old man in less than two point five seconds. Luckily, I notice a black bird flapping around outside the door. Great distraction, now I can stride past him and not worry about looking freaked out as I concentrate on the bird. I really think you need to explain this part about the bird more. I keep reading it and wondering who is distracted by the bird…Gwen or the old man. And if it’s Gwen, how does she convey that?