Handling Rejection

Do you remember those days when you were still in high school or college and you really liked a guy? The hot one on the football team, or the one with the amazing singing voice? Do you remember those butterflies in your stomach each year as prom rolled around and you anxiously waited for him to ask you to go? Or did you ask him? I remember such a time. My friends told me he would ask me, and I waited and waited. I think I lived in more fear that someone else would ask me first and I wouldn't know what to say. Would I say 'no' in hopes that the guy I really liked would ask me? Or did I say 'yes' anyway because I really wanted to go, and just hope that I wouldn't have to tell my crush 'no'? I remember the huge rose I received when my crush did finally ask me. I was elated and giddy with joy. I had never seen such a large rose before! I was the envy of all my friends. I was truly on cloud '9'! Of course there was also that horrid year when someone asked me and I said 'yes' simply because I was a sophomore and didn't think anyone else would ask me. Of course, I didn't hardly know the guy and he was so tall, he intimidated the snot out of me. Now, this pains me to admit, but when I caught wind that this really hot senior was going to ask me to go, I battled with my emotions and feelings. I really wanted to go, but I wasn't certain the hot guy would ask me. After a couple days, I made my decision. I told the first guy I didn't really want to go with him. (I think he was really disappointed, the poor guy.) Then I waited for the hot guy to ask me. After a couple more days, he did, only to change his mind the next day and ask another senior. Of course, I only found out about it from a friend, and when I got the guts to ask him about it, he just shrugged me off. It serves me right! Anyway, the other day, I received a rejection on my manuscript from the publisher that I have really been hoping would take my ms. (Not quite the same as prom, but devastating in its own right.) Rejection is never an easy thing to handle. Of course I felt like dirt and that my writing was horrid. All I wanted to do all day was crawl under the blankets, have myself a good cry, and eat too much chocolate ice cream and read someone else's book! But alas, I had to go to work and tough it out. After stewing about it for a while, I realized that I'm not worthless. And though my writing isn't perfect and fabulous, it doesn't suck either. The editor actually sent me a pretty lengthy correspondence of notes, which tells me that she at least sees the value and potential of the story! (whew) Often, editors say, "sorry, but no," and that's it. So I'm grateful she gave me her thoughts. I think the best thing for me when I receive a rejection on my ms, is to wait a couple days and not even look at it! Then, take the time to look through the comments and focus on the good parts. Then, after that's bolstered my confidence, I look at the critiques and see how I can make it better. Because that's really what a critique is - advice on how to improve. I still find rejection hard, but I hope that with each rejection I receive, I can make my story better, tighter, and more enjoyable to read!

Romantic Set-Up

I'm looking for some ideas. I'd love it if you played along!

Leave me a comment and answer any or all of the questions below. (If blogger is being impossible, email me with your comments. rachelrager(dot)romance(at)gmail(dot)com.) If I like your answer the best, I'll use it in my current Wednesday Romance! :) If I like it and I can't work it into anything I'm working on now, I'll file it away and use it somewhere else!

1. If you could arrange the most romantic date, what would it be?

2. If you could set up the perfect kiss, what would be your setting?

3. If you could recreate your favorite romantic memory, how would you do it?

Thanks for your ideas! Happy kisses!!

Quote of the Day

"When you are in Love you can't fall asleep because reality is better than your dreams."
-- Dr Seuss

Which Point of View Should I Choose?

Today we are talking about Point of View and how to choose which to use. I will be taking some of my thoughts from two different articles.

One of the first choices that a writer makes can be the most important. It can make or break any piece of fiction.

Point of view (POV).

First, as the writer, you must understand your options before you start. There are 3 different POV to choose from.

1st person – I walked through the store, looking for the perfect dress to wear that night. Most of them were absolutely hideous, and I wouldn’t be caught dead in them. Well, I guessed I would have to be dead to actually wear anything so ugly.

2nd person – You walked through the store, looking for the perfect dress to wear that night. Most of them were absolutely hideous, and you wouldn’t be caught dead in them. Well, you guessed you would have to be dead to actually wear anything so ugly.

3rd person – She walked through the store, looking for the perfect dress to wear that night. Most of them were absolutely hideous, and she wouldn’t be caught dead in them. Well, she guessed she would have to be dead to actually wear anything so ugly.

Now, we all know that within these there are other options as well, but we will just speak generally today.

1st – Beginning writers often prefer first person, but that doesn’t mean it is the best choice. If the story follows multiple characters then first person is not the right choice for the story, as this follows ONLY the main characters thoughts. This would be a good method to use for a mystery writer, or if the writer doesn’t want the main character to hold information until it is discovered. This is also a good POV for writing non-fiction as it can read like a diary.

In my opinion, first person is a good way to make the reader feel like a part of the story. However, I think that it is often used poorly. But if it is done well, it works really well.

EXAMPLE:

Poison Study by Maria V. Snyder

Raw bands of flesh circled my bloody wrists. I touched my neck, feeling skin where there used to be metal. My fingers came away sticky with blood. I groped for the chair. Being freed of the weight of the chains caused a strange sensation to sweep over me; I felt as if I were either going to float away or pass out. I inhaled until the faintness passed.

Some advantages to writing in first person.
• Directness - You can give the reader a first-hand perspective on the story.
• Voice - If your narrator has a colorful or appealing way of talking, this can add flavor to the story-telling.
• Intimacy - Your reader has the chance to get to know the narrator by listening to him.

Some disadvantages to writing in first person.
• Limited scope - Your narrator only knows what she knows. She doesn't know what the other people around her are thinking. She doesn't know what's happening two miles away. That limits the information she can supply to the reader.
• Limited voice - If your narrator is a six-year-old, she can't talk convincingly about politics.
• Difficulty withholding information - If the narrator knows something that you don't want the reader to know yet, she might have to be tricky or evasive.
2nd – This is also limited to one person’s perspective. That person happens to be the reader. Most fiction writers choose not to write in second person. If the reader disagrees with what is going on in the story, as they are the main character, this will cause issues. Most writers who use second person use it in the form of a narration for self-help and do-it-yourself manuals.

3rd – Third person is usually the favorite of most fiction writers. That doesn’t mean that you should avoid it just to change things up. The reason it is a favorite is because it’s so easy to tell the story. It can be exclusively from the main character’s perspective, but it also has the advantage of switching among many characters. The basic freedom provided by third person is the ability of the author to follow multiple characters to let the reader view different events of a story from new and changing perspectives, increasing enjoyment and entertainment.

EXAMPLE:

The Dedicated Villain by Patricia Veryan

He seized her chin with one hand and forced it up as he smiled down into her bewitching, if enraged little face. “’Tis Francis’s fondest wish that you should become my wife, and –” His fervent utterance terminated in a yelp as his beloved demonstrated the depth of her feelings by sinking her teeth into his hand.
Advantages to third person.

~ You basically have the same advantages as with first person, but you are able to do that with many characters. If you are switching back and forth, you won’t be able to express every character’s every thought, because that would be tedious. But you could certainly hit on the main thoughts and feeling.

One thing to note, regardless of which POV you choose for your story, you MUST be consistent and appropriate for the story being told. POV is a way for the reader to get inside the character’s head, to know and understand what they are thinking, seeing, experiencing and feeling. Switching from one character’s POV to another in the same scene must be done carefully. Most readers don’t respond well to ‘head hopping’ as it can be very confusing.

You wouldn’t want to say, “He caressed her face and smiled at the softness of her cheek against his finger. Her legs wobbled and she feared they would fail her.”

That just gets confusing. And the reader is left saying, “Hey! I thought I was hearing his thoughts. Now I’m hearing hers?”

Instead, you should say, “He caressed her face and smiled at the softness of her cheek against his finger. She leaned into him, and he wrapped his arms around her, banding her closer to him. A secret thrill shot through him as he felt her heart pounding in her chest. It was his touch that caused her to sway in his arms; his touch caused her cheeks to flush and her breath to come in short breaths.”

See? It is better to stay with one character’s POV throughout the scene and then change at a break or chapter.

And remember, no matter what POV you choose, detail is ALWAYS important and will make your story ‘POP!’

Back to Basics

I often get emails about various aspects about writing. As many of you know, I am VERY self taught in this market. I knew absolutely nothing when I started. I HATED writing and reading. So I have come a very long way. And everything I’ve learned have been from friends who have been willing to part with their vast supply of knowledge. So, I thought I’d give you a very basic version of how to write. If you have any other questions, always feel free to comment and ask. I will answer what I can. And if I can’t, I’ll direct you to someone who can.

Obviously, the most important thing to do first is to get the story on paper. You can always go back and edit and fix things later. But knowing a few things might help with both those processes.

Avoid generic description.

"The view was beautiful."

This is both passive voice (which is also something to avoid) and also very general. So instead of telling me it's beautiful, show it to me.

"The flowers glowed a brilliant gold in the growing light of the morning."

Do you see the difference? There needs to be action verbs instead of passive verbs. This is not always possible, but really helps bring a story to life.
Also, avoid using adverbs. (-ly words)

She smiled as the sweetly smelling flower tickled her senses.

What is that sweet smell? Can you describe it? You could say,

The citrus smelling blossom made her smile with thoughts of home.

NOW you have a better idea of what the flower smells like AND why she likes it.

Another thing to watch for is tag lines. 'He said,' 'she told him,' 'he perceived,' etc. If at all possible use an action before the dialogue so the reader knows who's speaking and what's going on.

Sterling frowned at the amused expression on his brother’s face. “If you don’t reign in this infernal habit of yours, you’ll get killed.”

You not only know that he’s frustrated and displeased, but you know who he’s speaking to. And it’s a lot stronger sentence than,

“If you don’t reign in this infernal habit of yours, you’ll get killed,” Sterling said with a frown to his brother.

An action isn't always needed, but if you can, avoid the tag line. In most of your dialogue, you could get rid of your tags. That's harder to do in a conversation with more than two people speaking but still possible.

Another thing is to make sure and introduce the driving force of the story right away. Even if it's just a shadow of what's to come. You need to leave the reader with questions and a desire to know what's going to happen.

A shot rang through the trees of the forest canopy.
Sterling Bennett’s chest constricted with rage, and he glared at his brother as they increased their speed.
His lungs burned; sweat ran down his back. Determined, he dodged the bushes and trees that jumped in his path compelling him to alter his direction. Mud oozed over his new riding boots with every step, and he groaned, wishing he hadn’t left his horse with the blacksmith.
Echoing off a large rock formation, his brother’s footsteps pounded behind him. “What kind of mess have you gotten yourself into this time, Bruce?” he asked in a hoarse voice as he searched for shelter.
“The usual.” Bruce’s laughter bounced off the trees. “A man needs to enjoy himself.” Bruce tore stray twigs from his jacket, breathing heavily beside Sterling. “Besides, what’s life if you aren’t going to have a little adventure?” Bruce stomped through a large mud puddle splattering them both.
Sterling frowned at the amused expression on his brother’s face. “If you don’t reign in this infernal habit of yours, you’ll get killed.”
Bruce had such potential – if the infuriating whelp would apply himself toward something worthwhile.
Bruce chuckled. “You’ll never let that happen.”
Sterling glanced around the rocks. “Don’t tempt me.” He pointed and then led them to a dense section of trees several paces away. “I’m tired of bailing you out. It’s time you started being responsible.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
“I mean it, Bruce. One of these days you’ll land in a hole, six feet under if you don’t change your ways.” He stepped over a log and continued his fierce pace.
“You’ll keep bailing me out because you love being so helpful all the time,” Bruce mocked, “to everyone except your family.”
“I left Court to bail you out.” Sterling hissed. “King Rodrick will likely have my head on a silver platter. You call that selfish?”
Another shot whizzed through the air and Bruce buckled and groaned. Blood oozed from his shoulder at an alarming rate as he dropped to his knees.
Sterling reached over and tore away the fabric, silently cursing Bruce.
“We need to get out of here and find you a doctor.”
Sterling pulled Bruce to his feet and draped his brother’s arm over his shoulder. Together they continued their escape through the trees.

Are you left with a desire to know more? I hope so!! (Mostly because this is the prologue to Sweet Ivy which is currently under review by a couple publishers.)

I hope this helped a few of you with any questions you may have. Like I said at the beginning, get your thoughts down on paper. THEN go back and change things. These things will help your story to jump off the page. And as you do them and are aware of them, they will get easier to do!

Happy writing!

Where Are Your Thoughts?

Where is the best place for you to brainstorm?

I’ll tell you, some of my best ‘thinking’ time is when I’m doing a mindless chore, like working in the garden, or scrubbing the floors on my hands and knees. Sometimes even taking a shower. I came up with a good portion of By Love or By Sea while taking a shower. (I know you really wanted to know that!) You’d be amazing at how the mind can whirl while you’re working. It is the perfect time to allow your thoughts to brew!

Brainstorming is an important part of writing. If you are writing a novel, you should be brainstorming throughout the entire process. From before you write the very first word of your outline, to the very last edit.

Why?

Tell me this. If you are not a part of the world you are trying to create, how can you expect your reader to be a part of it?

So how is this accomplished?

I have a notebook for every book. I have folders on my computer for every book (that are, of course, backed up). It is a good idea to write a few things, even just ideas, every day. Don’t worry if you end up cutting them later on. Get the juices flowing! Get the story growing!

Where do you start?

Don’t feel like you have to start at the beginning. If you have an idea, write it down. You can figure out how it fits in with everything else later. Much later, sometimes. Start at the beginning, start with a character, start with a situation, it doesn’t matter. Just get your thoughts on the page.

I read a thing by Maria V. Snyder about writing her first book, Poison Study. She started with a question. “Who would choose to become a food taster?” Here is her thought process.

“Who would choose to become a food taster? My answer was “No one.” So someone would be forced to take the position – who? Not someone loyal to the king/Commander – he wouldn’t want to risk a good man – even though a loyal man might consider the job an honor. There is a good chance the food taster will die – so who would the king/Commander use and not feel bad if the person dies? Someone on death row. She will be executed anyway – her life is forfeit, waiting in the dungeon for execution. But how to keep that person from escaping? Butterfly’s Dust – a poison that stays in the body and if the food taster doesn’t show up for a daily antidote she will die. Great, but why is she in the dungeon? Execution is an extreme punishment – so she had to do something extreme like murder. Why and who does she kill? See how the story is taking shape? And the questions don’t stop until the story is done.”

When I first started, The Tiger, Unleashed, I wanted to write about a girl who played the piano and admired, through the window, a boy who work in her father’s vineyard. Did it end up that way? No. But some of the elements are still there. And who knows, maybe someday I’ll use the parts that died.

One thing I will tell you, I found inspiration for the first scene of The Tiger, Unleashed and the premise for Sweet Ivy while leading the music in church. The stories had been swirling in my head for a long time, and then one day, each of them came to life as I was leading the music.

So if you allow yourself to become a part of the world you create, your stories will come alive for your readers!

Accident Prone

I found this among my folders the other day. I LOVE the voice of it! However, I don't remember writing it! :) And I don't remember what I was going to do with it. It is obviously not finished. But I'm fresh out of ideas. I don't know where to take this. So this is me brainstorming. I'm posting this to see what your reactions are. Is it terrible and a waste of time? Or does it provoke interest? AND WHERE SHOULD THIS GO? I'd love to hear your responses and any ideas you may have! Perhaps this is one we could write together!

Accident Prone

The first time I saw him, I lay heavily sedated in my hospital bed.
What a day that had been. I’d gone up the mountain with my siblings for some skiing and bonding. Some bonding we were having now! The tree came out of nowhere. Three of us made it out with only a few bumps and bruises. Me? I wasn’t so lucky. But really, one out of four isn’t too bad of odds. It could be worse. Right?
Of course, I was hurt the worst. I even wore my seatbelt. I don’t know why it was me. It has always been like that too. Everything always happened to me. At least everything bad. If there was a lottery to be won, Silvia would win that. She just had a way with numbers. If there was an artsy contest to be won, the prize would go to Nettie, no questions asked. If we were in a crowd of people, Dylan would be the center of attention. If tragedy were to occur, it always happened to me.
I was the only one to break any bone in my body. (And it’s not like Dylan didn’t try. We had both been swinging from the tree that day and we both fell. His bones must be made of rubber.) I was also the only one to be hospitalized for anything. Mom said that’s just the way things work sometimes. But I have no idea how things like that just find me.
The broken car shouldn’t have broken down. I took excellent care of it. My dog should never have attacked me. I fed him and took him on a long run every day. Even the near drowning in the lake was some bazaar twisted accident.
Trouble just seemed to follow me. I often stared at myself in the mirror, wondering if I was invisibly marked by an angry god. Sylvia would laugh at me and tell me I was even more beautiful than the day before. Ha! Not likely. When compared to her golden curls and full lips, Nettie’s fashionable figure, and Dylan’s charm, I was left with nothing. By the time I arrived, the gene pool had been depleted.
Not that I’m complaining. I had a full and happy childhood. Bad things always happened to me, but I never felt ostracized or unloved. In fact, until this latest accident, it never occurred to me that no one else in my family suffered from the trials of unwanted bad luck. It was in that hospital bed, my legs propped up and in casts, my torso and neck wrapped in a brace, and my arms pinned to my sides that I contemplated this.
I groaned. If only I had my hands free. That would be better than this. This immobility was terrible. Accident prone as I was, I had a passion for movement. I moved when I spoke, and I thrived in sports. Unfortunately, that was not always a good thing. I almost always come away with some sort of wound. Strangely enough, I still possessed all my teeth.
But my hands. As confining as my condition was, if I had my hands, at least I could write. Writing was my breath.

The New Year's Bath

It's New Year's Eve and people will visit friends, go to parties, and generally have a good time! So, as I was going about something to write, I debated between writing resolutions and...well...writing resolutions. What else do you write about this time of year?
Then I came across a picture and had an idea. I'd tell you a story.

I once went to a party at a club in the city on New Year's Eve. My friend, Julie, and I were bored and looking for a good time. Though, I don't recall the name of the club, I do remember the events. We had a couple sodas and danced the night away. We saw a few of our friends from work, but they were distracted so we moved on.
Late into the night, we met this guy. His nose was straight, and his eyes were kind. But his facial hair took all attention away from any other perfection he possessed. His beard was long and scraggly, and who knew what it might have housed. Bits of cracker and something green clung to the fuzzy mass.
He introduced himself as Mark, and we tried to slide away. Not only was his beard home to many midnight snacks, he moved remarkably fast and blocked our path. We turned, and he somehow positioned himself between us and our escape. I thought we were trapped. I looked behind us and other unsavory characters had converged around us, all smiling.
I looked up. The disco ball loomed over my head.
The people around us must be drunk. They continued to point upwards and laugh.
I wondered if we crawled through their legs if we could get away.
Then the countdown began. 10, 9, 8...
I dropped to the floor and a set of hands lifted me back up. I stared into the face of Mark and flinched backwards. He smelled as sour as he looked. A good bath would do him good.
7, 6, 5, 4...
Julie grabbed my hand and launched us into the crowd, but they pushed us back. We were stuck.
3, 2, 1...
Everyone screamed! I felt something ooze over my shoulder. There was too much of it to be slobber. I looked up and saw...

Happy New Year!!

(Please remember, I write fiction! However, this picture inspires all sorts of stories. Can you think of one?)

Closet Search

In my English class, we wrote non-fiction stories about ourselves. (Well, the prompt was a non-fiction prompt, but this story is not entirely true. Though it has a basis, I exaggerated many things for the purpose of the story.)
I turned the in and then did some editing based on comments I recieved. It's not great and I'm not much for non-fiction. The hardest part was making it sound like the kid version of me. I'm still not sure I succeeded. But I thought I'd share it! I hope you like it! :)

Closet Search
By Rachel Rager

I had little time left. Mom would be inside soon and I was supposed to be weeding the garden.
I sat back.
Defeated.
Shoes littered the floor all around me. Dresses hung over my head. Some were sliding off their hangers but holding on by one shoulder strap, as though the hanger could stop them from landing in a crumpled heap on the floor. If they got in my way, I’d just dispose of them as I had done to everything else I’d encountered in the last couple minutes.
The cluttered space made it difficult to move. And it was too dark to see properly.
I sighed.
Perhaps if I had a flashlight. Not one of those giant ones that we took camping, but one of the small ones my dad kept with his tools in the garage. The red one with the LED light that I could conceal in my pocket and return before he discovered it was gone. It was brighter, too. Just what I needed.
I glanced outside and shook my head. I didn’t have time to get it now. I could see Mom’s bowl was full of tomatoes. She’d be inside soon.
I needed to find my dog and keep my secret safe. Snuggles had been a prize from selling the most Girl Scout cookies. I’d only had him for a few months. His zippered belly sheltered a necklace and the note. I must find it. Where could it possibly have walked to?
I heard my mom’s voice outside. My heart hammered in my chest.
I leaned forward and squinted into the darkness. My hand felt around on the shelf.
Nothing. The shelf was empty. A flashlight wouldn’t make my stuffed animal appear. He wasn’t there.
I flipped my hair from my eyes as my chest throbbed with an aching desire.
The sun dancing through the open window did nothing to help brighten the dark corner where I sat. It paraded the happy little flecks of dust that floated through the air but did nothing for the darkest recess of the closet. I wanted to growl at their carefree nature as they spun and played.
Snuggles was lost! I was going to die from shame.
Looking around I saw the toys that had exploded over the shoes from my exploits. Moments before, I had been on my hands and knees, the carpet rubbing my bare knees making them tender and red. My hands had catapulted objects into the air.
Once treasures.
The diary I wrote in every day. The tin where I kept different shaped rocks. The microphone I had begged my parents to get me last year for my birthday. The Barbie doll I had dressed up once and then forgotten. Jacks, balls, the stuffed strawberry I’d loved so much that it resembled a placemat.
I had searched frantically.
The only noises to be heard were the airborne objects hitting the floor and dresser behind me.
Slippers, books, and jeans that were too small that I hid from my mom so I didn’t have to wear them.
I wanted to cry.
My sister would claim Snuggles as her own if she found him. She’s probably the one who hid it from me, which is why I was here now. That was the problem with sharing a room. Half this stuff was hers. I had already gone through her toys but perhaps I should be more thorough. She was not a neat person, she’d never notice if something was out of place. She’d never notice if something went missing.
But I did. I kept everything neatly catalogued in my highly sophisticated brain. She might be younger and could spell my spelling words, but I could keep track of things. Except for the new jacket I left on the rack outside my classroom on the last day of school.
I leaned back on a lumpy bed of shoes and toys. I was done for. My sister must have found the note. My parents would tease me and tell everyone. I would be forever humiliated.
The house was silent, the smell of hot bread wafted down the hall. I heard my mom in the garage. If she found my room this messy, I’d be grounded for a year. Sighing, I threw everything back in the closet and closed the doors. I better get outside before someone was sent to look for me.
My search would have to continue later that night, after my sister was in bed. On my way outside, perhaps I could snatch the flashlight off the workbench.
If my sister found the note from Chris along with the necklace and showed it to my parents, I would never be able to show my face again. I closed the closet door and raced outside, determined to keep my secret safe.

Writing Character Interviews

I have heard that authors interview their characters at some point, or they should. I always thought that was weird. Shouldn't you already know your characters? Why give them an interview when you already know everything about them?

Well, one day, I was stuck with a character and I decided to try this out. I WAS AMAZED! I didn't know what to do, so I just started writing and asking silly questions I already knew the answers to. But then it grew! I realized there were aspects of his character, based on his answers, that I hadn't fleshed out. This allowed me to know everything about him!
So, now I'm a FIRM believer in character interviews!

Do you want to see an example? I'll share part of one of the interviews I did for 'The Mirror' that I'm currently working on. You'll notice I start with simple questions and work my way up. I make sure and include physical things when I can. They help me understand my character too. I didn't know this character very well, when I started but as I interviewed him, he really took shape and became exciting! :)



King Ferrin: You know I could have you thrown in prison and executed.

Me: Yes.

King Ferrin: So, you’d better not ask too many sensitive questions.

Me: For arguments’ sake, I will agree. But you and I both know that I can write you off the page at any time.

King Ferrin: Touché. Alright then, author woman, hit me with whatever you’ve got.

Me: (sigh) Tell me about your kingdom.

King Ferrin: Starting with the mundane.

Me: Why not.

King Ferrin: There are six districts of my kingdom. The Forest. The Swamp. The Ice Lands. The Desert. The Low Lands. The High Lands. Splitting the land are The Cliffs. And The Ocean boarders our land on the west.

Me: Original names.

King Ferrin: (glares)

Me: I assume there are townships within these districts. Can you tell me a little about them?

King Ferrin: There are big and little cities, towns, provinces, farms. There are six councilmen. One from each district.

Me: How do you determine who becomes a councilman?

King Ferrin: I choose men based on their services to me.

Me: No women?

King Ferrin: Ha! Not likely. Women are only good for a couple things in life. (raises eyebrows)

Me: A-hem. Let’s keep this clean.

King Ferrin: (shrugs)

Me: What do your councilmen do?

King Ferrin: Twice a year, we all meet at The Palace in the High Lands and deliberate about the kingdom. We discuss major issues. They give their advice and I make a decision.

Me: You only meet twice a year? What if something comes up?

King Ferrin: That’s just a typical year. Things come up and sometimes I ask for my councilmen’s advice, sometimes I don’t. See one of the great things about being king, is I get to do what I want. When I want.

Me: What about your people?

King Ferrin: What they don’t know doesn’t hurt them. I have the men I trust most at the Palace with me. When things are kept low key, there’s no need for the people to get worked up.

Me: I see. So how much do you hide from your kingdom?

King Ferrin: (laughs) Most things. I usually let them know about the good things. Like the small disputes that are resolved.

Me: So they know nothing about the tension building between your kingdom and your brother’s?

King Ferrin: Not even Rohan knows of that. He thinks he’s privy to everything, but the boy is so green it’s laughable. He’d lose it if he knew! He loves Falcon too much.

Me: Well, I know about it. Will you tell me what led up to this tension? And what are you doing to prepare for war?

King Ferrin: (laughs) Falcon and I have never gotten along well. He was the older son, but incompetent to be king. He ascended anyway and ran things so contrary to how Father did.

Me: How does Falcon run things?

King Ferrin: He makes decisions based on what the ‘people’ want. (sneers) Rohan would do the same, you know. If he didn’t know so much, I would send him to live with his uncle. Falcon has no sons. Although, if he did, he would give them all titles. Not all king, but they would all have a title.

Me: You don’t give titles to your other sons?

King Ferrin: Hell no! They could buy one just like everyone else.

Me: I didn’t realize so many have titles.

King Ferrin: (laughs) They don’t. But they’ve tried to bribe me anyway. I’ve put them on a waiting list!

Me: (stares in shock)

King Ferrin: Malone is the man closest to receiving a title in my kingdom. He’s a boy after my own heart. I’m seriously considering giving the crown to him instead of Rohan.

Me: Doesn’t the crown go to your oldest son?

King Ferrin: Traditionally. But I make the laws and I can change them. I’m waiting to announce it. I’d hate an uprising.

Me: How would you do it? You aren’t wanting an uprising but you don’t care for the people’s opinion.

King Ferrin: (smiles) Malone is currently working with a small team of men, training the dragons that reside on The Cliffs. When we go to war with Falcon, Rohan will lead the men. He will be on the front lines and when Malone comes in to save the day with the dragons…. Well, Rohan will most certainly die, as will his brother, Kellin. That leaves Malone to ascend to the throne.

Me: Now, Malone is your wife’s nephew?

King Ferrin: Yes. I came here and married Clissilda. She gave me two worthless sons, and a daughter, who will only prove promising when she marries Malone.

Me: Malone?!

King Ferrin: Yes! (glares and I stay silent) Malone! He is Jezzie’s only child.

Me: (nodding) I heard you were involved some other activities as well. Other than dragons and war. Will you tell me about them?

King Ferrin: You’ll only hound me if I don’t.

Me: True. (smiling sweetly)

King Ferrin: Where to begin?

Me: (eye narrow)

King Ferrin: Let’s start with Falcon. It always starts and ends with him. Does it not?

For Starters...

I've been being Mom, student, and wife. This leaves little time for writing anything new. (Oh, and I've been reading. That's a time-sucker! But I LOVE it!!) I'm still working on my fantasy, which has taken a new twist. The king, he's a piece of work! At least he took me by surprise. :)

This is my original beginning to the story.

Pointless.
That was a good way to describe my existence.
I made no money at my job. I hated my classes. But what choice did I have? My jobs weren’t going to get any better until I graduated. Although, my dad claims that even then, sometimes life sucks.
Great. I can’t wait.

I decided that this might be another interesting way to start it. However, it would be a different place in the story, and I may have to do some flashbacks. So we'll see.

I sat alone in the room. The cool air chilled my skin. I shivered. There was nothing to look at but the concrete walls and floor. The rope binding my hands to the chair, dug into my wrists.
Wriggling and twisting my hands, I endeavored to free myself. Jumping did no good, as the chair was nailed down.
A noise sounded in the hall. My eyes darted to the door.
Voices. Male
The handle jiggled. The door opened.
I closed my eyes at the onslaught of light that filtered through the dark room.

Fun, huh! I want to see what happens!!! I wrote it while waiting for class one day. VERY intriguing!

Here's the opening to another Wednesday Romance series I have in mind for the first of the year!

Make believe.
Something I was never any good at.
Sketches. Drawings. Visuals.
Those I can wrap my head around.

I don't know. We'll see. At any rate, my thoughts keep me company and never give me a dull moment.

Happy Kisses!

Alone Tonight, Always the Same

I am still laughing!! I just wrote this poem for my class. Now remember, I am not a poet.
The assignment was to write a Neo-formalism poem in any form I want. A Neo-formalism poem uses contemporary language and situations, while following traditional forms of poetry. The form I chose to use is a Villanelle. This is a tricky poem to write because it repeats lines over and over, but in a very specific order. However, because of the repetition, it always makes the narrator sound obsessed. I am not obsessed about many things and I wanted to try it, to see how I would sound if I was obsessed about something. I chose the Villanelle because, honestly, I liked the word! :) Then I asked my husband a topic to write on and he suggested his video games. So, this is the result.

Alone Tonight, Always the Same
by Rachel Rager

Alone tonight, always the same,
I sit and write my poetry about
My husband and his game.

He sits on the couch with a soda, nice and tame,
Along with the dog; what a pair.
Alone tonight, always the same.

I wonder if it’s Halo, or God of War. Who’s to blame?
Does it really matter?
My husband and his game.

Perhaps I should find a new hobby, one that’s not lame
Like painting, or yoga.
Alone tonight, always the same.

But then if I did design something, anything to frame,
Could I put it in front of the TV to block
My husband and his game?

Alas, I sit here, with only a computer to hold my claim.
I sit here with my poetry.
Alone tonight, always the same.
My husband and his game.


Kind of fun, huh!!! :)

~Author's Note: I really don't have a problem writing while my husband plays his video games or watches football! :) When else am I going to write?

Poetry

I am not a poet. In fact, I don't even like most poetry. But I'm taking a class and we're studying some poetry. For one of our assignments, we had to take a poem and then rewrite a reversal of the peom. I thought I'd post it for fun! It's not great, but hopefully you'll enjoy it.

The first poem is the actual poem. The second one is mine.

Morning Song
by Sylvia Plath

Love set you going like a fat gold watch.
The midwife slapped your footsoles, and your bald cry
Took its place among the elements.

Our voices echo, magnifying your arrival. New statue.
In a drafty museum, your nakedness
Shadows our safety. We stand round blankly as walls.

I’m no more your mother
Than the cloud that distils a mirror to reflect its own slow
Effacement at the wind’s hand.

All night your moth-breath
Flickers among the flat pink roses. I wake to listen:
A far sea moves in my ear.

One cry, and I stumble from bed, cow-heavy and floral
In my Victorian nightgown.
Your mouth opens clean as a cat’s. The window square

Whitens and swallows its dull stars. And now you try
Your handful of notes;
The clear vowels rise like balloons.



Evening Song
by Rachel Rager

Life set you slowing like a car nearing a stop light.
I held your hand, and your soft sigh
Took its place among the elements.

Our sad smiles, understanding the end. Seasoned statue.
In our warm home, your love
Embraces our safety. We sit round content in each other’s company. Rocks.

I have been your companion
Through the trials, standing stalwart in the face of hardship,
Knowing this probationary state would not last.

All night your rattling breath
Crackles among the dull wilting roses. I sit listening:
A tear roles down my cheek.

One sigh, and I lean forward in my chair, slumped and shaking
In my Victorian nightgown.
Your chest stills like the dam stops the river.

My howl echoes through the room in the dark. And now I try
To wake you. You will not wake.
I kiss your cold lips and dissolve into tears.

You Doubt Me? Sometimes I do!

Are we having any fun with Wednesday Romances? I am, so I hope you are too.

I asked what readers wanted to know about me and I'm planning to answer another one today.

Tammy Gardener asked:

I want to know if you have ever experienced any fear or doubt in your writing ability, and if so, how did you overcome it.

YES!!!

All the time! Especially when I get a rejection letter! And even since I have published a book, I have gotten several rejections on new manuscripts I've submitted. It's ALWAYS hard to be told no. And when you see those one star or no star reviews. Or the reviews that give you a few stars and then thrash your book!

I start to doubt if I can really write a good story or if I'm wasting my time. Sometimes I think the story might be passable but the way I wrote it stinks.

It's tough!

So how do you overcome it? One of my favorite author's, Maria V. Snyder, said that she handled rejections by putting a list together of publishers and agents to send her manuscript to. She'd get everything ready for that list then send each packet off, one at a time. As soon as she received a rejection in the mail, she already had another packet ready to put in the mail that day. That way she didn't have time to stew over it.

I liked that advice.

When I get a poor review, I try to look at it optimistically. (It's hard sometimes.) I try to see what I can learn from the person's insight to improve my writing for next time. If you practice this, it becomes easier and you can see good in almost every review. Even from the people who hated it. It's okay. You don't like every book you like either. Just brush it off and read a REALLY GOOD review of your stuff.

So, what to do if you aren't to either of those stages in your writing.

Well, try joining a writing group. Writers understand what it means to be a writer and how it feels to expose themselves through the written word. They will be gentle! :) Another thing you can do is listen to your family and friends. They are always a good ego booster! And sometimes, I like to read a really lousy book. That way I feel like, if they can do it, so can I!

More than anything, I'd say 'Stick with it an believe in yourself!' I know that's hard to do, sometimes. It is for me too. I struggle with it all the time. But I keep reminding myself that I've been given this gift for a reason. There must be a reason for it. Even if it's only to entertain me. So keep plodding along. When it becomes work, it's not as much fun. Write because you enjoy it. Write for you!

If you have questions about me, my life, or whatever, leave me a comment!!! :)

Writing Exercise

It's been a while since we've done this. I wonder if you still know how.

This is a fun little exercise to get your creative juices flowing! It only takes 5 minutes. So give it a try and see what you end up with. Feel free to type it, write it by hand, or leave it in the comments section. I'd love to hear what you come up with! :)

I will give you two words. Use one of them as the first word of your story and the other word in the first sentence. It can be a whole story or just the start. Write as fast as you can and don't stop. Write whatever comes to mind. Don't over think it! Start writing when you see them. Remember, you only have 5 minutes. SO YOU HAVE TO STOP AT 5!!

Are you ready??

Set...

Go!

PLANT

&

TURKEY

Fantasy

I can't remember if I've mentioned the new novel I'm working on. So far, it has been loads of fun. It's a fantasy romance and I'm thrilled with it! My wall is covered in an outline, my computer is full of notes, brainstorms, dictionaries of words of the world, and interviews. And the adventure is keeping me up late at nights! I'm currently working on a problem. There are two mirrors, one magic, one not. However, the one only works if the other is in use. The mirror works in a variety of ways but I'm struggling with finding the reason why it works. I don't really expect you to have the answers, I just thought I'd share what I'm working on.
Just for fun, here's one of the words from my 'new' dictionary.

Fira - Fire that is green at the base with purple flames and blue tips. It's made from cocoalic wood, produces no heat but creates such a strong odor as to keep away dragons.

Happy Kisses!

Wednesday Romance

Wednesday is halfway through the week. We all could use a good pick-me-up romance to help us until the weekend when we can sit down with a good book and read. So, I propose, that I will attempt to have some sort of romance for you on Wednesdays. This is me trying to be more dilligent in my blogging too!
This week, I woke up with the feel of my husband's kiss on my cheek and couldn't help this story that flowed from my fingers. Now, it's not complete, but perhaps I'll write more and give you a second installment next week! This way, you can read my stuff without having to wait for my next book! And I like this one. Let me know what you think.

It's called The Feather Kiss.

It all started with a kiss. Cliché as that sounds, it’s true. Some might argue that kisses aren’t a big deal. Let me say, one kiss changed my life. It was nothing more than a light brush of the lips. A feather light, accidental touch. It altered my life and I will never be the same.
I sat at the kitchen table mulling over some dumb math problem. Rather than finding the elusive answer, I sat pondering murderous plots for my evil math professor. The man could be taught a few things in personal hygiene, but his biggest offense was this latest homework assignment.
“What about black? I could really do some daring things with black.”
I sighed. “Kate, black makes you look like a sick ghost.”
“I know!” Her squeal was loud enough to make the neighbors cringe next door. “Can you imagine? It’s supposed to be a costume dance. Why not go as a ghost or zombie?”
“You are so weird. What happened to the traditional princess thing you used to enjoy?”
“Liddy, you are so last year.”
I rolled my eyes and looked back at my work. My chicken scratchings blurred together. I blinked my tired, dry eyes. That made things worse. I sighed deeply and ran a frustrated hand through my hair. I laid my head in my hand and began doodling on my paper.
“Here’s one. Oh, this is it!”
I didn’t turn. Kate is the kind of friend who needs no encouragement. She’s a jewel, but she’s exhausting. Her daily energy could fuel a power station for an entire week.
“Who are you going with to the Mid Summer’s Ball? You do have a date, right. I couldn’t possibly go if you weren’t going.”
“Why would you go for me? You’re going with Baker.”
“I know!”
I needed to find a way to clamp down on Kate’s squealing. If she continued, she’d soon be hysterical and I’d never get my homework done.
“Maybe I’ll go with Brett.”
Apparently she missed my sarcasm.
“Brett who?”
I looked at her in surprise.
She put a hand to her chest. “My Brett? That’s just gross. I know you used to have a crush on him.”
“That was years ago.”
“I know. The thought of someone actually finding a romantic interest in him is just gross. Can you imagine kissing Brett?” She pretended to be sick on the floor.
I swallowed a humorless laugh. I could imagine kissing Brett. There was a time that my fantasies were so vivid, they felt real. I groaned. I would not think of what might have been.
“Of course it would be weird for you to kiss Brett. He’s your brother.”
“Don’t get me wrong. I love Brett.”
“Don’t we all,” I muttered under my breath.
“But you could do so much better than Brett. Why don’t you take Jeremy? Now there’s a handsome guy if I ever saw one.”
“Kate, it’s a guy’s choice dance. I’m not going to ask anyone.”
“But you have to go. I will die if you don’t go.”
I sighed. “Let me finish my homework and then I’ll take you to the mall. We’ll see if we can find you something to wear to this dance of all dances.”
Kate squealed again, threw her arms around me, and dashed off to the living room to devour her magazine in the softness of her hundreds of couch pillows. I wiped the smile from my face and turned back to my math.
A half hour later, I closed my notebook and breathed a sigh of relief. If I never calculated another set of numbers, it would be too soon. I stretched my arms above my head, my back arching over the back of my chair. I stood and went to get a drink from the sink. Letting the water run over my hand, I stared out the window at the trees. I loved summer. I loved the heat. Tomorrow would be the perfect day at the pool.
“Hey, Liddy.”
I jumped but didn’t have to turn. Brett. No one else had that rich raspy sound to their voice that made me feel like I was drowning in a barrel of smooth hot fudge.
“I didn’t hear you come in.” I filled my glass and turned off the sink.
“Did you get me a drink? That was so kind of you.”
He grabbed the glass that was halfway to my lips. His arm brushed my shoulder in the tiny kitchen. My heart stuttered. With a wink, he drained the glass and handed it back. “Thanks.”
I tried to glower. “Don’t mention it.” I filled the glass again and took a long drink, fully aware that he had drunk out of the same cup only seconds before. He leaned against the counter with folded arms and smiled. My eyes dropped to those adorable dimples that showed on his face. My hand shook and I nearly dropped the glass. Taking another long drink, I put the glass in the sink and walked to the table.
“What are you working on?”
“I just finished my homework.”
“Oh, that’s right. I forgot you were taking summer classes. How’s that going?”
I turned to see him still leaning against the counter. My brow crinkled as I tried to figure out what he really wanted. He never sat and talked with me. Not ever.
“I’ll be glad when it’s done. What brings you here? I was about to take Kate to the mall. She’s got her heart set on being some deadly creature in black for the Mid Summer’s Ball.”
Brett’s brow wrinkled. “Is she going with Baker?”
“Yeah.” Seeing his frown, I decided to defend Kate’s boyfriend. “He’s a great guy and treats her well. He’s the best thing that’s happened to her in a long time.” Brett nodded and I couldn’t help but throw a stake into his heart. “She needs a protector and he’s always there for her.”
His face darkened. Ever since Brett started college, he and I hadn’t gotten along. In high school he’d been kind and happy. After graduation, he started dating Jessica and grew cynical and mean. His behavior today, confused me. He’d broken things off with Jessica and been through many girlfriends since, but he’d never been the boy I’d loved so many years ago. Instead, he and I jousted with insults and I always walked away with a bigger chunk of my heart missing.
He didn’t throw an insult back at me and I turned to stare at him.
“You didn’t say why you stopped by. Did you want to see Kate?”
“I saw her on my way in. Her nose is in some magazine.”
I smiled.
“Do you work at the pool tomorrow?”
“Yeah.” I looked down at my sun tanned arms.
“I was thinking I might come by and see you.”
My head jerked up, certain I heard him wrong. My traitorous heart began to pound at the thought of him in swimming shorts, coming to see me. He chuckled, and I realized, my eyes must have betrayed my thoughts.
I began stacking my books together and put them in my backpack. I swung it on my shoulder and headed off to my room. I groaned softly and let my bag drop to the floor. Plopping onto my bed, I sighed. Brett was particularly cruel today. I now realized that his comment about coming to see me had been a mean jab that hit its mark. Why did I still react to him? When he’d nearly gotten Kate killed on the way to the prom, I swore I would never love him again. Yet, as more time went on, I found it harder to keep my heart from softening toward him.
Shaking my head, I grabbed my purse from my dresser and turned to the door.
I squealed.
Brett stood against the door jamb watching me. He chuckled. “I didn’t know you’d started squealing too.”
“I haven’t,” I growled and walked toward him. “You scared me. What are you doing in my room?”
He lifted his arms in defense. “I just needed to talk with you a minute.”
I folded my arms and waited.
“I wanted to ask you to the ball next week.”
My jaw dropped and I stood speechless.
He shifted his weight back and forth while I processed his words. I realized he was nervous. Good. He should be. After the way he treated me the last five years, he should be terrified to ask me. I didn’t plan to let him down easily. He was going to wish for a cliff to fall off when I was through.
“Brett, I….”
“Before you tell me no or whatever punishment you have in mind for me, let me say something.”

He knew me well.
“Lydia, you and I have had our differences. I’m not sure why, at least on your end, but I’d like to start over with you. You are my sister’s best friend. We both know that my relationship with her is strained.”
I snorted, and he glared at me.
“I desperately want her to see me as an ally rather than an enemy. I’m sure she and Baker will be tying the knot soon and I don’t want to be left out. I want to be a part of her life. I want to be a part of her children’s lives.”
I stared at him while he spoke. I had planned to battle with him, but not over his sister. This changed things. I needed to rethink my strategy, and fast.
“She won’t let me into her life. I’ve tried.” I saw the pained look on his face. What he said was true. Kate usually brushed him off, not that I blamed her. As I stood looking at him, I saw the young man he once was. I saw his repentant heart. I wanted to love him and help him out. I quickly squished my irrational thoughts.
“So why ask me to the dance? Why not ask Elli?”
“She and I broke up months ago.”
“Oh,” was the only intelligent thing I could say.
He smiled. “Kate will look at me differently if I’m with you. She loves you and always has. If she sees that you can tolerate me, perhaps she’ll give me a chance too.”
I looked at him closely. My steel resolve slipped.
“I promise to be a gentleman. I won’t take advantage of you or our arrangement.”
“How kind of you.”
He smiled again. He always did enjoy my sarcasm.
“We can go as anything you want.” His eyes penetrated mine. “Please say you’ll go and help me win back my sister’s love.”
I sighed and turned. I couldn’t think straight while he stared at me with those imploring eyes. It would mean the world to Kate if she had her brother back but at what cost? I didn’t know if my heart could endure being on his arm for one night, and one night only. Even though I disliked him, I couldn’t deny my attraction to him. This would ruin me forever. Could I do that to myself for my friend’s sake?
“Fine. I’ll do it.”
His hands gripped my shoulders and spun me around. “You will?”
“I’ll do it for Kate.”
His eyes traveled over my face and his brow puckered. “That’s it? No battle of the wills?”
“I’m not doing it for you. I still don’t like you, but I love your sister. She misses you terribly. If it will bring peace to her, then I’ll do it.”
He closed his eyes and when he opened them again, I saw the moisture which filled them. “Thank you,” he whispered.
“I’m not doing it for you.” I pulled away from him and walked to the door.
“I know. I will be eternally in your debt.”
I turned. Never in my life had I seen him look so humble. I shook my head, clearing away thoughts that could betray me.
He walked closer and I found myself taking a step back. I didn’t understand the look in his eye, but my heart was pounding so furiously I was certain I would leave my room with it broken. He placed his hands on my arms and leaned forward. Oh no! He was going to kiss me. I panicked. What was I going to do? Why was he going to kiss me?
My heart raced and I shook my head. He chuckled and smiled. Those beautiful dimples melted my heart and my knees gave way.
“Careful, Liddy. Aren’t you taking my sister shopping? Are you well enough to go?”
I nodded dumbly.
He looked deeply into my eyes and for the first time in years, I wanted this man. I wanted him with an aching in my gut. He’d made mistakes, so had I. When I looked into his eyes at that moment, I could see the man he was inside. Not the man he pretended to be. In that moment, I wanted to burry my face in his neck, wrap my arms around him and never let him go.
I saw his face lean closer to mine. My eyes widened. He smiled and tilted his head. My breathing stopped. “Thank you, Liddy.” I felt his whisper on my face. His lips were just inches away. Then, ever so softly, his lips kissed my cheek, so close to my mouth, yet so far away. They hovered for a moment. He looked into my eyes and I almost swooned from his nearness. A voice in the back of my head warned me to pull away. He would only break my heart. But he was so close. I couldn’t move. He pressed forward and his lips touched my cheek again. Still captivated by his eyes, I turned just a bit, to better see them. His lips brushed mine with the softness of a feather. The color of his blue eyes deepened as our lips met. So gentle, I almost didn’t realize his lips were there, except that my heart had stilled. My lips tingled and my stomach fluttered with excitement. Nothing existed but him.
“Liddy!” Kate’s squeal plunged me back to earth as Brett pulled away. “You are sick! You realize you were kissing my brother?”
Plain flashed in Brett’s eyes.
Slowly I turned around. “Kate. Let me explain. Brett and I….”
“Eeeeew!”
I saw Brett out of the corner of my eye. His shoulders slumped forward. “Don’t bother,” he said to me.
I grabbed Brett’s hand before he could leave. “Kate, I’m sorry you had to see that, but I think you should know….”
“No! No, no, no, no! You can’t be dating. I won’t allow it! Liddy, you know what he is. He’ll destroy you! I can’t let him do that to you. You mean more to me than he ever will. Please tell me you aren’t dating him and this was my imagination. Please!”
Lines etched Brett’s face aging him ten years. Kate had every right to hate her brother. He’d earned her distain, but I could see how much it hurt him. The old Brett would have laughed and threw insults back. Today, his gaze held mine for a moment, his eyes begging me to let him go. My heart softened. I couldn’t let him suffer any more. He needed his family and I could help heal them all.
“Kate, are you only concerned that he will hurt me?”
“Of course!”
“Would you be more supportive if I could promise you I wouldn’t get hurt?”
Her brow wrinkled much as her brother’s had earlier. I looked at Brett and saw his confusion, too. I looked down and laced my fingers through his before looking up into his eyes. I looked at him through different eyes. I knew he understood pain. My heart fluttered as I determined to help him know he could be loved.

“Kate, Brett and I are getting married.”

My Writing Process

Here's another post on what a reader wanted to know about me. This one comes from Olivia Carter.

I want to hear about your basic writing process/schedule and advice for writing. That sort of thing :)

This has me laughing to myself. :) Why? I wish I had a writing schedule and process! I don't think I really have one, but I'll tell you what I do and how I go about things.

I would LOVE it if my day looked like this:

I get up early.
I work out.
I get the kids ready and take them to school.
I sit down and write for an hour.
I do some work around the house.
I fix lunch and put kids down for naps.
I write for a couple hours.
I pick up daughter from school.
I spend time with my girls and make dinner.
I enjoy my family.
I put the kids to bed.
I watch a movie with my husband.
I write for an hour.
I go to bed.

Oh, what a perfect life! Let me just tell you, I ONLY WISH...

Rather than tell you how my day usually plays out, I'll tell you what actually happens once I sit down to write! :)

Usually, I have no idea what I'm going to write when I sit down. On more than one occasion, and after looking through many writing books, I've been told not to start anything at the beginning. Because of the fact that it usually takes a while to get into 'the zone', you should start in the middle and then go back to the beginning when you've hit 'the zone.'

Do I do that?

Sometimes.

Every once in a while, (usually while in the shower) I'll have a scene flash through my mind and I can't get to the computer fast enough! Usually these scenes are out of order and then I go back and work them into the story. That doesn't always work, but usually.

Often, I force myself to sit down and start typing, knowing that I will probably delete most of it anyway. But it gets me writing. And sometimes it's not so bad. Sometimes, it's even pretty good. I allow the characters to take me on their journey. They will often surprise me.

As for my actual process? I've made outlines and book sketches on occasion. Sometimes I stick to them, sometimes I don't. If I feel like I'm in a big funk, I'll make one up so I know where I want to go. That's not always where I go, but at least it gives me a little direction.

Right now, I'm making up a word map of my book. I've already written the book, and I'm breaking it down, chapter by chapter. Each character has a different color so I can spot them at will. This has been time consuming, but is helping me see what's happening at a glance as opposed to sifting through pages. I can't tell you how much it works, because I've just started, but I'll let you know! :)

So that's how I write. Not very organized, I know. I did recently do a character interview with my hero and learned a great deal about him and where he's from. It was quite eye opening! I've had many questions about him. People do love him immediately and they don't understand why he does certain things. I wasn't real sure, but I just knew he did them. After interviewing him, I made a HUGE discovery about him. It explains EVERYTHING about him!!! Now, I can go through and hopefully portray him better.

So, hopefully some of these scattered thoughts gives you an idea into my writing mind. Probably not, but perhaps you enjoyed it anyway! :)

And don't forget to check out the contest listed below!

LOVE ME! My Self-Esteem Depends on It!

If any of you follow me on Facebook or Twitter, you will know that recently sent in my manuscript for Sweet Ivy. I received a letter from my publisher yesterday telling me they didn't want it. Rejections are always hard. So, to help buoy myself up, I'm posting the first part of Chapter 2. If you want to read more, the prologue is on the sidebar of this blog and another scene is here. I'm posting this scene because it's one of the first scenes in this book I wrote!

(Note, this is completely for self-esteem purposes! So please, leave me a comment with GLOWING praises! I could use them if I'm going to keep going!) :)

Lord Sterling Bennett stood in the dress shop with light streaming in upon him, accentuating his muscular build. His arms were extended as the women measured, pinned, and tugged at the fabric about his body. Ivy worked at the earl’s feet while Mrs. Simmons measured for sleeves. Ivy endeavored to make the appropriate measurements and adjustments. Though her sister had recovered and was now quite well, her mother had worsened, only slightly, but Charlie and Ivy had noticed. Ivy had not been sleeping well as she contemplated the fate of her family if her mother were to pass away. Trying to stay focused on the task at hand, she was surprised to hear Mrs. Simmons conversing with the earl.
“I hear Miss Eleanora Key is expecting a proposal for marriage from you, Sterling,” Mrs. Simmons said casually as she worked. Ivy had almost forgotten that Eleanora had been in only days before, bragging about Lord Bennett. Ivy’s stomach churned at the thought of Eleanora.
“Is that so?”
“Yes,” Mrs. Simmons said with a knowing smile. “I take it your suit is a falsehood?”
“You are an insightful woman.”
Mabel Simmons blushed at his comment.
Ivy shook her head in dismay at the Earl of Oakly speaking so casually to the woman who had worked in the Bennett household for so many years. She didn’t know all the circumstances surrounding Mrs. Simmons’ decision to quit Red Oaks before the boys left for school, but she knew the Bennett boys would do anything for the woman. Only last month Lord Bennett had replaced the shop’s roof after a large rainstorm had torn it to shreds.
“Still, I have no doubt that a proposal is expected,” Lord Bennett said.
“You will be attending her mother’s ball a week from Friday though, no?” Mrs. Simmons continued her interrogation.
“Sadly, yes. Mother is most insistent upon it. It is her grandest wish that I take a wife before the end of the summer.”
“I’m certain your mother’s desires are well founded, lad.”
“Perhaps, but….” He stopped and looked down at Ivy.
“I am sorry, my lord,” Ivy mumbled with lowered lashes, chin quivering. Clumsy as she was, she had never before let a pin slip and stick someone. Her cheeks burned with humiliation as he turned to look down at her. She could not meet his gaze.
“I would assume that in a profession such as yours, this sort of thing occurs from time to time. And while I accept your apology and give you my complete forgiveness, there is no need for you to feel like a bug under my shoe for such a simple slip.”
She glanced up. He smiled and she could not help but return the gesture. He turned toward the mirror again, looking very handsome even in his state of dress, with fabric hanging around him this way and that. His style was immaculate though he wore his trousers almost scandalously tight, revealing every muscle in his legs. His dark, curly hair hung wildly about his well chiseled face, and his eyes were like molasses on a hot day. A simple glance at him started her heart thudding within her chest.
She wondered what it might be like to be a lady and have handsome men smile at her on a regular basis. What it must be like to be seen as someone worthy of admiration instead of forever invisible. Quickly she turned her gaze back to where it belonged, embarrassed that her mind would entertain ideas of being seen as anything but a servant in the eyes of an earl.
As he continued his conversation with Mrs. Simmons, Ivy tried to steady her hands as she went back to pinning his pants. “It is my mother’s desire that I marry, but only so she may die knowing I will be well taken care of.” Bitterness tainted his words.
“Well, certainly there are many qualified young ladies around here that would be more than willing to apply for the position.”
“Is that what people think? That marrying me would be a job?”
Ivy lowered her head to hide a smile. His innocence was endearing.
“I suppose it all depends upon on the woman.” Mrs. Simmons moved to adjust his collar.
“Yes, indeed.”
“Now, in the case of Miss Key, I think she is more than eager for the position, whether you prove satisfactory or not.”
“Hmm. That is an interesting insight, Mabel.”
Ivy smiled again, noting his accidental slip of using the woman’s given name. Mrs. Simmons had once explained that the Bennett boys called her Mabel when they were younger. With another Mrs. Simmons who worked in the kitchens at Red Oaks, it simplified things. Though others may see disrespect in such a casual address, Ivy found it refreshing that Lord Bennett felt so comfortable with Mrs. Simmons.
“What do you think, miss?”
Ivy’s head snapped up, her gaze met with his.
“Would you consider it a job? Being married to me?”
“Um…I um…I certainly don’t know what you mean, my lord.”
Chuckling he said, “So then, you wouldn’t want to marry someone like me?”
“It’s not that, it’s just that….” She felt a blush touch her cheeks from his direct attention. She glanced to Mrs. Simmons for deliverance from such an embarrassing situation but the woman seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the conversation and would not be offering a reprieve. Looking back to Lord Bennett, Ivy tried to utter a reply. “I…I would never be qualified for a man such as…I mean to be saying, my lord, that you deserve to love someone so much more than me in both beauty and station.”
“But that is not the question I asked.”
“No,” she whispered casting her eyes downward before looking back at him again. She found acceptance and understanding in his eyes. His lips curved into a smile, neither mocking nor happy. Rather inquisitive and friendly. Amid those things, she found voice enough to answer his question as honestly as her timid heart could. “I would not find it a chore to be married to someone such as yourself, though if I marry it will be for love, without concern for duty or money.” She turned her eyes away from his probing ones.
“See here, Mabel! This is a woman worth marrying. Honest and delightful. She would even gladden Mother’s sorrowful heart.”
Mrs. Simmons laughed delightedly while Ivy blushed with further discomfort that he would say something so brazen with her sitting at his feet. “Now don’t be speaking ill of your mother, Sterling. She’s a good woman. She’s merely…lonely.”
“I know.” He sighed heavily. “Yet another reason she wishes me to marry quickly. To give her grandchildren and take her mind off my late father.”
The woman smiled sympathetically but shook her head. “Be patient with her. She only wants what’s best for you, I’m sure.”
“Yes. And in the meantime, I am resigned to attend the Keys’ ball under the pretense that I will shortly be asking for the hand of the esteemed Miss Eleanora.”
“You could let her know those are not your intentions, lad.”
“Only if I want to invite my mother’s wrath. Besides, it is only a pretense. I can certainly play the part of the doting beau for quite a while before anything need be done.”
“But that’s a lie,” Ivy said, without realizing it. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, both Mrs. Simmons’ and Lord Bennett’s stared at her. She cast her eyes downward; the familiar burning sensation rose to her cheeks again. “Forgive me,” she murmured.
“Whatever for, miss?”
“It is not my place to intrude,” Ivy whispered as her hands folded in her lap and her eyes remained downcast.
Lord Bennett knelt so that his face was level with hers. “First of all, there is nothing wrong with reminding someone of moral values, so I thank you. Second, you are a woman and a kind woman at that. There is no need for you to feel inferior in my presence.”
Ivy looked up hesitantly and noticed his beaming face as his gaze penetrated her. A timid smile played over her lips before her eyes returned to their previous position. His nearness made her feel overly warm from embarrassment and pure delight at his attention. When he did not stand, she raised her eyes again to find his friendly expression focused on her. She wondered if perhaps he had been in earnest in his comments. With all her heart, she wanted to believe that she was someone special in the world. In that instant as she gazed into his eyes, she was almost convinced that she was.
“Stand up, Sterling Bennett, and quit embarrassing the girl.”
The bell to the shop rang and Ivy looked up to see a thin man with sparkling eyes enter the shop. Removing his hat, he gave a slight bow.
“Excuse me, my lord. I’m here to remind you of your appointment.” Ivy smiled as Mrs. Simmons cringed at the sound of the man’s thin voice.
“I’ll be along in a minute, Bradford. I’ll meet you at the livery.”
“Very good, sir,” Mr. Bradford said. “Good day, ladies.” A small incline of his head and he was out the door.
“How’s your brother?” Mrs. Simmons asked, adjusting the material around Lord Bennett.
He sighed again. “Bruce will be Bruce.”
“I saw him getting stitched up the other day,” Mrs. Simmons pressed.
Sterling shook his head. “He’s lucky he’s still breathing,” he muttered. “That pup has no more sense than a mule.”
“He hasn’t changed?”
Sterling’s heavy sigh was answer enough and Ivy’s brows puckered as she tried to think of what kind of trouble Bruce Bennett was causing. “The impending war does not help. He sees it as a free ticket out of all his problems.”
Mrs. Simmons patted Sterling on the back in a maternal manner. “Cheer up, lad. He will figure it out one way or another. Let’s get you finished up so that you can get to that appointment. I’m sure Bradford would gladly have my head if I make you late.”
Lord Bennett laughed. “Bradford is not as fierce as you remember, Mabel. But business does await me. Some of the land owners are simply ridiculous in the requirements they demand of their tenants. It’s enough to make me spit fire. When I quit here, I am bound to acquire some more property from a man who is so absurd in his demands that it makes me sick.”
“I’m sure your mother is thrilled with your new purchase.” A hint of sarcasm touched her tone.
Sterling chuckled. “Mother doesn’t know. She’ll be furious when she learns of it.”
Continuing in her work, Ivy did not hear much else Lord Bennett said to Mrs. Simmons. Her own landlord was one of those terrible men Lord Bennett spoke of, on whom she preferred not to dwell. Instead, her mind lingered on her previous conversation with Lord Bennett. His manner toward her had not been sympathetic to her plights or position. No. He had treated her as an equal – someone who had reminded him of the moral values so easily forgotten in the world. While she knew she would never be able to associate with him, he had shown her a delightful glimpse into what such an association might be like.

Are 150-year-old Men Good Looking?

I haven't given up on this blog. I promise! I've been cooking! I've been reading! I've been napping! I've been editing! I've been chasing children! I've been researching! I've been catching up from being gone all weekend! I've been diagramming my new book! I've been sewing! I've been coming up with more excuses to use for this blog!
Yes, I really have done a little of all those things and probably many more. You'll notice I didn't say I'd been cleaning! LOL! (That's probably my least favorite thing to do. Though, I've been hounding my girls to clean, which kind of counts, since I have to stand there and tell them what needs put away and where it goes!)
Anyway, I submitted Sweet Ivy to CFI last week before my conference, so we'll see what that brings. While I'm waiting, I'm working on another book. I wrote this two years ago as a Christmas gift for two good friends. NO ONE ELSE HAS READ IT!
I've been trying to write it for years and it literally scares the snot out of me! Why? Because it's a historical romance! Ach! I decided that I lived in very close proximity to Fort Caspar in Wyoming and it would be silly not to at least try to write something there. So why did it take so long to write, because I'm scared! I take quite a few liberties to make the 'romance' work. And why would I want to write a historical book without romance? Why is that even a question?
So, I wrote the book and took the first couple pages to my conference to have critiqued. I was VERY encouraged by the comments I received. Now I've been doing additional research to make sure the IMPORTANT things are 100% accurate. The last thing I need is some history whiz telling me that my facts are wrong.
In one of the books I was looking through today, I came across some pictures. I LOVE old-timey pictures! And the fact that these are people I'm writing about, is cool. It's fun to see their pictures and realize they were real people. I get to give them life (sort of). (We won't go into the whole reincarnation thing.) So, I thought I'd share my findings with you. Oh, just so you don't get confused, before Caspar Collins was killed and Fort Caspar was named for him, it was called Platte Bridge Station.

These pictures are found in the book Circle of Fire: The Indian War of 1865 by John D. McDermott.

So you tell me. Are these men romantic material? Would you date them? (The hero is a figment of my imagination and he is GORGEOUS! His name is Sergeant Parker Brackston! Don't you just love it?!)

Keep checking back, as I'll be updating you with progress on this book!