The End?

More like just the beginning!

As the first month of 2011 creeps toward its end, so does my very first full length manuscript.

I don’t know if it’s the cold weather making me sluggish, the short days making me want to hibernate, or just the urge to snuggle up on the recliner with a hot cup of cocoa, but I cannot make myself feel productive or accomplished over "The End."   Mostly, it’s because I know there is still so much work to do.  I feel like I’m creating a meal and while I’ve got the meat and potatoes cooked, I still have to fix several side dishes, a salad, and a dessert. And don’t forget about the wine! 

I thought I'd take this opportunity to share some wisdom from writers who have been down this road before.  The following steps are what comes after you’ve reached “The End” or as I like to call it "The End of Round 1":

Step One:  After you've celebrated and taken a breather, Rewrite and Edit your MS until you can barely stand the sight of it anymore.

Step Two: Give it to your beta reader(s) to make sure it makes sense and you haven’t done something like have a pair of magically disappearing and reappearing shoes, but you're not writing paranormal. :)  (Yes, I’ve done that and it still cracks me up to this very day.)

Step Three: Edit again, fixing things like magic shoes or disappearing characters, etc. OR that entire scene that leaves your reader with a confused puppy look.

Step Four: Give your first four chapters to your writing critique group/circle/partner.  If they’re willing to help you with more, give them more.  These should be writers with more experience/knowledge than you so you can grow as a writer.

Step Five: Enter contests.  Focus on the ones that have editors or agents as final judges and/or the ones that give you more than a numbered score. (What you’re looking for is constructive feedback and comments.)

Step Six: Query. Query. Submit. Repeat.

All the while, you should be working on Manuscript #2.

I know I need to celebrate my accomplishment first and enjoy my meat and potatoes.  I will.  I plan to do exactly that at our next CRW meeting.  I’ll have a mimosa toast with my blog partner and pat myself on the back for doing what I never thought I’d do.  I’ll allow myself a bit of giddy pleasure that I created these characters, introduced them, kept them apart, tortured them with conflict, and eventually got them together.  I'll party with them just long enough to take a break and then it's right back for Round 2.

A Writer's Farewell

It was a brisk, clear afternoon when I created you.  The leaves were turning brilliant shades of yellow and red outside my window, just as I feel a shroud of gray covering my heart today.  I must say good bye to you my beautiful, my sweet, my creation.  Go now with the knowledge that you were loved.  Go now with the knowledge that you were, for a time, needed.  Rest well in darkness.

My Sincerest Apologies,

Elizabeth Michels

The Starbucks Scene

The first scene sacrificed to editing

from A Matter of Time

     Laura could feel the warmth of Xavier’s large masculine hand on her back urging her forward, closer into his arms. But could she trust him? Was he just here to do Trevor’s bidding and to seduce her riches away from her? Then in the next moment her thoughts of staying away from him for the sake of her own future tumbled out of head as his lips descended upon hers, warm and soft.   

     Xavier skimmed his hand down the side of her neck causing her to shiver, he looked deeply into her eyes and said, “Laura, I want you, it is our destiny to be together, as one.”

     Laura could feel the heat of Xavier surrounding her, pressing against her breasts as she arched into his arms hungry for more, at any cost to her future .  In one amazing……  

     “Abby?”

     Startled by the sound of someone calling her name from the far end of the barista counter Abby snapped shut the romance novel she was reading and placed it quickly on the small round bistro table; nearly dumping the real African fabric decorated coffee mug containing her grande mocha latte all over her low fat raspberry muffin.  While she struggled to stabilize the coffee she glanced up sheepishly to see who was calling her name. 

     “Great… of all people,” Abby mumbled coarsely under her breath. 

     Who else was it but Brittany Brooks walking her way, looking like she just stepped off a runway?  Brittany, with her long flowing blonde hair, the type of hair that always fell perfectly around her disgustingly pretty face.  She looked like a million bucks, and was probably wearing close to it from what Abby had heard.  They had lived on the same hall at Converse College, Abby left with a Bachelors of Arts, and Brittany left with the same plus an M.r.s. Degree courtesy of a starting linebacker for the Carolina Panthers.  Brittany was one of those girls that made Abby feel instantly self-conscious of what she was wearing, how thin she looked in it, and how successful she was in life.  

     Why had she worn this today Abby wondered.  A sundress and flip flops?  What had she been thinking?  Well at least, last she checked, she was having a good hair day today. 

     Abby adjusted her purse to a more prominent position on the chair beside her, as if the small metal Coach symbol would protect her more against the coming attack than the thickest armor shield.  When Abby glanced down to reaffirm that she was in fact wearing clothing at all, she noticed her book lying on the table in front of her with the cover face up.  The cover featured a muscular open shirted man looking passionately at a woman in a revealing ball gown fainting into his open arms. 

     Gasping, she quickly flipped the book over to lay face down on the table in hopes it would look like something from fine literature, and make her appear highly intellectual.  Abby put on her party smile and slid her hand back in her lap so little miss perfect would not see her un-manicured fingers. 

     “Abby?.....Abby Rhode.  Why it’s been ages since I’ve seen you.  What are you doing here?”

     “Oh, I live here now.  I just bought a……um, a historic home here in Charleston..” Abby hesitated as she responded; thinking historic was a nice way of putting it.

     “A historic home, oh that is just lovely, I hope you have a good contractor for any upgrades you want to do.  I should give you the number of the company we used to build our vacation house in Banner Elk North Carolina.  It was featured in Architectural Digest, you know,” Brittany said dismissively.

     “Thank you, but I am using a local company, excellent group, they came highly recommended from several sources,” or picked randomly from the yellow pages Abby thought as the words left her lips.  “I’m doing an extensive restoration; I just talked to Southern Living the other day about a feature article when it is finished.” 

     “Well isn’t that nice, do send me a copy of the issue when you have the home shot won’t you?”  Brittany replied with an air of sarcasm in her voice.  “So, there’s a special someone now?  You’re not doing this alone are you, Abby?  I have to say just finding time to meet with my interior designer was a headache when we renovated Stephen’s house to make it more to my taste.  By the time we chose the granite for the second kitchen off of the home theater, I just didn’t care anymore, you know what I mean?”

     “The house is mine.” Abby said defiantly then decided to embellish the truth of her life slightly.  ”I am seeing someone, though.”  And maybe just a few details to make it believable, “He’s a doctor, a uhhhh neurosurgeon.  He is actually the reason I moved to Charleston. 

     “Really?  Well isn’t that delightful, which hospital?”

     Abby panicked.  She had not been in Charleston for more three weeks; she didn’t know the names of the hospitals.  Other than the nearest Starbucks, gas station, and the number for pizza delivery, she didn’t know much of anything.

     “Well,” Abby thought quickly.  “He’s at the main one, the uh, big one….downtown, here in Charleston, where we are.  Yes, he’s the reason I moved to Charleston.”

     “Oh, how nice.  We should all do dinner together later this week,” Brittany replied, confusion briefly clouding her perfect face.

     Abby tried to shake off the lies pouring unchecked out of her mouth and steer the conversation back to safe territory.  “Mmmm, so what brings you to Charleston, last I heard you were living in..”

     “Ohh, I’m down from Charlotte for the week while Stephen is having the yacht packed up for the cruise to Paradise Island for a little vaca,” Brittany said visually sizing up Abby’s current lifestyle in one almost imperceptible sweep of her violet eyes.  “I was just out looking for the perfect pair of poolside shoes to match one of my swimsuit cover-ups, and I just cannot find a thing that’ll work.  Of course, all of our clothes for the trip were custom made through my personal shopper.  But, the shoes she brought over before I left were just awful.  Oh, the hassle of it all, you know?  Did you hear that Jennifer is pregnant?  Yeah, Matthew is so happy about it.  We just met up with them last week at this fabulous new restaurant back home, and she looks fabulous.  Pregnant, eating everything in sight, and still so thin, don’t you just hate her?  Of course we do go to the same trainer so I can’t be too critical.”  Brittany laughed looking at Abby’s low fat raspberry muffin with an air of silent judgment.

     “That is wonderful news, I’m so happy for them.” Abby said pleasantly.  “How do you like living in Charlotte?”

     “Love it!  It’s such a great city.  And Stephen is really happy with the Panthers.  He’ll be busy with the season soon, so Angela and I, you remember Angela, don’t you?  Anyway, we’re planning a trip to New York to shop and see shows while the hubbies are busy.  Oh, that’s my blackberry, I better go, sweetie.  So great seeing you.  We should get together soon” Brittany said in a tone meant to be believable, but never followed through with an actual getting together, as she answered her phone.  “Hi honey, how was golf this morning?  Oh, good. Yes, I’ll be back soon.  Love you too, bye bye……Bless his heart he just can’t do a thing without me.  See you later.”  Throwing up a airy group of diamond studded, French manicured fingers in farewell, Brittany turned and glided out the door. 

     As quickly as she had come, she was gone.  She had however spent enough time to take the good afternoon Abby was having and reduce it to a low fat raspberry hell.  Brittany had the sweetest way of doing that to people.  Not that she was a malicious destroyer of good days, she was just better, she was an elegant steak dinner and made Abby feel like a cold tuna sandwich by comparison. She had officially been delivered the Christmas Card as she liked to think of it.  Everything is perfect, everyone is happy, I lost ten pounds without trying and have enough spare money that my only concern in life is the perfect pair of pool shoes for island vacations.  Abby tossed her hair back and took a large defiant bite of her muffin with her chin raised toward the now closed double doors leading onto King Street.  So what if she gained a pound from its delicious fluffy innate muffin-ness?  Who would notice, her fictitious neurosurgeon boyfriend or the fictitious photo journalist from Southern Living?  “Oh my goodness, I really said that, didn’t I?  How embarrassing,” Abby mumbled into her coffee, completely disgusted with herself for her poor lying skills.   Why, oh why, had she not sat upstairs on the balcony overlooking the main floor of the Starbucks?  She could have gone on with her day blissfully unaware that Brittany was even in town.  

     Pulling herself together, Abby looked over the shopping bags at her feet and remembered that her life was not all that bad.  Shopping was supposed to make you feel happy and pretty, not depressed, unless shopping for swim suits, that was always depressing.  She smiled and forced herself to think of all that was good about today.  She had found the perfect antique-looking candle holder for her historic home while in a little shop down the street, and a cute new shirt in Banana Republic.  Abby sighed forcing a pleasant smile to her face and gathered her bags to leave. 

M is for Mommy and Manuscript

This week I celebrated the one year birthday of my baby boy.  A YEAR OLD! 

I cannot believe it’s been a year.  A year that began with a flood of emotions, the likes of which I’d never experienced.  A bizarre mix of elation and anxiety, not to mention several crying jags, for those first weeks I think I went on auto-pilot mommy survival mode.  Feed, change, sleep.  Feed, change, sleep.  That was the routine for both of us and I could think of nothing else but his immediate needs.  Perhaps that’s biology.  Perhaps it’s psychology.  All I know is I was obsessed in the way only a new mother can be.

The anxiety eventually passed and I realized I could do this and I wasn’t nearly as clueless as I thought.  I learned that if I followed my instincts, I’d get it right OR I’d get pretty darn close.  Either way, baby boy seemed happy and really only fussed when hungry.  I know I was blessed with an “easy” baby.  I survived so did he, and he never knew what an amateur he was dealing with.

As the year has gone by, I’ve learned all about his schedule and getting him “sleep trained.”  I’ve learned what works for him and what doesn’t.  I learned early that you absolutely cannot eat onions and breast feed, unless you want a very unhappy baby on your hands.  I’ve learned that a night time ritual is not only good for him, but good for me.  The last thirty or so minutes of his day are the best thirty minutes of my day.  I’ve learned that you can be outrageously proud of someone for  holding up their head, rolling over, pushing up, getting to their knees, crawling, pulling up, standing alone, and one day soon, walking.

I’ve realized I’m ridiculously in love with my child and that it breaks my heart to have to scold him when he tries to reach for things that might hurt him.  Yet I know it’s in everyone’s benefit for him to learn rules now and for those rules to remain steadfast and stable.

What does this have to do with writing?  Well, I’ve learned some very similar things about my very first manuscript. 

At first I flailed about, clueless.  I just dove in and started writing with very little experience under my belt.  I soon realized that while I didn’t suck completely, I was not prepared.  I began seeking knowledge from those in the know, plotting and planning with more detail, laying out some ground work so that my “pantsing” had a few hangers to go with it.  I know that I’ll have to do a lot of editing on this first draft, but at least I’ll have a first draft.  I’ve learned some hard and fast do’s and don’ts this year and I’ve learned what absolutely won’t work for me and what will.  I’ve learned that I can get so excited about a really good scene and that, no matter how much it hurts, sometimes you have cut out what just took you a week to write.  Luckily, my story and characters don’t hold my amateur status against me (yet) and they just play along, patiently waiting for me to get my act together. 

I like to say I’m a Work In Progress too, just like my manuscript.  I’m constantly learning and, I’d like to think, improving.  I think I’ll be at “The End” in another couple of months, but that only means I’ll be at the beginning of some heavy rewrites.  That doesn’t matter to me though, I love the journey … as a writer and a mom.  

Words for 2011

What is your New Year’s resolution?  I have found that I’m compulsively asking that question of everyone I know.  The problem is that I don’t have one.  After I said about a week ago that I was vowing to make up my bed every morning of 2011 and Mr. Alpha Male laughed me out of the room, I find that I’m not all that resolved about anything.  My only resolution is to keep living everyday and working everyday toward my goals, just as I have done all of 2010.  But, that is nothing new.  So instead of declaring a resolution for the new year, I am choosing to have words to live by for 2011. 

The first words to live by come from my Dad when I was a little girl.  Every time I can recall scraping a knee or bumping an elbow and would crumple to the ground in a ball of crying blonde mush, he would say, “Hurry and get up before you get hurt.”  Not only is this great advice for playing any sport where trampling is an issue, it is great life advice.  We all fall down in some way or another be it job loss, divorce, parenting mishaps, or just day to day foibles.  However, the faster we pick ourselves up and move on, the less hurt will set into our bones. 

The second words to live by come from the guy that taught me in driver training when I was 15.  I have no idea what his name was, but I remember when he said, “Don’t look at the cars, look at the space between them.  Don’t look at where you can’t go, look at where you can go.”  Not only did this get me over my fear of changing lanes, it got me over my fear of changing tracks in life.  This wild journey we are on weaves us onto some of the most unexpected roads and occasionally it leaves us stranded at a truck stop or two.  However, if we look at where we can go the options are limitless.

In 2011 I will continue to get up and look where I can go every day. 

I will continue to live every day to the fullest.

 I will live on faith, love and coffee, just as I have in 2010.

And, on at least a few of the days in 2011, I will make my bed. 

What is your New Year’s resolution?

There'll be Parties for Hosting, Marshmallows for Roasting...

I looked up from my Christmas present wrapping to see my little boy sitting in the middle of a tangled mess of red ribbon.  It was wrapped around his little fingers lying in twists and turns all around him on the floor.  He beamed with happiness at his accomplishment.  While I had been busy measuring and cutting in the floor beside him, he had been busy unwinding an entire spool of ribbon in his lap. 

“Look Mommy, I have tape in one hand and ribbon in the other,” he said quoting his favorite Curious George story. 

Normally this is when my “Oh no, there’s a mess” tendencies kick in, but this time I just laughed.  We were having too much fun wrapping Mr. Alpha Male’s Christmas presents to worry about messes.  I have discovered recently that in trying to meet preholiday work deadlines, getting ready for parties, baking cookies, and buying gifts; I have forgotten to just enjoy the Christmas season.  My nose has either been in my laptop, or I’ve been scurrying around with a mile long to do list.  I have not stopped to enjoy the simple pleasure of laughing while wrapping presents or actually watching a cheesy Christmas movie on tv.  It’s an easy mistake to make, to live for the day at the end of the paper chain and not take the time to enjoy all the little links in between that make up the Christmas season.

“It’s not Christmas.” My little boy utters those words every morning when I go into his room to wake him up for the past week.  And every morning I tell him, “It’s not Christmas day, but it is the Christmas Season.”  The anticipation of Christmas Day is almost too much for any two year old to bare.  The presents, the cookies, the lights, the friends and the family that are all wrapped up into what makes Christmas the most wonderful time of the year.  But are we just counting down the days, or living everyday with the love that this season is built around?

Counting down the days…I can remember as a child making chains of red and green construction paper to symbolize the passing days to Christmas.  I would hang it on the wood paneled wall of the family room by the door to the kitchen.  Unfortunately, I don’t think my daily Christmas reminder ever made it to the big day, as I grew up with two older brothers that liked to jump and rip and tackle.  I’ve been thinking about my little paper chains this year more than ever because I am not only counting down the days to Christmas, but also counting down words left to write until I finish my book.

 I think as we get older we never really lose that sense of wonder involved with looking forward to a big box with a bright red bow under the tree on Christmas morning.  Instead, I think it is only what is wrapped up in those packages that changes over the years.  Is it simply survival of all the shopping, family visits and parties that await us under the tree?  The end of a long difficult journey of writing a book is wrapped up and waiting for me under the tree this year.  And yet, I am making an effort to experience and live everyday of the paper chain that is this beautiful season.  The end of the paper chain will be here before you know it.  What is at the end of your paper chain?  And more importantly, what should be cherished in the small loops of red and green somewhere in the middle?

Merry Christmas!

Do you know the people in your head?

This Christmas I decided to make bourbon balls for my friends overseas.  I think bourbon balls are a quintessential southern holiday treat, not to mention decadent enough to be considered a worthy gift to ship worldwide.  Since I just had to buy a bottle of Makers Mark as a key ingredient, my husband and I decided to tap that bottle Wednesday night and indulge in a little late night toddy.  As I sat there sipping my Makers & Coke and ruminating over the events of the day, it struck me: This is something Sawyer does.

(Sawyer is the hero in Book 2 of my series.  I’ll get to his book if I can ever finish Cian’s book - Book 1!)

 Anyway, I sat there thinking of Sawyer and what he’d do after a long night of hunting down dark druids and battling baddies that practice the occult for their own nefarious gains.  (Why yes, it is a paranormal series. Thanks for asking.)  He’d kick his feet up in his worn out leather recliner and sip on a Makers and Coke - heavy on the Makers, easy on the Coke – while channel surfing.  He’d finally land on E! and watch Keeping up with the Kardashians without a hint of shame or remorse.  At one particularly unrealistic reality moment, he’d yell at Cian to “Get in here and take a look at this!” 

Cian would be in the garage, blowing off steam by pounding his fists into a punching bag.  He’d have no interest in Kim, Khloe, or Kourtney and probably tell Sawyer to “Fek off.”  Of course Sawyer would ignore those instructions completely, go over and stand in the doorway between the kitchen and the garage, and give Cian a detailed play by play of what he’d just seen.  For his part, Cian would try his hardest not to let his punches slip and fly all the way across the garage, accidentally hitting Sawyer square in the jaw.  That’s his roommate after all, his fellow Fianna, and his friend.  Sawyer is only trying to lighten the mood. He knows how hard it is for Cian to come down after a night of work.

You see, Sawyer can spend the whole day intensely focused on his work and simply switch it off at a snap of the fingers.  Cian, on the other hand, carries the burden of what they do with him everywhere.  There is no switching it off.  There is no “don’t worry” in his vocabulary.  The only way he can relax enough to sleep is to wear himself out on the bag or drink himself into a stupor.  Since he owns a bar as his cover job and his temper is highly flammable as is, he knows he better not start down that whole drinking road.  Cian would never indulge in Makers Mark.

And these are the thoughts that run through my mind as I enjoy my Makers Mark.  So when my husband asked me “What are you thinking?” My response was, “Do you really want to know?  Because you could be listening for awhile.”

I love thinking about my characters; how they react to things, what they do on a regular basis.  What do they like to eat and drink?  What kind of car do they drive?  Are they techno savvy or a luddite?  Do the heroines like lipstick, lip gloss, or nothing?   Do the heroes wear boxers or briefs?  These are all things that may or may not ever make it into their story, but I want to know.  I need to know!

My favorite part of writing (and reading for that matter) is getting to know the characters.  I dream about my characters and all their little nuances before I ever start writing their story.  What about you?  How do you get to know the people in your head? Do they come to you fully formed or is there a method to meeting them?

Giant Slices of Cake

It all began over the biggest slice of coconut cake I’ve ever seen.  When the waitress sat it down on the table in front of me I actually caught my breath.  Three layers of moist yellow cake were all covered in fluffy white icing with slivers of coconut lying on top as if a piece of lace had been draped over its surface.  I briefly wondered how many cakes they must have in the kitchen in order to give me roughly a quarter of a cake and still have enough desserts for the entire Christmas Party.  There must be cakes on every surface back there.  Cakes were surely stacked up to the ceiling in teetering piles waiting to spill on some unwitting cook, covering him with carrot cake or possibly chocolate cheesecake.   I shook off the thought and forced my head back into the conversation with the two writer friends nearest me at the table.  I am a member of Carolina Romance Writers and every December we get together not to take notes on a lecture or hash out plot problems but to enjoy everyone’s successes of the year, talk, exchange gifts, and eat giant slices of cake. 

So, it was over this giant slice of cake that my friend Ann gave me a great idea.  She had read and liked one of my recent blog posts, and told me that if I made it a little longer, I could sell it as an Erotica short.  Now, apparently this will only make me about $20 over the course of a year, but I could say I have been published in e book when talking to agents and publishers.  I blinked in surprise.  Me?   Write Erotica?  I’m just a simple girl that writes Historical Romance.  I couldn’t believe I was considering this, but there isn’t much I wouldn’t do to get my first manuscript published. 

The conversation moved on to “Going to Nationals,” or the Romance Writers of America 31^st Annual Conference in New York this summer.  I would love to go to Nationals!  I’ve heard that you can meet agents and publishers there to pitch your book!  Again, my friend Ann, (can you tell she’s getting me into trouble?) suggests that there is an essay contest online in which the winner gets a scholarship to get into the $525 cover charge conference for free.  The afternoon continued on and I finally left, venturing out in the sleet and snow outside.  That was when the accumulating thoughts and schemes began to swirl in my head like the snow that was hitting my windshield.  By the time I got home, I had latched onto the idea that I could use money that I make writing to pay for my trip to New York to go to Nationals.  So, in true OCD fashion this is what I came up with:

I need $1800 to cover the flight, 3 nights of hotel stay, and the conference fee.

Step 1: I could win the essay contest to get into the conference for free.  So, now I only need $1275.

Step 2: I could write enough Erotica stories to add up to $1275….ok… I just out my calculator and that’s 63.75 short stories. 

Much Revised Step 2:   

I could get a part time job in the only hours I don’t currently work- 1 AM to 7 AM.

I could gather a band of young girls to sell boxes of cookies door to door, oh wait that’s already taken.

I could have a car wash fundraiser, only I don’t have any help, and it’s also December and below freezing outside.

I could cash in my piggy bank….12 times, wow that would be a lot of change.

I could stand with a tin cup and a sign on a street corner.

I’m not sure what I will have to do, but I will get there.  Dreams are worth fighting for, worth saving for, worth hitchhiking to New York for them to come true.  What dreams are worth the risk in your life?