No Ed Calkins Today...

...no new telegrams, no updates on his epic limerick.

Just me making progress on Before the Blood and reluctant to stop to post a blog.

Ever get wrapped up in a project like that?

Capture the Mood

Yesterday I had lunch with an author friend who also writes and publishes her young adult vampire stories.

She brought along her work-in-progress and asked me to read over a sensuous scene. She was trying to keep the right balance between making the reader feel the moment without being explicit.

She nailed it.

Now in adult novels, authors have more freedom in the specific details. But the basics still hold true.

One mistake we writers sometimes make in writing scenes with any sort of sexual tension is focusing in the physical details. As I told my friend, those details are, overall, fairly consistent, if one really thinks about it.

However, an individual's response, their emotions, their thoughts, as the action escalates (or does not), is what makes the difference. And an implication or hints of graphic can be more impactful than blunt words.

Here's the example I shared with her from Visage:

John stayed just as quiet on the return trip. Tonight, however, he did not pull into the back of the cafeteria. Instead, he swung the car into the staff parking lot and stopped at the far end, in front of the tall hedges bordering the empty road.

“I’ll walk you to the building,” John said. “The car’s staying here overnight.”

“How will you get home?” Melissa asked in surprise.

“I live across the street.”

“Then why do you…?”

“Drive to work? I don’t always go straight home.”

Melissa’s face grew hot. She knew that. He went to Shelby, of course. She blindly groped for the door handle. She had to leave, now, even if only to hide the bitter disappointment and frustration filling her eyes. She had misjudged John’s intentions again! Why did she keep torturing herself?

“Melissa, stop.”

He leaned near, cupped her face with one hand, and gently turned her. Melissa quickly blinked away tears and melted into John’s warm fingers. Her mind whirled. It’s a dream, she told herself, expecting to awaken in the next moment. This is just a twisted Bryony dream. The hazy light from the distant lamp pole illuminated the frenzy in John’s eyes as they searched hers. Melissa sat rigid, scarcely breathing, anticipating the impending jangling of her alarm clock.

“It’s strange,” John said, “but I feel we’ve met in another place, or....

John paused and inched closer. “....another time.”

Melissa throat tightened. The stillness of the night roared in her ears. John’s breath grazed her mouth.

“Does that make sense to you?”

She nodded, too astounded for words, petrified she’d pierce the elusive magic. Sleep, sleep, stay asleep, she silently begged, as John closed his eyes and swept a feathery stroke across her lips. This can’t be happening, Melissa thought. Oh, God, this is real!

Taking her head in his hands, John kissed her in earnest this time, gently, then harder and faster until Melissa released her pent up desire for John and met those kisses with a fervor that astonished her.

She touched his face and ran her fingers through that glorious hair, then to his shirt and down, farther than she had ever touched him, not even in Munsonville, not even when she was playing Bryony. By the time John opened his eyes and smiled at her, Melissa knew what she wanted to know.

If John Simotes had ever been a vampire, he wasn’t one now.

Henry Would Notice Detail

“Oh, Melissa, why persist in this delusion? John and I exist in such a half-awake state, never knowing the full delights of a good meal, art, architecture, music, or literature, only the memory of them.” (Bryony, Chapter 18: It Couldn't Be Masters)

Henry Matthews would notice detail.

The thought popped into my head as I was falling asleep on Saturday night. Being the weekend editor this past Saturday and Sunday meant no losing-track-of-time-and-space immersion in Before the Blood, but that  didn't mean I had to neglect it, either.

I still had plenty of scene descriptions to write, so I worked on some of those. They were okay, but something was off.

Henry Matthew would notice detail.

Don't get me wrong. I have detail. But I have not fully developed all of the details Henry would notice, especially at this point in his life. The character's perspective and response is key to making scenes feel real.

Each of those scenes need more grooming before the reader can see what Henry sees and feel what Henry feels. And yet, I don't want those scenes to be an info dump of useless information.

What would Hnery Matthews notice? Hmmm...

This week, I'll be taking a hard look at what's written.

Writing Tip: Separate the Forest from the Trees

Nothing clogs a stream of words as fast as stopping to work out a description of a character, scene, object, etc.

One trick that works for me is leaping over that part and returning to it later.

For instance, supposing your character has just entered a room or met a new person. Rather than stopping the action in your mind to develop that room or person, simply write DESCRIBE and keep going.

Later, when you have a spare ten or fifteen minutes, you can return to the blipped over portion with your entire attention.

It often works for me. Maybe it will for you, too.

My Fiction Playground

This morning, I posted the following link on WriteOn Joliet's Facebook page:

http://pbackwriter.blogspot.com/2016/06/journal-as-playground.html

Which got me thinking about why I enjoy writing my fiction. It's play, the type of free, childhood play of lying in the grass, watching clouds in the sky, and letting the imagination wander where it will.

It's has elements in common with daydreaming, except I don't exist in that world.

Unlike daydreams that stay in the mind, I reconstruct where my thoughts go, word by word by word: a series of adding, substracting, deleting, rewriting.

It's absorbing, exhilarting, frustrating, fun.

This and That

Weekend summary:

Friday night: worked late and vaguely recall watching an episode of "Smallville" with Daniel before passing out (from fatigue, not alcohol).

Saturday: Slept in until 7 a.m. (don't laugh), went for coffee with Rebekah (Pepsi for her), and walked the track. Worked on the novel ("Before the Blood"). Went for more coffee and took a brief walk with Timothy. Went to bed late after reluctantly closing out of said novel..

Sunday: Repeated coffee and track bit. Checked out a new Eastern Orthodox chapel in a former Methodist church building that my father once owned after it had been de-churched. Confusing? All shall be explained in a future post. Worked on Tuesday's Health calendar. Did yoga while watching Bob's Burgers with Daniel and Rebekah. Walked the track. "Smallville" and bed.

Boring to some. Restful, relaxing, refreshing for me. Totally needed it. This weekend is a working weekend.

Happy Monday, vampire fans! :)

Dealing With Your Character's Past

Just like people, all characters have (in theory) past memories and experiences, some of which impacts their present and future.

Writers are often advised to keep the story moving forward, to add just enough back story sprinkles to give the reader only the most immediate and necessary information. 

But why is that? Don't "real" people reminisce? Can't characters do the same?

Well, yes, of course.

But think about it. When is the last time you recalled, in complete detail and word for word, entire long portions of your life?

Yet that's what writers sometimes do with back story. They dump large amounts of information at the reader in the guise of sharing, looking back, or monologing. Even Henry and Kellen, with their penchants for storytelling, only told one story at a time.

What if your character is sitting by the fire with a warm mug of tea and musing on the past?

Well, most of us recall precise details in snippets, some portions clear, some hazy. Furthermore there's probably enough action in the background to root the reader in the present: the crackling of the fire, the gong of the grandfather clock, the cat that jumps on the couch.

Back story, when skillfully woven together with current events "feels" natural and part of the world you're creating.

How often back story flashbacks ccur depends on the extent the past is affecting (needling, inspiring, etc.) your characters. Flashes of back thought can happen fairly often. They just don't, usually, happen in large exact thought. It's not realistic.

The same is true for two (or more) characters talking. The person providing the information may dominate the conversation, but not for whole pages. Again, it's not realistic.

Unless you have a reason inherent to the plot to do otherwise. In that case, disregard the above. :)

Progression

Every writer experiences sluggish times, but I'm a little baffled why I'm experiencing it with Henry's section.

When I finally began writing Bryony in earnest back in 2008, I wrote all the Henry parts first because they were so easy; words just flowed.

I'm wondering if being disconnected from the character for so long is contributing to my muse's inclination to reread other sections of the WIP and come back to Henry later.

But then I remember the characters and plot lived in my head for decades before they finally spilled onto paper (Well, my computer). Furthermore, (spoiler) Henry has already appeared in other parts of Before the Blood, so it's not like we haven't hung out.

So I'm not sure.

I did peck away at the second chapter for most of Saturday, an excuciating pecking. I'm somewhat heartened, but I haven't looked over that writing yet. I felt I needed the distance of a day to be ojective.

With a deep breath and guarded hope, I'm opening that chapter now.

Fast and Furious

A few hasty lines so I can open up Before the Blood for a couple quick minutes before the real work of the day begins.

Very little time spent on the novel this weekend (as I assumed), very busy on the news end, so I got plenty of experience.

Ideal weekend for it because the muse for this new section was slow to respond. On Saturday night, I settled down at the kitchen table for a snack and flipping through Bryony to reacquaint myself with Henry.

It was a good idea. After the early morning work and before we left for church on Sunday morning, I spent about an hour on chapter two. Nothing to break word count records, but enough to get some thoughts flowing.

Have a great Monday, vampire fans! :)

The Difficulty in Beginning Anew (Stalling)

In 2011, I outlined the chapters of this next section.

Through the years, I've filled in details.

So why am I finding it difficult to begin (and finding ways not to begin)?

There is something exciting...and intimidating...in the not-so-blank piece of paper filled with chaotic information somewhat arranged.

Anyone else have this problem?

Making that come to life is always daunting, and I can certainly find many excuses for not getting down to it this morning: lots of "real" work staring me in the face, a longer blog post, not enough "homework" in this next chapter for short bursts of writing.

I have twenty minutes before I start posting social media for work. So I'm concluding this blog post and opening the chapter, even if I simply stare at it for the next twenty minutes.

Stalling, nah I'm not gonna do that. I'll stall forever if I do.

When the End Comes

I spent nearly nine months on the first Bryony portion of Before the Blood, word count currently at 79,770 (for those who care), a little longer than the estimated 55,000 for all the incomplete novels that comprise this book. Considering how pivotal Bryony herself is to the entire story, I'm cool with it. I'm not one to stick to arbitrary word counts (except as guidelines) and feel that one writes the words that tell the story.

Okay.

My goal was to finish it last weekend, which didn't quite happen, so I pecked away at it last week and hit the goal early Saturday evening, ready to start Henrty's section. I was less jubilant than I anticipated.

What???

The last comprehensive first drafts of anything Henry (outlining for this book and editing of Bryony don't count) was exactly seven years ago. I've looked forward to this moment for a long time.

I learned something in writing this particular type of experimental novel. Although it is technically one book, those unfinished novels that string it together really do have unqiue character, flavor, tone, and personallity. After writing the John section and the Kellen section, I knew I'd need a pause of sorts, a cleaning of the mental palate, before proceeding to the next portion.

This time, however, I needed a bigger break, and this surprised me.

I think it's less because this section was longer and more because of the volume of three-dimensional characters I needed to develop, whole families; I literally raised an entire village from its spartan beginnings to an entity that's flourishing ten chapters later.

And, of course, not everyone made it out alive.

I didn't realize how encompassing it had become until I reached the end. And it wasn't as easy to leave for the next novel as I thought.

That said, I did listen to some music for awhile and then opened chapter one of Henry and wrote it. It's a small chapter (1000 words), and it was outlined and had about 400 of its words already written. It read well; I was pleased; and then I opened chapter two to study, in preparation for my early mornings this coming week.

I couldn't focus on it. I was done. Reluctantly, I shut down the computer and walked away.

And this week? So far, I can't get into Henry. However, as soon as I post this, I'm going to open chapter two and browse a bit, keeping expectations low. All the people in the Bryony novel that I got to know and love and hate for nearly a year are hanging about my psyche. I need some time for it to fade.

That's okay, I think.

Know When to Be Silent

Sometimes, what your characters don't say is more effective than speech.

            "Children should be seen and not heard. Bryony, please knead so I can peek at the news."

            Bryony rinsed her hands and hurried to help, not at all surprised Mrs. Parks had yielded to temptation. Mrs. Parks was already at the table hunched over the newspaper, reading spectacles on, face cupped in her hands.

            "Leo said it has the next installment of 'The Victor's Ghost,'" Bryony remarked as she rolled and pushed the dough.

            Mrs. Parks didn't answer. (Before the Blood)

           "So what brings you to Munsonville?" Reverend asked, shifting his gaze to Mr. Borgstrom.

            "That's my business."

            Erland took a large fish and gave the platter to Erasmus, who took also a large fish and passed the platter to his father.

            "Owen said you and your sons are the finest fishermen he's ever met."

            The boys glanced at each other.

            Mr. Borgstrom snorted. He took three fish and thrust the platter at Bryony. "We do all right."

            The rest of the food went around the table in silence. (Before the Blood)

           "Religion addresses life, death, and the afterlife: experiences all men realize," Dr. Gothart said. "The underbelly of public schooling is government indoctrination."

           

            Dr. Gothart looked at Mr. Betts as he relit his pipe. "And yielding to the delusion that all children are capable of higher thought."

            Mr. Betts, already red-faced from the warm room and the alcohol, blushed harder and gulped his port. (Before the Blood)

            Her extravagance worried Mr. Parks, especially when meals were late, and Mrs. Parks was lost in printed gossip and cheap fiction.

            "Seven cents a week, frittered away, and you neglectin' yore household dooties to fill your head with new-fangled ideas 'stead of cookin' and cleanin' as God-fearin' women should do."

            "Orville, it's important for modern women to know the things of the world."

            Mr. Parks thumped the wall. "Trashy serials ain't useful fax."

            Puss jumped off Mrs. Parks lap. Mrs. Parks, adrift in a sea of print, didn't react.

            "Bertha, I'm talkin' to you!" (Before the Blood)

            With a harsh chuckle, Dr. Sidney Stone exclaimed, "Dr. Gothart, do you presume yourself so skilled that you raise the dead to life?"

            "I don't raise them," Dr. Gothart said.

            There was something menacing in the even way he spoke those words that forced Bryony upright, scarcely breathing, straining for the next words.

            "But I do restore them."

            Silence, except the fire crackling in the hearth. (Before the Blood)

Melissa enjoyed the little girl’s company and often engaged her in hopscotch or jump rope. John declared Melissa’s fraternization with a servant’s child most improper, but Melissa felt sorry for Anna and insisted otherwise.

“I’m sure there’s no harm done,” Melissa insisted. “Anna has no other playmates, and I promise to be discreet. Please reconsider?”

John did not reply, so Melissa assumed he agreed. Melissa remained true to her word. Everyday she reserved some time for Anna, but never in the company of the other servants, except Bryga, or occasionally, Trudi. Sometimes, they played with dolls,

Anna’s favorite game. Anna owned two, a papier-mâché doll with a stuffed, cloth body and a European doll fashioned from real wax. Bryga said John had given both of them to Anna, which led Melissa to tease John over lunch.

“Fine example you are of proper behavior,” she said.

John did not reply. (Bryony)

The phone rang, and Melissa sprang to answer it, saying, “It’s probably for me.”

It was Julie. After chatting about leeches, Melissa asked about Snowbell. Julie hesitated, then said, “I feel a little silly now, but it sure freaked me out at the time.”

“What happened?”

“Every time I turned around, that cat was watching me.”

Melissa twirled her fingers around the telephone cord, thinking. Julie had no reason to lie.

“Honestly, Melissa, I’d wake up, and she’d still be staring at me. I was a nervous wreck all weekend.” (Bryony)

Melissa inwardly groaned. She couldn’t believe this obvious phony had duped Katie, who lit up like a firefly at every mention of Cornell’s name.

“Oh, Melissa, you should have seen Cornell in action during that séance. So authoritative with the spirits. So commanding of the situation. Of course, I just had to meet him.”

 “Of course,” Melissa said with a short, rueful laugh.

“He was talking to some of the guests while eating cake. I understood why everyone wanted to be near him, so I patiently waited my turn. He was speaking to the last person when he looked up and, Melissa, you won’t believe this, he saw me. Cornell Dyer noticed me.”

Melissa absently swirled the remaining tea in her cup. She felt like throwing up. (Visage)

At school Monday, Karla was leaning against his locker, waiting for him.

            

“I threw away the mandrake root,” she said, avoiding his eyes.

            

“Move.”

           

Karla meekly stepped aside, and John-Peter flung open the door. “Good. You ruined it.”

            

“Can you get me another? I’ll let you carve it.”

            

 “I can’t do Curtis Chandler justice.”

           

  Karla blushed and bowed her head. “I didn’t mean for it come out that way. It’s just that.…”

            

Her voice trailed off. John-Peter slammed the door and spun the dial, but, as he turned to leave, Karla caught his sleeve.

            

“John-Peter, have you ever been in love?”

          

  His mouth went dry. He dropped a door and asked in a low voice, “Why do you ask?”

           

  “Because I think I’m in love with Curtis Chandler.”        

            

The boy flinched as if she had punched him, but he only said, “Shouldn’t you be telling this to Curtis?”

           

   “I wanted to know what you thought. We used to tell each other everything.”

            

Karla’s voice broke, and John-Peter glanced at the crowd of students filling the hall. He hated Mondays. (Staked!)

A Quick Stop This Fine Monday Morning

On a weekend with an extra hour and included Halloween, I thought Saturday spilling into Sunday would be steeped in fiction.

Life, of course, tossed other items my way, not bad, just different.

Some family things arose last week that needed addressing on Saturday. Patched in and around the addressing was bits of writing. Trick-or-treating with the youngest three young adults that are my children, along with three of my grandchildren, most of us (including me) in costume was tremendous fun, especially since the steady rain had slowed to occasional drizzles. (We were armed with umbrellas, just in case).

Sorry, no photos to post, being sensitive to the wishes of the children's mothers.

Early Sunday morning, Timothy flew to Texas. Since he has the decent automobile, we passed on church. On Friday evening, our associate pastor had offered to pick me up for church, but since I'd made other plans for Sunday, I politely declined.

I worked about four hours on Sunday, some in the morning, some in the evening, so today dawned full, but not in a panicky way.

But among the weekend's activities, I somehow manages to sneak in a fair amount of progress in Before the Blood. And my resolve to spend an hour each morning working on it is, well, working.

Okay, except for last Friday morning, which I dedicated to catching up on Story Round-Up. But I was heading into the weekend, so I was good with it.

The benefits of that extra hour are immense. I'm five hours further into the novel by Friday night. I stay connected with the story so I'm not reintroducing myself when I'm finally able to immerse myself in it. This means my muse is less sleepy, more poised for production.

Most of all, I'm not resentful come Monday morning that another weekend has flown past.

Thus said, I've gotta to run. I completed my fiction-hour before I began today's blog, and work is hollering my name...