Nea's tree

I went out to Niagara Falls today in order to take a picture of the tree in Alex's yard. I've always been drawn to this building, property, landscape. The view is breathtaking year round.

I finished Nea's flying scene the other night but wasn't quite sure where to land her. Until I thought of this tree. Imagine glass in the window frames that are cemented over. That's part of Alex's bedroom. He has curtains over them but she knows he's inside. I think the road is further away than in actuality. (I stood on the road to take the photograph)



Once I stepped onto the property nausea crawled through my belly. I'm sure it's because of the turbines but the intense energy there always creeps me out. I think the demons would enjoy it.

When I stepped beneath the tree a wave of peace washed over me and dissipated the nausea. I leaned back against the rough bark and listened to the roar of the river. It's so strong it drowns out all thought, leaving a powerful sensation. This is the time of year I dream of going over the Falls. I don't know what I was thinking, tempting fate by standing so close to the edge of the river. There aren't any fences along that spot.

I wrenched myself away from the magnetic pull of the water as it rushed south in its haste to leap over the brink of the world. That's a long way down. It's mesmerizing. No wonder Nea and Alex are both drawn to the danger and excitement. It's difficult to remember there's a city, and hundreds of thousands of people literally around the bend. Wildness beckons. Step closer.


Then closer still.

Ack!

I've been having trauma getting online. I received a wireless router for my birthday the other day. It was supposed to make my life simpler. Instead I've fiddled with that instead of finishing my homework or writing. I'm a little frustrated.

On the other hand, I have no excuse for letting deadlines whoosh past. I have plenty of opportunity without distraction for writing. The April writing challenge is going well. I've been flying with Nea, reading about Belize for Alex and found twenty pages of notes to input - including the final scene.

So ack to Internet connections and whee to writing time. I'm optimistic that I will have great news to report where the writing is concerned when I post next. In the meantime, enjoy this view of Alex's window.

Nea's wings

I've been playing with a combination of textures to create Nea's wings. At first I thought of this

but unless the skin is on the warm body, it neither feels nor looks right.


Then I thought of this -
but they're such a cliche, as are these

that I abandoned that plan and just took all three, mixed them up with some lace and pretty colours to give Nea her wings.

Then I started writing the actual scene. Which is a very good thing as we started a writing challenge for April. My goal is to finish this draft of the book. Last year I did an outline; this year I'm going for a rough draft. I want to have it polished and out the door by the end of the summer if not sooner. May is going to be a loooong month at both jobs so I might let that be the month where things get to settle after the April marathon of writing.

Extra points if you can guess what each of the cropped photos is. Good luck.

Wings

I went out for a bite and a pint with some friends the other night. We had all needed a break from reality and shared a few laughs about the turns our lives have taken lately. It was nice to introduce friends I've known for many years to someone I've known for a shorter period of time.

We all share an interest in birds of prey. Many years ago, the one friend and I belonged to a raptor rehab center. I have tons of books on how to properly care for and subsequently release injured birds of prey. Unfortunately the group disbanded over politics before I was able to actually nurse a raptor back to health but not before I was able to learn plenty on the subject. I didn't get my rehab license at the time but am looking back into that certification.

The more recently acquired friend is interested in falconry. We shared our experiences with her. Training with lures. Feeding. Teaching an injured eagle how to fly. I used to be friends with a man who trained birds of prey and helped him on occasion. It was exhilarating.

There's something about watching those creatures hunt that is both graceful and noble. Yet it's also violent. I'll spare you the details but it's not a clean kill. It's brutal and messy. But it is often swift.

That made me think about Nea's relationship with her wings. She cherishes them because they are a symbol of her demon status. They carry her with speed and efficiency towards destruction. They also lift her high above the trees. Demons are violent nasty creatures; the antithesis of everything her wings grant her. Freedom, beauty and speed.

Like a falcon spiraling out of the sky, Nea dives on Alex and twists her talons in his soul. Swift. Brutal. Elegant.

Will Write for Wine

This isn't the first time I've mentioned Will Write for Wine. It probably won't be the last. I was out running my darling dog along the canal in an effort to dissipate the sugar buzz. I was also trying to catch up on all the podcasts I've downloaded over the last few months. One of the reasons I get so far behind is the writing frenzy that Lani Diane Rich and Samantha Graves inspire.

I listened to an episode about Dialogue and watched the tugboats breaking up the ice in the canal. I also threw a stick for the dog. I was laughing at all three when Lani said,"Everyone lies." That stopped me cold in my tracks.

I'm in the midst of a scene where Alex is making some conclusions about his own redemption. And it occurred to me how much stronger this scene, and the rest of the book, will be if he's lying to himself about his motivation. He's being both selfish and noble but mixing up which belongs to what action.

I'm excited, and have to go write. I'll probably be late with the next blog if all goes according to plan. Bwahaha. Like that ever happens. Poor Alex.

Alex Across the Universe

My friend came over last night to work on her essay about Across the Universe. Someone had stepped on her laptop so she used mine. I also own the movie so we watched it 5 times in 24 hours. As of this afternoon I still wasn't sick of it. Odd considering each viewing was consecutive.

The most interesting aspect of the entire experience was how much I wrote. A little friendly rivalry kicked into gear. I grabbed pen and paper and just wrote everything that came to mind. I started with the end of one scene and notes for the next. Every tap of the keys drove me to match her word for word with ink. Scratch, sing, tap. Scratch, sing, tap. So our night went.

The Beatles are not on my playlist for Alex. He's more of a nature tape kinda guy. But knowing someone else is writing beside me gets the juices flowing every time. Hmmm, I wonder where Alex gets his competitive spirit from...

It was fun, productive and created some good stuff. A writer's retreat would get this sucker finished in no time. Just saying...

Melancholy

Melancholy. It's an interesting word. The last four letters spell holy and at the risk of sounding sacrilegious that's almost how I feel right now. Reverent.

During Holy Week I'm attending two memorial services. It's made me reflective about how we live our lives. Most of us go about our business, make homes for our families, provide for them, share experiences with good friends and move on with little awareness of how much we touch each other.

A man came into the store the other day and told me that I never fail to brighten his day. You'd think I would have been less surprised given that I'd just written about the importance of a positive outlook over at the CB Bar and Grill. He's been depressed for some time. I had no idea. He comes in. We talk about animals, great books and tell each other a few jokes. Then we go our separate ways, both carrying that good humour through the rest our day.

Some times the way people touch us is more subtle. Write off the Deep End is a writing group that formed when Brian Henry wrote my phone number on the blackboard at a writing course he was teaching. I was the only volunteer to host a group. Kate and I have looked back plenty over the years in amazement that we so naively gathered other writers (including each other) towards us that day.

I'm not sure of the evolution from there. We met more people at other writing courses and our information was circulated in the Niagara region. Tom Torrance taught romance, poetry and writing for children(all separately, of course) at Niagara College during that time. While I never took any of his classes other members of WODE did. As we tended to pool our resources, I heard "In Tom's class, we..." a lot. He was a great influence on all of us. Brenda Harlen credits him with a good portion of her success with Harlequin.

I didn't know him well. He was my parent's neighbour for several years. He frequented the library where I work. He came to book signings. He always smiled, said a few words in his soft voice and let the action flow around him.

He was a quiet man. A gentle man. The kind of person your glance bounces off in its quest for stimulation. But his words carried weight and his message had power. I look at all the people whose lives he touched, all the writers to whom he gave confidence in their abilities and I am awed.

In one of those serendipitous moments I love, I just finished reading a book this morning. I almost turned away from it in the beginning because the prose was literary, slow moving and lyrical with it's gentle images. Yet the more I read, the more I enjoyed the slower journey full of profound observations that I would have lost in a faster paced book. The end left me pensive and pondering the final paragraph. The main character says the need we have to put words on a page is the way in which we grasp hold of meaning in every day tasks. She suggests it is a way to hold onto our memories.

It may be my interpretation but I think writing is the way so many of us find meaning in our interactions, our communications, in our lives. As writers we are allowed, even encouraged, to ponder all the connections we make in daily tasks and assign meaning to each. As writers we record all that happens around us. We make sense out of chaos, and order.

Sometimes we merely observe. Sometimes we extrapolate from those observations. Through our writing we share bits of ourselves. Bits that have an effect on someone else, bits that alter their reality or thinking, bits that float across miles to land in another's conscious when they most need to see another perspective.

Few of us know how long-lasting or far-reaching our interactions have on our family, friends, co-workers, strangers, students and teachers. Memorials are an opportunity to share that person's significance in our lives with those who love them. The two people whose memorials I attend this week were fortunate enough to know, through words and actions, the myriad of ways in which they had touched the lives of others.

Sometimes melancholy can lead to bright memories. Thank you all for reading, and inspiring me to reach for meaning in the mundane and the magical.

Alex

I went through some boxes of old paper this weekend. Not only am I doing my annual search for tax paperwork, receipts and such, I'm also sorting and shredding things that have outlasted their usefulness. For some reason I cannot bring myself to shred a sketch an ex-boyfriend made of a thermostat for a car that went to the wrecker twenty years ago. It makes me smile every time I look at it.

Among other such memories I found notebooks, binders and sheafs of paper with several story ideas, outlines and even scenes. Some are good, some not so much. But they all had one thing in common. The hero's name was Alex. He's been dark, fair;lean, stocky;tall, average;a firefighter, medieval knight, and electician(not sure what the last one was about).

In his current incarnation as an extreme sports athlete, he's been around for twelve years. I knew where we were going together and how we were getting there but could never find a strong enough companion for that journey. So I sent him to Tibet while I gave his original storyline to his sister(that was Kate's Idea and it took me six months to accept it).

I wrote several other books in the meantime. Now that I had Alex's identity solidly implanted in my subconscious those heroes were able to form with different names and their own solid identities. Alex wandered through Indonesia and Australia with brief jaunts home to see if I was ready for him. When I started his sister's story in earnest, he went to South America. Who knew he would connect to Belize so thoroughly? Certainly not I.

The character has been rolling around in my head in one form or another for fifteen years and I'm still learning about him. Some of it is fascinating stuff. Some of the little details don't amount to much until you put them all together. He's so much tougher,versatile and resilient than I ever could have imagined. And funny. His sense of humour is a little bent.

He's larger-than-life, contained to a larger-than-life home at the head of a powerful natural wonder. He's sparring with a demon(also Kate's Idea that took some time to accept)for his soul. Yet he's as trapped as anyone has ever been, even if the cage is immense.

He had an epiphany yesterday. While I knew the first part of the book involved unAlex-like behaviour I didn't realize how it was possible for him to change so drastically. I thought it was the demon's fault. Alex says otherwise.

After all these years, I'm still enjoying the revelations. Perhaps that's why I'm not working too hard to finish the book. It will be hard to let him go.

Fortunately, other heroes await. There's that old ghost story whose memory was triggered by Gerard Butler. That's on an old floppy disk, as well as in a binder. But you know I remember more of that story and that hero every day.

Meanwhile Bracken grows.

Dreams

As writers, we tend to live in our subconscious more than most people. We create characters, situations, worlds and realities that must feel real or the reader won't be engaged. Not only will they toss the book against the wall, they'll tell all their friends how ridiculous it was.

This leads to the need for some solid research. I've never been to Belize nor run white water in a raft(or any other conveyance for that matter). Travel books, tourism boards and the wide world of google help to capture the feel of the tropical country. YouTube has some fascinating video of amazing river runs that I've previously shared with you. I draw on those resources a fair amount when I'm writing.

There's a pivotal scene with Alex and another character going over a waterfalls in a kayak. Racing off the edge of the earth to plunge 200 feet. Exhilerating stuff. Terrifying and something I feel confident describing despite the fact that I've never been in a kayak.

Every Spring for the past 16 years, I've dreamt about going over Niagara Falls, without a barrel. I swim, sweep or flail my way over the edge. My breathing changes, adrenaline floods my bloodstream and euphoria and terror dominate my senses. I am never injured but I am always aware how precarious my survival is. There are a variety of reasons for this recurring dream but the one that interests me most for this blog is the way I can use that experience to give this scene a sense of truth. Even though my feet stay firmly planted on the ground whenever I go to Niagara Falls, I can recreate that feeling with a high level of accuracy. Because I've dreamt it so often.

Which brings me to the recurring dream from the last post. I have this ongoing relationship with a NASCAR driver because I write romance and need some stuff to drawn on. My subconscious likely chose him because we've met a few times, I'd done all that research on him for the game and wandered through his hometown. It perceives him as familiar. The relationship isn't real so I can poach from it all I want for writing purposes.

The subconscious is the best tool in a writer's toolkit. It isn't bound by physical limitations or conventional thinking. It has a symbiotic relationship with the imagination. They fuel each other.

And save me a plane ticket to Belize.

Connections

This blog used to be all writing all the time. Then I headed into Gerard Butler world and have seen him in everything I write. There is a definite connection between that actor and a story I wrote many years ago. The odd thing is that old manuscript was based on a dream I had about a different actor, Jon Erik Hexum, the night before he died. The two men have no obvious connection other than the one my brain has made.

Over the years I've learned to pay attention to my subconscious, even when I don't have a clue what it's trying to tell me.

There's a NASCAR driver who raced to the front of the pack in many of my dreams a few years ago. Entire lifetimes together, including the occasional scrape against the wall, occupy my nights. During the daytime I'm mystified. I'm a fan of the man's driving and competitive confidence but hook up with him? I think we'd take each other out on pit road. I have to admit how strange it was to spend a good chunk of time last year in his hometown visiting with a real life, non-celebrity man. I was terrified we'd run into the driver and I'd end up saying something that sounded stalkerish.

I'm aware of that line between fantasy and reality, truly I am, but spending so much time with someone in that subconscious state lends a false sense of familiarity. It doesn't help that I spent a fair amount of time researching him for a game on which I worked a couple of years ago. It's that very essence of fact underlying all the fiction that could easily make me sound unhinged.

As a writer, I weave fantasy and reality together in a seamless blend of entertainment. Regardless of whether the book is plot or story driven; character is what engages the reader. These men are interesting characters to me. They aren't real. I don't know them. But there are elements to each of them that compel me to revisit the connections time and again.

It's that sense of the familiar that comes from perceived connections. Whether it's the dreams, the hometown or mutual acquaintances that give me that idea of being connected, the truth is irrelevant. There are times when I have to stop for a moment and think about whether I actually had that conversation - despite the fact that we haven't met.

Maybe I'm losing my mind. Or maybe I'm letting my imagination run with all the scenarios and possibilities so that I can write the most complete, real and flawed characters I can.

What do you think?

A good read

I fell into a book this morning and it wasn't my own. It was The Footprints of God by Greg Iles. I try to avoid his writing when I'm under the gun because he sucks me in so completely. It's a combination of characters, story and writing style.

Like Susan Wiggs, Iles is difficult for me to dissect. I've tried analyzing both authors in an attempt to understand what drives me to keep reading long past logic dictates I should. It would be much wiser to shut off the light, get some sleep or finish my own writing. Instead I fall into a fictional world that engages all of my senses. I suspend disbelief for the hours it takes to work my way through to the end. In the case of Iles' work, I'm usually exhausted at the end. Yet satisfied.

That satisfaction is what keeps me plugging away at my own manuscript. I want readers to put my book down at the end of a wild ride with fascinating characters and feel like it was worth the investment of their valuable time. That, and the hope that some day Gerard Butler will star as one of my heroes in the film version of that book. Dreams are good. They're an essential element in creating a satisfying book.

How do you classify a good read?

Best laid plans

I was called into work on my day off yesterday. Great for paying bills but not so great for the plan to spend the day writing. I had my notes by the computer and a big glass of water to keep my brain hydrated. There was even a plan to review the bar scene(the phrase 'will it never end' kept running through my brain) so when the phone rang I was irked.

The end result was a distinct lack of time to procrastinate. I had half an hour to write before work. I knuckled down and wrote the punchline to that scene. Dialogue poured out onto the page. That was the most productive half hour I've used in some time on the writing front. Upon review today, the quality has held up to the cold winter light of the day after.

It was even more satisfying that I wrote on my lunch break. Instead of reading the book I had finally settled upon(and have since rejected because the characters didn't engage me)I wrote. Alex is back. His humour was missing. Even knowing where it had gone and why, I was missing that aspect of him. I've trudged through that scene because of it. The rejected book (see above) showed me the importance of showing the character's flaws and issues in a way that keeps the reader engaged.

This is a major turning point for Alex. My realization is his. Sorry it took so long but I've got it covered now. The sense of fun is back.

Who knew going to work would net such results?

PS Driving to work netted this image from Universal Studios - change the outfit, soften the lines of his face slightly, lighten the hair - and that's Alex - Hercules

Reading when writing

I'm not sure what it's like for you but I have to be careful what I read when I'm writing. Yesterday I read The Great Gatsby. It was completely unexpected. I'm not sure what I thought it would be like but that wasn't it. The writing was fluid, active and captivating. The story and the characters were larger than life yet intimate. Of course I'll never write anything like it. I'm okay with that. Only F.Scott Fitzgerald can be himself. Just as there is only one Keziah Fenton.I know because I googled it.

I picked up a book to read this morning then put it back down. I did that with three others. I want to read them all, truly I do, but I don't want to influenced by story, characters or writing style while I'm writing.

I've turned to some good period dramas and watched them instead of reading. The rhythms and cadences are restricted to dialogue alone. Sage hooked me on the BBC production of North and South. I immediately followed that viewing with the final episodes of The Vicar of Dibley. Hard to believe the male lead in both shows was the same actor, Richard Armitage. Cathy thinks he's a good candidate for Roger in the Outlander series.

I think the best way to keep my mind on my own story and characters is to read nothing but research materials and stop losing myself in sexy British actors.

What do you do to keep your mind on your own writing?

Hmmmm

Stashaholic thinks Henry Ian Cusik would be a good choice for Jamie from the Outlander series. I'm not convinced anyone can measure up to my mental image but you have to admit, he's not bad to look at.



She's thinking about her choice for Claire. I can't comment as I am busy writing. I have a brilliant post sketched out on the bathroom wall for you and will post it just as soon as I get this scene finished. I am hopeful that it will actually be in this lifetime. Thanks to Jodi Thomas for the quote, "Triumph comes from perseverance."

Ahh, my idea of triumph...


Enjoy!

Muses

Music is my muse.

I load up the CD player, yes I am that arcane, with music that either my characters listen to or are inspired by. The lead singer of The Tea Party supplied me with the hero's overall look in Heaven Coming Down. I was fortunate to have a one-on-one conversation with him in which we realized we drew our inspiration from similar sources. It seemed fitting to write the entire book to his music.

I've written to salsa, blues, metal rock and country. They've all been instrumental in flicking the switch in my brain to CREATE mode.

Part of the challenge with this project has been the lack of musical identity for Alex. It's not that big a deal though. Nea's music is definitive and strong. It's angry, loud and sums her up. Alex listens to instrumental. It's his music I hear every night before I go to sleep. Fitting as that's when I do most of my pre-writing. Nea may be Queen of the Night but Alex is at heart a dreamer. It's an interesting contrast to listen to their music.

Who or what is your muse?

Can't blog. Writing

Guess what I'm doing right this moment? Writing!

You'll be happy to know that all the research you did for me with alcholic beverages several months ago is finally being put to use. I've been structuring the demon's drinks with his downward spiral back to hell. Of course he's taking Alex with him. It's fun. I really should get back to it before they start doing shots and hitting on that blonde biker babe at the end of the bar. That would be a cliche. Especially if her beefy boyfriend took exception. Ooo, gotta go. I just thought of how to end that scene.

Here's something shiny to entertain you all with while you wait. Blue is my favourite colour. How about you?



Photo courtesy of reelzchannel.com

Please

I had a bit of a breakthrough the other day during a lull at work. I picked at the current scene and asked myself what purpose it served. Bar scenes can easily be cliched, and therefore highly entertaining, just not the way the authour intended. My problem lay in the structure. I have two punchlines in that scene. By reversing their order everything is much stronger. Writing is not the chore it was last week.

I'm still plodding along. Mostly because that's my internal speed these days. Writing, walking, thinking; I'm merely taking my time. I get every where I need to and that's what counts. I wonder if I've missed things because of rushing around trying to be all things to all people. So I'm practicing more mindful interactions with life.

As Alex is my hero, I'm turning much of my subconscious focus to him. I can do that, will who I dream about or think about beneath the surface. That technique helped me throughout university. Sorry, I have no idea how it works. It just does. It allows me to expand my conscious activities. Instead of obsessing about one issue, idea or Gerard Butler, I can now think about all of them at various times of the day without fear of losing brain cells.

With all that said, I decided to take Zingera's advice and watch this 15 minutes short,Please. I had a feeling before I watched it that it was going to set something loose in my brain.

In the first two minutes the old story that P.S. I love you reminded me of jumped forward. There's some weird connection between that old manuscript and Mr. Butler. One I don't want to pursue until after Hell to Pay is finished. I almost stopped watching the short then because the pull was strong. I took a breath, shoulder checked Alex and dove back in.

The ending was a little predictable and made me want to smack the characters but that could be because something similar happened in my neighbourhood when I was a kid. Cliches are so because they imitate recurring aspects of life. Even when life goes sideways, you can often see the changes coming.

The rest of Please? Wow. It's powerful. When he talks about being a novelist, I got chills. There are days when that's incredibly true. Go. Watch it. Even if you're neither a novelist, nor a fan of Gerard Butler's you'll understand the writer in your life a wee bit better afterward.

Brain full

Usually writing gets all that extra stuff out of my brain onto the page and frees me up to think of other things. That's not happening at the moment. Daily living, or surviving the sore-throat-that-will-not-heal, has dragged so much out of me. It doesn't seem like a lot, until I try to think.

My brain is full of parents, health(mine and theirs), researching alternative therapies(theirs and mine), conventional therapies(I think you know who's), work, the library collection course, and somewhere waaaay down there Alex and Nea who aren't exactly clawing to get out.

I've tried writing at the computer, writing longhand, writing on the shower wall, writing in my notebook and writing while I walk(digital voice recorders rock). Nothing worth noting.

Maybe I'm not Wonder Woman and can't do everything. Maybe I'm missing a key element in the story and don't realize it. Maybe I need to just keep plugging away.

Honestly, I think it's a combination of the three. I'll continue opening the document and adding a few words at a time. A conversation with Elen brought me back to the basics of Alex's character. Lani Diane Richsaid something interesting about what a bad idea it was in a romance to make the hero and heroine the antagonist and protagonist. On the surface this is exactly what I've done with Alex and Nea. On further reflection I realized it is not. In the end Alex will give Nea exactly what she wants, not what she thinks she wants. Despite what the two of them think, she's not taking away anything he holds precious. He already threw it away. In her own warped way, Nea will give it back to him. Of course neither one of them realize that's what is really happening. They think they're adversaries.

Sort of like my brain and I.

Puttering along

No writing today. Not because it was Superbowl Sunday. I had my six year old niece here all weekend. She's full of enthusiasm from the moment her eyes open in the morning til the very instant they flutter shut at night. If only I could figure out how to harness some of that energy. It would solve the global energy crisis. Not to mention my own. She sucks it out of me. I have no idea how the working/writing mothers manage. She is a treasure. Truly. We had some good laughs. She taught me some interesting dance moves. High School Musical was far better than I had imagined. Both times.

Alex took a backseat to the princess but he didn't go away completely. I did manage to play with him during her bath time. We discussed the crazy aunt scribbles on the wall and that led to more insight about this current scene.

I have no idea what triggered how to write Nea's reactions to the loss of her wing. Something made me think of OH's tattoo post and it came from there.

I'm writing out of sequence again. So much on Alex's scene then over to Nea's and back again. But whatever works.

I'm motivated. My replacement copy of Wrath of Gods should be here in three weeks. I need to be free to watch it.

Back on the wagon

My Wrath of Gods DVD contained no data so I opened up my documents and plunged back into Alex's story. It was so much easier than I feared. Perhaps the contrast between the two men - one fictional, one who plays fictional characters - was what I needed to give my brain a break.

I wrote for an hour yesterday, another hour today. Because I don't have Sven breathing down my neck, judging my word count, the pressure is off. The words are coming smoothly, the scene playing out in front of me. Writing is a pleasure. Not that it had stopped. It was simply a matter of too many demands on my time and writing was the only thing I could afford to put on hold.

It helped that my wireless keyboard was able to transcribe the shower scribblings instead of me unhooking everything from the laptop and hauling it in there. It also helped that Alex was still slumped in front of the picture window staring at the turbulent river. It took a bit to rouse, then dress him but I had fun with it.

Day two back at the keyboard and Alex is down at the bar with the demon drowning their sorrows. I may just join them for a pint after work.

The zoo, Gerry and Alex

I can't get enough of Gerard Butler these days (movies that is) and it's gotta stop.

I need to start writing again soon. I'm afraid if I stop for too long I'll never get back to it. All the dark Scot distractions have obscured my love for Alex.

It's not all bad. My little zoo loves how much time I've spent in front of the television watching DVDs. Parrot on the shoulder, cat on the lap and dog at my feet while I continue to learn subtext. Dear Frankie is still my favourite but there are some excellent Looks in everything else I've watched.

I just popped Wrath of Gods into the DVD player. Once it's over, I have to abandon Mr. Butler for awhile. I've been studying his subtleties and nuances as well as his humour but seriously who am I kidding that it's all for the writing?

Alex is nothing like him physically though I hope he has the integrity of his characters. Blond shaggy-looking athletes are more what I need to be focused on. Got any ideas? Tao Berman doesn't fit the physical profile either but his kayaking skills shaped Alex so maybe it's back to youtube.

I have to admit I'm in a happier frame of mind, partly thanks to my mini film festival. Alex and Nea are still miserable but I have pulled back far enough to be able to write their misery with a level of objectivity I had lost in all the chaos of my home. The house is finally clean and reasonably organized. I hope my brain is as well.

We'll find out tomorrow when I get back to the story. It should be interesting, even if it doesn't star Gerard Butler.

Thanks to all the Gerard Butler fans who popped over after my comment about The Look. Had I known you were all going to visit, I would have written a better post.(Check out the video link below. It's just for you.) It was a popular blog that spawned some amazing conversations about what appeals to each of us;not only in actors and movies but in books as well.

This is a writing blog; a space for me to store my writing related thoughts. Occasionally I delve into other subjects but primarily as they affect my writing. I'm not putting a lot of words on the page these days but things are rolling around in my brain, making connections and generally sorting themselves out while attend to other matters(my house and zoo were screaming for attention).

Authors derive their inspiration from a variety of sources. While Gerard Butler speaks to me(not literally but hey, something could be arranged should he so desire it)he has yet to inspire a novel. His recent role in P.S. I love you did, however, remind me of an old manuscript that deserves resurrection. Once I get my office reorganized and finish Alex's story, I'll dig out Waiting on a Hero and see what it needs, besides a better title.

One thing each of Mr. Butler's characters have in common is integrity. Perhaps not by standards you or I may hold high but his characters, flawed though they may be, hold true to themselves, to their own personalities, flaws and growth. (I haven't seen every movie in which he's acted but enough to make such a sweeping statement.) That's something that should be a given in any solid piece of writing - integrity. Yet there are times when I worry that the plot needs can override that requirement.

Alex is struggling with every single aspect of his identity so this is a significant part my thought processes these days. I need his growth to be real, true and believable while still moving the storyline in the direction I originally envisioned. I will continue to look to movies like Dear Frankie and books like It's not about the accent to guide me.

What character quality is a must-have for you?

Photo courtesy of CBC's The Hour with George Stromboulobopoulos

Sweating with Sven

Sven's reign of terror ended yesterday. I didn't meet my goal. In fact I fell far short. Regardless, I'd sign on for another tour. Until three weeks ago, I wrote every single night. For hours at a time. My word count increased exponentially as the weeks went on. Sven can be very inspiring. It might have something to do with not wanting to see the disdain on that curled lip. That's just not my idea of sexy.

When the words flowed, the count increased and I had my butt in the chair, well then that was another thing entirely. His eyes would twinkle, the corners of his mouth tilt up and approval shone from him.

Despite the fact that I didn't answer his calls or return his messages for the last few weeks, Sven has invited me to return to his sweat lodge for the next writing challenge. I have a few issues to work out before I accept, but with a little help from Alex and some input from Nea,I should be in a better head space. Don't worry Sven, it wasn't you, it was me*.

*I've always wanted to say that to someone.

PS I love the way you look at me

The writing vacation was necessary. I was stuck and needed to give my subconscious some time to work things through. The Crayola(TM)bathtub crayons prevent me from losing the threads of ideas as they come to me. I know that when the time comes I'll be able to weave them into a beautiful tapestry because of the time off. The colours will pop, the pattern will be clear and I'll love the feel of the fabric beneath my fingers. I've just been too tired to appreciate any of it.

Many of my friends are writers. It's inevitable when we get together that our conversation will turn to the craft of writing. I spent a lovely evening with three talented women discussing the process. It's different for everyone, different for each book. None of them have an online presence but the minute they do, I'll link to them because they are each brilliant in their own right. I'm very blessed with the friends in my life. That night with strong women watching Shirley Valentine prepared me well for the next day with another brilliant writer.

I went to see my dear friend Elen. We spent a great deal of our afternoon discussing the industry of writing; blogging, websites, networking, workshops and conferences. We've both been mentored by some amazing and generous authors like JoAnn Ross, Maggie Shayne, Jennifer Crusie and Bob Mayer. That conversation naturally segued into our personal fun reading. We both vehemently believe that the Outlander series should not be made into a movie. We have very definite ideas of what Jamie and Claire look like. And as much as I love him, Gerard Butler is not Jamie.

After we went to see P.S.I love you Elen asked me about my obsession with the incomparable Mr. Butler. I wasn't surprised by the question but I did have to think about it. Two writers in a dark theater watching some seriously sexy men led to some interesting conversation. Dialogue, costume, music, setting; they were all fodder for our discussion, but none more than casting. Hilary Swank didn't do it for Elen. I could agree with her assessment but I lived for Gerry's screen time. A slight exaggeration but he drove the movie for me. So of course we analyzed it because there's a paranormal brewing in my head about that fascination.

He's certainly an attractive man - dark hair, gorgeous eyes, sexy accent and a crooked smile. His grin lights his face and takes it over. You can't help but grin back. His character had a boundless enthusiasm for life. They usually do.

I've never been one for subtext. It usually sails over my head. I've struggled with it from the time I was a child. She read compassion mingled with love in his eyes always threw me for a loop. I was too literal and expected to see the letters crossing his eyes like words on a teleprompter. I still can't interpret The Look the manager gave me the other day.

But in every single movie, including 300, Gerard Butler looks at the heroine like she is the reason he breathes. It's never the same look. It's not like he lowers his lids, scrunches up his nose or lets his jaw go slack. I can't describe the look because it's not physical. Regardless of whether it's walking along the waterfront in Dear Frankie or in the hills of Ireland in P.S. I love you, the essence is the same. That is his appeal to me as a viewer. The day I nail that emotion in a scene is the day I'll know I am a writer of merit.

Thanks to two days of relaxed movie watching and hanging out with writing buddies, I've finally been able to understand the magic of that particular actor. I'm sure I'll be able to infuse my characters with a similar magic because the knowing only enhanced it. Thanks to modern technology, I'll always have Gerry to remind me.

Cleaning and reading and writing, oh my

This writing vacation has been productive. The last few months have been crazy between work, travel, the library course and writing. My house has been neglected. The pets have whined in various different voices. My TBR pile spilled over into a fourth room(I only have five rooms in this place). I actually spent Saturday stretched out on the couch with a cat on one side, another one on my lap, the dog beside me on the floor and the parrot on my shoulder while I read A Dirty Job by Christopher Moore. It was a good day.



I rearranged my living room yesterday. Lifted furniture. It was quite a workout. I definitely earned a star.

Today I hauled my butt out of bed early and took Ky for a run before his chiropractor's appointment.


I was listening to the brilliant Lani Diane Rich and Samantha Graves podcast Will Write for Wine. I'm very behind in my listening. I think it was episode six. Regardless. Something strange happened. My brain made a few connections about my own characters. Poor Alex. His life really sucks - and I'm about to make it worse. Maybe not today. I only wrote the idea on the shower wall.

There's a definite correlation between my mood and Alex's. The last time I was all broody and moody was when Nea went on a tear and did her best to destroy Alex's moral fiber. It can be disturbing to try and think like a nasty, twisted demon. Facing one's demons is all too literal at times. As Alex is feeling pretty low, I've been questioning some of the same things he has. Trust me, that's a good thing.

In the meantime, I'm cleaning my house, cutting plastic bags to knit or crochet(I have patterns for both) into a rug and considering how to write myself out of this mood.

Nothing to see here

The New Year did not start off with a bang. I wrote three words on the shower wall. That's it. I have an idea about incorporating two scenes but right now my head is not in it.

There's been a lot of drama around me, none of it actually mine, but it's had an effect on my thought processes. I've yet to figure out how to use those emotions in my story. Until I do, or things change up again, I'm taking a writing vacation. I haven't had a real vacation in years. It's not a trip to Belize (if Alex doesn't get to go there, neither do I) but it will give me a break. So I can pass the next library course, read a book or two, knit a rug out of plastic bags and take care of some other things.

Of course, if my brain suddenly clicks back into the book, you can be sure I'll cut my vacation short and go back to writing. You'll be the first to know.

In the meantime, be kind to yourselves.

Snacks

Fell off the exercise/food/writing wagon again. Dratted holidays. I have enjoyed time with friends and family though and that's far more important than being slim, beautiful and famous.

It's not like I haven't done anything. I spun around the living room a couple of times but no bopping. I wrote all over the shower wall but haven't actually inputted anything since Christmas Eve. That feels like a lifetime ago. I think the shower stuff might lead me down an avenue I had overlooked. It might be very interesting.

And I think I discovered Nea's favourite snack food - dates. She's already gone on a rant about nymphs actually being cannibals. That's not accurate but it was kind of funny. If they're supposed to guard and protect flora and fauna, isn't vegetarianism a very bad thing? Maybe it was funny only to me. At this point in time the scene doesn't actually serve a purpose. Until it does, it's only in the notebook, not actually input into the document.

What do you do with those scenes?

Caroling

Hello all you weary carolers. The CBs have been going from blog to blog singing traditional, non-traditional and sometimes even funny Christmas carols in an attempt to inject some fun and frivolity into the festive season.

The sideboard is loaded with beverages from cocoa to hot toddies, with eggnog and punch thrown in for good measure. All of the cookies and treats that came in the mail are laid out for you weary carolers to sample. I've even included some of my Toblerone fudge.

Gather 'round the fire. Have a toast. And know that no matter where you are in the world, who you're with or how well we know each other, you are welcome at my table.

Peace on earth, goodwill toward' man, and like I sang this morning on a hilltop with my dog,"let the sun shine in."

Regardless of what you celebrate this holiday season, my wish for you is joy throughout all that you do.

CMS/Keziah/Sheryl

The Big Picture

That's a phrase that's been running through my head for weeks as I deal with work issues as well as writing challenges. There are times, more often than not, when we react to a situation without any idea of how we fit into The Big Picture. I'm well aware that, at work, I'm an expendable cog in a tiny wheel that operates a side component of the entire machine. Once I accepted that, I was able to find peace in the changes and be happier with the job that I do. I was also able to look at it from the other side when management divulged information about someone else's job. The bottom line for me was to understand how all the pieces fit in the puzzle.

Friends of mine own a lovely piece of property with seven acres that backs onto a creek. Their home is at the front half, lots of elm and black walnut trees populate the back. While they are smack dab in the middle of orchards and grape fields, their property is prettier than it is functional.

Last week, the husband was clearing out the underbrush down by the creek when he found a hunting platform in the top of their tallest, straightest tree. He was furious. Not only had someone trespassed on his property, they hunted wildlife that resided safely there. They shot a rifle with the intent to kill. And kill they had. By spiking his tree to build the platform, they had ruined it.

What I didn't know, which means the hunters most definitely didn't, was that my friends were planning to sell that tree as a veneer tree. Money is tight for them right now. She's been ill the last few years and unable to contribute to the household income. Alternative therapies don't come cheap in any country. So that tree was not just the highest spot in the land from which to kill deer. It was a souce of income for my friends. An income they desperately need. One that they have nutured for several years.

Those hunters were ignorantly unaware of the big picture and how destructive their trespassing was. I'm not convinced they would have behaved differently had they known. Sometimes The Big Picture doesn't mean anything to people who don't see themselves as part of it.

I think that maybe that's the problem with demons. They don't care what The Big Picture is. They live to rearrange it. Structure and understanding are repugnant to them.

Fortunately that makes for an interesting story. Alex and Nea have no idea how their puzzle pieces fit together. They are only aware of their effect on each other. They are in for a big shock at the end of the book when they find out who exactly manipulated them both and why. So am I because at this moment I only have part of the answer.

Snow storm

I'd show you pictures but the wind was blowing so strong I didn't take any. My niece and I only tromped to the bridge and back because the visibility was so low. We really needed Ky to help us find our way a couple of times. I definitely got my exercise today.

I can also use that feeling of battling the elements in one of Alex's scenes. He's hating winter and dreaming about the hot climes of Belize. I can only imagine. My little trek today reminded me of how quickly things can turn. Again, something I can use with Alex.

It's all about the writing, baby.

Good Advice

I fell off the Sven/exercise/good food/writing/healthy wagon last week. I think I just caught a bug. No, it was not a Curculio elephas or lesser chestnut weevil. I had a fever. Which makes me like the Energizer Bunny without any direction. I go full tilt ahead then forget what I was doing and crash to a halt. Leap forward a few paces then stop again. I even took time off work because I had the attention span of a gnat.

So I did nothing but play with the dog, clean the house and overstimulate the parrot(he's not used to me being home so much). We played loud music, danced around the house and crashed on the couch every couple of hours to stare blankly at the wall. Seriously. The wall is that lovely spiderweb colour. A few plants need to be pruned. Maybe I should hang some pictures.

I started a lot of conversations that didn't make sense. I didn't write. I didn't work on my library assignment and I most definitely did not go into the store to sell pet food. I was also very dizzy. That made me fall down a couple of times. The bruise on my knee is a lovely eggplant. Grilled eggplant is delicious. My mind wandered very easily.

So I whined to a friend about how productive I wasn't in any aspect of my life.

Her great advice - crash on the couch, drink plenty of fluids and baby the bug (still not a curculio)It was good advice.

I went back to work today. I wrote a scene last night and another one today. I finished my library assignment. And I came up with an indoor exercise program. All because I took Elen's advice and stopped fighting the fever. I was losing anyway.

Now, I'm playing with Nea's bug. A curculio elephas. But I'll spare you all the image of the long nosed chestnut weevil.

Excuses, excuses

Ky was sick for a few days which meant I was up all night every night. By the time I dragged my sorry butt home from work every night, I was too tired to actually think of anything scintillating to add to my wip. Not a single word of brilliance.

I walked to work on Saturday with the hope that it would trigger a great thought process. Most of what I thought was along the lines of,"Crap, it's cold out here," followed immediately by, "Why didn't I wear my black coat? It's longer, warmer. Ugly." For twenty minutes my entire focus was on getting to work without freezing to death. The sun was shining. I was tired. I mistook that for a sign of warmth. I won't do that again.

I had the day off work yesterday. Ky and I spent it with friends. Then I went Christmas shopping. That was definitely not conducive to thinking. Which is why I was scrambling last night to get my reading done for a library course I'm taking. I had a session with my tutor this morning and I didn't fake it very well. Fortunately the assignment isn't due until next week. So much for my day of writing. "The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men, gang aft agley."

Today I was speed walking indoors. I was warm, almost too warm. Ky's feeling better so he only woke me up three times last night. I read a sign that said, "No refunds," and it sparked something in me. I dug out the scene where Alex and Nea argue over the importance of capitalism and free enterprise as they pertain to natural resources. Boom! I had another page of dialogue. Who knows from where inspiration strikes.

I'll endeavour to do more tomorrow. 'Tis the most anyone can ask. Besides, my shopping is done.

Quote from Robbie Burns - a nod to Theresa in Edinburgh

Opening Scene

You know the opening scene of a movie where the harried heroine runs around the house,hopping into her hose while grabbing toast off the plate and slurping her coffee? That was me yesterday - without the hose or coffee. :)

I hopped into the shower and ideas came pouring out. I wrote all over the back of the shower wall with a blue bathtub crayon. I had one eye on the clock and another on the wall and I just couldn't stop writing. I wrote as fast as I could with one hand, while the other hand scrubbed. Then I shut off the shower, grabbed a towel and kept writing. I was afraid to stop. The ideas might not have lasted long enough for me to find the recorder.

I yanked my notebook out of the bag, and continued writing with one hand while the other one dressed me. Not my best hair day; it was scooped up haphazardly into a clip. The good news is I was only five minutes late. The bad news is I was late for work (sorry, Chantelle, but I stayed late to make up for it)

At the end of the day I had four and a half pages to show for my early morning hop.



This morning, I took Ky out for a run in the brisk winter air. I listened to another Will Write for Wine podcast and laughed my butt off. The exercise/podcast combination usually puts my thought processes down an interesting path. Lani and Sam have some fascinating exchanges which never fail to spark something for my own wip. Then the endorphins kick in and I use the recorder.

I doubt I'll finish by this weekend. I'm at the point where each page contains notes for two or three scenes. It's all good stuff but in dire need of major expansion. Who wants to read,"Then Nea crawled in the shower with him and the sex was different than she was used to." Followed by, "Alex and Nea share a moment at the head of the falls." It all needs work, but just think how much stronger it will be when they are actual scenes.

Thanks to Kate for a serious conversation that sparked all that frantic writing on the shower wall.

Sunday's check-in

Team CB has had a busy week, but we've all powered through and made our weekly goals. I have to admit I'd stuff cookies in my face and lounge on the couch instead of resisting both and heading outdoors for a walk if it wasn't for fear of disappointing Mary, Christina and Theresa. The way they've all stepped up for a run inspires me to do the same. I actually did laps indoors today despite the fact that it was my off-day for walking.

Sweating with Sven keeps me at the computer when I'd rather be scarfing back cookies and lounging on the couch. I really want to finish this draft of Hell to Pay by the end of the month. Which is this coming Friday. My work schedule isn't any lighter. In fact this week is particularly long with a couple of double shifts, twelve hour days.

But Elen and Sven have me down on the mat working my fingers to the bone typing. If I don't meet my goal this week, it will be because I ran out of time. I've learned how to write under almost any circumstances, in any environment, surrounded by noise and distractions.

I'm blessed with great friends who encourage and support me, who inspire and motivate me to be a better writer and a better person but who all like me as I am. How lucky am I?

Agent search

Yesterday was not so great. I didn't take the dog for a walk. I worked both jobs so I came home and fell on the couch. I can't believe how much my legs hurt after walking around the store for five hours. :whine:whine: At least I have legs that walk. I'm doing better than some people. And I'm truly grateful despite the need to grumble and grouse.

I transcribed my scene notes off the mp3 player. They held up to the scrutiny as I typed. Very solid stuff.

Received a rejection from the agent I met with at NJRW in October. It was a good rejection but one none-the-less. i was thinking about it later and realized that I have no idea what I'm looking for in a agent. A few years ago, I made a list of possibilities but it was a short list based entirely on who represented paranormal. That list is huge now.

I need to look at other considerations when choosing agents to whom I wish to submit. What criteria is on your list?

Great Day

I couldn't get my butt out of bed this morning. My legs were exhausted and weak so I wrote the day off for exercise. Then I spent some time on the phone with a friend in crisis and I needed some fresh air. I grabbed my new mp3 player, the dog, some tennis balls and off I went.

Once the dog was happy with a ball in his mouth, I switched on the voice recorder and talked faster than I walked. It was scintillating, brilliant and insightful. It was also all lost because I didn't hit the right button. That stopped me cold. Once I figured out what I'd done wrong, I hit my stride. Alex's illusions fell by the wayside as I walked quickly along the canal.

I felt fantastic. I was walking and writing and Ky was happy. The weather was cold, crisp but not precipitating. It was a great experience. Just as we turned to head back home, I saw a barge being pushed down the canal by a tugboat. The barge was named, I swear I'm not making this up, CMS 1261. Add those numbers up, people. Ten! The tugboat is the rest of Team CB. Thanks, ladies for inspiring me every day.

So what if I ate two shortbread cookies? I had an excellent morning. Now I have to go input what I wrote while I walked.

More research means less stars

I spent two hours last night and almost that much time again today watching videos of Extreme Kayaker and vertical descent world record holder, Tao Berman. I wasn't actually writing the scene where the kayak goes over the Falls, but Alex was defending his chosen profession. After watching a bunch of videos on YouTube as well as an excellent documentary, Fearless, about Tao, the right language really fleshed out the dialogue. It also, happily, increased my word count. More importantly it gave a layer of depth to Alex. He's not an irresponsible idiot. He's skilled, methodical in his planning and confident.

No walking today, too immersed in kayaking waterfalls. Paddling through class 5 rapids to plunge over the edge into the shallow rocky pool below. Not the most comfortable place to be in the world but definitely invigorating.

One for, one against

I walked to work. Listened to Will Write for Wine podcast on my shiny new mp3 player. Was too enchanted with Lani Diane Rich and Samantha Graves to think about my own book. I did however play with the voice recording before I left the house.

Lose the star for eating a Caramilk Dark bar. Right now, while I type. :sigh:

In the words of the incomparable Scarlett O'Hara, "Tomorrow is another day."

After telling McB all the reasons I wasn't going for a walk today;the high winds, cold rain, not enough time before work to walk and write, would rather write, still had tomorrow to meet my weekly goal;I sucked it up. I'd been staring at my open document for an hour without adding more than two sentences to my wip.

Bundled in more layers than a jockey trying to make weight for the Kentucky Derby, I headed out with Ky. We walked further than the other day and in less time, despite the strong head wind. The tail wind more than made up for it.

Something really cool happened on the walk, something that happens every single time and I always forget the intensity of it. I wrote in my head. It was layer stuff;the demon's bugs, the other demon's reaction to seeing Alex's trapped soul and some stuff with Alex and a harmonica. I need a mini-recorder for this stuff because I had actual lines of solid writing. I repeated them to Ky a few times but even if he does remember, how is he supposed to tell me what they were?

I needed to look at exercise as an extension of my writing as I'm far more dedicated to the latter than the former. It never ceases to amaze me what I will do to further my writing career. You all know I have sucky days where I wonder why I bother but those don't last long. I am hard-core about this.

Walking may very well be a good tool for all that writing in my head time that I need to let ideas and images jell.

Tomorrow I'll take paper and a pencil if it isn't raining. Or my cell phone so I can leave a message on my answering machine.

Whatever works, eh.

Team CB

Today was a good writing day. Actually it was a good day all around. I came home from work, went for a brisk walk with my darling dog along the canal and didn't eat a single piece of junk food. Yay.

Christina bought new running shoes the other day, thanks to Mary.
Theresa chimed in with her own comments about jogging along the canal in Edinburgh. Again thanks to Mary's wrestling with her Inner Slug. The three of them have been encouraging each other to get more active. I have popped in on their blogs from time to time and added my support. They formed Team CB this weekend to make it official. Then peer pressured me into joining.

Four women, in four different countries, doing their best to run, or walk briskly in my case, into good health. It's harder to blow it off when you're accountable to other people. I'm easing into it, am definitely less hardcore than they are. But it's good.

Just like Sweating with Sven is keeping me writing every day. Even if it isn't a large word count, it's still progress. I expect Team CB will work the same way for me. They actually complement each other. The exercise clears the cobwebs and helps me to plot. The writing keeps my hands busy and out of the cookie jar.

I met today's goals with all of the challenges. Theresa made a gold star for me to put on my blog. How cool is that?

Rome, Across the Universe

Good writing stays with you.

As simple as that. Whether it's the characters, the plot, the emotion, the setting;there's something about the writing that resonates through time.It's different for everyone. But I want to be that kind of writer. One whose work you can't forget.

The tagline for Across the universe reads All you need is love. A movie created entirely from Beatles songs, it was a brilliant execution of story, character and a political climate that is as relevant today as it was in the 60's. It blew me away. I came home and wrote notes so that I wouldn't forget a thing. I needn't have worried. Everything not only stayed with me but revealed more as time went on.

The music, the artwork, cinematography, choreography - it was all brilliant, rich, detailed. Evocative. But you'll laugh at what stood out the most for me. The transitions. They were always true to the scenes. The scene that was ending led naturally to the next that was beginning. Music tied them together, a snip of dialogue but most often it was a visual cue. The clouds above their heads spun around to become the white load in the industrial washer at the laundromat. It doesn't sound like much but when you see it, you'll know exactly what I mean. I struggle with scene breaks so that could be why it was such a stand-out aspect of the film.

The music added a point of reference to underscore each scene with a depth that comes from a shared history. The music and lyrics are used to carry the viewer along a journey. They evocate emotion, place and character with a seamless integration to the plot. I wonder how it plays to a much younger audience. The theme is universal, relevant to every era, but I'm not sure I recognized that idea when I was a teenager or even my early twenties.

Still, a good story transcends all that.

The HBO miniseries ROME depicts a time that is ancient. None of us were alive then to be influenced by our memories of that era. We have a level playing field as viewers.

Despite the sex, violence and breath-taking set design, this was a character driven piece. Don't let anyone tell you any different. Each character, from the Emperor Caesar down to the Roman centurion and the slave girl he loved, was a well-developed, three-dimensional being with flaws and traits that made them real.

There were no clear-cut good or bad guys. They all had layers, depths, and motivation. They each felt love, disappointment, greed, anger, compassion, insecurity, affection and even mercy. Each one of them was merely human, doing what they thought was best,using the tools they had whether it was sex, violence or power. One of the heroes killed his wife and cursed his children into slavery. Another hero murdered Caesar. One of the villains made gifts for the children in the slums. Hero or villain depended upon how you perceived the characters. The writers let you decide for yourself.

While each scene was truly a feast for the senses (my nose strained to catch some of those scents believe me) every action no matter how seemingly insignificant played a much bigger part somewhere down the road in the series. Nothing was wasted.

That was another thing about both shows. Everything meant something. Perhaps that's one of the reasons they're both so memorable. I was transfixed, mesmerized, focused on every nuance and detail throughout every moment that played on the screen. I was distant enough to be comfortable but immersed none-the-less.

Brilliant writing. Absolutely brilliant.

Ooey Gooey Descriptions

Guess what I'm missing in my wip? That's right. Breaking a cardinal rule, I've plunked my characters down in a room with little regard for where they are. If setting isn't a character then what difference does it make where your story takes place?

In this case, scene and setting are integral to character developement. I know that. That's why my notes say "describe". Whether it's the Sibun River in Belize or the Niagara River, Alex is conscious of what flows past his window, or tent. I need the descriptions to help set atmosphere, mood and action. The scenes I'm having the most difficult editing are the ones in which I have no idea where they take place. I'm working on that.

A lot of scenes do have notes along the margins about setting. Those are the scenes that require the least amount of work. Actions and reactions are influenced by those external surroundings, primarily because the internal conflicts are tied into those places.

I spent a fair amount of time yesterday on Nea's wings. Texture, colour and even their position on her body can influence not only how other's interact with her, but also her own self perceptions. I know some people thought they should be wispy Faery wings while others thought they'd be leathery and repulsive. I think what I envisioned yesterday suit her.

Thanks for the help last week with the bugs. It's going to be a good scene now. I'm working on it today and knowing which insects are going to appear at the end of the scene is really helping with the descriptions. The flow is more natural, stronger. I appreciate the input.

I've put Bracken and Kellie on the back burner. I want to have this draft done of Hell to Pay by the end of November. December will be the last go-through before I pass it off to my readers. By January the new characters will have had enough time to skulk around in my subconscious.

While I'm not keeping diligent track of my word count, I am progressing with the 70 Days of Sweat. Ruby and Margaret would be so proud.

It's been a rough couple of weeks for my virtual friends. I detest that expression. It makes them sound like they're imaginary or somehow less than real. Nothing could be further from the truth.

I've been a member of JoAnn Ross's online community for the last seven years. It's a diverse group of people who support and encourage each other in their writing endeavors. It's a close group of people who share in each other's triumphs and tribulations. There's even an off-shoot group for those of us concerned that sitting on our butts all day while we create little worlds of our own may have a less-than-attractive impact on those same butts. I truly cherish the friends I've made from that group. I've been privileged to have met several in person. Over a cup of tea while we gathered some supplies to send to another member of our group.

Ruby struggled with congestive heart failure but you'd never have known it from her cheery posts to the group. Her voice was one of the loudest when it came to cheering others on. Her sense of humour was unwavering. She was determined in so many ways. To be a great writer. A wonderful mother. A loving wife. A good friend. Maybe not in that order but those were her goals. When I think of all the emails she sent encouraging me to turn the music up loud and dance across the room, I smile. Her soul was a beauty. I miss her voice in the group with a sense of loss that is incomprehensible to people that think Ruby was a virtual friend.

Still reeling from that hit two weeks ago, I'm in shock over the second loss from the CB community. Bob Mayer and Jennifer Crusie had no idea what they unleashed on the world when they started their blog to promote Don't Look Down in 2006. Neither did we. People cruised by to see what the fuss was about. Left a comment. Responded to another person's comment. The next thing we knew, there was a party, some fast friendships were formed and enduring relationships forged. Margaret was there from the beginning, a silent lurker until someone lured her down to join us at the party. Margaritas shared, road trips survived and through it all a loyalty to each other that superseded our ethnic, political, religious and cultural differences.

There's a strong CB contingent on the left coast. They'll travel four hours to have lunch with each other. And they all did their best to keep Margaret connected throughout her battle with cancer. Even though I kept up with that fight through her blog, it never occurred to me, she wouldn't triumph. She was strong and brave and funny and crazy like the rest of us. She was quick to praise and share in our accomplishments and her laughter managed to transcend the written format. I can't believe she's gone.

Despite my geographic disability, I've managed to travel with and to several CBs over the past year. In a strange quirk that I only discovered after Ruby's death, she lived in the same hometown of a CB I visited frequently. My two online communities linked.

I never had the privilege of meeting Ruby or Margaret in person. But that doesn't make their losses any less painful or diminish the significance they had in my life. They were real women whose friendships I cherished.

And they would both hate the fact that my grief has kept me from writing for three days. I'm going to crank up the music and dance across the room, then sit back down to honour them both by putting words on the page.

Research

I spent two hours today researching butterflies and dragonflies. It's only going to amount to three sentences in the manuscript but trust me, it was necessary.

I know you're all tired of hearing me whine about my daily time crunch but two hours for three sentences is hard for me to justify. This is going to continue(the whining and the research). I stuck a lot of asterisks in the body of my wip. In order for me to continue editing and rewriting, I have to figure out what those asterisks represent. They are more than just research points. They're clues to further behavior and plot points.

The word count may suffer while I clear through this process but the story will sharpen as a result.

How do you handle research?

Parfait

I write in layers. Not onions like an ogre but more like Donkey's parfait. Dialogue comes first, the nuts and protein of the parfait. Then I drizzle on some tag lines with a dash of stage direction. One scoop of plot action. Another scoop of emotional reaction. A sprinkle of more dialogue followed by a smattering of description. A dollop of the five senses and then it's topped off with a kiss.

Alex wants more emotion, Nea wants more plot and I can see that the whole thing needs a heck of a lot more description. Not to mention the need for stage direction that helps the plot move along. And the lips line up.

I always knew I wrote this way but trying to keep track of my word count for the 70 Days of Sweat challenge has made it interesting. I was trying to change the way I work to accommodate Sven. In the end I decided to stick with my parfait. It's effective, and tastes good.

Oh yeah, I wrote a plot outline yesterday for Bracken and Kellie. There's one element about which I am uncertain but I'll deal with that when I start writing.

Progress so far

One of those good news/bad news posts. The good news is that I'm writing. Every day. I'm thinking about writing even when I'm no where near pen and paper/computer(that may classify as bad news for my bosses). I'm only on page sixteen of rewrites for Alex but that's because I've had to do some research for some of his scenes. That's page sixteen, single spaced, eleven point font.

Bracken and Kelly are being a bit more difficult so I've decided to let them drift to the back of my mind while they figure out what's keeping them apart. Besides the external conflict and her need to fit in and be normal. I need something bigger, something over-the-top, something on par with saving the world or a soul. How do you follow up those kind of story lines?

While I figure that out, I'm going to continue to focus on Alex and Nea and the pretty little soul turning black in the corner of the room. And increasing my word count every day.

Pseudonyms

I've had a multitude of nicknames over the years. All of them have great stories behind them. Only one of them was to protect my identity. I wasn't doing anything to be ashamed of or embarrassed by, but not everyone shared my views so it was wise to have a separate identity. I've relaxed those restrictions considerably over the years, torn between the ideas of safety and that if I believe it, I should stand behind it.

My friend Elen Grey and I spent a delightful afternoon sitting on the patio of Zooma Zooma discussing this very topic. Certain genres demand pen names. Erotica is the obvious choice but it's not the only one. I wonder if it's not just good business practice as well. There are some people who have trouble differentiating between fiction and real life. The Internet has made anonymity much more difficult.

The conversation with Elen about writing pseudonym led to a google search on my birth name. I already knew from an incident with border guards that there was another woman in my town with the same name as me. The identity mix-ups have caused a few hiccups over the years. According to google, there are plenty of us throughout the United States and Canada, serving life in many different capacities.

When I google Keziah Fenton, the only reference is my own. From 70 Days of Sweat. When I sent the email asking to have my blog linked to Sven's, I used the email account with that name. It's fitting. I'm about as serious and dedicated about a writing career as I have ever been. It's time to start as I mean to go.

Keziah was a ghost who led me to many adventures in other realms. I write paranormal. Fenton was the surname of my great-grandfather. I sat at his knee, enthralled by his gentle burr relating tales of his Scottish homeland. He was a grand storyteller, was Alec Fenton. I hope I do him justice.

On another note, I've edited/revised/rewritten 12 pages of Alex and Nea's story and plotted three pages of Bracken's since I started sweating with Sven on Wednesday. I haven't done anything yet today. But I have a Write off the Deep End meeting this afternoon. I'll likely surpass my daily word count after that.

70 Days of Sweat

I signed up to do 70 days of sweat. Louisa and Mary were doing it and my good friend helenb suggested I look into the seventy day challenge some time ago.

Yep, my life is still busy. Yep, that's a lot of writing. Yep, 750 words a day isn't a lot. Yep, the math adds up. If I use enough yeps, I won't have to think of many real words.

I'm finishing Alex's story and starting Bracken's. So my goal is actually dual. When I'm near the computer, I'm going to work on Alex and Nea. We're in the homestretch. The story is told. Now I need to pretty it up a bit.

When I'm relying on a notebook or sheets of scrap paper, I'm going to sketch out Bracken's story. I've got his conflict,and his heroine. What I don't have is her internal stuff. But then, I'm not worried too much about that story right now. It's just in the pre-writing stage.

I signed up yesterday. I went through Alex's story and pulled out all those symbols that needed more research. The two hours online resulted in less than a dozen words, but led to another layer in several scenes. I made the 750 word goal through that exercise alone.

Today was a busy work day, both jobs for a total of 13 hours out of the house. The good news is I named Bracken's heroine, got a sense of her personality and one of her quirks. A paragraph during one break, half a page on another one. I'm not sure of the actual word count today because I wrote a page of dialogue with Alex and Pzuzu. That bar scene sure is fun.

I'm not going to be near a computer again until Sunday. A minimum of 750 words a day for 70 days. It's going to be a challenge. I'll keep you posted.

What I learned in New Jersey

Romance writers are very creative people, but can take a lesson from bartenders(Kiss on the lips).
High fantasy is the next big wave in romance.
Some agents like gimmicks and many don't.
Blogs aren't that big a marketing tool, unless you count your readership in the thousands instead of hundreds.
Alcohol is not required in order to have a good time, but the hotel bar makes the best margaritas I've ever had.
No matter how many times you pitch your book, it's always unnerving.
Great love scenes get their heat from deep emotional connections. Lots of touching doesn't hurt.
Persistence is essential. You can't get published if you're not sending anything out.


I likely learned a lot more than that but I'm still digesting. I have two packages to get out; one to an editor, another to an agent. I'm pretty psyched about both. I attended the agent panel in order to get a feel for the different personalities. This is a crucial business partnership. It's essential we're of like mind about managing my career. She was very warm, professional and knowledgeable. I have hope.

In other news, I'm in the homestretch with Alex and Nea. Once I input the notes and scenes scrawled across all over the place, I should have only have one more edit. Then it will be time to send it to my readers.

Bracken awaits.

I'm off to a writer's conference in three days. Yeah, I'm not ready. Clothes aren't washed, bags not packed, book not written. But I have a plan. There's another draft after this one. It will be written when I input the current draft into the computer. I'm not as far behind as I feared. I'd be further along if I didn't have this Mike Rowe obsession. If only he would kayak down the Sibun River and I'd be able to call it research. :sigh:

Back to planning for NJRW. I've got two books done, one two-thirds of the way and another one in planning stages. I had a friend here on the weekend who suggested I use the blog as a marketing tool. Yeah, when I stopped laughing, I listened to her. She made a good point about established readership, hooked me up with sitemeter so I could compile statistics. She's a smart woman, this friend of mine and knows what she's doing when it comes to business and technology. I have no idea who's reading this in Calgary or South Africa but hi (enthusiastic wave). You look great in the reader report. I have an international readership (more waves to Theresa and Christina) as well as a core group of loyal people from writer's groups and other blogs.

Who knew blogs were such a great tool for writers? Actually, I did. They have led me to a number of fantastic authors I may have taken a lot longer to find, if ever. Many well-known authors use their blogs to build, encourage and entertain their audience. It's an effective way to communicate with readers.

Armed with blog statistics, three manuscripts and some experience at selling myself(the writing people, the writing), my plan for the writer's conference is to pitch a career rather than an individual project.

Wish me luck. And thanks for reading.