Back in the Writing Saddle

Yesterday, I got up-to-speed on the Lainey Quilholt mystery--read through the twenty-some pages I'd written last year, before I stopped. I took a long break from writing. I needed it. Not sure what this year will bring me, but I'm just going with the flow for now.

Yesterday I wrote over 1,800 words past what I'd had. I finally wrote the scene I simply wasn't able to do, as yet, last year. Not that it was hard, or anything, I just wasn't in the mood to write. Opening up all my notes on this I find I've made not only the manuscript, but notes for what I think will become a series for my YA mysteries, I created one just for the characters names (and all details on them I need at a glance), and the places which they go or which are in the story. And then there's what I want to call notes on writing the mystery--I find all that I can on writing them from other blogs, and I've pasted them down in this file.

I've never attempted writing a murder mystery--just a straight mystery--before. No vampires, no supernatural anything. I might give Lainey a touch of precognitive abilities, but nothing out of the ordinary. I say I've never written a mystery before, but that's not really accurate. In all my Sabrina Strong books, there is a mystery to solve. Working on a straight murder mystery is a bit of a challenge because I need to know who the murderer is, why he/she did it, and what makes them tick. And then, I have to somehow make it seem impossible this person did it, while throwing at the reader a couple of red herrings (no more than 5, is recommended). And also, somehow, I have to have my main character--Lainey--somehow privy to certain information. Thus, I have her living with her aunt (she lost her parents a few years prior to opening of the story), who is dating the small Iowa/River town police chief. This way, she would have some access to certain procedures, and to the police themselves. This is a cozy mystery, of course. And, since it's a YA, too, so much the better that I won't get into the grisly scenes of the murder--that happens off page. And since it's a YA, also, I won't be dealing with too many adult situations.

That's all I have time for today. Hope your writing is going well. Or, if you need a break, it might be the best medicine. I know it was for me. Talk soon!

The Kick-Ass First Chapter?

I'm sitting writing this after having done all my chores (I was a good girl today, even got in my yoga and made the beds--power to me!), including vacuuming. Drinking Vita ICE, Cucumber-lime. Not bad. Takes a bit of a getting used to the cuquie taste, but not bad and refreshing.

I was looking through my bookmarked pages, trying to get rid of some--I'm a hoarder, what can I say?

I came across this one, and I really don't remember it but the title caught me and I had to go and investigate. It was called "25 Things To Know About Writing the First Chapter Of Your Novel". This is author, screenwriter, and game designer, Chuck Wendig's blog, Terribleminds. He is one of those Writer's Digest authors. Has a number of novels out, has an impressive background, including an Emmy nomination, so his practical advice on his blog (and several ebooks published by Writers Digest), had me digging in. I think it's his voice that caught me, but advice is, like those at Writers Digest, as sound as a bongo beat.

I wanted to explore with you a couple of the points in correlation with my first chapter.

From Wendig's 25 Things To Know...

1. EVERY BOOK A HOOK (AND THE FIRST CHAPTER’S THE BAIT)

A reader walks into a bookstore. Spies an interesting book. What does she do? Picks it up. Flips to the first chapter before anything else. At least, that’s what I do. (Then I smell the book and rub it on my bare stomach in a circular motion and make mmmmmm noises.) Or, if I can find the first chapter online somewhere — Amazon, the author’s or publisher’s site, your Mom’s Myspace page — I’ll read it there. One way or another, I want to see that first chapter. Because that’s where you grab me by the balls or where you push me out the door. The first chapter is where you use me or lose me.

I wouldn't recommend any how-to writing articles unless it grabs me by the throat, like this one did. Admittedly, Wendig gets silly at times, but also uses the vulgar language that simply gravitates me to his words, for some reason. Plus, it was timely for me to find it because I am sort of wrestling with a first chapter of the fifth book in the Sabrina Strong Series.

For the past couple of weeks now, I've gone weeding through my novel-in-whatever-draft, and found that the first chapter really needed to be tweaked. I've worked on it, but I'm still combing it for not just mistakes, but the need to fine-tune.


I know there's tension in my firsts chapter, and I do believe in his advice that the "first chapter is the beginning of the book but it's not the beginning of the whole story". Which was why I opened not with Sabrina, but with a different character, Leif Sufferden, the vampire, and in 3rd person. Instead of opening up the book in Sabrina's head, I'm in Leif's head. Here is the first paragraph. But as written I've found my error. Do you see it?

Chapter 1

én garde

The man with shoulder-length, dark blond hair and edgy smile sat motionless in in the shadows, in a wooden bar chair, waiting. No one had really noticed him, but then he had made sure that they would not. Wearing a black suit and silk shirt, his white silk tie almost glowed. He was a tad over dressed for the rough-neck bar in Batavia where several fist fights broke out on a nightly bases, stabbings were not unheard of, either. The police had had the place shut down for various violations in the past. Only in the past week someone had been stabbed to death, right here. There had been shootings, too. But, tonight, “Side Winders” happened to be open, and its customers couldn't be happier, unless they were high on something other than liquor and weed.

Here, I'm going for a seedy bar. I don't want to over do it. I get it across to the reader what it's like there. (I have been in this bar, just for argument sake, about 30 years ago, and it was bad then. At least one fight broke out and the police did come to break it up.) (I drank one beer and won a pinball game with the guy I was with--go me!)

Okay, here it is, the mistake: I should have put Lief's name in the first sentence. I found in my last reading that throughout these first several pages I didn't identify either him or the blonde that comes into the bar. I left out their names until a couple of pages in and saw that was a bad idea. If you don't identify your characters, your readers won't know who they are, and they may not give a flying crap and put down the book.
But watch what happens when I slap the name down, and the reader is a follower of the series there should be recondition.
Thus, it sounds like this...

The man with shoulder-length, dark blond hair and edgy smile sat motionless in in the shadows, in a wooden bar chair, waiting. No one had really noticed him, but then he had made sure that they would not. Wearing a black suit and silk shirt, his white silk tie almost glowed. Leif Sufferden knew was a tad over dressed for the rough-neck bar in Batavia where several fist fights broke out on a nightly bases, stabbings were not unheard of, either. The police had had the place shut down for various violations in the past. Only in the past week someone had been stabbed to death, right here. There had been shootings, too, of course. But, tonight, “Side Winders” happened to be open, and its customers couldn't be happier, unless they were high on something other than liquor and weed.

Now that we know Leif is here in this seedy bar, one must wonder why, since he's all dressed up. The second paragraph gives a little clue:

A smile crimped Leif's lips while he watched the blond woman strut in from the street on four-inch heals into the dank bar. They were blue to match her eyes, not that anyone would notice this little detail, but he did. Their eyes met. He slid his eyes in the direction of the pool table closest to him. She gave him a small nod. Her smile broadened to reveal white teeth. Her fangs hadn't come out as yet. She always did have great control over this one thing. It was one of the things Leif admired about Darla. Her control.

When Darla is introduced, the clue she's a vampire is the line "Her fangs hadn't come out as yet."

Okay. If the reader hadn't known Darla was a vampire, it's clear now. This is where the reader is saying, "Okay, what's she up to?" and wants to read on. There is only slight tension, here. 

But that's when I do this...

All male eyes in the room were zeroed in on Darla like lasers on drones. Who could blame them? Wearing a halter top and the shortest possible micro-mini, her heavily made-up eyes darted across the faces of four men who were playing pool. Conversation around the pool table had come to a halt. She had suddenly become the one and only highlight in their uneventful evening. She boldly eyed them right back. They noted she was by herself. A lone woman who walks into a bar—especially one of this ilk—was just asking for trouble. On top of it, she looked like a hooker. No matter what, it looked like their luck had changed quickly as she twitched her way toward them, her movements more pronounced. Looking hungry, her eyes became more cat-like as she licked her lips, like she might take a big hunk out of one of them.

She stepped around their stilled bulks, wiggled her small ass with exaggeration, smiling and making eye contact with each one as she strutted by, sliding the fingers of one hand across the bumper of the table. Pausing next to the biggest one, she looked him up and down. He had the usual biker tats—a lot of skulls and spiders—and a skull logo displayed on his clothing. His hang-over beer-gut gave the impression he did more drinking than anything else. An ugly scar down the left cheek that interrupted the two-week old beard sprouting around his chin and jawline told the story of a guy who had seen a bar fight up close and personal.

“Hullo,” she purred, licking her lips. “How's the game?”

“Oh, fine,” the large man said and the others pumped their heads and chimed in agreement. “In fact, I think it just got better.” He and the others rumbled with agreeing chuckles.

“Mind if I join you?” she asked, her hand sliding up his sausage sized fingers.

“Not at all,” the large one said, motioning toward the table. “Here, you can use my cue stick.” He held it out to her, showing his more gentlemanly side, a wide grin to sell it.

“Thank you.” She took the cue stick from him, holding his gaze for a long ten seconds. She fingered the tip with a red lacquered nail and returned his gaze. “I know just what to do with it, too.”

The men all chuckled as though they were in on the joke.

She propped her ass onto the bumper portion of the pool table, and settled the larger end of the cue stick between her parted legs. The men leered and chuckled at her act.

“Hey! No sitting on the pool table!” the owner cried from the back of the bar.

“Aw, shut the fuck up, Hank. We're just havin' a little fun here!” shouted the large man. He looked down at the blonde, almost expectantly.

She wiggled a finger in the universal “come closer” signal. He did.

“What's your name?” she asked.

“Stan,” he said. “Stan Baker.”

“Hello, Stan Baker,” she said. “Let's get to know one another.” Putting the cue stick down, she spread her legs further apart.

“Okay, pretty little girl,” he said, moving in front of her, but not yet touching her, while the others looked on, making groaning noises, wishing they were in his spot.

“You want me?” she asked.

Stan let out a bark of laughter. “Does a bear shit in the woods?” The men laughed. By now some of the men at the bar had turned around to watch the scene.

“Come here. Kiss me,” she said, leaning forward. She puckered up her rubied lips.

“Alright.” The other men made sounds of encouragement as their large companion placed his hips between her knees. His large hands went around her small waist as he nudged himself between her thighs. Her legs wrapped around his large girth while her hands went up his chest. Her fingers twined behind his neck. She didn't flinch from his bad breath, or his over-powering body odor, but allowed him to bring her in for a kiss. His buddies made noises again, nudging one another. They didn't notice Leif had risen from his chair in the far corner. Arms folded, he watched with passive interest while the man pressed Darla onto the pool table. The kiss lasted for more than ten seconds.

The tension has gone up a notch or two here. Who's in trouble here? Darla? Or the biker guy? Who do you think? Also note I used words that sort of make for the scene, like ass, leer, tip, I have Darla put the cue stick between her legs--yeah. No mercy here, I'm pulling in the reader. What do you think is going to happen next?

When we read the next paragraph, consider this first line:

Three vampires stepped into the bar, and scanned the room until their eyes met Leif's.

Now, maybe another writer would think that should be the opening line of this book. No. It shouldn't. Even if I went and put that in and then place everything else afterward, it would sound too trite, too much like one of those bad jokes--a rabbi walked into a bar.

Timing is everything when you put down the words to your first chapter. Here is Wendig's words: 

2. FASHIONABLY LATE TO THE PARTY

Bring the reader to the story as late you possibly can — we’re talking just before the flight leaves, just before the doors to the club are about to close, just before the shit’s gonna go down. Tension. Escalation. Right to the edge of understanding — no time to think, no time to worry, no time to ponder whether she wants to ride this ride or get off and go get a smoothie because too late, you’re mentally buckled in, motherfucker. The first chapter is the beginning of the book but it’s not the beginning of the whole story. (This is why origin stories are often the weakest iterations of the superhero tale.)

You don't want your readers to get bored, but you don't want them scratching their heads asking what the fuck? While you do want to lead with a mystery, don't make it so mysterious, or so frustrating to understand that the reader puts it down and goes to the next book on the shelf. In these first few paragraphs, and maybe the first page, I've given the reader enough information to go by. The where, what, who, and eventually the why.

Also, I'm not one to do too much backstory and I don't like books that start out that way. That gets boring. It's why, with my series, I gave the story of how Sabrina came to be the sibyl, in the first book Ascension. I didn't want do it in backstory just so that I can plop the reader down into some big exciting moment, or have her in the middle of trying to get out of a scrape. Some books can do this, and get a way with it, but not in the very first book. Sabrina does get into a bad scrape, and it gets worse before it gets better, but it doesn't come before we learn who she is, why she's there and who she's meeting. I do as he suggested: "Give us a reason to care about that stuff before you start droning on and on about it."

I'm going to skip ahead to number 16:

16. A FINE BALANCE BETWEEN CONFUSION, MYSTERY, AND ILLUMINATION

It’s a tightrope walk, that first chapter. You want the reader drawn in by mystery but not eaten by the grue of confusion, and so you illuminate a little bit as you go — a flashlight beam on the wall or along the ground, just enough to keep them walking forward and not impaling themselves on a stalagmite.

Oh, what a line--"just enough to keep them walking forward and not impaling themselves on a stalagmite".

Now to continue...

Three vampires stepped into the bar, and scanned the room until their eyes met Leif's. He nodded at them, and slid his gaze to where Darla was in a romantic tryst with the large man. The only female in the group cast her light brown eyes to the biker and Darla, then back to Leif. Her name was Kadu Litore, a Jamaican-American. Leif thought she had been one of his better turns. She definitely enjoyed the hunt, now that they were free to hunt humans. She smiled brilliantly, and already her fangs were out. She licked her lush lips in anticipation. Her slightly dusky chocolate skin looked as though it were oiled. Her bare arms and legs didn't agree with the cold weather outside. One would think it was a ninety degree day, but it was only in the twenties with a bitter north wind. That alone should have tipped anyone off what was going on here. But it didn't. Every human was into the game on the telly, their drink, or looking at the scene at the pool table, unaware that they had been invaded by vampires.

Leif watched Kadu, the only other female vampire, approach the bar. The other two, males, waited for a signal from Leif. Licking their lips as they sized up the rest of the crowd. Their eyes had slid to the bar where the only other women sat drinking.

Four more vampires strode in. They each acknowledged Leif with a slight bow. His hand out, Leif gestured with a finger for them to mingle with the crowd in the bar, to choose their warm meals. A crowded bar was something like a smörgåsbord for a vampire. Human's warm blood scent on the air made them lick their lips in anticipation.

Smiling, Leif turned back to check the progress of Darla with the large biker. Suddenly, the biker jerked back from her. Hand going to his face the biker said, “You bit me?” He looked at his hand. There was blood on his face where he'd smeared it.

She chuckled and nodded.

The men around them jeered.

“Oh, so you like it rough, do you?” he said more gruffly.

“Yes. And you had better like it, too,” she said with a little playful snarl, her delicate nose crinkling.

“Oh, I do, darlin'. I do,” he said. His hand went back as if to strike her. It swung down toward her face. In a lightning move, Darla caught his large fist and held it. His eyes became big with surprise that the petite blond could hold him off so easily. Startled, the other men around them shifted, exchanging looks with one another.

In a lightning move, she grabbed his hair and yanked his face toward her, smashing his lips against hers. The biker braced himself against the table with both massive hands from the sudden move, but relaxed into it. His sounds of delight suddenly turned to screams. Dark blood rivered from their lips while Darla held the biker's mouth against hers, both hands behind his head, with a grip like a python's. His hands clawed and grasped her hair and pulled, doing everything to disentangle himself from her. He lifted his and her body off the table, trying to free himself, trying to get the scream past their locked lips. She didn't budge, she didn't give an inch.

Leif felt his smile widen and a chuckle bubble up. “Kitten,” he said quietly to himself. “You are so bad.”

The three companions moved in, about to intervene. Seeing this, Leif shot across the room so fast, he seemed to disappear and reappeared in front of the three with a cue stick braced across his hands pushing them back.

“Tut-tut, gentlemen. The lady is busy at the moment. You can wait your turn,” Leif said with a British accent and cocky smile creasing his handsome face.

The man with long greasy hair, lunged toward him. Lief threw a punch to his face, knocking him back where he fell to the floor. He didn't move again.

“Like I said, wait your turn,” Lief said, with more warning in his voice. He held the other two men in his thrall. They now had no desire to move or do anything. Over his shoulder he said, “C'mon, Darla, luv. We need to party. Let the poor bloke go.”

His muzzle freed, the biker's screams filled the room. People turned to see what the commotion was all about. Suddenly the blond woman, Darla, pushed the man off her with a force that sent him blundering back, arms cartwheeling. Blood bubbling out of his mouth, he bounced off the wall, and fell to the floor, sobbing and uttering incoherently as though he had no tongue.

The woman sat up, and spat a large red piece of meat out of her bloody mouth. She licked her lips, then took a finger and wiped around her mouth to swipe at the blood. She stuck her finger into her mouth and sucked the blood from it. Flopping onto her side she looked down at the biker and said, “What's the matter? Vampire got your tongue?”

Now, at this point I've managed to ick you out a little, but the trouble has definitely begun. Have I gotten your attention? Are you wondering what happens next?

 “Everyone,” Leif called out, “feed!”

Kadu turned to the man at the pin ball table, grabbed him by the collar, and yanked him backward. Fangs extended, she sunk them into his neck from behind. His surprised scream became one of submission. His knees buckled, and he sank to the floor where she followed him.

The two male vampires at the bar had already put thralls on the women, and now began to feed.

Leif shoved one of the two men left standing toward Darla. She grabbed him and hauled him down on the pool table, arching his back until his throat was exposed. She burried her fangs in his throat.

Leif growled at the last man near by, he grabbed his arm and drew it up to his mouth. Fangs sank into warm flesh. Crimson ichor pooled into his open mouth, and only now he realized how hungry he was.

The man's arm was suddenly yanked away from his mouth. Leif jerked back and found himself looking up at a tall Native American wearing jeans and a blue jean shirt with a southwest design embroidered into it.

“I don't think you asked if you could take his blood and I'm pretty sure he would have said no,” the Indian said.

“You? You're—”

“Dead? Try Undead.” Dante grabbed a cue stick from the table and twirled it like a propeller before Leif could make his move.

~*~

At this point I end the third person POV. I don't like mixing up the POV in the same chapter, unless I've put a small pause. I was thinking of going with a new chapter. I may still. I haven't decided if a full break would get people to turn the page, or if a soft stop here is better.

If I've time I might work a few more of Wendig's 25 Things To Know. But I'm thinking of going ahead and end the first chapter right there. I think the cliffhanger works to bring the reader to want to read on.
If you have an opinion, I'd love to hear it--on anything here.

No Inert Writing, Please

Last week I read a few of the Insecure Writers posts and one blogger asked the question: "How do you know what good writing is?" (paraphrasing, probably, so forgive)

My answer was quite simply I write what I like to read. Or, rather: I write what I would like to read. There aren't that many authors out there that please me. I do not like boring books. Well, who does. But what I mean is, I don't like boring plots. I have to be fooled at the end, even if I think I know what's going on, or who done it, you'd better by golly pull the wool over my eyes in some way, shape or form.

My other mainstay is: Have fun while writing. 
Yes. Otherwise what is the point of it all? If I'm not having fun, if my characters are boring me to death--I chuck it. If my characters don't pop off the page--same thing. Something is wrong. Each one of your characters have to not only look different, they should talk different. They shouldn't always get along with everyone, either. Maybe some little thing they do bothers the other character (a partner), so, you need to mention that. It doesn't have to go into great detail. A line here or there will do.

Case in point, in my current WIP, Dhampir Legacy, My detectives are different as bananas and oranges. Vince Tobin isn't absolutely straight lace, but deep down he's a cop. His hero is John Wayne. He has quit smoking, and yet holds on to his Zippo lighter and he likes to snap it open and shut every now and then. Another nervous habit is snapping his fingers.

Meet Detective Jan Vladislav. Romanian/Gypsy. The serious end of the spectrum. He doesn't smile a lot. Doesn't joke around much, he's hard to get to know, and even harder to understand. He is Tobin's partner, but they get along because Jan has uncanny ways of knowing where a crook is and what he is doing. He does have sixth sense and it spooks most people, but his abilities have saved Tobin more times than not. So, they get along.

Now, for the more crazier side of the spectrum of characters there's Phil Green and Dr. Herb Rubin. Phil has left his hometown to get away from his past, he was dumped by his former girlfriend at the time, but more importantly, he was attacked in his church by a vampire who killed a deacon right in front of his eyes. But he returns to Lockwood because things are happening again. People are being abducted, his church was burned down, and he knows, or suspects, who is behind it. He wants to know the identity of the master vampire, and go after him, and his minions. Now that he's become wise in the ways of dispatching vampires over the last 20 years.

Dr. Herb Rubin, retired from vampire slaying, has taught Phil everything he knows about vampire slaying, and knows a lot more about the lore than you can poke a stick at. Phil has called him to Lockwood to help him out.

Here is a scene between these two who get along somewhat like an old married couple. It's a humorous addition to a book that would get overly serious if I didn't add something to lighten it up. Phil and Herb do just that.

Herb has been called and he knocks on Phil's hotel room door:

It was after six when the knock came to his hotel room door. A square of pizza balanced on thick fingers, Phil got up from the bed, and went to the door. He peered out the peek hole. The grizzled bearded man standing there looked out of sorts and impatient.

Phil opened the door to Dr. Herb Ruben.

“Hi, you just get in?” Phil asked, taking two strides back to allow him room to come in. The short, portly man limped in, a cane in one hand and a large carrying case in the other.

“Yes. Someone helped me get my luggage to my room. I'm downstairs.” He gave Phil an up and down look. “I see you've dressed down in my honor?”

Phil stood in a T-shirt and black silk briefs.

“Oh, yeah.” Phil shut the door, gripped the pizza wedge by the teeth, and grabbed his jeans off the chair. He hopped around, putting them on. “I didn't know when to expect you,” he said, after taking a bite out of the pizza.

“And do you usually open the door in your underwear?” Rubin asked, the sound of the football game surged, nearly drowning out his words. “Does that have to be on?” Herb shouted, pointing at the TV.

Phil quickly grabbed the remote and turned the TV off. “It's off now.”

Herb turned away, shuffled toward the bed and set the cat case down.

“What's rattled your cage today?” Phil asked, bending down and looking into the cage. He poked his finger into the dark hole and was rewarded with a cat's claw slicing his fingers. He yanked his fingers out. Examining them, he found blood beading on his middle finger, and put it to his mouth. “I expected you earlier.”

“I got a speeding ticking, if you must know,” Ruben growled.

Phil chuckled and sat on the bed, ate the last of the pizza in his hands and sucked at the sauce on his fingers.

“Not funny, chum. That's why I'm late. One hundred bucks—you'd think these guys would have something better to do than prey on law abiding citizens,” he grumbled, his face still ruddy, and the contrast against his white hair and beard was startling. He looked like a disgruntled Santa at the moment. His normal color was returning gradually to a lighter pink.

“Uh, law abiding?” Phil flopped back on his bed and leaned back into a pile of pillows to prop up his back, and crossed one leg over the other—exactly where he had been before the knock. He grabbed another piece of pizza from the box and took a huge bite. “You were speeding, weren't you?” he said through a mouthful. “Pizza?” He gestured.

Herb grimaced. “No. Thanks.”

“Why didn't you call me from your room?” Phil asked.

“I thought it best to come directly to your room, since they put me on the first floor and you're on this floor.”

“And you brought your furry little friend with?” Phil glanced at the cat carry-all. The striped gray feline was twenty pounds of nasty cat. He could give “Grumpy Cat” a run for his money. They say that a person's pet matches him—this was proof positive.

“I ordered a pizza.” Phil said, pointing to the pizza box. The pizza was half gone all the corner pieces left, of course.

“Looks like you've enjoyed your two-thirds.” Herb grimaced. “I need to watch my cholesterol. Besides, this barely passes as food,” he added.

“This has every major food group!” Phil retaliated. “Look, you've got your bread—right? Cheese, which is your dairy. Then your vegetables, like onions, peppers, artichokes—”

“Artichokes? Who puts artichokes on pizza?” Herb argued.

“I do! They're great! And there's tomatoes in the sauce, of course.

“Tomatoes aren't a vegetable.”

“What? They aren't?”

“No. Tomatoes are a fruit. They grow on a vine.”

“Well, see? I've got fruit on my pizza too. Plus all kinds of protein from meat and cheese. Unless you've gone vegan on me, this is a great pizza!”

“What sort of meats?”

“Pepperoni—” Herb grimaced. “Ham, Italian sausage, bacon. And four cheeses, carefully blended.” Phil took a bite of the pizza. “Mmm! God! You've gotta try a piece.” He leaned over the pizza box. He pointed to a middle piece. “Here. Take that one. It's loaded. Take a bite.” He picked up a large middle piece.

“It has pepperoni. I don't like pepperoni. I'll have flatulence if I eat that.”

“Live dangerously for once. Whatever. Here.” Phil plucked the round of pepperoni off and then passed it to him. “Now you won't have flagulance, er whatever.”

“Flatulence. That's intestinal gas,” Herb said, taking the offered piece and bit into it. Chewed. His head bobbed a little, conceding that this might be good after all. Phil's smile deepened under the bushy mustache.

“Good, huh?” Phil said, smiling his goofy closed-lip grin.

“It's fine. What do you have to drink around here?” He looked around as if he'd find a bar in the corner.

“I've got pop.” He held up his can of soda. “You want one?”

“Gosh, no. I'm trying to quit.” He gave him an exasperated hiss, waddled to the chair and dropped into it with another gush. “So, you've found a nest of vampires, did you?” He took another bite of pizza and glared at him through his thick glasses.

Phil leaned over, still holding a wedge of pizza in one hand, and reached to the other side of the bed. He grabbed the folded up newspaper and flung it to Herb who caught it against his paunch. He unfolded it with one hand and began reading.

“St. John's Church burnt down, too,” Phil said.

“Shhh!” Herb said, waving him off while reading.

Phil turned his attention to the game. “Aw! C'mon, Cutler. You can do better than that!”

After five minutes Herb said, “You said something about last night you found one?”

“Yeah. History. Dusted.”

~*~
Well, you get the idea. These two seem to rub each other the wrong way, but they get along because they're on the same side. They are vampire slayers.

The whole idea about "good writing" isn't just the mechanics. Mechanics can be fixed. That's just one ingredient in your writing. In order to bring it all together the work has to bring in characters who shine, who sometimes disagree--in some cases like these two, but it's humorous. I don't like to read books that are so stiff I yawn and have to put it down. I just read a police procedural that nearly had me putting it down, except the author made me care about the characters. It was a long book and it was more of a "man writing for men" type of writing, but I weathered through it. Had a lot of police jargon I could note down for my own work, that was the one reason I read it.

So, if you are writing along and wonder "What can I do to make my characters more interesting?" you want to see if you have made them get along too well. If so make your characters disagree on things. Have them get into an argument here or there. Not always, because that gets a little much, too--unless they are enemies, of course. Don't miss the opportunity to give them an opinion that might not agree with others. Give them annoying habits--they chew their nails, bite their lip, twirl their hair--this gives them personality traits and also the reader can "see" this happening. It makes your character pop a little.

Okay, that's my wrap up for this Sunday. Hope you're all dealing with the winter well, where ever you are. I'm sick of it, myself.

Page 200

All writers have a goal to reach in their writing. They want to write X amount of words in a day--which would not work for me. Maybe just getting the first five chapters down is enough of a goal. And, of course there's the finished first draft.

For me it's in page numbers. I get to page 50--woohoo! Page 100 another chance to celebrate! Page 200--and with something like 69,215 words under my belt, that's another bit WOOHAA!

I follow a plot planner that shows me where the crisis point comes, and the "lull" (which doesn't mean lull in action, but it's sort of a time for the characters and reader to catch their breath and either figure things out or learn something they didn't know before, and more character developement, and maybe the dark moment could come here too. And possibly a sex scene thrown in for good measure. But I digress.

And then of course you begin the climb to the climax--not in the sex scene (that's a totally different matter entirely). This for me is usually at or around page 200. That's a signal for me to heat things up on my characters, make things happen, go wrong for no apparent reason and let the shit hit the fan.

When I've reached page 200 that tells me I've got to ratchet up the action, get people into their places on the stage. MY NOTES FOLLOW

SPOILER ALERT-! since this is #6 of the Sabrina Strong series:

My notes might look scrambled, but this is what I was fleshing out today:
Now I'm into chapter 24. A couple things need to happen.  First of all, or primarily I want to establish loss of a character. Sabrina knew Fritz, but not well. He was a nice guy (he had been injured on a vampire hunting jaunt, and in a coma for a few days). Why do nice people get killed? I don't know. It happens all the time. He/Fritz was going to college wanted to build/design cars. A very likeable person. But she has to feel Quist's loss--both as a human being, but as an empath as well, and it's tough on her.

But first this...
~A thought... what if Sabrina does see Bill (who is supposed to be dead-she saw him die)? Then what? If I keep him hidden the whole time up until the end, that's kind of stupid. I need a little friction. He doesn't want her to see him, but does, so what happens when she does?

It would create a moment of friction between the two:
Sabrina: shocked to see Bill alive and wonders why is he there at the towers?
Bill: horrified that she has seen him, and he can't hide his existence any more, because he's  supposed to be dead.

When I worked on these scenes I let each character work through their shock, think about it, but not too long before something else happens. For Sabrina she gets the call about Fritz having just died and she's going down to the hospital to console Quist, who was his best friend. I end the chapter right there.

Chapter 25
Bill has now reached a point where he's actually releived she's seen him. The questions she may have he is not able to answer even if she ever catches up to him, and so he tries to remain hidden, but he can't stay away from her because he is supposed to save her from some unknown horror predicted by the goddess Nemesis.

It's a good place for me to quit for the day. Let things tumble around in my head. I know what is to happen next because of other notes I've made, but this gives an idea of where I gauge when to begin working on the climb to climax.

And the ending to this one is going to be a real surprise and kicker. *smiling to myself* I'm so evil, and I know it.

When to Chuck it Out

I'm a Panster. And since I don't like outlining--to do so just wastes my time--the posibility that I will have to discard what I've written happens more than not on any WIP. You get so far and see where it's going and think Nah!

I was doing that in the 6th book WIP where I followed a scene till I realized I really didn't like it, or where it would wind up going. I could see I'd be following this secondary character way too much, and all I really wanted to do was to show his character since his "change".

As with any characters who have become part of Sabrina's story, I'm always trying to find some way of keeping it all fresh. Some characters who change either change for the good, or they've become evil/bad/dead. You need to kill a few of the evil ones off, but do so in a way that someone comes out the hero of the story, and the good ones, well, I need to bring them back because I think they could fulfil something in the plot that I need in a certain moment of drama--usually at the end.

So, when I got so far with this scene--which I thought was going well--I saw that it was going to involve that secondary character way too much, plus a tertiary character who was just introduced and I was beginning to not really like her, her life, and surroundings and knew I was never going to make her believable anyway...
So... delete,delete,delete.

But it's all good. If you get frustrated by the work you need to do, you need to ask yourself if you are up to the challenges of what it takes to actually make your WIP better. You may have to rip out whole chapters, and even characters from a WIP. You have to ask yourself the tough questions. I think I've been writing for so long, I know when that moment is, and without much thinking over it, I just get rid of it and start all over. They say you have to kill your darlings, and it's true. Sometimes they look somewhat like Frankenstein's monster when you're working on it. But when you get into the last drafts it should all come together as a whole and work--and no one sees the stitches!

So, I was wondering about this secondary character and how I wanted to make him different--not just another vampire--and where I wanted to go with him. It hit me this morning when I woke up. I knew what I had to do and got working on the concept. I had to do some research on Greek Mythology, and believe it or not found something that seemed as though it were made for what I needed. Since I'm so far ahead of my published work, I'm not going to say which character. I might start making people worry needlessly.

Until next time... keep on writing!

Working It

Last year I wrote my fourth novel in about 3 months time. It was relatively the easiest book to write, start to finish, that I've done in a while. But just because I got it down doesn't mean it's all good. I would say that I went through it possibly 4 times now. And now am working on the last few chapters doing some major tweaking, and trying to fill out some glossed over sections that need scene and dialogue and whatnot.

I'm in favor of the layered approach in my writing. Adding depth to the scenes is one of my favorite things to do. I add details that I didn't have time to work in at the time of writing it. So, when I'm faced with a scene that needs this sort of attention, I let it brew inside my head, asking how can I really pull this from a basic scene to something that holds more emotion, more details, and hopefully correct areas that aren't cohesive.

I woke up with one scene in my head and knew what was missing from it, and began working it in. I have a few of these, especially in the end.

My fourth book is called Vampire Caprice, and it will be slightly different from the previous in that I'm going to be going into other character's heads, like Tremayne, Vasyl, and  Bill Gannon. Reason being is that I felt we needed to get to know these guys a little better. Plus, I hope that it helps the story line in that it will have more depth, and emotion.

Creating my characters, like any writer knows, is a work of love. You have to know them like you know yourself, inside and out, know what makes them tick, even if you never put it down, or if you do, you'd better have a good understanding of it all.

I'm also placing sub-headings on each chapter, this way it will give the reader a little heads up as to what's going on, as they'll be reading along in Sabrina's head (and first person), and suddenly we get to a different character and now in 3rd person. It's different for me, and was a challenge to write, but I loved the challenge it presented for me.

In the weeks ahead I'll have to stop my work on the fourth book and work on edits for the third book (yay), which I'm expecting soon from my publisher. That book is on track for publication in January 2013.

So excited about my thrid book, and all the ones after. I've just finished the first draft of the 5th book, and have been making notes for the 6th. These characters simply live inside my head, and I follow them with a pen (or computer), and write it all down.