Light At The End of The Tunnel

This is finals week for NIU. As some of you who've visited me here know I drive a transit for a company that serves the college. Months ago, my husband and I determined I'd be able to take the summer off. We'd pay off the truck--and did!--just this past weekend. No more seeing the inside of Fifth/Third Bank. No more writing out a check for over $400 every month. We could survive on Dennis' pay check, for the three glorious months I'd be off. Especially, since he'd had a nice raise in his pay this spring.

I haven't had a full summer off in ages! This is going to be great! Usually, in order to get ready to leave for work by a little after 6:00am, we'd have to rise at 4am. Now, we'll be getting up at around 5am. Dennis' job is basically out his door, so he likes to get going on the mower, or do other things and have an early quitting time.

Me? I'll keep myself busy--somehow (hah!) I've gotten a handle on my woodland garden, in the first section. I've got to transplant a number of plants that need dividing, and there's other big projects I want to do.

Writing, I'm not going to push myself, but that will come as there'll be plenty of rainy days, or later when it's too hot/muggy for me to work outside.

So, I've got 4 more days to drive, and I'm chomping at the bit, so to speak.

Flow, Grow, No...

Today I'm going to have you head over to James Scott Bell's post, "The Five Modes of A Writer's Life", in a bit. But first I'm going to talk about Flow in writing. James Scott Bell gets his point across, describing it as "hyper focus" when the writing comes. In other words you can't get the words down fast enough. You are in the "zone". Ever have that feeling? It's magical. Wonderful.

I remember being in a hyper focus zone a couple of times. I wrote a couple of short stories that way--one of them long-hand. The other piece was my fourth book in the Sabrina Strong series, Caprice. I was at it like a demon, and wrote it in 3 months. I also knew that I had to have more than one POV in order to tell the story. It was very different from the other three books which came before it. Funny. I've had a mix of different reviews. Some are disappointed. Some wonder what's going on. Yet others loved it--they "got it". I had to get the fifth one out, Crescendo, and hope everyone sees where I'm going with this. But probably won't.

This series is not supposed to go like any others in its category. It's singular. I know where it's going, because I've written to the 8th book. I'll probably piss off more readers/fans. Oh well. Not my problem.

You GROW as a writer--this wasn't one of J.S. Bell's "Modes of a writer", but it should have been. That's why earlier works will seem unrelated, or sometimes don't seem to fit. Unless, of course you write a whole series in its entirety in a year or two, and that's impossible. Even Harry Potter series wasn't written in a few years. Me, I go wherever these characters take me. They, and their world(s) are my invention. I've got their whole history in my head, and where they go from here on out.

Then, there's SLOW. You get to a point in the writing when you feel cautious, or not quite in the writing mode, but you slog along. I would add somewhere in here STOP. Sometimes you really need to have a break from writing. You need to go and enjoy your world--you know, the one you usually ignore so as to fit in the writing. Watch that program you just didn't dare watch, because it would take you away from the all important writing. Go for a walk, take a nap. In some cases you need a day, or a week off. In other times, when you just are not having fun any more (writing, that is) take a month, or longer. It will come back. Believe me. I've taken months, even a year or more off, and always have been able to return to it. Missing it, and probably in the meantime, have found something I'm excited about again.

Then there's NO. I'm sort of at that point right now, where I just don't feel like writing. I've got 3 more weeks of work (my regular work), before I'm off for the summer. I'll have to get some sort of work schedule set up so I'm not neglecting writing for my outdoors activities--among which involve a lot of heavy-duty work on clearing and reclaiming a spot in the yard that's gone to the wild. (I'll keep some of it wild, but I'm putting in trails, woodland plantings--I hope, and this involves digging, moving/hauling, cutting back branches, etc. This is my project, and my husband whose job is the park, is too busy to help me much. So, I'm getting myself into shape doing that).

I'm proofing book #6 right now, and I'm going SLOW, only because of time. Plus, it's been so nice out. We've had some beautiful days out there. I also need to STOP working in the yard so hard. I used the big clipper so much yesterday, it's hard to get the feeling back in my hands. So, today I'll be back inside doing a little work on the mss.

Here is The Five Modes of a Writer's Life over at the Kill Zone Blog, if you wish to read it. Have a wonderful rest of your weekend.

The Author Bio

I've just updated my author bio with my publisher at his request. He's got quite a project, getting that new blog up and making it look professional.

Here is the blog site and from there you can discover all that's there. Go here.

It took me three days to come up with an opening. I wanted something that sounded good, pulled the person reading it in, and something that told them right away what I'm about. I like the idea of having the reader access these things on certain writers. I've seen the more well known published authors, and some of their bios come off as boring. Some more interesting depending upon what they did before they wrote. They've accomplished so much, too.

Me, I'm a bit of a rogue when it comes to doing thing the way others would have you do them. Here is the beginning of mine.

Imagine if you will a young impressionable teenage girl, running home from school to watch the dark soap opera, “Dark Shadows”. Imagine also, same girl a little older, staying up—or trying to—to watch the old B&W classic horror flicks—her favorite, of course, is Dracula.

That little girl was me. I had a crush on Dracula, but never liked that he was hunted down and killed. I always thought he should have the woman he loved, after all, he went to so much trouble in getting her. If I had written the play, it would have gone 180 degrees the other way. I spent an inordinate amount of time digging up anything on vampires I could throughout high school and college—which probably earned me the Weirdo Award... but I didn't care.

Well, that's all for now. I planned on working on something this afternoon, but I think my brain is on vacation!

Checking the Plot Elements

I've got the week off from my regular drudge, and so I'm working on some rewrites of my WIP (Murder on the Mississippi).

Writing a murder mystery is a challenge to me. But it's fun, too. Using the "Plot W" I've gotten into the last portion of the book. But I'm finding myself going back over the beginning. Without a strong beginning, it all will be useless. Not only that, I'm having to bookmark numerous elements in the story (like the clues), so that I can see where I've put what. I tend to forget where I've put certain things in the story--or if I have!

But back to the elements of the story. I've gone back to a very good source by Aimee L. Salter. Still great advice from this author, who not only goes step by step, helping novices and possibly those who've been writing for years, and need a kick in the butt to remember certain things. (She has altered her posts, and some have disappeared, but many still remain. I couldn't find the Plot W, anywhere.)

In working out the plot, as we all know, the very beginning has to capture your audience. There's something Aimee calls "The Inciting Incident" and I've provided the link here so that when you're ready you can go and check this out. It has been something I've forgotten, and needed to review. There are at least 4 things you have to do either in your first chapter, or as soon as possible, in your book, so that people can not only connect, but want to read on.

Here's a round up of these first things in a book's plot you should check that you've covered.

1). Status Quo

2). Change to Status Quo

3). Affected Character 

4). The Consequences

5). Inciting Incident

Go to the link for explanations of each one of these.

Aimee's plot elements have been something I've followed for a  long while, and every one of her installments are well-written and worth checking out, no matter if you've been writing a long time, or are a novice.

All for today, my writerly friends. Gotta work on my beginning a little bit more.

Finding Voice

I wrote this on Monday in my journal...

I think I've found Lainey's voice. It gradually came to me--or was coming to me--and then this morning I was jotting down this scene and there it was.

It's hard to explain this phenomena (other writers know what I mean by this), but there it was. I'd been writing along, pages, chapters, filling the document with scenes, dialogue, which I tried to give life to. In some cases they were bare bones, no fleshing out, or attempts at it have been like a fishing trip, where the fish don't bite. I would be left with the thought that eventually I'd find a way to make it better.

And then, one day--this day--I'm writing a vivid scene (one of those which either wake you, or you have it in your head when you wake), and BOOM! There it is! Your character has, well, character.

As in all books, I know basically where I'm going. Like driving in the dark with one headlight. It's just getting to that destination without hitting a deer, or having a flat tire--something that stops you cold.

Well, today, it came. Yep. Lainey Quilholt, my MC of my murder mystery has come alive in my head, and I suddenly knew her like the back of my hand.

The following is the scene in which she just popped out on the page. And mind, its in Chapter 9... but here is the section. Set-up: Lainey is investigating the apartment of the girl who was murdered. It's been up-turned by someone looking for something, and Lainey just happened to find whatever incriminating pictures to explain--she hopes--why she was murdered.

And this is the one point in the book she is physically threatened. As a cozy, you can have your MC get into sticky situations, she can get out of them, or a combination of her and someone coming to her rescue. This is one of those situations.

I walked through the living room carefully, my phone out, and began making a video of my walk-through, meanwhile talking about what I saw as I went along. I picked up a few large pictures, opened their backs, which wasn't hard, as the glass was shattered, but found nothing. Finding nothing in the living room, I stepped down the hallway, picking up scents from her bathroom. I opened the door. Expensive perfumes had been left untouched on her bathroom tile counter. The medicine cabinet was emptied, but there wasn't a mess—no toothpaste or lipstick smeared on mirrors or walls. Again, drawers were turned out. Obviously, the destruction wasn't out of hatred, or a need to trash her place. They were looking for something hidden. My instincts were on the mark.

In the bedroom, similar destruction, as everywhere else, filled my eyes. Only in here her clothes were scattered everywhere. The closet was completely emptied. I saw no hidden safe inside, so the person who had been hopeful of something of this sort had been out of luck. Books from shelves were strewn all over. I was a bit surprised that Arline would have books of any kind in her apartment, but upon close examination I learned she liked romance novels. The books themselves were thrown open, face down on the floor. Again, suggesting to me that this person was looking for something that could be slipped between the pages of a book. A picture, or a document came to mind. The person who had been looking would have shook the book, hoping something would slip out.

Oddly, they did not yank down the pictures off the wall, nor disturb those on her dresser. They were looking behind the drawers again. If they had found something, I wouldn't know. But I still wondered if Arline wasn't a bit too bright for locating something she needed to hide from someone she might be blackmailing.

I had been assured by Weeks that the forensics had dusted thoroughly for fingerprints, so I didn't feel the need to don any sort of gloves to begin searching. I took down the first picture and opened up the back. I found nothing in the first three I took down. These were pictures of Arline on a quarter horse. Obviously, she owned a horse and rode dressage in competition. Something that Wendy hadn't mentioned in her rant about what Arline had and Wendy didn't have.

I moved to the next series of pictures. One was of Arline and AJ at the prom. They were a good looking couple, no doubt. Another picture that sat squarely on her dresser was of her and AJ in evening attire. I looked at a small card tucked into the far left corner. This was their engagement announcement and picture.

A thrill went through me as I picked it up and turned the little metal brackets that held the picture in place, and opened up the back. Carefully, I removed the cardboard underneath the velvet backing. Unbelievably, a piece of paper folded in half was revealed. I held my breath, took it out and unfolded it. The picture was hard to see in the dim lighting, but it was of a car with a crumpled front end. I turned on the lamp by the bed, sat and leaned toward the light so that I could see the details of the photo. This was an enlargement of the actual photo. I had to wonder what happened to the pictures, and were there any negatives?

Now that I had better lighting, I could see that there was someone slumped behind the wheel, but couldn't make out who.

Quickly I went to the other photo. The one of their prom. Upon opening this one, I was rewarded again with a prize. Another picture, similar to the first one I'd found, only this was a close up and I squinted to puzzle out who it was when a sound out in the hall, or further in the living room, alerted me that someone was coming. I quickly shoved the pictures the underneath my shirt at the small of my back, and into my waistband to hold them in place. Grabbing my phone off the bed, which was still recording, I held it facing the door to record whoever walked through.

“Hello? Who's there?” I said, my heart having suddenly begun pounding in my chest.

The door opened a little wider, and the young man with incredibly blue eyes, who'd been in the bookstore looking for this very apartment building, was standing there staring at me. Today he was wearing cream-colored chinos and a dark blue shirt and some sort of lace-up boots.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” he said in an accusatory voice. Apparently he didn't recognize me from that day he was in the bookstore. Just as well.

“I might ask you the same, but since you asked, my name is Lainey Quilholt, and I've permission to be here by both the police, and the landlady. Do you?”

“I came to see Arline. What happened here?” he said, looking around.

“And your name is?” I wasn't going to let him go without learning his name.

“Dave.”

“Dave? Just Dave?”

He made an exasperated sound like he couldn't be bothered. “Dave Corbin.” He pointed at me, those blue eyes edged in black seemed to throw sparks. “Again. Why are you here? Where's Arline? What the hell happened here?”

Either he was doing a stand-up job of acting like he didn't know about Arline, and wasn't the one who had turned her place upside-down, or he really didn't know. I couldn't discern which.

“Arline is dead,” I said and waited, still recording his reaction with my cell phone. At least I hoped I was, I was too afraid to look down at the cell phone in my hand to tip him off what I was doing, or that I was holding it.

“Dead?” he said. One hand went out and grasped the frame of the door as he slumped a little. I couldn't decide if his expression was one of shock, or relief. There was thought that you couldn't go by how a person reacts to such news. Some people are good actors, and others simply are shocked and can't show emotions right away. “How?”

“She was murdered,” I said.

“When?”

“Two nights ago. On Friday night.”

He mulled this over for a few beats. “Why are you here?”

“Uh, I'm grabbing a few things I left here,” I lied. He had no business knowing. I wanted to get out of there real fast, but I felt that there might be more incriminating pictures hidden somewhere. I had wanted to check the smaller pictures, plus that large switch plate in the kitchen which hadn't worked—which I figured might be a possible hiding place.

He gathered in the scene, saw the dismantled pictures on the bed and said, “What are you doing? Why have you opened up those pictures? What did you find?” His accusatory voice rose.

I lifted my chin. “None of your business.” I hadn't brought my purse in, because of the burden of carrying it while I searched, not that I carried a weapon in it or anything, but as heavy as it was, I could certainly have used it to swing at his big head with.

In a flash he suddenly had a knife in his hand and held it up. It looked like a switch-blade, not that I knew one knife from another. Although the bed stood between us, I didn't feel that was much of a barrier. I could see him scrambling over it to get to me easily. My brain went through a hundred ways I could react, some of which included throwing things at him—like a stupid girl (which was how I felt at that very moment), to running around the room screaming (like a trapped hamster in a cage with a cat after it), and there was my personal favorite scenario (and totally unrealistic), where I became a combination level 5 black belt and professional kick-boxer.

Returning to my reality quickly, I searched my immediate options—throwing pillows wouldn't hurt, or stop him. I eyed the picture frame with the glass just as he said, “How 'bout I cut you a knew belly button.” He wiggled his knife to get his message across.

“Me first.” I grabbed the picture frame, glass and all, off the bed and flung it like a Frisbee. Reflexes like a cat, he dodged just in time. A good thing he did because the frame clattered off the wall, but the glass stuck into the drywall by one corner about three or so inches. I didn't have time to think about what it might have done to him if he hadn't moved. But that definitely got his attention. I grabbed the other picture, took the glass out of it and held it, poised to fling it at him again, even knowing I'd probably cut myself when I threw it, but he'd get cut worse. At least I hoped so. But after that, my options were nil. Filming it all was now no longer important, and at some point I'd dropped my cell phone.

“Don't come any closer, or I'll cut you in half!” I shrilled.

He snarled, looking as though he'd call my bluff and made another step forward.

At that exact moment, someone burst into the room yelling, “Freeze, scumbag!”

Corbin froze.

“Drop it!” came the command. It was Weeks with his service revolver pointed at Corbin's head.

Suddenly the room was full of cops, and within moments Corbin was pushed into the wall, assuming position, searched and handcuffed by two deputies. It all happened so fast, I barely had time to watch and realize I was now safe.

“Charge him with trespassing and assault with a deadly weapon for starters. If I think of anything else, I'll let you know,” Weeks said.

His two men roughly pushed Corbin out of the room.

The excitement was over and my knees shook. I slumped from adrenaline dump. Strong arms grabbed me and held me up. A heavy chest and pleasant aftershave in my face while Week's voice above my head said, “I gotcha Lainey-bug. You're safe. You'll be alright, now.”

After pulling myself together and letting out my held breath, I breathed, “Thank you.” He released me and I stood on my own.

“You okay now?” He bent to look at me in the face. His eyes squinting, the crows feet deepening around them.

“Yeah.” I took stock, breathed some more thinking about how close that had come. “I almost cut him in half.” I pointed to the glass embedded in the wall.

“Too bad you didn't. Could've saved me the job of processing the punk.” I let out a small, very weak chuckle at his joke. Somehow I don't think he was joking all that much.

“How did you know?” I asked.

“Mrs. Couch called, said there was the same guy prowling around the place as the other day. Didn't like the fact you were here on your own, and we got out here pronto.”

“He's the one came into the bookstore,” I said. “Asked me where The Chandelier was.”

“Really?” Weeks hands were at his hips, utility belt making it a little difficult to give him a relaxed pose, but he managed. “We'll straighten this all out later. Find out who the hell he is and why he was so interested in this place.”

“You going to question him?” I asked.

“Oh, yeah.”

“Can I watch?” He gave me a startled look. “You know, through two-way glass, or something?”

“We don't have a two-way mirror, nothing fancy like that. But we do have a live video feed.”

“That would work.” We moved through the room, toward the hallway while talking. I stopped. “Oh. Wait. I forgot, in all the excitement.” I pulled out the two concealed pictures I'd found from my shirt and handed them to Weeks. “I found these behind some pictures.”

He took them and squinted at them. “Looks like an accident with a car.”

“Yeah. I heard that Arline had an accident while coming down from the Dells, back in June. She had to have had some sort of insurance claim. But I don't know what sort of car she owned, or anything. You might want to check this out.” I pointed at the second one. “See? That's not Arline behind the wheel. It almost looks like AJ.” I was squinting at the blown up version of the first photo.

“Where'd you find these?” he asked, looking through them again.

“She hid them behind two nice pictures of herself and AJ.”

“How'd you come up with looking there?”

I shrugged. “My mother hid things in her framed pictures. I didn't know for sure, but it made sense to check these, since the framed pictures were on Arline and AJ.” I looked up at him. “They were once engaged, you know.”

“No. I didn't.” Holding the pictures he said, “This is great. Is this what you were looking for?”

“No. I was hoping for her bank book. But I'm sure whoever had gone through here like a tornado has it.” I held up a finger. “Wait,” I said, having thought of the non-working light switch in the kitchen. Weeks followed me through the apartment. I paused at the light switch. “You got some sort of screw driver?” I asked when he pulled up beside me.

“Sure.” He took out a Swiss Army knife and pulled the correct tool out. “Open that. This light switch wasn't working. I'm just curious as to why.”

Weeks worked all four screws out and lifted off the switch plate. Sure enough, there were no wires, but a small hiding place in the wall. There was something inside. Weeks reached in and pulled out a small camera.

“Man, how did you think of this?” he asked, holding the camera, looking at it.

I shook my head. “All I know is that Arline and AJ were really arguing that night at the park. Someone said she wasn't working any more. And also that she had this expensive apartment.”

“You thinking blackmail?” he asked.

“I'm thinking she may have been holding something over AJ's head. She can't tell us anything, now. But these things might help.”

He nodded. “Lainey, any time you want to help out, let me know.”

“I want to hear what Corbin has to say,” I said.

“Follow me to the station.”

For the first chapter you can go to:

Murder on the Mississippi

Just so you know, this is a WIP, and it's not perfect, (subject to rewriting and changes).