Friday, November 25, 2016

Friday Friend: Jessica Lauryn

Heroines With Hearts welcomes back Jessica Lauryn...

Ever since seeing The Phantom of the Opera for the first time I’ve wanted to write a series about musical theater.  I was 21 years old when I went to see the play and back then writing was merely a dream, not something I’d really dabbled in or worked at in any capacity.  But the story of Christine Daae and her angel of music stuck with me.  The music in the play was so romantic that I found myself internalizing it and singing it whenever I was alone—in the car, in the backyard.  Phantom was one of the first stories that clued me into the fact that I was a die-hard romantic and so naturally, when I got to brainstorming for stories and plots of my own the thought of writing about a theater was particularly appealing to me.  To date, I’d published five stories and I’d felt as though my writing skills had been honed to the point that I was ready to write a series set in just such an atypical setting.  Only to date, all of my stories had involved scenarios I was familiar with.  

They say, write what you know, and that’s exactly what I’d always done—created characters who bared a resemblance to the people I knew, created scenarios in which the hero and heroine could interact in a setting, or take part in an occupation I’d actually worked in myself.  My experience with musical theater was limited to a handful of trips to Broadway, spread over the course of my entire lifetime.  But I wanted to write a series about theater—the voices inside my head were insisting upon it.  And when you want something badly enough, you make it happen.  So I began writing a series about something I loved, but had only a limited understanding of.  And doing so has been one of the greatest experiences of my life.  I’m getting to write about an enchanting world I’ll very likely only be a part of through my stories.  And along the way I’m learning, not only what it’s like to work in a theater, to own a theater and to act onstage but how to write about a topic you’re not directly familiar with.  

There are a number of suggestions I could provide you with to ease the experience of writing about that which you do not know.  Here are just a few of the tricks I used to familiarize myself with the unfamiliar.

1.      The internet is your best friend.  In a world where we used to have to go to the library and check out four or five books to reference as resources for a school paper, I am constantly amazed by how much information can be found on the internet.  Typically, I can find the answers to almost any question I have about any particular topic within seconds.  Theater, thankfully, has been no exception to that rule.        
2.      Don’t be afraid to ask for help.  Though I’ve never worked in a theater myself, I have friends who have, who’ve been there as a resource to answer the questions that personal experience best answers.  People love to share their knowledge, particularly with regard to a profession they love.  Utilize these resources, which can be invaluable when writing about a topic that extends outside of your own realm of experience. 
3.      Hire, or attempt to work with, an editor who is familiar with your chosen topic.  Though I did not expect or plan to do this, I learned during the editing process for A Passionate Play that my editor had worked in a theater in a past life and she was able to help me identify points in the manuscript that needed to be addressed.  I got lucky, but don’t follow in my example.  Purposely seek out an editor who’s familiar with your subject matter, to guarantee that the eyes checking your work will provide you with the critique and assistance you need to produce the best manuscript possible. 
4.      When in doubt, dance around an unfamiliar subject matter.  Though Rabourn Theater is the major setting for my series, only a small portion of A Passionate Play actually takes place inside the theater.  Though this trick will not help so much as I get into the later stories, which are heavily focused inside the theater, setting the first book elsewhere allowed me to get my feet wet gradually as I studied up on the world that is musical theater.  As a bonus, dancing around your subject matter in the first story in a series can provide you with the opportunity to introduce your fictitious universe gradually and it just may give you an idea for a story or precursor story that never occurred to you at all.  

Writing about that which we do not know may seem intimidating.  But when you love a topic enough to explore it for an entire book (or 5!)  don’t let a little thing like unfamiliarity scare you off.  Get to know the topic any way you can.  Who knows?  The story you have always secretly wanted to tell, and never thought you were qualified to write, just might pop up right before you, onto your computer screen.  Happy writing!   

About A Passionate Play:

On the heels of a major performance theater actress Alicia Coleman is attacked in an alleyway. She is struck over the head with a pistol and the blow causes her to lose her memory. Injured and afraid, Alicia struggles to remember the details of her life. The only person who appears to know who she is, is her presumed abductor, a man she fears may also be her attacker.
In the midst of several failed attempts to escape, Alicia comes to know the man whose home she awoke in and realizes that the two of them share a complicated past. Though Nick refuses to tell her much beyond her first name, a series of dreams, in which she and he are sharing a lot more than the second story of a secluded mansion, cause Alicia to suspect the most outrageous of possibilities—that the man holding her prisoner may actually be her lover. Surrounding threats, including that of a midnight intruder, cause Alicia to realize that proving her theory true may be her only chance of keeping her attacker from coming after her a second time.


A Passionate Play Excerpt:

“I mentioned to you that we’re in Mohegan Lake,” Nick said some time later, “in Westchester County, New York. Does the name of the town, the county, or the state sound at all familiar to you?" 
“Not really.” Alicia racked  her brain. “Should they?” 
He shrugged. “Only if you think they should. So you really don’t remember anything about your life, your friends or your career before waking up in this house?”
“My career?” Alicia dropped her empty glass onto the table. Having felt a sensation comparable to an electric shock when he’d said the word career, she asked, “What is it that I do, exactly? Am I a lawyer? Do I perform surgeries alongside of a team of brain-surgeons?”
“Something like that,” Nick answered with a secretive smile.
Furious that he refused to tell her whatever he knew about her life, Alicia said, “You must be holding out on me because you’re familiar with my work and the knowledge of my success makes you feel completely emasculated.”
“I never said—”
“Understandable. Considering that you appear to spend the majority of your time hiding out in the woods, collecting the latest editions from Williams Sonoma and Pottery Barn.”
Failing to offer anything in the way of a response, Nick grunted. 
“I may not remember what I do for a living but there’s no doubt in my mind that I’m capable of doing a lot of interesting things.”
“Are you now?” Her companion gave her a thoughtful glance. Coming to his feet, he extended his hand and said, “How about sharing a dance with me?”
Alicia’s face became as hot as the candle flames. Looking from Nick’s open palm to the empty room around them, she swallowed and said, “There’s no music.”
“Well, I think we can do something about that.” Nick wandered across the floor to the area behind the curio cabinet. There was a stereo there that Alicia hadn't noticed before.  He pressed a button, causing the room to fill with soft, romantic music.
Nick extended his hand once more as he came toward her. His smile was cool but also insistent and it contained a hint of danger. Dark brown eyes looked into hers, willing her to trust, to comply with her very mysterious and yet compelling desires.
Allowing herself to operate on pure instinct, Alicia slipped her hand into Nick’s. His warmth surrounded her and she felt a hint of anticipation as he urged her gently forward. Nick led her into the middle of the floor. Placing one large hand over her waist, he drew her against his powerful, broad frame. 
They began to move and Alicia swayed in unison with her partner as though they had danced together a thousand times before. In her mind she was in the arms of a stranger, but her body reacted as though he was anything but, as though he were someone whom she knew intimately. Nick’s eyes, his scent, the very feel of him seemed familiar to her and as his hand slid from her hip to the small of her back she realized that she ought to be telling him he was getting too close. Except she didn’t want him to back away—it felt good, being close to him like this. 
As her partner drew her closer still Alicia felt chills, yet at the same time she began to let go of the tension she was holding. She was encased in a blanket of heat and as that blanket spun her around and brought her back against its softness she was taken into a realm of comfort and dreams. Dancing with her captor felt right to her and in a strange way, safe. Nick had gone out of his way to make her happy tonight and she got the feeling that wasn’t something he did every day. Letting her eyes fall closed, she inched beside him and when he didn’t resist she rested her head against the cushion of his shoulder. 
Nick’s arms enveloped her and Alicia became aware that he didn’t only smell of soap and pinewood but of something darker, something she couldn’t quite define. She sensed a degree of rebelliousness in this man and for some strange reason the idea of that intrigued her. Strength seemed to emanate from every part of him and she wondered what it would be like to taste that strength. Filled with the strongest desire to do just that, she settled her hand against the back of his neck and tilted his head so she could just about feel what she wanted to so desperately. 
“Kiss me,” she insisted, lifting her chin.
Nick stilled but didn’t comply. She opened her eyes to find his lips were looming above hers.
“Alicia, I…”
The music had stopped playing as if on cue. Nick held her, not quite letting go but not doing what she’d asked him to, either. After a long moment, he released her. He cleared his throat and shifted his eyes, making sure that she was steady on her feet before backing away. He paced the length of the room.
“I’m glad you’re feeling better.” Stopping in front of the table Nick said, “I’ll get this cleaned up. You ought to get back to bed. You’ve had a hell of a day and even though you slept a good bit of it you still need your rest. I’ll be up to check on you in a few hours. Good night, Alicia.”
Turning to hide a face that was surely as red as it felt, Alicia walked to the door. She offered a cool smile along with a wave before slipping soundlessly from the room. 
Alone in the foyer, Alicia placed one hand over her trembling mouth. She released it a moment later, body braced against the wall as she said to herself quietly, “Good night, Nickolas."




Wednesday, November 23, 2016

U is for Uphill Struggle

Paula thinks writing the first draft of a novel is an uphill struggle!  

Jennifer’s blog yesterday about the struggles we face when writing reminded me of a blog post I wrote several years ago when I compared writing to climbing a mountain. Many years ago, before my arthritis made it impossible, I used to enjoy climbing the mountains in my beloved Lake District (in NW England). None of them higher than about 3,000 feet, but they were still quite a challenge.

I’d like to say that the secret is planning in advance. You know the kind of thing – correct clothing for the weather, comfortable boots, basic supplies (water bottle, bar of chocolate etc.) and of course, maps, compass and whistle, plus, in this day and age cell phone, probably with GPS. Oh, and don’t forget to let someone know where you’re going- just in case.

Maybe that’s like writing: the correct clothing, boots and basic supplies are equivalent to one’s basic knowledge of the technicalities like grammar, spelling and punctuation. Then we come to the map – studying it advance, plotting your route, making sure it’s neatly folded in a waterproof packet in case it rains.

Did you catch the word plotting? As a self-confessed pantser, I don’t study the ‘route’ of my new story in advance, I simply have a vague idea where I’m going. Would planning my route in advance make that uphill climb any easier, or any less steep? Maybe it would lessen the times I have to stop and say ‘oops, taken the wrong path here’ and go back a little to find the right path. At the same time, I’d maintain that, for me anyway, detailed plotting would stop me from finding that hidden copse of wild flowers or that beautiful mountain stream – all the extra ‘discoveries’ you make when you let your characters lead you into unexpected scenes or events in their lives.

So, you’re all ready and you set off, full of enthusiasm. This is something YOU want to do. Not because someone else says you should, not because you want to do it ‘better’ than someone else, not because you want to gain some kudos or fame, but simply because that mountain’s there and YOU want to get to the top.

It might seem easy to start with – a gentle climb on grassy slopes, but what happens when the going gets tougher? When you’re puffing and panting with every step as you tackle a steep part of the climb, strewn with rocks and boulders that you have to find your way through? When you lose sight of the top of the mountain and think you’re never ever going to reach it? When you reach a seemingly insurmountable rock blocking your way? When the mist comes down and you can’t see anything ahead of you?

I’m sure we’ve all been there with our stories. So what do we do? Give up and trail back down the mountain, either in anger or depression or resignation, muttering ‘I knew I’d never be able to do it’? Or take a breather, look at how far we’ve come already, and convince ourselves that we’re not going to be beaten and saying, “I’ve come this far, and I CAN get to the top.”

Yes, it’s an uphill struggle – but perseverance and determination eventually pays off. You reach the top, type ‘The End’ and take time to look around you at the wonderful view. You did it!

But of course it isn’t the end. You still have the return journey to do. This is the editing part. Some people find this process even harder than writing the first draft. I’m the opposite. For me it’s a wonderful walk, run, even a slide down the grass on my backside, shouting, “Wheeee, I’m nearly there!” And finally, there’s that pub in the valley where you can raise your glass and proudly say, “I did it.” 

Tuesday, November 22, 2016

Unexpected News

Jennifer's good news inspires her to keep going...

Writing is hard. It’s frustrating and it’s isolating. There are no guarantees that your manuscript will get published, and even if you do publish, there are no guarantees that people will buy your book.

Then there are the reviews. In order to sell your book and get visibility as an author, you need readers to review what you’ve written. But reviews are subjective and after pouring your heart and soul into something, when someone hates what you’ve written, it stings.

Pushing past all of those obstacles is tough. Trying not to let it get you down is even more difficult. Add in regular life and it can seem almost impossible to persevere.

I was just about ready to give up. Seriously. It’s been so long since I’ve felt good about anything having to do with my writing that I wanted to just stop.

And then over the past couple of months, I’ve gotten breadcrumbs of good news. An editor might be interested in one of my manuscripts. Another editor might be interested in a different manuscript, one which I thought was dead in the water.

And I finaled in a contest. Now, to clarify, I DID NOT WIN. Someone else did. Yay for them! But I was a finalist. And they didn’t let everyone be a finalist because I entered three books and only one of them finaled (that actually makes me feel better). So it’s something. Not a lot, because there are lots of contests. But in this one, I did well.

Those breadcrumbs are enough for me to keep going, for me to convince myself to persevere just a little longer. It put a smile on my face for a day.

So I’m not giving up. I’m meeting my self-set daily word counts. I’m finishing manuscripts and I’m giving them to my critique partners to tear apart so I can put them back together better, stronger and sellable. I’m hoping the publicity from the contest—because apparently it comes with publicity—will get more people to read and review my books. And every time self-doubt creeps in, I’m reminding myself that I can do this.


It’s the little things.

Sunday, November 20, 2016

U is for Understanding

Ana muses about understanding the core issues for her hero and heroine.

I completed my plot outline last week.
I filled in duh! details like what the heroine does for a living. Spaced believable plot twists appropriately. Relocated premature hints.
I checked that the sub plots were resolved. (Two subplots were eliminated. I tend to try to make things too complicated, too intricate for my skill level.)
I solved the vexing issue of who would deliver the break that the heroine needs to unravel the mystery--and why.
Most importantly, I started and ended with the prime external story issue: namely what happened to the heroine's mother.
Emotionally, this question keeps the heroine frozen in time. She can't move forward even when her friends, her father, and even the villain urge her to. She feels if she devotes a single minute to anything other than solving the mystery of her mother's disappearance, she's stabbing herself in the back.

The hero is the opposite in that he knows he sabotaged his life and is determined to climb back up the hill toward his dream of being in big league baseball. However, he is so fixed on his goal, he's in danger of losing his soul. Meeting the heroine will change that.

I am happy with my hard work. This is the first time I've plotted an entire story in detail.

Now I have to write a marketable synopsis.  Back to the brain strain.

Thursday, November 17, 2016

T is for Thanksgiving Outtake

Debra shares a scene that was cut from her Thanksgiving novella.

I admit it. I know better. IT's best to start withe some action, not pages of narrative. But I got carried away. In the cuteness of my little boy. In the coziness of the home. In the familiar banter of the family.

I started my story in the wrong place. My editor and I fixed it for the published version, but I was never able to let go of my original opening scene for An Unexpected Blessing. So with Thanksgiving coming up next week here in the States, I thought I'd share it with you.

“Mommy, lunch is a’most ready.” The screen door squeaked on un-oiled springs as Kyle hurtled through. It slammed shut behind him.
Katy shoved the crinkled paper into the front pocket of her hooded sweatshirt before twisting to face her son. “Does Gramma need any help?”
“Nope.” He shook his head. “I he’ped her set the table.” His cherubic face shone with pride.
“Thanks, little man.”
“I like to he’p.”
She drew him down on her lap to wrap her arms around him. “I like you.” She kissed the top of his dark blond head. No matter how bad things were in other parts of her life, she’d always be grateful for him.
After another squeeze, which at four years old he still tolerated without too much squirming, she set him on his feet, then rose to her own. “Come on, let’s get washed up.”
“Is everything okay?” Mama asked when they walked into the kitchen five minutes later.
“Why wouldn’t it be?” Katy avoided Mama’s eyes.
“You didn’t seem too pleased with the mail just now.”
“We’ll talk about it later.” Katy cast a meaningful glance at Kyle, who was scrambling into his chair.
He reached for his milk.
“Wait for Gramps,” she reminded him as she settled a napkin on her lap.
“What’s for lunch? I’m so hungry I could eat a bear.” As if on cue, Daddy’s boisterous voice preceded him into the room. Katy averted her eyes from the cane in his right hand. He relied on it more and more these days.
After the family prayer, they dug in. Katy served Kyle a spoon full of potato salad and cut up a piece of fried chicken for him before filling her own plate.
“Cin I haf a bithkit too?”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Katy reprimanded, but placed a flaky buttermilk biscuit on his plate.
“Fank you.” Crumbs spewed from his mouth along with the gratitude.
Katy took a bite of chicken to hide a smile. Crisp, flavorful skin gave way to the juicy meat on the inside.
“You’re sure you and Kyle are happy here in the house and don’t want more privacy in the apartment above the garage?”
The out-of-the-blue comment took Katy by surprise. She’d moved back home almost six months ago after her job had been eliminated at the company she’d worked for since graduating from college. At first her parents had encouraged her to live in the garage apartment, but Katy had insisted she’d rather stay in the house, as long as they didn’t mind. The topic hadn’t come up for a while.
“I’m sure.” She shot Mama a curious glance. “Why? Are you trying to get rid of us?” she teased.
“Of course not. We love having you and Kyle here. Not every grandmother is lucky enough to get to see her favorite grandson every day.”
Katy smiled at the joke. Kyle was their only grandson. Their only grandchild.
The smiled faded. If life had turned out as planned, she would have liked to have given her parents a whole passel of grandchildren. Instead, their grown daughter had had to move back home because she couldn’t afford to live on her own and pay childcare with only a part time job.
To take her mind off of the morose thoughts swirling through her head, she returned to the topic at hand. “Why did you ask about the garage apartment again?”
Mama glanced over at Daddy. They communicated silently with their eyes before he nodded.
“Well, since your daddy isn’t able to do much around here anymore, we decided to hire a maintenance man. You know, to tend the yard each week and to do some repairs on the house.”
Katy’s heart squeezed. It must have been hard for Daddy, who took such pride in his home, to admit he couldn’t take care of it anymore. “I think that’s a great idea.” Was her tone too bright?
“Anyway, we offered him the apartment above the garage as part of his salary, and he accepted.”
“Sounds perfect.” It really would be good to have another man around. The secluded property sat at the edge of town. The nearest house was over a mile away.
Her parents exchanged another glance. “Well then I think you should know, the man we hired is—”
“Ooops.” Kyle clapped his hands over his mouth as milk spread from his tipped over cup across the table.
Katy jumped up and put her napkin over the spill. “Kyle, you need to be more careful.”
“Was an accident.” His lower lip quivered.
“Oh, honey, it’s okay.” Mama rose to hug him. “Like they say, there’s no use crying over spilt milk.”
Kyle sniffed into her shoulder. “But the mi’k did spilt.”
Katy kissed his cheek on the way to the sink with the sopping napkin. “It looks like you’re done. Go wash your face and hands, and then you can go watch some college football with Gramps.”
“Yippie.” His dismay forgotten, Kyle scrambled off of his chair and raced from the room.
Daddy slid his chair back. “I guess that’s my cue.” He followed his energetic grandson at a slower pace.
“So what was in that letter you got today?”
“Oh.” Katy sighed as she stacked dishes in the sink. “Andrew’s child support payment is being cut.”
“Did the letter say why?”
“No.” She scrubbed the plate in her hand with a little more force than necessary. “My bet is he got fired again.”
“The economy is tough on everyone these days.”
“This is more than likely the result of his lackadaisical attitude and disregard for others and you know it.” She couldn’t remember the last time he’d shown more than a passing interest in his own son. Legally they shared joint custody, but Kyle rarely saw his father. Which was fine with her. Although it made her soul ache because other than Daddy, who couldn’t do nearly as much as he used to, Kyle didn’t have the regular presence of a male role model in his life.
“Well, don’t lose too much sleep over it. You’ll manage, you always do.”
Katy grimaced and handed the plate to Mama to dry. She’d cut back as much as she could. Which was why she was currently living back home. “I know. It’s just with the holidays coming, I was hoping to have a little extra money for presents.”
“You know we’ll help out as much as we’re able. But remember, Christmas isn’t all about presents.”
Katy finished the last glass, and then rinsed the sink with the attached sprayer. “I know.” She wiped her hands on a towel. “Anyway. I’m not ready to think about Christmas. It’s not even Thanksgiving yet.”
“Why don’t you go for a walk?” Mama suggested. “It’s a beautiful day out.”
She glanced out the window to the sunny sky and brilliant foliage. “Yeah. It is. I’ll take Kyle with me so you don’t have to watch him.”
“I don’t think you’re going to be able to tear him away from that TV. He’s fine here. You go.”
Her folks loved spending time with Kyle, but Katy didn’t want to take advantage. However, some fresh air sounded like a good idea. “Okay, thanks, Mama.” She kissed her soft, powdery cheek. “I won’t be long.”
Mama made a shooing motion. “Take your time.”



Until next time,

Happy Reading!

Debra
www.debrastjohnromance.com


Wednesday, November 16, 2016

T is for Tunnel Vision

Paula asks, ‘How many stories can you work on at the same time?”   

Many writers can work on several different stories. When I was writing my very first novel (about 50 years ago!), I recall being able to write short stories at the same time. However, I now find I can only concentrate on one story at a time. In a sense, I develop ‘tunnel vision’ and can only ‘see’ the characters and plot in which I am currently involved. If I tried to switch between stories, I know I would ‘lose contact’ with my characters, and also with the continuity of the story.

While I am writing a story, I find I am completely immersed in the thoughts and feelings of the characters, and in the problems and conflicts they have to deal with. There is no way I could get myself involved in another set of characters and their problems, until I’ve sorted out the current ones! If I abandoned them, I'd have great difficulty in returning to them. 

I don’t think I can break away from my ‘tunnel vision’ but if you can work on more than one story at a time, I’d be interested to know how you do it! How do you abandon one story to deal with another? And how easy/difficult is it for you to return to a first story once you’ve become involved with a second story (or more)?

Tuesday, November 15, 2016

T Is For Teasers

Jennifer talks about excerpts...

Teasers are paragraphs or quotes or even a single line that teases the reader about your book and makes her want to read it.

On my Facebook news feed, I see lots of them, by both famous and less-known authors and the majority make me interested in the book. They seem to have just the right hook, just the right combination of words to fascinate me.

When it comes to my own teasers, however, it’s a struggle, and I often settle for something that I’m not happy with. Sometimes it’s because I’m limited by either space (like on a graphic) or by line/word count. Other times I just can’t narrow my choices down to pick one thing that I like better than others. And additionally, I don’t want to use the exact same excerpt or teaser all the time. I’d prefer variety.

But I keep trying and playing and hoping I’ll find something I like. Here’s one for Skin Deep—I shortened it from the original one, which was a page and a half long. It’s better, but I’m still doubtful that it “pops”:

“Michelle told me you were not joining us tonight. I thought I would see if I could change your mind.”
Valerie rolled her eyes. “She is persistent.”
“You noticed.” John’s dark eyes twinkled. His mouth widened with a ghost of a smile. Valerie tried not to gasp.
He reminded her of a rugged cowboy—broad shouldered, with a prominent brow, dark piercing eyes, high cheekbones, and a cleft chin. When he smiled, even a slight trace of one, his eyes looked like liquid velvet and his dimples twinkled like stars in the night sky. A five-o’clock shadow covered his cheeks. Her fingers itched to brush against their rough texture, to tease his mouth into a full-blown grin.
“So, what can I say to make you join us?”
As he leaned against the wall in well-fitting jeans and a T-shirt that left nothing to the imagination, Valerie’s mind said, “Sleep with me.” Heat crept up her neck, over her cheeks, and continued to the roots of her hair. A thin sheen of sweat dampened the space between her breasts. She felt the sudden urge to fan herself, like a damsel in distress in an old B-movie. Instead, she ignored her traitorous thoughts. Her balled fist pressed into her tight stomach.
“Tonight, not even chocolate will change my mind.”
She didn’t exactly lie. She had no intention of going to the bar, or of sleeping with him, no matter how her thoughts might try to sabotage her good intentions. She’d been fooled by surface finery before, and it had almost killed her. She wouldn’t let it happen again.
“I will remember that,” he promised. “But next time you will not get off so easy.” His eyes bored into hers for a moment, and then he turned on his heel and left.
True to his word, John arrived the following day prepared for battle. With a cursory knock on the door, he dangled a bag of M&Ms inside the trailer, but snatched it back before she could grab them. “We are going out for pizza. I will pick you up in ten minutes.” Before she could answer, he walked out.
Valerie shrugged as she finished her work. The new Valerie never allowed other people to make decisions for her, but she’d practically handed John a permission slip. And, he had M&M’s. How could she refuse?
Amazon