M is for Music

I love music. I can't carry a tune in a bucket, but that doesn't stop me from singing along in the car. I belt it out along with the artist playing on the CD. This isn't the best idea in the summer, since I drive a convertible, but heck, it's not like I'm ever going to see the guy driving next to me ever again.

Music often provides a muse for me. My Christmas novella, A Christmas to Remember, was inspired by a song of the same title sung by Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton. My free read, another Christmas story as it happens, Mistletoe and Folly, was inspired by Toby Keith's "Blame it on the Mistletoe". I have an idea for a time travel based on another Toby keith song: "Bullets in the Gun".

Certain songs, while not having inspired a particular story, seem to go with one. I've chosen two songs for the playlist of my WIP, "An Unexpected Blessing", so far: "Outlaws Like Me" by Justin Moore and "Like Jesus Does" by Eric Church.

Sometimes I listen to music when I write, but not often. I'll play some classical if I'm trying to block out background noise from around the house: movie scores work well for this. But while I'm writing, songs with lyrics are distracting.

I usually try to weave music into my stories as well. A character may be listening to a favorite artist. Just one more thing to add dimension and a realistic touch to fiction. One of these days I'm going to write that story about a rock star. (My particular teen-aged fantasy!)

For me, music is the ultimate pick-me-up. It never fails to put me in a better mood.

Until next time,

Happy Reading!

Debra
www.debrastjohnromance.com

Messages to Myself

I could also have called this ‘Mistakes not to Make’ - so here goes:

• Must stop being diverted by my inner editor and learn to write a first draft without agonising over every little detail. I can fix those in the first big edit of the story once it’s all written. So (a) if I can’t think of the exact word I need, I should put something similar, then highlight it so I can come back to it later and (b) if I know I’m using a word or phrase too many times, I should ignore it in the first draft (and again highlight it for future editing)
• Must also stop being diverted by research, however interesting it might be. For example, how come I spent two hours on Google street view last weekend, when all I was looking for was the distance between two places? And why did I stop writing for ages to look for a surname for a minor character? Maybe I need to differentiate between research that’s important to the story, and insignificant details that I can sort out later.
  
• Must stop procrastinating and kidding myself that playing Pyramid solitaire is my ‘thinking time’. Instead, I should use the time visiting blogs, learning from other people (about their mistakes?), leaving comments and, hopefully, getting to know other writers (and readers). The latter, of course, is the ONLY reason I spend time on Facebook and Twitter (so now who am I kidding??)
  
• Must keep going even when I feel like I am writing through treacle or, as I read recently, carving granite with a teaspoon. Must remember that, with every story I’ve written, I’ve gone through the phase of ‘This story is rubbish, it’s going nowhere, no-one will ever want to read it.’ But I’ve carried on and eventually found myself thinking “Hmm, maybe it isn’t too bad after all” and even “Yeah, it’s turned out to be quite a good story after all.” It’s happened before, and it will happen again with the current WIP (I hope!).

There are countless more messages I could give myself but that’s enough for now. What messages do you think you ought to give yourself?

Metaphors

“Up scrambles the car, on all its four legs…” D.H. Lawrence, Mornings in Mexico

“So consumers are not exactly dragging their feet. They are dancing as fast as can be expected.” Business Week

“…there has been a mountain of meaning rising behind you…” Eudora Welty, One Writer’s Beginnings

A metaphor is a figure of speech in which a word or phrase is applied to an object or action to which it is not literally applicable. It is a thing regarded as representative or symbolic of something else, especially something abstract.

Metaphors give our language color. They provide variety. They enable us to describe ordinary items, people and places in extraordinary ways.

In fact, an article published online this week in the journal Brain & Language, and described in another article by Quinn Eastman, says that the parietal operculum, the part of the brain important for sensing texture through touch, is activated when someone listens to a sentence with a textural metaphor. How cool is that? Metaphors actually stimulate your brain and that stimulation can be seen with brain imaging.

So the next time you’re searching for exactly the right word choice, remember the metaphor—it’s good for your brain!

Mood Mythbuster

Romance writers deal often with mood, and changes in mood. Our heroines can change their minds quickly, as they are presented with new information or they reassess.
William Zinsser, in his On Writing Well, offers a myth buster. He says, "Many of us were taught that no sentence should begin with "but." If that's what you learned, unlearn it--there's no stronger word at the start of a sentence. It announces a total contrast with what has gone before, and primes the reader for the change."
"However" is best used mid sentence, as in "It is, however, a weaker word."
"Yet" does almost the same job as "but," though its meaning is closer to "nevertheless.: Either of these words can replace a whole long phrase that summarizes what the reader has just been told. "Instead," "still," "thus," "therefore,."
Using "meanwhile," "now," "later," "today," and "subsequently" ensures the reader follows a transition in the story.
And she'll thank you for using only one word.

Welcome Emma Leigh Reed

Please welcome Emma Leigh Reed!
(Emma will give a free print copy of Crashing Hearts to one lucky commenter, so be sure to post a comment.)

As I sit and think about writing this blog, my mind wanders to the beginning of my serious writing journey. Four years ago I decided I wanted to tell my son’s story. My son has PDD-NOS (pervasive developmental disorder, nonspecific – in layman’s terms high functioning autism). He was at the time eleven years old and the journey he had taken me on had been frustrating, rewarding, all consuming at times, but on the whole a journey of looking at the world in a totally different light.

As I sat down to start writing his story, the emotions were so raw still I just couldn’t do it. So instead, I decided to write a fiction story, but weave my son’s journey in autism into the story line. I did not plot out this story. As it developed, the characters took over and the story just became what it is.

CRASHING HEARTS, although fiction, in a lot of ways has my own personal, and my son’s, experiences weaved throughout. A lot of the accomplishments you will see Jared making in CRASHING HEARTS are accomplishments that my son made. It was a therapeutic story for me to write, allowing me to tell some about my journey through autism and my son’s accomplishments and also allowing me to write a story in which I always wanted to do, but never had the courage.

My son’s autism has taught me a lot about my own life. His hard work to get where he is now in life has given me bravery to do what I truly love to do – write. People who have never had the experience of knowing an autistic child do not understand the small milestones that are huge. The simple act of finally getting a hug from your child, a real hug with arms wrapped around you, will bring tears to your eyes. The first words out of a four-year-old after being nonverbal and only using sign language to communicate tears can melt your heart. I would never be able to convey through a book how powerful a journey it is to be taught by your child how to never take the little things for granted.

CRASHING HEARTS EXCERPT:
Chapter 1

Kira Nichols pushed back her hair as the crisp salt air blew it across her face. She walked up the path—her sneakers leaving small impressions in the soft sand—to the cul-de-sac. At the empty lot across from her house, the foundation had been capped over and abandoned for about a year now.

She sprang into a run at the rumble of a sports car arriving at a fast clip. She arrived at the cul-de-sac at the same time the vehicle skidded to a stop. She caught her breath as the lean, ruggedly handsome man exited his vehicle. The smile he flashed her was one she imagined had many women melting at his feet.

Kira squared her shoulders and approached him. Her five foot two inch frame seemed minute compared to his at least six foot stature. She willed herself to appear calm and not give away that her senses had completely left her at the sight of him.

“Grant Rutledge.” He extended his hand to her. His deep voice, like a shot of brandy, was warm and soothing. She swallowed hard, her anger forgotten for a brief second. Then it flared back and she ignored his hand. “Do you have any idea that there are children in this area?” she demanded, planting her hands on her hips.

“My apologies if you felt I was going too fast.” He gave an exaggerated glance around. “There aren’t any children about now.” He smiled that smile again and in spite of her anger, her heart melted. She started with the realization he still had his hand extended in introduction. She tentatively shook his calloused fingers. Tingles shot up her arm and she struggled with not yanking her hand away. Heat flooded her face. She prayed he couldn’t tell.

“Again, I apologize. I hope you wouldn’t think I have no regard for children.”

Kira turned to go. “I just know the type.” She gestured absently at the car. She forced herself to walk slowly towards her house, feeling his eyes on her back. Her mind whirled. She had practically melted at the sound of his voice. Her cheeks reddened at the thought of him watching her walk away—thankful she had stayed in shape.

The solitude of the cul-de-sac was the reason she originally loved this spot. Her house had been the only one in this two-lot area for six years. She hoped the new construction company would be considerate and not disrupt the serenity, and keep working hours to normal business hours, hours when Jared was in preschool.

She thought back to the long hours they kept when they put in the foundation. Jared had been unable to sleep due to the noise and disruption of his routine. Hopefully this time around the noise wouldn’t disturb him. He was just beginning to sleep through the night.

If only she could.
* * * *
Jared ran up the walkway to meet Kira, signing furiously: “Who is that man?”

“That is Grant Rutledge,” she signed back. “He is going to be building the new house, so you will need to stay away from the construction site.”

Jared’s hands and fingers flew in his excitement to know about the new house, and the fast car he saw. “Jared, use your words.” Kira ushered him into the house.

“Car, red.”

“Yes, the car was red, and it’s very fast, so you must stay away from there.” Kira found Barbara’s eyes over Jared’s head, and gave her the “I have so much to tell you” look.

“Time to get ready for the day, Jared,” Barbara interjected.

Jared skipped off to the bedroom happily, and Barbara handed Kira a cup of coffee. “Spill. I saw him. It wasn’t the fast car that made you come into this house so quick.”

Kira, glaring at Barbara over the coffee, walked slowly to the sliding doors overlooking the ocean. “What happened to the quietness of our lives? Why do I feel like it is gone?”

“Is it gone?” Barbara asked. “Or just stirred up a little? I think maybe you’ve been holding onto grief and bitterness for so long that you don’t have any idea how to look objectively at life. Before you say it, I’m heading for the kitchen and not saying another word. Nevertheless, before I go, let me just say out of love for you, Kira, darling, Patrick’s been gone for four years now. You’ve built your life around Jared, and that’s great because Jared needs you. However, there comes a time when you need someone also, someone besides Jared and an old lady like myself.”

“Barb, it’s not like that.”

“Honey, you’ve been holding on for so long, and don’t tell me you’re not angry with Patrick for the way he left the night of the accident. Kira, I’m angry with him. He never should’ve left that way. You had it just as tough as him, if not more, with the crying. He was the father. He should have been here right beside you.”

“Stop! We are not going to rehash that night and we certainly aren’t going to blame Patrick. He’s gone and nothing is going to change that.” Kira looked toward the ocean and for- got about her coffee and Barbara. For a moment she lost track of the here and now and drifted off into the peace of the ocean.

Something caught Kira’s eye, and she turned to see Grant taking measurements, preparing for the construction. Feelings she hadn’t felt in so long flooded her as she watched his dark, wavy hair blow in the breeze. Half sighing, half growling to herself, she turned from the window. Distractions were not what she needed now. There was a routine to follow. For Jared’s sake.

Bio: Emma Leigh Reed has lived in New Hampshire all her life. She has fond memories of the Maine coastline and incorporates the ocean into all her books. She lives in a small town with her husband and three children. Her life has been touched and changed by her son's autism - she views life through a very different lens than before he was born. Growing up as an avid reader, it was only natural for Emma Leigh to turn to creating the stories for others to enjoy.

Buying info: Ebook – Amazon Ebook and print – Whiskey Creek Press
She can be found at: www.emmaleighreed.com Twitter Facebook

L is for Logan

Logan Reed. I have a soft spot in my heart for him. He was my first.

My first hero that is.

My sister named him. As soon as she came up with it, I knew it was perfect.

He's the epitome of the quintisential romance hero. (At least in my mind.) Tall. Dark hair. Green eyes. He looks good in boots, Wranglers, and a cowboy hat. He drives a pick up and owns a ranch. He's a self-made, successful businessman.

But none of that matters to Sharlie. They were high school sweethearts until all of their dreams for the future were shattered. So she's none too pleased when he walks back into her life twelve years later. He presence threatens to destroy the life she's made for herself, but she can't get away from reminders of the past.

Logan has his own agenda. He's back in town to prove he's no longer the boy from the wrong side of the tracks. And he doesn't want Sharlie to forget what they once shared.

Excerpt:

Logan's strong arm encircled her waist, preventing her from falling.

Sharlie caught her breath as her body pressed against him. She raised her eyes to his.

The anger in his eyes turned to awareness. His breath hitched. The temperature in the tiny room rose.

Logan's gaze roamed every inch of her face, finally coming to rest on her lips.

Her pulse quickened, the beat thundering in her ears. They were so close she could feel the cadence of his heart. She sucked in a gasp of air.

His gaze met hers again. "I've tried to stop thinking about you like this. But I can't."

Sharlie licked dry lips, then cursed inwardly when the action drew his attention there once more. His head lowered.

"Don't," she managed.

"Don't what?" Logan's warm breath caressed her cheek.

"Don't kiss me."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want you to." Even to her own ears the protest sounded weak.

"Liar," Logan taunted.

"Please," she tried one last time, shaking her head in a vain attempt to deny the feelings coursing through her.

Logan cupped the back of her head, stilling the motion. "I have to." His words melted into a kiss as their lips met.

The gentle insistence of his mouth coaxed a response from her. Her lips parted, allowing the kiss to deepen. Their breath mingled. The moist heat made her knees buckle.

"Don't you remember?" Logan's husky voice whispered, as his lips left hers to trail down the column of her throat. "Remember how good it was."

Oh, yeah. And he's a good kisser.

You can read more about Logan in This Time for Always.



Until next time,

Happy Reading!

Debra
www.debrastjohnromance.com

Love at First Sight?

It’s almost a cliché in romance novels: the hero and heroine feel an instant attraction to each other from the moment they first set eyes on each other. It’s the ‘Some Enchanted Evening’ syndrome.

But does it happen in real life? And is it really love?

It has appeared in romantic poems and stories ever since ancient times. The Greeks thought of it as ‘love’s arrows’ from the god Eros reaching the eyes of the lover and travelling from there to pierce his or her heart. This symbol is still used today.

The Roman poets, too, spoke of love at first sight. According to Catullus, when the sea goddess Thetis appeared out of the waves, “That was the moment, so the story goes, when Peleus looked and loved, and Thetis happily stooped to an earthborn-mate.”

In the Middle Ages, the troubadours extended the concept of love’s arrows with the idea that the woman’s eyes were the source of the love arrow.

Shakespeare had Romeo falling for Juliet the moment he first saw her, Victor Hugo’s Marius and Cosette (in Les Miserables) fall in love when their eyes meet, the Little Mermaid falls in love with the prince when she first sees him, even Homer Simpson fell in love with Marge at his first sight of her.

Oh, and I also think Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth fell in love at first sight, even though neither was prepared to admit it to themselves, or to each other.

According to modern psychology, attractiveness is determined within 0.13 seconds of meeting someone. The next checkpoint is the voice. Within three minutes, we make up our minds whether someone could become a potential partner. Evidently we are genetically programmed to size this up almost instantly, an intuitive skill developed thousands of years ago as our ancestors struggled to distinguish friends from enemies.

Some ‘sixth sense’ may also come into play – an instinct that the person you have just met will affect your life profoundly, or an inner recognition of someone who will become important in your life.

An initial attraction to someone can also be stimulated by the release of some powerful chemicals into the nervous system, creating a physiological arousal – the racing heart is one result of the chemical dopamine.

I think most people would agree that ‘love’ needs more than basic intuition, instinct, and/or chemistry. Being attracted to someone and loving someone are two different things. Maybe, however, that first response creates the drive to get to know the other person better and therefore opens the way to falling in love and then loving someone.

‘Attraction at first sight’ might be a better phrase, but the people whose first attraction does develop into love are very likely to claim that, for them, it was ‘love at first sight’.

So I think we authors can carry on writing about the magic of ‘you may see a stranger, across a crowded room, and somehow you know …’ etc.