Figures of Speech

Ana muses on common and less common figures of speech:

The list of figures of speech in the English language is long and growing. Before I moved to a farming community and became a writer, I heard and used phrases that I didn't fully appreciate how they came about.

"Can't hit the broad side of a barn." Old fashioned dairy barns are very long. Modern poultry and hog confinement barns are huge. If you can't throw a stone at a building 100 feet long and hit it, something's wrong with your aim or your eyes.

"Crowded as a whorehouse on nickel night." Self-explanatory.

"Can't catch a weasel asleep." Something that is impossible or unlikely. Someone who is always alert and seldom caught off guard. "You can't sneak up on that guy any sooner than you can catch a weasel asleep."

"Dead as a door nail." Nails don't show many signs of life.

"Hot as Hades." Evokes images of fiery cauldrons and sinners roasting on spits.

"Didn't have a tail feather left." Describes someone who is penniless. Probably came from a time when feathers were sold for income.

"Egg money." Locals used this term when we moved to our farm. Farm women sold eggs to the feed store in town and got to spend that money themselves.

"Don't get your dander up." I think of a cat in fight mode, hair standing straight up, dander being the fine under layer of fur.

"Walk the chalk." If you were drunk, you couldn't walk across a room on a line drawn with chalk. "Toe the line," is similar.

"Nervous as a cat in a roomful of rockers." Gotta be careful and protect your tail.

"Steal the coins off a dead man's eyes." Coins were used to weight the eyelids of the deceased.

"Uglier than a newly sheared sheep." Have you ever seen a sheep that's just been sheared? Ugly!

"This knife wouldn't cut hot butter." Living in Germany as a child, I remember that a man regularly came around on his bicycle and sharpened knives for all the housewives on the block.

"Slow as molasses in January." Average daytime high temperature in January where I live is -1 degree. Not much molasses flows at that temperature.

To describe a long period without rain: "It's so dry, bushes are chasing dogs."

The list is endless and fascinating.

Ana's Snippet from her WIP

Ana's hero is trying to teach the cowgirl heroine to waltz.

After several more uncoordinated attempts, he had an idea. “Think of it this way. We’re a cow. I’m the head, and you’re the tail.” He waited a moment to let the description sink in. “This time go backwards. Back, side, together.”

This went better, and she smiled half-heartedly.

“You’re doing great. Now a quarter turn.” Pivoting as he stepped forward, he crashed into her chest. “Whoops! You were thinking, weren’t you?”

“I can’t do this.” She jerked free. “I’ll never be good at dancing.”

“Don’t say that, Stormy.” He reached out again and pulled her back into a waltzing stance. “Just turn off your thoughts. Dancing is all about letting go and feeling.”

“I can’t. I don’t know how.”

He saw defeat in her eyes, but behind it, an ember of hope. He knew he could try to soothe her fears by calling her a capable, beautiful woman, but she was so much more. She was not a taker like Candy. She was genuine, honest, hardworking, and caring. And afraid of another round of public ridicule.

Fear was something he understood all too well. For nine, guilt-ridden years, he worried that he’d broken his mother’s heart by running away from home. When he returned home, she treated him like a stranger, ignoring his hints about being engaged and insisting that Jared escort Miss Candy Kennedy everywhere.

Every day since, he'd lived with the certain fear that if his father learned about Candy’s lies, he’d disown him for being weak and stupid. The Masters’ empire couldn’t be passed on to someone so vulnerable to a hustler’s wiles.

Even worse was his gnawing fear for Patrick, born seven and a half months after Jared married Candy. If Jared ever found out…

He drew a ragged breath. He couldn’t fix his messed up past, but he could change Stormy’s future. Taking his own advice to let go and just feel, he bent down and softly pressed his mouth to hers.  

Her lips quivered under his, and he fully expected her to pull back. Maybe even throw a punch. He braced himself, but to his surprise, she rose up on her toes, closed her eyes, and leaned into the kiss.

A feeling unlike any he’d ever experienced flooded through him. Tenderness, whipped by a lust much stronger than he’d ever felt for Candy. He pressed down, trying to let the touch of his lips reassure Stormy without revealing his secrets or demanding her trust.

Her lips responded with a give and take that he ached to explore, but didn’t dare. This wasn’t the time or the place, and he wasn’t sure he could ever unlock his heart again.

Pulling back, he felt the soft rush of her sigh. Her lids fluttered open.

“Let’s try again,” he said. “I’m the man, your superior. You’re a woman, my…”

“You might have the horns, buster boy, but my tail will swat you if you let me fall.” She squeezed his fingers hard. “Got it?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He counted aloud to three and stepped back. She followed, responding to his signals with more ease. Forwards, backwards, glide into a turn.

As they moved, her scowl softened to a smile, and then broadened to a grin. “I haven’t stepped on your toes once. Where did you learn to lead like this?”

“Lessons every Saturday morning.” He scrunched up his face. “My mother made me.” 

“Smart woman.”

The musicians finished tuning their instruments and played a lively, engaging tune. Couples drifted onto the grass and stood clapping their hands.

Blade held Stormy back behind the Hawkins’ buckboard. When the number ended, he slipped off her cape and tossed it into the back. “Keep your chin up and smile. You are the prettiest girl here.”

For a moment, he wished they were waiting to be announced at a Saint Louis society ball. Holding her warm hand, he led her into the circle.

Enjoyment

Margaret tells us what she enjoys and why.

What pleasures do you enjoy most? Dining, partying, reading, walking – the list is endless and I enjoy all of these. But my ultimate pleasure is writing. It takes me to places all over the world I would never visit otherwise. It stretches my imagination. It keeps me entertained. It gives me an insight into other people’s lives even if they are figments of my imagination. When I write I become that person, I live their life, I accept all their trials and tribulations.  I don’t give talks now but when I did I always used to say to people that I’d had X number of love affairs, depending on how many books I’d written at the time. And I guess that’s what they are – love affairs. A love affair with writing. Is it in our blood, do you think? What made us want to write in the first place? All writers are avid readers so perhaps it is this pleasure of reading that made us want to write in the first place.

What do you think?

E is for Eating

Debra takes a look at food.

Food often makes an appearance in my stories. After all, even fictional characters need to eat! Perhaps they go out to dinner on a date. Perhaps they're sipping wine at a piano bar. Perhaps the hero is cooking for the heroine. Maybe it's a pizza that's been ordered in.

Food is a great opportunity to bring all of the senses into play. It has a taste, a smell, a texture, we look at it, and depending on what it is, there might be a sound involved.

The main thing to remember when incorporating food into your story is to not forget about it. If the waitress serves dessert, make sure your characters eat it! Don't let it just sit there. Your hero and heroine should interact with it. This is a great way to break up a page full of dialogue. Have your hero take a bite of his steak. Eating can serve as a dialogue tag to avoid those pesky he said/she said phrases, too.

How your characters eat their food can reveal things about them...to each other and to the reader. Does he take great chomping bites and eat with gusto? Does she push her food around on her plate before taking a bite?

What gets eaten can be revealing too. Does she have a regular morning routine in which she always makes a single scrambled egg and a piece of toast? Is he a vegetarian?

Food can be sensual. Do they bring strawberries and champagne with them into the bedroom? Does he feed her small bites of food? Does she lick her lips after tasting a cream-filled candy?

Food can mirror the feel of a scene. Are they eating hot and spicy Mexican? Are they savoring sweet desserts? Are they consuming a comforting meal of Mama's oven stew? Are they cooking together and wind up covered in flour because they got silly?

There are endless possibilities for using food in a story...make the best of them, and don't forget someone needs to eat what you serve!

Until next time,

Happy Reading! (and eating)

Debra
www.debrastjohnromance.com

Emotions

Paula looks at how we show emotions in our novels.

 

Emotions play a big part in romance novels. Quite often, we make our characters go through a whole range of different emotions, from the depths of despair to the heights of euphoria.

 

Of course, we can’t simply tell our readers how the characters feel. We have to show their feelings in some way, either externally, internally, or mentally.

 

Many times when I’m writing an emotional scene, I live through the emotions with my characters and I think (hope!) that by doing that, my readers will also experience the same emotions.

 

In ‘Irish Inheritance’, I had one scene where the hero and heroine were creeping downstairs in pitch darkness (there had been a power cut) to investigate the source of a loud crash somewhere on the ground floor. I was writing this scene late at night, and ended up feeling as tense as the characters. So much so, that I found myself glancing nervously over my shoulder a few times. Hopefully that tension was reflected in the scene for my readers to feel, too.

 

In my current WIP (soon to be submitted!), my hero has a near miss when he almost runs over his own son. By the time I finished writing the scene, my heart was beating as fast as the hero’s, and I had to give myself a few minutes to calm down again!

 

As well as experiencing the emotions our characters are feeling, there are also times when we can use our own past emotional experiences to make a scene more vivid for our readers. Of course, we may not have experienced them in the same situation as our characters – I’ve never been trapped in an underground tunnel in Egypt, or been buried by an Icelandic avalanche following a volcanic eruption, for example. However, as well as trying to imagine myself in those situations, I can also draw on my own memories of the times when I have been scared – the cold sweat, the racing heart, the images of ‘what could happen’ flashing through the mind etc.

 

Going back to the scene where the hero nearly runs over his son, I used my experience of a car accident about 15 years ago. My friend was driving and a large truck coming onto the motorway hit the nearside rear of the car, spun us round, and then pushed us sideways along the road for several hundred yards. My shock and fear were followed by what I can only describe as euphoria when we finally came to a standstill, without the car being crushed (apart from some large dents in the side) and without either of us being injured. By the time the police arrived, I was calm enough to tell them what had happened. It was about an hour later when I started to shake uncontrollably as I thought of what might have happened. This experience helped me to show the hero's reactions at the time of the incident and then later.

 

Of course, people react differently in different situations, and so I often have to think, not of how I would react, but how the character would react. Even then, I can draw on my own experiences. Personally, I would panic if I was trapped in an underground tunnel, but if the hero stays calm, I think back to an occasion when I stayed calm in a difficult situation.

 

Emotion is the main thing that connects readers to the characters in our stories. Therefore it’s worth spending time (and often very ‘emotional’ time) remembering and analysing our own reactions to different situations, and then trying to project these emotions to our characters so that readers can associate them with their own experiences  and thus feel what the characters are feeling. 

Editing

Jennifer talks about editing her manuscripts...

For the past month, I’ve been focused on editing several manuscripts. My number one priority was the manuscript I was submitting to my agent. She provides editing guidelines that we are to follow prior to sending it in to her. Once she receives it, she does her own editing and sends it back to us. So, with a self-imposed deadline of February 1, I went through my manuscript, tentatively titled In The Moment, one last time, doing a final polishing. I incorporated additional comments from my critique group and made sure I met the guidelines of my agent. Then, with fingers crossed, I submitted it to her.

I’ve also spent time editing a friend’s manuscript. I was really excited to do this, as I hadn’t gotten the chance to read beyond the first ten or twelve chapters when she first wrote it, before she decided to revise it significantly. So this time, I was able to read it from beginning to end. Other than one particular chapter, I loved it! And that one chapter that I didn’t like? Well, I can’t speak for her, but I enjoyed going back and forth with her, discussing why I didn’t like it and helping her problem solve. I can’t wait for it to be published—it’s going to be a great book!

Finally, I’m editing Skin Deep, which is getting re-released by Rebel Ink Press in March. It has a new, gritty cover, which is more in keeping with the type of story it is, and now that the editor has reviewed it and made suggestions, I’m going through it one last time and incorporating some of what she suggested.

Bottom line? Editing always works better, at least for me, when multiple eyes see a manuscript. No one person can catch everything, so it’s best to have extra help.

2 Excerpts from Margaret's Books

Margaret shares excerpts from her first published book, and her latest story, her 80th book.

DESTINY PARADISE - 1976

“Would you mind turning that contraption down?”

Lorna glanced up, mildly curious as to whom the aggressive tones were being addressed. Piercing blue eyes met her own; dark glasses tilted towards wiry brown hair which stuck up at a rakish angle as though the owner had run his fingers despairingly through it.

“I said, would you mind turning it down?”

Clearly he was speaking to her, although Lorna could not think why her transistor should cause annoyance. She had adjusted the volume so that the music was audible without being unbearably loud. Though judging by the way the man in the next chair was glaring at her, even this was too much for him. She raised her delicately arched brows and said coolly, “If I lower it much more I might as well turn it off.”

“That’s right.” His voice was hard, not unlike the steely eyes. “Then perhaps I can concentrate.”

Lorna noticed for the first time the sheaf of papers in his hand, the open briefcase at this side, wondering why anyone should choose to study what looked like the lines from a play on the open deck of a liner. Perhaps if he had approached her differently she might have agreed, but as it was his attitude angered her. ”I’m sorry, she returned politely, “but I’m enjoying this music. I can’t recall any rules about not playing transistors. Why don’t you go to your cabin? You won’t be disturbed there.”

 

ABBY’S BODYGUARD - 2014

‘Holly Redman?’ enquired a deep, male voice.

Holly stopped walking and turned her head. She had just arrived at Orly airport from Heathrow and was heading towards the shuttle bus that would take her to her hotel. She had no idea who this man was. He was tall and broad shouldered with jet black hair and amazing grey eyes. But she didn’t know him from Adam and she certainly wasn’t expecting anyone to meet her.

‘And you are?’ she enquired, her fine brows dragging together, her voice sharp.

‘A friend of your brother.’

A smile accompanied his words revealing even white teeth. He was very good looking, well dressed in black linen trousers and a crisp white shirt, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a con man.

‘By coincidence I phoned him only this morning,’ he added with another one of his dazzling smiles. ‘And when he said that his sister was spending a few days in Paris I immediately thought that you might like some company.’

‘Oh, you did, did you?’ Holly straightened her back and squared her shoulders, her eyes shooting sparks of anger and distrust. ‘And my brother would be?’ She still didn’t truly believe that this man was a friend of his.

‘Why Martin, of course. Martin Redman,’ he said with more than a hint of amusement in his voice.

‘And your name is?’

‘Temple Townsend – at your service.’

He held out his hand but Holly ignored it. ‘Martin didn’t say anything about someone meeting me.’ She paused and glared at him. ‘How did you know who I was?’

The smile widened. ‘He described you perfectly. Tall, slender, long dark hair. Outstandingly good-looking.’

‘There must be thousands of women who match that description,’ she challenged, convinced her brother had not said any of that. He had never paid her a compliment in his life.