I know, I know, I've been neglecting this blog. Truthfully, I've been neglecting writing lately, which meant I had no real content for the blog. Since no one likes to read "Yeah, nothing's really changed, but I'm here just to babble" posts, I just ... haven't posted.
The reasons for the neglect are numerous and all sound like bad excuses. At the beginning of the year, I had a really stressful couple of months, which left no energy or even real interest for writing. Then when things calmed down in my personal life, I found myself writer's-blocked. Nothing came out the way I envisioned, I didn't like the sound of anything I wrote, the whole shebang.
So I took a break. Breaks not of my own choosing are frustrating, to be sure, but sitting there hating everything I wrote was even more so. The hardest part of any break is getting back into the swing of things, but I knew that if I didn't, I never would.
I like writing, so the thought of not being able to make myself sit there and do it made me sad. So tonight I kicked my own behind, put my headphones on, and tried to work on my epiphany. I'd written the new prologue a couple of times already, but it never sounded ... right. And I can't really explain what "right" is; I just knew that what I had wasn't it.
Tonight? I'm cautiously optimistic that I got it right. Cautiously because I tend to like the things I write the day I write them but then I look at it more objectively the next day and see all the problems. We'll see if I still like it tomorrow, but I like it a lot tonight. The tone, the voice, a nice balance of exposition in the prose and in dialogue ... I kinda think I nailed it.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Sunday, March 20, 2011
On Epiphanies
It is said that something cannot be created out of nothing, but that is precisely what writing is. It's taking a little idea, an inkling of a notion, and weaving it into a story.
Because of the aspect of creating this whole freakin' universe out of a tiny, "Hey, wouldn't this make a great story ..." thought, you don't always get things right the first time. Sometimes the things that don't work become apparent in the first draft and you can fix it then, but sometimes they don't become apparent until well into the editing process.
Part of the problem of discovering way too late that something didn't quite work is that you wind up becoming attached to what you've already written. Even if you absolutely hate what you've written, you don't want to lose it. Whether it's just a natural unwillingness to admit you were wrong or it's an unwillingness to admit that you spent all kinds of time on something that ultimately didn't work, I'm not sure. All I know is that realizing you have to delete what you've written and rework things? Can actually be painful.
But then there are those times when inspiration hits out of the clear blue sky. When you're sitting there, doing something completely off-topic and not thinking at all about your story, and you suddenly think, "Oh my God! I know how to fix it!"
I call those moments my little writing epiphanies.
My latest writing epiphany? Expanding my prologue.
I mentioned before that in reading over my first chapter, I realized that it was way too exposition-y. I wasn't sure how to go about fixing that, aside from spreading out the exposition over a couple of chapters. And then while I was watching TV, it hit me: expand the prologue.
This little epiphany of mine means changing some things. My prologue had been a letter from the ghost to her husband (written back when the ghost was alive, natch), and I had about four or five more letters scattered throughout the novel that detail the woman's slide into the dark arts.
Without setting up the conceit of the letter in the prologue, I have to remove the other letters. I figure I can rewrite the letters as scenes or scenelets, much like how I rewrote the prologue.
I'm hoping that putting more of the exposition in the prologue will relieve some of it from chapter one. *crossing fingers*
Because of the aspect of creating this whole freakin' universe out of a tiny, "Hey, wouldn't this make a great story ..." thought, you don't always get things right the first time. Sometimes the things that don't work become apparent in the first draft and you can fix it then, but sometimes they don't become apparent until well into the editing process.
Part of the problem of discovering way too late that something didn't quite work is that you wind up becoming attached to what you've already written. Even if you absolutely hate what you've written, you don't want to lose it. Whether it's just a natural unwillingness to admit you were wrong or it's an unwillingness to admit that you spent all kinds of time on something that ultimately didn't work, I'm not sure. All I know is that realizing you have to delete what you've written and rework things? Can actually be painful.
But then there are those times when inspiration hits out of the clear blue sky. When you're sitting there, doing something completely off-topic and not thinking at all about your story, and you suddenly think, "Oh my God! I know how to fix it!"
I call those moments my little writing epiphanies.
My latest writing epiphany? Expanding my prologue.
I mentioned before that in reading over my first chapter, I realized that it was way too exposition-y. I wasn't sure how to go about fixing that, aside from spreading out the exposition over a couple of chapters. And then while I was watching TV, it hit me: expand the prologue.
This little epiphany of mine means changing some things. My prologue had been a letter from the ghost to her husband (written back when the ghost was alive, natch), and I had about four or five more letters scattered throughout the novel that detail the woman's slide into the dark arts.
Without setting up the conceit of the letter in the prologue, I have to remove the other letters. I figure I can rewrite the letters as scenes or scenelets, much like how I rewrote the prologue.
I'm hoping that putting more of the exposition in the prologue will relieve some of it from chapter one. *crossing fingers*
Monday, January 31, 2011
Writing Exercise #9
Since I watched Harper's Island this weekend, we're jumping back into that universe for this week's exercise. Honestly, I'm debating polishing this up a little bit and publishing it as a ficlet! It wound up being double the size of the other exercises (though still shorter than my typical one-shot stories, hence "ficlet"). Oops!
As before, the following vignette spoils the end. Click the jump at your own risk. Also, I am aware that this reads as a little disjointed. It's intentional.
As before, the following vignette spoils the end. Click the jump at your own risk. Also, I am aware that this reads as a little disjointed. It's intentional.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
On Rewrite Projects, and Why They Help
I've mentioned before that when I get stuck/frustrated, I sometimes work on a rewrite project to help get the creative juices flowing again. I don't believe I've ever actually sat down and explained the rewrite projects, though, so here goes:
It's pretty much what it sounds like: I take a story I've written previously and completely rewrite it, from beginning to end. The pieces I choose are usually years old and have problems that I didn't see when I was writing it the first time.
For instance, my most recent rewrite was on a Supernatural story I wrote in 2007 called "Child's Play." It's a pre-series story about a young Sam and Dean meeting the ghost of a little girl who's haunting the motel at which John left them during his hunt. Over the course of the rewrite, I tightened up the language and also changed two things: how little Lucy was killed in the first place, and why neither Sam nor Dean told anyone on staff at the motel about the kidnapped child staying in one of their rooms.
I changed Lucy's manner of death because, in all honesty, it was too hard to prove and thus seemed too convenient that John and Dean caught onto it relatively quickly. I originally had the kidnapper drugging her food and overdosing her by mistake. Since a five-year-old (for that's how old Lucy was) wouldn't understand much other than "This tastes funny and makes me sleepy," it was just really convenient that she not only described it like that but also that John made the leap from funny-tasting food to drugging food to overdose as quickly as he did.
The whole thing with Sam and Dean not telling anyone in charge about Lucy was something I never thought of at all during the initial drafts. Because, well, I knew that Lucy was a ghost. It wouldn't have mattered what Sam or Dean told anyone because Lucy had been dead for eleven years. But when I was doing the rewrite, I realized that I at least needed to acknowledge the thought process of people who don't yet know that she's a ghost. So I had Sam offer to go tell someone and Lucy beg him not to, and I had Dean on his way to tell someone when John came back and the two of them figured out that Lucy was a ghost. So the intent was there, at least, even if neither of them managed to follow through.
The rewrite project I want to do now is on a Charmed story I wrote back in 2004 called "With a Vengeance." The basic premise of the story, that a demon/bad person/whatever wants to turn the Charmed Ones by using Prue's guilt over Andy's death as a way in, has a lot of potential, but the execution of it was ... not so good. There are too many things I spelled out way too much and too many things I didn't spell out enough. There are bits that are clunky and bits that are melodramatic and bits that are rather good. Basically, I want to even it out, and I think the distance from the piece will help a lot with that.
Now, as to why these little projects help with the current one. There's a lot less pressure on the rewrites, because the story's already done. It was posted in various places many moons ago. I only update my own personal files/archive with the rewrite information, so mostly they're for my eyes only. Because there's less pressure, the words usually wind up flowing nice and easy. And when the words flow, it loosens you up. Makes you realize that yeah, maybe you can do this after all.
Then, when the rewrite is finished, you have gained not only a little bit of distance from the project on which you were stuck/burnt out, but also a little more confidence in your talent and abilities. You're closer to and more in tune with your own style.
In a way, it's kind of a palate cleanser, a chance to clear out the cobwebs so you can return to your current project bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and ready for anything.
It's pretty much what it sounds like: I take a story I've written previously and completely rewrite it, from beginning to end. The pieces I choose are usually years old and have problems that I didn't see when I was writing it the first time.
For instance, my most recent rewrite was on a Supernatural story I wrote in 2007 called "Child's Play." It's a pre-series story about a young Sam and Dean meeting the ghost of a little girl who's haunting the motel at which John left them during his hunt. Over the course of the rewrite, I tightened up the language and also changed two things: how little Lucy was killed in the first place, and why neither Sam nor Dean told anyone on staff at the motel about the kidnapped child staying in one of their rooms.
I changed Lucy's manner of death because, in all honesty, it was too hard to prove and thus seemed too convenient that John and Dean caught onto it relatively quickly. I originally had the kidnapper drugging her food and overdosing her by mistake. Since a five-year-old (for that's how old Lucy was) wouldn't understand much other than "This tastes funny and makes me sleepy," it was just really convenient that she not only described it like that but also that John made the leap from funny-tasting food to drugging food to overdose as quickly as he did.
The whole thing with Sam and Dean not telling anyone in charge about Lucy was something I never thought of at all during the initial drafts. Because, well, I knew that Lucy was a ghost. It wouldn't have mattered what Sam or Dean told anyone because Lucy had been dead for eleven years. But when I was doing the rewrite, I realized that I at least needed to acknowledge the thought process of people who don't yet know that she's a ghost. So I had Sam offer to go tell someone and Lucy beg him not to, and I had Dean on his way to tell someone when John came back and the two of them figured out that Lucy was a ghost. So the intent was there, at least, even if neither of them managed to follow through.
The rewrite project I want to do now is on a Charmed story I wrote back in 2004 called "With a Vengeance." The basic premise of the story, that a demon/bad person/whatever wants to turn the Charmed Ones by using Prue's guilt over Andy's death as a way in, has a lot of potential, but the execution of it was ... not so good. There are too many things I spelled out way too much and too many things I didn't spell out enough. There are bits that are clunky and bits that are melodramatic and bits that are rather good. Basically, I want to even it out, and I think the distance from the piece will help a lot with that.
Now, as to why these little projects help with the current one. There's a lot less pressure on the rewrites, because the story's already done. It was posted in various places many moons ago. I only update my own personal files/archive with the rewrite information, so mostly they're for my eyes only. Because there's less pressure, the words usually wind up flowing nice and easy. And when the words flow, it loosens you up. Makes you realize that yeah, maybe you can do this after all.
Then, when the rewrite is finished, you have gained not only a little bit of distance from the project on which you were stuck/burnt out, but also a little more confidence in your talent and abilities. You're closer to and more in tune with your own style.
In a way, it's kind of a palate cleanser, a chance to clear out the cobwebs so you can return to your current project bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and ready for anything.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Writing Exercise #8
I don't mind telling you that I'm incredibly frustrated. Nothing's coming out the way I want it to, and I'm beginning to wonder if I need to do a rewrite project just to take a step back for a week or two.
(I also may be working on a post to explain the rewrite projects and why they help.)
Of course, that is a discussion for a different post. The point of this one is to share the results of the eighth writing exercise. More original characters!
Prompt: ancient
Fandom: original characters (The Witch of November)
Character(s): Allie Sullivan, Charlie Davis
-----
“Do you want to see it again?” Charlie Davis excitedly asked his best friend. He held out his hand, palm up, under her chin.
Her nose wrinkling, Allie Sullivan backed away slightly from Charlie’s outstretched palm. “No.” She’d already seen it. Three times. How the heck many times did he expect her to look at it?
A pout turned down the corners of Charlie’s mouth for a fraction of a second. Then he covered, rolling his eyes at her before returning his attention to the object in his open palm. “Whatever. Your loss.”
“It’s a penny!” Allie cried in exasperation. Really, if you've see one penny, you’ve seen them all.
“It’s an ancient penny,” Charlie corrected her.
“It’s not ancient.”
“It’s from 1909, Allie. It’s older than our grandparents. That makes it ancient.”
Allie sighed. This happened every single time that Charlie found a new coin for his collection. For a couple of days, he’d stare at it and then put it in his pocket only to take it out and stare at it again. Then he’d drop the coin into the tin with the rest of them and then forget about the whole collection until he found another coin. Lather, rinse, repeat.
And since all his coins were found money--coins he found in the street or got back in change--most of them weren’t even worth much more than face value! Allie didn’t understand his fascination with the stupid things in the slightest.
Charlie, sensing Allie’s disdain, took her hand and dropped the penny into it. “Think about it like this. That little penny has been held in human hands for over a hundred years. It’s seen the sinking of the Titanic and the bombing of Pearl Harbor. It was minted sixty years before anyone ever set foot on the moon. This one little piece of metal has survived it all.”
A smile curled onto Allie’s lips despite herself. All right, maybe she could understand Charlie’s fascination with the old coins. If she thought about it, they were like mini history lessons that fit into the palm of her hand.
(I also may be working on a post to explain the rewrite projects and why they help.)
Of course, that is a discussion for a different post. The point of this one is to share the results of the eighth writing exercise. More original characters!
Prompt: ancient
Fandom: original characters (The Witch of November)
Character(s): Allie Sullivan, Charlie Davis
-----
“Do you want to see it again?” Charlie Davis excitedly asked his best friend. He held out his hand, palm up, under her chin.
Her nose wrinkling, Allie Sullivan backed away slightly from Charlie’s outstretched palm. “No.” She’d already seen it. Three times. How the heck many times did he expect her to look at it?
A pout turned down the corners of Charlie’s mouth for a fraction of a second. Then he covered, rolling his eyes at her before returning his attention to the object in his open palm. “Whatever. Your loss.”
“It’s a penny!” Allie cried in exasperation. Really, if you've see one penny, you’ve seen them all.
“It’s an ancient penny,” Charlie corrected her.
“It’s not ancient.”
“It’s from 1909, Allie. It’s older than our grandparents. That makes it ancient.”
Allie sighed. This happened every single time that Charlie found a new coin for his collection. For a couple of days, he’d stare at it and then put it in his pocket only to take it out and stare at it again. Then he’d drop the coin into the tin with the rest of them and then forget about the whole collection until he found another coin. Lather, rinse, repeat.
And since all his coins were found money--coins he found in the street or got back in change--most of them weren’t even worth much more than face value! Allie didn’t understand his fascination with the stupid things in the slightest.
Charlie, sensing Allie’s disdain, took her hand and dropped the penny into it. “Think about it like this. That little penny has been held in human hands for over a hundred years. It’s seen the sinking of the Titanic and the bombing of Pearl Harbor. It was minted sixty years before anyone ever set foot on the moon. This one little piece of metal has survived it all.”
A smile curled onto Allie’s lips despite herself. All right, maybe she could understand Charlie’s fascination with the old coins. If she thought about it, they were like mini history lessons that fit into the palm of her hand.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Problem: Recognized (I Think)
I know I've said this many, many times (more times than I want to count, really), but I think I've figured out part of my problem with my voice in The Witch of November: I feel like I'm being too verbose.
When I read through the first chapter, I get this, "Get on with it" reaction. Which, clearly, is not the reaction I want. I feel like it's too much exposition and not enough action, even though the exposition is kind of necessary.
Like before with my needless drama issue, I now have to figure out how to provide enough exposition so that my eventual readers will have some clue as to what's going on, but not enough to bog down the whole chapter.
Wish me luck.
When I read through the first chapter, I get this, "Get on with it" reaction. Which, clearly, is not the reaction I want. I feel like it's too much exposition and not enough action, even though the exposition is kind of necessary.
Like before with my needless drama issue, I now have to figure out how to provide enough exposition so that my eventual readers will have some clue as to what's going on, but not enough to bog down the whole chapter.
Wish me luck.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Writing Exercise #7
Legit, I wrote this in like, ten minutes. I have absolutely no idea where it came from.
Prompt: motorcycle
Fandom: Law & Order: SVU
Character(s): Olivia Benson, Casey Novak
-----
“You’ve been on the back of a motorcycle?” Olivia Benson asked, raising her eyebrows at Casey Novak.
“I think I’m offended that you look so shocked,” Casey snickered as she poured more wine into her glass. She motioned to top off Olivia’s glass, but the detective shook her head, indicating that she’d had enough for the moment.
“It’s not that I’m shocked--” Casey raised a single eyebrow at the detective, who smiled sheepishly. “All right, it’s that I’m shocked. When were you on the back of a motorcycle?”
“Right when Charlie first started getting sick,” she answered. When Olivia winced, Casey waved a dismissive hand. “No, this is actually a fun memory. Looking back in it, I suppose I should have realized something was going on, but at the time, it just seemed like he was being impulsive.”
“What’d he do?”
“He’d had his eye on a motorcycle for a couple of months, but I’d always managed to talk him out of buying it. One day, he came by my apartment, rang the buzzer, and told me to come outside. When I got downstairs, he was sitting on it; he’d bought it right before he came to see me. He told me to hop on, so I did. I mean, all we did was drive around the block a couple of times, but yes, I have been on the back of a motorcycle. So there.”
Olivia smiled. “Did you like it?”
“Not particularly,” Casey laughed. “It was fun that once, but he drove a little fast for my tastes. Maybe it would have been different if I’d been driving--you know me, always like to be in control--but I didn’t know how. Still don’t, actually.”
“Eh, you’re not missing much.”
Casey’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You know how to drive a motorcycle?”
Olivia gave the ADA a wide grin, snatched the bottle of wine from Casey’s desk, and topped off her glass. “Why, Counselor, I think I’m offended that you look so shocked.”
Prompt: motorcycle
Fandom: Law & Order: SVU
Character(s): Olivia Benson, Casey Novak
-----
“You’ve been on the back of a motorcycle?” Olivia Benson asked, raising her eyebrows at Casey Novak.
“I think I’m offended that you look so shocked,” Casey snickered as she poured more wine into her glass. She motioned to top off Olivia’s glass, but the detective shook her head, indicating that she’d had enough for the moment.
“It’s not that I’m shocked--” Casey raised a single eyebrow at the detective, who smiled sheepishly. “All right, it’s that I’m shocked. When were you on the back of a motorcycle?”
“Right when Charlie first started getting sick,” she answered. When Olivia winced, Casey waved a dismissive hand. “No, this is actually a fun memory. Looking back in it, I suppose I should have realized something was going on, but at the time, it just seemed like he was being impulsive.”
“What’d he do?”
“He’d had his eye on a motorcycle for a couple of months, but I’d always managed to talk him out of buying it. One day, he came by my apartment, rang the buzzer, and told me to come outside. When I got downstairs, he was sitting on it; he’d bought it right before he came to see me. He told me to hop on, so I did. I mean, all we did was drive around the block a couple of times, but yes, I have been on the back of a motorcycle. So there.”
Olivia smiled. “Did you like it?”
“Not particularly,” Casey laughed. “It was fun that once, but he drove a little fast for my tastes. Maybe it would have been different if I’d been driving--you know me, always like to be in control--but I didn’t know how. Still don’t, actually.”
“Eh, you’re not missing much.”
Casey’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You know how to drive a motorcycle?”
Olivia gave the ADA a wide grin, snatched the bottle of wine from Casey’s desk, and topped off her glass. “Why, Counselor, I think I’m offended that you look so shocked.”
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Writing Exercise #6
I took a write-break for a couple of weeks, partly due to the holidays and holiday prep but mostly because I just wasn't feeling the writing thing. I'm still not, to be honest, but I know I need to get back into it. Because the weeks will turn into months, and I have too much work still to do to allow the break to stretch into a lull.
So I now present the return of the writing exercises. I started this prompt two other times, in different fandoms, before settling on original characters. And I think this is the first exercise where I didn't use the word itself in the vignette:
Prompt: driven
Fandom: original characters (The Witch of November)
Character(s): Lillian Blackstone
-----
Damn it, it didn’t work. Again.
Lillian Blackstone had no idea why the ritual wasn’t working. Lillian knew it worked all the time for Millie. She’d been there right in Millie’s parlor when the other woman performed the ritual and talked to her Caleb. After learning of the trouble Lillian was having, Millie had even tried to contact Josiah for her, but she couldn’t find him, either.
Odd, that. Why was Caleb so readily available and Josiah was nowhere to be found? It didn’t seem fair, not at all. Poor Millie didn’t have any answers to give, but then Lillian didn’t expect her to. The other woman wasn’t an expert, after all. She’d only been doing this a couple of years herself.
The two of them had an appointment in two days in Portland with Constance, the medium who taught Millie how to contact Caleb. Hopefully she’d be able to find Josiah, and if not, she should at least be able to point Lillian towards someone who could.
Failing that, Lillian would just have to start researching on her own.
Millie had more than once warned against that course of action because the forces they were using could be unpredictable. Clearly the way around that was to invite the other woman to study with her, and they could research together. Millie had been expressing interest lately in trying to see what other events she could make happen. After all, a circle of candles was all it took to talk to her dead husband. Who knew what else they could do with some candles and herbs and incantations?
And as for Lillian, all she wanted was to know that her husband was okay. Was that too much to ask?
Clearly, the answer was yes.
Lillian sighed and blew out the candles, tears welling in her eyes. “Oh, Josiah,” she murmured, “where are you?”
So I now present the return of the writing exercises. I started this prompt two other times, in different fandoms, before settling on original characters. And I think this is the first exercise where I didn't use the word itself in the vignette:
Prompt: driven
Fandom: original characters (The Witch of November)
Character(s): Lillian Blackstone
-----
Damn it, it didn’t work. Again.
Lillian Blackstone had no idea why the ritual wasn’t working. Lillian knew it worked all the time for Millie. She’d been there right in Millie’s parlor when the other woman performed the ritual and talked to her Caleb. After learning of the trouble Lillian was having, Millie had even tried to contact Josiah for her, but she couldn’t find him, either.
Odd, that. Why was Caleb so readily available and Josiah was nowhere to be found? It didn’t seem fair, not at all. Poor Millie didn’t have any answers to give, but then Lillian didn’t expect her to. The other woman wasn’t an expert, after all. She’d only been doing this a couple of years herself.
The two of them had an appointment in two days in Portland with Constance, the medium who taught Millie how to contact Caleb. Hopefully she’d be able to find Josiah, and if not, she should at least be able to point Lillian towards someone who could.
Failing that, Lillian would just have to start researching on her own.
Millie had more than once warned against that course of action because the forces they were using could be unpredictable. Clearly the way around that was to invite the other woman to study with her, and they could research together. Millie had been expressing interest lately in trying to see what other events she could make happen. After all, a circle of candles was all it took to talk to her dead husband. Who knew what else they could do with some candles and herbs and incantations?
And as for Lillian, all she wanted was to know that her husband was okay. Was that too much to ask?
Clearly, the answer was yes.
Lillian sighed and blew out the candles, tears welling in her eyes. “Oh, Josiah,” she murmured, “where are you?”
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Writing Exercise #5
Why is it that I see nice, sweet prompts and turn them into something darky and angsty? And yet, when I see a dark, angsty prompt, I turn it into something sweet?
Yeah, I know I'm weird. You don't have to tell me.
We're jumping into Harper's Island for this week's exercise. Fair warning: this little vignette spoils the end. Do not click the jump if you haven't seen the whole thing and think you might want to someday.
Yeah, I know I'm weird. You don't have to tell me.
We're jumping into Harper's Island for this week's exercise. Fair warning: this little vignette spoils the end. Do not click the jump if you haven't seen the whole thing and think you might want to someday.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Maybe ...
My write goal for this weekend was to spend at least one uninterrupted hour on The Witch of November. To ensure that I would have no distractions whatsoever, I unplugged the router. That's right, no Twitter or Facebook to capture my attention!
So I took the laptop into my room, put Vertical Horizon's Burning the Days album on the CD player, and started Chapter One over again. Yes, I've written and rewritten Chapter One about seven zillion times (give or take), but this time, I think I might actually be happy with it.
I don't quite know what the difference is except for that I think I loosened up a little. I wasn't as focused on making it all sound perfect; I just wrote. I kind of took an example from the writing exercises and just went with it.
And this is some of what I came up with:
Allie Sullivan knew the second the Frisbee left Charlie Davis’s hand that she was in for a very long day. With one hand shielding her eyes from the late-June sunshine, she watched the neon yellow disc slice through the humid sea air like a hot knife through butter.
It soared high above her head and finally disappeared from view after clearing the tall wrought-iron fence surrounding the property all the way across the barely-two-lane side street. Allie spun on her heels and fixed Charlie with an exasperated glare.
“Oops!” The boy’s best I’m-so-cute-and-innocent smile brightened his face.
Allie heaved a sigh and rolled her eyes heavenward. Charlie hadn’t even managed to last ten minutes before doing something obnoxious and aggravating. She shouldn’t have been surprised, though; Obnoxious and Aggravating should have been the kid’s middle name.
Charlie Obnoxious and Aggravating Davis, she thought. Had a nice ring to it.
A mischievous glint lit the boy’s bright blue eyes, and any doubt Allie had as to exactly why her friend had whipped the Frisbee so hard disappeared. “I am so not going over there to get that,” she informed him.
Charlie raised a single eyebrow at her. He didn’t move, didn’t say a word, and Allie realized that he was simply waiting for to give in and head over to retrieve the Frisbee anyway. Well! Two could play the stubborn game, and she crossed her arms over her chest and returned his calm stare to prove it.
The two of them deadlocked, staring at each other, neither willing to let the other win. For quite possibly the first time in all of their eleven years, it was Charlie who relented, though he did so in typical Charlie fashion.
“You’re such a baby,” he snickered, playfully rolling his eyes at Allie. Then he brushed past her as he started across the street.
No, it's not perfect. But it's more "me" than what I had before, and I think I like it.
So I took the laptop into my room, put Vertical Horizon's Burning the Days album on the CD player, and started Chapter One over again. Yes, I've written and rewritten Chapter One about seven zillion times (give or take), but this time, I think I might actually be happy with it.
I don't quite know what the difference is except for that I think I loosened up a little. I wasn't as focused on making it all sound perfect; I just wrote. I kind of took an example from the writing exercises and just went with it.
And this is some of what I came up with:
Allie Sullivan knew the second the Frisbee left Charlie Davis’s hand that she was in for a very long day. With one hand shielding her eyes from the late-June sunshine, she watched the neon yellow disc slice through the humid sea air like a hot knife through butter.
It soared high above her head and finally disappeared from view after clearing the tall wrought-iron fence surrounding the property all the way across the barely-two-lane side street. Allie spun on her heels and fixed Charlie with an exasperated glare.
“Oops!” The boy’s best I’m-so-cute-and-innocent smile brightened his face.
Allie heaved a sigh and rolled her eyes heavenward. Charlie hadn’t even managed to last ten minutes before doing something obnoxious and aggravating. She shouldn’t have been surprised, though; Obnoxious and Aggravating should have been the kid’s middle name.
Charlie Obnoxious and Aggravating Davis, she thought. Had a nice ring to it.
A mischievous glint lit the boy’s bright blue eyes, and any doubt Allie had as to exactly why her friend had whipped the Frisbee so hard disappeared. “I am so not going over there to get that,” she informed him.
Charlie raised a single eyebrow at her. He didn’t move, didn’t say a word, and Allie realized that he was simply waiting for to give in and head over to retrieve the Frisbee anyway. Well! Two could play the stubborn game, and she crossed her arms over her chest and returned his calm stare to prove it.
The two of them deadlocked, staring at each other, neither willing to let the other win. For quite possibly the first time in all of their eleven years, it was Charlie who relented, though he did so in typical Charlie fashion.
“You’re such a baby,” he snickered, playfully rolling his eyes at Allie. Then he brushed past her as he started across the street.
No, it's not perfect. But it's more "me" than what I had before, and I think I like it.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Writing Exercise #4
First exercise using original characters! This is a mentioned but never written vignette between Allie and Charlie from The Witch of November:
Prompt: shadows
Fandom: original characters (The Witch of November)
Character(s): Allie Sullivan, Charlie Davis
-----
“Do we really have to?” Allie Sullivan asked as Charlie Davis turned his bike down Lancaster Road. She knew she was whining, but she didn’t care.
“You don’t have to do anything,” Charlie returned over his shoulder, the implication of course being that she could always go home if she was just going to sulk.
As they pulled their bikes into the vacant lot where Charlie had decided they needed to play this summer, Allie glanced at the old, abandoned house across the street. She hated that house. Feared it, really, and for good reason: everyone in the town of November, Maine said that house was haunted.
Charlie thought all the stories about the house being haunted were lame, though, and constantly told Allie that she was being kind of a wimp. As a matter of fact, this sudden insistence of his that they needed to play across from the old house was his way of getting his best friend to face her fears.
The kids hopped off their bikes and unceremoniously dumped them in the sand. As Charlie looked for rocks he could use to mark the bases for their game of Wiffle ball, Allie fearfully raised her eyes to the house.
And then she saw it. A dark shadow filled the old master bedroom window. The shadow, though small, was person-shaped, and whoever it was appeared to be staring right down at her and Charlie. She tried to call out to Charlie but her voice came out in a small, uncertain whisper.
“Charlie!” she managed to croak a moment later. “Charlie, look at the window!”
“What window?” Charlie asked distractedly.
“The bedroom window.” She glanced over at Charlie to try to capture his attention. By the time she looked back at the house, the figure had vanished.
“I don’t see anything,” Charlie said, rolling his eyes. “You’re imagining things.”
Allie opened her mouth to argue that there was something there, but she knew it would have been pointless. Besides, it didn’t matter what Charlie thought anymore. She now had unequivocal proof that the old Blackstone house was haunted: she’d just seen the ghost.
Prompt: shadows
Fandom: original characters (The Witch of November)
Character(s): Allie Sullivan, Charlie Davis
-----
“Do we really have to?” Allie Sullivan asked as Charlie Davis turned his bike down Lancaster Road. She knew she was whining, but she didn’t care.
“You don’t have to do anything,” Charlie returned over his shoulder, the implication of course being that she could always go home if she was just going to sulk.
As they pulled their bikes into the vacant lot where Charlie had decided they needed to play this summer, Allie glanced at the old, abandoned house across the street. She hated that house. Feared it, really, and for good reason: everyone in the town of November, Maine said that house was haunted.
Charlie thought all the stories about the house being haunted were lame, though, and constantly told Allie that she was being kind of a wimp. As a matter of fact, this sudden insistence of his that they needed to play across from the old house was his way of getting his best friend to face her fears.
The kids hopped off their bikes and unceremoniously dumped them in the sand. As Charlie looked for rocks he could use to mark the bases for their game of Wiffle ball, Allie fearfully raised her eyes to the house.
And then she saw it. A dark shadow filled the old master bedroom window. The shadow, though small, was person-shaped, and whoever it was appeared to be staring right down at her and Charlie. She tried to call out to Charlie but her voice came out in a small, uncertain whisper.
“Charlie!” she managed to croak a moment later. “Charlie, look at the window!”
“What window?” Charlie asked distractedly.
“The bedroom window.” She glanced over at Charlie to try to capture his attention. By the time she looked back at the house, the figure had vanished.
“I don’t see anything,” Charlie said, rolling his eyes. “You’re imagining things.”
Allie opened her mouth to argue that there was something there, but she knew it would have been pointless. Besides, it didn’t matter what Charlie thought anymore. She now had unequivocal proof that the old Blackstone house was haunted: she’d just seen the ghost.
Sunday, November 07, 2010
Writing Exercise #3
These exercises have been both helpful and minorly frustrating.
Helpful, because they do get the juices flowing. It's liberating to just write and not worry about it. Not agonize over "Does this sound good?" and "How can I punch this up?" and "Will I be able to sell this eventually?" They're what I like most about writing: the creation. Taking one word and creating a little vignette out of it.
But they've also been frustrating because they are just flowing. They're coming and they're coming easy, which makes the difficulties I'm still having with The Witch of November all the more aggravating. Don't get me wrong, I think it's getting better, but it's not 100% perfect, and for a perfectionist? Yeah, you can imagine the irritation, heh.
Anywho. Jumping into the SVU-verse for tonight's exercise:
Prompt: warmth
Fandom: Law & Order: SVU (set in the early part of season 5)
Character(s): Casey Novak, Olivia Benson
-----
A deep shiver ran down Casey Novak’s spine. She didn’t think she’d ever feel warm again.
It was all too much. She hadn’t asked for this, and she certainly didn’t want it. Didn’t want to spend her days in a living nightmare, down in the trenches, chasing after the depraved human beings that made up this new world in which she found herself.
She poured a generous amount of whiskey from a newly purchased bottle into her coffee mug. She didn’t like whiskey very much and certainly didn’t like to drink her hard liquor straight, but she needed something to calm her shivering limbs and the dull ache in her head.
“Forgive me if I’m being forward,” said a soft voice from her office door, “but you don’t seem like the drowning-your-sorrows type.”
Casey looked up to find Olivia Benson standing just outside the open door, a gentle and friendly smile on her face. “I’m not,” she admitted.
“That’s a very dangerous habit to start, Counselor.” The detective crossed the threshold and eased down onto the leather sofa underneath Casey’s office window. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”
As a matter of fact, she didn’t. Baring her soul was not something that Casey did easily, and she and Olivia had barely been working together three weeks. Plus the detectives hadn’t exactly been the friendliest to her, and Olivia especially had had moments of downright hostility. But as she met the detective’s eyes, the words tumbled from her mouth, unbidden: “I can’t do this.”
Olivia raised a single eyebrow, waiting for the young attorney to continue.
“I … I’m sure you heard, I came here from White Collar.”
The detective’s eyes reflected a sudden understanding. “Kind of a culture shock, huh?”
That? Was putting it mildly. “I mean, the worst quality in people I’m used to seeing is greed. The worst I saw in terms of crime scenes? Horrible, inefficient filing systems. This …” She indicated an open file folder on her desk, lurid photos from a rape kit done on a nine-year-old staring up at her. “This is a whole new level of … I don’t even know.”
For a long moment, Olivia didn’t say a word, seeming to consider her response, trying to decide what was best for the situation. In the end, she stood and grasped Casey’s jacket off the coat hook. “Come on,” she said, tossing the jacket to the ADA.
“Where are we going?” Casey asked, her brow furrowing in confusion and just a touch of apprehension.
“We’re going to get some coffee,” the detective answered, that gentle smile returning to her face, “and we’re going to talk. It’ll be a lot more productive than losing yourself in a bottle of whiskey alone in your office.”
Though Casey was unsure about opening up even more to the detective, she had to admit that Olivia had a reasonable point. So she shrugged on her jacket and followed Olivia out of her office.
As they walked down the hall, Olivia slipped her arm around Casey’s shoulders and squeezed, then let her go. In that moment, the shivering stopped, and in the next, Casey believed that the warmth she needed could come from something as simple as having a cup of coffee with a new friend
Helpful, because they do get the juices flowing. It's liberating to just write and not worry about it. Not agonize over "Does this sound good?" and "How can I punch this up?" and "Will I be able to sell this eventually?" They're what I like most about writing: the creation. Taking one word and creating a little vignette out of it.
But they've also been frustrating because they are just flowing. They're coming and they're coming easy, which makes the difficulties I'm still having with The Witch of November all the more aggravating. Don't get me wrong, I think it's getting better, but it's not 100% perfect, and for a perfectionist? Yeah, you can imagine the irritation, heh.
Anywho. Jumping into the SVU-verse for tonight's exercise:
Prompt: warmth
Fandom: Law & Order: SVU (set in the early part of season 5)
Character(s): Casey Novak, Olivia Benson
-----
A deep shiver ran down Casey Novak’s spine. She didn’t think she’d ever feel warm again.
It was all too much. She hadn’t asked for this, and she certainly didn’t want it. Didn’t want to spend her days in a living nightmare, down in the trenches, chasing after the depraved human beings that made up this new world in which she found herself.
She poured a generous amount of whiskey from a newly purchased bottle into her coffee mug. She didn’t like whiskey very much and certainly didn’t like to drink her hard liquor straight, but she needed something to calm her shivering limbs and the dull ache in her head.
“Forgive me if I’m being forward,” said a soft voice from her office door, “but you don’t seem like the drowning-your-sorrows type.”
Casey looked up to find Olivia Benson standing just outside the open door, a gentle and friendly smile on her face. “I’m not,” she admitted.
“That’s a very dangerous habit to start, Counselor.” The detective crossed the threshold and eased down onto the leather sofa underneath Casey’s office window. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”
As a matter of fact, she didn’t. Baring her soul was not something that Casey did easily, and she and Olivia had barely been working together three weeks. Plus the detectives hadn’t exactly been the friendliest to her, and Olivia especially had had moments of downright hostility. But as she met the detective’s eyes, the words tumbled from her mouth, unbidden: “I can’t do this.”
Olivia raised a single eyebrow, waiting for the young attorney to continue.
“I … I’m sure you heard, I came here from White Collar.”
The detective’s eyes reflected a sudden understanding. “Kind of a culture shock, huh?”
That? Was putting it mildly. “I mean, the worst quality in people I’m used to seeing is greed. The worst I saw in terms of crime scenes? Horrible, inefficient filing systems. This …” She indicated an open file folder on her desk, lurid photos from a rape kit done on a nine-year-old staring up at her. “This is a whole new level of … I don’t even know.”
For a long moment, Olivia didn’t say a word, seeming to consider her response, trying to decide what was best for the situation. In the end, she stood and grasped Casey’s jacket off the coat hook. “Come on,” she said, tossing the jacket to the ADA.
“Where are we going?” Casey asked, her brow furrowing in confusion and just a touch of apprehension.
“We’re going to get some coffee,” the detective answered, that gentle smile returning to her face, “and we’re going to talk. It’ll be a lot more productive than losing yourself in a bottle of whiskey alone in your office.”
Though Casey was unsure about opening up even more to the detective, she had to admit that Olivia had a reasonable point. So she shrugged on her jacket and followed Olivia out of her office.
As they walked down the hall, Olivia slipped her arm around Casey’s shoulders and squeezed, then let her go. In that moment, the shivering stopped, and in the next, Casey believed that the warmth she needed could come from something as simple as having a cup of coffee with a new friend
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Writing Exercise #2
A timely little exercise tonight. Happy Halloween, everyone!
Prompt: coma
Fandom: Supernatural
Character(s): Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester
Set pre-series; Dean is twelve, Sam is eight.
-----
Sam Winchester watched with a half-amused, half-exasperated expression as his older brother Dean tore into their trick-or-treat bags with a fervor most kids reserved for Christmas morning. “Dude, we made a killing tonight,” Dean exclaimed as he began separating the candy bars--his favorite--from the rest of the individually-wrapped pieces of hard candy and little packets of candy corn.
“Whatever,” Sam muttered as he began pulling off the accents to his costume. Dean had dressed him up as a shadow wraith, which turned out to be a super-lame idea because everyone thought, due to Sam’s all-black outfit, that he was going as a ninja. For his part, Dean had gone out as a werewolf. Everyone knew immediately what he was.
“We’re not doing this next year, Dean,” Sam argued, yanking off his black hoodie, revealing the black T-shirt underneath.
“What are you talking about?” Dean asked, looking up at his little brother in surprise.
“I mean I’m done with the dressing up and knocking on doors.”
“But … Sam.” Dean gestured at the piles of candy surrounding him as if he couldn’t understand why someone would willingly pass up this opportunity. “The whole point of tonight is to get ourselves enough free candy to put ourselves into a sugar coma for the next week.”
“But it’s dumb, and I hate it.”
Dean blinked hard. Next year he would be thirteen, too old to go out trick-or-treating on his own. He’d been counting on being able to use the excuse of having to take Sam around for the next couple of years, at least. He opened his mouth to argue but he could tell just from the look on his little brother’s face that he meant business.
So instead he tossed a Milky Way, Sam’s favorite, to his brother. “We’ll talk about it next year. Right now? It’s candy-coma time.”
Sam held his determined expression for just a moment before tearing into the Milky Way, plopping down next his brother, and eagerly digging in.
Prompt: coma
Fandom: Supernatural
Character(s): Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester
Set pre-series; Dean is twelve, Sam is eight.
-----
Sam Winchester watched with a half-amused, half-exasperated expression as his older brother Dean tore into their trick-or-treat bags with a fervor most kids reserved for Christmas morning. “Dude, we made a killing tonight,” Dean exclaimed as he began separating the candy bars--his favorite--from the rest of the individually-wrapped pieces of hard candy and little packets of candy corn.
“Whatever,” Sam muttered as he began pulling off the accents to his costume. Dean had dressed him up as a shadow wraith, which turned out to be a super-lame idea because everyone thought, due to Sam’s all-black outfit, that he was going as a ninja. For his part, Dean had gone out as a werewolf. Everyone knew immediately what he was.
“We’re not doing this next year, Dean,” Sam argued, yanking off his black hoodie, revealing the black T-shirt underneath.
“What are you talking about?” Dean asked, looking up at his little brother in surprise.
“I mean I’m done with the dressing up and knocking on doors.”
“But … Sam.” Dean gestured at the piles of candy surrounding him as if he couldn’t understand why someone would willingly pass up this opportunity. “The whole point of tonight is to get ourselves enough free candy to put ourselves into a sugar coma for the next week.”
“But it’s dumb, and I hate it.”
Dean blinked hard. Next year he would be thirteen, too old to go out trick-or-treating on his own. He’d been counting on being able to use the excuse of having to take Sam around for the next couple of years, at least. He opened his mouth to argue but he could tell just from the look on his little brother’s face that he meant business.
So instead he tossed a Milky Way, Sam’s favorite, to his brother. “We’ll talk about it next year. Right now? It’s candy-coma time.”
Sam held his determined expression for just a moment before tearing into the Milky Way, plopping down next his brother, and eagerly digging in.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Writing Exercise #1
In order to help get my creative juices flowing a little bit, I've decided to do some writing exercises using one-word prompts, which I'm getting here and here. The rules, as I've set them up for myself, are as follows:
-Fanfic and original characters are both fair game
-No agonizing over it. This includes: no worrying about word count, no editing the hell out of it, no fiddling with it.
Basically, the idea is just to write whatever pops into my head and post it. I'm hoping this will help me get back in touch with my style and normal voice.
Anywho. Here is the result of the first exercise, using a prompt given to me via Facebook:
Prompt: windows
Fandom: Supernatural
Character(s): Sam Winchester
Set during Season 1, Episode 5: “Bloody Mary”
-----
It was said that mirrors were the windows into the soul, that mirrors provided the one true reflection of yourself. As a matter of fact, Sam had told Dean something similar just a few hours ago. It had to be true, though, because Sam hated what he saw in the mirror.
The figure staring back at him was something other than human. A freak who got dreams that told the future. A scared little boy who had ignored those dreams, refused to believe them. Refused to believe that Jessica would meet the same fate as his mother. Tried to convince himself that the nightmares were stress-related.
But deep down, he knew the truth, and he’d let her die. All because he’d been too afraid to lose control, too afraid to admit that the life he’d fled was catching up with him. He’d done nothing to stop it, nothing to warn her. And he’d left her alone.
Out of all his transgressions, leaving her alone was the one for which he’d never forgive himself.
Never.
Mirrors were definitely the windows into the soul. The one thing that never lied, that always showed you the truth.
Sam was ready. He shifted the crowbar in his hand, and began to chant: “Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary …” He paused just a moment before uttering the final, “Bloody Mary.”
-Fanfic and original characters are both fair game
-No agonizing over it. This includes: no worrying about word count, no editing the hell out of it, no fiddling with it.
Basically, the idea is just to write whatever pops into my head and post it. I'm hoping this will help me get back in touch with my style and normal voice.
Anywho. Here is the result of the first exercise, using a prompt given to me via Facebook:
Prompt: windows
Fandom: Supernatural
Character(s): Sam Winchester
Set during Season 1, Episode 5: “Bloody Mary”
-----
It was said that mirrors were the windows into the soul, that mirrors provided the one true reflection of yourself. As a matter of fact, Sam had told Dean something similar just a few hours ago. It had to be true, though, because Sam hated what he saw in the mirror.
The figure staring back at him was something other than human. A freak who got dreams that told the future. A scared little boy who had ignored those dreams, refused to believe them. Refused to believe that Jessica would meet the same fate as his mother. Tried to convince himself that the nightmares were stress-related.
But deep down, he knew the truth, and he’d let her die. All because he’d been too afraid to lose control, too afraid to admit that the life he’d fled was catching up with him. He’d done nothing to stop it, nothing to warn her. And he’d left her alone.
Out of all his transgressions, leaving her alone was the one for which he’d never forgive himself.
Never.
Mirrors were definitely the windows into the soul. The one thing that never lied, that always showed you the truth.
Sam was ready. He shifted the crowbar in his hand, and began to chant: “Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary …” He paused just a moment before uttering the final, “Bloody Mary.”
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Writer's Block ... Of a Sort
I think it's time to admit that I have writer's block.
Well, sort of. I've mentioned before that I've only had one real case of writer's block where I just could not write a single thing, and that the block lasted close to two years. I'm not at that point right now. Where I am right now is a kind of burnout.
I've written and rewritten and reworded my first chapter so many times that I've honestly lost count. Nothing's coming out the way I want. It's not bad, per se, just ... not what I want.
I can't keep writing it over and over to make it come out the way I want. Especially since I don't exactly know what it is that I want. I just know that what I have now isn't it.
What do I usually do in cases like this is work on something else. Something new, maybe, just to spend time on something different in an effort to get the creative juices flowing again. I don't have any new plot ideas at the moment, so I'm embarking on a rewrite project.
Here's hoping that by the time I'm done with the rewrite, things will flow better in my main project.
Well, sort of. I've mentioned before that I've only had one real case of writer's block where I just could not write a single thing, and that the block lasted close to two years. I'm not at that point right now. Where I am right now is a kind of burnout.
I've written and rewritten and reworded my first chapter so many times that I've honestly lost count. Nothing's coming out the way I want. It's not bad, per se, just ... not what I want.
I can't keep writing it over and over to make it come out the way I want. Especially since I don't exactly know what it is that I want. I just know that what I have now isn't it.
What do I usually do in cases like this is work on something else. Something new, maybe, just to spend time on something different in an effort to get the creative juices flowing again. I don't have any new plot ideas at the moment, so I'm embarking on a rewrite project.
Here's hoping that by the time I'm done with the rewrite, things will flow better in my main project.
Saturday, October 02, 2010
Self-Deprecating Notes
Since I am still massively unhappy with the voice in The Witch of November, I'm trying something I should have tried many months ago: I'm starting over. Not completely, mind you, (again, I have not lost complete control of my faculties) but enough that I'm not trying to simply reword what I have to make it sound better. I'm actually rewriting the damn thing line by line, much the way I do for a second draft.
A good chunk of my problem right now is getting back to the heart of my style. In trying to find that perfect voice I had in my head but could never make work on paper, I must have reworded things a hundred times. And the more I reworded it, trying to make it sound "cute" or "punchy" or "witty," the less it sounded like ... me.
I recognized that a while back but I didn't stop fiddling and now it doesn't sound like me at all. It's okay, I guess. Some parts are a little clunky, and some parts are a little trying-too-hard; those kinds of fixes are easy once you recognize them. But the problem I have with it now is I don't see me in the writing at all.
It was in trying to fix the mess I've made of my first few chapters that I came to realize a few things:
1) There is such a thing as using too many fragments. I tend to use fragments for emphasis or to give the writing a more conversational tone. However, using too many fragments one after another or in conjunction with each other makes the writing read choppy and look sloppy. Oops!
2) I'm not remarkably witty. Or consistently funny. In trying to make the writing wittier than I actually am, it winds up smacking of trying way too hard. It's better when I just let the humor come when I feel it should rather than trying to inject some kind of droll remark in every line.
3) I have a bad habit of explaining things forty-seven ways from Sunday. I started writing first drafts this way because I had the opposite tendency at first: I'd just write whatever popped into my head and by the time revisions rolled around, I'd reach sections where I had absolutely no idea what I meant. So now I explain everything, mainly so when I get back to that section in edits, I'll have some idea what I'm talking about. The result is exposition in the narrative, the dialogue, and in the inner monologue. Which is a lot of freakin' exposition. Oy.
4) I tend to be very all or nothing. My characters are eleven, so I have it in my head that the narrative has to be in kid-voice. I'm a long way from eleven, so kid-voice is hard to maintain over the course of a novel. As a matter of fact, the only time in recent memory that I completed a project in kid-voice was a 13,500-word Supernatural fic called "Corpse Fire" (oddly, one of my favorites, if it's cool to have favorites of your own work.) My usual style is a tad more adult. Why it can't be okay in my head for me to write the narrative in my normal style and leave the kid-voice for the dialogue, I can't tell you.
5) I tend to write a lot in the passive voice. You know, the "The floor was littered with debris" construction rather than "Debris littered the floor." Or "He was sitting on the sofa" instead of "He sat on the sofa." Again, oops!
Also, I start sentences with "But" and "And" a lot. And while that's okay sometimes (see what I did there, did ya?), it's totally not cool all the time.
A good chunk of my problem right now is getting back to the heart of my style. In trying to find that perfect voice I had in my head but could never make work on paper, I must have reworded things a hundred times. And the more I reworded it, trying to make it sound "cute" or "punchy" or "witty," the less it sounded like ... me.
I recognized that a while back but I didn't stop fiddling and now it doesn't sound like me at all. It's okay, I guess. Some parts are a little clunky, and some parts are a little trying-too-hard; those kinds of fixes are easy once you recognize them. But the problem I have with it now is I don't see me in the writing at all.
It was in trying to fix the mess I've made of my first few chapters that I came to realize a few things:
1) There is such a thing as using too many fragments. I tend to use fragments for emphasis or to give the writing a more conversational tone. However, using too many fragments one after another or in conjunction with each other makes the writing read choppy and look sloppy. Oops!
2) I'm not remarkably witty. Or consistently funny. In trying to make the writing wittier than I actually am, it winds up smacking of trying way too hard. It's better when I just let the humor come when I feel it should rather than trying to inject some kind of droll remark in every line.
3) I have a bad habit of explaining things forty-seven ways from Sunday. I started writing first drafts this way because I had the opposite tendency at first: I'd just write whatever popped into my head and by the time revisions rolled around, I'd reach sections where I had absolutely no idea what I meant. So now I explain everything, mainly so when I get back to that section in edits, I'll have some idea what I'm talking about. The result is exposition in the narrative, the dialogue, and in the inner monologue. Which is a lot of freakin' exposition. Oy.
4) I tend to be very all or nothing. My characters are eleven, so I have it in my head that the narrative has to be in kid-voice. I'm a long way from eleven, so kid-voice is hard to maintain over the course of a novel. As a matter of fact, the only time in recent memory that I completed a project in kid-voice was a 13,500-word Supernatural fic called "Corpse Fire" (oddly, one of my favorites, if it's cool to have favorites of your own work.) My usual style is a tad more adult. Why it can't be okay in my head for me to write the narrative in my normal style and leave the kid-voice for the dialogue, I can't tell you.
5) I tend to write a lot in the passive voice. You know, the "The floor was littered with debris" construction rather than "Debris littered the floor." Or "He was sitting on the sofa" instead of "He sat on the sofa." Again, oops!
Also, I start sentences with "But" and "And" a lot. And while that's okay sometimes (see what I did there, did ya?), it's totally not cool all the time.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Survey Time ... Again.
Hey look! Have another survey that I found here, mostly because I'm still stuck on the voice in The Witch of November and I'm about ready to delete the whole thing and just start over.
(Okay, not really. I have not lost complete control of my faculties. Frustration typically leads me to hyperbole. ;))
(Okay, not really. I have not lost complete control of my faculties. Frustration typically leads me to hyperbole. ;))
Friday, August 27, 2010
On Fanfic, and Why It's Harder Than You Think
Writing fanfiction is one of those little hobbies that people are kind of embarrassed to admit to having. I have to admit that I'm sometimes a little sheepish when people find out that I spent time writing the further adventures of the characters from, say, Charmed or Supernatural. And we're talking a lot of time here, people, not just a few hours.
But you know what I'm going to do right now? Link you to my ff.net profile. Though it's nowhere near everything I've done, that archive goes back to 2001. (If you feel the need to go poking through the stories, please be kind about the older stuff!)
And you know why I'm going to do that? Because I'm tired of being embarrassed by it. Yes, I understand why some people would consider writing fanfiction somehow less than creating something from scratch, using brand-new characters and places. But writing fanfiction is a lot harder than you think.
I jumped on the fanfic train for realsies way back in the day with Sports Night. I am the first to admit that my stories were kind of terrible. Very simplistic, not a lot of punch with the language and verbage, and I totally injected myself and my friends into them. (Yes, I wrote Mary Sues! For shame!)
But you know what fanfic is good for? Practice. You get to figure out how to create and pace a short story without having to worry about characters and setting. You don't have to create the whole world the characters are in, because it's already been done for you.
Ah, and there's the rub: these characters that you're writing? You have to be true to them. These are characters that millions of people know and love/hate/tolerate. While it's true that some fanfic writers will write anything and some fanfic readers will read anything, the good fanfic writers are the ones who can write the characters in such a way that it reads like the characters you see on TV.
And that can be freakin' hard. There are certain characters who come very easily to me. Prue Halliwell from Charmed, for example, comes so ridiculously easy that it's kind of frightening. I start writing her and it all just flows, which makes everything else fall into place.
Other characters that come super-easy, though not as easy as Prue? Casey Novak (SVU) and Abby Mills (Harper's Island). Sam Winchester (Supernatural), to an extent. He's easier for me than Dean.
But there are some characters who just don't come easily at all, and every single thing they do or say is a struggle. John Winchester from Supernatural is the hardest fanfic character I've ever written. We didn't see him enough for me to get a clear enough read on him to write him properly, and the opinions within the fandom are so widespread that there's no clear fan consensus on him either.
And then there's Phoebe Halliwell from Charmed, whom I don't like writing simply because I don't like her. It's hard to put aside my own feelings on the character in order to write her favorably, even though I know I have to. I mean, I can't make her be a twit just because I don't like her (no matter how much I may want to, hee).
So why are people so embarrassed to admit they write fanfiction? After all, those tie-in books you see all the time? Published fanfic, my friends. Licensed fanfic, sure, but fanfic nonetheless. The only difference is those authors are being paid and the writers on the internet are not.
Part of it, I think, is the view that fanfic is not "real" writing. Which I completely disagree with ... any writing is real writing. If any of y'all have a blog? Congratulations, you're a writer. Sometimes plotbunnies for fics come from a line or a moment or a scene in the source material, but all fanfic is a product of the fic author's imagination. It's taking a certain direction that the show never did, it's delving into the characters' heads/backstories/relationships/what have you in a way the show never told us, it's creating an adventure for the characters that we never saw. Why should a fic be considered something less just because the fic author is using characters already in play?
And the other part of it is very few people want to admit that they spend their free time writing stories about characters on a TV show. But hey, every writer has to start somewhere, and if it helps you to start out in a world that's already created for you, go for it! You'll never know what will give you the bright idea for your novel until you start writing.
As I said before, The Witch of November started out as a fanfic. And now it's a (granted, nowhere-near-completed) novel with a word count of 84,382.
So yeah, I'm a fanfic writer, and I'm rather proud of it.
But you know what I'm going to do right now? Link you to my ff.net profile. Though it's nowhere near everything I've done, that archive goes back to 2001. (If you feel the need to go poking through the stories, please be kind about the older stuff!)
And you know why I'm going to do that? Because I'm tired of being embarrassed by it. Yes, I understand why some people would consider writing fanfiction somehow less than creating something from scratch, using brand-new characters and places. But writing fanfiction is a lot harder than you think.
I jumped on the fanfic train for realsies way back in the day with Sports Night. I am the first to admit that my stories were kind of terrible. Very simplistic, not a lot of punch with the language and verbage, and I totally injected myself and my friends into them. (Yes, I wrote Mary Sues! For shame!)
But you know what fanfic is good for? Practice. You get to figure out how to create and pace a short story without having to worry about characters and setting. You don't have to create the whole world the characters are in, because it's already been done for you.
Ah, and there's the rub: these characters that you're writing? You have to be true to them. These are characters that millions of people know and love/hate/tolerate. While it's true that some fanfic writers will write anything and some fanfic readers will read anything, the good fanfic writers are the ones who can write the characters in such a way that it reads like the characters you see on TV.
And that can be freakin' hard. There are certain characters who come very easily to me. Prue Halliwell from Charmed, for example, comes so ridiculously easy that it's kind of frightening. I start writing her and it all just flows, which makes everything else fall into place.
Other characters that come super-easy, though not as easy as Prue? Casey Novak (SVU) and Abby Mills (Harper's Island). Sam Winchester (Supernatural), to an extent. He's easier for me than Dean.
But there are some characters who just don't come easily at all, and every single thing they do or say is a struggle. John Winchester from Supernatural is the hardest fanfic character I've ever written. We didn't see him enough for me to get a clear enough read on him to write him properly, and the opinions within the fandom are so widespread that there's no clear fan consensus on him either.
And then there's Phoebe Halliwell from Charmed, whom I don't like writing simply because I don't like her. It's hard to put aside my own feelings on the character in order to write her favorably, even though I know I have to. I mean, I can't make her be a twit just because I don't like her (no matter how much I may want to, hee).
So why are people so embarrassed to admit they write fanfiction? After all, those tie-in books you see all the time? Published fanfic, my friends. Licensed fanfic, sure, but fanfic nonetheless. The only difference is those authors are being paid and the writers on the internet are not.
Part of it, I think, is the view that fanfic is not "real" writing. Which I completely disagree with ... any writing is real writing. If any of y'all have a blog? Congratulations, you're a writer. Sometimes plotbunnies for fics come from a line or a moment or a scene in the source material, but all fanfic is a product of the fic author's imagination. It's taking a certain direction that the show never did, it's delving into the characters' heads/backstories/relationships/what have you in a way the show never told us, it's creating an adventure for the characters that we never saw. Why should a fic be considered something less just because the fic author is using characters already in play?
And the other part of it is very few people want to admit that they spend their free time writing stories about characters on a TV show. But hey, every writer has to start somewhere, and if it helps you to start out in a world that's already created for you, go for it! You'll never know what will give you the bright idea for your novel until you start writing.
As I said before, The Witch of November started out as a fanfic. And now it's a (granted, nowhere-near-completed) novel with a word count of 84,382.
So yeah, I'm a fanfic writer, and I'm rather proud of it.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
And Another One!
Since any actual content I could write in this blog right now would be more "Edits revising blah blah blah editscakes," I'm going to do another survey! Really, though, these things are good at giving me things to talk about.
Saturday, August 07, 2010
Hey Look, a Survey!
This meme has been making the rounds on LiveJournal but I figured it was a perfect post for this blog. 29 questions, all about writing? Hell yes!
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