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Work In Progress

07 Jan

WIPI’ve been reading a lot of blog posts about resolutions and goals for 2014. There are a lot of very ambitious goals out there. I hope everyone accomplishes what they set out to do. For me, I created an action plan. Because, that’s what I do. I’m a contingency planner. My goal(s) are simple.

Goal Number 1: Complete the SFD of current WIP.

Goal Number 2: Refer to Goal Number 1

Goal Number 3: When Goal Number 1 tasks are completed, Catch up on other writing.

There are a variety of tasks that go with these goals which I will not go into here. However, if for some reason, you don’t see a post from me for a while, it’s probably because I’m working on Goal Number 1. If you don’t see steady progress on my WIP meter (See right widget), you have my permission to give me a swift kick in the behind.

Speaking of WIP. How do you feel about writers posting excerpts of their WIPs on their blogs? I can see posting snippets from a published work to entice readers to purchase the whole story. However, WIP by definition is unfinished. What is the purpose of posting part of a ‘shitty first draft’ or even a revised piece?

Now some of you that follow this blog will remember that about this time last year I posted a handful of flash fiction pieces. They have since been revised to form the beginning of my current WIP. However, at the time, they were simply an experiment. My decision to turn them into a larger work has made me reconsider whether or not posting any of the story was a good idea.Would doing so jeopardize any chance of having the piece published traditionally? I don’t know.

Personally, I do read some excerpts, if they are short. I’m always looking for new reads and it gives me a barometer as to what other writers are doing. It has also exposed me to other genres that I might not otherwise have given a second look. For example: My blogging friend Jade, from Jade’s Jungle, has been pestering me to read some romance novels. Even though I read an excerpt from one of her books, I have been somewhat resistant. However, a while back, I won a copy of a romance novel “High” by Corey MP that has finally made its way to the top of my reading rotation.

But, getting back to the question at hand. Is it a good practice to post part of your WIP? There have been books written as a series of blogs and even as a series of tweets! There are books out there that explain the correct way to ‘blog your book’.  Perhaps the issues around doing this are a figment of my imagination. Weigh in on this please. I’d like to know how you feel about it.

Very Important NOTE!  My friend, Jade has started a new blog, Autism’s Child, relating to her family coping with a severely disabled child. Jade writes from her heart so, I believe it will be a very interesting, informational, spiritual, moving and emotional ride. I’m sure those of you who have developmentally disabled children will find it cathartic. I urge all of you who follow me to take a look at it whether you have children or not.

 
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Posted by on January 7, 2014 in Thoughts on Writing

 

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Who’s driving this crazy thing?

16 Jul

What is this whole process of storytelling? Sometimes we get so caught up in character arcs, plot points storyboarding, outlines vs pantsing, and God knows what else, that we forget what makes up a story and how to tell one. Sure all of the volumes on writing craft will take you down into the weeds of writing and break down every detail of the mechanics involved. However, sometimes it’s all those details that get in the way of telling a good story. I know a few writers who are so worried about the details that they become “Blocked”. We will discuss writers block in another post so I’m not going down that dark hole today.

Let me start by telling you a story:

A group of writers were sitting on a patio, drinking their tea and eating cucumber sandwiches. Being the novice among the group, I asked the question, “What do you need to tell a good story?” They all took another bite of their sandwiches and then sipped their tea. Thoughtfully, One of the more successful of the group announced that, “All you need, to tell a story, is POV and ask the question, ‘What happens next?'” His comment was followed by much head nodding and quiet mumblings of, “Yea, verily, yea.” by the rest of the successful writers present. I took this pearl of wisdom and pondered it for some time. It now seems to me to be sage advice.

Point of View (POV). Who is telling the story? This should be the most interesting person in the story. In my example above, the most interesting person is Me! 🙂 Notice I said most interesting and not most successful. The POV does not need to be from the main character. The two most used POVs are first person and third person. Third person can be further broken down to: close (intimate) view, or omniscient. Whole books have been written on these POVs so I will not go too deep here. The key thing to remember is that the POV dictates how much information can be given the reader and in what form that information will be delivered, narrative, dialogue, actions, etc.

Once you know who is telling the story, the thing that drives the story is the question, “What happens next?” Those of you who routinely write flash fiction should be very experienced with this question. All flash fiction and most writing exercises start with a prompt. For example: “I looked out the window of the airplane and …”. The writer then asks the question what happens next and writes a few sentences. Then, what happens next? Writer, writes a few more sentences and so on until the story ends or you reach so many pages that you have to make it a series. This is how stories are made.

A subset of the question what happens next is the “What if?” The quickest way I have found to get past a block is to ask the question “What if?” and write down the answer, even if it is off the wall and I know it will not make it into the final story. Then again it might! As writers we need to take risks, try new things, experiment. Desperation breeds genius. It is important not to judge the answer until you have given it a good chance to develop.

So, pick the right POV for the story, ask, “What happens next?”, then go tell your story.

What do you think?

 
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Posted by on July 16, 2013 in Thoughts on Writing

 

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And then the trouble starts! A and W Part VII

11 Jul

This is a scene from a story that started as a writing exercise, My Scene. It is a series of flash pieces that are the beginnings of my current WIP.. This scene happens later in the story than the previous posts though it didn’t start that way. It just made sense as I wrote it that it would be more of a turning point.  This will probably be the last installment I post of this story for a variety of reasons. Mostly, I don’t want you to see too much more of it before it starts going into revision.

A quick background: I am Derek Nantan, a North American Marshal in the service of the Pentacle. My territory ranges from the continental divide in the west to roughly Chicago in the east. I was tasked with helping Amy Hatcher, an Oscar-winning actress, by ridding her of a stalker that a local shaman suspects to be a warlock.

The door rolled open a foot on well oiled tracks. Even so, it made more noise than I would have liked. I slipped through the opening and into the darkness beyond. The faint scent of burning chocolate over the smell of horses and manure, told me someone or something was using magic. There was a pale green glow coming from the stables. It provided just enough light so I could pick my way through the vehicles and equipment stored at this end of the barn.  

I passed by the tack room and as I approached the stables, I saw a horse rear up in its stall. However, I didn’t hear any sound at all coming from the stables. I stayed close to the wall on my left side. My stalking walk was all but silent under the worst of conditions so, I was not worried about being heard. The horse continued to buck and crash into the sides of the stall until one of the stable gates opened and a man stepped out into the glow. His shoulders stood above the top of the gate and from that distance he seemed tragically thin. Long dark hair partially covered an angular face as he walked toward me. The grey sweatshirt hung from his shoulders and barely reached the top of his torn jeans. His long strides brought him within a few feet before he stopped and considered me.

“Howdy,” he said with a voice that resembled Lurch from the Adams Family. “Can I help you?”

The air now smelled like I had fallen into a vat of burnt chocolate. The hair on the back of my hands and neck was at full attention. Whoever this was, he was bad news in spades. I smiled and tried to show him I was relaxed when inside, every muscle and tendon was vibrating like a guitar string. I drew power up through the orb in my right hand and prepared a proper welcome if it came to that.

“Hi, I’m looking for Ramone,” I said, not wanting to give him any real names.

“That’s me,” he said as he smiled and took a step toward me.

He began to stretch out his hand towards me when two things struck me. First, his hands were much too large for his frame. And two, his teeth looked like they had been sharpened with a file.

“I don’t think so,” I said as I took a step back. 

His hand flashed up toward my throat. Somehow he had gotten much closer to me than I remember him being. My orb pulsed and my left hand caught his wrist a few inches short of his target. The speed and strength the orb provided was barely enough to keep him away. His eyes flashed red as he glanced down at our interlocked hands. His fingers straightened and instantly grew into foot long talons that tore through my shirt and plunged deep into my shoulder. The orb fell from my hand as all feeling drained from my right hand. I pushed with my left hand which still held his wrist and twisted away. The talons shredded the front of my shirt and tore lines across the flesh or my chest.

He chuckled as I looked down at my ruined shoulder. My orb lay on the floor between us. The talons were gone and he motioned for me to come to him. I took the opportunity and drew my knife. Made from meteor metal and enchanted by the kachinas, it was the other gift my father gave me the day before mother murdered him. With my right arm all but useless, I held the knife in my left hand with the blade forward to give me a little more reach. 

“Come mageling,” he said, looking at the orb. “Was it you who called me?”

“Who are you and why are you here?” I asked, trying to by some time.

He smiled and circled to my right. “I told you. I’m Ramone and someone called to me.”

He moved so fast, I barely had time to bring the knife around. His left hand with talons extended, tore into my right thigh. My knife caught his arm as he went past me and sliced a gash from his wrist to his elbow. Unfortunately, the knife blade caught on a bone and was ripped from my hand. His unnatural roar shook the beams of the barn. He spun and back-handed me across the forehead. The force of his blow snapped my head to the side and stars exploded before my eyes. I felt myself hit the ground. Pain flashed down my arm as I rolled over several times trying to get some distance from my attacker. I looked up through foggy eyes to see walking toward me. He seemed bigger from this angle and talons had replaced both of his hands. He flexed his left arm and dark liquid flowed from the wicked gash my knife had made.

“Time to die, mageling,” He said, as he raised his right hand to strike. 

I squirmed to get my left arm out from underneath me and bring it up in a feeble attempt to block the oncoming blow. My hand came free from beneath me and bumped into my orb. I grabbed it and looked up again expecting the talons to rip my head from my neck. 

When you are in a struggle for your life, time slows down. Maybe it’s adrenaline. Maybe it’s heighten senses. Either way, It is amazing to experience.

The muzzle blast from a large-bore rifle fired in an enclosed space is painful. The sound of the blast hit my ears as the chest of the man standing over me exploded over my head. Before he could react, a second explosion tore away a portion of his right shoulder. The force of the second round spun the man away from me. I looked at the direction of the barn door and saw Ben levering another round into a Winchester lever-action rifle. The taloned man looked down at his wounds and screamed with rage as a third bullet hit his thigh. He turned as if nothing was wrong and charged toward me. Ben’s Winchester roared again but the bullet missed its mark. That was okay because he had given me the time I needed.

My orb pulsed in my hand. The sound from the rifle’s muzzle blast was created by waves of energy moving outward from the gun. I redirected that energy through the orb, condensed it, shaped it into the form of a bighorn ram’s head and sent it into Mr. Talon’s chest just as he was about to eviscerate me. At that range, I could hardly miss. The full force of the spell hit him. All of the air and most of the blood in his lungs exploded out of his mouth and sprayed me with ichor. The force of the spell propelled him up and slammed his back into the steel I-beam that supported the barn’s roof twenty feet above the floor. The ominous crack of vertebrae shattering gave me a moment’s hope as the crumple body dropped back to the floor. 

I rolled to my knees in time to see Ben fire another shot that missed. Looking back at where the body had landed, I was dumbfounded as the man slowly stood up. I heard more cracking, as if bones were grating across each other. I began to gather energy in preparation for another spell. He made it into a crouch and glared at me. He hissed and ran toward Ben and the door out. I sent a burst of energy to create and barrier across the barn to trap him but I misjudged his speed and wall went up behind him as he raced toward Ben. 

I watched in helpless horror as the man barely slowed down as he went past Ben, talon raking across Ben’s neck. Ben was scrambling to reload the Winchester and didn’t see blow that separated his head from his neck. He probably didn’t feel it. His head fell forward and his body slowly toppled to the side. I slumped to my side. My shoulder and leg burned. My head throbbed. I closed my eyes.

If you are interested in reading the previous scenes, check them out at, Actress and the Warlock Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI. .

 
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Posted by on July 11, 2013 in Actress and the Warlock

 

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One Writer’s Update

06 May

During the past few weeks, my non-writing life has pushed my writing life into the passenger seat. Not the back seat mind you.

I attended a class on Speculative Fiction through the Loft Literary Center. 6 weeks of reading and a few writing exercises unrelated to my WIP. It kept me busy but, the class wasn’t what I was hoping for. However, as usual, I found some takeaways that will help to improve my writing. So, it was a win in the end.

I haven’t posted any new sections on the Actress and the Warlock. However, there has been work done on this project. I have gone back and cleaned up the first few sections. Since much of this has been done as flashes, several plot points needed to be rethought out to ensure continuity going forward. A missing scene of mostly dialogue is where I’ve spent most of my time writing. I want to get this scene done before I move the story forward. I’m hoping to have it ready to post next week.

I’ve been playing around some with Twitter. It has been an interesting experience worthy of its own post. Yeah, I’ll save that one for later. It might be a really short, or really long post depending on how my last Tweet session goes. 😉

Lastly, I just finished reading, On Writing, by Stephen King. If you haven’t read it, I would recommend it. The second half of the book deals with his writing tool box and his method. As with most books on writing, the reader has to take what is said and try to apply it in their own way. The nice thing about this book was that the author put his advice in PLAIN language with very little interpretation needed. Obviously, his method works. On a side note I found the section where he talks about his accident rather interesting. He is very lucky to have survived As a former EMT, having Stephen describe his own experience, brought back more than a few memories for me, of being on the care giver vs the patient. Overall, On Writing, was a good read.

One other thing. I’ve been looking for techniques on editing, specifically, First Person POV, other than trying to remove “I’s”. For example, checking verb tenses in compound sentences. Those of you who write in first person, do you have an editing checklist that you use? No sense reinventing the wheel.

Okay, now I’m off to write some dialogue.

 
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Posted by on May 6, 2013 in Musings and Odd Thoughts

 

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Actress and the Warlock Part VI

31 Mar

This is continuation of a story that started as a writing exercise, My Scene. It is coming in flashes, both literally and figuratively.

One story note: During a clean-up and initial revision of the first five parts, I decided to change the governing body that Derek reports to. Instead of the rather cliché “Wizard King” I’m going with “The Pentacle”. The nature of this entity will be revealed at a later date.

A quick background: I am Derek Nantan, a North American Marshal in the service of the Pentacle. My territory ranges from the continental divide in the west to roughly Chicago in the east. I was tasked with helping Amy Hatcher, an Oscar-winning actress, by ridding her of a stalker that a local shaman suspects to be a warlock.

“By what name should I call you?” I asked knowing that the sprite would not give me its real name. Real names hold power. Especially in the paranormal community.

“Gypster is a name I am known by.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Gypster. I’m Derek.”

“I know who you are,” Gypster said as he stood up. “You’re an enforcer for the Pentacle.”

“Marshall,” I corrected. “I help to keep the magical community in line so the Norms don’t panic. You wouldn’t want a bunch of children running around with butterfly nets looking for the sprites that they used to think were Fairy Tales?”

Gypster flinched and took a step back. His face scrunched up and shook his head. The fey despised the term fairy tales.

I squatted down so Gypster didn’t have to crane his neck so much to speak with me.

“Am I correct to assume you are aware of the evil that is active in this area of late?” I asked.

The sprite shuddered before answering which told me more than any answer he would give.

“You are correct. It first appeared about twenty suns ago. At first it just wandered about, not doing much of anything. Then, it became interested in the woman at the ranch.”

“And how long ago was that?”

“Um, about twelve suns ago I think.”

That fit with the time that Amy and her staff had said the first of the carcasses had shown up.

“Do you know who this evil is?”

Gypster shook his head. “No. I don’t know its name. I don’t want to know its name. I don’t even want to see it.”

Gypster started to pace. He gnawed on a fingernail.

“Its dark…really dark.” The sprite said. “You know what I mean?”

I watched him fidget. He seemed to grow more agitated as we talked.

“Yeah,” I said. “I know dark.”

You did not become a marshal for the Pentacle without having faced down and defeated some very dark critters. That was the nature of the job, to track down and dispose of dark threats to the Norms. In general, humans don’t even believe in things that go bump in the night. The vampires and werewolves currently popular with film makers and writers of fiction are very real. However, those nasties are on the lower few rungs of the threat ladder that calls this plane their playground. At least vamps and wolves can be killed. I’d run into a few summoned creatures that the best I could hope for was to banish them back to their home plane. The fact that Gypster was using the pronoun it and not he or she did not escape me.

“Do you know how it came here?”

“No,” Gypster replied.

The sprite cocked his head as if he heard a sound and stared off into the darkness. I noticed that Lola, as well, was looking out toward the arroyo to the south. I didn’t hear anything but both Gypster and Lola have radar-like hearing. No doubt something was moving out there.

“No, I don’t,” Gypster repeated after a moment.

He seemed a distracted so I maybe I could get a straight answer to my next question. “What are you doing out here on this dark night?”

Gypster replied quickly. “I delivered an invitation to the brownies who care for this house.”

My mouth must have fallen open because Gypster looked up at me and seeing my expression, stomped his foot and muttered something under his breath.

I closed my mouth studied the sprite for a moment. He was looking everywhere but at me.

“Are you saying that Amy Hatcher has house brownies?”

“Ah, no. I’m not saying that.”

“Really? Let me rephrase my question.” I chose my words carefully. “Did you say that you delivered an invitation to brownies who are caring for the house that Amy Hatcher lives in?”

Gypster looked up and tipped his head from side to side. Finally, he looked at me with sheepish eyes and said, “Speaking literally I’d say yes. That is what I said.”

“Interesting.” I filed that away. Someone was holding out on me. Either Amy or one of her staff had to not only believe in, but actively nurture a relationship with the fey for house brownies to stick around.

“Who was the invitation from?’ I asked.

“That I am not at liberty to say.” Gypster punctuated his answer by crossing his arms.

I suspected that the invite had come from a member of the Seelie Court that ruled over the light side of the fey community. It didn’t matter at this point so I let it drop. Lola must have become bored so she leapt from the fence post and with a few slow flaps of her wings vanished silently into the night.

“Are you aware of any fey or other immortal who would have a reason to scare or injure Ms. Hatcher?”

This time Gypster thought before he spoke. “I am not aware of anyone of the long-lived, who would have reason to do her harm.”

I nodded at Gypster. that was about all I could expect him to answer that might be of help. I knew better than to thank him as he would take that as a sign that I now owed him a favor. It was never wise to owe a fey for anything.

“You have done your Queen and your people proud today,” I said. “You have fulfilled our agreement. Be well, Gypster.”

The sprite stood up straight and puffed out his chest at my comment. “And you as well, Marshal. May your days be light and lively.”

We nodded to each other and he simply disappeared.

I stood and continued on my way following the fence around Amy’s property. It was nearly midnight when I approached the main compound from the east. The closer I get to the compound the more I felt that natures balance was way off. When I reached the cars my hackles were at attention and my eyes were glued on the barn doors. I reached into my shirt pocket and withdrew the Apache Tear.

The size of a racket ball the stone was my power orb. All wizards used some form of orb to help channel the energies that they utilized. There was a slight glow coming from the center of the stone. As I approached the barn door, the glow became more intense. I held the orb behind my back and opened the door to the barn.

Check out the previous scenes at, Actress and the Warlock Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V.

 
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Posted by on March 31, 2013 in Actress and the Warlock

 

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Actress and the Warlock Part V

24 Feb

This is continuation of a story that started as a writing exercise, My Scene. It is coming in flashes, both literally and figuratively.

Note: I deliberately skipped ahead one scene here. The skipped scene involves mostly dialogue which is difficult for me to write in a flash. Since it will be so critical to the end of the story, I thought it best to separate it out and spend some extra time on it. I hope you understand and are not too angry with me. So with that in mind, I move on to the next “island”.

A quick background: I am Derek Nantan, a North American Marshal in the service of the Wizard King. My territory ranges from the continental divide in the west to roughly Chicago in the east. I was tasked with helping Amy Hatcher, an Oscar-winning actress, by ridding her of a stalker that a local shaman suspects of being a warlock.

The sun set before Amy and her staff had finished telling their stories. Amy dismissed them for the evening which left the two of us sitting alone in the living room. I stared into the fire, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw Amy was looking at me. We sat that way for several minutes before Amy spoke.

“Are you really a wizard?” she asked. “I mean, can you perform real magic?”

I smiled without taking my eyes off the yellow flames that danced above red coals. For an instant I thought about waving my hand and extinguishing the fire or creating a glowing ball of light in my hand. However, magic uses energy and wasting it on needless displays is never an intelligent move so, I turned to meet her gaze. My smile faded as I saw the worry on her face. This was no place for a smartass comment.

I simply said, “Yes.”

Large brown eyes continued to look at me, urging me to go on and explain. I did not. Amy squinted for an instant as if making a decision. Then she sighed heavily and looked to the fire.

“The sheriff said there wasn’t anything he could do until a crime was committed. Deputy Torres was the one who recommended I talk to Puma.” Amy’s shoulders slumped as she continued. “The old man came out and hung those skulls on the fence and gate but the animals kept appearing.”

Amy covered her face in the hands and shook her head. “Those poor animals.” She looked up at me and worry was etched in her face. “And now they’re showing up near the house. If you can’t stop this, I don’t know what I’ll do if anyone who works for me gets hurt.”

“I won’t let that happen,” I said. I hate making promises I’m not sure I can keep. But, right now she needed some hope, something to hang on to. “I’ll find who’s responsible and put an end to it.”

She looked back to the fire nodding her head, “Thank you Derek. I’m glad you’re here.”

I looked out the large windows. Dark was rapidly approaching. The cloud cover would make any light from the last quarter moon non-existent. I needed to get a lay of the land and determine what I was actually dealing with. No time like the present.

“Amy,” I said drawing her attention away from the flames. “Try and get some rest. I’m going to have a look around. make sure your staff stays inside until I get back.”

“Okay,” she said as we left the chairs. “Please be careful.”

“Absolutely,” I said as I headed back to my room.

I pulled on moccasins to replace my boots. They were quiet and comfortable. More important tonight, they did not disturb the flow of energy between the earth and my feet. My grey wool shirt went on over my flannel one. Layers worked best to keep the desert night chill at bay. The revolver went into my dufflebag and was replaced on my hip by a six-inch fighting knife. No self-respecting warrior would be caught dead without his knife and my father had trained me basic knife-fighting before I learned to read and write. Lastly, I grabbed the large Apache Tear stone, that was my power orb and headed out into the night.

The last few streaks of light disappeared behind the San Juan Mountains to the west. The remaining clouds  covered the stars and the coming new moon was not going to add much light to the landscape. It was going to be a dark night.Only the security light on the six-car garage and the lamps at the drive-way gate broke up the blackness that tried to envelope the countryside. I slid into the shadows and headed out along the south fence line.

Amy’s ranch kept the natural landscape instead of trying to grow high maintenance grass everywhere. The smoked buffalo hide moccasins provided good protection for my feet against the sharp rocks and thorns of the prickly pears. Toe-heel steps allowed me to keep my eyes on the fence. As my feet felt for obstacles that might make noise or trip me, I reached out with my senses, reading the magical energies that flow through all things.

After about twenty minutes, I turned north at the fence corner. My internal alarm went off and I froze. An instant later talons brushed the top of my head as the owl sailed over. Even then, I never heard it. That’s why owls are the supreme nocturnal hunters. If I had been a mouse, my death would have come swiftly, without warning. As it reached the third post, it swerved and flared its wings as if attacking something in the air. Something squealed as the owl then plunged to the ground. Its wings spread and its head was down in a typical mantling posture over whatever it had taken.

“Ouch, ouch, ouch. Those things are sharp,” said a high-pitched voice as I approached.

The owl’s meter-wide wingspan blocked my view of its prey. But, I could clearly hear a voice that sounded like a child’s after taking a hit from a helium balloon.

“Aw, c’mon. You don’t wanna eat me. I don’t have much meat on me.” The voice squeaked again as the owl shifted its weight. “Ow. You’d only need to puke up my bones later.”

I stepped around the owl’s wingtip and couldn’t help but smile. Firmly pinned to the ground by the owl’s talons was a very rumpled sprite. Though larger than the owl’s normal prey, the sprite was still outweighed by several ounces. That and the fact that one of the owl’s talons was poised over its throat kept the sprite from struggling.

“Well, well,” I said as I squatted down next to the owl. “What is it that you have there, Lola?”

The owl turned its head towards me and then turned back down towards the sprite.

“Yeah, it must be ready slow for you to catch it in mid-air.”

The sprite looked up at me with a serious frown.

“Can you get this bird off of me?” the sprite asked.

“No.”

The sprite’s eyes went wide. “But…but…you know her.”

“She is a creature with free will. She is hungry and you were too slow to escape her,” I said, my smile now gone. “It is her right to decide what to do with you.”

The sprite looked up at the owl and then back to me, clearly unhappy with the situation.

“Help me…please?”

It looked so pitiful trapped underneath Lola, it was all I could do to keep from laughing. But, laughing at a fey can have repercussions as they have very long lives and they hold grudges.

“On three conditions.”

Somehow the sprite forgot about the owl and put on its game face. Negotiating a deal was very serious business to a fey.

“What conditions?”

“First, once Lola releases you, you will not disappear or fly away until the remaining conditions have been met. Second, you will answer my questions relating to the evil that is affecting the inhabitants of this place.”

I paused to see what reaction I would get. The sprite simply raised its eyebrow.

“And…?” the sprite asked.

“Lastly, you will hold neither Lola nor myself responsible for your current situation and take no action nor cause action to be taken by another,  that might bring harm or mischief to either Lola or myself.”

The sprite winced at the last condition. Clearly, it was already plotting its revenge.

Just then, Lola shifted her weight again and a talon dug into the sprite’s side.

“Ow. Okay, okay, I agree to your conditions. Now get this beast off me.”

I reached out and stroked Lola’s head once. She looked at me and then hopped off the sprite and flew up to roost on the fence post. Her long ears came up and her head turned around as if checking to make sure the coast was clear.

The sprite sat up and straighten its wings.

“Okay, what’s your questions?”

Check out the previous scenes at, Actress and the Warlock Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV.

 
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Posted by on February 24, 2013 in Actress and the Warlock

 

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500 a Day (FAD Challenge) in Review

01 Feb

On December 1st, 2012, I started a mini writing challenge proposed by fellow blogger, Shannon M Howell. The challenge was to write 500 words a day for 62 days, (Dec. and Jan.). On one hand that’s a lot fewer words than the 1,667 a day required during NaNo. However, it lasts for twice as long. I thought the number was something I could hit. Also, different types of writing were acceptable, blog posts, magazine articles, Christmas letters, etc. However, the main focus should be on the current WIP.

First the bad news. I missed my goal of 31,000 words. 😦  The reasons, Work, holidays, flu, sound like excuses so I won’t bore you with them.

Now for the good news. Over the past 62 days, I have averaged nearly 350 words a day, added 12,000 words to my WIP novel, and have a good start on a new project. I knew that I don’t write fast. That’s why I never tried NaNo. However, I found out that when my mind and the keyboard do get in sync, I tend to average 500 – 800 words at one sitting. Apparently my mind thinks in blocks of this length. If I then take a break, I can come back a little later (time permitting) and turn out another 500 – 800 words.

The numbers listed above are all well and good. However the best part of this challenge is what I learned about myself as a writer. I found that lunch hours and quiet Saturday mornings at the cabin are my most productive times to write. I am more creative when I am pantsing a scene versus writing from an outline. However, I produce more words from an outline. Either way, I usually write the bare bones of the story during the first pass. Revision is where the five senses are added to description and the plot tension is enhanced.

Having more than one project to work on is good for me in the long run as I get inspired from one story and it carries over to the other one. Also, an epiphany hit me when I realized that evil characters are actually fun to write. Believe it or not, this was new territory for me. It’s about time. Now I can really get going on the middle section of my WIP. “Run thief, run.” Mwaahaahaa!

Most importantly, the experience created some writing habits that I can carry forward. My blog posts have become more regular, for one. Writing every day is not as important as writing on those days when I have determined that I should. However, I do try to write something, even if it’s only 100 words, every day. I’m still working out the best time for me on weekends when I’m not at the cabin. She who must be obeyed stated that if necessary she would start sending me to my room. 😉 You’ve seen my room. That just might be the winning ticket.

All in all this was a good experience. Those who tackle NaNo have my respect, but I will not be joining you in November. I could be talked into the FAD challenge again. Shannon, are you with me? Maybe we can drag some others along for the ride.

Armed with the knowledge gained during this little exercise, I made some realistic goals for 2013. Confidence is high that this year will be a good writing year for me.

 
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Posted by on February 1, 2013 in Musings and Odd Thoughts

 

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