Love Thyself

This is, in part, about the word "fat," but mainly about allowing yourself to be beautiful.

I first discovered I was fat when I was 13 and my mother put me on a Slimfast diet. I was 5' 7" and about 130 lbs (which is actually underweight for that height). My body was still figuring itself out and it would later settle in a curvaceous 38-24-36... and I still thought I was fat. I wore over-sized clothes and, even though I was in dance and had legs of iron, never wore shorts. By the end of my senior year I figured out that I shouldn't be ashamed of my body, but I still thought I was fat because I wasn't skinny.

I haven't used the word "fat" to describe myself or anyone else in over fourteen years. What changed? I had a daughter and an epiphany about self-love. I am not fat, I have fat. I have more fat than I should for my height and it's not healthy, but it has nothing to do with how I face the world or my sense of worth. If I want to lose weight it is for health, not to meet someone else's standards. I can feel more attractive at a size 16 than I did at a size 8. When I hear someone complain about or judge someone for being fat I cringe at the word as strongly as I might if they used a racial slur.

I now have two daughters, both young teens and nature is working itself out. One has very, very low body fat, that's how she's built. One is more like teenage me, and that's how she's built. I have tried to promote portion size and nutritional values, but I don't teach calories. They know I am overweight and need to exercise for my health. They encourage me to exercise because they love me, not because I should meet some standard of beauty. I don't want "fat" to become part of their regular vocabulary or value system. They will face plenty of struggles in their lives without the ever-present specter of being fat or being afraid of being fat following them constantly.

How does this relate to writing:

Romance heroines are beautiful... but what does that mean? In my first draft I wrote Frances LeSieur as so-so (with or without the makeover). Not unattractive, but not stunning. I wanted the sense of her beauty to shine more and more and Henry fell in love with her. My beta reader's feedback said I should change that. Why? Because romance has that element of fantasy full of beautiful people.

The rest of my heroines are, so far and forevermore will be, beautiful. That doesn't mean they will be created from cookie cutters from Playboy.

Beauty is so many things. Frances is a size 8-10 and has a body that has born five babies. Mary is too slim to be fashionable then but would be adequate today in a size 2-4. In her era, however, this was not a positive trait. Jane (coming soon in Courtly Abandon) is petite and curvaceous in a way that wouldn't fit most clothing today--she would have to shop in the petite plus size section (she is, in fact, more in line with the standard of beauty appropriate to the era). While none of these ladies are a 2XL (yet) they are beautiful in their own ways and highly attractive to their mate.

None of them worry about being fat. None of their friends complain to them about their fat legs or pooch or flabby arms. It's a non-issue. Mary is a little self-conscious about a very toothy smile and tries to emphasize her bust, but, out of all of them, she might bemoan NOT having more girth.

If I had to whittle this down to my main points it would be that beauty is subjective and something we force on ourselves, so why destroy it with self-hatred? Romance novel heroines may be figures of beauty (in the book, based on the book's standards) but even there there is no standard they all meet. They find what is beautiful about themselves and learn they are worth the effort of claiming happiness.

I have fat and I am not thin, but I am me I am beautiful in my way.

VENUS, AN ORGANIST AND A LITTLE DOG BY TITIAN (1488-1576)

To Reverance or Not to Reverance

So many historical romance readers are familiar with the curtsy. It is woven throughout period stories and almost is the norm for anything that is olde-timey (<== not a real word). However, just like the value of virginity, it is not true for ALL times. Particularly, not Tudor.

The curtsy is limited to women. It began it's life known as the courtesy which, as the word implies, was meant to show courtesy or respect to a better or peer. The woman would start feet in turn out, one behind the other, and lower themselves at the knee with their back straight. It is an action similar to a plié in ballet.

What we now know as the curtsy evolved from the older reverance. In Italianate Renaissance dancing there is a move called the riverenza. Like a curtsy, it is similar to a plié but with the feet parallel. This dance move marks the start of most of the Italian choreography of the period, and Italian dancing was considered very sophisticated and practiced by the English court. The Italian choreographer, Caroso, uses the riverenza while the French choreographer, Arbeau, uses reverance ( <== real word).

During this same period, the polite response to one's betters or peers was a reverance (often referred to in period pieces as a bow or curtsy, but the period term is reverance). This motion was done both by men and women. Stepping back with one foot, the other foot pointed and forward, the courtier would shift weight to their back leg and bend at the knee, holding the position until signaled to rise. This motion gave men an opportunity to "make a leg" and show off their calf muscles (they were wearing slippers with form fitting silken hose and slops that ended above the knee, their calf was the most exposed body part and consider sexy on a man). Women did the same, but only the toe of the slipper might be seen peeping out from the hem of her skirts.

A curtsy is faster, but a reverance is more elegant. It makes more a spectacle of showing respect. While the word was in existence in the 16th century, it was not the customary action for show of respect until toward the end of the 17th century. It is no longer in use, but it was during the Elizabethan era. Since I do not write in dialect, I try to use a scattering of period, though some are obsolete, words to give the flavor of the era. And, since what a modern reader may think of as a bow or a curtsy is not the same action as a reverance, I decided to stick with it. I deal with the foreign feel of the word by describing the action during the first example of it in each of my books.

When I first started writing fiction set in the Elizabethan era, I looked up the word. I wanted to make sure I was using the historically accurate phrase and action and not just adopting renaissance faire-isms. If you were to Google "reverance," they'd automatically show you results for "reverence."  You have to actually select the small print that says "search instead for reverance" in order to see references to it. They're there, you just have to actually look for them instead of accepting the first Google option that says it's a misspelled word.

I had to fight to keep it in the book and, while it might have been easier to give in to the popular terminology even if they're not right for the period, I'm happy I kept it. I did put due diligence into being true to the era and though I made mistakes, my choice to use use the reverance as the form of polite greeting was not one of them.

Back on the Horse

I am the biggest obstacle to my writing. There are those moments when I could believe in muses gifting me with a story. Then there are those moments (many, many moments over the past year) where my writing is forced with the hope that if I write something, the right thing will happen. The result usually involves many mindless Facebook games, deleted pages, or the urge to nap.

When I have experienced writer's block in the past it's always because I wasn't writing the correct thing. Something was critically wrong with my story and I couldn't work forward until it was fixed. This past year has been different. I think I stopped trusting myself and my vision. Rejection took its toll and I think, on a subconscious level, I no longer believed that the right story lay within me. I lost the joy of writing for writing's sake and could only see my failures.

My critique partner would ask me about this every time she saw me. I didn't see what was happening because I was still writing, sort of. Hardly producing, but I would open the file and change it enough to have to save at the end. She saw me flailing and wanted to help, but I didn't see it. She asked if I was done with writing. I said no, but I wondered.

So, here it is. I am not done with writing. What I am done with (until I freak out again, there's a full moon, menstruation, out of ice cream, whatever) is writing with the goal of getting an agent/editor's attention. I'm writing for me. I'm writing what will make me smile, cry, or surprise my husband with unsolicited physical affection. I will write because it makes me feel like I'm fulfilling my potential.

And if an agent/editor ends up liking it, bully for me. If not... well, eventually sometime something I write will be the right thing for the industry and then I'll have a whole backlog of completed manuscripts for my future readers.

In honor of my wake up call, my next post will include the beginning pages from a work in progress than I'm disinterring and going to finish (if it kills me, goshdarnit). So stay tuned.

The video linked below is twenty minutes but worth your time. I have thought back on it many times over the years, especially when I don't feel the creative genius percolating and try to force it. It helps me to realize I can't control everything (serenity prayer anyone?) and the stories that need to be told will be told.

Showing Your Sketch

This past week my school provided training about project based learning (PBL) from the Buck Institute of Education (BIE). I'm happy to say that the training was not a waste of time. I came away with some great plans for the year but, even more importantly, I gained tools to help the students recognize that the crazy stuff I do in class is part of a learning process. I always considered my teaching style to be one where I tricked students into learning. Unfortunately I'm so good at it that the students think we're not doing anything until they get that "OH!" moment at the end. Lesson learned: I'm good at projects, I'm bad at linking objectives to the content in a way the kids understand.

During these workshops we participated in an exercise called "Show Your Sketch." You get a ridiculously low amount of time to draw a sketch of a person across the room... then you show it to them. The perfectionists didn't just cringe, they cursed. How can you be expected to share work that is sooooo rough? Doing so makes you very vulnerable to criticism. It's not fair for my artistic skill to be judged after so little time. The purpose of this exercise was not to show how bad we were at art, but to open ourselves up to critique early in the creative process, to be vulnerable, and to be all in it together. My colleagues and I all had that, "a-ha!" moment and were able to apply this early/often critique need to the project designs during the remainder of the workshop.

Writers are not foreign to the concept of perfectionism, insecurity, and critiques. We are constantly revising and praying for a better quality product. Critiques are gifts, even when they make us doubt ourselves. Without them we exist in a bubble. Thank God for being able to show your sketch early and often BEFORE putting it out there to be judged by the writing industry.

As much as I like to think that I'm secure in my skills and strong enough to take criticism and turn it into a better book, I'm freaking out a little right now. For whatever reason, I'm comfortable sending my manuscripts to complete strangers, but when I got a  request from a writer friend, I got all nervous. It might be easier if I was showing a sketch, or the first chapters of a book in progress: sending a completed, revised, revised again and then one more time, manuscript to a friend (who asked for it, which is a blessing in itself), someone I've known for years, makes me doubt the quality of my product. The vulnerability involved here is tremendous and it shouldn't be. I can't place why -- I only know that I'm trying to write right now, and keep wondering if she's reading, what she thinks, etc... and can't get it out of my head.

On that note, I'll put my contemporary aside and get back to planning my projects for this year. I may be teaching middle school art (which was the plan) or 7th and 8th grade English (which meets a need), so I'm prepping for both.

How do you feel about showing your sketch? Any advice for taking criticism?

Something New

Today will be my first time attending a creative writing group meeting. I was honored to be invited and really look forward to broadening my experiences here. I have my three copies of ten pages from my current work in progress. I have my layered dip and chips. I'm ready to go.

But I'm seriously nervous. Silly? Maybe. I mean, this is m fifth novel. I'm in RWA and involved in the online writing community. I should know what I'm doing by now, right?

Who knows.

The thing is that this book is different from the others. My others, particularly the historical, were so formal. Yes, I occasionally broke grammar rules for impact, but not a lot. This book, well, all I can say is thank you to Darynda Jones for giving me permission to be snarky.

The first time I wrote a silly deep pov thought, I edited it out right away. Slapping myself for cowardice, I added it once more and kept going. This character is the most real, the most flawed and the most open to love that I've written to day because I am not editing out her stream of consciousness. I love it.

BUT... will the new creative writing group get it? They haven't seen my evolution, so they don't know how hard it was to push myself in this direction. I guess we'll find out today. Besides, all critiques are gifts, right? I don't need them to take me seriously as a writer to know that I am one.

One thing all of my characters have in common is, by the end of their arch, they can find validation from within. I guess I need to work on that. :)

Cheers.

Viewing Your Own Work Objectively

It isn't possible. There. Done. Shortest blog post ever.

Nah, I was just kidding. My point has been made but I'm still going to babble. And, before I begin, let me explain that I am on pain killers for shoulder surgery. Be warned. I am not bi-polar but I play one on TV.

Okay, on point: Objectivity = impossible.  While I'm writing and excited, the book is the best book ever written. I am a GOD!  And then revisions of the first draft begin and I should not be allowed to live, let alone write. When everything is done and I have a clean, finished manuscript I, yet again, become awesome. At this point I usually don't look at it again and move on to the next project.

From time to time I've unearthed one of my previous works for a submission or competition or such. These times are iffy. I could be far enough removed from it to find the cadence of my writing unfamiliar and be pleasantly surprised by a book that (by that point, it's probably been rejected a few times) is obviously terrible. Or maybe it was so close to my heart that it hurts to even read it with the knowledge that it will remain under my bed. I've been through the gamut of reactions with my courtly books.

Possessing Karma was going to be my break out novel. It was edgy, different, super sexy, a little scary... it merged my love of history with my total fear of ghosts and came out awesome. Or at least I thought it was awesome until yesterday when I decided to do a quick once over for Golden Heart.

Things I remember including as part of my voice and my character's deep pov are not there. I must have cut them in favor of brevity or something. Philippe's a nice guy, maybe too nice. Karma's OCD because I say she is, but I don't show it. Damn. I don't know what I did in the final edit, but my work feels soulless and choppy. No wonder it didn't get the response I expected.

I think I may have to set aside Touched in favor of breathing life back into Karma. Either that or I'll read it again tomorrow and be awed by my brilliance.

I'm Allergic to Correction

Actually, I'm not allergic to correction. Grass, cats, dust mites, yes -- but I actually assume everything I do is wrong, so correction doesn't surprise me.

We have a natural defense mechanism whenever someone corrects us, even if they're in the right. While I like to know if I have spinach on my teeth or my zipper is down, my immediate response is defensive. I have quickly reprogram my knee jerk reaction to one of gratitude, after all, I don't want to walk around all day with a verdant smile. When there's class difference (employee to boss, student to teacher, etc...) it makes the correction even more awkward for both parties. People need to remember that the

This is even worse is more subtle, personal areas. How do you tell the diabetic you love that they're killing themselves? You do it once, get snapped at, and realize nothing you say will make a difference. I was once at my hair salon and got a gag-inducing whiff of one of the other stylists. I mentioned it to my hairdresser and she said that it was driving away customers, but no one knew how to tell the woman without hurting her feelings.

It's all about communication and the understanding the correction is not directed to hurt, but to help. Correction can be annoying, but, if it is well meant, it shouldn't be treated as an attack. It was probably really hard for the person to tell you that your behavior is damaging your relationships. They wouldn't tell you if it wasn't true, at least to them; chances are that whatever they're saying directly affects them, so give it credibility. If your friends always smiled and nodded while secretly being annoyed when you brought them your trash and called them gifts or tried to redecorate their house, that would end up as a very one sided friendship. I like to think that my husband's input, while not always appreciated, keeps my crazy in check. Active relationships help keep people accountable.

This is equally true in literary critique. I once spent several hours over many days on a difficult piece, unsure how to say that it had no central idea, no clear character, and was written more for the writer than the reader. But, since I was asked to give honest feedback, I did. Part of that included deleting the first seventeen pages -- hey, I was being honest. I gave reasons for all my edits, I made sure to note the positives along with giving suggestions to fix the problems. I sent it, my heart in my throat, afraid I was going to ruin a friendship and.... nothing. Not even acknowledgement that they received it. I've received negative critiques that I didn't always agree with, but at least I said thank you (and usually, after I've had a day or so to fume about implied disrespect to my baby, I'm able to think about what was said more objectively and find it helpful).

Critique is a gift. Honest communication about problems is an attempt to keep a relationship healthy. Don't take either as an attack.

Yes, It is Your Fault

No, really, it is. Whatever horrible thing that just happened in your life, short of a total fluke act of nature, you had some measure of control over the outcome.

I know, that guy over there has more money than you and it's not fair. I know that your mom didn't love you enough or that the socio-economic demographic of your hometown was stacked against you. Yes, people did bad things years ago, but it's what YOU do now that matters. Be accountable. Stop pointing fingers and blaming everyone but yourself. The minute you accept responsibility for your own actions, you empower yourself to change your life.

If you are not published because editors don't understand your voice or *insert generic reason here*, blaming the editor won't solve the problem. Do you want to be published? Take the critiques, build your craft, and take the necessary steps instead of complaining about it. Be proactive, not defensive.

If you are doing poorly in school, don't blame your teacher. Too tired to pay attention? Choose more nutritious food than Flaming Hot Cheetos -- I know, you don't like vegetables, but it's a trade off. Eat well, perform well. And don't tell me you can't afford vegetables as you eat a family size bag of Cheetos and drink a Rockstar. A frozen bag of broccoli which costs $1.99 and will feed you, even if it's all you eat, for two meals. You are making the choices that impact the outcome. Didn't get enough sleep last night? That's because you played Halo 4 until your eyes bled. If you're not performing up to your potential, you've got no one to blame but yourself (except in cases of abuse -- in which case, tell me).

You are addicted to xyz? I'm sorry, overcoming addiction is hard. If it's not worth it to you to succeed  you won't do it. Blaming your genetic predisposition doesn't solve the problem, it excuses it. You think people are judging your decisions? They are.  Maybe having an addictive personality isn't your fault, but what you do about it is.

Right now I'm writing my blog, but right afterward I will do work for my day job. I could blow it off and get some writing done, but then when I'm behind and disorganized I'll have no one to blame but myself.

Pick Up the Pace

In a recent interview on ACFW Fiction Finder with Raquel Byrnes, they asked the question:

You have mentioned that quick pacing is part of your writing style. Why is that so important?

Raquel's answer:

I find that often being in the thick of things, the desperate unplanned situations, reveals our true character and loyalties. Only when we are like those characters—pushed to the breaking point—can we finally see the amazing grace and strength God offers us. I think those moments resonate with people and I love to bring them to light in my books.

I absolutely agree. Life is a series of BOOM BOOM BOOM with no time to stop and ponder, to come up with the perfect solution or wittiest response. I picture that stupid teenage gimmick where your supposed-friend shakes his/her hands back and forth in front of your face and tells you you're running through the woods, trees on the left, trees on the right, your turn and (they hit you in the face) you run into a tree. It leaves you disoriented and with an elevated heart rate.

I like to think the obstacles my protagonists encounter are realistic in the same way life can be, ridiculous and inconvenient. These are the moments, in less than the space of a breath, where true character is shown and grown. Pacing is integral in these moments. You can't draw out the scene with beautiful word paint - it is not the time for that. Staccato sentences. Minimal dialogue tags. Slap the reader in the face the essence of the moment -- whether it is life or death or just intensely emotional (or in my books, passionate). The writing style mimics the urgency of the action.

Not all readers agree. As I struggle to improve my craft, I try to take all critique into account. I weigh the commentary against the story content. While every comment is appreciated, not every one is applicable and I have to trust my instincts. Romance is not all purple prose any more -- there are real stories there that stay with the reader longer than the titillation. I have been accused of having short sentences -- but I do this to aid the pacing of the scene. I am more likely to have rich descriptions in slower moments -- but even then I keep it sparse. If it's something I would skim over in order to get to the story, I don't want it.

Usually when a reader notices the pacing in a scene it's because it was done poorly. How do you, as a writer, adjust your pacing for mood?

Learning to Walk

Ignore the socks.

I was cleared for jogging, wearing heels, and beach volleyball. I plan to do two of the three, but it's going to take time.

I got my first pair of heels when I was eight. I bought them for 25 cents at the local thrift store. They were white leather pumps with a clip on rosette and I loved them. I wore them whenever my mom would let me. Thinking back, I'm surprised at how often she let me.

Today I'm wearing a sturdy pair of heels around the house. It really is just as foreign feeling as transitioning from THE BOOT to sneakers. It's silly to put a lot of energy into something as trivial as heels, but I have a shoe collection that I plan to wear again someday. Call me shallow, but it's a goal that will take working towards.

*Insert smooth segue into writing here*

When I wrote my first book, I was sure it was great. It was going to take the romance world by storm and I would be an overnight sensation. Maybe I wasn't quite that starry eyed, but I did think it was awesome and no one could tell me any differently. When I did get negative feedback, I soothed my defensive spirit by saying the reader just wasn't in my demographic, didn't understand my artistry. I revised and revised and cut/pasted/rewrote/renamed until that book became a Frankenstein. Looking at it now, it is not a bad book, but it's not a great book either (though my mother-in-law would disagree ). I have since gotten over the disappointment and recognize it as a great learning experience.

As was my second book.

And my third book.

Of all my completed novels, I think books two and three are publishable as they are. Book one may be as well, but I'd rather not have it out there with my name associated with it. I would hate for it to be the one book someone reads and the reason they don't buy anything else from me. I have learned so much from the process of creating these novels. I'm an entirely different person than when I started this journey. I know who I am as a writer, I know more about the industry and genre norms. I am part of the writing community. I've come a long way from that first chapter (which I ended up cutting) that I carried around and forced everyone to read.

The RWA conference is just one more step toward being the author I know I can be. Whether or not it provides miraculous connections or leads to contracts, it will be an experience that I can use to hone my craft. I can only get better from here. Do I think I'm ready now? Of course -- but then I thought I was ready three books ago. Each book has been better than the last and I hope I feel the same way even when I am published. I don't ever want to stagnate as a writer. The RWA conference will, at the very least, be a tool to improve. If that is all it is, I will still be grateful for the expereience.

The conference is just one more baby step on the road to publishing (a very expensive baby step). I'm both excited and scared, but know I'll come out of it better than before even if I get nothing but rejection.

I just hope I can do it comfortably in heels.

Damn You, Passive Language!

I write in past perfect, third person alternating. I don't know why I decided to do this when I started writing. It wasn't a conscious decision. I assume I was influenced, unknowingly, by gender norms. Most historical romance is written in past perfect, third person. (A recent exception - Keeping the Castle by Patricia Kindl. I recommend it to anyone. A joy to read).

My poor critique partner, Raquel Byrnes, is a trooper when it comes to slapping me regarding passive language. She writes first person present Romantic Suspense and her scenes are active. Of course, I don't have car chases, drug cartels, or hurricanes (Hurricane Erin is coming soon in Bayou Blue, the third Shades of Hope books-- Raquel is awesome) but my story still needs to have a driving pace. Actually, what I have that she doesn't is sex (that's a no-no in Inspiration genre norms). It's hard for a sex scene to feel intense when it's full of had, and then, that, and was.

Ridiculously passive and awkward: He was aroused by her, so he had bent her over the railing.
Active: Aroused, he bent her over the railing.

Yes, I know, that was tacky. I was proving a point. Plus, I never claimed to be classy. Just know that it could have been worse -- much worse.

Right now Raquel is helping me fine tune the start of Possessing Karma. This last critique I received from her was full of yellow highlighted 'had.' Earlier I said she slapped me because that's what it feels like; seeing a page full of yellow squared is really an eye opener. I have to reprogram myself or something.  Thank God for Raquel.

I would say passive language is my biggest challenge -- besides procrastination.

What is your Achilles heel of writing?

Start the Story Where the Story Starts

pic by Steve Ohlsen

In my first book, the first three chapters dealt with backstory and the main character's post-partum depression. She finally got to London in chapter four, and we met the hero for the first time in chapter five. It's my love child and I've tried to right by it, but the book, in its entirety, will never be published.

My second book, chapters one and two were character growth. Yes, there was action and dialogue, but the story didn't really start until chapter three. Solution? I cut out chapters one and two. It hurt, but it was necessary -- like deadheading.

By my third book you'd think I knew what I was doing, right? I started with action and some humor, then some snappy dialogue and set up the love triangle. Problem: I spent a lot of face time on the guy she was not going to end up with. I also, since it was book three, gave too much time to the characters featured in books one and two. Yet again, we do not meet our hero until chapter three, which is when the story starts. Chop. Chapters one and two, gone.

I am currently reading through a story for a friend. The first fifty pages are so are character development and back-story. When I finally give my critique, it will be to start the story where the story starts -- something I obviously struggle with.

I like to think that someday I'll learn from my mistakes. 

So, without further ado, here is the NEW first 1000ish of Courtly Abandon. If you take the time to read, please let me know if you get a sense of the time/place, who the main character is, and a feeling for where the story is going. Most importantly, where you hooked?

If being ladylike meant wearing corsets everyday, Jane would just have to suffer through it. Even in one of her less ornate courtly gowns– a wool dress more suited to her station, she had to wear the full ensemble complete with corset, bumroll, and farthingale. Given the confines of fashion, this was as comfortable as it was going to be. At least the wool was fine and the moss green dye was even and smooth. Of all the gowns she bought at court, this was the plainest, but even this one was trimmed in dark green velvet. It seemed silly to get done up for a dance lesson but if she wanted to get used to movement in courtly gowns, she had to actually wear them regularly.

She locked her chamber door behind her, tucked the key into her bosom, and practiced walking gracefully down the corridor. She imagined herself gliding, her hem just dusting the floor. Instead her legs became the clapper for the bell of her skirts. If she bent her knees a little with each step and tucked her hips forward, her skirts did not sway so much. Walking like this must make her at least an inch or two shorter – at barely an inch over five foot, she did not have much height to spare. If being a lady meant shrinking, she wasn’t sure if it was worth it. Cursing at her self-defeating attitude, she continued to put one awkward foot in front of the other. The woven rush mat covering the floorboards seemed to go on forever.

“Mistress Jane!”

The high squeal was the only warning she had before little Elizabeth LeSieur barreled into her arms. Luckily, Jane’s somewhat crouched walk gave her the stability not to fall flat on her back. Jane settled herself and shook out her skirts to fix the hem while Elizabeth babbled excitedly.

“Elizabeth, what has gotten into you?”

She was gyrating in place. “Mother has brought in a new tutor. He is a gentleman and able to give dance instruction!” She twirled once more and her ribbon slipped off the end of her braid.

Jane picked up the ribbon and gestured Elizabeth to stand before her. “You have had dance lessons for years.” She re-plaited the errant strands and fastened the ribbon.

“Yes, but only in country and French. The French dances are so boring. These new ones, the Italianate ones, those are what the ladies do at court.” Elizabeth did a series of mock steps in a circle that was probably intended to look courtly. “Mama says if I am to be a lady, I must know the dances. She told me to make sure you joined in – that you need the practice.”

Jane groaned inwardly. She’d had that same lecture from Frances, herself.

“Well then, let us march forth and meet our fate.” Jane took Elizabeth by the hand as they reached the stairwell. “Today we shall both continue on our quest to become proper ladies.”

Elizabeth giggled and hopped down the steps, two feet at a time. “Oh Mistress Jane, you cannot be a lady. You are my friend.”

“You have no idea how correct you are.” Jane smiled as she stepped onto the landing of the second floor and crossed the broad balcony to turn and head down to the first floor. Midday light poured through the long, narrow windows, sending shafts of sunlight to guide their way to the main hall.

The hall was at the center of the great home. It served as a banquet hall, a ballroom, and for tenant meetings with the magistrate of the shire, Master LeSieur. The polished oak floors were usually covered in braided rush mats, but in honor of the dancing lessons a quarter of the room had been cleared. For the first time, Jane saw how Holme LeSieur could indeed host visiting nobility. Perhaps Frances’ house party idea would be a great success.

“Ladies, pray sit you down. The fiddler will be joining us anon.”

At the sound of his voice, Jane’s eyes flew to the young man sitting by the massive fire place. He rose and walked toward them, as proper as a gentleman scholar should be. Stopping to reverence, he met her eye without any sign of recognition.

 “Mistress Radclyffe, I am Master Percy Mortimer. I will serve to tutor you in dancing for these next weeks.”

Jane stood rooted to the floor, her heart pounding in her throat. Percy was here! She swallowed and remembered to breathe. Somehow she found the presence of mind to respond. “God give you good den, Master Percy.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “What would you have of us?”

He directed them to sit on the chaise before the fire and began talking about something. Dancing.

God’s blood, what was Percy doing here? Why hadn’t anyone told her he was here? Why hadn’t he sought her out?

She sat in stunned silence, just staring at him while he continued his discussion about… French bransles. How could he talk about dancing at a time like this? He had changed so much; he was bigger now – a man. Still, with those thick sandy lashes and the serious set to his jaw, she would recognize him anywhere. She had not seen him since her marriage four years ago, since they day he told her he loved her…

How could he talk about dancing at a time like this?

Well, he was the LeSieur’s tutor – he was doing his job. Wait, why had he become a tutor?

“Mistress Radclyffe, are you well?”

Jane looked up into Percy’s heavy lidded, hazel eyes. His face was so close, she wanted to reach out and drag her fingertips across the hint of shadow on his chin, down his neck, beneath his proper pleated collar. His tawny curls, tied back, secure under his velvet cap, showed no hint of sun kiss they way they used to. He had always been serious when it came to scholarship, but the intensity in his eyes made her step back. After all these years, and here he was.

           She wasn’t sure if she should laugh or cry.
Thank you for reading and I look forward to your comments.

I Brushed My Teeth, What More Do You Want?

From Hyperbole and a Half

Almost five weeks since the break. Three weeks since surgery. I am officially on disability now through mid-May and I hate it. I am a troll living in a cave. I’m going to get bed sores on my butt. My left calf is now Jello™ and even the Achilles tendon on my right foot is tight from disuse.

I got an orthotic boot the other day, but it wants my foot to be a right angle – so I’m still in the splint until the doctor can x-ray again on Tuesday. When I called the doctor’s office to ask about the angle of the boot, I made the mistake of saying a “90 degree angle.” The nurse asked me what I meant by that. I explained it was a flexed foot. She said, “Oh! You mean a right angle.” This does not inspire confidence.

Today, as I wrote about how I was doing to a friend (honestly – not just ‘fine), I realized I had hit several symptoms of depression. Me? Depressed? Nah – I’m just irritated at everyone. I mean, I would feel better if everyone just left me alone, let me sleep all the time, and stopped making me eat and groom myself.  Huh – maybe that is depression. Maybe I should change the tank top I’ve been wearing for the past few days (maternity, used to say ‘baby’ in now-missing rhinestones) and brush my teeth.

Having done that (and a little more) I still want to go to sleep. I’m convinced I’ll feel better once I’m mobile. It’s soul sucking just waiting for time to pass. And now that I’m on disability, I can’t even stress myself out with lesson plans.

All the help I’m receiving is making me crazy. Even worse – I actually do need that help. It’s painful to converse and be pleasant as someone reorganizes my pantry or my kid’s dresser. It’s the same as receiving a critique – it may be hurtful, but it was well intended and remember, every critique is a gift. Well, my family is awesome and very giving – and I want to burrow under my blankets and not speak to any one.

Speaking of critiques, I recently got feedback from YellowRose RWA’s Winter Rose for unpublished writer’s competition. Totally worth the $25.  I sent in the first 25 of Courtly Scandals and Courtly Abandon. Courtly Scandals is clean, has been queried, had interest, etc… Courtly Abandon is not even finished, really. The judges confirmed both. Scandals did very well in all, averaging 85/100. Abandon averaged 65/100 and I learned what I have learned with all my books so far – I started the story in the wrong place.

In RWA Golden Heart you get the judges final score. In Winter Rose, the judging sheet had many categories with room for feedback. They even inserted comments into the Word doc and emailed me the attachments.  It was a great experience. Of course, I have fixated on the 51/100 I received from one judge on Courtly Scandals more than the 99/100 I received from another, but when I step back I’m able to use both to make myself a better writer. (Amongst other things, the 51/100 really did not feel I fleshed out my world enough – something I either do too much or too little, so err toward the latter. I need to find a balance where descriptions do not detract from story.)

I am forcing myself to stop wallowing today. Yes, I am hiding in my room, but I have my computer and WILL NOT play any games on Facebook. I will write – maybe not anything productive, but I won’t cocoon myself with my quilt and have bad dreams about my foot. I will also wear deodorant. 

Hook, Line, and Sinker Blogfest

I am entering Justin Parente's Hook, Line, and Sinker blogfest using the opening from my brand-new-me contemporary paranormal romance. Since the blogfest is over a month in the future, this is me being optimistic that I will have finished the first draft of Courtly Abandon and be more invested in my unnamed new project (Haunting Karma? Passion Past? Karma Moves Into a Haunted Condo? Karma's Ghosts? Sexy Ghosts? Possessing Karma? Bad, Bad Karma? -- actually I just brainstormed more successfully now and sort of like Possessing Karma. Although Bad, Bad Karma is funny.... I digress).

Blog details:

Date: February 13, 2012

Where: In My Write Mind blog, and your own

Objective: Post your 500-1000 word hook and critique other hooks posted by participants

Suggestive topics to consider when critiquing:

• Does the character have a personality I can fall into easily? This includes any dialogue exchanged.
• Is the world around them set up to compliment the character as they're introduced?
• Are there secondary characters to assist with the hook?
• Lastly, would I read more?

So, without further ado, here are the first 1161 words (it felt weird to cut it off 2 sentences from the end of the chapter) from my current w.i.p. Something Something Karma Something. I'm really looking forward to reading the other entries. I hope you enjoy mine.

Kay had everything organized in order of size. If she knew what information the attendant would ask for first, she would have set it up that way for efficiency’s sake. As it was, she had a nice little stack in her hand that resembled irregular stair steps; California driver’s license, luggage tags, passport, and a tri-folded printout of her online flight reservation just in case.

Not that she needed her passport for a national flight, but one could never be too careful.

The bored bottle blond behind the desk signaled for her to step forward. The girl was pretty enough. She obviously put effort into the ritualistic hygiene required to attract a mate, but the dullness behind her eyes made Kay think it would be best if this woman did not procreate.

“Monique, is it?” Kay always made a point to address people by name, if the name was available. Based on Monique’s name tag, she had been with the airline for three years. “My name is Kay Betancourt. I have reservations on flight 6730 to New Orleans.”

The girl did not make eye contact and simply retrieved Kay’s license from the neatly fanned documents she had placed on the desk.

“I have your reservation here: Karma R Betancourt, business class. I do not see a return flight booked – is that correct?”

Kay nodded.

“Do you have any luggage to check?”

Kay shrugged her shoulder, hefting her over packed small suitcase. “Just my carry-on.”

“Alright-y then.” The girl looked less bored. Maybe she was wondering what a thirty-something woman travelling alone with no return flight was planning to do in New Orleans. If she wondered, she did not ask; she merely nodded, printed up a page, folded it, tucked it in a small folder, and placed it on the desk. “You are all set. Please go to gate 52. You flight should begin boarding in the next twenty minutes or so. Thank you for flying with us, Miss Betancourt.”

Kay tucked the small folder in her purse and fought the urge to correct Monique. Doctor Betancourt. She knew better than to care about such trivialities – she would never see Monique again and the correction would just come across as pompous.

Reaching her gate, she found a seat that afforded a view of the rush – people coming and going, most of them in a hurry. The tired looking woman wearing sweats, carrying a screaming toddler obviously was more focused on reaching her destination in one piece than being a part of the social networking around her. A young man, military, probably a Marine, sat straight and proud. His eyes were open to the scene around him, particularly to the activities of the young woman across the corridor at Gate 53. That young lady was enrapt in the pages of a book, her face flushed. She kept licking her lips and fumbling with the top button her blouse. The book, though obviously a paperback, had a brown paper jacket cover. Kay wondered what type of book she was reading – the woman obviously felt some shame about reading it in public, either that or she was very private. Then again, if she were truly private, she wouldn’t be sharing her personal reactions to the author’s fantasy with complete strangers in an airport. She was both separating herself from her environment and adding to it.

Kay stopped her musing from bordering on poetic. Yet again, she was on the outside looking in, observing human interaction as if through a window. As if she were not part of the scene itself. Which she was – passive or active, she could not avoid physically being there in the moment. It was just simpler for her to observe rather than participate.

“Flight 6730 to New Orleans will now begin boarding for premier guests.”

Kay stood up automatically and retrieved her paperwork, her California Driver’s License and boarding pass. She stepped into the short line and noticed the young Marine’s eyes on her. He was not subtle in his appraisal. Kay always found being ‘checked out’ interesting. Did the man find her body pleasing? How did his subconscious assess her breeding capacities? She certainly had full enough hips and bust to imply she would create healthy children. Her overall physique was strong, but not too well muscled to imply that she would not accept his alpha dominance. She was clean and healthy, her face appropriately symmetrical. Overall, she knew herself to be a good specimen. He met her eyes and held her questioning glance for a moment before looking away.

Dismissed, yet again.

Not that she wanted that young man to pursue her, but it would be interesting to hear an honest answer as to why she was not worth approaching.

Then again, she already knew the answer.

She was weird. Off. Regular women did not analyze the data that drove mating rituals, they just participated. They depended on instinct and chemistry. Kay could not do that. She could not simply be, she had to know why.

It was her turn at the gate. She handed her boarding pass to the attendant.

“Miss Betancourt, welcome to flight 6730. You will be in seat F3.”

“Thank you.” Again she held back the correction. Doctor Betancourt.

The retractable tunnel between the airport and the plane shook with each step. Gentle suction from the intense air conditioning ushered her onto the plane and the flight attendant showed her to her seat.

The good looking man, no more than twenty-four, repeated his rehearsed lines. “My name is Todd. Let me know if you need anything more. Enjoy your flight, Miss Betancourt.”

Kay smiled and almost held herself back. “Doctor.”

Todd turned back to her. “Sorry?”

“I am Doctor Betancourt.”

Todd’s face remained neutral. “My apologies, Doctor Betancourt.” His voice did not betray whether or not he felt her insistence at the title was ridiculous.

Maybe it was. The only universally accepted caste system in California seemed to be based on wealth or popularity: Kay had established her social rank academically. She would never gain notice or import by being gregarious or vivacious. No, she elevated herself into an elite social rank by her own intelligence and work ethic. She was a Doctor. That meant something; perhaps it meant more than driving a Mercedes or wearing Prada shoes. Or maybe it didn’t. At least it meant something to her.

“Excuse me, I don’t mean to pry,” the older woman in seat F2 turned to her, her voice polite, “but did I hear you say you were a doctor.”

Kay smiled. It did matter. “Yes. I am a doctor.”

“Wonderful! I was wondering if you could take a look at this bump on my arm. My daughter says it’s nothing, but I can’t help but worry…”

“I’m sorry to interrupt you.” Kay was not in the least bit sorry, but it was the right thing to say. “But I’m not a medical doctor. I am a doctor of anthropology and sociology.”

“Oh.” The woman looked stunned for a moment. “Oh, well, that’s very interesting.”

To her credit, she did not try to appear interested.

            They would be in New Orleans in six hours. 

So there is my intro. Kay is moving to New Orleans to start a new job, her first time as a real adult outside of the bubble of academia.

Editing = Done! I think...

Editing/Revision Criteria from potentially interested publisher:

Courtly Scandals needs to be tightened. Watch out for repetition. The reader doesn't need to be told the same information over and over. Once is enough. Look for any extraneous information. Go through your chapters, point by point, and make sure whats in there is necessary to keep the plot moving. If not, delete it. Set a goal for yourself, for example, try to get your novel down to 350 pages. In order to do that you'll have to cut out quite a bit.

Look for back story, often you can cut out quite a bit of it. Make sure your story starts in the right place with action, not back story.

Use the Self-editing Guidelines I've included to make your writing more active. Getting rid of passive words such as had, could, would, etc.

Watch out for the overuse of had. I noticed it quite a bit.

What I have done:

Exactly what they told me to do, more or less.

The publisher suggested I start my story where the story happens. Duh! I knew that... I guess I thought I had, but then reading from a different perspective let me know I really hadn't. The story now starts in chapter 2. I did have to write a new intro.  Below is the first two paragraphs. Let me know if it the 'hook' is there.

    

On the first night of Christmas, Mary had no idea what to expect. She had heard rumors, but then you could never trust gossip. Especially when you knew from experience how the stories changed with each telling. For all she knew tonight could be a elegant feast and dance or an orgy that would make Caligula blush. Or both.

This would her first Christmas at Queen Elizabeth’s court. All she really knew was that, while the liveried servants had been busy transforming the palace, the courtiers had been fortifying themselves for twelve straight nights of revelry. The only true damper on her excitement was the guilt over leaving Anne. Then again, Anne was a grown woman now, wasn’t she? Besides, she’d told Mary to have a wonderful time and come back with scandalous stories, so she may as well follow orders. With one last glance in the mirror to ensure that her thick hair was still securely coiled inside her net caul, she gave herself a saucy wink and smiled. Tonight was going to be an adventure.

Courtly Scandals was originally written to be book two. Since book one will never see the light of day, any tie-ins were irrelevant, so many of the flashback bits which included 'had had' could die peacefully.

The hardest part was actual length. I think in terms of word count, but my instructions came in terms of page number based on Courier New font (which is really hard on my eyes, so I write in Times New Roman).  I was all jazzed when I was able to cut 4k words, but that still, in the Courier New world, had me at 401 pages. When I decided to start the story in chapter 2 (where she meets her love interest - makes sense), off went another 3k words and I'm now down to 386 pages. I honestly don't know what else to cut and still have fleshed out characters, setting, and story. I pray that the publisher will see that I did my due diligence, appreciate the blood, sweat, and tears that went into being easy to work with and good at taking direction. I mean I even deleted my chapter titles and I loved my chapter titles. *sob*  Okay, moment has passed. Chapter titles are not a priority in the big picture. And I'd rather see this published as a good story than a story lacking something but with cute chapter titles.

It feels so good to be done.

The big excitement about this is that I can take it off my plate for now (until I hear back, that is) and work on Courtly Abandon. I am happy when I'm creating a story. Revisions are soul sucking, but writing new material gives me something to really look forward to every day. The writing process is energizing. Non-writers may think of it as spending hours in front of a computer, but I'm interacting with my characters, talking to them -- sometimes yelling at them. I always feel this pride of accomplishment at the end of every session, even when I'm frustrated and didn't reach my goal. When I'm writing, I'm more alive.

Editing May Kill Me Yet

I was told by a publisher to apply edits and resubmit.  I was told to tighten up the story, remove redundancies, and shorten the word count.  I've been working on this for over a month (bad timing since the school year was coming to a close) But finally I was ready to resubmit. Phew.

A few days ago I got critiques returned from the Magic Moments Contest through the Heart and Scroll chapter of RWA. No, I did not win any prize. I did, however, get some very detailed critiques. 

Since then I have done an


For each one I read through the sentence and judged whether or not the word was necessary. If there was a way to make the sentence less: wordy, passive, redundant

I have also done an

I found I used 'majesties' when I meant to use the singular possessive form. The critique caught it once. Find/Replace caught it five times.  How embarrassing.

For not winning anything, it was totally worth the $25. Yes, they only looked over ten pages but the advice worked throughout the manuscript.  Even if they had not returned their edited copies of my ms, the judging page had oodles of information.  It was a rubric for my ms broken into Mechanics, Characters, Scene and Setting, and Plot. It helped me know what my reading demographic thought was done right and done wrong.  It was very useful information  (might I add, this is the sort of thing that is missing from Golden Heart - random score numbers don't help much).

I look forward to being finished with this round of edits. Yes, I know -- there is no true point where a work is really finished.  I have to chose to be done, and that will be any day now. Then I will send off this current draft and pray that the publisher is still interested. If all goes well there, then a whole new editing process will begin when they let me know specific changes.

Characters Wanted

She must be more than just a chambermaid.

My critique partner once asked me to choose my favorite books and figure out what about them drew me. What did the author do that made it a great book?  It has been hard for me to pinpoint any one thing. I love the setting, the story, the passion... I even the love costuming.  In short, I love everything.  How does that help me determine my own style? It doesn't.  I needed to pinpoint something that made my favorite books, the ones I can read over an over again, a notch above the rest.

I finally started reading When Beauty Tamed the Beast.  It has been on my shelf for over a month and I just have not had time.  Luckily (or unluckily) the need for dental work gave me some quiet reading time and I am loving this book.  This is not a surprise as I have loved every Eloisa James book I have read.  What is significant about this book is that it helped me realize what it is that draws me in to her stories.

The characters.

I immediately get a sense of who all the players are.  I mean ALL the players.  No character is too minor to be developed. I remember their names long after the book is finished.  I want to know what happens next.  They are each distinctive, very real and yet larger than life.  This is what I expect when I pick up an Eloisa James novel, and she has yet to let me down.

This holds true for the movies and TV shows I enjoy -- they have characters that are so much more than an archetype.  The USA network promotes their shows as being character driven and, in many cases, this is true.  The Closer would be just another cop show without each distinctive member of the Major Crimes team. 

Am I making all of my characters real? Distinctive? Memorable? Obviously that is something that is important to me. I look for it in other books, so I should apply it in my own work. But I think I cut corners. The periphery characters are just that, fuzzy and off to the side.  They exist because I will them to and serve a function, but my focus is on my main and supporting cast.  Although this realization means extra work on my part, I do not begrudge it if it makes my story higher quality.

What, specifically, about your favorite books make them stand above the rest?  Do you look for that in your own writing?

Z is for Zoe

Zoe Archer came to my attention after a recent RWR article about the perception of having made it.  The article offered a healthy dose of reality.  Basically it address the "what comes next?" question after each step on the road to publishing.  It warns us not to rest on our laurels and that success is a series of baby steps.  She shared her own experiences in becoming published, sort of successful, finding a bigger agent, being dropped by that agent, and then taking risks that payed off.

In her article, she wrote that at one point, while feeling frustrated at an industry that seemed to demand Regency, she decided to throw genre norms into the wind and wrote a paranormal historical romance set in Mongolia. This is where I realized I had to read her books.

I picked up Stranger.  It turned out to be the final book in a series, but it stood on it's own.  Set in the Victorian period, the story spanned the USA, England, and the realm of Faerie. It involved both magic and technology (I would almost classify it as Steampunk, but not 100%).  The characters that had been featured in previous books were intriguing (I will definitely read all the Blades of the Rose books). The primary characters, well, I did not want their story to stop.  They were layered, flawed, sympathetic, vulnerable, and strong.  The romance was HOT but always part of the developing story and character growth.  Did I mention it was hot?

Rebel by Zoe Archer has been nominated as a finalist for this year's RITA award.  I'm looking forward to acquainting myself with more of her stories.

K is for Karma

Specifically, A Bitch Named Karma by Stephanie Haefner.

I bought the ebook and started reading it over this past week. I knew from Francine Howarth's review awhile back that it was not the erotica implied by the cover art (when my husband saw my purchase on the screen, he inquired hopefully as to the nature of the book).

I started reading (using the Kindle app on my Droid) on the air plane. The whole time I was shaking my head at the cliches that seemed to make up the story. With direct nods to Sex in the City, Legally Blond, When Harry Met Sally, and  He's Just Not That Into You, I had no idea what I would say to Stephanie in the future. Yes, it was entertaining -- but I was expecting something more, something honest and thoughtful.

And I got it.  Without giving the story away, the cliches are part of what turns out to be a satire, mocking shallow women's fiction.  Real life gets in the way of the glamorous facade of chick lit and the story takes unexpected, wrenching paths that make you stop and think instead of just admiring the haute couture.  It is a smart, intriguing story with a very relatable main character. I give this book a gold star.

BTW, the censor bars were placed after my 6 year old daughter came in to my office as I was writing this. I had to explain what a bitch was and why we don't call people that. Then she told me that the girl really should not have her boobs showing, so I added the bars. :)

Yes, I know I'm a couple days off.  It's because I scheduled posts for Sundays.

Balance

I watched an episode of Glee the other day (this post was written and saved as a draft over a coupled months ago). I managed to see it without having seen any commercials or spoilers, so I had a genuine response when bad things happened. Serious sobbing, crying. Big fat tears, aided, I am sure, by the second glass of wine I had just had. The shockingly terrible situations (which I will not disclose in case some people have not seen it and still want to) was balanced out by equal amounts of unadulterated silliness.

The theme to this episode was about spirituality. While some students are dealing with loss and the unwelcome outpouring of sympathy, Finn has discovered God.
Specifically, Grilled Cheesus -- an iconic image in the burn marks of his sandwich. He prays/makes wishes to Grilled Cheesus and gets what he wanted. Grilled Cheesus is magical.
It was awesome.

The phrase, "I laughed. I cried. It became part of me." was especially true for this episode. It hit all the right buttons, and the music was not even that great.

My point? Balance.

I have read books that were conflict piled upon conflict with no resolution in sight. The situation is so bad that when the happy ending happens, I can't buy in to it. Likewise, I have read books that were silly, happy, and full of laughs. So much so that when conflict did rear it's necessary head, it was unbelievable, as was the character's response.

Courtly Pleasures is about a woman coming into herself and falling in love with her husband. When I wrote it, it was very outlined. On the first major revision, I realized I had to much personal growth for my mc and not enough conflict/tension, so remedied that.

Courtly Scandals had too much happy/humor/silliness for the conflict to seem big enough to balance it out. I've been working to that end, but it's been difficult because my male lead is a crinkly-eyed rake who laughs huskily at everything and my leading lady likes to have a good time. I had to rewrite them individually in order for the dark moments to be real. In all, this resulted in them both being less archetypal and a better story. It was worth it. I just wish I had the foresight to see what was going to happen before I had written 60k words. Que Sera.

If this sounds familiar, it is because I touched on this briefly in my post Romance Genre No-No's, but watching Glee gave much such a great, pop culture example, that I had to write more.

I recently had a critique that the humorous aspects in Courtly Scandals lead to 'chick flick' style read rather than a romance. Personally, if the plot has both tension and laughter, I don't know that that is something genre specific so much as the elements of a good story. I can't think of a genre (except for emo poetry) where humor would not be a welcome relief.