Category Archives: I’m a writer too

Frankly my dear. . .

Wild Locations: Trifecta and Write On Edge Prompts

I haven’t linked up with any writing prompts lately, but this week’s suggestions worked perfectly with my WIP. While I had an infinite amount of passages relating to location and wild, finding one only 250 words long was a killer. I settled for this one. The following excerpt is from The Last Resort. Be kind.

We started down a rockier path. Our pace slowed, our hands traced along the mossy ravine wall for balance. The air cooled and grew saturated with water, the pregnant molecules bursting upon impact with my sweaty skin. The patter of rain falling, heavy and fast, echoed through the valley.

“Sounds like we’re going to get wet,” I said.

“I fully plan on it,” Rye answered.

The roar of water grew louder, as if the clouds had ripped open, allowing all the rain to pour out in one great deluge. Forget wet; we were going to get drenched. I stopped to zip my camera inside a plastic bag.

“If I were you, I’d keep the camera out.” Rye grinned like a pirate, his eyes wild and daring. “Come on. The picnic area is just around that bend.”

My legs brushed against damp, drooping fronds. Scarlet blossoms stood erect with perfect drops of water dangling from their petal’s supple tongues. The rainforest’s dense canopy opened up, allowing the sun to stream down and illuminate the foliage, turning the leaves near fluorescent shades of green. The air smelled alive and slightly electric, as if charged ions still lingered after a wicked thunderstorm.

We turned the corner. A cascade of white water crashed down a mossy cliff into a resplendent blue lagoon. The water shimmered in the sunlight, a pool of undulating aquamarine gemstones, with waves gently lapping along the rocky banks.

Rye’s warm hands grasped my bare shoulders. “I told you it would be worth the wait.”

Trifecta’s one-word prompt. This week, they gave us:

WILD (adj)

1 a : living in a state of nature and not ordinarily tame or domesticated

b (1) : growing or produced without human aid or care

(2) : related to or resembling a corresponding cultivated or domesticated organism

2 a : not inhabited or cultivated

b : not amenable to human habitation or cultivation

3: a (1): not subject to restraint or regulation : uncontrolled; also : unruly

(2) : emotionally overcome ; also : passionately eager or enthusiastic

The Write on Edge prompt for this week is to use setting to deepen the development of your story. You can use it to give insight into a character or a conflict or simply to evoke an emotional mood from your reader. 250 words or less.

Joshilyn Jackson made me change my book

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While I sucked up every little hint of writing advice offered at the UCF Book Festival a few weeks ago, one session threw a wrench in my WIP.

I’ve already blogged about sitting utterly enamored in the audience, scribbling away in my old spiral notebook during Writing Place: New Fiction form the South: with Nicole Louise Reid, Joshilyn Jackson, and Karen White.

Joshilyn Jackson described writing her most ominous novel, Backseat Saints, as a journey into the depths of hell and back. After she rose from that dark place, she pleaded with her agent and publisher to let her write a nice, funny book. Since she is such an amazing writer who they didn’t want to go completely off the deep end, they said of course dear, whatever you want.

So she wrote a light, funny book. And the readers she trusted with her newborn words said it was good, but it just wasn’t her.

Don’t be afraid to let your characters go to dark places.

She had to go deeper, let her characters crawl into a dank, tight grave reeking in desperation and heartbreak. And she rewrote the whole damn book. And that book, A Grown-Up Kind of Pretty, ended up being the perfect blend of laughter and drama, at times leaving you gasping, at others snorting sweet tea out your nose. It worked. Well.

Her words seemed to glow across the room like firefly had spelled them out in a country dark night sky. (Didn’t you ever read Sam and the Firefly?)

My most “popular” writing piece of late came not just from my heart, but from a time when that fickle organ had shriveled into a dull husk cowering on the bathroom floor. It was a dark piece, but it was transformative as well: what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. (That should be my new writer’s mantra.)

I thought about a piece Joshilyn posted on her blog back in February, an utterly devastating, fearsome, and transparent piece. I could see her heartbreak scrawling across the screen with each word. Though the damn post made me cry, it was a thing of beauty just dripping with an overwhelmingly distinctive voice. I actually made my Hubby read it, as ingesting the words seemed to be the only way to explain just how powerful a voice in writing can be — he cried too. (Okay, I didn’t get wife of the year that night, and we spent our pre-dinner wine time reminiscing about our lost furry babies, but I needed to prove a point.) Go read it, you’ll understand: Faster Than Kudzu: No Pictures.

We all have our own dark places, pieces of our lives we’ve buried deep within — areas riddled with cobwebs, weighed down with concrete blocks of guilt, and permeated with the lingering coppery stench of blood. Our characters should as well.

Don’t be afraid to let your characters go to dark places.

You see, at the time I’d heard those words, I’d been about chest deep in my second draft, working in plot changes and character developments. I’d been plagued with this niggling feeling that something was still missing, my main character need just a bit more motivation for her actions.

Evie needed to go to her dark place.

Don’t get me wrong. There’s plenty of death, deception, and all that other nasty stuff already in there. (And believe it or not, it still kind of funny. At least I hope it is.) My Evie’s life had basically turned into a twangy country song: she’d lost her husband, lost her house, lost her money, lost her sanity, and she’s pretty sure that if she had a dog, it would’ve been hit by the garbage truck, too. But she had to lose something else, something not superficial, to keep propelling her through the plot.

So, I’ve spent the last two weeks trying to work that extra element in, weaving it into my story like raven’s wing black streaks into a braid.

And I think it’s working.

Thanks Joshilyn.

Authors & Aspirations at the UCF Book Fest

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I slogged through cross-town traffic, a torrential thunderstorm, and skipped my Kiddo’s soccer game to attend the University of Central Florida Book Festival. It was totally worth it. I hadn’t set foot on the college campus since a Tori Amos concert a lifetime ago. I put on my big girl panties and a trendy outfit (so I wouldn’t look like one of the college kids’ mothers, which technically, I could be) and marched into the arena…alone.

Vendors, authors, and makeshift bookstores filled the arena floor. There were twenty-one author panels spread across four meeting rooms to choose from, and a few times it was a tough call deciding which session to attend. In the end, I sat in on:

The Liberal Arts Life: From Jazz to Journalism to Novel to Script: keynote author James McBride

Writing Place: New Fiction form the South: Nicole Louise Reid, Joshilyn Jackson, and Karen White

Stories From the Ladies of the South: Rachel Hauck, River Jordan, Marybeth Whalen, Lisa Wingate

Killing People in Exotic Places: Nancy J. Cohen, Bob Morris, Neil S. Plakcy

Embracing Imperfections through Young Adult Lit: Ellen Hopkins, Jessica Martinez, Ty Roth

Some of the authors I’ve known and loved for years, some tickled my interest, and some I simply must go out and read their books immediately. Or as soon as I eke out some time.

As a lifetime lit fan, occasional book reviewer, and aspiring author, I hung on every word spewing from these successful writers’ mouths. I thought I’d be generous and pass along my favorite tidbits gleamed from the wonderful panel discussions.

James McBride (The Color of Water, Miracle at St. Anna, musician, journalist, and screenplay writer): Learn to fail, and fail better — every successful person has learned to accept his failures and move on. Since I’m prepping myself for the excruciating process of finding an agent and landing a publisher, I MUST remember this. If The Help was rejected 100 times, I can’t imagine how thick my stack of rejection letters will grow.

Nicole Louise Reid (So There!): A successful writer is someone who is good at lying, not in person, but on paper. I’d never read any works by her before, but her reading was lovely, her words were lush, lyrical, and from the heart…or at least that’s what she’d like you to believe.

Joshilyn Jackson (A Grown-Up Kind of Pretty, Backseat Saints): People should buy your book not because it’s good, but because your whole heart is in it. And don’t be afraid to let your characters go to dark places. I’ll admit, Joshilyn was my main draw. I’ve loved her work since I read the first page of Gods in Alabama years ago, and I totally have a writer crush on her now. I’ve been reading her blog Faster Than Kudzu, for a while, and now that I’ve met her, I understand. Shes whimsical, slightly manic, and funny as hell.

And, as you can see, my new BFF. Or writing partner. In my DREAMS. I can only hope that by standing so close to her I sucked up a few drops of her writing talent by some type of author osmosis. (Hey, I could write a story about that…) (And I look totally horrible in this picture, I blame it totally on the kind old guy behind me who snapped the shot without any time for me to stand up straight or position my arm properly. It’s not that fat, I swear.)

Rachel Hauck (The Wedding Dress) Fiction is hyperbole, life on steroids, so yes, writers always take from real life. Character inspirations, settings, and scenes are all around you — suck them up.

Marybeth Whalen (The Guest Book, She Makes It Look Easy) If it’s a priority, you can make it happen. Marybeth has six kids, and still can balance the writing life and family life. I have no excuse. We live in a very visual society now; write it like you’d see it.

Neil S. Plakcy (the Mahu mystery series) I don’t get mad at people anymore. I just kill them. (In his books, of course.)

Bob Morris (Baja Florida, Bahamarama) I like to put real peoples’ names in books, just too see if they actually read them.

Ellen Hopkins (Crank, Perfect) Another reason no one should ban books, or consider certain books inappropriate for a certain age: it’s better to let people, especially teens, learn about the bad things in life, the rough patches, through a book. It gives them a frame of reference, a way of coping with a difficult situation. And every time (I) am told one of my books has been flagged as inappropriate, I send a stack of letters to that person, letters from fans stating how that book saved their life. I fight for it.

I caught author Karen White (who was charming, witty, and wonderful, but I neglected to take notes of any of her sage advice) signing an e-reader cover instead of an actual book. The wave of the paperless future?

I had a wonderful, enlightening day. I also managed to get scared out of my mind by my most-likely masochistic career choice. I can only dream I’ll be invited to attend one year as a published author myself.

And if not, I just discovered I SHOULD have applied to attend as a blogger. I totally missed an awesome Friday night meet and greet with the authors. Lesson learned, failure noted and accepted. I am taking notes.

Wordless Wednesday: Pura Vida

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Pura vida

Pura = pure and vida = life

Technically, “Pure Life” in Spanish would read “Vida Pura.”

Instead, one meaning of the phrase is closer to plenty of life,
or

full of life,

this is living,

going great,

real living,

awesome,

cool. . .

It can be a greeting, a good-bye, how are you doing, see you later…

The phrase decorates t-shirts and bumper stickers, covers sarongs and skin tattoos.

Pura Vida IS Costa Rica.

Jaco Beach, Costa Rica

I want to be there.

Instead I will live vicariously through my characters,

through daily writing and editing, and through my memories.

Pura Vida

Novel Inspirations & Memories Captured

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I’ve been focusing on editing my manuscript lately. I’ve been loosing myself in the lush rainforests of Costa Rica, dreaming my toes are sinking into the black sand beaches where much of the story takes place. I look back on the photographs of my journey through that wonderland daily, coaxing memories of the sound of howler monkeys in the treetops, the scent of orchid blooms mixed with gallo pinto, the feel of the pregnant air, heavy with with imminent rain.

Since I ~~wasted~~ spent an afternoon playing with my photos on Picnik, I lessened my guilt by using images that would inspire my writing, and words to go along with my characters and story.

Inspiration is everywhere

if you just take a moment to look…

I’m linking up again with Galit Breen of These Little Waves and Alison of Mama Wants This

for the Memories Captured meme.

Check it out!

My words, My Voice

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Source: englishmuse.com via Vinobaby on Pinterest

I joined a monthly writer’s meet-up group about a year ago. I haven’t attended each month. I wasn’t allowed. If I hadn’t cranked out enough words on my manuscript that month, I didn’t consider myself a real writer. Slacker — yes, but writer — no.

Since I finished draft #1, I figured I damn well earned the title.

In real life, I am a wallflower. Seriously shy. My mouth might as well be duck-taped shut around strangers. At all of the previous meetings I attended I sat quietly, lips zipped, listening to electrical engineers and actresses, karate instructors and math professors read a short piece of writing.

Their writing.

Some of their diverse pieces were amazing. Some…not so much.

But I’ve never shared my own work.

Last night I finally let them hear my voice.

It was a total last minute decision. I planned to bring in the first few pages of my novel, edited. Since last week was a giant clusterfluck, that didn’t happen. Concerned I would soon be perceived as some kind of wanna-be-writer-stalker, I figured they deserved to read something from me. A half-hour before I had to leave, I alternated printing 25 copies of a blog post while prepping a quick gourmet meal for the family (premade bbq chicken and tater tots — whoohoo!).

I last spoke before an audience back in college, and I refuse to mention exactly how long ago that was. My feet tapped, my stomach knotted, my heart thought I was running a 5k. I tried yoga breathing and sipped on endless mugs of hot tea in a vain attempt to stay calm. (No wine available. Damn. I guarantee that would have loosened my tongue.)

I didn’t throw up. Though I really wanted to.

And I did it.

I read my Swimsuit Shopping {Part one: the Grey Hair} post. If it was funny enough for Scary Mommy, it should work for a bunch of part-time hacks, right?

The audience laughed on cue. I received a (minor) ovation at the close. They wrote positive, encouraging words on their reading copies (and corrected only one typo) before they shuffled the pages back down the tables to me.

Hallelujah.

The woman next to me commented about how “candid” my essay was. Candid? Obviously she was unfamiliar with the blogosphere. As I scanned through my published posts trying to find an accurate example of my writing, I gravitated towards humor. I can laugh at myself just fine. There was no way I could have read any of my truly candid posts, presented my tales of heartbreak or grief for all to critique. Funny how they are far too personal to read aloud to a few dozen strangers, yet I can write them for the world to read and judge.

Hopefully next month I will have my chance to get some feedback on my ‘real’ writing. I think I may throw up that night.

It gets easier each time, right?

Nike Ads & New Atitude

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I’ve flushed the negative attitude and my cold/allergies from my system. After a few rather ornery posts these last few weeks, I figured you deserved something a little peppier. {Not that I do ‘peppy’ all that often. Nix that. How about more inspirational?}

‘Too Cute’ baby sloths, puppies, kittens, and Kermit the Frog on a log singing The Rainbow Connection all came to mind. Images of sunshine and rainbows and floppy-eared bunnies would exemplify my improved attitude, right? Then I read a post by Joann Mannix on the Just Be Enough site and my focus drifted back to the real me.

Last year I posted How Vintage Nike Ads Kept Me Off Prozac. Nike’s ad campaign, run over the last two decades, featured brilliant, timeless pieces of copy written not just to convince us to run to the nearest store and buy sneakers, but to empower us.

I’ve mentioned “JUST DO IT” covers much of my office, on sticky notes and bulletin boards, it’s even on a Post-it note on my blog header (I’m not kidding — look up).

I was supposed to start editing my first draft two weeks ago. In his memoir on the craft of writing, Stephen King recommended burying a manuscript into a drawer for at least six weeks. So I did. I even gave it a few extra weeks for good luck. I let it rest, distanced myself from the words I knew inside and out, and gave it rot or bloom. I’m not yet sure which. Last week I began the process of reading it with fresh eyes, spotting the gaping holes, inconsistencies, and festering wounds I’ve created. Now I must learn how to repair them or slice them out with a surgeon’s cool finesse.

Unexpected delays popped up, my work delayed — life got in the way. It’s time for me to push my dreams and my manuscript up on my ladder of priorities. Enough with the excuses. Now is the time I must, I WILL, push all of life’s clutter aside, hole up with my manuscript, and bring it to life. I will just do it.

What posts are you most proud of?

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What posts are you the most proud of?

The most popular posts, which may have skyrocketed your numbers and added to your loyal following?

The prettiest posts, filled with gorgeous photos of your stunning kids or faraway travels?

Instructional posts, clearly explaining some social media guides or a favorite craft or recipe you created?

Topical posts, where you rallied for a cause or pointed out newsworthy injustices?

The funniest posts, guaranteed to make each reader snort coffee out her nose and comment about your wit and wry humor?

Or the candid posts, where perhaps in a moment of crisis or heartbreak you bared your soul through your words, not to please the readers, but to heal a piece of yourself?

If you are a varied writer, your answer may be bits of all of the above.

They are the the posts where your voice rings honest, clear, and true.

Nicole from Moments That Define Life prompted us to list five blog posts we are most proud of. A few I list below were obvious choices for me, as they received countless comments or appeared on BlogHer. Though I’m positive I could go back and edit these essays for clearer words and sentence structure, I’ll let them stand as they are.

When Grace is Gone: A tale of longing, heartbreak, and acceptance.

Swimsuit Shopping {Part one: the Grey Hair}: A toddler, a fitting room, and some painfully funny discoveries.

The “C” Word: A waiting room, a diagnosis, a life flashing before closed eyes.

Thrift Store Shopaholic: My favorite frugal fashionista tips to help you find the treasures amidst the trash.

Killer Whales and Kindness: In the wake of a Sea World trainer’s death, a look at our relationships with these captive creatures.

What posts are you most proud of?

where the magic happens

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Not *that* magic.

While cruising through the social media universe (a.k.a. wasting time on twitter) I came across an interesting little proposal: an I’ll show you mine if you show me yours link up. Really? I didn’t think Just Jennifer was that type of girl…

She’s not. {get your mind out of the gutter} She’s showing off where she gets her blog on.

Since I also decided to hook up with the SITS Girls Build a Better Blog Challenge starting this Monday (#SITS31DBBB), I thought it would be polite for me to introduce myself with a peek into my writing world. (And where I waste time playing online Mahjong, tweeting, facebook stalking, etc.)

To the outside world, I’m still considered just a SAHM to an elementary-aged child. It seems as if every single day I am bombarded by the “but what do you DO all day” question.

I write.

Every single day.

I completed the first draft of my novel in November, after nearly two years of agony. On good writing days, the words flowed like properly chilled chardonnay. Pure bliss. Most days, words appeared on the screen only after laborious contractions. (Stabbing pains, like before the epidural, when I pleaded for the magic drugs. Perhaps that’s why so many writers dull the voices with drink?) Now I must start editing, rewriting, and proofing. Eventually I hope to con an agent into representing me and actually publish the book. It’s nice to dream.

I blog.

You’re here, so you know that.

MY own personal domain. Somehow we ended up with more bedrooms than kids (one of the perks of having an ‘only’ — another is that the Hubby has his OWN office across the hall). After the baby-making machine shut down, I adopted orphaned furniture from all corners the house. The ten-foot double-desk (old sewing tables) came with our home, the bookshelf came with the husband, the filing cabinet once filled my dorm room, the desk chair liberated from an old job. I painted the walls to match the sky on a perfect day, breathing life into the once drab room.

A cozy twin bed transformed into a couch for ~~napping~~ reading and working. Framed artwork filled the walls at first, but since much of my novel takes place in Costa Rica, I hung souvenirs and vacation photos to “keep me in the mood.”

When I am lucky, and the weather hangs in perfect balance (a few measly weeks a year), I escape with my laptop to my satellite office. Also known as the porch.

Those are good days.

So, where do you do it?