One Crazy Dame

Novel problem

2008-05-20T21:45:11Z

I need to build a very sturdy cage-like structure to protect a single person against a horde of monsters. I have all of the materials one would typically find in a small modern town undergoing a lot of construction: concrete, rebar, etc.

The cage must be built quickly and must be big enough to allow one person a decent amount of freedom of movement. It must also support several hundred pounds because creatures are likely to pile on top of it.

How do I go about it? Anybody with construction experience?

The dreaded finale

2008-05-19T21:51:02Z

The second corpse lay ten yards to the left. A plump woman, wearing a homemade jumper dress and a blood stained apron. It had to be Mrs. Tucker, although it was hard to tell, since her head was missing.

Declan stepped over Bob and ducked into the home. He emerged a moment later and shook his head.

Joshua's face had gone grey. "I told him to go wait it out in the Broken. Me and my boys drove up and down this road and told everybody. The stupid sonovabitch wouldn't listen. And look!" Joshua pointed to the huge red truck, lovingly parked in the shade under a tree. "The damn truck is in perfect shape. God damn idiot. Stupid, stupid..."

Declan touched Bob's neck. "Still warm," he said. It couldn't have gone far."

The trees rustled. The monster emerged. A whirl of tentacles flailed on its back, grabbed everyone, stuffed it into monster's mouth and then he went to take a nap to assist his digestions.

THE END.

:dance-dance-dance-dance; Oh yeah!!!

Deals

2008-05-19T11:50:40Z

I thought I'd throw this tidbit of information out there, since it's a question that is often gets asked and I keep forgetting the code. When Publisher's Maketplace announces a deal, they use a kind of code.

nice deal $1 - $49,000

very nice deal $50,000 - $99,000

good deal $100,000 - $250,000

significant deal $251,000 - $499,000

major deal” $500,000 and up

So if you see a writer talk about a very nice deal, they've got a pretty good payday.

Show, don't tell

2008-05-18T00:33:36Z

Show, don't tell is a rule the writers probably hear the most. It's a good rule, but it is also often misinterpreted. Here is my take on it.

What is it?

There are several definitions floating out there on the internet.

Here is one from Janet Evanovich*

". . . instead of stating a situation flat out, you want to let the reader discover what you're trying to say by watching a character in action and by listening to his dialogue. Showing brings your characters to life."

Let's concentrate on this part: "... discover what you're trying to say by watching a character in action and by listening to his dialogue..."

That sounds as if we are not reading, but watching a movie.

The purest example of show, don't tell is visual entertainment. TV, cinema, and video games all entertain us by offering an image of the environment and characters. When you're interacting with visual media, you don't really know what the character is thinking. You guess at their thoughts from their action and dialogue.

What is this soldier thinking?

My guess is, something along the lines of, "Oh crap!"

In fiction, the writer often has the power to do the opposite: to drop the reader right into the character's head. Instead of guessing at the thoughts, the reader will know exactly what is brewing in the character's head. The equivalent for the cinema would be a voice over, but it doesn't really do this technique justice.

I will come back to this point later but for now, I'd like to stress that being able to dive into character's mind is a very powerful tool. Please don't discount it.

So how does show don't tell translate to fiction?

Let's do a very basic example.

Tell: Nathan looked exhausted.

Now imagine that Nathan is an actor. Let's make him Nathan Fillion, because we all like him and the name is the same. Imagine you are a director and you are trying to direct Nathan to look exhausted. Remember, you can't actually tell anyone what Nathan is feeling, because people will be watching it. Nathan has to demonstrate that he is tired.

When I am tired, I look for a place to sit down, so I would tell Nathan to slump against the wall and close his eyes. Imagine him doing it in your head. Now describe it.

Show: Nathan slumped against the wall and closed his eyes.

Let's put Nathan through more paces.

Tell: Nathan is happy.
Show: A big grin stretched Nathan's lips.

Tell: Nathan is mad.
Show: Nathan's eyebrows furrowed together.

Tell: Nathan is hungry.

Okay, this one is a bit hard. When I'm hungry, I head for the fridge. We will have to give Nathan a fridge.

Show: Nathan swung the refrigerator door open and peered inside.

Tell: It was a dark and stormy night.
Show: The wind tore at the trees, flinging icy rain from the pitch-black sky.

The key to showing is to picture things in your head. That's it. No big secret. Picture it and write it.

Pitfalls of telling and showing.

Now that we know what it is and the difference between show and tell, why do we care?

Telling is always precise, because you are telling the reader exactly what is happening. But telling also has several pitfalls.

a) Telling is boring. Being boring is a kiss of death. We like to interact with the narrative. Showing forces us to actually work a little bit and guess as we go along. Despite the cliche of mindless entertainment being popular, most of us like to work a little bit while we're being entertained.

b) Telling talks down to the reader. The writer is explaining things to the reader and nobody likes a lecture.

c) Telling slows down the narrative to a crawl.

Example: Anna hated Nathan. She thought he was an idiot. She was very irritated because he stood her up and she had to wait for him in the restaurant. She felt humiliated, because the waiter kept asking her for her order.

How much of this could you take as a reader?

Showing also has its pitfalls.

a) Showing is imprecise.

Let's go back to the first example.

Tell: Nathan is exhausted.
Show: Nathan slumped against the wall and closed his eyes.

Is he exhausted or desperate? Maybe he's frustrated.

b) Showing will result in longer narrative. (But it will be more fun to read.)

Because showing is imprecise, now we have to qualify it with dialogue or Nathan's thoughts.

Nathan slumped against the wall and closed his eyes. His feet hurt. A slow, dull ache gnawed on the muscles of his lower back.

Do you recall how above I prattled on about being able to drop the reader into character's head? This is the spot for it.

Nathan slumped against the wall and closed his eyes. His feet hurt. A slow, dull ache gnawed on the muscles of his lower back. His entire body begged for the soft comfort of his bed.

Strictly speaking, the last sentence is telling. But, it reads well together, doesn't it? Because we like knowing what Nathan is thinking. We already pretty much figured it out, but it's nice to have a confirmation. That's how we can connect to him as a character and sympathize with him.

Most of the good narrative is a blend of showing and telling. And that brings us to the chief pitfall of showing: too much.

c) You can hammer even the best of tools into the ground, if you try. If you concentrate too much on showing, you might forget that your book is not a movie.

Let me give you a wonderful example of this – me:

The man sprawled in the middle of the crossroads in plain view, clutching at the pale clumps of his entrails. The woman sagged against the wall of the house next to a small crossbow. In the subtle patina of orange eno light, the corpses seemed an inherent part of the scenery, growing from the pavement made fertile with their blood.
A foul, sluggish magic pooled over the bodies. It lay in wait, spreading its thin tendrils outward like trip wires ready for an unsuspecting passerby. Dek skirted it, careful to keep to its edge, but still it tugged at his stomach with a familiar revolting hand. Acid washed the root of his tongue and burned back down his throat.
Three small bloody scratches stretched across the cobbles from the red-stained hand of the male corpse. An upward slash and two twisted lines—the beginning of the glyph for "Clay." He had expected nothing else.
Dek moved on to the bowman. Death had sharpened her chiseled Suda features into a rat-like grimace, exposing her teeth and bulging milky cadaver eyes. A ragged hole marred her neck, the shredded edges too torn for a knife blade, but perfect for a clay's chitin appendage.

What is my dude thinking in this scene? Is he thinking anything? Is he a robot? People are dead in a gruesome way and he feels nothing. If you concentrate hard, you will hear wind blowing through his head. The problem is that he is a spy, whose reflexes are tightly controlled. So physically he has no reaction, and that is exactly what I am showing. Absence of reaction. Some telling thoughts wouldn't have hurt.

Don't be me. Use both showing and telling, each in moderation. Don't try to make your book into a movie. It's not; it's a book, a written narrative.

Here is an example from Magic Burns, where Kate is trying to walk up an icy ledge to the top of a highrise. Kate is a bit afraid of heights and it's windy:

Another gust hit me. I grit my teeth and peeled myself from the wall. Keep moving, wuss. One foot before the other. As long as I didn't think about falling. Or looking down there... Boy, that's high.

It's funny, because we know she looked down, even though she was psyching herself up against it. You can't do that in a movie format. Don't sell the written word short.

A good rule of thumb: if you can show something, do it. But if you feel that telling something works best for the narrative, do it. Don't hesitate. The only criteria that trumps every single rule is does it read well? If it does, go for it.

Examples

One of the best examples of telling can be found in category romances. Before you scoff, a category writer can have millions of copies of her books in print. Millions. Category romances have their faults – they are rarely subtle and are almost always over the top dramatic, but they do two things absurdly well: emotional conflict and pacing. Category romances all but fly by, they are that fast. They deal in emotion and emotion is fascinating even when it's presented through a prism of telling.

From Mistress for a Weekend by Susan Napier

She had been such an idiot, she thought, her throat tightening at the memory of the ghastly scene that had ensued in her flat. Her friends often chided her for being too trusting, and now she had wrenching proof that they had been right. Because it would never have occurred to her to be unfaithful, she had actually been pleased that Ryan seemed to be getting on so well with her young and trendy new flatmate.****

It's all telling, with the small exception of tightening throat. But it's woven out of emotion and it does nothing to slow down the narrative. If you have to tell, make it interesting.

Janet Evanovich is a master of showing.

From Twelve Sharp by Janet Evanovich

The other woman is my sometimes-partner Lula. Lula was at this moment parading around in the bail bonds office, showing Connie and me her new outfit. Lula is a way-beyond-voluptuous black woman who was currently squashed into four-inch spike heels and a sparkly gold spandex dress that had been constructed for a much smaller woman. The neckline was low, and the only thing keeping Lula’s big boobs from popping out was the fact that the material was snagged on her nipples. The skirt was stretched tight across her ass and hung two inches below the full moon.
With Connie and Lula you get what you see.
Lula bent to take a look at the heel on her shoe, and Connie was treated to a view of the night sky.
“Crikey,” Connie said. “You need to put some underwear on.”
“I got underwear on,” Lula said. “I’m wearing my best thong. Just ’cause I used to be a ’ho don’t mean I’m cheap. Problem is that little thong stringy gets lost in all my derriere.”*****

All showing, very little telling, all terribly fun.

Hope that helps.

_____________________

*Evanovich, Janet (2006). How I Write: Secrets of a Bestselling Author, p. 45. St. Martin's Griffin. ISBN 0-312-35428-2.

** http://www.tech2.com/media/images/2007/Jun/img_6943_assassins_creed.jpg

*** http://www.collider.com/uploads/imageGallery/Nathan_Fillion/nathan_fillion.jpg

*** Mistress for a Weekend, Susan Napier, p. 15.

**** http://www.bookbrowse.com/excerpts/index.cfm?book_number=1838&page_number=2

ilona_andrews @ 2008-05-17T17:07:00

2008-05-17T21:09:38Z

You have to see this to believe this.

Disclaimer: There are intelligent conservatives. There are intelligent liberals. This is in no way a political post. This is simply an illustration of what my father calls "aggressive ignoramus."

About a year ago I had commented on a piece of writing by an aspiring author. In the comments, someone took me to task for suggesting a certain change because it broke the "show don't tell" rule. From the tone of the comment I surmised that the poster had no idea what the rule actually meant, so I proceeded to ask her to define it, which resulted in a ten-reply thread, in which I kept saying, "Can you explain the rule?" and she kept firing back, "Show, don't tell. It explains itself!"

She never did admit that she had no clue what it meant.

I now bring you this spectacular exchange.

On My Child's Brilliance, Questionable Nature of

2008-05-15T20:43:19Z

Child reaching for a piece of fried fish.

Me: waving oversized spoon. "No!"

Child: But I want some chicken.

Me: You have to wait until it's done. And it's FISH.

Child: Mom, it's fried. If it's fried, it's chicken.

On My Brilliance, Puzzling Nature of

2008-05-15T20:30:29Z

Youngest child: What are you cooking?

Me: I am frying fish. We can eat America's Next Top Model and watch fish! It will be great.

Snippet for moonwolf

2008-05-13T13:00:16Z

She turned off the pot, let the needles cool, washed her hands to the elbow with soap, and opened the bottle of betadine. "Do you know what an allergy is?"

Declan raised his eyes to the ceiling. "Yes."

"Are you allergic to seafood? Do you ever get itchy throat after eating shellfish?"

"No. You can use iodine on me. I won't suffer any side-effects."

"Oh good." She doused gauze with betadine and proceeded to clean the wounds. He winced, but his back remained rock steady. It was a huge back too, covered with bulges of hard muscle.

Now wasn't the time to admire his muscle definition.

She finished cleaning and bandaged the lower wound.

"Last chance for a Broken surgeon."

Declan shook his head. She carried the pot over and retrieved the first needle with tweezers. "I take it, it's not your first time at the rodeo either."

"No."

She brought the edges of the wound together, clamped the needle, and pierced the edge of the gash. He growled a little. She knew it had to hurt like hell.

"Do they have rodeos in the Weird?" she asked. Anything to distract him from the pain.

"Yes. They're a national sport in Republic of Texas."

"Texas is a separate republic?" she finished the first knot and started the next.

"The Weird and Broken are mirror images of each other. Same continents, same oceans, same rivers. In Broken the continent of North America is divided sideways."

"What do you mean, sideways?"

There was a tiny pause as the needle slid into his flesh. "The countries are horizontal: Canada, United States, Mexico. In the Weird, the division is vertical. That's how the continent was settled. In the east is Adrianglia. In the center is Dukedom of Louisiana, which is part of the Untied Kingdom of Gaul."

"Gaul?"

"It's a kingdom of the Old World. Gaulish tribes used to be fragmented into several kingdoms: Celtica, Belgica, Gallica."

France and Belgium, Rose guessed.

Declan clenched his teeth. "Almost done," she murmured. 'So what is to the west of Louisiana?" Come on, Declan, talk to me.

"Republic of Texas. Then Democracy of California."

"What about Mexico?"

"It still belongs to Castillia. Spain."

They've ran out of the continent and she still had two stitches to go.

"How did Andrianglia came to be called that." She knew already but she wanted to keep him talking.

"Because it was discovered by Adrian Robert Drake, who claimed it in the name of Anglian Kingdom."

"All done."

SMF

2008-05-13T12:33:15Z

Let's talk a little bit about how to format a manuscript before sending it in.

Now, every time I go through this song and dance, someone pops up and declares that Good Gad, he has done it the other way and nobody ever told him different. And his editor does not mind manuscripts set in Garamond. Or that I need to move into the digital age. To which I reply, "It's your song and dance." It's called Standard Manuscript Format for a reason, but it is entirely up to you whether you do or don't adopt it. SMF Police isn't going to come and get you. :P

Another point that is often made: well, it is all electronic anyway, so what does it matter? Not true. Most houses will expect the delivery of both hard copy and the electronic file. Your Editor and CE will be working with your hard copy. Why make things harder for them?

Also, some publishing houses do not use SMF. So a good rule of thumb is, use SMF unless you see instructions to the contrary.

I don't work in SMF. I hate Courier with a passion, so I write out all of my stuff and then format it.

1. Header:

Make sure your header includes your name, the title, or abbreviated title, and a page number in the top left corner. Manuscripts occasionally fall or get scattered and you will save editors and agents a lot of grief if you clearly identify each page.

2. Font.

Set your manuscript into Courier or Courier New, 10 or 12 pt. Courier is a monospace font.

If you study it for a second, you will notice it looks like a typewriter font, because every letter takes exactly the same amount of space.

It's not the prettiest font out there. That's why converting manuscript into Courier is the very last step on my manuscript preparation list. So if it's so damn ugly, why do we even use it? Two reasons. The first goes back to typographical word count. Typographical word is 5 characters plus a space.

Type: 1234567890 6 times on the first line. Adjust the margins until the next character typed will jump onto the second line. Depending on the version of Word, your margins might run anywhere from from 1 inch to 1.4 inch. Now you have exactly 60 characters per line or exactly 10 monospaced typographic words per line. Now let's do a new Word Count, except this time we will count the lines and add a zero on the end.

100 lines - 1,000 monospaced typographical words.

Did your word count just jumped? I bet it did. When I realized how much I had to cut from my first manuscript, I very cleverly asked my editor if that was SMF format word count or Ms Word word count. I was told without any qualms that it was SMF. :(

Typically an average novel that is 90,000 words in SMF will run about 70K plus change in MS Word.

OMG, I just realized that my novel is much longer in SMF and aaaaaah, what do I do?

The answer is: nothing. If your novel is good, and you submit it, and the publisher accepts it, they will instruct you to cut it if it's too long.

3. Spacing.

Make sure your manuscript is double spaced throughout.

And now we come to the second reason for using Courier.

Picture yourself going through the manuscript with a blue pen, trying to find any inconsistencies, correct spelling, and occasionally make notes in the margins. Which one would you prefer?

1) Sample one

She wanted to kiss him. He offered her a chance to kiss him free of guilt, without admitting that she dreamed of his golden body and his green eyes and his voice saying her name. She wouldn't get another opportunity like that. Rose willed herself to take a small step forward. He kept his hands on the table. So far once Declan gave his word, he kept it.

Suddenly bold, she closed the distance between them and rested her own palms on the table between his hands and his sides. If he brought his arms in, he could clamp her. It should've made her more cautious, but instead she simply trembled. She felt like she was walking on a tight rope or running along the edge of one of Declan's blades. One misstep and she would fatally cut herself or fall into abyss.

1) Sample 2

Be nice to your Copy Editor. CEs work very hard. Give them large font and plenty of space.

4. First Page.

There is some variation on this. But whatever you do, make sure your address and contact information is available on the first page. I stick mine in the top left corner. Then under it I center a title. And then I start text.

But what if I just want to have my title on a separate page?

I would say it's a waste of space, but this falls into personal preference arena.

5. Last Page.

Make sure you typed END at the end of your manuscript. Otherwise you will get an email like this:

"Dear Ilona,

I have reached the last page of the manuscript and your novel stops but there is no END. It feels like the end, but I thought I would check with you to see if we were missing any pages."

6. My editor stated that she prefers all her submissions in __________ font with ______ spacing.

DO WHAT YOUR EDITOR TELLS YOU.

Direct Editorial instruction trumps everything. So if your editor tells you she wants your manuscript in Lucinda Calligraphy, you DO IT. You do not argue, you do exactly what the editor says. In the cases where the editor requested a font that is not monospaced, such as Times New Roman, make sure you specify that you're doing MS Word count, since you have no choice in that case.

And just as an icing on the cake, I bring you this link from lovely Deanna Hoak, who is what I would call one of the absolute best CEs out there: Read More

Update

2008-05-12T20:54:56Z

First things first:

The winner of the funny title contest is brigidsblest with a magnificent title of Magic Blows. Please email me at ilona at ilonaland with your address and preferences for who you would like me to sign the book to.

Now regarding the signing. I consider it a resounding success. We didn't sell a ton of books, but we met several awesome people, one of whom was Horace, who is going right into Walmart book somewhere and the other two were Ericka and Amanda, who very graciously hung out with us the whole time. (They were incredibly kind for putting up with me for that long.)

I R Maketing Goddess

2008-05-09T20:45:04Z

Signing: May 10, 2:00-4:00 p.m., Barnes and Noble in the mall, in Savannah, GA. Come meet us!

That's enough marketing. I think I sprained something.

Thank you

2008-05-09T16:13:16Z

Thank you so much! I have sent the serious title suggestions to the editor. The funny suggestions are below. Please vote for your favorites. The author of the title with the most votes gets an autographed Magic Burns (if you already own it, I can autograph it for your friend or a library to be be donated.)

View Poll: #1185225

Magic... Does Something Wonky?

2008-05-08T21:20:23Z

It's time to pick the title for Midnight Games.

Magic Fights got no love from marketing. I suck at titles, what can I say.

Current favorite is Magic Strikes. Can you guys throw some alternate suggestions for the title? It has to have Magic in it.

The author of a winning title will get mention in the acknowledgments and will receive an autographed copy of Magic Burns, just like last year. :)

Hell has no fury

2008-05-07T16:54:27Z

like my BFF. That is all.

Teaser Tuesday

2008-05-06T21:34:29Z

Eleonore cradled Georgie. He lay limp, his skin cold and clammy. His pulse fluttered like a dying butterfly under her fingertips. She tried to reach him again and again, but he had slipped somewhere deep, far beneath her power.

Below her the house shuddered and snapped, loud with breaking wood and heavy crashes, but none of that mattered. She focused on her hoarse whisper, pouring every iota of her power into the words. "Come on, sweetheart. Come back to me. Come back to your grandmère You don't want to leave me, do you?"

She felt only darkness.

"Come back to me, baby."

Her magic suffused her. A faint glow spread from her face to her fingertips. In the darkness of the attic and in the darkness that had swallowed Georgie, Eleonore became a beacon.

"Come back to me."

She was so intent on finding him, it took her several seconds to realize that all had gone quiet.

The trapdoor quaked. Someone or something had grasped the pull rope from below and jerked it. Eleonore began to chant soundlessly, gathering the magic around her. She couldn't flash, not like Rose, but she was no push over.

The next tug tore the latch from the wood. The ladder dropped down.

The magic swirled around her like a death cloud. Malevolent streaks shot through her glow, twisting about her like furious ribbons. It would take her life in payment for its services, but she had no choice. Anything to buy Georgie a few more minutes.

Favorite line of the day

2008-05-05T20:38:28Z

"Y'all brace yourselves," Thad barked.

Alright, fine, put your sex petitions here...

2008-05-04T23:12:29Z

Why am I getting "Curran and Kate must have sex" comments?

That's why.

Rose snippet

2008-05-02T19:34:09Z

It's Friday, it's Friday.

Cranky Joseph, having worked the night shift, has to deliver some plants to his Uncle in Borderlands...

The Chevy climbed up the road. Joseph navigated through a one lane bridge, turned left past a bamboo thicket, then right, behind Tucker's place. He never did understand Tucker: the man's ratty double wide trailer was about to fall apart, but the vehicle parked next to it was an enormous red Dodge that had to have cost close to forty grand. Does a man spend more of his time at home or in his truck? "Fix your damn trailer," Joseph murmured.

He passed another bridge and made a sharp right onto a narrow dirt road flanked by chalk maple shrubs entangled with whiteberry. Branches scratched at the truck. Joseph swore. Uncle Morris was always a bit of a recluse, and his wife Adele was perfectly content to never leave the house except for an occasional run down to the store. They grew their own vegetables: beans, corn, potatoes, peppers, and squash, and canned a good deal of what they grew. With two horses, four cows, and a mob of chickens with whom Aunt Adele fought a never ending battle for her porch, they made most of what they needed. But it was one thing to keep to themselves, and another to let the road overgrow to impassable jungle. He'd have to talk Morris into taking a weedeater to it.

The brush ended, replaced by a single row of tall pines. Between them Joseph saw the green meticulously cut lawn and the house, a small two story with freshly painted white siding and green roof, and beyond it a pasture running up a low hill.

To the left of the house three old, rusted cars dotted the grass. Morris hated to go out, but he liked to tinker with cars. Joseph sighed. If his uncle wanted to half of his yard into a used car lot, not much he could do about it.

He turned into the long driveway.

To his right in the pasture, a horse lay on its side. A cloud of flies swirled around the carcass.

Joseph slammed on the brakes. Morris would never leave a dead horse to rot in the pasture.

He slapped parking break on, leaving the engine to idle, swiped a shot gun from the floor, and jumped out. Gravel crunched under his feet. Joseph headed toward the wooden fence flanking the pasture.

Both mares lay belly up in the grass, their throats torn, their bodie stained with dark blood. Further up the hill, dark brown mounds marked the places the cows had fallen. Morris's entire livestock lay dead in the field, slaughtered. What the hell was going on?

A dark shape darted to the left, just on the edge of his vision. Morris turned, whipping the shotgun, but it dashed behind the house on all fours. A changeling gone mad? It was possible, he supposed, although the only changeling around now was Rose's baby brother and the kid wasn't big enough to bring down two horses and a four cows.

Joseph advanced up the gravel. It would have to be a drifter or something worse, something weird that crawled out of the depths of the Wood.

Another shape jerked to the left, behind the rusted truck. Joseph veered that way, walking slowly, his shotgun at the ready. "Uncle Morris!" he called.

The house lay silent.

"Aunt Adele?"

A bright spark in the window on the top floor jerked him back to the right – someone caught the sun in a small mirror in the guest bedroom. A signal. Someone was alive up there.

Wet clammy magic rolled down his back, slow, like a gob of snot sliding along his skin. Joseph turned.

A dark thing emerged from behind the rusted truck. It was tall like a pony and ghastly, mottled purple. Four slanted eyes stared at Joseph, full of silver fire.

Joseph cursed and stumbled back a step. That was no damn changeling. He wasn't sure what the hell it was, but he knew it wasn't anything he had ever seen.

Another set of eyes ignited under the truck.

Katie...

2008-05-02T16:22:20Z

Your email is bouncing. :(

Writing

2008-05-02T14:10:45Z

lilithsaintcrow does beautiful Friday posts related to writing. This is my version.

Ahem.
And now I bring you an emo play/interpretive dance titled "My Work In Progress."

:takes bat, hits writing:

Smack smack smack smack!

It's not working.

:poses dramatically, her wrist touching her forehead:

Woe is me!

:pretends to rip out her hair. Stands there like a medusa holding on to her hair:

I'm wasting my time!

:falls down on her knees:

I should have been a dishwasher!

:sits on her knees, with arms widely spread, and a desperate look on her face:

It's all over. Vaya con dios.

:falls face down on the floor:

The End.

!!!!

2008-05-01T23:52:27Z

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Reece rocks!

Wishful Thinking

2008-05-01T13:58:44Z

So. Money is kind of tight. Husband is kind of going to supervise the night shift. I have worked out and I've cleaned the house, and already wrote for two hours. Before I dig back in, I bring you Ilona Wishful Thinking meme.

Name five places you would like to visit.

India - It seems so beautiful and exotic. I loved Indian movies when I was a kid, and still love them, and I would terribly enjoy visiting, I think.

Japan - I would live in Japan if I could. The culture, at least what I know of it from books and movies, appeals to me very much. I like it all, from work ethic, to hot spring, to food.

Great Britain - I can't even explain one coherently, but I'd love to go.

Spain - It has almost the same draw as India for me: exotic and lovely.

Black Sea - Yep, still have the Southern Russian's stereotypical yearning for Black Sea.

I really liked this review

2008-05-01T10:46:59Z

http://thebooksmugglers.blogspot.com/2008/04/book-review-double-feature-magic-bites.html

I don't usually link to reviews post first month, but this one was really enjoyable. It has an excellent plot summary and it takes a fair look at both Book 1 and Book 2, offering some well deserved criticism.

Bones

2008-04-30T10:44:20Z

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BONES - You know you want it

Poll

2008-04-28T23:47:42Z

I find that my narrative sometimes calls for the use of foreign language. Below under the cut is a short example. In this case the character, Rose, doesn't know what is being said as she doesn't speak French. (Which I might have butchered, eh.)

My question to you is, does it bother you? Should I have it footnoted? Should someone tell Rose what this means?

I'm a big fan of leaving it as is.

Rose edged her way into Grandma Eleonore's house. The clock on the wall said ten till ten. Not good.

It was worth it. Being with Morgan was effortless. They could stay silent side by side or argue with equal comfort. With him she felt...

She tiptoed into the kitchen and froze in the doorway.

Grandmother sat at a table. Her face was very pale. Across from her, resplendid in his leather and fur, sat Declan.

"Good evening, Rose," he said without turning to look at her.

Don't make a scene, she told herself. This had to be handled calmly. "Good evening," she said pleasantly.

"I've come to collect you," he said, his voice perfectly neutral.

Bastard. "Aren't the boys asleep already?"

"I persuaded Madame Eleonore not to rouse them on my account."

Grandmother said nothing.

"I suppose we should be off," Rose said lightly. "Please send the boys over first thing in the morning. Good night, Grandmother."

Declan rose and leaned forward. He gently picked up grandmother's hand and brushed his lips on her knuckles. "Je voudrais vous remercier de tout mon coeur pour votre accueil si chaleureux et votre gentillesse. Bonne nuit, madame."

"Je vous en prie. Au revoir." Grandmother's voice was clipped with tension.

Declan nodded to her and stepped out of the room.

View Poll: #1179348