Refining My R.E.A.R.

No, I'm not detailing my gym workouts. Okay, so I made the funky acronym on purpose. The premise is valid, however. Real Emotion And Response from your reader is the key to keeping your book in their hands.  I hate it when I read a book and realize that I don't really care what happens to the characters; that their experience and responses are too out of my personal understanding to relate.  This is a very bad thing...especially for romance writers.

There are a lot of things that go into a novel. Core elements like plot, pacing, tension, organization...you name it. You're building a world for your reader, it takes sweat and planning.  We all strive to do our best and hone our craft. We all agonize over that adverb, or that sub-plot, or word count.  You know what? Its all for nothing if the emotion doesn't ring true and the reader can't relate.

Take a certain paranormal romance series for example. The plot isn't that original. The characters could use some layering. The setting is dreary and not really described much. But the angst...whew!  Talk about resonating with your demographic.

The idea that the most desirable, most dangerous of the characters would move mountains to be with you is alluring. Who wouldn't want to be so enchanting that an Adonis-like creature would defy the rules of his universe, his family, even his personal beliefs to have you?  Is it any wonder that the series broke past the target audience to their mothers? Being desired, above everyone else, is universal. Whether its for your beauty, strength, wit, or writing ability...we want to be wanted. It's a basic human need.

 

But something real lies underneath the twinkling glitter of the story dream. Something that pulls at your reader's core. Real emotion - longing, insecurity, desire for something you know is more than you deserve. Through the fog of the improbable, you reach out to that part of your reader that still smarts from that rejection or unrequited love, or lost spark -- and you elicit a response that transcends plot details and adverb over-usage.

Mechanics can be fixed and fine tuned. Word counts can be bent and plot can be tightened. That's what revisions are for, right? But that real emotion...that visceral connection with the character is powerful. Don't forget, in your quest to shine and polish your "work",  that it is a work of "art" to begin with.

So work on refining your 'rears' my friends. Until next time...Go write.

Photograph by DerrickT.   Photograph by Victor Bezrukov.  Photograph by pedrosimoes7.

The Dark Side Is Calling...

I have one writing gear...thats it. No multiple settings for this baby.  When things are good, they're awesome.  I write like I've main-lined pure adrenaline. Nothing distracts me, I start typing and before I know it, my husband is telling me to take a break four or five hours later. Poof! Just like that...and I swear it feels like I just sat down. I take a quick coffee with him, wish him good night, and start writing again.  Two or three in the morning? No problem.  I just type till I notice the tops of my hands are hurting. I pound out twenty plus pages a night this way and its fantastic.

That is not what is happening right now. Right now I sit and stare at my computer like I'm in a Barton Fink remake. I've alphabetized all of my cd's and books, dusted my keyboard and printer, and generally farted around. The problem with my writing binges is that they end. They last one night, two nights...three at the most, and then they're gone. Poof! Just like my lost hours, my steam is gone and I end up buying microwave pasta cookers online at two in the morning instead of working on my novel.

How does this happen? Its not like I don't know what to type. I'm extrememly organized and usually block out my scenes so I don't think that is the problem.  I know what needs to occur next in my story so why can't I write it? Maybe I just hate my characters and don't care if the two of them ever get out of the alligator invested swamp.

No, I think its that my heart is in another story right now.  One I'd resolved not to write. The tale of the dark and dangerous Siyah and the self-hating Raven.  It's not a happy journey. I'm not even sure they both survive it. I'm not sure about ANYTHING having to do with them. The entire plot and story is just a thick fog randomly lit up with sparks of electric possibilities. I've refuse to block it out or even think about the ending. But I can't work on anything else because their tale of terror and temptation is too, well...too tempting for me to focus on my "official" novel.

So I sit here, munching on M&M's and lurking amid the Facebook posts about new babies and the Tweet announcements of "awesome" summer antics.  Your pictures are blurry, by the way, just an observation from a grumpy insomniac.

My eyes flit from time to time to the scribbled notes I grudgingly jotted down about gypsy legends and curses. I thumb through an article about grifter scams, but quickly toss it away.  I will not abandon a perfectly good, well constructed novel, to work on this...this...wait -- is that a book on talismans over there?

Photograph by Jamie Neely.  Photograph by Horia Varlan.  

I Should've Seen It Coming...

Michelle over at Beautiful Chaos had the most awesome idea...EVER. She proposed a blogfest in which we share our most favorite scene. She called it the "Share Your Darlings" Blogfest and it is Uber-Cool! 

So this is from a book I wrote last year called, Purple Knot. This scene is after a very emotional chapter in which the main character, Rain Cruz, signed off on an emergency C-section that resulted in her best friend, Summer's, death. 

Jimmy is the main character's love interest and the brother of the friend that just died. Mona made a scene upstairs not ten minutes ago...screaming and throwing medical supplies about the room in an outburst of violent grief.

Rain is not a fan.

I'll let Rain describe Mona in her own words:

"Mona was Jimmy and Summer’s mother. Big haired and perpetually tipsy, she was a southern belle of epic movie proportions. Given to sneaking cigarettes at inopportune moments, she never seemed to be around when they needed her. Mona and I never really hit it off. The only time she ever took my side was when I announced I was moving away from Seattle, away from her son."

---

Purple Knot

Chapter Four

In retrospect I should’ve seen it coming. After signing papers with the nurse, I wandered down to the cafeteria to find some coffee, or arsenic. Either would have done, really. I stood in the aisle between the hanging packages of trail mix, and the steaming soup buckets wondering what I was even doing down here, when Mona yelled my name at the top of her lungs.

“How could you do this? That baby has no mother because of you!”

I froze with a bowl full of potato soup in one hand, a ladle in the other. Again, hindsight tells me I should have kept the ladle in my possession.

I was not sure what to say to a crazy person who was now suffering unbearable grief.

“I’m sorr-”

“Don’t you ever speak to me again!”

Mona bellowed and strode across the cafeteria toward me. People parted for her like they knew her, and made an open path right to me.

“You are the worst kind of…of…scum.”

I watched with morbid fascination as her hands came up again. Her long coral-pink nails flashed in the buzzing florescent lights. I saw Jimmy run out of the elevator, scan right then left, do a double-take and launch himself towards us. Alas, he always seemed to be a second behind the action. Mona grabbed my sweater with both hands and shook me like bag of dirty rags. Occupied by the bowl of now wildly sloshing potato soup in my hands, I was useless against her onslaught.

“You…did…this! You did this!”

Mona heaved with the strain of throttling me and I could smell the bourbon on her breath. Where did she get bourbon in a hospital, I thought madly? Jimmy yanked Mona off of me and sent her sliding on her butt through the puddle of spilled soup. His face was tight when he wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me toward the door.

“You need to come with me.”

He carried me out of the cafeteria into the elevator. The bowl of soup was still in my hands. I could hear Mona shouting as the doors closed achingly slow on yet another crowd of disbelieving stares.

---

This is one of my favorite scenes because I've experienced dealing with grief and surreal craziness at the same time. Its strange the things you notice during moments like that...the coral nails are a detail ripped from my own reality.

I hope you liked the excerpt. I encourage you to go on over to Beautiful Chaos to catch some other great "Darlings"...Until next time -- Go Write!
Photograph by mukais.