So you've all been watching my slow metamorphosis from pantser to not-exactly-pantser. (I will never be a hard-core plotter. That would be like trying to change my DNA.)
(No, Holly Bodger. Don't even go there.)
Anyway. I've spent this week thinking my way through what's going to be a mammoth revision of my YA paranormal. It's all good (though it didn't feel good when I first realized what I was in for). But WOW--what a hard week!
Really, really hard.
For one thing, I miss writing. MISS! I haven't done anything but plot and plan, on two separate stories, for almost two months.
And if there isn't some sort of amazing payoff? As in, when I finally start TYPING WORDS next week, it flows at a relentlessly effortless pace that leaves me breathless with wonder and self-worth?
Someone will die.
(Well, probably a character. But still. It will feel good.)
But! Last night I shared my shiny new worldbuilding and backstory with dear Mr. A, who is by far (way way way far) my hardest critic. And guess what! His face lit up.
No, it did. Despite the cliche.
The veil of confusion melted away--he UNDERSTOOD what I was telling him. It was non-convoluted. MADE SENSE. And--he LIKED it! He was smiling.
Understand me. The man doesn't usually smile when I'm telling him about my worlds. He usually--well, hmm. It's more of a constipated, screwed-up-forehead kind of look. As though he's trying really hard to make sense of the nonsensical.
Or something.
So I'm stoked. Can't WAIT to get back to my outlining today. Am TOTALLY going to set aside time this weekend to work.
Many of you plotter types have shared your wisdom and experience over the months. I'm certain it's had an effect on me. Thank you!
So tell me, oh plotters: Once you've got your outline, are you good to go? Or do you find you veer way farther from your plan than you had anticipated?
Share your SUCCESS stories today! And have a brilliant weekend.
Miss Snark's First Victim
Friday, July 29, 2011
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Drop the Needle: HIGH EMOTION #25
TITLE: Air Pirates
GENRE: YA sci-fi/fantasy
Hagai (not a pirate) has been flying with Sam (pirate) to find his missing mother. Sam recently rescued him from Savage (really mean pirate), where Hagai learned that Sam's been lying to him this whole time. Sam's mad because Hagai stole the stone from him.
Hagai said, "You trusted me? I left my job, my home, my friends. I've been nearly killed,"--he tried to count--"like a hundred times because of you and that stone."
"How is that my fault?"
"Because I trusted you! Fitch trusted you too, and you killed him." Sam started to correct him, but Hagai stopped him. "Or let him die, or whatever, I don't care! You act all good and nice, but that's all it is--a piking act. All you care about is the stone. As far as I've seen, you and Savage are the same."
It was the first time Hagai had seen Sam speechless. He looked as if he might kill Hagai, which he undoubtedly could with little trouble.
Hagai didn't really care. "Would you even have bothered rescuing me if I hadn't shouted back in that cell?"
Sam gritted his teeth. "Nay. I came for the stone, not piking mercs."
"Fine. Give me my bag, and I'll go."
"I ain't your wet nurse, shaver. You want your nappy? Get it yourself."
"You . . . you left it?" Hagai clenched his fists. It was enough that Sam mocked him, lied to him. Now he'd left Hagai with nothing. His money, his clothes, even the book Dorsey had given him--gone.
"What, you gonna wet now, Maggie? It's a blessing your mammy can't see you."
"Shut up!"
Hagai leapt forward, his good hand flying towards Sam's chin. Sam knocked his fist aside easily, then mashed Hagai's face and shoved him into the mud. By the time Hagai pulled himself up, Sam was aboard the ship, the rope pulled up behind him.
GENRE: YA sci-fi/fantasy
Hagai (not a pirate) has been flying with Sam (pirate) to find his missing mother. Sam recently rescued him from Savage (really mean pirate), where Hagai learned that Sam's been lying to him this whole time. Sam's mad because Hagai stole the stone from him.
Hagai said, "You trusted me? I left my job, my home, my friends. I've been nearly killed,"--he tried to count--"like a hundred times because of you and that stone."
"How is that my fault?"
"Because I trusted you! Fitch trusted you too, and you killed him." Sam started to correct him, but Hagai stopped him. "Or let him die, or whatever, I don't care! You act all good and nice, but that's all it is--a piking act. All you care about is the stone. As far as I've seen, you and Savage are the same."
It was the first time Hagai had seen Sam speechless. He looked as if he might kill Hagai, which he undoubtedly could with little trouble.
Hagai didn't really care. "Would you even have bothered rescuing me if I hadn't shouted back in that cell?"
Sam gritted his teeth. "Nay. I came for the stone, not piking mercs."
"Fine. Give me my bag, and I'll go."
"I ain't your wet nurse, shaver. You want your nappy? Get it yourself."
"You . . . you left it?" Hagai clenched his fists. It was enough that Sam mocked him, lied to him. Now he'd left Hagai with nothing. His money, his clothes, even the book Dorsey had given him--gone.
"What, you gonna wet now, Maggie? It's a blessing your mammy can't see you."
"Shut up!"
Hagai leapt forward, his good hand flying towards Sam's chin. Sam knocked his fist aside easily, then mashed Hagai's face and shoved him into the mud. By the time Hagai pulled himself up, Sam was aboard the ship, the rope pulled up behind him.
Drop the Needle: HIGH EMOTION #24
TITLE: ABSINTHE AND LEPRECHAUNS
GENRE: Fantasy mystery
Dr. Jamie Grey is a coroner for the Mythological Victims Unit, and she works with two detectives: Angel Armatrudo and Michael Spain. Spain gets jealous when he finds Dr. Grey and Angel discussing a case, and he reveals that he knows a secret she has kept hidden by calling her by her late husband's real name.
"Michael." I held up my hands and spoke softly. "The three of us are colleagues. You've helped me on this case, and I appreciate it. All three of us have helped each other on numerous cases in the past few years that we've worked together. It's just work."
Spain slammed his hand on the desk. "It's just work. It's just work, Dr. Glaisne. Just work. And I'm nothing but a joke to you." He knocked some of the papers off my desk and spun out of my office.
Armatrudo stared at the back of the other detective before turning to me. "Bones, about what he said, I'm sorry. I-"
"Which one of you investigated my past?"
He dropped his head. "I did three years ago when you first joined. I never told Michael."
"How did he find out?"
"I didn't know he had until just now." At least Armatrudo had the decency to look ashamed.
I ran out of my office and blocked Michael's path. "I admit. I kept a dangerous secret from you, but that doesn't explain you going crazy."
"I knew about your secret. You were clever with changing the date of your husband's death, and I understand why you did it. I was hoping..." Michael trailed off, and I waited for him to continue. "I hoped you would eventually see that I'm good for you."
GENRE: Fantasy mystery
Dr. Jamie Grey is a coroner for the Mythological Victims Unit, and she works with two detectives: Angel Armatrudo and Michael Spain. Spain gets jealous when he finds Dr. Grey and Angel discussing a case, and he reveals that he knows a secret she has kept hidden by calling her by her late husband's real name.
"Michael." I held up my hands and spoke softly. "The three of us are colleagues. You've helped me on this case, and I appreciate it. All three of us have helped each other on numerous cases in the past few years that we've worked together. It's just work."
Spain slammed his hand on the desk. "It's just work. It's just work, Dr. Glaisne. Just work. And I'm nothing but a joke to you." He knocked some of the papers off my desk and spun out of my office.
Armatrudo stared at the back of the other detective before turning to me. "Bones, about what he said, I'm sorry. I-"
"Which one of you investigated my past?"
He dropped his head. "I did three years ago when you first joined. I never told Michael."
"How did he find out?"
"I didn't know he had until just now." At least Armatrudo had the decency to look ashamed.
I ran out of my office and blocked Michael's path. "I admit. I kept a dangerous secret from you, but that doesn't explain you going crazy."
"I knew about your secret. You were clever with changing the date of your husband's death, and I understand why you did it. I was hoping..." Michael trailed off, and I waited for him to continue. "I hoped you would eventually see that I'm good for you."
Drop the Needle: HIGH EMOTION #23
TITLE: Untitled
GENRE: MG Contemporary
Cassidy's talking to her father while he's on his deathbed. Cassidy's mother, who died years ago, claimed the end of life was like the end of a book--your line just runs out--but her father claims the line continues, but perhaps, in another book.
Cassidy moved in the direction of the call button, but her father's eyes built an immediate wall in front of her. Cassidy knew this look--this wall. And she respected it.
"Come to me," he weakly demanded.
The girl moved slowly, lip quivering with each step.
"Don't think this is the end for me. Don't focus on the line. I'll be with you always. Tell me you believe that."
Cassidy didn't believe that, but her father's eyes begged her to tell him otherwise.
"I believe you."
The man smiled. His knuckles gained color and his fist opened. He ran his palm over the back of her hand. "Always believe that. I love you more than you can possibly imagine."
"Love you too, Daddy." Though her mouth was an empty well, Cassidy swallowed hard. Moments later, her dry lips welcomed the tiny drops that gravity brought their way.
The man grunted and his hand left hers. He strangled the blanket again. "Water."
Cassidy rushed to the table behind her. She reached for the water and hastily poured, more water falling to the table than in the glass.
A flat and droning hum pierced the silence.
"Daddy," she meekly whispered as she turned her head.
A peaceful smile covered the man's pale face. His grip loosened and the white blanket was set free. Cassidy's grip loosened as well, and the shattering of glass mixed with the droning hum that filled the room.
Her gaze moved to the bedside where a monitor displayed a flat line.
Cassidy stood motionless, trying desperately not focus on the line.
"Impossible," she whispered.
GENRE: MG Contemporary
Cassidy's talking to her father while he's on his deathbed. Cassidy's mother, who died years ago, claimed the end of life was like the end of a book--your line just runs out--but her father claims the line continues, but perhaps, in another book.
Cassidy moved in the direction of the call button, but her father's eyes built an immediate wall in front of her. Cassidy knew this look--this wall. And she respected it.
"Come to me," he weakly demanded.
The girl moved slowly, lip quivering with each step.
"Don't think this is the end for me. Don't focus on the line. I'll be with you always. Tell me you believe that."
Cassidy didn't believe that, but her father's eyes begged her to tell him otherwise.
"I believe you."
The man smiled. His knuckles gained color and his fist opened. He ran his palm over the back of her hand. "Always believe that. I love you more than you can possibly imagine."
"Love you too, Daddy." Though her mouth was an empty well, Cassidy swallowed hard. Moments later, her dry lips welcomed the tiny drops that gravity brought their way.
The man grunted and his hand left hers. He strangled the blanket again. "Water."
Cassidy rushed to the table behind her. She reached for the water and hastily poured, more water falling to the table than in the glass.
A flat and droning hum pierced the silence.
"Daddy," she meekly whispered as she turned her head.
A peaceful smile covered the man's pale face. His grip loosened and the white blanket was set free. Cassidy's grip loosened as well, and the shattering of glass mixed with the droning hum that filled the room.
Her gaze moved to the bedside where a monitor displayed a flat line.
Cassidy stood motionless, trying desperately not focus on the line.
"Impossible," she whispered.
Drop the Needle: HIGH EMOTION #22
TITLE: Deadline
GENRE: Women's Fiction
A 20-something journalist, Danica, has just been told by a CIA operative that she could rescue her brother who is being held by pirates.
"Why are you willing to help me?" Danica asked.
He looked away, then back. "There's something else I haven't told you."
"Uh-oh. I don't like the sound of this."
He smiled. "Nothing dastardly. Just that I've done a lot of reading the last few days, and I feel like I know you from your articles."
"They're about other people," she pointed out.
"Oh, your voice shines through, alright. Your thoughts. Your personality. Your sense of humor." He paused. "And then there's your essays. You wrote one your senior year in college about your brother and the personal sacrifices he made to get top honors at the military academy. After I read that, I don't know, I just felt like I had to help you find him. Rescue the rescuer, if you will."
Silence descended between them. The lunch crowd had thinned out. Only five other tables had patrons. Danica became aware of the sound of a faucet being turned on in the recesses of the kitchen, laughter from one of the tables, the painful pounding of her troubled heart. The high school students had long since gone, leaving a mess of napkins on the floor. A distant memory came to her: in high school, her brother used to sneak cheese fries into the house late at night. He always saved some of it for her if she'd already gone to bed.
Her finger traced a heart someone had carved on the battered table top. "I miss him," she said.
"I can imagine."
She raised anguished eyes to his. "You said something preposterous earlier. You said I could rescue my brother."
He nodded. "Yes. You can. And it's not as preposterous as you think."
"Okay then. How?"
GENRE: Women's Fiction
A 20-something journalist, Danica, has just been told by a CIA operative that she could rescue her brother who is being held by pirates.
"Why are you willing to help me?" Danica asked.
He looked away, then back. "There's something else I haven't told you."
"Uh-oh. I don't like the sound of this."
He smiled. "Nothing dastardly. Just that I've done a lot of reading the last few days, and I feel like I know you from your articles."
"They're about other people," she pointed out.
"Oh, your voice shines through, alright. Your thoughts. Your personality. Your sense of humor." He paused. "And then there's your essays. You wrote one your senior year in college about your brother and the personal sacrifices he made to get top honors at the military academy. After I read that, I don't know, I just felt like I had to help you find him. Rescue the rescuer, if you will."
Silence descended between them. The lunch crowd had thinned out. Only five other tables had patrons. Danica became aware of the sound of a faucet being turned on in the recesses of the kitchen, laughter from one of the tables, the painful pounding of her troubled heart. The high school students had long since gone, leaving a mess of napkins on the floor. A distant memory came to her: in high school, her brother used to sneak cheese fries into the house late at night. He always saved some of it for her if she'd already gone to bed.
Her finger traced a heart someone had carved on the battered table top. "I miss him," she said.
"I can imagine."
She raised anguished eyes to his. "You said something preposterous earlier. You said I could rescue my brother."
He nodded. "Yes. You can. And it's not as preposterous as you think."
"Okay then. How?"
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