I've been reading Elements of the Novel by Eileen Charbonneau each week for these posts. Today's is on Research. Something necessary but something that can be a lure and steer a writer away from what they're supposed to be doing and that is writing. I used to be one of those ones she talks about and would try to find one more book and one more fact. One day I finally said enough is too much. Now my research is based on what I need to know.
The interesting part of research is uncovering that one fact thaat triggers off an idea for the book. One little bit in a research book on Egypt set me off to write one book and then to write a series. I can't quote it now but I could find it in the book where I found the small sentence. When I first uncovered this fact about the time of the Hyksos invasion and the chaos in Egypt with a lot of men wanting to become pharaoh I knew there was a story there. This led me to recall my love of Tolstoy's Anna Karenina and how as a child I thought the woman was foolish for throwing herself in front of a train. This led me to writing a reincarnation series of stories that became a united book. That fact also led me to a current trilogy I'm writing, but another fact made me change this from a time-travel to an alternate ancient Egypt. There were no camel in Egypt during the time period I was writing about. Thus I needed to shift my focus. All this because of research.
In Elements of the Novel, Eileen lists the reasons for doing research. There is the Why. This is using the real facts to make the novel sing. She also talks about the When of research. Before you start writing will help bring your story into focus. During will help you find a fact that helps explain why or how the character faces the event. After the book is done and you've sent it out for the first readers or to an editor, sometimes honing is necessary. A scene may need to be changed because you've assumed something could be true when it's not.
Another thing Eileen talks about is chosing sides. Sometimes two bits you're found when you're researching contradict each other. Choose a side and go with it. Use your imagination to see which of these facts fits your story or leads your story into new territor.
So, how much research do you need to do. Enough to make the story sing.
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
Tuesday's Inspiration - Richard Lockridge - Crime and Characters
Today's inspiration came at the right time for me. While looking through The Writer's book I came upon an essay by Richard Lockridge, creator of Mr. and Mrs. North. What he said was about characters "The problem of those who write mysteries and of all writers is basically the same." The reader can care or not care about the characters." This is rather a summary. What he's saying to me is the characters must be ones the readers care what happens in their lives. This can be easy or hard.
My current WIP is part of a series and while the main character basically stays the same. She's stubborn, loyal and caring. The truth is often more important to her than anything else. But she is also changing and those changes can bother a reader who doesn't know the character the way I do. She is the main character but there are others in the story. How does one make the reader care what happens to the villain of the piece. By showing them in action. I remember a review I once recieved for the first book of this series. The reviewer couldn't wait for the villain to find justice.
So what did this inspier me to do? To look at the story I'm writing and determine what the changes my character has been making so they're logical. This is something important to remember. Another thing I'll look at is to see if the victim and the suspects are people the reader can see and either like or dislike but feel satisfied when the book ends.
Developing characters the readers can care about in some way is my inspiration for today
My current WIP is part of a series and while the main character basically stays the same. She's stubborn, loyal and caring. The truth is often more important to her than anything else. But she is also changing and those changes can bother a reader who doesn't know the character the way I do. She is the main character but there are others in the story. How does one make the reader care what happens to the villain of the piece. By showing them in action. I remember a review I once recieved for the first book of this series. The reviewer couldn't wait for the villain to find justice.
So what did this inspier me to do? To look at the story I'm writing and determine what the changes my character has been making so they're logical. This is something important to remember. Another thing I'll look at is to see if the victim and the suspects are people the reader can see and either like or dislike but feel satisfied when the book ends.
Developing characters the readers can care about in some way is my inspiration for today
Monday, June 18, 2012
Monday 18 June Week Ahead and behind
Interesting thing Met Babette at a NJRW meeting. She was a guest on my blog both Friday and Saturday.
Been thinking about what happens when one does the spell and grammar check. What I've found it I write a lot of incomplete sentences and I know that I'm doing this. Sometimes the spell checker marks things that are sentences as phrases. Think about re-writing is the advice. But people don't think in complete sentences and they also don't talk in complete sentences. I push the ignore button a lot. That's my wondering for this week.
Last week I nearly finished the final re-write of The Micro-Manager Murder and I'm very glad it's coming to the end. Not that I don't like the story but the closer I come to the end, the harder a new story pushes to emerge.
This week, I plan to finish the re-write. On the last chapter and then it's time for the check of all the spelling, punctuation and making sure all the loose ends are gathered up and resolved. Found one or two while working on the last chapter. Of course I'll wonder if a story is ever done. Sometimes re-reading books I wrote years ago, I see how far I've come and though tempted I push aside all thoughts of re-writing them. How I wrote then and how I write now have undergone changes and learning. I'm still learning and hopefully each story will get better and better.
Been thinking about what happens when one does the spell and grammar check. What I've found it I write a lot of incomplete sentences and I know that I'm doing this. Sometimes the spell checker marks things that are sentences as phrases. Think about re-writing is the advice. But people don't think in complete sentences and they also don't talk in complete sentences. I push the ignore button a lot. That's my wondering for this week.
Last week I nearly finished the final re-write of The Micro-Manager Murder and I'm very glad it's coming to the end. Not that I don't like the story but the closer I come to the end, the harder a new story pushes to emerge.
This week, I plan to finish the re-write. On the last chapter and then it's time for the check of all the spelling, punctuation and making sure all the loose ends are gathered up and resolved. Found one or two while working on the last chapter. Of course I'll wonder if a story is ever done. Sometimes re-reading books I wrote years ago, I see how far I've come and though tempted I push aside all thoughts of re-writing them. How I wrote then and how I write now have undergone changes and learning. I'm still learning and hopefully each story will get better and better.
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Sunday's 3 Blog Visits
http://obscurekidlitauthors.blogspot.com/
http://bwlauthors.blogspot.com/ bit from a cover artist
http://www.williamking.me/2012/04/27/the-disappointment-with-free/ Interesting thoughts
Saturday, June 16, 2012
Saturday's Chapter - Babette James - Clear As Day
Clear As Day - Blurb:
What’s a girl to do when her summer lover wants forever?
Haunted by dark memories of her parents’ volatile marriage, artist Kay Browning keeps her heart locked behind a free-spirit facade and contents herself with the comfortable affair she has every summer with easygoing photographer Nate Quinn.
The only trouble with her plan? This summer Nate’s come to Lake Mohave to claim the lover he can’t let go. He’s done with the endless traveling and settling for temporary homes and temporary loves. Kay’s always been more than just a vacation fling, and now he must convince this woman, who sees love as a course to certain heartbreak, to take that leap of faith and learn how safe love with the right man can be.
Clear As Day - Chapter One
Of course, the more she determined not to think of Nate, the more she did.
“Just perfect.” Kay Browning tipped her Dodgers cap low against the mid-morning glare and kicked into a hard backstroke through the cool water. Blue skies, hot July sun, intense desert landscape—another perfect day at Lake Mohave. Except for the futile if onlys snarled in her mind like fishing line.
Nate Quinn had come along with July and Mohave for the past six years. He’d sail in like a freshening wind, they’d share two weeks of fishing, playing, and loving, Kay’s careful schedule demolished to a pleasant shambles, and then he’d be off again on his adventures. Kay’s life would resume its organized pace, punctuated by glossy postcards, scattered bursts of e-mails, IMs and silly Tweets, the occasional twenty-plus-page letter, and the odd oblivious-to-time-zone phone call.
Kay liked how they kept the relationship simple. No demands on each other. No clinging, pining or carping. A happy, mutual understanding: she stayed and he went. But this summer, however much she hated admitting the feeling, Nate’s absence threw off her sense of balance.
No whining, no pining, remember?
She turned with a splash, adjusted her cap, and swam hard toward shore.
Life happens. Focus on what you can control.
At the moment, that was her painting.
She allowed herself one heavy sigh. Why every last one of her friends had inexplicably cancelled on the set-in-stone annual vacation—well, plans change. As for Nate…She hadn’t pined over anything since she was ten. This was simple, annoying regret.
She coasted into the shallows, rolled to her back and forced herself to relax and float. In her mind’s eye she drew Nate sitting there on the beach with the sun-drenched background of stark rocky land and softening tangles of willow, mesquite and tamarisk, and the mental exercise halfway worked in distracting the fidgets—as long as she kept her eyes closed. Fantasizing wasn’t pining. Quick pencil strokes to block him in. Slower, surer on the details. He liked his blond hair in a crew cut. His lean shoulders, strong, long hands… She trailed her fingertips over his favorite path from her waist over her ribs upward to—
Nope, no fantasizing that way. Back to drawing. Maybe she’d grab a sketchpad later and work out a few real drafts.
Lips set together, relaxed, with the faintest lift of a smile at the corners. The faint crook to his rugby-broken nose. His agile, comic eyebrows lay thick and straight over gray eyes. His ears stuck out a charming slightest bit. Beautiful cut abs and pecs proved his claims of laziness a lie. A perfect amount of body hair dusted silky crisp over chest, arms and legs. Men were such texture contrasts: the satin of skin and rasp of hair, jut of bone and arc of muscle, soft lips and calloused fingers. He wouldn’t have shaved yet today, and there would have been sandpapery-rough morning kisses. She almost heard him calling her, “Hey, Kay!” in the relaxed, husky way he—
With a splash, she erased the frustrating daydream. This wishful imagining fixed nothing. Her sheltered little camp would still be empty. Should she give in, pack up the camp, and hit the road north to Lake Mead instead? Just break her routine for once.
No, but it was definitely past time to get her tush out of the water and do something constructive. This lonely gnawing in her bones and brain was unacceptable. Kay pushed to her feet, facing out to the scenic lake created out of a stretch of the Colorado River and the rugged land beyond shimmering with heat.
Work, right, but it was too early in the day for the hard afternoon light she needed for the Coyote Point painting. She was too restless to read or fish and not in the mood to take the boat over to the marina, chat with George, and buy ice.
She rolled her shoulders and stretched, enjoying the hot air licking over her wet skin. As she wiggled her feet in the sand and gravel-bottomed shallows, a flurry of minnows darted past her ankles, and her silver toe ring glinted beneath the clear water. She paused, caught by the possibilities in the sparkling sun on water and the intricate, shifting reflections over gravel. Yes! Exactly the distracting challenge she needed. Shaking the water from her ears, she pivoted toward camp.
“Kay!” That male voice was not her imagination.
“Oh, shit!” She twisted and dropped into the water, sinking neck-deep. Mother always said, among other things, that a lady never goes skinny-dipping and must always wear a proper hat. Kay was only half skinny-dipping, but she fervently wished she’d worn something a bit more substantial than a baseball cap and the bottom half of the quintessential teeny-weenie yellow polka-dot bikini.
Shit, oh, shit, oh, shit. She so hated when Mother was right.
Okay, time to find out who’d just gotten an eyeful. The guy had called her name, so she should know him. Oh boy, if she’d flashed old George…
She wiped water from her face, sucked in a breath against her pounding heart, and peeked around.
Nate.
She must be sun-dazed. Nate? With a beard? Hair curling over his ears? No way. Just because a familiar slouchy fishing hat topped those unruly, sun-bleached blond curls and just because this guy possessed the same deep-water tan and footloose taste in clothes as Nate with his electric blue Hawaiian shirt, bright orange swim trunks, and beat-up deck shoes didn’t mean—
“Hey, babe. Now that I’ve finally caught your attention, how about a hug from my girl?” He opened his arms. “Am I coming in after you or are you coming out?” Only Nate’s voice held that mellow
timbre like chocolate for her ears.
“Nate! What…” Giddy delight flushed over Kay, clearing her shock. She dashed from the water and into strong arms, a wonderful hug, and a better kiss that launched her mind into a blissed-out whirl of oh, yes and why?
The oh, yes won out until the need to breathe forced them apart.
Nate gave her a long look, his usually easy gray eyes holding a new, simmering heat.
Wow. Whoa.
His slow hands followed the trail of his roving gaze: gentle tracing of cheek and lips, gliding across hips, waist and ribs, and grazing over her breasts to cup and caress. With his tender, simple touches, he stirred the warm desire of her daydream into full need. She shut her eyes, soaking in the unexpected pleasure. Oh, yes.
“Damn, I missed you.” He settled his mouth back on hers.
Kay laced her hands into his hair, but the soft, curling strands under her fingers and the brushing of his new beard and moustache against her face changed their kiss, as if she were kissing a stranger, the sensations sexy and disconcerting. Too much.
The sweet, sensual spell broke, leaving her strangely caught between aroused and unsettled. She shivered and eased free of his hands, immediately annoyed with herself. She’d missed him, and here he was. She wanted him here. She wanted his touch. She forced herself to relax against the solid, grounding warmth of his chest and was rewarded with another long, deep kiss—
Interrupted by his stomach’s loud growling.
They broke apart laughing.
“Yep, that’s me, Mr. Smooth.” A louder rumble of hunger and Nate chuckled, rolling his eyes. “Guess I should have grabbed something more than coffee at the marina.” His grin was happy, but his eyes were tired and shadowed.
Tenderness rose. Kay snagged her bikini top from the beach chair. “I’ll make us lunch.”
“No need to dress on my account.” He waggled his eyebrows in his best Groucho Marx imitation
before retrieving her cap from the ground.
More laughter bubbled up. “You’ll never get lunch if I don’t. Can’t have you wasting away from hunger now.” She slipped on the top and tied the strings firmly. “How did you find me? I might have been at Crickets or Bent Willow Camp or anywhere.”
He settled her cap on her head and grinned. “You are a creature of habit, love. I knew I’d find you at Skunk Beach.”
“I suppose.”
“To be honest, I did check with George yesterday.”
Wait, how had he gotten here? She’d paid little attention to the boat traffic out on the lake today, but no way could she have missed his small sailboat, the Morning Whisper, sailing past. She glanced behind her. Nope, no boat. Her own boat rocked softly at its mooring. “Where’s the Whisper?”
“She’s moored over at Spider Camp.” Why not here? But before she could voice her question, the warmth of his smile completely derailed her thoughts.
“How about I see if I can quick catch us a couple bluegill or crappie for our lunch?” With a wink, Nate slipped on his sunglasses and scooped up her fishing pole and tackle box.
Lunch, right, focus on lunch. Focus on normal.
Kay dragged her scattered attention onto lunch, cleared her equipment from the card table, set the places, and sorted out the salad ingredients from the cooler. He’d need more than salad and fish or sandwiches to fill him. The biscuits left over from breakfast would go nicely. The ice was getting low. She liked the heat, but with the weather these days, ice went fast. George had told her the other day the highs for the past week hadn’t been under a hundred and nine. She needed to work on the painting…and why on earth had he moored around the point?
She slammed the brakes on her spinning brain.
Oh, hush. Stop fretting and enjoy him. The painting’s not going anywhere.
Nate stood in the shallows, casting with her fishing pole, the lure and bright yellow and red bobber flying in a graceful, snapping arc to plink into the deeper water near the tangle of drowned willows.
He is.
The oddest wistful tug pulled in her, and she immediately smothered that unwelcome sensation, and the fretting. Nate was here. Now. Mindful of her earlier funk, she laughed. A wish had come true.
Better be careful what you wish for.
No. No negative thoughts today. She spread the white towel back over the cooler, straightened the corners, and soaked the heavy terrycloth down again.
The fish must have been as hungry as Nate, because in quick succession, he caught four nice keepers. He squatted at the water’s edge to clean the fish.
Kay started the Coleman stove and proceeded with the ritual of blowing sand from the fry pan and the dishes. Sand worked its way into everything no matter what.
Nate joined her and set the plate of cleaned fish beside the stove. “Pan ready?”
“Just about.”
He tossed his hat over on the camp chair, folded his sunglasses and tucked them away into his shirt pocket.
Kay studied Nate’s unexpected facial hair. She had to admit the short, tidy circle beard suited his face. Her final vote on how she felt about the change was still out, but at least the beard didn’t hide his smile.
“What would you like to drink?” She pondered her ice chest’s limited selection. “Iced tea? Water? Beer?”
“Allow me, madam,” Nate intoned in a silly butler voice. He retrieved an insulated picnic bag from its shady hiding place in her tent and unzipped the lid with a flourish, revealing two cut crystal champagne flutes and the gold-foil topped green bottle nestled in crushed ice.
Delight ruffled through her. “Champagne. Oh, wonderful! What beautiful glasses. You’re crazy, you know. What are we celebrating?” Nate always came up with such sweet, fun surprises.
“July. Us.” He set the glasses on the table. Clinging crumbs of ice melted to beaded drips. After stripping the foil and wire cage, Nate cautiously eased the cork free in a fizzy pop. The bottle frothed over. “Oops.” Laughing, he filled the glasses quickly. His gray eyes sparkled and he handed her a glass. “A toast. Here’s to us and our future.” He touched his flute to hers, the small crystal ting singing between them.
“To us.” She sipped at her champagne, savoring the tart, sweet effervescence. Our future? What was that about? He still hadn’t explained his sudden change of plans.
Nate turned his attention to the stove, and a satisfying sizzle arose as he arranged the fillets to sauté simply in the olive oil with a dusting of salt and pepper. They both preferred to leave the mild flavor of the fish alone and avoid the usual breading or heavy seasoning.
She sighed. Nate. Give him his camera, pad and pen, and the clothes on his back, and off he flew, making his home wherever he threw his hat. If only she could pack her duffle bag, grab her paint kit and catch the next plane to somewhere exotic, maybe Bali or Greece, with Nate’s ease. Why not? She traveled with little more than that in her camper, so what was her problem?
Besides being a neurotic idiot? Does it matter? Stop stressing and wasting your time together. Enjoy him while you can.
Nate wrapped his arm around her waist, swaying them gently to the sweet melody he hummed. Ah, yes, “Come Monday.” After six summers with Nate, she knew almost all his favorite Jimmy Buffett tunes by heart.
“So tell me, why are you back so early? Aren’t you supposed to be heading to New Guinea?”
He neatly turned the filets. “Plans changed fast, and I wanted to see you.”
Happiness rushed through her at his simple statement. She waited for the rest of the story, but Nate simply nipped at her earlobe and scattered butterfly kisses along her nape and shoulder between sips of champagne. He knew her every ticklish, arousing place, and the touch of his clever hands and lips on her bare skin made focusing on conversation difficult.
“Hey, babe, got a question for you. I always meant to ask. Why do you do that wet towel over the ice chest thing?”
What? A sour clench of her stomach kicked her out of her bemused daze. Why? “That’s how Dad said it had to be done.”
****
Damn. Nate sighed. He’d tripped over another of her mysterious buttons. Even simple stuff was complicated with Kay. “Ah, okay.”
Kay glanced over her tense shoulder with defensive shadows in her blue eyes and her brows drawn into a pensive wrinkle. “We’ve always done it this way.”
“No biggie. I just was curious.” He kept his arm around her, stroking her belly, sneaking caresses up to her breasts. He wanted to kiss away that worried line. He needed to fix whatever put it there. “Damn, it’s great to be here with you, babe,” he murmured, nipping again at her ear and tasting kisses down the curve of her neck to her shoulder, pleased as she settled and softened under his touch. That’s better. No problems here. “You taste so good.”
Tasted good, felt better. Being with Kay knocked the exhaustion right out of him better than any pickme- up of caffeine. This had been the longest damn year away from her.
Her relaxed sigh broke into a laugh, and she set aside her champagne. “Hey, one of us better keep an eye on the fish or we’ll end up with cinders.”
Chuckling, he stole one more kiss before he released her. “Right. Fish. I’m on it. Have a seat and enjoy the champagne and I’ll get this fish served up.”
As he plated the filets, he savored the simple, perfect pleasure of watching Kay. Sunshine lit the gold and red flyaway wisps escaping her neatly braided light brown hair. He loved that yellow polkadot bikini on her. He’d nearly swallowed his tongue when she’d risen from the water topless, water dripping from her pale and lovely freckled skin, her breasts tight and tempting.
Kay’s blue eyes flicked up to him as she sipped her champagne. She licked a droplet from her lips with a quick pink touch of her tongue, followed by a thoughtful nibble at her lower lip.
Desire curled through his belly. Maybe he shouldn’t have let her pry loose to make lunch after that kiss.
Yeah, but his obnoxious grumbling stomach had kind of broken the moment, and Kay had needed to regroup after his unexpected arrival.
But was it his fault she camped in wilderness areas without cell service and hadn’t gotten the message from George?
“Here you go. One blue-plate bluegill special.” He set the blue-and-white Melamine plates on the table.
She’d likely be further upset with him for holding back the rest of his surprise—that the gang was over at Spider Camp—but yeah, he was being completely greedy and unwilling to share her attentions just yet.
Her smile reemerged. “Perfect.”
“Yeah, thanks to you. Caught them in time.” He took his seat and topped off her glass and his. The surprise of the champagne and the fancy crystal glasses had gone over well. Damn, but he loved making her smile.
“So, tell me everything.” She drizzled honey onto her biscuit. “Why’s the Whisper over at Spider Camp? Last I heard from you, you weren’t getting back to the States until October.”
“My less than shining effort at a surprise. It seemed brilliant at the time.” He winked. “Can I plead sleep deprivation as an excuse?”
Honestly? On mental autopilot, he’d anchored with the others, grabbed his picnic bag and backpack, and charged on over. Bringing the Whisper over to Kay’s camp would have been the sensible thing.
“Well…since you caught lunch.” She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “Now tell me, what happened to the New Guinea trip? You were all excited about that project.”
“Schmidt cancelled at the last minute, but Cane still wanted Schmidt, so after much arguing, name-calling, snitting, and making up, they’re looking at next year now.” Instead of frustration at the whole debacle between his two prima-donna friends, he’d simply felt relief. Then, while he’d been cooling his heels in Auckland waiting on Cane’s final word on the trip, idly browsing the Web, playing what if and kicking himself over the wasted time, realization had struck. He’d been wasting time in more ways than one. Time to go home.
“Are you going to join them?”
He’d wished Cane aloha and good luck and started the crazed flurry of phone calls, e-mails, negotiations, plane flights, and caffeine-fueled driving that brought him where he needed to be: with Kay.
He smiled. Damn, he was pretty secure about most decisions in his life, but this next step was the big one. “No, I’ve got new plans.”
Hoping he wasn’t sounding like a complete idiot, he rambled on about the shoots in Australia and everything and anything light and easy he could scramble up to spill out over the meal, avoiding—uh, make that saving—the explanation of why he was here and what he had in mind until the right moment.
He was done with the endless traveling. He was more than done with holding back his heart. Kay had always been more than a summer fling, and this year he’d come to finally claim her—and her wary heart.
As for exactly how, well, he hadn’t settled on the answer beyond following his heart. That all depended on Kay and trusting his gut. He smiled at the quick neon image of Las Vegas and its games of chance—an easy ninety-minute drive north from the marina. He wasn’t a gambling man, but trusting his gut had never let him down before.
Whatever rubbish he’d been blurting out while they ate was working. She began sharing bits of her summer travels, sights she’d seen, and work she’d accomplished. Gradually, the sensual, happy warmth he longed to see edged the last anxious nerves from her blue eyes, and desire bloomed.
Everyone else might buy the artistic free-spirit act Kay carried off with aplomb, but at her core, his Kay was all plans, order, and routine. Heck, one glance at her tidy camp proved her organized mind in an instant.
His Kay. He took a long swallow of champagne. The clean, fresh taste of her fair, freckled skin, her generous mouth, her slim, strong body wet and cool against him flooded his mind. Be patient.
He watched her mouth close on a bite of fish, slide along the fork.
His hard-on ached and he shifted in the chair. Kay blushed, but mirth gleamed in her eyes as she sipped from her glass.
Don’t push. Or should he? Oh, hell. Patience was a lost cause. It had been a long, long year. He’d been half-hard since landing at LAX, and now with her here…
Be patient. Every reunion was this way, both of them wanting, desperate for each other when they got within reach, but Kay needing to close the space between them first. Yeah, Kay made him freaking nuts, but damn, she was worth the wait. When her reserve fell away, her blue eyes softened, and she made her move to him, she was every fantasy, every hope he’d ever had.
Kay set aside her knife and fork on her cleaned plate and stretched comfortably in her chair. “That was delicious. Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome.” He leaned over, meaning to take a quick kiss, but slowed and strayed his lips over hers. “Want some dessert?” Or we could just kiss. Yeah, this was good.
“I have oatmeal raisin cookies. I could make coffee.”
“We’ve got something better. Hang on a moment.” He dug around in the picnic bag and
retrieved the container buried in the ice. “For dessert…one well-traveled lemon meringue slice from Mira’s Diner.”
Kay’s delighted laugh was the best thanks. Oh, yeah, Kay with joy in her eyes was like sunrise, Easter, and Christmas all rolled together.
Scooping a forkful, he teased the serving a few inches from her mouth. “Indulge me and shut your eyes. This is an experience.”
Giggling softly, Kay obeyed.
“Open up.”
Her lips parted and he slipped the portion of flaky pastry, creamy lemon custard, and sweet meringue into her mouth. She closed her lips over the fork, slowly drawing off the bite.
His body tightened, and he had no choice but to kiss those soft, pursed lips.
“Mmm.” Her eyes flew wide. “Oh, wow, that’s amazing. Best ever. From a diner?”
Most diner lemon pies he’d encountered were a mountain of rubbery meringue over gluey canned filling and bland crust. Not this one. “Don’t tell anyone, but I swear it’s better than my mom’s.”
He stole more kisses between shared bites of the sweet-tart dessert.
Pie and champagne finished, washing the dishes progressed to leisurely swimming in the refreshing lake water. Swimming led to lighthearted play and promising touches, a sensual game of tag and kiss, teasing quick and slower, sweeter kisses, and slick, cool embraces, all laced through with laughter.
Nate caught her one more time, scooping her up in his arms. Her laughter pealed.
This was exactly where he wanted to be. Kay was his, and he wasn’t letting her go again.
Now, God help him, he just needed to convince her of the same.
What’s a girl to do when her summer lover wants forever?
Haunted by dark memories of her parents’ volatile marriage, artist Kay Browning keeps her heart locked behind a free-spirit facade and contents herself with the comfortable affair she has every summer with easygoing photographer Nate Quinn.
The only trouble with her plan? This summer Nate’s come to Lake Mohave to claim the lover he can’t let go. He’s done with the endless traveling and settling for temporary homes and temporary loves. Kay’s always been more than just a vacation fling, and now he must convince this woman, who sees love as a course to certain heartbreak, to take that leap of faith and learn how safe love with the right man can be.
Clear As Day - Chapter One
Of course, the more she determined not to think of Nate, the more she did.
“Just perfect.” Kay Browning tipped her Dodgers cap low against the mid-morning glare and kicked into a hard backstroke through the cool water. Blue skies, hot July sun, intense desert landscape—another perfect day at Lake Mohave. Except for the futile if onlys snarled in her mind like fishing line.
Nate Quinn had come along with July and Mohave for the past six years. He’d sail in like a freshening wind, they’d share two weeks of fishing, playing, and loving, Kay’s careful schedule demolished to a pleasant shambles, and then he’d be off again on his adventures. Kay’s life would resume its organized pace, punctuated by glossy postcards, scattered bursts of e-mails, IMs and silly Tweets, the occasional twenty-plus-page letter, and the odd oblivious-to-time-zone phone call.
Kay liked how they kept the relationship simple. No demands on each other. No clinging, pining or carping. A happy, mutual understanding: she stayed and he went. But this summer, however much she hated admitting the feeling, Nate’s absence threw off her sense of balance.
No whining, no pining, remember?
She turned with a splash, adjusted her cap, and swam hard toward shore.
Life happens. Focus on what you can control.
At the moment, that was her painting.
She allowed herself one heavy sigh. Why every last one of her friends had inexplicably cancelled on the set-in-stone annual vacation—well, plans change. As for Nate…She hadn’t pined over anything since she was ten. This was simple, annoying regret.
She coasted into the shallows, rolled to her back and forced herself to relax and float. In her mind’s eye she drew Nate sitting there on the beach with the sun-drenched background of stark rocky land and softening tangles of willow, mesquite and tamarisk, and the mental exercise halfway worked in distracting the fidgets—as long as she kept her eyes closed. Fantasizing wasn’t pining. Quick pencil strokes to block him in. Slower, surer on the details. He liked his blond hair in a crew cut. His lean shoulders, strong, long hands… She trailed her fingertips over his favorite path from her waist over her ribs upward to—
Nope, no fantasizing that way. Back to drawing. Maybe she’d grab a sketchpad later and work out a few real drafts.
Lips set together, relaxed, with the faintest lift of a smile at the corners. The faint crook to his rugby-broken nose. His agile, comic eyebrows lay thick and straight over gray eyes. His ears stuck out a charming slightest bit. Beautiful cut abs and pecs proved his claims of laziness a lie. A perfect amount of body hair dusted silky crisp over chest, arms and legs. Men were such texture contrasts: the satin of skin and rasp of hair, jut of bone and arc of muscle, soft lips and calloused fingers. He wouldn’t have shaved yet today, and there would have been sandpapery-rough morning kisses. She almost heard him calling her, “Hey, Kay!” in the relaxed, husky way he—
With a splash, she erased the frustrating daydream. This wishful imagining fixed nothing. Her sheltered little camp would still be empty. Should she give in, pack up the camp, and hit the road north to Lake Mead instead? Just break her routine for once.
No, but it was definitely past time to get her tush out of the water and do something constructive. This lonely gnawing in her bones and brain was unacceptable. Kay pushed to her feet, facing out to the scenic lake created out of a stretch of the Colorado River and the rugged land beyond shimmering with heat.
Work, right, but it was too early in the day for the hard afternoon light she needed for the Coyote Point painting. She was too restless to read or fish and not in the mood to take the boat over to the marina, chat with George, and buy ice.
She rolled her shoulders and stretched, enjoying the hot air licking over her wet skin. As she wiggled her feet in the sand and gravel-bottomed shallows, a flurry of minnows darted past her ankles, and her silver toe ring glinted beneath the clear water. She paused, caught by the possibilities in the sparkling sun on water and the intricate, shifting reflections over gravel. Yes! Exactly the distracting challenge she needed. Shaking the water from her ears, she pivoted toward camp.
“Kay!” That male voice was not her imagination.
“Oh, shit!” She twisted and dropped into the water, sinking neck-deep. Mother always said, among other things, that a lady never goes skinny-dipping and must always wear a proper hat. Kay was only half skinny-dipping, but she fervently wished she’d worn something a bit more substantial than a baseball cap and the bottom half of the quintessential teeny-weenie yellow polka-dot bikini.
Shit, oh, shit, oh, shit. She so hated when Mother was right.
Okay, time to find out who’d just gotten an eyeful. The guy had called her name, so she should know him. Oh boy, if she’d flashed old George…
She wiped water from her face, sucked in a breath against her pounding heart, and peeked around.
Nate.
She must be sun-dazed. Nate? With a beard? Hair curling over his ears? No way. Just because a familiar slouchy fishing hat topped those unruly, sun-bleached blond curls and just because this guy possessed the same deep-water tan and footloose taste in clothes as Nate with his electric blue Hawaiian shirt, bright orange swim trunks, and beat-up deck shoes didn’t mean—
“Hey, babe. Now that I’ve finally caught your attention, how about a hug from my girl?” He opened his arms. “Am I coming in after you or are you coming out?” Only Nate’s voice held that mellow
timbre like chocolate for her ears.
“Nate! What…” Giddy delight flushed over Kay, clearing her shock. She dashed from the water and into strong arms, a wonderful hug, and a better kiss that launched her mind into a blissed-out whirl of oh, yes and why?
The oh, yes won out until the need to breathe forced them apart.
Nate gave her a long look, his usually easy gray eyes holding a new, simmering heat.
Wow. Whoa.
His slow hands followed the trail of his roving gaze: gentle tracing of cheek and lips, gliding across hips, waist and ribs, and grazing over her breasts to cup and caress. With his tender, simple touches, he stirred the warm desire of her daydream into full need. She shut her eyes, soaking in the unexpected pleasure. Oh, yes.
“Damn, I missed you.” He settled his mouth back on hers.
Kay laced her hands into his hair, but the soft, curling strands under her fingers and the brushing of his new beard and moustache against her face changed their kiss, as if she were kissing a stranger, the sensations sexy and disconcerting. Too much.
The sweet, sensual spell broke, leaving her strangely caught between aroused and unsettled. She shivered and eased free of his hands, immediately annoyed with herself. She’d missed him, and here he was. She wanted him here. She wanted his touch. She forced herself to relax against the solid, grounding warmth of his chest and was rewarded with another long, deep kiss—
Interrupted by his stomach’s loud growling.
They broke apart laughing.
“Yep, that’s me, Mr. Smooth.” A louder rumble of hunger and Nate chuckled, rolling his eyes. “Guess I should have grabbed something more than coffee at the marina.” His grin was happy, but his eyes were tired and shadowed.
Tenderness rose. Kay snagged her bikini top from the beach chair. “I’ll make us lunch.”
“No need to dress on my account.” He waggled his eyebrows in his best Groucho Marx imitation
before retrieving her cap from the ground.
More laughter bubbled up. “You’ll never get lunch if I don’t. Can’t have you wasting away from hunger now.” She slipped on the top and tied the strings firmly. “How did you find me? I might have been at Crickets or Bent Willow Camp or anywhere.”
He settled her cap on her head and grinned. “You are a creature of habit, love. I knew I’d find you at Skunk Beach.”
“I suppose.”
“To be honest, I did check with George yesterday.”
Wait, how had he gotten here? She’d paid little attention to the boat traffic out on the lake today, but no way could she have missed his small sailboat, the Morning Whisper, sailing past. She glanced behind her. Nope, no boat. Her own boat rocked softly at its mooring. “Where’s the Whisper?”
“She’s moored over at Spider Camp.” Why not here? But before she could voice her question, the warmth of his smile completely derailed her thoughts.
“How about I see if I can quick catch us a couple bluegill or crappie for our lunch?” With a wink, Nate slipped on his sunglasses and scooped up her fishing pole and tackle box.
Lunch, right, focus on lunch. Focus on normal.
Kay dragged her scattered attention onto lunch, cleared her equipment from the card table, set the places, and sorted out the salad ingredients from the cooler. He’d need more than salad and fish or sandwiches to fill him. The biscuits left over from breakfast would go nicely. The ice was getting low. She liked the heat, but with the weather these days, ice went fast. George had told her the other day the highs for the past week hadn’t been under a hundred and nine. She needed to work on the painting…and why on earth had he moored around the point?
She slammed the brakes on her spinning brain.
Oh, hush. Stop fretting and enjoy him. The painting’s not going anywhere.
Nate stood in the shallows, casting with her fishing pole, the lure and bright yellow and red bobber flying in a graceful, snapping arc to plink into the deeper water near the tangle of drowned willows.
He is.
The oddest wistful tug pulled in her, and she immediately smothered that unwelcome sensation, and the fretting. Nate was here. Now. Mindful of her earlier funk, she laughed. A wish had come true.
Better be careful what you wish for.
No. No negative thoughts today. She spread the white towel back over the cooler, straightened the corners, and soaked the heavy terrycloth down again.
The fish must have been as hungry as Nate, because in quick succession, he caught four nice keepers. He squatted at the water’s edge to clean the fish.
Kay started the Coleman stove and proceeded with the ritual of blowing sand from the fry pan and the dishes. Sand worked its way into everything no matter what.
Nate joined her and set the plate of cleaned fish beside the stove. “Pan ready?”
“Just about.”
He tossed his hat over on the camp chair, folded his sunglasses and tucked them away into his shirt pocket.
Kay studied Nate’s unexpected facial hair. She had to admit the short, tidy circle beard suited his face. Her final vote on how she felt about the change was still out, but at least the beard didn’t hide his smile.
“What would you like to drink?” She pondered her ice chest’s limited selection. “Iced tea? Water? Beer?”
“Allow me, madam,” Nate intoned in a silly butler voice. He retrieved an insulated picnic bag from its shady hiding place in her tent and unzipped the lid with a flourish, revealing two cut crystal champagne flutes and the gold-foil topped green bottle nestled in crushed ice.
Delight ruffled through her. “Champagne. Oh, wonderful! What beautiful glasses. You’re crazy, you know. What are we celebrating?” Nate always came up with such sweet, fun surprises.
“July. Us.” He set the glasses on the table. Clinging crumbs of ice melted to beaded drips. After stripping the foil and wire cage, Nate cautiously eased the cork free in a fizzy pop. The bottle frothed over. “Oops.” Laughing, he filled the glasses quickly. His gray eyes sparkled and he handed her a glass. “A toast. Here’s to us and our future.” He touched his flute to hers, the small crystal ting singing between them.
“To us.” She sipped at her champagne, savoring the tart, sweet effervescence. Our future? What was that about? He still hadn’t explained his sudden change of plans.
Nate turned his attention to the stove, and a satisfying sizzle arose as he arranged the fillets to sauté simply in the olive oil with a dusting of salt and pepper. They both preferred to leave the mild flavor of the fish alone and avoid the usual breading or heavy seasoning.
She sighed. Nate. Give him his camera, pad and pen, and the clothes on his back, and off he flew, making his home wherever he threw his hat. If only she could pack her duffle bag, grab her paint kit and catch the next plane to somewhere exotic, maybe Bali or Greece, with Nate’s ease. Why not? She traveled with little more than that in her camper, so what was her problem?
Besides being a neurotic idiot? Does it matter? Stop stressing and wasting your time together. Enjoy him while you can.
Nate wrapped his arm around her waist, swaying them gently to the sweet melody he hummed. Ah, yes, “Come Monday.” After six summers with Nate, she knew almost all his favorite Jimmy Buffett tunes by heart.
“So tell me, why are you back so early? Aren’t you supposed to be heading to New Guinea?”
He neatly turned the filets. “Plans changed fast, and I wanted to see you.”
Happiness rushed through her at his simple statement. She waited for the rest of the story, but Nate simply nipped at her earlobe and scattered butterfly kisses along her nape and shoulder between sips of champagne. He knew her every ticklish, arousing place, and the touch of his clever hands and lips on her bare skin made focusing on conversation difficult.
“Hey, babe, got a question for you. I always meant to ask. Why do you do that wet towel over the ice chest thing?”
What? A sour clench of her stomach kicked her out of her bemused daze. Why? “That’s how Dad said it had to be done.”
****
Damn. Nate sighed. He’d tripped over another of her mysterious buttons. Even simple stuff was complicated with Kay. “Ah, okay.”
Kay glanced over her tense shoulder with defensive shadows in her blue eyes and her brows drawn into a pensive wrinkle. “We’ve always done it this way.”
“No biggie. I just was curious.” He kept his arm around her, stroking her belly, sneaking caresses up to her breasts. He wanted to kiss away that worried line. He needed to fix whatever put it there. “Damn, it’s great to be here with you, babe,” he murmured, nipping again at her ear and tasting kisses down the curve of her neck to her shoulder, pleased as she settled and softened under his touch. That’s better. No problems here. “You taste so good.”
Tasted good, felt better. Being with Kay knocked the exhaustion right out of him better than any pickme- up of caffeine. This had been the longest damn year away from her.
Her relaxed sigh broke into a laugh, and she set aside her champagne. “Hey, one of us better keep an eye on the fish or we’ll end up with cinders.”
Chuckling, he stole one more kiss before he released her. “Right. Fish. I’m on it. Have a seat and enjoy the champagne and I’ll get this fish served up.”
As he plated the filets, he savored the simple, perfect pleasure of watching Kay. Sunshine lit the gold and red flyaway wisps escaping her neatly braided light brown hair. He loved that yellow polkadot bikini on her. He’d nearly swallowed his tongue when she’d risen from the water topless, water dripping from her pale and lovely freckled skin, her breasts tight and tempting.
Kay’s blue eyes flicked up to him as she sipped her champagne. She licked a droplet from her lips with a quick pink touch of her tongue, followed by a thoughtful nibble at her lower lip.
Desire curled through his belly. Maybe he shouldn’t have let her pry loose to make lunch after that kiss.
Yeah, but his obnoxious grumbling stomach had kind of broken the moment, and Kay had needed to regroup after his unexpected arrival.
But was it his fault she camped in wilderness areas without cell service and hadn’t gotten the message from George?
“Here you go. One blue-plate bluegill special.” He set the blue-and-white Melamine plates on the table.
She’d likely be further upset with him for holding back the rest of his surprise—that the gang was over at Spider Camp—but yeah, he was being completely greedy and unwilling to share her attentions just yet.
Her smile reemerged. “Perfect.”
“Yeah, thanks to you. Caught them in time.” He took his seat and topped off her glass and his. The surprise of the champagne and the fancy crystal glasses had gone over well. Damn, but he loved making her smile.
“So, tell me everything.” She drizzled honey onto her biscuit. “Why’s the Whisper over at Spider Camp? Last I heard from you, you weren’t getting back to the States until October.”
“My less than shining effort at a surprise. It seemed brilliant at the time.” He winked. “Can I plead sleep deprivation as an excuse?”
Honestly? On mental autopilot, he’d anchored with the others, grabbed his picnic bag and backpack, and charged on over. Bringing the Whisper over to Kay’s camp would have been the sensible thing.
“Well…since you caught lunch.” She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “Now tell me, what happened to the New Guinea trip? You were all excited about that project.”
“Schmidt cancelled at the last minute, but Cane still wanted Schmidt, so after much arguing, name-calling, snitting, and making up, they’re looking at next year now.” Instead of frustration at the whole debacle between his two prima-donna friends, he’d simply felt relief. Then, while he’d been cooling his heels in Auckland waiting on Cane’s final word on the trip, idly browsing the Web, playing what if and kicking himself over the wasted time, realization had struck. He’d been wasting time in more ways than one. Time to go home.
“Are you going to join them?”
He’d wished Cane aloha and good luck and started the crazed flurry of phone calls, e-mails, negotiations, plane flights, and caffeine-fueled driving that brought him where he needed to be: with Kay.
He smiled. Damn, he was pretty secure about most decisions in his life, but this next step was the big one. “No, I’ve got new plans.”
Hoping he wasn’t sounding like a complete idiot, he rambled on about the shoots in Australia and everything and anything light and easy he could scramble up to spill out over the meal, avoiding—uh, make that saving—the explanation of why he was here and what he had in mind until the right moment.
He was done with the endless traveling. He was more than done with holding back his heart. Kay had always been more than a summer fling, and this year he’d come to finally claim her—and her wary heart.
As for exactly how, well, he hadn’t settled on the answer beyond following his heart. That all depended on Kay and trusting his gut. He smiled at the quick neon image of Las Vegas and its games of chance—an easy ninety-minute drive north from the marina. He wasn’t a gambling man, but trusting his gut had never let him down before.
Whatever rubbish he’d been blurting out while they ate was working. She began sharing bits of her summer travels, sights she’d seen, and work she’d accomplished. Gradually, the sensual, happy warmth he longed to see edged the last anxious nerves from her blue eyes, and desire bloomed.
Everyone else might buy the artistic free-spirit act Kay carried off with aplomb, but at her core, his Kay was all plans, order, and routine. Heck, one glance at her tidy camp proved her organized mind in an instant.
His Kay. He took a long swallow of champagne. The clean, fresh taste of her fair, freckled skin, her generous mouth, her slim, strong body wet and cool against him flooded his mind. Be patient.
He watched her mouth close on a bite of fish, slide along the fork.
His hard-on ached and he shifted in the chair. Kay blushed, but mirth gleamed in her eyes as she sipped from her glass.
Don’t push. Or should he? Oh, hell. Patience was a lost cause. It had been a long, long year. He’d been half-hard since landing at LAX, and now with her here…
Be patient. Every reunion was this way, both of them wanting, desperate for each other when they got within reach, but Kay needing to close the space between them first. Yeah, Kay made him freaking nuts, but damn, she was worth the wait. When her reserve fell away, her blue eyes softened, and she made her move to him, she was every fantasy, every hope he’d ever had.
Kay set aside her knife and fork on her cleaned plate and stretched comfortably in her chair. “That was delicious. Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome.” He leaned over, meaning to take a quick kiss, but slowed and strayed his lips over hers. “Want some dessert?” Or we could just kiss. Yeah, this was good.
“I have oatmeal raisin cookies. I could make coffee.”
“We’ve got something better. Hang on a moment.” He dug around in the picnic bag and
retrieved the container buried in the ice. “For dessert…one well-traveled lemon meringue slice from Mira’s Diner.”
Kay’s delighted laugh was the best thanks. Oh, yeah, Kay with joy in her eyes was like sunrise, Easter, and Christmas all rolled together.
Scooping a forkful, he teased the serving a few inches from her mouth. “Indulge me and shut your eyes. This is an experience.”
Giggling softly, Kay obeyed.
“Open up.”
Her lips parted and he slipped the portion of flaky pastry, creamy lemon custard, and sweet meringue into her mouth. She closed her lips over the fork, slowly drawing off the bite.
His body tightened, and he had no choice but to kiss those soft, pursed lips.
“Mmm.” Her eyes flew wide. “Oh, wow, that’s amazing. Best ever. From a diner?”
Most diner lemon pies he’d encountered were a mountain of rubbery meringue over gluey canned filling and bland crust. Not this one. “Don’t tell anyone, but I swear it’s better than my mom’s.”
He stole more kisses between shared bites of the sweet-tart dessert.
Pie and champagne finished, washing the dishes progressed to leisurely swimming in the refreshing lake water. Swimming led to lighthearted play and promising touches, a sensual game of tag and kiss, teasing quick and slower, sweeter kisses, and slick, cool embraces, all laced through with laughter.
Nate caught her one more time, scooping her up in his arms. Her laughter pealed.
This was exactly where he wanted to be. Kay was his, and he wasn’t letting her go again.
Now, God help him, he just needed to convince her of the same.
Friday, June 15, 2012
Friday - How She Does It - Babette James
We all know there are six elements in writing fiction and often fact. Who, What, When, Where, Why and How. I believe the first five lead to the sixth, which for me is the plot. What's your take on this?
That makes sense. The first five are the ingredients that mix and inform how the story plays out. Change Who is in the story and the What and the Why will change. The Where and When affect the characters’ desires, opportunities, and decision-making. Stir them thoroughly with imagination and you have the How that leads you to The End.
1. How do you create your characters? Do you have a specific process?
I don’t have a deliberate process for creating characters. They invariably just show up as the story brings me to them. They do develop and change as the story expands and I delve deeper into who they are. It’s all very organic. In writing Clear As Day, my character Kay appeared first in her lakeside campsite, already independent, reserved, and commitment-shy. Then the man who would become easy-going, globetrotting photographer Nate showed up to disrupt her careful, comfortable rut in life. As I explored why he’d shown up on her beach and his connection to Kay, their simple friends-with-benefits relationship proved not so simple and their conflict, love story, and their tight-knit group of friends bloomed from there.
2. Do your characters come before the plot? Do you sketch out your plot or do you let the characters develop the route to the end?
Characters come to me before the plot. I’m definitely a pantser. I just keep asking why and what happens next and keep writing. The only plot goal I have in the beginning is that my hero and heroine will reach their happily ever after at the end. I start with a scene and a character and the story grows like Topsy in every direction until I discover how it all works out. I do create an outline as I go deeper into the story to keep track of scenes and start to build the synopsis, but the story comes first and outline second. I’m often as surprised as my characters are along the way.
3. Do you know how the story will end before you begin? In a general way or a specific one?
The only thing I’m sure of while writing is that there will be a happily ever after, since I write romance. Finding out how the hero and heroine get to that happy ending is part of the fun of writing. Plotting would be much more efficient, I’m sure, but I’ve given into the fact my mind doesn’t work that way and now I enjoy the unexpected on the journey to The End.
Writing Clear As Day has given me many surprises. I had to explore the whys of all the characters and asking one question led to another and more. Not only did I have to ask what had happened in just Kay’s and Nate’s backstories to bring them to the story’s point in time, I needed to explore their friends’ lives, and additionally, ask what happened next to all of them, after Kay and Nate reached their point of happily ever after. I found that the story of Kay and Nate and their friends had not ended, but had more still to tell. I’m currently hard at work on the sequel and other friends will be joining Kay and Nate in falling in love at the river.
4. Do you choose settings you know or do you have books of settings and plans of houses sitting around?
Some of my settings are familiar to me, for instance the Lake Mohave setting in Clear As Day. Others develop out of research, and some, like those for my fantasy works, from my imagination. I do like collecting pictures and researching as I develop the setting, and it never hurts to learn more, even if it is a place I have visited and know.
5. Where do you do your research? On line or from books?
I’ll research on line and in books, wherever I find the information I need. I love the ease of researching on the internet and the wealth of images and inspiration that a simple search can lead to. Research can also be a dangerous distraction, stirring up tempting new shinies and alluring plot bunnies.
6. Are you a draft writer or do you revise as you go along and why?
I try to write an initial rough draft first, with minimal editing along the way. I like the fast drafting I learned by participating in National Novel Writing Month. It helps keep me from getting completely bogged down by the editing bug before there’s a story to edit. I don’t write linearly, the story grows outwards, rather than forwards. Once there’s a rough draft, the rest of the process seems to be continual state of filling in and layering.
Clear As Day is different from most of my other stories in that it did have several distinct draft stages. It began life as a first-person viewpoint short story focused on the scenic location and simple moment in time between two occasional lovers. Then, an experiment of expanding the little original story into a novella revised Kay’s viewpoint from first person to third. The biggest change was a challenge to add in Nate’s viewpoint, and once I did that, the story just blossomed into the full novel length it is now.
Thanks so much for letting me visit here today!
Bio: Babette James writes contemporary and fantasy romance and loves reading nail-biting tales with a satisfying happily ever after. When not dreaming up stories, she enjoys playing with new bread recipes and dabbling with paints. A teacher, she loves encouraging new readers and writers as they discover their growing abilities. Her class cheers when it’s time for their spelling test! She lives in New Jersey with her wonderfully patient husband and three extremely spoiled cats.
Links:
Website: http://babettejames.com/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/BabetteJames
Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/BabetteJamesAuthor
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/babettejames
Clear As Day is available at:
The Wild Rose Press– Paperback & eBook http://www.thewildrosepress.com/index.php?main_page=index&manufacturers_id=952
Amazon.com – Paperback & Kindle http://amzn.com/B007RN9STW
Barnes & Noble – Nook http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/books/1109990576?ean=2940014230902
iTunes - http://itunes.apple.com/us/book/clear-as-day/id520200474?mt=11
Come fall in love at the river.
Thursday, June 14, 2012
Janet Lane Walters - What I'm Reading - Vijaya Schartz
I began reading science fiction in my teen years and was fascinated by the genre. I thought I might write it someday. When I finally began writing, I tried several times to write stories. Sadly they were rejected. One almost made it but the publisher changed directions and was no longer publishing fiction. The editor of a science fiction magazine expressed interest in my writing and would have liked to see more though he didn't make an offer on the story. Then he died and I put my dreams of writing science fiction aside. They will remain on the shelf because while writing I discovered a number of things about my style and my interests. I discovered fantasy and that was a better fit. But I still read science fiction and enjoy it. Now to a writer I have recently discovered. I have been reading through her stories and while I haven't read them all, eventually I will. My reading remains eclectic and there are so many authors.
Vijaya Schartz is the latest of my discoveries. What I like about her stories is the adventure. Her heroines are strong, her heros are also strong and the adventures pull me from chapter to chapter. She also combines science fiction with romance. Her created worlds interest me. I was going through what I'd read of her stories. There are I believe five or six on my Kindle that I've enjoyed. So if you like action, adventure and romance try her books.
Snatched is one of my favorites. So are the Ancient Enemies series. And for a different take try the Archangel duo. Alien Lockdown was the first one I read and hooked me. Imagine a prison underground and the place is undergoing a meltdown leaving the hero and heroine stranded among the criminals trying to find their way to the surface.
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
Wednesday's Writer's Tip - Elements of the Novel - Eileen Charbonneau - Settings
In the chapter I read today from Eileen, she's talking about Setting. Now if there's ever something I need to pay attention to, this is one area of writing where I tend to fall down. Action, dialogue and other elements are ones I usually have little problem with. I once had an editor reject a story of mine and her one comment was "Good story but the characters operate in a vacuum." Not a thing a writer wants to hear. So I set out to remedy this and failed in a different way. Each scene in the work began with a long description of the setting. This was boring. I'll admit that I haven't yet conquored the setting part of writing a story. I'm not sure why.
In Elements of the Novel, Eileen has given a very on point bit of advice. I'm going to try it to see if I can make my characters operate not in a vacuum or in a cluttered place but in a way that gives the reader a way to be in the settig with the characters.
"Setting is vital." This isn't what I learned but it's a reminder to keep the characters in a setting rather than in a vacuum.
"Place is sensory." Now this is where I usually fall down. Eileen recommends having the characters react by using one of the senses to bring the setting to life. Actually she suggests at least twice in each scene. This will bring the setting to life and can also be used to bring the characters to life as well.
Somehow this makes sense to me and I'm going to try it as I do the final revision of my curre WIP. How about you are your settings almost absent in your stories? Are your places cluttered with dozens of details that really don't have a purpose other than to put your characters in a place?
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
Tuesday's Inspiration - Critique Groups
In many ways, writing is a lonely game. The people you meet are often those you've created on paper. Telling stories that are produced on paper or electronically takes time and being alone. Trying to write when surrounded by people carrying on conversations can be difficult if not impossible but writing in a vacuum is also difficult. One needs feedback from others. Just sending off a story and waiting for an editor to comment can be hard. So what can you do?
Writers often band together with other writers to share their works and receive comments from their fellow writers to help. But critique groups may not always work for one author or another. I've belonged to three in my long career as a writer. The first one was centered only in poetry and while I learned there things like rhythm and word choice there was no appreciation of my prose. Since it was the only group in town, I remained and my fellow writers at least were supportive of what I was doing but they didn't help me hone my craft. Then we moved.
I joined a second critique group who said they were interested in both poetry and prose. Problem was they were interested in intellectual prose. I wrote genre fiction, stories with happy endings. My characters had goals and motives and coflicts that could happen to writers in every day life. Did I learn here. Yes and no. I learned I was never going to write "literary" fiction, but some of the authors the quoted as being wonderful didn't write "literary" fiction in the days when they were producing. I also had fun. Doing poetry readings in NYC and meeting people whose poetry was recognized was a great experience. I also had some poems published. My fiction suffered in some ways and grew stronger in others.
Then I found a third critique group. While the writers were mainly focused on romance they could give pointers on some of the other areas I was exploring. The group formed in 1990 has continued. Not all the original members still belong. Some of them have gone on to become best-selling authors. Some have moved and some have dropped out of the writing game. I always wonder about the strong writers who simply gave up. Was it something the group was not giving them or was it a fear of faila fear of success. Through this group I discovered electronic publishing years before it became the boom it is now. And I think a lot about those people who left the writing game. But each time one of the members or former member's career takes off I feel inspired and wonder if somehow I have helped them move forward in their careers the way they have helped me.
Monday, June 11, 2012
11 June - Week Behind and Week Ahead
Am now into the last re-write of The Micro-manager Murder and I'm feeling impatient. Not sure if anyone else gets this way when they're finishing a story but I know I do. The desire to rush fights with the need to make sure all the I's are dotted is a hard thing to overcome. I want to make sure the story is as perfect as I can make it but the new story is sitting in the wings crying to be let out. Is there a happy medium, I'm not sure but I will continue to polish the current work before leaping into the unknown. Finishing a story is rather like saying farewell to old friends and leaving one with some regrets. In this case Katherine has been with me for now five stories. Starting a new story is rather like being at the top of a hill on a roller coaster and preparing for that swoop. I always wonder if anyone else feels that was.
Last week saw two of my stories being offered for free on Kindle in the select program and will not know what's happening with them until a month or two from now. One will see what happens here. I do wish some of my other publishers would take a chance with these things. I've found new readers for my other books when this program is in effect. Publishing is changing and writers have to change with it.
This week I will near the end of this last draft and then it will be clean-up time for the story. Sometimes rewarding and sometimes frustrating. It's not the big glitches that bother me, it's those little ones the spell checker doesn't find and sometimes I don't find either. Our instead of out seems to be the real problem. Periods instead of question marks always plagues me. Will that ever stop. Then there's the return from the editor and finding the things I missed picking up. Sometimes the eye doesn't see and even reading the story aloud doesn't find those few glitches. One must do the best they can and hope.
Another thing I plan to do this week is do some promotion for my YA books. I'll see how far this will bo. Last week I finally semi-mastered Triberr and belong to a great tribe. Hopefully that will continue to draw people to my blog.
Last week saw two of my stories being offered for free on Kindle in the select program and will not know what's happening with them until a month or two from now. One will see what happens here. I do wish some of my other publishers would take a chance with these things. I've found new readers for my other books when this program is in effect. Publishing is changing and writers have to change with it.
This week I will near the end of this last draft and then it will be clean-up time for the story. Sometimes rewarding and sometimes frustrating. It's not the big glitches that bother me, it's those little ones the spell checker doesn't find and sometimes I don't find either. Our instead of out seems to be the real problem. Periods instead of question marks always plagues me. Will that ever stop. Then there's the return from the editor and finding the things I missed picking up. Sometimes the eye doesn't see and even reading the story aloud doesn't find those few glitches. One must do the best they can and hope.
Another thing I plan to do this week is do some promotion for my YA books. I'll see how far this will bo. Last week I finally semi-mastered Triberr and belong to a great tribe. Hopefully that will continue to draw people to my blog.
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