June 2007 Archives

                            Wow, I just received the cover flats for the trade paperback edition of THE SECRET LIFE OF CEECEE WILKES and I love the cover! Love the red hair against the blues, and the sense of a dynamic story. Although the hardcover was pretty(see below), it didn't really fit a story full of suspense.  Although the book itself won't be out until late December, the cover flats are available well in advance for the marketing department to use in their sales. Well, I have only two more days to go to my deadline, so I've been a bit quiet on the blog. I'll be sure to post from the beach next week, though, if not before.

Every author does it--overuses particular words. I have a few words and phrases I tend to use too much: Wince. Struggle. Darkness. Sort of. Editorial consultant Pat Holt calls them "crutch words," words that slip past editors but drive readers batty. I've had friends who read early drafts of my books complain about some of my repeated words. The word "cup" used too many times as a verb irritated one friend. Another winced :) every time I used the word "alabaster." (Which I've used only once in my current Work-in-Progress; I just checked). And speaking of "just!" That is a toughie not to overuse. (I give myself permission to use "just" often in dialogue, though). Oh, and here's another one I use way too much: some, as in something, sometime, some kind of. I am addicted to the word some. I'm so grateful for the "find" function in word processing software! Before I turn in this manuscript, I'll check it for all the justs, somes, winces, struggles and darknesses and get rid of them when appropriate. If you're a writer, do you know which words or phrases you overuse?  Only eight more days until I have to get this puppy printed and Fed-Exed to my publisher!

I took a short break from my Work-in-Progress today because I needed to buy a gift for a baby shower . . . as well as the first bathing suit I've purchased in well over a decade. June 30th we leave for the beach. The WIP will be done by then. Usually when I go to the beach, I spend my time writing in the house or cottage we're renting. This time, I'm determined to leave work at home and actually make it into the water, even if it's only the pool in the little community where we'll be staying. It's been so long since I've checked out bathing suits that I didn't even know what a "tankini" was until today. And I sure didn't buy one. I'm definitely in the one-piece decade. They have all these suits to correct your various anatomical problems, but I need one designed in the nineteenth century. Still, I was courageous and tried a bunch on and actually bought one. Very simple black number. Then, since I was doing so well, I thought I'd try on a few summery togs. What has happened to my body? And could it have anything to do with sitting in front of the computer 24/7? There was this one really cute long beachy dress hanging on a rack. I tried it on and laughed out loud. I looked like a cross between an old hippie and Miss Piggie. I may need to rethink my curly hair. So I spent the rest of the day reminding myself that I have value and am loved and all those other things people remind themselves of when they're horrified by what they see in the mirror. And I'm going to get back to work as soon as I have a piece of carrot cake. . .

And with only eleven days until deadline, it better be! When you're working on a massive project like a 125,000 novel, it's so hard to see the whole. Today, I took a step back and really looked at it as a "book" instead of one little scene after another, and I felt such relief! It's a complete story and not half bad. I definitely still have eleven days worth of work to do on it, (and after speaking  with a most helpful criminal attorney today, I realize I have a few scenes in need of a complete overhaul), but the light is now visible at the end of the tunnel. On another note, my June 5th post about my friend Michele Moomaugh has turned into a lovely tribute to her by her friends around the world. I never expected that, and it warms my heart to see so many memories about her shared on my blog. It's after midnight, so I'm off to rest up for another full day at the computer tomorrow. Night, all.

Doesn't that sound like the title of a "literary" novel?? Well, this has nothing to do with writing except that it's interrupting my concentration. We have a stream-like fountain and small pond in our yard. A landscape guy cleaned our filter and put in some new plants and suggested some goldfish would help balance the eco-system. He said the small kind you buy at Target would be fine. I bought some at my local pet store. Do you know that goldfish only cost 8 for $1.00? What else can you buy for that kind of money? I did as I'd been told and floated the plastic bag in my pond for fifteen minutes to avoid a rapid water temperature change for the fishies. The first day, I could see them frolicking under the plants. They looked so happy to have all that algae and stuff to eat! Then yesterday I couldn't see them, but there are a lot of lily pads, so I thought they might be under the pads. Today I found one belly up. I felt so bad. What did I do wrong? Then I saw another goldfish almost get sucked into the filter (this box-like thing with a net inside to catch leaves etc). Horrified, I lifted the top of the filter and. . . well, I feel terrible. I can't reach the filter easily, so I don't know how many were in there, but I got out three and they were long gone. I have a bad feeling there is only that one lone, very strong fish still in the pond. I don't know why this is bothering me so much. John says that's why they only cost 8 for a dollar. But I'm the sort of person who apologizes to the ants I kill in the house. (Yes, I eat meat. Don't even go there. . . ). I hope by the time I go to bed tonight I can get those pretty little sparkly fish out of my mind. Of course, now I've put them in your mind. Sorry about that.

Yikes. I'm not panicking yet, but getting close. Last night my critique group read chapter four and had some helpful things to say--mostly about the character's voice. My last sentence in the chapter, while lovely prose, is not something a man would think. How can I still have such missteps this close to deadline? I'm reassuring myself that I always feel this way about now. I want the manuscript to be perfect, but the reality is that I will be making changes for a couple of months to come. Once I turn it in, my editor will see things--a problem with character motivation, perhaps, or the need for an extra scene--that need to be changed. She'll write me a loooooong editorial letter that will initially freak me out. And then I'll get down to work on making the changes, at which time I can perfect anything that still bugs me. On the positive side, I'm finding my characters' plights deeply moving, and that's a good thing. It's after midnight, so I will hold that good thought in my mind as I go to bed.

Omigosh, now I'm nervous. How can there only be 18 days until my deadline?? The calendar's right in front of me, but just like my character Laurel not realizing how long it's been since her last period (!), I've lost track of the time--with less dire consequences than in Laurel's case, I hope. I had a great phone conversation today with Jodee Kulp. Jodee's an expert in Fetal Alcohol Spectrum Disorder, and she read a chapter I wrote from my character Andy's point of view. Andy is fifteen and has FASD. Jodee helped me see the scene more accurately from his perspective. She was an enormous help! Of course, now I need to rewrite his scenes to reflect my new understanding. Sigh. Eighteen more weeks would be better. Sunday afternoon, I took a break from working on BEFORE THE STORM to go to the reception for John's art photography show at the Sertoma Arts Center. Here were are in front of a couple of his pics. We had a great time, after which we went with friends to Vivace, our new favorite restaurant. Then we went to a neighbor's house to                   watch the Sopranos finale. About twelve people were there, and you should have heard the screams when the screen went dark! But I thought it was a perfect ending, leaving it up to the viewer to imagine what happens next. I promise not to leave you hanging that way in my books, though.  

That's what happens when you burn the candle at both ends. I've been working later and later and getting up earlier and earlier. Ugh. But I'm also napping longer and longer, so you don't need to feel too sorry for me. I wanted to get as much work as possible behind me this week so I can enjoy this weekend, or at least Sunday. John has a solo art photography show at the Sertoma Art Center with a reception on Sunday (2-4 if you're in the area!) and then we'll do some socializing and watch the last Sopranos (sniff!), so I don't want to feel guilty about not working while I'm having fun. As for the Work-in-Progress, I've stopped revising for the moment so I can do some restructuring. This must be getting boring for those of you following the saga of my WIP. Revise/restructure/ revise/restructure. But that's the way it goes. Although I had everything mapped out perfectly when I started, as the characters change during the rewrite, the structure has to change with them. For example, the scene I planned to revise today was between Marcus and his niece Maggie, but as I worked on it, I realized that I'd really already had this conversation between them a few scenes back, which is not where I'd planned to have it but where they decided they'd have it, whether I liked it or not. Thus, I need to look at today's scene again and see what happens to the end of the book if I cut it. That's what I'll do tomorrow. Have a great weekend, everyone!  

When I was a newbie writer, I took a class on writing the novel, and I remember the instructor telling us that we didn't need to "explain everything" to the reader. A novice fiction writer often opens her book far too early in the story, thinking that she needs to start at the very beginning so that the reader understands the background behind the action. I remember that instructor paging through our manuscripts chapter after chapter, finally stopping at around chapter four, saying "This is where you really need to begin!" It's better to simply toss the reader into the fray with some engaging scene and trust her to gradually sort out what's really going on. That's the way it is with most movies. Pay attention during the next movie you watch. Aren't you a little confused in the beginning? Slowly, though, things begin to make sense. Even though my work-in-progress is my seventeenth, I'm still having to dial back my desire to over-explain all the relationships and past events early in the story. The chapter I'm revising right now. . . I actually think I can cut it out altogether and trust the reader to fill in the blanks. Otherwise, the pace will slow down and that's the last thing I want. I need to remember that my reader will enjoy a feeling of discovery as she makes her way through the book. I don't need to weigh her down with information she can figure out on her own. That brings me to those of you who read the endings of books first. Please don't!! The writer has worked very hard to reveal things in a way that tells the story perfectly. I've had readers tell me they get so worried as they read my stories that they have to skip to the end to be sure everything will turn out all right. Trust me--my books will not harm you! So please be brave and read them as they're written. In return, I promise not to tell you any more than you need to know in order to feel you're a living, breathing part of the story.

Yesterday, I posted about one of the many reasons that I love writing fiction: It’s nice to have total control over something. Today was one of those days when I'm reminded I have no control over much of anything.   When I lived in San Diego many years ago, I was part of a small women's support group. We met every other week, rotating between our houses, sharing with the sort of intimacy that women are so fortunate to enjoy. Michele Moomaugh was one of those women. To me, she was inspirational. A decade older and ever so much wiser and more worldly than me, I saw her as something of a sage. We worked for the same agency in the late seventies, Social Advocates for Youth, but she went on to start her own business and became an extraordinary businesswoman. More than that, she was generous and loving and probably the least judgmental person I've ever known--the sort of person every support group needs to stay grounded. The world lost her this past weekend in an automobile accident. I'm still reeling from the news, and it's hard to write fiction when reality is so impossible to set aside. I've kept the above picture on my desk since the early eighties. I treasure it as a reminder of a time when the support of four women made a huge and positive impact on my life. From left, they're Pilar Humphries, Suzanne Schmidt, Michele, me, and Cher Johnson. Tomorrow, I'll go back to writing, but tonight my thoughts are with Michele's husband and son.

John and I are leading a strange existence right now. I have a July 1 deadline for my novel, and he has a June 15th deadline for a film he's producing for a corporate trade show. My office is upstairs (really the ground floor), and his is downstairs next to his photography studio. We have battened down the hatches, taking breaks to eat protein bars or tuna straight from the can  (well, we did watch the Sopranos tonight. My heart was pounding. Omigod. I can't believe there's only one more episode! I really was upset by the unprofessional way his therapist terminated with him. She's been great for 7 years, and that was a bit of a weak point in the script, in my opinion. Otherwise, excellent show).  Even though there's a certain degree of panic in this pre-deadline world, I enjoy it. I've mentioned before that I inherited my love of sitting at a desk from my father, who was a school principal and who loved nothing better than sitting in his little home office (long before every household had one), surrounded by books and papers and working on something at his typewriter. He would have adored the Internet! It's hard not to feel cut off from the rest of the world when I'm locked in my office like this for days at a time. No mornings at the Opium Den. That's rough. I'm not alone though. My office is filled with fictional people and they don't know it yet, but they're headed for a Big Crisis in their lives. Heh heh. It's nice to have total control over something.  

I write about many, many things I haven't experienced. I research until I feel comfortable with the subject and then I write about it from a character's point of view. But today I got stuck revising the chapter in which a central character begins to drink. Hmm. First I have to explain that I'm a tee-totaler. I've never had a drink, although I'll taste a companion's wine, beer or whatever.  I'm not a prig and have nothing against those who do drink. Growing up, we had a fully-stocked bar in our rec-room, but the booze was mostly for my parents' friends. No one in my family was or is much of a drinker. As a therapist, I saw firsthand how alcoholism could destroy families and individuals and I feel lucky that it was a non-issue in my household.  If there is an "anti-alcoholism" gene, I think it runs in my family. The reason I never drank as a teenager was because I was deathly afraid of throwing up. That kept me dry and sober into young adulthood, when I realized I didn't like the taste of alcohol. I once mentioned to an old high school friend that I thought it was interesting that the group of girls we hung around with never got into drinking. She laughed, and told me they just didn't invite me when that was the planned activity. (ouch!) People think about the pressure adolescents are under to drink, and it's certainly there. But they don't think about the pressure, subtle or otherwise, adults are under to drink. For decades I was told I simply hadn't found the right drink for me yet. Even now on occasion, I feel a bit "noticed" when a social event centers around drinking. I wonder what it's like for recovering alcoholics. They must be some of the strongest people in the world. Anyhow, I struggled with this scene a bit today as my character begins her journey into alcohol abuse. I felt concerned about writing the scene on a couple of fronts: first, I wanted to be accurate in what she was experiencing as she drank and how it impacted her feelings about herself, because unlike many of the experiences I write about, most people know what this one is like; and second, I wanted to maintain the reader's sympathy for her. She is doing some very unsympathetic things. It's going to be a challenge to keep the reader engaged with her and I'm cognizant that I need to find ways to do that. I hope I'm succeeding. Meanwhile, it's nearly one am! I'm putting in some late nights at the computer as I head toward my deadline, but I'm really enjoying it. Now, though, I'm going to have a drink (of water) and go to bed.