Halloween Reading Challenge

(For those reading this looking for my free-for-all Friday post: Please check back on Saturday!)

Halloween is here, and I forgot that I’d signed up for a reading challenge called RIP III. It’s good bookish fun through Halloween, and I joined in because I had the perfect book: Elizabeth Engstrom’s The Northwoods Chronicles.

I hadn’t read a spooky book in awhile, so this was perfect.

Yet, I do have a history with scary fiction. I read my first Stephen King when I was 14, and thereafter spent the rest of adolescence terrifying myself.

I just had a memory: My mother, who was never one to give gifts outside birthday and Christmas, enters my room one night. Picture me cuddled on my waterbed (because I was diagnosed with scoliosis, I swear!) perhaps reading “The Exorcist” or the latest Peter Straub. “I thought you might like to give this book a try,” she says, and hands me a collection of humorous short stories. Humor?!?! I was so far from humor you might as well have nominated me poster-girl for hormonally induced angst, moodiness, and depression!

So, yes, I have a history with the creepy, but I don’t read them much anymore. I’m glad to say that Engstrom’s The Northwoods Chronicles led me through her haunting northwoods universe with a ton of artistry and no gratuitous shlock.

The creepy factor is enhanced by her minimalist writing style. Disappearing children, killer wax statues, murderers, and mermaids inhabit her universe with the same quiet poise as her grieving mothers and college students. It’s all the same reality, and this is a big reason for the creep-factor.

As the cover states, The Northwoods Chronicles is a “novel in stories.” I liked meeting and re-meeting her characters in different contexts. I also liked that she preferred ambiguity over perfect plot bows.

I’ve been interested in the concept of linked short stories for awhile. Reading Engstrom’s novel in stories, I realized that she made it look easy. The secret, as she told me, is to create a full-fledged universe. Her universe fascinates.

(Okay, writing this in front of the telly, Thursday night. Just flipped the channel and found “The Rocky Horror Picture Show.” Talk about memories: midnight showings, yes, during high school. You’re probably not surprised to know that San Francisco loved its Rocky Horror midnight showings!)

Free-For-All Friday

(What is this? My very own meme, which could take the form of other Friday memes out there — random five or ‘fessing up — or non-Friday memes, or anything! Point being to have a little fun and get a little interactive. Feel free to snitch my logo at left and do your Friday thing!)

 

Today I’m ‘fessing up for my Friday. It’s about time I held myself accountable for flailing around with this revision. I’m taking far too long. This is ridiculous.

So, I hereby set my new goal in writing — hopefully publicizing it on this blog will keep me honest — along with the prize I’ll win for reaching this goal. Because prizes are good, and prizes help enforce arbitrary deadlines, right? Right (again hopefully).

Which brings up a question: Do you give yourself writing prizes? If so, what? I need ideas!

The goal: I have 12, count them, 12, chapters left to revise. So, I hereby promise to revise one chapter a day, including weekends, until I am done.

This doesn’t sound like an onerous goal, but one chapter each day can be tough. Some of the chapters are in horrible shape.

The prize: Thirteen or 14 days from now I’m going to the coast to a fancier lodge than usual for me — one that allows dogs, by the way. This lodge is offering a three-nights-for-the-price-of-two deal, which helps.

How’s that for a prize?

Admittedly, I’ll still be working. I’ll bring the printed copy of the manuscript with me and read through it for fine-tunes. Fun!

How much of a writing-geek am I that I’ll have loads, I mean, TONS, of fun reading through a manuscript at a fancy lodge on the beach with my dog as companion? Gotta love it. I’ll use any excuse for a writing retreat.

Have a great weekend. I’ll be working, but enthusiastically. In fact, the enthusiasm starts now with chapter 36 (woo-hoo).

Sidenote question: We writers need a patron saint of revisions. Who’s a good candidate for this position?

Plotdog Press

Plotdog Press is a cool website for writers. Every week the creator hosts a W.O.O.F. (Writers Offering Our Finest) contest. 

 

WOOF Contest – Top 5 Picks:

About Writing
Lisa Alber – “What I Will NOT Do in the Next Few Days – How I met an anthology deadline in under four days.

Poetry
Chungyen Chang – “when birds breathe – Visual verse on flight and despair. Please read from the bottom-up.
Robert Bourne – “The Middle years and My Paradoxical Soul – An inner reflective poem,

Fiction/Prose/Artistry/Monologue
Puneet Kaur – “Standing still…” – The post is a simple painting that has many colours, many shades… time, music, ecstasy, hope…. life in general…. the course that life would take….. and much more!!
Jennifer M Scott – “495 to Baltimore – Two monologues about illicit love.

Brought to you by PlotDog Press with the Serial Thriller “Dead Play

What’s in a First Sentence?

I’ve been meaning to analyze first sentences for awhile now. I don’t know why except that I still hear annoying writers-conference voices in my head telling me that I’ve got to hook the reader with a wowza first sentence.

But, let’s think about this. By “reader” most instructors really mean agents and editors. In the real world, do you depend on a novel’s first sentence to entice you into it? Or the flap copy? I go by flap copy if I don’t know the author’s work.

To start, here are the first sentences from my four unsung novels — please note, in various states of draftiness(!).

When the doorbell rings, I duck under windows that are oiled for easy escape.

Later, Marcus Tully will overhear snippets of conversation about Liam the Matchmaker’s birthday party, not to mention rumors about a most shocking death.

Circling around the Marin Headlands from Bodega Bay and Stinson Beach, hills smelling of anise and sunburned grass undulate in a slow descent toward a favorite pot-smoking spot called the Bunkers.

On a Tuesday afternoon, mid-September, locals marked the day fog followed Gray Man down a rural lane near Lisfenora village.

Now, here are ten first sentences off my bookshelf. I chose mainstream novels at random, some mysteries, some not.

Only three people were left under the red and white awning of the grease joint: Grady, me, and the fry cook.

–Prologue, Water for Elephants, Sarah Gruen

Last week I found a letter from you.

–Prologue, The Various Haunts of Men, Susan Hill

The lake in my dreams is always frozen.

–Prologue, The Lake of dead Languages, Carol Goodman

I spot her as soon as I get off the elevator on the fourth floor.

–Chapter 1, Origin, Diana Abu-Jaber

A sealed envelope is an enigma containing further enigmas.

–Chapter 1, The Flanders Panel, Arturo Perez-Reverte

It was November.

–Chapter 1, The Thirteenth Tale, Diane Setterfield

This story begins in a city of bones.

–Prologue, Sepulchre, Kate Mosse

Terry Hewitt had never been as afraid as he was now.

–Chapter 1, Slip of the Knife, Denise Mina

Later, when it was over, he cast his thoughts back to that sunstruck May day in Cambridge–where it had all begun–and asked himself whether he would have done anything differently, knowing what he now did.

–Prologue, The Savage Garden, Mark Mills

If Ignaz Stapel hadn’t been so afraid of his father, he would have reported the incident and perhaps saved the lives of all the people who were to die as a consequence of it.

–Prologue, City of Shadows, Ariana Franklin

As an afternote, from one gynormous commercial blockbuster:

Renowned curator Jacques Sauniere staggered through the valuted archway of the museum’s Grand Gallery.

–Prologue, The DaVinci Code, Dan Brown
(Don’t hate me because this is on my shelf!)

And from one Pulitzer Prize winner:

When he woke in the woods in the dark and the cold of the night he’d reach out to touch the child sleeping beside him.

–Chapter 1, The Road, Cormac McCarthy

Do I come to any conclusions? Not really except that I need to work on mine some more. Some came within prologues, some not. First person, third, and omniscient.

Some of the first sentences are surprisingly simple — that’s the big thing I take note of for my writing. All in all, most of them give intriguing hints of mysteries/conflicts come, don’t they? On the other hand, seems to me that in the world of publishing novelists, anything goes for a first sentence.

Dan Brown’s is the least interesting to me even though, supposedly, as a commercial thriller , it ought to have the most wowza-hook of an opening. It lacks the finesse of the previously listed mysterioso beginnings.

What do you think? What are some of your first sentences?

SIMPLE PLEASURES | Empty Notebooks

Still on a break, but look what I bought yesterday. Nothing like my brother-in-law’s Ferrari for fabuloso consumerism, but I bet writers out there can relate to this: These old-school notebooks fill me with pleasure and excitement about the near future when I’m not on break anymore, when I’m developing two fiction ideas that have been percolating for awhile (hence, two notebooks), and when I’m getting down-and-dirty with words.

Blank pages don’t scare me; they fill me with anticipation and wonder and the feeling of creativity burbling below the surface. I love empty notebooks! Especially when they’re groovy in a classic or modern or any old way…

Why I’m a Writer – ??

Excerpts from three recent conversations, and my, aren’t they revealing:

* * *

Mom, gazing at me with something like amazement: You write so much on your blog.

Me: Oh, am I overwriting?

Mom: Nothing like that; it’s just that you always have so much to say. (Subtext: Yet nothing to say for yourself otherwise, especially when I call you.)

* * *

Friend R-, who knows me all too well: So, how are you, anyhow?

Me: Yesterday, I wasn’t doing so well — oh wait, I wrote about that on my blog — never mind; you can read about it there.

Friend R-: Gives me all kinds of good-natured s**t, ending with something along the lines of:
…and now you’re going to process and talk to yourself through your blog instead of engage in actual conversations with people?

* * *

Writer-friend after a few drinks: Why aren’t you married, anyhow? You’re pretty…

Me, wondering what “pretty” has to do with it: Uhm, because I have trouble relating?

Writer-friend: THAT’s why you write.

* * *

All this reminds me of my actress-friend from the play last week. She got hammered afterwards, and I drove her home to her peeved husband. She said to me, “You get to go home, pet your cat, and dive into bed with a novel. I have to go home and EXPRESS MYSELF.”

This from an actress, an extroverted person. Imagine me, laughing my arse off yet secretly relieved that I didn’t have to express myself verbally or relate to real people anymore for that evening.

Friday ‘Fess Up + Four = Friday Five #2

(What is this? A combination of two Friday memes: the literate kitten’s invitation to ‘fess up to our crimes and misdemeanors against our writing efforts and a “friday five,” in which we list five random things about our week…)

 

1. ‘Fessing up: I had an excellent writing day, and now I deserve to play in the long-awaited warmth and sunshine.

Yesterday I wrote six pages; today also. But yesterday was only a good writing day relative to today’s excellent writing day. What makes the difference? Flow. Just flow. Today the words fell out relatively easily (it’s only a little after noon!), whereas yesteday I spent a semi-tortured day at my desk. I didn’t complete my pages until 3:30 p.m. 

Today was fun for the writing because I have a character, Malcolm, who is such a wad. I love writing his scenes. I managed 21 new pages this week.

2. Follow-up on yesterday’s mood: An excellent writing day always helps, doesn’t it? Plus, getting out of the house with friends last night. Plus, the kind comments I received. Plus, a new day. I can still hear the low-grade muttering as I write this — no doubting that — but the sun is also shining.

Besides laying down sentences, I’m still wondering what else I can do to help myself, something concrete that will give me a sense that I’m moving forward…

3. About forgetfulness: This week I was in a pretty good fictional space, and as a result I kept forgetting to buy a new stick of deoderant. No, I’m not stinky; what I am, is a woman hand-rubbing deoderant crumbs against her skin. Never fails, I realize I’ve reached the end of my deoderant when the last bit falls out of the tube and breaks into pieces on the counter. Usually, I’m quicker to buy a new stick, however.

4. Something that maddened me: Overheard at a cafe, a women mourning the fact that her parents, who worked long and hard to retire early, were forced back to work (in their early 60s!) because they could no longer afford their health insurance premiums. ‘Nuff said.

5. Photo of the week: I suppose I am doing something concrete besides the writing itself. That’s my bulletin board and that’s my repository for all self-promotion, publicity, and marketing ideas I come across. Ready for when the time comes (there she is, my inner cheerleader)!

Speaking of self-promotion, DeAnna Cameron’s latest how-did-you-find-your-audience interview mentioned something especially interesting. Dora Levy Mossanen, the interviewee, started connecting with booksellers and freelance publicity folks before her first novel sold. My inquiring mind wants to know: How do you approach booksellers under those circumstances? I’m thinking she might have some natural networking skills…

Being my Own Best Cheerleader is Tiring Business

Rooting for myself gets tiring after awhile, you know what I mean? Thinking positive, buoying myself up, disciplining my thoughts (or trying). I read others’ blogs and am happy for their new publishing contracts, only to have that feeling become tinged with a little…envy? melancholy? self-pity? Something annoying, let’s put it that way.

I don’t know what I’m going to do if my agent comes back to me all tapped out of editors. She’s been shopping my manuscript around for awhile and has received many positive rejections (so oxymoronic, but there you go)…What will I do?

I know what I’ll do: I’ll grieve, hope that my agent will want to represent my next novel, and return to the tiring task of being my own best cheerleader once again.

It’s frustrating to have finally figured out what I’m supposed to be doing in this life of mine, yet unable to wholeheartedly DO IT. Sometimes it feels arbitrary, who lands contracts, who doesn’t. Sometimes I feel like there’s something more I should be doing, only I can’t quite figure out what, except to keep setting down sentences, one after another.

That said, I wrote six pages today, a good writing day, and a gang of us are going to see a friend’s play tonight. I’m sure I’ll drink a glass (or two?) of red wine afterwards.

Anyone got any bright ideas on what else I can do to help my cause (besides going into therapy)?

What Literary Novelist David Guterson Had to Say

On Monday night I was eager to hear what David Guterson had to say because I’d gladly include his first novel, Snow Falling on Cedars, on my Top 100 All-Time Favorites list — if I had such a list.

I found myself noting what NOT to do while on my imagined book tour.

Amiable and better looking than his author photos suggest, Guterson launched into a bit of a rant that had me puzzled: What was all this about his luxurious hotel room, the absurd bounty that comes with being born an American, and our “world system predicated on the exploitation of….” I found myself reading the jacket copy of his latest novel, The Other. Others were looking a little dazed.

I didn’t disagree with his politics, but I was there to listen to a writer talk about his craft, his latest novel, his inspirations.

Lesson #1: Don’t get too political out of the chute, and keep politics to a minimum in any case.

It was only after he’d gone on for a bit that he mentioned that he’d actually been describing the worldview of one of his main characters. Character development: now that interested me.

Lesson #2: Mention the connection to the novel before diving into deep topics; keep deep topics on point with novel.

After the reading, he was asked how he “overcame” the phenomonal success of Snow Falling on Cedars. Guterson began his answer with, “All human beings are always changing….” and rambled for awhile.

Lesson #3: Answer questions directly. Keep high-level mumbo-jumbo to a minimum.

Lest I sound too negative, let me hereby admit that I enjoyed glancing at Guterson’s pretty face while noting down these cool tidbits:  

  • On using significant others as readers: He noted that in the early days, his wife read too much into the writing — as a negative indicator of their marriage, for example — and that her sensitivity caused him anxious moments while writing.
  • On this, his most autobiographical novel: The idealistic character mentioned above represents one aspect of Guterson, which conflicts with the part of him that enjoys luxurious hotel rooms. The novel is a fictional exploration of this “schism.”
  • On his bad reviews: He has plenty of positive reviews, but also bad ones. How refreshing to hear a novelist cop to bad reviews — he didn’t seem to care too much either. Still, that’s gotta be hard. A thick skin is always good.
  • On his ideas: His novel ideas often stem from things that cause him the most pain. (Jodi Picoult said much the same thing at her reading.)

 

And get this: He first got published by sending a set of 10 stories to three publishers (no agent!) with a letter that said something like, Dear editor, here are my stories if you want to publish them. Don’t we wish it was still that easy?

 

Practicing my Shameless Self-Promotional Skills

Earlier this week I Google-searched the title of the anthology that will contain one of my short stories. It’s called Two of the Deadliest, and I hoped to discover its publication date, originally set for 2008. You’ll see I’ve updated my sidebar: April, 2009. Sigh.

Besides the pub date, my search also returned results for many well-known novelists who have mentioned their short stories on their websites, only they do a better job of promoting themselves and the anthology than I do. They actually mention the titles of their stories, for one thing, and maybe a sentence or two about their stories. This got me thinking…

Self-promotion: A skill that doesn’t come naturally to me.

End result, I need to exhibit a little shamelessness. It’s not like I have oodles of fiction credits under my belt yet. I mean, really, the following tidbit is big news for a newbie like me:

Elizabeth George, New York Times bestselling novelist, sent me an email asking me if I’d like to write a short story for her anthology, edited by her. I’ll be one of a few newbies included in a section entitled “Introducing….”

Very cool, yes? I ought to fling the news about for the whole world to view. Look at me! Look at me! Which is what this blog post is all about (all the while feeling uncomfortable even though I can be as full of myself as I wanna be on my blog!).

Self-promotion: Not for the faint of heart.

The funny thing is that for the seasoned novelists, the anthology is probably not a huge deal. I imagine most of them pumped out their short stories in under a week while I worked my fanny off over quite a few months to get mine right. Once again, sigh.

Here’s the scoop on Two of the Deadliest: It will be an all-female collection of mystery and crime stories centered around the themes of lust and greed — “two of the deadliest” sins. My story is called “Paddy O’Grady’s Thigh” and features an inexperienced journalist, two Irish Travellers, and one dug-up corpse.

There.

Self-promotion: Not so bad when I cringe and do it anyhow.