Category Archives: -Wendi Knape

A Picture is worth a Thousand Words

When you read the title, A Picture is worth a Thousand Words, I bet most of you think of an award-winning photo. Maybe you think of the famous photo in Times Square with the sailor kissing the girl on V – J Day. Or, maybe it’s the little girl running naked and burned after the bombing of Hiroshima. Maybe it’s a more romantic image, say of Marilyn Monroe getting her skirt blown up from the air vent. The question I’d like to ask you is, what do all of these images have in common?

They each tell a story.

For this blog, I decided to do a writing exercise with you. I went to my Pinterest account where I have a board called Scene Inspiration and another one called Possible Character Images. I picked the images below and combined them together to tell a story. When I’m brainstorming or have writers block, I find it helpful to pull inspiring images that help me flush out a character, setting, etc. that I’m interested in adding to my many manuscript ideas. It especially helps when I’m just starting a project. In this case, it was because I was having trouble deciding where I wanted to go next in an existing manuscript. Stumped on one thing, it’s helpful to free-write when your creative mojo decides to take a hike, so that’s what I did. I encourage you to do the same thing if you’re having trouble.

As I was writing, something interesting happened. I’ll discuss what it was after the free-write below.

horse and woman

GQ Magazine UK, 15 February 2010, Sienna Miller: Out in the Open, Photo by Simon Emmett

 tree tunnel

Imgur.com, 2012, Gallery, 1000 Year Old Yew Trees in West Wales

 

I call it the Central Park incident. The only thing I remember of my life before then is my name, Anna Maria Bonite, and a majestic white speckled horse that felt like he was a part of who I am, and trees so gnarly, black, bloodied, and twisted, they give me nightmares. My driver’s license, which the police found in my pocket, said I was twenty-four at the time, and that I lived in New York City.

           It isn’t that I don’t try to remember my life before then, it’s that I can’t. Every time I try to open up that part of my memory, it’s as if I’m drowning in a sea of emotional pain so thick, it gives me the cold sweats and shakes bad enough that the symptoms hold me immobilized in bed for days.

It has taken me a long time to control the blank pockets of time locking that part of my consciousness away even though I desperately want to know what happened before stepping into the park. What made all those memories disappear? The one and only time I entered Central Park, there was a flash of memory that brought the insidious image of the trees to life. The memory was evidently so painful my brain decided to fritz out, protecting my psyche. It felt like my head split wide-open as sharp daggers sank into my skin, then only darkness. When I woke up, it was in a bed, a week later, at Mount Sinai Hospital. The doctors told me they could find nothing wrong with me physically, but whoever I was before that day was a dark, blank canvas. I was a functional, healthy person, able to do normal things. I was perfectly educated, but with no personal identity, no memories of going to school, of friends, of where I grew up; nothing.

Lately, things have been slipping pass my hard built walls, the walls in my psyche made of layers of steel and barbed wire. I can no longer keep my fear at bay while working and I have to fight the mounting panic. If it wasn’t for the blaring horns, the racing taxis that zig and zag through traffic, pedestrians at all hours, the sounds of people jabbering on phones, friends talking at the sidewalk cafes, the construction machines moving steel and concrete through the air as I walk the paved streets of my city, I would have gone mad years ago. It’s when I’m near a living landscape surrounded by trees that my memories deliver the sharp pain.

Six years have gone by since the Central Park incident, since all the smaller attacks in between.

Because of my “condition”, I’m not able to hold down a job for very long. Employers don’t take too kindly to me being absent more than a couple days a month. Well, okay, more than a couple days a month. Looking back on that morning getting fired never got any easier.

***

“I’m sorry, Anna Maria. I’m gonna have to let you go,” my latest boss mumbled while looking at his scuffed shoes. He felt bad, she knew. They always did.

I heard his words and I felt the weight of them on my shoulders. Was I surprised? No. That’s why that morning I decided for a change of scenery. The words still hurt though.

That morning, when the sun leaked into my tiny Manhattan apartment, I crawled out from under my favorite white satin sheets and down comforter–my only luxury– and made my first cup of coffee. Wandering over to the map, tacked to the wall, the fifty states stood out in a pastel array of colors. Lifting my mug, I blew out a breath, watched the steam float away, and took a sip, hoping my first delicious swallow of Columbian goodness would help me decipher my troubled thoughts.

“Where should I go?”

***

I didn’t want to leave New York, but I was feeling a pull in my gut toward something, I just didn’t know what. My eyes kept drifting toward the west coast but eventually they moved over the map’s mitten state. I felt it in my stomach, a small flutter getting wilder and wilder every time my eyes landed on Michigan.

A shiver raced up spine and out my fingertips. There were too many trees in Michigan. Why was my brain telling me to go there?

Maybe if I moved to a larger metropolis, I would be okay.

Moving closer to the map, scanning the bigger cities, my eyes landed on Detroit. It was no Manhattan, but I could make it work. I just had to forgo all the great parks that the state touted.

Another sip of coffee and I made my decision. I was moving to Michigan.

Would the change in location give me answers? I didn’t know. Whatever the pull was, I had never felt it before, so my gut was my compass and I was following it.

It wasn’t quite a thousand words but it was a worthwhile exercise. Because my thoughts are on the series I’m working on, the characters are always present in my mind, be it consciously or unconsciously. While writing, the Anna Maria Bonite character popped into my head and it created a new direction for her character. Right now in my story, the reader will presume she is dead. Therefore, even though I am stuck on the manuscript I’m working on now, something good happened trying to get myself unstuck.

The Monarch

Knape, Wendi. Monarch Butterfly, 2008. Ink and watercolor on paper.

Knape, Wendi. Monarch Butterfly, 2008.
Ink and watercolor on paper.

In my last blog Clarity I talked about how much my work has improved since I started writing. What you don’t know is the inspiration that started my writing journey was a monarch butterfly.

Laid off from an at-will company (the company didn’t have to tell me why they let me go) in 2003, I felt lost. My mind spit out all sorts of detritus about why I was let go, bogging me down in a depression that had its claws deep. I was unsure of my talent in my chosen field, which was architectural design. I didn’t know how I should move forward with my career, though I knew that I needed to do something that I would enjoy. At the time I decided to focus more on my family; it just wasn’t going to be enough. The stay-at-home-mom label wasn’t for me. There’s nothing wrong with the designation. Parenting is hard work, and raising my children so they become good adults is important to me, I just wanted something more, so I let my thoughts percolate.

Drawing and painting is a passion of mine, but having the time to do it was hard with a full time job so, I always put it off for another day. Reading is another joy that helped me through some awful days too. Getting lost in worlds that other people create was something that helped pull me out of my mental fog. Eventually, the idea of taking my talent in art and my love of reading got me thinking about pushing my career in a new direction. I asked myself, was it viable? The problem was I didn’t know what it was. Did I have what it would take to make something out of my love of art and reading? Could I help support my family by drawing or painting? How could I take the joy of reading and make it into something worthwhile? I didn’t know, so the thoughts kept going round and round, making me undecided on what street to walk down.

My mind was in a continual loop of worry, as I drove to the store, when a monarch butterfly flew past my windshield. The first thing that popped into my head was, I should paint that. The second thing was what if I wrote a story about the monarch. Could I write as well as the authors I read? I was reading children’s books at the time, my two girls ages were five and three, and those books were illustrated. Could I write and illustrate a book?

That was my ‘aha’ moment. I felt lighter than I had in a long time and got excited about what it could mean for my family and me. Seeing the butterfly wasn’t the only factor, but a primary one, allowing me to throw away thoughts circling in my head that weren’t doing any good. I started illustrating and writing my first picture book, Becoming Lucy, a story about a painted lady caterpillar being bullied because she had yet to go through her metamorphosis.

Knape, Wendi. Painted Lady w/ Ladybug, 2008. Ink and colored pencil on paper.

Knape, Wendi. Painted Lady w/ Ladybug, 2008.
Ink and colored pencil on paper.

You’re probably wondering how I went from writing and illustrating children’s picture books to writing paranormal romance novels. It was a gradual shift, moving from the picture book to middle grade stories, to young adult and finally to adult stories. It was a better headspace for me. Some people would tell you children’s genres are easy to write, but they are not. Getting into the mindset of a child, pre-teen or teen is difficult. I was too serious as a kid and I couldn’t remember how to be a kid and wasn’t able to capture the essence of one. Therefore, I shifted my thinking and tried my hand at something I love to read, romance, eventually paranormal romance.

Already in the Deadwood Writers Group, with their support and encouragement the other writers told me I should try my hand at the romance genre. The change was nerve racking, but I gave it a go and wrote my first sex scene, jumping head first into the deep end of the pool. It felt weird and exhilarating all at the same time, I even laughed aloud because I couldn’t believe I was writing one. It was like a river racing toward a waterfall. Ideas started pouring from my mind into a large pool, it harboring ideas for later. It was fun and I haven’t stopped since. I’m comfortable here. It’s not an easy business to break into but I keep my hope close to my chest that one day it will pay off. I still draw and paint, but writing is my inspiration, and I’m very satisfied.

Happy writing!

Clarity

When I dream of becoming a published author, I see myself as a stand out amongst a large populous of romance authors. My books sit alongside those written by authors I’ve admired and learned from by reading and being absorbed by the characters they’ve created and the stories they continue to roll out year after year. I want people to get thrilled when they see a new release date, from author ,Wendi Knape, and automatically click the to read category on their goodreads.com account, so I keep moving forward. Nonetheless, in my writer’s life, there are days when things weigh me down, a little voice whispering I won’t succeed no matter how many edits. However, I never let myself forget my end goal and always remember that I have a lot of encouragement from writer friends, plus all the resources in books and blogs regarding the writing craft.

With my first manuscript I didn’t stop writing to try to publish, I jumped to the next manuscript, and the next, and so on. In my experience, through writing and wise words from other authors, it’s best to leave a completed manuscript alone and come back to it to see what needs fixing.

When I moved on and was about halfway through writing book two, I went back to my first manuscript and tackled editing it several times so I could enter the RWA Golden Heart contest. All along, I’ve felt there’s been something missing from its pages, even after several edits. That I didn’t place in the contest let me know it still needed work, but now I had scores to lead me in the right direction. But still, it wasn’t a decisive critique it was just numbers relating to content.

I kept asking myself, where’s the spark that encourages the reader to turn the page? The spark was elusive, as if it was a living thing, hiding in the dark, just waiting for me to come to its rescue. I was becoming more and more frustrated each time I sat down to edit, mired in words that had gone blurry, lost in a sea of plot. The characters got what they wanted with little conflict. I couldn’t find my way out of the editing fog. Until reading, Make a Sceneby Jordan E. Rosenfeld, and nearly at the same time, a blog piece titled, The Difference between Idea, Premise and Plot, by Janice Hardy on Janice Hardy’s Fiction University website, things didn’t click. When I combined the two ideas, I got excited. Now I held the flickering spark and watched it dance on my fingertips. Fixing problems wasn’t going to be easy but it also wasn’t going to be like Atlas holding up the celestial sphere.

First, let’s look at The Difference between Idea, Premise and Plot. My idea was a good one, the premise was simple and strong, the plot was tagging along like a good pet, but it wasn’t quite pulling me forward like an excited puppy. When I got to story–which Janice Hardy added after a comment from a reader–the emotional element, the internal conflicts my characters would have to overcome, they easily overcame the problems. When I say easy, my hunky hero quickly decided he wasn’t afraid to take on the vampire protagonist–really an alien that needed to feed off human blood–to his home where he would help her find her mentor. Not only in the beginning did the protagonists acquiesce to circumstance, it was throughout that they jumped in feet first and fell in love in a blink. Usually, the reader is at the halfway point before the first love scene. Three quarters through, the protagonists discover they love each and still are keeping it from each other. The declaration of love is a highlight near the end.

If readers know what happens so soon, why should they turn pages?

What was missing?

Janice Hardy’s article allowed me to see that, though my idea was a good one, it wasn’t a complete story. Her break down from Idea, to Premise, Plot and finally her addition of Story, gave me a clearer vision as each consecutive step built on the other leading me to a stronger story concept. I even went on to develop other story ideas that I want in the series based on characters I love. When I got my hands on Rosenfeld’s book, Janice Hardy’s article only enhanced my start-up thoughts as each story came to life.

Half way through Make a Scene, I can tell you that I’ll re-read this book. It’s that good. I’m not saying this is the only book out there to help improve my writing, but Rosenfeld has a way of telling the reader, through examples and clear explanation, how to take my writing to the next level. Butterflies were flitting around in my stomach, my excitement palpable again. What Rosenfeld reiterates throughout is, “plot and character cannot be separated”[1]. I saw the holes in my story, now I could fill them.

The fixes came to me like magic causing me to write like the Mad Hatter at teatime. Narrative and dialogue I wrote, that included thoughts and actions of my protagonists meeting in opposition, help push the plot forward while still building a crescendo as the two characters come together and fall in love, simultaneously dealing with outside forces pulling them apart. Without tension, the reader will put the book down, and I definitely don’t want that to happen.

In my first draft and up until my latest draft of, A New Life, I was telling the reader some of Miseeka’s, my female protagonist’s, back-story. She already knew she would need to drink human blood. Here is an excerpt.

Her parents were blinded by their need to place her on the throne, to pass down their legacy to her. They thought him a wonderful influence on her and the Liti people. But Miseeka knew what a twisted soul he harbored. He was evil. She wouldn’t be beaten or manipulated by him again. So, her plan to flee Liti had formed and she looked for help from Healer Bacchius and other’s he trusted still on Liti.

The problem with the plan was that she would have to feed on humans. He said that Earth’s atmosphere was made up of oxygen, which the Liti could not breathe. Therefore, to survive, any Liti that resided on Earth would have to consume the blood of humans directly from, based on a human’s anatomy, the carotid artery.

It repulsed Miseeka to think she would have to feed off humans. She feared consuming all the human’s life blood. Would she have to kill to survive? She had to contact Bacchius as soon as she landed, if she survived. There were few canisters of Liti air, and it wouldn’t last for long.

While Miseeka dreamed, she could barely get her lungs to work as the escape pod, programmed for Earth, moved through the vast silence of space.

Being a first draft, this is a mess. I use passive voice, I’m telling instead of showing and the tension is nonexistent.

Now look at my latest draft, the one I wrote after reading Make a Scene. I’ll let the section of manuscript speak for itself. Just know that Miseeka has crashed on Earth and realizes she’s no longer near her ship.

Miseeka came awake, blinking and confused.

She slowly got up, swaying in the darkness, as if she was drunk. Looking down to take stock of her form, she saw a sticky wetness smeared over her hibernation suit. What happened?

More aware of her surroundings, she noticed her lungs working efficiently. Miseeka took another breath and suddenly the most delicious aroma filled her renewed lungs and her hands automatically lifted to her mouth as her nose followed the scent to meet them. She swiped at her chin and mouth, and began to lick the unfamiliar treat from her fingers without conscious thought. At one point, she groaned aloud. There was an instant reaction to the liquid she consumed, making her heart pump faster and her desire for more reach a new high. What was this ambrosia, she wondered? She moved to find the source, stumbling, losing her balance toppling onto something.

Miseeka’s mind screamed at the horror of what she had fallen upon. Dear goddess! A human. She scrambled off the male, caught in his limbs, kicking out to get away. “Let me go, let me go?” She screamed, falling over on her belly. She clawed at the undergrowth, the pine needles pricking her hands, digging into her knees, the earth turning over to reveal it’s pungent smell, when she proceeded to vomit onto the forest floor everything she had stolen, until she felt hallow and her breaths became labored once again. Her stomach cramped with the emptiness.

What is happing to me?

Her mouth gapped and sucked in the atmosphere as she tried to remain on her hands and knees, but her lungs continued to burn and her surroundings started to darken as she became lightheaded. Why couldn’t she breathe?

She fell to her side and rolled to her back. Miseeka turned her head toward the human. The man was dead. I am a killer. Her mind went wild with the repercussions; the line of thinking that suddenly came upon her caused the shakes to start riddling her body deep within. She had torn the man’s neck out and fed on him. She was a monster.

Miseeka wanted to laugh. She was now the monster she was trying to escape. She lifted her red hands blackened by the night and realized the only source for her survival, human blood.

With that painful truth, she gave in to the darkness and passed out.

Can you see the difference? By withholding information that I had given Miseeka in the first draft–she would need to feed on human blood–I’ve added a slice of heart pounding tension that ups her internal and external conflicts. Now Miseeka is worried about killing the next human she encounters plus becoming a monster, adding complications. This also bumps up Miseeka’s character development letting the reader know that she has good morals and doesn’t want to hurt anyone. I want the reader to care about her so they’ll keep reading.[2] To complicate her life even further, Kyle, my leading man, comes upon Miseeka just as she stirs from unconsciousness needing to feed. That adds even more tension. What will she do next? The reader will have to turn the page.

Between my first draft and the latest one, a lot had to change. I still want to change more. The lesson? Staring at my own work can leave me hitting my head against a brick wall with an impression of said wall on my forehead. We as writers’ sometimes need to take a step back and reevaluate, so we can get our book on bookstore shelves next to our favorite authors. If we need to find help to see how, the good, the bad, and the downright ugly really look in our manuscripts, a book about writing might do the trick. All writers’ occasionally need is a refresher course in their writing life. So why not find it in one of your favorite books on writing.

What’s your favorite go-to book on writing?

Happy writing!

 

[1]Jordan E. Rosenfeld, MAKE A SCENE Crafting a Powerful Story One Scene at a Time, (Writer’s Digest Books 2008) 106.

[2] Jordan E. Rosenfeld, MAKE A SCENE Crafting a Powerful Story One Scene at a Time, (Writer’s Digest Books 2008)21-28,63

Finding the Mind of a Villain

Recently, a computer guru, otherwise known as my husband, replaced my hard-drive with a solid-state drive. Arriving the following evening at the local coffee shop to write, I realized all my files had been transferred to our computer network, leaving me without my manuscript.

“So now what,” I asked myself, taking a sip of my coffee.

It took a few minutes to decide what would be the best use of my time. I decided research stemming from my blog post titled Fear, appearing on June 10, 2014, sounded interesting. I wanted to delve into the psychology of a Villain. Why is he the way he is? I tapped Wikipedia for basic information, and found some good resources to read, regarding Maslow’s hierarchy of needs and Frederick Irving Herzberg’s Two-Factor Theory (A theory to improve job satisfaction, oddly enough).

Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, combined with Herzberg’s Two-Factor Theory, made for an interesting dichotomy of how I could create sanity and insanity in a character, based on my interpretation of the theories. Look at Maslow’s theory of needs that include, self-actualization, esteem, love and belonging, safety, and finally physiological needs, and combine this thinking with Herzberg’s theory, using it as a life satisfaction theory instead of a job satisfaction theory. It makes things a little clearer as to what a villain’s motivation will be and where his life diverted from happy and content to one that dips into insanity.

With the list of human needs that Maslow speaks of, each of us makes the decision to be happy or not, but what if that choice is taken away from us by outside forces. Looking back to my blog Fear, the child seeing friendly ghosts is now a teenager. The boy would have turned out sane and well balanced if left alone, but instead is locked away in a mental facility by his evil stepmother. Drugged by the doctors on a regular basis, per the stepmother’s wishes, and mentally bombarded by evil entities like the one I described toward the end of Fear, it is easy to see why the entities follow him into adulthood. He has no shields against them. The evil shadow creatures have free reign to whisper their vile thoughts and twist the teenagers mind.

Based on Maslow’s list, what does the character lose? One, I can assume the character loses self-actualization because he is drugged. Two, previous friend’s label him crazy when they find out he’s in an institution, losing his respectability causing his self-esteem to plummet. Does he find love and belonging sitting in an 8×8 white room in a drugged out haze? No. This turns love and belonging into hate. The people that were supposed to protect him threw him away. He’s no longer safe. The entities voices slither into his thoughts, his drugged state causing him to lose independent thought. Top everything off with his physiology, he’s now skinny and white in pallor, because the doctors don’t let him get out for exercise, and the character has become something entirely different.

These two theories combined create a catalyst to the characters motivation. While he’s trapped in the mental facility, ideas spin, evil overwhelms. All he can think about is revenge.

Now a man, he escapes.

Whom does he go after? You guessed it, the family that threw him away. Only the stepmother is dead and the only one left is the daughter, his only focus. To make it more interesting, the evil entities tag along with our villain, attacking the heroin in the dark alley, which I described in my blog titled Fear.

It’s amazing how an hour of research, that wasn’t planned, is now motivation to develop a story based around a couple paragraphs from a blog post. How do you think a story might flourish once you do a little research?

Happy writing!

Here are some other subjects I researched regarding psychology of the human mind.

Phobias

Paraphilias

Motivation

Psychoanalysis

 

Fear

Human beings deal with fear every day, be it from external forces or internal pragmatisms. Usually hidden behind a fake smile or a cocky demeanor, it haunts our thoughts and bogs down decisions. Fear affects how we do things, see things, poisoning or strengthening us from the inside out.

Think about this. What happens once fear breaches the surface? The outcome depends on choice. Do we allow this particular poison to spread inward or outward? Or, do we stop it in its tracks? With each of us, the results are about how much we allow the fear to control us. How each of us deals with it is what can change everything. Or, if you’re a writer, it’s how it can change a character.

Paranormal romance novels can carry fear as suspense novels carry tension. Say, for backstory, ghosts or demons start haunting your character as a child entering puberty. What kind of adult did fear create ten years later? Would the incorporeal creature shape a hero or villain as it influences a child surrounded with love? Or is the child without love? In these circumstances, the result pushes either him or her, in most cases, to get help. Sometimes characters respond by dealing with them internally. If they don’t have a good support system, fear of ghosts or demons might result in a negative outcome, possibly causing some kind of psychosis. In walks your villain.

Paranormal romance can also take a fear and turn it into a positive giving enlightenment or sending the hero to rescue the fair maiden. Picture a child surrounded by loving support, she befriends the ghost she originally fears, because children are supposed be scared of what lies in the dark, but as the child grows up, the ghost becomes a safe, constant presence. It warns her of danger or tells her when something bad might happen, acting as a familiar, strengthening her against evil and those that would harm her. In walks your heroine.

External fear is everything else that isn’t inside a person’s head already. Take for example a dark alley. Do you like walking down dark alleys? Not many of us do, but it’s a good way to add fear as it applies to your characters physical reactions.

Imagine a demon, which you can only hear, not see, chasing you down a dark alley. The silence is heavy; the only thing you can hear is your own heartbeat, uneven breaths make your chest itch as you struggle to breathe. With no warning, something crashes behind you, breaking glass shatters the night, and you look back. There’s only darkness and the slapping of your high heels on cracked pavement. The second you turn your head, you trip and fall. In shock, the pain overwhelming, you struggle to get up on cut hands and knees when an icy chill slithers around your leg and up bare skin. What feels like a hand reaches and curls around your neck, tightening, the cold seeping into your flesh, darkening the world to nothing. You gasp for air as another hand, and then another, and another, violates you. You try to scream, but the fingers closing around you won’t allow it. About to die, a cold tongue eliciting a putrid smell licks the line of your jaw, your eyes start to water, the creature loosens its grip, and laughs but you’re the only one who can hear it say, “You’re mine now.”

Pretty creepy, right? How many of the five senses did I use in the scene? Sound, sight, touch, and smell. I didn’t use taste, unless you count the demons wayward tongue. Using the senses adds immediate fear to your characters vision, and you can connect with your readers as they fear for your characters well being.

Fear is part of a characters growth, or decline if that’s your desire, but it’s important that you look at it from both an internal and external point of view. How does it effect and affect the character you’re building? Think about what you want your character to be, a sociopath who hates cops, or a paranormal detective that sees dead people.

Happy Writing!