Aug 16

I’m Nothing Without You

A writer is supposed to write with a particular audience in mind. My editor tells me that just about every time she reviews my articles. I know. I know. I know. It’s something I’m sure I learned in grade school and have been striving to put into practice every time I sit down at my computer. When I type an e-mail, it’s to someone specific. A thank you note, it goes to someone specific. Why then, do I find it so hard to figure out whom I’m trying to reach through each of my blog posts? Can’t I just love to write, without having to please anyone other than myself? Of course not! Unless I’m writing in a diary, I hope to be interesting to somebody else.

My problem is not simply a difficulty in identifying an audience. It’s complicated by my desire to not exclude anybody. When my kids were young, I enforced a house rule that “everybody plays together or your friends go home.” No hurt feelings; no one left out or sitting on the sidelines. Honing in on just one specific target audience is hard for me, because by focusing on one group, I’m afraid I may alienate the others out there on the fringes, whom I also care about. Fourteen years of experience with Vacation Bible School shows me that the ever important audience varies according to one’s perspective.

I once thought VBS was only for children. In 2000, my family and I joined a relatively small church of about 200 members. We spent the first year getting acquainted with the worship services and the people. We weren’t expected to serve in any capacity. It was our time to settle in and get comfortable. Summer came, Polar Escape (a winter-wonderland program) was being promoted, and I had to ask, “What exactly is VBS?” and “What do you do at VBS?”

I was given standard answers: VBS is where children come to learn about God in a fun, creative, inviting environment. They often make crafts, participate in games, eat snacks, learn dance moves to songs, and hear Bible stories. I’ve since discovered that, beyond those things, a great experience depends upon who hosts VBS, the curriculum they purchase or create, and the amount of energy people involved with the program are willing to put in. Each unique presentation is limited only by imagination, time and a budget.

At St. Timothy Presbyterian Church, where I had that first year to relax, our VBS accepted children as old as sixth-graders and as young as three-year-old, potty-trained preschoolers. The kids were dropped off by their parents for a few hours each morning, Monday-Friday, for five days. Every child, regardless of denomination or church affiliation, was welcome. Older youth and adults led the young children through each planned activity. Unconventionally, the church absorbed all costs. Pastor Janet Noble-Richardson was adamant that money would not interfere with a child being able to attend. She insisted that the outreach would be free to the community. For some parents, VBS offered a perfect time to run errands without the kids in tow.

When I arrived to register my seven-year-old son and nine-year-old daughter for their first VBS, I was surprised at the transformation my church had undergone. We walked through hallways full of artificial snow, life-size penguins, and elaborately painted backdrops. The kids weren’t just going to attend VBS, they were going to experience it through all five senses. It was impressive, but I really didn’t know all that I was missing until the next year, when I was recruited to teach the preschoolers.

My twin boys were about to turn four and would be with me in class. I had been forewarned that the preschool teacher’s role was probably the hardest, due to the children’s short attention level, their possible anxiety in being separated from their moms, and the fact that our group didn’t rotate to other classrooms like the older children did. If nothing else, I was well-prepared with patience, a schedule of activities, and supplies to keep us busy. My room was staffed with three other parents, which gave us a ratio of about one adult for every four children. Yet, just minutes into our day together, my son was bit on the arm by a child I didn’t know. Eric cried. The boy cried. Eric bled and I held him on one hip as I tried to stick to the plan. I delayed a trip to the doctor’s office for antibiotics, because I had a class to manage. When I explained the incident to the boy’s mother, at the end of the morning, she wanted to know what my darling had done to antagonize her son. Day one couldn’t have ended soon enough.

The following year, I volunteered to once again teach the preschoolers…and the director let me. Thankfully, everyone was fine, we enjoyed our time together, and I fell in love with my VBS audience of boys and girls.

For nearly a decade, I took on an additional role and helped decorate the church in preparation for our guests. Other members and I painted, sewed, sawed, hammered, designed, glued and came up with intricate ways to amaze. We built outdoor classrooms: first a whale, then a hut, a burro to crawl through, even a ship. A stuffed lion, giraffe, buffalo, horse, cow, puppet theater, costumes for the closing plays. Heavy jobs often went to the men, but ladies weren’t shy about wielding hammers and staple guns too. Painting was popular for anyone, between five and seventy-five, who could hold a paintbrush or sponge. Forget the budget. Dozens of us donated time and money to finish our jobs. The only things slowing us down were our need for sleep, occasional illnesses and injuries.

Here was a whole other audience, men and women of all ages working together, committed to serving. VBS was for us too. We formed unforgettable memories and lifelong friendships.

Kelly Bixby photography

Annually, I’m still involved with VBS at a different church. Now, the audience has become easier for me to single out. It’s expanded to include the grandparents who enjoy watching their grandkids perform a song, the retirees who step into new roles as musicians, camel herders, weavers and rope makers, and the visitors who are in awe as they admire and smile at the scenes I’ve helped create. VBS is for my friend who called to find out what she had missed on the day the children roasted marshmallow Peeps over a pretend fire. It’s for my current pastor who I recently found hiding in a storage room. He was dressed as an ancient Israelite and eagerly awaited his entrance into a skit. It’s for everyone I’ve had the pleasure of dancing with as we sing praises to God.

There are some people who don’t understand the hype. They think it’s totally absurd to spend time and resources on temporary decorations. They say that Vacation Bible School doesn’t require hours of cutting, pasting, hanging, and gluing. Hallways and classrooms don’t have to be elaborate. Buildings don’t need to get dressed up with palm trees and waterfalls or rocket ships and aliens. I’ll admit that all of that is true. Getting children excited about God and helping them get to know Him better are the goals. But, the cynics have a totally different perspective than I do. At least I’ve figured out Whom the extravagance is really for–finally, I’m sure of my audience.

Let’s hope it doesn’t take me another decade to identify who I write for…

Aug 10

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

Aug 06

What Do You Know?

“Write What You Know.” Original Author Unknown

“Beware of advice—even this.” Carl Sandberg

 

Creative juices are flowing. Your protagonist takes a high-powered position in a renowned law firm to be closer to her love interest. The romance is simple for you to write, however you know almost nothing about a criminal law firm. To make the story realistic, research is necessary. Even the pros do it.

 

Tom Clancy, known for espionage and military based novels such as The Hunt for Red October, Patriot Games, The Sum of All Fears, and Clear and Present Danger, was never in the military. Clancy had a bachelor’s degree in English literature and worked in the insurance business. His fascination with the military motivated him to do the research to create his best-selling novels.

 

Vince Flynn, a dyslexic who graduated with a degree in economics, was medically disqualified from entering the Marine Aviation Program. He quit his commercial real estate job to work full time on his first novel, Term Limits, a political thriller. Flynn also wrote Transfer of Power, The Third Option, and Act of Treason. Having no military or political background, he did a lot of research to get essential facts correct.

 

Harlan Coben studied political science in college and writes mysteries, such as Tell No One, Deal Breaker, Just One Look, and Six Years.

 

Some best-selling authors use the knowledge of their occupations to create heart-stopping plots. Robin Cook is a physician who writes medical thrillers, i.e. Coma and Contagion. Tess Gerritsen is a physician who wrote Call After Midnight, a romantic thriller, as well as a series of novels that spawned the television series, “Rizzoli & Isles.”

 

Michael Crichton, an anthropology professor, studied medicine and did exhaustive research to write medical thrillers. He is well-known for Jurassic Park, Twister, and The Andromeda Strain which were made into popular movies. Crichton also created the television series, E. R.

 

Are you motivated enough to thoroughly research your topic of interest to complete your novel? Will you be the next Tom Clancy, Tess Gerritsen, or Vince Flynn? What are you interested in researching?

Aug 03

Entering the Ogre’s Cave: Book Castle’s Movie World

Metaphors can be a tool for building strong visual connections and entertain. I’ve thought often about this gem of a store that I found hidden in the most unlikely place. What follows is my attempt to bring to life the emotional links to a place worth visiting if you’re ever in downtown Burbank, CA.

Book Castle’s Movie World in Burbank, CA by John McCarthy

There was once a bright shiny kingdom where the homes and castle were pristine from the care by the townspeople. The farms resided along a river that sparkled at night and provided crisp cold water for crops and an abundance of fish to feed everyone. But one day an ogre ventured into the area. It devoured the crops, drained the river with it’s insatiable thirst, and gathered all the fish for it’s personal store. The townspeople pleaded for help, and the King’s son, a brave and well loved protector, rode from the castle on a great stead, and an army at his beck. At the ogre’s cave, half hidden by a garden of flowers and thick trees, the prince shouted,

“Monster, I challenge you to single–”

The ogre, stung by being called a monster, roared, “Combat!”

“No.” The prince was no fool. Fighting this gigantic monster would likely mean his own death. “I challenge you to a drinking contest. Winner gains all that you have stolen.” At the sweep of his arms, soldiers rolled forth two large casks.

The Ogre laughed. “I’ll not be tricked into drinking poisoned ale.” It thundered forward, swinging a mammoth club carved from some of the hardest oak.

“Ah monster, you wound my honor. I shall drink from both casks to prove that both are the same.” The prince quickly poured a cup from each, and with a flourish, drained both mugs.

The Ogre paused. It’d been long since he’d had such fare, and the victory was assured given his greater mass. “I accept, and after I’ve won I will grind your bones into my fish soup!”

The Ogre ripped a hole into one cask and drained it before the prince could finish his next cup. “I win.” The Ogre roared, before draining the other cask.

“As do I. You shall sleep deeply for a thousand years,” The prince said.

“But you drank it too.” The Ogre thumped to it’s knees.

“Aye. And I took the antidote before coming here. Now sleep without dreams,” the prince commanded. The Ogre fell forward, deeply asleep.

On exploring the cave, amidst the piles of bones from fish and beasts, the prince and his soldiers recovered the crops and found many hidden treasures that helped the kingdom recover.

. . .

Downtown Burbank is a trendy area with a mix of stores and restaurants ranging from trendy to local hangouts. Less than a 30-minute drive to downtown LA—depending on time of day and traffic—it reminds me of being the little sister to downtown Berkley where the museum quality space of Book, Inc. resides. Great weather for walks through a nice area. It’s a couple of blocks away from a mini-outdoor mall that is anchored by a Barnes and Noble (BN). BN maintains a standard spacious two story storefront with pristine shelves filled with the current titles across many genres, and the sound of the blender draws you to its café where you can get a drink and a snack, while reading from your literary selection. The real adventure is found several blocks away.

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Almost hidden in plain sight is a dark space between two stores. From a distance it looks like a store that’s been closed, yet is cluttered with movie posters from an era of beta and vhs cassettes. A sign reads Movie World. Tables piled with books sit outside of the store like guardians of a dark cave that—in such a trendy neighborhood—draws one’s eyes away from the store like a magical protection ward that transmits the psychic message, “Pass this place by. There is nothing of interest for you.”

I ignored the warning and peered deeper into the shadows to find an open door where more books lay. Curiosity pulled me inside to find a world, vastly different from the outside. The ogre’s cave had tall bookshelves that carved narrow labyrinths to the back of the store space.  Like piles of bones left by the ogre, books are stacked on the floor and crammed into shelves, thus creating narrow paths to explore. All genres are present and grouped accordingly. The books are in good condition, despite the untidy piles and tightly packed shelves.

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It’s best to be like an archeologist who explores a past civilization than a treasure hunter. If you know what author or title you seek, you have a better chance of making great finds than to scan and hope to stumble on something special. There is simply too many books in a system that appears composed of random piles of books grouped by genres.

The smell of paper and bindings is strong, like the breath of the ogre—but lacks discomfort. Hunters of books in their earlier printings will make interesting discoveries, such as a boxed set of C.S. Lewis’ Chronicles of Narnia next to a stack of John Norman books from his Gor series, or many movie posters from movies that you may not have heard of before.

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There is much to find in Book Castle’s Movie World. If you can get past the Ogre’s magical ward, you’ll find treasures well worth the experience. But beware, the labyrinth of books and artifacts can suck you in for many hours, in which time, the Ogre could awaken.

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Aug 01

The First Employee at Chrysan Industries

One Saturday in November 1977, I was bending over the sink in the tiny lab cleaning the beakers for the next experiments.

“Bang, bang.“

Loud knocking sounded on the front door of the plant from outside on Mt. Elliot Street.

Mmm, on Saturday morning?  I wasn’t expecting anyone today.

Wiping my hands on paper towels, I hesitated for a few minutes before opening the door.  Open the door?  No.  Open the door?  No.

The plant was located in the industrial zone on the east side of downtown Detroit.  Even if it was in the industrial area, safety was a big concern.  Recently we had a couple of instances.  One was when I parked the car on the street in front of our building and all the hubcaps were gone in a couple of hours.  Another instance was that a lady’s handbag was snatched by a couple of young men while she was pumping gas into her car at the gas station on the corner of Mt. Elliot St..

“Bang, bang, bang, again.“

I peeked through the small glass window.  There was a man wearing dark navy blue overalls with a brownish straw hat.  Without considering the consequences I opened the door spontaneously.

He introduced himself as soon as he entered the building.  “ My name is Willie Fagan.  Joe Brown, my brother-in-law, told me that you are looking for a worker for the plant.“

What a memory I had!  I was getting old.  I totally forgot that I mentioned to Joe that we needed a cleaning crew at the plant.  The pounding of my heart from fear slowed down and a warm smile spread over my face, and his too.

“Come on in, Mr. Fagan.”

He sat down across the desk from me and I could see his huge dark brown hands with big knuckles.  He weighed over 250 pounds.  His strong body fully occupied the small wooden chair.  He could easily have knocked me down to the floor, if he wanted to.  Even though the rhythm of my heart reduced, the tension between us remained.  He was told by Mr. Brown that an Oriental woman might be his boss, but nothing more than this simple information.

I explained to him about our lubricants business in drums and tankers and that our potential customers could be the auto industry.  In order to avoid contamination of other chemicals, the tools, equipment and containers should be as clean as our kitchen pots and pans.  It seemed that he understood my expectations clearly.  He sat calmly, nodding his head and blinking his big eyes.

“Mr. Fagan, of course, the plant floor would also need to be cleaned,” I added.  Then I gave him information about the wages and continued, “As you know, we are a start-up company and we cannot provide benefits, like health insurance or pension program.”

With a pleasant and unique smile covering his face, Willie said, “Miss Koo the wage is good enough for me.  I do not need any benefits, since I retired from the Chrysler Jefferson Assembly Plant a few months ago”.  For a few moments silence occupied the space, then I told him, “Thank you, Mr. Fagan”.  I was completely comfortable with him and the fear that I had experienced before opening the door had totally vanished.

“Miss Koo, I will keep the tools, equipment and floors as spic and span as your kitchen.’’

He began to work the following Monday as the first employee in Chrysan Industries, Inc.’s history.