Married to a Title

Saying "I do" is the single, most terrifying thing a human being can do, I think. And if this current relationship doesn't work out, I can say with confidence that other than a possible elopement with a pal to Paris when we're 70, I will never marry again. BUT, I get very attached to my titles.

It's a common practice for your publisher to tell you that you can't keep your title. This has happened to me three times out of twenty or so books, so I do pretty well, which is a good thing. Example? DOUBLE DOWN was originally called Quarterback Squeeze, but that made marketing nervous--women won't read about football. So then I wanted to name it Squeeze Play, but the marketing guys said women won't get the football reference. So I went with another aspect of my gambling addict's problem and did a casino reference and a book title was born--but NOT the one I originally married.

Spanish Disco . . . . I married that title but hard. That was one I was never going to let go of. Maybe because it was my first book. About halfway through, I wondered if I should let the tango be central to the book. I started panicking. The tango is a more intimate dance. It would have fit with the characters in some ways. But DISCO was funnier. So I kept disco and now I can't imagine if I have screwed it all up by changing the ttitle and theme.

Do They Wear High Heels in Heaven? It was originally, in my head, called Dancing Naked with Angels. I can see why the folks in marketing would panic. I would be offending the sensibilities of angel lovers everywhere.

Mafia Chic. LOVE that title. Married it. Refused to let go--but never had to. Everyone liked it. And now, hopefully, it will be on TV.

Once you sign a contract, you have to give a little. Bend. You get an editor and marketing folks. You get cover samples that may or may not be your vision. So I understand when writers have to give up a title, but I am so grateful that I have not had to.

Because once I marry one of those suckers, I hate quickie divorces. The title affects everything about the book in my mind. In fact, I could NOT start a book called UNTITLED. I can't. I have to KNOW what the hell I am going to call it before I even type the first word. And I NEVER change my mind throughout.

How about you? Married to a title? Can't give it up? Change your title as you go along? Start with UNTITLED? Share away, blog friends . . .

Paging Dr. Freud

Women, especially, have often been taught to communicate "nicely" lest we be called bitches. So very often, we will go home after an event, an argument, or a conversation, and think, "Damn! I should have said THAT." Whatever "that" is, it is usally funnier, wittier--or, if we are angry--more cutting than what we actually did say.

I do this less so. Mostly because I tend to speak my peace, and mostly because I do so as nicely but truthfully as possible. I don't have a lot of regrets in conversation anymore. I've learned, through being an adult, to say what I mean and mean what I say. I don't have to "white lie." If the PTA calls me and asks me to volunteer, I have no problem saying, "I find those meetings too gossipy for me, and I have a personal rule against gossip. Thank you, but I prefer to volunteer in the classroom." But ask me to volunteer with the children? I'm there, hours and hours.

I think dialogue in books can take a cue from this idea of meaning. Every exchange should be like real life, only funnier, edgier, more truthful, angrier, more poignant, more angst-ridden. Dialogue isn't conversation. It's not the "filler," it's the meat. Your characters should say the things you wish you'd said. They should speak the straight shot of truth, no excuses. If they don't say what they mean, then that should itself speak volumes. Every line of dialogue must be combed over for what is said and what is left unsaid. Mercilessly hone your dialogue.

Which got me thinking? Do you ever find yourself living vicariously through your characters? Do they say the things you long to say to people past and present? Sometimes they may not even be better communicators--"better" is relative. Being an "aggressive" communicator isn't the idea in real life--being an "assertive" communicator is. But perhaps they say the things you wish you could if you didn't have a superego, if all you were was the id.

Dr. Freud, anyone?

Love at First Sight

Do you believe in love at first sight?

As a novelist, I have 300 pages, give or take, to tell a story. Sometimes, by necessity of plot, I need my two main characters to fall for each other fast. I facilitate this usually by having the world conspire against them. When intense traumas and obstacles are in our path, we react one of two ways usually. We turn against those we love and draw inward. Or we turn toward those around us like desperate shipwreck survivors searching for life rafts. I tend to let my characters do the second, and thus speed up what, in real life, would take considerably longer.

Or would it?

I once made the foolish mistake of agreeing to marry a man I knew just a few short weeks. The mistake was readily apparent by, oh about five minutes into the marriage.

Prior to that whole fiasco, I believed in love at first sight. Aterwards, I wasn't so sure. After that, still more, I started reading books to a blind man as a volunteer. He couldn't see at all and HE believed in love at first sight. Love at that first connection. Chemistry? Looks? Lust? Past lives? How do we explain it?

Over the years, a lot of bad mojo has filtered into my life. Crises and health issues . . . just tough things all around. I stopped believing so much in love at first sight and started to realize that love was more likely the guy who didn't mind changing the sheets and blankets after an Exorcist-like spewing of a child with the stomach flu. Or someone who didn't look at me entirely askew when I started writing to adoption agencies and thinking "Six is such a nice round number for children." Love started to look a lot more practical. I became a lot more pragmatic. Sort of.

In and out of my life people have come. And each helped me learn more about myself. But as a novelist, I still go back to that image of lovers under fire, in crisis. In BLOOD SON, my paranormal about a dhampir, due out in February from Nocturne, I chose two people who have NEVER been in love, and thus their falling for each other even as around them serial killers and vampires abound, is that much more intense. It has the hottest sex scenes I've ever even contemplated writing, and I was surprised to find it fit the mood of the book.

So how about you? Love at first sight? And with your characters . . . how do you have them fall?

Don't Even Go There

The blogosphere is a pretty strange place. I sometimes wonder, as I sit here writing, what the hell I am talking about. It's about the writing life, the muse, the struggles, the real-life inspirations. It's about friendships formed and writers discovered.

A couple of weeks ago, by merrily following a set of links, I posted on another blog. Doesn't matter which one. And I got a nasty, nasty response from someone there named "Anonymous." That Anonymous really gets around, eh?

The lovely Natalie Damschroder, who drops by here from time to time, emailed me offline about something else, and ended up offering me kind words along the lines of, in life we can meet people we disagree with, but we can hopefully do so graciously.

Now this happened. Rush Limbaugh said Michael J. Fox was ACTING about his Parkinson's disease. Now, if you already knew this, then you likely have an opinion about it. If you DIDN'T know about this, I am sure you have your mouth open right now, because man, you cannot make sh*t like this up. Ann Coulter wrote of a group of 9/11 widows: I’ve never seen people enjoying their husbands’ deaths so much. And a core group of Internet bloggers applauded that statement.

What has happened? When did we become a nation of bloggers and talking heads and emailers who flame people and run our mouths with no sense of humanity? If you have an opinion, great. But there is a PERSON on the other side of that blog comment.

Of course, I don't write about politics (to avoid giving myself an aneurysm), so this blog tends to be pretty friendly. I love all of you guys! I enjoy all your comments and I cheer for your triumphs and root for you when you're in a tough spot in your wips. But we're readers, writers, communicators. Is it ME? ("Yup, the lack of coffee is kickin' in!") Is the world really so nasty that we can't speak and write nicely to each other out there beyond this blog? Buddhists try to be peaceful, so of course I do not believe we should be at war. Yet I know soldiers there, including a cousin of my significant other. I send things to the troops. But post something about peace in some forums and you will find bile spewed at you the likes of which I have never seen. Why? What has happened?

Visit Amazon. Look at reviews for books . . . I think I have one bad one, maybe two, out of a hundred. Not bad. But go look at reviews for books that have two or three stars. You would think that rather than a person shelling out $10.95 for a book they didn't like, that they had amputated a limb as payment. The outrage, the drama, the vicious comments! Not even, "I didn't like this book because . . . " but "How did this author get published? He is a pathetic hack."

So what was the turning point? Has the anonymity of the Internet, the fact that you don't have to look someone in the face as you slam them . . . made us all more confident bashers?

There are some things, when I speak to others . . . that I won't discuss. I "won't even go there." I try not to even talk about Dafur, the war, and a dozen other things that I routinely pray about or cry in private over, or discuss with the people I love who GET that it's our common humanity that binds us.

Thoughts? What is it that unleashes the viciousness online? The lack of compassion in the realm of politics, the media, and the arts?

I've Been Tagged

I have, I think, a very interesting post for today, but first . . . I've been tagged by Sara Hantz. She drops by here . . . she's a YA author from ALL THE WAY (at least from where I am sitting) in New Zealand! She is the author of The Second Virginity of Suzy Green (cool title!) . . . and it's not coming out for a bit yet, but I'll be sure to remind you all to buy her book when it does. The tag she sent me? Write five interesting or unique things about me. Only pick five? OK, here goes.

1. I always cross myself if I speak of anything bad (as in "Sign of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost")--even though I am a practicing Buddhist.

2. I was once lost at sea on a life raft with a man, a childhood friend, and a schnauzer. It is a very long and interesting story. Perhaps for another day.

3. My favorite flower is lily of the valley. My favorite scent is gardenia. But my mother says gardenias smell like funeral homes. Don't know what that says about me, but there you go.

4. I once drove all the way to Rhode Island (four states away at the time) because I was craving lobster for dinner, and there was a great place on the water that served it. The trip was worth it!

5. I had field-level seats at the World Series winning game when the Mets beat the Boston Red Sox. I bought them off a shoe salesman who couldn't use them because he had inventory that night . . . and I rode the train to Times Square after and danced with a cabbie.

I tag Jude Hardin, Heather Brewer, Mary Castillo, Dana Diamond, and Karmela Johnson.

Gold Stars

When I was a kid, and I turned in my homework, there was a pecking order of excellence. A checkmark was "good." A check-plus--a checkmark with a plus sign next to it was REALLY good. And a gold star sticker was "excellent." I got--and coveted--a lot of gold stars. Shiny gold stars!

As I moved along . . . I coveted the A+. As I moved even further along, I skipped a grade or two. Then I got an academic scholarship to a university. There, those A-pluses meant something--they all contributed to a 4.0. Suddenly, that number four was something to lust after.

The thing is, along the way, I don't know that I really cared as I racked up stars and 4.0s and so on. My DAD cared, and he had raised me to value education in America, so if he cared, that was good enough for me. And I knew it made my parents proud. And so, I guess, that made me happy.

As time went along, and I got into writing novels, my parents were along for the ride. Now that I got my Warner Brothers TV deal, you can bet there is a whole contigency of people in my father's "old neighborhood" in NYC that know I got the deal, too.

But yesterday, I heard from my agent that the proposal I turned in three weeks or so ago for the first book of my GEMINI CONSPIRACY trilogy got the "okay" from my editor. When you sign a three-book deal, you get a big portion of your money up front as signing money. Then the rest of the advance is parceled out. You get x amount when you turn in the complete proposal (three chapters) of book 1, then x amount when you finish book 1, then x amount when you turn in the proposal for book 2, and so on. And then you wait. You wait for "approval."

At any point, when you turn in a proposal or turn in the completed manuscript, you can get a thumbs-down. Meaning that your deal isn't canceled, but you will have to tweak the book some more to get the next bit of money, to go on through your contract. One publisher I work with is really great about pretty much saying, "It's a go . . . but when you fine-tune your draft, make sure you do this or that." An example might be, "Make sure that it's clear in chapter four that the hero MIGHT be the bad guy so we have some tension there." Another publisher I work with, though very nice, likes to be sure that EVERY i is dotted and EVERY t is crossed before they sign their check. Just two different ways of working. Obviously, I like the first way better. :-)

But, and this got me thinking . . . when my agent called and said the editor "really loved it," and it was "very strong," I was elated. NOT because there is money involved. But because there is still this quiet part of me that is the little girl who coveted gold stars.

So many of us would write whether we were published or not, but I seriously got to wondering if a lot of us have that desire for approval. Seems odd, because so many writers I know are loners. I am as far from the "cheerleader/popular girl" as you could possibly be. Is it accomplishment? Approval? Being pleased that something I actually WROTE is considered good? What is it?

If you are unpubbed and have a CP or a writers' group and the group gives you a pat on the back . . . it feels great. Is it because we work in isolation and this is the only sign that what we have written isn't pure dreck?

Please share!

Peace,
E

P.S. Day Two, no coffee. Yesterday, from 3:00 p.m. until 8:00 p.m., I pretty much wanted to shoot myself. Or hit myself in the head with a hammer. But I woke up remarkably clear-eyed today. Must be those herbs the acupuncturist is giving me. Or I am delusional. Could be that. :-)

Cringe-worthy

I once went to a conference. A very well-known editor and I (she isn't my editor . . . we just happened to be seated together) were chatting over dinner (an overdone piece of salmon, but . . . dinner nonetheless). And a woman came up, bubbling with enthusiasm. Apparently, the editor had told her during a pitch session that yes, indeed, this writer could send three chapters and a synopsis for the editor to read. And the woman came up to us--we were clearly in mid-conversation and mid-meal--and said to the editor, "I am SO excited you've agreed to read my chapters." The editor smiled. Then the woman said,"Would you stand up over here so my friend can take a picture of us together?" The editor was gracious, though I saw her expression freeze. She accommodated the woman, who acted as if she had just signed a million-dollar contract, just fluttering about, and then monopolized the editor's time for ten more minutes until said editor's dinner was cold.

I wanted a hole the size of CLEVELAND to open up in the floor and to climb down into it.

It wasn't that I had done anything mortifying. I was just so utterly mortified for this woman that I was uncomfortable. It was THAT cringe-worthy. I still, sitting here, swear to you my palms are sweaty writing about this. And it's not just because I quit coffee today (yes, I did it! LOVED the acupuncturist . . . so far, so good).

I thank my lucky stars that my parents hammered home some basics to me when I was a kid. Firm handshake, not like a limp fish. Dress professionally. Speak up. Look people in the eye. All that basic, basic stuff. When I was nine and had to give firm handshakes to adults I met, I didn't love it. But now, honestly, there is no social situation--or very few of them--that I can't handle. My parents took me to nice restaurants--and made sure I knew which fork to use when! I learned to make adult conversation. I was well-read. Sometimes, I take all that stuff for granted. But not when I see cringe-worthy moments like the above.

Being an author or a writer affords you a degree of freedom most people only dream of. Making your own hours . . . writing in a bathrobe if you want . . . you can roll out of bed and write with crazy hair or get up at three a.m. if that's when the muse strikes. But don't forget professionalism out in the world beyond your laptop. Don't forget professionalism when you go out there to meet agents and editors. Don't forget it at conferences. Or signings.

And while you're at it . . . the same thing with gimmicky queries and tactics. I somehow got on some guy's SPAM list a few months ago. An unagented writer who wanted an agent and had been turned down by 120 of them (all by mistake, he assured his SPAM list). So he had posted the first chapter of his book on a blog and urged everyone who he spammed to click on a link to a certain agent he was targeting--a big name--to tell him you had read the chapter online and just were DYING to know when this amazing novel would be in bookstores. I mean, have you ever? Did this guy (who wrote an erotic novel bordering, in this case, on porn) really think the agent would rush out to sign said porn novel via SPAMMING?

People do cringe-worthy things. Desperate people often do even MORE cringe-worthy things.

Bring your best game to the arena. Be professional. Any other professionalism tips?

What Works

A discussion is going on over at the Nocturne thread at eharlequin, but you don't need to rush over there to get the background stuff for this blog post. In fact, it's the same discussion repeated, countlessly, on many a writer blog.

There is a whole contingency of writers who have a "page per day" goal. And that's great. Some of them post little meters on their blog to chart their progress--also great. In fact, I know precisely which of you blog readers, among my regular pals, falls into that category--and I love ya! But in the end, we tend to applaud that which we admire. And there is a risk, sometimes I think, especially with NaNoWriMo starting soon, to focus on schedules and so on, to the point of calling us schedule-less fools "scattered." Or disorganized. Or whatever.

Now, the thing is, we do revere what it is we like in ourselves very often. Case in point: Parent-teacher conferences. Two of my four kids are messy. One is exceedingly neat. One is 18 months old so he's a cyclone. But my two messy kids, when I would visit their classrooms, had teachers who made a special point of showing me how they didn't (in one case) keep their pencils the way they were supposed to. "They are supposed to line them up over here and . . . . and . . . ." And so the lessons of organization were being taught. BUT, here's the thing. At no point, did the teachers ever pause and say, "Have you ever seen your son's comics? [side note: They are AMAZING!] Have you ever seen what he writes? Have you ever heard your daughter's musical abilities?" The creative things don't fit in the round hole. So square pegs . . . well, not so applauded by the "system."

I don't begrudge the teachers and their lined-up pencils. It's a way to be. One way. I used to, when I was a younger, more passionate version of myself, come home muttering things like "Anal-retentive b****." But that's because what I applauded and lauded was creativity. One of my children drew an entire mural on a wall. I gave her the "we draw on paper, not walls" speech, but I had to admit, even to her, the scale of it was pretty amazing for a four-year-old. Then she drew a similar scene, complete with mountains and hikers and ski chalets, on my couch. My solution wasn't to freak but to think, "It is not my destiny, right now, to own expensive furniture."

Anyway, scattered, chaotic, disorganized, whatever . . . I don't think there's anything inherently wrong with my way of doing things. I've sold 25+ novels and I am still thriving. I love what I do. Yes, it's sometimes flying blind, winging it, whatever. And no, I cannot tell you week to week how many pages I write--or even if I've written ANY pages.

The point of this post is simply, as writers across the blogosphere gear up for NaNoWriMo, to say . . . you know there is a place for you as a writer if you don't follow a schedule, don't stay in the lines, if your pencils don't line up, if you have four kids, three dogs, a parrot, a python, and murals on your couch. If you can't commit to a schedule because you just never know what the day will bring. There is a place for you. You can STILL be a writer.

So . . . just applauding our differences. This is what works for me. What works for you?

He Did It

I was watching NUMB3RS last night on my Tivo-thingie. I like the show because it's a really good character study, and I was feeling ill last night, so TV was a better choice than reading. And I like the math genius on the show--both his genius factor and his cuteness factor. Anyway, show opens with murder. Next scene . . . character introduced. I say to Significant Other: "He did it."

"Well, how can you know? Doesn't seem like he did it."

"BECAUSE I'm a writer."

"Yeah, and?"

"You have to think like a writer on a tightly written show with 43 minutes (hour, less commercials) to solve a case. You don't introduce anyone extra."

And of course, the character did it.

In a tightly written TV show, the guest star is either the victim OR the killer. In a tightly written show, there's ONE red herring and maybe a twist or two, but they don't clutter it up with a hundred extra possibilities. It's more linear than that.

A lot of novelists could take a clue from that.

Every single person you introduce should add something to your book. You can have a funny, eccentric cast of secondaries, or an appropriate amount of suspects, but each one should bring out something regarding your main character. Each suspect eliminated should tell us something about the case. In the new book I am working on, eliminating Suspect #1 leads to a big reveal about the victim. It's not RANDOM SUSPECT #1, but Suspect that tells us something new. Something we didn't know before.

When I am asked to critique someone's manuscript, and there's some unusual element, something cool about the suspect or about the main character . . . as a trained editor, I NEVER say "Wow . . . cool." I may think that for a moment, but my very next question is "Do you need it?"

I read a manuscript from a writer I really respected. He had an FBI profiler in a really crazy case and it was an awesome bit of writing. But he made the profiler a little psychic. I said, "Do you need it?" (In my opinion, NO.) REAL profilers operate in a world of fast, precise decisions. I know. I met one and took a class from him. So the psychic thing could go. Not needed by a profiler--they're an interesting enough bunch of guys without adding something else into the mix.

So . . . how about you? How do you decide what can stay and what can go? And do you always figure it out in a Whodunnit?

Thank You, Paul McCartney

I've been working on what I think is an awesome proposal for a while. It has humor; it has murder; it has great characters. But "something" was missing. Like a soup that is bland . . . it needed spice. Needed more duplicitousness. Needed edge.

My agent loved the title. He loved the synopsis. Loved the characters. The chapters, however, were "flat."

This problem has been driving me nuts for weeks. I tried sleeping on it. I tried "forcing it." I tried a vacation at the beach. I tried two martinis. I tried music. I tried coffee (soon, as you regular blog readers know . . . I am bidding bye-bye to coffee). I tried talking it out in my head (not aloud . . . though that was coming soon, and I am always fearful the men in the white coats will come to take me away--which always does get me to wondering . . . do they REALLY wear white coats when they take you away? But I digress.)

The problem was I didn't know what the problem was. What should have been working wasn't. My agent said I'm too "nice." That what the book needed was some of the edginess that made THE ROOFER a great book. I wondered . . . have I gone SOFT?!?

Ahhhhhhhhh, but the Universe has a way of knowing precisely what I need. JUST when I needed inspiration, the marriage of Paul McCartney to his gold-digging (I'm sorry . . . I think she is) wife not only went sour . . . the divorce proceedings got ugly. I mean REALLY ugly.

Now, I'm not saying that the Universe invented these accusations just so I could have inspiration. But it served as a reminder just HOW ugly a divorce can be. How low-down, how heart-breaking, how hideous (even when children are involved). It stripped the veneer off of a couple that generally tried to present themselves in a positive light (though she always struck me as mercenary), and shined a light on the creepy-crawly ugly stuff they had under their rock.

And like a tidal rush, my proposal (which centers, partly, on a vicious divorce) came pouring out!

What it also showed me is sometimes you can't rush the process. If I had gone with a so-so proposal . . . I don't know that it would sell. It still may not. But at least now I know it has what it takes.

I wish I knew a shortcut to get to this point. But I don't.

So how about you? Have you ever struggled with a so-so something, and then . . . the Muse came and tapped you on the shoulder when you least expected it? It doesn't even have to be writing!

Well, it clearly did for me. So thank you, Paul McCartney. Thank you, Gold Digger. Thank you, Muse. Thank you, Universe. You've reminded me just how ugly the world can be.

And for a writer, that's a good thing.

And your Muse?

Outlines, Visuals, John Madden, and Me (with Some Cheesecake Thrown in)

I don't outline. I have a really lousy attention span, and outlines drive me nuts. They bore me. By the time I am done with my outline, I don't want to write the book. I lose something, some spark.

I don't tack up pictures of my characters either, though I have friends who do. I know Karmela Johnson, who drops by here often, will often post pictures of her new characters on her blog. I love that I can "see" her new vision. But I don't do that.

I don't make up index cards. I have writer pals who do that too, rearranging the cards to play with plot. Great idea. Useful tool. Not me.

I resent when I am called a "Pantster" (for a write-by-the-seat-of-your-pants novelist versus a plotter). That seems to imply sloppiness or something. Like I don't care. And that's not true. It's all in my head. Tons of details and snippets. It's there. Now, if I was suddenly struck by a bus, the book would die with me--no notes, nothing left behind. But trust me, I have a plan.

So I was thinking about it. Do I use ANY visuals? And I do!!!!

You see, I have a lot in common with John Madden. First of all, Madden refuses to fly. (For those of you who don't know who he is . . . FOOTBALL, folks!) Everyone who knows me very well knows I only fly in a tranquilized to near-catatonic-state. (Spanish Disco's drug scene? Autobiographical.) They also know if I won the lottery tomorrow, or sold a ZILLION books, I would buy this:

http://www.allstarcoaches.com/patriotlobas.htm

A rock star bus.

Madden has one of those.

He also has this really cool pen, this white pen that he draws arrows and things with all over the TV screen to show forward motion or where the various players are going to run when the football is snapped.

I do that.

You see . . . I will write out key plot points on a piece of sketch paper. Then I will take a pen and write arrows from this to this to this. Then, as the novel progresses, I will write notes to myself. YOU couldn't understand my notes. They are the notes of an insane, soon-to-be-coffee-less woman. But I understand them. And my arrows and circles and things look like John Madden's white-pen-on-screen scribblings.

So that's what I use for visuals when I write. How about you? Anything you tack up on your computer to help you "see" your work?

AND . . . side note to Mr. Perfect . . . .

This has to do with football, not writing. For those of you who don't read Dana Diamond's blog . . . you must. She is gracious and warm, and a great writer. She is also married, as those who read her blog know, to Mr. Perfect. A.k.a. "Mr. P." Now, he may be a great guy. He may be a lot of things. But he roots for the Falcons. And he is obnoxious about it. As anyone who knows ME can attest, I am so far from perfect it's ludicrous. I can't cook, would perish in dust bunnies were it not for my housekeeper, and my house is chaotic. I also cry at sad movies--and it's very messy. No, perfect I am not. HOWEVER, I root for the Giants, which makes me MORE perfect than Mr. P. So . . . a gauntlet was thrown down. The Falcons/Giants game was known as the "Cheesecake Bowl of 2006." To the winner . . . the spoils . . . a cheesecake. John Madden would be proud. The Giants won. And to Mr. P . . . I am waiting for that cheesecake.

Cheers, All!
E

P.S. Please . . . share your visuals!

What's in a (Nick)name?

I have one of those names, Erica, that doesn't rhyme with anything. My family (Mom, Dad, sisters, childhood best friend) call me Er. But that's about it as far as nicknames. My significant other calls me Elvis, but that's another story.

But in the interest of "Show, Don't Tell," my characters nearly ALL have nicknames or pet names. It's a wonderful device to delineate relationships, closeness, personality.

Examples?

Lewis LeBarge calls Billie Quinn "Wilhemina." Her real name actually is Billie--and he knows it. This shows their playful, teasing nature with each other.

In The Roofer, Tom calls Ava "Baby," in a sort of "Baby, please," girlfriend way. Except he's her BROTHER. Enough said. (Those references bothered my Writers' Group AND readers who emailed me more than nearly anything in that book--including the claw hammer scene! I definitely hit on a nerve there.)

In Mafia Chic, Teresa Gallo is the only granddaughter among 17 grandsons of the last of the old-time mafia dons. And the family calls her "Teddi" because her grandfather, who spoils her, always calls her his "Teddy bear." What better way to show her status as a little girl among men (even though she's now in her 20s).

In Double Down, T.D., a huge linebacker and recovering gambling addict, calls Skye McNalley, a semi-recovering gambling addict "Little Girl." In one key scene, he assaults someone he thinks has harmed her, decking him and asking, "What have you done with my Little Girl?" BUT . . . key . . . he's the ONLY one allowed to call her that. Their relationship isn't romantic. It goes beyond that. It's a love that's so intense in a brother-sister way (in the GOOD way, not in the Tom and Ava way).

I could go on and on. I use it almost all the time, and the nicknames and pet names I give my characters are way more important, to me, than their given names--because chances are I won't use their given names much and will instead, in dialogue, rely on these clues.

It's like when you got in trouble when you were a kid and your mom used the dreaded middle name (my oldest says, "Oh God, you're middle naming me, what's the problem?!"). When my trannie in Diary of a Blues Goddess is taking Georgia to task, she snaps, "Georgia Ray Miller!!"

Show don't tell. And one way is to tell volumes with a name.

How about you?

Brace Yourselves

It's going to be very ugly, people.

I am seriously considering giving up my coffee addiction. Now, this wouldn't be the first time. I'm a coffee slut. But . . . I have decided to go see an acupuncturist and Chinese medicine guru around here . . . and will be going on a mostly vegetarian diet--lots of rice and veggies. And no coffee.

And there's a great deal of fear with that. One of the reasons I have put off going to see an acupuncturist and Chinese medicine doctor has been those addictions. COFFEE!!! How can I write without coffee? Or, as my oldest child and fellow Starbucks addict would say, "WHAT IS THE POINT?!" Yes, indeed, what is the point of LIVING without the smell of fresh-brewed in my house each morning? And this doctor, right there on his website, says the teas he concocts for you full of herbs "taste disgusting." Enticing? I think not. But . . . Crohn's disease is kicking my proverbial a** so I'm up for nearly anything, and my last doctor said he had some patients who responded to Eastern medicine. And given the alternatives are some heavy-duty meds . . . well, maybe it's time. And considering my spiritual beliefs, it's maybe right to give up meat and coffee.

Which got me thinking . . . what do we THINK we NEED to write? I don't know what I did before computers. The cut and paste function is my friend. BUT, I indeed DID write on an IBM Selectric at one point (my kids think that's the Stone Age--as my oldest says, "What did you DO before cellphones?!?!").

I know some people think they can't write without alcohol. Or pot. Or other addictions. I know some who have to follow a little routine. Or have to have silence. Or music. Or an iPod.

So what will I discover about myself if I give up the ONE thing I think partially fuels my output?

Will I become a hopeless bitch? Some might say I already am one! Will I come crawling back to coffee like a cast-off lover?

It will be an adventure, I'm sure.

What can't YOU live without? (Or so you think.)

White Like Me; Hispanic Like Them

This may end up being one of those posts I wish I never put up on my blog, but we'll just see how it goes.

See the picture to the right and below this post? I'm white. (I know . . . big shock.) My significant other, though, is Mexican. And my children align themselves, when it comes time to check the little box schools think are so important . . . as Hispanic. Sometimes, I think they should tick off Eskimo, just to see if Big Brother or the school system says anything about that.

My kids, if you ask them, would say to you, "I'm Mexican." Or "I'm a Mexican-American" (which is more accurate--but they're kids, so they usually put it the other way). And my oldest daughter was in FIFTH grade before she realized my father isn't black. I swear! She had been celebrating the life of Martin Luther King, Jr., in school for years each January thinking she was a quarter African-American because of my dad--who is simply a very dark-skinned Russian. But the magic of children is . . . they tend not to see color unless you point it out--or at least mine didn't. I admire their openness.

Of course, my daughter ALSO thought I was half Asian because my father's mother, Russian, looked Chinese because of her ethnic background.

And even as Hispanic children . . . my kids have watched the politics of this country and the immigration wars. They USED to call themselves Latino until a teacher taught them "Hispanic." We label, label, label in this country.

If you have ever read DOUBLE DOWN, there is a SINGLE line in the entire book that tells you T.D. is black. It's more like half a line. And it was maybe 100 pages into the book before anyone in my writers' group asked me, "Hey? Is T.D. an African-American?" He has some affects of speech that MIGHT--maybe--be considered "black" by soem people, but not necessarily, not definitively.

In DIARY OF A BLUES GODDESS, Georgia Ray is biracial. It was important to the book to have that up front because her racial background impacts how she thinks of herself. Her grandmother, Nan, is white with black mixed in her heritage, but she is dating a black man, Red. And Georgia father is black. Dominique (Georgia's best friend) is black--and a trannie. And it may be a stereotype, but my own experience is that trannies are drama queens, but African-American trannies take the cake in that department.

I can't even COUNT how many gay characters I have had in my books. Michael and George in Do They Wear High Heels in Heaven are the most multi-layered ones. Michael doesn't set off anyone's "gaydar" because he was closeted for a long time and learned to play that game.

So here's the thing . . . I was at a cockatil party and a guy approached me with a beef. "Why do white writers by DEFAULT assume you know their characters are white, but make a point to let you know when a character is black?" Well, given T.D. in Double Down, I didn't feel I did that. And I will often describe black characters without necessarily saying they are black. I thought of James Patterson's Alex Cross. How many people likely assumed, before Patterson got uber-famous, that he was a black man?

Can you write about other races without resorting to shorthands of stereotypes? What about gay people? If the only gay person you know is Jack on "Will & Grace," I kind of feel you should perhaps avoid writing about a gay characters. Not that I don't know any "Jacks"--I do. But that can't be your only depiction of gay people.

My life is very layered. I have many friends of other races and many, MANY gay friends. I have friends who are Buddhists and friends who are Catholic. I even know a Wiccan or two. And I tease my best friend that she is a pagan. I think, as a writer, I can write about other backgrounds and races because of my experiences . . . but I can definitely see why it is touchy--like the guy at the cocktail party mentioned.

Thoughts?

Seasons and Settings

That's me. Happy FALL!

I recently relocated from sunny South Florida to the seasonal wonders of Virginia. I couldn't be happier to see fall leaves, pumpkins, and my breath curl around me in water vapor on cold mornings.

Which got me thinking. (Doesn't everything?) How do I use weather and other settings to establish mood in my books. Because, without even thinking, I ALWAYS do. In Trace of Innocence, the entire book is set in a brutal patch of winter--and it impacts the storyline when, at one point, my heroine is plunged into an icy lake. The cold reflects how bleak the case looks. In Trace of Doubt, the sequel . . . months have passed and it is the hottest June on record in New York. And it shows in how utterly steamy the subway is (God, do I hate the subway in summer), and in how the oppressive heat matches what's going on. Relentless and awful.

I set a lot of my books in the extremes of season. And like most people, I choose my settings carefully. In my new paranormal, the hero lives by the water, which plays into a vision the heroine has. But for him, the water is black . . . and it's a cold snap in November. The cold is isolating.

I'm working on a dark book about a man who plans to commit suicide--winter again. And he's in a part of New York that becomes isolated by the snow.

So . . . how do seasons--or parts of the country or settings--play into your storylines?

Calling the Barbara Walters in You

Over at Dana Diamond's blog, she is very excited that as part of her duties with Orange Blossom, she gets to interview a favorite romance writer of hers for their December issue (I have to say, Dana gets to interview a lot of very cool people). Which got me thinking . . .

Who would I interview if I had the chance?

I mean, there are some obvious answers in my life. I would love to interview the late Viktor Frankl, the late Paul Erdos. I frankly would like to sit down with Jesus Christ and break bread and drink some wine and ask him a few things (like he can't POSSIBLY be happy when those TV preachers beg for money, and when people say hateful things about whole groups of people . . . but I digress). Albert Einstein is on my short list.

But among authors? Who inspires me? Who would I like to interview?

I think a conversation with Neil Gaiman would be great. Michael Chabon. Peter Straub (if only, if I had to be honest, to ask why his books have gone downhill). I don't really love Stephen King's books (sorry, Jude), but I think he is pretty interesting and I read his columns in some magazine (EW? Esquire? What? Can't recall.) on pop culture and enjoy them. I adore (!!!) Patrick McGrath's work--everything he does. But I fear he might be morose. Or scary. No matter . . . I would like to interview him.

And I suppose my list would be different if martinis were involved versus a straight interview. I would like to interview Margaret Atwood, but I don't see her hitting my favorite sushi haunt with me and tossing back some sake--though perhaps she would be wildly adventurous and eat blowfish and drink sake by the bottle.

Now that I chat with her online, I would like to interview Mary Castillo. I think she would drink sake. I know she would hunt for a green tea martini with me.

What would I ask these authors? I think I would start with what inspires THEM, and I am always curious about work habits and the process. How do they deal with the isolation. What are their favorite writers and books?

So . . . you get to be Barbara Walters for a day. Who do you interview and why? And what do you ask.

And for all the sweethearts who dropped by and emailed me after my bad day yesterday . . . thank you. Amazing what a good night's sleep will do. The chapters I wrote are really fine . . . and the things that made me sad--a couple of unpleasant people--well, there are so many lovely people in the world I have decided that's okay too.

OK, interviewers . . . who are you talking to?

Nowhere to Hide in my Head

Well . . . I am having a helluva crappy day. And to shake my mood, I am listening to Bob Dylan. A song from when you could sort of understand him. You know the song THINGS HAVE CHANGED? ("A worried man with a worried mind . . .")

You know, I used to have a day job. I was even good at it. I worked at a publishing house as a senior editor, then I spent some time working for a corporation as a writer, then worked as the marketing manager for a dysfunctional computer company (what is that, you ask? one in which said marketing manager was the pawn between overbearing, drunken CEO and his angry daughter who was appointed president). The thing is, I could never get to the office on time. They tolerated that because my output was that of two or three employees without even blinking. But I was the one putting on my pantyhose in the parking lot and my makeup on in my rearview mirror or on the subway. I hated it--the subway, the rats marching off to the office. The fact that I couldn't blast Dylan at the highest volume and dance in my pajamas while going to go get a beer in the fridge after a bad day--or during a bad day. Beholden to "the man." :-)

BUT . . . . BUT . . . . when you have a bad day as a writer, where do you go to escape? I cannot tell you how many times I have thought I was done for the night, only to get up at 10:30 p.m. and compulsively come downstairs to re-read something that's not quite working. My work is here, here, here all the time. And when I'm having a bad day . . . no escape!! It's HERE!

So I think my biggest escape tends to be music. Sometimes I physically LEAVE just so I don't have to deal with it. Sometimes I blog about it. Sometimes I call my best friend to talk and cry. But in the end, I can't exactly quit. I suppose I could go look for a day job--maybe even a place that tolerates Bob Dylan and pjs. Or at least iPods and jeans. But . . . nah. Not me. Plus, I've already cashed those advance checks.

So what do you do when there's no escaping your wip? Or (as in my case today) annoying shit that's part of being a writer?

My Little Life or the World at Large?

I used to write about autobiographical things disguised as fiction. I adhered to my college creative writing professor's admonition to write what I knew.

Then, after I had mined my life for enough material--and of course there's still volumes of it . . . but maybe I'm bored with the whole affair . . . I started looking outward.

I don't know if that is a logical progression as a writer. Or if I just happen to be the type of person who does that. I find myself, as I get older, rather than retreating into my own little world and my own little life, wanting to more vigorously go out there and do something.

So I read this in the NY Times, 16 minutes ago (ah, the age of the Internet!). A Buddhist nun killed and Tibetan children marched to who knows what fate by the Chinese government. I sometimes want to shake the world out of its complacency.

As a writer, I am working on a proposal for a thriller intersecting what is going on in Dafur with a university professor here in America. And I realized, even more so after reading the story in the Times, that I am increasingly leaving the personal for stories intersecting the world stage with a single life. A single person who is dragged into circumstances that change him or her. I did it in INVISIBLE GIRL, where Maggie had both a personal search and a larger one related to a crime committed during the Vietnam War.

And I realized this is all why I am struggling with two chick lit proposals I have. They're not funny enough or punchy enough . . . and I think it's because my writing has changed and I am leaving the smaller world of two lovers and whether or not they can make it work, and traveling to the world at large.

How about you? What trajectory has your writing taken? When you look back at writing from years ago versus today, what do you see? Is there a clear path? Does it reflect personal changes?

A Salute to Writers' Cramp

I thought today I would blog about a practical matter. Critique groups.

Mine--Writers' Cramp--has been in existence for coming on 13 years. It has morphed and changed--members came and left, moved away or stopped writing. But there was always a core membership that drove it. They, probably more than anything, deserve a lot of the credit for my career, because without The Cramp, I'd have little impetus to produce day in and day out. It's not that I wouldn't produce, but that self-imposed group deadline every two weeks drives me.

My agent is not a fan of writers' group--mine, yes, he knows it's solid. But he feels it's too easy to get into one where all everyone does is laud your work and no real, quality feedback emerges. Or everyone in it is mediocre, so even crap looks damn good.

Over the years, knowing that my group has helped me so much, people, including some other writers repped by my agent, have asked me what I thought makes a good writers' group. So here are some of the things that I think makes Writers' Cramp the fun, wonderful, and talented group it is:

1. Everyone has to write. There are groups that attract "groupies"--people who join and come and listen and critique week after week but produce nothing in a six-month period. "Work commitments," "I'm blocked," whatever. No excuses, you have to write and produce and share your work. There's an imbalance if others have to put themselves out there for criticism and you don't. (In our group, if you don't bring pages, you better bring food or wine to feed the group! Preferrably chocolate. Sometimes, I secretly delight in someone not bringing pages because I have occasionally had chocolate truffles from Godiva because of it!)
2. Determine what your group's communication style is going to be. I don't believe in going easy on anyone, but I do believe in gracious commentary. Some groups cultivate snark, and that may be fine if that's how you want to communicate, but be clear what your style is and what your group's style is. Ours is supportive--but honest.
3. Do not allow rewriting of others' work. This can be a problem if you have an overbearing personality in the group. We once tried out a woman who, if push came to shove, would have probably preserved a single sentence or less in others' work, and instead would critique or rewrite totally to what SHE thought it should be.
4. Be neither the best nor worst. By that, one person should not be so worlds above the rest of the group in experience and writing that he or she becomes the de facto "genius" (and I use this loosely), so revered that no real feedback occurs on that person's work for fear of going against him or her. Try to find other writers you admire, that you can learn from . . . all having strengths of weaknesses that equalize personalities and experiences.
5. Fine-tune your group. In every group, you will see some real strengths emerge. Off the top of my head, I know in my group there is someone who has exceptional word editing skills (and scene-cutting skills). He propels plots forward. We have someone who is a sheer genius in word choices and description and can spot a cliche from a mile off. I think I tend to be good at characterization, and genre/market. When a hole emerges in your group, a member leaves, whatever . . . be thinking of what your group needs. If you lose someone with great dialogue skills, maybe try to gravitate toward someone who brings that to the table.
6. Determine whether there can be "defense" of a work. I sometimes like to hash out scenes. "I was aiming for this, why isn't that working?" Or "I was aiming for this . . . do you think you missed that? How can I strengthen that?" whatever. In some groups, no defenses against criticisms are allowed precisely because things can devolve into nothing but debate because there are writers who take criticism personally--and therefore don't accept it at all and instead "defend" against each criticism. You need to find a middle ground that works . . .
7. Be clear about expectations with new members. Our group has had personalities that meshed and personalities that clashed. My own feeling is, like in a workplace, you need to be adult enough to look past someone's annoying tics or speech patterns or things that are irritating if they are simply personality. BUT, if on the other hand, someone joins who consistently doesn't "get" the way your group operates after a trial period, there should be some method to kindly ask him or her to leave. The best way to avoid this is to lay your cards on the table beforehand.
8. Determine some of the practicalities. Time, place, how many pages you can bring, and so on. Our group meets every two weeks. Believe it or not, I patch in as a conference call since I moved. Our max is 20 double-spaced pages, sent preferrably at least a day before (this gets "iffy" sometimes, but we're a small group and tend to accommodate same-day pages), and we try to come to the meeting having read everyone else's stuff beforehand and ready to critique. Our meetings last two hours. We're frends, but chit-chat is minimal when we're really working hard. We have five members--manageable since inevitably someone doesn't have pages one week, and we rarely bring 20. I'm happy to bring about 15.

So that's The Cramp. Anyone else? Suggestions? Comments?

Three Books That Changed My Life

It's hard to pick three. But then again, maybe not. I'm talking about three books that fundamentally changed me. I was one way before I read them, and was changed for having read them.

#1. Man's Search for Meaning by Viktor Frankl. This book so changed me, that I cannot even articulate fully what it has meant for me. I read it while lying in a hospital bed really fighting for my life. Two weeks in a bed with nothing to ponder but the fact that I was not 100% sure I was going to get to go home--or if I did what my life might be like now that I was diagnosed with Crohn's disease. A friend suggested it, and I read it in one sitting. Then I read it again. And again. And again. He recounts his survival in Auschwitz, but also the fundamental philosophy that if we know WHY we want to live and WHY we choose to live, we can endure almost anything. It started me on a journey through philosophy, quantum physics, and Buddhism. I was not afraid of death after I read it, but I wanted to live . . . with grace and human dignity.

#2. My Brain is Open, by Bruce Schechter. Why did this amazing book change me? It is the biography of Paul Erdos, mathematical genius. In seventh grade, I had the worst teacher of my life for math. She was so awful, I immortalized her as evilness personified in High School Bites. She taught math, and she was the single most horrible, nasty teacher I have ever encountered. She was mean, she was into humiliating students, and I never saw her crack a smile--a burnout case or a demon, or both. Even with the hindsight of adulthood, I can say with sincerity, she ruined young minds and bore down on them with a hatred of children. And so I thought, after doing poorly in her class, that I was "no good" at math. That one side of my brain was well-developed (the writing side), and one side was just empty--the math and science side. When I took my SATs, I scored evenly--exactly evenly--on both portions. So of course this was not true. But no matter. Numbers scared me! Until I read this book. I laughed, and I learned. And I discovered that math THEORY is anything but rote and it's fascinating. I wrote to the author when I read it about ten years ago to just gush over how excited I now was over math theory, and he was gracious and kind when he wrote back. A great book, a great guy.

#3. The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood. I was going to pick Little Women because, like every little girl who wants to be a writer, I related to Jo. I wanted a room in an attic to write in. But . . . really . . . this book changed me more. It not only spoke to my politics, my feminism, and my personhood, it not only reflected war and subjugation . . . it was the first book that made me CRY as an adult and that stayed with me for weeks afterward, and I was filled with intense admiration for the writing. It was lyrical and beautiful and inventive, and I was awed.

These are the books that changed and moved me.

So, the rest of you?

Solace

If you are a writer, chances are writing is like a lover. It may be an illicit lover--you might have a very full life and have to "sneak it in" on the side on top of a day job and family life. It might be, like it is for me, not so much illicit, but definitely the most intimate portion of your life.

I realized that this morning. It's pouring rain here, which is kind of matching my mood. I'll spare you the boring details, but definitely all is not well in my little corner of the world. But there's my writing.

The kids will go off to school, and there it is, waiting for me. My Fake Life. The life in my new manuscript. I can literally dive INTO it. It's not like the writing is over THERE and I am HERE. I am a part of it, and it is a part of me. And sometimes, when things have gone wrong or I am lonely, it is a source of solace.

It's there, always. Even if I am not at the keyboard, that doesn't mean the ideas aren't flowing. I am weaving the story, the words, the characters, as I walk around, drive the car, take a shower. Doesn't matter. It's like wearing a perfume that you never quite shake the scent of. It's ON me 24/7.

And the thing is, it can isolate. I don't need as many connections with others because I have all my Imaginary Friends in my Make-Believe World. No, I'm not crazy. I'm just a writer.

When I grieve, writing is there. When I am lonely, writing is there. It's more of a lover than most lovers--because it stays around past breakfast and is still there the following night and the next and the next. When I am happy, it's there. When I am angry, it's there.

Writing is my lover and friend and my solace.

And you?

How Bad Do You Want It, Baby?

No, I'm not talking about sex. We'll blog about that another day, okay? I am talking about wanting to be a writer. Or, even more, wanting to be a writer for whom writing pays all the bills. A full-time writer.

I know every unpubbed writer wants to get his or her foot in the door. I know every writer who's sold one book wants to sell more. And so it goes. But how bad do you want it?

It isn't a secret that silence is pretty hard to come by around this place. My alarm goes out at (gulp!) 5:30 a.m. The ONLY way I can function at that hour is by mainlining coffee into an I.V. line directly into my jugular--or something pretty close to that. I get up at that sick, sick, SICK hour NOT because I am a morning person. I can assure you I am not. I get up at that hour because silence around this nut house is exceedingly hard to come by. Four kids. One of me. Numerous pets. Do the math. I write for a short time, answer all my emails, fan mail, blog and so on.

By 7:00 a.m. the baby is up and he wants oatmeal. NOW! By eight, three kids have made the bus (hopefully), and I have overseen a morning operation akin to the landing at Normandy.

By 8:30, I am writing again. I usually have music on, and it's usually Beethoven or Vivaldi, but if I'm tired, it's something rockin' so I can stay awake. I'll spare you the boring details, but suffice it to say a toddler, dog, doorbell, phone, fax, agent, editor, etc. all conspire to keep me really busy. By two, the Monsters are coming home from school. Homework. Usually--on a good day--at LEAST four to six EXTRA kids float through here. Once I had--count 'em--ELEVEN extra children in my house. NOT including mine.

OK, then there's music lessons, dinner . . . by seven-thirty p.m., I am so exhausted I want to shoot myself. Because I have Crohn's disease, it's a 50-50 dice roll that by then, I have a low-grade temperature hovering between 100 and 101. My glands are swollen, I may have my head in the toilet. AND THEN, I start writing AGAIN. Because it's only then the toddler is in bed for the night and I can start maybe putting sentences together again.

Tomorrow, my alarm will ring again. Early. Coffee will brew, and I will start this insane shit all over again. And why do I do it?

Because when I finally DO have an hour of silence and a cup of coffeee and my file opened to my shiny new novel idea, I still, all these years later, feel like a kid at Christmas. I get to do this for a living and it ain't old yet.

But just so no one gets the idea that it's all bon-bons and fuzzy slippers . . . it's a grind most days. And you have to want it. Bad. You have to give up sleep, sex, food, whatever. Cut stuff out of your life until you have room for this. Give up x to gain y. Ten minutes. An hour. You have to write every day and JUST DO IT.

How bad do you want it?

Train Wrecks

Someone in my writers' group last night commented that my poor heroine needed to get the ex-priest she's involved with "off the sauce." Because my character, Peter, is a train wreck of a human being. He's also, for me, fascinating.

Peter can help my heroine. He's astoundingly brave while also astoundingly weary. He can help her, but she is going to go along for this very, very bumpy, ugly alcohol-fueled ride before they will ever beat the bad guys.

And I was working on my new trilogy for Nocturne yesterday, too. It opens with yet another human train wreck. Mark is a recovering Vicodin addict. He's also a shrink who's about to get into a major mess of a thriller courtesy of a suicidal patient and his patient's train wreck of a sister. My main character Mark is finding, also, that grief and addiction are hopelessly entwined lovers, and being as he's grieving a dead daughter and a lost marriage . . . the Vicodin beckons.

I think, for me, I like characters who go through those dark nights of the soul. Because then there is a two-fold tension. Can they overcome the obstacles in the thriller aspects of the book? But even more, can they overcome their own tormented psyches to accomplish it? It ratchets up the suspense.

I've had plenty of train wrecks in my own life. I see them coming now and tend to run the other way. But at one point, I was fascinated by them. You watch that dance on the edge of the bottle of tequila or the pinpoint of a heroin needle and know each day teeters between wreckage and survival.

But now, I am content to watch the train wrecks in my novels. And I pull for them, I really do. I want them to survive. No picture-perfect heroes for me. I'd rather you spend the book wondering if, when the chips are down, Mark . . . or Peter . . . can hold their shit together.

How about you? Any train wrecks in your wip? Favorite train wreck in a novel, movie or TV show?

For me, aside from my wips, I love watching the nuances in the character of Cragan on Law & Order SVU (he's a recovering alcoholic as a character). In books, I love Andrew Vachss's Burke, whose life is an odd sort of train wreck. He's nearly always in control, and yet he's definitely down someplace so dark you just never know what he's going to do.

Your wrecks?

Spelling It All Out

I can be a total pain in the ass to go to the movies with. Because, pretty much without fail, I figure it out. All of it. We're in the first scene of a thriller, and I will say to my movie-mate, "Well, he did it." Or, "The cop is crooked." Or, "She's sleeping with her boss." Or, "She's going to get blackmailed." Whatever.

I consider it an occupational hazard of being a novelist. Sixth Sense . . . yeah. I figured out about the kid and dead people. Crying Game . . . the Adam's apple, baby! (I haven't been friends with trannies for nothing, you know!)

Going along with that, I pretty much hate when a book stops dead in its tracks in order for the bad guy to confess or the pieces to be spelled out. Same with a movie. Come on! A REAL assassin isn't going to stop and give a speech. He's going to fire the friggin' gun and kill you. Confession isn't good for his soul. He lost his soul ages ago.

HOWEVER, I have found out, firsthand, that sometimes an author does need to spell it out. A couple of times, I have been approached by fans who ask me, "Why didn't . . .?" and then query me regarding some plot twist. I will THINK I spelled it all out. I will THINK it's obvious. But maybe I'm too close to it.

So therein is the delicate dance. Leave too much unanswered and you frustrate your reader. Hold their hand too much and you bore them.

Anyone else struggle with this dilemma--as reader or writer!

Ruthless

I am driving myself nuts today.

Ruthless word cutting. That's the mode I am in. I am wielding a machete on my manuscript. After that, it will be a knife. Then the scalpel.

My character doesn't need to sit DOWN. He can simply SIT (he's not going to sit UP--unless he's a dog).

In one sentence, my main character has a "knot on the back of his head near the base of his skull." Well, the base of his skull IS on the back of his head, so there went that phrase.

What was I thinking when I used all those extra words? Well, to be honest, I was probably thinking like I talk/speak. I am not conscious of extra words then. But when I write . . . excise all the extra crap. EVERY WORD has to belong there.

I know what I am doing is important. But I am still making myself crazy. It feels so ruthless.

But ruthless writing is what writers need to do.

Anyone? What are you ruthless about in your wip?