Writing in a Vortex

Creative Blogger? Me? Pshaw.

2009-11-13T05:33:00.002-06:00

Vesper, ye of the wish-I'd-written-that prose, has awarded The Vortex a creative blogger award. I shall try to give my acceptance speech before someone jumps on the podium and declares it should go to another with far greater soul and fashion sense. My candy-apple posts and pop culture cracks hardly seem worthy of such a thing, but I do have moments of serious navel-gazing introspection. Like here. And here. But for now, the award's rules state I must offer up seven trivial things about me. I'll strive for fresh here, as my prior memes are just this side of the TMI border:

1. I've always wanted a Jeep, but I settled for a Toyota. I love driving my standard shift and think everyone should have one so drivers will stop 4-way multi-tasking behind the wheel and just drive.

2. A large percentage of high school and college I b.s-ed my way through because my writing was like a new penny, mint-clean and eye-catching but not worth much. The teachers/professors who saw through it were the ones I most admired.

3. I've chased tornadoes multiple times with teams of meteorologists.

4. My greatest fear is being submerged underwater in my car.

5. When I was five, I decided to be a teacher. I never once wavered from that decision and never understood people who can't find their place in this world.

6. Ave Maria makes me cry. Every time. Unless sung by chipmunks.

7. I carry a blown-glass smiley face in the bottom of my purse. It was given to me by a very special person and I always seem to re-discover it when I most need it.

I usually break meme rules and refuse to pick someone to continue it, but since the challenge is given along with accolades and adoration, I choose:

Jen, Melanie, Sherry, Pam, Robin, Laughingwolf and Sandra this time around.

Thank you, Vesper, and thank you all for being such a special part of my blogging world. On the topic of trivial randomness, we'll usher in the weekend with this question: Other than the standard items (credit cards, money, driver's license, etc.) what is one interesting item you keep in your wallet?

Jeeves, Revealed

2009-11-10T09:50:00.006-06:00

It occurred to me this past weekend (and thanks to big sis) that the items stored in my DVR represent a perfect cross-section of my personality. I suspect it is that way for everyone who uses this technology. It's true, I have an aversion to commercials. Sometimes I'll start a movie I can't finish; and like a debutante commanding a servant, I'll declare, "Finish recording this, Jeeves!" and he does. But most likely of all, I hoard things I adore and want to revisit like a Christmas memory. With as much flourish as I can muster, here's my list:

Project Runway - 1 episode
I'm not much into reality shows or fashion, which makes this all the more surprising, but I do liken it to writing-having to create something from inspiration.

Flash Forward - 1 episode
Need I say more? Really.

Ghost Hunters - 20 episodes
I'm pretty sure I've seen them all, so these just sit and fester until I can sort through them.

Metal Mania - 3 hours
Because VH-1 thinks the only people who enjoy going down this black leather-studded memory lane are awake at 3 am on a Sunday morning.

Psychic Kids - 2 episodes
Yes, Chip is annoying, but he's armed with a shrink to keep it from derailing into wacky Paranormal State territory.

The Perfect Storm (movie)
Because I've never seen it

It Happened at the World's Fair (Elvis movie)
Because my uber-Elvis-fan mom never saw this one, and I'm saving it for a girls movie night when she visits.

Roustabout (Elvis movie)
Because the universe sent me inspiration for my WIP right around the same time I watched this in an Elvis marathon. Elvis is a bad-boy carny worker. Fancy that. So is my hero.

Keith Urban: Road
Because for the first time in five touring years, I didn't get to see his concert.

Keith Urban: Love
Because, well, who needs an excuse? It's Keith Urban. Yum.

The Thorn Birds - 4 episodes
Because I adore this miniseries and knew a father-what-a-waste in my past. Don't all good little Catholic girls?

and....

MacGyver - 34 episodes
And that makes Marilyn our lucky winner today with a guess of 17. She'll get her choice of an autographed copy of Love, Texas Style or a $5 Starbucks gift card.

Thanks for playing, everyone. Now it's your turn. Tell us what treasures lurk in your DVR.

A Vortex 10 Weekend

2009-11-09T09:40:00.008-06:00

Top Ten Things Learned on A Writing Adventure Weekend:

1. Patty Love is not a hamburger joint. The mannequins in whips and proximity to Condoms-to-Go should have been my first clue. But Laura Ingalls does not venture often, nay-ever, to that part of Dallas. So I did what any tourist would do. Take a picture!

Sadly, I was laughing too hard for it to show clearly. Thankfully, it was too blurry to capture any tom-foolery in the silver car and said driver did not pursue us for inadvertently snapping his license plate.

2. Physicists come in all kinds of beautiful, kind packages. Angela, so great to meet you!

3. Margie Lawson was, and is forevermore, my rock star of fiction writing.

4. Bestselling fiction author Harlan Coban has characters with eyeballs that could compete in the Olympic Games.

5. Backloaded power words on the first two pages of my WIP: change, Pier, thrills, beach, gravity, shit-canned, truth, spiked. Can I mine more by changing sentence order? Oh, yeah.

6. A sensible black tote is a black hole that swallows red pens needed for Margie's EDITS system. Dialogue cues be damned!

7. Wine tastes infinitely better when shared with the best critique partners. Evah.

8. Everything in the South is filled with nuts. Including the South, itself.

9. One Big-Gulp, Super-Empowered passage per book. Too much of a Big Gulp is a very bad thing.

10. Sometimes the most dazzling moments are unexpected ones on a two-floor elevator ride.

I hope everyone had an amazing weekend. Wednesday, we're tackling what the shows stored in your DVR or Tivo say about you. I have a special sumpthin-sumpthin for anyone here who, before Wednesday, comes closest to accurately guessing how many MacGyver reruns are stored in mine. Guess away...

North Texas Two-Step Conference

2009-11-06T09:56:00.004-06:00

I couldn't be more excited today to meet one of the people most reponsible for where I am today as a writer. Margie Lawson is not only the queen of deep edits and most likely the root of my highlighter dependency, but her online class hooked me up with arguably the best edits partner in the universe (Hi Jen!). This weekend's writing conference is not only about reconnecting with chaptermates I haven't seen for awhile, but remembering I still have so much to learn about fiction writing-the most valuable and humbling lesson of all. Pictures Monday. Have a fantastic weekend, everyone!

Not a Gourd in Sight

2009-11-04T21:43:00.013-06:00

Cornucopias abound. Okay, maybe not, but I was in Hobby Lobby today selecting a basket to put together for this weekend's North Texas Two Step Writing Conference and have Cornucopias on the brain. Why not here, you ask? Splendid idea.

Yay for me today that I won a free copy of fellow Wild Rose Press author P.L. Parker's short romance, Heart of the Sorcerer. P.L. has been on my authors-to-watch radar since I learned she adores time travel romances almost as much as Carl Sagan trapped in a parallel universe of Harlequin-only reads. This one sounds like a treat. Thanks, P.L.!

Have I talked about my adoration for all things Archie McPhee before? Like how I would give Rick a Bigfoot Action Figure for good luck on his hunts or empower Walkingman with an Angry Mob Playset when he witnesses injustices on his home turf? And who doesn't need a Holy Toast Virgin Mary Toast Stamper? Before I face that blinking cursor each morning, I know I could use a miracle. I actually walked into a room about three weeks ago that had this backwards clock, and after five full minutes, decided we could never cohabitate.

And, just to clear out my blog folder, here is a random picture from Milan fashion week, whenever that was. If you ever witnessed my pajama-bottoms-as-writing-attire, you'd know my commitment to fashion lies firmly in the 100%-cotton-with-cute-flying-pigs-on-it realm. If you can possibly tear your eyes from his pec-tacular display to his right hand, maybe you can explain why Italian boxers carry purses--?

Or...

Why Theo makes me want to go to confession? Oh wait, the truck and tags around the neck threw me off for a moment.

See? Cornucopia.

Time Travel is Like Laser Chest-Hair Removal and a Chisel in One

2009-11-02T19:41:00.011-06:00

If I were a gomer, which I am, I would get totally geeked out about this juicy bit of science news. If you're a gomer, read on and we'll pretend the future of our planet depends on our collective knowledge.

Remember these scientists of Large Hadron Collider fame? Well, it seems we're a year down the road of their supposed breakthrough discovery and the CERN dancers in white labcoats aren't bringing on the funk so much anymore. Yes, they did warn of the possibility of some unfortunate repercussions-aside from their noxious dancing-when the LHC powered up for only nine days last September, not the least of which is time travel.

Now, some physicists are theorizing that the problematic collider is being prevented by its own future. The theory is that the reaction scientists are hoping to create with the LHC is so damaging to nature that it will ripple back through time to prevent the Collider's inception. Like a Collider skate punk going back to snuff out Gramps Collider.

If this idea has you amped up, you can read more about these "otherwise distinguished" scientists staking their sanity and reputation on something so whacked out that I might write them into a novel. Only one would be dark, moody and bare-chested with a tattoo of the future and the other would be a slightly more agile, kick-ass version of me.

Ahem.

So the me that is me couldn't leave well enough alone. . .

Mr. Nielson and Mr. Ninomiya, you are my rock stars.

Got the dark hair right, anyway.

A Bond Girl Halloween

2009-10-30T04:57:00.003-05:00

Boo. I'm at the 007 Blog today offering up new romantic Halloween ideas along with some old favorites. Pop over to say hello and have a great Halloween!

An Epilogue to a Bite

2009-10-29T07:36:00.007-05:00

Where was I yesterday? Among other things, I had my nose bitten (yes, it was human; no, don't ask), was fingerprinted for the FBI (no, it does not speak to my Bond Girl status), and prepped yet another Golden Heart entry. Will third time be a charm? Who cares when it's an excuse to buy a great dress and sit near Nora Roberts? Kidding. Sort of. So you see, yesterday was full, not the least of which was finding this great little diversion for Halloween.

Visual aid time. Someone hit the lights, please.

I'm a huge fan of short film, as evidenced here and here and here (an awesome one for Halloween, too, BTW). This new animated short, Epilogue, is just the brand of creepy I love in my Halloween, more Hitchcock and Twilight Zone than Saw and serial killers. If you have four minutes, I think you'll enjoy it, too. I love the jerky style of animation. It adds so much to the tone.

Tomorrow, I'll strap on my knee-high Bond Girl boots and sizzle the 007 Blog up with Romantic Halloween ideas. Some of you may remember I did this last year, but the muse has had time to concoct more ideas for you and that special someone to celebrate Hallow's Eve. Be sure to come back and show me your fangs. Please, no biting. I've had enough of that this week.

What did you think of Epilogue? Why the 911 call at the beginning?

Will Bear Grylls Fit Into My Pocket?

2009-10-26T12:07:00.010-05:00

The anvil that is FastDraft has lifted and it's long past time for fun around The Vortex. After much contemplation about the nature of such fun, and after a rather lengthy time-suck game of "I'm going on a trip and I'm bringing..." game at the dentist today, and after a particular rousing two-part MacGyver rerun where he entrusts his pocket knife to Merlin, of Knights of the Roundtable fame, it occurred to me such a thing has yet to be attempted here. True, the game loses the memory-challenge aspect in blog form, but we can more than make up for that in creativity, right? I'll start:

I'm going back in time and I'm bringing a SwissFlame800

...because my Girl Scout training neither perfected my ability to use a flint or a glass lens to start a fire nor did it help me channel my inner heroine like this beaut.

As an aside, there is a blog devoted to MacGyver. Who knew entire posts could be devoted to the love of duct tape? Must. Not. Read. Song. Lyrics. Creeeepy.

Who's next?

I'm going back in time and I'm bringing...

On Addictions and Lifelines

2009-10-22T22:00:00.000-05:00

The universe sent me gifts today.

Maybe it's my bleary mind-truly bleary, for the well of words is running dry, and I find it increasingly difficult to complete verbal thoughts-or maybe it's that I feel so out of touch with the overwhelming left-brain part of me that dominates my normal day-to-day that I pick up on things not neatly constructed into expectations, but the gifts are there. Something as simple as sitting in a coffee shop this morning, digging deep for a cathartic scene and the music piped into the space, into my brain, is the perfect soundtrack for the moment...a resonance of harmony and angst and grief and all the fuel I needed for the space of the two minutes it took to purge myself through my character.

And it's not just today, it was throughout the Fastdraft process. Secondary characters walk into my life, even a brief glance and I know it is them and they walk out again. I see symbols where I'd been a thousand times and never payed attention. My fingers fly across the keys before the thought is even there..like a conditioned muscle memory inaccessible except in this vacation world of the right brain. Everywhere around me things resonate, the weather parallels my story, my mood. It's hard for someone who doesn't write to understand, but it is the stuff of addictions. The sense we are creating something larger than ourselves we cannot quite understand but something we have faith and trust is there. How many things in life can we say that about with any certainty?

I'd edit this, but it is the truest sense of where I am at the moment. Tomorrow marks the end of this novel's Fastdraft session. I have yet to figure out the exact black moment, though I know the ending. I have every confidence I've set up the perfect storm and it will come to me like the universe bestowing a gift when I least expect it. When I return from this right-brained vacation, I will return to post-it notes and lists and all the meticulous things I fill my day with which I'll need for the slow-endurance marathon that is the meditative draft, everything I'll need to get it right, but for now, I'm beyond grateful for the experience, the story that was gifted to me, and me alone. There is magic, as much for the writer as for the reader.

Many days, one in particular, I wanted to give up. I walked that dangerous precipice of self-doubt that comes around during every project where I felt like a fraud and crumbled into a crippling ball of nothingness. Some visitors asked me along the way why I bothered blogging during this time. Without the accountability I may not have come back from the edge of that island. I had to have something to put up, a magic number to justify the hours, the days, and so I pressed on. Thank you, everyone, who stopped by. You were more of a creative lifeline than you'll ever know.

Today's word count: 6421

Day Seven: 1 Week = Eternity

2009-10-21T22:01:00.004-05:00

My hero takes my breath away. Too many Halloween Oreos. Uh. Did I brush my hair today? No, really. Did I?

Day Seven: 7044 words

Can't See the Forest For the Word Cloud

2009-10-20T22:00:00.000-05:00

My word cloud pretty much sums up the past few days. The epiphany, mercifully, happened today.

A huge thanks to those of you checking in to see if I was still alive, sneaking away on tippy-toes. Yes, I see you and I adore you all.

Day Five word count: 112
Day Six word count: 6424

Day Four. I Take Mine Dark. Like My Plots.

2009-10-15T21:38:00.000-05:00

Such a love-hate thing I have going on. When it happens all in one day, it feels schizophrenic.

Need. More. Chocolate.

Today's count: 6816 words

Day Three: The Smell of Progress

2009-10-14T21:42:00.005-05:00

From the land of Am-I-Coherent?

Did someone seriously slap an author-I use the word author loosely here-at a book signing today? That degree of excitement would be a serious improvement over the guy who went on a diatribe about rattlesnakes and the pubescent boy that muttered, "I think my mom reads those things" at my signings. Bitch-slap me if it'll put my release on a top CNN headline. I can take one for the team.

Today, I steered clear of Starbucks. I think Walkingman messed with my Fast Draft mojo, so went to Coffee Shop #3. They're having a music fest Friday night. I'd SO be there *cough*unlikely*cough* if they'd fix the lone toilet in the women's restroom. Oh, and yeah, tell me it's broken AFTER my sixteen-plus ounces. What of the men's room you ask? Pshaw! Some of the male patrons were using it as their office with a capital O, if you know what I mean. No, thanks anyway. It was a battle-royale at day's end between my bladder's crippling need to go home and the sweet spot of magic that comes during Fast Draft long about day three.

Today's word count: 6754 (and I teared up twice! And it wasn't even the stench from the men's room!)
Total since Monday: 18,536

Day Two Yadda Yadda

2009-10-13T20:43:00.004-05:00

Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. A pathetic showing of words today: 4,818.

In my defense, I encountered a time-bomber this evening. We all have those in our lives right? Pure detonation of intent. Still no excuse.

Oh, and lest anyone think these are golden words-4,818 of them-to that I say, "Ha!" Fast draft is about spewing the subconscious. Sometimes they come out in a flash of blinding brilliance *cough* never *cough* and sometimes they'll look more like this gem:

GREAT DESCRIPTION HERE OF THE SEA, YADDA, YADDA.

or

LOVE SCENE HERE

Because who can enjoy a love scene written at the speed I can wolf down a granola bar? No thanks.

Tomorrow is Starbucks, incentive to make up for today's deficit. Thanks for the well-wishes, everyone!

Seriously? His Hair? And Day One Progress

2009-10-12T23:05:00.004-05:00

Today's word count: 7,024.

And lo and behold, I pop out of my hole to find this newsy tidbit about Elvis's hair. I love me some Elvis as much as the next too-young-generation-girl-who-should-have-been-front-and-center-at-the-Classic-Comeback-'68, but purchasing his hair is just wicked creepy.

The Perfect Pair of Slippers

2009-10-09T07:54:00.005-05:00

I'm fascinated by the processes other writers use to produce pages. Not so much the planning or research phase, but the arse-in-chair, blinking cursor phase. Creativity is like a fingerprint-no two persons are alike-but I'd be willing to bet other writers have rituals they talk themselves through when it's time.

Ten years ago, when I began writing in earnest, I modeled other writers' processes. Some begin the writing day reading literature they adore, akin to getting their toes wet in a sacred literary pool. I tried it and found my writing took on the cadence of what I'd read, it had been too fresh, too familiar. Some writers journal-slop pages to get the hand and brain juiced then erase and begin on their project. Mostly, I found my slop filled with self-deprecation. Not the best launch to a writing day. I've tried re-reading the previous day's work, re-reading much more than that, deep visualization/meditation, shoving the cats out the door, checking my emails, nursing that sacred first cup of my favorite beverage in the morning (different, depending on the season), lighting a candle, playing music; and sometimes, when the writing still didn't come, I'd hug my knees and rock back and forth in the corner spouting in tongues.

Okay, that never happened. Almost never. Seriously, it took years to groom myself to a ritual that works. And it didn't follow any paved path of well-intended writers who had offered me advice along the way. It came from me like a gift I'd possessed all along but didn't know how to unwrap it.

Starting Monday, I unwrap that gift again. It's been awhile, this creating new text, as I've been saturated with revisions of two manuscripts for the better part of this year. I have no doubt I'll find those well-worn comfortable slippers of creation inside the box. I would share the magic if I could, but we all know my slippers wouldn't fit you-especially the breezy hole near the big toe where unexpected ideas slip through.

For these two Fast Draft weeks, you'll find my posts simple, daily and accountable. I hope you'll stop by occasionally to say hello and toss me some chocolate for sustenance if I slip into tongues. I also hope you'll forgive me for not visiting elsewhere, but I look forward to catching up with everyone on the back end.

Have a great weekend, everyone!

Tell us about the best pair of slippers you've ever received.

Da High Concept. Da High Concept.

2009-10-07T03:47:00.000-05:00

In my heated pursuit of high concept this time around, I'm always on the lookout for book-deal blurbs that scream "I-left-dozens-of-editors-salivating-at-auction-for-this." I think I found it today; and-what do you know?-it's time travel. Shocking, isn't it? Here it is:

Michael Sullivan’s Necessary Heartbreak, an inspirational time-travel novel about a single dad who has lost his faith and is struggling to raise his 14-year-old daughter when they discover a portal leading back to first-century Jerusalem during the tumultuous last week of Christ’s life.

Now that's an author who married two unlikely genres. Fist bump to you Mr. Sullivan for creating your own little Christian time travel high concept. What else can I marry time travel with? Time travel women's fiction? Done. Time travel mystery? Done. Time travel cookbook? No, really, the world doesn't need anything I cook. Past, present or future.

Speaking of high concept...

Last month while brainstorming said high concept novel, I ran across a list of odd occupations that included "Fantasy Broker." Apparently, there are people out there who pay obscene amounts of money to these brokers to orchestrate everything required to make one fantasy come true. It all smacks of Mr. Roarke, does it not? Imagine my delight when I learned Fantasy Island is being turned into a reality show. I am SO not a reality show person, but I cannot deny my youthful affinity for this post-Love Boat morsel. Mark Burnett and other developers are shooting for emotion-driven fantasies (does Josh Holloway count?), but it leaves me wondering if they'll preserve the darkish themes of be-careful-what-you-wish-for and the twisted moodiness that made it wicked-better than Gopher in high-waisted pants. If it smacks of Extreme Home Makeover or a Sally Jessie Raphael reunion show, I'm out.

What would your completely-P.G.-rated-I-won't-embarass-the-resident-Laura-Ingalls fantasy be?

Click Your Heels Three Times

2009-10-05T03:46:00.000-05:00

And head over to the Ruby-Slippered Sisterhood blog where I'm standing at the fork in the yellow-brick road between small press publication and Golden Heart eligibility for unpublished romance writers. Show the love by commenting and I'll show it right back with a chance at a detailed first chapter critique or an ultra-sexy coffee mug.

Chew On This Research. Swallowing Comes Later.

2009-10-01T14:13:00.006-05:00

I think I've visited every baby name and symbolism website known to mankind. Oh, and the most extensive database of Catholic Patron Saints. Ever. (Did you know there is a patron saint for dog bites?) Is this why it takes me what seems like a thousand moons to craft a novel? Is perfection so elusive that one superstitious wrong-turn of a key symbol or a character name has the potential to railroad the entire project?

This is the part of pre-writing I dislike. Nothing yet seems inevitable. Seldom does a location or secondary character name fall into my lap whole and perfect and ripe to enter the pages of my story. In the past twenty-four hours I've created entire government agencies and their subversive counterparts, invented a tattoo symbolic of said subversive group (a bizarre hybrid/reflection of well-known time symbols along with symbols of the group's nefarious intent) plopped a hundred year old seaside pier in North Carolina, divined an entire family of names that might be common eighty years from now (will classical still be in or will we all sound like Star-Trek walk-ons?) and birthed a heroine who is all the things I am not. None of my choices have gelled or settled into rightness, and I'm doubting each and every decision as if it were etched in granite.

So you'll understand my disorientation this week. I am at once on one of nine fictitious islands of monks named for Saint Giles, picking my way through a seaside port I've never visited, and studying the engineering behind turn-of-the-century Ferris wheels, all while wondering if I'm on the right path.

This makes me think of Stephen King's fossil analogy. In On Writing, he speculates that our stories already exist within us like a fossil waiting to be excavated, a skeletal foundation that can only be discovered slowly and precisely using instruments in the writer's toolbox. Somewhere deep inside my mind, the next novel, nay-the entire series, is there. Does that make them inevitable? Does this mean the choices we make as writers are already carefully crafted, awaiting the moment when light will reach them? Are our stories, then, fated to be ours or can we truly control their direction?

In five years, that fictional isle of monks will exist, not in some nebulous far-off glimmer, but in the absolute of my mind, through weeks and months of sweat and words. At what point is that transition? The end? Book three? The moment my feet sink into that fertile first chapter?

I'll let you know when I reach it.

Next week, along with my inaugural post over at the Ruby-Slippered Sisterhood, I'll be tackling the fun part of my research: a mirrored fun-house. Alone.

Pictures? Count on it.

For now, tell me the best fictitious town name you've ever created or read about. Chewandswallow doesn't count. That's mine.

Knowing All About a Vortex 10

2009-09-28T04:01:00.001-05:00

Remember the medicine-head commerical where the red balloon floats high above the decapitated cartoon character body? That's so me today. But since I'm a glass-half-full kind of gal, what's better than an alternate-state reality to concoct a Vortex 10? Today's topic: the 2009 release Knowing starring Nicholas Cage.

Ten Ways the Movie Knowing Would Have Been Tolerable on a Nyquil-Induced High:

1. The black duster-clad alien/human hybrids might have broken into a fog-laden rendition of Depeche Mode's "Personal Jesus", giving them an entertaining value beyond belching a light storm from their mouths.

2. The numerical sequence the protagonist triest to decode might have resembled the optimistic spreadsheet of Harry Potter-like sales from my debut release.

3. Rose Byrne's hysterical portrayal of a worried mother might have been more drama-hysterical and less ha-ha hysterical.

4. The black pebbles could have led me back from the abyss of schitzophrenic genre. As they stood, they were a mere metaphor for the ka-ka that was the ending.

5. I could have imagined a different, better plot in the protagonist's house that looked more like a Disney soundstage than a real residence.

6. The sunspot could have lit a fire under me to want to go past 1 hour and 40 minutes on my DVD counter.

7. I could have pretended the symbolic tree at the end was my happy place instead of the heavy-handed religious propaganda that made virtually no sense given the character's set up.

8. It might have made sense that a mother would leave two hunted children unattended in a car during a pre-apocalyptic bedlam.

9. Nicholas Cage might have morphed into someone who less-resembled the guy who rotated my tires last week.

10. My laughter during the scene where Nicholas Cage runs out to fight the Depeche Mode guys, strikes a bat against a tree and screams, "You want some of this?" might have eclipsed the next, oh say, seven scenes.

Okay, so I was harsh. I really, really wanted to like this movie. It contains a time capsule for the love of Pete! The woo-woo factor (minus the alien thing) is so completely up my alley, but in the end, it didn't hold together.

What's the latest I-just-shaved-two-hours-off-my-life film-stinker you watched?

Two Fist Bumps and a Snap

2009-09-24T08:11:00.013-05:00

I hope Wells-y will forgive me for missing his birthday on Monday. National Geographic News has a great article on the staggering number of H.G. Wells's far-off, science-fiction predictions that have come to fruition over a century later. Maybe his time travel machine is, in true science-fiction form, far more elaborate than necessary. But no contraption for temporal travel will ever be as sexy as his. Hmm?

So in thinking of today's post; and given the number of red-blooded American males who've mentioned dabbling in romance writing of late (for which I give two fist-bumps and a snap) and those faithful blog readers whom I love with all my heart but think romance is trash, I'm pulling out my soapbox. I can picture Wells-y tugging on his lapels, saying, "Here, here, now, let the lady speak! Quiet your grumblings. She will not be speaking on the subject of Fabio, though he would look good on my time machine, no?" Ahem...

I am a fairly recent romance novel convert. I was a good little Catholic girl who did everything I was told, grew up oblivious to the birds and the bees (I had nun leaflets, people), and treasured books, just not the ones near the Safeway check-out line. You remember those, right? The nurse with the phallic hypodermic needle and the man running away from her on the cover? Whew! Those Harlequin Medicals had some covers that would put King to shame, but I digress. I grew up a sheltered optimist who believed everyone knew and witnessed love as I did.

When the writing bug bit, I hadn't considered romance. I started with middle-grade fiction and mysteries but my critique partner noticed I kept hooking people up in the literary sense.

CP: What about a romance?

Me: Pshaw. Right. I don't think so.

CP: No, really. Have you ever read one?

Me: Those trashy novels? Not for me.

CP: Just read one. Then you'll know.

My dear, sweet critique partner must have known the secret. Start someone with the right romance novel and they're hooked for life. Kathleen Woodiwiss was like the first hit on a Geiger. From that book on, I was forever calibrated to writing romance.

Let's get some basics out of the way. Romances are not written to a formula, though they do have one thing in common: a happy ending. Nicholas Sparks and Robert James Waller do not write romance. They write love stories. There is a difference. Tragic endings are not inversely proportional to how awesome the characters' love is. This seems to be a guy-writer thing, like they don't trust themselves to dig in and get their nails dirty with the innards of a relationship conflict, so they inject death. Any writer can write death, decay and destruction. Those are the easy roads. And please don't stand behind the "real life" placard. My grandparents and parents have seen their share of tragedy, but they all found their happily ever after. That's "life", too, baby.

And, just as any genre in publishing has boundary-pushing tomes, romance has fringe exceptions to the one-man, one-woman monogamous relationship. Some romance novels contain more sex or more explicit sex than others. I liken this to a candy store. One customer might go for the old-fashioned lemon drops. Another, licorice whips. But in the end, they all leave satisfied customers. Yes, the term bodice-rippers had its much-deserved genesis in the 70's, but last time I looked that was nearly forty years ago. Show me a science-fiction book written back then and I'll show you a cover even more egregious than a woman's bodice clutched by a man in tight breeches and a bad mullet. All genres evolve, though I'll be the first to defend those early works responsible for my love of romance.

I crack as many Fabio jokes as those silver-tongued lashers in the Safeway check-out line. But when I'm asked what I write, I no longer shy away from saying it. "Romance." Sometimes the lashers look at me as if I broke wind, but it feels good to own it now. I write stories that remind our ever-pessimistic society that there is hope. Love can and does endure. My readers' lives may be filled with tragedy, but I can think of no greater gift to give them than four hours of remembering the heroism and love we are all capable of. Are romance novels escapist? Yes. Is Jim Butcher or Dan Brown's work escapist? Hell, yes. Escapism is intrinsic to fiction.

Romance novels consistently out-sell every other fiction genre in the publishing industry. It is fertile ground open to many, but tread lightly. Successful romance authors know they cannot chase numbers without a healthy respect for the genre and its readers. Our reader might be a mother in line at the Safeway check-out. She might be a soldier in the Army or a brain surgeon looking to restore her hope after she lost a patient. Our readers are different races, creeds and stations, but they all open our pages seeking that one thread of humanity that can overcome anything: love. (And if that doesn't work, a mental picture of Fabio on a time machine might.)

So continue to make bump and grind jokes or strike a righteous pose when you open Oprah's latest pick. I might even laugh along with you at the line that compares a Ford F-150 to a black stallion, but make no mistake: your disdain for romance novels is more an indiction of your ignorance of the genre than any story on the page. Read one. A recent one. Ask me or a dozen others on this blog for a recommendation. Then, and only then, will I respect your informed opinion.

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It's Soapbox Thursday, apparently. I'm stepping down. Anyone else Wells-y can help onto the soapbox? Air your biggest injustices. Discuss how wrong it is Fabio chose to endorse butter instead of, say, hair products. Tell us your favorite romance novel so that we may fight the good fight. Or just pop up and say hello.

Ruby Slippers, Migration and Pie Charts

2009-09-21T04:00:00.000-05:00

The inspirations over the weekend were...well, inspirational. Thanks to everyone for putting their hottie on loan for consideration and/or tolerating the creative burden of romance writers. It is strenuous work, searching for heroic perfection, but we persevere.

Today is a special day in the blogosphere for all unpublished romance writers. To commemorate the opening day for RWA's Golden Heart 2010 submissions, the 2009 Golden Heart Finalists are launching their group blog, the Ruby-Slippered Sisterhood. To celebrate, we'll be giving away ultra-sleek black and red mugs (perfect for your writing beverage-of-choice) and free manuscript critiques to get your pages ready for the Golden Heart. I ducked into the post-lineup a week or so into October, but you can find me hanging out there all this week. Stop by and say hello.

If you're keeping up with A Novel's Migration, the journey of Joyce Manard's release Labor Day, Vortex winner and frequent visitor Todd has posted a comment in official thread and has a bit about it on his blog. Be sure to pop over there and comment if you wish to be next in line.

Lastly, in honor of Oprah's latest pick, very few of which I follow or read, this pie chart because I adore pie charts more than Oprah:

Have a great Monday, everyone!

Where did you find inspiration over the weekend?

Horror Novels and Hotties

2009-09-18T04:00:00.000-05:00

Before I venture into dangerously superficial territory in the Vortex, I wanted to pass along information on the Fresh Blood Contest. Dorchester Publishing is seeking the best horror novel by an unpublished author. The winner will receive a contract for publication in Leisure's 2011 lineup as well as a 2011 limited-edition hardcover release sponsored by ChiZine Publications. Novels must be 80-90K words. Submission deadline: September 30, 2009. So many of my writing peeps who visit here write horror, I had to post. This mushy romance-girl has your back.

I'm populating my new work-in-progress and could use your help. This feels vaguely like a "casting call" to me. I suppose it is. I'm looking for inspirational photos of characters to populate my novel. I'm not one of those romance writers who does cartwheels over traditional cover models. I populate my novels with real men the reader and I create together. I give them just enough and they take it and sprint to their nearest fantasy. Thing is, my inspiration must start somewhere, and that's where this Friday party comes in.

Link away. Drop celebrity names. Send me your cousin's photo if he looks anything close to Drew Fuller. I need an alpha-male/warrior type, a professor-type, a lost soul and a swashbuckler-type. All brothers, all mid-to-late twenty-ish.

See how nicely I balanced the post to reflect the male-female Vortex-reader population? Horror novels and hotties. I love Fridays.

Have a great weekend, everyone!

Bond Girl Day

2009-09-16T04:02:00.000-05:00

Join me over at the 007 blog today where we're discussing time travel (okay, I have little self-control when it comes to TT) and amazing things done by our ancestors.