Yeah, yeah, I know. I have't written anything here since January.

Hey, I've been busy. I made a lateral move to a larger newspaper where I have hope of a promotion sometime before I am old enough to retire, plus I have a 'pension program' (yes, they DO exist, unlike the Unicorn and the wood sprite). At least I'm doing something productive in regard to my writing, My MS 'Golden Hour' is being looked over by a literary agency (yes, a real one, not one of those fly-by-nights I got sucked into before), and there's some editing to do (they want me to cut it from 98,000 words to around 85K, plus fix some plot holes. Then they'll try to market it for me. It would be cool if it sold...

Anyway, the reason I'm writing today is to make note of my latest foray into NaNoWriMo again this year. I'm going to finish this time, I swear. I'm not going to attempt to use an outline like I did last time. No, this time it will be completely free-written. It won't be publishable anyway (because it's online), but maybe something interesting will come out of it. I'm still working on my other novel, 'Salem's Crossing,' about an aging paranormal investigator who solves mysteries sort of like Angela Lansbury in 'Murder She Wrote.' I know that the TV shows 'Medium' and 'Ghost Whisperer' are out there, plus there's already another novelist writing stories involving a ghost-hunting team, but mine's different. It's more dark, symbolic and edgy than one might expect. Since there's a market for that sort of thing right now, might as well strike while the iron's hot (there's my love of cliches again).

Anyway, NaNo '06 is ready to start in a few days, and my fingers are poised over the keyboard, itching to begin. If I last more than 20 days, I'll be shocked and amazed. But why not, eh? It's something to do. Until later - Jillian

Creativity Finally Flowing Again...

Long time, no write. And not just here, either. I had to do some relocating, both mentally and physically, but now things seem to be rolling.

In the past few months I've chucked three UFO's (UnFinished Opus) into the virtual garbage can and started four new ones. Of the four, I like two of them. I was going to send an MS to Lulu.com just for shits and giggles, but then I didn't see the point of submitting an MS that took me eight months' worth of blood, sweat and tears to produce and get nothing back for it money-wise.

Never, ever write 'just for free.' If you're going to waste your time, take up ping-pong.

In the meantime, I've managed to get what I've always wanted - a secluded home in the country with nothing but tall pines for company. I have my own office now, more or less, and for the longest time I STILL couldn't finish anything I'd started. I literally couldn't write squat. Well, that's changing, finally. I've got a couple of great ideas that I'm actually putting down on paper (or should I say, screen). This has all happened because I moved yet again, this time for thousands of miles. Funny how a change of scenery can spur a sluggish mind into thinking again.

Anyway, I do believe I'll finish at least one novel by March and get it submitted (to an agent this time - no more direct publisher contact). The second one that shows promise will probably be completed sometime this summer, if all goes well. Hopefully one of them will be published - for real! I respect Lulu.com and other avenues like it, but they're just not for me. The real money is with the big publishers. I like to write, but then again, I'm not doing this for personal enrichment (or whatever the hell they're calling it these days). I'm doing this for money, and not just small money either. Big time bucks. Stephen King-type bucks. J.K. Rowling - type bucks. All my other sources of income have ceased or been misdirected, so it's now time to sink or swim.

This need not make sense to anyone but me.

I sent off a couple of book reviews to a local rag in the hope that they'll publish them. My only published item in 2005 was a letter to an editor I wrote to a local paper, complaining about the lack of jobs in this area. It was creative whining, but whining just the same. I'm surprise they ran it.

As for publication; it's not like I really need the money - I own land and a home and I do have resources, but still... I've worked ever since I was 13 and being home all day long while staring at my computer is not a life by any means. Well, on the bright side, I have plenty of time to get something written.

That's it for now. This message is mainly for those curious as to where I've been and why I've been incommunicado for several months on end.

I'm still alive, still writing and I'm still getting by.

Until later,

Jillian

Writing How-To Books: What's Good & What Ain't

I've been reading up on the old how-to's of writing during the last couple of weeks. There's any number of good ones out there and there's an equal number of crappy ones as well.

Janet Burroway has written possibly the best book on writing that I've ever found. Her 'Writing Fiction: The Art of the Narrative Craft' is easy to understand, provides exercises and provokes thought in ways that most writing guides do not. I've read a few other gems as well but I don't remember the titles off the top of my head. 'Fiction First Aid' is another, but the author's name escapes me at the moment. And then there are the awful ones. As much as I hate to say it, Stephen King's 'On Writing' is putrid. He spends more time wandering off-topic than he does telling me, the wannabe author, anything I can actually use. He does rail on about adverbs and adjectives being overused, but I've seen that same thing in countless other how-to writing guides.

If you've read any of these writing how-to books, you know the ones I'm talking about. The books where the author basically does nothing but wax poetic about the 'zen' of the writing experience. What a load of crap. I don't need to hear about how magical it is to write. If it wasn't worth my time, I wouldn't be doing it. I picked up maybe twelve or thirteen books at the library last week and maybe four of them had any actual information on the mechanics of writing and building a story or novel. The rest of them just went on and on about how important and mystical the act of writing is.

Now, don't get me wrong. It's not that I don't mind some mid-list semi-professional writer or editor telling me tips and tricks of what helped them get published, but in some cases they don't offer any really helpful advice. Not to mention, better than half of the people publishing these how-to books are not even that famous. In fact, some of them don't really write full-time for a living. Most are editors that managed to work for a big publishing house, so therefore their words on the subject are instantly golden. I suppose that's true to some extent, but let's get real, folks. I can live with the self-important editors, they're just that way. It's the mid-list romance authors writing those how-to books that I can't stand. I get email from one of them, Emily Hanlon. Her whole thing is about how to 'nurture your muse.' I suppose that mystical garbage works well for her, but for me it's just plain retarded to waste your time thinking about the art of writing rather than just sitting down to write. My advice to writers, if any, is to just WRITE. Don't contemplate how wonderful the experience is, don't get all misty-eyed about it, just DO it. You can't publish anything if you don't get it written.

There. I've ranted enough on that subject for now.

In other news....

My time online these days is very limited. I live out in the back country and have no real internet connection, so that leaves me plenty of time to write, as opposed to surfing the net and chat forums all day long. I've got several projects going right now and have been writing like crazy. In an effort to cut down on editing time, I've been fixing stuff as I go. This has slowed me down some, I admit, but at least I'm getting stuff down on paper. 'Golden Hour' is 1/3 complete, as well as a couple of short stories I've managed to get done & sent out. 'R&D' is still in stasis waiting for a re-write, and 'Dancing' is somewhere in limbo-land. Meanwhile, 'Golden Hour' will be short and to the point. It's hardcore suspense, so that should have a better chance of getting published quickly, especially if 'Dancing' does well. Crossing fingers on that one. 'Golden Hour' is basically the sequel to 'Dancing,' but done from a different POV. I'm writing it quickly, too, editing as I go. That way, hopefully I'll only have to rewrite it from the beginning once or twice before it gets printed & sent off. I hate editing, but that's the life of a writer. Maybe I should wax poetic about how much it sucks to rewrite an entire novel from Square One, like I did 5 times for R&D.

Anyhow, that's it for now.

Final thought: When it comes to How-To books, choose wisely.

Keep writing,

Jillian

The More Things Change, The More They Stay the Same

It's been a long three months since I posted here last. A lot of things have happened. I sent 'Dancing With the Darkness' to an agent, who agreed to represent me and she told me she thinks she can sell it. That was back in January. Since then, I haven't signed anything yet, but a small publisher has agreed to take a look at the book. If they take it on, any revenue coming to me would be based on 8% commission of per-jacket sales, but no advance because I'm previously unpublished (and therefore unproven). Not bad, I suppose, but the agent says that if they take it, it will be more than a year before I begin seeing checks come in from the sale. I figure I'll know one way or another by August, and I've been told that the publisher is going to change the title of the book to something a little more marketable (but what that is, I don't know).

I'm past the jumping-for-joy stage and into the 'anxiously waiting for a contract' phase. If it goes through, the agent gets 30% of my 8%, which is a good chunk, but worth it (I suppose) to finally see my stuff in print.

In other news, I've gone back to work on The Rose and The Dandelion. A large re-write is in order, because some of the subject matter may be unpalatable for readers. The first draft went way beyond what I wanted it to do and even wandered into several subplots I'd never intended. What is R&D? A sort of 'American Beauty' on crack. 'Dancing' will probably not be a bestseller, but I think R&D's got a chance at being one. I've got to make it marketable, though. There are some aspects to the story that people may find too hard to understand or identify with, and I have to work on those. Again, as I've said in the past, I have a hard time thinking in the way that most people do. My thought process is horribly skewed somehow, and I often don't catch it when I'm writing. In order to focus more on writing, I've quit my job at the paper and now I've suddenly got all this time on my hands. I've got 40 grand in the bank, so I can live on that for a while, but if I haven't done anything within the next 6 months, I might be in trouble. In the meantime, I've got nothing but time.

In all reality, I was going to quit my job a long time ago. I used the excuse that some freak from the ------- forum was calling me at work as my reason for leaving, but that wasn't it. No, it was a hostile work environment. I had too many people breathing down my neck, and to be honest, it ate up so much of my free time that I couldn't even run to the post office on an errand without feeling guilty. I was chained to my desk, but I'm free now. Free to think, dream and write.

Writing IS important to me, and I've had what I wanted on the back burner for so long that it was growing cold.

And so I left my job, moved out of town and now I'm living in the middle of nowhere. It's not bad out there. No traffic noise, no train noise, no people arguing next door. Just us alone, on the high desert plain. I love the afternoons the most, when I can take one of the dogs and walk the dirt roads, watching the setting sun turn this quiet out-of-the-way world into gold. The wind tosses the weeds across the ground, stirring up the occasional jack rabbit, and this symphony of whispers is punctuated by the infrequent howl of the coyotes in the distance. Who ever thought that desert could be heaven? I've always loved the desert for some reason, maybe for the utter emptiness of it. A place devoid of humanity. A place where (for a little while)I can pretend I'm the only living person on earth, all alone with my thoughts. And in the evenings, when the last pink rays of the dying sun caress the hilltops, I find myself smiling for the first time in many years.

Home.

Thoughts on Current Events and Other Stuff

Well, I don't know what Lucida Grande font is, but I'll give it a whirl (if it shows up, that is).

Yeah, I know... It's been a while since my last post. A lot of things have happened since early November, when I posted last.

I've been concerned with this huge tidal wave that hit every coast in South Asia, affecting countries like India, Sri Lanka, Indonesia and many others. It reminds me of a vivid dream that I published as a story on Writing.com some time back. I won't go into it here, not enough time, but let's just say it had to do with children from many different countries fleeing from disaster and rising flood waters. The Tsunami that hit on the day after Christmas is being interpreted in many different ways - Nature culling men, a sign from God that we need to straighten our act up, global warming (though I don't know how global warming would cause earthquakes), and just a plain old natural occurrence that just happened to kill over 120,000 people. I'm going with the last one. The earth will do its thing, regardless of whether Man is here or not. Funny how people always try to read 'meaning' into disaster.

I've joined a new writing group, too. It's just a discussion group, not a crit group, and even though I'm just trying to spark conversation as I usually do, I know I'm already aggravating a few regular old-timers there. They prefer the status quo - everybody writing a little something from time to time, but no real in-depth discussion of writing issues. I'm rubbing their noses in it and some of the older writing queens in there don't like being told that they just might be wrong on the advice that they've been giving to the newbies. But that's just me. I have learned a lot in the past couple of years about writing, and I'm only trying to share what I've found out. The PUBLISHED writers in the group all wholeheartedly agree with everything I've said. I bent a few noses out of shape, but that's about all. I will probably always be a pariah, because I can't ever keep my mouth shut and behave. But then again, women who keep their mouth shut very seldom ever get recognized. I think I should consider myself the "Accidental Troll." I'm coming off as a message board troll, even though that's not my intention at all.

Actually, the only forum where I get any respect is on the UFO forum, a place I've been going lately to gather material for a novel. That IS a subject that I know a good deal about, and I've been putting my two cents in. Some like it, some don't, but that's life. I also rejoined Fictionaddiction.net under a new name and leaving my gender unspoken, hoping to start off on a different foot than I did before. That particular forum is very clicquey, and you have to tread carefully or else you'll piss them off and no one will talk to you. I'm not a butt-kisser, though, and sooner or later I'll speak my mind again, making more enemies. I want to talk about writing and maybe get a little inspiration or encouragement, because lately I've had very little of either. I wanted to write a novel about ghost-hunting and EVP's, but then the movie 'White Noise' is coming out, so that topic will soon be over done. I can't win.

Oh, well.

I want to begin another novel and see it through. I like "Rose and the Dandelion," but I'll never be able to write it the way I really want to. I may just do it anyway, just to get it out of my face. I've come to the conclusion that until I finish that particular novel, I won't be able to write anything else. It needs some revamping, though. There are parts that make no logical sense that I need to work out. I've also been thinking about working on my memoirs, too. I have a good start on it, and I've gotten good reviews on it, so far. I know I could never publish that book though, until Mom passes away. It does make her look like a bad guy in the beginning. I want to work it out so that by the end, it shows how Mom and I finally mended fences and how I was able to (more or less) get back on my feet mentally. I know there are people out there who've had a much worse childhood than I did, so my story isn't unique. I've also been thinking about novelizing it, with a little disclaimer in the beginning about how some events described are based on real occurrences. I want to write a horror novel - one that no one else has ever thought of and even with 'White Noise' out there, my angle is still intact. I keep trying to work 'Shadow People' into it, mainly because I find them scary as all hell. They're hard to make scary in writing, though. Compared to all the crap that's out there in movieland and what Stephen King wrote, there's not much else that's really scary anymore.

In my new writing group we've been discussing Opening Lines, and what separates the good from the bad. The posts on it have been interesting to say the least, with people finally jumping into the conversation. I've been struggling with opening lines for the longest time, and after going through all of my recent writings, I couldn't find a single 'good' one to post to the group site. I ended up writing one out of thin air and was told that though it was good, it wasn't strong. It helps me grow as a writer when I hear things like that. It makes me strive for better writing. I can take criticism a lot better than I used to.

Well, all that being said, I think I'll work on R&D for a little while.

- Jillian

Slowly but surely...

I managed to write two entire chapters last night - writing it directly into the blog post window. That's odd for me. I normally compose in Word 2000 and then cut and paste into the blog (or whatever forum I'm posting my writings to). You're not supposed to go back and edit what you write during NaNoWriMo, but I had to. I'm too much of a perfectionist to cast my compulsion to edit by the wayside.

Actually, reading back on the thing, it's not that bad. I'm not happy with the characterizations so far, but I'm treating it as a first draft anyway, so I can always go back and fix it later on. My main concern is that what I put on the page doesn't resemble the rambling I've seen on other blogs done on the NaNoWriMo site. Maybe it's just pride, I don't know. I just don't want to look like an idiot. As I mentioned in my earlier post, there are some really good NaNo blogs, though. I saw one that should really be published material. The guy is good and evidently doesn't know it. If it were mine, there's no way in hell I'd post it on the internet. I'd post a link to that site here, but I lost track of the URL and now I don't feel like paging back through to find it again. I should have bookmarked it. Oh, well. It basically served the purpose of setting a standard for me to emulate in my own writing.

Characterization - the one hurdle I can't seem to jump on the first try. Why is it that I can envision the characters in my head but can't force them through my damned hands and into writing? I feel sort of lost without C_W now. That writing group was one in a million - I could believe the criticism I got there. But, such is life. On the other hand, I know that I've outgrown writing groups and should start trying to write something of substance. I just posted this long rant on the paranormal board about people these days being unable to think and process things for themselves. I think I'm guilt-projecting, wishing I had the massive brain-power of a Faulkner or a Thoreau. It's not that I'm a stupid person, I just lack good communication skills. That, and I'll admit I'm out of touch with real people. I study them, trying to pick up subtle things that makes them individuals, but then I feel like the proverbial cold-blooded scientist studying pygmies. I see them, but I just don't F___ing understand them. That's why my characters are so wooden. I have not a clue what makes people tick. The simple knowledge of that drives me crazy.

Anyhow, I'm writing on. I think I can add another 4,000 words to the blog novel by Wednesday, if all goes well. I do have a lot of irons in the fire, including that insurance exam next Saturday, but I don't want it to distract me from working on the story. I already have the next two chapters in mind, I just need to force them out.

Until later,
Jillian

When All Else Fails...

When you're a horror writer and you can't think of anything scary to write about, join a paranormal group. You will find the craziest stuff in there. Because I like to write in this genre, I frequently browse through the paranormal sites for new ideas when none come by me on their own. I recently joined the ------list on -------, mostly looking for information on Shadow People, which is supposed to be the subject of my NaNoWriMo blog-novel. Instead, I've been drawn into weird conversations over time portals and trans-dimensional travel. Though from a writer's standpoint, I AM interested in those subjects, I didn't find much on Shadow People. One guy says they're 'spirit guardians' (another name for guardian angels). Others say they're simply a new form of entity like a ghost or a demon, while still more people say they're aliens traveling in between dimensions. Lots of theories to kick around, that's for sure. At any rate, I should get started on my blog. I need to write at least 1,200 words per day to make the 50K mark. I think I'll start tonight, after what I've learned from -------------------.com.

It's not easy just to sit down and pound out a novel. I can sit here tonight and write 7,500 words, no sweat, but the ideas have to come to me. I've already outlined the novel, and now I need to work on character sketches so that the story can begin to take on its full shape. I've browsed some of the other NaNo blogs, and some are pretty good, while others are simply confusing. I don't want to churn out a 50K load of crap, though. That seems pointless to me. I could write my version of James Joyce's 'Finnegan's Wake," and compose the novel in dream-speech. I could write 50K worth of gibberish and it would all be the same as far as anyone else is concerned. Does anybody really read these things, anyway?

Well, I'd better get started. I had the perfect opportunity today - everyone was gone and I was alone at home. I ended up surfing the net instead, wasting even more time. Somehow writing has become a chore - something my mind wants to do but my body is fighting it. I'll just start typing tonight, basing the new chapter(s) on myoutline, and see what happens. Sooner or later I'd like to finish a decent novel that has a ghost's chance in hell of being published. It's difficult, though. I think I'm pushing myself way too hard.

That's all for now -
Write on,

Jillian

Finally Getting Over Writer's Block

I guess I can count being booted from my favorite writing group as a blessing in disguise. I've finally been able to think of things to write about once again. After months and months of writing stories that were pure crap, I think I've finally got some decent ideas cooking.

I came up with a new idea for a short story last night. I won't mention it here, even though I doubt anyone actually reads these things, and if anyone does, they won't really care. But the good news is that the rusty wheels of my imagination have broken loose and are turning. Before long, my train of thought will be heading down the tracks at full steam.

I swear, I've tried everything known to man about how to get rid of writer's block, and as it turned out, the group that I loved being part of was what killed my urge to write. It can be put down to several things - I could never, ever write anything they liked, and when I finally started getting 'close,' I found that I was writing stuff that I didn't like. There comes a point when writing groups and criticism just aren't doing you any good, and are hindering rather than helping. I've ditched all the writing groups except for one, and I'm debating as to whether or not to keep it. It's turned into more of a mutual admiration society than a true crit group. I find that I'm forced to say 'I liked this, but..." in order not to piss anyone off at me. I'd much rather be blunt and say, "Sorry, but this sucks, and here's why..."

I began a story last night, but before I could really get into it, I was called away from my computer and never did get back. In that same span of time, other ideas for that same story crept in, and now I'm thinking of a whole new angle. It has to do with dreams and alternate realities, but a completely new take on it that I'm pretty sure I've never seen before. If it's anything a writer hates, it's someone else grabbing their 'angle' and running with it before said writer gets a chance to get anything of their idea on paper. Hell, I'm even thinking of participating in NaNoWriMo.

NaNoWriMo, or 'National Novel Writer's Month,' is a time when the NaNo folks set about trying to write a 50K -word (or more) novel in 30 days or less, taking place in November. (Maybe because November has exactly 30 days). The emphasis is supposed to be on the writing itself, not the product. You're supposed to just write, and not worry about errors, lack of plot, etc. But I've always thought that blowing out a 50K hunk of crap is a big waste of time. Why write a novel that can't sell? But then, I'm thinking... what if I had an outline before I started? I might end up with a usable first draft. I've got tons of outlines that I've abandoned for one reason or another. Maybe it's time to dust one of them off and see what I can make of it. To write 50K words in 30 days, one must write 1,500 words a day, give or take a few. I know I can top that. I write 2,000 words a day while just banging out ideas in an outline or wasting time rambling on my blogs.

In the meantime, I should be writing more. I feel the urge to write again. It's not as strong as it used to be, but it's there and it's growing. Part of my problem now is lack of time. Days seem to be flying by at breakneck speed, and an entire week, month, year is gone before I know it. I'm working a full time job at the newspaper, but I'm also taking on some part-time insurance work to have extra money to invest for retirement. It's pretty much eating up all of my spare time. When I get home, I'm usually too damned tired to sit in front of a keyboard. I'm sitting in front of one now, and there are stories in mind itching to be told, but yet, I'm piddling around with blogs and message boards. I need to figure out how I can focus, somehow. Once I get that straightened out, I can begin to be productive again.

Well, that's it for now. Until Later,
Jillian

Writer's Block from Hell...

I've been struggling off and on for months with writer's block. It's crippling to my creative side. I've even quit painting and taking photos, which are my usual outlet if the writing's no good. So, I'm left to wonder, what lies behind writer's block what is it and how can it be 'cured?'

Based on the fact that just about all of my creative outlets have been shut down, I'm wondering if it has to do with stress and the fact that I keep telling myself, "Okay, you've GOT to write something today. Write something, no matter how awful it is, just DO SOMETHING."

That insistent little voice is almost always there. The only time it isn't is when I'm about to fall asleep. Maybe I'm simply pushing myself too hard. It's like trying to squeeze water out of stone. It's not going to be forced out.

Some of the remedies I've read about for writer's block are the following:

- Take a long walk, get out of the house and enjoy nature
(tried that)
- Read a book, or read several books.
(tried that, too)
- Simply put the need to write out of mind for at least two weeks.
(tried that, and it only made it worse)
- Pull up some story prompts and just write whatever comes to mind, even if it's complete crap.
(tried that, and now I have at least 12 incomplete short stories that are complete crap)
- Write about something you've never tried before, or in a genre you've never tried before.
(tried that, too, but the end result was hideous)
- Edit some older stories and see if there's a fresh way to look at them.
(doing this currently)

I sat down the other day and listed all the things I thought might be causing me stress and rendering me incapable of concentration. The top three things I came up with weren't what I'd figured they'd be. At first, I figured it was just the pressure of my job, occasional fights with my husband over the fact that I spend so much time in front of the computer and the fact that I'm studying to get my securities license to sell mutual funds.

What came first to mind were these:

1. My online writing groups.

I had four of them, and last month I cut two of them loose. I kept the short story group and Critical_Writing. I'm free to talk about Critical_Writing now because the owner of that group discovered that I'd joined an alternate group, Critical_Writing_Annex, started by a bunch of members he'd booted the previous month. I'd only been in Annex for about 4 days when I left over differences in running the group with the site's owner. I went back to Critical_Writing and tried to forget that I'd ever joined Annex. Still, during that time, C_W's owner was cold and distant in respect to replies on crits and submissions I'd made, so I figured he already knew I'd been at Annex.

As time went on, I began to wonder why I even cared. The guy who owns the C_W site is a gifted writer and I'd learned a great deal from him over two years time, but no one ever knew what would set him off and cause him to eject people from the group list. A few days ago, one of the members (at least I think it was a member, but could have been a troll) from Annex posted two crits to C_W and I sent her an email telling her what she'd done. The next morning, I got up and went to work and checked my email to find that Mark had not only booted me from C_W, but had banned me from ever returning as well. I was shocked, but I admit that I sort of saw it coming. Just by my joining Annex, even for a short period of time, I KNEW he would see me as some kind of 'traitor.' That wasn't it at all. I just wanted one more writing group to circulate my stuff around in. But that's the way he sees things. I'm pretty sure Mark had another friend of his named Helen (or he might have done it himself) go into Annex under a different name and get the member list there and/or scrolled through the posts to see what people from his group were ther and what they might have said. He (or they) found maybe two or three posts from me and that was it. He booted me out. Of course, I was pretty brutal on the last critique I gave him. I'm sure that didn't help either.

In retrospect, I'm not too unhappy to see Critical_Writing go, and even though I had a couple of friends there that I'll miss, the group itself was undermining my creativity so badly that I literally couldn't write anything that wasn't geared to please them. It got to the point where I'd finally write something that I actually liked, and I'd submit it there for crtique, and they'd rip it to shreds and say it was boring. They hated anything that wasn't fantasy, sci-fi or horror. The only reason I stayed so long was Mark himself - he's a damned good writer even though he's somewhat afraid to find out just how good he is due to some inner fear of rejection. I wanted to emulate his style so badly, knowing that if he wouldn't seek publication, I could adopt his style and do it for my damned self. I'm used to rejection. Now, at least he's trying to publish stuff with some online magazines, and I suppose that's a start. I overlooked his volatile temperament for so long because I knew how creative-types can be. They are frequently explosive in temper, but the fruit of their minds is a glory to behold. I don't really hate him for booting me out. I always knew that if I ever left that group it would be because they kicked me out. No surprise there. Maybe now that C_W is behind me, I can now focus on writing what I want to write, rather than writing to please a clicque.

2. No place quiet to write.

I live in a tin can of a mobile home and I earn 35K annually. My husband makes even more than I do.We live in a city that boasts the most-inflated real estate values in the country. Milk is 4 bucks a gallon, nearly twice that of gasoline. It's so expensive to live here that even though we earn 70K a year, we're still scraping by from paycheck to paycheck. Hence, the trailer and its matchstick walls.There's four of us crammed into a small space and I have nowhere quiet to go so that I can clear my mind enough to focus on my writing.
That's why I'm studying to get my securities license, so that I can make enough money at a second job to get into a bigger place.

3. My health is going downhill due to job stress.

I'm tired every day and I have to force myself to get up and go to work. I have headaches almost all of the time now, and I have no energy. I know that part of it is my high blood pressure and sleep problems (I haven't had a solid night's sleep in months). And the other part of it is stress, which aggravates the first two things just mentioned. I literally can't afford to go to a doctor, but I'm going to have to do so and soon. The other night, my blood pressure was up so high that I was certain that I'd have a heart attack or stroke before the night was over. If I'm tired and hurting, there's no way I can write.

And there's TV. Sometimes I just vegetate in front of the tube and next thing I know, the day's gone by. There may be something even deeper than that. A fear of failure, maybe, or something else I can't even identify. Whatever it is, I can't seem to get around it.

Anyway, I'm working some of my older stuff now, and hoping that with the severe reduction in the number of critique groups my writing muse will one day return. I'm pretty sure it's not just simple writer's block. It's almost a death of my creative side. If it's not dead, it's at least severely atrophied. In time, maybe if I get into a larger house and with an office where I can have peace and quiet, and if my health can return to the point where I'm not tired all the time, I might be able to get something done. Until then, I guess I'm editing my brains out.

Write on,

Jillian

Adding 'Character' to Fictional Characters

This week's chore is figure out why my characters come off as flat and unbelievable. I go through my character profiles extensively before writing a story, but that technique doesn't seem to be working. My guess is that I'm leaving something important out.

A typical 'character profile' includes the following:

- Name: Joe Schmoe
- Age: 35
- Height: 5' 8"
- Eye color: Blue
- Hair color: Brown
- What is this character's major goal?
(Example) To steal forty million bucks from his company's capital expense fund - and get away with it.
- Why is this goal so important to this character?
(Example) He was passed over for a promotion time and time again, and just found out his boss wants to have him fired.
- What events in the character's past affect the significance of this goal?
(Example) Grew up a poor white child in the backstreets of Los Angeles. Also, Joe's wife has threatened to leave him if he loses 'this' job. (Joe has a history of not being able to keep a job longer than 6 months). To save his marriage, Joe casts about for a quick solution.
- Describe your characters life till now, motivations, family situation, pet peeves, etc.
*This is too lengthy to get into here, but you get the idea.

Anyhow, what is 'supposed' to happen when you put together one of these character profiles is that a story begins to germinate, or at least a subplot to one. An interesting way to throw together a unique story is to build three characters that have nothing in common and toss them together in the same situation, somehow making it work. You can do a profile of a retired cop who lusts over a girl half his age, a born-again Baptist that secretly shoplifts and a Neo-Hippie that likes to preach against war from a street corner, then create one situation (problem) that brings together all three, and Poof! - you've got a story. Of these three characters, you must choose one of them to be your Main Character, if using multi POV, or POV character, if sticking to 3rd Person Ltd.

The problem I'm having is getting the character profile information across in the story without sounding like an infodump or being too expository. In my last couple of stories, I spent too much time on setting detail (because that was pointed out as a weakness of mine in the past) and not enough time making my characters more believable and less 'wooden.'

Finding the right balance is critical. And, it all depends on what you want to do with the story. If the theme is more important than the characters, (e.g., 'The DaVinci Code'], then you should spend less time on them and focus more on the plot. Character-driven novels are more popular these days, and I'm having a tough time emulating that format. There are so many things to consider that it's tough to keep track of it all.

Once I get moved into a larger home, I will set aside a room and cover one wall with corkboard. There, I'll build a storyboard and pin up the novel in sections, so that I can get a good look at what character goes where, how his/her actions move the story forward, etc. You not only have to make your characters feel 'real' to the reader, they must serve a purpose as well. If they're just there to be a 'Watson' to your 'Holmes,' they'd better contribute to the plot, or else they're wasting space.

This is a quote from a website:
http://www.webcom.com/wordings/artofwrite/feature.html

'Fiction writers generally come in two kinds: those who are strong on plot, and those who are strong on characterization. Rarely is a writer brilliant at both. Thus, even if you excel at great story premises, foreshadowing, plot twists, and careful pacing, you may still receive rejections with critiques pointing to 'two dimensional' or stereotyped characters; or perhaps it is your main characters' motivations that are unclear or illogical, which ultimately sabotages the story.'

I have a sneaking hunch that I'm a plot-driven type of writer, and I've been forced, by way of critique, to try to be a character-driven writer. I guess the key to making less-developed characters work is just to make sure their goals are clear to the reader.

My most recent short "The Sandman" had only one main character named Virgil who lives in a cabin deep in the Northwest woods. He's in his mid-seventies and he has problems with arthritis and insomnia. He sits beside his window every night, waiting for sleep to come. One night, as the story goes, it finally does - in the form of Death.

I was so worried about making the story work that I didn't include small details about Virgil that would make him more 'real' to the reader. The comments I got on that story were that he was believable, but shallow. Not much to him, in other words. I'll go back to the drawing board on that one, because I'd like to post it on SS_Main's Short Story Showcase. I think, since the plot's not too complicated, I'll experiment at making it a more character-driven story. I would prefer to write character-driven stories, as they have a better chance at winning over a reader than a plot-driven one. We'll see how it goes.

Well, that's about it for today. In other news, I found some more logic problems while proofreading R&D, and I'll either cut them or do a savage rewrite them. Somehow, I'm beginning to doubt that R&D will ever be a finished product.

Until Later -
Jillian

Struggling with Mood, Tone and Setting in Writing Fiction


Let's try Courier today. What the heck. I'm going to be looking at LOT of Courier in the next few weeks, after I print out my completed novel, 'Rose and the Dandelion' and go through to do one final editing binge. The whole bloody thing needs to be formatted in Courier 12 type.

I've been trying to assess the recent spate of critiques I've garnered for my work that I've posted online, and judging from that, I need to heavily work on two things: Characterization and using a scene's Setting details to make the 'mood' for the scene.

In the past, I just stuck characters in a room or somewhere without any thought to how the setting adds to the overall mood and tone of the piece. I figured that those were something that came across in the action and dialogue, and the setting was little more than a staging area for the action. That all changed when I decided to do some research on how to write screenplays and movie scripts.

Basically a script or a screenplay is a bare-bones framework of a story, comprised mostly of dialogue and different instructions for the actors and director to work from when creating a play or movie. Scripts for plays contain a lot more useful information - how the lighting should be set, how the set on the stage and the props are used all in combination to create a 'mood' in order to draw the audience into the story and forget they're watching a play.

In a movie, the screenplay will usually contain information about the scene, usually time of day, which characters are present, etc. Some screenplays even give instructions on the camera angles on the characters, which directors typically ignore. A director will shoot the movie his own way, combining specialized camera angles, music, lighting, editing, etc. to create suspense or the air of romance - whatever. Basically, all those components work together like different instruments in a symphony to create the mood. It's simply a matter choosing what effects to add where, and at what time. Even furniture and other objects in a given room have their part to play. With a short story or novel, it's not quite that easy, since the reader can't actually 'see' what's going on. You have to enable them to visualize it in their mind's eye and feel the tension in their gut.

When I sit down to write, I usually have a basic idea of what's going to happen in a fictional piece and then I begin typing and somehow a story comes together. There are times when I start writing and I have no idea where it's going, and I'm just as much in the dark about the outcome as a reader would be as they're reading on. Once the piece is blown out and up on the screen, then it's time to go back and start modifying or removing things that sound 'off' and correct grammar stuff. One thing I've been ignoring is making sure that the setting enhances the given scene. Sure, I've covered that in the obvious circumstance, like if I want a scene dark and depressing, I put the characters in a dark and depressing place. But for lighter moments, I'm choosing places that just don't work. If two characters are arguing over something, then I should put them in a stressful place, like a busy subway station or maybe a loud, frenetic nightclub. These things are important for sensory input and creating an overall feeling that enhances the emotions for the reader, ramming home the point that the scene is trying to get across.

I've been watching a bunch of movies, one after another (decent movies - not 'B' grade crap), just to see how the director has done it there. The most recent flick I just watched (a few minutes prior to writing on this blog), 'Gothika' with Halle Berry, is full of key setting information. Granted, it's supposed to be a dark, dreary and scary movie, but I started noticing the subtle things, little bits and pieces that just added that extra 'something' to the atmosphere to suit a given scene.

For instance, in the beginning of the movie, she's in a dark, creepy mental institution/prison and there's eerie music and a storm going on outside. Using storms to create tension and a sense of doom is done quite a bit in movies and written fiction, but the storm in Gothika is unique - with emphasis on the fact that it's loaded with heavy rain. Lots of 'falling water' imagery is used in just about all the really tense scenes. I considered what the effect the director was going for with the heavy rain. It was there not just as a plot device (she reaches a roadblock and the road is washed out, so she must travel over a rickety bridge to get home and meets the ghost of Rachel), but it also gives the sense of heavy oppression and things spinning out of control, which of course they do as the movie progresses.

Later on, when she's locked away for the murder of her husband, she's stuck in a shadowy cell with a glass door and there is no real 'color' in the scene at all, just varying shades of blue and gray. Even Berry's skin has a bluish tinge to it. (Again, the 'watery' effect, just in metaphor). The ghost's presence is made obvious with the flickering lights, and I think the director overdid that a little, but he did well by choosing flourescent lights - they are creepy when they're flickering and humming, about to go out. The shades of blue and gray set the mood of her being in dire straits and highlighted her hopelessness, and was very effective in sharing that feeling with the viewer.

The shower scene was gripping - it too was dark, close and uncomfortable. The showers mimicked the rain in a way. The nurse even tells her to 'wash away her sins,' lending yet another aspect to the use of water in the scene. You know as you're watching that no matter how much she stands beneath the water, the situation is utterly hopeless because everyone still thinks she's crazy. There are also a couple of close-up shots where a solitary tear rolls down Berry's face. Even that was a water-related image geared to evoke emotion. Later on, when she escapes the prison and goes back to her house and the scene of the murder, the 'normality' of the house when she first enters struck me. It seemed for a moment that nothing happened, but then, she sees the bloody footprints on the stairs. Outside it's dark, but the rain has stopped, a subtle signal that revelation is coming her way. She drives to their property out in the boondocks and the sun is rising as she finds the hidey-hole in the barn where her husband and his friend have been torturing women on videotape. The sun is a long-standing symbol of revelation, of things 'brought out into the light.' That thought occurred to me when I watched the scene, simultaneously wondering why the director didn't film the scene at night, when things would be darker and scarier. But, I realized that even the time of day played a part in creating the rising suspense in that scene. The sun was just as important to the scene as the old farming tools and scythes hanging in the barn. As the sun rose on Halle Berry's character and her grisly discovery, a lightbulb finally went on in my head about mood and setting.

When I go back to do a final rewrite on 'The Rose and the Dandelion,' I'll probably be making some setting changes. I can think of a couple places right now in the novel that will need to be reworked with more appropriate setting and mood in mind.

I do learn something new every day, and each day my writing gets a little more worth reading.

Writing Super-Short Stories

(And why I can't write anything in less than 7,500 words)


The shortest story I've ever written is 1,500 words, and I don't think I quite fit it all into the 250 words per page format. So, in reality, it might have been 1,700 words. I'd sent it off last Christmas to the Writer's Digest 'Short Shorts' contest. It didn't win, but that may have been because A., I couldn't write to save my ass at the time, and B., the story was too long.

I just submitted a 'Fifteen Minute Mystery' to one of my writing groups for critique and it flopped. I came to the conclusion that I can't write a story that's shorter than 5 or 6 thousand words. In a word, I just gave up on writing in the mystery genre altogether. There's always a loose thread somewhere that I miss, or my logic just doesn't work. I love the genre, but I don't always think things through clearly enough to wrap things up in a satisfactory manner.

As for short stories, the plot must be focused around one particular event, center around basically one character, and have the usual rising action, climax and denouement. (Sort of like sex, isn't it?)

I enjoy writing short stories, but there's not much of a market for them, thanks to TV and video games. People just don't take the time to read them anymore, unless they're one of the few thousand people on the Net that are into critique groups. I think critique groups are the last bastion of this sort of storytelling, where an unknown person can present a story and have strangers read it, then offer comment. Then again, people will read a story if it's free. It's got to be damned good if they're paying for it by purchasing a magazine. The last few places that still buy short stories are the sci-fi, mystery and lit-fic magazines out there, and even those aren't doing too well. I'm sure romance has a good stronghold - you can still find a romance tucked into the pages of Cosmo and similar pub's. If there's anything I can't write, it's a romance. I've tried and the end result was horrible. My best success with short stories came in a horror piece I wrote that won a couple of awards on Writing.com and other sites. That story is titled, 'Getting Their Kicks on Route 666.' That one's about witches and skinwalkers in the northern New Mexico desert terrorizing people caught out on Route 666 (The Devil's Highway) after dark. Horror seems to be my forte, and I might stick with it. The problem is finding something that hasn't already been done a hundred times over.

There isn't much out there that is 'scary' anymore.

I once read a short story that had a lot of potential to be scary, but wasn't. It was about a man whose kitchen appliances kept coming to life and moving around on their own. The story petered out though; the appliances just went silent, and the MC went back to his daily life routine. I wanted them to attack or something, just to make things interesting. I thought about trying to rewrite that story with my own take on the same situation. But then, I came across Stephen King's story about the machines that come to life and take over the world. That pretty much tossed that bright idea out the window. No one can do horror better than The Master.

So, when writing short stories, I turned to things I understood - phobias and mental illness. I tried to bring phobias to life through 'Serpent in the Sky.' Some people liked it, and a lot of people didn't. (Actually, all my UK friends liked it). Americans, though, they want in-your-face action, and I just can't do that. I think people from the UK enjoy reading short stories and are willing to read a less-than-in-your-face type of story as long as there's a good payoff at the end.

So, what does that leave? Novels. I can write a novel - there's plenty of room to stretch out and let the characters breathe. I can't think in microcosm, which is what is needed for a decent short. I've tried.

I may work some more on 'Into the Twilight,' a novel I'm working on which seems to have have gone over well with the crit groups. I know where that story is going - it's based on a short story I wrote, titled 'The Screamer's Club.' I wanted it to be a novel of suspense and it's doing the job so far. The first chapter needs some work, but then that always happens. I have some kind of mental block when it comes to opening stories - I can't write anything that grips the reader right away. Well, maybe I ought to quit whining and get on with it. I promised myself that this year I'd submit a publish-worthy novel, somehow, some way. Sooner or later, I'll hit on one, I hope.

Opening Lines
And why they're so bloody hard to do...

I've been working on several stories as of late, and just submitted one to a new critique group I joined last month (filled with members from the UK).

The story I turned in was one that I'd posted to an American-based crit group a long time ago, and they'd hated it. Well, I made some changes to the narrative as well as the opening paragraph, and posted half of it online.

The new group loves it.

I was floored when I saw their reactions to it. I asked a couple of them what it was about the story that they loved, and I got about seven replies saying that it was the opening paragraph that drew them in and made them read on. I was pleased, because I'd worked on that paragraph for over a month. It is as follows:

"Spring is and always has been my least favorite time of the year. Sure, everyone loves the smell of fresh rain and the brilliant bursts of floral color exploding to the left and right, but I find no joy in it. In the greasy skies of March lurk creatures of great power. They're several miles wide, several miles tall, and they kill without impunity."

The story is about a woman who nearly dies when she and her therapist attempt to face her fear of thunderstorms head-on. I beamed with pleasure when I read the return crits on the first half of the story, as well as requests to the group's moderator to post the second half early (because they're dying to know what happens next).

This is a good thing, when people are clamoring to read the rest of your story. And the secret to drawing them in is a good opening line or paragraph. I've never been good at writing the ever-elusive One Line Hook. For instance, I'm already arguing with someone over my use of the word 'impunity' above. It was the closest thing I could find that described what I wanted to say - which was, basically, that the 'beasts' later described in the story kill without feeling it. In other words, they kill, not as a 'punishment,' but because they simply 'do.' I still think my word works, but rather than explaining it to everyone who reads the story, I'll try to find something better. The One Line Hook, because it must be a 'loaded' sentence, is very hard to pull off. Most 'average' writers usually settle for a paragraph to hook the reader.

The more famous one-line openers are:

'Call me Ishmael.'
'It was the best of times and the worst of times.'
'It ain't the heat, it's the humility.'

It's hard to come up with something so brilliant as each of the lines above, but writers do it every day. I can come up with a smashing 'last line' with no problem. In "The Rose and the Dandelion,' my main character, Jason, speaks Spanish for the first time in his life when he's forced to say goodbye to his long-time crush (or rather, obsession) Rosa Gutierrez: 'Te quiero, mi tula Rosa.'

In the above case (you'd have to read the last few paragraphs to understand the context), the line is simple and it just works, period. Where do the really great writers come up with them? In dreams? Or does the perfect line just 'pop in there,' unbidden? My guess is that the perfect opening line comes after many weeks of careful consideration over the effect of each and every word in the sentence. It's like pulling Scrabble tiles, except there's an entire word on each piece, and you have to sit there and think about the impact of each and every tile you use when composing that first, ultra-important sentence.

No, writing is not easy, period. Plenty of people have opened up a cheap paperback (or even a not-so-cheap hardback) and upon finishing it, they think, "Hell, even I could write something better than this crap." Well, sorry to say, even the crappy books held some sort of merit to an editor or publisher somewhere. Sometimes I wonder just how lousy the books they rejected were. I run into amateur, beginning writers on the Net all the time. I read their stories and critique them several times a week, and after a while, I get tired of seeing the same old dumb mistakes. But then, I catch myself, remembering how crappy I wrote in the beginning, back when I thought I could write a better novel than the cheesy ones I'd bought of the bookshelf at B&N.

The hardest part, I think, of writing a story or a novel is that first line or paragraph. You want to set the scene for the reader, make them see right away what's going and make them ask questions about what they're 'seeing' in their mind's eye, and make them care enough to keep reading. Simply describing a bunch of stuff isn't good enough, not anymore. Tolkien could get away with his liberal doses of description, but not these days. He'd get rejected for being too wordy. No, a writer needs to find just the right balance of scene and description that draws the reader in and holds them, without dumping too much information at once.

A line from one of my short stories, 'Dirty Red,' starts off with:

'Dirty Red stepped off the bus, carrying a satchel under her arm and a switchblade tucked into her thigh-high boot.'

That's the closest I've ever come to a one-line hook. No, it's not great, but it does make the reader interested in this girl, who in the very next line, is revealed as a would-be murderess in search of her father, a known pedophile. I remember the reviews I got on that story very well. Some thought it was too short and could have been developed further (no one believed a 17 yr old girl would want to murder a full-grown man), and others hated it because it 'challenged their comfort zones' - whatever the hell that means.

Let it be said that no writer can please everyone. There will always be someone out there that hates what you write. Your goal (as well as mine) is to make at least some readers happy. Ultimately the only person you can really make happy with your writing is yourself. Get that part right, and all else will follow.

Writing to Pass the Time...

Well, now that I've just started novel number seven (in a series of unfinished works), I'm trying to stay focused and FINISH SOMETHING!

Part of the problem is that I've been getting distracted too easily. So much stuff has come up in the last few weeks that I just can't keep my head clear of crap.

Okay, so here's what I've accomplished in the last month (or so):

1. I'm five chapters into 'Fly Girl' - the mystery that I'd earmarked for the Sarah Ann Freed Mystery Novel Contest. Deadline is July 1st, so kiss that one bye-bye. I'll still write the novel, though, just to see if I can do it.

2. I've outlined and built a synopsis for 'Daughter Jones,' my historical mystery/romance, set in 1830's West Virginia. *Problem with this one is that I don't know how I want to open the first scene. Right now, I'm about to flip a coin to choose between two completely different scenarios.

3. 'Screamer's Club' is dead in the water. I liked my original formula, but my critique group all agreed that the plot is too far-fetched and readers won't buy into it. I may return to it some time down the road, if a good idea on how to make the plot more plausible occurs to me.

4. 'The Rose and the Dandelion' (my mainstream fiction 180,000-word epic) is just three chapters from completion. I'll need to do some serious chopping on this one, though - far too long.

5. 'Cold January Mourning' is completed and in the editing stage. *Problem with this one is that it's also way too long (130,000 words), so I'm considering cutting an entire subplot.

6. I've completed nine more short stories, one of which I'm planning to submit to the Atlantic Monthly Journal (ha, ha).

So that's about it. I've been piddling, mostly, but I'd like to at least wrap up 'Cold January Mourning' and get it packaged & sent off sometime in the next two months. Don't know if that will happen, though. I really WANT to finish 'The Rose and the Dandelion,' but I can't see that happening anytime soon, either.

Someone from a crit board I belonged to challenged me to a novel-writing contest (of sorts). I bragged a while back that I had written a complete 90,000 word novel in two weeks (which I did), and that person didn't believe me and dared me to write another. So, not willing to let a thrown gauntlet lie, I took up the challenge, which is to begin on July 1st and ending on July 14th. I have to post the entire document online by that date, using a rather unique prompt that will be given to me on the morning of July 1st. I can do it, no sweat. 90,000 words in two weeks isn't shit to me. I write 7,500 words a day while just messing around.

The prize? I get futher bragging rights, which I will take full advantage of when the time comes. The novel doesn't have to be polish-perfect on July 14th, just written in a generally cohesive manner. I can even do better than that - I can write a 90K-worder AND have it be cohesive in plot. There might be some typos, but the writing will be right.

Anyhoo, I'm geting ready to go on vacation this week and I swear before God that I will finish either CJM or R&D by the following week. I've been sitting on my laurels for far too long since my last rejection letter (yes, I was a little burnt by that one).

Well, that's it for now.

Writing on....
Jillian

I Need to Write a Mystery Novel in 60 Days or Less...

It can't be done. I've tried.

I'm flailing about, trying to find something I can package up and send in for a mystery novel contest, the deadline for which is the first of July. I began writing two different novels from scratch when I first discovered the contest back in March. However, those turned out to be pure crap because they don't have a solid hook or storyline.

So, what it's come down to is this:

If I want to enter that contest, I'm going to have to clean up 'Cold January Mourning' and edit the hell out of it. The biggest problem is that the novel was one I wrote back in '99, when I had a lot of spare time on my hands. It also measures about 180,000 words, which I'll need to cut literally in half.

Sounds easy at first, doesn't it? Trust me, it's not. I love every single one of those chapters, but as they say, I'll need to 'kill my darlings.' I admit, there are a few chapters that are unnecessary tangents to the main plot, and are there simply for reasons of character development. I could cut at least six or seven of those. I could also eliminate one entire sub-plot involving the accused murderess. Heck, that would cut at least 30,000 words right there. Actually, I thought of doing that before, but wasn't quite sure if I really wanted to do it. And there will be a great deal of rewriting in order to condense the book down, which will involve checking my 'clues' and 'red herrings' just to make sure I don't have unexplained events or loose ends.

Well, there's about 60 days left until the deadline, and I'll need at least a week of that for formatting the MS to the standard double-spaced 250 words per page, in Courier type. Blecchh... as a graphics designer, I despise Courier type.

That decided, I guess I'll be spending the next two months carving up my novel. I also need to double-check my research on the exact duties of S.L.E.D. agents (South Carolina Law Enforcement Division - their state police). Stupidly, I put a S.L.E.D. agent in the story and now I need him to make the plot work. In a nutshell, I have to get the nitty gritties on his job right, or else I'll look like an idiot to anyone from S.L.E.D. who happens to glance at the book (should it be published).

Getting information out of S.L.E.D. hasn't been easy - every agent I wrote to with questions about their procedures has turned me down flat. Had I been a published author like Patricia Cornwell or others of her ilk, a few doors might have been opened. Right now, the ones I've briefly talked to think I'm a sleazy reporter trying to dig up dirt on their agency. (I'm sure there's dirt there - a S.L.E.D. agent almost ran me off the road back in '93 when he was pursuing another vehicle on the freeway that runs from Charlotte to Myrtle Beach. He gave me the finger as he flew past - and my husband freaked when I gave it right back to the guy).

Anyhow, that aside, if I can't come up with any more info on S.L.E.D., I'll change my agent into a local cop. I didn't want to do that, because I like the 'mystique' of using a relatively unknown state agency that is reminiscent of the Las Vegas 'Nasty Boys.' They're both 'gunslinger-type' state police organizations that target narcotics. (I've seen the Nasty Boys at work, too, when I lived on Flamingo Road in LV, back in the mid 80's. They definitely live up to their name. But, that's another story for another time).

But, I suppose CJM could live without S.L.E.D., if it had to.

So, it appears that if I want to enter that contest, where the prize is ten grand plus a publishing contract, I've got about a month and a half to edit CJM and get it in the mail.

More Rants On Not Being Published Yet...

Why the urgency?

I'm turning 37 in May, and I'm drawing nigh to my 'get published by the age of 40' self-imposed deadline. I don't know if that's realistic or not, because I know a couple of published authors who didn't sell anything until they hit their sixties. I don't know if I'll even live that long, so I need to get on the ball. Besides, if I sell a novel, I want to still be young enough to enjoy the notoriety of it, not to mention the money. I'm tired of going to my online writing club sites and still be the 'outsider' because I haven't published anything significant.

Well, let me take that back. I really don't give a shit about what 'they' think.

I desperately wanted to be in that exclusive 'published author's club.' But, as time went on, I realized it was just a clique of self-published writers. There are maybe two people on the entire site in question that have published with big houses.

One guy, who hangs around on the site, has a blog that states (paraphrased): 'Anyone who tries to talk about writing and hasn't published a book is just farting through their larynx. Get it published, and then you can speak.'

That pretty much says it all.

I don't want to be published just for the 'privilege' of being part of some clique of has-been or mid-list writers. (Many of them have only published one book, period and never sold another). No, what I want is a steady writing career, where I can stay home and pound away on the keyboard to my heart's content and ACTUALLY MAKE MONEY AT IT.

A pipe dream? Maybe, but that's my goal.

In Stephen King's 'On Writing,' he mentions that a writer, in order to be successful, must have not only good writing skills, but talent as well. People have told me that I have talent, it's just the writing skills that I need to get right. One of the two big-selling published authors that I'm acquainted with told me once, "It's not as hard as people think it is to get published. All you have to do is write a story that people will want to read, and it will sell."

Well, still, even if you have the best story in the world, if it's not written right, then you won't be able to sell it anyway.

To me, getting published is like trying to get into an exclusive dance club. The building looks big and flashy, and the door into it is rather small. Outside that door is a big guy named Bubba who checks the people waiting in line to get in. If Bubba likes your book, he gives you a pass. Problem is, Bubba doesn't like that many books. Bubba's ignorant, too. He'll reject a book if it's not formatted exactly the way the club likes, or even if everything's perfect and the only misspelled word is Bubba's name, he'll tell you to hit the bricks. Bottom line: Make Bubba happy and you're in.

I've heard many an unpublished writer cry and whine about submitting manuscripts only to have them rejected countless times. In their view, the publishing industry is deliberately overlooking them for some unknown reason and no one is willing to recognize the given writer's 'genius.' They're convinced that there are worse books out there that got published, and their MS is ten times better than those, so what's the problem?

Problem is that even those so-called 'sucky' books were ones that editors liked.

I had the opportunity on several occasions to look at chapters written by these struggling writers. In each and every case, I could tell why the rejections came after reading the first few paragraphs.

What I saw wrong:

1. No 'Hook' in the opening paragraphs. There's nothing to grab the reader, capture their interest and force them to read on to see what happens next.

2. Some opening paragraphs began with dialogue in the opening sentence, and the reader is introduced to a conversation as though they've just walked into a room and they're forced to try and figure out what the hell the characters are talking about. Some people think this approach is 'beginning right in the middle of the action.' Problem is, it's not activity - it's dialogue.

3. The hook's there, but the buildup's too slow. We're shown a main character, and there's a problem presented. Trouble is, the main character just goes through their daily routine, unaware that there's a problem and the problem isn't even recognized and dealt with until three or four chapters down the road. In other words - there's no tension.

4. The dialogue feels stilted and is boring to read. I've seen so many instances of this that I just don't get it. Normal, everyday conversation just isn't interesting to the reader. Every line of dialogue needs to convey information that does one (or both) of two things: Further the plot with information, or create tension.

5. The writer describes every action that the main character does. The euphemism for this is called, 'One Potato, Two Potato.' Essentially, a character is shown doing things like: 'Pat sets the pot of water on the stove to boil. He turns up the heat and grabs the bag of potatoes. He picks up a potato, peels it carefully. That potato is cut up, dropped into the water and he grabs another." And so on. There's no emotion conveyed within the action, and the action itself doesn't further the plot. Not only that - it's boring.

6. A ton of background narrative. In other words, the trend with new writers these days is to open a scene in omniscient POV, lay a bunch of background info on the reader rather than weaving it in between the action as they go. I think this comes from watching too many movies and TV shows. In movies, the POV is always omniscient, as there's no way to get into a character's head unless there's a voice-over reading their thoughts aloud. Instead, we're shown scenes like the MC standing in the kitchen, tossing dishes against a wall, enjoying the satisfying crunch of glass. You can't really do that in a book written in 3rd person limited POV. In a book, the reader will want to listen in on the thoughts of the individual doing the dish-tossing. Their immediate question would be: 'Okay, why is she breaking all of her dishes?' The bottom line here is that books are NOT movie scripts. So, new writers try to compensate for that by offering big blocks of 'telling' narrative that is supposed to orient the reader as to what led up to why the character tossed dishes against the wall. Thing is, that's the story. Show the dish-tossing, then explain it as you go. With everything explained in past-perfect in the beginning of the novel, why finish reading the book?

These are but a few of things I see when reading stuff by other new writers. I've been studying writing since 1999, and I've learned quite a bit along the way. I rarely get called on basic writing mistakes any more. What I do get called on is a weak story line, or putting 'wooden' characters out there that readers don't care about. I'm learning to fix that, too.

Someone once said about writing fiction: 'The first million words by any unpublished writer are pure garbage. Once you've got past that first million, then you might have something worth reading.'

I took a literal and total head-count of words that I've written for fiction. Counting all of my short stories, completed and incomplete novels, I've got about 850,000 words down. Looking at it that way, I'm pretty close to knowing how the hell to write.

At times, my 'inner critic' gets to me. I hear that little voice saying, "This story is stupid and no one will want to read it." Or I'll hear this: "Yeah, you can string together a few grammatically correct paragraphs, but you'll never be able to draw the reader into the scene. Why? Because you lack TALENT."

I've told stories since I was old enough to talk. I played mind-movies in my head to take my mind off of my loneliness as a teen. I think in scenes rather than just hearing my brain-voice talk. I've seen incredible countries in my mind that I'd love to show other people. The hard part is trying to figure out how to get those visions out of my head and onto paper. I don't really know if I'm talented or not, but I love stories. I must love it, or I wouldn't bother doing it.

Well, for now, my goal is to get a novel sent off to that mystery contest. Hopefully, they'll like it enough to offer me an advance and a contract. Whether that happens or not remains to be seen. I can't lose anything except postage for trying. I honestly believe what my published author acquaintance told me:

If you write a good story that people WANT TO READ, then it will sell.

Thought for the Day:

Writing Halfway Decent Short Stories

Omigod, I actually wrote one of these. I posted a story written from this goofy prompt that was posted in Critical Writing as a challenge, and I made the stupid thing work!

Yayyy, for me!

I think I've discovered the difference between writing a readable short story and writing a synopsis for a novel (which is what a lot of my short stories sound like to others that read them). The trick was to pick one event, one character, a theme that applied only to that situation and then let it play itself out, ending with an epiphany of some sort for the main character.

Well, my ending on that particular story sort of sucked, and the only complaints I received on the story itself was that the MC acted 'out of character' at the end. I could fix that, with a few hundred more words. I can't write a 1,500 word short to save my ass, though. The bare minimum that I could squeeze a believable main character and plot into is 2,800 words. That's the shortest so far, on my record.

The craze these days on crit boards seems to be Flash Fiction, where you write a piece in a thousand words or less and have it actually entertain the reader. Better flash-fic is when you can cram it into 500 words or less. That is damned nigh impossible for me. I just can't do it. Writing a decent short has always eluded me because I didn't understand the difference between a short story and a novel.

How I figured it out:

The light finally came on, not because a word limit was enforced on the crit board, but because I was given five very specific things to work with and had to use only those things. This led me to work out a basic plot in my head and then just sat down to write. I chose one event in a man's life that had to do with a street sweeper, a snow globe, and a pawn shop. With these things, along with two other constraints, like the archetype being a 'fool' and the fact that the story had to be centered around 'fear,' I chose an event and wrote about it.

It worked.

I don't know how, but it did. I normally have to outline a story before I write it, but with this one, I just shot from the hip all the way through it. I cleaned up some wayward grammar and posted the thing - and people LOVED it! Yes, there's a couple of tiny things to fix, mostly on the 'logic' side of the problem that the MC is faced with, but I spotted them as soon as I posted it. I can fix those with no problem. I'm so full of joy that I wish I had someone to share it with! (My husband, who isn't interested in anything other than fishing doesnt care to hear it).

So I'm posting it here.

There's no real 'secret' to writing a decent short story. First, you have to be able to write in a fast-paced, well-organized manner, then you have to be able to introduce a character that people will care about. You then present this character with only ONE problem, and then 'show' how he/she works their way through it, usually with a surprising twist at the end.

With a novel, the focus is usually much broader than that. You present your MC and secondary characters with one huge, grand problem, with a whole host of smaller ones. You establish a 'goal' of some sort for your main characters, and all these little things keep popping up as they go, preventing them (or trying to prevent them) from achieving what they've set out to do. I can easily think in these terms, and usually the subject matter that I pick for a story is that broad-based. But, to pick one single event, force it into a microcosm of your MC's universe and then effectively work it out, is the secret to writing a decent short.

Now that I think I've 'got it,' I'll write a few more.

Thought for the Day

Traveling Thought Theory and Story Ideas

I've been working on a new project that's based on Shadow People, the current hot topic on the paranormal message board forums. It hasn't 'really' been done before - Dean Koontz touched on the subject in his book 'Odd Thomas' and I've seen references in other fiction works here and there, but never a full novel done on it.

So, as I happily began scribbling down the outline and first chapter for my as-yet untitled novel, I then went to one of my favorite writer's web sites and found another guy writing a novel on the same damn subject! It was so close to my story's premise that it gave me the chills. I sent him a note that cursed him for being psychic. Not only that, his story was better written than mine. He gave his shadow people distinct 'personalities' while mine were little more than mysterious dark wisps that take human form.

So, how do ideas spread so damn quickly? Does thought travel?

How do some people seem to get a grip on a story idea that you thought you had first dibs on?

Something weird's going on.

I still have a unique angle on shadow people that he's not using, and it's so top-secret that I won't mention it here (if by the incredibly slim chance that someone actually reads these things). I KNOW that no one else is currently using my angle. I know because I searched the topic on the net, and maybe only five sites turned up that even mentioned it. It's brand-spanking new and it's all MINE.

I began work on the first draft yesterday while going camping near Marble Canyon with some Native American friends of mine. I brought 'Precious' (my laptop) and while everyone hiked, fished and generally enjoyed themselves by the river, I sat on a lonely, isolated clifftop and banged out the first chapter to the aforementioned novel. I typed until my battery went dead, which was just under three hours. Just being out there in the middle of nowhere, with the peaceful Vermilion Cliffs to look at, I found that my head cleared and I was able to write effectively.

Little did I know, as I blew through that first chapter, a guy in his twenties, living somewhere in Vancouver, B.C. typed his own first chapter. He posted his online for critique, where I saw it this evening. After I gasped and nearly fainted from deja vu, I recovered and then told him I was working on a similar story and wanted to know where his was going so that we didn't write twin novels. He gave me a couple of hints, and they're very similar in plot, so I'm changing the focus of mine and the shadowpeople will be a 'side effect' of something else that's going on in the story.

The above begs the question: how the HELL does this happen?

My dear, departed Dad once told me that he believed thoughts can travel. A very metaphysically-minded person, he surmised that whether we're aware of it or not, human minds are tuned into basically the same wavelength, like a sort of 'hive-mind.' This was what he attributed to the fact that technological advances seem to occur simultaneously in two separate countries at the same time, despite secrecy and extreme steps taken to protect the 'idea.' For instance, while Henry Ford was building the first automobile assembly line, the French were beta-testing their first assembly line across the Pond. Ford beat them to the finish line, though, and he won credit for doing it 'first.'

Was Dad (that old, crusty hippie) right?

I didn't buy it when he explained it to me all those years ago, but I'm beginning to now, especially after seeing Proudfoot's first chapter.

Maybe I should put foil over my head (like the kids and their uncle did in 'Signs') just to block out the 'hive-mind' and keep people from plucking my story ideas out of thin air.

I'm being sarcastic, of course.

Or am I?

Thought for the Day

Procrastination



Yes, I'm guilty.

I've been avoiding any serious writing work for days on end.

How do I get out of this funk I'm in? And it ain't too funky, neither.

There's many different reasons for it: writer's block, tiredness, headache, not to mention staring at a computer at work for eight hours and then not wanting to stare at one even more once I get home. Focusing on what I want to do is another problem.

Focus, or lack thereof, is something I've been really struggling with lately. Being an ADD (attention deficit disorder) person, I have trouble with it anyway. Lately, though, it's been very hard to get my head together long enough to concentrate on writing stories.

Today, while at lunch with my coworker (and supposed boss), the subject of 'what Jill's been up to lately' came up, and I mentioned my writing. There are undercurrents in the usual river of office politics these days, and I am being very careful with what I say and do as a result.

She asked the question: " So Jill, would you ever like to just quit doing your job and do nothing but sit down and write for as long as you'd like?"

Of course I replied, "Yes." But then I followed that with, "But I have to eat and pay bills, too."

She (my boss/coworker) went to ask me about what sort of writing projects I'm working on, etc. The whole conversation felt like she was 'fishing' for something. Fishing for what, I have no idea. Maybe she's got plans to have me fired, and wants to have some sort of 'peace of mind' after doing so. I'm a threat to her authority, and we both know it. But what does my writing have to do with anything?

Maybe she finds comfort in the idea that I would be then 'free' to do as I wanted without the overtaxing responsibility that my job brings. I literally run a newspaper, at least in the background. There isn't one aspect of the newspaper biz that I don't have my sticky little fingers in, and I've had almost a decade to spread those tendrils far and wide. I'm on a first-name basis with all the big-wigs from Corporate, and on their last site visit, I was the one and only person that they shook hands with. Little ol' me.

The tension is rising at work, and I feel like I'm in a battle for my professional life. Certain people are working very hard to make my job more difficult, and this past Monday, I totally f*cked up. I lost $600.00 worth of advertising for the company, all due to a computer glitch. Of course, 'she' was there to tell me, 'Don't worry about it. Six hundred dollars is small potatoes. And besides, it isn't like you make these sort of mistakes all the time.'

Yeah, that really helps. I'm a perfectionist, and any error is absolutely intolerable. She knows this, so her comment carried the effect of her sticking a knife in between my ribs and twisting it.

So that's what has been on my mind for the last few days. Whisperings that they're trying to find someone to replace me, or else make my position redundant so that they can cut me loose - just to save a couple of bucks on the hour. Sure, I'm to the point where I hate my job, but only because people I work with are making it that way. I don't need to hear the bullsh*t, the back-biting and the snide little comments. I just want to go to work and do my damned job.

Still, the thought of walking away from it and concentrating on my writing alone is intriguing. I just financed a brand new Jeep Grand Cherokee, though, and I can't afford to quit now.

So, with these worries on my brain, I can't focus long enough to write anything decent. I've been fighting with my husband on a daily basis as well. He doesn't like it when I sit down to write, because he has to be the center of attention all the time. He's actually jealous of my laptop computer. Yet, he's the one who bought it for me. Go figure...

Thankfully, tomorrow's Saturday and everyone that's been stuffing their crap into the forefront of my mind will be out of the picture for a few hours, anyway. Maybe I might get something done.

If I'm not too tired, that is.

Thought for the Day

Tossing Stories to the Wind


The story in the previous post, 'Sacrificial Lamb,' received decent reviews for the most part. Problems that were pointed out had to do with the mother choosing to hide rather than facing up to her ex-boyfriend, Bruce. But, that's what the story was about.

When I try to write a story that people can 'understand,' I end up with boring, unreadable crap. But, when I tried to push the boundaries a bit, what I write comes off as unbelievable. Oddly enough, the female responders on the crit boards loved it and seemed to understand what I was trying to do with the story. Male readers, on the other hand, found it suspenseful, but totally unbelievable. One guy suggested that I make Annie an alcoholic or a crack addict, which would go a long way to explaining her behavior. I guess the world STILL isn't ready yet for stories based on Battered Woman syndrome.

Oh well. Can't win 'em all.

There's a contest I found recently that's offering a $10,000 prize and a book contract (plus royalties) to the winner. Basically, they want mysteries - all sorts of them. The best one gets published and a possible deal to publish more books after that, if it's well-received. I'm going to dust off 'Cold January Mourning' and send it in. The requirements are that you must have never been published before (which I can adhere to quite nicely), and it has to be a definite mystery genre novel. I'm also thinking of sending in 'Daughter Jones,' which is a mystery set in the early 1800's, and it might do, too. I didn't see anything in the rules about a limit on submissions. Maybe I'll submit under five different pseudonyms.

In the meantime, I'm writing short stories like crazy, which is nice because at least I'm writing again. For a long while there, I couldn't focus long enough to type an entire paragraph, let alone a short story. So, pretty much any story I post online is toast - no one will pay me for them if I post them on the internet. I'm tossing them into the wind, right and left. All the while, there's that damn nagging little voice that says, "You're not good enough. You'll never be good enough. Everything you write is complete crap."

Am I good enough?

I get lovely compliments from people who don't know how to write. It's the published writers I know that eat me alive. I'm even starting to get compliments from them, though. If I can please other writers, then the last hurdle is pleasing a publisher.

Publishers can live with a few errors in an MS, but they need you to have a cohesive, entertaining story. Story is what sells books, and how much money they have the potential to make is what's important. Sure, I could seriously use that ten grand from that mystery novel contest, and by God, I'm going to submit. I probably won't win, though, unless I write something so smashing that they can't put it down.

Thing is, I need a unique protagonist, an even more unique antagonist and a plot loaded with more twists and turns than a snake in a blender. I can do it, I think. I'll storyboard something tonight, and also take a good hard look at what I've already got. "Cold January Mourning" was already rejected once - for being way too long. When I submitted it, it was close to 180,000 words. It has to be roughly half that in word count. No one's going to touch a first-timer with a monster-sized MS. 85 - 90 thousand is what they're looking for. Maybe if I can cut it down and only leave the core elements to the story, they might find it worth publishing.

Then again, the deadline's July 1st of this year, and I KNOW I can bang out 90,000 words in that amount of time. I might just start a new one altogether. Hell, I can write 30,000 words in less than 2 weeks. Maybe if I blow through the first draft a la NaNoWriMo, then spend two months polishing and cutting it, I might actually have something.

Novel writing isn't easy. You have to have your manuscript literally ready to scan and print when you send it in to a publisher. This contest I'm talking about is put out by Warner Books, so it's not a cheezy, fly-by-night thing flung out there by a no-name publisher. This is the real deal. Whatever I send them has to be The Sh*t.

So, I guess it's time to quit fooling around and tossing stories to the wind. Ever since my last rejection, I've been afraid of another. Besides, this is just a contest, right?

Sacrificial Lamb

A short story by Jillian S. Clayton
2500 words


Dessa watched the tiny lizard scamper across the hot sand. When it stopped and craned its neck to look around, she touched it with a stick, and it jumped. A tinkling crash of broken glass came from the house behind her. She flinched, but didn't look - didn't dare. Bruce had come home, and he was looking for her mother. Whenever he appeared in their lives, he broke things. Last time, at their house in Tucson, he'd thrown the TV set through the window and it shattered as it rolled all the way to the curb. He'd broken her mother's jaw then, too. He was inside right now, breaking things.

Why does he keep coming back, God? Why can't he just go away and stay gone?

She asked Him questions all the time, but He never seemed to find the time to answer. She figured that sooner or later she'd wise up and quit asking.

The lizard flicked its tail and darted down into a gopher hole. She wished she could do the same.

The screen door flew open and banged against the wall, and this time, she turned to look. Bruce stood there, his fat belly hanging out from under his T-shirt, his face dark with exhaustion. Sweat dripped from his curly brown hair. He lifted his head and glared at her with hooded eyes.

"Hey, Dess, come over here," he said, and sat down on the top step of the porch. It creaked beneath his weight. "Tell me where Annie is."

Dessa shook her head and backed up a few steps. She could smell the whiskey on his breath, even though he was several feet away. "Mom's gone shopping," she lied, "she'll be back soon."

He gave her a too-wide smile and waved at her to come closer. "Okay then. Come over here and talk to your Uncle Brucie. I won't bite, I promise."

She glanced at the house and then away, hoping he didn't notice. Somewhere beneath it, her mother hid in a crawlspace with the snakes and spiders. Dessa knew that her mother wouldn't come out, even if one of the nasty things crawled across her and sank its fangs. Bruce hurt her real bad last time he'd shown up. Dessa felt the cold burn of hatred at the memory of Mom's face when she'd come home from the hospital. There were still scars.

Maybe this time, if the two of them kept their cool, he'd get bored and leave. So far, he'd never laid a hand on Dessa. She hoped that he wouldn't this time, either.

She stepped forward, taking her time and taking care to keep her face blank. When she drew in close to the porch, his arm snaked out and his grimy hand closed around her wrist.

"So, how have you been?" He pulled her to him and squeezed her tight. She fought the urge to struggle. His armpits were warm and wet. Holding her breath, she focused on his new blue Ford pickup and wished he'd climb into it and hit the road. She found herself wishing for a lot of things lately.

Too bad God doesn't pay attention to wishes.

"Ain't you gonna answer me?" His ugly, gap-toothed grin disappeared and he released her from the bear hug, but held on to her arm. "It's not good to disrespect your elders."

"I'm not being disrespectful," she said, keeping her voice even.

He jerked her arm and a bolt of pain shot through her shoulder. There was a first time for everything. "So, what does Annie need from the store so badly that she'd leave a runt like you home by yourself?"

Dessa winced at the blossoming pain. "Just groceries and stuff. It-it's my birthday tomorrow and she was gonna get me a present. I couldn't go because she didn't want me to see it." Out of the corner
of her eye, she saw Mrs. Garcia from the house across the way step out onto her porch and stare at them for a moment.

Bruce noticed her, too. "What the f**k are you lookin' at? Can't a man talk to his kid in peace?"

I ain't your damn kid. She tried to twist out of his grip. He held firm.

The old woman frowned and went back inside, murmuring to herself. The screen door snapped shut behind her. Somewhere inside Mrs. Garcia's house, her pet Chihuahua barked its head off.

"That's what I thought," he said and returned his attention to Dessa. "It's your birthday, huh? How old are you gonna be?" His fingers sank into her arm.

"Twelve," she said. It wasn't that much of a stretch. Her birthday had come and gone three weeks ago. "Mom said she's getting me a nice present."

"Uh-huh." Bruce didn't seem to be buying it. But then he let her go and stood up, brushing the dust from his grimy jeans. "I'm going to find some place around here that'll sell me a drink. Maybe I'll check out the grocery stores, too, while I'm at it. Tell Annie I'll be back."

She nodded and felt her chin quiver. He winked at her and lumbered off toward his truck. With a sigh of relief, she watched him climb in and take off down the rutted dirt road, tires kicking up plumes of dust.

Before long, she heard the whisper of footsteps in the sand. Dessa turned and looked up at her mother. "He's gone."

Her mother put hand to her own hollow, tanned cheek; her long thin fingers traced a ghost of a scar there. "I'm sorry, Pumpkin," she said, her voice ragged with tears. "I hated to do this to you, but if we'd both have crawled under the house, he'd have just kept
looking until he found us."

"I know, Mom," she replied. Her shoulder throbbed. "But he's coming back. You heard him. We have to make him go away for good this time."

"I'll think of something, don't worry."

****

Annie paced back and forth by the kitchen window. The sun dipped low on the horizon, painting the sky in bold slashes of orange and red. She paused to lower the blind and turned to look at Dessa. Her daughter sat perfectly still beside the kitchen table, studying a rip in the stained linoleum floor.

"Look," she said, after a few moments of silence passed, "here's what we're gonna do. If he stays gone 'til full dark, then we can hike into town without him seeing us. I wish I had a car, but I don't. We'll be okay though, as long as we follow the service road."

"But Mom, the rattlesnakes come out after dark." Dessa's face paled.

A headache began to brew in the back of Annie's skull. They had no
choice. Dessa would have to do as she was told, and no arguing this time. "I've got eighty dollars. That's enough to get us a bus ticket out of this hell-pit and on to California. You'd like California, Pumpkin. Lots of white sandy beaches, fresh air and plenty of nice people. Arizona hasn't been very good to us, you know that."

Dessa groaned and buried her face in her hands. "When do we stop running?"

"Today," Annie said, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt. She went to Dessa and ruffled her daughter's short blond hair. "When we get on that bus, it will be for the last time. I promise." She winced at the sound of her own words. How many times had she said `I promise?' No matter where they went, Bruce always found them and they always had to leave. Annie had been forced to break more promises than she could count. "Go pack your things. One bag only. Get a move on."

When Dessa stomped off to the bedroom, Annie leaned against the kitchen sink and splashed cool water into her face. It felt like it was on fire, and she guessed she was running another fever. Drying herself off with a paper towel, she took one last look around the room.

A few plastic plates sat in the dish drainer, and the battered refrigerator hummed, empty as Mother Hubbard's cupboard. For a moment, the gray walls seemed to ripple and recede. She reached for the countertop to steady herself.

Annie couldn't believe they had to leave yet another place that they'd tried to make their own. Sure, the house was a mouse ridden *beep* hole, but it was theirs. Maybe she could still make the payments to Mrs. Garcia once they reached Los Angeles. Maybe one day, if she survived her illness, they could come back, long after Bruce had forgotten all about them. It was a stupid, long-shot of a wish, but it served to keep her grief at bay. She tossed the crumpled paper towel into the trash can and went to grab some clothes, her photo album and a few other things light enough to carry.

Dessa tossed her pink duffel bag onto the couch and sat down beside it. "It's getting dark," she said.

Annie nodded and went to the window. She pushed up a slat on the mini-blind and peered out into the purple haze of evening. Off in the west, beyond the jagged spine of the Superstition Mountains, brief flashes of lightning lit up the sky. Her gaze went from there to the empty road beyond Mrs. Garcia's squat blue trailer and found a set of rapidly approaching headlights.

"Sh*t. He's coming," she said. "Let's go. Now!"

Dessa stood, shoved her hands into her pockets and refused to move."Go hide in the crawlspace, Mom. He won't think to look there. I'll tell him you're not back yet."

"No! You can't, Pumpkin. He won't believe you," Annie said. Panic rushed through her. Grabbing her daughter's arm, Annie tried to pull her towards the kitchen door. Dessa cried out and snatched her arm away.

"Go on and hide. I'll tell him you're not here!"

Annie recoiled at the hard, defiant glare in her daughter's eyes. It reminded her a lot of...of Bruce.

"I'll be right outside. If he tries anything, you run. Hear me? You run." She backed away and then turned at the sound of truck tires plowing through the sand outside. She shook her head. "It's too late now."

"Just go," Dessa said, tears brimming. "God will look after us."

Annie sobbed and dashed to the bedroom, pushed open the window and climbed out into the quiet desert night. Dropping to her knees, she felt around for the opening into the crawlspace. For a moment, she paused, remembering her bag of clothes on the bed.

Why not just put up a big, arrow-shaped sign saying 'she went thataway.'

She got up and hurried back to the window. Inside, she saw Dessa bending to shove the bag under Annie's bed. The house shook as Bruce beat on the front door. Her daughter hurried away to the front of the house to answer the door. Annie ducked and went back to the loose piece of wooden siding that hid the way into the crawlspace. Lifting it aside, she wedged herself into the hole under the house. Warm sand grated her knees and forearms and the smell of musty wood crept intoher nose. Above her, the floor thudded as Bruce entered the house.

She braced her feet against a mound of sandy dirt beside the flap. If Bruce poked his head in, she might be able to buy a couple seconds if she kicked some dust into his face. With each passing second, she hated herself more and more.

If Bruce hurts her, I'll... She closed her eyes.

I will what? I'm too sick and weak. There's not a damn thing I could do.

An inner voice - her former, non-sick self, maybe - spoke up in reply. You could stand up to him. Call the police. Do something!

Been there, tried that, and it didn’t work. Besides, I've got cancer, she thought back, arguing with it. I can't fight it or Bruce anymore. I'm so very tired...

Sure, that's a good excuse. Poor, poor Annie... More excuses than guts.

Another voice - Bruce's - filled the house. She could hear him clearly through the floorboards. "Bullsh*t! I know she's here. Where is she?"

Dessa's frail reply came. "She's not back yet. Maybe we'd better call the police so they can look for her."

God, don't say that, Dessa, Annie pleaded. A few seconds of silence passed.

"Quit playing games, Kid. Where's Annie?" His footsteps thundered overhead. He was in the bedroom. Did she forget to close the window? Her mind raced, trying to remember.

"She's gotta be outside somewhere," Bruce said. His footsteps receded as he apparently headed for the kitchen door that led out into their empty back yard. Dessa was wrong. Bruce wasn't stupid. Out here, in the middle of nowhere, there would be only one place to look.

Annie froze, her body so tense that her back arched. Any second now, and it will all be over. He'll do it this time. She prayed that Mrs. Garcia would get suspicious and call the Sheriff.

Too late, the voice said. By the time the Law shows up, you’ll both be dead. This is what you get for not using your brains and using Mrs. Garcia's phone.

Would Bruce really do it this time? Probably. He’d been pretty ticked off by the latest restraining order. She might as well have tried to stop a speeding freight train by stepping in front of it.

"No!" Dessa cried. She was close by, moving around outside the flap that hid the crawlspace. "You leave her alone!"

Thick fingers appeared in the crack between the boards, prying at the siding. Bruce had found Annie's hidey-hole.

She couldn't move. Hot tears spilled down her cheek and plopped into the dirt beside her head.

"You lied to me, Kid," Bruce said.

"Someone help us," Dessa screamed. "Mrs. Garcia!"

"Shut up," he roared. The fingers disappeared from the crack. A scuffle followed, and Annie rolled over on to her side, preparing to kick the siding out. Dessa screamed once, a piercing cry that drove itself into Annie's heart. Then, she heard a dull ring of something metal colliding with something soft. All fell silent.

She held still, and listened.

Nothing.

She waited a few more seconds.

...And heard a hissing scrape. Something being dragged.

Oh, God. Not Dessa. Please...

She kicked the flap open and crawled backward out of the hole. Standing up, she glanced around for Bruce and Dessa, who were nowhere to be seen. The back yard was empty. She jumped at the sound of chain link rattling and turned to see the dark shape of a jackrabbit bounding away into the darkness on the other side of the fence.

"Dessa?" She took a tentative step toward the kitchen door, and then another. When she reached it, she turned the knob and peeked inside. The house felt empty. She stepped back, afraid to enter.

What's he done to my baby?

If he's hurt her, all it's your fault, said the inner voice, sounding smug. Coward.

A low moan rose in her throat and she broke into a run, slamming through the gate that led to the front. "Dessa!"

She rounded the side of the house and stumbled when she reached the front porch. The moonless night had settled in, shrouding the yard in near-total blackness.

Two forms struggled in the shadows beside Bruce's truck. Annie gasped and reached inside the front door, her fingers scrabbling along the wall for the switch. Then, she found it. The light came on and flooded the yard.

Dessa turned to face her, a shovel in her hand. She set it against the side of the truck and wiped her hands off on her shorts, leaving dark, smudged prints behind. Blood dripped from one edge of the shovel blade. Mrs. Garcia stepped in beside Dessa and put a plump arm around her shoulders. Annie strained to see the large, dark lump on the ground, at the back end of the truck.

She felt faint and couldn't breathe. When she spoke, it was barely above a whisper. "Dessa, what have you done?"

"God only helps those who help themselves," Mrs. Garcia said, wagging a crooked brown finger at Annie. "Don't blame the child. You left her to fend for herself against that evil man, and she did."

The lump shifted, gurgled and then went quiet. Dessa's face spread into a tight, satisfied grin that chilled Annie to the bone. Nearby, a tiny lizard skittered across the pool of light in the sand.

"Bruce won't be coming back anymore, Mom," she said. "Can you help us get him into the truck? He's kinda heavy."

*****