Second Time Around

According to Polti's list there are only thirty six dramatic situtations that might occur in a story. No matter how many ways you serve it, what it boils down to is everything that can be done, has been done. And a writer needs to be original. Because every editor out there is looking for something unique & fresh. Geesh, talk about pressure.

You can think yourself silly trying.... Or you can remake an old classic.

Remember Little Red Riding Hood?

The earliest known printed version published in 1687 by Charles Perrault.
The story in its day was quite unique. A little girl is sent to visit her ailing Grandmother who lives in the woods.

A delightful tale no denying that. And, as with any written
literarture, critics speculated about the theme, many were curious as to who the author may have been referring. And it’s said that the men Charles Perrault could have been referring to were his countrymen with loose morals who partied extravagantly and associated with a certain type of beautiful women. Perhaps his intent was to educate the innocent young ladies. The untried and prevent them from making such a mistake. He's been quoted to have said ‘One must learn that pretty young lasses do wrong to listen to strangers. And a wolf can present himself obliging and gentle, even following young maids through the streets, to their doors! These gentle wolves are the most dangerous!’

Next came the brothers Grimm; clever enough to add a sequel of kind to their version of the story which they simply called the second part. In that version Red did not leave the path. And Grandmother locked the door preventing the wolf's from gaining entrance that way. But you know that sneaky old wolf, he's determined if nothing, and he climbed upon the roof. Little did he know Granny had returned a trough to a roaring fire in the chimney, full of water she'd used earlier to cook sausages in. The smell alone was enough to lure the wolf down the chimney. And he drowned!


The Brothers Grimm had storytelling uniqueness down pat, developed the spark for spinning a tale so entertaining it kept readers on edge til the very end.

Another revised edition is this colorful A LadyBird easy reading book.








This is the account I best remember. In fact, I doubt I will ever forget my mother retelling how the woodcutter saved both Little Red Riding Hood and her grandmother. He opened the wolf's belly and out they jumped, whole and unharmed. I think they even had tea afterwards.

And get a peek at what’s in her basket.

"Little Red Riding hood," replied the wolf. "I have brought you a cake and some wine."

When I read this to my grandkids they burst out giggling every time imagining the little girl with a bottle of wine in her basket.





This later version is simply titled, RED, and is a movie starring Amanda Seyfreid and Gary Oldman. Blurb: Red falls for an ophaned woodcutter and when her sister is viciously attacked and killed, villagers suspect a werewolf. As the death toll rises, Red begins to wonder if the werewolf could be someone she loves.

My, Red, how you have changed!

I almost forgot the movie 'FreeWay' starring Kiefer Sutherland and Reese Witherspoon. Hang on 'cause this is one heck of a ride; and a total remake of Red Riding Hood's journery- or to quote the back dvd box- A Retrofit trip to see her grandmother.

There may only be 36 dramatic situtations but by adding your own special blend to the plot can make for endless possibilities.

Don't forget to Tag and other key words

Don’t forget the TAG.

The other day I came across a wonderful article http://www.examiner.com/writing-careers-in-seattle/categories-key-words-and-tags-oh-my-why-should-an-author-care about the usage of tagging for our books and more importantly, our ebooks.

This information comes at a good time for me because Night Bird is scheduled to release soon. Shopping in the Kindle store or on a Nook isn’t the same as perusing a stunning array of books in a store where you could it pick up and skim through to see if you were interested. Obviously the trick to selling an ebook is guiding potential readers to your novel. How else are they going to find you?
When using an electronic reading device, you’re probably searching for a certain author name you’ve typed in, or you followed the suggestions that appear from previous purchases that send you on your way. Tagging cuts the search into smaller, doable chunks.

Like: *taken from above article:
Fiction [324,671]
Fiction–Mystery&Thriller [43,629]
Fiction—Mystery&Thriller—Mystery [9,700]
Fiction—Mystery&Thriller—Mystery—Historical [73]


Okay, so I would tag Night Bird as paranormal, because I don’t want to upset or disappoint anyone when they discover my heroine is an angel and my hero is…deceased!

Another good tag word I think I might choose is redemption. I had considered faith but again, I don’t want to give the wrong category selection and end up with an unsatisfied reader.

Some other tags I might try: sea captain, whaling & sailors.

If you've got time, I highly recommend reading the article by Jennifer Conner in Seattle Writing Careers Examiner. There’s so much excellent information for a newbie like myself that I've bookmarked the story so I can absorb it in small doses. Coming up with the right tags will most likely require practice. I’m not sure if you can fine tune a tag once it’s been submitted or not. But undoubtedly it’s a very important part of marketing that needs to be learned.

And like anything else, the more we do it, the easier it will become. (I hope.)

The day I stumbled across my captain...

Judging how quick these days fly by, I decided to jump on the tail of this banner and shout-- 22 days until Night Bird is released!

I was talking with the hero, Travis Howland, over the weekend. Nothing rattles my composure like standing on the beach with a handsome sea captain. Whoa! His presence left me more than a little shaken. Suppose someone happened by? I quickly devised an excuse of searching for sea shells and let me say I got one heck of an eye full, basket full, er, whatever, you know what I mean!

Have a peek.

Anyway, I thought it’d be nice if I shared a little bit of our conversation.


Excuse me…um, Mr. Howland. What brings you to this particular part of the world, where your story takes place?
You can call me Travis. And if you're referring to the South Pacific, my Falcon and crew followed a mighty herd of sperm whale and found the real prize to be in the Pacific. An unfathomable amount of beasts inhabiting that part of the ocean. There are some Yankee whaleships who prefer the Atlantic and a 'plum-pudding cruise,’ and are content to make due with the declining number of whales rather than attempt to sail around the Horn. By our sucessful navigating we mastered Cape Horn and relied on instinct and skill, and thus were rewarded in terms of the amount of oil we secured. But I suppose you meant how did I end up here, at Lost Isle? Having grown up on Nantucket it came as no surprise to my father when I announced my desire to pursue my fortune by supplying oil to a new Industrial Revolution. A single trip can double or triple the amount of money invested. One such voyage earned nearly $90,000!
Me: That’s quite impressive. But excuse me for saying this. You don’t exactly have any oil now, do you? I mean…I don’t see a ship or even one keg.


Travis: Bah! Yes, well. Life has a way of disrupting the best laid plans, I suppose. It’s a fact, I’m on foot at the moment. Thanks to a double-crossing business partner. But I’ve written everything down in the journals aboard my ship The Falcon, which, sorry to say, is either charred or splintered wood at the bottom of the ocean. Sadly there’s nothing left to supply even a hint of my whereabouts to my family. And I wholeheartedly presumed all was lost. I actually believed there would be no justice for me and my crew or closure for my father. But all that has changed after meeting the Night Bird.

Wow! She’s beautiful! I can see why you’re not too disappointed then. I mean, it’s probably no big incovenience to find yourself shipwrecked with someone who looks like that, huh?

Travis: I agree. Emma has made this turn of events worth all of my...um, suffering.




NIGHT BIRD

“Tell me exactly what has happened these past few days?” he said, grabbing her by the shoulders. “Explain damn you! What has become of me?”
“You have died, to put it frankly.” And then more gently, she said, “Upon the beach. I found you and…gave you a new life.”
Surely, she was toying with him. And yet, he couldn't mistake the seriousness in her voice, the unbending stance as she turned in front of the window. His mind clouded with a rush of horror. The frightening visions he'd wrestled through long, dark nights. Images so horrible even the most hardened of men couldn't conjure up.
“I remember swimming endlessly, never reaching the end. And a light that drew me closer, beckoning me. Warm and reassuring, filled me with a certainty that once I’d reached it, I’d be safe.”

He turned and leveled an accusing glare. Despite the fact he was much bigger than she and could easily toss her aside, Emma didn’t back up. He couldn’t help but admire her. She’d given up many hours, days’ she claimed, to see that he had the time he so desperately needed.
He released a weary sigh and acknowledged the possibility that maybe what she said was true. “I thought it might be a lighthouse and followed it.”
As a seaman, he knew the conditions of the treacherous sea, the razor sharp rocks and icy cold water. Travis recalled the crashing blows he had endured as he fought against the waves, the biting sting as water filled his lungs. Even the strongest swimmer could not have survived such conditions.
In his heart he must accept that what she’d told him could very well be true. Maybe he had died upon the deserted beach. And she’d come to offer him the means to save his father. Would he be willing to follow this mysterious woman to aid his plight? Without question, he’d agree to whatever terms necessary if it meant saving his father.

Do you feel lucky?

Are you one of those people who find money in the pockets every time you do the laundry? I'm not talking change, I mean real money. Like dollars, a five, ten or even twenty. Or maybe you're a champion at Bingo? Do your friends refer to you as having a lucky streak a mile wide?
No? Me neither.

Still, chances are you've probably scratched off an instant ticket or two hoping to win an extra buck, right? I mean who hasn't? The whole idea of winning a pile of money is thrilling and for a few seconds...anything's possible.

Somebody's gonna win. Why not you? Regular people hit it big all the time. You've heard the slogan, "You can't win if you don't play."




And this past week ended with three ordinary people holding the numbers to the largest lottery jackpot in history. MegaMillions reached a staggering amount of 656 millions dollars!

Life will never the same.

Dreaming of winning the lottery is fun. Like any other daydream, the idea of actually spending that kind of money regardless whether you accumulated it from selling pet rocks or inherited a gold mine from an uncle you never knew exisited. Newly-minted multi millionaires (a title I learned only today) are made all the time. For them, the possiblities of shopping for yachts, mansions and jewels are limited only to the imagination. And let's not forget; with the cash comes power.
R-E-S-P-E-C-T. Go figure.

I did buy a lottery ticket. In fact, I bought severeal. Okay...more than I should have. But we're talking alot of money here. Greenbacks that could change my life. And the lives of my kids and their kids and their kids.

And...I didn't win. Do I feel lucky? You bet. I like my life and my simple routine. Besides, the reports are already predicting what's being called a Mega-Mess. Arguments are brewing in Maryland between the co-workers from a McDonalds and an employee who supposedly bought the winning numbers. Rumors they all pitched in to buy several lottery tickets. And afterwards she purchased her own, the ticket that won.

Other experts predict that the chances of bankruptcy are much higher for those with an unlimited line of credit. And so I have to wonder...is it possible to lose the windfall as fast as it came? Could all the splurging, buying and searching be for...what exactly? The elusive thing that will change one's life for the better? We all know money can't buy happiness. I mean the true, happy-ever-after stuff doesn't come from a store or salon or even from another person. And wealth can be a value we place upon ourselves. Our health, our home and our heart. Rich, you bet.

And dreams...well, dreams are just that. A soft, foggy feeling you experience moments before you drift off to sleep in your loved ones arms.

Lucky Seven Meme Award

The internet is such a wonderful way of connecting to people from all over the world. I've been lucky to have met some very talented ladies who fast become my friends. And I've even been awarded a few cool badges to put up. So without further ado....

Dawn Brown and Christine Warner both tagged me with the Lucky 7 Meme award!

The Lucky Seven game goes like this:

1. Flip to page 77 in your current manuscript.

2. Scroll down to line 7.

3. Copy and share the next 7 lines of that story.

4. Tag 7 friends.


So here's what's going on in my romantic suspense manuscript "Letters from Inside" on page 77.


“How about we call a truce? I’ll be nice to you, and you’ll...uh, talk nice me, deal?”
“Deal." She clasped his hand then realized her mistake; the warm calloused palm sending shivers up her arm. "You’re right about one thing," welcoming the diversion. "Normally I don’t step foot in the diner without punching in. I came over to talk with Joe about switching shifts. I want to be home in the evenings with Jessie.”
Tom nodded. “I think that’s a good idea. Especially now.”
Linda raised her brow. “Now? Is there something going on that I don’t know about?”


And since I was tagged twice, here's my second snip from "Man of her Dreams" page 77, line 7.

The taste of her mouth filled his memory, the breathless rise and fall of her chest dusted with shimmery gold powder clouded his judgement. Jay tried to forget how good her arms felt around his neck, her breasts pressed against him. Plump, perky nipples that poked into his chest. Lucky for him at least one brain cell fired, preventing an even bigger mistake than just kissing her.


Whew! That was fun. Okay. Here's the place where I'm supposed to tag seven others but I think anyone who wants to play should feel free and take a turn. Join in and post your seven!

I also recieved the simply sweet award presented from Margo Hoornstra.

Now that I have these wonderful blog awards to post on my walls, I'd better get busy. What can I say? Isn't that...sweet?



Thanks gals!

Writing when there's no time

Have you ever felt like you had so much to do and not enough time to get it all done? That’s a feeling I come up against more often than not. And although I get up at the crack of dawn, seriously, my rooster, AJ, isn’t even up yet, some days I barely stand still long enough to watch the tail lights of Jim's truck disappear down the driveway.

Usually the early morning hours are my favorite time to write. Armed with hot coffee and swaddled in my comfy old robe, I find it easy to slip into my characters without the distractions that seep in with the sunlight.

Yesterday I'd spent time reexamining the situation I’d left my characters in and discovered new ways to torture them and looked forward to writing that scene.
But with everything I've got to do today it looks as if my writing will have to wait….

Hold on a minute! My characters won’t have to dangle precariously over the cliff or stay locked for days in some steamy embrace waiting breathelessly for me to write the perfect intrusion. Because even though I have a million things to do today, I can still work on my wip (work in progress).
It doesn’t matter if I’m driving across town or home scouring the bath tub- because although there’s nothing I’d rather be doing than writing- I learned early on ‘you can’t always get what you want.’ There is the next best thing.

I can continue to write even while completing all the mundane stuff that fill up my To-Do list. Okay, I may not be able to actually sit down at my favorite writing spot right this minute, but nothing can stop my mind from thinking about the story. Do you smell the smoke? Or maybe hear the gears grinding? That's the wheels spinning in my head while plotting out more sticky bumps in the road.

I'm busy darting to and fro like a nesting bird when my cell phone rang. It was my granddaughter who asked so sweetly if I could give her friend a ride home because she'd stayed after school to work on a project and had missed the bus. How could I say no? But, let me describe how rural we live. Cable and internet won’t be in our area for Years, so a kid riding a school bus around here has an awful long ride. Like hours. Seriously. And of course this lovely child lived at the end of the road. Yep. Some ten miles of hilly and but very scenic route in good old small town USA.

Cruising along with the window down my thoughts drift...I hadn’t been over this way in years.

Why didn’t I remember how lovely it was? And really, how can one rush when you’ve got two very bubbly girls in the back seat? I'm approaching a crossroad when suddenly golden rays dropped from the sky like a halo and rest upon a forgotten landmark. The perfect general store for my novel. Tucked neatly alongside that narrow backroad that twists through grape vineyard country.

The store is exactly as I pictured Harvey's Gas & Go would be. The front porch has gray weathered plank boards. Thick rusty sign and uneven slats of crooked steps that lead up to wide double-doors with dusty glass windows. (contentment) You bet. I swear I can smell licorice from a smudged candy counter.


Writing. Here or there...or anywhere. Just do it. : )

Baggage—not the kind we take on vacation; but then again, maybe we do. And everywhere else, too.

Land ho—mates! Clear days ahead! One can hope, right?
I’m not complaining. It’s just that this weekend I lost an hour of my life and with another season quickly approaching, I paused to wonder why the draggy steps when usually I adore spring.
But there’s a nagging feeling something’s off. So…being a writer, I decided to use this blah mood to my advantage and make an article out of it.

I’ll call it Baggage. Every well developed character should have some. Maybe not traumatic enough to require white coats and meds, but characters need issues to make them believable. Behind every curtain and locked door are the events that shaped their lives. Don't hesitate to look under your character’s skin for the scars, bruises and ribbons. Because the things that make us cry, also make us care.

Let’s visit the places our characters have been. For a few moments we'll ‘walk a mile in their shoes.’

A great place to look for baggage is in biography books. I’ve discovered fascinating facts regarding some of my most beloved characters this way.


Did you know although the search for Scarlett O'Hara included many hopeful actresses, David Selznick still hadn't found her when the burning of Atlanta scene took place. He gave the signal and the set began to blaze. One guest arrived on the arm of Laurence Olivier, a vibrant, attractive Vivien Leigh. Selznick watched as the dying flames lit up the pale green eyes Margaret Mitchell had described so vividly in her novel and knew without a doubt he had found his Scarlett.

But go a little farther and uncover the juicer material. This is a great way to find traits to sprinkle on the characters in your own story. (I say sprinkle because you take a snip here and a tag there.



Suppose you need a really demented individual for a story and in searching the archives hit upon someone like Ed Gein. His outward appearance seemed as normal as any other man living in rural Wisconsin and farming in the 1950’s.

His mother, Augusta, described as a demanding and overbearing woman who, after her alcoholic husband died, suffered a stroke one year later. Confined to her bed, her shrill voice unknowingly created a monster as she repeated the phrase to her son that he could never survive without her. So often, in fact, that Ed prayed his mother would never die. And when she did...well. Gein’s arrest made headline news and snagged the attention of Alfred Hitchcock, who recognized the value of such outlandish evil and used this trait to create Norman Bates in Psycho.

Or maybe you need a different type of character. Someone gentle, tender but pretends otherwise. My favorite kind. Like Mickey Rourke who played a detective in Angel Heart.

And many other great movies. After watching him in "The Wrestler" I was compelled to dig around a little bit and learn more. This passage I found in the biography titled "Mickey Rourke- wrestling with demons" written by Sandra Monetti.
The book reveals Mickey’s parents divorced when he was boy and he would be a grown man before he saw his father again, leaving Rourke only a worn photograph of his father flexing his muscle. The two are reunited and despite the years, Mickey used every opportunity to apply the word Dad.

'“Dad, would you pass the salt?” and “Dad, shall we get another drink?” so his father would know he still thought of him “Dad.” In another emotional moment, he touched his dad’s upper arm just like he used to do when he was a kid- but this time there was no muscle there, the skin was just soft. Mickey felt his stomach lurch. He couldn’t believe this was the same powerfully built man whose picture he had been carrying around for the last seventeen years.'



Can you feel the sadness and disappointment? The baggage left over from empty promises, missed birthdays and lonely weekends without a father’s love and approval. It adds a whole other dimension to the person I didn’t know before. * Notice I dropped the word character and added the word person. Because now he’s become more than a character, but a real person. And of course, although he is, (real, rather than fictitious) when we build our story characters, the moment they start to feel and act like real people is the greatest feeling. When it happens, you know you’re on.


Let's mix this up a bit. Snip and add. Our character is a young girl whose family has split but her father comes every Saturday for the first two years. He gives her a watch so she can count the time until his next visit. Abruptly weekends pass and he doesn't show. No word or explanation. Just gone. Now lets up the ante. Secretly, the mom is jealous of all the attention lavished on the child and sells the watch, claiming they need the money for bills. Taking from the child the last remaining tie.
This is what transpires....

The man I always longed for
was difficult to find.
I searched for him high and low, and found him drunk on wine.
He looked at me through blurry eyes and tearfully he said, "I hate for you to see me, darlin'. I wish that I were dead."
The mattress that he lay upon was matted down and gray. I reached for rags and covered him. And then he passed away.
I kissed his dirty whiskered face. And held his wrinkled hand.
He was the one that I loved most. My father was the man.

Baggage. It's what characters are made of. Have fun with it!