Bringing the Dead to Life

Pictured above: The working images I've chosen for Trevor, Johannah, and Leah.
Fellow writer and good friend Ramona K. Cecil suggests that fiction writers "interview" their protagonists and principal characters before beginning a new manuscript. I wish that I had done that with Camie in Up the Rutted Road, but instead I got to know her the hard way: word by page by chapter by triumph by danger.

The Second Cellar will be different. Though I've written 104 pages, I've learned so much during the revision of Rutted Road that I know I must begin again. But first, I'm taking Ramona's advice; I've interviewing Leah, my protagonist, as well as Trevor (Leah's neighbor for the summer) and Johannah (Leah's nineteenth-century friend). I may also interview Leah's father, Byron, the English professor.

It's amazing what a writer can learn from character interviews. All right. I can hear you asking, "Since you invented the characters, don't you already know them?" No. There is much to be discovered in an interview. For example, I had no idea that Leah's middle name was Bright. Nor did I know that she went for two weeks after birth without a middle name. Until Trevor's interview, I didn't know that he and his mother lived with his paternal grandmother, Fern. Further, his father died a hero while serving in Iraq; he threw himself on a grenade to save his buddies. Who knew?

I join Ramona in advising writers to talk to your characters. Get to really know them before you write their stories. Know their back-stories, as well. Don't be shy about prying into private matters. If they blush, let them blush. If they fidget, make note of that. Once you know them, you can write about them authentically.

Scroll Down for Key Review

Be sure to scroll down this page to the July entries, where I review Eileen Key's cozy mystery Dog Gone. I read and enjoyed the book last summer.

First Manscript Finished!

How long can it take to write a first novel? Is 15 years too long? I think not, considering that the writer has to allow time spent honing her craft.

I've written most of my life. In fifth grade, I rewrote Longfellow's epic poem "Song of Hiawatha" into a play that my class presented on the radio. That was fun, and it got me out of math. Throughout my school career, I entered about every writing contest that came along and usually did fairly well. Then, after a nine-year stint as a newspaper journalist (winning a couple of awards there, too), college (English major), and ten years as a classroom teacher, I returned to my first love: writing fiction.

Originally, Up the Rutted Road was to be a picture book, but when an editor with Farrar, Straus & Giroux asked me to expand it into a middle-grade novel, I agreed. Now, I cannot imagine it as a picture book. FS&G didn't take the manuscript, but good rejection letters can be an education in themselves. I began to seriously study my craft to discover what URR needed. I also joined an excellent critique group through ACFW and continued to grow my writing. I interviewed people from the area of my setting (southeastern Kentucky), attended a major writers' conference and several smaller workshops, read books, studied on-line sources, and sought the wisdom of published writers.

Today I embark on another journey: a quest to find a publisher and/or an agent that would be a good fit. For some time now, I've been scoping out "possibles," noticing especially those who consider middle-grade novels, but now I'm looking for more.

Meanwhile, I'm also putting together a proposal. The chapter synopses are done. Now for the dreaded query letter. Fortunately, I have some excellent blog and website links right here to the left and down. Several of them address query and cover letters.

I am praying that God will lead me to the right agent and/or publisher early in my quest, since I have another manuscript waiting not so patiently in the wings.

What if I don't find either an agent or a publisher? Of course, that's a possibility. At least I have completed the manuscript and learned a lot along the way--about patience, about persistence, about writing fiction, and about how God works in our writing.

Oh, and by the way, in case you are a novice writer, Gentle Reader, please know from the beginning that the process of becoming does not end. A writer never fully arrives as long as she draws breath. We continue to read, to learn, to hone this precious gift that our Creator entrusted to us.

Awaiting Walden

Above: Walden Pond in Autumn

It was the kind of deal any writer in need of a little seclusion would jump at. The owners of the lake cabin didn't want it to sit empty through the winter, so they opened it to those in need of a get-away, a place to retreat from the daily. They sweetened the deal by not charging rent (though they would accept "sweat equity" or donations for upkeep). Since I am in the throes of a revision, I fired off an email. After a few mail volleys, I chose a five-day block from the available dates. It was a good thing I didn't immediately pack my laptop, because in one last message, Mrs. Cabinowner wrote that Mr. Cabinowner had advertised for someone to rent the cabin for six months.


Cliches become cliches because they often prove true. Such is the case with "If it sounds too good to be true, it is." At my age, one would think that I could have tempered my initial excitement, but no. I allowed myself to envision walking beside the lake, pen and Moleskine notebook in hand, furtively jotting down ideas that tumbled like dry leaves caught in a November wind. I imagined lounging beside the fireplace while my fingers flew over the keyboard of my laptop or sitting at the dining room table sipping Earl Grey, munching a bagel spread with cream cheese, and contemplating a difficult scene while watching the morning mist rise from the lakes mirror surface.

Can a person grieve the loss of something she never had? Perhaps the focus of my grief is not so much the loss of five days in a secluded lake cabin, but rather the disspation of the idea.

Dreams are, after all, ephemeral. Thank the Lord, they also proliferate quickly. While I wait for God's perfect timing, I'll crack open Walden and enjoy Thoreau's retreat vicariously.

NOTE TO MY FELLOW WRITERS: I invite you to comment about your favorite writing places.

And the Winner Is...

Thank you, writers who submitted ideas for the "Writers' Silly Contest. We're a creative bunch, indeed, and I received some very imaginative suggestions, including the following:

• A slush of writers; Natalie Bray

• Wordies; Christina Berry, who says, "Similarly to how people who help rockstars on the road are roadies, I believe we should be called wordies." (www.ashberrylane.net)

• A weavery of writers; Ane Mulligan. (http://www.noveljourney.blogspot.com)
  

• A ream of writers; Andee Davis.

• A vocabulary of writers; Ramona K. Cecil. (http://www.ramonakcecil.com/)
  

• An imagination of writers; Kathi Linz.

• A fantasy of writers; Kathi Linz.

• A brainstorm of writers; Grace Bridges.

• A block of writers; Grace Bridges.

• A warp core of sci-fi writers; Grace Bridges.

• A scriptorium of writers; Grace Bridges.

And the winner is.................................................................................

[drum roll, please]

NATALIE BRAY!

The winner was drawn by Eli, age 4, who cannot read yet.

Book Review: ISLAND OF SAINTS by Andy Andrews

Island of Saints
A Story of the One Principle That Frees the Human Spirit
by Andy Andrews

Published by: Nelson Books, a division of Thomas Nelson Publishers, Nashville, Tennessee, 2005.

239 pages

"You must read this book."

I took the book from my friend's hand. "Is it fiction or non-fiction?"

He smiled. "Read it and decide."

This is one of the most unusual books I have ever read--and one of the best. Andrews breaks many of the rules that contemporary writers are warned against. Perhaps his most serious infraction is that he head hops; that is, he shifts point of view among the paragraphs within a scene. Such a technique keeps the reader on her toes and occasionally causes her to pause. A writer would have to be very skilled to do this well, and Andrews is quite proficient at his craft. He knows the rules, and he knows how to break them skillfully, intelligently.

It is early summer as I sit at my desk and finally begin the process of sorting what I know to be true from what I merely suspect.

Thus begins the book. The first person narrator is Andrews himself. Does that indicate that the book is non-fiction? It would seem so. But wouldn't it be an interesting twist for the writer to use himself as narrator in a work of fiction? The hook is a good one. My mind began to fill with the questions Andrews intended, questions that would propel me into the meat of the story.

While World War II figures prominently in the story, it is not the central focus. The people are. Each one has his or her own set of challenges.

Helen Mason is emotionally crippled by the untimely death of her husband and her hatred toward Germany. Josef Landermann, a U-Boat sailor, washes up onto the beach and into Helen's life, bringing with him his own set of hatreds and losses. When Helen discovers him bleeding badly from two gunshot wounds and wearing a waterlogged German sailor's uniform, she is torn between walking away, leaving him to die, and helping him to her cabin, which is nearly a mile away. Ruefully, she chooses the latter. At first, she refuses even to dress his infected wounds. But neither does she turn him over to the authorities.

Eventually wounds heal, both physical and emotional. Billy and Margaret Gilbert, proprietors of The Hungry Mullet Cafe where Helen works, know a great truth about life and how it should be lived, a truth that they share with Helen. By Christmas, Helen and Josef are considering marriage. Their lives have settled into a comfortable routine.

One day, as the two leave a store after doing some gift shopping, Josef bumps into Ernst Schneider, the Nazi spy who had tried to murder Josef. He and Helen make it to her truck and out of town, but now Schneider knows that the bullets he fired into Josef's shoulder and leg had not killed him, nor had he drowned when he fell into the Gulf of Mexico from the U-Boat. Schneider determines to finish the job, killing Helen and anyone else who dares to get in his way.

Back to the original question: is it fiction or non-fiction? Read it and decide. Andrews is a master storyteller, indeed.

Book Review: DOG GONE by Eileen Key

Dog Gone
A Feather Duster Mystery
by Eileen Key

Published by: Heartsong Presents (2008), an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc.

252 pages

Dog Gone is a fun read on several levels. First, it is not about a 20-something svelte blond. Belle Blevins is a 50-something cleaning lady with a penchant for snooping. When her friend Ginnie's business, Pampered Pooch doggie hotel and spa, is in jeopardy because of a missing dog, Belle gets on the case. Her investigation leads her from the elite world of registered dog shows into the nefarious underworld of dognappers.

This cozy mystery is made all the more cozy when Belle's nephew introduces her to Franklin Jeffries, who, as a member of a kennel club, knows something about expensive show dogs. It doesn't hurt that he is tall, tan, handsome, courteous, single, and about Belle's age.

Getting personal:
Key did a great job of keeping me guessing right up to the reveal. I hated to see the book come to an end because I like Belle. In fact, I'd love to sit down with both Key and Belle over a cup of coffee and chat. Franklin Jeffries, on the other hand, is a wee bit too perfect. I think he might intimidate me a little, at least at first.

Silly Writers' Contest . . .er . . .uh . . .Make That "Writers' Silly Contest"

A group of apes is a shrewdness.
A group of barracudas is a battery.
A group of kittens is a kindle. (Be careful what you ask for this Christmas; you just might get it. Meow!)
A group of owls is a parliament.

Got the idea?

What might one call a group of writers? Please think beyond the obvious. Venture into the ridiculous.

By submitting ideas, you grant me permission to include said ideas in an entry for this blog. Names of contributors will go into the nifty little straw hat that I wear in my profile picture, and one of my precocious grandchildren will draw the winner's name. Submit several different entries and increase your chances of winning. In the case of duplicate suggestions, the first one received will be entered.

What is the prize, you ask. Since I'm pre-published, I can hardly offer you a copy of my latest best-selling novel, but I will send you a package of genuine Ticonderoga No. 2 pencils, and you can write your own. (Rumor has it that more "great American novels" have been written with Dixon's Ticonderogas than with any other pencil, and it gets top billing in Ray Bradbury's Dandelion Wine.) All entries must be received by midnight 15 July 2009. The winner will be announced right here shortly thereafter. Enter by email, with the subject line of "Silly Contest," or by commenting to this blog entry.

Mama Said Don't Stare

Mama always warned me not to stare at people, but I've gone and become a writer. Here I sit, sipping my Komodo Dragon at Starbuck's while giving every customer the thrice-over.

Who does that woman hope to impress? Why does that man attempt to hide his large bald pate with those wispy long locks? What causes the look of despair in the eyes of that pale girl with the purple hair? Is that young man as arrogant as he seems to be, or has he just had a bad day? Why is that old gal so impatient that she feels justified in belittling the barista?

It's not so much that I stare at people as that I stare at books. I see each person as a potential protagonist or antagonist in a novel. Each one is a round character, an aggregate of comedy, tragedy, romance, melodrama, and mystery. Lacking the facts--I can hardly interview each one--I draw my own conclusions, snatching clues from their dress, stance, expression, and voice.

As I try not to stare outright, I've had to devise ways of doing so without being detected. Even Mama would approve of my latest method. I am seated in the middle chair at a three-person table. Though my back is toward at least half of the coffee shop, I face a glass display case that reflects everything behind me. Voilà!

Postscript: Mama also said that it is impolite to eavesdrop. Don't you just love cell phones?

"Let Balance Rule," She Said

I enjoyed reading the comments of my fellow American Christian Fiction Writers recently regarding the usage of attribution tags. It seems that the fashion of the day disdains the word said. We should use action beats to introduce a line of dialog:

He scratched the stubble on his chin. "That dog ain't a-gonna hunt, Cloyd."

Last year, we might have written:

"That dog ain't a-gonna hunt, Cloyd," he said.

Action beats have obvious advantages. They help to develop the character or scene. In the example above, we know that the speaker doesn't shave regularly (or has been in a situation where shaving was not a priority). Scratching at his chin may be an idiosyncrasy. Action beats also let the reader know who is speaking while eliminating the need for a tag. I use them whenever possible, if they fulfill their intended purpose.

Conversely, if the action beat seems stilted and artificial, interrupting the flow and rhythm of the work, it becomes little more than verbal baggage and should be checked. I'm in the process of revising and editing a middle-grade manuscript. As I snip, clip, and trim away at it to get it down to around 36,000 to 37,000 words, I find myself weighing every phrase and clause. Exchanging a said for an action beat adds words. If I decide that the beat is worth it, then I try to trim somewhere else.

Of course, if only two people are speaking, the writer can move through a few lines of dialog without either a beat or a tag.

While I am not yet a published novelist, a couple editors have evaluated my manuscripts and commented that they flow well. I use said when it's needed, action beats when they serve to develop and enrich a character or scene, and nothing when possible. As with most things, balance is key. Since both editors requested to see the completed manuscripts, I must be doing something right.