INGREDIENTS FOR WRITING - by Kathy Ivan

Suspense.  Mystery.  Romance. 

There's something about those words that stir the imagination.  Being able to craft a story filled with the right elements, a blending of all three, reminds me of baking.  All the ingredients have to be added in exactly the right amounts in order for your delicious confection to come out perfect (and in my case hopefully edible). 

I love layering in all the nuances to my stories, adding a dash of mystery to keep the reader turning the pages.  Did I write enough intrigue and danger within the world I've created that the reader absolutely, positively, unequivocally cannot stop reading when they reach the end of the chapter, and must turn the page to find out what happens next.  Don't you love that feeling? 

There are differing techniques I use while I'm writing.  If it's a mystery, the reader can't know whodunit until the very end—the big black moment.  I'll feed little hints and clues along the way, but I never come right out and say Mr. X is the villain.  That's left up to the reader to figure out and if I've done my job right they'll admit they never saw the ending coming. 

Now suspense for me is a totally different mindset.  I've got no problem telling the reader right up front who my bad guy or gal is and the horrible things they've done to earn that moniker.  Then it's up to the hero and/or heroine to not only catch the evil-doer, but stop whatever nefarious scheme they've concocted and foil it, making sure that evil is denounced and trounced and everybody lives happily ever after. 

But, and this is a big one for me—there always, always has to be a romance in my books.  Romance is my passion, for both writing and reading.  I don't want to read a book that doesn't have a good solid romance as a cornerstone of the story, and my romantic suspense writing needs that touchstone not only for my readers but for my own satisfaction.  Besides, watching the sexual tension ratchet up between your hero and heroine while they're running away from the maniacal mobster bent on their immediate destruction gives me a vicarious thrill.  

(Hey, if I'm the heroine and I'm gonna be chased by some crazy guy determined to end my life, I darn well better have a handsome hero beside me, although hopefully I'm kick-ass enough to save myself when the situation arises.) 

Suspense.  Mystery.  Romance.  My ingredients for a truly good book. 

Kathy Ivan is busy at work on her next romantic suspense set deep in the bayous of Louisiana.  Her latest suspense, Connor's Gamble is available now. 

PLOTTER OR PANTSER OR HYBRID -- WHAT'S YOUR STYLE?

Ever wonder what style of writer you are?  As a reader, have you asked yourself, gee, I wonder where they came up with that idea?  Everybody seems to have their own technique or ritual or personal voodoo they go through before they start a new book.  Here are a few. 

PLOTTER:  A writer who needs to know from beginning to end exactly what is going to happen in the story.  This seems to be especially important when you're writing mysteries or suspense.  After all, you need to know who the hero and heroine are as well as the villain.  You need to have a firm grasp on what needs to happen each step of the way, where to lay the foundation of the story, exactly where to feather in all the red herrings to keep the reader on their toes.  And you especially need to know exactly when, where, why and how the "big black moment" takes place, because that's where you wrap up everything with a nice big bow and can finally write the end.  Plotters have been known to write up complete character descriptions for each person in the book, detailed maps of the city/town/village where they story takes place.  Any and all details that are important to their story all get written down.  We may even write a long synopsis of the entire story, pages and pages of outline, before the first word ever appears on the actual manuscript page.

PANTSER:  A pantser is a writer who is the complete opposite of a plotter in every way.  A pantser doesn't write down an outline or a synopsis before they start.  They basically don't have a clue where the story is going to go.  Instead, they sit down at their keyboard (or pull out their writing pad) and away they go.  They fly by the seat of their pants—hence the name pantser.  A kernel of an idea will begin the pantser writer on their trek, and like the reader, they don't know where the story will take them until they've written it.  It can make for a bumpy but oh-so-worth-it ride.

HYBRID:   A hybrid writer is generally a combination of the two types listed above.  They need to know the basics or bones of the story and the story line before they start.  They know the main characters; the hero, heroine, and the villain and probably know where they need to end up.  With a much smaller amount of foreknowledge, the hybrid writer weaves the basic structure they've constructed from a few known facts and begins their travels along the path to a completed story, very similar to the pantser writer.  Some structure goes a long way to keeping the hybrid write on track, too.  

I'll admit, I'm a hybrid writer.  Especially with my romantic suspense, I find it imperative that I know a fair amount about my main characters, and where I want their journey to take them.  I have a general outline of the very beginning of the action, a few key points that need to happen, and what the big climax of the mystery/suspense/resolution is.  The rest is written wherever the characters lead.  And believe me they can lead to some really unexpected places.  J 

So, what type of writer are you – a plotter, a pantser or a hybrid.  Or do you have a completely different that you use.  I'd love to hear how you get from the beginning to the end.

Kathy's latest book, Connor's Gamble, a romantic suspense is available now.

CONNOR'S GAMBLE BUY LINKS: 

Amazon:  http://amzn.to/1d1MZzx

iTunes:  http://bit.ly/1dUdwde

B & : http://bit.ly/1p92tUp

Kobo:  http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/connor-s-gamble

Print: https://www.createspace.com/4717918 

SO YOU WANT TO WRITE A BOOK - by Kathy Ivan

I'M GOING TO WRITE A BOOK TOO!

How many of us have heard this?

Or maybe this:

I HAVE A GREAT STORY, I'LL WRITE IT OVER THE WEEKEND.

YOU'RE A WRITER? OH THAT SOUNDS LIKE A FUN HOBBY!

Uhh! Come on, people. Writing is hard work. Very, very hard work. I don't know about everybody else, but I don't just sit down at my computer, start typing on Friday afternoon and by Sunday have a completely finished 400 page, polished, spell checked, squeaky-clean, edited, ready-to-send-to-the-publisher manuscript (which of course she's going to immediately call and make an offer on because it is just too fabulous they have to have it before anybody else even has a chance to read it)!

Yet some people believe this is really all it takes. That's like saying I lounge on my purple velvet chaise, a glass of wine in one hand and a box of Godiva dark chocolates bon-bons on my lap while I dictate the next New York Times bestseller to my assistant. I wish it was so. I really do. Not only would it save wear and tear on my poor wrists (not to mention the horrible eyestrain from staring at a computer screen all bloody day, too), I'd be raking in tons of cash. Maybe I could quit the day job. LOL

I say this not to discourage anybody who wants to write. In fact, I encourage you to sit down at your keyboard, or grab your paper and pen, or pull out your handy-dandy mini-recorder and go for it. Writing is rewarding. It's fulfilling. It opens up that magical place inside where something wonderful waits.

Wait—what? You don't have a magical place deep inside? Sure you do. All writers have it. It's that deep well where characters and stories come alive, waiting for us to call them forth and share them with readers. They speak to us (the writer), telling us their secrets, unfolding a plethora of clues, one by one, revealing not only who the nasty villain is, but if you write romance, they reveal the love of their life, their soul mate, and share their happily-ever-after. Le sigh!

Writing is rewarding, not just financially but emotionally. I'm never happier than when I'm working on a book, finding out each detail, the subtle nuances that make it unique and different from anything else.

If you want to write—then write. Nobody else can tell the story the way you can. Reach down into that empty place deep inside and set free the hero or the heroine or even the villain, and let your imagination soar!

Kathy Ivan writes romantic suspense and paranormal romance. Her latest, release, Connor's Gamble, a romantic suspense if available now.

A PICTURE IS WORTH A THOUSAND WORDS

That's what we've always heard, right? Yet we, the author, need to use those thousand words to paint a vivid, complete picture in the mind of the reader. We don't include photos or paintings or even stick figure drawings in our books. Instead we pull together words and weave nouns and adjectives, adverbs and pronouns to embellish the blank canvas of a reader's mind with brilliant colors and textures so they "see" the story clearly.

In the writer's mind we see the hero's shaggy dark hair in need of a haircut. His sapphire blue eyes should sparkle with laughter or pain or lust. We develop the imagery, provide definition to his muscular physique. We want the reader to know whether he's average height or taller than everyone around him. We can do this by showing him interacting with the people, places and things surrounding him, everyday ordinary items which make the hero realistic in real world situations. Sometimes we even have pictures of our hero on our computer or printed out to look at as we tell our tale.

But have we done our job?

Through descriptive prose, using only our words, does the reader see the same person we see? Can they see the single lock of hair that falls across his forehead when he's running across the frozen tundra, pelted by sleet, freezing rain, and roaring winds determined to get to the heroine? Or visualize the rivulet of sweat rolling across his naked chest, mingling with the dark mat of hair trailing downward to disappear into the waistband of his jeans as he's leading his lady fair through the rain forest, whisking her away to safety?

Have we used the right words and phrases to paint our villain as more than a black and white caricature from old Hollywood movies? We need to wield our words as the paintbrush, layering in the varying shades of gray, giving depth and dimension to him (or her). Shadows and light—make them become a living, breathing person with good and bad qualities just like every other person on the planet.

So, remember, choose your words wisely. After all, we are the artist with the paintbrush and blank canvas, the photographer pointing the camera lens ready to click the next shot. Let's hope our thousand words are worthy of the picture.

Living Like My Characters

A strange thing happened to me last week. Actually, a lot of really bad stuff happened within the span of five days. The more that was thrown at me, the more frustrated and overwhelmed I became. And I realized that all the trouble I throw at my characters can be truly difficult to handle. Not bad enough that the heroine's granny was kidnapped. Then they learn she doesn't have her heart medicine with her. Then the hero is roughed up when he tries to chase a bad guy. Then his place is ransacked. And so on and so on. But it's obstacles that bring out the changes that point us toward our happy ever after. Er -- our characters, that is.

First, my normally super healthy husband had to be rushed to the hospital with horrible abdominal pain we later learned was kidney stones. The ER took three hours to see him. Did I mention he was writhing in agony on the floor? After spending all night and half the next day in the ER, we came home to a broken air conditioner unit. We live in Florida. So think about Florida in August with no AC. For four days before the repair people could get the cool going again. And of course, it was no easy fix. We needed a new unit. Days later we discovered a leak in the ceiling that ended up being a roof leak that necessitated a new roof. In the course of four days, we had to spend $15,000 on our house. The very next day, I backed into a very expensive convertible in a parking lot. Yup - add that to the total.

When I took a moment to stand back and think about all we'd been through, I realized someone upstairs was doing to me what I do to my heroes and heroines. I throw all the crap I can at them. They always come out the other side better human beings. So that's my challenge. But when someone you love is ill, your priorities have a way of realigning themselves. The money is just money. The car is merely a car. See that -- I've changed through my obstacle course. And my hubby is fine now. Life is good.

I Need a Hero

Actually, I need some help—and not just the kind a hero can provide. I’m looking to you, the NYUS readers, for a little assistance.

I write the Mindhunters series for Carina Press. I’m hoping it’ll become several books (currently, it’s two, with a third in the works). I have no shortage of heroes and heroines in my head that are screaming for their story to be told. But there's one character in particular who longs to be a hero...

Which leads me to my question: When creating or relating to a hero, does age matter?

As a parallel, I started thinking about the movies. Many actors are sixty-something (or more), and they can still make females swoon...

But does that work in books, too?

You see, Damian Manchester, head of the organization that is the backbone of my series, the group that hunts repeat violent offenders, was a victim himself twenty years ago, which is what motivated him to create the Society for the Study of the Aberrant Mind (a.k.a., SSAM). Now in his early sixties, he’s strong, fit, and takes on the criminal underbelly through his agency's resources. He sometimes works in the field, but is mostly a source of support and advice for his team.

I’d originally planned to explore Damian’s story as a substory that arcs across all of the books, so we get a little clearer picture of him and how he finds justice as each book progresses. But a reader recently approached me with the idea of giving him his own book. Though he’s fit and sexy at sixty, his age gave me pause. I want readers to see his happy ending, but would they read a book with a sixty-something hero as a main character? Or would it be better to keep his resolution as part of a substory?

So I thought I’d ask your opinion: As a romantic suspense reader (and/or writer), what makes a satisfying hero? How do you like to see them change? And does age matter when you’re reading a book?

I Need A Hero

People often ask me why it is that I love writing suspense novels. My every day response is that I like action and adventure. I get a thrill out of the roller coaster ride of emotions that comes from not knowing if the characters, or the world for that matter, will survive.

But lately I’ve been giving that answer some thought. I’ve been looking all around me at what’s happening in the world and it occurred to me that the reason I write suspense is quite different.

I write suspense novels because I need a hero. I need to know that amidst all the turmoil and evil someone can rise up who will stand for what is right and who will ultimately triumph.

Whether that hero is your strong silent alpha male or a kick-ass heroine, I thrive on forcing them to face not only physical peril, but emotional challenges in order to be able to achieve that triumph over evil and the happily-ever-after that we all love so much.

What about you? What is it that you like so much about suspense novels?

Caridad Pineiro's next romantic suspense release is THE FIFTH KINGDOM,
available in July from Carina Press. Here's a short excerpt for you!

Prologue

The force of the blow rattled her teeth and snapped her head back.

Dr. Miranda Adams reluctantly brought her head forward once more, tonguing the inside of her cheek to gauge the damage as the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth.

She had been stupid to think she could lose her pursuers in the Sunday crowds in Chapultepec Park. Even more brainless to think that a floppy straw sombrero and big sunglasses would let her blend into the throng of locals.

Her disguise had only screamed turista even louder.

For the last two days she had been paying the price for that stupidity, she thought, her brain slightly muzzy from the last blow. Her body aching from the combination of physical beatings and confinement to the hard wooden chair.

“Where is the tomb and what is in it?” her inquisitor asked in Spanish, fists clenched at his sides, but ready to lash out at her if she should fail to answer yet again.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, just as she had been saying for the last forty-eight hours, not that he believed her.

Not that he should.

She knew full well what he was talking about–the tomb of Montezuma, one of the last emperors of the Aztecs.

She knew full well where it was and the secrets it hid, not that she would tell him. She had discovered only days earlier that he was the head of the local Primera Mexica cell and with a group that dangerous, she could not trust him. As long as she kept the secret, she would live. The moment she told them...

“You leave me little choice,” Javier Ramirez replied. He inclined his head in the direction of the far side of the basement where they were holding her captive. A plain wooden table sat close to the cinder block wall and beside it was a small cart where she could discern a car battery, jumper cables and a bucket.

Fear crawled along her nerve endings as one of the men approached, untied her from the chair and then dragged her to the table.

She fought him, digging her heels into the soft dirt of the basement floor, using her greater height to try and escape from his grasp by jerking her body to and fro, but he was short, thickly muscled and stable on his feet. He didn’t even wobble as she struggled in vain against the hold he had on her.

Apparently tired of her resistance, he enveloped her in his stocky arms, nearly stealing her breath with the pressure of his grip. He hauled her the last few feet to the table and unceremoniously tossed her onto the top of the rough wooden surface. A moment later he was tying her arms and legs to the four table legs.

Her inquisitor approached, but as he did so, Javier gestured to her with his hand and another assistant quickly removed her boots and socks and pulled out a large knife.

She bit back any show of fear, but jumped a little when the man slipped the knife beneath the front hem of her cotton blouse. The metal was cold beside her skin. With one quick swipe he sliced open the front of her shirt. She had no doubt what they planned for her, but she once again reminded herself that they needed her alive in order to find the tomb.

Her captor must have seen the determination in her eyes.

Javier picked up the ends of the jumper cables and inched closer until she could smell the cheap cologne that failed to hide the rank odor of his body.

“Do not fool yourself, Dr. Adams. Sometimes life is severely overrated as you’ll soon discover.”

When he pulled away, someone tossed the water that had been in the bucket over her body. The welcome respite that the chill wetness brought from the Mexican summer heat was short-lived. Her assailant touched both ends of the jumper cables together and sparks flew into the air.

She sucked in a breath, girding herself for the first sharp blast, but nothing could have prepared her for the jolt. Her body jerked spasmodically, every nerve ending springing to painful life.

After Javier broke the contact of the jumper cables against her body, she sagged onto the tabletop, her muscles twitching while she sought to recover.

“Where is the tomb, Dr. Adams?” Javier asked once more and brought the jumper cables near, touching them together to send another shower of sparks through the air.

Miranda thought of the tomb and of the sun stone within it. Thought of how long she had searched for the burial place of Montezuma and what she had sacrificed for its discovery.

Her career.

Her husband and daughter.

The happy life she had once had.

Because of that she was certain of one thing–it would take a lot more than this to make her reveal the secret for which she had already paid so dearly.

“Sorry, amigo. I seem to be having a little problem with my memory lately.”

The shock this time was not as unexpected, but he kept the cables against her wet skin longer.

Much longer.

Javier kept her jumping and dancing at the end of the cables like some grotesque marionette until her body and brain overloaded, shutting down her senses in self-defense.

She sagged against the table, no longer feeling any pain. No longer aware of what was being done to her. The only thought remaining in her brain...

You cannot tell them the secret of the tomb.

It was the only thing of value she had left in her life.