What do you want to know?

I have a confession to make. I forgot I was due to post on here and I couldn't think of a worthwhile subject. Nothing sprang to mind. Nada. What a terrible confession for a writer to make. :)

I began wondering what people might want to know about me or about other writers. This line of thought quickly sent me back to talks I used to give. I don't do so many these days for various reasons - mainly that I can reach more people via the internet. It's not quite the same as having the personal interaction though.

But I digress...

I thought of the time spent planning the talks I give, and how it feels to walk into a room filled with people waiting to hear me entertain them for an hour. Yikes. Once I get started, I'm usually fine. I speak about how I first got into writing, explain a little about my working day, read an excerpt from my latest book - the usual stuff. When I reach the end of my talk, I breathe a sigh of relief and ask if anyone has any questions. Lots of hands shoot up and I can guarantee what the first two questions will be.

Any guesses? Then I'll tell you.

The first is always "Where do you get your ideas from?". Oh my, I wish I knew. The other evening I was watching TV with my husband and suddenly said, "Yes! I've just thought of a great place to hide a body." Fortunately, he's used to these outbursts and didn't look too concerned. But where did it come from? Divine inspiration? I don't know. I do know that ideas are all around though. Watch people, watch the news reports, read newspapers - ideas come from real life and they're everywhere. Sometimes, a good long walk and thinking about something else does the trick for me.

The second question, without fail, is "Do you write in longhand or on the computer?". I always have to choose my words with care at this point. I'm an author, people. Whether I dictate the words to a secretary, use a quill or a top-of-the range computer - I can't see that it matters a jot. Yet, to the readers I meet, it does seem to matter.

So tell me, folks. If you met your favourite author for dinner this evening, what would be your first question to them.

(Oh, and I type straight onto a computer. :o))

That Time I Auditioned for Whodunnit

A few months back, I got wind of an upcoming television show devoted to the entertainment of mystery lovers. I got excited. After some research, I learned the show was being put together in a rush and would air this summer on ABC. The concept was a reality show a la CLUE. The producers were gathering applications and conducting hundreds of phone interviews with the the amateur sleuths interested in participating. The grand prize? $250K. I wanted in. The show: Whodunnit

I found an email address for the assistant producer and sent an email telling him how delightful I am, and I left a phone number. My phone rang an hour later. He was a ton of fun and our talks were sometimes silly, sometimes disturbing, but mostly fun. I spoke to my contact at the show twice and soon received a mammoth sized file to read, complete and sign. Much of it was legal and I was sworn to secrecy at that point forward. So, let's just say a couple things.....

1. They didn't pick me
2. They really should have *cheese smile face*
3. Agree to disagree.

This is a chunk of my audition tape, which they may or may not have asked me to send in. I can't tell you if they asked because that was covered in the fat stack of paperwork I signed.

I haven't seen the show yet, but it's on Tivo for when I get a writing break. It sounded like lots of fun for me solving crimes, and a couple months of Hubsy playing the role of stay-at-home-dad. That sounded like fun for me too.

The point of this post is this: Do something silly today. This week. This year. Do something you love. Something bigger than normal. Make a memory you can point at later, possibly over drinks with friends, and say "I can't believe I did that." No, I didn't get on national television, but I had a ton of fun dreaming, making my first ever audition tape, and now sharing that with you.

I still think they should've made me their undercover killer. I bet I could've gotten away with it.

I-SPY: Looking Good Naked - Dealing with Rejection

Join the authors and friends of Not Your Usual Suspects for an occasional series of posts about their world of reading, writing and publishing.

Short and sweet, hopefully both informative and entertaining - join us at I-Spy to find out the how's and why's of what we do.


TODAY'S POST: I-Spy something beginning with ... REJECTION!

Clare London on ... Looking Good Naked :)

No, that’s not to say I’m going to expose myself on (or off) line, even with Gok Wan’s help. I’m talking today about emotional nakedness – about facing personal attack, about coping with humiliation, about bearing the deepest cut of all…REJECTION… and then attempting to look good again.  Eventually.

I’ve suffered romantic rejection (lots), I’ve seen my work bypassed and my tax claims refused. No one wanted me on their school hockey team (well, I wouldn’t either, to be honest, I was crap), the new clothes store doesn’t stock up to my size, I once lost a job to someone younger, more smartly-dressed and (btw) male. And then OMG I’ve had my fiction rejected.  Often.

But guess what? I lived! I can’t say my house was Fun Palace Inc. during that period, but the Goddesses Sense and Perspective ruled again in the end. We all suffer rejection at some stage, and we have to deal with it. Just for fun, let’s take a run through the Seven Stages of my process. Where I try to face up to it and face it down: suck it up and spit it out: ride the wave of horror and maybe work my way through. Or at least – this is how it MIGHT go.

The following work is copyrighted to the author, and represents her cynical and navel-gazing opinion ONLY.  It intends no reference to specific works, authors, publishers, branded painkillers or cold showers. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. No fried chickens were harmed in the making of this post. Oh, and it’s all totally Without Prejudice!

Let's set the scene with: THE EMAIL

“Regretfully, we don’t feel your story is right for us at this time. …it could have benefited from deeper characterization… there is quite a bit of telling as opposed to letting the story unfold through the actions of the characters… frequent changes of point of view that leaves the reader feeling confused as to what is going on.”


(1) ANGER or:  How dare they!
 

I mean, I sweated cobs of blood on this, right? What do they know?

It was created, a new life from the rich soil of my experience, a blossoming treasure spawned of my emotional depths. I nursed it, I birthed it (without epidural), I spent hours of my hard-earned leisure time on it, waking up in the small hours of a morning because it cried to me, staying alert long after everyone else had gone to bed because it NEEDED me. I drank too much coffee, I gave myself eyestrain headaches. And I made it the best I could, with such personal suffering. I cut chapters, I killed my fictional babies, I wore the E and O out on my keyboard. I ripped out my exposition, I culled my commas, I destroyed dialogue tags and eviscerated the ellipses.

Yeah, okay, I know. Don’t grimace at me like that, I tried to purge the purple prose, too. And yet still they REJECTED it?!

(2) JEALOUSY or: How come THEY made it?
 

It’s not a pretty feeling, of course.
But I mean, "THEY" got accepted. "THEY’VE" been published. This huge population of successful authors who smile in their pictures, sparkle wittily in their bios and produce entertaining fiction on a regular basis whilst sipping cocktails, promo-ing regularly and effectively, and probably sewing ballroom frocks in their spare time.

My work is just as good, surely? Are we saying mine is less witty, thoughtful, sexy, not crafted as well, less rewarding, yadda yadda. Obviously I’ve read plenty of poor, published fiction.  Plenty of two-dimensional characters, plots as holey as Gruyere, Mammoth Misunderstandings, Cringe-making Coincidences and enough Saccharined Sentiment to rot what teeth I have left.

So how come? Do they have some magic key to acceptance? Have they sold their author’s soul to the Devil of Publishing? Who do I have to sleep with? Or who SHOULDN’T I have slept with?

And no, you don’t need to state the obvious, that I should have used that sleeping time to edit my manuscript one more round.

(3) HUMILIATION or: Red is so not my colour.
 

So.  Okay, the dust is settling. Let’s face the cruel facts. It’s nothing to do with them. It’s all ME, right? I used the wrong font: I sent the wrong chapters: I was too obsequious in my query letter. I don’t fit the mould: my story has too little sex. Too much sex. Too *cough* unusual sex. I didn’t fit the HEA, the HFN or – one of our favourites – the Don’t-Know-About-Happy-But-You-Look-Good-In-My-Shower genre. I didn’t edit enough: I didn’t refine it within an inch of its life. I missed something. Many things, obviously. I launched myself like a professional, but there were far too many leaks in my hull. In a manner of speaking.

Basically, I put myself out there and they spat in my eye. I offered up my Precious: they laughed themselves silly (virtually speaking, of course, because no, I never actually heard it): and I was totally, comprehensively mortified. Kick me while I’m down, why dontcha?

(4) DESPAIR or: It was only a matter of time.

…before I was unmasked as the inferior hack I really am.

What the hell was I thinking? It was inevitable, of course. I’m crap. A mere dabbler. What possessed me to think I could ever compete with the great stuff that’s out there? The books that are polished, well-researched, evocative, empathetic and deliciously provocative – and whose authors are charming human beings, too. I’ll never match that quality.

No, I’m LESS than crap. I’m pretentious. My plot is as transparent as the living room window and the sex not half as dirty. My characters talk like subtitles on a dodgy Chinese martial arts movie and are as three dimensional as my weekly shopping list.

No, no, I am BEYOND crap. And so much more than that – they rejected ME. It’s personal – oh so very personal. They rejected my ideas, my dreams. My characters, my style, my quaint use of flashback and my (probably too) subtle humour. My BABY. The time I spent on that book has been lost to me for ever. I’m no further forward. I wasted my pretension on an abortive career in fiction.

And yeah, you said it, the time would have been so much better used on cleaning the windows.

(5) RESIGNATION or: Helloooo Again, Day Job.

There’s no other conclusion. It must all go back into the ‘Nice to Have’ folder. My aspirations, my career, my creative genius *cough*.

I mean, what kind of idiot was I? I can’t expect success, just like that. I’m a newbie, I reached too far, too soon. It’s going to take 20 years, I’ll be like Mary Wesley, first publishing in my old(er) age. I haven’t found my right genre, I haven’t discovered my ‘voice’. It might never happen AT ALL. I might wander for ever, buffeted on all sides by rejection letters, the sound of pitying laughter in my ears, my fingers cramped with desperation over those worn E and O keys, the pages of my immature manuscript put to no better use than kindling in winter in my tiny, uncomfortable garret…

Okay, okay, and maybe I’ve still left in too many traces of that purple prose. But why bother trying again?

I must learn to be satisfied with existing creative outlets such as my son’s school essays, some grotesquely long weekly shopping lists, and complaint letters to those spammers who claim my life will be better with 9 inches, kept at a permanent full tilt ahead, and preferably paid for by the $18m they hold in trust for me in an overseas bank account.

Who needs more? We all know to what better use I can put my time. Yes, the windows, thanks for the reminder.

(6) REALISM or: Get Over Yourself!
 

Well, okay. So time passes, right?

Perspective nudges back into the picture. Sense prevails. The kids are no longer terrified of leaving me alone with sharp implements.

You know, maybe it’s not totally about ME. Having re-read the email, it’s not all bad. In fact, it’s very constructively written. In fact, I think I should probably see this as a definite step forward.
And of course, who’d be so arrogant as to think their MS couldn’t be improved? (stop rolling your virtual eyes). Maybe I can see their point. *Points*. Maybe it does need some more work. Maybe it’s not ‘right for them at this time’. But it isn’t without potential.

After all, the comments are about the MS, not ME personally. Funny how that seems much clearer now.

What do you mean, told you so?

(7) RECOVERY or:  The KFC effect
 

Well, that’s what I call it. 

That story that goes around motivational seminars, how Colonel Sanders hawked his recipe around for about 100 years before someone accepted it? I used to think – what would have happened if it really was a crap recipe? – but obviously the moral is to embrace Persistence and Determination and Self-Belief.

Yes, I can do that. I have new enthusiasm, new resilience! After all, I have ideas that will not be ignored. Stories that want to be told: abiding love for my craft. And I have white paint to trace back in my E and O.

And so, some time later ….

Seriously, I love writing: I look forward to returning to it every time. Each day I learn new techniques and continue mastering a better creative style. And to be honest, I always knew chapter#4 wasn’t strong enough. There’s that crashing continuity error in chapter#6.  Character #3 has always been crying out for more of the action.  And the dog was probably a poor idea.

My fingers are itching.The chocolate helped a lot, too.
 Sorry, did you say something?  No, I can’t chat right now, I’m editing.  You understand, right?

 Have you had a similar experience? And what strategies do you have to cope with it?  Feel free to share with us all!

Clare London
Writing ... Man to Man
www.clarelondon.co.uk

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FUTURE POSTS will cover:
Kindlegraph / the art of research / writing male/male romance / rejection and writer's block / building suspense / writing love scenes / anti-piracy strategies / audio books / interviews with editors and agents / using Calibre.
We welcome everyone's constructive comments and suggestions!

Pets Build Character

When I was growing up, my parents allowed my sisters and me to get a cat when were old enough to care for it. I think they felt that the responsibility for a living creature would build character in each of us. And my husband and I did the same thing with our children. But in my books, I often give one of my characters a pet in order to further build their character, or paint a more complete portrait of who that person is. 

In my WIP, my heroine's father came and went while she was growing up. She never really attached well to him because she was protecting herself from the inevitable hurt when he left. So instead of giving her a dog or cat that she could grow too attached to, I gave her a goldfish!

My heroine in Burning Touch, an erotic romantic suspense novel, Devon, the heroine, rescues cats because her folks died in a car crash and she felt helpless to rescue them. 

In Tropic of Trouble, also an erotic romantic suspense, corrections Sergeant Jason Jones is a tough guy. And he has a tough guy dog - a German Sheppard. 

I often use a pet's name to convey something about their owner. A modern day witch in one of my works in progress has a cat (which isn't the cliche black), named Valiente. A reader might have to dig a little to figure that one out. Doreen Valiente was a British witch who lobbied to repeal the law that made witchcraft a crime in England. 

Our choices in pets are just one of the many facets that make characters and people who they are. I've posted a picture of my sweet kitty below. She's the best, most sensitive cat we've ever had and she is also my writing buddy. 

What about you? Is there a special pet in your life?

BICHOK – Getting in the Groove

Write a little every day and soon writing becomes a habit.

This is great advice, but it’s much easier to nod and agree than move forward and obey. I’ve been away a lot this year, and while I take my laptop with me, most times I end up doing a little plotting and catching up on my reading instead of actually adding words to my work in progress. On my return home I always find it hard to get into the swing of writing again. I tell myself I’m busy doing laundry and unpacking when really I have my feet firmly in Procrastination City.

I’ve developed several strategies to get my butt in a chair and my hands on the keyboard. (BICHOK)

1. Join in some speed sprints #1k1hr on Twitter. My competitive streak won’t let me report a low total.

2. Use Freedom http://macfreedom.com/  to block Internet access for a selected amount of time. This works well for me because when I’m procrastinating I do a lot of playing on the Internet. I tell myself I’ll just check out Facebook and get sucked down the black hole. Freedom stops me from doing this.

3. Take myself off to one of my favorite cafes and set up camp there. I call them my coffice. I try to pick one without Internet access and usually get a lot of work done because I can’t get up and wander around.

As well as getting me writing, I meet interesting people in my coffice. A few months ago a man at a neighboring table asked me how to spell a couple of words. Then he asked me about wording his letter. It turned out he was writing a letter to a judge and if the court session didn’t go well, he’d end up in jail. He’d done bad things, he told me. I wasn’t brave enough to ask for details.

After writing the letter to his satisfaction, he left to change for his court appearance. Weeks later, I was busy working in the café and he said hello. He happily told me the letter did the trick with the judge. I’m sure there’s fodder for a story there!

How do you get into the writing groove when every particle of you wants to do something else?

Shelley Munro lives in New Zealand with her husband and a rambunctious puppy. Her next release is Past Regrets, an erotic contemporary romance from Samhain Publishing. If you would like to learn more about Shelley and her books visit her website at www.shelleymunro.com

A Book In A Sentence

Authors get a lot of credit, and it is well-deserved. An author can carry a tale to its 100, 200, 300-page satisfying conclusion. Songwriters are like authors, but with a reduced-page count.  There are many famous book quotes that stick in our heads, spanning from, "It was a dark and stormy night..." to "May the odds be forever in your favor..."  

But what sticks in your head most, a quote from a book, or a song lyric? I respect the talents of songwriters. Some are capable of telling an entire tale in a single sentence. "They were sharing a drink they call loneliness, but it's better than drinking alone..."  In that one line from Billy Joel's Piano Man we know and identify with this couple at the bar.  We've all seen them before. The business man who wishes Happy Hour would never end because he has an empty house to go home to, and the recent divorcee who went out with her associates after work, but decided to stay when they all went home to their families. Billy Joel portrayed this despondent couple in one skillful sentence. 

"Have you come here to play Jesus to all the lepers in your head?" Whoa!  Someone step in and analyze Bono's statement from ONE for me. 

And of course, there is Gladys. :) "I'd rather live in his world, than live without him in mine."  In one simple line, we're packing our bags and heading on a midnight train to Georgia. Going to a place we've never been...a place where we have no relatives, no friends...and all for some guy. Yep, we all know that tale.  One of the most moving examples of this story-line comes from the actual life experiences of Romantic Suspense author, Shannon McKenna. If you get a chance, read her bio and you'll know what I mean.

Do you have any favorite song quotes?

Maureen (aka Gladys) A. Miller
Coming soon! HIGH TIDE

Through the victim's eyes

As authors we have to use our imaginations—goes without saying, really. As romantic suspense authors, our imaginations often take us to some pretty dark places. And we live there for as long as it takes to feel the chill down our spines or the outright terror clawing at our guts and get it down on paper. We go back there, over and over, to those black corners, cobwebbed hidey-holes and damaged psyches, smoothing the contours, adding that final layer, the slightest hint of light or deepening darkness.

Most of the time I can find that frightening place in my own evil little mind (mwah ha ha) but when the dark place is a physical location—well, there's nothing like the real thing to get you in the zone.

I was inspired to write Betrayed by Trust by a terrible crime committed right here in the nation's capital. A young government intern disappeared amidst rumors (true, as it turned out) of her involvement with a congressman. Her body was found a year later in heavily wooded Rock Creek Park. Several years later we learned that her killer was an illegal immigrant who had attacked other women in the park.

In Betrayed by Trust, a beautiful young Capitol Hill aide named Blair disappears and her body is found several months later on Roosevelt Island, a tiny wooded island in the Potomac River with a giant statue of Teddy Roosevelt and trails that wind through marsh and swamp. I've been on the island many times with my husband and dogs and kids, finding a bit of nature in view of the Lincoln memorial and the famous Key Bridge.  In my book, the police have a suspect—a foreigner with alleged terrorist ties. But alas, it's not that simple…

 My story takes place in late June and July, so on the 4th of July I had the brilliant idea to watch the fireworks from Roosevelt Island. My husband suggested we stand on the bridge leading onto the island, but, like Blair's sister, my heroine in the story, I wanted to experience the woods at night at the spot where Blair had tumbled off the path and landed in her swampy grave.

Well.

It was very, very dark as we walked the trail in the woods that night. We had expected to have lots of

company, but apparently no one else was dumb enough to try to see the fireworks from the island. The air was thick with humidity and hordes of mosquitoes were out for blood. I began to have second thoughts. Then it started to rain.

My husband lugged his camera and tripod off the path, through thick, prickly bushes onto a tiny spot of muddy ground where he could see the sky through the trees. By this time I was practically hyperventilating. I don't like the woods at night. I'm not brave. And I hate mosquitoes. I wanted to get off that island in the worse way. But it was a couple of miles back to the bridge and the most stubborn man on the planet (who had forgotten the flashlight) informed me that he was not budging until he had some shots of the fireworks.

I lasted about five minutes.

I knew the way back, and I could still see the path even though it was super dark under the canopy of trees. I walked for about the first thirty seconds…and then I ran. Ran like I was being chased. And as I ran, I became Blair, fleeing from a villain she thought she could trust, slipping on the muddy trail, muscles aching, heart pounding, shadows turning sinister, breath coming in shallow, hysterical gasps…

After an endless amount of time I could make out the bridge ahead and the lights of Georgetown twinkling, and I slowed my pace. I closed my eyes and took a deep, grateful breath. For the duration of that two-mile run I had lived inside my story, and experienced some of the terror Blair had felt in the final moments of her life. 

I wouldn't want to go there again.

-Ana Barrons

Betrayed by Trust will be released on July 8th by Carina Press.