WRITE ANGLE
December 16, 2007 by Rebecca Forster in category The Write Life by Rebecca Forster tagged as Rebecca Forster, Write Angleby Rebecca Forster
I guess you’ve figured it out. The months of the year are my inspiration for this blog. You tune in and I give you my take on – well, something about the month. Sometimes it’s a stretch, sometimes not. But now it’s time for the big one.
December. Xmas. The holiday season.
So much to write about and so little time. Gifts. Holiday music. Horrid materialism which, if truth be told, would be relabeled miraculous generosity if I was the one opening a little blue box from Tiffany’s on Christmas morning. Be that as it may, I’m a writer and this time I’m not going to take the easy way out. I want to give you something to think about. I want my words to paint a picture that is eloquent in its simplicity, deep in meaning. In short, a blog that is unforgettable.
I want to tell you a cautionary Christmas tale. It is true. I saw it with my own eyes.
We lived in Los Angeles then. Our families were still in the South Bay. With parents getting on, brothers and sisters spread out all over the country, we felt obligated to spend the Christmas holidays driving: Long Beach, Redondo and back home to Los Angeles more times that I could count.
Back and forth; forth and back. Nothing spectacular – until two days after Christmas. The children were asleep in the back of the car. My husband was silent, tired of the freeways and cheer that had run its course. I sat beside him, my head resting on my upturned palm, thinking about nothing in particular. It was late afternoon and I would have nodded off too – but then I saw her.
I sat up straight and touched my husband’s arm. I raised my chin. He looked. His eyes narrowed. We didn’t wake the children. We didn’t want them to see the woman standing on the off-ramp but we couldn’t take our eyes off her. We passed her slowly. For a fleeting moment I wondered if we should stop. She looked so pitiful. I started to speak but my husband shook his head. He drove by. I swiveled in my seat hoping she saw that I, at least, sympathized. Perhaps she felt my interest. She turned to watch us. I saw the terror in her eyes. We could have helped. We didn’t. She held up her sign. The words were burned into my memory.
Spent too much at Xmas. Please help.
I turned my back just as the late afternoon California sun caught the diamond on her hand and shot a Christmas star of light into my eyes. She pulled her fur coat tight around her, shook back her streaked hair and turned to the next car. There, I thought, but for the grace of a credit limit, go I.
Merry Christmas to all those who give and those who receive.
Rebecca Forster
http://www.rebeccaforster.com/
HOSTILE WITNESS
SILENT WITNESS
PRIVILEGED WITNESS
Pets, Romance and Lots of Suspense
December 6, 2007 by A Slice of Orange in category Pets, Romance & Lots of Suspense by Linda O. Johnston tagged as Berkley Prime Crime, Linda O. Johnston, Silhouette Nocturneby Linda O. Johnston
I’m really excited to be joining the wonderful writers who blog on A Slice of Orange. I write romance and mystery, sometimes suspenseful romance, and sometimes romantic mystery. I’ve also become an experienced blogger. I blog weekly on KillerHobbies.Blogspot.com and, since I write the Kendra Ballantyne, Pet-Sitter mystery series for Berkley Prime Crime, the “hobby” I blog about is pets.
Of course, I consider pets family, not just hobbies. But the topic is fun and versatile.
So what do I hope to talk about here? I think one focus will be the fun of switching between genres. I started out writing mystery short stories, moved to time-travel romance, then romantic suspense, then back to mystery–novel-length, but also, still, occasional short stories. And I continue to write romance, too. In addition to my Kendra series, I’ve sold a paranormal romance to Silhouette Nocturne, although its publication date hasn’t yet been established. Why do I switch? How do I switch?
Well, come back and visit me on the sixth of every month, and I’ll tell you all about it! And if you have any questions, feel free to ask.
Linda O. Johnston
www.LindaOJohnston.com
Linda O. Johnston is the author of 14 romance novels as well as the Kendra Ballantyne, Pet-Sitter mystery series from Berkley Prime Crime.
WRITE ANGLE
November 16, 2007 by Rebecca Forster in category The Write Life by Rebecca Forster tagged as Rebecca Forster, Write Angleby Rebecca Forster
Like hopscotch, anyone who is anyone (think Hallmark, Macys, my children) leap off Halloween, land firmly on Christmas and roll their broke –and- tired- of- celebrating selves into a new year with only a quick touchdown in November for Thanksgiving day. All this makes the month of November seem irrelevant, a step child, a wallflower at the dance. A chapter that one can skip without missing anything important to the story.
Case in point. The grocery store, November 1. Milk is the mission. To get to the dairy case I had to dodge the sale bins of Halloween candy (brown corrugated cardboard) and slalom around the even bigger full-price bins of Christmas candy (red and green corrugated cardboard) . When I finally got to the milk it was surrounded by little soldiers encased in waxy yellow cardboard – the infamous eggnog..
To be fair, I did spy a display of cornstarch (bright yellow cardboard), Cornbread stuffing mix (brown cardboard) and pumpkin pie goop (hallelujia, a tin can). I suppose my brain should have registered Thanksgiving but the wreath display above the end-cap made me think Christmas dinner.
Which brings me to November and its one-day claim to fame – Thanksgiving. Other months are filled with days of celebration. October is spent sewing costumes, watching horror movies, getting ready for trick-or-treat. December’s days come with luncheons, holiday parties, gift exchanges and cookie baking. Thanksgiving’s frenetic cooking and eating is twenty-four hours long and the next day Christmas sales wipe November from our minds completely.
For me, though, ignoring November is like skipping over a chapter that really deserves attention. Sure there may be a hot love scene in chapter twelve, but chapter eleven gives you all the subtle little insights into why you’ll care what happens next. So here is my November; here is what I would miss if, every year, I leapt over this chapter in my life.
November is the month when I first feel the bite of a cold wind that reminds me even California has seasons and that, in reality, I’m still a Missouri girl. It is the month when long days become short and the early darkness makes me feel like nesting. Cuddled under a quilt of my own making I take the time to truly appreciate the feathers of that nest: chicks who come and go, a husband who still finds this bird the most lovable in the flock after 31 years, a warm place to hunker down if the rain comes.
November is a month in which we celebrate the birthdays of my sisters-in-law – a set of twins and one more. They have been my good friends for what seems like forever. It is the month I travel to see my own brothers and sisters half way across the country. I can’t wait because seeing their faces – even if it is only now and again – makes me feel as if I am still young, my father is still with us, my mother will still rule the roost and all is right with the world.
November isn’t the end, so I still have time to do things that will make me feel as if I am wrapping up the year well; it is not the beginning so there isn’t the uncertainty that what lies ahead might not be as good as what was left behind.
1 0 Read moreWriter on the Verge
October 18, 2007 by A Slice of Orange in category Writer on the Verge by Kate Carlisle tagged as Writer on the Vergeby Kate Carlisle
Will it ever ring? Will they ever call? They never call. Sigh.
I think I’ve been waiting for “The Call” since … well, probably since I had a phone that looks like this one.
Fifty years? Okay, maybe not that long. Maybe only twenty years.
But the waiting is over, my friends.
I GOT THE CALL!!!
And oh, it was a sweet moment. And at the risk of sounding really silly–like that’s ever stopped me!–I’ve got to tell you, everything in my world changed in that single moment, when my agents told me that a senior editor at a top publishing company had enough confidence in my writing that she was willing to buy three–THREE!–as-yet unwritten manuscripts from me.
Oh yes, everything changed.
It shouldn’t be that way, should it? A word from one person and suddenly you’re more important or special or different than you were a minute ago? Validation shouldn’t have to come from outside. I should have confidence in my own work. And I do. I know I have writing talent. I work with the most fabulous agents in New York City. I’ve won writing contests and received requests for my manuscripts and studied writing craft and I usually know what I’m doing when I sit down to start a new manuscript.
But something is still missing.
And like magic, when The Call comes, everything changes and all the years of hard work and rejections and hitting your head against the wall and stumbling and picking yourself up and starting over again — all that background story suddenly hits an incredible turning point and spins and twists and explodes in an amazing climax. And whew, everything is different. And it’s fantastic.
Don’t believe me? Just wait. It happened just like that for me and it’ll happen to you, too, if you just remember three little words. Maureen Child used them yesterday and I’m repeating them today because they just may be the key to getting what you want.
Three little words …
Never Give Up!!!
3 0 Read moreThe Write Way (because there is no ‘right’ way)
October 17, 2007 by A Slice of Orange in category The Write Way by Maureen Child tagged as Maureen ChildSo, last month I went to plot group. My plot group’s been meeting twice a year for more than ten years. Susan Mallery, Christine Rimmer, Teresa Southwick and I have worked together well, obviously, for a long time! This time was different though. We had a new member, Kate Carlisle. And hey, now Kate’s published too! Coincidence? I wonder…
But the point of this blog is to say that even after writing and selling and publishing nearly a hundred books, I’ve still got plenty to learn. Plot group lets you brainstorm with other writers. Writing is a solitary profession. And usually, that’s one of the biggest reasons why I like it so much. It’s not necessary to play well with others. But plot group is something different.
For three days, we plot like crazy. We laugh like loons, we come up with off the wall ideas, plot points, turning points, character traits, bad moments, escalating ways to torture our people and titles that will never see the light of day. We turn ourselves loose, cutting off the inner critic who’s always warning us not to push the envelope too far. For those few days, anything is possible. There is no such thing as a bad idea and you can say whatever’s on your mind.
I’m not saying all the ideas we played with will survive. As a matter of fact, one of my ideas didn’t exactly thrill my editor, so I’ll be coming up with something else for her. But that idea she doesn’t want will be stored away to maybe find life again somewhere else. I really do like that hero!
As writers we’re always looking for the next great book. The idea that will wow editors, amaze marketing and thrill readers to the point that we land on the NYT list within two days of publication! The sad truth is, that no matter who you are or how many books you’ve published, there’s always rejection to be considered. No matter how brilliant we think we are, not every idea is golden. Not every book should be written.
So we keep going. We keep typing. Because persistence is the key in this business. Never surrender. Never give up. Never go away. Keep writing, because at the bottom of it, that’s all a writer can really do.
Maureen Child is hard at work on her next Desire for Silhouette and in between pages, is still taking breaks to do the happy dance for her good friend Kate Carlisle! Congrats again on your 3 book sale to NAL, Kate!
4 0 Read moreFeatured Books
SEVERED RELATIONS
Detective Finn O'Brien catches the call: two kids and their nanny are dead behind the gates of Freemont Place.
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