Writing on Board

Moving to Wordpress

2010-12-06T11:51:00.000-08:00

I have now combined my website and blog over on Wordpress. The scenery isn't quite as lovely as this one, but there you go. I suppose one can't have everything, Writing on Board will look a lot like my sailing blog, but it will include all sorts of other pages from my website.

If you have subscribed to this blog, please come on by the new one and sign up there with the email subscription thingy.

You can find me at www.normandiefischer.com, www.writingonboard.com or www.writingonboard.wordpress.com

Please come let me know what you think!

If It Weren't For Us Christians

2010-11-30T07:11:00.000-08:00

Bobby Weaver has written the book we've all imagined -- because we've all seen it in action: the church goer who decides she's the gatekeeper; the pew sitter who glares if you accidentally slip into his spot before he's had a chance to plop there; the name callers and finger pointers and other pious souls who must make the Lord cringe. And because we've seen these things, and because at some moment in time we might even have added our name to one list or another, we need to laugh with Bobby and then remind ourselves just how important a role we play in the lives of those watching.

I was once one of the watchers, and the case did not look good for Christ...until He Himself showed up and showed off. Until He forced me to look past other fragile humans who make up the church so that I could see Him instead.

If you have felt the hurt of rejection from those who ought to know better or have watched and wondered what kind of God could willingly call the Church His, then I suggest you read Bobby Weaver's book. And then look past the folk who hurt you and talk to the One in charge.

Fingernails across a chalkboard

2010-11-25T12:04:00.000-08:00

I've been an editor for over thirty years, and some things drive me crazy. This may not interest you at all. That's fine, but today my skin crawls from the sound of fingernails raking across the chalkboard.

I wish some of the copy editors out there in publishing land would stop imagining that adverbs are a writer's enemy, the newest dirty word that must be excised at all costs. Why do they assume one should shuffle along with an adjective stuck in the wrong place, pretending to be something it isn't? (Too many instances of the emperor's new clothes, and tailors will go out of business.) I know that's how some folks speak, but how will anyone learn if we don't at least clean up our writing?

I read voraciously and eclectically. Today, the day of the fingernails and squeals, I'm reading an action novel written by a fellow who knows how to tell a good yarn. It a great bad-guys-versus-good-guys tale that's so much fun, I can't get mad at the author for his grammatical gaffes. But his copy editor? His proof reader? Please, tell me they know the difference.

"...I need to do it quick." And, "He walks slow."

You see what I mean? Ly is a grand suffix. It would fix those words right up, wouldn't it?

And then there's: "I'm done." What? You're cooked? No, you have finished. "I got done with the turkey." You were cooked with the turkey? No, you finished roasting/cleaning/cutting/basting the turkey. You didn't get done with anything. You finished it. Done is the past participle of to do. He does it. He did it. He has done it. I do it. I did it. I have done it. (I will do it. I should do it.)

If you want to use the verb "to do" then use it. "I did it," not "I'm done." If you mean you have finished the project, then say so.

Please.

In the last chapter of the book I found a "for him and I." Now surely editors (if not college-educated authors) know about nominative and objective cases. They must. For him works. But for I? Nope. Not a chance. It's for me, guys. Please.

Pretty please?

Now that I've whined, I'll wish you a very happy Thanksgiving Day.

Jane Lebak's THE BOYS UPSTAIRS

2010-11-05T13:20:00.000-07:00

The first time I read one of Jane Lebak’s stories, I wanted to cheer. Jane makes me laugh and sometimes shed a tear or two. But most of all, she challenges me to imagine: What if?

When I first read The Guardian, a novel published in 1994 under the name Jane Hamilton, I confronted questions such as: What would it mean if a guardian angel were to break trust with God, even if the severing action initiated from a pure motive? What might be the limits of forgiveness and of faith?

Annihilation from Double-Edged Publishing delved even more deeply into the question of trusting God, and Jane did it with humor and insight that truly touched me. Good stories provoke a suspension of disbelief. Like the works of C.S. Lewis, JRR Tolkien, and Ursula le Guin, Jane’s fantasies reel me in: I believe in the worlds she creates.

I just finished reading Jane's newest, published as an e-book by MuseItUp Publishing, entitled The Boys Upstairs. This time Jane has written about folk I might know, in a place I might have visited, dealing with issues I might recognize. When the crippled priest said, “Praise God for land mines,” I remembered how often I’ve complained about circumstances instead of praising God for the land mines in my life. Not one of them made me a cripple, but each one changed me and my attitude.

This is a feel-good Christmas story that challenges and inspires. As usual, Jane’s writing sparkles. Wouldn’t you like to smile a little this year?

Her blog is also great reading at http://philangelus.wordpress.com

http://museituppublishing.com

The Famous One

2010-10-23T12:08:00.000-07:00

Nicole Petrino-Salter is a friend of mine. I've never met her, but I believe I know her heart. She's also a writer.

Her gift as a storyteller shines in her self-published work, The Famous One. Joey Parr struggles to fill his God-shaped hole with everything except God. We're each of us born with a place of need that only faith can fill, though many of us go after everything else in our search for love and peace and joy. Joey is no needier than most of us, but he's destined for fame as he runs from himself via drugs and alcohol and women.

I always envied those born into faith, who grew up in faith, and whose faith seldom waivered. I remember a group of women who met at my house for prayer. Each was past menopause, and you know what? Not a single one of them had ever suffered from hot flashes. How did they manage that? I'd rip off my sweater or grab an ice pack and wonder if their bliss had anything to do with their lifetime of faith. Perhaps they had an innocence that I lacked. They had each entered marriage in innocence and remained married to the same man throughout their lifetime, an amazing concept, and one I wish I could have emulated.

And then there are the Joey's of this world, and those such as I, who met the Lord later in life after many relationship errors. No, I didn't do drugs -- even legal ones -- nor did I ever drink in excess, but that hole gaped darkly in me, as it did in Joey, until I finally met my Lord. I'm grateful to Nicole for writing a truthful book that traces one man's search and discovery.

I like what Robert Lipardo, a multi-published author, said of this book: "An engaging plot; characters that are real and intriguing; true craftsmanship -- what more can you ask? Nicole Petrino-Salter's writing is certain to touch many people."

I agree. I hope you'll order a copy. And if you want to be challenged as a writer and a truth-speaker, visit Nicole's blog: Into the Fire

After The Conference

2010-09-26T06:56:00.000-07:00

We're home again, all 600 of us, recovering from lack of sleep and too much good food. I'd been warned about the food, but thought myself safe. After all, I eat very little in the dessert line. But the posters must have meant the salads and the meat. Wonderful salads, made the way I like them: interesting greens dotted with fruit and nuts, dressed to taste. And a most accommodating chef and wait staff, who made certain that none of those delicious milk products landed on my plate. Well seasoned meat, too much of it, did stare up at me and find its way into a body unused to such gluttony. Friday night's leftovers provided a sumptuous breakfast in my room.

And then there was the dinner out: Terry Burns, my agent, and I were royally treated to prime rib and other delicacies at Morgan's, where Peter and another Terry, delightful now-friends, made us laugh -- and overeat, oh, my...though I took some back to the hotel for Sunday lunch.

It does seem as if my stomach ruled over the weekend.

And, yet, that's not the case. How can I describe the pleasure of meeting so many already-friends? I wish all of our client group could have attended the conference--we missed you who couldn't be there. Terry is a hoot...and, so, of course, is Bonnie. Sherri brought me a back pillow, a little doggie who can travel easily with me on planes and to the boat. Thank you, Sherri. I ran into Roger at the airport, where we visited for quite a while, and now I'm thoroughly enjoying his humorous novel in search of a home. I found time to chat with Pam and Susan and Jennifer and Suzanne and Bill and Donn; others were busy with old friends or making new ones. What a privilege to be among so many fine writers and fine people.

Now it's back to work on my writing and on the editing that's come my way. I hope that in the next months, Terry's blog will have more announcements on his Good News Page, more covers like the one adorning Donn's book, more contract news. He may not have won Agent of the Year at the conference, but in the mind of all his clients, he deserves the title. We thank you, Terry, for being the man you are, an honorable gentleman with a sense of humor and a desire to serve. I had the privilege of seeing his kindness at work when he gently led nervous supplicants through their appointment. Lord, bless Terry Burns, please, and let the oil of Your Spirit that filters down, as it did from Aaron's head and beard, spread to all of us who know and work with him.

Jennifer Hudson Taylor, another North Carolina girl (yea, NC!) who writes historical fiction and radiates sweetness, took this picture (she's in the front row with the white color). If you check out her Facebook page, you can find lots of ACFW pictures.(I'm the one standing directly behind her, enjoying my hiding place.) Several of the group had scattered: Bonnie, Roger, and Sherri are obviously missing.

Rhapsody in Red

2010-09-23T13:52:00.000-07:00

The cover caught my attention: red, with an overturned, spike-heeled shoe, and the title Rhapsody in Red captured below. It was obviously a mystery, as a matter of fact, “A Preston Barclay Mystery.”

I bought the book, asked Donn Taylor to autograph it at the ACFW Conference, and turned the last page this morning.

I’m an eclectic reader, but only of well crafted works that provoke a smile—or sometimes tears. If the author can surprise a chortle, I’m thrilled. Poorly written work – or poorly edited work – will often end up in my trash can.

I don’t enjoy sweet romance or historical fiction – unless it’s the sort Georgette Heyer used to write: huge tomes that would make many readers shudder at their sheer bulk. But a good story, written with humor, perhaps a comedy of manners? Yes, sir.

Donn Taylor writes with wit and sophistication. Imagine his hero: a widowered history professor who hears music in his head and who must join with a wiccan professor of comparative religion to find a murderer. An interesting premise, yes, but it’s the music that caught my attention. Preston hears Samuel Barber as the story opens, Chopin later. The music speeds and slows, warns and soothes. With a gun pointed his way, Pres says, “…my cerebral musicians played the feathery violin passages Mendelssohn composed to represent Shakespeare’s fairies. They provided no consolation.”

Though my musical education can’t compare to Donn’s, I know enough to imagine the sounds evoked. And then there’s the use of language. The professor pokes fun and corrects bad grammar with an elegant ease that made me smile. Moody published the book. I can’t wait to read its sequel.

Good for you, Donn.

Conference Time

2010-09-11T11:20:00.000-07:00

I sit in my lovely room, looking out at Sleepy Creek and polishing One Sheets to take to the ACFW Conference in Indianapolis. This will be the first writers conference I've been able to attend in more than ten years, so you can imagine how excited I am. I'll be helping my agent work the appointments desk and meeting some of the other clients from Hartline as well as all sorts of other folk who share the same agenda: getting good books with good stories into the hands of readers so we can share the good news.

Check out the website of American Christian Fiction Writers

TIME

2010-08-24T07:50:00.000-07:00

Sunrise on the Sea of Cortez. Praise music piped to the cockpit, in Spanish, of course, but, oh, so very, very full of the magnificence of God. By sunrise, we'd been at sea for four hours.

Ecclesiastes chapter 3 speaks of time in large and small terms. At sea, it feels as if one has only the large and the long...the stretches of silence (the music off and the audiobook finished or not yet begun) broken only by the sound of the engine that must propel us toward land when the wind fails...the vastness of water as the land we left disappears and the one we approach remains merely a promise.

Being at sea forces contemplation. I don't know how one can remain an unbeliever in the midst of all that majesty. Prayer wells: how can it not?

And now we're tied to land, this time in a marina. I've pictures of it all on the sailing blog.

Time becomes less contemplative, busier, because the world swirls with activity even in the sweltering heat. And now I'm working on a manuscript that a friend of mine recently read for me. I haven't met Nicole Petrino-Salter face to face, but I value her, not merely for her talents, but also for her integrity and for the friendship she offers. And so for me this is, "A time to keep and a time to throw away. A time to tear apart and a time to sew together." (Ecc 3:6b-7a) I'm searching for that passion, Nicole. Tearing apart and sewing together. Keeping and tossing.

The Beauty of this Place

2010-08-01T20:26:00.000-07:00

I've been busy tweaking submissions for my agent, Terry Burns. And in between tweaks, we've traveled from one place to another and back again.

If you'd like to see pictures other than the one of rays leaping and slapping the water, take a gander at www.seaventure.us. I've put up a number of new ones and will finish tomorrow.

The Problem with Peter

2010-07-25T09:36:00.000-07:00

Are you tired of making promises to God that you can't keep? Tired of feeling happy one day and discouraged the next? We just listened to a sermon by William Carrol from Times Square Church that hit home.

He suggests that our problem is exactly what old Peter faced: the Cross. Peter figured, as we so often do, that by saying "Here I am, Lord, take me," he'd step out in that raucous sea where Jesus walked, and, hey, right away the waves would calm. They didn't. And don't we so often do the same thing? "Hey, Lord, I'm here. I've signed up for the Kingdom. I'm ready to go with You." And instead of the glory of the battle and the victory, we find ourselves like the Israelites on the wrong side of the Red Sea, surrounded by the enemy or the water. And we wonder where the Promised Land has hidden itself.

Take a few minutes and listen to this. I think you'll be as blessed as we were.

The Problem with Peter

Discipline versus Discouragement

2010-07-20T18:49:00.000-07:00

Do you ever feel discouraged by what is not happening...or by what is? Do you feel overwhelmed by moments whose sole purpose seems to be to steal your peace?

Recently, I spent most of a day wallowing in doubt. I fretted and worried and forgot all I knew about trust, allowing stomach acids to gnaw me hollow. Why? Because....because.... I haven't a clue why, except that somehow I let circumstances dictate my feelings.

And what were those circumstances? Heat? Exhaustion? The niggling voice whispering, "You can't write, you'll never be published, you might as well give up?"

Why does it sometimes take hours to recognize the voice that whispers in our ear? The author of discouragement is not our God. I'm sorry, Lord, that sometimes, after all these years of following You, I give the enemy an inch. I let him wander through my head.

Instead, help me remember I can stop him at the first hurtful word. I can speak truth to myself and remind him of the One I serve, the One Who has already bought my peace.

Instead of discouragement, I choose discipline. Instead of fear, the courage to walk forward, no matter what happens.

Terry Burns once said that if his stories touched one heart, turned one person toward the Lord, that was all that mattered. He didn't need fame or fortune.

I'm holding on to that. Lord, make me content merely to write. Merely to lift my heart toward You. Merely to listen to the still small voice that is Yours, which whispers love songs through the universe You created.

Thank You, Lord, for everything: the heat and the bees and the days that lack affirmation as well as the days that overflow with joy. Let me be so full of Your grace that it will flow out and touch hurting souls.

And help me, please, to keep my eyes on the beauty, looking outward, because I am so privileged to have such scenes in my backyard.

The Hardest Part

2010-07-10T14:53:00.000-07:00

The hardest part of starting a new manuscript is starting. It's that first paragraph and that first page. Oh, I can always go back and revise, but the first will set the tone and give me a jump start on crafting a work that pleases me. I imagined I'd write a particular story about particular characters, and then this other one dangled itself in my face, appearing in my morning and evening thoughts.

For days, I climbed the companionway steps to look at the Giganta range in the background of that photo my husband took from Sea Venture's cockpit. You can see how distracting that could be, can't you? I'd look, start to feel antsy, then head below to revise our boat's website/blog.

I uploaded pictures. I cleaned the boat. I climbed into the cockpit again and gazed at the view. Then, I removed old caulking from around the doghouse (a boaty name for the smaller cabin top, aft of the pilothouse, which allows us walking room in the aft cabin).

En route to the galley to fix lunch/dinner/snack, I'd stare at my writing computer. Today, I needed to go online with it as it had specific pictures stored in its hard drive. Maybe the fact that the screen was lit and glaring at me did the tick. Maybe it was that breeze blowing down the companionway to the nav station, the first in a couple of days.

I wrote one beginning and tossed it. Wrote the second and thought: boring. Wrote another and decided that, yes, I have a beginning. A real, attention-grabbing beginning that ties in book 2 and brings us to a new conflict.

So Now, I just have to write. Okay.... I can do this.

Sailing, Sailing

2010-07-03T09:29:00.000-07:00

To see some of the places we've been lately, visit our sailing blog and website (it's changed) www.seaventure.us. We're back in Internet land at Puerto Escondido. Time to begin a new manuscript. This is faith speaking: if I write Book 3, Books 1 and 2 of the Beaufort series will sell, won't they? Well, here's praying!

Moon rising over Bahia San Evaristo. What a glorious life in which to write.

Another Down, Another to Go

2010-06-18T13:24:00.000-07:00

I sent off the second Beaufort book to my agent last week. He applauded the hook and the continuing tension. But in writing book 2, I realized I needed to rewrite at least the opening of book 1. It has been taking up hard-drive space again. This morning, it went out to a reader.

Is it better? I hope so. I cut a thousand words and added others. The tension in the beginning chapter feels more real. I, along with my character, imagine a knife to the snake's throat. And lots of blood pulsing from his neck as he begs forgiveness -- and she walks away.

She has issues, small-town-spinster issues. Thirty-seven-year-old-virgin issues. But then, if you were in her place, wouldn't you?

He, of course, faces none of Tadie's woes. Here, he wades near the La Paz Malecon.

Does the World Need You -- and Me?

2010-05-10T07:54:00.000-07:00

Over at http://www.yourwritersgroup.com/ editor Mick Silva suggests that, yes, the world needs us because it needs our words.

What a novel thought.

I look over my shoulder to glimpse time's passing, to wonder how the moments slipped from then to now when I barely feel the years -- except for the odd creak and groan as my body reminds me that I may have stopped aging, but it hasn't. I crawl into my closet to ponder (quietly) the why and how and when of this thing I call a gift, to ask, "Lord, did you, in fact, design me for this: word crafting?"

Sometimes it's hard to know the answer as rejections pile and years pass. I read voraciously of things published, both modern and not. When I find a particularly well crafted novel or essay, I feel inadequate. But then there are all those others.

"Think of all language as a holy expression of meaning from nothing," writes Mick. "A calling out from chaos to ordained order. With every word, the dark marks on paper build, until the whole world is made new. From that angle, anything but awe-struck gratitude feels insufficient."

Perhaps the importance then is not in success or worldly validation, but in crafting words that participate in the creative process. Words that touch the heart or mind, that reveal, that teach, that heal. If so, I can and must write whatever the Lord sets before me and do it with all my might: the letter that encourages, the poem that frees the spirit, the story that provokes laughter or tears.

And then I must release the words to fly where He wills.

Ah, Lord, with a grateful heart I sing the only way I know, with a silent voice and a full heart and letters typed by my fingertips.

Rewriting and then rewriting again

2010-05-03T16:47:00.000-07:00

Why is it that the phrase I thought so perfect -- so apropos! -- leaps suddenly off the page as miserably imperfect? I've either got too much or too little of whatever I should or shouldn't have.

I rewrite. Ah, ha! The sentence flows. Or does it?

No, it has paused. Now stopped abruptly. Perhaps I've overwritten.

Is that better? Hmmm.

If this were paper, I'd tear the sheet and ball it, practicing my free throw at the waste basked. Instead, I hit delete. Whole chapters, entire pages, highlighted and subjected to CTRL-X. Because I liked them once, considered them fluent and well crafted, they've gone into an Extras file. A few sentences, a paragraph or two, may sneak back into another chapter. Most will never see the light of my eyes -- and certainly never yours -- again.

Considering that I write with views like the above just out my cockpit doors, I can't complain. I will just write and rewrite and then rewrite again until I cobble it all together, draft the proposal, and send it on to my agent. (Terry, you are the very best.)

To be read aloud and thoughtfully

2010-04-16T08:43:00.000-07:00

Here is some lovely writing that I found in One More River by John Galsworthy (Charles Scribner's Sons, NY,1970, pp 264-265):

...By love was man flung into the world; with love was he in business nearly all his days making debts or profit; and when he died was by the results of love, if not by the parish, buried and forgotten. In this swarming London not a creature but was deeply in account with a Force so whimsical, inexorable, and strong that none, man or woman, in their proper sense, would choose to do business with it.... All his other activities man could insure, modify, foresee, provide against (save the inconvenient activity of death); love he could not. It stepped to him out of the night, into the night returned. It stayed, it fled. On one side or the other of the balance sheet it scored an entry, leaving him to cast up and wait for the next entry. It mocked dictators, parliaments, judges, bishops, police, and even good intentions; it murdered; was devoted, faithful, fickle. It had no shame, and owned no master; built homes and gutted them; passed by on the other side; and now and again made of two hearts one heart till death. To think of London, Manchester, Glasgow, without love appeared to Adrian, walking up the Charing Cross Road, to be easy; and yet without love not one of these passing citizens would be sniffing the petrol of this night air, not one girmy brick would have been laid upon brick, not one bus be droning past, no street musician would wail, nor lamp light up the firmament. A somewhat primary concern! And he, whose primary concern was with the bones of ancient men, who but for love would have had no bones to be dug up, classified and kept under glass, thought of Dornford and Dinny, and whether they would 'click'...

And here, from page 276:

...There was, indeed, to Dinny something really restful and reassuring in those long lazing minutes, when she need not talk, but just take summer in at every pore--its scent, and hum, and quiet movement, the careless and untroubled hovering of its green spirit, the vague sway of the bulrushes, and the clucking of the water, and always that distant calling of the wood pigeons from far trees. She was finding, indeed, the truth of Clare's words, that he could 'let one's mouth alone.'

I am so sorry to have finished reading this. But there will be others. Until then...

On the subject of reading

2010-04-15T19:28:00.000-07:00

When my 82-year-old mother visits Sea Venture, she comes laden with a stash of books that she passes on to me. I remember How Starbucks Saved My Life from last year. It wasn't brilliant, but it did amuse.

This year I discovered a new-to-me author, John Galsworthy, and his One More River. British literature of a certain era delights me. I love the fluid prose, the humor sneaking up from the words, the delightful sense of the ridiculous: comedy of manners that makes you want to read more, not so much to find out what happens next, but just because the reading itself is a pleasure: the juxtaposition of words well crafted; the sparseness of detail that yet develops character. And, oh, the sense of right and wrong that still prevailed in the 30s: the absolutes perhaps not always absolute, but with a sense of idealism that wars against reality.

Sea Venture's Journey

2010-04-03T14:41:00.000-07:00

Busy, busy, busy getting ready for sea. Tomorrow we leave for the Baja. So.

I will probably only be posting on our sailing blog because the rest of my writing time is/will be devoted to a rewrite of my ms. If you'd like to keep up with our journey, make friends with:

www.seaventuresjourney.blogspot.com

Local Knowledge Continued

2010-03-14T16:25:00.000-07:00

A former critique partner wrote recently that she owed me a review. Thrilled, I sent her my latest manuscript and told her to read for content or for any stumbling block, such as too much back story too early in the game.

She has been posting comments -- much appreciated ones. She's the sort who might say the writing's good, but she won't pussyfoot around when it comes to content. That's the sort of reader every writer needs. Her caveat is that I judge her comments through the filter of my own experience, accepting those that are valid. Every one she's sent so far has been insightful -- and answered questions I didn't know I had.

Local knowledge is the one exception.

My cousin and his wife took us to dinner last night (and let me tell you, if you ever get to Morehead City, NC, you've got to visit William's; it's unprepossessing on the outside, but rivals the best in terms of food.) As we scarfed down our salad course, I interviewed my cousins to clarify the issue: could the scene I'd written happen here or would the circumstances and setting be more as my writer friend had suggested?

Local color, local knowledge. We've got to get it right, even if what we describe seems odd to those who live elsewhere. My cousins were adamant: The down-home scene with the down-home props worked. The local deputy wouldn't have had the equipment she had suggested.

As for the rest of her suggestions: they're excellent. I've been using CTRL-X and CTRL-V all afternoon, along with some judicious rewriting.

Local Knowledge

2010-03-03T16:22:00.000-08:00

Can you see why we love Carteret County? That's our harbor, with part of the flotilla ready to go!

I just received comments from a reader who actually grew up in the area about which I've been writing. True, I spent my growing-up summers there. My family originated in a nearby town with a branch coming from this same area. And now I call the place home when I'm not off sailing elsewhere.

But that doesn't mean I'm intimately acquainted with the things that locals might react to, either positively or negatively. And as a writer, the last thing I want to do is step on anyone's toes because of my ignorance.

Hence, my reader. She's not only a friend, but she's a careful and intelligent reader. I can't tell you how grateful I am to her for taking the time to comment on anything that jarred her. Because of this, I've moved some offensive folk to a locale far away. I want locals to buy the book -- once it finds a publishing home -- and to stand just a little taller because I've gotten it right.

I love Beaufort, NC. I just hope the folks from Beaufort will love what I wrote about their/our town. I found the following pictures: take a look at some of what makes this a special place:A feast of photos from Beaufort

New Template

2010-02-23T09:52:00.000-08:00

From Raquel, one of Terry's other clients (http://nitewriter6.blogspot.com/) I learned about Blogger's free templates. I know, I know: I should have figured these out long ago; I'm a little slower than most.

So, let me know how you like this one. I've also changed the template for our sailing blog (http://seaventuresjourney.blogspot.com). We're back in the States for a while, doing tax work, enjoying fast internet -- my husband and I may barely come up for breath, we're having so much fun.

I look forward to hearing from you.

Another One Down

2010-02-15T07:58:00.000-08:00

Another manuscript out of my hands and into my agent's. Of course, he may not like it, but that's negative thinking, so I'd rather not go there.

I'm glad I listened to the voice in my head and rewrote this story in the first person. All of my other stories have multiple POVs. This one used to, but I think it flows more smoothly with the single point of view, especially considering the subject matter. Though I did like getting into the head of the crazy lady....

And perhaps that helped me build the story, writing her thoughts, making her real in my head. I could see her clearly, this woman bent on self-destruction. As I learned her life story, what happened to her became inevitable and she became real -- at least in my head.

And the secondary male character behaved badly sometimes -- okay, often -- but he was another flawed human. Aren't we all? I just hope I showed him that way, as someone who failed but who otherwise could be a friend. The heroine certainly liked him too well--until she didn't.

Now, there's a flawed person for you, that heroine. Flawed and hurting and full of angst.

It's a story about consequences. And what one can do when those consequences overwhelm.

Well, we'll see what comes of all of this.

Rewriting

2010-02-03T07:23:00.000-08:00

I don't know about you, but I think writing a piece, letting it lie dormant, and then going back with fresh eyes is a great idea. When I first wrote/rewrote/edited/rewrote Sailing Out of Darkness, I listened to a lot of folk who had various things to say about it. Cut this, add that, change the voice, change the language, don't be real -- reality might offend. What I ended up with was fine, but it wasn't exactly what I'd had in mind.

Now, several years later, I'm reworking it. Will I improve it? I haven't a clue, but I'll tell you one thing: I'm having fun. And I think the distance has made me more able to hear the voice speaking in my head. The one that others shouted down because I listened more to them than to my instincts.

Won't it be fun to see if the voice speaks truth and if I'm hearing it without too many filters this time?

Now I'm going to show you Monday morning's glory as seen from Sea Venture's deck on the way south from Bahia San Carlos.

Heading into the rising sun

Writing on Board

2010-01-27T13:07:00.000-08:00

Sea Venture is a 50 foot ketch, our home on the water. She's big enough to allow me to write on one computer in the lower salon, while my husband does his engineering/designing/messing around with his computer in the pilot house.That's my desk settee in the upper picture and the one below shows the heater blaring in cool weather, such as we're having mornings here in San Carlos.

I have finished two manuscripts since we moved on board. No problem here wondering what to do with free time. When we're not making passage somewhere new or managing boat projects, I write.

You can read about our passage on the blog links to the right.

Here are some earlier posts I wrote using my website's blogging device. I've since linked to this blog.

11/24/2009

We're in Bahia San Carlos, hanging on the hook of our boat, Sea Venture, while I write and Michael works on boat projects. We await shifts in things: the weather, for one, which may push us south; changes in my writing world, which could mean anything. The following is a picture of the incredible sky we see often as the sun begins to set..

A NEW YEAR 01/04/2010

I've finished the first draft of Forever Is A Long, Long Time, which is the sequel to Not Unless It's Forever. Now it's time for the edit and rewrite. I love the characters in this story: Childless Hannah, who rescues Ben and Lily from under a bush before finding their mother Susan, broken and almost dead on their kitchen floor. Butch, the dog who sniffs out the children. Tommy, the police lieutenant who comes on the scene and finds his life changed beyond repair. And Cal, the nasty ego-centric husband who banged up Susan and is after four-year-old Lily. Of course, the Beaufort. NC, friends from the first story slip right into this one.

We still in Bahia San Carlos, preparing the boat to head south, enjoying new friends, and looking forward to the next adventure.

BLOGGING VERSUS WRITING STORIES: 01/18/2010

Guess which I prefer? I'm amazed by writers who manage to fill blogs with all sorts of interesting things because my writing hours seem eaten before I know it by words growing or changing in my stories. I open a chapter of my WIP and read it, then, oops, gotta fix that. Oh, and then there's that scene that really needs to be tightened, and does that dialogue really work?

So, if I only come on here once in a blue moon, that's why.

If you want more, write me and ask for it! I'll answer. Really.