Putting Me Through The Wringer

When I got home from the day job yesterday, lying on the coffee table was an envelope waiting for me to open it. Calling for me to open it. Screaming at me, really.

It was a copy of the short story "Lost and Found" that yesterday I told you had been taken by a bestselling mystery author friend of mine to be read and critiqued.

When he took it, he warned me he would "tell it like it is," He didn't want to create any bad feelings in our friendship. I told him I understood. I told him I wanted that critical eye telling me what I was doing wrong and what (if anything) I had done right. He told me that if he didn't make a comment on a sentence or paragraph, that meant he liked it. He said he'd make comments to help me improve the story otherwise.

I ripped open the envelope and sat down to both read the story and his comments. There was a Post-It note stuck to the front page- "I put you through the ringer (sic.) buddy- hope it helps!"

I was prepared for absolute devastation, but as it turns out, I didn't need to be. He made a lot of comments, ninety percent of which I think can only make the story better. There are some that made me think I might have to rework the underlying plot and reset the time line. There are even a few that are forcing me to do what I didn't want to- get rid of the first sentences and paragraphs that I wrote which were the basis of the story.

Click here to see the story and the editorial critique.

It was interesting and eye opening to get this perspective from someone who has been there and understands what it takes to make a story interesting. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must get back to work, as it seems I have a lot of work to do.

Do I Have ADHD?

I sometimes wonder if I have ADHD? My attention span seems so short lived that I have to wonder if I'm easily distracted by the latest shiny object (or book) that catches my eye. Like the book I just picked up this week...

What was I talking about? Oh yeah, my short attention span.

Maybe it's due to work or family. It could be due to the fact that having lost two full time employees due to slow sales, I am doing three jobs instead of one, sometimes requiring me to take work home. Sometimes sitting at home, working on my computer, I find other sites I want to look at. Like, the other day, I found this site...

Where was I going with this? Oh, yeah- writing.

It's been a while since I last posted. Partly due to my short attention span, partly due to work and family, partly due to...

Hold it! Focus! Writing. That was what I wanted to talk about.

While I've been offline (not just off the blog, my Twitter and Facebook friends can confirm my absence there as well), I have been writing. Fiddling with ideas, sketching characters and playing with plot lines. But, something really cool happened too.

The first short story I shared on this blog, "Lost and Found," has been taken, read and criticized by a bestselling mystery author. I'm waiting to receive the manuscript through snail mail, but his email to me contained two words that were encouraging- "Good story." Lacking flaws? Perfect? Nah, I'm sure he's hammered it with the intent of helping me make it better, but I'm thrilled with the fact that he's found SOME merit in it.

Meantime, I've started a new short story I'm calling "The Hand That Feeds You." Now that may sound ominous. I hope it does. This is turning into an interesting plot. The protagonist becomes the antagonist and vice-versa. There are guns, traps, poisons, bears and chihuahuas. There is the opportunity to like and hate both of the human characters. At least that is what I hope the plot outline is giving me. If you'd like to see how I've plotted this out initially, go to "The Hand That Feeds You" plot outline.

Once again, make comments. Some of your comments have made "Lost and Found" better than it started out, good enough to be called a "good story" by a bestselling author. Hopefully, this story goes in the same direction.

Now, I was supposed to do something, but I seem to have forgotten...

Ok People, Make Some Noise

I don't know about other writers, but I used to think that I wrote best when I was left completely alone, in a quiet place in order to be alone with my thoughts. I have recently discovered that I tend to be more productive when I'm in a place surrounded by noise.

Whether that noise is music, people, or the general background noise of life, I seem to be able to absorb that noise and focus it into my writing. The recent description I wrote of a young woman in a Las Vegas bar, was written in the midst of two dueling piano players who were singing loudly and getting the entire crowd to sing along with them. I've had several comments from people who really liked this description and want to know more about this story (this has subsequently turned into my next project).

Now, I can't concentrate when the noise is directed at me, such as people talking and wanting me to respond in some coherent way. But, if the noise is background, not soft, yet not completely drowning out my own thoughts, it becomes a kind of muse.

I should have started writing during rock concerts years ago. I'd have several novels done by now. Who knew?

To Curse, or Not To Curse

Since I lasted posted on the blog, I have been working on my new short story "Burned," which I plan to share the first draft with all of you shortly.

Meanwhile, I was on the road this last week for business, but I took the opportunity to continue collecting ideas and characters in my little notebook that I always carry with me.

While in Las Vegas, I hung out at one of my favorite bars- The Piano Bar at Harrah's Casino. This place is just flat out fun. There are two grand pianos on a low rise stage right in the middle of the bar where every night from 9 p.m. to 2 a.m. two pianists take popular song requests get everyone in the bar to sing a dance along. It can get pretty raucous.

While there one night, I noticed a young woman sitting at the end of the low bar that nearly surrounds the stage. She was alone, which isn't unusual, but the more I watched, she turned out to be one of the most oddly interesing people in the bar that night. I had to pull out the notebook and start making notes.

While I don't normally curse heavily when I write, I also think that you have to be true to the characters you are writing about or describing. I ended up dropping the F-bomb a couple of times to describe this young woman. Here is the description I wrote:

"She sat near the music, the grand pianos on the small stage, white fedora on the counter seemingly oblivious to the music and drunken chaos around her. Even surrounded by a crowd in the bar you could tell she was alone. She talked and laughed with no one, sipped at a drink very slowly and didn’t sing along with the dueling pianists that had the rest of the bar sounding like a dissonant choir.
Skinny, almost stickly so, with almost non-existent breasts, not well hidden by her thin pink tank top that read "certified bitch." A pair of tight, faded skinny blue jeans, and a pair of what could only be described as a “fuck me” pair of shoes, though her attitude really said, “fuck you.”
Occasionally she would open up a small notebook, write in it, then scribble things out, often everything on a page.
She was pretty in profile, beautiful face on. When I finally noticed that, she was gone, but not forever I hoped. The white fedora, the notebook, and her drink were still on the counter.
I didn't see her walk out, but I waited achingly for her to walk back into the bar. And I waited.
When she came back she was wearing a camouflage jacket and reached down into one of the bags next to her chair, Walmart, Target and Rite-Aid, and took out a baby blanket that was brown with pink polka dots on one side and solid pink on the other. She put it on her lap, wrapped her hands securely inside, and pulled it close as she continued listening to the pianos and singers.
After a moment she quickly scribbled a note, stood and put it down on the piano in front of the closest piano player. She did it with a sense of familiarity and non-chalantness that either indicated that she knew the performer or didn't care what others thought about her walking onto the low stage. She sat back down and stared cold and emotionless at the piano player for a few moments before gathering up all her bags and leaving the noise of the bar behind in a wake of palpable indifference. The only thing that indicated her recent presence was a half finished drink, with a red straw held erect by the ice cubes, and the cheap hotel pen she'd been using to scribble in her notebook.
Those were soon cleared by one of the two waitresses working the bar that evening.
For some reason, I was suddenly cold in a city that sat in the middle of a raging hot desert. I had chills I couldn't rid myself of and the thought of the baby blanket, the bags she carried crammed full of her possessions, and the way she approached the musician left me with a frozen lump of ice in the pit of my stomach. Yet, I didn't know exactly why.
Was it due to a physical attraction unfulfilled or something deeper, a sense of having watched something take place that was subconsciously incongruous?
I couldn’t decide whether to follow her or try to find out what was written on the note she left on the piano."

I thought this could be the basis for a great story. I just don't know if I took the description a little too far, or if it came out with just the amount of punch I intended. Thoughts anyone?

I've Been "Lost and Found," Now I'm Being "Burned"

"Lost and Found," the short story I've been working on and sharing here with you has officially been placed on the back burner as I've sent manuscript copies to a couple of friends who have graciously volunteered to read and critique it for me (Thanks Eric and Brandon!).

Several of you (Gay, Jenn, Sara among others) have left comments here on the blog giving me some great feed back as well. I'm waiting for the copies to come back to me, and then I will compile all the critiques and comments together and begin another revision. This also gives me time to step back away from the story for a little while and hopefully, when I return to it, will give me some fresh perspective on my own story.

Meanwhile, there's no time to rest. On to the next story! Writers (or wannabe writers) have to keep writing. So, I've begun work on my next short story, tentatively titled, "Burned."

I've always kept a little notebook with me to write down story and character ideas when inspiration strikes. Just a few weeks ago, I wrote down a short character study which became the basis for this new short story. Here is the characterization as I wrote it down:

"The only comparison I can make is that he reminded me of a used car salesman and an insurance salesman combined. Would that be a used car insurance salesman? When first meeting him, he seemed a respectable and reputable person- tall and fairly lean for a man in his mid-fifties that spent his days in an office. His graying hair was shaved short, mainly to give the appearance of hair while trying to cover up the growing bald spots. He slipped on reading glasses only when reading fine print, making him look like a dignitary when sitting behind his desk. He was quick to shake your hand, pumping it rapidly while putting the other hand on your shoulder, giving you the feeling that he cared, that you were the only person in the world at the moment.
But, in reality, he was a mean, vulgar, and dishonest individual. He’d call you terrible names to your face when he felt slighted. He’d cheat you out of money duly earned if you worked for him, sometimes not paying you at all. He’d intimidate and threaten you to keep you quiet about his loutish, dishonest behavior.
The bullyish behavior would only be exhibited when he was sure he could get away with it, only when he was sure there would be no complaints, when he could be assured of no retaliation.
This obnoxious and brutish behavior was only exhibited towards children.
Someone eventually complained about something that had happened. One or more children had said something about how they’d been treated. There were threats against him; anonymous threats that escalated to pranks and then to violence. Now he lay in a coma, on the verge of death. Burned."

Now, I'm working on the first draft of the story, which I hope to share with all of you soon.