How I Write

I've been asked to describe how I come up with my scenes, visions and characters. That's not an easy thing to put into words, since for the most part, Catrìona is telling me the story, and I just type it. Really. I may have a general plan, but she directs me all the way.

In fact, when I try to take control because I feel she's going in a different direction than I perceive the plot should be going, I'm literally shut down. Talk about writer's block! Nothing happens. I can sit at the keyboard for a week, and unless I relinquish control back to her, the screen will remain blank. How's that for channeling!

She takes me to places I would never have thought to go, introduce characters as she needs them (she does let ME name them, though), and come up with some obscure bit of information that I have to research to be sure it's correct. There won't be another word typed until the research is complete. I'm not one who can skip around it, because many times the direction that is taken is derived directly from what I find in the history. It's like a light bulb turning on and lighting the path to the next scene. It's pretty fun actually, not knowing what's going to happen until it's typed. The story is as new to me as it is to the readers. Kind of like watching a movie and going along for the ride, letting each scene unfold with its twists and turns.

Many, many times, Cat will throw a surprise in that sets me to talking to the screen, saying, "Are you sure? But how will this tie in with the scene we're doing now?" Much like Cat does in the stories, there will be a voice in my head telling me to not think how, just see where it takes me. Hey, if it doesn't work, the delete key is a stroke away. It seems the only time I use the delete key to destroy a scene is when I try to take over.

So after six years of writing, I've learned to listen to Catrìona and let her lead me through the story. It's a blast!

What's Underneath...

I remember the first time I went to a Highland Game. It was at Loon Mountain, NH some 20 odd years ago. I was with my husband (who is a Scot) and my sister. My husband was a photographer at the time, so my sister and I were left to our own devises. Probably not a wise move on my husband’s part! We, my sister and I, decided to see for ourselves just what was worn under the kilt. Mind you, this research project wasn't quite as easy as it sounded. One doesn't just go up to the nearest kilted man and ask, I mean what fun would that be anyway?

So, we found a set of outdoor stairs that were the open grate sort and nonchalantly stood under them. All right, maybe nonchalant is not the correct word for what we were doing, but I swear to God, it the most fun we'd had for a very long time! One by one, a kilted man would walk down the stairs and we'd look up. I can't imagine what people were saying as they heard us giggling under that stairway. We gave it a good hour in order to research the matter thoroughly!

Oh, and to answer the question on everyone's mind... shorts. Very disappointing. There wasn't a free-baller or commando on the mountain that day. Not like the gentleman in the photo above.

And just what is the appeal of a man in a kilt? My feeling is, if a man is confident enough with his masculinity to wear a skirt, he radiates a certain manliness that stirs the loins of a woman! This is seconded only by a James Bond tuxedo. Mmmm!

Screenplay Redux

I just received my critique for the screenplay I wrote for Eyes of Garnet. All in all, for my very first try, it wasn't bad. Of course there's work to do, but it's not like they said, stick to writing books. That being said, writing books and writing scripts are two very different animals. I'm reading an older Nora Roberts book right now about a writer who's just had his book made into a movie. When the protagonist asked him why he didn't write it himself, his reply was, "what do you take for me for, a masochist?" Oh, how true I'm finding that out to be. First, while Eyes isn't all that long, there are tons of things going on. Things I couldn't fit into a mandatory 120-page story. That meant I had to chop and hack my way through entire scenes, vaporizing entire chapters and characters. The funny part was my critiquer told me it didn't flow quite as well as it could. I'm thinking, no shit! You made me cut out all the connecting scenes!

Anyway, for my rewrite I have to stop thinking like the author of the book, and think about what would make a good movie. More visuals, less speech. More emotion that connects the scenes better. I need to find the one continuity and carry that through the movie. Feel it rather than read it. A new concept, but I do so love a challenge! I think by the end of this rewrite, it will definitely be more of "based on the book Eyes of Garnet".

On the writing front, I've just send a new batch of queries to 37 literary agencies. Yeah, I know it's a lot, but with the age of e-queries becoming more prevalent (saves a lot of trees!), the agents get back to you much quicker than the standard 2 month wait. I still have one agency interested from the last batch I sent out, and a few haven't gotten back to me yet. It's such a slow, agonizing process. The third book in the Garnet series is coming along very nicely, though. I'm on page 140 and beginning chapter 16. And the signing season is creeping up quickly. I always love that part of the deal - meeting the people who have read, or want to read my book.

Finding the Elusive Agent

Last week I sent out 23 queries to literary agents specializing in my genre (if it can really be described). I'm going for historical fiction for Sightless. Out of the 23, I've already had 4 returns. But wait! They weren't ALL rejections! One agency wanted to see the first three chapters and a synopsis. I promptly sent her the requested material, and now I wait.

Now, writing query letters is an artform in of itself. To me, it's much more work than writing my books! If I could pay someone to write the perfect query letter (one that agents actually makes an agent want to see my work because the hook was too terrific to pass up), the synopsis (a 1 page and a full blown, what-the-book-is-about one), the dreaded chapter-by-chapter outline, and whatever else each agency wants to see just be have them return all your hard work and effort with a form letter saying something like, it's not your writing, it's our passion that's lacking to promote your work to a publisher. And those are the elaborate ones! Sometimes it's a business card saying thanks, but not right for us at this time.

To sort of be fair about it, I know agents receive thousands of queries a week. That alone would be a daunting task to go through, never mind find the jewel in the rough and want to proceed with it further. But, it's still a hateful, dreadfully slow, agonizing process that one must go through to pay our dues. And pay and pay and pay.

So, the waiting begins. Most agents will return an answer within a month or two. Some take just days. I guess it's a good thing there are thousands of agents out there to choose from. I just hope the one who will represent me isn't the last one on the list!

Genre Wars

Another rejection. I took this one kind of hard. Since many agents I query will tell me, I have a difficult book to place into a specific genre. I think Eye of Garnet is a historical fiction with a paranormal twist. The historical fiction agents get really spooked (pardon the pun!) by this "twist", and tell me they don't represent that stuff. So I queried a more paranormal publishing company. My rejection, though pleasant enough, stated that I wasn't paranormal enough. Hard to win with a genre-bending story. And no, I refuse to write to conform to one category. Can't. Won't! I write through my character's voice. I'm not my characters, they are themselves. So, I continue to query and keep writing ... what I want.

On a bit of a brighter side, my screenplay I wrote adapting Eyes of Garnet to the silver screen, has found an agent. 'Course, that means nothing if they can't sell it to a film company, but as ever, I'm blissfully naïve and always think something good will come of it. Hell, if I didn't, how could I keep going?

Ice Storms and Signings Don't Mix

I was supposed to join four other authors last night for a Valentine's Day signing. There were romance authors, murder mysteries, historical fiction and the like represented. Well, that was until we ended up having an ice storm that pretty much put the kibosh on the event.

Me and Dorothy Cannell braved the storm, but we were also the closest to the event in Belfast, Maine. Somehow, we did manage to get a store full of customers and sold some of our books, but it would have been a real treat to sit with some of my favorite authors and chat about writing.

The owners of the bookstore said it was the first time in the thirteen years they've owned the place that a weather event stopped them. At the end of the evening, though, it all seemed to work out all right, and we ate, drank and drove very, very slowly home.

A Highland Fling

Last night, my husband and I went to Bangor to see The Royal Scots Dragoon Guards. They are Highland pipes, drums and dancers. Women in the crowd actually cried when they heard them play a few of the more traditional tunes like Amazing Grace. I'm not the weepy type, but I do love to hear the pipes.

Now, Dragoons are a calvary unit, so when the man came out to introduce the band, he was wearing spurs that clicked on the concrete floor of the auditorium. The woman in front of me said breathlessly, "Oh, I do so love a man in spurs." It was all I could do from letting one of my famous belts of laughter out. I think my husband was proud that remained restrained (he embarrasses easy). I mean, what did she love about spurs? Was it the old cowboy adage of keeping his boots on even when making love? Or was it some other fantasy she had of the silvery stars on a man's boots? Many ideas flew through my mind, all of which were a bit risqué. I think what was most amusing was that she never once mentioned their bare legs under their tartan kilts!

The rest of the program was very good and the sword dancers were terrific. Lithe and limber men in flying kilts. All too short of a performance, though.