Writers in the Storm

by Fae Rowen

My living room deck is a lizard freeway. It serves as a form of kitty TV for my Siamese warrior cat. One afternoon this summer I caught movement out of the corner of my eye.

Since I've named the lizards that entertain me every afternoon, I walked to the open slider to say hello. Taking a momentary break in the sun wasn't a lizard, but a field mouse. I wished Shogun wasn't napping in the garage.

No! My attic has finally been completely rodent free for nine months and there was no way this little furry villain was getting into my house. The mouse sprinted toward the air conditioning vent. I thought about finding my Siamese hunter and turning him loose, but since he's an indoor cat. I knew I wouldn't let him engage the mouse in battle.

I slid the screen open, ready to  follow the progress of the mouse as it scurried along the long, straight foundation. Ready to yell at it. But a shadow fell across my garden and I stayed inside. A crow that lives in my neighbor's eucalyptus trees landed on my deck cover. It had only one focus--the tiny, defenseless mouse.

No! "Run little mouse," I whispered. There was no cover for the poor creature and it would have to be very fast to make the corner of the house and the safety of the planter there.

The crow launched. I didn't see what happened. It seemed like an eternity before the black wings appeared, heading for the peak of my neighbor's roof. The tiny wriggling mouse dangled from its beak.

I turned away, sorry for my original anger upon seeing the cute little thing scrubbing its whiskers in the sunlight.  Sorry that I did nothing.

And I thought about how quickly my perception and feeling about the mouse changed because of the circumstances in that ten second window.

As writers, don't we want to take our readers through that roller coaster of emotion with a whiplash twist of feeling? Don't we want our readers to be that engaged with our characters and what life throws at them?

So how do you strap your reader into the thrill ride of emotion?

DEEP POV.

Since the RWA conference, I've been doing a final revision on my WIP. It needs more emotion. (Yeah, so what's new?)

I've listened to lectures on deep POV and read articles about it.  But I'm going to share what works for me.

Look at everything through your characters eyes. You may say, "I already do that." But keep in mind, when you're looking through your characters eyes, you're also hearing with your characters ears, feeling with their fingers, muscles, and whatever other body part is engaged in the scene. Your nose smells and your tongue tastes whatever passes your character's lips.

Sound easy? It didn't use to be for me, but now it is. The big change for me was moving from above or in the "wings" of the scene thinking about my character's POV, as opposed to being inside the body of the character with the most to gain or lose in the scene. (You know that's how you choose the POV character, right?)

Before I write, and when I'm away from home and can't write, I live the life of my character in the scene I'm going to work on next. I may be driving the freeway, but I was really piloting my one-seater fighter in a desperate battle for my life. (Hmmm, not so different from the freeways of SoCal sometimes.) When I eat my lunch salad I feel what it is like for a character who has survived all their life on only protein bars and powdered protein drinks. A mouthful of crunchy crisp lettuce, the explosion of red bell pepper, and the coolness of cucumber. Working out with my trainer I (on a good day) feel the fluidity and strength of my characters.  Working with my one-legged balance and a kettle bell, I am Athena. My trainer says, "Perfect. Do them all like that." Would that I could.

An interesting side effect of living this way is that every thing in my daily life is more vibrant, more exciting. Am I actually in my own POV noticing more and participating more in my life? I think so.

When I climb into my character's body, deep POV is natural. There is so much more going on because instead of writing about the emotions in her head, I feel them in her body. I feel those visceral hits that Margie Lawson talked about at conference. If my character's solar plexus tightens, I know.

And you can, too, by putting yourself not in your character's head, but in their body. You know, the body doesn't lie.

Back to the field mouse. My body was relaxed when I crossed to the slider, expecting to see a lizard. My chest expanded with an inhaled breath of surprise when I saw the mouse. I remembered the joy of nine months with no little footsteps over my computer room, and anger scrambled up my throat. My mind slammed a steel door on the possibility of this mouse lazing in my attic. I wanted to kill it, but I knew I couldn't get the right tools fast enough, so I envisioned my cat ripping it apart.

When the object to carry out my wrath swooped in, I froze. I didn't step outside. I felt the stare of the crow as if I were the mouse.  You get the idea.

Rest in peace, little mouse. And thank you for my writing lesson.

How has life supplied you with an unexpected writing lesson in ten seconds? Or more?

By Laura Drake

We love seeing what our readers are up to - so here's your chance!  This month, I'm thinking about middles, since I'm near the middle of my WIP, and worrying about sagging (and for once, it's not about my butt).

So here's your assignment:

Go to your WIP (or one of your other books,) turn to the middle (no cheating) and share a paragraph  or so  in the comments (no more than 200 words, and only one, please.)

Here are ours...

Laura (from my latest, Her Road Home):

The front door slammed open, admitting a woman who, at first glance, looked like a high society matron. A soft pink sleeveless silk shell was tucked into expensively tailored buff linen slacks. Her well-cut hair, with perfect subtle tones of blonde screamed exclusive hairdresser. Her face suggested good breeding, with high cheekbones and a refined nose. She was tanning-bed brown and society thin.

And drunk. Not the falling down variety, or even the speech slurring version, but Sam knew the subtle signs. Her linen slacks were rumpled, and a watermark stain darkened the silk blouse. Her hair pressed flat on one side, and her makeup was smeared. All these could be attributable to the late hour, but Sam knew better.

Sharla (from "Felling A Timberman"):

Noelle stopped dead in the doorway, shocked.

A ledger lay open at the foot of the bed and wads of paper were scattered like jettisoned snowballs all over the floor. An ink-stained sheet covered Vidar’s lap, and his blankets lay in a snarled heap on the floor. Worse, the water pitcher on his nightstand had tipped over, soaking the blankets.

“It’s about time,” he grumbled. “Where did you hide my britches?

A weeks worth of pent up irritation drove into the room. “Listen, Timber Beast, I --” She stumbled and watched helplessly as the tray sailed out of her windmilling hands. Dishes crashed as she belly flopped onto the damp heap blankets beside his bed.

Gulping a breath of air, she pushed to her feet. “Y-e-u!” Syrupy porridge oozed between her fingers.

A bark of laughter followed by chortles and snorts erupted from the miscreant lounging in bed.

Noelle turned on him, raising a sticky fist. “You, ungrateful sidewinder! Don’t you dare laugh at me!” She eyed the mess she’d have to clean up. Too bad the ornery coyote laughing his fool head off had escaped unscathed.

Jenny (from her WIP, A Sister In Need):

Agatha couldn’t help it. She crossed herself. Vigorously. “Child, were you hurt?”

“Christ Jesus. No, I wasn’t hurt.” He brayed with laughter. “You know, my Aunt Genevieve’s a nun and she crosses just like you. They give all you penguins crossing lessons or what? Every time one of us gets drunk and starts cussing – and since we’re Irish, that’s like all the damn time – Aunt Genny practically knocks herself sideways crossing.”

Seeing the sheen of tears in Maureen's eyes, she crossed herself again for good measure, bowing her head and watching the gunman through her eyelashes.

When his laughter cut off midstream, and he ground his Glock into Maureen's neck, Agatha’s resolve began to tremble. Their hostage-taker was either on some sort of substance or he wasn’t quite sane. Neither scenario was going to be good for Mo.

Desperate to keep him talking, she asked, “Does your Aunt Genny wear a habit?”

“She wore a black habit last I remember, with the white thingie around her neck. And a really killer cross. Heavy. It used to whack us when she’d bend over to pick us up.”

Fae (from Contracting Joy, the second in the Keep Sphere novels):

The lights winked off, then the auxiliary power lit them again.  Tanner made for the tube access at a dead run and jumped in.  He’d checked the long range scan just minutes before, but it was possible that another ship had jumped in close beside them.  Too close, unless its crew meant to.  And the only reason a ship would jump so close to another was if they were . . .

Heart pounding, he hurtled himself out of the tube at the bridge opening and made for his station.  Before he settled in the chair, he tapped his screen to get confirmation of his fears.  Swarms of single and two-man ships nipped at the hull of the Cargo Runner.  Without a doubt, they were being attacked by pirates, and there wasn’t a damned thing as tactician he could do.

Orly (from her WIP, The Day The Merry-Go-Round Stopped):

I picture the old Hank with the paper-thin skin on his hands that accentuates every vein and the eyes that water slightly when he’s thinking about something. The Hank who talks to me about the colors he used on the carousel and how he decided where to place each animal. The Hank who asks who I am every couple of sentences. The Hank who squeezes my hand when he knows I need comfort and tells me to let go of the guilt because guilt is a useless emotion.

I picture the young Hank with the strong, wide hands and ready grin and the eyes that sparkle with the fun-to-come. The Hank who talks to Meera about dancing and running in the waves. The Hank who squeezes my hand searching for comfort that he did the right thing in letting me go and asks me to be happy to release his guilt.

Now it's your turn! We can't wait to see your work down in the comments section.

Today we welcome Lori Freeland to WITS for the first time! Welcome Lori!

I’d Like My Dialogue Cheeseless. Please.

Like a Lactose Intolerant prefers his pizza minus the gut-churning cheese, I want my dialogue devoid of dairy.

Have you ever heard agents or editors say they flip to the first section of dialogue and if it’s cheesy, they don’t bother with the read?

Here are five signs of cheesy dialogue.

I’ve used generic NO and YES examples below and put them in italics to distinguish from my comments.

1.      Contractions.

Unless English is your second language, or your character has passed the age of eighty, almost everyone uses contractions when they speak.

NO: “We are hitting the club tonight. What is up with you not wanting to dance anymore?”

YES: “We’re hitting the club tonight. What’s up with you not wanting to dance anymore?”

Contractions make speech natural and help dialogue flow.

2.      Name Calling.

How many times do we actually say someone’s name in a conversation? Unless I’m trying to get your attention in a crowd, I’m betting rarely to never. Pay attention to your verbal interchanges and count how many times you say someone’s name in real life.

NO: “Well, Jennifer, I didn’t like his attitude.”

“Too bad, Lisa. He’s your new partner.”

YES: “I didn’t like his attitude.”

“Too bad. He’s your new partner.”

Sticking in names is a major pace-killer in any dialogue unless you’re trying to make an important point or one of your character’s idiosyncrasies is name-calling. By the way, name-calling from a psychological standpoint shows inferiority. The person doing the naming feels “less than” the other person and is grappling for the advantage. Great tip to remember in a power struggle conversation.

3.      Improper Punctuation.

When you use a dialogue tag like “said” use a comma.

NO: “Not gonna happen.” He said.

YES: “Not gonna happen,” he said.

When you use an action beat to tag the speaker, use a period.

NO: “Not gonna happen,” he slammed the mug on the desk and stomped from the office.

YES: “Not gonna happen.” He slammed the mug on the desk and stomped from the office.

Notice how adding the action tells the reader how the dialogue is spoken? He’s angry. And now we see the anger.

4.      Speaking of Tags.

Said, asked, and sometimes whispered are invisible tags. Your reader will skim over them. In this case, skimming is a good thing. The tags identify the speaker and don’t mess with the tempo.

Using any other tag is a speed bump. Using any other tag plus an “ly” adverb? That’s a tire-shredder.

NO: “I’m out of here,” she hissed.

Contrary to popular belief, people can’t actually hiss words. Unless they’re part-snake or a character from Harry Potter.

NO: “I’m out of here,” she said angrily.

YES: “I’m out of here,” she said.

YES: “I’m out of here.” She whirled in her red heels and clicked out the door.

The best one? The action showing her anger.

5.      Who Said What?

Paragraph and tag properly.

If Character A is speaking, he needs his own paragraph. That way, when Character B responds, in her own paragraph, we can follow their back-and-forth exchange of wit like a game of Championship Ping Pong.

Each player (speaker) has their own side of the table (paragraph) with the proper space (white space between paragraphs) keeping them separate.

In a quick back-and-forth, you don’t need to tag every sentence. Unless there are more than two characters speaking. Then your dialogue gets trickier.

NO: “That movie sent chills to places chills don’t belong.” Amber shuddered. “I know, right?” Leah pretended to agree. What would Amber say if she knew the truth?

YES: “That movie sent chills to places chills don’t belong.” Amber shuddered.

“I know, right?” Leah pretended to agree. What would Amber say if she knew the truth?

Stuck together, the dialogue becomes a puzzle with the wrong pieces jammed together. Separated, the conversation becomes clear.

NO: “What did you think was gonna happen? “ He held up his fingers, his face contorted in what looked like major disgust. Just watching those hands drove me wild. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

YES: “What did you think was gonna happen? “ He held up his fingers, his face contorted in what looked like major disgust.

Just watching those hands drove me wild. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

In the NO above, we’re not sure which words and thoughts belong with each speaker. Paragraphed out, the conversation leaves no confusion.

Cheesy dialogue is one-hundred-percent avoidable. Get in the habit of writing for pace. Include fragments. Read your dialogue out loud. Have someone else read your dialogue out loud.

The art of conversation is just that—an art. It’s part of the craft like anything else. Being aware of which of the five signs of cheese above marks your weakness can change the entire way you write dialogue in the future.

Is dialog hard for you? If not, do you have any other tips for us?

Lori Freeland is a Young Adult author who lives in the Dallas Area. She has a short story out in the YA volume of Wild at Heart, has published numerous articles with various e-zines, is a former editor at The Christian Pulse, and works as a writing coach for the North Texas Christian Writers. Seriously addicted to flavored coffee with just the right amount of cream and chocolate covered peanuts, she spends her days tormenting imaginary people. In her BK—before kids—life, she earned a bachelor’s degree in psychology and worked as a social worker and a dyslexic tutor. You can find Lori hanging out on Facebook, Twitter and her website—lafreeland.com.