Do you remember these?

Typewriters. 

Do you remember using them? 

At the risk of sounding ridiculously pretentious, I wrote my first novel manuscript on a typewriter when I was fifteen.  The main character was Vivian and she was adopted by a wealthy family in the Antebellum South.  In the opening scene, Vivian is escaping her abusive father, driving a carriage with two horses galloping out of control. She is rescued by a handsome man who boldly gallops alongside the carriage on his horse and jumps into the carriage to reign in the horses. Or maybe the carriage crashes. I don't remember exactly. It's been a long time. 

Somewhere in the melee, Vivian is knocked unconscious and the handsome man takes her back to his parents' mansion. She is allowed to live there once she recuperates from her injury given that her dad is an abusive drunk.  

I can't remember the name of the handsome man. His sister was jealous of Vivian, who always got the attention at balls and barbecues because Vivian was prettier than the sister. The sister referred to Vivian as "Vivi," knowing that Vivian didn't like the nickname. That much I remember about this story. 

I named the heroine Vivian after Vivian Lee, who played Scarlett O'Hara in the 1939 Gone With the Wind movie.

Eventually Vivian and the handsome, wealthy man fall in love despite their different backgrounds and live happily ever after like Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennett.

During a moment of disgust, I chucked the neatly typed manuscript in the trash. It deserved it.

Later in high school, I progressed from a typewriter to a word processor, which was a half typewriter and half computer combined into one.  (View a picture of one here. This being the late '80s when personal computers as we know them today not being readily accessible. The concept of Windows was a rumor when I learned DOS language on a Mac. They weren't called Apple back in my day, people.)

Anyway, I wrote sappy short stories on that Brother word processor. The stories usually involved a misunderstood heroine, searching for true love and finding it in a leather jacket wearing, motorcycle driving bad boy who was really a good boy.   

It was bad. As it should be. I was a teenager, not yet knowing who I was as a person, let alone a writer. It took me years to find my own voice and even then I still struggled. 

All along, I had the elements of the romance genre in my short stories.  I always knew that I wanted to be a writer.  I didn't always take myself seriously, though, dismissing what I wrote as frivolous the way some people dismiss the romance genre in general, saying it's not "real writing" or it's hack writing. The genre doesn't have the same respect as literary fiction, which is ridiculous. Good writing is good writing in any genre.     

Point of View

Point of View or POV for short.

In a previous blog post, I mentioned that I wrote my first manuscript in a hap-dash style with very little rhyme or reason, meaning that I wrote it with very little structure.  As a result, my POV was--well, you guessed it--all willy nilly. Part of the manuscript was limited omniscient, which means the narrator and you, dear gentle reader, had access to a limited number of the characters' internal thoughts and feelings. (Instead of omniscient, which you may recall from your 8th grade English class, is when the narrator and you, the reader, have access to every single character's POV.)

Given that the manuscript is a contemporary romance set in Portland, Oregon, my two main characters are Chase and Alexandra (although she prefers to be called Alex.)  If you were to read the manuscript in its early phase, you would have had access to both Chase and Alex's POV, but to two sub-characters as well: Chase's cousin Garrett and Alex's best friend Lindsey. 

At least, that's how the manuscript started out.  During the revision process, however, I noticed that my POV was actually all over the place. I jumped from Chase's POV to Alex's POV paragraph by paragraph.  Some people call that "head hopping," because as the reader, you are hopping from one character's internal thoughts to another's paragraph by paragraph.  A lot of romance fiction is written like this. 

Here's the thing: I don't like it, because as the reader, I feel like you don't get to spend enough time with the character to really learn and know about the character the way you do a friend of 15 years. And that's what I want from you, reader.

I've done my job as a writer if, by mid-way through the novel, you can anticipate how Alex or Chase will respond to a given situation because you know them so well.  When Alex is fraught with anxiety about her relationship with Chase, struggling mightily with trusting him and her own judgement, you understand her motivation because you know her background. She had a reason for second guessing herself and Chase because of something that happened to her in her past. That way, nothing seems "out of character" for Alex (or Chase, as the case may be.)  And yes, she needs to learn to overcome that if she and Chase want to live happily ever after.

During one of my revisions, I adjusted the POV to be either from Chase or Alex's POV, minus the "head-hopping." But then, I had the POV of the sub characters, Garrett and Lindsey, to contend with. Include them or not? Ultimately,  I felt their POVs were an intrusion.  A diversion.  As a way to set up a spin off or novel #2. 

A lot of romance writers do that and that's okay.  As an author, you get to fashion a world as you like with as many or as little characters as you like and if you want to include the POV of all or some of them--that's your choice as the author.  However, I don't like that either.  If my manuscript is about how Chase and Alex learn to trust one another and fall in love, then I want them to be the sole focus of the story without Garrett and Lindsey butting in to get attention too. 

During yet another round of revisions, I deleted the POV of both Garrett and Lindsey.  They still function as sub-characters, mind you. It's just as the reader, I don't allow you to have access to their internal workings.  You only learn about their thoughts and feelings during dialogue.

Don't worry, they will have their turn in novel #2, which I'm working on right now. For now, you will have to be content with Alex and Chase's love story.

Just how popular are crossword puzzles?

I suck at crossword puzzles. There. I've said it.

Fellow literature degree holders boast that they faithfully complete the Sunday NY Times Crossword puzzle. In pen. 

I can't even complete the crossword puzzles in the local paper let alone something of the stature of the NY Times crossword puzzle. 

This is clearly a failing on my part. (A point in my favor, though, I have read Herman Melville's Moby Dick. Twice. This might be a failing too, depending on your point of view.)

My grandmother, however, is an excellent crossword puzzler. She actually completes the ones in her local paper. That's diligence.  That's faithfulness. That's moxie. 

I like crossword puzzles. Or rather, I like the idea of crossword puzzles. I want to be able to brag that I can complete any crossword puzzle in pen, let alone pencil, but I lose patience. I'm not very good at following through and actually completing one.  

Instead, when I visit my grandmother, I glance through the ones that she's started and fill in any clues that immediately jump to mind.  You know, the easy ones. Sometimes, I'll flex my brain muscle and try to puzzle out the harder clues, jotting down words in the margin of the newspaper column that might be the correct answer, but won't know until I solve the next clue that word is connected to. It's a quagmire. I quickly lose patience and toss the puzzle aside, leaving it for the patience and diligence of my grandmother to complete. 

My grandmother is a far better person that I am. 

I'm embarrassed to admit to my inability to complete a crossword puzzle. Why? Because I was a literature major in college and completing a crossword puzzle seems like something I should be able to do. In pen. On a lazy Sunday afternoon after church. But no. 

What does this have to do with writing a manuscript and getting published? Not a thing. I've been awake since three o'clock this morning. I'm feeling a little loopy.  And this blog post idea crashed into my mind as I lay there, trying to force myself to sleep but unable to quiet my thoughts as one idea after another ping ponged around in my head. 

So. Dear gentle readers, do you do crossword puzzles? 

What's My Writing Routine

Because I have kids, my writing routine is hap-dash. I wrote my first manuscript with a spiral notebook and a pen. With no rhyme or reason, I jotted down bullet points of ideas--what the characters looked liked, dialogue, scenes--during stolen moments. Twenty minutes here while the boys watched a good night cartoon. (We allow them to watch 30 minutes of tv before bedtime on school nights. That's it.) Sometimes, I would jot down notes while I cooked risotto for dinner. Stir. Write. Stir. Write. Toss the veggies baking in the oven. Stir. Write. Surprisingly, I would have a scene fleshed out and I would be one scene closer to the end of my manuscript. It wasn't perfect, but it worked. 

After the boys went to bed, I would sag into the quiet of the house and type up my notes.  I tried to dedicate two hours a week to typing up my notes.   

But because I wrote my first manuscript with very little structure, it required a lot of revision. A lot. So much so that the final manuscript doesn't really match the first.  I actually got more writing done during the revision process that the actual writing process, if that makes sense.  It was like I wasn't a writer, but a reviser.   

Writing without much structure--no outlines, no plot map--just writing to see where the writing will take you--that's called writing by the seat of your pants.  Panster for short. And there are two writing style camps in this world: panster or a plotter.  

No matter. The panster writing style matched my busy mom lifestyle and it's how I completed my first manuscript. I'm rather proud of myself for completing a manuscript instead of just dreaming about it.  

Now, I'm trying something new.  I've been getting up at 5:30 to write before the boys get up because I've been too tired to write in the evenings once the boys go to bed.  During these bleary eyed morning sessions, sometimes I write a blog post (like now). Sometimes, I ramble in what Julia Cameron calls The Morning Pages, which are supposed to be three pages of stream of consciousness style writing.  Although I've practiced these morning pages, I haven't written unbidden for three pages.  So far, it has helped me create a list of blog post ideas (like this one.) 

I'm not a morning person by any means. I'm very grouchy and groggy first thing in the morning. I'm slow to wake up. Like I've been sitting at my desk for over an hour now, alternately writing my morning pages and this blog post, and I'm just now feeling awake. And it has nothing to do with the cup of tea at my elbow.  Seriously, I'm a slow waker upper.  

As the sky lightens up and the birds begin to sing, I hear the bus for the high schoolers rumble by.  I'm committed to finding a new writing routine.  One that isn't as inefficient as the panster style but one that isn't as structured as a plotter.  Somewhere in between.  

Come along with me on this adventure. 

Quilting has come a long way, baby.

Last Saturday, I spent the afternoon with my mother and grandmother learning to quilt. This started a year ago when my mom, grandmother and I took a little trip to Patches Quilt Shop in Mt. Airy, MD to purchase the fabric. (visit them here: Patches Quilt Shop)

I had a design in my head; my mom and grandmother had the know how to tease that design into a functional quilt. My mother is a self taught quilter, although she has been sewing clothes since she was a teenager. We settled on a Log Cabin design with my family's monograms embroidered in the center panel.  

Here's what I've pieced together so far.

This is Little E's monogram. As is traditional with embroidering monograms, the first letter of the last name(in this case the letter W) is in the center with the first letter of his first name (the letter E) on the left and the first letter of his middle name (the letter J) on the right. 

This is Big E's monogram.

I embroidered 12 monograms of different family members.  Some of the center panels have embroidered flowers instead of the monograms. (I tried taking a picture of some of those panels, but they kept coming out blurry. I'm not a photographer. You can tell, can't you?) Some will have lace stitched to the center panel, although I've have yet to do those.  

As I go along, I will show you how I add a strip of fabric to each side of the center block, creating a design called the Log Cabin. That way, you can come along with me on my quilting journey. 

I'm pretty pleased with myself right now. I especially like the fact that quilting has allowed me to spend time with my mom and grandmother, building memories.  

What projects are you working on?

My First Act of Teenage Rebellion (No, it's not what you're thinking.)

My first makeup purchase was a CoverGirl foundation.

My parents didn't want me to wear makeup, especially my father, but I had acne breakouts as a young teenager, and I was really self conscious about it as a result.  I wanted to conceal the blotchy skin by wearing foundation.  So I saved my money, and one afternoon when I accompanied by grandmother and Aunt Judy to the grocery store in Finksburg, I snuck off by myself to the makeup aisle. 

 This CoverGirl commercial was popular then, and it was the look I wanted to achieve.

 

Once alone in the makeup aisle, I quickly scoped out the foundation selections, snatching the first bottle of CoverGirl Clean Makeup foundation I saw. I rushed to the check out line by myself, my heart pounding with adrenaline and worry. What if I get caught by my grandmother? What is she going to say? ( I assumed she knew about my parents' no makeup rule.) 

I felt like I was doing something very bad-- like I was going to be busted at any moment as the cashier rang up  my single item, me glancing around, scanning for my grandmother every few moments. I dreaded the woman making a comment that I was too young to buy makeup or inform me that I had to be sixteen (or not thirteen, anyway) before I was allowed to purchase makeup.  Worse, I feared the cashier lady would say something to the effect of "Does your mom know you're buying this?"

I gave the cashier my money; she made change. After handing me my receipt and the small plastic bag with my contraband makeup purchase, a wave of relief flooded my body. I did it! I would be looking good in no time. It would be a magical, overnight transformation! Angels would rejoice in heaven; I was sure of it.  

 

As I tucked the foundation purchase into my purse, feeling smug in that young, flippant teenage way that I just got away with a crime of epic proportions, my Aunt Judy suddenly appears as if out of nowhere. I was so concerned about my grandmother finding out about my rogue ways that I had forgotten about my Aunt Judy.  She asked to see what I bought and I handed over the incriminating evidence that I defied my parents, purchasing makeup that I had no business whatsoever buying.  I feared that she was going to take the bottle of foundation and either 1) return it right then and there or 2) confiscate it to use as evidence of my teenage rebellion.  Visions of being grounded for the next 100 years flashed in my mind.

 

Instead, she remarked that I probably bought the wrong shade, slipping the bottle of foundation back inside the bag. She carried on with the grocery shopping as if this was no big deal. (I should have known because Aunt Judy was always the cool aunt.)

 

Aunt Judy was right. (Of course she was!) I bought the wrong shade.  A rose beige tone (as I remember it) that was too dark for my porcelain skin.

 

Stubbornly, ridiculously, I wore it anyway, taking the extra time to try to blend it in. (Not that it helped, but in my mind it did.) I felt obligated to continue my rebellion by wearing it despite the foundation not being the correct match.  Do you know how long I had to save my money?  How long it took me to conspire to get alone long enough to make such a contraband purchase in the first place!? 

 

I despised my oily, blotchy, pimply, teenage skin and slathering it with CoverGirl Clean Makeup was the only way to cope. (It worked in the commercial so it would work for me, right?) I just wanted to look pretty. 

 

Finally, after months of this, my mother took me to a makeup artist in Eldersburg. The session was a birthday present. She was tired of me looking like I had mud smeared over my face.  Ouch.

 

All along, I thought I was in the clear since my parents never questioned me about it. I loved the makeup session. (Just so you know, the makeup artist tested several foundation shades on me and I was the lightest shade she had available, which my mom purchased along with an eyeshadow duo. Can you imagine how silly I looked wearing a beige foundation when I'm the absolute lightest shade of foundation available? Double Ouch. No, that's cringe worthy.) 

Still, all these years later, having that makeup session was one of the best birthday presents ever. I'm still looking for the ultimate foundation by the way. Now my skin isn't as oily as it was when I was a teenager, but it is as sensitive as ever. 

 

How old were you when you first started wearing makeup? What was your first act of teenage rebellion?

Ten Things You Don't Know About Me (Or Maybe You Do)

1) Sell everything, I want a horsey. I joke about this with my husband of 16 years ever since I started horseback riding lessons, which is something I've always been curious about but never had the means to do until recently. It's empowering and fun. Since I'm confessing about owning a horse, I'd also like to raise a small flock of sheep for their wool.  Oh, and include some chickens in for good measure too. And if I'm gonna raise sheep, then we need a livestock guardian dog and a llama since they make good livestock guardians too. (And so do donkeys just in case you were wondering.)
 

2) I've always wrote stories, even as a child. It's like I have a projector playing a movie inside my head. 

3) I crochet blankets for the Linus Project.

4) I embroider, though not lately.

5) I'm learning to quilt. Another one of those things I've been curious about and thought I'd save for later--like when I'm a grandmother.  Both my mother and grandmother quilt, so I thought I should take advantage of their knowledge and learn now while I can still enjoy their company.

6) I drink tea. Never coffee. Ever.

7) I love to play with makeup. Once upon a time, I considered becoming a makeup artist. Instead I graduated from Frostburg State University, earning a Bachelors of Science in English with a minor in writing.

8) Aside from tea, my favorite drink is milk. I know I'm supposed to say something sophisticated like wine, which I enjoy from time to time. But milk is my fave. (Come on, it does a body good.)

9) I hate most green vegetables, especially peas, Brussel sprouts, and asparagus. Lima beans, spinach, and kale. Yuck. I can tolerate broccoli if it's smothered in cheese. Green beans are okay with lots and lots of butter.

10) I adore the song Achy Breaky Heart by Billy Ray Sirus.  (The cheesey original version, not the latest incarnation between Billy Ray and Catch 22.)