Post-EE discussion. Yes, I realize I said I'd wait a couple days 'till the comments stopped rolling in, but I got all itchy and impatient. Here goes.
Old Query (the one that went up at EE)
[redacted]
And now the new, revamped version. I've focused it down to just the main conflict, which removed a lot of words, but then I had to add details to explain the conflict, thus it's only marginally shorter than before. I think it's too long even though it does fit on one page. If any of you see a way to make it smaller, please comment! :)
[redacted]
EDIT: Trust me, you don't want to see the old versions. I'm trying to forget them, personally. :)
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Evil Editor's Turkey Ogres
Well it’s up!
Watch out, there are Turkey Ogres ahead. EE is a riot. :)
He and the other commentators left me quite a bit to work on. If any of you leave a comment on EE’s post, I’ll see it.
Watch out, there are Turkey Ogres ahead. EE is a riot. :)
He and the other commentators left me quite a bit to work on. If any of you leave a comment on EE’s post, I’ll see it.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Query Quivering
I have returned from my weekend out of town. Naturally, one of the first things I did was check blogger, critique circle, and of course email. And I noticed that my query is on the top of Evil Editor's list AND it's absent from the "guess the plot" section.
By my estimation that means it's due to go up any time now. *shiver* I wasn't really nervous until now. I find myself suddenly second guessing everything I wrote, even the plot of my novel. Is it too convoluted? Too rambling? Ugh...
Well I guess the only thing to do is wait. I'll post a linky up here when it does go up. For now I sleep. Have a wonderful day all you day people!
By my estimation that means it's due to go up any time now. *shiver* I wasn't really nervous until now. I find myself suddenly second guessing everything I wrote, even the plot of my novel. Is it too convoluted? Too rambling? Ugh...
Well I guess the only thing to do is wait. I'll post a linky up here when it does go up. For now I sleep. Have a wonderful day all you day people!
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Writing - To Create Art
Warning: the following post is a little more emotional and a little less cerebral than is typical of me. Feel free to skip if that's not your style.
I get rare moments of lucidity after viewing some art forms – whether it be dance, musical, or the written word – that are brought on by either the emotional depth or a sense of carpe diem in the piece. I feel as though this is one of those times…
Every day, we writers are thinking about our work – how to make the plot flow or the character feel alive, how to mold our language to support the scenes we create, how to captivate and enthrall the reader and make them want to know more… to read more. To care. But in this routine, I find that sometimes I forget what I’m really doing. Why it’s a passion. I sometimes get lost in the technicalities – word choice, punctuation, phrasing, use of tense or point of view.
And then it’s nice to sit back and remember, or realize, that what we as writers are truly doing… is creating art. Sure we all know that writing is a creative art, but have you ever just thought about what that means. We are making something out of nothing and we are attempting to do it in such a fashion that it appeals to our fellow people. To their minds. To their emotions. To whatever is in us that makes us human.
Of course within the plethora of stories that have been written, there are varying degrees to which this is accomplished. How many novels out there contain that spark of humanity? If the world were a warehouse, containing barrels of rocks and gems as stories, how many would be diamonds?
Some of you may disagree with me on this point, but I judge the quality of the books I read based on how much I care about the people in them. Did I laugh at their antics, their flaws, their quirks? Did I cry when their world crumbled or hearts broke? Did I get so mad that I wanted to reach into that world and act? The stories that do this to me are what I view as diamonds.
I’d say the same thing about movies and plays. The ones that amuse me are great, but the ones that touch my spirit… those are the ones I love. The ones I watch again and again. Those are the kind of stories that I want to write. They don’t have to be serious or dark. They can be playful or vibrant. But the characters have to matter. And as an artist, I want to create characters that matter. Fictional people with which real people feel some connection. Sympathy. Empathy.
I suppose a lot of this could go without saying, but as I mentioned, in the day-to-day world of pursuing our passions, it’s easy to get wrapped up in the details and forget what exactly we’re doing. Whether we write mysteries, horrors, science fiction, romance, westerns, thrillers, or fantasies, we are all commenting on the human experience.
The only real questions are: to what extent and what impressions are we leaving?
Writing is a solitary, quiet art, mostly devoid of the fanfare that comes from dancing or singing, from acting or playing an instrument. But it is indeed an art. An art of creation.
So my new question to myself is – how can I get readers to connect with every character I create? (a question which deserves its own blog post to answer). Later gators!
I get rare moments of lucidity after viewing some art forms – whether it be dance, musical, or the written word – that are brought on by either the emotional depth or a sense of carpe diem in the piece. I feel as though this is one of those times…
Every day, we writers are thinking about our work – how to make the plot flow or the character feel alive, how to mold our language to support the scenes we create, how to captivate and enthrall the reader and make them want to know more… to read more. To care. But in this routine, I find that sometimes I forget what I’m really doing. Why it’s a passion. I sometimes get lost in the technicalities – word choice, punctuation, phrasing, use of tense or point of view.
And then it’s nice to sit back and remember, or realize, that what we as writers are truly doing… is creating art. Sure we all know that writing is a creative art, but have you ever just thought about what that means. We are making something out of nothing and we are attempting to do it in such a fashion that it appeals to our fellow people. To their minds. To their emotions. To whatever is in us that makes us human.
Of course within the plethora of stories that have been written, there are varying degrees to which this is accomplished. How many novels out there contain that spark of humanity? If the world were a warehouse, containing barrels of rocks and gems as stories, how many would be diamonds?
Some of you may disagree with me on this point, but I judge the quality of the books I read based on how much I care about the people in them. Did I laugh at their antics, their flaws, their quirks? Did I cry when their world crumbled or hearts broke? Did I get so mad that I wanted to reach into that world and act? The stories that do this to me are what I view as diamonds.
I’d say the same thing about movies and plays. The ones that amuse me are great, but the ones that touch my spirit… those are the ones I love. The ones I watch again and again. Those are the kind of stories that I want to write. They don’t have to be serious or dark. They can be playful or vibrant. But the characters have to matter. And as an artist, I want to create characters that matter. Fictional people with which real people feel some connection. Sympathy. Empathy.
I suppose a lot of this could go without saying, but as I mentioned, in the day-to-day world of pursuing our passions, it’s easy to get wrapped up in the details and forget what exactly we’re doing. Whether we write mysteries, horrors, science fiction, romance, westerns, thrillers, or fantasies, we are all commenting on the human experience.
The only real questions are: to what extent and what impressions are we leaving?
Writing is a solitary, quiet art, mostly devoid of the fanfare that comes from dancing or singing, from acting or playing an instrument. But it is indeed an art. An art of creation.
So my new question to myself is – how can I get readers to connect with every character I create? (a question which deserves its own blog post to answer). Later gators!
Friday, February 13, 2009
New Blog - My Novel
I've finally decided to take a leaf out of Miss Glam's book and create a blog for my first novel. It's completed and in draft 2.5 stage, and I would LOVE to get some feedback and advice on it. If you would like an invite to read, just leave a comment on this post or shoot me an email (pagemefantasmic@yahoo.com).
For those of you who havn't been with my blog long enough to know what Book 1 (AUC, aka Angel Undercover) is all about, you can check out this post to see my sample back cover and hook page. It is a YA fantasy and is currently at 100K, though I'd really like to whittle that down to 80K or less.
I've stared at the thing for so long that I'm not sure what needs cut and what needs expanded on, so I come to you, my fellow writers/bloggers for advice. I sincerely appreciate any imput you may have, strongly dislike sugarcoating, and will reciprocate if let me know what you want looked at.
Thanks and here goes nothing!
-Anette
For those of you who havn't been with my blog long enough to know what Book 1 (AUC, aka Angel Undercover) is all about, you can check out this post to see my sample back cover and hook page. It is a YA fantasy and is currently at 100K, though I'd really like to whittle that down to 80K or less.
I've stared at the thing for so long that I'm not sure what needs cut and what needs expanded on, so I come to you, my fellow writers/bloggers for advice. I sincerely appreciate any imput you may have, strongly dislike sugarcoating, and will reciprocate if let me know what you want looked at.
Thanks and here goes nothing!
-Anette
Thursday, February 12, 2009
The Thursday Three
1. I feel like I don't blog often enough. In the past couple months, it's only been about once a week. The reason? My blogging is almost directly proportional to how much I'm writing. To those of you who like to read this blog, I'm sorry! I prefer to post only when I have something insightful to say. Sadly, today is not one of those days.
2. Lately I've been on Critique Circle a lot, mostly working on helping other people with their stories. And the comments that have been left on my posted work have helped me immensely. I love it! Whoever thought up that site is genius. I recommend it to any aspiring author. You have to have thick skin though and be ready to sort out the good advice from the less useful tidbits. (Aren't I tactful today)
3. I've been working on several new story ideas. At some point though I'm going to have to pick one and stick with it long enough to write it. I'm plotting and outlining on a slipstream, a thriller, and a fairy tale. Plus I have a horror short story on the side. All of which means that I'm working, but have very little to actually show for it. I've pretty much put Snatch (Book B, my NaNo project) on hold indefinately. I'm just not feeling inspired even though I think there are only six chapters (20K) left to write. It makes me feel extremely down that I can't seem to kick myself into gear on that. I hate leaving a project unfinished...
Be back, hopefully soon, hopefully with something more insightful to share.
Anette
2. Lately I've been on Critique Circle a lot, mostly working on helping other people with their stories. And the comments that have been left on my posted work have helped me immensely. I love it! Whoever thought up that site is genius. I recommend it to any aspiring author. You have to have thick skin though and be ready to sort out the good advice from the less useful tidbits. (Aren't I tactful today)
3. I've been working on several new story ideas. At some point though I'm going to have to pick one and stick with it long enough to write it. I'm plotting and outlining on a slipstream, a thriller, and a fairy tale. Plus I have a horror short story on the side. All of which means that I'm working, but have very little to actually show for it. I've pretty much put Snatch (Book B, my NaNo project) on hold indefinately. I'm just not feeling inspired even though I think there are only six chapters (20K) left to write. It makes me feel extremely down that I can't seem to kick myself into gear on that. I hate leaving a project unfinished...
Be back, hopefully soon, hopefully with something more insightful to share.
Anette
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
For Better or For Worse
I'll admit I havn't been writing much lately. Shame on me, I know. As it stands:
-I'm updating AUC to a draft 3
-3 complete copies of draft 2 are floating amongst friends and family reviewers
-I'm at a stalemate with Snatch (book B, my NaNo project) I need a swift kick in the toosh with that one
-My muse continues to visit me with ideas, which I write down
-I have started my first horror short story
-I'm plotting out OTS (book C)
-I've spent hours of enjoyable time reading (Jim Butcher and Rachel Vincent recently)
-Chapter 1 of AUC went up on Critique Circle this week and based on the critiques I recieved, I've updated it. Most notably the first 250 words have changed a lot. So I've decided to post up both the draft 2 version and draft 3 for your comparison. I'd love to hear your thoughts on if its improved as much as I think it has or if it still needs a lot of work.
Draft 2
School was the peace in my life.
Once inside the schoolyard each morning, I was able to relax. In here, there were limits to how bad kids could be. Teachers wouldn’t think twice about sending someone home for misbehaving and all of us, no matter how tough, would rather be in here than out there.
Sadly, we were just three short days away from autumn break and the end of my second to last semester here. I wished I wasn’t so close to turning fifteen. I wasn’t ready to graduate. I reveled in all the blissful moments of calm I could get.
But as I left Crossroads Fundamental School each afternoon, I felt like a target walking.
I hurried from the very heart of the city up the gentle slope toward my home in the upper east quarter. My heart fluttered nervously whenever anyone walked too near.
Rose Creek Bridge. I was halfway there.
A man sat in the middle of the bridge, playing a lively tune on a strange amber flute. He seemed completely unafraid, steadily meeting the eyes of each person that passed him. His boldness was unheard of in these present times. It made me wary.
I slowed down, not sure I really wanted to cross within arm’s reach of the man. He didn’t look scary, I reasoned. Unsettled as I was by his confidence, I stepped forward, muscles tightened, ready to run at any moment.
As soon as my foot touched the bridge, everything changed.
Draft 3
“See you tomorrow, Paige!”
I ducked my head and waved to my classmate shyly, berating myself for lack of backbone. Then I neared the school’s iron gates and more important matters required my attention.
School was the peace in my life. Within these fences, I reveled in a blissful calm that only came from enforced limits. Our instructors dealt with rabble-rousers by sending them home. And all of us, no matter how tough, would rather be in here than out there.
I hurried from Crossroads Fundamental School up the gentle slope. The fire pit was near my home, deep within the upper east quarter. My heart fluttered off-beat whenever anyone passed by too close. In the open streets, I felt very much like a walking target.
Halfway there, a man sat in my path on Rose Creek Bridge. He was playing a lively tune on an amber flute. I slowed my pace as he steadily met my gaze. I really didn’t want to cross within arm’s reach of the strange man. His boldness was unheard of in these fearful times and his music seemed to belong to some other, happier, place.
He didn’t look scary, I reasoned. And there was no safe place for me to go if I turned back. Unsettled as I was by his confidence, I smoothed the skirts of my school uniform and stepped forward, prepared to run at any moment.
As soon as my foot touched the stonework of the bridge, everything changed.
So let's have it... is it for better... or for worse? Does it hook you? I'd love to hear your feedback.
Anette
-I'm updating AUC to a draft 3
-3 complete copies of draft 2 are floating amongst friends and family reviewers
-I'm at a stalemate with Snatch (book B, my NaNo project) I need a swift kick in the toosh with that one
-My muse continues to visit me with ideas, which I write down
-I have started my first horror short story
-I'm plotting out OTS (book C)
-I've spent hours of enjoyable time reading (Jim Butcher and Rachel Vincent recently)
-Chapter 1 of AUC went up on Critique Circle this week and based on the critiques I recieved, I've updated it. Most notably the first 250 words have changed a lot. So I've decided to post up both the draft 2 version and draft 3 for your comparison. I'd love to hear your thoughts on if its improved as much as I think it has or if it still needs a lot of work.
Draft 2
School was the peace in my life.
Once inside the schoolyard each morning, I was able to relax. In here, there were limits to how bad kids could be. Teachers wouldn’t think twice about sending someone home for misbehaving and all of us, no matter how tough, would rather be in here than out there.
Sadly, we were just three short days away from autumn break and the end of my second to last semester here. I wished I wasn’t so close to turning fifteen. I wasn’t ready to graduate. I reveled in all the blissful moments of calm I could get.
But as I left Crossroads Fundamental School each afternoon, I felt like a target walking.
I hurried from the very heart of the city up the gentle slope toward my home in the upper east quarter. My heart fluttered nervously whenever anyone walked too near.
Rose Creek Bridge. I was halfway there.
A man sat in the middle of the bridge, playing a lively tune on a strange amber flute. He seemed completely unafraid, steadily meeting the eyes of each person that passed him. His boldness was unheard of in these present times. It made me wary.
I slowed down, not sure I really wanted to cross within arm’s reach of the man. He didn’t look scary, I reasoned. Unsettled as I was by his confidence, I stepped forward, muscles tightened, ready to run at any moment.
As soon as my foot touched the bridge, everything changed.
Draft 3
“See you tomorrow, Paige!”
I ducked my head and waved to my classmate shyly, berating myself for lack of backbone. Then I neared the school’s iron gates and more important matters required my attention.
School was the peace in my life. Within these fences, I reveled in a blissful calm that only came from enforced limits. Our instructors dealt with rabble-rousers by sending them home. And all of us, no matter how tough, would rather be in here than out there.
I hurried from Crossroads Fundamental School up the gentle slope. The fire pit was near my home, deep within the upper east quarter. My heart fluttered off-beat whenever anyone passed by too close. In the open streets, I felt very much like a walking target.
Halfway there, a man sat in my path on Rose Creek Bridge. He was playing a lively tune on an amber flute. I slowed my pace as he steadily met my gaze. I really didn’t want to cross within arm’s reach of the strange man. His boldness was unheard of in these fearful times and his music seemed to belong to some other, happier, place.
He didn’t look scary, I reasoned. And there was no safe place for me to go if I turned back. Unsettled as I was by his confidence, I smoothed the skirts of my school uniform and stepped forward, prepared to run at any moment.
As soon as my foot touched the stonework of the bridge, everything changed.
So let's have it... is it for better... or for worse? Does it hook you? I'd love to hear your feedback.
Anette
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