The Writing Retreat: Take Two

60,000 words has come and gone. Will this actually be a novel? Will I even finish Book Three? A well-timed Writing Retreat might just make all the difference . . .

Beautiful Park City, Utah

Our Writing Retreat last year helped me finalize Midnight Sisters for publishing this year. It was also one of the best weekends I had last summer. Fun, interesting, and just busy enough. So this year when the girls asked if I wanted to participate, I jumped right in. I had reached 50,000 words in my current WIP, which is the length Becoming Beauty weighed in at, and I had also reached a critical point where I wasn't sure what to do next.

Mermaid tails keep toes warm. It's true.

As you may know, I'm not a planner. Well, there are times that being a pantser really leaves me in the lurch. And this was one of them. I'd been adding 10,000 words a week throughout July and had more than doubled the length of my novel. I planned to add as much as I could during our Writing Retreat and then browse the manuscript from the beginning for ideas of how to reach the end. I put in about two days writing and added about 5,000 words and gained some direction at last.

Yep. I finally know how I'm getting to the end! And if it took a lot of snacks, ice water on standby, a couple of pool and hot tub hours, and countless quiet writing hours, I'm glad to do it! Our Park City weekend also included evenings on the town and a Saturday shopping spree at the outlets. If you haven't figured it out, I love ALL of those things.

Book Three will probably take another year to complete, edit, and polish but it's much closer to the finish line than before Writing Retreat 2017. Carry on, my writerly friends, and remember that there's power, inspiration, and strength in numbers. Also, geekiness.

Midnight Sisters: Meet the Ladies II

No matter how long the book may be, there is always more story to tell. Midnight Sisters is no different. 

We've already read about Ari, Bree, and Cinnamon and the romance, sorrow, and high jinks of their past, today Lady Daniela and the twins, Estella and Frizella, take the stage. Whenever the twins are on the scene, mischief is sure to follow, but studious, mild-mannered Daniela may surprise you as well. 

* * *

Lady Daniela

“The recipe says to add more.”

Janela turned wide eyes on me.

“Don’t worry. It will be fine,” I reassured her.

With one dimpled hand, she dropped another handful of powder into the can.

“Now mix until well combined,” I directed.

Janela inserted the long-handled spoon into the can and began to stir. The ingredients clanked disconcertingly against the sides. Janela stopped and peered into the can. Her eyebrows scrunched together. “Mo’ wata?”

I peered into the can. “You’re right, it does need more water.” I dumped a cupful of water into the can.

Janela continued to stir, stopping only occasionally to make sure the mixture was coming together. “Weaves?” she asked.

“Yes, I’ve prepared the leaves,” I said, motioning to the herbs I’ll filched from the kitchen gardens. “Let’s place it in the pan first.”

Janela nodded. She pulled out the tin pan Cook had given us and proceeded to dump the batter into it. The mixture glooped and clunked into the pan. Janela’s nose crinkled up. “Gwoss.”

“It just needs to be smoothed out.” I applied the long-handled spoon to the mixture and worked away at it until no lumps remained. “Better?”

“Yeth,” Janela lisped. At four-years-old, she still hadn’t mastered s. “Weaves now?”

I passed her the leaves. Together we placed them atop the batter in a pleasing pattern. “Now it looks like a proper pie.”

“Bake it?” Janela asked.

I consulted the directions scrawled on the page. “It says, ‘leave in the sun for four days or until firm.’”

Janela nodded again. “Tathte it?”

I shook my head, my own nose crinkling up. “We don’t eat mud pies, Jani, no matter now pretty they are.”

A mischievous look crossed her round face. “The girls?”

“The triplets?” I thought of the tiny menaces in their matching outfits. From the whining, crying, and screaming issued from nearby, someone was pulling someone’s hair and someone else needed a diaper change.

I grinned back at Jani. “I think they’d love a taste.”

Jani’s burbling giggle filled the air, so infectious I had to join in.

* * *

Lady Estella

We bent our heads together. “There has to be one someplace,” I whispered. “This place is too big.” We had been in the manor for one month. One whole month and we still couldn’t find any secret passageways.

“It’s like a fairy tale, Essie.” She patted a well-worn book fondly, her eyes twinkling at me. “Or a mystery.”

“And we love mysteries.” We said together, sharing identical grins.

“If only we had a fairy godmother . . .” I mused.

Fritz spread the handmade map between us. “We’ve looked here.” She pointed at the attic.

“And there.” I motioned toward the servants’ staircase.

“And in the ballroom.”

“Remember how we almost got caught?” Her shoulders shook with silent giggles, just as they had when we ducked behind the curtains before Father strode by.

I clapped a hand over my mouth to muffle my own laughter. 

Fritz’s grin faded as she turned back to the map. “Hmmm . . . maybe in the kitchens?”

“Then we’d have to talk to Cook,” I replied. “She’s no fairy godmother.”

“And we probably couldn’t talk her out of a treat.” She propped her chin on her fist. “It’s not fair. She makes the best cookies.”

“Mmmm . . .” we said in unison. “Cookies.”

I grinned. “The pantry would be the perfect spot for a secret passageway!”

Essie’s eyes grew wide. “Or a cookie jar!”

“Let’s do it!” I rolled up the map and hurried after my sister. Hand in hand, we tiptoed down the servants’ stairs and toward the kitchen. We paused outside to listen and peep in the door. Kitchen girls and servants scuttled in all directions. We waited until they were all distracted. At the same moment, we looked at one another and mouthed, “Now!” Together we crept into the kitchens.

* * *

Lady Frizella

Minutes later we rushed outdoors, our hands full of cookies and our bellies full of laughter. We ran over the grounds and climbed up our favorite tree, the one directly in front of our rooms. We stuffed our mouths with Cook’s delicious cookies and laughed in triumph.

“Cook must have magical powers,” Essie said, licking the crumbs off of her fingertips.

“Maybe. But it’s not enough to keep her treats safe from us,” I replied, stuffing the last cookie in my mouth.

Essie took the map from me, shook off the crumbs, and spread it across her lap. “It just doesn’t make sense. We’ve looked everywhere.”

I looked over at the bank of windows before us, trying to piece the puzzle together. Then I squinted at the map. “Wait a minute . . . does that look wrong to you?”

Essie huffed. “Fritz, you know the map’s not to scale. Father wouldn’t allow us to use his tools. ‘What use would nine-year-olds have with cartography instruments?’”

“It isn’t that,” I hurried to explain. “Look at the outside wall. Doesn’t it seem too . . . wide?”

She followed my gaze. “I never noticed that before. Let’s go investigate!”

We scrambled down the tree and flew over the lawns. The unrolled map flapped behind us. A quick trip up the stairs brought us to our rooms. Luckily all our sisters and maidservants were out.

The air whooshed out of me when I faced the wall. It looked the same as all the rest. “I guess I was wrong, Es.”

“Just a minute.” Essie ran her hands over the wall, then began tapping. She turned wide eyes to me when the sound changed.

“It’s hollow!” we crowed.

I joined my sister, tapping until I found something else. “Essie, it’s colder!” She placed her hand where mine had been, on the place where the outside wall joined the back wall and moved her palms up and down slowly. After a moment, a gentle click sounded. Part of the wall moved, opening outward onto a dim chamber.

Our eyes met. Together we whispered, “The secret passageway!” 

Maybe we had a fairy godmother after all.

* * *

Revisit Lord Bromhurst's eldest daughters in Midnight Sisters: Meet the Ladies I. Also, read about all the rest of the sisters in Midnight Sisters: Meet the Ladies III and Meet the Ladies IV. And as always, you can claim your own copy of Midnight Sisters on Amazon or you can contact me for a signed copy.

Thanks for reading! More sister adventures are on the way!

A Call to Arms. A Call to Love.

I believe in the power of good women united by common goals. 

I also believe in the power of kindness and love to reach those goals. Recently, Open Thought Vortex Magazine invited me to share my thoughts on feminism during Women's Empowerment Month. I was pleased to share the following:

* * *

Feminism gets a bad rap. The term has been twisted to convey something far different than its original definition:

1.  the theory of political, economic, & social equality of the sexes

2.  organized activity on behalf of women's rights & interests

Basic. Elegant. Yet somehow feminism has become associated with radical behavior, extremely liberal opinions, and pointing the finger of blame at men, politicians, society, etc.

I’m a 40-year-old woman from rural Utah who teaches kindergarten and writes Young Adult novels. I refuse to support action that harms, demeans, or degrades others whose sex, age, political views, or religion differ from mine. And since today’s predominant strategy for promoting women’s rights is shouting your grievances at the top of your lungs, I tend to distance myself from it. The kindergarten teacher in me can’t see the difference between that strategy and the kid who declares himself (or herself) King of the Jungle Gym and enforces his (or her) claim through a series of playground scuffles.

I’ve seen my fair share of intolerance. I live in a particularly diverse area in Northern Utah where there is often tension resulting from differing political standpoints, religious beliefs, and even warring gangs. Local Pastor Monica Hall stated, “[There is] a natural tendency to draw distinctions and define each other. Definitions such as: she is Muslim, he is black, she is Presbyterian, he is Latino, they are Mormon, etc. . . . Such definitions can draw boundaries of who WE are and who THEY are. These boundaries can be dangerous. They can be dangerous when we use the boundary of division to ignore human needs.”

That’s my main issue with feminism. When we paint ourselves as victims and everyone else as aggressors, there’s no one left to explore solutions to the common problems we face.

Actress Emma Watson had plenty to say on the subject. “If we stop defining each other by what we are not and start defining ourselves by who we are, we can be much freer.”

In my classroom alone, I encounter bias, misconceptions, and intolerance. Kids already have a lot of baggage by the time they step into my room.  I do my best to employ a practice that reaches hearts, souls, and minds. It’s called Love. Love and Listen.

If all we do is scream about the world’s injustices, nothing will ever change. But if we take on our noble role as women who lead, nurture, teach, inspire, and uplift, we can effect change.

Author Norah Ephron summed it up beautifully. “Above all, be the heroine of your own life.”

That’s what I want. That’s MY prime goal as a feminist, to be the best me I can be and to bring as many women, girls, mothers, and sisters along with me as possible.

Author Francesca Lia Block said, “Just like any woman . . . we weave our stories out of our bodies, some of us through our children, or our art; some do it just by living. It’s all the same.”

I effect change in my classroom and in my novels, with my students, friends, and family. I stand up for what I believe and I refuse to hide who I am. I am a woman and I am powerful. And I believe in the power of love and kindness.

* * *

Thanks for dropping by, my dears! If you'd like to read more women's empowerment, revisit The Making of a Woman or pop over to OTV Magazine and peruse the March 2017 posts. And please leave me your thoughts on womanhood and feminism in a comment below. Go forth and be awesome, my friends!

The Making of a Woman

Misconceptions about womanhood are played out in books and on the big and small screen all the time.  To believe that emphasizing the attractiveness of a woman's face or the firmness of her thighs will have no effect on how men view women or how young women see themselves is a lie.

Writers who perpetuate such misconceptions do a disservice to womankind.

Lately, I've been editing my version of The Twelve Dancing Princesses featuring a dozen distinct female characters. The journey from character sketch to final scene taught me a great deal about what makes a woman.

Let me tell you, it ain't those size 0 jeans. (Especially if the lady in question happens to be fond of chocolate. Or human.)

And it certainly isn't a blemish-free face. We earned those wrinkles with years of laughter and tears, didn't we? 
Could it be the sweet, patient woman who holds her tongue when perturbed? Perhaps.

But it could just as easily be the sharp-tongued lass who gives as good as she gets.

Might it be the glowing wit that leaves a room rolling with laughter? Maybe.

But it might also be she who delivers speeches that inspire, uplift, and move a room to tears and brave acts.

Being a woman may include a heart worn on a sleeve for all to see and abuse. It may include a tough skin built to guard a soft heart from hurt.

True womanhood encompasses a number of human foibles, mistakes and missteps that make a character human, lovable, and more understanding of others.
The women featured in literature should be a reflection of the mothers, grandmothers, sisters, and wonderful aunties in our lives. Good, bad, interesting, bland. Real. And more than a pretty face and an itty bitty dress size or a big bottom and a penchant for donuts.

Because that doesn't define us.

Real women are driven by love, pain, anger, jealousy, protectiveness, loyalty, and a myriad of other things. Shouldn't they have a place in literature? Shouldn't they have a chance to shape the way men think about us or what young women learn to value in themselves?

The more complex, intriguing woman I transform from  fairytales princesses who suck up the abuse only to become trophy wivee into complex, intriguing women, the better I feel. Isn't it time to stand up for real women with saddle bags, rings under their eyes, and no energy? Isn't it time to celebrate motherhood and dirty diapers and potty training? Isn't it time to celebrate women who work their butts off to make a difference in the world?

* * *

Thanks for dropping by! Feel free to leave me a comment and share your tips on crafting female characters. And if you'd love to read more about writing awesome heroes, peruse away!
Develop Sassy Heroes by Being One
Barbie's Dream Boat
Classic Heroines: Anne of Green Gables
The Power of Fairytales
Fairytales & Fancy Footwear
Diva Depressed
Funny Girls: Hostile Makeover

The Red Lipstick

Author Sacha Black posted the writing prompt The Red Lipstick on her website a while ago. Just reading it set my girly brain whirling. It didn't take long before it settled on something completely different than Sacha's eerily brilliant short story. So, here's to laughter, drama, and a bold red lip!

* * *

The boots zipped over my skinny jeans with a zzzzt and a whiff of leather. The boots were only slightly unsuitable for winter weather. It was a small price to pay for great legs.

Once last look in the mirror. Eyeliner in place. Another fluff to my curls. One more spritz of hairspray. (Okay, five more.) My 'do hadn't reached auburn helmet proportions yet, though it would stand up to a stiff wind. Or the seizure-like moves that passed for dancing.

I drew the cap off the lipstick. My fashion guru friend had sported a red lip for over a year now. But this tube looked more brazenly scarlet than I remembered. Scarlet the Harlot, wriggled through my mind, a throwback to too many nights of Clue. I ignored the rhyme and daubed red onto my lips.

Coat on. Ridiculously expensive handbag at my side. Keys in hand. One more bracing breath. If I blew my friends off again, they'd never forgive me. And I'd be one step closer to a deep and lasting relationship with Netflix.

The white bag slouching against the wall stopped me in my tracks. Thirty seconds, I told myself, that's all it would take. Thirty seconds and I'd be in the car speeding toward a night of schmancy drinks, dancing, and, the girls had assured me, super cute boys. I looped a finger through the plastic handles, careful to touch as little of the bag as possible. Eau de garbage wasn't my preferred scent. 

Ten seconds. The efficient click-clack of my boots on the walk. Twenty seconds. I considered how to pop up the lid on the dumpster with the least amount of physical contact.

At twenty-five seconds, my boots skidded on a patch of ice. The flailing elbows and thrashing feet resembled nothing Kristy Yamaguchi had ever done. With a plop, my skinny-jeans encased bottom hit the ice and the garbage bag flew into the air. So much for sticking the landing.

The plump bag hovered in midair, then plunged toward the ground. I lunged for it, skittering across the ice. It landed in my lap and I hugged it to my chest. A newspaper crinkled and the aroma of rotten banana puffed into the air. 

I executed a butt scoot off the ice, still clutching the bag to my chest. Once I was upright, I hitched my handbag back up to my elbow, and slipped a palm into the red handles of the trash bag.

I made it exactly one step before riiiip. And crunch, sploosh, crackle, the bag disgorged its contents. With a sigh, I bent to clean up the mess. Then I heard it, a sound far worse than the telltale rip of a treacherous trashbag. A manly chuckle.

No, no, no. I squeezed my eyes shut, wasting all my wishes at once. Another chuckle. I forced my eyes open and peered at the source. The Attractive Male Neighbor.

“Sorry,” he muttered, seeing my face and trying to hide amusement on his own. It didn't work. Those stupid brown eyes actually twinkled. If only the ground would open up and swallow me and my trash heap whole.

“It's Becca, right?” I nodded. “Let me help you with that.”

“Oh no,” the words tumbled out of my mouth like refuse out of a torn garbage bag, “It's all my fault. I'm such a klutz, really. I couldn't allow you—”

“A gentlemen doesn't leave a lady in distress,” he insisted. “Especially in a pile of trash. What would my mother say?”

Man, he was cute. And I smelled like old cheese and dead bananas.

“By the way,” he said, as he helped me to clear up the mess, “amazing display back there. Do you skate professionally or are you keeping your amateur status so you can compete?”

I'd have punched him in the arm, but my fist was full of crumbled weekly fliers and something sticky. Instead, I gave my tongue free reign. “Actually, I'm going on tour with Disney on Ice. I'm Goofy.”

“Sweet,” he said with a grin. “I'm going to need front row seats for that. Hook me up?”

I rolled my eyes, pitching the last banana peel into the dumpster along with an empty pudding cup. “I'm pretty sure you just caught the dress rehearsal.”

He chuckled again, probably recalling my pinwheeling arms, my butt scoot, or the garbage exploding like confetti over me. I tried not to think about which part he found most amusing.

“Well, thank you,” I said, rubbing at a sticky smudge on my knee.

“It's the least I could do.” 

I turned away, fishing my phone out of my handbag and bracing myself for a barrage of tongue-lashing texts. Sorry, girls. Can't make it, I tapped out. Showering and getting dolled up again was too much of a hassle. Netflix, here I come.

“And hey, Becca?”

“Yeah?” I turned back.

A smirk spread over his stupidly handsome face. “Nice lipstick.”

* * *

What do you think? Leave me a comment below. And if you'd like to read more shorts, try: 

Creepy Old Ladies & Dolls 

The Christmas Miracle of Lydia Perkins 

The Twelve Dancing Princesses

Sylvi Lockhart 

Sam James

Enjoy! And thanks for dropping by! 

Ignite

Last year, I attended my first writers' conference, LDS Storymakers. I had the honor of meeting Sara B. Larson. She was such a gifted presenter--spunky, adorable, and fun--that I had to buy her book. Defy had a compelling storyline, a complex heroine, and a healthy dose of romance. And okay, a beautiful cover. How could I resist? The twins' story is reminiscent of Shakespeare's Twelfth Night (which is one of my favorites) with a whole lot more sass and action thrown in. I connected with the story almost as soon as I cracked open the book. 

I hit the end of Defy and went, "Whaaaaat?" Fake out! When the sequel Ignite was released, I grabbed it on Amazon. In the midst of finishing the school year and dealing with all the stresses of moving to a different school, I blew off some steam reading Ignite. The characters Sara developed in Defy continued to seize my attention and tug at my heart strings. Alexa is fascinating, strong, and skilled in ways the typical heroine isn't (in swordplay, for instance). She's the subject of my previous post Tragically Flawed...Or Not. And her relationship with King Damian keeps a girl reading into the wee hours and emitting girlie sighs. The finale, Endure, will be released in January 2016. And yep, I'll be picking that one up too (and taking it wherever I can to get Sara to sign it). Anyone who loves YA Action/Adventure would enjoy this series. Read on for the blurbs!

Defy

Alexa Hollen is a fighter. Forced to disguise herself as a boy and serve in the king's army, Alex uses her quick wit and fierce sword-fighting skills to earn a spot on the elite prince's guard. But when a powerful sorcerer sneaks into the palace in the dead of night, even Alex, who is virtually unbeatable, can't prevent him from abducting her, her fellow guard and friend Rylan, and Prince Damian, taking them through the treacherous wilds of the jungle and deep into enemy territory.

The longer Alex is held captive with both Rylan and the prince, the more she realizes that she is not the only one who has been keeping dangerous secrets. And suddenly, after her own secret is revealed, Alex finds herself confronted with two men vying for her heart: the safe and steady Rylan, who has always cared for her, and the dark, intriguing Damian. With hidden foes lurking around every corner, is Alex strong enough to save herself and the kingdom she's sworn to protect? (Source: Amazon)

Ignite

Alexa continues to harbor a secret love for the newly crowned King Damian, yet she remains by his side as his guard and ever committed to helping him rebuild Antion and reclaim the hope of Antion's people. However, when a new threat to Damian and his kingdom emerges, and blame is cast on the once friendly nation of Blevon, Alexa knows things are not what they seem. Once again the fate of her country hangs in the balance. Will Alexa be able to protect her king and uncover the true enemy -- before it's too late? (Source: Amazon)

Looking for something else to read? Try some of my other reviews:
Miranual For Life 
Letters To My Future Husband
Ann-with-an-E
Where Life Takes You
Persuaded
Pass The Pepper
Hope Grows In A...
Southern Belles: Words of Wisdom & Other Shenanigans
Happy reading, my dears!

Miranual for Life

Is It Just Me? The title along with that fabulous cover tells most of the story.

Have you ever felt like you were the only idiot in a sea of posh people who have it all together? That's the premise behind Miranda Hart's self-help book. I'm a huge fan of Miranda, a British show full of prat falls, running gags, and a colorful characters. So, when I discovered that Miranda Hart had written a book, I needed to take a peek. 

It's what she calls a Miran-ual for life, and covers everything from being non-musical to the horrors of weddings. Yes, that's right, horrible, try-to-behave-yourself-when-you're-on-display-for-everyone-to-see weddings. Miranda, whose own past (and present) are speckled with crazy foot-in-mouth moments, spends the bulk of the pages reassuring her readers that everyone has their issues, and the rest of them making you laugh out loud. It turns out no one is the poshy person they put forward. Isn't it time we embrace our uniqueness?

And coming from Miranda Hart, that advice is indeed reassuring. There's something unbelievably relatable about someone who accepts their own quirkiness and makes a career of it. That's “what I call” admirable.

So yes, if you need an ego boost or just a good laugh, pick up a copy of Is It Just Me? written in Miranda Hart's one-of-a kind comedienne style. You'll realize that no, it's not just you. We're all officially crazy. Isn't it such fun?

Check out Is It Just Me? on Goodreads or pick up a copy on Amazon. (And if you're reading this Miss Miranda, yes I'd love to be besties! Drop me a tweet, eh?)

Need something else to read? Check out some of my other recommendations: Love Triangle, Shmove Triangle, Letters To My Future Husband, Anne-with-an-E, Where Life Takes You, Persuaded, Pass the Pepper, or Geek Chic. Carry on, reader chums!

Geek Chic

I've always been a geek.  In high school I felt at home with the drama/choir crowd, was scarily knowledgeable about musical theater, and burned through books like they were going out of style. Later, my wacky sense of humor, bizarre tastes, and growing lack of concern about what other people thought only made matters worse. It started with shows like Psych, Monk, Bones, and NCIS. Then, I discovered Glee, Harry Potter, and The Pirates of the Caribbean. I was just getting warmed up when I found the BBC and fell in love with Doctor Who, Downton Abbey, Merlin, Robin Hood, and Sherlock. By that time I was completely enamored with the entire Marvel Universe and fully addicted to Netflix. It was too late to hide my fanaticism. My bookshelves, DVD collection, and crazy tee-shirts plainly declared my mania.

When I stumbled into the online fandoms and acquired a new vocabulary (fangirling, shipping, canon, etc.) I felt like I'd found the mother ship. And it turns out I can rock geek chic.

So, when I saw this title at Barnes and Noble, it was only a matter of time before I devoured it.  In Fangirl, Cath is embarking on the new and frightening world of college.  For a twin, it's a weird sensation to be delving into new experiences all on her own, so she pours all of her stresses, social anxieties, and pent up frustrations into her fanfiction. As well-followed fanfic writer Magicath, Cath's love for spinning new scenarios for her favorite characters and the magical world they inhabit opens the door for new friendships, life experiences, and, if she's lucky, romance.

Though this story may seem sweet and silly, Rainbow Rowell ties in plenty of reality to ground the tale. I enjoyed following Cath's journey from damaged girlhood to finding herself and learning what she is capable of.  A truly fun story, but word to the wise, Fangirl is a more mature read, featuring both adult themes and language.

However, for the clean read crew, let me introduce Geek Girl:

Jen Jones is a high school student who's been bounced from one foster home to another. Still suffering from the tragedies of her childhood, Jen has her eye on nothing more than the next party and the next high. Until Trevor catches her attention. A geek to the core, Trevor is the most attractive of his sci-fi obsessed posse. Jen bets her friends that she can turn him into a bad boy and is certain she'll succeed. But while coming to know him, like geek makeover flicks10 Things I Hate About You, She's All That, and Drive Me Crazy, she is more altered by the experience than he is.  Facing her past seems like the hardest thing Jen will ever have do until Trevor discovers her secret and she faces losing the geeky boy she's fallen in love with.

I thoroughly enjoyed this tale of self-discovery.  Like Jen, I am certainly a Geek Girl at heart. Enjoy, my friends!  Both of these books are full of wonderfully written characters, fun adventures, and geeky goodness.  Find them at Amazon:
Fangirl by Rainbow Rowell
Geek Girl by Cindy C. Bennett

* * *

For more of my fangirl mania, check out Fanfiction & Fairtales, Embracing the Fangirl Within, The Con, and Embrace the Geek by fellow Geek Girl Raylynn. Thanks for stopping by!

Just a Taste

I've been in the Magical Land of Editing for several weeks now. It's slowly driving me insane.

To help you understand why, let me share a few of my writerly issues that arise during the editing process:

1. There are plenty of writers who are confident in their abilities as creators, but for some reason, whenever I read something of my own that has genuine flow, it still surprises me! As my mother would say, it's as much fun as hiding your own Easter eggs when you suffer from Alzheimers. 
2. After begging author friends to tell me how they know when something is at its best and ready to publish, submit, or just email back to the editor, my perfectionist brain only recognizes that there is always something else I could do with it.  
3. Luckily, the attention deficit of a woman who has worked with small children Monday through Thursday from August to June for the last eleven years eventually overpowers the perfectionist persona and notifies me that I am done.

It's all part of the slightly mad process we call drafting.  The fun in editing is stumbling across little gems you've created all on your own.

So, to celebrate finally finishing the current edit of Becoming Beauty (I won't say *final* until it goes to press), I'm posting some of my favorite moments from various other stories that make me feel like a writer:

Sylvi Lockhart--The moment when Sylvi's perfect boyfriend shows up and throws everything into a muddle:

          “I don’t think we should see each other anymore,” he said. 

I was sinking below the waves, watching the last bubble of air escape my lips with a pop.  “I don’t understand,” I said, picturing my perfect life crumbling before me.  I had a little money stored up in case of emergency, and I could always write more books or find another job to make ends meet, but I couldn’t replace Kevin. He was the best part of my life.  Tears pricked my eyes and I struggled to keep them at bay, remembering how much he hated women who cried.  Manipulative, he called it.  My voice wavered as I asked, “What did I do wrong?”

                “It’s not you.”  The artist in me hated those words, so unoriginal and round-about insulting.  Of course it was me, he wasn’t breaking up with the bedside table, was he?  “I just don’t love you anymore, Syl.” 

              I dissolved then, my determination to bottle up my emotions washed away in a sea of tears--the ugly kind that sneak up on you and shake you with their intensity.  “Please,” I said, disgusted to realize I was about to start groveling. Some desperate part of me had taken over, and as if I was watching someone else’s life play out, I could do nothing to stop it.  

Sam James--In which Sam's stylish boss Vanessa takes her shopping:

Regardless of her unnatural abhorrence for upscale clothing boutiques, Sam found herself being shoved bodily into Dolce & Gabbana. The very reason she dressed as she did--clad exclusively in the middle-aged housewife section of Sears--was so she could avoid hovering salespeople bent on forcing her into “stylish” outfits.  The moment she stepped through the doors with Vanessa, a gaggle of such individuals descended upon them. 

“Take her away,” Vanessa commanded the room at large, “she’ll need everything.”  The excited buzz around them heighten, and in no time at all Sam was bustled into a dressing room where her clothes were promptly removed.  A fierce-looking woman wielding a measuring tape fell upon her and loudly called out measurements to a notebook-toting shop girl.  A moment later she looked down to find her breasts ensconced in the lacy type of boob-hoisting, cleavage-producing brassiere she had only seen on Victoria’s Secret models.  And…was that a thong??

Twelve--An Interlude between Jonas (the gardener) and Ariela (the master's eldest daughter):

               “It was extremely effective,” Ari said, putting voice to my thoughts, “but it resulted in lectures from Father and a ‘tightening of the reins’ as he put it.  As soon as he finished, we closed ranks and developed new schemes.”  Humor sparkled in her eyes, the first hint I had of the clever mind behind the lovely face.

                Throughout the conversation, I hadn’t spoken more than a few words, so taken was I with the way she spoke, and the play of emotions across her face.  I was already falling in love with her, though I was unaware of it.  Likely that’s what spurned the subsequent declaration.  “None of those men were good enough for you,” I said boldly.

               Her eyes flicked up to meet mine, probably surprised that I could form a complete sentence.  A slow smile crept over her face, curling the corners of mouth and eyes.  The effect was stunning, and ever after I passed my days dreaming up ways to elicit that smile.  

* * * * *

If you'd like to read longer segments, follows the links above to delve further into the lives of my heroines. Happy reading! And as always, thanks for stopping by!

Truth-Telling Fiction

Many people question the value of fiction.  After all, how in the world can characters who never lived or breathed teach someone how to navigate the paths of life successfully?

Being a dreamer, I get it.  Here's my explanation:

Good fiction nestles nuggets of truth between action, romance, and heartbreak.  Driven to finish a story, we devour page after page, discovering hidden gems along the way that shine out all the brighter for being unexpected.

Fiction opens the mind to the possibility of miracles, magic, & true love.  Magic, true love, and miracles have their counterparts in real life.  If we have eyes trained to search out and recognize them, we will.

Through the eyes of fictional characters, we see the world more clearly. The reality overlaying the fiction reveals the truth of the one and the beauty in the other.  Author's paint their own beliefs into their works, spreading a vision of faith, strength, humor, and hope as easily as they can spread pessimism, hopelessness, and fear.

Gifted authors have the ability to lift souls from the depths of sorrow, ignorance, loneliness, and pain. Through the power of words, which according to Dumbledore are our most inexhaustible source of magic, we teach others about  strength, beauty, and wisdom.  Even in fiction. 

For a wonderful example of truth-telling fiction, pick up Defy by Sara B. Larson. The story of Alexa, a gifted fighter who must disguise herself as a soldier, Defy is a fantastic blend of girl power, romance, and the true meaning of beauty.

Tragically Flawed...or Not

Crafting the perfect female heroine isn't easy. She can't be all I WILL conquer the world and mow down any who stand in my way! or OMG! I broke a nail! Lovable, relatable, and readable characters must be a healthy mixture of girly and fierce, strong and weak.

At my first writing conference, LDS Storymakers (that's right, I am the exuberant newbie!), I attended a phenomenal class by author Sara B. Larson called Kicking Butt & Kissing Boys: All in a Day's Work. Since her advice on crafting a heroine is so fantastic, here are some of the highlights of her presentation (with side-notes from yours truly):

1. Showcase inner strength as well as overt awesomeness:

When we talk about strong heroines in young adult fiction, let's celebrate the quieter strength of realistic characters as well as the dramatic, death-defying strength of sci-fi, action/adventure, and fantasy heroines. Strength is more than physical prowess or fighting skills. There's no universal way of being "strong," and a character's weaknesses are often what allows a reader to relate to him or her. 

The Hub, YALSA

2. Instill human weaknesses as well as strengths:

Seeing characters with flaws is at once endearing and reassuring. Humans are flawed, and characters should be too--it helps us as readers feel more comfortable in our flaws when we see a character we love do something we'd deem foolish or petty or dumb, because then we can say, "Look! That character did this and we still love them."  If we can accept characters, flaws and all, it helps us accept our own flaws easier. That is what makes me love YA heroes so much--when they have that perfect balance of human flaws and fierce strengths.

Sara Raasch, Snow Like Ashes

3. Characters' minor, major, and tragic flaws and how they overcome or succumb to them is the heart of the story:

In my opinion, strong heroines are dynamic: they struggle, and through those struggles, they change. They are agents of action, rather than passive or reactive. Female characters can fall in love and still be strong. They can be bold or reserved. They can be feminine or they can be tomboys. There is no way of being strong, just as there is no way to be a girl. When we talk about what it means to be a strong heroine in young adult fiction, let's make room for all the ways girls to exhibit their strength.

The Hub, YALSA

4. Stop trying to make women and girls into men and boys. A girl can take down the bad guy, save humanity, snag a prince, overcome her inner demons, and still get her nails done:

I like to show strong female characters who are also proud to be female. They like to wear dresses; they have a fondness for jewelry. [Another aspect is] not rejecting other women or women's roles.

Tamora Pierce, Fantasy Author 

Rather than perpetuating misconceptions about the meaning of womanhood, we must stand together as readers, writers, and above all as women, and search out, create, and support the best female role models available.
Here's a place to start:

If you'd like to learn more about Sara B. Larson, follow the link to her website and check out her amazing book Defy on Amazon. (It's already beckoning eagerly from my shelf, so I'll report back when I have a minute to delve into it!)

Or, for a refresher course on my take on flawed heroines and fostering your girliness, revisit A Beastly Beauty and Fairytales & Fancy Footwear.

And, join me next year at LDS Storymakers 2015 It's a wonderful writer community waiting to welcome you with open arms!

The Power of Fairytales

Fairytales are timeless. They cross the boundaries of language and culture to teach enduring lessons. Messages of hope are nestled between Once upon a time and Happily every after, it doesn't matter where you live or what language you speak. (Versions of Cinderella can be found in any culture.)

As I have seen in my own classroom, children love these whispers from long ago. Tales like Cinderella and Snow White encourage them to dream and imagine something greater for the future. A spark ignites when children are exposed to the magic, wonder, friendship, cleverness, and true bravery characterized by fairytales.

Perhaps I'm a romantic, but I believe in fairytales. I believe in their enduring goodness and their ability to uplift souls.  I'm not naive enough to believe in happily ever after, but fairytales have taught me to hope for better things and to embrace the beauty I find each day.

That's why I write and educate.  There is enough darkness, hate, and depression in the world.  The world needs more laughter, happiness, and good causes to champion. We need heroes and heroines, princes and princesses who will fight boldly and refuse to surrender when dragons appear, just as they read in their favorite fairytales.

Learn more about my own fairytale, Becoming Beauty, based on my favorite fairytale, Beauty and the Beast. Also, links are embedded throughout the post to direct you to related posts. Thanks for stopping in!  Everyone has favorite fairy stories from childhood. I'd love to hear about yours.