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.  

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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!

Hostile Makeover

Searching the nether reaches of my hard drive for story snippets, I had a pretty good laugh over some truly horrible writing. And with the finish line in sight (i.e. the close of the school year), I needed a good laugh. And all that bad writing got me to thinking. Everyone's got to start somewhere, right? It's all just a gateway to something better, at least, that's the hope of every writer.

Sam James, my first attempt at humorous writing, marks the moment I first felt like a writer. The title of this post, as well as the following excerpt, is borrowed from chapter two.  Secretary Samantha, who is less than posh and poised, has her first spa day with her boss, Vanessa Sumers, who is the epitome of posh and poise.

Excerpt from Sam James

Stepping into the office, Sam’s determination dissolved. The soft cream walls, the gleaming bank of windows separating the main office from Vanessa's inner sanctum, and Sam's large, inviting desk with the comfy swivel chair, should have put her at ease.  But smack in the middle of it, like a queen bee with her drones, Ms. Sumers, in full monarch-mode, bustled about, bossing everyone to within an inch of their lives.

“You’re…early,” Sam observed.

Vanessa waved a hand dismissively. "How can we leave the company prepared for our absence if we don’t put in extra time?"

Sam cleared her throat. “About that, Vanessa—“

But naturally Vanessa wasn't listening, at least not to anything beyond the sound of her own voice.  “Our first priority is tying up the loose ends here.  It will be quite a push to be ready by next Friday, but I’m sure we can do it.”

“Friday?” Surprise and shock vied for first place in Sam's mind.  “But…but…weren’t the tickets for next month?”

“Yes,” Vanessa replied, “But I can’t give anyone the satisfaction of lording it over me when word gets out that Derick and I are through.  So, I exchanged them for an earlier date.” The forced cheeriness in her tone snagged at Sam.  Could sadness be hidden behind the cool, efficient exterior?
No way.

After a moment, Vanessa plowed on briskly. “Now, let’s see.  Schedule a spa day, if you please.  And we'll both need hair appointments."  She cast a disapproving glance at Sam's mousy brown bun.  "Contact François so he can fit us in. Oh, and email Rebecca at Dolce.  We'll need something extra special for the cruise.”  Pausing momentarily, she noticed Sam’s unresponsiveness.  “Hello," Vanessa said, snapping her fingers in Sam's face. “Are you planning on writing this down?”

Something in her tone prompted the automatically reply, “Oh, um, of course Miss Sumers. I’ll take care of it right away.”

Vanessa, brushed off her hands, and with an expression of satisfaction, sailed off to torture some other underling.  Sam sighed as she looked down at the list: spa, hair, Dolce & Gabbana.  It sounded wonderful, but knowing Vanessa, Sam was certain she would suck all the fun out of it.

Two days later, Sam found herself rushing through downtown traffic, wedging her gray Corolla between old lady drivers in town cars and hormonal teenagers in sports cars to make her spa appointment on time.  Narrowly missing a collision with one of said teenagers, she blew out a breath of relief and reviewed the last few days.  Filled with last minute tasks and long days sequestered behind the main desk, they had dragged on and on. Vanessa had been too occupied with planning their escape to be much of an annoyance, but everyone else was so irked at being left with extra responsibilities that they were making up for it with interest.  The last 48 hours had given new meaning to the term “hostile work environment.”

With feelings of misgiving, Sam pulled into the parking lot and switched off the ignition.  The building, a brick structure featuring wide picture windows with large photos of women and men in the middle of various spa treatments, seemed harmless enough.  Sam would have given anything for a glimmer of the calm happiness splashed across the faces of those depicted on the windows.  With all she'd passed through, Sam merited a genuine spa day, but she had a feeling this one would be more taxing than relaxing.  Taking a deep breath, she stepped out of the car and pocketed her keys. A few steps and her hand was on the metal handle, steeling herself for the worst, she pushed open the glass doors, entered the uber-posh, extra white, waiting room, and was greeted the beaming face of her boss, she knew she was in it. 

Later on, still smarting from her first spa experience, she would write:

Visiting a spa should be unspeakably relaxing, an experience almost spiritual in nature.  It should never include the following:

a) Whacking the bare back and hindquarters with tree limbs (a sensation comparable to receiving “stripes” with a cat o’ nine tails)

b) Peeling skin from the skull, a.k.a.“exfoliation” completed by a sadomasochist named Bindy

c) Scouring and hacking fingernails/toenails with well-sharpened dental equipment and something akin to a belt sander

d) The application of an unholy amount of hot wax to unmentionable areas and the forcible removal of said wax along with a healthy amount of flesh,  

e) So-called “gentle” massage that requires enough oil to grease up several beach-front body builders and the brute force of a man called Brutus

Needless to say, the bulk of the weekend was required to recuperate from the deluxe treatments received on Sam’s first spa day.

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Thanks for reading!  If you'd like to read more about sassy Samantha James or Vanessa Sumers, take a look at Dealing with Divas and Finding Myself in Literature.