Category: Writing

First Book Trash, Second Draft Treasure… Maybe?

by Lindsey Loucks, posted in Pause, Writing

There’s a battle in my brain. Story ideas are throwing spitballs, shouting obscenities, and scratching their chins with their middle fingers at each other. It’s quite rude.

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But the one that has my attention now is my first novel called Pause. Maybe because it’s been sitting quietly in a drawer for so long, acting like an angelic first novel. It’s total crap, though, and I can’t believe I queried it. Yet underneath the meandering plot, the crybaby main character, and way too much internal dialog, there are some real tense moments and several plot twists. I still like the story.

So, I’m rewriting it.

Does that mean I’m not going to write every other story idea in my head? No. What Gifts She Carried and everything else will still be written.

Does that mean I’ll like Pause after I’ve rewritten it? It kind of depends on my critique partners. If they give me permission to like it, then yes, I’ll like it. 😉 (I’ll post a few chapters to Critique Circle soon).

Writing With Strut Music

by Lindsey Loucks, posted in Music, Writing

Raise your hands if you listen to music while you write. What kind of music? Do any of you draw inspiration from music that you later put into your writing?

I can’t listen to music while I write. If Jesse is snoring, it distracts me. Mostly because it’s so cute, but also because it’s noise. I do draw inspiration from music, though. Scenes form in my head that are completely unrelated to the song’s lyrics, and before I know it, another story idea is brewing.

Speaking of music, do any of you wish you had your own theme song that plays whenever you walk into a room? Or is that just me? Because here’s what I want mine to be: (Warning: talk of dead people and bad words, then the music starts):

Now that’s a song you can strut to! Or draw inspiration from for select characters/scenes. I’m going to go strut around my house while I listen to this song…

My Main Character’s Dad

by Lindsey Loucks, posted in Characters, Writing
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Recently, I caught up with Mr. Baxton, my MC’s dad. I cornered him outside his accounting office when he was leaving for home. Leigh, my MC, knows nothing about this interview. I beg you not to tell her or she’ll never tell me her stories again.

Here’s a transcript of our actual conversation:

Me: Mr. Baxton, I, uh… work with your daughter at school. Do you have a minute?
Him: (frowns) Is something wrong?
Me: No, I just want you to know that I adore Leigh.
Him: (smiles) That makes two of us. We always talked about… (the smile slips off his face)
Me: About what?
Him: (clears throat) My wife and I, we… always talked about how we should have named her Moxie.
Me: (nods) How are things going at home?
Him: We’re not actually at home. We’re in a hotel because our yard turned into a black nightmare.
Me: I know.
Him: Our yard is just like the Hendersons’, only none of us are back from the dead. How does something like that happen? Sarah coming back. Our yards. All of it. It’s like something out of a book, not real life.
Me: Have you seen Sarah?
Him: No, but I’ve heard enough about her around town since no one can stop talking about it. I have seen her parents, and they’re… confused and grateful and… I can’t even think what this must be like for them.
Me: (pauses) Do you believe in magic, Mr. Baxton?
Him: I don’t know. I was raised to believe in the practical and the predictable. I’m an accountant, after all. But my grandfather, he believed in magic, which is why I hardly ever saw him when I was younger. My parents didn’t want him around me, I guess.
Me: But a part of you still believes in magic?
Him: My grandfather left me some of his things when he died. Some of it seems to work, but the rest of it…
Me: Please don’t use that book, Mr. Baxton, or anything related to dark magic.
Him: (looks at me sharply) How do you know about that? Did Leigh tell you?
Me: (takes a step back) She’s told me some things. I need to go.
Him: What did any of this conversation have to do with Leigh? What did you say your name was again?
Me: I need to go.

My comment about the book completely slipped out. Leigh said it was called Resurrection: Dark Magic to Bring Back the Ones You Love. I remember her horror when she discovered that book, and I honestly hope her dad never decides to use it…

P.S. The picture is of Aaron Eckhart, the guy who plays Two Face in The Dark Knight. He’s about how I imagined Ken Baxton to look.

P.P.S. Thanks, Joe! That was fun!

The BF Says Writing is Work – Let’s Ponder This

by Lindsey Loucks, posted in Writing
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dictionary.com (yes, I’m too lazy to open a real dictionary) defines work as “exertion or effort directed to produce or accomplish something; labor; toil.” That sounds about right. But just yesterday, my BF said, “All you do is work, work, work on the weekends.”

I was about to come back with a snarky retort, but took a pause instead. I’d just told him I’d finished a short story, a snippet of another, and sent off more query letters, and he was calling that work? The query letter part? Yes. Definitely. But the writing part?

Huh?

That’s not work, at least to me. Sure, it’s hard. Sometimes you want all your characters to become zombies just so you can shoot them in the head because they’re not listening to you. Sometimes the plot makes absolutely no sense (chime in here, first draft TGW critters). Sometimes you wonder if you’re wasting your time, when you could be, oh, I don’t know, cleaning the pigsty you now live in.

Yep, it’s hard. And yep, you’re exerting yourself and you’re eventually going to accomplish that final draft. But, at least in my mind, work is something you have to do. Writing is something I want to do. It’s my escape. Writing has become such a huge part of my life, I honestly think I would completely lose it if I stopped. I get quite antsy if I haven’t written anything in a while. Antsy, as in grumpy, as in don’t come near me, BF. 😉

Did I explain all this to the BF? No. He wouldn’t understand. He’s not a writer. Instead, I distracted him with talk of BLT sandwiches. AND GUESS WHAT WE HAD FOR DINNER?!

So, what do you think? Is writing work? Please help me ponder this.

P.S. I went to the Lynyrd Skynyrd and ZZ Top concert this weekend. It was pretty cool. Foo Fighters epic, it was not. It was still a lot of fun.

P.P.S (or is it P.S.S.?) The picture has little to do with this post, but gosh it’s cute.

One Times One Is One

by Lindsey Loucks, posted in Published, Writing

My flash fiction story is out today at www.weirdyear.com. Warning – it’s weird, but it’s only around 420 words!

Bingo Is Not A Four Letter Word

by Lindsey Loucks, posted in Editing, Writing

Say what? Let me explain. No, there is too much. Let me sum up. I used to have a t-shirt in high school that read Bingo Is Not A Four Letter Word. People would read it, look at me, read it again, and go, “huh?” I would give one of two explanations, depending on how blank their stare was:
1. “Well, Bingo really isn’t a four letter word” or
2. “You shouldn’t be ashamed if you play Bingo.”

But what if someone has read one of your stories and gives you a blank stare/doesn’t get it? That could be a problem. Could be. Ask yourself these questions before you freak out:
1. Are they really literate?
2. If yes, do they read fiction?
3. If yes, do they read your genre?

If you answered yes to all three questions, don’t freak out yet! See what other readers think to see if they all say the same thing. If they all look at you with blank stares/don’t get it, one of two things has happened:
1. IT’S THE ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE! IT’S TIME TO FREAK OUT!

or 2. You need to do some serious rewriting/clarifying. You’re allowed to freak out a little, but soon your story will be fixed and you can go back to playing Bingo.

P.S. Last week, I really wanted to wear this t-shirt because it fit my state of mind:

The 1st Amendment Says I Can Start Sentences With And, Or, & But

by Lindsey Loucks, posted in Writing


Remember back in whatever grade that was when your teacher told you to never start a sentence with a conjunction? I kind of remember it. But I never understood that rule. Why can’t I start a sentence with a conjunction? Who decided it was bad? We do it all the time when we’re speaking. For example:

“Let’s have homemade pizza tonight,” the BF says.
I shake my head. “But it’s too hot to have the oven on.”
“Or we could have sandwiches.”
“And ice cream?” Hope shoots me up to my tip-toes.
The BF shrugs. “Ice cream sandwiches it is.”

See? If I can start sentences with conjunctions, you can do it. I give you my permission. ‘Tis a silly rule.

P.S. Yay! Ice cream sandwiches for dinner!

I’m Terrified, So I Guess That Means I’m Finished

by Lindsey Loucks, posted in The End, Writing

Fourteen months ago, I started my novel The Grave Winner. Today I finished it. I’ve edited it like a crazy lady, um, I mean a sane writer. I’ve read and reread every critique I’ve ever received on it. I thought about critters’ concerns and questions. I’ve added, deleted, rewrote, and rewrote again. And it’s finally done.

The story has changed a lot since I first spewed it across my notebook. The reason Leigh was chosen is much different now, but I don’t think I’ll repost anything to Critique Circle because the changes are so minor in individual chapters. But then on a grander scale, it is very different from drafts one and two.

I’ve planted seeds I’m excited to work with in the sequels. Some of them are brand new too, so I won’t say anything more about them.

So, yeah, it’s done, and I’m terrified. Now the real work begins. I’ll tell you my plan: I’ll enter the first 250 words into a contest next week. Those first 250 words are winners, if I do say so myself, and I’ve won other contests with those same words. If I win, an agent will read my book. No promises – just a read and critique. If I don’t win or if the agent tells me I suck, I’ll take a ride on the query highway for awhile. When I get impatient with that, I’ll look at small publishing companies. When that gets old, I’ll enter Amazon’s Breakthrough Novel Contest. If I lose that, I’ll self-publish. So if any of these first roads lead to doom, this story will be published somehow. I’m too in love with it to let it sit on my computer forever.

In the meantime, I’ll plot the sequels and write at least the first chapter of another novel that’s knocking around in my head and won’t leave me alone. Writing will be therapy for my terror. That and chocolate.

Rotten Apples in the Desk: I Smell Something Icky

by Lindsey Loucks, posted in Description, Word Painting, Writing
German poet Friedrich Schiller kept rotten apples in his desk in hopes that the stench would trigger imagery while he wrote. Umm, ewww. I’m not sure that would work for me, but it worked for him, so there you go. He might have been onto something, though. Memories are hidden in our sense of smell. A certain men’s cologne makes me want to gag because of the boy I used to know who wore it. My BF’s normal everyday smell intoxicates me and makes me remember why I love him. Aw, shucks. I got a little mushy there.
Anyway, smell is one of those things that can make your characters come to life. Everyone smells like something, whether it be stinky feet, cinnamony, like dirt if they’ve been working in the garden, or like something curled up and died in their mouths. Yuck. Go ahead and sniff yourself right now. I give you permission. I smell like Dove soap and barbecue, just so you know.
Unrelated to smell, but just as important to make your characters come to life, are the sounds associated with them and how they feel to touch. Do their corduroy jeans swish together when they walk? Do their heals click-clack on the pavement? Is their skin ear lobe soft all over? Or do they feel gritty and slimy with dirt and sweat? If it’s the latter, it may be time for a shower. Just sayin’.
This post is meant to help sales of the awesome book Word Painting: A Guide to Write More Descriptively by Rebecca McClanahan. She breaks description writing down, big time. You should go buy this book. So, yeah, all of this rambling is thanks to Rebecca. Thanks Rebecca!
In other news, I might be doing final edits on The Grave Winner. I think it’s almost there. I think. I’m not doing Tram’s pov in it because I like Leigh too much and it would be too confusing anyway. I figured out a way to make it all tie together with little rewriting. Yay!
Also, Happy Memorial Day! Take a second to remember today’s not about an extra day off, beer, and barbecues. : )

Oh, and one more thing! I’ve been having trouble posting on people’s blogs lately, so if it feels like I’ve vanished, blame Blogger!

Eye Against I

by Lindsey Loucks, posted in Description, Word Painting, Writing
The Studio Boat by Claude Monet

In today’s fast-paced world, it’s hard to actually notice our surroundings. For writers, that just won’t do. To draw your readers in so much that they’re matching their breaths to your main character’s is exactly what you need to achieve. One way to do that is to paint a clear picture that will grab the reader by the eyelids and fasten them to the pages. Ouch, yes, but it’s true.

In the book Word Painting: A Guide To Write More Descriptively, Rebecca McLanahan discusses ways to notice your surroundings to effectively paint your stories.

The Gliding Eye – Artist Claude Monet converted a boat into his floating studio. He did this to capture shadows and reflections, or movement. Sometimes to truly see things, we need to get moving. Endorphins power up our brains and help clear them, which is exactly what we need to slow down and see what ‘s happening around us.

The Dream Eye – Why is it when we have a vivid dream, we jump to our dream encyclopedias or Google to see what that vampire’s-face-turned-twisty-playground-slide really means? Why can’t we just savor the visual weirdness, feelings, and dialog? Our dreams reveal imagination. Look at them, remember them, but there’s no need to analyze them.

The Naked Eye – One of the many exercises in Word Painting is to study one object for a full ten minutes. Don’t let your mind wander. Pick the object up, smell it, taste it, memorize it. Then describe it. Here’s mine: A thousand tiny scratches blemish the yellow mixing bowl, inside and out, marking each assault of the egg beater, my crappy dishwasher, and time. Despite its rough handling, no chips or cracks have deformed it. The inside is glossy white and slippery enough to glide off your head should you wear it as a hat. It’s much too heavy to wear comfortably, though. A vague scent of Lemi-Shine, and now shampoo, brushes my nose. I lick the bowl, willing it to taste like brownie batter. But it tastes cold and glassy, not like brownie batter. 🙂

So yeah, this book rocked. My next few posts will be devoted to it’s awesomeness. Go forth and buy it here.