C. L. Norman

How many of you work or have worked retail? Come on, raise your hands. I know most of you have at one point in your life. Have you noticed how the holidays start earlier and earlier every year?

It use to be the new calenders didn’t arrive until fall and now they are arriving weeks after the old calenders have been clearanced out. Halloween titles and product start arriving in the store in late July. Followed very quickly by the Christmas titles and product.

Yesterday I set up a required display in the store. A display sent down from on high (ie New York) with a required title list. This list only has 7 titles on it. The date is September 29th. Three, yes three, of the seven titles on that list were Christmas titles. Happy Holidays!

You may think I am complaining about this and while it does strike me as weird, I love it. I was born in December and I love the whole holiday season and if it is getting longer that is just more to enjoy.

My parents were divorced before I was three and during the holidays my sisters and I celebrated everything twice. Once with mom and once with dad. Then you throw in my birthday, again once with mom and once with dad, and the holidays were the best time of the year. I saw my parents, my grandparents, cousins, aunts, uncles, that strange gentlemen in the corner I have no idea how he is related to me, everyone. I also received presents of course. Never a bad thing.

Now many people in my life have passed on and the holidays are not so full of family but I still see my dad and my sisters and some of my aunts, uncles, and cousins. As for the strange gentleman in the corner, I know his name now. I do more giving of presents than receiving as I have four kids of my own and many neices and nephews and cousins once removed. The holidays are good times.

Now I need to figure out four costumes, two girls and two boys before the month is up. And find my Christmas music.

        

Sorry I haven’t posted more recently. I have been  pushing myself to finish a short story to meet a deadline I set for myself. Then my stairs happened.

That’s right. They happened. Or rather fell apart.

We live in a split level home so the stairs are very necessary to moving about the house. The bannister for the upper portion of the stairs has been loose since we moved in. A few weeks ago the newel post came loose from the rail.

I begged my husband to reattach it until we could afford to do all the repairs needed. When he didn’t, my mother in law who does so many wonderful things for me, decided she would fix the problem.

First things first, the newel post had been installed (if you can call it installed) on top of the carpet. This is not a good thing. Secondly after they removed the newel post but left the rail, removed the carpet covering the stairs and left the unfinished wood underneath bare, my daughter tripped at the top of the stairs.

She must have the quickness of the ninja because she not only caught herself on the remaining newel post, she knocked the railing loose and with her free hand caught it and held it until someone could come help her put it down safely. Wow.

So now the railing is completely off and the old boards were pried up. Boards which were two thinner pieces glued together and installed, nasty stuff. The new treads are placed on the stairs now but not quite attached, so everyone is being very careful ascending and descending in my house.

Myself? I am being most careful of all. I am freakishly phobic of heights and so I go out to the deck and wince and cringe my way down those stairs and come in below the stairs-under-construction.

Today the construction should be complete and the hammering and noise and worry about someone falling should cease with it. Then I hope to frantically finish this short story and polish it as best I can and send it off. I will let you know how it goes.

        

Procrastination

Folks keep suggesting scheduling writing time, setting specific goals, and sticking to them. This is always in response to me whining (and let’s face it, I do whine) about my procrastination habits.

These habits have been cultivated since grade school. I loved school and learning but I hated doing homework and studying. However since I tested well and found it all very easy I could get away without learning those daily habits of sitting down and working every day after school.

That lifestyle choice is coming back to bite me in the . . . writer’s chair.

The last couple days I have been trying to set myself goals. Planning a writing schedule out weeks in advance is no good for me. I ruled that out the first time my kids invaded my writing area to ask me for help with their homework or help build the Mystical Island of Metra’Nui or the phone call from work pleading with me to come cover someone’s shifts. These are the things I cannot plan for.

So I set my goals small and not too far in advance. For instance, this morning before work I knew I would have about an hour free after getting ready for work and before waking up my second daughter for school. I felt a 200 word goal was fair for this time period.

It felt good to finish it.

This evening’s goal was 500 words and between kids, cooking dinner, balancing the checkbook, and the monday night TV show line-up I am addicted to, I finished it. It was a lot harder tonight. Sleepiness encroaches and fight scenes do not come natural to me yet.

Opening My Big Mouth

I had this idea a couple days ago for a monthly event at the bookstore where I work. I thought an Open Mic night would be very cool. And a  good opportunity to both read and hear others read their work. I still think it is a good idea.

I approached the lady in charge of arranging the events in our store and now I think I may be running this new event. And instead of starting after the holidays, which was the hazy idea I went to her with. We will be starting in November. November 11th at 7pm to be exact.

This is very neat and I don’t mind the extra responsibility. Much.

Now, I need to keep writing voraciously between now and then so my writing skills improve as much as I can get them so that I have something to read at the kick off of this event. Something I won’t be too embarrassed to read.

I use to be a drama major in high school and college. I do the weekly storytime in our store in front of kids and adults numbering between 3 and 35. Reading won’t be the issue. Feeling comfortable enough in my writing skin to read my own work is.

Another milestone for me to hurdle (or possibly trip) over on the road to Professional Writer Status (imagine a serious announcer voice saying that in stark even tones).

        

The following is a sample of my writing, quickly written with very little revision. It stars Mouse, my favorite character from my very first gaming experience. She weaseled her way into my heart and I missed her. So I had to bribe her to return from retirement. With copious amounts of sparklies. Hope you enjoy it.

“I’m back! That’s right. Mouse has returned.” I clambered up the chair and plunked myself down on the scarred, ale-stained table. The groans uttered by Karnage and Sygmund were quiet, so I ignored them. Probably had tummy aches anyway. That certainly wouldn’t be their reaction to seeing little ol’ me. Their bestest friend on the face of Corethe. “So, what pies have you two got your fingers in?”

Karnage, a minotaur of immense proportions and unusual education (that is, he had some), snarled. I don’t think he can help it. He has the face of an animal and animals snarl, right? “Oh no. You aren’t joining us. Every time you ‘help’ the job always gets more complicated and extremely dangerous.”

“But Karnage, you know you love me!” I threw myself at him. He had very fast reflexes so I wasn’t worried about him catching me. And in case you didn’t notice, I’m like an infant in his arms, he is so big. Of course most people are bigger than me but that’s just cause everyone else has an abundance of inconvenient inches. When you’re in my line of work a compact body is very useful.

Karnage gently held me in his arms and that goofy grin appeared. The one only I could put on his ugly mug. I laid a big fat smooch on his cheek and wiggled about until I was comfortable.

“Hm hmm.” That was Sygmund. You never knew how he was going to react to a situation. Sometimes he was very fun, almost as fun as a gnome. Other times he grumped and groused and in general brought everyone else down. Strange fellow that elf. This clearly was a grumpy day.

“Somethin’ wrong, Syggy?” I batted innocent grey eyes up at him.

He glared. “Karnage, check your pockets.”

Sighing, Karnage set me down on the table and patted himself down. “Hand it over.”

“Hand over what?” I held out empty hands.

“You know what.” His fierce brown eyes were level and unblinking.

I watched my reflection in them as I slid a hand up under my tunic and pulled out a wrinkled piece of parchment. I held it out, lower lip stuck out in a pout.

“I thought you didn’t try your tricks on your friends.” He slid the paper back into his battered belt pouch.

“I don’t. Usually. But you know I can’t resist not knowing. If you and Syggy would just tell me what you are up to, you would make me so happy. Not knowing is like an itch I can’t scratch. Very uncomfortable. Tell me, pleeeeaase, Karnage.” I squeezed a tear out, freeing it to run down my cheek. Most big un’s couldn’t resist it when I cry. I so very closely resemble their younglings. I admit it, I take advantage when I can.

“No. Karnage let’s go before she wraps you around her finger again.” Sygmund stood and straightened his elaborate robes. “Mouse, it was a pleasure seeing you. We must now take our leave of you.” He gave a half bow in my direction.

“Aww, Syggy. You did miss me.” Standing up on the table, I hugged him. He may be stick thin and currently in his pompous, too-good-to-associate-with-a-thief stage but he was a friend and I had missed him. He patted my back with less than stellar enthusiasm.

“Stop calling me ‘Syggy.’ It’s undignified.”

Karnage gave me another hug and then they both walked out the door.

“Huh.” I jumped down from the table, opened my hand and looked at the ring nestled there. The large ruby setting was so very pretty. Practically had my name written all over it. Sygmund was so very considerate to gift me with it.

A practiced shake of my sleeve freed a large iron key, the handle all swirly in design. I thumped it against my open palm. “They’ll be back.”

Whistling, I left the tavern and sauntered up the street.

        

1. Having your characters keep secrets should never work out like they want it to.  When they finally reveal or are forced to reveal their Big Secret, unexpected and unwanted results should follow.
2. Killing off your characters doesn’t have to be permanent. But if they are brought back, don’t gloss over how they got back. Have a rock solid explanation or leave them dead.
3. Setting up complex family relationships can really increase the drama or stretch the reader/viewer’s imagination too far. Everyone related means everyone has a stake in the outcome when one of your characters is in trouble. Everyone related shouldn’t be the entire population of a town including that stranger that just moved in last week and is Grandma’s long lost love child.
4. Death bed confessions should only be made by the truly dying. Putting your main character in a hospital bed and then having everyone gather around for a chat is boring and predictable. Use these kinds of scenes very sparingly.
5. Having brothers or comrades-in-arms in love with the same woman creates tension. Having that woman sleeping around with both brothers creates a slut.
6. Lack of research cannot be disguised by a lot of action.
7. Two people repetitively talking about their secrets or problems for hours at a time is boring. Throwing a third person into the room who doesn’t know what is going on or is the object of the problem creates delicious tension.
8. Everyone, no matter how awful their lives are, has time for a holiday or a moment with the family.
9. Bad boy characters are especially appealing to the feminine audience. Keeping their motives a mystery and their looks to-die-for is always a crowd pleaser.
10. Ending on a cliffhanger is a good thing. Everyone comes back for more. Ending on the same cliffhanger over and over is not.

        

Thank you for sharing your wonderful talent with us.

        

A couple of days ago I had a conversation with some folks on Twitter about using 1st or 3rd person to write a story. Folks seemed to have strong views on the subject and I thought I would write about my opinion here. Here where I can use more than 140 characters.

Let me make this clear, this is not a how-to type blog. I am not that secure in my writing skills to give instruction on point of view. This is just why I have chosen to use one over the other and what I like about it when I read.

My first love when it comes to genre choice is fantasy. Up until recently, with the advent of Urban Fantasy, most fantasy was written in 3rd person. The third person allowed a bit of mystery between the reader and the character. It isn’t always spelled out what the character is thinking or feeling. It is more of an interpretive thing. Each reader will pull a slightly different conclusion from the words on the page. In addition, 3rd person sounds more formal and lends itself to the psuedo-historical stories that traditional Sword & Sorceries need.

1st person is more fun. The main character can be as irreverent as they want in their heads and that inner dialogue sparkles like a Bedazzled pair of jeans. 1st person lets the reader connect with the character more deeply but at the same time a little of the wonder goes away. Every reader knows exactly what the character is thinking and feeling because it is always spelled out for them.

So what do I use when I write?

I try to use third person for my Sword & Sorcery stories and I fall flat on my face. I have received comments on my 3rd person work that my characters are stiff and have no feelings about the horrible events that are happening to them. I find it very difficult to take the story from my head, filter it through the 3rd person seive, landing it on the page with any of the emotion I meant to put into the story.

So I write in 1st person. At least for the first draft. I find that it lacks the seive effect and I am able to put in all the thoughts and feelings my main character is experiencing. And I do it in such a way I can tell my inner editor to shut up about it. It is almost like writing a journal from inside the head of my protagonist. And it is fun.

Which POV do you write in? Which do you prefer to read? Why?

        

I work in a bookstore surrounded by good books that tantalize and tease me from their positions on the shelves around me. I get actual cravings to read certain books. A romance or a who-done-it or a fantasy novel. My mood and recent readings influence the cravings though I can be happy reading just about any book.

Some days when I am working I start craving a reread of an old friend. A book I’ve read before and that evoked certain feelings in my heart and gut. Sometimes I know exactly which book it is I am thinking about. Other times I can’t remember the title.

Several times in the last year I’ve had that craving and the frustration that goes with it that I can’t remember which book it is I want to read. After much banging of my head against the fixtures, the answer comes to me. It is my story I want to read.

Wow! That is so cool. One problem. I haven’t finished my story. It has been living in my head; partial scenes, ghostly characters, candid snapshots of settings, and emotional beats.

This is what shows me so clearly that I need to write more. I can describe the physical parts of the story but to try to evoke the emotions I want to go with those images is a whole other level of skill.

So here’s to getting those stories out of my head and onto the page. Out of my head and into my heart and gut.

        

Anyone who knows me knows I am a ‘fraidy cat. I have many phobias and several other things that make me nervous or flat out worry me. I attribute most of these to my imagination.

This week my eight year old had a raging case of appendicitis and of course my imagination took over and I kept imagining the worst. As he was wheeled away into the operating room, I kept scaring myself with visions of the doctor approaching me in the waiting room with “BAD NEWS.” Ack!

The visions were vivid and detailed and I kept trying to shake them but of course my stubborn mind, imagination driving it, couldn’t let go of the idea.  When I was able to see my son again in recovery, I was finally able to let go of the image. Sigh of relief.

I have heard that writers are always imagining stories from the people they meet and things they see. I know that for me I am more likely to imagine terrifying, horrendous, things rather than interesting, cool things. Swerving while driving leads to a massively catastrophic flaming death for me and everyone around me. Man in a suit showing me his FBI badge leads to a gun fight in the bookstore. Airplane flying loudly overhead leads to a fiery crash into my house.

If I could harness this power for good . . . err writing, maybe it could put it under control instead of sending myself into a panic attack driving down the freeway on my way home from piano lessons.

How is your imagination? Overactively frightening you or hiding in a corner of your mind, safely out of sight?