I    [Continue reading]]]> Hi folks. I’d love some of your thoughts here. I’m interested in learning how clearly other writers see their characters when they’re writing them. Do you have strong visual pictures of them before or while writing? Some writers hang pictures of people they think their characters might look like near their writing desks, for example.

I didn’t do that for Just Desserts: Greed. Lust. Death. Tiramisu. I knew my characters pretty well when telling their stories, but I didn’t spend too much time describing them physically for readers – or for myself. I knew their general ages and the kinds of physical activity they might realistically pursue. Other than that, what the characters looked like on the outside was less important to me than what was going on inside their heads.

Shirley was an exception because much of the story depended on her, uh, physical assets. And I described Lizzie’s looks primarily to highlight how she downplayed them in contrast to Shirley (although I don’t think I developed that as well as I could have – mebbee in The Sequel).

When I was doing the final edits, I read a blog post that asked writers to name the actors they would want to play their main characters in the movie version of their latest book.

That got me thinking. I don’t watch television and I haven’t been a big movie goer lately, so my coterie of known actor candidates is fairly limited. I found out what Justin Bieber looked like just last week. (If that’s not reason enough to cancel cable, I don’t know what is.)

Still…

How could John Cusack NOT play Vince? Yes, definitely – John’s the man. The vision of a bemused John Cusack putting on the chicken suit makes me smile.

As soon as I saw John Cusack as Vince, though, my thinking shifted. Not in Just Desserts itself, but in the sequel-in-progress. Seeing Vince as John, John as Vince, opened up different, possibly conflicting, directions for the story and for Vince as an authentic character. What Would John Do? versus What Would Vince Do?

I’m not sure that’s a good thing, at least for me. I think I want Vince to be good ole’ Vince, not Vince wearing a John Cusack mask. So, difficult as it may be, I’m sending John back to Hollywood and recreating my old, fuzzy image of Vince.

How about you?

As a writer, do you have a clear-cut visual image of your characters as you’re writing? If you have a visual image, is it a real person or someone you see only in your mind’s eye? Do you know what your characters are wearing, how long their hair is, their BMI? If so, do you describe these features for your readers? How? Why? Does genre or time frame of the story influence you on this?

As a reader, do you enjoy reading detailed descriptions of what characters look like, how they’re dressed? Do you set up your own visual images of characters when the author doesn’t provide them? Do you get annoyed when an author doesn’t describe what his or her main characters look like?

I’d love to know what you think. Enquiring minds [still] want to know…
~~
Photo Credit: Free images from acobox.com

This launch is such a big    [Continue reading]]]>
It’s official! I’m excited to announce that Just Desserts: Greed. Lust. Death. Tiramisu. is now available for purchase – and your reading pleasure – as a Kindle Book from Amazon, a Nook Book from Barnes & Noble and an eBook for other ereaders AND as a PDF download from Smashwords.

This launch is such a big deal that cities and towns across the U.S.A. are celebrating with live concerts and massive fireworks displays all week-end long! At least I think it’s for my book launch – maybe something else is going on as well.

What’s Just Desserts about? Among other things, it’s about greed. And lust. And death. And – you guessed it – tiramisu. Here’s the short blurb you’ll find on each publisher’s site:

Vince Fantozzi is stuck in a dead-end rut, kowtowing to his dad’s every demand while he watches his own life slip away from him.

Until Shirley and Jack move in next door.

Suddenly, the pursuit of happiness – or maybe some decent lasagna – shoves everyone into the fast lane and turns Vince’s life on its edge as he careens down a road he never thought he’d travel, accompanied by an eccentric bunch of fellow travelers.

Just Desserts is a novella, so it can slip easily into an empty hour time-slot in your life. I tried describing it as a “one beer beach read” until I was reminded that I drink very slowly, so it might be a “two beer beach read” – especially on a hot day.

Practically none of the genre categories the publishers offer work for me, so here are a couple of my own descriptors to add to “fiction, general” and “fiction, humorous”:

• sort-of-noir
• Carl Hiaasen lite
• noir: over easy
• Southern-fiction-but-not-really

Just Desserts probably fits into “dick lit” as well (yes this category exists) since it’s edgy and funny and I blow stuff up but no, I can’t go there. I just can’t. Y’all understand, I hope, and bless your hearts.

Here’s what some of my beta readers have to say about Just Desserts:

“I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t Dennis Lehane goes South. Great fun.”

“Grows on you and keeps you curious about what is coming next.”

“I love it! It’s ready for prime time.”

“I like it, Mom.” (I know, what else could he say?) “Especially the last couple of chapters, because I had no idea what was going to happen next.”

Curious? Let me know what you think. You can read the first two chapters by clicking JUST DESSERTS EXCERPT at the top of the page. Then I hope you’ll order and read the entire book.

Now go watch some Just Desserts fireworks and join the celebration!

Yeah.

Yesterday I had an appointment to go in and prove to the DMV examiner that I knew the difference between    [Continue reading]]]> I guess the day you renew your driver’s license and they snap that picture that will follow you around for the next 8 years BEFORE you get the black eye qualifies as a good day, right?

Yeah.

Yesterday I had an appointment to go in and prove to the DMV examiner that I knew the difference between a stop sign and a cattle crossing warning so I could continue driving legally. The NC driver’s license office (note: different than the NC auto registration/license plate office) is located in this funky strip mall near a bunch of used car lots and fast food joints. The McDonald’s on the corner has been the scene of several drug busts in the last couple of years. If there were railroad tracks nearby, we’d be on the wrong side of them.

Here’s the roll-call for the strip mall tenants: the ‘anchor’ is a large pawn shop/check cashing/loan center in the middle of the mall. It’s surrounded by a Japanese deli and food shop, a laundromat, a loan company, dance studio, a temporary employment agency. Then there’s the NC license plate office, a Mexican mercado, the NC driver’s license office, two insurance agencies and a hair salon.

I mention this because, while I know there are all kinds of Idea Generators and Writing Prompts available, for me just walking around a place like this throws a whole slew of ideas into my brain. I can pick any two, maybe three, of the businesses in the mall, watch the people going in and coming out and all of a sudden I’ve got myself a cast of characters and some plot threads.

Two weeks ago when I first tried to renew my license and found three dozen people and a two hour wait ahead of me, ElderHaus was a tenant. It’s since been replaced by the dance and zumba studio. Why? The temporary employment agency doesn’t even open until 2 PM. Why not? I see some story possibilities here.

My current WIP has a scene in a pawn shop, so I thought I’d do some research. A sign on the front door reads: “Before entering shop, unload all firearms. Open action.” Uh, consider it done.

I’d been in the pawn shop before – when I got my first NC driver’s license, and it didn’t look like the merchandise had changed all that much in the intervening years. I had this central casting pawn shop in my head (and in my WIP, where I think/hope it fits), but this place knocked my expectation on its head.

“Can I help you?” A woman who looked like she was ready to dish me up some of her green bean casserole at a church supper smiled at me. “We have some good deals on jewelry today. Everything in these three cases is 50% off.” A gaudy diamond pinky ring plays a prominent role in my WIP so I was pleased to see one sitting in the display.

The woman was gracious and eager to show me whatever I wanted. I might as well have been in Zales. Though I was tempted momentarily by the NASCAR money clip – a half-off steal at $15.00 – I left the store with nothing but some good ideas and vivid images. (Yes, I walked through the stolen tools and guns just to make sure I had portrayed Mr. Earl and his pawn shop appropriately. I had.)

The black eye? Another reminder to me that pulling disparate, mundane pieces together at just the right time gives a story authentic impact. For example:

• a woman leaning down to pick up a piece of paper from the concrete
• a man opening the garage door
• a dog leaping from the first floor landing to the garage in a single, high-speed burst.

Ouch.

Hint Fiction (props to Merrilee Faber for the heads-up on    [Continue reading]]]> I obviously haven’t been in blog-land much lately. I’ve been editing my WIP and frankly, if I follow much more of the (good) writing advice/models I’ve been reading lately, there won’t be much of the damn thing left for anyone else to read.

Hint Fiction (props to Merrilee Faber for the heads-up on this book, featuring one of her stories) arrived in the same Amazon shipment as Elizabeth George’s book on writing, which I promptly discarded in favor of this little gem. The book design and layout rock along with the content.

According to editor Robert Swartwood, hint fiction is built on the idea that “the very best storytelling was the kind where the writer and reader meet halfway, the writer only painting fifty percent of the picture and forcing the reader to fill in the rest. That way, the reader truly becomes engaged in the process.”

Each of the 125 Hint Fiction stories has, at most, 25 words. A lot of the stories are dark, and the best ones are very dark. I don’t know if that’s an artifact of the form itself or of the editor’s taste. But each one tells a full story and draws the reader in, sometimes farther than I wanted to go. There’s way more emotional depth than I thought possible with so few words.

Hint Fiction is a must-read if you want to see how some writers make every word count. Phew.

So I hit my manuscript with a red pen and started deleting those excess words.

Then, I read Every Word Matters on David Kazzie’s blog, The Corner. Basically he reminds you that every word matters, only he uses a couple more words than that and an example from the movie version of No Country for Old Men. David is the mastermind behind the So You Want to Write a Novel/So You Want to Go to Law School videos and he’s a pretty funny writer.

So I hit my manuscript again with a red pen and started deleting some more of those words that don’t matter.

And then I discovered Austin Kleon, author of Newspaper Blackout. He writes poems by starting with a newspaper and blacking out the words he doesn’t need with magic marker.

His blog post How to Steal Like an Artist (and 9 Other Things Nobody Told Me) is awesomely brilliant, so you should read it. I can’t pick a favorite part, so I’ll just go with the tenth thing that nobody told him:

10. Creativity is subtraction.

It’s often what an artist chooses to leave out that makes the art interesting. What isn’t shown vs. what is… Creativity isn’t just the things we chose to put in, it’s also the things we chose to leave out.

So I’m hitting my manuscript again, maybe with a black marker this time.

If there’s anything left.

Great. Now they could make fun of her hygiene as well as her clothes, her    [Continue reading]]]> All eyes were on Deirdre when she walked into the room. She hated times like this. Those stares, what they were thinking behind their glassy eyes – always made her uncomfortable. Wet circles began forming under her armpits.

Great. Now they could make fun of her hygiene as well as her clothes, her chewed nails.

The room was quiet a second too long; then Jed stood up. “Glad you could make it, Dee.” No one called her Dee. He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a Bud Light. He handed it to her and she nodded thanks, took a short sip of the watery liquid. It wasn’t even cold. Ugh, how could they drink that shit when there were so many decent beers out there?

Conversation started again. Larry launched into a monologue that left Deirdre dazed and everyone else entertained. She’d probably interrupted him by showing up. He finally stopped to take a breath and everyone except Deirdre laughed. He must have gotten to the punch line.

Tammy and Britt held their bottles up to Larry in a mock salute and clicked their bottles together.

They were drinking India Pale Ale from Deirdre’s favorite microbrewery. Then Deirdre noticed that everyone was drinking good beer – Larry, Jed, the rest of them.

WTF?

Deirdre imagined pouring her warm Bud Light into the big bowl of chips on the coffee table, or better yet, down Jed’s back. It was the first time she smiled all day.

Instead, she walked to the bar sink and tipped her bottle high, watching the foamy liquid swirl down the drain. She caught Jed staring at her as she opened the refrigerator and got herself a bottle of IPA. She took a long draught from the bottle and stared back. Much better.

So this was the “man cave” Jed talked about incessantly at work. She looked around. Testosterone oozed from the black leather couches, the big flat panel TV, the dartboard hanging on the wall.

She’d been included – inadvertently, she’d assumed – in an email inviting the staff to his house for potluck and the game on Sunday. Deirdre hated football, thought she’d leave before the game started.

But her new year’s resolution had been to get out of her own skin more, to act normal. This was an opportunity for her to at least try. Even her therapist would be pleased.

Her clothes were, as usual, all wrong for the afternoon. She’d worn dark slacks and a twin set. Everyone else was in jeans and a logo team shirt.

“Who’s playing?” This was wrong; she realized that even as the words were coming out. The looks ranged from incredulous to pitying. Well, screw them. They probably had no idea what was happening politically halfway around the world, let alone halfway across the city, if it wasn’t carrying a football team banner.

The silence lasted an instant too long. Tammy rolled her eyes for Britt’s benefit, and Britt barely stifled a chuckle. That did it.

Deirdre would play her own game.

“Hey!” Deirdre’s voice was jovial. “Who wants to play darts before the game?” Her co-workers looked at her. They’d never heard that upbeat voice. No one spoke.

“I said, who wants to play darts?” This time her tone was different. Tammy shifted uneasily in the leather loveseat. Jed stood up. No one spoke.

Deirdre grabbed the darts from the corkboard. They were expensive darts – heavy, weighted just right. The kind she liked. At least Jed had picked those well. She aimed for him first. He dropped silently to the shag carpeting.

Were they all really moving in slow motion, or was it her adrenalin? Deirdre was able to aim slowly, carefully, accurately. Soon she’d used all the darts, and the room was quiet.

She stepped over Britt’s body on her way to the refrigerator. She wanted to grab a couple of beers to take home.

She might watch the football game after all.

**

[Props to Cathryn Grant and her story An Extra Man in the House for planting the seed for this one in my warped brain this morning.]