Changing Direction

I feel I've been posting more of these self help/venting articles than before, but if it works for me, then maybe it will work for you, also.

Shifting gears on projects are often the best way to stay fresh, be it with the varying diction you use (modern, poetic, broken, etc.), the world you're writing from, or the most simple and common rut: the plot.

I've noticed when I get attached to stories, most notably for me, my first manuscript, Bond of Darkness, I tend to not want to think of anything else. As writers, it's unhealthy. For years, I had been obsessed (literally at points) to only wanting to make Bond of Darkness better, (faster), stronger on all levels. Then came the rut. I kept editing on top of old material, keeping the best material, and in the end, I lost my plot.

My critique partners are my best friends and they've helped me see that I needed to work on other things. After I trunked BoD, I wrote a few outlines for different projects in different genres. I tried paranormal. Didn't quite work. Then I added thriller elements to the paranormal. Wasn't quite right.

Then I moved onto a new project, different in all areas: YA fantasy in first person. A few outlines later, I trunked that project, knowing it'd come back, but moved on again.

At the heart of everything, however, I needed to remove myself from the equation of wanting to produce manuscripts.

The best method I'm now making myself learn is to move through the stages of length. Challenging myself through flash, short stories and novellas will push me back on track for novel length manuscripts.

I also now keep a notebook on my end table, not only hoping to make myself an insomniac, but to jot the ideas down even as I dream them. Sounds cheesy, but it helps the process.

Have you found you need to change directions? How often?


Peace and Writing Love,

JWP

Forgive and Forget

This post is very personal to me as a writer. I had the idea for my first manuscript when I was a junior in high school. My good friend, Tara, told me she was writing a manuscript and I figured it'd be fun to try.

Fast forward to today, roughly seven years later, (I think) five drafts of the manuscript later and a bunch of frustration, reviews and criticism swallowed, I've been able to write an outline for a new WIP.

It took this long because, as a critique partner...cough...Steph, asked, "Is Bond of Darkness really the only manuscript you ever want to write?"

After she hit me with that question, I realized that it wasn't the only thing I WANTED to write, but the only thing I was ALLOWING myself to write. I had already invested so much time with my protagonist, the world, the magic system, and the story that I just wanted it to be done. The fact is that I was doing the project wrong all this time. I never actually sat and wrote an outline. I never planned any of it.

Bond of Darkness started as me just writing and making shit up as I went. First draft done. Me, naive. I start querying. I get a bunch of rejections. No surprise there. After I start doing some research behind manuscripts and whole business of publication, agents, editors, etc., do I really start getting into writing. I can see it becoming a hobby.

Then comes the time where I sunk into that seven year period of only working on Bond of Darkness. Because I never wrote an outline and only continued to edit on top of what I had already written -- keeping what I liked and revising what I didn't -- I was making it worse.

Again, fast forwarding to about a week ago, a new idea for a WIP hits me. Out of left field (left field being me sitting in church with my parents one morning). All of the sudden, I need to get it written before I lose it. I pump out an outline in a week's time and the euphoria began. I hadn't had that feeling of having a new project to be proud of because I was always working on the same thing. Different versions, but the same thing.

After I completed the outline, I discovered that I was attempting something I never had. I was breaking out of my writing shell. I had always written adult themed. The WIP is young adult. I favored male protagonists with an edge. My WIP protagonist is a timid female. I wrote strictly in third person. The WIP will be first person.

While I will return to Bond of Darkness with a plan, I'm thrilled to say I'm working on something new. FINALLY!

Do you have any stories of WIP triumph? What setbacks have you experienced that you were able to overcome?

Peace and Writing Love,

JWP

Writing Share Wednesday: 4

Whoever wishes to take on this weekly challenge is welcome to grab the banner and use it on their blog. It is a testament to stay in the constant writing mode, no matter what setbacks jump in your way. Writing is a healing process for me today and it began as such. Anyone who uses it as a similar tool, I invite you on this journey.

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This week's excerpt is a throwback to my first manuscript, Bond of Darkness, whose opening I recently revamped.

A twist of a gray-black clouds spitting a poisonous rainfall pecked the land. Neither helped Valence. He sprinted, harsh burning breaths swelling his throat shut. Ten of his men pulled up his rear, dodging the strikes of the ulitick ambush that had found their group. He tried not to look back, but as the bloodcurdling screams shortened to seconds apart, he slid to a stop and pushed his men past him. The dark wasteland landscape gave speed to the giant bugs on their heels. More shadow than shape, they knew how to move while the Lunata were mice to their python grace. Creatures forbidden to see daylight, they wallowed amid the wastelands for a traveler to step through their traps. He heard the click-click, shuffle-shuffle of the uliticks advancing on him as he saw his men to safety. He glanced back and they began scrambling up a rocky rise. A vent spewing toxic brown gas topped the hill, and all else was in darkness past that.

Another scream. It was an arrow through his head, how painful it was. The last of his men passed him, flushed and tired, and he saw the ulitick pounce on the poor soul it had captured. Valence slung his sword from the scabbard and ran for the young man. His white hair tangled over his pallor face. He had managed to crawl away slightly, but there was a sickening crunch and the boy rolled onto his side, wriggling. His legs were gone at the knees.

Valence stopped at the sight and drew back a few steps. His stomach turned and the boy was taken away. A meaty claw layered with prickly hairs reached out from the black mass. It dragged him into their death cloud, screaming, a last crunch silenced him. Red mist dyed the black cloud and the bugs finally from the it. Smoke lingered from their four gangly arms, pincers stretching off them like shears.

He took one glance at their daunting, armor-plated faces. Slime poured from the gaps in their jaws like undigested gruel, putrid from even the farthest distance. Two, beady eyes scoped him out, but blind it seemed, the ulitick went back to its meal.

“Valence, c’mon!”

He turned to a solider waiting for him. His long hair was barely its snowy Lunata white, for all the grime and muck of the wasteland slicked their bodies. Valence stared at the boils the poison rain had created on his skin. He gawked back in horror. Two more clouds crept in from either side and it was on soldier before he could speak. An ulitick jumped out of the cloud, a full lunge spreading its wide claws. It bore into the solider, pinned him and the feast began there on the hill. The clouds continued down the rise for the other men.

A hurtling cry came at his left and Valence brought his sword around. He saw the ulitick leaping for him, its grimy pincers saliva-stained and lingering with fresh meat particles. He slipped below the attack, but drew his sword in a fine arc that took the head off the creature. It bobbled away to the rocky abyss and its squirming body cuddled next to his legs. He turned for the rise, but was barreled over. His back slapped the hard, wet ground. When he rolled up to meet the next attacker, fire tore across his chest. A deep burn well beneath his flesh surged and he couldn’t rise. He looked down to bits of his flesh dangling from its rightful place. A gash went from his collarbone to mid-chest, a dark-green goo seeping from it.

The uliticks came at him. He yelled, summoning all his will to lift the sword, but it did not so much as budge. His arm was paralyzed. The gray-black swirl overhead split open and a curling lance of white spiraled down at the creatures. It struck them all, the source unknown as he looked for it, but the power attacked him next. All the black subsided to a swift white curtain.

Never-ending Scene Blogfest

Thanks for hosting this blogfest, Brenda. A superb idea! Here are the rules from Brenda's page as well as the link back to the PARTICIPANTS.


"Here's how it works. On your blog site, write a new scene or post a scene from your current project that is no more than 500 words, which has a rocking cliffhanger (pun intended). It can be any genre. Just leave us hanging, craving more, and cursing your name for making us want to turn a page that isn't there. Easy peasy, right? Right."


In other fantastic news besides this blogfest occurring today, I also finished my manuscript, Bond of Darkness, last evening on the bus ride into work. I know, right? It has been through three drafts and a project of nearly five years now. Pasted below is the cliffhanger from the last chapter of Bond of Darkness.


November then kicks off NaNoWriMo 2010, and I will tentatively start the second manuscript in Children of the Universe, The Shattered Darkness, on December 1st.



* * *

Last words from Chapter 32 -- With and Without

Quick Run Down: In the previous chapter, a member of Valence's group, Melana, was killed protecting him. They were in the Domain of the Evoctor, called Granus Uria, claiming a piece of his spirit called a Vessel, to return and use in the war against the Darkness. During the event, Valence gives birth to a creation known as a Demi, a black-skinned creature that looks just like him. The Demi's name is Mefist.

(DISCLAIMER: I did go over the 500 word mark, but it was necessary for the whole build-up.)

“We should move away from this rain,” Valence said. “The ground on the plains here will become especially unstable.”

Gerad moved next to him. “Do we go around the wastelands?”

Valence breathed a white stream. “I’m taking her to my people. They’ll be able to protect her body.”

“Valence, you can’t,” Kyona said. “She must be given back to the Elves. They will want her buried properly.”

“I will not give her away when I know I have a chance to protecting her from rising against us.”

“But—”

“That’s my decision, Kyona,” he said, stern assurance against her and eyes deadlocked. “Besides, you cannot come with me.”

There was silence for only a moment before Gerad stepped directly in front of him. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means the Lunata will not let you near our city. I don’t need protection in this area. This is my home ground. After I give her to my people, I’m getting away from this place for a while.”

“Away where?” Oroyu asked.

Valence did not answer.

“I see then.” The hermit separated himself from Valence and stood a few paces from a path leading to the plains. “You want us to go on without you? For the Vessels?”

“Not just for the Vessels,” Gerad added, “is that right? Part of it is to get them away from you. Wherever you’re going.”

Valence chased the suggestion and its consequences. “You defended me from Grenier’s rightful accusations, and I ask for it now. Taking this next step will put Mithrus’ fix on you and it will bring me answers.”

“It’s not fair to ask that of us,” Kyona said.

“It’s not about what is fair. It’s about taking the chance when the odds are against you. Right now, we’re losing this war when it has yet to have started. If they were able to get so close to us, we must chance this parting.”

“How can you be sure?” Kyona stroked Melana’s arm. “She was a girl. You can remember her in more ways than walking into the unknown.”

"I know. It'll all turn out."

"Where will we find you once you have found your answers?” Oroyu asked, turning back to him. He pulled out his sais, twirled them around his hands like an artful fighter, and slid them between Valence's waist and belt. "You'll need these."

Valence had no sword, for it had disappeared somewhere in the domain after their departure. “I will find you,” he said. “Until then, do not think or ask about me to anyone.”

A swift crack of lightning pulled them on separate sides of the paths leading to the plains. He would walk the wastelands, scavengers in his shadow as he moved for Lunbaris, and they would find an alternate route to the next Vessel. His feet sunk into the mud and he slopped through puddles in his sharp descent. The rain beating against his clothes and the relentless rolling thunder calmed his walk, and he found himself looking at Melana less as he took care in every step.

It was under the rain and thunder that he remembered what the Archon told him the many years ago during their first meeting. He had been sitting on a bedside, Ismer squatting before him and illustrating pictures in the air with his finger. The account of his incident at Thenar arose and he told the old man what had become of Irien. Of the man who had taken him captive and tortured the boy into fighting him. Ismer had explained to him the gift of Demi creation, also.

He thought Mefist had pushed the thought to him, but he had known it all along.

“'The change will come one day when you least expect it. I feel something odd in you, misplaced maybe, but I see you being one such Lunata who will have a relationship with a Demi. He will be yours only, all control and thought it has, an extension of who you will grow to become. But you must embrace that power, not fear it. You are a special boy and what you do will affect those closest to you.'" 

Ismer had paused at one point then, unblinking with a smile. The Archon had seen into him that day, so far into his future and what devastation he would bring into the world. 

"'It is you who will become a god if you learn to harness the powers you were born with. Tame this unnatural gift, control it and let it be your guide. Only then can you truly achieve a power greater than any coveted by man or beast.'”

This is what he needed to find. Unsure if that power lied dormant inside him or in the pairing with Mefist, it was a vast search that was to begin. The misty rain swallowed him and a snap of lightning rippled in the clouds, thunder behind him. The truths that had been hidden from him would come in time, but he never looked back.

Blogfest of Death

This blogfest post is brought to you by @ Tessa’s Blurb.

Below is a death scene from my first manuscript. Enjoy! (989 words)

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Mefist’s blood-red eyes locked onto Xixios, and although they bore no pupils, the assassin cringed.

“They hold me back?” Mefist asked. “You’ve got it wrong.” He leaned close. “I think they’re keeping me right where I belong,” he said firmly.

With a cry, Mefist forced the blades away from his chest and pushed Xixios until his feet gave away at the rock. A final push catapulted the assassin through the air and Xixios crashed at the foot of the altar. Xixios moaned in agony, but Mefist drew his scrutiny away from the demon and glanced back at Melana.

Mefist reached out to help, but she revolted for a moment. “Do not fear what I am,” he said.

Melana hesitated and grabbed his hand.

Mefist heaved her to her feet. Standing close, her hands resting on his waist, she peered into his red eyes.

“You’re still there, Valence?” she asked.

Of course, Valence said, this time in his own voice.

Gerad grumbled in discomfort as he stood and inspected the others’ conditions.

Mefist looked up from Melana, his stare on Gerad’s lips as they formed a warning.

Xixios’ crude roar bellowed from behind. Mefist turned, but was shoved away.

Melana jumped forward and thrust her left palm out, aura burning and summoning her Oath into a barrier. The barrier flashed to life, but a scream of terror echoed around it.

Mefist’s eyes widened and he stared, unable to help. He grabbed his red hair and collapsed to his knees, confusion welling within him. The pain of his first transformation from Valence’s body surged. Melana’s painful cry burned his eyes, and as quickly as the transformation came, Mefist’s skin singed away, bleaching over with a natural skin tone. His hair fell out, replaced by white clumps and his eyes reverted to their slate shade.

Gerad jumped up and called Oroyu and Kyona to follow him, but they could not pass the emerald barrier Melana had summoned.

Valence returned to his body, facing Melana’s back and wishing the sword held warmly in her skin was a hallucination. Blood oozed and stained her lace shirt a dark green.

Xixios laughed through curled lips before he wrenched the sword from her. Melana staggered and ebbed forward onto the bridge, seeping blood. Her head smacked the ground, the butterfly clips breaking and leaving her hair in a tangled mess. The barrier dropped, but Gerad and the others did not move.

Kneeling before Melana’s killer, Valence did not stare at Xixios for mercy, but rocked slowly and watched the earth of the bridge color red. He was breathless and a tear rolled down his dirty cheek.

“It is sad,” Xixios said, his sword directed at Valence, “to lose someone you love and remain unable to bring them back. Had you accepted my offer, you could have protected her.”

Valence’s eyes were hidden beneath his hair. “An old man once told me that something both marvelous and dreadful exists in the choices of men.”

Xixios inclined his head. “And what’s that?”

“Choice ceases to produce consequence.”

“I know that!” Xixios drove his fist across Valence’s face.

Valence remained on his knees, dizzy and lost.

“I am a result of consequence, as are you,” Xixios said.

“That may be so, but I have something you lack.” Valence’s words fumbled off his lips as he spat a concoction of saliva and blood. “I hold something in me that you will never have the pleasure to experience.”

Xixios sneered. “Please elaborate.”

Valence smiled and peeked through his hair. “I control my power while you are a host to yours.”

“You have nothing left, Valence. You have no weapon, certainly no power left and your friends are too frightened to move. This is your end!”

Valence hid a smile and laughed, his voice scratchy. “That is where you’re wrong. I will always have—”

Xixios’ golden eyes widened, brighter than ever. Black liquid dribbled from his tear ducts and dripped down his clenched lips.

Valence stood a foot from Xixios, arms extending fully and his hands bearing the black, aura-enriched weapons of Mefist. His Demi’s weapons, fused onto his arms, flared with a last bit of crushing power and faded off. Blood collected in a diagonal line over Xixios’ chest and gushed out in streams. His hands opened and released his twin sabers. Xixios’ body slid away at the waist with a morbid slush and fell to the ground. His legs crumpled over his body and the assassin’s eyes lodged open, the black pupils expanding.

“Power,” Valence said, his breathing intense. His eyes filled with fire as he stared at the slain demon.

Valence fell to his knees and clambered over Melana’s body. He forced himself to release his emotions, the love and agony he felt for her as tears ran down his face. Oroyu, Gerad and Kyona stepped forward, their shadows looming over the couple.

Valence cradled Melana’s head. Gerad knelt beside him and stroked the hair from her eyes. The animosity that had grown between them settled, as though for the moment Valence had put his crimes behind him. The quickening realization that he had failed another friend lingered forward. Valence rocked Melana and whispered her name in her ear, hoping that she would hear it.

The Challenge of Doing Nothing

This will be a shorter post in my "Challenge" series, but it goes a long way. The word of the street from agents and editors alike is: "When you feel you can polish and revise no more on that manuscript, you set it aside for a few months and come back to it. Even the most accomplished novelists will always say they wish they could change this part, but had to say 'I need to set this aside once and for all.'"

I have been on the revising end of my first manuscript, Bond of Darkness, for a hard 4 years now. Yes, I know this is a long time, and see my previous post about agent Kristen Nelson's rant on "The Curse of the Sophomore Novel" for more information on this. However, BoD has undergone huge overhauls (2 respectively) which have taken said time.

I do not have an issue with the "Curse," because I feel that after taking all of said time, I can write more fluidly and not make the same errors as I did to have the polish my first manuscript is currently undergoing.

My issue comes with setting it aside, doing nothing with it for months and then returning to it. Yes, I will come back with a fresh eye (yet again), but I don't want a fresh eye. I want to be one of those novelists that say "I wish I could change things here." I have confidence in not only myself, but in my my readers who have line edited and assisted me to death.

Do other writers feel they could do this to themselves? Could you wait around for months, continually writing during this time, and go back? Think of it from my situation and compare this to your own. Share with me.

Bye for now!

JWP

The Challenge of Titles

So, I'm certainly not the first to have blogged about proper titles, nor will I be the last. Agents, editors, authors and writing hopefuls alike all enjoy a good title. It hooks and draws a buyer's hand closer to your published work and away from your competitors'. So yes, the title makes all the difference. I recently underwent a title change for my WiP manuscript, now titled Bond of Darkness, from its previous [horrible and generic] title, The Awakening.

Yikes! What in the world was I thinking? Of course The Awakening has been used one million times [Yes, I'm counting]. I was no different, but I chose it because it had everything to do with my character, both literal and metaphorical. That is not the case now. My protagonist has changed much since the first draft, and with the help of a few friends, I came to Bond of Darkness. But...

Only to read a recent article on "googling titles." So, I my fingers typed with fear into the search bar, and sure enough, Bond of Darkness is a recently published vampire novel by [redacted author]. YAK! Hate vamp lit [crappy vamp lit, that is]. Having only been published in 2008, the blog post suggested that you consider a title that was not used in the last 40 years. HA! Bull-crapola! My title is mine now. Considering a paranormal fantasy about vamps is nothing that can be compared to adult high fantasy, I think I should be in the clear.

The last piece of advice is something I learned from the ever-wonderful Diedre Knight, agent and founder of the Knight Agency. While on an ask agent session that she often sponsors, I asked my question about my change in title and asked Knight how she comes up with the perfect title. Knight said she uses color, sound, imagery, or anything that will spark the interest to have that novel get picked up. Usually, she takes titles across a series and makes them uniform, which is what I have done with my WiP manuscripts. In Knight's most recent release, her title consistency is something as simple as the color "Red," but it carries the most important meaning throughout her novels.

This is truly something to consider to have the best title.

So, to my writing community, how did you choose your titles and what additional advice do you have?

Bye for now!

JWP

My New Beta Reader

So since my post a couple weeks ago about looking for beta readers, and after exploring Nathan Bransford's forums, I was fortunate enough to meet up with the perfect critique partner. And she is perfect. No you can't have her. She's my own, my precious (sorry Mes, Gollum slipped out there).

She's an intense line editor and just what I needed for my final overhaul of Bond of Darkness. Line edits are a bitch and so is she, and I mean that in the most gracious and thankful way possible. Those were her exact words to me. "Don't think I'm a bitch, but I crack down on line edits." I squealed with joy when she told me that.

So here's to you, Mesmerix! I hope we both have a long and successful beta read together for BoD and GEM, and more after. Thanks for everything so far.

Bye for now,

JWP