Pearls Before Swine

In honour of this  Easter weekend, I thought I post my favourite short piece from my back catalogue.  I was asked in 2011 to write a piece for the lovely Matt Potter at Pure Slush. If you don't know about this goldmine of gorgeousness, they are an Australian based online flash fiction site that also publishes hard copy theme based anthologies.  Go have a sneaky peek at them here:

http://pureslush.webs.com/

Matt asked me to contribute a piece on the theme of Religion, up to 1000 words...I struggled. As many of you know, I'm a Christian, a member of the Mormon church. I didn't want my piece to be preachy. I just wanted it to be good writing. To this day I couldn't tell you where it came from, and it's still my favourite piece.

Happy Easter.

Pearls Before Swine 

          The day had just begun when we found her.  It was barely light; Donnie was herding Baby and me to school. We were dragging our feet, shoulders and ears hunched against the sharp crystal air.  The ground was cold and hard from a late spring thaw; deeper patches of snow still clung despite the warming days.

               “What is it?” Baby whispered, standing well away.

               “It’s an angel,” I whispered back, my fingers poking small wet flakes from her dark hair.

               “That ain’t no angel,” Donnie hissed. “Don’t touch her; you know what Dad says about strangers.”

               “Strangers carry diseases. Strangers can kill us.” Baby recited, sucking her thumb.

               Donnie dropped his school bag in the snow. “Cassie, I’m going to get the horse. We’ll take her up to Old Winston. She might be worth something to him.  Maybe he’ll cut us a break.”

               It didn’t take a genius to know we’d had a bad season last year.  Money was tight, the rent was months overdue. Mother and Dad thought we couldn’t hear when they sat over the kitchen table at night, counting out the pennies and fretting, but we knew.

               Old Winston was our landlord. He had the big farm house and hundreds of lush acres. We paid him four hundred a month for a leaking, wind-rattled shack and twenty acres of the hardest soil in the county. Father ploughed Winston’s land to earn steady money but it wasn’t a lot, so we farmed our bit to make up the difference.

I didn’t like Old Winston.

“Get lost, you skinny little bastards,” he’d grumble, snatching the brown rent envelope from Baby’s hands, swinging at her ankles with his walking stick. He wasn’t very quick and Baby was always off the porch fast, laughing as the wind blew his curses across the fields after us.

On top of that, he never fixed anything on the house, even when the roof fell in over the kitchen. He smelled of sweat and old pipe smoke and dirty socks. And when Father was away at market he’d come round and touch Mother’s hair and find excuses.

               I stamped my cold feet, and blew on my cramping fingers, staring at her as she lay on the hard ground in nothing but a thin dress.  “You can’t do that,” I choked.  “He’ll hurt her, and you know it.”

               Donnie grabbed my wrist hard and twisted. “What I know is mother’s got cancer, we got bills, and she’s going to Old Winston.”

               As soon as Donnie disappeared down the hill, her eyes opened. They were the colour of dewdrops glinting on ferns in the early light.

               “Hello, Angel,” Baby cooed, handing her a boiled sweet.

               “Thank you Baby. I love Lemon Drops.” The Angel’s voice sounded like old church bells ringing on a faraway hill.

               “What’s your name? Are you really an Angel?” I whispered, voice catching in my throat. She was glorious: her eyes, her hair, her skin. They all had a glow that was nothing to do with the frosty air. Every inch was beautiful.

               “I’m whatever you need, Cassie. My name is Pearl. ”

               “Like from the ocean?”

               “Maybe, Cassie. Maybe.”

               She put her arms around the horse’s neck and climbed on, Donnie still too skittish to touch her. I reached up and held her hand as we walked, down the hill, across two fields. Just to make a point.

               Old Winston grinned ear to ear, the first smile I’d ever seen on him. He wrote Donnie a note, signed and dated.

               All debts forgiven.

               Abram Winston.

               Pearl put her slender white hand on his arm and smiled up at him. Underneath he added:

               Plus two months’ rent free.

               Pearl touched his cheek. He crumpled up the note and started over.

               All debts forgiven + three months’ rent free

               Abram Winston.

              

               Pearl never uttered a single word, but her eyes said goodbye in a way that scared me.  My heart shrank watching her beautiful pale hand on his leathery wrist. 

“You can go now children,” Old Winston grunted, shutting the door firm behind us. It was the first time he’d ever addressed us without swearing.

               “But he’ll…”  I stood rooted to the porch.

               “Forget about it, Cassie. Pearl said she’s whatever we need. You told me that yourself.”  He shoved the note under my nose. “What we need is THIS. She can take care of herself.”

               Donnie pulled me off the wooden porch and threw me up onto the horse behind Baby. I cried all the way home. I cried all through dinner, never answering Mother’s questions. I cried at bedtime prayers. Each tear sliced through me. We left her there. We left her with him.

               Sometime that night, a fire started in Old Winston’s house. His bedroom and the side porch blazed, scorching the ground, turning the remaining snow into steaming puddles that iced over into a smooth glassy sheet by morning. But for the smell of smoke, the rest of the house stood firm, as if it never happened.

               The bank manager came a month later. Old Winston had no kin. The whole place, main house and shack, was ours if we’d take over the mortgage payments. Old Winston was paying the bank a hundred less a month than he’d been charging us just for the shack.

               That summer we started rebuilding. With soot smeared fingers, Baby and Donnie unearthed hundreds of tiny glowing pearls from the rubble. I washed them carefully, then put them in a jam jar on the kitchen table, kissing each one before it landed, plink plink plonk, in the bottom of the jar.

Doing Stupid things for the fun of it.

So, I entered an online pitch contest.

 Find it here: http://brenleedrake.blogspot.com/

There are some great agents involved, and a boatload of hard work going into the process behind the scenes.

Right here, in front of the scenes, on centre stage:

Commence: -nail biting.
                    -excessive refreshing of twitter feed.
                   - repeated trawling of other entrants blogs
                     to read their pitches & make myself feel inadequate



My book is already under consideration with a publishing house. I know it's a long involved process. I know it takes a village to raise a child, blah blah blah.... but apparently it takes a whole CONTINENT to say yes before you get a book deal.

I have ADHD. So I am impatient. IMPATIENT, I tell you!!!!

Recently I bit the proverbial bullet and shopped it to a few other people, which I should have done months ago, if I was smarter. All these things are solitary worries, things hidden with the dust bunnies and old birthday cards under my bed while I get on with life.

Doing this pitch contest is a whole different animal. Suddenly I have been sucked into this warm huggy embracing writerly pit of  angst.... we're ALLLLL stressing.

Communally. So it ramps the anxiety up by INFINITY.

Anyways. Here's the pitch. It's probably not half as interesting as this blogpost. Which is a pretty dire attitude to have, I know.

Anyway. have at it.



TITLE: Blessing Hill
GENRE: YA Sci-fi, spec-fic
WORD COUNT: 100k (I know, shut up already)

LOGLINE:

  After militant climate refugees invade their remote island home, Azura and her friends must rise against their religiously fanatical captors before their entire way of life is destroyed.


EXCERPT: 

“Scripture! Repentance! Scripture! Repentance!”  A grating voice screeches over the loudspeaker for the third time today. I barely flick an eyelid. Wiping the sweat from my forehead onto my sleeve, I slowly turn the heat off under the sauce. We never know how long a session will last and I’d rather not add burnt sauce to my list of things to repent for.

Lisa kneels beside me, smiling softly, pleased for the break. I don’t know what she’s accused of, but this morning there was a note on the board saying she was on solitary potato duty for the entire campus. All day. All twelve hours of it. We’ve only been here two hours and her hands are cramping, swollen and red raw. Peeling potatoes for the entire campus is normally a three person, six hour job. When I stand near her it’s hard not to wrinkle my nose, she’s already starting to smell of them; mildew, stale, damp. To help her along, every time our attendant Victory turns her back, one of us produces a peeler from our pockets, skinning a few to add to the pile.

Casting a disapproving eye around the room Victory passes scripture to all the girls kneeling restlessly with us. Every time she reaches towards one of us, her bobbed, dark hair sweeps across her cheek into her eyes. She tucks it behind her ear repeatedly as she bends and straightens, pulling books from the box.

My fingers stray to my own hair, pinned back tightly to my head, as required.

Things What Stop Me Writing 1-2-3...

THINGS WHAT STOP ME WRITING 1-2-3….

OMG screeching in frustration…see the date on this post? Yeah, you guessed it. I totally fell down on the 2x a month blog posting goal fairly early on, now didn’t I??? Not a peep in February.

And it’s not just my blog…it’s writing in general. What the heck is wrecking the process???

What I want to accomplish VS What actually happens:

1.      MILLIONNNNNNNNS of stories in my head bursting to get out, like NOW, immediately, yesterday would have been great, thanks.

               TRUTH: MILLIONNNNNNNNS of ideas duking it out for attention. Also dishes, laundry, children, piles of Border Collie hair. Until am actually getting paid for this ‘writing lark’ I must justify my existence by being a reasonably interested wife & mother & house slave. (read that as I AM SO NOT INTERESTED) (CORRECTION: not interested in house slave bit)

2.      TWO FREE HOURS TO WRITE, YIPPEE, LETS SMASH THAT WORD COUNT, BABY!

               TRUTH: I so have ADHD (really I do, actually). OOOH I never really wrote that yesterday, that’s crap! EDIT EDIT EDIT. The dog barks…..the wind blows….OHHH look! Shiny Twitter..shiny, so shiny…..ARGH! Get to work, Girl!!!  I type like an arthritic rhino with rubber mallets for fingers..smash smash, correct correct correct. Ohhhh, wonder who’s on FB?? Ohhh need to start a load of wash…What was that idea I had for another story yesterday? Hey! Where’d the time go? TWO HOURS??? I only wrote  300 words??? ARGGGGGHHHHH.

3.      YAY, IT’S TIME TO DO A BLOG POST!

               TRUTH:  (wind whistles, tumbleweeds amble past)

What the hell happened to those millions of ideas duking it out in my head? They must have taken the fight outdoors, seen the sunshine and buggered off to the park to sunbathe…

4.      TWO FREE HOURS TO WRITE, YIPPEE, LETS SMASH THAT WORD COUNT, BABY! (Round 2)

               TRUTH: the dog barks.  the  dog barks.  THE BLOODY DOG BARKS. AT ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. when he stops, my body suddenly says…oh, hey. Remember that you have Multiple Sclerosis? Remember that you took some medicine before the dog started barking? Maybe it’s time I made you go to sleep! Right now. and…of course….the dog starts barking again. grrrrrr.

But all these distractions and excuses don’t really matter. I read a quote on Twitter a few days ago that said it all:

           

                                    “A non-writing writer is a monster courting insanity.”

                                    ~ Franz Kafka.

And so I carry on  writing coz as many of you know, I am already crazier than most people can cope with. And there’s still MILLIONNNNNNNNS of ideas trapped in my head…bwhahaha..... oooh look! Twitter, shiny, shiny Twitter......           

JUGGLING? WHILE RUNNING BACKWARDS???


Today, in my continuing quest to post properly during 2013, I am privileged to share an interview with my fellow writer, Nate Tower. Because I'm lazy & he’s better at it than I am, here’s how he describes himself on his website (http://nathanieltower.wordpress.com/about/) :

               Nathaniel Tower is a writer, teacher, runner, coach and juggler. He is the founding editor of the literary magazine Bartleby Snopes. His short fiction has been published in over 200 online and print journals and has  been nominated for numerous awards. In 2011, Muse ItUp Publishing released his first novel, A Reason to Kill. Several months later, his first novella, Hallways and Handguns, followed. A collection of short fiction tentatively titled Nagging Wives and Foolish Husbands is set to be released through Martian Lit during  2013.

                In November 2012, Nathaniel set a world record by running a mile backwards while juggling in 8 minutes and  22 seconds. The record has been confirmed by The Book of Alternative Records.  Nathaniel currently resides in the Midwest with his wife and daughter. 

Ok, just for the record, Mr. ‘Man of a Thousand Hats’, it is so hard to know where to start with you,  there’s so many things I want to ask. You seem to do just about EVERYTHING!

First, completely unrelated to your writing, tell me about juggling. I spent a summer trying to learn how to but the end result was …I’m hopeless. Really, really, window breakingly hopeless.

Joanna, thank you for having me on your blog. I just started my own not too long ago, and I already know the difficulty of trying to come up with new ideas. Everything's already been done, right? Anyway, to your questions:

I picked up juggling when I was about thirteen. My brother showed me how after he learned how to do it in a high school theatre class. So I did it for a while, learning a few tricks. Then, like all good things, I went quite a few years without practicing. I'd show off every once in a while, but if you can't do many tricks, no one cares after about thirty seconds. It's just the same thing over and over. I've only been really serious about juggling for the last few years. I guess it's one of those things you never forget how to do. Honestly, it's not that hard to learn. It just takes patience and the right method. There are quite a few different ways to learn. Youtube has a ton of great tutorials. Of course Youtube has them. Youtube has everything. I've picked up a lot of tricks from watching those videos. The box pattern, the shower, the penguin, Mills mess, etc. You definitely get better with practice. I just bought five new juggling balls. I just have to learn how to get the fifth one in there.

And that leads me to the next fascinating thing: Juggling while running. BACKWARDS.

Well, I'm a runner. I'm a juggler. Might as well do them at the same time. I'm sure the first person to put peanut butter and jelly together was considered a revolutionary. Maybe even a heretic. And if you can run forward while juggling, might as well try it backwards. Right? Plus, the backwards records are easier than the forward records. At least for me they are. Some people just can't run backwards. They're afraid something is going to jump out and get them. The first time I ran a mile backwards while juggling, I fell several times. I tripped over a goal post that had fallen onto the track. But I got up and finished that mile! Joggling is actually something that's been going on for quite some time. Did you know they have an official Joggling Olympics every year? I hope to attend one of these days.

I guess I need to get on to the main purpose behind this interview, your writing. One thing I admire about you is the fact that you work well in so many different formats: flash fiction, short stories, novellas, novels and even a serialised novel that’s still in progress. Is there one you prefer? Is your writing process different as you approach each one? Do you have a  specific ‘process’ as such?

The process changes daily. I write whenever I can. Sometimes I write on scraps of paper while driving. It's quite dangerous actually. I shouldn't do it. But when I get the idea, I want to get it down even though I know I'll still have the idea later. When you think of writing a story about a boy whose hands are made of oats, the idea doesn't just disappear.

I don't think I have a particular process for any particular format. I just write, write, write. I like to write in big chunks, to get down as much as possible at a time. I rarely outline. Sometimes I'll put down a "here's what happens next" note at the end of a chapter. For short stories, I prefer to write the whole thing in one sitting, then give it a rest for a day or two, then come back and take it apart. The serialized novel might be my favourite to write (hey, why did my Microsoft Word just autocorrect to that crazy British spelling of favorite? It didn't have a problem with my "serialized"). It's such a blast to come up with these crazy cliff-hangers at the end of pretty much every chapter. Gotta keep the readers coming back, right? It's hard to come up with so many twists though. I like writing weird stuff. Things that I'm pretty sure no one else could come up with. That's my favorite thing to write.  

You’re much younger than me (we won’t discuss by how much!) and you seem to have produced a vast amount of work in that time. I can pinpoint the exact moment when I knew I wanted to become a writer, did you have a ‘moment’ like that? When did you start writing?

I've always been interested in writing. When I was six or seven or eight or something like that I had a crappy poem published in one of those stupid anthologies that accepts every poem sent in as long as you promise to buy the book. Of course, being six or seven or eight, I didn't know that. I just thought I was some literary god. So I went on to write a bunch of terrible stories about warlocks and junk like that. And, just like the juggling, I stopped writing for a while, for no reason really. Then I just started doing it again. I guess the moment you're talking about was a discussion with a co-worker about the greatest first lines in literature. I knew they were really only great because of the work that followed (no one would care about "Call me Ishmael" if it was a teen vampire romance novel). But I was motivated to write the best first line ever. Hasn't happened yet. But I haven't stopped trying. Actually, I do have the best opening line ever written, but there's nothing after it right now, so it isn't an opening line. Maybe someday.

Was it a long journey to publication for you? Tell us how that worked:

Like all newbies, I had no idea what I was doing at first. I bought one of those big heavy books and started sending out manuscripts (in manila envelopes!) to all these big time publishers. I was pretty naive back then. Of course, none of them took any of my stuff, and eventually I discovered that there were thousands of internet publications that didn't charge fees or require manila envelopes and SASEs. So I started sending out things through email. I was tired of spending all the money on postal costs anyway. My first ever acceptance was a story called "Hindsight of a Friend." It was picked up by a little blog pub called Darkest Before Dawn, which is still going actually. He, here's a link if you want to read what my writing was like five years ago: http://darknessbefore.blogspot.com/2008/07/hindsight-of-friend-nathaniel-tower.html. I was so proud. My wife and I went out to a fancy dinner. I was a published author! We actually had the dinner plans already. But now there was reason to celebrate and order that extra glass of wine! Magically, another 200 or so acceptances followed. Very few of those were celebrated with fancy dinners. It's a good thing. We'd be broke now. I still get rejected a lot now, of course. Doesn't everyone? But I don't cry for hours like I used to.

What other writers do you admire craftwise? Who do you like to read?

I don't want to waste time reciting the typical canon of famous authors (except Donald Barthelme—I must mention Barthelme!). I'd rather focus on great writers I enjoy who deserve more exposure. Andrew Stancek is great. Susan Tepper. Chris DeWildt. I wish I could name a thousand authors. I hope none of my favourites are offended when I leave them off. Oh, Stephen V Ramey for sure. Everything of his I've read is dynamite. He just came out with a new collection called Glass Animals that I'm looking forward to reading. I love reading short stories. I don't discriminate based on name or reputation. Just give me a good short story.

Let’s talk about Bartelby Snopes, the online Lit magazine you started in 2008. What led you to start it? What do you look for when you choose the pieces you print?

Frustration is what led to the birth of  BS. Too many days waiting for form rejections. I wanted personal feedback. I wanted it in three days. That's the mission of Bartleby Snopes. As far as what we want in our stories, we have a big list of turnoffs on our site. Besides not doing those things, we want to see stories that make us say, "Damn. I wish I had written that."

What has surprised you most about your life so far as a writer?

Two things come to mind. The first is how much I've changed in such a short time. When I look back at stories I wrote five years ago, very few of them seem like things I could write today. Not saying they're bad stories. Just saying I don't think I would have written them. Mostly it's a stylistic thing I guess. But it's not like five years is a long time. It's not like my life is that dramatically different now. I do have a kid now, but I feel like my perspective on the world and whatnot is pretty much the same. So why is my writing so different? Can I blame it on climate change?

The other thing that surprises me is how awesome everyone (almost everyone) in the writing community is. For the most part, there's just so much love and support. With so much competition going on at each individual journal, you'd think writers would be cutthroat, would hide their writing secrets. Nah. Everyone wants to help everyone else. Someone should make a reality television show where a bunch of writers are living together. I think it would be a riot. Or boring as hell.

I read in an authorised bio of Robbie Williams that he's been known to occasionally shut off all the lights in the recording studio and get naked in the sound booth while singing. He says it helps him when he really wants to nail a song. How do you shake things up if you feel stuck or that the writing has become stale?

Besides being naked when I write? I mean, how could anyone write with clothes on? Well, I like to make masks of what I think my characters look like. When the writing gets stale or stuck, I put the mask on and try to act like that character. Surprisingly, I find that most of my characters look exactly like me.

One last question for you. If you could hang out with two famous authors, one alive, one dead, who would you choose and why?

Easy. Dante. He'd take me around hell with him and we'd drink port or something like that. Maybe smoke cigars. I'd teach him how to juggle while we watched the tortured souls. Huggling. It sounds like it's juggling while hugging, but it's actually juggling while you're in hell. Then we'd try to visit with a few famous writers. See which ones are there. Then I'd abandon him and write my own Inferno.  

And alive, alive-o? Definitely James Franco. We would read poetry together at a coffee house and he would be flocked by female admirers who would walk away in disgust and disappointment after hearing his poetry. No one would ask for his autograph. On our way out of the coffee shop, a group of people would recognize me as the world record holder for the backwards joggling mile. After they left, I'd tell James that it's okay. "At least you've got that acting career," I'd say while patting him on the back. 

I could  kiss frank zappa

Frittering away some time on FB a few days ago... (What? On FB??) when I remembered that I promised last month (#queue suitably ominous music)  on the eve of the END OF THE WORLD…that I’d write a blog post 2x a month if we all woke up in the morning.

(Silly me. I had every faith that we would, indeed still be here, and was only using it as a stick to poke myself to action.)

So here is number one post of January. OMG I have 23 more to go 'til this time next year…(slitting my wrists now)

I could kiss frank zappa…..

honestly, I could.

I love Meg Tuite (www.megtuite.com/ ) In the last 2 years since committing myself to serious efforts with regards to my writing, I have been so blessed to encounter  amazing, talented, kind people from all over the world. In some instances to even be published alongside them. Meg is one of them. She posted this quote on FB

‘Without deviation from the norm, progress is not possible.’  Frank Zappa

POW!  I read it and had one of THOSE moments.

If like me, you are fond of beautiful words that feel luscious in your mouth when you say them, you might say it was an EPIPHANY. (Say it! Really, it feels great in your mouth. But I also love the feel of: Squish. And Amanuensis, which I think is a most beautiful word)

Say it again:

 ‘Without deviation from the norm, progress is not possible.’

Short. Sweet. True.                          

I loved Frank Zappa as a kid. My dad used to play him a lot. He made me feel a bit naughty. He wasn’t buttoned up. He wasn’t regular. He was weird. Different. Interesting. Loud.

He shook people up.

All the things I aspire to be and do.

(okay, yes, I realize I am already weird & loud...)

This year I haven’t set any resolutions (NOT a word I am in love with BTW) for the new year.

Basically my mantra is MORE & LESS.

MORE of the good.

LESS of the destructive.

Easy peasy.

So, figure out what your norm is. Kick it in the ass. Turn it on its head. Give it a good talking to.

Just don’t buddy up to it and spend your evenings curled up together eating popcorn and watching Netflix.

SHAKE THINGS UP.

And for the record…if I actually was allowed the blessed privilege of kissing a Zappa, you could wrap DWEEZIL up and have him ready for me this weekend.  (***sigh***)

.... and tell him to bring those eyebrows.

Winners NEVER Quit? Meh.

Winners NEVER Quit???

Whatever. Meh.

writer exits stage left, sticking two  fingers up in the air, breathes heavy sigh of relief.

sometimes I ought to listen to myself.
really, I should.

What, you too?

Yeah seriously, try it. It's actually quite liberating to realize that despite many many many occasions supporting the opposite hypothesis. I can actually be wise. I can actually issue myself some valid advice.

(Ok, shut up, Anne Turner who came in on me breast feeding child number two. He who absolutely refused to latch on, no matter how hungry he was. I know I was cursing under my breath every. single. time. he. reattached. I know he was hungry. I know I was in agony. I know I was so pale I looked liked a Team Edward extra.
BUT DAMMIT, number one was a write off on breastfeeding for completely separate reasons, so I was determined this time. Thank you for going to the chemist and returning with a tin of formula and forcing me to do it. Everyone was immediately happier and he is now, at age 11 a delightful child, and no worse for my bad bad bad mothering)

(Ok, and you shut up as well Tammy Johnston...I know you can point out waaaay to many occasions to list here....no, really shut up)

I can be wise, and I can follow my own counsel ....and believe it or not, I'm going to do it for once.
Last year in December I wrote a blog on how I felt after my first proper attempt at National Novel Writing Month. And I said in a round about way that I didn't think I'd do it again. Unless...
Unless I plotted it out very well. Which this year I did, thank you.
Unless I learned to be a better typist as I was so slow that keeping to the word count really infringed on family life, my normally fairly happy mood and a million other things...
Which I did not.
No, really I did not, despite buying a copy of Mavis Beacon (barely looked at it)

And I also remember saying how I couldn't wait till I got the chance to start writing again slowly, painstakingly, choosing each word for the sheer beauty of it.

I ignored that feeling, and jumped straight in again this year.
I had 30k of a novel already started, it took me 3 months to get that far, taking my time, not stressing, and agonizing over the exact wording on many sentences. I loved that beginning phase of this book, love the premise of the novel, love the characters. Couldn't wait every day to spend time with them.

Then Nano happened. I decided to try to get to the end of the first draft for this book with the 50k I'd write in November.With all it's scrabbling and stressing and me trying desperately to juggle family & housework & writing & friends & sleep & & & & ......

I realized today that I HATE 90% of what I've written in the last 2 weeks. Not the plot, not the structure, not the actual scenes. Just the rushed nature of it. the not as carefully executed nature of it. the throw away sentences and not quite exact wording. And the desperation to just keep on top of the word count.
AND I'm really stressed out, with the rest of this month's horizon looking so cluttered and manic that there is literally no breathing space. So the stress is gonna get much worse.

I am taking my own advice. I'm bowing out after two weeks.
And to be fair, me backing down and letting go of my stubbornness within a two week window is a MAJOR step forward in my personal maturity. (and we all know how mature I am ....NOT)

So see ya later my lovely fellow Nano nutters. I will follow you on line, I will chat on FB and stay part of the group....I'll just go at my own pace and not worry about the word count. I'll worry about how lyrical it is, whether it's pulling me by the heartstrings down unexpected paths. I'll worry about being madly in love with all my characters, making them well rounded, interesting and complicated.

Starting tomorrow I'll concentrate on  w.r.i.t.i.n.g....not...... (add go faster stripes)
==>>> writing!!!!====>>>>


(yay!)

TAG! I'm it!

My fab friend Gill Hoffs invited me to participate in this fun blogging round robin game of tag!
It's great because it gets me blogging again sooner than I planned and it gets me thinking about my current project in the same way a reader might....well....what exactly makes my current project interesting? lets see!

Gill can be found here. GO! Read!!! She is FAB (honestly):
http://gillhoffs.wordpress.com/

Ten Interview Questions for The Next Big Thing


What is the working title of your book?      Harbinger or Death’s Door, can’t decide at this point.

Where did the idea come from for the book?

Sitting on the Museum Street library floor in Warrington Cheshire. I was reading Patrick Ness for the first time and totally immersed in this world he creates, when bam!  a load of WHAT IF questions popped up! Then the character of Rosa just jumped into my head, fully formed with all her gifts and faults, and the fact that she was displaced to this desperate situation.

What genre does your book fall under?    YA sci-fi/dystopian fantasy

Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?
Ohhhh, great question!!   Definitely NOT Kirsten heavy-breather Stewart. Maybe Emmy Rossum (a few years ago) as Rosie, but just bare faced with freckles and her hair plaited all messy. Evan…hmmm maybe Adam Brody, and Finn is definitely Zach Roerig. (Problem is, the fellas I find sexy are too old to be my characters ....Hugh Jackman or Robert Downy Jnr as late teens/ early twenty somethings???)

What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?

 Orphaned teenagers stranded on a dying planet find a device with the power to renew the earth-but is it from God or science? Add how will they protect themselves from the enemy that stranded them there once they discover the truth? (sorry 2 sentences, go on, rap my knuckles)

Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?
Well, I have a book under consideration with a publisher at the minute so hoping they will want both of them! (are you listening universe?)

How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?
The first draft is currently 36k but it should be completed at the end of Nanovember! (National Novel Wtiing Month-www.nanowrimo.org/  )

What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?
Arrrgggh no idea. It’s dystopian ,and fantasy so maybe lovers of Divergent or the Hunger Games might like, (or heaven forbid it would ever be that good, Patrick Ness) it but it is very different, and there are definitely no vampires.

Who or What inspired you to write this book?
Reading Patrick Ness- The Knife of Never Letting Go. I just fell in love with that book & the ones that followed, although mine is very different. It's more about the 'feel' and the idea of being young but still having power when a situation seems desperate or out of your control.

What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?
 It has a teeny tiny teenage girl who can summon volcanoes, grow roses with her tears and who can either make it snow or start fires depending on who’s kissing her.

Oh! And read Patrick Ness- he's amazing. www.goodreads.com/author/show/370361.Patrick_Ness

 

So now it's the turn of my friends to answer these questions! Look out for them some time next week!

 

Zoe Sharp, fabulous crime writer of the Charlie Fox series, at Hardboiled Collective    http://hardboiledcollective.blogspot.co.uk/

Chris Boyle: www.sbphoenix.blogspot.com