Thursday’s Children May 30, 2013

Inspired by Bedrooms…

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Alright, alright, get your minds out of the gutter, I’m talking about what bedrooms look like, not what takes place in them. To date, all my books have been YA. Teens usually don’t have much say when it comes to how a house is decorated, with the exception of their own bedrooms. A bedroom is a private domain, sometimes a refuge from what happens in the rest of the world. This room is also the one that is most likely to reveal the interests and fundamental traits of its teen inhabitant.

Writers can exploit this sneaky way of “showing” the reader facets of a character’s personality.

From UNQUIET SOULS

Here’s what my MC has to say about her own room…

I found I had a strong opinion about what color to paint my room. I’m not sure who was more surprised—me, or Mom. Instead of going along with the bright pastels she preferred, I insisted on a color which she named Dismal Drab. It was neither blue, nor green, not gray, but a soft misty tone that hovered somewhere in the middle. Like me, it was vague, nondescript, elusive.

She is obsessed with a boy named Sam. Here’s what she has to say about his room…

He slid what looked like an old barn door along its track, revealing a spacious, airy room inside. A row of windows at the back looked out at the sea. Mounted on the walls were several skateboards, a surfboard, antlers, a longbow, stone arrowheads in a glass-fronted case, and shelves holding the skeletal remains of numerous small animals. Suspended from a branch in one corner was a huge paper wasps’ nest. Long planks ran under the windows, forming a desk covered with scattered papers, drawing pencils, shells, and feathers. Comic books, skater magazines, CD cases, and hunks of driftwood littered the floor. So. This is where Beauty lives. It was perfectly imperfect.

photo from ebay

photo from pbase(dot)com

In my book FOOLISH, the MC’s mom is a hoarder. Sparrow’s room is her safe haven and it’s neat as a pin. An OCD pin.  She has laid down the law. Phil (her name for her mom’s hoard) is not allowed entrance.

Do you use decor to help readers learn about your characters? Which rooms do you like describing?

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Thursday’s Children May 23, 2013

Inspired by Contests!

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Late last summer, after beginning to query my third book, I decided to figure out Social Media Platforms. Seemed like a good distraction from the horror of an empty inbox. My Twitter feed was soon clogged with tweets about writing contests. My first foray into the contest world was WriteOnCon. Though I had no idea what the hell I was doing, in addition to getting some feedback on my query and first few hundred words, I met some wonderful people. One of them was Kristina Perez.

We exchanged manuscripts. Out of our CP relationship, a true friendship was born. We supported each other through the ups and downs of other contests, querying, revising, etc. Thursday’s Children is our first “baby” and we’re very proud of how it’s grown into a fabulous community for writers to share ideas and cheer each other on. Both Kristina and I are inspired by writers who give back (Heather Webb, Brenda Drake, Deana Barnhart, to name just a few) and we promised each other that if we EVER, FINALLY got agents, we’d do a contest too.

Well, that day has come! Here’s our second “child”! Hop along to Kristina’s TC post for more details and a link to the contest website! We hope you’ll enter if you’re eligible and we’re counting on your help to spread the word!

Have you ever participated in a writing contest? What was the best thing about it? What was the worst? 

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Thursday’s Children May 16, 2013

Inspired by fog…

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Last week, Jessika Fleck’s TC post about snow sparked my idea for this post, in addition to time at the beach, during which I snapped these photos.

Photo by R. Wynn-Nolet

Photo by R. Wynn-Nolet

When I was in high school I wanted an airbrush, just so I could paint realistic mist and fog. Last week, on my way home, the sunny skies five miles inland gradually gave way to a thick fog blanket at the coast. It took only a few wisps drifting across the road to make my pulse race.

Fog is…atmospheric…transforming…disorienting…the sky brought down to our level. Otherworldly.

Sometimes, at the beach, people materialize out of the fog, right in front of me, like magic.

Fog makes an appearance in almost every book I’ve written.

Here are some excerpts about fog (which will also demonstrate that I don’t always write from a dark and twisty POV).

Unquiet Souls

The muffled sounds of waves lapping the shore enveloped us as we walked along the path. Clammy, salty-tasting mist turned the evergreens into feathery shadows. Our feet made almost no sound on the pine needles.

A slight puff of air on my right hand, like someone’s breath, raised goose bumps on the backs of both arms. I glanced behind us, but saw nothing.  Somewhere in the woods beside me a twig snapped. 

And later in that scene…

We kicked off our shoes and sat on a big boulder, above the seaweed line marking high tide…Droplets of moisture, like tiny crystal beads, collected on his hair. If only this moment could last indefinitely, the two of us in a cloud world, isolated from everything and everyone else.

If TENDRIL were actually a real book, mist might drift out from between the pages. It takes place in a fog-bound Maine town.

TENDRIL opening…

Sporadic blasts of the foghorn heralded our arrival at the lighthouse. The headlights illuminated the mist shrouding the island but couldn’t penetrate it. Once we were out of the car, fog clung to my skin like a veil. The air was thick with the smell of sea creatures, both living and dead.

Later in the book (“Pegasus” refers to her rickety bike)…

The fog was so dense I could taste its saltiness. Between the island and the mainland I flew among clouds, riding through the sky on my elderly Pegasus. The bleating of the foghorn and the disembodied cries of Canada geese seemed to come from the mist itself. I could see no more than a few feet in front of me… Had I not traveled the same route so many times I might easily have gotten lost.

Still later, in the voice of the male protagonist-

“Wait. Will you go out with me on Wednesday?”

“Yes…if I can…then I will.”

The way she said it gave me goose bumps. The bad kind. “What does that mean?”

“Well, you know, if I’m…free. There’s a chance I might not be. Goodbye, Dylan.” Before I could think of what to say, she disappeared into the fog, almost like she was part of it.

So, as you’ve read, I love the way fog can set a mood…ominous, romantic, mysterious. I think I need an “I ❤ Fog” bumper sticker. Or as we say here in Maine, bumpah stickah. Here’s a photo I took last fall. Those are my editorial assistants, getting a closer look at the boat.

Photo by R. Wynn-Nolet

Does fog appear in your writing? Do you like fog?

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Thursday’s Children May 9, 2013

First a shout-out to Vicki Weavil for her pub contract! Yay, Vicki! And congrats to those Thursday’s Children who made it into The Writer’s Voice contest – Good Luck! For those who tried, but didn’t, or who didn’t enter at all…stay tuned for news about a very special contest designed for “virgin” manuscripts in the YA/NA genre.

Inspired by Psychology Tests (Part 2)…

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Last week, we had fun with the Luscher Color Test, right? This week I’m excited to bring you the Thematic Apperception Test. I should start by saying this is an “old school” psych tool and rarely used nowadays. Most of the images you’ll find online have a mid-20th century feel. I find this test intriguing because essentially it’s Flash Fiction. The pictures are often morally ambiguous and some suggest strong emotional content. The client is shown an image and narrates a story to go with it. In theory, the client’s narrative will reveal unresolved issues, fears, pathology, etc.

Here are a couple of TAT images.

Thematic Apperception Test Image

Hmm, is he/she cradling or strangling?

Thematic Apperception Test Image

He looks none too pleased…

The psychiatrist in my WIP shows the photo below to my MC. Orla is selectively mute and therefore she writes the story. I should mention a couple of things. One, she’s a twisted piece of work. Two, she and Dr. Spurwick have an unhealthy relationship.

TAT image

From my Untitled WIP…

He gives me my own pad, and a pen. I’m not allowed to erase. It’s one of the rules.

“Fifteen minutes,” he says.

I click the end of the pen. A glossy clot of red ink dangles from the tip. Perfect.

Billy’s intestines writhe like snakes in a barrel. She’ll be angry. Beyond angry. He should have run away while he had the chance. But his fear of being without her is greater than his fear of being with her.

“What have you done?” she demands, droplets of her saliva peppering his cheeks.

Her eyes shoot little arrows of rage at him. The force of her hatred cracks him open like a surgical rib-spreader. She wishes he’d never been born. Wishes she’d torn him from her womb and thrown him in the sea. Or down the toilet. Her rejection claws out his heart and drops it on the cabin floor.

Blood seeps into the raw wood boards, staining them dark red.

I stop writing to draw the bleeding heart. How had he known I’d need a red pen?

“Nothing,” he says. That isn’t true, of course, but his instinct is to lie. To protect himself at all costs, for as long as possible.

“Clearly you have. What’s in the oven? It smells horrible. And where’s Emmy? Did you put her in the shed again? I should have known you couldn’t be trusted to look after her.” He shakes his head. Maybe if he doesn’t speak of it, they can pretend nothing happened. Then maybe he could think all the bad away—make it disappear. Or maybe he could make himself disappear. He closes his eyes. He forces himself to watch. There’s the small shriek of the oven door opening. And then a much louder one from his mother. “Oh, my God!” He closes his eyes now. The wild sobbing makes the heart on the floor, his heart, throb, spurting out his remaining blood. He opens his eyes a crack. She holds the charred baby girl to her chest, rocking back and forth. “Get OUT!” she screams, her face grotesquely contorted, shiny with tears.

Billy sits on the front stoop. Waiting.

I hand Dr. Spurwick the paper.

Do you like doing Flash Fiction? What story would your MC tell to go with this photo?

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Thursday’s Children May 2, 2013

Inspired by Psychology Tests…

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I have a thing for personality tests and psychology generally, which explains how I ended up with a relatively useless degree in psych and art.  (Clearly, my choices were not based on any kind of “get rich quick” plan). When writers create characters they’re playing psychologists – assembling traits, ascribing motivation, exploring deep-seated fears, relationship dynamics, etc. My current WIP has a psychiatrist in it, so I’ve been reliving Personality 101 and doing some research into the bag of tricks psychiatrists use to determine what’s going on inside their patients’ heads. Especially those patients who are the “withholding” type.

Brace yourself, this could turn into a series because some of the tests I’ve rediscovered have actually inspired my writing. Next week I might share a scene from my WIP that involves a different diagnostic tool.

But for now, on to the Luscher Color Test. Once upon a time, I saw an avant-garde European film. The two protags were a psychiatrist and his patient. At one point this particular test came into play. It’s basically a matter of selecting colors based on preference, from the one which appeals to you most, to the one you like the least. Your preferences reveal things about your state of mind, motivations, personality, etc.

I find personality profiles can be useful when it comes to configuring characters.

Learn more about the meanings of color and take the whole test by clicking here. You can also learn more about what your first choice color means here.

When my then boyfriend, now husband, and I did this test, I picked violet. Sometimes he still teases me by saying, “You’re being REALLY violet, right now.” My MCs tend to have violet tendencies too.

Here’s what that means-

Violet attempts to fully unify the impulsive conquest of red and the gentle surrender of blue. This is a mystical, magical color, that represents intuitive and sensitive understanding of the unreal. It is the preferred color of almost 75 percent of pre-adolescent children. Oddly, it is also preferred by pregnant women and people with hyper-thyroidism and homosexuals of both genders. In short, it can be considered to be a desire for mystic intimacy or understanding.

Did you take the test? Did you feel the results were accurate? Do you feel like an amateur shrink when you develop your characters?

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Thursday’s Children April 25, 2013

Before anything else, I must say CONGRATULATIONS once again to my friend and Thursday’s Children participant Stacey Lee on the sale of her book to Putnam! She’s one of the funniest, kindest, and most generous people around (she gave me my little turtle Remy). I can’t wait to buy her book (tentatively titled Golden Boys).

And now for the most horrifically graceless segue ever,

Inspired by Muck…

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To paraphrase Jeff Foxworthy, “You know you’re a New Englander if your four seasons are almost winter, winter, still winter and road construction.”

Of course, he’s not a New Englander and thus he forgot the fifth season. Mud.

In this part of the world, Old Man Winter kicks Mother Nature’s butt from November to April. When Spring finally comes to northern New England, she definitely looks “ridden hard and put away wet.” The glorious carpet of autumn leaves has turned ugly brown. Limbs have been ripped off, revealing raw wood-flesh and some poor, doomed trees lean at drunken angles, knocked over but unable to rest because their comrades caught them on the way down. No pretty green leaves hide the damage. Lawns show unsightly wounds inflicted by snow plows. Nobody in his right mind tries to sell his New England home in early to mid-Spring.

Photo by Rhiann Wynn-Nolet

Flowers foolhardy enough to bloom are begging for a foot of late season snow to be dumped on their heads.

But, for all the destruction, and decay, there is life.

Photo by Rhiann Wynn-Nolet

In the muck of vernal pools…

Photo by Rhiann Wynn-Nolet

Do you see him? The little frog in the middle of the photo? There’s another frog facing him,those tiny glowing dots are his eyes.

These brackish puddles lack the aesthetic appeal of babbling brooks and crystalline streams. They’re lined with dead leaves and have a faintly ominous look – like you might lean over to look into one, and get sucked down into an alternate world, probably ruled by smelly trolls. In reality, vernal pools are thriving micro eco-systems.

Earlier in the week, a writer-friend and I had a teasing exchange over Facebook about our WIPs’ swampy middles. At the moment, I’m teetering on the edge of my WIP’s murky midsection. Its surface is dark, opaque, and undoubtedly concealing all kinds of writerly perils (aka smelly trolls). I can’t see the precise story lines, plot twists, and character arcs which will ultimately get me to the other side of my book (yes, I’m pantsing this one). They’re temporarily obscured by the fertile mud of too many ideas.

Do your stories have swampy middles? Do they scare you a little bit?

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Thursday’s Children April 18, 2013

Regarding the tragic events in Boston, where I went to college and lived for over ten years, there’s nothing I can say that hasn’t already been said. During the horrific event and its aftermath, many ordinary people took extraordinarily inspiring action. Thank you for helping those in need and for allowing me to tell my children that people generally, are inherently good, and allowing me to actually believe it.

Inspired by Feet…

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Yes, really. But not just any feet. Ballerinas’ feet. When most people hear the word “ballerina”, an image like the one below pirouettes into their heads.

Russian Royal Ballet Swan Lake

But when the lights come back on and the music stops and the pointe shoes come off, this is what a ballerina looks like.

Photo from theperformanceclub.org

Legend has it that Anna Pavolova left a trail of bloody footprints when she exited the stage after each performance.

When I was in art school, a friend of mine invited me to an adult ed ballet class she taught, so I could work on drawing figures in motion. Those dancers threw their over-age-thirty bodies around in sometimes laughable attempts to imitate the grace and strength of their teacher. That was an amazing lesson in courage right there, but I was too young and stupid to realize it at the time.

My friend said nobody understands the passion it takes to be a professional ballet dancer, until they see a dancer’s feet. She showed me hers once. A pretty horrific sight. She told me that when she danced with the Joffrey Ballet in New York, she was one of their best jumpers. Jumping over and over again fractured her ribs numerous times, simply from the impact of being caught by her male partners.

So, what intrigues me most about all this is that something ethereally beautiful is sometimes made possible by something excruciatingly painful. I’m wondering if the characters in my WIP, who are tortured by past and present experiences, are strong enough to love each other, and if my writing is strong enough to create something beautiful from their suffering. Only time will tell…

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Thursday’s Children April 11, 2013

Inspired by “The Piano”

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About 10K into my current WIP, I needed to find a piece of music. Something that my MC could dance to, that would give her ALL THE FEELS. And something that would give me ALL THE FEELS too, so I could write about her. It needed to be timeless, instrumental.

The song that came to mind is The Heart Asks Pleasure First by Michael Nyman, from “The Piano”. I hadn’t actually thought of either the song or the movie for years, though I adored the film when it came out in 1993. It has all the elements I crave in a movie, or a book for that matter – passion, tragedy, obsession, suspense, beautiful scenery, and a strong female lead. And by strong, I mean someone with a will of steel and an indomitable spirit. perhaps hidden behind a quiet demeanor. Maybe a survivor. Someone who will risk everything for love.

Want to hear something strange? I’d already written my MC as a selective mute when I went looking for a song. I’d forgotten Ada (the MC in “The Piano”) was a selective mute until I watched the video. You can see she wears a small pad on a ribbon around her neck, and her daughter uses sign language. Orla, my MC, uses her cell phone a lot.

If you’ve never seen the movie, I highly recommend it. Here’s the song…

Has a particular film influenced your writing, subconsciously or otherwise?

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Thursday’s Children April 4, 2013

Inspired by Handwriting…

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This weekend I was sorting through “stuff”, trying to decide what deserves to travel to North Carolina with us, and what does not. I came across some papers.

One was genealogical information from my Aunt Sybil, who died quite a few years ago. Just seeing her distinctive handwriting – bold, somewhat dramatic – brought all kinds of memories back. Like the time in Mexico when she put her hand on the restaurant table to heave herself out of her chair (she was a “big” woman). The whole table listed and the plates, water goblets, silverware slid off, causing all the waiters to rush at us exclaiming “Ay, dios mio!” Sybil surveyed the chaos, and with an air of haughty disdain, announced, “God damn flimsy table,” and exited the restaurant like a ship in full sail. Sybil always wrote with Flair felt-tip pens and I frequently gave them to her as Christmas presents. Here’s what her script looked like…

Another was from my mother, who died only a couple of years ago. She always hated her handwriting. She compared it to her sister’s and although she thought Sybil’s was “showy”, she felt her own was not distinctive. They were like that in real life too, my mother always overshadowed by her flamboyant sister. When I look at my mom’s writing, I see an even, legible script, written before arthritis crippled her hands. It reminds me of her as a healthy, vibrant person. Her last few years were miserable and her handwriting was almost illegible.

For a very long time I kept a letter from my grandmother, Pearl. Her handwriting was strong, closely spaced, and often served to communicate judgmental observations and moral admonitions. The letter I saved was written in red ballpoint. I can “see” it, though I threw it away a long time ago. Now I wish I hadn’t, because I don’t remember what it said.

I also found a copy of a very old family letter (1861). I’m not really sure who this person was, other than an ancestor on my mother’s side. They spent considerable time and effort on penmanship back then. Just mastering pen and ink took lots of practice.

Anyway, all this made me think about how seldom I receive or send a handwritten letter. Yes, we fiddle around with fancy fonts to try to personalize things. But our fonts have gone missing. Even without making a study of handwriting, like a criminologist (and by the way, they must miss the handwriting days too), you can learn a lot about personality, as well as physical and emotional health, from studying a person’s writing.

One of my books features a husband and wife. His script is like my Aunt Sybil’s, but on steroids — commanding, showboat-y. He’s a respected lawyer and active member of the community, but underneath he’s a “bad hat”, as Madeline would say. His wife’s script is faint and practically microscopic. She’s so downtrodden and frightened, she barely dares to make an impact on paper. Hardly surprising that she cannot protect herself from her husband. She can’t protect my MC either.

I like using subtle, mundane nuggets like this to help bring characters to life. What kind of details do you use?

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Thursday’s Children March 28, 2013

Inspired by Cheerleaders…sort of

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“Leave It All On The Mat”

That was the first Facebook post I saw Sunday morning. One of my daughters belongs to an All-Star Cheering team and they had a competition later in the day. For those who have no idea what All-Star Cheering means, stick around. Five or so years ago, I had no idea either. I thought cheerleaders cheered for boys’ high school sports teams and that cheerleading was the domain of pretty, popular girls who could do cartwheels.

Times have changed.

Cheering is its own sport and has the dubious distinction of causing the most visits to the ER among school- age athletes, because the one thing that hasn’t changed are the skimpy uniforms. No helmet, no pads. Concussions are par for the course – not just for the flyers (the girls who get thrown up into the air) but also the bases (the team members who do the throwing and catching). Tumbling runs and stunts become more dangerous the higher the level. There are boys on teams. And non-skinny girls. And huge national competitions with really loud music. They’re all aspiring to be as good as this…

That was entertaining, right? But now you’re asking yourself what front tucks and scorpions and basket tosses have to do with writing. Well, maybe not in exactly those terms…

Writers must leave it all on the page.

Don’t end your ms feeling like you played it safe. If you hold nothing back, then you won’t be wondering what you could have or might have done. Put it all out there. Give it all you’ve got.

This is something I’m struggling with at the moment. The boy MC in my new WIP has a disturbing backstory. I wasn’t aware of this until I started writing about him. And the girl MC, well, she’s not the person I thought she would be either. She’s quite a bit more dysfunctional. I’m not sure this boy and girl are right for each other, or that their relationship can heal them. Their story might not be marketable. But, now that I know who they are, I’m fascinated. I can’t rethink their story into safer territory. At least not in the first draft.

Do your characters ever take you by surprise? What do you do about it? Do you give them free rein and let them tell you their stories, or do you make them tell the story you intended?

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