Writer’s Advice – Third Quote Challenge

Well-known philosophers—mostly dead—push to the front, vying for mention in this last quote challenge.

“Either write things worthy reading, or do things worth the writing.”

―Benjamin Franklin

I’m trying, Ben, but you forgot to publish the DIY how-to section.

“The best time for planning a book is while you’re doing the dishes.”

―Agatha Christie

Sorry, Ms. Christie, but California is in its fourth year of drought. Until El Niño arrives, I’m using paper plates. The trip out to the green waste receptacle is too short to do anything more than wonder if I’ve scheduled my next blog post.

“Don’t get it right – get it WRITTEN!”

―Lee Child

Thanks, Lee. I probably know more about Jack Reacher than real-life people because you took your own advice and published twenty novels with him as the protagonist.  Reacher even has short stories to keep me posted on his activities between hardcover books.

I’ve published a couple of nonfiction books and dozens of short stories, but my first mystery manuscript is old enough to go to kindergarten. Why haven’t I followed Lee Child’s advice and published it?

“I’d rather edit manuscripts written by others.”

―Violet Carr Moore

NorCal Gully Washer

This former Louisianan once accustomed to ten times the California rainfall stayed inside her Northern California (NorCal) abode today, not even venturing out to the mailbox during the gully washer. How strong is a gully washer? A rainstorm a couple of notches stronger than raining cats and dogs.

We have lots of gullies here in the East San Francisco Bay area, but this storm didn’t stick to surrounding mountains, valley ravines, and nature trails. It poured over rock-solid parched ground, raced over concrete sidewalks, and created lakes on streets, drowning floundering automobiles. It toppled trees and filled gutters with debris. Right now, water pours from a clogged rain gutter, cascading outside my window like Yosemite Falls.

Meteorologists attribute this storm to the “Pineapple Express,” extra moisture from the tropics. But, I admit it’s my fault. Well, maybe I share the responsibility with Californians who berated the weather forecasters and scolded Mother Nature for withholding precipitation for several years. That’s why I entered a conspiracy with my 90-year old neighbor who resorted to prayers for relief from the drought.

Shhh! Keep it a secret or leaders in all the sun-parched localities will be calling for help and I’ll never finish my mystery novel set in the Arizona desert in dry season.

 

Just the Facts, Ma’am

Writing Next of Kin, my first crime fiction novel in a series, isn’t as easy as “Just the facts, Ma’am,” a well-remembered line from Sergeant Joe Friday, LAPD, in the 1950s Dragnet TV series. One of my characters speaks in frequent clichés and idioms. Witnesses the sergeant interviewed spoke in generalities and riddles. Here’s how Sergeant Friday (JF) might have conducted an interview in my investigation.

Dragnet LAPD Badge 714 Courtesy of Wikipedia

JF: Have you seen the suspect in this neighborhood before?

Once in a blue moon.

JF: How far were you from the perpetrator?

He was only a skip, hop and a jump away.

JF: Did he speak to you?

He was quiet as a church mouse.

JF: What did you do when you saw the weapon?

I kept a stiff upper lip and didn’t bat an eyelid.

JF: How did you get away?

I’m healthy as a horse, so I stepped on it and escaped by the skin of my teeth.

JF: Thanks for your help, Ma’am. Here’s my card. Call me if you see the suspect again.

Will do, Sergeant. I’ll keep an eye out. He may turn up like a bad penny. If he doesn’t keep his nose clean, I hope you’ll throw the book at him and put him away where he’ll never see the light of day.

It’s no wonder I’m struggling with the facts. Even the adept Joe Friday couldn’t solve this mystery.

The Thought Police

Winston Smith, George Orwell’s main character in 1984, a futuristic novel published in 1949, defies “Big Brother” who sees every move Winston makes in Oceania. The telescreen monitors his heartbeats, emotions, and thoughts. One evening he finds a small corner in his flat where he escapes and writes his musings in one of the last blank, bound journals that escaped destruction when the world went paperless. He shapes his destiny when he uses ink, not pencil, to record his thoughts on quality cream-colored, pages.

Last October I blogged about editing (“Grammar Police” post October 17, 2013). English grammar, both in speech and written form, are replete with multiple rules that require writers to employ a team of editors before submitting manuscripts to an agent or publisher. Since George Orwell’s fantasy more than 65-years ago exposed the limited thought process, it would seem that writers are finally free to fly. Ah, but not so. Although the “Thought Police” Orwell painted exists only in his novel, a new guardian force rules today’s writers.

Instructors and mentors, whether academic or associated with for-profit publishers, have formed a new stratum of Thought Police. Every paragraph, perhaps every sentence, is monitored for point of view (POV). Authorities justify this “Big Brother” scrutiny with a single question: Whose story is this? Thoughts are limited to that character.

In Next of Kin, I have two main characters, Captain Luis Rojas (male), and Detective Taylor Madrid (female). Rojas has more than twenty years of experience in law enforcement; Madrid less than half that. It’s impossible for them to see the world of crime through the same eyes, so I chose a dual POV. Supervisors and associates clamber for their individual POV rather than be seen through the eyes of the duo. That can’t happen. Why? because modern Thought Police have blown the whistle on verbs like thought, believed, recognized, realized,  reflected, ruminated, understood, considered, wondered, imagined, concluded, presumed, mused, surmised, commiserated, envisioned, pictured, conjectured, guessed, anticipated, expected, speculated, pondered, brooded, despaired, sympathized, and dozens more.

I can only hope (Oops! That’s the narrator’s POV) that neither of my main characters fall prey to the misfortune of Orwell’s Winston Smith. When tortured by the Thought Police, he was brainwashed to believe that two plus two equals five. If that happens, future agents and publishers might require a math class as a prerequisite to writing. I hope I publish my novel before then.

Imperfect Characters – the good guys

Everybody has flaws. In real life, nobody fits the cookie-cutter image.   Good writing workshop advice to novelists says “Give the protagonist flaws to make him human.” What? The good guy has to show his bad traits? Whatever happened to the Lone Ranger?

Photo courtesy Wikipedia

Okay, it’s a new world for writers. I concentrate on the unmasked Captain Luis Rojas in Next of Kin, my work-in-progress mystery novel. Like the Lone Ranger, Rojas’ major flaw is his dedication to being the good guy in the battle against crime. His wife, Marge, has tolerated that fierce dedication for twenty years. First to the FBI at Quantico [Virginia]. Then to Los Angeles [California] Police Department. Now to Maricopa County [Arizona] Sherriff’s Office. As she hopes Rojas will retire, he interrupts their twentieth wedding anniversary celebration in Hawaii to investigate a homicide. Sounds like a flaw to me. When I mentioned this to a former policeman, he said “So, what’s wrong with that?”

Aha! So, I need another character flaw for Captain Rojas. In his dedication to professionalism, he has imposed a “No-Swearing” policy for officers on duty in his district while he occasionally slips up. Demanding perfectionism but lacking the ability to comply with his own rule is indeed a character flaw.

Since Next of Kin has a dual point of view, I have to insert a flaw for Detective Investigator Taylor Madrid, a female. That’s easy. She’s aggressive and becomes obsessed with becoming a lieutenant before her superior, a male sergeant, attains that grade level. She sidesteps him to solve the current homicide without his assistance, even withholding information. Madrid has multiple flaws, like skirting policy and secretly dating a fellow officer, and refusing to seek help for tormenting dreams of a sister although she is an only child.

Now, I’ve done it.  I’ve “painted myself into a corner,” as the cliché says. I hover against the wall, hoping for a solution. While I wait, my imperfect characters tangle with more trouble.

Quick! Throw me a new brush so I can paint a door to escape.

NaNoWriMo on the back burner

For the first time since November 1, 2008, I’ve put National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) on the back burner to concentrate on editing one of my five draft novels created during this grueling challenge. Back burner not a familiar term to you? That cliché originated in the days of wood-burning cook stoves. Slow-cook foods were placed on the back burner because they didn’t require concentrated heat or constant attention like those closer to the cook.  My current kitchen range is electric with all four burners of equal heat options. Still, if something requires slow cooking, I put it on the back burner—or in a crockpot—to keep it out of my way.  Today, I’ve moved Next of Kin, my first NaNo novel, to the front burner and turned up the heat with 1,667-words a day in revisions to match the NaNoWri fervor.

Captain Luis Rojas of the Maricopa County Sheriffs Office, the antagonist, is pleased that I’ve moved Detective Taylor Madrid to the forefront of the homicide investigation of a new resident in this Arizona desert town. My critique group convinced me that I’ve been too harsh on cliché-speaking Sergeant Gavin (Sully) O’Sullivan, the bungling Irishman. He likes his new, more competent role, but he insists on keeping his dialogue clichés. He favors cool as a cucumber, drunk as a skunk, all bent out of shape, and on the back burner. Sergeant O’Sullivan needs more clichés to describe (1) the local mortuary business; (2) a pompous local town council leader; and (3) a Phoenix on-the-spot newscaster who sounds like a tabloid reporter.

Can you help Sergeant O’Sullivan? Send your favorites as comments.

Prelude versus Prequel

Merriam-Webster defines prelude as an “introductory performance or event” and declares that, if musical, it introduces the main theme. The definition gives the first organ solo played at the beginning of a church service as an example. [Apologies for the M-W bias that excludes pianists and modern keyboardists]

A prequel is defined as “a literary or dramatic work whose story precedes that of an earlier work” (The Merriam-Webster Dictionary). Authors without a prelude grab for a prequel with the fervency as riders on a carousel reaching for the coveted brass ring. Didn’t catch it the first time? Grab again during the next go-round.

“Story precedes” are the key words for prequel. No matter when it’s written, a prequel is published after one or more novels in a series. The purpose of a prequel is to bring an Aha! moment, a sigh, or simply a nod of understanding to the reader who questioned the character’s motives or movements in the original novels.

The words for a prequel entice me like the aroma of cinnamon and brown sugar wafting from simmering apple butter in my kitchen. They tempt me to abandon the main course of my unpublished mystery and write a mixed prelude-prequel. I have plenty of material for another trip on the carousel. It’s the text my critique partners cut from my suspense novel and defined as backstory.

Poetry Title Contest

In May, Julaina Kleist-Corwin posted a group poem on her Time to Write Now blog with a challenge to create a title. This week she announced the winner.

“Jennifer King, poetry instructor and director of the Downtown Oakland Senior Center, gave us the final vote for the winner of the group poem title contest. The title is … “Cadence” by Violet Carr Moore!

Vi also won the third place for “Time”. She has won a writer’s basket with two books and a few other fun items.”

Cadence

The time she waits on none who tarry long

Instead she dances t’wards her scheduled end.

Ignoring worries; seeking pleasure’s song,

She hopes to make the day a lasting friend.

The other side of time we know is death.

She nudges us along to paths not sought.

Although we fight for every passing breath,

The end will come to all no matter what.

 

Now I hurry to revise Next of Kin, my cozy mystery novel in progress, before I reach the last lines of Time.

 

Synonyms, antonyms and echo words

Writers are plagued with the stigma of echo words. Critique groups and editors naysay a word duplicated in a paragraph; some so harsh as to declare no repetition on a single page. I searched for synonyms to avoid this conflict in my mystery novel in progress.

An online dictionary declares synonym to be the “same, or almost the same, as another word in the same language . . .” Aha! This reference source failed the echo word test.

I entered “antonym” in the search box of a synonym website.

Sorry, I could not find synonyms for ‘antonym’.

It can’t be that difficult. If synonym is the reverse of antonym, then “opposite” must be the synonym.

Another website asserts “parallel” as the synonym and “unlike” as the antonym. That sent me on a mission to change the subplot in my mystery novel.

My protagonist (hero) who solves a homicide by stabbing, is fortunate to have “murder, killing, shooting, or stabbing” as acceptable synonyms. The antonym for protagonist is “antagonist” (adversary/opponent). The synonym is “friend.”

Editing all the synonyms proved to be too much, so I gave the story an opposites-attract twist when a romantic involvement between the cop and the killer explodes and makes friends (synonym) enemies (antonym).

Smells wins Pilz

 

In writing workshops I’m told that I must paint a picture with words so the reader can hear, touch, taste, or smell what my characters experience. I can’t say my protagonist drank week or strong, hot or cold, coffee. My keyboard paintbrush is permitted to stray and use an occasional word like robust or bold, but even then I must wrap the main character’s hands around the hefty mug, let the steam rise, and watch him sip the brew that’s too hot to gulp.

I shouldn’t say my private investigator stopped and smelled the roses outside a window where she’s hiding, crouched in a garden. I have to turn her head so her eyes see the rosebush and find a way to make the fragrance waft her direction without sneezes that give away her presence. Quite a task for me while tightening the tension and moving the story forward. Smells are why I’m giving this shout out (synonymous with tooting my own horn).

I won a blog contest challenge to describe my favorite or least-favorite smell. I told it like it was, or as I remembered it from long ago. The prize for my blurb is a copy of Pilz, J. K. Royce’s fictional mystery about unscrupulous physicians who profit from illegal prescriptions.

Here’s my winning entry.  What do you see, hear or smell?

New smells assaulted my nostrils when I, the wife of a former sailor, first moved to Monroe, Louisiana. Odors from a brown bag factory floated across the Ouachita (Wash-e-taw) River and permeated our non-airconditioned home. Yellowish-grey spots stuck to my white sheets on the backyard clothesline. I complained about the fetid odor to my neighbor who was employed there. He said, “It smells like bacon and eggs to me.”

Read Julie’s blog here: My Write Place