Bringing Jared In On It

Here's another snippet of the book I'm working on:

But Mrs. Coleman was inexplicably at the desk again.  “Hi, Ana!  Are you going out?” 

“Yes, ma’am, I’m going down to the grocery to get a few things for myself.”  Ana bit back an offer to run any errand Mrs. Coleman might have. 

“Alright.  Oh!  Did you turn in this sock and book?”  

“Yeah, I did, they were in the blue room,” said Ana.  “I put it down there in the ledger.” 

“Yes!  I saw that, I just wanted to be sure.” 

A pause and Ana smiled.  “Sure.  Okay, well, I’ll be back a little later I guess.” 

Mrs. Coleman smiled.  “Alright, Ana.  I’ll keep supper for you.” 

“Oh, don’t bother,” said Ana.  “If I’m out past time, I’ll buy something at the grocery.” 

“Jared will probably be happy to share with you whatever he’s made for himself,” said Mrs. Coleman.  “He usually offers, he’s a good boy. 

Ana’s cheeks flushed.  “I might do that,” she answered, “if he offers.  Well, I’ll be back later.”

“Alright, stay warm!” 

“I will!” Ana called over her shoulder, shutting the door.  The odious air hit her like skunk’s spray.

But what luck, the governor was heading for the inn. 

“Mr. Feldman!  Um….  How are you?” 

“Ana!  Well, I can’t complain.  How are you?”  He pushed his top hat back off his forehead. 

Ana smiled.  “I’m doing well.  Sir, I was actually wondering something….  I’m glad I bumped into you.  I was wondering if I could get into the castle library.” 

“Oh.  Oh!”  Mr. Feldman looked up at the dark sky, adjusting his glasses.  “Um well, you see….  No, I’m afraid not.  I just don’t have the time to take you.” 

“Well, see, I was fascinated by some of those books,” said Ana, “and so I was hoping if you could just let me in for a few hours….  I just want to leaf through some of those tomes if I may.” 

He used his hands to punctuate his answer.  “Hmm, well, see….  I don’t know that I can really let you do that.  Anyway, I certainly can’t let you… browse around in there by yourself.  I’d have to be with you and I just don’t have the time right now.  Maybe next week, or next month!  I just haven’t time.” 

“Okay.  Okay, well, thanks anyway,” said Ana.  “Um….  Well, good evening, sir.” 

“Good evening, Ana.  I’m sorry about that.” 

“Oh!  It’s okay.  Thanks anyway.” 

Mr. Feldman went into the warm inn and disappeared behind the door. 

No one else was out just now.  The chill biting at her face, Anna ran across the street to the grocery.  The doorbell rang over her head as she went in, and the warmth from the stove was pleasing and welcoming.  Jared stood by it, stirring stew in his cast iron pot.  The carrots and the sausage simmered together with the green tomato relish in such a pungent way. 

“Hello, Ana,” said Jared, his face a blank.  “I saw you coming, what can I get you?” 

Ana glanced around the store.  “Well, nothing for now,” she said, “I just want to look around.”  She picked up a large skillet and weighed it in her hand.  Then she put it down.  Then she picked up a wooden spoon.  “How are you?” 

“Oh, I’m doing well,” said Jared.  “Business has been slower lately, because of the cold, of course, but people still stop by to get warm and chat, so life’s not too dull so far this winter.” 

Ana put down the wooden spoon.  “That’s good.  How is your family?”  The stove was alluring warm so she crept up close to it.

“They’re doing alright.”  Jared poked around in his pot with his spoon.  “I bet you could smell this across the street, couldn’t you?” 

“Yeah, in my bedroom, actually,” said Ana.  “But that was about half an hour ago, isn’t it done?” 

“Well, I think it is, just about,” said Jared.  “Would you like some?” 

“Oh, I would love some, if you don’t mind,” said Ana. 

He reached over and took up the first of two bowls.  “Here you are – my pleasure.”  He filled his own bowl. 

“It’s very good,” said Ana.  “Thank you.” 

“You think so?” he said.  He tasted it for himself.  “Yeah, it’s not bad.  Um, so I saw you talking to the judge.  May I ask what about?” 

“Umm….”  Ana took another mouthful of soup. 

“If you don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to,” said Jared. 

“Oh no, I was just asking if I could get back into the castle library because… well….”  

Ana pursed her lips.  “Do you know why it smells so bad some of the time?” 

“No one does, I don’t think,” said Jared. 

“Well….  I want to get into the castle library and see if I can’t find some of those chronicles again.  There’s something just not quite… right about this town.” 

“What do you mean?” Jared asked. 

She looked up at him.  “Well….  I don’t know, exactly, but there are some things that just don’t seem right.  I mean, no one can explain the smell to me.  The whole castle thing is shrouded in hazy mystery….  And the animals….  Well.  There aren’t enough of them, or there’s too many of them….  But I’ve encountered several fantastic beings in the woods.” 

Jared perked up.  “You mean the elves?” 

“You’ve seen them too?” 

“Sometimes, when I’m out hunting, I see them hunting or just sitting in a tree.  I don’t know if they see me.  If they do, they don’t acknowledge me.” 

“Have other people here seen them?” 

“Not that I’ve heard,” said Jared, “and I’ve kept an ear open.”

“Well, it’s not just elves, either,” said Ana.  “I’ve seen… other things.  Things I’ve never seen before so I’m not sure what they are.  And I’ve seen fairies, and I’ve certainly encountered pixies.  Anyway, it seems strange.” 

“I agree.” 

“Okay, well, I was thinking that some of the books in the library might have some clues.  But Mr. Feldman won’t let me in.”

Jared took on the look of an imp.  “You could go in anyway,” he suggested. 

Ana smiled.  “Well, I was planning to,” she admitted.  “But I don’t know how, so I’ll have to figure that out.” 

Jared smiled.  “Well… I–I think I can help you with that.” 

Ana looked up at him, a grin spreading over her face.  “Yeah?” 

Assuredly, he said, “I think so."

Any thoughts?

~Meggy

Thoughtful Friday

How often I find myself saying, "Ummm... my bad, God.  Here, you-you can have this back now."

Our differences make us grow, but our similarities bring us together.  We need both to make us strong.

The Artless Ana Dicker

I've begun a new story.  I'm not sure where exactly it's going to go, but I figured I'd just go for it!  See what happens.  I'm really struggling with character lately, making them interesting and unique, lovable and memorable.  But I think it's getting better.  I've restarted this story a few times, as my ideas shape and reform, and as I come up with new ways to narrate my story.

So before I get much further, I'd like your thoughts and suggestions.  Tell me about the opening line, the first paragraph – how far to do have to go before you get a feel?  Before you're sold and want to go on, before you get a feeling for what the reading is going to be like, before you're thrust into the story?  Read as much or as little as you'd like, so long as I can get some feedback, that'd be lovely.

The last storm had dumped almost a foot of snow, dead and punishing, crunching underhoof.  Fides’ breath clouded the air hard as nails; the crunching of the icy snow echoed for a mile.  The snow had turned to rain in the middle of the night and created a thin, brittle crust on the surface of the fluff.  Fortunately, an overhang of rock ten or eleven miles back kept the bulk of the precipitation off of the travelers, but Ana, a little slight of a nineteen-year-old, still shivered in her saddle.  The reins may or may not have been taut in her hands for all she knew, but she wasn’t thinking about that.  She wasn’t thinking much about anything except her lungs moving in and out, and about the town that she knew was just a few more miles.  She hoped she knew.

The pine trees obscured the view, but the smell of pine wood burning spiced the air she breathed.  The town began not half a mile along, in fact, and once they were there, they were there.  The forest ended with the first house and the town was a cluster of buildings all huddled together as if for warmth, secluding the trees to their backs.  The town was a decidedly odd sight.  For at least a couple miles, Ana and Fides had been ascending a gentle slope, but where the town began, the hill became steeper, so that the whole collection of properties was clearly built on the side of a hill.  A common strip up and down the middle, a road led up to the meeting building.

Couples riding up and down in sleighs and children tugging other children in sleds packed down the snow here so that the going was much easier for Fides now.  Ana slowed him nearly to a halt as they neared a sleigh heading their way.  “Excuse me,” she raised her thin voice over the bells.  “The inn?”

The young man in the sleigh turned away from his giggling partner and gave Ana the once-over.  “You’re looking for the inn?” he said.  His post-puberty voice hid a high pitch that tickled the ear.  “It’s about four or five buildings up.  See the sign?”  He pointed where a sign was standing out, apparently in the road.

Ana checked herself and glanced at his feminine companion.  Her hat hid most, but not all, of her curled blond hair.  Her cheeks and the tip of her little nose flushed red in the cold.  Her blue eyes stared back, nothing apparent in them.  Ana looked again at the young man, nothing of consequence to her, and thanked him.

That last distance seemed a mile before she reached the sign, which was carved and freshly painted green, with a pine tree carved above the words ‘Cole Inn.’  Her hands did not wish to relinquish the reins.

A man rushed out the front door of the inn, pulling on a coat, terribly underdressed.  “Go right on in,” he said.  “You look absolutely freezing.  I’ll care for your horse.”

Ana sighed.  “I’ll come with you,” she said.  “Where is your stable?”

“In the back,” he said.  “I’m sorry, with the snow falling like this, I haven’t been out to pack down the walk.  You’ll have to trudge through.”  Indeed, the two of them soaked themselves up to the knee; the drop startled Fides and he lurched as he found his footing in the soft snow.  The stable door wouldn’t skate open fast enough for any of them, shivering their misery in the cold.

Inside the stable, the temperature jumped to a bearable level – at least, so it was after enduring the weather so long.  Ana could not undue the buckles herself, but she saw where the innkeeper stored her tack, and inspected Fides’ stall for herself, and gave the innkeeper explicit instructions for his care.  Satisfied with Mr. Coleman’s character, she set out on her journey back to the inn.  Mrs. Coleman stood at the open backdoor, calling to her: “Come in, dear, do come in!  How far you must have traveled in this weather to get here.  Which direction did you come from?”

“The south,” Ana chattered.  Her skin tingled in the sensational warmth of the back entry.  “From Kentown.”

Mrs. Coleman was decidedly incredulous.  She bustled Ana into the private sitting room and helped her peel off her outer things.  “I’ll give you my dressing robe,” she said.  “You undress and hang your things by the fire, alright?  You’re sure a little thing.  Here you are.  I have to get back to the front room, but I’ll send the boys up to your room to get the fire going and set it for you.  We’re just a simple inn, nothing compared to what you may be used to, coming from the southern towns as you are.  But each room has a stove, which I’m sure you will well appreciate after your long journey.  I’ll tell them to move the bed closer to it.  I’m sure my husband is bringing in your things.”

“He is,” said Ana.

“Alright, I’ll be going then,” said Mrs. Coleman.  “But you strip down and relax.  I’ll send a girl back with some tea.  Or would you like coffee?”

“Tea,” said Ana, “please.”

“Not a coffee drinker?  I love tea myself, although I must have my cup of coffee.  But tea is just the thing for you.  Alright, I’ll get you some tea.”

“Thank you,” said Ana.  “I appreciate it.”  Mrs. Coleman closed the door to the sitting room finally and Ana quickly stripped out of all her trousers and put on Mrs. Coleman’s robe.  The heat from the fire pierced her cold skin like Scotch pine needles.  The sitting room wasn’t very fancy, but it was cosy.  A single portrait hung on the wall, a young woman in an old fashioned collar.  Red curtains trimmed the window and a red rug accented the table.  Little doodads and trinkets decorated the mantle as they should.  An armchair stood angled at the fireplace, and three small cushions furbished the sofa.  Ana sat on the hearth, her back to the fire when her face could no longer take the heat.

Mrs. Coleman did indeed get Ana a cup of hot tea, and she did indeed send it.  But it was not with one of her girls as she had promised.  A young man came in, catching Ana in nothing but her underthings and a robe – a thick, warm robe, but a robe nonetheless.  Ana’s heart jumped into her mouth.

“Oh, excuse me,” he said.  Hesitating, he put the tea down on the table.  “Mrs. Coleman didn’t say….  I’m Chad Phillips.”  He began to offer his hand and changed his mind.

“A-Ana Dicker.”

~Meggy

FROZEN

Okay, this is ridiculous.  I'm going to go see Frozen in the theaters.

People seem to be divided between hating it and loving it.  Personally, I'm skeptical.  I haven't been blown away by the singing I've heard, or even by the songs themselves.  But hey, I'll wait until I see the movie.  I was going to wait until I could rent it and watch it in my living room, or watch it on Netflix.  But I am tired of wondering about the truth and adopting other's evaluations of it.  If I walk out of that theater loving it, it's going to be hard to come to grips with….  But I'll give it a shot.

Have you seen it?  What did you think?

~Meggy

A Request to Writers

Please don't treat readers like they can't figure it out.

I love Diana Wynne Jones' books, but there are definitely lines and passages where I cringe and wonder, "Were you even trying?"  Her stories are wonderfully imaginative and they inspire me to write, inspiration which is very needed lately – but sometimes the way she phrases what she wants to say is just so… lame.  It was especially noticeable after I began reading her books aloud to my sister, and there were just some areas that I felt stupid saying aloud.  Granted, I think she's catering to a younger audience than me – certainly, my young sister found no fault with Jones – but even so, I have to wonder sometimes.

And I was thinking about it when I was writing this morning.

Well, that's all I have to say on that.

Next time, I think I'll talk about narrative voice.  Cuz it's awesome.

~Meggy

Blank Christmas Home Cookies

I wish I had something to write here.  I truly do.  I truly, dupily do.  But my mind is a blank.  A fat ole blank.  Imagine a white sheet of paper, then take an eraser and shimmy it all over the paper, then take liquid white out and spill it out on the paper and spread it around, then crumple it up and throw it in a can of white paint, and when the paper dries – that's how blank my mind is.

As white as the foot of snow we have.

Mmm but Christmas is coming.  We have decorations up, and we're lighting our Advent wreath, and presents are beginning to stack up under the tree.  I know some people don't decorate their tree until Christmas Eve, which sounds like a lovely tradition but then you have a big ole ugly tree sitting in your house for weeks until Christmas Eve.  We decorate the tree as soon as we get it up.  What do you do?

It's funny being away at college and coming home to a slightly different atmosphere.  The dog and cat have gotten into bad habits.  I've been discovering that it has to do with their masters not being as firm with them as they maybe should be.  And, you know, with time, it's sometimes hard to see the hurt you do to others with your daily words and actions.  Some individuals, if not all, have perhaps slipped a little when it comes to that.  But on the other hand, my siblings have gotten older and matured.  I can talk to my baby sister like an adult now.  We went out shopping the other day and she was very helpful assisting me navigate complicated streets.  We had intelligent conversations.  It's nice to be home.

On a lighter note, my boyfriend sent me a great recipe for oatmeal chocolate chip cookies and I'm going to do some baking today in our oven.  Mmm yum yum yum.  What's better than cookies?

~Meggy

Christmas (ding ding) Christmas (ding ding) Christmas….

I've got less than one week left at school!  I wish I could come up with something fun and fascinating and even a little crazy to share with yuh'all, but right now, I'm just feeling rather brainwashed.  So here's a cute little Christmas photo I found on Pinterest:

~Meggy

The Blind Bottle

The bottle that meant life or death.  The bottle that meant life-gripping illness, paralyzing pain if it was unstoppered.  The one that she had received a sound beating for after almost smashing it on the floor.  The one she had lived in dread fear of for long years.

–No.  No, don't open it!

The stew was boiling.  The spiders remained happily in their dusty corners.  The owl in the rafters slept soundly.  The hag's incantation had proceeded without interruption.

Then:

–Why should I not open the vial?  You are useless and ugly!  Why should I not?  You have never been but a crutch to me.

She hid in the broom closet, cowering on the floor.  Pulling on the knob.  The dank darkness rancid.

Silence reigned.  The old woman was gone.  The bottle awaited, on the bookshelf beside the thick tome.

The bottle was in hand.  The door was open.  She ran straight.  Kept running.  To where was there to go, else straight?  The hovel was behind.  Gone.  Gone!  The bottle was in hand.  The dead shrub stood in the whiteness, crows swirling around it.  Blind.  As the old bag had described it to her.

Her hand found something.  Something round.  Something rough.  Something tall.  She fell to her hands and knees.  Straight.  Straight onward.  A hole.  The bottle slipped and fit.  It could go deep downward.

Straight.  Straight back.  Back.  Back….  Straight back….

Practical Writing Advice

I don't know where this is originally from, but I got it here.


Practical Writing Advice from Chuck Palahniuk

“In six seconds, you’ll hate me.
 But in six months, you’ll be a better writer.

From this point forward—at least for the next half year—you may not 
use “thought” verbs. These include: Thinks, Knows, Understands,
Realizes, Believes, Wants, Remembers, Imagines, Desires, and a hundred
 others you love to use.

The list should also include: Loves and Hates.
And it should include: Is and Has, but we’ll get to those later.Until some time around Christmas, you can’t write: Kenny wondered if Monica didn’t like him going out at night…”

Instead, you’ll have to Un-pack that to something like: “The
 mornings after Kenny had stayed out, beyond the last bus, until he’d
had to bum a ride or pay for a cab and got home to find Monica faking
 sleep, faking because she never slept that quiet, those mornings, she’d
 only put her own cup of coffee in the microwave. Never his.”

Instead of characters knowing anything, you must now present
 the details that allow the reader to know them. Instead of a character 
wanting something, you must now describe the thing so that the reader
 wants it.

Instead of saying: “Adam knew Gwen liked him.” You’ll have 
to say: “Between classes, Gwen had always leaned on his locker when he’d
 go to open it. She’s roll her eyes and shove off with one foot, 
leaving a black-heel mark on the painted metal, but she also left the
 smell of her perfume. The combination lock would still be warm from her
 butt. And the next break, Gwen would be leaned there, again.”

In short, no more short-cuts. Only specific sensory detail: action, smell, taste, sound, and feeling.

Typically,
 writers use these “thought” verbs at the beginning of a paragraph (In 
this form, you can call them “Thesis Statements” and I’ll rail against
 those, later). In a way, they state the intention of the paragraph. And
what follows, illustrates them.

For example:
“Brenda knew she’d never make the deadline. Traffic
 was backed up from the bridge, past the first eight or nine exits. Her
 cell phone battery was dead. At home, the dogs would need to go out, or
 there would be a mess to clean up. Plus, she’d promised to water the 
plants for her neighbor…”

Do you see how the opening “thesis statement” steals the thunder of what follows? Don’t do it.

If nothing else, cut the opening sentence and place it after all the others. Better yet, transplant it and change it to: Brenda would never make the deadline.

Thinking is abstract. Knowing and believing are intangible. Your
 story will always be stronger if you just show the physical actions
 and details of your characters and allow your reader to do the thinking
 and knowing. And loving and hating.

Don’t tell your reader: “Lisa hated Tom.”

Instead, make your case like a lawyer in court, detail by detail.

Present each piece of evidence. For example:
“During roll call,
in the breath after the teacher said Tom’s name, in that moment before
 he could answer, right then, Lisa would whisper-shout ‘Butt Wipe,’ just
 as

Tom was saying, ‘Here’.”

One of the most-common mistakes that beginning writers make is leaving their characters alone. Writing, 
you may be alone. Reading, your audience may be alone. But your
 character should spend very, very little time alone. Because a solitary 
character starts thinking or worrying or wondering.

For example: Waiting for the bus, Mark started to worry about how long the trip would take…”

A better break-down might be: “The schedule said the bus would come
by at noon, but Mark’s watch said it was already 11:57. You could see 
all the way down the road, as far as the Mall, and not see a bus. No
 doubt, the driver was parked at the turn-around, the far end of the
 line, taking a nap. The driver was kicked back, asleep, and Mark was
 going to be late. Or worse, the driver was drinking, and he’d pull up
drunk and charge Mark seventy-five cents for death in a fiery traffic
 accident…”

A character alone must lapse into fantasy or memory, but even then
 you can’t use “thought” verbs or any of their abstract relatives.

Oh, and you can just forget about using the verbs forget and remember.

No more transitions such as: “Wanda remembered how Nelson used to brush her hair.”

Instead: “Back in their sophomore year, Nelson used to brush her hair with smooth, long strokes of his hand.”

Again, Un-pack. Don’t take short-cuts.

Better yet, get your character with another character, fast. 
Get them together and get the action started. Let their actions and
words show their thoughts. You—stay out of their heads.

And while you’re avoiding “thought” verbs, be very wary about using the bland verbs “is” and “have.”

For example:
“Ann’s eyes are blue.”

“Ann has blue eyes.”

Versus:

“Ann coughed and waved one hand past her face, clearing the cigarette smoke from her eyes, blue eyes, before she smiled…”

Instead of bland “is” and “has” statements, try burying your details
of what a character has or is, in actions or gestures. At its most
basic, this is showing your story instead of telling it.

And forever after, once you’ve learned to Un-pack your characters,
you’ll hate the lazy writer who settles for: “Jim sat beside the
telephone, wondering why Amanda didn’t call.”

Please. For now, hate me all you want, but don’t use thought verbs. After Christmas, go crazy, but I’d bet money you won’t.

(…)

For this month’s homework, pick through your writing and circle every “thought” verb. Then, find some way to eliminate it. Kill it by un-packing it.

Then, pick through some published fiction and do the same thing. Be ruthless.

“Marty imagined fish, jumping in the moonlight…”

“Nancy recalled the way the wine tasted…”

“Larry knew he was a dead man…”

Find them. After that, find a way to re-write them. Make them stronger.”

Chuck Palahniuk

Do you agree?  Do you disagree?

~Meggy