Tag: writer

About Me

Slacker

Autumn

I’ve been such a slacker lately.

I actually do have a reason for it, which I am keeping personal for the time being. I will say that the echoes between this year and 2011 are rather eerie.

When I decide I’ve had enough of being a hermit, I plan on re-releasing The Black Magus on Smashwords. I’m also undecided about whether I should put The Scion Suit on the back burner for awhile, or push ahead with finishing it. Though come to think of it, I’ve never put a project on hold before, so that probably answers that question. Besides, writing Hartmann should be fun, with him being so cavalier.

Once that’s finished, I’m going to start the sequel for BOTH The Black Magus and Alice and the Warden. A series of cheesy and highly contrived events cause Hackett and Ainmire to cross paths, and they form an everlasting friendship based on their mutual proclivity for younger women. LMAO.

Or something like that.

I never take myself too seriously.

Anyway, I also need to finish transcribing the Miranda and the Convict letters, which I have been procrastinating on horribly. Stuff to do, and all that jazz.

Not to mention, it’s that time of year for baking apple rolls and pumpkin cookies.

About Me

Musing

Autumn

The other day I was musing over how all of the creative sorts that I used to follow back in the day all dropped off the face of the planet, when it hit me: I dropped off the face of the planet, too. Talk about a blind spot, lol.

Though I didn’t have any adoring fans that I let down. There are people out there who are very good at commanding attention and getting noticed … and I am not one of them. I tend to become shy. So. Very. Shy.

Anyway, my absence from the planet is why I sit here saying, “I’m super passionate about writing,” with so few titles attached to my name.

Those lost years were essential. They added depth to my ideas that I wouldn’t have developed otherwise, and broke me out of the standard tropes. They gave me life experience.

They also left me too scattered for awhile afterwards to finish anything. I had no focus or consistency.

And I don’t like talking about it, so don’t ask.

Thankfully, in this part of my life, I’m a lot more solidly grounded, so I’m much better at writing nearly every day (I say after I took a full month off just because). That’s the part that really matters to me, but dang do I wish I was working faster sometimes.

Like, it would be so sweet if I was finishing TWO novels every year, instead of just one.

Because sometimes I feel like I have too many stories inside of me, waiting for their turn.

About Writing

Mastering Concise Writing for Better Stories

Autumn

When you’re a writer, there’s an unspoken pressure to describe things poetically — probably because no one ever says, “I love how concise and to-the-point all the descriptions are!” when they talk about their favorite novel.

Oftentimes, that pressure turns into purple prose, which is laborious and awful. Most readers will skip over purple prose rather than slog through it.

Some people are naturally more poetic than others, and can effortlessly pull metaphors and similes out of their mind. Me? I’m not. I’m a concise and to-the-point sort of person.

But thankfully, the real world is pretty awesome without all of them fancy descriptions, and you can still create an immersive scene without resorting to purple prose.

Step one: See the world.
I mean, really see it. Internalize it. Notice the small things that are easy to miss, and use ALL of your senses. Pay attention to how it makes you feel.

Step two: Write what you see.
Use the language that comes naturally to you. A sense of vividness comes from including those small details, such as smell or sounds.

Storm clouds rolled in as the sun was setting. The sky turned from gray to a pale gold, with rosy patches intermixing with the darkness of the clouds, but the wind was warm and dry without any hint of rain. Still, it whipped at my clothes and hair, and brought with it the scent of brine from the Great Salt Lake, which was enough to send a thrill pulsing through me.