Five More Pages of My First "Book"

I might as well post five more pages, since I have no life. Read the first 4 1/2 pages in the last post first-- or don't. I have no idea if those pages were even relevant to the plot.

The holographic whatever-it-was totally freaked out. It ducked, then there was nothing to hide under. It waved shyly, and said in a small voice "Ah... hi, kid..." "Who are... who are you?" I stammered, trying to be brave. The hologram (I guess we can call it a 'him') just flicked his fingers, and somehow, I was in another place. 

How to describe this other place? Well, it was kinda like a basement, but it was packed with stone columns, so it must have been deep underground, at least a mile. Every inch of space was covered with pictures- people fighting, people feasting, even a few ads for magic thermal underwear (keeps you cool in the summer too!). A map mounted on the wall started advertizing itself, so I went over and checked it out. Apparently, this room was the Dragon Room, and there were 103 doors leading out to other rooms (like the Turtle Room, shaped like its mascot, like this one).

"Kid" I jumped at the sound. It was the voice of the image in my room! I turned slowly. He was standing right in front of me (as a solid person, thankfully).

"You're not dreaming," he said.
"Then what's going on?" I asked, eyeing him warily.
'This place?"  he said "TCYFF. Training center for young fairy folk."
"Why am I here if this place is for fairies?" I asked testily.
"Easy," he replied "Birthmark. Left cheek. Star shape. Fairy gift, you know."
"Wha-?!" I said, rubbing my cheek.
He sighed. "Well, I suppose we should start with the basics.

I thought he was going to lecture me, but instead he took out a flashlight and lead me through a door under the dragon's tail, which I wasn't quite sure about.

We emerged into a small room about the size of a large bathroom, furnished with only a desk, two chairs, a small cat statue, and an ugly green dresser.

"This is the fish room," the man announced, gesturing around the room. "Please make yourself comfortable." He sat down in a chair and opened a dusty enciclopedia. Figuring I had no other choice, I took the opposite chair and frowned.

"OK.' The man said, clapping his hands. He took out a scroll and began reading. "Hello class! My name is Hank Chavez, but you can call me Mr. C. Or Mr. Si, which is Mr. Yes in Spanish. Today we'll be reading from the insert title here... er... the Basic Steps In Magic Manual." He tossed aside the script and pushed forward the ancient, jasmine-smelling book.

"This chapter is about the basic theory of magic," Mr. C instructed. "Let's see -- oh shoot! Where's the start got to now?"

I peered across the table at the book. I saw a letter that was fancier than the rest. "There," I said, pointing.

"Ah, thank you" Mr. C said. "Now - ugh! That picture goes on page 13! Ah, yes right, um... just... here we go. Let's see."

"Um, Mr. C?" I tugged his arm.

"Right. This says... ah here we are. Hmm!! Aha! Yes! This says 'New young magician (I think you know who you are!), it is time to begin your training.

"'Magic, by definition, is power bestowed apon someone, to make that someone impossibly powerful. Fairies are born to Magic, however, mortals do not posess this hidden power unless chosen by a fairy, or by the Spirit of Flight herself (see another book by this author, The History of Magic). The creatures possessing Magic will be taken to the nearest chapter of the TCYFF (Training Center for Young Fairy Folk).'"

"Where we are," I interrupted.

Okay, that wasn't a full five pages, but I was cringing too hard to write the rest. If this post gets enough positive comments, I might do another one, but not otherwise.

Happy cringing!

Writing From Personal Experience

Recently, I had an experience at a restaurant that I'm definitely going to use as the first scene in my side project (which I will talk about later). So I figured now would be a good time to talk about writing from experience. 

Say your character is a high schooler who is being relentlessly bullied. And-- happy coincidence-- you were also bullied to tears in high school. You can write from those experiences to make the bullying feel real. 

Now, I'm not saying you should retell a story from your high school days where some idiot told you you were fat. I'm saying that you should use your emotional experience to write from the point of view of a character.

Emotional experiences are basically how you felt when the aforementioned idiot called you fat. Did you feel angry? Ashamed? Did you even care? Describe how you felt, rather than the exact events that went down. 

Let's use another example. Say you're at your dad's funeral. In the middle of your grief and sadness, a little writerly voice whispers in your ear, "Hey, at least you can write about this." 

So you do write about it. But maybe none of your characters' dads die. That's okay. The feelings of sadness and grief are pretty much universal. You could just have them lose someone or something important to them. It doesn't matter who or what. The reader will feel for them, because everyone has lost something. 

The gist of this post? Use universal emotions to ground your story, to keep your readers interested and feeling for your characters, and to vent a little (just a little. Don't get carried away.)

Happy dumping piles of feels onto your readers and bathing in their tears! *Glares pointedly at Rick Riordan and J.K. Rowling*

An Old Book of Mine

You thought you were done cringing at the writing from my elementary school days, didn't you? Well, you were wrong. I'm gonna dump the first (and only) chapter of a book I wrote a long time ago. This is just the first 4 1/2 pages, but I figure that's enough cringe for one day. Warning: Most of this is awful

Chapter 1:  I get run over by a lion and now I turn into a fairy or something

Ever try to hide an amazing, life threatening secret from an inquisitive family of eight? That's what I have to do every day. Is it hard? You bet!

What's my secret? Funny you should ask. Short answer: Magic. Long answer: well, it's kind of a long story (the one you're reading now, perhaps?).

Right, introductions. My name is Chelsea Peterson and I live in Portland, Oregon with my parents and my three sisters and two brothers. Oh, and the cat.

So one day (Tuesday, January 3rd), me and my sister Sami went shopping at Fred Myer. Just the usual, her driving like a California maniac, me sitting in the backseat staring into space, counting the trees and the buildings and the rabid lion... "rabid lion!!!"I screamed. Sami leaped in her seat then regained her stance and shot me a look. "Her games just get weirder and weirder,," she muttered.

I kept watching the lion. It was running alongside us, which should have been impossible because Sami drives at least five miles above the speed limit, but it wasn't even breaking a sweat. This was my first indication that something was wrong.

Then it totally went bonkers. The lion decapitated a horse statue and a John F. Kenady statue, then grew 20 feet and threw itself on the road ahead of us.

"Stupid light!" Sami growled. "Although, I don't remember seeing one here..." "Light?" I asked. "That one, dummy!" my sister snapped.

And then it pounced. Three tons of teeth, fur, and fangs crashed through our windshield, smashing the front half of the car. Sami flew backwards in a dead faint. I raised my hands and looked away, shaking.

But suddenly, the lion's roars faded and then came the sound of- a squeaky toy? I opened one eye, then the next, and there at my feet lay a squeaky rubber lion.

"Woah," was all I could say in that moment.

Naturly, the police came and roped off the scene, then took Sami away in a stretcher. You can guess what happened next.

"Young lady." I turned and saw a mustachioed police officer, resting a hand on my shoulder. I brushed the hand off.

He growled, and just when I thought he would bite my head off, a nice lady officer turned me around and said very nicely "Sweetheart, could you tell us what happened, please?" So I told her the story.

"Uh, dear," she said when I had finished. "That's very exciting and all, but if we can't get the truth from you, who can we ask. Did anyone else besides your sister witness anything?" "It was a lion!" I insisted. "I have the toy to prove it!" I showed her.

The policewoman glanced at Mr. Moustash, then back at me. "Well," she said quietly. "I guess you'll need a ride home.

When we arrived at home, the police went to talk to my parents and I, of course, stormedup to my room (OK, I do share it with my two little twin sisters, but it's not like it was my idea or anything.)

"It was a lion." I told my teddy bear. "it was a lion, and I know it was a lion but nobody will ever believe me." I put my hands to my chin, but they slid off. I heard fireworks in the distance.

"Interesting" a voice said out of nowhere.

I whirrled, and nearly jumped out of my skin! In front of me hovered a larger-than life projection of a man's face.

Moving Away from Your Outline

You may be the best outliner in the world. You may know everything about your characters, from their hair color to their shoe size to the alignment of the planets at the moment of their birth. And then, along comes the all-powerful Muse, right in the middle of your manuscript, and whispers in your ear: "Hey, your outline is awful. Your protagonist needs to be a good singer. This character needs to die. The bad guy needs to win." 

And you say, "Hey, I outlined all this. I have my protagonist outlined, I need that character to live, and the bad guy needs to lose. What are you doing in my head anyway?"

Yet you find yourself putting your protagonist in the middle of a duet, killing that character you love, and ending the book with a declaration from the antagonist that he's now the king of the world. 

"But my outline," you whisper sadly to yourself as your fingers follow the Muse's directions.You spent hours, days, maybe weeks plotting this book. And now it's spiraling out of your control.

But that's not necessarily a bad thing. You may find that you were headed in the wrong direction with your outline. You may find that what you wanted to say wasn't what your outline told you to say. You may find your voice in this change. Remember, "a definition excludes the possibility for change."

You could also be steering off the road and into the path of a deer migration, which wouldn't be fun for anyone. 

My advice for when you don't know what to do with the changes? Make them anyway. Keep your outline handy, but it isn't the Bible, (Qur'an, Torah, etc.) You can change things about your plot and characters whenever you want. This is just an early draft. It's "shoveling sand into a box so that later [you ] can build castles," (Shannon Hale). Shovel all that sand into your computer, and take the time to reshape and mold it until you have a castle.

Don't be afraid to leave behind your outlines, and happy writing!

Describe a Color Without Using its Name

Image credit Shutterstock

I've wanted to do this for awhile now. What I'm basically going to do is write up a description of a bunch of colors and see if you can guess what color I'm describing. I'm not allowed to use the name of the color in the description. 

Okay, our first color:

It is the color of the sky after Thanksgiving, when everyone has left. It is the color of the snow that lays dirty and packed into brittle sheets along the side of the road. It is the color of every other car on that packed highway, and the color of their drivers, those lifeless nine-to-five drones. It is the color grey.

Did you guess that one before I told you? Try this one:

When you step off that cramped plane, it is the smell of the salty sea air. When you first sink your toes into the sand, it is the color of the ocean. It is the color of your mother's vintage teapot, the one she's had since the seventies, the color of its chipped enamel. It is the color of the sky at sunrise, the color that surrounds the more vibrant pinks and yellows, but is beautiful in its own right. It is the color turquoise. 

Okay, that one wasn't as good. Let's try this one.

Everyone fears this color. It is the color you see in the middle of the night, when you wake in a cold sweat. It is the color of the shadows that follow us wherever we go, and stand in the closet when we turn off the light. It is the color of the sounds at bedtime, the things your parents say are just the house settling, but you know better... It is the color black.

I'm having a lot of fun with this! 

When you tell her you love her, it is the color of her cheeks. When you walk into the Hallmark store to get her a Valentine's card, it is the color you're assaulted by. It is the color of the diamond you picked out of for her months ago, the color of the sunset reflecting on the pond as you kneel down. It is the color of her squealed, "Yes!" and the color of her bouquet as she says, "I do." It is the color pink.

This is probably the best prompt I've ever been set. 

This color is disappearing, and we must protect it. It is the color of the soft carpet  you turned cartwheels on in your childhood, the color you kissed under on your first christmas with him, the color of the willows you walk under in your old age, holding his hand. It is the color of the salad you despised as a kid, and love now. It is the color of the water in your cup when you paint. It is the color green. 

That one was less than impressive. So here's your homework: pick a color and write about it. And then post it in a comment on this blog. And have fun doing it!

Life Advice for Writers

1. The most important thing for a writer to do is to get out sometimes. Even the most reclusive of us need to see the sun eventually. 
2. Stay hydrated. Writing with a headache=writing you will not be proud of.
3. It's just a first draft-- you can spruce it up later.
4. If a publisher says no, find a different one. 
5. Stay focused, even if you have to use earplugs to keep out all noises and a typewriter to keep out the internet. 
6. If someone laughs at your writing (and you didn't intend for it to be funny), don't ever show them your work again. Your writing is your baby. Keep it away from bullies.
7. Read a lot. 
8. Buy beat-up books at garage sales and scribble in them-- stuff they could do better, stuff that was awesome, etc.
9. Write where and when you're most comfortable. If you need to stay in your PJs until noon or stay up until 6 am in order to write, go ahead.
10. Keep everything you write. Look back on it from time to time, and chuckle or cringe at what younger you wrote.
11. If writing isn't your passion, stop.
12. If it is your passion, don't stop. 
13. If you aren't sure, stick with it until you are sure.
14. Write what makes you happy.
15. Keep the reader in mind, though.
16. Google is your friend. 
17. No matter what your teachers tell you, Wikipedia is too.
18. When you feel down, remind yourself of your goals. Wanna write a bestseller? You gotta write.
19. This list is getting too long, so I'm just going to say one more thing
20. Happy writing, and see you tomorrow!

Adverbs and Adjectives

So I finally found a topic I feel qualified to give advice about: adjectives and adverbs.

Now, most people will tell you that these are the bane of your manuscript. Stephen King even said, "The path to Hell is paved with adverbs." But that isn't necessarily true. You can use modifiers (adjectives and adverbs) but you don't need to to load up your manuscript with them when strong nouns and verbs will do.

What is a strong noun or verb? They're nouns and verbs that convey the image you want without any modifiers. For instance, "the tall woman with long limbs and brown hair," can be changed to "the lanky brunette". You'll notice there's still an adjective there, but it's serving its purpose. Those modifiers that I used in the first example (tall, long, brown) aren't doing much, and they're not very interesting. The word "lanky" conveys a better image than "tall [with] long limbs".

Now, let's practice strengthening nouns and verbs with this sentence: "The huge,tall house was next to the long, wide street."  Not a very good sentence, is it? No, it isn't. So we're going to fix it. 

Let's start with "The huge, tall house". Instead of using all those modifiers, let's just call it a mansion. Now, let's tackle, "was next to". How about we replace it with a strong verb and adverb: "towered over". The word "towered" tells us that the house is very tall, without explicitly telling us.

And now, for the "long, wide street." Let's call that "Pheasant Way," because pheasants. Putting all this together, we get: "The mansion towered over Pheasant Way." Much better, don't you agree?

What was the point of this exercise? To show you how much difference can be made by swapping out imprecise modifiers for sturdy nouns and verbs. 

Happy writing, and don't forget to strengthen your prose!