Sunday Funday

So, yesterday I posted:

Conversations. Dialogue. I kind of feel like I suck at it. Especially when I compare my writing style to that of published authors. And it isn’t so much that the conversations I’m writing suck, but rather that I pepper my prose with bits of dialogue rather than peppering my dialogue with bits of prose. So how do I fix this? Well, what I’m going to try to do for now is create the ‘rough draft’ version of just the dialogue in my notebook. Then, when I go to put it into Microsoft Word, I’ll pepper in the prose. The action, the movements…

Surely you remember this. No? Well, follow the link, or see the above. Whatever.

Anyway. I actually sat down and created 4.5 handwritten pages of dialogue yesterday. Prior to this, I had struggled with the scene and could barely make my way to the 500 word count mark. Today, I am not done with the scene (perhaps 2/3 done) and I have already reached 1028 words. So, just with this one technique, I have more than doubled my word count. I don’t know about you, but I find that awesome.

Now, I will admit that it is hard to recreate what was going on in my head as yesterday I wrote down only the dialogue. That can be overcome, however; especially since when I move words from pen and paper to Word or yWriter, I always find myself changing things a bit. It’s almost like a mini edit of the super-rough draft to the rough draft. Next time though, I know to make notes of thoughts, feelings, etc.

So yes. It is Sunday. Tomorrow, I start my new job (squee). I am both terribly excited and terribly nervous. My first job in over 3 years where a uniform is not required. But, it’s also out in the boons and I won’t have time for lunch, so I’m taking my notes and working during lunch.

Of course, no writing prompt again this week. I have a problem. I set these writing goals and then break them. It’s because I see writing as something fun, something creative. Not something that gets a deadline or a minimum word count. Even if my book gets picked up, I hope this never changes.

So, off to watch one more episode of CSI before calling it a night. Perhaps I’ll find some relevant writing prompts and throw them in the bucket, lol.

Have a good night!

tidbits and out takes

No, I don’t have any of those today. But I was about to update the Facebook page and I realized, why update on Facebook and only reach those 19 people? Why not update via the blog and share with the Facebook followers, the blog readers, and the faithful Twitter followers? So from now on (or, at least when I remember), instead of posting my snippets of rando on the Facebook page, I’ll share them here.

And what, pray tell, is today’s bit of rando? Well, I’ll tell you.

Conversations. Dialogue. I kind of feel like I suck at it. Especially when I compare my writing style to that of published authors. And it isn’t so much that the conversations I’m writing suck, but rather that I pepper my prose with bits of dialogue rather than peppering my dialogue with bits of prose. So how do I fix this? Well, what I’m going to try to do for now is create the ‘rough draft’ version of just the dialogue in my notebook. Then, when I go to put it into Microsoft Word, I’ll pepper in the prose. The action, the movements…

It’s actually quite fun so far. I have a page with rando sentences on it and an initial next to each sentence. Perhaps I’ll share this rough draft with you when I’m done.

 

On Beta Readers

I love the idea of beta readers, although I might be too sensitive to have someone else read my works… I’m not sure I could take the criticism. Constructive criticism showing me what needs improved upon, yes. But you and I both know not everyone is capable as a critique partner.

The Husband and I are going to try to attend a local writer’s group next week, but we might not go as we might have to leave early. These are rando’s – I don’t know them, they don’t know me. I guess I could handle that.

So, everyone talks about their beta readers. How do you go about finding one? How can you trust them to give you constructive criticism as opposed to jackassery?

 

I do not have a writing prompt to share today, though it is Sunday. I do, however, have an announcement to share: Since changing my focus to historical romance I’ve actually completed a FULL outline AND the rough draft of my first chapter.

The premise and designing principle and all that nonsense? Not so much. But yes, a WHOLE chapter (and the prologue)…

To celebrate, I am giving myself time off to be that constructive beta reader for two people plus read (AND REVIEW, DAMN IT) something on my Kindle app.

 

Happy Sunday!

A Teaser

I realized I have been rather negligent with updating this blog. I’m sorry! Here’s a smidge of a teaser in apology:

 

Night fell quickly in St Giles, London though the inhabitants never seemed to notice; day or night mattered little to the prostitutes and criminals calling this home. Deep within the filth, the Rook King held court, using his arcane knowledge of sorcery to enforce his every whim. At the heart of his stronghold, a hidden room contained what he assumed was the largest scrying pool in the modern world: a topographical map of the British Isles encased in glass, filled with the amber liquid he had formulated from a stolen ancient Chinese Grimoire. Were he honest about it, the whole scrying system he was using came from that Grimoire; honesty was just not a familiar tactic for the crime lord, however. It was here, in this hidden room, where he spent an ever increasing amount of time searching for the Jewel of the Gods.

Though the scrying pool was the focal point of the room, the rest was designed purely for his comfort. A large desk occupied one end of the room; here he created new spells or improved upon the ones he had stolen from others. One wall held a large wardrobe, where he kept ceremonials robes. Next to it, a daybed covered in luxurious silk sheets and furs. He had worked hard to be king, and expected all of his surroundings to reflect that status. The only surviving person to know about the existence of this room, or its contents, was his most trusted servant, North. They had grown up together, saved each other through the years. When he had become so successful, it was only right that his best friend be by his side, though the man refused anything beyond the title ‘manager’. North would occasionally slip into the room to ensure his savior was still breathing.

As the second night threatened to slip into a third day, time was only a change of reflection upon the ensorcelled scrying waters. It could have been twenty minutes; it could have been three weeks.  Though his eyes were red with lack of sleep, the Rook King held strong; years of training in the East as a younger man had given him the ability to master his body. None of his training, however, prepared him for the elation he was unable to corral when, in Wales, a psychic connection flared to life so briefly he was not entirely sure it was not just a hallucination.

Focusing his entire will toward that one spot, the man known as the Rook King opened a scrying channel and let the events unfold before him. A curse tore involuntarily from his throat as recognition dawned. One of those before him was very familiar.