What the Heck Does It Mean to Be Whole?

We hear that expression a lot. I can’t count how many of those feel-good quotes I’ve seen on Pinterest, Facebook, Twitter, and elsewhere that have to do with ‘being who you are,’ ‘claiming your identity,’ and the blessed state of ‘being a whole person.’ These ideas usually revolve around one’s readiness to enter and maintain healthy relationships, or embracing the concept of going it alone.

I think the concept got a foothold in the sixties and seventies with self-help books like I’m Okay, You’re Okay*, and How to Be Your Own Best Friend**. There were others, of course, but those are two that I distinctly recall as a youngster—my mother even provided us with a copy of the latter during adolescence. I wish I had actually understood and applied what I'd read. Nevertheless, as a culture, we’ve been talking about ‘Being Whole’ for decades. 

The reason I’m now contemplating the issue is that when I boiled down the theme of the story I’m working on, the third in my Portraits series, this question—What does it mean to be whole?—keeps coming up.

For anyone who has read Portrait of a Girl Running and Portrait of a Protégé, you know I’ve put my protagonist, Leila, through the mill. Although she has had independence foisted upon her, she is living what appears to be a fulfilling life in a safe and nurturing environment with people who care about her, and with opportunities for personal and artistic growth. Of course, I can’t leave well enough alone. No, I don’t think I’m going to kill anyone off (at least not unless I have to, ha!), but let’s face it—Leila has a lot of unresolved issues about her upbringing, and especially about her mother. She’s been on an emotionally intense roller-coaster ride, but, just because her life seems to have finally leveled out, that does not mean she can side skirt those issues which have left her broken and with pieces missing. Yes, she’s having to confront the question: What the heck does it even mean to be whole?

I Googled the question, and aside from coming up with a lot of religious answers—valid as some may be, I’m not focusing on that route—there are so many opinions, a psychological and spiritual free-for-all! I have my own opinion, but I’m still shaping it. And I am very curious how other thoughtful people define it. Please feel free to leave a comment or send me an e-mail (bridget at jbchicoine dot com) if you’d like to share!

*by Thomas Anthony Harris  **by Bernard Berkowitz, Jean Owen, and Mildred Newman

Blank Pages

It may come as no surprise to some of my readers that I was largely uneducated regarding story structure while writing my first four novels. If I hit on what looks like a preplotted story arc, I attribute it to intuition or gut feeling about how my stories should develop. Now that I have my recent works and also my backlist published, I’m thinking a lot more about how to develop a story—a new story.

I’ve been reading writing blogs long enough to come across a lot of terminology on storytelling. Character archetypes, character arcs, the three act structure, inciting incidents, building tension, climaxes, and the list goes on. Generally, I love reading how-to guides. I am a do-it-yourselfer from way back. But I want to know more than simply the mechanics of something—I crave knowledge of principles, those amazing gems of information that can be applied to so many endeavors.

A while back, I purchased a few books on writing. For a beginner writer, The First Five Pages by Noah Lukeman helped me clean up my writing, back when I was primarily interested in snagging an agent. I also enjoyed Writing the Breakout Novel by Donald Maass. But the idea of constructing a story—well, I had stories and they were already pretty well formed, so I put the other books, Save the Cat by Blake Snyder and The Writer’s Journey by Christopher Volger on the shelf. They seemed like heavier reading that I would eventually get around to.

In fact, I have finally gotten around to reading them, but with a very specific purpose—I have a few characters with some interesting history, but I have no story. I mean, I know there’s a story to be told about a young man whose mother is delusional—she believes her son is blind. But how to write it! I may be as delusional as my character to think I can pull this one off, but still ... Hmm … this story could take a while … so, I thought I’d work out my process of discovery here on my blog and make this space earn its keep. Unless of course I get sidetracked with something else … Be warned, I sometimes get big ideas, and they often get messy. Now, if I can just avoid Exploding Head Syndrome!

A New Title and a New Concept

So, I've been working on my next two novels—actually, they are two novels that I have had on my hard drive for the past five years. Girl Running and its sequel Protégé have undergone so many changes in the course of revising and editing. Girl Running's first draft came in at over 150k words and is now a trim 111k. It had dropped as low as 92k, but then I had an idea. Yes, ideas can be very dangerous, but this time it feels oh, so right!

I have always been intrigued with the story-within-a-story concept. I pulled it off with Uncharted: Story for a Shipwright, and even Spilled Coffee has that feel, and both those novels are written in first person as a thirty-something man. Don't ask me why, I just like that POV. At any rate, I've had some qualms about putting Girl Running out there. Yes, it does push some societal boundaries—the teacher-student relationship scenario, but that's really not what the story is about. It's not the theme, anyway. It's about stepping up and following through and finding our own way when no one else is willing to "step up" in our behalf.

So, Girl Running now has a new format—a story within a story—and a new name. The Step-Up Man. Here is what you'll read on the back cover:

In the wake of a student suicide, twelfth-grade English teacher James Grayson is second-guessing his “don't bring work home” policy, while his reluctance to commit to his girlfriend—to marry and have children—has his personal life hanging in the balance. He can't even commit to finishing one of his own novels. 

When sullen and withdrawn student Layla hands in a compelling assignment that is actually part of a larger body of work, James becomes obsessed, not only with convincing her to let him read it, but with the notion of stepping up to do the right thing by his girl-friend, his students and his writing, and how they are all intertwined. 

Layla acquiesces. James has no idea what he’s in for as she weaves a tale about 17-year-old orphaned "Leila" who needs to live inconspicuously until she graduates. Three teachers make that impossible—the handsome track coach, her math teacher from hell, and a jealous gym instructor. Compromising situations, accusations of misconduct, and judicial hearings put her autonomy and even her dignity at risk unless she learns to trust an unlikely ally. 

James guesses at which parts of Layla's novel are true and what is wishful thinking. If the "step-up man" in Layla's story turns out to be fictitious, can a cast of characters still change the way James views his own life?

Yes, it's a little long, but then, so is the story. Yeah, it's going to be a thick one. Now I need to finish editing and decide if I'm going with a smaller font (10 pt) and thus smaller page count, or make it a whopping 400+ pages. I'm also toying with the idea of two different fonts—Times New Roman for James Grayson's narration and then switching to Courier (or another typewriter font) for Layla's manuscript. What will my readers tolerate when it comes to that sort of formatting creativity?

Anyway, I hope to get these polished and published sometime this autumn, or perhaps even sooner.

My Big Plans

For the past month, I’ve been working on some graphics for my next novel, Spilled Coffee. Not only that, but I’ve made the decision to publish Spilled Coffee  independently, yes, self-publishing. Even before I started this blog—nearly five years ago—I was enamored with the idea of self-publishing. I’ve always had a Do-It-Yourself mindset which extends to my writing. I learned how to write by writing and researching and connecting with a few other writers. I even went so far as to format, print, and bind one of my earlier novels (I plan to resurrect this novel in the future).

My writing has come a long way, even to the point of being traditionally published, which has been a huge boost to my confidence. Not only that, but I’ve received some greatly-appreciated correspondence from some who have read Uncharted: Story for a Shipwright and really enjoyed it. Thank you so much to all those who took the time to share their thoughts!

Anyone who has read this blog for any length of time knows I’m not a hard-sell—I find promotion, networking, and marketing very awkward (as do many writers). I’ve also heard it said that the best way to sell one book is by writing another…well, I can do that! In fact I’ve done that, and now it’s getting near time to put the next novel out there. I had a few works to choose from and picked Spilled Coffee as a follow-up to Uncharted. Like Uncharted, I wrote Spilled Coffee in first person point of view as a man. It’s not so much nautical, though a rowboat on a lake in New Hampshire plays a role in the story. What the two stories have in common are the thirty-something men coming to terms with their family and past. Here’s the logline, a bit of promotional art, and what you’d read on the back cover:

A Novel About Coming of Age…Again…

Benjamin Hughes is on a mission. He has just bought back the New Hampshire lake cottage his family lost eighteen summers ago, in 1969, just before he turned fourteen—just before his life blew apart.

Still reeling from a broken engagement, Ben has committed himself to relive that momentous summer for the next twenty-four hours. 

Every summer as a boy, Ben has gawked at the pretty redhead Amelia, granddaughter to the richest man on the lake, Doc Burns—owner of a Cessna floatplane and the Whispering Narrows estate. During the summer of ’69, Ben not only sneaks around with Amelia, but he learns how to fly with Doc, and meets an eclectic cast of characters that will change him forever. The best summer of Ben’s life turns out to be the worst as the Burns’ family dysfunction collides with his own family’s skeletons.

So, that’s the news for this week. Soon I will be posting the cover art I’ve been messing around with, perhaps some of the interior art,  and updates on the publication progress.

Updated Website

As some of you know, I have a Website showcasing my watercolor painting--I own my domain JBChicoine.com, which is a very handy thing when you're having a novel published. Back in 2006 when I initially set up the Website, I had no intention of branching off into writing seriously, nor did I really have any idea how to construct a Website, but I had a program (MS FrontPage) that made the prospect seem manageable. So, I published a Webiste focusing on my art, but with my novel Uncharted coming out in October, I needed to reconstruct my home page, dividing it between my two endeavors. Problem was, I updated it so infrequently that I had to virtually relearn the program every time I wanted to add a new work of art. I was dreading having to create a whole new homepage without messing up the entire site.


Last week, I put the final touches on it, even redesigning the header (which meant painting something that fit both themes). I'll admit there are some glitches that annoy me and I can't figure out how to get them quite right, but I won't point out the specific flaws. I will instead announce that I have a 'new' Website, J.B. Chicoine, Author & Artist. 

As more of my novels are published, I will add them to the Website, but this blog is where I'll provide updates on things pertaining to my writing. 

Cover Preview for Uncharted!

I just received the mock up of my cover for Uncharted! I'm so pleased that Rhemalda used my painting of Marlena, the peculiar young waif who disrupts the life of shipwright Sam Wesley (funny how girls can be so disruptive). Over at Rhemalda's blog, they've written up a nice article on the cover and provides a synopsis of the novel (like you'd see on the back of a book).

Rhemalda's cover designer, Melissa Williams was wonderful to work with. 

Just five months until Uncharted is released, on October 1^st —this makes it finally feel real…

Character Intrusion!

One of the ‘benefits’ of being a pantser—as opposed to an outliner who knows most of the story up front—is that I never know when a character will alter my novel. This happened in Portrait of a Girl Running. I needed a marginal character as a catalyst for added tension; just a supporting player, mind you. His name is Mr. Myles. An unexpected thing happened though. When I set him in a scene with my protagonist, they had this amazing chemistry I hadn’t counted on. They could not be in the same scene together without them carving out an emotional wake. In fact, Myles became not only a major character in the novel (and the sequel) but he also refined the overall theme.

It happened again in Portrait of a Protégé. On a whim, a character named Marvelle* enters the story—and bam! she takes over!

I’ve been evaluating what these two intruding characters have in common.

Each one:

• has a dynamic personality
• engages with the protagonist in a battle of wills
• ultimately has the protagonist’s best interest at heart
• is considerably older than the protagonist
• is based—at least partially—on a real person I have known.

I wonder how much this last factor contributes to their strength—that is, to my ability to truly bring them to life in such a profound way.

I’m curious—whether you’re a pantser or an outliner—Do you have characters that enter your story in an unexpected way? Do they refine, or even redefine your theme? Are any of your characters based on someone you have personally known?

*aka, my inner critic

Cover Art?

Okay, this is another cross-blogging post (from my Unsupervised & at Large blog), but it does have something to do with my novel, Story for a Shipwright. I just finished this painting*, Moorings, as a possible cover design element—you know, in case I exhaust every agent in the universe and resort to self-publishing. It puts me in mind of a scene from the story, where shipwright Sam Wesley is sitting in the local diner, looking out over the harbor on Sunday morning…

"It wasn’t truly the best seat, but the corner booth, partially overlooking the harbor and a few lobster boats suited me fine. While Billy perused his options, my attention wandered to the boats in the harbor—many of them were out for the day baiting traps, which is all they’re allowed on Sundays, from June through August. I thought about how consistent lobstermen are—they seem to recognize no distinction of day or season, heat or cold, rain or shine. Glancing around the diner, at old lobster traps hung from the ceiling, and picturesque scenes behind glass, I chuckled at how we who live here take their trade for granted. Funny, how tourists romanticize the industry, carrying it home in calendars or placemats, rarely appreciating the sweat that goes into the lobster on their plate."


*based on an image by photographer, Doug Wood, titled, stonington, sunday morning

Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award, Anyone?

So, Amazon.com and Penguin Group are once again presenting the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award in 2010. Has anyone entered in the past? Does anyone plan to enter this year?

Me? I did last year. It was my introduction to fellow writers, where I first received a critique of a small portion of my work through the affiliated CreateSpace preview gallery. It was a wild and wooly adventure. And the Forum over there was a whole ‘nother experience!

This year? I’m thinking about it…the rules don’t prohibit querying in the meantime, and (don’t call me a pessimist, but) it’s unlikely I’ll acquire an agent in the first few months.

The big change this year is that the 10,000 entries will be split evenly between "Young Adult Literature" (defined as general or genre-based fiction primarily enjoyed by readers age 12 to 17) and "General Fiction" (defined as general or genre-based literature primarily enjoyed by readers age 17 and older). And, they are accepting previously self-published novels! And, entry is free

Submissions are open from January 25, 2010 to February 7, 2010. The prize? A full publishing contract with Penguin and $15,000 payment is an advance against the royalties. I think last year it was $25,000. And, professional reviewers from Publishers Weekly will provide full-manuscript reviews for novels that go on to the semifinalist round in April.

Either way, it’s something to think about…

A Little Bit of Marlena

This last excerpt is 19-year-old Marlena’s account, relaying her personal experience at a hospital, with her new friend, Dave.

They told me I had to take off the clothes that Dr. Phelps gave me, and put on another little shirt that tied in the back. New people asked me questions, ones I had already answered. They also stuck things in my mouth, listened to my heart, and hit my knee. Mostly they only annoyed me, but then they wanted to poke me with a sharp needle.

I jumped off the table and shouted, “No! I’m leaving right now!” Then I told Dave to take me to my people.

He took my hand and stepped between me and the others.

“Marlena,” he said in a gentle voice, “you don’t have anyone yet. These people don’t want to hurt you, they simply need to make sure your blood is healthy, and they can’t let you leave until they make sure you’re completely well.”

I took a deep breath and didn’t shout this time. I folded my arms tighter. “I am perfectly well. How would you like it if I poked all of you with a sharp stick?” I didn’t take my eyes off them, and I didn’t budge.

Dave made the others leave for a minute and then took my hand again.

“Marlena, this is something they have to do. It won’t hurt too bad, I promise.”

I wanted to believe him. “Then I want you to do it to me. I know you’ll be gentle.”

“Okay.” He quickly he tied a piece of rubber around my arm. Then he rubbed a spot with something cold. “Ready?”

I closed my eyes. “Yes.”

I cried into his shirt, not because it hurt, but because I didn’t have any people yet.

The Captain's Story—Told by Marlena the Peculiar

You'll notice this sample is significantly different from the last. Marlena is the storyteller, conveying it in third person POV. The voice is formal, heavily influenced by Daniel Defoe's Robinson Crusoe, which is Marlena’s favorite novel.
The characters—the Captain, a young Venezuelan woman, and a Black slave—are shipwrecked on an otherwise uninhabited island, in the late 1860's.

One night, when a full moon broke through clouds, the Captain woke. He lay restless as a beam of light shone in upon him. Rather than idly torment himself, he went to the ledge overlooking the beach. The sparkling water faded in and out of the moonlight as clouds waltzed like bridal gauze.

Before long, he heard the rustling of Mrs. Lawson.

“Finally, a break in the rain.” She sat beside him. “Do you mind if I join you?”

The Captain glanced at her. Although he was enjoying his solitude, he would be hard pressed to find her an imposition. “Please, do.”

“Tell me Captain Wesley—”

“There is no need for formality. I am hardly a captain any longer.”

“William, then,” her voice lilted. “Tell me, what was it that woke you? The moon or your conscience?”

The Captain shot her a startled glance.

“Ah, the conscience,” she deduced. “The conscience is such a troublesome thing—sometimes it betrays you, condemning when it ought not, and sometimes it’s as lenient as an indulgent parent.”

Was she now reneging on her promise not to speak of his culpability regarding her husband’s death? Or, did she refer to something else?

“I have never been a man at ease with my conscience,” he said. “A calm conscience only serves complacency.”

“And the provoked conscience, a handy device to send men to war—to protect and provide for their families. Tell me, what verdict does it offer when family—when children—are left to fend for themselves?”

Her words grabbed at his heart, squeezing blood to his neck. “What do you imply? That it is better for a man to stand back and watch while others defend and provide for his family? That he should coddle them at any cost?”

“You misunderstand my intent. I mean no accusation against you.” She drew a solemn breath. “It is my own past that torments me.”

“Tell me, that I may gain some perspective.”

She turned to him incisively. “You want a woman’s perspective, but I shall give you a child’s.” Her eyes drifted toward the beach. “I was only ten when the caudillo came and took our plantation. I lost my father, brothers and uncles to the civil insurrections of those feudal lords. There was no one left to fend for me.” Her voice tapered, and her next words seemed to come with hesitation. “Had I not been a beautiful little girl, I would still be working the fields of those outlaws, used up like so many of the girls who had come of age.”

The Captain stared at her, aghast.

“Don’t be appalled,” she said. “Things took a turn for the better when I was thirteen. A fine, rich gentleman, visiting Venezuelan plantations noticed me, and it was he who essentially purchased me. He clothed me in the finest French linens and laces, placed me at his table and fed me exotic delicacies, and he educated me at the best institutions. Yes, he took my virginity, but my innocence was already lost. At least he had the decency to marry me.”

Neither spoke for a moment.

“And Tomas?” he asked.

“He acquired Tomas three years earlier, bestowing upon him many of the same privileges.”

“You make your husband out to be quite the philanthropist.”

She laughed. “Oh yes, he loved to conceal his shrewdness behind humanitarian deeds—that was the guise for luring his investors. That and his charisma—why, even you succumbed to it—to the gold, to the esteem.”

The Captain could not refute her words.

She continued, “As for me, I was merely an investment, as good as a title deed to my inheritance, once the Federalists took control again. A stock in commodities. With his beautiful wife at his right hand and imposing, fiercely loyal Tomas at his left, who would contend with him?”

“Did you love him?”

“I suppose I loved him as much as he did me.”

“He didn’t love you—he used you.”

“And there you have it, William. Now can you see?” she glanced at him. “I am left pondering what a person is willing to trade for security—no matter if that security is in the form of esteem, a home, gold, or…” she looked directly at the Captain, waiting for their eyes to meet, “…or love.”

While I'm Waiting...

I thought I’d post three samples of Story for a Shipwright. Three samples, because (as a handful of you already know), there are primarily three voices to this story. Samuel’s, Marlena the Storyteller, and Marlena. For those who haven’t read any of my ‘literary’ work, and may be a little interested, I shall post one excerpt for the next three days.The trick of it is not giving away the storyline.

The following excerpt is Samuel's. He's a 32 year-old boatwright, struggling with family responsibilities:

That evening, quite a few guests socialized at the house, so I grabbed a quick sandwich and ate it out behind the boatshed by the old marine railway. We called it the ‘working’ side of the yard, where we hid away the Travelift and wintering boats so as not to ‘clutter up’ the view from the bed-and-breakfast. Its seclusion offered the illusion of privacy, a good place for quiet conversation, or silent meditation. We also yanked out the ‘moaning chair’ beside the back door, when some project had gone to crap—when I’d measured three times and it was still too short. Sometimes Derek and I’d hang out there when guests overran the house. Back in high school, we used to light up a joint every now and then and felt as if we could get away with anything when out of my mother’s sight. Tonight, I just wanted some solitude.

The summer solstice had approached, so it stayed light until around nine o’clock. A little later than that, Billy appeared with a six-pack. I was sure he intended the gesture to soften me up, and I had to admit, it did slightly temper my dread. We each drank our first beer in silence and I waited to see if the next four were mine. When he reached for his second and took a long gulp, I joined him and could feel the alcohol diluting my resentment. He merely stared off and seemed to have no agenda—not that I believed it for a minute, but at least he deferred the pace to me. I took another swig. “How are you enjoying your visit?”

“Good.”

Beside us, fallen over on its side and half-buried in weeds, a dilapidated pram blistered and splintered, long relegated to the worthless, like old anchors, buoys, and decaying lobster traps, now as much a part of the landscape as the boulder into which it was disintegrating.

Tipping my beer toward it, I directed Billy’s attention. “You remember that summer, when I was nine, when Dad helped us build that?”

“Yeah,” he said, pensively, “I remember…but it was Buck who helped us build it.”

“No, man, I distinctly remember Dad—he had on that red hat and a plaid shirt.”

“Didn’t say he wasn’t there…he was. Except, he was passed out in the corner. Remember? Buck was the one who taught us how to use the drawknife…’cause Dad cut himself and had to sit down.”

I vaguely recalled it…remembered how Dad didn’t get up from that chair for the rest of the day. Billy didn’t say anything more about it, only that it was Buck who’d taught us how to build a pram.

Research in 'The Bilge'

I was this close to thinking Story for a Shipwright was done. Problem was, I couldn’t quell that nagging little notion that the ending needed something more. Then a beta-reader confirmed it. So, like the good little progressive writer that I am, I began drafting out an extended ending, where I introduce a rather tense situation. To break it up a bit, I decided to have Samuel (the shipwright and narrator) engage in some boat work.

Now, this novel is not about building boats, so I haven’t gone all technical with it—in fact there are places where I think it could stand some expanded and authentic terminology. This, of course, requires more research. I do live in a state surrounded by water, but the likelihood of finding a boatyard engaged in launching a boat this time of year is, well, nil.

Of course there are all sorts of online encyclopedias out there, and I have downloaded volumes of information on nautical terminology and boatbuilding how-to’s. I also love pouring over our subscription to WoodenBoat magazine. And, they just happen to have an online forum for boat builder enthusiasts.

There were a number of forums on which I could have started a thread, but I stumbled down to the bottom of the list and found The Bilge. Honestly, I just love that word, and it seemed to be the catchall for things that don’t seem to fit 'Misc and Boat Related' (although I did end up posting there too).

In case you don’t know what a bilge is, here are two definitions that sum it up:
1.
a. either of the rounded areas that form the transition between the bottom and the sides on the exterior of a hull.
b. Also, bilges. an enclosed area at the bottom of a vessel where seepage collects.
2. Slang. foolish or worthless talk or ideas; nonsense.

As soon as I arrived, they politely informed me that I had probably posted in the wrong place. I felt like a schoolgirl walking into a seedy old dive amidst a bunch of salty, seafaring bilge rats looking up over their pint of brew at the new lad (due to the ambiguity of ‘jbchicoine,’ they though I was a guy).

“Real research is done ‘aboveboard’,” they informed me, as one of the other guys pulled out a chair.

“Awe, leave the lad alone—we should be flattered that he’s even asking our opinion,” he muttered.

All at once, they seemed to realize they had a new audience and the advice came pouring in like—well, like bilge water!

Once I collected enough information to get me started, I posted my rough draft and opened it up for embellishment:

I worked the railway winch, letting out the cable, inching it along the gentle incline as Derek and Mitch walked its length, out the back exit, toward the ramp. The cradle creaked and the cable groaned as the motor whined. Metal rollers screeched on the tracks where I hadn’t greased well enough, but it crept along, stuttering here and there. As soon as water lapped its keel, I took Derek’s place. I figured that if the whole thing were going to crash on its side, it might as well put me out of my misery. At the rate this day had been going, I half-expected it.

This is what I ended up with (still open to embellishment, if anyone cares to do so). I think it's way better:

I worked the railway windlass, releasing the cable, paying it out along the gentle decline as Derek and Mitch walked the Marjie B’s length, out the back doors, toward the ramp. I had coated the cable, chains, and pulleys so heavily in grease that they couldn't screech or groan if they had to. Only the trucks grumbled on the tracks, occasionally crunching bits of gravel as they crept the length of the rails with barely a stutter. Surprisingly, the motor purred without any more misbehavior. Once water lapped her keel, I took Derek’s place. I figured that if the whole thing were going to crash on its side, it might as well put me out of my misery. At the rate this day had been going, I half-expected it.

Here’s a well-expressed response I received from one of the guys, TerryLL:

Not bad, but still could stand some tweaking. The danger in spending so much time burnishing one paragraph is that it shines like a jewel against the less-polished background of the rest of the narrative. It's often the case that the first two or three chapters of a novel radiate brilliance, thence to trail off like a dying comet, finally flickering out in some contrived ending.

The key to a page-turner is consistency, a plausible story, compelling characters, and a driving narrative. As for structure, let terseness be your mantra; pray for brevity. Words are a precious commodity; hoard them.

Gotta wonder if he’s in the biz. To be honest, they’re all rather articulate—eloquent even—for a bunch of ‘bilge rats’ (their term, not mine).

For me, hanging out at The Bilge has been the next best thing to the boatyard.

Girl Running: To Revise or To Rewrite—That is the Question

Okay, I’m going ahead and putting it out there. This is just the first chapter of Girl Running.

I had some POV issues in the original draft, but given that the first chapter is a recollection, it was easy to correct, sticking with one character. The rest of the story vacillates between close 3rd and omniscient 3rd, something I’m really struggling with. I also have a genre conflict. It probably fits into Young Adult, but some rather adult issues arise. And of course there’s the word count…

Bear in mind that although I have revised the beginning in order for something to happen in the first pages, this is still a rough draft. (To be honest, I’m only calling it rough, in case any of you readers are thinking, “Wow, this is really rough…”) As my first serious attempt at a novel, I had much to learn. I have cut out a lot of the exposition, and deleted much of the explaining before and after the fact. I’m not saying I cut it all, but I sure would appreciate knowing how I’m coming across.

Also, if anyone enjoys playing sleuth: What do you gather about each character from what is supplied in this first chapter.

Honestly—does it hook you?

Here goes...

Chapter 1 (deleted)

Waiting & Working on Another Story

Well, I’m gearing up to send out some queries on Story for a Shipwright, hopefully by the end of the month. Feedback from beta-readers have been trickling in, with one manuscript still out there—the one I’m most looking forward to. (No pressure there, Laura).

In the meantime, I’m preoccupying myself with my first viable novel, Girl Running. I ‘completed’ it a year ago, and have learned a great deal since then. So, why not apply all that learning to what I still consider a good story with great potential. The biggest challenge will be trimming nearly 50,000 words off 150,000 to better fit the Young Adult genre. Maybe I’ll just call it Commercial Fiction, instead.

I couldn’t wait to see it in print, and bound a few copies. Perhaps I’ll even post a few pages…