First Drafts

It's late January, and in Ohio, that usually means snow is covering the ground and black ice is waiting to trip you up at every turn. But it's been an unusual winter so far and I'm loving still having a green front yard. Not a pretty green yard, but one with good bones. Kind of reminds me of a flash first draft.

Allow me to explain my logic. A first draft, at least my first drafts, are a loosey-goosey compilation of scenes that may or may not fit together. It's definitely not pretty, just bare bones. Kind of like my  yard in winter. Where are the flowers? The nice stone edging marking the beds where the crocuses will rise out of the snow in March? The yard art that shows my personality, my style?

All that happens later. After I finish the first draft, and see that I actually do have a story to tell and that there's a happy ever after ending to it, I go back to the beginning and start adding in the flowers,  the roses with their musky smell, the heady strong scent of the lilies and the sweet-smelling hyacinths.

I'm working through the second draft of my new historical, which is very dear to my heart, since it's based on family lore. My uncle and I have had many conversations about what could have happened and how, and his ideas are very much in play with this story. I'm adding in the color, the details, to the story now, making room for those scenes I was in too much of a hurry to write during the first draft and smoothing out some of my transitions. Once I finish the slightly more polished second draft, I'll go back to the beginning and start again, adding in the little details that elevate a manuscript to a published work. 

I expect to be working on this story, tentatively called Dance With Destiny, until March or so. I expect, at some time during the long days of February, to have my yard covered with snow, and black ice will make walking hazardous. I hope to not get buried in it, like my friend in the DC area last week, but this is Ohio and this lovely weather can't last.

At least I know I have lots to do, many revisions to make before this manuscript will be ready for publication. I will load up my house with food, and laugh at the weather. I will work hard, and maybe, just maybe, by the time the crocuses poke their heads through the snow, I will have a polished manuscript that both my uncle and I can be proud of.

A Different Perspective

For weeks now, I’ve been sleeping on the wrong side of the bed.  Not that, in my case, there’s any wrong side, since I sleep alone and both sides are technically mine. But, with my hip surgery, it made more sense to climb in from the left side of the bed rather than the right, which is my normal preference.

Coming at this from the wrong side has forced me to look at things a bit differently. I can see the clock clearer, but the bathroom is a few extra feet away. The dog seems to find my slippers more on the left side than the right, and loves to stick her nose in them and wander off to other parts of the room with them. I’m so right-hand dominant that it’s hard for me to reach up with my left hand and turn off the light, or to grab my glasses from the nightstand. I can’t flip onto my side as easily as I can when I could grasp the mattress, so I’ve had to come up with some creative ways to turn my body.

As I was laying in bed this morning, listening to the coffee pot come to life in the kitchen, it struck me that, even though some things are different, there’s a lot of similarity to the two sides of the bed. The pillows are the same, the bedding is equally warm on both sides, but yet things feel different. When I write my characters and try to find unique voices for each one, I sometimes struggle with getting the male POV down and in a way a male would say and do things. His reaction and solution to the situation I’ve put him into may be the same as the female POV, but they come at it from two different directions to achieve the same goal. Kind of like me trying to turn onto my side.

As I begin my next story, maybe I need to spend more time on the other side of the bed again. Time to rearrange the furniture.

The Quiet House

I have a line in my upcoming book, The Forgotten Debutante, where Saffron tells Zeke he must be quiet as a church mouse on Sunday. Well, it's Sunday and my house is quiet. I am once again flying solo for the winter. My sister, who has taken such good care of me these past months, is taking a well-deserved reprieve. For three months, while I'm slogging through the snow and cold of an Ohio winter, she will be frolicking in the sun.

It's going to take me a while to settle in to my new routine. Because of my health issues, I haven't been able to sit at my desk for over a month. But, I've got projects galore lined up to work on and, with any luck, can limit the amount of time I have to be out of the house, dealing with the elements.

First on my agenda is to finish up the edits on the final book in my Cotillion series, which shouldn't take more than a week longer. Then, I'm going to query several places about my contemporary, and then dive back into the new historical I'm working on, which I left at the flash first draft stage. If I can accomplish all that in the month of February, I'll maybe not notice how quiet the house is, or how cold it is outside. There will be contests to judge, RITA books to read, cell phone to buy, and blogs to write. Before I know it, spring will be here. Fingers crossed that we don't get hit too hard with the icy grip of winter this year.

And maybe, if I can position things right, I can join Sis next year so I can avoid the worst of Ohio's weather. But for now, it's hunker down time. My dog, Mary, will keep me company while I work and get my career back on track. The final book in the series is nearly ready to be released, for which I'll mount a marketing campaign, starting with a cover reveal here as soon as I can show it to folks. And hopefully, my contemporary side will find a home.

How will you make it through the winter? Let me in on your secrets.

This Is It!

For months now, I've been anxious, eager, both uncertain and excited about what the future holds at

the same time. For three years now, every six months, I had to meet a deadline. It helped me focus, figure out my timeline and marketing strategy. Along the way, I've honed my craft, although my editor still has to remind me to avoid duplicating myself, and to be consistent in my message–things I should have learned by now.

People have asked me how I'll feel once the final book is off to the printer. The best answer I could come up with until now is "I don't know, since it hasn't happened yet, but I expect it'll be like becoming an empty-nester."

Yesterday, I was asked to pick the art for my final cover and it finally sunk in that This Is It. The final one in the series. It doesn't matter that I'll use some of the secondary characters in off-shoot books, or that I have many other books ratting around in my head, just waiting for the opportunity to break through when I'm not planning on it. There will never be another Cotillion Ball Series,
and there will never be another family like the Fitzpatricks. I've felt like an honored guest at their table each week and have rejoiced and cried with them during their struggles, loves and losses.

So, I picked the cover art and received a satisfying shiver of excitement with my choice. The farewell tour will be fun to get through, since I love both Saffron and Zeke, and my favorite of the brothers, Halwyn, plays a prominent role in her story as well.

And, as for a farewell tour, I seem to recall that at one time or another, Sher, Madonna, Tina Turner and Celine Dion all announced they were doing a farewell tour and they're still grabbing the spotlight. I fully intend to follow suit. Just need a long black wig now.

Oh, The Drama

 One of my chapter mates has a very clever tag line about her novels. Abbie Roads always gives her hero and heroine a happy ending… after torturing them for three hundred pages.

As writers, we are taught to pile on the drama. It's okay to have your hero and heroine bask in the glow of their new relationship, but not for long. Just when things are going along well, it's time to throw a monkey wrench into the satisfied smirks of your characters. 

Last week was a case of art imitating life for me. My hip was doing well. I even went so far as to proclaim it didn't hurt at all, unheard of after a year of constant pain. My brother came to visit for two weeks, sharing the gift of his time with us.  My edits came in for the final book in the Cotillion Ball Series, and they aren't bad. I'd even go so far as to say I had a smirk on my face. Then, the monkey wrench came in. I developed a DVT, since I didn't take the right dosage of aspirin following my surgery, and ended up, yet again, in the hospital. 

I'm home once more, and will probably be on blood thinners for the rest of my life. If there's an easy way to do things, what fun would that be? As Abbie says, I need to be tortured for 300 pages, in order to fully appreciate my happy ever after. 

My brother took off this morning to head back to CA. The edits are patiently waiting for my head to clear enough to deal with them. My hip still doesn't hurt, although my calf muscle is still quite sore. Life is getting back to normal. Or as normal as it gets around here. 

Happy New Year, everyone. Let's hope for brighter days ahead.