Hopelessly Lost

 As most of you know, I'm a plotter who works from a sketchy outline when I compose my manuscripts. None of this writing out of sequence stuff or coming up with a plot twist willy-nilly for me. I like to know where I'm going and how to get there. Some surprises might show up along the way, or the plot line might alter a bit during the writing phase, but I usually have a good idea of the how the story will progress before I start. 

Not so, this time around. 

I wrote the outline and sent it to my writing buddy, who shot it down, starting with the first graph. There were still parts of it that were good, so I took her critique to heart and began again, ironing out the problems. I got the first part of it written, and then looked at my outline again to see where the path was to go from here. 

It was like I was reading a totally different story. Nothing about the manuscript matched any of the outline, except for the name of the hero and the fact he began the story wearing an eye patch as a disguise. 

So, I've spent the last week splashing around in the pool on a floatie, staring at the ceiling and trying out various scenarios in my head. Usually, this works and I come away from my physical therapy sessions with hips that don't ache and a solid idea for the next scene. This past week, though, all I've come away with are good hips. 

How do I get my H/H out of the south with a runaway slave and a belligerent horse? How do they get to participate in hanky-panky while hiding said runaway? What mode of transportation will work? Will the hero give up in disgust and ride off into the sunset on the belligerent horse without a backward glance? 

I'll keep staring at the ceiling until the answers emerge. Or maybe I'll break down and write a new outline. That would definitely make life easier. 

Logistically Speaking

 Since I began my writing journey, one thing has become clear to me. I'm a linear thinker. I like working from an outline, even a vague one, since it keeps me pointed in the right direction. While I admire the writers who can write scenes out of sequence and fit them all together later, it's not a talent I'm blessed with. 

Long before I discovered Blake Snyder's beat sheet, I did write a story that wasn't well thought out. I had to keep revising the story line and when I was reading the final draft, I realized I'd put the Christmas celebration ahead of Thanksgiving! That's when I stopped freewheeling it. 

But my logistical nightmares don't stop with my plot ideas. Take yesterday, for instance. I needed to get gas, but as I was getting ready, I ran out of moisturizer. Fortunately, the grocery where I buy my face cream is in the same parking lot as the gas station, so I cleverly thought I'd combine both on my way home from the gym. But as I got halfway down the road, my growling stomach reminded me I hadn't eaten anything yet that morning. Since working out on an empty stomach only means I'll start getting dizzy, I decided to change things around and go to the grocery and get gas before I headed to the gym, since there was a fast-food place there as well. My plan was firmly in place, and I was combining my trips and saving on fuel and time. Good on me. 

But the line for the fast food place was wrapped twice around the building. Changing my plans on the fly yet again, I gassed up and then went into the grocery. I am expecting company next week, so I needed to get a few things for that in addition to my moisturizer. Oh, and then Klondike had their new Reese's peanut butter cup Klondikes in stock and in front of my face. To be fair, the frozen dessert aisle is a mere hop and skip from the aisle where the creams and shampoos are. While I was in the ice cream aisle, I searched for and found an elusive flavor that comes and goes from the aisles. I looked at my shopping cart and realized there was no way I could subject that ice cream to a 45-minute stay in a hot car while I exercised. So my plans for the gym were scratched. I grabbed a bag of Cheetos to eat on my way back home with my ice cream. 

See what I mean? This trip was me putting Christmas before Thanksgiving again. I suck at on-the-fly logistics. Or maybe it was just the ice cream talking. 

Winging It

Last week I wrote about how things that look good on paper don't always cut the mustard when it comes to putting it all together. That's what's happening with my current work in progress (WIP. ) I followed my usual formula for when I get an idea–pull out the Blake Snyder beat sheet and fill it in. I mapped out a set up, an inciting incident, a midpoint, dark night of the soul moment, and a satisfying ending. It looked really good on paper.

Then I began to write the story. The basic story line took place on a riverboat leisurely strolling down the Mississippi toward New Orleans. And that's where the wheels, or paddles, in this case, began to come off the story. The boat was too confining for the story line. So I took a deep breath and tossed hero and heroine overboard. And while I was at it, I tossed the beat sheet overboard as well.

So where does that put me? Up the creek without a paddle, so to speak. I'm totally flying by the seat of my pants this time. No beat sheet allowed. And I'm finding something about this new approach that I really like. Many of you know I'm an obsessive jigsaw player. I've given up on the real ones, but the Magic Jigsaw Puzzle app and I spend a lot of time together. I am becoming quite adept at piecing things together quickly. The same is happening with my story. I've got my damp hero and heroine walking now instead of being on board, and they come upon a fort. It happens to be a Union fort, constructed in 1862. My hero was a Union spy who used to deliver intelligence to the fort, so they're granted access without question. I've got entire scenes from when they were aboard ship that I've abandoned, but there are bits and pieces of those scenes that, with a little tweaking, work well in the new story line. Just like my jigsaw puzzles, it's becoming less and less individual pieces with sharp edges, and is morphing into a discernible picture.

I never thought I'd be one to work by the seat of my pants. I know plenty of great writers who are pantsers, but writing historicals demands that research be done to make the story accurate. But this seems to be working for me for this story, anyway.

I recall what an early mentor told me when I was doing research for a story that's yet to be written. I asked her when I should stop doing the research, which was overwhelming me. She asked if I had a story to write or not. When I nodded, she said, "Write the damn story then. You'll know what research you'll need to add to the story once the story's on paper."

Sage advice. And that's what I'm doing. I'm writing the damn story.

Living Life–Pantser Style

Most writers are aware there are two basic approaches to creating a manuscript–people who plot the story out, either by a detailed outline or a simple listing of the plot points (plotters)
or those who don't have a clue when they sit down at the computer where their story is going to go and prefer to fly by the seat of their pants. (pantsers)

In writing, I'm a loose plotter. I'll list the major plot points, get them in order according to Blake Snyder's Save The Cat. Then, I'll write up a synopsis in advance of the story, to see if there's enough story line for a full-length novel. Only then do I dive into the writing of the book.

However, in life, I'm a bit more of a pantser. My sister and I have our house on the market and have been searching for a new area in which to live. We go back and forth over whether we want to buy or rent, if we want to move to a warmer climate, or if we want a condo or a house. Then, you throw in cluster homes and 55-plus communities, and each day is a new adventure.

My California friends were excited for a brief moment when my sister came back from a week's vacation with a book of apartments for rent in southern California. Nice idea, but way too pricey for this girl. The bowling alley house in a nearby town was quite nice, but got snapped up by a buyer before we got our home sold. And the condo in town sold before we could even determine where our furniture might go. Now, we have plans to take a short vacation to Nashville in November. Maybe I'll end up being a neighbor to Reba McIntire. And I can go to the Grand Old Opry every Friday night. Might be fun.

You see what I mean about being a pantser in life? It kinda keeps things interesting.

But my quest for a new home doesn't overshadow my work. I've got a giveaway going on Goodreads, for two autographed copies of Blame It On The Brontes. And two of my books, The Duplicitous Debutante and Expressly Yours, Samantha have made it into the final round of voting on The Romance Reviews's site. If you click on any of the buttons on the right, you'll be directed to their sites. You'll need to be logged in to vote on The Romance Review site, but don't let that stop you. I need every vote I can get.

House Hunting

I seem to be spending an inordinate amount of time on various realtor sites these days, trying to cull through the opportunities available to us as my sister and I search for our perfect home. On Friday, we spent the entire day running from one to the next. We're getting smarter in our attempts now. Instead of just writing down the address and price before we head out, we take the time to look at the pictures and make up a list of pros and cons for each. It's really helped us in the search, as we were able to eliminate four of the six we drove by today.

Which made me think of writing. Of putting together a manuscript from start to finish, of having a plot that works and is strong enough for a 70,000 word novel. I'd like to be a total pantser and just go where my muse leads me, but it makes me nervous if I don't know where I'm headed, and I don't have the time to explore dead ends, to have to tear off the last half of the book and do it again. But I also am not quite on the opposite end of the spectrum, either. I don't do outlines, but I do write out my plot points from start to finish, to see if there's enough story and if it's strong enough. I weigh the pros and cons of the story before I get too far into it. I guess you could say I do a drive-by of the story.

If I like the plot points, I'll usually go one step further and write a synopsis for the entire story. I'm not saying I stay true to the synopsis once I get going on the book, but it helps me see clearly where I'm headed and how to get there. It helps me fall in love with the story line and the characters. We're not at this stage yet in our house-hunting. We can't afford to fall in love with a house until we get a contract on ours.

Like books, there are millions of houses out there, all for sale and begging to be picked. Each has its strong points (usually) and each has some drawbacks. But, if the house is pretty enough, has good bones, and gives us at least most of what we want, we'll offer to buy it. Books are all begging to be picked, too. So they'd better have pretty covers and good bones beneath the cover. And if they deliver the message we were looking for, so much the better.

A Widow's Salvation is available for pre-orders now, and will be released on September 7, 2015. It has a pretty cover and I hope you'll agree it has good bones beneath the cover. Here's a snippet from the book:

A little more than an hour later, he arrived at Central Park. He rode for a while on the bridle paths, which were the best way to take in the park, but he wanted to get off his horse for a bit and walk. He spied a stable a few steps off the bridle path and entered the facility.
The man in charge saluted him, and Elijah suppressed a grimace. There was no getting away from the war.
“I want to take a walk through the park for a while. Can you stable my horse for an hour or so?”
“Happy to, Colonel. Enjoy your afternoon.”
Elijah set off on foot. He had an interest in bridges and wanted to see the Glade Bridge. It had been under construction on his previous visit, and the fact it was made from locally quarried sandstone enhanced its appeal to him. The design was as lovely as he’d imagined it to be, since it blended with the landscape rather than protruded from it. He spent a few minutes admiring the bridge from several angles, then moved on to the Bethesda Terrace, which was positioned in front of the fountain and the lake.
Elijah took his time descending the staircase, running his hands over the stone carvings of animals and birds, which adorned the banisters. Such attention to detail was part of what made the park so special, a jewel big enough for the entire city to enjoy. He inhaled a deep breath and stretched his back, feeling alive for the first time in a long time. There were other things going on than the ghastly war, a fact he had forgotten. He glanced up at the clear blue sky and then shifted his gaze to the vast lake. The city fathers had been so forward-thinking when they’d taken possession of a swamp in the middle of the city, upon which no buildings of any size could be erected, and turned it into a huge park and lake. Central Park would be a showpiece for the city for decades to come, especially after it was completed. Why had it taken him a year to return? To appreciate its beauty?
Because he’d been busy trying to save the lives of the brave soldiers who had answered the call for service. Now, thanks to a woman named Pepper Brown, he was trying to save his own life. For the first years after Elisabeth died, he’d wanted to join her, and nearly worked himself to death as a result. He no longer wanted that fate, and he was now taking the first steps toward a future without her. He walked toward the fountain and the lake beyond.
The laughter of children made its way to his ears. He scanned the crowd. So many children, so many people. This had been a foolhardy mission on his part. If he was going to take the time to escape the hospital and meet Pepper in a park, he should make certain to set it up with her first and to have a clear plan. It was getting late, and he needed to return to the stable, pick up his horse, and ride back to the Bronx before dark.
The sea of humanity parted just then, and Elijah spied the one person he’d been searching for. Pepper, surrounded by her children, glanced up from them at the same time his gaze found her. Her lips curved in an even wider smile, and she waved.

The Bronx could wait awhile longer. 

Buy Link: http://amzn.to/1DZipEE

Intl Link: myBook.to/AWidowsSalvation