Adventures in Reduxes, Step 1: Deconstruction

Hey, sweet readers.

Either we've known each other for awhile or we're planning on the sticking it out for the long haul, yes? So I might as well be honest with you. I need to tell you three things right now:

1. I'm a pantser, (which you might have known.)
2.  But I hate that about myself, (which you probably didn't know.)
3. I am LAZY. (which, if you've been paying attention at all, you definitely knew.)

So, what does a lazy pantser do when she wants to write with an outline but doesn't actually want to write an outline?

She writes a redux.

It makes perfect sense! You can just take a story you love, change some details to put it in a different setting, or a different universe, or add some aliens, or change someone's gender, and BAM! Awesome story! Outlined for you! Just write it! SO EASY.

Right?

So very very not even close to right.

I'm currently working on a Bible story redux and an Austen redux, and the first thing I'm learning is that the first step in any redux is perhaps the most counterintuitive -

Separate yourself from the story.

This was so, so tough. I'm doing this redux because I love the story. LOVE it. But in order to do this redux right, I had to first tear myself away from making gaga eyes at it so that I could completely critically rip that sucker apart.

These are all issues I'll be exploring in subsequent posts, but questions like:

• What was the original pacing of the story? How does it need to be changed for a contemporary reading audience?
• Where - and what - are the themes? 
• What did the settings, characters, and individual events symbolize and accomplish plot-wise? 
• Are there too many characters? Too few? Do I have to change any? How much? Why? 
• How do the character triumphs and flaws translate into my new setting and/or plot? Do I need to change any of those?
• How do the character relationships translate into my new setting/plot? Do I need to change any of those? 
• What am I trying to communicate with this story, and to what extent does the original story serve that purpose? What needs to be fundamentally the same, and what can I change without ruining that message? What must I change to get that message across to a contemporary audience?

Now that I'm typing this all out, I'm realizing that the question I should have been asking myself when I started these reduxes is not what I wanted to change about the original, and why, but what I could reasonably keep, and why. 

(The important part being WHY. I can't let flaws in the original story and/or how it translates to be an excuse for lazy writing. No deus ex machinas, telling instead of showing, or stock characters allowed.)


In other words? I thought writing a redux would be easier, but it's actually way, way, way harder.
I guess it's a good thing I love the story.


What about you, sweet readers? Have you had experiences with reduxes, either reading them, watching them (yay Clueless and Ten Things!) or writing them? Tell us in the comments!

Friday Obsessions: Yo-Yo Ma, Blogging Ahead, and Peeta's Bread

Happy Friday, sweet readers!  

It's actually been a pretty decent week! I mean, I'm still in the query trenches, but I didn't have to eat any trench rats this week (translation: nothing made me cry) so we're calling that a WIN.

In less pleasant news, my ankles are the size of my head.

The upshot is that I pretty much have to sit on the couch with my feet up at the end of the day. Which means my WiP did not suffer for word-count this week.  Another WIN.

Anyway. Enough about me. Let's get on with talking about my obsessions.
(I know, I know. Self-centered, etc. But it's my blog, you see?)


Everything I was obsessed with this week. 
Because I know you want to know. 

1. Yo-Yo Ma. Very little makes me emotional, music-wise. The things that most get to me are my MS's playlists (duh) and then artists like Yo-Yo Ma, who is an unquestionable MASTER in his field, and plays so beautifully.

His treatment of Bach's cello suites is absolutely astounding, and definitely the music I listen to when I need that weird mix of neutral, calming, and energizing, all at the same time.

But, you guys. There's MORE. Watch this video of him playing. He's an expert, yeah, but check out how HARD he works to nail a piece that he's played a kajillion times - a piece that he's famous for. You can just tell that he is trying so hard to get better - AS IF HE COULD GET BETTER - each and every time.

This is inspirational, y'all. I only hope that I work this hard at everything I write.


2. Blogging-in-Advance. Probably about a month from now I'll need to take a short hiatus (a few weeks at least) from blogging. I'd like to continue to post at least twice a week. Lord knows I have a pile of drafts sitting on my dashboard, but they need to be finished and shined up before I can post them.

Also: I'm looking for guest posts. Especially from those of you who are my favorites. You know who you are. Or even IDEAS for posts I should write. No, seriously. I'm obsessed with getting a backlog done so I can just hit "publish."

Thanks. *kiss kiss*

3. Peeta's bread.
So....my Wisconsin baking bestie Amanda Stein, who runs The Challah Blog, is just as in love with The Hunger Games as I am. (Not just as in love with PEETA, mind. No one loves Peeta as much as I do. Seriously. You may think you do, but you don't. Step off.) 

Anyway. She invented a recipe for Peeta's bread - you know - the kind he burned on purpose to give to Katniss so that he could save her life and then....*sigh*

Anyway. I made some. A couple batches, actually. Want a loaf? I will trade one for a guest blog.
 (*kiss kiss*)



And last but not least, Chrome. Chessie shamed me in a word war on Wednesday - like, cleaned the internet's floor with me, and it's DIRTY down there - so I figure might as well show something for it.

Here's a part of a scene from when Havah visits the Iver, who live underneath Chrome City.

An Iver answered the door. Her clothing looked like a sack - brown and loose and tied with a sort of makeshift belt. Her hair, wiry and dark, was cropped short, like all the peoples’ seemed to be down here. Men and women, the same. 

She peered out the door, and a sheen of sweat coated her brow. Havah grimaced. There was an odd, unclean sort of smell coming from inside the little room. Sweat, and something else. Something warm, something heavy.

“Here for a routine transgression check,” the bionGuard barked at the woman.

Havah swore the woman’s lower lip trembled. “Yes,” she said softly, “of course,” and stepped backward inside.

She stared down at the ground as she gestured toward the tiny, dimly-lit room. There was a single table, three chairs, and a wide white mat on a slightly elevated surface in the corner.

“Do you…live here?” Havah asked.

The woman gave her a strange look, then a curt nod. It seemed to Havah that she didn’t breathe. That she was holding a space open with her silence. Like she was waiting for something.

Just as a bionGuard looked at the woman and said, “Thank you, Iver 3476,” A strange, high sound pierced the air.

The bionguard stopped in its tracks, and the Iver woman clapped a hand over her mouth. Her body heaved with a silent sob.

The high sound crested through the air, again, longer. Coming from nowhere.

The bionguard looked at the Iver woman, then strode straight to her cupboard, snapped the lock off, and flung open the door.

Inside stood a wide-eyed child, the space under its nose glistening with something wet. Its eyes bugged wide, as it stared at the bionguard. The child reached up a chubby hand, strangely stuck to a spindly arm, as if to touch the bion’s sleek silver face.

The bionGuard crouched down to the child’s eye level. A blue light emanated from its eyes, sweeping down over the child’s body. A scan.

“Female,” the bion announced. The Iver woman let out a keening wail and fell to her knees on the concrete floor beside Havah.

Yikkkkkes. I'll tell you right now - this isn't going to end well for anyone.  (Thanks for reading!)

Okay, sweet readers. Your turn - What were YOU obsessed with this week?

Friday Obsessions: Pinterest, Anita Diamant, and Hamantaschen

Happy Friday, everyone! Another week of non-awesome progress on the WiP, which I'm attributing to the 6-week homestretch of hosting this (non-alien, allegedly adorable) parasitic creature. I'm sleeping a lot of hours, but not sleeping very WELL, which is totally destroying my "wake-up-at-4:00-every-morning-and-write-like-a-motherf---er" strategy for getting anything done, you know, EVER. (And let's not even talk about what a cruddy CP I've been.)

It's worth it, I know. It's cool. *weeps*

In other news, I'm calling this week "not bad at all" in the query trenches, which, of course, falls somewhere between "could be worse" and "only slightly anxious."

Let's just continue to keep our fingers, toes, and possibly eyes crossed for good luck for ONE, hmmmm? Thanks.

Yeah, okay. Let's get on with the show.
This week's obsessions are a pretty even balance between super-girly and super-Jewy. You've been warned.

Everything I was obsessed with this week.
Because I know you want to know.

1. Pinterest. Yeah, yeah, it's tired, I know. And to be fair, it's only a minor obsession. I made a board for Chrome, and it always makes me sigh with the pretty. I'm gonna go ahead and recommend it as an amazing tool for all you writers out there who are visual like me.

For example: I found these trees on Pinterest, which are now alllllll over Chrome City:


2. Anita Diamant. Okay. So, Anita Diamant wrote a bestselling book called THE RED TENT about 13 years ago that was a retelling, or fleshing-out, of a Bible story, which is kind of what I'm trying to do with Chrome (TRT is incredible, by the way, I highly recommend it for those of you who like waaaay historical fiction.) So I'm looking for any interviews, etc, in which she discusses her process. In this video, she basically tells me to...um...not worry about it?

"If I had known, really, what I was getting into, I wouldn't have had the nerve to do it, because if you mess with the Bible, you're gonna get in trouble."

SO! I heard it from the boss herself. Even though I know a little bit what I'm getting into here -  because, hey, day job - I'm gonna quit overthinking the whole "who will I offend?" aspect of writing Chrome, and just focus on what's important - tell the story. Awesome.



3. Hamantaschen.  It's that time of year - Purim, when Jews dress up in costumes, get a little more sloshed than normal, and eat weird fruit-filled triangular cookies. And they are awesome. I've got a tried-and-true recipe that I couldn't resist making "just one batch" of on Sunday. Or, you know, two. Whatever.



Last but not least - the WiP!  Only a couple thousand words this week, but it's not for lack of inspiration.

Here's an early scene between Havah and Orev, after Havah has left Chrome City.

“Why is this dome that color? It’s so…bright.”

Orev laughed again. “You mean, blue?”

Havah had seen blue - neon strip lights when one of the courtiers’ children had chosen it for a party, or when someone walked by a holotree and it glowed the cold color. But this dome was not cold. The color flowed from rich to light, and something about its still calm brought peace to her heart.

Well, it was either the blue, or the feel of this boy’s skin against hers. 

She reached up a finger and let it brush lightly against one of his. He did not flinch or pull away.

She nodded slowly. “If this is your blue.” 

“Yes, this is blue,” he said, still studying her curiously. “But this is no dome. This is the sky.”

Havah turned her head sideways, letting herself smile a little. “Now you’re telling stories. No one has seen the sky for a thousand years.”

“Then we all live in a story here. Because we work and sleep under it every day.”

Havah gasped. “How? After the wars…”

“The wars were a thousand years ago,” he said, his expression still puzzled. “The sky was scorched…”

“And the air was toxic,” Havah continued. “And there were lighting storms. Yet I am breathing this air and sitting under this…sky…safely.”

“Yes,” Orev smiled. “Yes. It is an amazing planet. With patience, it can heal itself. Amazingly, we survived. The domes helped. But now…we no longer need them. We have to be careful, but we can live under the sky now.”

They sat quietly for an immeasurable moment.

“You are from the City, then," Orev finally said.

“Chrome City. Yes.”

“And you have never been outside the dome?”

A Different Story

So, as I have more than sufficiently whined on this blog, I'm having a tough time getting into the voice of the third WiP.

Because I somehow felt that I hadn't whined ENOUGH here on the blog, I also sent a whining email to Chessie. She said she knew how I felt, because it had happened to her when she was writing a character that didn't think/talk/react like some of her others had. The characters that behaved more like her, she said, were easier to write. But those that didn't were more of a challenge.

Which is when it occurred to me - ONE's main character thought about and reacted to things in a way that felt really familiar to me.

This main character? Not so much.

When I realized this, the rest of it came to me in a rush:
Not only is the main character different - the entire book is different, you guys.

I know. This probably should have been obvious to me before I started trying to write the darn thing. After all, here are the things I  knew about this book even before I started drafting:

• The main-main character undergoes a sudden and dramatic life change right the beginning. She has a character arc, of course, but the events that make it up are kind of crazy and tumultuous as opposed to quiet and steady.
• But that's not all! The book actually has two main characters.
• The main love story is between the main character and a minor supporting character, and is tangential to the main plot.
• The story is futuristic sci-fi, and requires extensive worldbuilding.
• It has some really terrifying bits (at least to me) and people die. Kind of a lot of people.
• There's a resolution, but really no happy ending.
• No one would call this story fluff. Unless they REALLY weren't paying attention.

For the first  couple weeks I was (purportedly) working on this project, I acknowledged all the above things, but somehow didn't realize what they all meant:

This story is different, so it has to be written differently.

• It requires a lot of research, most of which cannot be accomplished by Googling stuff.
• It has two main characters whose goals dovetail about a quarter of the way through the story, despite wildly differing backgrounds and motivations.
• Which means the story must be (gasp!) outlined. (I have never outlined any aspect of any story before ever ever ever)
• I might have to do some writing exercises to really get into the head and the voices of these characters, and to make them distinct. (I have never done writing exercises. Thinking about writing exercises makes my skin crawl.)

I'm not used to doing any of this. I don't know how to do any of this. 

But that doesn't mean I'm going to quit. What does it mean? 

This story is different. So I have to learn to be a different writer.

Or, less dramatically, I have to accept that writing this story requires skills I haven't mastered yet, then buckle down and work my butt off to get those skills and totally rule at them.

It would be so, so easy to throw my hands up in the air, give up on CHROME, and write another story just like ONE. To let another main character with the same slightly sarcastic and vaguely optimistic first-person present voice tell another story about finding herself in some unexpected and beautiful way (and kissing a very cute boy quite a lot along the way.) 

Don't get me wrong - ONE is a good story. It's a strong voice. It has sweet characters. I love it deeply, and I believe in it with all my heart. 

But I didn't start writing so I could write the same story over and over again. 

 I don't want to get better at writing one way - I want each new book to make me a better writer in a different way.

And, what do you know - as soon as I really, truly accepted all this?
Writing got a little easier.

I don't know if it was me giving myself permission to let the suck flow, just like I did while drafting my very first manuscript (yep, the one before ONE.)
I don't know if it was finally accepting that I didn't know that much about how this MC would sound, and letting myself experiment with that.
I don't know if it was admitting that yes, I did need at least some semblance of an outline before tackling the writing (which I jotted down before I started.)

But this weekend, I nearly doubled CHROME's word count.
(Amidst a slog of a birthday party, a two-hour-long work thing, a morning of baking, and sundry childrearing and household responsibilities.)
Yep. Somehow, just accepting that this story-writing would be different - not harder, necessarily, but a completely new experience - let me just get the words out onto the screen again. It feels awesome.


Okay, sweet readers. Please share your stories of writing breakthroughs. How have your stories made you a better and better writer with each one?

Friday Obsessions: A Girl Who Reads, No Envy, No Fear, and Fountain Sodas

Happy Friday, sweet readers! It's been another week of lows sprinkled with a couple of sparkly little highs in the query trenches. As I say, it could always be worse.

Writing itself is going pretty slowly, I'm sad to say, and I'm looking for a voice-finding breakthrough to strike me this weekend. When I was drafting One, Merrin's voice just flowed, and this one....? I know it's in there somewhere, I just have to figure out how to get it from my brain into my heart, you know? My CPs have had some suggestions, and I'd love to hear yours- at this point, I'll try anything.

Anyway, that's the update. Without further ado...

Everything I was obsessed with this week.
Because I know you want to know.

1. Spoken Poet Ryan Grist on a Girl Who Reads. (Warning: Begins and ends with a couple of slightly objectionable words for body parts. WORTH IT.)

I don't normally go for spoken word poetry, but this is AMAZING. Might make me reconsider. I know it's annoying when people say "just watch the video," but...just watch it. (I've hit "replay" at least 30 times this week.) Yum.



2. Joshua Radin's No Envy, No Fear. Just another calming song for another tumultuous week. Plus, I like the idea - "No envy, no fear." A good goal for a writer, even if I'm far, far from it.




3. Fountain Soda. 
Oh, fountain soda. Pop from a can is one thing, but there's something about the way the fizzies diminish in just the right way and the ice so perfectly chills it that makes me OBSESSED with fountain soda. I don't know if it's a blame-the-fetus thing, but I'm craving it even more now. Especially the ice. Lots and lots of ice.



And now a bit from the WiP.  You might be able to tell what a struggle it's been...*shrugs.* I think I'm going to try some writing exercises this weekend (guh. I've never needed exercises) to get the juices flowing.

In the meantime, meet Princess Laila. She's Havah's big sister, and they're getting ready to walk the carpet into a club for Laila's eighteenth birthday extravaganza.

“Besides,” Laila said, “With as often as you sneak away, you should be wearing an EMP too.”

Havah snapped her head around to look out the window again before Laila could see the flood of red to her cheeks.

“Who are you seeing, anyway, when your bionguards lose you? What are you doing?”

Havah was quiet.

“It had better not be a boy. Mother would kill you.”

“What does Mother care about me and parties? Or boys, for that matter? If there were any. And what do you care? We all know you’re the one everyone’s watching.”

“Havah,” Laila’s voice became softer. “I may be the next Queen, but I’ll always need you.”

Havah turned back, blush gone, and smiled. She leaned in, reaching for Laila’s hand and threading their fingers together. “I know.” Then she wiggled her eyebrows, darted her face toward Laila’s, and smacked a big wet kiss on her cheek.

“Havah!” Laila screeched. She moved to swipe at her cheek but stopped her hand at the last moment, patting gently at it instead. “My paint!” She glared at Havah but didn’t pull her hand away.

Havah giggled. “You’re lovely, Lai. Paint or not, and you know it.”

Laila glared. “Princess Laila once we’re outside. Princess Havah.”

“Of course, LaiLai. Will you calm down? Let’s just have fun. Okay? Party time, birthday girl.”

Friday Obsessions: Imogen Heap, Pinterest, and Spiderman Trailer

Well, friends, it's been a tough week in the querying trenches. (Which, as my CPs know, is a serious understatement.) So, I'm just gonna pretend the trenches don't exist. Manuscript? What manuscript?

Please join me in going to my happy place, as I bring you....

Everything I was obsessed with this week.
Because I know you want to know.


1. Imogen Heap's "Hide and Seek"
So, someone suggested this song as a calming thing for me last week. If you just sit back, crank it up, and let the sounds wash over you, it's perfect for calm. But the lyrics are quite sad.
I realized that it fits perfectly with a certain sequence of scenes in the WiP, and so I've begun to associate it with that mood - that of a tragic inevitability. Awesome.



2. Pinterest
Not so much an obsession as a happy discovery at the outset of this WiP. When I write, I'm really inspired by visuals, and so Pinterest is AMAZING - You can pin All The Pretty Things up on one board! That you can access anywhere! It basically lets me paint the scenes of my WiP for reference any time, anywhere, and has already been invaluable.

(Check out my board for Chrome. Awesome.)

3. The Spiderman Trailer
I'm just psyched for this movie summer in general, but oh man oh man. Spiderman. The wit! The drama! ANDREW FREAKING GARFIELD. Ahem.

Just watch it. (Sorry. I can't find one without an annoying ad before it.)



Annnnnnd the WiP. I haven't done very much good work on it, so you know what that means. I need some tough love. If you can find it in your heart, leave some in the comments. Thanks. <3

(Meet Sarra. She's one of the Iver - the slave class that lives underground.)

“Nedda,” Sarra breathed, “Thank you.”

Nedda smiled wearily, and led her in to the tiny room, that held twenty small girls. They huddled around bowls that fit in the palms of their hands, focused on getting every last morsel into their mouths. One of the littlest ones, Brona, who must have been about four years old now, squealed, jumped up, and threw her arms around Sarra’s waist. Nedda caught her by the arm, leaned down. “Shah, Bron. We don’t want anyone to hear.”

The girl looked down, blinking back tears. Sarra crouched down to her eye level, feeling soft and full of love for the first time in days. Weeks, maybe. She kissed each of Brona’s cheeks and hugged her tight. The girl’s body relaxed against her, then clung to her as she slung her arms around Sarra’s neck.

Sarra couldn’t deny the rush of pleasure the girl’s excitement to see her brought. The poor sweetheart had lived her entire life in the cold, cramped quarters, and if she could still find warmth in her heart, Sarra wasn't about to deny her that. She’d never shush one of the little ones for showing love. 
Sometimes, she thought that love for each other was all the Iver had left. Especially these girls, who held the Ivers’ future in their hands, though their existence was a crime.

Friday Obsessions: Rainbow Sponge Lady, Bourekas, and NEW WORDS

Okay, everyone. I've learned my lesson: I should never, ever, EVER stop writing. This week: the story of how I got started again. (It's short, I promise.)


But first (and segueing into the story!) 
Everything I was obsessed with this week. 
Because I know you want to know.


1. The Rainbow Sponge Lady.
If you're having kind of a rough morning, just....watch. Just watch her. Trust me.




2. Bourekas.
Here's another "the last thing I want to do is cook because CAN'T YOU SEE I'M WRITING" recipe. Get yourself some frozen puff pastry dough. Unroll it. Cut it into squares with a pizza cutter. Mix up some shredded cheese, egg, and garlic. Plop it in the middle, fold it over, and bake them at 350 for 25 minutes. Eat one and freeze the rest. When your husband/kids/roommate goes looking for food, tell them to get their noses the hell out of your monitor and microwave themselves some of these. You're DONE.


3. The New Chrome Playlist.
So, here's where the story starts. You guys gave me some amazing advice about getting out of my between-projects slump on Wednesday. The words that most resonated with me were, "Just Do It."
My CP Chessie has some sort of sixth sense about my writing self, and so she sent me an email pep-talking me. When that didn't work, she pulled out the tough love in a comment on that post pushing me to write. But the final push off the cliff was when she actually spent time MAKING A PLAYLIST FOR Chrome. This involved not only her valuable music-combining skills, but also an informal questionnaire about the book's mood and also READING THE BIBLE. And, if the playlist in itself wasn't amazing, the guilt alone would have pushed me to write.
Luckily, the playlist Chessie made is spot-on perfect and totally kicks butt. Embedded below -the first seven songs are ones she pulled.

Aaaaaaand last but not least. A little snip of the first thousand words I wrote for Chrome. Meet Havah and Jarrod. Havah's a princess and Jarrod's a douchebag.


Havah drew back, stood tall, and cleared her throat. “My guards will be looking for me.”

“Let them search," he said. "Give those stupid blue lights something to do besides menace all the boys out there trying to touch you.”

Havah ducked under Jarrod’s arm again, and reached for the door, wrapping her fingers around the handle one by one. His hand covered hers, and an unsettling wave of warmth moved through her. She looked him straight in the eye, knowing the chill their icy blue brought to her body would steady her.

“There are others who would have me, Jarrod.” But no others I want. She blinked back tears.

“Havah, my own. Please.”

“I am no one’s own.” She spoke loud and clear now. “And you are boring me.”

The Between-Projects Slump.

I've written about the inital-query freefall before. What happens when you've been querying for nine days, and the form rejections start to roll in? Well, at least for me, my self confidence does this:



Yep. BIG nosedive. 

I thought my MS was good.
My CPs thought it was good (didn't they?)

But agents don't want it.

What was I thinking?
How could I have thought this MS would EVER work?
Will I ever be published?
Can I even call myself a writer anymore???

Yes, I am fully aware of how irrational this all is. Which is why I normally have a backup plan:


The Work In Progress.

Even though working on something new can't give an immediate rush to counter the initial crash of queries denied (and those awful red frowny faces Query Tracker gives you when you record them, what's UP with that?) a new project at least gives us a handlebar to clutch onto as our self confidence slowly inches back up.


You write some snappy dialogue - Wooo!
Anchored down some more plot points - You are a GENIUS.
That scenery description? - NAILED IT.
Wow, that kiss was incredible - *happy dance*




The rewards of working on that WiP are small, but they come at regular intervals.
Best of all, if it's a second, third, or tenth MS that you're working on, you've had the first draft high before. You can see the top of that goshdarn rollercoaster, and you know gazing out from the peak feels absolutely amazing. Your motivation to get there is HIGH.

This time around I know what the rollercoaster looks like. I have a super-shiny idea for my newest project, and I even know most of the plot points and a bit about the characters.

So, what's the problem?

For some reason, I can't make myself get in the seat. Can't write a word.

Anyone ever been in this position? How did you kick yourself in the bottom to tackle that blinking cursor?
My CPs are telling me to write something fun. (In case you need a translation, that means "a kissing scene.")
That sounds mildly appealing...I guess. *sigh*

HELP!!!!