TWISTED MAGIC and Writing Retreats

First things first, if you preordered TWISTED MAGIC, you’ll have gotten a notice that I’ve delayed the release. I know, I know – yet again. (Well, first time for this book, but I really thought I’d given myself enough time.) The new release date is November 28. That should give me plenty of breathing room. (Famous last words!) Seriously, I am at midpoint and on the downhill run. I just knew I couldn’t have it completely done by October 26 (two weeks away!), which was the upload drop-dead date.

Apologies. I know you all are waiting. But it’s going to be awesome!

More on topic: this week’s subject at the SFF Seven is writing retreats. We’re asking each other if they work for us and, if so, in what way?
I’m pretty sure I suggested this topic because this continues to be a conundrum for me. I love the IDEA of writing retreats. When I see writer friends posting about being on retreats, I am invariably envious. I want to go! I want to be there, with the friends, in the pretty places, thinking and talking about writing all day.
In truth, I have gone on very few writing retreats. The only one I can think of in recent years is when I went to Kauai almost a year ago and stayed in the gorgeous beachfront home of a friend along with three other writing companions. It was a fabulous group and we did have wonderful conversations.
I got very little written.
What I think it comes down to for me is that I’m fortunate enough to have a serene home life which is entirely built around enabling me to write as productively as possible. For many people, it seems that going on retreat gives them time and quiet away from the demands of home. For me? Being around people at a retreat is considerably “noisier” than my daily life.
So, I’ve come to face that, for me, writing “retreats” are truly excursions. They aren’t time away; they’re time into.
That’s not necessarily a bad thing. As KAK noted on Monday, there can be other reasons to go. But I have to realize I’m not going to be maximizing wordcount.

You’re Not Alone: Writing with Others

Our topic at the SFF Seven this week is: writing partners and accountabilibuddies. Those people we don’t write with, as in we’re not collaborating, but the people we write alongside. Simultaneously or not. In tandem. In company.

See, the thing is, writing is by nature a solitary activity. Unless you’re collaborating with someone, writing comes down to the writer and the words. For many writers, however – it’s certainly true for me – that silence and uninterrupted time to concentrate on story flow is key to getting the stories written. It can be isolating, even lonely.

But, it doesn’t have to be! There are lots of ways to foster a sense of camaraderie without violating the fortress of solitude we need to be focused. I often co-work with Darynda Jones, for example. We “meet” on Zoom, minimize the screen and mute for one-hour sprints. Then we break, chat, compare progress and angst, then go again. It’s a great way to work together, while being separately in our writing studios, 200 miles apart.

I’m also super gratified to see writers gathering in the #laying-bricks channel of my mentoring and coaching Discord, Jeffe’s Closet. People asked for a place to post that they’re settling in to write, to enjoy the community and positive accountability of other people doing the same. The “laying bricks” aspect refers to one of my favorite analogies for writing novels: that it’s a process of laying bricks, day after day, patiently progressing. I love popping in and seeing everyone getting their words on for the day.

We’re not alone.

Jeffe’s 3 Principles for Crafting a Beginning

This week at the SFF Seven, we’re talking about beginnings and our principles for crafting them.

But first, I want to tell you all a little story.

A few years back, I was involved in a local writers group where, as a fundraiser for the group, I volunteered – along with several other experienced authors – to read and critique works from others in the group. On one submission, another author (much more successful and famous than I) and I agreed that the book started in the wrong place, and we offered thoughtful feedback on what beginning might work more effectively. There was pushback from that author and the group, a feeling that we had been much too critical, and several people were upset that we had suggested the book had started in the wrong place. One person said to us that the author in question had already been published, implying how dare we suggest they didn’t know how to begin the book.

We were both taken aback by this protest because, and I retell this tale because I think this is so important:

FIGURING OUT WHERE AND HOW TO BEGIN NEVER GETS EASIER.

Both my fellow critiquer and I revisit the openings of every book we write many, many times. Getting that opening right is key. It’s also not easy.

So, what are my principles for crafting a beginning? I think a beginning should do three things.

  1. Establish genre
  2. Pose a question
  3. Create sympathy for the protagonist

 

Establish genre

This one might sound like a no-brainer, but I only learned to do this deliberately, after writing many books. The opening lines of the book or story should ground the reader in what kind of story this will be. This grounding is more important than many authors might think. Sometimes we, especially as newer writers, have this impulse to play coy, as if keeping the reader guessing in this way will intrigue them. Trust me: it doesn’t. Think of your favorite books and their opening lines; I bet you they all tell you what kind of story you’re about to read.

Example: “It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.” Pride & Prejudice, Jane Austen.

Look at how much you learn about the story to come from this one sentence.

 

Pose a question

THIS is where you intrigue the reader! Some writing teachers refer to this aspect as the “hook,” but I think a lot of us have trouble understanding what a hook is supposed to be. Instead I think of this as posing a question. It doesn’t have to be THE central question(s) of the entire story, but it should connect in some way. Suggest that there’s a secret. Pose a conundrum. Put something in there to make the reader wonder – and to keep reading to find out the answer.

Example: “The snow in the mountains was melting and Bunny had been dead for several weeks before we came to understand the gravity of our situation. He’d been dead for ten days before they found him, you know. We hadn’t intended to hide the body where it couldn’t be found. In fact, we hadn’t hidden it at all but simply left it where it fell in the hopes that some luckless passer-by would stumble over it before anyone noticed he was missing.” The Secret History, Donna Tartt.

I skipped a bit there for efficiency’s sake – but the whole opening prologue is worth studying! – but see how she introduces the core mystery and poses a number of questions?

Create sympathy for the protagonist

I’m not saying your characters have to be likable, or even that the protagonist has to appear in the first few pages, or that there even has to be a single, identifiable protagonist. What I am saying is, whatever characters do appear at the beginning, the reader needs a reason to want to be in their heads, to take this journey with them. If there’s nothing interesting or appealing about the characters in the story’s opening, why should the reader keep going?

Example: “It was a dumb thing to do but it wasn’t that dumb. There hadn’t been any trouble out at the lake in years. And it was so exquisitely far from the rest of my life.” Sunshine, Robin McKinley

Feel that instant interest in the character, the clarity of the voice, and how there’s a sense of feeling for the person, whoever it may be?

 

Really, all of these examples serve in all three principles. There’s lots that goes into a good beginning, but these three are key. Beginnings are a challenge and take time and effort to get right. And totally worth it.

Jeffe’s Favorite Love Interest

It’s been a tumultuous week in my world, so I missed posting on Wednesday, my usual day. Fortunately, I’m able to catch up today!

For those who don’t listen to my podcast or otherwise follow me on social media, this week a good friend came to visit bearing a life-changing gift. Mary Robinette Kowal, fabulous author and even better friend (which is saying something), spent a week here with us in Santa Fe. Like my husband, David, her mom had Parkinson’s Disease and, now that her mom passed away, Mary Robinette brought us her mom’s stability service dog, Captain. She spent the week teaching David (and me) how to work with Captain and helping us all assimilate to a new phase of life. It was a surprising amount of work and emotionally exhausting in a way I didn’t predict. But things are smoothing out now and we’re so grateful for this tremendous gift.

Our actual topic at the SFF Seven this week is our favorite hero that we didn’t write. The other contributors have offered terrific, thoughtful takes on their favorite, with a satisfying range of genders/inclinations, romance and otherwise. That gives me room to go super-traditional with my alpha-male, cis-het favorite: Roarke, from J.D. Robb’s In Death books.

Roarke has been my favorite since the first book, Naked in Death, came out in 1995 and he continues to thrill me today. Yes, I absolutely read the latest in the series, book #57, Payback in Death, the moment it released earlier this month. Yes, I’ve read the entire series and re-read it, more than once. (Though, to be fair, there were only 40-odd books when I did my most recent re-read.)

Roarke is the love interest I wish I’d written. He’s the perfect combination of powerful and sensitive. With a traumatic background, he’s a reformed bad boy who hits all my buttons. Sexy, charming, wealthy, nurturing – he’s the perfect man. My first and enduring fictional love.

My Cringeworthy First Writing Efforts

A praying mantis friend found her way onto my skirt the other day. Just one of many special blessings coming my way lately!

Our topic at the SFF Seven this week is the most unpublishable niche story we ever wrote.

Mine isn’t necessarily a niche story – although it was of indistinguishable genre – but it was absolutely unpublishable and totally, as KAK puts it, cringe. In truth, it’s because I can’t think of this piece without that soul-deep cringe, that it springs to mind here. It wasn’t even worthy of the word “story,” it was that terrible.

See, I’d decided to become a writer. I’d cut bait on my PhD, got my MS, got a job as an editor/writer to build my chops, and was taking night classes to learn. But I hadn’t gotten very good at the actual WRITING part. As in, I had no writing habit, I hadn’t finished much of anything, and I was pretty much just farting around. Then I heard on the radio that Wyoming Arts Council (I lived in Wyoming at the time) was offering fellowships in literature. They had a rotating schedule between fiction, nonfiction, and poetry. I could either submit something for that year’s award or wait three years. Since three years seemed like an impossibly long time then, I was determined to enter the competition that year.

Only I didn’t have anything much to submit. But! I decided that I could enter the first few pages of a novel I’d started – the only pages I had of it – and trust that the judges would be so dazzled by the sheer promise of my work that they’d fall all over themselves to give me the fellowship.

Cringe cringe cringe

I have no idea what those judges thought of my fragmented pages of nothing. I obviously didn’t win, nor did I receive any comments. Only much later did I realize just how delusionary I’d been.

But you know what? Many years later, I did win one of those fellowships. It just took time, lots of dedicated work, and pulling my head out of my delusions.

 

Stop Waiting for Inspiration

Barnes & Noble is offering 25% on preorders for the next 3 days, so if you read on Nook and want a great discount on TWISTED MAGIC, go to B&N and use PREORDER25.

This week at the SFF Seven, we’re talking how to find inspiration when the story won’t come to you.

Did you know the word “inspiration” comes from the Latin inspirare, which means “to breathe into”? Same root as the English word for respiration and other, similar, breathing-related words. It refers to the sense of the divine breathing life into us.

The way creatives use “inspiration,” we usually mean it the way this topic is phrased – that we’re waiting for that divine breath, waiting for that story to come to us.

Stop waiting.

As a creative, YOU are the divine and the story is your creation. Did the gods wait for lifeless clay creatures to somehow totter up to them, requesting the breath of life?

No.

Similarly, those stories are not going to come to you. You must reach out and seize the clay, shape it into what you want it to be, and then for YOU to be the inspiration, to breathe life into the new work.

I know this isn’t the advice you wanted to hear. This isn’t easy. But then, being a Creator never is.

Best Laid Plans and Magical News!

I had Plans for today’s blog post here at the SFF Seven. But we know what the poet said about best-laid plans…

Yes, my day has gang agley.

All in a good way, though. I got a lot done. Important stuff, just not quite the several steps required to post what I hoped to post today. So the short and dirty update is:

  • TWISTED MAGIC will have a release date and preorder link soon!! (Though you can already preorder it on my website.)
  • Of my new book that I’ve been writing, the one I wasn’t supposed to be writing, but that insisted on being written, which I’ve been calling ONEIRA, Agent Sarah said: “You’ve crafted your very own fairytale, Jeffe and it’s magic.”
  • We strategized today, so look for more news on ONEIRA soon! And on TWISTED MAGIC!

 

 

Three Traits of Jeffe’s Kind of Male Protagonist

I’m teaching a worldbuilding master class in Portland, Oregon on August 4, if you’re in the area or want to be! Check out the Willamette Writers Conference here.

This week at the SFF Seven, we’re talking about writing male protagonists and how to avoid creating an “alphahole.” For those not in the know, an alphahole is an ostensibly alpha male who is actually an asshole, or is perceived as an asshole by the reader. This is a more complex issue than it seems on the surface. The alpha male hero is a popular trope, particularly in Romance, but in other genres, too. The alpha male is a leader, bold, confident, a protector. In some ways, he is often the idealized male. Some readers don’t like this trope or have greater sensitivity to certain aspects of the typical characterizations.

I tend not to take this too seriously. Personally, I like my alpha male heroes like I like my fiction: no relationship to reality required.

That said, I don’t really write alpha males very often, largely because my books almost always center the female protagonist and her journey to complete the quest, etc. The classic alpha male hero doesn’t intersect well with that kind of arc. Though I do love to have two strong, determined leaders butt heads and find common ground in love, learning to lead together.

Three traits of a guy like that?

  1. Enough self-confidence not to be threatened by a competent woman.
  2. Secure in his masculinity so he doesn’t need to “prove” it to anyone.
  3. Integrity and compassion that allow him to adhere to his principles and lead with care for his followers.

Writing Emotion and Owning Your Process

Our topic at the SFF Seven this week is writing emotion and whether you as the author have to feel the exact emotion you’re writing.

There’s this tale about acting that’s been making the rounds for ages – it’s possibly apocryphal – about Dustin Hoffman being a method actor. That method asks actors to find the emotions within themselves to play the character, to find essentially their alternate self who would be that person and feel that way. The story goes that Hoffman spent an hour getting into that character’s skin and Sir Laurence Olivier strolled in, did his bit, and left again, saying, “My dear boy, it’s called acting.”

The point of this (again, possibly apocryphal) tale is twofold: the first that you can create the appearance of emotion without feeling it, and the second that everyone does things their own way.

You all should know by now that my primary mantra is this: figure out what your process is and own it.

People like that story because they can smirk at poor Dustin Hoffman doing things the American way, the overly-complicated way, the fancy way, but… is he wrong? Hoffman has an amazing acting career. He’s widely acknowledged as a brilliant actor. Clearly his approach isn’t “wrong.”

Is Olivier wrong in this story? Clearly not, for the same reasons as above. There is no wrong. There is no right. Both things can be true. Both processes work for those performers.

So, do I have to feel the emotion I’m writing in order to put it on the page? Nope. Do I sometimes? Sure, though it depends. Do other writers need to feel the emotion to write it? I’ve heard they do.

And it’s all good. Both things can be true.

 

Trusting the Creative Process

Happy Summer Solstice, all!

This week at the SFF Seven, we’re talking about our greatest writing challenge and how we manage it.

In some ways, this is a moving target for me, because it seems that – like clockwork – each book presents its own challenge. With 64 published titles under my belt, I feel like I should have this process down and there shouldn’t be surprises.

No such luck.

What I have to constantly remind myself is that the creative process is its own creature. It’s this connection to something beyond ourselves and thus is not within our control. Particularly for a writer like myself – I am incapable of pre-plotting and write for discovery, relying entirely on intuition – letting go of that desire to control is critical. It can also be difficult, especially when I’m trying to write to a particular idea or market.

For example, I recently wrote one-hundred pages of a book for my agent, according to a very particular comp. Let’s call it Ghost meets Out of Africa. (That is NOT it, but that’s one of my all-time favorite fictional comps. Points if you can name the movie it’s from.) In thinking about this project, I consulted my friend, Melinda Snodgrass, incredibly talented novelist and screenwriter who counts among her credits the Star Trek: Next Generation episode The Measure of a Man. I asked her how closely I should follow the beats of Ghost, if at all. She gave me an incredulous look and asked why, when I had a hugely successful story blueprint right there, I would do anything but follow those beats?

So, I tried.

Turns out that, not only am I incapable of pre-plotting, I also can’t follow an outline to save my life. I struggled to write that book. Having the story laid out in essence should have made it easier. Instead it made it 1,000x worse. For me. Because that’s not my process. Once I abandoned that outline (sorry, Melinda) and followed my intuition, the words began flowing.

That’s the major challenge for me: remembering to trust the process. Particulars change with every book. This principle endures.