Archive for the ‘Writing Process’ Category

I lucked out with the first three books. Admittedly, I did a lot of research on all of them, but it was anonymously done from the internet.

I really wish I could do that with the fourth book that I’m currently writing, but as I go, it’s starting to look like I’m going to have to get professional consultation.

This is nothing new for writers, especially crime writers. Before the internet, virtually all mystery stories had at least a full page of acknowledgements to various professionals thanking them for providing facts, statistics and appropriate anecdotes to give the fictitious crime novel proper credibility.

I will probably be no exception, but it’s hard for me. I don’t do well with authority figures. They intimidate the hell out of me. I do OK with emails because I can sensor my words so I sound like a normal person, but on the phone my innate ability to make an ass of myself kicks in pretty quick. People don’t tend to take you seriously when you make an ass of yourself.

However, it has to be done. I have to talk to doctors, researchers, and yes law enforcement officials (SCARY) to get my facts straight and give my beloved characters a believable plot. Somehow my perfectionism is going to have to override my antisocial behavior…or I could let my well-honed procrastination trump them all. Can’t I just do it, you know, later?

To say that writing is an internal process is a gross understatement. For me, it’s like observing a different universe in my head and writing down what is going on. I see facial expressions. I hear background noise. I sense tension or love or anger or humor. Actions are moving in real time in my head.

I used to joke that writing was like channeling my schizophrenia, but that doesn’t do justice to the people who are clinically diagnosed with such a debilitating disease. Still, if I ever was unable to tell the difference between the real outside and the alternate universe inside, I might have a slight notion as to what they are going through.

It’s usually the real outside that becomes the problem for me. Trying to write what I see as I see it in a cohesive manner with the proper description requires an uninterrupted rhythm. Usually, I can tune most of the extraneous stimuli out. Not always.

The first three books were written at my husband’s  shop. I had taken several different desks there, but kept having to move for various reasons: too cold, too noisy, getting in the husband’s way, etc. Eventually, I was given a desk on a completely different floor in an attic of sorts with no windows and few lights. Actually that worked quite well…most of the time. It was, however, still open at the end by the stairwell, and then the husband would get on the phone.

I love my husband. He’s good at lots of things. One thing he is not good at is volume control. The scenario would go like this:

-Writing this important plot line. The sentences are running through my head almost faster than I can type them out.

-Phone rings. Husband’s friend calls. Husband’s “friend” phone voice is about 10 decibels louder than his “client” voice.

-Getting to a crucial sentence. Have perfect word poised to go from my brain to my fingers.

-Friend makes snarky comment. Husband loudly gaffas, comments back.

-Sudden distraction pulverizes word before it makes it to fingers. Word is lost. Feverish typing stops. Frustrated burst of rage must be squelched.

After all, it’s really not the husband’s fault. It’s his office.

This is why we were both thrilled when the new house was big enough for me to have my own office.

If you remember, the office was originally suppose to be downstairs. Because of WiFi connections and other silly things, the office ended up being in the other large bedroom upstairs, sharing space with my clothes. The walls are not butter yellow. They are eggplant (or some color trying to be eggplant, and ending up being “bruise”). It’s not my favorite, but I don’t hate it enough to repaint. I just compliment it with purple accessories (of which I actually have a lot of for someone who is neither obviously girly nor a Vikings fan).

I got two banquet tables from the husband’s office for an L-shaped desk, and two of those IKEA rolling cart thingies back from the rental property to file my stuff in. I got my huge electric school clock up on the wall and my pictures and doodads lined up around a tiny stereo and my laptop (soon to be replaced with a nice tower and honking monitor).

Remember that comforting feeling I got when I bought my first house? I get that feeling in my office, so it must be right.

FYI I’m on page 8 (technically page 16, book size) of going through the 5 edited copies of Book 3. I already have two author events scheduled in October, so the pressure’s on. Unlike all my other spinning plates however, it’s pressure I feel passionate about. It’s my happy place.

In my humble opinion, you can tell a lot about the main characters in a story by the details that permeate their lives. All the eccentricities, habits, mannerisms if you will, they come from their lifetimes of cumulative experiences. Of course, since characters in a book have no lives beyond what the writer fabricates for them, those experiences also need to be created in the form of back stories.

Back story is the life the character had up to the point that the reader is brought into the picture. The amount of back story required really depends on how much character development is required. In the case of a series, the back stories need to be extensive for recurring characters.

As an example, take Agent Wyatt’s underwear. Since I write suspenseful romance, Agent Wyatt invariably spends a lot of time exposing his skivvies (and sometimes more). This means that his underwear requires description.  A person’s underwear tells you certain thing’s about their character. In the case of Agent Wyatt, it’s very telling.

I imagine Agent Wyatt in Calvin Klein tank t-shirts (classy wife-beater, I guess) and matching boxer-briefs in shades of heather grey, charcoal, and black, period. His underwear is classic, expensive, and has nothing to do with Agent Wyatt’s preferences whatsoever. Why? It’s part of his back story.

Like a lot of men, Agent Wyatt has never been in charge of buying his own underwear. His mother made that decision for him when he was born and continued to be in charge of what he wore under his clothing until his girlfriend, Lexi, took over. From that point on, Lexi made the decision as to what she liked to see her man in and continued on where Agent Wyatt’s mother left off for the next fourteen years. After the divorce, Agent Wyatt didn’t give his underwear a second thought. He simply continued to wear what was left for him. He will do so until the poor things fall apart beyond usefulness. As is very evident in the dialogue, Agent Wyatt is much more interested in Bernice’s underwear than his own.

Bernice likes Agent Wyatt’s underwear just fine. They are not evolved enough in their relationship for her to pick up where Lexi left off. Her light-handedness when it comes to relationships is part of Bernice’s back story.

Meanwhile, for the readers who care, isn’t it nice to imagine Agent Wyatt in his undies? It makes me smile.