Tuesday Truth: Eddie’s Prize Update
My goal was that I would finish the rough draft of Eddie’s Prize by bed time on Sunday, September 23. Well, I didn’t make it. But I came really, really close. I wrote almost 10,000 words from Friday through Sunday. Tonight I had supper with my mom, and then my Word Weavers Critique meeting (they really liked Chapter 1 of Wolf’s Prize!), so no writing today. I’m back on overtime at the day job (5 hours a week is mandatory, they’d like 10 hours. oy!) However, tomorrow after I work my ten-hour day I’ll have two or three hours to write before bed. Wednesday I might squeeze one hour of writing between work, my SCA fighters practice and bed. Thursday I should have two hours after work, and on Friday I plan to finish it no matter what. So here’s hoping for a completed rough draft by Friday night.
Never surrender!
Eddie’s Prize Teaser
Today I wrote my heart out and completed Chapter 23 of Eddie’s Prize. I really like how the end is coming together. Only one more chapter and I can type “The End” of the rough draft. It’s possible that I will actually finish tomorrow as planned. However, tomorrow is a very busy day (sunday school, church, church annual meeting, knitting with the gals, etc) so I don’t want to absolutely count on it. Still, I’m pretty darned happy. To celebrate, here is a teaser from the chapter I wrote tonight:
Eddie returned to his cold, empty house and pondered Bree’s words. He wanted his wife back. He missed the look of happy pride on her face when he complimented the supper she’d prepared. Every supper she put in front of him had told him she loved him, just as much as the words she murmured to him in bed had. His world was crumbling about him. Without her arms to hold it together, it would shatter.
Alone, between cold sheets on the bed he’d made love to his wife in, he gave in to tears. He needed Lisa. He needed her love even more than he needed his mother’s approval.
Storyteller vs Writer
I’m not sure that’s the best title for this blog post, but it’s all I can think of. What brought this on? Well, I recently finished a romance story by a very successful self-pubbed author. The story was terrific. The characters were interesting. I loved reading how their relationship developed. The tension was good and the climax was well done. In general, I thought it was an excellent story. However, I’ve read several stories by this author, and the heroines are all the same, right down to the dialogue. The author writes dialogue with far too many exclamation points!!! And her heroines trail off in the middle … ohmygod!! … of a thought!!!
I enjoyed the story. I didn’t enjoy the writing. I checked the standings of this author’s books on Amazon, and all dozen or so of them are quite low (meaning they are selling very well) and it made me wonder just what readers are looking for. For myself, I don’t think I’ll read any more of this author’s work because the typos and grammar errors take me out of the story. But going by the rankings, I must be in a very small minority. Maybe it’s because I’m a writer and I notice those errors more. It makes me wonder if she has an editor. I doubt it.
That makes it sound like I think my books don’t have any errors. I know that’s not true. You should see the typos in my rough drafts! Heck, look at 95% of my posts on Facebook! They totally suck. Even though I go over my manuscript before I even submit it, and my editor looks at it multiple times, and the final line editor goes through it before it is even published, I still find errors later. Drives me crazy. I find typos even in the best books from St. Martin’s or Avon. However, there’s a difference between the occasional boo-boo and badly flawed writing mechanics. I expect a book to have sound writing, where the grammar and punctuation follow certain rules.
On the other hand, I once read a book for a book club where the writing was superb. Not just mechanics, but the lyrical use of description was beautiful. It was almost like effortless poetry. The author’s word choices were stunningly perfect. When I read a paragraph, I could see the scenery so clearly I felt like I was there. And I couldn’t have cared less about the characters or their story.
The first author, grammar errors, typos and all, is a gifted storyteller. The second author was a master of the craft of writing. Which is better? Which is more important for the reader? In my mind, clearly the storyteller. But even better would be the author that could blend the two. I think that can be a difficult thing. But there are some authors out there woo do it well. Laura Kinsale is one. Sally Watson is another. (If you haven’t read Sally Watson, I strongly urge you to do so. She writes young adult historicals, and she’s the reason I got a history degree and started writing. I adore Lark and the Hornet’s Nest in particular, but anything she has written is fantastic.) Also, Nalini Singh.
What do you think? Does poor writing take you out of a story, or does it not matter as long as the story itself is good?
A Few Upcoming Give-Aways!
I appreciate my readers so much! To all of you who have read my books and enjoyed them enough to mention them to your friends,
Thank You! I wanted to do something nice for you in return. During the next JustRomanceMe bloghop (date not yet determined, but probably in month or two) I will be giving away this little shoulder shawl. I knit it myself, so I can point out all the boo-boos :), but it’s still pretty cute.
I am still working on Eddie’s Prize, but there is hope that I will have the rough draft completed by the time I go to bed on Sunday, September 23. Right now I am writing a scene where Lisa has (in utter frustration) sworn she’ll never try to knit again. She HATES knitting! Tami tries to teach her how to braid rugs, but that is a disaster for Lisa, too. But Rose introduces her to crochet, and for some reason, that works for Lisa. Soon she is making a granny square, and since she doesn’t like the idea of sewing dozens of squares together, she just keeps working on that one granny square until it becomes a big square afghan. I will be creating Lisa Madison’s After the Crash Throw to give away to a member of my newsletter. More info on that in a few months. Here is how far I’ve gotten on it so far:
Good news on the Writing Front
I have been plugging away at Eddie’s Prize for what seems like ever. I set a goal for its completion, and the day rolls past. (what is that quote? “I love deadlines. Especially the whooshing sound they make as they go by”?) The overtime at work is really kicking my butt. I used to be able to work 10. 5 hours and still have energy enough to write when I got home. I guess I’ve gotten older. And my allergies are out of control. But tonight I feel like I’m actually on track. Tonight I finished writing the big pivotal scene and there are only two chapters (big chapters) left. My most recent goal for finishing the rough draft is September 23. And by golly, I think I have a good shot at making it. Then give me two weeks for the first revision, another week for the beta readers to get through with it, then another week for me to review and polish according to their suggestions and TA- DA! The manuscript will be off to the publisher for their consideration.
See? There is light at the end of the tunnel! A friend promised to take me out for gelato when I finish. Gelato, here I come!
Tuesday Truth: I Love Granny Nighties
That might be TMI. 
And maybe they look a little dorky and old-fashioned. But for lounging around my apartment on a chilly evening, a thick, long flannel nightgown is the perfect thing for me. I sit in my recliner, tuck my crossed legs under the nightie, put my laptop across my lap and type away.
Come on, doesn’t this look comfy?
These nightgowns can be found at www.vermontcountrystore.com
Tuesday Teaser: Wolf’s Prize, Part 2
Here is the next part of the scene from Chapter 1 of Wolf’s Prize. Enjoy!
“Shee-it,” muttered Tim. “We’re in trouble, boss.”
Rye grunted inquiringly. “You know him?”
Tim rubbed his hand over the bristles on his chin. “I know of him. Had a couple dealings with some of his kin.” He swallowed loud enough for Ellie to hear it. It was hard to tell in the dark, but she thought he looked pale. “She’s right, Rye. Nobody wants to mess with those wolves. Last time someone fooled with one of their women, there was hell to pay. Twenty-five men went against Taye Wolfe and his kin. and twenty-five men died.”
“Damn.” Rye ran a hand over his wavy hair. The waves ended in neat half curls. Ellie remembered one of Taye’s men had wavy hair. It was golden brown, rather than Rye’s mahogany, and several inches longer, but the memory of the man popped into her mind now for no reason. She didn’t remember his name, and they had never spoken, but he had stared at her every time they’d seen each other. The curly hair was the only connection between Rye and Taye’s friend. Rye was a hard man. Taye’s friend had been shy.
“This Taye Wolfe cares about you?”
“My cousin loves me,” Ellie replied simply. “I am his only blood female cousin. His entire Clan will come for me, dozens of men.”
“Hm. The Wolfes must be a big family. That doesn’t sound good for us. But like I said, we have a contract with Ellsworth.” Rye slapped his hand on his knee. “Tell you what. I’ll send one of the boys up to Kearney to let your cousin know where you are. He can meet you in Ellsworth and speak to the men there himself. Tim, you know the guy. In the morning, ride north to Kearney as fast as you can. We’ll take our time travelling to give Wolfe a chance to get to Ellsworth before the Bride Fight.”
“Better send someone else, Rye,” Tim said. “I don’t think any of the wolves like me.”
Rye’s brow arched again. “Fine. Jer? Want to take a ride to Kearney?”
Tuesday Truth: The Pine tree ate my homework!
Well … Today is the first day of school for Minnesota kids and other kids all over America. This past weekend I went up to Lake Winnipeg in Manitoba Canada. Had a fantastic time with a couple hundred other SCA peeps. I brought my lap top and planned to write a significant amount.
Saturday was a bust writing-wise. But on Sunday morning I woke before most people, showered, dressed, wrapped my cloak around me and carried my laptop out to the table and benches under the pine trees next to the great hall. It was a beautiful morning, cool but not cold, with the sun shining brightly and the murmur of the trees whispering as they swayed in the breeze. I knew which scene I was going to write, and I was looking forward to it. I opened the laptop, got set up, write a line, and then decided I needed a cup of tea. I got it and hurried back to the Work in Progress. As I began typing I noticed my hands felt sticky, Yuck. Did I get pancake syrup on me in the kitchen? I tried wiping it off. No luck. Now my hand, my mouse, the inside of my lower arm and the edge of my keyboard were sticky. GRRRRR!!!!
Then I saw the source. A nice fat drop of pine resin had landed on my mouse and I had smeared it all over. Did you know that pine resin is quite hard to get rid of? Water doesn’t do it. Dish soap and water don’t do it. Paper towels like to stick to it. Strenuous attempts to clean it off failed. I finally packed up the computer and put it away.
So I did not get much writing done this weekend. My only excuse is that the Pine Tree Ate It.
Tuesday Teaser: Wolf’s Prize
Yikes! My apologies. This is getting out late today. This is an excerpt from Book Five in the After the Crash series. Taye’s cousin Ellie and her husband moved south into Kansas. The husband died and after Ellie had repeatedly declined to marry his employer, the man sold her to traders, who were taking her and a couple other women to Ellsworth to sell to be prizes in a Bride Fight.
“It’s too dangerous,” Ellie protested.
Sara snorted. “You act like an old granny. You’re not that old.”
“I’m twenty-four,” Ellie murmured. At this time, one short year ago, she had been a happy twenty-three year old wife and mother. Now, she was a widow who felt twice that, at least. Maybe three times that, with her little boy kept behind in the house of the man who had sold her like a cow. “I’m old enough to know what could happen to two women alone.”
“We have to do something! I don’t want to be married to some guy I don’t even know.”
Neither did Ellie. “But even if we did manage to get away, where could we go that would be safe?”
“We can do it. We’ll go to my uncle and my cousins in Omaha. They’ll take care of us.”
“I have a cousin, too.”
Ellie felt a wave of longing for Taye, her big, strong and over-protective older cousin. Taye had tried to talk her husband out of taking her so far away to live. When Neal had died, she had written to Taye, asking him to come and collect her and little Connor. She had written several times in the five months since Neal had died, but no answer ever came. She hadn’t understood why until this morning when Mr. Moore had traded her for gold. All the letters she had given him to post had gone into the fire instead of the mail pouch. Taye probably didn’t even know Neal was dead. If he did, he would have come for her right away. An idea struck her.
“Sara, wait here. I’m going to talk to Mr. Thomas.”
Sara perked up. “What about?”
“I think I have a way for us for us to not become prizes in a Bride Fight.” Ellie climbed over the back of the wagon. “Wish me luck.”
“Good luck. But if it doesn’t work, we’re running away.”
“Hm,” said Ellie, noncommittal.
Rye was still reclining by the coals of the fire, and Tim, Jeremy, and Paul were there, too, drinking coffee and talking in quiet voices. They broke off when she came to Rye.
He looked up at her, his face mildly surprised. “It’ll be a long drive tomorrow. You might want to get some sleep.”
“I’d like to talk to you for a few minutes, if you don’t mind.” She wiped her wet palms on her pants. “It’s business related.”
“Always glad to talk business.” Rye waved his hand at Tim, and the blond man moved a couple feet to the side so she could sit. He waited in silence for her to speak. It took her a second to find the right words.
“I have a cousin who loves me. He’s pretty well off. He would pay you twice what the men of Ellsworth would if you brought me to him.”
Rye’s brows rose until they almost disappeared under his limp curls. “Twice? That would be 200 gold.”
Ellie’s heart stuttered at the sheer amount of money. Did Taye have that much? “I don’t think that will be a problem for Taye” she lied. “He dotes on me.”
“And what about Miss Nelson?”
“He will pay for her, too.”
“Four hundred gold?” Rye whistled. “Your cousin must be loaded.”
Loaded with gold, no. Loaded with sharp teeth and a wolf’s aggression, yes. Not to mention an entire pack of men who all felt like he did. Ellie forced her hands to relax in her lap.
“Taye feels strongly about the safety of the women in his family. Actually, all women. He would be grateful to you if you bring me to him.”
Should she mention that Taye would want her son Connor brought to him, too? No, better not. Once she was safe with Taye, they would retrieve Connor from Mr. Moore. With a stab of vindictiveness, Ellie wanted to see the look on his face when Taye showed up at the Moore place to collect Connor. She doubted Mr. Moore would live through the retrieval process.
“That’s a lot of money,” Rye said thoughtfully. “But we have a contract with the men of Ellsworth. If we start breaking contracts, who will trust us to deliver our goods? Besides, we got one more girl to pick up tomorrow. Sorry, Mrs. Overdahl. When you get settled in Ellsworth you can write your cousin a letter.”
Ellie steeled herself to deliver a gentle threat. “Taye Wolfe is not a man you want to make an enemy of, Mr. Thomas.”
Next to her, Tim jerked in an audible breath. “Taye Wolfe? Where’s he from?”
“My cousin lives near Kearney, Nebraska.”
“Shee-it,” muttered Tim. “We’re in trouble, boss.”
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