I’ve finished my novel BLACK RIVER. It’s complete at 105,000, a word count I’m comfortable with. The genre is mainstream contemporary with cautionary undertones. (I know, I made that category up.) Now comes the spit and shine, and to help me see the gaps and inconsistencies, I’ve sent it over to Ethan Vaughan, an agent-in-waiting who blogs here.
Ethan interned at a literary agency over the summer and aspires to one day be a literary agent. Right now he's a college student who writes readers reports in his spare time, which is pretty cool. He has posted a sample reader's report which will give you a feel for how agents critique unpublished manuscripts.
He’s looking for manuscripts to read and critique on his blog. If you’re ready for a little exposure and an independent critique, you might want to check out his site, Searching For The Story.
What have I learned this time around? I found that I can write a novel under 140,000 words. With this one I have wiggle room. If something needs to be added, there's space. If something needs to be cut, I would still end up with a novel in the 90,000 to 100,000 word count which to me is a good range.
While this one is out with a couple of readers, I will compose my query letter, hopefully with help from Mindy McGinnis at Writer Writer Pants on Fire, one of my favorite people from Agent Query, the top spot for query assistance, and anyone else I can impose upon. Then I have a couple of short stories with a deadline fast approaching and then.....I concentrate on Will. Oh, I love the dark and desperate, the hurt and conflicted, those characters who love and lust and make mistakes.
"Two wrongs may not make a right but a thousand wrongs make a writer.”
Showing posts with label WIP. Show all posts
Showing posts with label WIP. Show all posts
Monday, November 14, 2011
Friday, November 11, 2011
Anything For Will
She longed to feel him inside of her again but was beginning to wonder if she ever would. The memories were fading, like the pictures he sent. His helmet was etched with anti-war dogma, but he did what he was told. His letters filled a drawer but held nothing of what he was told, and he wasn’t sending pictures anymore.
Write a flash fiction piece in 55 words, post it, and then let the G-Man who is Mr. Knowitall know. It's easy, it's fun. It's Friday.
My 55 this week is a passage from a work-in-progress that is working it's way back up to the top of the stack. It's been bothering me. I can see it in the corner of my eye, getting dusty on the filing cabinet. Oh, the injustice! I had to bring Will back up on my screen this morning. I have to look him in the eye and decide what to do with him.
TGIF
Peace out
Write a flash fiction piece in 55 words, post it, and then let the G-Man who is Mr. Knowitall know. It's easy, it's fun. It's Friday.
My 55 this week is a passage from a work-in-progress that is working it's way back up to the top of the stack. It's been bothering me. I can see it in the corner of my eye, getting dusty on the filing cabinet. Oh, the injustice! I had to bring Will back up on my screen this morning. I have to look him in the eye and decide what to do with him.
TGIF
Peace out
Labels:
Anything For Will,
Friday Flash 55,
Memory,
WIP
Saturday, January 2, 2010
The Year of Kissing
I think it only fitting to start out 2010 with a post about kissing—almost, unconsummated kissing, because maybe 2010 begins the decade of possibilities, an era of blue, concern for the earth, and sustainable living, and much, much consummated kissing!
With that in mind, I'm participating in Frankie's No Kiss Blogfest in which writers are encouraged to share an "almost kissing" scene they've written. Check out Frankie's blog where everyone participating is linked and read some steamy, spine-tingling encounters.
Without further ado I add my entry to the fest. I couldn't choose, so I post two, one from a WIP and one from a short story.
#1
He opened a bottle of beer and threw his arm across the back of the seat, breathing in the scent of her shampoo and studying her neckline and the wisps of hair that curled around her ear. Her captivating nipples pointed their way out of her blouse, and as the city lights disappeared behind them, he dropped his arm around her shoulders and she relaxed against his side. The conversation kept flowing out of the front seat, and he added an occasional comment just to let his buddies know he was still there.
When they hit the gravel she jostled against him, and there it was—an opportunity. He dropped his mouth to hers in motion with the road, but they hit a pothole and his mouth only met the soft indentation below her bottom lip. And he might have taken her by surprise, but that was nothing compared to what her reaction did to him.
She jerked away and her hand flew to her mouth as if she’d just gotten a mouthful of rotgut whiskey she couldn’t swallow.
Well, Jesus Christ. Talk about a blow to his ego. He pulled his arm in and stared at her. Swallow baby. It’s OK. Swallow it down.
“Where do we drop you?” His buddy was looking at him in the rearview mirror.
“Ah, just pull in my driveway. You can turn around. We’ll take it from there.” He looked at her. “I’ll walk you home, okay?”
They watched the taillights out of sight and started walking. There were night insects singing from both ditches and an owl called from a distant tree. Her place was dark. No lights. He halted, suddenly not wanting to go any closer. The house has eyes. He put his hands in his pockets waiting for her to say something.
“Your friends are nice.”
“Yeah.”
“I better go in before he gets home.”
“Is he really such a mean sonofabitch, or is it just for show?”
“He says you gringos are soft and naïve.”
“Why? Because we don’t carry knives up our sleeves?”
They stood there a minute, and he waited for her to say something else. Should he make a lame joke? He guessed a kiss goodnight was out of the question.
She stepped away. “Thanks for tonight. I had fun. I’d do it again, anytime.”
Really? He was considering a smartass reply but she was gone, disappearing into the shadows around the house. He waited until he saw a light come on in the back; then he walked home, remembering that little indentation.
#2
He was brown-skinned and lean. We baled hay together and I rode on the tractor with him. He wore T-shirts with the sleeves ripped out, but I was too young to appreciate his muscled forearms and the way his jeans fit his thighs. But I do now. I was too naïve to realize he wanted to kiss me. But I do now.
“Walk me home,” he said.
I walked him up the dark gravel road, and at the crest of the hill I stopped, reluctant to go further, and he joked about hearing the heavy fall of my footsteps when I left him, and now I know he was only nervous but I was afraid and when he leaned over to kiss me I pulled away and there was only the faintest feel of his breath against my lips.
Would his mouth have tasted like the black walnuts he kept in his pocket? Like the beef jerky he favored and the cigarettes he smoked? I’ll never know. Was the moon out? Was it blue? I didn’t notice. Were the stars brilliant above us? I don’t remember. But I know now that the stars are not just overhead, they are everywhere around us and underneath us. And at times the moon really does turn blue.
With that in mind, I'm participating in Frankie's No Kiss Blogfest in which writers are encouraged to share an "almost kissing" scene they've written. Check out Frankie's blog where everyone participating is linked and read some steamy, spine-tingling encounters.
Without further ado I add my entry to the fest. I couldn't choose, so I post two, one from a WIP and one from a short story.
#1
He opened a bottle of beer and threw his arm across the back of the seat, breathing in the scent of her shampoo and studying her neckline and the wisps of hair that curled around her ear. Her captivating nipples pointed their way out of her blouse, and as the city lights disappeared behind them, he dropped his arm around her shoulders and she relaxed against his side. The conversation kept flowing out of the front seat, and he added an occasional comment just to let his buddies know he was still there.
When they hit the gravel she jostled against him, and there it was—an opportunity. He dropped his mouth to hers in motion with the road, but they hit a pothole and his mouth only met the soft indentation below her bottom lip. And he might have taken her by surprise, but that was nothing compared to what her reaction did to him.
She jerked away and her hand flew to her mouth as if she’d just gotten a mouthful of rotgut whiskey she couldn’t swallow.
Well, Jesus Christ. Talk about a blow to his ego. He pulled his arm in and stared at her. Swallow baby. It’s OK. Swallow it down.
“Where do we drop you?” His buddy was looking at him in the rearview mirror.
“Ah, just pull in my driveway. You can turn around. We’ll take it from there.” He looked at her. “I’ll walk you home, okay?”
They watched the taillights out of sight and started walking. There were night insects singing from both ditches and an owl called from a distant tree. Her place was dark. No lights. He halted, suddenly not wanting to go any closer. The house has eyes. He put his hands in his pockets waiting for her to say something.
“Your friends are nice.”
“Yeah.”
“I better go in before he gets home.”
“Is he really such a mean sonofabitch, or is it just for show?”
“He says you gringos are soft and naïve.”
“Why? Because we don’t carry knives up our sleeves?”
They stood there a minute, and he waited for her to say something else. Should he make a lame joke? He guessed a kiss goodnight was out of the question.
She stepped away. “Thanks for tonight. I had fun. I’d do it again, anytime.”
Really? He was considering a smartass reply but she was gone, disappearing into the shadows around the house. He waited until he saw a light come on in the back; then he walked home, remembering that little indentation.
#2
He was brown-skinned and lean. We baled hay together and I rode on the tractor with him. He wore T-shirts with the sleeves ripped out, but I was too young to appreciate his muscled forearms and the way his jeans fit his thighs. But I do now. I was too naïve to realize he wanted to kiss me. But I do now.
“Walk me home,” he said.
I walked him up the dark gravel road, and at the crest of the hill I stopped, reluctant to go further, and he joked about hearing the heavy fall of my footsteps when I left him, and now I know he was only nervous but I was afraid and when he leaned over to kiss me I pulled away and there was only the faintest feel of his breath against my lips.
Would his mouth have tasted like the black walnuts he kept in his pocket? Like the beef jerky he favored and the cigarettes he smoked? I’ll never know. Was the moon out? Was it blue? I didn’t notice. Were the stars brilliant above us? I don’t remember. But I know now that the stars are not just overhead, they are everywhere around us and underneath us. And at times the moon really does turn blue.
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