Outside the Zone

Posted by on 09/09/2010 No comments

The blank page. At times, an insurmountable horror for writers.

Discomfort ZoneFor some, new and old, this blank page is that first, gaping step into the discomfort zone. It is the leap into the maw of the unknown. We’ve dreamed about it, agonized over it, and dedicated ourselves to the journey beyond the terror of that first paragraph. For others, the blankness  is little more than an annoyance. It might entail only a mocking whisper as they tap their pen against the starkness, searching their mind for that first poignant sentence.

I remember my own experience as a new writer more than 2 decades ago. The empty page beckoned to me, and I couldn’t wait to fill its whiteness with the story bursting inside my heart. With pen in hand, I scribbled “That’s not how you begin a story, Vicki,” and my first YA novel, The New Road, was born. There has been little pause since.

The most memorable instance of tumbling into the discomfort zone found me when I acted as the Junior Director of our church’s drama team, The New Life Players. I was tasked with writing an entire scene for an evening production, including a unique song. My younger brother was chosen to play the main character throughout the production, an unbeliever who then met five unique individuals who offered him their testimony. Part of that witness/testimony was the song. Agony ventured to new heights when I discovered that I would be the person acting and singing the part that I scripted.

It has been too many years now. I don’t recall the character name or the song. One of my closest friends, Melissa, accompanied me on piano and still loves the melody and its message. I should find out if she has the lyrics and chords and scan them into my computer…. Through that jaunt over the battlefield of the discomfort zone I grew as a writer and performer. Public speaking and performing is not my favorite thing. In fact, it’s something I despise because I know that I am better with the written word than the verbal. But I didn’t shirk the duty, and I know I am better for the facing of my fears.

No matter how much I hated it at the time.

A few years later, I took a conscious plunge into the discomfort zone. Forever seeking out new inspirations for the next story, I ventured into the realm of video game fan-fiction. What is fan-fiction? According to Wikipedia:

Fan fiction (alternately referred to as fanfiction, fanfic, FF, or fic) is a broadly-defined term for fan labor regarding stories about characters or settings written by fans of the original work, rather than by the original creator.”

The most daunting prospect in writing fan-fiction was & is two-fold:

  1. You must stay true to the characters in how they speak, act/react in any given situation.
  2. You must stay true to the setting created by the original creator, keeping the facts of the game and the game universe clear and concise in your head as well as in the characters’ everyday lives.

These two requirements put you as a writer into a type of open box. On four or five sides you are graced little freedom. However, there is one freedom you do have: the storyline. The caveat is that even here there are regulations; the storyline must keep the facts of the game in mind.

The MintfieldOver the course of 5 years of writing fanfiction I penned 46 novellas, short-stories, and poems. Many of these were submitted, accepted, and published to online sites such as RPGamer and IcyBrian, two video-game resource websites that have approval committees reserved for fanfiction.

Fanfiction served as my introduction to science-fiction, a genre I had convinced myself to never write for. It also served as an intro to a variety of jaded character types that I wouldn’t have envisioned in normal circumstances.

An example: original character Janine Larabie. Janine is a sexy, no-nonsense officer in a black ops mercenary/military group. In my story, she falls for the antagonist from the popular video-game Final Fantasy VIII. In my edgy romance The Reluctant Knight, Seifer Almasy, the antagonist, is intrigued by this “button-pusher” who transfers from a northern military base. There is an immediate attraction, due mostly to the fact that Seifer and Janine both prefer hard-nosed individuals who tell it like it is without regard to the other’s feelings. Life is too short, they believe, for touchie-feelie nonsense.

Janine Larabie The novella is fraught with head-to-head confrontations between the two as they work out a friendship and then a close relationship. In fact, because Janine is a button-pusher, she is the first to get Seifer to admit to secrets from his past as a “dare to trust”, a rush for people like them who don’t trust anyone with anything. It sets both on a path of inner healing that allows them to share a closeness and a bond they have never experienced before.

The Reluctant Knight grabbed me by the hair and dragged me along behind the characters as I frantically jotted down their story.

It has been five years since my last jaunt into writing fan-fiction. I have grown as a writer, and I sometimes wonder if I would cringe and moan at my fanfiction quality now that I have matured in style and approach? Perhaps that is another, less realized venture outside my realm of comfort?

My most recent venture into the discomfort zone was writing for the National Novel Writing Month. Specifically, last year’s NaNovel, Silver and Iron, a fantasy suspense novel that was a continuation of the paranormal tale began in To Save a Soul (2008 NaNovel). In To Save a Soul I had the benefit of writing the story from my husband’s story outline. Silver and Iron, however, did not have such a luxury. It was a true “write by the seat of your pants” novel where I didn’t have a clear idea of the middle or end of the storyline.

True to the basic goal of NaNoWriMo, I put my fingers to the keys and just wrote the story as it came to me. Now, I have 56k words and no ending, and my writing juices struggle to continue because I’m not certain how to approach the ending that is still very misty in my mind. My husband and I have decided the best thing to do would be to re-enact the story so that I can experience the twists and turns of the adventure and figure out what my main characters are going to do in order to solve the mystery and catch the villain. It is a unique challenge for me to look at a page and wonder what in the world I’m going to write next.

In hindsight, it has taught me that I don’t like writing from the seat of my pants without a clear idea of where the story is supposed to go. I need a goal!

Of course, there are many more situations where I found myself facing into the black void that is the discomfort zone, especially in my journey toward publication and all the throes and woes that go along with that! All in all, stepping or leaping into the discomfort zone has been the best source of learning for me as a writer. A stretch from the norm to prove that I can do anything I set my mind to. A peek from behind a usual door to the adventures waiting outside that whisper of blessings, to myself and others.

Writing in the discomfort zone is a thrill and, like Janine Larabie, I’ve become a thrill-junkie looking for the next bit of discomfort.

Nona 'Mintbaby' King

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*this post originally fell under the christianwriters.com blog chain subject ‘the discomfort zone’

Writing Outlines

Posted by on 07/08/2010 No comments

Outlining the plot summary for my new western romance And You Beside Me was an interesting adventure.

It encouraged me to think and plot and organize as I jotted down notes and questions to myself about motivations and hesitations. Later, when I spoke with Lynnette Bonner of Rocky Mountain Oasis and my husband (who devised the storyline for To Save a Soul and Silver and Iron), I was able to easily rework the outline to the new, more action-oriented romance.

The time saved rewriting the outline versus rewriting the novel inspired me to outline each and every chapter of the novel before actually sitting down to the fun part: the freehand investigation of the characters and their waiting story. To my surprise, I experienced a giddiness and an ease of outlining the chapter that I hadn’t expected. Previously in my writing life, outlining birthed in me an impatience to get to the good stuff. The meat of the story. For me, there was simply too much waiting in the wings that wouldn’t be discovered through outlining due to the extreme structure of the task.

Chapter one and then chapter two were outlined with comparative ease. The characters seemed real, conflicts were revealed, and I was eager to get started with the writing of it. Chapter three found me beginning to stumble and hesitate with the storyline. Questions were beginning to arise that I wasn’t certain how to approach in an outline versus story. So, in order to have the best of both worlds, I decided to begin writing out only those chapters outlined.

As is usual for the first page of a new story, I experienced the hiccup of choosing the perfect visualization that would introduce the character and the scene to the reader’s mind. Finally, after reminding myself this is a first draft and I can rewrite the beginning later, I allowed myself the freedom of writing what I saw in my mind… with continued glances to my outline to make certain I was following the structure decided upon. At first it seemed to go well, and then I began to notice the cryptic nature of the scene.

Perplexed, I continued to delve forward to the next scene, but the lack of depth to the dialogue and the main female character from the previous scene began to nag at me. To compound the issue, the male character in scene two, as well as the supporting character, were hiding from my internal story viewer. I couldn’t feel them or understand their current situation. Again and again I read over the outline, attempting to uncover the key that I had apparently missed in transferring the story from outline to paper… and then I recognized the internal anxiety that came from putting myself in too tight of a box.

I had stumbled into a trap (I know the antagonist laid it!). In the dedication to remain true to the outline, I was not allowing my characters any freedom. My desire to control them was distancing me from the discovery of the adventure they wanted to weave. In fact, it was taking the inspiration out of God’s hands and putting it in my own.

Outlines, for me, work better in an overall fashion. That is, the outline is to introduce me to the story, the characters, and the overall conflict. The outline is the tool God uses to inspire in me the excitement to craft this story. As writers, we all know and understand that writing a novel is hard work! What gets us through to the end is our passion for either the characters or the story itself. The outline helps me find that motivation. When I attempt to craft a more refined outline/guideline, that is when the blessing of an outline begins to disintegrate, sabotaging my giddiness and causing writing to become a chore more than a joy.

That is a deadly poison for a writer with a new toy (story).

When I realized the box I was beginning to write myself into, I stopped! I let myself out of the cage, set the chapter outline into my bag and out of sight, and then let AJ, the male character, tell me his story. Instead of informing him of his motivations and reasonings, I listened to his heart and mind. I let him admit to his fears and his uncertainty. I was quiet as he confessed his anger and frustration. He was a lot more cooperative once I quit telling him what to do!

AJ is happier for it, as am I, and the discovery leaves me refreshed and rejuvenated. Verna, the female character, doesn’t seem to mind one way or the other, but I have dedicated myself to a rewrite of her first scene regardless. She might believe her scene is fine, but I want to make certain her introduction to the reader is stellar. As the newest character in my fold, she deserves the time and attention.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

How do you prefer to begin a new story? Outline? Summary? By the seat of your pants?

TSS – Art Cometh!

Posted by on 12/10/2009 No comments

Got a sneak peak of the colored draft for Mun from To Save a Soul last night. :-D I can hardly wait to see the finished version. The really difficult wait time will be when she’s working on the ‘couple pic’, which will be a rendition of the following scene from the book:

___________________

The two were served their meal in a private dining room on the second floor in the east wing.

Mun didn’t care for the posh surroundings as Para did, and sat ramrod straight in the high-back chair as the maid took his plate to serve him dessert. The warrior didn’t quite know what to make of the sweetness of the cream and fruit. It made Para realize that he must have been traveling in less than civilized situations for an even longer time than she had. That or he simply didn’t hold enough appreciation for foods of the higher-class.

He retrieved the small silver spoon in his massive hand with some initial difficulty. Then, once he had it adjusted in his hold, he scooped a small bit of the sweet cream and fruit and tasted it as if the spoon would bite him should he take it wrong.

Her lips twitched upward. “So, what do you think, Mun?”

He didn’t answer right away, so intent on the taste of the dessert and what he imagined it would do to his insides.

“Munwar.”

This time he lifted his gaze to meet hers. “I think it’s too sweet.”

“I think you don’t know when you have a good thing.” Para reached out. “Here; let me have it. You can gnaw on the table."

Para Sedi – Colored

Posted by on 12/08/2009 No comments

My friend Katharine Jay is amazing. Below is the colored version of Para Sedi, the ranger from my fantasy novel To Save a Soul, winner of the 2008 National Novel Writing Month contest.

Para Sedi

Once I have the colored headshot of Mun, I will be putting those into the book trailer for To Save a Soul and re-submit it to YouTube.

I have already inserted the grayscale versions of her headshots into the manuscript. I will insert the couple pic and the individual pics and then start the last revision. Once that is complete, I will resubmit to CreateSpace and make the story available for purchase again.

Hopefully all this can be accomplished by the one-year anniversary of TSS’s release (May 2010).

ADD: AE – Marshal and Sally

Posted by on 06/16/2009 No comments

Marshal stared down at his cell phone, his expression blank as the screen dimmed and then blackened. He touched the screen and the white marred his face. His silver eyes didn’t loosen their focus of the number entered and ready to connect. Again the screen dimmed; the number still waiting.

The two-story house across the way drew his gaze, the flicker of the television seen through the window in the darkened living room. He could see her on the couch, huddled under a fleece blanket with a pink bunny and a Tonberry doll in her lap, her arms clutching them to her and her face hidden in their plush softness.

Releasing a slow breath, Marshal tucked his cell phone into the pocket of his black slacks and turned for home. After two steps, however, his feet refused to venture further. He fisted his hands in his pockets, his stoic expression darkening to a frown. He kicked at a tuft of brownish-green grass that peeked from the joining section of the sidewalk and the curb. Flakes of grass and soil speckled his black shoes, inviting one last kick before he about-faced. Zack Regal’s house loomed in front of him, mocking his purpose-driven stride. He rubbed at the hair on the back of his head and knocked.

The sound from the television dimmed – it sounded like a game – and then two sets of dead-bolts slid back. The door opened. Sally blinked up at him, her blue eyes wide and glossy with tears, with the imprint of a stuffed animal nose on the left side of her forehead. Her hair, in two braids, tousled. She wore pale pink sweats, a white sweatshirt with the black letters of ‘Timber Wolves’ across the front, and pink bunny slippers. To his chagrin, she held the Tonberry doll by the hand.

Marshal swallowed hard before he could trust his voice. "Hey."

Sally’s gaze fell to the Tonberry, which she surreptitiously hid behind her back. "Hi."

She peeked up at him with those gemlike eyes that never failed to remind him he did have a heart. Though vengeance would have been easier if he could forget that one fact…. Sally stepped back and gestured to the couch, her cheeks a sexy shade of rose. "It’s cold out there, Marshal," she observed, and the quiet of her tone as she said his name felt like velvet to his ears. "You should come in."

Every muscle in his body ached to do just that, yet that same ache kept him rooted to the spot. "I only wanted to…." He only needed to see her. "I know it’s late…." He hadn’t seen her for six months and couldn’t get the vision of her bolting out of Security from his head.

"Come in, Marshal." Her hand reached for his arm, and the desire to allow her to draw him inside overwhelmed his sanity for a moment. He prevented that first, doomed forward step.

The smile he offered her was calm itself, though his insides rumbled in chaos. "I didn’t plan on staying long enough to come inside, Sally." The words soured on his tongue, but he forced them out. "You–"

"Marshal. Don’t go." Her smile waned as she stared up at him, a glimmer in her eyes hinting at tears.

Somehow Marshal smeared the smile on his lips with epoxy; it stayed. Words, however, were impossible.

Sally set the Tonberry just inside and pulled the door closed. When she turned toward him, the late-night breeze wafted a soft scent of vanilla from her hair. Marshal’s hands hurt with the bruising tightness of his fists in his pockets– Sally stepped forward and pulled his rigid form into a tight embrace, her cheek resting against him in such a way that he could feel the wet warmth of her tears through his shirt. His eyes burned as he lowered his gaze to the crown of her head, the moonlight glinting sparks of red from the rich brown of her hair.

"….I miss you so much…" she whispered, her voice choked behind the tears that wet his shirt.

His throat collapsed around any words he might have spoken. Instead, he drew his aching hands from his pockets and held her closer. The radiating warmth and the lush softness of her skin…. Damn, she feels good. He told her brother that the decision would be hers. Yet holding her close rose up old temptations to… persuade her choice.

Step back, Beita, he ordered. For he knew that much longer in her arms would erase any oath or promise he made to himself, Katie, and even Sally. Marshal shifted his hold to the trembling of her upper arms and drew them from around him, even against her resistance and a whimpered protest. She wouldn’t lift her gaze to meet his. "Sally, don’t."

"Don’t what?"

Even Marshal didn’t know how to answer.

She sniffed, wiping tears from her cheeks as she raised her gaze. "I haven’t seen you in six months. You never write. You never call. Or visit. I…. I…." She hiccuped through another wave of tears, and her nose began to match the soft rose of her cheeks. Sally made a helpless gesture with her hands, as if seeking the words to say in the tense air between them. Then her gaze lowered. "I’m trying to start over, but that… but that doesn’t mean I want to be alone," she said, her tone hushed.

His hold didn’t release the bulkiness of her sweatshirt as he stared down at her, watching her lashes brush against her flushed cheeks as a tear escaped a swipe to drip from the end of her pert nose– "Don’t cry, Sally," he pleaded, his voice rough with every accusation and shard of guilt he kept to himself. He loved this girl, but for him that wasn’t enough anymore. He needed her to love him; to want him; to need him and not Zell Dincht and his damn Tonberry.

The choice would be hers; just like he promised.

"Mars, I…"

Marshal swallowed hard, grappling with his control once she lifted her tear-stained face with those blue stars for eyes….

She gave a single shake of her head. "I don’t want you to go."

The breeze tickled her cheek with a stray lock of hair. He loosed his hold of her arm and brushed it behind her ear. The velvet of her skin tingled the tips of his fingers with sparks of flame. He was never far from her. Never but a door away each day. A torturous separation of but a few feet because she didn’t know. And because he wouldn’t tell her….

Marshal leaned in and caressed her forehead with his lips. Still unable to fully trust his voice to any number of confessions and admittances. The time wasn’t right. She hadn’t made her choice. She hadn’t found herself. He had only come to prove to himself that she was close. That she was fine. Healing. Seeking her new self. One that might not even want anything to do with him. It was a risk he was prepared to take as long as she had happiness.

I love you, Sally. But he wouldn’t let himself say it aloud. Not again. Not yet.

He straightened, opening his eyes to find her watching him. Her blue eyes so wide that the moonlight danced in their darkened depths. He offered her a small, comforting smile and felt a hypocrite for doing it.

Beita, walk away.

The order nearly elicited a cringe. Walk away from Sally a second time? Now? When she asked him to stay? When her eyes begged him to stay? Walk away?

"I need to go," he said in a low, rough tone. "I’m on duty in the morning."

Again, she shook her head. The action very slight. "Don’t go," she whispered. "Please…."

A thousand and one phrases and arguments jumbled themselves in his head as his gaze fell into hers. The one that stayed his feet from trekking away from her was the one that should have motivated him in the first place–

"I think I love you," she whispered.

Shock froze him to the core the same time his insides burned at the words.

"All my dreams and coma memories…. They were you," she continued, still in the hushed tone of revelation. "I… I was falling in love with you, Marshal. That’s why I went into the T.C. before the attack. I was confused and a little scared. I was ready to be in love with Zell. Maybe because I knew there wasn’t really a chance he would notice me. But you… You and I were already friends. You already liked me. I knew that. So… So I was scared of ruining it all… but I could feel it. I was… I was falling in love with you."

Her rambling faded into the breeze as he gazed down at her, his expression blank. "Sally…"

She shook her head against the argument, whatever it might have been, and stepped in, so close the merest hint of a breeze overwhelmed his senses with the sweet fragrance of vanilla. Then the soft sweetness of her warm lips touched his and his thoughts fled. He pulled her close, his arms moving of their own accord to enfold her into his protecting embrace as he returned her kiss.

She snuggled closer, burying her face into the front of his shirt. "…I love you, Marshal. I love you so much…" Then tears robbed her voice.

Marshal gathered her closer, caressing the silky smoothness of her hair in an attempt to console her. His mind and heart reveled in the feel of her heartbeat and the warm wetness of her tears through his shirt. They were the tears of happiness. "…I love you, Sally."