What is conflict, anyway?

Yeah, what is it, really? Is it this?
Or rather something like this?

Perhaps this is more like it...

It seems simple. Lots of things do, when they're done well.

Good writers do it all the time, putting their characters at odds to create an inescapable conflict of motivation. The characters' goals may be the same or different, but in pursuing those goals, each will negate the other's chances of succeeding.



***********************************************************************************

A few nights ago, I watched the old classic, 'Irma La Douce', with my family. What a great partnering of Shirley MacLaine and Jack Lemmon. We thoroughly enjoyed it. As we watched, I was explaining to my husband how inescapable the conflict was.

Irma, a prostitute, falls in love with Nestor, an ex-policeman. Nestor replaces Irma's abusive pimp, and to show her gratitude, she sets about earning as much money as she can to dress him in the finest clothes and look after him in a way that will make her proud among the other prostitutes in the district.

Nestor is flattered, but his love for Irma makes him insanely jealous of her clients. He can't stand the thought of her with other men, so he invents an alter-ego, Lord X, who will engage Irma's services twice a week to do nothing more than play double-handed solitaire, paying her so much money she doesn't need to see other customers.

Problem is, to make a thousand Francs a week, Nestor works himself to the bone at the local produce markets and arrives home early each morning to fall into bed exhausted. Irma thinks he's losing interest in her. One day, after a quick change from Lord X to his real-life self, Nestor meets Irma in the local bar for a drink. She sees a lipstick mark on his cheek - the one she had placed on the Lord only a few minutes earlier - and accuses him of having another girl. She then announces that she has fallen in love with Lord X and plans to elope with him.

There seems nothing left for Nestor to do than to dispose of Lord X. But when Nestor throws Lord X's clothes and belongings in the Seine, noisily proclaiming his joy at being finally rid of the Lord, he is spotted by Irma's old pimp. The police are called and Nestor is arrested and subsequently convicted for the murder of Lord X.

I won't spoil the ending, as there are a few more complications before Irma and Nestor are happily reunited, but I thought this was a splendid example of inescapable emotional conflict. Irma's and Nestor's motivations for getting what they wanted were diametrically opposed. In the status quo, no resolution was possible. Thankfully, unfolding events provided the stimulus for character change, and that in turn enabled the protagonists to change events so that they could be - happily - together at the end.

There. Now wasn't that confusing?

Last night I drew Jennifer Crusie's conflict grid on a page and tried to nut out the conflict of my current characters. I haven't yet given up on them, as I think they've got potential. It was harder than I thought to get the conflict grid working so that each of their motivations prevented the other's goal from succeeding. I must have drawn that grid at least fifteen times before I hit on a workable conflict. But for this to happen, I had to change the story I'd originally planned to write. It was a difficult process that kept me up past midnight. It was worth it, however, as I feel more satisfied with the new plot than I have for a long time. What this means, though, is that I have to wipe everything I've written so far and start again. And I thought this writing caper was going to be easy...!!!

State of flux

My current novel has ground to a halt.

Several weeks ago, I received yet another rejection from Harlequin for the manuscript I'd sent them most recently. Now I have no irons in the fire, and since the rejection letter was identical to the last, I think it's time to stop and take stock.

All sorts of questions are running through my head. Am I writing for the right publisher? Is my work more suited to a different line, or to another genre of writing altogether? Clearly, there is something about my writing that isn't working, so now is a good time to stop and consider what I'm doing.

Over the last few years, I've built up a bit of knowledge about how to structure a novel. My writing - hopefully - has improved. So what is it about it that's going to take it to the next level? I think this is a crucial consideration at this point, and the more I think about it, the more I'm convinced I need to be more strategic about what I write, how I write it, and to whom I pitch it.

When I think about my current novel, there are several elements that don't sit quite right with me. I have the emotional conflict worked out... I think. But is it as clear in my mind as it should be? Perhaps not enough to provide that clarity for the reader in a way that's going to make them want to turn the page.

Part of the problem could be that in trying to 'fit' into a certain genre - and Romance has been the genre of choice thus far - I am perhaps not able to express myself in the voice that comes most naturally to me. If this is in fact the case, then I might be sabotaging myself in a way that will always prevent an editor from seeing who I really am.

So I'm going to take some time to mull all these issues over and come up with a plan. I feel a great sense of affinity for romance, for the breadth of storylines available, which provide endless opportunities to explore character and emotion. If I'm totally honest, what attracts me the most to romance is being able to explore women's issues in great depth.

With this in mind, I'm going to analyse what I've done so far, see what possibilities lay ahead, and make a plan of attack. There will be setbacks along the journey, but I'm more than willing to persevere, since there's something inside me that urges me on. I don't know if Harlequin is the right fit for me, but I know there's something out there that is. It's my passionate and resolute aim to find it.

Occasional Literary Gem #5

Now we come to characterisation.

Pat Conroy's incisive descriptions go beyond regular perception. When I first read this passage, I marvelled at how Conroy is able to convey an impression with his sharply intuitive turn of phrase. The way he describes Winthrop Ogletree and his funeral parlour, utterly captures the essence and mood of the character and the setting. I no longer have to imagine. I'm right there in the room alongside Ogletree, as though my senses belonged to the POV character, Tom Wingo.

'The undertaker, Winthrop Ogletree, was waiting in the foyer of the large, rambling Victorian house at the end of the Street of Tides where he practiced his trade. He was dressed in a dark suit and his hands were folded against his stomach in an attitude of enforced piety. He was tall and thin and had a complexion like goat cheese left on the table too long. The funeral parlor smelled like dead flowers and unanswered prayers. When he wished us a good day, his voice was reptilian and unctuous and you knew he was only truly comfortable in the presence of the dead. He looked as if he had died two or three times himself in order to appreciate better the subtleties of his vocation. Winthrop Ogletree had the face of an unlucky vampire who never received an adequate portion of blood.'

Occasional Literary Gem #4

Though I've had a busy weekend, returning from a stay-over at Indi's gorgeous beach retreat to the usual round of commitments, I'm still making my way pleasurably through Pat Conroy's amazing 'Prince Of Tides'.

The following passage is one of Tom Wingo's reminiscences, and at this stage of the novel, appears to serve no direct purpose other than to enrich the already kaleidoscopic setting. I don't imagine there will be a need to revisit Mr Fruit, however the brief appearance of this eccentric character adds another dimension to the already multi-textured setting of the novel.

'We came to the intersection of Baitery Road and the Street of Tides and to one of Colleton's two traffic lights. Out in the harbor, sailboats canted into the wind, their sails papery and overwhelmed with sunlight. A fifty-foot yacht made the turn in the river and signaled the bridge tender with four throaty barks of the horn. Mr. Fruit, sporting a baseball cap and white gloves, was directing traffic at the intersection. We waited for him to grant us permission to cross the street. It did not matter to Mr. Fruit if the light was red or green. Mr. Fruit relied on intuition and his own internal sense of balance and symmetry to get the traffic through his corner of the world.

Fantastic, bizarre, and vigilant, he was a tall, lanky black man of indeterminate age who seemed to consider the town of Colleton his personal responsibility. I don't know to this day if Mr. Fruit was retarded or deluded or some harmless sweet-faced lunatic given free rein to drift about his native town spreading the joy of an inarticulate gospel to his neighbors. I don't know his real name or who his family was or where he spent the night. I know he was indigenous and that no one questioned his right to direct the traffic on the Street of Tides.

There was a time when a new deputy tried to teach Mr. Fruit about the difference between a red and a green light, but Mr. Fruit had resisted all efforts to reorder what he had been doing perfectly well for many years. He not only monitored the comings and goings of the town, his presence softened the ingrained evil that flourished along the invisible margins of the town's consciousness. Any community can be judged in its humanity or corruption by how it manages to accommodate the Mr. Fruits of the world. Colleton simply adjusted itself to Mr. Fruit's harmonies and ordinations. He did whatever he felt was needed and he did it with style. "That's the southern way," my grandmother said. "That's the nice way."

"Hey, babe," he cried out when he saw us, and "Hey, babe," we cried back. He wore a silver whistle around his neck and a beatific, inerasable smile on his face. He tooted his whistle and waved his long arms in graceful exaggerated swoops. He pivoted and danced toward the lone approaching car, his left hand at a right angle to his bony wrist. The car stopped and Mr. Fruit motioned for us to cross the street, blowing on his whistle in perfect synchronization with my grandmother's footsteps. Mr. Fruit was born to direct traffic. He also led all parades in Colleton, no matter how solemn or festive the occasion. Those were his two functions in the life of the town and he performed them very well. My grandfather would always tell us that Mr. Fruit had done as well with what he had as any man my grandfather had ever met.'

Occasional Literary Gem #3

And another gem. This is the letter Tom Wingo, the narrator of the novel, keeps in his wallet. It was written to him years ago by his sister, the famous poet Savannah Wingo, after she watched him coach a game of football. In this scene, he is prompted to take the letter out and read it again. The letter is a well-used device, a beautiful illustration of the unshakeable love that binds these two characters together. I found it inspirational, and I guess it would perhaps be more so to anyone who had sons.

"Dear Coach,

I was thinking about what you can teach your boys, Tom. What language you can use for the love of boys driven by your voice across the grass you mowed yourself. When I saw you and your team win the first game, all the magic of sport came to me silver voiced, like whistles. There are no words to describe how beautiful you looked delivering urgent messages to quarterbacks, signalling for time-outs, pacing the green, unnaturally lit sidelines, loved by your sister for your unimaginable love of play, for the soft gauzy immensity of your love for all the boys and all the games of the world.

But there are some things only sisters can teach the coaches in their lives. Teach them this, Tom, and teach them very well: Teach them the quiet verbs of kindness, to live beyond themselves. Urge them toward excellence, drive them toward gentleness, pull them deep into yourself, pull them upward toward manhood, but softly like an angel arranging clouds, Let your spirit move through them softly, as your spirit moves through me.

I cried last night when I heard your voice above the crowd. I heard you cheering for the clumsy tackle, the slow-footed back, music of your sweet praise. But Tom, my brother, the lion, all golden and hurt: Teach them what you know the best. There is no poem and no letter that can pass your one ineffable gift to boys. I want them to take from you the knowledge of how to be the gentlest, the most perfect brother.

Savannah"

Occasional Literary Gem #2

I'm enjoying 'The Prince Of Tides' immensely. As I remarked earlier, what strikes me the most about Pat Conroy's writing is the beautiful way he puts words together. It's a difficult thing to achieve once or twice in a novel, but he seems to do it incredibly regularly. I have been impressed by this regularity several times already, and I haven't read the first 100 pages yet.

Here is gem #2:

"In mental hospitals, no matter how humanistic or enlightened, keys are the manifest credentials of power, the steel asterisks of freedom and mobility. The march of orderlies and nurses is accompanied by the alienating cacophony of singing keys striking against thighs, annotating the passage of the free. When you find yourself listening to their keys and owning none, you will come close to understanding the white terror of the soul that comes with being banished from all commerce with mankind."

Twilight

Well, I did it. I read 'Twilight' by Stephenie Meyer.

For months, I've watched my teenage daughter be so obsessed with all the books in this series that it was something akin to a satanic possession - or should I say vampiric possession (is there such a word?). Every moment of her day - waking or sleeping - was immersed in the events and characters of these books. She read the first and was hooked immediately. The second, she purchased while holidaying on the Mornington Peninsula. As well as taking part in the usual activities with the rest of us - going for walks or to the beach - she finished the novel the same day. Which means she virtually devoured the thing.

As the date for release of the fourth book approached, she and a friend pre-ordered copies at a local bookshop. After much anticipation, the blessed day finally arrived. The two girls caught the bus to the bookshop as soon as school finished. It's an easy walk, but the bus would deliver them there faster so they could start reading all the sooner. They'd organised to have a sleepover that night so their reading wouldn't be interrupted. They read from the time they arrived home right through to dinner time, and then afterwards until the early hours of the morning.

The sleepover had turned into a read-a-thon. They gushed about the fourth book, more satisfied than ever with the product of Stephenie Meyer's inventive mind.

Then came the movie... The waiting, the obsessing, the ordering of special preview tickets. The gushing yet again afterwards about how GOOD it was, how they couldn't believe what a good job the film-makers had done, how true to the story, how amazing the special effects, how beautiful Bella, how handsome Edward... on and on and on and on. I won't give you all the details or this could turn into the fifth instalment of the Twilight series. Let's just say that 2008 was a very 'Twilight' sort of year.

And so I felt I had to read it.

In the beginning, I have to say that Edward left me - literally - cold. He is a vampire, after all. And though he's the nicest possible vampire you could meet, with impeccable manners, he still is a vampire. When he touches Bella, he feels cold. He doesn't breathe. His skin looks white. His heart doesn't beat. Not exactly the red-blooded tender Alpha male I go for. Not a Mr Darcy or Hugh Grant in sight.

By the middle of the book I was starting to feel a bit more sympathetic towards him - this is where his sad history is revealed, and by the end of the book I have to admit that I did love him.

What I found most interesting, however, was Stephenie Meyer's clever plotting. Textbook 'Jennifer-Crusie-4-Act-Structure', if you ask me. And it worked beautifully.

FIRST TURNING POINT : Bella realises Edward is a vampire and that she's in love with him (I'm not giving anything away here by quoting from this part of the book, since it was the promotional snippet used on the back cover). 'About three things I was absolutely positive. First, Edward was a vampire. Second, there was a part of him - and I didn't know how dominant that part might be - that thirsted for my blood. And third, I was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him.'

SECOND TURNING POINT - THE POINT OF NO RETURN: This is where everything changes for Bella and for Edward. He tells her everything about himself and his family, potentially threatening their well-guarded secret. Fully informed, Bella makes a conscious decision to accept Edward and continue the journey.

THIRD TURNING POINT - THE BLACK MOMENT: I won't reveal too much here, but it really is the blackest of moments. This part of the book was breathtaking, fast-paced, suspenseful, if a little predictable. For a teenage read, it would certainly have been exhilarating. I can now understand the frenzy the books have generated.

Now I'm being pestered to read the next books in the series, or to read Meyer's other book 'The Host'. I keep telling my teenager that I don't do fantasy, and that getting 'into' Bella and Edward's world was quite enough for me. I don't really fancy starting again with a different set of monsters.

I think something rather more everyday. A novel about dysfunctional families, suicide, broken marriages and child abuse is on the list. Enter 'The Prince Of Tides', waiting for me on the coffee table.

Occasional Literary Gem #1

Sometimes you can read a whole book and remain completely underwhelmed. Sometimes, the words on the page are so powerful that it's difficult not to be overcome.

I picked up an old copy of 'The Prince Of Tides' by Pat Conroy at my children's school fete for 50c recently. Being a Barbra Streisand fan, I couldn't pass it up. I haven't read the novel yet, though today, I skimmed the first page and was struck by the beautiful way Conroy puts words together. I read the following passage out loud to one of my daughters and it was difficult to keep the emotion out of my voice. By the expression on her face, I could tell she felt much the same way.

It is the second paragraph of the novel, narrated by the main character, Tom Wingo, the son of a South Carolina sea island shrimper.

"When I was ten I killed a bald eagle for pleasure, for the singularity of the act, despite the divine, exhilarating beauty of its solitary flight over schools of whiting. It was the only thing I had ever killed that I had never seen before. After my father beat me for breaking the law and for killing the last eagle in Colleton County, he made me build a fire, dress the bird, and eat its flesh as tears rolled down my face. Then he turned me in to Sheriff Benson, who locked me in a cell for over an hour. My father took the feathers and made a crude Indian headdress for me to wear to school. He believed in the expiation of sin. I wore the headdress for weeks, until it began to disintegrate feather by feather. Those feathers trailed me in the hallways of the school as though I were a molting, discredited angel.

'Never kill anything that's rare,' my father had said.

'I'm lucky I didn't kill an elephant,' I replied.

'You'd have had a mighty square meal if you had,' he answered.

My father did not permit crimes against the land. Though I have hunted
again, all eagles are safe from me."

Long time between drinks

It's easy to blame people, situations... stuff. There's always a reason why it's hard to sit down and write, or blog, or do all those things that fills us up. In the past few months, I've had a list of excuses as long as my leg (yes, longer than my arm). First came the rejections, then the bad performance in a writing competition, and so I allowed myself to swallow the excuses. Can't write because I'm busy at work. Can't write because tonight I really feel like veging in front of the telly. Can't write because I need more time to think about this story because this time I really need to get it right. Can't write because there's a certain intangible something that I must discover that will be the answer I've been seeking and will help me to become that writer I dream of... On and on and on. What a load of bullshit.

Truth is, sometimes - or oftentimes - it's hard to write, because it's hard to write. Simple as that. Maybe it's hard because the ideas don't seem to be there - and they certainly won't come without putting fingers to the keys. Or maybe it's hard because writing - writing well, that is - involves opening yourself up in a way that allows others to wound you. And nobody likes to make themselves vulnerable. Sometimes writing feels like standing on the edge of a cliff. Somewhat safe, but still scary. Other times it feels like walking along wearing a blindfold with someone leading you God knows where. Every step feels as though it could lead you into an abyss, and we edge forward centimetres at a time when the actual reality is that it's smooth and safe ahead. If only we had the guts to take big steps and really get moving.

In the last few weeks, I've joined a writing group with some women I've known for a few years - great writers, some published and others on the way - and it feels good. I'm nudging myself forward again, venturing material for their advice and criticism. It feels quite safe, as they're all (the ones I've met so far) lovely women and the environment feels supremely supportive. Just what any writer needs. Another reason joining this group is a great step forward is that it's going to push me to keep producing material for workshopping. Yesterday I put forward the first chapter of my new WIP, and I really enjoyed getting the variety of feedback from the group. Now I have somewhere to go with it and I can start to tackle my problems with lack of tension, or conflict. It's all good, so thank you friends!

Another plus is that the group produces quite a lot of poetry, and so I have been pushed outside my comfort zone, to examine writing that isn't up my alley. Poetry is so good for defining emotion and visual imagery with an economy of words, which is good for me, the 'too much' girl. Hopefully this will teach me to pare it back, be spare, and with that, make less words do the job more powerfully.

Hiatus

Whoo... a month! In fact longer than a month. That's how long it's been since my last post. Every now and then I thought about this lonely little blog, mostly just to feel guilty about how I haven't posted and how pathetic it must seem hanging out there in cyber space with no readers and no new entries... Sort of comi-tragic, isn't it?

But I've been busy with other stuff, and the writing has been on a kind of holding pattern. The last two rejections made me start thinking about where I'm going with this writing thing, so I've taken some time to set some new goals. This interlude has coincided with a particularly busy time in my life, work-wise and personally, with a major building project going on in my back yard, so it hasn't been all about the writing.

Today, after much dithering (reading, re-reading, fiddling, making changes, re-reading, reversing changes...) I posted off the first three chapters of my latest manuscript. It's aimed at Harlequin Romance (Sweet, for Aussie readers), and was the manuscript I pitched at the RWA conference. Hard to believe it took me so long to get my act together, but the synopsis is never a pleasure to write, and neither is the cover letter. It almost seems as though they've been put there as two excruciating rites of passage that every unpublished writer must go through before launching their manuscript into the great unknown. Today I knew I had to get it off my chest so I could forge ahead with something new. There's something about having a finished manuscript hanging about that clutters up my head. Even when I'm meant to be doing other work, work that has absolutely nothing to do with writing, my thoughts are clogged, and somehow, I'm not as efficient.


Now that it's on its way to Surrey, UK, let's hope the vast space in my head created by the manuscript's departure can be put to good use. I am a few chapters into a new novel that I'm calling 'Take A Chance On Me', but I aim to start from the beginning and aim the story down a new road. Time for changes, time to try something slightly different. You never know what's around the corner.

The Road Ahead

Writing time lately has been nil. I blame work, but deep down I know that's not really an excuse. What is happening at the moment for me, is that a few things (such as 2 rejections in quick succession) have made me stop and take stock.

What is it about my writing that could improve? How do I take it to the next level?

I have always written rather 'organically'. I put my fingers to the keyboard, thoughts flow out. Sure, I've become a lot more structured as time goes on. There is more depth to the writing, more to consider about plot, structure, theme, emotional conflict and the like. These 'improvements' all stem from my ongoing thirst into all things literary, from reading, talking and writing, from networking. But is it enough? What can I do to keep progressing? To keep from stagnating.

In my last post, I mentioned fleetingly how insightful I found Anne Gracie's workshop on 'Reading the Rejection Letter'. This workshop wasn't just about rejection letters and how to interpret what editors are saying, but rather on how to 'convert' that feedback into writing that sells.

Here are some of the gems I took from Anne Gracie's workshop:

• Rejection letters tell you who you are

This relates to reading beyond suggestions/criticism and seeing through to the other side. Eg: Is the editor telling you you're too verbose for the genre? Perhaps you're in the wrong genre! What is the 'promise' of the line you're pitching your writing at? Do you really understand the requirements?

• The publisher/editor needs to LOVE your heroine!

If your hero/heroine is NOT lovable, then what do you need to change? Sometimes a few tweaks will do the job. A little more introspection will reveal her character enough that the reader sees she's conflicted in her actions - not just callous or thoughtless. One way to accomplish this is to have the character 'thinking' before speaking. If she's thinking the opposite to what she's saying, then the contradiction is obvious to the reader.

• Your book needs to be a strong roller coaster ride


• No weak/ordinary characters


• Editors want their socks knocked off


• Readers want a story to take you away from mundane reality

Think of a movie premise that makes you want to go and watch that particular film immediately. An irresistible premise such as that is the hook you need. It needs to be a fresh take.

• A romance is a sexy duel, a fun duel. The protagonists have to spark off each other. That means sparkling dialogue

This is an area I sorely need to improve. Boring characters are an obvious alarm signal. As such:

• Don't be afraid to be bold


• Dig into the dark inner past, bring it out


• Find ways to do crazy, over-the-top/on-the-edge love-stuff


• Emotional punch IS the roller coaster ride

What strong emotions are readers going to feel in your current novel? Fear, anxiety, empathy, excitement, self-doubt, lust, humiliation? Are they going to feel daunted, joyful, hopeless, bewildered? 'Yearning' is a good one. Think about the passionate emotions of a mother in relation to her child. THAT is the kind of depth you should be striving for.

When dealing with emotions, though, a writer must remember to provide contrast. A book written in extremes will be exhausting to read. There has to be light and shadow. The contrast is what makes it work.

• Make emotions as strong as you can

Can anxiety become despair? Annoyance become rage? Think about it. Editors don't buy stories because they're well written.

• A storyteller SPELLBINDS

Does your story have sexual/emotional tension? Does it have a titillating scenario? Good likable characters? Unpredictability? What are the books that blew you away? What was it about those books that created that sense of uniqueness? What was it about those books you loved? How can you create a similar experience for your readers? A mildly pleasant, enjoyable read won't catch an editor's eye.

• Editors don't buy books that are JUST well-researched or well-written


• Blow-you-away storytelling will get you there

What is REALLY about your story? Is it really funny? Really exciting? Really touching? Really emotional?

• Don't move the characters around like chess pieces. It should feel natural for the characters to behave in a particular way


• Give your characters disasters in their past


• Their baggage will determine their behaviour


• Get inside the characters


• Put them into conflict and follow them

A good story is about people and how they change. Choices with consequences!

• Giving characters choices makes the reader barrack

And in returning to great characters, what specifically is it that makes a character lovable?

• The reader has to feel sympathy for the hero/heroine


• If the hero/heroine is not lovable, then the reader won't care enough to read on


• Being 'nice' is not interesting


• Give the character faults we can relate to. We don't like perfect people


• We need to admire characters


• They need sass, confidence, attitude, strength

In conclusion:

• Keep the conflict simple, but go deep

So thank you, Anne Gracie. A very relevant workshop that helped me to focus on some key elements that could do with a lot of 'ramping-up' in my writing.

Spellbound on Southbank

Last weekend, critique partner Lisa and I attended the annual Romance Writers of Australia Conference, which was hosted here in Melbourne in Southbank.

I haven't written about it sooner because the minute I arrived home on Sunday night, I hit the ground running at the computer, not due to a burning desire to write romance fiction, but to finish off the powerpoint presentation I was due to give at work the next day. Since then, I've worked a long and demanding week, with no time to draw breath until this weekend, when I finally had a chance to put my feet up and relax and catch up with friends.

As usual, the conference was absolutely filled with wonderful things, some expected, and others surprising. To write about it all and do it justice would fill the length of a category romance novel, so I thought I'd summarise the highlights in point form:

• One Enchanted Century cocktail party on Friday night - excellent finger food and lovely bubbly... met some new friends from Brisbane. Three fun ladies with whom we shared some lively conversation and a few laughs throughout the weekend. Hope to see more of them - in person and in print - in the future.


• Words of wisdom from Barbara Samuel, Margie Lawson, Anna Campbell, Anne Gracie and Jenny Hutton, amongst many others.


• Informal conversations with a few HM&B authors... very encouraging, down-to-earth people. Inspirational.


• Lisa's fantastic 'High Five' win!!!! She looked every inch the glamorous romance author as she collected her award - see her blog for the pictures.


• Tips on how to read the rejection letter! I have quite a collection of these, so this workshop was very pertinent - more about this in my next post!!!


• Fabulous frocks on some fabulous women.


• Excellent accomodation and yummy breakfasts at the Travelodge.


• Endless cups of tea in our room, processing each day's events.


• Preparing for 'The Pitch' with Jenny Hutton - write, re-write, un-write....


• Attending 'The Pitch'. A bit nerve-wracking, but generally a very positive experience.


• Met an incredibly humble, inspiring, aspiring author who works as a pilot, whose manuscript finalled in the Golden Heart this year.


• Met many other aspiring authors... the future of romance writing.

All in all, a wonderful experience. Thank you RWA for providing such an inspiring conference for published as well as unpublished writers.

Where The Hell Is Scribbly?

For those of you... was it 3 women and their dogs, or slightly more women and perhaps a cat or two??? who read this little blog, I thought I'd put it a little post just to show you all I'm still kicking.

As it tends to do, life got in the way of my posting, and of writing. There has been much happening in my life, and most of it to do with work and other people. Not much room left for me. This weekend is the Romance Writers Conference, and much as I'm looking forward to it, I'm afraid I'm going to just make it over the threshold before falling in a heap. I've put myself down to pitch, but feel a tad unprepared as I've been too busy to go over the finished manuscript.

And to top it all off, I've had a nasty sore throat the last couple of days and today my voice started fading (as it often does). I'm guessing that by the time the conference begins, I'll be voiceless. Which means I'll probably have to ditch the pitch.

So the video below is a tribute to carefree joy, to travel, to fun and laughter and having the time, space and mother-lovin' inclination to let your hair down. It's a treat of self indulgence that makes me want to pack a swag and run away! If the success of 'Where The Hell Is Matt?' is any indication, I'm not Robinson Crusoe out there.

Forgotten Challenge

In the flurry of all my rejections, the 50k in 30 days challenge was almost forgotten. I must admit, I took the first rejection like a hit in the solar plexus, and for a while I just stopped writing.

Excuses aside, my 30 days word total was 25,114. I managed to finish one novel, a 'Sweet' that remains unnamed at present and I am in chapter 5 (of about 12) of my new 'Medical', working title: 'Take A Chance On Me'.

...and off again!

Was my last post about being back in the saddle? Well, that didn't last long. A few days ago I received another rejection, this one for the 'Sweet' HM&B partial I'd sent off in March 07.

Oh, well... *&%$#$##@%!!@#*&#&**!!!!!

So where to from here? Part of me thinks I'm not good enough to do this, that I should just quit. Then I remember the inspirational talk from Debbie Macomber at the RWA Conference 2006, where she made us laugh with her stories about the numerous times she was hit in the back of the head with a rejection letter while still on her way back from posting off the manuscript.

I'm trying not to take this to heart too much, and strangely enough, rather than making me want to stop writing, it makes me want to write more. Perhaps it's so I can get another novel ready to post off so I have something 'out there', where at the moment, I have nothing.

Back In The Saddle Again

Another cliched post title. Come to think of it, I'm full of cliches. Maybe that's what's wrong with my writing. Then again... romance (and probably many other genres) can be cliched, which is not necessarily a bad thing. Sometimes cliches provide an element of predictability that - if not over the top - can be comforting for a reader.

Coupling the cliched with the unpredictable is where a novel really satisfies. At the moment I'm reading Jennifer Crusie's 'Tell Me Lies'. I'm only a quarter through the book, and already I've been completely surprised at least twice. See, the romance itself is a bit of a cliche. This novel combines the 'Stranger Comes To Town', with 'Teenage Romance Reprise', with 'Revenge', with 'Romantic Suspense'. It all works very well despite the usual romantic cliches. Though we know when C.L. Sturgis comes back to his home town to find Maddie cheated on by her evil, oafish husband, that they'll end up together and everything will be okay in the end, the read is no less nail-biting.

And so we come to my post-rejection place. I'm fine, and back in the saddle. Sometimes I feel a bit pathetic, wondering how many rejections it will take before I take the hint and stop writing. But right now I just CAN'T stop. Maybe I will never be able to. I heard Steve? Carroll (recent winner of the Miles Franklin award) speak on the radio the other day. He talked about how he never cared whether people liked his writing, because he always did it to please himself. Maybe there's a lot to be said for that. Relax, enjoy the process, and savour the fruits if they come. I don't know if I could be that centred, but it helps to hear someone who's achieved substantial success say it.

This past week I have written a little bit but I've mainly concentrated on being kind to myself, watching telly (discovering 'The Tudors') and yesterday we went to see 'Guys And Dolls', which was fabulous. I still have all the songs going through my head. But this small hiatus has also been about reflecting on the journey so far, and figuring out a plan of attack from this point on. There are things I need to improve about my writing, and now is a good time to start fixing. Tonight, when I log my total word count for the 50k in 30 days challenge, I hope to be able to say I've written 25,000 words (currently at about 22,000ish). Not 50,000 words as planned, but I'm satisfied with that.

Burnin' Down The House

Last week I was going strong. Two weeks into '50k in 30 Days', my word total wasn't quite on track, but not shameful either. I was coping with a fairly heavy workload in my paid work, coupled with finishing off one novel and starting the next. Beside the writing, there was a lot of peripheral stuff going on (including a building project), which I was managing to juggle because I had a feeling I was going somewhere.

And then, last Thursday, the letter came. I knew it a glance. The long expected reply from Harlequin Mills&Boon. The last two times I'd received such a letter, I'd torn it open, thereby rushing headlong into full-blown rejection. This time, I thought I'd wait and give myself a bit of time to prepare myself. Sure I didn't know it would be a rejection, but it was what I expected.

A half hour, a cup of tea, a couple of email and txt messages later, to the urging of both my Lisa friends, I opened it. It was exactly what I'd expected. The medical romance I'd sent off last September had been rejected.

On the bright side, it's the longest rejection I've ever received. It came with suggestions for my 'next' submission. It appears they've worked out I'm probably in it for the long haul.

So it's with a bit of a heavy heart that I announce this sad little bit of news to the cyber community out there, to the three women and their dogs who read my blog. Just another day at the office for an aspiring writer, I know that.

But though I wasn't surprised, though I fully expected this outcome, what a rejection letter does, is to shake the foundations. It burns down your carefully built house of cards. It makes you second-guess yourself so that you wonder if you ever wrote anything worth reading, and if you in fact didn't, whether you ever will.

So what now? It's a little hard to pick myself right up and continue to produce a steady stream of words for my 50k challenge. The novel that I started with great expectations now seems just another pathetic attempt at writing something that someone will find interesting.

More than anything, I think this provides a great opportunity to 'stock-take'. It's not so bad, every now and then, to examine what you're doing and to ask some really tough questions. What am I going to write next that's going to rise above the standard that's already been rejected three times? What is going to make any difference to the status quo?

These, and other issues will be subjects to ponder over the coming weeks leading into the RWA Conference. First and foremost, I'm going to copy down the four pieces of advice I received in the rejection letter, blow them up into 20pt font and paste them into my writing notebook. Then, every time I write I will ask myself if I'm following the advice, or continuing along the comfortable rut I've created for myself these past few years.

And please, no words of encouragement. No praise or commiseration. I get it. It's a rejection, and I understand its implications as well as its loud-and-clear message. What I hope to take from this, is a renewed commitment to writing, a dogged determination to be published despite the rejections. At the moment, I don't know if I have the strength. I guess I'm entitled to a few days' respite to mull it over.

50k in 30 days

On Sunday, I began the 50k in 30 days challenge. This is much like the American (I think) NaNoWriMo. The aim is to write 50,000 words in a month, which for us writers of category romance means coming up with enough words for a novel.

Of course, these words are banged down fast, which means there will be a lot of fluff written and a lot of editing afterwards. Sometimes I wonder whether it's all a waste of time for me, world champion 'waffler'.

So far, I've written just under 8000 words. This has been absolutely fantastic, as it's allowed me to 'put to bed' my current WIP. For months now, I'd been languishing in the middle of the last quarter of the novel, using every excuse imaginable to justify my hopeless procrastination. Well, the 50k in 30 days challenge has gotten me to a point where I aim to finish the novel today. It may not be a terribly polished ending, but at least the words are there. In the words of a famous romance writer, 'You can fix a bad page, but you can't fix a blank one.' (Apologies to the source of this quote, whom I can't recall).

I expect my word count will slow considerably after today, seeing as I'll have to begin my new novel, which I've been thinking about a bit, but not enough to work out the major components. All I have at this point are the characters - and very blurry at that - but no emotional conflict, no plot... no nothin'. Still, forcing myself to plunge into the project and push all procrastination aside might be just what I need to get off to a productive start.

Time Squeeze

It's been crazy lately. Lots on my plate in a particularly hectic cycle of my work. So there hasn't been much time to write, and with that, the fire begins to smoulder rather than rage. Sometimes I wonder why I'm putting myself through all this pressure. Trying to juggle family, work and writing, when it just seems to make everything so crazy, almost spinning out of control... to the point that sometimes it actually does.

This post should be about so much, but it's going to be about little or nothing. In the days since my last post, so much has happened that I could easily have posted every single day - and at length. But like a giant wave to an inexperienced surfer, my schedule has literally dumped me, leaving me overwhelmed, disoriented and exhausted.

Writing sessions have been meagre, usually on the tail end of 'Treasure Of The Deep' marathons. Not good. Crawling towards the end of chapter ten, currently. Looking forward to some decent writing time when my eyes aren't hanging out of my head... Maybe next week.

Grace Kelly - A Life In Pictures

My dear, dear friend and critique partner, Lisa surprised me yesterday, with a touching gift. She knows how much I adore Grace Kelly (she does too), and when she saw this book of photos on her life, she bought two copies. One for herself, and one for me.

The reason for this gift? A celebration of us both finalling in the RWA Emerald competition. As it turned out, we haven't made it to the final three, but that's no reason not to celebrate being in the top 15 entries. Every step forward is important, and no matter how small, it means we're getting closer to our destination.

So thank you, Lisa. Your advice and support is invaluable to me. You make the journey fun and prop me up when I'm feeling low. I hope I do the same for you. Writing can be a solitary endeavour, which requires positive, understanding colleagues who will be frank and firm as well as gentle and kind. A good sense of humour is as mandatory as checking any preciousness at the door. I think we do all of the above quite well.

Before I get too mushy, I'm going to end this post by including a tribute to Grace Kelly. A montage of so many wonderful and enduring images of her screen life and private life. Many of these are found in the book, but what I liked about this selection of film clips and images was that it includes some of my favourite romantic moments from movies I absolutely love. It's almost impossible not to be captivated by her amazingly versatile on-screen presence with such iconic leading men as Frank Sinatra, Jimmy Stewart and Cary Grant.

Grace Kelly was truly amazing. Refined and dignified, with distinct upper class manners, yet still managing to exude an earthy sexyness. The word 'beautiful' doesn't begin to do justice to her exquisite flawlessness. A quality that went far beyond skin deep. In the words of Tommy Hilfiger, who provides a foreword to the book:

'Her looks were simple, clean and classic. She was a natural beauty, not at all pretentious or overdone. Grace Kelly didn't have to worry about hair and make-up, or being weighed down with jewellery. She was refreshingly wholesome, confident, compassionate and full of poise. Purity, I believe, was her greatest asset.'