Category Archives: Excerpt

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It’s not as easy as I thought!

Choose one!

“Dear God, think before you speak next time.” That’s the advice a friend gives my main character in The Brevity of Roses. I wish I’d done that before I promised to share my favorite passages of that novel with you. I quickly discovered that’s not an easy task. I love too many of them, but that’s not the only consideration.

What makes a selection a favorite—particularly, among words you’ve written yourself? Is it the actual word choices, the syntax? Is it the emotion evoked by those words? Is it the importance of those words to the storyline? Or could it be just that you know how hard you struggled to get that passage right? Possibly, it’s a combination of many or all of those things.

Though they were among my favorites, obviously, I didn’t want to select passages that revealed key plot elements. (I hate when they do that in movie trailers.) I found myself choosing mainly solemn parts, like this:

It had been a long time since she pulled out, dusted off, and examined the memory of her life immediately following Stephen’s death. At first, grief covered her like skin, defining her, holding her together. Gradually, it sloughed off, and collected into another form—pain without warning, like a cat hiding under the bed reaching out its paw to swat her when she least expected it. Finally, it ceased breathing and became only an object, a fact of her life, but that object cast a shadow—the dark, formless absence of Stephen. This shadow lay over her so long she became oblivious to its presence. Then Jalal lifted it like a veil, and now she craved this new sun-filled life.

and this:

Yet, he haunted her. When she sat alone in the kitchen, the scent of his spices wafted around her. When she walked down the hall, her heels echoed his voice from the living room. While she worked in her garden, his beautiful herb pots accused her. When she woke in the night, for just a moment, she felt his weight beside her. Here, a dried pouf of blue where his can of shaving gel had sat. There, a word he jotted on the scratch pad on the desk—Halcyon. Everywhere traces of him remained, if only she looked close enough.

And she did.

But Brevity’s not all deep and dark, so I looked for something light-hearted, with dialogue, and chose this:

Renee arrived precisely on time, and entered the house without knocking. Jalal noted she wore one of those soft summer dresses instead of her usual tee and shorts. And her hair—set free again—cascaded to her waist. “I didn’t know what we were having for dinner,” she said, setting two bottles on the counter, “so I brought a red and a white.”

Jalal glanced at the labels. “You have excellent taste in wine.”

“No,” she said. “I just used to work in an excellent upscale restaurant.”

“I am preparing fish, so the Sauv Blanc will be perfect.”

“You really cook?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said, “it keeps me from starving.”

“Funny. So, you’re a gourmet cook, a renowned poet, a financial genius. What other talents do you have?” She pinched a bite of salad. “Mmmm, that’s good.”

“Thank you. The dressing is my own recipe.”

“And …?”

Jalal glanced up, eyebrows raised.

“I asked what other talents you have.”

He shook his head. “I do not even claim the three you think I have.”

“Well, I’ll judge the first one for myself tonight, but the other two are common knowledge.”

“Oh, yes … what would we do without Wikipedia?”

“Smart ass,” she said.

“Now, that one, I will claim.”

Then, my friend Kasie suggested one of her favorite “fun” scenes. It’s not only fun, but it illustrates the dynamic between Jalal and his mother and sisters, as well as the beginning of Meredith’s attraction to his family. You can read that here: Jalal and the Carpet Weaver’s Daughter. Enjoy.

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A taste of Brevity

The Margaret Merrill rose appears both literally and figuratively in my novel, The Brevity of Roses.

When we had a Costco membership, my husband loved to shop there on the days they gave out free samples in the grocery aisles. Sometimes he took samples of things he doubted he would like because “Hey, it’s free.” Well, today I don’t have any food, but I do have a free sample of The Brevity of Roses for you.

But first, some other business:

If you read my last post, you might have expected a new look to my blog today. It’s coming, but real life intervened and I wasn’t able to finish my new blog header, so stay tuned for the redecorating.

I’m going to tell you why you might want to sign-up for my newsletter. I won’t flood your inbox with chain spam, or get-rich-quick schemes, or sell your email address to marketers. In fact, I won’t flood you with anything, but I will tell you first about upcoming contests or other promotions, and keep you in the loop about my scheduled interviews or guest blog appearances. You’ll also learn how you might get a free copy of Brevity. So read the sample first, and then, if you think you’d like to be a Brevity insider, please sign-up on the Contact page.

Now, for that taste of Brevity. I hope you’ll enjoy Chapter One. (Warning: a sprinkling of strong language.)

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1,000 Words

I submitted to strangers once again this week. Miss Snark’s First Victim opened her blog for submissions of the first 1,000 words of your novel for critique by her readers. A previous version of the first chapter of my novel-in-progress The Brevity of Roses was critiqued by over a dozen other writers, but only a couple had read the revision. So, yesterday I submitted the revised excerpt and hoped for the best.

There are shortcomings in such a format. For one, no blurb or setup was part of the submission, and I think that is a liability. A reader picking up a published book would have this information from the back cover or flap before reading the opening pages. Some questions I’ve received in comments would not have been asked, if I had been able to give a little setup. Also, italic formatting was lost in translation to the blog, so a few sentences meant to be italicized indicating direct thought, inspired questions whether these were POV slips. [Turns out, I did have a minor POV problem, just not in these lines.]

Despite these shortcomings, I’ve had some very good feedback. Some of it funny. I discovered my Meredith is a lush! This impression came from the fact that I pictured her being served those two-ounce glasses of wine served in expensive restaurants, while most others apparently pictured full glasses [like I usually pour myself :-) ]  One person even suggested an actor to play Meredith in the filmed version … may it be a box office smash!

Thank you, Miss Snark’s First Victim and her readers. I am thrilled to have such generous writers offer their help to me. I’m off to edit and tweak … again.

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My neverending story?

A few days ago, the five year-old in my life, was having a bad moment. Denied her request for Coke, she’d been crying for several minutes when she sobbed, “I’m afraid this is never going to end!” I know how she feels, though I’m not referring to tears (yet). My writing has been up for critique twice this week, once in my regular writing group and, for the first time, I submitted an excerpt for a “blind” critique at MissSnarksFirstVictim.

Although I appreciate any bit of praise I get (believe me, I need it) I also know that my writing skills will not advance unless I understand where I’m lacking. People who don’t have to look you in the eye, or even speak to you again, can be more honest in critique. Some of the comments I received in the blind critique were mostly favorable and helpful, a couple were not helpful because this was a chapter ending contest and the reader was confused not knowing what had come before this excerpt, another couple were not favorable nor helpful, but a few, though not favorable, were helpful because they pointed out valid problems. In the end, I learned what I thought was a good chapter ending—is not. It should be the opening for the next chapter.

Once I accepted this, I looked back at the previous scene and realized that I’d tied up that one in a pretty bow too, so it wouldn’t make a good ending either. But here’s the thing, rereading that scene I realized I hadn’t conveyed the real import of the character’s thought at that point. The addition of a single line, not only corrected that mistake, but gave a hook to lead into the next chapter.

I’d written, edited, revised, and re-edited this chapter in question, and still hadn’t seen these problems. So today I’m thinking about the time-frame for completing this novel and crying, “I’m afraid this is never going to end!”

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The power of three

Before Renee could say anything more, anything about Meredith, Jalal took off at a run, heading back home. Passing not another soul along the empty street, he cut across the bridge and wound through the lanes, every house looming dark and silent, every pounding step echoing from the vacant spaces, every heartbeat taking him down and down and down toward the shore.

tri_gld_prplOne of the themes in my current work is the number three. There are three main characters. Three lives with three stories of love, loss, and redemption. The quote above illustrates my natural tendency to compose in repetition of three: street, bridge, lanes; every house, every step, every heartbeat; down, down, down. My brain does not let go at two or four; it’s satisfied at three.

Maybe, it comes to me from my Celtic ancestors with their copious use of triadic symbols, but likely I’m expressing archetype, a universal law. Consider:

  • Body, soul, and spirit (echoed by: the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost)
  • Maiden, mother, crone
  • Primary, secondary, tertiary
  • Past, present, future
  • Morning, noon, and night
  • Up, down, and all around
  • Thought, word, and deed
  • Animal, vegetable, and mineral

Expressions of three are … well … here, there and everywhere.

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Running to and fro

Today I write. Today Jalal runs. And today Jalal begins to respond:

As Jalal feared, the tide had not receded enough for him to run past Blue Point, so he doubled back and then continued south. Not far past his house, he spotted her. Running forced him outside his zone of solitude and, in the effort to stave off unwanted contact, he learned to stay aware of his surroundings, to be alert to what moved in and out of his peripheral vision. Renee stood on the first landing of the steps leading down from the pathway.

Her face was in profile. She looked out to sea, or possibly, she looked at nothing. Bundled against the chill and damp, with only a few flyaway tendrils escaping her hooded sweatshirt, he was surprised he knew the shape of her. Her stance, her coloring, the line of her jaw, somehow committed to memory already.

Surely, she would see him in seconds—three, two, now—he passed below her. He didn’t look up. She didn’t call out to him. He felt relieved and disappointed in equal measure.

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Literary Tag

I was tagged twice today by fellow writers Kasie and Candice. Kasie says it’s called Bookwormed.

Here are the rules:
1. Open the closest book – not a favorite or most intellectual book, but the closest at the moment – to page 56.

2. Write out the fifth sentence on the page, as well as the two to five sentences following.

3. Then open your ms to page 56 and write out the fifth sentence, as well as two to five additional ones.

4. Tag five (or more) buddies to do this same exercise.

So, here’s this from Charles Frazier’s “Cold Mountain”:

The houses were dark inside, even on a bright day. Those with shutters kept them pulled to. Those with curtains kept them drawn. The houses smelled strangely, though not uncleanly, of cooking and animals and of people who worked.

And now, my WIP:

Meredith and Jalal ran laughing onto the porch. They had gone for a stroll along the beach walkway after dinner, but just as they came back in sight of his house, a windswept rainstorm surprised them. Now, just as they stepped over the threshold, lightning splintered the air with a sound they felt in their bones, and a velvety blackness swallowed up the beach road. Jalal reached out and flipped the light switch with no result.

I tag all writers who read this and would like to participate. Anyone? Anyone?