Tag Archives: writing

More random thoughts about the process of #writing

I’m not a Romance writer, but I do write about humans and their relationships. The people in my tales sometimes fall in love, and while they don’t always have a happily ever after, most do. An aspect of my writing that would disappoint a dedicated Romance reader is the profound shortage of smut.

I think of sex the way I do violence. Both occur in real life. I’m like every other author in that I want my characters to live. However, while I have been graphic in the past when the story demanded it (Huw the Bard, Julian Lackland, and Billy Ninefingers), their stories follow the events that change and shape them. Some of those events are traumatic, while others are moments of joy. I would likely write some of those scenes differently now, nearly twenty years on.

When I first have a glimmer of an idea about who the characters might be, I make a small outline of what their personality is, noting their likes and dislikes. This always evolves and changes as I lay down the first draft.

When I first know two characters are developing either antipathy or an attraction, I find writing the subtler nuances of those emotions difficult. In real life, we are sometimes repulsed by a person. It seldom happens, but when it does, I feign geniality but offer nothing beyond pleasantries. Nor do I encourage further communications beyond that chance encounter at a party or, as sometimes happens, in a work environment.

Cartoon: I am their creator. Why do they not obey me?When I’m building the first draft of a story, the characters’ emotions seem to come out of nowhere and feel forced. This gets ironed out in subsequent drafts.

For me, the hardest part is writing subtle foreshadowing. I try to show the gradual connection as it grows between two people, but it often takes two or three drafts to get it right.

I have many friends who write Romance. I read their work and enjoy it. I’ve also attended many workshops given by Romance writers and learned a great deal from them.

I love books on the craft of writing. Two books in my writing craft library that have seen heavy use were written by Damon Suede, who writes Romance. He explains how word choices can make or break the narrative.

As a reader, I have found his viewpoint to be accurate. As a writer, I have found putting it into practice takes work.

In his book Verbalize, Damon explains how actions make other events possible. Crucially for me, he reminds us that even gentler, softer emotions must have verbs to set them in motion.

So, emotions are nouns and need strong verbs to push them to action. Matching these nouns with verbs is key to bringing a scene to life.

This is where my writing experience becomes work. I open the Oxford Dictionary of Synonyms and Antonyms and delve into the many words that relate to and describe attraction. Or I can go online: ATTRACTION Synonyms: 33 Synonyms & Antonyms for ATTRACTION | Thesaurus.com

I make a list of the words that I think will fit my characters’ personalities. Then, I have to choose the words that say what I mean and fit them into the narrative. Sometimes, this means I will rewrite a sentence two or three times before it says what I intend and flows naturally.

My Billy’s Revenge series (Huw the Bard, Billy Ninefingers, and Julian Lackland) began from one accidental novel. That novel was spewed onto the page, and the relationships developed without preplanning. Thanks to my inexperience and a predatory publisher, that book had a rough life, but fortunately I had retained the rights to my book. It was unpublished, dismembered, and over the next ten years, the three character threads were separated into their own novels instead of jammed into one.

For me as a person and as a reader, true Romance has an air of mystery, of something undiscovered. It has to be a little bit magical, or I can’t suspend my disbelief.

Writing adventures for my people is easy. When two characters are gravitating toward one another, injecting the feeling of magic into that attraction is the tricky part.

When a beta reader tells me the relationship seems forced, I go back to the basics and make an outline of how that relationship should progress from page one through each chapter. I make a detailed note of what their status should be at the end. This gives me jumping-off points so that I don’t suffer from brain freeze when trying to show the scenes.

As I am rewriting the scenes involving a developing relationship, I want to avoid weak phrasing. I look at the placement of verbs in my sentences. When a scene feels weak, it is usually my phrasing that is off. As I revise each scene, I try to ensure that the reader will experience events as the characters do.

Harold felt attracted to Gertie. This is a scene that indicates attraction, but it is narrated. That makes it weak, telling. What did Harold’s experience of attraction feel like? Maybe a small wish to know her better? Pounding pulse?

Bystanders narrate their view of events, but characters experience the events. Reading their thoughts and emotions as they do is far more compelling than hearing a bystander talk about it.

It’s true that some stories need an all-seeing narrator. Even if a tale is told in the third-person omniscient voice, readers want to live the events with the characters.

I think this is why many authors gravitate to a first-person point of view. I confess I do enjoy stories with unreliable narrators. They offer their opinions and shade the truth, and sometimes outright lie to us. They’re more interesting because of that.

I think our characters have to be a little clueless about romance, even if they are older. They need to doubt, need to worry. They need to fear they don’t have a chance, either to complete their quest or to find love.

Romance writers have it right: overcoming the roadblocks to happiness makes for great love stories. This is why I read in every genre. I try to learn what I can from the masters, seeing how they use their words to write their scenes and construct their stories.

Romance is drama, but it isn’t the entire story.

Adam Savage of Mythbusters fame said something about drama and creativity on a recent podcast. He was talking about Stanley Kubrick’s creative process. His opinion was that Kubrick is best at recognizing the moments where a story could create drama.

Attraction and antipathy are two sides of one of those points. That place is a point where the smallest emotions can grow and create friction until they catch fire. And recognizing those places with strong emotional potential is crucial to creating a great novel or short story.

Yes, my first drafts are pretty uneven and flat, but I hope my beta readers can spot those missed moments. That way, I can illuminate them when the manuscript is in revisions rather than making my poor editor suffer.

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#FineArtFriday: A second look at “California Spring” by Albert Bierstadt 1875

Albert_Bierstadt_California_SpringArtist: Albert Bierstadt (1830–1902)

Title: California Spring

Genre: landscape art

Date: 1875

Medium: oil on canvas

Dimensions: height: 187.3 cm (73.7 in); width: 264.2 cm (104 in)

Current location: Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco

I very nearly forgot to post an art piece today, which is why it’s late. Albert Bierstadt is one of my favorite 19th century artists. He was known for presenting nature in an epic, majestic manner. This painting demonstrates his skill at depicting the grandeur and power of storms and the wildness of the lands of the American West. In many of his other works, he also showed the native people as they were, depicting them as having dignity and purpose in their lives.

What I love about this painting:

I love this composition, the way everything is deliberately placed. Cattle graze on a hilltop beneath a grove of trees, uncaring of the rainstorm sweeping across the valley below, far off in the distance. The immensity of the sky is the focus of this scene, with the sun emerging from the clouds, a brief promise of warmer days. Spring has arrived on this hilltop.

Albert Bierstadt paints us an idyllic scene of seasonal weather and the harmony of nature. The grass is green, the cattle are happy, and while rain may come, summer is around the corner.

About the artist, via Wikipedia:

Albert Bierstadt (January 7, 1830 – February 18, 1902) was a German American painter best known for his lavish, sweeping landscapes of the American West. He joined several journeys of the Westward Expansion to paint the scenes. He was not the first artist to record the sites, but he was the foremost painter of them for the remainder of the 19th century.

Bierstadt was born in Prussia, but his family moved to the United States when he was one year old. He returned to study painting for several years in Düsseldorf. He became part of the second generation of the Hudson River School in New York, an informal group of like-minded painters who started painting along the Hudson River. Their style was based on carefully detailed paintings with romantic, almost glowing lighting, sometimes called luminism. Bierstadt was an important interpreter of the western landscape, and he is also grouped with the Rocky Mountain School. [1]


Credits and Attributions:

Image: Wikimedia Commons contributors, “File:Albert Bierstadt California Spring.jpg,” Wikimedia Commons, the free media repository, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?title=File:Albert_Bierstadt_California_Spring.jpg&oldid=701053175 (accessed February 9, 2023).

[1] Wikipedia contributors, “Albert Bierstadt,” Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Albert_Bierstadt&oldid=1137881139 (accessed February 9, 2023).

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Random thoughts on why some novels stink #writing

I’ve mentioned before that I don’t review books I don’t like. So let’s talk about why some books are not on my review list: first-draft issues that occasionally find their way into published works. For me as an author, the easiest part of writing is inadvertently slipping a clumsy bit of phrasing into my narrative, having an action scene go hilariously (and impossibly) wrong.

I don’t usually notice the awkwardness until my editor points it out.

One: passive phrasing. I’ve said this before, but in real life, people don’t “begin” to pick up that hammer. They don’t “start” to walk away.

  • They reach for the hammer or take it from the toolbox.
  • They walk

We’re thinking and writing the story as it falls from our heads. Because we get into storytelling mode, the dog begins to bark, and the neighbors start to complain. In real life, the dog barks, and the neighbors complain.

Two: not showing a character’s emotions. When laying down the first draft, it’s easy to “tell” the story instead of showing it: “Hugo was mad.” That is concise, but it tells us nothing about Hugo.

Then there is the opposite extreme, showing far too much. I once read a 250-word description of a purple velvet suit of dubious origin. I had trouble not going to sleep. I could see what the author was trying to say, but the host’s suit was the least of the travesties in that train wreck of a novel.

They could have written the entire 250-word encounter this way: Vincent wore a suit of purple velvet, threadbare, and looking as if it came from his grandfather’s closet. A good investment for the author would have been to hire a professional editor.

I don’t care for minute details describing facial expressions: “Marge’s eyebrows drew together, her lips turned down, and her cheeks popped a dimple. Hate glared from her eyes.”

Not a good visualization.

Three: wimpy word choices. Some authors swamp us with an avalanche of prettily written descriptors: “-ly” words. In the 18th and 19th centuries, “ly” words in literature were often rife, a natural and expected component of narrative flow.

But times have changed. A few adverbs and adjectives ending in “ly” are unavoidable, but as authors grow in the craft of writing for modern readers, they begin to find alternate words that sound more forceful: power words.

Power words can be found beginning with every letter of the alphabet and usually don’t end in “ly.” In English, words that begin with consonants convey strength. What are some “B” words that convey a hint of danger, but aren’t “telling” words?

  • Backlash
  • Blinded
  • Blood
  • Blunder

When you incorporate any of the above “B” words into your prose, you post a road sign for the reader, a notice that “ahead lies danger.” Mingle them with other power words, and you have an air of danger.

New writers sometimes want to show their characters as human. They have them natter on about nothing: “Remember when….” If the memory doesn’t pertain to the story or explain something about a character that has been a mystery, it doesn’t advance the plot. Rather than showing them as human, it pads the word count, stalls the momentum, and the reader stops reading.

Four: use of clichés. Speaking as a reader, no matter how perfect it is, please don’t use the word alabaster to describe a white woman’s skin. Don’t describe a black woman’s skin as chocolate. Make an effort to find a different way to describe her appearance. It’s an easy word that says smooth and pale, or smooth and dark.

Overused words and phrases become clichés.

Most readers will tell you that it’s not usually necessary to describe a character’s skin other than with broad generalizations. This is because you want the reader to imagine them for themselves, and we all have different ideas of beauty.

Clichés and catchphrases will appear in the first drafts of our work, but they are signposts for the second draft. They tell us to spend some time finding a creative way to show a person or an event.

Five: events that occur for no reason and take the story nowhere. One of my favorite sci-fi series is “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy” series of books written by the late Douglas Adams. The storylines across all the books have a random feel, but they are anything but random.

The books detail the adventures of Arthur Dent, a hapless Englishman traveling the galaxy in his pajamas. He and his friend are transported off the earth just in time to miss the destruction of the planet by the Vogons, a race of unpleasant and bureaucratic aliens, to make way for an intergalactic bypass.

Douglas Adams understood that there must be a reason for the protagonist to leave his home wearing his pajamas and a robe. He used that opportunity to show the cozy, comfortable environment Arthur was about to be thrust out of.

Adams understood how to write a compelling story. First, he showed us Arthur in his happy home, and then his protagonist had to be quickly yanked out there and placed on that Vogon Constructor Ship. Every event in Arthur’s story exists for a reason.

Six: Inadequate research presented as fact. Don’t say you’re writing real science if you are skimping on research. Yes, true research is time-consuming. Writing true history, writing medical dramas, and using police and military procedures involves effort. You must glean research from more sources than Wikipedia and old CSI episodes.

If you are writing historical fiction, you must know the true history of your subject. Make notes as you read each, noting the book title, the author, and the page number where you found the info, as you may need to know those things later. You can write fiction around it, but major historical events have well-known timelines. It’s work to learn the facts, but this is a job where you can’t skimp.

A research side note: Storyboards are your friend.

If you are writing speculative fiction, fantasy, or even a contemporary novel set in your town, you will accumulate background information in your world-building process. You will want to keep it organized, and this is where the style sheet or storyboard comes in handy.

What the style sheet/storyboard should cover:

  • All names, created or not: Aeos, Aeolyn, Beryl, Carl, Edwin, etc.
  • Real and created animal names: alligator, stinkbear, thunder-cow, waterdemon
  • Created words that are hyphenated: fire-mage, thunder-cow
  • All place names, real or created: Seattle, Chicago, Ragat, Wister, Sevya, Arlen, Neveyah
  • Any maps, calendars, and research notes you have accumulated.

See my post, Designing the Story,” for more on how to make a storyboard or style sheet.

Keep your notes/stylesheet in a clearly labeled file, and back them up on a thumb drive or file them in the cloud via Dropbox, OneDrive, or Google Docs. I use and work out of a file-saving service, so my files won’t be lost no matter what happens to my computer.

Turning those notes into your story is an integral part of the writing process.

Seven: plagiarism. This is most important: never copy lines from another person’s work and pass them off as your own. That is plagiarism, and you never want to be accused of that. If you must quote someone verbatim in your book and the work is not in the public domain, contact their publisher and get their legal permission to do so, and credit them by using proper footnotes. If you do not receive written consent, do not use their work.

Keep this written permission on file with any other legal papers that pertain to that book. An excellent article on this can be found here: Cite Unseen: 3 Bits for a Better Bibliography.

So, there they are, a few random thoughts on the reason some published novels don’t resonate with me, no matter how affordably they are priced.

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Scene Framing and Composition #writing

Things went a little sideways here at Casa del Jasperson over the weekend, so today we are revisiting a post from January of 2022. When we’re in the first draft stage, determining a chapter’s length and just what should be included to keep the length reasonable is not our primary goal.

However, when we get into the revisions stage, we go deeper and look at each scene and transition. We fine-tune how each scene comes together to make a chapter that is a story within the larger story. This is where composition and scene framing come into play.

I hope you enjoy revisiting this post.


Composition is defined as the way the elements inside a frame are exhibited to the viewer – the layout of a picture. In the second draft of a novel or story, you must consider what to show and how to arrange the visuals to achieve the best effect. The environment (world) against which the events and actions are shown is the frame that enhances the scene.

scene framingEach chapter is comprised of one or more scenes. These scenes have an arc to them: action and reaction. These arcs of action and reaction begin at point A and end at point B. Each launching point will land on a slightly higher point of the story arc.

Each scene occurs within the framework of the environment, which must be shaped to emphasize the emotion of the narrative. This is called scene framing.

Our written narrative is the camera through which the scene is viewed.

We want the characters’ interactions to convey the most emotional impact. Also, we want to keep the wordiness to a minimum. We supplement our descriptions by using the environment to highlight the characters’ moods and darken or lighten the atmosphere.

When you target the focus of the scenery to frame the action, you draw attention to the subtext you want to convey, beneath and around the ruminations and conversations.

Today’s example is taken from Anne McCaffrey’s 1988 novel, Dragonsdawn. The Dragonriders of Pern series is recognized as science fiction because of the protagonists are aware of the nature of the star Rukbat and its planetary system. They know they are the descendants of colonists, but life is a struggle and that history is no longer important. Many elements in the earlier books are primarily fantasy in origin as they deal with dragons and telepathy.

However, the early novels also detail the gradual rediscovery of lost technology, the revelation of their forgotten history. Dragonsdawn reinforces the science fiction nature of the series by explaining the science behind McCaffrey’s dragons and why they were genetically engineered to be what they are.

The story follows several POV characters, giving us a comprehensive view of the colony’s successes and failures. For the first ten years, the planet Pern seems a paradise to its new colonists, who are seeking to return to a less technologically centered, agrarian-based way of life. They believe Pern is the place where they can leave their recent wars and troubles behind.

A decade after arriving on the planet, however, a new threat appears. It is a deadly, unstoppable spore that periodically rains from the skies in the form of a silvery Thread that mindlessly devours every carbon-based thing it touches.

The scenes we are looking at today form one chapter and have two distinct environments to frame them: first the planet and then the abandoned colony ship, Yokohama. These scenes are filled with emotion, high stakes, and rising dread for the sure and inevitable tragedy that we hope will be averted. Not all the drama is in Sallah Telgar’s direct interaction with Avril Bitra. The environment heightens the drama, the sense of impending doom.

Before the advent of Thread, Avril disappeared, gathering resources and intending to leave the planet with as much treasure as she can carry. She has been pretty much forgotten by the others but has an agenda and refuses to be thwarted.

In the first scene of this chapter, we see Sallah on her way to work, leaving her children at the daycare. We zoom out and see Kenjo, the pilot, putting the last of the precious fuel into the only working shuttle, the Mariposa. This shuttle has been refitted for one last science expedition: to discover the source of the Deadly threads that rain down upon the planet periodically and to retrieve a sample. If this mission fails, there will be no other.

The camera moves out, and we see Sallah as she observes a woman she recognizes as Avril Bitra slipping through the abandoned shuttles on the landing grid. The view widens again as we see Avril following the pilot, Kenjo, who vanishes. We then see her entering the Mariposa alone.

Sallah makes a spur-of-the-moment decision to follow her, to see what Avril is up to.

Here is where the sparse visual mentions of the environment become crucial as they emphasize the stark reality of Sallah’s situation. Sallah enters the shuttle just as the airlock door closes, catching and crushing her heel. She manages to pull it out so that she isn’t trapped, but she is severely injured. Later, the dark, abandoned interior of the Yokohama reinforces Sallah’s gut-wrenching realization that her five children will grow up without a mother.

Subtext should be almost subliminal, the hidden story, the secret reasoning that gradually emerges as one reads each page. It forms images we see of the environment and how it affects the atmosphere. Subtext is the content that supports the dialogue and gives purpose to the personal events.

Scene framing is the way we stage the people and visual objects. What furnishings, sounds, and odors are the visual necessities for that scene?

Whatever you mention of the environment focuses the reader’s attention when the characters enter the frame and affects the reader’s interpretation of a scene. In this chapter of Dragonsdawn, we see the junk and scrap on the grid and the decaying shuttles. Two shuttles have been dismantled and parted out and used to keep the few cargo sleds they have converted to Thread-fighting gunships in working order. One shuttle remains in usable condition.

Sensory details are important, showing how the environment affects or is affected by the characters. Conversely, not mentioning the scenery during a conversation brings the camera in for a closeup, focusing solely on the speaker or thinker.

A balance must be struck in how your characters are framed in each scene. We flow from wide-angle, seeing Salla floating in freefall, blood pooling in her boot. The camera moves in closer, showing Avril’s rage at the fact that she can’t control the course of the Mariposa, which is programmed to dock at the Yokohama.

Plot-exists-to-reveal-characterWe see Avril taunting Sallah for her matronly body and move out again to see Avril tying a cord to Sallah’s crushed foot and forcing her to make the navigational calculations for Avril’s escape. We move close up and hear the interaction, Sallah pretending to do as Avril asks but really setting her enemy’s doom in action. The camera moves to the wide view again, and we hear the interaction with her frantic husband on the ground. We are caught up in her determination to seize this only chance, using her dying breaths to get the information about the thread spores to the scientists on the ground.

Atmospheric Mood: Ask yourself why you have placed those things in that scene. Why are they important, and what are you conveying to the reader with that visual composition? What subliminal elements does the environment contain that clue the reader into the deeper emotions in that scene? What subtext will carry over from this scene to the next?

Scene framing is the way you compose the scene and transitions. How you use the setting to place your characters supports and reinforces the subtext of the conversations and events and is what makes a scene feel powerful.

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The Great Artists are Brilliant Storytellers #writing

If you are a follower of this blog, you know that Fridays are “Fine Art Friday” here. I love the art of the past, as well as many modern pieces. I also love examining photographic art.

Paintings and photographs offer us a glimpse of a moment in time that may have occurred centuries ago or may not have occurred at all. It is the story of a moment frozen in time and preserved forever for us. Forever, that is, for as long as the painting or photograph exists.

I would love to have created beautiful visual art. I’ve shot some decent photographs, but I’m a writer. Perusing the vaults at Wikimedia Commons allows me to view images with possibilities. Each is a visual representation with a past and a possible future.

We see the whole story.

I’m not educated as an art historian and would never claim to be one. I’m just an old lady who loves the paintings of great artists. I doubt I will ever visit the great museums of Europe, as that would be an expensive endeavor, but I can view their collections in detail.

Anyone with internet access can see great art and photography from the past and present.

Every week, I scour Wikimedia Commons, looking for images that intrigue me. My goal is to give others like me access to see the art that humanity is capable of, the good and perhaps the not-so-good.

Art can be beautiful or savage, depending on the story the artist is trying to present. I love beautiful scenes, and sometimes, especially in winter, I crave the view of a warm summer’s day.

However, more than anything, I like images that tell a story. I am compelled to zoom in and look deeper whenever I view a painting. I research a museum’s website to discover the symbolism the artist snuck into the scene. I want to inform my perception of the story the artist has painted.

Whether I want if to or not, my writer’s brain will influence my interpretation. And the art of the past influences the art of today.

One of the most stunning works of modern art is Guernica, a 1937 painting by the Spanish artist Pablo Picasso (1881 – 1973). This painting is considered to be one of the most powerful anti-war statements of all time. This single painting, done in shades of black and white, tells the story of the bombing of Guernica, a Basque Country town in northern Spain that Nazi Germany and Fascist Italy destroyed at the request of the Spanish Nationalists.

(Yes, a faction in Spain bombed the citizens of their own country.)

Pablo Picasso was influenced by the great art of the past and based the layout of Guernica on the layout of a history painting, The Consequences of War by Peter Paul Rubens.

Looking at art can lead the viewer to new ways of looking at the world.

Some artists offer us fantasy, and others show us the truth about historical events. Both are necessary. Art can be pretty and comforting, and art can teach us a moral lesson.

Art can be brutally truthful.

One of my favorite artists is Pieter Brueghel the Elder. His paintings always tell us a story. He embeds a moral in every aspect of his work. For example, let’s look at The Hunters in the Snow, probably his most famous painting. On first glance, we see a comforting winter scene, a bucolic view of hunters returning and people frolicking on the ice. But when we look deeper, we see the true story.

Brueghel used symbolism to convey an entire story by employing paradox and gallows humor in every painting. Here, he shows us that winter was harsh, and for the average person, survival required a lot of work, sometimes for nothing.

  • He shows us the hunters returning with empty game bags, the lone corpse of a skinny fox, and little else.
  • One dog looks at us with starving eyes, as if hoping for scraps.
  • The tavern’s sign is about to fall down, a large hint that all is not well. That symbolic broken sign tells us the owners are bankrupt.
  • The owners are cooking outside, directly in front of the door, evicted from their home and business. A woman brings a bundle of straw out of the inn to use as fuel, while in the distance an ox-drawn wagon is heavily laden with firewood. Where is it going? Not to their inn, that is for sure.
  • A man is carrying a table away. He glances over his shoulder at the meager soup they are cooking, as if they had somehow gotten it away before he could take that too. Is he the new owner, having acquired it for pennies from the city by paying the taxes at a forced bankruptcy sale? Or is he a hired thug employed by the new owner?
  • A rabbit has crossed the hunters’ path and evaded their snares.
  • Ravens, which in Medieval times were considered birds of ill omen, roost in the trees above the inn and the hunters and fly above the revelers. They are a warning of worse days to come.

But in this story, Brueghel’s characters have hope and faith that things will improve. In the distance (the future), people are playing winter games. The future is indistinct and far away, shown in a fantastic, mountainous landscape rather than the flat terrain of the Netherlands. It is almost as if they are visions of what winter could be if only the harvest had been good, rather than the truth of the dead fox, hounds with empty bellies, a bankrupt tavern, and the rabbit that got away.

If you get a chance, visit www.wikimediacommons.org and see what the picture of the day inspires in you. Will you come away with an idea for a story?

Perhaps so. But take the time to write those thoughts down. Your notes could become a storyboard, which could become a novel.

A photograph or painting might inspire you, but the way you put those ideas into action will be uniquely yours. That story will be an expression of your voice and your art.


Credits and Attributions:

IMAGE: Wikipedia contributors, “Guernica (Picasso),” Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Guernica_(Picasso)&oldid=1361273241 (accessed June 28, 2026).

IMAGE: Wikipedia contributors, “Consequences of War,” Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Consequences_of_War&oldid=1361248306 (accessed June 28, 2026).

IMAGE: Wikipedia contributors, “The Hunters in the Snow,” Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=The_Hunters_in_the_Snow&oldid=1361428760 (accessed June 28, 2026).

 

 

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7 Rules of Construction #writing

My native language is English (although I am fluent in gibberish). But since I wanted to be taken seriously as an author, my job is to understand how grammar works and use it to my advantage.

The great authors bend the rules to energize their prose, but they know the rules they are ignoring and are consistent with how they bend them. They are deliberate.

Now, I do understand reality. If you are in the process of burning up the keyboard, tapping out a quick novel meant only to pay the bills, you won’t be thinking about getting fancy.

However, when it comes to word choices, some things are universal.

And so, here are seven rules that professional writing programs teach about sentence and paragraph construction.

One: Verbs. It is important to choose words that sound powerful when read aloud, as they convey the most meaning and reduce the tendency toward using too many “ly” words. In English, words that begin with hard consonants sound tougher and carry more power.

Verbs are power words. Fluff words and obscure words used too freely are kryptonite, sapping the strength from our prose.

Two: Placement of verbs in the sentence. Sentence construction can strengthen or weaken our work.

  • Nouns followed by verbs make active prose:
  • Moving the verbs to the beginning of the sentence makes it stronger.

From the building, Shari ran.

versus

Shari ran from the building.

It might fall out of our heads in the first draft, but we wouldn’t leave it. That kind of writing isn’t technically bad, but it’s awkward and not changing it in revisions is a newbie mistake. It’s the kind of writing that happens when we are just trying to spew the words as fast as we can.

Awkward phrasing is a subconscious code showing us what we need to revise.

Three: Parallel construction smooths awkward phrasing. This is the act of combining two or more clauses of equal importance into one sentence. To make them parallel, each clause should use the same grammatical structure. They are parallel, and the reader absorbs what is said naturally.

What parallelism means can be shown by a quote attributed to Julius Caesar, who used the phrase “I came; I saw; I conquered” in a letter to the Roman Senate after he had achieved a quick victory in the Battle of Zela. Caesar uses the same number of words in each clause. This choice gives equal importance to the different ideas of arriving, seeing, and conquering.

Four: Contrast: In literature, we use contrast to describe the difference(s) between two or more things in one sentence. The sun burned like fire, but the ever-present wind chilled me.

Five: Similes show the resemblances between two concepts, using words such as “like” and “as.” The sun burned like fire.

Similes are different from metaphors, which suggest something “is” something else.

The pale moon shone, a guiding lamp in the sky that comforted me. In this sentence, the moon becomes a lamp to guide the narrator. “Lamp” is the metaphor.

Six: Repetition. If we occasionally employ deliberate repetition, it can emphasize emotion and atmosphere without increasing wordiness.

  1. Repetition of the last word in a line or clause.

  2. Repetition of words at the start of clauses or verses.

  3. Repetition of words or phrases in the opposite sense.

  4. Repetition of words broken by some other words.

  5. Repetition of the same words at the end and start of a sentence.

  6. Repetition of a phrase or question to stress a point.

  7. Repetition of the same word at the end of each clause.

  8. Repetition of an idea, first in negative terms and then in positive terms.

  9. Repetition of words of the same root with different endings.

  10. Repetition at both the beginning and the end of a sentence, paragraph, or scene.

  11. Repetition is a construction in poetry where the last word of one clause becomes the first word of the next.

courtesy Office360 graphics

There are good repetitions and bad repetitions. Bad repetitions consist of the overuse of crutch words, such as grin, shrug, and wryly, along with many other easy words that come quickly to mind and litter the narrative during the first-draft rush.

Crutch words are easy because they say what you mean with little effort. They will become lazy writing if not found and trimmed back to a reasonable level during the revision process.

Seven: Alliteration is the occurrence of the same letter (or sound) at the beginning of successive words. Alliteration can lend a poetic feeling to a passage and help create the atmosphere of a given scene without adding wordiness.

When I see birches bend to left and right

Across the lines of straighter darker trees,

I like to think some boy’s been swinging them.

But swinging doesn’t bend them down to stay

As ice-storms do.  (Birches, by Robert Frost, 1916) [2]

I love the way Robert Frost uses alliteration to set the scene and create the atmosphere in those opening lines.

Poetry makes good use of good repetition and alliteration. Consider this quote from Ralph Waldo Emerson:

“Every book is a quotation, and every house is a quotation out of all forests, and mines, and stone quarries; and every man is a quotation from all his ancestors.”  

Ralph Waldo Emerson, Prose and Poetry. [1]

I know I say this all the time, but the way we habitually construct our prose is our voice. Our voice determines the impact of our work.

We all know different readers have widely different tastes. But everyone knows what they consider good writing, and they don’t recommend what they see as bad writing. If the work is well written, the author’s voice will determine whether a reader enjoys it.

And this brings me to that old bugaboo, GENRE.

We must know who our readers are, what they want, and construct our work to fit that market. All readers want to find what they perceive as good writing.

Active phrasing generates emotion.

Sometimes, using similes, repetition, and alliteration in subtle applications enhances the worldbuilding without beating your reader over the head.

We all know worldbuilding must be organic and natural, but there are times when we struggle to achieve it. Subtle application of these seven rules will empower your worldbuilding. The casual reader will be immersed but unaware of the mechanics. They won’t realize why the work is powerful.


Credits and Attributions

[1] Ralph Waldo Emerson, The Complete Works. Published in 1904. Vol. VIII. Letters and Social Aims, VI. Quotation and Originality, The Works of Ralph Waldo Emerson, vol. 8 (Letters and Social Aims) | Online Library of Liberty, Public Domain (accessed June 19, 2026).

[3] Wikipedia contributors, “Birches (poem),” Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Birches_(poem)&oldid=1351913530 (accessed June 19, 2026).

 

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The infinity arc, or double-circular story arc #writing

We as writers must resonate with the stories we tell. They have to mean something to us or they won’t mean anything to a reader.

Lately, life has been a little hectic, and I’ve been unable to focus on my longer work. But I have been able to write and complete short stories in a variety of genres and lengths.

While my longer work is “resting” and going nowhere, there is an upside to this: I’ve had a chance to experiment with writing and delve more deeply into how my favorite authors construct their work.

I am a wordy writer. To counteract that problem, I set myself a wordcount goal and do my best to stay within it.

In microfiction, the author must build a world in fewer than 100 words, show mood and atmosphere, and give the reader a story with a complete arc.

This sharpens my skills in writing longer pieces because I must convey as much information as possible in as few words as I can. No matter the story’s length, my chosen words must be powerful and visual, showing the setting, combined with a strong theme, and conveying the intended atmosphere and mood.

My ideas usually fall out of my head in an outline form. This skeleton becomes the first draft. Other times, I write the story as it unfolds in my mind. Then, I make an outline and rewrite it so that it makes sense.

I’ve written several stories lately that have a “circular arc.” This kind of story takes us through an experience and returns us to where we began. For better or worse, we are changed by the events we have undergone.

Most of these pieces are essays on my real-life experiences and may someday end up in a published collection, but may just be put into a book for my grandchildren. They began as handwritten entries in my notebook. I put them into a Word Document and saved them in a file labeled Essays 2026.

My personal essays usually have a circular narrative arc and rarely run more than 500 words. The story begins at point A, takes the reader through an occurrence, and brings them back to where it started.

In this type of story, the characters return to where they began but are fundamentally changed by the story’s events.

The infinity arc is similar to the circular arc but presents one story from two different viewpoints: a double-circular arc.

The story begins with Character One, takes them through an occurrence, and brings them back. At that point, the story shifts to Character Two and retells the events from their perspective, returning them to where they began. (Two circular story arcs joined by one event.) If we graphed it out, it would look something like an infinity sign, a figure-eight lying on its side:

The story I’m using for today’s example is one I wrote about ten years ago. It features two protagonists, and I had intended to tell both stories in only 1,000 words. I was not entirely successful, but managed to keep it down to 1,025 words.

As I mentioned above, in the infinity or double-circular arc, two stories begin at the same place: the center of the infinity symbol. They experience the event simultaneously. Both characters are tested and changed by what they have lived through.

The characters in this story do not meet. In many stories with this kind of story arc, the two characters do meet and interact. Relationships across time are a popular romance trope.

But they don’t have to, and I think that makes a more interesting story.

In this tale, my characters briefly occupy the same patch of ground during a glitch in time. It ends where it began, but with two sets of characters having seemingly experienced two different events. Their perception of the meeting is colored by the knowledge and superstitions of their respective eras.

How is the story constructed?

  • It opens in the center of the infinity sign. In this tale, the antagonist is the catalyst, the place and moment where two realities meet.
  • The opening sentences establish the world, set the scene, and introduce the first protagonist.
  • The following three paragraphs show the situation and establish the mood. They also introduce the antagonist.
  • At this point, our first protagonist knows he must resolve the problem and protect his people, and he does so.

But the infinity arc presents us with a story from two viewpoints.

  • Again, I had to set the scene and establish the mood and characters. Here, we meet the second protagonist. He has the same needs as our first and must also resolve the problem.

Neither character would have understood the strange physics of what they experienced had Brian Cox been around to explain it.

  • The final paragraphs of the first half contribute to the overall atmosphere and setting of the story’s second part.
  • Each character’s understanding of what they saw and experienced is firmly grounded in the beliefs and lore of their era, and both do what they must to protect their people.

As a practice piece, the story had good bones. However, it’s not the right kind of story for submission to a magazine or contest, as it’s not commercially viable. In fact, much of what I write isn’t commercially viable, but I love writing it.

The act of writing something different, a little outside my comfort zone, forces me to be more imaginative in how I tell my stories. We should all have a little fun with writing. Give that double circular arc a shot and see what you come up with.


Credits and Attributions:

IMAGE: The  Hero’s Journey, Public Domain. Wikimedia Commons contributors, “File:Heroesjourney.svg,” Wikimedia Commons, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?title=File:Heroesjourney.svg&oldid=1013027507 (accessed June 14, 2026).

 

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Dialogue tags, verbal tics, and accents #writing

We who write love our characters and want our written dialogue to sound as natural as a conversation with our best friend. We meet on the street, in the bar, or at a coffee shop.

And we talk, talk, talk.

And so do my characters. Sometimes they won’t be quiet, and it drives me nuts.

Other times, my characters behave like a fourteen-year-old forced to go camping with the family. She owns the backseat with the glowering disapproval only a teenager can bring to it, sitting in stony silence and staring at her signal-less phone. Hell will freeze before she interacts with these strangers who claim to be her parents, kidnappers who dragged her out to the wilderness for something called “family time.”

Eww.

But when my characters DO choose to participate in the conversation, how do I make them sound natural? I go back to the works of established writers whose dialogue is crafted so well that I don’t feel like I’m reading it. Instead, I feel like I am living it.

If you visit many writers’ forums, you’ll find a wide variety of opinions on this subject. I don’t worry about the gurus who want you to know how important they are. Instead, I consider the reader.

How can I write dialogue that is the easiest for the reader to follow?

My favorite authors don’t get too fancy or uber creative. Their written dialogue tags are simple and show the conversation.

I try to stick to said, replied, answered, and asked. Most readers won’t even notice the attributions are there.

This is especially true when writing genre fiction. I stick to simple tags, such as John said.

At times, we may need an attribution like “screamed,”uttered,” or “retorted.” Most of the time, fancy synonyms for ‘said’ are distracting.

I agree that you can skip using dialog tags altogether for a back-and-forth or two, but never if there are more than two speakers in the scene. I never do that for more than one exchange. Readers want to be able to track who is saying what.

Beats are what screenwriters call the little bits of physical action that are inserted into dialogue:

Junior unbraided his hair and pulled it back into his customary long ponytail. Off came the sarape, which he told Pap smelled musty. “Tell Johnny thanks for the loan of his buckskins,” he said.

Some writers will leave the ending attribution, and some will move it to the front of the dialogue. As an editor, I would suggest removing it entirely, since the words “he told” already appear in that paragraph. But again, the author’s choice is final.

Beats or actions not only punctuate the dialogue, they also give the scene movement. Actions present a strong mental picture, eliminating the need for a description dump.

Character moods can be shown by actions and are often best placed where there is a natural break in the dialogue. This allows the reader to experience the same pause as the characters. Beats are an effective tool and are essential to good dialogue.

But don’t overdo it, or the scene becomes about the action rather than the dialogue, and the impact is diluted or lost entirely. When we add gestures and actions to the conversation, we want the information that is conveyed to be meaningful, and the visual actions to be subliminal.

This is why we don’t make the mistake of eliminating attributions in our entire manuscript. We must insert clues as to who is speaking, or the reader will be confused.

Worse, the action takes over, and the dialogue fades into the background, obscured by the visual noise of foot shuffling and paper rattling.

But what about exclamations and verbal tics?

“Um … ah ….” We frequently speak this way in real life, but I recommend being sparing with them. When a character overuses thinking sounds and exclamations, it is exhausting for the reader.

Another conversation stopper is the “filler sound.” Have you ever met a person who drones on with a long “A-ahhhhhhhhh….” effectively holding conversations hostage with meaningless syllables?

These are ‘thinking syllables.’ This is known as a ‘verbal tic’ or a “filler sound” and is usually such an ingrained habit that the offending party is unaware they are doing it. I warn you, their feelings could be hurt if you try to hurry them along, so I ignore the habit when I come across an acquaintance who suffers from it. They are just gathering their thoughts.

However, if there is a habit you don’t enjoy in conversation and don’t want to read in a novel, don’t write it into your characters’ dialogue.

As a reader, I’ve come to feel your best bet when dealing with verbal tics is to give a brief example of a character’s speech pattern, and, if it is important, occasionally mention how their habits annoy other characters.

What about accents? Please, don’t overdo spelling them out. You have no idea how hard it is for readers to wade through heavy accents.

“My feet hurt, and I’m feeling dead tired. I need to sit and rest a while.” A writer could get away with using knackered and kip to convey the general idea of a regional accent without losing the reader’s interest.

I recommend going light and limiting the use of misspellings, bad grammar, and vulgar accents, especially if you are trying to point out that the character is uneducated or from a rural background.

Fun fact: negative experience is a harsh, but thorough, teacher.

So, nowadays I use only a few well-chosen words to convey the idea of the accent and am consistent in how I do so. I don’t want my dialogue to be incomprehensible. It’s too easy to go over the top with it, and then the character becomes a parody, a cartoon of a person, instead of someone who feels real.

This winds up my rant on annoying habits we don’t want to inject into our dialogue. Accents, dialects, and verbal tics are all things we need to convey, but we must be mindful of our readers’ supply of patience. Show what is necessary and let the reader’s imagination do the rest.

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#Writing Interior Dialogues

I write in several genres, and I read nearly any book I come across. It’s a habit from the years of working two jobs. It was a time when I could only fit one book purchase a month into my meager budget, but I read the books in my favorite genres faster than the library could stock them. My small bit of excess cash was reserved for a $5.99 fantasy paperback and a $2.00 grocery bag of second-hand books with the covers torn off.

I was always a sucker for great cover art. Nevertheless, a bag full of coverless books was like a treasure hunt. Chain Bookstores used to rip the covers off books that didn’t sell, and they often ended up in second-hand bookstores.

The bag could contain a wide range of novels that had been sitting on shelves for too long. There might be five Harlequin Romances a Jack Kerouac novel, two by Nora Lofts,  three Regency bodice-rippers by Georgette Heyer, a Jaqueline Suzanne novel, an Ian Flemming’s James Bond novel, an ancient copy of Gone With the Wind, several Isaac Asimov novels, an Anne McCaffrey Brain and Brawn novel, and if I was really fortunate, a classic fantasy, such as a Gormenghast novel or a Jack Vance novel.

Oddly, I never found a Tolkien novel in one of those bags.

The books I loved the most were those that let us into the characters’ heads. I still gravitate toward character-driven books. I’m interested in what they think is going on and how they lie to themselves. I love an unreliable narrator and am hooked when the truth is dangled just out of reach.

I love characters who go through the events, with arcs that grow or decline as the facts are revealed. We have so many clues, and yet we don’t know what is really going on until the final pages, when the characters themselves discover or reveal the truth.

One modern writer who is a master at this is Canadian novelist Shari Lapena. I have read every book she has written since I first came across 2016’s The Couple Next Door. Lapena takes us through the crime, the victim, and the people surrounding them. She raises the blinds on what polite society allows the world to see, opening a window on what lies beneath the image of propriety and perfection.

Many people won’t like her style or the way she spends most of her time inside her characters’ heads.  I like the way Lapena uses interior monologues to shed light on hidden sins and motives that drive an outwardly respectable person to commit murder.

Each character’s surface thoughts are open to us, yet not so open that we can guess the truth. As the book progresses, what is hidden is gradually revealed, illuminating less-than-flattering aspects of all the people involved and muddying the waters.

What I have learned by dissecting her work is that internal dialogue must never be an opportunity for an info dump. This is crucial for writers of mysteries. Yes, a character’s thoughts must show us their mental state in real time, but they will lie to themselves as often as they do to us. The thoughts and conversations of those surrounding them must offer some foreshadowing, small hints that all may not be as it appears. In a Lapena murder mystery, these hints gradually become unpleasant truths.

Opinions abound in online writers’ forums regarding interior monologues. It’s true that beginning authors can rely too heavily on them as an easy way to dump information into a narrative, rather than deploying it. A few people are blunt and loud about their dislike of them, and while I disagree, I do see their point.

In Sci-fi, Fantasy, and YA novels, it is an accepted practice to italicize a protagonist’s thoughts, and readers expect them to be presented that way. However, we need to be aware of how daunting it is for a reader to face a wall of italics.

A rather vocal contingent at any gathering of authors will say that thoughts should not be italicized, as it creates greater narrative distance, setting readers outside the character and the events of the scene.

As an avid reader, I disagree with that statement when applied broadly and will argue the point, though more than a sentence or two of italics does exactly that. This is a personal style choice you, as an author, must make, based on the genre you are writing in and the preferences of your intended audience.

So, what, in my opinion, is the best way to indicate that a sentence or two of interior monologue in the middle of a scene is the viewpoint character’s thoughts and not the narrator speaking?

We can write the thought in first person, present tense, which is the way we actually think them. This is how Shari Lapena writes them. OR we can write it in third person, past tense if that is the mode you are using for the rest of the text.

We can use italics or normal text, or a “she thought” tag. Or we can choose not to.  I do not recommend using quotation marks to set interior monologues off, as that can confuse some readers and make them think it is spoken dialogue.

Interior monologues are crucial to the flow of novels in which the author wants the reader planted firmly in the protagonist’s mind. This is where skill, intention, and the ability to craft what we want our work to say comes into play.

For most of my work, the thoughts of my characters can be shown through their actions. However, this is a case where actions don’t always speak louder than words, so  I do include internal monologues as needed.

The observations our characters make can be an aspect of worldbuilding. My opinion is that interior monologues are an organic component of some kinds of narratives, but not necessarily all narratives.

I feel that when they are done well, interior monologues can create an intimate connection with the characters.

My final opinion is that italics should never be used for long passages, as long stretches of leaning letters are difficult for people with compromised vision to read.

How you choose to use interior dialogues is up to you. It is your work, and you know what you want to convey to the reader at each stage of the story. Now, go forth and write!

 

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A few thoughts on the craft of #writing

This week I found myself looking at random notes I had taken when reading. Some were from trade paperbacks and others from cheap eBooks. Only one was a deal breaker. All had one issue or another, but their good points far outweighed the flaw.

So, one book made the “Oooh! Gross!” list in my notebook, and it happened to be from a traditionally published author. It contained all of the fatal flaws within the first two chapters. I confess I didn’t finish it.

One: Be careful to not write self-indulgent drivel. Go lightly with the praise, adoration, and general lauding of your characters’ accomplishments throughout the book.

Please. We know they are the children of your creative heart, but truthfully, they may be unruly, spoiled little monsters. An author who constantly praises a character and rehashes their accomplishments is asking for readers to put their book down without finishing it.

An author I love occasionally indulges in various side characters repeating how much everyone admires the main character. He rehashes that character’s exploits whenever a new side-character is introduced, which detracts from an otherwise stellar story. I can’t give his work more than a three-star review because of that failing.

Two: Don’t waste words describing each change of expression and mood. Consider this hot mess of fifty-four words that make no sense: Joan looked at Gary with concern. His voice changed so much in the telling of the story as his emotions came to the surface that it still seemed so raw, as if his son’s death had happened only days ago. In addition, his expressions also changed, and his current one was akin to despair.

It could be cut down to sixteen words that convey the important parts of the sentence, and it won’t feel choppy: Gary’s raw despair concerned Joan, seeming as if his son’s death had happened only days before.

Three: Commas and Conjunctions: Some people don’t know what to do with commas and attempt to do without them altogether. Don’t fall into the snare of the lazy author, the one who doesn’t have the patience to learn a few simple rules of punctuation. Commas are to clauses what traffic signals are to streets: they govern the flow of traffic.

  1. Commas follow introductory words and clauses. Instead, they took a left turn.
  2. Commas set off “asides.” Her sister, Sara, brought coffee.
  3. Commas separate words in lists: We bought apples, oranges, and papayas for the salad.
  4. Commas join two complete sentences, and once joined, they form one longer sentence. When used too freely, linked clauses can create run-on sentences.
  5. Commas frequently precede conjunctions, but only when linking complete clauses. When linking a dependent clause to a complete clause, don’t insert a comma. “I intended to go back to Seattle but found myself here instead.”

Once an author knows and understands how sentences are constructed, they can choose to break those rules, IF doing so conveys their idea more clearly.

This is where an author’s “intention” comes into play.

If a client tells me they want a comma in a place where it wouldn’t ordinarily go, I don’t argue. I say this because an author’s voice is as much how they break the rules as it is their word choices and the rhythm of their habitual sentence structure.

Conjunctions need the same kind of attention as commas. How many sentences have you linked together with the word and in that paragraph? Could brevity strengthen your prose? Conjunctions and commas are the gateway to run-on sentence hell. This is where the revision process sometimes fails. It often takes an unbiased eye to see that a sentence or paragraph doesn’t make sense. However, if you are deliberate in how you use these connectors, your work will be readable.

We all want our work to be readable. However, sometimes the pacing of our narrative demands that we break them. Knowing the mechanics and rules of grammar well enough to break them with style is what sets an author apart from the crowd. Craft your prose, but for the sake of your readers, use grammatical common sense.

Four: Use active phrasing. There were Small colorful fish swimming swam in a large, clear pond.

All the forms of the word “be” must be used carefully. “There were” is a form of the verb “was” and must be used with care.

Five: If you are writing genre fiction, simplicity is sometimes best. Please don’t write something like, “Delicious sounds captivated their eardrums. Just say the music touches the protagonist’s soul, or something similar. We want to convey the feeling that the music was wonderful, or the smells were mouthwatering, etc., but let’s not get too artsy.

No one wants to write boring prose. However, when we try to get too highfalutin, the prose can become awkward. Odors and sounds are part of the background, the atmosphere of the piece. While they need to be there, we don’t want them to be obtrusive, in-your-face. This is an instance of prose working better when it isn’t fancy.

BUT feel free to go for the gusto if you are writing poetry! Use all those fabulous words you have been saving for a special occasion. Rhyme them if you want or don’t.

It’s your poem and your choice.

So, thanks to the hard work of several authors I have never met, I was able to compile a few thoughts to get your writing week started.

Now, go! Write like the wind!

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