I've been working harder than ever these past three weeks at home, accounting my time in 15 minute intervals in order to be able to claim work time. So the kids have been mostly free-ranged, i.e. on screens, when they aren't sleeping, which they have been doing a lot more. And the quiet house is more susceptible to working from home, so we haven't had much incentive to wake them up early, especially with all our looming deadlines. The advantage of online schoolwork is that they can do it whenever they want, and we told them that as long as they complete assignments by their deadline, I'm not going to be nagging about how much time they are dedicating to school. I have deadlines of my own.
But even though I had two deadlines on Monday, I was sitting in my younger son's room sorting Legos by color on Saturday morning. I had given him two weeks ago, while trying to come up with something to get him off the screen, the "requirement" of building an old 900-piece castle before purchasing him a new large set. But the pieces of that old set were, of course, mixed with all the other sets the boys have acquired throughout the years. Thousands of pieces were covering the floor of his bedroom, which I had intended to vacuum on Saturday.
Even with a nifty Lego size sorter, the task felt overwhelming at a time when the world is overwhelming enough. So we sat on the floor for 4 hours, bagging Legos by color, pulling out pieces that were obviously for the castle set, and watching Disney top 10 lists because that is all he wants to discuss at the moment. And that was fine with me. I didn't want to think about the world, mounting schoolwork, or my Monday deadlines either.
Tuesday, April 7, 2020
Sunday, April 10, 2016
Ear surgery and fooling the brain
I wrote about discovering my hearing impairment in my post about paranoia and motherhood. This year, I finally committed to the surgery to correct the problem, and the results have surprised me at many levels.
The world is louder. At first, startling so. For a week after the surgery, I had to close my eyes to regain my bearings. But I would also stop, mesmerized, to listen to water fountains gurgle and awake to the patter of rain through double-planed glass. Six weeks later, I still cannot hear the birds twittering outside with my fixed ear, but I was not expecting perfect hearing from the surgery.
My home, on the other hand, is quieter. Not only because the kids have been making the effort not to aggravate mamãe's sensitive ears, but also because I am not instigating the loud behavior by raising my voice unconsciously. I hope we can maintain this newfound volume, and the added politeness that seems to stroll hand-in-hand with it.
Other changes are temporary, I was told (and truly hope). Apparently, the taste nerve meanders through the surgery site on its way to the brain. I woke up from anesthesia with the sensation that my mouth had been burned by hot tea, a feeling that has not dissipated over the weeks. I had been told to expect a metallic taste that could linger for three to four months, but for me, the taste resembled licorice--Pastis liquor to be exact--on the left side of my tongue. After a month, the flavor of salty tears replaced the licorice, prominently by my lower lip.
As can be expected, my disturbed taste has changed how I perceive standard foods and beverages, and some of my favorite dishes clash horribly with the odd flavors my brain combines with them. Instead of feeling annoyed, I decided to call it amusing. If my taste nerve can fool my brain, maybe so can I.
The world is louder. At first, startling so. For a week after the surgery, I had to close my eyes to regain my bearings. But I would also stop, mesmerized, to listen to water fountains gurgle and awake to the patter of rain through double-planed glass. Six weeks later, I still cannot hear the birds twittering outside with my fixed ear, but I was not expecting perfect hearing from the surgery.
My home, on the other hand, is quieter. Not only because the kids have been making the effort not to aggravate mamãe's sensitive ears, but also because I am not instigating the loud behavior by raising my voice unconsciously. I hope we can maintain this newfound volume, and the added politeness that seems to stroll hand-in-hand with it.
Other changes are temporary, I was told (and truly hope). Apparently, the taste nerve meanders through the surgery site on its way to the brain. I woke up from anesthesia with the sensation that my mouth had been burned by hot tea, a feeling that has not dissipated over the weeks. I had been told to expect a metallic taste that could linger for three to four months, but for me, the taste resembled licorice--Pastis liquor to be exact--on the left side of my tongue. After a month, the flavor of salty tears replaced the licorice, prominently by my lower lip.
As can be expected, my disturbed taste has changed how I perceive standard foods and beverages, and some of my favorite dishes clash horribly with the odd flavors my brain combines with them. Instead of feeling annoyed, I decided to call it amusing. If my taste nerve can fool my brain, maybe so can I.
Thursday, July 9, 2015
Mentorship apreciated
When a literary agent suggested a few months ago that I start my story earlier and give a sense of the characters' daily life before they set out on their adventure, I added an extra scene to the beginning of the novel. It seemed enough at the time, and I was still getting requests from other agents. Fast forward to my The Writer's Voice entry. Liz's advice resonated with what that first agent said. She encouraged me to add an extra chapter and suggested the hanging I mentioned during the dinner conversation as the opening scene.
The panic of attempting to write a chapter in a week lasted until I woke up in the middle of the night with the scene taking form in my head. The new chapter spilled out in two days, and I even had time to gather comments from my critique partners before I needed to send revision for the contest. This new chapter also gave me details to strengthen other scenes in the novel, making the revised version stronger and whole.
I could not have asked for better coaching. My revised query and first page were well received during the contest, and I am including it here to show the difference mentorship can make.
Query
Seventeen-year-old Sophia de Paula would rather drown like her brother than wed a conqueror who keeps trying to take her by force. Since these fair-skinned men arrived from across the sea, they’ve been wedding native women like Sophia’s mother to recruit laborers for their sugarcane fields. And the one after Sophia has the audacity to call himself her cousin.
To escape her arranged marriage and save her rainforest tribe from the conquering Easterners, Sophia sings awake the Water Goddess Ig. But Ig is more interested in Easterner fashion than the devastation of the rainforest and the tribes. Her advice is to seek another deity, the powerful Air Goddess who can bring freedom to the land.
With the help of her childhood friend Gavin and armed with the songs her grandmother taught her, Sophia braves the rainforest the Easterners keep burning. As they climb the equatorial snow-capped mountain in search of the Air Goddess, Gavin and Sophia's relationship warms as the temperature drops. But now marriage to her so-called cousin is the least of her worries. If she fails, Sophia’s tribe will perish at the hands of the conquerors who married into her family.
SHROUDED GODDESS is a 74,000 word YA fantasy set in a world that mirrors South America during the Portuguese colonization of the sixteenth century. This story will appeal to fans of Leigh Bardugo’s Grisha series.
CHAPTER 1
Sophia
Only Uncle Hector would hang a man then go fishing.
The giant jatoba tree, where the noose is set, shades the corpse but doesn’t protect it from the heat. Winter is more merciful than the hellish summer of this land, but only slightly. Noon is fast approaching, and a stench of emptied bowels permeates the village like early morning fog. I press an arm over my nose and quicken my pace to the bakery ahead. At least there is some advantage to being forced to wear long sleeves in this weather.
Vultures circle the cloudless sky above the tree, but not even they dare to defy Uncle Hector. Why did Aryeea send me to the village now? I glance over my shoulder at the fortress’s four-story tower spiked on the Igjommi Hill. The fluttering white cloth, billowing like a sail in the valley breeze, can only be my grandmother’s skirt. Of course she’s watching me from the balcony.
I find the bakery door closed, so I shut it behind me. The warm scent of dough helps me ignore the heat. Steps approach from an inside room, and the baker’s rosy face beams at me as he ambles through the doorway.
“Lady Sophia.” He wipes his hands on his tunic. “What do you like today?”
I’d like someone to cut down that man and bury him before he rots. But if I voice the request, the baker will feel obliged to carry out the order. No need to tempt another hanging.
The panic of attempting to write a chapter in a week lasted until I woke up in the middle of the night with the scene taking form in my head. The new chapter spilled out in two days, and I even had time to gather comments from my critique partners before I needed to send revision for the contest. This new chapter also gave me details to strengthen other scenes in the novel, making the revised version stronger and whole.
I could not have asked for better coaching. My revised query and first page were well received during the contest, and I am including it here to show the difference mentorship can make.
Query
Seventeen-year-old Sophia de Paula would rather drown like her brother than wed a conqueror who keeps trying to take her by force. Since these fair-skinned men arrived from across the sea, they’ve been wedding native women like Sophia’s mother to recruit laborers for their sugarcane fields. And the one after Sophia has the audacity to call himself her cousin.
To escape her arranged marriage and save her rainforest tribe from the conquering Easterners, Sophia sings awake the Water Goddess Ig. But Ig is more interested in Easterner fashion than the devastation of the rainforest and the tribes. Her advice is to seek another deity, the powerful Air Goddess who can bring freedom to the land.
With the help of her childhood friend Gavin and armed with the songs her grandmother taught her, Sophia braves the rainforest the Easterners keep burning. As they climb the equatorial snow-capped mountain in search of the Air Goddess, Gavin and Sophia's relationship warms as the temperature drops. But now marriage to her so-called cousin is the least of her worries. If she fails, Sophia’s tribe will perish at the hands of the conquerors who married into her family.
SHROUDED GODDESS is a 74,000 word YA fantasy set in a world that mirrors South America during the Portuguese colonization of the sixteenth century. This story will appeal to fans of Leigh Bardugo’s Grisha series.
CHAPTER 1
Sophia
Only Uncle Hector would hang a man then go fishing.
The giant jatoba tree, where the noose is set, shades the corpse but doesn’t protect it from the heat. Winter is more merciful than the hellish summer of this land, but only slightly. Noon is fast approaching, and a stench of emptied bowels permeates the village like early morning fog. I press an arm over my nose and quicken my pace to the bakery ahead. At least there is some advantage to being forced to wear long sleeves in this weather.
Vultures circle the cloudless sky above the tree, but not even they dare to defy Uncle Hector. Why did Aryeea send me to the village now? I glance over my shoulder at the fortress’s four-story tower spiked on the Igjommi Hill. The fluttering white cloth, billowing like a sail in the valley breeze, can only be my grandmother’s skirt. Of course she’s watching me from the balcony.
I find the bakery door closed, so I shut it behind me. The warm scent of dough helps me ignore the heat. Steps approach from an inside room, and the baker’s rosy face beams at me as he ambles through the doorway.
“Lady Sophia.” He wipes his hands on his tunic. “What do you like today?”
I’d like someone to cut down that man and bury him before he rots. But if I voice the request, the baker will feel obliged to carry out the order. No need to tempt another hanging.
Thursday, May 21, 2015
The Writer's Voice Blogfest
I am participating in The Writer's Voice 2015 Blogfest. You can check out the other entries here.
Query:
Seventeen-year-old Sophia de Paula was raised among the foreigners, who wed native women like her mother to recruit their family for the sugarcane fields. Her fair, noble cousin is convinced marriage to Sophia will guarantee the prosperity of his barony, but she’d rather drown like her brother than wed someone who keeps trying to take her by force.
When her native grandmother entreats her to awaken Ig, the Water Goddess, and save the rainforest tribes from the conquering Easterners, Sophia leaps at the chance to flee her arranged marriage. No one has seen Ig since the blond invaders arrived from across the sea, but, disappointingly, the Goddess Sophia awakens is more interested in Easterner fashion than the devastation of the rainforest and the tribes.
Apart from bestowing water-controlling powers on Sophia, Ig’s advice is to seek another deity, a powerful Goddess no one knew existed. Ig’s quest will send Sophia deep into the rainforest the Easterners keep burning, and if she doesn’t succeed, marriage to her cousin will be the least of her worries. If she fails, Sophia’s tribe will perish at the hands of the conquerors who married into her family.
SHROUDED GODDESS is a 71,000 word YA fantasy set in a world that mirrors South America during the Portuguese colonization of the sixteenth century. This story will appeal to fans of Leigh Bardugo’s Grisha series.
First page:
Silence settles over the great hall as four men bring forth a spitted manatee like pallbearers at a funeral. The five people seated for dinner occupy less space than the roasted beast. A charred leather stench arrives with the procession, and my stomach recoils as if it were a cornered rat scurrying against a wall.
Uncle Hector stands to inspect his catch then slices a sliver of pink meat from a gash in the thick skin. He chews ceremoniously while clear juices pool on the stone floor and neck muscles twitch on those supporting the beast’s weight. A nod of approval later, the roast is set on the table from which I wish I could flee.
Victor doesn’t ask if I want any meat before he serves me. "Quite the treat, isn’t it, Cousin?”
His childhood habit of stressing our familiarity is only less annoying than his determination to make me his wife. But the thought of wedding him does nothing to entice my appetite.
Grandmother Aryeea huffs from the head of the table opposite to my uncle. “Enough meat to feed two villages and it all got cooked at once. If I’d seen the animal, the cooks would have salted half. You said it was small.”
“There were larger ones in the river.” Uncle Hector, seated where Father should have been, serves his wife as if she were a princess from across the sea instead of a neighboring Baron’s daughter. Aunt Ana isn't allowed a knife either, even if she doesn't want to stab the man who cuts her meat.
Query:
Seventeen-year-old Sophia de Paula was raised among the foreigners, who wed native women like her mother to recruit their family for the sugarcane fields. Her fair, noble cousin is convinced marriage to Sophia will guarantee the prosperity of his barony, but she’d rather drown like her brother than wed someone who keeps trying to take her by force.
When her native grandmother entreats her to awaken Ig, the Water Goddess, and save the rainforest tribes from the conquering Easterners, Sophia leaps at the chance to flee her arranged marriage. No one has seen Ig since the blond invaders arrived from across the sea, but, disappointingly, the Goddess Sophia awakens is more interested in Easterner fashion than the devastation of the rainforest and the tribes.
Apart from bestowing water-controlling powers on Sophia, Ig’s advice is to seek another deity, a powerful Goddess no one knew existed. Ig’s quest will send Sophia deep into the rainforest the Easterners keep burning, and if she doesn’t succeed, marriage to her cousin will be the least of her worries. If she fails, Sophia’s tribe will perish at the hands of the conquerors who married into her family.
SHROUDED GODDESS is a 71,000 word YA fantasy set in a world that mirrors South America during the Portuguese colonization of the sixteenth century. This story will appeal to fans of Leigh Bardugo’s Grisha series.
First page:
Silence settles over the great hall as four men bring forth a spitted manatee like pallbearers at a funeral. The five people seated for dinner occupy less space than the roasted beast. A charred leather stench arrives with the procession, and my stomach recoils as if it were a cornered rat scurrying against a wall.
Uncle Hector stands to inspect his catch then slices a sliver of pink meat from a gash in the thick skin. He chews ceremoniously while clear juices pool on the stone floor and neck muscles twitch on those supporting the beast’s weight. A nod of approval later, the roast is set on the table from which I wish I could flee.
Victor doesn’t ask if I want any meat before he serves me. "Quite the treat, isn’t it, Cousin?”
His childhood habit of stressing our familiarity is only less annoying than his determination to make me his wife. But the thought of wedding him does nothing to entice my appetite.
Grandmother Aryeea huffs from the head of the table opposite to my uncle. “Enough meat to feed two villages and it all got cooked at once. If I’d seen the animal, the cooks would have salted half. You said it was small.”
“There were larger ones in the river.” Uncle Hector, seated where Father should have been, serves his wife as if she were a princess from across the sea instead of a neighboring Baron’s daughter. Aunt Ana isn't allowed a knife either, even if she doesn't want to stab the man who cuts her meat.
Wednesday, May 6, 2015
Middle grade books for elementary school kids
My sons are seven and nine, with overactive imaginations and slapstick humor like kids their age seem wired to have. As much as they enjoy living vicariously the rough days of a wimpy middle-schooler, they are more than ready to embark on wild, fantastical adventures, be it on the Hogwarts Express or through a portal to Narnia. Quick trips in a magic tree house still entertain my younger son, but the older one needs more volumes in a story--as long as there isn't much kissing. Even though he reads above grade level, he is as interested in relationships as James Bond.
Of the many books people have pitched my older son's way, Rick Riordan's novels always score. And not just due to my son sharing Percy Jackson's dyslexia. Be it Greek or Egyptian, Riordan's take on gods among earthlings mingles enough reality into his stories for suspension of disbelief, while keeping the peril fantastical enough not to give nightmares. That sense of safety in reality is essential for my son. The later Harry Potter books do not scare him, but the kidnapping during Halloween in the opening of the Five Kingdoms series did. He found it was a lot easier to empathize with kids that get into adventurous trouble because they are supernatural than because they did something stupid. Whether he was conscious that the kids' behavior in Sky Raiders was of the kind that fuels helicopter parenting, I'm not certain. But after reading three chapters aloud together, we had to set the book aside.
The fidgeting is the first sign of discomfort, which can develop into cartwheels or brash declarations of "I'm too tired" from a kid who has choosen not to go to sleep voluntarily since he was old enough to open his eyes. My counter-tactics alternate between stopping to discuss the issue, sending him to bed, and plowing on through Harry's jitters whenever he tried to talk to Cho. Even after watching the movie, my son was not prepared for the crush-related angst of the Order of the Phoenix. On the other hand, Harry kissing Ginny in the Half-Blood Prince was, as for the boy at the end of The Princess Bride, not a problem.
Maybe my kids will feel the universe shift when they meet a new classmate in forth grade, or watch their crush kiss their frenemy from a rooftop balcony when they are thirteen. For now, I am happy that they still want to read aloud with me, even if what we end up discussing is toilet papyrus and Egyptians walking sideways. Rick Riordan, thank you for the connection.
Of the many books people have pitched my older son's way, Rick Riordan's novels always score. And not just due to my son sharing Percy Jackson's dyslexia. Be it Greek or Egyptian, Riordan's take on gods among earthlings mingles enough reality into his stories for suspension of disbelief, while keeping the peril fantastical enough not to give nightmares. That sense of safety in reality is essential for my son. The later Harry Potter books do not scare him, but the kidnapping during Halloween in the opening of the Five Kingdoms series did. He found it was a lot easier to empathize with kids that get into adventurous trouble because they are supernatural than because they did something stupid. Whether he was conscious that the kids' behavior in Sky Raiders was of the kind that fuels helicopter parenting, I'm not certain. But after reading three chapters aloud together, we had to set the book aside.
The fidgeting is the first sign of discomfort, which can develop into cartwheels or brash declarations of "I'm too tired" from a kid who has choosen not to go to sleep voluntarily since he was old enough to open his eyes. My counter-tactics alternate between stopping to discuss the issue, sending him to bed, and plowing on through Harry's jitters whenever he tried to talk to Cho. Even after watching the movie, my son was not prepared for the crush-related angst of the Order of the Phoenix. On the other hand, Harry kissing Ginny in the Half-Blood Prince was, as for the boy at the end of The Princess Bride, not a problem.
Maybe my kids will feel the universe shift when they meet a new classmate in forth grade, or watch their crush kiss their frenemy from a rooftop balcony when they are thirteen. For now, I am happy that they still want to read aloud with me, even if what we end up discussing is toilet papyrus and Egyptians walking sideways. Rick Riordan, thank you for the connection.
Friday, February 20, 2015
Revised Query
Thank you to everyone who stopped by to comment on my query during Michelle Hauck's and Amy Trueblood's blog hop. The hop is still open for another day, so join in if you would like your query, pitch, and first page critiqued.
Here is my revised query, in case anyone is interested. All comments are appreciated, and if you leave me a link to your query in the comments, I'll return the favor.
Query:
Seventeen-year-old Sophia de Paula sings like a rainforest bird, but her most marriageable quality is her Peetanguara decent. The so-called Easterner nobility wed red wives to recruit native laborers for the sugarcane fields, and Sophia’s fair, noble cousin needs her in order to claim the family barony. But she would rather drown like her brother than marry someone who keeps trying to take her by force.
When her native grandmother entreats her to awaken Ig, the Water Goddess, and save the native tribes from the conquering Easterners, Sophia leaps at the chance to flee her controlling Easterner relatives. No one has seen Ig for fifty years, since the fair invaders arrived from across the sea. But, disappointingly, the Goddess Sophia awakens turns out to be more interested in Easterner fashion than the devastation of the rainforest and the tribes.
Apart from bestowing water-controlling powers on Sophia, Ig’s advice is to seek another deity, a powerful Goddess no one knew existed, and ask her to bring peace to the land once and for all. Ig’s quest will send Sophia deep into the rainforest the Easterners keep burning, and if she doesn’t succeed, marriage to her cousin will be the least of her worries. If she fails, Sophia’s tribal relatives will perish at the hands of the conquerors who married into her family.
SHROUDED GODDESS is a 68,000 word YA fantasy set in a world that mirrors South America during the Portuguese colonization of the sixteenth century. With Avatar waterbending in the rainforest, this story will appeal to fans of Leigh Bardugo’s Grisha trilogy.
Here is my revised query, in case anyone is interested. All comments are appreciated, and if you leave me a link to your query in the comments, I'll return the favor.
Query:
Seventeen-year-old Sophia de Paula sings like a rainforest bird, but her most marriageable quality is her Peetanguara decent. The so-called Easterner nobility wed red wives to recruit native laborers for the sugarcane fields, and Sophia’s fair, noble cousin needs her in order to claim the family barony. But she would rather drown like her brother than marry someone who keeps trying to take her by force.
When her native grandmother entreats her to awaken Ig, the Water Goddess, and save the native tribes from the conquering Easterners, Sophia leaps at the chance to flee her controlling Easterner relatives. No one has seen Ig for fifty years, since the fair invaders arrived from across the sea. But, disappointingly, the Goddess Sophia awakens turns out to be more interested in Easterner fashion than the devastation of the rainforest and the tribes.
Apart from bestowing water-controlling powers on Sophia, Ig’s advice is to seek another deity, a powerful Goddess no one knew existed, and ask her to bring peace to the land once and for all. Ig’s quest will send Sophia deep into the rainforest the Easterners keep burning, and if she doesn’t succeed, marriage to her cousin will be the least of her worries. If she fails, Sophia’s tribal relatives will perish at the hands of the conquerors who married into her family.
SHROUDED GODDESS is a 68,000 word YA fantasy set in a world that mirrors South America during the Portuguese colonization of the sixteenth century. With Avatar waterbending in the rainforest, this story will appeal to fans of Leigh Bardugo’s Grisha trilogy.
Friday, February 13, 2015
Query Blog Hop
I'm joining the query critique blog hop hosted by Michelle Hauck and Amy Trueblood. Any comments are appreciated.
Title: SHROUDED GODDESS
Genre: YA fantasy
Word Count: 68,000
35-word pitch: When Sophie, a seventeen-year-old of half-tribal descent, awakens the Water Goddess, she needs to use her new water-controlling powers to pacify both sides of her family, before her Easterner uncle kills off the rainforest tribes.
Query:
Seventeen-year-old Sophia de Paula sings like a rainforest bird. She yearns for the close-knit families the local tribes enjoyed before the blond Easterners invaded from across the sea. But given her mixed descent, Sophie spends her days disguising her tribal heritage and fending off her noble cousin's groping.
To escape a forced marriage to her cousin, Sophie decides to flee with her childhood friend, even though her uncle rewarded Gavin's marriage aspirations to Sophie by publicly flogging him and executing his father for treason. But before they can leave her family’s sugarcane plantation, Sophie sings awake the Water Goddess who disappeared after the invasion. A Goddess who turns out to be more interested in Easterner fashion than what Sophie’s uncle is doing to the rainforest and the tribes.
Apart from bestowing water-controlling powers on Sophie, the deity’s advice is to seek help elsewhere. Now Sophie can’t just hide from her family and live a peaceful life with Gavin. Either she uses her new powers to confront the Easterners, or she seeks another Goddess, one nobody knew existed, and convinces her to bring peace to a land with more scars than Sophie’s uncle can lash out onto those who oppose him.
SHROUDED GODDESS is a 67,000 word YA fantasy set in a world that mirrors South America during the Portuguese colonization of the sixteenth century. With Avatar waterbending in the rainforest, this story will appeal to fans of Leigh Bardugo’s Grisha trilogy.
First 250 words:
I unlock my bedroom door with a hairpin and sneak out as soon as the hallway empties of gossiping maids and Uncle Hector's spies. Harp notes and laughter drift in the air from the festivities downstairs. But mingling with the drunken nobility without my grandmother’s protection will only get me married to my cousin by morning.
At the thought of Victor catching me alone by an alcove, my heartbeats fall off tempo with the secular music coming from the dining hall. I tighten the bows on my dress and try to ease the wild drumming in my chest. All I need is the unfinished tapestry I left in Aryeea’s room, to distract me so I won’t feel like a prisoner in my own home.
Flickering candlelight frames the doorway of my grandmother’s chamber, and I squeeze through the narrow opening to avoid announcing my presence with creaking hinges. Eyes closed and ocher-colored hands folded over her chest, Aryeea seems at peace on the four-poster bed my grandfather brought from across the sea. She’s only half the Baroness I knew in my childhood, but her dark hair is still as black as mine. Tribal blood pumps strong in our veins, no matter what we do to disguise our descent.
She’s so still. My throat constricts. The thought of never seeing my only ally again brings me shivers on this warm winter night. I’ll even miss the snapped orders she flings at me all day long.
“Sophia, stop viewing me. I’m not dead.”
Title: SHROUDED GODDESS
Genre: YA fantasy
Word Count: 68,000
35-word pitch: When Sophie, a seventeen-year-old of half-tribal descent, awakens the Water Goddess, she needs to use her new water-controlling powers to pacify both sides of her family, before her Easterner uncle kills off the rainforest tribes.
Query:
Seventeen-year-old Sophia de Paula sings like a rainforest bird. She yearns for the close-knit families the local tribes enjoyed before the blond Easterners invaded from across the sea. But given her mixed descent, Sophie spends her days disguising her tribal heritage and fending off her noble cousin's groping.
To escape a forced marriage to her cousin, Sophie decides to flee with her childhood friend, even though her uncle rewarded Gavin's marriage aspirations to Sophie by publicly flogging him and executing his father for treason. But before they can leave her family’s sugarcane plantation, Sophie sings awake the Water Goddess who disappeared after the invasion. A Goddess who turns out to be more interested in Easterner fashion than what Sophie’s uncle is doing to the rainforest and the tribes.
Apart from bestowing water-controlling powers on Sophie, the deity’s advice is to seek help elsewhere. Now Sophie can’t just hide from her family and live a peaceful life with Gavin. Either she uses her new powers to confront the Easterners, or she seeks another Goddess, one nobody knew existed, and convinces her to bring peace to a land with more scars than Sophie’s uncle can lash out onto those who oppose him.
SHROUDED GODDESS is a 67,000 word YA fantasy set in a world that mirrors South America during the Portuguese colonization of the sixteenth century. With Avatar waterbending in the rainforest, this story will appeal to fans of Leigh Bardugo’s Grisha trilogy.
First 250 words:
I unlock my bedroom door with a hairpin and sneak out as soon as the hallway empties of gossiping maids and Uncle Hector's spies. Harp notes and laughter drift in the air from the festivities downstairs. But mingling with the drunken nobility without my grandmother’s protection will only get me married to my cousin by morning.
At the thought of Victor catching me alone by an alcove, my heartbeats fall off tempo with the secular music coming from the dining hall. I tighten the bows on my dress and try to ease the wild drumming in my chest. All I need is the unfinished tapestry I left in Aryeea’s room, to distract me so I won’t feel like a prisoner in my own home.
Flickering candlelight frames the doorway of my grandmother’s chamber, and I squeeze through the narrow opening to avoid announcing my presence with creaking hinges. Eyes closed and ocher-colored hands folded over her chest, Aryeea seems at peace on the four-poster bed my grandfather brought from across the sea. She’s only half the Baroness I knew in my childhood, but her dark hair is still as black as mine. Tribal blood pumps strong in our veins, no matter what we do to disguise our descent.
She’s so still. My throat constricts. The thought of never seeing my only ally again brings me shivers on this warm winter night. I’ll even miss the snapped orders she flings at me all day long.
“Sophia, stop viewing me. I’m not dead.”
Wednesday, December 10, 2014
Christmas writing song
It's been a while since I made up song lyrics, so this contest at MSFV was the prompt I needed. Here is my writer's version of Jingle Bells for your enjoyment:
Dashing through the words
On a newly open doc,
Over the keys I go
So many things amok.
Cell on tabletop rings,
Ignoring it I sigh,
What fun it is to write a sin-
gin' manuscript tonight!
Delete this, Delete there,
Change it all the way.
Oh! what fun it is to write
On another open page.
Typin' here, typin' there,
Typin' all the way.
Oh! what fun it is to write
On another open page.
A day plus two ago,
I thought I'd swallow pride.
Nowhere my trusty muse,
Was seated by my side.
The story lean and lank,
To be trunked seemed its lot.
I got stuck and my mood sank,
And nothing seemed upshot.
A month or two ago,
The story I need'd tell
I typed faster than slow,
'Fore in a slump I fell.
No words came zooming by
On the empty open page,
My muse taken for a lie,
Scenes quickly died away.
Now the page is white
And the night is young,
Put the words in sight
and hum this writin' song.
Just get a cup of tea,
No more block to fend,
My muse shines just for me,
And smack! I'll type the end.
Check out the other holiday songs writers came up with on the MSFV blog. I found the lyrics for Jingle Bells here, and you can read my other lyrics here. If you like the nail artwork, the Jamberry wraps are called Newspaper and Reindeer Games.
Tuesday, September 9, 2014
10 Books
My brother tagged me on this meme... I guess that's what little brothers are for.
Here is my list of 10 books that have stayed with me. The instructions said to "only take a few minutes and don't think too hard. They don't have to be the "right" kind of books or great works of literature, just books that have affected you in some way." It took me about 30 minutes, but most of the time was spent reminiscing about the memories associated with those books.
The Lord of the Rings by JRR Tolkien (made me want to write fantasy)
The Mists of Avalon by Marion Zimmer Bradley (This novel showed me there can be women in fantasy, and they don't always get to make good choices)
The Princess Bride by William Goldman (a love story to die for, repeatedly)
The Republic by Plato (When I first fell in love with philosophy, and the inspiration for my sci-fi world)
Sophie's World by Jostein Gaarder (Best history of philosophy I've ever read)
The Neverending Story by Michael Ende (How I would love to really get lost in a book)
Sarum by Edward Rutherfurd (The novel I started 5 times but could never finish... premise isn't everything)
Memorias Postumas de Bras Cuba by Machado de Assis (My favorite Brazilian author. This book made me think that reflecting on your mistakes is what the afterlife is all about)
Capitaes de Areia by Jorge Amado (Heartbreaking, but you gotta play with the cards you're dealt)
A Ilha Perdida by Maria Jose Dupre (Not much to the story on a superficial level, but there can be a lot of symbolism in children's books. A friend and I spent a whole night analyzing this for a test that was way easier than the teacher threatened.)
Post your list if you feel like it and leave me a comment with a link if you do. I'd love to see the books that affected you the most.
Wednesday, August 20, 2014
From start to finish
Finishing my first novel showed me I could write one. I had started thinking about the characters ten years before I decided there was more to their story than the few pages I wrote in my college journal. But with real life getting in the way, it took me another five years to gather my notes and understand the science fiction world that became Demia. Then I needed another year to feel the courage to show it to my family, and another to ask for critiques from strangers. The two years I spent revising the novel, in response to many rounds of constructive criticism, made me realize I cared about the project. And that I could be a writer.
The Legacy of the Eye still isn't perfect, but I decided to give it a rest. I spent the last year writing something completely different and I discovered that I could fall in love with this new world just as easily as I fell for Demia and the rest of the Tetracoil Galaxy. And that these new characters talking in the back of my mind could feel like family to me, just like David and Catrine.
My fantasy novel Shrouded Goddess is finished and awaiting another round of critiques. The feedback I've received so far is very encouraging, much more than for Demia. Part of the interest, I think, is because Shrouded Goddess is set in a world that mirrors colonial South America during the Portuguese settlements of the sixteenth century. Not the typical medieval fantasy world. Moreover, my novel focuses on the indigenous custom of accepting strangers into the community by marriage, and how the settlers exploited the native family values to recruit laborers, which I don't believe is a common subject either.
My excitement is growing with each round of revisions. And there are now new characters whispering in the back of my mind...
The Legacy of the Eye still isn't perfect, but I decided to give it a rest. I spent the last year writing something completely different and I discovered that I could fall in love with this new world just as easily as I fell for Demia and the rest of the Tetracoil Galaxy. And that these new characters talking in the back of my mind could feel like family to me, just like David and Catrine.
My fantasy novel Shrouded Goddess is finished and awaiting another round of critiques. The feedback I've received so far is very encouraging, much more than for Demia. Part of the interest, I think, is because Shrouded Goddess is set in a world that mirrors colonial South America during the Portuguese settlements of the sixteenth century. Not the typical medieval fantasy world. Moreover, my novel focuses on the indigenous custom of accepting strangers into the community by marriage, and how the settlers exploited the native family values to recruit laborers, which I don't believe is a common subject either.
My excitement is growing with each round of revisions. And there are now new characters whispering in the back of my mind...
Wednesday, June 18, 2014
Green paint and sadness
Last night I came home to bright green paint splattered all over the clothes in the dryer. Not uniformly dyed like the pink spacesuit from the "Despicable Me" movie; a crap-hit-the-fan kind of mess. One of the soccer jerseys my dad brought back from Brazil was the culprit, but throwing the offending shirt in the trash did not prevent the tears I needed to shed.
Dada's response was to buy new ones. But these were the new ones--mine, his, and the kid's. I at least had to try to wash off the stains and maybe recover some of them, because I knew I wasn't crying over a dryer mishap. My father-in-law is dying. His speedy deterioration over the past few months has tugged at everyone's heartstrings. But just as it is a lot easier to focus my emotions on imaginary characters whose fate is at the tip of my fingers, it is also safer to cry over spilled milk and paint stains, which are much less overwhelming.
This morning most of the clothes had lost their offending green streaks. Not all of them, so I wouldn't be tempted to rescue the conniving jersey from the trash bin. This means I will be looking for other silly everyday catastrophes to unburden the pain welled up inside me. I cannot mourn a loved one still with us; those tears have to wait.
Dada's response was to buy new ones. But these were the new ones--mine, his, and the kid's. I at least had to try to wash off the stains and maybe recover some of them, because I knew I wasn't crying over a dryer mishap. My father-in-law is dying. His speedy deterioration over the past few months has tugged at everyone's heartstrings. But just as it is a lot easier to focus my emotions on imaginary characters whose fate is at the tip of my fingers, it is also safer to cry over spilled milk and paint stains, which are much less overwhelming.
This morning most of the clothes had lost their offending green streaks. Not all of them, so I wouldn't be tempted to rescue the conniving jersey from the trash bin. This means I will be looking for other silly everyday catastrophes to unburden the pain welled up inside me. I cannot mourn a loved one still with us; those tears have to wait.
Thursday, November 7, 2013
Where and when
As I struggle through the query trenches, I have taken up other projects to distract me from the torture of waiting for feedback. I outlined three companions to THE LEGACY OF THE EYE and started drafting one of them, the prequel DEAR KATHERINE.
I also experienced bursts of creativity, where random stories kept me awake at night until I wrote them down (like this one). They did not fit the science fiction world I had created; they leaned toward fantasy. The three plots I outlined shared the same comment, to "think of an interesting world." I had no idea where to set these stories or to which time period they belonged. I just knew they needed a historical feel.
So I set about looking for where and when. I needed something unique, but something I knew about enough that research would not become a nightmare. I wanted a project that would distract me, not a burden.
And now I am immersed in the colonization of South America and the exploitation of family values. I have researched the history of hammocks, looked into the vegetation of snow-capped equatorial mountains, and am currently delving into the languages and habits of indigenous tribes. Twenty-five thousand words into the first draft, I can feel the first novel in this project taking shape.
Best of all, the two other stories I outlined fit this world perfectly.
I also experienced bursts of creativity, where random stories kept me awake at night until I wrote them down (like this one). They did not fit the science fiction world I had created; they leaned toward fantasy. The three plots I outlined shared the same comment, to "think of an interesting world." I had no idea where to set these stories or to which time period they belonged. I just knew they needed a historical feel.
So I set about looking for where and when. I needed something unique, but something I knew about enough that research would not become a nightmare. I wanted a project that would distract me, not a burden.
And now I am immersed in the colonization of South America and the exploitation of family values. I have researched the history of hammocks, looked into the vegetation of snow-capped equatorial mountains, and am currently delving into the languages and habits of indigenous tribes. Twenty-five thousand words into the first draft, I can feel the first novel in this project taking shape.
Best of all, the two other stories I outlined fit this world perfectly.
Thursday, September 12, 2013
Pitching time
It was my #Pitmad pitch last spring that led to an agent suggesting I rewrite THE LEGACY OF THE EYE in first person.Today, Twitter is once again the host of this fantastic pitching contest. These are the four short pitches I'll be tweeting today:
I think I managed to condense the query below into just the hook...
Jane Austen's Persuasion meets 1984 in space--Love and politics on a planet colonized according to Plato’s Republic. Adult Sci-Fi #Pitmad
Austen's Persuasion meets 1984 in space--On a planet where merit trumps birthright, David must expose a secret hereditary polity. SF #Pitmad
On a planet where merit trumps birthright, David must expose a secret hereditary polity or be tempted by the crown. Adult SF #Pitmad
A secret hereditary polity on a planet colonized as in Plato’s Republic. David must expose the deceit or be lured by the crown. AdSF #Pitmad
I think I managed to condense the query below into just the hook...
THE LEGACY OF THE EYE is an adult science fiction with a literary bent. Think Jane Austen's Persuasion meets 1984 in space--Love and politics on a planet colonized according to Plato’s Republic.
Like all children on Demia, David was sent to the Academy at the age of two to be raised without concepts of marriage and family. Sixteen years later, his impatience towards graduation from the Governance Department overshadows his apprehension of finally learning his parents’ identity.
When David notices the tiny tattoo hidden beneath his girlfriend's hair, he realizes Catrine is next in line for a hereditary throne that should not exist on their academic planet. David is appalled that a single family has been ruling in secret since colonization. Demia is the center of knowledge in the galaxy. Their society is supposed to value merit, not birthright.
Then David discovers his parents are conspiring to crown him the first king of Demia by marrying him to Catrine. Desire will bind him to a deceitful government David is unsure he can change from a throne. His leadership skills might be better employed bringing peace to the turmoil at the other end of the galaxy. But can Demia prosper without him? And how long can he evade those determined to lure him home? Catrine might just be the bait he cannot resist.
Monday, August 12, 2013
The evolution of a first page
The first page of THE LEGACY OF THE EYE has changed quite bit since I first started writing the novel. Some writers begin too early and need to cut several pages before they find the engaging start. My problem seems to be the opposite. The original opening I wrote is now on page 152.
What I thought was back story that could be given in short flashbacks was actually the inciting incident and first major plot point. Apparently, I started writing the story from the mid-point. Hence, I had to work my way forward and backward, to the beginning and end. And even after I thought I had a complete story, I realized I was not beginning with a hook. So I added an extra scene.
My new first page is below. You can compare it with the previous version here. Feedback is always appreciated.
CHAPTER 1
David: Proposal
It might have been a symbolic gesture, but I was not budging. My hand covered the keypad inside the traveling pod as I faced the old instructor standing next to me. "Come on, Max. We're leaving the school anyway, why not let me punch the code?"
Arms crossed over his loose-fitting black outfit, the short instructor obscured the pod's doorway. "The council should have made you wait until after graduation like everyone else."
Cat and I had been confined in the school since we were two. What difference would two weeks make after sixteen years? "We've earned the distinction."
"Next you'll ask to stop for a black uniform on the way out," Max said.
We probably earned that too, but I knew how to pick my battles.
Cat's hand pressed my shoulder. "David, we'll be late."
"Tell him that."
"You're only making him more stubborn, Max," she said. "You know we have no reason to run away."
The instructor hesitated. Would he make us miss our appointment with the council? He knew Cat and I could not navigate the maze of buildings to get to the gates--even disregarding the risk of being detained as soon as we left the governance complex. Our gray uniforms would give us away as soon as we stepped outside because students were not allowed to leave their home departments. How long would it take to convince every instructor in our path that we had an appointment with the council? We had one, not fourteen daylight hours to reach the government building.
What I thought was back story that could be given in short flashbacks was actually the inciting incident and first major plot point. Apparently, I started writing the story from the mid-point. Hence, I had to work my way forward and backward, to the beginning and end. And even after I thought I had a complete story, I realized I was not beginning with a hook. So I added an extra scene.
My new first page is below. You can compare it with the previous version here. Feedback is always appreciated.
CHAPTER 1
David: Proposal
It might have been a symbolic gesture, but I was not budging. My hand covered the keypad inside the traveling pod as I faced the old instructor standing next to me. "Come on, Max. We're leaving the school anyway, why not let me punch the code?"
Arms crossed over his loose-fitting black outfit, the short instructor obscured the pod's doorway. "The council should have made you wait until after graduation like everyone else."
Cat and I had been confined in the school since we were two. What difference would two weeks make after sixteen years? "We've earned the distinction."
"Next you'll ask to stop for a black uniform on the way out," Max said.
We probably earned that too, but I knew how to pick my battles.
Cat's hand pressed my shoulder. "David, we'll be late."
"Tell him that."
"You're only making him more stubborn, Max," she said. "You know we have no reason to run away."
The instructor hesitated. Would he make us miss our appointment with the council? He knew Cat and I could not navigate the maze of buildings to get to the gates--even disregarding the risk of being detained as soon as we left the governance complex. Our gray uniforms would give us away as soon as we stepped outside because students were not allowed to leave their home departments. How long would it take to convince every instructor in our path that we had an appointment with the council? We had one, not fourteen daylight hours to reach the government building.
Tuesday, August 6, 2013
Who's on first?
I have spent the last two months rewriting THE LEGACY OF THE EYE in first person point-of-view. It was a lot of work, but I think I have a better novel now.
The change that struck me the most was character voice. It has much more strength in first person. No mater how much I tried, in third person it always sounded like I was telling the story. My brother even said he heard my voice in his head while he read the manuscript. In first person, I could see the sentences that did not sound right for a specific character. Not only thoughts, but descriptions, too. People see the world differently and will describe things with more or less detail given the importance they project onto the thing. Their word choices are also individual, even if they have the same upbringing.
One thing that stalled my rewrite was the fact that I needed to lose three point-of-view characters. In third person, the chapters alternated between five different characters, but in first person I had to restrict myself to the two protagonists. One of the characters I lost only had a single chapter and one beta reader already had suggested I rewrite that chapter in my main character's perspective. This rewrite forced me to do just that, and to realize I was scared to feel the scene.
To lose one of the other characters, I needed to write three new scenes and expand the role of a different secondary character to get some of the missing plot detail across. These new scenes enriched the novel and made the plot move forward with action instead of internal thought, which is a good thing.
However, the last character who lost his voice is the one I miss the most. And I worry he will be misunderstood if the reader does not know his motivation. I am waiting for feedback from beta readers to assess whether I weakened him too much. But this is not his story and I need to remember that. Sorry, darling.
The change that struck me the most was character voice. It has much more strength in first person. No mater how much I tried, in third person it always sounded like I was telling the story. My brother even said he heard my voice in his head while he read the manuscript. In first person, I could see the sentences that did not sound right for a specific character. Not only thoughts, but descriptions, too. People see the world differently and will describe things with more or less detail given the importance they project onto the thing. Their word choices are also individual, even if they have the same upbringing.
One thing that stalled my rewrite was the fact that I needed to lose three point-of-view characters. In third person, the chapters alternated between five different characters, but in first person I had to restrict myself to the two protagonists. One of the characters I lost only had a single chapter and one beta reader already had suggested I rewrite that chapter in my main character's perspective. This rewrite forced me to do just that, and to realize I was scared to feel the scene.
To lose one of the other characters, I needed to write three new scenes and expand the role of a different secondary character to get some of the missing plot detail across. These new scenes enriched the novel and made the plot move forward with action instead of internal thought, which is a good thing.
However, the last character who lost his voice is the one I miss the most. And I worry he will be misunderstood if the reader does not know his motivation. I am waiting for feedback from beta readers to assess whether I weakened him too much. But this is not his story and I need to remember that. Sorry, darling.
Thursday, June 6, 2013
Change in perspective
Last week I received a request to revise THE LEGACY OF THE EYE, changing the novel from third person to first. I thought rewriting the first chapter would be a useful exercise, so here is the revised version of the first page I posted last month:
Chapter 1--Catrine's POV
The front entrance of the Academy of Demia loomed beyond a hundred feet of gravel. Just the thought of exiting through those gates for the first time churned my empty stomach. My eyes adjusted to the brightness outside the main school building. I should have brought a hat.
The heavy pine door slammed shut behind me and I turned toward David. After sixteen years at the Academy, my best friend looked ready to conquer the galaxy.
"Relax, Cat," he said.
How? Like all children on the planet, I had not left the school since my enrollment at the age of two. Everything familiar was behind us and our future hinged on how well we could argue for the Tutor Program.
"Maybe we should go over your speech one more time," I said.
David's smile dimmed. "Five times today isn’t enough?"
"Four. And you're still forgetting to mention that the tutors will be traveling to their pupil's home planet. That's a big point in the proposal."
"Do you want to give the speech?"
I bit the inside of my lower lip. "No."
"Then stop fretting. If the council hadn't liked our idea, they wouldn't have requested an audience."
"They probably read the proposal once. How much do you think they grasped? You've read it a dozen times and you still forget some of the details. I should have made you write it."
David's smile returned, brighter than ever. "Then it wouldn't have been perfect."
"Or written at all." But I could not keep the corners of my mouth from twitching.
----
I did not notice much difference, but, just for fun, I decided to try the same chapter in David's perspective:
Chapter 1--David's POV
I pulled the handle of the heavy pine door and let the afternoon light spill into the main building of the Academy of Demia. Cat walked out first, but stalled at the front steps, not quite blocking my view of the gates.
She turned towards me when the door slammed. "We forgot our hats."
"No time to go back." It had taken us twenty minutes to get here from our department.
Her forehead creased. "David--"
"Relax."
I knew she was not ready to leave the school, even after sixteen years. I should have agreed to let her wait in the Governance Department, but I wanted her by my side while I defended the proposal for the Tutor Program. This was our project. We needed to celebrate its success together.
"Maybe we should go over your speech one more time," she said.
"Five times today isn’t enough?"
"Four. And you're still forgetting to mention that the tutors will be traveling to their pupil's home planet. That's a big point in the proposal."
"Do you want to give the speech?"
Her lower lip quivered. "No."
"Then stop fretting. If the council hadn't liked our idea, they wouldn't have requested an audience."
"They probably read the proposal once. How much do you think they grasped? You've read it a dozen times and you still forget some of the details. I should have made you write it."
I grinned. "Then it wouldn't have been perfect."
"Or written at all."
----
And now I think I need to rewrite the entire novel...
Chapter 1--Catrine's POV
The front entrance of the Academy of Demia loomed beyond a hundred feet of gravel. Just the thought of exiting through those gates for the first time churned my empty stomach. My eyes adjusted to the brightness outside the main school building. I should have brought a hat.
The heavy pine door slammed shut behind me and I turned toward David. After sixteen years at the Academy, my best friend looked ready to conquer the galaxy.
"Relax, Cat," he said.
How? Like all children on the planet, I had not left the school since my enrollment at the age of two. Everything familiar was behind us and our future hinged on how well we could argue for the Tutor Program.
"Maybe we should go over your speech one more time," I said.
David's smile dimmed. "Five times today isn’t enough?"
"Four. And you're still forgetting to mention that the tutors will be traveling to their pupil's home planet. That's a big point in the proposal."
"Do you want to give the speech?"
I bit the inside of my lower lip. "No."
"Then stop fretting. If the council hadn't liked our idea, they wouldn't have requested an audience."
"They probably read the proposal once. How much do you think they grasped? You've read it a dozen times and you still forget some of the details. I should have made you write it."
David's smile returned, brighter than ever. "Then it wouldn't have been perfect."
"Or written at all." But I could not keep the corners of my mouth from twitching.
----
I did not notice much difference, but, just for fun, I decided to try the same chapter in David's perspective:
Chapter 1--David's POV
I pulled the handle of the heavy pine door and let the afternoon light spill into the main building of the Academy of Demia. Cat walked out first, but stalled at the front steps, not quite blocking my view of the gates.
She turned towards me when the door slammed. "We forgot our hats."
"No time to go back." It had taken us twenty minutes to get here from our department.
Her forehead creased. "David--"
"Relax."
I knew she was not ready to leave the school, even after sixteen years. I should have agreed to let her wait in the Governance Department, but I wanted her by my side while I defended the proposal for the Tutor Program. This was our project. We needed to celebrate its success together.
"Maybe we should go over your speech one more time," she said.
"Five times today isn’t enough?"
"Four. And you're still forgetting to mention that the tutors will be traveling to their pupil's home planet. That's a big point in the proposal."
"Do you want to give the speech?"
Her lower lip quivered. "No."
"Then stop fretting. If the council hadn't liked our idea, they wouldn't have requested an audience."
"They probably read the proposal once. How much do you think they grasped? You've read it a dozen times and you still forget some of the details. I should have made you write it."
I grinned. "Then it wouldn't have been perfect."
"Or written at all."
----
And now I think I need to rewrite the entire novel...
Monday, May 13, 2013
Opening: THE LEGACY OF THE EYE
I'm joining the It's all in the voice blog hop. Here is the first page of my science fiction romance THE LEGACY OF THE EYE, currently at the querying stage. (Thanks for the comments, revisions are in blue)
Chapter 1--Proposal
The front entrance of the Academy of Demia loomed beyond a hundred feetsea of gravel, less than a hundred feet away. Just the thought of exiting walking through those gates for the first time churned Catrine's empty stomach. Her eyes adjusted to the brightness outside the main school building. She should have worn a hat.
The heavy pine door slammed shut behind Catrine and she turned toward David. After sixteen years at the Academy, her best friend looked ready to conquer the galaxy.
"Relax," he said.
How? Like all children on the planet, Catrine had not left the school since her enrollment at the age of two. Everything familiar was behind them and their future hinged on how well they could argue for the Tutor Program.
"Maybe we should go over your speech one more time," she said.
David's smile dimmed. "Five times today isn’t enough?""We went over it five times just today."
"Four. And you're still forgetting to mention that the tutors will be traveling to their pupil's home planet. That's a big point in the proposal."
"Do you want to give the speech?"
She bit the inside of her lower lip.Her inside twisted in knots. "No."
"Then stop fretting. If the council hadn't liked our idea, they wouldn't have requested an audience."
"They probably read the proposal once. How much do you think they grasped? You've read it a dozen times and you still forget some of the details. I should have made you write it."
David's smile returned, brighter than ever. "Then it wouldn't have been perfect."
"Or written at all." But Catrine could not keep the corners of her mouth from twitching.
Chapter 1--Proposal
The front entrance of the Academy of Demia loomed beyond a hundred feet
The heavy pine door slammed shut behind Catrine and she turned toward David. After sixteen years at the Academy, her best friend looked ready to conquer the galaxy.
"Relax," he said.
How? Like all children on the planet, Catrine had not left the school since her enrollment at the age of two. Everything familiar was behind them and their future hinged on how well they could argue for the Tutor Program.
"Maybe we should go over your speech one more time," she said.
David's smile dimmed. "Five times today isn’t enough?"
"Four. And you're still forgetting to mention that the tutors will be traveling to their pupil's home planet. That's a big point in the proposal."
"Do you want to give the speech?"
She bit the inside of her lower lip.
"Then stop fretting. If the council hadn't liked our idea, they wouldn't have requested an audience."
"They probably read the proposal once. How much do you think they grasped? You've read it a dozen times and you still forget some of the details. I should have made you write it."
David's smile returned, brighter than ever. "Then it wouldn't have been perfect."
"Or written at all." But Catrine could not keep the corners of her mouth from twitching.
Opening: DEAR KATHERINE
I'm joining the It's all in the voice blog hop. Here is the first page of my unfinished novel DEAR KATHERINE, a science fiction/women's fiction hybrid. (Thanks for the comments, revisions are in blue)
Update: This won Honorable Mention :)
Chapter 1--Millanos
My life began the day I left schoolturned eighteen and fell off a planet for the first time. Up until then I left school, I hadn't lived started living--I had just existed.
By the time I landed on Millanos, I was thirty two. I had fallen on and off most of the colonized planets in the Tetracoil Galaxy. But even after fourteen years, I still felt exhilarated every time the synchrotron powered down and gravity took hold of the spacecraft. The adrenalin rush from those seven minutes of free-fall, not knowing if the hovering jets would engage in time, lasted me days.
My heart was still racing when the hatch opened and fresh air rushed into the dehydrated passenger cabin. I smelled brine in the air--my first greeting from Millanos. I unfastened the straps holding me to the seat and stretched my back. Through the internal passageway, I could see the three pilots moving around the cockpit. One of these days, I would learn to fly just to be able to ride in the front seats. But first I had nine more planets to visit and Millanos was just a few steps away.
I collected the single duffle that contained all my possessions and shouted a “thank you” toward the cockpit. I had paid them in advance, so there was no point in disturbing their crosscheck protocol. And after six and a half hours in the confined cabin, I was more than ready to be outside. That wormhole was a long one.
Update: This won Honorable Mention :)
Chapter 1--Millanos
My life began the day I left school
By the time I landed on Millanos, I was thirty two. I had fallen on and off most of the colonized planets in the Tetracoil Galaxy. But even after fourteen years, I still felt exhilarated every time the synchrotron powered down and gravity took hold of the spacecraft. The adrenalin rush from those seven minutes of free-fall, not knowing if the hover
My heart was still racing when the hatch opened and fresh air rushed into the dehydrated passenger cabin. I smelled brine in the air--my first greeting from Millanos. I unfastened the straps holding me to the seat and stretched my back. Through the internal passageway, I could see the three pilots moving around the cockpit. One of these days, I would learn to fly just to be able to ride in the front seats. But first I had nine more planets to visit and Millanos was just a few steps away.
I collected the single duffle that contained all my possessions and shouted a “thank you” toward the cockpit. I had paid them in advance, so there was no point in disturbing their crosscheck protocol. And after six and a half hours in the confined cabin, I was more than ready to be outside. That wormhole was a long one.
Thursday, April 18, 2013
Finished
I wrote a post a few years ago about making decisions based on the 80% rule. Last year, I decided to apply it to my novel. Once I had the story as complete as I could make it, I sent it out to a few people. Their comments showed me how confusing the manuscript was and I plunged into revisions to answer all their questions.
My next step, once I decided I had finished revising, was to seek critiques from other writers. That opened a whole new world of questions and edits to address the age-old adage of show not tell. During this next round of revisions I also focused on writing technique. There was so much I did not know about point of view and story structure.
Then once again I decided the novel was finished and I set out to query agents. The replies I received sent me back to the revising board. I changed the opening, moved the inciting incident forward and humanized the dialogue. Enticing was the goal. Fellows writers chimed in and helped me tightened the first pages. And once again I sent the full manuscript out for critique. The comments I received asked for details to be added in a few places where transitions were too brusk,so I revised problematic chapters to help with the flow.
But in the end the story is what it is. Some people like it, some do not. I accept that. My favorite criticism this last round was "the problem with this book is that characters get too excited about libraries." The major concern in the world I created is the loss of knowledge. That Library is the first one in four hundred years. My characters think that Library is important and I agree with them. But I can understand others might not.
My quest right now is to find like-minded people, because, as far as I can tell, this novel is complete to the best of my ability.
My next step, once I decided I had finished revising, was to seek critiques from other writers. That opened a whole new world of questions and edits to address the age-old adage of show not tell. During this next round of revisions I also focused on writing technique. There was so much I did not know about point of view and story structure.
Then once again I decided the novel was finished and I set out to query agents. The replies I received sent me back to the revising board. I changed the opening, moved the inciting incident forward and humanized the dialogue. Enticing was the goal. Fellows writers chimed in and helped me tightened the first pages. And once again I sent the full manuscript out for critique. The comments I received asked for details to be added in a few places where transitions were too brusk,so I revised problematic chapters to help with the flow.
But in the end the story is what it is. Some people like it, some do not. I accept that. My favorite criticism this last round was "the problem with this book is that characters get too excited about libraries." The major concern in the world I created is the loss of knowledge. That Library is the first one in four hundred years. My characters think that Library is important and I agree with them. But I can understand others might not.
My quest right now is to find like-minded people, because, as far as I can tell, this novel is complete to the best of my ability.
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
Write to sleep
I was up until two in the morning putting thoughts on paper. A new story, completely separate from the science fiction world in which I have been living for the past few years. I finally broke down and bought a journal to shelter these new characters, mostly with a wish to get them out of my head so I can finish the other books.
The reason I started writing all those years ago was to be able to sleep. To end the reruns of scenes playing out before my eyes. To quiet the voices dialoguing in my head. Characters who torment me with their lives until I give them resolution, then return to make sure things played out right. How many times depends on the scene, the story and the characters. Some torment me for days, others for months and years. Until I write them down.
Hence, I collect journals. Each houses their own set of characters, living their own intricate lives. Most of the time the scenes are placed on the page in the order they popped into my head. This time I waited until the story thread was complete, until I knew where they came from and where they finished, even if the details are still vague.
I started at the beginning and wrote all the way to the end, noticing the ink flowing on the page more than the minutes flying through the clock. For four hours I let my hand outline the events, adding detail only when I had a clear picture of what was happening. I noted questions to answer later; I summarized when I just knew where I wanted the characters to go. By the end I was exhausted, drained, but relieved. I could sleep.
The reason I started writing all those years ago was to be able to sleep. To end the reruns of scenes playing out before my eyes. To quiet the voices dialoguing in my head. Characters who torment me with their lives until I give them resolution, then return to make sure things played out right. How many times depends on the scene, the story and the characters. Some torment me for days, others for months and years. Until I write them down.
Hence, I collect journals. Each houses their own set of characters, living their own intricate lives. Most of the time the scenes are placed on the page in the order they popped into my head. This time I waited until the story thread was complete, until I knew where they came from and where they finished, even if the details are still vague.
I started at the beginning and wrote all the way to the end, noticing the ink flowing on the page more than the minutes flying through the clock. For four hours I let my hand outline the events, adding detail only when I had a clear picture of what was happening. I noted questions to answer later; I summarized when I just knew where I wanted the characters to go. By the end I was exhausted, drained, but relieved. I could sleep.
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