Two Really Cool Things

Today I want to highlight an awesome book trailer by historical writer J. M. Hochstetler, for the third book in her American Patriot series, Wind of the Spirit, set during the Revolutionary War. I was privileged to be a reader for this book while it was being written; this trailer captures the atmosphere and essence of the story in a powerful way. Have a look:



After you've viewed the trailer, check out Joan's informative posts detailing the steps she went through to create it:

Creating a Video Trailer
Developing The Script
Constructing the Video
Finding Elizabeth and Carleton
Adding Audio

Joan has begun work on Crucible of War, the fourth book in the American Patriot series (Daughter of Liberty, Native Son).

And just for fun, check out this post for a morph I made of Elizabeth, Joan's heroine, which she felt was close enough to her vision to post.


The other really cool thing I want to mention is the book, The Fire In Fiction, by Donald Maass, easily one of the best books on the craft of fiction I've ever read. I don't often make it through writing craft books, or else it takes me weeks. But I came back to The Fire In Fiction as eagerly as I would a good novel.

Chapter 8, Tension All The Time, is worth the price of the book alone. Here's a few brief quotes, things I highlighted as I read.

Tension in Dialogue: "The important thing is to get away from ambling chit-chat and get right to the desire of two speakers to defeat each other."

Tension in Action: "High action immediately benefits from having torn emotions folded in."

Tension in Exposition: "Rehashing what is already obvious does not heighten it. It merely saps tension. Exposition is a time for what is new: extra questions, fresh anxiety, unforeseen angles. Think of exposition as plot turns. It's just plot that plays out in the mind."

Donald Maass writes about taking your fiction to the next level. The Fire In Fiction will give you many practical ways to do this with your writing, both in the first draft stage and later as you edit. Now... to put them in practice.

I'll be away from the blog until the middle of July. Don't have too much fun without me!

When Almost Isn't Close Enough

Yesterday Kaye Dacus had another fun post about character templates on her blog.

It reminded me of something I've meant to blog about. As I've mentioned in a recent post, I'm one of those writers who likes having a visual character template (an actor, model, whatever) to represent what my story characters look like. I've found so many near matches for my characters, but never an exact match. As I've mentioned before, the characters look how they look; no matter how much another person resembles them I can't switch their image with the true one in my head. But how many times have I said to myself, "If I could just morph [insert name] with [insert another name], I think I'd have Ian. Or Seona. Or Lily.

Most recently, for a character in the book I plan to write next, if I could morph Jason Momoa with Eric Schweig (as he looked in Last of the Mohicans), I'd have one of my main characters, Joseph Stillwater.

Well. I've recently stumbled upon a fun way, finally, to morph those almost-but-not-quite-a-match images into something startlingly close to images of my characters. It's a site called MorphThing.com.

Maybe it's been around a long time and I'm late to the party, but if you haven't checked it out, do. You don't have to sign up. You can choose from the site's collection of photos or upload your own.

If you know of similar sites, leave a link in the comments box. You'll be enabling an addict, but don't let that stop you.

Edited to add some samples of what I've been up to:

Rosalyn Bell: a morphing of Yvonne Strahovski, Heather Graham, Gemma Ward and Emilie de Ravin

Ian Cameron: a morphing of Philip Winchester, Jensen Ackles and Josh Holloway

Lily (as a young woman): a morphing of Saira Mohan, Kristin Kreuk and Liya Kebede

Seona (Lily's daughter): a morphing of the above women with Salma Hayek and Evangeline Lilly

Encouraging news

A few days ago I received a request from another literary agency, one I had submitted three chapters of Kindred to right after the Mount Hermon conference in April. This time it was a request for the full manuscript.

Time to wait again, while Kindred is read and considered for representation. But the timing of the request couldn't have been more encouraging.

I was pleased to be able to say in my cover letter that since the conference I've lowered the word count by over 20,000 words. The total stands at 176K, and it's still coming down.

Thanks to everyone who sent me encouraging notes over the past two weeks, and for your prayers. I appreciate them more than I can say!

Also on the writing front, a new set of characters is talking to me! I'm gradually starting to divide my time between editing Kindred and plotting/brainstorming a new historical set in the Mohawk Valley of New York, just after the Revolutionary War. Some of the characters will intersect with Ian and Seona's story, much later on (if I ever write a sequel to Kindred). But this is their story, and as sketchy as it is at present, I'm excited about it.

I love this season when the characters and their story are starting to crack open, and I'm getting intriguing glimpses. As I posted on Facebook recently, I want to keep saying to my husband (who frequently gets to hear all about the voices in my head and what they're saying), "I swear I'm not making this up!" It's as though the story is there, fully realized and existing, and if I stare at the bits that are showing long enough all the pieces start falling out of the ether and into place.

Of course, it's never that simple. But there are moments when it feels like it is.

The Right Way To Wait

"Some of you have been coming here for weeks, months, years, decades, and it doesn't seem as though what is on your heart, what you've been believing for, what you know to be God's will, is taking place... is working out."

So began my pastor's teaching yesterday in our outdoor amphitheater. Those words went straight to my heart. They were the words I most needed to hear at that point in time.

From what I can ascertain from talking to and reading scores of interviews with published writers, my writing journey has been a longish one--going on 20 years, with some health challenges that, for a time, made writing more of a frustration than a joy. That journey took another unwanted turn into what seemed a dead end just 24 hours before I heard those words spoken by my pastor. While the message is still fresh, I'm going to do my best to paraphrase the heart of it.

He used as an example Simeon, in Luke 2, who at some point in the past received the promise that he would live to see Messiah's coming. At the time of Luke 2, Simeon was a very old man, 113, yet he waited and prayed in the temple daily, still looking for Messiah.

Often in scripture, when God has given a promise, there's a serious lag time between the giving and the fulfillment of that promise. Abraham waited 25 years, deep into his and Sarah's old age, before his promised son, Isaac, was born. Noah began building the ark 100 years before the flood. Joseph endured slavery and prison in the 13 years he waited for God's promise of exalting him to come to pass.

When God fulfills a promise, not only does it often take longer than we expect, but it often looks different than how we expect it to look.

It's easy to believe that over the years Simeon imagined various scenarios, anticipating Messiah's arrival and what that might look like. Perhaps he expected a warrior, or a political leader, who would deliver Israel from Roman oppression. Then one day a man and woman, poor, very young, came into the temple with their newborn son, Yeshua. Was this what Simeon was expecting Messiah to look like? Maybe so, maybe no. It certainly wasn't what many of his fellow Israelites were expecting. But there, at last, was the promise, and Simeon had the eyes to see it, embrace him, and rejoice.

"But God has ways, for those who have eyes to see, of coming into our situations, confirming that he is at work, that the promises are being fulfilled."

God's ways our not our ways, and he always gives his best to those who leave the choice to him (in my case: the choice of when I find an agent, which book is the one, which agent).

So how come God makes us wait so long? Why does he work the way he does?

As we wait, pray, worship and trust him to fulfill those desires, we're being changed. Even though my situation hasn't yet changed into what I envision it will be, I'm being changed into a different kind of person. A person of faith, a person of hope, a person of devotion, a person who knows how to wait on God's timing--the person I'll need to be to live out that promise, once it's fulfilled. Maybe I'm not that person yet.

All these things I knew, but for a few hours on Saturday I lost sight of them. I'm thankful for the timely reminder, and the comfort, of yesterday's word. God knows my heart, my dreams, my hopes concerning writing, and while I may not always like how long this journey has taken, the long wait before I can connect with readers, and while I may sometimes get tired, discouraged, and cranky even, I can rest in my soul as I take the next step. God's in control. My times are in his hands.

And if that wasn't encouraging enough, in my personal reading this weekend: "Then he (Jesus) spoke a parable to them, that men always ought to pray and not lose heart." Luke 18:1 (italics mine)

So this writing journey will take as long as it takes, and it will have as many turns and twists as it has. And I will take the next steps:

1. Continue editing the word count down as far as I possibly can.
2. Prepare to query more agents.
3. Brainstorm ideas for a new story set in the same 18C world as Kindred, featuring characters who will one day intersect with Ian and Seona's story, should I write the sequel to Kindred.
4. Read, read, read!

Editing progress

This morning I woke up with the realization that the last chapter I edited yesterday (which I trimmed down until only its vital (or so I thought) components remained) could be cut out altogether. Or nearly so.

There's one brief passage that must be worked in. There's a good spot for it in the next chapter, in the midst of action and dialogue, instead of as part of a chunk of exposition, as it used to exist. So, that's good. Dropping a small bit of exposition (two or three sentences) into the midst of action to explain one character's attitude is better than using it to catch the reader up during a lull (thus making that lull even longer).

There's another short passage I hope to work in somewhere, but as yet I don't know where. I'm pretty sure there is a place, but for now I'll leave it floating in blue text at the spot where it used to fall, so I don't overlook it later.

I'm excited to cut 2000 words off at a swipe, and I'm sad. I liked the chapter. It's hard to see it go. But I realized that nothing crucial happened, either concerning the plot, or the characters, that isn't done elsewhere in the story (and can be strengthened in those elsewheres).

So it goes. And I'm nearer to seeing the total count fall below 180K. I want to see some blue sevens by the end of the week!

I'm thrilled to discover that after so much time (over five years now) spent on this book and these characters, I love them passionately and am enjoying their story... yet again. I see the editing, hard choices, time spent evaluating every scene, every sentence, is paying off in a stronger story and more vibrant characters. Certainly better crafted sentences.

If I do say so myself. :-)

Photo Refs for Kindred characters

Kaye Dacus, on her blog, posted a link to photo refs for the characters and settings in her newest book, A Case for Love (still in production). That got me to fiddling around with the photos I've collected over the years, the closest I've found to my main characters in Kindred, and a few secondary ones too. I can never match them exactly to the images in my head. Ian, Seona and the rest are individuals, and simply don't look exactly like anyone else, but these are the closest I've yet found to:

Friday update: I added description from the text today
Saturday update: I found a pic that will do for Lily

Ian Cameron

*his hair is longer, wavier, curls at the end

~His hair had changed, gone a rich, dark gold with only a few streaks left of the spun-flax shade it used to be. Like a golden tiger cat.

~I looked quick away from her brown eyes, afraid she’d see my mind was still stuck on the sight of that skinny, knob-kneed boy I minded grown tall, all filled-out and broad-shouldered, hair tamed down so the only part curling like I minded was the tail. That boy’s face in my drawing had near vanished, swallowed up by the lean flesh and strong bones of a man’s face.

Seona

*her eyes are green, not brown, otherwise this is about as close as I ever expect to find.

~Aside from those extraordinary eyes, she wasn’t what most men would call beautiful, not in the prevailing fashion. And yet… there was a quality about the girl he could only call exotic. Was it the black, tumble-down curls falling loose over her shoulders? Perhaps her complexion? Smooth as a ripe peach, her skin had a sun-drenched luster that fell just short of tawny. Or maybe it was deeper, deep as bone. She was wide across the brow, sharp and high in the cheekbone. Her nose was narrow, perhaps a little long, but her mouth more than made up for it, so full and boldly shaped it held his gaze, stirring up a longing to kiss it, propriety be hanged.

Thomas Ross

*Thomas doesn't wear earrings, and his eyebrows are not so dark.

~I took my time coming through the breezeway, wanting to get myself a proper look at Mister Ian’s boy, who obliged me by leaning out from behind the roses to watch me back.

Waistcoat and striped stockings. Pewter-buckled shoes. He was dandied up more than any slave I’d ever seen, except the house slaves at Chesterfield. His skin was middling dark, his jaw bony and his features full. He took off his slouch hat and grinned at me. He had scanty eyebrows, hardly more than a sprinkle of hairs, but his smile was lively and his teeth white, and I could tell he thought himself pleasing.


Lily (Seona's mother... as a young woman)

~He narrowed his gaze on her, taking in the cinnamon skin, the sleek hair braided and capped. Would the woman never age? She had to be past thirty-five, yet her complexion was still smooth, the bones beneath carved of a timeless grace. But a grace with a wildness to it, an aloofness as alluring as a cat’s. What manner of creature must she have been twenty years ago?



Malcolm

~Malcolm’s breath flowed out in a sigh, and at last he let Ian see his grief. But there was something deeper than the grief in his care-worn face, something vital beneath it, giving it shape, like strong bone beneath ravaged skin. Peace. Malcolm’s eyes held Ian's, unguarded and eloquent.


Hugh Cameron,

~Hugh’s voice had gone as hazy as the rising hills. His complexion, Ian noticed now, was paler than his memory supplied, no longer the burnished bronze of a red-head well acquainted with the sun; there was a hint of something sickly in its hue—like copper begun to green.

Lucinda Bell Cameron

~If there existed a woman less inclined than Lucinda Prescott Bell Cameron to welcome the address of Auntie, Ian had yet to meet her. A tall woman in her early forties, angularly handsome, she met them in the front parlor prepared—to judge by the maid presiding over a serving tray—to offer him tea.









Rosalyn Bell

~Golden-haired and softly rounded, she swept across the room in a gown of striped muslin, cut to reveal an eye-catching expanse of bosom that swelled above a waist so tiny his two hands might have spanned it.







Judith Bell

~Mouse-brown of hair and skinny as a lad, Judith Bell might have passed for a girl of fourteen; he’d been startled to learn she was but eleven months younger than her sister, and a week shy of her eighteenth birthday.



John Reynold

~In no such considerate frame of mind, the shoat loosed a squeal that jerked the man’s head around. He unfolded from his supplicant’s posture and came into the sunlight, black-haired and summer-bronzed, an expression of wonder on his mild features as he hurried to intercept Ian.



Benjamin Eden, Quaker

~Ian slanted a look at the man keeping pace beside him. Narrow features. Thin straight nose. Pointy reddish beard—an unfortunate hue, for a Quaker.











And I nearly forgot....


Gideon Pryce

~Dressed in a coat tapered smartly away at mid-chest, Gideon Pryce looked the part of a well-groomed younger son of a wealthy Virginia planter. At present, he was taking evident pleasure in showing off this profitable corner of his estate.

~Pryce smiled complacently. The man was near thirty, dark-haired, and had the same flat green-gray eyes as his sister. Something darted across their placid surfaces—calculation, maybe.