RTW: Flickering Flames in Fall

Road Trip Wednesday is a "Blog Carnival," where YA Highway's contributors and followers post a weekly writing- or reading-related question and answer it on their blogs. You can hop from destination to destination and get everybody's unique take on the topic.

This week's topic: October!! It is SO fall! How does your writing (place, time, inspiration, etc) change with the seasons?

 

 I'll answer the place part of the prompt with a photo:

This is where I write longhand and edit year-round, but in the fall we light the pilot for the massive propane heat stove just out of frame. It makes the room so cozy, and during power outages it's our only source of heat. So on those evenings, we play board games by light of the oil lamp and the flickering flames

Sigh. This year we've had record highs for September, but it's finally supposed to drop below 90 tomorrow.

 

Oh, yeah, we're supposed to tie this back into writing, aren't we? Well, one of the things I've noticed about the change to cooler weather is that I incorporate comfort foods into my books more. In the summer, my characters end up in situations where they can eat ice cream and sip lemonade, but once I'm in my fleece writing uniform it's all about the stews, crusty bread, pies, and pasties.

And rainy days are absolutely writing days! Except when they're reading days, of course. What about you? Does your routine change with the seasons?

 

Feel free to put a link to your post in the comments if you played along with Road Trip Wednesday. Don't forget to go to the YA Highway post and read all the answers!

RTW: I Can See Shangri-La from Here!

(Graphic from the YA Highway site)
Road Trip Wednesday is a "Blog Carnival," where YA Highway's contributors and followers post a weekly writing- or reading-related question and answer it on their blogs. You can hop from destination to destination through the YA Highway site and get everybody's unique take on the topic.

This week's topic: How far would you go to get published? We writers can form quite an attachment to our characters and stories. But we also know publishing is a business, and sometimes to make it in said business--to really build a career from it--we have to bend a bit. How far would you go to break into the publishing world?

I've been a little spoiled with my freelance articles--I've never been asked to revise them or change them. Reshoot the photos, yes, and the magazines have done some light copyediting but that's it. Pretty sweet, but it kind of established unrealistic expectations about how much revising I would be expected to do because that didn't carry over into fiction.

I lost my first "sale" of a short story when my college lit mag asked me to change the ending and I refused. I did give it some thought, but decided not to do it. Unfortunately, I didn't find out that it killed the deal until they actually released the lit mag, and mine wasn't in there (after I'd told everyone it would be, of course!). So I have no idea if I'd known that, whether it would have changed my mind. And of course, years later, I did change the ending but for different reasons. Aspects of the story changed, and that meant the ending no longer fit. (And I eventually found a home for Hornworms in Hunger Mountain)

Earlier this year while querying, I got a revise and resubmit request from an agent. When she was setting up the phone call to go over her concerns, she let me know they were "not minor". So that sent me into a panic (and I do mean a panic--how a writer's imagination can run away with her!) over what sort of changes she might request and whether I would be willing to make them. Fortunately, they were suggestions that worked for the story and made it stronger, so I was glad that I gave them a chance.

But I do know that there are aspects of my book I would not be willing to change. Usually if a character or plot device isn't working, I spend a bit of time trying to discern whether it's just not working in this form and I can write it differently, or whether it truly doesn't belong in the story at all. And when my CPs give me advice that I don't agree with, I try to examine why they would have made that suggestion. So most of the time even if I feel their suggestion was way out there, I can find the flaw in the passage that made them feel it needed something else. My fix may not be what they suggested in the end, but hopefully I will have addressed the issue.

What about you--how far are you willing to go? Don't forget to go to the comments on the YA Highway RTW post to see everyone else's answers!

Scar Light, Scar Bright

Road Trip Wednesday is a "Blog Carnival," where YA Highway's contributors and followers post a weekly writing- or reading-related question and answer it on their blogs. You can hop from destination to destination and get everybody's unique take on the topic.

This week's topic: What is the story of your best scar?

What an appropro topic, considering I just got back from the dermatologist, where he took 5 spots off my back (that makes like 24 total--skin cancer runs in my family, though mine have all been benign). And BTW, I form keloids, so I can look forward to 5 brand new knots on my back. Hello, sleeveless weather.

But, it's that word "best" that's throwing me off. I have plenty of scars to choose from: my split bottom lip from when I was 5, my gnarly mattress-stitched scar from spinal surgery, the strip on my shin that doesn't grow hair because I scraped it down to the bone, the stutter in my eyebrow hairs. Have I revealed enough to let you know I was a tomboy, with three merciless older brothers?

The scars that have the best stories behind them are animal-related. I have one on the thigh where a vicious rabbit bit me (a la Monty Python). Took seven stitches to close up the dog bite on my hand (but if I had tried to yank my hand away, I would have lost the pinky and ring finger along with that part of my hand, so could be worse).

Also have a few new lines on my palm to throw off the palm readers--these were from when I unwisely tickled the tummy of my sleeping deaf cat. I swear, she had looked right at me and I thought she knew I was there. Most emphatically not the case.

Are there any times you had to learn the hard way to let sleeping cats lie, or did some other animal encounter leave you scarred?

Show Me the Voice Contest Blogfest

I got a late start today, fighting a cold or allergies! Brenda Drake's Show Me the Voice Blogfest begins today, and I've already sent in my entry. We could either send it now, or wait until we got feedback and send it later; My book has gone through several betas and critiques so I felt comfortable submitting it now. But, in true blogfest spirit, I will still be making the rounds of those who posted their pages to give them some feedback.

I would have liked to submit my first 250 words from Crow's Rest, but the rules stipulate that your sample must be from a completed novel. So I submitted the first 250 from Spirits from the Vasty Deep (from the prologue, actually).

Name: Angela Jackson, writing as Angelica R. Jackson
Title: Spirits from the Vasty Deep
Genre: YA Historical w/ a ghostly twist

(From the prologue)

"Where are you taking me?" I tried to plant my feet, but Miss Bonney roughly pulled me into motion again.

"I'm taking you to the east wing, to put an end to this superstitious nonsense once and for all," she answered, holding my arm in an iron grip. "I will solve two problems with one fell swoop—get some use out of that room, and cure you of lying."

"But I don't lie," I said, my breath coming in puffs as I trotted to keep up.

Miss Bonney snorted. "I suppose you deny telling the other girls the ghost of the groundskeeper and his dog walk the gardens? Or that Tabitha's late grandmother wanted to speak with her? Some of those girls haven't slept in a week. You're nearly ten years old, Olivia, you're getting too old for such stories."

"They're not stories—there are shades all around us, all the time. And I told the others they didn't need to fear these spirits, they don't mean us any harm."

Miss Bonney turned left into a long gallery, raising her candle to get her bearings. Cold and disused, this wing of the school reeked of decay and mildew. Quiet reigned at this end of the building; all the students would be getting ready for bed in their dormitories by now.

My curiosity about the forbidden wing outweighed any misgivings—until we approached the door at the far end. "What is this place?" I whispered, trembling as
I felt the weight of a presence beyond it.
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Looking forward to reading people's entries, and "meeting" some new writing friends!