Tag Archive | fiction

Yesterday, tomorrow’s and today

Yesterday, as I was sitting in my throne crying because of the choice I had to make, I thought to myself… I’ve been to tomorrow. It sucks. Alas, there was no trip to my happy place with good friends, tiny houses and lots ofnlaughter. Instead I slept off a bug that snuck up and attacked me.

But that phrase stuck with me. All day and into this morning.

Who would say that? Would they be in poetry form? Or perhaps… oh my gosh I’m getting an idea for fiction? Can it be true? After so long apart? I know I have another idea, revolving around Face Rock in Oregon….

My imagination is at play, and I am enjoying it. Did it need a rest? Or do I just prefer variety? I think it’s the second one, personally. It’s very hard to peg wynwords down… and I like it that way. A Kaleidescope of crazy imagination that brings me happiness.

Even in the midst of missing out on something I’d been so looking forward to.

Take my lovelies, I’m off to work on a few ideas and sip my sprite.

Cover Reveal Day

Cover reveal day is an awesome event for any author. I’m glad that I get to be a part of the reveal of this goregous cover for Shannon Wendtland’s new novel, Heliodor.

 

 

Heliodor_72dpi

 

Blurb:

Malfric sees through the eyes of the dead – literally reliving their last moments as if they were his own. This ability is highly sought and highly priced, which is why the unscrupulous Captain Finch hires him to find the murderer of a nobleman and the whereabouts of a valuable artifact.

Quantex, the able-bodied first mate of Captain Finch, quickly becomes Malfric’s foil as he demonstrates uncommon intelligence during the investigation. Together the two uncover several clues that lead them to the killer, the artifact, and the frayed end of a mysterious plot that begins to unravel the moment Malfric takes it in hand and gives it a good yank.

Available March 22, 2016

 

Congrats, Shannon! It looks like  an awesome read!

 

 

 

Lets Dance

So the week has been sort of rough. David Bowie… broke my heart. I stood in the kitchen, had the little catch in your chest. The tiny “oh” that breaths out and you realize…

That the world is changing. Our role in the world, too, is changing. But that blog post, the one about mortality and all that is for another time and place.  In this post, in this post…

Many people have talked about the role Bowie had in making it ok to be “other”, to be ok in your geeky self. And I get that. I really, really do. But what made the biggest impact on me was something else.

The first is the way he is a chameleon. If Bon Jovi suddenly changed genres, we’d all be scratching our heads. Even die hard fans might be… um… maybe not. David Bowie was a chameleon, taking on wide ranging music styles (he sang a Christmas carol with Bing Crosby for crying out loud!) and changing his look just as quickly and confidently. Fashion. Art. Music. Theatre/acting.

He was the zebra that changed his stripes and I loved it. I ate it up, begged for seconds. Why? Because I hate being tied down to one format, especially in my writing.  I like romance and epic fantasy and funny fantasy and paranormal urban vampire sometimes scary and and and… I hate being tied down. Do I write all of that? Not yet.

But I know I can.

The other thing David Bowie embodied for me was the loveable villain. I’m going to make the assumption we’ve all seen Bowie as the Goblin King in Labyrinth. If not, go watch it. Right now! GO!

But… The Goblin King, Jareth.. the first villain I ever fell in love with. I can’t even remember the girls name, but it would have been very different had I been that character. She never would have come back home. But happy, oh yes. (in real life, probably no… but we’re talking fantasy movie with muppets and DAVID BOWIE).

This makes writing the bad guy so much harder. So I think in my WIP, I’m going to try seeing about making the bad guy a little more… more. There needs to be layering, although I’m not sure even Bowie could make him irresistible. But definitely layers…Not everyone is the villain because they are completely evil.

Sometimes everyone is just trying to do what they think is right.

Meanwhile, I think I’m going to grab my red shoes and dance the blues tonight.

 

 

 

 

And yes, I know that the world lost another amazing talent today. I just… I can’t.

 

New Year + New Goals = New Novel

So, I’m setting myself up with a goal for 2016. It’s a goal I haven’t achieved since 2003. Yes, my lovelies… I’m going for the novel.

Novella.

Novellette.

Too many definitions abound. I am trying for 55,00-75,000 words of one story. There. Clearly defined.

Wheee!

So. In order to meet this goal, I’ve been getting ready. Started kind of sort of plotting it out. I have most of the arc of the story, as well as a few bright bits to write towards. I like having those bright bits… It’s like a way-point reward 🙂

One thing I will have to be careful of is that this story uses characters defined and originally written in my first novel (If There be Dragons), that was never published. I think that’s ok, that I can work with it. My writing style has changed, but..  Of course, my world building and description have always been spotty so am going to have to work on that.

Work on that a lot!

So I asked my very dear friend, my sister from another mother, my favoritest editor in the whole wide world if she can coach me through this. Because knowing me, if the descriptions aren’t there… by the time I’m done with the rough draft I will make tweaks but not add majorly with description and world building. I suppose I could… it’s just that historically I never have.

I’m really excited about this. I’ve started writing (is it cheating if I start now? or does anyone really care? I just want to write it to completion, edit and be sending it out this time next year).

Hopefully, we’ll be going on quite a nice journey together. I know I’ll be having fun playing with my favorite imaginary friend.

Let’s go play with dragons!

 

 

 

Christmas Reads!

I love reading Christmas stories. And writing them 🙂 Stay till the end, where I’ll hook you up to some great reads, a holiday blog hop and more!

 

Santa Cindy

Cindy ran down the steps of the museum, heels clattering on the slick stone. Damn that Ella, anyways. Promising her that this party would be different. The people gathering at a museum fundraiser had to have better manners than those other goons. These people wouldn’t stare, or whisper, or ask pointed questions.

Wrong. Wrong. And wrong again.

Did everyone know? Did they all feel as if her pain existed for their personal entertainment? Fingers shaking from cold and nerves, she searched her small clutch purse for her keys. Keyes to the monstrosity, as Ella called it.

The only good thing to come out of the whole mess, the brand new truck gleamed silver in the moonlight. Relieved, Cindy’s fingers found the keychain and pressed the button that would let her into the driver’s seat.

Gratefully, Cindy squashed her full length skirt into the cab of the truck. The red satin gown would be ruined but at this point she didn’t care too much about it. She turned the keys in the ignition, waited a few moments for the defroster to work its magic. As soon as the pale frost cleared from the windshield Cindy shoved the truck into gear and left.

She pushed buttons until she found a radio station that would lift her spirits. They were playing Christmas carols, and Cindy found herself humming along. “Who needs another Grinch? They’re all at the museum tonight!” she sing-songed to herself. A laugh escaped from her mouth before she could stop it. Damn it, she wanted to be in a foul mood.

One of her pearl earrings broke free from her ear, bounced on the skirt of her dress and fell to the floor. Her mothers’ earrings, one of the few things she had been able to keep from the witch. Scanning the empty road, Cindy took a breath then bent down to begin groping for the pearl.

The truck lost its grip on the road. Tires squealed, a woman screamed. A dull thud, then, blessedly, nothing.

“How’d she get here?” the soft voice tickled Cindy’s consciousness.

“I dunno. Thought you knew all authorized visitors.” This voice wasn’t as soft, and it brought Cindy fully awake.

“The only person I have on the schedule is the new… you know.” The soft voice became prissy.

Cindy moaned, tried to straighten from the steering wheel. Her arms strained, it was too much effort. “She’s hurt. We need to get her some medical attention.”

“Well, just as long as everyone knows it happened on your watch, not mine.”

Cindy’s eyes fluttered opened to see two small men, dressed in parka’s as long as they were tall, each reach to take hold of her arms. They’ll never get me out of here, she thought just before the blackness claimed her again.

The next time she awakened, she was in a large bed. King sized, at least. It dwarfed her, made her feel like a little girl crawling into her parents’ bed. Her fingers glided across a plush comforter, and there was a wonderful aroma coming from a bedside table. She turned to see what it was, and smiled at the cup of hot coco sitting on a warming plate. Gratefully, she took a sip from the mug and settled down to look at the room she was in.

Whoever owned this room was a big kid, she decided. An enormous doll house sat on a low wooden table, surrounded by plush teddy bears. Only one of them looked well loved, its fur worn off and its belly flat. The sight of it tugged on a memory, but she couldn’t quite place it.

“You’re awake,” one of the dwarves that had rescued her stood framed by the door. He had apparently opened a portion of the door made specifically for someone of his stature.

“Yes, thank you. And thank you for taking such good care of me,” Cindy sat the coco back on the table and smoothed the comforter around her.

“Do you know where you are?” She shook her head no. “You’re a wee bit north of where you meant to go. But I have a feeling that you are right where you need to be. Would you mind answering a few questions for me?”

Cindy felt her heart sink at the request. Here we go again, she thought. Though he had taken care of her, had made sure that she was warm and comfortable. Reluctantly, she nodded her permission.

“Do you believe in Santa?” The little man peered intently at her, his thick gray brows drawn close together in concentration.

Cindy thought about it. “I believe that there was a Saint Nicholas, who tended to children. And I believe in the magic of Christmas, of the possibility that there might be a Santa.”

The little man nodded, obviously pleased. “Then it’s settled. Good, I had a feeling that we were about to change with the times, so I had the room made special for you.”

“Special for me? Changing with the times?” Cindy shook her head, unsure if she was supposed to be able to follow his conversation.

“Yes, it was about time we had a woman Santa. Makes perfect sense, right?”

Oh great. He had lost his mind. Cindy watched as the little man walked to the drapes directly across from her bed. With several tugs, he was able to get the heavy material to part.

Cindy gasped. Walls made of ice encircled what had to be a courtyard. She could see the tops of trees, frosted with iced fruits hanging from their branches. Was she in a dream? Did she really care? “What ever you do, don’t wake me up.”

The short man smiled. An elf. He would be an elf if this really were the North Pole. “My name is Tobias, Santa Cindy, and it is my pleasure to serve you.”

“What about…” Cindy let her voice trail off. It wouldn’t be that easy to escape her past, to leave all the pain and anger and hurt.

“You’ve had a rough life, to be sure, darlin’. Santa Bobby followed it on the Chronometer. He saw the filthy woman who claimed to care for you.” The elf came to the edge of the bed and touched her hand lightly. “He saw, too, how you never let that affect your joy. How you faced the crowds with humor, never letting them see you cry.”

Cindy released a sigh. Her shoulders relaxed, finally rid of her burden. “Well, Tobias, if I wake up, I’ll just have to play Santa on a smaller scale.” What was the use of being the richest girl in all the world if you couldn’t have a little fun with your money?

There were a few on her list that she had perfect ideas for.

The gift of knowledge to the husbands of her step-sisters.

The gift of divorce papers for the sisters.

The gift of a perpetual calendar for step-mummy. So she would know exactly how long she was incarcerated for.

 

A new magic wand for a certain fairy godmother named Ella.

And some breath mints for that prince, along with a map to the other princesses. Perhaps he’d have better luck with Sleeping Beauty or Snow White.

Cindy clapped her hands together happily. “Oh, it’s going to be a wonderful Christmas this year!”

 

I hope you enjoyed the story of the first woman Santa. Want some more great reads? Mocha Memoirs Press has some great ones out right now! The little froggie will bring you to the Season’s Reading Blog Hop, and there’s a contest link below, too!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

I’ll be back a little later in the week with some great holiday reads from MMP!

 

© 2015 Wynelda Ann Deaver, All Rights Reserved.

Flash Fiction (Essay) Challenge

Do you read/follow Chuck Wendig over at Terrible Minds? Love the guy, love his quirkiness to bits. On Friday’s he posts a Flash Fiction challenge. This week… it’s not fiction. Yay! You can read his original post here

(PS Chuck, you said to drop the link in the comments, but… the comments aren’t open. Insert Sad Face).

Write an essay on the topic of: Why I Write.

This is something that I’ve been struggling with lately. I’d love to make my living writing, but that currently isn’t happening and it doesn’t look promising. I want to support my son and myself, by my writing, but it’s not in the cards right now. It does remain in the realm of dreams.

So. Money isn’t the reason why I’m writing.

I have been published, and I loved the accolades. When people tell me that they loved it, ohhh… my heart shivers. I haven’t made much money (see above), and I have received some wonderful reviews, but…

That isn’t what keeps me writing.

Not for money. Not for accolades. Both would be bloody brilliant, don’t get me wrong. I won’t lie.

I write because words have power. We can shape our worlds, and make sense of that world, through words. When I was writing fiction, I almost always work out a problem in my fiction. Something that’s been on my mind comes out in the theme of the story.

Still has my quirky voice,tho.

I liked fiction because it gave me a buffer between my feelings and what I was working out. Sometimes I need that space, the step back from the situation that fiction gives. In Dragon’s Champion, the heroine saves herself. And when she finds her voice… oh, the power she wields! In The Golden Apple and Other Stories, there were lots of strong women saving themselves… as they dealt with love, death, family and the perception of others versus reality.

Not everyone needs saving.

Except, perhaps, me.

I write to save myself, to save my soul. It’s how I pray, how I connect myself to… myself. It enables me to get the junk out and cross it out decisively and then get to the meat of the matter. I took a step back from fiction, and have been writing a lot of nonfiction and poetry, trying to realign myself. Essays mostly, some a micro shot of life as I see it. (One is scheduled for tomorrow, my shifting sideways series. Whee!) They are all full of my weird quirkiness, a lighter slightly twisted version of myself or the deep, dark and twisty. Apparently, my writing is like the water I love so much. Some is nothing more than a babbling brook—entertaining and will cool you off and refresh you. The other half is the middle of the ocean, deep, dark currents pierced by light.

I write to save myself. Because when I don’t write, I can feel it calling to me. Even my nine year old can tell when I’m not writing. A line of poetry that grabs hold until I write it down. An opening sentence will grab hold of me and won’t let me go until we go exploring down the rabbit hole.

It’s the only sure way to comfort myself, make my soul nice and tight with the world. If others get saved along the way, that’s a blessing. But I have to save myself first.

Gender in Writing

DSCN1010

My son is all boy. He loves to run, ride his bike, play video games and go exploring. Over the New Year break, we went to see a movie. I expected him to throw a fit because it was the new version Annie. There were people between he & I, and what I saw every time I looked was my boy with his feet up on the chair in front of him, a fierce look on his face.

He loved it.

Now, when he takes a hit in daily life he says “It’s a hard knock life, huh, Momma?”

Yesterday, we went to the movies for my (still upcoming) birthday. He wanted to see Home (which isn’t out yet), I wanted to see Cinderella. His beef with Cinderella wasn’t that it was a girls movie (Home has a female protagonist as well), it was that Home was about real life, a real girl, mom! (Never mind the lavender alien and the flying cars). Turns out he loved Cinderella, too.

I don’t think I’ve been entirely fair with my son, at least in terms of movies. He has proven that he sees them as movies– not for girls, not for boys… just movies.

And the same goes for television, btw. He used to watch Sophia the First. He quit not because it was a girl’s show, but because he outgrew it. He will watch Monster High.

Then I started thinking about Legos. Maybe instead of trying to have a line specifically for girls (Except the Disney Princess– keep those!), they should try being more inclusive with in their sets. Adding women/girls isn’t that hard.

So now we get to the beast of the matter. The reason all these thoughts started popping through the percolator is that the story I’m working on, if I write it, will be almost entirely from a male point of view. I know women writers can do it, I’ve read them for crying out loud (Robin Hobb, Mercedes Lackey). But… the question becomes, can I?

In my last point, I talked of writers stretching their voice. Trying new things even if it was scary. I think this is the nextscary for me. Although…. Based on my son’s taste in entertainment, maybe it’s not that scary.

I’ll let you know.

What  are you working on in your writing to stretch yourself? What’s scaring you as a writer about the story?