Category: Writing

Home > Writing

In The Zone

April 25, 2024 by Kidd Wadsworth in category Infused with Meaning by Kidd Wadsworth, Writing tagged as characters, happy writing, in the writing zone, kidd wadsworth, techniques

You’ve been there. Writing as fast as you can type, scared that you won’t be able to get all that fantastic dialogue currently flooding your mind, down on the paper before it slips away. You are IN THE ZONE.

I remember a summer day when I was writing in my dining room, every word an effort, the scene falling flat. I’d been at it for hours. I kept thinking, “If I just sit here and keep working it will come.” Eventually, I got up, went into the kitchen and began washing dishes. That’s when I saw him. He darted around the corner. Then I heard him speaking in my mind, as clear as if he was standing next to me. I dried my hands and returned to write one of the best chapters I’ve ever created, personally dictated to me, by a wonderful little boy—my protagonist.

But how do I get into the zone reliably, every day?

Truthfully, I don’t get in the zone every day. But I do get there often. Here are my two best strategies.

First, I speak—out loud—with the voice of my character. When my character is sad, I cry. When she is angry, I rage at full volume. When she is lonely, I ache. When she is afraid, I run for my life—literally. I run through the house, up the stairs, and hide in the closet. I feel what my character feels, I do—as much as possible—what my character would do. I become her.

Once I woke in the night. Earlier that day I had been crafting a short story about a young woman who was hunted by a demon. As I typed the scene I had just dreamed, I began to see moving shadows in the dark room. I hadn’t turned on any lights because I didn’t want to wake my husband. As I worked, the fear within me built to such a level that my trembling fingers kept typing the wrong letters. When I finally got the last words down, I hurriedly fled back to bed and woke my husband. “Tell me it’s not real,” I said. He put his arms around me. “Have you been writing again?”

When the zone happens, I typically write in first person regardless of the POV the story eventually will have. I do this to capture the character and the emotions I am feeling. Once down on the page I can easily shift into another POV.

My second technique is music—and dancing. I deliberately chose a piece of music to play when I begin a new story. Whenever I open that file on my computer, I also play the music. This helps me ground myself in the world of my character. However, music alone is typically not enough to get me in the zone. I must also dance—the wilder the better.

Happy Writing!

Kidd Wadsworth

2 1 Read more

My First Author Reading

April 15, 2024 by Renae Wrich in category Writing

Cheesy greetings! While my wonderful illustrator, Winda Mulyasari, is hard at work making my crazy second book come to life, I’ve been busy checking a first off my list – My first reading!

Last month I had the opportunity to participate in my first official author reading! It was at a local daycare center my children attended years ago. I have kept in touch with a few of the teachers and the former site director, but I was floored when they asked me to come provide an “in-person field trip” for reading month. In preparation for the event, I printed off these super cute little bookmarks to give out to the kiddos at the daycare and they were a huge hit!

Luckily, my kids were still on spring break that day, so I dragged them along with me so they could visit with their old teachers and see their momma doing something rad. My oldest also served as my photographer during the event.

It was SO fun! The kiddos loved it and my heart just about BURST into pieces when the preschool class started reciting the story back to me during the reading. Many of them knew my book by heart and I know I have their teachers to thank for that!

On top of that amazingness, last weekend I vacationed up north at the family cabin that inspired me to seriously try writing romance back in 2020. It was a lovely girl’s weekend that involved wine, painting, thrifting, NCAA women’s college basketball, a brewery, and a meat raffle at the local Legion (yes, that’s a thing). I didn’t win any meat, nor did I get any writing accomplished, but it was a wonderful getaway filled with laughter and fun.

Until next time!

0 0 Read more

Since I’m on a mad crazy deadline and it’s TITANIC time, enjoy these short scenes I recorded from ‘The Runaway Girl’ A Titanic love story

April 11, 2024 by Jina Bacarr in category Jina’s Book Chat, Writing tagged as bedtime, Boldwood, Boldwood Books, historical fiction, historical romance, Ireland, Queenstown, romance', ship of dreams, stories, story, Titanic

I’m down to the wire, typing madly to finish up SISTERS OF THE RESISTANCE (sequel to SISTERS AT WAR), but every year I commemorate the sinking of the grand ship TITANIC with a post.

So,,, grab a cup of herb tea and a biscuit and listen to me reading short scenes from THE RUNAWAY GIRL on Boldwood Bedtime Stories where we meet Ava before she boarded the TITANIC.

I enjoyed bringing these characters in Queenstown Ireland to life… Enjoy!

Boldwood Bedtime Stories: The RUNAWAY GIRL Introduction

Boldwood Bedtime Stories: The RUNAWAY GIRL Part 1: Queenstown, Ireland Ava needs a place to stay

Boldwood Bedtime Stories: The RUNAWAY GIRL Part 2: Ava ends up in a dosshouse in Queenstown, Ireland

Boldwood Bedtime Stories: The RUNAWAY GIRL Part 3 Ava bargains with Florie Sims at the dosshouse

Boldwood Bedtime Stories: The RUNAWAY GIRL Part 4 Ava fights back against unruly gent in dosshouse

————–

THE RUNAWAY GIRL

Two women hold the keys to his heart. Only one will survive that fateful night…

When Ava O’Reilly is wrongly accused of stealing from her employer, she has no option but to flee Ireland. The law is after her, and she has only one chance at escape – the Titanic.

Aboard the ship of dreams, she runs straight into the arms of Captain ‘Buck’ Blackthorn, a dashing gentleman gambler who promises to be her protector. He is intrigued by her Irish beauty and manages to disguise her as the maid of his good friend, the lovely Countess of Marbury. Little does he realise, that the Countess is also in love with him.

As the fateful night approaches, tragedy strikes further when Ava is separated from Buck, and must make a daring choice that will change her life forever…

A sweeping historical romance set aboard the Titanic, from the author of Her Lost Love (Christmas Once Again).

Praise for Jina Bacarr:

‘A delightful holiday romance that has all the charm of a classic Christmas movie. Christmas Once Again is perfect for anyone who loves a holiday romance brimming with mistletoe, hope, and what ifs.’ Andie Newton, author of The Girl I Left Behind

‘A breathtaking holiday romance that is sure to stay with you long after reading’

‘A mesmerizing holiday romance that is sure to sweep you off your feet and take you away to another place, another time.’

‘A fabulous book you won’t want to miss’

THE RUNAWAY GIRL e-book, print and audio book:

0 0 Read more

What’s Your Heat Level?

April 5, 2024 by Tracy Reed in category Writing

Happy April. I apologize for a repeat post. I’m assisting my mother on a project which has consumed most of my attention. I’ll be back next month with a new post.

I selected this post, because it’s a good reminder to understand the heat levels of your. I consider knowing your heat levels as one of the basic fiction writing tools.

_________________________________________________________________________________________

Happy October. I’ve got a question for you. What’s your heat level? Recently, I was asked a similar question about my books and I have to admit I was a little off base on a few of them.

A few posts back, I mentioned I had hired a PA. She’s been extremely helpful. In the beginning of our working arrangement, she asked me about the heat level on one of my books. I have to admit I was at a loss. What I thought and the reality were completely different.

In the past, when someone asked me that question I would refer to my books as more sensual sometimes a little steamy. However, there was a book my PA was setting up a swap for and I wasn’t quite sure of the heat level. She sent me a heat level chart and I was a little surprised where some of my books landed on the chart.

Talk about an eye opener…this little chart revealed a truth I didn’t really want to know, the majority of my books are not just Steamy, they’re also Sexy. Sometimes very Sexy. However, I have a book that unbeknownst to me, lands in the gray space between Sexy/Steamy and Erotic. I really didn’t want to admit this so I asked my godsister who had read an ARC for the book and she agreed it fell into the gray zone.

The heat level of some of my books is the reason I had to hire a new editor. In my defense, not all of my books fall into the Sexy/Steamy category. I have some that are Wholesome/Clean and Sweet. Those are either novellas, prequels or series starters.

Here’s how I write some of my series. I loop you in with a Sweet book and as the series progresses the stories get steamier. It’s like a slow build up. I’ve hinted at the sensuality so by the time the reader gets to book three or the end of book two [if it’s a big book], they are begging for the characters to go further.

Now I will admit, sometimes I don’t see the intense heat some of my readers see. I’ve had reviews that were a little shocking but that’s a matter of opinion. I had one review that said they couldn’t make it past chapter four. She went so far as to call it soft porn. I may write a little steamy, but I don’t write porn. No offense to those that write and read porn. Back to this review, I felt sorry for her, because she missed out on a great book. I also had a review praise me for the sexy love scenes. That one makes up for the other review. When it comes to heat levels it’s a little subjective. What one person finds Sexy/Steamy someone else considers Sensual/Medium Heat.

I have one book to this day I really don’t know how Amazon managed to class it as Erotic Poetry. My mother and I have had several conversations about it, however she agrees with Amazon. She said it’s the implied tone. Just last week, my book LOVE NOTES, was the #1 free book in three categories…Love & Erotic Poetry, Poetry About Love and my personal favorite category…One-Hour Parenting & Relationships Short Reads on Amazon.

I can understand Poetry About Love and I’ll even acquiesce to Love & Erotic Poetry. However, I’m flabbergasted at One-Hour Parenting & Relationships Short Reads. My mother told me to stop complaining, because the book gets me noticed. She’s right. I’m also often trading top spots in the Love & Erotic category with The Raven by Edgar Allen Poe. So I guess I’m in great author company.

Back to my original question…what’s your heat level? Check the chart below and see where your books land.

ROMANCE NOVEL HEAT LEVELS
Wholesome/Clean
!
Chats kisses, holding hands, and hugging. No love scenes – not even closed door. Just lots of emotion

Sweet
! !
Sex is implied. Closed door/morning after for intercourse. Any sexual activity would be vague on detail, heavy on emotion

Sensual/Medium Heat
! ! !
Sexual chemistry is heating up. Love scenes on page and described but still lighter on detail with strong emotional component.

Sexy/Steamy
! ! ! !
Sex is man component of the plot and is on-page and explicit. Swearing/dirty talk is frequent. Light kink/user-friendly sex toys might make an appropriate appearance. HEA.

Erotic Romance
! ! ! ! !
LOTS of sex, graphic, detailed, often kinky, non-conventional, and boundary-pushing. Sex is a big part of story line but still a HEA.

0 0 Read more

Drenched

March 30, 2024 by Dianna Sinovic in category Quill and Moss by Dianna Sinovic, Writing tagged as blog fiction, short fiction, writing

A day of never-ending rain. Pounding on the roof, dripping off overflowing eaves, collecting in pools and puddles on the lawn. Hour after hour, by the quarter- and the half-inch, the water climbing the sides of the rain gauge in the small yard until it reached a full three inches.

The broad Delaware flowed brown with the mud it had picked up farther upstream. And like the water in the rain gauge, the river crept up its banks until it swirled only steps from Cara’s back porch.

Flood stage was sixteen feet, and according to the gauge at Frenchtown, the river stood at fourteen feet and rising.

It was the price she paid for living in a house perched on the riverbank. When it rained, she risked being flooded out.

And, unbelievably, the rain drove even harder against the roof. The plastic bucket she set under an intermittent leak in the living room splatted with a steady rhythm—Thunk-thunk, Thunk-thunk.

Jasper, her beagle, trotted back and forth across the kitchen tile, keyed up because of the downpour. He hated storms and only barely tolerated steady rain. Just like her ex, hating their stormy relationship and only barely putting up with their daily life. It was no surprise when Todd bailed three years into their marriage.

At two o’clock, Cara put on her rain jacket and boots, and drove slowly through the slosh of water that ran across her road, the new stream seeking the river, on the downslope. Her mother would be waiting at the door, ready for her doctor appointment.

Sitting in the waiting room, Cara felt her phone buzz. Kimm, her neighbor. They R evacuating us. Closing road. I’ll be at my sister’s.

But Jasper. She texted back: Can u take Jasper? I’ll get him from u later.

Several beats later Kimm responded. Water 2 high. Sorry.

“Mom, I can’t stay,” Cara said, as she dropped off her mother after the appointment. “My dog …”

“Oh, he’ll be fine.” Her mother shuffled slowly beneath Cara’s umbrella. “Todd is there, and it’s just a little rain.”

Her mother routinely forgot Cara was divorced, had been for a year and a half. He’d wanted them to move to higher ground, but she refused. The river was her life blood.

Zipping back to her neighborhood along the river, Cara splashed through standing water, her wipers on high, and cursed the car’s defrost, which couldn’t clear the fog from the front window.

A flashing Road Closed sign a quarter mile from her turnoff stopped her momentarily. But no one official was monitoring the road, and she maneuvered her car around the barrier to continue up the road.

She was about a thousand feet from her destination when she could go no farther in her car. The water stretched ahead of her, swirling and frothing. Pulling well off the shoulder, she parked and waded into the flood. The water reached her ankles and then her knees, but she could see her house, the brown roof, the thirty-foot pine near the south wall. The house itself was up a slight rise, so that by the time she reached it, the water had retreated to her ankles.

Jasper’s barking welcomed her onto the porch. She unlocked the door, and the dog pranced around her legs.

“Yes, I’m home.” She wrestled playfully with the beagle, but the rising water lapping at the porch steps caught her eye. It was a major torrent; this time the house might not survive.

She had to. To prove to Todd she was right.

With a calmness she didn’t feel, she found her backpack and a duffel bag, placing within them essentials she wanted to save. Jasper followed her from room to room, whining softly. She knew what he meant: Stop the rain.

“Wish I could, buddy,” she said, pausing briefly to give him a pat.

She checked the house one last time and locked the front door. The river churned in a muddy eddy, like a mug of pale chocolate. The water was now at the bottom porch step, knee deep—too deep for Jasper. But if she didn’t leave now, the combination of rising water and current might overwhelm her.

She hauled the stuffed pack onto her back, looped the duffel over her right shoulder, and picked up Jasper. He let her hold him, without a wiggle or squirm.

One foot into the water, then the other. The current tugged at her. Step by step, careful to position each foot solidly on the path, Cara traveled several hundred feet. Then a misstep let the current spin her and she started to fall. Releasing Jasper, she caught herself and gasped.

The dog. He’d disappeared beneath the surface.

“Help!” she called, although no one was there to hear. “Jasper!”

After she battled a moment of frozen panic, the dog’s head popped up. He was swimming beside her.

Pushing ahead, Cara reached the shallower water and then the gravel; Jasper now trotted on solid ground.

She bent and hugged him, his wet fur wiping the tears from her face. They’d made it.