Book Two is Finished, Here’s What I learned This Go Around
October 12, 2024 by Denise M. Colby in category The Writing Journey by Denise Colby tagged as learning, romance, writer life, writingI wanted to call this post ‘Writerly Thoughts about Writerly Things’ because my mind is all over the place after focusing the past three months on finishing book two. But as I let my mind write out my thoughts, they all circled around the idea that book two is complete and I learned a lot this go around.
Writing a book on deadline is a completely different experience
I just completed and submitted my second ever manuscript to my publisher. I had to be organized, set a writing schedule, and keep going even when I wasn’t sure what I should write next. My original rough draft was messy and even though I felt solid about the characters I had flushed out, I had written it years ago, before I published book one. And book one had changed—a lot. Which made many scenes in book two unusable. But I had to read through it all again before I figured that out. Once I let go of my old writing, I was able to write a different story, one that I believe was better.
Book two would not be finished without my critique group
There honesty and encouragement kept me going. They asked questions, pointed out inconsistencies in the timeline, and held me accountable to my characters. Would she really say that? I don’t think he would respond that way. I’m just so thankful for them. It makes this entire journey more enjoyable and fun.
I was able to meet them in person at the Faith, Hope, Love, Writers Conference in Phoenix at the end of September. We do pretty well with email. Having an opportunity to talk live about writing and our stories was an extra special treat.
I could not have completed my manuscript without writing sprints with other authors
There’s a group that started them back in July and I joined in to help me be focused and write. It did that and well. (So well, I gave myself tendonitis in my arms from too much typing between writing this book and my day job – but that’s another story). The group still meets and I’m so glad to have this focused time for my writing. I don’t like getting up early in the am for it, but it helps to know there’s people on zoom and I want to be there.
Knowing there’s another book in the series still to come
The decisions I made for these first two books impact what I can do in the next. Things like choosing names. For some reason I was sticking to last names that started with m, and had similar sounds. It was important to catch that now before going to print, so I didn’t regret it when I write the next story. It was actually my critique group that helped catch that for me.
I’m having fun writing in this story world I’ve created
One of the things that helped me this time around was talking with readers about my characters from book one, When Plans Go Awry. They shared with me their favorites, and what they liked and had questions on. It really stayed at the front of my mind when writing book two. In my rough draft, Bert, my crazy rooster, didn’t exist yet. But he has by far stolen the show in book one and being able to write more of him in book two was so much fun. I hope my readers think so too.
What comes next after finishing book two?
Working on deadline and writing an entire book is no joke. I had to say no to several things, ignore my family a bit, and work hard at not getting distracted by home stuff, including the dog. Now I’m playing catchup on things at home, mentally jumping into the projects we need to finish in our yard and house.
I like the new schedule I have and want to keep that time for anything writing related (like writing this blog). It’s amazing how fast time goes by. Besides writing books, as an author I have other writerly things to do including working on my website, posting on my author social media, writing blogs and newsletters, and brainstorming for the next book. I’d love to create a VIP section on my website for my newsletter subscribers. And continue building my word of the year pages—something near and dear to my heart. This year my word is grow, and I think I have definitely done a lot of that.
So many things, but some will have to wait as I have another deadline early next year for book three.
0 0 Read moreEncouraging Words by Kitty Bucholtz
October 9, 2024 by Kitty Bucholtz in category It's Worth It by Kitty Bucholtz tagged as editing, Encouraging Words, Kitty Bucholtz, Perimenopause, writing
Some days you just need some encouragement.
Since that is one of my primary strengths/gifts, I wanted to focus on that today. 😊 And I hope you’ll feel like sharing encouraging words with the people you’re around today and this month.
If you’re writing, yay! Keep going! Enjoy what you’re creating. It never existed…until you wrote it. That’s amazing!!
If you’re editing, yay! You had words on the page and now you’re making them better. Your readers are going to love what you’re doing today!
If you’re marketing, yay! Keep going and don’t despair! John Wanamaker, U.S. business/religious/political leader, said, “Half the money I spend on advertising is wasted; the trouble is I don’t know which half.” 😂 So hang in there. Even people richer and more successful than you wish there was a better way to find your audience.
If you’re stuck…well, not yay, but…choose to take a deep breath, phone a friend, take a walk, write some nonsense, read a book, watch a movie, do something ridiculous for fun. And then, hopefully, yay! You’ll start to move again.
If you’ve got health issues…again, not yay, but I bet it could be worse. If you’ve got extreme health issues, I’m very sorry because that probably didn’t make you feel better. But there is always something to be grateful for. A friend’s brother fell in his assisted living apartment and was in the hospital for a week, and then has to be in a different care facility and can’t go back “home” to his assisted living apartment until he’s better. He’s very upset. Of course! But I couldn’t help but think, thank God he was able to afford an assisted living apartment where someone checks on you every couple hours. Thank God he had good enough insurance to get proper hospital care for a week. Thank God it will cover extra care for a while. Thank God he has friends and family in the same town to be with him and support him! Soooo many things to be grateful for, even though sometimes you really have to look.
My own health issues have improved — thank God!! But they bring about new problems I have to learn to deal with. My hormones have regulated (due to HRT, and probably less stress and better nutrition and exercise and rest) and I feel at about 90% of where I was ten years ago before it all started changing. YAY!! But now I try to push myself to 110% to try to make up for lost time. And then the next day, depending on how hard and how long I overdid it, I’m down to 80% or 50% or 20%. 😢 It’s hard to accept that I’m doing this to myself so I’m the one who has to change my actions. But I thank God that I’m paying attention enough to see what’s working and what’s not and keep trying to create a schedule that works for me.
By the way, did you know — October is Menopause Awareness Month, at least in the U.K. And October 18 specifically is World Menopause Day. The aim is to “to break taboo and improve women’s health and wellbeing by raising awareness about the symptoms of menopause and the support options available.” https://menopausefriendly.co.uk/world-menopause-day-2024/
I am thrilled to say there is a growing amount of support material — books, videos, groups, medical supplements and medications — far more than I could find no matter how much Googling I did a couple years ago. If you have any friends or relatives who seem particularly crabby or down and they’re the right age and gender, think of something encouraging to say to them today. Keep in mind, the vast majority of people still find the subject taboo and embarrassing, so choose your words with care. Let these women know you care and let them decide how much they want to talk about it with you. Maybe just send an email or text with the above link.
In any case, wherever you are, whatever you’re doing, whatever you’re going through in life, good and bad, ups and downs, I wish you well! Find something to be grateful about today, and help someone else find something to be grateful for as well. Maybe you’ll laugh at feeling grateful for each other! And laughter is the best — and most fun! — medicine! I’m praying for you! Big hugs from Sweden! 😃
1 0 Read moreDoor Knocker
September 30, 2024 by Dianna Sinovic in category Quill and Moss by Dianna Sinovic, Writing tagged as flash Fiction, short fiction, writing
The staircase is steep, a small hill of thirty-five steps to ascend to reach your room. This was not in the description you read of the quaint New England hotel when you did your research. You realize quaint has more than one definition. The stairs are only the first of several aspects of this lodging that were omitted in the details provided. The second is that there are only three rooms in the hotel, because the first floor houses not only a podiatrist’s office but also a small gift shop (with only intermittent hours). The third omission is one you will come to realize as the day slips into night.
Room One overlooks a winding creek and a stand of white pine. You are glad for the quiet until the innkeeper informs you that you are currently the sole guest. When you push for a reason, she explains with a shrug that it’s the off-season in this tourist town. She also informs you that she leaves at five o’clock and then entrusts you with the security code for the hotel’s entrance.
The room has a coffeemaker, so you brew a cup and unpack your suitcase—only half full because you are only there for two days, the more important day being tomorrow, when you will give a presentation to a potential client.
At a table big enough for only your laptop and the cup of coffee, but with a serene view of the creek, you review your slides—which ones to edit and which to scrap. Tomorrow’s pitch holds the key to your future and that makes your hand shake as you raise the cup to your lips.
After a dinner down the block of grilled chicken and a side salad—you are trying to lose ten pounds!—you read in your room until nearly midnight. It’s after you turn out the bedside lamp that the noises begin.
First, a bump against the far wall of your room. Then a crackle. More bumps. Muffled voices arguing. This is the off-season; you’re the only one here this week. The innkeeper had told you this conspiratorially. Now you wonder if she somehow forgot about the guest next door.
You put a pillow over your head to block the noise, but the commotion seeps into your subconscious, putting you into an uneasy sleep with dreams of your PowerPoint slides disappearing as you click on them before a room full of people who frown.
Finally, at two-thirty, with the noise unabated, you pull on clothes and march to Room Two. The hallway lights flash on with your movement.
Taking a deep breath to steel yourself, you give a polite knock. No response, but you can hear sounds of laughter, clinking glasses, the thrum of a bass beat. A stronger knock. You consider how tired you will be by morning.
You raise your fist to pound on the door, and the noise ceases. The only sound now: a lone cricket chirping in the hallway behind you. The latch clicks and the door slowly swings open. The dim interior is illuminated only by a nightlight on the opposite wall. Beyond the doorway is silence—no movement, no whispers, nothing. And you remember that you are alone in this building.
The next morning, all is quiet next door, and as you splash water on your face, you wonder if what you remember was just a bad dream. After all, you are stressed: The success of your business hinges on how well you do today.
The crisp black slacks and stylish silk shirt hide those extra pounds, and you approve of the young woman looking back at you from the full-length mirror. Sipping coffee, you check your bag for the files you’ll need, then touch up your lip gloss. You’ve masked the circles under your eyes as best you can; you are not a night person, as much as your friends want you to be.
Checking your watch, you slip your laptop bag over your shoulder and open the door to leave. You have enough time to drive to the interview, stopping at Starbucks on the way. More coffee will either energize or frazzle you. So much for a good night’s sleep.
In the hallway, precisely centered before you, sits a white bakery bag, the top folded closed. You look left and right, but the hallway stands empty. Cautiously, you pick up the bag, noting that someone has written your name in neat script. A perk from the hotel?
The bag opens easily, and nestled inside is a frosted muffin: scents of butter, cream, and brown sugar waft up, and you dig out the treat. Along with the muffin, your hand catches on a slip of paper, which flutters to the floor.
Now ravenous, you bite into the muffin, then pick up the paper. Another bite finishes the muffin. Delicious, maybe the best muffin you’ve ever had.
You unfold the paper and read the words written in the same neat script:
Our apologies if our party disturbed your sleep. Please accept this peacekeeping gesture. You will get the job.
No signature, but you assume it’s from the innkeeper.
Oh, well. You crumple the bag, hoping at the truth of her positive message.
When you arrive at the appointment, the client job offer is waiting for you; no presentation needed.
Back at the hotel, you thank the innkeeper for the morning muffin and share your good news.
“Muffin?” she says, her eyebrows raised.
Some of Dianna’s stories are in the following anthologies.
Salad Days
August 30, 2024 by Dianna Sinovic in category Columns, Quill and Moss by Dianna Sinovic, Writing tagged as paranormal, short fiction, writing
In the shade of a red maple, Ana helped spread the tablecloth over the picnic table and stepped back to let her family lay out the food: tuna salad, pasta salad, chips, grapes, strawberries, brownies, muffins. She and her grown children and her two grandchildren had gathered at the edge of Lake Nockamixon to celebrate her seventieth birthday, on an August afternoon laden with humidity.
Unscrewing a thermos lid, her son Jasper poured sparkling wine into paper cups. Alcohol was banned at the park, but in a nondescript container, who would be the wiser? When everyone but the teens, Luna and Geoffrey, had a cup, Jasper raised his.
“To our mom, on this milestone birthday.” He chugged his drink. “If only Dad could have joined us.”
“Here, here.” There was polite applause.
Ana raised her cup and smiled at the group. There had been some bumps and potholes on the road of life for her family—perhaps the biggest bump, Emery’s death almost a year ago from a heart attack.
Jasper’s eyes glistened as he poured himself another round. Her oldest seemed the most deeply affected by his father’s passing. Kaitlin, his wife, laid a hand on his shoulder in comfort. Ana’s other son, Paul, and her daughter Mindy and partner Sonja lined up for another splash of wine.
What the rest of the family didn’t notice—or failed to sense—was Emery’s presence just beyond the picnic table, a shimmering apparition with waving arms. Emery showed up with regularity, frightening Ana at first when he popped into view a few days after his death. Picking up the shards of the plate that broke when she dropped it in surprise, she wondered what a hallucination of a dead spouse portended for her mental health. But as his sightings continued, she realized he was benign if annoying, much like he’d been in real life.
On this day, Emery signaled to her with his arms. As always, he was silent. Apparitions didn’t make noise anyway, did they? He had been a silent bear of a man, and his children took after him. The group remained quiet around the picnic table, until she sighed, picked up a paper plate, and dug into the spread.
Emery was still waving at her, gesturing at the table—did he want a glass of the wine? How would that work?—but she decided to ignore him, as she too often had done while he was alive.
“Thanks, everyone,” she said. “This is a wonderful get-together. Let’s eat!”
Plates filled, the group moved to the next picnic table over to sit down. Paul and Jasper talked about the Phillies prospects, and Mindy chatted quietly with Sonja.
It was Luna who took the volume up a notch.
“Grams, I made the tuna salad. Don’t you want any?” Luna, at thirteen, could still pout if the mood suited her.
Why had she passed up the salad?
“Your granddad—” Ana started, but knew that explanation wouldn’t do. On her seventieth birthday, she didn’t need to worry her family that she was going crazy.
Jasper broke off his conversation with Paul to look at Ana oddly. “Mom? You okay?”
She nodded. “Of course.” She reached out and gently squeezed Luna’s shoulder. “I just didn’t feel like tuna today. I’m sure it’s scrumptious.”
Smiling, Luna returned to her own plate, scooping up mouthfuls of food. “It is. Mom said so.”
What had Emery been so insistent about? He was now standing behind Jasper, hands on his hips. No more waving or acting agitated. Words from the past bubbled up. I kept trying to tell you.
Kaitlin brought out from a cooler a boxed birthday cake. Luna crowded next to her to plunge the candles into the frosting. Geoffrey, Luna’s older brother, seemed uninterested as only a fifteen-year-old can be at a family gathering.
Paul pulled a lighter from his pocket, but paused, arm extended toward the candles, his face now a pale shade of green. He thrust the lighter at Kaitlin and hurried to the restroom facility across the picnic area. She lit the candles.
Instead of a sweet chorus of the birthday song, one by one, the members of Ana’s family fled to the restroom, their faces wan, holding their stomach.
“What’s going on?” Ana muttered. She watched the candles flicker in the breeze off the lake. “Happy birthday to me,” she sang softly. “Happy birthday to me.” She blew out the flames. Emery moved closer to her and pointed a shimmering hand at the tuna salad.
Oh.
“Food poisoning?” She addressed her husband’s ghost out loud.
He nodded vigorously. Death apparently had given him license to add drama to a situation. Why couldn’t he have been a little more lively before?
“I’m sure they’ll be fine. Just a touch of ptomaine.” She idly began cleaning up the picnic debris, collecting the paper plates, pouring out the bubbly left in glasses. She closed up the food cartons, including the suspect tuna salad. No one had yet returned from the facilities. Should she call 911?
Before she could pull out her phone, Jasper staggered back to the table.
“Taking everyone to the hospital,” he croaked.
“If you must go, I can drive,” Ana said. “I feel fine.”
“No, no,” Jasper said, waving his hand half-heartedly. “It’s your birthday.”
“You are sick. Everyone is sick. This is ridiculous.” She picked up the cooler and bags and carried them to her van. Emery walked beside her, fading in and out. Fourteen months ago, he kept complaining about back pain, an ache that wouldn’t ease up. For a man who said little, that should have been her clue. And now, he’d tried to alert her to another threat, and she’d failed again to understand.
Ana started the van, picked up Jasper and then the rest, who were puddled by the restrooms.
At least she could help salvage the remains of the day.
As she pulled onto the highway, Emery, hovering near her window, smiled.
Some of Dianna’s stories are in the following anthologies.
The Clue in the Weathered Hardback
July 30, 2024 by Dianna Sinovic in category Columns, Quill and Moss by Dianna Sinovic, Writing tagged as mystery, Nancy Drew, short fiction, writing
Emma worked her way through the tables of used books laid out at a community fair in Bucks County. Books! As if she didn’t have enough of them on her bookcases and her bedside table. Balancing an armful of books—mysteries, a literary classic, two romances—she spied a familiar cover.
“It’s a Nancy Drew.” She smiled at the memory. Her mother had bequeathed her small collection to Emma, who only skimmed them—too dated for her. But she had kept a few of the titles, mostly as a reminder of her mother, who had passed on three years before.
The book, The Secret in the Old Attic, was not one she’d read. Picking it up, mostly out of curiosity, not out of a desire to buy it, Emma opened the cover to leaf through it. Instead of a full complement of pages, though, the interior was carved out to make a book safe. Within the safe lay a folded slip of paper. She smoothed out the slip. On it, in spidery handwriting: IOU.
Fascinated at the clever use of the book, Emma added it to her stack of purchases and left the sale with the bag of used volumes.
At home, she googled the topic and learned that book safes had long been a common way to hide valuables, including money. As long as you remembered which books you’d carved up, no one else would be the wiser as they perused your shelves, either as a guest or a thief.
Lured by the information, she tucked away fifty dollars in the Nancy Drew book and slipped it onto the bookshelf in her living room. An experiment, she told herself. On a run to her public library after work several weeks later Emma remembered the book safe when she passed by the children’s section on her way to the checkout.
She pulled it from the shelf when she returned home and popped it open. The bills had vanished; in their place sat a folded slip of paper. It was identical to the one she’d seen earlier, at the sale, down to the faintly creepy message.
Feeling her pulse flutter in alarm, she dropped the book and the paper. WTF? She spun in a circle to take in the room. It was empty, as was the rest of her modest ranch, but she shivered. Who had been there? And when?
As the moments ticked past, she felt silly. I must have left the slip in the book when I brought it home. As for the money, maybe she’d imagined placing it there.
“Let me try again,” she said aloud to break the spell that seemed to keep her feet glued to the floor. Digging in her wallet, she pulled out two twenties, folded them in half and dropped them into the book safe. She tossed the IOU into the recycle bin.
This time she marked her calendar: Check in one week. Determined to solve the mystery—was she now Nancy Drew?—she set up a surveillance camera aimed at the bookshelf. If there was a thief—but there couldn’t be!—the camera would capture the culprit.
When the week had crawled by, Emma eagerly jerked the book from the shelf, then hesitated. The camera hadn’t caught any strangers in her home. What would the book reveal?
Inside the safe, the same slip of paper beckoned her to unfold it. The money was gone.
“Dammit,” she said, frustration coloring her expletive. Staring at the open book for a few moments, she hit on a solution. Two can play this game. She lay the paper slip on the kitchen table, found a pen, and printed neatly: You owe me ninety bucks. Pay up! With the refolded slip back in the book safe, Emma once again reshelved the hardback.
Barely twenty-four hours passed before Emma succumbed to temptation and pulled out the book. She laughed in surprise. No more notes; the safe contained ninety dollars in crisp bills—a fifty and two twenties—all neatly folded in half.
The cycle, she decided, had ended. She would keep the Nancy Drew book, but forgo putting anything into the paper safe, lest the mystery of the borrower be reactivated.
It was later, as she sat on the couch watching an episode of Stranger Things, that she looked at the returned cash more closely. She switched off the TV and turned on a lamp to inspect. The bills felt and looked authentic—the texture, the watermark, the colors shifting in the numerals—but the portraits . . . She struggled to remember who should be there. Jefferson? Jackson? She was fairly sure a guy named McCall wasn’t one of them. She turned the bills over. On the back, although each building was identified by caption, neither the Capitol nor the White House looked familiar.
The biggest, most obvious difference stared right at her. She ran a finger along the banner words above the buildings: United Territories of America.
More of Dianna’s stories can be found in the following anthologies:
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