World Building Part 1

World Building. Two big scary words. It's not just for Fantasy worlds anymore. Where do you start? There are certainly enough websites on the internet to help you. But where do you start? What do you need? What do you want? These questions are just as scary. And I really can’t answer them for you. What I can do is share a little about the process I went through as I created the world of Paranormal Shadows.

Which came first? At the time I was watching Charmed (the original) and all the CSIs (Original, New York and Miami). There was an episode in the first season of Charmed that had the police independently investigating a series of murder that were magical in nature. They came to logical conclusions and found the person responsible. I liked the idea and it continued to play in my brain as I paid more attention to police procedures.

So, magic is real. Since an important aspect of world building is consistency, I had to come up with rules. Who could use it? How could they use it? How much power can an individual use? Does the general population know about it? Do people use it in everyday life? The rules of magic were very important. Because it would have a deep impact on how my characters would navigate this world.

So I looked at how I wanted magic to work. The first thing I decided was the type of magic. I chose to make it elemental. Earth, Air, Fire, Water and Spirit. Each person could access only one of these. How many people could use it? I choose to make it that only a small percentage of the population could have access to the magical energy field that surrounded the Earth. Then I decided that everyone who used magic had different levels of use. That made things more manageable.

My next mental process became, how to commit a crime with magic. Not every magical criminal was going to be a high power super man who could kill at will. That would have over balanced things against my heroes who would have to be just as super powered. So, I reviewed some petty crimes. 

Breaking and Entering was a test case for me, although it doesn’t appear in any of the books. I picked an element. Fire. A low powered Fire criminal. How did he get in? He melted the locks in the way a welder might use fire, it just wouldn’t take as long. There I had the how. Now for the tricky part. How do I catch him? This is where I looked at forensic techniques. Along with the normal (photos, dusting for prints, interviewing witnesses) procedures, I added a couple more techniques that are magic specific. Does the magic used leave evidence of itself? I decided the answer was yes. Combining these with standard techniques, I am able to catch my criminal.

So that concept worked and I was able to come up with the initial rules of magic and how it worked in the modern world. As I continue to write in this world, new aspects will appear, more rules added, but the foundation is there and I can continue to build on that. Things work as an extension of the real world.

More Word Count Fluff

The first week of NaNoWriMo. You came in with a strong start. The words are flowing. Your story is flowing from your mind like the Amazon River during the rainy season. Nothing can stop you now. Your word count is off the charts. You’ve never had it so good.

Stop.

(Patiently waiting for the screams of protest to die down a little.)

I’m not telling you to stop writing. I value my life far too much.  What I am suggesting is to make you write more, not less. Something I’ve learned over my 17+ years of NaNoWriMo is not to rush the story. Yes, you want to get that first draft written. You want to get that word count. What I’m offering is a way to do both.

For example, let's look at the following bit:

He opened the door and rushed into the room.

That was good for 9 words. It jumps you right into the next scene. But instead, why not expand on it? This is where you can draw in on the five senses. Lets try this again.

His hand curved around the cold metal knob of the door. He took a deep breath, the musty scent of old wood stinging his nose, even as he could see the wood of the door splintering from age. He pushed it open and rushed ahead as dust seemed to billow around him to hold him back.

Same concept, but expanded. And 56 words instead of 9. Three of the five senses used. Sight, smell and touch.

You don’t need to rush your story. Take the time to tell it. The more you add, the better your word count.

Quantity is important. It doesn't matter if you edit it all out later. What matters is telling your story. Enrich the story in your own mind. Add sensation. And most importantly, enjoy the experience of telling your story. That is after all why you’re a writer, isn’t it?

NaNoWriMo Word Count Fluff

During NaNoWriMo 2016 I ran into a problem. I had finished the story I intended to write. But I still had 2 days to go and I hadn’t hit 50,000 words. In the past I would write another scene that would be in the book, but this time, I creatively had nothing. Zero. Zilch. Nada. My mind had become a blank wasteland with tumbleweeds that were laughing at me. After panicking and having a meltdown, I came up with something to write to get me to the finish line. The following is what I wrote. A view of my usual workday with a twist.

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Abigail Morningstar unlocked the door to her office on a bitterly cold November morning. As she stepped inside it was still cold since the heat had been lowered to sixty-two degrees over the weekend to conserve energy. Abigail found coming to work on a Monday morning to be somewhat unwelcoming. The cold slate gray skies did little to improve her mood. It was already going to be a long and miserable day.

Rattling the cages, she woke up the hamsters who were lying cuddled together in a tight and warm bundle. The furry little creatures poked out their heads and glared at her. With reluctance, they uncurled and waddled into their individual wheels and started their run for the day.

Abigail had barely settled down with her first cup of tea when the phone rang. She set down her cup and picked up the headset.

“Good morning, thank you for calling Gormogon Incorporated, this is Abigail, how may I help you?” she said in a falsely cheerful voice.

“Uh yeah,” the male voice said. “Where do I send my payments?”

Maintaining her upbeat tone with effort, she answered. “Please mail all payments to Gormogon Incorporated, thirty two oh two Cuthshaw Blvd, Richview, Virginia, two three two two four. Please make all checks payable to Gormogon Incorporated.”

“Uh… thanks,” the man said. “What if my payment is a little late?” he asked.

Abigail rolled her eyes. Did they think she worked for free? “If payment is not received within thirty days, a gremlin will be sent to your residence. An additional gremlin will be sent for each month your payment is late for a total of twelve gremlins. If payment is still not received, poltergeists will be sent following the same schedule.”

The man gulped audibly. “Uh… okay,” he said. “Errr, thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” she said. “Have a nice day.” She hung up the phone.

There had been cases where clients had managed with one or two gremlins. By the time they hit the third gremlin, they were paying with interest. Anything to get rid of the gremlins.

One of the gremlins under discussion climbed up on her desk wearing an overcoat and heavy boots with a jaunty little hat on his head.

“Is he late?” he asked in his piping little voice.

“I’d have to check the files,” Abigail replied. “Are you bored?”

“Nah,” he replied. “Just cold. Those hamsters take forever to get the heat going this time of year. You should get one of those mechanical furnaces.”

Abigail shrugged. “Boss says hamsters, we use hamsters,” she replied. “He makes the rules.”

“And the lion share of the money, Abs,” the gremlin commented. “You really should ask for a raise. “

Abigail shrugged again. “I’m leaving at the end of Yule,” she said. “No point arguing about the money he’s never gonna pony up.”

“Well, we’ll certainly miss you here,” the gremlin said, its lips turned down in a pout.

Abigail smiled. “I’ll miss some of you guys as well,” she said.

The phone rang again, and she picked up the handset. “Good morning, Gormogon Incorporated, this is Abigail, how may I help you?” she said.

“Hi Abby, it’s Tracy,” a woman’s voice said over the phone.

Abigail rolled her eyes and the gremlin snickered. “Hi Tracy, how are you?” she asked.

“Oh, I’m fine,” Tracy said. “I need to know when we’re getting a delivery this week?”

“Hold on, let me see if I can pull it up really quick,” Abigail replied.

She spun her hand over the crystal ball and pinks and purples began to swirl inside it. Little streaks of red lightning showed up which made her frown. She turned back to the phone.

“Tracy, when did you put your order in?” she asked.

“Oh, I haven’t put it in yet,” Tracy replied airily. “I just need to know when the delivery is coming.”

Abigail took a deep breath before she let it out just as slowly. “Tracy, we can’t schedule a delivery until your order is in the system,” she said patiently. “As soon as we know what you need, then we can see how quickly we can get it to you.”

“Oh,” Tracy said. “I suppose that does make sense doesn’t it,” she continued. “I am going to need cherry blossom….”

“Cherry blossoms are seasonal, Tracy,” Abigail said. “We only ship that in the spring.”

“You people should really invest in providing those year-round,” Tracy said sounding wise.

Abigail’s face contorted in her irritation as the gremlin, laughing hysterically, rolled off the corner of her desk.

“All our products are one hundred percent natural, Tracy,” Abigail said. “Force grown plants have only a quarter of the magical energies.”

“That’s a very good point,” Tracy conceded as if Abigail hadn’t told her the same thing repeatedly over the last two years. “Oh well, I do need to place an order.”

Abigail kept her voice controlled and upbeat. “Are you going to enter it yourself?” she asked.

“Could you just take it?” Tracy asked.

“Of course,” Abigail said. “Give me a sec to get an order form.”

Abigail quickly snapped her fingers twice and a fairy dragon bearing pen and parchment appeared and dropped them on her desk. She blew a kiss to the dragon, smoothed out the paper, and prepared to write. Her boss tended to call them Ferry dragons.

“All right,” she said. “What can I get for you, Tracy?”

“A case of Rosemary, two bags of Russian sage, German thyme,” the woman said seeming to just be guessing what she needed. “Is the basil still in season?”

“We have some left but that’ll be the last of it until spring,” Abigail replied.

“I’ll take a bag of that,” Tracy said. “I think that’s all.”

“Do you need chives?” Abigail asked. Tracy always needed chives and always forgot to order them.

“No, I think I have enough,” Tracy said.

“Okay,” Abigail replied. That was Tracy code for ‘I’ll call back in two days for an emergency order of chives I should have ordered when you asked me.

“Thank you so much, Abigail,” Tracy said.

“You’re quite welcome, Tracy,” Abigail replied. “Have a nice day.” She hung up before Tracy turned the conversation about what her grandson Steve was doing for Christmas this year.

On top of the filing cabinet, the fairy dragon was preening, its wings fluttering iridescent under the fluorescent lights.

The hamsters in their wheels had finally gotten the office temperature up to sixty-eight degrees and Abigail had finally taken off her gloves when her boss, Ronald strolled into the office around ten am. She looked up and plastered a smile on her face.

“Good morning,” she said.

He smiled back oblivious to her fake cheer. “Good morning Abigail,” he said. “Anything come in?”

“Just the usual,” she replied. “Tracy ordered her supplies.”

“Which Tracy?” he asked as he kept walking back to his office.

Abigail sighed, picked up her notebook, and followed him back as she usually did. “Tracy at the Silver Center,” she said. “Not Tracy with the Pagan Sisterhood.”

“That’s right,” he said. “It’s Silver Center week to order.”

“Every two weeks,” Abigail replied. She wondered, as she often did if he ever listened to himself talk.

“It should be a slow week,” Ronald said.

Abigail parked her face in neutral. The last slow week they had was two years ago. She didn’t say anything as Ronald kept talking as he set up his crystal ball.

“Do you think you can work on my crystal ball today?” he asked.

“I’ll try,” she replied, as she always did. “Same issues?”

“I can’t get my mail again,” he said.

“Mystic snakes are temperamental,” Abigail said. Of course, Ronald always managed to annoy them so it was no surprise his mail delivery was questionable. She never had a problem with her mail because she treated them with respect.

“And my CB 10 is acting up,” he said referring to the latest crystal ball upgrade.

“I’ll take a look at it,” Abigail said, as she always did.

“CB 7 was just fine,” he continued to complain. “I don’t know why they had to change it.”

Abigail said nothing. There was no point. If CB 7 had been so fine, he shouldn’t have upgraded. Why did he upgrade to CB 10? Because it was free. As the warehouseman, George said, Ronald would spend five cents to make a penny.

“I’ll get back to working on the inventory,” Abigail said. Anything to escape his presence for a few precious moments. Without waiting she fled back to her office.

The gremlins were dancing on her desk when she got back to the front office. She heard the roaring of a truck engine which could only mean that George was back from his first deliveries. She heard the sound of foul language as George argued with the dragon where the engine would be. From the sounds of it, he was losing badly. Again.

A moment later he stumbled into the office and handed over the paperwork from the deliveries. “You got a backorder on the bee balm again,” he said.

“You didn’t take the bee balm?” Abigail asked. “Why not?

“Hoffs didn’t have any in stock,” George replied.

Abigail sighed. “Marvelous,” she said. She took the paperwork and handed it to one of the gremlins to mark as delivered.

“Did Ronald pick up the mouthwash yet?” George asked.

Abigail leaned over her desk and yelled. “RONALD! MOUTHWASH!”

There was a moment of silence and then, “IN THE BACK OF THE VAN!”

Abigail looked at George. “That answer your question?” she asked.

George mumbled something Abigail suspected was a curse of some kind and then he shook off his irritation. “Do you want to label the bottles for the body elixir while I mix it up?” he asked.

Abigail gave him a look. “Do I want to stand in a freezing warehouse to stick plastic labels on gallon jugs for an hour?” she asked. “Seriously? You think that’s something I want to do?”

George just chuckled. It wasn’t the first time she nailed him over his choice of words. “Okay then, will you help me by labeling bottles?”

Abigail sighed. She wondered what would happen if she just said no. She was always helping George, but he wasn’t much help to her. She wasn’t going to let him anywhere near her crystal ball.

“Fine,” she said. “How many cases do you need?”

“Twenty-one,” George said promptly. “I need to build inventory for the witch convention next week.”

Abigail did the mental calculation. Four gallons per case times twenty-one cases was eighty-four. “Do you need labels too?”

“If you don’t mind,” George said.

Would it matter if she did? “Okay, when do you need me?” she asked.

“In about ten minutes I’ll be ready for you,” George said. He grinned at her and walked out. She heard him yell at the dragon in the van and it snarled something rude back.

Abigail dropped into her chair and brushed aside one of the gremlins that had fallen asleep after dancing during the conversation she had with George. She saw one of the mystic snakes slither by on its way to Ronald’s office. Apparently, he had temporarily appeased them and was getting his mail. That would keep him busy for a while and out of her hair until he pissed them off again.

Sometimes she really hated her job.

NaNoWriMo Prep

 It’s that time of year again. Writers around the world are preparing for National Novel Writing Month

2020. They took that first step and signed up, committing themselves to writing 50,000 words over the space of 30 days.

Halfway through the month of October, it hits them. That frightening commitment that will eat their soul for a month. Where friends and family will be ignored more than usual. And they still have to try to manage dealing with Thanksgiving and Covid-19 limitations. It's scary. It’s daunting. It’s overwhelming. What was I thinking?

Over the years I’ve been doing NaNoWriMo, I’ve learned a few things. 

Deadlines are not bad things. They taught me how to focus on a single project and complete it in that timeframe.

A little preparation can’t hurt. This was one of the biggest things I learned.

I started out as a purebred Pantser. I made the story up as I went along. Occasionally having to stop to Google something I needed more information on. Occasionally I would get stuck not knowing what to write next, so I would skip around scenes to just keep going. I reached my goal, but when it came to the editing process, I honestly didn’t know what to do with it.

Then I decided to give being a Planner a shot. No surprises. All the information was at my fingertips . I knew where the story was going. I even knew how it would end. The fight scenes were detailed out and logical. The characters had complete biographies and motivations. The downside? I was bored by the story. I completed it, but I found it extremely dull writing it and reading it. There was nothing for me to discover.

So I am now what is called a Plantser. There is planning involved. I even have an outline. Character names and a brief sketch of their personalities. I have a list of websites I’ll need for more information. However, everything is subject to change. The outline is a guide only and it’ll be okay for me to deviate

from it if the story demands it. My lead Male Character has already changed his name and background, twice and it’s not even November yet.

What’s important is finding the best method that works for you. Whether you are a Planner or Pantser, the point is to get that story out of your head. Remember, out there is someone with a hole within them that is in the exact shape of your story.

What Is A Trope?

As I’ve wandered deeper into the writing community and learning about writing. Occasionally I come

across terminology that is unfamiliar. Most of the time, I don’t ask for an explanation. I just pretend I know what everyone else is talking about. Most of the time I can fake it pretty successfully. But then, I do write fiction after.

Which brings me to a word I’ve seen here and there.

Trope.

What is a Trope?

Well… that’s a really good question. So naturally I had to do some research on the subject. 

To start with, the origin of the word comes from the Greek “tropos” which means direction or way. Of course there is more to the etymology of the word, but if you want to know more, there are plenty of resources on the internet to find it. 

There are a number of definitions of the word. Just as there are a number of different types of tropes. Some tropes are bundled under even other classifications.

For example, for the sake of simplicity: Literary Tropes, Movie Tropes, and TV Tropes. You can take it even further such as Fantasy Tropes, Dystopian Tropes, etcetera. Once I got to this point, I started to get that little stress crease between my brows that usually means I’m struggling to maintain interest.

Let’s wander over to the Merriam-Webster Dictionary. That should make it simpler, right? First definition is “: a word or expression used in a figurative sense:” Figure of Speech. So let's wander over to the second definition “: a common or overused theme or device :” CLICHÉ.

I think we’re getting closer to understanding what a trope is. At least I am. I hope. What it comes down to is a Plot Device. Something you see in different genres or media. Something that is used over and over again. In some cases, so often, it’s easy to guess how the story will end or at least what the general plot will be.

Let’s try some examples of tropes. Since I write paranormal mystery/romance, let’s see what the common tropes are in that.

The Paranormal Investigator: This person investigates a supernatural crime of some sort. In television it would be shows like X-Files or Night Stalker or Supernatural.

I See Dead People: This person can see ghosts that others can or cannot interact with. The ghosts may deeply impact their lives or just hang around as a weird roommate.

Soul Bonds: These people are fated to be together. Their destiny is to fall in love and no one else will do it for them. Even if they hate each other at first.

Now this is not to say tropes are bad. They aren't. They can be used effectively to create a good story. After all, the X Files was on television for years.

Which tropes do you see over and over? And which ones do you hate?

Don't Panic!

Last week I freaked out. I mean, I had a serious writer’s meltdown. It included tears and despair and hopelessness. Actually a lot of tears. (I cry at commercials.) I was reading through the rough draft of the climatic scene of my 3rd book.

A friend who is always honest with me, delicately pointed out that it was…. (cringe) FLAT.

He was being kind. It was pure crap. Horrible. Messy. It had as much tension as a broken piece of yarn. And short. Depressingly short. And I had no idea how to fix it. Or even if it could be fixed.

Thus, the meltdown of epic proportions. I wasn’t a writer. I was a fraud. Flop. Amateur. I sucked. Everything I did, sucked. And sucked in the worst possible way.

This isn’t the first time I’ve gone through this. Nor am I the first writer to go through this. I’m pretty sure there are some very popular and prolific writers out ther that go through this morass of depressing self doubt.

Now, this is not to be confused with Writer’s Block. That’s another little monster that will get its own post someday. 

But, guess what? It’ll pass. There are important things you need to remember as you dry your tears: ALL first drafts suck. If anyone tells you differently, they are lying or delusional. The first draft is nothing more than a skeleton. The foundation of your story. The crucial starting point, not the end product.

This is what I did. After sobbing for a number of hours and exhausting myself. I forced myself to read it again. Yeah, it was still pretty disappointing, but I realized something important. I was still okay with the WHAT happens. It was the HOW that sucked. The framework was there. I just needed to give it some life. 

I was looking at two thousand words in desperate need of help. I broke the action down by what takes place and in what order. I realized I left a lot of things out. There was no description of where the action was taking place. No internal dialog from the characters. No details of the action itself. Just a list of things that happen.

Once I realized I had to build on what was already there (and pay homage to the grammar monkey), I was able to calm down. So those two thousand words became five thousand. The tension leading to the action was hyped up. The tension I felt I was able to inject into expanding on what I had already written. 

I was able to fix it. I’m also feeling a whole lot better with the result. So don’t panic. You’ll know if you

need to fix it or replace it. Let the emotion you feel out and then dive back in and take care of your darling. After all. YOU are the Writer. This is your story, your world. You RULE!

New vs Old Authors

 I had an interesting conversation lately. It started with an observation by a friend about science fiction authors (well known ones) coming to the end of their careers. I wasn’t aware that writers were even capable of retiring unless they were dead. They write until they croak. In some cases someone will take over and continue writing for them.

Needless to say, that didn’t sit that well with me. I’m a Golden Girl.

This led to another conversation about age and publishing. I was told, by a person who dabbled at writing, that publishing a book was a young person’s game, especially fiction. Apparently there are some that believe that if you’ve crossed the big 5-0, then the books you write are memoirs or historical topics.

They didn't think they could craft a book that would appeal to younger readers. Or they didn’t think they could write characters younger than they were. Or they thought the environments they would write in would be too dated. Or they weren’t computer savvy enough to write an eBook. Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

Now on the other end of the spectrum are those that think they’re not old enough to write a book. They believe they don’t have enough experience. Or they haven’t been around long enough to be taken seriously. 

I did a little research. Mary Shelley, the author of Frankenstein completed that manuscript before she was 21. Stephen King is currently 73 and he has a book set to come out in 2021. 

What this tells me, is that age doesn’t matter. This is just a reason that some use not to get that book

out. Another thing they allow to hold them back. I heard someone say that out there somewhere is a reader with a hole in their soul that is the shape of your book.

You have that story inside you. Write it. Someone will love it as much as you do. 

Don’t let ageism stop you.