Tag Archives: writing

In search for a plot

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Participant-2014-Web-BannerFellow Wrimos, we’re going on less than thirty-six hours before NaNoWriMo 2014 kicks off, and I can’t be more excited! And terrified. I just realized that though I know who I want to write about, and I have a general idea of where I need to end up, I have absolutely no idea how I’m going to get there. It’s a little like taking a trip from my house to Maine without consulting a map. Nope, I’m going to be my usual pantser self and drive, hoping I get there in one piece.

At least in the car, I know the general direction I need to take, and I can read road signs. Maybe it wouldn’t be the most efficient way, but I’d certainly get there. But with this story, I need to figure out a plot, even a loose idea, that can move me along. I have part of her history down, and I think I know why she choose to become an escort, but how did she get there?

What I know about my main character, Giada, is that she’s extremely intelligent, with an appreciation for literature, art, music, and working knowledge of politics. What scares me is that I’m not so intelligent, and I have a very limited knowledge of the list above. Also, I know nothing about escorts, pornstars, and the interactions between them and the clients that hire them.

What am I to do?

As with everything, I’ll just fake it and hope it makes sense. I know more than I’ll admit to myself, and I’ll research what I need as I go along. I have a feeling that there will be some nefarious character, a Cardinal working in the Vatican, that will incite the troubles against Giada, forcing her to ally herself with the very institution that she turned her back on, the Catholic Church. As a bonus, I’ll get to meet Israel Mendoza, the main character in my first NaNo novel, as a young priest.

But why is a Cardinal, one of the hingemen of the church, so interested in a mere prostitute? I have an idea, but I don’t think I’ll share that reason, at least not yet. All I know is that when I wrote her into my story back in 2011, she was just a throwaway character, a bit of revenge against someone who did me wrong. Naturally, I fell in love with her. She’s broken and jaded, but I understand her brokenness. Also there’s a joy and an innocence in her that belies her worldliness. I can relate to that, too.

As with everything I write, there’s a personal reason for my telling. I think with her, my reason is that she’s ultimately what I created, a throwaway character. That’s what I feel I am to those around me. She’s used and discarded, with no one to love or to be loved. That, too, is how I feel at times.

But she’s the hero in her story. She may live a sinful life, but she’s not beyond the call of redemption. She may sell her body for earthy pleasure, but in her soul there’s still a place unblemished by the touch of man. No matter how worthless she feels about herself, she will find that she does matter to someone who prizes her above everything and everyone else.

Too bad I don’t know how the hell I’m going to do it!

The Jasmine-Giada Substitution

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I finally hit the point of collapse, at least as far as my story goes. When I last visited you, I shared an excerpt from the book I’m rewriting, which I’m calling Jasmine, but formerly called Unseen Obsession. I hate that title!

I’ve been doing some minor revisions in grammar, language, and spelling. I’ve cleaned up a few scenes, adding and subtracting as needed to ensure a coherent story line, but I’m not at a point where minor revisions become wholesale rewrites. As written, Jasmine is sent an envelope with white powder in it, which can only be assumed to be anthrax. So far so good. But then? Nothing. It turns out to be bogus and it disappears. There’s no point in having it in the story if there’s no real drama attached to it!

Either I have to ramp up the pressure to find out who’s behind the letter, or I need to make a substitution. My thought was to have a box rigged to look like a bomb. It’s kind of the same thing, but I avoid the whole bio-hazard angle. Trying to work that in is causing me headaches. I’ll still have to force the issue and have an investigator try to find who’s behind it, suspecting the whole time that it’s either Jasmine’s new love interest, a suspect in an unsolved crime, or a jealous ex that’s acting territorial.

I doubt I’ll figure this out by Friday and the beginning of NaNoWriMo. I’m not worried about it, but it would be nice to have that figured out before I jump into a new project. I briefly considered skipping NaNo this year, but I’ve enjoyed the challenge since 2011. I can’t just skip it. I think it’s fun, and good for me, too!

So I’ll work on Jasmine until the last minute before shelving it for Giada. Now that I’ve written that, it looks like I’m in some sort of love triangle. What the hell! Why not? If writing is my love, at least I have two women vying for my attention. I have other stories that also need some attention, but if I keep up this metaphor, I don’t think bringing up a priest or some teenage girls is the right thing to do. Honestly, it’s a little creepy. Not that I’m against creepy, but there has to be a line drawn somewhere, and I think I just crossed it.

Excerpt from Jasmine

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I’m working on doing some rewrites, and I came across this part. I really liked it and I wanted to share this excerpt with you guys. Enjoy!

~Joe~

“That totally wouldn’t happen,” Jacob argued.

“Why not?” Jasmine snapped back, annoyed by Jacob’s unwillingness to budge.

“A guy is not going to let a girl wax him, give him a pedicure, and none of that other nonsense,” he explained. “I know I wouldn’t.

Jasmine leaned back shaking her head in disbelief before taking a sip of her tea. They were discussing the movie they had just watched while they waited for their plates to be cleared. When they left the movie theater, they felt a little hungry so they decided to grab a quick bite before ending their date. Jasmine picked the movie, a romantic comedy which Jacob argued against its credibility.

“So,” Jasmine countered shrewdly, “suppose I wanted to give you a mani-pedi. Are you telling me you wouldn’t let me? Not even if I asked you nicely?” She ended her question with bad attempt at a pout which elicited a laugh from her date. “What’s so funny?”

“I’m just saying…”

“You’re saying what?”

“Pedi-mani’s…”

“It’s mani-pedi’s,” she corrected.

“…are not a thing men really think about,” he continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted.

“How about two girls at once? Is that realistic?”

“No, but it would be fantastic,” Jacob replied with a dreamy expression before noticing Jasmine’s incredulous look. “But no, it’s not realistic. It’s just a fantasy.”

“Isn’t it more likely that a girl could talk a guy into getting manicure.”

“You’re probably right,” he conceded sarcastically. “That’s a lot more likely.”

“Damn right I’m right,” Jasmine said with a self-satisfied smirk. “But honestly, you wouldn’t let me do your nails? They could use a little work you know.”

“If I were to say yes, could we change the subject?” He asked wearily. She nodded enthusiastically. With a sigh, he nodded his assent. “Fine. I might let you do my hands, but that’s it.”

“Good enough for me.”

“When are you planning on torturing me?”

“I never said I was going to do it. I just want you to let me do it.” Jasmine grinned happily.

Jacob groaned, chuckling under his breath. “You’re impossible.”

“I am not. And for that,” she said, plucking the check from their server, “I’m going to pay for dinner.”

“I think I like this punishment. Remind me to misbehave more often.” Jasmine rolled her eyes and once she received the receipt, they walked slowly back to the truck. “I had a good time,” Jacob said softly.

“Me, too,” she agreed. “It’s kinda nice to have someone to hang with.” Jacob raised his eyebrows at her statement, causing Jasmine to blush and try to backpedal. “I mean, not that we’re a couple, I’m just saying.”

“I know what you’re saying. I agree with you. I’m happy that we’re able to hang out together.”

“It’s been a long time, for me,” she admitted, her voice almost lost in the breeze. She stopped walking when they got the the truck. She leaned back on the truck, propped her foot on the tire, and glanced heavenward for a moment. “It’s been too long.”

“Yeah,” he answered simply, resting his elbows on the bed rails. For several minutes no one said anything. The only sounds that could be heard were from the vehicles driving by on the highway, and the occasional voice of some passerby. Jasmine began to shake when the wind picked up. Without a word Jacob took her into his arms, and she didn’t resist. She fell into his embrace, and she felt as though she belonged there.

“I fit perfectly,” she laughed shyly.

“Yeah you do,” he agreed. Jacob hesitated for a second, then when Jasmine looked up, he took his chance. He bent slightly forward and kissed her. Only a small peck at first to gauge her response. She moved her head back in surprise for a second, before moving in to kiss him back. This time they kissed a little longer.

“I like you, Jacob,” she confessed. “I know I shouldn’t say anything yet. It’s too soon. I’m sorry.” She broke away, feeling embarrassed that she allowed herself to admit something like that so soon.

“I like you, too,” he responded, seriously. “You don’t need to feel sorry.”

Jasmine turned around to face him, but kept her head down. “I’m just scared. Last time I got hurt, pretty bad, and I haven’t gotten to a place where I can trust a guy, or anyone for that matter, again. Letting you in is forcing me to choose between trust and fear, and it’s scary.”

“I know it’s scary, but it’s also fun. It’s been a while for me, too. All I know is that whatever this is between us, I’m liking it and I don’t want it to end.”

“Me either,” she agreed.

“Okay,” he said understandingly. “Look, I’m not going to force the issue. We’ve only gone out for a few dates, so why are we having the conversation now? Let’s relax and see what happens. No point in moving too quickly.”

“Okay,” she agreed. “I wish I would have waited to open up.”

“No, I’m glad you did. I just wish I had the courage to bring it up first. But now it’s out in the open, and we both like each other, so we’re good. Let’s just see where we go from here.”

My fickle mind

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Ideas are fickle creatures, are they not? They flit in and out of your consciousness randomly, with no real reason, and it can drive a man to distraction. Earlier today, while taking a load of cardboard back to receiving to load into the baler, I was struck – and not for the first time – how inconsequential my job was. Regardless of what I have accomplished academically or in my career, I’m currently stuck in a menial job, trapped by circumstance and my inability to find something that interests me.

I’ve noticed how carelessly we, the workers, are treated, not just by rude customers, but also by a management team that cares more about their own pocketbooks than the lives of the workers they espouse to lead. And that’s not unique to where I work. It’s a universal theme, the lowly being taken advantage of by “The Man”.

That’s the story I want to tell, the story of my life. Well, actually the story of a middle-aged man facing a crisis of identity, revolving around his job, but also how that job affects his self-worth and trickles down to his relationships with family and friends. It’s highly personal, and it’s a story that I attempted to tell once, before I picked up writing seriously.

It’s also a story, therefore, that scares me. How can I make my experiences compelling? I guess I can make a zombie jump out of a desk, or maybe have a customer hold up the place, or maybe have the business blow up, but that’s not really what I’m going for. I’m striving for raw and emotional, personal in a way that I want people to relate to it as if they themselves are in the narrative. I want the character to become an avatar for the reader. I hope for the reader to experience the protagonist’s journey because they have been on that same journey before.

I believe we all want meaning in our lives, and I find that my work has no meaning. It’s a dull, repetitive task that drains me of time, energy, and sometimes the will to live. I know it’s not a sexy story, or even original, but it’s something I know, this life I have lived.

What do I know about knights and dragons? How can I write of teenage girls and of their trials in growing up? I know almost nothing about politics and religion. I know this life I’ve lived. That’s why so many of my characters have been cheated on and have had their hearts ripped out. That’s why so many of my characters are introspective and quiet,. That’s also why I give them voice, to say what I need to say, to validate my ideas, both brilliant and utterly stupid.

I want to tell the story of real life, my life, but with a few slight changes for dramatic effect. But then again, maybe I could try my hand at another teen-vampire-romance series. I hear they are all the rage. In mine, the vampires are the heroes while humans have shunned the light. Oh, and don’t forget the forbidden love between the human man and the female vampire. And maybe a big musical number, just for the hell of it, but definitely no bunnies. I have to draw the line somewhere.

And now the idea is gone. Crap….

…though hope I have forsaken

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I wrote this a few months ago, and posted it on a different blog. I thought I’d share it here, just for the hell of it.

There’s a girl – there’s always a girl – flitting in the periphery of my consciousness. Beautiful and transcendent, the desire of my lonely heart. I yearn for her, I ache for her, and see myself falling for her.

Falling…

falling…

falling….

But…

…all I see is pain in my future because of her.
A girl like her never falls for a guy like me.
I’m being assaulted by those around me.
“She wants you to ask her out,” they cry.
“Why haven’t you asked her out?”

But can they know the truth? That I cannot dare to hope? That kind of hope is seductive, but ultimately it kills the soul. I refuse to surrender myself to that masochism. Pain has stolen enough from me. Once more, and there won’t be anything left of me but a withered husk to be blown away by the wind, destined to be forgotten by all, especially she whom commands my desire.

And I cry in the late night vigil, weeping for a love that I’m unable to give, a love that exists solely in the state of what if.

Perhaps I’m nothing more than a coward and deserve nothing better than to become embittered by loneliness, ravaged by time until I’ve forgotten tenderness and emotion, only to die as I’ve always feared, utterly alone.

For what is love without risk?

Joy without pain?

Hope without disappointment?

But I’ve grown timid is my despair, unable to open myself to the possibility, unable to see anything other than failure, and beyond that, oblivion.

I wish to sleep, to forget my troubles in the comfort of my dreams, but I will not be comforted. Not in this. She haunts me and all I want is to rest. Rejecting her may be my greatest folly, but I see no other way.

You see…

I cannot be hurt again. One more would will be the end of me, and she hasn’t earned the right for me to risk annihilation. If this be a test, I know I’ve failed.

But yet I live, though hope I have forsaken.

Short stories and other works