When stories grind to a halt

As is inevitable when a bunch of writers get together (such as a gathering like World Fantasy Convention), there is a natural tendency to talk about process and craft, including the things that stop us up.

Now, I'm not immune to getting blocked or stopped up.  Even though I'm known as being efficient in getting books out, part of that is because I build a certain amount of "things might get stuck" into my schedule.  As much as I would want the writing of every novel to just be a powerhouse, "writing X words a day, every day", that's rarely been the case.*  Most of the time, even with my outline, there will be some point where the connective tissue from A to B just isn't apparent, and it's going to take me a bit of time to let my subconscious hack through it to figure out how it'll work.

So, what to do in the meantime?

I've got three go-to tactics.  (All of which were rejected by one friend who was stuck in her novel.)

1. Write a scene further ahead.  I've not written a single novel in order. Not one.  There's always some point where I jump ahead and write some red-meat bit down the line and then go find the connective tissue later.  It's a simple solution to the Point A To B problem: just go directly to Point B and often the writing of it gives the answer of how to go back and fill in the details.
2. Play with maps.  I do love messing with maps, and it's a good process to use a different set of brain muscles so the subconscious can grind away at the problem.  It lets me also do some worldbuilding work for other things down the line.  I've often said I really only have the illusion of being a fast writer, because I've spent a long time at planning things far in the future.
3. Write something else.  There's always a "secondary" project in the works.  If not two.  Usually things that don't have a contract or deadline involved, so if and when I need to stop and get to the "real" project, it's not a big deal.  I've got a few things cooking along those lines right now.  

So, what are your techniques to break through the wall?

---

*- The one exception is The Alchemy of Chaos, which I did the draft of in a little under five months.  There were a couple weeks that dragged, in that I "only" wrote the minimum for that week.

Writing? Stuck? 3 Tips to Make Progress

Firstly, for our US readers, it's Election Day. Please, vote. Even if there's nothing more than a pair of issues on the ballot. Your vote matters. Care enough about your community, your local government, and your state government to have an opinion and to have it logged for the record.

Now, to the topic of the week, "When the Story Stops Coming: 3 Tips to Get Unstuck."

I'm going to share an ill-kept secret, I hit the "stuck" part in the beginning of the book. 

Every.Single.Book. 
~headdesk~

I'm currently at that stage in the fourth book of my upcoming Urban Fantasy series (pre-orders go live for Book 1 at the end of the month!). I've spent a week with my wheels spinning in the muck. It's frustrating as hell. I know why it's happening; I don't have the right inciting incident. I write to chapter 5, then cut all of it, because it's still not right. The characters aren't on the right trajectory. Last night, just before my brain settled into slumber, I think I finally figured out the right opening. We'll see. Give me to the weekend to be certain.

In that short bit of snivel and whine, is my first tip to getting unstuck.

1. Keep Writing, but Try Different Perspectives
Put. Words. On. Page...a slight variation on what Jeffe suggested Sunday that still reinforces the habit and ritual of writing. Instead of forcing yourself to go forward and gain word-count, allow yourself to indulge in what-ifs as you rewrite the last scene that worked from a different state of mind for your character (or a different POV altogether if you're writing a multi-POV book). Something as small as changing the POV character's attitude/emotional state could unclog the blockage and help you roll into the next chapter.

2. Change a Core Element
If a scene just isn't working--and you're positive it's a necessary scene--change a core element. Change the setting, the characters surrounding the protagonist, the nature of the challenge, or the means by which your protag achieves the goal of that scene. Maybe what you thought should be a physical battle works better as a battle of wits. Maybe a private scene should be very public. Maybe you need to change the weather. Hey, you're God of your world. Make your characters act out/up during a wicked thunderstorm. Not everything has to happen on a sunny day or a foggy night.

3. Exercise
Take an hour to boost the oxygen flowing through your system. Whatever your level of preferred exertion might be--Ashtanga yoga, rock climbing, stroll around the neighborhood--whatever gets you up and moving. Go without the earphones. Skip the playlists, the phone calls, the other distractions. Just you, your brain, and your body; reconnect with yourself. Might be surprised by the sort of ideas that'll come to you...some might even be relevant to your WiP.

Good luck!

Going for Word Count but Stalling? Three Tips to Get that Flow!

We're up in wintery Buffalo, Wyoming, for my mother-in-law's funeral. This is the pretty view out my (nicely warm) hotel room.

A lot of you out there are embarking on your second week of NaNoWriMo, I know. By now you might be running low on steam. Often the first few days are relatively easy. But, by this point, you might be hitting the "sophomore slump" - when the newness has worn off, but you still have the bulk of the effort ahead of you.

So, if you find you're stalling out, here are three tips to get that flow going again. Check back all this week for more tips from our group of seven professional authors!

1. Write Anyway

Seriously! I know this can feel like not helpful advice, but it's really the best there is. There's a reason that the NaNoWriMo folks say you can do whatever it takes to get that word count, such as having your characters sing all of Don McLean's American Pie. That's because writing feeds writing. The more you do, the better it flows. The analogy of running water through rusty pipes is a good one. At first the water just trickles and there's lots of back-pressure. But then the gunk gradually gives way, the pipes clear, and the water flows better and, eventually, with pristine gusto!

If you're totally stuck, then sure - have them sing a song. But I advise making up the song, even if it sucks or is nonsense. It's better to write something than nothing, but it's even better to write crap than copy someone else. Remember those rusty pipes! It's okay for the water to look mucky at first.

2. Don't Look at What You've Already Written

Resist the urge to self-edit before you're done. Nothing stalls the writing process more than going back and spending precious word-count time on revision. Especially if you're new to writing, there's just really no point in revising until you have a FULL, COMPLETED MANUSCRIPT. Yes, you will need to revise someday, but you *really* need to finish first. Besides - consider that rusty pipes analogy. If you're revising while you're still getting those pipes clear, all you're doing is trying to purify crappy water. Let it run clean and flowing first, then you can polish it.

Don't worry about revising until you're done writing. Just write. Go forward. Always forward.

3. Just Write

Do your best to write without thinking about it. Imagine you're running water through the pipes. Don't consider word choice or sentence structure or where the story is going or what that character's name should be. I have a trick that I use as I'm drafting. Every time I hit something like that - a character or place I need to name, or a word I can't quite think of - I put in [something], and keep going. When I'm done, usually after I've finished the book, I go back and search for "[" and fill those in. I might do it before, if a good name occurs to me. Or, sometimes when I have my word count for the day, I'll do some research and fill those in. But resist the urge to do that instead of getting word count. Don't try to rationalize that it counts as writing. It doesn't count.

Only writing counts as writing.

Just write.

There Is No Meme

The theme this week doesn't even make much sense to me, frankly. It's supposed to be me vs my protagonist, expressed in a meme.

?????

Since that's clearly not happening, I'll give you some of my recent #bookqw and #scififri posts from twitter... meme-ish looking LOL.

Buy links (because it wasn't released when I talked about it last week and now it is!):
Amazon     iBooks     Kobo     B&N

From Star Cruise: Songbird in the USA Today Best Selling Embrace the Romance Pets in Space 2 anthology.

I love the CANVA tool and I enjoy making little mini posters each week for the word prompt on the various twitter hashtags...fun stuff!

Hope you're having a great weekend...

Kicked in the Teeth by My Own Protagonists

Here's our innocent, but intrepid author, as kitted out and prepared for this pair of protagonists as possible. And yet.

This is the pair of protagonists. When they aren't beating the crap out of one another, it's the author they're pummeling. As a result, this book looks like this:

Happy Halloween!

In honor of my favorite day, we here at the SFF Seven are roasting ourselves with a little meme of Author vs Protagonist.

May your candy be plentiful, your goblins wicked, and your potions potent.

Defying Themes - and Succeeding Anyway!

The sun cresting Pusch Ridge in Tucson, spilling light through the cleft at sunrise - so beautifully dramatic.

I came to Tucson to give the Saguaro Romance Writers my workshop on Defying Gravity: Writing Cross-Genre and Succeeding Anyway. They're a terrific group and we had a great time.

This week's topic at the SFF Seven is Make a Meme: You vs. Your Protagonist. And I... just can't do this. I'm staying at my mom and stepdad's house in Tucson, and my mom says she thinks memes (she pronounced it may-may) are silly and I should tell all of you that. 

I admit I'm not a huge fan of memes either - and I don't really think of my protagonists as other, so I'm coming up empty on that one. However, I thought I should let you all know that the SFWA Fantasy Storybundle sale is almost over - ending November 2 at midnight ET! Last chance to buy four books for $5 or twelve books for $15! My book, LONEN'S WAR, is part of the core four books, so here's a little excerpt of that, if you'd like to check it out!

********

Lonen had seen many strange things in the past weeks. Impossible magic and horrific deaths that would take him years to purge from his nightmares, if he ever could.

If he lived that long.

The sight of the woman in the window hit him with enough force to unbalance him. Through the blood-drenched night, he’d kept focus on one kill after the next and only on that, much the way he’d climbed the wall, except that he slit the throats of defenseless women, one after another, instead of reaching for holds. They died so easily, seeming oblivious to his approach, focusing their placid attention outward to the battle where the booming assault of the sorcerers diminished and ceased as their sisters succumbed to the blades of Lonen and his men.

The fact that they didn’t fight back, that they remained so vulnerable, sickened him, each death layering on unclean guilt that he’d ignored until the vision of the woman in the window knifed into him like an unseen blade. Maybe it was because her fair coloring was so much like the first woman he’d killed. After that one, he hadn’t looked at their faces, taking the dispensation offered by their featureless masks.

For whatever reason, the sight of her gripped him, standing in the open window, illuminated by candlelight in an otherwise dark tower that rose from a deep abyss. Her hair shone a copper color he’d never seen on a living being, like a hammered metal cloak that shifted with her startled movements. She put a hand to her throat, eyes dark in her fine-boned face. A creature from children’s tales perched beside her, staring at him intently. He would have thought it a statue carved from alabaster, but it swiveled its head on its neck to look at the woman, then back to him.

Lonen had seen illustrations of dragons in his boyhood books, but they’d been huge and…fictional. This thing looked very like those, only smaller—maybe as long as his forearm, not counting the tail. All white, it shimmered in the bright torchlight from the walls much as the woman’s hair did. It sat on its haunches, taloned feet clutching the stone windowsill, bat-winged forearms mantled. Large eyes with bright green shine dominated a wedge-shaped head with a narrow jaw and large ears. It lashed its long, sinuous tail against the stone, as a cat watching birds would.

Beautiful, both of them, and as fantastical as if they’d stepped out of one of those storybooks. The wonder of the sight swept away all the bloody horror. She was the bright face of the terrible magics—something lovely, pure and otherworldly. Something in him lunged at the prospect of such beauty in the world, a part of him he hadn’t known existed. Or rather, a part he hadn’t thought survived from childhood. That sense of wonder he’d felt looking at those storybook illustrations, long since lost to the grind of the Golem Wars. He lifted a hand, not sure what he meant to do. A salute? A greeting?

“Prince Lonen!” Alby ran up, bow in hand. “Why do you—a sorceress!” He reached for an arrow and notched it, a smooth, practiced movement that Lonen barely stopped in time.

“No,” he commanded. “Stand down. She wears no mask. She isn’t one of them.”

“They’re all the enemy,” Alby insisted through gritted teeth, resisting Lonen’s grip. “She’s seen us.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Abruptly weariness swamped Lonen. Far too soon for him to wear out, as much remained to be done. That bright bubble of the fantastic had distracted him, the shattering of that brief moment of childlike wonder more painful for the sudden loss of it. He’d have been better off not feeling it at all. “Her people are largely dead, their defenses falling around them. Look out at the plain.”

Alby followed his nod. Grienon, enormous and low in the sky, waxed toward full, shedding silvery light on the quiet field. None of the magical fireballs or earthquakes thundered through the night. The golems had dropped like corn stalks after harvest. The Destrye forces moved in a familiar cleanup pattern, groups of warriors methodically searching the field for the dying, to either save or dispatch, depending on which side they’d fought for—and if they could be saved. Other groups remained in pitched battle, but the Destrye had the upper hand. Without their magic, the Bárans would eventually fall.

For as many years as they’d worked towards this day, Lonen had expected to feel jubilation, triumph, the roar of victory. Not the drag of exhaustion and regret. Their plan had worked far better than any of them had dared to hope—and yet only bleakness filled his heart.

The copper-haired woman’s fault, for showing him a glimpse of a dream of something more than monstrous death and destruction. He’d been better off hoping simply to live to the next moment, or not to die in vain.

Hope and the promise of wonder could destroy a man’s spirit more surely than a well-wielded blade.

With one last look at the woman in the window, he turned his back on her and her false promise. “Come, Alby. Let’s find a ladder or stairway down to the city inside the walls, so we can open the gates.” One that wouldn’t plunge him into that dark abyss. “There must be stairs or ladders that the sorceresses climbed. By sunrise, Bára will be ours.”

Soon he would be done with this evil place.

Cover Reveal and Excerpt LADY OF THE NILE

I was excited to do a cover reveal this week for my next paranormal romance, set in ancient Egypt. I hadn’t written one in quite a while and it was fun to dive back into my version of 1550 BCE! I also have a new scifi romance coming in November – more on that next week.

Here’s the story:

Tuya, a high ranking lady-in-waiting at Pharaoh’s court, lives a life of luxury, pageantry and boredom. Khian, a brave and honorable officer from the provinces temporarily re-assigned to Thebes, catches her eye at a gold of valor ceremony. As the pair are thrown together by circumstances, she finds herself unaccountably attracted to this man so unlike the haughty nobles she’s used to. But a life with Khian would mean leaving the court and giving up all that she’s worked so hard to attain. As she goes about her duties, Tuya struggles with her heart’s desires.

When Tuya is lured into a dangerous part of Thebes by her disgraced half-brother and kidnapped by unknown enemies of Egypt, Khian becomes her only hope. Pharaoh assigns him to bring the lady home.

Aided by the gods, Khian races into the desert on the trail of the elusive kidnappers, hoping to find Tuya before it’s too late. Neither of them has any idea of the dark forces arrayed against them, nor the obstacles to be faced. An ancient evil from the long gone past wants to claim Tuya for its own purposes and won’t relinquish her easily.

Can Khian find her in time? Will he and his uncanny allies be able to prevent her death? And if the couple escapes and reaches safety, what of their fledgling romance?

The excerpt:

Facing down the attacking Hyksos hordes at the Meribe Pass had been easier in many ways than preparing to meet a grateful Pharaoh to receive the reward for not accepting defeat. Captain Khian walked the line of his small troop murmuring encouragement, straightening a sword here and making a joke there, anything to lighten the men’s tension as they waited outside the ceremonial chamber for their moments under Pharaoh’s eye. It wasn’t often that common soldiers had the chance to stand in front of the Living God who ruled Egypt. The idea was terrifying.

At last the scribe touched his elbow. “You can march in now, captain.”

He nodded, gave his soldiers one final, critical inspection. “We’ll do the Jackal Nome proud, men.”

Khian set the pace, walking behind the young scribe, keeping his proud military bearing, not looking to the right or the left but focusing on the glittering dais where Pharaoh’s golden throne sat and the Great One himself waited to honor them. He might be only a landholder, commissioned to fight in the war against the invaders, rather than one of the career officers, and his men might be farmers in their daily lives, but by the gods, they’d held that damned pass and saved the day for Egypt. Pride for what his troops had accomplished in battle filled his heart and pushed aside trepidation over being in a completely foreign environment now. He just wanted to get through the ceremony without disgracing himself or his men in front of the ruler.

The scribe had them line up off to the side, awaiting their moment with Pharaoh, who was still speaking with a group of ambassadors. “Your name will be called and then move forward in front of the throne. Salute and stand at attention.”

“We’ll do as you instruct.” Khian clenched his hand on the hilt of his sword. He gazed across the chamber while he waited, taking in the crowd of courtiers attending the audience. For the most part the nobles, officers and functionaries were a blur of painted faces, fine clothes and elaborate jewelry but one woman caught his attention. She sat near the queen, so was obviously high ranking, but her expression was sweet rather than haughty and she stared at him as if trying to give him encouragement. Could she tell he was nervous about committing an inadvertent error of royal protocol? The lady smiled, plying her ostrich feather fan flirtatiously. He made a slight bow to her, before he abruptly remembered where he was.

Ridiculous as it might seem, he felt as if he had a friend here.

Boredom had been weighing on Tuya all afternoon. She’d sat through many audiences at the court of Pharaoh Nat-re-Akhte and this one was no different—newly arrived dignitaries to greet, a few issues needing  Pharaoh’s judgment, gold of valor to be awarded to a deserving soldier or two. In her five years as chief lady-in-waiting to the Royal Wife, Tuya had seen all variations.

Pharaoh would present the gold of valor next, and Tuya found herself glancing at the assembled soldiers. The officer captured her attention instantly. Something about his face drew her gaze. He had the look of a man going into combat and she guessed his unfamiliarity with royal protocol and the customs at court might lie at the heart of his tension. Or he was worried for his men that they’d manage the moments under Pharaoh’s scrutiny with honor. Direct attention from the living god was a frightening thing to most people.  She wished she could take the officer aside for a moment and reassure him that Pharaoh was a kind man, a soldier himself in fact, and would most likely be tolerant of any minor breaches in protocol from overawed rural troops.

The captain was looking at the crowd now, as he waited, and when his attention turned to her, she smiled and tried to project encouraging thoughts for him. It doesn’t matter how the court perceives you, only Pharaoh’s opinion counts with the gods.