When I think, “Write about the terror that has no name,” my first reactions go to this book. While there is a lot of ‘scary’ in the world–nothing is more scary to me than the idea of someone I don’t know killing me.
The scenario plays out in my head, usually on nights when I’m alone. And I have escape plans–none of them that great. But I’ll try–I hope. I pray I’ll try.
What do you think the ‘terror that has no name’ is? Please tell! (So I can be even more afraid of the night.)
There is a man in my building, I’ll call him Mike. That is not his name, but it will do for this story. He is a short man, round in size. Actually, he’s shaped more like an egg than a basketball–but that’s not what sets him apart from the rest of those living in my urban paradise.
His hair is black, naturally straight as a spade–but he perms it. It’s his ‘thing.’ Once again–not that defining factor (even thought it probably should be.)
What sets Mike apart from the rest of my block is his laugh. He has the laugh of a 1970’s villain’s sidekick. You know the character. He’s the guy who accidentally takes a rake to the chest because he wasn’t paying attention and stepped on the handle as he ran away from the hero of the story. When I hear the piercing sound of his punctuated howl, I nearly always pause for Luther to say, “Warriors, come out to play-i-ay!” even though I’m not in the subway and no where close to New York City.
Once, a long time ago when I first moved into my apartment, Mike wanted to be my friend. He would joke with me, and I would smile and look interested–rarely did I know what he was talking about. He’s about eleven shy of a dozen… I would like to make it clear, this wasn’t some sort of hiccup due to language barrier, Mike is just an odd man. Plus, my poker face stinks.
Now, Mike doesn’t acknowledge me at all. Not even a nod or a simple hello. It was after this courtyard dismissal I became privy to the laugh (that is normally mixed with techno and tighty whities.) He’s in a class all his own, and with our non-existent relationship–I have no way to record this chuckle. None that are legal anyway.
Alas, dear friends. What am I do do? As a writer I NEED to record it! I need to post the track on here!! I need to add it to my current WIP, or at least something I write in my life.
All of Mike needs to be in a book. All five-foot-five-inches of him, with his ovoid shaped frame, and even he jet black spiral perm. I see him perched on the edge of his antique folding tattered lawn chair, seated behind his Audi (it’s a mystery how he upgraded from a white battered gremlin to this luxury hatchback–but that’s a whole other post), with the car’s stereo speaker blaring, as he listens to his earbuds.
Mike is a character that belongs in a book–and not cackling under my bedroom window for many reasons. Most of which would keep me sane. The only reason I don’t slam my music and turn on my own music is that laugh you may never hear…
[This is how I find characters for my stories. Some fit in perfect, others I dissect and keep the part I’ve grown to love (or loath). Mike is a very real person. Almost too real. My theory as to why he’s in my life is it keeps me from being to serious all the time. Life is too short not to find a hyena laugh hilarious.]
I picked this prompt because I feel like it forces your hand. You these this sentence and automatically think, ‘fallen angel who runs amuck messing up, royally.’
But what if that’s not it at all. What if it’s a backhanded comment? Like:
“Did you hear about Kara?”
“I did. What a shame…”
“Yeah, I guess you never expect an angel to set the world on fire.”
–or–
Maybe it’s a ‘thing’ a character says.
“You really screwed up this time, Mary.”
“Maybe I have, but you know what they say–no one expects and angel to set the world on fire!”
Words. Words. Words. Love ’em or hate ’em–but they affect all of us. Even the none writing people in our lives (or in this world.)
I like the latter of the two. I like the ‘catch phrase,’ for lack of a better term.
“Life’s too short, man. And you know what they say…”
This week is a little dialogue fun! The best way to improve your writing, is to keep writing both in and outside of your comfort zone. Here’s my take on the conversation:
Ron stared at me hard. And I don’t mean that mild crap your mother throws at you when you did something wrong–I mean he really stared. Like, strait down into my god damn soul.
“I expected you to do you job,” he said, voice as chilly as midnight in Siberia during a blizzard. He cupped his hand around the back of my neck, dragging me five feet across the garage to a corner cursed with perpetual shadows. “I expected you to be the god damn profession I thought I hired. That’s what I expected.”
His gaze darted to the trunk of my Monte Carlo before locking on my eyes again.
“Carla ain’t gonna like this,” he said, shoving me away–hard. “And I won’t be taking the fall for your fuck up, Danny. Not this time. Not ever.”
I tend to read all over the place, but have a love of science fiction and fantasy. I’m not necessary talking Arthur C. Clarke & Tolkien, but I love them as much as I love–say, Cassandra Clare and Ray Bradbury. (And I love Margaret Atwood. Just in general. She’s awesome.) But when I write I find interests weaving and flowing through the world around me. I pick up inspiration in the LA Times, or from something I’ve seen on Twitter/Facebook.
And I find inspiration in writing prompts that force me to think in situations I normally wouldn’t put my characters.
What do you see/feel when you read the prompt? Where does it take you? Please feel free to leave a comment below.
In my defense, I get my books from the library–and the waiting list was long… The title Michelle choose for me was SIX OF CROWS by Leigh Bardugo.
I’m going to steal a page from Michelle’s playbook and post the general description from GoodReads.com on here for you to aquatint yourself with the title–if you don’t already know it.
Ketterdam: a bustling hub of international trade where anything can be had for the right price—and no one knows that better than criminal prodigy Kaz Brekker. Kaz is offered a chance at a deadly heist that could make him rich beyond his wildest dreams. But he can’t pull it off alone…
A convict with a thirst for revenge.
A sharpshooter who can’t walk away from a wager.
A runaway with a privileged past.
A spy known as the Wraith.
A Heartrender using her magic to survive the slums.
A thief with a gift for unlikely escapes.
Kaz’s crew are the only ones who might stand between the world and destruction—if they don’t kill each other first.
The ambiance of this novel reminded me of THE LIES OF LOCKE LAMORA by Scott Lynch, and maybe even a little bit of THE BLADE ITSELF by Joe Abercrombie. There is a grit to these titles, just as there is grit to THE SIX OF CROWS. Now, no one likes an antihero who had a soft life. Where does the hate come from? Where is their drive for vengeance if not born from trials, tribulations, and an inherent need to survive. Okay, maybe more Locke Lamora than The Blade Itself–but the ambiance… read them all and you’ll see what I mean.
SIX OF CROWS is a longer book–running over 400 pages–but there is a lot of of world building and back story that is intergral to the plot. You need to travel those first 250 pages to float through the rest of the novel. It’s worth the work–I promise you that.
Each character presented was relatable and likable (in their own warped way.) Yes, they aren’t Mother Teresa, but you felt for them. You rooted for them. You wanted them to win.
But here is my complaint.
Above I’ve listed three books. All three of these titles are series. THE LIE OF LOCKE LAMORA is book #1 in the Gentleman’s Bastards Series. THE BLADE ITSELF is book #1 in the First Law series. SIX OF CROWS is book #1 in it’s own series as well. Book two–CROOKED KINGDOM–was released on September 27th.
Now–what they have in common are:
great characters
general ambiance
epic fantasy
What they don’t–both Locke Lamora and The Blade Itself are stand alone books, and The Six of Crows is not.
I am not a fan of this. I just am not. I don’t like the feeling I’m being bullied into a series. When I arrived at the cliff hanger of an ending it immediately squashed the excitement I had for this title. I wanted a conclusion to this adventure. Does that mean that there can’t be a sequel–absolutely not. Let’s use Star Wars as an example.
I’ve come to notice this seems to be a YA thing. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe there are Adult titles out there that have open ended finales so you’ll ‘tune in next week’ for the new title–whenever that will be. Over all, I find it disappointing.
It may be my age, but I look at series like this–J.R.R. Tolkien didn’t have to do this to make me move on to the next title. Neither did J.K. Rowling.
I’m not going to say, “don’t read this book,” because I really did enjoy Bardugo’s writing style, and the world, characters, relationships, magic, etc.–but that doesn’t change the hit of disappointment lingers like a bad taste in my mouth.
I wish this trend would go away. I think we would all be better if it did.
For this weeks prompt, I choose an image. This image. An American nickle, dated 2067. First, I’m glad to see the mint in Philadelphia, Penn is still around in 45 years. Second–TIME TRAVEL!!
Stephen Hawking’s said in, A BRIEF HISTORY OF TIME, “If time travel is possible, where are the tourists from the future?”
Evidently leaving their coins strewn on the streets of American, haplessly waiting for someone to pick them up and marvel over why it’s here in the first place.
Does it exist? What would you say if you found this coin mixed into your change?
I am SO excited for this prompt. If you write a book based on this prompt, please tell me about it–but I LOVE THIS PROMPT!!
It is another science fiction prompt (next week I’ll do something different, scout’s honor!)
“Scientists recover alien DNA from a meteorite, and bring an alien species to life”
Dr. Diane Morals hunched over the microscope, brown eyes wide as dinner plates as she watched what everyone told her was impossible happen. Mitosis. But not just any simple earth bound organism–she was witnessing mitosis of an alien being.
“Ren,” she yells without moving an inch. “Ren, you have to see this.” It was only then she pressed the buttons that loaded the images onto the labs screen.
Ren, a forty-something Japanese-American with salt and peppered hair inched to Dr. Morals side. He reached out, gently squeezing her shoulder. His fingers pinning down her wavy black hair she normally kept twisted on her head.
“Is that the specimen?” His voice wavered like a think strip of paper on a breeze.
Diane shrugged free of his hold, not liking how the heat from his palm bleed through the fabric of her clothing or having her hair touched at all. She moved to the side of the microscope, a silent gesture to invite him to look through the tube.
“Yes, Dr. Ando,” she said, as formally as she could manage without sounding like the cold snob most of those working in the laboratory thought she was. “Unlike all the other experiments, the introduction of chimpanzee DNA seems to be the right fit.”
All thoughts of how much they disliked each other were forgotten as the ramifications of what they were witnessing sunk in.
They just completed the first ever alien, earth animal hybrid.
I’ve been writing for years–more than I care to share on days, because my ego takes hold and I feel like a failure.. I know how bad that sounds, but if you write, than I’m sure you know what I’m talking about.
Will I quit? I’ve tried and failed at that as well–so I suppose I’ll keep going until I succeed.
You’re probably wondering what this has to do with an astronaut playing the guitar in the international space station–but it is because of this astronaut (Commander Chris Hadfield) that I decided to write this post.
Back on September 14th I took my seven-year-old son to see Commander Hadfield talk about his new children’s book, THE DARKEST DARK.
This is his first children’s book and is about when he decided to become an astronaut. Intended for small children–the picture book speaks about overcoming your fears to reach your goals.
I saw next to my child in an over stuffed hall of a catholic church as Chris Hadfield paced up and down the center row–a lot of the times stopping next to my son’s chair.
Mr. Hadfield read his book, spoke about growing up in rural Canada. A country that, at the time, didn’t have a space program. He spoke about deciding that he would figure out a way to get into space–and he did.
When I’m in the thick of writing–thinking about how many years I’ve been at this–it’s easy to forget how much progress I’ve made. It’s easy to forget that the trick to overcoming ones fears is an endless process. You have to keep moving one foot in front of the other. You have to keep taking deep breaths and continue on that slow climb.
You have to read more, write more, ask more questions, endure more rejection, but attempt to continue that journey.
At the end of the night, after Mr. Hadfield shared his life and book with us, the floor was opened to questions and answers. A father of two little girls asked what advice Mr. Hadfield could give the children in the room about finding the path to success. Hadfield said this, (I’m paraphrasing), “Go to your local library (or book store) and see what sections you gravitate to. Chances are you end up in the same sections each time. These topics are the things we find passion in when no one else is telling us what to do. Now, pick the one you’re most passionate about and make the conscious decision to go after it.
Pick an end goal, and then work to it. You’re end goal may take years, but say, ‘this weekend I’m going to do [this] to work toward that goal.”
I decided a long time ago that I wanted to be a published author, but hearing those words reminded me of all the things I’ve done to work towards that goal thus far. Yes, my end goal is still in the future–but giving up really isn’t an option. It’s not, because quiting the only true way to fail–and I’m not a failure.
Neither are you.
So, in closing–inspiration is everywhere. Sometimes it’s on twitter talking to other inspiring authors, or on facebook in the form of a writing group, and sometimes it’s in the hall of a catholic church listening to the first ever Canadian Commander of the International Space Station say, “Remember, my goal was to walk on the moon. I’m a failure, I’ve never done that. I’ve only been in space 3 times and lived in the space station for six months.”
Keep on writing. And as a little bit of fun, enjoy this video of Commander Hadfield singing and playing David Bowie’s, SPACE ODDITY.
I wanted to think outside the box today, to present a prompt in a different way. Back when I worked in an office I was bored a lot of the time. Not that job was boring, but I did have down time. When that happened I would email my friends. A couple of them and I would create fantastic stories that were much more amusing than we felt reality ever could be.
My favorite ‘made up lives’ still comes up to this day–well over a decade after it was created. We are cowboys. I am Whiskey–because I’m a feller who likes his drink, and my girl friend was Bone–because she had buried her far share. Including the beloved Carl who was accidentally shot one night, because Bones had a penchant for shooting first and asking questions later.
Each time we created a story it always started the same. One of us would write a sentence and it was up to the other person to say what came next.
For this Wednesday’s Words, I give you this sentence. Tell me, what comes next:
She stood out from the crowd, because…
This is what I think should happen:
“She stood out from the crowd, because she was the only person who didn’t have identical coats, and hair, and shoes, and leggings. She stood out because she didn’t belong. I knew she must belong somewhere–we all belong somewhere–but it wasn’t here, not with this group of homogenized conformist.
I glanced around to see who else noticed her sleek black hair, oval face, and nearly extra foot in height–but when I looked back, she was gone.” –A
But what do you think happens next? Share with me in the comments or blog about it and tag me!
…I forgot. I haven’t done the whole ‘god’ thing in circa twenty years. So maybe I should say ‘universe’ or something less religion specific.
I sit here, as my dinner slowly burns on the range, with my fingers hovering over this neon blue keyboard attempting to articulate the myriad of thoughts devouring my brain. I am consumed with to many it’s become hard to sift through them all–searching for the right train of thought.
Frustrating building, I’m now calling to the heavens for guidance.
My writing inspiration seems to be an situation of ‘all or nothing.’ Either I have so many ideas I’m lost (like right now,) or it’s a blank desert–endless miles of dust mote dunes suffocating my brain. If only I could find a trigger… Oh, wait!! (again!) I entered a contest. I did! I entered #PitchWars, and now I have a list longer than the Mississippi to choose from.
Here is my question for you, my lovely readers. How do you choose your projects? What is your process? Normally, mine is I wait until an idea keeps me up at night–but I have a bit quandary, for I have a WIP that needs tending, another MS plotting on a promise–and then there’s the one that’s keeping me up.
Do you see what the problem is? What should I do?!
So, now you are god (this could go poorly quickly, but lets do it any way.) All of the help you provide (aka–advice) is greatly appreciated!
Now–if you’re also entered Pitch Wars, I wish you luck! And to everyone else. Happy Writing!!
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