Stories in the News

I would imagine that the average person watches the world news, or reads the front page of the newspaper with some interest, and maybe a little fear. I used to do that. As I said in the last post, I really hated the news for the longest time. It made me have nightmares.
Now, it provides fodder for the muse in me.
I see stories on the news about families in Iraq who are afraid to walk down the street, children who sit in classrooms while bombs explode closely enough to shake the building, people crying in the streets over their dead. First I see the people. Their pain, anger, fear, and bewilderment. Then I see the big picture, how the whole country is suffering, the factions are killing, and our troops are there, trying to appease everyone, and stay alive. But it doesn't take long for Dweidl to get involved in my thoughts. Could I write a book about a young girl living under those circumstances? A love story about an Iraqi woman in love with an American soldier? How about two men from different factions who end up the only ones alive from their separate cells, becoming friends in order to survive some disaster they have in common?
No matter what else writers are, we are people who see stories in the everyday lives of those around us and those we hear about.
Recently, on the news, there was a story about the fact there there are only 26 veterans still alive from WW1. Could I write a story about one of them? Could I create that world, and live in it? Would I be able to do it justice, and if I did, would I then have nightmares for the rest of my life? A sort of Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome by proxy?
On the Oprah show, I saw women who confronted killers of their loved ones. Would I be able to write a story about that? Would it be good enough to sell? And if it was, could I ever forgive the character who did it?
Of course, I can't speak for all writers. Only the ones I've met and discussed things with, which by the way is well over a hundred. It's not that we are disrespectful of those who have suffered tragedy. On the contrary. We admire those who have survived. If we write stories based on something we've read or seen on television, it is out of a great desire to show the world the raw emotions of those people who have suffered so much, and still carried on. We love courage. We love rooting for the underdog. We love seeing the strong survive against all odds.
And when we begin such a story--I'm talking fiction here--we often end up with something so different from the original idea, as to be unrecognizable.
And we know that if we cried as we wrote it, it will bring the reader to tears. If we feel satisfied at the end, the reader will feel satisfied when she closes the book for the last time. We think and dream. We imagine and plan. We write and re-write. And then we do it again.
We keep notebooks of ideas, so many that there will not be enough time in our lives to write them all. And all of us have our own personal Dweidls who filter what we watch and read and hear, searching for yet another idea to put in our notebooks and ponder.

Pay Attention To Your Local News!

Back in the '80's, I hated watching the news, or reading the newspaper. Nothing good ever happened and being bombarded by bad news mad me feel depressed and helpless. It made me nervous to know that the economy was bad, gas prices were rising, unemployment was getting worse, and everywhere you looked, people were being shot, stabbed, burned, car-jacked, robbed...
So I quit. No nightly news. No newspapers. I lived in my own little world filled with fifty hours a week of working, raising three kids, struggling to pay the bills. The normal life.
Back then I worked third shift in a factory: in at four-thirty in the afternoon, out sometime after midnight. I had a thirty mile commute, one way and drove a 1968 sedan with more than 300k miles on it. As long as I didn't drive over 45mph, all was good. Faster than that and I risked blowing it up.
One night on the way home, I was the only car on Interstate 15, between Riverside and Pomona. One-thirty in the morning, I was tired and hot--it was mid-summer in Riverside, California. Of course, driving that slow, I always stayed in the slow lane of the freeway. I looked in my rearview and noticed a light waaaaay back behind me. A minute or two later I checked the mirror again. The one light had become two. Headlights. A few minutes later they were closer and I could tell the vehicle was really coming fast. But I had nothing to worry about. My taillights worked and every fifty feet or so there was giant light along the freeway shoulder. Surely he would see me and change lanes.
Another look scared me. The vehicle was coming at me fast, in my lane. I started paying more attention to what was behind me than what was ahead. Closer and closer it came. I could see the driver, at least the outline of the driver. A man I thought, with short hair, kinda fuzzy.
And then it hit me. No, I mean really! The vehicle hit me! It was a mini-truck. White. With a white male driving. He pulled up beside me, looked me in the eye, then moved ahead and pulled over--you know, to exchange insurance info. When I didn't move right over behind him, he eased up the nearest off-ramp.
My foot hit the gas and I pushed old Betsy to the limit. My car was lurching and shaking and I thought it was going to fall apart right under me, until I realized that my right leg was jerking so hard on the gas petal that I was losing speed. I willed my leg to settle down and looked in the mirror.
The little white truck was coming down the on-ramp, staying behind me. The only thing I could think was that I had to get to the nearest sheriff's dept or Highway Patrol station. He passed me again, slowed again, went up another off-ramp and came back down the on-ramp.
Then, at the next off-ramp, he got off the freeway and disappeared.
Everything after that was a blur. I arrived home--somehow--rushed inside and locked the door. Then I grabbed a glass and poured myself a glass of wine. I was shaking so bad it was hard to drink without spilling.
My husband woke and saw my condition. He sat up and asked what was wrong. I explained, in between gulps.
"Call the cops. Right now."
I didn't want to. But I did. I called the police department and explained to the nice lady what happened. Halfway through my description of the incident, the lady asked, "Was it a truck?"
"Yes."
"A little white truck?"
That scared me more. "Yes."
"Did you see the driver?"
I described what I'd seen.
"I need you to call the sheriff's department. Here's the number."
So I did. And went through the same scenario.
And again, "Was it a truck?"
"Yes."
"A mini-truck?"
"Yes."
"Did you see the driver?"
Again, I described the man.
"Are you okay? Are you safe?"
"Yes."
"I need you to call the Highway Patrol. Here's the number."
She hung up.
"What the hell is going on here?" I asked my husband.
"There's been a serial killer attacking women late at night on Interstate 15, between Riverside and Pomona. He's killed three women. The fourth managed to live, and give a description. I've been telling you to pay attention to the news. I've told you about this man. Make the call."
So I did. The Highway Patrol was very interested in my call.
And from that point on, I was very interested in the local news.
They never caught the man. He killed a couple more times and then disappeared, no doubt to some other area. I finally came to terms with how I knew. God had to have been whispering in my ear. Go! Don't stop!
So when you read my books about serial killers and wonder how I come up with such wicked, twisted characters, read the local news. You'll see them there. And I hope that's the only place you see them.

How Do They Get Away With That?

I was reading a novel by a prominent author yesterday and noticed some habits that made me a little crazy. First, there were several sections where the author started several sentences with the word, 'She'. I mean, six or seven times in a couple of paragraphs. And then there's the overuse of 'has', 'had', 'was', and 'that', words that writing teachers will tell students to eliminate where ever possible. And how about when published authors don't transition between points of view? Or when they use four pages to describe the scenery, before writing the scene?
How do they get away with that? Why is it that if an unpubbed writer submits a piece to a contest, they get low scores for these kinds of writing habits?
Have you noticed that after a writer is popular, they can write really horribly, and their editors let them get away with it, and their public still buys? Yet there are scores of writers who have been taught not to be lazy in their writing, to revise a hundred times if necessary, so that all those little irritating habits are culled from their writing.
Well, here's my two cents. Hundreds of thousands of manuscripts are sent to publishers every years and only a fraction of them are accepted. If you want your work to stand out, it has to be good, really good. Publishers don't really want to read thousands of full manuscripts every year. When they read that first page, it has to have a good hook, interesting characters, and above all excellent writing skills. The editor is looking for any reason to toss your manuscript aside and start another. Sure, the big name authors can get away with little nit-picking problems. But newbies can't.
So the next time you submit something to a contest, or put your work out there for someone to critique, remember that your work needs to be as close to perfect as possible. And think about this: Do you want someone like me to be writing about how sloppy and uninteresting your best-seller is on their blog? I mean, we all want to write a best seller, but I don't think anyone wants readers to be saying, "Did you notice how many sentences started with 'she' in that book? Man, I got tired of hearing it. After a while, I just put the book down and forgot about it. Remind me not to buy any more books by her."
Every time you read a 'How To' book, or get your work critiqued, make note of the things mentioned. Keep a notepad of info on writing techniques. Check your work against the list. Don't let anyone change your voice. I'll be back soon with an article on that. But for now: revise, revise, revise, until all those things are fixed. Don't worry about how long it takes to revise. Or how much work it is. Anyone can write crap. If you're really a writer, you'll want people to actually enjoy your work and come back for more. Who knows. Yours may be the next great American Novel!

Stealing Ideas

I belong to an online writer's group. Recently a new person joined. Her first post said she had done the research she needed and gathered all the materials she needed and was ready to write. But she had no idea how to come up with a plot or develop characters.
I thought that was a strange question coming from a writer. We always have stories bouncing around in our brains. Instead of saying that, I suggested she steal some ideas. I mean, really, how many plots are there? Some say twelve, others say fifty. But most certainly, there aren't thousands. Writers have been stealing ideas for centuries.
Here' are some examples. I read a book about a cop and a serial killer and as I read, I continually thought, "If I'd written this, I would have done it this way." I read a series of romances, each of which had a naive young woman and an ugly hero who was quiet. Isn't that Beauty and the Beast? What if I wanted to write a book about a heroine who was misunderstood and continually in trouble because everyone saw her as a dangerous beast? Well, I'd start with 'The Green Mile' and start changing things until the story looked enitrely different. Maybe I'd describe the woman as disfigured from an auto accident so badly that people cringed when they looked at her. Then I'd give her some backstory that would be a motivation for practicing some deadly martial art. Then place her in a situation where she looks guilty over someone's death and have her go through the court process and all along, she could be doing wonderful things that only a few people see.
Hey, that's not bad. I just might use that.
There are stories around us every day. You have a story in you. Maybe about your alcoholic uncle Joe, or that neighbor who was always inviting kids into his house. Or maybe your story is about a road trip you took as a child or about a friendship that has lasted through some tragedy.
I think the truth is, it takes a writer to SEE the story, both the value of it, and the different sides.
So if you're thinking about writing, go with something familiar at first. Write a short story about helping tar a roof when you were five years old, or of escaping from the grip of a serial killer by the skin of your teeth, or being shot at for speaking out against some corrruption you're aware of. No wait--that's me again. I keep forgetting that not everyone has lived the crazy life I have. Go find your own story. If you're a writer, it won't be hard. After all, it's right there, in your head, just waiting for you to tell it.

The Writer's Mind

If you're ready to enter the mind of someone who hears voices, come on in. I became a writer when characters started telling me their stories. In meeting with other writers I've learned I"m not alone. We sometimes argue with the voices and often have to fight so they won't take over.

Imagine what it's like to live with someone who's always plotting murder! One day, my best friend and I, along with our husbands, were walking in the city park for exercise. The guys were a few paces ahead of my friend and I and we were discussing a problem with the latest work in progress (WIP). We knew the girl in the story couldn't get married if her dad was alive because he wouldn't allow it.

The story was an historical, you see, and the dad as all alone in the world except for his young daughter. So as we walked along it occurred to us that the old man had to die. When we began to plot his death, other people in the park took notice and our husbands abruptly walked a little faster and both at the same time said, "We're not with them."

While you might think writers are terribly strange people who talk to imaginary friends, I submit to you that, at least we have a viable, legal, harmess outlet for our anxieties. Can you say the same?