Have you edited the fat rolls and freckled bums out of your manuscript?

My Editing Song: “Editing sucks. It really, really sucks. I hate it. It blows. Did I already say it sucks? I did. But let me say it again. Editing sucks. It suuuuuccccckkkksss!”

*And now I bend at the waist and take a bow*

Editing is not fun. Not by a long shot. I’d much rather write—so freeing, so creative. I LOVE the creative process of writing. I love it when my characters come alive on the paper and they feel like real people, people I care a whole lot about and don’t want to kill off no matter how much it is necessary to the story. When I’m writing, and my fingers are flying over the key board, I feel so ALIVE! Such joy.

Editing, on the other hand, is the equivalent to having my knuckles smacked with yard stick while my eyes are being jabbed with the pokey end of a wiener dog. (Just so you know, I posted this sentence on twitter with a fill in the blank. Sharp end of a . . . And I got responses like bowling ball, spork, dry spaghetti, Cinderella Pen, waffle, pencil. But the best one by far was wiener dog. I chose that one as the winner). 

But we HAVE to do it. Just like paying taxes and dying. We don’t have a choice. Okay, technically, we don’t have to pay taxes, but jail doesn’t seem fun at all. AND technically, we don’t have to edit. We can leave it as is, but BOY you’ll look like an idiot if you choose not to. That doesn’t seem fun at all either—it's just like standing naked in front of the whole world while they mock your fat rolls and freckled bum (that’s what the over use of the words “just”, “was”, “as well”, passive voice, and adverbs are—fat rolls and freckled bums. Yuck. Edit those out of there). 

Death you can’t get around. You will die. Sorry. Death is a stickler that way—stupid death. 

Soooooo . . . Can anyone guess what I’ve been up to for the past 72+ hours? Yeah, that’s right. Editing away the fat rolls and freckled bums from my zombie western romance. You heard me. Zombie. Western. Romance. Yep. That’s what I’ve been doing since last Saturday. Non-stop.

Editing blows. I mean, I get it. I understand its purpose and the necessity of doing it—I want my stuff to be top notch. But it’s no fun. No fun at all. That doesn’t mean I’ve got to like it, right? I’m allowed to hate the process. 

I’ve been going back through my manuscript, fixing goofball mistakes, and editing the suggestions given to me by my amazing critique partners and I wonder, “Why couldn’t I have just written it right the first time? What is wrong with me? Ugh! I’m stupid. I'm the worst writer ever!” 

And then I remember Hemingway said: The first draft of anything is [crap]. And just so you know, the second version isn't usually much better. The third is on it's way, but usually by the sixth or seventh revision, you've at least been handed a towel to cover your fat rolls and freckled bum. You feel pretty good about yourself and you even feel like waving at the crowd.

I'm not quite there yet. Couple more revisions to go before I feel like waving.

I know I shouldn’t to use the word “just” over and over and over again, and yet, there it is . . . all 257 of them. What the heck? And let’s not forget the wonderful word “looked.” My characters look at things ALL the time—he looked at her, she looked at him, they looked at each other. *palm smack to the forehead*

All I can say is this, despite the fact I hate the editing process, I would NEVER, EVER, EVER, NEVER IN A MILLION YEARS, publish something I hadn’t edited the heck out of. Ever. It’s a necessary evil. 

I still hate it though.

How about you? Do like your knuckles smacked with a ruler while your eyes are being jabbed with the pokey end of a wiener dog?

~The Reluctant Hook'er (Angela Scott)

How Does a Muse Hire a Babysitter?

You may have already heard the concept of filling out a character interview to bring out the depth and motivation of your character. Those nifty little questionnairs can really help bring an otherwise flat character into three dimensional, jump off the page form. It's amazing what you can find out when you simply ask them.

As a fun twist I decided to invite my good friend Tobin to the Hook Me blog today.

Tobin: Easy sister, We're not that good of friends... And did you seriously just use the word "nifty"?
How old are you again?

Kacey: Don't mind him. He's still pissed because of his little flesh wound at the end of book one.

Tobin: Flesh wound? You call this a flesh wound?! Come over here and I'll show you a flesh wound. I'll make us a matching pair. How does that sound, FRIEND?

Kacey: Tobin, focus please.
As I was about to say, our little Muse friend here seems to think he's got a pretty good handle on people.

Who can blame him really, with his ability to see into the human soul with deadly accuracy. But now that he's laid up in bed with nothing to do, his hired help is getting on his nerves.
Tobin's decided to fire his staff and hire himself--and this is the part that baffles me-- a babysitter.

Tobin: What's so baffling? I'm hiring a babe that will sit anywhere I ask her to. Mostly on my lap.

Kacey: I think you're a little confused at the job description, but we're getting off the subject. Tobin here managed to swipe--

Tobin: Borrow

Kacey: Oh-kay borrow  his brother's employment requirements for when he hired his nanny and now Tobin's making a few adjustments.

So lets get into this Muse’s head. Lets find out how a muse shops for his own babysitter.

Tobin: All right, but I'm letting you know right now, this is going to cost you...
Question number one: No one is above my influence. When I say jump, you...

Kacey: Ask how high?

Tobin: No. Not even close. Don't talk, just jump. Muses are all about visual stimulation, not chatter. And did I mention push-up bras are a dress code requirement?
You're fired by the way.
Next question: Women fall at my feet on a regular basis. How do you avoid violating our business relationship.

Kacey: I--

Tobin: Upupup! You see that right there? See how you're opening your mouth?
Fired!
Again. No yapping. just doing. It's perfectly natural to fall at my feet, on your back, or in any other compromising position. I'm hiring you to sit on my lap, woman. It would take an awful lot to violate a business relationship like that.  Something like, oh, I don't know, a FLESH WOUND!

Kacey: You're just not going to let that go, are you?

Tobin: Shut up.Next question: I feed on the human soul. I'm always hungry for my next meal. How do you keep me nourished?

Kacey: *shakes her head*

Tobin: Oh?...  what is this? Look at this, ladies and gentleman she is learning.The author can be taught. Just look at those pursed lips. Lovin the pout Kacey, really. You're almost back into my good graces. Just do me one more favor...

Kacey: What kind of favor?

Tobin: Jump up and down.

The Reluctant Mom Meets The Pretzel Pixie: Redoux

I was attacked yesterday at work. This beastly thing held a knife to my head and wouldn't retreat. Unfortunately for the rest of my story, it was just a migraine, but that sucker had me down and not blogging. So, here's an old blog post from my blog My Life In Writing. The winner of my last weeks "Pimp Your Blog" is the crazy girl at ecwrites.blogspot.com. She writes funny, endearing stories about her life as a mom, writer, and all the other amazing things she does. Check her out!

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I moved away from my birthplace about eleven years ago, which was quite an accomplishment for this mama's girl. My husband had an opportunity he didn't want to pass on, so I put on my big girl hat and we moved to another state. I didn't jump back into my career, instead we decided to start a family.  

I love being able to stay at home and take care of my kids, but it isn’t easy. We didn’t move here with readymade friends, so my new social life consisted of a few neighbors and my little ones. Until an ordinary shopping trip to Sam’s Club changed everything. 

After buying an ultra-grande box of diapers and wipes, my two children and I waited in line for a pretzel. In case you haven’t tried a Sam’s Club pretzel, I highly recommend it. My stomach dips and rumbles with anticipation as I stroll through the warehouse aisles, waiting for the buttery, salty yumminess to slip down my throat. The line was long, but I wanted my  pretzel. I wasn't going to leave without one. 

A woman behind me complimented my daughter's irresistible cuteness. I smiled, but didn’t encourage chitchat. You really have to be careful who you meet nowadays and even though she looked like a pixie, I knew not to trust her. Pixies can be dangerous, right?

The line soon came to an abrupt halt when the trainee had some sort of Code Blue. The pixie lady took the opportunity and chattered away and cooed at my baby boy. 

“He’s darling,” she said. Her smile looked genuine enough—a bit too eager for my liking.

“Thanks.”

Yeah, I know I don’t sound so friendly, maybe even a tad cold, but that pixie had a good complexion. A complexion so perfect I just knew she had to be an Avon lady or even one of those pink Cadillac driving Mary Kay salesperson of the year.

As I used my Jedi mind tricks on the cashier to hurry along with the orders ahead of me, my daughter started playing with her two little girls, bouncing around and giggling. Thankfully, the line started moving and I got my buttery, salty pretzel and bucket of diet coke. I smiled and said goodbye to the pixie and wandered through the crowd to find a table. 

Somewhere along the way, my daughter had other plans. She turned around and returned to the pixie lady and asked them to join us. Horror filled my face, not only did my little girl run from my side, but she was bringing the pixie cosmetics pusher over to me. I vowed that she’d be grounded until she was five if I ended up with a jar of must-have wrinkle cream. The woman’s smile grew as she and her little girls strolled over to the table.

“Your daughter is so sweet, she asked us to join you. Would that be all right?”

I smiled and shrugged, probably mumbled for her to sit down. I let her do most of the talking. She told me how hard it was making friends in a new city. She apparently just moved from California. We live in a predominately LDS (Mormon) community and meeting people can be hard if you aren’t of the same faith—or at least, it feels that way. I related to her problem because I was baptized LDS, but don’t go to church. And although I have two busy kids and hardworking husband, I really didn’t have much of a social life.

So maybe the Pixie wasn’t as crazy as I thought she was. The pixie just wanted a friend. But why in the world would she choose me. I’m the opposite of pixie. I have a hard time keeping my opinions to myself, I don’t talk to strangers in the Sam’s Club line, and I don’t trust easily. This girl looked like she breathed in Disneyland fairy tales. What would we have in common besides our kids? 

The Pixie asked for my number and I gave her mine, but vowed to file it away and never use it. A month later, the Pixie called and nearly five years after that, I’m happy to say she is one of my dearest friends. She is like a kindred spirit to me—a person I was destined to meet. I strongly believe there was a force greater than the pangs of longing for that pretzel when I met my pixie friend.

We are vastly different in so many ways, except for the ones that count. I look forward to our “Good Moorling” conversations and know that no matter what we’ll always be friends.

Sometimes in life, stepping out of your comfort zone is the thing that saves you. A person can tread water for only so long before he has to swim. Take chances in life and in your writing. I heard a saying once to write what you know. But to me, that’s like waiting in line for a pretzel and ignoring possibilities of something better—something lasting.

Do you experiment with your writing? Step out of your comfort zone? Or have you ever had a situation happen that lead you on a journey you never imagined?  

Pimp Your Paragraph #2

(Your comments are welcomed and highly encouraged. The author of this first paragraph submission is looking for all the constructive criticism they can receive to improve their opening hook.  Do you agree with us Hook'ers? Or were you hooked and would want to read more? Let this author know).

Original Paragraph: 

"Wrath, he asked of me. Waste your immortal voice singing of the destruction wrought by pitiless Achilles that cost Greek and Trojan lives alike. Glorify with a golden lyre fleet-footed Achilles whose insatiable blood-lust left mountains of corpses in his wake. Inspire bards in the years to come with praise for he who made a thousand widows mourn... Achilles’ wrath, he asked of me. Not piety nor wisdom should I honor. No, my father asked for wrath: celebrate the murderous rage of he that was doomed to die at the Skaian gate."

***

"Wrath, he asked of me. Waste your immortal voice singing of the destruction wrought by pitiless Achilles that cost Greek and Trojan lives alike. Glorify with a golden lyre fleet-footed Achilles whose insatiable blood-lust left mountains of corpses in his wake. Inspire bards in the years to come with praise for he who made a thousand widows mourn...(reconsider ellipses) Achilles’ wrath, he asked of me(huh? repeater). Not piety nor wisdom should I honor. No, my father asked for wrath: celebrate the murderous rage of he that was doomed to die at the Skaian gate."  hmmm, I'm not sure how to comment on this. I had to read it a few times and still don't get it. I'm confused. Can you break it up with action or something? I have no context of what's going on or who's speaking. I'm sure I'll get that in the next graph but . . . ? 

~The Skeptical Hook'er

***

Just bare with me here whist I take you on a tour through my dizzying intellect as I read this...
"Wrath, he asked of me. <Okay so we're talking to Wrath, right? okay. We're hitting the ground running. I like that>Waste your immortal voice singing of the destruction wrought by pitiless Achilles that cost Greek and Trojan lives alike. <Holy cow, long cumbersome sentence. It sounds more poetical than anything. Which could be a good thing if it's pulling us into the culture of Ancient Greece, but otherwise... For now let's go with the Grecian theory>Glorify with a golden lyre fleet-footed Achilles <Okay so we've got a new character in the mix. Great. I love a party, but why did we invite him if he's just going to stand around the punch bowl all night? Why is he here?>whose insatiable blood-lust left mountains of corpses in his wake. Inspire bards in the years to come with praise for he who made a thousand widows mourn... Achilles’ wrath, <Okay now you've officially lost me. Are we talking about Achilles? Or Wrath, Or Achilles' wrath? Now its like I'm stuck in a dark coat closet and I can't tell who's who or what's what.... and I'm missing the party>he asked of me. Not piety nor wisdom should I honor. No, my father<Oh crap! Party's over. Now dad's home! How did he get here so fast? And why is he here?> asked for wrath: celebrate the murderous rage of he that was doomed to die at the Skaian gate."

I hope that you will take my comments as nothing more than good natured. I don't mean any harm and I'm not really trying to mock your work. I'm trying to make the point here that we have no clear vision of time, place, character or setting. It could be in ancient Greece, or at a USU Toga party for all I know. Monologues are fine, but this one comes off difficult to understand and the story is still in the dark as far as I'm concerned.

~Rabbit in a Hat Hooker

***

"Wrath, he asked of me. Waste your immortal voice singing of the destruction wrought by pitiless Achilles that cost Greek and Trojan lives alike. Glorify with a golden lyre fleet-footed Achilles whose insatiable blood-lust left mountains of corpses in his wake. Inspire bards in the years to come with praise for he who made a thousand widows mourn... Achilles’ wrath, he asked of me. Not piety nor wisdom should I honor. No, my father asked for wrath: celebrate the murderous rage of he that was doomed to die at the Skaian gate."

Okie, Dokie. Something is going on here. Something is being said, I get that by the use of quotation marks at the beginning and at the end of this passage. Quotation marks tend to indicate that--my deductive skills did help me figure that out.

Is this a a voodoo type curse to bring about the immortal destruction of Greece? A prayer? A student reading out of  text book? I don't know. I give up. I'm trying to understand what is taking place here and I ain't got a clue. 

I almost get the feeling that someone is reading this, quoting this. If so, we need something to indicate that. Starting off your novel in the manner, without the use of, "he said, while reading from his Greek Theology  book" or "he said, speaking to the heavens" leaves me very, very confused. I'm with The Rabbit in the Hat Hook'er on this one, I need a scene or a sense of time and place, something, anything to clarify this for me. This paragraph is cumbersome and really, tells me nothing. Perhaps the second paragraph would help or even the first chapter would better help me understand this passage, but since this is about the first paragraph only, I really haven't a clue what this story is about or where the author is planning to take me. 

~The Reluctant Hook'er

A Bit of Writing Advice (VIDEOS)

(It is allergy season and I've been hit pretty hard--watery itchy eyes, the sniffles, and lack of desire to stay conscious. Allergies have wiped me out. So today, instead of writing an allergy medicated induced post, I'm going to toss out some of my favorite writing advice videos for you to enjoy. Enjoy the videos while I search out another box of tissues).

Right now, this is where I am at in my writing--frustrated. I have a heck of a time writing endings that are coherent and leave my readers feeling joy and completion. I've been editing my last twenty pages of my WIP for the past four or five months (what a dork, right?) but I know once I nail the ending, make it perfect, I, as a writer, will be all the better for it. 

Stephen King's book On Writing is one of my favorite books on the writing craft. If you've not had a chance to read it, I highly suggest you do. He is forthright and honest. He tells you like it is. Also, there is a section in the book about his life, how he became a writer, the process, and how he was almost killed by a drunk driver--Stephen King, by all rights, shouldn't have lived through that accident. It's a fantastic book.

This video cracks me up! Awesome. A bit of fun for you.

Have a great day, everyone. Write. Write. Write. 

And then when you're done with that, go write some more. 

I know you want to. 

Fond Memories of Summer

Good morning to you all,
Rabbit in a Hat Hooker here.

Remember those countless hours--and for me countless sumburns, spent in the neighborhood of your youth? Remember Tag? Kick the can? Hide and go seek?

I think my parents must have lost track of me about the day after school let out and didn't find me again until days like today. *Sigh*

For many of you, today marks the first day of school for your children. A day filled with anxiety, excitement, and maybe even a small tinge of grief for those long summers meeting a bitter, bitter end... Kinda tastes like chalk dust.

The kids of today rarely spend as much time outside as we did, but I can gurantee it builds more memories than what level they got to on their X Box game. And the best part is, it's free. No cords, no power bill, no expensive gaming system. You get the idea. I'm preaching to the choir here, I can almost hear the collectibe Amens.

My children and I celebrated our last day of summer  running through the sprinklers and playing in the pool. If I had suggested going inside for some quality TV time, I'm pretty sure they would have tied me up with their jump rope and left me to sponge up sprinkler water.

As readers and writers alike, we all have this in common. Given the choice we'd rather go out and experience than sit back and obsorb. I encourage you to keep this in mind in your writing.

But how do we keep people turning pages if they'd rather be out there experiencing it?

By locking on to those common memories even until the snow starts flying. Embrace it in your writing so readers can dust of those fond memories and enjoy them.

Your characters don't always need to go through a monolighic and heart wrenching event in order for your reader to connect. It can be found in the small things too. Like scene and setting, common references, and your character's culture.

Skeptical Hook'er's Corner: Pimp Your Blog #1

If you haven’t already guessed it, the three Hook’ers of Ready, Aim, Hook Me want to support writers. We spend hours and hours reading submissions with nothing in it for ourselves except to promote our fellow writer. It's a Karma thing. 

Sure, we don’t make it easy. Our rules are strict: you may be great, but we have to be hooked start to finish. The reason for all of this is to get self-published (most of who submits) novels into the hands of the reading public—they are out there, somewhere. We want good books, written by amazing authors to see their way out of the drawer or closet. Did I say good? I meant great, which isn't easy.  

It isn't easy for us either. There are days when we are ready to call ’er good because this blog cuts into most of our own writing time. I haven’t written anything but blog posts for over a month. And yet, we still don’t have a "Two out of three Hook’ers love my book" review.

Are we too picky?

Maybe.

So, while we are still plowing through submissions, we still want to show whatever followers we have left (I know rejections are hard) that we are in your corner.

To be successful takes a bit o’ skill, a pinch of luck, a shake or two of patience, and a whole lotta persistence. But minging along with all that is networking. You want to sell your books somewhere, right?

For the first ten people who craft a sentence with one of the words listed below, I want to follow your blog. Not only do I want to follow your blog. I want you to Pimp your blog to all of us. Tell us what your blog has to offer the followers at Ready, Aim, Hook Me.

I will read your creative sentences, visit all ten blogs, and follow, given that you are one of our followers—reciprocation.

AND, whoever wins me over in both sentence and blog appeal will land in our blog roll. It may not seem like much but one of our followers may just want to buy your book one day.

Remember the rules: Sentence, pimp your blog, follow us, I will follow you=best of show lands in the blog roll. (I may pick more than one)

I will do this again, so if you don’t make it this week, try again.

Ready, set . . . hook me! (yes, I used an exclamation point and I liked it)

Bromidic

Dactylion

Farctate

Interfenestration

Lethologica

Qualtagh

Agelast

Gongoozler

Wanweird

Thelemic

Don’t know what they mean, google it.  First come first serve with word choices.