We’ve heard from our fearless Captain that she envisions a happy ending for the wenches aboard her vessel, not only in a real life sense, but in a literary sense as well. A well-written ending for the characters in a story can make all the difference to the reader, as well as give credit to the characters. However, just as important to the story, is the beginning.

The beginning can make or break a story. I have a short attention span; the author has to pull me in with the first sentence or I lose interest. My favorite beginning is one of an emotional nature, which makes perfect sense because I am an emotional writer. I want my character’s feelings to be palpable. As a reader, I want to connect emotionally to the characters. It entices me to turn the next page.

The greatest credit you can give your characters is to place them in a well-described scene and have them react in the most human way possible. I don’t want to tell the reader what is happening I want to create what is happening. I want to begin the story as if the reader is interacting in the scene with the characters.

Excellent description is the key to enticing a reader. I also favor what I call a drop in beginning. The author drops you in a scene that’s already in motion, tension is high, you’re on the edge of your seat, and turning pages as fast as you can to find the results. We all know that the first paragraph of a story can be the most crucial, not only to the reader, but to literary agents, and publishers as well. It’s hard to market a book that has a flat beginning. It takes a number of ingredients to make a good beginning. Take a poignant well-described scene containing strong characters and it’s hard to miss. It’s easy to name the ingredients, but using them to perfect the right recipe determines the ability of the cook.

Are you a word reader or an image reader? Do you read the book as words on a page? Or do the words process from the page to an image in your mind? Well-articulated words should evoke an image automatically.

Have you ever sang The National Anthem and envisioned the words? I clearly see the night sky light up as the bombs explode. I see men falling on the battlefield, and most importantly, I see the battered flag waving in the air. Francis Scott Key wrote simple words that when sang, evoke not only emotion, but also a profound image. I am sure at the time he wrote The Star Spangled Banner he had no idea of the vast importance and greatness of his work.

Words are our tools. Use them well, and it may only be the beginning for you.

What type of scene sets up the beginning of your WIP? Do you know of any authors who have perfected first scenes like no other?

Characters drive our stories. Readers will stop reading if they don’t like who they read about. Plot can take you so far but many an amazingly plotted story has fallen flat when the characters can’t shoulder it.

We’ve been talking about movies some this week. Just think of a movie that had a decent plot, but was only a so-so movie or plain outright stunk because either the characters had no depth or the actor(s) didn’t portray the character’s depth. Did anyone see The Lake House? Kind of an interesting premise, if you ignore the chronological difficulties and suspend belief a bit, but wow… Sandra Bullock and Keanu Reeves just stank those characters right up, worse than a bunch of smelly pirates away at sea too long with nothing but rum for bathing.

Now, I know that some of the responsibilities in movies fall on the shoulders of directors/producers etc. However, let’s keep this simple for my analogy. (Hey, I’m a pirate, what I say goes. Do I hear mutiny? Simmer down, wenches.)

Is our job as writer any different than the job of an actor? We have a person (or people technically) in mind that we have to express and if we don’t do our job correctly, the reader won’t really “know” that person. Or worse, they won’t care about them, just like we don’t care about movies with poorly acted characters.

After yesterday’s writing exercise and how much fun we had with it, I thought we could continue to stretch our writing muscles again today.

Think about a character you’re currently writing. Then answer these questions about them.
1. How does your character take their coffee? Why?
2. Name one smell that your character can’t stand and why?
3. What is one object your character would never part with and why?
4. What is your character’s greatest fear? Explain.

Here’s my example….
1. Cory, my heroine, would take her coffee with no cream but a lot of sugar. She’s no nonsense, but secretly sweet.
2. Smell: Cory hates the smell of lavender. She thinks it’s a strong, fussy smelling flower.
3. Cory would never part with her manuscripts. She’s translating Pindar’s Odes from Greek.
4. Cory’s greatest fear is that love really is the most important thing in a marriage. Because if that is true, in order to be happy she will need to turn over a bit of control of her life to someone else.

Dig in! If you’re not a writer, or you don’t have the time today, or you just aren’t ready to tackle your characters’ idiosyncrasies yet, let’s talk about characters in books or movies that just fell flat and therefore made the whole experience painful. Why do you think they stunk so badly?

*grinning*

Hellion is going to kill me.

So in my quest to think about something to blog about today (because let’s face it, not *only* am I a pirate wench, I’m a HUGE procrastinator as well. And also see my blog from last week, it’s harder than hell to blog after Hellion when she’s on a roll), I thought that we’d have a little fun along with learning a little something from ourselves. Not in those self-help ways. Really who buys a $500 program from an infomercial at 4am and uses it to become a huge success… Okay, maybe you but not me. I think it all circles back to the procrastination thing again.

See procrastinating. I’m procrastinating in my own blog. I need a self-help group.

Yikes. There’s that self-help crap again. I’m losing it here.

*reciting* Onward, Sin. Move onward.

Moving on.

I procrastinate like there is no tomorrow. I even think of ways I can procrastinate procrastinating. It’s not hard to do. You just talk yourself in circles until you give up trying to do what you originally set out to do in the first place.

Now you see why I’m a good procrastinator, right?

Procrastinating doesn’t serve me well as a writer. As a writer, I need to be focused and driven. I need to be able to sit down for hours at a time and bang out *insert snicker* about 20,000 words in a day. Except, when I’m writing and feeling the urge to procrastinate, I think up different characters in funny little circumstances. Like the porn star and the Amish bumpkin in yesterday’s comment section. I can totally see it written. But am I going to write it? NOPE. That goes against my inner and exterior procrastinator. Yup. I know what you’re thinking. How did she get TWO procrastinators?

I’m a writer. Deal with it. I can write whatever I want. And if I want two procrastinating wenches as my personality, then so be it.

But then I’d have to write. Hm, Houston we’ve got a problem.

So today’s exercise of the day, how to deal with the inner procrastinator stomping around in your head, burning all your wonderful mental notes and purposely causing ants in your pants so that you can’t sit still for longer than two seconds.

Take two deep breaths. Think of your two main characters. Concentrate on their personalities. Think of a conversation the two of them might have.

Got it? Good.

If not, I suggest you think about it for a minute.

And no I’m not procrastinating.

Yet.

For today’s exercise in training the inner procrastinator, gimme a conversation piece. Just a quick one-two punch. Nothing that you’ve written before because that would be cheating. And even though I’m a pirate, and sometimes on occasion as a pirate that is acceptable. But. Not. This. Time.

Example: From the main characters in my WIP, Double Vision. Sadie, a booted out FBI agent and her undercover watchdog, Ash. If I were to make up a conversation between them, it would go something like this-

***

I watched him walk out of the shadows. He had that swagger that warned good girls he wasn’t in it to walk them down the aisle. He was trouble. Plain and simple. Something I didn’t need right now.
“I can’t work with you.” I said, matter-of-fact. “Call your superior. Tell him I changed my mind.”
“Sadie,” His voice was low, vibrating through me. “Afraid you can’t handle it?” His eyes caught mine, the moonlight shining brightly on his perfect white teeth. There was a spark in his eyes I recognized. This was the Ash I knew and once loved. And I was in deep shit.

***

Now, sit your butt down. Stop reading all those blogs (except for this one because you know how much you love your daily dose of pirate wenches). And prepare yourself to do some writing. Brace yourself for the conversation of a lifetime… Hey! I’m writing for you! You little procrastinator! Sit and write. Write a tiny little conversation. That is your job for the day. To think of a way to spur your writing onward and beat down that evil procrastinator inside of you.

Show me what you can do. Even if it’s a, “Hey, how yooou doin’?” “I’m good. I just got done doing an Amish bumpkin in the back of her wagon.” conversation. (Courtesy of the Porn Star and the Amish girl tale.)

I need Happily Ever Afters in my stories.

It’s my biggest failure as an English major, I admit, this dreadful need for a commercial sweet ending, but who cares? I’ve been rewriting the ends to literary stories for years now, at least in my mind.

Romeo & Juliet is a definite beef of mine, especially since it’s proof of why teenagers should wait until they’re 25 before they’re allowed to date. (Idiots.) Admittedly, my interpretation of the story when I was a teenager was actually more romantic-minded, back when I thought there is only one soul-mate, one true love for any one person. Back then, I rewrote the ending for a school project, thus alerting Ms. Yount even then of my intent to write trashy novels.

I’ve been rewriting endings ever since really.

Anyone see the movie Sommersby? Richard Gere and Jodie Foster fall in love in this post-Civil War era flick. I watched it one Christmas Eve, totally a lamb led to slaughter as I bonded with this couple, only to watch Richard hanged at the end. Hanged. I leaped out of my chair, screaming at the television—which went over well in a household that was asleep at 1 a.m.

Shakespeare in Love. Another wonderful flick (one I actually own)—and our couple is cruelly separated at the end, and she has to go off and live with Colin Firth. Oh, the pitiless injustice of it all! (In all fairness, he’s not nearly as dashing or charming as he was as Darcy, but it is Colin Firth after all.)

Titanic. *pauses for the obvious jokes that will abound here* That rat bastard of a fiancée makes it, but poor Jack drowns for his sweet Rose. Mike was completely inconsolable for weeks!

Over the summer, a supposed comedy called The Breakup had an ending where the couple didn’t end up together. It is possibly the only non-together ending where I wouldn’t rewrite it to have them get together. These two were so wholly unlikeable, they didn’t deserve a happy ending. (I still want my $8 back.)

Well, there is a point to this. I’m not the only one who likes to rewrite endings to unhappily ended romances and give the sigh we were all waiting to exhale. Over the weekend, I read an erotica novel by Colette Gale called Unmasqued, which tells a new version of The Phantom of the Opera. Well, well-done. Highly recommend, and I got to thinking about beloved stories in which I wished the ending had been a bit different. And it got me to thinking of story ideas in which I could rewrite the ending to…oh, The Flying Dutchman. Or maybe a modern day Romeo & Juliet, fifteen years after the supposed suicide maybe.

Maybe that’s how I’ll make the world a better place—one HEA at a time. Just call me…SuperWriter.

What stories have you wished for a different ending? How would you have made it different?

Today’s topic is defending your words. Anyone who knows me can tell you I love a good debate. I like to think I’m semi-intelligent and what I don’t know I can bullshit. Once I get my teeth into an issue I refuse to let go; therefore, a debate with me could last for years. Now, this does not mean I refuse to concede a point to my opponent, but I’ll do so while pointing out another aspect that proves me right.

This debating I do is best done in person but that’s not always the circumstance. These days I’m finding myself debating online as I’m taking online courses. Yes, we have internet on this ship! And a very good advancing education program. This week I found myself under attack where I wasn’t even trying to provoke anyone. I wrote my opinion and was soundly fired upon. So, I did what every writing pirate worth her salt would do, I told him in a pretty way to shove it up his as….well, I might have been more tactful than that. But he was smart enough NOT to try for a snappy comeback.

So, it made me think, we all have to deal with turning our work, our words, over to another for their opinion, reaction or even (God forbid) approval. How far will you go to defend your words? I have been told my story will never sell, to change a character’s occupation, to change another character’s name and even had entirely new plots thrown my way. I admit to making minor changes in response to all of this but most of it I ignored. I’m stubborn, I could never deny that, but I also have to believe in my story. This is MY story. If it never sells so be it, but by golly the finished product will be mine and I’ll stand beside it and fight them all.

How far will you go to defend your words? Will you draw your sword and fight to the death or turn tale and run? Have you faced any of these battles as I have? And how badly do you want to know what I said to that little land lubbing, snot-nosed pain in the ass?

Per the Capt’n, I shall post this message or be punished *grin* which we all know I don’t want that.

We have pulled into port for some much needed frivolity and private time with naughty male pirates, whose roguish ways have stolen our fun loving hearts! We will set sail again at dawn on Monday morning. Be prepared to bear witness to our very detailed endeavours and enjoy the spoils of our pillaging!

PS. Have a great Thanksgiving and if you’re our friends from across the sea, have a great Thursday!

FELTON: …no, they would never do that. They would kick the ball. The two-point conversion is too risky. These Americans don’t know anything about risk.

ARDMORE: Why are we learning about this pansy game anyway? I thought we were cooking a Thanksgiving dinner?

GRYFFYN: That’s right! Come now, Felton, this is a defeatist attitude. *holding up the trifle bowl* We still have the trifle! It’s like a little bit of Thanksgiving in every bite.

VILLIERS: Well, it probably would be if that were turkey and dressing rather than roast beef and carrots, but who’s quibbling? I’m sure it’s divine.

GRYFFYN: Would you like some?

VILLIERS: God, no. *clicking the cap off and on to the baby oil*

HOLBROOK: Stop doing that. You’re giving me a headache. What are you doing with the oil anyway?

VILLIERS: In case the nuns arrive. I like to be prepared.

FELTON: Oh, for God’s sake, Villiers, there are no nuns! There is no turkey! There will be no Thanksgiving!

MAYNE: You mean, you don’t believe in the Thanksgiving miracle? *tsking* Oh, ye of little faith…

FELTON: I have always thought you were an idiot. *pointing back at the picture and gaining ARDMORE’s attention* Now if they don’t complete the yardage they need to make a down….

GODWIN: *stumbling from a back room* I think I’ve finally managed a song for us to sing while we work. How much time before we’re required to have the meal done?

FELTON: *checking timepiece drolly* Approximately 3 ½ minutes.

GODWIN: Oh, we have scads of time then. You’d be amazed at all the time I have leftover when I’m given 3 ½ minutes. *passing out sheets* Here, we’ll each have a part to sing…

MAYNE: Isn’t this Ode to Joy? You didn’t write this…Look, it says right there in the corner…

GODWIN: *looking frazzled* I was a bit pressed for time! A Thanksgiving feast in an hour. *throwing the papers into the air angrily* What did you expect? A symphony?

VOICEOVER: There is only one minute left. Have the men managed to scrabble something together for their guests, the Prime Minister William Pitt and the Prince Regent, both duct taped to prevent unpleasant sniping…

*door opens, and the men panic, fearing the Prime Minister and Regent have arrived early*

MAYNE: *bashing around pots and pans* Just a minute, we almost… *words die on lips as a group of nuns trot through the door*

VILLIERS: *throwing arms wide and brandishing the baby oil* Ladies! I knew you’d come to save us.

FELTON: It’s…it’s….

GODWIN: A Thanksgiving miracle! *looks inspired* Ooh! I’ve just thought of a melody. Excuse me, ladies, gentlemen. I have to write this down. *disappears again*

DARBY: *handing FELTON his lace handkerchief* Here you go, Felton, take it. Never in all the time I’ve known you have I known you to carry a handkerchief, and yet I’ve never known another to need one more.

FELTON: *weeping quietly into the lace* There really is a Thanksgiving miracle.

NUN#1: *pulling off habit and revealing a lace teddy* I hear there was a problem in the kitchen?

VILLIERS: *clutching said nun and smiling for the camera* I know what I’m thankful for! God bless us, everyone!

*zoom out*

VOICEOVER: Welcome back to Rake & Bake: Thanksgiving Special Ed…

MAYNE (interrupting): Mother of God, Ardmore, what the hell did you stuff in this turkey? I thought….

FELTON: What? Something is stuffed in the turkey? *wrinkling nose* Come to think of it, what did you oil the turkey with?

ARDMORE: It’s how we make roast bird in Scotland. We make a stuffing of oats and onions…

HOLBROOK: *wrinkling brow* Isn’t that the primary ingredient for haggis?

VILLIERS: Big haggis eater, are you? Well, takes all kinds I suppose. Live and let live, I say.

ARDMORE: That’s a Scottish proverb, actually…and the oats are really good, I assure you.

FELTON: This isn’t Thanksgiving for the National Heart’s Association. We just wanted a simple turkey. *waving hands in a general motion as if he’d rather strangle ARDMORE with them, attention is now focused on counter* Is that BABY OIL?

VILLIERS: *snorting in laughter* Well, you did say oil the bird, Felton, and I must say I’ve oiled many a bird myself with baby oil…to spectacular effect.

FELTON: *looking stupefied, sliding down the counter* There’s no way. We’ve lost. We’re going to have to watch American football.

DARBY: *pressing his handkerchief to his nose, looking quite put out* You must be jesting! Come now, Felton. Buck up, my good man, I’ve seen you….

FELTON: *reaching out and gripping DARBY’s jacket, crushing the bright velvet and shaking him* It’s impossible! It would take a Thanksgiving Miracle!

GRYFFYN: Okay, I’m finally done with the trifle! *carrying in a large crystal bowl with many colored layers* Everything a good British trifle needs. Gingerbread, custard, apples and pecans…

ARDMORE: Hey, that sounds rather promising. Come on, Felton…look… *quizzical look* What layer is that, Gryffyn? The gingerbread or the custard?

GRYFFYN: Hmm? Oh, that’s the roast beef and carrots…

HOLBROOK: That’s handy. Saves you the trouble of mixing it all on your plate, don’t you think?

FELTON: *slowly thunking his head against the counter, blank expression*

ARDMORE: You know what would have made the trifle perfect. *dramatic pause* Oats.

VOICEOVER: Will Felton receive his Thanksgiving miracle? Will anyone eat Gryffyn’s trifle? Will Ardmore become a convert to American football? Stay tuned for the final part of Rake & Bake: Special Edition. *sotto* What will the men do when Villiers starts using the baby oil inappropriately on the kitchen counter? More when we return….

*zoom in on a tiny kitchen set where VILLIERS, GRYFFYN, MAYNE, HOLBROOK, SIMON DARBY, GODWIN, LUCIUS FELTON, and ARDMORE are all trying to stand without touching each other*

VOICEOVER: *trilling like Julia Child* Welcome to a special holiday episode of RAKE & BAKE.

MAYNE: *cursing* Blast it! I thought we finally got away from this Rake and Reality TV crap!

DARBY: *picking at the corner of his lace cuff* Oh, I don’t know. The Rake My Ride series got very good reviews. That Jesse James fellows seemed quite….

MAYNE: Well, that series was dignified, but this! This is designed to make us look ridiculous!

VILLIERS: You mean we haven’t been invited to a special taping of French Nuns Gone Wild? *undertone* Though I’m not sure why I thought I needed to see a taping of that. The French Nuns I’ve gotten wild with…well, let’s just say, I don’t need to see a taping to verify that after the habits come off…

GRYFFYN: As fascinating as your love life is, Villiers, I don’t think now is the time.

VOICEOVER: …The Luscious Libertines of London will have 1 hour to create a Thanksgiving menu for eight, or they will be forced to do that most horrific of all pastimes: watch an American football game

ARDMORE: You mean like our football? Manly sports where if you’re bleedin’ by the end of the game, you know you fought the good fight?

VOICEOVER: No, not British football. This. *a clip of the Colts and the Chiefs plays for thirty seconds, causing the men to wince and moan in despair* Minimum of three hour play.

FELTON: Three hours? I’d rather go shoe shopping with my wife! Are you mad?

ARDMORE: That namby-pamby bunch of wrestling? That’s not football. That’s *bleeeeeeep*…and *BLEEP* *BLEEP* *BLEEEEEP*. I’d sooner suck *BLEEP* and *BLEEEP* a sheep.

VILLIERS: Ah, so a regular Saturday night for you, eh, Scotsman?

ARDMORE: You puffed up coxcomb! *leaping across DARBY to strike at VILLIERS*

FELTON: *sticking fingers in his mouth and whistling loudly* Gentlemen, we have 57 minutes to feed a Thanksgiving meal for a setting of eight. I’ll be damned if I’m watching that cockamamie notion of a sports activity. *sniffing* I have made a list.

HOLBROOK: *groaning* I need a drink

FELTON: We will need mashed potatoes, stuffing, a vegetable, another side, a dessert, and of course, the turkey.

GRYFFYN: I’ve always been fond a good trifle, myself. You know the layers of cake with the pudding and the fruit. Do you think…?

FELTON: Gryffyn, you’re in charge of the dessert. Ardmore, I need you to prepare the turkey…. *indicating a raw bird laying on the stage counter next to a horde of other food supplies*

GODWIN: I will write us a song to make our work lighter. An Ode to Thanksgiving…. *pulls a piece of paper from his jacket and starts humming to himself*

MAYNE: *frowning* He always does that. Why are we even doing a Thanksgiving dinner anyway? We don’t even celebrate Thanksgiving.

FELTON: *marking things off his list* Mayne, you’re talking again. Do you really want to watch an American football game?

MAYNE: They can’t make me watch a game.

FELTON: And they can’t make us go to an island either and reform Captain Jack Sparrow either.

MAYNE: *rolling up his shirt sleeves* Give me the potatoes. I’ll start peeling.

DARBY: Why am I always given the onions to chop? *sniffing, chopping on a board at one end of the counter* I don’t even like onions, you know. *all stop to look at DARBY wiping at his eyes with a lacey bit of cloth*

FELTON: *droll look* I don’t know. It must be Aristocratic Profiling. Holbrook, how is the vegetable coming?

HOLBROOK: *holding up the Brussels sprouts and frowning* Who eats these things? *trimming the edges and chopping in quarters* Tell me we’re at least sousing them in a bit of sherry.

VILLIERS: *wrinkling his nose* I assure you all the sherry in the world will not help those things. Isn’t there such a thing as too many cooks in the kitchen? Maybe I should politely withdraw and leave this to the experts? *makes a leg*

FELTON: Don’t even think it. *pointing with a knife* You can peel the carrots. *thumps a huge bag of carrots and a vegetable peeler in front of him* Knock yourself out. 51 minutes, people. Get cracking!

ARDMORE: *picking up greased turkey and promptly dropping the slick bird on the floor; picks it up* Oops, hate it when that happens.

VOICEOVER: *still like Julia Child* Don’t worry, dearie, happens to the best of us!

MAYNE: Granted, I’m not a chef by any means, but I am pretty sure a turkey takes longer to cook than 50 minutes.

FELTON: Why don’t you dice the potatoes, Mayne, and leave the heavy thinking to me, thank you. *stares at the bird, then Ardmore* Then again, he’s right. The recipe here says to cook the bird for three hours at 350 degrees. I imagine if we just turn the oven up a bit, it will cook in at least half the time.

ARDMORE: So…450?

FELTON: Better make it 500. *plops a pan in front of Mayne* Peel a little faster. You wouldn’t believe how much these Americans love their potatoes. Of course, I think the majority of them are of Irish descent, so no surprises there. *frowning at the food* I can’t believe how much all this stuff costs. Did you see the receipt? Must have been over 50 pounds….

ARDMORE: *thumping pan into oven and shutting it* You jest? For a meal? Why didn’t they just serve a good haggis…

*rest of group groans and pulls faces*

ARDMORE: Haggis is good! Have you even had it?

FELTON: I am a frugal man, Ardmore, but you Scotsmen truly take it to the limit. *pausing* What’s that smell?

*groups turns to frown at oven which is already pouring out black smoke*

ARDMORE: Bloody hell! *opens oven and removes turkey, which is flaming* What the devil… *flapping a towel which only makes the flames shoot higher; there is a sudden rushing sound and Ardmore is covered in white foam, as is the turkey*

DARBY: *brandishing a fire extinguisher* Sorry, old man, but I couldn’t take a chance on my velvet getting ruined this time.

ARDMORE: *wiping foam away with his towel, glowering* No problem, Darby. Appreciate the help.

FELTON: *frowning* Truly, I wouldn’t think it’d have time to catch on fire like that. What did you rub on the turkey, Ardmore? Kerosene?

VOICEOVER (ARDMORE’S BLEEPING): Stay tuned for our second half of Rake & Bake. Can this turkey be saved? Will they end up with more than a trifle? Will the men be reduced to watching bad American namby-pamby football? You be the judge…when we return.