On Starting Over (again)

I've mentioned in my past posts that I have a finished novel and have been querying agents for a few months now. I finally got some (minor) feedback from a couple of agents, and they both said the same thing: they didn't connect with my main character's voice.

So. (I've said that a lot lately) SO.

I decided to rewrite Wicked Illusions. Again. For the fifth time.

The past rewrites? ALL of them have given me a complete 180 turnaround on my manuscript, making it better. And better. And better again.

So when I sat down to write it this time, I started out excited. Like, *really* excited. I just knew that this time I would have the draft that would take me somewhere. But you guys, I this draft is NOT better. It's probably the worst thing I've ever written. It's like I've forgotten how write or something. I keep second guessing myself and rewriting sentences over and over on an endless cycle of sentence-structure-doom. I've lost all my prose, and instead of being happy to write about these characters, I find myself choosing to stare out the window or eat cheerios or scrub the toilet or ANYTHING but work on this fracking novel.

And I think it's because I've already said all I have to say about it. Sure, there a couple of scenes from the last draft that I've gotten better ideas for and know that I could make better. But rewriting it from Blank Page One? It's just not working.

SO.

I am going to try to fix those scenes I mentioned above, morph it into first person present instead of first person past (I've been wishing I'd done this for a long time) and then focus on making Lilly's speech less formal and making her more proactive in certain situations.

But I'm not rewriting the whole thing again. I can't. I'm giving myself one month to do these things, send it to my crit partner, then query the last five agents on my list (and one agent who has already read it, but has graciously agreed to read it again after the edits).  And then...

If it doesn't work out this time, I'm laying it aside. Come February 12th, I'm not looking at it again unless an agent requests it. Y'all, I LOVE this story. I've said it before. But I mostly love it the way it is, and I don't WANT to change the way it is inside my head. If my very best try doesn't make other people love it as much as I do, then that's okay. I want people to love it, but it's more important that I love it *the most*.

So here's to hoping that the *new* draft #5 (which will only differ slightly from draft #4) will be good. But if it has to live forever in my head and in the heads of the few friends and family members that have read it and love it, that's okay with me too. There are plenty of other stories waiting to burst out of this ole brain of mine.

Defending Twilight

I will unashamedly admit that I am Twilight fangirl. I have read all of the books (including the Midnight Sun excerpt on Stephenie Meyer's website) over and over until the spines began to fall apart, giving me the excuse to buy a second set. Yes. I have two sets. Plus the audiobooks and eBooks. Don't judge me.

I have gone to all the midnight premiers of the movies, and purchased all the DVDs. And every time one of the movies comes on TV, my husband groans because he knows we are going to watch it (for the eleventy billionth time). I even have all the movie soundtracks and scores. I say all this because I am confessing to you right up front that I love me some Edward Cullen, and I will shout it from the roof tops while waving my Team Edward shirt.

So many people bash Twilight these days. That's to be expected, because most things that go as viral as Twilight will always have haters. I've even heard a few people say that they used to like Twilight, but started to hate it when the pandemic began. But the question is, why do so many people hate it? Is it the "impossible" forever love? Is it Edward himself for not being "manly"? Or is it Bella, because she gives herself completely to Edward without regard for her future? Some people just don't like vampires, or they don't like Mrs. Meyers' version of vampires, or a myriad of other reasons. But I am not here to argue with the people who don't like it.

I admire the Twilight series mainly because of Edward Cullen. Every person in the world wants someone to love them whole heartedly. Not to say that my husband doesn't love the way I want him to, because he is my Edward-- but he is still a human man. He loves football. He loves to fish. And his brain is solely connected to a certain other part of his body, like every other man on this planet. Seriously, though. I love my hubby more than anyone in the world.

But I'm in love with Edward Cullen too. And Harry Potter, and Mr. Darcy, and Noah Dawson (the male protag of my novel). I think it's okay to be in love with fictional men, even if you have a real-life man of your own. Or EVEN if he's a hot mannequin, like the one that chick from the Axe commercials falls for.

                                 

Because that's what fictional men ARE FOR. They're there to keep you company when the hubby/boyfriend is away on a trip. They're there to comfort you when you and the hubby/boyfriend have a fight. They're there to make you swoon when you have no hubby/boyfriend, and ya need a little romance in yer brain. Sure, these fictional men are usually already taken by the female protagonist (Darn you, Bella Swan!!), but THAT'S THE JOY OF READING. You get to pretend to be somebody else for a few hours a day.

Okay, this post has taken a weird turn. I digress.

So many people bash Stephenie Meyer for her writing, for her morals, and countless other things, but all I see is a good love story and man who makes me sigh with swooniness. (See? He causes me to make up words.) In Stephenie Meyer, I see a woman who helped pave the way for me as a writer.

Before I started college, I used to devour every book I could get my hands on. But when the homework started piling up, I no longer had time to read or write. I found myself going into a reading hiatus, choosing mindless television shows in my free time instead. When my best friend suggested Twilight to me, at first, I was like, "Vampires? No, thanks." But she kept insisting that I would love it, so I bought it at CVS one day. I then read all four books in three days.

After finishing the series, I thought, "Hmmm... I miss reading. I miss writing. I want to write something like this." And so I immediately started writing the very-different-from-what-it-is-now first draft of my novel. I'd always wanted to write a novel, but I'd never actually pursued the idea until I read Twilight. (My novel doesn't have any vampires though, just in case you were wondering)

Also, while I was on a Twilight fansite one afternoon, an ad on the left side of the screen suggested that I  should read the book, Shiver. It sounded interesting, so I bought the book, and delightfully discovered the WONDERFUL Maggie Stiefvater. Her prose, carefully crafted sentences, and characters are... I have no words. "Perfect," might come close. She is now my favorite author, and the author I aspire to be like someday (in her classy & helpful blog posts and writing alike). And I may never have read Shiver, had I not been on that Twilight fansite.

And so many bands have been brought to my attention through the Twilight movie soundtracks. Inspiration through music is a big part of my writing process, and without Bon Iver, Sia, Sleeping At Last, and many others, some of the scenes in my novel would NOT be the same as they are now, had I not found these artists through their brilliant work on the soundtracks. (Come on, even if you aren't a fan of the movies, you HAVE to admit that the music is awesome on every single one).

So to bring this LONG post to a close, I think you should never, ever pass on reading/listening/watching something just because it's "popular," or because you heard that someone else hated it. There are so many things I would have missed out on in my life had I never picked up Twilight at CVS Pharmacy that day. I might not have even written a novel, and would still be bouncing around trying to pick a major in college and trying to figure out what the heck I wanted to do with my life.

So with this in mind, I am off to work on revisions for my novel (so that maybe one day someone will be buying MY book in CVS because their friend made them) :-)

No Kiss Blogfest Entry!

The "almost-kiss."  It happens in every tortured romance.

It's the want to kiss so badly, but knowing you can't. Or you can, but you're interrupted.

*swoons*

Every year on January 2nd, author Frankie Diane Mallis hosts a No Kiss Blogfest. What is this, you ask?

"This is when you get to write a scene or post one from your favorite books, movies, or tv shows that show the almost kiss-- the rising, crushing, excruciating, longing, tension that comes  when two characters get oh-so-close to kissing that you can just feel it, want it, NEED it....and then...they don't!"

CLICK HERE for the link to her blog. You should participate too! Even if you don't write, you can post your favorite almost-kiss scene from a book you love, or a movie clip. 


So anyway, I have decided to share my own almost-kiss from the novel that I'm seeking representation for, WICKED ILLUSIONS. (Check out my "Making Stuff Up" tab for more info on the storyline, if you please. :-D) Let me know if you like it! 

~

I could tell the boy was fighting back a smile. For some reason, he seemed to think that I was hilarious, and that infuriated me even more since I wasn't trying to be funny.

            "What the hell are you smiling about?" I hissed.

            "Tiger Lilly," he said softly, reaching out to entwine his fingers in mine. I suddenly felt deflated.

            His face turned serious and he bit his bottom lip like it tasted good— and for a split second, I wondered if it did. He reached forward to brush a piece of stray hair from my collarbone, and I shivered as his fingers burned like licking flames against my skin.

            "I want some answers," I mumbled. "I'm so confused and I just..."

            My thoughts swirled around my head like a tornado and I wanted to be angry, but I couldn't.

            The boy's brow crinkled-- he seemed to balance on the edge of something unspoken for a moment. He reminded me of someone, but I couldn't put my finger on it for some reason.

            "What is your name?" I asked. "So I can stop calling you 'the boy'."

            He ignored my question. "Lilly, I would love nothing more than to give you your answers. I would tell you anything that you wanted to know because I want to be honest with you and I want you to trust me. But I am searching for the same answers myself."

            He dropped his head to stare at the ground and I had to strain to hear him as he whispered to me.

            "I don't know why I am here, or how I even got here.  But I can't leave."

            He was trapped here, just like I was trapped in Ironbrook. Neither of us could run away-- My thoughts slammed to a halt, and I suddenly knew where I'd seen him. I wondered why I hadn't caught it before now. He was the boy from the newspaper article I'd read in Mr. Bowman's class.

            Where were we?

             "Is your name Noah?" I asked.

            He nodded and locked his eyes with mine, his own silent questions burning into me. He grabbed my waist gently and pulled me into his arms. His right hand lightly cupped my face as he brushed his thumb across my cheekbone, and suddenly, I couldn't breathe.

            He leaned in, and for a moment I thought that he was going to kiss me. His lips were so close to mine that I could feel the electricity sparkling between our skin. I wanted it to happen— my head clouded with a need to feel the soft curve of his lips against my own. His thumb traced down my jaw line, settling behind my ear with a whisper-soft touch. He gently pulled my head closer to his, and just before our lips touched, I remembered.

            "Noah," I whispered, my words hissing across his mouth. He exhaled in defeat and shifted backwards a tiny fraction. I fought through the clouds in my brain and the urge to forget about this and plant my lips onto his, but I knew what I had to do. I had to figure out a gentle way to tell him what he needed to know.

             But I could only tell him the truth, and truths like that could only be revealed for what they were; horrible. We stared at each other for a moment, neither of us blinking. I knew what I had to tell him, but it took me a while to build up the courage.

             "I think you might be dead," I said, finally.