The Vastly Immeasurable Value of Few Words--Inkblots

Oxford Creative Writing Master Class nearly filled for April!

Five Blots this chilly evening (with more snow predicted for the morning), and chatting about final editing, dangers of "find and replace all" (beware, something will always glitch), better to find next and inspect carefully; make the Word program do what you want it to do rather than be the patsy of grit (sand). John is in final editing on Saving Grace, a labor of love for some years, great cover art, the final push to publication, and a real book in hand, more important thematically now than ever. John has said over the years of writing this book and learning his craft in the process, that if one abortion-minded young woman reads it and does not consent to killing her baby in the womb, he will be happy. May it have this effect on many. There's a lesson in this about how a writer measures success. 

I want to briefly distill the important elements of good writing that we explored and honed this evening (below are pasted notes more relevant to the specific writers who penned the words). Cheyenne is entering a UK unpublished novel contest and must write a 350 word synopsis as part of her entry process (you can read her first draft below). In a synopsis, be concise, every word must have work to do. Avoid proliferation of names, especially if there could be any confusion. Keep the main character and the main plot in the forefront. A synopsis is often the debut of a writer's ability to a publisher, contest judges, potential distributor, and reader, hence, one must spend careful time writing, rewriting, revising a good synopsis. Rules that are important in your manuscript are equally, or, if possible, more important in a synopsis: Show don't tell. Avoid vague language. Be concise. Use action verbs. Diagram your entire plot on an anatomy of fiction timeline (status quo, inciting moment, rising action, etc.). Try writing your synopsis in sonnet form, fourteen lines of iambic pentameter. This will do many things for your writing, but it will certainly force you to be brief and to choose words that are loaded with meaning and purpose. 

Next, we discussed when to end a chapter or episode. Hannah wrote a frightening ending to an episode, but added a touch more than was needed. Keep your reader in suspense. End a chapter with the protagonist uncertain, off balance, teetering. Don't stabilize the situation or character at the end of a chapter (there are exception to this). Generally, if a chapter begins in stability and certainty, it must end in uncertainty. If the episode begins with uncertainty, it should end with something else, either more uncertainty, or a interlude of certainty (or perceived certainty).

We also discussed shifting points of view within a chapter, when there is no obvious break. This can throw readers off balance, confuse them, lift them out of verisimilitude; it is so unlike the way we experience reality. If the shift in point of view is necessary (they are not always necessary), then signal your reader that the shift is happening with a chapter break, or an internal division of some kind, extra space, *** in that space (which I used to use but don't really like anymore), or, as Daniel Silva does from time to time, create an internal chapter break with space and a drop-cap first letter to the new point of view. I return to caution with shifting points of view. It is not for the novice and can have perilous results. There is a reason for the rule to stick with one point of view, your protagonist's. Break it to your peril. 

I concluded with a brief word about the non-fiction book I'm beginning. I’m calling it tentatively God Sings, comparing and contrasting how God and his people sing in the Bible (there’s tons of this) with how we are attempting to do so in the glare and glitter of an entertainment ethos. More coming on that front, God willing.

Register today for the final spots available in my writing intensive literary tour of middle England, Oxford Creative Writing Master Class, April 2-9. "The Oxford Creative Writing Master Class was above and beyond my wildest dreams. I learned so much about writing, history, theology. OCWMC has truly changed my life," so said one of my recent OCWMC grads. Check it out today, but do not delay, bondbooks.net or email me at bondbooks.net@gmail.com. 

Desperate for adventure, or anything to distill the monotony of her life, JULIET [why caps?] goes hiking, and finds a sprawling, upside-down tree. [Can you make us hear the chomp?] It swallows, transporting her, and she wakes in a different [sounds too vague, bland] place where she arrives at the town of [I wouldn't use the name in the synopsis] Umi no Machi: a Japanesque town with a medieval [can you use more specific language? what makes her feel like it's medieval?] feel. 

[keep us in Juliet's point of view] There, a woman named DAYNA warns of impending doom [specific kind of doom? Sun will die... invading army...], but the townspeople pay no heed. Raiders attack in the night, but Juliet evades their clutches. She, Dayna, and the UNKNOWN begin a quest to rescue the townspeople.

While on the trail, Juliet slips up [slips up how?], causing Dayna to demands answers concerning Juliet’s past. 

[under cover of darkness] Finally, they catch up to the raiders and rescue the townspeople under the cover of darkness, but Juliet is ambushed and captured. The Unknown [is he called this or his name?] rescues her, and she learns his name—ADNAN. 

During an attempt for Juliet to return home, the three are taken prisoner and led to TRISTAN, who forces them to help in his uprising against KING JAIIN. 

They are separated during an attack. Seeking refuge, Juliet meets HANIEL and MARI, two of Tristan’s trusted rebels. She embroils herself within the uprising, while dealing with conflicting feelings concerning Tristan, the uprising, and all the secrets surrounding her. 

Aware of how she is looked upon by the rebels, Juliet accuses Tristan of using her, and he agrees to let her leave on a foray with Haniel, but the king’s men take her. She escapes and, on foot, makes it back safely on the verge of collapse. 

Juliet urges Mari to go be with her niece [too many people in this sentence] who is expecting a baby, and soon after realizes Tristan cares for her [which her?]. Without Adnan to counsel her, Juliet decides to commit to the uprising, but when Tristan asks to court her for the sake of his people, who see her superstitiously as the Otherworlder, she turns him down. 

Juliet and Haniel leave to warn his and Mari’s village of wandering raiders, but they’re too late; everyone is dead and there are no survivors. Angry at what she has seen, Juliet agrees to fight with Tristan, and agrees to his courtship proposal.

In general, I would strongly suggest that you kill names, tighten prose, ramp up the dilemma that Juliet finds herself in with Tristan making advances. Draw the anatomy of fiction and place each episode of rising action on the diagram. This will clean the story arc in your own mind and help with writing the synopsis. Additionally, you could write the whole plot in iambic pentameter 140 syllables, a sonnet. This forces you to choose your words careful, each having important work to do.

Hannah read next, a romp in the forest. “Mommy, look at the flowers!” Charlotte ran off the trail and darted over to a cluster of small pink flowers surrounding the base of a nearby [what kind of tree?] tree. Amber stopped and slipped her backpack off her shoulders to dig around in it for the book she’d brought to identify plants with.

As she thumbed through the pages, she occasionally glanced up to watch her daughter. Another few pages and she stopped.

“Hey, Charlotte, those are-” Amber froze when she looked up and didn’t see her. She turned around in a circle. “Charlotte?”

No answer, except for the wind rustling the firs and cedars around her. “Charlotte, answer me,” Amber said, moving further up the path. “Charlotte!”

She checked behind a rhododendron shrub. Nothing. Her stomach twisted.

Could the Woodsman have gotten her?

Amber shook her head at the sudden thought. “It’s just a fairytale,” she told herself, her steps and heartbeat quickening. “Charlotte!”

She wasn’t behind the huckleberry bushes either. Amber didn’t bother to pause even for a second to grab the backpack as panic propelled her off the path.

Her prayers became more desperate as time passed quicker than she wanted. When sunset came, there was still no sign of the curly-haired little girl.

Amber tried to force herself to continue despite her legs feeling like jelly and the fact she didn't know where she was.

But one more step and she stumbled onto her hands and knees. Her shoulders heaved as hot tears dripped down her nose onto the dirt.

She remained that way for another few [be specific on time] minutes.

A rustle in the bushes startled her and she sat up, wiping at her red-rimmed eyes as a sliver of hope ignited. “Charlotte?”

A doe and her fawn appeared, and her shoulders slumped. The animals seemed to regard her for a moment, then turned and walked away.

Amber’s throat tightened, her eyes refilling with tears. A sudden squeal startled her and her head turned.

“Charlotte?”

Another squeal. Amber scrambled to her feet and rushed forward in the direction she thought it had come from. She batted at branches which tugged at her clothes and hopped over moss-covered logs. Her ears picked up more squeals. If they came from Charlotte, it sounded like she was happy.

           The trees became sparse, eventually ending at the edge of a small [small is not a helpful adjective here] slope leading down to a meadow full of [specific] wildflowers.

Among them was Charlotte, running to and fro, picking as many as she could. Amber nearly collapsed from relief. She opened her mouth to call, but was stopped short not just by the sight of her daughter running up to a newfound companion, but that person’s appearance as well.

Her eyes darted from the gas mask to the trench coat to the work boots and back to the mask.

Charlotte had found the Woodsman...or had the Woodsman found her? [leave off this final line and end the chapter]

Dave reads next. Rewriting older manuscript.

Steven laughed out loud inside his car as he watched [could you name him so the pov shift is more natural down the page?] his prey walk into the jewelry store. This is going to be more fun than I thought. I get rid of this big ugly guy, then take his girlfriend as the spoils. He wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. He hated humidity, and here he was stuck in a small car in Knoxville. Even in the middle of October, the humidity was still bad until late afternoon. He looked back at the store, the big guy was still in there standing at the counter yakking with the clerk. Come on, how long does it take to pick out a stupid ring? He turned the key in the ignition and turned the air conditioning on full blast. Steven re-checked his guns. He wanted to be sure there was plenty of tranquilizer darts for the girl. From what he’d been told, she was a feisty one and he didn’t want to deal with fighting her after possibly having to fight the big guy. A slight glint caught his eye. The first target was on the move. He came walking out of the store with a smile on his face and a small bag in his hand. Ugh. This guy’s got it real bad. Steven slipped the car into gear and followed him up S. Central street. He let out a groan when his target turned into a diner just a couple blocks later. He pulled the car over and left the engine running. Five minutes went by and Steven started banging his head on the steering wheel. He picked up his guns for the third time and started to get out when they both came bouncing out the door. Finally! He watched with baited breath as they walked down to a Suburban parked on the street. He smiled as he saw them climb in and pull into the light Thursday afternoon traffic. With shaking hands, he pulled out a few car lengths behind them. [these shifts in pov can be moments where readers get confused, and confused readers usually stop reading] Bruce swerved a little as he pulled into traffic, making Alexis laugh. “What’s up? Your arm still not healed up all the way?” “Nah, it’s fine, my hand just slipped a little.” He smiled sheepishly as he rubbed his left arm. It was still a little weak after being in a cast for six weeks.

...“Alrighty, I won’t be long.[this should be a coma]” S[this should be lower case s] he said as she walked away. Attributions are not capitalized. ...“Hmmm. Must have been a S[no cap]quirrel or something[coma and lower case s].” Said Bruce.

...Just a few minutes [Moments later--be concise] later, they were all [a]lone in their favorite spot, right next to the lake. The sun broke through the morning overcast and warmed them up a little as they set up their [little twice in same sentence--find a better adjective] little picnic.

I felt like the proposal scene was stalling a bit, then the brother assassin appeared. John suggested changing the girl's name so it wouldn't make readers think of chatting with cutting edge technology. Gunfire would have been heard by other hikers on the trail. Silencers maybe?

What We Write Matters Because Life Matters--Inkblots

Though we are few, a handful of 'Blots have gathered in Brookside cottage (one of our tiny house retreats) as Gillian has become our family librarian and is entirely reorganizing the Scriptorium, dusting all the shelves, establishing categories, bustling about making it bookish and charming.

Rachel will lead us off with her 1950s yarn. I love your intricate details of picking the lock. It can be challenging to figure out the best way to convey non-verbal sounds, hiccups and the like. How did you spell it? You do a good job of filling in details of posture and what the person is doing in the midst of dialogue. I wonder if this scene needs to be more tense, or are you aiming at humor rather than the shock of discovery as she rummages through his papers? She does show emotion afterward, but I felt like it was missing earlier when she was being discovered. Margaret and Daisy are the same person which is a bit confusing. How is Daisy going to be pressured to change? Rachel's protagonist is trying to figure our her place, find her wings, discover who she is. I suggested creating longing for everything to be right, for the problem to be solved (without solving it entirety). Give the reader hope that things do not have to be this way, broken, dysfunctional, without resolution.

Alisa reads the opening pages of The Emblem (again, which Alisa pushed back on reading to us). Alisa wrote the first draft in 2010. This is a book set in the 1930s exploring the tensions between white minors in Washington State and black minority laborers. You write narrative so well, but I would like to hear more dialogue in the opening chapter. I love the scene with his little girl. Ordering up a whiskey. I wonder if there is a more colloquial way of saying this in the 1930s. I wonder if you could start with this dialogue and weave in the back story narrative in between the talk. Readers love listening in to others talking, like eavesdropping. There's a sort of conspiratorial emotion for the reader when we do this, in my opinion. Connections of the soul. Compelling love story. She wants her main character(s) to be more intriguing. I'm reading the entire manuscript in the next days.

John doesn't want to read. He is smarting after another critique. We understand at 'Blots. You're in good company. Read! He gave us permission to interrupt him when we don't like something. I think you need to abbreviate the dialogue. "I can't!" rather than, "I just don't think I can do this." Suddenly she threw up. Is there another way to convey this? Alisa has given birth, and interjects. They would clean her up right away, not leaving her in her vomit. Rachel asked what John is trying to say with the birthing scene? He wants it to be realistic. The story is all about a baby that was almost aborted. He is trying to show the difficulty. Rachel feels like there needs to be a reprieve after the anguish. Alisa feels like it needs to be tightened, condensed, and that's what Mother Bond wanted too, tighten the scene, make it move more quickly. What I am hearing is, less is more. Don't overwrite the birthing scene. We all seemed to agree that the baby's name Grace should not be named after the mom's name. We want to hear Grace for the first time in the final line of the book. We talked about abortion, about the NY Governor Cuomo Herod law, about the rhetoric of toxic-masculinity, identity politics and whether it will produce men who will give their lives for others, or will it backfire and produce more selfishness and boorish pride as men simmer under the dictates of the left to act more like women. 

Some writers don't take Christmas off

Four Blots on a blustery power-outage winter evening, the moon now shining brightly, clouds scudding furiously across its path, John begins, his designated reader Rachel leading off.

California writers, join me at the Christian Writers Seminar

John's book set in Russia, Violetta, is the result of his arduous research interviewing Russian immigrants who worked at the hospital John retired from three years ago (and came to work for me on the farm, what a blessing!). He fills in about the fascinating stories that he learned, sort of Solzhenitsyn-esque, gathering the stories of all Russians whose families lived the oppressions of the past, only John did not have to "write" them down using improvised prayer beads made from pieces of bread and mud. Rachel tells us about the museums and concerts she just visited in Berlin, including the new spy museum. Got to see that one. She took her four year old to see Rembrandt, and to Mozart's Requiem, Mendelssohn's Elijah, she wept through them all. WE talked briefly about historical research for writing, one of my topics at Fresno Pacific University February 9, 2019 at the Christian Writers Seminar.

Rachel reads on. Lenin, Bolshevik Revolution, 1917 era. How do you explain foreign language expressions in your writing? Footnotes are a bad idea in fiction, in my opinion. It is best to weave in understanding incrementally, but avoid doing so by explanatory narrative: This means in French... or which means... These are not the ways to weave in meaning and understanding naturally. Soot had darkened...  Instead of the beams were darkened by the soot, which is passive voice description, slows the pace, makes writing less vigorous. When you write about inanimate things, keep the doer of the action as the subject of your description--the soot was the cause of the blackness. I wonder if Collette in third person is a bit pedantic sounding. Can you give her more life, more authenticity?

Sydney up next (
her text with my capital letter comments): The Archbishop stood before us. Here was the man I was commanded by the king to protect. Here was the man who, in his turn, had protected the one upon whom Haldor wished death, who had protected the offspring of that brutish murderer, who had protected with all the powers of his life the person who had sucked the last of his dying mother’s. Here was the man who had raised as a father one who should never have been a son; who had sanctioned the final, destructive piece on my existence; who ​knew, who knew all and kept it hidden, hidden — oh the irony — to protect he whom had destroyed from the bare knowledge that he had destroyed it. Here was the man of God who said: At last, by my choice, a man shall not reap what he has sown.  This man was smiling. He had a tall, slender figure, bent forward beneath a white robe. His brow was coarse and grey, passing in thin lines above his eyes, which beamed from the old, pale face as paint  come alive upon dry parchment. His eyes were young. They seemed to glisten, and in any other person the glistening would have seemed as tears, but in this man, that thought would have been mistaken. It was joy, somehow, joy that glistened. Vibrancy. Life. One was not used to seeing such life in eyes. I CAN SEE AND FELL THIS From the draping sleeve of his robe a hand was extended in greeting, as thin and fragile as a bird’s claw.  “Father Alphege, you’re alive,” Finn said, grasping the hand in his own dirt-besmeared one, and pressing it with such a strange mixture of vibrant admiration and timid self-restraint, that I would perhaps have found it amusing under other circumstances. As it was, I turned my full attention upon the fragile man, who seemed larger within than without, and said nothing. GOOD DESCRIPTION OF SUBTLE CHARACTERISTICS  The thin lips had passed again into a smile. “Very much so, Finn.” The Archbishop glanced over the two of us, his eyes were laughing in a way, like Finn’s but the laughter was different — soft, knowing, as if the knowing too much had made them gentle.  “Are you well? Is this man wounded?” he asked, looking at me.  “Very much so.” The Archbishop opened the door wider, and I believed he would have done the same before a wounded Dane, if one had so appeared at his door.  “You are of course welcome here.” He gestured us within, and his keen, blue eyes peered out into the fog across the forest in the direction of the city. “God help them,” he said as he shut the door, and something in his tone made me uncertain if he spoke of those in the city who were helpless victims, or those Danes who might even now be killing them. Perhaps he spoke of both, and neither one over the other. I could not tell. It aggravated me that I could not tell. GOOD INTENTIONAL NUANCE OF UNDERSTANDING He led us into a tall room, lined with the same rough-hewn timbers I had seen scarring the face of the outside. There was little light, but a fire burned in the grate over which a small pot was simmering, though with what it was filled I could not see. A stack of bowls sat at the hearth, and directly across the room was a small, wooden table, on top of which lay a steaming bowl of water and three rolls of bandages.  “Gustav put these out PLACE ATTRIBUTION HERE in case there should be need of them while he was gone,” the Archbishop said. The unassuming manner in which he said the name struck me with a cold wash of anger. Did one whisper the word ​asp after it struck you? Did the Archbishop act to all the world as he acted before us now — as if nothing belonged more to this life than the one person I knew never should have been born. I closed my eyes and felt the blood ooze once more beneath the cracking scab on my forehead, as my brows furrowed, my head pounding in the darkness behind my lids.  “May I see your injuries?” THIS SHOULD BE A CAPITAL T, AS IT IS NOT TECHNICALLY AN ATTRIBUTION the Archbishop’s voice lifted beside me. I opened my eyes. He was standing quite near, his eyes fixed with a quiet expression upon my face. Finn had seated himself upon a chair, watching.  “No,” the word fell flat into the air, as if my tongue had dropped it. I heard the silence, and Finn shifted in his chair.  “They may require attention.”  “I am only hungry,” I said, gripping the back of the empty chair at my side. I half-turned and felt Finn’s eyes boring into the side of my head as I fell into the seat. “I would be grateful for a bowl of what is over that fire,” I added, and would not meet Finn’s eyes.  I heard the Archbishop step away, the crack of the pot as the lid lifted and the smell of beef wafted with AMIDST, MAYBE the smoke and wet steam into the room.  “Are you hungry, Finn?” the Archbishop asked, and I heard the clicking of the bowls as he lifted them from the stack near the hearth.
“Am I ever not?” There was tension beneath the grin of Finn’s voice.  The Archbishop straightened and turned, his footsteps sounded again across the floor. I I felt Finn’s gaze turn and I looked up. He was watching the bowls approaching in the grasp of the frail fingers, as the steam rose from them and the faint aroma gave all its promises of comfort and warmth. The grin was still playing about his lips, more genuine now, and a glint of eagerness shown in his eyes.  “Are you quite well, Father Alphege?” Finn asked, taking the bowl and dipping his ladle with relish. The Archbishop placed the other in front of me. “No harm has befallen you or the LOWER CASE WHEN YOU USE AN ARTICLE Cathedral it seems, and praise Heaven for that!” “No harm whatever, Finn. We are all quite well.” The Archbishop seated himself beside me, drawing in his chair before his own bowl of stew. He paused, lifted his eyes to Heaven, and the made the sign of the Cross. I felt my body stiffen upon the chair. I refused to look at him. “And Gustav?” Finn asked. I could feel his gaze. “Occupies the library like his lifeblood is the ink from the manuscripts,” the Archbishop smiled. “He has always been a clever lad, but this last year he has shown great progress in his work, and has been able to THIS IS A SPLIT INFINITIVE VERB, TO SHOULD GO WITH HELP, TO HELP most effectively help me in my own.” “The last time I was here, he spoke in admiration of the king’s army,” Finn said. “Does he ever think of joining us, of fighting against the Danes?” Everything in my body throbbed and I felt my muscles tighten, my fingers curl and grip into the palms of my hands, my jaw clench beneath the dried blood upon my face. I could feel Finn watching me still.  “No,” the Archbishop said. “He does not. He is determined to serve in a different manner.” “I trust him to do that,” Finn breathed. “I would trust him — with my life —” Something in his tone forced me to look up. Our eyes met across the table.  “Where is he now?” Finn asked.  “He and Raul have gone into the city. The areas where the fighting has deserted the wounded still lie. Those who are well enough, they will bring here, but the rest they will tend to as best they can in the street, and pray God’s mercy upon them.”  “I should be with them,” Finn said, and he began to rise to his feet. He stopped suddenly, ran a hand through his hair and glanced at me. “Not forsake one friend for the sake of the other,” he mumbled, then collapsed upon the chair and pulled it up to the table, his brows knitting across his face.  “When you go, I am going with you,” I said. Finn looked at me, aghast.  “By no means beneath heaven,” he said, “will that be the case. You’re being too wounded to be out there is precisely the reason we are stuck within these walls this very moment.” “I need to see him, Finn.”  “Gustav?” “Yes.” “Do you?” There was a moment of silence, during which I could feel his breath falling heavy between us. The Archbishop leaned forward and turned to me, his eyes full of a gentle command. “Do you know my son?”  The quiet words slammed into my skull with a violence to which the gentle tone seemed only to add. As frail fingers behind a sharpened knife, as the smile lingers below the threat, as the laugh is the voice of a mockery, GOOD USE OF COMPOUND SIMILES so the words fell upon my ears, permeated my skull, whirled with the memories within, the flashes from the night, the desecrated life, the anguish which had fallen because this parasite upon the universe — he whom the Archbishop called son — had a father who could not even be boasted of by a demon in Hell. I did not remember rising to his feet, yet here I was, swaying upon the floor, my feet gnawing to keep their hold in the earth but all the world seemed to toss around me, and I did not even know to care.  “I think so,” Finn was saying, rising to his feet as well, uncertain, one hand still upon the table where he was gripping his ladle, the scars on his knuckles shining white beneath the dirt and blood. “They met...years ago…” the words trailed off.

Rachel asked what the big picture of this story is. Haldor discovers that his brother is alive, Gustav and Dane are captured, Raul. Two parallel yarns, interwoven. Anglo-Saxon England setting. Resolution between brothers at odds.

Being a Writer--Is It Worth It? Inkblots

"[Writing] holds all the hope there is." EB White

Stormy Pacific Northwest day, heavy rain, dark and gray, power outages in region, brown-outs here--a good day to hunker down, drink tea, and write. Six Blots braving the dark and bluster for two hours of vigorous literary time together. It was well worth it.

Hear what the collaborator/refiner of Elements of Style wrote about being a writer: "I’m glad to report that even now, at this late day, a blank sheet of paper holds the greatest excitement there is for me—more promising than a silver cloud, prettier than a little red wagon. It holds all the hope there is, all fears. I can remember, really quite distinctly, looking a sheet of paper square in the eyes when I was seven or eight years old and thinking, ‘This is where I belong, this is it.'" E. B. White

Does your writing journey concur with White's? This is not my testimony. My first book was published when I was forty. Sydney concurred with E. B. White. None of us were surprised at that bit of intelligence. But what about his words, writing "holds all the hope there is"? If not hyperbole, it is very sad, indeed, when my hope is in any work I do with my own hands, mind, imagination. I do agree about the fear part, though. If you write, you will fail, and there will be a lineup of critics to inform you and the rest of the world about your failure, real or perceived. Is it worth it?

Rachel Ng leads off with her 1941 yarn, just as the US entered WWII. She feels like she's made major progress. How? By consistency. Getting up and going to work, writing work. Daisy Bishop... saucy, pendulum rhythm. I like it. I agree, your dialogue is lively, realistic. And you are still giving it layers with description of people and inner worries. I wonder how much is gained by nearly identical uniforms; just identical uniforms, but even that is redundant, uniforms being already identical wear. What are you actually wanting to feature in this description? I feel like the closer connection with Walter the lieutenant and Daisy your female protagonist happened too suddenly. Maybe I missed something. Is quality control too modern a phrase for the historical period? We discussed for some time the age of Daisy for 1941. Seventeen would not have been too young for marriage. I suggested that Rachel make her 15. Rachel H suggested 16 to avoid the modern creep factor, which would not have been there in those days. My mother in law was married when she was 16, 60 years ago.

Sydney up next. Picked up after Fynn was dragged out of the prison. Far better fate than God, or god is it? I want you to come back to this in other places and have this be a doctrine that gets revised as the story unfolds. Almost, pain in the word almost. I think the first person is working so well for Sydney in this sobering tale. I want to suggest that you break up lengthier passages of dialogue with more natural interjections, as in human conversation, where people interject, if not interrupt. The best dialogue is like a relay race, the baton passing smoothly, logically, fluidly from one speaker to the other. Dialogue is the place for sentence fragments, and filling in the blank from one speaker to the next. I love Sydney's as ifs. Especially with the descriptions of the crosses in the cemetery. And the door opened. Intrigue in every dependent clause. Rhythm and cadence in the prose, Rachel H commented, poetic feeling prose. Cheyenne liked the transition from the last chapter, grim array of crosses and death, to this chapter. Sydney was able to outline forward, plot the future of the story. 

Cheyenne wrote this yesterday and feels like this passage needs help. Brave soul. Chapter 13 of book 2. She revised this based on input that it leapt too much, not enough character development and setting development. Historical fantasy, medieval Japan-esque. Other worlder, more goes on than you know. Quiet stillness of the air. Is this a redundancy? What feature of the atmosphere are you wanting to share with your reader here? Cheyenne has her protagonist ask internal questions, inner conflict. This only works in first person point of view, one of the strengths of this pov. Faces, faces. I feel like this might be too internal. John liked the part about the dreams. Sydney had read this before the dream was included. Alisa thought the pace was good, but she had a couple of ideas. Oblivion, could she actually answer some of her questions. Should she remember more of the cause of the dream? Cheyenne wrote about her protagonist's remembering of the dream, and Sydney thought that she should have more vivid recollections of the specific details. The questions she is asking will be answered as the plot unfolds. Rachel H suggested that there be eyes or a ring or something that symbolizes the dream or the conflict of the dream. 

Alisa finishes us up for this evening, reading from The Emblem, forthcoming in 2019. Nobody I know is as thorough and persistent as Alisa. she has the drive and work ethic of a master storyteller. It shows in her work. Chapter 3, Callie ran all the way home, working for the Burke family. Could she remember her father's injury more graphically, or more immediately, as in how he walks now, or how he winces with the weather changes? Something that makes her sadness about her father's injury have a more tangible feel for the reader. I thought you handled Sam's answer so well. And her longing for her father to have more of Sam's attitude about his injury and work in the mines as the years pass and aging makes the hard labor harder. Mt Pisgah Presbyterian, is this a real church in Roslyn? FDR's fireside chats--could you have a brief excerpt he was hearing, crackling from the radio on the sideboard, maybe? This is powerful, seeing a man declining in health and age, the verve dwindling. Five perspectives. Press on. Looking forward to reading the whole book.

There are going to be a number of remarkable writers, there are already, coming from this fine group of people sitting around the Scriptorium this evening. 

This just received from a post-publication reviewer of my newest release: "The Resistance is quite a work. I read it in one sitting--all the way through. You have an extraordinary ability to capture the nature of minds at war. All the ambiguities. All the inhumanities. All the stress of war and flying in it, and the camaraderie of those aircrews. The sense of responsibility in Evans is brilliant throughout." Marvin Padgett, Executive Director of Great Commissions Publications 

My host, Richard L. Pike on my speaking time in Western Australia in September, turns out to be a remarkable C. S. Lewis look alike and sound alike. Here's one of the clips I did of him reading a segment heard by the French Resistance in The Resistance: 

Special 2-book bundle of my War in the Wasteland and newest release, The Resistance at bondbooks.net. CS Lewis plays a significant role in both books, though more subtle in The Resistance. He is antagonist in the WWI yarn and "the voice of faith" on the BBC broadcasts heard by the French Resistance in my newest. 

Thanksgiving discount ends soon bondbooks.net

Inkblots on a stormy, blustery evening after a day of barrels of rain. We sat around talking about books and publishing, typesetting, and copy editing. And other things. Most folks don't have anything immediately to read. So we talked about setting goals. And went around the room discussing plans for the future, and setting goals for our next gathering.

I "finished" the film script I have been commissioned to write today. When they first approached me I declined to take it on as I was too busy with other writing and speaking projects. So the arrangement is that they would present me with a draft of the script and I would then revise and rewrite it to my satisfaction. As I have been doing so, I have been reminded of this observations. “Imaginary evil is romantic and varied; real evil is gloomy, monotonous, barren, boring. Imaginary good is boring; real good is always new, marvelous, intoxicating” (Simone Weil). Hollywood usually settles for imaginary evil, and, hence, so often portrays sin as romantic and varied. Rarely does the film industry take off the mask and portray real evil for what it is: gloomy, monotonous, barren, and boring. On the contrary.

We discussed the role of copy editors. What is the role of the copy editor? Are they your friend or your adversary? Writers all need another set of eyes to help us see where we are being inconsistent or inaccurate. Sydney is enjoying doing copy editing and writing for website content for some new clients. Editors are not infallible but they are indispensable, in my opinion. Cheyenne has a copy editor that has told her to divide her first volume into two volumes and add a third for a trilogy.

Let's set some goals for two weeks from now. I am going to write my article for Modern Reformation and at least one of the hymns I have brainstormed shaped into the real deal. Rachel Ng is going to continue writing on her 1950s yarn. I recommended creating a rough table of contents with expanded ideas in parentheses for projected content in each chapters. Though you will always be changing and revising, doing this gives you a place to put ideas in some degree of order and establishes a map for where you are going. Sydney is going to continue writing on her weighty yarn, getting more forward direction and planning in place. Cheyenne has divided the first volume with a cliff hanger ending of the first, second starts at the same scene. 

Cheyenne reads from the beginning of the second volume. It seemed, may not be the best opening sentence of the book. Then again, "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times..." Nevertheless, though Dickens pulled off an unforgettable opening paragraph starting with It, I would consider a more concrete beginning. But the description gets pretty riveting after that. It is grim. Axe in the back, and specifics of sound and sight at the gruesome scene. Cheyenne is writing well in first person. I think you need to bring readers back into the scene for the beginning of a new book. It's easy to overdo this and over write, tell too much from the past book and back story. But without reacquainting your readers with the characters and placing them back in the grim setting it seems abrupt and lacking in context. Giles and I were just talking last evening about series and trilogies (he wants me to write a Civil War story that continues the M'Kethe clan, as P&R and I have discussed for several years). His theory is that in trilogies each book should end in a cliff hanger. I have written my trilogies more with the idea that each book could stand alone, be a complete and satisfying story, but more to experience by reading all and in order. There is a measure of wisdom in seeking a publisher for the whole trilogy, as publishers do like to publish series. John pointed out that at a burial scene he thought characters should be more soberly thinking about death and what happens after death. 

John will read the first chapter of Violetta and work on continuing the yarn. I am begging to copy edit his Saving Grace contemporary novel this week.

Don't miss out on the special Thanksgiving season discount on my April Oxford Creative Writing Master Class; it expires November 30, only a few days away. Comment or email me right away and reserve your place for the next Oxford Creative Writing Master Class, which one OCWMC grad said was “...above and beyond my wildest dreams. I learned so much about writing, history, theology. It has truly changed my life.” Go to bondbooks.net, check out the OCWMC page under tours, and contact me before the big Thanksgiving discount expires November 30.

HISTORICAL DEMENTIA AND BARBARISM, by Douglas Bond

The high cultural pricetag on forgetfulness

I hope you never have to experience the blank expression of a loved one who no longer knows you, has no memory of who you are. My father-in-law died a few months ago from Alzheimer’s, a disease that tragically robs an individual of their ability to remember. As yet, there is no cure. But there is a cure for the particular kind of collective memory loss from which we as Americans are suffering—the loss of memory of our history. We resent reminders of our memory lapses. It’s easier simply to revise history so that it accords with, rather than challenges, our new ideas.

We’re inclined to roll our eyes when we hear the maxim, “Those who will not learn from history are bound to repeat it.” Yet, when forgotten, that same history relentlessly demonstrates that we inevitably repeat the most horrific parts of it. “One of the most dangerous errors,” wrote C. S. Lewis, “is that civilization is automatically bound to increase and spread. The lesson of history is the opposite; civilization is a rarity, attained with difficulty and easily lost. The normal state of humanity is barbarism.”

THE CURE FOR BARBARISM

Allow me to propose an antidote to this dangerous error caused by our memory loss. The cure begins by pausing and stepping out of the frenzy and tyranny of the here-and-now. Only then can we begin to learn the lessons of history.

Winter is coming on. Curl up with a cup of tea, a favorite sweater—and a good book on WWI or WWII. Immerse yourself in the prodigious and difficult deeds accomplished to preserve freedom and that rare thing: civilization.

Another excellent way to do that is with the new documentary film The Girl Who Wore Freedom. It tells the story of five-year-oldDanielle Patrix who fell asleep June 5, 1944 in enemy-occupied Normandy and awoke the next morning to the thrilling sounds of liberation—and to kindness from American troops. The Allied forces had landed to free her at last from the jack-booted heel of the National Socialist (Nazis) German Wehrmacht.

The well-crafted story unfolds as Danielle Patrix tells of the profound gratitude that her people in Normandy feel to this day for the sacrifices our Allied soldiers made—for many, the ultimate sacrifice—spilling their blood on the beaches of Normandy so she and her people could be free from tyranny. “Freedom is not free,” one of the eyewitnesses of liberation declares. “We have to keep the memory alive.” Every generation must remember the cost of freedom, that it is, as Lewis put it, “attained with difficulty and easily lost.”

Title character Danielle Patrix, the girl who wore freedom, is determined to keep that memory alive. In a 1945 photograph, Danielle wears a dress her mother made her from an American parachute, gratefully colored in red, white, and blue, and decorated with stars and stripes. Alas, some careless Americans, forgetful of the past, have a historical dementia so complete, they tear down those stars and stripes and set it on fire. But not Danielle who wore freedom, not her friends in Normandy who remember.

MEMORY AND GRATITUDE

Patriotically cliché as it sounds to some, it’s all true. Though some parts of France have the reputation of being less than friendly toward Americans, there are few places on the planet where Americans are so welcomed and appreciated as Normandy. I was reminded once again of their gratitude last June while leading a historical tour that included Normandy; I’ve observed this many times since the first tour I led there twenty years ago. “We have to thank them—forever,” said an appreciative French woman of the Allies who gave all to free her country from oppression.

Why is it so important that we avoid the dangerous error and remember our history? “We need an intimate knowledge of the past,” wrote C. S. Lewis, “not because the past has anything magic about it, but to remind us that the basic assumptions have been quite different in different periods.” Lewis urges us to avoid the mere “temporary fashion” of current ideas and goes on to argue that being perpetual students of our history will in some measure make us “immune from the great cataract of nonsense that pours from the press and the microphone of [our] own age.”

Teen age 2/Lt C. S. Lewis fought and was wounded in WWI, and he became “the voice of faith” for his Broadcast Talks on BBC radio in WWII. I’m convinced that if Lewis were alive today he might very well agree that The Girl Who Wore Freedom is an important way of learning from history, keeping memory alive, and holding off barbarism.

Douglas Bond is a leader of historical tours and author of a number of successful books, including War in the Wasteland, set in 2/Lt C. S. Lewis’ WWI platoon, and his latest book The Resistance, set in WWII Normandy. Learn more at bondbooks.net

Your Writing Reveals What You Value Most--INKBLOTS

Join me in Oxford for the writing time of your life

Six 'Blots this chilly evening, fall inching toward winter with most of the leaves crunching underfoot on the ground, and frost on the pumpkin in the morning. One of our dogs killed a possum trying to get at our chicken girls in the night, Giles and I armed to the teeth coming in after the kill. Coyote bait. By the way, I invite you to subscribe to my youtube channel where I am making video versions of The Scriptorium, my podcast on literature and writing, theology and history, aesthetics and life https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCHyc37G1dTip2bnznLhc6hA?view_as=subscriber.

I lead off reading this piece then talking about our axiology as writers, what is most important to us, what do we believe most foundationally, what do we believe is true? "If religious books are not widely circulated among the masses in this country, I do not know what is going to become of us as a nation. If truth be not diffused, error will be: if God and his Word are not known and received, the devil and his works will gain the ascendancy; if the evangelical volume does not reach every hamlet, the pages of corrupt and licentious literature will; if the power of the Gospel is not felt throughout the length and breadth of the land, anarchy and misrule, degradation and misery, corruption and darkness, will reign without mitigation or end" 
(Daniel Webster, 1823). We talked about how we are impacting our readers with good or evil, nothing neutral or middle way.
John leads off reading two versions of the synopsis for Saving Grace, his important contemporary novel exposing the evils of abortion and celebrating life. Why are synopsis so important? Firstly, a reading service or publisher needs to know what the book is about in a brief moment. Plan on two degrees of synopsis: 50 word, 150 word. Secondly, the synopsis is the first demonstration of the author's writing ability (this underscores the critical role of the cover letter as well), so write at the absolute top of your game. Think of it as the sonnet to the full play. Shakespeare explored some of the same themes in 140 syllables that he explored in 20,000 words. The synopsis is the sonnet. Thirdly, the synopsis helps the writer assess his own book. If you can't write a synopsis that makes sense, that works, there are likely problems with the book itself (this may also be why we are reluctant to write the synopsis in the first place). Lastly, the synopsis ought to create tension and a need to read/ Think of it as the hook that compells someone to take up and read (first, to buy the book).

Alisa felt like John maybe gave too much away in the synopsis, for example, mentioning the suicidal thoughts she did not feel needed to be in the synopsis. Sydney thought that the unplanned pregnancy clarity in the synopsis is important as so many young women in our world have, or know someone who has, experienced this personally.

Hannah K gave us a summary of her 6,000 word short story that just emerged from reading about Switzerland. Set in 1994, in Western Washington. Her mother's dark blue eyes darted to the rear view mirror, when she replied to her daughter. Pronoun antecedent problem. I liked your inflections as you read. Clearly you are enjoying your characters, which is infectious. Be careful of too much chit-chat exchange at greeting another character. Readers are able to compress light exchanges so we don't need to write all of the hi, how are you, I'm fine, and you, material. This is interesting everyday feeling material, read well, cohesive. But I do wonder where you are going. Are you laying down intentional character development that will make sense when you get to the end of the story? I'm new here. Your dialogue has an authenticity that is enjoyable. You captured our attention and interest. I really wanted to know about the Woodsman, who he was, is he real, is he scary? Give us some rumor and speculation about villainous deeds he has done. A place where you feel like you read it aloud completely wrong is a place to go back and look more closely at what you did write. Was there a lack of clarity? Try cutting out any unnecessary words. Any word that does not have real work to do, kill it. Sydney felt the dialogue sounded natural and the little kids, difficult to do in fiction, came off well. The arsonist story being told seemed lacking in set up. Maybe the character needs to be developed so that the arsonist story fits better.

Dave Killian picks up on his sequel to his futuristic American yarn. It was futuristic three years ago when Dave started it but has come into alignment pretty close to where the world has gone now, not quite, but close. Cory simply said, we have a problem. You don't need simply; kill adverbs. The aggression happened too suddenly, it seemed to my ear. Maybe I haven't been in enough barroom brawls (mine have been brawls of words far more than of fists, at least since I was in about sixth grade when I got beat to a pulp defending my big sister against two older boys who I thought were being inappropriate toward her, or so I want to remember it). Dave explained afterward that this was just a reminiscence of a brawl not the actual one. More clarity there will help reader. Someone like you, a good book title maybe. I like the idea of having an unlikely fellow be fluent in Latin and not fit the stereotype of your average hick.

Sydney continues reading her weighty epic now in first person. I appreciate how Sydney sets us up for looking for things she's not sure are working quite the way she hopes. Monk is not dead but unconscious. Immediate feel now in first person, its happening to me, so it feels, almost. Such a time, such a place, such a.... Not a problem, just noticing the repetition, effective repetition. The dialogue, the thoughts, the narrative, woven like a medieval Arras tapestry by a master craftsman. Sydney reads with such care to cadence and the weight of her words, intriguing. I appreciate how you don't feel like you have to use coma conjunction structure, just coma. It gives a sense of rawness, grasping for phrases that alone can express what must be expressed. I feel that your characters are developing their own unique voice in the unfolding story. And you are feeling less need for traditional attribution as a result, yet we know who is speaking. The clipped simple sentence is so effective. Above all, Sydney writes such lyric prose that we find it beautiful to listen to, as if it is a form of music, but we all agreed we had less visual sense of the setting. Without losing the lyric quality of the narrative, consider giving the reader touch points of visual description. We do need to breathe. John points out that it's almost like you can't keep up with it. And consider giving your reader a lighter exchange, a mildly humorous brief episode for a reprieve from the high emotional tension of the story. Look up, look down, look under. Maybe there's a little creature that can become your lighter touch, be the symbol of ordinariness, comic relief, suspend the weight for an instant, and use throughout (a bird, a mouse, a cat--I don't know but something along those lines comes to mind).

I read the blog article I was asked to write on the importance of remembering and learning the lessons of history for the forthcoming documentary THE GIRL WHO WORE FREEDOM. I'll post the article here next week. Preorder my imminently forthcoming WWII historical fiction The Resistance.

Happy writers! Join me for the next OCWMC in Oxford

Our writing group Inkblots has been hitting and missing, what with my travel schedule and everyone else's busy lives too. But here we are.

Sydney leads off with a continuation of her previous reading. Seeking more mystery, dream-like, not a good guy or bad guy, reacting character. She wonders if she should rewrite from another character's perspective. Haldor, archbishop, abbot. There is a great deal of mysterious feel to this, intrigue. Character reluctant to turn when another person enters the public house. There is a tortured memory of someone recently dying. Sydney's narrative is intensely intriguing, weighty, epic-feeling,  maybe even dark. Asmon arrests in the name of the king. Evocative description that seems very much to matter, not merely dangling description as an end in itself, but then again, I find myself drawn in by the description but not sure what is happening to whom. What she describes in the trees and the forest, the prison, the cathedral, the plain--all seems to be painting the world that encircles her characters. There is also a lyric character to Sydney's writing, prose that reads almost like poetry. I do think that the movement of characters and what concerns them, what they are doing, is almost subsumed in the rich, vivid, layered description of the cathedral. It does seem like the atmosphere, the mystery is almost more important than your characters. Haldor sees his mother's grave again. We're done here, seemed to me to be out of step with the high-register verbiage of the rest of the narrative, too informal, modern-world. The stabbing scene came out of context to my ear. I was not quite clear what was happening, though I was caught up in the narrative so remained intrigued.

Cheyenne has read this manuscript on the page and felt that it was much clearer when reading than when just listening. We seemed to agree that she should stick with Haldor's perspective.

Cheyenne decided to reread the same chapter that she read last time she was with us, a very good idea. She hired an editor, who asked her if she was willing to put in lots of hours in rewriting and revision. A good question. That's just good writing: rewrite, rewrite, rewrite. Sci-fi, sort of medieval Japan-esque setting. Her editor read both versions and encouraged Cheyenne to press on. First-person pov, interacting with Amanda. Juliette is our main character. I thought the description of the sun dappled on the ground was going to be a pleasant description, but then you began to describe excessive heat, discomfort. Several of your throw-away comments didn't work to my ear, not sure what you were accomplishing with them. Character development? Transitional material? I found the terror, fear for her life, death imminent, falling (but I was not sure what had gone wrong, what was happening that made her fear imminent death), was abrupt, especially after the casual tone of the earlier part of the chapter. Good skydiving metaphor. Falling... And she left us mid-fall.

John felt the falling through the roots was abrupt, confusing. Sydney commented that the story reminded her of Aslan saying that people always get what they want but they don't always like it.

Argh, I had to run pick up my daughter, so stepped out and missed some of the critique. John read from Saving Grace and received valuable help from the others.

I read from the second half of The Resistance.

PREVIOUS BLOTS:
Five Inkblots gathered in the Scriptorium this evening, beautiful sunset over the ridge, cows mooing, goats bawling, over the fence..

I was voted to read off first, not my usual. I read from the most recent finished chapter in The Resistance.

Rachel Ng reads from her 1940s era yarn. Rachel was concerned about too much dialog, her longest passage of all dialog ever written. I think it worked very well. It was so rooted in clothing, visual for the reader. Were there peticoats in the 40s? Celia is a paperdoll, someone you cannot touch. Rachel Haas and Alisa made far more comments, maybe because they are women and understand. We discussed how this passage appeals more to women than to men readers. That's okay but important for a writer to know. These are realities, like them or not, call them sexist or not, but male readers are a different kettle of fish. As the French say, vive la differance ! Rachel thinks of herself as a mole, burrowing through the holes of human emotion (her words). Rachel likes to write about Russian things, but claims she does not set out to do so. No Moscow DNA in her gene pool, not a drop.

Alisa asked us to pray that she will finish The Emblem this fall. 

Be Merciful to Readers and Kill Those Adverbs (do it aggressively, ruthlessly, mercilessly)--INKBLOTS

What are your favorite Twain-isms?

Sunday evening we had 78 people crammed into the Scriptorium for Reformation Then & Now, but this quiet evening for 'Blots we had six brave souls, fearless against the oncoming winter weather, dashing out in a lull of still benign autumn temperatures and little rain. John brought some vin du turpentine pays du tar concocted by a friend (I'd go with former friend, stuff'll embalm your innards).

Heroically (argh! an adverb creepingly elbowing in) launching in, Rachel Ng led off with her post WWII, Red Scare era yarn underway. Chapter two ten years later, the opening chapter being during the war when the couple first met. Rachel's command of words, and the images they conjure up, is delightful, and her oral reading has so much verve and energy. Dangled limply... isn't dangling by definition limply? Kill the adverb. Clever the way you use the German photographer in this post-war yarn. We asked Bob (since he would have lived through all that) how a German would be treated in the post-war era. He felt that this was Rachel writing in a more mature fashion, far fewer adjectives. He could close his eyes and see her bustling about her days work. Every word must have work to do for good writers. Do you need D-&@# several times in imperative sequence? What is your objective in doing so? I've been featuring the theme of how Christian writers portray evil and use language in their writing on my podcast The Scriptorium. In my writing, I have decided not to swear, or use excessive vulgar language, and certainly not to take the Lord's name in vain (there was at least one place where most would consider the language taking the Lord's name in vain). Poached from the post along with his two Pulitzers--you had fun with that alliteration.

John rereads the last chapter of Saving Grace, after multiple rewrites. The three keys to good writing are rewrite, rewrite, rewrite. There is a labor and delivery scene in this chapter, a difficult activity for a man to write about. We talked about using a visual icon at heads of chapters. More often seen in YA fiction than in an adult audience book. Consensus was that we like the changes John has read, especially adding Amazing Grace stanza. Very fitting.

Cheyenne read next from her dystopian Japanese-esque story. She uses Japanese names. Be careful with these, especially if they are difficult for readers to pronounce. You might try abbreviated versions of more complex names. You don't want to derail your reader every time they come across a difficult name. Another thought on names, avoid using names that begin with the same letter, also introducing confusion for readers as they get farther into the book and skim when they come to attributions. Vary first letters as a courtesy to your reader and to maintain forward, uninterrupted pace. Without over writing, you might consider describing with a simile how Japanese people's heads bob as they talk to you. Why didn't she need to answer. I feel like the money exchange and the employment needs more showing. The non verbals are cryptic and too hasty for the reader to get, but avoid overwriting it as you flesh it out. For example, your protagonist figures out he was more interested in an employee, but we don't see how she came to that conclusion. Show her sarcastic attitude with body language, facial expression, gesture. Was a little muted--just muted. Show them chewing and swallowing and spearing meat with their chopsticks, silence revealing except for grunts of satisfaction, pleasure, lips smacking, chopsticks clicking and scraping on bowls. What to describe with more development and what to state and move on. What is essential to character (especially protagonist) development and moves the plot forward needs more description.

Sydney rewrote the same chapter she read last 'Blots but changed to first person point of view. My first impression is that first person his more vigorous, immediate, and evocative. Sydney reads so well, with intensity, clarity, inflecting appropriately for the narrative and the dialogue. Though so far there is little dialogue.When this is picked up by a giddy publisher someday, Sydney needs to do author-read audio book version. The comparison of his mother's death and Christ's death long before. The thing that first person does for you so effectively is it fixes the concern we expressed last time you read. Description took over and your character was subsumed and subordinate to the description. Not anymore. And it's because you are seeing everything from the point of view of your protagonist. Cheyenne pointed out that there was less hearing and smelling. 

I read my final chapter in THE RESISTANCE, imminently forthcoming, off to press tomorrow. It was the second writing of the last chapter, the first version longer and tying up more loose ends--too many. This leaves the reader wanting more, I feel. It is romantic but I hope not mushy. You can pre-order at a special rate at bondbooks.net

The Best Writers Seek Perspective From Other Writers--Inkblots

WWII French Resistance, downed B-17 flyer, SOE agent

Chit-chatted together, glad to be in the clean air of the Scriptorium, breath of fresh air from the BC smoke clogging lungs and breathing passageways throughout the region.

Inkblots this evening was an enactment of the importance of having other serious writers listen and critique what we are writing. I am a firm believer that every good writer needs this and will take pains to seek it out. That's what we did this evening. It cerainly helped me.

Rachel leads off with more cheese. Do we have a working title for this yarn? I gain weight listening to Rachel read this work in progress. I do hope when it is published (and the sooner the better) that Rachel Ng will immediately do an author-read audio book. This is evocative of a bustling kitchen in a high-cuisine restaurant in Russia. "I'm not a man for paperwork." Love this evasion. Makorov in hand. Can we hear rounds being chambered? Bob commented that to his ear there seemed to be too many adjectives in the opening paragraph. We had Rachel reread it. I liked it, but we do have to be careful of over modifying. Concrete nouns and active verbs, the stock and store of good writers. You might try dividing the compound complex sentence into two sentences. Rachel wanted to overwhelm the senses with the opening paragraph.

Alisa had a tough editor who she asked to help her with racial perspective that Alisa did not have, She will read The Emblem, set at the Brick Tavern, the oldest bar in Washington State. She warns us that there are many things going on in this scene. Too much? She warned us that there is swearing and they had prostitutes in Roslyn, Washington in 1930s mining frontier town. Not interested in the indulgences she might have to offer him. He had a wife and several kids back in Seattle. Be specific. How many kids, boys or girls? He recollects some specific thing about them. The son's illness is an important detail. They're beyond my pay. Could you say this in a more colloquial fashion? Doctor tests, they costs money, don't they? At the front of the Brick. Weather-worn miner who should not have come up from the underground today. Can you expand the tactile and sensory context? What does it smell like in the bar? Sound like? Is there music, oddly grinding out its merry tune while the brawl is underway? Slamming a beer mug onto the Douglas fir countertop. Alisa went to the pioneer picnic and learned that negroes in 1930 went to a different tavern. A friend thinks she needs to include backstory from the 1880s strike. We talked about ways to do this without losing the flow of the story. Create a narrator character who loves telling stories, and his good at it. Then flashback from their retelling of the past events.

French Cousins, John reads from his children's stories for his grandkids who have French cousins, his daughter having married a French pastor. This is a grandfather's labor of love, charming, nostalgic, a delightful read. Creative non-fiction genre. Very handsome indeed. Can you give this more specific visual substance so the reader can conclude that they're very handsome indeed. It seems like you jump from the south of France to Switzerland too quickly. Is it possible to create episodes in both so you don't have to describe France then switch to Switzerland. And honk her horn, is active voice, whereas, the horn would honk, is passive voice. Your writing will be more vigorous if you primarily write in active voice. Good description of cathedral and night sky. I feel like I'm hearing some late attribution; be sure the reader knows who is speaking early on in what they are saying; otherwise, the attribution is less helpful. Best way to do this is to break quotations early with a mid-sentence attribution. Amsterdam, a small town? This reads like a warm children's travel adventure. John does a good job of writing from the perspective of the children.

Bob reads from the second book in his Sinbad series. Last reading his protagonist is in India for the tenth anniversary of his coronation. This is a bridge chapter, the next having more adventure and potential danger. Bob writes from first person, Sinbad. Bob addresses the dear reader. Is there a better way to do this? Or is this Bob's voice and method, like CS Lewis does in Narnia, oral story telling genre? Bob claims to be lazy and that's why he likes writing journey stories. The yarn can unfold as it unfolds. I'm looking forward to this book in print. Read The Crescent and the Cross for the first installment. Adventures on the high seas await!

I read chapter nine of The Resistance (working title). I'm working on chapter twenty three now and feel like I have good forward momentum, though always far too many interruptions (cows on the loose, guests arriving, my not-so-latent ADHD, you name it). Chapter nine is a shift from French Resistance Normandy, downed flyers trying to stay one step ahead of the Waffen SS hunting them down, to 1 Dorset Square London where 1000s of SOE agents trained to go behind enemy lines and work alongside the French Resistance. I enjoyed creating this chapter. Maybe I should post it for a sneek preview.

Deep discounts on my next Oxford Creative Writing Master Class spring and summer 2019. Space is very limited. You will not regret going. But don't take my word for it. "I loved every minute of it! I learned more about writing and history than I ever could have expected. You gave me literary tools which I am already using and will continue to use. It was a wonderful tour, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!" (Cheyanne). Check it out at bondbooks.net