How I (Don't) Brainstorm

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At the end of the [very good] 2006 film "Miss Potter," Beatrix Potter (Renee Zellweger) notes, "There's something delicious about writing those first few words of a story. You can never quite tell where they will take you."  Personally, the first few words are never my favorite part of the writing process; I don't like not knowing where I'm headed.  I like the uncertainty about just how the path forward is going to shape up, and I love the way the flow of any given scene may take me away from what I originally intended or may present me with some new aspect I hadn't recognized before.  In that sense, I'm 100% behind Miss Potter (only I don't think she ever really said that; it still makes for a great quote).

Overall, though, I like to have a pretty clear idea of the plot and its main markers -- something a little more concrete than just a vague idea that This is Where We Start and This is How It Ends, although in some cases I'd be happy even to have those two things laid out.  It's frustrating to feel bewildered by your own story, uncertain how to make it all work.  Hitting a roadblock on the way from Point A to Point B is bad enough, but feeling like there's a massive pothole (or two or three) that you can't seem to bridge and being unable to progress until you do bridge it (or them) is even more frustrating.  The same goes for a vague story idea of which you have one or two elements, maybe a handful of characters, and...basically nothing else.  This is when writers start to talk about "brainstorming."  Sometimes they even talk about sitting down and brainstorming.

Confession time: I've never really figured out how this whole brainstorming thing works, and I am really, really bad at it.

I think best through the process of writing, and there have been a number of times when I have become so frustrated with a story idea for not taking shape or with huge plot questions for not resolving themselves that I have sat down with a pen and a notebook and tried to confront the problems head-on.  I wrote out the questions that had hitherto just been floating in my brain: Why don't the characters just resolve their problems by doing X?  (I've no idea.)  What is motivating this particular character?  (Don't know that, either.)  I know this character needs to be involved, but how?  To what purpose?  What even is going on here?  (Noooooo clue.)  The problem with this approach, I've found, is that I end up with a list of the questions that are bothering me and no answers.  Seriously, I've looked back at old lists from story ideas that are still embryonic and thought, "Yeah...  I still don't know what to do about that."

"Sitting down and brainstorming" is also generally ineffective, since unless I am in some way incapacitated, I don't like just sitting and doing nothing but thinking.  My mind also tends to drift, or to keep turning over the same questions again and again without producing viable answers; it's the same ineffective process as writing out the issues.  Pinterest is a nice idea for "gathering inspiration," but a) I don't ever use writing prompts, because they feel too inorganic; b) I'm very picky about which images fit the world of the story, so I rarely see things that just scream "Wordcrafter!" or "Tempus Regina!"; and c) pictures don't go very far toward inspiring me with words, anyhow.  At most they remind me of things I already love about the story.  They don't tend to help me moving forward.

I still haven't come up with a great way to plot, but generally the most effective course has been outlining.  I know I've already commented many times that I am a big fan of outlines, no matter what I'm writing; I charged into NaNoWriMo 2010* with nothing but the names of two characters and an idea that I'd be writing about the Barbary Wars, and while it turned out alright, it was not a pretty picture and I didn't like doing it.  Since then I've been a little smarter, or at least a little more conscious of my planner bent: Tempus Regina was still an extremely difficult book to begin writing, but I made sure I started with several pages' worth of outline; with Wordcrafter I thought I wouldn't need one, it being a rewrite, but I've revised my opinion on that in the last couple weeks.  (Translation: I was totally kidding myself.  I need outlines.  I need them so bad.)

Stumped by a number of points, unable to get resolution by writing out questions, I began by listing the plot points I was sure about in chronological order.  Then I started on an actual, handwritten outline, filling in the gaps between those plot points and forcing myself to put something down even if I wasn't positive about it.  This did lead to a number of question marks, but it also turned out to be useful on three fronts: it showed me that I actually have a clearer idea of where I'm going than I originally thought and reminded me of upcoming scenes I'm genuinely excited about; it got some clutter (useful clutter, but clutter) down on paper so that I will (hopefully) not forget it; and it forced me to make some choices in order to keep moving.  Just writing down questions presents me only with the things that have been frustrating me; it doesn't allow me to put those questions within the context of the whole plot, or to see the elements of the story that will actually hearten me.  Organizing all of my thoughts, on the other hand, lets me see the full story unfold -- even down to the minor elements of a scene I've already charted out in detail.  It's the short hand of writing the whole story, and I find that more thoughts come in that process of tracing the lineaments of the plot.  Even in outline form, the words can take you -- or at least they take me -- to unexpected places.

*Oh my word, how was it almost six years ago?  That's not possible.

Tell me about your plotting process!  How do you get past a roadblock in a story you're writing?  Do you ever get a story idea that just. won't. develop. properly., and how do you coax it forward?  I'm bad at it, so do tell!

Proof of Life: March Snippets

pinterest: wordcrafter

I can't actually write to music, for the most part, even though most folks I know have a hard time writing without music in the background to drive them on.  I think maybe the music fills up too much of my brain, especially when there are lyrics to distract me.  Still, that doesn't mean I'm not often inspired to write after hearing a particular piece of music.  Then I put on headphones and listen to the song on YouTube every now and then while writing in between.  Not the most efficient means of getting words down, but reminding myself of the piece of music helps keep a mood.

All that to say that I just got my brother two "Of Monsters and Men" albums for his birthday, and after hearing a couple of their newer songs, I've been playing them on YouTube and wanting to write.  (No, I didn't keep the CDs: they did get to their destination.)  I should be studying the American Revolution or Latin vocab, but the song "Human" obliged me to pull up Wordcrafter for a few minutes.  It's getting along in fits and starts: 110,000 words in now.  And heaven help me, I don't know how long the thing's going to be in the end.

I throw up my hands in despair.

march snippets

We sat in silence, the wind sighing around us like the tide on the shore, the flames crackling and snapping hungrily among the branches. Copper’s veil fluttered; the light shot through it and I saw her lips parted in something like yearning. Ethan had his arm on my shoulder still and as the shofar-call slipped away his fingers dug at my collarbone, the blood thudding urgently in their tips, dragging me along with him into the heady expectation: the ale seemed to have mounted, to swirl around and around and around inside my dizzy skull…

//

The water from the faucet shut off; the shower was still running. He returned to the threshold, and as I raised my eyes unwillingly from the figurine it struck me, almost comically, that with his razor in his hand he looked like Death come to claim a few souls for the dance.

//

“So,” he said. “I wondered what the Hound found to like in you. Now I see you’ve got a fire in your belly after all. I suppose I should have known.”

//

The Jackal had not yet come with our horses, and while we waited for him, our backs to the light and our shadows thrown out long in front of us, Ethan spoke again.  “While we are talking of saving lives,” he said, in a voice that was mellow like his father’s, “and while my lady insists on walking alone, I would that she carried this.” He fiddled with a buckle at the inside of his right thigh and the strap of the dagger sheath swung loose, the hilt falling heavy into his palm; it was plain dull metal, a match to the one he had loaned me, and it gleamed blandly in the moonlight as he offered it to our companion. “Granted, it’s not as fashionable as a pair of pistols, but it will do you more good should you find yourself in a tight corner.”

//

A bonfire blazed in the clearing, the flames ducking and leaping like native dancers as the breeze whirled the sparks away, and in its lurid light the standing Horsemen looked like martyrs waiting to be burned.

//

He poured me a cup and handed it over, warm and dripping, and glanced at [her] from under his brows. “Care for one?” 

She watched him like a suspicious cat, her fingers tightening in the folds of the blanket, her mental tail lashing. “I’d love it,” she said sharply, “but I’m rather afraid you might poison it.” 

His mouth jerked.  “Poison isn’t my weapon of choice,” he said. “But the sentiment is there.”

//

His face was a thundercloud, and flushed as with too much wine; he was dark from dancing so near the fire and the smell of singed flesh hung over him. When I gripped his arm in mute acknowledgement I felt the muscles jumping frantically under my hand. 

“My lord dances as though he will kill himself,” [she] remarked, almost reproachfully.

She-Wolves

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First: an update!  A week or so ago, after I had spent the first chunk of my winter break preparing for Christmas, I was at last able to break the 100,000 word mark in my rewrite of Wordcrafter.  I hadn't had many opportunities to write during the semester, as usual; during the week my mind is too engaged with schoolwork, and on the weekends I just don't want to put the energy into the whole words-putting-into-sentences-doing.  (Many, many kudos to those of you who can juggle college and writing.  You are amazing.)  Thus, while I'd written a little here and there, returning to it properly was difficult.  But progress has been made and some fun things have been written, and I'm happy with what I've been able to accomplish before a) heading to a conference and b) starting the spring semester.

Increasingly as I write this novel, I've noticed that one of its more interesting and challenging aspects is that it is the first novel I've written that features a male protagonist and a female antagonist.  The Soldier's Cross has a female protagonist and a male antagonist; the Sea Fever books have a male antagonist and male and female protagonists; and Tempus Regina has a female protagonist and male and female antagonists.  So I guess having gone through just about every other permutation, a male protagonist and a female antagonist in Wordcrafter was inevitable.  All the same, it's presented some new and unexpected problems -- especially as this rewrite finds the villain darker, more aggressive, more dangerous.  In contrast, Justin, my main character, is, well, a nice guy: a hold-the-door-for-you, carry-your-bag fellow.

Playing these two characters off one another is great fun, but it's also somewhat sticky business.  Justin's personality, as well the book's potential readership, rules out certain actions and reactions between them; whereas Tip is free to punch Lewis in the face, and whereas Regina can vent her spleen by dressing down her (female) rival, there is a code of conduct which Justin is obliged to follow.  The villain, in turn, knows it and capitalizes on it.

Sharply, I said, “You can’t hit a woman, Ethan.” 

He flicked aside my concern as I had just flicked away his. “No,” he allowed, “and one often senses them taking advantage of the fact.” 

- wordcrafter

This kind of situation demands a unique relationship between protagonist and villain.  On the one hand, the female antagonist in many ways has the upper hand; her arsenal is packed with weapons Justin can't or won't deploy.  On the other, the protagonist can't be milquetoasty, doing nothing simply because the villain is a woman [because a) that makes for a boring story and b) is super annoying]; he has to find new weapons to use.  Writing in that tension is, I'm finding, quite difficult, but it also makes for some very enjoyable, thought-provoking character dynamics.

what are some of your protagonist-antagonist pairings? which ones have been especially challenging or fun?

 

A Close of Summer Update

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"I've missed your posts in the blogosphere!"

Several people have recently, or semi-recently, brought up the lack of posts on Scribbles.  You know, seven months' worth of no posts.  Here at the end of summer, though, I thought I would write an update - and give you all some snippets of Wordcrafter.

Although I finished with the spring semester back in early May and completed a stand-alone, three-week class in early June, the last few months have still been taken up almost entirely with academic stuff.  I've been spending the summer working on a research project with one of my history professors, the goal of which is to produce a "sourcebook" of original documents from the English civil war period [Suzannah: think this Crusades reader, but probably not as big].  The specific subject?  Popular works, especially cheap eight-page pamphlets, that deal with witchcraft, comets, apparitions, monsters, and other such supernatural "prodigies."  Oh, it's very cheerful.  In fact I have really enjoyed myself - except while reading the accounts of witch-trials, which are universally depressing.

Since we made substantial headway in June and July, the work has let up a bit in the past couple of weeks as we approach the beginning of the fall semester.  In a vain attempt to fill up the excess time on my hands, I've been digging in, sometimes with relish and most times with a grim will, to that continued project that is the rewrite of Wordcrafter.  I'm not precisely sure where I was in the story at the end of the school year, but I think I've added about 20,000 words since May: not a whole lot for a story that promises to be another large one, but not too shabby, either.  We're departing faster and faster from the course of the original story, and I believe the scene I'm working on now is something of a watershed, after which the territory will be almost entirely new.  Thus, although I originally thought I could get along fine with just the structure of the first draft(s) in my head, I'm now beginning to think it would be wise to actually construct an outline.  (I write outlines for a three-page reflection essay.  I am not a pantser, people.  Outlines are gold.)

august snippets

Her clothing was rich, the nose- and mouth-covering heavy with embroidery and a layer of gold mesh, three medallions hanging from her turban across her forehead: even I, who had little acquaintance with Tera and none at all with the Gypsies, had no difficulty recognizing high rank. But my eye was drawn chiefly to her right hand and the weapon in it, for I had never yet seen a firearm here in Ethan’s world. It was no automatic; flintlock was more like it, the barrel and handle cased in wood, the hammer under her thumb fashioned, I thought, like a dragon. She had its twin buckled to her left hip, almost lost in her clothes, and it took me a moment to reconcile myself to the oddity. 

“I thought you were dead,” I said rudely. 

// 

 ...I was too bleary-headed to pay much attention to details, but as we came down the hill between the towering pagan stones I was conscious, almost as keenly as in that moment when I came through the shack, of a change in the world around me. It was as though I had physically passed out of the Tera I had come to know, the Tera of the Horsemen and the villa and a Mediterranean summer, and come instead into the setting of a Grimm’s fairytale. 

// 

“Well, I call that fine!” Ash cried warmly, pounding me on the back in momentary forgetfulness of my crime. “You’re not much of a fighter, but sure and you can take a hit!” 

// 

Funny how black the night seemed, here where there were no electric lights. Silent, too: my mind strained unconsciously for the sound of a car, of a train out in the distance, of voices or music on a radio, but there was nothing. Here on the threshold of the villa the world fanned out from us in layers of darkness, and it was as imperturbable and unnerving as the ocean on a night with no moon. 

 // 

When we ducked in Threshing Floor had just backed into Sure Repulse, a big red creature with a hell of a temper, and the boys were hurrying en masse to put down the fracas. It was mayhem, and I stood against one of the empty stable boxes and squinted around me with a certain amount of smug satisfaction. 

 “I could have stayed in bed a bit longer, apparently,” I observed. 

 // 

Her talk was of Marah and Our Good Fortune, of hunts here at the waning of the summer and of legends of great hunters from millennia ago who had fought monsters rather than deer and boar: easy, uncontentious conversation, light as the yellow wine her father had served us. 

// 

“I’d like to think Ash’s big mouth will get him into trouble one day,” he said, “but unfortunately he’s the sort of fellow who always manages to dodge trouble by the skin of his teeth."

August Snippets

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Today I passed two mile markers in Wordcrafter, one in the plot, one in size: it is now 50,000 and some odd words.  (Perhaps more than mathematically so; I leave that to you to judge.)  At this point, with a new stage of the story beginning, it is probably time for me to step back and take stock of where I am and where I'm going.  And for snippets.

bits of august

The car door slammed. For a moment the headlights blazed against the alarming bulwark of the Fairbairns’ shrubbery, undecided as to whether or not they wanted to switch off, and we lingered, Ethan and I, in their backwash and squinted up through the chilly middle darkness at the house.

- wordcrafter

“You struck me as a coffee person,” she announced, flinging coffee-freckles against the porcelain rim of her cup with a jerk of the spoon. “I suppose you take it black.”

“Ethan takes anything,” I interjected with a sideways grimace, “as long as it’s strong as murder.”

//

“...Lizzy can cover for Lady Macduff and Banquo. She’s very good at dying.”

“A great many people die in this play,” observed Ethan out of the hum of the harp-strings.

// 

There seems little point in commenting overmuch on the girls; they were your typical college students, eminently forgettable in company with their two older sisters. The one was ginger, the other, shockingly, brunette—only I cannot for the life of me remember now whether it was Mabel who was the brunette or whether it was Brianna.

//

The door beat against the frame and a figure joined me with the silent assurance of a witch’s familiar, come to top off my coffee out of a white carafe...

//

“I hope,” I went on, fitting the kettle spout around the rim of the faucet and turning on the tap, “I hope we didn’t do too much damage.”

“To Philip’s face, you mean? Oh, I don’t think so. Lizzy took care of all of that; I’m not much for the sight of blood. Anyhow, he deserved it.”

We were agreed on that, at least, but I did not comment.

//

I stared after her rudely, and it occurred to me with mingled admiration and bitterness that she had got the whip-hand of me once more.

“Devil,” Ethan commented, pouring himself his coffee.

 //

The smell of fresh wood burst free like the scent of an orange when the skin is peeled back: sharp and sudden in your nostrils. 

//

“Up the hill,” Ethan said, “and around behind the house. Steady…”

“Don’t criticize my driving,” I snapped, getting us out of the rut with a jolt and a surging of the engine.

Bits of June

wordcrafter

The rewrite of Wordcrafter crossed 25,000 words some while ago.  It goes in fits and starts: some days I'm fortunate if I can write a decent paragraph (I exaggerate not.  I can spend an hour wrestling with one or two sentences.), but at others I jump ahead wonderfully.  Some days I hate it.  Other days I brush off my shoulders and sniff approvingly.  It's an up-and-down fight.

I think that all artists, regardless of degree of talent, are a painful, paradoxical combination of certainty and uncertainty, of arrogance and humility, constantly in need of reassurance, and yet with a stubborn streak of faith in their own validity no matter what.

- madeleine l'engle

With something like 15,000 words between myself and the last snippets post, I thought now would be a good time to throw out a few pieces from the last several months.  Cheers!

snippets for june

I made myself tea and hunkered down to my own work at my desk, and for a little time—an hour, perhaps longer—a library stillness settled over the flat. Ethan’s fingers chinked against the handle of his mug. I pushed a page aside and hiked backwards on the stool, blue jeans scraping at the torn vinyl covering; my hand went unconsciously to my tea, porcelain shuffling on wood, and I sniffed softly against the chill in my nose. 

- wordcrafter

  Ethan, I noted resentfully, could be devilishly cutting when he had a mind to be. 

- wordcrafter
 

Then, because I had not the least idea where we were going, she took the lead, tugging me past tourist shops and vaguely Parisian tenements and across roads in the teeth of traffic (“The crossing signs are just suggestions,” she said). 

- wordcrafter

With the grace of a horse surging off its haunches Ethan bore up again, eyes opening in a flare of white and grey, right hand falling back and leaving, in the secret hollows at the inner slopes of his nose, two pale oval patches that bloomed for a moment and disappeared. They were telling, those patches. 

- wordcrafter

“You’re looking quite the Jacobite,” I added. 

Her eyelids slanted coyly, bold black against white cheekbones. “I take that as a compliment.” 

- wordcrafter

I saw [Jamie's] hand reach for the dial, the bangles chink and slide on her wrist as she turned up the volume. When we left the suburbs behind and merged with the other glittering headlights on M8 she cracked her window, propping her elbow on the door and straining to put her face up into the wind. It boomed against the glass and whipped at the pheasant feathers, filling the car with the damp, electric smell of the storm, and over the music and the engine, I heard thunder. 

- wordcrafter

His face sparked in piqued pride and that grip on my arm suddenly hurt like a devil’s. “You’re my friend,” he said coldly, “and I don’t play games with friends." 

- wordcrafter

I dumped my armload into the sink, barely remembered to fish out the book before opening the tap and plunging elbow-deep into the wash-up. The edge of the plate banged recklessly against the sides; a wedge of porcelain sang on the stainless steel and my finger caught for a moment in the new notch. Tera! Prince! This was not Roman Holiday, for God’s sake! I hurled the rinsed plate into the drainer and reached for the next, crumbs of toast shimmering across the counter. 

- wordcrafter

'twere well it were done quickly

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"You noticed that I said I was going to put this project through tomorrow, and no doubt you wondered why I said tomorrow. Why did I, Jeeves?" 

"Because you feel that if it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well it were done quickly, sir?" 

"Partly, Jeeves, but not altogether."

- right ho, jeeves (p.g. wodehouse)

When I sat down to (finally) write a blog post, my ideas for a topic were mixed up and convoluted: I thought of doing a post on historical research and historical story-telling (a subject which has come up several times recently); I thought of doing one semi-related to a book I am working my slow way through, The Divine Challenge; I considered doing one on Wordcrafter.  I still intend to do all of those at some point, but it came to my mind that having been away from Scribbles for a month (more, really, if you consider that my last post was in fact by the inimitable Elisabeth Grace Foley), it might be well to lead into all that jazz with an update. Jenny did one of her own this morning, which you should also read, because her news is rather more ground-breaking than mine.

university

Early this month I sent in the last essay of my freshman year, so now I'm in a kind of upperclassman-limbo as I wait for the beginning of Fall semester sometime in late August.  The 2013 Fall semester seems ages ago, and yet at the same time, I can hardly believe a whole year has gone by since I crawled, terrified, into my first college class.  I fully recognize that college is not for everyone, but for my own part, I'm enjoying it immensely.  It is teaching me a great deal besides the rudiments of string theory and the identifying marks of a mature landscape; it's teaching me how to work with and around my natural shyness, to be more outgoing and friendly, to - get this - interact with people.  Social awkwardness is stereotypically a trait of homeschoolers (though I'm beginning to think it's actually a trait of Millennials as an entire generation), so I try very hard to defy expectations in the hopes that, when it does at last come out that no, I didn't attend any of the local high schools, the asker will be impressed.  I may sit in my car alone and eat the food that I brought, but I do not wear pyjamas to class, thank you so much.  You're welcome, Blimey Cow.

But more on that later, I think.

reading

I am currently in the home stretch of a Maymester on Elizabeth I of England and Philip II of Spain, which, ironically, has meant that I've had to put With the Heart of a King: Elizabeth I of England, Philip II of Spain, and the Fight for a Nation's Soul and Crown on hold.  Instead, I have been puffing through a book on Philip's grand strategy (which may have been grand, but was certainly not effective in the end).  It's quite a doorstop, but thankfully the last hundred pages or so are taken up by endnotes.

On a personal level, I've been working away at John Byl's helpful The Divine Challenge in ridiculously small increments.  Also, I meant to read something serious after Miss Buncle's Book, but then the Maymester happened and I turned instead to that wonderful fellow Wodehouse.  Very Good, Jeeves! is a cure for just about every kind of ill under the sun.  Can I get an amen?  Eh?

writing

Having written what I think will remain the first chapter of Tempus Regina (it's gone through several versions already, so don't carve that in stone), I now continue to chip away at Wordcrafter.  I cannot swear to its being any good, but it is at the very least giving me renewed respect for all those who can breezily dash off a novel in first-person: I find it deuced difficult.  It blows my mind how even a good, subjective third-person - that is to say, not omniscient - is immensely wider in scope.  Wodehouse, being comedy, is not overly helpful in this regard; I should reread Rebecca, but I went and loaned my copy to Jenny for Lamblight inspiration, so never mind that.

It is also strange to go back over old territory and, in effect, make it new.  I don't think the characters - particularly Justin, Ethan, and Jamie - are fundamentally different; they are their own people, so I think they are essentially the same as they have always been.  On the other hand, I am approaching this rewrite with a fuller knowledge of the story and thus of the characters, and, again, writing solely from Justin's perspective alters the playing field.  Additionally, more characters have been introduced and more ideas are forming, so nothing is quite the same.  The plan, though, is for it to be better, so hopefully those of you who have read the original will like the revision more (assuming I finish the blasted thing).

She did not look like Fairbairn, but she had something of his enormous personality. Pricked by a sudden thought, I asked, “You’re not stalking me for your father, are you?” 
 “Oh, no,” she said, deadpan. “For MI-6.” 

- wordcrafter

Despite the difficulties this new venture presents, I am, for the moment, enjoying myself.  After all, there's generally inspiration to be got from Pinterest, and Fleetwood Mac has been most helpful.  Nothing more is necessary.

February Snippets

pinterest: wordcrafter

If my labels are accurate, it's been a full year since I did one of Katie's snippets posts.  Several reasons for that, I suppose: most of last year was full of Tempus Regina, and after a certain point it became difficult to share from that without spilling lots of beans.  I and my characters were in Scotland at that point (I mean story-wise, not myself physically).  Interestingly, we are now in Scotland again, only about fifteen hundred years removed from Regina's time.  Do I have some special love for Scotland...?

Second reason for the lack of snippets posts is simply that I haven't had anything to share, unless you want to read papers on Anabaptist martyrs and 17th Century anti-papist polemics.  This is, naturally, sometimes discouraging and frustrating, although of course absolutely necessary.  So to keep the creative juices flowing - and not go beserk and kill anyone - I've pulled out Wordcrafter and begun rewriting it from the ground up.  This is a dabbling kind of thing and I don't know how serious I am yet, but at 10,000 words, I figured I could scrape together a few things to post.

snippets for february

“You never mentioned your name, did you?” 

Still I felt him looking at me; his face flashed by in the tea, there and then broken, there and then broken. One second. Two seconds. Three seconds. “…Ethan. Ethan Prince.” 

“Ironic,” I said, without looking up. “My name is Justin King.”

- wordcrafter

The chain of the tea-ball still hung over the edge of my own mug and when I prodded it, the dregs rose up strong and dark and forbidding from the bottom. Nnh. There was not enough hot water in the kettle for a second mug, and barely enough leaves in the tin. I could make my guest his cup, but it was coffee-strong Ceylon or nothing for me. 

Well, then, I would take it coffee-strong.

//

Fortunately I had flour and eggs and the last of a carton of milk, so that with some imagination and fudging—and altogether too much tripping over Ethan, who seemed not to know how to get out of the way—I threw together something like toad-in-the-hole. 

“Heavy on the flour,” I said ungraciously, dumping his steaming plateful at Ethan’s chair— “light on the bangers. I’m running low. Eat up.”

//

“The—tattoos,” I managed, while Ethan got a glass and fiddled with the sink. “Where did you get them? Last time I saw something like that was in a book on the Celts.” 

 He jolted the handle round and the water spat out with a bang against the metal side, spraying him liberally; he hissed and gentled it back to a more reasonable stream, though it still overflowed his tumbler. Then, shutting off the tap and shaking the water off his hands, he answered, “Maybe I got them from the Celts, then.”

//

There were very few things in this world for which a brandy and soda could not atone.

//

The sprawling gravel drive was full and guests had begun to park in odd out-of-the-way corners; holding my breath as though it would make the car smaller, I squeezed between a sleek black Jaguar and a sporty thing I only afterward realized was a Lotus. 

 “Scratch one of those,” I remarked, “and we’re both dead.”

//

...But in the Fairbairn’s foyer, with the black velvet of his tunic melting into the shadows and the chandelier caught in the dash of gold brocade, he looked like a matador sprung out of the ring. And there was, too, something remarkably Castilian in the cold arrogance with which he surveyed Fairbairn: lips drawn, upper canine balanced light and sharp on lower, eyelids low and flickering. He did not like what he saw, and—my heart took a tumble into my cramped and empty stomach—he was making no bones about it. 

//

"Someone must have told you it was a masquerade, Mr Prince."

//

Putting on Labels

pinterest: tempus regina

Well, I think you guys have been guessing for a sufficiently long time.  I hadn't meant to leave you dangling more than a week, but the days went and got busy again.  Phooey on them.

All in all, I think everyone did pretty well with the guesswork.  A few of you need to study some more,* but others were very nearly spot on.  A few, I admit, were harder than others; one snippet in particular you all got consistently wrong.  So consistently wrong that I almost feel compelled to move it to the story everyone insisted it was from.  Almost.  But, you know, it isn't going to happen.  No one was altogether right, though several of you did have some very good streaks in there: it was just those tricky ones that threw you off.

snippet #1

This one almost everyone got right: it's from The Running Tide.  If it's from a fellow's point-of-view and he's got blood on his hands, you're pretty safe if you bet on Tip Brighton.  As a point of interest, though, in this case it wasn't from punching anybody.

snippet #2

Another fairly straightforward one here, as the nurse rather gives the setting away.  Wordcrafter.  But I figured that since Tempus Regina is partially set in Victorian times, there was a slight chance you might go for that: I wasn't expecting any of the guesses for the Sea Fever books!

snippet #3

This bit was tricky, I'll admit, but it is in fact from The White Sail's Shaking.  It was Tip talking to Marta, even though looking at it now, I can see how you might think it was the Assassin talking to Regina.  The slight hesitation, however, is telling.  For me.  You know, being the writer and all.

snippet #4

Tempus Regina!  Very squarely Tempus Regina, and your first glimpse of the Fisherman.  

snippet #5

Only Writer got this one: it is also from Tempus Regina.  Nearly everybody guessed the Sea Fever books, which made me rather sorry to disappoint...

snippet #6

I'm sorry: I didn't give you much to go on, did I?  This is from Wordcrafter, though admittedly it could have gone many different ways.

snippet #7

Yes, I tossed you an easy one: Tempus Regina again.  You did ask for snippets from it...

snippet #8

I can't decide if it was the fact that this began with "wordlessly" or the bit about the desk, but nearly everyone went for Wordcrafter when it is actually The Running Tide.  Reading over it, I can see how you would think Justin King, but I'd still like to know if perspective was skewed due to the desk...

snippet #9

And possibly the hardest one, that only Joy got.  It's Tempus Regina once again - the only bit of the novel written from a male point-of-view.  Yes, I did do it to be mean.  I'm mildly apologetic.  I think personally I would have guessed Wordcrafter.

Well, that wasn't too bad!  I'd say you all got seventies or eighties at least.  Were there any you were particularly confident on, and have I now thrown you into confusion? 

*I'm sorry, but exams are coming up this week and I just can't help it.

What's It From?

pinterest: sea fever

I was thinking the other day that I haven't had any snippets to share with Scribbles' readers in a long time, which is a bummer - especially when people like Jenny and Mirriam are offering theirs up with pretty fair regularity.  (Never let it be said that writers aren't a petty lot!)  I think a few of you asked several months back if I would be able to show you anything from Tempus Regina. Unfortunately, as a story progresses I find myself with less and less I can share without spilling a whole lot of beans, and by the time I've reached the end of a novel I can't seem to dig up any bits at all.  This has been particularly true of Tempus Regina, as even characters' names are in many instances being kept under wraps.

So - no real snippets post.  However, after beating my brain around a little bit, I thought it might be fun to give you a sort of challenge.  Most of you have, from previous snippets and general information, at least a hazy idea of the plot and voice of each of my novels.  What I want to see is whether or not you have a good enough idea to be able to match any snippet I share with its novel.  It's something of an academic exercise for me: I want to know how much light I've shed on these books and how different the style is from one to another, or, conversely, how constant my voice is. But, too, you wanted snippets.  So I shall give you snippets.

They will be from my major novels: Wordcrafter, The White Sail's Shaking and The Running Tide (these are essentially one book, so if you want you can say Sea Fever; kudos if you can guess which!), and Tempus Regina.  I won't list any from The Soldier's Cross, partially because I believe most of you have read it, partially because I wrote it four years ago and I'm pretty sure the stylistic difference would be too obvious.  I'm not sharing one each, so there will be some overlap, but I also won't throw in anything random just to confuse you.  It's a straight matching game.

snippet #1

Instinctively [he] looked down, uncurling both fists to show the bloody palms underneath; he had been too numb since the beginning of the engagement to notice that he had ground the blunt stubs of his fingernails through the surface. He covered them again. “I’m alright,” he said, and the words came out in a dry rasp.

snippet #2

Squinting up into the face of the nurse, who had fallen from chatter into nondescript humming, [he] parted his lips and said, “I’m mad, aren’t I?”

The nurse started, and then considered him a long moment with a furrow between her freckled brows. She took him in, and weighed him, and then seemed to have a good long think before pronouncing judgment. “No,” she said simply, “I don’t think so. They would have told me if you were."

snippet #3

“Well,” he said, not very graciously, “I suppose we’ll have to keep you. But I wish—I wish you hadn’t gotten yourself into this mess.”

snippet #4

“You came in haste,” he went on, eyeing her sidelong, working back and forth, and back and forth, the great silver ring on his left hand. The fire made its inset stone shine out ragingly blue—made the flaw in it stark, and cast up a reflection on the man’s jaw. “You came in haste and now you hesitate, and so I suppose it is bad news. Eh?”

snippet #5

He lifted his narrow shoulders helplessly. “I did not mean to provoke you. Only, it struck me that you looked lonely. You looked as though you wanted company. You looked,” he added, having to raise his voice against the roar of an explosion down below, “the way I felt myself.”

“Did I?” she hummed, sidestepping. “I had no notion of that.”

snippet #6

“[He] was asking for you, you know. I think he was afraid you might come back, and what a pity! here you are.”

snippet #7

She released him, drawing herself rigid to avoid a fall. Her legs were going…going… She made it as far as the chair, sat down, had time enough to thank God it had a back, and then felt the whole of the room slide into darkness.

snippet #8

Wordlessly he crossed the room and hauled himself up on the corner of the desk, not quite able to hold back the shivering sigh that hissed out at the relief of letting his bad leg dangle, of feeling his bones ease with the creaking of an old man’s limbs.

snippet #9

But the men, the guard with the nose-ring and another [he] knew only vaguely, did not summon him. They stood a while, shoulder to shoulder, watching [him] while he put his back up against a wall and watched them in return; then they came down from the threshold together, the first man spun his javelin, and the second drove the door back into its socket. The light was cut short; the half-dark returned, warm now with the presence of two new bodies, glittering as the spear-heads turned.

“What’s this?” [he] breathed. “What are the two of you about?”

Elemental

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Over the past few weeks, I've been watching the TV show "The Legend of Korra" (for which I make no apologies) with Jenny and her husband.  And in our family, one does not simply "watch a TV show," any more than one simply "reads a book."  If it's good, it worms its way into our daily vocabulary; its best quotes get stored in our repertoire.  If it's bad it still gets into our vocabulary, only in more abusive terms.

But Korra has proven to be an enjoyable series thus far, not least because of the concept it presents of "bending" - the innate ability in certain people to manipulate an element.  Some are fire-benders; some water-benders; some earth-benders; and a very few, for reasons explained in a previous show, air-benders.  The Avatar, in this case Korra, is the only one able to manipulate all four elements.  Of course this means the Avatar is called upon to save the world, defeat the bad guys, etc., but that's beside the point for this blog post.

What started me thinking was the influence a character's personality has on his or her element, or vice versa, or whatever.  Because of course my mind naturally went from there to, "What element would my characters be?"  Running through the lists of my characters, I had, in general, an easy job pegging each with the element that best fitted their personality.  I think we all associate certain traits with each element right off the cuff.  For instance:

fire: impulsiveness; quick temper; passion; magnetism; ambition

earth: stability; strength; stubbornness; dignity; pessimism

water: constancy; loyalty; sensitivity; idealism; discretion

air: imagination; humor; optimism; spontaneity; enthusiasm

As I am doing some rewriting of Wordcrafter at the moment, the characters I first started thinking about were from this cast.  Here's the run down.

Ethan Prince - fire, through and through.  He's got all of the things mentioned, and a manipulative streak thrown in besides.  He has a charisma lacking in others; hence his natural magnetism.

Justin King - water, although I considered earth as well.  But Justin has the constancy and loyalty that springs to mind when I think of "water," plus discretion and sensitivity.  Idealism, I'm not so sure.  Like earth, however, Justin is stable, often stubborn, and given to pessimism.

Jamie Fairbairn - fire.  This is part of what makes her clash so horribly with Ethan, and what attracts Justin to her.  (Jenny and I were discussing the other day how "water" characters seem to gravitate toward "fire" characters.  Seems a risky combination for the fire, to me...)

Copper, the Jackal's daughter - water again.  You could hardly get more constant than Copper, and she is certainly idealistic.

So there's the major cast of Wordcrafter.  What about that of White Sail's, which is even fresher in my mind?  Off the topmost part of my head, this is how I would categorize these people.

Tip Brighton - earth.  I don't know about the dignity, but Tip has strength of character and of body, he's a pessimist, and he is both stable and stubborn.  He can be summed up in the image of a brick wall.

Marta Rais - water, I think, though she's a bit hard to pin down (as water generally is).  She is sensitive and constant, and perhaps a little too discrete.

Charlie Bent - fire.  When I picture him I think of water, but his character tends more toward the explosive and impressive qualities of fire.  He's passionate, ambitious, and competitive, as well as arrogant.  He does not, however, have the magnetism of an Ethan.

Jo Darkwood - water.  Quiet, constant Jo, always there to put out Charlie's fire when necessary - no other element fits him so well.

William Lewis - fire.  He combines a quick temper with ambition and a calculating mind, but unfortunately for himself, he has none of the hard-working tendencies of earth to make him succeed.

Here are a few of my characters, then, as summed up by an element.  I never seem to have any air characters, at least not at the forefront; one background character in Wordcrafter definitely has all the characteristics of air, however.

What elements summarize your characters?  Do tell!

Snippets of October

pinterest: wordcrafter

In case you haven't checked your calendar, today is 10-11-12.  I don't know what people think is so special about dates that line up (next year everyone will be excited about 11-12-13, and the year after that it will be 12-13-14, so really, what is the big deal?), or why everyone wants to get married on one.  I guess it makes it easier to remember one's anniversary.  But anyhow, I thought you might like to know.

Today is also a good time to join in the monthly snippets meme from Katie's Whisperings of the Pen.  This month and last, I've been focusing on blog-related things for the November blog party, outlines for Tempus Regina, and major rewrites for Wordcrafter - a sort of constant work-in-progress.  The latter has only been featured in smatterings here and there, so I hope you will enjoy this more complete array of snippets.

october snippets

Colour—not merely red, but blue and yellow and faded, sickly green—crashed through Justin’s mind like a broken kaleidoscope; he reeled away, stumbled on something and, catching himself on the shelves, dropped his face in the hollow between two books. Dust got in his eyes and his breathing was laboured, but at least it was breathing, and the smell of the room was there to soothe him again. 

“You swear?” 

Justin struggled to lift his eyelids, staring sightlessly at the title of the tome before him. Murders among the Dark Folk. What irony. He put his head on his arm. “I swear,” he whispered, and then there was silence for a long, comforting time.

- wordcrafter

Ash laughed his fox-laugh, and there was no puckishness about it today. “How brave you’ve gotten, Justin Wordcrafter! To think of you actually making a threat! But we taught you how to fight; don’t think you can beat us at our own game.”

- wordcrafter

Justin’s echoes ran tittering across the floor and up the walls, and into silence in the dark crannies of the room; his own hard breathing remained, mingling with the king’s and with the husky voice of the leaves on the window outside. Light and shadow splattered the chamber, and the puddle forming about Justin’s feet shone unbearably white while he kept on dripping. Splip, splip, splip... The sound broke into his consciousness after a long while and it occurred to him how horribly pathetic he must look, like some half-drowned rat dumped on the king’s threshold.

- wordcrafter

 “You bitter fool,” he said. “What has he ever done that you see him so, except have Gypsy blood? And was that his fault? By Tera! Was it mine, that you throw me in the breach between him and you? You are nothing but a bitter fool and a coward—and a hypocrite, to cast up Tera’s laws to me!”

- wordcrafter

The water-voice had grown distant, but the flow of it sounded like a song: far off and wordless, but comforting; and something in him woke to the memory of it. It was the lullaby Ethan had played on the Fairbairns’ harp. He could see the colour of it, blue like Tera’s sky, and it was leaning down to touch him; a face took shape in it, pale as the sun, and all rimmed with fire that burned him to his heart.

- wordcrafter

"...Will you lend me your shoulder, or are you going to hold a grudge?” 

How swiftly he could burst the bubble of another man’s anger! Justin felt lost without it; his shoulders slackened, and the haze flooded through his mind again until he could barely sort out Ethan’s face from the fluttering golden background of the grass. “No,” he sighed, and stooped to give the Hound support. “You hold enough for the two of us.”

- wordcrafter

Everything underneath him—he had not known there was anything underneath him—went suddenly askew, and Tera tilted wild on her axis. Did Tera have an axis? Did it matter?

- wordcrafter

She broke the stare first, deliberately turning the handle and stepping inside, and then, when she had shut the door at her back, standing very still to look at him once more.  The bouquet she held flashed in the light, reds and yellows and greens; but Justin was most conscious, oddly, of a pair of brilliant purple wedges peeking from beneath the hems of her slacks.

- wordcrafter

 

Snippets of September

pinterest: tempus regina

I come a little late to the party, as usual, but it's time for Katie's monthly Snippets post!  I have done little actual writing this month; I've left off Tempus Regina until November and NaNoWriMo, so my work has been confined to edits.  But here are a smattering of earlier Tempus Regina bits, and a clip or two from recently revised sections of The Running Tide.  (Somebody commented that it sounds strange to hear The White Sail's Shaking become The White Sail's Shaking and The Running Tide; I heartily agree, but I'm forcing myself to get used to it.)  I'm hoping to pull out Wordcrafter and make some major revisions this month and next, so October's snippets should see some of Justin and Ethan and the rest of that lovely gang, whom I've not dealt with in quite some time.  Most exciting!

september snippets

[He] was saying something, but Tip could not hear what it was for the rattling of the man’s chest and the flow of Heerman’s shapeless talk, and the flare of lamplight that seemed loud in the quarters. 

- the running tide 

There was blood on Decatur’s face, Tip noted, spattered like ghastly freckles across his cheekbones. 

- the running tide 

Her voice drifted into inarticulate fussing as, gesturing with both crabbed hands, she drew Regina in—like the witch with Gretel. If she saw any ovens, Regina thought she might panic. 

- tempus regina 

Something crashed like elephant feet above and to the right of her head. Regina shied; the candlesticks down the hall clattered against each other and the ceiling bounced and trembled. Dirt spattered on the floor. Mrs. Godands was imperturbable. 

- tempus regina 

Mrs. Godands found the proper key at last and jammed it into the hole, murmuring happily to herself as, with a sepulchral moan and a burst of dust, the door swung outward from its socket. She played tug-of-war with it for a moment in an attempt to get the key back out; something else smashed in the master’s room; the ceiling bobbled; the door hinges screamed. Regina wished she could join them. 

- tempus regina 

The cat neared the fire, lapping once more at her tail while she steamed in the heat. When she had beaten down the unruly crests of fur, she looked up, a bit of fluff still caught in her mouth, and mewed. 

- tempus regina 

"You mock me, woman, and I will not be mocked. Stand out of my way.” 

- tempus regina 

As he spoke the stranger lowered himself to a squat, balancing on a root beneath the arches of his feet, and turned his head to give Regina a long, upward, lopsided look. She thought him grotesquely like a goblin. 

- tempus regina

That First Step

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I haven't written a massive amount of query letters over the past three years.  This is probably a deficiency on my part, as it seems many writers draft about ten per novel; I prefer to write and edit one basic query per story and then edit it depending on submission guidelines.  After all, writing out one summary is hard enough.  I wrote a 100,000-word novel about this plot and these characters, and I'm supposed to sum them up within one page?  And leave room for an introduction/conclusion/biography, not to mention my contact information?  Are you crazy?

Many writers struggle with this aspect of writing, hence the half-funny, half-sad stories we read of editors and agents receiving full manuscripts from authors trying to opt out of queries.  We can talk for an age about our writing if someone broaches the subject, but trying to follow specific guidelines and rein in our loquacity is difficult.  I certainly haven't gotten the process down to a science, but as I said in A Plethora of Edits, it can be helpful to hear how other writers go about it; and besides, the subject of queries has been rattling around inside my head for the past several weeks.

Like most writers, I don't exactly enjoy writing queries.  The Soldier's Cross was torture, as I had never written one before and knew next to nothing about editors, slush piles, and all those gory details of getting published.  So I researched obsessively and culled through just about the entire archives of Query Shark before drafting my own.  By the time Wordcrafter rolled around, I knew more but was a little rusty on the application.  I read more Query Shark (the mainstay, I admit, of my query-writing process).  Then I went back to the arduous business of beating out a catchy, cohesive synopsis.

This month the time for me to write queries toddled around once more, this time for The White Sail's Shaking.  I did my usual perusal of the Query Shark archives, more for fun than anything else, and then sat down (with much trepidation and many "meh!" feelings) to begin.  After the obligatory "Dear Whatever Your Name Is" (but don't say that: I'm pretty sure that's an automatic reject), I always start into the brief story summary.  This isn't crucial, and many writers prefer to start off with something like this instead:

Thank you for the opportunity to submit to Blah Blah Agency.  TITLE OF MY AWESOME NOVEL is a 90,000 word YA/adult/middle-grade/what-have-you historical fiction/romance/yada yada, set in...

This allows writers to brief agents or editors on the marketing details of the novel.  One benefit to this approach is that it doesn't waste the agent's time: they can see right away what genre the book is and the age and sex of its intended audience, crucial elements to their decision process.  The con of this approach is that it isn't terribly catchy.  It's necessarily pretty formulaic, and although it works for its purpose (summarizing the more humdrum details of the book), it probably isn't going to capture the writer's unique voice - which is another major thing agents are looking for.

Neither method is wrong, and I seriously doubt a writer will be turned away for choosing one over the other.  Personally, I prefer to leap straight to the story itself with a hook that (hopefully) piques the reader's interest.  I try to keep it short and catchy, or, if it turns out to be longer, I at least try to keep the first phrase snappy.  Since I don't have other authors' queries to pull examples from, here are the opening lines of my queries for The Soldier's Cross, Wordcrafter, and the current draft of The White Sail's Shaking.

Fiona is not so bad.

Justin King writes fantasy. He never expected to be living it. 

Being a failure comes naturally to Tip Brighton.

These hooks should segue neatly into the next part, a one or two paragraph long summary of the plot.  For The Soldier's Cross, the hook leads the reader on to Fiona's self-satisfaction and her "good enough" philosophy.  Wordcrafter foreshadows the upheaval in Justin's life when it turns out that "fantasy" is a bit more uncomfortably real than he expected.  The White Sail's Shaking captures Tip's mindset and paves the way for the conflict between honor and glory that follows.  Sometimes these hooks are in a paragraph unto themselves; what follows then is the meat of the synopsis. 

I'm not very fond of writing summaries.  I never enjoyed it in school when I had to write book reports, and what is this but a book report on your own novel?  However, a little before starting my query for White Sail's I came across a "Back Cover Contest" over on the NextGen Writer's Conference; I didn't enter, but I did find the basic outline and the examples provided in the rules to be very helpful.  The outline covers the five or six points that the synopsis on the back cover of a book almost always covers.

Character - Setting - Conflict - Action - Uniqueness - Mystery

I like my hooks to start out with the character.  After all, the character is going to drive the rest of the synopsis, and waiting to introduce him or her can often lead to confusion.  Then in the rest of the summary you weave in the character's setting, including the time period if it's historical fiction; the conflict and action, which will often be very much related; and the mystery, which constitutes a sort of question at the end.  Note that the mystery doesn't have to be a direct question, like "What is heroine going to do?" but can be an implied question.

I left "uniqueness" out, as it tends to be a rather nebulous concept.  Obviously everything you just wrote should communicate to the reader that your story is unique in some, if not all, of the elements mentioned above.  For myself, I tend to think of uniqueness as more related to the next part of the query: the marketing details (wordcount and target audience, mentioned above) and the thrust of the story itself.  Here is where you can show what sets your story apart.  Maybe it's in a unique time period; maybe it approaches a particular theme in a unique way.  For White Sail's, I wanted to point out that the story is a sea novel, but differs from the classic works of Patrick O'Brian, C.S. Forester, etc. in its themes.  Never, ever, ever say that your book is similar to someone else's, but different in that yours is awesome and the other author's is rubbish.  Besides the fact that such an approach is the height of arrogance, it will be just your luck to find out that the agent is a huge fan of said author. 

After you finish this bit, you write up a brief bio.  Many authors, I've found, like to write these in third person; I find that a little awkward, but whichever works best for you will be acceptable.  You'll want to keep this pretty short, especially if you don't have many credentials, and avoid saying things like "This is the first novel I've ever written."  You might briefly mention what prompted you to write this particular story ("I had a dream about it" doesn't count).  Whatever you write, it should be professional and writing-related, not a list of likes and dislikes.  As a sample proposal I read recently said, unless your book is about knitting, saying you like to sit with your labradoodle and knit scarfs does not constitute a bio.

I conclude after the bio.  Always thank the agent for their time: it may be their job, but being polite is just, well, polite!  Also mention if you're submitting to other agencies at the same time, and then close with a neat "Sincerely" or "Regards" or whatever professional conclusion you prefer, add your name, and then your contact information.  And after a massive amount of edits, you're ready to send it off to agents and take that first step into the great wide world of the publishing business!

In summation, and for the sake of tired eyeballs, my query outline looks something like this.

Dear Agent 

(but use their name, if at all possible)

HOOK

SUMMARY 

(one or two paragraphs; they may ask for a multiple-page synopsis later, 

but in the query you should always be brief)

BOOK INFO 

(wordcount, audience, uniqueness)

BIO

CONCLUSION

CONTACT INFO

Beautiful People - Jamie Fairbairn

Confusingly enough, this is actually last month's Beautiful People post.  It arrived a trifle late and I arrived even later, because I had a difficult time deciding which character to do.  Tip and Charlie are interview'd out and Marta had her own extensive Beautiful People post several months ago.  I toyed with the idea of doing Jo Darkwood, but April's set of questions seemed better suited to a female character.  And so, without further ado, I'll introduce you to one of the primary characters in my completed fantasy Wordcrafter...

jamie fairbairn [the vixen]  

1. What is her favourite type of shoe? 

Stilettos, to be sure!  The thinner and taller the heel, the better.  Jamie loves fashion and loves to be fashionable, no matter what pain she has to go through.  She particularly likes flashy colors, and although she'll wear black, she prefers setting off a simple get-up with something wildly eye-catching; lime green is a favorite.  She also has a pair of black highheeled boots (fur round the tops) and has been caught wearing Uggs. 

2. Does she journal? 

Goodness, no; it would take too much perseverance.  She will occasionally pull out a notebook to jot down an absurd poem - her way of laughing at people without doing it aloud.

3. What is her favourite animal? 

Jamie has an arthritic English sheepdog of which she is passing fond, but, as with most things in her life, he is little more than an afterthought.  She has an affinity for foxes, so her title of "Vixen" is apt.

4. What does her average day look like? 

There are few real responsibilities in Jamie's life and she can afford to be careless with her time.  She will get up at about eight, nine on a Saturday, and start off the day with coffee (cream, no sugar) and one piece of toast (orange marmalade - take it away from her at your peril).  Then she'll get a bath or shower, emerging at 9:30 sharp.  She'll spend about fifteen minutes puzzling over what to wear, digging up clothes from her sisters' closets if she doesn't like any of her own wardrobe's options.  Another cup of coffee if it begins to look like That Sort of a day. 

Jamie usually spends the rest of the morning frittering about the house, redesigning a room here or a windowbox there, trawling through dusty heaps of books and pretending she's going to read them, arranging her father's golfclubs a few times.  If she's feeling industrious, she might even dust the living room or sit down to "play" the harp for ten minutes or so.  If she is in a perfect blaze of creativity, she'll grab a piece of paper and scrawl an essay or scribble a design for a dress, feeling very productive afterwards.

These bursts of energy make her hungry, so about 1:00 she'll grab some semblance of dinner and then take her sheepdog out for an amble in the park.  Shopping or socializing fill up her afternoon, and in the evening she composes herself to listen to her father's haranguing about work.  After this duty is over and done with, she can often be found sprawled on the couch watching a movie.

5. Night owl or morning person? (Optional: What time does she usually wake up? Go to bed?) 

Night owl by nature; she rarely goes to bed before 11:30.  The night feels more companionable to her.

6. Does she have a sweet tooth? 

If you give her anything flooded in chocolate, Jamie will love you for a whole day.  Which is a long time for her to remember.

7. What colours are in her bedroom? 

She changes the look of her room regularly, but it tends to be either white with pale pink accessories (Jamie loves pink but, due to her red hair, can't wear it herself), or an apple-green.  She keeps the furniture fairly neutral and then decks it out in colors and prints that make a statement, regardless of what the statement happens to be.  The design is always as overwhelming as her personality.

8. Can she cook? 

I think she would burn water if made to boil it.

9. What is her favourite household chore? 

Jamie is the favorite child and so manages to sidestep any chores she would rather not be doing.  Sometimes she like to tie up her hair and throw herself into scrubbing the house...until, an hour or so later, she finds herself worn out and vaguely irritated and so gives the business up entirely.  Her eldest sister then follows behind and cleans up the mess.

10. Favourite kind of tea? 

She is not much of a tea connoisseur, being more a coffee drinker herself.  She'll drink anything black if it has been steeped for a good six or seven minutes, but herbal or green offend her sensibilities.