Your character wants to: And_______________, But_____________, Therefore_____________.
You can plot a scene this way or the overall arch of your story.
Something like: in Matrix Crystal Hunters.
And Maya’s GOAL is to find matrix crystals, so she and the rest of the crew can go home, BUT no one has mined the bigger crystals in a thousand years, THEREFORE she has to trust Vach a native of the planet to find them.
Blurb: Team Alpha Three’s spaceship is out of power after fighting a wormhole, and parked on the primitive world of Zenevieva. With half the team sick from radiation poisoning, the team commander entrust geologist, Maya Gladstone, to find enough matrix crystals to power up their spacecraft, so they can go home to Earth.
Vach Namaste of the powerful Clan Namaste, a native of the planet, has desire the lovely Maya since she stepped off the spaceship on that astonishing day a year ago. He’s hounded her every step since. As Hymeneal Night approaches, he makes plans to take her as his bride… willing or not.
~*~
Excerpt: As promised, Maya bought another cheap tote so she wouldn’t damage her prize. Then she worked her way through the bazaar, buying supplies for the next day’s trip. As she went from tent to tent, hunting down the few veggies, fruit and other types of food that she could digest, she caught glimpses of the Zeeman following her. She tensed. What does he want with me?
She stalked completely round one of the tents to come face to face with him. Now’s my chance. “Why are you following me?”
“What? I don’t know what you mean.” He took a step back.
Maya grabbed a fistful of his dark brown robes. “Yes, you do. You’ve been dogging my steps from moment I set foot on your planet.” She suddenly noticed that the young man was bigger than she’d thought. His chest was deep and his shoulders broad. His arms were larger than Bobby’s and he worked out. And here I am, holding him by his clothes.
He stared at her hand. “I like you and want to get to know you. If you were one of my people, I would woo you.”
She realized his robe wasn’t made from the rough, homespun fabric used by the common Zeeman. Is he a clan lord? Maya loosened her grip on the silky material. “Who are you?”
He moved back and swept his arm down in an elaborate bow. “My name is Vach Namaste of the Namaste clan. It would please me if you remembered it.”
With a flutter of his robes, he hurried away, weaving through the crowd. It wasn’t until he had disappeared that Maya realized that he’d been speaking to her in English.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Vach finally reached the edge of the bazaar, where he had tied up his steed. He patted its thick neck. “Hey, Brawley.”
His mount woke up with a snort, then lipped at his hand, demanding a treat. It was still standing in the same place that he left it and no one had bothered it. No one would dare touch a sherakey, not even this sleepy fellow. Reaching into a pouch, Vach dug out a sweet lump for his mount. Giving him the treat, Vach turned to see if the human female had followed.
She hadn’t.
He felt disappointed. But she wasn’t of his race and didn’t understand the proper way to act. If she wanted him to woo her, she should have followed him. If she didn’t, then she should have knocked him on his well-bred butt, just like the human guard had suggested.
Vach had wanted this human female since he saw her step out of the spaceship on that astonishing day a year ago. Her blue eyes drew him closer. Her long, red hair made him want to run his fingers through it. Her curves sent flames of desire flickering through his body. He’d taken to coming into town regularly to stroll by the compound, just to see if she would be there. Today had been one of those rare good days when she was there to follow. He learned a little more about her each time. Now he knew she wanted to find something. If he knew what it was, maybe he could find it for her.
Climbing up on the saddle, Vach clicked his tongue and his mount started down the dusty road toward the Namaste bachelor compound. He contemplated his plan for Hymeneal Night. Vach already knew from eavesdropping at the map seller’s tent that Maya would be out on the desert, all alone.
The best snappy dialogue that comes to my mind is from the movies of the 30’s and 40’s, think Kathryn Hepburn, and Cary Grant. These are the two actors who I think of as the King and Queen of snappy dialogue.
Cary Grant example:
Eva Marie Saint (Eve Kendall): I tipped the steward five dollars to seat you here if you should come in. Cary Grant(Roger Thornhill): Is that a proposition? Eva Marie Saint (Eve): I never discuss love on an empty stomach. Cary Grant(Roger): You’ve already eaten! Eva Marie Saint (Eve): But you haven’t. ~*~
Snappy dialogue isn’t clunky, it flows. There a teasing quality to it and you can’t help to grin when it’s just right.
Kathryn Hepburn’s example:
Howard Hughes: [doesn’t hear what Kate says] Excuse me?
Katharine Hepburn: Well, if you’re deaf, you must own up to it. Get a hearing aid or see my father. He’s an urologist, but it’s all tied up inside the body, don’t you find?
Howard Hughes: Mmm. Katharine Hepburn: Me, I keep healthy. I take 7 showers a day to keep clean, also because I’m so vulgarly referred to as “outdoors-y.” Well, I’m not “outdoors-y,” I’m athletic. I sweat! There it is, now we both know the sordid truth: I sweat, and you’re deaf. Aren’t we a fine pair of misfits?
~*~
I think some of my best scenes are in my book, Windswept Shores, where the dialogue just flows are the ones where the hero teases the heroine.
Windswept Shores’ example:
“If I had me a net, I could catch some of those fishies for dinner.” Seth paddled water while he gazed into the pool.
“Don’t you have a net on the boat?”
“We usually use fishing poles.”
“No, I mean to net the fish after you reel them in.” She swam over to him.
“I don’t reckon you know the difference between fresh and salt water fishing, mate.”
“Okay, what’s the difference?” She splashed water just in front of him.
His smile twisted to the side. “When you fish in the sea, they’re a mite bigger.”
“Okay, smarty pants, how do you get the fish into the boat?”
“You use a big stick with a hook to pull them in.”
“Oh, I think I did see that somewhere.”
“Probably, you accidentally lit on it when ya flipped through the channels on the box.”
~*~
The best way to learn snappy dialogue is to listen to it. Watch those wonderful films of the 30’s and 40’s, or anything that has snappy banter. If you’re lucky enough to know people who pick and tease in the same manner, then listen to their conversations. And it might just make you smile. J
It’s all in the ear. And it can be learned.
Windswept Shores’ example (it’s not all one sided, Megan gets her turn):
Walking back to the Dinki-Di, Seth complained with a glance at her bikini, “Why did you put your cossie back on?”
“I’m not comfortable naked,” she explained. “What if someone showed up while I’m undressed?”
He gazed around, then back down at her. “Megz, no one is here.”
“No, but you showed up not once, but twice, didn’t you?”
“Um, yeah,” Seth muttered with a slight frown.
“Can’t argue with that, can you?” She grinned. I love winning an argument.
~*~
Janice Seagraves bio: When not writing late into the night, Janice takes care of her hubby of thirty-one years and a just grown daughter. They are owned by an overly affectionate cat and two birds. One a handicapped dove and the other a pigeon who is in love with her husband (not kidding).
BLURB:
The sole survivor of a plane crash, Megan is alone on a deserted island in the Bahamas until she finds a nearly-drowned man washed up on shore. Another survivor, this time from a boat wreck. With only meager survival skills between them, will they survive, and can they find love?
EXCERPT:
Breathing hard, she flicked a glance at the teal-colored sea. She’d thought a vacation to the Bahamas would be the perfect getaway, would be a solution to the problems she and Jonathan had faced. She’d been wrong—dead wrong. Tears of grief filled her eyes. The never-ending crash of the waves on the beach and the cries of the seagulls seemed to mock her with the reminder she was utterly alone.
She’d felt like a tiny speck of sand last night when a violent storm had swept across the island. It had made a mess of her meager campsite, which had taken all morning to fix, and had demolished her seaweed SOS sign. She’ll have to recreate her SOS. Sighing, Megan trudged toward a pile of kelp. As she got closer, she saw a figure wearing blue jeans and a t-shirt. Her stomach lurched.
Oh, God, it’s another body washed up from the plane wreck. That would be number twelve. As always, she couldn’t help but wonder if the next one would be Jonathan. He hadn’t been wearing jeans on the plane, so she knew she’d been spared seeing his corpse this time. Thank God. She approached the body with dread. Tightening her resolve, she knelt. Suddenly the “dead body” coughed and rolled over. With a scream, Megan jumped back. She clutched her chest and pressed a shaking hand to her mouth.
He’s alive!
Biting her lip, she stared down at the still-breathing man. His drenched t-shirt molded against his broad shoulders and well-developed upper body. Short, golden brown hair stuck out in all directions.
Megan, get control of yourself. Don’t wet your pants the first time you finally see a living person. She got on her knees, plucked the seaweed from him and wiped the sand from his face. His day-old whiskers scratched her palm. Reddened skin stretched across both cheekbones and over the bridge of his nose. Her thumb caressed his parched full bottom lip.
She patted the side of his face. “Hey, are you okay?” That’s a dumb question. He isn’t okay.
“Hmm?” Gray eyes fluttered open. He stared at her a long moment, frowning slightly. “G’day.”
“Hello there.” She hated the sound of her voice. It sounded rusty, unused.
Abruptly he rolled away from her to heave onto the sand, making a loud, ugly retching noise.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then looked at her. “Sorry, mate, I swallowed too much sea.” His gaze went over her shoulder in the direction of the bonfire which crackled and popped not far from them. “Mite big for a barbie.”
Sitting back on her heels with her hands folded in her lap, Megan followed his gaze, then back to him. “My signal fire.”
“Signal for what?”
“Help.”
His accent intrigued her. Was he English or Australian?
“G’darn,” he looked around, “where the bloody hell am I?”
“Don’t know. There’s no one here to ask.” Megan shrugged helplessly, but couldn’t contain her curiosity. “Are you from England?”
“Naw,” he rubbed his eyes, “I hail from Sydney, but my port of call these days is Fort Lauderdale.” He blinked up at her. “You?”
Ah, he’s an Aussie. “I’m Megan Lorry, from Anaheim, California,” she said, barely loud enough to be heard above the sounds of the surf and the roar from the fire. “Are you a survivor of Air Bahamas flight 227, too?”
There’s a writer I know who says she feels guilty every time she works on her next book, because her three sons are eating microwave popcorn for dinner. I’ve seen a photo of her sons, and they don’t look starved to me. And I know for a fact she spends time with her boys. She even plays World of Warcraft with them and got addicted.
So why is she feeling guilty?
As women, we are taught to be a good mom we should spend all our waking hours worrying and fussing over our children, husband and home.
Here’s the deal, if your kids are big enough to work the microwave and can get things from the frig, then they’ll be fine for a few hours without you. Same goes for the husband or significant other. No matter how much they complain, they are not helpless and won’t starve.
My daughter knew I had an open door polices for her when she needed to talk. She’d sit down in the chair next to mine and wait till I got to a stopping place, and then we’d talk for a bit. Afterwards, she’d go back to her homework, and I went back to writing.
I’ve done all the important stuff: Holidays, birthday, field trips, shopping trips, and girl talks. I cook dinner most nights (Unless I guilt my hubby into doing it), and we eat together as a family.
I’ll admit there are days when the laundry piles up to the ceiling and cleaning the toilet has become a waiting game of who’s going to crack first, me or my husband.
When I started on this journey to be a writer, I knew there would be some sacrifices. One of these might be that the dust bunnies get another year’s reprieve, and the only thing that gets dusted is my keyboard. But that’s okay—because I’m writing the next book.
Blurb: Divorcee and single mom, hardworking Audrey Westberry is the host of a cable TV show called Miz Fixit.
Romance was the last thing on Audrey’s mind when two handsome extraterrestrials join the audience of her show.
Soon Audrey finds out a single word “mated” has different meaning when you are born a galaxy away. After a wonderful night of passion, Audrey finds herself far from home, impregnated and her life turned upside down.
Will she ever be able to leave the alien compound, see her son again, or get home in time to film the fall season of her Miz Fixit show?
But what’s a girl to do with two aliens that smell like candy, and their kisses taste like it, too?
Excerpt: “Good show, everyone.” Derek, the director, walked through the dressing room. “So Audrey, how are you going to spend your summer hiatus?” Tall, dark-haired, with hazel eyes, and oh so married. He leaned on her chair and looked into the mirror at Audrey.“Oh hi, Derek.” Kendra made eyes at him again.Audrey frowned at her. If his wife ever saw her do that, she’d go ballistic.
To Audrey he was just a dear friend and director, who’d guided her through the complexity of cable television. “I was going to spend it with my son, but I got a call from my ex. Tony is going away to camp for eight weeks.”
“Camp?” He blinked in surprise. “Whose idea was that?”
“Tony and his best friend decided they wanted to go. My ex put him on the phone, so he could tell me.”
“Ouch.” Derek pulled down the corners of his mouth. “Best friend one, mom zero.”
“Yeah,” Audrey sighed, still feeling the sting of rejection. “He’s at an age now when friends are more important than mommy.”
“And, this is the dressing room where our star puts on her makeup for the camera.” Fox Watanabe, Audrey’s agent, was nattily dressed. His straight midnight hair and dark eyes marked him as pure Native American. He seemed to be acting as a tour guide to the aliens.
A cameraman entered the dressing room ahead of the aliens, walking backward as he snapped pictures.
Audrey grimaced. God, what’s Fox doing now?
“The aliens look like elves,” Derek muttered under his breath.
“Yeah, they do.” Audrey noticed their pointed ears and long faces. “They could’ve played extras on the Lord of the Ring movies.”
“Got to go, things to do.” Derek headed toward the exit, but he slowed, and his back stiffened as he got near her agent.
Audrey tensed. Please don’t let them get into another argument over me.
“Fox.”
“This is our little show’s director, Derek Alcorn.” Fox gestured toward him.
“Nice to meet you.” Derek gave a nod to the aliens. “I’ve got to button up the set.”
He hurried out of the room.
Fox turned back to the aliens. “He’s a busy man, lots of responsibilities.”
Audrey let out a breath. Fox had once again ignored the subtle dig Derek’s quick exit meant. The show’s director didn’t like chitchat, but he hated her agent even more.
“They have three penises each,” Kendra whispered in Audrey’s ear. She used a soaked cotton ball and ran it over the side of Audrey’s face to clean off the makeup.
Audrey turned to stare at her. “What?”
Kendra pinched Audrey’s chin, moving her head over to clean the other side.
“I saw a picture on the internet.” She whispered, “Two long ones and a little one. It makes you wonder what their women look like down there.”
Audrey licked her lips, trying to imagine the male aliens naked. Would their equipment look like my favorite toy?
Kendra moved back and smiled. “All done.”
Fox walked over to her, with the aliens in tow. “Here’s our Miz Fixit, Audrey Westberry.”
God, what a thing to tell me, just before I’m introduced to them. “How do you do?” Standing, Audrey held out her hand and tried not to glance at their crotches.
