I love going to Ren-Fairs, but to be honest I go mostly to get story ideas.
I love going to Ren-Fairs, but to be honest I go mostly to get story ideas.
I took the day off from writing and take a hike at Bass Lake California.
by Janice Seagraves
Hi, I’m Janice Seagraves. Today, we’re talking about writing dialogue.
I understand how frustrating it can be to revise one’s own work. I’ve been there myself and I’m doing it now.
For dialogue tags, I turn to Shrunk and White. Place he/she or name first: it’s he said or Mike said.
If you’re writing a question the same rule applies: he asked, Mike asked.
Never substitute said for asked.
If you have a question mark and it’s clear who doing the asking, then you don’t really need the ‘asked.’ In fact, if it’s clear who is speaking, then you don’t need a dialogue tag at all.
Example: Lynda turned on the light and looked at Mike. “What’s this about?”
And be careful that you don’t over edit your manuscript, which can lead to dropped words.
You’ll find “Editor do not use word lists” However, if you’re overzealous with deleting these words you can also have an issue with dropped words. I’m not saying to ignore these lists, but maybe take them with a grain of salt. Editors only have issues with these words if you overuse them.
Its clarity—that’s key to a good strong manuscript and a lot of this has to do with how it sounds.
Our ears catch a lot more than our eyes do.
Here’s a helpful hint: Read your manuscript out loud or better yet have someone read your manuscript to you.
Something else to try is one of those text to speak programs. A friend suggested one and I found it useful.
Where can you find inspiration for realistic dialogue?
Here’s examples I wrote myself by keeping my eyes and ears open. Mostly I observed mothers and their children just a few days before the holidays and the mothers seemed tired and the children antsy.
When I entered the store, the little girl peeked at me from between the manikins with an impish grin.
“There you are,” said the little boy. The two children giggled and chase each other around the clothing racks.
“Ma’am,” called out the eighteen-year-old clerk. “Can you please tell your children that this isn’t a playground?” She sighed and shook her head, as if she’d been saying this all day.
A dark headed woman looked up long enough to say something in a sharp tone in Spanish to the two children, before returning to the clothes she was looking through. The kids skidded to a stop, their shoes squeaking, and ducked their heads.
Her son, who looked eight, stood behind her. He poked her in the butt with his spider man doll and laughed.
As her face turned red, the woman turned and swatted at him. “Stop that. We’re in public.”
Now, if you prefer dialogue that pops, I suggest doing some research. Watch those old 1930 and 40’s films that had snappy dialogue. I suggest anything with Cary Grant, Katharine Hepburn, Claudette Colbert, and William Powell.
Thank you for dropping by. Please like and subscribe and I’ll do another vlog next week. 🙂
By Janice Seagraves
Hi, I’m Janice Seagraves a writer and a proud Daydreamer.
I wrote this a while back. After I was triggered by a memory about one of my grade school teachers. She caught me daydreaming while I sat gazing out the window. She got in my face and shouted, “No daydreamer has ever gotten anywhere!”
Now that I am older, I beg to differ. If this woman was still alive today, I would like to ask her why? Why did she feel it necessary to crush a young girl’s spirit?
Crush and embarrassed—I was, but it didn’t stop me. I am to this day a daydreamer.
If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be an artist or a writer. I proudly proclaim myself to be a stubborn daydreamer.
As a child, I watched too much TV. I can only blame Gilligan’s Island reruns and as a grown up becoming addicted to the Survivors show which led me into the what if’s that inspired my writing.
What if a person could survive alone on a deserted island, and found another person washed up on shore? What if they fell in love?
My what if’s turned into daydreams then led me to write a manuscript called Windswept Shores, which became my first published book.
My Daydreams helped create it, the rest was hard work. I kept my butt firmly planted in my chair keep my fingers moving.
Here are 8 more daydreamers:
Where would we be without our daydreamers?
Are you a daydreamer? Leave a comment and let me know if you are.
It was my turn to post on Romance Books ‘4’ Us.
I wrote about conflict in writing.
Revisiting an Old Manuscript
By Janice Seagraves
Hi, this is Janice Seagraves. I’ve the author of nine books and six short stories.
I wrote lots of stories before I was ever published. A lot of those book-length manuscripts were what I learned on. When you first start out you have to write and write and write so you can learn. And I was no different.
Twin Heart is an early book-length manuscript that I had learned on but had never forgotten. The characters in it feel like old dear friends.
Feeling nostalgic one day, I pulled Twin Heart’s file out and started revising it. I’ve learned a lot over the ten years since I wrote the manuscript and though I should be able to fix it, no problem.
It was a mess!
Missing punctuations, run-on sentences, and drifting POVs. Just to name a few.
I have a lot of work to do if I’m ever going to get my dear old friend up to snuff.
The first two chapters weren’t so bad, but the further along I dug the worse it got. Some chapters read like filler and didn’t further the plot or add anything to the storyline. And there are thirty-two chapters in my manuscript.
And over 115,000 words. My manuscript can certainly use some trimming.
Things I’m looking out for as I revise my manuscript:
Once I get the problems taken care of, I’ll have to write out the manuscript chapter by chapter as if I was writing a synopsis so I can figure out what can stay and what can go.
The delete button has already become my friend.
Now, why did I start this project again?
Oh, yeah, dear old friends that are the characters in the manuscript.
At least the bones of the story are good. I just have to delete, rewrite, and make stronger a bunch of the bad sentences to make the good shine through.
Have you ever dragged out an old manuscript with designs on fixing it?
Writing Time In Scenes
by Janice Seagraves
Hi, my name is Janice Seagraves.
Today, I thought I’d talk about time in writing. I don’t mean the day or week or month, but the speed in which things happen. Have you ever had someone tell you that your scene went too fast or maybe the opposite, your scene was very slow? And not in a good way.
Here’s some tips on how to fix that.
First, if your scene is going fast, you can odd more detail to slow it down. Believe me this trick works. Don’t know what to add in? Then I suggest describing what is happening in minute detail. Add in colors, textures, how things smell. Was the scent in the area nice, sour, or did it smell like something died? Maybe there is a background buzz that is irritating or soothing one of your characters? Add in details in all its glory: the good, the bad, and the ugly. Go deeper into your characters’ feelings. Add a pause as something else happens.
I had a scene that my critique partners said went too fast, so I added in more detail, more feelings, and more internal dialogue of one of the main characters. Then as they headed out, I wrote a pause. The heroine speaks to someone, while the hero is chumping at the bit to get her walking again then takes her arms and drags her down the road. And having one character wanting to leave the area, while the other is speaking to a secondary character can make the scene tense.
If you need to speed up a scene, then you’ll need to lose some of the detail. One time I added what in the business is called a ticking clock to speed things up. One of the characters is urging the others to hurry. His frustration shows whenever anything slows down. Have the characters speak in quick, short bursts. One liners. No long dialogues. And if there is only two characters, you can leave off some of the dialogue tags. No one ambles anywhere in this scene. It’s all dashing, sprinting, and doing things fast.
It was my turn to post on Romance Books ‘4’ Us Blog.
I wrote about how I handled harsh critiques. And it has one of my vlogs attached to it.
Please like and subscribe.
Turning Passive Writing into Active Writing
By Janice Seagraves
Since I’ve been seeing a lot of passive writing in the critiques I’ve been doing here lately, I thought I’d do a vlog on passive writing.
What do I mean by passive writing?
Have you ever heard of show and don’t tell?
Passive example: Rose was mad.
What’s wrong with the above sentence? Not much really. It does what it’s supposed to do, it tells us Rose is mad. But it doesn’t show us that Rose is mad.
Active writing example: Rose slammed the door closed then stomped through the room. “That jerk!” Picking up a flower filled vase, she hurled it against the wall where it shatters.
Not a real great example but you get the idea. Notice I used the words: Stomped and Hurled. These are active verbs. I wanted to show action and anger even in my word choice.
Passive writing is that, passive. It doesn’t show the reader anything.
Have you noticed while watching a movie that when an actor portraying a character that is mad, he doesn’t just frown. He stomps, shouts and will nearly always breaks something. He’s showing us he’s angry. And in writing, we need to show it too.
Another example: Rose was sad and wanted to cry.
Again, there is nothing wrong with this sentence, but it’s still telling up and not showing us how the character Rose feels.
Active writing example: She closed the door and leaned on it. A tear worked its way past her control. She rubbed the wetness off her face with an impatient swipe of her fingers.
You can see here that I’m conveying the feeling of sadness without telling you she was sad.
Has anyone ever told you that your writing though well written was kind of dry?
Did it sound like the smooch of death?
It doesn’t have to be.
The first time I heard this about my own work, I was struck dumb. What is dry writing and how do I fix it?
I discovered that dry writing means that I was lacking emotions in my scenes.
If there are no emotions in your scene then your reader can’t connect with your hero or heroine. In other words, your reader isn’t going to care about your characters.
And that my friends, is the smooch of death.
How do you fix that?
By adding emotions.
An early (dry) excerpt of my book, Windswept Shores:
Megan rolled a large log with one foot then the other, until it was near the bonfire. “God, this thing is heavy.” With a grunt, she lifted one end until it teetered upright then gave it a shove. It landed in the fire, embers swirling in the air.
Last night’s violent storm 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.
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. Suddenly the “dead body” coughed and rolled over. With a scream, Megan jumped back.
There isn’t anything technically wrong with the scene, but it lacks an emotional punch.
You don’t really care what happens to the heroine, because in this scene you can’t connect with her on an emotional level.
Windswept Shores except 2: After adding in emotions:
If she had to spend one more day on this godforsaken island, she’d go stark raving mad. The thought spurred Megan into rolling a large log with one foot then the other, until it was near the bonfire. “God, this thing is heavy.” With a grunt, she lifted one end until it teetered upright then gave it a shove. It landed in the fire, embers swirling in the air.
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.
As you can see adding emotions makes the scene come alive.
Windswept Shores is back, and better than ever with a replaced missing scene. It’s something warm to read while it’s frosty outside. And better yet, there a sequel too.
Blurb: The sole survivor of a plane crash, Megan is alone on a deserted island in the Bahamas. Then she finds a nearly-drowned man. Another survivor, this time from a boat wreck.
With only meager survival skill between them, will they survive these windswept shores and can they find love?
His hand lingered on her shoulder. Her trembling vibrated up his arm. Blimey, she’s all shaken up.
“S’kay, she’ll be right.” He grabbed her sleeping pallet, pulled it over, slipping an arm around her waist.
Her body went rigid. “What are you doing?”
“Relax, mate, I’m not trying to get a leg over. You need a bit of comfort so you can go back to sleep. My mum would cuddle me when I’d have a howler of a nightmare. It’s nice to know you’re not alone.”
“So, I’m supposed to think of you like my mom or dad?”
“Or like yer husband if that’ll help?” He grinned in the dark, wondering what kind of reaction he was going to get.
“I think not.”
“I noticed you weren’t wearing a wedding ring. Is it because yer husband drowned?” His heart beat a little faster when he asked the question. He really wanted to know if he had a chance with her.
“No, he’s not drowned,” she snapped. “I lost my ring in the ocean, but I’m not sure when. I just looked down one day, it was gone.”
She’s in denial about her husband’s death. I reckon it’s too soon. A little disappointed, he decided to change subjects. “So, you got any ankle biters at home?”
“How old?” he asked. They must be missing their mum, poor little nippers.
“Joshua is twenty. He’s in college. Eli is eighteen and just graduated from high school.”
“Blimey, how long have you been married to your bloke?”
“Twenty-three years this January,” she said.
“How old are you?” He positioned his head where he could breathe in the scent of her hair, and inhaled a floral fragrance. How does she manage to smell fresh in a place like this?
Megan moved a bit forward. “Do you know that it’s considered very rude to inquire after a woman’s age?”
“Not where I’m from, so spill.” He scooted up some, placing his knees behind hers.
She pulled away. “Humph, well, okay I’m forty-two.”
“You’re still spunky.” He wondered how far she’d move until she ran out of room in her tiny shelter.
“Uh, spunky, thanks.” Megan rolled onto her back.
Blimey, she out maneuvered me. Seth was forced to move back, but kept his hand on her tummy.
“You got hitched when you were a young ‘un?” He quickly did the math. She’s a bit older than me. More of a challenge.
“Yeah, I got married at nineteen, but I knew what I wanted, or thought I did. Have you ever been married?”
“Got hitched once.”
“What happened?” she asked. Her bed rustled as she shifted position.
“We got into a blue, she told me to shove off, so I left. So that was the end of that.” His hand drifted to her rib cage.
“Any kids?” she asked, pushing his hand down.
“A son named Nick. He just turned six.”
“Okay, now you have to tell me how old you are.”
“I’m an old prawn. I just had my thirtieth birthday.”
“That’s not old, especially not for a man.”
“I’m starting to feel it when I surf,” he admitted, smoothing a wrinkle on her shirt.
“Oh, you’re a surfer?”
“Back in Uni I got caught up chasing the good breakers on Spring Break. I headed out from Cali to Baja, then from there to Florida. I became a Surfie. That’s what you’d call someone who surfs more than they work. Then I met this old bloke, Bill, in a pub. He’s from Oz too, or so I thought, but it turns out he’s an apple.”
“An apple?” she asked.
“He hails from Tasmania. I was broke doing odd jobs. Bill hired me to help on his fishing boat.”
“Wait a minute, Oz?”
“Oz, short for Australia,” he explained, moving his mouth toward where he thought her ear was, saying softly, “It’s in the sound Au`z-tralia—Oz.”
Trade paperback: https://www.createspace.com/4084680
Blurb: Megan and Seth are finally rescued off their little island, but things are far from idyllic. Seth is arrested for murder, and Megan is order to return home to her philandering husband who is somehow still alive. Will they ever get back together again or see the life they envisioned?
“Megz, I thought you were going home?” Seth chided as she took the seat across from him at the old beat up wooden table.
“I have a flight in two hours. Time enough to see you before I leave.” She blinked back tears.
This is so unfair. This can’t be the last time I see him.
Megan folded her hands on the table. “We already checked out of the hotel, but I brought your luggage. The commissioner gave me the okay, so now you have a change of clothes for when you go in front of the judge. I also bought you a few necessities. Since soap and such are not provided, I was told it’s customary for family members to buy those items for the inmates.” She sat a white plastic bag on the table. “These have already been cleared for your use.”
He eyed the bag. “Did your boys pay for it?”
This is the last thing I can do for him, and he doesn’t want it? “Don’t you argue with me, Seth Dawson. You need these.” She fisted her hands. “I also put some money into an account here at the jail for anything else you might need.”
“Ta fer that, love. I’ll pay your sons back somehow.” Seth took one of her hands and uncurled her fingers. “I did want to see you one last time. I didn’t reckon with us parting this way. You to yer rotten bloke, and me here on charges.” He smiled. “Cuddling up on one of your siblings’ sofas sounded nice.”
“Crowded maybe, but we would’ve been together.”
“I heard you made a statement.”
“I did.” She sighed and looked down. I’m not sure what good it’ll do, Seth.
“Thanks for trying, love,” Seth murmured. “I don’t reckon on it being much since you didn’t know Bill before he died.”
“The commissioner said most of my statement is hearsay.” She shrugged. “The only thing I could really tell them was: Bill was dead when we found him and looked the same as the other drowning victims. Also, you never said a bad word about him and showed genuine grief at seeing his body.”
“Not much to go by.” Seth rubbed his thumb across her knuckles.
The slight touch sent a tingle through her, and she wanted to throw herself across the table at him. “The commissioner said he was going to contact the harbormaster where the Dinki-Di had been birthed to see if you two had gotten into any fights.”
“We didn’t.” Seth shook his head. “We got along.”
“Maybe he’ll make a statement too.”
“Gawd, I hope so,” Seth said. “I don’t have enough character references, being from out of town.”
“No, just me.” She tried to smile.
“And old Bill who’s gone.” He lifted her hand to kiss her fingers.
“Times up,” said a guard.
Megan stood and stared at Seth wanting to remember him. Not like this in the black and white jail clothes, but the way he was on the island, happily rumpled in his threadbare outfits.