Firstly, a big “Thank You” to my readers. I appreciate your awesome responses to yesterday’s post. It sounds like, for the most part, you’re all on the same page as me. A little research is useful when needed but save the heavy stuff for Round Two.
Today, I put down 174 words toward what I currently picture as my final scene. I decided to experiment and fast forward to the end. I couldn’t think of much more than 174 words at the moment. I’m sure that will change drastically once I fill out the middle.
Oh! I also started keeping a separate writing journal in Evernote. I’ve found it to be a great platform not just for recording random thoughts and potential story seeds, but also for taking notes on whatever I’m currently reading. It helps me absorb and keep a written record.
For kicks, here are some notes and an exercise undertaken while reading a chapter from Writing and Selling Your Novel. Let’s see if you catch the hilarious (in my mind) typo:
Writers often negate to put down on paper important details of what they’re seeing in their heads (this means all senses – sight, smell, sound, feeling, tasting).
The reader needs the five ‘W’s:
Where is the action taking place?
Who is involved?
When is it happening?
What is going on?
Why is it happening?
But don’t overdo it – no purple prose.
The general principle? Be sure to show the reader enough of what you’re seeing in your imagination.
The doorbell rang. She looked terrible.
“Come in. what’s wrong?”
Brad jumped. Was that the doorbell?
He sat up in the bed, listening.
A few seconds later, the doorbell rang again.
He wiped the sleep from his eyes and threw his legs over the side of the bed. He walked toward the door and opened it.
His eyes widened as he saw Jill standing before him. Her mascara was running down her tear-stained cheeks. She smelled of cigarettes and cheap perfume.
He looked back at the clock on the wall.
Six-thirty in the morning. She must have been up all night.
“Come in,” he whispered horsely. “What’s wrong?”
She pushed her way past Brad and walked quickly toward his living room.
“It’s awful,” she said in passing.
She quickly sat down on his dilapidated, brown loveseat and placed her face in her hands.
He closed the door and walked into the kitchen. He prepped the coffee maker and walked out to the living room.
He sat down on the chipped coffee table in front of Jill and rested his chin on his folded hands.