The HEA Cafe

I nearly missed today’s blog because I’ve been deep into writing a short story for an anthology. It’s actually a horror short, rather than a romance, so I tend to stay out of “civilized company” during the process, since I’m not of a warm and fuzzy mindset. LOL!

I wound up writing this story longer than normal. I tend to stay in the 2,500-5,000 word range in most of my shorts, but this one wanted to be longer. That’s interesting to me, because in general, I write to word count. It’s very unlike a novelist to do that, but I came to books out of magazine article work. Word count RULES in magazine work. You have very set guidelines—500 words, 1,000 words, 1,500 words, and that’s that. Often you lose space by the editor requiring a sidebar (those little colored boxes with complimentary information.) It’s always part of the word count, like a 1,500 word assignment with two 250 word sidebars. So that tells me I only have 1,000 words to write the article, because I can’t fudge the other two. Sidebars are really important to magazine editors because of the nature of the business. When assigning an article 6-9 months ahead of publication, the editor has no clue what advertising will be purchased for that issue. With sidebars, an editor can pay for a longer piece, and then cut it at the last minute by dropping a neatly boxed word count, if someone bought a larger ad.

But in novels, an author tends to ramble along with secondary characters and subplots and the like. Short stories are difficult to write with subplots and secondary characters are often two-dimensional. But sometimes, when an idea for the story is really richly textured, it takes time and space to develop them properly. That’s how it was with this story. It just “wanted” to be longer so I could do justice to the mythos (Cthulu) and the plot. Tricky venture, that. It might be that I’ll have to cut it in half to meet the market I intended it for, and that’s going to be hard. There’s so much in the story that’s good, but it’s WAAAY too long for either magazines or the anthology I’d planned the story for.

I’ve discovered that there are few writers who excel at BOTH short stories and novels. I think that’s because it’s a whole different mind-set. Short stories are a slice of time, like a self-contained chapter of a book. But they have to arc appropriately with a defined beginning, middle and end. Sometimes, that’s really easy. Often, though, it’s HARD. A lot of book authors I know have a difficult time when asked to contribute to an anthology because it doesn’t occur to them that you can’t just write until the story’s done. You have to fit the story in the box you’re given.

Normally, I find it a challenge to do that, and once I step away from this story for a few days or a few weeks, I’ll probably find a bunch of words that don’t need to be there for the story to resolve. But for the moment, every word (in my mind) is pure gold and I don’t want to touch it for fear of ruining it.

Which is why it needs to go into a desk drawer where it can sleep and I can get distance from it.

Now, it’s time to crawl out of my hole and back into the light where I can be warm and fuzzy and write the next great romance!

Have a great Wednesday!

I’d planned to write my blog entry about something useful and controversial like serial commas during editing (and if you don’t think that’s controversial, you don’t know many editors! LOL!) But a thread on another writing site I visit changed my mind. You can see from the title here that my new blog topic is also quite controversial, so much so that it’s a sharp knife, stabbing at the psyche of every writer I know—whether published or not. Raise hands, now. How many of you have heard this in your writing life?

“It’s only a hobby. You’re not getting paid (or paid enough,) so writing can’t be your job.”

How many of you have been so incensed by the statement that you want to reach out and strangle/slap/kick the person? After all, nobody would walk up to someone working a minimum wage job and say that. It’s tactless and thoughtless and insulting. Heck, I know career burger flippers and waitresses who struggle with their salary, but LOVE their job and never would want something different. And even some multi-published full-time authors don’t make much more over the course of a year than a fast food/discount store position. Plus, let’s not talk about how much more tax we pay as self-employed people, rather than W-2 employees, or the lack of health insurance.

I think one of the big problems is that people look from the outside and only see that “product + money = career” while “product - money = hobby. But if the writer identifies with BEING a writer, then that’s their career. It’s an internal thing that can’t be judged from the outside . . . and SHOULDN’T be judged from the outside. I see articles and posts and blogs from writers who have never wanted more than to write. It’s their calling. It screams in their soul—struggling every day to get out. How can a life’s calling, one that you’ve trained for and practiced, NOT be considered a career? That is one of the Webster’s/Oxford definitions, after all. “A profession for which one trains and which is undertaken as a permanent calling.”

But what about the hobbists? Are they somehow less of a writer because it’s not—in their own mind—a career? Should they give up publishing because it’ll never be their “career?”  This is an important question to me because I’m one of those hobbists. I identify with being a paralegal, even though that’s not where my money is coming from presently. So, to me, writing IS my hobby. It’s just a well-paying one with lots of benefits. But in my heart and brain, I’m still a paralegal who’s taking a break from the day-to-day business of it. I still keep up my certifications, though, and read equally as much new case law as fiction. Part of me desperately misses pursuing my career, even though my present job is paying well and has the potential to pay REALLY well.

In my mind, my attitude toward writing takes nothing away from someone who considers writing their career but doesn’t make money, whether “presently” or “ever.”
Yet, in some writing circles I dare not state my personal feelings on the subject. Even my co-author, when I said writing was my hobby (albeit a well-paying one) said never to speak that out loud again. If she ever began to consider writing a “hobby” she might as well stop and never pen another word for the rest of her life. The thought of it made her sick to her stomach. I know she’s truly sincere, but it seems so strange to me. I hear “How dare you!” as often as “Well, that’s your opinion, I suppose,” from various friends and acquaintances in the business, and aspiring authors frequently take special affront at the view—like, why should I have a spot on the bookshelf if it doesn’t scream in my soul? I have no RIGHT to earn the prize when apparently it’s some sort of lark to me. I get nasty rep points and angry emails from those who feel I’m dissing the entire of the writing community by sharing my belief.

But the thing is, I consider a “hobby” just as important—quality wise, as anything I would do in my career. It has no less status in my head. I still seek perfection in each book/story I produce. Does someone who makes fine furniture as a hobby do any less of a job because it’s not the main source of paying the bills? Actually, most of the time, the quality is MORE exacting in a hobby, because you’re living up to your own standards. So, a person with already high standards seeks to constantly improve. It must be perfect, and nothing less will do—no matter how long it takes to produce.

So, I ask all of you who read this: How do YOU think of your writing? Is it hobby or career? Does it matter to you whether someone feels the opposite? Does it stress you out? Let’s hear your views!

CREATING A WORLD USING SUBPLOTS

Lecture #3

Cathy Clamp

Stepping away from contemporary romance for a moment (although it works equally as well in that subgenre,) one of the best things about subplots is the ability the writer has to create the world in which the main characters live.

Let’s go back to our cop, who’s running from the Mafia don. Except that the cop is actually a preternatural cop who’s chasing a Mafia don who’s a demon. Now, how can subplots relay the supernatural nature of the world the hero lives in? Well, how about if the hero’s cat that chases the bird through the house is really a kitty version of Cerberus, the guardian of the gates of Hades? Somehow, “feeding the cat before he goes to work” takes on a whole new meaning if he forgets. Likewise, if he got it as a kitten, the learning process of reading a cat food bag to try to figure out whether he is feeding the amount for the ONE body, or the THREE heads can drag the reader firmly into the alternate world. Just like in Harry Potter, when Hagrid is trying to raise an endangered (and forbidden) dragon, having RULES that the characters must follow in the world give form to the world.

The act of making the characters react to the circumstances as though they’re real (or completely unreal) makes subplots your best friend. Dialogue between characters and secondary characters is key to moving along the world building. When (from Lecture #2) the best friend winds up on the hero’s couch after a fight with the bride, the hero can warn him on the phone, “Well, you know Baby’s grown up a little since you were last here. She takes up most the couch now, and she doesn’t share well.” The best friend can then respond with a memory about how the three tongues nearly ripped off his skin when she was a baby, and does she still try to bathe everyone? Subplots can include discovering that “Baby” has learned how to breathe fire (”Wow. They didn’t mention THAT at the pet store!”) or that Baby can sniff out demons and is a pretty terrific watchcat.

The reader knows that the main plot is important, but they still desperately want to follow Baby’s story. With careful crafting, not only can you develop your background, but you’ll have the readers involved in your world—anxious to know the fate of the kitten. Whether or not the cat winds up saving the day, every bit of the subplot you braid back in needs to continue the “story in a story,” from buying fire retardant couch throws to the hero realizing he’ll never have to buy lighter fluid for the barbeque again. The subplot makes the hero more real, and hopefully more loveable. And hey, maybe the heroine is a “cat whisperer” that can teach the cat not to destroy things, or can hone the “demon-sniffing” ability. All subplots. All vital to the creation of the world.

Try to think of subplots as the “crisis that interrupts the crisis.” Every phone call is a bit of the main character’s reality being thrown in their face to complicate their life—to DEFINE their life. Work calls and the heroine has to pull a weekend shift. The hero’s sister calls and Dad’s in the hospital. All of these things happen in our OWN lives, and when you meet a new person it’s often what’s happening around them that defines who the person is. It’s been said that you haven’t really met a person ‘til you’ve met their family. It’s true and it’s not, but you do learn nuances that the person doesn’t reveal until they’re thrust back into their own past. Haven’t you ever noticed that if you visit distant family for a long period, like over the holidays, you start to fall back into old, familiar roles? The high-powered executive becomes the slave to the father’s whim, or the sweet woman who never raises her voice becomes a harpy around her mother. These are all subplots in the making—told from the perspective of the visitor, the second main character who’s observing the subplots.

So, that’s about it. Think about the character’s life. Create subplots that bring that life to the forefront. Let the reader get to know the characters through the circumstances they live in. And have FUN! Go grab some fireproof pot holders and make your own “Baby” so your reality can blossom.

BRAIDING SUBPLOTS TO CREATE A SEAMLESS WHOLE.

Lecture #2

Cathy Clamp

If you remember from the last lecture, our hero is a cop who is trying to stay alive long enough to both testify against a Mafia don, and be the best man at his friend’s wedding. Now, how does the writer go about braiding the wedding through the primary plot, and what does “braiding” mean, anyway?

Well, consider how you braid hair. You have a main bunch of hair and two or three smaller bunches. By turning them in and through the others, you create a stronger, visually pleasing whole. In the case of the wedding, let’s say the best friend informs the hero he needs to get fitted for a tux, and tonight is the ONLY night the tailor can do the job. You can have the hero sneak in the back door of the tailor, parking blocks down and walking in the shadows to avoid the goons that nearly caught him finding a critical file folder or flash drive. Getting to the church on time might take on new meaning as the mob gets closer to finding him and/or the heroine. He might have to dive in the back door of the church when everyone’s waiting at the altar, or make progress calls to the groom so the poor guy doesn’t panic. This is subplot #1—survive to become the best man.

Then, maybe he has to referee a fight between the bride and groom so the wedding can even happen, and winds up with his buddy sleeping on his couch for a night or two–disrupting his planned night alone with the heroine. The fight, while a PART of subplot #1, actually can become subplot #2, because there might be more going on with the best friend than meets the eye. Perhaps it blends back in with the primary plot far more than the hero could have imagined. The bride might have a secret she’s been keeping, like maybe she’s the Mafia don’s favorite niece.

There can be other plots, too—family obligations like a weekly dinner with the heroine’s parents, or a sick pet that causes emotional angst. They are the “life threads” that make your people just like people you know in real life. The reader WANTS your characters to be just like real people, and the more bits and pieces of reality you can scatter in, the better your reader will like it.

If you discover you’ve gone several chapters into the romance without a “life” thread, you might consider a “plot complication.” This isn’t precisely a subplot, but still gives some beef to the character’s background or real life, and it wraps up quickly—meaning you don’t have to braid. It’s in and done with no fuss. You could have her get her nails done like clockwork every week and be so faithful about it that she nearly misses an important lunch with the hero. Or have him drop the coffee pot on his way out the door to work, and wind up missing the bus because he was sweeping glass. Or, have a bird fly in the window behind him as he’s sneaking in to avoid the car watching the house, and have the cat chase it all over the house . . . trashing the living room just when the bride is coming over to show him color schemes. Main plot blends into plot complication, blends into subplot. Etc., etc.

Weave things in and out to add complications. But always make sure the majority of subplots resolve themselves by the end of the book (e.g., the wedding has to actually HAPPEN, with the hero in attendance, for the subplot to have been effective.) Even if it’s just a lick and a promise for a plot complication, such as hiring a maid service and leaving the key under the mat . . . praying that the mob’s goons won’t find it. He can either be pleasantly surprised at a clean house just as the bride arrives, or horrified to find a dead maid in the living room. Your choice.

Tomorrow, we’ll discuss using subplots to actually CREATE your character’s world, ideal for alternate reality, paranormal, or fantasy.

I know the thread below this one suggested talking about the National conference this week, but I was already slated to do my workshop this week. But feel free to talk in BOTH threads. That’s what a blog is for…

 Lecture #1

THE CRISIS HAS TO INTERRUPT A LIFE

Cathy Clamp

Subplots are one of the most misunderstood and underused tools in an aspiring writer’s toolchest. If you look at the plot and characters as the hammer and screwdriver of the book, then the subplot is the torque wrench—a delicate tool that in the hands of a skilled user turns a book into a masterpiece.

So what is a subplot, and why is it important?

You’ll likely find a dozen different definitions of the term if you look on the web, but the basic gist is that a subplot is a secondary story inside the primary plot (a “plot within a plot”) that can stand alone. It’s also known as the “B” story or, in the case of a secondary subplot, the “C” story or “tertiary subplot.” A single-title novel often has multiple subplots which act as a foil to the main plot, support a theme, complicate events, or enhance character traits.

In romance, a good subplot involves the main characters, rather than dealing only with secondary characters. Romance subplots often involve family, friends or work, hobbies, health or finances. The hero/heroine either has direct impact on the events of the subplot (solving a problem) or the events impact the hero/heroine (make the goal of the plot more difficult.) They frequently deal with obligations that came about BEFORE the opening of the book. This is the sort of subplot that helps create your character’s world. When I say that, I mean that an author not only has to figure out what the characters are going to do in the book, but how they survived to be their age BEFORE the book starts. They had experiences, just like you did. If the plot of the book is the crisis that interrupts their life, then what life DID THEY HAVE before the plot was thrust upon them? Now, most of this will never make the printed page. But you have to know it all the same. I try to have one “life” subplot occur for each main plot thread. Who was the last person on your MC’s (main character’s) caller ID when the book opens? His/her mother? Best friend? Harassing bill collector? Does s/he pay the rent on time? Hate the boss at work? Have pets? Etc., etc. Real people have to live in the book, or the readers won’t want them to succeed in getting through the plot to either get back to their life, or away FROM their life.

For example, let’s say your romance hero is a cop, and he’s hiding from a Mafia don who he’s going to testify against just as soon as he can find all the evidence. But he’s also agreed to be the best man at a friend’s wedding. The wedding’s been planned for a year, which is long before your book opens. Being a stand-up guy, he can’t just back out because his professional life sucks rocks at that moment. So, he might dread each phone call that starts with, “We need to get our tuxes fit tonight.” or “Don’t forget about the wedding party dinner on Wednesday. You’re giving the toast.”

What does this subplot add to the book? It tells the reader that he’s a really good friend, because he’s unwilling to back out of his obligation so close to the event. It says the hero is willing to risk danger to satisfy the debt to his friend. It says that despite being willing, it’s STILL a nuisance and is a “bang head into wall” moment each time. It adds some comic relief to lighten the mood at critical moments. Most of all, the subplot shows the reader much better than simple dialogue that your hero is an Alpha-type, but has the CAPABILITY to fall for the heroine. He has the depth to handle the emotion of love.

Tomorrow we’ll talk about ways to braid the subplot(s) into the main plot so it looks seamless.