One of my biggest struggles as a fiction writer is that I want to explore spirituality and religion with my characters, but I absolutely do not want to write Inspirational or Christian fiction. Why? Well…
I’m a romance novel junkie. Seriously. There is nothing I love more than reading, and writing, romance. I love experiencing those emotions, the excitement and the pain and the fear and the lust and, ultimately, the love. Continue reading “A writer’s struggle: exploring spirituality in characters without boring the reader to tears”
I’m writing a novel. I’ve been working on the outline and premise for well over a year, but work and life and relocating to the other side of the continent have all been barriers to my efforts of actually writing. Work is steady, life is what it is, but the relocation is done, and the muse that used to drive me to write twenty thousand words in a weekend (in my fanfiction-writing heyday) is back from her vacation in the South Pacific and is, once again, encouraging me to write actual fictional words about actual fictional characters. Finally.
Continue reading “At the keyboard once again”
He looks like he belongs inside the issue of Men’s Health that he’s clutching in his hands. Muscled, veiny hands, with thick, long fingers and veins that convey strength. All of him looks strong, really, which is why I notice him sitting on a bench. We’re both on the third floor of the parking garage at SEA-TAC Airport, waiting to take a shuttle into the city. I’m sitting 20 feet away, but even from that distance, I can’t miss him. He’s broad – his shoulders are so broad that all I can think is “lumberjack” or “personal trainer.” He’s wearing a simple white t-shirt, but it clings to his biceps in a way that makes my mouth water. A white t-shirt never looked so good. When he stands to grab his bag, I can see that he’s easily 6 feet tall or more. Narrow hips. Strong thighs encased in worn denim that fits him ridiculously well.
Continue reading “Character study, or the day I met Hottie McWow”
I’m sitting on the floor of my hotel room. The sliding glass door is wide open, the air swooping through the room, carrying with it the sounds and smells of the city I love. The sun is sinking away now, taking the blue sky with it and leaving soft, burnished beauty in its wake. There is an occasional call of a seagull as it careens between the skyscrapers before heading back out to Elliott Bay. Air brakes hiss. Music thumps. The air smells like food – Chinese, Thai, Mexican – sweet and spicy, but with a hint of salt.
Continue reading “Room with A View”
When I was a kid, my house had a library. Okay, it was really just an unused dining room filled from floor to ceiling with bookshelves, but to an introspective, socially awkward girl like myself, it was a refuge. There, I learned about the world through the encyclopedias that ran along the bottom shelves. I was exposed to history through the hundreds of World War II books Dad had, as well as stacks of Life magazines from the 40s and beyond. The library was where I discovered smut and would sneak through pages of Clan of the Cave Bear when Mom and Dad weren’t home, my mind sucking up words like “throbbing” and “turgid.” And there, in the Romance section (aka Mom’s books), I was introduced to the book that I realize now has had a huge influence on my life as a lover of the written word. When I was 12 years old, I read Ashes in the Wind by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss for the first time.
Continue reading “The epicenter”
Running barefoot in the morning grass, the freshly-cut blades sticking to your feet. Mom won’t let you back into the house until you’ve sprayed your feet with the water hose but, even after the grass is all gone, the bottoms of them stay green for a full day.
Spending most of your afternoon standing in the cool shade of the old oak tree, unable to take your eyes away from the tiny little green frog that’s been clinging to the bark. (You name him Phil.)
Continue reading “When You’re a Country Girl (memoirs)”
In a continued attempt to make myself write more, I decided to participate in this week’s Weekly Writing Challenge. I chose the following prompt for this time travel experiment:
- Be an invisible observer in a major event from the past. Or an active participant — whichever you prefer.
And here’s my addle-brained contribution!
Continue reading “Weekly Writing Challenge: Time Machine – June 6, 1944”