#IWSG March - #amwriting - What goes? What stays? What's a non starter when writing a story or adding a scene to a story?

 Welcome to the March 2022 IWSG.

Alex's awesome co-hosts for the March 2 posting of the IWSG are Janet Alcorn, Pat Garcia, Natalie Aguirre, and Shannon Lawrence!

  Be sure to visit the
Insecure Writer’s Support Group Website!!!

 Like me, you're probably wondering where those first two months disappeared to. I've spent most of the time in my writing chair. How about you?

So my state has been/still is, being inundated with floods. Had 80% of our annual rainfall in a few days, causing devastation to a large swathe of South-East Queensland. Luckily I live on a hill and was never in any danger, but my heart goes out to those who have lost everything.

A lot going on in the world with disasters hitting many countries. Now we have war in Ukraine. Shocking to think of the suffering that war brings. Let's hope for a speedy solution with a minimum of bloodshed. I have a writer friend who has lost the will to write because of this turmoil, while others feel even more determined to write. Our winning WEP entry in February is about war - not in Ukraine - but a past war. It struck a chord with all at WEP and our judge Nick Wilford gave it the winner's gong. Congratulations to Sally Stackhouse who always writes pieces that speak to our emotions. Click HERE to read her heartfelt story.

Now there is a March 2 question - Have you ever been conflicted about writing a story or adding a scene to a story? How did you decide to write it or not?

Let's just say that like a film editor, my floor is littered with discarded story ideas and scenes that either didn't work or I felt were too controversial. I've seen some authors include discarded chapters and scenes at the end of a story or offer it for free as a reader magnet for their newsletter. I'm thinking that's a good idea. I love some of the chapters/scenes I've cut and that would be a good way to put them to good use. 

For example, this is my original opening scene to Betrayed, the first in my vampire series which is undergoing a full re-write, new cover, new blurb:

OLD CHAPTER ONE

 

Florence, capital of Tuscany, 1610.

 

 

I

t was easy to lose your head under the rule of Grand Duke Cosimo II de’ Medici in the year of our Lord 1610. Whether noble, craftsman, brigand or mercenary, an accusation of treason could result in decapitation. Well aware, Duke Vipunin de Castellina knew he must tread carefully to ensure his head remained firmly upon his shoulders.

He had much to look forward to, but it depended on the success of his journey tomorrow – finally taking up his inheritance at Castello de Castellina in Chianti and announcing his betrothal to Lady Ciassia de Fioravanti, daughter of the Marquis Fioravanti of Florence. He’d loved her these many years, and she loved him in return. His military duties to the de’ Medici had prevented their nuptials, but now the time approached when they could wed. It would be the most joyful thing when they became man and wife. They would live together in his castle, raise children, guarantee the Castellina line.

But the imminent beheading of one of his noble friends was foremost in his mind when at twilight a messenger hammered loudly at his palazzo gate in via del Canneto by the River Arno. The rider handed him a document sealed with the ubiquitous red crest, still warm, summoning him to an audience at Palazzo Medici. A quiver of trepidation passed through him, along with vexation at yet another last-minute command from his brother in all but blood. Each time he planned his return to Castellina, Cosimo found a reason for him to delay. Why had his friend interrupted his preparations for his journey yet again? Had he found yet another reason to forbid Vipunin to leave Florence? 

Directly following a PREQUEL about Premonitions which play a large part in this story, this is a snippet of my new opening chapter:

NEW CHAPTER ONE

 

Florence, capital of Tuscany, 1610.

 

I

n the pre-dawn darkness, Duke Vipunin de Castellina hurried down the stone steps of his villa in via del Canneto by the River Arno. With each footfall, his head pounded in time to the beat of his heart. He rubbed his temples, relived the visions he’d seen throughout the night – shrieking vampires attacking with swords as he and his men battled their way through the Tuscan Forest.

Blood. Decapitated heads.

But whose blood? Whose heads? 

                                                         ***************

If you took the time to read both, which do you prefer? I think it's a no brainer, but I could be wrong.

                                                                *****************

Very soon, the winners will be announced for the February challenge, All You Need Is Love. Just a head's up, the WEP team aren't eligible for prizes. Not to take away anything from the winners, but just check out the wondrous post from team member, L.G. Keltner. So psst, here I'll tell you. We have Sally Stackhouse as the outright winner, and here is second and third.

Already we at WEP have our brains full of ideas for the April challenge of the Year of Music. We'll also collaborate on an entry for the A - Z challenge - D for Doors.

Thanks for stopping by. I know what it's like to be super busy, so I appreciate it more than I can say. Until next time .. Peace and Love ... Denise

#WEP FIRST CHALLENGE FOR 2022 - YEAR OF MUSIC - ALL YOU NEED IS LOVE, the BEATLES.

 Hello there!

Welcome to WEP's Year of Music. First group/song to be featured is the Beatles and their iconic song, All You Need is Love.

For this challenge, I take you on a trip to Liverpool, the home of the Beatles. I've always loved park benches, so I imagined myself sitting on a park bench admiring the Beatles' statue on the waterfront. Park benches are under-rated. They can be great places to sit and dream and watch people living their lives.

Trigger warning: This #flashfiction contains drug taking. Given the subject matter, sorta has to, don't you think?

TAGLINE: There comes a time to stop running and embrace life.

Learning how to be you.

I stumble around the deserted waterfront at Pier Head, numb.

It seems wrong that the sun is shining this morning. This is Liverpool, after all. The sun rarely shines. A bleak day would be more fitting, but today the sun bores into my eyes, casts shadows on the cement. Casts shadows on my soul.

I pause a step. Stand at the edge of the pier where the murky River Mersey slaps waves onto the pylons. The ferries bob, tethered, waiting for a time when they'll run again. 

The sun embraces me. Offers comfort and warmth. I won’t give in to the grief ballooning in my chest. It’s quiet here on the pier. Peaceful. But my legs are shaky. I slow-walk to the bench in front of my favorite four local boys made good.

An hour ago it must have rained, because the bronze statues are slick and shiny. I feel like the Fab Four are out for a casual stroll, walking toward me, hope on their faces. Stillness steals over me, eating away at the paralysing shock of arriving at the hospital this morning to be told the worst news.

A flock of tourists vomits out of a huge bus slathered in peace signs and bright flowers and other sixties’ symbols. I’m about to be engulfed in a tidal wave. A burst of humanity surges toward me – vibrant, alive, optimistic – like the Beatles at the top of their game. I feel like a little fish swimming against the torrent, struggling to stay afloat, gasping for breath.

Lennox is dead.

Why is a busload of tourists belching toward me like a chattering of choughs?

Lennox is dead.

Why aren’t they at home, taking the pandemic seriously. Haven’t enough people died already?

Lennox is dead.

No guesses where these bright birds are heading.

The Beatles statue. 

A landmark. 

My city’s must-see piece of art.

The birds land. I am swamped by humanity. Surrounded. Overwhelmed. Overcome.

Cameras click, flower-holding fans in sixties’ psychedelic coats with peace symbols on the back, jeans, boots, Carnaby Street caps. They pose, arms around the Fab Four, kiss them, pay homage as only died-in-the-wool Beatles’ fans know how. To make it worse, they’re murdering my favorite Beatles’ song, All You Need is Love, making a game of it. Every time someone warbles the chorus, heads pop up from behind the boys, shouting, ‘love!’ ‘Love!’ ‘Love is all you need!’ All you need be damned.

I don’t know how I manage it, but I drift. Sleep. Dream of that dreary hospital room with its dreary view. Where Lennox breathed his last in a room full of impersonal machines, tended by angels in blue head-to-toe PPE gear, shields, goggles, the whole shebang.

The smell wakes me.

Earthy. Herby. Sweet.

I’ve never taken drugs, unlike the Beatles with their field trips to India to sit at the feet of the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi to study spirituality. In the statue in front of me, George’s belt has been engraved with a mantra revealing his deep interest in Indian spirituality. It was especially important to him, more than the sitar playing he toyed with.

      

I love the sitar in Norwegian Wood. I’ve nothing against Love You To from their 1966 album Revolver. George wrote and sung it and it features Indian instrumentation such as sitar and tabla. A digression from their usual sound. 

 But I digress.

That smell. I recognize marijuana from the hours I spent at Lennox’s bedside in the early stages of the illness before he went to hospital.

My heartbeat speeds up. Someone daring is sitting beside me. The tourists have gone. I squint my eyes. Not a beanie-clad, tousled haired, grubby person, but someone who embodies sophistication and privilege. His hair is blond, brushes his shoulders, unlike the Beatles with their black mop tops. From under his bangs, the pot smoker studies the foursome, a smile quirking his lips.

I sat holding Lennox’s hand while he smoked, but that was different. That was to alleviate the pain, to make the end more bearable. Medicinal cannabis. Which this is not.

I’m rooted to the spot. Wondering what will happen next.

The sunshine, the sweetness, the sexy smile.

He hands me the joint like we’re old friends at a party. He raises his eyebrows, interested, waiting to see what I’ll do.

I’m a stickler for doing the right thing. But what is the right thing here?

I take it.

First time ever I’ve smoked, but I do it for Lennox, somehow brings him closer.

I’m suddenly a woman who tries new things. Who knew that about me? Not me.

Nothing you can do, but you can learn how to be you in time
It's easy…

It hasn’t been easy.

My life has revolved around caring for my brother, Lennox, and before him, my elderly parents who succumbed in the first wave of the virus.

No one you can save that can't be saved

I hate that.

The smoke passes down my throat. Wraps around my lungs. Chokes me.

The tension pours from my pores.

He smiles but I see the sadness in his eyes. ‘I’m sorry, Karla. I’m here for you. Always.’

I take another drag. The air is warm, cloying. The sun seems brighter. Brilliant.

He stretches out his hand. I take it. He pulls me to my feet. Wraps his arm around my shoulders.

I’ve been running away from things all my life.

Now I’m running forward. With the love of my life, Johan.

Lyrics pound through my head:

There's nowhere you can be that isn't where you're meant to be
It's easy.

Will it be easy this time?

 ~*~

 I hope you enjoyed sitting on a park bench with me.

WORDS: 940

FCA

If you're into music, even if you're not, in April please join the writers at WEP who love using their imagination to respond to a prompt. We love newbies! And we love those blasts from the past who once wrote for us. Doesn't this image conjure up all sorts of story ideas?

#IWSG FEBRUARY 2. A little bit of this and a little bit of that #amwriting ... and #amediting

Hello!

Here we are gathered around the campfire for the February 2 IWSG post. Hope everyone is doing well, staying safe, and getting into the writing year. 

I'm not going to answer the question this month, not really relevant, except to say I'm so sad at the loss of Anne Rice. A writer of unique vampire tales who heavily influenced my foray into the paranormal genre. Anne will be sorely missed by many.

My favorite Anne Rice novel.

Alex's awesome co-hosts for the February 2 posting of the IWSG are Joylene Nowell Butler, Jacqui Murray, Sandra Cox, and Lee Lowery!

Thanks to these generous souls who have given of their time. Please visit them if you can.

~*~

How's your writing year shaping up? Interesting? Hard work? Motivated? 

As a recent #IWSG post asked us about regrets, and I, like many others, regretted not getting started earlier, I'm intent on making up for lost time.

I've been working on a huge re-write on one of my published stories which has had over 30,000 impressions on Amazon ads, but these impressions have been slow to result in clicks/sales. The Page Reads on Kindle Unlimited show me where readers are stopping. So when that happens, the advice is a re-write, change the cover, rewrite the blurb, republish. I thought it'd be a quick job, but no, little ole perfectionist me is involved, so it's taking ages, but I believe in it and I think I've improved the story no end. Then to the editor ... Then to the cover... Just teasing ... this is not it ...

Which puts me behind on my second Paris novel, full of yummy recipes, which is to be shared with my awesome critique partners at the end of this month. There's a stack of work to do on it since I first shared it with my critters, so it's adding a fair bit of pressure to my writing schedule.

Then there is the #WEP challenges for which I write a #flashfiction to a prompt every two months, along with several other writers who continue to blow me away with their talent. We've just launched the Year of Music onto an unsuspecting world. We kick off with the Beatles. Read our post HERE and consider joining us if you want to improve your writing or offer feedback to other writers.

This writing gig is always exciting, isn't it?

How many projects are you working on? Or do you like to work on one project and see it through to completion? 

And I should mention ... not so much a project for me now that I've won a place in the anthology, but still there demanding attention ...

#IWSG January 2022 - Regrets, I Have a Few, But Then Again, Too Few to Mention ... (let's get this musical year underway!)

Hello all!

Let's get this new year underway with our first IWSG post. I didn't have a break from writing as I had a pre-order up for The Dark Side, second in my Renaissance vampire romance series, for 8th January and I hadn't polished the manuscript. But despite everything else needing my attention, I got it back to Amazon yesterday, 20 hours ahead of schedule. What fun! Not! My heart rate is still coming down!

Alex's awesome co-hosts for the January 5 posting of the IWSG are Erika Beebe, Olga Godim, Sandra Cox, Sarah Foster, and Chemist Ken!

  Be sure to visit the
Insecure Writer’s Support Group Website!!!

So, thanks, Alex J Cavanaugh for this platform to whinge, whine or hoot and holler. Hmm. Which brings me to the January 5 question - What's the one thing about your writing career you regret the most? Were you able to overcome it?

So, I guess my biggest regret is waiting so long to publish, but there was always something calling on my time, namely my children and my teaching career. But hey, I've overcome by writing a rather large backlist and am now able to keep publishing on a regular basis. I'm having fun.

Here's to a great 2022!

Had to show off my cover for The Dark Side. Groovy!

WEP is on a holiday schedule. We've chosen the shortlist, refined it and sent it to Nick Wilford. We're all a-twitter waiting for his decision in a day or so. So, if you entered WEP's December challenge, Narcissus, you'll soon learn if you won a prize!

And soon it'll be February! We are soooo excited to be entering The Year of Music. We love our music, so choosing six songs out of the millions of songs out there was our biggest challenge! We kick off with ...

Wow! Can't wait to write to this one!

How about you?

For those who indulge, here's to endless coffee and cake for 2022 - countered by lots of exercise! (Had to spoil it, didn't I?)

I hope 2022 goes well for each of you. I started off with a covid scare in the family, which thankfully ended up being a negative result. Like in many countries, Omicron is raging, and we've never seen such high numbers in Australia. I'm fully vaxxed and boosted. Not much else you can do except stay out of the public as much as possible and mask up.

#WEPff NARCISSUS, by Caravaggio. My #flashfiction, A LIttle Reflection Can't hurt. And it's time for the December #IWSG and the delights of writing!

Hello and welcome to my blog!

Wow! I missed last month's IWSG cuz I was just so busy with everything writing related. Much the same this month. But I'll answer the second half of the suggested question - what delights you (about writing). I love everything about writing except sweating over the first draft - that's where my critique partners come in, but once I have my story down, it delights me to rewrite as many times as it takes, then share with betas and editors. But, added to that, I love that I'm a member of the blogosphere where we love to interact and help each other. So, when Damyanti asked me to put an article together on self-publishing, I was less than keen as I'm pretty new to the game, but I'm glad I chose to go ahead and do something for Damyanti who gets so many queries from her followers about self-publishing...so...

Damyanti is hosting me on her site. After you read my entry for WEP, Damyanti and I would be so happy if you drop by to read my article, A Beginner's Guide to Self-Publishing. Add to the conversation! 

Now, let's get WEP underway!

Welcome to WEP's final challenge for the year of 2021, Year of the Art. We've all thoroughly enjoyed being inspired by art prompts and honestly, I'm a bit sad that it's over. But, good news, 2022 is the Year of Music, where we're inspired to write by music titles and lyrics. Super exciting! 

The Year of Music kicks off in February 2022. 

Let's get down to the Art...Caravaggio's Narcissus. In my story, I've gone for Narcissus and Narcissa. I've strayed into vampire territory. Couldn't restrain myself. 

I hope you enjoy my flash! Those with sharp memories will recall I've taken the bones of a previous WEP entry and with some tweaking it was perfect for the challenge.

And a new innovation at WEP is that we write our own taglines - such good practise for submitting to agents/publishers/magazines/on book covers ... so ...

TAGLINE: Be careful what you wish for; you might just get it.

A Little Reflection Can’t Hurt

 

In perfect synchronicity, in the perfect silence of the night, two imposing figures ran side by side, shooting like arrows through trees and undergrowth. Moonbeams shone upon them, bathing them in surreal light.

Her name was Alessandra. His was Eduardo.

Eduardo took Alessandra’s hand and tugged her to a halt. ‘Before we feed, let’s go to our favorite place.’ Eduardo pointed deeper into the forest, where an abandoned track led away from the highway. The old path was pitted, potholed and pathetic, but it didn’t faze them. Their swift feet flew above the earth, propelled them into the sky whenever they craved the sheer joy of using their newfound powers.

Alessandra jerked his arm, dragged him under an overhanging branch of a Downy Birch. Despite her awesome powers of strength, intuition, enhanced sight and hearing, she was always nervous when Eduardo invited her to their favorite place. But her nerves coupled with a frisson of excitement. She thought of saying “no” for a nanosecond, but she hated to disappoint Eduardo after he’d been so good to her. ‘Oh let’s.’ She sucked in a deep breath. ‘I must try one more time before I give up.’

Eduardo wrapped his arm around her shoulders, drew her so close she felt his marble-hard body pressed against hers. ‘You are the most beautiful thing that ever happened to me, my darling,’ he said. ‘I’m so glad you’re mine for eternity. What a gift I have been given. I always loved Christmas in my human form, now Christmas comes every day I spend with you.’

Alessandra knew he was buttering her up to ease the disappointment she must surely feel when they reached the magical place. ‘You are the most perfect gift ever, Eduardo.’

As she ran, Alessandra’s mind returned to that night when everything changed…

~*~

…She was out on the town, such as it was. Her boyfriend hovered attentively, plying her with white sauvignon blanc until the rough edges of her dissatisfaction blurred.

Why are you so unhappy? he'd asked. What more could you want? Your life is perfect.

That’s what you think.

Over the rim of her glass, her eyes flew from her boring boyfriend and locked with a new arrival. Helloooo stranger. Few strangers came to this weird little island plonked in the middle of the North Sea. In his Savile Row suit and designer haircut, he oozed glitz and glamour.

And excitement.

As he stared at her, trembling possessed her whole body like an alien force had taken her over. Her boredom with her ho-hum life on the island was about to end. He was "big city". Glasgow? Aberdeen? Her knight in shining armor had come to rescue her.

The stranger did indeed rescue her from her life.

She’d clutched her glass of white wine until the stem broke, cutting the tip of her finger. Seawater jumped clear across the harbor wall and crashed against the glass windows. She sucked her finger and wondered if the glass might shatter and tip them all into the North Sea.

She thought it was part of the game when he ran her from the pub, covering her with his fancy cloak and took her driving into the forest in his sleek black Maserati. She’d never seen such a car. A change from clanking old tractors driven by dour farmers.

She thought it was part of the game when he drew her close, sucked her bleeding wound then threaded his fingers through her hair. Her whole body shivered as he murmured endearments. Oooohhhh.

She thought it was part of the game when she felt a strange sensation where his lips touched her neck.

But she knew it wasn’t a game when his teeth bit her throat. ‘Come, my lifeless bride. Come away with me. Be mine eternally.’

Her heart hammered. Her throat burned. Her body trembled.

Too late.

The myths about strange creatures who lurked on the island were true. Why had she dismissed them like she dismissed everything about her home? But who’d expect one of those creatures would drive a Maserati?

But thankfully, her boyfriend, Eduardo, had followed them in his beat-up Toyota.

He’d wrenched open the Maserati door, dragged Niccolò off her neck, pulled him outside.

Niccolò had spung up, pounded a fist into Eduardo’s temple. While he lay unconscious, and while Alessandra lay inert inside the car, Niccolò had drunk from Eduardo, then roared into the night after tossing her on the ground. 

Gods be praised, her boyfriend followed her into the Otherworld. 

~*~

Through mountains of musky leaves, she and Eduardo ran, hummus flying around their feet. Occasionally, just for thrills, they flew to the treetops, using their sharp vision to check out the distant landscape of gray sea and green hills, so beloved.

Alessandra smelt it before she saw it.

Their special stream. They knelt before the pristine water and played the game. Would it be different this time?

Pushing their faces close to the water, they tried, they really did. But no. Nothing. No image. No reflection. No chance of being Narcissus or Narcissa even with all their extraordinary powers. 

Disappointed, Alessandra plunged her face into the water. Do I even exist?  ‘Ohuhuh…aagh...’ Electricity shot through her body while Eduardo held her while she trembled with shock.

When the trembling ceased, Alessandra sighed. ‘Perhaps one day I’ll see my reflection.’ She bent down and scooped a handful of shimmering water, let it trail through her fingers. She might be slowly forgetting what she looked like, but she’d never forget the past events that brought her to a place where her reflection didn't reflect.

‘See yourself through my eyes, my love.’ With his long fingers, Eduardo traced the shape of her face. ‘Your hair is like black silk, and it is my never-ending thrill to run my fingers through it; your face is a heart, so dear to me as you gaze at me with your heart in your eyes. Your lips are soft and red,’ he followed their outline with a fingertip, ‘while your ears are two delicate white shells attuned to my love words.’

Alessandra was moved beyond words. ‘My love, I see myself reflected in your words. What need have I for any other?’

_____________________________________________________

WORDS: 1040

FCA

You'll find this announcement everywhere I hope! Here are the WEP challenges for 2022, the Year of Music. If you've never written for us, accept the challenge in 2022. You can find a complete list of the music challenges HERE.

                             We'll rock on with All You Need is Love in February. How perfect!

And a reminder ~

Please drop by to read my article, A Beginner's Guide to Self-Publishing on Damyanti's blog. Add to the conversation! 

A large part of my author promotion is through BOOKFUNNEL. They are great for selling books and growing newsletters. If you click on this link in one of my current promos, GIFTS GALORE, it will lead you to a passel of books to choose from in various genres - Romance, Historical, Western, Suspense. Try it! 

GIFTS GALORE

PARIS DREAMS THROUGH BOOKFUNNEL

                               

Thank you!