I finished my fairy tale!

Happiest of valentines to myself. I just wrote the last line of my YA fairy tale. 82,300 words ending in tears and laughter.

My little dragon was cheering me on these last few days. I think I wrote about 4k to get to the finish line.

My beta readers will be hearing from me as soon as I make a final sweep and swoop through the book.

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However, I'm still dealing with my mother's health and personal issues, meaning I'm about to go away for a few days again. No Internet at her place, either.

So I'll catch up with you all soon as I can.

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Wheee!

Stepping through the portal

I’m talking to you, 2012! I've got a little wish list.

It’s not that I'm asking to be like a giant, regal swan in a lake teaming with common coots and ducks and cormorants. (Um, yes, I was walking with a friend when the swan appeared, and I couldn't resist this stretch. After all, swans symbolize intuition, creativity and light,) And, not to disparage swan behavior, I wouldn’t fling lesser beings aside on the way to the feeding trough. (Ack. Yes, they do that.)

But, sigh. I wouldn’t mind a little adoration and crumb tossing. Just a tad. You know, an agent loves my story. An editor loves my story. The marketing department loves my story. The public loves my story. Hollywood loves my story.

Is that too much to ask?

I suppose it is since I’ve yet to finish said story.

So, 2012 Goal, The First:

Finish writing and editing my darkly funny fairy tale! I mean, really, enough already. I need to send it toddling out into the world and see if anyone wants to fuss over it, put a pretty cover on it and shout out its wonders.
To reach goal No.1, I am going to go away for a week in January with nothing but my manuscript to do some serious final revisions.

As part of my 2012 writing plan, I've downloaded the coolest 365-day, one-page, free calendar called Don't Break the Chain. Inspired by Jerry Seinfeld, it is a simple way to nudge yourself to write (or anything else) every day, so you can "X" out each box. Mission accomplished day-by-day and writing moving steadily forward. Here's a link through The Writers Store.

All other goals can line up in the queue. Here's a good one--the banishment of overused, misused words, such as compiled by the “amazing” Lake Superior State University.

I wish you all a sparkling New Year, filled with adventure and goals well-met. Let’s expect the unexpected, roll with the sucker-punches, be flexible and adaptable. Who knows, some of the surprises may carry wonders.

Doesn't it feel like we step through a portal when one year rolls into the next? So much possibility. (But no ancient Mayan doomsday, thank you very much.)

One last thought, part of a quote from Neil Gaiman: "and I hope somewhere in the next year you surprise yourself."

Sweet mystery

What is more mysterious than life, than the intricacies of nature? This fern captivated me from the moment I noticed it in the garden of my late mother-in-law. Her name, too, was Fern.

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The writer in me sees: A fairy's chariot. A creature from a distant planet. A deep sea being, like an octopus, curling into itself when flung upon land. A mystery waiting to unfold.

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I love that my eyes, my mind, take these leaps. And I know that helps my writing.

I'm currently two-thirds done with my fairy tale WIP and ready to take the giant leap into the climax and resolution, where all the complex, mysterious threads come together. I've been hearing the characters' dialogue for weeks. I haven't written down these confrontations, because I see them, I know them. They are developing, waiting to unfold and will be there when I need them.

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Here is another view of a fern frond unfolding. This one looks like an upside down seahorse, doesn't it?

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Fern loved the sea, lived by it most of her life. She also loved literature but rarely let anyone see her writings, her words scribbled on backs of envelopes, scraps of lined paper or sometimes typed.

After she died, my daughter found a folder of her writings with a note (on an envelope) to me. It read, "Did I ever show you, I think not, these poor, few travesties of lyric songs. You may see them, dear."

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A moment, please. My eyes tear, my heart aches. I do miss her.

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Since April is National Poetry month, I'll share one of Fern's poems, hoping that I found the most finished draft she wrote.

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She called it No Myth.

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Forewarned, Psyche dared not find

the face of Love in light,

nor flare of discontent which might

unseat that lord; no sight

reveal if he be radiant or foul.

And yet he knows her contour,

slant and color of the eye,

her soul, computerized,

conditioned, tidied, tamed,

claimed, tuned to die,

he shoots the shaft, reversed, towards home.

Did she risk an open query,

haggle over price to pay,

trade, while tugging at Love's sleeve,

deceit for immortality?

Or make that godly, girlish move

aware, sure, pure in sin,

knowing lone Beauty, Love

needs not consort with Truth to win.

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Thank you, Fern, for opening my eyes to so much, to the magic and the truth all around us.

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(once again, I cross my fingers that Blogger won't make too much mess of the paragraph spacing)

Eye-opening moments, heroes and vanquishing fear

How can I portray a dream?

I've kept dream journals, awakening in dead of night to jot down words that can hardly contain the images. I've tried painting them. But the essence usually slips back to that other world.

This photo is nothing like a recent dream I had, but it does convey the surreal-ness and ethereal-ness of it. I tried to put it into haiku. It didn't fit, but here's the attempt.

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peering from cavern--

sky-blue sea hits white granite,

dashing all darkness

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I'm not going to bore you with the dream details, but I will say what was most wonderful was the sense of leaving behind darkness, fear, despair, in order to brave a new world, full of possibility. That's how it felt when I woke up and what picturing the expanse of blue water and snowy-white cliffs still conveys.

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I hit a snag--not a wall, just a bump--in the fairy tale I'm currently writing. I knew where the next chapter was going but felt like it needed something. In other words, I wasn't enthused, and figured it lacked tension.

I just didn't know what to do.

So I picked up Donald Maass' Writing the Breakout Novel Workbook, which I'd left languishing on a bookshelf. Maybe I'd find a way over the snag. Well, you know what? This workbook really works.

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The first exercise asked me to name personal heroes. Abraham Lincoln popped to mind first. I've always admired him. I also thought of Nelson Mandela and Martin Luther King, Jr.

But what did these bigger-than-life public figures have to do with my teen protagonist in a fairy tale? As I continued the exercise, I wrote down what qualities made them heroes: courage, fortitude, conviction, compassion, eloquence.

And I knew that's exactly what I want my heroine to embody as she grows into her place in the world.

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But it was another exercise that freshened my journey into the chapter that had stalled me.

The prompt was to write something your MC would never say, never do.

I don't want to reveal my plot, but I struggled with this until I realized that I already had the perfect answer. All I had to do was go back and expand an issue with another character that was in the story. Once I did that, I'd added new tension, new obstacles for my protagonist.

I'm not only writing up a storm, I'm thrilled with the layer this has added to the entire story. Thank you, Mr. Maass!

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Gotta do a huge shout out.

Beth Revis' ACROSS THE UNIVERSE has hit the NY Times bestseller list at #7! Yay, Beth!

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Double-dare you!

Come on in.

The water's fine.

I have a writing challenge for you, but first a gush of gratitude for two of my critique partners.

Some of you will recall I started a YA novel last year with a mermaid theme and then found out from an agent that another book was coming out with some similar elements. I brainstormed ways to eliminate any similarities and started a rewrite. Then I saw more mermaid books and felt uneasy, so I shelved the work for now. I need a new surge of hope, and these gifts are nudging me back to the sea.

Are they not the coolest? Julie made the bluesy ornament, and Rilla found the notebook in Spain. I love the edginess in these images. And I'm feeling the deep calling.

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Meanwhile, I'm playing around with writing a novel (or at least a scene) in verse! This is thanks to Valerie Geary and her Scene-in-Verse Blogfest, which I now double-dare you to sign up for.

This is turning out to be so much fun. I'm not overthinking this, just trying out the verse format with a vague idea stemming from a photo of a woods in winter. For now, it's an exercise, and I can feel the writing muscles stretching and getting stronger.

If you're not sure what a novel in verse is check out the excellent books by Lisa Schroeder. We're not talking rhyme or even set meter, it's more a rhythm of words in the storytelling. Here's an example from Lisa's I HEART YOU, YOU HAUNT ME:

Sleep doesn't come.

Night after night

I thrash around

like a fish

caught in a net

trying to escape.

And I cry

for what I've done

and who I've lost.

Please, click the link in this post or the fest button on the upper right of this blog to check out what Valerie is hosting. I've picked a photo of my own that I'm using as a springboard, but you can use any of the ones she posted for inspiration. The scenes will be posted Dec. 29.

Come on and play!

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Finally, Shelley said I should post a picture of my decorated tree--the one I squeezed into the front seat of my Miata. So here's a circus acrobat wishing you high-flying joy.

The almost finished tree, and the old wax angel my mother-in-law gave me long ago. It's my favorite. Peace and best wishes for a happy holiday.

Tangled up

I'm all tangled up. I confess to some serious doubt going on. I've been trying to take those steps forward on my novel that I tell others to take, but my knees got kicked out from under me again.

Hence this tree of scary limbs. Does it not look like it will swirl the unwary up and away?

As some of you know, I was dealt a set-back when another book was released this fall that had some similar story elements to the novel I've been working on all year. So I set to work changing my book to eliminate the common traits and focus on the those that were different. Because there are major differences. But then I read that the other author is working on a sequel and I thought, 'What if that one ventures into territory I'm in now?'

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Maybe it's time to crawl in a hole and hibernate. This tree looks like a place to hide and pout.

You see where I'm going with this? Woe is me. Waaaaaa!

I don't like that. I will try to take my own advice and keep working on my rewrite.

Or perhaps, I need to take the Storyqueen's advice, as well. She advocates spending time with another manuscript, which I've neglected. It's a fun one and would give me giggles and joy if I let it.

One of my crit partners sent me a note from yet a different character I'd stuck on a shelf. "Time to dust me off. I'm ready!' it said.

Hello? Are you still speaking to me, my darlings, my dears, my other loves?

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Then again, I could always try a steampunk for new horizons. Is not this tree wearing steampunky goggles?

Hope you're all less tangled up. Send me a message in a bottle. You can parachute if from an Aerocycle. I'm just sitting here seeing faces in trees.

P.S. Don't call the paramedics. It's not that bad.

P.S.S. I stepped out on my balcony to find a dawn sky of robin's egg blue with golden jet streams and wispy clouds of pink and pure white. Geese winged silently above. And I thought, thank you for the reminder that birds can fly high and clouds can be golden.

Sidelines Blogfest gives nod to supporting players

A couple of my characters are stepping out for the Sidelines Blogfest today. The fest is hosted by Cheree at Justified Lunacy, and she's been doing posts on characters all week. I really like one in which she pointed out how sidekicks can serve different purposes--mentor, nemesis, comic, trickster, messenger, best friend, guardian.

Choosing a scene was tough. It's difficult to find something that doesn't require a lot of backstory or that doesn't give away too much plot, but I wanted something with voice. I hope I found it.

I've chosen part of a scene from SEA DAUGHTERS where the protagonist, Hallie, gets an emotional pick-me-up from her best friend, Suki. It was hard to find the right illustration for this. Rather than typical California blonds Hallie is part Polynesian and Suki is part Japanese. What's most important, they trust each other.

Even though this is YA paranormal, this isn't a scene with supernaturals or battles or mystery. It's a quiet moment and takes place after someone scratched the letters Ho on the door of Hallie's new car and a day after her first date with a popular surfer named Ben.

Hope you enjoy.

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Hallie pushed aside the college letters she'd left scattered on her bed and sank down on the edge. Thinking about going to school in the morning made her stomach churn. What if Chad had been the one who defaced her car? What if Ben ignored her?

She looked at her phone screen again. The only message was a text from Suki: Where r u???

Hallie hesitated, feeling vulnerable, but Suki would be all over her at school if she didn't talk to her now. She punched in the number.

“Where have you been?” Suki blurted.

“Trestles.”

“With Ben?”

“No! We’re not joined at the hip all of a sudden.” Hallie wondered if maybe she wished they were. Why was she getting so worked up?

“Touchy much? Jeez. I’m sorry I mentioned his name. Does that mean last night was a fail? I thought you guys really liked each other.”

“I do like him, and last night was great.” Hallie drew in a breath and held it a moment before adding, “He kissed me.”

“Woo-hoo! Did you just die?”

Hallie closed her eyes, remembering every touch. "I wanted to kiss him forever.”

“But? I can hear a ‘but’ somewhere.”

“But he hasn’t called today.”

“Ah. Well, if it makes you feel any better Nathan hasn’t called me either. He told me a bunch of guys were gonna drive up to County Line in Ventura. It’s, like, a guy thing--everybody jammed into Kalani’s truck. No girls. Whatever. I wouldn’t surf that break anyway, although I know you would.”

“Maybe Ben’s with them.” Hallie stretched out, releasing the tension in her back.

“Could be. Don’t obsess. From what Nathan tells me, Ben asks questions about you non-stop. So unless you peed yourself or punched him out, I don’t think he’s backing off any time soon.”

Hallie laughed for the first time all day. “I didn’t do either of those things. But I did cry—a bunch--when he mentioned my mom. He was so nice to me, I fell apart. It was totally embarrassing.”

“I wouldn’t sweat that. Guys like to comfort girls. Just don’t wipe your snot on his hoodie.”

Hallie snorted with laughter. Suki always knew how to take the edge off. "Thanks. I promise to keep my snot to myself."

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Playing with paper and a winner announced

I am the maker of this particular version of the world (with a little help from cut-up magazines). This week, I went crazy with the craftiness of collage-building. After finding pictures that suited my novel-in-progress, SEA DAUGHTERS, I played around for hours, shuffling images from one spot to another. Sigh.

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But before I talk more of that, I need to announce the winner, chosen by random draw, of DELTA GIRLS by Gayle Brandeis.

Winner is: Jemi Fraser!

Jemi, please e-mail me your mailing address and I will send the book with haste.

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And now back to playing with paper.

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Here is my protagonist, a teenager who loves to surf and is falling for a guy at school who is aiming for the pro circuit.

They have some good times, but there's something in the water--

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Here is Boyfriend. Do you require more?

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I didn't paste the images down or make collage boards. I scattered these montages after photographing them. It reminds me of sand-painting, a creation made for a moment in time and then erased.

Of course, I hope my story will go on living--someday in a book that draws readers into this world. I think this visual, textile playtime was good for me as a writer. I spent time with my characters in a dimension outside my head. Sort of.

Everything coming up roses

I had a great couple of days. Here's my check list:

* Revise short story ("Irene's Calling") and submit to contest.

* Revise opening chapter of Sea Daughters and submit first page for contest.

* Revise mid-point chapter for crit group.

* Email publicist for book for blog interview.

* Blog. Twice.

* Finish reading The Dead-Tossed Waves. Start The Demon's Covenant.

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So that calls for lush bunches of roses for me and you, because now I'm going to post a slew of good news from writers in the blogging world.

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Suzanne Hayze, who captivates readers of her blog with gorgeous, visceral slices of life, has signed with Liz Jote of Objective Entertainment. Woo-hoo! She's also started a new joint blog, Writing Out the Angst with her crit partner Amanda Bonilla. The new blog is a place for writers to talk about the roller coaster ride of getting published. They're kicking things off with a cool contest to win a critique of your query, which is the crucial gateway to finding an agent.

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Frankie Diane Mallis got the Call, too, and signed with Laura Rennert of Andrea Brown. Yay! Frankie's holding a 500 followers contest to give away some sizzling signed books. But even if you are anti-book-contest (is that possible?) you must go read her hilarious post starring Princess Buttercup and Westley. Go. Read.

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Megan Rebekah is celebrating 500 followers with an awesome giveaway contest of books and critique. Megan's blog is always a good read and her crit partners are so awesome I follow them all. You can't go wrong with these bloggers.

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Yvonne Osborne at the Organic Writer tagged me with a meme. I did it before, so I won't repeat. But you must go check her answers. Fierce and breathtaking like her poetry.

From one thing to another

A cold front blew in today (Sunday) in Southern California. Big-shouldered white clouds sometimes tangled up with soot-black ones. But I had decided last night to go to the beach. I wanted to watch the NSSA (National Scholastic Surfing Association) at Huntington Beach. On my way there, big splats of rain hit the windshield of my little red Miata, but I kept going.

Part of this was research for my WIP, so I had to do it, even if, dang, I had to go to the beach, you know?

When I got to Huntington, it was sunny but blowing like a wind tunnel. All I got to see were the sponsor booths and the judges stand being dismantled. The event was postponed due to dangerous, choppy conditions caused by the wind. I could've been bummed, but my favorite wetlands is just up the highway from this pier. So off I went to Bolsa Chica Ecological Reserve.

The wind howled across these inlets, creating a corrugated surface to the water. Least terns wheeled above. Seagulls took off, stalled and were pushed backwards, landing in defeat. They seemed a bit pissed about it, squawking and jostling.

After an ungraceful landing in the heavy wind, a great egret stalked a marshy area. A brown pelican sat out the blustery conditions. Some tiny bird I didn't recognize spiraled out of sight.

Even tiny woolly caterpillars got blown sideways and tumbled over as they tried to cross the dirt.

More than 300 species of birds have been sighted in the 1,700 acres protected here. About 95% of California's wetlands have been destroyed by development, making this a treasure. And, believe me, it had to be fought for. It had been dammed up, leased for oil drilling and slated for development.

Despite my jacket and hair whipping, my fingers chilled, I had a fabulous time. Sometimes being in wild conditions makes me feel most alive. It was jarring and spectacular.

And then I thought of the Gulf Coast and the oil that is now covering pelicans and eggs, the dead fish washing to shore, the oyster beds destroyed. And I am sad. All the natural beauty and wonder of this planet we hold in our hands. Whatever happens is our responsibility and our legacy.

We do not inherit the earth from our ancestors. We borrow it from our children. --Haida Indian saying.

Whale of a sign

My friend, Donna, has a way with gifts, finding just the right one. She knew I was working on a novel connected to the ocean when she gave me this card with a print by Peggy Oki. I love the power, exuberance and beauty of that painting and had it sitting by my computer as an inspiration for months but didn't realize until I turned it over today and read the back that this was the tail of a sperm whale.

Since I just wrote a scene with a sperm whale, which is the largest toothed whale on the planet, and spent some time considering if I was choosing the right whale for what I wanted from that scene, making this discovery felt serendipitous. Of course, I have proved to you before that I love to find signs from the universe, even if they're a bit of a stretch. So here I go again.

I decided to google Peggy Oki and found more connections. I hadn't realized the artist was the same person as the girl on the Zephyr team in Ocean Park/Venice, California that changed the sport of skateboarding and eventually became one of my favorite documentary films, "Dogtown and Z-Boys." I spent part of my younger years in Venice and still think of that scrappy beachtown as home.

And, hey, Peggy is involved in several campaigns to save whales and other wildlife in peril. Check her out.

Finding an opening to fit the payoff

On the way to critique group yesterday I saw this scene and had to jump out of my car and shoot it on my handy cell phone. Flowers and snowy mountains are the bounty of California after it rains. The payoff.

At critique, I read the first chapter of my novel-in-progress, Sea Daughters, and got good feedback. But no one addressed an issue nagging in the back of my mind. I've been thinking it was a slow opening, and, these days, that can get a rejection in five minutes flat.

I decided to speak up and then found out there were concerns. One person suggested a starting point that I think will increase the mystery and tension immediately. The material was all there, but it needed an adjustment--move one thing up front, delete another scene.

The current SCBWI Bulletin has an article "Page One" by Karen Schwabach that suggests you should write the first page last, after you know what you are offering the reader, because it is a promise, a contract you need to keep. Does the beginning hint at what the story will be, where it will end?

I may write and rewrite the opening more times, but I feel like the changes I'm making today are a big step in the right direction. Have you found your opening only after you secured your ending?

P.S. I am going to be offline a couple of days. Happy writing, everyone.

Moment of inhale

Rocks shift. Clacking, grating underfoot. Overhead, two gulls flap and screech at the wind. The air is filled with wild hints of briny depths.
Breakers rear and roar, then finish with a swish and hiss. Fingers of white water drag small rocks in a clattering mass.

Everyone is looking for what the sea spit out. Kelp is strewn like golden entrails. A few tough shells, built for battering, lie spent in the tiny patches of sand.

I find a quarter, it's markings obscured by a layer of hard green and brown tarnish.

The sea gives and takes back and gives again.

Yesterday, the sea gave me setting and atmosphere for my novel-in-progress. I may not have written words in the manuscript, but I found them while I basked in the sun that followed the storms. I hope you found inspiration in those moments of inhale, too.

P.S. After posting this, I realized I should mention that I also went to a boat marina to pick up some more inspiration for that story. I wandered into a yacht dealership, not the sort of place I frequent, and met a very nice man who tried to answer my questions and gave me a magazine full of useful information and pictures. You never know what you will find by looking and reaching out. *smiles*

Secrets of the trees

One of my many works-in-progress has lots of trees, but I'm revealing no more than that. It is an odd storyline that requires full gestation.

I love trees--walking amongst them, resting under them, balancing on solid, old limbs. I'm compelled to touch bark, and find such variety--hard as stone or soft as flannel, smooth as parchment or rough as a pineapple. Sometimes I pick up fallen leaves and keep them awhile. I found one leaf large as a dinner platter, which is now a crisp, curled giant sticking out of a bookcase.

On a couple of walks, I saw these strange tree groupings. The one on the left is an intertwined oak tree with two different palms--date and queen. I don't know how they inhabit the same space so congenially. Each is massive, separate and yet part of a whole.

The picture on the right shows one tree trunk wrapped around its partner in a woody embrace that lasted until someone sawed them down. Did their arms wrap around each other too? Is there a story in this tragic embrace?

Trees ask so little and give much--nuts, fruits, shade, shelter. They can even make rain. They adjust to the caprices of nature, even if they can't always adjust to mankind. Some withstand howling salt winds; others live in deserts, miserly with their leaves and hording water deep within their bulbous trunks.

The variety is amazing. Banyan trees send roots big as elephant legs down from branches. Mangroves grow in water. There are cypress trees in Mexico that were living when pharaohs ruled Egypt.

What would it be like to burrow deep into the dark earth, searching for nutrients, bringing molecules of life from the dark to light? Or to experience the exultation of reaching up, up, up towards the sun and sky. I'd like my life to be as rooted and glorious as a tree. Or maybe, at least, my writings. Are you fascinated or inspired by any element of Nature?

Where haiku waits

ghosts of morning drift--

tenuous vapors of air

trapped in lake water

gnarled roots reach greedy

fingers deep beneath

the mirrored surface

I went walking--just a short break, a few blocks, perhaps, I told myself. I needed to stretch my legs after long hours at the computer. My feet kept going, knowing what my body needed. I ended up at a lake where haiku waited. I brought some images back to you with my uber-cellphone.

Here's what I have to report to Accountability Watchers. After proclaiming on this very site that my goal is to write 1,000 words a day on my novel-in-progress, Sea Daughters, I reached that goal two out of three days of this new year. I'm quite pleased because I am at a difficult turning point in the story and would probably keep trying to put it off had I not publicly set a goal. So currently 53,299 words of the first draft are written. Oh, and the day I didn't write was No-Kiss Blogfest, an absolute blast. A big shout out to all who participated and especially to Frankie Diane Mallis for hosting.

How were your first three days of 2010?

No-Kiss Blogfest is here!

Today is made of fun. Dozens of writers are posting almost-kisses for your reading delight. Links to my fellow scribes are at Frankie Writes. Trust me, you'll have a blast whether you write or read.

My snippet is from a shelved novel-in-progress that someday I may be good enough to tackle. I'm not revealing the wacky premise, but I will tell you it's tongue-in-cheek (ha!) adult fantasy. The present-day heroine, Helen, is trying to track down gods of myth because she has good cause to believe in them now. She is in Greece when she runs into Artemis and her brother, Apollo. Yes, the very Apollo that John William Waterhouse painted chasing Daphne before she chose to do something quite rash to escape his amorous advance.

Before I launch into my scene, I shall report to the Accountability Watchers that the first day of 2010 I met my stated daily goal of writing 1,000 words of my YA novel Sea Daughters. Yay!

Now onto the blogfest! This excerpt is from a yet-untitled work and takes place as Apollo joins Artemis and sees Helen for the first time:

"Who's this?" Apollo ran his languid gaze over Helen from her face to her bare legs and sandaled feet.

Before she could answer, he reached out and touched a gash on her thigh where she'd been cut by thick branches. Slow to heal, the wound was gaping and scarlet, but with Apollo's touch, it closed up and faded in moments.

"Thank you," Helen whispered, awed by this proof of his legendary healing power. Now she knew at least one part of the myth was true.

He moved in so close his face was within inches of hers. She couldn't help but notice that his skin was flawless and beardless as a boy's and his jaw and cheekbones were as finely chiseled as the statues depicted him.

"You're a pretty thing," he murmured. His breath was a caressing breeze that carried the music of a lyre. A lyre? Had she ever heard one? His lips were so close to hers, she felt as if they'd almost touched.

He had sunbeams in his hazel eyes. Or was it flecks of gold? He shimmered. Honey on his breath, silk on his fingers under her chin. She leaned toward his lips, which held a promise of nectar.

His other hand began to trace a path up her thigh. Fire in dry grass.

Helen clamped her legs together, causing Apollo to raise his golden eyebrows.

Her head felt full of cotton, her tongue thick with passion. "Remember Daphne," she blurted, finding words. It's not every day a girl turns herself into a tree rather than be a god's conquest.

He looked truly grieved. "I wear her laurel always." He pulled back his hands from Helen's skin.

She shivered, as if he'd taken the sun away. Would it have been so wrong to let him kiss her, to taste the lips of a god? Helen shook her head to clear it. Of all people, she knew the answer to that.

A great day for kissing

Are you under the mistletoe? Today is Kissing Day Blogfest, and almost sixty people signed up to write a scene for your swooning pleasure. Gustav Klimt's famous The Kiss seems a perfect accompaniment for my little scene from a YA paranormal/fantasy, a work-in-progress called Sea Daughters.

"What's wrong? You're a million miles away." Ben slipped his arm around Hallie as they sat on his living room sofa. He was so close she could smell the freshness of his just-laundered shirt.

Hallie's heart fluttered, just like the rapid beat of a tiny bird she'd held as a child. Ben's parents were away and she knew he wanted to make love to her, at least as much as she'd allow.

The trouble was she didn't know what she might allow. She'd become confused about life, how tenuous it is, how it could change like quicksilver before you knew what happened. She wanted to be saturated with Ben's kisses in case she was about to lose him.

If he found out who she really was he would flee, she was sure.

He reached in his pocket and pulled out a shell bracelet. "I got this for you. Kinda simple, but it goes with your necklace." His hand shook a bit as he held it out to her.

"It's beautiful." She fumbled with the clasp, her eyes tearing. The bracelet slipped from her wrist.

Ben grabbed it before it hit the floor, and his large hands became steady as he deftly hooked the tiny clasp. "I like having something from me wrapped around you, even when I'm not there."

He kissed her palm. The brush of his breath caused a warm rush to surge through her.

He looked up, his eyes meeting hers, and she wanted nothing more than to dive into those blue depths and not think about the other deep that pulled stronger every day.

"Sometimes life is more complicated than we ever imagine it could be," she said.

"What has got you twisted in knots? I will help you untangle it. I will slay dragons, help you write essays, punch out anyone who hassles you, cover you with kisses. Whatever you need, baby."

She smiled. "My hero."

"I wish I was. But sometimes I think you will leave me behind. It's a feeling I get."

For a moment Hallie couldn't speak. "I don't want to go places without you. Ever. But I get caught up in stuff and can't always talk to you about what's going on. I want to be able to tell you everything."

His arms wrapped around her and anchored her in a safe harbor. This time, she could feel his heart--a steady drum.

"Don't leave me," she whispered. "No matter what."

His face was in her hair, his breath hot. "Nothing could ever make me leave you."

Not even my darkest secret? She banished the thought. Her mouth found his--lips parted, hint of peppermint.

His hands tangled in her hair. Hers slid around his waist. His kisses trailed down her neck to her collarbone like liquid fire. She flamed and melted. She was wax on a candle. There was nothing but Ben.

I'm out to sea

Have you ever walked out of your shoes? Gone Away to the Other Place?

Do people give you odd looks as you sleepwalk through supermarkets or try to remember why you came in the first place? Perhaps, someone sends you gentle e-mails asking how you're doing. Or leaves a little food offering on your doorstep.

I confess I've been immersed in the watery world of Sea Daughters, my new novel-in-progress begun for NaNoWriMo.

I'm sticking my head up to shout out that last night I passed 20K. How this is happening I don't know, because sometimes I'm sure I can not keep up this pace. But here I am and I chose to think it has to do with that magical Other Place.

In celebration I will share a page from what I've been channeling through my mind and fingers. For your reading pleasure, hopefully:

The sun was newly risen, shedding golden light on the sand and water. Hallie had left home as soon as her dad drove off to work. She was wearing a bikini under old sweats. She would have to tuck the clothing in a safe place where she could find it later.

She tried to spot Ondine in the water. A line of pelicans swooped in sync along the lip of a cresting wave, their wing tips almost brushing the surface.

Where was Ondine? There were a few surfers out, mostly down at the pier and T Street. She and Ondine had picked this area south of there where they could use Seal Rock as a landmark. She could hear the sea lions barking and the echo of waves projecting off the cliffs behind her.

She also saw her secret door. Ever since she was small and discovered the metal-mesh door that closed off a narrow passageway into the cliff, she had imagined it was a pirate's escape route or a sealed-off entrance to the land of Faerie. That's where she would stash her clothes, she decided. Whenever Ondine showed up.

A couple of surfers crossed the railroad tracks towards the water. If Ondine didn't hurry, there would soon be a crowd and somebody would notice a girl in a bikini swimming out to sea and not returning. Wouldn't that be just great if the lifeguards and Coast Guard got called?

A hand waved half way between shore and Seal Rock. It had to be Ondine. She must be a good quarter mile out.

Hallie shrugged out of her sweats, rolled them in a ball and hid them, with her flip-flops, under a bush near the secret door. She scurried across the tracks, hip-hopped over the cold morning sand and ran straight into the chilly Pacific Ocean. As she dove under the first wave, she felt like she'd been tossed in an ice bath. She emerged, gasping.

This was either the stupidest or bravest thing she had ever agreed to do.

Of sand castles and houses made of cards

Like some other blogs I've read today, I wasn't sure what I felt like talking about. But my WIP is on my mind, and there is much still to do in revision. I had taken these photos a month or two back and was thinking of how I don't want my novel to be a castle made of sand, washed away with the next tide. Or like a house built of cards, toppled by a breeze.
I want to write something substantial that withstands whims and trends, that more than one crop of readers might savor and pass along to others.

So how do I accomplish this?

My first thought is universality--a story that speaks to almost anybody by its authentic human experience. Keep it real. Keep it honest. So I guess one needs to read through with a BS meter to strike anything that doesn't ring true. Does anyone have a second-hand BS meter for sale?

Love is important, too. Romantic love, star-crossed lovers, triangles, of course, grab people where it counts. But any form of love that pulls the reader in emotionally creates a long-lasting impression. Create relationships that matter, but make them fragile because love should never be taken for granted.

Resilience and courage. People crave seeing others persevere through tribulation and come out stronger. Despite frailties, give characters nobility and hope. But make them work for it--it shouldn't come easy. Because, well, then we'd all be natural-born heroes, right?
Okay, so maybe this is simplistic. I don't know. I'm kind of Muddle Me today. But if you've ever thought about this, do you have any suggestions for what qualities give a story longevity, make it truly memorable?

What I learned on my vacation

What I learned on my vacation? You can't have a six-month-long summer. I shall explain anon.

This past week was an enormous bouquet from my sister who gave me a week alone at her timeshare condo in Carlsbad, CA.

I wasn't sure whether I would uplug, but when I got there and found I'd left the laptop power cord at home I decided that was a sign.

Without blogging and Internet research, I focused on the task of revising the 100,000 words, give or take, that I had written in the first draft and rewriting of second draft of a YA fantasy. I was prepared with tips from other writers and had shrunk and printed out the manuscript. If you haven't heard of this process, you copy the file and change it to single-space, 10-pt font, which results in an easier-to-handle print version.

Then I read it through--just like a real book, oh my. I used colored post-its to mark scene changes and editing ideas. No stopping to re-write, just jot down that this scene should be deleted or that character's reaction needs to be explored or, uh-oh, I had changed the scene before and now this character is no longer in the picture (make him go away!) or whatever-happened-to-that-amulet-I- mentioned. I felt like a puppeteer controlling a stage full of marionnettes but seeing a pretty good run-through.

I also made a timeline. In the margin of the legal pad, I wrote the passage of days for the corresponding scenes written on the other side of the margin. I found myself noting an awful lot of "next day," which when tallied up led to the shocking realization I had written a six-month-long summer.

Granted, I live in California where we have a six month summer or, some may say, a year-long summer, but my story is in a fictional country where the seasons come and go. So I have some time management issues. Ha. Ha. Really, it won't be that hard to fix now that I'm aware.

My next step is to do the story map chart I learned about from the Literary Lab folks, who give great revision tips. I ran out of time to do all the revision chores I planned but I'm energized to keep the momentum going.

I did make time on this trip for pleasures, such as browsing this wonderful used book store, featuring eclectic and rare volumes.

Besides reading my own manuscript, I read two other YA books and the daily newspaper. And I indulged in "So You Think You Can Dance" and two Netflix DVDs--Sarah Connor Chronicles Season Two with that amazing opening sequence montage and Shirley Manson singing "Samson and Delilah." I confess I watched that opening several times. I also watched the delightful "Lost in Austen," in which a modern woman finds herself smack in the middle of "Pride and Prejudice." Totally funny and romantic.

And last, but way not least, I walked on the beach every day and saw amazing sunsets. And took their pictures with my cool camera phone.

I'm glad to be back, but also grateful to have had as productive and wonderful week as I did.

I missed you all, but in many ways, you were there because of the things I have learned from each of you and the way it is improving my novel-writing skill.

So, a big hello again *waves madly* and thanks.