When you outgrow your outline

When writing - whether it be a short story or an epic novel or series - do you outline or not?

Do you surrender yourself to the creative process, letting your mind take you wherever it desires, even if you get lost? Or do you like to take at least a general road map - a picture of how to get from Point A to Point B (or Z)?

I think I'm somewhere in between. Maybe you are, too. When I began my urban fantasy work I started with what I considered a detailed outline: chapters numbered and labeled, with a short synopsis of what I hoped to accomplish in each one. I created a different character list and summary, adding backstory, motivations, problems and character solutions for each person in my story. Hell, I even named their horses.

But now that I'm entering double-digits in my writing (this is a big deal to me, considering how long it took me to get here!!), I find myself going far beyond the confines of my little outline. As I've written according to my own rules, other events and motivations have taken shape in this story - things I never imagined possible in the world I created. And I'm happy about that. To think of the adventures, complications, miscommunications, snark, humor, tension and other fun my readers would have missed out on had I simply stuck to the outline!

So, to outline or not to outline.

There seem to be two distinct groups on this issue, one on each side of the argument.

At Daily Writing Tips, this is made clear, along with the pros and cons of creating and adhering to an outline. Some of the highlights of the pro-outline argument:

• you won't get lost 
• writing with a sense of flow 
• knowing if the story is good or not 
• freedom to stray if a better way presents itself 

Now, some of the anti-outline arguments:

• it spoils all the fun 
• the story idea wasn't as good as you thought 
• doesn't fit with your writing style 

I'm sure you can guess what I'm going to say here, and it's what everyone else says, too: there is no right and wrong in writing. It just IS. So if you like to plan ahead and feel secure in your outline, go for it. If you like for your process to be completely free of restraints and welcome the infinite possibilities associated with free-styling it, you should do that.




Or if you're like me, having a little structure to start might help you determine if your plot baby has legs, if it has enough of the right stuff to become a great story or novel, or if you're going to run into a word-block after chapter five. I think outlining is helpful for those things: conceptualizing your book and getting ideas on the page starts those creative juices working. So when you open your doc or page, you don't just stare at it, wondering if you should just do some laundry. For me, writing the outline energized me and excited me. I had a beginning, a middle and an end and I couldn't wait to get started.

But recognize it's okay to stray from the outline. I certainly have - and thank goodness. And if your inner control freak is yanking on her (or his) hair and munching on pencils, add to your outline, even if it's after the fact. I've done that, too. Even though it's cheating a bit.



They're my rules, after all, so it's okay if I break them.




Happy writing! 

Tell me what YOU do - outline or no outline?

Book Review - Sex and the Single Vampire

Sex and the Single Vampire by Katie MacAlister
My rating: 1 of 5 stars

What drew me to this book was the paranormal element - Summoner Allegra Telford is under the gun to produce a ghost for her boss... or she's out of a job. So the idea of introducing a vampire wasn't so far-fetched and I went with it. Apparently there's a first book that I missed in this series, but frankly, the info dumps led me to believe I didn't miss anything by skipping it.
Which unfortunately brings me to the substance of my review. This book was a hot mess. And not in a good way. Aside from the aforementioned (and numerous) info dumps throughout the book - and done in a way that was much too convenient for the lazy plot - the book just seemed to be all over the place. Like it didn't know what to do next, so it just did everything. Verb tenses changed A LOT - sometimes within the same sentence. And I'm sorry, but as a fellow writer (and an editor, I just cannot condone that. The dialogue was ridiculous in places, with characters talking over each other about completely unrelated things. Seriously, what purpose do Joy and Roxy serve except as really obvious comic relief? They are not integral to the plot AT ALL. Allie would have met Christian all on her own and she's a smart girl - she would have gotten a pretty quick read on his situation.
Let's take a moment and ponder names: I'm sorry, but since 50 Shades of Crap, I'm forever allergic to a name like Christian. And I must admit at times this book read like reworked fan fiction. So it made me wonder... And I looked up Love Spell online and found out it was defunct. It was also published by Harper Collins ebooks, but I have to wonder about the circumstances. I also found a number of silly typos (things like typing a z instead of an s). Not to mention so many awkwardly worded and way too long sentences that had me doing double and triple takes to see if I'd read them correctly.
Technical edits aside, I feel like this book could have benefited from a good developmental edit. Plot points seem to tumble out as after-thoughts, explained away via info dumps and long narratives. Magical "rules" in Allie's world are explained only when she's doing something and the reader doesn't know why or how. It's certainly a good lesson for other writers: get your world-building and lore down BEFORE you get working on the book. Talk about wasted opportunity. Also wasted is a potential glimpse into Christian's likely-sordid past. Nothing! Oh, Allie mentions as a side-note that somewhere along the way, he told her he was once a knight. Seriously? Just throw it in as explanation for his "heroic" qualities? I'm not buying it.
And regarding C.J. Dante's "charms" - seriously, people, when are we going to stop worshiping men who prefer to dominate and control their women? I do find it redeemable that Allie doesn't put up with his crap, but it's only because she was the victim of spousal abuse. Really?! Why does everyone have to have the sob story? Why can't women just be strong when they want to be, and men be flexible in relationships? Why do we romanticize these things? But I digress.
Another thing that kind of bugs me about this book is the title (and the cover design). Frankly, this book has little to do with sex. Or a single vampire. It has to do with the relationship and connection between a Dark One and his Beloved. Are there female Dark Ones, I wonder? Don't know. The book doesn't focus at all about Christian's world. I'm throwing in my vote for this book to be renamed to something like... Beloved? The Bloodsucker and the Ghost Hunter?
Thankfully, this book didn't take long to read. Now I'm going to check out Chuck Wendig's recommendations for good reads. I'm tired of stumbling around in the dark.


View all my reviews

Tuesday Aequitas Teaser...and slugs

Hi, everyone. Well, obviously I missed my Monday teaser, so I'll deliver that today.

In addition, there's something I just need to get off my chest:

Ignore the negativity - in life and in your writing. 

 I know, easier said than done. 

 But something happened to me, and I came to the realization that allowing negativity to influence me and have power over me makes ONLY MY LIFE worse. The person who's spreading it? His or her life is already in the crapper. They're also probably so used to it that they can't see the forest through the trees, if you know what I mean.

Let's metaphor this, shall we? Let's call the mean person a slug. A slug is a slug. It can't help what it is - a slow-moving, slime-trail-leaving garden pest. They are content to travel from yard to yard, eating anything that looks remotely tasty, leaving nasty little slime wakes and vegetable carnage. You shake your fists in a bout of exhausted rage! No slugs allowed! But still they come.

Why let it devour your lettuce crop?  Why let the person have the power to undercut your hard work and sanity? Instead, put out your little containers of beer, or dance around your yard with some salt if you're feeling particularly aggressive! Don't let the slugs into your garden!

We alone have the power to enact change. This applies to our ability to shut others out who would do us harm. Put up your defenses and get rid of those slugs.

Life is too short for slime.

P.S. By the way, did you know there's actually a web site about slugs? Yup. Check it out here.

And now, your Tuesday Teaser of Aequitas, #4. Enjoy. 

Undead creatures sure do bleed a lot, Themis thought as she swung her scythe, slicing one of the things in half and sending both pieces slumping to the ground. Others littered the city’s empty street in writhing little piles of dead flesh, spoils of her efforts. The artificial glow of the streetlights lit the blood pooling on the sidewalk and street. The sun would take care of that evidence.

Plucking a silver lighter from a hidden pocket in her cloak, she tossed the small flame onto the pile of body parts she dragged into a nearby alley and crossed her arms as the makeshift bonfire roared to life, the satisfying burn of acrid smoke in her nose. Snowflakes began to swirl in little dervishes, sucked toward the heat, and the winter wind blew wisps of her long hair around wildly.

No time to admire the carnage, though; the remaining vampire jumped on Themis’ back, attempting to sever her head from her spine. She dropped her weapon, burying the unbreakable blade in the strip of broken up asphalt under her feet before reaching behind her to dislodge the pest. Themis grunted under the strain, but finally the vampire’s grip on her cloak and leather armor faltered, allowing a shoulder throw. They sparred again, the bloodsucker landing more like a cat than a reanimated corpse. Watching the undead move had always fascinated her, Themis thought, as she flicked back her thick red braid and pushed the wayward strands out of her face.

The vampire hissed, baring its fangs at Themis and stepped forward. These things really have no sense of self-preservation.

“Frightening,” Themis said dully. The lack of recognition confirmed her foe was another newly-made vampire. The lack of experience was a plus for her, but the strength of a new vampire could not be underestimated. Both moved in a blur of blocks and strikes, showcasing their speed and inhuman strength. If Themis could grow weary, she would have. Lacking a biological imperative for oxygen had its advantages. Would either of them ever tire—

A searing pain lit her belly aflame, and she watched as the vampire withdrew a blade, now covered in a viscous black liquid.

That was Themis’ first mistake. 

Aequitas - Teaser #3

Happy Friday, everyone! To all of my many followers (you know who you are *wink wink*), thank you for being you and for being here!

To celebrate the end of the work week, and just because I feel like it, here's another teaser of my work Aequitas, again picking up where we last left off. Enjoy - preferably with a beer! :)

Themis sighed heavily. She couldn’t even enjoy the sights, sounds and smells around her now. At first they had been a delight; that much she could recall. Slowly, over her time as a reaper, the bloom faded. Now, these castle walls triggered the same panic in Themis as her dreams did. Reapers did not dream.

How long had she been a soldier of Death? That she couldn’t remember. Time meant nothing to them anyway. Still, she wondered. Themis closed her eyes once more, dipping into the knowledge she could summon at will. Ah, yes. The memory invaded her senses—sight, sound, touch, smell and even taste—as if she were reviving the night she entered the Great Hall for the first time.

Themis had a sense of endless, timeless drifting, brought to a halt when she opened her eyes. Blinking furiously, she scrambled to make sense of what was in her field of vision: an ivory-colored ceiling—not dirty white, but more like marble—which seemed to stretch up to the heavens forever, and a man’s smiling face. His bronzed skin stood in contrast to his straight white teeth and his wavy blond hair fell over her, creating a partial curtain of privacy between them in that moment. But his eyes were kind. And somehow understanding, though he couldn’t know her.

“Welcome,” he had said as he helped her to sit up. “I am Hyperion.”

“W-who am I?” Her mind was full of cotton, as was her mouth. She glanced down and stretched her arms out before her. Leather cuffs covered her from wrist to elbow. Her hands flew to her leather breastplate, molded to her like a second skin and displaying an intricately carved image of a blindfolded woman holding a sword and scales. Justice, she thought. Was that her name?

            “Where am I? What happened to me?”

            The man named Hyperion put a warm, thick hand on her shoulder. Its weight immediately calmed her, and she had a brief flash of the sun upon her face. Same warmth. Choppy images flooded her mind, too jumbled to make any sense. She shook her head as if to clear them.

            “Be at ease. You are a Reaper, a soldier of Death. That is all you need to know for now. The rest will come.”

            “But… why?” she’d asked him. Hyperion had smiled, as if he’d been anticipating the question.

            “Death is neutral. She takes no side. And she has always served as a mediator between her brothers.”

            Her head spun. “Brothers? Death… is a woman?”

            Hyperion chuckled low and it lit up his already radiant features. “God and the Devil. And yes. Why not? So, have you decided on a name?”

            She decided at that moment she liked Hyperion.

            “Themis. Justice.”

He trained her, as he did all the others like her, to fight like a warrior. While Sanctus, another reaper, schooled her in the ways of ferrying souls, Hyperion taught her all manners of combat and prepared her for her other duty: as slayer of all things unnatural. He told her of vampires, werewolves, zombies, ghouls and other creatures who sought to throw the balance of good and evil, light and dark. She trained for endless hours, wielding her scythe, until weapon and warrior became one.

Themis borrowed her namesake, as they all did, from gods, goddesses, titans and giants of Greek myth. The scrolls containing legends of reapers’ origins suggested the first of their kind had chosen names in deference to the oldest, most advanced civilizations of man, and likewise, selected Latin as their preferred, formal tongue—once they had need for speaking.

She had slain so many of those things he’d told her about. Themis had also ferried hordes of souls. Many went up; many went down. Somewhere along the way, things changed for her.

Was it just this—an infinite stream of souls, shepherded from one plane of existence to the next? A never-ending fount of blood pouring from the blade of her scythe? Was any of it making an impact? Should she even ask these questions?

            “Oh, what am I doing?” she asked the heavens. Themis had work to do, and these quandaries accomplished none of it. She filed them away, along with the increasingly vivid images from her dreams, into neat little compartments in her mind. Then she slung her weapon into the holster against her back and strode out of the courtyard.

Flexing those writing muscles

One of the members of a writing community I belong to today posted an entry from Chuck Wendig that really resonated with me.

Click here for the link to his post.

As a fairly green writer (in the world of fiction, at least), I tend to rely much too heavily on some sort of "divine" inspiration. My muse sounds a lot like Wendig's horse, too easily spooked and very nervous. It's tough to coax decent material out of that kind of muse. I always seem to be too busy dangling carrots, trying to soothe my muse/horse, and waste time when I should just be writing. I tell myself, "Just do it, woman." And then I open my doc, stare at it, and then get distracted with other things.

I freely admit and often pronounce that my muse is a fickle bitch. Well, I suppose I'm making a confession about my own character. And when it comes to my writing, I'm easily distracted and make excuses for my procrastination. There, I said it. Let the healing begin!

This community post got a lot of response from members, some calling it "Writer's Distraction," and "Writer's Procrastination." Most definitely. And it's a lot like going to the gym, this writing thing.

Depending on what you read, research states it takes anywhere from 18 to 254 days (but the average was 66 days) to form a new habit. I've heard everything from 21 days to 90 days, so pick a number that you like.  I think I'm going with 60. Two months sounds about right for me, based on other habit-forming experiences.

Okay, so back to my analogy. Before I had my daughter, I committed myself to getting rid of extra weight and getting healthy. I told myself I'd give my new exercise regimen two months - 60 days - and if I didn't like it or if it didn't produce results, I'd try something else. By the time those 60 days were up, I'd stopped counting the days and was in the thralls of my Crossfit habit. I dropped nearly 30 pounds and felt great.

Writing is a habit we must create in our lives. We alone hold the keys to our success in getting the writing accomplished. We alone can psych ourselves right out of it. There's always a reason NOT to write, just like there's always a reason NOT to work out- too much laundry or too many household chores to do; a good program on TV or a game we're itching to play; a book that keeps us away from our writing (though that's not always a bad thing); kids, spouses, parents, family; work; and life in general. There's never enough time in the day - no one will argue against that.

But making the time to write is like making the time to work out. And both come down to a simple key: discipline. 

In writing and ultimately getting published, it's a game of numbers and simple math (I cannot believe I'm using numbers or math in a post!): the more time we put into our writing, the more we write, the more likely we are to come up with some material fit for our book! And the more material we have, the more likely it is for some of it to be good! Damn good!

So in the spirit of writing and working long-ignored muscles, I'm pledging to quit making excuses. Now is the time for action. Sure, the laundry might pile up, the dust bunnies might threaten to attack, and it might get a little crazy in my house for a while, but I'm committed. (insert bad joke HERE)

Are you?

Aequitas - Teaser #2 (Because I hate Mondays)

Because it's Monday and I loathe Mondays, I've decided to take the easy (and hopefully more rewarding) route for all of you, and post another excerpt from my urban fantasy, Aequitas. We're picking up where we left off. Enjoy, and come back tomorrow for some wit. I was fresh out today.

To hasten their progress, Themis gathered Michael’s soul into her cloak and whisked them both away, scattering their particles to the In Between where she and the other reapers resided—and where Michael would be judged.

They reformed in the Measurement Room, where she willed the soul to part from her body. Michael staggered and fell before the elevated dais in the center of the cavernous room. Themis ignored the carved images above her head, though they always comforted her, and focused on the other reaper in front of them. Sanctus stood on the dais, arms extended, as he always did. Whatever the outcome, souls were always welcomed to the In Between, the plane of existence between Heaven and Hell. This was neutral territory.

Themis bowed quickly with her fist over her heart and closed the hulking, ancient wooden doors just as the screams reached her ears. She’d never witnessed what happened when a soul was claimed for the light or the dark, but the oratory differences were stark.

Wandering down the halls of their stone fortress, she passed a series of identical rough-hewn wooden doors leading to reapers’ quarters and other appointed rooms. Her long, pale fingers skimmed along the corridor’s rough, hand-chiseled stone, before walking through an arch leading to a grassy courtyard. No matter what seasons befell the people on Earth, here the grass remained green. She and the other reapers used this place as a jumping off point before they departed, unless they were leaving on horseback. Instead of heading to the stables to visit her stallion, Themis stood in the center of the green expanse with her face upturned.

It all looked so… normal. The sky over her head was robin’s egg blue and free of clouds. Their fortress and homestead, the In Between, belonged in the Scottish Highlands, complete with moss-covered hand-hewn stones and turrets. The grass smelled fresh and clean and gave under Themis’ leather-clad feet. Even she and the other reapers wore skin, in addition to their leather armor, projecting an image of humanity rather than their true form. Who would prefer gaping into a skeletal face with floating eyeballs staring back?

Mirage. Illusion. Fabrication. All of it. 

A Good Editor...

A good editor is well worth the investment. (Yes, it IS an investment). If you truly want to produce a great work of fiction and get it published, I firmly believe you also need a good editor. Nay, a great one. One who will tell you what works and what doesn't, make changes and suggest others, slash through sections of your manuscript that you were too afraid to cut on your own, and point out any short-comings in your manuscript, but do it in a way that doesn't leave you wondering what happened to your beloved novel. I promise you – we’ll work on it together!


As a writer, I wholeheartedly subscribe to the wisdom out there about editors: You want it to be great? You want to be a serious author? You want to be a better writer? You want to get your work published?


Then you absolutely need an editor. Maybe even two.


And as an editor-in-theory who is trying to establish herself as an editor-in-practice, too, I see it rather simply: you need me. I need you and your work. Together, at first, we might make a cacophony and there might be times where you're convinced all editors are the devil reincarnate, but it DOES get better. Slowly but surely, we'll weed out the instruments that are out of place in our song. We'll tune up the ones that need to stay but first must be polished up a bit. We'll move some chairs around, straighten some ties and lift up a few elbows in our orchestra. I'll give you the baton and show you how to wield it. And before you know it, we'll have a beautiful sound - a symphony to make the audience cry - and you'll be off and running!


This is my guiding principle: the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. But delivered in a tactful way.


I want to get to know you and you me. And I look forward to working together. Let's make your manuscript the very best book it can be!

Click here to visit my services page, which includes pricing and other details.