The Confabulator Cafe

Author: rlnaquin

  • I Have an Idea…

    Ideas are easy. It’s the execution that’s often hard. I’ve found that, the more I write, the more ideas I have. I think that’s probably true with most any writer—or really any creative person, no matter what their medium.

    Right now I’m on book three of the Monster Haven series. Initially, it was supposed to end at three, but my editor poked at me a little, and I realized I’d been building up to a much bigger arc. When book three ends, things shift into high gear. My editor even pointed to a scene way back in the middle of book one where I’d done some foreshadowing without even realizing it.

    So, including the book I’m working on right now, that’s four more books in the series. In addition, I have a second series, a spinoff of the first, that encompasses three more books. Now we’re up to seven books I have yet to write.

    Then what? (more…)

  • Crowd Noise

    Don’t let them all talk at once.

    Writing a story with a large cast of characters can be tricky. My books tend to have a large cast, and with each progression in the series, the cast gets bigger.

    Book three, especially, has become a little out of hand, but that’s a major plot point, so whittling down the number of people/creatures would erase the entire point. I’ve had to make peace with the fact that it might get a little overwhelming for the reader in the first few chapters, simply because it must become overwhelming to my main character. The plot sort of revolves around it.

    But that’s not the normal way I go about handling a large cast. In previous books, and even in a few short stories I’ve written, I’ve had to use a few tricks to keep everyone in line.

    (more…)

  • Write Like Your Mom’s Not Watching

    John Stewart can’t believe you just wrote that.

    Let’s be clear from the outset. My mom is the last person I fear judgment from in my work.

    But I think every writer second guesses their decisions about how far to go in sex scenes. In Monster in My Closet, I wrestled a great deal with writing the incubus plotline. Not because it was filled with sex, but because it was, essentially, rape—even if, in some cases, all he did was brush his hand against his victim’s arm.

    I expected some backlash over it. I worried I’d chosen a sensitive subject. And I did choose something difficult. But in my head, I had imagined the ickiest, scariest scenario I could, and that’s what came out. It felt right. I wrote it. And I waited for people to yell at me.

    It hasn’t come. A few reviews have said they didn’t feel the nastiness of the incubus fit with the quirky, lighter feel of the rest of the book. But many more said they liked the mix of light and dark.

    (more…)

  • One Good Turn

    Go for the unexpected.

    This week’s question is tough. Telling you what I do to keep readers turning the page assumes two things—first, that people do feel compelled to turn the pages of what I write, and second, that I actually do things intentionally to make that happen.

    I don’t have a big enough ego (yet) to be sure of either of those things. All I can tell you is what I try to do:

    • Go for the unexpected. If the story seems to be travelling in a straight line, swerve to the left or right and throw in something bizarre. In my books, this often translates to a lovesick satyr on the doorstep, a unicorn with a skin rash and no virgins around to treat the wounds, or a gremlin waylaying my heroine and dragging her off to break up a fight between his brothers in the tool shed.
    • Drop a bomb at the end of the chapter. Blow something up. Have someone unexpected show up and say something weird, threatening, or ominous. Toss the main character over the side of a ship into shark-infested waters. Have the ex-husband show up and bang on the restaurant window while the main character is on a date. (more…)

  • An Absolutely True Story

    Although he looks rather similar, this isn’t actually Ralph. My camera was lost overboard when the ship got caught in a bad storm.

    There was a time, many years ago, when I struck out on my own and went backpacking in the rainforests of South America. The heat was sweltering, and the humidity stuck in my lungs, making every breath an effort of will. The group I was with consisted of a bunch of tree-hugger college kids, a missionary, and our guide. We called him Ralph, because, since he was a native, there was no way our American mouths could recreate the sounds of his actual name.

    One week into the trip, a python strangled Ralph in his sleep. We were on our own. We tried to find our way back to civilization, but with Ralph gone, we walked in circles for three days. Our rations ran out by then. There was plenty of water, but we didn’t have the training to feed ourselves. The missionary girl, I think her name was Grace, volunteered to try some berries we found, hoping they weren’t toxic. Turns out they weren’t. But one got stuck in her throat and she choked to death. The Heimlich maneuver doesn’t always work. (more…)

  • Motivational Quitter

    I’ve never had a moment in my life where I stared down at the empty page, threw my hands up in disgust, and declared that I was done writing forever.

    Now, having said that, I have to be honest. Nearly every day or, at the very least, several times a week, I quit.

    Pressure tends to build up slowly with me. I take on too many projects, or several projects converge at once, unplanned, and I end up in the middle of it all overwhelmed. Up until that moment, I walk around telling myself “I’ve got this. No problem.” Until it all goes bad, and the number one priority in my life becomes whether or not it’s time to harvest my crops in a Facebook game. (more…)

  • Growin’ in the Garden

    Photo Credit: Biltmore House & Gardens Conservatory

    Conservatory — 1986

    Megan knew people talked about her. Whenever she came into a room, adults stopped talking in their low, earnest voices, and their grim faces would stretch into fake, painted-on smiles meant to make her feel wanted and welcome. She saw through it to the pity underneath. And she hated it.

    At school, she heard whispers around her as she walked to class, felt eyes boring into the back of her head. No pity there, at least. Only questions no one dared ask her directly. Poor little orphan girl. Tragic. How did her parents die, again? Curiosity colored by distrust.

    But it didn’t keep them from buying what she had to sell.

    As if prompted by the thought, a tap on the greenhouse door startled her. A pale face pressed against the glass. Quick breaths clouded the thick pane.

    Megan wiped her hands on her jeans and opened the door.

    David Spencer fell across the threshold, catching himself before spilling across the floor. “It worked,” he said, trying to catch his breath. “She said yes. But I need more before I pick her up tonight. This can’t go wrong.” (more…)

  • Take My Hand — We’re Going Elsewhere

    A Young Girl Reading by Jean-Honore Fragonard c.1776

    It would be easy for me to tell you that I write because I have to — that it’s in my blood and my heart, and I can’t help myself. That wouldn’t be true, exactly. I make up stories because I don’t know how not to. When I was a little girl, I told myself stories to fall asleep, and today I make up outrageous scenarios for people I see walking their dogs or sitting across a crowded restaurant.

    But I don’t write those down. Making stuff up is not writing.

    I would love to tell you I write for the money, but it’s too soon for that. Ask me again in a few years. Still, even if I were rich, it wouldn’t be why I started writing. Anybody who starts writing because they think it’s a good way to get rich quick is facing a huge letdown. That’s not it either.

    I write because I read. (more…)

  • The Odds of Getting My Homework Done

    Never tell him the odds, either.

    The best piece of advice I ever received wasn’t specifically about writing. It pretty much applies to everything in life, really, and came from Mr. Buchanan, an English teacher I had in high school.

    I am a procrastinator. I have spent my life perfecting the art of procrastinating. Sometimes I have to take a deep, emergency lungful of air because, seriously, I’ve been sitting there not breathing enough. At least once a day I have to sprint to the bathroom because I’ve spent the previous hour (or more) ignoring the need to pee. So, it should come as no surprise that my homework in high school was rarely done on time.

    When Mr. Buchanan asked me one day where my assignment was, I started to explain, “I’m gonna —”

    He cut me off before I could finish the sentence with something brilliant on the fly. (more…)

  • Subplots Make the Skeleton Dance

    Give him a little backup so he go places.

    If you’re writing a short story, there’s probably no time for much of a subplot. You only have so many words to get your hero inside from the dark and stormy night, into the castle, past the creepy caretaker, rescue the damsel in distress from the horrible monster, and get them both home safely.

    It’s a straight shot. Beginning, middle, end.

    Novella’s are longer, and they give you more room to work, but usually the subplots are minimal. It’s kind of a halfway point between short story and novel. I’ve read some good ones lately, but the form itself is not my favorite. There’s usually not enough meat in the middle. Just enough complexity to leave me feeling let down when it’s over too soon. Most novellas feel unfinished to me. Not all, but most do.

    Now, a full-length novel? If you have nothing but one single plot running in a straight line from beginning to end, well, you’re going to lose me.

    (more…)