fiction

The Monster, Part 1

Posted on by Beth Hull

Have you ever written something, a letter, story, poem, Facebook or Twitter post, and, sometime later, thought that was the stupidest thing I ever wrote? If so, you’ll empathize with me here. Of course, in my standard confessional style, I’m going to share something Private and Personal, something collected from that sticker-covered filing cabinet, something melodramatic, juicy, and juvenile.

And then I’m going to tear it apart with my Critiquer Teeth.

So. Here goes.

The Monster

Kimberly whirled first to the left, then to the right. But the monster was nowhere to be seen.1  She sensed something in the air.2 Slowly, she turned around. There was the monster, not any more than twenty feet away, it’s3  jaws dripping with saliva. It was facing to the right, it may not have seen her yet. But then slowly, agonizingly slowly, the monster turned to face her, it’s4  cruel olive green face twisted with anger.

  1. Good, I like this in medias res, although the language could be a little more original.
  2. What? A smell? A movement? Describe, girl!
  3. ugh, I hate that its/it’s error, although I think we’ve all been guilty at some time or another
  4. again?!

There was nothing for Kimberly to do. Nowhere for her to go.1  She was tied to the tree, impossibly tangled in the coarse yellow rope.2  How had she gotten here? It was all James’ fault.3  They had had a fight. Oh, how she hated it when they fought! They had been walking through the forest, with the sunlight weaving through the trees4, creating a romantic and peaceful aura. Then came the fight. The awful fight.5

  1. By the way, where the heck is she? We should know this already.
  2. Okay. Good. The tree…what tree? In her front yard? In a foreign country? In an alternate universe?
  3. I think it should be James’s, not James’, but honestly I feel like a minority on following this rule, so we’ll let it slide here.
  4. nice image
  5. Yeah, we get that it was a bad fight, she hates fighting, and so on. MOVE ON.

It was the biggest fight that they had ever had. Kimberly thought about it and shuddered.1  James wanted her to go to college in Nevada with him, but what she really wanted was to go to Florida. They had different career interests, and there wasn’t one college that offered good classes for both.2

  1. Really? The fight is making her shudder, and not that saliva-dripping monster in front of her? And the fight isn’t…interesting.
  2. Yawn.

And then what happened?1 James had stomped away, leaving her alone and lost in the forest. His temper was just too much.2  His fury would blind him from thinking logically, and now look what resulted from it!3  The sorceress came and took Kimberly to her house. The sorceress needed food for her pet monster, and Kimberly was pretty handy, all alone and vulnerable. So the sorceress tied Kimberly to a tree in her back yard and left her there for – for what? What was this…thing?4 

  1. I don’t know? Are you going to further bog us down in boring backstory by telling us? Of course you are.
  2. You know, writer, my patience is wearing thin and if we don’t get back to that monster, I might tear Kimberly apart and cook her myself.
  3. Look at what? Did we finally remember the monster? No….
  4. Dude, you’ve killed the tension by taking us into all this backstory. Killed it. Deader than the monster is going to be.

Slowly, the monster sauntered1  over to where Kimberly was tied up. It looked at her hungrily.2  Oh James, this is all your fault, but I won’t care as long as you save me! Kimberly prayed silently as the monster stepped up even closer.3

  1. sauntered? This is the kind of verb used for a disinterested shopper forcing herself to browse the aisles of an auto parts store. Try stalked, if you want to really wring the melodrama out of this thing.
  2. Other than being green with big teeth, what does this monster look like? I’m having a hard time feeling scared, picturing the one-eyed dude from Monsters, Inc.
  3. And this is the absolute worst part of the whole story. Helpless princess in the tower syndrome. I need my man to save me. Ugh. Let’s pretend someone else wrote it.

Well kids, that’s all for this week. This’ll be a story critique in three parts. More on Kimberly’s underwhelming (un)adventure next Friday! Oh wait, no, not next Friday, I’ll be out of town. The Friday after, then! I know, the suspense! The intrigue! Try to contain yourselves.

For Part 2 of The Monster, click here.

Writer’s Group

Posted on by Beth Hull

One of my favorite Z stories is how she asked me to play picnic with her one morning. She’d arranged all the plastic and wooden “food” on a blanket on the floor, and she’d enlisted a plastic Lego box for a little table. So I came in and sat down on the floor, thinking I was doing her a huge favor, taking time from cleaning to be a part of this picnic.

I said, “Okay, here I am! I’m ready for the picnic!”

She picked up a throw pillow, set it on her lap, and pretended to type. Then she said, “Just a minute, I have to do something on my computer.”

Color me sheepish.

Our "computers." They never get viruses or need updates. In fact, the green one still works after Z's diaper leaked on it, although it is a bit lumpy from the washing machine.

Another time, I was rushing to get a plate of vegetables together to bring to a potluck/schmooze for SCBWI. Z informed me that she was going to her own writer’s group, and she was bringing marshmallows.

And today, she asked me if I wanted to go to writer’s group with her. Of course I said yes. So I had to get in our “car” (the couch) and let her drive us there (after closing the car doors and buckling up our safety belts first). Then we got out. She gave me a throw pillow, and took one for herself, and we “typed.” I asked her what she was writing, and she said, “How are you, Boo BOO!” She asked me what I was writing, and I told her I was writing about Owly Fowly (Owly Fowly is a character we made up together, who features in many of our stories).

Then we got back into our car, buckled up and closed the doors, and Z drove us home.

Someday, maybe we’ll be in a real writer’s group together. But for now, this is real enough.

5 Rules for Getting It Written

Posted on by Beth Hull

I wrote the first draft of my work-in-progress (nicknamed le manuscript) in a little over two months. I’m sure it’s not the fastest record on time, but it’s much better than my first manuscript (over a year to complete) and my second (clocking somewhere around eight or nine months). Experience has something to do with it, but for me, it helps to have some rules.

You can do something with assigning word counts to different stages of the plot, like Anne Greenwood Brown describes in her blog post that inspired this one, “Kicking Out a Fast First Draft.” What I did was a slightly-less-insane version of NaNoWriMo, a goal of 1200 words per day. My friend Seven organized it, and we and a few other writers encouraged each other to go, go go!

Not all of us finished our drafts. Part of what helped me was I was already somewhere around 15,000 words ahead, because I’d started drafting le manuscript in February, then gave it up in March when I realized Manuscript Numero Dos needed some serious help (it still does). But I got le manuscript done, and will now be revising it for the next 86.92 years.

Here are some rules that helped me reach my goal:

1. A Writing Schedule Is Your New Best Friend. This was easy at the time, because Z was still taking her naps (this is a blog post for a different day). The rule was: I pick up my blank book and work on that draft, as soon as she goes down for her nap.

2. A Back-Up Writing Schedule Is Your Second Best Friend. If, for some reason, I got distracted by the scrub jays in the back yard, or the way my pinky fingernail desperately needed filing, or how that spot on the wall kinda-sorta resembles an ex-boyfriend’s nose… If I didn’t make 1200 words during Z’s nap, I had to finish them up after she went to sleep that night.

3. Clean Houses Are For People Who Don’t Write. Or who write, and have maids. Or who write, and have older children they can make into their chore slaves. I did whatever household chores I could while Z was awake. She really loves to “help.” That’s right, Z, washing dishes is FUN. Never forget it, ’cause this is just the beginning, baby.

4. Do It On Paper. My Paperblanks journals are the bestest ever. You know why? No wireless internet. No Mahjong Titans or other tempting solitaire games. No wireless internet. No lights to irritate the eyes after prolonged exposure. No wireless internet. I recently read a blog post, How to Get More Done by Pretending You’re on an Airplane. It’s true. The most writing is done distraction -free. Twitter, lately, has been hearkening to me like a sadistic siren, and I don’t even like Twitter. I don’t. There. I said it. Now every time I try to log on they’ll tell me Oops! they’re over capacity.

5. Outline It. I’m way too much of a control freak to just start writing. I also adore lists and bullet points. So I come up with a rough idea of where I want the story to go and how I want it to get there. This doesn’t mean that I know all the major players right away. This doesn’t mean I ignore tempting paths – I take them. Having an outline keeps me going because I don’t have to chew thoughtfully on my pen while deciding what should happen next. One of my critique partners, Jo, has a good post on creating an outline (click here for that), although I get by with a bullet-point synopsis.

Like Anne Greenwood Brown says at the end of her post, there’s no way she’d share her first draft with anyone, not even her mother. I agree. The first one is total trash. If anyone has tips on how to revise a novel in two months, do share. As things are going, I only have about 86.33 years left of revising le manuscript.

There’s probably more, but I’m off to the woods for some mosquito-slapping, bear-dodging, holing-up-in-my-cabin-and-writing adventure. See you Wednesday.

Revolution by Jennifer Donnelly

Posted on by Beth Hull

The set-up: Andi has been too busy grieving and losing herself in her guitar music to take the time to start the thesis required for graduation from her private school. When her dad discovers how bad Andi’s situation has gotten, he whisks her off to Paris (poor Andi) to make her get to work (Paris, but with homework? Really, this time, poor Andi).

Main character’s goals: Andi wants to go back in time, to save her brother. The loss of him is too much for her (she escapes into her music and her antidepressants), it’s too much for her mother (she escapes into her painting and periods of catatonia), and it’s too much for her father (he up and leaves the family). I would say at the start of the story, Andi doesn’t have much of a goal, but once she’s in Paris her goal is to get back to her mother. Then she finds an old diary, and strange things happen.

My reaction: This was a book to savor. I wasn’t rushing through it, trying to reach the end, but I did want to hang out with Andi for awhile, hear what she had to say. And I’m still divided as to what really happened (we have a bit of an unreliable narrator going, what with the substance abuse, so the last half of the book is…a little different. I don’t want to spoil anything by saying more).

Of interest to writers: I really have a hard time with epistolary novels. If you want to incorporate a diary, or letters and notes or emails, then you had better do it well. Otherwise, I will hate your book. Aim for what Donnelly has done in Revolution, or what Jaclyn Moriarty does in The Year of Secret Assignments. For an example of what NOT to do…[] That is the sound of me biting my tongue. I am trying to be kind here. If you really want to know what I read recently that had a sucky diary thing going, send me an email.

Bottom line: So. This book is awesome.

To visit Jennifer Donnelly’s website, click here.

Reminds me of: A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens.