Silk & Shadows

Currently working on: Hot draft of new story
Mood: Borne & buffeted

Sometime in January, I like to pull my Tarot cards for a start-of-the-year spread, to see where I’m at. This year, so far, I’ve been too busy to take a quiet night to get into the right space to think about things. But with the month almost over (and how did THAT happen?!) I figured I better get at least ONE card done so I’d have something to contemplate on my dog walks.

I pulled the Page of Swords. I use the Mythic Tarot deck by Juliet Sharman-Burke and Liz Greene, illustrated by Tricia Newell. This deck features Greek mythology which I loved as a kid, so I relate to the stories.

The Page of the Swords is represented by Zephyrus, the Greek god of the West Wind. His card is ambivalent — as the Swords tend to be cards that poke at your complacency — since he and his brother the North Wind started out as malicious little shits, prone to starting storms just to knock things over. Eventually Zephyrus married Isis of the rainbow, which mellowed him out. But still, having him start my year gives me lots to think about.

The positive aspects of Zephyrus as the Page of Swords are curiosity, enthusiasm and the emergency of new ideas. The downsides are irritability and petty quarrels that blow up into battles. As I move forward with some new story ideas, I guess I better practice my patience. That’s usually on my list of New Years Resolutions, so I suppose that’s okay. Sigh.

I like this picture of Zephyrus because he is puffing up all these great clouds leading into a blue sky… but the way he is holding the sword makes me think he is about to burst his own bubble. He had better be careful which bubbles he bursts, since some of them are holding him aloft. I better make sure I’m puffing up the right dreams. Not there’s anything wrong with walking sometimes. Ask my dog.

If you play with tarot cards, did you get any thoughtful readings for the new year? Or if you want me to pull a card for you, just let me know in comments and I’ll see which Greek myth might be right for you.

Currently working on: Christmas
Mood: Deck the freakin’ halls

Every single year, Christmas comes around*, and every single year I am shocked. Already?! Seriously? This year is no exception, although I did have the added bonus of turning my work calendar from November to December and being greeted by a 12×12 glossy of a tropical beach at sunset. The lounge chair was empty and calling my name. Thanks, calendar, I needed that little dig.

Every year, I tell myself, “Next year I’ll start earlier.” And every year… “Already?! Seriously?”

Because here’s my dilemma, and I’m sure you all face it too. My choices are:

#1. Sacrifice time earlier to do my holiday tasks. Take my sweet time to do the tasks well and without undue stress.

Or, #2. Hoard my earlier time, let the clock tick down, then do massive freak-out and get holiday tasks done as quickly as possible despite the need for late nights, cursing, and excessive chocolate consumption — because, please, who are we kidding, the last item — and probably the first two too — was going to happen anyway.

Is it my imagination, or does #2 just make more sense?

It all gets done, but in scenario #2, it gets done faster. I think this is why I DON’T get started earlier. I’ve seen what I do to any opening: I expand to fill available space. If I started in September, I’d be obsessed with finding “the right thing.” Instead, in mid-December, I say “Is that the thing? Right” and we’re good to go.

Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I’d be happier (and more in tune with the alleged seasonal moods of peace, love and joy) if I didn’t indulge the freak out. But I’m not even sure I’d know how to start.

Probably with chocolate.

How do you handle the holiday rush? Or are you an expert at the hush? Please share! Anyway, I’m giving us all a Gold Star for trying.

*Apologies — or maybe congratulations — to those who don’t do Christmas. Happy Hanukkah, Merry Kwanzaa, Blessed Solstice, and many butter cookies to you all!

Currently working on: Kicking this nasty cold
Mood: Disgustingly congested

XY and I hike and camp in the summer, often through Eastern Oregon and over and down into Idaho and Nevada, so I was saddened to read about a couple lost after traveling in the area. The wife was recovered alive this weekend after seven weeks missing, having survived on creek water and trail mix; the husband tried to walk out for help and has not yet been found. It’s rugged country, much of it still snowbound this time of year.

According to some reports, the couple had been following some scenic route with the help of a GPS when they became trapped in a ravine.

Which made me think about my writing.

I’m a plotter. Evidence at right. I like tools to help me find my way, whether that’s a GPS or a scene-by-scene beat sheet. When the tools are working, everything can be wonderful, each step proceeding accordingly and to plan, miles/pages whirling by under the feet/fingers.

But when it doesn’t work…

Hopefully you packed extra trail mix.

On Saturday, I drove up to the Seattle area for a romance reader event. (By the way, if you live between the Covington WA Library and Portland Oregon and want a signed copy of VOWED IN SHADOWS, check your local Barnes & Noble; I probably signed it.)  For the three-hour interstate drive, I had the following:

• Turkey croissant with cheese
• Apple (with knife; always have a knife)
• His Bakery chocolate chip cookie
• Trader Joe’s chocolate chip cookies (just in case)
• Trader Joe’s gluten-free ginger snaps (for gluten free just in case)
• Gardettos (garlic to keep vampires away)
• Pringles (because vampires aren’t real)
• York peppermint patties (because garlic IS real)
• Dark chocolate M&Ms
• Organic Valley chocolate milk
• Water

XY asked if I was EVER coming back. [Author's note: I don't usually eat this trashy. Special occasion only.] While I didn’t intend to become stranded on the side of the interstate for seven weeks, you just never know. I find the same is true of my writing: I never intend to become stranded after I fill out all my plot sheets, but it’s best to have a contingency plan.

I don’t know how the lost woman survived for seven weeks, not knowing what would happen to her, still not knowing what happened to her husband. Maybe she’ll write a book someday. But here’s a little bit about what I’ve learned when I’m lost in my writing, and not in a good way:

Don’t get more lost.

Lost people do walk in circles. Actual scientific studies found that, devoid of locational cues (i.e. blindfolded), walkers will end up going in circles less than 100 feet in diameter.

When I don’t know where I’m going with my story, my writing can become equally cramped and pointless. It’s better for me to stop, orient to my last known position in the story, and then make a new plan before moving forward.

Send up a flare
Sometimes I get so lost in my own head, I just can’t see a way out. I need help. Call the Coast Guard! And make sure the Navy SEAL is hot! (Aren’t they all?) Also, bring more chocolate.

My writer version of a distress beacon/sat phone is a brainstorming session with other writers. A lot of times, I don’t even need them to answer me, really, I just need to talk through the path and lay it out for my own mind’s eye.

Letting someone else know where you are going to be and when you are expected back is always good advice when headed into wild country. I think the same applies to writing; having someone else know what I’m trying to accomplish — with deadline included — helps keep me on track. And they can come calling for me if I haven’t been heard from for awhile.

Use your skills and your senses
There have been several stories in the past few years about unprepared people following their GPS units into trouble. Usually, the trouble starts with nice spring weather that degenerates back into winter as they blunder higher and farther. Sadly in these stories, it seems even the sight of multiple feet of snow doesn’t alert them to trouble. Having all the right tools can’t always keep you safe. Worse, sometimes the tools — whether is GPSs, seat heaters and cell phones or GMC, turning points and high concept — add a false sense of safety.

For example, I’ve learned to smell the snow of the freeze-out that usually hits me in Chapter 7. Even when I plot, Chapter 7 is when I hit my “I’m bored of this story, I see a shiny new idea over there” wall. The story could end right there if I’m not careful.

The adventure in the wilderness of the story is worth a lot of risks, I think. Not foolish risks, of course. Being prepared only makes sense. There will be plenty of unknowns to keep me busy even if I plot every step.

I feel for that lost couple. You don’t usually hear a lot of follow-up to the stories of the lost. Getting found (or not) often seems to be the end of it. For the writer, who will be going out again and again, I always want to know what could be next.

What happens next? I guess that IS the heart of storytelling.

Have you ever been lost, in real life or story life? What did you do?

Currently working on: Judging the 2011 Fantasy, Futuristic & Paranormal Romance Writers Prism awards
Mood: Full of words

I have a friend who is quitting. She is not a writer, but her path has been similar: trying to create something out of nothing, trying to find an audience for her something, keeping herself fed and housed while trying to find an audience, etc.

A couple of weeks ago, she announced she was — quite literally — packing up, taking her ball, and going home. I said something along the lines of “You go, girl!” because I think there comes a time when chirpy encouragement becomes cruelty, and I think she’d reached that point.

They say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over in the expectation of different results. Annoyingly, that is also the definition of mastery.

We talked a little about knowing when it is time to quit. (I know the word ‘quit’ sounds harsh, but I’m not sure there’s any point softening it. Give in. Give up. Give out. Whatever you want to say, it’s about no longer doing the thing you’ve been trying to do. Quitting.) Interestingly, although she has always had an obvious escape route, she says she never thought about it until one day it suddenly hit her; she had another option, she didn’t have to keep banging her head against a wall. She could quit. She said she sat with the idea a couple days, mulling it over, and it became ever more clear to her she should quit.

There’s a saying among writers: “Do you know what they call a writer who didn’t quit? Author.” I hate this saying. It implies by not quitting you will get what you want when we all know there’s no such guarantee. But what is guaranteed is that if you do quit you won’t make it.

I talked with XY about quitting too. In his art, he has a couple times made drastic changes that while not exactly quitting were almost as extreme in their consequences. He said, when the moment came, he always knew in his heart that the change had to be made.

Here is my dirty little secret: I am a romance writer, but I have trouble trusting my own heart. (Maybe that’s WHY I am a romance writer.) I have just enough engineer blood to want diagrams and checklists and spreadsheets of the heart’s decisions. So here are the enumerated reasons I came up with — not for knowing when to quit, because I’m still not sure I know when that is right, but for explaining why I haven’t:

1. It would hurt more to quit than to continue.

One of the first writers I met when I had started writing “seriously” quit shortly thereafter. She had had several hemorrhoid operations and sitting down to write was too painful and potentially damaging. For me, that was a good metaphor for knowing when to quit.

2. I haven’t exhausted all my options.

I’m still learning, still getting better, still excited by what I’m doing. That’s a forward momentum of its own.

3. There’s nothing else I want more.

Maybe that’s not exactly a noble sentiment, but it’s true. As much as I whine about writing, it’s what I do, it’s what I’ve always done, and I can’t imagine not wanting to do it, even when it’s terrible.

4. I am stubborn.

My saving grace. When all else fails me, the stubbornness remains.

5. My heart says write.

As I tally my reasons, I guess that starts to sound like the little inner voice of the heart that says “Onward.”

I think there can be wisdom and relief in quitting, as well as the potential for greater satisfaction elsewhere. And quitting doesn’t have to be permanent. I often quit is disgust around chapter 7 and don’t start again until chapter 8. I wish my friend well in her next endeavor and hope she finds the success she wants.

Meanwhile, onward.

Have you ever had to trust your heart over your head? How did it work out? How did you KNOW you were right?

Currently working on: Preparing for Chicago book tour
Mood:  Scattered

Writing rules start the moment you pick up your first pencil and stare at your first blank wide-ruled notebook when you are, what?, in kindergarten? Hold the pencil like this. Stay within the lines. Make the letters the same way as everybody else.

How is this creative?!?

Ah, but if you don’t make your letters the same as everybody else, if you make up your own alphabet (Tolkien aside) nobody will be able to read what  you wrote.

So already, we see that some rules exist for a reason. Here’s a good example. I recently received my box of new books from my publisher. Yay! I opened the box and…

Oh noes! They sent me a bunch of books without covers! How tragic! Jonah is such a handsome fellow too. Weep.

Now if I’d followed the rules a little more carefully, I would have seen this:

“Open Other Side.” This particular rule existed for a good reason. If I wanted to see my covers.

But the rules accumulate so quickly, it’s hard to know which are hard and fast and get you closer to your goal (“This Side Up”) and which (“Open Immediately” and “Rush”) are more like friendly suggestions.

I think there are a few rules we can all agree on:

1. Know the rules so you can break them properly.

Breaking rules “properly” seems oxymoronic. But the jazziest freewheeling jam session can be ruined by one out-of-tune instrument, and even the wackiest concept car needs to actually carry a passenger from point A to point B.

2. Do nothing to get in the way of the story.

This includes haphazard or intrusive writing issues (from big picture elements like theme vs. preaching to line edit problems such as spelling and grammar) that might interfere with the reader’s enjoyment of the story.

3. Tend toward the clear and concise.

When I look at the books I put down (and the biggest difficulties in my own writing) I see that muddiness is often the deciding factor. Muddy writing leads to slogging. Clear and concise writing (not necessarily short; concise means free from superfluous detail) moves along.

Just like Tolkien had a lot of rings but only One Ring to bind them all, I think there is One Rule of Writing:

Be Compelling

Compelling is a free pass past a lot of rules. Without compelling, even following every single rule gets you nowhere. What is compelling? Ooh, look, I’m out of space That’s a post for another day.

Do you have any rules you follow? Any you break?

Currently working on: 100 things at once
Mood: Scattered

When writers learn about creating characters, one of the first techniques we’re taught is to assign each character a story goal, something the character desperately wants and must pursue through the course of the story. Since many of us use the start of the new year to assign ourselves some resolutions, I think we can all relate.

Next, writers are told to figure out why the character wants to reach the story goal. What is the character’s motivation?

This is where I, as the (ostensibly) lead character in my own life, get a little murky.

Why do I write?

If I do one thing this year, I want to figure out the answer to that question. See, this year is a turning point (my fellow writers will recognize that term too, and probably wince) in my writing life, and it’s time I clarified my motivation.

Why is motivation important to characters? In a story, strong motivation keeps the poor, beleaguered character on task no matter what rocks we mean writers throw at them. Wimpy motivation lets the character off the hook and he slinks home to his easy chair, never to adventure again. Booooring!

In real life… Well, in real life, I secretly do want the easy chair with a fuzzy blanket and fuzzier socks, BUT I know that strong motivation is really what will keep me reaching for my goals.

“People often say that motivation doesn’t last. Well, neither does bathing — that’s why we recommend it daily.”
– Zig Ziglar

More than a year ago, I attended a writing workshop where the speaker asked us to determine our own personal reason for writing. Other than fame and fortune. (Cue laugh track.) Everyone diligently bent their heads to their papers and scratched away. I cheated off the writer next to me.

Because I’m not sure of my motivation. I asked other writers afterward what they wrote. They had great answers:

• I write for free therapy.
• I write because I have to write.
• I write so I don’t have to get a job where I wear pants.
• I write to get the strange voices out of my head. (See reason #1.)
• I write because I love to write.

Great as these answers are, they don’t really resonate with me. (Although I’d like to not need a job where I have to wear pants.) So I never answered the question for myself, never found the motivation that rings me like a bell. But this year, I think I’m going to be forced to figure it out.

I hope it’s a good answer.

So do you have parts of your life you don’t look at too closely? Are you happier that way, or do you want to explore those hidden depths? How many people do you think get eaten by the dragons in their hidden depths?

Currently working on: Absorbing leftover Halloween candy
Mood: Sugar bombed

I’m feeling contemplative. (Uh oh, watch out.) Our topic here at Silk And Shadows this week is “what storytelling means to me.” It’s definitely easier to navel gaze after a whole week long evening of bloating on KitKats, Heath bars and Pixie Stix.

I’m in a good place to be contemplative right now. In addition to suffering a serious chocolate head-buzz, I just turned in Book 4 of the Marked Souls last week (okay, yes, I did start eating the Halloween candy last week) AND today I turned in copy edits on Book 3, VOWED IN SHADOWS (4/11). So this is a great time to ask myself:

WHAT THE HECK AM I DOING?!?!

I also routinely ask myself that question right around Chapters 7, 13 and 23… Hey, look at that. Something about prime number chapters screws me up. Huh.

Anyway, the obvious answer to the question is exactly what it says in the picture I posted here last week from the sticky note on top of my computer monitor: I AM TELLING THE STORY. (“You fool” is implied.)

But when I’m staggering around in the depths of the storyworld — desperate for a gallon of gasoline and a match, just so I can clear a path so I might have a clue where I am — that’s a terrible time to ask myself the corollary to the above question:

WHY AM I DOING THIS?!?!

I don’t like to ask because… I don’t know why I’m doing this. I suspect the answer is the same as the answer to:

Why did the chicken cross the road?

The first answer to “Why did the chicken cross the road?” is, of course:

To get to the other side.

As a reason for storytelling, I think this makes simple sense. I write the story to get to the other side of the story, which — if you start at The Beginning — would be, not surprisingly, The End.

I think the “writer as chicken” analogy also works because anyone who has tried to drive past a chicken on the side of a road knows that wanting to cross the road is apparently, to the chicken, as natural and inevitable as… well, laying an egg. Which is how it is for writers. (Not the egg-laying part so much as the natural and inevitable.)

Also, chickens wander; chickens peck; and chickens are the butts of many semi-funny jokes — very much like writers — including the following:

Q: Why did the chicken cross the road halfway?
A: To lay it on the line.

Getting a story “out there” and sharing it with others is a thrill-seeking rush. Much like standing in the middle of a street.

Q: What do you call a chicken crossing the road?
A: Poultry in motion.

I like to make art. I’ve painted, I’ve dabbled in photography, I bead. But there’s something about the beauty, versatility, power, and play of words that fascinates me.

Q: Do chickens have belly buttons? (This isn’ t a joke; more of a factoid.)
A: Belly buttons are the scar left by the umbilical cord. Chickens have the equivalent of an umbilical cord in their yolk sac, but the sac is reabsorbed and leaves no scar.

I think a lot of writers are like chickens in that there is no “scar” showing the moment they became a writer. They just absorbed that storytelling energy and pecked their way out.

And lastly, this little amusing story that really has nothing to do with writing except it combines chickens and books:

A chicken walks into a library and says to the librarian “book, book, book,” so the librarian gives the chicken three books and it walks out. About an hour later, the chicken walks in again and says “book, book, book,” so once again, the librarian gives the chicken three books and it walks out. About an hour later, it comes back in and says “book, book, book,” so the librarian gives the chicken three books and it walks out. This time however, the librarian is a little curious so she follows the chicken. She continues to follow it for about half an hour when it comes to a marsh and puts the books on the ground. A frog leaps out of the marsh, looks at the books, and says “readit, readit, readit.”

Do you think it’s a good idea to examine our personal motivations for creative endeavors, or anything else for that matter? Especially under the influence of chocolate? Or should it be saved for professional counseling, a “do not try this at home” kind of thing?

P.S. My short story – very short, like, 25 words short! — is available today in HINT FICTION: An Anthology of Stories in 25 Words or Fewer. Other, way more famous contributors include Tess Gerritsen, James Frey and Joyce Carol Oates (!). The stories have been called “fun and addictive, like puzzles or haiku or candy.” Uh, I don’t want to talk about candy…

My process changes with every book I write. I’d love to announce I have found the best way to get a story onto paper, but sadly, it would be a lie. Novel writing is a great adventure. For now, my process looks something like this:

Flesh out my lead characters
My story ideas often come to me in the form of a character who pops into my mind and demands to tell his or her story. This person is fully formed, but I don’t know him or her very well, so I start by trying to understand what s/he wants, why she wants it, and what’s stopping her from getting it. In my stories, there’s typically two people standing between my hero and his goal–the villain and the heroine. I spend time fleshing them out, too, including what their goals are and why they want them.

Outline
Next, I look for the major events that can or will trigger my character to become the person he needs to be in order to succeed. I identify his plan for winning, and the villain’s plan for winning. I explore how my heroine’s individual goal interferes and causes problems for my lead. I give some thought to the worst things that could happen. I’m a big believer in “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger”. Torture is an excellent tool for character-building, I’ve found. Then I toss all that stuff into the pot and mix well.

Research
Now that I have a rough idea what’s going to happen, I can have some fun. Oh, the hours that are lost here. I love researching, and can easily lose myself in the details—many of which are never used in the book. I don’t curtail this activity too much, though, unless I’m way off-base. Immersing myself in the details helps me slide into my characters’ world.

Write the first three to four chapters
Yes, this is pre-writing. At least, it is for me. No matter how much thought I put in before I start writing, I never truly get to know my characters—or truly understand their motivations—until I walk a mile in their shoes. I need to see them react to those nasty events I envisioned and interact with other characters. I need to test them.

Rethink
After I’ve written those first few chapters, I need to sit back and recalibrate. Do I really know what the hero wants? Do I really know what the heroine is willing to sacrifice to get what she wants? The answer is often NO. So, I head back to the drawing board. I don’t try to figure out everything–I like the mystery if discovering new things as I go along. My plan is simply to spot the big whoppers–the issues that could turn my story completely on it’s ear and result in endless wasted pages.

The best part of this process is peeling away the layers of the character that first showed up in my head. Discovering the complexities of that person, what makes them tick. It probably won’t surprise you to learn that I people-watch in real life, too. That couple at the next table? Are they on a first date or celebrating a fortieth anniversary? Sharing the events of an average day? Or sharing a burden that’s been dragging down their shoulders all day?

Anyone else out there a people-watcher who makes up stories about complete strangers?

Currently working on: Navel gazing
Mood: Linty

I recently started messing around with a side project.  It came from my idea file where it had been sitting for about a year.  Despite its time in purgatory, the idea was still shiny and interesting, so I decided to take it out and play with it for a bit.

Some ideas are like those fancy dolls that look gorgeous but you really shouldn’t take them out of the plastic because then their perfect corkscrew ringlet hair gets all messed up and they aren’t worth anything anymore.  Other ideas are like Legos, and look simple and kind of boring but can stand up to any sort of abuse and become anything you want when you start adding to them. 

This new idea I’m playing with was like a bag of brightly colored and intriguing puzzle pieces.  Tragically, the box top with the picture of what the puzzle would show was missing, which made me suspicious.  Was this idea all there?  What if pieces were missing?  What if they aren’t even all pieces from the same puzzle?  Would I be wasting my time?

Not much you can do in a situation like that except start working on it and see where the pieces take you.

My prewriting is a ritual the same way my puzzle working has specific steps:

Step 1: Clear a big, flat, clean work surface.
Clearing the decks is important for my writing process.  While I don’t require certain kinds of pens or paper to write, I like to set up my writing files, my word count spreadsheet, some inspirational art, whatever notes I had in the idea folder, etc. before I start.  That virtual workspace is as important to my story as a physical space is to a puzzle which gets hard to move around as the pieces spread.

Step 2: Turn all the colored sides face up.
With a puzzle, knowing what I have to work with — ooh, a lot of yellow; I bet that all goes together — is important.  Same thing with a story idea.  Who are the characters?  What are they trying to accomplish?  What terrible odds are they facing?  Just like in that anonymous bag of puzzle pieces, I might not actually have all the pieces of the story right away, but at least I know what I DO have.

Step 3: Find the straight edge pieces.
Some of those smarty-pants new puzzles don’t have traditional straight edges anymore.  But most stories do.  Usually there’s – for example – a beginning, a middle and an end.  Once I know those pieces, I can link them together, which shows me a framework of what I’m missing.

Step 4: Look for big color blocks and readily identifiable details.
In a puzzle, big color and little details seem to jump out to my eye.  My prewriting tends to be like that too.  I can imagine and make note of big action pieces or little snippets of dialogue even if I’m not quite sure where they will go.

Step 5: Start connecting the pieces.
Even before I type “Chapter 1,” I like to see how all those chunks are fitting together.  Already I can see where I’m missing pieces.  The writing hasn’t even seriously begun and already there are so many questions: Will I find the missing pieces somewhere in the idea pile, or will I have to make a new piece?  Is this a picture anybody — me included — will want to look at?  Hey, what is the dog chewing on?

Some writers prefer not to work out the puzzle before they start writing because then they lose the excitement that keeps them fitting the 400 pages of pieces together.  But for me, all that playing is part of the fun.

How do you like to play?  Do you break your crayons first?  Or do you like to color in the lines?

Currently working on: Al.Most.Done with revisions
Mood: Last stretch of K2 with the promise of a long toboggan ride down — whee! (probably into a bottomless cravasse, but…)

Our topic this week is “If I wrote in another subgenre…” which didn’t take that much imagining for me because I’ve already done it.  And the timing of the topic couldn’t be better since I just cleaned out a cabinet and unearthed (and yes, by unearthed I mean removed enough dust to qualify as earth) these:

These are a bunch (not all, mind you) of my old stories.  In this stack or out of view on the floor are the following:

• A historical of no particular time period (who knew you had to choose ONE time period or at least provide a time machine) with exceedingly murky point of view changes
• Two rom-coms, one with a herd of dachshunds
• Two Regencies, one with requisite duke (I feel a sudden urge to write THE DUKE OF DACHSHUNDS for some reason)
• A medieval with paranormal elements
• A futuristic romantic suspense with old skool Indiana Jones overtones
• A high fantasy heroic quest road trip revised as a contemporary paranormal romance
• Various and assorted pieces and parts of other Regencies, contemps and Harlequin categories

DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME!

Writing coaches will tell you to pick a subgenre and stick with it, at least until you’ve made a place for yourself as a certain kind of writer offering a certain kind of experience.  And, they say, for heaven’s sake, DON’T query an agent or editor with all of the above.  (Uh, oops…)

I’m sure the writing coaches are right.  They also tell you that you should probably write what you read.  And that was my problem — I read all sorts of romance.  So I wrote all sorts of romance before I found out that might be considered a waste of time.  Not to mention a waste of paper.

But I don’t regret those wide-ranging stories.  All that casting around (maybe I should say, casting up my writing accounts — you Regency readers will know what I mean) was me trying to unearth “my voice” and what kinds of stories I wanted to tell.

Even though the subgenres displayed a touch of multiple personality disorder, the stories inside contained many of the same elements:

• A heroine marching to her own piper
• A hero with troubles he’d rather not share
• A few (or more) shadows with contrasting light moments
• Enough adventure or intrigue to keep me interested

And even if I write a cookbook, I can pretty much guess how it will end.  Happily.

Those earlier projects mark my evolution as a writer.  I almost hate to recycle the primeval papertrail they left.  But they are footsteps I’ve left behind me, not a path I need to retrace.

I have some old jewelry I made, from when I first started stringing beads, that I need to take apart too.  I’ve improved my craft and my vision and they aren’t my best effort anymore.  The components — crystal, pearl, sterling, glass – are still good, though, and I have a scavenger’s eye for salvage   I look forward to snipping off the ends and tumbling all the smooth and sparkly bits across my desk to see what I can keep.

Do you have old projects you keep around?  How do you know when you’re through with them?  Does seeing them weigh you down, or do they inspire you when you see how far you’ve come?