Faithful readers will recall that in December, we hosted a contest on this blog to celebrate our second anniversary. We chose two winners, and each submitted sample pages and a synopsis for a spin through the professional editor's machine. Alicia's winner, Jill Stone, graciously agreed to provide us some feedback on the process.
Critique coping skills from a writer who is learning to love the red.
The critique, a rite of passage for any writer, has always been an uneasy process for me, so when I got word I had won a chapter critique from Alicia and Theresa at Edit Torrent, I looked forward to their insight and commentary with eager...wariness.
I’m strong. I’m tough. I’ve been in an on-line critique group for a year and I have a critique partner who is my biggest fan and worst nightmare critic. So I am used to critical commentary, right? Well, yes and no. I will be the first to admit that I was not entirely prepared for what I got back from Edit Torrent. A scene by scene plot and character analysis, as well as detailed remarks throughout the chapter. Nearly a month later, I still open the critique file and work on edits, carefully considering the editor’s remarks as I make revisions.
Over the past year, I have learned a few critique survival techniques, which I am happy to blog about. For example, the first thing I do is read through all the red, close up the file and take a deep breath. Let the process percolate, especially when contemplating major changes, like the suggestion below I received from the editor. Ready? Here goes:
“First, I think that initial scene could be trimmed or deleted. Unless those characters come in again {and there's no sign in the synopsis that they do), I'm not sure you want to waste the opening on them. The lack of setting and positioning suggested to me that you weren't really committed anyway-- the scene and characters didn't come to life, and you weren't really in any viewpoint, and it was impossible to visualize the scene.”
Excuse me while I let that ricochet off the inside of my skull and through my cerebral cortex. (My version of a deep breath.)
Let’s break it down, shall we? First of all, the editor is at a disadvantage because she doesn’t know the characters in the opening scene do have roles to play throughout the novel and are more than just colorful props. I write an assortment of eccentric minor characters into my romantic suspense tales and they don’t all fit in a four page synopsis.
On to the next comment about lack of setting and positioning. Now that is something I can work on. I like to open my stories in the middle of a scene and allow the reader to get to know the characters through their dialogue as the action unfolds. Will I ever be the kind of storyteller who opens with paragraphs of narrative that stage the scene? Probably not. (Being influenced by Elmore Leonard doesn’t help matters any.) But I can add a descriptive sentence here and there which will enhance the story and slyly reveal information to the reader.
“The characters do not come to life.” Here, I have an honest disagreement with the editor’s opinion. Enough said. “And you don’t really have any viewpoint.” I would say the majority of my rewrite time is spent on deepening my protagonist’s POV, so I shall continue on in that direction. It is obvious I need to develop greater brilliance in scene staging using dialogue, action and a few sentences of narrative. (I like to think of narrative as internal dialogue. I reminds me to tell the story through all the senses of the protagonist).
Also, I do not focus solely on what needs fixing. I learn from the positive remarks I receive, as well. The encouraging comments tell me what I am doing right. They underline my strengths as a writer and give me the confidence I need to take risks and find my own voice. How about these from Edit Torrent:
“I love the way the two detectives talk to each other. They are so cagey, and yet understand each other. Very nice! And their voices sound so right. Thanks for letting me read this! I think you have a great project here, and your voice is sure and your dialogue rings very true to me.”
Here are the truths I have come to accept about the craft of writing: A writer needs both praise and criticism in order to grow, and the critique/edit process is never easy. Let’s face it, how much better am I going to get as a writer if I receive a few grammar marks and a chat room smiley face at the end of the story? Not much.
My heartfelt thanks to both Theresa and Alicia for the time and effort they took with the chapter and synopsis. I will try to remember that red is good for me, and that someday there may be less of it.
G. Jillian Stone
There are fields in time that burn with desire. Meet me there.
Jillian is currently finishing the second manuscript in The Yard Men Series. Set in late Victorian London, Scotland Yard detectives have never been as wickedly sexy or as brilliantly clever. To read more about her latest work in progress, THE SEDUCTION OF PHAETON BLACK, please drop by her website: www.gjillianstone.com
Showing posts with label contests. Show all posts
Showing posts with label contests. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Heat #13: Short Track Speed Slating
This is our final judged event. Alicia and I are the judges.
Are you all familiar with flash fiction? Flash is ultra-short storytelling, complete with a protagonist, a conflict, and a resolution. It's focused, condensed, and often as delicious as a single bonbon. (There's a great article about it here if you want a more detailed definition.)
Your job today is to write a 300-word flash story. Your story can be on any subject, but you must use two of the three following words: short, track, or speed.
Post your entries in the comments before the Closing Ceremonies begin. Alicia and I will pick the winner.
Are you all familiar with flash fiction? Flash is ultra-short storytelling, complete with a protagonist, a conflict, and a resolution. It's focused, condensed, and often as delicious as a single bonbon. (There's a great article about it here if you want a more detailed definition.)
Your job today is to write a 300-word flash story. Your story can be on any subject, but you must use two of the three following words: short, track, or speed.
Post your entries in the comments before the Closing Ceremonies begin. Alicia and I will pick the winner.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Heat #12: Freestyle Keying
Alicia says that voice begins with worldview and ends with word choice. Today's exercise gives you a chance to reflect on your worldview in a simple, black-and-white manner.
Use a kitchen timer so that you don't dawdle over this one. It can be very tempting to dwell and ponder and explore trains of thought, but this is just an exercise. The end result should be a bit of enhanced clarity of your personal worldview.
Take a pad of paper and draw a vertical line down the middle of the page. On the top of one column, write "Yes." On top of the other column, write "No."
The Yes column will be for things that make your creativity hum in a positively energized way. These are things that wake you up. Things that excite your curiosity. Things guaranteed to make you stop and look twice. They might not always be pretty or charming or nice. But they will always call out to you, and you will always be drawn to them.
The No column is for things that raise your hackles. If you want to write a letter to the editor about it, it goes here. If you want to slap your Congressperson over it, it goes here. If you want to stop total strangers in public and let them know why they shouldn't do it, it goes here.
Set your timer for ten or fifteen minutes or so. Write quickly. Don't stop to think about whether anyone will approve of your choices. Nobody but you ever needs to see this list. This is personal self-exploration, for your eyes only.
List items in the Yes column until you can't think of any more, then switch to the No column. When you get stuck in the No column, switch back to Yes.
Don't worry about why a particular item makes the list. It can be irrational -- we all have pet peeves, after all. It can be mundane -- there's a reason we all cringe to see someone pick their noses and wipe it on their shirts, right? But the underlying reasons or values aren't important. All you really want is to write a list of things that make you buzz with emotion.
This list represents part of your worldview, the part that taps into your emotions and creativity. It's worth a few minutes to get all those things down where you can see them together, isn't it? Leave a comment about this exercise to be entered into the drawing for the Closing Ceremonies!
Use a kitchen timer so that you don't dawdle over this one. It can be very tempting to dwell and ponder and explore trains of thought, but this is just an exercise. The end result should be a bit of enhanced clarity of your personal worldview.
Take a pad of paper and draw a vertical line down the middle of the page. On the top of one column, write "Yes." On top of the other column, write "No."
The Yes column will be for things that make your creativity hum in a positively energized way. These are things that wake you up. Things that excite your curiosity. Things guaranteed to make you stop and look twice. They might not always be pretty or charming or nice. But they will always call out to you, and you will always be drawn to them.
The No column is for things that raise your hackles. If you want to write a letter to the editor about it, it goes here. If you want to slap your Congressperson over it, it goes here. If you want to stop total strangers in public and let them know why they shouldn't do it, it goes here.
Set your timer for ten or fifteen minutes or so. Write quickly. Don't stop to think about whether anyone will approve of your choices. Nobody but you ever needs to see this list. This is personal self-exploration, for your eyes only.
List items in the Yes column until you can't think of any more, then switch to the No column. When you get stuck in the No column, switch back to Yes.
Don't worry about why a particular item makes the list. It can be irrational -- we all have pet peeves, after all. It can be mundane -- there's a reason we all cringe to see someone pick their noses and wipe it on their shirts, right? But the underlying reasons or values aren't important. All you really want is to write a list of things that make you buzz with emotion.
This list represents part of your worldview, the part that taps into your emotions and creativity. It's worth a few minutes to get all those things down where you can see them together, isn't it? Leave a comment about this exercise to be entered into the drawing for the Closing Ceremonies!
Entries for the Wordic Combined Challenge
Here are the entries -- vote in the sidebar poll for your favorite! These are so clever that it might be hard to choose just one, so I've set the poll to allow multiple votes.
Entry #1: edittorment
The feeling you get when you're editing your manuscript and you realize the first draft needs a complete rewrite. (Also the feeling you get when you can't think of something for an EditTorrent challenge! LOL)
Entry #2: Mysterotica
Entry #3: Horromance
2 and 3 are new genres sure to inspire great stories.
Entry #4: schadenfreudanista
(n) A person who finds glee in the misfortune of others.
Entry #5: bitchwell
Created in honor of the entrant's neighbor.
Entry #1: edittorment
The feeling you get when you're editing your manuscript and you realize the first draft needs a complete rewrite. (Also the feeling you get when you can't think of something for an EditTorrent challenge! LOL)
Entry #2: Mysterotica
Entry #3: Horromance
2 and 3 are new genres sure to inspire great stories.
Entry #4: schadenfreudanista
(n) A person who finds glee in the misfortune of others.
Entry #5: bitchwell
Created in honor of the entrant's neighbor.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Heat #11: Pro-Boarding
Today we're going to put a new spin on the notion that success breeds success. Instead of looking to your own successes and building on them, we're going to examine what other successful writers do, and how they do it.
When do they write? Do they have daily page goals? Do they have rituals? Do they create rules for themselves?
I think that if you want to be successful, you look at what successful people do, and then you do that, too. You might find you need to refine their methods to suit your particular needs. You might find multiple methods and choose between them. Perhaps Annie Author locks herself in her attic office every morning, and doesn't emerge until she has written a thousand words. Perhaps Wrobert Writer spends months researching his subject and doesn't set pen to paper until the research is done. Whatever methods they choose, those methods have led to success. Why did the method work? How does that habit breed success?
In the comments, tell us a habit you learned from a successful writer, and tell us why you think that has contributed to the writer's success. Everyone who comments will be entered in the drawing for prizes, which will be awarded at the Closing Ceremony.
When do they write? Do they have daily page goals? Do they have rituals? Do they create rules for themselves?
I think that if you want to be successful, you look at what successful people do, and then you do that, too. You might find you need to refine their methods to suit your particular needs. You might find multiple methods and choose between them. Perhaps Annie Author locks herself in her attic office every morning, and doesn't emerge until she has written a thousand words. Perhaps Wrobert Writer spends months researching his subject and doesn't set pen to paper until the research is done. Whatever methods they choose, those methods have led to success. Why did the method work? How does that habit breed success?
In the comments, tell us a habit you learned from a successful writer, and tell us why you think that has contributed to the writer's success. Everyone who comments will be entered in the drawing for prizes, which will be awarded at the Closing Ceremony.
Entries for Cold-as-Ice Hockey Challenge
Is there a doctor in the house? This poor guy is freezing to death!
Here are the entries for the "Cold-As-Ice Hockey" writing challenge. Vote in the poll at the sidebar for the one that makes you reach for your hot cuppa and favorite blankie. Because of the number of entries, we'll let you vote for more than one.
Entry #1: White-bitten.
Everything seemed crystalline now, white-bitten, harsh and elemental. He could no longer feel his fingers or toes, knew the tips were blackening—a steady dark encroaching on the pale, lifeless flesh that crowned his limbs. Grey light, wind-whipped, laced with furious flakes, seeped into his mind through crusted lashes. Leaden legs breasted the drifts as though they would not accept capitulation, pulling him forward one laborious step at a time, a passenger in his own body. The warmth had begun to bloom in his chest, cloying harbinger. All white mind and gritted teeth, he rejected surrender and leaned into the gale. So far away, the treeline... shelter... so far.
Entry #2: Seeing White.
White. All Matt could see was white. Curled in a fetal position, wind keened through him, struck his bone marrow like knives. Crystals gathered on his eyelids, but he had no energy to strike them away. Matt heard bells. He stumbled to his feet, shambled in the deep drifts after the sound. After only a few steps, he collapsed. He drifted into sleep, jerked awake as heat coursed through his body. Matt tore off his parka. Stinging air hit his skin. Recognition hit. Hypothermia had set in. Sleep, and soon death, overtook him.
Entry #3: Glove on Fencepost.
His glove stuck to the fence post, ripping off a layer of leather when he pulled free. The wind leeched warmth from his exposed skin, stinging, hurting and then different, hot, blistering hot to make him sleepy. White swirled around him, easing him into a cocoon of forgetfulness. Nothing to see, but the dense wall of whiteness—no trees; no stars; no help and no light for him until the sun came up. He had come so far, surely he would be safe to sit down for just a moment? The white mound was soft and he scooped out a space for his body. So sleepy now. He would just shut his eyes for a moment.
Entry #4: Not a Bad Way to Go.
When he'd dug this cave, his hands could still move and ache, even with the waterproof mittens. Now the mittens kept him from thinking about his blackened fingers. He'd given up on exercise days ago—too weak and clumsy to stimulate blood flow. The pain and the shaking had left. He knew what it meant. It was time—possibly the last time. Hand over useless hand, he clawed over the packed white crystals to the mouth of the cave, pushing himself just to inch along. Finally, the white tunnel began to glow with surface light. He closed his eyes against the reflected glare; his burning thighs gave out. His wind-burned cheeks didn't feel any warmer as he sank to the floor, but the rest of him did. He pulled his legs to his chest. He was actually comfortable enough to sleep. Not a bad way to go.
Entry #5: Blood Clumping.
His blood began clumping in his veins, heart sluggish. Legs granite, arms tucked in close to his chest, the man dared not cry tears destined to still on his immobile cheeks. The wilderness enveloped him in indifference, a slight breeze blowing in the bleak, stinging night. He knew too well the land was a most apathetic mistress. She cared not for his life, not for his dreams. When he capitulated, returning to the inhospitable ground he laid on, the man would render his final tally.
Entry #6: Prayer for the Wolves.
Jake wrapped the tattered blanket around himself tighter to preserve as much warmth as he could. Tonight the mountain wolves were the least of his worries. Not even they could stand these conditions. The skin on his knuckles cracked, the blood hardening as it came in contact with the air. His whole body was tight, dry and papery fragile.
His lips fused together, he couldn’t open his mouth to scream for help. His joints were too stiff to move.
His eyes watered and a biting sensation shot through them as the moisture solidified. He tried to close his eyes against the pain, but the lack of lubricate caused his lids to fold in on themselves just as the night’s wind sent a vicious current whipping around him. A groan escaped him.
How much longer could he survive like this?
Jake clenched his cracked fists and prayed for the wolves.
Entry #7: Tundra Sky.
Karl watched the tundra sky staring down at him, the perfect black dotted with perfectly white stars. He remembered that he should get up, get moving. Then he remembered that the last time he had tried to get up he had discovered that he couldn’t move anymore – his hands and feet were already too dead from frostbite to support the rest of him. They would shatter if he moved. That was all right. His teeth had stopped chattering, and he felt peaceful. He remembered how in Grade 4 he had studied the Antarctic explorers. The men had written in their diaries that dying this way was nothing to fear. They said it was like going to sleep. Karl did feel sleepy. He watched the tundra sky staring down at him. He remembered to get up. He remembered he couldn’t. The sky had stars in it. He closed his eyes.
Entry #8: No feeling.
Jake couldn't feel his feet. Or his hands. They had finally stopped hurting. He almost felt warmer. So sleepy. He wasn't supposed to sleep, but he couldn't remember why. So confused. Why was he lying down in the white fluff? Must have fallen. He should get back up, but his stiff joints wouldn't cooperate. Why was he here? Hunting, that was it. A Christmas trip into the high Sierra. Bob broke his leg. Phone didn't work. Had to get help. Trudged through deep drifts for hours. Too sweaty, too tired. The sweat hadn't stayed warm. Stumbled and fell. Had to get up, had to keep going. But it would be so much warmer if he slept. Maybe just a short rest. He let his eyelids droop.
Entry #9: The End Was Here.
The end was coming. He could feel it. In one of life’s great ironies, dying on the tundra strangely felt like slowly burning to death, as human nerve endings can’t differentiate between extreme temperatures. But his skin had long ago passed the stage of blistering pain. Now, each step across the wasteland took more effort, his muscles refusing to work properly. He’d never make it to the promised warmth of the substation. Was he even going in the right direction anymore? He couldn’t tell. The relentless wind had cemented his tear-streaked eyelashes together. But he had no choice except to keep trying, pushing himself upright with every stagger into the deep powder. His breath seared his lungs as he gasped, open-mouthed, unable to draw air through his crusted nostrils. Another step – a stumble to his hands and knees. His last. The end was here.
Entry #10: Afraid to Shatter.
He was stiff. Afraid to fall. Afraid he’d shatter. Like glass thrown against the pavement. Except there was no road ahead. Only an opaque sky that fell to the ground in crisp white layers crunching beneath his feet and burning his soaked-through soles to the bone. A solid blast pierced him to the core and embraced his insides within its deceptive warmth. A siren’s call echoed in his mind, whispering like the towering pines that dizzily swayed overhead: You’re weary, take shelter from the storm. Rest. Lie down within the scattered wreathes of powder, shimmering like clouds dusted by a thousand diamonds. So beautiful. So inviting. Maybe for just a moment he could share in the radiance. He was tired. Too tired. He sank into the pristine oblivion and let the cunning maiden, wrapped in her blanket of white, lull him into eternal sleep.
Entry #11: Hand-Cranked Movies.
He sits, drowsy and heavy-lidded, watching the deer move closer as they browse on tufts of brown grass barely breaking the heavy, white cover. Thoughts come in slow motion like an old movie cranked by hand. He holds up his right hand, the tips of his fingers an aching grey, and puts them to his lips to let the warm air glide over them, hoping they will stop hurting soon. There are no sounds near, no civilized sounds. He knows his perceptions are dulled, tempting him down the giving-up path. He can’t care anymore. He just wants sleep, gentle sleep, to show him the way home.
Entry #12: Blank Landscape.
Andrew leaned back against the tree. It was too small, shaking with his every movement, sprinkling white powder over him, making gentle mounds across his shoulders and head. Mounds he couldn’t find the energy to push off. He should have chosen a larger tree; a more solid one. Maybe a tree that kept had enough leaves to provide some small protection from the wind, though that wasn’t really the biggest threat right then.
The real threat was exhaustion. He knew it. He should still be walking, but he couldn't seem to convince himself to stand back up. The danger fluttered across the front of his mind, but it really didn’t matter as much as it should. One more hill. One more valley. One more step. He hadn’t been lost too long, he could still make it. All he had to do was stand.
Stand up. Walk.
And he would.
Soon.
Entry #13: George and Tilly
George stamped along the tracks. The pale light was fading fast. He trudged on, knowing Tilly was right, he should never have left. The wind whistled through his layers of clothes. George stumbled, striking his knees on the jagged ruts he'd followed for hours with dwindling hope. Thick brown scrub-grass poked through the rubble crust of the track's edge. He rolled over and sat, taking advantage of the spiky insulation. So this was the end. He pulled his arms around his knees. Tilly used to talk about dying like this, said the last thing you remembered was sleepy contentment. George pursed his cracked lips in an attempt to whistle, but no sound came. He hummed a sad tune that Tilly sometimes played. Maybe Tilly was playing that fiddle now in front of the campfire, a mug of whiskey next to him. George smiled at the thought and closed his eyes.
Entry #14: Seductive Lethargy
A seductive lethargy was seeping through his bones. “Must stay awake,” the man whispered to himself through cracked lips, fumbling for a match with stiff, unresponsive fingers. He barely noticed as the biting wind tore into his thin protective awning. The canvas ripped away, a ragged flag fluttering in the desolate landscape marking the narrow trench he had scraped out of the hard earth hours earlier. The man lay curled like a foetus around the empty shell of an oil lamp, which had long since guttered into darkness. White flakes whirled around him, softly settling in the shallow hole, dusting his hair and eyelashes. He knew the matches must be in his pocket, but his hands were no longer sensitive to touch. He could no longer remember why he had wanted them. Light.... warmth... it no longer seemed important. His mind drifted.
Here are the entries for the "Cold-As-Ice Hockey" writing challenge. Vote in the poll at the sidebar for the one that makes you reach for your hot cuppa and favorite blankie. Because of the number of entries, we'll let you vote for more than one.
Entry #1: White-bitten.
Everything seemed crystalline now, white-bitten, harsh and elemental. He could no longer feel his fingers or toes, knew the tips were blackening—a steady dark encroaching on the pale, lifeless flesh that crowned his limbs. Grey light, wind-whipped, laced with furious flakes, seeped into his mind through crusted lashes. Leaden legs breasted the drifts as though they would not accept capitulation, pulling him forward one laborious step at a time, a passenger in his own body. The warmth had begun to bloom in his chest, cloying harbinger. All white mind and gritted teeth, he rejected surrender and leaned into the gale. So far away, the treeline... shelter... so far.
Entry #2: Seeing White.
White. All Matt could see was white. Curled in a fetal position, wind keened through him, struck his bone marrow like knives. Crystals gathered on his eyelids, but he had no energy to strike them away. Matt heard bells. He stumbled to his feet, shambled in the deep drifts after the sound. After only a few steps, he collapsed. He drifted into sleep, jerked awake as heat coursed through his body. Matt tore off his parka. Stinging air hit his skin. Recognition hit. Hypothermia had set in. Sleep, and soon death, overtook him.
Entry #3: Glove on Fencepost.
His glove stuck to the fence post, ripping off a layer of leather when he pulled free. The wind leeched warmth from his exposed skin, stinging, hurting and then different, hot, blistering hot to make him sleepy. White swirled around him, easing him into a cocoon of forgetfulness. Nothing to see, but the dense wall of whiteness—no trees; no stars; no help and no light for him until the sun came up. He had come so far, surely he would be safe to sit down for just a moment? The white mound was soft and he scooped out a space for his body. So sleepy now. He would just shut his eyes for a moment.
Entry #4: Not a Bad Way to Go.
When he'd dug this cave, his hands could still move and ache, even with the waterproof mittens. Now the mittens kept him from thinking about his blackened fingers. He'd given up on exercise days ago—too weak and clumsy to stimulate blood flow. The pain and the shaking had left. He knew what it meant. It was time—possibly the last time. Hand over useless hand, he clawed over the packed white crystals to the mouth of the cave, pushing himself just to inch along. Finally, the white tunnel began to glow with surface light. He closed his eyes against the reflected glare; his burning thighs gave out. His wind-burned cheeks didn't feel any warmer as he sank to the floor, but the rest of him did. He pulled his legs to his chest. He was actually comfortable enough to sleep. Not a bad way to go.
Entry #5: Blood Clumping.
His blood began clumping in his veins, heart sluggish. Legs granite, arms tucked in close to his chest, the man dared not cry tears destined to still on his immobile cheeks. The wilderness enveloped him in indifference, a slight breeze blowing in the bleak, stinging night. He knew too well the land was a most apathetic mistress. She cared not for his life, not for his dreams. When he capitulated, returning to the inhospitable ground he laid on, the man would render his final tally.
Entry #6: Prayer for the Wolves.
Jake wrapped the tattered blanket around himself tighter to preserve as much warmth as he could. Tonight the mountain wolves were the least of his worries. Not even they could stand these conditions. The skin on his knuckles cracked, the blood hardening as it came in contact with the air. His whole body was tight, dry and papery fragile.
His lips fused together, he couldn’t open his mouth to scream for help. His joints were too stiff to move.
His eyes watered and a biting sensation shot through them as the moisture solidified. He tried to close his eyes against the pain, but the lack of lubricate caused his lids to fold in on themselves just as the night’s wind sent a vicious current whipping around him. A groan escaped him.
How much longer could he survive like this?
Jake clenched his cracked fists and prayed for the wolves.
Entry #7: Tundra Sky.
Karl watched the tundra sky staring down at him, the perfect black dotted with perfectly white stars. He remembered that he should get up, get moving. Then he remembered that the last time he had tried to get up he had discovered that he couldn’t move anymore – his hands and feet were already too dead from frostbite to support the rest of him. They would shatter if he moved. That was all right. His teeth had stopped chattering, and he felt peaceful. He remembered how in Grade 4 he had studied the Antarctic explorers. The men had written in their diaries that dying this way was nothing to fear. They said it was like going to sleep. Karl did feel sleepy. He watched the tundra sky staring down at him. He remembered to get up. He remembered he couldn’t. The sky had stars in it. He closed his eyes.
Entry #8: No feeling.
Jake couldn't feel his feet. Or his hands. They had finally stopped hurting. He almost felt warmer. So sleepy. He wasn't supposed to sleep, but he couldn't remember why. So confused. Why was he lying down in the white fluff? Must have fallen. He should get back up, but his stiff joints wouldn't cooperate. Why was he here? Hunting, that was it. A Christmas trip into the high Sierra. Bob broke his leg. Phone didn't work. Had to get help. Trudged through deep drifts for hours. Too sweaty, too tired. The sweat hadn't stayed warm. Stumbled and fell. Had to get up, had to keep going. But it would be so much warmer if he slept. Maybe just a short rest. He let his eyelids droop.
Entry #9: The End Was Here.
The end was coming. He could feel it. In one of life’s great ironies, dying on the tundra strangely felt like slowly burning to death, as human nerve endings can’t differentiate between extreme temperatures. But his skin had long ago passed the stage of blistering pain. Now, each step across the wasteland took more effort, his muscles refusing to work properly. He’d never make it to the promised warmth of the substation. Was he even going in the right direction anymore? He couldn’t tell. The relentless wind had cemented his tear-streaked eyelashes together. But he had no choice except to keep trying, pushing himself upright with every stagger into the deep powder. His breath seared his lungs as he gasped, open-mouthed, unable to draw air through his crusted nostrils. Another step – a stumble to his hands and knees. His last. The end was here.
Entry #10: Afraid to Shatter.
He was stiff. Afraid to fall. Afraid he’d shatter. Like glass thrown against the pavement. Except there was no road ahead. Only an opaque sky that fell to the ground in crisp white layers crunching beneath his feet and burning his soaked-through soles to the bone. A solid blast pierced him to the core and embraced his insides within its deceptive warmth. A siren’s call echoed in his mind, whispering like the towering pines that dizzily swayed overhead: You’re weary, take shelter from the storm. Rest. Lie down within the scattered wreathes of powder, shimmering like clouds dusted by a thousand diamonds. So beautiful. So inviting. Maybe for just a moment he could share in the radiance. He was tired. Too tired. He sank into the pristine oblivion and let the cunning maiden, wrapped in her blanket of white, lull him into eternal sleep.
Entry #11: Hand-Cranked Movies.
He sits, drowsy and heavy-lidded, watching the deer move closer as they browse on tufts of brown grass barely breaking the heavy, white cover. Thoughts come in slow motion like an old movie cranked by hand. He holds up his right hand, the tips of his fingers an aching grey, and puts them to his lips to let the warm air glide over them, hoping they will stop hurting soon. There are no sounds near, no civilized sounds. He knows his perceptions are dulled, tempting him down the giving-up path. He can’t care anymore. He just wants sleep, gentle sleep, to show him the way home.
Entry #12: Blank Landscape.
Andrew leaned back against the tree. It was too small, shaking with his every movement, sprinkling white powder over him, making gentle mounds across his shoulders and head. Mounds he couldn’t find the energy to push off. He should have chosen a larger tree; a more solid one. Maybe a tree that kept had enough leaves to provide some small protection from the wind, though that wasn’t really the biggest threat right then.
The real threat was exhaustion. He knew it. He should still be walking, but he couldn't seem to convince himself to stand back up. The danger fluttered across the front of his mind, but it really didn’t matter as much as it should. One more hill. One more valley. One more step. He hadn’t been lost too long, he could still make it. All he had to do was stand.
Stand up. Walk.
And he would.
Soon.
Entry #13: George and Tilly
George stamped along the tracks. The pale light was fading fast. He trudged on, knowing Tilly was right, he should never have left. The wind whistled through his layers of clothes. George stumbled, striking his knees on the jagged ruts he'd followed for hours with dwindling hope. Thick brown scrub-grass poked through the rubble crust of the track's edge. He rolled over and sat, taking advantage of the spiky insulation. So this was the end. He pulled his arms around his knees. Tilly used to talk about dying like this, said the last thing you remembered was sleepy contentment. George pursed his cracked lips in an attempt to whistle, but no sound came. He hummed a sad tune that Tilly sometimes played. Maybe Tilly was playing that fiddle now in front of the campfire, a mug of whiskey next to him. George smiled at the thought and closed his eyes.
Entry #14: Seductive Lethargy
A seductive lethargy was seeping through his bones. “Must stay awake,” the man whispered to himself through cracked lips, fumbling for a match with stiff, unresponsive fingers. He barely noticed as the biting wind tore into his thin protective awning. The canvas ripped away, a ragged flag fluttering in the desolate landscape marking the narrow trench he had scraped out of the hard earth hours earlier. The man lay curled like a foetus around the empty shell of an oil lamp, which had long since guttered into darkness. White flakes whirled around him, softly settling in the shallow hole, dusting his hair and eyelashes. He knew the matches must be in his pocket, but his hands were no longer sensitive to touch. He could no longer remember why he had wanted them. Light.... warmth... it no longer seemed important. His mind drifted.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Heat #10: Wordic Combined
Shakespeare created as many as 1,700 new words for our English language.Today, you get to follow in his footsteps and make a new word, too.
Take two existing English words which commonly exist in most people's vocabularies.
Combine them into a new term. The meaning of this new term must be clear and easy to grasp upon first reading.
Example: Shakespeare gave us coldblooded, moonbeam, and skim milk.
(He also gave us Olympian. Huh. What a coincidence.)
This is a judged event. Enter more than once if you wish, but get your entries in no later than February 26 at noon central time. Mail them to edittorrent at gmail dot com. Polling will go live at the deadline and will continue until just before the Closing Ceremonies.
Take two existing English words which commonly exist in most people's vocabularies.
Combine them into a new term. The meaning of this new term must be clear and easy to grasp upon first reading.
Example: Shakespeare gave us coldblooded, moonbeam, and skim milk.
(He also gave us Olympian. Huh. What a coincidence.)
This is a judged event. Enter more than once if you wish, but get your entries in no later than February 26 at noon central time. Mail them to edittorrent at gmail dot com. Polling will go live at the deadline and will continue until just before the Closing Ceremonies.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Heat #9: Figure Stating
Today we're going to build on the Skeleton from Heat #6.
This is not a judged event, but everyone who comments about it will be entered into the prize drawing.
You already know your new character's age, gender, social roles, and mannerisms. Today, your job is to use that information to build a physical description of the character. Think closely about how these factors might influence physical characteristics. Your aim is not to list the merely visual, but to understand how a confluence of factors might allow you to create a visually coherent character. For example, does your 16-year-old fry cook have bad skin? Burn marks on his hands? A slight paunch from all the fries he sneaks? Or does your 16-year-old fry cook have a serious light to his brown eyes and a bankbook perpetually tucked into his back pocket?
You can take the same set of facts and slant them toward very different descriptions. Your goal is to find a description that is meaningful.
This is not a judged event, but everyone who comments about it will be entered into the prize drawing.
You already know your new character's age, gender, social roles, and mannerisms. Today, your job is to use that information to build a physical description of the character. Think closely about how these factors might influence physical characteristics. Your aim is not to list the merely visual, but to understand how a confluence of factors might allow you to create a visually coherent character. For example, does your 16-year-old fry cook have bad skin? Burn marks on his hands? A slight paunch from all the fries he sneaks? Or does your 16-year-old fry cook have a serious light to his brown eyes and a bankbook perpetually tucked into his back pocket?
You can take the same set of facts and slant them toward very different descriptions. Your goal is to find a description that is meaningful.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Heat #8: Cold-as-Ice Hockey
They say that Eskimos have like eleventy squillion words for snow and cold.
Today, you're banned from using any of them.
Your task: Write one vivid and evocative paragraph (not to exceed 150 words) depicting a man on the verge of freezing to death in the wilderness.
The catch: You cannot use any of the following words:
Cold, frozen, arctic, bitter, cool, freezing, frigid, frosty, glacial, ice-cold, icy, nipping, nippy, numb, numbing, polar, shivery, shiver, shivering, winter, wintry, subfreezing, subzero, zero, chill, chilled, cooled, frosted, iced, ice, snow, refrigerated, unheated
This is a judged round. Send your entries to edittorrent at gmail dot com. Entries will be posted anonymously on the 24th, and voting will remain open until just before the Closing Ceremonies. Have some fun with this one! Make us really shiver!
Today, you're banned from using any of them.
Your task: Write one vivid and evocative paragraph (not to exceed 150 words) depicting a man on the verge of freezing to death in the wilderness.
The catch: You cannot use any of the following words:
Cold, frozen, arctic, bitter, cool, freezing, frigid, frosty, glacial, ice-cold, icy, nipping, nippy, numb, numbing, polar, shivery, shiver, shivering, winter, wintry, subfreezing, subzero, zero, chill, chilled, cooled, frosted, iced, ice, snow, refrigerated, unheated
This is a judged round. Send your entries to edittorrent at gmail dot com. Entries will be posted anonymously on the 24th, and voting will remain open until just before the Closing Ceremonies. Have some fun with this one! Make us really shiver!
Friday, February 19, 2010
Doggerel Sled Racing -- the Contestants
Take a gander at these, and then vote for your favorite in our sidebar poll. Polling will remain open until just before Closing Ceremonies.
Entry #1: Not Quite Haiku
A squall line of panic ushered in the winter storm.
Entry #2: Not Quite a Limerick
There once was a writer named Chance,
Who worked hard on her ‘I’m gonna be published’ dance.
She donned her best pearls,
And perfected her twirls,
But her prose, she gave not a glance.
Until, one fateful day,
A friend stopped by to say,
How goes the romance you have penned?
Did you to a publisher send?
To her horror and dismay,
She realized she’d gone astray!
Back to the drawing board she fled,
Her egocentric manner, did she shed.
It might have taken months to do,
But now she truly could pursue,
Her steamy romance to be read.
By some disapproving egghead!
Entry #3: Not Quite an Ode on a Grecian Game
The Olympics awaited!
Susanna rejoiced in her chair,
her breath was bated,
her nervous fingers sought her hair.
Would this be the year
her beloved sport of Snowball Fight
would on TV appear?
It might, it just very well might.
There it was - on TV!
A tie score, to the death, in overtime.
The Finals! Oh squee!
Any more excitement would be a crime.
But then, just as the players took their positions,
they interrupted the game
to show a tale of surviving an inquisition,
the survivor - a player they named.
Susanna threw the remote!
Who cares about this story of woe?
Fury from her eyes did smote.
For god's sake, get on with the show!
She stood up and swore:
Never again!
Passages of backstory are no more!
Never again!
I will stop my plot for exposition,
never again!
I have learned my lesson for fiction!
Never again!
Entry #4: Not-Quite-Heroic Quatrains
I'm really supposed to be writing
but you know, I have all day.
Reading blogs is so inviting
I'll pass just an hour this way.
I'm really supposed to be writing
but it's almost time for lunch!
and February cold is so biting
I *need* something to munch!
I'm really supposed to be writing
but it's so very hard to think.
Maybe if I try handwriting...
once I find just the right shade of ink.
I definitely need to start writing,
I shouldn't procrastinate
but Twitter just got exciting
Neil Gaiman's posting what he ate.
I meant to do lots of writing:
navigate storylines uncharted.
But blank pages are so uninviting,
I'm not sure how to get started.
Tomorrow I'll do lots of writing
I promise I mean it this time
My words will all be delighting
despite the evidence of this rhyme.
Entry #1: Not Quite Haiku
A squall line of panic ushered in the winter storm.
Entry #2: Not Quite a Limerick
There once was a writer named Chance,
Who worked hard on her ‘I’m gonna be published’ dance.
She donned her best pearls,
And perfected her twirls,
But her prose, she gave not a glance.
Until, one fateful day,
A friend stopped by to say,
How goes the romance you have penned?
Did you to a publisher send?
To her horror and dismay,
She realized she’d gone astray!
Back to the drawing board she fled,
Her egocentric manner, did she shed.
It might have taken months to do,
But now she truly could pursue,
Her steamy romance to be read.
By some disapproving egghead!
Entry #3: Not Quite an Ode on a Grecian Game
The Olympics awaited!
Susanna rejoiced in her chair,
her breath was bated,
her nervous fingers sought her hair.
Would this be the year
her beloved sport of Snowball Fight
would on TV appear?
It might, it just very well might.
There it was - on TV!
A tie score, to the death, in overtime.
The Finals! Oh squee!
Any more excitement would be a crime.
But then, just as the players took their positions,
they interrupted the game
to show a tale of surviving an inquisition,
the survivor - a player they named.
Susanna threw the remote!
Who cares about this story of woe?
Fury from her eyes did smote.
For god's sake, get on with the show!
She stood up and swore:
Never again!
Passages of backstory are no more!
Never again!
I will stop my plot for exposition,
never again!
I have learned my lesson for fiction!
Never again!
Entry #4: Not-Quite-Heroic Quatrains
I'm really supposed to be writing
but you know, I have all day.
Reading blogs is so inviting
I'll pass just an hour this way.
I'm really supposed to be writing
but it's almost time for lunch!
and February cold is so biting
I *need* something to munch!
I'm really supposed to be writing
but it's so very hard to think.
Maybe if I try handwriting...
once I find just the right shade of ink.
I definitely need to start writing,
I shouldn't procrastinate
but Twitter just got exciting
Neil Gaiman's posting what he ate.
I meant to do lots of writing:
navigate storylines uncharted.
But blank pages are so uninviting,
I'm not sure how to get started.
Tomorrow I'll do lots of writing
I promise I mean it this time
My words will all be delighting
despite the evidence of this rhyme.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Heat #6: Skeleton
Your Heat for today is a simple character or subject mapping exercise. Choose a new character or subject for this one. This is not a judged exercise, but everyone who comments will get another entry into the drawing for the prize awarded at the Closing Ceremony.
For your new character or subject, write down all of the following:
Congratulations! You've just outlined a character or subject, and you now have a skeleton which you can flesh out as you choose.
For your new character or subject, write down all of the following:
- Age. (Does the character's age create any physical, mental, or emotional characteristics?)
- Gender. (Ditto -- but go for non-obvious characteristics here.)
- Social roles. (Start with the main role(s) played by the character in the story, but then brainstorm the character's other social roles. Is your waitress also a student at the community college? A Meals On Wheels volunteer? A daughter, a girlfriend, a mom?)
- Mannerisms. (Include physical mannerisms, such as scratching an elbow, that might be unrelated to mood or emotion. Also include physical mannerisms that flow from internal states, but try to avoid the obvious such as smiling when happy.)
Congratulations! You've just outlined a character or subject, and you now have a skeleton which you can flesh out as you choose.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Heat #5: Cross-Query Skiing
Today's Heat is open to everyone. This is not a judged Heat.
Your task is simple. Using Query Tracker, Agent Query, Writer's Market, or any other reference tool you like, identify one editor or agent who takes the kind of work you write. This must be an editor or agent you haven't previously researched. You're looking for new terrain to explore.
Once you've identified this new-to-you agent or editor, find their website. (If your reference site doesn't have a link, use google.) Read their submissions guidelines. All the way through. No skipping of paragraphs allowed. If you choose, you may also take a moment to browse books they've repped or published to learn more about their preferences.
How easy was that? Leave a comment about today's Heat, and we'll enter you into the drawing to win a prize at the closing ceremony.
Your task is simple. Using Query Tracker, Agent Query, Writer's Market, or any other reference tool you like, identify one editor or agent who takes the kind of work you write. This must be an editor or agent you haven't previously researched. You're looking for new terrain to explore.
Once you've identified this new-to-you agent or editor, find their website. (If your reference site doesn't have a link, use google.) Read their submissions guidelines. All the way through. No skipping of paragraphs allowed. If you choose, you may also take a moment to browse books they've repped or published to learn more about their preferences.
How easy was that? Leave a comment about today's Heat, and we'll enter you into the drawing to win a prize at the closing ceremony.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Heat #3: Doggerel Sled Racing
This is a judged event, and it's open to all Pen Olympics Team members.
Doggerel. adjective
For today's Heat, we invite you to write a short comic verse on the topic of writing, winter, or athletics. Send your entries to edittorrent at gmail dot you-know-what. Entries will be posted anonymously on the blog, and judges -- that's everyone who reads the blog -- will be invited to vote for their favorites. The winner will receive a special Medal graphic and wicked cool bragging rights.
Get your entries in no later than February 18, 2010. We'll post the competitors the following day.
Doggerel. adjective
Etymology: Middle English dogerel, probably diminutive of dogge dog
Date: 14th century
: loosely styled and irregular in measure especially for burlesque or comic effect; also : marked by triviality or inferiorityFor today's Heat, we invite you to write a short comic verse on the topic of writing, winter, or athletics. Send your entries to edittorrent at gmail dot you-know-what. Entries will be posted anonymously on the blog, and judges -- that's everyone who reads the blog -- will be invited to vote for their favorites. The winner will receive a special Medal graphic and wicked cool bragging rights.
Get your entries in no later than February 18, 2010. We'll post the competitors the following day.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Heat #2: Curling (Around His or Her Little Finger)
Today is the High Holy Day of Romance, so of course our Heat must have something to do with twoo wuv. Everyone is eligible to play this Heat.
For Team Fiction, choose a happily committed character in one of your stories. Romantic leads are a good choice, but certainly not the only choice.
For Team Nonfiction, choose an interview subject you can easily reach for a brief interview. Got any elderly relatives who would appreciate a phone call?
For Team Submissions or Team Drama, choose whichever method suits your project best.
Your subject or character must answer two questions:
By the way, I must give a tip of the hat to Jenny Crusie and Bob Mayer, who inspired these questions with their brilliant romance, Agnes and the Hitman. Here's how Agnes might answer the questions:
Your turn!
For Team Fiction, choose a happily committed character in one of your stories. Romantic leads are a good choice, but certainly not the only choice.
For Team Nonfiction, choose an interview subject you can easily reach for a brief interview. Got any elderly relatives who would appreciate a phone call?
For Team Submissions or Team Drama, choose whichever method suits your project best.
Your subject or character must answer two questions:
- What was the most romantic thing your lover did for you that nobody else would have thought was romantic?
- Your lover is charmed by a trait of yours which everyone else finds annoying. What is that trait, and why does it charm your lover?
By the way, I must give a tip of the hat to Jenny Crusie and Bob Mayer, who inspired these questions with their brilliant romance, Agnes and the Hitman. Here's how Agnes might answer the questions:
- He bought me an air conditioner. I can't believe he bought me an air conditioner. He saw that I needed it, and he went out and bought it. Just. Like. That. I was trying to pretend that he wasn't the right guy for me, what with him being a paid killer and all, but I was a goner as soon as he bought me that air conditioner.
- Okay, so I have this slight habit of assaulting people with kitchen implements. Frying pans are usually pretty handy, but meat forks are a great way to make a, er, point. Usually people tell me it's wrong to bash cheating boyfriends and other reprobates in the head with skillets (even if they're not cast iron!), but Shane didn't mind. He did disarm me a couple of times, but that might have been just so I wouldn't get blood on my Cranky Agnes apron.
Your turn!
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Heat #1: Biothlon
We thought it would be fun to do Heats just like real athletes. Each day during the Olympics, we'll post a Heat exercise. None of these exercises should swallow all your writing time (unless you let it!), but I still want to urge you to put your Event goals first. Some Heats will be judged heats with rewards, and some will be just to help you build your creativity muscles and stretch your writing muscles.
Today's is in the second non-judged category, and it deals with your specific project. We're going to write a bio. (Get it, biothlon! When your words are shot with deadly accuracy! *teehee*) But this won't be an ordinary bio. Here's how to play:
Did you learn anything new about your character or subject? Did you find it difficult to look at your character or subject through a different lens?
Leave a comment about this exercise, and you'll be entered into a pool of pen athletes to win a prize at the closing ceremonies!
Theresa
Today's is in the second non-judged category, and it deals with your specific project. We're going to write a bio. (Get it, biothlon! When your words are shot with deadly accuracy! *teehee*) But this won't be an ordinary bio. Here's how to play:
- Choose a character you would like to know better. (For Team Nonfiction, choose an interview subject you've already interviewed at some length, or someone you know particularly well.)
- If your character/subject could meet anyone in history, living or dead, who would they choose to meet?
- Now here's the twist. Imagine your character/subject through the eyes of this historical person. From the POV of this historical person, write a short piece describing the character/subject and what it was like to be interviewed by that character/subject. How did the character/subject behave in the presence of such an important person?
Did you learn anything new about your character or subject? Did you find it difficult to look at your character or subject through a different lens?
Leave a comment about this exercise, and you'll be entered into a pool of pen athletes to win a prize at the closing ceremonies!
Theresa
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Announcing the Pen Olympics!
Do you have what it takes?
Are you ready to compete?
Do you want to taste the thrill of victory, and risk the agony of defeat?
It's time for the Pen Olympics!
The Purpose
To push yourself to new heights of writing accomplishment, using the Olympics as inspiration.
The Plan
You will state your team affiliations and goals in the comments to this post. Anyone can play, but please do show your team spirit! Make your goals a stretch! This is an opportunity to aim high and reach far!
The Teams
In the comments, declare which team you'll be playing on:
The Events
In the comments, declare your event of choice:
The Goals
In the comments, in addition to telling us your team(s) and event(s), please set your goals. "For Team Fiction, I'll compete in the Drafting event. I'll write one hundred new pages during the Olympics." Or, "For Team Submissions, I'll write the query letter and synopsis for my completed romantic suspense novel and submit it to five agents and two editors." Your goals will vary, but challenge yourself!
The Timeline
All events start when the Olympic opening ceremonies begin, and close at the end of closing ceremonies.
The Heats
We'll be posting fun exercises and events here on the blog while the Olympics are under way, and "medals" will be awarded. (And that's all we'll reveal about that right now! Stay tuned! Whee!)
The Winners
Everyone who meets their Pen Olympics goals will get a graphic to include on their blogs or websites. Of course, that will be nothing to compare to the satisfaction of bringing home a victory in your event!
Do you want to play? Post your goals in the comment thread before the opening ceremony begins. This should be fun! I can't wait to see what you all will accomplish!
Theresa
Are you ready to compete?
Do you want to taste the thrill of victory, and risk the agony of defeat?
It's time for the Pen Olympics!
The Purpose
To push yourself to new heights of writing accomplishment, using the Olympics as inspiration.
The Plan
You will state your team affiliations and goals in the comments to this post. Anyone can play, but please do show your team spirit! Make your goals a stretch! This is an opportunity to aim high and reach far!
The Teams
In the comments, declare which team you'll be playing on:
- Team Fiction will focus on the fiction manuscript of the player's choice.
- Team Nonfiction will focus on nonfiction books, proposals, or articles.
- Team Drama will focus on plays and scripts.
- Team Submissions will focus on queries, synopses, and sending out submissions.
The Events
In the comments, declare your event of choice:
- Pre-writing includes character sketching, plot outlines, scene mapping, and research.
- Drafting is for those who want to bang out new pages.
- Editing is for those who want to make existing pages better.
- Submitting includes writing queries and synopses and sending them out! No excuses!
The Goals
In the comments, in addition to telling us your team(s) and event(s), please set your goals. "For Team Fiction, I'll compete in the Drafting event. I'll write one hundred new pages during the Olympics." Or, "For Team Submissions, I'll write the query letter and synopsis for my completed romantic suspense novel and submit it to five agents and two editors." Your goals will vary, but challenge yourself!
The Timeline
All events start when the Olympic opening ceremonies begin, and close at the end of closing ceremonies.
The Heats
We'll be posting fun exercises and events here on the blog while the Olympics are under way, and "medals" will be awarded. (And that's all we'll reveal about that right now! Stay tuned! Whee!)
The Winners
Everyone who meets their Pen Olympics goals will get a graphic to include on their blogs or websites. Of course, that will be nothing to compare to the satisfaction of bringing home a victory in your event!
Do you want to play? Post your goals in the comment thread before the opening ceremony begins. This should be fun! I can't wait to see what you all will accomplish!
Theresa
Sunday, January 31, 2010
You Won!
This is a tribute to Team Comments, which always keeps things lively and interesting!
Thank you to everyone who has made this little blog a winner!
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Blame Yourselves
Today on the sidebar, we're unveiling your choices for best blog posts over the past two years on edittorrent. Compiling this list was a task filled with surprising twists and turns, and as a result, we have two subsets to the list.
There is a top ten list linking to the posts most frequently named in your votes as reader favorites. That's pretty clear and easy.
But as we were sorting through the votes, it became apparent that many of you wanted to nominate batches of posts rather than single posts. So we created three "series" tags in our Super Deluxe Sidebar Labeling System (tm;) for the three most frequently nominated batches, and we included those in our Best Of Blog list.
It just happened to work out that we had three batches nominated very frequently, and that one was by Alicia (on line editing), one was by me (the Johnny and Drago series), and one is the ongoing discussion by both of us about PPPs. Very clever of you all to arrange it that way.
Thanks again to all of you who helped with the heavy lifting on this task. Now, when new readers find our blog, maybe they'll be able to use those sidebar links to read the same posts that all of you found most useful.
And if there is one glaring conclusion I've drawn from this process, it's that our post labels suck even harder than I suspected. I'll be trying to clean that mess over the next few weeks. Oy. (Note to Self: Do it right the first time, and save yourself this hassle later.)
So, whaddya think? Any surprises on the list?
Theresa,
who still hasn't edited her winner's sample pages, but will soon :)
There is a top ten list linking to the posts most frequently named in your votes as reader favorites. That's pretty clear and easy.
But as we were sorting through the votes, it became apparent that many of you wanted to nominate batches of posts rather than single posts. So we created three "series" tags in our Super Deluxe Sidebar Labeling System (tm;) for the three most frequently nominated batches, and we included those in our Best Of Blog list.
It just happened to work out that we had three batches nominated very frequently, and that one was by Alicia (on line editing), one was by me (the Johnny and Drago series), and one is the ongoing discussion by both of us about PPPs. Very clever of you all to arrange it that way.
Thanks again to all of you who helped with the heavy lifting on this task. Now, when new readers find our blog, maybe they'll be able to use those sidebar links to read the same posts that all of you found most useful.
And if there is one glaring conclusion I've drawn from this process, it's that our post labels suck even harder than I suspected. I'll be trying to clean that mess over the next few weeks. Oy. (Note to Self: Do it right the first time, and save yourself this hassle later.)
So, whaddya think? Any surprises on the list?
Theresa,
who still hasn't edited her winner's sample pages, but will soon :)
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Winners!
We've heard from both winners, so it's official now. Congratulations (commiserations? lol) to Dave Shaw and Jill Stone! We look forward to seeing your pages and working with you!
Thanks to everyone who entered the contest. We have a long list of nominated posts which we're pondering now. Really long. We take that as a good sign!
Alicia and Theresa
Thanks to everyone who entered the contest. We have a long list of nominated posts which we're pondering now. Really long. We take that as a good sign!
Alicia and Theresa
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Two Years, Two Editors, Two Ways to Win
Today marks the second birthday of this little blog. Gosh, what a couple of years it's been. We've met some wonderful people through the comments, laughed a lot, and, we hope, taught you all a new trick or two along the way.
We're very grateful that anyone reads this blog. Really, if you think about it, it's rather shocking. Two women quibble over participles and fragments -- at length, sometimes at great length -- and people actually read it. Thank you for that.
We want to celebrate. We also want to come up with a list of top posts for the sidebar, but we don't think we should be the judges of our own posts.
So here's what we would like to do.
Email your favorite post or posts to edittorrent@gmail.com. Include either a link or a title or a date, something to help us identify the post. (Or posts. If you want to recommend more than one, that's great!)
Everyone who does this will be entered in a random drawing. We'll pick two winners, and those winners can send us the first ten pages of a manuscript, plus a synopsis of not more than three pages, for a little editorial input. Alicia and I will divvy them up and give them a spin through the editing machine. We won't post your work on the blog. This is not for public consumption, but rather a touch of private coaching. It's our way of saying thanks, but it's also our way of getting you to come up with a short list of recommended posts. (Clever, ain't it?) You don't have to have a romance manuscript to play along. We'll look at other kinds of fiction, too, and do our best to help you.
Get your entries in by December 31, 2009. Questions? Ask in the comments.
Thanks for a great two years!
Alicia and Theresa
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