Showing posts with label YA. Show all posts
Showing posts with label YA. Show all posts

Wednesday, July 25, 2018

When Inspiration Strikes by Nancy Gideon

Where were you the last time it happened? In your car? In line at the grocery store? Just falling asleep? At work? At the kids’ baseball practice? Chances are you never expected, and were unprepared . . . for inspiration to strike.


It would be nice if the creative process was predicable and on command. You’d sit down at the keyboard and there it would be, just pouring from your poetic soul onto the page. Yeah, right. How often does that happen? Writing is mostly hard work, herding those slippery, evasive words into an intelligible format one sentence at a time - kinda like cat wrangling. But ideas, those little buggers, can pop up at any time, lightning across the blank heavens of your thoughts, blinding, illuminating, and gone in a flash.

How to catch them before the sizzle fades, that’s the trick. The biggest trick of our stock and trade as writers.

We all remember exactly what we were doing at some momentous event in our life time. The impressions are still as rich and fresh as they were then. Why can’t inspiration be like that, instead of that spark that fires and fades before we can capture it?

"Be prepared!" That all inclusive Scouting motto serves a writer well. Expect the unexpected. If you get those bolts from the blue at a particular (and inconvenient) time, be ready with that Mason jar to trap them while the light’s still bright. When you’re in bed? Keep a flashlight and a notepad on your night stand. In the car? Use the record app on your phone or keep a small notepad in your console to make notes – at the next stop light! At the kids’ events? Again, carry a notepad with you - At All Times! Or send yourself an e-mail or text message (again, NOT while behind the wheel of a moving vehicle!) so you can refresh your memory later.

Post-It notes are my best friend! They’re my Mason jar of ideas, bits of dialog, topics for that next pesky blog post. And they come in great colors to excite my OCD/ADD soul. The inside of my purse looks like a murder board, with bits and pieces stuck all over it. They’re small, light, re-stickable and your new bestest ever inspirational friend. When plotting, I’ll use the inside of a file folder and begin sticking Post-Its with scenes, characters or dialog along a timeline (you can use a color for each - if you're REALLY OCD!). Nothing fancy and completely portable, giving a visual overview of your mental process as it's ticking happily along. Just tack additions in, move them down the timeline, make adjustments wherever and whenever necessary.

My "favorite" place to get inspired is in the car on the way to work in the morning, during the long open stretches along MSU farmlands from Lansing to Okemos. Peaceful, quiet (except for my CD songtrack for the current WIP) and just enough coffee to stir the ole brain pan. Yesterday, I was driving in, bemoaning the end of the last book in my four-book House of Terriot series that will lead to the last in my 10-book By Moonlight series. Ten years of my life. What to do next . . . I didn’t want to leave these vivid characters behind . . . and there it was. That sudden bolt from beyond, whispering, “Next generation YA/NA . . .” Needless to say, I was scribbling like mad when I got into the office, even before I turned on all the lights! Those Post-Its are in my purse as I type.

Be prepared.

And just in case you're in the mood for a little escape from the barrage of work thoughts, let me offer a getaway . . . the rerelease of my w/a Dana Ransom contemporary, TOTALLY YOURS, is on sale for just $0.99 until month's end. A vacation for the mind if the body and bank account can't afford to take one.

Where were you when that last bolt of inspiration struck? How did you capture it? Share your tricks.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Nancy Gideon on the Web


Sunday, February 12, 2017

My World of Empaths by Guest Shaila Patel

My World of Empaths

So we all know that paranormal romance seems to be dominated by shifters and vampires. And while there isn't anything wrong with that, when I wrote my young adult paranormal romance, Soulmated, I wanted to explore something else.

I'd been marveling one day at how perceptive and sensitive my mother always is. So naturally, my writer-mind wondered what it would be like if empaths (people who read emotions like mind-readers) really existed.

Unlike mind-readers, where the thought is simply "heard," I'd wanted my characters to have to work at sensing emotions. So, in my world, empaths actually feel the emotion they sense as a mental metaphor expressed within a particular medium, like water or air. My main character is an Irish empath who senses through the medium of water. So, as an example, if he senses someone's extreme fear, his mind might create a fake memory of him drowning.

Read an excerpt below in his POV and see if you can spot all the empath interpretations!


Blurb
Two souls. One Fate. The power of choice.

All eighteen-year-old Liam Whelan—an Irish royal empath—wants to do is stop the frustrating search for the elusive girl he's expected to become soulmated with. The rare union will cement his family's standing in the world of empath politics and give the couple legendary powers.
But Liam wants to choose his own mate.

All eleventh-grader and Indian-American Laxshmi Kapadia wants is freedom from her traditional mother's ultimatum: graduate early and become a doctor, or have her marriage arranged.
But she just wants to pick her own career and not have to think about marriage.

When a gorgeous and charming Irish boy moves in next door, Laxshmi is torn between the expectations of her culture and the freedom to follow her heart. For Liam, Laxshmi's captivating eyes draws him to her like no other, but if he can't prove she's The One, will he have to give her up? And if he can, is he ready to protect her from a dark and ancient group seeking to destroy them?
Or do they have another choice?

Excerpt
My mind wandered to a vision of what Laxshmi’s eyes would look like if I kissed her. It caught me by surprise, making me cough. Grand. Now I was the one with the concentration problem. If I kept this up, I’d have a hard time blocking out my classmates’ feelings. I stretched my legs a bit and tugged at my jeans.

Jaysus. Was I thirteen again?

Keeping other people’s emotions out of my head was like blocking calls on my mobile. Normally, most empaths had about a ten- to twenty-foot reading range, so it wasn’t too taxing on me, having been an empath since childhood. Unless my concentration was shot to hell, blocking was as simple as breathing. Soon, staying open to Lucky meant she’d have her own ringtone in my head, and I’d be able to lock on to her feelings without having to do anything at all.

When the class bell rang, Lucky bent to pick up a small pile of textbooks from the floor. I hoped she wasn’t one of those geeks who carried her books around with her all day. Then again, maybe she was avoiding her locker because of me. The thought left me frowning.

As she got ready to leave, I waited for her. “Going to your locker?” I pointed at her books.

Her surprise came over to me in a gentler ripple than had her other emotions. The gentleness reminded me of a calm day on Galway Bay—the sand, small waves nipping at my toes, and the sun, glorious on my back. The surprise felt like a warm ocean spray I hadn’t been expecting.

“Yeah,” she said with a sheepish grin.

“Brilliant. I’m heading there too.”

She bit back a smile, her excitement feeling like a frothy surf tickling my toes.

When we approached the door, she rushed to catch it before it shut, almost dropping her books. Most girls would’ve stood back and waited for me to make a dash to open it, making sure I was being attentive. Lucky didn’t seem to want any such nonsense, and I felt a bit off, like I’d put my trainers on the wrong feet. I couldn’t shake the feeling of being in unchartered waters.
She stepped to the side and held the door open for me—for me—and I had to dive forward to help her steady the load of books threatening to fall.

“Here,” I said. “I’ll help you carry these—”

“No. I mean, that’s okay. You’ve got your own to carry.”

I sensed a genuine concern from her, as if she were afraid to be imposing on me, not something I’d been expecting. I stepped closer, meaning to convince her to let me help, but then her eyes snapped up and met mine. The softness and sincerity in them froze me to the spot. Lighter and more vibrant than the other brown eyes I’d forced myself to stare into—all in the name of being romantic— her eyes drew me in like a kaleidoscope, with amber and black flecks peppering her irises. A soft gasp escaped her lips, and I understood how she felt. With each blink of her long eyelashes, it felt like an eternity before I’d see her eyes again. I had a strange urge to brush my finger over the tips of her lashes.

I swallowed against the dryness in my throat. “I–I just have one book. In my bag.” Jaysus Christ. What is she doing to me? I couldn’t get sucked in. I wouldn’t. If I expected anything, it’d only turn into another disappointment.

Buy Links:


Bio
Shaila is a pharmacist by training, a medical office manager by day, and a writer by night. Her debut paranormal romance, Soulmated, won first place in the Young Adult category of the 2015 Chanticleer Book Reviews Paranormal Awards. A member of the Romance Writers of America, she enjoys traveling, craft beer, tea, and loves reading books—especially in cozy window seats. You might find her sneaking in a few paragraphs at a red light or connecting with other readers online.

Contact her here:





Saturday, June 22, 2013

You should totally read.....

Yesterday I was helping my husband at his job managing a hobby store. It's not my idea of a wild time, but I don't mind helping out, especially in the summer when they get really busy. So, most of my day consists of me manning the computer (you know, since I know squat about RC cars, helicopters or planes), but it's a job that needs to be done.

One of my husband's friends, a regular at the store, stopped in with his kids. He said his 13 year old daughter was big reader, always reading on her phone and iPad, constantly with a book--and that I should give her my information so she could read my stuff. Yeah....nope. Not happening. Some of what I write is pg13, but for the most part, it's not so I don't want to even remotely seem like a kid friendly read.

However, when she walked in I started up a conversation to see who she was reading. Turns out, yeah, she's not a big reader. She is trolling websites and shopping sites when her dad thinks she's 'reading', but we did talk books eventually.

She said right of the bat that she reads adult books, no more kid stuff. Then said she liked to read books that deal with social issues--like bullying and choices in school (not going to find that in an adult novel, really). But she also liked when all of that happened....to very realistic vampires.

I was able to give her a few ideas of who to read (mostly YA genre) and when she walked away it had me thinking about the things I read at 13. That was the year my aunts started passing their romance novels to me. I read more Nora Roberts that year than anything else. My teachers from then on, had to deal with the fact my book reports would always include a paragraph on my opinion of the 'romance' portion of the story.

If anyone mentioned an author name, I was allllll over them, so willing to be taken down a new path. I wonder if that girl will take my advice and try a new author...I really hope so!

All the best,
Stephanie Beck
www.stephaniebeck.net
www.facebook.com/StephanieBeckAuthor
www.twitter.com/StephBeck123

Tuesday, August 24, 2010

Writing Without The Love Scenes

There's one thing all of us who write Paranormal Romance know and it is that a good love scene can move our characters exactly where we want them to go, especially emotionally. Can't tell each other how they feel? Well, they can show each other in other, more steamy ways.

So what happened to me when I went to write my first YA book?

I discovered that my characters had to talk. A lot.

But, having said that, there is something to be said about a great kiss.

And I'm finding that the longer I do this book, the more I am reconnecting with my sixteen year old self. The more I am remembering what it felt like to long to be loved while at the same time understanding that I was nowhere near ready for it.

I don't plan to stay in YA forever. By contrast, my muse is already thinking about the next Westervelt book. But I have to say, for now, I love it.

And I highly recommend everyone try to leave their comfort zone for something else...every once in a while.

Hope you are all well out there!

RR