Finding Buried Plot Jewels

Every fiction writer desires to come up with a good solid plot for their work. Plot is what makes stories alluring and riveting. Concepts can be simple and linear or outlandish and bizarre, full of complexity and depth. Sometimes as a reader, you come across a book and think, I wish I’d thought of that. Don’t focus on what you didn’t write, focus on the ideas out there ready to be discovered. Where can you find great plot ideas? All around you. Here are some of the best spots for inspiration.
♦ The News ~ Ripped from the headlines. They do it on Law & Order. Sometimes life truly is stranger than fiction. Be there when it happens. Read or watch the news with your creative ears perked and pen in hand. I do. I’m always looking for interesting facts. Sometimes a little tidbit, an event, a crazy thing someone did or a fascinating person gets my attention. All of a sudden my mind starts cranking out ideas. Create a bookmark folder for articles you find while net surfing or keep a notebook handy so you can jot down those things that enthrall you.
♦ Little Ideas ~ Little ideas may not be big enough for a novel-length story, but they can be used to add depth to a bigger plot or bond together to make a big plot. Write down all your random thoughts and ideas. Mismatched ideas are great. Like a box of fabric scraps, left in the box, that’s all they are, but when put together with other scraps, they can form something of artistic substance. Little ideas can become big ideas with some tweaking.♦ Dreams ~ Plots are calling you from that place where reality meets fantasy, where symbolism emerges on a grand scale, where things may or may not make sense. For Kings & Queens I had this idea for a love triangle but no plot to wrap around it. Then one night I had this dream I was running, for exercise not out of fear, and I overheard these guys planning a church massacre. They chased me to this little town. In that dream, I found the seed for my plot and my setting. Stephenie Meyer found her plot and characters for Twilight in a dream. The odd realm that finds us in our own minds during sleep is one of the greatest springboards for inspiration. So when you dream, use the most wondrous and weird elements as a starting point. That's all I had was a tiny dream-birthed seed, one idea, and the more I worked on my book, the larger the concept became, taking my storyline to unexpected, wonderful, horrific heights.
♦ Characters ~ You can find plot by delving into the motivation and goals of your characters. Once you have a solid character, pick his or her brain. Get close and personal. When you find out what they truly want, put up obstacles so they can't readily reach their goals. This establishes your story question and creates conflict, which makes for a gripping read. Will he find his long lost love? Will she get that one day of peace she craves? Will they be able to mend their splintered marriage? Good, well-developed characters drive stories and come with ideas of their own.
♦ Books ~ When you finish a novel you particularly enjoyed, dissect what made it most compelling. Was it the concept, the twist at the end? The way the author was meticulous on the details? Once you pinpoint what you loved about it, brainstorm your own ideas, characters, concepts, etc. Blend the fascinating and sound techniques of several books and fashion your own great idea. I liked the twist at the end of John Grisham's The Partner. I didn’t write anything close to a legal thriller, but I had that kind of twisty end in mine when I penned Kings & Queens. Borrow and blend.
♦ Villains ~ Sometimes the evil spark comes first. Let's say your own Hannibal Lecter is firmly established. Fascinating. Grotesque. Cool. Hot with the ladies. PETA spokesman. Serial killer with peppermint breath. What’s his motivation? Find out what he wants and create a protag to contrast that. Who will get in his way, challenge him, tickle his imagination, piss him off, turn him on? Your plot can be found in him.♦ Technology ~ Projections for medical and scientific breakthroughs can open up a bunch of what-if questions and plot possibilities. Asking questions is an awesome way to spawn ideas and crank out a plot. So research some geeky stuff with your pen in hand.

Story concepts are all around you, in every nook and cranny of life. Look for and find the things that fascinate you and write about them in only the way that you can. Then readers will be saying, I wish I'd thought of that.

~ Signing off and sending out cyber hugs.

Leaping into Disorder & Chaos

I'm at a juncture in my sequel writing where I'm ready to skip two scenes. One is a party with teens and I'm just not in the mood to do a bunch of mini character sketches so I can fluff out the scene. I just want to drive forward and get to more of the plot stuff. I know what I want to happen at this party and have that in mind, but do not have the interest in writing it, at present. And also in the same chapter, I have this other scene with a amnesiac hired gun getting a call for his next target that I'm not in the mood to write. My inspiration is calling me elsewhere, further down in the book. So, I'm going to make the leap.

I have worked out of order in the past and when I've jumped to the spots that were churning in my mind and tugging at me emotionally, even though I was far from getting to them in my story, I ended up creating some of my best work. If I had waited, I would've lost something in the quality I just know it.

In Kings & Queens, a suspense novel I wrote with a romantic center, I had this idea for a love triangle and I knew exactly who I wanted to end up together. But when I got two chapters in, I knew I was wrong about the couple and that two different people belonged together. So excited was I at this new discovery, I jumped to the second to last chapter and wrote a heart-wrenching fallout. I cried as I wrote it because I had just found this beautiful love and then destroyed it. I'm pretty demented and sadistic, huh? That's what makes good fiction though. Conflict. Heartbreak. The possibility that things won't work out as planned or desired.

After writing that scene, I wrote my last chapter, my epilogue, because I needed to know exactly how it ended and my epiphany had changed everything. My novel is very twisty and complex with various interwoven threads and at least twelve minor story questions/mysteries that are woven around the main story question. I needed an endzone before penning the rest so I could know what plays and moves I needed to engage to get there successfully.

By jumping out of order and going with the raw passion in the moment rather than sticking to step-by-step rigidity, I created a work I am certain is so much stronger than it would've been had I waited. I would've lost some of the sadness, some of the sweetness and overlooked characters who were only meant to be fillers or obstacles.

Work in whatever way is best for you, but if your pen is itching to jump around, don't be afraid to break free and do it. If you end up with junk, that's what revision is for. But more than likely you'll end up with the best stuff you've ever written because it's birthed out of pure inspiration and burning drive. If you ignore the call and wait, you could lose your grasp on what was once vital, raw, captivating, energetic, ecstatic and heartbreaking in your mind. You'll have a scene certainly, but it won't be as good as the one you originally envisioned and maybe you won't even realize why. You'll just know it's lacking somehow, that it's not everything it could and should have been.

Movie directors generally don't film chronologically. Break out of your structured ways if your story or your pen or your characters is demanding it. Get chaotic and crazy. Go with your gut and your heart, even if it's not the way you normally work. When there's unrest and pull, it's for a reason. You shouldn't ignore it. You could lose out. Follow your passionate urgency. Just write.

~Signing off and sending out cyber hugs.

It's refreshing and uplifting when you're able to find the humor that's around you and greater depth and meaning in things. The music of Pink Floyd, for instance, sounds about as trippy as Strawberry Fields but it contains shades of sorrow and joy, irony and societal satire and commentary that is difficult to appreciate and notice at first listen. It's not exactly drug music, it's art. You can infuse and braid and paint multiple layers into your works to create greater texture, secrets for the setting/town that are uncovered little by little, codes to be unlocked, dark humor, irony, satirical statements, mini plots that weave in and out of your main plot.


My dad's mom died in 1994, a couple days after my graduation from college. She was my last living grandparent, so it was especially tough. Old ladies kept coming up to my sister and I at the wake, telling us how much Blanche adored us, her granddaughters, and that she spoke of us often and that we were like gold to her. Problem was, our grandmother's name was Rose not Blanche. "Oh no," I said to my sister. "These poor old ladies are at the wrong funeral." We laughed and laughed. As it turned out, our grandmother's nickname was Blanche, which we never knew. You learn something new every day they say, and sometimes that something new can be funny. I've had several circumstances that were not the best to to go through but my warped sense of humor kept me positive and laughing.


When I was twenty, I went white water rafting with some college friends, and it was far more life-threatening than it should have been. The outfit we went with only had one guide for ten rafts and we had wet suits and life vests but no helmets. Our raft had a 400-pound guy and three skinny chicks. With two people on one side and two on the other, we were little bit ill-proportioned. Not trying to be mean. That's just a fact. Our combine weight was not even as much as this one guy's.

The one guide kept yelling at everyone in the various rafts to row together. Um, does anyone know what happens when there's far more strength on one side versus the other? Anyone? Anyone? Yes. That's right. Circles!!!!! You go in circles. Not forward. But around...In circles or you hardly move at all. Hello! Even an inexperienced rafter, who's done little more than canoing knows this. Most groups were fine rowing together but not ours. The guide was a complete moron. My friends and I kept yelling at each other about how to best proceed FORWARD. We finally found success with two strokes on one side for one on the other.

During the more rapid rapids, we half-capsized and three out of four of us fell out. The big guy and my friend had to be pulled to the shore. I tried to climb back in, but I could hardly move. The shock, the cold? I'm not sure. But I couldn't climb back in and my friend couldn't lift me back in without having the raft flip on us. We managed to push the raft to a large rock and I was able to climb up and in. This was a perilous moment, falling into a frigid river, having all my energy zapped in a snap, but I couldn't stop laughing the whole time. My friend was crying and then started cracking up too. It was just so insane and the danger made rafting ultra-adventurous. Any breaks from the mundane excite me. It wasn't the best way to go rafting, and I don't want to repeat it, but it was a blast anyway. If I just say to my friend 2-for-1, even to this day, she knows what it means and laughs.


As a writer, if you choose to maintain a lighthearted view of life and try to find humor during rough patches or the rich details beneath surface material, you'll not only stay more sane, you're also able to give new dimension to your writing. As long as the things you write flow in the story, it's okay to weave in undercurrents and nods for things, tiny treasures to be unearthed.


For instance, I am a Red Sox fan, so my main characters in Kings & Queens are also Red Sox fans. One of my character's had a dog named Dewey (Forgot to note the significance. haha. Dwight Evans, for those that don't know) and Carlton Fisk's name pops up a few times (one of the best catchers ever). The two jersey numbers worn by Fisk during his career tie into the plot and I refer to Don Mattingly as being from the Evil Empire. Most readers will gloss over these details, but they're there for savvy fans to find.

In the 80's when Family Ties and Growing Pains were on air, Michael J. Fox and Kirk Cameron had an on-going competition with one another to see how many times they could spin in any given episode. Would any viewer even give the spinning a second thought? No. It's a private joke between them. That's funny and cool.

Not everyone sees the richness in the music of Pink Floyd. Don't be afraid to bury those deeper nuances, details and angles into your work for a few select readers to discover and appreciate. For keen eyes and minds, your hidden jewels will make the read all the more enjoyable.

~ Signing off and sending out cyber hugs.

Sneaking in Some Depth

It's refreshing and uplifting when you're able to find the humor that's around you and greater depth and meaning in things. The music of Pink Floyd, for instance, sounds about as trippy as Strawberry Fields but it contains shades of sorrow and joy, irony and societal satire and commentary that is difficult to appreciate and notice at first listen. It's not exactly drug music, it's art. You can infuse and braid and paint multiple layers into your works to create greater texture, secrets for the setting/town that are uncovered little by little, codes to be unlocked, dark humor, irony, satirical statements, mini plots that weave in and out of your main plot.

My dad's mom died in 1994, a couple days after my graduation from college. She was my last living grandparent, so it was especially tough. Old ladies kept coming up to my sister and I at the wake, telling us how much Blanche adored us, her granddaughters, and that she spoke of us often and that we were like gold to her. Problem was, our grandmother's name was Rose not Blanche. "Oh no," I said to my sister. "These poor old ladies are at the wrong funeral." We laughed and laughed. As it turned out, our grandmother's nickname was Blanche, which we never knew. You learn something new every day they say, and sometimes that something new can be funny. I've had several circumstances that were not the best to to go through but my warped sense of humor kept me positive and laughing.

When I was twenty, I went white water rafting with some college friends, and it was far more life-threatening than it should have been. The outfit we went with only had one guide for ten rafts and we had wet suits and life vests but no helmets. Our raft had a 400-pound guy and three skinny chicks. With two people on one side and two on the other, we were little bit ill-proportioned. Not trying to be mean. That's just a fact. Our combine weight was not even as much as this one guy's.

The one guide kept yelling at everyone in the various rafts to row together. Um, does anyone know what happens when there's far more strength on one side versus the other? Anyone? Anyone? Yes. That's right. Circles!!!!! You go in circles. Not forward. But around...In circles or you hardly move at all. Hello! Even an inexperienced rafter, who's done little more than canoing knows this. Most groups were fine rowing together but not ours. The guide was a complete moron. My friends and I kept yelling at each other about how to best proceed FORWARD. We finally found success with two strokes on one side for one on the other.

During the more rapid rapids, we half-capsized and three out of four of us fell out. The big guy and my friend had to be pulled to the shore. I tried to climb back in, but I could hardly move. The shock, the cold? I'm not sure. But I couldn't climb back in and my friend couldn't lift me back in without having the raft flip on us. We managed to push the raft to a large rock and I was able to climb up and in. This was a perilous moment, falling into a frigid river, having all my energy zapped in a snap, but I couldn't stop laughing the whole time. My friend was crying and then started cracking up too. It was just so insane and the danger made rafting ultra-adventurous. Any breaks from the mundane excite me. It wasn't the best way to go rafting, and I don't want to repeat it, but it was a blast anyway. If I just say to my friend 2-for-1, even to this day, she knows what it means and laughs.

As a writer, if you choose to maintain a lighthearted view of life and try to find humor during rough patches or the rich details beneath surface material, you'll not only stay more sane, you're also able to give new dimension to your writing. As long as the things you write flow in the story, it's okay to weave in undercurrents and nods for things, tiny treasures to be unearthed.

For instance, I am a Red Sox fan, so my main characters in Kings & Queens are also Red Sox fans. One of my character's had a dog named Dewey (Forgot to note the significance. haha. Dwight Evans, for those that don't know) and Carlton Fisk's name pops up a few times (one of the best catchers ever). The two jersey numbers worn by Fisk during his career tie into the plot and I refer to Don Mattingly as being from the Evil Empire. Most readers will gloss over these details, but they're there for savvy fans to find.

In the 80's when Family Ties and Growing Pains were on air, Michael J. Fox and Kirk Cameron had an on-going competition with one another to see how many times they could spin in any given episode. Would any viewer even give the spinning a second thought? No. It's a private joke between them. That's funny and cool.

Not everyone sees the richness in the music of Pink Floyd. Don't be afraid to bury those deeper nuances, details and angles into your work for a few select readers to discover and appreciate. For keen eyes and minds, your hidden jewels will make the read all the more enjoyable.

~ Signing off and sending out cyber hugs.

My Fickle Mind

I'm forever changing my mind about my work, but once I find that melodious chord with something I've been struggling to get right, I follow that and am always happy with the end result.

I had posted an edited version of my Celebrity Vampire story here. For the contest I had 2556 words and for another contest, I stripped it down to 2000 words to fit and just put that shorter version here because it would be less words for a post, but in doing so, the piece lost the sort of seductive quality in the rhythm. It's like if you hear an original song that's so good and then hear a cover tune that's terribly tweaked, you nearly want to pull your hair out. So now, I've gone ahead and made the switch and put the original in. I like it so much better.

Over-editing can sometimes remove what you were trying to accomplish and taint the tone and texture. In my book Kings & Queens I have this one sentence in my first paragraph, "...shifting clouds wiped sunlight off her arms and buried the surrounding frenzy in shadow." Some will say, this should be simplified. And I say, no, it shouldn't. Everything in writing is not all about word economy. Being terse for the most part is important, true, but sometimes fuller strands can be used to create tone or contrast, build imagery or add a lyrical quality to the prose. I feel the verbs "wiped" and "buried" help to provide the ominous tone I want in the beginning. Originally, I did have it simplified and it sounded too bubblegum.

I'm always aiming to make my work better. Maybe some editor will like the deeper nuances the way they are in my book but maybe another would want such things stripped out. I'll certainly make some changes, but I will be greatly saddened if I am asked to soak it in acid, dumb it down and reduce into something much less than what I intended, as any artist would be if a museum said it only accept art pieces if all fine detail's removed, leaving only broad strokes.

Some people do bleed way too much ink. Compare your work to other contemporary works to see how your prose stacks up. If it fits the norm, stay the course. If it seems sludgy, too flowery, redundant, too dry, then you'll definitely need some scissors and paste for a fix. Kill your darlings. Edit, but don't over-edit. You found a rhythm and voice for a reason. Trust in your story and in your ability to tell it.

~ Signing off and sending out cyber hugs.

Little Bitty Time Gobblers

It seems it's harder and harder to find time these days to write, of course it happens to be right when I'm trying to cram a 50,000-word stint into a month. When my daughter took a nap today, I excitedly sat down at my keyboard, knowing I'd have a good two hours, quiet hours while my sons were in school, to work on my story.

But, nope, my parents stopped by for a surprise visit because it was my mom's day off and they stayed for hours. I'd only penned about 400 words and neglected to save the upgrade so I could let them in and when my son came home, he added drawings to my story and I didn't realize it was my story and closed it. So my little bit of work for the day was gone and I'm back to yesterday's word count.

Then I cleaned some, made dinner, fed the family, gave my husband a little loving when he came home and now I'm neglecting the whole lot somewhat, not totally since they're in the room, but I'm hoping for a little bit of alone time soon so I can actually write.

Sometimes I can write with distractions all around, the TV on, the radio, kids yelling, but this Nano project is such a bizarre storyline that I'd like some peace and quiet to think through the plot I neglected to outline beforehand. I'm not really firm with my characters either, I'm just winging it all and running with sticks and nailing and gluing them together, wherever they seem to fit. I have faeries and another group of otherworldly creatures called the wanderlings in this odd romance and I've done absolutely no world building for them yet since that idea was a late addition to what was supposed to be a simple, linear plot. Yeah right. I can never do simple. I'll plug the details and meat into my story later. I'm just trying to get the stick-built house up before the deadline. The decorating and furnishings can come later.

Whoo. Now I'm off to work, hopefully. Crossing fingers. Well, just for a moment. Now I'm gettin' busy. Not that kind of busy. Get your head outta the gutter. Working. I meant working, trying to make good use of quickly dissolving time.

~ Signing off and sending out cyber hugs.

Writing Exercise: The Six-Word Thingy

Hemingway was famous for his six-word story: For sale: baby shoes; never worn. I decided to take up the six-word challenge and write some myself. I'm definitely not as eloquent as Hemingway, but I had fun giving it a whirl. Here are some I wrote, but they just don't hit the right emotional chord. I'll keep working on it.

Wife left, jackpot won, hardly treasure.

Procrastinator’s promise: I'll live for tomorrow.

Redeemed souls can always beat cancer.

Abandoned, then adopted, loved today, forevermore.

Amazing grace; how sweet the sound.

Flower salesman got fired, received flowers.

Young boy slew giant with rock.

Gave birth today, wept, popped balloons.

Daughter's suicide was murder via email.

Sleepers, 9/11 was an inside job.

Poison ivy not mentioned in brochure!

Jesus: liar, lunatic, Lord? Resurrection picked.

No brilliance there, but it was a fun creative exercise. Even if you're not much of a writer, you can still spin out a six-word thingy. It's easy, quick and fun. Give it a shot.

~ Signing off and sending out cyber hugs.

My Junk Drawer

Well, my entry into the Celebrity Vampire Contest at The Next Big Writer did not win. I figured. We had to write a story about a celebrity being or becoming a vampire or a zombie. My stories are just never what's being sought. My effort has all the things that make a good vampire story, seductiveness, horror, immortality, blood, erotic undertones. I thought I did well and was so glad I created something deeper than dialogue fluff complete with ironic twinges, mostly in tying back to the title, but my fab story is basically junk now. It's not really the kind of thing that can be shopped elsewhere with it being so specific. So, I'll post it here, in a quiet, little display case in cyberspace.

* Not that it matters to anyone on the planet but me, and I don't even know if this has been read by anyone, but I had stripped out 556 words from my original story for another contest and posted that here instead of what I entered in the TNBW contest. But the nip and tuck ruined the quality of the piece I felt, so I'm putting it back the way I had it. The pace was a bit off and missing some beguilement. It's now 11-20 and I'm plunking in my old version at 2556 words instead of 2000.

~ Life in Paris ~

Streams of purple, green and turquoise light replaced red and yellow as the pit DJ’s next song selection pulsed out of the speakers. Even across the noisy, low-lit club and through the crowd of gyrating fools, Stefan drew her attention by simply mouthing her name. His power was stronger than ever because of his need to feed.

Beyond hypnotist, beyond car salesman, beyond Siren, Stefan could seduce with mere thought and beckon the most hardened soul to his, when his thirst was strong enough, like it was tonight. In his 500-and-some-odd-year existence, he’d never spotted anyone, be it royal or vagrant, with more beauty, sparkle and life. He licked his upper lip, anticipating a resurgence of life and the pure taste of her.

In his white, button-down shirt with a black Japanese flower scrolling up the left, he knew he looked sharp and straightened his collar to draw attention, but she never broke eye contact. He had her. With her eyes still locked on his, Stefan timed his steps with the bass as he made his way over to the laughing goddess. Her golden hair changed like a kaleidoscope under the spinning globes and reflected more colors than he could count.

She waved her body like a snake, one charmed to follow his mental choreography and music. He smirked. By the time she knew what was happening to her, it would be too late. He could already hear her gasp of shock and alarm, but he would muzzle her scream with the scarf in his pocket, the silk one he’d picked up at Versace just for her.

“Hi, Gorgeous,” she shouted, clutching his arm and pulling him around two entangled lesbians to stand less than a foot away from her. A mini-dress in hot pink hugged her body in much the way he hoped to. As she flipped her hair over her shoulder, a waft of jasmine, lavender and spice swirled into his nose.

“Hi. I'm Stefan. You’re Paris Hilton, right?” He shook his head, not used to the bangs in his nicely trimmed dark hair.

“Of course. Gonna ask me to dance or what?” He must have hesitated too long for her liking. “I’m used to the cat-got-cher-tongue look, but I can't stand shyness. It’s so not hot.”

He laughed and wrapped his arm around her waist, clamping her against his body. "More to your liking?"

Her eyebrows raised as did the corners of her lips. “Definitely.”

All the closer, he inhaled the fragrance in her hair, now ringing of honeysuckle in its floral bouquet, and moaned as though he’d consumed the richest chocolate. He quickly cleared his throat to cover his involuntary response.

On television and in magazines, he spotted a rare essence in her, one that drove him mad with lust. Passion for her consumed his every waking thought. He stole his way on a private jet and followed her around for days with the slink of a cat, shielded by swarms of paparazzi. Then he muscled his way in here with his aqua eyes, piercing a massive bouncer into compliance. In person, her eyes, combined with her aroma and her body pressed against his in this dirty dance, had him nearly bursting through his jeans and aching to suck her dry.

“Man. You’re smokin’ hot,” he said, trying to match his appearance of twenty-five.

She nodded while batting her lashes, long and faux. “Yeah, I know. You live around here?”

“No,” he yelled as the music picked up. “Just visiting, taking in the sights. I have business to attend to also.”

She leaned toward his ear. “Oh. That’s cool, Stef. I’m in a new movie so I’m too busy to show you around, but if you need help, I have people who do that...for my friends.”

Friends? I'm in! “Yeah. Doesn't surprise me. What’s the name of your movie?”

“Dead of Night. I’m playing the head vamp in a, what’s it called, urban fantasy or something like that. I get to kick ass. Is that cool or what?”

Ha! The irony! Stefan burst out laughing, not meaning to do so right in her ear. He bit his lip.

“What’s so funny?” she said, followed by a sneer and narrow eyelids. “Don’t you think I’d make a good, ass-kicking vampire?”

“No. I’m sure you will. It’s just, uh, Hollywood never gets it right. Perception’s so narrow and wrong.”

She shrugged and circled her hand in the air like she was casting off a fly. “Whatever. I guess. I get to fly around on one of those zipping harness thingies.” Her hands shimmied down his back to his butt and she rubbed and squeezed both cheeks. “I like the way you dance. It’s hot.”

“Years of practice.”

She tilted her head and smiled. “I’ll bet. Ya wanna go somewhere to play around some? A place that’s more...private and not so noisy?”

Stefan couldn’t believe his luck. He didn’t even have to coerce her, stare her down or anything. She was asking. Maybe he'd make her like himself instead of taking all of her. They could be eternal companions. Two beautiful people…immortal…absolute perfection.

“Love to, baby,” he said. “This is crazy. I never expected to be talking to Paris Hilton let alone taking off with her. Have a place in mind?”

“We can get a room in the hotel upstairs? They totally love me here.”

“Really? You actually stay somewhere that’s not a Hilton?”

“Ha ha. Ye-es. Very funny.” She elbowed his arm and pointed to the other side of the lounge. "We can leave out the VIP exit. Come on.” She collected her hair in her fist and stripped out static electricity. He longed to lick her palm to catch any sparks. It pained him to lose out on any of her. She laced her fingers around his and appeared to look at their joined hands. “Your hands are so cold.”

He shrugged. “I know. They won’t be for long.”

“Yeah. I’ll warm you up. It's one of my many talents.”

Stefan’s pulse quickened and a dizziness filled his head. Her luscious essence intoxicated him. He couldn’t wait to get her all hot and bothered on a bed on ivory satin or something, then jam that scarf in her mouth only to see those eyes widen in a plea for mercy. Too bad she’d covered those orbs with blue lenses tonight, because the terror in her natural brown would be spectacular.

Paris ushered him to a wall, ran her hand along a seam and did something he couldn’t see. Soon the wall sprung open to reveal a hidden hallway. After they stepped into the low-lit hall, she closed the door behind them and lead him through a labyrinth of flickering, zapping florescence. The music and noise dulled behind him and faded to pulsating thumps.

After reaching the end of a hallway, they climbed an iron staircase and at the top of the landing, she opened another door, which opened directly into a hotel suite through a bookcase.

“Ta da. Welcome to my Princess Suite.”

“Wow. It’s so...perfect.”

“I know, right.” She closed the door.

Stefan had seen his share of palaces and ritzy resorts, and this stood toe-to-toe in elegance. He was right! He nearly cheered in glee. Here it was. A bed of ivory satin. So perfect for love and birth and death. Against golden walls, draperies, linens and furniture cushions gleamed in monochromatic tones of cream and beige. Paintings, vases, flowers and fruit added bursts of color as did a red and gold oriental chandelier over the bed.

He noticed a fruit platter and a bucket of chilled wine on the coffee table near the Victorian couch, which would come in handy if loosening up was needed. The more surrender in the prey, the better the essence. He shook his head in disbelief as she walked him to the bed, which shone like the purest alter for sacrifice.

Paris turned to him, her face so angelic, soft and kind. It held self-assuredness but not a hint of cockiness that jealous girls try to pin on her. "I'm not normally loose or anything, but you're totally sexy and you caught me on a horny night. My boyfriend's out of town. Hope you don't mind."

"No. We can do whatever you want. Just kiss even. I really don't care. Doesn't he mind?"

"Nope. He loves my impulsive streak and is completely understanding. He knows how I get."

Stefan drew her into a kiss and she eagerly opened her mouth for him. He explored her and caressed her tongue with his. She skillfully sucked on his offering, which stirred him to arousal, distracting him from his primary need. With her so eager, Stefan decided to quicken things. He picked her up and half-dropped her on the bed, clumsier than he'd meant to. They laughed and she yanked his head down, reconnecting their mouths, before he even had a chance to lay on top of her. He joined her on the bed and after they kissed in a frenzy of grabbing and groping, she unbuttoned his shirt and ran greedy hands along his chest and fingernails up his back.

Paris complimented him on his muscles and the feel of his skin. She flipped them over and straddled him and kissed his forehead and ears and neck as she unbuttoned and unzipped his denim fly. When her hands wandered in, he gritted his teeth and focused on the funky chandelier, trying to ignore the sensations firing off below his stomach. He had to move now. She was driving him crazy and avoiding his gaze too much.

Stefan slid his hand into his pocket and wave after wave of his fingertips, he gathered and wadded the scarf into a tight ball. He’d switch positions, pin her down and get the job done. He’d gaze into her fake-blue eyes then drink her in until she was clinging to life by a very thin thread. Maybe he’d show her mercy and give her the choice. He wanted to give her the choice. To be or not to be? That is the question of life.

She ripped away his shirt, popping the last two buttons she never bothered to undo. She devoured his chest and neck in wet kisses and bites, some sharper than others. What the hell; no harm in letting her go to town first. He grimaced and winced whenever she seemed to be going for a kill.

After she did figure-eights around his pecks with her tongue, she traveled back up to his neck. He could have sworn sharp teeth not just bit, but drove in, deep, puncturing his flesh. The anguish! He gasped and tried to scream, but his mouth was suddenly jammed with some filthy rag. A rag! Not a $3,000 scarf carefully selected to match a handbag. A rag. A stinky, used rag, drenched in Lemon Pledge.

His mortal cry emitted as a sour note from the distant depths of hell. Pain threatened to burst his head and heart. Breath evaded his flaring nostrils. She was draining him faster than he could regenerate and replenish. He fought to push her off himself, but her strength was unbreakable and he weakened more with each second. His arms felt glued to the bedspread. He clammed his eyes shut as blood burned like scorching fire, racing through and leaving his veins, replaced with an icy chill. She drank not just his life-force but his essence and his supposed immortality. The scent of earth and iron choked him.

A jostle at the door and a solid bang into the wall made him jolt and peek through his heavy lids. Paris pulled away from her task to look, her mouth framed with glorious red. No spectacle or wonder on earth, and he’d seen countless, had ever awed him more than that. He longed to kiss her lips again and taste his own essence mixed with hers. Must be like honey straight from the hive.

“Huuuukkk!” rattled the blond, who'd entered through the actual door. “Finally! I've been looking all over for you...Fabulous! Another one? Thought you said you were good to go for a week or so.”

“Yeah. But he’s a psychic vampire. Unbelievable! Gotta be at least 500, Nic.”

Nic? Right. Lionel's anorexic brat.

Paris waved her hand and said, “Do you know how rare one like this is? He’s absorbed so much beauty and energy in his lifetime…only to be a gift for me. The tastiest thing ever. I’m feeling kind of generous. Want some?”

“Hell no! I’d never take your crappy scraps. I was able to snag a sitter. Hurry up, bitch. A bunch of us are going to The Green Door.”

"Kay. Gimme a sec."

Nicole left the suite as noisily as she’d entered.

“Sorry about the interruption, Gorgeous. She really needs to get her own lair. I tell her all the time to knock, but she freakin’ never does! Uuhh! Hate her sometimes.”

He tried to speak but lemony dirt swallowed his one word.

She ungagged his mouth. “What, hun?”

He gasped for hair, his lungs seizing as much as possible. “Question,” he muttered.

“What? I can't hear,” she said with her eyes squinted. She bent down, putting her ear close to his mouth. He stretched his tongue and licked the blood at the corner of her lips.

She jerked away and slapped his chest. “No, no. Uh-uhn, bad boy.”

“Do I get....mercy?”

“Sure, baby. I’m totally sweet like that.” She returned to his neck, taking a fresh bite. He screamed but it exited as a hoarse, girly shrill. His mind zipped back to that day forever ago at age twelve when his uncle showed him the secret of total energy absorption, which would allow him to never get sick, heal rapidly and live forever. Forever? What a joke! His youth spent gathering energy here and there from any passerby had been child's play. He'd waited until the perfect age in adulthood to partake in a total feed, to drain a human of life to prolong and improve his own. He froze. He'd forgotten age. He’d forgotten love. He'd forgotten time, pain and the fear of death. And he felt them all in this moment.

Paris slid off him, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and licked off the blood.

To be or not to be? “Thank...you,” he whispered as she straightened her dress with a shimmy.

“I know, right?" She waved her fingertips and blew him a kiss. "Bye, Gorgeous. That was hot. Thanks for the party.” She flipped open her phone, and after a moment, said, “Jimmy! Need another clean up, but give him ten...Yes! A spectacular feast...No, not that messy. Thanks so much. Mwah. You’re the best.” She sashayed to the door, hips and arms swaying. She looked energized and refreshed, somehow more beautiful than before.

The taste of their mixed essence clung to his tongue like nectar of the gods. The lights went off, the door closed, and darkness engulfed him, signaling his earthly exeunt. He closed his eyes. His body suddenly felt as old as it was. The minimal blood that was still in his decaying shell pooled in his throat and lungs. He was drowning. His skin wrinkled and pulled taught. His bones splintered and snapped, tearing through muscle. He fell and kept falling into some abyss. He couldn’t scream. He wanted to sing and rejoice. On a bed of ivory satin, he lay dying in agony, and he never felt more alive. To be.

~ Signing off and sending out cyber hugs.

What's Not to Get???

From the age a person learns language, questions are quick to arise. Questions about life, nature, God, etc. And no matter how old or intelligent you are, there will always remain things that baffle the mind.

Although I love just about every sport with a passion, okay, a borderline obsession, you're sooo right, I’m not a fan of NASCAR. Not in any way. My extended family is huge into it, HUGE, crazy rednecks that they are. They go down to races every year, watch it whenever it’s on, stock up on paraphernalia and Wheaties, and have NASCAR keggers with heaps of buffalo wings and tortilla chips. The way they carry on, you’d think NASCAR drivers were Masters of the Universe or something. I would watch races if my husband were into it, but incidentally, I follow more sports than he does, so I thank the Lord, I don’t have to go there. I understand the burn of a diehard fan. I’m totally diehard for more sports than I care to mention, so I can identify with the craving to see events. But NASCAR on the radio? Really? NASCAR…on the radio. As if it’s not thrilling enough on TV, now you get the Audio Experience. I don’t get it. I mean I listen to contact sports on the radio, though football is a little hard for me to follow with so much going on, but I can’t imagine a race, be it runners, horses, kayaks or cars. On the radio. Can’t you find out the standings on the evening news? It’s not like a sport where a bad play or call matters. It’s a race. A race. On the radio.

I also don’t get why spandex and jelly shoes were ever popular in the 80's, considered wicked stylish even, and why they’re back with a vengeance, invading shopping malls everywhere. That's about the worst synthetic garb you can find. Put them together, and fashion police will be hunting you down, to ticket you for such a faux pas.

And.......

Why does every IHOP look like a dutch house? I mean, can't other nationalities be represented too? What's so important about the Dutch?

Why are the New Kids on the Block making a comeback? Sometimes you have to just let the dream die. Bye, Bye, Bye. Oops. Sorry. Wrong band. Really. Give it up.

Why do the rich and famous give their babies hideous names? As if they don't have enough attention already.

Why did Coca Cola think it was a good idea to change the formula for Coke in the first place?

Why on 9-11 was the U. S. military unable to protect the Pentagon, the most guarded air space in the world, after two planes had already struck the World Trade Centers and it was clear we were under attack? Wait. I think I know that one.

Why did David Lee Roth ever think he could make it as a soloist?

Why did Journey ever think they could make it without Steve Perry?

Why is Sid at Comcast's R&D stalling on the remote button issue on the cable box? It's a great idea! Lost remotes are a bane. A simple beep, beep, beep would save aggravation for all mankind.

Why do women think Johnny Depp is hot? Ick. Gabe Kapler now. There's some eye candy.

Why did the ruthless Little House writers hate Mary so? That poor thing. Four eyes. Ruptured appendix. Went blind as a teen. Baby died in a fire. It's difficult to find a character who's suffered more affliction. My heart still breaks for her.

Why are you still reading some freak's blog?

Why did Starbucks get rid of their coconut mocha frapp? Again! Even the brownie one is gone. It's a specialty drink nightmare!!!!

Why is my dad in yet another network marketing company?

Why can I not get a simple Marion Barber shirt?

Why are people on Facebook rude and unfriendly? Out of the thirty or so people I wrote on the fly, some strangers and others whom I knew in the distant, forgettable past, only one wrote me back. No more trying to make friends for me.

Why is Vanilla Coke so hard to find? Oh right. It's only in cans??? Those CC pushers get you hooked so you'll have to buy cans.

Why are pomegranate salesmen not getting MEGA bonuses? They're obviously working overtime. That stuff's in everything now.

Why is there no Red Lobster within 100 miles of me? I hate it. Those buttery herb rolls rock the house. They're the best ever and they've been snatched from me, so why do they keep torturing me with their commercials for all-you-can eat shrimp and crab legs.

Why is Sinbad not being used in more movies? He's soooo funny. Check out Houseguest if you haven't.

Why does my husband continue to root for his losing football team? I don't get it, but that's okay. I just get more in-season perks than he does.

And I don’t get perception, how you can hang a painting by a three-year-old in a museum and have passersby gush in awe when they assume it’s by an esteemed artist. Art is so subjective, but if we can’t tell the difference between preschool art and an impressionistic masterpiece, what does that say of skill or beauty? Doesn’t that dump them into a realm where excellence and technique don’t matter?

Writing is also a subjective art form because readers have different tastes. Some people only consider literary fiction to be worthy enough for their eyes, and perhaps classic literature, but definitely NOT that icky, annoying fiction with a firm plot, that actually moves somewhere rather than simply showing a slice of life or an arc in time.

I cannot imagine telling a story without plot. I need to have a point. Literary fiction, which tends to be more character-driven, has its place, but the most resonating works for me as a reader are those with good plots AND strong characters, which don’t sacrifice one over the other.

I cannot grasp how a writer can write a novel without some force jerking characters into danger or trouble or adventure or romance or galaxy treks. Why is there a belief and air that literary fiction is more sophisticated and excellent than genre or general fiction? A good story is a good story. Sacrificing plot for literary merit and recognition is just writing pretty words and plopping characters into a minimalistic storyline. Spending so much effort on form, strips you of free thought. Everything's all bound up in technique. Passion can get buried under all the glitz. Yes, you can certainly strive to create great literature, but also take time to cut loose. Whether you're a dancer, ice skater, painter or writer, you need to break free sometimes and find a style all your own beyond technique, to touch base with the thrill of the art.

That’s why three-year-olds can produce masterpieces. Such wall-worthy art is born out of pure joy and carefree gusto, and really, it is no less beautiful or sophisticated. Just ask the gushers at the museum or the moms who hang them on the fridge.

~ Signing off and sending out cyber hugs.

The Big Fix

I have a Red Sox room on the third floor in my house, but it’s not quite the kickin space I want it to be. Sure, we’ve got posters, B pillows, pennants and signs, but we have three televisions up there—one so old it has UHF and VHF dials, haha—and none of them work. Well, one works technically, but if you turn it off, you might not get it to come back on. The TELEVISION is a vital element to any sports room. What’s the point of having a sports room if you can’t, well, watch sports? I suppose we could grab chilled Cokes, pop some popcorn and discuss sports in it, but we can just as easily do that in the kitchen, which we do. So why bother to pack bags and make the long hike?

Since we want a properly functioning electronic device to top off our Red Sox domain, and with it being a sales-tax-free day today, we’re off to buy a new one. We definitely won’t be getting a plasma or anything with HD on the box because we’re not exactly rolling around in an extra 2 grand—or 4 grand if we're talking about the beauty we really want—and even if we were experiencing a windfall, we have two grammar-school-aged sons, who don’t at all grasp the concept of "hands off". We just want a TV that works.

We have all these has-been TVs that used to work well, were probably spectacular in their day, but they’re now headed for the heap...which oddly reminds me of ideas, that can start off great and end up going bust.

Sometimes you think of fantastic ideas. I know I have...just in case you couldn’t tell by my Creativity Gone Wild page.

Here's a jewel: I think all cable boxes should come with a pager button, that way when you lose your remote, you can make it buzz or beep or belch when you need it. Finding that sucker would be sooooo much easier, unless of course, it ended up in the freezer when you went to get that pint of Phish Food. Don’t worry. You’ll find it on your next trip. Comcast wasn’t that impressed with my much-desired concept. At least, I haven’t heard back from R&D, even though Sid PROMISED to get back to me. [Sid: The masses are hungry. Just ask ole Jimmer—who’s now cussin to spin the dead and jerkin up the back of his sinking jeans because he has to stand there and push the arrow on the box 450 times to get to the NFL network—about his thoughts on the matter.] Whatever. Regardless of whether or not they go with my idea, I still think it’s a great one. Needless to say, I don’t have Comcast anymore. I sure showed them.

Anyway, when you dream up and run with a concept that you assume will be astounding, only to find it stopping midstream or not reaching the climax in a powerful way—shut up and be mature :)—here are some things you can do to try to infuse it with life before chucking it into file 13.

♦ Reassess all the goals of every character. All the main characters need goals. Change them up and bend them so your characters have opposing goals, which will create conflict. Conflict is cool. You want that.

♦ Consider working in a subplot and or other genre threads to weave around your main plot. Could you add more suspense, a struggle at work, family drama, a personal issue like insomnia, a love interest, opposition from townies, a paper boy who wants his two dollars?

♦ Perhaps your characters are the sultans of sabotage by being too dull or weak. Go back to your sketches and beef up each one, even for your minor characters, and even if most of those details never grace your pages. Jot down goals, both minor and major, worldviews, upbringing, dreams, demons, attitudes, personalities, quirks, habits, tastes, etc. Adding rounder characters will bring some vitality to your story.

♦ Have scenes that show more and tell less. If you're explaining too much, it's creating drag, so no wonder your story is now stuck in mud.

♦ Strive to make your big idea bigger.

♦ Up the stakes. [That's not only for vampire slayers.]

♦ Do some research on your story concepts. You may get the inspiration you need to take your story in a new direction.

♦ Start over.

♦ Let your character take a wrong turn or have a set back.

♦ On the flip side, look for a character mistake that may have brought your story to a screeching halt. If Kellie was abused for years and years, finds courage and leaves, but later decides to go back to her maniac husband, she'll lose all sympathy with readers. Don’t let your MC wallow in self-pity or sit around doing nothing. No one likes a loser or an inactive blob. Readers want to root for someone. They like characters who try, and keep trying.

♦ Consider adding a new character. Maybe your MC needs a bad influence, a sarcastic best friend, a cheerleader, a Debbie Downer co-worker or a dragon lady boss.

♦ Brainstorm some more set pieces, the important events, moments of discovery or big changes that take place before the climax.

♦ Write the ending then go back to where your story fizzled. Yep. After writing the first two chapters of my book, Kings & Queens, I wrote the last 2. I knew my final outcome exactly, and with a book as twisty and crazy as mine, I wanted to firmly mark that as my endzone to make sure everything headed towards it. Plus, I also wanted to pen it when my inspiration was most vivid. I ended up changing chapter 1 a great deal, but the end chapters remained basically the same, with minor tweaking and polishing.

♦ Examine your story question, which is your throughline, taking readers from A to Z. Did you provide a good question at the onset but then provide the answer in chapter 13 when you have ten more chapters left? Your story should have a main story question that isn’t fully answered until the climax, or even the last sentence. Keep readers turning pages to find out the answer to that burning question.

♦ ♦ ♦

Perhaps your big idea is as useless and junkyard-ready as my broken TVs, but before giving up, at least see if its worthy of repair. With some reassessment and elbow grease, you could turn trash into treasure. Give it a try and see.

~ Signing off and sending out cyber hugs.