Voices by Ginger Simpson

I heard this older song today by Chris Young and some of it really relates to how I feel when I'm writing.  I recently promised Jude, our publisher, a book by December 31st.  I have it started, but now I have to tune out the voices of Cassie and Will from Deceived in order to get Sarah's Soul finished in time for the fall deadline.

I'm sure I explained in a previous post the difference between Pantsers and Plotters.  I, unfortunately, rely on voices in my head to help me write.  Without all that chatter, I'm at a loss.  I've tried plotting and it just doesn't work for me, so all the people talking in my head are really a blessing...at times.

For me being a "pantser" is akin to having someone tell me a story.  I listen and jot down the words, but I never know where I'm headed until I get there.  It's a lot more exciting, in my opinion, to having a chart of some type that outlines your entire novel for you.  I prefer to be surprised.  The only problem is when the characters are done, so is the book.  I've written some short, some long, and some in between.  You never know how long creating a novel is going to take when you're a pantser.

 I have to admit I do take notes now because my memory has faded with age.  There is nothing worse than forgetting the heroes name and putting in one from another book or having your heroine suddenly gaze through blue eyes instead of green with gold flecks.

If you're a pantser too, you'll be able to relate to this video.  If you aren't, you probably will anyhow, since all those words of wisdom your parents and grandparents shared with you still run through your mind.  I can hear my granny to this day telling me all little boys wanted to do was get in my panties.  I could never figure out what they'd do once they got them on.  How embarassing.  I never wanted to wear Jockey shorts.  Now that I'm older, I realize she was warning me to be a lady.  *lol*

So...I may be camping for the next few months, but I'll be working on Sarah's Hope.  This will be sort of continuation of Sarah's Heart and Passion.  Here's an except closer to the end of that book so you'll better relate to what Sarah is sharing with me now.  She's a chatty one, for sure.

“Really.” He (Wolf) caressed her cheek. “I love you Sarah Collins, and I’d be honored if you would consider spending this life with me. I might have been unselfish enough to have given you up once, but not twice.”

Glee squeezed Sarah’s heart. She’d lived through pure hell in a dream, found the love of her life only to lose him, and now she had a second chance. No way was she missing out on the passion she felt for this man. Locking her arms around his neck, she rested her cheek against his chest, drinking in his warmth, his smell, his feel. “I love you, too, Nathaniel Grey Wolf Elder, and I can’t think of anyone I’d rather spend eternity with…even if it’s on a cattle ranch in Missouri.”

Please check my website for places where you can find this book, and most likely my upcoming one.

                            

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When Your Character Turns Mute by Ginger Simpson

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There are two kinds of writers...well maybe three if you count the folks who do a little of each, but most are "plotters" and the rest are "pantsers."  I'm pretty sure the term "plotters" tells you thet author actually plots out the story from beginning to end.  What the heck is a "pantser," you ask?  We write by the seat of our pants, meaning our characters speak to us and tell us how the story should progress.  Our job is to turn the telling part into showing and making the story into a novel.  Things are great as long as we "pantsers" have voices in our head.

Unfortunately, sometimes our hero/heroines turn mute.  For no apparent reason, they just stop talking and then we're stalled.  I'm in this predicament with Yellow Moon, a novel I promised Books We Love I'd finish months ago, but my heroine either decided she doesn't like me, or she's as confused as I am.  When silence happens, I either sit and twiddle my fingers, or I do what I've done while on vacation: start a new story with someone who wants to chat.  I've somehow conjured up a gal named Harlee, and she's telling me all about Oklahoma and the drought.  Thank goodness, she's quite the talker.  In fact, I can't get her to shut up and realize I can't type when I'm holding a twenty-pound dog who thinks it's more fun to ride in my lap than have the whole back seat to himself.  Go figure.

I'm still trying to figure out why I write historical novels because even though the character tells me a story, they don't often know all the details, so there is a whole lot of research involved.  Right now, I can't wait until I get back to my Internet so I can determine if a towel was indeed called a towel back then, if water closets were existent, and if so, what type of bathtub one might find in one.  Seems like small details, but I've learned if you aren't accurate with your historical facts, even though you write fiction, someone is bound to notice and tell the world.  The last thing an author wants to lose is their credibility.

So, with that explained, I'd like to share a little of Harlee's growing novel with you.  It's going to be entitled, The Well.  I hope this makes you look forward to reading more.  And remember, this is a first draft, so it's likely to change a little later on down the line.  *smile*

A little set up:  Logan has rescued Harlie and has taken her to his home. This scene introduces her to his mother and the beautiful house in which the Caruthers live.

Inside, a massive entry with a multi-colored, braided rug greeted her.  White pillars separated that space from a setting room with beautiful furniture that looked as though it had never been used.  Elegant emerald silk draperies framed both windows, and a shining wooden floor so unlike the rough planks in her house edged yet another beautiful braided rug–this one in shades of green.  The whole place smelled of cinnamon apples.

A lady wearing a high-collared blue velvet dress swept into the room.  The golden locket around her neck sparkled against the dark background.  Surely this wasn’t how she dressed every day.  Not even one stray hair hung from the graying tresses she wore pulled back into a bun. Although the hairstyle made her appear more matronly, Harlee had never seen such finery.  The older woman’s beauty showed through the few wrinkles on her face and didn’t hide her resemblance to her son.

  “Oh, there you are Logan–”  Her salt and pepper brows rose.  She eyed Harlee’s dishevlment and frowned.  “Who...who’s your friend, dear, and why are you carrying her?”

"Ma,  this is Harlee Wagner.  She's had a bit of bad luck.  I found her at the bottom of the well on the property Pa’s interested in.  She thinks she’s been there for about four days, and seems to have lost her family.  I insisted she come here to get something to eat and clean up.  I’m hoping you have something that might fit her.”  He looked at Harlee and smiled.  “Oh, and I’m carrying her because after her fall, she’s weaker than a newborn colt.”

“But, she’s getting muck all over your shirt.”  His mother wriggled her nose.

“It’ll wash, don’t fret so”  He sniffed the air.  “What smells so good?”

“Cook has just finished a grand cobbler.  You’re just in time, and... Harlee was it?  You definitely are a rumpled mess, but I’m still pleased to meet you.  If Logan has promised you help, you’ll definitely get it.  You’re welcome in our home.”  Mrs.  Caruthers words held more sarcasm than warmth.

Thank you, ma’am." Harlee's voice turned hoarse again. "I assure you I don’t usually look or sound like this, but after sitting in water for a few days, this is what you get.  I’m sorry about Logan’s shirt.”

Mrs. Caruthers ran an assessing gaze over Harlee.  “Like he said, his shirt will wash, and so will you.  I think I can probably find something for you to wear.”

“I’d appreciate that very much.  Whatever you find doesn’t  have to be anything fancy.”

“No worries, I might have an old dress or two for you, but first lets get you cleaned up.”  She wrinkled her nose again as if she smelled something bad.  “Oh, and you must be starving after being in a well for so long.  Once you bathe and change, Cook can fill up that empty stomach of yours while you tell me all about your fall.”

Logan started up the stairs with Harlee still in his arms, but paused on the first one and looked back at his mother.  “ I’m going to fetch the doc.  Harlee took quite a tumble, and I want to make sure she’s not hurt more than she lets on.”

“Of course, son.  I agree, we need to have the doctor check out our guest.And don’t you worry about anything, Harlee.  Logan will take you to the guest room, and I’ll have the maid come and help you get freshened up. Meanwhile I’ll find those dresses I mentioned.”

Don’t worry?  Logan’s mother had only heard bits and pieces of Harlee’s dilemma.  No matter who told her not to fret, her insides knotted with fear and her head filled with unanswered questions. As soon as the doctor gave his approval, she was ready to find out what had happened to her family.  Besides, Mrs.  Caruther’s had all the charm of a coiled rattler ready to strike and made Harlee feel like next in line to get bit.

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While you wait for me to finish this book, please feel free to check out all my other offerings on my Amazon page.  In fact, Time-Tantrums and Shortcomings are on sale now for ninety-nine cents until the23rd.  How can you pass that up?