“Come into my parlor said the
spider to the fly.” That’s how I feel when I start a new story. What a writer does
is begin a web of dreams and invite readers to share their vision. No matter
what your genre or subgenre you’ve chosen the need to make the dream as
enticing as possible.
How many write strictly
contemporary romance? Do you add elements of mystery, suspense or a touch of
the supernatural?
How many write only historical
with no additions? Do some of you add touches of mystery, suspense or
paranormal to your stories?
How many write paranormal
stories? Are there elements of mystery, suspense or romance in your tales?
How many write young adult? Do
the elements mentioned above creep into your stories?
No matter what genre you’ve
chosen with or without added elements, you need to spin your web of dreams with
care. Why?
My contemporary, historical,
mystery, or paranormal won’t be the same as yours.
This brings me to a point for
you to take away with you. We hear a lot about voice and tone. Are they the
same thing? I don’t think so.
Voice belongs to the author and
is influenced by the author’s education, life experience, social status, where
they grew up, careers and those symbols that reoccur in their stories. I once
heard Debra Dixon speak on the writer’s voice and realized certain elements
frequently crept into my stories.
Tone belongs to the story. Each
genre or subgenre has a particular aura. After picking up a historical romance,
in the first few paragraphs, a reader should be drawn into that particular time
period. He or she should recognize the genre. I don’t mean the little heading
stating Scottish Highlands, 1426. I mean words like Bagpipes droned. Kilts
swirled. The clang of broadswords filled the air. These are the kind of words
that shout, this is a historical.
I once read a blurb for a book
that sounded interesting. Wish I could remember what attracted me to buy. The
book was billed as a romantic suspense with a touch of paranormal. I seldom
write suspense but I enjoy reading them. Three chapters into the book and I
found no suspense, no mystery, no paranormal bits. I could have stopped reading
after the first page. The pacing read like a cozy romance and a non-fiction
tome on the television industry.
So let’s look at some examples
of the tones of some genres. Some of the stories will be my own.
Liara closed the Lore of the
Jewels. Everyone knew the ruling Jewel was Black. Her foster mother had given
her the book on her last name day. Tana’s insistence that she learn the legends
puzzled Liara. What use were these mythical tales to one who might never hold a
Jewel?
YA
From The Quest For The White Jewel by Janet Lane Walters
Detective Sergeant Frank Malloy
pushed his way through the crowd gathered at the entrance to the modest office
building. Murder always drew a crowd in New Your City, even in respectable
neighborhoods.
Mystery
from Murder on Lexington Avenue
by Victoria Thompson.
When two gentlemen are closely
related by blood, they do not exactly address each other with formality. In
this case, however, the gentlemen in question were first cousins once removed.
The younger had come from nowhere to inherit a title and fortune the older had
assumed would be his and their relationship had been formally announced moments
after they had come within a sword slice of killing each other.
Historical
from The Rake by Mary Jo Putney.
He crouched in the cemetery that
embraced three sides of the hillside parking lot across from Bradley Memorial
Hospital
Suspense
from Code Blue by Janet Lane Walters
Andrew Sinclair circled the room
like a caged tiger. He tried to relax but one look at the bed and he felt a
stab of guilt so deep it made him physically ill. He wanted to punish himself
so he gazed again at the delicate lines of her naked form outlined beneath the
white sheet. The morning sun cast an ethereal glow over her face that made her
look like an angel. He brushed a strand of hair off her cheek. Her skin felt
like satin.
From Caitlan’s Choice by Kat
Attalla
On a world that was one of a
number in an alternate time stream in a country known to its people as
Khaddershai, there was a sudden shimmering in the air. It was late morning at
the end of spring when a portal opened. Two men came through dressed in
clothing that was hard to look at directly, riding non-descript bay horses.
From
The Questing Road by Lyn Mc Conchie
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