My coffee is too hot and there’s a cat hair on my tongue. I can feel it. But for the life of me, I can’t get it off my tongue.
That’s kind of what writing feels like. You want more of something but you can have it AND you know something is there on the tip of your tongue.. on the tip of your mind… but you can’t get it out.
Totally like that.
It’s an exercise in frustration and pain. Rarely do I finish something and say; God that was good. Mostly I say, okay that didn’t suck. No really I say God that sucked why can’t I—
Make emotions out of words. To go from a piece of paper and with a few folds, create a crane—then a thousand cranes to hang from a central point for blessings and beauty. Why can’t I origami the words into that crane?
And if I do make something resembling a bird, it certainly isn’t perfect.
But sometimes perfect isn’t all it is cracked up to be.
There’s lots of advice on how to write. How to be a writer. What to do as a writer. We hear it all the time. Show don’t tell. Active not passive voice. Eliminate the ‘had’ and the ‘that’ as often as you can. Put in actions not smirked, replied, snorted or said. Don’t introduce someone only to kill them in the next paragraph. Don’t put a name to a face unless that is an important character. If you mention the gun on the mantle, it better be an important part of the plot.
Lots of advice.
Thing is—I’m not really good at taking advice. Oh sure, if it is well meaning—and much of it is—I will certainly take it into consideration. However my first instinct is to mutter under my breath, “Fuck you all. I do what I want.”
Mostly about the murder because really, I love a good murdering.
Did I mention I’m not really that great at the whole rule following thing? It’s gotten me into trouble more than a few times and well, if you’re a writer, it’s not always the best course of action. Because really grammar and punctuation are important. Very important. But the rest of it? Loosey-Goosey. Or however that looks. Anyway, pretty much over-guavaed geese on parade. Much like penguins, our geesey friends become supersoakers of poo when they eat too much fruit.
Long story on how I know that—both about the penguins and geese—but let’s just assume I know what I’m talking about. Writing is also about holding a supersoaker of goose-poo.
Okay mostly it’s about knowing when to break the rules.
I do admit to breaking them. Mostly about storylines and plot. I like writing fantastical things. I write close to true life but the rule breaking lies in the close. Very close. Okay sometimes not so close. When to douse the rules with goose-poo? That’s a fine balance…and I’m not so sure I’ve mastered it it.
But I shall try.
The Devil’s Brew was a bit of rule-breaking for me. A novella—in a genre where novellas aren’t the most beloved of things—but more importantly, it’s meant to be sweet. Not a drop of blood in sight. Not a scream. No body parts. No shadowy figures in the window. Just sweet, a bit poignant but mostly, a visit with friends.
Because sometimes, the rules I break are my own. *grins*
Hope you all enjoy the novella.
And damn it, my coffee is still too hot.
The Devil’s Brew by Rhys Ford (Book 2.5 in the Sinners Series)
Miki St. John’s life has been turned upside down but it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him.
His best friend, Damien Mitchell, is back from the dead. He has a dog named Dude. And more importantly, he and his lover, SFPD Inspector Kane Morgan, now share Miki’s converted warehouse.
For the first time ever, Miki’s living a happy and normal-ish life but when Valentine’s Day rolls around, Miki realizes he knows next to nothing about being domestic or domesticated. Nothing about the traditional lover’s holiday makes sense to him but Miki wants to give Kane a Valentine’s Day the man will never forget.
Can he pull off a day of wine and roses? Or will his screwed up childhood come back and bite Miki in the ass?
Rhys Ford’s The Devil’s Brew may be purchased at: http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=4991
About Rhys Ford
Rhys admits to sharing the house with three cats of varying degrees of black fur, a black Pomeranian puffball and a ginger cairn terrorist. Rhys is also enslaved to the upkeep a 1979 Pontiac Firebird, a Toshiba laptop, and an overworked red coffee maker.
My Blog: www.rhysford.com
And at the Starbucks down the street. No really, they’re 24/7. And a drive-thru. It’s like heaven.
My books can be purchased, folded and first chapters read at Dreamspinner Press. http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com