"...pert robin red-cheeks"

"Legend says, when you can't sleep at night, it's because you're awake in someone else's dream."

(a quote I found online--not my words :)

Can you guess who this pretty little thing is? Yep. Do you love her as much as I? <3

Nick dropped his feet one by one onto the wooden planks of the floor and crept to the pallet in the corner where Imperia slept. “Imperia?”

She was awake in an instant and smiled at him. “Leaving, Nick?”

He nodded; there was a catch in his throat that blocked everything he’d meant to say. He scratched his nose and shifted from one foot to the other.

“Will you write to me?” Imperia asked.

“Often as I can. And you write to me, on your honor.”

Imperia raised a small finger and made a cross on her chest. “On my honor—and as often as I find a penny for postage.” She smiled at him—a moon-beam smile, Nick thought. Just as white and translucent as the light of the moon.

Various introductions aboard ship

A couple weeks ago I hit a wall with both Fly Away Home and Scuppernong Days. I possess a hideous talent for knowing where a story needs to go, and having no idea how to get there. But while I laid Fly Away Home on a shelf for a little while, I've been slowly pecking away at Scuppernong Days. I knew I needed to get Nick off shore and onto the ship and then the plot could begin. I did just that, and was surprised to meet one character in particular. Don't ask me why I was surprised--I just was. I knew I wanted a second cabin boy aboard Scuppernong, but I hadn't expected to find...well...him. Meet Elliott.

Okay, okay. I know there's no way this is 18th century garb, but who cares? :D

Nick squinted against the brilliant white light reflected into his eyes from the broad canvases that caught the wind and swelled like a grey goose’s breast. He stood, fascinated, but received a sharp blow on his back.

“Watch it, won’t you?”

Nick dodged the possibility of another blow as a boy slightly taller than himself shoved past. “Sorry.”

“Lookit—what’s your name and what are you doing on my ship? I’m the cabin-boy hereabouts.” The boy crossed his arms. His tone was blunt, but whether the boy was angry or not, Nick could hardly tell. His face registered nothing but disgruntled curiosity.

“Nicodemus Murdoch, sir.” Perhaps he oughtn’t to have put ‘sir’ after answering, but it was pure habit.

The formality seemed to appease the boy and he uncrossed his arms with a noonday shadow of a smile. “Mine’s Elliott.”

“Elliott what?” Nick asked. The boy crossed his arms again and his eyes were round. Nick wondered what he’d said wrong. He’d only asked a simple question.

“Just Elliott, Master Nicodemus Murdoch,” the lad said. He stared at Nick from his vantage point of two inches’ extra height, and sniffed with great contempt. Then he nodded toward a lithe, dark man carrying a keg on his shoulder. “That there’s Amaranto—he’s a Spaniard.”

Nick stared. He’d never seen a Spaniard before—he was more than a little disappointed to see the man wore none of the bright clothing of the matador that he’d assumed every Spaniard wore abroad or at home. Amaranto was clothed instead like all the other sailors in an open-necked cotton shirt and loose pantaloons.

Before Nick was finished looking, Elliott grabbed his arm and dragged him to the bow of The Scuppernong. Elliott pointed to the rigging on the foremast where several men perched like gawky birds on the yardarms, loosening some ropes and tying others. “Them up there—that’s Simon and Fisher and Jacob.”

“Does everyone have only one name of their own?” Nick asked.

“Aye. You didn’t expect sailors to have the luxury of addressing each other like gentlemen did you? Everything’s on short commons aboard ship. Th’only ones as get extra names is Captain Reynolds and Mr. Nesbit and Mr. Merrit. The bo’sun, Mr. Lightwood too, only most of us drop the formality. You don’t know a barebones thing about sailing, do you?” Elliott asked with another derisive sniff.

I just met him myself so I don't know a deal about him yet, but I do know that he believes he's superior to Nick (and nearly everyone else.) He uses titles of respect sparingly, and will often be heard to reference the first mate as "Old Nesbit," though I suspicion he'd not be so bold if confronting the first mate himself.
He picks on Nick once he finds that his new colleague knows next to nothing about sailing...

Nick’s hackles rose at this slight upon his upbringing. “I do too know a deal about sailing.”

“Then you’d know that we cabin-boys go through a keel-hauling every afternoon at three of the clock.” Elliott’s face was a handsome one, and he looked very virtuous indeed as he rested his hand for a moment on Nick’s shoulder. “Be sure ye be ready for it.”

This threw Nick into a state of some confusion. What was keel-hauling? Nick knew enough about ships to know that a keel was a long beam running length-wise down the ship’s belly—like a great long spine. But what did that have to do with a cabin-boy’s duties? Not to appear ignorant, however, Nick shrugged. “Of course. Any good ship has keel-hauling at least once a day.” It might have been a lie, and Nick felt his face grow pink. He hoped keel-hauling fell under the category of mopping and scrubbing and sweeping, in which case he was innocent of deliberately breaking a commandment.

But I don't think Elliott's all bad. Hee-hee. We'll see about that! I'm not certain of anything at this point! (Only I'll give you a hint of a character I love already. His name is Hans, he's Norwegian, and he looks like this:)

:) (only he's always smiling, and he doesn't have spiky hair.)

Lightening Flashes: Crumbs

I've been out of town for the weekend, and very busy in general, so to get back into the swing of words, I'm participating in this month's Lightening Snippets at Scribblings of My Pen and Tappings of My Keyboard. This event is basically a flash-fiction challenge. The Anne-girl assigns us a picture and challenges us to write a section that sounds to have been pulled out of the center of a larger story. Good practice and all that, right?

"Crumbs"

     Postcards were a marvelous invention. Some folk said they were the spawn of gossips and busybodies, but Harrison Jarvis thought of them as a godsend. Things weren't half as interesting in the Post Office as people thought; "Uncle Harry, tell us the news," the little Chirping Ones always said.

    Harrison Jarvis chuckled and slit the string holding together the day's mail with his rusty pocket-knife. Silly little Chirping Ones--silly little nephews and nieces who were good for nothing but stealing a man's heart out of his chest. No, the life of a post-master was ironically empty of crumbs to feed The Chirping Ones. Important correspondence, intrigues and scandals might slide through Mr. Jarvis' hands each moment of the day and he'd never know--people took such care sealing their letters. More's the pity.

    Mr. Jarvis shook his head and shuffled the drab mail into the worn, gray boxes. Seed catalogs for all the farming folk, and a package of Ginger's Optimistic Hair Dye for Mrs. Farquaharson. She bought it every six-month just as her hair was beginning to show indisputable signs of graying. Mr. Jarvis chucked the package into Mrs. Farquaharson's box and whistled an aimless tune. No. Not so much as a poppyseed to feed The Chirping Ones this evening. Pity, that. Mr. Jarvis took his duty as Uncle Harry warmly--he hated seeing the faces of The Chirping Ones turned away with reproof when he hadn't anything to feed them. But such was the life of a mailman in the United States Post Office. Privacy--bah. What the world needed was a few more tid-bits.

    But what was that? Mr. Jarvis' old heart beat a bit harder beneath his pocket-watch--beat nearly as fast as it had the day the Mayor had got a letter from the Governor--no, Mr. Jarvis' eyes had not deceived him. He pulled a slim post-card from the bottom of the mail-stack. The corners of his mouth crooked up into a leather-creased smile. A post-card, smelling of expensive cologne. The address written in a dashing, manly hand to one Miss Beatrice Lochlea--the beautiful Miss Beatrice who had a beau for every day of the week. Mr. Jarvis' keen and practiced eye scanned the small card, taking in  the few tender lines: love...eternal affection...Paris next spring...

    Oh yes. The Chirping Ones would be happy tonight.

Revision: a timely guest-post by J. Grace Pennington

I am very pleased to be one of the stops on young, Christian author: J. Grace Pennington's blog tour for her newest book: Firmament: Radialloy! This book is the first in a series of 18 that Ms. Pennington has planned in her science-fiction series. You can read all about the book here, and even buy a signed copy! Isn't that cool? :) I know several of the stops on her blog-tour have been interviews, but I asked Ms. Pennington to write a guest post for us...it turned out to be something I really needed to hear! She tackles the great big issue of Revision. Yep. *Casts a wary glance at The Scarlet-Gypsy Song.* Read it, be changed, and let J. Grace Pennington know by leaving a comment on her blog. :) Without further ado I give to you:

Revision: A Guest Post

by J. Grace Pennington

Everyone has their own method of revising their writing.  For me, as a first-time novel-reviser, the daunting task of somehow whipping Firmament: Radialloy into shape was extremely daunting.  Not only was it my first try at such a thing, but I had absolutely no idea how to go about it.

I tried many different ways.  The first time, I just read straight through, correcting any errors that I happened to come across.  That didn’t work, because it only fixed various little issues rather than looking at the novel as a whole that needed a solid arc, plotline, and good setups and payoffs.  I got some minor problems dealt with, and lots of typos fixed, but no really significant revision happened on that first pass.

So that wasn’t the way to go about it.  I tried something else.  This time, I talked with one of my test readers and we discussed things that were weak, and brainstormed for possible solutions.  Theme was foggy?  We discussed what theme would best spring from the action.  Villain was unrealistic?  We created motivation for him.  Conflict was weak?  We figured out how to add some more antagonistic forces.

So then I carefully figured out which things needed to be changed, and went through the draft and changed them.  I wasn’t sure about this draft, but by this time it was so mixed up and I was so confused about it that I couldn’t really tell whether it was working or not.  So I gave it to another friend who printed it out, marked it up with notes, and mailed the manuscript back to me.  Thus I learned that it was full of plot holes and blatant illogic, as well as character inconsistencies and other horrors.

Clearly this whole going-through-the-book-and-fixing-things-here-and-there thing wasn’t going to work.  I had to do something more drastic.

I had to stop trying to make it work the easy, lazy way.

This time I finally got serious.  I printed out the entire book and put it in its own special binder.  Then, armed with a red pencil and some post-it-notes, I mercilessly butchered it.  Rearranging scenes, deleting scenes altogether, completely reordering plot points, adding new characters.  When I was done, there wasn’t a page that wasn’t stuck with notes or scribbled with red.

And then, I didn’t just go through and make the prescribed changes.  Nor did I paste over the good and almost-good parts and fill in the gaps.  Instead, I took the binder, set it up on my desk, opened a brand new word document, and started all the way over from the beginning.

Yes.  I did just that.  Started over almost from scratch.  I didn’t copy and paste anything that was to stay the same, I looked at the binder and retyped it.  Why?  Going straight through like that helped me to have a better sense of the story as a whole.  It gave me a smoother and more accurate idea of how everything fit together from beginning to end.  So I’d type out a scene that stayed the same, then create the new material I needed to fit it to the next remaining scene.  When I came to a scene that could stay mostly the same with some altering, I’d fix it as I typed it out.

It wasn’t as hard as I’d thought it would be, though it was still definitely a long and arduous process.  At times it would go smoothly, and at other times my brain was screaming, “I already imagined out this whole thing, and now you’re making me do it all over again?”

But every second was unquestionably worth it when I took a look at the finished project and sent it out for feedback.  The story was tighter, more fulfilling, made more sense, had a better point, was more interesting, etc., etc., etc.  I absolutely could not believe how much better it was.

My test readers got back to me, raving about how much better the book was, and with some much more minor critiques.  I realized that then I could go through the manuscript and fix things as I went.  That there was a place for that sort of revision, it just wasn’t at the beginning, when the story still needed so much remolding.

So I fixed those things, gave it to a few more readers, fixed a few more things, and then began the final passes.  I did one read through the book just looking for “ly” adverbs, to see how many were unnecessary or weak.  I searched “was” to check for instances of passive voice that I hadn’t realized I was using.  I did a punctuation check of the whole book, reviewing my commas, semi-colons, dashes, and all the rest.  I did another to make sure that each sentence was as clear and communicative as it could be.  I did about ten or twelve of these before I was finally satisfied that the book was finished.

Yes, I could have gone on tweaking forever.  Oh yes, there are still things about the book that could be much better, and more polished.  But I knew that it was the best I could get it with the knowledge and skill that I had at the time.

And then, I went to publish it.

Revision can be a scary journey, especially when you’re new to it, but really any time.  Having to operate on your child, the story you’ve labored over so long and hard.  But if you think carefully, fit you revision style to the number and size of changes your book needs, it won’t be nearly as frightening, and you’ll end up with a better book.

A story that is worth all the love and work you put into it, and that will be very much worth reading.

*     *     *

J. Grace Pennington is a homeschool graduate and oldest of nine kids, living in the beautiful Texas Hill Country with her family. She loves to write (obviously) but also enjoys a variety of other activities including reading, watching films, playing piano, (and a bit of guitar and violin) playing with her siblings, chatting with friends, and riding her horse: Pioneer.

Organization is the key...?

Well, I did as I said I would and put together a post about my book projects. :) For once I was not thinking about writing books--only about organizing and sorting them. Here are the basics:

^ My shabby little fake-wood shelf before... (wasn't it depressing?)

...and after. :) Looks much more respectable, doesn't it?

I organized the shelves in my own little way. From the bottom up there are...miscellaneous books/Sarah's school books. Next shelf: Beloveds. Middle Shelf: Classics. After that: Antique Books. Top Shelf: Lamplighter/overflow classics. :)

My falling-apart copy of The Fellowship of The Ring--that's dedication you know; reading a book in that state.

I had forgotten I had bought a reprint Sears Roebuck's Catalog from 1902. :) It's the most marvelous thing for price-checking when writing a book set in that era....funny illustrations too. :)

Long underwear... haha!

My personal antique copies of books. :) There is nothing that delights me more than reading old books that I know were read and loved and cherished even before I bought them. :) I've got Anne of Green Gables, Anne of Windy Poplars, Little Women, Under the Lilacs, two of The Waverly Novels, Strawberry Girl, Hans Brinker, A Garland for Girls, Gulliver's Travels, a quote book, Moby Dick, and A Man Called Peter. :)

and my dear A.A. Milne books. :) I love the bumble-bee print covers. :)

My most cherished Literary Collection: 8 Dickens novels I bought with some graduation money. :)

This is actually Sarah's book--all of the letters Beatrix Potter wrote to little children--so sweet!

Detail of one page...

You want to know where I christen all my characters?

Yep. I admit it. Many of them have un-illustrious births in the Everything Baby Names Book. :D

My little book-loving statue. :)

This is the Antique Shelf after adding Sarah's books--some Thornton W. Burgess books, Eight Cousins, Jo's Boys, and others. :)

I hope you enjoyed seeing a little of my literary collection. :) After the sorting of the shelves I got rid of the books I never have liked. *feels slightly guilty.* ;) That means all these books left on the shelf (or nearly all of them) are tried and true and well-loved. I plan to expand my collection as I grow older, but for now it's probably just as well that I don't have any more books. As it was, Sarah is innocent of all charges of Book-Hoarder. Most of the titles on this bookcase are mine. :P Actually, I have a refurbishing project to do on a little cupboard that I hope to turn into a bookcase--I'll let you know how it goes! :)

the business bits we like to overlook ;)

I have not had much time for writing recently--life has caught me up in its talons and while it's all glorious and beautiful and hot and sticky and summer-y, it's left precious little time for actually thinking about plot and characters, phrasing and grammar. That is my little excuse, and I beg you to take it.
Otherwise I will have to do something terribly drastic like...like...like...never mind. I couldn't think of anything drastic enough. ;)

Among the many project ideas and actually-accomplished-projects has been the all-consuming business of reorganizing and going through our bookshelves. I took plenty of pictures of my book collection (before, after, and favorite bits. :) so that you may see. It will have to be in another post though because I don't have the pictures uploaded to this computer yet. Be patient, y'all. ;) I was in raptures because I got to visit with all my beloved old friends, and literally throw out (or Goodwill) the chunks of paper that don't have a spot in my memory because they weren't worth it. ;) I felt powerful. Yes, I'm a bit of literary snob.

Though I haven't written any more of Fly Away Home since resigning from the Crusade, I have been working on a pin-board that may give you a bit of an idea of parts of the rest of the story. :) Yes, yes I know that's not a legitimate form of research... ahem...

Yes, I know I haven't been writing and really haven't felt that much like writing, but I've been indulging in reading. It had been a slightly forbidden pleasure for so long--I would forgo the pleasure of reading in order to get in my word-count--that I am quite giddy with the sensation of gobbling book after book. :)

Oh! In other news, who wants to help name some of my newest characters? I won't promise I'll use all of your ideas, but I need some names for the crew of The Scuppernong. Most specifically:

2nd mate
ship's cook
ship's doctor
boatswain
a half dozen particular sailors who will figure in the plot
second cabin-boy

Oh! And besides a few minor adjustments (like putting back a few of the "about me and my writing" pages) the new blog design is done! Vote on how you like it at the poll on the sidebar. And thank for any suggestions you might have for sailing-folk names. :)

Au Revoir, Inky Ones! Have a loverly evening. :)

Putting lipstick on the blog...

Pardon the mess while I rearrange this blog! Soon enough it'll all be back to looking purty. For now, enjoy the mess. ;)