A Writer Reads
August 25, 2008
Even if I give up writing this year, I’ll never be able to read the same way again. I’ve heard the same from other authors: it’s hard to read after you’ve learned to decipher the code of excellent writing. But I still read for pleasure. I was fortunate enough to “win” a copy of Tamera Alexander’s newly released From A Distance this summer. It’s a paperback from Bethany House, one of the publishers my agents and I have courted over the past few years. After I finished just weeping at the end of From A Distance I can still just breathe a silent “Wow.” Although I tend to cry a lot at wondrous stories and joyful endings, every story has the power to move audiences in a particular direction. Tamera’s adept characterization enthralled me from the beginning. I still tend to read thinking “oh, the current trends say to do (this) in writing, or my partners or agents said I couldn’t do (that) in writing,” but I quickly got over my huff and forgot to search for the do’s and don’ts.
From A Distance captured so many things I find precious in my life today. Her characters, Elizabeth and Daniel and Josiah, were so real that I ache knowing I will never meet them and talk to them. Elizabeth was not a fresh young thing, but a mature woman who rankled at being identified as such. She was both an adventuress and a victim who was able to grow beyond her initial scope. Daniel always knew what made the true measure of a man, but in this slice of his life, he was able not only to return to practice being that man, but also aceept his physical and emotional scars. Josiah, the former slave, showed them both what it means to stand up and even suffer for what you believe.
The story takes place several years following the Civil War, when the West was being explored and exploited. Elizabeth comes from privilege and has taken up an expensive “hobby” while she works hard to make a name of her own. In the early days of photojournalism and I loved every instance of real-life name-dropping from Matthew Brady to John Muir. Having been a part of a historical society where the former curator was a photographer and built a wonderful exhibit around the history of photography, I was excited to see Tamera’s excellent research come to life so naturally that I did not have to question anything about the character’s actions. Her allergic asthmatic issues were beautifully done and I had to gasp for breath myself a couple of times during Elizabeth’s episodes. As Elizabeth must learn to adapt to fit into the western lifestyle in order to show the rest of America the treasure we have, I was delighted by the way she was able to recognize her shortcomings without losing her spunky spirit.
Her romantic interest, the mysterious former Rebel captain, Daniel, is a good match. Not only was he wounded during battle, he suffered again at the loss of a very close friend and the subsequent anger and angst of the widow. When he guides Elizabeth and her hired man, Josiah, a who deserves every good thing that comes to him in the end, to see the wonder of the newly discovered Mesa Verde cliff dwellings, I was there. Tamera didn’t have to say many words at all to describe the majesty and awe of the place. I had been there more than once, so I was able to easily appreciate the scope, but I also had to wonder later that if a reader had not been there, would he or she so easily “see” the cliff dwellings.
I imagine that a lot of discussion took place over the cover, which shows a lovely young woman in a red dress. Enough said.
The discovery that a terrible tragedy could have ensued had God not intervened before a planned battle that took place during the war was a bit of a stretch, but it worked for me. I love fiction. Tamera’s story climaxes with the solution to a crime which took place mid way through the book. There were few Bible verses sprouted on the pages to take up space, and fewer prayers or mention of time spent in church. The newer wave of Inspirational fiction to create wondrous and realistic story lines through excellent unconditional moral characterization and research with good tension, including blood, dirt, romantic desire and eating squirrel, makes for a glowing upgrade in my opinion.
When I saw that Tamera’s writing partner is the equally fantastic Deb Raney, I could definitely see the value each brings the other. From A Distance is a fabulous tale. I’ve been talking it up to friends and thought I could put it in my church library, as I only keep books I’ll re-read, but I’m having a hard time convincing myself to do more than lend it out at this time. Even though I know I’ll have to cry again.
August 31, 2008
Have you ever had that fear of being disappointed so you hesitate to take action? I purchased two of Tracie Peterson’s Alaskan Quest books before I received From A Distance. I’ve been to Alaska, and Tracie’s stories are historical, so why did I wait to read them? I carried one around for a couple of days. I only found books two and three, so I knew I was starting in the middle. Series are still supposed to be stand-alone stories, so I thought I would be safe. I opened the cover on Saturday. I suppose the juxtaposition of Tamera’s style and Tracie’s help me really see what some of the “close” point of view fad stuff is all about. And I don’t care for it- which is no reflection, really on the author. Tracie (very neat website) has a lot more years and novels under her belt, and it shows. I was stunned to see this style come from the same publisher, Bethany. While From A Distance felt fresh and alive, Under the Northern Lights plodded. Most of the cast got to tell at least a part of a chapter in his or her viewpoint. I realized early on that I’d missed a telling part of the story, and while I could participate in this tale, obvious portions of the first book would have helped me make sense of this piece of the trilogy. So, what do I like and dislike about this book and author style? The “closed third person” or “deep” point of view uses an abundance of “he felt” or “she could feel” and phrases like that. They’re supposed to keep you right inside of the character’s head, but I found that those terms made me take a step back. I knew whose head I was in, or supposed to be in; I didn’t need to be told. I wanted to reword segments of the story. I wanted to lop off all the repetition and constant need to tell me what was happening (which I could hear in an obnoxious little girl’s voice—you know, the girl who wears braids and big glasses and has to sniff). It’s the type of style that makes gobbler readers giddy, because we don’t have to work too hard to understand what’s going on. Along with that complaint, I have to say that men do not talk that much, and certainly not with all the convenient explanation that Tracie used. Not even in 1917. Honestly. It was like watching a really sweet 1950s drama where the bad guy says something like since you’re never going to get away, I’ll just spill my guts. And do it all in girl talk. While I’m raping you. There’s some Oh, Come On moments for you. Actually, quite a lot of them. At least the men grew beards during the weeks we were dog-sledding. Although I’m having a really mean giggle at the sight of a dozen rough sailors kneeling on deck and agreeing to let God be in control of their lives so they wouldn’t hoard any supplies and all work together for the next six months while they were trapped on the ice and then a deserted island. With a crazed captain and seal meat and canned peaches to eat. At least they had a doctor. Whew. And bullets. Double whew. Can I at least appreciate the story line? I apparently came in during the midst of a crime spree of one identical twin who impersonated the other and took a Pinkerton Agent’s agent-playing sister (at least I had an inkling what that meant) hostage, although I never did get a good feel for what went on there. The situation sort of morphed into The Ransom of Red Chief. The evil twin then took his brother’s new wife hostage and a lot of bad things happened off stage. At least we were all bundled well in seal skin and mukluks so we didn’t have to go through it. A rescue that took forever, a pregnancy which did not, an awful lot of pontificating and forgiving, although we did have some mad at God stuff in there. And a one-second almost disaster with a mama bear close to the heroine nursing her twins at the same time. Thank goodness the old lady took shooting lessons a couple of weeks earlier from her son so she could blow it away with one shot. Whew. This makes me look back and wonder what people say about my stories. Especially with oh, come on moments. Some of those sprinkled in are what makes fiction—well, fiction. Too many of those moments make fiction—unappealing. Author recognition notwithstanding. I don’t think I’ll be reading every word of the third novel in the series, Whispers of Winter. I buzzed through it to find out what happened, and I’m content. I did have to find out what happened, though, and that part was good storytelling. The back copy on each book was misleading to the point that I had to check back a number of times to make sure I was reading the correct book. The few sentences described a very small portion of the entire story, and made me expect to read the story in that particular character’s head. But feeling that way was probably the writer in me. I did like the covers much better; at least I had a feel for something that would happen in the story.
September 2, 2008
Well, she got me. I did end up reading most of the second story, cringing at the dialog all the way. But the storyline was intriguing enough for me to do so. Will I pick up more Tracie Peterson on purpose? Maybe. But only on sale.
I read a Love, Inspired, by fellow Wisconsonian Kathryn Springer on Monday: Hidden Treasures. At the request of fellow writer Andrea Boeshaar, because I thought maybe I’d like to submit to Harlequin anyway, after protesting for a few years that I wasn’t in that market. I admit to not wanting to waste the two stories that I wrote for Barbour Publishing, and hoped to keep trying to market them. So, I bought a couple LI’s hoping to get a picture of what they put out. I have to tell you first, though, that my HP: Mysteries finally got to final editing stage, and the first edits came through while I was reading Hidden Treasures. And shaking my head at some of the editing choices which disregarded simple basic rules about using pronouns to refer to one person at a time in a paragraph, or even sentence. And some weird typos. A very confusing beginning regarding just who was who, and who was actually narrating the story and realizing that there were multiple viewpoints, then getting the drift that the back cover copy was a later character’s viewpoint. Wow. Made me blink. And appreciate what the editor of my book is doing. But Kathryn’s characters were so much fun, and the setting was fabulous. There were some pretty major holes in the storyline, but, as a lawyer friend says, I was willing to suspend reality for a little while. I know that LI’s “Bible for writers” has more rules than many other inspirational imprints, so I was able to follow why Kathryn had to direct her character’s action and reactions the way she did. But I did like the book a lot and enjoyed the break from life in general without feeling like I had to be judgmental of the work. Can I submit to LI with a clear conscience after reading this book and a couple others earlier in the year? I guess so. Like I said, I don’t want to waste what I worked on already. I’m still not a happily ever after cotton candy writer, though.
September 6, 2008
I belong to a couple of book clubs. One is more formal than the other. One is a group of friends who like to get together, one is more of a community group with people I knew only vaguely, even after twenty years of living here. I had hoped to learn how and what people choose to read, and why they like and buy what they do. The clubs have also opened my eyes to readers’ guide questions, which I think are next to brilliant in allowing an author a chance to explain himself or herself in a way we can’t in the text. The book clubs are also helping (making) me read things I wouldn’t normally pick up, and that’s a good thing. I’m pretty eclectic in my tastes, but I have to be strongly encouraged to read non-fiction. Was I ever surprised to find a lot of people who don’t like fiction.
One book on a recent list was by a local author Lesley Kagan, Whistling in the Dark. Although overall it won’t make my list of purchases and it grew on me so that I did have to shed a tear at the end. Kagan’s story is one of those coming of age dealies that have critics raving recently. A sort of cross between To Kill a Mockingbird, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn and another book I’ll mention in a couple of minutes: one that pretty much made me realize why I’ll never like any other story like it. There never was such a thing as a more innocent time, and this book never claims that there was. Whistling in the Dark is a story from a young girl’s point of view in Milwaukee in the late fifties, a summer during which another murdered and molested little girl’s body is found. The narrator, Sally, is convinced she’s the next victim, but due to her overactive imagination, for which she’s even been taken to the doctor, she is reluctant to pose her theories out loud to anyone but her youngest sister and close friends. It’s a story that starts with mom walking to the hospital because husband number three is more than a jerk and basically goes downhill from there. Sally had reason to be afraid, but everything works out for the best in the end. I do admire Kagan’s wonderful walk down memory lane. I’m only about ten years younger than the story time so I remember and shudder about the things we were allowed to do as kids in a neighborhood in the summer. Kagan never shifted perspectives and her rendering of ten-year-old Sally was very good, from the jokes and misunderstandings and misinterpretations. I still sing some song lyrics with wrong words—I related. But I did not think the younger sister was realistically characterized: perhaps if the ages had been reversed and Sally had been youngest, I would have believed the antics. I praise the editor’s light hand in leaving Kagan’s voice and style, which necessarily had to be risky to hold the character. What my disappointment mainly grew out of was that the story was basically a summer fantasy, starting and ending no where, really. Sally was always a nice girl with an imagination, and there wasn’t any need for her to grow and change. She simply needed to be believed and loved, and while she didn’t consciously seek those things, she received them anyway. When I thought about what this book reminded me of, I realized my biggest prejudice came from the notion that it was a palest echo of Ray Bradbury’s Dandelion Wine, which was and always will be, in my heart, the best novel of the twentieth century. A summer running free with your friends, a killer on the loose, neighbors both loving and odd, grandparents nearby. But Douglas realized he was alive and that meant a whole sense of responsbility, while Sally didn’t have a clue. She merely was.
September 12, 2008
I finished this book three days ago, really, but we’ve been busy hosting my family and cousins from Norway. What a fun time. Last summer I attended the Green Lake Writer’s conference and picked up a bagful of books for $20 at a wonderful used book store in the county. Mostly classics, but a few fun names I recognized (I’m looking at Adam Bede with a jaundiced eye—I might have to make myself read that before I grab Patti’s, but I remind myself how much I liked Far From the Madding Crowd once I got the hang of the lingo—but I digress, again.)
I love Anne McCaffrey’s work. I think I would like her, too, but I doubt I’ll ever get to meet her. I crawl into her dragon world when I need a comfort read fix, every couple of years. Those books are really more fantasy than sci fi, although some of the trilogies within trilogies are sci fi. I’ve stayed away a bit from her hardcore sci fi, but I did like the Crystal Singer series. The Ship Who Sang stuff never really clicked with me. I couldn’t resist Lyon’s Pride, however. It’s a book into The Rowan series, which I think I knew. It was published in 1994. I picked it up last summer, but my head spun with the terms, so I put it down until now, when my TBR pile was looking a bit thinner. It took me a couple of chapters of ignoring all the set up before I got into the story. Along with ignoring all the set-up stuff, which didn’t really even affect this volume, I ignored all the standard point of view issues…until I realized there really wasn’t one! Nor was there omniscient point of view, and there wasn’t even an overall narrator. Lyon’s Pride was simply Anne McCaffey classic voice. Not head-hopping, just straight story telling. I had to stop reading for a while as I rejoiced to realize: THIS IS WHY I STARTED WRITING the way I did. I simply thought this was natural, the way to write. NO WONDER I had just difficulty understanding the current trends of point of view and fight so hard for a voice I want to call mine and can’t get it past people who sell fiction today. I do not believe this is one of those “she’s so famous she can do anything” deals, nor do I believe that science fiction has its own category as far as style trends. Readers could care less how the story is being told. We just want a good story without typos or grammar we stumble over.
Lyon’s Pride takes place a generation into a time in the future when humankind has begun the ability to develop to varying degrees various types of mental powers called Talents. These mental powers, such as telekinesis and telepathy, among others, are still suspect by general populace, and the people who use these abilities sometimes try to resist them or fear repercussions. These abilities, nevertheless, are becoming sought after and acceptable use in sending long-distance messages through space and time to other populated worlds, as well as boosting space ships, people and related materiel. Lyon’s Pride deals with military missions in a coordinated attempt with another world of friendly beings to deal with a race of space-faring creatures called the Hive, who take over worlds. Think Alien and Independence Day.
Although I appreciated discovering how much I had been influenced by McCaffrey’s writing, I also got a feel for how my work could possibly be interpreted. I think I do a credible job following through with the thread of a particular story line, even when I have multiple stores entwined in one novel. My works are generally complete (with the exception of my mystery and my church people series), and McCaffrey’s are very obvious serial, so she doesn’t have to begin and complete threads in each of her novels. I was frustrated at not being able to travel the thread of the three main characters, siblings, in their personal and professional lives. One would start, another would pick up, then another; sometimes they’d twist together, then another would go off in a direction that I couldn’t follow. I know that these stories will continue, but I’m not certain that I’ll spend more money on this series. Maybe I’ll look for them in library when I have time, but I won’t add them to my Amazon order today. (But if there’s another Dragon series book out (even though they’ve been taken over by Anne’s son), I’ll buy that.)
September 14, 2008
Last February I attended Write for the Soul in Colorado Springs, as an alumnus of the Christian Writer’s Guild. All 500 of us were gifted with copies of Jerry Jenkins’s works, They Shall Not Be Left Behind, an OCO work of e-mails and letters based on reactions from the Left Behind series. I’m sorry I donated it to my church library (don’t tell them it was me). I’m reading another gift, Book One of the Jesus Chronicle: John’s Story, the Last Eyewitness, a novel. I’m on page 81 and sincerely debating how much more to read. Most writer/readers will say fiction is either character driven or story driven. I add two others: language driven, which is different from story-driven; and author recognition driven, which is what happens when authors collect fans who buy whatever they write, just because. I wouldn’t have purchased this book. I admit to thinking the Left Behind series clever and buying the kid books for a while.
No one disputes that Jerry Jenkins has a way with proper usage and professional man-handling of the language. I just don’t find the word combinations interesting. Starting a year forward in time, then moving back out of order doesn’t really do anything for the story, either. I think that might have been a lesson in the Apprentice Course, to just tell the story in order. Passages like “Verily,” John said, allowing Ignatius to help him up so he could sit next to him, “may I exhort you as an elder, if you don’t consider me too much an old fool by now?” And a little later the “felt his face flush” stuff, which, I know, I know, is the current fad, along with the pedantic method of explaining a whole scenario by having your characters walk on the street and discuss perfectly natural everyday life as if they were guiding a tour of Japanese tourists through your home town toasts my bread, so to speak. My eyeballs rolled and I dropped my, or somebody’s, jaw by the time I got to the -Jesus resurrecting a biting insect his human self accidentally smashed when it bit him- part. The angels thing doesn’t do it for me, either.
So, my verdict is the liberal use of verbatim scripture from the New King James Version to fill up space and name-dropping rehash of first century history doesn’t put this story on my bookshelf, or encourage me to read more of the series, even if I slosh all the way through this one. I suppose John’s Story is more character-driven, since the plot is “retelling a familiar tale,” number 30 or so of the 37 known plots in story telling. I’m an unapologetic last page reader, but I guess I don’t need to even do that since I know how it turns out because I was conveniently given the end first. (Turns out I was given the end of the middle first. How’s that for confusing? The last three paragraphs of the first part slip into straight out and out narration to introduce the second half, which takes place after the first chapter, which was probably meant originally to be a prologue, since there’s an epilogue. Mm-hmm.)
The language used is pop fiction, not the beautiful words of literary works. That leaves author-recognition driven. Yup. That about sums it up. Well, on to Adam Bede. I’ve also been going through the Sojourner Truth narrative and a gifted copy of Chicken Soup for the Writer’s Soul, too.
9.20.08
I don’t want to be Laura Palmer.
When a copy of Carolyn Jessop’s Escape came available in time to read before the next book club meeting, I picked it up. Ghost writers are getting their names on the cover these days. I used to think that would kind of cool. But I can’t imagine how Palmer put it away before listening to Jessop’s story. Eww.
I’m still trying to decide if some of what happened in the book could possibly be true, but when I think back to what happened in Texas at the new compound last spring…yes. I remember those dresses and that hair-do and hear the echo of Jessop’s story about how things got so bad when the new leader of the cult took power. Brainwashing is powerful. I’m sorry that “don’t drink the punch” became a joke. I noted that there was a team of legal experts used for this publisher. Since Jessop used names and dates and places, this was certainly necessary. And noting that her testimony helped arrest Jeffs, her tale becomes credible.
Told in a stilted conversational style, Escape is the autobiography of memory, terrorized into being burned on the brain, perhaps some diary of a sort…I can’t recall verbatim discussions from last week, so it’s hard for me to accept verbatim conversations, in quotes, from Carolyn’s life both as a child and an adult. I guess that’s where the stilted conversational style comes in. Memories aren’t necessarily natural, so how can memorized conversation be? I wrote a series of historical children’s books based on true documented people, centered around a documented incident in his or her life. I could not call them biographical because I necessarily had to make up conversation, even though some of it came from a previously published biography. That wasn’t wrong, not to call it biographical or non-fiction, but the experience makes me wonder about the accuracy of the conversations in Escape, as well as other details. Jessop was careful to stick with issues that she went through personally, and so, I guess that’s what the lawyers are for.
I never saw an explanation of the cover, so assume that the photograph being held is one of Jessop as a child. It’s an effective cover, one that I’m sure it’s hard for Jessop and her family to look at. The whole story is hard. I admit to holding a fascination reading frenzy, not because I was enamored by it, or caught up in details, or thought the style was great—in fact, the telling was a bit dull, okay, boring in parts, with a great deal of repetition even from page to page—but I stayed up late to finish it partly because I didn’t want to really have to pick it up again, and partly with the kind of fascinated horror with which I’d watch the aftermath of a tragic road accident, or a spider weave a web.
One of the questions on the reader’s guide asks why do we think polygamy has continued to exist in the modern world? And later states that Jessop herself still considers polygamy a valid lifestyle. There are a lot of religious and practical ways to answer that question. I’m looking forward to a discussion about it. Yes, I have snuck some chapters of Adam Bede in, and am also reading Kevin Leman’s Birth Order Book, which is a hoot.
September 30, 2008
His Name Is John by Dorien Grey c. 2008 Zumaya Boundless
I could have, and probably should have, said no to this review, once I realized what the book was. But I admit to curiosity when it came to the publisher and author, for I’d read several messages by him on the Zumaya author’s loop, and since this company is publishing one of my books next year, I was taken by the opportunity to see one of their books up close and personal…and free. I’m sorry about that, for I’m one of the cheap ones who like to pay for books I plan to keep and use the library for general reading. His Name Is John by Dorien Grey, is put out by Zumaya Publications G/L imprint. They were honest with me up front when I signed with them, that they were adding homosexual and other unsavory aspects of writing to their line of publication. I thought about it, prayed about it and talked to others, and still decided to go with the company. I happen to like the story I wrote and Elizabeth Burton was the only publisher who liked my book (I’m having a Sally Field moment…excuse me.)
Elliott Smith, a Chicago real estate refurbisher, wakes up in a hospital after being struck by a car and receiving head and shoulder injuries. But that’s not the worst thing he receives. He picks up an unwanted guest, the lost soul of a murder victim who happened to die next to Elliott in the ER. And so on, and the mystery is solved.
Very slow paced…so I can see why a mainline publisher would probably not take this author. There are a few awkward phrases and a couple of typos, so I know I’ll have to be careful when it comes my turn to work on my ms. But other than that, the author’s style (he has quite a number of publications under his belt) was fairly key, with a lot of metaphors mixed in. For some reason, detective novels seem to generate that kind of telling. Garrison Keiller of course does it best.
My big question was whether or not the homosexual element had to be present to make the story work. I admit to reading with a sort of Eww fascination, hoping it wouldn’t get too graphic in any area…it did, and it didn’t. One of my characters in my church people series is homosexual – don’t ask me why, she just is – so I was intrigued to real a story about what I could only guess was the real life style. What was I truly offended about? I’d pin it down to the casual sex just for its own warped pleasure sake, which certainly happens in the heterosexual community. So, did this story have to be homosexual in orientation to work? It could have been told through the eyes of heterosexuals, yes, but it would have been even more ho-hum. Did it need spice to tell? A weak yes from me, which is not typical of old-style detective novels. What was the point of putting the bedroom scenes in? They were a sort of connection to the victim, who was homosexual, too. I read the end of stories when I figure out what I think will happen, and I had this one pegged mid-chapter two, mostly because of the factual disclosure of sexual orientation of the young boys. But it still could have been young lovers of different sexes. But…would John have inhabited just anyone next to him in the ER? Or did it have to be someone who shared the same lifestyle and happened to have a connection to him?
Why did Zumaya accept my story when no one else would? I was unpublished…and still have a lot to learn. There are supernatural elements to my story which made other publishers uncomfortable, although the miracles in my story are direct Biblical rip-offs. The contract was very generous, however, in my opinion, with option to publish elsewhere basically at any time. We’ll see.
Adam Bede, by George Eliot
I confess to skipping though most of it, because the copy I had was mildewy and I had a hard time breathing and reading, and because the print was small and tight, and I need a new eyeglasses prescription.
There were an awful lot of words employed to power the story, which, according to the cover, was Eliot’s best work and a classic. I guess so. The good guys and the bad guys weren’t always easy to sort out, motivations were often fuzzy, and the main character didn’t decide to take the girl away from his brother until about the last page, and after the brother gives him the go-ahead. Of course, losing a fiancé to the wiles of the local gentry was rather a shock, especially after she was accused of murdering her illegitimate child and had her head in the noose when a last-second pardon allowed her to be shipped to Australia instead. Try living that one down. Ready for practically half the village to remove to a new locale out of shame, the gentry confesses to his badness and begs them to stay, and he’ll leave. I hope he left all the way to Australia, but I doubt he was that remorseful.
So, they all lived happily ever after. Amen. And, yes, Julie, no one would vote for this one in the book club, either.
On to chick lit, Steeple Hill Café’s Picket Fence Promises with Kathryn Springer, a Wisconsin writer. I already love it and have to be careful not to pick up any of her darling wit for accidental re-use. This is the sassy first person style I used in my fancy cat cozy mystery series, which also bombed, although I did get one response of “I like her style” even though the particular company stopped cozies for a while.
October 4, 2008
I think in third person. I do. Try it. When you look up and around you, how do you hear yourself describing the scene?
Picket Fence Promises, by Kathryn Springer, c. 2008
I used to be pretty antagonistic against first person. I had a hard time putting myself in the character’s heads. Maybe that makes me not an engaged reader. But I think I’ve mellowed. Why did I read this book? To study the style of Steeple Hill’s imprints, plain and simple, and because I’d met Kathryn at a workshop.
I enjoyed this book so much, that in the middle of it, I got a haircut. You’ll have to read it to get what I mean. Kathryn’s wit and style are so wonderful that I did chuckle in places and cry toward the end. That must be one of my gauges for liking a story – how much it makes my tear up. Her message of faith was appealing, too – not blasting or preachy (except maybe in one place, but it worked for the scene).
I’m willing to read this book as a stand-alone, but there’s a homey feel of characters and scenes that obviously were introduced in an earlier book. I’m debating whether to get it. The set up was intriguing: worldly people making babies, running away, adoption, finding birth-mom, lover showing up and doing all the dream-boat guy things, The heroine knowing she can’t pick up with her former lover because of her brand-new faith. The typical dream romance, even the dream-boat lover meeting the Lord and coming back to marry the girl. Woman. I liked the mature characters, to be honest. A couple of things stuck out: one, was my pet peeve of being told I couldn’t/shouldn’t do a particular style by former well-meaning critique partners, when this book was exactly how I wanted to tell stories a couple of yeas back. At issue: flashbacks and length of real time between a character asking a question – backstory – then the answer. This style does not bother me to read, or to write. It’s stream of thought consciousness, and I happen to think it’s the right thing to do in a first person tale. I would say that’s just me, but, obviously, it isn’t. The other peeve is the familiarity. Some of the characters had been obviously set up in a former story line, so, although they’re mentioned frequently and with great familiarity, they were enigmas to me. The author would drop names, expecting me to know or remember who this person was. I read it, and it was fine, and after a while, I just kept going instead of thinking who is this, and because Bernice knew the person, I was okay with him or her, too. I just have to point this out, because it still absolutely galls me that I had a ms rejected from an independent book house because I had two typos and too many characters (seven) in the submitted story. At least, that’s what they told me.
I’d read more Steeple Hill Café.
On to Patti Lacy :)
October 11, 2008
An Irishwoman’s Tale by Patti Lacy
Likeable characters.
The importance of likeable characters comes to mind while I read Patti’s lovely story. I realize the desperate importance of supporting each other in the writing world. The cover is beautiful; the title attractive, although at first glance we don’t know if it’s contemporary or historical. A friend has been intrigued with all things Irish over the last year, and I suppose I have always been fascinated by multiculturalism.
I watch people pick up books at stores or in the library, to see where they look first. After the cover, it’s either the inside flap or the back. Usually the back first, and unless it’s covered in endorsements, they turn to the inside. The back flap is either intriguing enough to look inside the cover, then read a couple of sentences, or so annoying with endorsements the book is put down.
An Irishwoman’s Tale’s back cover copy starts with thick brogue screaming insults. Is that attractive? Intriguing? The teaser ends with something about facing her tragic past and coming face to face with God. Is that attractive to me? Is that new enough, intriguing enough? I’m not one to get bent out of shape by endorsements, but like many readers, I get tired of seeing whole pages full of names or review sites I may or may not recognize. I happen to recognize Dennis Hensley. One endorsement was on the back, and it was from him. That pulled me in. But still…would I have shelled out full price for a first book? I found out in the reading, that, yes, I was happy with my purchase.
Likeable characters is such a relative concept, as I was reminded so recently when a new reader dissected my own latest work. “All of your characters were jerks,” she informed me, a tad too enthusiastically, I thought. It’s true: I did tell her to be brutally honest. But did she like the story? I ask. It was a good story, and she’d recommend it to others, she replied, politically avoiding the reply to whether or not she liked it. If a reader doesn’t like the characters, can the reader still like the story?
For me, a cautious yes, I can like it. Patti’s prologue set the tone for a bunch of really unlikeable people in a really, really unlikeable situation. I couldn’t shake the ick feeling as I entered Mary’s kitchen, her world, which Patti laid out with admirable aplomb. Desperately trying too hard to please too many people is something I can relate to, so I could relate to Mary. Later, because I am and always will be a transplant no matter where I move to or how long I stay, or what I do once I’m there, I will always be an alien in an uncomfortable place, like Sally, who befriends Mary, despite Mary’s best efforts to keep her secrets to herself. I didn’t like seeing a side of Mary who was, on one hand, so good, but on the other, so self-centered. Again, I have to be honest: I can personally relate.
I constantly wondered how Sally stuck with Mary over the years. What made them stay friends? I did not see a mutual relationship taking place, and wondered about Sally’s motives. The story went in fits and spurts of time which was a little disorienting, but it’s something I tend to do in my own writing. Moving between Mary’s lengthy points of view and a few paragraphs of Sally’s was also occasionally troubling, although I loved hearing Sally’s reaction to the story she pried out of Mary’s cold, dead heart.
Patti also liberally sprinkled intriguing comments, like bursts of curry, in Sally’s internal revelations. Spending over a hundred pages on a four-hour conversation in memoir style episodes was an interesting ploy to approach Mary’s tale. I was drawn into her childhood world.
The Catholic question reared its ugly head again in regard to what’s being sold, bought and read in the short world of traditionally Protestant inspirational literature. I recently had a full manuscript turned down by the editor who requested it after seeing first the one sheet, then the first fifty pages and the entire synopsis. I mourn the loss of time spent on the project, hoping against hope that double interest would lead to a contract if I only got in the door. I envy the stories of other writers who share the times his or her story was rejected but with a kind letter of suggestions or even a reason why. Reading “…she’s got a lot of talent but I’m going to pass” is like biting into burned raisin toast where the charred fruits chip a tooth. One of my main characters was Catholic. Did that affect the sale? one of my writing partners wondered when I asked what she thought. Patti’s tale is full of Catholic-based faith.
I tumbled through the rest of the story which worked out in real time eventually after crashing through great leaps of time because I wanted to know what happened, to work it out with Mary. I never did make my peace with her, although I felt sorry for her, and for Sally who never shared her own story after all those intriguing hints.
I discovered recently that Patti is publishing Sally's story. Look for What the Bayou Saw next year.
At any rate, I’m glad to see Kregel allowing words like breast to show up in their releases, along with realistic people who use drugs and drink and lie and need therapy for real mental illnesses, who curse and have sex offstage, and who make terrible mistakes but are forgiven and strive to be better when they ask (and still curse), as well as let the dreadful sins continue when the sinners cannot ask. I also found one typo which somehow made me feel a whole lot better about my own imperfections.
I’ve learned through my book clubs about the kinds of questions to ask for a readers discussion group. A discussion guide is included. One of the questions asks about the two men in Mary’s romantic life. Although I liked them both, I couldn’t come up with a satisfying answer, for I didn’t feel as though I got to know them for their own sake, not simply through Mary’s eyes. At least Mary appreciated the man who was the pinnacle of perfect husbandhood.
October 13, 2008
I had to pick up Jon Kraukauer’s Into the Wild for a book club. There’s nothing remotely romantic or admirable about mental illness. Nothing. The real issue here is, why can’t society make a collected effort to help each other? Actually, it sounded like McCandless was loved up quite a bit on his journey. I look at this story like a parent and think—would I have been more on the ball if that had been my kid? If I noticed, I would have had to responsible for him for the rest of his life. Would I have wanted that? Cruel, cold, calculating.
Secondly: I’m working through Elizabeth George’s Whatever, Godly woman something, for a book study. Note to self: Don’t ever, ever write that this edition that you’re holding in your hands, dear reader, is now available. I mean, nobody’s that blonde, really, are they? It’s hard enough to defend my faith—please don’t help me anymore.
November 2, 2008
Andrea Boehaar’s Love Finds You in Miracle, Kentucky
I was really eager to read this book and would have bought it ($11 at Amazon and $10 at BN – cool, I found out, when I posted reviews), just because. But I got to review it, so I’ll definitely recommend it to others.
So, I was eager to read this work because Andrea let me play from the get-go. I critiqued the first three chapters for her, and heard about the different editing stages all summer. It went to press really quickly, and I wish I could have put my fingers into a couple of other issues. But it's a fun read. I wanted to see if my critique had been helpful at all. I felt validated that Andrea did pick up on a few of my issues with the characterizations. That meant a great deal to me as a writer. Andrea’s characters are not plastic perfect, not rich beyond belief, and the storyline is refreshingly real. Not edgy, but real. Romance is fun. Andrea did share that she felt ready to move beyond the lighter romances around which she had built a wonderful career and loyal readership, and she certainly has succeeded in a different way than with her Barbour offering of Broken Things.
Years of being around students, children, having grandchildren, helped create her novel’s little girl and made Cammy wonderfully spot on. I loved her voice and saw that deep pov thingie work well in this situation. I definitely needed more Grams and more wedding, but one has only so much room in a novel to do those things. I would have liked to participate more in Meg’s journey to faith, but even so, her turning to belief was a more realistic gradual coming home type of turning point in her life rather than a flash-moment. I liked the hero, Vance, who seemed quite real—yes a too-good of a guy in most respects, but in his case, there was a reason. I really wondered where Andrea was taking me when he dumped a woman early on partly because of his daughter’s dislike. It went deeper than that in the undercurrents and that made it okay.
Andrea mentioned a typo which I glossed over. The things that did make me think oh, man, I wish I could have critiqued more were a suspicious change in classroom from fourth to second grade, a whole school full of children which only used one school bus (one regular bus has max cap of 66 students, and even grades 1-5 at 15 kids per class…so, okay, a lot of parents came to get their kids, and some were able to walk – I just pictured a more rural setting for the school in my head where most were bussed), some communication points between educators and administration that didn’t make sense, an age issue with the hero who must have started college late to match up Andrea’s time line, and Meg’s slightly unrealistic reaction to the proposal which was probably initially the little girl’s. But honestly, that’s the writer in me just looking for issues. Knowing a few of Andrea’s other works, especially the wonderful Wisconsin stories release from Barbour, made me think of similar characters she used there. A suspicion made me look up hunting regs in Kentucky, something I might have helped catch before press. But those are things that few people are going to see. I’ll give Andrea the benefit of the doubt and consider Grams’s men were bow hunters.
I’m just guessing that Meg and Vance got married that Valentine’s Day and got pregnant on their wedding night, due to the timing of the epilogue. Probably another year tacked on to that would have been more practical for the couple. See how deeply I’m entrenched in their lives? A meddlesome MIL to be sure.
I gave the work the maximum five stars in my review, something I’m not happy to do “just because” in every book I read. I felt Andrea deserved it, and Summerside deserves a good start.
November 6, 2008
The Belle Ruin by Martha Grimes
New American Library, 2005
I picked this book up on the sale table at my local book seller. I knew it was part of a series, and not the first book. It’s a mystery, and I’m supposed to read mysteries so I know how to craft them better. Yeah. Well, I’ve pretty much “had it” with mysteries and figuring out how to write a really good one. There are so many styles, so many varieties, so many voices and so many ways of setting them up and drawing out the clues that I’m done. To tell the truth, I have a hard time writing them. How many suspects, when to provide clues and how subtle the clues are is a fine line. I prefer a good thriller, or a well-set up piece of fiction that plants enough clues all along that you can have a perfect “aha” moment toward the end, no matter the genre.
My head started spinning within the first couple of chapters of The Belle Ruin. Grimes uses a lot of words and a vast host of characters. I’m having trouble moving past being accused of having too many characters in one of my other books (7). There were about forty characters in Grimes’s book. And two diners in two different towns, and one hotel with permanent residents in another town, all with their own cast. After I decided to stop trying to figure out was who, the story line got a bit easier to follow.
Since the story is told from the 12-year-old sleuth’s point of view, in her excellent sassy voice, and the crime took place a long time ago, most of the people were relevant only for the information they provided, anyway. I was able to put the book down for a couple of days at a time during the first several chapters until all the mentions of the past two books became more part of this story.
I loved the hilarious characters. I never got an exactly pin point date, but I think the story had a fifties/early sixties feel. And yes, I do plan to read the first two books in the series. As I read faster and faster and then did my usual take to peek at the end, I grew confused about the actual crime, whether or not there was one, and if there was a solution.
Turns out there was no solution. I’m still trying to decide whether or not if I like ending the story that way.
This was a very character-driven tale with the people excellently portrayed, which helped, since the there was a lot of action that had nothing to do with “moving the story forward.” It was a nice slice of American life, and that’s all it needed to be.
November 9, 2008 Wildflower Brides
a 2002 Barbour Publishing four in one book.
I visited one of Andrea Boeshaar’s book signings last spring and bought a few: one was a Keepers of the Light historical anthology and one was this historical crossing the Oregon Trail. The lighthouse people were not quite so interconnected, but cute. Wildflower Brides was written as a series focusing on a different romance taking place immediately prior to and along the journey as a probable typical wagon train moves west to the Willamette Valley by four different authors. Shades of the computer game Oregon Trail made me smile throughout. Each little novella could be easily read in an hour or so and was a nice little take me a away moment. The first two were very nicely done, featuring a doctor and a preacher. The third was quite choppy and I’m still not sure exactly what was supposed to happen: something about a woman accused of murder, who wasn’t aware that she had even been a suspect, and a Pinkerton agent. The anthology ended with a story by Andrea and her fun every man hero, a driver for a wealthy family’s second wagon. Nice research, I couldn’t quibble. Sweet stories.
November 20, 2008
Dragon’s Blood by Todd McCaffrey
I’m getting a little better at the patience thing, in some respects. As I age I understand more that discriminating anticipation is often worth the wait. Having that keen pain of an ended journey causes me to wait to take the first step so that the end doesn’t come too soon. I read Dragon’s Blood by diving right in, knowing that I was in the middle of something fairly familiar. I appreciated the time sequences that begun each chapter, and the weave of the story from past to future, as once again, Pern is in grave danger. I love the genetics. I did not pay much attention to the enormous cast of characters, figuring they’d sort themselves out later. Only about a third of the way through the book did it occur to me exactly what was going on, which I would have understood sooner, but it was a marvelous “oh, way cool” moment that didn’t bother me a bit with the time travel. Again, author recognition and the love of place setting worked for me.
The McCaffreys still get away with leaping from head to head without even a scene break, but it wouldn’t bother me if I didn’t know authors weren’t supposed to do that anymore – which I have to qualify because when A MC first started, it wasn’t an issue.
I haven’t gone back, yet, to my Pern atlas to see what this earlier work had to say about the watch-whers, but I really liked learning that they weren’t the mistake they were cracked up to be. I think a young lad grew up feeling sorry for the wee beasties, so I give him credit for forcibly straightening that path. I can forgive him for changing the characters a bit, as well, but I’m having issues with ages of some of them who hook up – yeah, me, who blithely did it in a previous inspy non-cougar romance.
I missed the part about whether the colonists themselves brought on the Thread terror, which I think is what happened, because, unchecked, the planet wouldn’t have been habitable. And I still wonder what happens when Thread succeeds in burrowing – what happens after it eats up everything? Does it turn into something else? Or die? Willing suspension, and all that.
I forgot that I read Dragon’s Fire from the library when it first came out, but I’ll re-read; then the next Harper book, which was a prequel to Blood. Book club’s doing the Scarlet Letter for January – fun Christmas read, eh?, so that will make for an interesting discussion.
I’m also reading through Michael Card’s devotional, The Walk, and got to the part that made me cry today. But now it’s snowing beautiful fluffy flakes, so I feel better. But I’m not in the mood to write.