Dragon Friday #16

Shifting to a different POV for the next few installments….

The Dragon, The Wench, and Her Wardrobe
(working title)
© 2012 Sheila McClune
Part 16

~~~~~~~~~~Lucinda~~~~~~~~~~

“Cinders!  Hey, Cinders!”

Lucinda Anderson hunched lower in her seat, leaning down to slurp the last of her margarita through her straw.  Maybe if she ignored them, they’d go away.

No such luck.  Brandon squeezed into the booth next to her, and Dayton across the way.  Brandon slapped a brown recycled-paper envelope onto the table in front of her.  “Where’ve you been?  We’ve been looking all over for you.  Why haven’t you paid the power bill?”

Lucinda glanced at the envelope.  Sure enough, there was the power company logo in the corner, and the words “Open Immediately!” stamped in red letters.  She rolled her eyes and shoved the envelope back toward Brandon.  “I paid it last month.  It’s Ashley’s turn.”

“Nuh-uh.”  Brandon shoved the envelope back.  “She says she paid it last month.”

And of course, Brandon would always take Ashley’s side.  Lucinda grabbed her purse, plopped it onto the table, and began digging through it.

“Can I get you gentlemen anything to drink?”  The waitress, who’d been missing so long Lucinda thought she must’ve left for the night, hustled over and positioned cocktail napkins in front of Brandon and Dayton.

“I’ll take a Bud.”  Dayton gave the waitress a wink.

“Make it two.”  Brandon, not to be outdone, flashed his trademark smile.

The waitress smiled back.  “And are we all on one tab, here?”  She included Lucinda in her gesture.

“Yes,” Brandon and Dayton said in chorus.

“No!”  Lucinda sat up straight.  “They’re on their own tab.  Mine’s separate.”  They’d stiffed her far too often for her to fall for that again.

The waitress gave her an incredulous look.  “Are you sure?”

Lucinda bit out her answer before either of the men could open his mouth.  “Absolutely.”

“Then I’ll need a credit card from one of you gents, so I can start a tab.”

Brandon looked at Dayton.  Dayton looked at Brandon.  They both turned to Lucinda.  “Aw, c’mon, Cinders,” said Brandon.  “We’ll pay you back.”

“Not a chance in hell.”  She smiled sweetly.  “Buy your own damned drinks, or go thirsty.  I don’t care.  But you are not putting your drinks on my tab.  In fact,” she turned to the waitress, “I’m finished for the night.  Will you please close out my tab?”

“Of course, ma’am.”  The waitress’ eyes were arctic.

Brandon and Dayton looked at each other again, and finally Dayton pulled out his wallet and flopped a credit card out on the table.  “There.  Happy, you stingy bitch?”  He turned to the waitress.  “In fact, since our friend seems to be a little short on funds this month, why don’t you go ahead and put her drinks on that, too.”  He smiled smarmily.

“No.  I’ll pay for my own, thanks.”  The last thing Lucinda wanted was to be indebted to any of her roommates.

The waitress shook her head.  “Suit yourself.”  Scooping Dayton’s card up from the table, she sashayed back to the bar.

If she shakes that ass any harder, it’s gonna fall off.  Lucinda turned her attention back to the purse in front of her.  Pulling out her checkbook, she flipped it open to show a carbon copy of a check.  “See?  January 8th.  I paid the power bill last month.  It’s Ashley’s turn.”  She shoved the envelope back in front of Brandon.

“Told you,” said Dayton.

Brandon sighed.  “Look, Cinders, Ash can’t pay this month.  You’re going to have to take care of it this month, and then she can take it twice in a row.”

“Why?  She spend too much at the hairdresser’s again?  Or did she get another speeding ticket?”

Brandon squirmed.  “Look, it’s not like that.  She’s just….”  He ran his hand through his close-cropped sandy hair, making it stand on end.  “I might as well tell you, since you’ll find out anyway.  Ash is preggers.”

“Oh, gawd.”  It was Lucinda’s turn to run her hand through her hair.  “But she’s on the pill.  Isn’t she?”

“Yeah, but, she had that sore throat around Thanksgiving, and her doctor put her on antibiotics, and….”

“And I warned her about that at the time.  But you wouldn’t dream of using condoms for a week or two, would you?”  She shook her head.  “So why does that mean she can’t pay her share of the bills?”

“Well, she has to get it taken care of, and if she puts the charges for that on her card, her parents’ll see ‘em.  And you know how her dad is.”

Yes, Lucinda did know.  She was just glad Ashley’s ultra-conservative parents didn’t visit often, since she had to share a room with Ash when they were in town, to keep up the fiction that Brandon and Ash weren’t sleeping together.  “Wait.  You’re making her pay to take care of it?”

“We’re splitting the cost.”  Brandon’s chin jutted out.  “C’mon, Cinders.  We’d help you out.”

Lucinda didn’t even need to think about it.  “What, like you did in September when I had to put a new fuel pump in my car?  Or last summer, when my grandma died, and I needed plane fare for the funeral?  I got zero consideration from any of you then.  I lived on ramen for months, while you guys were out drinking and partying as usual.  Sorry.  It’s up to you and Ash to figure out how to cover that bill, not me.  Now, move.”  She shoved at Brandon.

“But Cinders….”

“Let me out.  Now.”

Brandon climbed out of the booth long enough for Lucinda to scoot out the end.  “Fine.  But don’t forget, it’s your turn to take the trash out tomorrow morning.”

“No, it’s his turn.”  She pointed at Dayton.  “Remember?  We traded last week.  I’m house-sitting for my sister starting tonight.”

The waitress returned, thrusting a bill tray at Lucinda.

“Here.”

Lucinda started to sign, then glanced at the total.  It was more than she’d anticipated.  She looked, but all she had was her card and the credit card charge slip.  “I’d like to see an itemized receipt, please.”

“I’m sorry.  That information gets wiped out of the computer when the charge gets processed.”  The waitress gave her a smile full of saccharine.

“Bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.  That’s a load of crap.  I’m afraid I’m going to have to speak to your manager–”

The waitress snatched the charge slip out of Lucinda’s fingers so quickly it nearly burned them.  “I’ll be right back.”

Left standing awkwardly beside the booth, Lucinda pretended interest in the four television screens that hung over the bar.  One showed trivia questions, while the others showed endless sports recaps.  She didn’t really give a damn about college basketball, but she pretended to, just so she didn’t have to converse with her roommates.

Eventually, the waitress returned.  Lucinda scanned down the items.  “This isn’t the same total as before.”

“Yes it is.”

“No, it’s not.  This one’s about…seven dollars less.  About, say, the cost of two domestic drafts.  I’d like to see proof that the original charge was cancelled, please.”

“Your total didn’t change.”  The waitress put her hands on her hips.

“The hell it–”  Lucinda jumped as a hand touched her arm.

“Is there a problem, miss?”  The manager reached to take the ticket from her hand.

“I just wanted to make sure an incorrect charge was removed from my card,” said Lucinda.

She saw a muscle work in the manager’s jaw as he shot the waitress a glance.  “I see.  Why don’t you come over to the bar, and I’ll take care of you myself.”

But as Lucinda followed him, she overheard the waitress ask, “God, is she always such a bitch?” and Dayton answering, “This is one of her good days.”

Cheeks flaming, she thrust her chin in the air and pretended not to hear.

Writing Thursday: Entitlement; or, What To Name The Baby (Chapters)

At the end of my latest round of editing on my WIP, The Daughters of August Winterbourne (Book 1), I came to an inevitable conclusion:

The story is set in the Victorian era, so in order to give it a little more of a Victorian flavor, my chapters ought to have titles.  Because some of my favorite books from that era have fantastic chapter titles.  Just look at Jules Verne’s “Around The World in Eighty Days,” for example.

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CHAPTER

I. IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG AND PASSEPARTOUT ACCEPT EACH OTHER, THE ONE AS MASTER, THE OTHER AS MAN

II. IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT IS CONVINCED THAT HE HAS AT LAST FOUND HIS IDEAL

III. IN WHICH A CONVERSATION TAKES PLACE WHICH SEEMS LIKELY TO COST PHILEAS FOGG DEAR

IV. IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG ASTOUNDS PASSEPARTOUT, HIS SERVANT

…and so on

(Taken from the Project Gutenberg version of the book.)

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Just look at all of those lovely “in which-es”!  Doesn’t that just make you yearn for a comfy armchair where you could settle in for a good read with a crackling fire nearby!  Well, it does me.

Or how about this sampling from Frances Hodgson Burnett’s “A Little Princess”:

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Chapter 1 Sara
Chapter 2 A French Lesson
Chapter 3 Ermengarde
Chapter 4 Lottie
Chapter 5 Becky
Chapter 6 The Diamond Mines
Chapter 7 The Diamond Mines Again

(…etc.)

(from the University of Virginia version on-line)

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Maybe not as evocative as the ones from Verne, but enough to let you know that we’re going to be meeting some interesting characters, and that there will be diamond mines involved, not once, but twice.  Hmmm….

I will admit that these titles work far better once a person has read this story.  Reading a character’s name invokes a mental image of that person, and how they affected the plot.  Do you suppose Burnett ever guessed that her books would be read over and over by generations of girls and young women?

Of course, not all Victorian novels had imaginative chapter titles.  Instead, some had little chapter headings that summed up the chapter’s events, but in a cryptic form, like this example from Jerome K. Jerome’s “Three Men In A Boat”:

————————-

CHAPTER I.

Three invalids. — Sufferings of George and Harris. — A victim to one hundred and seven fatal maladies. — Useful prescriptions. — Cure for liver complaint in children. — We agree that we are overworked, and need rest. — A week on the rolling deep? — George suggests the River. — Montmorency lodges an objection. — Original motion carried by majority of three to one.

(Again, from the Project Gutenberg website.)

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I mean, aren’t you just dying to read that chapter now?  Who here doesn’t want to know what those one hundred and seven fatal maladies were, or the cure for liver complaint in children?

So chapter titles can be a good hook to draw readers into a story.  And from looking at the above examples, chapter titles ought to sum up what happens in the chapter, or at least give an indication of the major character or outside force acting on the characters in the chapter.

With the help of Beloved Husband, I sat down and came up with titles for all sixty-three* of my chapters (plus one for the epilogue).  I tried to focus on a single item or event that was important for each chapter.  I strayed from that theme in only a few places, but not so far from it that it doesn’t still work.

So for anyone who is curious, here are the first fifteen chapter titles from my story:

Chapter One:  Sophie’s Lightning
Chapter Two:  Papa’s Slide Rule
Chapter Three:  A Squashed Hat
Chapter Four:  The Royal Academy of Science
Chapter Five:  Lawrence Hall
Chapter Six:  The Clock Tower
Chapter Seven:  A Wager
Chapter Eight:  Project Plans
Chapter Nine:  Outing Plans
Chapter Ten:  An Inspection
Chapter Eleven:  An Outing
Chapter Twelve:  A Revelation
Chapter Thirteen:  More Revelations
Chapter Fourteen:  Demerits
Chapter Fifteen:  Punting on the Thames

So how did I do?  Do the chapter titles intrigue or interest you?  Or are they more like the ones from “A Little Princess”–better once you know the story?

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* Yes, I have a lot of chapters, but they’re short chapters.  That was a conscious decision on my part–because short chapters tempt the reader to read “just one more…just one more…” until before they know it, they’ve read the whole book.  Coincidentally, my chapters end up being around a NaNo (1,667 words) each.

(Interestingly, the original draft of the story was half again as long, word-count-wise, but only six chapters longer.)

Recipe Wednesday: Currying Favor

I had a deprived childhood.  I grew up without curry.

My dad was never fond of curry to start with, and the fact that he spent several months in Pakistan at one point didn’t help at all.  So Mom never made anything with curry in it, nor did we ever go out to eat at Indian restaurants.

Which means that I spent a significant portion of my life without knowing the culinary joy that is curry powder.  Once I discovered it, of course, I enjoyed it whenever I could.  My favorite is Vietnamese curry, where potatoes, sweet potatoes, carrots, onions, and some kind of meat all get cooked together in a bright yellow broth.  But I’m also fond of Thai coconut soup.  One day when I was jonesing for some of this, I came up with a quick and easy version of it:

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Thai Shrimp And Coconut Soup

1 pound shrimp, raw
1 tablespoon butter
1-2 cloves garlic
2 teaspoons lemon grass, sliced
1/8 teaspoon ginger
1/8 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon mild yellow curry powder, divided
1 can coconut milk
1 can potatoes, sliced, drained
1 can carrots, sliced, drained
4 leaves fresh basil, julienned (if available)

Peel, wash, and de-vein shrimp.  Pat dry with paper towels.  Melt the butter in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Place shrimp in pan and immediately season with garlic, lemon grass, ginger, salt, and about half of the curry powder. Stir-fry just until cooked, about a minute. Reduce heat and pour in coconut milk. Add potatoes, carrots, and remaining curry powder (taste to see if it needs more). Simmer over medium-low heat for about 15 minutes, stirring occasionally. Pour into bowls and garnish with basil (if available).  Serves 2.

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This recipe is good with just plain yellow curry powder, but even better with red Thai curry powder.

Of course, I’ve already posted my recipe for Curried Egg Salad Sandwiches, but eggs and curry are so good together, why stop there?

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Deviled Eggs

1 dozen eggs (bring to room temperature)
1/2 cup mayonnaise
2 teaspoons mustard
salt and pepper, to taste
1/2 teaspoon onion powder
1/4 teaspoon garlic powder
2 dashes Worcestershire sauce OR 1/2 teaspoon curry powder
Paprika or additional curry powder to garnish
Caviar to garnish, optional

Place eggs in saucepan and cover with lukewarm water so that they are completely covered. Bring to boil over low heat to minimize cracking. Once they are boiling, reduce heat and simmer for 10 minutes. Remove from heat and cool eggs by running cool water over them.
Peel eggs carefully and cut in half lengthwise. Remove yolks and place in small bowl. Mash thoroughly with fork. Add mayonnaise, mustard, spices, and Worcestershire sauce or curry powder. Blend thoroughly with fork. Taste and adjust seasonings if necessary. Spoon or pipe yolk mixture into egg whites. Sprinkle with paprika or more curry powder; add 1/8 teaspoon caviar to tops of eggs if desired.

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Curry powder gives just the right touch of savoury warmth to deviled egg filling, I think.

And to finish up for this week, one of my recent inventions, a light and easy cucumber salad spiced up with a bit of curry:

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Curried Cucumbers

2 cucumbers, peeled and sliced
2/3 cup white balsamic vinegar
2 teaspoons olive oil
1/2 teaspoon curry powder
1/8 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon garlic powder

Combine all ingredients in a zip-top bag. Squeeze out as much air as possible and shake to mix. Refrigerate several hours, or preferably overnight.

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I like this one because I’m currently counting calories, and a substantial serving of this still fits neatly within my daily calorie allowance.

But where do you find good curry powder, you ask?  Just about everywhere.  I’d bypass those little glass jars in the grocery store, if you have other options.  And if you’re on the internet, you have other options!

• Penzeys:  Still my favorite on-line source for herbs and spices, they carry sweet, hot, and Maharajah-style curries.
• Savory Spice Shop:  Also a fine purveyor of herbs.  I got my red Thai curry there.
• Local ethnic markets:  We have a fair number of ethnic markets in the Denver area, including middle eastern, Indian, and oriental.  Don’t be afraid to ask if you don’t see what you’re looking for!
• Specialty markets:  Specialty grocery chains, such as Sprouts and Whole Foods, sometimes carry gourmet brands as well as bulk spices.  I also got a jar of very yummy-smelling curry powder the last time I was in a Trader Joe’s.

So if you’re like me, and you grew up curry-deprived, maybe now’s the time to find out what you’ve been missing!

Dragon Friday #15

Okay.  Now that I’m done with my epic-length editing project, maybe our dragon and his friends can go back to making regular appearances here.  Worth a shot, anyway.

The Dragon, The Wench, and Her Wardrobe
(working title)
© 2012 Sheila McClune
Part 15

As soon as I touched his wrist, Max screamed.  A lot.

I’d expected that.

He threw up again.  I guess I’d sort of expected that.  (At least he didn’t get any on me.)

And then he passed out, which I hadn’t expected.  But it did make things easier.

While he was out cold, I tightened my grasp on his wrist, grabbed his elbow with my other hand, and pulled as hard as I could.  The bones in his arm made a wet, grinding sound, one I could hear all too clearly now that he was no longer screaming.  But at least his forearm was more-or-less straight again.  Gingerly, I tried to trace the bones beneath his skin.  I couldn’t really tell if I had them properly lined back up again.  When he stirred and moaned at my probings, I decided it was close enough, at least for now.  I grabbed the metal bars from my suitcase and slapped them up against his forearm, one on either side, tying them in place with my belt and scarf.  Then, for good measure, I wrapped one of his t-shirts around it, tying it in place with most of a roll of dental floss.  I figured the extra padding wouldn’t hurt, nor would keeping the arm warm.

“Is he better now?” asked the dragon.

“I don’t know.”  Max’s forehead felt as clammy as ever.  And if anything, his pulse was even faster and threadier.  “I may have killed him.”

Within a few minutes, though, Max groaned and came to.  “Oh, God.  What happened?”

“You passed out.  But I straightened your arm out, and splinted it.  How does it feel?”

“Hurts like hell.”  He shifted it a little, and I was afraid he was going to scream again.

“How about your fingers?  Any better yet?”  In the light of the cell phone, they still looked pretty bad.

He shook his head, lips clenched tight.

“Damn.  I’m sorry.”

His mouth worked, but he didn’t say anything.  Finally he whispered, “So thirsty.”

I’d been trying not to think about it.  “Me too.  But I don’t have anything to drink.  Sorry.”  Damn TSA anyway.

“There is water nearby.”  The dragon thrust his head down next to me.  “There is a pool two caverns over.  The water is cool and sweet.  I could take you there.”

I didn’t need to see the panic in Max’s eyes to know how he’d feel about that.  “Umm, I don’t think we can move Max yet.”

“Then I could fetch you some.  Have you a bucket?”

I snorted.  “Yeah, right over here with my hacksaw and cordless drill.  Dragon, you’ve seen my luggage.  Where would I have kept a bucket?”

He poked at my suitcase with a claw.  “You had metal sticks hidden in there.  How can I tell what else there might be?”

I pulled the suitcase over to me and unzipped it.  “Nope.  No buckets.  I’ve got a spare pair of shoes, but while my feet are big, they’re not that big.”  I pulled out the plastic bag I’d tucked in for laundry and shook it open.  “There’s this, I suppose.”

The dragon cocked his head at it.  “Hummm.  What is that stuff?  Some kind of silk?”

“Plastic.  It’s made from…umm…petroleum.”  Which came from dead dinosaurs, but maybe he didn’t need to know that.  Dinosaurs being kind of like dragons, after all.

“It looks flimsy.”

I remembered how easily the dragon’s claw had sliced open my hand.  “Yes, it is.  Maybe it’d be better if–”

A loud clang from the direction of the tunnel interrupted me.  We all turned to stare at the train.

“What was–” Max started to say.

Then we heard more sounds:  Thumpings.  Bumpings.  And a loud, male voice, shouting, “Move! Move! Move!”

I jumped to my feet just in time to see a stream of fatigue-clad figures pour out of the train’s open door, brandishing firearms.

I turned to the dragon, waving my arms.  “Get out of here, now!”

“But–”

“They’re armed.  And they’ll hurt you.  Go!”  Not waiting to see whether he listened, I turned and started running toward the uniformed figures, my hands in the air.  “Don’t shoot!  Please!”

I hadn’t gone more than about six steps when the dragon’s paw swooped down out of nowhere and scooped me up.  He whirled and began running away from the soldiers.  Shots rang out, and shouts echoed in the cavern, but the dragon kept going.

For the first few moments, shock kept me from realizing that two of the dragon’s razor-sharp claws had gone right through the flesh of my thigh, and that another pierced my upper arm.  But then the pain hit me, searing through me with each of the dragon’s jolting steps.  I couldn’t even draw breath to scream.

I struggled to make some kind of noise, any kind, to let the dragon know of my agony.  When that didn’t work, I tried pounding on his claws with my other hand.  But my feeble attempts only made the torment worse as my body twisted against the claws that stabbed through me.

And then, just when I wondered how much more I could endure, the world went abruptly away.

* * *

Writing Thursday: Show Me; or, Making The Words Count

So as I mentioned last week, I had a dilemma with one of my scenes.  It was telling, not showing.  But at the same time, I was also trying to reduce my overall word count for this story.

After looking at it some more, though, I decided it was worth it to add a bit to the word count in order to put a little more tension into this scene.  So I dove in, and about 400 words later, decided that I was right.

The original scene looked like this:

By the time they were over the Black Sea, they’d stacked up enough wood to last a little while, so they all pitched in to help with the water-gathering plan.

Unfortunately, the sea’s surface was far choppier than the alpine lake Celia and her father had used before.  Even after Celia reduced their speed to a minimum, the canvas buckets simply bounced across the waves.

Here’s the revised scene.  As a recap, our heroes are fleeing across eastern Europe in the airship Sophie’s Lightning.  They’ve just escaped an enemy fortress, where they were imprisoned and tortured.  Our main character, Celia, has an injured hand; her father is suffering from pneumonia.  Eudora and Adja are two of Celia’s three half-sisters.  Lillian, little sister of Celia’s fiance, is also avidly interested in airships.  They’ve discovered that they’re low on fuel, so they’ve started to burn parts of the ship so they can keep going.  They’re also low on water (the craft is steam-powered).

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By the time they were over the Black Sea, they’d stacked up enough wood to last a little while, so they all pitched in to help with the water-gathering plan.

With Lillian by her side, Celia brought the Lightning closer to the water.  Their longest rope was about ninety feet long, which meant that they’d need to skim about fifty feet above the surface.  Celia’d done it before, but during daylight over a relatively calm mountain lake, and with two good hands.  Now it was dark, she was injured, and the sea below looked rough and choppy.

“There’s too much glare from the glass.  I can’t judge the distance well enough.”  She leaned back in the pilot’s seat, rubbing her eyes with one hand.  “We have to take the windows down.  It’ll be chilly, but that can’t be helped.”

“I’ll get them.”  Eudora set down the canvas bucket she held ready to throw out the back of the ship and touched Lillian’s shoulder.  “Come on, sprout.  You can help.”

Celia turned to her father.  “Perhaps you should go below, Papa.  At least until we can put the windows back up.”

He shook his head.  “I’ll be fine.”

He didn’t look fine, though.  He looked drawn and tired, and even when he wasn’t coughing, his breath rasped in his lungs.  Celia shivered.

“Let me bring you another blanket.”  Adja disappeared down the ladder to the lower deck and returned a moment later.  She swathed her father’s head and shoulders in warm wool.  “There.”

“You needn’t fuss over me.”

“Of course we must.”  Adja smiled.  “You are our father.”

Once the windows were down, the chill sea breeze made Celia wish for a blanket of her own.  “Lillian, let’s turn her about ten degrees to starboard, to get us facing into the wind a little better.  There, that’s good.  Now, just a little lower…perfect.  Brace yourselves, everyone.  There’ll be a bit of a tug when the bucket hits the water.  Eudora, go ahead.”

“Aye, aye.”  They heard a splash from behind, but the expected tug never came.

“It’s not working,” Eudora called from the rear of the ship.  “The water’s too choppy.  The bucket’s just bouncing across the surface.”

“All right.  Pull it back in.  I’ll slow her down a little, and we can try again.”

But their second try wasn’t any more successful, nor was their third.  Celia pounded the control panel in frustration.

Papa put an arm around her shoulders.  “There is another option, you know.”

“I know.  But those ships might still be following us.”

“If they are, there’s nothing we can do about it.”

“Very well.”  She leaned forward and cut power to the propeller.

Adja looked from Celia to their father.  “What are we going to do?”

“Land.”  Celia couldn’t help cringing a little as she pulled the cord to vent precious hot air from the canopy.

“In the water?” Lillian asked.  “But….”

Papa smiled.  “The gondola is designed to float.”

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I think the scene is a big improvement; it helps showcase the relationships between some of the characters, and adds some tension to the story–not only by showing their failure to fill their water tanks, but by showing the worsening condition of Celia’s father, and that Celia herself is tired and frustrated.

It’s worth noting that even with the addition of 400 words or so, the total final word count still came in at around 123,175 (before the addition of the table of contents, which I’ll discuss next week).  This is well below my targeted 125,000 words, and a good 60,000 less than the novel’s original finished length.

So I’ve declared this particular draft done, and I’m now looking for a couple of beta readers.  (Sharon, you’re already on the list.  Check your mailbox.)  What I’m looking for here is not a detailed, line-by-line or even page-by-page critique.  What I’m looking for is:  Does the story make sense?  Does it flow well?  Are the characters believable and engaging?  Does the story hold your interest?

If you’d be interested in giving me that kind of feedback, please drop me a comment.

In the meantime…I get to start pondering the synopsis and cover letter.  Whee!

Recipe Wednesday: More Tea Pictures

Hi, everyone!

I’ve got a few more photos from our recent tea party at AnomalyCon.  Sadly, we don’t seem to have gotten a picture of everything, but we got as much as we could before the locusts descended…er, I mean, before people started eating.

Cupcakes!  The little top hats, I’m told, were made from Tootsie Rolls.  In this picture, you can see the silver decanters of tea in the background, as well as the urn of non-alcoholic sangria (sadly, alcohol was not allowed).

Avocado and Bacon Tea Sandwiches.  My friend Melanie made these; the recipe can be found in the Denver Victorian and Steampunk Society recipe group on cookeatshare.com.

Roast Beef and Bleu Cheese Tea Sandwiches. Melanie also made these, but hasn’t posted the recipe yet.

Another shot of the nifty folding server thingy. (Yes, that’s the technical term.)  In the background is a Victorian-themed tote bag we got at Trader Joe’s.

 

Feta dip.  Really yummy.  This was served with bruschetta.

 

People enjoying the spread.  We had quite the buffet, and not much left over.

I love tea parties.  I can’t wait until the next one!

Writing Thursday: Showing, Not Telling; or, How Many Times Do I Have To Tell You?

I know this one.  Really, I do.

Show.

Don’t tell.

But when I’m trying to keep my word count down, sometimes it’s more economical to tell.  Because showing involves using lots of words, you know.  That “thousand words to paint a picture” and all.

Turns out I need to re-write part of a scene in the WIP I’m currently editing.  I couldn’t figure out why my airship chase, which ought to be exciting, was actually kinda boring.

This morning, while brushing my teeth, I figured it out.  It’s because I’m telling too much and not showing enough.

Here’s what I mean:

My heroes are in an airship, fleeing across eastern Europe.  They’ve discovered that they’re low on fuel, so they’ve started to burn parts of the ship, just so they can keep going.  They’re also low on water (the craft is steam-powered).  But our heroine, Celia, thinks she knows how to deal with this.  She’s planning to lower a canvas bucket at the end of a long rope and scoop up some water as they skim just above the Black Sea.  She knows this will work, because she did something like it once before.  So:

By the time they were over the Black Sea, they’d stacked up enough wood to last a little while, so they all pitched in to help with the water-gathering plan.

Unfortunately, the sea’s surface was far choppier than the alpine lake Celia and her father had used before.  Even after Celia reduced their speed to a minimum, the canvas buckets simply bounced across the waves.

Anyone still awake after that?  I thought not.

So obviously, what I need to do is to take that last sentence and show our brave crew trying, multiple times, to make this plan work, and failing.  Since I’ve edited out about a picture and a half of words (1,500) beyond my 125,000 word goal, I guess I’ve got a little wiggle room.

Time to start painting.

I’ll let you know how it turned out next week.