Hello, my name is Beth and I'm a Panster

Yep. No matter how hard I try, the story will be what it will be. Ornery critter. The only way forward is by listening well to the characters and seeking the deep wisdom that guides me. Like following a hawk.

Sometimes the muse is silent. Dratted muse. Then I must wait for the oracle to speak. And ponder. I'll think I know what's going on, but I don't really. Only in part and pieces. Those of you who map your entire tale from start to finish amaze me. I stand humbly in your presence. I should be like you, I strive to be, but I'm not.

Sure, my dreaming and scheming are invaluable, but the realization comes that I don't actually have a clue what's next and can but hope 'the gang' does. Inevitably, they do. 

For me, writing involves a lot of faith. Like Indiana Jones in The Last Crusade, that scene where he takes a leap of faith and steps out into what appears to be chasm, but then he sees it's a clear bridge between the jutting mountain sides. Or whatever they are. So, kind of like that. And I don't have a problem with being like Indy.

I'm currently writing book 3, The Panther Moon, in my YA fantasy series Secret Warrior. Yes, it's also a romance, and filled with twists and surprises, especially for me. Book 2, Curse of the Moon will be out later this year. Release date TBD. Book 1, The Hunter's Moon, was released mid-December. I am really enjoying this series and trying hard to garner recognition for The Hunter's Moon (signed on for 3 book tours, plus, pus). Breaking into a new genre is tough, which likely comes as no surprise. Some of the reviewers/bloggers this go round are the meanest I've ever encountered in all my published years. But that's OK, because now that I'm writing characters with super powers, they are easily disposed of in my fantasy world. I killed off an annoying high school basketball referee (one of my daughter's) in the fort assault scene in my historical romance novel, Through the Fire. I disguised his name, but I knew. So take that. Ha. 

Excerpt from The Hunter's Moon:

Oh, no. Was the wolf hit? Morgan prayed not. She sensed him trying to protect them, and couldn’t imagine why, or why he seemed like ‘her wolf’.

Cries, like the shrieks of a panther, carried through the trees. A chill crawled down her spine. Were the woods filled with creatures she thought long gone from these mountains?

More wolfish snarls erupted and snapping, tearing. Good. He lived. She nudged Jimmy. “Can you see anything?”

He craned his head around the rocks. “Not through the smoke and fog.”

Eerie howls rose from the surrounding woodland on every side. A whole pack must be gathering. Morgan wasn’t certain whether to be frightened, fascinated, or hopeful of rescue. Still light-headed, not sure she even saw clearly, she watched the black wolf reappear; with him, a great white wolf whose green eyes shone like starlight. The most extraordinary yet. Together, the two loped after the brown and gray one. Judging by the high-pitched calls, there were more wolves out there. And panthers, or were they mountain lions?

Snarls, growls, and the shrieks of enraged felines ripped through the smoky shroud. The pack wasn’t after her and Jimmy. Not now, anyway.~

The Hunter's Moon is available from every online bookseller you can think of.

The Kindle Link.

For more on me and my work, please visit:  https://bethtrissel.wordpress.com/

Play Me A Song

Shortly after turning in revisions for my third YA romantic thriller, I went for a walk. It was a beautiful spring day, with a vivid blue sky and puffy white clouds, a cool breeze mingling with the warm rays of the sun. I had my headphones on with Dave Matthews blasting (Don’t Drink the Water), and with each step I took, the heaviness lifted from inside me a little more, until I actually stopped and texted my husband: OMG, no one soothes my soul like Dave Matthews, except, of course, you.

I’ve thought about that brisk walk a lot since then, how some alone time with a favorite album literally rebooted me. That’s why music is called The International Language. Music transcends language. Music speaks to our souls and fires through our blood. Music heals. With nothing more than a few notes, a melody can transport us to another place, another time. One song, and I’m back in high school, back in the arms of my first love. Another song, and I’m in the gym at a basketball game. Another, and I’m nursing my first broken heart all over again. Yet another, and I’m dancing at my wedding. Rocking my newborn daughter. Saying goodbye to a beloved grandparent. Music is that powerful.

When my son was born ten weeks premature, I stumbled across information about music therapy, a technique utilizing music to create a desired physiological effect in the patient. In my son’s case, we had to wait a few weeks so as not to over-stimulate him, but eventually set up a CD player next to his isolette with a fabulous collection of African lullabies. The soft, melodic strains soothed him when he was fussy, and helped to level out his heart rate when he brady’d (sudden drop in heart rate).  Long after we brought him home, those lullabies were our go-to miracle.

Maybe that’s why music has become such an important element of my writing regime, because of its ability to evoke emotional and physical responses. I’ve talked to many writers who prefer quiet while they work, but for me, music transports me deeper into my story world. Music makes me feel what my characters feel, whether it be love or fear or excitement. Quite literally, music fuels me, allowing me to bleed that emotion right back onto the paper. (My debut YA, Shattered Dreams, was written entirely to Arcade Fire!)

In my most recent YA (Fragile Darkness), chilling visions draw my teenage psychic, Trinity, into the underground New Orleans party scene. Now, this isn’t a scene I’m intimately familiar with, but the second I began listening to Dubstep, the words flowed. My husband cracked up to find me trance-like listening to Magical World by Bass Nectar and Cracks by Freestylers…but it worked!!  In fact, Magical World went on to become the music for my first book trailer.

When it came time to ramp up the emotion, suddenly I had the theme song to the Dead Island trailer on repeat:

Talk about music that makes you want to cry!

Then, during revisions, I stumbled across Gary Jules’s version of Mad World, and not only did I instantly realize I’d found the perfect song for my next trailer, but the haunting combination of lyrics, rhythm, and voice infused with the exact emotional tenor I’d been looking for.

So the next time you find yourself stuck with just about anything, give music a try. Close your eyes, let the rhythms flow through you, and see what happens next.

You might be surprised.

A couple of recommendations:

Action & Adventure: the soundtrack from Gladiator 

Danger/Suspense: a few awesome suggestions from YouTube (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BC_BShb5UrA,

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n1vjTJTRn48

Creepy: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ecsrMCpviG8&feature=related

General Epic-y: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7hqGIGq5PmQ&feature=related

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T15ZMU8f230

And of course, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T15ZMU8f230

Emotion: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_cqgWvFmtz0&feature=related

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q0KHS-AD14w&feature=related

Romance/Love: Beyonce’s Halo and Unchained Melody by The Righteous Brothers

Sleep/Relaxation: Krishna  Das, Celtic, and Nature Sounds

Dramatic Instrumental

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q0KHS-AD14w&feature=related

Have Story, Will Write

by Ellie James

A funny thing happened last fall…

It all seemed so benign. After twenty-five years working in the corporate world, in a corporate office, my husband decided to go out on his own and build his own business. He was excited. I was excited. It was a huge change in every way imaginable.  At the time, the fact he’d now be working from home didn’t seem like any big deal. Okay, maybe kind of a big deal, since that meant both of us would be working from home, but of all the uncertainties, having him setting up shop from the upstairs of our house seemed like the least of our worries; I mean, we already had a home office set up, right?

Way back when, before our children were born, we moved into our current house and furnished one room as an office. My office. I was writing for Silhouette Intimate Moments back then, and took great relish in decorating my new writing space. It’s a lovely room upstairs, with a big east facing window. Initially, I had my workspace situated so that my back was to the door, but quickly discovered that I HATED that alignment. It just never felt comfortable, kinda like I never feel comfortable in a restaurant if I’m not sitting with my back to a wall. (Kinda thinking maybe in a former life I was a warrior who met a grim fate through a sneak-attack from behind!) Anyway, I have to have my back to the wall—and I really, really prefer a neat and tidy workspace: for me, clutter in my office= clutter in my mind.  However, with young kids…well, that’s another story for another day.

When planning my workspace, I consulted Feng Shui for paint color and ended up with a blue-green that is supposed to stimulate creativity. I also have an entire wall dedicated to inspirational sayings, such as Shoot for the Moon. Even if you miss you’ll land among the stars and Don’t believe everything you think!, as well as a display of my books.

And of course, there were all the fun knick-knacks, such as the necklace on the cover of my YA novels and a replica of the Flat Iron building in NYC, where my publisher is located!!!

  

So…we had this great office, right? It only made sense that my husband set up shop there. And that’s where the funny (actually, not funny at all) thing happened. Once he moved in, I had no choice but to move out. Oh, I tried. I tried to work with him in the room. But we listen to different music, and he’s on the phone. A lot. And when he’s on the phone, his voice is louder than it is when he’s just talking to me. Heck, he even breathes differently than I do!  And before I knew it, my muse had headed for the hills. Realizing I needed my own personal environment to write, I set out to stake claim on some other space in the house.

At first I tried the family room. I mean, there was this nice little secretary desk there, just perfect for my laptop. And while the kids were gone, the room would be nice and empty and quiet. So there I went. You see?

  

Here I embarked upon my new YA proposal. Weeks went by. A few more. Then a few more. September turned into November, and I should have had my proposal ready for my editor. But I didn’t. The words weren’t flowing. I found myself writing and rewriting, not at all happy with what I was producing. I did a lot of staring. And a lot of angsting. It took a while, but finally I realized it was the space. I couldn’t work in that space. It was the family room, for goodness sake. Where I relaxed and watched TV. For some reason (or maybe those reasons) I simply couldn’t gather myself to work there. Upon reflection, I see another problem, too. See the set up of the laptop and chair?  Yep. Had my back to the rest of the house, a position I’d already learned didn’t work for me.

So…I went in search of another space, landing in the brightest space of the house, the kitchen. There I had sunshine and a workspace in the table, and I could sit with my back to the window, giving me a full view of the house. Shoulda been perfect, right?  Well, there was another problem….

That’s Marie, and she was relentless. Sure, I could lock her in another room, and trust me, I did. But my muse still didn’t come back.(Maybe the stacks of dirty dishes were too distracting?)  Christmas came and went. It was January, and my ever-patient editor was tapping her foot. So…I set off again, still searching. A bedroom wasn’t going to work, I already knew that. And while my awesome neighbor volunteered her house, I wanted to find somewhere in my own house, you know?

Finally I found myself in a small nook off our living room, where we’ve got this big brown comfy chair and a lot of books. In the past, it’s where I would go to read, but, out of options, I decided to give it a try.

You can see it wasn’t really conducive to a laptop, so I went old-fashioned, reverting to yellow tablets and a mechanical pencil, a technique which had worked to lure my muse back before.

  

And….it happened. Finally. She came back. My muse. She settled back into place like a warm, familiar blanket, and the words once again begin to flow. Rapidly. And beautifully. And I realized I'd finally found my new workspace. I also realized just how important finding the perfect space really is (which is probably why setting up shop for a few hours in the library never worked for me.) Not just any room will do. Not just any desk. Not just any laptop.

Like the princess and the pea, it seems, my muse prefers that everything be just...right. :)