Author Archives: Gretchen Rhue

Top Ten Writing Essentials #7

Find the Critique Group You Can’t Do Without

I searched high-and-low for a group to join, coming to the realization I should just start one of my own. Five years later and we’re still going strong, still growing, still learning from each other.

The first thing you’ll want to find is people that will give you the straight (yet kind) feedback. You deserve that. And so do your readers. You also need people who are serious about the craft and are actively learning, writing and reading. English majors and grammar buffs are a plus, but not required.  If you get enough willing eyes on your manuscript, the grammatical and spelling errors will be found.

Writing can be a lonely venture, so a critique group can routinely help you surround yourself with people who are moving forward, setting goals, and encouraging one another. This can only help your writing improve—becoming stronger and more polished—and help keep you in-the-know with social, political, and writing events. In our group we bounce ideas off each other and discuss the world of publishing.

We are loosely based on The Inklings—the critique group to which J.R.R Tolkien and C.S. Lewis belonged. We go late, we aren’t afraid to say it like it is, and we munch on and drink whatever keeps us awake till after midnight. That’s why we decided on Friday night…with the hope of sleeping in the next day. (Yeah right. Like that ever happens!)

We meet every week. The every-other-week thing was just too far apart. I found myself drifting off-course. Meeting every week pushes me to keep writing. I have to squeeze-in the writing time everyday (or at least several days) or I’ll have nothing to present on Friday. We hold each other accountable to our goals. And the feedback I receive is invaluable. Some I use, some I don’t. But at least the story has been in front of others. More eyes than mine have searched for continuity problems, character issues, plot problems, grammatical errors, etc.

If you don’t have a group, GET ONE!!!! (Especially if you are self-publishing without an editor’s help!)

 

 

Top Ten Writing Essentials #8

Ready for number 8?

WRITE, PLOT, PEOPLE WATCH…WHEREVER YOU ARE!

My husband, Jeff, and I were having dinner out–yes, they do let me out from time-to-time–and I asked him what he thought the couple at the next table’s story was. He gave me a blank look. I asked, “Don’t you think about people’s stories; imagine what they’re like; what they fought about; how long they’ve been together; where they came from, etc?” A simple ‘no’ told me not everyone thinks like a writer. I’m not a stalker or eavesdropper, just creatively borrowing from the lives of real strangers.

If you’ve been called to write, then you won’t be able to stop. Even if you don’t get the words on paper, your mind is still writing; still creating scenarios. I can’t help but create worlds, dialogue, and imaginary private lives of many strangers I see. Little things about them are logged for future characters and plots. So beware…if you cross my path you may end up in one of my books…your name changed, of course!

There’s great material out there. Just open your eyes and keep a notebook handy. Jot these bits of inspiration down because when life gets in the way, you will most likely forget.

Not in the habit of imagining? Pick up a book of writing prompts. Give yourself five minutes and see where you go. Better yet, do prompts in a group and share your stories. You’ll be amazed at the variety. A writing friend introduced me to this and it really helped me to see the sky’s the limit in writing.

The blank page (or screen) doesn’t taunt me because I’ve trained myself to find one of the millions of stories lurking on that ominous white page.  That isn’t to say I don’t have blank moments. I just know if I dive deep enough, wait long enough, I’ll find the story, the buried treasure. Or if that buried treasure ends up more like the old boot at the bottom of the pond, I’ll chase another story! The challenge then is to make it worthy of the reader’s time. Some stories are. Some…not as much. But the next one may be, so keep at it!

Happy writing!

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Top Ten Writing Essentials #9

Reading something that’s confusing, ill-ordered, or poorly described ranks high on my list of pet peeves–especially when I find I’ve penned it myself! Writing is like painting. The reader should see a work of art, not something sloppy or distorted.

While writing at our local 24-hour coffee shop, I was reminded of a good point to add to my TOP TEN WRITING ESSENTIALS list. The background music in the restaurant came in particularly loud at this table and I was struggling to block it out. The volume wasn’t the only issue I had with the music. Its  repetitive lyrics were really getting on my nerves until I realized what the musician was singing: “Say what you mean to say.”

It felt like a subliminal reminder from a class I’d taken or a blog I’d read. I needed to clarify things, simplify, and restructure in order to communicate the story. I actually laughed out loud because even the piped-in music was teaching me the writing basics.

My favorite English teacher in high school demonstrated this point to my class by making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in front of the class. Yes, a P.B.J. As crazy as that sounds, it was actually a good lesson in ‘saying what you mean to say’ because the students had to dictate every step of making the sandwich. If we said, “Spread the peanut butter on the bread,” he would spread it on the outer edge of the crust instead of on the flat side where you would usually put it. He was making the point that your reader–or in this case ‘sandwich maker’– may not understand what you mean unless you really spell it out.

The omission of important words can change meaning in a sentence as well. A dear friend of mine brought over a meal for my family after I had come home from the hospital. The meal’s main course was lasagne. It was so good, I had to ask her what brand it was. “Stouffer’s,” came her reply. I said, “That’s funny. I make that brand all the time, but this tasted better than Stouffer’s.” She said, “That’s because you didn’t make it.” She wasn’t the type of person to make wise-cracks, so I slowly ascertained that she meant, “That’s because you didn’t ‘HAVE TO’ make it.” Two little missing words changed the meaning of the sentence drastically. They give me a chuckle every time I think of them.

So, NUMBER NINE on the TOP TEN WRITING ESSENTIALS list is SAY WHAT YOU MEAN TO SAY.

 

Top Ten Writing Essentials # 10

I’d like to share my TOP TEN WRITING ESSENTIALS list with you. Mainly because, in doing this, maybe I’ll remember to do them myself!

If I were kind, I would give you all ten today, right here in this post, but as I’m feeling like sort of a tease, I will give you only one at a time for the next ten posts.

The upside to this is that I’ll take the time to illustrate memorable stories with messages of utmost importance for each ‘essential’.  (Okay… maybe they will just be interesting and helpful.) You may have heard some or all of these before, but you never know what gem you’ll take away from the list this time, so it’s worth a quick look-see. And pay attention…There may be a quiz!

I try to follow these TOP TEN WRITING ESSENTIALS , but sometimes it feels like I’m juggling tenpins. Some drop, some land on my head, others sail effortlessly into beautiful tosses and catches.

In any case…

Here’s  NUMBER TEN:

REWRITE, REWRITE, REWRITE!

Writing is at least 50% editing. Don’t be afraid to cut sentences, paragraphs, chapters, and even characters! It may have taken you precious time and effort to create, but if it takes away from your story, just shake it off.

When it comes to physical ‘stuff’, I’m sort of a hord-a-saurus. I have a hard time throwing things out. Same thing with my writing. It’s hard to work diligently on something and then delete it. So instead of trashing it, I just file the unwanted section. I don’t throw it out completely. That helps the pack rat in me to relax. It’s not ‘goodbye’, just a reorganization. I can visit these ‘re-filed’ things anytime I want. Truth is, I never do. But it’s comforting to know I could.

The take-away point here is: ONLY THE VERY BEST SHOULD BE IN YOUR WORK. Be brutal. Your readers deserve and demand it. There are millions of other things they could be reading. Your story must be worthy of their attention.

My critique group friends actually cheered when I removed a character, named BobbyJo, from a story I’d been working on. (Nothing against the name BobbyJo. It’s a great name!) She was stealing the focus away from the main character, and, quite frankly, was annoying the readers. It was liberating when I deleted (or rather ‘re-filed’) her scenes. It was a much stronger story because poor BobbyJo wasn’t in it.

Case and point: I deleted well over 200 words from this post. Now aren’t you glad you didn’t have to read that drivel?

Rewriting is good.

Love your story.

Love your readers.

REWRITE, REWRITE, REWRITE!

It’s Excerpt Wednesday…

A sudden, overpowering blast of light and rushing wind threw them to the ground— wicker chairs and all. The horses scattered in fear. Sam found himself instinctively on his knees, curled up into the tightest ball he could form with his body— like a prisoner taking a beating, trying to protect himself from the next blow. As he shook uncontrollably, he began to put his mind around it as light forced its way into his sealed eyelids. Had a bomb exploded? Was it a meteor? Wondering if the girls were all right, he found the courage to investigate the scene.

Lifting his head and forcing his eyes open, he squinted and blinked until he could see through the glare. The angel from Sam’s visions floated as if weightless above his trembling head. Frozen with an otherworldly fear, he gaped at the angel that appeared even more magnificent than before.

The angel’s beauty radiated from within. He resembled a hawk suspended on a substantial air stream, his garments billowing in the wind like swelling ocean waves. His soul-piercing, blue eyes aligned with Sam’s. Sam felt the urge to flee, if his feet would work. He couldn’t breathe let alone run.

Tallulah scooted closer to them, looking thrilled at this encounter, while the wind whipped through her hair. “Can you believe this?” she exclaimed, the only one that could even muster words.

An expression of kindness seemed to wash over the angel’s face as he finally spoke, his voice commanding respect as it fell upon them. “Do not be afraid. I am Armada. Your presence is required in the Angel Realm. Follow me.” He turned around, not waiting for a response.

Tallulah’s backyard and woods— gazebo and all— had vanished, and in their place stood an enormous golden staircase, the width of each step measuring wider than a city block. It ascended for miles, disappearing into a blinding light. The stairs shone like a mirror of pure gold. Bending with each step, their reflections gawked back at them. Armada floated above the stairs, rising at a majestic pace.

Finding the courage from beneath the shock, Sam stood, and held out his hands for the girls. Standing together, facing the staircase, they watched as Armada ascended.

With jittery knees, hand-in-hand, Sam, Hayley, and Tallulah began to climb.

 

Knights of the Angel Realm: Guarding Carthage… an excerpt

 

Sam found himself at the top of the visitor’s bleachers, alone. The rest of the team began the routine of stretches and drills in unison on the grass below.

Rain lurked in the gray sky that matched Sam’s state of mind. An oppressive gloom settled-in, suffocating all that mattered to him.

Somehow he had survived the first day of school in spite of feeling numb and lost. He had felt like a stranger among people he’d known all his life. Some had offered their condolences, others looked away unsure of what to say, while most just stared at him with sad eyes.

His father’s death…the crazy vision under the water— he wished he could just erase it all. He wished for his life back.

Giant raindrops suddenly pounded a spastic rhythm of thuds and pings on the wooden bleachers and metal railings as dry surfaces became scarce. The familiar smell of fresh rain on hot asphalt invaded Sam’s nose.

He didn’t budge. Neither did the team. Practice continued in spite of the rain, and in spite of his absence. The cadence of counting out their drills echoed in his ears like a soldiers’ rally before war. He wanted to be a part of it all, he wanted to be down there in the mud with his friends, but without his dad cheering from the stands, everything seemed pointless. And there was mom and the market. She needed him and he knew she would never ask him for help.

Letting the rain saturate him like an abandoned couch in an alley, the sounds finally drilled into his mind, getting the better of him. He bolted down the bleachers, unaware of his destination, just anywhere but there. As he rounded the storage shed by the edge of the track, he thought he was flying under the radar when he slammed into Coach Benson.

“Hey. We’ve been looking for you. Suit up.”

With stringy, wet hair sticking to his face, Sam avoided eye contact with the coach. Instead he just stared a hole through a ride-on lawn mower parked in the mud by the shed.

The coach let out a deep breath. “I know it’s a hard time for you, Sam, but I need to know if you are going to play…or should we go ahead with the backup quarterback, Nick Laird? I can only save your position for so long.”

Sam couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

A backup? Nick Laird? They’ve already replaced me? Not Nick.

“I’ll give you until tomorrow to let me know.” He put a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Your dad would’ve wanted you to play. I do, too.” He let go of Sam, turned and walked away through the steady rain.

Sam just stood there, still staring at the mower. He didn’t know what he wanted.

Turning away from the team, he took off in a sprint like he was headed for an end zone, but instead he pounded his way home, Coach Benson’s words echoing through his numb mind.

When he arrived in the back alley, it was still pouring. No one was in sight as he tried to catch his breath.

Back up quarterback?

He leaned over his knees, breathing heavy. The anger inside of him magnified until he picked up a metal trashcan and threw it like a javelin several times against the brick wall. And then, raising it over his head, he brought it crashing down before him. It had nearly caved in completely. After a succession of kicks to its side, he leaned over his knees, his breathing still labored.

An odd feeling prompted him to look at the back door to the market. Two figures stared at him, mouths slightly ajar at what they’d witnessed. On one side was his mother. To the left of her stood Hayley holding a plate of baked goods tied up with a bow.

He froze, unable to explain himself. He hadn’t seen her in weeks. Now she probably thought he was a monster. He was sure he must’ve looked like one.

Hayley gave the plate to Deb, turned and left without a word to Sam.

You Won’t Stop Me, Demon

“You won’t stop me, demon.”

I’ve said this aloud several times in the last eleven years, for it was eleven years ago when God called me to write. But even though I know demons can’t hurt me unless God allows it, it still can catch me off-guard. And it still creeps me out!

One particular bone-chilling experience was when I was losing precious and much needed beauty sleep (like I’m doing right now! haha) late one night because I was preparing for a writers’ conference. (Yes, it’s true I am the queen of procrastination!) The house was cricket-quiet and the only sounds– besides the cricket– were the tapping keys of my laptop and the occasional printing of my profound writing ; ). I had paused to think about something for a moment when the tiniest of creaks came from the opposite corner of the room in which I sat. I looked in that direction, but found nothing amiss. But before I looked away, the books on a bookshelf jumped off the shelf as if they’d been pushed from behind, and crashed to the ground. The shelf those books had been on then broke loose from the bookshelf, landing on top of the pile.

“You won’t stop me, demon,” were the only words I said as the goosebumps on my arms slowly subsided. You see, fallen angels want to distract and disarm Christians. The more influential the Christian, the harder they try. Demons know we are saved; they can’t win our souls for Satan, but they can discredit us and cause us to be ineffective for Christ… if we let them.

We all have different spiritual gifts: teaching, service, giving, leadership, or hospitality, etc. I have always believed I have the ‘gift of discernment’– that I might be a tad more privy to unspoken and unseen things. The Holy Spirit and random people I’ve known have also confirmed my thoughts on this. Only God truly knows if He has given me this gift, and in the end, what really matters is that I’m following God’s path and not just acting on ‘feelings’.

It’s not good to dwell on dark things, but we must not ignore them either.  Spiritual battles occur all around us, all the time, but demons shouldn’t stop us from doing the job for which God has called us.

Walking with an Angel

My last post spoke of a writers’ conference I attended in which I was so dissatisfied, I left early, second guessing my ‘mission’ as a Christian author.

I trudged down the steps toward the parking lot, but I was suddenly not alone. A man in his sixties with his arm in a sling walked in the same direction. He smiled and said, “It can be discouraging sometimes.” I smiled back, but I’m sure my smile was accompanied by a perplexed look. It was as if he could read my mind! But then I remembered… I have the worst ‘poker face’ on Earth; I wear my emotions on my sleeve. I resolved that he had just read my expression.

During the twenty seconds it took to reach the parking lot, he told me to hang in there, keep writing, and to not worry about obstacles… God would work them out.  He had said EXACTLY what I needed to hear at that moment. His encouragement filled my heart with hope again and his words echoed and swirled around in my mind as we said goodbye and headed toward our cars.

But as I turned back for one more glimpse at this helpful stranger, I was surprised to find I could no longer see him. I stopped in my tracks and really looked. Scanning the area, I concluded there was nowhere he could have travelled on foot in that small amount of time to be able to disappear like that. I spent the next fifteen minutes searching for this gentleman, but could not find any evidence he’d been there. There were no corners to turn, no buildings to leap inside, no man-holes to sink into, no trees to climb– especially with an injured arm. There were only cars parked in an open lot. Funny thoughts crossed my mind… maybe he was hiding in his trunk? Taking a nap in his back seat? But there hadn’t even been time for him to open a car door when I turned back to look for him.

Had I just been encouraged by a messenger of God?

It is unfortunate that some may cringe at that question… even some Bible-thumpin’ Christians. The spiritual realm seems so distant to us as we run on the treadmill of life sometimes. Angels exist. Don’t shy away from the fact that they are actively involved in your life… holy angels and the fallen ones, too.

I may never know who this ‘man’ really was, but I do know this event shook me enough to keep me writing.

Down with Dumbing Down!

” ‘Commissioned’ is too difficult a word for young adults,” I was told by an editor at a writers’ conference a few years back. Really? Commissioned?

In fact the entire theme of this particular conference seemed to be ‘Dumb Down Your Writing’. I was so discouraged by this, I left early and went directly to Barnes and Noble. I grabbed a couple of unforgettable stories that people love. Here’s what I found:

This excerpt is from Eragon by Christopher Paolini…

Between these two rode a raven-haired elvin lady who surveyed her surroundings with poise. Framed by long black locks, her deep eyes shone with a driving force. Her clothes were unadorned, yet her beauty was undiminished.

And these words were gleaned from the first chapter of J.R.R. Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings:

inexhaustible, reminiscences, outlandish, commodity, scintillating, impromptu.

‘Commissioned’ would feel right at home among these words. People want to read good stories. If the story is good, they will read it even if there are a few words they don’t know.

My six-year-old loves watching Jane Eyre, Pride and Prejudice, and Sense and Sensibilities. She doesn’t understand every word, but she still enjoys the stories! And, funny thing, her vocabulary includes words like ‘perhaps’ –not that this is a particularly difficult word, but not many six-year-olds use it.

Knights of the Angel Realm is a book that only dreams of being as amazing as Lord of the Rings. It won’t need a companion dictionary. But it was written by an author (me!) that wanted to tell a good story. It was written by an author who didn’t have to consult an ‘approved vocabulary’ list first.