I got the best birthday present ever. My sister, Dana, let me yak for almost an hour about Dead is a Temporary Thing. This wonderful gift of time is incredibly helpful. When I am able to articulate out loud what a book is about, I get a clearer picture of where problems still exist.

Talking things out with Dana gave me mental marching orders. For instance:
—I need to provide more motivation for why Tracy lied to everyone about Rick.
—I have to have Shirlee talk to Finn more after Brooklyn leaves and then relay some information from those “chats” back to Brooklyn.
—I need Brooklyn to take more initiative where Finn in concerned while she is in Utah, however, by doing that I am going to get into a big rewrite of some of the back end of the book.

The book is already edging toward 600 pages. Yikes! That is a lot of writing. I don’t care that it’s double-spaced. It’s a good thing I don’t have any preconceived notion of how long a book is going to be or I’d never start them.

I am still looking for people who may be willing to read and comment on this book before I start looking for someone to publish it. Let me know if you want to be on a list of potential readers.
Melissa

I thought I’d share with you the architectural sketch I drew of Finn’s house and the granny flat apartment that Brooke lives in. This is from my current novel, Dead is a Temporary Thing. When you read the book you’ll be able to see exactly where the characters are as I describe what’s going on. I don’t put the sketches in my books; though it might not be a bad idea. I use them for my own reference.

When I write a book I can actually see the characters in my head, along with their surroundings. So if I’m writing a scene where they’re in a house, I can see the house. Possible little known fact about me, I was a draftsman for many years. This means I can create realistic homes to scale.

I sometimes will sketch out the location or home my characters live in. I need to make sure when they walk from room-to-room and I describe their surroundings there are no inconsistencies. Movies and television programs sometimes need to do a better job with this. I think in the film industry it’s called continuity. So if you start out in a silver 2001 Corvette, you can’t later change to a silver 2005 Corvette because there will be slight variations that any Corvette affectionato will pick up on. I mention the Corvette example because this is exactly what happened on the last Burn Notice I watched. They kept flipping between a silver corvette with side molding and one that didn’t have side molding.

That happens in novels more than it should in my opinion.

Read the following passage, then look at the sketch. You will see how it was important for me to say her back was to the television.

“I didn’t make Finn breakfast, he made mine. Then I curled up on the couch with my back to the television and watched him tapping away at his laptop on the kitchen table. He kept saying I could put in a movie, but I was too interested in just observing him. I think I fell asleep at one point because I dreamed he was kissing me and I knew darn well that had never happened.
His ten o’clock call, which he took from his home phone, and not his cell, was probably the most fascinating thing of the work day so far. He was very commanding and tough. He didn’t like excuses from people and asked hard questions that would have made me uncomfortable if I’d been as unprepared as some of his staff seemed to be. I expected the people who’d been in meetings with him before were almost always prepared. His irritation could be pretty palpable.
However, as soon as he hung up, he turned to face me and smiled that big smile of his that seemed to say all was right in the world.”

I suppose anyone who’s known me for more than a day knows I have a few psychological flaws, only one of which is my obsessive/compulsive tendency. It’s this part of me that drives me to write for hours at a time, ignoring everything else around me. I read the same way. It’s always been a problem for my family because I don’t like to eat, let alone cook (or clean – but I don’t think you have to be OCD to avoid that). So Roger has been on my case (he is the most excellent editor/agent type who almost always has my best interests at heart) about making sure I blog more regularly—but I’ve been writing madly. I thought that should take precedence.

 At any rate, the reason for my frenzied writing is I took so much flak from Brittany (who I swore I wasn’t going to listen to a week ago) that I call Teddi and asked her opinion as well. Teddi thought there might be some areas of weakness that I could fix by adding a new character and more background information. Though Teddi was much nicer about it. Brittany can be downright brutal—correct maybe, but I can’t imagine where she inherited her directness from!

 So I’ve been rewriting, adding stuff, deleting stuff for hours on end. To the point that my recently surgically repaired finger swelled up like a hot dog the other night. I’ve been changing and cutting scenes and adding people and new places. Honestly, if you are one of the people I sent the first version too, you’re going to be startled by the revisions. But it is coming together better. In some ways it’s like I’m writing a new book.

 A hint, there’s a new girl in town (figuratively speaking, because she actually lives in Montana). Her name is Tracy and she’s Amanda’s odd friend. Brittany insisted not even the most disabled of girls is not going to have at least one girlfriend from her past she still keeps in contact with. True that, so enter Tracy—right in chapter one. She’s as reserved as Amanda can be but for very different reasons. Tracy is also a critical reason that Amanda lives her life like she does. Even though she seldom sees Tracy, Tracy over the years has played a vital role in Amanda’s hesitancy around guys. It works well.

 This book has been a hard one to birth. The labor involved is much different than with the previous five novels – but I think in the end it will be worth it to all three of my paying public.

Sometimes I start out with one name for a character, but as that character develops, the name doesn’t seem to fit anymore. That is what has happened in Dead is a Temporary Thing. At first, I changed the name of the main character from Skyler to Finn, but then once he became Finn I didn’t like the name Amanda.

Now I want to change Amanda’s name to something like Emily or Rebecca. For some reason, these names sound more delicate and my character turned out to be more needy than I thought she was going to be when I started. Amanda sounds like the name of a girl you don’t mess with. She has it sort of pulled together and rolls with the punches easier. At first, you think my character is like that, but after you finish the book you realize she was just as disabled from the start as her male counterpart, but for different reasons.

Like I said, I like Emily or Rebecca, but I’m open to suggestions (include your reasoning).

Melissa

For the most part, I finished Dead is a Temporary Thing. I may be looking at a name change though because the direction of the book went slightly askew of where I thought it would go. I don’t know if it’s best to force it (by adding more dialogue or events) back toward its original name or come up with something different. I’ve included two particularly poignant (at least to me, since I know the characters so well) moments/sections for your reading pleasure. Let me know if the Irish dialect gets in the way. I didn’t do full on brogue but only about three recognizable sound changes: Oi for I, y for you and yer for you’re and your.

Passage One: *********************************************

“Oi wish Oi could help y’Brady. It’s all Oi want to do, y’know.”
“I know. Let’s go to Jeff’s before we get stuck here,” I said standing.
“No. Sit down. Let me look at this first,” he said opening the scrapbook.
Each page was like a small piece of Americana artwork. I matched paper and do-dad’s and colored ribbons to each sheet of lyrics I got. He turned the pages slowly. Occasionally he’d look up at me, then back to the book. He didn’t really say anything.
When he got to my favorite page, the one with the lyrics for Hours of Darkness, he ran his fingers over the tiny drops of sparkly liquid paper I’d dyed blue and added glitter to. Each drop was slightly raised on the black paper. There were thousands of drops. It took me three nights to get the look I wanted. I wanted it to resembled a million tears.
“How’d y’do this?”
“A toothpick and paint,” I said.
“It must have taken a while,” he said. He then started reading the lyrics softly to himself. The faintest hint of a melody accompanied the words.
“Three nights was all,” I said.
“Oh, that’s all?” he said, looking back at me. His voice was softly incredulous.
“Well, yes it was one of the more complicated pages. I put all the songs I could download on my iPod. It’s the music I run to.”
“Oi cried like a damn baby when Oi wrote this. Actually, Oi was crying before Oi wrote it,” he said, but he kept his eyes on the page. He wouldn’t look up at me. “It was about the third night after y’d gone. Oi got up and slept in your bed that night.” He laughed, but not a funny ha-ha laugh. It was a painful, hurts your ears kind of sound that pierced my heart. “Oi slept in yer bed a lot. Oi didn’t change yer sheets until Oi couldn’t smell y’anymore.”
“I,” I started to say, but stopped when he looked up at me. I turned away. I couldn’t meet his eyes.
“It’s okay, Brady,” he said. “Oi’m here now and yer not going to run from me again. Do y’have a coat?”
“Yes.” I walked back to my bedroom and got my coat from the small closet. Returning, I handed it to him. He helped me put it on and zipped up the front like I was a toddler.
“Thank you,” I said, yet again.

Passage Two: ********************************

“So here’s me idea. We get in me car and drive to Las Vegas and get married. Then we drive back to your apartment. Simple as that,” he said, then pausing, he looked at me and started laughing.
“Yer blushing again. Oi know why yer blushing, Brady and Oi like it. It’s so darn y’.”
“Shut up, Finn,” I said first, then continued. “Uh, I might actually consider marrying you tonight if I thought it was possible, but there’s one fatal flaw with your well thought out plan. My birth certificate’s still in California.”
“Really? We both need one? Well bloody hell, won’t they take our driver’s licenses?” he said, reaching for his wallet in his back pocket. He opened it and pulling out a folded up piece of paper, held it out in my direction.
“No. Even in Nevada I’m sure you need birth certificates,” I said. “Right Jeff?” Jeff was smiling, holding back a laugh. “What?” I said looking from Jeff to Finn.
“Maybe they’ll take this instead,” Finn said. He handed me the document.
I took it from him, not taking my eyes off of his.
“Is this my birth certificate?” I said.
“Yes,” he said, smiling.
“You brought my birth certificate with you?”
“Yes. It was in a box in yer closet. Oi told y’Oi was planning to marry y’.”
“Today?”
“Oi didn’t know if that was possible, but before we went home, yes. That was me plan.”
“And you don’t think you’re going a little fast here, Chambers?”
Finn and Jeff shook their heads.
“You stay out of this Jeff. I still haven’t had a chance to yell at you about going behind my back this whole time,” I said, but not with any real anger.
“Look at me Finn,” I said.
He looked.
“Do you understand that this is the real deal? If you do this, there’s no going back. If you marry me tonight, you’re stuck with me. End of conversation. Warts and all. Broken arms and babies. Periods, pregnancies and menopause. The whole thing, Finn. Not just a few nights of crazy sex.”
“Oi understand,” he said, his voice low and sober.
“Seriously? Cause if you hurt me again,” he didn’t let me finish my sentence, but gathered me back into his arms and covered my mouth with his. He kissed me full on—right in front of my ultra conservative Mormon brother.

Please comment on how you feel about the dialect. I tried to keep it to a minimum while giving Finn a recognizable brogue.

I’ve been working hard on the back-end of Dead is a Temporary Thing. I thought I was finished with the book until Brittany, my daughter, ripped it all apart. She didn’t think my characters were doing believable things. She also thought they were speeding through relationships at unusually high velocity. At first, I was annoyed. Generally speaking, Brittany has been my biggest fan. My first reaction was to tell her not to read any more if she was just going to slam it page-by-page. Then I tried to justify her comments by saying she just didn’t like the fact this book was written in first person. This is the first book I’ve done in a first person voice and it is harder because you don’t get anyone else’s viewpoint until they are speaking. You are locked into your character interpreting what other characters are doing and thinking – and we all know how poorly we humans are at doing that – ask any married couple.

But I went into rewrite mode anyway. It pains me to say this, but Brittany was correct. In order to fix some of the inconsistencies, I had to go back to chapter one and add more background and other nuances that better support what happens later. It wasn’t just a nice idea, it turned out to be critical for character development.

One of my favorite new lines in the book is: At this point, I couldn’t tell if Finn was the cure or the disease. In addition to the lyrics I wrote for my main male character to pen, I also added lyrics from popular song writers, like Avril and Rascal Flatts. I’m not done yet either. This book is now over 400 pages long – one of my largest books to date – but not quite up there with J.K. Rowling (Harry Potter) or Stephanie Meyers (Twilight).

I wrote the following lyrics for the book I’m currently working on, Dead is a Temporary Thing. Enjoy

Hours of Darkness

Sitting in the dark,
Looking at the moon,
Waiting for sun,
To pierce the emptiness
Can’t come too soon
Can’t come too soon
 
Footsteps all around but none of them are yours
What I thought was rain was just a million tears

I thought I’d been in love
I thought I’d felt its sting
Until you left me here, sitting in the black
I thought I’d been in love
But I was wrong before.
 
People opened mouthed
Can’t hear a sound
Waiting for the wind
To clear my cluttered mind
Twists and coiled around
Twists and coiled around
 
Footsteps all around but none of them are yours
What I thought was rain was just a million tears
 
I thought I’d been in love
I thought I’d felt its sting
Until you left me here, sitting in the black
I thought I’d been in love
But I was wrong again.
 
Hours of darkness
So much inky night
How will you find me
Without the sun above?
You were always my light
You were always my light 

Footsteps all around but none of them are yours
What I thought was rain was just a million tears

I thought I’d been in love
I thought I’d felt its sting
Until you left me here, sitting in the black
I thought I’d been in love
I can’t be wrong again.

© 2010 Melissa Aylstock

Today I had more fun doing research than I thought was possible. I mean, really, doesn’t the word research just sound overwhelmingly boring? It unleashes images of dusty book shelves and intimidating stacks of navy blue and burgundy encyclopedias that have to be slogged through to find those few tidbits an author sometimes needs to make fictional characters believable.

I feel like I cheated the system.

In the novel I’m currently working on, Dead is a Temporary Thing, my hunky (not!) main male character is Irish. Now I am not Irish, well maybe back a few generations but certainly too far removed to claim any right to the heritage, so I needed help to give voice to my emotionally wounded Leprechaun. I contacted a few friends (thank you friends) who located an Irish family nearby I could interview.

I arranged to meet Bridgette at her home this morning. Imagine my delight and surprise to find a steamy romance novel splayed on her front couch. At first, I thought she was either trying to suck up to me or doing her homework by brushing up on romance novels, but no—she was actually in the middle of reading it. She likes them. Whoo-hoo!

I spent the next four hours reading and discussing my novel with her. Toward the end I was just reading it and she would comment on what my male character would, or would not, say in certain situations. Sometimes they were the tiniest word replacements, like this bites instead of this sucks, or isn’t that just marvelous instead of isn’t that just great and tablets instead of pills—such sweet subtle word exchanges that really flavored the character. She also helped me to make him less chatty (who me? make chatty characters? say it isn’t true.)

I think the best part was watching her reaction to the book. She was clearly getting into it. She hated that I kept asking her questions; she apparently wanted me to shut up and keep reading. So how cool was that for me as an author?

I’m just saying….

Melissa