The Story Behind the Story: Potions 101

It's Back-to-School season, so I chose this month to post a school story.

I wrote this story for the NYC Midnight 2013 Flash Fiction Challenge . It's actually the story that knocked me out of the competition. (Well, the original version did. What's posted here is a revised version.)

My prompt for this particular challenge was to write a 1,000-word fantasy that included a classroom and a cigarette. As with every other NYC Midnight Flash Fiction Challenge, I had one weekend to complete the story.

The idea of a young witch in a potions class came to me very quickly, as did her lack of talent in the kitchen. To be honest, I'm not sure where the idea came from. It's entirely possible I was mainlining Harry Potter movies that weekend. But Belva Emerson is no Hermione Granger. If anything, she's got more in common with Ron Weasley.

The story came quickly. It's not ground-breaking or particularly deep, but it's cute and it's fun. That wasn't enough for the NYC Midnight judges, but it was enough for me.

Enjoy the read!

To read "Potions 101," click here.

Low Battery

Low battery symbol courtesy of GNOME icon artists via Wikimedia Commons under GNU General Public License.

If my creative energy had an indicator light, it would be flashing Low Battery. The events of the summer have drained me, and my writing has suffered as a result. It's amazing how the stresses of my non-writing life affect my ability to write. My writing has gotten flatter, simplistic, shallow. Even the act of writing--the basic stringing of words together--has gotten more difficult.

The external stresses are starting to let up, but my energy remains depleted. What I really need is a true getaway vacation. Unfortunately, for a wide variety of reasons, that is not an option. So, I've decided to take a vacation from writing instead.

I write for a living and that writing will need to continue. My fiction writing, though, is being set aside for a while. I know there are writers who would consider that blasphemy--a writer writes! every day! for hours! producing thousands of words! This writer, though, subscribes to a different school of thought. One that says that fallow times are necessary. One that says plants need the dormancy of winter in order to bloom in the spring. (I borrowed that from someone, but I don't remember who. Whoever you are, thank you! Please let me know who you are so I can give you credit.)

It's time for my fiction writing to go dormant. I need to read and sleep and swim and quilt. I need to exercise my creative impulses in other ways. I need to recharge my creative battery, let new ideas germinate, give myself a break, before I burn out completely. So begins my writing sabbatical, so that new stories may blossom later.

A Little Bit of This, A Little Bit of That

What a month it's been. Some random samplings of what's being happening:

Deadbeat Client

This past spring, I finished a large project for a new client. Payment for that work was due at the beginning of June. As of this writing, I have yet to receive a penny. I spent a great deal of time and energy in June and July nagging the client for information and payment, networking with other freelancers in the same situation, and even consulting a lawyer about my legal options. It's been an emotionally draining experience and financially stressful. The client insists we will all get paid in full eventually, but I'm not planning on it. They haven't kept their word so far. Why would I believe them now? (And no, I will not be working for this client ever again.)

UPDATE (8/18): Miracle of miracles! I actually received a partial payment today from the Deadbeat Client. I've never rushed a check to the bank so fast in my life. Any bets on whether it bounces?

The Novel

In addition to participating in Authoress' July Secret Agent Contest, I took a query-writing class and wrote the query for my novel. I admit I did a little dance when the agent teaching the class commented that my query was "very strong." Thank you, LitReactor and Sarah LaPolla!

Then I tweaked the query based on Sarah's feedback, proofread and fixed up The Novel, and submitted it for this year's Pitch Wars competition. In this first round, entrants compete for a mentor--a published or about-to-be-published author who will guide them through revisions and polishing in preparation for Round 2 of the contest, in which entrants compete for the attention of literary agents.

Mentors will announce their selections on September 3rd. In the meantime, I am a bundle of nerves. Every time a mentor I submitted to posts a comment in Twitter, I wonder, "Is that my entry she's talking about?" And of course I answer yes every time, even though I have absolutely no idea. If this is what querying literary agents directly is going to be like, I'm going to need lots of chocolate to get through it.

The Dog

I also discovered that I may have been inadvertently poisoning my dog. I discovered that the treats I've been feeding Benji for the last year have an ingredient called propylene glycol, which is related to antifreeze and has been connected to health problems, including kidney failure. (Benji was diagnosed with kidney failure last September.) I have no proof that Benji's kidney failure is connected to the treats I gave him, but I'm sure giving him the treats haven't helped his condition. (I'm also a bit miffed that when the vet was asking me about possible causes, she never mentioned propylene glycol as a possibility, but that's just one of many reasons my next dog will be seeing a different vet.) So, poor Benji had to go treatless for one night after I threw out the treats I had in the pantry. I have since been on a quest to find treats that don't have propylene glycol. Sad to say, they are few and far between.

Benji's also declined a bit in the last couple of weeks. He's eating markedly less (about half of what he had been eating previously) and his activity interest has decreased as well. I'm not sure which is cause and which is effect, but either way, they are signs of declining health.

A Heartbreaking Goodbye

A few weeks ago, the shelter where I volunteer took in a yellow lab named Buddy. This is Buddy:

He's a lovable lug who came in with a host of medical problems. At 8 years old, he'd never seen a vet in his life. He had an ear infection, a urinary tract infection, and a back leg that could not support his weight. Despite the pain and discomfort that he had be in, his tail always wagged and he was always up for a cuddle. He won the hearts of everyone who met him. We treated his ear infection and UTI. We had him neutered. But his back leg never seemed to get better. Last week, the vet confirmed the worst possible diagnosis: cancer. It had spread too far to be treatable, so on Friday, Buddy was put to sleep.

I was in the grocery store when I got the news that Buddy had passed. I stood in the salsa aisle and cried. Buddy had wagged his tail until the end. 

The Story Behind the Story: Achilles' Heel (Part 2)

For Part 1 of the story behind “Achilles’ Heel,” click here.

So I finished my first draft of “Achilles’ Heel” and submitted it my writer’s group. I knew they’d have plenty to say, especially about the ending.

I was right.

For starters, there was the problem of Alan’s heel. He reached for it far too many times. Okay, I’ll nix a few heel scratches.

Mostly, though, there was the problem of the ending. Considering I just threw it together at the last minute, this was not a surprise. First, there was some disagreement about what the ending meant. Did the disappearance of Alan’s heel itch meant he’d reached peace with his memories of his mother? Did it mean he made peace with himself? Did it mean his mother had died? Note to self: clarify the meaning a bit more.

But there was general consensus that the ending was unsatisfying. Alan needed to see his mother, talk to her, write her a letter—communicate with her in some way. Okay, then. How could I implement that? Should I have the action switch location and send Alan to the hospital to see his mother in person? Do I send him home to write a letter or make a phone call?

I decided I wanted to keep the action of the story in the same location: Dr. Lucas’ office, mostly because I knew Alan would chicken out if left to his own devices. He needed Dr. Lucas to shepherd him through the process. That limited the possibilities to letter writing to calling on the phone. I chose the latter.

Then came the excruciating process of plotting out the phone call. What if Alan called and his mother couldn’t speak on the phone? What if Alan called and found out his mother had just died? What if? What if? What if?

I rewrote the ending in fits and spurts: a sentence here, a phrase there. Know that cliché about pulling teeth? It was kinda like that.  But the teeth got pulled, the ending got rewritten, and now (hopefully) the story concludes on a more satisfying note.

To read the revised version of “Achilles’ Heel,” click here.

Be Careful What You Wish For

A few years ago, my friend and fellow writer Shari Pratt pointed me toward a blog called Miss Snark's First Victim, run by Authoress. What a gold mine! Authoress is every aspiring author's champion and she has created a first-class community of aspiring authors.

Throughout the year, she runs contests to help writers get their work in front of agents and to help them get feedback on that work. As I was writing and revising The Novel, I dreamed of being ready to submit it for one of these contests.

Be careful what you wish for.

Monday was the submission day for one of Authoress's Secret Agent Contests, one that included the category and genre of my novel. Having just completed Draft 4 last month and about to embark on the Great Query Adventure, I thought, "What the heck. I'll throw my hat in the ring."

As soon as I clicked that Submit button, a feeling of panic fluttered in my chest. What was I thinking? What if I got picked to participate?

I dismissed the doubts. Tons of people entered the Secret Agent lottery. The chances that my entry would get picked had to be slim.

Not slim enough.

My entry was one of the 52 randomly selected to play the game. And by "game," I mean the first 250 words (well, 248 in my case) of my novel published on Miss Snark's First Victim for the whole world to see and criticize--I mean, critique--and for a lurking agent to read.

That's my baby! What if they don't like her? What if they say she's horrible? (They won't. They're much nicer and more tactful than that, but still, those are the screaming doubts every writer hears when they put their work out into the world. Right? RIGHT?)

The contest entries go live tomorrow (Wednesday). To say I'm brimming with nervous energy would be an understatement. Still, as excited as I am, I can't help wondering: what have I gotten myself into?