Recently fellow author Melissa Keir suggested I respond to a few key questions about writing. So I
thought in addition to that, I'd put a little excerpt from my latest work out there as well. Any
comments as always are greatly appreciated. And if you're interested, you may want to check out
Melissa's web site and blog for some very engaging stories.
http://www.melissakeir.com/blog.html
What am I working on?
I’m working on the
third book in the Jamie Richmond mystery series. The title is “Fleeing Beauty”. It turns out Jamie’s father, Peter, who was a
very successful sculptor who died at an early age, left behind a large
storeroom filled with his creations that has been hidden for over twenty years.
With the discovery, Jamie has a chance to find out more about her father and
her own past. There’s some intrigue, a
new romance and the rekindling of old flames and more developments in her
relationship with Malone.
How does it differ from others of its genre?
These stories are all told from Jamie’s perspective, as
opposed to third person, which is more common in mysteries. That’s a challenge
for me (but I love a good challenge) because I often have to think ‘would a
woman really say that or think that?’
Jamie’s a bit of a smart-ass, which she uses as a defense mechanism.
Plus as a redhead, she’s got a temper, so keeping that in check is part of the
fun.
Why do I write what I do?
I’ve been an avid reader since I could pick up a book.
Mysteries have always drawn me. The good
ones, with enough twists and turns to keep you guessing right until the end
inspire me. Telling stories is part of
me. It’s a way to entertain, to give the reader a chance to slip away into a
good book. I’ve had a number of great comments on the Jamie series and people
are anxious to see what comes next. If you can create interesting characters
that attract people, someone they can relate to, it’s a great feeling.
How does my writing process work?
I can’t work with an outline. I’ve tried this a few times and
it never fails that somewhere along the line, the story and the characters take
on a mind of their own, leaving my original plan tossed to the side of the
road, like the detritus of a Dairy Queen binge.
So I’ve learned to go with the flow.
I’ll start with a premise, the main idea and the conflict and feed in
the characters. I’m a sucker for unique
character names so I always try to find something that will stick in your mind
or have a meaning that will give you a clue as to how that character will
behave.
For example, in the Jamie series, her romantic interest is
Malone. The fact that he only uses his last name drives Jamie a little crazy.
But she’s stubborn and determined to figure it out. So after convincing Malone
to tell her if she ever guesses right, she gives him a different name each day
she sees him. It’s a little playful, a little mysterious and maybe a little
childish, but that’s part of who Jamie is. Malone doesn’t really care, he just
goes along with it. That wasn’t my intention in the beginning, but readers tell
me that’s part of the relationship they enjoy.
As I’m writing, ideas will come to mind. It’s not uncommon
for me to jump ahead in the story, writing a scene that demands my attention.
When I’ve got that down, I’ll backtrack and pick up the thread and see where it
fits in. Subconsciously, I’m probably
doing that as I write it. But it’s always interesting to see where that comes
into play.
Here’s a quick excerpt from “Fleeing Beauty”. In this scene, Jamie, Malone, Ian and Linda
are carefully opening the crates of artwork that have been discovered in the studio’s
storeroom.
Thursday morning the four of us
returned to the studio. Linda was
anxious to see what treasures lurked inside the remaining crates. By my count,
we still had twenty five to open. In no time at all we had the cameras set up
and running while the guys maneuvered the first large crate into position.
I watched from behind the video
camera as Malone and Ian pulled the burlap off the sculpture. This one was a bronze titled ‘Fleeing
Beauty’. It was the body of a woman
caught in the act of running. Tendrils of bronze in various lengths and
thicknesses extended from her head, as if they were locks of hair billowing out
behind her as she ran. Part of her face was obscured, turned against her
shoulder as if attempting to hide her features from whoever was chasing
her. The woman’s body was voluptuous,
full of dangerous, seductive curves. There was something haunting about this
piece. The guys became quiet, which was
unusual. Linda slowly moved around it, taking pictures with the other camera.
“Holy shit,” Ian muttered.
“Watch your language,” Malone said,
cuffing him lightly on the back on the head.
“How did he do that?” Ian said,
taking a step away. “She looks real.”
“She looks alive,” Malone said.
“Check the file,” I suggested.
Ian ducked back into the studio.
The three of us were now leaning against the worktable that held the laptop
computer. None of us could take our eyes off the sculpture. After almost two weeks of doing this, I
thought I was becoming accustomed to unveiling these incredible works of art.
But this one stopped me in my tracks. And it wasn’t just me. Linda and Malone were staring at it as well.
“He used a model,” Ian said,
holding up the file.
We spread the file out on the
worktable. There were pictures of a
woman standing in front of a drop cloth. She was blonde, with an impish smile
on her face. She could have been in her early to middle twenties. It was
impossible to tell how tall she was. Her
figure was eye catching, with a tiny waist and slightly rounded hips. Most of the pictures showed her in a one
piece bathing suit. There were shots of her standing on a pedestal, others with
her arms outstretched and still others where she was looking over her shoulder.
In a couple of shots he must have used a fan to blow her hair back from her
face. She had bottle green eyes which were very expressive.
“She’s a doll,” Ian said softly.
“I wonder who she was,” Linda said.
Pushing the pictures toward Malone,
I started flipping through the other papers in the file. There were sketches
and notes in Peter’s now familiar handwriting.
Across the top of one page was a name. Meredith Bell. I showed it to
Malone. He turned over one of the
pictures and pointed. The same name was written across the back.
“Jay Kay, I think this is the most
beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Linda said softly.
“You’ll get no argument from me.”
We stood there for another minute
or so, just studying it. Finally Malone
gave his shoulders a shake and nudged the kid. Together they moved the crate to
the back wall and resumed working.
