Tuesday, August 21, 2012

Writer's Tips: Where to Begin?

Writer's Tips: Where to Begin?
           
            Although I’m not a published author yet, I have spent many hours practicing my skill of writing and have done a great deal of research on how to write well.  With that said, I wanted to share with you some tips that I’ve discovered for writing fiction, particularly novels.  Yes, I write Christian fiction and I am a firm believer in Jesus Christ, but many of these points of advice that I share from my own experience can be applied to all genres of fiction.
            All right, so you have a great idea for a story plot, and you’re eager and ready to get it down on paper.  Where do you go from there?  Where do you begin?  Many people consider the background, setting, and time period to be the next first things to establish in writing a story, so we’ll start there.  Most of us probably know what these terms mean, but for those of us that don’t, here’s a simple explanation.  After all, there’s no way to learn if no one ever tells you.  Even those of us that are already familiar with these terms had to be told sometime.
            Let’s start with the background.  The background is what happens before your story begins.  This could include an event or a character’s life-story in former years.  For instance, let’s say you want to write a story about the term of the American President Abraham Lincoln.  Your story obviously begins when he’s already President because that’s what your story is about- his presidency.  Therefore, the background to your book would be about Abraham Lincoln’s life before he became the President of the United States, and it would include the political tension that was arising at the time between the northern and southern halves of the country because this conflict eventually erupted during Lincoln’s term as President.  Sometimes the background is just helpful in getting to know your characters and the plot of your story better, but sometimes, the past events can play an important role in the development of your storyline.  For instance, my first novel was about an ex-military man.  Because of his past experience as a general in the U.S. Army, he had a drive for control that he struggled to overcome in the chapters of the book.  See how the past was crucial for developing the conflict in the story?
            Now let’s move onto the setting.  The setting of a book is where your story mostly takes place, where most of the scenes happen.  Let’s use the example of your imaginary book about Abraham Lincoln’s presidency again.  The setting for that book would probably be Washington D.C., the nation’s capital where the President and his family lives, and if you wanted to be even more specific, you could even say the setting was the White House, the exact residence of the President.  For further examples, consider Jane Austin’s Pride and Prejudice where the setting was England, or Margaret Mitchell’s Gone With the Wind where the setting was Atlanta, Georgia.
            And for the time period of your story.  The time period is exactly what it sounds like; it’s when your story takes place.  Again, using the example of the book about the presidency of Abraham Lincoln, we would say that the time period for the story is 1861 to 1865, the years he held the office of President of the United States.
            It’s generally a good idea to write down the background, setting, and time period of your story, although I admit, I normally just keep this information in my head.  But then, I don’t always follow all of the rules when it comes to writing.  But that’s how it is with writing fiction; there are “rules”- advice of methods that have worked well for others- but every writer has his or her own style so not every tidbit of advice that an author can give you will fit well with your way of writing.  Some aspects are straight-up the way you have to do things, like making your characters realistic, making your dialogue sound natural, etc, but other aspects are simply optional and just advice, like not using slang and not describing the kind of car your character drives.  The important thing is to take what you learn, figure out what works with your writing style and apply it well, and learn how to tuck the rest away in a file of your mind for future reference.  I say to tuck it away because when I first began writing, there were many tips of advice that I had read but didn’t find them necessary or applicable to my writing.  But as my writing has improved and I have matured in my knowledge of the art, I have discovered that some of those tips that had seemed just tedious or needless at the time, are actually a great help to me now that my knowledge of writing dynamics has increased so that I can fully appreciate the advice now.  Just make sure that if you find a bit of advice that doesn’t fit well with your style of writing, you don’t try to make your writing fit the advice.  That will only produce a piece of work that is choppy, awkward, reveals nothing of your own individuality, uniqueness, and creativity, and is a disappointment to you.
            All things considered, figuring out the background, setting, and time period to your story doesn’t sound so hard, right?  And it isn’t; in fact, it’s probably the easiest part of writing I’d say.  Maybe that’s why so many people consider it to be step one after deciding on a plot for a book.  I hope you’ve found this helpful at all in the least, and next post we’ll take a look at some things to keep in mind when you’re coming up with your characters and developing them.

Friday, August 10, 2012

Falling into the Rain

Falling into the Rain

Working through my newest novel project Outlaw, I’ve reached one of my favorite scenes which I call “Falling into the Rain.”  Below you’ll see that I’ve posted it to share with you.  To read more about the inspiration of the scene, see my Heart-chords post titled Falling into the Rain (www.heartchords.blogspot.com).

To refresh your memory, here’s the background of the scene.  There’s a man named Daren McDowell.  He has a terrible past- he’s an outlaw, in fact- and he’s now guilt-stricken and desperate in hopelessness, heavy-hearted with shame, regret, and failure.  He has complete distrust of everyone and everything in life; he feels nothing besides hatred, desperation, and the emotions correlated with guilt and condemnation.  But he has one primary avenue of hope to which all other elements in the story direct him back to- his childhood Bible.  He doesn’t know why he even kept it all those years on the road of running from pursuit, but he did.

            The underlying message of the story revolves around the theme of that man struggling to raise crops on his acres of property and learning to find a new beginning.  His land is dry and parched, and the soil is hardened and rocky so that virtually nothing can grow on it.  It’s in a desert-like region of the American West in the 1880s when sprinkler systems weren’t available, but never the less, this man’s land desperately needs rain.  If his crops don’t grow to show that he’s improved and worked the land, his property will be taken from him, and his attempt to build a home and live an upright life will have failed. 

            Months pass in the storyline, and the man begins to attend the town church, searching for answers and for direction of how to escape the guilt he has been carrying for years.  He wants to believe and to learn to trust and love again, but after the wrong decisions he made in the past, he just can’t accept the truth that God’s grace is so powerful that He would still love and accept him with all of his past mistakes and would still have a plan for his life.  His life is as dry and barren as his land, and he’s desperate for a breakthrough.

After an emotionally painful confrontation with one of his past gang members Skylar and after learning the outcomes of the rest of the gang members’ lives, Daren had a restless night and finally drifted into heavy slumber the next morning.  We now find him just awakening from his deep sleep.  

Falling into the Rain

 Daren stirred from his slumber.  Rolling onto his back, he squinted as he cast a glance toward the nearby window in his cabin.  He had been asleep for most of the day, and now the late afternoon sunlight illuminated the window as it reflected brightly from the reddish terrain of buttes and barren mountains in the distance.  He sighed, closing his eyes again.  Everything was so dry.

He began to contemplate again the lives of his former gang members: Trent, Cole, Clem, and Skylar.  They had all wandered through life feeling hopeless… now one had even gone to his grave in that miserable state.  They had all given up on living a fulfilling life.  He reached up to run his hands over his hair in dismay.  “I don’t wanna live the rest of my life like that.”

He thought of the Bible with its worn cover lying in the bottom drawer of his night-table.  It held so many unwelcome memories.  Did he dare bring it out again?

            Sitting up, he turned and dropped his feet to the floor, his boots sounding against the wood-planks.  Opening the bottom drawer of the night-table, he reached in and reverently lifted the Book from its place of rest.  The leaves fell open to the psalms of David, and he began to read aloud.

            “One thing God has spoken, two things have I heard: that you, O God, are strong, and that you, O Lord, are loving.  Surely you will reward each person according to what he has done.”  Regret again surged through Daren’s emotions at the words.  He sighed, shaking his head in dread.  He could only imagine what kind of reward he would receive after all of the horrible things he had done.  He began reviewing the events in his mind… too many to list.

            Shifting his attention back to the Book lying open in his hands, he continued reading.  “O God, you are my God, earnestly I seek you; my soul thirsts for you, my body longs for you, in a dry and weary land where there is no water.”

            The swell of emotions began rising again, choking in his throat.  He had been searching for answers for so long in all the wrong places.  Nothing he had found would remove the pain of the guilt and shame, the regret that plagued his thoughts daily.  He needed divine help from a Power greater than his own being, he realized.  His hands began to tremble as he fought against the tears again.

            His gaze fell upon another portion of the Book on the opposite page.  “O you who hear prayer, to you all men will come.  When we were overwhelmed by our sins, you forgave our transgressions,” he read silently.  Prayer.  Did he dare approach the Lord again after everything he had done though?  But he had nowhere else to turn.

            Laying the Bible aside on the mattress, Daren rose to his feet and slowly knelt at the side of the bed uncertainly.  He sighed heavily, struggling to steady his trembling emotions as he leaned over the comforters of the mattress, resting his brow against his folded hands.  “God, help me,” he whispered hoarsely.  “I don’t deserve to have Ya listen to me- I don’t blame Ya if Ya don’t- but I wanna believe.  I wanna trust You again… I really do,” he prayed.  “Give me faith to believe again,” he pleaded.  “Forgive me… please forgive me.  I’ve been so wrong,” he admitted, his voice wavering.  “I wanna be a good man.”  His words trailed off as the tears broke loose, coming freely. 

He stayed there on his knees leaning over the bed for what seemed like hours, crying, praying, being completely oblivious to time.  Meanwhile a gentle noise began to sound against the glass panes of his window, softly at first so that it came almost imperceptibly and gradually grew louder.  Finally it caught Daren’s attention, and raising his head from his bent position of remorse, he glanced toward the window.  The sound came louder still, and rising to his feet with a slight groan for his knees had become quite stiffened, he turned and made his way to the door.  He swung the door open on its creaking hinges and halted abruptly in the doorway.

A heavy sheet of rain was falling.  Steadily it came.  He watched as it fell upon his barren acres, toiled and seeded… waiting for rain.  After months of waiting.  In a daze of disbelief, he stepped outside, feeling the rain on his skin.  It was as though the world came to a stop as he stood there relishing in the rain shower.  It came drenching, soaking through his shirt and onto his back.  He turned his face up to the clouded sky, and the tears came again, falling with the raindrops that ran dripping down his face.  “God, You gave me rain,” he acknowledged in a whisper.

He fell to his knees in relief as the water came running over head, his face, his hair.  And it came and came again, never ceasing.  He closed his eyes, keeping his face turned up to the heavens.  Rain.  It was really finally raining.  He smiled, his expression spreading broader until it broke into a laugh of liberation and overjoy.  He ran his hands over his dripping hair as he laughed, attempting to grip the joyous reality.  “Rain.”   


Thursday, August 2, 2012

The Pain of Pruning

    

The Pain of Pruning      

           Below is a slideshow of pictures that I’ve taken at the Monastery of the Holy Spirit- one of my favorite places to be.  This movie includes a video clip of one of the liturgies and takes you on a general tour of the monastery as it traces the routine of my visits.  The pictures are set to one of my favorite songs as listed in my profile- 10,000 Reasons (Bless The Lord) (Live) by Matt Redman.  You’ll also see some women in the pictures and men who are not dressed like the monks; this is due to the fact that the monks welcome both men and women alike to extend their visit to the monastery with a stay at the retreat house and to participate in their services.  I admit, I haven’t had much success lately at getting my videos to upload properly, but if you’re trying to watch it on a mobile or portable media device and are experiencing difficulties, try watching it on a full-size computer or laptop, and you may have more success.
If you’re not familiar with the monastery, check out their website at www.trappist.net for more information and my Heart-chords post The Monastery of the Holy Spirit at www.heartchords.blogspot.com.
Also posted below is a story that I entered one time into a short story contest hosted by Xulon Publishers.  No, the story did not win, but I wrote what was on my heart at the time, and to me, that’s more important than winning anyways.  Yes, the monk in this story is completely fictional, but I described the Monastery of the Holy Spirit as the setting.  You’ll also notice that the monk in the story wipes his hands on his denim trousers.  Yes, the monks at the Monastery of the Holy Spirit are allowed to wear blue jeans under their habits; in fact, they can wear Dockers, dress slacks, khakis… I think whatever they prefer really.  The monks are also very skilled in bonsai tree growing and shaping.  For more information about their bonsai trees, visit their bonsai website at www.bonsaimonk.com.  Enjoy!


*All right, blog-reader friends, bear with me again.  My Internet connection is unfortunately very slow tonight, so I'm going to have to postpone sharing this slideshow with you until I can get faster a Internet connection to upload it.  I told you I experience difficulties when uploading videos.  :)  Check back in a few days and hopefully I'll have it rolling by  then.  Thanks for your patience.


The Pain of Pruning

Silence hung over the bedroom. With precision Brother Andrew snipped a sprig from the miniature tree, the stem falling upon the surface of the desk along with those clippings previously clustered into a pile. He sighed deeply, resuming his work though the reflection upon two weeks prior crowded close at the foremost of his thoughts. Lowering his shears to the desktop, the young man rose from his seat and disappeared from the room. 
Stepping from the cloister, he took a deep breath of the fragrant breeze wafting from the rose bushes nearby. Radiant sunlight streamed through the gnarled branches of the sylvan cathedral overhead. Giving another sigh, the monk began to stroll through the grounds of the monastery, pensive as his thoughts reflected back.
            Two weeks ago had compelled him to leave the monastery and confront that which he had left to rest in the past. Upon his visit to his family, he had been obliged to return to the life he had left behind. Nothing had changed. His family that had so discouraged him in pursuing admission to the monastery those several years ago was still as opposed to his monastic life as before. The young woman that had once said she loved him, but had later upon his decision to become a monk been quick to inform him that it would be a waste of his life, still believed it was his excuse to escape an occupation in exchange for only prayer and meditation, as she believed was all a monk’s day consisted of.
            Taking a seat beneath one of the oaks in the meadow, Andrew drew another deep breath, fighting against the war waging in the battlefield of his thoughts. Revisiting the life he had left behind had torn his heart in directions completely opposite. The possibility of being reunited to his family gripped his core with desire, and when Brooke had assured him that if he left the monastery things would be the same between them as it had been before… He sighed again. Everything within the corporeal of his emotions yearned to return to his former life, yet everything within the spiritual and his conscience reminded him of the commitment he had made. Tomorrow he was to take his solemn vows, professing to having permanently adopted monasticism and to dedicating the rest of his life in absolute devotion to God. The Lord had called him to where he was at that moment, he was still as certain of the fact as he had been when he had first taken his place among the brotherhood, and now he felt the Lord calling him to fully devote his life to being a monk until He should call him to otherwise. But yet to return to what had been…
            Tossing aside the leaf he had torn, Andrew rose, wiping his hands on his denim trousers, and started towards the chapel. Another breeze wafted, rustling the leaves as he passed in the trees’ shade. The church bells rang as he approached, the chimes resounding across the acres belonging to the monastery. Entering the sanctuary, a reverent silence greeted Andrew. Like him, the last few monks were taking their seats. Sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windowpanes and cast shadows about the walls and arched ceiling. All was silent until the service began.
            The assembly having dismissed, the other monks left the sanctuary singly until Andrew was alone. Still confronted by the battle in his spirit, he stayed there praying until at length, he left the sanctuary and returned to his bedroom, at peace with his decision. Tomorrow he would take his solemn vows.
            On entering, his gaze fell upon the bonsai tree on his desk, the last rays of daylight playing across the wood surface. A smile broke across his countenance as he noted the pile of clippings. Like the bonsai he was shaping, he too was being pruned. He was now willing to endure whatever pain may pass for he knew in time the harvest would be fruitful.
            I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener…every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful. ~John 15:1-2