Still Cutting Breakfast (Rev. with Hint)

So I’ve been cutting the hell out of the breakfast scene, and it’s no longer 4400 words. Now it’s 3400. Which means I need to go back in there and hack some more, at least another 600 words, plus I need to add a couple of sentences from the lunch scene. So it’s gonna be awhile. In the meantime, there’s an Easter Egg in the drafts you’ve read so far. In all honesty, I don’t expect anybody to get it because the reference is to a book I published more than a decade ago and it’s really, really obscure. On the other hand, you like puzzles. So there’s a single word in the stuff you’ve read so far that ties this book to some of my other stories.

If nobody gets it by tomorrow night this time, I’ll tell you what the word is. And it’ll still be obscure. When I plant an Easter Egg, I plant it deep.

ETA:
Yeah, it’s too obscure. I’ll give you the word:

Giordano

Dissecting the Romance Blurb (Rev.)

After playing with Nita’s blurb yesterday–and thank you all for your help–I wanted to see how the last pass compared to the pros, so I went back to Saturday and Sunday’s Book Bub e-mails and pulled out the blurbs that had plots that were most like Nita’s. This is not to trash Book Bub’s blurb writing; as we found out yesterday, it’s damn hard to sell a story in fifty words. I just wanted to see what happened when I slotted Nita’s characters, identities, and basic plot into existing blurbs. Here’s what I got:

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Cherry Saturday: 2-25-2017

Today is World Sword Swallowers Day.

There are better hobbies. As the Wikipedia says:

“Sword swallowing is a skill in which the performer passes a sword through the mouth and down the esophagus to the stomach. This feat is not swallowing in the traditional sense; the natural processes that constitute swallowing do not take place, but are repressed in order to keep the passage from the mouth to the stomach open for the sword. The practice is dangerous and there is risk of injury.”

YA THINK?

“Careful focus is required to complete the process without injury, as the sword passes within millimetres of vital body parts such as the aorta, heart and lungs.[6]”

What idiot first thought, “There’s a long sharp object. I think I’ll put it in my mouth in order to bring it closer to my aorta, heart, and lungs. Hold my beer.”

I recommend crochet. No swallowing.

The Joy of Socks

I’ve been thinking about socks lately because one of my fave online shopping places has new designs in, and I’ve been buying one design I love–“Fight Like A Girl”–for everybody. And at roughly the same time I’ve started sinking into who Nita is.

I know she wears all black because she’s so driven that she doesn’t have time for clothes, and because it absorbs heat, and because it fits her mood most of the time. Also, if everything’s black, it all matches. But I thought she’d have a secret lust for color, and that her big sister would know about it, and she’d buy her something that was wildly colorful that she could keep hidden. My first thought was underwear, but I’d done scenes with Liz and her t-shirts and underwear and it didn’t feel right.

And then I saw the “Fight Like a Girl” socks, and I remembered that when I’d gone in for the eye surgery, the nurse looked at my feet and said, “You win best socks of the week” (different socks, same store), and I thought, “That’s it. Socks.” And then I started searching for the Socks That Nita Would Wear.

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Get Your Knives Out


So I’m not a fan of scenes that run on too long. I’m not a stickler about it, but in the first act, I try to keep my scenes under 3000 words, 2500 even better, and then in the last three acts never top 2500, in the last act even shorter. I’ve been rewriting the breakfast scene which has to do a lot of heavy lifting, and I like it. But it’s 4400 words. That’s ridiculous. It must be cut.

I am still in the darling stage with it. I want EVERY DAMN WORD. But at least a thousand words have to go. Your job, should you choose to accept it, it to tell me where it lags, where it’s confusing, where you’d cut it. Feel free to be brutal. As always, I won’t respond for twenty-four hours–YOU WANT ME TO CUT THAT??????–because I need to detach for distance, but all feedback is more than welcome.

Yes, I know I keep exploiting you. But you keep coming back. It’s a symbiotic relationship.

Scene is here.

ANTI-RANT: Last Night in Sweden

Evidently Trump cited the horrific events that happened “last night in Sweden” during his love fest campaign rally for the 2020 election.
Nothing happened in Sweden.
This would be just another alternate fact in the increasingly bizarro world America is now inhabiting were it not for Twitter, which immediately adopted the hashtag #lastnightinSweden. The tweets there will warm your heart (especially if you like Ikea and the Swedish Chef).
Also, I’m moving to Sweden.

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