The Real-life Writing Journey

MARCH 2024

Welcome back. I’ll put the coffee on so you can stay a while.
There are stories to tell….

HERE’S WHAT’S NEW

The Challenge Three Authors Accepted:

The February newsletter invited subscribers to add lines to a ghost story that burst into my mind late one night; three exceptional writers accepted the challenge.

Here’s the story’s start and how three authors continued it.

What She Had to Tell Me

The knocking woke me at three. Outside the window, a silver moon crescent hung askew. I crept down the steps, saw the freezer door open, heard the clink of ice cubes against glass. When I moved into my new house, I had no idea she still lived here.

“What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?”

“I bought the house.”

“Not from me.”

Developmental editor and award-winning author of All Our Lies Are True, The Smallest Thing, and A Strange Companion, Lisa Manterfield wrote:

She tipped the glass to her pale lips and threw back her head. Ice clinked against her teeth. She crunched, the sound shattering the night's silence.

“What do you want?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

"What I want," she said, smiling now. "Is for you to find out who poisoned me."

Cheri Krueger, author of the award-winning The Abduction of Adrienne Berg wrote:

The ghost wore a flowy yellow chiffon outfit, like something from the 60s my mom would have called hostess pajamas—more chic than a sheet, quieter than chains. She poured three fingers of clear liquid into a highball glass as if she still owned the place.

“I bought this house from your heirs,” I said. “Unless you intend to pitch in for groceries, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t guzzle my expensive gin.”

She scoffed and tossed back her drink. “Trust me, sister. What I do with your booze is the least of your problems.”

Science fiction author Lizzie Tubman Newell’s five novels include Annin’s Bargain and Sappho’s Agency. Lizzie couldn’t resist building on the inconsistency between time and the lunar phase and wrote:

I looked again at the crescent moon and knew something was wrong. The crescent moon is near the sun. Surely the time was closer to 6:00 than to 3:00. Was my clock wrong? I checked my cellphone: 3:09. What had happened? And why was the crescent moon at a strange angle?

It seems that I'd been transported to a different place on Earth--further north and further east. 3 time zones!

Or was I still on Earth?

Panic gripped me. What was real, and what was an illusion? Had I fallen through a portal in time and space?

VISIT MY WEBSITE

Something fun for you: Almost worth going to prison:

Many of you enjoyed reading the scene I cut from Her Next Hero in December’s newsletter. I loved these opening lines for Lies but finally cut them. Would love to hear your thoughts.

It would almost be worth going to prison.

Just for a moment, I let myself picture the look of surprise on Mike’s face when I plunged the knife into his belly.

To be acquitted, I’d have to have a jury made up of divorced women. Or women who lived with an abuser themselves, or maybe worked for a bully boss, though it was worse when the bully was someone who used your love against you. What he’d done to Linc, Carly and I had been a crime. But killing Mike wouldn’t undo the damage he caused my children and me. Worse, our kids would lose two parents. I jerked my mind away from phantom revenge thoughts to focus on what mattered now.

My son’s call stripped the pretense from my eyes. I dreamed we’d all be okay despite my staying married to an abusive husband for too long. But his abuse didn’t stop with our divorce. To punish me for divorcing him, Mike poisoned my children against me. Thank goodness it hadn’t worked with Linc. Carly had been another story. She wanted to find someone to blame for the divorce, and Mike had been right there, whispering in her ear stories so outrageous I didn’t realize until too late I should have fought them.

But I was not a fighter, not then. Now I was.

Linc called this morning, his normally mellow voice sandpaper rough with tension. “Ethan left her. The next day Carly learned she was pregnant. She called dad, crying, and he unloaded on her. I’m flying home to help her.”

“Linc, that’s my job.”

“Mom…,”he’d said, and we both knew what he meant. Carly had me in the enemy camp.Maybe now we could change that.

“Linc, I have a plan.”

“Mom, you always have a plan.”

“Yes, and sometimes they work.”

Although my critique partners loved the dramatic beginning, I decided I couldn’t bear a blood thirsty start to Lies, even though it was only Jess’s fantasy. And so that scene wound up on the cutting room floor.

Writing From the Cabin’s New Posts

Writing from the Cabin has a new post which you might have missed if you didn’t also subscribe to the blog (there’s a separate subscribe panel at the bottom of any post which subscribe you to all the posts).

On a day I needed fun, poet Aileen Holthaus read aloud a short poem with a first line I loved. I called Aileen and asked, “May I borrow that line, and credit you?” She graciously accepted. Here’s the poem.

Where Did I Put My Spirit:

Where did I put my spirit?

It was here the other day.

Must be somewhere close.

Unless

It wilted when I caved,

Ran

When I cratered.

Spirit, I need you—

Why should I come back?

Well, without you—

You took me for granted.

No. I never.

Yeah, right.

Well, maybe.

Here’s the deal.

I’m not coming.

Unless

You put up a fight.

But without you—

No, we’ve played it that way—

Too long.

This time, you go first.

I hope you love this post; and if you have a better closing line, please let me know.

Also, if you’ve just subscribed and missed prior newsletters, you can click the links to the November, December, January, and February newsletters in the “Subscribe” section on the home page’s top. January’s issue outlines the beginning for the Workplace Sleuth Series (the three novels currently on submission to the big five publishers).

And here’s the cabin where I write most of my stories.

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