First Chapters

I love to write first chapters. Often when I get a new idea for a book, or even just a character for a book, I write a first chapter. Then I can either put it away for a while and continue on whatever book I'm working on, or I can launch into a new project.

Or I just keep writing first chapters, which, honestly, is about 75 million times easier than seeing a project through to finish, which is probably the real reason I do it. I don't know how many first chapters I have waiting patiently in line for their turn to be the star of my attention.

I wrote a first chapter the other day that I particularly enjoy; the idea for the character came upon me as I was out for a run pushing my little girl in the jogging stroller, and trying not to freeze to death. The thing is, I'm afraid the voice is too similar to that in a series I've been reading on and off for a few years. I guess that's what first drafts are for--I like the idea/character too much to abandon her simply because she has a lookalike British cousin already taking up real estate on bookstore shelves.

Although I promise, promise that I am dutifully working away on my Bakery Romance I thought I'd include a tantalizing excerpt from my latest first chapter. Here you are, enjoy:

Welcome all my dear, dear, loyal fans to the first exciting edition of my memoir!

I’m guessing that you’re all wondering how I, at such a young and tender age, came to have the great foresight and wisdom that I should begin recording my memoirs for your own personal benefit? I will tell you; according to The Bombshell Manual of Style, an amazingly informative and insightful resource, all the great bombshells wrote memoirs. It is simply a fact of nature, and who am I to argue with nature? And who are you to argue with me? But let us not fight. I forgive you, and we will move forward.

First things first I suppose; I was born Meredith Louise Evans, though I realized early on that Meredith was not an appropriate name for someone like me, and Louise was even worse. I have tried on various names over the years in my search for the right name for myself, and let me tell you it can be ridiculously difficult to get people to call you Davinia or Desiree, even though these names are much more fitting of a person with my sparkling personality and natural charisma. Currently most people call me Meri and that will have to do until I get an agent; then he can spend all his time getting people to call me the right name. Whatever that may be.

Bombshells can come from a variety of family backgrounds, the Manual says, ranging from privileged and refined to undesirable and even traumatic. Marilyn’s mother was clinically insane so she was raised in a series of foster homes until she got married at fifteen just to escape being traded around like a re-gifted Christmas sweater. This gives me hope that I can aspire beyond the mundane and dreary life that my parents have created for me. My father is one of those baldish, intellectually-type people who sit in offices at universities and give fatally boring lectures on famous sewer systems—which makes me wonder how a sewer gets famous anyway?

My Mom doesn’t really do anything as far as I can tell; I mean she drives my little brothers around to karate and soccer and violin lessons and stuff, and she volunteers sometimes at their school, and she seems to be forever folding laundry, making dinner and doing dishes, but other than that she doesn’t do anything and she’s always complaining about how busy she is and how she has no time for herself. The woman appears to suffer from lack of vision and direction in my opinion, and she could seriously use a makeover.

My brothers are of the common, pesky variety, always employing their limited powers of reasoning to come with new ways to torture me and make my life miserable. Alex is nine and Gavin is ten, but everyone always thinks they’re twins. People stop my mom and say “Your boys are so darling, are they twins?” and mom smiles this sloppy smile and says,

“Why, no. They’re actually a year apart, but Alex is just getting so tall he looks older, doesn’t he?” Smile, smile, pat, pat, barf, barf.

One good thing about my family though is that I’m the only girl. This means that I get my own bedroom and bathroom with absolutely no competition. My BFF Callie has two older sisters and she never gets any bathroom time and has to wear their hand-me-downs all the time. I feel really bad for her, but such is life.

Hope you enjoyed the preview. At the rate I'm going I won't get around to finishing this book for ten + years, but, as all good things, I intend for it to be worth waiting for.

Hating the things I Love

I should be writing right now. I mean really writing. Writing like working hard on my novel, constructing complex and multi-dimensional characters who face unbelievable conflicts and are forced to make life altering decisions, but always maintaining a touch of humor.

But I don't want to.

I don't want to because I have a bit of a headache and my cranky, eczema afflicted toddler has finally gone down for a nap, and I even baked bread this morning, so can't I take a break? Don't I deserve a leisurely hour or two after being so productive and patient and domestic this morning?

No?

Sigh. All right. I'll do some writing. But only 500 words, that's it!

grrr.

Writing about Writing

Right now I want to write about writing; because after all, Moi am a writer.


Depending on the day.

Anyway, I wanted to tell you all a bit about the project I currently have in the works. I'm doing this in hopes that writing about writing will re-excite me about my novel. You know, bring back that spark and motivate me to want to spend some quality (quantity) time together.

Side Note: the terms I'm using to describe my project have led me to the realization that my relationship with my novel is very much like a marriage--I won't say my marriage, that's grounds for giving too much info--just A marriage, and I'll tell you how; I love my project. I really do; that's why I committed to it in the first place. It's charming and funny and I enjoy spending time with it. But sometimes I get busy, and well, distracted. Then I start ignoring my novel so I can work on "more important things," and I think, "It can take care of itself for a while. Really, It won't even notice if I don't work on it for a few days. Or weeks."

But it notices. And gets moody. So then when I'm all geared up and ready for some prime writin' time, it refuses. Nothing comes. Sigh.

Then you have to work like the Dickens (Charles Dickens, in fact--who worked a lot at writing. If you don't believe me, read one of his books, any one will do; and you'll soon see what I mean) to get back on good terms with the novel. You know, reread previous material; freewrite; brainstorm, write pages upon pages of dribble, bake cookies; eat cookies; etc. until the novel is in a more congenial mood. (If you are guessing that this is precisely what I'm doing now, that is an astute observation.)

So, on to telling you about my masterpiece-in-progress (it can't hurt to flatter it a bit, can it? It works in marriages--so I've heard).

My novel is about a girl. Exciting, eh? Her name is Ginger. She is seventeen and lives in New York City where she works in the family bakery owned by her parents. Ginger has a knack for baking and can't imagine a happier life for herself than working in the bakery for the rest of her life and becoming a celebrated pastry chef like her father.

Ginger has an older sister (Rose) who is not interested in the bakery at all. In fact, Rose despises the bakery. She is extremely beautiful and ambitious (not necessarily in that order) and she is heavily involved in campaigning to reach her life's goal of becoming a supermodel. For real. Rose sees the family business as being 'small time," and a waste of time.

Ginger and Rose are very close despite their opposite personalities and Ginger has an immensely difficult time dealing with some drastic decisions Rose makes.

In the meantime, it is the summer between Ginger's Junior and Senior year in high school. She is working blissfully at the bakery full-time and trying to ignore the growing stack of college applications her father keeps piling in her bedroom. She has no desire to leave home, the bakery or her family for the unknowns of college. It is during this time that she meets Christian.

Christian is an amiable and disarming farm boy from Upstate New York who delivers fresh eggs to the bakery every week. Ginger is immediately attracted to him and a relationship develops between them that causes Ginger to question a lot of things about herself. This is the primary plotline that moves the novel.

While all of this is going on, Ginger becomes interested in reading the journals of immigrants who came to America in the early 1900's. She comes across the life story of an Irish girl (Margaret Murphy) and recognizes how much the two of them have in common despite being separated by over 100 years. The whole novel intersperses snippets of Margaret's journal with the experiences Ginger is having, comparing and contrasting them.

I can't tell you too much more about the story without spoiling it. But I hope it sounds interesting. I've certainly spent a lot of hours working on this, and am bound and determined to finish it.

Someday.

Hopefully when I do, it will be worth reading (or rather, publishing--which are two entirely different things, incidentally) and then you all will be able to know the whole story.

But for now, I have some serious writing to do.