Friday Feature
Welcomes
Becky Lower
I’ve always admired writers who are able to write scenes out of sequence. They are able to put together a scene that won’t take place for another hundred pages or so, tuck it away in a folder on their desktop, pull it out at the appropriate moment, and add it to their manuscript.
I’m a linear writer, always have been. I start at what I hope will be the beginning, and write my story. Sure, I have ideas for the big scenes yet to come, even appropriate dialogue, but I’m able to keep it in my head until I get to that portion of the story. Even during the editing process, I’m linear. After all, if I change something in the front of the book, it might affect what’s to come. My worst fear is to eliminate part of a scene up front and then leave in the part where my characters make reference to it later on in the story.
I was put to the test during edits for a recent book. My editor thought a scene I had in the story needed to be moved up by a couple chapters. It meant ripping it out of its place and seamlessly inserting it into another spot—all without having it appear out of place. And having the scene I ripped it from also appear seamless even though it was missing several hundred words. I can’t tell you how much sleep I lost while trying to figure it out. It ended up not being as painful as I’d originally thought, and several loyal readers have told me they consider it my best book yet. So maybe I can be an out-of-sequence writer after all. I’d lose a lot of sleep, but we all need to suffer for our craft, right?
One of my writer friends recently told me she ripped apart some of her story, took out thousands of hard-fought-for words and put it back together again. She said it was disjointed. As someone who’s had more dislocated joints than any one person should have had (two elbows, three hips, a shoulder), I can relate. It doesn’t matter how good the bones of your story are, if it doesn’t fit together well, it’s not going to be a good read.
Book 9 in the Cotillion Ball series, The Forgotten Debutante, will be released on April 4. Each of the books revolves around the same family, but the individual books feature one family member at a time, as they find their paths to a happy-ever-after. So dive into book 9 to start with, if you’d like.
Here’s a bit more about it:
Don’t miss the touching conclusion to the Cotillion Ball Saga!
In 1863, America is war-weary. Fifteen-year-old Saffron Fitzpatrick, whose teenage years have been spent mourning the dead rather than dancing at her debutante ball, just wants to visit her beloved horse after being housebound due to the draft riots. A chance meeting with soldier Ezekiel Boone changes everything.
Three years ago, Ezekiel ran away with his older brothers to join the war effort, welcoming the chance for adventure. But when all four of his brothers die at Chancellorsville, he retreats home, despondent and depending on the kindness of strangers, like Saffron, who help him on the journey. They share a wild ride and a breathless kiss, parting with fond memories.
Fate reunites the couple three years later, and their former attraction rekindles as they discover unexpected common ground and begin to build a relationship. But though the war is over, a future together may still elude them … especially if Saffron’s older, protective brother and the U.S. Army have anything to say about it.
And an excerpt:
New York City
July 15, 1863
Releasing a shallow breath, Saffron Fitzpatrick glided down the stairs on slippered feet, avoiding the creaky spots with unerring accuracy from years of practice. She surveyed the hallway and let out the rest of the air from her lungs. All the servants were still in the basement, preparing the noonday meal. If she hurried, she could escape the house undetected. She ran to the back door, her curls bouncing around her head, and let herself out into the yard.
Heart pounding, she stood, back up against the door, and listened. No frantic footsteps from inside the house meant her break to freedom had gone unnoticed so far.
After two days of being housebound due to the draft riots, Saffron had tired of heeding her father’s warnings to stay indoors. Even though his motives were sound and he was only trying to protect her from the roaming mobs, she would surely perish from boredom if she spent one more moment inside. Although her intent to breathe some fresh air was dashed because the city was foul with smoke from the fires being set around town, she still cherished the freedom of being outdoors. Her skin erupted in goose bumps at her boldness. She cringed back against the door as the distant shouts came closer.
But she had a mission: She needed to see Biscuit. She could certainly get from the family brownstone to the carriage house in their backyard without running into any of the rioters, couldn’t she? Talking to a horse beat staring at her bedroom ceiling. Or reading another boring book. Her intent clear, she pushed herself away from the door and ran to the small building.
She opened the door to the carriage house. Diffused lighting came through the windows near the roofline, and the cool air was filled with a familiar, comfortable combination of hay, horse dung, and leather. Saffron inhaled the scents as she waited for her eyes to become accustomed to the subdued light. Biscuit nickered a nervous greeting. She tiptoed across the brick floor toward the mare’s stall.
And came to an abrupt halt.
The apples, which Saffron kept in a bucket to dole out to the horse, were all gone. As were the carrots. Someone had been in the carriage house, and possibly still was. She backed toward the door, hoping if she were quiet, whoever was or had been in the carriage house would not notice her. She’d go back to the house and sound an alarm. Then, armed with the servants, she could return and confront whomever was here.
But Biscuit nickered again. If someone was intent on setting fire to the carriage house, Saffron needed to take her horse into the yard first, then call for the servants. She picked up a hayfork and made her way forward, her slippers not making a sound as they moved over the floor. She opened the door to the stall and found what was upsetting her horse, and the answer to why all the good treats were gone. A Union soldier was asleep in the hay next to Biscuit.
Buy Link: http://amzn.to/1V0b11r
Becky Lower Websites:
http://www.beckylowerauthor.com/
http://historyimagined.wordpress.com/
Thank you, CD, for hosting me today. It’s always a pleasure to drop by.
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We’re glad to have you. Hope you can come back soon.
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