Story Beats Presentation

I gave a presentation on Writing Powerful Story Beats as part of a free, online writing conference hosted by LDS Beta Readers.

You can now view a rerecording of the presentation:

 

The presentation slides:

Useful links:

I wrote three blog posts on this subject, which have additional examples and exercises: 10 Keys to Writing Story Beats, Action Beats, Dialogue Beats, and Beat Variation, and Writing Powerful Emotion Beats.

Also, you can learn more about dialogue beats in my post 10 Keys to Writing Dialogue in Fiction.

New Short Story: Misunderstood at 365 Tomorrows

365 TomorrowsI have a new short story that has been published! It’s called “Misunderstood,” and you can read it at 365 Tomorrows. There is also a forum discussion of the story, for those who want to chime in.

“Misunderstood” is the shortest story I’ve ever written. Including the title, it’s only 483 words long. Yet the story also spans an epic time frame–over 4000 years.

Once you’ve read the story (go, read!) here are my author notes:

Scene I. Early in 2015 I did a fair bit of reading on Ancient Egypt, because I visited there in March. Pyramids, temples, tombs–Egypt has it all. If you do ever make it to Giza to see the pyramids, make sure you go to the Khufu ship museum. It’s amazing that you can see a boat that’s over 4500 years old. And it’s huge.

Scene II. In researching for another short story, which, a year later, I am still writing, I read 3 or 4 nonfiction books about Vikings. Vikings are pretty awesome, and Hollywood gets a lot wrong about them. Some of my ancestors may be Vikings. And so they snuck into the story.

Scene III. This is the scene that inspired the story. And it’s actually nonfiction. I went to Albertson’s one evening and saw this exact thing happen. Sure, the guy probably wasn’t named Louis. And while I don’t know what he was actually thinking, his facial expressions made it pretty clear. I just had to figure out what story he was part of–and I gravitated to speculative fiction. But maybe I’m right, and he really was a timesoul.

Scene IV. Not much to say about this scene. I just knew this was the ending, and I hope you enjoyed it.

A Tribute to Crappy, Little Parks (And Other Crappy, Little Things)

Today we walked to our neighborhood park. There was a mom’s group there, one of those groups that takes their kids to a different park or activity every week. “I think now we’ve been to every crappy, little park in the area,” one of the women complained to her friend.

Just as you can become a Connoisseur of Wines or Chocolate, you can become a Connoisseur of Fine Parks. And there are some pretty amazing parks within a 15 or 20 minute drive of my home, parks with splash pads and fancy climbing equipment, kid’s zip lines and real trains that you can ride for a few dollars.

Our crappy, little park has four swings and a modest playground. There is a poorly kept sand volleyball court and a few basketball hoops. And then some grass and trees.

A rather crappy picture I took at our park a few months ago. But my kids are smiling.

A rather crappy picture I took at our park a few months ago. But my kids are smiling.

But even though I’ve been to Fine Parks, I love our crappy, little one. At a toddler’s pace, it takes us 5 or 10 minutes to walk there from our home. And we always walk–we never drive. My little daughters race across the grassy field toward the playground, thrilled at the adventure. It’s a neighborhood park, so there’s always a swing available. A canopy shades the playground, so even when the Arizona heat is stifling, we can still play as long as we go early enough in the morning. My girls run and make up pretend games among the grass and the trees, and build things in the sand of the volleyball court. Sometimes we visit our little park 3 or 4 times a week, and we can go for a short 10 minute visit. It is always a familiar, intimate, and fulfilling experience.

I can attend a world-class performance of an opera or ballet and never be satisfied with community theater again. After seeing the great works of art in great, metropolitan cities, we can find a local museum boring and mundane. We can undervalue our own attempts at singing, writing, photography, art, decorating, or any act of creation, simply because we know how our attempts compare to the best on youtube, instagram, and pinterest.

Or we can find joy and value in the little things. We need little parks that add greenery to our neighborhoods, that we can walk to instead of driving. We each need to create, to make something truly beautiful and valuable, without having any need to compare it to the world’s best things in its category. We need to find meaning and joy in the everyday, or we will be forever seeking something bigger and better, and never find happiness.

And that is why I love my crappy, little park.

Excerpt of “The Clockwork Seer” and Character Casting

The Steel and Bone anthology will be released on Saturday, and in addition to pre-ordering the book, you can enter a Rafflecopter giveaway with a lot of awesome giveaways (free books, a ThinkGeek giftcard, and more!).

While you’re waiting, here’s an excerpt of my contribution to Steel and Bone, “The Clockwork Seer,” and my Character Casting.

Excerpt from “The Clockwork Seer”

There were too many people, but once the music started Medina could ignore them well enough. Her private viewing box made it easier, giving her a little separation from the crowd. Well-dressed men and women pushed through the aisles of the concert hall, finding their seats. Medina tasted cinnamon, a product of her own excitement and the energy of those surrounding her. Today’s performer hailed from the mainland: the brilliant Lucio Adessi, the best musician to visit the island this year. It was Sunday, the one day of the week that offered midday concerts.

The muscles in Medina’s arms convulsed. She clenched her hands onto the sides of her chair. The vision came as it always did: a shaking of her muscles, and a flash of colors and emotions. This time a spattering of small black and brown shapes cavorted across her sight, the taste of sour grapes sat on her tongue, and the scent of burning coal invaded her nose with a touch of fear. The vision was mild though, not overwhelming, thanks to the clockwork in Medina’s body which translated her visions into words and actions. Medina was mostly human—only a small part clockwork—and she often wished the sight would stop afflicting her so she could live a normal life. But she couldn’t do anything to prevent her clairvoyance. She waited expectantly for the typewriter in her right hip to print out instructions.

Thud, thud, thud, went the type hammers as they swung, pressing the metal slugs of type onto a small piece of paper. Then the typing stopped.

Medina paused with her hand to her hip, hesitating to take the paper. She tasted pickles, as she often did when she felt uncertain. Even when not receiving precognition, Medina experienced tastes and smells related to her emotions. Fortunately, this medical condition only ever heightened those two senses, while the visions flooded her five senses and all the nerves in her body.

The island caused her extrasensory gifts—or curses. The visions in particular tended to trouble her at inconvenient times, such as now, with the concert about to start. She did not want to miss it.

But she could not ignore a vision. She dared not risk it. Especially since the experience tasted of sour grapes, which she generally associated with monsters.

Medina glanced around to make sure no one was watching her, then opened the metal compartment in her side, which jutted out about an inch from her hip. She removed the piece of paper.

Tell the hall master to put out the nets.

The nets had only one purpose: to catch mechanical spiders. The newspaper hadn’t mentioned mechanical spiders in today’s forecast, but that didn’t matter. Medina’s visions were much more limited (and incredibly less useful) than those of the seer who worked for the newspaper: Medina could only foretell things directly related to herself, and only in the immediate future. Unlike most of those gifted with clairvoyance, she didn’t actually view the future; rather, what specifically she should do about it. But Medina’s visions were always accurate, so even if life would be easier without them, when they came she had to act, because of the small chance it might be about something important.
Medina dashed out of her loge—her private viewing box—not caring that people noticed her exit. She ran to the lobby of the building and hailed Mr. Frederic Cunningham, who owned the concert hall.

“Mr. Cunningham!” she gasped. “You need to put out the nets.”

“Spiders only come in the evening,” Mr. Cunningham replied. “It’s midday.”

But Medina had not planned to be here this evening, which meant the spiders could come at any moment. “You must put the nets out now. It’s important. I swear it on my life.” Medina’s hands shook. She folded them in front of her body, trying to stabilize herself. Even when ameliorated by clockwork, visions made her body weak and fragile.

Mr. Cunningham looked at the metal compartment in her hip. He knew she was part clockwork, and a seer. He’d grown to like her, as she had come to every single performance in the hall for the last four years. He had noticed that she preferred to sit alone, so he had given her one of the private loges without extra charge. Yet he obviously did not want to look like a fool by putting out his nets in the middle of the day. And she had never had a vision while in the concert hall before—in fact, she had never told him specifics about any of her extrasensory experiences.

“Please,” Medina pleaded. “Do it right now.” She had her own nets at home, but she could not bring them back in time.

“Very well,” said Mr. Cunningham. “But it better not deter anyone who is late to the concert.”

He instructed his assistants to put out nets. They looked confused but did not argue with him as they turned the cranks to lower the nets outside of the entryways and windows.

And then they waited, staring expectantly outside. No one knew exactly where the mechanical monsters came from or why there were so many more of them on the island than on the mainland. Rumors spread constantly about their mysterious creators and their plans, but Medina did not know what to believe.

A few seconds later, Medina gagged on the taste of sour grapes. Mechanical spiders rained down from the sky. They were the size of large dogs. Normally they rained all over the island, injecting venom into anything that could move and then crushing them with their mechanical jaws. But today they rained only on the street of the concert hall.

Men, women, and children on the street screamed and dashed away from the spiders. But the spiders did not attack them: they scampered on their eight legs across the road’s concrete surface towards the music hall, as if drawn by a magnet. She’d never seen them act like this before.
Medina tasted blood: fear.

 

#sorrynotsorry for leaving you with a cliffhanger. Now go pre-order the book!

Character Casting

My main character, Medina Nejem:

Clockwork Seer Profiles - Medina Nejem

 

My leading male, Lucio Adessi:

Clockwork Seer Profiles - The Virtuoso

 

And the tinker:

Clockwork Seer Profiles - The Tinker

 

And here’s a final link to the Rafflecopter. Lots of goodies await you!

Two New LDS Short Stories: “Yongrui and the Tree of Life” and “The Five Year Journal”

I don’t normally think of myself as a writer of LDS fiction, but I do occasionally write short LDS stories.

I have two that have recently been published.

“Yongrui and the Tree of Life”

Yongrui and the Tree of Life

“Yongrui and the Tree of Life” is a story about sickness and healing, faith and art. It combines Chinese and Garden of Eden mythology, brush painting, and family dynamics.

“Yongrui and the Tree of Life” won first place in the 2015 Segullah Fiction contest. Segullah is an online journal featuring the writing of LDS women.

“The Five Year Journal”

The Five Year Journal - A Short Story by Katherine Cowley

“The Five Year Journal” is a short story that examines four days in Hannah Rinehart’s life, over a five year period.

“The Five Year Journal” is a finalist in the 2015 Mormon Lit Blitz contest. Voting will take place at the beginning of June.

 

 

Image Credits: Chinese brushes image by smilla4 via flickr, Creative Commons license; journal by Smallest Forest via flickr, Creative Commons license