Weekend Writing Warriors / 08/17/14

Weekend Writing Warriors

8/17/14

http://www.wewriwa.com

Here are seven lines from my unpublished manuscript. Advice is always accepted.      

      

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     Pinging came from a flag hook tapping its pole outside the open window. Thinking about soccer, I checked for storm clouds when I spotted a bug-eyed, fat guy leaning on a Cadillac. He fixed his gaze my way causing a tingle to creep up the back of my neck. Even though the guy was just a random stranger, my heart raced at the mere sight of him standing under the ominous clouds. My shoulders inched upward as tension filled my core. Taking a deep breath, I turned to Sara. “Let’s go.”

Weekend Writing Warriors Blog Hop 7/20/14

Weekend Writing Warriors / #8sunday / 07/20/14

www.wewriwa.com

Since I've shown the dark side of my young adult manuscript, 

BEING BENITO CARLEFFA, this week I'll lighten things up with 

a humorous dinner time snippet between Ben and his father.

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After blowing on the red soup, I cautiously sipped it off the spoon. It's cold? Next I knew, I gagged, coughed, and thumped my chest. All this money, and these people couldn’t even heat the food.

     “You don't like the gazpacho?” Fiso asked. 

      I dropped my spoon on the table. Why would he mention the Gestapo? What was he, a modern day Nazi? Sure, everyone likes murderers. Sick. This guy’s really sick.

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#GBE2: Wish

My GBE2 blogging group asked us to post on the topic of "Wish," so here goes. 

I want to publish a novel. Not self published or blog published, but set to print by an editor or a respected house. Caroline Kooney's first eight books were never published; plus, the average writer takes ten years to make their dreams come true . . .  or nightmares begin. I'm not sure how many years I've been writing, but I guarantee it's under ten, and I'm only working on my sixth manuscript. Here's what I've written in order of completion.

I made a Lulu cover.

1. The Friendship Puzzle (MG) - An experiment in novel writing that's missing a plot. Who needs a plot when I've got the gorgeous John Katou and the bubble headed tween who loves him? Okay, this one will never be published, and I dare confess that I did clog a few slush piles with this piece of trash. Sorry if it ever landed across your desk.

2. Don't Eat Chipmunks (MG+) - A promising camp story about a boy lost in the Rockies with his two worst enemies and an injured counselor. The boys must learn to work together or die as my novel did when the Sydney Taylor people were offended by my portrayal of Jewish camp. Sorry guys, but the "Anaf Boys Choir" really did sneak out at night in their underwear to sing Silent Night and the memory was too good not to write about.

3. Being Bompsy Carleffa (YA) - This masterpiece about Ben, a kidnapped mob teen thrust back into his previous world, is filled with roller coaster suspense, action, and clever characters. However, it's also been rejected more than any novel I've written. One agent reported that my main character was "too funny for the trouble he was in." I can't help it! Every time I write, funny pops out. There's got to be a market for it somewhere. It works for Gordon Korman.

The Godfather

4. The Killer Who Loves Me (YA) - This is the sequel to my unpublished Bompsy where Ben finds himself conflicted by the thought that he may actually "like" his criminal father. At least this one does not have multiple rejections. Furthermore, I started the third book in the series but stopped midstream when I read about not writing sequels to books that aren't published. I guess Ben can rest assured that he won't be shot at or beaten until someone picks up Being Bompsy Carleffa.

5. Mrs. Zimmerman's Donuts (MG) - Coddled loser meets Mohawk boy who teaches him to be cool. I wrote this one with the guidance of two published authors telling me what works and what doesn't. I even cracked myself up by getting a kid's head caught in a hand dryer and shooting his spittle across bathroom tiles. There's got to be a market for a kid dealing with a helicopter mom because I've met so many of these overprotected babies.

6. Work in Progress (YA) - I named it Finding Miss Forester only to learn about a movie with a similar title. Dang! I'd never heard of the movie, but I guess my title must change. This is the story of a rambunctious seventh grade boy who spies his first-year teacher crying after another one of his many stunts pulled on her. Overwhelmed with guilt, he decides to behave, but instead, he has a rotten sub to deal with. Did he make Miss Forester quit? No. She's in deep doo doo after whistle blowing on a former boss, and Caleb will get sucked into her problems once I get my act together.

There you go bloggy friends––my wish waiting to be granted. And to think, you knew me when.

Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?

#GBE2: Exploring POV

As a writer, I love the challenge of taking a short scene from my WIP and changing the POV, but I wonder if there is any harm in posting this scene. My manuscript has not been sold, or even queried yet, but I will be in the process of sending it out this month. Would a future agent or editor object to my 250 or so words being published on my blog? I hope not.

Charlie Brown and my little Knob have a lot in common.

I'm in the habit of writing everything in first person, so it was a fun challenge to convert a scene to third; however, the first paragraph was not too different, so I didn't even bother to repost it.



Here is a first person scene from MRS. ZIMMERMAN'S DONUTS:

Slater’s mom pulled a chisel-shaped knife out of its top drawer and leaned her head back. With the precision of a surgeon, she gently slid the blade downward until it disappeared into her throat. Next she thrust it out with one gigantic swing. Blood covered the blade while red liquid filled her mouth. Her eyes rounded as her lips curved into a smug smile. She winked at me! Blood gushed out of her mouth, and she winked! While the room spun in oval circles, I couldn’t decide if she was crazy or if I needed the loony bin.

When a thick, red droplet dribbled down her chin, I squeezed the back of a chair and stepped backwards. My pulse pounded in my ears, and I worried that I might hurl at any moment.

“You’re b-bleeding.” I gripped the chair with my other hand too until my knuckles turned as white as Mom’s had when she drove me home after I’d gotten in trouble the other day. “Hospital. We need to t-take you to the h-hospital!”

Slater, Calfie, and Mrs. Slatker laughed so hard tears filled their eyes.

“What are you laughing at? I think she’s really hurt!” I plopped into a chair, put my elbow on the table, and leaned my head into my palm. “I don’t feel so good.”

“It’s fake, Knob,” Slater said in between chuckles. “She squirted fake blood in her mouth!”

How about a brush with third person?

 

Mrs. Slatker winked at Knob, whose face had transformed to a mixture of ashen and green. He squeezed the back of a chair and placed a wobbly foot behind him.  Spastic churning bloated his belly in an achy, sick sensation.

“You’re b-bleeding.” Knob gripped the chair with his other hand until his knuckles turned white. “Hospital,” he said. “We need to t-take you to the h-hospital!”

Slater, Calfie, and Mrs. Slatker laughed so hard tears filled their eyes.

“What are you laughing at? I think she’s really hurt!” Knob plopped into a chair, put his elbow on the table, and leaned his head into his palm. “I don’t feel so good.”

“It’s fake, Knob,” Slater said in between chuckles. “She squirted fake blood in her mouth!”

#GBE2: Upset

Today's GBE2 topic is "upset," which if not done correctly could be a downer. Not feeling like posting a blah-blah-life-sucks piece, I present you with excerpts from three of my unpublished novels.

No real people have been harmed in the writing of these stories.

Hope you have a laugh!

From: Don't Eat the Chipmunks by Joyce P. Lansky
 

      Last night, me and the guys tiptoed to Adam’s bunk where his chlorine-bleached hair spread across his pillow in a do like a dead chia pet's. We played dot to dot with his freckles--just in case he wasn't dorky enough already. When he got up, the kid scrubbed his face pink but still looked like a road map.

 

Was Adam upset? Of course not because I didn't write him that way.

 

From: Being Bompsy Carleffa by Joyce P. Lansky

            Gil placed tomato-based soup in front of each of us. When I blew and sipped it off my spoon, I was shocked. Cold soup? All this money, and these people can't heat the soup?

            “Do you like the gazpacho?” Fiso asked. 

             I dropped my spoon on the table. Why would he mention the Gestapo? What was he, a modern day Nazi? Sure, doesn't everyone like murderers? Sick. This guy's really sick! 

 

Yes! Ben was upset, but he stays upset throughout the novel. What do you expect? His dead dad turned out to be an alive mobster who has kidnapped him.

 

And finally, in case you haven't read enough, here's a little something from my WIP (Work in Progress).

 

From: Mrs. Zimmerman's Donuts by Joyce P. Lansky

 

Slater’s mom pulled a chisel-shaped knife out of the top drawer and leaned her head back. With the precision of a surgeon, she gently slid the blade downward until it disappeared into her throat. Next she thrust it out with one gigantic swing. Blood covered the blade while red liquid filled her mouth. Her eyes rounded as her lips curved into a smug smile. She winked at me! Blood gushed out of her mouth, and she winked! While the room spun in oval circles, I couldn’t decide if she was crazy or if I needed the loony bin.

When a thick, red droplet dribbled down her chin, I squeezed the back of a chair and stepped backwards. My pulse pounded in my ears, and I worried that I might hurl at any moment.

“You’re b-bleeding.” I gripped the chair with my other hand too until my knuckles went as white as Mom’s had when she drove me home after I’d gotten in trouble the other day. “Hospital. We need to t-take you to the h-hospital!”

Slater, Calfie, and Mrs. Slatker laughed so hard tears filled their eyes.

“What are you laughing at? I think she’s really hurt!” I plopped into a chair, put my elbow on the table, and leaned my head into my palm. “I don’t feel so good.”

“It’s fake, Knob,” Slater said in between chuckles. “She squirted fake blood in her mouth!”

“The blade’s fake too.” Mrs. Slatker placed the knife on the table then wiped her mouth with a paper towel. The knife had a squeezable handle and juice filled holes on the blade. “Sorry to scare you, but we like our little jokes around here.

If you are an interested agent or editor, feel free to contact me.

Writer's Post: The Road Block to Donuts

Here I am once again facing my biggest road block when I should be working on Mrs. Zimmerman's Donuts. Will, my ten year old character, wants to be invited to the weekly donut party at Harrison Zimmerman's house, but to get an invite, he must be part of the in-crowd. For a kid like Wimpy Will, this could happen–like never.

But life changes when along comes Slater, a clever fifth grader with a pointy Mohawk on top of his rounded head. Slater is eager to teach Will how to transform into Knob, the cool tough soldier; but in order to succeed, Will must pass several tests.

He certainly could do this if I'd spend more time on the novel and less time on the blog! So what do you think is my biggest road block?

Below is my opening couple of paragraphs. The first draft manuscript is almost totally complete, but it feels like a young dog: bony and lanky. I need to go back and add some meat.

Mrs. Zimmerman's Donuts

by

Yours Truly

            Every Friday after school, Harrison Zimmerman invited popular boys over for a stupid end-of-the-week celebration. His mom would fry up homemade donuts dipped in thick chocolate sauce. My mouth watered as we passed his house and I breathed in the scent of those gooey pieces of dough.   

Mom usually fell into a tantrum at the thought of me swallowing anything slightly junky. She fussed over eating healthy as if my gut would explode if the tiniest bit of sugar or grease tickled my insides. But the real reason I’d never eaten the donuts: Harrison had never invited me. Actually, no one had ever asked me to go anywhere.

Things were about to change.… if my author will get off the internet already. I'm a desperate boy in need of serious help! ARGGGHHH!

 

Six Sentence Sunday

Ouch!

It's been over a month since I've participated in Six Sentence Sunday, but I'm glad to be back with an excerpt from my Work in Progress (WIP), Mrs. Zimmerman's Donuts. Knob has just met his friend Slater's mom for the first time, and he's not used to adults playing tricks.

Slater’s mom pulled a chisel-shaped knife out of an antique cabinet's top drawer and leaned her head back. With the precision of a surgeon, she gently slid the blade downward until it disappeared into her throat. Next she thrust it out with one gigantic swing. Blood covered the blade while red liquid filled her mouth. Her eyes rounded as her lips curved into a smug smile. She winked at me! 

If you like my blog, please click on the White Picket Fence or push Picket Fence Vote to vote for my blog. Thanks!  

Meet Knob

Jeannie Campbell is hosting a blog hop and contest about getting to know our characters. So please meet the main character of my Work in Progress. Then you may buzz over to her site and meet other fictional people. How To Connect With Your MC


Knob's formal name is William Donald Donellson, but he received the nick name of Knob after Slater announced that his shaved hair made his head look like a door knob. Knob is a respectable name for an amazing, tough soldier. Unfortunately as the butt of the fifth grade, Wimpy Will has never felt like a tough anything.

Thanks for the interview. I'll answer the questions as best I can because I always do.

Question 1: What is your greatest fear? 

Gee, that's a tough one because I'm scared of everything. My brother died from falling off a bicycle and bleeding to death. I know, it sounds weird, but he had a disease called hemophilia and the doctors couldn't save him. Although I don't have the disease, you'd think I did by the way my mom hovers over me. I guess I'm scared of getting it. They say it's hereditary, so what happens if one day I catch hemophilia, start bleeding, and can't stop it?

Question 2: What is your biggest accomplishment?

I'm smart. Two years ago I won my age group in The Under the Arch Chess Tournament. I almost won again last year but a girl named Haley beat me. She's the only one who can beat me at chess, and I'm a little knock kneed at the thought of going up against her this year in the ten-year-old's category. Okay, I confess, I kinda like her, so scratch out my answer to question one. I'm most afraid of Haley--which is probably why I lost the tournament.

 

Question 3: What is your biggest regret?

I regret letting Randy bug me all the time in class. He always bullies me, but I've never stopped him because I'm kinda chicken. If I tell him to leave me alone, he might punch me, make me bleed, and do it in front of Haley. So on second thought, I guess I'm most afraid of Randy Butcher.

You didn't ask me what's been bugging me, but I'm going to tell you anyway. No one has gotten to meet me because my author has not gotten my story into query shape. It needs a lot of revisions. Here's the start of my story, MRS. ZIMMERMAN'S DONUTS by Joyce Paull Lansky. If you like it, tell your agent or editor friend about her because I want to be famous. Err, maybe not. It might be scary.

Mrs. Zimmerman's Donuts

            Every Friday after school, Harrison Zimmerman invited popular boys—not me, over for a stupid end-of-the-week celebration. His mom, the best chef in St. Louis County and co-founder of Zimmerman’s bakery, would fry up homemade donuts dipped in thick chocolate sauce. My mouth watered as we drove down Aberdeen Avenue and I breathed in the scent of those gooey pieces on a bed of powdered sugar.            

By the age of ten most guys had wolfed down seven-dozen pastries or more, but I’d never even tasted Mrs. Zimmerman’s donuts. I convinced myself that it was because my mom would’ve fallen into a tantrum at the thought of me swallowing anything slightly junky. She usually made a fuss over eating healthy as if my gut would explode if the tiniest bit of sugar or grease tickled my insides. But the real reason I’d never eaten the donuts—the fact that bothered me even more than Mom’s obsession over food, cleanliness, and safety—was that Harrison had never asked me to come to his stupid party. Actually, no one had ever invited me to go anywhere; but things were about to change.
  

That's what's been bugging me, but it's okay. Slater moved to town,

and he's going to help me be cool. See ya later.   ❧ Knob

                                                                

Mrs. Zimmerman's Donuts #AtoZ

If I ever wish to get published, I guess I need to spend less time blogging and more time working on my manuscript, "Mrs. Zimmerman's Donuts." I was inspired to write this book from Halloween memories as a kid. My mother had repeatedly told me not to eat ANYTHING unwrapped. Being ridiculously  obedient, each year I skipped gooey pieces of grease on a plate of powdered sugar. Boy was I a dumb kid!

Years later my mom said, "Well, you could have eaten something unwrapped from Mrs. Zimmerman."

Why didn't you tell me that sooner, Mom? Since it's too late for me to go back and down a donut--having moved to another city and given up sugar--I invented a character named Knob. He wears a buzz cut that makes his head look like a door knob. Unlike me, Knob has a wild Mohawk wearing buddy who will teach him how to break the rules with style.

I hope one day you'll be able to visit your local bookstore and pick up a copy of "Mrs. Zimmerman's Donuts." Until then, read my blog.

Thanks for sticking around for the AtoZ Challenge. Tomorrow I will be participating in the six sentence Sunday. Now what am I supposed to write about throughout the rest of May? Please come back because I know I'll figure something out.