When I write, I tend to write by the seat of my pants with no outline and very little direction when I start. It’s not because I can’t write an outline though. I’ve found that when I have an outline, I tend to attempt to stick to my original formula and that doesn’t always work and it’s also an easy way for me to get blocks.

If I don’t do an outline, then I know—at least subconsciously—that I can take the story anywhere the characters want to go. Since I have no preset destination in mind, I don’t have to try to force my characters to fit into a mold, and believe me, if your book is forced, the readers will feel it.

With that in mind, I try to let the characters drag me where they want to go and in the end, I think I have a better finished product for it.

What about you, do you do outlines, or are you a pantser, do you let your characters run amok or do you force them to conform to your idea of what they should be?

I would really like to know.

Until next time…

I wanted to apologize for missing my scheduled blog days over the last couple of weeks. The only thing I can say is that life does tend to interfere. I have been ill over the last few weeks and that is the only excuse I have. I do plan to return to my regularly scheduled blog days starting next week. If I don’t, reach out and poke me at my email address. Please.

Until my next regularly scheduled blog day…

Tianna

Through the years, I’ve noticed a lot of things about people but this particular thing never fails to amaze me. When people start to get lots of friends, they become a movie star, singer, or, like me an author. Something changes inside them. I don’t know what it is. I’m not sure I want to know, but some of them, usually the more successful ones, become…egotistic, self-important…better words escape me.

I don’t know from personal experience, but you’d think when this happens, they would become difficult to work with, causing hate and discontent wherever they go. This type of person doesn’t even have to be in the public eye. They could be the rising star at work or the best hitter on the baseball team. The occupations change but the idea remains the same. In my world, they’re known as little shits. They are people who burn their bridges and don’t think about the most basic of laws. What goes up must eventually come down.

On their way back down to the bottom where they began, these Divas will find they have few real friends left because they’ve used and abused them all scrambling up that ladder they’ve found themselves sliding back down.

How far would you go to be on top? Would you sell out the people you call friends or would you help them on your way? I’d like to think I would continue to help my friends if my books suddenly took off to new heights. I still edit and critique my unpublished friend’s work and I try to help them as much as possible. So far, I haven’t changed and I don’t intend to do so in the future.

I can’t say how many people I’ve seen rise to the top, only to flounder and fail because they suddenly don’t remember the people who helped them get where they are. The question is, would you rather be a Diva or Delightful? Personally, I’d rather be Delightful.

Until next time,

Tianna

For a limited time, buy The Endowed by Tianna Xander and receive two backlist e-books of your choice for free! That’s three books for the price of one! Just forward the e-mail from the publisher including the download link to Tianna X @aol.com minus the spaces for your free books today! Purchase must be made by midnight July 31st to qualify for the offer.

 The Endowed

When teenager Tori Sherridan discovers there are monsters in the world, she is horrified to find she’s attracted to two of them. After spending her life trying to avoid the men, she’s even more shocked when, ten years later, the two in question discover her existence and don’t want to let her out of their sight.

Try living life with no one to care for you. Women can’t love you and won’t even associate with you unless you’re controlling their minds. That’s what happens when you’re not human. Angelo Rigatti and Ricardo Lobianco have lived that way for centuries. Can anyone blame them for being unwilling to release the one woman they can’t control who hasn’t run from them screaming?

Wednesday, we wanted to go bike riding. We’re trying to lose weight and get healthy. Well, healthier… We decided to ride our bikes into town for lunch as a treat then ride home. Keep in mind, we live in BFE and the nearest town in either direction is seven and a half miles. Obviously we didn’t think our plan through.

We started out gung ho and full of piss and vinegar. After the first five or six hills, I find out my rear brake is set and I whine in frustration, “No wonder I’m so worn out already.”

I’m hot, tired thirsty and my stupid brake has made me hungry as well. By this time we’re more than halfway to our destination. Kevin fixes it and we’re on our way again, with me looking a bit wilted, I’m sure.

After another thirty minutes of what feels like pedaling my ass off, I stop and try to walk my bike. My back tire won’t budge and it’s dragging along the road as I push it. The cable for my brake has wrapped itself around the front reflector on my bike and set the brake…again! After fighting my bike for approximately three miles, I’m hot, my heart feels like it’s going to explode and I’m sure I can drink Lake Michigan, if only I could get close enough to it because my bottle of water is empty.

Again I whine about my brake being set and how tired I am. “Why me? Why does this happen to the only person who has a numb leg and had major surgery less than a year ago?”

Geeze…I wish I had some cheese to go with that whine.

I continue toward town because I’m determined to get my treat at the local restaurant. We finally hit level ground and I’m able to ride the last mile with no incident as I suspiciously check my brake cable over and over.

We get to the restaurant, have our lunch and start talking about our ride back. The kids want Kevin to go home, get the truck and pick me up because, after all, I’m tired after fighting my brake most of the way to Lakeview.

Kevin looks at me and asks, “Well?”

“I can make it. If I can’t, you can always go get the truck while I lay prostrate under a tree somewhere.”

Well, to make an even longer story a bit shorter, we made it home in less time than it took to get there because I knew to keep watching my break cable and it didn’t screw me again.

Monday, Kevin is removing the front reflector so there will be nothing for the cable to get hung up on and cause me to wear out faster than everyone else. 

I don’t look at the ride as a totally bad thing. I feel my upper thigh again, which is something I didn’t have before that bike ride so that’s good. Something good did come from that bike ride even though what I feel in my right leg is sore muscles and I can hardly move without grimacing. Still I can’t help but think it’s a good thing.

I think we’re heading in the other direction on Monday. Wish me luck with my stupid brakes!

A video from a nearby business has been shown on television and I have to admit it turns my stomach every time I see it. You see the black car coming up the road, it swerves to the left of the stopped cars to bypass them in line at the gate crossing and as it goes over the tracks is instantly hit by the oncoming train. The car never once slowed as it approached the crossing. The car was pushed roughly a mile from one railroad crossing down to the next before the train was able to come to a stop.

All I kept thinking of seeing this was how do we tell our kids to stop doing stupid things. To not take a chance regardless of the circumstances. A director for the National Transportation Safety Board was quoted in the newspaper as saying “younger drivers are more likely to do foolish things when other young people are in the car.” So what do we do? Forbid our teenagers to ever drive again? Tell them they must drive alone in the car? Take away their license? What?

My kids are grown, with vehicles of their own. Does this mean I don’t worry? Of course not. Every time I hear of an accident I watch to make sure it isn’t their car on the tv screen. Every time I pass an accident near my home, again I look to make sure it’s not their car. My children are not perfect. They are far from it. They make mistakes and I hope they learn from them.

Unfortunately, these 5 will never have the chance to learn from their mistakes. Now, the family and friends left behind will mourn them, miss them and wonder why something so senseless had to happen. My thoughts and prayers go out to the family members.

Got up, got motivated and dressed, and of course hubby decides we need to run to the bank and grocery store. Why am I going, I ask? Cause he would like company. Hmm, ok today is his day off and it’s only 8:45 a.m., so I go. One hour later back home and at the computer. Out of the corner of my eye I see the mound of laundry on the bedroom floor. Up from the computer, down to the basement with the laundry. One hour later, load two is washing, load one is drying and I’m back at the computer.

Phone rings. It’s the son from Iraq. Of curse I’ll take the call. We chat for about thirty minutes, clearing up what bills I can pay on this end (I’m Power of Attorney) and what’s he got going on there. It’s hot, 120+ in the afternoon and sand as far as the eye can see. Makes me glad I’m in Michigan where it’s only supposed to be about 82 this afternoon.

Ok, back at the computer. I have been working on my pitches for the RWA Conference next week among other things. One is locked down solid; the other three are in progress. I know exactly which books I’m going to pitch so that’s one step taken care of. Now to make my pitch tight and concise is the next step. Easy as pie, right? Wrong. I’m getting wordy and wordy is not a good thing when you only have ten minutes and you want time for the editor or agent to ask you questions as well. But it can be done.

Once my pitches are finished, there will still be laundry, still be lunch and then dinner to make, and still have a concert to attend tonight of 1964: a tribute group to the Beatles. By the time we get home it will be after 11 at night. And as always tomorrow is another day.

I’ll be right back at it, hard at work tomorrow. Hope you all have a good day and a wonderful week with whatever you are doing.

I literally just got home from the store. After assessing my closet I determined there were a few things I needed to get to make sure I look professional enough for mixing, mingling, and pitching. In my humble opinion, you are there to sell yourself, to promote your work, showcase your talents, and show editors and agents alike that you can and are up to the task of writing and selling a great book. And that is something I am going to do.

A few days ago I sat down with the RWA Conference schedule and highlighted everything that I wanted or needed to attend. I know that I have an agent and editor appointment already scheduled. One is on Friday, the other on Saturday. With that in mind, next up is my pitch.

My pitch, ah yes, oh so fun. How to shrink a 90,000 word book down to three sentences. Piece of cake, right? Um, sure! So that’s what I’ve been doing. Out of my four books that I want to pitch, two are condensed down into a three sentence synopsis. The other two are still in progress. Why is it you find so much more you want to say when you know you can’t? Doesn’t it always work that way? I will get them condensed, it is just a matter of time.

I have also marked all the workshops I want to attend, all the book signings to get free books at, and also all the outside events I have been invited to. This year I will be attending the Golden Network Dessert Reception as I judged for them this past year.

And of course I will be presenting the Booksellers Best Award to ten lucky winners on Wednesday, July 14th at the Greater Detroit RWA BBA Ceremony. To me, there is nothing better than giving authors the kudos they truly deserve. And I believe the BBA Award does just that.

So if you happen to be around in about ten days, give me a holler. I’ll be wandering around the conference with starts in my eyes, muttering to myself and having a fabulous time.

 I’ve noticed the influx of paranormal romances at many publishers of e-books and print books alike. Is this because it’s what the readers want or because it’s a market trend? Then there are ménages and male\male. All of these books flood the publishing marketplace by new and established authors alike. Are authors writing these stories because it’s what they love, or are they writing it because it’s what’s selling right now?

 I write paranormal stories because it’s what I love. I’ve tried writing contemporary novels and for some reason my characters always have some sort of paranormal ability. Right now, I can’t see myself writing anything but paranormal, time travel, fantasy, science fiction or urban fantasy. It’s not because I don’t enjoy reading contemporary or historical romances, I do. I just can’t seem to write them without something paranormal happening.

 How many authors used to write contemporary or historical romances but turned to paranormal because of the market trend? I can name a few and I refuse to buy their books. It’s not because they aren’t exceptional writers, but because they’ve put what they loved on the back burner, so to speak, to write paranormal when they’d never written it before. Perhaps I’m wrong in doing this but I feel as though we should write what we know and write what we love. For instance, there is an author who was on my auto buy list previously only wrote regency historical novels with no paranormal elements at all. She is now writing urban fantasy. Why? Because it’s where her publisher and agent perceive the money is, or because she loves it?

Until next time…

Sacrifice. It’s an easy enough word to throw around when you are having to give up something easy like TV or reading in order to write, but when you start missing out on the big stuff that word takes on a whole new meaning. I did meet my deadline, but I think I’m the only person in history to leave Myrtle beach with less of a tan then what I came with.

Then we went to the convention center and I was reminded about why I work so hard. Dance costs money—a lot of money and if I want to keep her in costumes, shoes and lesson then I need to make a decent wage as an author. Then we all got a great piece of news. My daughter’s team was one of only ten teams asked to compete on the final day! They danced so well they beat out tons of others teams and they were one of the youngest groups there too.

Suddenly my sacrifice didn’t seem so bad anymore. As I sat that night, up in the room, while the rest of the family went down to watch the fireworks, I even had a smile on my face.