Works in progress…
Hello friends,
If you’re interested in knowing a bit about my Works in Progress, here’s the scoop. My paper and elecronic files spill over with draft upon draft of novels in progress, to the point that I’ll occasionally come upon a story that I don’t even remember writing, until I start reading it and get excited about it again.
Getting to the finish line has been a challenge for me. I have no problem finishing a first draft of a novel. Or a second draft. Or a third draft. Or even a fourth draft. But typing The End on a Final Draft of a novel has to this point proved elusive.
That’s what motivated me to set aside my novels for a couple of years and try to pound out some short stories, despite the fact that I have never considered myself a short story writer and haven’t been much of a short story reader, either. A consistent theme in the reviews I’ve received of my short stories is that readers wish they were longer, even full-length novels. That affirms for me that I’m meant to be writing novels.
But, oh, my friends, they’re hard to write! And I don’t want to put anything out into the world that doesn’t delight me. It doesn’t have to be perfect— believe me, there are parts of every one of my short stories that I’d like to go back and tweak— but a story does need to delight me before I can call it done. And so far, none of my novel drafts have delighted me. But the potential is there. I feel it!
One challenge I’ve had in filling out this Works in Progress page before is describing what my WIPs are about because you know that little “elevator speech” that authors are supposed to have: my novel in 30 seconds or less? I don’t have it. I’m not going to have it until my novel is done, and then I can tell you what it’s about. I’m what’s called a Pantser, in that I write by the seat of my pants. It’s not efficient, to put it mildly, and I’ll never stop trying to build up my story structure/ plotting skills, but there we are.
But let me tell you what I can about a couple of the novels I’m working on.
Hello, Honeymoon
Hello, Honeymoon started off as a novella called “Honeymoon.” It was intended to follow “Fire Boy” as the second Pine Lodge Tale and to feature Geoff and Marybeth on their honeymoon, one week, start to finish, beginning with a stressful start to married life, but leading to a promising start to a loving marriage by the end of the honeymoon. The first draft came in at 25,000 words. Some of my beta readers really liked it, others didn’t, but the majority HATED Geoff, the hero.
I did not mean for readers to hate my hero.
One reader said, “They’ve known each other for three years? It seems like they just met on the street and decided to get married.”
That made me realize that I had violated one of the first rules of romance in that I’d left out the “Meet Cute.” (It’s possible I was thinking I could get away with writing a love story that wasn’t straight romance, but for now I think I’m better off sticking to tried and true story structure.)
So, I decided to scrap the novella idea and to go for a novel, beginning with the “Meet Cute” and ending with the honeymoon.
I finished a complete draft of the novel in June of 2022 and gave it to my beta readers. I got some really encouraging feedback. In this draft, readers really liked Geoff. Unfortunately, they found Marybeth insecure, critical and whiny.
I did not intend for readers to dislike my heroine.
So, I spent a year putting together my story collection, First Impressions: Five Short Love Stories, and now I’m back to draft 2 of the full novel of Hello, Honeymoon.
One of the hardest things for any novelist to write is the first chapter, and particularly the first page of the first chapter. It’s so important because if people don’t stick with you past the first page, that’s it. So, for any readers interested, I invite you to explore my Cemetery of First Pages, and to check out the one that’s still breathing. If you’d like to be an integral part of my writing process, feel free to let me know if you would or would not keep reading past the Breathing Page 1 and why or why not. :)
CEMETERY OF FIRST PAGES FOR HELLO, HONEYMOON
Honeymoon: A Pine Lodge Tale R.I.P. December 2019
Pricilla pounded on the driver’s seat window. Her heavy makeup was smearing on her face, an unfortunate result of the day’s ungodly humidity and the unexpected afternoon storm. All the guests who hadn’t been able to squeeze under the one tent were drenched.
“Please don’t roll it down, Geoff,” Marybeth begged. “She’s said enough already and she’s plastered. I know I don’t want to hear it.”
“She’s my mother.” Geoffrey faced forward grimly, ignoring the pounding. “I can’t just drive away.” He turned to Marybeth. “Can I?” Anguish filled his eyes. He hated seeing his mother this drunk. Yes! Marybeth wanted to scream at him.
Pricilla then flipped her hand and began banging her enormous diamond ring against the glass. “Shit, my car,” Geoffrey muttered. “She’ll chip the glass.” Immediately, he rolled the window down. “What is it, Mother?”
Marybeth closed her eyes. She had let herself take one tiny sip of champagne as their family and friends were toasting them. One tiny sip. Even though multiple past experiences at other people’s weddings had warned her this was a really bad idea. Why would she think her own wedding should be any exception? Just because she wanted it to be––because she wanted to be able to drink champagne like a normal person on her wedding day?
Now she had a migraine so excruciating she could barely see. Pricilla had said people only got migraines from cheap champagne and had insisted on personally selecting the champagne Marybeth’s parents purchased for today. It was very expensive champagne.
Honeymoon: Chapter One R.I.P. September 2020
Marybeth Hadley had never crashed a two-year-old’s birthday party before. However, when Stacey, her oldest friend in the world, came for her once-a-year visit to Manhattan, they did whatever Stacey wanted. This afternoon, Stacey wanted to meet her college roommate’s son for the first time and insisted on dragging Marybeth along.
“You did too meet Claire, at least once, I’m sure of it,” Stacey said. “She won’t mind at all having an extra person. It’s a party. The more, the merrier. Plus, we’re so late it’s almost over. I’m sure the other guests will be leaving soon.”
“It’s a New York City apartment,” Marybeth responded as they hurried down 87th Street, looking for the right brownstone. “If you ever bring a surprise guest to my tiny studio without warning me, I’ll disown you.” She inhaled deeply. “I love that scent. Sycamore trees in spring. It’s heavenly.”
“I don’t smell anything.” Stacey set down a large bag of wrapped gifts on the sidewalk and clipped her lush brown hair back from her face into a barrette. Two gangly teenage boys heading in their direction almost tripped over themselves looking at Stacey. With her movie star face, long legs and hourglass figure, her friend was that kind of beautiful: men practically fell at her feet, which was no more than she expected. Marybeth smoothed back her own fine blonde hair and watched the two boys cut across the street while glancing back at Stacey, who was now putting on coral lipstick, with the help of a little pocket mirror. With that task completed, she twirled in front of Marybeth, her flowery spring skirt fluttering around her legs. “How do I look?”
“Gorgeous,” Marybeth said. “Who are you getting dolled up for? Your old roommate or her two-year-old son?”
Hello, Honeymoon • Chapter One—Once a Nanny... R.I.P. June 2022
Ah, the scent of sycamore trees in spring. Marybeth Hadley loved West 77th Street, with its elegant three-story brownstones lining both sides of the tree-lined street. She walked down the sidewalk, elbows linked with her best friend, Stacey Kypar, on her annual visit to Manhattan for Marybeth’s birthday weekend. They were an unstoppable force: pedestrians heading their way veered around them. In her free hand, Stacey swung a large, glossy shopping bag full of wrapped presents that were not for Marybeth.
“I can’t believe you’re thirty today,” Stacey wailed, squeezing Marybeth’s arm tighter. “You’re so old!”
Marybeth laughed. “Well, wait two months and then you can be old with me. You promise me there are going to be children at this party? You know I don’t like adults very much. I apologize in advance if I embarrass you with how awkward I am.”
“I promise there will be children for you to play with, Marybeth,” Stacey said.
They were beginning their day of celebratory activities for Marybeth’s birthday with a stopover at a birthday party for a two-year-old boy, Billy, the son of Stacey’s college roommate, Claire, who was also in New York, visiting her mother. Claire’s mother was hosting Billy’s party in the backyard of her brownstone.
“I hope you don’t mind that I’m dragging you here,” Stacey said. “But you’ll love Claire and I have to meet Billy. I’m his honorary godmother, you know.”
“Hence the presents,” said Marybeth. “One for every month you haven’t seen him.”
“I didn’t go that overboard!” Stacey laughed. Then she gave Marybeth a side-eyed glance. “Plus, Claire’s brother will be there. I danced with him at Claire’s wedding three years ago and we had a great time. He wasn’t bad looking either. It could be fun to see him again.”
Hello, Honeymoon Chapter 1 July 2023 Still Breathing
“You’re going to love this family.”
Marybeth followed Stacey down three steps into the small below-street-level courtyard of a stately Upper West Side brownstone. Stacey pressed the doorbell.
“I’m sure I will. How could I not when the birthday boy and I share our special day? I hope some of those presents are for me.” She gestured to a large floral shopping bag overflowing with wrapped gifts that Stacey had set on the ground.
“Not one.” Stacey ran both hands through her thick brown hair, then down the front of her thighs, smoothing her flowing skirt. “I have a thimble for you in my purse. It’s the only gift I could think of that wouldn’t overwhelm the closet you live in.”
“Studio.” Marybeth, whose own short blonde hair looked wildly windblown on a good-hair-day, made no attempt to neaten her appearance. It would be futile.
“Closet.”
“Studio.”
“Postage stamp.”
“Stacey, you have to help me remember about my family’s Zoom party for me at seven.”
“Of course! We’ll be with Heather then and they’ll be so thrilled to see us together they’ll call our parents the minute it’s over.”
They both laughed. Marybeth’s eyes again wandered to the bag of presents. “You’re not worried Claire might find all these offerings a little bit excessive?”
Stacey’s expression turned momentarily solemn. “She’s going to be furious. She said no gifts.”
Shakespeare in the Glen
I have written five full drafts of Shakespeare in the Glen but decided to put it away about five years ago because it didn’t feel quite there yet. I’m now thinking that I could make it the second book of a trilogy about three best friends: Marybeth Hadley, Heather Ditmar, and Stacey Kypar. I do really love the story and I hope to get back to it soon.
Here’s the first chapter.
Chapter One
What could possibly have convinced her that coming back home this summer was a smart idea? If the mishaps of the last few hours offered any premonition for what lay ahead, she was doomed, and her agent would never forgive her for ignoring her professional advice to stay put in the city.
The unabashed delight on her mother’s face as Heather Ditmar impatiently waited her turn to step off the bus did mitigate her misgivings somewhat. Then her mother started bouncing on her feet and waving, and it all seemed too much. Even when Heather was not so woefully sleep deprived, her mother’s hopes could be difficult to manage. Heather knew she was bound to disappoint her parents yet again, because there was no way in hell she was staying past August.
Finally, the passenger line moved. Heather retrieved her luggage from under the bus and ran to her mother’s car in the bus depot parking lot, dragging two suitcases on wheels behind her. Her backpack thudded against her sweaty back. Her mother gave Heather a brief air kiss before grabbing one of the suitcases.
“Breathe, Heather.”
As if she were still ten and not thirty years old.
“I’m breathing! I just can’t believe the bus broke down in the middle of nowhere upstate New York. Two hours to get a replacement bus!”
“You’re here. Everything’s going to be fine.” Her mother popped the trunk open.
“If I make it to rehearsal, which is in less than an hour. If I don’t, Carol’s going to kill me.” They each thrust a suitcase in and slammed the trunk door shut together. “Thanks, Mom.”
Heather dropped her backpack in the back seat and slid into the passenger seat that had been baking in the sun. Tugging at the blue cotton cardigan she’d used on the frigid air-conditioned bus, she tucked it on the hot leather seat underneath her thighs. Pulling her thick red hair back from her sweaty neck, she secured a ponytail with one of the many hairbands wrapped around her wrist.
Her mother was giving her the once over, of course. “Why do you have circles under your eyes? Trouble sleeping last night?”
“Yes,” she admitted. “Wound up from the audition. I wanted to sleep on the bus, but it was too cold.”
“I worry about you.”
“I know that’s your job, but seriously, Mom, don’t worry. I’m fine.”
As her mother started the car and zoomed out of the parking lot into traffic, Heather fastened her seatbelt and clenched her teeth. Being a passenger in her mother’s car was always an unnerving experience, to say the least.
“You have a good excuse for being late, Heather.”
“I know. I can’t believe I got called to read for that new show. Oh, God, I hope I get the part.”
“It films in Vancouver? That’s so far away.”
“It’s my dream job, Mom.” She gasped as her mother took a left turn within inches of an oncoming car.
“You and your father.” Her mother shook her head with amusement, her light brown eyes crinkling. “There was plenty of space between me and that car!”
Jane Ditmar’s skin was almost as fair as her daughter’s, her freckles even more pronounced, and her hair was like burnished copper, except for a hint of white showing at her temples. Heather knew it would not be there very long.
Heather exhaled slowly. “Anyway. Thanks for coming to get me.
“This summer is our dream job for you. We’re so happy to have you close for a change. You’re sure you don’t want to stay at home? Your room is all ready for you. Ross would love to have you closer. He misses you so much.”
Ross. She looked forward to time with her brother. Her agent had almost talked her out of taking this summer stock gig, wanting her to stay in the city for more auditions, but she wanted to work with Carol again, and she did want to spend some time with Ross. It had been so long since she’d been back for any length of time, and Ross never left Woodson Falls.
“Well, he’ll see so much of me this summer he’ll probably get sick of me. I can’t, Mom. The whole cast is staying in the dorms. For bonding purposes, you know.” Heather gave a playful grin.
“You really want to be sharing a bathroom with a whole bunch of strangers at your age?”
Heather bit her lip. She had promised herself she was not going to respond to any of her mother’s taunts about her age. Turning thirty last month had hit her harder than she expected, but she worked valiantly to hide her vulnerability.
“That’s exactly what I want to be doing. You can’t imagine how happy I am to have a room all to myself for a change.”
“I don’t know how you do it.” Her mother shook her head.
“That’s the price of living in New York City,” she replied, as she pulled a bottle from her purse. “Roommates.” She reapplied sunscreen to her face, neck, chest, shoulders, arms, and every bit of skin her royal blue tank top didn’t cover, hypervigilant as always. She ignored her mother’s eye roll.
“Has it been half an hour already?” her mother teased.
“You should take this more seriously, Mom. You’re fair-skinned too. Skin cancer is no joke.”
Her mother sighed. “There’s a difference between being careful and being obsessive.”
“Not to mention that Carol will kill me if I arrive with a sunburn.”
“She sounds a bit bloodthirsty,” her mother said, deadpan.
Heather laughed. “Every director has their pet peeves and for some reason for her, it’s tan lines and sunburns. There’s a rumor that she actually booted someone from a show when the actress showed up with bathing suit tan lines that looked a bit anachronistic with her low-necked ball gown. Just a chorus girl, thank goodness, but still.”
“Well, that will never happen to you. I’ve never known anyone as driven to perfection as you are.”
“I’m not a perfectionist, Mom. I just want to be the best I can be, so I can thank you when I win my Golden Globe. I have an awesome speech. It will make you cry.”
Her mother shrugged, unimpressed. “You’ve had that speech ready since you were ten.”
Heather grinned at her mother’s bemused smile. “I keep working on it. It’s even better now. It makes me cry too. Some day.”
She relaxed as they left the busy highway for the two-lane roads leading to Woodson Falls. Soon they drove down pretty residential streets, the houses’ front porches kitted out with wicker armchairs and hanging geraniums. As they approached the village green her mother slammed on the brake, slowing them abruptly to the village’s required twenty mile an hour speed limit. Heather suspected she’d have a bruise across her chest from the impact of the seatbelt.
“The cops are always hiding in the post office parking lot,” her mother said. “See. There he is. Hah!”
“How many tickets have you gotten so far this year?” Heather asked.
“Don’t be smart, missy. None of your beeswax. I don’t suppose you’ve gotten yourself a driver’s license yet.”
“No one drives in the city, Mom, no one accept people who can afford to keep a car in the city, and that’s not most of us. Lots of people there don’t have driver’s licenses. And I can walk everywhere I need to here. So, I’ll be fine for the summer. Oh, my God,” Heather gasped.
“What?” Her mother glanced out the window for an instant. “Oh. Yes. He’s back,” she said, her lips tight.
As her mother drove with uncharacteristic slowness around the village green, Heather watched her old boyfriend, Owen, swinging a little girl who looked about two years old around by her hands. She could see him clearly and he was as striking looking as ever, with broad shoulders, muscular arms and legs, and dark skin inherited from his Guatemalan mother. His brown hair was long enough to be pulled back in a short ponytail and he had a beard, trimmed close. Through the open window she could hear the girl’s gleeful laughter as he twirled her round and round. She had dark hair in two pigtails and mocha skin slightly lighter than Owen’s, and she wore a pink frilly dress and sneakers on her sturdy legs.
“For goodness’ sake, Mom, hurry up! I don’t want him to see me.”
Her mother picked up the pace a tad as they finally passed the green and headed down Main Street toward the college.
“Is it still taboo to talk about him?” her mother asked. “There’s a lot that’s happened in his life. I could fill you in.”
Well, obviously, a lot had happened in his life. He had a child. But she already suspected he’d be married by now. She’d been warned.
“Mom.” Heather used her best indifferent old lover voice. “I don’t want to talk about Owen.”
“Eight years is a long time to hold a grudge if you ask me,” her mother said with poorly concealed disapproval.
“I didn’t ask you. And I’m not holding a grudge. I’m just not interested. I have moved on.” And so had he. Obviously.