Halloween Blog Treat (no Trick)

A scene in my new novel Must Love Fashion takes place on Halloween.

Here’s a sneak peek:

Skye was a genius.

Anyone who planned a garage sale on Halloween really deserved some kind of Mensa prize. And Skye would impress Stephen Hawkins since many of her sale items were things left behind from her ex-boyfriend pop singer Miles Bookman. She fell short of qualifying for a Nobel prize for not advertising that fact.

Skye loved Halloween probably because it gave her the excuse to buy a ridiculous amount of chocolate every year. Gwen, on the other hand treasured the entire fall season for the weather and the wine.  “We’re opening that cab-franc after this right?” she whispered after dealing with one of Skye’s neighbors who harassed her to bring a pair of Lucky jeans down from ten dollars to two.

“After? I’m going to get it right now.” Skye jumped out of the metal folding chair and disappeared up the driveway. Her house was a legal two-family. She rented the main floor of the turn-of-the-century colonial to a retired couple who spent months at a time on the road in an RV that was bigger than Gwen’s house. When it was parked in the driveway, it blocked out the sun.

“I don’t think we should be drinking in front of kids,” Gwen said under her breath folding some of Miles’ tee-shirts.

“Trick-or-treat!” shouted two little zombies in store-bought costumes that looked like trash bags colored in with a Sharpie.

“Oooo. Very scary boys,” Gwen said assuming they were boys since every little girl she’d seen today was dressed as Elsa from Frozen.

“Now that’s some costume,” Darling Cove’s most handsome single dad said to her after she tossed several pieces of candy into his sons’ bags. He lived a few houses down from her but since Gwen didn’t have any kids, she never crossed paths with the man.

Gwen handed the dad his own piece of candy. “Well they didn’t have the zombie costumes in my size.” Still, her tall black witches hat, the wildly inappropriate lace mermaid dress and bright green eye-shadow swept across her cheeks turned plenty of heads that afternoon.

“Boys, wait for me at the end of the driveway,” he said to the elementary school kids digging through their bags, anxious to get to their spoils. He looked back with a smile. “Jen, right? Do you want to get a cup of coffee or a drink later?”

“It’s Gwen. And Lisa Connors tried to fix us up over the summer. You told her I wasn’t your type.” She fingered the tattered witch’s hat. “This is your type?”

“Gwen, sorry.” He cleared his throat. “Come on, you’re divorced. You know how hard it is. I wasn’t ready.”

Gwen folded her arms. As her neighbor he must have seen Dan come and go. And therefore he must have also noticed the missing Mercedes as well. What zombie dad perhaps didn’t count on was that Gwen noticed things too. “Oh really. EA week after that, I saw the High School principal leaving your house early in the morning.”

She waved him away, no long feeling guilty that Skye had been giving out candy from last year.


The crowd lingering in front of Andrew’s door drew immediate alarm.

As the scene became clearer he noticed several children in costumes.  Halloween. He didn’t have any candy. He hated when that holiday fell on a weekend.

But the way the mothers were looking at him, he didn’t think they wanted fun size chocolate treats.

“There he is!” One of the women said eyeing him like they wanted fun with him.

The kids turned around at the same time and in a creepy harmonized whine, shouted Trick or Treat!

This was going to be bad. To start he was a mess. He ran a few extra miles on the treadmill and even he could smell his own body odor. Next, he had no clue how to handle the situation and suddenly felt really sorry for single dads who probably had to put up with this all the time. Smile, he told himself as he got closer.

Maybe the smell will drive them all away, he thought as he addressed the group. “Hey guys. Nice costumes.”

“I’m Elsa,” one of the little girls said immediately pushing her way to the front. “She’s Anna. But everyone knows Elsa is the best.”

“I see,” Andrew answered clueless who the little girl was talking about. But since they each had on what looked like princess costumes and since he’d seen many little girls walking to school all year long wearing princess dresses, it was quite possible these were their everyday clothes and those were the girls’ first names.

“Now Catelyn, I told you about saying things like that,” a mother clawed her way out of the circle. “Hi, Andrew right?”

Shit, they know my name. “Yes. Hi.”

“I’m Stephanie.”

“We didn’t want you to feel left out.” Another mother knocked Stephanie out of the way and smothered his sweaty hands with hers. “I’m Teresa, nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you.” Not really.

“Oh and I’m Erica.” This mother grabbed his hand out of Teresa’s.

A symphony of other names crashed over him, Stephanie, Marcus, Travis, Sophie, Marianne, Chase and Dylan, a dog dressed like a pumpkin. He would never remember all of these names and now when he saw these women his usual casual glances and chin bobbing would be considered rude. “It’s nice to meet all of you. I’m sorry you’ve caught me unprepared. I’ve been out of the country and—”

“You work for Prada right?” Stephanie asked.

“Uh yeah.” Now Andrew became nervous. No man who watched Fatal Attraction would ever underestimate a woman’s ability to go to extreme lengths to get what she wants.

“Is this Prada?” Teresa glided a finger against his chest.

He stepped back. “No, Prada doesn’t make tee-shirts.”

“Well they should,” Erica said and then discretely licked her lips.

“Yeah, if they did they would cost six hundred dollars,” said the only woman who wasn’t looking at him with lust. “You have a lot of nerve what you charge for those clothes.”

Huh boy.

“Marianne, that’s not polite,” Teresa said and then turned to him shaking her head like she had been in on the joke that only the two of them understood.

Andrew drew a deep breath. “Okay ladies and kids . . . and pumpkin dog, I’ve just come back from the gym. I would really like to get inside to clean up.” He jingled his keys in the hope they would move along and stop blocking his door.

“We’re having a small party in my apartment in about an hour,” Erica said touching him again. “Come by and have some fun. I’m in 3F.”

Now he remembered her. He’d seen her in the lobby with her husband. Great, that was all he needed. “Thank you but I have some work I need to do. Perhaps if you come back tomorrow I can have some candy.”

“He doesn’t even have any candy?” a boy dressed like Batman, the dark knight version cried out. “What kind of bullshit is this?”

“Travis!” Teresa cried out, blushing. “That is unacceptable language. We talked about this.”

“Will you have some candy in ten minutes?” Elsa demanded.

Andrew smiled, pleased he now knew how to get rid of the them. “No.”

The kids stomped away complaining while their child-worshipping mothers ran after them.

Andrew unlocked his door praying there wasn’t a rabbit in boiling water on his stove.

RIP Darling

This post is directed to other writers out there.

We’ve all heard the expression, “Kill your darlings.” Like many of you I was appalled to hear such a thing, only because I felt it wasn’t explained in the right context to me at first. I thought I was being told to take the best lines of my book out. We all have them. That little nugget that you know no one’s ever written or read before.

A better way to think of it is, don’t keep something in your book just because of a little darling. I’ve been guilty of that in the editing processes. Keeping something that just doesn’t fit because it was written so well.

One thing I’ve found while writing and now editing two manuscripts, is that little darlings, the isolated ones probably can be used somewhere else. Every round of editing for me, includes several darlings or string of darlings that I review to see if I can use elsewhere. And usually I find a home for them.

But what about entire chapters!

I’m in the third draft phase of my new novel, “The Cougar Cruise” and something had been bugging me about the first chapter. Today, you have to define your novel in the first five pages. I think fondly of the book “Captain Corelli’s Mandolin”, where I was told, “Just get past the first hundred pages.” Only writers today know what has happened in publishing and how so many books we all love would never be published today, based on the new criteria.

Gone are the days, where you can let the reader get to know your main characters, and grow into the story. And then reveal the plot.

Well, just yesterday morning I stripped away the first chapter of “The Cougar Cruise” and made my second chapter my first chapter. Who cares if the first chapter introduced you to my main character properly, let you get to know her, like her, feel for her, savor her, understand her motivation. Sorry. Because that book won’t sell.

However, I am pleased with the new draft and how the book now begins. New authors have to be conformists. But that whole darn chapter was a darling. It really showcased my writing (I thought). But this is the world we live in people. Gotta have it now.

If you want to be a test reader for “The Cougar Cruise”, subscribe to the site and send me a message.


Forty Times Platinum- Excerpt

For those of you not watching the world series, here is the first excerpt from Forty Times Platinum.

I’d love to hear your comments!

– From Chapter One-

“Jennifer Montgomery! I know you hear me,” Michael Bradley yelled running toward her. “Do not even think about taking another step.”

“Wha-at?” Jen said sarcastically as she turned in his direction.

The flash of her sapphire eyes turned Michael gooey and incoherent. His cheeks turned red and his uncomfortable eyes drifted to Michelle as he cleared his throat. “Jamie Miller signed.”

“He signed?” Jen’s sarcastic smile faded.

“He did. I knew you’d want to hear it from A&R first.”

She pulled her knees together and dipped her hips revealing a level of excitement that only a few people at Thompson Street Records had ever seen. Even with Stan, she maintained a degree of composure. She had never wanted him to regret hiring not only a woman, but a former signed artist to run the Talent Development department.

“Who—who got picked for EP?” she asked.

“Corey. We just told Stan.” Michael crossed his arms.

Jen bit down on her lip, suppressing the argument that Thompson had better executive producers.

“Corey Hanson is an excellent EP, Jen,” Michael contended. “Jamie will get the platinum team soon enough.”

She met his eyes with a confident nod.

“You know he wanted you, right?” Michael asked.

Leaning in, Jen asked in a whisper soft voice, “Jamie wanted me?”

“Of course he wanted you. Who wouldn’t? I meant Stan.”

Shaking off the quick rise in her heart rate, Jen turned in the direction of her office once again. “Well, Stan would love me to EP every record and write every song. Heck, he’d have me selling the damn things on the street if he could.”

“When I’m president of this label, I’ll only ask to you sell the shitty ones on the street.”

Jen swung back around and tilted a smile in his direction. “We don’t produce shitty records, Michael.” After he left music, Michael had referred to taking this so-called “temporary” position at Thompson as “crossing over to the dark side.” And now he wants to be president!

Michelle interrupted their strange but typical banter. “Michael, maybe you can convince Jen to call her mother back.”

“What’s wrong with Gigi?” he asked.

“Nothing.” Jen knocked her head back. “She’s still on the road. I can’t deal with those phone calls anymore.” The once strained relationship with Gigi had over time morphed into a series of typical mother-daughter episodes. Typical however had to take into account Gigi’s legendary singer status and her periods of substance abuse. Jen had gone to bed many nights in her mother’s Scottsdale mansion deciding which was worse.

“You gotta give her credit, though.” Michael shook his head. “She’s still cranking out records and touring after all these years.”

“You can always go back on the road. It’s not too late.”

“And leave you here to have all this fun by yourself? Not a chance sweetheart.” Michael winked and walked away.

Once a large distance was between them, Michelle said, “I hope, when I get married and then divorced, that I have such a good relationship with my ex-husband.”

Selfies with Bears

Recently I heard a report that one of the National Parks (not important which one) had to officially ban selfies with bears. When I was growing up the warning was don’t poke a sleeping bear.

Well I did just that.

Five months ago, I fed eleven bears my novel Forty Times Platinum for their long summer nap. A couple said, “Thank you, but no, Thank you right away. While the rest snuggled it close, dreaming of weekends at the Hamptons and Booze Cruises to Fire Island.

Well it was time to poke some bears. And boy, were they grouchy.

In the past two weeks, I’ve received three rejections 🙁

But what’s so interesting, is the positive way they two of them wrapped it:

“it’s clear that Deborah is a talented writer. Her prose is fun and engaging”

I’d read somewhere talent stands out. And I do keep hearing how fun the book is. Guess readers don’t want fun these days. “Fun doesn’t sell,” I can hear a publishing marketing exec say, when having to explain declining book sales.

This one gave me chills:

“I enjoyed getting a peek into the music industry and observing a gorgeous, talented rock star up close and personal. Who doesn’t have a fantasy about a rock star!? It’s fascinating what goes on in both creating the music and in the behind-the-scenes world and watching Jen and Jamie create amazing music together and dance ever closer together was great fun. I liked that Jen was in such a powerful position and I liked the chemistry between them.”

It was “me” the editor didn’t like, apparently. She didn’t “love” my voice. I am behind Jen and Jamie, who you loved!

But, that’s still only a total of 6 rejections out of 11. We still need to hear from 5 more in the top tier, and then we move on to Small Press or Indie publishers.

Please keep the support coming. Editors think readers only want Fifty Shades or Hunger Games.

Books aren’t Life Partners or even wedding dresses. And there’s a reason there are multiple genres available. Not everyone wants porn or post-apocalypse fantasies.

Sometimes girls (and boys- Dennis and Uncle Jack!) just wanna have ‘fun’.

Oh and please no selfies with bears.

God Bless Me?

Welcome Back!

So I am going to deviate from the journey of Forty Times Platinum to talk about something personal. Another purpose of this blog is to make people interested in me (without a sex-tape). If someone is interested in me, then (in theory) they would want to read my book(s).

I’ll start with where I originally thought, I would end this story. Most of you know I am a designer (by day) for a Senior Living company. Last Wednesday I was at one of my communities with an art installer, when I came upon a resident circling around in a panic. “Help me!” she cried out. She couldn’t find her room. Thankfully she knew her room number. That’s not always the case. So of course I stopped what I was doing to help her. What heartless person wouldn’t? Of course the art installer just took out her phone and let me walk off with the resident. Hmmm.

Anyway, I found her room, the door was open, THANKFULLY. And she was so appreciative, saying, “God Bless You!” over and over. I walked back to the heartless art consultant (did I say that out loud?), thinking I just earned some points.

Well I was wrong.

Twenty four hours later, I’m sitting in horrific traffic driving to a facility in Pennsylvania. God Bless Me? That’s ironic, considering, I was heading to a town called, Bethlehem. What should have taken (according to the GPS), two and a half hours, took four hours. I was rushing to meet a drapery installer and when I got there, I was told he cancelled and was coming the following day. (Hint, that means I had to go back the following day as well)

When my fury subsided, I took a breath. I was also doing a furniture delivery that evening at five pm. So it was only say, five or six hours of my time, completely wasted. God Bless Me? Okay. The installers arrived right on time. They were nice and understanding that we were working on a dining room and that we needed to wait for the residents to finish eating. They almost seemed a little TOO understanding.

Seven hours later…. As if they were all going to turn into pumpkins, or they were all getting paid to work until midnight regardless of how long this was SUPPOSED to take, poof they were done. Did I mention, the night before I only got three hours sleep? And in two, one and a half hour increments? God Bless Me.

So it’s technically 9/11. Not that that means anything other than the irony of the date. The installers are long gone with their three massive trucks. It had been raining most of the day and mercifully, had stopped during most of their delivery, but as I was leaving the rain starting coming down again. It would be too cliché to say I didn’t have an umbrella- I did. Still, I wobbled out into the parking lot and into the new misting rain. I dumped my bags into my car and… click click click. The car doesn’t start. God Bless Me??

So yes, of course I made it back to New York the following evening. And I am still waiting for my blessing.

Yes Virginia, there are stupid questions.

Welcome Back!

As I had posted to Facebook nearly two years ago, anything can be found on the internet. I needed to describe what the terrain was like as Jen and Michael drove from Malibu to Bakersfield. Someone had done the drive, recorded it from the windshield and posted it on Youtube. It was extremely helpful. So I turned to Google once again to help me write my one page Query letter.

I had written over five hundred pages for what will hopefully be Forty Times Platinum and its sequels, but writing three paragraphs seriously had me looking back into self-publishing. Still I pressed on. I read example after example. Surely there had to be a way to scientifically transplant my information into another letter that had worked. I was wrong.

Just as with the novel itself, I turned to professional help. Ca Ching. Ca Ching. I submitted my letter to a critique service. Because this was my first time doing this, I put all these questions in the letter when I submitted it. And to my horror, my query was sent to one of the agents I was planning on contacting. It seems he had been volunteering with the service to do critiques. And if that wasn’t bad enough, my entire email, stupid questions and all, went right to the agent.

About three days later I got back my critique. In a word, I felt the comments were mean. It took so much not to fire back a nasty email. But I am pretty sure that word gets around about hot headed writers. So I took my time and tried to tackle one insulting comment after the other and tried to assume the agent said the things he said in a non-rhetorical manner.

The next dilemma was, I paid for a one time review. How would I know if the changes I made were correct? All art is subjective. And what one agent thinks is great and brilliant; another won’t read past one sentence. And so with most of my anger behind me, I emailed the agent, thanking him for his critique and that I worked on the areas in question and would he mind reviewing it again. I figured I had to ask. And much to my shock and awe, he wrote me back and said okay. And he was also actually, what’s the word I am looking for, nice.

Maybe I caught him on a horrible day?

I took my time and the second round critique I received back was so much more positive and helpful. It wasn’t quite there, but I had gotten about ninety percent of what he had been eluding to.

And so then I had my one page letter that was going to go out to (other) agents and make them want to read more.

But how much more? I was about to find out.

To be continued.

It all boils down to one page

Welcome Back!

I had known enough about traditional publishing to know what a “Query” was. It is a one page letter that is supposed to do the following:

  • Hook the reader in about your book in the first paragraph.
  • Completely describe your book in 2 more paragraphs.
  • Describe yourself as an author and why you’re special: which is extra fun when you’ve never published anything.

All of the above has to fit within 1 exact page, including a standard 1940’s-esq greeting with the recipient’s mailing address and the date.

The punch line is that 99% of the time, this “letter” is going in into the body of an email. But it’s a mind- (you-know-what) because you don’t know if some intern is going to cut and paste what you wrote in a Word Document to check to see if it actually fits on one page or not. I wasn’t taking any chances. So all my “queries” even though most were emailed, are sitting on my laptop in full professional business letter format.

Now for extra fun, if you Googled: How to write a query letter, stand back because an avalanche of hits will fall your way. At the end of the day, it’s a business proposal for your book. But it’s also an tease- think movie trailers: In a world…..

The best way to describe what’s in those 2 paragraphs is to look at the back jacket of any book. It’s supposed to tell you enough about the story to get you interested, but it doesn’t tell you everything. And what to tell and what not to tell is as debatable among experts as the beginning of time.

While writing and re-writing and re-writing and re-writing, Forty Times Platinum, I became viciously jealous of musicians, which is very ironic since FTP is about musicians. But all musicians have to do is come up with a stupid 3 minute song. How hard is that?

But when I tried to draw FTP down like a wine reduction into 2 paragraphs, I went into complete panic attack mode and I finally sympathized with song writers and who’s sole job is to hook you in and make you fall in love in those stupid three minutes.

To be continued.

The Climb

Welcome back!

In November of 2014, I received an email that sat in my inbox for several weeks.

I get stuff all the time, videos, links to websites, pictures. I have to say there’s nothing I hate more when I ask for something in an email and I get a link for an answer. JUST TELL ME! Don’t make me go looking.

Anyway, so this link to a book crossed my path in an email. The book was called Writer’s Market.

I was putting the final touches on Forty Times Platinum with the Scribendi proofreader. It was still my intention to self publish. But after scanning a few pages of Writer’s Market, and seeing how many agents are looking for new clients, I was overwhelmed with a sense of strange hope. Even though I knew deep down that it couldn’t happen.

Things like that don’t happen to me.

I have a very strange type of luck. I am the last car to drive past what will become a ten car pileup. And on the morning of 9/11, I was on a plane coming back from L.A. And even though I was on the right plane, again luck struck and we were one of the last planes to get clearance to land at JFK. Hundreds of others were diverted.

But I don’t have the luck I feel is necessary to have anything truly great and extraordinary happen.

Because I do believe there is a sense of luck in getting published. There’s something to be said for being in the right place at the right time and being in the wrong place at the wrong time. When you strip away all the fantasy notions about a publisher, at the end of the day it’s sea of people working in an office (or at a home computer).

Think about your job and all the emails you get. Think about the days when you clearly aren’t in the mood to do a certain aspect of your job. We all have them. So to me, it’s my luck, that I will send a query to someone on what will probably turn out to be a terrible day for that editor or agent. Everything sucks when you’re in a bad mood.

Or I’m the email they’ve opened up and someone will then burst into their office with an emergency and when they get back, they’ve lost track of where they are and assume, they’ve read mine and discarded it. (More on my adventures in query writing in a later post).

Still with all that, I did also come to the realization that I was going to have to justify spending $7000 to my husband —even though it’s my own money. We’ve been married for 8 years next week and still 90% of our money is sitting in separate accounts. The reason? Lazy. My husband has the summers off and every June, I say “This year we are going to the banks!” and next thing I know it’s September.

So I found myself faced with the daunting task to start querying agents. Most editors don’t even accept queries directly. And when you get an agent, they will contact all the publishers.

I went through the book and checked off all the agents who are accepting new clients. BUT, publishing is dynamic. So while at the time, Writer’s Market was being published, an agent was open to new clients— that could always change. So every agent had to be further researched online.

And of course I had to find for those looking for material in my genre.

So there I was faced with my genre dilemma again. Is Forty Times Platinum Women’s Fiction or is it really a Romance? I decided to contact agents looking for both and figured I would write two queries (we all know how easy queries are to write) each slanted toward a particular genre.

By the time I was done, I had found 70 agents that I wanted to contact. 70 queries to send out. 70 agents to research and find out what they are looking for, who and what they published, what are their interests, are they speaking at any conferences, are they judging any contests. I created a spreadsheet that I had to end up printing on an 11×17 sheet and it was still six pages long.

By the time I was done, I knew one thing: Forty Times Platinum, wasn’t going anywhere for at least another six months.

To be continued.

What does Forty Times Platinum and Frozen have in common?

Welcome back!

I don’t jump on band-wagons. Not out of principle or anything as noble as that. And as much as I criticize my husband for fearing change, I am actually very similar. I usually like what I have going on and don’t want to do anything new or different.

So of course I was probably the last person to get a Facebook page and I will say I still don’t know how to use it as effectively as I can. And now I have to be on Twitter and Instagram. Help! These have been my summer to-do’s. I did manage to set up a Twitter account- Follow me! But I haven’t gotten on Instagram yet.

Anyway, back to band-wagons. As someone who does not have children, when the whole Frozen craze started, I looked the other way. But, I do like a good song. The lyrics to “Let it Go”, however confused me because I hadn’t seen the movie. There I stood, in my friends’ kitchen one Friday night and the movie was on. When the scene with the song came on, the room burst with excitement. I listened specifically to the words and turned to my friend, begging for an explanation. Ah ha! Now I get it. And then I was hooked.

About a month after that, there was a behind-the-scenes special about Frozen.

I love all the behind the scenes stuff I could get my hands on. That was research for my novel. There are little pieces of so many rock-u-mentaries that I mimicked in Forty Times Platinum. Even though my book is about musicians, I am nothing further from an expert on music. I can carry a tune that is it. No one will have any idea what I went through to try to understand the elements of music so I could write about it successfully, accurately and make it sound pleasant to read. Music is basically another language. And it’s up there with Japanese. Since all the symbols mean something different.

So I watched the Frozen special with interest and again peeled my eyes and ears for stuff I could steal. I mean use. Songwriters Kristen Anderson-Lopez and her husband Robert Lopez talked about what had inspired them to write the song. It was then that Kristen had used the word “vamp.” She was referring to the opening piano notes to the song. For the longest time I had been looking for that word! If it weren’t for the movie Frozen, there would have been a hole in my novel.

To this day, when I hear the opening to “Let it Go”, I think of my own fictional song, “Time and Place”— the song Jennifer Montgomery writes for newly signed artists Jamie Miller.

“A strong and intricate opening or vamp should get people’s attention, Jennifer thought.”

Thanks Kristen!

Then the screenwriter was being interviewed. Frozen was one of those movies that had many stops and starts. And even when they thought the story was complete, apparently when Kristen and Robert presented “Let it Go,” the screenwriter, said her reaction was “Oh God, I have to re-write this entire movie.”

I started crying. Coincidentally her name was Jennifer. I said, “I know Jennifer, I know how you feel.”

The re-write I was facing however was going to be even harder this time because I was being told to employ techniques I simply didn’t know. I decided to take advantage of the proofreading service and used the same editor to get me through a few chapters at a time. She was teaching me how to write a novel properly.

It took five more months to re-write and re-work Forty Times Platinum.


To be continued.

The Five Pages That Changed My Life

Welcome back!

So I’m a little drunk and my hands are trembling opening the word document that contained my manuscript critique. I had expected 1 to 2 pages, per the service’ description. I peeked down at the lower tool bar and read “Page 1 of 5”

“Oh my God, this is five pages long!” I shouted to my husband.

This was the first sentence of my critique:

“This is a fun and imaginative romance fiction that will have substantial appeal to a target audience that enjoys the modern romance genre.”

Several words jumped out and soothed my nerves: ‘Fun’ and ‘Imaginative’. But ‘Substantial Appeal’ took my breath away. SUBSTANTIAL. But then I noticed the editor classified “Forty Times Platinum” as a Romance.

I had spent the better part of year, trying to make it sound like anything but a romance!

But the critique went on with more words of encouragement. And then the bomb dropped:

“Overall, therefore, you have the basics of a really good read. However, the novel, as it stands now, suffers badly from the pitfall of “telling” not “showing.”

‘Suffers badly.’ Ouch.

The next few pages had laid out the criticisms in detail:

“often Jen and the others are acting against a “blue screen” in your book.”

She likened the book to reading like a screenplay-made perfect sense. (See earlier posts.)

One of my mother’s comments was that I was too descriptive. So while I was wiping all of the unnecessary descriptions away, I was left with only dialogue. In all the people who read it, they never told me that they didn’t get a sense of what was going on around my characters. And I hadn’t seen it either.

But then I started paying extra attention to movies and television. I got what the editor was talking about. Characters just can’t talk non-stop with nothing else happening around them. That’s boring. And on the screen, actors don’t just stand there and talk.

Next the editor said I was “head-hopping.” In novels, apparently you cannot tell a story from two (or more) character’s perspective in the same part of the book. Any substantial chunk of a novel has to be told through one character’s perspective. And then you can jump. But you have to put in a key somehow to let the reader know the perspective has changed. This is done in movies and television all the time but apparently it’s a big no-no on paper.

It’s at this point that I picked up another book for help. And Seven Years to Sin– my FAVORITE Sylvia Day book- really came to my rescue. After reading my critique I was determined to prove the editor wrong about the ‘head-hopping’. I was sure I’d seen it in books. I was wrong.

Many authors devote individual chapters solely from one character’s perspective. Jodi Picoult does this a lot. And each chapter is titled with that character’s name. Personally, I think that’s been overdone. No offense to anyone- especially a master like Jodi.

The blue-screen fix was easy. The showing-not-telling comment was trickier, but again, a relatively easy fix, once I understood how to do it properly.


Tell: The glass of wine was half full.

Show: Christina lifted her glass, tilting her head back to catch the last of its contents.

The head-hopping was a big issue. I literally had thoughts popping in and out all over the place. And to me each character’s thoughts and views were important to telling the story the way I wanted to.

This sadly meant one thing.

I had to re-write my novel.


To be continued.