I'm here for the party!

I am often asked where I get my ideas from...how I plan the plot twists...the characters...and the storyline.

My answer: I don't. That's right, I don't.

I went for dinner with a friend, who is also a fan of MV, last night...and she asked me about how I write. Here is what I told her:

Everyday, when I face my computer and my open Word program, it's like facing a set of barred doors, thick doors, butcher block doors, the kind of doors that would guard a castle keep. Behind those doors, I can hear people's voices, people arguing, people laughing, people having a party. And I so want to get to that party, but I must push my way into the room first.

Some days, the doors are easy to open, but some days they take everything I've got inside me to push them open so I can take part in the party. So, I push as hard as I can. Once those doors open, and I enter the party, the rest is pretty easy. I just become part of the group, listen in on conversations, and watch interactions. Like a movie in my head. Then I write as fast as I can type.

The worst is when I manage to push the doors open, but I am in my shower or driving my car. Then I go half nuts trying to memorize everything I am hearing and saying. That part makes me panic.

I made my quota again today. And that's after getting a very slow start on my day. But luckily today, the doors swung open with a single push. And that's such a good feeling.

I am close to 1/2 way through the book. I am finding Ruth's life to be totally intriguing, but the wild dogs back on the compound are giving Matthew's people a very hard time.

~~Sheree~~

Do you know of someone else who has read Martha's Vine, but who isn't reading this blog? Would you please send them the link? Thanks.

Isn't she sweet...I shot this little mother fox two springs ago. She was injured, but she was so involved with her babies. I found her courage to be awe-inspiring.

A Crafty Idea

I'll bet those of you who have read Martha's Vine...all the way to the end...think I planned the ending as some sort of crafty way to hook you on the next book. But that's not why I ended the book the way I did. The fact you are hooked, and waiting for the sequel was a side-effect.

I actually did it to force a discipline on myself. I never make promises I can't keep. I will bend over backwards to keep a promise. My ending was a kind or promise to my readers...and I am now bending myself in 1/2 to keep that promise to you.

Just finished another 3-thousand words today...I will start Chapter 18 tomorrow.

Would you like a sneak peak?

For those of you who would rather not know anything about the 2nd book, STOP reading now! (Yeah, good luck with that.)

~~A little backstory...Ruth has been captured by The Man. She lives under his command now. She is not happy about it, but she is making the best of things. It's been months since she has seen her husband, months since she has lived at Matthew's compound. One of The Man's soldiers has befriended her.~~

***

RUTH JUMPED at the unexpected sound. She was alone in the craft room. She was staring out the window. The darkness was inky black, but moonlight illuminated the fir trees near the home. 

“Hi,” a male voice said. “You alone here?”

 

Panic rose in Ruth’s chest, but then she relaxed—it was Mervyn. “Hi,” she said. She held a hand to her chest. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“That wouldn’t be good,” Mervyn said as he walked toward her. He smiled. “I looked for you at dinner. Where were you?”

“Not feeling so good.”

“Can’t sleep?”

“No.”

“How about some fresh air?

“Fresh air?”

“Yeah— Let’s take a snowmobile out.”

Ruth smiled at the thought. She’d had wonderful times at Matthew’s camp when she and Peter, and a group of friends would go out night riding. They’d stop along the trail, start a fire, and have a cookout under the stars. She remembered the stillness and the intense brightness of the stars. But mostly the deep almost heavenly quiet. It had spoken to her soul.

“Yes, I’d like that.”

“Got a suit?” Ruth shook her head. “I’ll find one for you.”

Before long, Ruth was dressed and the pair headed to the Quonset hut. Mervyn grabbed a lantern, and he lit their way to the machines. “This one is good,” he said. “It’s gassed up.”

“Just one?” Ruth asked. She looked disappointed.

Mervyn smiled. “Oh, the deerhunter lady wants her own machine.” He shook his head. “Yes, we’d better stick to one.” He pulled off his glove and started the engine. “Don’t want to piss off The Man.”

“You won’t upset him by taking this one out?”

“No— I’ll just say I was scouting. He’ll be okay with that.”

“With a woman?”

Mervyn laughed. “He won’t know that part.” 

He ran the machine out of the hut, turned, and patted the seat behind him. “C’mon.” Ruth straddled the seat and grasped his sides. She could feel the hardness of his body through his snowsuit and heat rushed through her. She blinked in surprise.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” 

Mervyn pressed down the thumb throttle and the machine roared ahead, its headlight bucking up and down in the trees as it passed. 

Ruth closed her eyes and yielded to the power of the machine. Wind mixed with tiny ice darts stung her cheeks and her eyes, and she leaned into the man’s back for protection. The machine hit a drift and bucked upwards nearly unseating her. Mervyn slowed down. He reached back and grabbed her arm, pulling it tighter around his waist.

Ruth didn’t resist. She shivered.

***

~~Sheree~~

PS Let me know you are reading this blog...leave a comment. If I can write 3-thousand words a day, surely you can write 10. *grin*

Cold and grey today...and light snow falling.

Just a pretty shot...

A Sigh of Relief

I am 15 chapters into Martha's Vine: Book TWO... that's over a third of the way finished. I am so glad to be where I am in the book because the hardships the characters are facing take their toll on me, too. Today, I breathe a literary sigh of relief. In their world... they just got together for a communal dinner in the Meeting House. The atmosphere is light and the conversation jovial... well, here... let me show you...

***

Children continued their raucous play, stopping only to present a teary-eyed, breath-hitching injustice to their parent for resolution.

 “Where’s the Discipline Committee when you need it?” the pony-tailed captain said with a wry grin. His tablemates laughed; they knew of his low tolerance for children—he had none, and didn’t want any. The captain coveted his supply of condoms, refusing relationships with women who were interested in procreating. “Ankle-biters…”

Meteor clapped him on the back. “Oh, c’mon…the right woman will come your way…and then you’ll want enough kids to make your own baseball team.” The captain gave him a sour look. “I mean look at this little guy—” Meteor reached across and took Gordon from Anna’s lap. “Want to hold him?” 

The captain flushed. “No. Thanks.” Everyone laughed again. 

Gordon wrapped his arms around Meteor’s neck and began to bounce in Meteor’s lap.“Ow— Not there little buddy,” Meteor said with an exaggerated squeak.

The pony-tailed captain roared. “See what I mean?” The rest of the table joined in his mirth while Meteor gingerly returned Gordon to his mother.

An elder drew Matthew’s attention. “Do we even have a Discipline Committee anymore?”

“Yeah—and what happened to the Morals and Ethics committee?” asked another elder.

Matthew looked up and shrugged. “Maybe it’s not necessary anymore. It was always more Brad and Vince’s baby anyway.”

“Any word about Brad?” asked the first elder.

Meteor fielded the question. “No. And any conversation about him is now over.” 

***

I am such a tease, aren't I? *grin*

~~Sheree~~

So cold here... and after that huge dump of snow... we are expecting 3 more days of the white stuff. But at least we aren't suffering like those poor folks in Queensland, Australia...those flood waters are wicked.

 My backyard view... last night. The skies have been so pretty.

A big fat envelope came to my door today!

Oh, I got a surprise today. A big one. I am being such a good little writer, and I've pushed everything else aside, including my photography, in order to meet my daily word quotas on the Vine2. But a mailman got my attention.

You see, I entered an image (one of 10 entries actually) into the Royale tissue box competition. It's a photo of a crystal butterfly. Well, I knew I'd made the cut from among 15-thousand images. But today I got the announcement that the image had won the finalist round, and was now eligible for the GRAND prize.

The honor comes with a nice chunk of change. And I need it... we are running a little bit to the negative right now because of all our expenses with Martha's Vine: Book One. But..my brain is always on the publicity potential.

If I can win the Grand Prize, it might mean some media coverage..and interest in me..and possibly a little novel I have penned.

Oh, please, send up a prayer for me. I am happy to win the contest, but if the contest leads to PUBLICITY for me and the Vine...now that would be worth millions to me.

Snow has stopped here...but more is on the way. Day is grey, but I am writing. Stay tuned. I might post another little teaser tomorrow.

~~Sheree~~

An aplogy to my eager readers who are anticipating a glimpse into Martha's Vine: Book 2

Sorry, I know many of you are waiting to read the continuing saga of Martha's Vine. But I can't reveal that just yet. Maybe it will help a little to know how I write.

I build the skeleton of the scene or chapter first - one bone at a time. Sometimes, entire collections of bones come into my head and I rush to put them to paper - but they are still only bones. Not that attractive.

Later, I come back to do the dressing, the fleshing out of the bones. Sometimes, I trim or add a little fat to my skeleton prose. Sometimes, I do wholesale butchering.

It's not ready, till it's ready. But it's getting there. I am on Chapter 15 and that's a 1/3 of the way through the book.

Until then, here is some of what I wrote today (I must do a little back story now and then for readers who might not have read Book One, so this is a memory of one of the characters):

The late autumn snow had drifted down, unapologetically covering an already desolate world with even greater bleakness. The heavy mass congested city streets making them impossible for the average vehicle to traverse. Many still tried, shoveling as far as they and their neighbors could, but fell down exhausted, thwarted, and very angry when their shovels reached a major artery and the realization that without a snowplow, they weren’t going any further. They trudged back to their homes and did what they could to wait out the storm. The pragmatists among them did what they could to wait out the winter.

Seniors, the disabled, and those still hospitalized were the first to expire. Caregivers had to choose between their professional ethics and their families—with their families taking priority. For those caring souls who remained behind, a lack of food, no fuel, no heat, frozen water pipes, and an innate sense to survive soon sent them—albeit, reluctantly, and with several backward glances—in search of a better life, leaving their patients to starve or freeze to death. Some patients, upon learning of their fate, threw back their covers, crawled from their beds, scavenged up warm clothes and boots, and joined the race for survival on the streets. 

Martha’s friend, Amanda, had done that. The feisty woman ripped out the intravenous tubes in her arms, kicked over the table laden with pill bottles, and turned her back on cancer. She returned to her home, and made the best of the Change—thriving, and not just surviving. Martha wondered about her little warrior friend with the heavy purse. She smiled. She had been entirely surprised and delighted when Amanda showed her the brick hidden in her handbag that neatly took down the Crazy outside the church. But along with the sweet memory came another memory—a vile image of a gunshot wound and blood. Martha erased both images from her mind.

Amanda was one of the rare ones. For the most part, only those who owned RVs, those who had done some survival planning before the Change hit, and those willing to walk away from their homes in favor of the countryside—only those survived the devastation of heavy winter snows and minus 50 wind chills. The ones with snowmobiles parked in their garages had an edge, too. Especially the ones with jerry cans filled with fuel. However, with the blessing came a curse—the battle between the Haves and the Have-nots. The Haves soon learned that the having necessitated a constant state of alertness. Those who had never used a gun, who had sworn never to touch a gun, coveted their new weapons and their boxes of ammunition. 

Martha’s family had been prepared. An RV stocked with food, fuel, and weapons awaited them at the Glowing Embers RV Park near Winterburn. Their first thought, however, was to get to a cosmopolitan center, like Edmonton—a big city where emergency services would be in full swing. After all, if power were to be restored, it would happen in a big city first. 

Or so they had surmised.

~~Sheree~~

A view of my backyard today... see the big pile of snow to the left? That's a bird-feeder. I really should dig it out. Did you know that birds eat snow? They do. I watched them.

Okay, who is responsible for this mess?

We awoke this morning to more snow than we've seen in a few winter seasons. Or maybe it just seemed that way. David shoveled last night, but you couldn't tell.

I pulled on my boots (thank God for my foresight in buying high snowmobile boots), but the snow was too thick to just step outside. I took a broom and swept the snow away from the door, off the landing, and off the steps.

I grabbed one of our 3 snow shovels and began to plow my way down the sidewalk. I don't mind shoveling fresh snow because its not too heavy. But shovelful after shovelful takes its toll and my arm began to ache. Our dear neighbor, Paul, had mercifully snowblowed one side of the driveway. Then I thought of Martha's world, and a scene came into my mind.

Matthew has planned a rescue of the women and children, but they are very far away in southern Alberta. He wakes up to this. And even though his men have cleared the main road leading to their compound, there is not much anyone can do about miles of highways clogged in snow. Trucks will be useless, even ones with snowblades attached to the front. Only a snowmobile or snowshoes will do.

Matthew and his men are in for quite an adventure. Either that, or they must hunker down and wait for the spring melt. Not a good option.

Who is responsible for this mess? Global warming? My ass. This is a new ice age, or at least a snow age. I can give thanks though--my world is not Martha's world. My house is warm, I can have a cup of tea from my Keurig brewer in under 30 seconds, and my city will plow the roadways fairly soon. Poor Martha. I can only imagine... and so I do... and write some more on Book TWO. In my cozy house with a running furnace and hot showers. I am so blessed.

Aside:

Thank you for reading my Martha's Vine blog. I can't tell you how much I appreciate you doing so. Leave a comment, won't you?

And if you liked the book, tell a friend. It's on Amazon.

~~Sheree~~

My back deck this morning!

Meteor is breaking my heart!

Meteor, the carefree rogue who wrote himself into Martha's Vine with just a blink of his sexy blue eyes, is going through some very tough times in Book Two. So tough, that it makes my heart ache for him. He's a man of many secrets, and he's good at keeping secrets, especially the most recent secret he and Anna have vowed to keep. But it just bought him a shot in the face. It's a good thing that Anna is so good at stitching wounds.

Meanwhile, Ruth is making the best of a very bad situation. She came through when meat became scarce--shot a deer and cleaned it. While doing that, she made the acquaintance of an enemy, but a friendly enemy; a man named Mervyn.

Martha's Vine: Book 2 is well on its way, but I get stopped by crossroads every so often, with crucial logistics that must be puzzled  through.

I should have something in a few weeks for a private "Coming Out" party where I will be reading the first 3 chapters of the new book to MV fans. Should be fun.

If you are interested, let me know. Leave a comment here. But you must have read Book One completely, and be able to answer questions about it to earn the passkey.

For instance, whose gloves are these?

~~Sheree~~