First of all, I wanted to announce the winner of my Awesome August blog hop that I ran earlier in the week. The winner of a signed copy of my new novel, Ribbon of Darkness, is:
*drum roll*
TEMPERANCE!
Temperance, if you will send your snail mail address to juliecoulterbellon@gmail.com I will get that right out to you. Thank you to everyone who entered.
Can you see yourself snuggled up in your favorite chair, with a soft blanket, a new novel, and a decadent dessert at your side? If you can, then why haven’t you entered my new contest that started yesterday? Book Night in a Box. Easy to enter. A fun prize that the reader in you really wants. You should totally do it. See yesterday’s post for details.
As you all know, it’s First Page Friday! Yay! And our beloved Ms. Shreditor is back in fine form. Just a reminder, if you would like the first page of your manuscript critiqued by a national editor, please submit your double-spaced 12 point font first page to juliecoulterbellon@gmail.com
Let’s get to it.
The Entry
Funny Tragic, Crazy Magic
by Sheena Boekweg
I’m not supposed to say anything about what happened. I promised.
However, I never promised I wouldn’t write it all down.
Don’t worry, Giara. No one will ever read this. Once it’s all down, I’ll light it on fire. I just have to get it out of my head.
No one would believe it anyway.
In case it does get out, in case someone decides that this pile of paper might mean something, it never happened. None of this is real. Nothing like this is even possible.
That cover it, Giara?
My name is Larissa Alvarez, and right now I am sitting in a mental hospital. I know… cliché, right? If I was making up this story I would have started it in a better place, but that isn’t where the story starts. That’s where it ends. Try not to forget that while you are reading.
I guess it started when I met Joe.
No, actually, it started earlier than that. It all really started on the day my parents died. I was in my room. Billy Joel was playing on my CD player, my freshly vacuumed carpet clinging to my toes as I stood in front of my mirror. I kept messing with the transformation rune, but I couldn’t get the shape right, so my hair frizzed up in the back.
My parents were in the kitchen talking about the price of ground beef. I’m sure my little sister was in front of the television and Dora or something equally depressing was on the T.V.
Ms. Shreditor’s Comments
Right off the bat, we know that this is an epistolary novel (i.e., a novel in letters), and right off the bat, we know that the story we are about to hear will test our willing suspension of disbelief. Can we trust what this narrator is telling us? If she isn’t supposed to divulge what happened, will she tell us everything or leave out some bits? The beauty of it is that we can’t be sure. You may not know this about me, but I love unreliable narrators. Their stories can serve up the best kind of ambiguity.
I rather like the fake-out tactic in the last two paragraphs. First, Larissa lets it drop that the story began with Joe (someone I assume will be pivotal to this story). Then, she backpedals to the day her parents died. It’s a one-two punch of vital information without needless dumping. One caution: When digging into the past for pertinent story details, be careful not to get stuck there. Sometimes, it can be difficult to steer a story back to the present from a narrative digression. That is when your story is most vulnerable to the literary pest otherwise known information dumping.
To resolve some of these potential past-present issues, you might consider experimenting with the story’s structure. Should the epistolary text appear as separate chapters so that the reader can readily discern between past and present? This will keep you from swerving indiscriminately between verb tenses.
I would ditch the participial phrase in the third sentence of the last paragraph (“…my freshly vacuumed carpet clinging to my toes as I stood in front of my mirror”). This syntax doesn’t create a clear, logical progression. Try recasting: “Billy Joel was playing on my CD player, and my freshly vacuumed carpet clung to my toes as I stood in front of my mirror.” It’s a simple fix, but it does wonders in terms of clarity. You might even try something more radical: “I stood in front of the mirror with my freshly vacuumed carpet clinging to my toes and Billy Joel playing on my CD player.” Misused participial phrases, like information dumps, are common literary pests. Work on exterminating them from your writing.
I like that both author and narrator are clear on where the story begins. Larissa asserts her credibility when she says, “If I was making up this story…” We can’t be sure that she’s jotting down things exactly as they happened, but at least we know that her intent is to tell the real story.
I’d like to thank Ms. Shreditor and Sheena for their participation today. I know I learned a lot! See you next week.
I'm an award-winning romantic suspense novelist, but in my free time I love to review books and my fave TV shows, as well as pass along great book deals, and eat Canadian chocolate---not necessarily in that order.
Friday, September 2, 2011
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Back to the Books Giveaway Hop
Can you believe it’s September already? It seems like this year is flying by.
In order to start off the month right, I decided to participate in the Back to the Books Giveaway Hop sponsored by Iamareadernotawriter blog (see that amazing blog here). I know I just did a little one earlier in the week to get my feet wet, but it went so well, I thought I’d try a little bit bigger one.
So here we go.
This blog starts at midnight September 1st and runs until September 7th. There are some amazing prizes on other blogs and here’s what I’m offering for my prize:
A Book Night in a Box
I will ship the winner (U.S. only please. Sorry!) a handmade book blanket, a Ribbon of Darkness novel, and a dessert to eat while reading. A yummy dessert in a box. Of course, this is everything a reader needs---a quiet night curled up with a blanket, some food, and a book, don’t you think?
What do you have to do to win this prize?
Become a follower of this blog. If you are already a follower, please like my facebook page here.
OR
For an additional entry you can twitter about this and link back to my blog.
For another entry you can Facebook about this and link back to my blog.
For another entry you could like my Amazon page here
Be sure to tell me in the comment trail what you've done and if your e-mail isn't available through your profile, I'll need you to leave that, too - I can't tell you if you've won if I can't contact you!
And if you want to see what other prizes are being offered on other blogs, you can go here to see all the participants!
I think it's going to be fun. What are you waiting for? :)
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Word Count Wednesday
Before we check in for Word Count Wednesday, I just want to thank all my new campaigner friends and blog hop friends. It’s been so fun to meet you all and I’m really looking forward to getting to know you better. Also, don't forget that today is the last day to enter the Awesome August blog hop from my Monday post. Go here for details.
This week has been good and bad for me. Bad, because I’m dealing with some insomnia issues and instead of lying in my bed waiting for sleep or doing one more cockamamie remedy which is “sure to work,” I’ve been up writing. So, the good news is I got 4880 words this week. Woohoo! And my characters are at a big turning point in the story so it will be easy to continue.
As I've been wide awake these days I've been thinking a lot about my writing process. I think it’s sort of like when our family rented some tandem bikes and I was paired with my seventeen-year old son. He was in front, steering, and I was behind, pedaling. We went down a large hill, and, honestly, it scared me. Not because I didn’t trust my son, but I wasn’t steering, I couldn’t see what was ahead, and we were going very fast. All I could do was keep my feet to the pedals and hang on.
To me, writing is a lot like that sometimes. We can’t see what’s ahead, and most of the time other people like publishers, agents, or even marketing must-do lists are steering us. And it may feel like we’re just along for the ride and it can be scary. But I think if we hang on, and let go of some fears, we’ll eventually feel the wind in our hair and we can enjoy the ride that comes with every writing journey and experience. At least I hope I can.
How did you do with your word count this week?
This week has been good and bad for me. Bad, because I’m dealing with some insomnia issues and instead of lying in my bed waiting for sleep or doing one more cockamamie remedy which is “sure to work,” I’ve been up writing. So, the good news is I got 4880 words this week. Woohoo! And my characters are at a big turning point in the story so it will be easy to continue.
As I've been wide awake these days I've been thinking a lot about my writing process. I think it’s sort of like when our family rented some tandem bikes and I was paired with my seventeen-year old son. He was in front, steering, and I was behind, pedaling. We went down a large hill, and, honestly, it scared me. Not because I didn’t trust my son, but I wasn’t steering, I couldn’t see what was ahead, and we were going very fast. All I could do was keep my feet to the pedals and hang on.
To me, writing is a lot like that sometimes. We can’t see what’s ahead, and most of the time other people like publishers, agents, or even marketing must-do lists are steering us. And it may feel like we’re just along for the ride and it can be scary. But I think if we hang on, and let go of some fears, we’ll eventually feel the wind in our hair and we can enjoy the ride that comes with every writing journey and experience. At least I hope I can.
How did you do with your word count this week?
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Book Review: The Protector
Today’s review is Marliss Melton's novel The Protector.
Another author friend of mine was discussing the problems Marliss Melton had had with her publisher (Ms. Melton writes military romantic suspense and apparently her publisher decided they didn’t want any more SEAL books from her) and so Ms. Melton had decided to self-publish.
I was intrigued by the story and wanted to see what the publisher had passed up, so I went ahead and read The Protector. From the very first page we are pulled into Eryn’s story when one of her students is acting very strangely while completing an after school project. She feels uncomfortable, realizing they are alone, and decides to leave. His behavior escalates and so does the suspense of what will happen next. Before Eryn can blink, she’s thrust into a world where men would kill her to take their revenge on her military commander father and if she wants to live, the game is on.
The author masterfully combines her knowledge of the military with the emotions of what havoc war can wreak on even the most gentle of souls, including her hero Ike Calhoun. Ike has come home from the war on terror with a lot of demons. He’s trying to forget everything he’s seen and done, but gets pulled into Eryn’s predicament because of a favor he owes to her father. The author really pushes the reader beyond empathy with Ike’s story and what happened to him and his SEAL team. I found Ike to be a compelling tortured hero and loved his interactions with Eryn.
With a great setting, can’t-put-it-down plot, and characters that pull at your emotions, The Protector was a story that is more than entertainment. It really made me think about our men and women in uniform and the issues they face once they are home. My only complaint was that the villain seemed a bit on the stereotypical side and, for my more gentle readers, I must caution that there were a few sex scenes and some language in this book that could make you uncomfortable, (if it were a movie it would definitely be an R). But those scenes aren’t long and drawn out and can be skipped over without hurting the story. There were also a few typos that were mildly distracting, but the plotline more than made up for that.
All in all, for better or for worse, I think Ms. Melton made the decision that was right for her in her self-publishing foray, and her readers will not be disappointed with her debut self-published novel.
Here is the back copy for it:
Eryn McClellan teaches ESL in Washington, D.C., until the day she’s targeted by terrorists avenging her father’s actions in Afghanistan. The FBI has stepped in, but when it looks like they are using her for bait, General McClellan enlists the aid of the only man he knows he can trust: former Navy SEAL Ike Calhoun.
Embracing solitude in his remote cabin in the Blue Ridge Mountains, Ike thought he’d left the War on Terror far behind. Now he’s stuck shielding a blue-eyed beauty from ambitious federal agents and crazed jihadists. More disturbing still, the charming Eryn seems intent on shattering his self-imposed isolation. Ike does his best to resist her welcoming ways, but he can feel his resistance crumbling like a mountain in a mudslide. With the FBI hot on their heels and the terrorists not far behind, Ike willingly wages a one-man war in defense of the woman whose passion and faith have given him the strength to rise above his past.
It is available here on Amazon both as an ebook and a print version. It's also on Barnes and Noble and Smashwords.
Monday, August 29, 2011
My First Ever Blog Hop
I know I usually talk about mom stuff on Mondays, but I couldn't pass up this really fun blog hop and since I've never run one before, this is a new experience. Like parenting. Everything is a new experience when you're a parent. (See how sneakily I made the mom connection right there?)
Anyway, introducing my first ever blog hop! I hope you participate. I think it's going to be fun.
Welcome to the Awesome August Blog Hop, where bloggers from all over the Internet have come together to throw a summertime party!
Every blog on this hop is offering a fun prize, and entering is quick and easy. Simply follow the instructions on each blog, leave a comment, and bop right along to the next blog. You can win multiple times, so be sure to check out all the participating blogs!
On my blog, you can win a signed copy of my new novel Ribbon of Darkness. You know you want it. :)
To enter:
1. Become a follower of my blog.
2. Look in the mirror and tell yourself you are an amazing person. Really. You'll feel so much better if you do. Writers and readers should do that every day because writers need the reinforcement after critiques and reviews, and readers should do it just to get their nose out of a book. :) Then, go here and like my book page.
3. Leave me a comment and tell me that you've done those things. If your e-mail isn't available through your profile, I'll need you to leave that, too - I can't tell you if you've won if I can't contact you!
This blog hop runs through Wednesday night at midnight, so be sure to enter before then! The winner will be notified by e-mail.
Now that you've entered my contest, come meet all my other blog friends and see what fun things they are offering!
Awesome August Blog Hop Participants
Anyway, introducing my first ever blog hop! I hope you participate. I think it's going to be fun.
Welcome to the Awesome August Blog Hop, where bloggers from all over the Internet have come together to throw a summertime party!
Every blog on this hop is offering a fun prize, and entering is quick and easy. Simply follow the instructions on each blog, leave a comment, and bop right along to the next blog. You can win multiple times, so be sure to check out all the participating blogs!
On my blog, you can win a signed copy of my new novel Ribbon of Darkness. You know you want it. :)
To enter:
1. Become a follower of my blog.
2. Look in the mirror and tell yourself you are an amazing person. Really. You'll feel so much better if you do. Writers and readers should do that every day because writers need the reinforcement after critiques and reviews, and readers should do it just to get their nose out of a book. :) Then, go here and like my book page.
3. Leave me a comment and tell me that you've done those things. If your e-mail isn't available through your profile, I'll need you to leave that, too - I can't tell you if you've won if I can't contact you!
This blog hop runs through Wednesday night at midnight, so be sure to enter before then! The winner will be notified by e-mail.
Now that you've entered my contest, come meet all my other blog friends and see what fun things they are offering!
Learn more about Awesome August Blog Hop here.
View More Awesome August Blog Hop Participants
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Sunday, August 28, 2011
Sample Sunday--First Chapter of Dangerous Connections
Chapter One
copyright 2011
“How much longer until we land?” Tyler whispered to the flight attendant.
Worry creased the flight attendant’s brow as she eased the obviously pregnant woman to the plane’s galley floor and adjusted her own jumpseat headrest underneath the woman’s head. Cushioning the headrest with as many small airline pillows and blankets as she could, she glanced up at Tyler, shaking her head. “We’re still an hour away. We have medical personnel waiting for us when we land in Paris, though.”
Tyler sighed in frustration. He was pretty sure this baby wouldn’t wait an hour.
“What’s wrong?” the young mother demanded, looking up into Tyler’s face. “Is there something wrong with the baby? I thought you said you were a doctor!”
“I am a doctor,” Tyler reassured her, his tone soothing. “My name is Dr. Tyler Winthrop, and I’m going to do everything I can to help you, but it looks like your baby isn’t going to wait for the plane to land.”
A single tear slid down the woman’s cheek as she slumped back, letting her hand go slack. “Will my baby die? I’m not due for another six weeks.”
Tyler squeezed her hand and shook his head for emphasis. “Not if I can help it.”
She looked up at him, her cheeks tear-stained now, but nodded. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I don’t want my baby to die.”
Tyler groaned inwardly at her words. A premature baby might need specialized care that he didn’t have at his disposal, but he planned to be true to his word. He would do everything he could to help. He rolled his sleeves up and turned back to the flight attendant. “I’m going to need more clean towels and whatever medical supplies you have on board. A couple more blankets as well.”
The flight attendant nodded and left. Tyler looked down into the eyes of his patient, seeing naked fear there but also trust that he would make this right, to heal her and help her. It was an all-too-familiar sight, and he looked away, telling himself that these circumstances were different. Still, this was a dangerous situation—nothing could change that—and so many factors could affect the outcome. He ran his hand through his short brown hair and drew in a deep breath. Scrunching down onto the floor and trying to maneuver his long legs into a comfortable position beside his patient made Tyler even more acutely aware of the small space they were afforded in the back of the plane. But if he were to look at the silver lining of the situation, everything would be within arm’s reach. He grabbed a clean towel from the cart parked beside him and wiped a small bead of perspiration away from the woman’s forehead. “Tell me your name.”
“Amber,” she said, her voice shaky. “I think another contraction is coming.”
“Okay, just look at me. We’re going to breathe together. Do as I do.” He offered his hand to her. “Just squeeze my hand, and we’ll get through this.” As the contraction began to take hold, Tyler was grateful at how quickly the breathing techniques came back to him. It had been a long time since he’d helped someone through childbirth.
She clasped his hand firmly as the contraction gained strength and copied his breathing as she tried to get through the pain. When it was over, she sank back against the pile of pillows and blankets behind her. “I don’t think I can do this.” Her breathing was ragged now, and her face registered the pain she’d just been through.
“You can do this,” he reassured her. He looked over his shoulder, surprised that the flight attendant was taking so long with the supplies. “Where is your husband?” he asked, trying to keep Amber talking.
“He’s meeting me in Paris,” Amber said forlornly. “I thought I’d be okay to fly since I had six more weeks left.” She started to cry. “I should have stayed home and come after the baby was born.”
“Amber, I need you to concentrate on your baby. Stay calm and use all your strength,” he said gently and squeezed her hand again. “Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?”
“It’s a girl,” she said, the ghost of a smile on her lips. “We just can’t decide on a name.”
The flight attendant poked her head back in, her arms full of towels and a box of medical supplies. “How are we doing? Is there any way at all to hold off until the plane lands?” Her eyebrows were raised in a question as she set everything down on the cart.
Tyler couldn’t answer her because another contraction had started and from the intensity with which Amber was squeezing his hand, he knew this one was stronger. He once again showed her the breathing technique and continued breathing with her until it was over. “It won’t be long now,” he finally said. “This baby isn’t waiting.” He grabbed some of the extra blankets and other supplies the flight attendant had brought and quickly got himself organized. “Amber, are you ready?”
Amber nodded weakly. “I think so.”
When Tyler opened the first-aid box and laid out what he would need, he looked up at Amber. “Okay, this is it.” Amber was wide-eyed and panicked. “Remember what I said—gather all your strength, and concentrate on your little girl.” She nodded and closed her eyes, but in a few moments the contraction was upon her, and she was pushing while Tyler counted. All indications were that the baby was in the right position and that everything was textbook, but from his experience, that didn’t mean something couldn’t go wrong. He leaned down, trying to meet her eyes so she could focus on him. “You’re so close, Amber, just a few more pushes. I know you can do this. You’re just about to meet your baby.”
She shook her head, then closed her eyes. “I can’t do it,” she mumbled. “I can’t do it anymore.”
A second flight attendant joined them, looking at Amber sympathetically. “I came to tell you that the plane is getting ready to land now. The ambulance is waiting to take you to the hospital, and your husband is waiting there. Just hold on until then.”
Amber seemed to rally a bit at her words. “My husband is waiting?”
The attendant nodded. Amber took a deep breath and slowly let it out. After one more push, Tyler was holding the smallest baby he’d ever seen. He cleared her mouth as best he could, then gently compressed her tiny chest. When that didn’t seem to do anything, he tried blowing little puffs of air into her mouth while rubbing her with one of the towels, his heart pounding as they waited for her first cries.
“She’s not crying,” Amber choked out. “Is she . . . ?”
Tyler rubbed a little more vigorously, and after a few long seconds the baby let out a weak cry. He smiled and continued his ministrations, and before long, the baby was letting out a wail. He knew that it was critical for premature babies to stay warm, so he laid the baby on her mother’s stomach, then covered both of them with a blanket. “Amber, meet your daughter.”
The baby continued to wail, and he could hear applause from the passengers at the front of the plane. Looking at mother and daughter, he could barely contain the emotion that rose within him. It had been so long since he had been present when life was just beginning. Usually he was there to witness life drawing to a close, as the dying called out for their mothers and he stood by, helpless, unable to do anything more for them. His eyes stung with unshed tears, and he turned away from the sight of mother and daughter to clean up a little, busying himself with getting Amber and the baby ready for the plane to land.
With the flight attendants’ help, Amber and the baby were ready for the jolt of landing and prepared for transport. The paramedics seemed to miraculously appear just minutes after landing and took over the patients’ care. Before they whisked mother and daughter away, Amber reached for his hand. “Thank you,” she said. “I owe my baby’s life to
you.”
Tyler smiled. “You did a great job,” he told her. “You’re going to be fine, and your baby is beautiful. Good luck.” She smiled at his words, and with one last squeeze of his hand they were gone.
Turning to a nearby flight attendant, he asked if she would mind bringing him his carry-on bag, since it had an extra shirt in it and the one he was wearing was ruined. When she returned with the bag a few moments later, he quickly changed, then made his way back to his seat. As he passed by, several people were anxious to give him a pat on the back and another round of applause. He smiled politely and bent to gather his things. The adrenaline was wearing off, and he felt happy, but tired, and ready to get to his hotel.
As he gathered the items he’d brought on the plane, he realized with dismay that his laptop bag was missing. He carefully went through his belongings, looked in the overhead compartment, and searched all around and underneath his seat to no avail. The bag was nowhere to be found. All of his papers, his computer files, and his books were gone. One book in particular that had been in the case held special meaning for him, and he cringed to think it could be missing.
He scanned the plane, trying to locate the flight attendant who had brought him his shirt, but he couldn’t see her anywhere. A knot was starting to form in the pit of his stomach. That laptop case had his entire life on it. He made his way to the exit, where the pilot and a few of the crew were still standing.
“Thanks for all your help, doc,” the pilot said. “I hear it was a girl.”
Tyler nodded. “It was. I’m glad we were so close to landing so the baby could get to a hospital.”
“Well, you kept your head in the crisis, but I guess that comes with the territory of being a baby doctor.”
“I’m actually a trauma surgeon. I just finished my second tour of duty in Iraq.”
The smile died on the pilot’s face. He was quiet for a moment, and the crew exchanged a few quick glances. “I’m glad you made it home safe, then. What are you doing in Paris?”
“Meeting my father for a little vacation.” Tyler cleared his throat. “Sir, I seemed to have lost my bag with my laptop in it. I’m sure someone mistakenly took it for theirs, but I would really like to get it back as soon as possible. I was going to ask the flight attendant about it, but she seems to be gone already.”
The pilot furrowed his brow. “I’ll look into it for you, but you should file a report with the airline. I’m sure they’re going to want to speak to you about the baby’s birth anyway.”
Tyler groaned and rubbed the back of his neck. All he wanted to do was get to his hotel, maybe eat some French food, and take a hot shower. Looking back at the pilot, he pasted a smile on his face, thanked him, and moved toward the exit to report his loss and gather the rest of his luggage. He had mixed emotions as he walked through the terminal teeming with people anxious to reach their destinations. He watched a businessman hurry past him, barely aware of his surroundings as he spoke on a cell phone, and Tyler felt a twinge of jealousy. He used to be like that. He’d had a direction and purpose before and during his deployment to Iraq. But everything was different now. He no longer knew where he was going, yet helping the woman on the plane had given him a taste of the confidence he thought he’d lost. So despite the frustration of losing his laptop bag, he felt a glimmer of hope that his time in Paris could help him gain some perspective on where his life might be headed now that his tour of duty in Iraq was over. He suspected his dad had been thinking along the same lines when he’d invited Tyler to join him here in Paris. Time would tell, but Tyler was hopeful.
* * *
It felt like hours since Tyler had entered the small room along with several other people to report lost luggage and lost belongings. He watched the stress in the face of the harried woman behind the desk as people raised their voices to her. The knot in his stomach tightened as the crowd seemed to feed off of the anger of others, loudly voicing their opinions of airlines that had lost their luggage. The young woman tried to calm each person down, but Tyler could see the fatigue on her face. When the man in front of him started shouting and waving his hands close to the woman’s face, Tyler had had enough. He stepped in, touching the angry man’s arm. “Sir, you need to calm down.”
He sized Tyler up, looking like he wanted to continue the argument, but changed his mind as Tyler moved closer to him. The man dropped his gaze to the floor before mumbling an apology. Tyler moved to the front of the line and gave the clerk a smile.
“Merci beaucoup,” she said, returning his smile, obviously a little surprised by his actions.
Tyler knew a smattering of French and replied with what he hoped was “you’re welcome.” “Je vous en prie,” he told her.
She handed him a small stack of papers. “Welcome to France.”
For just a moment, Tyler really did feel welcome. But when the older lady behind him snorted her impatience at being made to wait a second longer, the moment was gone. He nodded as he moved aside, giving one last grin to the woman who was helping him.
Clutching the papers, he sat down to fill them out. When he had finally written down all of his contact information in case the laptop was found or the airline had any questions for him, he hauled the rest of his luggage to the curb and hailed one of the waiting taxis to take him to the Hotel de Crillon, where his father was staying.
As the driver wound through the streets of Paris, Tyler laid his head back, just letting the sights slip by him. It still felt strange not to be in uniform. Blowing out a breath, he sat up straight and looked out the window as the car slowed down. The driver had pulled up to an elaborate hotel that seemed to once have been a palace. Tyler raised his eyebrows. This was luxury! Leaning forward, he paid the driver and then retrieved his luggage. As he walked into the lavish lobby, the gilded raised ceilings made him feel as if he were visiting royalty. An impeccably dressed man behind the front desk greeted him with polite aloofness. “Welcome to the Hotel de Crillon,” he said, his accent barely noticeable. “How may I help you?”
“I’m Tyler Winthrop. I believe my reservation is under the name Craig Winthrop.”
He typed the name into his computer, staring at the screen. “Ah, yes, you are on the fifth floor, monsieur.” He lifted his hand, and Tyler was surprised when he rang a small bell and a bellhop with a classic red uniform appeared. “Fifth floor, please,” he said to the young man.
“Room 5118.” The bellhop nodded and took Tyler’s bags. “Enjoy your stay,” the concierge said as Tyler followed the bellhop down the hall to the elevator.
Tyler nodded. “Thank you.” After a short elevator ride, the bellhop opened a door at the far end of the hallway, holding out his hand for Tyler to enter the suite first. As Tyler stepped over the threshold, he stopped for a moment, just taking in his surroundings. It was probably the most luxurious place he’d ever seen, a stark contrast to the cot and tents he’d recently left behind. Walking through the sitting room, he took in the dark wood paneling, elegant draperies, and plush carpeting. “This is amazing,” Tyler muttered to himself. He moved into the bathroom and was impressed with the huge bathtub surrounded by windows that boasted a spectacular view of the Eiffel Tower. “Wow,” was all Tyler could think to say.
He walked back into the sitting room where the bellhop waited patiently. Tyler thanked him and gave him a tip, firmly shutting the door behind him. He went to the first bedroom on the left and saw that his luggage had been neatly placed next to the canopied bed.
Peeking into the second bedroom, he saw his father’s watch, his pen, and some paper on the ornate end table. Nodding, Tyler determined that his father must still be at a business meeting. He had planned to wrap up all company business items today so he and Tyler could focus on enjoying Paris together without business getting in the way. It must have taken longer than he thought.
He took advantage of the time he had and took a long, hot shower, letting the steaming water run until he felt he couldn’t stand the heat anymore. It had been a long time since he’d had hot water anytime he wanted it and for as long as he wanted it. Tyler considered taking a short nap after his shower, but thought better of it, deciding he didn’t want to risk a nightmare. Instead he called room service and ordered lunch, intending to eat just enough to tide him over until his father returned. As he glanced at the end table once more, it struck him as strange that his father hadn’t left a note as to when Tyler could expect him back. It wasn’t like him. He shrugged. He knew there was nothing to be done but wait.
As he waited for lunch to arrive, he flipped idly through the hotel’s tourist packet on the small sitting table near the door. A flyer announcing a special exhibit at the Musée d’Orsay—“An Artist’s Peace: A Retrospective of the Works of Picasso and the Influence of Pacifism”—caught his eye. The small pictures accompanying the announcement showed several of Picasso’s paintings and piqued Tyler’s interest. Given his recent experiences, an exhibit about peace was just what he needed. As soon as his father returned he would suggest that the museum be their first stop in Paris.
A knock on the door signaled that lunch had arrived. Tyler strode across the suite and opened the door wide so the waiter could wheel in the table. After thanking and tipping the waiter, he opened the large lid from the silver platter and gaped at the arrangement of lunch items.
There was a large salad with tomatoes and cucumbers, some pâté, rare beefsteak with green beans, a slice of camembert with fresh baguettes, and a fancy little French cake that, if he recalled correctly, was a Paris-Brest. It smelled heavenly. He sampled each part of the lunch before placing the rest in the room’s mini-fridge for later. Unable to resist, he grabbed the little French cake and moved toward the balcony. The sun was already high in the sky as the heat of the day had fallen over Paris.
A light breeze ruffled the curtains on the balcony door, and Tyler could hear distant sounds of laughter coming from below. He stepped out and took a deep breath, reveling in the smells, the fresh air, and the fact that he wasn’t breathing sand.
His stomach still grumbled a bit in protest after the light lunch, but he didn’t want to eat his first full meal in Paris without his dad. He knew his father was looking forward to a nice sit-down meal as well, since he’d mentioned that Tyler’s flight would get in just in time for a late lunch for the two of them. With a sigh, he glanced at his watch, then wandered into his father’s room to check once more that he hadn’t missed a note. After a thorough check of the room, he was certain that the only two items in the room, besides his father’s luggage, were the watch and the pen on the desk. He thought it a little odd that his dad had left these items behind—he couldn’t recall seeing the watch without it being strapped to his father’s wrist, and he was hardly ever without the personalized, engraved pen. Just as he put his father’s things in his pockets, the phone rang, and he reached down to pick it up. “You have a message that has been delivered, monsieur,” the concierge’s voice said in his ear. “Would you like it brought up to you?”
“I’ll come down and get it,” Tyler said. He was restless and wanted to get out of the room anyway. Most likely the message was from his father to figure out when and where they could meet. “Thank you. I’ll be right down.” He hung up and made sure he had his room key and his wallet before he shut the door behind him and headed downstairs.
He stopped at the concierge’s desk and gave his name once again. The concierge returned with two envelopes. “Both envelopes were delivered by messenger just moments ago.” He gave Tyler a polite smile, smoothed his suit jacket, then turned to answer a ringing telephone.
Tyler nodded and thanked him before stepping away to read his message. He ripped open the envelope to find a single piece of paper. “Tyler, you need to go home. Return to the United States and wait for me there. I can’t explain right now. Please do as I ask.” Tyler furrowed his brow. That didn’t make sense. Why would his father invite him here only to send him home? The note was cryptic and very unlike his father. Something seemed off. He looked around, making sure he was alone, before opening the other envelope that was addressed to his father. He hoped it contained something that would help him make heads or tails of the situation, but all it contained was a slip of paper with the name “Jacques DuBois” written on it and a phone number. What was going on? He walked back to the desk. “When my father left the hotel, was he with anyone?” he asked the clerk.
“I didn’t see him leave,” the clerk told him. “Sorry.”
He looked down at Tyler’s hands, and Tyler drew them closer to his leg so it wasn’t readily apparent that he had opened both envelopes. “Do you know who left the second envelope for my father?” Tyler asked.
The clerk shook his head. “No, I’m sorry.”
Tyler mulled the situation over for a moment, trying to decide on a plan of action, then said, “I’m going out. May I leave a message for my father in case he returns before I get back?”
The man nodded and gave Tyler a piece of paper, pen, and an envelope. Tyler quickly scrawled that he was going to wait for his father in Paris until he could speak to him personally and that he would be at the Musée d’Orsay if he returned to the hotel and wanted to join him. Tyler handed the note to the clerk and stepped back. Other guests were waiting, and the clerk looked apologetically at Tyler as he moved toward them.
“Thank you,” Tyler called, as he walked toward the front door. The flyer announcing the special exhibit on Picasso at the Musee d’Orsay gave him an idea for passing the time at least, until he could talk to his dad. His conscience pricked him, though, as he thought about his father’s note. Should he try to get a flight out of Paris and head home as his father had asked? There had to be a good reason for his request. Tyler went through the front door, shielding his eyes from the sun as he stepped onto the Parisian street. No, he decided. I’m here, and I really need to talk to my dad. With luck, he’ll be at the hotel when I get back, or we can meet up at the museum. Pushing the note deeper into his pocket, he started down the street.
copyright 2011
“How much longer until we land?” Tyler whispered to the flight attendant.
Worry creased the flight attendant’s brow as she eased the obviously pregnant woman to the plane’s galley floor and adjusted her own jumpseat headrest underneath the woman’s head. Cushioning the headrest with as many small airline pillows and blankets as she could, she glanced up at Tyler, shaking her head. “We’re still an hour away. We have medical personnel waiting for us when we land in Paris, though.”
Tyler sighed in frustration. He was pretty sure this baby wouldn’t wait an hour.
“What’s wrong?” the young mother demanded, looking up into Tyler’s face. “Is there something wrong with the baby? I thought you said you were a doctor!”
“I am a doctor,” Tyler reassured her, his tone soothing. “My name is Dr. Tyler Winthrop, and I’m going to do everything I can to help you, but it looks like your baby isn’t going to wait for the plane to land.”
A single tear slid down the woman’s cheek as she slumped back, letting her hand go slack. “Will my baby die? I’m not due for another six weeks.”
Tyler squeezed her hand and shook his head for emphasis. “Not if I can help it.”
She looked up at him, her cheeks tear-stained now, but nodded. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I don’t want my baby to die.”
Tyler groaned inwardly at her words. A premature baby might need specialized care that he didn’t have at his disposal, but he planned to be true to his word. He would do everything he could to help. He rolled his sleeves up and turned back to the flight attendant. “I’m going to need more clean towels and whatever medical supplies you have on board. A couple more blankets as well.”
The flight attendant nodded and left. Tyler looked down into the eyes of his patient, seeing naked fear there but also trust that he would make this right, to heal her and help her. It was an all-too-familiar sight, and he looked away, telling himself that these circumstances were different. Still, this was a dangerous situation—nothing could change that—and so many factors could affect the outcome. He ran his hand through his short brown hair and drew in a deep breath. Scrunching down onto the floor and trying to maneuver his long legs into a comfortable position beside his patient made Tyler even more acutely aware of the small space they were afforded in the back of the plane. But if he were to look at the silver lining of the situation, everything would be within arm’s reach. He grabbed a clean towel from the cart parked beside him and wiped a small bead of perspiration away from the woman’s forehead. “Tell me your name.”
“Amber,” she said, her voice shaky. “I think another contraction is coming.”
“Okay, just look at me. We’re going to breathe together. Do as I do.” He offered his hand to her. “Just squeeze my hand, and we’ll get through this.” As the contraction began to take hold, Tyler was grateful at how quickly the breathing techniques came back to him. It had been a long time since he’d helped someone through childbirth.
She clasped his hand firmly as the contraction gained strength and copied his breathing as she tried to get through the pain. When it was over, she sank back against the pile of pillows and blankets behind her. “I don’t think I can do this.” Her breathing was ragged now, and her face registered the pain she’d just been through.
“You can do this,” he reassured her. He looked over his shoulder, surprised that the flight attendant was taking so long with the supplies. “Where is your husband?” he asked, trying to keep Amber talking.
“He’s meeting me in Paris,” Amber said forlornly. “I thought I’d be okay to fly since I had six more weeks left.” She started to cry. “I should have stayed home and come after the baby was born.”
“Amber, I need you to concentrate on your baby. Stay calm and use all your strength,” he said gently and squeezed her hand again. “Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?”
“It’s a girl,” she said, the ghost of a smile on her lips. “We just can’t decide on a name.”
The flight attendant poked her head back in, her arms full of towels and a box of medical supplies. “How are we doing? Is there any way at all to hold off until the plane lands?” Her eyebrows were raised in a question as she set everything down on the cart.
Tyler couldn’t answer her because another contraction had started and from the intensity with which Amber was squeezing his hand, he knew this one was stronger. He once again showed her the breathing technique and continued breathing with her until it was over. “It won’t be long now,” he finally said. “This baby isn’t waiting.” He grabbed some of the extra blankets and other supplies the flight attendant had brought and quickly got himself organized. “Amber, are you ready?”
Amber nodded weakly. “I think so.”
When Tyler opened the first-aid box and laid out what he would need, he looked up at Amber. “Okay, this is it.” Amber was wide-eyed and panicked. “Remember what I said—gather all your strength, and concentrate on your little girl.” She nodded and closed her eyes, but in a few moments the contraction was upon her, and she was pushing while Tyler counted. All indications were that the baby was in the right position and that everything was textbook, but from his experience, that didn’t mean something couldn’t go wrong. He leaned down, trying to meet her eyes so she could focus on him. “You’re so close, Amber, just a few more pushes. I know you can do this. You’re just about to meet your baby.”
She shook her head, then closed her eyes. “I can’t do it,” she mumbled. “I can’t do it anymore.”
A second flight attendant joined them, looking at Amber sympathetically. “I came to tell you that the plane is getting ready to land now. The ambulance is waiting to take you to the hospital, and your husband is waiting there. Just hold on until then.”
Amber seemed to rally a bit at her words. “My husband is waiting?”
The attendant nodded. Amber took a deep breath and slowly let it out. After one more push, Tyler was holding the smallest baby he’d ever seen. He cleared her mouth as best he could, then gently compressed her tiny chest. When that didn’t seem to do anything, he tried blowing little puffs of air into her mouth while rubbing her with one of the towels, his heart pounding as they waited for her first cries.
“She’s not crying,” Amber choked out. “Is she . . . ?”
Tyler rubbed a little more vigorously, and after a few long seconds the baby let out a weak cry. He smiled and continued his ministrations, and before long, the baby was letting out a wail. He knew that it was critical for premature babies to stay warm, so he laid the baby on her mother’s stomach, then covered both of them with a blanket. “Amber, meet your daughter.”
The baby continued to wail, and he could hear applause from the passengers at the front of the plane. Looking at mother and daughter, he could barely contain the emotion that rose within him. It had been so long since he had been present when life was just beginning. Usually he was there to witness life drawing to a close, as the dying called out for their mothers and he stood by, helpless, unable to do anything more for them. His eyes stung with unshed tears, and he turned away from the sight of mother and daughter to clean up a little, busying himself with getting Amber and the baby ready for the plane to land.
With the flight attendants’ help, Amber and the baby were ready for the jolt of landing and prepared for transport. The paramedics seemed to miraculously appear just minutes after landing and took over the patients’ care. Before they whisked mother and daughter away, Amber reached for his hand. “Thank you,” she said. “I owe my baby’s life to
you.”
Tyler smiled. “You did a great job,” he told her. “You’re going to be fine, and your baby is beautiful. Good luck.” She smiled at his words, and with one last squeeze of his hand they were gone.
Turning to a nearby flight attendant, he asked if she would mind bringing him his carry-on bag, since it had an extra shirt in it and the one he was wearing was ruined. When she returned with the bag a few moments later, he quickly changed, then made his way back to his seat. As he passed by, several people were anxious to give him a pat on the back and another round of applause. He smiled politely and bent to gather his things. The adrenaline was wearing off, and he felt happy, but tired, and ready to get to his hotel.
As he gathered the items he’d brought on the plane, he realized with dismay that his laptop bag was missing. He carefully went through his belongings, looked in the overhead compartment, and searched all around and underneath his seat to no avail. The bag was nowhere to be found. All of his papers, his computer files, and his books were gone. One book in particular that had been in the case held special meaning for him, and he cringed to think it could be missing.
He scanned the plane, trying to locate the flight attendant who had brought him his shirt, but he couldn’t see her anywhere. A knot was starting to form in the pit of his stomach. That laptop case had his entire life on it. He made his way to the exit, where the pilot and a few of the crew were still standing.
“Thanks for all your help, doc,” the pilot said. “I hear it was a girl.”
Tyler nodded. “It was. I’m glad we were so close to landing so the baby could get to a hospital.”
“Well, you kept your head in the crisis, but I guess that comes with the territory of being a baby doctor.”
“I’m actually a trauma surgeon. I just finished my second tour of duty in Iraq.”
The smile died on the pilot’s face. He was quiet for a moment, and the crew exchanged a few quick glances. “I’m glad you made it home safe, then. What are you doing in Paris?”
“Meeting my father for a little vacation.” Tyler cleared his throat. “Sir, I seemed to have lost my bag with my laptop in it. I’m sure someone mistakenly took it for theirs, but I would really like to get it back as soon as possible. I was going to ask the flight attendant about it, but she seems to be gone already.”
The pilot furrowed his brow. “I’ll look into it for you, but you should file a report with the airline. I’m sure they’re going to want to speak to you about the baby’s birth anyway.”
Tyler groaned and rubbed the back of his neck. All he wanted to do was get to his hotel, maybe eat some French food, and take a hot shower. Looking back at the pilot, he pasted a smile on his face, thanked him, and moved toward the exit to report his loss and gather the rest of his luggage. He had mixed emotions as he walked through the terminal teeming with people anxious to reach their destinations. He watched a businessman hurry past him, barely aware of his surroundings as he spoke on a cell phone, and Tyler felt a twinge of jealousy. He used to be like that. He’d had a direction and purpose before and during his deployment to Iraq. But everything was different now. He no longer knew where he was going, yet helping the woman on the plane had given him a taste of the confidence he thought he’d lost. So despite the frustration of losing his laptop bag, he felt a glimmer of hope that his time in Paris could help him gain some perspective on where his life might be headed now that his tour of duty in Iraq was over. He suspected his dad had been thinking along the same lines when he’d invited Tyler to join him here in Paris. Time would tell, but Tyler was hopeful.
* * *
It felt like hours since Tyler had entered the small room along with several other people to report lost luggage and lost belongings. He watched the stress in the face of the harried woman behind the desk as people raised their voices to her. The knot in his stomach tightened as the crowd seemed to feed off of the anger of others, loudly voicing their opinions of airlines that had lost their luggage. The young woman tried to calm each person down, but Tyler could see the fatigue on her face. When the man in front of him started shouting and waving his hands close to the woman’s face, Tyler had had enough. He stepped in, touching the angry man’s arm. “Sir, you need to calm down.”
He sized Tyler up, looking like he wanted to continue the argument, but changed his mind as Tyler moved closer to him. The man dropped his gaze to the floor before mumbling an apology. Tyler moved to the front of the line and gave the clerk a smile.
“Merci beaucoup,” she said, returning his smile, obviously a little surprised by his actions.
Tyler knew a smattering of French and replied with what he hoped was “you’re welcome.” “Je vous en prie,” he told her.
She handed him a small stack of papers. “Welcome to France.”
For just a moment, Tyler really did feel welcome. But when the older lady behind him snorted her impatience at being made to wait a second longer, the moment was gone. He nodded as he moved aside, giving one last grin to the woman who was helping him.
Clutching the papers, he sat down to fill them out. When he had finally written down all of his contact information in case the laptop was found or the airline had any questions for him, he hauled the rest of his luggage to the curb and hailed one of the waiting taxis to take him to the Hotel de Crillon, where his father was staying.
As the driver wound through the streets of Paris, Tyler laid his head back, just letting the sights slip by him. It still felt strange not to be in uniform. Blowing out a breath, he sat up straight and looked out the window as the car slowed down. The driver had pulled up to an elaborate hotel that seemed to once have been a palace. Tyler raised his eyebrows. This was luxury! Leaning forward, he paid the driver and then retrieved his luggage. As he walked into the lavish lobby, the gilded raised ceilings made him feel as if he were visiting royalty. An impeccably dressed man behind the front desk greeted him with polite aloofness. “Welcome to the Hotel de Crillon,” he said, his accent barely noticeable. “How may I help you?”
“I’m Tyler Winthrop. I believe my reservation is under the name Craig Winthrop.”
He typed the name into his computer, staring at the screen. “Ah, yes, you are on the fifth floor, monsieur.” He lifted his hand, and Tyler was surprised when he rang a small bell and a bellhop with a classic red uniform appeared. “Fifth floor, please,” he said to the young man.
“Room 5118.” The bellhop nodded and took Tyler’s bags. “Enjoy your stay,” the concierge said as Tyler followed the bellhop down the hall to the elevator.
Tyler nodded. “Thank you.” After a short elevator ride, the bellhop opened a door at the far end of the hallway, holding out his hand for Tyler to enter the suite first. As Tyler stepped over the threshold, he stopped for a moment, just taking in his surroundings. It was probably the most luxurious place he’d ever seen, a stark contrast to the cot and tents he’d recently left behind. Walking through the sitting room, he took in the dark wood paneling, elegant draperies, and plush carpeting. “This is amazing,” Tyler muttered to himself. He moved into the bathroom and was impressed with the huge bathtub surrounded by windows that boasted a spectacular view of the Eiffel Tower. “Wow,” was all Tyler could think to say.
He walked back into the sitting room where the bellhop waited patiently. Tyler thanked him and gave him a tip, firmly shutting the door behind him. He went to the first bedroom on the left and saw that his luggage had been neatly placed next to the canopied bed.
Peeking into the second bedroom, he saw his father’s watch, his pen, and some paper on the ornate end table. Nodding, Tyler determined that his father must still be at a business meeting. He had planned to wrap up all company business items today so he and Tyler could focus on enjoying Paris together without business getting in the way. It must have taken longer than he thought.
He took advantage of the time he had and took a long, hot shower, letting the steaming water run until he felt he couldn’t stand the heat anymore. It had been a long time since he’d had hot water anytime he wanted it and for as long as he wanted it. Tyler considered taking a short nap after his shower, but thought better of it, deciding he didn’t want to risk a nightmare. Instead he called room service and ordered lunch, intending to eat just enough to tide him over until his father returned. As he glanced at the end table once more, it struck him as strange that his father hadn’t left a note as to when Tyler could expect him back. It wasn’t like him. He shrugged. He knew there was nothing to be done but wait.
As he waited for lunch to arrive, he flipped idly through the hotel’s tourist packet on the small sitting table near the door. A flyer announcing a special exhibit at the Musée d’Orsay—“An Artist’s Peace: A Retrospective of the Works of Picasso and the Influence of Pacifism”—caught his eye. The small pictures accompanying the announcement showed several of Picasso’s paintings and piqued Tyler’s interest. Given his recent experiences, an exhibit about peace was just what he needed. As soon as his father returned he would suggest that the museum be their first stop in Paris.
A knock on the door signaled that lunch had arrived. Tyler strode across the suite and opened the door wide so the waiter could wheel in the table. After thanking and tipping the waiter, he opened the large lid from the silver platter and gaped at the arrangement of lunch items.
There was a large salad with tomatoes and cucumbers, some pâté, rare beefsteak with green beans, a slice of camembert with fresh baguettes, and a fancy little French cake that, if he recalled correctly, was a Paris-Brest. It smelled heavenly. He sampled each part of the lunch before placing the rest in the room’s mini-fridge for later. Unable to resist, he grabbed the little French cake and moved toward the balcony. The sun was already high in the sky as the heat of the day had fallen over Paris.
A light breeze ruffled the curtains on the balcony door, and Tyler could hear distant sounds of laughter coming from below. He stepped out and took a deep breath, reveling in the smells, the fresh air, and the fact that he wasn’t breathing sand.
His stomach still grumbled a bit in protest after the light lunch, but he didn’t want to eat his first full meal in Paris without his dad. He knew his father was looking forward to a nice sit-down meal as well, since he’d mentioned that Tyler’s flight would get in just in time for a late lunch for the two of them. With a sigh, he glanced at his watch, then wandered into his father’s room to check once more that he hadn’t missed a note. After a thorough check of the room, he was certain that the only two items in the room, besides his father’s luggage, were the watch and the pen on the desk. He thought it a little odd that his dad had left these items behind—he couldn’t recall seeing the watch without it being strapped to his father’s wrist, and he was hardly ever without the personalized, engraved pen. Just as he put his father’s things in his pockets, the phone rang, and he reached down to pick it up. “You have a message that has been delivered, monsieur,” the concierge’s voice said in his ear. “Would you like it brought up to you?”
“I’ll come down and get it,” Tyler said. He was restless and wanted to get out of the room anyway. Most likely the message was from his father to figure out when and where they could meet. “Thank you. I’ll be right down.” He hung up and made sure he had his room key and his wallet before he shut the door behind him and headed downstairs.
He stopped at the concierge’s desk and gave his name once again. The concierge returned with two envelopes. “Both envelopes were delivered by messenger just moments ago.” He gave Tyler a polite smile, smoothed his suit jacket, then turned to answer a ringing telephone.
Tyler nodded and thanked him before stepping away to read his message. He ripped open the envelope to find a single piece of paper. “Tyler, you need to go home. Return to the United States and wait for me there. I can’t explain right now. Please do as I ask.” Tyler furrowed his brow. That didn’t make sense. Why would his father invite him here only to send him home? The note was cryptic and very unlike his father. Something seemed off. He looked around, making sure he was alone, before opening the other envelope that was addressed to his father. He hoped it contained something that would help him make heads or tails of the situation, but all it contained was a slip of paper with the name “Jacques DuBois” written on it and a phone number. What was going on? He walked back to the desk. “When my father left the hotel, was he with anyone?” he asked the clerk.
“I didn’t see him leave,” the clerk told him. “Sorry.”
He looked down at Tyler’s hands, and Tyler drew them closer to his leg so it wasn’t readily apparent that he had opened both envelopes. “Do you know who left the second envelope for my father?” Tyler asked.
The clerk shook his head. “No, I’m sorry.”
Tyler mulled the situation over for a moment, trying to decide on a plan of action, then said, “I’m going out. May I leave a message for my father in case he returns before I get back?”
The man nodded and gave Tyler a piece of paper, pen, and an envelope. Tyler quickly scrawled that he was going to wait for his father in Paris until he could speak to him personally and that he would be at the Musée d’Orsay if he returned to the hotel and wanted to join him. Tyler handed the note to the clerk and stepped back. Other guests were waiting, and the clerk looked apologetically at Tyler as he moved toward them.
“Thank you,” Tyler called, as he walked toward the front door. The flyer announcing the special exhibit on Picasso at the Musee d’Orsay gave him an idea for passing the time at least, until he could talk to his dad. His conscience pricked him, though, as he thought about his father’s note. Should he try to get a flight out of Paris and head home as his father had asked? There had to be a good reason for his request. Tyler went through the front door, shielding his eyes from the sun as he stepped onto the Parisian street. No, he decided. I’m here, and I really need to talk to my dad. With luck, he’ll be at the hotel when I get back, or we can meet up at the museum. Pushing the note deeper into his pocket, he started down the street.
Friday, August 26, 2011
First Page Friday
For those of you who are new, First Page Friday is a feature I run on my blog where a national editor we affectionately call Ms. Shreditor critiques the first page of submitted manuscripts to help aspiring authors. (Submission requirements are on the sidebar). Today, however, with the earthquake back East and work schedules for Ms. Shreditor, I have asked Angela Eschler, a renowned editor in her own right, to do the critique this week. Angela is a trusted editor (you can see her services and prices here) for many authors and I’m so grateful she agreed to guest-critique for us.
The Entry
by Brittany Larsen
My stomach fell to my feet as I pulled into the driveway. The light was on in Mom’s study! Blood rushed to my head as the thump thump of my heart began to pound so loudly it drowned out the song I'd just been humming along with on the radio. This night was going to end badly.
I shut my car door as softly as I could, hoping my arrival would go unnoticed, and made my way to the front door. In order to get to my bedroom I would have to pass the study, but maaaaybe if I tip-toed in I could make it far enough up the stairs to pretend I didn’t hear him if he called my name. I could sneak in the back door and hide out in the kitchen pantry until he went somewhere else. But what if, by some freak chance of bad luck, he decided to rotate the food storage and found me stowed behind the fifty pound barrels of wheat? That might be awkward.
Maybe I could just sit in my car until I saw the light go off. I turned back around, calculating the odds of freezing to death in my car against the odds of having to sit through the inevitable lecture that awaited me on the other side of the door. I had just reopened my car door when my inner voice, the one of Reason--she’s so annoying-- said “Seriously, Nicole. You’re almost twenty-seven years old. If you want to avoid your father then you should really just MOVE OUT OF HIS HOUSE!”
I groaned audibly this time, knowing Reason had got the best of me. Again. We’d engaged in similar conversations for years. Reason told me I should let my dad pay for college and graduate school. Pride argued we didn’t need his money. Pride won that battle. But when Dad convinced me to move back home last year to pay off school loans and save for my own place, Pride was swallowed and Reason won the war.
Angela’s Comments
Let’s dive into this review, with brief-ish points in no particular order of importance (other than the general categories).
Strengths:
--The opening paragraphs of the hook are on the right track. There’s something at stake in them (whether she’ll make it into the house without her dad’s lecture attacking her)—and immediate conflict. This makes us want to read more because we have questions. Good job.
--The main character has fun voice. It’s not crazy strong voice (or it takes a minute to kick in, so it doesn’t feel super strong at first), but it does make her seem like an individual that’s likeable and in an interesting situation we’re curious about. I think the voice would be even stronger if the first paragraph had a little more of her voice in it, and a little more word economy (addressed below). Nonetheless, we like her enough that we want to know more about her story, so we’ll probably read a little farther—which is exactly what you want from a hook.
--You did a good job of slipping in some of the heroine’s background without laboriously “telling” the reader about it. So we know a lot about her right off (age, education background, home life, and a little about her personality, etc.). The combination of a little background with the current, related conflict is great; we’re enticed to know more—what did she do that her dad would lecture her? What are her pride issues with letting her dad help her? For instance, are they major relationship conflicts with her dad or just personal self-reliance issues?
Questions, As Well As Thoughts on Upping the Impact:
How the hook could be even better:
--So the following questions could be answered in your narrative—or hinted at, which is better—with just a sentence each. So you say the night was going to end badly. How had it started? Was it great? She was humming along with the radio, so it sounds like a nice or neutral evening. Was it a fantastic evening that her dad was about to ruin? Could you increase the emotional impact on the reader by increasing it on the character through the use of a tiny bit more information? This is possibly a missed opportunity to add depth to her current situation.
Another issue that could be used to increase the stakes in the character’s life is why Reason won on the most recent discussion—moving back with her dad after grad school to save up. What precipitated her need to do that and suddenly give up her pride? No jobs to be had? (How would she save up then?), some personal trial that has complicated her life? Her mother’s death/parents’ divorce? I ask that because there is mention of a mom’s study, but no mention of “parents” waiting up—just a dad. Since just Dad is reasoning with her to take money, move in, etc., we’re thinking her mom is missing from the scene. But she can’t have been missing too long or that wouldn’t be “mom’s study,” which means her absence is supposed to be noted by the reader, thus could be affecting the character.
The point I’m getting at is that the hook would be fantastic if we not only saw the little hint of conflict you already have, but also saw a hint of something much bigger at stake than a lecture from her dad. Is she about to lose a relationship, about to end her relationship with her dad due to family or personal stress, or is something even bigger at stake in her life? Right now the reader has mild curiosity, but if you want compelling page-turning curiosity, you want to hint at even bigger things right out of the gate. The quick little read I always suggest for any writer who wants to produce a killer hook is the book Hooked, by Les Edgerton. Check it out and up the stakes for your character right off.
--I haven’t read more than the first page, so you may not do this, but remember—not too much background info as you move forward. You’ll lose the story momentum/tension you’ve set up.
--It kind of throws the reader off to say the light was on in Mom’s study, but then suddenly talking about “him.” It’s a little confusing at first. (Just say “the study” rather than Mom’s if Mom isn’t important here, or say “There was a light on. Dad was waiting for me in Mom’s study again” or something so that we know right off it’s not Mom waiting in her study—which is the natural inference the reader draws as they read that first line about the study.)
--The use of “odds” needs adjusting. It’s the odds of dying (due to freezing to death, which you’ve hinted at) vs. the odds of running into her dad (and then the lecture). But when you say the lecture is inevitable, it changes it from “odds” to a sure thing. So you need to lose the word “inevitable” and maybe change “having to sit through” to “running into dad before I could escape to my room” if you want to use that fun line about calculating the odds.
--A logical question the reader asks: Is there a reason her room would be a safety zone? It sounds like dad is determined to talk to her, so why would her sneaking upstairs save her from his eventually coming up after her if her called her name (which presumes that her heard her come in)—even if she did get to her room and pretended she didn’t hear?
--Word economy in the first paragraph: Your first line is really your first impression so to speak (the glimpse of the lovely girl with her hair blowing in the wind, metaphorically), and the first paragraph is that closer look at the first impression—where the reader decides they’re committed to that first impression and want to get to know it better. Your first paragraph is a little less “voice” than the rest of the page and a little more clunky with too many not-super-interesting words. The emotions seem a little forced/cliché given the age of your character (more on the character and the first paragraph below). So try to imbue the first paragraph with the character’s voice, and cut down on the words to deliver a smoother introduction to the reader. Or at least make the words convey a little more information and some of the voice or character’s personality within that word count—make the words work harder to give more to the reader.
Here’s a shot-in-the-dark example (I’m not trying to be brilliant here, so please don’t overly judge it):
“He just couldn’t leave it, could he? I didn’t even need my headlights to pull in. The driveway was illuminated by the light in the study. The radio sing-along competition I’d been having with myself ended on a bad note. Clearly I was the loser, and this night wasn’t going to end well after all…..” (Do you see what I’m trying to do here? Start right off with the antagonist and make us intrigued immediately with what his motives are and what he can’t leave alone. Throw in some unique personality in her response to realizing he’s there, rather than the standard stomach dropping/heart speeding. There’s also a tad bit of humor intended in the word play of “bad note” to hint at her funny personality right off. Adding “after all” to the end implies something good had been happening before. It’s just a tad bit of change in the intro, but it makes the opening a little more intriguing, hinting at more information than the original, and rewording the setting and her reaction so they are slightly more distinctive. Oh, and it saved you 2 whole words.)
Let’s talk about genre:
--So I’m leaving this discussion for the end, so that anyone who doesn’t want to read a semi-long treatise on chic lit and LDS market vs national market can sign out.
First off, this book seems intended for the LDS market, due to the mention of food storage in the pantry (basically, there are things that are not explained in the narration, so there has to be a reader assumption you are counting on). So I am assuming the book is written for the LDS market, not about an LDS girl for the national market.
So I have two cautions about writing successfully in the LDS market given the age/voice of your character: Make sure that whatever your character is dealing with is an adult-like issue and that it involves romance. I note these two things because light women’s fiction that is serious/family drama or literary does not sell well in this market and the publishers frequently reject it; and any book that seems to be YA (for young adults under 20) is also dead in the water in the LDS market, generally speaking.
The reason I want to make sure your “voice”/character is very clearly for adult readers is that adult readers are THE majority of the LDS bookstores’ clientele. Not teens. Mostly women. And they usually want adult romances. So when I read your opening paragraph, I worried a little that your character seemed a tad too young in voice. Here’s why that worry crossed my mind: What would a dad be lecturing a 27-year-old about that could be that stressful to her? Getting lectured is sort of a juvenile (teenage) fear. It’s one thing to roll your eyes at a lecturing parent, which is the adult response when your parent hasn’t figured out you’re a grownup, but your character describes her stomach dropping and her heart pumping faster. This makes her sound like a teenager. Also, exclamation points are very “teen” voice—representing an overexuberance that is generally attributed to the younger-than-27 crowd.
So, with that caution being sounded, you never know what will suddenly flourish in the market. So throw caution to the wind and write what you love, but be aware of the current market if you want to be published in it.
With all that being said, I am going to dive into a discussion of your genre, but touch on how it is looked on in both the national and LDS markets, because the markets respond differently in some areas and because most authors either start with the LDS market and then try to take their work national, or vice versa. Since I haven’t read the rest of your story, I don’t know how your main character develops and how her voice grows, but being aware of the following should help you solidify those things and your plans for the right publisher. So here are my two cents on your genre:
--So your character’s voice sounds fun/youngish, but the character is post college. Her current first-person, funny/slightly sarcastic voice, plus her age, makes this chic lit. For the LDS market, this genre is claiming fans right now (but the level of sarcasm, etc., from the national market chic lit might be different). For the national market, that genre is dead anyway. There are editors trying to create a definable market for this particular age of character—making it a subgenre all its own, one that isn’t about romance right now—but currently the chic lit category seems to be what your character falls into, and that’s disappeared for now from the national scene. (This happens all the time in both the LDS and national markets: a subgenre gets hot, the market gets flooded, and then it’s totally dead and no one will publish it anymore. Best-selling authors lose their contracts in those games. Then wait 5 to 10 yrs and it’s hot again but with a slightly different angle.)
Here’s a quick definition of chic lit in pure form: The protagonist is speaking in first person narration; the narrator is usually funny but also a little sarcastic/snarky (some editors also say “whiny”); the setting/plot often involves importance given to: money, social status/connections, fashion, boyfriend ownership, a nine-to-five job/life of some kind; the male hero is usually wealthy to some degree and also honorable, and must earn her love after mishaps and miscommunications; and the heroine lacks many of the things of importance listed above, as well as makes lots of mistakes/experiences mishaps, and is an empathic character at heart (also honorable in a best-friend kind of way). Sounds kind of Jane Austenish? It is. Bridget Jones’s Diary—the first big chic lit I remember—was a spinoff.
So what happened to all those funny, voice-ful, romantic books with characters in the 20-30s? They morphed into variations of genre under “light women’s fiction.” Some authors blended genres (worked in suspense or mystery or paranormal) or included quirky plot or character twists (like the Janet Evanovich empire with her funny Stephanie-Plum-Bounty-Hunter heroine), etc. Or there are many examples in the fantastical/paranormal/funny romance department. Casting Spells by Barbara Bretton would be an example that is still in first person, but it’s silly paranormal with the male POV alongside the female. Much of these books existed before chic lit (probably both examples I just gave), but the chic lit authors had to join the ranks of the genre benders when the chic lit phenomenon died.
The other way to spin the genre is to keep it straight romance, but take out some of the traditional chic lit elements (maybe adding in something else instead), and this may be what the LDS market is selling as chic lit, from what I can tell. Since careers and high fashion (and other worldly things) aren’t supposed to be super important to LDS gals, the LDS chic lit out there right now is slightly different in the details, but the bones are the same. And it seems the blended-genre chic lit isn’t the thing even though the national market supports it (and it didn’t sell well several years ago in the LDS market when some talented authors were writing it). For the LDS market it’s more the straight romance that readers want.
So you’ll see the same straight romance in the national market, but the funny voice and younger adult character will be written in third person rather than first, say, or she might not be too snarky/whiny in her humor, and/or she will maybe deal with slightly different issues than those of original chic lit. For example, Shannon Hale’s Austenland is an example of this modified chic lit (third person, not super snarky, etc.) And the books might also include both the male and female point of view—which I don’t think I’ve seen in the LDS market yet. (Anyone? Add a comment to the post?)
So, a good example of the new chic lit for the LDS market that’s selling well? Melanie Jacobson’s The List. Here’s a link to the plot summary.
If you can pull off the same level of fun voice, unique plot, compelling characters, etc.—heavy on the romance—you’ll probably have a winner in the LDS market.
Conclusion:
You’re on the right track—just be sure you understand the genre you’re trying to excel in and how to keep up with or beat the competition for the readers you’re targeting. Best of luck no matter which market you tackle!
I’d like to thank Brittany and Angela for their time and effort. See you next week!
The Entry
by Brittany Larsen
My stomach fell to my feet as I pulled into the driveway. The light was on in Mom’s study! Blood rushed to my head as the thump thump of my heart began to pound so loudly it drowned out the song I'd just been humming along with on the radio. This night was going to end badly.
I shut my car door as softly as I could, hoping my arrival would go unnoticed, and made my way to the front door. In order to get to my bedroom I would have to pass the study, but maaaaybe if I tip-toed in I could make it far enough up the stairs to pretend I didn’t hear him if he called my name. I could sneak in the back door and hide out in the kitchen pantry until he went somewhere else. But what if, by some freak chance of bad luck, he decided to rotate the food storage and found me stowed behind the fifty pound barrels of wheat? That might be awkward.
Maybe I could just sit in my car until I saw the light go off. I turned back around, calculating the odds of freezing to death in my car against the odds of having to sit through the inevitable lecture that awaited me on the other side of the door. I had just reopened my car door when my inner voice, the one of Reason--she’s so annoying-- said “Seriously, Nicole. You’re almost twenty-seven years old. If you want to avoid your father then you should really just MOVE OUT OF HIS HOUSE!”
I groaned audibly this time, knowing Reason had got the best of me. Again. We’d engaged in similar conversations for years. Reason told me I should let my dad pay for college and graduate school. Pride argued we didn’t need his money. Pride won that battle. But when Dad convinced me to move back home last year to pay off school loans and save for my own place, Pride was swallowed and Reason won the war.
Angela’s Comments
Let’s dive into this review, with brief-ish points in no particular order of importance (other than the general categories).
Strengths:
--The opening paragraphs of the hook are on the right track. There’s something at stake in them (whether she’ll make it into the house without her dad’s lecture attacking her)—and immediate conflict. This makes us want to read more because we have questions. Good job.
--The main character has fun voice. It’s not crazy strong voice (or it takes a minute to kick in, so it doesn’t feel super strong at first), but it does make her seem like an individual that’s likeable and in an interesting situation we’re curious about. I think the voice would be even stronger if the first paragraph had a little more of her voice in it, and a little more word economy (addressed below). Nonetheless, we like her enough that we want to know more about her story, so we’ll probably read a little farther—which is exactly what you want from a hook.
--You did a good job of slipping in some of the heroine’s background without laboriously “telling” the reader about it. So we know a lot about her right off (age, education background, home life, and a little about her personality, etc.). The combination of a little background with the current, related conflict is great; we’re enticed to know more—what did she do that her dad would lecture her? What are her pride issues with letting her dad help her? For instance, are they major relationship conflicts with her dad or just personal self-reliance issues?
Questions, As Well As Thoughts on Upping the Impact:
How the hook could be even better:
--So the following questions could be answered in your narrative—or hinted at, which is better—with just a sentence each. So you say the night was going to end badly. How had it started? Was it great? She was humming along with the radio, so it sounds like a nice or neutral evening. Was it a fantastic evening that her dad was about to ruin? Could you increase the emotional impact on the reader by increasing it on the character through the use of a tiny bit more information? This is possibly a missed opportunity to add depth to her current situation.
Another issue that could be used to increase the stakes in the character’s life is why Reason won on the most recent discussion—moving back with her dad after grad school to save up. What precipitated her need to do that and suddenly give up her pride? No jobs to be had? (How would she save up then?), some personal trial that has complicated her life? Her mother’s death/parents’ divorce? I ask that because there is mention of a mom’s study, but no mention of “parents” waiting up—just a dad. Since just Dad is reasoning with her to take money, move in, etc., we’re thinking her mom is missing from the scene. But she can’t have been missing too long or that wouldn’t be “mom’s study,” which means her absence is supposed to be noted by the reader, thus could be affecting the character.
The point I’m getting at is that the hook would be fantastic if we not only saw the little hint of conflict you already have, but also saw a hint of something much bigger at stake than a lecture from her dad. Is she about to lose a relationship, about to end her relationship with her dad due to family or personal stress, or is something even bigger at stake in her life? Right now the reader has mild curiosity, but if you want compelling page-turning curiosity, you want to hint at even bigger things right out of the gate. The quick little read I always suggest for any writer who wants to produce a killer hook is the book Hooked, by Les Edgerton. Check it out and up the stakes for your character right off.
--I haven’t read more than the first page, so you may not do this, but remember—not too much background info as you move forward. You’ll lose the story momentum/tension you’ve set up.
--It kind of throws the reader off to say the light was on in Mom’s study, but then suddenly talking about “him.” It’s a little confusing at first. (Just say “the study” rather than Mom’s if Mom isn’t important here, or say “There was a light on. Dad was waiting for me in Mom’s study again” or something so that we know right off it’s not Mom waiting in her study—which is the natural inference the reader draws as they read that first line about the study.)
--The use of “odds” needs adjusting. It’s the odds of dying (due to freezing to death, which you’ve hinted at) vs. the odds of running into her dad (and then the lecture). But when you say the lecture is inevitable, it changes it from “odds” to a sure thing. So you need to lose the word “inevitable” and maybe change “having to sit through” to “running into dad before I could escape to my room” if you want to use that fun line about calculating the odds.
--A logical question the reader asks: Is there a reason her room would be a safety zone? It sounds like dad is determined to talk to her, so why would her sneaking upstairs save her from his eventually coming up after her if her called her name (which presumes that her heard her come in)—even if she did get to her room and pretended she didn’t hear?
--Word economy in the first paragraph: Your first line is really your first impression so to speak (the glimpse of the lovely girl with her hair blowing in the wind, metaphorically), and the first paragraph is that closer look at the first impression—where the reader decides they’re committed to that first impression and want to get to know it better. Your first paragraph is a little less “voice” than the rest of the page and a little more clunky with too many not-super-interesting words. The emotions seem a little forced/cliché given the age of your character (more on the character and the first paragraph below). So try to imbue the first paragraph with the character’s voice, and cut down on the words to deliver a smoother introduction to the reader. Or at least make the words convey a little more information and some of the voice or character’s personality within that word count—make the words work harder to give more to the reader.
Here’s a shot-in-the-dark example (I’m not trying to be brilliant here, so please don’t overly judge it):
“He just couldn’t leave it, could he? I didn’t even need my headlights to pull in. The driveway was illuminated by the light in the study. The radio sing-along competition I’d been having with myself ended on a bad note. Clearly I was the loser, and this night wasn’t going to end well after all…..” (Do you see what I’m trying to do here? Start right off with the antagonist and make us intrigued immediately with what his motives are and what he can’t leave alone. Throw in some unique personality in her response to realizing he’s there, rather than the standard stomach dropping/heart speeding. There’s also a tad bit of humor intended in the word play of “bad note” to hint at her funny personality right off. Adding “after all” to the end implies something good had been happening before. It’s just a tad bit of change in the intro, but it makes the opening a little more intriguing, hinting at more information than the original, and rewording the setting and her reaction so they are slightly more distinctive. Oh, and it saved you 2 whole words.)
Let’s talk about genre:
--So I’m leaving this discussion for the end, so that anyone who doesn’t want to read a semi-long treatise on chic lit and LDS market vs national market can sign out.
First off, this book seems intended for the LDS market, due to the mention of food storage in the pantry (basically, there are things that are not explained in the narration, so there has to be a reader assumption you are counting on). So I am assuming the book is written for the LDS market, not about an LDS girl for the national market.
So I have two cautions about writing successfully in the LDS market given the age/voice of your character: Make sure that whatever your character is dealing with is an adult-like issue and that it involves romance. I note these two things because light women’s fiction that is serious/family drama or literary does not sell well in this market and the publishers frequently reject it; and any book that seems to be YA (for young adults under 20) is also dead in the water in the LDS market, generally speaking.
The reason I want to make sure your “voice”/character is very clearly for adult readers is that adult readers are THE majority of the LDS bookstores’ clientele. Not teens. Mostly women. And they usually want adult romances. So when I read your opening paragraph, I worried a little that your character seemed a tad too young in voice. Here’s why that worry crossed my mind: What would a dad be lecturing a 27-year-old about that could be that stressful to her? Getting lectured is sort of a juvenile (teenage) fear. It’s one thing to roll your eyes at a lecturing parent, which is the adult response when your parent hasn’t figured out you’re a grownup, but your character describes her stomach dropping and her heart pumping faster. This makes her sound like a teenager. Also, exclamation points are very “teen” voice—representing an overexuberance that is generally attributed to the younger-than-27 crowd.
So, with that caution being sounded, you never know what will suddenly flourish in the market. So throw caution to the wind and write what you love, but be aware of the current market if you want to be published in it.
With all that being said, I am going to dive into a discussion of your genre, but touch on how it is looked on in both the national and LDS markets, because the markets respond differently in some areas and because most authors either start with the LDS market and then try to take their work national, or vice versa. Since I haven’t read the rest of your story, I don’t know how your main character develops and how her voice grows, but being aware of the following should help you solidify those things and your plans for the right publisher. So here are my two cents on your genre:
--So your character’s voice sounds fun/youngish, but the character is post college. Her current first-person, funny/slightly sarcastic voice, plus her age, makes this chic lit. For the LDS market, this genre is claiming fans right now (but the level of sarcasm, etc., from the national market chic lit might be different). For the national market, that genre is dead anyway. There are editors trying to create a definable market for this particular age of character—making it a subgenre all its own, one that isn’t about romance right now—but currently the chic lit category seems to be what your character falls into, and that’s disappeared for now from the national scene. (This happens all the time in both the LDS and national markets: a subgenre gets hot, the market gets flooded, and then it’s totally dead and no one will publish it anymore. Best-selling authors lose their contracts in those games. Then wait 5 to 10 yrs and it’s hot again but with a slightly different angle.)
Here’s a quick definition of chic lit in pure form: The protagonist is speaking in first person narration; the narrator is usually funny but also a little sarcastic/snarky (some editors also say “whiny”); the setting/plot often involves importance given to: money, social status/connections, fashion, boyfriend ownership, a nine-to-five job/life of some kind; the male hero is usually wealthy to some degree and also honorable, and must earn her love after mishaps and miscommunications; and the heroine lacks many of the things of importance listed above, as well as makes lots of mistakes/experiences mishaps, and is an empathic character at heart (also honorable in a best-friend kind of way). Sounds kind of Jane Austenish? It is. Bridget Jones’s Diary—the first big chic lit I remember—was a spinoff.
So what happened to all those funny, voice-ful, romantic books with characters in the 20-30s? They morphed into variations of genre under “light women’s fiction.” Some authors blended genres (worked in suspense or mystery or paranormal) or included quirky plot or character twists (like the Janet Evanovich empire with her funny Stephanie-Plum-Bounty-Hunter heroine), etc. Or there are many examples in the fantastical/paranormal/funny romance department. Casting Spells by Barbara Bretton would be an example that is still in first person, but it’s silly paranormal with the male POV alongside the female. Much of these books existed before chic lit (probably both examples I just gave), but the chic lit authors had to join the ranks of the genre benders when the chic lit phenomenon died.
The other way to spin the genre is to keep it straight romance, but take out some of the traditional chic lit elements (maybe adding in something else instead), and this may be what the LDS market is selling as chic lit, from what I can tell. Since careers and high fashion (and other worldly things) aren’t supposed to be super important to LDS gals, the LDS chic lit out there right now is slightly different in the details, but the bones are the same. And it seems the blended-genre chic lit isn’t the thing even though the national market supports it (and it didn’t sell well several years ago in the LDS market when some talented authors were writing it). For the LDS market it’s more the straight romance that readers want.
So you’ll see the same straight romance in the national market, but the funny voice and younger adult character will be written in third person rather than first, say, or she might not be too snarky/whiny in her humor, and/or she will maybe deal with slightly different issues than those of original chic lit. For example, Shannon Hale’s Austenland is an example of this modified chic lit (third person, not super snarky, etc.) And the books might also include both the male and female point of view—which I don’t think I’ve seen in the LDS market yet. (Anyone? Add a comment to the post?)
So, a good example of the new chic lit for the LDS market that’s selling well? Melanie Jacobson’s The List. Here’s a link to the plot summary.
If you can pull off the same level of fun voice, unique plot, compelling characters, etc.—heavy on the romance—you’ll probably have a winner in the LDS market.
Conclusion:
You’re on the right track—just be sure you understand the genre you’re trying to excel in and how to keep up with or beat the competition for the readers you’re targeting. Best of luck no matter which market you tackle!
I’d like to thank Brittany and Angela for their time and effort. See you next week!
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