BOO! Here's a Halloween treat.

Boo to back story. Although some information is important for the reader to know, I have learned that showing pertinent details is far more effective rather than telling them. Dialogue can be a very useful tool in letting the reader in on certain elements of the characters.

• Ex: "Tex always wears that worn out cowboy hat." 

Better yet, how could we show this to the reader in narrative rather than dialogue?

• Ex: The rim of his worn hat billowed in the wind, as Tex rode steadily in the saddle like a real cowboy.

Even I can see that happening and that's exactly what you want your writing to do. Happy Halloween.

IN THE SAVANNA

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By Londa S. Hayden

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Writing Challenge

It's that time of year again. Time to dust off the cobblestones of my mind and bring out the ideas stirring in my head for a new novel.  The NaNo challenge http://www.nanowrimo.org/eng/node/3286025 - write a 50,000 word novel in one month. Yipers!  This is how I got my last novel started though and I've been tweaking it out ever sense. It has gone from 50,000 words to over 70,000 words now. Slowly but surely, I am learning the steps to take, from plotting out the outline to developing the characters. It's exciting to see the twist and turns during the process of writing. Can hardly wait to see what's coming and how it all turns out. Of course, it's just a very rough first draft, but this writing challenge really gets my creative juices flowing. If you are an aspiring writer, then I encourage you to take this challenge and just try. You might not get a best seller or a book deal, but it is good practice either way.

IN THE SAVANNA

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By Londa S. Hayden

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I can see clearly now the rain is gone...

Just like the song goes, "I can see clearly now the rain is gone. I can see all obstacles in my way." Finally, we have clear, blue sunny skies again here in Memphis. For the past two weeks, we have had nothing but rain and overcast gray skies. This reminds me of what it's like to come out of a long and difficult period of conflict. Once clear skies appear, the difficult times don't seem so hard anymore. Your path is made clear and you suddenly know exactly what you need to do in order to resolve the problem at hand. Peace of mind is restored as well. Hope rises within and faith becomes the substance that carries you through the storms of life. We are once again reminded that all is well. God is in control. There is nothing to difficult for Him to conquer. Clarity is born within the storm. Your faith is defined and assurance of destiny becomes a reality. Perseverance is a must in order to succeed with anything in life. At my writer's meeting yesterday, this was the word I heard over and over again. With so many of us aspiring author's plugging along, submitting and revising and submitting again - only to receive yet another rejection letter, this one word rings true. Anyone who reaches a level success in publishing did not come by it easily. It takes years of hard work to hone your craft and skills and it takes divine destiny ordering our steps to bring about the encounters and chance meetings with editors and publishers to make it happen. If you give up though, you will only meet with failure. Perseverance tells us failure is not an option. This just simply isn't a word that should be allowed in our vocabulary. I am clinging to my destiny with perseverance and failure isn't an option. With the encouragement of friends, the love of my family and the divine destiny that my God promises me everyday, I am trusting that my steps are ordered of the Lord. His word does not return void. The inspiration He gives encourages me to keep writing and submitting. Although this may sound a little too religious and corny to some, I still believe God has a clear agenda and purpose for my writing and He will bring published works to pass in His time.

IN THE SAVANNA

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By Londa S. Hayden

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Tweak, Tweak and Tweak Again

I've been working on a YA (Young Adult) novel for over 2 years now. It is a constant learning experience. This is not my first try at it either. My first one is still in the tweaking process after 3 years of research and development. Just writing a story isn't enough, it's writing the story within the expectations of the publishing industry. Learning these expectations and guidelines is sometimes a painstaking process. What I thought was ready for submission was actually not even close to being editor ready. Then there is what's hot and what's not. Writing within the marketable genres can sometimes squelch the enthusiasm right out of me. At this point, I think I am now considered at an intermediate level of writing at least. I have a little bit of published work under my belt, but I'm by no means am I a sought after published author. I am still finding my voice - whatever that is. This current project; however, shows promise and I am very excited about this latest rewrite. It seems to be getting better and better with each new tweak. I am thinking of it like an artist at the canvas. When does one know when the work is actually finished? How do you know when the final stroke of the brush has been painted? When does a writer know a chapter is complete, a character fully developed or a novel has reached it's final curtain call? I guess its kind of like putting on makeup in the morning. When do you know when there is enough mascara on those lashes along with enough shadow, rough and lipstick? One things for sure, we know when it's too much, because we will look like a clown. In that respect, I guess we can know when to back off from a project. I try to put some distance between myself and the characters I have come to know so intimately. I give my emotions a break from the intensity and then come back to it later. Seeing it with refreshed eyes helps me read it like a first time reader would understand it. Sure, I wish I could crank out a novel a week, but I'm just not up to that level of proficency and I'm not sure I want to be. I know I won't get it perfect either. After spending so much time on it, that's a given. This is why I have to have a fresh set of eyes to look at it before I even think about submitting. Then there's the pitch. With most agents and publishers now only accepting queries, the pitch is essential to getting the manuscript requested for a read. At the last conference I attended, we actually practiced pitching to each other which was a great way to get use to doing it. I suggested to my local writer's group that we try to have some pitching sessions with each other as well. Sounds like we're playing baseball. I like baseball. Eventually, all this practice, determination and tenacity should culminate in a book deal or at least an agent that can get me a book deal. Keeping my fingers to the keyboard in the meantime.

IN THE SAVANNA

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By Londa S. Hayden

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Conjunction junction what's your function...

I just returned from a Beth Moore Conference, where I learned something about myself. Other than the usual revelations, this one was more profound. All my life I have struggled with poor self esteem that stems from the lack of relationship with my father. I always felt that I must not be important enough to bother with, since my own father didn't care enough to spend much time with me at all.  Of course, I'm older now and much wiser. I realize that was not necessarily the case. That my dad actually had a lot of stuff going on inside and to deal with himself. He really didn't know how to be a good father. Still, the ramifications effected my thinking and the way I saw myself for years. Even though I thought I had dealt with things, the root problem was still lurking about in the shadows of my mind. The scripture that comes to mind is in Exodus 20:4 "...Yet he does not leave the guilty unpunished, he punishes the children and their children for the sins of the fathers up to the third and fourth generation of those who hate the Lord, but showing love to a thousand generations of those who love the Lord." Close up on the bold words. I don't ever remember hearing about the but in that scripture during any sermon. What a conjunction to be left out. There is so much meaning in that but. What a difference a simple little conjunction makes in light of the condemnation I have felt for years simply because of my genetic gene pool.

I don't know how many times I heard the phrase your Heavenly Father loves you more than anything this weekend alone. As Beth Moore said, "He can't not love you, because you are part of Him and He can't deny Himself." We are all part of God's DNA gene pool, when we are God's adopted spiritual children and spiritually born again into His likeness. He could never withhold His love from us any more than a mother could keep from loving and caring for her newborn baby. The thought that my life could actually effect others for a thousand generations is pretty ominous. It is my greatest desire at this time in my life to leave a lasting legacy. This is why I write passionately. I am working hard to perfect my craft and to write something worthwhile that will reach people way beyond what I could possibly do on my own, beyond what I could ask or think. With God's love and the power of His Spirit, I can do all things through Christ Jesus, who loves me. And so can you. "Yes, Jesus loves me. The Bible tells me so."

IN THE SAVANNA

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By Londa S. Hayden

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FALL IS HERE WITH INSPIRATION TO BOOT...

 Ah, the cool crisp autumn air is here again. A welcomed relief from the hell heat of summer and the dreaded electric bill. I love the fall colors with all the renewed inspiration for writing they bring. The reminder that the holiday season will soon be upon us makes my love for baking rise within me once again. Much like the prepared dough of cinnamon rolls. Can't you smell that delicious aroma floating across your nostrils even as I write? My fondest memories take me back to Thanksgivings at the farm. In Texas, the leaves don't drop until right before Thanksgiving. Every year all the kids would rake up a huge pile of leaves, then run and jump into them. We would hike in the woods making our way down the path to the pond, where we proceeded to tie strips of bacon onto string and dangle it from a broken off tree limb. Of course, it was catch and release as the fish were not big enough. Sometimes, if the season had been particularly wet that year, we would catch a few of those giant black crawdads that took on a lobster like appearance once cooked. It was the thrill of actually catching a fish, a crawdad or even a snake in the first place that made it all worthwhile. Yes, there were water moccasins and copper heads all over those woods, but we didn't care a bit. Lucky I guess. Our parents didn't seem to take heed either. None of us ever got bit. Then there was Molly, the old pony and Copper, the cutting horse on which we all took turns riding up and down the dirt road leading to the back pasture. We often practiced target shooting with Bebe guns and puncturing through soda cans in the back lot. My dad went deer hunting early every morning. He showed me how to shoot his 30 off six, but it kicked me off my feet and threw me back on my butt, nearly dislocating my shoulder. After that, I didn't take much interest in the sport of deer hunting. 

I remember we all decided to gather for Halloween one year and sat around the fire telling spooky ghost stories. Then my dad announced that the snipes were out in the pasture and asked if any of us kids wanted to go snipe hunting. What's a snipe? According to dad, it was a small bird, but in actuality, there is no such thing as a snipe. We didn't know that though. We all walked out to the pasture under a full moon holding paper sacks. I imagined a herd like stampede of small roadrunner type birds scurrying passed. Dad said, "Just listen for 'em, as soon as they run towards you, you can catch 'em in the sack. I'm gonna go run 'em out of the woods for you." He left us alone standing in the middle of a barren field. After a few scary comments from the peanut gallery, we heard an alarming sound coming out of the woods. It was my dad screaming bloody murder. He went running passed us screaming run for your lives. We all took off for the house. All the adults were standing on the porch, laughing hysterically. Once inside, my dad said he had heard something rustling behind him. When he turned to look, he said it was the biggest armadillo he had ever seen. He described it like the big fish story. It just seemed to get bigger and bigger the more he talked about it. It was amazing that he even survived the thing.