Sunday, November 11, 2012

Six Sentence Sunday ~ 11/11/12 ~ More Than Friends #4

This week's six sentences is from my new rom-com, MORE THAN FRIENDS. Hope you enjoy the snippet! :)

“Justin, we can’t,” she said again. Her words said one thing, her action another. She continued to drive him crazy with her caressing hands and the way she rose on tiptoe and danced her hips against his arousal.

“Then make me stop, Lily, because I don’t think I know how to stop kissing you now I’ve started.”

She moaned and tugged at his shirt until he heard the telltale pop of stitching giving.

He slid his hands into her honey hair, framing her face with his palms. 




 Buy For $1.99 at SMASHWORDS

Be sure to check out this week's other participating authors on the official Six Sentence Sunday site HERE.

Thursday, November 8, 2012

Dialogue vs. Conversation


Dialogue vs. Conversation

Do you know the difference?
 
Have you ever had a critique partner tell you that the communication between your characters is conversation? 
 
Nobody wants to read conversation. Conversation between the pages of a book is boring. Conversation is what happens in real life and while it works perfectly well there, it doesn’t when translated to story form.
 
According to Thesaurus.com, this is the difference between dialogue and conversation
 
Synonyms for Dialogue

Talk, chat, colloquy, communication, confab, confabulation, conference, conversation, converse, dialog, discourse, discussion, duologue, exchange, flap, interlocution, lines, parlance, parley, powwow, rap, rap session, remarks, repartee, script, sides, small talk.
 
Synonyms for Conversation

Dialogue, discourse, chat, colloquy, comment, communication, communion, confab, confabulation, conference, consultation, converse, debate, discussion, exchange, expression, gab, gossip, hearing, intercourse, jive, observation, palaver, parley, pillow talk, powwow, questioning, remark, repartee, speech, talk, talkfest, tète-à-tète, ventilation, visit, yak.
 
On the surface, not a lot of difference. So why am I saying there is? Because we are speaking in terms of creative writing and when we create a story, we want it to SOUND like real life, but if we imitate the way people speak for real, we’ll end up with dialogue which is hard to read.
 
Listen to people having a conversation. I’m sure you’ll notice how they barge into each other’s points, cut across, leave thoughts half said and ramble all over the place. And don’t forget all the what’s its, thingies, and thingamajigs we use to substitute for things we forget the name of.
 
Don’t get me wrong, using a smattering of this can add depth to a novel, but too much will kill it.
 
So we’re talking about dialogue vs. conversation. Although the synonyms for both  are pretty much the same. The difference is this: Dialogue does a job. It must provide the reader with information that advances the plot, foreshadow a coming event, add subtext, and show characterization, which makes the reader believe these people could be living right next door to her. It should be crisp and unique to each character.  
 
This is a scene between one of my heroines and a housekeeper, taken from Ty’s Plaything, a full-length romantic comedy/suspense I’m currently working on. 
 
Mia kept her attention on her bowl of fruit. She speared a cube of melon. “What did you say?”
 
“I told him I don’t know. It ain’t none of my business. Mr Manning pays me to look after his house and his guests—nothin’ else.”
 
I think you can notice a difference between these two characters, even with so few words spoken.
 
Conversation is idle chitchat—padding—and if it doesn’t do a job ie make a point, it needs to be removed. For instance, having two of your characters in a coffee shop chatting about the purple-haired woman three tables away is idle, gossipy chat if your only goal is to have your characters yak about something for a bit before you get into why they’re really meeting at the coffee shop. However, if the purple-haired woman is concealing a gun, that’s a completely different deal. Now we have a purpose—besides her shocking hair!—for the characters to notice the woman. I imagine the conversation would switch from why would anyone want to be seen in public looking like that, to why would she be carrying a gun?
 
Just like how you wouldn’t let your character chat about the weather for no reason at all, don’t let them chat about anything for no reason!
 
Do you see what I mean? Make your dialogue worth reading. Be firm with it, give it a job and make it deliver.
 
Dialogue should sound natural. The reader shouldn’t notice you giving information a mile off. Obvious dialogue for the purpose of imparting information is distracting. 
 
Example: “Hey, Rita, remember that time you broke your leg and had to spend all those weeks walking around on crutches?”
 
“Yeah, I remember. It still plays up when the weather changes.”
 
Can you say yaaaawwnnnnnnn? This is idle conversation and obvious information. DON’T DO THIS!
 
If we were writing a disaster weather story, this info would be important—a way of foreshadowing—but even so we'd need to deliver it with a touch more skill.
 
You want your reader to sink into your book and lose herself between its pages, so write dialogue that sounds like conversation, but isn’t idle chitchat.
 
Like scenes, let your characters’ dialogue do double duty.
 
To summarize: dialogue serves a purpose while conversation is idle chitchat, and dialogue without a purpose is conversation.
 
Hope this clarifies the difference. See you at the next Pull Up A Chair With Mon post. Until then, happy writing!
 
 

Tuesday, November 6, 2012

FREE ONLINE STORY~WEEK 3


Hi, guys!

It's that time of the week again. Tuesday is FREE STORY day. This is a story I began a couple weeks ago, and plan to write the whole story right here for you to read on a weekly basis. It's a romantic comedy/mystery/suspense and it's something new for me. I hope you'll keep popping back each week to follow the story. It isn't planned, I'm flying into the wind with this story line, so I might call on my readers for ideas.

If you haven't read last week's installation, you can find it here: WEEK 2. And WEEK 1.



CONTINUATION

 (C)Monique DeVere 2012
 
Jess rose to consciousness at a sluggish pace.

Someone had taken a jackhammer to her head, and they weren’t planning to let up anytime soon.

She came slowly awake to sounds. An electronic beep steadily bleeped somewhere to her left, wheels rolled over hard surface, metal clinked against metal, and voices murmured from a distance.

Hospital smells filled her nostrils—disinfectant, sterilizing alcohol, medicines, chemicals—urging her to open her eyes despite the drilling inside her head.

Jess knew hospital scents when she smelled them. For four months, she’d sat for hours—day after day—while she watched helplessly as her fiancé struggled for his life. At the memory of the stupid fight outside of a nightclub that had resulted in Shane’s death, her throat closed with grief.

Wait a minute, now she thought about it, her throat had felt sore and blocked since she woke, and something big and heavy was sitting on her chest.

And, boy, her head hurt like nobody’s business. Jess touched her head. Something padded met her fingers. 

Somebody had bandaged her head.

She forced her eyes open. Light from a nearby window scorched her corneas and she squeezed them shut again, a groan of protest scraping her sore throat. 

“Miss Hart? Can you hear me?” The voice was male—deep, and full-bodied like rich wine—and it rattled her brain. 

Jess blinked her eyes into semi-focus. She opened her mouth to confirm her name, but no sound came out. Her mouth was drier than her mother’s homemade water crackers.

She blinked a few more times as she touched her throat, hoping the shadowy figure standing beside her bed would get the message and find her a drink of water.

Instead, he dashed from the room. 

“Nurse?” His deep voice boomed along the corridor and vibrated in Jess’s skull, making her wince.

She squeezed her eyes shut again and prayed that the jackhammer would lose power and cut out.

Within moments, two pairs of footsteps re-entered the room. “Hello, Jessica.” Cool fingers touched Jess’s arm inches below where her IV drip was attached. “Jessica?”

“Water...” The voice didn’t sound like hers—not even first thing in the morning after a full night’s sleep. It was hoarse—laryngitis hoarse.

“I’m Rae, and I’m looking after you.”  Liquid poured into a glass, then the nurse took a gadget from next to the bed and pressed it. The head of Jess’s bed rose smoothly until she was sitting at a forty-five degree angle. “Here you are,” Rae said, bringing a straw to Jess’s lips. 

She took a sip. Cool water slid down her throat like shards of glass. She grimaced, pushed the straw away.

Rae settled her back against the pillows. “How do you feel?”

“Like... my head... is... going to... explode.” Her voice came out on a whispered husk.

“Do you remember what happened?” a voice, authoritative—masculine—and deep enough to send tiny thrills through Jess, queried from across the room. 

She nodded, and the motion intensified the pain in her head as memories of a giant attacking her replayed in her psyche. She turned her head inch by inch and saw her angel standing near the door. Only this time he looked tired, his short dark hair furrowed from numerous finger run-throughs, and he sported a stubble. He wore jeans and a dark blue T-shirt that stretched across his wide shoulders, the sleeves hugging biceps that looked like they knew their way around a weight machine. He didn’t look like any detective she’d ever seen. But then she’d only ever seen detectives on TV.

Jess raised a heavy hand to her bandaged head and met Rae’s kind brown eyes. “Why?”

“You cracked your head hard enough to have concussion.”

She touched her throat.

Rae’s sympathetic gaze shifted to Jess’s neck. “Besides a few cuts, and bruised ribs, you also suffered a bit of tissue damage to your throat.” 

That explained why even breathing hurt so much.

Rae glanced over her shoulder. “The detective here would like to ask you some questions, but I can send him away if you aren’t up to it.”

Jess followed the nurse’s glance. Her angel/detective stood at a discrete distance, yet his presence filled the room. He trapped her in his silver gaze, held eye contact until her stressed-out heart skipped a beat, and her breathing grew shallow. 

“How... how... long... have I been... here?”

Rae pulled Jess’s chart from its holder. “Two days.” 

To Be Continued...

So now we know Jess’s angel is really a detective.  I love romances with cop heroes. There’s something essentially heroic about cops and they make great heroes.
 
Of course, they’re even more enticing when they’re emotionally wounded. Since no good romance story is complete without a hero with a locked down heart, I’d like suggestions on what you think our hero’s issues should be.
 
Past love broke his heart? Too clichéd. Let’s see if we can come up with something really original.
 
I look forward to reading your suggestions in the comments section!

 
Banner image thanks to FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Sunday, November 4, 2012

Six Sentence Sunday 04/11/12 ~ Let’s Pretend #1

This Sunday's six comes from another of my romantic comedies. Let's Pretend is Belle & Luc's reunion story, published by The Wild Rose Press.

 True love needs no pretence

When A&E trauma surgeon Dr. Isobel Murphy married sexy Irish firefighter Lucas Delaney, she knew it was going to be forever. Unfortunately, she didn’t realise forever would only last five short years.

Keeping her failed marriage from her family seems like a piece of cake, until her grandmother calls a family gathering and Belle suspects she’s about to announce a critical illness. Making excuses for Luc’s absence, she flies home to Connecticut.

Then delicious Lucas arrives for the three day get-together, and Belle knows things are going to get dicey. Especially since he still has the power to make her heart miss a beat, and her stomach bottom out.

When Belle asks him to pretend they’re still deeply in love, Luc doesn’t have a problem. He sees an opportunity to reclaim the love of his life. And he goes all out to remind Belle how it used to be between them, before long work hours and clashing schedules invaded their marriage.

What he needs to know, though, is, once the pretence is over, will Belle be applying for her decree absolute? Or will they be renewing wedding vows?


SUNDAY SIX:

A charge of excitement zinged through Belle to settle as heat low in her belly. She plastered on a phony smile of her own, leaned close to him in an effort to ensure they weren’t overheard. "I thought I told you not to overdo the touchy-feely stuff, darling," she whispered.

Luc turned his head toward her, his lips suddenly very close to hers as he gave her a little smile that matched the teasing expression in his eyes. "Would you believe me if I said my finger slipped?" His breath carried a hint of wine as it tickled Belle’s lips, tempting her to lean in and close the hairbreadth separating them.
Copyright (C) Monique DeVere 2010
 
 
Manic Readers said: Read Let’s Pretend as a couple gets an unexpected chance at a second try for love by facing their fears. Wonderful characters and family connections throughout this story will keep you laughing and crying until the very end. (Dreamcatcher--Manic Readers Reviewer)

Thanks for stopping by to read my Six. Should this have whet your appetite for more, you can purchase Let's Pretend from:

TWRP *~* AMAZON *~* AMAZON_UK *~* BARNES & NOBLE *~* SONY READER STORE

Please also check out this week's other participating authors on the official Six Sentence Sunday site HERE.

 

Tuesday, October 30, 2012

FREE ONLINE STORY~WEEK 2

How fast the weeks go by!

Last week I started a new free online story. This week I'm continuing with the next scene. This is a romantic comedy suspense/mystery that started as an example, then turned into a blog series. I have no idea how long the story will be. I just know I'll keep going for as long as it takes to tell it.

I've removed the Captcha from my blog comments, so it's a lot easier to leave comments now. Please leave a comment, I'm looking forward to spending time with you guys over a quick coffee break read! If you didn't read last week's entry, you can find it HERE.


CONTINUATION...
 
(C)Monique DeVere 2012

Lord, she was going to die! This oaf knew exactly how to hold her so that he managed to squeeze every molecule of breath from her lungs and prevented any more from re-entering. Even if he hadn’t muzzled her, she wouldn’t have been able to scream anyway.
 
Spots exploded in her eyes and her head went woozy. This was it — end of her life — end of her hopes, dreams and plans... 
 
What was she doing giving up like some kind of coward? Hadn’t she had enough of being scared?
 
Yes, she had.
 
She just plain had had enough of it all, and she had enough of men like Brutus here. Abusive men who took what they wanted and didn’t care what damage they left behind. She kicked her three-inch heels against his meaty shins as if she was peddling a bike, and she wanted to win the Tour de France.
 
He swore and shook her. “Stop it, bitch.”
 
But she wasn’t done with him yet, she reached her hands behind her head and clawed at his face. “Let me go!” That’s what she meant, even if it sounded like muum um muum!
 
He swore some more as he slammed her against the asphalt with enough force to break bones. Jess didn’t feel anything beyond the satisfaction of knowing she fought back, and if he killed her in this foggy car park on this cold January night, at least she’d collected his DNA under her fingernails. 
 
He leaned over her and she saw two of him. Man, she must’ve banged her head really hard.
 
“So you’re a little hell cat, are you? Good thing for you I like hell cats.” His heavy body landed on top of her. “They taste the best.” His breath and fine particles of spittle splattered her face.
 
His mouth mashed hers, crushing her lips against her clenched teeth. She tasted blood, kicked and scratched at him. She wanted to scream, but daren’t open her mouth in case he decided to stick his disgusting tongue inside. She didn’t think she’d be able to hang onto that chocolate bar she’d eaten half hour ago if he did. Her stomach heaved in protest to his foul breath. He stunk of unwashed male mixed with a pungent chemical scent. A scent that was vaguely familiar yet she couldn’t place.  
 
Refusing to surrender, she fought him, tried to get her knee high enough between his legs so she could knee him in the groin, but he had her flattened beneath his weight.
 
“I said quit it!” One large hand closed around her throat, his thumb pressed into her windpipe as he bared his teeth in a sneer. He shook her by her neck. “You can be living or dead...” His other hand pushed roughly between their bodies, his hard knuckled dug into her belly as he worked to unfasten his belt. “It makes no difference to me.”
 
Her heart pounded. Her eyes stung as though they were about to pop out of her head from the pressure threatening to explode her skull. Her whole body shook uncontrollably. 
 
Oh, God, he was going to rape and murder her right in the middle of a parking lot and she could do nothing to stop him. Jess clawed at the hand squeezing her throat. 
 
Tears fuzzed her vision—or was that lack of oxygen? She opened her mouth to scream, but her brain was a bit slow on the uptake and refused to obey. She needed air. She needed to get this man off her. 
 
She tried to push him away but her arms behaved like cooked spaghetti, her ears rang, and the fuzz to her sight morphed into a blackness that slowly closed in on her.
 
Lord, don’t let this man kill me, and if he does, let him do it quick!
 
His mouth crushed down on hers again—cold, wet, and nasty. She strained to turn her face away but he wrenched her back, his slimy tongue licking over her mouth. Jess only vaguely noticed.
 
Her hands lost strength and fell limply to her sides. Nothing mattered anymore. She was going to die alone, cold and by the hands of a man so disgusting he made her throw up in her mouth.
 
People say that at the point of death you see your life flashed before you, but that wasn’t what Jess saw. She saw a face. An angel in a Mac, and he was almost too handsome to gaze upon. She tried to reach out to him, to speak to him, thank him for coming to rescue her, but the words wouldn’t come and it was an effort to raise her arm.
 
Her body went floppy, her world contracted to a pinprick of light. She lost focus and let her eyes close as blackness claimed her.

To Be Continued...

Is this really an angel Jess sees? Is she hallucinating from lack of oxygen? Or is this a real man? You'll have to wait until next week to find out. Meanwhile, I'd love to hear what you think about angels. Do you think they exist? Have you ever seen an angel? How did s/he appear to you?

Please leave a comment and share your thoughts with us.