Hello everyone.
Wishing a warm welcome to subscribers old and new.
I apologise for the lack of a newsletter last week. I was away for a couple of days and felt so tired when I returned that I couldn’t muster the effort to do any writing until today. It was nice to have a break from my usual routine though.
I haven’t been doing much work on Pipes and Prejudice, as I’m preparing to self-publish Dawn-Wolf. I still don’t have a cover yet, but when I do, you will be the first to see the cover reveal. Once my beta readers have finished and given me feedback I will be sending copies to my ARC team.
Plotter or Pantser
There are two distinct types of writers, plotters and pantser, although many, like me, lie somewhere between the two.
A plotter is someone who outlines their story before writing it. They will usually do all or some of the following: Make a breakdown of the events that will occur in the story, story beats and produce character arcs. They are a writer who plans.
A Pantser is derived from the term: writing by the seat of your pants. Pantsers usually don’t work with a full outline, some with no outline at all.
A plantser is part planner, part pantser, this describes how I write my stories. When I sit down to write a story I have a idea in my head of what I would like to write. The ideas can form at any time, night or day, but usually when things are quiet and I have time to think. The plot ideas I have are not fixed in stone and many times I find the story tends to write itself. I find that this usually works best for me and I love it when a story takes on a life of its own, at times leading me down a writing path that I least expect. Although, I have to confess that there have been a few times where this hasn’t worked.
There is one area where I do not pants and that is research. I will never skimp on story research as it is a very important part of building a story, also in making the story believable. For me it is always better to have too much research than too little. The research rabbit hole is a familiar place for me. If you take a look at my newsletter archive I have written about it in Down the Rabbit Hole. If you are interested you can read it HERE.
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Stuffed
A Rude Awakening - Part One
Please note. This subscriber exclusive story contains adult content and occasional swear words.
Cain parked his Mercedes in his private garage and slowly made his way to the townhouse. Sparkling, multicoloured, festive lights lit up the windows of the properties on either side of his home. Christmas wreaths, with tartan and bright red ribbons, ferns, baubles, and poinsettias adorned their black gloss-painted front doors. In contrast, a brass knocker in the shape of a turkey was the only form of decoration on his front door. The unusual knocker design was met with raised eyebrows from his refined and rather haughty next-door neighbours. Cain laughed at their showy Christmas decor. Four years ago, he stopped celebrating Christmas, after the premature death of his mother, and he certainly wasn’t in any mood to celebrate this year.
After opening the door and disarming the alarm, Cain flung his jacket on the coat stand, switched on all the downstairs lights and flopped down onto the living room sofa. He rolled up his shirtsleeves, rested his feet on the mahogany coffee table in front of him, and kicked off his shoes. His right sock had a hole where his big toe poked out. Damn, not another sock! He lean forwards yanked it off his foot and tossed it onto the floor. His housekeeper, Mrs Sheen, refused to allow him to throw away his holey socks and insisted on darning the holes and making them into sock puppets. He removed his other sock and walked barefoot to a small bar he had set up in the corner of his living room. Taking a glass, he poured himself a large whiskey. Downing it in one, he poured another and took it with him to the kitchen.
Mrs Sheen usually left a meal for her employer in the oven, but tonight and the day after were her days off. Cain was a self-confessed crappy cook and being too lazy to make a sandwich, he grabbed a family-size pack of tortilla chips and returned to the large black leather sofa. Leaning his head against the sofa back, he closed his eyes. His thoughts soon turned to Tiffany Gates. In all his thirty-four years, he had never come across a girl like her, feminine but tomboyish, quiet and yet outspoken. Heck, he even let her get a word in edgewise, which was unusual for an alpha male like Cain Crocker. For many years, he trawled bars frequented by university students in his quest for his ideal girl: attractive, young and with no previous sexual experience. He once confessed to a potential mate that he didn’t want used goods. She kicked him in the balls and told him that she hoped that she had damaged his goods.
He reminisced about the first time he saw Tiffany. She certainly wasn’t his usual type of blue-eyed, blonde— real or not— about the age of eighteen, but when he saw the dark-haired beauty with hazel eyes, serving cocktails at the Bigdog bar in Soho, he knew straight away she was the one for him. He ordered a Sex on the Beach and then asked, “Are you a virgin?”
Her eyes locked with his and a flush appeared on her cheeks when she answered, “None of your damn business!” Lucky for Cain she didn’t throw the drink over him, and he managed to win her over with his charm. She had often told him that either he had cast some sort of spell on her or there was something in the air that night. He blamed it on marijuana smoke.
His head spun and his forehead still smarted. He hated the way his body reacted every time he conjured a mental image of her. The very thought of her invited salacious thoughts into his mind. Taking a final swig of whiskey, he slammed the glass down on the table. “I prefer a stiff drink”, he snorted. His hard-on soon faded as fatigue overwhelmed him. He was tired of thinking about Tiffany, and the reasons she left him. Why did she torture his every waking thought? Cain was tired of everything and wished he’d wake up to find that the last three weeks had all been a terrible dream... he felt so sleepy...
Copyright © 2018 Paula M. Hunter
Revised Edition © 2023
All rights reserved.
Until the next time
Kindest Regards
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Definitely a Plantser here, too. I've met two true Plotters, one wrote Romance, the other Crime/Mystery. The first built an inverted pyramid from the setting + the two main characters; the second planned out every scene and nuance in a kind of shorthand which took months, before writing the actual novel in a matter of weeks.
I also know a true Pantser who, given the genre, kicks off with an idea, gathering the characters and their motivations as the writing progresses at speed. Once that pass is completed, the author does the research needed, then knits it in to the script, then gives the script another pass to bring the characters to life, then another pass to... The very idea I find horrifying.
But that's the thing with fiction writers. There is no "correct" way. It's what works for the individual.
I'm glad yours works for you, Paula.