What We're Writing -- Jenn McKinlay

 JENN McKINLAY: I'm rolling into promo season for the October release of WITCHES OF DUBIOUS ORIGIN so it's a lot of non-fiction stuff like an article for Writer's Digest on writing in three different genres and I'm also on deadline for WITCHES OF QUESTIONABLE INTENT (book two in the Books of Dubious Origin series) that will come out next October, assuming I ever get it done. Also, I just turned in the page proofs for BOOKING FOR TROUBLE which will be out in February. Busy bee, that's me. 

Although I recently discovered that bees nap on flowers when they get tired and can I just say...sign me up!

Now out of all the projects I have in the works, writing non-fiction is the most daunting for me. 

Confession: I am the student who didn't read the books for the research paper that was due. In fact, I used skip the first four classes of school, hide in a study carrel at the library and crank out the paper that was due 5th period--yes, we were allowed to turn in handwritten work back in the day--arguing my case and flipping through the unread books in a pile beside me and cherry picking quotes to prove my argument. I truly can't believe what a horrible student I was. I definitely lived the motto "B's get degrees" and didn't allow anything as pedantic as school interfere with my social life. Maybe that's why I work so much now--to make up for all of that coasting. 

You can imagine how I feel about writing a non-fiction peace. First, i have to get past the imposter syndrome. I mean what do I know about writing in three different genres? I don't even know how I got here! Then I have to outline. This is nowhere near as much fun as outlining a murder, a romance, or a fantasy where an undead Viking chases my main character into a graveyard. Yes, that happens!

Thankfully, Hub is the retired music editor from the Tribune, so he will look over my article (gah!) and make sure it's journalistic enough. Phew!

Your turn, Reds and Readers, what sort of student were you? Did you work on projects ahead of time? Take it seriously? Or were you more like me, sliding in on the seat of your pants?

Oh, and I know we're supposed to share a snippet of what we're working on, but it's the article so -- no. Plus, I'd rather share the TWO starred reviews that WITCHES OF DUBIOUS ORIGIN has gotten so far. If you'll indulge me, they're below:

Julia's Public Service Announcement: Get Vaccinated!

 LUCY BURDETTE: We are sad to report that our Julia is deathly ill with the return of Covid. (Sounds like a horror movie doesn't it? it is!) While she rests and recovers, she urges the rest of us to get vaccinated! I got mine last week and yes, I felt lousy for a couple of days, but nothing like she's suffering. 

Meanwhile, here's her gorgeous new cover, and a page to pre-order, and here's a link to her last writing post in case you didn't get a chance to read it...

Debs On What I'm Writing--Or Not Writing

DEBORAH CROMBIE:  This (see below) is beginning to look like a book, but it doesn't quack like a book quite yet.

I was making such progress on my poor benighted Kincaid/James #20, the end, if not in sight, was at least just over the horizon. Then, the past month I have been derailed by a number of things, including tax stuff and an excruciating repetitive stress issue in my left shoulder.

Thankfully, the taxes are done, the shoulder is finally better, and now I have got to dig back into my book and make my tortoise-like way towards the finish line.

It is so difficult finding little snippets in a crime novel that don't give away some part of the plot, but here is another little domestic scene for you:

Gemma woke with a start. The space beside her in the bed was empty and cold—Duncan must have been up for a while. Even Geordie was gone from the foot of the bed. Squinting, she groped for her alarm and saw that it had been turned off. Sounds began to filter in from the rest of the house, the children’s raised voices, a bark from Tess. The smell of coffee drifted up the stairs. “Bugger,” she whispered. She was late. Duncan should never have let her sleep.

Slipping out of bed, she showered hurriedly, then dressed once more in her new navy suit. She didn’t wear black, so navy was the closest thing she had to a power suit if she was going to beard Pine in his office first thing.

Downstairs, she found Duncan and all three children in the kitchen, the children in their school uniforms and eating the last of toast and soft boiled eggs, Duncan with a mug of coffee in one hand and a hairbrush in the other as he tried to manage Charlotte’s curls. “Here, let me,” she said, taking the brush and the hair elastic from him. “You shouldn’t have let me sleep.”

“I thought you needed it. You looked exhausted last night. And I’ll do the school run, don’t worry.” He wrapped an arm round her shoulder and kissed her on the forehead. “You can have some toast and coffee in peace when we’re gone.”

Wrinkling her nose, Gemma said, “Ugh, no. I’ll grab something later. I need to go.” Finishing Charlotte’s hair, she leaned down to give her a kiss. “There you go, lovey. You look like a princess.”

“I’m not a princess, I’m a unicorn,” Charlotte told her, a frown creasing her small face.

Gemma had half expected Charlotte to protest her not taking the school run, but instead Charlotte said, “Papa, we need to go. Miss Jane has a surprise this morning and Oliver said we should be first.” Oliver was her best friend and considered himself the leader of their daring duo.

“Okay. I’ll see you later.” Gemma stooped and tried to give Charlotte a cuddle, but Charlotte jiggled impatiently. The boys were already heading for the door, rucksacks swinging from their hands.

“Bye, Mum,” called Toby. “Are you taking me to ballet?”

“I’ll try,” said Gemma, knowing full well that it was unlikely. “If I can’t, Bodie will take you.”

“Bye, Gem,” echoed Kit.

“I’ll ring you if we turn up anything.” Duncan waved at her as he scooped up Charlotte’s backpack, and then they were gone.

It seemed like only yesterday that Gemma had had to carry a weeping, protesting Charlotte up to the door of her of school so that Miss Jane, the headmistress, could take her from her arms. She should be glad to see Charlotte so independent—she was glad, she was glad to see all the children so grown up and self-sufficient. But something in her felt it as a loss, too, and tears pricked beneath her eyelids.

She shook her head in annoyance and blew her nose with a sheet from the kitchen roll. Something about this case was making her feel unusually emotional and that was a weakness she couldn’t afford.

As you can see from the photo, I still print a paper copy of my manuscript in progress, usually a chapter at a time. I find I catch a lot more mistakes on paper than I ever do on the screen--and there are always things that spell check doesn't catch.

And, also, I have to admit, seeing that growing stack of pages is both satisfying and encouraging. IT WILL BE A BOOK, it really will!

Fellow REDs and writer pals, do you still print paper drafts of your work in progress?

And readers, are there things that you find still work best on paper?