Ever since Jackie moved to her uncle’s sleepy farming town, she’s been flirting way too much — and with her own cousin, Marcus.

Her friendship with him has turned into something she can’t control, and he’s the reason Jackie lost track of her best friend, Ellie, who left for…no one knows where. Now Ellie has been missing for months, and the police, fearing the worst, are searching for her body. Swamped with guilt and the knowledge that acting on her love for Marcus would tear their families apart, Jackie pushes her cousin away. The plan is to fall out of love, and, just as she hoped he would, Marcus falls for the new girl in town. But something isn’t right about this stranger, and Jackie’s suspicions about the new girl’s secrets only drive the wedge deeper between Jackie and Marcus.

Then Marcus is forced to pay the price for someone else’s lies as the mystery around Ellie’s disappearance starts to become horribly clear. Jackie has to face terrible choices. Can she leave her first love behind, and can she go on living with the fact that she failed her best friend?

Thing One: WRITE A BETTER BOOK

One of the hardest things I’ve been learning as my debut starts to hit shelves is that I can’t really control how well it does. I can’t control reviews, publication timeline, what other fabulous book releases the same week, deadlines, or bestseller lists. I can’t control how much my publishing house invests in my book, whether the concept appeals to readers, or whether YA contemporary is hot right now. Not everyone is going to like a first cousins romance, and a lot of people are going to really not like it. What I can do is write the best book I possibly can—and then to make it even better. “Good enough” is not good enough. If you know you struggle with pacing, don’t let that remain an issue. Tackle it. Resolve it. If you suspect there’s a tension wobble somewhere, dig into the problem. How We Fall had both of these issues, but I didn’t listen to myself and kept plowing on through drafts, revising other things and ignoring those problems because I didn’t know what to do about them. I convinced myself it wasn’t that big a deal, that no book was perfect. Don’t do that. Have the guts to stop, evaluate, and dig into those problems you half-suspect are there. Don’t stop at “good enough.” Go all the way.

My writing, my book, is what I can control. I can become a better writer, I can push myself, and I can write a better book.

Thing Two: BOOKS ARE MADE IN REVISIONS

The first draft of How We Fall was 60,000 words, and it’s now 89,000. The story was there in the first draft, mostly, but it needed a lot of work. In its final version, the mystery is darker, the romance between the cousins is a little more obsessive, and the pacing is much faster. I had to dig deeper into the legal issues of cousin marriage (it’s legal in about half the states, and only considered incest in a few), as well as the ethical and safety issues, and let those pressure the relationship. Between revisions with critique partners, my agent, and my editor, it went through six major rounds of revisions. Even in final edits, it gained a new first chapter and a new final chapter. Revisions made my ugly first draft almost an entirely new book.

Don’t get discouraged when you’re drafting if you’re not seeing magic happen. That magical touch and those insightful moments you see in great books aren’t magic at all. They’re the result of blood and sweat. First drafts are limp and flat and awkward—that’s normal. The depth and layers come as you revise. And revise. And revise.

Thing Three: TEACH YOUR GUT, THEN FOLLOW IT

Writers get told a lot to follow their intuition. And that’s great advice—as long as you’re training your intuition. Good writers aren’t born knowing how to magically write brilliant books. They learn and learn and learn until it becomes second nature. So read, and read a lot. A book a week—or two. Consume, so you can see what’s been done and what hasn’t, and how it was done, and how you could do it differently or better. Read out of your genre to see what those authors tackle, and how they pull it off. Make your own blend. And as you’re reading so much, and reading new and different things, dissect what you’re reading to see what worked, what didn’t, and why. Teach your gut, and then listen to it when it says something is forced or too thin or just right.

Thing Four: KEEP YOUR EYES ON YOUR OWN PLATE

When I was querying, it was sometimes a struggle to not be jealous when someone else signed with an agent. When I was on submission, it was hard to not be jealous when someone else landed a book deal. Even though I was happy for my friends, it often turned into a “does this mean I’m not as good?” self-defeating little sad-party. And now that I have a book out, there are other authors’ awards, bestseller lists, and publicity and buzz I could be upset over.

But no one else’s success diminishes mine. One of the most wonderful things I’ve been realizing as I find critique partners and connect and blog with other authors, particularly in YA, is that we’re much more colleagues than competitors. Readers can pick up my book, and they can pick up someone else’s, too. Another author’s success doesn’t limit or detract from mine. What does limit my success is me looking at someone else’s plate, and wishing I had what they had, and letting my own work suffer.

Thing Five: STORY IS CONFLICT

A lot of people have asked me why I would write about two cousins who fall in love. I mean, weird, right? And as I tried to write a better book, and revise revise revise, and teach my gut, I started to realize what drew me to the concept in the first place: story is conflict. Usually, the deeper the struggle, the more fascinating the story. We’ve seen that with other forbidden love stories– biracial, cross-cultural, and same-gender relationships, relationships crossing political, religious, and status lines, and just about any other boundary we put up between people. When the conflict is an immoveable fact with deep-rooted prejudices and potential to harm people you love, that’s a significant and difficult struggle. What does this do to your family? What if your siblings get bullied because of it? What if the relationship fails and you’re stuck related to an ex-boyfriend? The issues involved in cousin relationships are a huge part of why I wanted to write about it. It would test my characters in ways not much else could.

Story centers around conflict. Without a problem, there’s no story. A page or chapter or book that lacks conflict is lacking story.

So revisit your conflict, keep in mind that genius writing likely won’t happen in the first few drafts, and train your instinct. Read out of your genre, read a lot, focus on your own successes, and keep writing the best book you can front and center. This career takes blood and sweat and persistence, so keep at it.

***

Kate Brauning is the author of How We Fall (Merit Press, F+W Media), a YA contemporary released Nov. 11, 2014. She grew up in rural Missouri and fell in love with young adult books in college. She’s now an editor at Entangled Publishing and pursues her lifelong dream of telling stories she’d want to read. She’s represented by Carlie Webber of CK Webber Associates.

Kate Brauning: Website | Twitter

How We Fall: Amazon | B&N | Indiebound | Powell’s

A brief digression on politics.

No, no, I know, I don’t want to talk about politics either. Politics is an ebola tornado: it’s just shit and blood whirling about in a toxic funnel. It’s all gone Biff and George McFly — we don’t like Biff the bully because he’s a bully, but we at least respect him for having the strength of his cinderblock convictions. McFly we can’t respect because he just cringes and needs his son to travel back in time to teach him how to throw a punch. And so we vote to let Biff lead us for a while because at least he gets shit done, even if that means he drives us full speed into a manure truck.

Or something. It’s a tenuous metaphor, but there’s something to it.

Anyway.

Let’s say that you want to actually make some hay with politics.

Let’s say you want to get shit done.

And I don’t mean the current Republican mode of “get shit done,” which is really just to run around at top-speed with a pair of scissors trying to cut up every piece of legislation that they don’t agree with. “NO OBAMACARE. NO NET NEUTRALITY. CLIMATE CHANGE? WHATEVER, CANADA WILL LOOK BETTER AS A BEACH ANYWAY. IMPEACH THE TERRORIST FISTBUMPER. EBOLAGHAZI 2016.” Their only original idea is a Dalek-like bark of EXTERMINATE. It’s a wonder most Republican voters haven’t yet cottoned to the hypocrisy in play within their party’s leadership — they claim to be about small business, but continually enact legislation that supports big business, and actively fight net neutrality and healthcare marketplaces (both of which can reward smaller businesses). They claim to be about small government — “Get out of my healthcare!” — until it’s about a woman and her uterus, at which point every GOP politician grabs a speculum and hastily scribbles an impromptu OB/GYN degree on a Bounty paper towel with crayon. They say government should get out of marriage, but what they mean is that government should be all up in your marriage, particularly if your marriage does not fit the Big Man / Little Lady religious definition, and oh hey aren’t we supposed to be a country free of legislation born of religious definitions no I guess not okay then. (The GOP should always have been the ones leading the charge for net neutrality and for gay marriage. Their opposition is indicative of their divergence from their reported mission — the sting even sharper when you realize that, apparently, conservatives overwhelmingly favor net neutrality.)

And no, I don’t mean the current Democrat mode of “not in the face, not in the face.” Where every success they earn — or is earned by another of their party — is looked on as a shameful gain, as if you just earned money by masturbating for an old clown as he threw crumpled-up hundreds at your bare chest. “DANCE FOR ME, DONKEY BOY.” *fling fling fling*

No, I mean, let’s say you actually want to start moving the needle.

Whether you love or hate regulation by the government, there’s one kind of regulation we all desperately need. That regulation is how money enters politics. That means lobbying. That means campaign contributions. That means SuperPACs. All the things you hate in politics are the top of the weed — but money? Money is the taproot. You wanna kill a weed, you gotta kill the root.

This is all obvious, and I’m ultimately naive for even bringing this up — but I’m nothing if not someone who will bang a hammer on a sheet of tin to hear the noise it makes, and so here we go:

Money imbalances democracy.

I’m not suggestion the presence of capitalism is a problem — I’m suggesting the bleedover of commercial and corporate interests into our political system is the problem.

What I mean is this:

What lines the pockets of a giant company or industry is not routinely the same thing that is in our best interests as individuals or as communities. Climate change is a pretty good example of this: the global heat death of the world is probably going to be, mmm, I’ll say “bad” for all of us. Even if you embrace a far lesser and more drastic version, the upheaval and chaos of the geopolitical system due to even subtle climate shifts is worth addressing for the way that the whip will come back to bloody our own chins.

But, of course, enacting change costs money. And may actively harm existing industries — like, say, Big Oil (which was my nickname in high school, by the way — PASS ME THE ROCK, BIG OIL, someone would cry, and then I’d hit them with a rock and they’d wail and say NO WE MEANT THE BALL WHY ARE YOU SO WEIRD). Big Oil contributes tens of millions of dollars to candidates across both political parties (though with about 3/4 of that going to Republicans, at least in 2010).

You might say, well, okay, but solar and other alternate industries can come in and spend money to gain traction, too — except of course they don’t have as much money which is why Big Oil outspends alternative energy by 10-30 times (in terms of both lobbying and campaign contributions). And, further, if they can’t get the traction, they won’t make more money, and they’ll always be behind the eight ball when it comes to being able to influence the political machine. It in effect creates a kind of entrenched corporate caste system, where industries become calcified — broken only by truly dramatic circumstances.

ISPs are profoundly powerful, and contribute lots to politicians, which is why you see this fight against net neutrality — despite the fact we should probably start looking at the Internet the way we look at our roads, which is to say, they are the intellectual transport by which we arrive at new ideas and new friends and, further, businesses big and small.

The FDA has almost no actual power because most of the power has been taken away by… well, the gigantic food industry who doesn’t want to be punished if they accidentally kill a bunch of kids by getting salmonella-infected chickenshit into a bunch of Capri Sun packets.

Healthcare and insurance are entrenched and embedded and so healthcare for folks is not optimal because it undercuts their ability to make profits on the backs of the unwell. (This is one of the greatest mysteries to me as a citizen — why we are willing to let our government protect us from harm by foreign invaders, but not by harm from invaders to our health and wellness. Of course, there we’re being sold another lie: we deny government intervention in healthcare because we believe the government is inept. Which is proven time and again by politicians who actively seek to prove government’s inherent shittiness by dismantling its functions which thus ensures its shittiness. Welcome to the self-fulfilling prophecy of tea party extremism. Our own governor in PA, Corbett, did this by gutting education and then saying, “Look, look! Education isn’t working! WEIRD, HUH.” Here’s a wacky idea: let’s improve the government services we have instead of hamstringing them and then mocking them for their slowness. Anyway, I digress yet again.)

All of this is because money has weight in politics. It’s not weight you or I have — but it is weight that corporate personages have (and more and more, remember, companies are becoming like people — which I suspect will one day translate into corporate-sponsored VOLTRON).

Further, it means that money can be spent to open the door to allow more money in politics. And every political cycle, that gap gets wider because money can be spent to — again, self-fulfilling prophecy — ensure that more money can be spent to influence politics. This adds more weight to their side of the scales. More power in the political process to them, and a smaller serving to the rest of us. To them, it’s just an investment. To us, the people, it’s a dismantling of our power and the meaning of our influence. We are increasingly a nation of Big Business held up by government which is big, but increasingly ineffectual. Whittled away like a stick by folks like the Koch Brothers, who are the not-quite-invisible oligarchs (or should I say, LOLigarchs! LOL!) of this corporate-sponsored company in which we are allowed to dwell.

And the politicians are married to this system. Money and business first.

We the People second. Maybe third. Or so far down the list we’re like ants underfoot.

And the gap, then, grows.

The rich get richer, and the rest of us have to swim harder. Which is probably a good lesson since we’re probably gonna melt all the fucking ice caps anyway. THANKS, JERKS.

Maybe the politicians love this system. Maybe they feel shackled to it.

No idea.

What matters, though, is that very little else is easy to change until you stick the stake in the vampire’s heart — the heart of how money enters politics. Lobbying, campaign contributions, SuperPACs, etc. If you were to regulate nothing else ever, then regulate that.

It won’t fix everything, not by a long shot.

But my god, the dent it would make.

P.S. read this: “Postmodern Conservatism in 36 Tweets.”

You’re sitting there.

You’re writing.

It’s going good. Or just okay. Or whatever. Your fingers are moving, your brain is barfing up ideas, and sentence by sentence, this story comes to life.

And then: this radar ping, where you unconsciously send out a signal to test your self-worth as a writer to ask the innocuous question, hey, how’s it going? and the ping returns back less like a sonic ping-pong ball and more like a fucking cannonshot clean through your authorial sails.

Boom.

Wind through the ragged hole.

And suddenly you’re going nowhere.

Your boat, frozen in panicked waters. The icy, paralyzing slush of disdain for the story you’re writing now, the story you wrote five years ago, all the stories you wrote and will ever write, ALL THE THINGS YOU THINK AND FEEL AND ARE OH GOD YOU AREN’T AN AUTHOR YOU’RE JUST A WHISKEY CHIMP WITH POOPY HANDS, YOU’RE JUST A PARAMECIUM GIVEN OVER TO A BOUT OF SELF-IMPORTANCE, YOU’RE JUST A WORTHLESS MOTE OF gaaaaaaah

Deep breath.

Okay, listen.

This happens to all of us. Well, most of us. Certainly there exists some shiny happy shit-smiling authors who just toodle on through their manuscripts like they’re robots crapping gold coins into a gold bucket and wiping with gold leaf paper and every word they write is a delightful fucking bluebird whistle. And, frankly, good for them.

But the rest of us… mm, yeah, no, we often end up hating what we’re writing.

For me, this happens at three potential points during the draft. It happens at:

a) 33%

b) 50%

c) 66%

The panic, the self-loathing, the gravely sucking sense of uncertainty — it always seems to hit right around this part. It’s not always bonafide hate. Sometimes it’s just a sinking feeling. Or a massive wallop of doubt — like, massive-massive, meaning, it feels like someone just built a mechanical donkey out of PURE DOUBT ENERGON and that mecha-doubt-donkey just kicked a crater in my chest. And that chest-crater is now leaking all my faith in myself and the book I’m writing into the ether. Plus, blood. Lots of blood.

So much blood.

The way through this is fairly clear.

Deep breath. Have some tea, or an adult beverage of your choice. Enjoy a cookie. Leave the manuscript alone. Then, come back. The bad smell may yet be hanging about — push on through that miasma of self-loathing, and write your way through it.

A lot of time, what you’re feeling is the same thing we all feel about… well, all the normal life shit. A change at work! A new project. A new dog. A toddler going through growing pains (and in a way, that’s what this is, too, with your manuscript: growing pains). Hell, when I clean up a room or clean out the fridge, there’s always this part where I think I’m doing more damage than good. Creation works that way, sometimes. I remember watching be-afroed artist Bob Ross do his groovy 70s happy clouds thing on PBS, and 90% of the way through the show I was like, “Bob. Bob. Bob. You’re fucking it up, Bob. You’re in a tailspin, plunging toward the earth. Give up now, you easygoing motherfucker. No way you can pull this out OH SHIT IT’S A BEAUTIFUL MOUNTAIN VISTA is that a little springhouse oh goddamn it’s a little springhouse — BOB ROSS YOU MAD BASTARD YOU DID IT AGAIN.”

I didn’t even trust Bob Ross.

So, it stands to follow that I don’t even trust myself, sometimes.

It makes sense, really.

Creation is hard. Itchy, uncomfortable. Sharp, jagged edges. Bones growing through your pre-existing carapace. And the vision of what you have or had in your mind will never really match what ends up on the paper because between YOUR BRAIN and THE STORY exists all this uncomfortable liminal weirdness, this airy interstitial insulation, this crass reality that feels like you’re trying to operate fine motor controls with fingers swaddled in half-melted marshmallows.

And writing a book is a long process. Far more marathon than sprint. It’s easy to run a sprint. Hard-charge over a short distance? Sure. Can do! But a marathon, man — hell, the most I’ve ever run is two miles and to be honest with you, I often hit trouble at around the same times as I do with a novel (third, half, two-thirds). Writing a novel is tantamount to wandering a dark forest. You’ll always have those times when it feels like you can’t see the stars, that the thicket has grown too deep, that the way out will never be within sight. But then you keep wandering and — okay, sure, sometimes you get eaten by a GOBLIN BEAR because they can smell your fear-pee — eventually you push through the shadow and the bramble and there’s the way forward again.

Writing is cyclical. The worm turns.

The creative process is tumultuous.

It’s normal.

It’s normal.

I’ve been writing professionally for (cough cough) almost 18 years now and been writing novels professionally for the last… jeez, it’s only been three years, but it’s been like, ten novels with like, another seven on the way) and this happens to me most of the time. Not every time, and if you write a book and don’t feel that sense of swerving drunkenly through an icy intersection, that’s okay too. But I’m just saying: the fear, the terror, the chaos, the howling void of self-hatred?

It happens. It’s okay.

It’s okay except when it’s not.

It’s not okay if it keeps going. It’s not okay if it starts from word one and follows you around like a stalking incubus. Maybe that means you’re dealing with issues of depression, maybe it just means something is really wonky with what you’re writing — it’s the wrong-size shoe hurting your little toesy-woesies. That isn’t okay, and it’s probably not normal. You might wanna take a long look at that, cut to the heart of it a little bit and see how it ticks.

But for the rest of you — the rest of us?

It’s cool.

Keep writing.

It’s not you.

Creation isn’t painless.

Doubt is illusory — a haunting specter without substance.

And remember: you can always fix it in later drafts.

Now quash your fear, fuck the doubt-ghosts, and finish what you started.

* * *

30 Days in the Word Mines: an advent calendar for NaNoWriMo or other daily writing adventure, offering up a platter of every-day tips, tricks, and thoughts to get you writing that story.

Amazon | B&N | Buy from terribleminds | 8-book bundle

Hey, word-nerds.

Here’s what I want you to do, if you’re comfortable with it. Some of you are presently in the midst of writing or editing stories — in particular, a great heaping helping of you ARTFUL MOTHERFUCKERS are probably knee-deep in the word slurry of NaNoWriMo now — and so I think it’s time to share a little teeny tiny sliver of the work.

Just a taste.

An amuse-bouche.

*smacks lips*

Take a sentence from the work and post it in the comments below.

I’d say to choose a favorite sentence, but I don’t want to hem you in too much — also possible you’d choose a sentence you feel that you just can’t get quite right (and if you are seeking help with said sentence, feel free to ask for exactly that).

So, go, deposit a sentence below.

If, again, you’re comfortable.

*stares*

*smacks lips some more*

*drools*

Pretty straightforward — given that we’re in the long haul of National Novel Writing Month, feels like a shorter, sharper flash fiction contest deserves to be in play. What does that mean?

It means I want you to write a single story in three sentences. The shorter those sentences are, the better. Remember: a story has a beginning, a middle, and an end.

It is not merely a vignette — not simply a snapshot in time.

You can deposit this story in the comments below.

Due in one week — by Friday, noon EST.

I’ll pick three random participants on that Friday and will toss each winner a copy of my newest writing e-book, 30 Days in the Word Mines. (A book that has been described as an advent calendar for NaNoWriMo, which is a description I quite like.)

Sound good?

Get to writing.

Three sentences.

Short as you can make them — clarity and brevity are king.

Go.

Is there anywhere in the galaxy that’s safe for a Telepath who knows too much?

Implanted with psi-tech technology, Cara Carlinni is on the run from Alphacorp, a megacorporation more powerful than any one planetary government. She knows her ex-boss can find her any time, mind-to-mind. Even though it’s driving her crazy she’s powered down and has been surviving on willpower and tranqs, tucked away on a backwater space station. So far, so good. It’s been almost a year, and her mind is still her own.

But her past is about to catch up with her, and her only choice is run or die. She gets out just in time thanks to Ben Benjamin, a psi-tech Navigator for Alphacorp’s biggest corporate rival, however it’s not over yet. Cara and Ben find themselves battling corruption of the highest magnitude. If they make a mistake an entire colony planet could pay the ultimate price.

1) Bad choices make for good stories

Let me be specific–it’s your characters’ bad choices that make your stories more interesting. No one loves a smart-arse. If your characters make the right decision every time they are faced with a dilemma, the whole thing is going to bore the pants off your readers. Have them be fallible, make the wrong decision and then have to scramble to retrieve the situation. Maybe the bad decision has happened before your story starts and your whole book is about them trying to get out of a dilemma that’s largely self-created. Maybe it happens during the course of the story. You can see them running towards Bad-Choice-Land. It’s grey and grungy and littered with stumbling blocks. You’re tempted to save them from themselves, but don’t. Let them fall in the kaka and then have to get themselves out again. Bad choices have a cost and your characters have to live with the results (or die from them).

2) The story is more important than the science

If you are writing a fantasy with magic the magic system must be internally consistent and your characters have to stick to the rules and live with the consequences of their actions. Ditto with science fiction. If you are writing far future speculative SF which is more about adventure and characterisation than about the extrapolation of scientific ideas, then the science system may not be unlike a magic system in a fantasy book. Space is big, really big, and if you are going to have a bunch of characters gallivanting about between star-systems then Einstein, the Theory of Relativity and time dilation are not your friends. Faster than light travel, wormholes, jump gates and folded space are going to be your stock-in-trade. So figure out how your universe works and make a bunch of notes so you can retain internal consistency. You may have gathered that the science in my science fiction comes with a small ‘s’, but I try and make it sound, if not exactly plausible, at least not completely bonkers.

3) Trust Yourself and Trust Your Editor

When I set out to write Empire of Dust I figured it would be a relatively short standalone that would act as a prequel for a couple of linked novels already written. I was aiming for around 100,000 words. It quickly became clear that it wasn’t going to be the novel I first envisaged. My characters took over. They had more problems than I ever expected. It grew and grew. And then it grew some more. At one point it expanded to 240,000 words, way too long for most publishers to take a chance on, especially for a first-time novelist. So I cut it back to 190,000 words and emailed my (then) agent who said in no uncertain terms to cut it again. “Make it 119,000 words,” she said, “and then send it to me.” At first I thought that was impossible, but then I thought I should give it a try, even if I just treated it as a writing exercise. Over the course of one very intense long weekend I did a surgical strike on the manuscript. (Luckily without getting rid of the original version.) For various reasons I parted company from that agent before she’d shopped the manuscript around and, conscious of the fact that I’d probably thrown out the baby with the bathwater, I added back a few thousand words of character motivation and ended up with a novel of 123,00 words. For the next three years it languished on the desk of an editor at a major publishing house who’d asked to see it and had said, “The first couple of chapters look interesting…” but despite occasional polite reminders I don’t think she ever read it and eventually I politely withdrew it. During that time I wrote (amongst other things) Winterwood, the novel that Sheila Gilbert acquired for DAW in 2013. When Sheila asked what else I’d got and heard about Empire of Dust she said to send it, and not only bought it, but ordered a second book in the series. We got down to editorial discussions and Sheila said she’d like more worldbuilding and character depth and, in fact, a lot of those things that I’d cut out of the original long book. I went back to the old version, still on file, and resurrected scenes that I’d been sorry to lose. Of course, some of them needed reworking, but a lot of what Sheila asked for was already there in one form or another. The end result came in at 171,000 words. Five hundred and thirty two pages.

4) Story arcs are not just for main characters

Every character, whether you explore him/her fully in the text or not, should have needs and wants. Secondary characters are not two dimensional beings existing merely to fulfil a role in your main character’s journey. They’re not just good or evil. Even the best of them may have a momentary lapse, and the worst of them probably loves his Mom or donates to a cancer charity. Give them something to make them individual. Make them pop off the page. They are all the heroes of their own story. Of course, you might have to slap them down a bit if they try and take over. Some of them get a bit cocky when you take notice of them. They start to think they have a right to push to the front, so you may need to sit them down and give them a good talking to. Tell them that if they behave themselves they might get their own book somewhere down the line. Yeah, that’s it. Promise them anything as long as they toe the line now.

5) A character shouldn’t always get what they want, but they should get what they need

There’s a big difference between wants and needs. My main character, Cara, wants to escape from a difficult and dangerous situation and put as much distance between herself and her former lover (and boss) after discovering massive corruption. She wants to start over. What she needs, however, is to confront what has happened to her so that she can learn to trust again. Ben wants to discover and bring to justice whoever orchestrated the raid on Hera-3, killing thousands of settlers and three-quarters of his own psi-tech team. What he needs is to shed the (self-imposed) responsibility for the deaths. Know what your characters want, work out what they need, and deliver, or, if you’re writing a series, set out the problem and even if you obscure the goals (for now) don’t make it totally impossible for them to find a resolution. Maybe they get there one painful step at a time, but let them get there eventually.

* * *

Jacey Bedford is an English writer who lives and works behind a desk in Pennine Yorkshire. She’s had stories published on both sides of the Atlantic and in November 2014 her first novel, Empire of Dust – A Psi-Tech Novel, is published by DAW in the USA as part of a three book deal.

She is co-organiser of the UK Milford Writers’ Conference, a peer-to-peer workshopping week for published SF writers, and she organises Northwrite SF, a critique group based in Yorkshire.

She’s been a librarian, a postmistress and member of internationally touring a cappella trio, Artisan (and still occasionally is for reunion gigs). When not writing she arranges UK gigs for folk artists from all over the world.

Jacey Bedford: Website | Blog | Twitter

Empire of Dust: Amazon | B&N | Indiebound | Powells