C.L. Ogilvie's Blog: Chick Lit Army

Okay, so July was tough month for writer’s block. I had some work stuff, some health stuff, some family stuff. A real hat trick. (Am I using that correctly? I don’t know sports.) (Just Googled it – I did.) I haven’t been able to write a single word in any of my current WIPs that I liked. And I didn’t even set the bar that high, to be honest. I was shooting for “I don’t completely hate this” and I couldn’t even hit that. Jokes fell flat, dialogue was stilted, and any jokes I did manage to come up with seemed too mean-spirited when read out loud. There was an anger there I didn’t like.

I don’t normally go into personal details here or online, but I’m going to splash around in the deeper end of the pond for a bit. I did my first author interview in July—big shout to Rebecca Yelland (rebeccayelland.com), thank you so much!—and some of the questions really got me thinking about my writing and more specifically, how I see myself as an author.

A little background for you: I grew up in rural Nova Scotia, but I never felt like I belonged there. I love my family, but I always felt restless, like I was supposed to be somewhere else. I just didn’t know where. Then I married my husband and he joined the Canadian Forces, which seemed perfect. No matter where we were, as long as I was with him I knew I was home. We moved on average once every two years. He did two tours overseas and when he got back, the opportunity for a posting in Yellowknife, Northwest Territories came up, so we took it.

I wrote my first book, The Blacksmith’s Wife, a fantasy/historical romance novel, that year. It was a total train wreck, but a great learning experience. I followed it up with Some Assistance Required, the original edition of which was also a train wreck but garnered more interest than my first book. To quote my husband, “you’re funny. Just do that.” I started the first draft of Skipping Out on Henry next.

Things were going great. I had completed two books, both of which I was very pleased with. I had many more planned. I worked for one of the most respected lawyers in northern Canada, handling child protection cases for the government. Most importantly, we adored Yellowknife. We had a great circle of friends, and we were financial secure for the first time in our entire marriage. Due to his frequent northern deployments, I was on my own a lot, and I learned how to do stuff I never thought possible. I changed a tire! I learned how to bake without setting off the smoke detectors! The great thing about the north is you either adapt or die (or move back south, if you want to be less dramatic about it).

We adapted. We flourished.

But then… remember how I said my husband did two tours overseas? I won’t go into details because that’s not my story to tell, but things got… complicated. I had to make a lot of decisions about who I wanted to be as a person and a wife and a friend. And what I was willing to sacrifice for someone I loved. I left the job and city which I loved, the first place I’ve ever felt still, settled, that delightfully weird and eclectic home we’d made for ourselves, to move back to the east coast to get access to more resources, and to be closer to our family. Eventually, we decided there was no longer a place for us in the CF, and he was medically released. Things got better, but not without a fight. (Seriously, by the end of it, his Warrant Officer would do a complete 180 whenever he saw me and hide.)

I have no regrets for the decisions I’ve made. I loved Yellowknife. I loved my job. I loved our mobile home in the middle of a junkyard, nicknamed “The Hideout.” And I would give it up again in a heartbeat. Because I love my husband more.

But when someone you love is in pain, the last thing you want to do is add to it. So, you push down everything you’re feeling and concentrate on them and what they need. You Scarlet O’Hara that crap. (“I’ll think about it tomorrow, when I can stand it!”) And you can do that for years if needed—my personal record is four—but eventually, tomorrow comes. It’s really not a viable strategy when you think about it. The person you love and have spent the last however many years supporting is finally doing better, and that’s when your own crap starts floating up to the surface.

They say tragedy plus time equals comedy, but what happens when humor is your coping mechanism and you’ve been cracking jokes this whole time? What do you do when it feels like you’ve run out of jokes? And I won’t lie, that’s a scary thought for me. My humor is the most interesting thing about me. It’s okay, I can admit that. I don’t follow current events, I’m not into politics, and I still don’t understand the point of Snapchat. As a writer, it’s kind of my “brand.” People don’t pick up my books to read about a searing take-down of modern society or in-depth character studies. I am the potato chip of literature: tasty, a little salty and not much substance or nutritional value.

But laughter isn’t always the best medicine. It can break the tension, but it doesn’t absolve it. Everything gumming up the emotional works is still there when it stops. But I believe it can be an effective tool to allow for healing, if only has a reminder that we can still find joy, if only for a moment. But I need to be willing to push past the jokes and punchlines. And that’s going to affect my writing. It has to. Otherwise, I’m never going to grow, both as a writer and a person.

So, what am I saying, no more humor? No more comedies? Am I packing in all in and only writing dark, psychological thrillers? Probably not. (Nothing against the genre, just not my thing.) Humor is my strength, I am who I am. But I think I’ve finally reached the point where I can say, I’m laughing but I am not happy, not always. Not lately. And I need to be okay with that.

I said in my interview that I believe my writing reflects whatever is inside of me that needs to come out, and while I still think that’s laughter, there’s more. I need to explore what’s behind the laughter, the tension trying to break.

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Demon Beauty

Author: Stefanie Simpson

Sold By: Amazon Digital Services LLC

5 Stars

Fleeing the war that cost her everything, Rosalin takes refuge in the last place she expected, in the home of a monster. But in the forbidden forests of the west, where creatures and magic dwell, another war rages on, one that threatens to destroy everything Rosalin has rebuilt. Her only hope is a demon lord sworn to defend this realm from the growing evil, and her own indestructible will to protect the ones she loves.

This is how you do a Beauty and the Beast retelling, people.

A strong, emotionally complex heroine who retains her agency throughout the entire story. A brooding, tragic hero who treats the heroine with respect and compassion. This is not a story about a captive who grows to love her captor. It’s a story about two characters with tragic backgrounds finding solace in each other and healing together, a theme Simpson excels at.

The moody, almost Gothic, setting of the forgotten castle and its brooding inhabitant is wonderfully offset by the intense emotional bond between Rosalin and Crawt. Their relationship is equal parts uplifting and heartbreaking. The action scenes are extremely well-written, intense and inventive. The imagery and mythology are both haunting and beautiful.

I’m usually hesitant to read BATB retellings, but Simpson does not disappointed. Highly enjoyable and I would strongly recommend this book to anyone who is a fan of the genre.

A lot of bloggers and authors like to post a recap of the previous month. You know, the challenges they faced, the goals they accomplished, the books they read and loved.

I didn’t accomplish anything this month, so here’s a recap of my favorite tweets.

I know there’s more important things happening in the world right now but I’m going to be really sad when Chris Evans shaves his beard.

— C.L. Ogilvie

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Her Pretty Face

Author: Robyn Harding

Publisher: Gallery/Scout Press

Rating: 2 out of 5 stars

Expected Release Date: July 10, 2018

Thank you to NetGalley for providing a free electronic ARC in exchange for an honest review.

Frances Metcalfe is struggling to stay afloat. Overweight, insecure, and lonely, she is desperate to fit into the elite Forrester Academy’s world, for the sake of her troubled son. Kate Randolph is everything Frances is not: beautiful, wealthy, powerful, and confident. And to Frances’ surprise, Kate chooses her to befriend. But a dark secret threatens this new friendship…because one of these women is not who she seems. She’s a murderer.

The promise of a dark and twisty examination of complicated female friendships is my book siren song. Unfortunately, this book just didn’t work for me. I pretty much knew by the third chapter which one was the murderer. (I have a BA in Criminology and Psych, so maybe that’s why?) The author clearly did her research on sociopaths and their behavior patterns, but it often felt like Harding was simply ticking traits off a checklist. Skilled liar, check. Lack of emotional bonds, check. Manipulative behavior, check. Plus, the author’s choice of POVs characters was a giveaway, too.

And while I liked the narrative structure and the use of flashback chapters, it bothered me that the murder victim is really only ever used as a means to show the gruesome nature of the crime. I understand the logic behind it, the author wanted to show how unaffected the murderer was by the horrific violence committed, but the victim and her family are never really treated as separate characters, existing merely to drive home a point and move the plot forward. Unfortunately, gratuitous violence against women in media/entertainment is a real issue for me, and it soured my enjoyment of the story.

Also, can we please do away with the “chubby woman hates her body and believes her husband must be faking his attraction” trope? Seriously, this is so played out. There were plenty of other ways the author could have created martial tensions and fears with Frances. The stress having a child with ADHD can place on a marriage. The stress of trying to afford the expensive school for him. Her other demons she was struggling with. Why did almost every one of her scenes have to mention her weight and how much she hated her body? It added nothing to the story, especially since there were clearly more important things to worry about.

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In A Jam

Author: Cindy Dorminy

Publisher: Red Adept Publishing

4 Stars

In A Jam by Cindy Dorminy is a heartwarming novel with plenty of small-town charm and sweet romance. Andie Carson is a fixture of the Boston bar scene, as well as a frequent resident of the drunk tank. When her grandmother passes away, she leaves Andie her lottery winnings, but with three conditions: sober up, run her coffee shop in Georgia for a month, and enter her homemade jam recipe in the annual county fair. If not, her inheritance goes to the local church. Andie isn’t one to run from a challenge, especially when the entire town expects her to fail. Everyone except the smoking hot Officer Gunnar Wills. He knows Andie plans to sell the coffee shop to developers, but he’s hoping to convince her to help him save his beloved town from the big-box corporations. Can Andie find a place for herself in this quaint community, or will her big city plans derail her chance for love?

Dorminy perfectly captures both the charms and frustrations of living in a close-knit community. Andie’s attempts to fit into the community are both hilarious and painfully relatable. The romantic tension between Andie and Gunnar is a great source of fun, as well as her various run-ins with the eccentric townspeople. Dorminy does a great job combining humor and heart as Andie struggles with both her sobriety and her own complicated history with her grandmother. With its colorful cast of characters, this laugh-out-loud tale of second chances and small-town romance is as sweet as Granny’s homemade preserves.

(Reviewed for Readers’ Favorite)

With Valentine’s Day coming up, I’ve come to the realization that I’m not very a good a romantic comedy writer.

I mean, I thought I was. (Or I’m trying to be, at least. Points for effort?) Two people meet. They clash at first, but wacky circumstances! A little kissing happens (but no sex; my mother-in-law, who is also an ordained minister, insists on reading all my books, so…no). (Possibly someday, if me and my husband are ever forced to flee to the country and change our names, maybe. I’ll keep you posted.) Funny stuff happens. They overcome obstacles and end up together. Romantic comedy, right?

The main problem is that I am not a romantic person. Like, at all. At least not in the traditional sense. The standard writing advice is “write what you know.” Sounds good, right? Unfortunately, that pretty much just leaves me with Cheers re-runs and hour-long discussions on whether or not the Pacmans had a good marriage. Flowers are not a recognized gift in our house. To me, flowers just say, “As a token of my love, here’s something you can watch slowly die!” (Also, handbags last for forever. Just saying.) My marriage is definitely more beer and pizza than champagne and chocolates. It also doesn’t help that I basically proposed to myself. Half-way through his speech, I blurted out, “Are you asking me to marry you? Omg, yes!” (To this day, I’m still kind of expecting him to sit me down and set me straight.)

I’ll be the first to admit I don’t write the steamiest scenes. I struggle with building romantic tension. Fun, flirty banter, I could write all day, but it takes more to tell the story of how two people fall in love. But I’ve never really experienced the angsty, will-they-won’t-they aspect of dating. I’ve always been pretty upfront with what I wanted and what I was comfortable with, and if I didn’t get that from a date or boyfriend, I had no problem moving on. Personally, I’m okay with that, but it didn’t make for a lot of dating experience to draw from. My husband and I share the same dry, sarcastic humor, so our idea of flirting is ripping on each other. (We have a strict “burn first, apologize later” policy. If we set each other up for the joke, that’s on us.)

So, what makes an admittedly unromantic person write romance comedies? I think romance can be found in the mundane, everyday interactions. To this day, the one of the best present he’s ever given me is a black and pink-quilled cactus that matched our couch perfectly. For the last fourteen years, we’ve cooked brunch together every Sunday. He gets up early to let the dogs out in the morning when he knows I was up late writing. He learned how to poach an egg because that’s how I eat them. When he travels, he makes sure to set aside time for us to talk every night. He keeps an eye out for Nancy Drew books I might need for my collection whenever he’s in a thrift shop or antique store. Going out in public with us is a nightmare because of all the private games and inside jokes. He lets me watch Harry Potter when I’m sick, even though he hates those movies.

Maybe that doesn’t sound like much, but I’d rather have a thousand small instances of affection and friendship than a handful of grand gestures. So, I write what I know.

And then throw in some aliens.

You know, just to keep things interesting.

A year in review…

Stayed awake until midnight on New Year’s Eve;
Slept in until noon on New Year’s Day;
Changed diet/exercise routine;
Lost 30lbs!
Gained back 5lbs;
Cupcake intake remained unchanged;
Resolved to purchase one indie book a month and post a review;
Bought way more than that;
Wrote reviews for each one

When I was fifteen, I signed up for karate lessons. I was a huge Buffy the Vampire Slayer fan, and there was nothing I wanted more than to be able to kick butt like her. I never missed a single class. My parents even bought me a 75lbs punching bag to practice my strikes and kicks at home. When it came time to do my test for yellow belt, I was ecstatic.

Then I found out that everyone, all belt levels, were being tested on the same night, meaning I would be tested in front of the entire class.

I do not perform well in the spotlight. In a group, I’m okay. As a kid, my friends and I would perform short skits or plays for Show and Tell. But then adolescence, and all the insecurities that come with it, hit me like a sock full of pennies. Suddenly, standing in front of a room full of people (with eyes! That could see me! And judge me!) became my living nightmare. (I was almost always marked down on oral reports for my quivering voice, and one teacher even complained he could barely hear me over the sound of my paper notes shaking in my hands.)

But I told myself, I was Buffy. I kicked butt and looked fabulous. I could do this.

As it turned out, I couldn’t. The second I got up in front of that class, I totally psyched myself and fell to pieces. (Sarah Michelle Gellar had some pretty emotional scenes, but even she never ugly-cried her way through a fight scene. Which is exactly what I did.) While my technique was strong, the teacher felt I lacked the “karate spirit” (which I’m guessing is code for, “you are emotionally disturbed and should be in therapy, not a karate class”). I was completely humiliated and dropped out immediately. I was in university before I felt confident enough to try martial arts again.

Unfortunately, that would not be the last time I psyched myself out and blew an opportunity. There’s a particularly cringe-worthy tale of a failed play audition where I got so flustered, I started to read the stage direction while still in character. (“I swear I did not, good Sirs! Gestures dramatically!”) Luckily for me, though, you can’t die from embarrassment. (At least not, literally.) But lately, I’m starting to wonder if I’m letting old habits effect my writing.

When I finished my first novel, I wasn’t involved in the writing community at all. Sales were non-existent, and for good reason. I had no experience in self-promotion, social media, or networking. I didn’t even have an author FB page or Goodreads profile. With my second novel, I was determined to do better, and I knew the first step would be getting more involved in the online writing community. I followed other authors’ and agents’ Twitter feeds. I read threads on querying and publishing tips. I made friends with other writers. I read their books. It was unbelievably helpful. They say you can’t create in a bubble, and you can’t promote in one, either. I ended up joining a Facebook group comprised of authors who write in my genre, and it’s been phenomenal.

But then… those old insecurities began to creep back in. The sheer volume of completed works some authors have under their belts can be intimidating. Some of these writers publish one book a year, while I’m struggling to complete a third. Their novels are consistently in the top 100 sales on Amazon, sometimes higher. I can’t even crack 100,000! They can have words like “best-selling” and “award-winning” on their profiles. “The only writing award you’ve ever won was when you six,” that little voice in my head whispers. “And you only won that because you were the only person in town to enter.”

I’ve read some posts that advise self-published authors in particular should have a large body of work. What if I spend years pouring all my creative energy into a career that never gets off the ground? What if I write another novel, go through the whole process of releasing/promoting it, only for it languish unread on some dusty Amazon page/shelf? Am I being conceited for even worrying about this? (I mean, let’s face it; I’m probably not going to be the next Janet Evanovich or Sophia Kinsella.)

But I think I’ve finally come up with an answer for all those little nagging questions: Do it anyway. I love to write. It makes me feel good about myself. I don’t feel like myself when I stop.

“But what if you never finish another book?” Maybe I won’t, but I can still try. Half the fun of writing is creating new characters.

“What if your next book is terrible?” Then I guess I have more work to do, which means, Yay! More writing!

“What if you never become a famous author?” Didn’t you read the opening to this post? You hate the spotlight, remember? Besides, if you never have to go on any book tours, more writing time!

Others succeeding doesn’t mean you’re a failure. It’s such a simple concept, but difficult to remember sometimes. It’s easy to let yourself get so caught up in (mostly) self-imposed deadlines and expectations that you lose sight of why you started writing in the first place. It was fun. There was a story inside you wanted to share with others. So, share it. Trust me, there are people out there who would love to read it.

(And to everyone out there who has read my work and enjoyed it, I just want to say thank you for your support and encouragement. Absolutely nothing brightens my day more then hearing from you. You guys are rock stars, and I love you for it!)

I’m a huge fan of Twitter hashtag games, especially #authorconfession (created by the talented @_JM_Sullivan). This past week, there was an interesting prompt: advice for fellow writer on how to deal with rejection.

(Sidebar: if you’re a writer looking to connect more with the online community, I cannot encourage you enough to try hashtag games. They’re a lot fun, some fantastic writers take part in them, and these types of exercises will do wonders for your craft in terms of character and plot development.)

Anyone who has decided to write (although ask any writer and they’ll tell you deciding to write is like “deciding” to breathe) knows that rejection comes with the territory. We’ve all heard the stories: J.K. Rowlings’ Harry Potter was rejected by twelve different publishers; Stephen King wrote three other novels before he was finally published. Tolkien, Steinbeck, Faulkner; all of them received rejection letters from publishers. It’s almost a rallying cry among authors: “It happened to them, too!”

Even if you do publish your work, it doesn’t stop there; readers will reject your work, too. Bad reviews, low star ratings, etc. It happens to everyone. Writing is so subjective. Talent and skill are important, but in the end, personal tastes plays a huge role, too. Best-selling novels are not unanimously adored.  Critically acclaimed authors are not always commercially successful.

Yes, rejection is part of the process, and even though it’s important not to let that discourage you, I also think it’s important to acknowledge how draining it can. Querying is the most stressful and exciting part of the writing process for me. We spend months, sometimes years, editing and revising manuscripts, then the query letter and synopsis. So much time, effort and passion goes into our stories. The moment you finally hit “send” is both terrifying and exhilarating.

And the moment you realize a professional read your work and said, “Nah”…that sucks. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve sworn I was done writing, even going so far as to save all my unfinished manuscripts to a USB drive with instructions for my husband to bury it in the background. (He didn’t. He just rolled his eyes and turned up the volume on the television, as he should because that’s a sure sign I’ve gone to my crazy place.)

Of course, I never really mean it. I sulk for a few days, lamenting the death of my dream and subsequent prison of white-collar mediocrity, but eventually an idea forces its way into my reluctant brain, and I rush back to my laptop, excited to begin a new project or tackle a new round of revisions.

But I think you need to acknowledge that feeling of disappointment. Your first instinct might be to tell yourself, “Suck it up; you knew rejection was part of the process” but that doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to feel frustrated or bummed. I’m not saying you should fixate or dwell on it. And please don’t let rejection discourage you from submitting it somewhere else or writing something new. But you can take some time to grieve a little. You’ve earned it.

Indulge in your favorite comfort food. Call your best friend and unload a little. Feel your feelings, then —and this is the most important part—move on.

If you received any feedback, consider it carefully. Even though the agent/editor passed on your work, it doesn’t mean they don’t want you to succeed. If they’ve taken the time to make suggestions or explain why it didn’t work for them, listen. If they had trouble connecting with the story or characters, maybe it’s because your pacing is off or characterization a little too thin. Sometimes it simply isn’t for them. They don’t share the same sense of humor or they’ve taken on another story very similar to yours, unfortunately. No matter what response you receive, it’s always a good idea to send a short email thanking them for taking time to consider your work.

(Sidebar: I do not recommend airing any grievances online. The writing community is small, agents/editors frequently interact with each other, and agents will usually check out potential clients’ online presence to get a sense of their personalities. If you’re feeling angry or frustrated, keep it in-house. Bitch to a friend, not your followers. Keep it professional. Querying is basically the same as a job search.)

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Rose by Another Name

Author: Melanie Thurlow

Publisher: Inkling Publishing, LLC

4 Stars

Her worth decided over a game of cards, Lady Rosalyn Hayes has accepted her future. She will marry a duke she doesn’t know to protect her sisters’ reputations. Lord Robert Phillip Clarence, Duke of Brighton, lives a life of debauchery far from his country estate, and even farther from the lady he must marry in order to restore his family’s ancestral lands. They think they know each other. But when they finally meet and their true natures are revealed, will they live happily ever after or will the ton be shocked to see a lady run?

Please note I received an advanced copy of Rose by Another Name in exchange for an honest review.

(Obligatory disclaimer done. Onto the review, m’ladies!)

In my opinion, it takes a talented writer to create a sense of mounting tension while creating a slow-burn love story, and Thurlow is definitely one of them. I was consistently impressed with her skilled use of language and description to highlight the various conflicts between Rose and Robert; their sense of responsibility and obligation to their respective families playing alongside their desire for freedom and adventure; their mounting physical attraction clashing against the rules and expectations of propriety and civility. All written in the same breathless wonder as the characters experiencing it for the first time.

While there are some plot twists and surprises, the plot maintains a languid pace which I felt strengthened the story because it allows for some truly moving scenes between Rose and Robert. Their chemistry is off the charts, but the author kept their romance completely chaste. Thurlow does an amazing job in building suspense in these scenes. The reader can practically feel the push-and-pull happening within the characters; what they want versus what is expected of them. Enough so that I was able to overlook the fact that they fall in love very quickly. Their interactions are grounded (and adorable) enough that I completely believed these two would connect, and bond as quickly as they did.

I would have loved to read more about her relationship with her sisters. While the ending was sufficiently shocking and a nice departure from traditional romance novels, I think it would have resonating more emotionally with me as a reader if there had been more time spent on Rose’s reasons for the decision she made. I completely understood why she made the choice she did, but felt the motivation for her choice was a little rushed. However, it’s the first in a series so I imagine Thurlow will continue and expand this relationship further in the next installment, which I will definitely be reading.