by Anne Glynn
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I love a good title.

1/28/2015

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When a novella or a book has an intriguing title, I want to read it even if I know nothing about the story itself. Jurassic Park was a great title and, to my mind, probably Michael Crichton’s best. (I'm not talking stories here, just titles.) Elizabeth Barone’s upcoming novel has a title that I love: The Nanny with the Skull Tattoos.  Her earlier titles are solid (Becoming Natalie, Sade on the Wall) but this was the first one that managed to grab both me and Glynn. Speaking of my writing partner, he insists that The Ocean at the End of the Lane is right up there with the best of the best, title-wise, but I don’t think so. Neil Gaiman is a talented writer but his titles have never been the reason why his work hits the best-seller list. Besides, I like one of his earlier titles, Neverwhere, better.

All of which comes to mind this evening because I’ve thought of a wonderfully silly title that I want to use on one of our novellas. If the rewriting works out as planned, I'll use the new name to replace Carole’s Christmas, our Christmas-themed novella that we pulled from circulation a few months ago.  We yanked the story, thinking we might make it part of a larger novel, but the project didn’t come together as we’d hoped. Before it reappears, we decided to make some changes to it.

The title definitely needs an overhaul. If you go to Barnes & Noble’s website, BN.com, and put “Carole’s Christmas” into their Nook search, you get well over 600 titles. Charles Dickens is featured prominently. If we return to the site and use the old name, we won't be.

Glynn is involved in the rewriting of Carole but he doesn’t know that I want to play with its moniker. The new title woke me up in the middle of the night last week and it made me laugh. Thinking about it makes me want to laugh now. So, before I offer this silliness up for someone else's approval, I want to make sure it works within the context of the original piece. After all, what if he thinks the new title is just…ehhh? If the new name doesn’t make him laugh, too, I’ll be so depressed.

The two of us may not be the best judge of book titles, however. We both thought World War Zelda was a winner and the majority of would-be readers just blinked at the story, wondering exactly what we were trying to offer them. Was the novella a romance, or a zombie story, or an apocalyptic story or what? Which is not the wrong thing to wonder since WWZ is kind of a weird smushed-together combination of the different genres. Then, at the end,  everything resolves in a fairly kinky manner.

The ending also made me laugh. My desire to laugh is probably killing our book sales.

Since WWZ wasn't finding an audience, we pulled it too, thinking we’d make it more romantic, or up the zombie factor, or double-down on the Apocalypse while lightening up on the kink – but finally decided, after many failed efforts, to let it stand as it is. Sometimes a story finds its own form, even if the writers wish it were more commercial. I ended up adding an Author’s Note at the beginning of the piece and we're putting Zelda back on the Amazon shelves soon. Probably in Kindle Unlimited, where it might find a new audience or a bigger readership. Although, maybe not.

And I still like the title.

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Glynn thinks I should work. Poison wants me to play.

1/20/2015

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Poison is, of course, our most useless of Chihuahuas. In this somewhat fuzzy picture, taken only minutes ago, she’s impatiently waiting for me to quit tapping at the word processor. She might be a little gray around the muzzle but Poison is ready to play and, yet, here I am, foolishly working when I could be spending my time with her.

Poison’s favorite type of play is to chase after a toy, tire of the game very quickly, and wait to be petted. She also enjoys going on walks, getting treats along the way for not misbehaving, and stopping to be petted. If she misbehaves, she'll correct her own behavior, expect a treat, and then stop to be petted.
 
If you stop by the house and she knows you, she’d appreciate it if you’d ignore any people in the building, put her on your lap, and spend all of your visit admiring her. Until she tires of you or someone else she knows drops by. Then the little princess trots off for her next adventure. It’s a simple life but it seems to be satisfying to her.
 
There are many days when I think I might enjoy being a Chihuahua, too.

Despite our puppy's wishes, Glynn wants me to concentrate on the next chapter of Blackhearted Bride. Not just me, to be honest. I'll be working beside him, yes, as we plot the novel’s next chapter -- and I really liked the last chapter -- but, still, this isn't the fun part. This is work. (Writing the story is the fun part.) I’ve already agreed to use our afternoon to go over the digital recording of One Bride for Seven Brothers; did I tell you the narrator finished the project four days ago and we have to approve the reading? Well, she did, and we do, and I’m excited...but also a little nervous. I mean, the audition was lovely but we listened to that piece, the first fifteen minutes, a few months ago. In the following weeks, the audio book's production was delayed when terrible weather made further recording impossible.
 
What if the first fifteen minutes are wonderful but the rest of the narration is filled with thunder claps and torrential rain and audible mistakes? (“Desmond! The studio is flooding! Desmond!”) What do we do then? And how much time will it take for us to do it?
 
I'm definitely going to want some chocolate before we listen. Also, I'm fairly certain I'm not in the mood for more plotting. Better to start the day playing with a happy little dog, don’t you think?


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Did you make a New Year's Resolution?

1/13/2015

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The Good Witch called on Sunday, just after breakfast. We were supposed to see The Hobbit: The Third One that day unless, of course, one of us changed our minds. She was calling to say she’d changed her mind.

This confused me, and rightly so. I know GW liked the first two Hobbit movies, I know she loves big action scenes, and I get that she’s a big CGI girl. Plus, the flick has been out for a few weekends now and the local picture show wouldn’t be crowded. She’s not so much into crowded theaters, anymore, ever since the stranger sitting at her side put his hand in her bag of popcorn. So all signs pointed to = seeing the movie.

“I just don’t have time,” she said. “The movie’s about a hundred hours long, plus we have to leave early to find a good seat, plus we always go somewhere after. Even though it starts at noon, the whole rest of the day will be gone.”

“What do you want to do, instead?”

“I want to go to the gym.”

“Are the fire engines out back?” I asked. GW almost never volunteers to go to the gym, unless she sees the fire engines parked in the rear parking lot. When that happens, it’s a guarantee that a number of firemen are inside the building, lifting weights and doing cardio. My friend isn’t looking for a fireman of her own, I don’t believe, but she does enjoy the atmosphere. Maybe I do, too, but I'll never tell.

“I don’t think so,” GW said.

Which is when I realized it was 2015, it was January, and she'd made her annual New Year’s Resolutions.  “Tell me.”

“Lose fifteen pounds. Hit the gym at least four times a week. Save more money. I am so cutting off cable once House of Cards goes off the air.”

I once discovered a government site that talks about popular New Year’s Resolutions – it's still there and you can find it, too, right here: http://www.usa.gov/Citizen/Topics/New-Years-Resolutions.shtml -- and she’d nailed three of the top thirteen goals in the USA. Then she asked, “Did you make any resolutions?”

I hadn’t made any formal resolutions but I realized I’ve made some promises to myself. I want to get Live Love Rewind out in a print version, I want to complete our next mail-order bride novel, I want the sequel to One Bride for Seven Brothers to appear. All of which I think will happen, none of which I wanted to jinx at that moment. Instead I told her, “I’d like to gain twenty pounds, eat chocolate five times a week, and start watching House of Cards.”

She laughed. “You’re not mad about missing the movie, right?”

I wasn’t, really. Instead, Glynn and I stayed home and watched Horns, a funky little horror fantasy starring Daniel Radcliffe. We even had popcorn. Not a bad way to spend a January afternoon, all in all.


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Do you want it longer?

1/6/2015

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  Oh, get your mind out of the gutter. Longer isn’t always better, as I’ve told Glynn time and time again, and what I’ve meant each and every time is: novels don’t have to be massive tomes in order for a reader to enjoy them.

The novels Glynn and I write are generally in the 60,000-word range. The reason is, that’s what I enjoy writing and, lately, it’s the length I like to read. This wasn’t always so. Once upon a time, years ago, I read the expanded version of The Stand -- it was "complete and uncut" -- and wished the story was at least twice as long. A thousand-plus pages just wasn’t enough. Of course, that was during the time in my life when I could spend an entire day under a blanket, reading a wonderful novel and delighting in the thought that my supper was going to be a milkshake and Jack in the Box deep-fried tacos.  Some might say, my time management skills (and dietary choices) could maybe have benefited from a little refinement.
 
Things have changed. Over the New Year break, I started 77 Shadow Street and I’m wishing it was half as long. It’s not that the author isn’t skilled, he’s very good, it’s more likely that my tastes have changed. *spoiler* *but not much of one* An unpleasant man disappears in Chapter One. I started reading Chapter Seventeen this morning and this minor character is still missing. It could be that the reader never sees Mr. Meanie again but, whether he returns or not, I’d like things to push along a little faster, thank you very much.

All of which comes to mind right now because a reader was kind enough to tell me she’d enjoyed Runaway Mail Order Bride but wished the story was longer. She didn’t think the story needed to start earlier (I asked);  the middle bits trundled along nicely; and she wasn’t unhappy with the resolution but she just generally wanted…more.  She was curled up under her quilt, her cat on her lap, losing her daylight hours to a fictional version of 19th century California and the bad boy in the barn when The End popped up on her electronic reader’s screen. She wasn’t quite ready to let go.

Which I totally get. Because, the truth?, I loved The Stand.  And, don’t tell Glynn, I so want Jack in the Box deep-fried tacos for supper tonight. (Here, by the way, is a reverse-engineered recipe on how to make them yourself:
http://www.food.com/recipe/jack-in-the-box-beef-tacos-copycat-433674. Thank you, Spice Guru.)

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    Welcome!

    At the back of my paperbacks and e-books, you'll find this:
     
    A collector of vintage Barbies and younger boyfriends, Anne Glynn currently resides in the American Southwest.
     
    The truth is a little more complicated. I'm Anne and my S.W.P. (Significant Writing Partner) is Glynn. Together, we write as 'Anne Glynn'.
     
    However, I am a collector of vintage Barbies and I have, on occasion, collected the younger boyfriend. Not so much these days.
     
    I'm glad you're here.
     

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