I came across this, dated May 15, 2019.
In the intervening year, I've totally lost track of the point I wanted to make.
Which taught me: when I save a blog post draft I should probably make a note to myself about the point of the post.
DRAFT POSTHave you ever found something later and were totally puzzled by what you were thinking when you wrote it?
I see a lot of new or starting-out writers in my incoming queries.
I always want to send them a big thumbs up (high fin!) for finishing a novel. In case you haven't tried it, I'm told it's damn hard. Given how I bleed over 250 word blog posts, I can only imagine the hemorrhaging over 75,000.
And often these writers have terrific ideas, and sometimes but not as often a zesty voice. I WANT to like their books.
The writing is the weak leg of the triangle.
And a lot of times, the weakness in the writing is cause the paragraphs don't hold up.
Let's take a look:
Myrtle and Mable were joined at the hip. Not literally any more, surgery at birth had solved that little surprise. They dressed alike, they both plucked a mean ukulele, and they were both in love with Tex Arkana, a Texas cowboy
Unfortunately Tex would rather kiss his horse than kiss a girl. No femmes, fatale or otherwise for him. The call of the open range. The squeak of leather chaps. Long nights under the stars with only Bud Weiser his trusty sidekick.
Myrtle and Mable tried their best. They sashayed past the barn, twirling parasols. All that did was frighten Tex's horse, and get them banned from the ranch.
They trash talked his mama, hoping to get a rise out of him. Sadly, Tex's mama was a Lowell from Boston, (yes, those Lowells who talk only to Cabots, and Cabots talk only to God) so she not only couldn't understand Myrtle and Mable's Texas twang, if she could she would have only been amused.
In desperation they enrolled in rodeo clown training. Which would have been a brilliant idea, since it's impossible to ignore the person saving you from a snorting, slavering three thousand pound bull intent on crushing you into tofu on the rodeo arena floor, but for one thing.
Tex Arkana didn't ride bulls. Or broncs. He was a singing cowboy.