Get A Group: Critique Partners Make a Difference

Guest post
by Darlene Deluca

They may push you. They may make you rewrite. And rewrite some more. They might ask you tough questions like, “what’s the point of this scene?” They may be brutally honest. You might not like them very much sometimes.

But, relax, they’re making you a better writer, and your book a better product.

They’re called critique partners. And you need them. Why? Because they’ll tell you if something doesn’t make sense, if you need to chop twenty-five pages of backstory, or if you’ve used the word “just” fifty times in one chapter. Continue reading “Get A Group: Critique Partners Make a Difference”

Who Ya Gonna Call?

When my son was little one of his favourite movies, which he watched over and over on VHS was “GhostBusters”. I thought it was pretty harmless. But when his little sister was only two, while her daddy was giving her a bath, piped up, all innocence and wide eyes, and declared, “I’ve seen s**t that would turn you white!” it gave me pause. Daddy didn’t react and she never said it again. We had a great laugh over it. Continue reading “Who Ya Gonna Call?”

Allowing the story to come to you by Shelly Frome

Author Shelly Frome
Author Shelly Frome

There was an instructor at a prestigious college program in the Midwest who always gave this advice. Never try to write a novel. Rather, try not to write. And if the time ever comes when you can’t help yourself, when you wake up in the middle of night because the prospect of some journey keeps calling you, at that point you’ve got to get on with it and see it through.

In a way, that’s the sort of thing that happens to me. As a case in point, I never set out to write a southern gothic crime-and-blues odyssey. I never even knew such a thing existed. It all started when a friend of ours invited us down to the hill country of Mississippi. As it happens, he’d inherited a backwoods cabin and was in the process of fixing it up. At one point, he suggested that he and I take an exploratory walk. Following a narrow overgrown path, soon we became entangled in briars, edged past some barbed wire as the terrain sloped down and eventually came across some waterlogged broken limbs sticking out like menacing pitchforks. Fearing that perhaps we’d gotten lost, I turned to him and said, “Bob, do you have any idea where we are?” Continue reading “Allowing the story to come to you by Shelly Frome”