Tag Archives: writer

To Plan or Not to Plan; Does it Really Matter?

Dirt road

Dirt road (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

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Bulletin: Thank you!

This is just to say, thanks for your patience and interest concerning my new novel, The Red Thread. It was actually really fun for me to get to take a week to just talk about something that I’ve been working on for so long, and to share with people some of my thoughts and inspirations for my first novel!

I’ll most likely be going back to sharing poetry with you as of this coming Wednesday, alongside a few more Thoughts on Things, that have just been on my mind lately.

Also! For those of you who haven’t read my post about Camp Nano: I am participating this month! (Even if my goal is just a measly 30,000 words.) And, my main character from this current WIP is running a blog, which is available for you to look in on all throughout the month! Sort of like a way to keep up with the Character, while the rest of the story is taking place!

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July 8, 2013 · 4:09 pm

Writing The Red Thread: The People

Charlotte Walker doesn’t believe in destiny. She believes in working for what you want; like her bachelor’s degree, or a date with her current crush. So when a fairground psychic offers to show Charlotte her romantic fate, she doesn’t see the point in refusing. After all, she believes in psychics about as much as destiny. But when the psychic turns out to be the real thing, Charlotte is forced to reevaluate her life, and the people in it; including the charming new regular at work.

The very first time I drafted up ideas for The Red Thread, it took place in a High School, with significantly younger characters; at that time it was destined to become a Young Adult’s book, instead of the Romance I ended up publishing it as. A large part of what changed that idea, and transformed it into the one that I stuck with throughout the final draft, was a conversation I had with some other bloggers. That conversation involved bookstores. What I got out of that conversation, more than anything else, was that there were girls out there (quite a few of them actually) that adored the thought of a casual romance. What’s more, is that there were plenty of these girls who either felt like that wasn’t something that they could accomplish in clubs or at parties, or they just didn’t see themselves in those settings at all anyway. So in the end, I wrote this novel for these blogger-girls, and because of them too. I wanted to explore the possibilities surrounding what I eventually dubbed to be a casual romance. Just, as I wanted to explore the ability of the things we’re passionate about bringing people together.

Perhaps my intentions narrowed my audience. Sometimes, I genuinely worry about that. But, all the same, I wanted to write a story that the type of women who inspired this book, might be able to relate to.

Be sure to check out The Red Thread (a fictional story about fate, love, first impressions, and sewing supplies)the very first completed and published work of A.N. King on Amazon!

As a side note: You can always feel free to contact the author (me again!) via email @ whitewolfwriter@gmail.com

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Writing The Red Thread: The Myth

Charlotte Walker doesn’t believe in destiny. She believes in working for what you want; like her bachelor’s degree, or a date with her current crush. So when a fairground psychic offers to show Charlotte her romantic fate, she doesn’t see the point in refusing. After all, she believes in psychics about as much as destiny. But when the psychic turns out to be the real thing, Charlotte is forced to reevaluate her life, and the people in it; including the charming new regular at work.

The basic premise of The Red Thread is inspired by a Far Eastern mythology, of the same basic name.  Throughout my research I found no specific myths, just a concept that I found incredibly intriguing. This concept was, basically, that every person is born with a red string (typically referred to as being tied around either their little finger or ankle) that connects them to the person they are destined to marry. As an Anthropology student, my first reaction was to try and analyze the myth: of course, a culture known for arranging their marriages would develop a myth like this one; it was a nice way to recommend arranged marriages to people. But beyond that, I found something wonderfully romantic about the notion. 

I stumbled upon this idea, more so, than I searched it out. I had a friend in High School; she was the first to mention this myth to me, and then, years later the concept simply got stuck in my head, and wouldn’t leave until I wrote this novel. I began to wonder what the world might look like through a lens that implied that this red thread was real, and not simply a societal tool, and that thought process is, inevitably, what lead me to write this book.

Originally, my November novel was supposed to be about zombies.

Be sure to check out The Red Thread (a fictional story about fate, love, first impressions, and sewing supplies)the very first completed and published work of A.N. King on Amazon!

As a side note: You can always feel free to contact the author (me again!) via email @ whitewolfwriter@gmail.com

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The Red Thread

Charlotte Walker doesn’t believe in destiny. She believes in working for what you want; like her bachelor’s degree, or a date with her current crush. So when a fairground psychic offers to show Charlotte her romantic fate, she doesn’t see the point in refusing. After all, she believes in psychics about as much as destiny. But when the psychic turns out to be the real thing, Charlotte is forced to reevaluate her life, and the people in it; including the charming new regular at work.

The Red Thread, a fictional story about fate, love, first impressions, and sewing supplies, is the very first completed and published work of A.N. King (which is me by the way) and it’s being sold as a paperback novel (available now on Amazon)! Heck, I even have my own Amazon Author’s Page to go with it! It may not look like it to the rest of the world, or to anyone reading this, but this is an absolutely massive milestone in my life. This novel represents my first completion of the NaNoWriMo November writing challenge, but more than that it’s the first of hopefully many publications of my work.

Writing this novel has been such a long process, and as much as I enjoyed that process, I’m so happy to see it completed. That being said, I can’t quite seem to let it all just slip away without another thought. (Even if I’ve already jumped headlong into a brand new project for July!) So, this week, I’m taking Wednesday and Friday to share, with whoever will listen, two of the primary points of inspiration I had for writing this book! Including, my own personal thoughts on them, alongside how they helped shape the story itself. Don’t worry. I’ll stay away from spoilers.

I’m looking forward to taking a little more time to talk about my new book, and would be incredibly grateful to anyone willing to check it out!

As a side note: You can always feel free to contact the author (me again!) via email @ whitewolfwriter@gmail.com

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Bulletin: Hard at Work

I have no Internet today, so I’m getting this out to you guys on my phone. I’m currently pushing my way through the finishing touches on my novel (more on that next week) and already starting work on a new project for Camp NaNo (more on that this Friday).
Wish me luck, and have a good week!

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June 26, 2013 · 3:07 pm

Metaphors

The words never came easy. He searched for them, day in and day out. Fought against a galaxy of possibilities, but in the end all he ever had to show for it was a handful of butchered metaphors. He wanted to be an artist. He wanted to make people sigh, when they read the things he wrote. Wanted them to repeat short passages to themselves with their eyes closed, so that they wouldn’t let a single word of it slip from their memories. But in all honesty, he was a sham. He was a paint-by-numbers artist, merely following in the footsteps of truly great writers. Worst of all, he was a sadist. He prowled through used bookstores finding masterpieces, and picking them up to read random lines. Then, he set them back down on the shelves with the solemn conviction that he would never write the sort of book he wanted to. If he was lucky, one day, he’d write something good enough to scrape by all the other garbage out there and land itself in the dollar bin of one of his second-hand shops. He accepted that as a fact, an inherent truth that could be argued with to the same extent the Sun’s position in the solar system could be. That thought kept him up every night. So that he would lie in his bed, letting the bags under his eyes sink into a darker shade of purple. Then, he would get up, and pace, and sit down at his desk, and get up again, and sit back down, and write. In the morning he’d look at each word with scorn, and throw every page of work away. This, his suffering, he considered, was maybe the only thing that likened him to any real artist. And that, gave him hope.

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