Joani Plenty

Born With A Desire To Inspire
January 4th, 2012

REDRESS. by Author, Joani Plenty

She could feel the urine running down her scrawny leg and across her ankle, creating a puddle in the heel of her left shoe. The white kids sometimes laughed at Sweetie because she had holes in the toes of her shoes, but they were her favorite.

The scent of moonshine and sour body odor was getting stronger. He was getting closer and was sure to find her. “Nobody ‘pose to be in his children’s tree-house sep his children.” Sweetie thought to herself. Sweetie’s heart was beating faster now as she sat, alone, on the tree-house floor.  She quickly but quietly pushed herself backwards into a corner of the wooden fortress, slashing the side of her neck on an exposed rusty nail.  Holding back a cry, Sweetie sat with her thin arms wrapped around her knees.  She ignored both the pain and sensation of warm blood seeping down her neck, soaking the collar of her dirty white dress.  Sweetie tucked her head into her lap and held her breath, hoping it would stop her heart from beating.

“I know you’re up they’uh!” The Captain hollered. He stretched his good leg toward the first wooden plank of the treehouse ladder and held tightly to the lantern that was lighting his way. He had threatened to kill Sweetie before, during his many drunken tantrums, but she was not afraid. She pitied him. The Captain blamed Sweetie for her mother’s death and could barely stand the site of her beautiful, caramel-complected face. Though, beneath the wrinkles, his skin was not much lighter than hers. He lacked her beauty though; inside and out.  His skin seemed as if it were melting from his face and sliding down his neck to his chest. The Captain was disappointed that Sweetie did not resemble her mother who had dark, flawless skin. Little did he know…Sweetie spent her afternoons in the field blowing on dandelions, wishing the same thing.

Sweetie could feel the gagging beat of her heart inside her throat.  Today, she feared him. She intuitively knew today was the day he would get his wish; for Sweetie to suffer a painful death. But she was not ready to die. Seven years of life, whether filled with tragedy or happiness, was not enough time. It was not enough time to wish on all of the stars, to count every sheep, not enough time to smell the honeysuckle she planned to pick for the breakfast table in the morning. “I’m sorry.” she whispered between her knees. “I’m sorry I killed mama….I’m sorry.”

A fresh and steady cool breeze blew in through a crack in the wall behind her. Sweetie took a deep breath as if it were her last and blew it out slowly. She was tired. Tired of running, tired of being afraid, and most importantly, tired of trying to understand why none of the wishes that she made ever came true. Well, except for her wish to one day play inside the big treehouse…

Thank you for your interest in my most recent novel/WIP. Stay tapped in for more information on the unexpected twists and turns of this untitled paranormal/fantasy thriller by following me on Twitter (@joaniplenty) and facebook (facebook.com/joaniplenty). ;)

 

**UPDATE**

If you read this excerpt previously you may (or may not) notice that ‘Sweetie’ originally “…quickly but quietly pushed herself backwards into a corner of the wooden fortress, slashing the back of her neck…” and it went on to say that she ignored “the pain and sensation of warm blood seeping down the back of her neck.”

 

Well…being a perfectionist (and actress by hobby and profession) and not wanting my favorite book nerds leaving negative reviews on the authenticity of my stories, I like to reinact scenes (hey, this could be a screenplay one day…who knows, lol).  Well, I actually love when I find a discrepancy between the words on the pages and real life.  I am so proud of myself and hurry back to the laptop to edit.  With the sentence above I stated that ‘Sweetie’ moved backwards into the corner “slashing” her neck, then later mentioned blood seeping down the “back” of her neck.  But when I sat down in my dirty, daddy-long-legger infested shed to play this out myself I realized that the nail wouldn’t be able to slash her neck.  A puncture possibly but not slash if she is moving straight backwards.  So I changed it to “slashing the side of her neck” which makes sense if she is sliding backwards quickly to squeeze her little body into the corner.  I then needed to remove the sentence that told my readers that the blood was seeping down the “back” of her neck.  ;)

 

Joani Plenty…working hard to get the best finished product; a gripping story, to my readers since 1984, lol.  Synopsis coming soon so check back!

November 1st, 2011

Backwards is Beautiful

 

“Working backwards and loving it!” should be my Facebook page job title!  The word “backwards”, going forward (<— see what I did there?) for the sake of this post, is most definitely a positive thing.  There is never any rhyme or reason (that’s visible to the naked eye anyway) to my creativeness and I love that!  It’s like working out a really hard math problem in your own way and coming up with the correct answer.  Though, to explain how you got your answer is another story.  You couldn’t possibly explain it to anyone else but the proud feeling that you get because you understand it (and slight boastful feeling because no one else can fathom how you did it) is awesome to me.  Talk about motivation!

 

To give you an idea as to how backwards I really am (remember, the definition of “backwards” here is “creatively awesome”), I’m working on a trailer, for a book that isn’t even written, with a director as well as my musically talented son .  Why?  Because I’m a proud “Pantser” and that’s how we roll!  Traditional writing techniques would have you complete an outline before starting any writing project.  This is to help organize your thoughts and supposedly make the writing process easier.  I, on the other hand, dread the dreaded “O” word.  For me, and most Pantsers (read: All Pantsers that I’ve ever met), outlining does the exact opposite, causing me to procrastinate on starting the story to begin with.

 

As a matter of fact, there are a lot of things that are better backwards:

  • Stressed = Desserts (Dessert always makes things better)
  • Snoops = Spoons (would you prefer someone who’s cold and nosey or who “spoons” with you when it’s cold?)
  • Warts = Straw (this one is a given)
  • Stink = Knits (my Grandmother’s perfume has the ability to make fish float, which connects her to both words)
  • Gnats = Tang (cool refreshing drink or bugs that float in your cool refreshing drink?)
  • Pees = Seep
  • Nova – Avon (go ahead and choose smelly fish over fresh smelling bubble bath…whatev.)

 

Pantsers are visual creatures.  We write with more of a moving image or movie in our heads rather than reading a written story.  Instead of outlining a story from the beginning to end before starting, as the traditional writer does, we “just start”.  Pantsers just  go with the story as it comes, sometimes being as surprised with the ending as the reader will be once the book is complete.  When working on a paper in high school or college, the outline literally ruined my story. This, I know, sounds crazy to the traditional writer, but I felt as if it limited my creativity.  By taking me away from the flowing-creativity and pulling my eyes/mind back to this white piece of paper, to confirm that I didn’t “forget” anything, is too mechanical for a Pantser.  Instead, we use our 5 (sometimes, seemingly, 6) senses to guide us.  Ideas randomly written on the back of a colored note card, images kept in a special folder, and music from the past and/or present are all tools used to help the Pantser-process sail effortlessly and more enjoyably.

 

Doing research and choosing trailer music is helping me with new story ideas that I may not have thought of had I written it the traditional way.  For instance, the trailer that I’m working on surrounds the murder of a 7 yr. old slave girl.  Initially, I was defining the trailer by the effect that her murder had on the story but, after further research, I’ve chosen to focus on what happens to her instead.  Enter “creepy nursery music”.  I also learned a few interesting things about coded slave songs; something I never even considered adding to the story but found so fascinating that there’s no way that I can leave it out now and consider my novel complete.

 

The word “traditional” is more of a style than a correct way of doing something now.  Just like that math problem in high school, the finished product is what matters most.  As with any skill, we learn the basic way of doing then add our own “flavor”.  You build on a skill-set to make the work your own, sometimes using only the tools that work best for you!

 

So, if you’re a “Pantser”, whether a writer, musician, or any other type of right-brained artist, celebrate your uniqueness!  Own it, love it and be confident; refuse to be any other way.

 

Disclaimer: This article refers to the noun form of “Pantser” and does not, in any way, shape or form coincide with the verb “Pantsing” giving you the right to walk around pulling other people’s pants down then laughing hysterically at their expense.  I felt the need to include this information as my spouse now uses the word as a derogatory term when I ask him to take out the trash, yelling, “Screw YOU Pantser!” then yanking my pants to my ankles, laughing, well…hysterically.  Reference: The Trash