Plotter or pantser? The eternal question! (@TanithDavenport #Norway #giveaway #pnr)

By Tanith Davenport (Guest Blogger)

Everyone has their own opinion on it, and it comes up in every interview - are we plotters or pantsers? It's a question I've always struggled with, because my own writing technique often seems to fall between the lines. So I gave it some thought while I was working on Echoes of Love.

With my first book I had absolutely no idea about planning, so I did what seemed to come naturally. As I was working with two POVs, I needed to keep track of who was doing what at any given moment, so I worked with timelines to make sure everything stayed straight. The actual plot was planned out using general plot points but without detailing what strung them together, and these were revised as I went. So with that book I suppose I was more of a plotter.

With another, I had already sold the book to my editor based on a detailed synopsis, so that one was more closely planned and only altered slightly. It did, however, feel a little constricting for my usual tastes. I've worked this way a few times since and, to be honest, I prefer to write the synopsis at the end rather than the beginning, since there have been many times when the story has developed in a way that messed up what I had planned. So there's definitely a degree of pants-ing to my writing.

And I always need to be able to call a halt and say "You know what, this isn't working." The most difficult story I ever wrote was one where I had a deadline at the end of the month and the whole thing seemed to be collapsing around me. It worked out in the end, but for this reason I hate working to deadlines. There's always the possibility that something won't be working, that characters won't behave, and I don't want to risk letting people down because the story won't flow.

For Echoes of Love I only half-planned the story. I planned out the encounters with the vardoger, since that was the main hook of the story. However, it wasn't until later that I decided to introduce elements such as the ouija board and the illness of one of the characters. Those elements changed how the story flowed and also meant a slight reworking of the ending, so I went back a few times, altered the timeline and reshuffled a few points to include these sections. Plotter? In this instance, I would say not.

So I guess I'm no further along as to whether I'm a plotter or a pantser. The simple answer seems to be that I'm a bit of both. On longer novels I like to plot, but I always need the freedom to be able to switch things around, change characters, move timelines and throw in twists. I'll never be the kind of person who can work straight from a synopsis and have all the points in place before I start.

I'm giving away one copy of Echoes of Love to one lucky person who leaves a comment. Let me know what you think! (And don't forget to include your email address so I can fine you!)

Buy now at Amazon!

Blurb

Paranormal writer Kala Westenra, staying with her best friend Vika in Norway, is hunting for a new subject for an article, and finds it when she hears footsteps in the hall twenty minutes before Vika's hot brother Tor Viitanen arrives home. This, Vika tells her, is the vardoger - a Norwegian ghost, a future echo which always precedes a person's arrival.

Kala plans to stake out the hallway to catch the vardoger in the act - and is shocked when, on its arrival, it kisses her. Her feelings for Tor have been hidden ever since she first met him two years ago; could it be that the vardoger is acting on Tor's secret desire for her?

As Kala and Tor work together to understand what is happening with the spirit, their longing for each other begins to overtake them - but the vardoger has more to show them than they expected...

Excerpt

Tor reached over the arm of the sofa, pulled up a cushion and threw it at her. Vika threw it back, knocking over her wineglass at the same time.

“Here, let me get you a refill.” Kala reached for the bottle, but it was empty. Vika stood and made for the door, picking up her jacket from the hook on the back on her way past.

“I’ll run out and get another one. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Kala launched the cushion after her, hitting the door instead.

“I can see why you and my sister get on so well.” Tor raised an eyebrow. “You’re both drunks.”

“Oh, shut up. I’m still technically a student. I can drink if I like.”

“Soon to be a writer and they drink a lot, too, I’ve heard.”

Kala laughed. “I don’t know about journalists, though. Although I’d quite like to be a writer, too—novels or something. I don’t know what kind yet.”

“I’ll keep my eyes open for your hot new release.”

Ooh.

Kala held his gaze, her insides stirring strangely. Maybe it was the alcohol, but there was something in the words hot release that made a rush of heat flow through her body, her skin tingling.

After a long moment, Tor spoke again. “So, Vika thinks you need a man.”

“I don’t need a man. I may want a man.”

“Oh, yeah?” Something flickered across Tor’s face, his eyes glowing. He shifted onto his knees, leaning over the arm of the sofa, his face close to hers. “What sort of man do you want?”

“Oh, you know. We hotshot journalists don’t like to be tied down.” Kala gave him a taunting look, leaning closer to him so that their faces were almost touching. “Tall, dark, commitment-phobic. That’ll do me.”

“I can help you there.”

A sudden rush of movement and Tor’s mouth was on hers.

This is a bad idea. He’s Vika’s brother.

But somehow she no longer cared and Tor was right here and he was moving, moving over the arm of the sofa as they were still kissing, then his body was pressing down onto hers and they were still—

To hell with it, she thought and arched up against him, tangling her fingers in his hair.

She felt his hard cock through his jeans as it brushed against her leg, sending a dart of wet heat straight to her cunt. His hands ran down, caressing her neck, her shoulders, cupping her breasts and rolling his thumbs over her nipples through her bra.

Oh, God—

Then the sound of the lock clicking.

Immediately, Tor rolled off her and onto the floor, twisting round to position himself back at the side of the sofa. Kala sat up and ran a hand through her hair.

Shit, that was close.

“Here's the wine,” Vika announced as she came through the door, shopping bag in hand. “I got back as fast as I could.”

About the Author

Tanith Davenport began writing erotica at the age of 27 by way of the Romantic Novelists' Association New Writers' Scheme. Her debut novel "The Hand He Dealt" was released by Total-e-Bound in June 2011 and was shortlisted for the Joan Hessayon Award for 2012.

Tanith has had short stories published by Naughty Nights Press and House of Erotica. 

She loves to travel and dreams of one day taking a driving tour of the United States, preferably in a classic 1950s pink Cadillac Eldorado.

Tanith's idea of heaven is an Indian head massage with a Mojito at her side.

www.facebook.com/TanithDavenport

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You’re My Heroine, I Hate You

By Tanith Davenport (Guest Blogger)

I have a problem that no non-writer can understand. Believe me, I love to write; I love to invent characters and weave storylines around them. But nearly every story I write has a character who is a complete pain in the arse.

Not to the other characters, I might add. To me. I have a positive genius for coming up with characters who are a nightmare to write. They will be so tightly wound that they give me a headache, so secretive that they never talk about themselves, or so shy and virginal that having sex with the hero seems an impossibility. And yet I came up with them myself. I can’t complain, but I do anyway.

In my first novel I had a hero, Ash, who was a college jock on a football scholarship, more accustomed to punching a wall than expressing his feelings. He was a great character, described by one reader as “a hero to die for”, but his inarticulacy meant he was a real struggle to write. With him the “meaningful silence” became something of a mantra – it was all about what he didn’t say.

My latest WIP involves a heroine who is quite unbelievably uptight. With a fierce control over herself and a feeling of righteous anger against somebody she feels has wronged her, she is unrelentingly stiff and unbending. It works for the story, but God, writing her is hard work. Her inner life is quite well developed, primarily because in dialogue she hardly ever reveals anything, but since she has to fall in love with the hero, I have to find ways to break down her walls.

Her roommate – which is the nearest she has to a best friend in this particular situation – isn’t much help, since for various story-based reasons she spends a lot of time sulking. So I resorted to plan B – alcohol. No better way to make a tightly wound heroine relax than by getting her drunk, right? At least then maybe she’ll talk to people instead of being a first-class bitch.

Well, maybe. But then I’m an erotic romance writer. If I have a heroine who’s uptight, I need a hero who can loosen her up. If I have an inarticulate hero, I need a heroine who inspires him to express himself – within reason, anyway. If Ash had started spouting poetry I think I’d have collapsed. But this is what we do – we take characters who play off each other to build chemistry. That’s part of the fun of being a writer, after all. So my WIP hero is one of those sexy-yet-arrogant smart-arse types who likes to prod reactions out of my heroine and make her laugh against her will. Of course, they both like to be in control in the bedroom, so that will be a challenge and a half to sort out.

Why do we make our lives so difficult? Why can’t I just come up with nice cooperative characters who don’t have all these hang-ups, who fit together nicely in the sex scenes and who know what to say and when to say it? Instead I end up with people who can’t talk to each other properly, while my antagonist runs riot all over the page and begs for more page time. Yeah, I know you’re fun to write, Bad Guy, but you’re not allowed to win. I’m busy here – forcing a hero and a heroine to stop doing weird things and behave themselves.

Maybe I should stop creating characters from scratch and develop them according to kinks. I had a great heroine once whose initial personality trait was a fetish for being drenched in water. As it was a short story, it was fairly easy to build around that. But for longer stories I always start with the characters and see where their kinks form afterwards. It can make for some interesting scenarios, but also runs the risk of stubborn personalities getting in the way of my plotting and causing me to bang my head against the desk.

Well, the hassle my current WIP heroine is giving me has led me to one conclusion about her sex scenes – I’m going to give her a good spanking. The amount of grief she’s caused me, she deserves it. (Funnily enough, a lot of my solutions to this problem involve my characters’ bottoms. My inarticulate hero became much more articulate when I had his girlfriend don a strap-on and fuck him in the arse.) Maybe the experience of lying across the hero’s knee and letting him discipline her will stop her being such a control freak and let her enjoy herself for a change.

Or maybe she’ll finish off the session by leaping on top of him. That could work too.

At least my most recent story has a simpler heroine, although she has problems of her own…

Sleepwalker Blurb

Tally Haslam has too much to deal with. A herbalist and aromatherapist, her latest creation - an aphrodisiac potion - remains in unsaleable condition as she has nobody to test it with. And, much to her annoyance, she sleepwalks.

Hoping to get away from it all for a weekend, Tally travels to nearby Madigan Hall for their yearly Paranormal Evening—but on the first night she wakes up outside the bedroom of another guest: Kyle Hunter, who has chosen to pleasure himself with the door open. Tally escapes without being seen, but is unable to get Kyle out of her head—especially when she finds herself at the same table at him the following evening.

However, Tally's world is turned upside down when, at the paranormal dinner, she encounters the ghost of the Blue Lady, who seems determined not to leave her alone—and shows a disturbing penchant, when Tally sleepwalks again, for leading her astray…

https://www.totallybound.com/sleepwalker

Excerpt:

As soon as she opened her eyes, she knew it had happened again.

The hallway was dark, the only light source a moonbeam that fell through a nearby window. She felt carpet beneath her bare feet, her silk nightgown brushing against her ankles. The air was still, cool, and silent. The building was asleep.

Damn it. She knew this had been a bad idea.

A soft sound behind her made her spin round, her dark hair slapping against her shoulders. A crack of light glowed at the end of the corridor—a door had fallen ajar. She could hear something from within, quiet noises that sparked a memory at the back of her mind.

Tally turned on the spot and looked around her. The place was familiar, and she bit her lip in frustration. Her room was near here, but there was no avoiding it—she would have to pass the open door.

A metal object knocked against her ankle as she moved, and relief flooded through her. At least she still had her room key. As quietly as possible she made her way down the corridor, pressing close to the opposite wall as the open door drew nearer.

What is that noise? Is that...?

The urge to glance through the doorway was irresistible as she passed. A figure was visible, and she paused—

And froze.

The first thing she saw on the bed were a pair of feet, splayed to reveal tanned legs leading up to a muscular, naked male body. Dark hair spread on the pillow and, lower, drew a happy trail from a defined chest down, down, down to the hollow of his groin, from which rose a solid erection wrapped in one firm hand. His face was barely visible, but what she could see was twisted in a rictus of pleasure as his hand glided up and down, up and down, up and -

Oh God!

Tally knew she should go, but her body remained inextricably pressed against the wall, her gaze fixed on the vision in front of her. She tightened her fingers in the folds of her nightgown, breathless, conscious of the heat growing in her gut and the wetness slowly building in her centre.

The gasps from the room gradually became deep, masculine moans. She could see the muscles in his thighs flexing, see the heavy mass of his balls tightening. He was close, very close, and warmth bloomed within her as she watched, all thought gone from her mind except the sight of his pleasure, the rounded curves of his arse, the jerking of his hips as his hand moved faster, faster—

Then he groaned, spasmed, and spurted his release high, droplets spattering his chest. Tally closed her eyes in sympathy, struggling to control her breathing.

If she left now, he might not hear her. She turned and bolted down the corridor, running on her tiptoes, hastily scanning the darkened space for the turning that led to her own room.

This could not happen again.

About Me

I have been writing for ten years and first got into erotic romance through the Romantic Novelists' Association New Writer's Scheme; they critiqued my debut novel "The Hand He Dealt", which was published in June 2011 and was nominated for the Joan Hessayon Award.

I live in Yorkshire with my husband and two extremely bratty tuxedo cats. When I'm not writing I spend my time watching horror movies, listening to rock music, travelling to new places and trying out new restaurants.

Find me at:

http://tanithdavenport.com

www.facebook.com/tanithdavenport

www.twitter.com/tanithdavenport

Soundtrack to Sensuality

By Tanith Davenport (Guest Blogger)

Even before I wrote erotica, I had always been inspired by music.

Music has passion. Music can express complex emotions in a way that words sometimes struggle to replicate. I have hardly ever cried while reading a book, but show me Adele’s live performance of “Someone Like You” and I’m a mess.

More often than not, I will name stories after songs, or possibly lyrics, if one particular song happened to fit the writing perfectly. In the case of “The Hand He Dealt”, I originally christened it “Shiver” while listening to a Natalie Imbruglia track, but soon realised it didn’t suit the plot that was developing, and never managed to find another song that fit.

But music shaped the story.

The three primary characters each had their own theme tune. Astra, the party girl who I describe early on as walking to an inaudible beat, always entered to Ke$ha’s “Tik Tok”. Self-centred Ash had two: when he first appeared it was to Calvin Harris’ “The Girls”, while later on it became David Guetta’s “Sexy Bitch”, the chorus of which seemed to suit Ash’s inarticulate jock persona nicely.

And Harry, bless him, had “With or Without You”.

Music also brings emotion to scenes when played in the background. In the case of erotica, it invokes desire and lets us show how we intend the scene to feel – is it fun? Exciting? Romantic? Dangerous?

I have two sex scenes scored with music. One involves Astra dancing with Ash at a party to “Chain Reaction” – I’ll leave the mechanics of that one to your imaginations. The second, my very first ménage scene, is set to Basement Jaxx’s “Get Me Off”. There’s a certain savagery to the bassline on that track that I think works well with that scene – I can see my two heroines stalking their prey and reducing him to jelly at a touch. Plus, of course, with a title like that it was just crying out to be used for a sex scene.

Does anyone else do this? Am I alone in giving my novels a personal soundtrack?

Here's a bit more about my new release, available now from Total-E-Bound.

Nobody can beat Astra Scott in playing the hand she’s dealt.

Astra Scott likes to live life to the full. A sorority girl and Gaming Management student, she spends her days studying and practising guitar, and her nights partying or working at the Fountain Casino, where she has an internship as part of her final semester. The only blot on her landscape is Ash Drake, her best friend Sasha’s boyfriend. Arrogant, physical and blond, Ash has never forgiven Astra for her rejection months earlier and enjoys annoying her at every turn.

But when Astra’s boyfriend Harry reveals a shocking secret, Astra responds in the only way she can think of: by finding a way to take on a more attractive, masculine role in the relationship. Her experimentation with sex toys finds a surprising outlet in Sasha, but when Ash discovers their secret and wants to get involved, Astra finds herself torn between dislike and desire…and as their undercover relationship grows, Astra finds herself falling in love, a path she feels can only end in heartbreak. For Ash may be the only man whose own fantasies are a match for hers, but can she knowingly steal his affections from her best friend?

Bio: Tanith Davenport has been writing for ten years and first got into erotic romance through the Romantic Novelists’ Association New Writer’s Scheme. Besides writing, her first loves are rock music and travel. She lives in Yorkshire with her long-suffering husband and cat.