Category Archives: Works

Updates on works by Jordan McCollum

Story department!

A while ago, I posted about a story department for writers, like that of a Hollywood movie studio. Basically, it’s a place where we can find help identifying weaknesses, brainstorming new ideas, making the jokes better, getting the story structure right and more.

How this works:

The lucky volunteer submits whatever s/he wants help with: this could be the seed of an idea if you’re in the brainstorming phase, a query-length blurb if you’re looking for more specific brainstorming help or stuck in between plot points, a synopsis if you want structural advice, or even a scene or passage if you can’t quite put your finger on what’s not working. For maximum effectiveness, a short list of what you’re looking for is helpful.

I post the material on the appointed day. Then we, the kind, thoughtful and helpful readers and writers around here, put our minds to work. Think about it all day and come back with an insightful idea, or post the first thing that pops into your head.

Of course, the volunteer author doesn’t have to use anything we toss out—but now s/he isn’t the only one having to think of ideas. And even if we don’t come up with something specific to help the volunteer, maybe something one of us says will spark another idea and the story will take off again, magically healed 😉 . (The volunteer is more than welcome to engage in a discussion, of course, but we probably don’t need a full explanation of just why our ideas won’t work.)

The story

Today, I’m the volunteer again. I’m looking for help with one of those “little ideas,” a scene-level fix.

The setup:

Our bad guy (whom we may call . . . “Tom”) is trying to induce our heroine (“Nina”) to come somewhere with him to save our hero (“Johnny,” Nina’s fiancé). Nina has known Tom for years—and knows him well enough not to trust him. But when Tom shows Nina Johnny’s prized watch (or something else) that he never parts with, she knows something is wrong. Nina allows Tom to drive her car, and they’re leaving the garage at her building when one of her neighbors gets suspicious. When the neighbor starts to call the police, Tom shoots and kills him.

What I’m looking for:

  • A way to keep Nina in the car after the gun goes off. Nina knows better than to go driving off with an armed murderer. I think Tom needs to physically restrain her in the car somehow.
  • I’m also open to suggestions on Johnny’s prized, personally identifiable possession (something he’d be able to function without).
  • If it helps, I think it’s not crucial that they use Nina’s car. (However, the neighbor is more likely to think something weird is going on if Tom’s driving Nina’s car. On the other hand, if you can give a reason for the neighbor to attract Tom’s attention and ire from Tom’s car, I’m open to that)

Want to participate? Jump in the comments! Want to volunteer? Send your material—including what you’re looking for—to storydept at JordanMcCollum.com. I’ll contact you to work out a date.

Original photo by Tom Magliery

Story department

A while ago, I posted about watching the making of Finding Nemo. I really enjoy Pixar’s storytelling skills, so to learn how that story was developed was really interesting.

I was amazed to learn how much work it takes (although I’ve certainly put a lot of work into my own stories)—but not just from one person. Movie studios use entire story departments to help identify weaknesses, brainstorm new ideas, make the jokes better, get the story structure right and more (certainly makes a regular critique group pale in comparison!).

I heard that and thought, “I want that. And I’ll bet I’m not the only one.”

And I thought this would be a great place to do it.

How this works:

The lucky volunteer submits whatever s/he wants help with: this could be the seed of an idea if you’re in the brainstorming phase, a query-length blurb if you’re looking for more specific brainstorming help or stuck in between plot points, a synopsis if you want structural advice, or even a scene or passage if you can’t quite put your finger on what’s not working. For maximum effectiveness, a short list of what you’re looking for is helpful.

I post the material on the appointed day. Then we, the kind, thoughtful and helpful readers and writers around here, put our minds to work. Think about it all day and come back with an insightful idea, or post the first thing that pops into your head.

Of course, the volunteer author doesn’t have to use anything we toss out—but now s/he isn’t the only one having to think of ideas. And even if we don’t come up with something specific to help the volunteer, maybe something one of us says will spark another idea and the story will take off again, magically healed 😉 . (The volunteer is more than welcome to engage in a discussion, of course, but we probably don’t need a full explanation of just why our ideas won’t work.)

The story

Our first volunteer is . . . me, of course! (How would you volunteer if you didn’t know about this? Silly.)

The story idea:

Title: (Uhhh…. I don’t do good titles until I finish first drafts)
Genre: YA paranormal


Sixteen-year-old Lacey Pratt already knew she wasn’t the kind of girl who got a lot of attention—a fact that’s driven home she starts hearing others’ thoughts. Her new telepathic abilities are overwhelming at first, but Lacey soon realizes how she can best use her abilities: to finally make James, her long-time crush, notice her.

And it actually works. But soon after they start dating, James is murdered—and someone is thinking Lacey’s next. Now she must discover others like her and learn how to really use her powers for good if she’s going to stay alive.

What I’m looking for:

  • Feedback on how Lacey should react to discovering her telepathic powers. Initially, I envisioned that as a major thrust of the book, where Lacey thinks she’s developed schizophrenia for the first few chapters. Now I’m not sure that works. Would it be too much (too dark, etc.)?
  • Kind of along those lines: does it sound uneven? Does it start off too light and get too dark?
  • Ideas on structuring the plot (i.e. where to place some of the milestones above).
  • Ideas for other events/scenes—anything that comes to mind with telepathy and high school.
  • There’s actually a lot more to my idea on the “others like her”—but I really don’t want to overload this book and make the first and second parts too disjointed. Do you think the above is enough to sustain one book?
  • And, finally, is it fresh? I’ve been thinking about it so long it feels very old to me (like, I can measure this in years). Has this been done?

Note: this is the same idea that generated the scene for the KissingDayBlogFest, but my latest iteration of the idea makes that scene not work.

Want to participate? Jump in the comments! Want to volunteer? Send your material—including what you’re looking for—to storydept at JordanMcCollum.com. I’ll contact you to work out a date.

Original photo by Tom Magliery

Yet another blogfest

Okay, this’ll be the last for a while. Today I’m participating in Secret Story’s Bar Scene Blogfest.

Set up: Special Agent Zach Saint is undercover as a Catholic priest after the parish mob murdered the last priest. This is his first week in the parish, and he’s joined one of the parish mobsters (Cally Lonegan) at the local bar. Zach doesn’t drink. Ever.


The bartender placed fresh glasses in front of Zach and Cally Lonegan. Zach took a tentative sip of his; it was bitter and alcohol-free as his last four drinks. Lonegan had guzzled 90-proof gin as fast as Zach could down his tonic and limes.

Lonegan reached for his tumbler, but looked away at the last second. The momentary distraction was timed perfectly for Lonegan to knock the glass over and spill the juniper-based spirit in Zach’s lap.

Great. Sighing, Zach grabbed a towel from across the bar to mop up the mess. Oblivious, Lonegan was busy flagging down a friend. “Doyle!” Even with the crowd, his shout was twenty decibels too loud. But it wasn’t the shouting that had Zach’s attention—was this Murphy?

Before he looked around, the full case file flashed through Zach’s mind. The crime scene photos of the last underling Murphy had had executed sprang to the forefront. He turned to follow Lonegan’s gaze.

Eyeing Zach, a man who carried his weight like he was used to being obeyed approached the bar. He looked just like his file photo: tall, hefty, and subtly menacing. “What kind of company you keeping now, Cal?”

“Who, this?” He punched Zach in the shoulder harder than necessary. “This is Father Tim. Salt of the Earth, that’s for sure!” Lonegan roared with laughter.

“Doyle Murphy.” The newcomer—the resident mob boss—settled at Zach’s left. Well, that was easier than he expected.

As long as he didn’t end up like the last guy who Murphy didn’t trust. The blood spatter on the sedate floral sofa hung in his mind. The Bureau believed the guy had been an hour late to deliver a shipment.

And then there was Father Patrick.

Zach fought back his racing pulse and shook the mobster’s hand. He’d been this close to vicious killers before. Worked with them, even. But a nagging feeling in his gut said ingratiating himself to this control freak over the next weeks—months, maybe—would be the most dangerous assignment he’d faced yet.


Yes, there’s more to the scene—but that’s where the chapter ends.

As always, read, participate and comment here!

Photo by Silus Grok

Murder Scene Blogfest

I’m still on a blogfest kick, with one for today and one for tomorrow. Today is the Murder Scene Blogfest, hosted by Anne Riley, and here’s my entry! (Note: it’s been trimmed here.)


In ten hours, they would be married. A mix of anxiety and adrenaline surged through Scott as he turned on to Abby’s street.

Squad cars idled in front of her building. His stomach turned cold. She was all right—she had to be. It could be anyone. It could be the building next door. It could be a traffic stop.

A traffic stop with three sets of flashing lights?

Scott sped up, scanning for a parking space. He’d missed her call last night thanks to his dad and his dreaded pre-wedding lecture. She hadn’t left a message. Was something wrong?

No. They wouldn’t keep three cars with flashing lights on the street overnight, unless—

He pulled alongside one of the squad cars, got his badge from the glove box and sprinted to the nearest uniform.

“What’s going on?”

“You’ll have to move along, sir.”

Scott shook his head. He flashed his badge. “What’s going on?”

“Murder.” The officer looked back toward the entrance to the parking garage beneath Abby’s building.

Fear grabbed his heart. “Who?”

“The guy who called it in couldn’t ID the body.”

“I know some people in the building. I’ll take a look.”

The officer glanced back at the ramp that led to the shadowed basement. “Don’t tell ’em I was the one that let you in.”

Scott nodded and started down the ramp. Each step tightened dread’s grip on his chest. By the time he reached the first level, he was almost sprinting.

He’d come here for an early morning run, but this wasn’t what he’d intended.

The plainclothes detectives clustered near Abby’s parking spot, and a darkening blood pool on the asphalt. A black body bag—full—sat on a gurney, waiting to be loaded into the coroner’s van. Scott stopped short, the fear freezing in his veins.

No. This couldn’t be happening. Not on their wedding day.

“Who let you down here?” one of the detectives demanded.

Scott kept his eyes on the body bag as he approached and pulled out his badge. “FBI.” Normally, he said it with force, but his voice sounded like a hollow echo ringing in his ears.

A grizzled detective threw up his hands in mock-joy. “Tell me the feds want this one. I have three hours till my shift’s supposed to start.”

“Have you IDed the body?”

The graying detective shook his head. “You live here?”

He nodded. Close enough.

The coroner’s assistant nodded at the detective’s signal and unzipped the body bag. He pulled back the flap before Scott could even brace himself.


(I think I should clarify here that when I hear the words “murder scene,” I automatically think of a crime scene, not a scene in which we watch someone be murdered. The murder here actually does take place “on screen” in the scene before this, but I have to rewrite that, so I went with this.)

Read, participate and comment here!

Photo by Mac

First page blogfest

Today (Apr 2) is my birthday! I may or may not be around, but I thought it would be fun (and, okay, easy) to participate in another blogfest today, sharing my first page.

Of course, I’ve shared the first page to Saints and Spies a bunch of times—and I used to have the first seven pages here on the site. (What the heck, I’ll post them again for a little while—like I said, it’s my birthday!)

This is a pretty rough draft—I’ve only shown it to one beta reader—but here’s the first page of the book I’m calling Saints and Agents.


Surveillance. Special Agent Zach Saint shifted against the hard gray upholstery. Two hours and thirty-seven minutes of sitting in the car, staring at nothing—and then the pair stepped out of the building down the block. The target. He reached for the keys in the ignition. “Eyes on.”

Next to him, Special Agent Xavier Cason peered through his camera’s viewfinder. “Isn’t that your . . . Molly?”

Zach grabbed binoculars and followed Xavier’s line of sight. Green coat, dark curls, tall. She stopped, dismayed, and turned back to the target couple. mock cover for Saints and AgentsThough she wasn’t “his” anymore, it was definitely Molly.

After she’d abruptly dumped him six months ago, Zach knew he’d probably run into Molly again. But he didn’t think the first time would be on the job—and especially not while she was talking to suspected terrorists.

“You drive.” Zach reached for the door handle.

Xavier caught Zach’s sleeve without taking his eyes from his camera. “Do not approach, Z.”

“She’s three months out of Quantico—I can’t just leave her out there.” He knocked X’s hand away and stepped out of the car into the sharp cold. He needed a cover.

He paused at the street vendor on the corner to buy two pretzels—and buy himself one more minute to come up with an identity, someone with a right to cut in on their conversation.

The target couple was too busy chatting to notice his approach. “So,” said Grace, “are ya seein’ anyone, Molly love?”

Zach slung an arm around Molly’s shoulders. He finally settled on a cover—deep South. “Here ya go, darlin,” he drawled.

Molly looked up at him with her deep blue eyes and only hesitated a moment before smiling and accepting one of his pretzels. Good recovery.

Zach offered the target couple his now-free hand. “Jason Tolliver. Molly’s fiancé.”


Alternate Version Blogfest

The writing blogosphere seems to be on a blogfest kick, and since the first one up is the Alternate Version Blogfest hosted by Livia Blackburne, I just had to join in. In honor of April Fool’s day, we’re posting the original and “alternate” versions of scenes from our works—and you know how I love to do that.

This is from an old MS (beyond repair, sadly). In this, Margaux is working with her ex-boyfriend, Fredrick, to pull off what she thought was a practical joke. Once things go badly (chapter 2), he ships her off to stay with her parents for a week while he irons out the mess. At her parents’, she sees a news report about a pair of scam artists who cheated little old ladies out of their life savings.

Original:

“I’ve always thought that [police] sketch looked like Sherry,” her father commented after a moment.

Margaux looked at the screen—it did look like her old friend, although it bore the name “Maryanne Walters.” Then the image changed, showing the police sketch of the accomplice.

It was Fredrick.

Chapter 3

Was that even possible?

Margaux shut her bedroom door behind her. Sure, it was possible–they’d met while Margaux and Fredrick dated–but it just didn’t make any sense.

Margaux sank onto her bed.

Her shock (which is always hard to convey, of course), wasn’t explicit enough for at least one of my CPs. So I wrote the alternate version:

It was Fredrick. Fredrick? FREDRICK?! Margaux rent her socks, writhing on the floor in the agony of her own poor choices. Her father looked at her as though she were crazy–and she must be, she MUST be, for how else could she have so foolishly involved herself with Fredrick again when he was, as is abundantly clear from the character sketch, a lie and a cheat and a scoundrel and a murderer?

Margaux threw the television set across the room, taking out her frustrations with herself on the messenger. The medium is the message, after all, just as Marshall McLuhan had said in 1964, just ten short years before this scene unfolded.

“Margaux,” began her father in a warning tone. Margaux cut him off with a look that made it clear she was prepared to strangle him with her socks to silence his censure. If she hadn’t just rent them into small pieces of knit fabric, of course.

I’m so happy with this alternate version. It really clears up a number of issues this CP had—I obviously needed constant reminders that this story was set 30+ years ago, and after only ten pages, this CP already knew my characters better than I did. One of the many ways I learned about how to be such a helpful CP myself!

(My second choice: rewrite the opening to the MS I’m revising right now to have the heroine flirting with the hero over her priest’s dead body. I think that’ll really draw the readers in and make them feel for her, don’t you?)

Feel free to join in—or to add more ways I could push the alternate version even further over the top!

Photo by splityarn

St Patrick’s Day myths

I have to confess: secretly, I have Irish ancestry.

Okay, it’s not that big a secret. But for some reason, it’s not that big a deal, either—I also have Danish, German, French, English, Ulster Scots and other ancestry, and I don’t get a parade for that—and I also recognize that being (technically) Irish-American doesn’t mean I know jack squat about Ireland and its culture today.

Or, I didn’t until I wrote a book with an Irish protagonist. And no, not Irish like you and I are Irish—born-and-raised-in-Ireland-until-adulthood Irish. And surprisingly, although we allegedly speak the same language, that entailed the same amount of research as any other character from another culture might.

So here’s some of what I learned—a few St. Patrick’s Day myths for you.

Myth: St. Patrick’s is the quintessential Irish holiday

Well, St. Patrick is a pivotal figure in Irish Catholic history, but not a whole lot is known for certain about him. He was a Briton taken into slavery in Ireland, escaped after six years and returned to Britain, then entered the Catholic church and returned to Ireland. He is the most famous of three patron saints of Ireland (although technically he’s never been canonized by a pope). Legend says he banished snakes from Ireland and used the shamrock to teach the concept of the Trinity.

March 17th is his feast day and has been celebrated as a day of holy obligation (and a day off from Lent) in Ireland for centuries. However, the first recorded St. Patrick’s Day parade was held in Boston (1737—the first parade in Ireland was nearly two hundred years later, after dozens of American cities had established parades of their own). St. Patrick’s Day is largely a holiday celebrated by the Irish Diaspora—people of Irish descent not living in Ireland. In fact, it wasn’t until the 1990s that Ireland began capitalizing on the tourism possibilities of the “traditional Irish holiday.”

Myth: Corned beef is the traditional Irish meal

Good news if you don’t care for the stuff: corned beef isn’t a traditional Irish meal. However, if you like it, the reason corned beef didn’t catch on in Ireland is doubly depressing: most Irish people couldn’t afford beef.

The tradition, like that of St. Patrick’s Day, is largely Irish-American: once they came to America, Irish people could afford beef and prepared it as they would have their cheaper meats back home. (I have no idea how people too poor to afford beef bought passage to America—details, details.)

A more traditional Irish meal would feature uncured bacon (Canadian bacon)—but do we really care?

Myth: In Ireland, everyone speaks “Gaelic.”

In Ireland, the vast majority of people call the traditional language “Irish.” While everyone in the Republic is required to learn Irish in school, few people actually speak it outside of school. (Think about it—when’s the last time you used your high school French? How good is it?)

There are a couple areas in Ireland where Irish is the native language: a few areas mostly on the west coast called the Gaeltacht (gale-tacht, with a ch like in Bach or loch). Population: 91,000, or about 2% of Ireland’s 4M+ people.

A fun fact: the Irish police force, the Garda Síochána (guard-a she-chòn-uh), requires at least a passing level of Irish proficiency for prospective officers (though they reassure applicants that it’s really not that big a deal).

Myth: Nice accent—are you from Scotland or running for the next Lucky Charms mascot?

Good try. You got one of the British Isles. Now, here are your study materials: Father Ted. Ballykissangel.

A couple hints: saying “I’m oyrish” means you’re probably not, “dinna, canna,” etc. and trilled r’s are waaay more common in Scotland that Ireland (though if you look really hard, you can find Irish accents that have one of those features, but not all).

(How do you get it right? The easiest way is to pick a specific place in Ireland for your character and find recordings of someone from there, or vice versa. And unless your character lived in Ireland past age 8 or so—even if their entire extended family is Irish—they probably have an American/Australian/Canadian/wherever they’re living accent. Linguistic phenomenon.)

Myth: Okay, then, Irish people speak English like the rest of us.

Uhhh yeah. They use many of the same words, but . . . well, let’s see if you can tell what this means:

“Did you hear that the scrubber and the wagon were plastered last night and ended up in a mill? It was deadly!”
—from The Feckin’ Book of Everything Irish

Oh, you did know that meant the woman of low sophistication and morals and the unattractive woman were drunk last night and ended up in a fight (it was awesome!)? That’s a lot of cheek, ya cute hoor—have you the knees to go with it?

Myth: The kilt is the best way to show off your Irish heritage

Your knees, yes. Your Irish heritage, not so much. In Ireland, you’re most likely to see kilts on pipers. Really, the kilt is a Scottish tradition (and even then, the length of that tradition is disputed). Although there has been a bit of a movement to adopt it as Gaelic national dress (and what have you), the Irish kilt is mostly a phenomenon celebrated outside of Ireland.

(And in case you’re wondering, it’s not like everybody in Scotland’s wearing one, either. During the two years my husband lived there, he’d see someone about town in a kilt perhaps weekly.)

Myth: Erin go bragh is a Gaelic Irish phrase that means . . . uh . . .

Erin go bragh is the Anglicized version of . . . well, Irish speakers aren’t totally sure, but most seem to think it came from the Irish Éire go Brách, which literally means Ireland until eternity.

And, once again, it’s not that popular in Ireland. Sorry. It was used as a slogan a few centuries ago—is that better?

Myth: there’s nothing that’s really Irish about all this celebrating, is there?

Absolutely! In fact, St. Patrick’s Day is a great time to celebrate the way Irish culture has adapted during the Irish diaspora—because Ireland’s greatest export is its people.

And the other stuff that’s “really Irish”: potatoes, Catholicism, beer, Irish whiskey, shamrocks, the color green (and orange!), Brian Boru’s harp, Irish dance (though not necessarily Riverdance), Halloween (Oíche Shamhna (ee-chah how-nah)). Yes, it’s all cliché but still so true.

Check out Annette Lyon’s Word Nerd Wednesday to find some other Irish influences—on the English language. And my friend Stephanie Black actually lived in Ireland for a few years, and she’s posting about Irish chocolates and pictures (of Ireland, not the candy) today.

What do you think? Any surprises? Totally rethinking your national identity now?

How did you do in 2009?

I didn’t set a ton of goals (or resolutions) last year (they’re on my personal blog, if you’d like to see all of them). In writing, here’s what I wanted to accomplish in 2009:

Write tons a reasonable amount. I’m nearing completion on the first draft of my latest manuscript . . . . I’d like to get through the first draft of two more this year—and finish those accursed, beautiful revisions on last year’s two manuscripts.

I did most of that. I finished the MS in question and drafted two more. I revised and polished that first MS (and I’m getting ready to do it again). I didn’t go back to the first MS of 2007; if I ever do, it will require heavy re-conceptualizing.

I’m not sure, however, that three manuscripts in a year is “a reasonable amount.” I know it depends on how fast you write and how much time you “make” to write (and especially on whether or not you have an idea that sets you on fire)—but when you’re the primary caregiver to your two young children 24/7, that’s a lot. And creatively speaking, it’s a lot, too—at times, enough to burn me out.

And yet the only goals I’ve even begun to consider for the coming year are almost the same—repolish and rerevise the same MS and continue the submission rounds with it, draft two more manuscripts, and polish one of those. (This may be subject to change, of course; I may end up going back to one of the MS from last year to polish first. Who knows?)

Beyond that, I haven’t really thought about goals in most areas. I know I want to work on increasing the tension in the first half of that manuscript and look at the techniques required to do that. I’m also thinking of doing a series on tension, suspense and foreshadowing.

What do you want to accomplish and learn in 2010? Any requests for writing series?