New Neighbors

My husband and I have lived in our new home for about a month. This is the third place we've lived during our marriage. (I'm not counting our six weeks of living in someone's basement.) We are getting to know our new neighbors. It amazes me that in three weeks we've had three people drop off food of some sort and one lovely lady invite us over for Sunday dinner. My first response to this was this is the difference between country and city living. But it is something else: I need to be a better neighbor especially when we've just moved.

My parents are wonderful examples of what being a good neighbor is all about. My dad is someone who is always talking people and just being a genuinely nice fellow. When my mother sees a need she goes about quietly fixing it and offering support. After more than two decades, that has finally sunk in. When we moved this last time both my husband and I made an effort of going to activities to meet people. We signed up to paint fences. We talk to people we meet. I joined the local choir. We went to an open house to meet the people not caring that we'd never met them before. And now that we have been welcomed into this neighborhood, I hope that my husband and I can make the next group of new neighbors feel welcomed.

Goals

Writing takes time and it isn't always easy to find the time needed not only to write, but to edit and submit as well. That is where setting goals comes in. Goals should be more than just "I want to be a published author." They need to be specific and have a timeline. So saying "I want to be a published author in five years," is better but since you can't control all of the variables it could be even more specific. The best goals are the ones that you control from beginning to end. For example I have weekly goals. I update my blog, write a flash fiction story, write a chapter in my novel, and try and edit 20 pages a week. All of these things I control myself. I also have more long term goals that will get me to my "I want to be a published author" goal. I have to submit something to an agent or a publisher at least four times a year.

When trying for anything, whether it is being an author, learning a new language, sewing, or even being a better parent, make sure to set goals that are specific, have a timeline, and that you are the determining factor.

*Death at a Funeral

Intro: I am actually surprised I got something written this week. This is a little dark but I hope that you find it thought provoking.

"I'm going to a funeral." Jacob said.

He took a bite of his hamburger and washed it down with his chocolate milk. His friends around the table looked away and offered their sympathies. It was always the same, Jacob noticed, whether he was in elementary, high school, college, or at work. Funerals were treated as a disease. He finished of the burger with three more bites and crumpled the wrapper with the bag, tossing it into the garbage as he walked out of the break room.

Jacob liked funerals, it wasn't that he enjoyed the misery of others, no he went to see the bodies. The bodies looked serene, it didn't matter how they died, if the casket was open. All of the bodies wore the same expressions. One of peace. It was the funerals with the closed casket he hated. There was no peace in those funerals.

His own life contained everything, but peace and happiness. It was evident by the number of funerals he attended. The first one had been when he was seven, his older brother: accidental medication overdose. Then a year and a half later it had been two of the three sill living grandparents: complications from old age. At ten, his best friend: hit by a car. Twelve saw both his younger sister, electrocution, and his father, accident at work. His mother remarried when he was fourteen, a man with three children of his own, all older than Jacob. One died six months later, drowned in river. One died the day of Jacob's high school graduation, suicide. And when he was twenty, the third one choked at dinner.

Now, at twenty-seven, Jacob was attending his mother's funeral. It was listed as a home accident, falling down the stairs, but he knew the truth. His step-father was burying his second wife and Jacob knew the man was already sleeping with a potential number three.

He left work early and headed home, his gray suit and black shirt hung in his closet, all ready. It sagged on the hanger and looked even worse on him. He'd lost weight since purchasing it a month earlier. The left side of his coat hung down further than the right side.

The funeral home smelled of roses. He shook the funeral director's hand.

"You are Jacob, the deceased's son?"

"Yes. Thank you for your help with this."

"Will her husband be coming?"

Jacob shrugged and moved over the casket. Peace was eminent on her face, though it hadn't been in life. He brushed a finger across her cheek and let out a small plea of forgiveness. He could smell the man almost before he walked into the room. When the funeral director went to talk to him, the man just pushed past him, stumbling up to the casket. Jacob stood to the side his hands balled in fists.

"She looks so peaceful," he reached out, his greasy stained hands moving towards her.

"Don't touch her." Jacob had to keep himself from snarling. "Medications, old age, car accident, electrocution, machining accident, drowned, suicide, asphyxiation, beating."

"What?"

"Gun shot." He pulled the gun from the inside of his of his coat mentally counting the bullets in the gun as well as his pockets. "Closed casket."

###

The gavel sounded like the final gunshot as Jacob looked up at the judge. He stood and nodded his thanks already turning to the door. His lawyer stood at his shoulder.

"Don't worry, I'll appeal the ruling. We'll reduce it from premeditated homicide—"

"Don't bother," Jacob said smiling already thinking of the casket waiting for him. "Lethal injection is just fine."

The Limit

by Kristen Landon

Last September I won an ARC of THE LIMIT and got a chance to meet Kristen Landon. Not only was Kristen a delight to talk to, but this book really made me think. Not only does the story offer an interesting, twisty plot, but it has a really good message about spending within your limits. There are times that I read books and feel like the message was shoved down my throat, and this is not the case. The idea of money management is prevalent throughout the book but it is presented in such a way that I don't feel like a bad person for occasionally buying a book instead of getting it from the library.

The story follows thirteen-year-old Matt who is taken from his family because they spent more than their limit. He now lives in a workhouse helping to pay back his parents' debt. While he is working, he learns his high IQ has set him apart from 90% of the others who were taken, and while this means he has some special privileges, not everyone gets to live the same luxurious life he and his new friends have.

THE LIMIT is a dystpoic novel that doesn't delve into the grittiness as much as just making you feel uncomfortable about what is happening. It makes the setting more believable and that is what really makes this book for me. The idea of limiting people's spending has a grain of sensibility in it which for a second almost made me wish there was an outside punishment for it. I wouldn't be surprised if something like this happened somewhere in the world.

Parasol

I have fair skin. My grandmother was a redhead and though I didn't get her beautiful hair color, I did get her coloring. When I was a child I never put on sunscreen and complained bitterly when I got sunburned. Now that I am older I wear sunscreen year round and avoid the sun as much as possible. This year for my anniversary, my husband purchased a parasol for me. It is black lace with a wooden handle. I look for any excuse to use it, but at the same time every time I bring it out, I feel like people are staring at me (though at our new home 90% of the audience is farm animals). The stupid thing is, no one is really staring at me, and I am more comfortable when I use the parasol. I wouldn't have thought that carrying around my own sunshade would make that big of a difference, but it is a whole lot more effective then wearing a hat, and just keeping the sun from my skin, even if the air isn't cooler, is refreshing.

And I will say I feel like a real lady when I go walking arm-in-arm with my husband on our Sunday afternoon walks.

Blogging

I have worked in technological based fields for a couple of years now, and while I don't participate in all of the available social media options, I can see the benefit of them. I started blog because I heard on a podcast that branding yourself before you even become published is a good idea. This way when people search "EA Younker" on the web I know that they will find what I want them to find. I don't blog because it will reach hundreds of people I blog because it forces me to continue writing each week and for branding my name. I hope people enjoy what they read here but I am no expert on this topic.

*Walk Alone

Intro: Writing Prompt: Use the words from your favorite song (or the song that is stuck in your head), mix them up and write a short story using every word. This was a lot harder than I expected it to be. I looked around a lot of songs just so I could have a variety of words to work with. I alphabetized all of the words so I wouldn't be tempted to just rewrite the song. I tried to use all the words, but I couldn't. Sorry the story isn't longer, but the writing contest is monopolizing my time for the next couple of weeks.

The song I used is "Boulevard of Broken Dreams" by Green Day.

My shadow sleeps in the city. I dream of someone walking beside me down the boulevard. But my shadow finds me alone. My heart's empty, lonely. I know the road. I walk alone. The beating of my heart's shallow. I'm alive only sometimes I wish I walked beside someone. I know the street. I walk and walk. My shadow walks where the city divides dreams and wishes. I find one walking up the empty boulevard.

There I will walk between wish and homes. Alone I walk on mind's edge. There will I find my heart.

Holes

by Louis Sachar

I remember hearing about HOLES in elementary but it wasn't until I was in junior high, maybe even high school, that I actually read it. I am sorry I waited. This book is one of my favorites, and I will add that the movie is darn good as well, though the book is still the better of the two. Louis Sachar paints his characters vividly and uniquely and I grew attached to all of them in their own little way.

The story follows Stanley Yelnats, a boy who has a pair of shoes drop down on his head from the sky. He is accused of stealing the shoes and is sent to Camp Greenlake to pay for his crime. At the camp he is told he has to dig a 5 foot by 5 foot hole every day, to build character. While he is there he learns the background of the camp and of Kissing Kate Barlow the infamous outlaw.

This is a really cute read and the characters are just awesome. There is great character development. The ending made me pause and I had to go back and read through a couple of part again because of all the intricate details throughout the whole story. It is a wonderfully woven tale. (And once again I will add that the movie does the book justice.)

The Crimson Pact - Revisited

Time for a little more self promotion. This spring one of my flash fiction stories appeared in the The Crimson Pact vol. 1 anthology. I have worked with people on anthologies before and let me just say that this group has been wonderful. This last month has seen two changes for the Crimson Pact group. The first, for which I am incredibly excited, is that the anthology is now available in print. There is something satisfying seeing a book in print that electronic books just don't give me. Don't get me wrong, I can see the advantages of eBooks, but it seems so much more real to have a printed copy. It looks snazzy.

The other exciting news is the second volume is coming out in a month or two. I have a short story in this book which is a sequel to my previous story, and I am not the only one that has a continuation story. This book is going to be awesome and I can't wait to share it with everyone. One of the other authors, Justin Swapp, put together trailers for all of our stories. They follow the same outline but it will give you a taste of what's to come.

Here is my trailer.

Critiques

I am going to talk about critiques because I have been writing a lot of critiques lately. One of my friends has a blog and posted some of his novel for his followers to read. He wanted their feedback, what he got back was a lot of comments that while were helpful, were more prone to be discouraging. I have noticed that when the critique is anonymous and has a large audience the comments tend to be more negatively focused. The other end of the spectrum is often seen when close friends or family are offering critiques and are overly glowing. Neither of these critiques are helpful.

I have been involved in a writing group for almost a year and a half and there are a few things that I have picked up in giving critiques as well as from critiques I've received. Make sure that you give useful feedback. Don't just make blanket statements but give reasons behind why you think something should be changed. Though there is value in offering critiques outside of the genre you write and read in, it seems to be best to stay with the genres you are most familiar with unless only offering grammatical help. Make sure to be positive overall. The last thing you want to do is crush someone's spirit. Writers need to develop thick skin but critiquers need to be professional in how they deliver their feedback. It is possible to be critical of the work and still inspire hope.

Remember that when you are giving a critique it doesn't matter if the writer is published or not. It doesn't matter if you are being paid for your services or not. It doesn't matter who you are, treat the writer with respect. If they don't like your critique then don't critique for the writer again but everyone involved should be courteous.

*Prophecy

Intro: Whenever there is a prophecy in a book, you can pretty much guarantee that the POV character will be the one destined to fulfill the prophecy. I decided to write my own story based on prophecy.

Brandon used his shirt sleeve to wipe the sweat from his brow. He heard Stephen's methodical steps in the dirt as the man dropped seeds into the furrow he'd plowed. The horse whinnied, shaking his head and Brandon looked up. A man stumbled towards them, across the already planted portion of the field. His feet scuffed through the neat piles of dirt.

"No. No. No!" Stephen took off running, jumping over the rows. "Stop!"

Brandon kept hold of the horse as the man continued bumbling through their afternoon's work. Stephen practically tackled the man and both of them fell. The man struggled to rise, clawing at the ground.

"Brandon, help."

He patted the horse's neck. "Stay. Please." Without any hope of the horse doing what he said, he leapt over the first furrow and picked up speed. He grabbed the man around his shoulders and was nearly thrown over. With Stephen holding down his legs and Brandon practically sitting on his chest the man flailed his arms.

"The day has come. A lord rises in the north who shall unit the people under one flag. The demon king shall fall and the land shall blossom as an oasis. The trials shall begin there. A betrayal of the cruelest kind. A love lost. Dreams shattered. Blood flows. A nation won."

He shook nearly knocking Brandon off. The man flopped on ground, his eyes staring up at the cloudless sky.

"Is he dead?" Stephen asked.

"I don't know. We should get him to the herbalist."

"What about what he said?" Stephen said. "It sounded important."

"I wasn't paying attention." Brandon stood up and looked down at the man. His chest rose and fell.

Stephen moved to stand next to Brandon looking down at the man. "He's some sort of prophet, spouting off a prophecy and you say you weren't paying attention?"

"I'm just a farm hand. Why would I pay attention to what some crazy old man is saying after he tear'd up our field?"

"But what if the prophecy was talking about us? What if it was one of us who he was talking about?"

With Brandon on one side and Stephen on the other they hauled the man up and started dragging him to the edge of the field.

"I am a farm hand. Nothing more," Brandon said between breaths. The man was heavier than he looked but then he remembered how easily the man had almost thrown him. It took nearly twenty minutes to get the man to the herbalist and as soon as they deposited him on the table, Brandon turned to leave.

"Are you really leaving? What about the prophecy?"

Brandon turned back to Stephen with an eyebrow raised. "I would rather not be involved in a prophecy deciding my every movement." He headed back to the field. Fifteen minutes later, Stephen joined him and they started the process of planting again.

"Can you believe it? They chose the sheepherder's boy and his blacksmith friend to fulfill the prophecy. They leave tomorrow with the old man."

Brandon kept his hand on the horse, staring at the ground. "I can't say I'm not sorry. I am sure there will be plenty of opportunities to fight if war is coming. At least this way, we have a choice of what we do."

Stephen remained silent. The horse plodded on but already Brandon thought he could smell smoke of an army headed this way.

"Who wants to go looking for trouble when it finds us with no trouble?"

"Yeah, sure," Stephen said. Already, Brandon could see Stephen planned to tag along with the group whether he was wanted or not.

***

Brandon wiped the sweat from his brow, the sword heavy in his hand. He heard the steps of the other townsmen around him as they walked around the fallen bodies on the field. Horses whinnied and ran free and riderless. They had beaten back the last wave of enemies. This had been the last stand. The war was ended.

A man stumbled across the field, tripping over those who hadn't been fast enough in defending themselves. He clutched his side and continued on, looking around in a daze.

"Captain," one of the men called out. "Who is that?"

He lifted his hand shading himself from the sun and let out a low curse. "Bring the medic. This is one of our own."

He took off at a run, his legs trained after years of fighting. The demon king had fallen three years earlier only to have a threat of a new kind rise to challenge the new lord ruler. Jealousy. He kept his eyes on the figure as he rounded and jumped over the bodies. The figure moved, tripped and Brandon had just enough time to drop his sword and catch the man. He could hear men running up behind him.

"Stephen, you fool. What happened?"

"Prophecy dictated a betrayal. I never thought. I wanted the kingdom and all I received in the process was a fate dictated by those whose belief of riddles is stronger than reason."

Stephen lifted his hand and held out an object wrapped in a burlap sack. "The one to rule should have a belief of reason. You are the only one I could think of." His eyes drifted closed and the item fell to the ground when his hand dropped. Brandon stared down at his friend, despair threatening to crush his heart.

"Isn't that Stephen the Betrayer?" A man asked. Another man moved forward, picking up the bag. Brandon didn't even notice when a heavy circled was placed on his head and the men cheered for the new king. His eyes remained fixed on his friend weathered from the years of chasing prophecy.

"All hail, King Brandon. Long live the king."

Brandon stood, pulling the golden circlet from his head. He grabbed the nearest shovel and started the arduous task of burying the bodies in the field he had once plowed with his friend. With the grave dug, Brandon placed the body and crown and buried them. He turned on his heel, already planning where he would farm next when all was said and done.

Beauty

by Robin McKinley

There are plenty of retellings of fairy tales, Beauty and the Beast not being the least of these. Robin McKinley has two versions of this fairy tale, and while ROSE DAUGHTER has its merits, my favorite retelling is BEAUTY. One of the reasons why this book is so good is that it takes what you know and love about the story and adds life to the characters. Not only do you grow attached to Beauty and the beast, but you also develop a connection to the other members of Beauty's family.

The character Beauty is a feminine character that is strong and was someone I could relate to when I first read the book as a teenager. She is the daughter of a shipwright who loses everything in one go. Forced to sell everything they own in the city, Beauty, her two sisters, and her father head into the country hoping to find a new place for them to live. Beauty is the youngest of the three and does the majority of the rough work. One of her father's ships makes it back to port and he heads back to the city. On his journey home he is caught in a snowstorm and there meets the beast and the story goes on from there.

BEAUTY is a story that takes a well known story and flushes it out. The characters are well developed and it is just a story that anyone who enjoys fairy tales will love. And if you want a completely different take on it, ROSE DAUGHTER offers an even more unique take of the well known story.

Happily Ever After

Today is the start of one of the neatest experiences I will have. Tonight is the reception for my best friend, who is marrying my brother. I met my friend in college. We were roommates who had a lot in common. Though we only lived together that one year we formed a bond. There came a situation a few years later when my friend needed a new place to live and my parents were awesome and welcomed her into their home. At this time my brother was serving a mission and I just kept thinking that the two of them would get along. When he got home they really hit it off, as friends. I was living in another city and was hearing from both of them how much they enjoyed each other's company.

Not thinking about the consequences, I call my brother one night and told him to take my friend on a date. (At this time my friend was no longer living with my family. But she was visiting that evening and I had no idea.) My brother decided that taking her on date sounded like fun. After I hung up my husband said, "You do realize if this doesn't work your life is going to be difficult."

Almost a year later I am glad to say that I pushed them together. I am pretty sure that they would have gotten together eventually. They are so happy together and I wish them the best of luck. This is the start of their happily ever after.

Generating Ideas

I have been writing a short story almost every week for over a year. This April I even wrote on average a short story a day. I had a friend ask me how I could possibly come up with that many ideas. There isn’t some magical place that ideas come from. In all actuality I have learned that generating ideas is a skill that can be learned with a lot of practice. I have a notebook that I keep in my purse so when I do get an idea, I can write it down.

As to where the ideas actually come from I get a lot of them from other people’s comments. My husband will argue that a lot of my story ideas come from something he’s said. I also get ideas from books and movies that I’ve read. The trick is to put your own spin on things. We all come from different backgrounds and experiences. That will always influence what we write about. Not every idea has to be perfect just continue writing and it will get easier to come up with ideas.

*After the Rainbow

Intro: Sorry this story is late. We moved this weekend and I no longer have internet access at home. I am hoping to post my stories on Saturday. This week will be the test. I always thought that Dorothy and the Scarecrow should have ended up together. I know there have been multiple stories and versions of what has happened to Oz after Dorothy left, but this is what I wanted to happen. I changed up a few things so it isn't just a straight fan fiction.

Crow ran his hands through his hair twisting one of the strands in his fingers. The blueprints for the new hospital rested on the table in front of him. He had been through the numbers multiple times and new most of them by heart, but his heart just wasn't into it.

"The project is a go," he said gathering up all of the papers. "Get your team on it."

He handed the papers to the man diagonal from him. His orange hair made him stand out but the piercings with rings and chains up his ears drew more attention.

"Will do. I'll pass all the receipts on to you."

"Thanks, O'Neil."

"Anything for you, fearless leader. Anything else you need from us?"

Crow glanced at the other man at the table. His blond hair contrasted sharply with his dark blue eyes. He could see the question his two comrades had for him. Meeting their gaze was impossible, and he had just given away the papers he'd been staring at for hours.

"She's gone and not coming back. I know that. I just need to move on," his breath almost caught and he cursed himself.

O'Neil and Timothy both stood up, their hands full of the papers to get the new hospital up and running. Two years ago when Ruth dropped into their lives they were different people. They had only tolerated each other because of Ruth. For three years they had done everything they could to help her get home. And now they were they planning a hospital for the town that they took charge of when Ruth left.

Timothy turned back at the door, "Let me know if you need anything."

Crow nodded and gave a small half smile. Timothy's voice was smooth, something he put to use in his previous life as a conman. Now Timothy was the PR person of the group. He was the face of the triad.

With the other two gone, Crow headed to his office. The room was dark, how he liked it, but it also made him crave a joint. He'd dropped out of high school getting into drugs and though he kept his addiction under control he excelled in the dealing business. There were a couple of times he nearly lost it all, for refusing to sell, but in the long run he was good at his job. Money went far in his hands and he was the one that had proved to the other two that the town could afford building such a large hospital.

O'Neil had been an Irish gangbanger and now ran the physical side of the business. They accented each other perfectly and Crow couldn't image how the three of them hadn't gotten along.

"But something's missing. I feel like half of me is missing," he said to the dark. "Home offered her more than I could. And I can't blame her. She's gone and I have to move on."

He stood up and moved to the glass looking out at the lights over the city. Someone moved down the street in an almost dancing manner. A large hound bounded around her. He didn't even realize he was running towards her until he plowed her over in a hug.

"Um—"

He backpedaled raising his hands in the air. "Sorry, sorry. I thought you were someone else."

She brushed a stand of black hair from her and gave a little laugh. "I am suddenly envious of this someone else." The dog bounded around her and Crow crouched down, holding out his hand.

"I'm Carrie," she said, "and this is Jack."

"I'm Crow. I am, well, the financial adviser of the triad."

"I know exactly who you are. Do you remember me?"

He glanced up and gazed at her face in the dark.

"No. I'm sorry."

She let out a little breath, "Thank goodness."

A smile tugged at his mouth. "Are you going to tell me?"

"You refused to sell to me and I owe you my life. I have always wanted to thank you. I don't want you to remember me as the addict but as who I am today. So, thank you." She gave a little bow and then turned to leave. "I'll let you go."

Crow stood up and rocked back on his feet. "Would you like to go on a walk? Jack looks like he would like to. So long as you don't mind who I was in my past."

"I would like that."

Crow smiled for the first time in a year. Carrie was not Ruth and that was what excited him the most.

"Do you know what I love about rainbows," Crow said following after Carrie and Jack. "That the rain is over."

Two Year Mark

Today is my two year mark. I have been consistently blogging for years now. Something I never thought I would actually be able to accomplish. I started out with one post a week and now I am up to four. I thought by this time I would have run out of things to talk about. Here's to another two years.

The Way of Kings

by Brandon Sanderson

In honor of it being two years since I started this whole online presence, I am reviewing one of my all-time favorite books.

THE WAY OF KINGS by Brandon Sanderson takes epic fantasy to the next level. The characters are well developed and varied from a soldier slave to the uncle of a king to a female scholar. You grow with the characters and there are a couple of places in the book where I just wanted to cheer with how good the characters are. The characters are realistic and yet he keeps the hope going.

The story line is complex and engaging. Some of the intricate plot lines include politics, warfare, romance, scholarship, and magic. A very, very brief summary: All of the countries are interested in weapons and armor known as Shardblades and Shardplate. They are the turning factor in every battle and every war. One country divides their people by the color of their eyes. One of the lowborn, Kaladin, is a spearman forced slave like no other and is not only concerned about his own life but the lives of those around him. Dalinar is on the other spectrum, uncle to the king and an owner of Shardblade and Shardplate. He is known for his strength in battle but news of his strange visions are spreading and people no longer remember what he has accomplished but think him a madman.

This book is the first in a series, and is currently the only book out. There are times I hate starting a series because I don't like waiting for the next book to come out because I am left with an empty feeling. This book doesn't answer all of the questions that are raised but the ending wraps up enough and leaves enough of a promise that I am satisfied. Another aspect that I love about this book, and what does Brandon Sanderson in general, is that this novel sexual grit or language that are often found in fantasy novels. The violence in the novel is not graphic or gratuitous.

This is a book that you will enjoy rereading because every time you read it you will pick up on something new.

Professionalism

As I mentioned in a previous week I have been watching a lot of cooking shows, most of which are the competition shows. (These are the only reality shows that I have ever spent any time watching.) What I have noticed is the difference in professional attitudes depending on the type of show. There are some people who despite it being a huge competition are very civil to one another. They work well together with the others and are in it to win and don't go out of their way to stick it to the others just because they can. Then there are the others. They are the ones who will rid themselves of all human decency in the name of competition.

There is a difference between being competitive and being bloodthirsty and to me. That is what defines someone as either professional or childish. I wonder what some people are thinking when they act the way they do in front of a camera. I mean come on; these people have to know how obtuse they look. I wonder how some of these people have survived to adulthood without being murdered by someone. It is this type of behavior that makes me nervous about my dream job. I never expect to be on a reality show but I hope that when I am given the opportunity to be in a limelight I can retain a professional attitude.

Characters vs Plot

I have a variety of writing buddies and there are some significant differences between how we write. I come up with plot first and then characters. It is the plot that drives my stories. I have a friend that comes up with her characters first. With any story that she has written she can give you the backstory of all of her characters as well as their ancestors and best friend's dog. The same is true with readers. Some read because they want to know what happens. Some people read because they want to spend time with the characters. (And most of the time it is a combination of both.)

The biggest thing to remember is that whichever way you write, not to neglect the other one. I have to put a lot more effort into my character development. My friend focuses so much on character development she has a hard time keeping a plot line going through a whole book. Either way, finish the story and then in the rewrite add the details about the plot or the characters.