One Page: Keys of Eternity

Still leapfrogging around in the manuscript, but nearing the end of what I have already written. In the meantime, I'm also collecting everything so that I can offer it as a short story for those who would like to read the whole thing. I hope you're enjoying things so far.

With a bang of the screen door, Kelly and The Hound appeared. As usual, Kelly was dressed in what Elise lovingly referred to as rainbow vomit. Next to the unrelieved black of his mother, anything with one of the bold colors he favored would be an improvement. The problem was he generally chose several loud clashing colors which only accentuated his ghostly Irish transparency he got from his deceased father. The Hound, a deep brown dog of indeterminate breeding and speculative age, trotted over and pushed his head into Zara's lap begging for attention as Kelly locked up.

"You big baby," Kelly said. "C'mere so I can put your leash on."

Obedient, The Hound ceased its begging and sat down with its head up to be properly attired for his trip to the park.

Before the pair headed off, Kelly said,

"Miss Zara, I'm really sorry about your sister."

"Thanks, Kelly."

"Did you hear that they lost the body of the guy Mom shot? There was some kind of accident up on Liberty and the body went poof. Weirdest shit."

Zara stared. Kelly waited a few seconds before waving a hand in front of her face.

"Man, you can practically see the loading screen. You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. Fine." She scratched her temple. "Just like you said, weird shit."

After another pause and Kelly shuffling his feet back and forth like an anxious five year old, he said,

"You know, Mom probably wouldn't mind if you stayed with us until this whole thing is sorted.."

"Sure. I'll think about it." Zara rose from the stair. "You better go before Hound poops in your Momma's plants."

The dog sniffed around the little purple pansies at the side of the stairs with gusto.

"Right! Bye, Miss Zara." He took off at a jog toward Forsyth with The Hound keeping pace. Zara let herself into her apartment.

So the body was missing? That didn't really mean anything. Somebody misplaced it or mislabeled it. The accident caused it to go up in flames. Whatever. No reason to worry about it. After securing the door, she trudged up the stairs. The headache brewing behind her eyes had reached max volume. Time to put her feet up and close her eyes. She could make more phone calls later.

And things continue.

One Page: Keys of Eternity Part 1

Firstly, ladies and gentlemen, this project finally has a title. (WOOT! WOOT!) It is called Keys of Eternity. I have finished writing the first fifty pages longhand and am working on typing them in so that they will be available for all readers. I may even offer it free here on the blog as I work on the next part.

This section is from page 35-37. I started with the last paragraph on page 35 and followed it all the way through the end of the last sentence which is found on the top of page 37. I hope everyone is enjoying the story so far. Leave me comments, questions, concerns, kudos, or anything else you'd like in the comments section.

Jason ran a hand through his hair. "Where do I begin?"

Zara offered him nothing but a stare of studious attention that made him a tad uncomfortable. With the light still low her eyes glittered. He imagined they glowed the way a wolf's did when creeping close to a hunter's fire to remind him he is never quite alone, or safe, in the woods. The urge to comfort her in her obvious pain warred with the awareness that she, should she desire, could snap him in half on a whim.

Despite his discomfort, he wondered if the ghost girl was there with them. Would she weigh in on what he said.

"You're not talking."

"I don't know what to say." He paused and sighed. "Do you believe in magic?"

"Are you going to try some cheesy card trick or disappear into thin air?"

"No." For a heartbeat he considered another way, less flashy, but nothing else would break the shell of disbelief she built around herself. If he wanted her to believe in the supernatural, he would have to show it to her. With a slow breath, he relinquished his control a bit at a time. The room brightened as his wings appeared and his armor manifested.

She didn't gasp, hide, or even really blink. When the transformation was done and he stood in her living room in full regalia she moved from her chair. Without looking him in the eye, she ran one hand down his wing. The caress caused an involuntary flex. Then she yanked out a feather. Turning it before her eyes, she said,

"Falcon."

"Yes." He blinked. "How did you know that?"

"Artists study the things they want to depict."

Clinical. Emotionless. Her eyes had gone dry and remained stony as she regarded him.

Shifting under that gaze, he considered his next words. He had to get through to her.

"I realize I should have been there for Amara, but I wasn't and I don't want you to die too."

She paused where she had reseated herself with an apple slice almost to her lips. Zara's eyes darkened from their attractive maple to mahogany then progressed to ebony. A wave of anguish mixed with rage flooded the room.

Anybody else think maybe he said exactly the wrong thing?

One Page: Untitled [Plus Bonus]

The supernatural elements of this story have been popping up in and off for a little while now. However, on page 28, they come out in full force. Jason Phobos (he hadn't appeared in any of the postings here on the blog) goes head to head against a creature threatening K'Zara's life. Since this is my fifth post, I decided I should throw in a little bonus aka more story, so I'm going to follow this scene all the way through to the end. Enjoy!

Jason came striding down the sidewalk seeking Zara just as the coroner's team guided the gurney with its massive black bag down the shallow porch steps. Stopping, two forces tugged at him. One he recognized as Zara. The other came from the black bag.

Corpses shouldn't pull.

Something with enough power to be killed by human means and survive would endanger his mission.

They packed it away as he considered his options. Go to Zara and try to convince her she was in graver danger than she thought or go after the threat himself. She seemed to innocent to be caught up in a wars tarted before man understood fire.

The van pulled away from the curb. He watched it turn the corner at the end of the street, marking its direction. Then he looked up into the empty windows of Zara's apartment. He had to protect her. She had already lost too much. He trotted down the street after the van and when he turned the corner unfurled his wings to fly. 

The blaze of his office made him appear as a haze flying so close to the ground.

The van turned onto a busier street and merged into traffic. Then it weaved hard and knocked up on two wheels before almost landing on a white sedan. Even from above, Jason saw the blood on the driver's side window before it shattered out. What crawled through the hole was human in shape and size but not color. Its mottled flesh under the remains of a bloody white shirt was blistered black and green. The entry wounds of the bullets in his face oozed black. It leapt from the van to the median and walked away, straightening its ruined clothes as if it were nothing but a business man leaving a dinner with friends. It even checked its cuff links. One was missing. 

Jason dropped on it like a comet.

The creature deflected his sword stroke with thick unyielding claws.

"Kimbu," it said as they faced off under a tree with the faint early stars overhead "Get in my way and I'll kill you."

"You are not supposed to be here."

"When I'm done, I'll leave."

It attempted to proceed and Jason cut off its exit with his sword. It did not look amused.

"Little kimbu, you know not what you defend." It thrust the sword away. "Get out of my way."

Sirens blasted and wailed, drawing closer. In this age, there would be video. They needed to flee the scene. With any luck, they'd be mistaken for weirdos in a city full of them. Cars stood still in both directions as people tried to make sense of the accident. The demon slid across the hood of a small red Honda and disappeared into a nearby parking garage. Jason couldn't remember if it was one of those with cameras or not, but he didn't chance it. He skirted the outside and headed for the back. 

They met again on a backstreet where Jason lunged in for the kill his sword put another rip in an already mutilated sleeve and drew more black blood. With a hiss, the demon went for the medallion st Jason's neck. Without it, he would lose his physical body and become a lost one. Not a fate he wished to endure. He snatched back and the demon kept coming, bowling him over before continuing to run away.

It was going back for Zara.

"No, you don't." Springing to his feet, he gathered his strength. The demon was getting away. Then the bolt Jason threw hit him square between the shoulders and knocked him flat. Jogging over, he tried not to smell the frying he could clearly hear. 

You don't know what you defend.

The demon groaned and the stubby remains of its destroyed wings tried to take flight. Jason brought his sword down to the creature's neck. Now was not the time to contemplate. He crunched the point through the demon's neck bringing up a spray from the wound. The spray hardly touched him before the entire scene turned to the ash of long dead fires.

_______

All together three pages. Any thoughts on Jason?

One Page: Still Untitled

So I've started numbering the pages in this handwritten manuscript. This section is page 21 going on to 22.

Three hours later, after she had gone through the break-in step by step, affirmed she had never seen the man before, and defended her sister's honor by assuring them that he certainly wasn't an irate boyfriend out for revenge; Officer Kendrick held the door for a cruiser to take her home. Considering how Zara felt, he was lucky she didn't wrench his arm off before he could shut the door.

They pulled up to her apartment to find her landlady, Elise, sitting on the front porch in a lawn chair. Despite being the mother of a wildly independent high schooler, Elise didn't look a day over 27. And the look on that beautiful waifish face said woe to whoever got in her way. She brushed a strand of immaculate black hair out of her eyes and tucked it behind her right ear.

Officer Kendrick got out first and approached.

"Good evening ma'am. I understand there was a problem in the upstairs apartment." He made it to the second porch step before Elise stood up and showed off the pistol she had in her lap. Understandably, he stopped and put his hand over his own weapon.

"Ain't no problem no more, officer. Unless you count the clean up." To her credit, Elise didn't gesture with the tunas she pointed into the shadowy downstairs apartment. "Gringo came barging in, yelling about where could he find the Crofts. They nice girls, pay their rent on time, quiet, no trouble. But he won't stop and now he's throwing things and he knocked down my good picture of George. No, no, that won't do. So I shot him. Then a second time to make sure he stay down. Rule Two: Doubletap."

Kendrick shifted his eyes to the darkened doorway without moving his hand. When Zara came around the car behind him, he waved her back. "Stay with the car." Then he looked to Elise. "May I come look?"

_______

Curiouser and curiouser. If nothing else, I fully enjoy the character of Elise. I'm starting to see a little bit of where this is going, but I won't tell. Leave your comments and I'll entertain your speculations.

2 Sentence Horror Stories [And it's not Halloween]

I discovered 2 sentence horror stories while I was browsing PINTEREST for horror story ideas and immediately fell in love. So I decided to give it a try myself as an exercise in brevity. Here is what happened.

1. "I'll love you forever," I said to my doll. When it said "Forever won't take long," I paled.

2. We were laughing and bouncing on the bed in the glow of the nightlight. Then something from the ceiling grabbed Sue.

3. My brother has been dead 3 years. He no longer smells when he follows me to school.

4. I stood over his grave exultant; I had finally won. His hand burst up from the ground.

5. The embers of his burning body swirled in the moonlight. Then came his voice from behind me, "We're not done yet".

6. Rest in peace all the tombstones say. My peace would be being alone in my own coffin.

7. I accidentally locked myself in a closet, so I screamed to be let out. Unfortunately, all I can hear over my screams is someone babbling and sharpening a knife.

8. It was all I could do to pray the prayers of my childhood. What else do you do when you find the Devil in your living room holding your dead daughter?

9. There was poison coursing through my veins, blood coming out my nose, and a grin on my face. He thought killing me would set him free when all it really did was piss me off.

10. I woke up and my entire head hurt. Stumbling to the mirror, I saw my mouth had been sewn shut and LIAR branded on my forehead.

11. Crazy they called me, but they never knew. Of course, they couldn't know what its like bearing your twin in your body.

12. They thought they finished me off. Guess I shouldn't have shown up to their party in the clothes I died in.

13. The horrible, terrible, inescapable truth is that we're all going to die. However, we are not all going to become vengeful poltergeists, I hope.

14. The downside of not surviving a suicide attempt, you get recruited by a demon to push others to suicide. Bummer.

15. Her head snapped up and she capered toward me like a broken marionette. I unloaded the clip into her and she kept on coming.

16. Lying beneath the stone, I felt my ribs crack as my chest started to give way. My last thought, I'll show them what it really means to kill a witch.

17. I often dream of my mother's lullabyes at night. Tonight, it's 3am, I'm home alone, and it's coming from just inside the closet door.

18. "There's nothing to be afraid of," I tell myself as I shelter my candle. The teeth flash just before the candle is blown out.

19. I found my mother in her workshop surrounded by the remains of her dolls with a knife in her neck. The next night, I awoke to my favorite of her creations standing by my bedside.

20. "Oh, human, you have so much to learn about paranormal warfare. Lesson one, meddle in the affairs of the Elders only if you're okay with being served medium rare, like a steak."

21. Being in his arms was so comforting, so safe. I wonder what it will feel like when I've reattached them to his torso.

Hope that was enjoyable and maybe a little spine tingly. Drop me a line in the comments to tell me your favorite.

One Page: Untitled

I still have no idea what to call this which is unusual for me since I come up with titles almost immediately. Guess I'll just have to wait until the title occurs to me. For now, here's installment three of my One Page project.

The gun chilled her skin where he pressed it. One bullet and she would be as dead as her sister. Had this asshole killed her?

Please don't.

Her sister's last words rang through her head and Zara tasted blood as she chomped down on her tongue. The world flashed vivid in colors she couldn't describe and she saw the hulk in front of her for what he was: a spineless bully.

Images assaulted her but she beat them back. Now wasn't the time. First live. Then investigate.

His eyes bulged as she pressed closer to the gun and took hold of his arm.

"Wrong one," she said before dragging him inside and off his feet. Tossing him into the staircase, she whipkicked the door shut. "You killed my sister." Zara spit a mouthful of blood on him and he cringed. The gun lay abandoned on the stair. Stalking closer, Zara heard his heart as it pounded, what a delicious sound. Hunger rumbled through her. He would taste delectable. She sniffed the air as she drew close enough to feel his terrified breath on her skin.

He struck hard enough to pop her head to one side and ring her right ear but not enough to put any distance between them. When she brought her gaze back with a snarl, he attempted to crab walk up the stairs backward. Snaking an arm out, she snatched him down by his left ankle. His head thunked against the stair.

"Where are you going?" The question, undoubtedly rhetorical, brought on a torrent of words.

"I'm sorry. Let me go. I'll pay you." The words shivered.

Coward. Yellow bellied bastard. There would be no dignity in his death. She felt pity asking her to spare him. Let the fool run free. Unfortunately, her inner predator said kill him, skin him, eat him, and do the world a favor. Plus there was the matter of him paying for her sister's murder.

Yes, yes.

One Page: Still Untitled

Here's the first one page piece from this story: CLICK HERE.

Zara finished off everything, including the jello, which her brain declared needed alcohol. At the end, she felt like she could have eaten more but the pain said what she really wanted was the medicine the nurse promised. Luckily drill sergeant nurse showed up as if summoned with a syringe in her hand.

"Now this is something for pain and to help you sleep, so don't be surprised if you find you can't keep your eyes open."

"Okay."

"There's a buzzer near your right shoulder should you wake up and need someone. Don't hesitate to use it. Here's the TV remote. Don't worry about falling asleep and leaving it on. It won't bother nobody." Then she smiled. "Get some rest." Even though the smile was all teeth, it was still comforting. Somebody cared.

It only took a few minutes of watching The Real Housewives of Atlanta on rerun for the drugs to start to work. The world turned soft, fuzzy, hazy and gray before the black crept in. Without fear, Zara let it take her.

Air, thick with blossoming magnolia, crowded around her as she turned in a circle. Trees pressed in though she stood on a red brick path under heavy moonlight. Night birds complained nearby. Gossamer peace held the scene by spider silk threads and they were breaking. Rolling in from the horizon thunderheads promised foul weather. Zara looked around for shelter but she might as well have been in the deep woods for all she saw. Silver droplets pattered down through the trees and she felt a massive footstep. Again, slow and rhythmic horror came but she couldn't see it. The urge to run scampered through her but her body stood frozen. Whatever was coming would find her an easy target.

K'ZARA

"Miss Croft!"

Voices layered on top of one another and they beckoned her to a world of daylight.

One Page: Currently Untitled

One page of new work.

For K'Zara Croft's 21st birthday someone shot her sister, Amara, and she felt it.

Partying on the second floor of Club One with a legally purchased Long Island in one hand, the night had been fabulous. Even the occasional grope from the not-gay boys and the very-gay girls failed to dampen her mood. She was 21 in one of the best drinking cities in the United States. Tonight was a good night. At 2 a.m., aware of the bar's imminent closure, she stumbled out onto the sidewalk and brushed her shoulder length locs away from her face. She breathed in the tainted air of the smokers as she walked past ignoring the appreciative whistle that followed. Coffee always said a man who whistled rather than introduce himself thought you were a dog and if you followed that, you'd end up with fleas.

Jefferson Street led down into City Market where some places were still lit while others had gone dark. People sat out under the Spanish moss draped trees smoking and talking with drinks in their hands or settled nearby. Zara had left her own plastic cup behind. Nothing in it, no reason to keep it. At the Broughton Street corner, she started looking for cabs. If she didn't find one, she'd have to hoof it home. Granted home wasn't that far, but anything that put her closer to falling into bed was not to be missed.

Zara fanned herself with one distracted hand. The hot humid air clung to her white t-shirt like a fog. Further down the street, a cab turned toward her. She threw her arm up to get its attention.

"Hey!"

Please don't!

Zara snapped her head around fully expecting her twin to be standing there chiding her for staying out so late. She was probably asleep in her favorite chair with a book on her chest. Then why did she sound terrified?

"Mara?"

A gun went off. Mara screamed until she gurgled. Zara felt as if she had been punched in the chest and sat down hard on the pavement. Putting her hand to her chest to check her heart, she came away with wet heat as black roses crowded out her vision.

Mara, what happened?

The world disappeared under a coal colored shroud as feet ran toward her.

Unintended Series [Chains of Fate]

When I originally wrote Chains of Fate, I intended it to be a one off attempt at me writing something a little romantic. The premise is a little romantic: a cursed king is given a second chance when his first love is reborn in the body of another woman. Maybe not 100% Harlequin material, but close enough for government work. However, after getting some feedback on it from various sources, it became clear that the story didn't quite end where I wanted it to. I won't tell you how the story ended in case you haven't read it yet. Suffice to say, several people said it was ripe for a sequel. Definitely not what I intended or expected. However, what do you do when your biggest fan clamors for more? In this case, it was my mother, who fangirls Vad'Alvarn, asking for a rewrite of how the story ended.

In response, I wrote Blades of Fate which hasn't come out yet. Unfortunately, after taking some time to look at it, that wasn't where the story ended either. So now I'm left with two books and no ending. Well, well, what do I do now? Why, you write a third one of course. So this week, in fact, today, I started writing the third installment in the Chains of Fate series which I have tentatively titled Cities in Time. If you've read the first book, you are aware of the living city of Backaran, which figures prominently in the narrative. It returns in Blades of Fate, but you're still wondering what exactly is going on with the fact that the city is alive and has a personality. I finally answer that question in Cities in Time. You also find out there are others, but I won't tell you too much about them. Must leave a few things for you to marvel over when the book comes out.

All things considered, I intend to wrap up all the loose ends with this book because truthfully writing book four doesn't appeal to me and I've got other series waiting for me to finish them as well. Here's to getting this book written and ready to go.

Switching Gears

I had been working on the second in the She Becomes Death trilogy. However, with my new (much slower) schedule, I'm realizing in order to get Blades of Fate out by this summer, I'm going to have to switch gears and work on it. Otherwise, I'm never going to finish it in time. Therefore, I've switched over to working on Blades of Fate which is currently in need of revisions and additions so that I can make sure it's ready to be seen by the viewing public in August at the latest. I'm thinking of putting out ARC copies of it as is so that others can start formulating reviews. Which means asking my email list if they would be interested in reading a digital copy of the new book in enough time to put up reviews when I finally have it out.

Does this mean I've completely stalled on Wielding His Scythe, She Becomes Death book 2? No. It just means it isn't on the front burner right now. I'm still making a little bit of headway here and there with it. I've almost got the first fifth of it finished. I'm just probably not going to get it out before say December at my current pace. Knowing that, I have plenty of time to plug the first book and get people ready for the second.

In other news, I've almost got a venue for the wedding. It requires pre-marital counseling, which my mother is excited about. I think she's more excited about it than I am and I'm the one getting married. Aren't I supposed to be the one who is super excited about this whole process? Oh well, even if I'm not gung-ho about the whole thing, I am certainly looking forward to having the beautiful day followed by years of wedded happiness. That's the part I'm really looking toward, the bit after the wedding.

All things considered, things are going well. I just have a few more things I have to take care of and then I'll be ready to get down to some serious party planning.

What's Really Going On

Since Gnome Con, I haven't gotten a lot of writing done. Why? Because I'm working a new job within the job I've been working for several years. I now get up at 5:30 in the morning in order to be to work by 6:30 so I can work until 4 or 5 in the afternoon. It doesn't give me a lot of time left where my brain is not mush and I have to get up the next day and do it all over again. As a consequence, my writing is suffering. In a way, I expected this and perhaps it is for the better because it means I only write when I'm mentally together enough to do so. However, that means there is no way I'm going to be putting out more than maybe three books this year, if I'm lucky, and one of them is already out.

The first draft of Blades of Fate is written, but in need of edits and probably some additions. It is, however, already done. I can, with some effort, get it done by June which was my original plan. Unfortunately, the other three She Becomes Death books: Wielding his Scythe, Winning his Kingdom, and Matchmaker, Matchmaker are going to be delayed with this current writing schedule. Will they still get done? Of course. It will just take me longer than initially planned. As the saying goes, it will happen, I'm not dead yet.

Currently, I am working on Wielding His Scythe at an Arctic slow pace. The good news is: I'm still working on it.

In other news, I've started planning a wedding that isn't for another year and a half. I might be rushing things just a bit trying to get it all done before I have to worry about it too much, but then again, maybe not. Still many questions to answer, but I've answered a couple.

Choices, Choices

No matter what you do, you cannot avoid making a choice. Even making no choice is a choice. Opting out, while not cool, is a legitimate decision. However, there are points at which it is best to make a decision for or against. Major life choices like marriage should not be entered into by opting out of making a decision. Either you're for it or against it, not following along with the stream of what someone else wants. Just one of those moments when having a strong opinion should be par for the course.

How does this affect your story? Well, say your protagonist is a princess with an arranged marriage hanging over her head. There are two possible choices here: duty or self. If she sides with duty, then this arranged marriage will cause little major stir in her world and she will acquiesce to it without serious complaint. On the other side, there is self or any of the myriad reasons she might say no to such a proposition. Sure, you could go with the not so opinionated option of 'meh' and have her be pushed along by circumstances, but then she fails as a protagonist because as Writing Excuses says, Protagonists protag. To make that a little longer and maybe a mite clearer, protagonists do proactive things. They make choices. They don't opt out because that is rarely the stuff of a good story. When people tell stories, people do things. Doing things requires making choices. See the correlation: person + choices + actions = story. Put a bunch of this together and you might even weave that little thing called a plot into the whole thing.

Back to your princess's upcoming nuptials. Suppose the proposing prince-guy is a douchenozzle. Maybe that will promote a stronger sense of whether or not our princess needs to take a stand for or against this marriage. Now we're dealing with more than one person and more than one set of choices and actions, but the formula still stands. Person plus choices plus actions = story. So what choices does the prince-guy make? Maybe he's a douche with a heart of gold. (Not quite sure how that would work but go with me here.) All he needs is the proper love and affection to bring out the best in him. Thus our princess's actions have every chance of influencing the decisions the prince-guy makes regarding how to go about this.

As you can see, the simple way of looking at things sometimes is all you need. If you want to tell a story, you start with someone making a decision to do something or not to do something or to do nothing at all. All choices. All options. All well and good. Just make sure if you're going to have a protag, they do protaggy things. Same thing for your antag. They need to do antaggy things like get in the way and have differing viewpoints. But I suppose that's a discussion for another day. Ciao!

Looking for the Magic

Ever get to that point in a story and go: But where's the magic? In a fantasy, this should come early. In others, it may come late. Yet that question should always be there. If you can immediately tell where the magic is, good. Keep going. If you've got to do so digging, or some adding, then you had better get to it.

Please understand I don't mean magic just in the terms of magic systems or flying horses or sentient cutlery. I mean, the draw, what gets your reader in the door, plops them down in the chair, and makes the hours whisk by. Every story has it in there somewhere. By all rights, it ought to be waving its hat at hello on page one, but sometimes you need a little more set up to get it off the ground. Whatever you do, you should never have a story with NO magic. Godawful waste of time that.

If you're a writer, heaven hopes you are also a reader which should be where you get your first taste of this amazing craft. As a younger, I enjoyed Anne McCaffrey's Pern and the worlds of David Eddings. Later, I would cut my teeth in horror with Clive Barker and Stephen King, who remains perhaps my undisputed favorite author of all time. In some of these cases, the magic was magic and the possibility that anything might happen. If you don't know, Pern starts out as Science Fiction and breeding dragons in laboratories. (I am and perhaps will always be a lover of dragons. I liken it to the childish love of horses, magnificent, majestic animals.)

So where's the magic in your story? it can sometimes be boiled down to a question; the central question that keeps your reader reading. In Blades of Fate I posit what would happen if you had waited forever for someone only to find out when they returned they were nothing like you remembered. This is a slightly different question from Chains of Fate the first book in the set which asks, what would you do in order to bring back the one you loved? Or the question behind Dark King Rising, When your imagination creates the greatest evil what will you do?

Each of these asks a question and the text offers an answer by the time you get to the climax. Therein lies the magic of the text, the draw, the beauty. All that makes it amazing.


Happy Holidays to All. I hope everyone is having a wonderful holiday season. The paperback of Dark King Rising is available through Amazon and Barnes and Noble. The Kindle/Epub edition comes out this coming Friday, so make sure you get yours!

The Joy of Random

I have some of the most random conversations with people I like. In a way, it is me attempting to get to know them better by plumbing the depths of their thought process. In another, it gives me an outlet for all the otherwise off the wall stuff that goes on in my own mind. It's beautiful. Hopscotching across topics can be one of the happiest moments of your entire day.

How does this translate into writing? When you're writing, considering having your friendly characters change conversational direction once in a while. I know, I know, we don't necessarily write precisely the way we talk, but it can add a level of authenticity to your conversation it might not have otherwise had. Let your characters wander away from the point and come back to it. Not only to does it offer something of interest, but it also allows you to restate the point for emphasis without seeming as if you're being overly repetitive. This also allows you, by the nature of who does the wandering and who does the bringing back, to show character in how they handle things. If one person wanders away consistently, while the other is usually bringing them back to the point, you have the basis for characterization. Done in one conversation or two.

This sounds like it will add unnecessary length to your conversations, but you can definitely weave something useful into the deviation. Consider what would be on the top of the other character's mind. They might be together having essentially two different conversations. Another point of characterization, plus the opportunity to add in interesting tidbits. All well and good.

Conversation can illuminate so much, so carefully consider how you can use your conversation to bring out more things about your characters, setting, or plot. You'll never be sorry that you did.

What's the most random bit of dialogue (back and forth) that you've ever written?

In Defense of Conversation

There is some old wisdom out there that goes essentially like this: "Keep your ideas to yourself." I think that's a bunch of hooey. Maybe my experience is different from everyone else's, but I generally find out the most interesting things about a story when I'm trying to explain it to someone else. I write my synopses as though I am explaining to my best friend what exactly about this story is cool. It helps me to frame what the reader would find interesting. I know, I know, that's not actually talking to someone about it. I'll get to that. First, I have to flesh it out in a way that explaining it isn't hard. It makes me wonder when I'm figuring out how to illuminate an idea so that others can have the same Aha! moment that I'm having.

So where does the conversation come in?

The conversation comes in when I actually sit down across from a friend of mine and start talking to her about what makes me giddy happy about this story. What makes the horses in my head gallop toward the conclusion. Usually at this point, there are questions. This is my favorite part. She asks me all kinds of things and when I have a total 'I have no idea' moment, I know there is something there I need to address. Whether it ends up in the story or not, I should have answers to most of the questions other people ask. In fact, lots of it won't end up in the story, it'll just be background and brain fodder for me while I'm writing away. Best part, I'm telling you. I know why that character has that name, but I don't have to explain it to everyone. It makes for good conversation at conferences and helps me to be on point when a reader asks the not quite all important question but the one burning a hole in the back of their brain.

Do you have these kinds of conversation with just anybody? I do with people I trust not to crush my dreams like candy under a hammer. You know those people. Don't discuss things which make your heart beat with those people. They'll just make you feel bad. Otherwise, have story conversations with anyone you can have a conversation with. They might not all have great insights, but they will always make you have to think and that's the point. No matter what, thinking is the point. Figure out how to answer their questions. Come up with new nuances of story while you chatter. Enjoy talking! Writing can be such a lonely profession. Being able to talk about our imaginary worlds will ofttimes bring smiles to our faces.

Like right now, I'm working on Blades of Fate, the sequel to Chains of Fate which I put out in June. I sat across from a close friend and discussed the inner workings of the living cities, which you see much more of in the second book. In that conversation, I named all of the cities, got down to their basic personalities, and considered what their history/backstory. All because a friend asked a question and I had to really think about it. Score! Conversation. It serves a purpose.

Dribs, Drabs, and Debris

There is definitely something to be said for throwing nothing away. I don't mean that in the hoarder sense of keeping even the trash, but more in the writerly sense of every piece of prose could possibly be gold one day. To illustrate, the other day I reopened my Google Drive (I often forget I even have the silly thing on two email addresses) and found a piece of fiction full and complete that I had put away years ago for reasons I cannot currently call to mind. A perfectly beautiful piece of work forgotten and languishing in limbo because I forgot where I put it. Now that I know where it is, I will be putting it back in the rotation of things I have out to publishers because it's too pretty not to share.

I do this occasionally because I write across multiple platforms and devices. Several years ago, I still wrote everything in Microsoft Word and saved everything to GoogleDoc, which is now Google Drive. So on top of that piece I found that was complete, I have other pieces that are unfinished. Wonderful thing when I'm looking for another possible avenue for my creativity. Ripping something down to concept and then writing it up again could be the key to having yet another book published.

So what do you do when you have a piece you've found? That depends entirely on how finished it is and how much you like it. If it's finished and you like it: Submit it somewhere or self-publish it. If it's not finished but you like it: Finish it and then publish it or submit it. If it's finished and you don't like it: Toss it. If it's not finished and you don't like it: Rip it down to concept and start over. It's that simple. No matter what state it's in, you can do something with it. Even if that something is just throw it away and make room for something else to take up your time and energy. I'm not a big fan of throwing things away, but sometimes that's the only thing you really can do. Throw it out! However, before you do, you should take some time with it and see if you still love the kernel at the center. If you still love the kernel at the center, you can take that out, put it away, and see if something else grows off it.

It sounds as if I'm espousing throwing nothing away wholesale, which is true. I keep a small file of ideas that I like. Some of them I've attempted before and failed at. They aren't bad ideas, but I'm just not in the right place in my writing journey to write them the way I want to. If I come back to them in a few years, maybe I'll be better prepared to create the world I dream up when I think about that idea.

I have a lot of debris from things I've exploded over the years. Sometimes they fit together in new and exciting ways. One thing is certain, I will never run out of ideas and that alone can be comforting. If you're willing to occasionally repurpose and retool ideas, you will have an almost neverending source of things to work from. That's what I love about writing debris.

What do you think? Should a writer choose to rewrite things they've already written if they haven't completed them to their personal satisfaction? I think they should, but that's just me. I want to know what you think.

Leave a comment below.

The Obligatory So Now What Post

December has started. NaNoWriMo has ended. Say goodbye to another year. Not to writing because I do that all year long, but to the breakneck, frenetic pace that is the headlong rush for the finish line I only do during the month of November. All things aside, I got a lot done for the fact that I only wrote 23 days out of the 30 day month. In that time, I managed to pen 70K+ which is nothing to sneeze at. Perhaps not enough to put me up there with those greats who can finish 100K in 30 days, but enough to get me a decent way into writing an entire first draft. Blades of Fate stands to be perhaps my most ambitious novel yet considering it is a piece set in a world I thought I was fully shut of several years ago and thus had to essentially relearn in order to tell this new story. Let me just say, it was not like fitting into a pair of comfy old slippers. It was more like wrangling on a pair of ill-fitting, poorly cared for thigh high leathers. Once you get them on, you're doing pretty good. Getting them on is however a beast.

A little bit of housekeeping. I'm taking down the free story I wrote over the month of October: October Sky. Don't fret. It still exists to be read, but those who didn't read it in its initial run on the blog are going to have to start paying for it. I'm putting it up on Amazon and Smashwords as an ebook with a price varying from Free to 2.99. In short, I haven't quite decided on my price point yet, so it's still up in the air. If you did get a chance to read it and thought it noteworthy, why don't you head on over to Amazon, Goodreads, or Smashwords and leave behind a little review? All the love is much appreciated.

For those who lament when my next book is coming out cease your wailing. I intend to once again start writing short fiction on the blog as well as prepping several of my previous works for publication through Amazon and Smashwords. That should sate the appetite while I come up with new and increasing flights of fancy to send us all on. I'm thinking I might start with something Science Fiction-y. You'll just have to hang out and see.

In the meantime, Dark King Rising is still available for preorder with its debut on the 18th of December. Amazon | Smashwords . The preorder price is 2.99 but it will be going up as well once the first week of the print is out, so get it while there's a good deal.

[NaNoWriMo 2015] And a wild idea appears!

It is the bane of the writer's existence that we will be somewhere and, like a rare pokemon, an idea will appear.

Lo and behold, not a pen or sheet of paper to be found.

Don't you just hate that?

Like coming across a rare without the right kind of pokeball, having an idea appear out of nowhere can be a frustrating experience without the right tools. Me, I'm an iPhone junkie, so I have my trusty 4s with me at all times. (Yes, yes, I know we've moved on to the 6. That will happen in my life when the time is right.) So when that rare, beautiful, golden idea appears, I have exactly the kind of tools that can help me to capture it. Three things I use:

Camera: While many don't think of the camera as a go to for a writer, I find it quite useful. Sometimes the idea has everything to do with what I just saw; therefore, I need to make sure I can still see what I saw. Thus the camera. If it's a still photograph, that's easy. Just snap a quick shot of what you see to jog your memory and take it home with you. Be careful of being that creepy taking pictures of people though. Sometimes, it is just not the right place or time to take a shot. For those moments, you're gonna need something else.

Notepad: If the camera isn't feasible, but you've got a few minutes to write it out exactly as you'd like to copy and paste to an email, then open up the Notepad and write it out! I mean with dialogue tags and descriptions and everything. Make it as near to what you've got in your head as you can, but don't waste time worrying about whether it's too clean. After all, you're gonna have time to polish it once you get it into your word processor of choice. (I like Scrivener. A LOT.)

Voice Memos: I use this the least of the three, but it's definitely worth mentioning. When I need to just talk an idea out, which happens faster than I'm currently able to type, I open up voice memos and essentially word vomit out loud for the whole world to hear. Then I can play it back later as I ask myself: "Where was I going with this?" Sometimes the act of listening to it jogs a few bits loose like hitting a berry bush. Otherwise, it opens me up to new possibilities that may not have previously been on my map. Both useful happenings when you get right down to it.

There you have it, three tools with a basic iPhone you can use to capture a rogue idea when it has appeared unexpectedly.

[NaNoWriMo 2015] Musing from the Winner's Circle

Today, the 20th of November, the validation process for novels begins. You can copy and paste your entire 50k words into a browser window and validate whether or not you made it over the goal line. I did that today because there's no point necessarily in waiting. On day 20, I am up over 55k. Does this surprise me? Not really. I finished 50k in 17 days, which apparently is about normal for me looking back at my previous NaNo successes. I've been doing this, off and on, for eleven years. My first win was in 2005 after being introduced to the concept by my friend, D. E. Morris. You may remember her as the author of Age of Valor: Heritage which you can purchase on Amazon. So every year around this time, I marshal my forces to write something new and I learn or relearn three things.

ONE: I can write quickly.
Sometimes, because I don't necessarily write every day, I forget exactly how quickly I can write if I buckle down and just spend some time writing. I finish a short novel in a little over two weeks. Not exactly a common feat. From brain to page in 17 days isn't bad. Relearning this every year helps me to figure out exactly how long it would legitimately take me to finish a first draft. Second drafts are usually variable because it depends on what I need to do to the manuscript.

TWO: I enjoy interaction
This has been less of a thing since I joined a writing group, but the interaction and general community feeling make me feel some warm fuzzies. Does this mean I need the validation of having someone else telling me to go, go, go all the time? No. I am perfectly capable of getting my work done without someone looking over my shoulder, but having someone to share the joy and the pain with is kinda helpful. It reminds me not to keep it bottled up inside only to come out after someone has poked me the wrong way one too many times.

THREE: The breakneck pace might be a bit much for me to sustain all the time.
The flip-side of knowing I can write quickly, I also have to remember that this pace is not meant to be an all the time thing. I write something between 3k and 5k a day most days because I'm trying to finish the manuscript in as little time as possible. Settling into a pattern of writing 2k-3k a day is more doable over the long term. As little as 1k is good sometimes, as long as I'm doing some kind of forward motion.

All in all, another successful year. There is still work to be done, but that's fine. There is always work to be done.

[NaNoWriMo 2015] Staring at the Blank Page

Let's be honest, occasionally we all end up doing this: staring at a blank page thinking "I have nothing to write". That is a lie from the pits of Hades, my friend. We always have something to write. Granted, it might not be useful, but the act of writing spawns more writing. Therefore, do something simple: write a grocery list. Not a practical grocery list but rather a list with your favorite foods on it. That way you're working from memory and not from the part of your brain that is feeling blocked. Does this help? Occasionally. Most of the time though, I go one step further and plan a grocery trip for one of my characters. If it's a contemporary setting, it's easy. Fantasy setting requires me to think a little harder because I have to consider the size of the city and whether or not they would be in a position to trade for certain things.

Whatever you do, don't just take that blank page as a sign you have nothing. You have something. There is always something. You may have to dig a little bit to find it.

When you're done with your grocery list, you can always incorporate it into the piece you're writing. Give your character a new favorite food and make them have to learn how to make it. Or send them on a shopping trip to get something important for the story. Maybe they have to please a picky foodie who has the answer to their next quest or holds the keys to the castle. Could be useful. At absolute worst, at the end of the day, you have a grocery list and your favorite foods on it. The start of a gift list should anyone ever ask for one.

Enjoy!