The Writers Vineyard

Murphy's Law...

2009-07-10T08:07:00.004-04:00

Why couldn't Murphy have put a positive spin on his 'law'??

My 15 year old son's friend went to Florida for the week for family vacation...due back Sunday. While he's away, he asked my son to keep his leopard gecko, tree frog, fish and water frogs (all in their own separate tanks, of course). As we have a small petting zoo with lizards, frogs, fish, and multiple four-legged friends, we're well aware of how to care for them and felt sure there would be NO PROBLEMS.... *cough*

We've had the guest reptiles since last Friday. They were doing quite well until yesterday...my son called me at work and says, "Er, mom....I can't find the tree frog."

"What?" I ask, heart in my throat.

"It was there last night, but I can't find it...."

He took everything out of the cage, as did I when I got home and searched high and low, to no avail. The danged frog was no where to be seen. I hate to think about it in the midst of our curious canine and feline companions. I did notice that when my son replaced the lid on the cage there was an opening big enough for the frog to escape if not double checked for security.

I looked again this morning, still, no luck. We feel awful about it. I really hope they don't think my 6 year old let him out. *cringe* We were only trying to help out a friend in need and wham--came back to bite us in the butt!! I'm going frog shopping tonight, needless to say.

On the up side of life, writing is coming along with several pans on the fire and several others in the waiting line. =)

Hope Murphy keeps his law far from you and yours!

Until next time,

Angie

http://www.angelaashtonbooks.com/

Amulet of Fate

Once A Rebel

Corsair Cove

http://www.champagnebooks.com/

..come find me on facebook!

This is not a farm.

2009-07-09T07:00:00.001-04:00

I love fields. Waving, green, rustling fields of tall grass. The sight is soothing on a warm summer day.

But not in my neighbour's backyard.

Since I was twelve, Uncle Bob lived next door. A retired farmer, he took pride in his lawn and his rose garden. We were often put to shame by his obsessive property maintenance. Our lawn by comparison was environmentally friendly, meaning no pesticides. It was green, but mostly from the weeds. We did our best to keep it under control. Really, we did.

When Bob passed away, another family bought the house. The roses became wispy and ragged and the clematis vines flopped to the ground. Three weeks ago we arrived home to find the front lawn cut, but the mower sat abandoned before reaching the back yard.

It sat.

And sat. The grass in their back yard grew to over two feet high.

The longer the mower sat, the more my imagination brewed. I began to wonder if something had happened to the unfortunate operator of the mower. They don't speak much English and we rarely see them outside. I was too shy to knock on their door to inquire if they were all right.

On Saturday, I started thinking of fantastic stories to go with this scenario. Then I thought it would be a great idea to invite stories from readers, based on the picture.

Somebody must have seen me taking pictures, because the next morning they had succeeded in wrestling the grass into submission.

Just for fun, tell me what you would have written based on the photograph.

--Sandra Cormier

My Fourth of July excitement

2009-07-05T20:07:00.001-04:00

I have parking issues. I can’t leave my car parked in just any spot. If I pull into a mall or department store, I have to park in the very back of the parking lot. I have this phobia that if I park too close to other cars, someone will park right up against my doors, either the driver or passenger doors, and I won’t be able to get in. Then I won’t be able to leave when I want. I’ll be trapped.

This Fourth of July, my worst fear came true. I attended my local county fair on Saturday. I parked in a field. I was a bit concerned about getting stuck in the mud, considering how hard it had rained the previous night, but there were no other cars parked around me, so I wasn’t altogether concerned.

I left my car to enjoy the fair. After a visit though four buildings, the cow barn, the chicken tent, a lap down the midway to enjoy a fried dough and an ice cream, I trudged back to my car.

My heart leapt in my throat. My car was totally blocked in. An F-150 truck parked ahead of me, mini-van behind me. After a brief but strong panic attack, I hurry to the back entrance gate and plead for one of the fair workers to help me. One insists there is nothing she can do.

“But it’s the Fourth of July!” I wail. Most likely those who have trapped me in are staying for the demolition derby and the fireworks display following the show. I’m clearly doomed.

A fireman at the gate takes pity on me and summons a police officer passing by on a horse to call over to the main office and have the licenses of those blocking me paged over the intercom.

“But how are they going to hear the announcement over the demolition derby?” I continue to whine. I’ve already ate my weight in midway snacks. What the heck am I supposed to do until midnight or later when these people decide to leave?

So they announce the licenses. Nothing. An hour passes, and no one comes to my rescue, except the fireman and policeman who have been extremely patient with my impatience. The policeman now starts talking in his intercom, pocket radio thing. Thirty minutes passes, and a tow truck shows up. As it hoists the mini-van up and onto its apparatus, I ask the policeman what he’s doing. Turns out he ran each vehicle through the records, and the min-van has been identified as stolen.

Huh? Someone would steal a vehicle in my lil’ ol’ neck of the woods? Wow, this is just like an episode of Cops! Now I no longer want to leave. Now I want to know who would steal a maroon mini-van with a “Soccer Mom” bumper sticker.

But my car is free. Free as we are this Fourth of July. I hope you all had a wonderful holiday.

~ Nancy

http://www.nancyhenderson.com/
http://www.nancyhenderson.blogspot.com/

Loyalty

2009-07-04T00:01:00.001-04:00

As an author, there's nothing that can drive warm and fuzzy feelings into your heart more than a fan who tells you that they can't wait to read whatever you write. Granted, that also bears with it the pressure of producing your next work at a level that's worthy of that type of loyalty.

So, here's to all of those fans out there who have voiced their loyalty for a particular author, and for those authors who need to get out there and finish their next work for those fans to enjoy.

In the comments, feel free to post your fan-crush loyalties!

And everyone have a happy Independence Day!

THE ESSENCE OF A HERO

2009-07-03T06:34:00.005-04:00

The hero of a story must reach into the reader's heart and soul, making he/her believe in that character's reality, must make them want to cheer them on, must ache when they hurt, cringe when they are embarrassed, fear when they are threatened, and cry if they die. But what makes a hero? How do we as writer's reach that conclusion? How do we perceive the essence that will bring about the desired results and have a man say, oh yeah, I'd following him and face the hordes of hell, or a woman yearn to be safe in his arms. We obsess over finding just the right blend of traits and we believe we have touched on one in particular. Russell Crowe… Best Actor. Works for me. Gladiator… Best Film… a study in heroes. Their hero-dom arose from their leadership qualities.

I’d like to exam Russell Crowe in Gladiator and specifically only the first five minutes of the movie. In my view it was these five minutes that set this movie and this character out to be something special. He breathed humanity into the armor clad Maximus. A time when his struggle through life was far from what we’d think humane yet he was strong as well as compassionate.

I saw a portrait of passion coupled with honor. Maximus was magnanimous. Your first vision of him shows an unkempt bearded clear-eyed man. Set poised in the snow flurries of a winter day focused on the moment. Unaffected by the climate. His proud walk amidst his troops reflected an honest connection. His version of high fives, fist to fist, depicted a sharing of strength and a man willing to touch his charges. A man not at arms length but approachable. It was obvious he stood shoulder to shoulder with them during battles. It was the image of a man’s man. A man who’d take the back of his brother-in-arms. Additionally, qualities of one whom was a leader. Not an order giver… but a man in the trenches and showing the way.

He described his army as “…lean and hungry.” Simplistic yet speaks volumes. Their physical shape. Fat free… Un-contented. Focused on a goal. Everything an athlete wishes to be prior to any contest. Everything any businessperson wishes to be prior to any deal. These three words connected to the deep-seated competitor found in most.

When Maximus’ second in command reacted to the Horde’s refusal to surrender with, “They don’t know when they are conquered,” Maximus stoically replied, “Would you… would I?” He honored his foe… his second in command… and himself with respecting the never quit… never give in… never say die attitude. Tenacity toward attaining a goal is a powerful belief, which is held high in the view of most.

His personal preparation for the moment of truth, the battle, was that he stooped, took dirt into his hands and rubs them with it. This unpretentious moment of focus showed a simple man. The dirt absorbing the sweat of his hands, hands that would be his tools in the fight. An act of readiness, a point of demarcation, the line between General and Warrior was seen in this private moment.

His look at his dog, a powerful dog, which showed a man who was complex enough to have such a loyal cur. Historically, an image of a dog as a man’s friend helps show a character deep, confident and human.

Maximus’ salutation to his second in command was “Strength and honor.” Pure genius. Strength…force… power… might… energy… intensity… vigor… brawn… virility. Honor…integrity… honesty… morality… regard… dignity… rectitude. A balance between power and integrity.

Maximus’ final order was “At my signal… unleash Hell!” If you never fought you might not understand. If we fight we must fight to win. I believe this. If we choose to do something, do it as well as we can. Half-fast is half-assed. I respect the pureness of this attitude because it respects the mission of the moment.

A leader emerged before my eyes. Maximus joined his cavalry, the force with which he would be riding into battle. It was at this point in time he showed himself to be a man of vision. Explore the quote, “Imagine where you will be and it will be so…” Visionaries can make great leaders. Their visions capture their followers. But a visionary without substance, i.e., an idea man, does not a leader make. A vision coupled with a willingness to do what’s imagined is the purest form of leadership.

The five minutes ends with this statement by Maximus, “What we do in life echoes in eternity.” The essence of the dream/desire that we want to make a difference on time. We matter. Not just our time but all time. We want to be remembered. We want a legacy. We understand we’re fragile creatures whose fate in life is that we die. So between birth and death what we do must matter. If we can’t buy into to that then we question our purpose to exist at all. We sense our soul will have a life-after thought that is intangible but that tangible life-after is reflected in the monuments we build to ourselves, and these are usually in the forms of accomplishments, people that we have truly affected and our children.

Maximus rises out of these five minutes as a man’s man leader, an unpretentious visionary with a grasp of the magnitude of the moment, a man with an eye on the goal and a passion to do what is essential to achieve it. Powerful stuff.

This is a great man’s flick. However, this was not a chick flick but Maximus is also the personification of a woman's hero.

I share this because it helps define the rare qualities of a real man with character and strength and when we word picture heroes we have to start with an essence. I wrote this many years ago and maybe out-dated but the concept of hero is never.

So why share the aforementioned point of view? As caretakers of the genesis of the characters in our stories, we hold a responsibility to every reader to grabble with imagery and respect the iconic ideals, such as heroism.

In closing, we try to take these and similar traits into the embodiment of our heroes. Though they may be uniquely different in personality, they have that similar underlying core of values, strength, and determination. The sort of man that will cut himself fairly badly but will finish what he is doing before tending to that wound. The sort of man who a woman will feel safe with even when she feels quite capable of protecting herself. The sort of man who will climb into your world, and will stay a part of it, forever.

At least that is what we hope to bring to our heroes. If you read our stories, you'll have to let us know if you agree.

Idea Generator

2009-07-02T12:08:00.002-04:00

What do we do when the muse suddenly stops talking to us?

Writers get their ideas from all sorts of fun places. The older a writer is, the more life experience he/she has to draw from. I find that to be very true. I wrote my first full novel when I was twenty but to be honest, there wasn't an original idea within those pages. Yup, 400 pages typed on an electric typewriter that was mostly regurgitated facts from other novels I'd read. It's in a safe place under the bed protected by an army of dust bunnies. At twenty, I just didn't have an idea generator at my disposal. I had the desire to write but not the experience. That doesn't mean a young person can't write a great book. It just means for me, it didn't work.

So what is an idea generator? For me it's a collection of experiences, incidents, dreams, research and the endless "what if" questions we all possess. Experiences can be as simple as a humorous conversation with friends to travel abroad. They broaden our base of knowledge. Incidents are so important as many writers rely on even the smallest incident to help with a particular character's development or to add spice to a chapter. Dreams allow us to delve into deeper issues that touch the unconscious mind. And the well of "what if" questions help generate the more imaginative stories.

Without a broad base of knowledge, writers have a more difficult time being prolific. So, when my muse wants a vacation, I take one with her so I can replenish my container of ideas. I'm very fortunate that my mother loves to travel and often needs a travel bud. She took my daughter and I to Paris last summer. Next summer? She's invited me to go to Scandinavia. Wow. Wish I'd had this opportunity before writing my Viking time travel. But - I am so looking forward to gathering more ideas in which to jump start my muse.

In the meantime, I am going to have to sit down and draft some "what if" questions to try and work through a difficult scene. Wish me luck.

Love Comes Blindly is now available!!!

2009-07-01T10:38:00.003-04:00

I'm so excited! My Victorian, Love Comes Blindly, is at last released. This is the final book in the "Fielding Brothers" saga. For those who have read Always, My Love and Vows Of Deception, you'll know the hero to my recent release - Gregg Fielding. I've received one awesome review for this book already!

5-Hearts!!! Ms. Phyllis Campbell did a great job of writing this book and keeping this fast-paced story moving at the speed which defied monotony. She created her main characters so that there were multiple levels to their personalities. This just made the couple more than fascinating. The supporting cast members were believable and the plot was so remarkable that it was almost impossible to put it down. The sensuality between the couple was incredible. Campbell definitely knows how to put the sizzle in a relationship. The tension written into the script just showed her ability to capture her readers. The myriad of poignant scenes captivated me and I’m so glad to have read this story. The surprises were non-stop. I loved this book and highly recommend it to others.~~ Brenda / The Romance Studio

If love isn’t blind to past indiscretions, can absence truly make the heart grow fonder?

Lord Gregory Fielding has been wounded when he travels to Scotland to find the next big story for his London newspaper. Now blinded, he relies on the soft, comforting touch of one of the nurses at St. Mary’s Abbey. He thinks she’s a novice, but that doesn’t stop him from wanting to make her sigh in passion.

Madeline O’Neil cannot believe her misfortune. The man she had almost married three years ago is back in her life. Gregg doesn’t know who she is and she doesn’t dare tell him. Not until she makes him like the new Madeline. But as each day passes and her heart grows fonder, she fears he’ll hate her for certain once his eyesight returns. Especially when he discovers the secret she’s been keeping from him for three years…

**excerpt**
Gregg really didn’t want to call her Sister. He wanted to think of her as a real woman, not a nun. The tingles racing through his body reminded him how pleasurable a woman’s touch could be.

She moved to stand, but he grasped her hand and pulled her back down to the bench. “Mary, thank you for telling me. I feel I know you better now.” He rubbed her soft fingers.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have told you, but I feel like I know you better, too.”

He nodded.

“And Lord Gregg?”

“Yes?”

“Please call me Sister Mary.”

He grinned. “I know you’re not a nun.”

“But it’s not proper to call me Mary. I would hate to explain this to the other nuns.”

“Indeed, so I will only call you Mary when we’re alone.” He shook his head and chuckled. “It’s hard to think of you this way. I feel we’ve become close friends.”

“We have.”

“I wish... I wish I could see. I want to see your face. I’ll bet you’re beautiful.”

Taking both of her hands in his, he pulled her closer. Soft, delicate fingers rested in his palms. He ran the pad of his thumb across each finger. Slim. He suspected her body would be this way, too. Slowly, he moved his touch to her wrist, which was also small. As he continued up her arms, she stiffened. He waited for her to stop him or pull away, but she did neither.

He paused again when he reached her shoulders. A slight quiver came from her. Cautiously, he moved his fingers over her collarbone to her neck. Smooth skin met his fingertips, as did a wild pulse. Her throat moved in what must have been a swallow, and he copied that movement with his own, trying to add moisture back into his suddenly dry mouth.

Had he been the first man to touch her like this since she studied to become a nun? The thought thrilled him and made him want to keep touching. Small gasps came from her, and he enjoyed hearing them.

He continued up her slim neck toward her face. Quick, hot breaths exhaled from her mouth and fanned his skin. Excitement gushed through him, and his own breathing became ragged. His manhood stood at attention as encouragement to do more. He’d never became this aroused by touching a woman, especially with her clothes on. And to think he didn’t know what she looked like. Yet for some reason, it didn’t matter.

She had a small chin, and when he reached her dry lips, they were parted. He couldn’t stop from sweeping his thumb across her bottom lip. He wanted so much to stroke her tongue, and he struggled to keep from pushing the tip of his thumb into her mouth.

Licking his own parched lips, he continued the exploration and moved his fingers over high cheeks before stroking closed eyelids. Long, thick lashes tickled his skin. When he touched her hair, she sighed, and he nearly joined his voice with hers. Soft, silky, and curly, a lock of hair brushed his fingers.

He imaged what she looked like, and Mary was very lovely.

He dropped his fingers to her mouth again. This time they were moist. She must have licked her lips. His arousal ached with need. How he wanted to kiss her.

“You’re a very beautiful woman, Mary,” he said huskily. “I imagine your eyes are an amazing color, also. Let me see if I can guess.” He paused for only a moment. “Green...no, they’re blue. No, they’re turquoise.” Her gasp made him smile.

“How did you know?”

“I’ll confess. My friend, Lord Calvin, told me.”

She took his hands from her face and pushed them away. “I need to get you back to your bed now. Afternoon prayer time will be starting soon, and then I will have to help prepare the mid-day meal.”

Her voice wasn’t sensual any longer. Instead, it was edged with panic. Had he disturbed her as much she disrupted his thoughts?

She moved around him and pushed his wheelchair. By her hurried steps, he knew that he’d upset her. His heart ached. That was the last thing he wanted to do.

“Mary?”

“Sister Mary, please.”

He scowled. She really didn’t sound like a nun. She didn’t smell like a nun, and she didn’t gasp like one, either.

“What do you want, Lord Gregg?”

“I want you to call me Gregg.”

Her long pause made him hold his breath.

“If you wish,” she said.

“I do. I also want to tell you I’m sorry.”

The wheelchair slowed. “Thank you.”

“Do you know what I’m apologizing for?”

“Yes.”

“Sister Mary? May I ask you another personal question?”

“No.”

He chuckled. Her reply came too quickly. “Have you let other men touch you like that since...you came to live at the Abbey?”

She expelled her breath and it blew across his neck. He grinned. Yes, he disturbed her, to be sure.

“Lord...umm, I mean Gregg, I’ve made many mistakes in my past. I’m not immune to a man’s touch.”

“But you haven’t allowed a man to touch you since?”

“No.”

“Is that why your heart was racing?”

“Yes. But, Gregg, you can never do that again. Do you understand? I...cannot have those feelings.”

Click to purchase ebook

~Phyllis~

Conferences and Conventions

2009-06-30T06:00:00.002-04:00

There's a lot of talk these days about conferences and conventions for people in the business of publishing books, be it writers, readers, sellers or publishers themselves.

I'd like to add my two sense, for what's it's worth.

New York just hosted a big gathering for Booksellers, within a month, the National convention for romance writers will convene in Washington, D.C., a national readers convention was held in Florida a couple of months ago, and plans are on the table for many other conventions for those involved in the business of story telling.

I've attended writers' conventions, local and national, I've spoken at them, I've sat in the audience and listened to other speakers, but I think for an author, the best kind of convention is where the individual gets to meet with readers. Okay, authors read too, but for me, it's more fun to talk to people who don't know about your struggles and still enjoy your endeavors, more enjoyable than telling other authors, booksellers, or publishers the process you use to put ideas on paper.

I've been to two readers conventions, and I'd really like to go to more. I love to talk about writing, about inventing characters, but most of all, to ask readers what they like to read, why they like that particular book, that genre, that plot. I'm always amazed when I meet a man who's read a romance and discovered to his astonishment, that he liked it. But, I'd never know about those men if I didn't talk to them and ask about the books they read. But then again, I guess I'm curious about what is, to me, an obsession, reading and writing fiction.

Allison

Community

2009-06-27T19:42:00.001-04:00

Just in case you haven’t been following along with some of my blogs, I am a student in the low-residency MFA program at Wilkes University. If you aren’t familiar with low-residency programs, they work something like this: Most of the class work is done on-line. But twice a year all the students get together for about a week. The days of the residency are long and intense, but I always find that I come home with a greater understanding of my craft than I had before I left.
The June Residency ended for me today. I had not made the time to check my e-mail since Tuesday. So, when I discovered that today was also my blog day, I felt a little harried. C’mon. I JUST got back from 10 days of nothing but working on writing, spending time only with people who understand that story, plot and character arch are as important to my creative babies as veggies and decent bedtimes are to the children I actually birthed. I am exhausted and thought about ignoring the e-mail reminder only to apologize profusely on Sunday. Really, what was I going to say? My mind has been stretched and twisted in all sorts of different ways this week and creating clear sentences feels like something out of my reach. Never mind being clever.
But then another thought came to me. Even though the focus of the residency is course work, the thing that you take away is community. And community is something every writer needs. Writing is a solitary task and it is within this community that we can begin to grow.
If you are a writer, I encourage you to find a community. An MFA program may not be for everyone. But, I will give a shameless plug for Wilkes University. Becoming a part of this writer’s community has been one of the best choices I have ever made. (By the way, if you look into some of these low-residency programs and you contact Wilkes, tell then you read about it my blog.)
But there are other ways to find community that don’t require such a sacrifice of time and money. Try your local bookstore, library or look into national organizations like Romance Writers of America or Mystery Writers of America. Often times there are local chapters as well as on-line groups.
If you are a writer, keep writing. Look for a community and you will find one. And if you follow this blog because you are a reader, thanks. We do all our work for you.
Jen

What an incredible month for me in publishing!

2009-06-27T15:11:00.009-04:00

Where to begin....

On the heels of America's Hero going to print and becoming a best seller at Champagne I heard back from one of the F/A-18 pilots who helped me with the take off, flight and landing sequences. He really wants to see this one go on to be a movie and is asking around. We'll see what comes of it, but it sure would be fun. Now, who would I like to see as Austin Quinn....Simon Baker!

My month started with not one but two contracts with Siren-Bookstrand! The Spell and His Eyes are due out later this year. I have gotten my beta covers, both by the ultra talented Skylar Sinclair. The Spell is a romantic suspense with paranormal overtones

His Eyes is the sequel to Her Eyes and picks up after Frank and Claudia's wedding with Detective Mike Malone meeting a woman who is, well just fab. Mike asks her a few important questions, well at least important to him -- she hasn't had any past life memories or been hit on the head lately, has she? Why no.

He just didn't ask this fab woman the most important question of all.

His Eyes is a time travel due out later this year. It's genesis was part "meeting" Mike Malone in Her Eyes and a dream I had one morning that just needed to be told.

My month wasn't quite over though and I completed The Four of Cups which is due out later this year with eXtasy. Speaking of which, Michael's Flight, Book 2 of the Descendants of Earth is due out with eXtasy on July 15! Michael's Flight begins after Jason and Miranda's wedding in Jason's Accord (hmmm, seems I have stories starting after weddings!) Michael heads out into the galaxy for a bit of R&R and finds yet another group of descendants from old earth....the Amazons.

My month is drawing to a close with a contract for Mistaken Bride, Book 2 of the Bride Series with Awe-struck. Mistaken Bride is older brother Kendrick's story.

The next few months are going to be jam packed with editing! Total left brain time.

The Loss of Entertainment Icons

2009-06-26T14:10:00.000-04:00

As if you haven’t already heard enough about the death of the “The King of Pop”, I’m going to bring it up one more time – just because there seems to be so many tragic deaths occurring lately. David Carradine, Ed McMahon, Farrah, Fawcett, and Michael Jackson – all of these entertainers made a strong impression on me and people of my generation.

I can’t think of David Carradine without remembering that cheesy line: “When you can take the pebble from my hand, Grasshopper…”. Still, Kung Fu was a show the whole family could watch, and learn a lesson from - and we did, every week.

And then there’s Ed McMahon. In my mind, he will always be Johnny Carson’s sidekick, as well as Jack Nicholson’s inspiration for the famous line in my all-time favorite scary movie, The Shining, “Heeeere’s Johnny!”

When I was growing up, what teen girl didn’t want to look like Farrah Fawcett, spending hours with curling iron in hand perfecting the Farrah flip? And what teenage boy didn’t have a poster of her in that revealing gold swimsuit on his bedroom wall?

And Michael Jackson? Okay, let’s face it, the man was one strange cookie and probably a taco or so short of a combination plate. But he was incredibly talented and deserved the title The King of Pop. His Thriller album (and yeah - remember that back in those days it premiered on vinyl?) would forever change the sound of pop music.

It is a sad week indeed when we lose four such popular entertainment icons. To those fantastic people who forever made an impression on my life, Rest in Peace.

Candace Morehouse
www.candacemorehouse.com

A Utopian World is Boring

2009-06-25T02:56:00.003-04:00

It took me quite some time to realize this. Well, actually, it was pounded into my head by my mentors and critique group, so I should say, it took me awhile to accept the fact and let my writing reflect the real world. Yes, I'd been called the Utopian Writer. My characters were all gushingly sweet and heaven forbid anything should happen to hurt them. They were, after all, my babies. The result was boring, boring, boring!

This all came to light in my mind when I read Francine River's book The Scarlet Thread. It tore me up. For a month I reread passages and cried. How could she hurt her characters so? How could her heroine be so concerned with what she wanted and forget the importance of her husband's career goals. And how could the hero cheat on the wife who'd stood up for him in their youth and waited so many years for him to get an education so they could marry?

Life and its experiences change people. Hidden agendas surface and color our judgment. Selfishness undermines our good sense. And we forget what's most important in life--those we love. These are issues we all know and understand, but sometimes forget to include in our writing. At least, I had. The Scarlet Thread was a wake-up call for me.

So, in the process, here are a few things I learned.

No one is perfect. We all have flaws, idiosyncrasies, habits, etc. that make use unique. Some are positive, others negative, but they are a part of our selves that define who we are and make us interesting. They also make us real, not paper dolls. Do you know someone who loves to exaggerate? Who tells boring jokes? Bites their nails, twirls their hair, talks with their hands, is afraid to fly, or is always full of advice? Adding these quirks make our characters stand out, real life people like the ones we know and love.

They don't call life the 'road of hard knocks' for nothing. Everyone experiences times of hardship--lost jobs, the death of loved ones, problem children, failed marriages, depression, and the list goes on. Dealing with them makes us stronger. The same is true for the characters in our stories.

Emotion is the bottom line here. In a Utopian world, the major emotions are love, joy, and happiness. In the real world, emotions run the gamut--from joy, and happiness to anger, hate, grief, jealousy, depression, and more.

So, while penning stories, don't bore your readers. Bring your characters to life in a real world. Let your readers see their failings, their fears, their quirks and habits. Your audience will want to cry with them and beat the hero about the head when he disappoints his lady love or slap some good sense into the heroine for her stupidity. They'll be immersed in emotion and living life to the fullest.

I hope I was successful in fulfilling these goals in my three releases with Champagne Books.

Happy Reading and Writing and thanks for reading my post. Please stop by my personal blog Linda's Musings.

Linda

http://www.lindalaroque.com/

http://www.lindalaroqueauthor.blogspot.com/

The Lie That Is Today's Writing Guilds

2009-06-23T12:09:00.004-04:00

“If you tell a lie big enough and keep repeating it, people will eventually come to believe it.” - Joseph Gobbles

There are two “writers” guilds in existence today that have taken Heir Gobbles words to heart. One guild claims to represent and help Romance writers. The other claims to represent and help Science Fiction and Fantasy writers. They are both involved in the Big Lie. Knowingly. Deliberately.

First, here’s the lie they both actively push:

“If you are not associated with a traditional publisher, you are not a professional writer.”

Like any Big Lie, this truth is obscured through lists of “approved publishers” – all of which are associated with traditional print publishers. You hear words like “print runs” and “advances” being a pre-requisite, which neatly knocks out all of the e-book and digital publishers.

By their twisting of the word “professional” into a self-serving instrument, I am not a professional writer. Never mind that I sold three books. Never mind that I collect royalties. It isn’t just me, of course. The scope of the Big Lie is staggering - affecting thousands of writers in both Romance, Science Fiction, and Fantasy. You are talking about not recognizing a publishing industry that, as of this year, has generated more growth than the traditional publishers combined.

You are talking about the future of an art form.

So, why do we care what they call us? Simple. The Big Lie works in concert with other instruments of business designed to reduce competition from those publishers outside the mainstream. Most of this industry is New York based, and after you have sifted through the imprints and owners, you will find yourself looking at fewer publishers than you have fingers on one hand. They have the shelf space at the book stores. They are favored by the trade magazines telling you who the next great author is (there are policies in force not to cover Indie e-book authors).

The guilds? They are lapdogs to this industry, and are as intent on suppressing Indie authors through the Big Lie as their masters are the publishers that take them in. When was the last time you saw an Indie e-book author entered into one of the major SF/Fantasy awards? The guilds are front-and-center when it comes to that answer. Indeed, they not only purport the Big Lie, they have themselves become it. They do not represent writers at all. They represent New York. Like the industry they serve, they are fast becoming irrelevant.

Hopefully, as pressure mounts on the elitist leadership, these guilds will return to being organizations run by professional writers for professional writers - not New York.

Kerry

BLIND SPOTS

2009-06-22T03:06:00.002-04:00

I wholeheartedly agree with the previous blog by Michael Davis. Talk about 'blind spots'! Since I have them all the time I rely on my critique partners to ferret out my boo-boos. As great as these fabulous authors are, they've missed a few. One in particular had me laughing out loud when I reviewed their notes later that evening.

Briefly, the scene is a kidnapping. The heroine's wrists are bound in front of her. She struggles to keep the buffalo robe she'd been given from slipping off by clutching it tight at her throat. Her captor sees renegade Indians coming over a hill. [Did I mention this is an historical?] Cowardly, he mounts his horse intending to flee for his life. In a panic, the heroine runs toward him, reaching out with one hand to stop him from leaving her behind. The other hand is valiantly clasping the slipping robe at her breast. [Did I mention her hands were tied?]

Unless the rope binding her wrists is a bungee cord—which I'm fairly certain they didn't have in the 1800s—this feat is impossible.

Then there was the one my critique partners call the "wolves and the..." oh no, that one's just too gross. Maybe I can share the Abraham Lincoln scene. Nah, that entire scene went into the trash bin. Not really. Sometimes I drag it out for a good laugh.

Rose Lerma
www.roselerma.com

Scotoma

2009-06-19T01:00:00.000-04:00

Michael W. Davis

Davisstories.com

I know, the word looks like it’s misspelled, but its not. It has a very specific meaning in the medical professional, but it also relates to how humans approach life sometimes. Scotoma pertains to a blind spot, either because you can’t or wouldn’t see something that’s right there. I thing as authors, we too can suffer from a scotoma about our own writing. You see, just like with our children, it’s difficult to see faults and areas that need refinement in our stories. When you sculpt and mold a piece of work for months in a cave in your back room, the story takes on its own life and convinces you it’s perfect, and it may be, in your eyes. Problem is, as its creator you may be blind to gaps and yuck portions in the story.

Maybe there are gifted and rare authors out there able to peer through their self induced filters. I’m not one of them. Oh, I am proud of my stories and I do get five star ratings, but it’s not because I’m one of those rare writers I just mentioned. It’s because I accept my unintentional willingness to glance over the rough spots and I use a crutch when I write. I call it my Hit squad. I have a small group of reviewers that evaluate my stories before I submit them to the publisher. And I listen. Boy do I listen.

There are three prerequisites for the hit squad to work effectively. First, they have to love to read and read a lot. Second, it must be someone with the fortitude to tell you the truth. That is a very hard thing to find. No one wants to hurt another’s feelings. It takes time to evolve a relationship with a person so that they are comfortable enough to say the truth, to tell you a page or chapter stinks and not feel there will be reprisals. That brings us to point three. Keep your mouth shut and listen. Do not try to explain how they didn’t get it, or interpreted the passage wrong, because they didn’t. Accept that if they had a problem, there is a real change someone us will.

I’ll admit it was hard with my first two novels. Inside I reflected, “They just didn’t get it.” Then when I considered that the hit squad wouldn’t say “I don’t like this” if it wasn’t true because even when I demand, “Be brutal”, they don’t want to criticize my work. Now that I’m on my eighth story, I’ve developed an effective interactive relationship with my hit squad and they are comfortable with sharing flaws honestly.

I do appreciate their insight, and I do accept it. In my novel, BLIND CONSENT, my wife (the first stage of my hit squad) loved the story but hated the ending. Now I really liked it but I have faith in her judgment. I asked another female friend just to read the last chapter and she agreed. I listened and I changed the entire ending. On my current project, one of my hit squad informed me, “Loved the plot, but the first four chapters stink.” Funny thing is when I was writing those chapters I did hear a whisper warning me this doesn’t feel right, but I ignored it. Next week, I will be rewriting those four damn chapters.

A good hit squad is hard to establish, but they are definitely worth the effort to find, and I do appreciate them and pay them will: hugs and kisses for the wife and signed copies of each paperback for the others. Not much, I know, but it’s what I can afford. Thanks guys.

See ya in four weeks.

Big Mike
Michael W. Davis (Davisstories.com)
Author of the year 2008:

Blind Consent, “The answers are buried in the secrets of the past.”
Forgotten Children, “Only Sara knows the truth.”
Tainted Hero, “Sometimes good people do bad things.”
The Treasure, “A lonely heart can impair one’s judgment.”
Veil of Deception, “Sometimes the truth cuts deeper than a lie.”

June Writing Prompt - The Bus Time Forgot

2009-06-18T02:00:00.006-04:00

Time travels are hot right now (right, Melissa and Ciara?) so I thought we'd have a time travel inspired writing prompt.

My story start isn't time travel (not my genre) but your start could be!

$$$

Gina stared up at the big yellow bus, straight out of a 1950's school ad. "And where ARE we going? Back in time?"

"Close." Brandon Quest, eccentric billionaire, passed the queue, tossing his worn canvas knapsack onto the driver's seat. HE was driving? "Keep guessing. If you're right, you get an exclusive."

That caused a twitter amongst the other reporters. An exclusive with Quest could make a newsperson's career.

"But if you're wrong," the athletic man hung out of the bus, "you're on map duty." He hopped off, his boots crunching on the gravel. "Everyone on the bus. Let's get going." He gestured inside. "Sparky?"

That was Miss Sparks, not Sparky. Gina gave Bob, her snickering cameraman, a mournful glance, and trudged her way to the front of the line.

"Here you go." Quest handed her a giant map. "You'll be navigating the first leg."

She was navigating? Gina stared down at the piece of paper. She got lost in her own closet. "You don't know where you're going?" No, he had to. He was leading this expedition.

"Nope." Big grin. "Never been there before. Top secret location, even from me. First stop is here." He tapped the x marked on the map.

Where were they now? She frowned at the paper. The town started with 'B', she was sure of it.

"We're here." Another tap. The man openly laughing at her.

They had to get from there to there. Gina chewed on her bottom lip. There was a big blue blob between the two spots. Blue was water, right? Right?

"We're going on an adventure, Sparky."

He had no idea.

$$$

No buses but there is a taxi time forgot in Invisible, Kimber Chin's latest contemporary romance. To read more and to enter to win her favorite romance eBook of the month, visit http://businessromance.com/

ONE OF THOSE DAYS

2009-06-16T21:09:00.002-04:00

I'm sure all of you have had a harried day. Not a really terrible one, just harried. Today my Life Partner had to go go to the VA Clinic for a checkup, which is in a larger town thirty miles away. Because our village is so small, we shop over there when he has VA appointments. And Applebee's in that town has those delicious rib baskets. So, by the time we got home, it's 5 PM and I have a hundred emails. I'm giving an online class with with a writer friend this month, so I had those posts to answer and also my lesson to post. I also belong to Jewels Of The Quill, a promo group of 12 authors who do anthologies and, since I'm on the critique committee, one of the novellas was waiting for me to go through. Plus I have a proposal to write up, and I need to get going on the fourth book in a series the above author friend and I are alternately writing. All this while I struggle with Vista. But one purchase today was Vista For Dummies, so just maybe... My Word 2003 CD arrived in the mail, so at last I'll have a decent word program on the desktop--providing Vista will let me download it--tomorrow. Whoa--Kinko the cat just spit at something she saw through the window. I went to look. Saw a large raccoon waddling through the yard eyeing the bird feeders. We just replaced them after a bear tore all of them down a couple weeks ago. But summer has finally arrived in Michigan's Upper Peninsula, so I guess I can't complain. How do I know? Well, the lilacs finally bloomed. And the two of us are still fairly healthy and fully mobile,so what's to complain about? Hope to have an interesting, organized blog my next time up. Meantime, my ONCE AN OUTCAST, the final book in the Orphan Train Series, is getting great reviews. One reviewer even thought the series would make an interesting TV series. I recommend all of the other five books in the the series--they're very good. And now--good night all. May all your dreams be pleasant. Jane

Storms

2009-06-16T12:16:00.003-04:00

We have horrible storms all through the area so it makes my computer time limited.

I'm odd. I've always known this. I take experiences from my life and I "catalogue" them. I save them for reference to use in books. Over the past weekend we had an experience that I'm not sure how I'll use it but I'm saving it for that "some day" possibility.

Over the weekend my best friend and I went to Arkansas for the weekend. The drive down we were rained on. Then, Friday night the wave of storms was just wicked. Lightning strikes hit all around us. I rememer one bolt I knew hit something in the pature behind us.

Next day we were riding the ATVs when I saw the buzzards. As it turned out the lightning we saw had indeed hit the pasture. Killed four cows, a grown one and three yearling calves. I've never seen it happen before. We searched the area but couoldnt find anywhere that had been hit by the lightning. The old cow had a single burn on her abdomen. I say what happened was they were standing in some pond water run off when the lightning hit and thre four were electrocuted.

Now, how will this ever come in handy for a future book? I have a book about a city girl and a country cattle rancher. Maybe this memory will fiit in there...who knows.

I can't speak to other authors but I have always done this--catalogue my memories. So tell me, fellow Champagners, do you catalogue yours? What about you, gentle readers? Or is it merely some stange personality quirk?

Well, the storms are picking up here again and I need to take off. See y'all again soon!

Hugz!
Donica

Choosing the Setting

2009-06-12T07:55:00.005-04:00

You have thought of the perfect plot...you can even see the story unfold in your mind....but do you know where, exactly, you are...??

Most of the time I know the setting before I ever develop the plot. However, while working on a series set in various locations across the globe, I discovered the city I had plucked from the air to base one of my stories in, Phoenix, wasn't working. In fact, it was actually choking the tale...and my muse. So, I went back to square one. I thought about my characters and my original vision for the installment. I needed cliffs that dropped off into the ocean, a harbor, exciting nightlife yet a nice, homey place with lots of trees and mountains--beautiful scenery, etc. I returned to my research and wa-la! discovered the perfect setting...Santa Cruz, CA. (BTW, there world-famous wooden coaster, The Giant Dipper, turned 85 on June 11th! You might recall it, and Santa Cruz, from many movies, including The Lost Boys, though the name was changed to Santa Carla in the flick.) Awesome, I was/am hyped! Having changed the setting, my muse is supercharged and now dancing with destiny! =D

Another lesson learned...if you come up against a road block, or 2...or 10!--with your ms, try changing up the setting. It really can be as simple as that!

Until next time,

Angie

Amulet of Fate

Once A Rebel (Book 1 in the Orphan Train series and Winner of the 2008 Golden Rose Award for Best Historical Romance)

Corsair Cove

http://www.angelaashtonbooks.com/

Tell YOUR Story

2009-06-11T07:00:00.002-04:00

An author friend recently lost her older sister. Not only did she feel the loss of a dear sibling, but also the loss of the stories that disappeared with her. It reminded me of the many stories that might be locked up in the heads of our loved ones.

When I was an adolescent, my Grampy Louis Bernard told me about the day he was thrown from the back of a cart twenty miles away from the Halifax Explosion. Mom shared her childhood friendships and the songs she like to sing while sitting on the steps with her best friend Joanie (who also became an author).

Dad told me about his pet raccoon, and the time he saved his brother from falling down a mine shaft. At least, that's what I remember! I regret that his parents passed away when I was only seven or eight, but I remember a colourful story my great-uncle Edgar told about a mishap involving his wife, a carpet, and his buddies in the Royal Canadian Legion. My father was clever enough to plant a microphone on Uncle Edgar's hat during a Christmas gathering and I played that recording over and over again, enjoying Edgar's charming Acadian accent.

My adopted uncle Bob who lived next door for most of my life told me of the longest NHL playoff game. Ever. He also shared his story of the big snowstorm when he had to deliver Thanksgiving turkeys by sleigh because the roads were too bad for regular wheels. Oh, and also the story about the skunky pony.

He's gone now, and a few of his contemporaries who lived in this neighbourhood. I'm glad I was able to spend time with them, and to hear their stories. Some of us are eager to hear the stories of those who have walked the Earth before us, and others can't see past the arguments and misunderstandings that build up over a lifetime or two. When relatives with their own valuable experiences pass on, their memories remain locked in their brains, never to be shared with the rest of us.

If you have aunts, uncles or grandparents - or even older sisters, ask them about the things that shaped their lives. Sit on your neighbour's front porch and listen. Really listen. You'd be amazed at the treasures you might uncover.

As I pass the half-century mark, I realize I have my own stories. I'm not talking about fiction. I'm talking about the events that made me the person I am today. They may seem mundane to me, but to a younger person, it's history. We live in interesting times, and every moment should be shared.

Image: Louis Bernard, my grandfather on my mother's side during his youth in the early 1900's

The Wait Is Almost Over!!

2009-06-09T22:11:00.001-04:00

A few years ago, I started a Victorian series, the stories are mainly around three brothers: Nicholas Fielding, Gregg Fielding, and Ian Fielding. My reader started with MY HEART BELONGS TO YOU (out of print), and was introduced to Ian. Then MY KNIGHT, MY ROGUE (out of print) came out, and readers were introduced to a secondary character, Nicholas. In ALWAYS, MY LOVE, readers devoured Nick’s story and got to know his younger brother, Gregg. Also, in VOWS OF DECEPTION, Gregg was brought back to be the secondary character. Now…the wait is over, and Gregg’s story is here in LOVE COMES BLINDLY!!! All these books have been published with Champagne Books.

If love isn’t blind to past indiscretions, can absence truly make the heart grow fonder?

Lord Gregory Fielding has been wounded when he travels to Scotland to find the next big story for his London newspaper. Now blinded, he relies on the soft, comforting touch of one of the nurses at St. Mary’s Abbey. He thinks she’s a novice, but that doesn’t stop him from wanting to make her sigh in passion.

Madeline O’Neil cannot believe her misfortune. The man she had almost married three years ago is back in her life. Gregg doesn’t know who she is and she doesn’t dare tell him. Not until she makes him like the new Madeline. But as each day passes and her heart grows fonder, she fears he’ll hate her for certain once his eyesight returns. Especially when he discovers the secret she’s been keeping from him for three years…

I’ve received my FIRST review for this story, and I’m thrilled! I was dancing on the ceiling when The Romance Studio gave me this review:

5-Hearts!!! Ms. Phyllis Campbell did a great job of writing this book and keeping this fast-paced story moving at the speed which defied monotony. She created her main characters so that there were multiple levels to their personalities. This just made the couple more than fascinating. The supporting cast members were believable and the plot was so remarkable that it was almost impossible to put it down. The sensuality between the couple was incredible. Campbell definitely knows how to put the sizzle in a relationship. The tension written into the script just showed her ability to capture her readers. The myriad of poignant scenes captivated me and I’m so glad to have read this story. The surprises were non-stop. I loved this book and highly recommend it to others.~~ Brenda / The Romance Studio

Here’s a teasing blurb from my story. I hope the tease works… heehee

Gregg really didn’t want to call her Sister. He wanted to think of her as a real woman, not a nun. The tingles racing through his body reminded him how pleasurable a woman’s touch could be.

She moved to stand, but he grasped her hand and pulled her back down to the bench. “Mary, thank you for telling me. I feel I know you better now.” He rubbed her soft fingers.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have told you, but I feel like I know you better, too.”

He nodded.

“And Lord Gregg?”

“Yes?”

“Please call me Sister Mary.”

He grinned. “I know you’re not a nun.”

“But it’s not proper to call me Mary. I would hate to explain this to the other nuns.”

“Indeed, so I will only call you Mary when we’re alone.” He shook his head and chuckled. “It’s hard to think of you this way. I feel we’ve become close friends.”

“We have.”

“I wish... I wish I could see. I want to see your face. I’ll bet you’re beautiful.”

Taking both of her hands in his, he pulled her closer. Soft, delicate fingers rested in his palms. He ran the pad of his thumb across each finger. Slim. He suspected her body would be this way, too. Slowly, he moved his touch to her wrist, which was also small. As he continued up her arms, she stiffened. He waited for her to stop him or pull away, but she did neither.

He paused again when he reached her shoulders. A slight quiver came from her. Cautiously, he moved his fingers over her collarbone to her neck. Smooth skin met his fingertips, as did a wild pulse. Her throat moved in what must have been a swallow, and he copied that movement with his own, trying to add moisture back into his suddenly dry mouth.

Had he been the first man to touch her like this since she studied to become a nun? The thought thrilled him and made him want to keep touching. Small gasps came from her, and he enjoyed hearing them.

He continued up her slim neck toward her face. Quick, hot breaths exhaled from her mouth and fanned his skin. Excitement gushed through him, and his own breathing became ragged. His manhood stood at attention as encouragement to do more. He’d never became this aroused by touching a woman, especially with her clothes on. And to think he didn’t know what she looked like. Yet for some reason, it didn’t matter.

She had a small chin, and when he reached her dry lips, they were parted. He couldn’t stop from sweeping his thumb across her bottom lip. He wanted so much to stroke her tongue, and he struggled to keep from pushing the tip of his thumb into her mouth.

Licking his own parched lips, he continued the exploration and moved his fingers over high cheeks before stroking closed eyelids. Long, thick lashes tickled his skin. When he touched her hair, she sighed, and he nearly joined his voice with hers. Soft, silky, and curly, a lock of hair brushed his fingers.

He imaged what she looked like, and Mary was very lovely.

He dropped his fingers to her mouth again. This time they were moist. She must have licked her lips. His arousal ached with need. How he wanted to kiss her.

“You’re a very beautiful woman, Mary,” he said huskily. “I imagine your eyes are an amazing color, also. Let me see if I can guess.” He paused for only a moment. “Green...no, they’re blue. No, they’re turquoise.” Her gasp made him smile.

“How did you know?”

“I’ll confess. My friend, Lord Calvin, told me.”

She took his hands from her face and pushed them away. “I need to get you back to your bed now. Afternoon prayer time will be starting soon, and then I will have to help prepare the mid-day meal.”

Her voice wasn’t sensual any longer. Instead, it was edged with panic. Had he disturbed her as much she disrupted his thoughts?

She moved around him and pushed his wheelchair. By her hurried steps, he knew that he’d upset her. His heart ached. That was the last thing he wanted to do.

“Mary?”

“Sister Mary, please.”

He scowled. She really didn’t sound like a nun. She didn’t smell like a nun, and she didn’t gasp like one, either.

“What do you want, Lord Gregg?”

“I want you to call me Gregg.”

Her long pause made him hold his breath.

“If you wish,” she said.

“I do. I also want to tell you I’m sorry.”

The wheelchair slowed. “Thank you.”

“Do you know what I’m apologizing for?”

“Yes.”

“Sister Mary? May I ask you another personal question?”

“No.”

He chuckled. Her reply came too quickly. “Have you let other men touch you like that since...you came to live at the Abbey?”

She expelled her breath and it blew across his neck. He grinned. Yes, he disturbed her, to be sure.

“Lord...umm, I mean Gregg, I’ve made many mistakes in my past. I’m not immune to a man’s touch.”

“But you haven’t allowed a man to touch you since?”

“No.”

“Is that why your heart was racing?”

“Yes. But, Gregg, you can never do that again. Do you understand? I...cannot have those feelings.”

~~Phyllis~~

www.phyllismariecampbell.com

Paranormals

2009-06-08T06:28:00.002-04:00

A few years ago, or maybe more, the classic “clinch cover” historical romance seemed to disappear from bookshelves. In its place came vampires, werewolves, mermaids, mermen, ghosts, witches, goblins, and all kinds of things that go bump in the night. I love paranormals. I love writing them, reading them, being both scared and turned on by them. But, I wonder, did the paranormal replace the historical?

Wait a minute, you might say. Historicals have nothing to do with paranormals. They’re two totally separate genres. Well, yes and no. Let me explain.

The historical requires the creation of a world. In this world, there is required research. The author must get her facts straight in order to make that world believable. She cannot set her heroine in the burning fires of Atlanta without knowing a thing or two about the American Civil War. The same holds true for the paranormal. How is an author going to know the rules of shape shifting without first doing some research? And if her heroine is whisked away to another planet, how is she going to be captive of a mind altering force field without knowing something about gravity and how the human body reacts to atmospheric pressures? Research. The world you’re creating requires it to make it believable to your reader.

So what about characters? Remember when those Native American romances were so popular? One of the characters, usually the heroine who was non-Indian, was forced into the hero/Indian’s tribal world. No different that the innocent…er, let me rephrase that…kick butt modern day heroine getting sucked (no pun intended) into the hero/vampire’s lair. With both the historical and the paranormal, hero or heroine must learn to accept their significant other’s worlds and they must find a compromise of those worlds if they are to spend happily-ever-after together.

I’m not saying one genre is better than the other. I love them both. I just wonder, as readers, did we really banish the historical or did we just hide them under black cape and sharp teeth?

~ Nancy

http://www.nancyhenderson.com

http://www.nancyhenderson.blogspot.com

The Agent Form

2009-06-06T00:01:00.000-04:00

There's nothing more frustrating to me than agents who can't take a sentence to give the author an indication of why their work was rejected. I understand why they don't want to, considering the looney tunes out there who rip an e-mail off blasting them for their obvious lack of literary skills (which would include finding their book the best thing since sliced bread).

But there has to be something more than "Not right for me"...or "Sorry, not interested."

Heck, one of them told me "Not enthusiastic about the premise." That at least is something to work with...

Maybe I should include a small checkbox postcard with the following options, to make it easier on the agents in question to reject my work:

[ ] I know my requirements include science fiction, but space opera? Puh-leeeze! Everyone knows that's not REAL science fiction.
[ ] Space pirates? Puh-shaw!
[ ] Isn't this like Battlestar Galactica, when Luke Skywalker saves Captain Picard from falling into a Reaver ambush?
[ ] 57,000 words? Look us up when you break the 80,000 mark.
[ ] Oh, darn it...maybe we should update our submission guidelines. Science fiction just isn't where it's at anymore.
[ ] Mostly dialogue and action, very little description? Don't you know that's against the rules?
[ ] You start off with a dream sequence? Don't you know that's against the rules?
[ ] A male protagonist trying to save the female lead? Don't you know that's against the rules?
[ ] Did we mention how droll space pirates are?

So, hopefully, this will help...now to figure out a way to pop it into the e-queries I send out...

When readers cross the transom...

2009-06-05T07:55:00.000-04:00

According to Stephen King, "If you don't have the time to read, you don't have the time or the tools to write." For some of us, meaning writers, reading has been an obsession since a young age. We'd devour every book, pamphlet, flyer, newspaper, comic book, magazine, and yes, lacking anything at hand at breakfast, would read the back of the cereal box. However, not all readers end up being a writer, what is that epiphany moment that has one crossing the transom? For every writer it is different, for both of us it has been something we simply could not avoid. It has been part of our earliest memories.

My favorite words as a child were, Once upon a time, obviously the opening of many fairy tales. Zi’s similar memory was Sunday night’s opening music to the Wonderful World of Disney. I knew when I heard those words an adventure, a fantasy, or simply magical moments would soon flash upon the reel of my imagination.

We have had the honor and privilege to read to children and I saw delineated on those young folks’ faces a reflection that reminded me of my youthful jubilance when I read those words, Once upon a time.

For Angelica, as a child, her run on of, tellmeastory said over and over until someone read her story turned into, wannahearastory until someone listened. Before she could write she'd draw pictures, and read from those pictures. As soon as she could write little stories appeared on napkins, fancy stationary, scraps of paper, anything and everything that could hold pencil, crayon or ink, including the wall, which her mother was not so happy about. Zi had a similar hunger to string words together in a coherent and logical thought pattern, writing constantly and in volume, and then those thoughts turned into stories that he couldn't put down fast enough. Every word, every image, every twist and turn within a plot became vital.

I used to carry several books around with me, imploring any reading-able body to read me a story. It didn't matter if they were young or old. It didn't matter if they had an accent or not. It didn't matter if they altered their voice for each character, although, that was indeed the preferred option. I used to say read me a story so often that it turned into a run-on chant. There was nothing grander than being read to, a story where I could travel to a different land, where taste and textures were defined with whorls of words. One moment I was a baby rabbit, another a mouse with a hole-in-the-wall house, sometimes an audacious child. I especially liked rhythms, the playful beat and measure that tapped out a story, sometimes silly, sometimes funny, and sometimes very strange. Mattered not. It was the journey, that sweet, wonderful roller coaster of sounds that created dream bubbles that I could actually see in my mind’s eye.

I’ll share one of Zi’s first memories of reading aloud. I wrote this without first asking him. It is personal but as I later explained, apt.

Zi was a child with undiagnosed dyslexia and struggled early with reading and writing. Recalling that period, he has expressed the humiliation he felt not learning the same way others were, though he never felt sorry for that boy.

At an early age he knew he wanted to read and write and valued those tools. As an adult you can easily discern that his books are respected treasures and opening the world of storytelling is a passion. It was the Woodlawn Public Library located in Union Park Gardens just off the Bancroft Parkway that provided him what I call a breakthrough.

Reading and writing was an endless series of embarrassment and humiliation where the stumbling over words, the constant juxtapostioning of words and letters, and the inability to sound out words were painful. Peers at a young age have not developed empathy or compassion and would tease.

The third floor of that library was his safe place and by some unexpected gift of divine foresight, close to his home. His mother worked and that circumstance made it the perfect after-school sanctuary.

He once recounted to me the old radiators were far too hot, occasionally whistled, and tinted the air with that odd metallic smell of water boiled in an iron pot. While there, he would grab any read-aloud style children’s book, books far beneath his age, and hide in a corner on that third floor and quietly read aloud to himself. Never minding if he stumbled over words or struggled with inflection, he just read; hour after hour. Over time the books chosen became more complex and he slowly fought to compensate for his handicap. It was in those secluded corners hidden amidst the radiator smells I believe Zi birthed a deep love for writing and reading. It was children’s books that opened a new world, free of ridicule and filled with possibilities borne from the imagination of authors. He fights and works so hard with our work to make it his gift back.

When asked why, we respond, we want to make people laugh, cry, smile, wince, fear, enjoy. We want to entertain. So, where is that line that pushes a reader into the realm of writing. That we cannot say, probably for every writer it is different, we only know it is an experience that keeps us alive. Sound dramatic? Of course it does, we're writers.

Angelica Hart and Zi
Killer Dolls ~ September 2009
Snake Dance ~ February 2010
Champagne Books
angelicahartandzi.com

We're finally moving into the Cyber Age

2009-06-04T01:04:00.003-04:00

I got so excited today when I saw a television commercial for some sort of technology. Yeah, I wasn't paying real close attention and I'm sure I'll be bombarded with this commercial a lot now that it's aired. I don't watch a lot of TV so who knows how long it's been out. But - the part that had me salivating was a 20 second blurb where the narrator says something like, "...and the avid romance reader will curl up with her Kindle..." (They showed a typical hero model and book and everything.)

So - do you see where I'm going with this? Oh yeah. The Kindle just made national TV. And this means what? Well, I'm not sure I'm a fan of the Kindle because I've never seen a real one, and while the Kindle is a brand name, to me it's almost as good as using the generic and calling it an ebook reader. Because, those that don't know what a Kindle is, will go "hey, new gadget. Gotta have new gadget. What is it? Better look it up." They'll discover what it is and if they're the informed shopper type, they'll do a search on all ebook readers. And we all know an ebook reader just ain't the same without lots of great ebooks!!!!

Yeah, I'm stoked. Too fun. I think this is one commercial I won't mind seeing over and over again.