Cool Book Cover

I'd use this for a cover art if I knew how to find out who owns this photo. Have now idea what the book would be about though.

How to Excel at Constructive Criticism

 Marcy McKay in her blog post at http://positivewriter.com/how-to-give-constructive-writing-criticism-that-actually-helps/    recaps her post with the following:

1) Yes, writers need to hear what’s wrong with their work in order to improve it, but there’s a positive way and a negative way to convey that message.

2) It’s not just what you say, it’s how you say it.

3) Constructive criticism done right, leaves the receiver excited to make revisions to their story, rather than feeling shattered.

- See more at: http://positivewriter.com/how-to-give-constructive-writing-criticism-that-actually-helps/#sthash.217kjGOl.OwKSgwGZ.dpuf

Let's face it folks, I'm not real good at constructive criticism, it is a big reason why I decided to be a reviewer and even landed a job as a professional. (Reviewers don't get to be snarky, but at times being painfully honest is a plus.)
In contrast, critique-rs in the writing world are generally acquaintances of the author and because you are often friends, you need to be nice.  Easier said than done at times when the project is something you have little or no interest in. Many published authors have been burned and even abused when offering to help because the new-bie to the writing field assumed the 'pro friend' had a magic pill of sorts. Not so. Getting published, the first time is difficult. So it is the third and fourth time as well as the umpteenth time (unless the author managed to land one of those rare contracts that fits both the writer and the publisher like a glove.)

So, back to constructive critiques (Someone needs to sit on my shoulder and keep me on task.)

The long and the short of it is KISS for want of a better acronym (by-the-by, thank you to my military friends for sharing this with me over the years--the acronym, that is.)
 KISS Keep It Simple Stupid (okay, so I softened the language and made it my own.)
So how do you KISS when critiqu-ing a 400 page manuscript? Other than one line at a time, I mean.

Give 'em a knuckle sandwich, and by that I mean...just like when you are breaking-up with that special someone and don't want to hurt their feelings. A sandwich has two sides of bread. The bread is soft and often sweet, might have a little spice in it but the bite is what you put between the soft kindness.

In the case of the critique:

1) Tell the author, and put it in writing because writers need the written word, something nice. For example:  I really like this character because... Or  I like the overall story line.

2)This is a sandwich so here we generally put a condiment or gentle 'I'm not sure what you are saying here', or the like before slapping a few, if needed, pieces of meaty, but savory, comments on what needs fixing.
Sometimes the fixes are a sweet meat but sometimes even the glaring chunk is easier to put down when sliced thin.

and 

3) Don't forget the second slice here. Be sure to top the sandwich with the savory bread that holds it all together (and in the case of the fragile writer, may be what holds them together.) In the case of the critique, an honest compliment that will encourage the writer and exhilarate, or at least inspire, the author to continue writing and creating. 

I truely hope this helps...and in my own case, reminds me of how to do a better job at his often painful task, but a very necessary one.

Seahawks and Superbowl Sunday

I won't say that Seahawk Football fans are way out there, but I will say those in my family are certainly convinced of the need to convert myself and others in the family to their way of thinking.

So, congratulations Seahawks!

But seriously folks,(please read as: armchair quarterbacks) I didn't see you on the field Sunday, or any other day, with a Seahawk team jersey (mind you, the one you wear with that  #12 on it doesn't count.) and IF by chance, you are drawing a paycheck from the team may I say that I will, if bribed, cheer you on come Superbowl Sunday...Just sayin'

Otherwise, I don't think I'll be cheering for the Patriots, but don't tick me off or I will!

(I know, you're really not afraid of me...)

Twitter Tweet?

Okay, so my friends, those who really know me also know I'm techy challenged... What that means for me is the harder I try the more mistakes I make until at last (hopefully) I stumble on something that works. In this case I think I have the #hashtag thingy down--albeit I probably don't use the right ones or in the right way.

The deal is, I am told to learn to use Twitter and get comfortable with it. First snag--oh my gosh! my hubby and I share a cell phone, as in; he is taking it to work everyday while I work from home.
Stop, don't judge me/us. We are of the older generation and these new electronic toys are a challenge--as in if we can't get the TV to do what we want, we hand the remotes to the teen and say "Fix it." (Yes, sometimes that is dangerous, but at least the TV and remotes still work!)

I got sidetracked. Twitter.

Shortly after I lament that snag I remember, Yes, sometimes that archaic old thing works, just don't rely on it. And no, I still don't write the things down that I probably should. I eventually find my shoes and keys when leaving the house. Back to what I remembered on this occasion. Hey, can't I Tweet from my laptop? I need my password, got it and I type a relatively stupid Tweet complete with the #help hashtag.

What's next? The blog I read as a tutelage referenced their blog in conjunction to the tweets recommending that I post often about whatever interests me --- and somehow it magically goes to Twitter? How does that work? Is there a setting I don't know about? Google + I get, but Twitter, no.

Sharing this tidbit with the younger generation at my house I get a stifled gag response. Nope, ain't gonna get help from there... so, bear with me while I stumble and OF COURSE if you have suggestions that would help me on my course to becoming comfortable--namely figuring out how to link my blog to my Tweets-- please comment and HELP!

New Year's Resolution--- well, maybe...

I've thought about this off and on for quite a while now. Some of you who have visited here regularly in the past have even seen me dabble into this. I'm considering posting my book, which is a time-travel Romance, here on my blog.

Notice that to the right you can click on a link to publish my book and in theory the QC code will do that too, I think....
Anyway back to the topic at hand...
In the past my reason for posting part of a book was just to gather a few more followers. (A thin and very transparent reason) and that is why after a few posts, I pulled it. Now, I'm thinking a little differently about testing these waters.
Would blog hoppers really visit a blog for a book if it were spread out over weeks?
Have blogs lost their appeal in this ever changing scene of social media?
Blog posts, or at least mine, try to keep to about 500 words, would the short format frustrate a casual reader or not?

Santa and I's Secret

(submitted to Chicken Soup for the Soul 6/11/14 for Christmas 2015)

The merry jingle of bells signaled the imminent arrival of the season's featured guest. I, along with the other children lowered my voice to a barely audible whisper.

"He's coming!"

I knew better than to wonder who might be arriving but I couldn't help but wonder if Santa would remember me this year. For years I had heard stories from my older siblings of how every year they sat on Santa's lap and every year he greeted them by name. How I wanted Santa to do the same for me. I wanted that so bad my teeth hurt. Did he not remember me because I was the baby of a long string of toe-headed children? Or because I hadn't been quite good enough? I tried extra hard this year, even going so far as to apologize to my Sunday school teacher for missing class when I had the flu last spring.

"Children, line up in an orderly fashion. One line, don't push. Jason, let the little ones go first, please."

Sister Beal put us in line and of course, the lambs from the Nativity program never got to go first. The angels and of course Mary and Joseph always seemed to get positioned in the front of the line. Had they been better? Was that why they got to line up first? I couldn't hold my green monster of jealousy at bay and scowled at the back of Mary's head. The wool of my costume scratched my bare legs without mercy. It seemed the longer I had to wear it, the hotter the cultural hall got and the more uncomfortable I became. Why did my grandparents have to be so generous to offer real lambs' wool for each of the plays lambs to wear? Why, just for once, couldn't my grandparents be chicken farmers and donate the feathers for the angels wings? Maybe then I would get to stand on the risers and sing or better yet, be at the front of the line. But then, grandpa had been ill this year and he was getting old, too old to change professions.

At last my turn to sit on Santa's lap approached. I heard Santa greet my cousin.

"Merry Christmas, Jacob. Have you been a good boy this year?"

Of course Jacob lied and didn't tell Santa about how he and his brothers teased us girls. Maybe Jacob had confessed or something 'cause he hadn't teased me for weeks. Did Santa work hand-in-hand with God? Was Santa, God? He was here every year for our children's Christmas program. Maybe… I rejected the idea and hastily repented. I'd have to do more repentant confessing when I got home and especially on Sunday. But if they worked together and God knew my thoughts… had I just ruined my chances for Santa to remember me by name? Did it work that way?

 I peered closely at the aging man. Santa looked tired this year. His 'ho, ho, ho' sounded half hearted. His eyes didn't twinkle and I somehow knew his smile, if he had one under his snowy beard, had to be forced. He didn't even let the children sit on his lap. Had that wicked bully, Johnny Walters, broken Santa's lap for the rest of us? He probably did. Broke his smile, too.

I stepped closer, my heart going out to this aging man who worked so hard all year to make Christmas special for all the children everywhere. His gaze fell on me and I knew. He didn't really know me. He recognized me as one of the children in the community, but he didn't remember my name.

He motioned me closer with his red sleeved arm, his gloved hand stiff, just like my grandpa's. I knew grandpa's was stiff from driving a team of horses in the freezing cold, three years earlier. He'd gotten frost bite and nearly lost his fingers. Maybe Santa had the same thing happen with driving his magical team of reindeer.

I moved to his side but held myself erect, not wanting to wear Santa out before the other children got a chance to meet him this year.

"Ho, ho, ho…if it isn't another Jorgensen child. My, my how you've grown this year. You've got to be what? Seven, eight?" He pulled me close and I could smell his shaving cream. It reminded me of my grandpa-- my grandpa and his wide leather shaving strap. I had no idea how grandpa could sharpen his razor on a leather strap, I just knew I feared that strap even if he'd never tanned my hide with it. It hung in the bathroom and I knew, I just knew if I misbehaved at grandpa's house, I was in for a world of hurt.

Shaving cream…wait a minute. Santa didn't shave. Obviously he had a generous beard. By this time I had completely forgotten Santa's greeting.

"Cat got your tongue? Well, little one," I wasn't that little. I was the tallest girl in my third grade class at school. "Tell me what you want for Christmas."

I pulled back from his casual hug, searching his eyes and whispered, "I want a doll that wets, but most of all, I want you to remember my name."

I'll never forget the tears that formed in Santa's eyes when I said that. Santa pulled me close enough that I was the only one to hear. "I'll always remember my shoshkin."

My eyes flew wide. Santa knew me! Not only did he know me, but he knew my grandpa's nickname for me. That's why he'd never used my given name. That year my baby doll arrived under the Christmas tree with 'Shoshkin' on the nametag.

Horses and Toboggans Don't Mix

Inviting you to share a sneak peak at the January/February Issue of Good Old Days 2015 which I wrote under the byline of Serena March.

Horses and Toboggans Don't Mix

Tobogganing just isn't fun without speed. But if you are banned from the hills where the big kids get to sled and you are too young to carry the toboggan very far, how do you have fun?

I'm not entirely sure who came up with the brainy idea to hitch the toboggan to the horse but we did it. We found a couple lengths of rope which we tied together to make it longer. In retrospect the ropes probably showed signs of wear in a few places. After all, we did pull them out of the snow near a farm and we all know that things left lying around on a farm are usually not in good condition. I can't even be sure of the length, only that we tied the combined length to the toboggan's rope, through one stirrup around the saddle horn, twice, back through the other stirrup and tied it again on the toboggan's original rope. One must be sure to have enough length to not get kicked by the horse's flying hooves. I think that was the smartest part of our plan. Of course we didn't take into consideration that rope tied onto rope tends to slide when pulled taunt.

All was well with my horse as I rode and trotted through the snowy field. I loved hearing the snow skitter across the frozen surface as hooves broke through the thin crust. Horses, toboggans and blindingly bright snow numbed me to the cold but things got complicated when it was my turn to ride the toboggan. Maybe my girlfriend wasn't as good a rider as I always thought she was. Maybe she and my horse just didn't get along. Or more probably the rope slid where it needed to but where it 'bothered' my horse. Translation: Fillies, and sometime mares, kick at things across their hind quarters that they don't understand or expect.

Sliding at a walk is great if you are on foot, or better yet, on ice and trying to slide but not so much so on a toboggan. Toboggans need speed!

But maybe yelling for more speed from the ground behind your horse isn't wise, especially when you take the rope into consideration. I just remember a lot of very cold and icy snow flying in my face and my friend's shrieks as we barreled over the field, the horse managing a funky crow-hop once in a while. Shrieks morphed into screams as we barreled through the gate and across the dirt road with a car coming. From there I seem to recall the down slope of a rather steep gully. I do clearly remember glancing over at my friend and thinking, "Isn't the horse supposed to be pulling me?"

Keep in mind a length of rope on either side of a horse and its flying hooves at a frightful speed, and less than ideal conditions for the intelligent. What happened then is a blur. Since a spooked horse runs where it wants to without regard to shallow youth while a toboggan, unless moved from its track, will take the shortest course downhill, things were not beautifully in tandem. I think the horse clipped the toboggan with a hoof or two sending it sideways. My friend ended up in the rough packed snow at the bottom of the gully. I managed some sort of head plant in the opposite bank with the toboggan across my legs and we spent the rest of the afternoon trying to catch my horse, which we managed when the horse reached home. We learned a valuable lesson that day, even if our exploits were less than euphoric--Toboggans and horses don't mix.

Beautiful One by Mary Cope

Young Adult

Elizabeth “Liz” Ryan excels in her high school studies while her twin, Mason, excels on stage with his band as well as in the looks department. When the new guy, Aiden Mitchell, comes to town, his lack of interest ignites her determination to make a change.

This is an enjoyable coming of age romance encouraging teens to make wise choices.

For full review visit http://indtales.com

Subscribe to e magazine for free and get reviews every month. 

Happy Thanksgiving

Dreaded Thanksgiving Tradition

With the holiday season descending upon us many traditions are looked forward to. Others will be sadly missed. And still others earned at one time or another the title of:

Dreaded Thanksgiving Tradition

1960's

Every year on Thanksgiving we had special guests, Grandma and Grandpa. We could see their house from our front window but they only came to visit once a year--on Thanksgiving. And they never stayed past desert. I even remember one of my older sisters being notified to make the call. The phone call, on the party line, to Grandma and Grandpa informing them that the turkey was coming out of the oven. They were that close.

Maybe this is strange to some, but I was a child and didn't know differently. I remember asking why they never came at Christmas and being informed that they bypassed us on Christmas to go further up the lane to our cousin's house. I was miffed until Mother smoothed it over with explaining that there were two houses of grand-kids up there and none of us, including me when I got older, wanted to combine three families of rowdy kids under the age of seventeen in one house. Don't get me wrong, I love my cousins, even the boy cousins my age, but twenty kids locked indoors for hours because it is too cold outside to do play or do chores? I'll take Grandma and Grandpa on Turkey day.

Every year had a few new and interesting twists, but of one thing I could always count on--Grandpa saying the prayer. Okay, so he is the patriarch and it is his right, but we kids dreaded that prayer. In his younger years, Grandpa was the Bishop of our sprawled community. Need I elaborate?

Didn't think so.

Love the man to death but when he prayed the sun went to sleep. He mentioned every kid by name and thanked the Lord for them and especially if the youth had accomplished something important in the past year-- learned how to milk a cow, including stripping it, graduate high school the previous spring, lost a tooth, anything at all. Lest you think that isn't bad, he didn't conclude there. He prayed over every field, I seem to recall two ranches and a lot of hay and potato fields. That done he would move on to the herd of sheep notated by how many lambs the ewes had dropped last spring. From there he covered the herd of cattle, both the milk cows and the ones going to market and the livestock expected to drop more offspring in the coming year. Did I mention the chickens, the geese, the gardens and the orchards? But wait, we aren't done! He had to mention those neighbors that had weathered an overly difficult year and those whose lives were prosperous before turning his prayer to one of blessing the coming year.

I shouldn't bore you with all this except that I really need you to sympathize with me when I admit to drinking my shrimp cocktail long before the closing "amen(s)". Hey, I was a kid and I knew the turkey would be cold--again, along with the homemade stuffing, the green beans and the jell-o salad.

All I can say is that these days the turkey still doesn't taste right if it isn't room temperature. Of course, the rolls were hot as they had been kept in the warmer, but if you weren't fast, you got the frozen ones that didn't fit. Can you really blame a kid for dreading the families Thanksgiving Tradition?

I Will Sing My Songs for You by Harry McGilloway

Contemporary Romance

Simon – christened Steven Kelly, is a successful musician and front man of Simon and the Heartbeats. A song writer in need of a break, he rents a cottage in the rural Inishowen of Donegal County looking to reconnect with his art.

Full review at http://indtales.com

Subscribe for free today.

Dare to linger here on an autumn afternoon...

Aged but well kept.
What might one find in the barnyard or in the barn?

Ava's Wishes by Karen Pokras

Contemporary romance

Ava Haines is a senior at Wolfenson College pulling a double major, Art and Business, while she works as an intern in her chosen career at a thriving gallery nearby where her talents are indispensable. Max Wallis is the last nude model for the art department winter semester...

That is not the half of it. This book is nominated for a RONE which will be awarded September 2015. The competition is stiff. Check out his full review and more at http://indtales.com  While you're there, subscribe for free!.
 

Blackwood Crossing by M.K. McClintock

Historical Romance

Rhona Davidson, a Scottish lass requiring a protective escort, is forced to make a choice—loyalty to her family, meaning a marriage to a man she despises, or following her heart and becoming involved once more with a man she has vowed she would never love again. 

I loved this book with its historical background, even if I am a relatively new reader to the genre. Read the whole review at http://indtale.com  Subscribe to the e magazine for more reviews.

InD'Scribe Con

http://bit.ly/indscribe
http://bit.ly/InDConRooms

Ready? Get Set...Carve!

Not sure if I heard this somewhere before or if I came up with this, but... sharing here.

Question: Why is Halloween the first festivity of the holiday season?

Answer: So that no matter how frightful your efforts, you succeed!

We all need success, why not grab this holiday to stir up some?

So many beautiful jack-o-lantern photos on the web to share. Actually too many. No, I did not carve any of these and have no claim on any of them. My effort for this festivity is to enjoy the ones I see (and share a few here!)

The Best Medicine by Tracy Brogan

The sexy and successful plastic surgeon, Dr. Evelyn Rhodes manages to survive the ninja birthday party complete with tiara and sparkly confetti on her thirty-fifth birthday, but a call to ER to stitch up one very perfectly symmetrical Tyler Connelly puts her happily single status at odds with her raging pheromones. 

Checkout the full professional review to this fun contemporary romance at http://indtale.com

From the Frozen Depths Children of the King – Book Three by Gloria Clover

Princess Padar Lacer arrives on Dharani Island anxious to meet the people she will rule and serve but a case of hasty misunderstanding sweeps her off to a rather chilling and dangerous encounter. Her medic training has not prepared her to be a sponge to the military commander, Jym Fountayn in this Inspirational Speculative Fiction.

If you like a mixture of your genres; Inspirational, Science Fiction, Speculative and Romance this may be the perfect fix for you. If not? Well, you will still want to check this one out. Start with reading the full professional review at http://indtale.com

Playing Cupid (Heavenly Bites Novella #3) by Christine S. Feldman

For Aimee Beasley living with Grams is a joy, a choice she has happily made even if it means being Grams favorite project, as in trying to fix Aimee up with every available bachelor in the neighborhood. Aimee knows Grams means well and is anxious to return the romantic favor... 

Check out the award nominated novella's review at http://indtale.com

I loved this story!

Calling All Historical Authors!

https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=662825403833021&set=a.168859033229663.35699.100003167037905&type=1

This is an exciting opportunity for Historical genre authors. Share your knowledge and get exposure to other authors and readers alike. This is a continuing column so there is no specific deadline. Submit today!

Breaking News!

http://bit.ly/InDScribeFacebook

This news is so BIG we had to give you almost a whole year to save the date, reserve your lodgings, make travel plans and of course--get there!!!!!

Reviews to watch for:

Playing Cupid (Heavenly Bites Novella)    by Christina S. Feldman   Short Romance
The Best Medicine                                       by Tracy Brogan               Romance
From the Frozen Depths (Children of the King Series) by Gloria Clover   Inspirational Romance
I Will Sing My Songs for You                      by Harry McGilloway       Contemporary
Ava's Wishes                                                by Karen Poktras                Contemporary Romance
Beautiful One                                               by Mary Cope                      Young Adult - Romance

It's been a busy couple of months with reading these novels and a few more. Stop by on Sundays for a sneak peak at my full reviews where they can be found at InDTale.com
Signing up is free and there are a lot more reviews by other professionals just like me. At InDTales, we support indy authors and small publishers.At InDTales, we make quality reads easier for you to find and download.
(Download book for purchase from Amazon by clicking on cover art. Sorry, I don't feel it wise to offer the same service here.)

Happy reading!
Note: As a professional reviewer, I cannot accept requests to read and review manuscripts personally. Thanks for understanding.
But hey, if your book is polished and ready to publish, why not submit it to InDTales for a free, honest and professional review! See enclosed links for submission guidelines.

The 25th Hour by Jaye Garland

Sheridan Wells, a Houston architect, accidentally falls through the fabric of time in a way that keeps the reader searching for the cause as much as the character does in 1877. 

For full review, please visit: http://indtale.com

Cub Creek by Grace Greene

Libbie Havens likes being on her own and when she stumbles upon an old home on Cub Creek she buys it. Her cousin, Liz, isn't sure it is the right thing to do and Libbie finds her decision fraught with challenges. 

To read full review visit: http://indtale.com