In Her Hands Update

Just when I thought I was doing an awesome job on In Her Hands, I took a hard look at the word count and choked, only 45,000! Cough, cough and this rough draft is done. Time to go back and fill out the pages before the climax (currently sitting at page 116). Yikes! I only need to write 30-40 pages of description, details, sequels, and maybe a bit of back story... Back to the writing cave for me…

Key Chain Charm



Mock up before binding into charm



Ordering my Charm for Dark Days of Promise. Loving the looks of it! It costs more than an e-copy of the book, but (me singing) - I'm so vain, this key chain is all about my book…

http://myemail.constantcontact.com/2014-ANWA-Writers-Conference--Time-Out-For-Writers.html?soid=1107257096875&aid=nuIz1dCK7jU

http://myemail.constantcontact.com/2014-ANWA-Writers-Conference--Time-Out-For-Writers.html?soid=1107257096875&aid=nuIz1dCK7jU

WIP Update

In Her Hands (Book Two), which follows Her Promise is well under way. I'm so excited to tell "more of the story." Book Three, His Journey will tell the rest of the story. Who knows how it will end? Or where?

Her Promise and In Her Hands Update

I'm so excited! Swoon Romance has asked for the full manuscript of Her Promise! Thank you, Mandy Schoen and Louise Gornall for giving me this opportunity. The full manuscript has been sent and now we go into round two of the waiting game with Swoon Romance. Cross your fingers, let your engines idle, maybe even a prayer or two (if that is your thing).

What will I be doing during the next 6 - 8 weeks? Writing, of course! Mercedes has her story to tell and she has my ear (and my fingers) for In Her Hands.

Trevor? Poor baby, he has to be a gentleman and wait, if he can stand the pain… hehehe yes, there is a reason for his pain…

Yikes!

That was a quick turnaround! Harlequin (Corina Press) doesn't want Her Promise.

Good news though. They invited me to submit any future Romance I may write.

WIP Update

It's been a busy week and with a few unexpected changes to my baby, the biggest being her name.

You've read the announcements, but this one is the final (until a publisher adds their two cents.) The title she went to the publishers with is Her Promise. Why have I finally settled on this title, you ask? Because it is all about the protagonist's promise made and kept at great sacrifice.

Sizzle Non-kiss Style Part 3

"Close your eyes and trust me."

She gazed at the controlled smoldering of his eyes before she allowed her eyelids to slide shut. With his fingers spread wide, he placed his hands on her hips. A moment later he held her buttocks. His hands roamed up her back. With his left hand at her back, he caressed her arm with his right. His caress didn't stop there but continued up her arm to her neck. His touch continued feather like as his fingers traced around her ear, along her jaw bone, each of her lips, across her cheek, up to the outer edge of her eye and back to her ear. At the same time his warm breath marked the same path pausing at her lips.

Sizzle Non-kiss Style Part 2

Experience told her she better not tease him with her answer, but bursts of unwelcome sexual acts demanded to be thrust to the foreground of her thoughts. She wanted more of his kisses, but she didn't want him to take advantage of her. "Yes and no."

Trevor raised his eyebrow, a decadent smirk etching his features with smoldering heat. Placing his hand, fingers spread on her abdomen, he moved her back until she bumped against the horse and saddle. Duke sidestepped.

"Whoa." Trevor commanded the animal. Duke stood firm. Trevor kept his hand as he'd placed it until horse and Porsche stood firm. "I'm not going to kiss you."

Porsche gulped in anticipation.

Trevor stepped closer until she could feel the heat of his body.

And Start Your Engines, the Heat is just starting. Sizzle Non-kiss Style.

"Shh." He came around the front of Duke, pausing to rub the horse's nose. He resumed his deliberate observation, this time beginning at her feet, pausing at her hips with a sultry expression. A smile pulled at the corner of his lips.  His gaze meandered to her bosom briefly while he moved to stand in front of her, his attention on her lips.

"You are a lecherous man," Porsche accused, her breathing irregular with expectancy.

"If I'm not mistaken, you are the lascivious vixen that hinted at more of my brand of 'doctoring' a few minutes ago. Do you know what you want?"

Porsche knew she wanted him to kiss her. She also wanted him to touch her, to caress the curves he had so blatantly evaluated. Her mouth went dry. She licked her lips.

WIP Update - New and improved Title

Beta Readers comments all merged and applied! Whoot! Thank you Betas! Great job! Now for another go over by yours truly to see what looks out of place and yes, there are always a few things.
Writing Cave it is for me again tomorrow, but this time I get to sit back and enjoy the ride.
Big Change today the title...instead of Porsche's Prologue, I'm going with...Sworn Off Men...

WIP Update

Porsche's Prologue, Book One in the Arbon Connection Trilogy, is now in the hands of beta readers.

My turn to balance on the tender hooks. Six readers, six opinions. Sleepless nights and long days. Wait with me and I'll share their overall impressions. (This is almost more nerve raking than waiting for Tuesday and the Award ceremony where My Constant Companion is being represented.)

Sharing My Latest Victory

Dear Shaunna:

Congratulations! Your entry titled My Constant Companion is a finalist in the autobiography category for 2013 Writers Unite to Fight Cancer Writing Contest: The Drive to Thrive.

We hope you or a representative will be able to attend the Awards Ceremony on Tuesday September 24th, 2013 at Changing Hands Bookstore located at 6458 S. McClintock in Tempe, Arizona.

You will be contacted in the next couple of weeks by a WUFC editor to work with you on polishing your project for publication in the Drive to Thrive Anthology.

Well done! Thank you for supporting Writers Unite to Fight Cancer.

Margaret Turley, WUFC Administrator

Tension in Every Scene

"Shh." He came around the front of Duke, pausing to rub the horse's nose. He resumed his deliberate observation, this time beginning at her feet, pausing at her hips with his expression growing knowing when his gaze rested on her bosom briefly before standing in front of her, his attention on her lips.

"You are a lecherous man," Porsche accused.

"If I'm not mistaken, you are the lascivious vixen that hinted at more of my brand of 'doctoring' a few minutes ago. Do you know what you want?"

Porsche knew better than to tease him with her answer, but she owed him an answer. She wanted more of his kisses, but she didn't want him to take advantage of her. "Yes and no ."

The preceeding is the last bit written in my WIP today.

Natasaza Waters reminds me and many of her other author friends of this today.

Another WIP Update

Don't you hate it when an author and blogger (in this case, me) hides in their writing cave for weeks without out a sound?

My apologizes. But I don't promise it will never happen again. (I've been fighting with Blogger you know.) Blogger has won but I think I've figured it out. Don't hold your breath.

Some of you have watched me share tidbits of what I'm working on over at Facebook and it dawned on me that I re3ally should share here as well. So recently I've been tagged to share the last paragraph that I've completed in my WIP. Tough in my situation as I'm cutting, pasting and rewriting to back it stronger, bigger faster than it was before…oh wait, that might have been the Six Million Dollar Man.

Joking aside, here are a couple of paragraphs from Porsche's Prologue, book one in the Arbon Trilogy.

"I remember a horse squealing, you know that shrill scream between a whinny and a stallion's whistling call?  It made my hair stand on end. It still does. I found out later it was Buckle. She had step on a hollow lava bomb, she must have busted through and broken her leg," her voice hitched.

"I was lucky she couldn't break free. She probably would have trampled me. I couldn't move. I tried to, until I saw the snakes. Hundreds of them slithering and coiling to rattle. I couldn't move then and I knew. I knew they were going to get me." She stared at the ground several feet away as if the snakes were there and yet her tone remained calm, her expression vacant. "I don't know why they didn't bite me. They should have. I should have been bitten a hundred times or more, but I wasn't."

Before you stone me, this is the manuscript with the flying or is it dancing(?) goat.

WIP Update

Today is a BIG day for me. I have completed the rough draft of "Torrid Summer Heat."
This is my most recent romance novel with just a hint of PTSD. I'm so excited to learn more about PTSD and how it isn't limited to those who have served or are currently serving in the armed forces.
From here it is time to start the polishing process, not always a pretty task but totally necessary to bring you, the readers a novel you can get lost in.
With a list of things to watch for, reminders to KISS (Keep It Simple Stupid) (Okay, that isn't what veterans know it as), a submission guideline to tweek the manuscript to, and a colledtion of notes to myself, I'm headed back to my writing hole. I promise to come up for air and sustenance as needed.

Even death holds Dark Days of Promise…

Newly widowed Vicki Laramie is struggling to make ends meet. While her three children grapple with the death of their father, she must find a way to support her family and find a role model for her boys.

When her best friend's, brawny son, Kelly Chase, returns from the sand box of war it doesn't take long for Vicki's children to encompass him with their affections. But Kelly has secrets that could harm those who love him most.

When tender empathy meets deadly reflexes, the attraction explodes into lethal violence between opposing forces. Vicki must choose who she will trust, with her strongest ally absent; she has no one to lean on but herself. If she chooses poorly her children will be deprived of both parents.

One of those days in which I'm wishing I were somewhere else but know I'm where I should be. Life is tough.
Where do I want to be? you might be asking. At the RONE's in Las Vegas of course!
Where am I instead? In front of my laptop dropping a bombshell on my main character for your entertainment. (Does it count that the character is in Las Vegas?)
The question now is: How long should I make the poor guy suffer? Of course on another plate, he has suffered a lot. (On more pages than I want to let you know at this point!)
So who is this character? Funny you should ask, his name is Trevor Palmer, eligible bachelor at 26 and retired CEO of Prestige Pool Company. He's got nothing to lose...or does he? Could it be that his dream has already cost him too much?
I'm toying with the title of this one still. my latest brainstorm that fits the best? Loves Cost
Thoughts?

More goat dancing!



Photo from aux.tv
Not quite Houdini but this could be his sibling

                                                                           Chapter

The sound of tires squealing and the scream of a train whistle punctured the otherwise still morning. Porsche's head jerked up, her attention whipped from the display of aquamarine novelty tchotchkes. Unable to see through the front window of the hardware store from her vantage point, her gaze shifted to Uncle Reinhold in askance. Reinhold Kowallis reflected his German ancestry in every way, from the blue of his eyes and sandy blond hair to his square jaw and broad shoulders that carried considerable muscle mass. Uncle Reinhold could be stern and his temper, when riled could be dangerous, but his tenacity proved invaluable in hard times.

Uncle Reinhold didn't spare a glance in her direction. ""Mrs. Harper's goat is out again."

Porsche could almost hear the German accent in his words, and yet he'd never left the states. "Again?"

"You best be after him before he causes an accident. That woman needs a better fence to keep her animal off the highway. 'Course it'd help if these out-of-towners knew anything about country driving."

"What makes you say that?" Porsche asked, taking her gray True Value smock off over her head.

"The Nevada plates on that red pick-up." Uncle Reinhold pointed out the door. "Nobody else in these parts would have a horn like that."

Porsche hurriedly straightened her long auburn hair after removing the smock. Uncle Reinhold owned the hardware store and had willingly offered Porsche her old job back when she'd returned home three weeks ago. He was a good and gentle boss, and although not related allowed Porsche and her younger sister, Mercedes, to call him "Uncle." He and his recently deceased wife, Pauline had spent many hours in their home when the girls were small, almost as many hours as they had spent in the Kowallis home growing up. Uncle Reinhold wore glasses on the tip of his nose when peering over the books, which he insisted must be kept the old-fashioned way. Now they dangled from a rather feminine looking chain at his neck. Somehow they seemed to make his huge six feet in height and brawny muscles less noticeable.

"I don't know how long I'll be gone. That horn probably made him skittish."

"More like dancin' to the music. You run along. Think of this as an early lunch hour," Uncle Reinhold tsked.

 "Sorry," Porsche called over her shoulder, pushing through the doors.

"Ya been lookin' for excitement since you came home. Here it is. Take your time."

Mrs. Levenski climbed out of her SUV, her Great Dane pushed to exit his confines. "Duke, quiet. Stay."

Porsche placed a hand on Mrs. Levenski's shoulder intending to hurry past the retired school teacher. "You have a nice day. Take it easy on Reinhold. Don't buy too much fabric. You know how he is about cutting yardage. I've left him alone to mind the store."

"Should I come back later?"

"And hurt his feelings? Are you kidding? Just watch him." Porsche continued the joking banter. Uncle Reinhold was notorious for giving the ladies an extra quarter of a yard just in case he measured wrong.

"Are you going try and catch that stray?" Mrs. Levenski asked, pointing toward the Arty's Burgers with its goat dancing act.

"I am." Porsche wished for the first time all morning that she would have taken the time to at least change out of her boots after her morning check on the horses. Too late now. Hopefully Houdini didn't plan on a site seeing trip today. She didn't need a 5K run, or walk today.

"Here." Mrs. Levenski's single word reflected years of commanding throngs of noisy youth. Porsche stopped in her tracks, turning back to the woman.

Mrs. Levenski thrust a thick walking leash toward her. "I think you might need this. Houdini's collar might not feel too good in your hands after you drag him ten blocks toward home."

Porsche retraced her steps, accepting the short leash. "Thanks."

Porsche walked across the street in the direction of the partying animal. She watched Houdini dance on the table top, shaking her head. Houdini was just like every goat, inquisitive to a fault, and always needing to climb anything and everything he could and when his little hooves managed to make clicking sounds, so much the better. In this case, she hoped the wether goat's vanity with making his own music would prove helpful today. An old blue pickup rolled to a stop in the restaurant parking lot.

"Need some help?" the driver asked.

"Some food to bait him would help."

The guy reached into a bag. Porsche could hear the rustling of fast food wrappers. The driver stuffed half of his egg muffin sandwich in his mouth, using both hands to manage the food and keep it from falling to his shirt front. He tugged the sausage free and handed the rest to her. "Here. You owe me breakfast, Porsche."

She turned and took a good look at him. Vinnie Espinoza, the only German Latino in the entire valley. He'd asked her out a few times in high school and she'd said no then, the answer was the same now, even if he had matured from a baby face to a nice looking guy. He still ate like a slob. She didn't need to complicate her life with what he would most likely expect to follow a breakfast with him.

"Thanks. I'm not eating this." She waved the food at him."Ask Mrs. Harper for breakfast. Her goat is gonna eat it."

She shifted the muffin to her left hand and stuffed the leash into her back pocket, just as she did every time she had to catch her dad's ornery horse, Buck. Most horses could be bribed with a little grain or a sweet carrot, hopefully Houdini could be bribed with fast food. She hoped the breeze was stirring the air just enough to catch the wether goat's attention.

"Hey, Hoody," Porsche purred the nickname she'd given the animal years ago. "Hungry?"

She stepped closer; the goat looked at her and bleated. Was he laughing? Or asking her why she hadn't visited him in so long?

"Hoody want a muffin?" She continued to drone seductively and waved the food in front of the goat. "It tastes good. Not that you're that picky. Come on, you remember me don't you? I won't hurt you."

The goat pranced to the near side of the table. She slowly slipped the leash out of her pocket. Houdini stuck his neck out, greedy for the fragrant muffin that was now devoid of its sausage. Porsche knew better than to let the goat eat out of her hand and carefully maneuvered the muffin to spare her fingers. The egg dropped to the table top. She quickly snapped the leash onto Houdini's collar and patiently waited for the goat to finish his breakfast. The goat was on the leash, the easy part done. Now Porsche had the more difficult job of wrangling the animal to his pen in Mrs. Harper's back yard. She persuaded the bleating creature to leave the table. With any luck, this would be like taking a dog for a walk. She started across the drive thru lane.

The shrill whistle of a train horn sounded causing Porsche and Houdini both to jump and when Houdini ran, Porsche followed to the corner before managing to bring the 150 pounds of runaway under control. Porsche glared at the driver of the red truck, watching it as it pulled out on the highway that was also the town's main street.

"Oh buddy, you are so lucky that I'm German instead of a Romanian gypsy, I'd put one heck of a curse on you." She tugged at the leash. "Houdini, you got any Romanian blood in you? Can you at least give him the evil eye?"

Houdini bleated in answer, trotting happily beside her. Apparently, the asphalt surface was as good as the table top, without being climbed on. Things went well until they left the paved roadway. Forty-five minutes later, after pushing and pulling the rest of the way she deposited the animal behind the chain link fence.

"Mrs. Harper," Porsche explained for the umpteenth time. "Houdini loves to climb. And when you pull his shelter over by the fence, he climbs it. When he gets board, he jumps off and goes for a walk in town. Unless you move it back to the center of the pasture, he's gonna keep getting out."

"But the pasture needs to get watered."

"Next time I'm just going to call Sheriff Zupan. You know he's given you plenty of warnings. And Mrs. O'Leary was none too happy about having her trees stripped. One of these times Sheriff Zupan will write you a ticket or worse, Houdini just won't come home." She didn't have the heart to add he might be dead. Of course she didn't want any harm to come to Houdini. She'd held him when he was just a week-old kid and when Mrs. Harper had finally complied with city zoning and sold the rest of her goats years ago, Porsche had visited often to comfort the kid. Now he'd grown to an inquisitive wether goat. Thank goodness Mrs. Harper had had him castrated when he was six months old.

Porsche's comment inferring the worst for Houdini, got Mrs. Harper's attention. "I'll take care of it. I promise. Thank you again for bringing him home. I'll fix you dinner this Friday."

"Don't worry about it. Fix Vinnie Espinosa breakfast and call it all square."

The walk back to the hardware store gave Porsche time to reevaluate her goals somewhat. Grandmother's decision to support Mercedes, Porsche's younger sister, at ISC rather than continuing to support Porsche had stung. She'd tried to finish the necessary schooling on a very tight budget, taking a few too many credits. Her plan had backfired and she would have to repeat the classes. In the mean time, she was forced out of her student housing and had returned home. Uncle Reinhold had proven good for his word, giving Porsche her old job back. This time she would pinch every dime rather than driving to and from work, going to movies in American Falls and hanging out at the local bar with guys like Vinnie.

Her walk was much shorter without Houdini's company and she reached the Maverick Gas Station about the same time she promised herself that nothing, not tight funds, lack of entertainment or even a guy would keep her from becoming a Physical Therapist. Her commitment renewed, she looked up and recognized a recent model red pick-up glistening in the sunshine, parked off to the side of the converted coffee shop windows. Maybe Houdini had managed to curse the vehicle, but couldn't the curse go to work after the guy left town?



New review from Stephanie Burkhart

Gonzales pens a story that will tug on your heartstrings with "Dark Days of Promise." Vicki Laramie is struggling to raise three children when she learns her ex-husband is killed in Iraq. Kelly Chase has just left the Army and suffers from PTSD. Can they help each other through their dark days to find happiness?

The story opens with a realistic look at Vicki's struggles. Thankfully, her neighbor, Janine, gives her the emotional and steadfast support Vicki needs to get by. Enter Janine's son, Kelly. He's just left military service, but finds adjustment to civilian life a challenge. Despite their attraction, Vicki and Kelly are challenged at every turn. When something traumatic happens to both of them, will it prove to be the turning point both of them need to move on with their lives?

Gonzales' writing style is easy to read and she handles the first person narrative well. The plot moves at a nice clip.

The best part of the novel is how Gonzales taps into emotions. Phillip is the teenager you want to ground for life, yet he's sympathetic as well, searching for the one person to help "ground" him.  Vicki is honest and real and raw. Kelly struggles with issues many do upon returning from war. The supporting cast is just as endearing. Gonzales isn't afraid to show us their strengths, vulnerabilities, and weaknesses.

The story has a spiritual element, but doesn't come off as "preachy." In fact, Gonzales does an excellent job showing the power of faith in a very natural way. The story is sweet for romance readers, with the main characters holding hands and kissing. In fact, it was nice to read a "sweet" romance that didn't feel forced. Overall, "Dark Days of Promise" offers hope in the face of adversity and is a heartwarming story. I highly recommend it.

For more interesting stuff from Stephanie, go to her blog.http://sgcardin.blogspot.com

Fun Scene---(or st least the first part of it)---as promised!

Chapter

Trevor simultaneously slammed on his brakes and hit his horn. Astonishment coursed through his veins at the sound of a train whistle emanating from his newly acquired truck. He had little time to wonder while keeping his vehicle from swerving out of control. He pumped the brakes again and came to a stop. The goat did little more than look at the bright red truck and continue munching on whatever it held in its mouth. A bag bounced across the street, carried by the morning breeze. Contending with a four-footed creature for the right-of-way on a busy thoroughfare wasn't what Trevor had bargained for on his visit to what he expected would be a quiet adventure to Arbon, Idaho.

The goat bounded after the dancing plastic bag. Trevor let off the pressure on his brakes allowing his truck to roll forward in the goats wake. Entertained by the unexpected distraction, Trevor watched the frolicking animal as it chased the bag and jumped high in the air after it. Amused, Trevor pulled into the fast food restaurant's parking lot. The little black and white critter scampered first one way and then the other after the bag and even slipped on the pavement once while pirouetting in its pursuit. Trevor chuckled; the goat looked like he had airplane wings for ears! The animal skidded to a halt, bleated a moment and bounded toward the brightly colored picnic tables. With acrobatic ease that would make the goat's cousin, the mountain goat proud, the animal high tailed it onto the bright yellow table surface. The goat appeared to square his white neck and shoulders, much like a prize fighter returning to a bout and immediately began prancing and dancing.

A young woman, dressed in her work smock, exited the restaurant and confronted the four footed dancer. Unimpressed by the human's efforts to scare him away, the goat jumped off the yellow table and just as easily mounted the blue table top. Trevor half expected the goat to kick the previous diner's remains off the table to make room for his performance. Instead the goat snatched up the paper plate and started munching away.

The young woman approached waving her arms wildly to startle the animal. He merely stared at her, bleated and continued munching what Trevor assumed was a syrupy plate. Beaten by the uninvited patron, the frustrated young woman returned inside. Trevor watched the goat, several questions running through his mind. Whose goat wandered the streets of this small town? Did they know their goat was terrorizing what appeared to be the only fast-food establishment in town? How long would the goat occupy the table top?

Trevor mentally shook himself. This goat had nothing to do with why he was here. The only thing this interlude accomplished was a much needed break from his long drive. When he took a few minutes to relax, he had to admit he was famished. Maybe with a not breakfast, instead of a granola bar, he would manage to organize a game plan. He had little to go on other than his grandfather's journal. He had all summer to find the mine, if it really existed, and the riches the journal described. One thing at a time, and the first thing was to satisfy his hunger.

Come back to learn who the goat belongs to, and how long the goat will occupy the table top.

Previous first chapter to WIP

A story of love and sacrifice

Lord, help thou my unbelief…

Chapter 1

"I'm sorry Porsche, I just can't continue to support both of you girls. I know this comes out of the blue, but I hope that you can understand why I feel I should help Mercedes finish school. She hasn't vacillated in her chosen field like you have. I just can't justify continuing to throw good money after bad. When you decide what you want, we'll talk again."

Porsche couldn't believe her ears. Grandmother Wilkes had offered to pay for college tuition for years. Because of Grandmother's assurance that Porsche's college education was going to be at Grandmother's expense, Porsche has spent her money on a car and explore various universities one semester at a time. Now, that decision was coming back to haunt her.

"I understand Grams. It just comes as a surprise."

"I know dear. I wouldn't have wanted this for the world, but my portfolio really took a hit when the company I invested in sold. The new owners are uninterested in the opinion of an old woman or her investment. Maybe you can find a job to pay for your schooling."

"I'm sure I can. Thanks Grams. I love you."

"I love you too, dear."

Porsche ended the call and set her smart phone on the coverlet of her bed before the tears invaded her evening.

In the weeks that followed, she made the most of her remaining days at UNLV. Making sure she didn't miss a single extracurricular activity that caught her interest, hoping that at least one would outshine all the others. It just wasn't happening.

The day she had to call home for money for the third time in a month was the day she decided to return home and take her old job back, working for Uncle Reinhold at the hardware store.

She and her twin sister, Mercedes, had worked summers for him. It was while working for him that she had earned enough to buy an old car. Dad had fixed it up and it served her well. Mercedes would become the only college student in the family and Porsche would be the daughter living at home. She had to earn money to get out of the small town of Arbon before it became too comfortable to leave.

(Okay, this isn't the fun scene I promised---Come back in a couple of days...)

WIP Update

My current project is succumbing to major revamping. The reason? Most readers don't associate with double climaxes even if they think they do. It is a programmed response from years of reading. Solution? Start smack dab in the middle of the first climax. (Okay, I already knew this but momentarily--as in for three months, got mentally stuck on 'what happens when a stranger comes to town.') Yes sir-reee that was and still is a fun scene.

(Me with my mind swirling) Wonder if I should share that scene with ya'all????) It would certainly give those of you who follow my work something to chew on for a few days…weeks…months…

Two edged sword…love it and can't wait and love it but wanting to kill me for not sharing more or getting the book to you sooner.

Humm…Do we understand that it takes longer to build a story that the reader can't put down than it takes to actually read the book?

Then there is finding the perfect publisher, fitting it into their publishing calendar. We could be a good year out with this one…maybe release a prequel on smashwords???

Your thoughts? Opinions? Or did I lose you guys when you didn't get all of The Talisman? You can click on the title here or the tab at the top of the page and read if you're interested.

Come back and help me figure out a good title for this one. Do I need tempt the winner with a free copy when it is released and seeing your name in print?

Celebrate Your Freedom!

Wishing the continuance of our freedoms to pursue happiness to each of you. Please celebrate responsibly.

An Addiction to words is a Tough Habit to Break.

After writing a short and having to carefully choose which words to use, it is possible that I enjoyed a limitless word count for this scene in my current WIP just a bit too much.

Seeing the pool area from inside the house didn't do it justice. The planters were arranged for paramount effect on the viewer inside, but outside, the greenery's varied layers invited the visitor to explore the large pool area without dripping into the waters cool depths. A fountain lavished the far side of the pool area with a constant flow of water, giving the area a refreshing music of sweet ambiance. Nestled within the green of the potted plants, near the shallow end of the pool, stood a cabana of vibrant yellow and blue striping overhead, and a heavy veil of yellows tied back to the corner posts giving them a sturdy yet yielding sway to any breeze that dared stir the air. The scent of roses lingered in the air. Porsche scanned the area to find the flowering bushes of deepest red nestled against the sandstone building. She momentarily craved the opportunity to repose here in this garden oasis, drinking in the sensations of luxury mixed with quiet pleasure.

Sedrick's nudge on her elbow grounded her, bringing her back to their purpose for being here. "He's over there by in the cabana."

Porsche took several steps in that direction, stopping short. Dr. Whipple's description of Mr. Palmer didn't include his apparent age. She had expected an elderly gentleman in a wheelchair. The man before them was anything but old. He sat looking the other direction, oblivious to their approach. His hair was dark and a bit on the shaggy side, definitely in need of a cut. His shoulders were wide and well muscled.

Sedrick stepped around her, walking up to Mr. Palmer without hesitation. She remained where she stood watching. Mr. Palmer turned his chair slightly and returned Sedrick's greeting. Something about him triggered a familiarity that she couldn't place. She stared at him, unseeing, trying in vain to place what it was.

Mr. Palmer's casual greeting and polite smile with which he greeted Sedrick froze when he looked her direction. A strange expression etched his otherwise handsome features.

"Don't worry man. She's a student. I'll be taking care of you and all your man needs. She don't even need to see your bits."

Writing a Pain-filled Story

Writing update, least you perceive that I'm waiting on my laurels for some humongous event.
While children focused on finishing the school year, yours truly focused on creating an autobiography.
 I'm very aware of those of you who have asked me to write my own story over the years. I've gently refused delving into painful memories of living with the pain. But with WUFC's (Writers Unite to Fight Cancer) founder asking for me to share my story in under 4000 words, I have at last acquiesced. The limited word count allowed me to touch on moments that illustrate my experience with Multiple sclerosis without reliving them intently. Doing so made the hard part of the task much easier. At last the tale is completed and with beta readers.
(Beta readers are skilled authors of my acquaintance that will shred my baby before returning it to me in the course of making it stronger, faster, better than it was before. Okay, maybe not faster.)
Lest you get too excited or begin to place me in hero status, be aware that I have ulterior motives and that it is for a good cause that I write. This autobiography will be submitted, with a nice out-of-pocket fee in WUFC's annual writing contest. Contest winners will be published and sales from the book will be donated to cancer research.
I'm proud to be a part of WUFC at this juncture in my life and will let you know how the piece does later this summer/fall. If it does well, I'll obviously encourage you to purchase the book (I probably will anyway.) And if the piece doesn't win, I'll share it here.
Until then my friends---
Live in the beauty of the sunlight,
Laugh with those who share your lives, and
Love more intently than you have before.

Get Your Crafty Little Hooks in 'em!

Some have asked, "What in the heck is a 'hook' and do I need one?"

Merriam-Webster's Collegiate Dictionary, Eleventh Edition has 7 definitions for the noun (we won't mess with the verb for this one.) The definition that we are interested in for this answer is 1 b: something intended to attract and ensnare So this is our goal in writing since there are literally over one hundred thousand books out there vying for the reader's attention.

The successful author must become an adept fisher. If you have met or know a fisherman, you very quickly learn that fishing is an art. The goal is not to catch every fish with a single hook on a single cast but several fish over a period of time. And we all know how fishing stories are all about the biggest fish and the one that got away.

In writing, our goal is to hook the reader, or fish, not once but over and over again. The more often, the better because not only with the fish come back to your fishing hole or book, but he/she will bring friends. We like friends, they buy more books.

(Me, wiggling my brows like the villain in the old silent movies.)

A 'hook', according to yours truly, is that single sentence that catapults the reader into a frenzy of unanswered questions. This is the 'sweet spot', but beware--you, the author, had better be prepared to answer the myriad of questions with a wide net. Don't run scared here. You have the tools, a vivid imagination and hopefully a plot, even if you are, like me, the occasional 'panster.'

I try to weave one of these 'hooks' into the end of almost all of my chapters. They can be as short as: I was pretty crazy. Which engenders the questions like:  Crazy stupid or crazy young or crazy in love or a few other crazies. What does she mean crazy? Crazy how?

On the other hand, the 'hook' can be a bit longer. As in: "It's taken care of, most of it anyway. Let's step into the hallway." Thus the questions hit a wider spectrum. What is 'it'? Taken care of, how? Most of it, what part wasn't? Why do they need to step into the hallway?

The tricky part of a hook is answering these questions in a believable way and without the dreaded INFO DUMP. Did I say that? Yep. But this is a topic for another day.

Let's return to how to handle the 'hook'. In a previous post we see that we are ending a chapter with a hook, but does it have to be the very last sentence(s) of the chapter? No, BUT it is recommended that the chapter end within one hundred (100) words of the 'hook'. Any more than that and the author risks losing the impact of the 'hook.' After all, the 'hook' is a tool used by authors to create that illusive 'page-turner.'

If you are a reader, you're reading this going 'so what?' I love this author and the way he/she writes. He/She never uses these things you call 'hooks.'

Oh contraire my dear friend. Maybe this tool is used so expertly you haven't noticed why you feel compelled to turn the page or buy the next book in the series.