Okay so I have been tres busy with little bitty other things aside from blogging these days and so I am not prepared for my Thursday tirade. I have a very ingenious mind though and decided to open the window of my office and let you in on a conversation I just had with my latest acquisition. An angel plant. As some of you know my book title is Avenging Angel, so my hubby's dear cousin bought me an angel plant to say congrats on the book.
But I digress.
The conversation went something like this:
So, little AP (short for angel plant) - what do you think? Nice place, huh? Gotta window for you right here, got plenty of air, light, water, the works. Think you'll like it?
AP: uh-uh. Not a chance.
Me: Why? I think it's a pretty decent place for a little potted guy.
AP: hey! don't you be casting disparaging remarks, you ain't so big yerself.
Me: Ah, a bit touchy, aren't we?
AP: ha! you try squatting in a planter all day.
Me: oh quit complaining. You don't have to do anything but sit there and soak up nutrients and look good. I brought you here to be cheery. You've hardly made it to semi-pleasant.
AP: Least I get noticed.
Me: What? Were you grown next to an acorn tree? You're nuts!
AP: hmm.. you're the one talking to me, sister.
And so on it went. I guess you could say I learned something from my office today. I hope you feel the love over here. :)
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Characterization
© Marta Stephens, 2008 all rights reserved
Characterization is one aspect of writing that most authors struggle with at one time or another. So where do you start? Let’s say you’ve determined who your character is, what he/she looks like. The writer needs to take it a step further -- find a way to make the character as real for the reader as the person standing next to them.
The writer will use description, action and dialogue as the base methods to build characterization. Through description, the writer tells something about the character such as height, eye/hair color, and disposition.
Example:
Mary, the slender brunette on the third seat of the bus, looked distraught.
Hmmm. Okay. A better way to describe a character, however, is through their actions and through dialogue. Both of these methods will give the reader a more vivid image of the character than description alone. Add description to action and dialogue and the character has the potential to jump off the page.
Example:
Mary raised a slender, shaky finger to her eyes. Tears moistened the strand of dark hair that fell onto her face. She leaned her head against the window and stared at nothing. The world was passing her by as quickly as the ramshackle buildings that blurred past her — no one knew her pain, no one cared.
“You okay back there?” The driver asked.
She didn’t look up or answer. What was the point? In less than an hour’s time, it would all be over.
Now we can see a minute into Mary’s state of mind. We see her crying, something is weighing heavily on her mind, she feels alone, and whatever is going through her thoughts will be resolved one way or another in less than an hour. Is this enough to make the reader care and turn the page? A story may have a killer plot, but the manner in which a character is portrayed will have a greater impact on readers’ reaction than anything else. If a character is weak, will anyone care if he drives his car off the cliff?
How often have we read reviews that indicated the reader couldn’t “fall in love” with the character? Is it necessary to fall in love with Mary’s character to sympathize with her? For me, the word “love” is a bit strong when used to describe a character. However, I do want to care what happens to her, why it happened, and hopefully see her resolve her problems in a positive, uplifting manner. Maybe a better word is “connect.” The goal of any writer should be to draw the reader in and get him/her to connect emotionally with the character(s) and the story. And so the choice between describing a character and allowing the reader to see, hear, and feel the character is the difference between "show" and "tell." When we "tell" we involve the reader intellectually (they have to think about what is being communicated). When we "show" we involve the reader emotionally – that’s the key.
In other words, the character has to hit a nerve with the reader on a very basic level --touch the reader emotionally so the reader can connect with them and that usually includes letting the reader see the character's flaws. What's more important though is that the reader has to be able to see the character grow and overcomes those problems.
Maybe what that reviewer, editor or agent means by needing to "fall in love with the character" is the desire to see a small part of him- or herself in a particular character. First they have to know the character thoroughly and next be able to identify with him/her. When the reader is able to identify with a character's plight, problem, weaknesses, strengths, etc., he/she will find themselves sympathizing with them and cheering them on to a successful finish. This will give the reader a reason to follow a character through the rest of the book.
Description, action and dialogue are effective methods to create characterization. How a writer uses and combines them is a matter of style largely determined by the needs of the story.
Marta Stephens is a crime mystery/suspense author of SILENCED CRY (2007) published by BeWriter Books (UK). Look for THE BLACK PEARL later this year.
Characterization is one aspect of writing that most authors struggle with at one time or another. So where do you start? Let’s say you’ve determined who your character is, what he/she looks like. The writer needs to take it a step further -- find a way to make the character as real for the reader as the person standing next to them.
The writer will use description, action and dialogue as the base methods to build characterization. Through description, the writer tells something about the character such as height, eye/hair color, and disposition.
Example:
Mary, the slender brunette on the third seat of the bus, looked distraught.
Hmmm. Okay. A better way to describe a character, however, is through their actions and through dialogue. Both of these methods will give the reader a more vivid image of the character than description alone. Add description to action and dialogue and the character has the potential to jump off the page.
Example:
Mary raised a slender, shaky finger to her eyes. Tears moistened the strand of dark hair that fell onto her face. She leaned her head against the window and stared at nothing. The world was passing her by as quickly as the ramshackle buildings that blurred past her — no one knew her pain, no one cared.
“You okay back there?” The driver asked.
She didn’t look up or answer. What was the point? In less than an hour’s time, it would all be over.
Now we can see a minute into Mary’s state of mind. We see her crying, something is weighing heavily on her mind, she feels alone, and whatever is going through her thoughts will be resolved one way or another in less than an hour. Is this enough to make the reader care and turn the page? A story may have a killer plot, but the manner in which a character is portrayed will have a greater impact on readers’ reaction than anything else. If a character is weak, will anyone care if he drives his car off the cliff?
How often have we read reviews that indicated the reader couldn’t “fall in love” with the character? Is it necessary to fall in love with Mary’s character to sympathize with her? For me, the word “love” is a bit strong when used to describe a character. However, I do want to care what happens to her, why it happened, and hopefully see her resolve her problems in a positive, uplifting manner. Maybe a better word is “connect.” The goal of any writer should be to draw the reader in and get him/her to connect emotionally with the character(s) and the story. And so the choice between describing a character and allowing the reader to see, hear, and feel the character is the difference between "show" and "tell." When we "tell" we involve the reader intellectually (they have to think about what is being communicated). When we "show" we involve the reader emotionally – that’s the key.
In other words, the character has to hit a nerve with the reader on a very basic level --touch the reader emotionally so the reader can connect with them and that usually includes letting the reader see the character's flaws. What's more important though is that the reader has to be able to see the character grow and overcomes those problems.
Maybe what that reviewer, editor or agent means by needing to "fall in love with the character" is the desire to see a small part of him- or herself in a particular character. First they have to know the character thoroughly and next be able to identify with him/her. When the reader is able to identify with a character's plight, problem, weaknesses, strengths, etc., he/she will find themselves sympathizing with them and cheering them on to a successful finish. This will give the reader a reason to follow a character through the rest of the book.
Description, action and dialogue are effective methods to create characterization. How a writer uses and combines them is a matter of style largely determined by the needs of the story.
Marta Stephens is a crime mystery/suspense author of SILENCED CRY (2007) published by BeWriter Books (UK). Look for THE BLACK PEARL later this year.
Monday, May 12, 2008
The Demise of the Local Book Store
Murder by 4 welcomes freelance writer Diana Raabe. Diana lives with her husband and two children in Minneapolis, Minnesota. An avid reader and book reviewer, she contributes regularly to (http://raabe.gather.com/) to gather.com’s Books, Writing and Politics Essentials. When not reading or writing, she enjoys keeping an eye on local politics and traveling the world. Her new blog can be found at http://theraabereview.wordpress.com.***
I met MurderBy4 through Aaron Paul Lazar, author of the ever-growing list of LeGarde Mysteries. We met through the gather.com website, to which we are both regular contributors. While Aaron writes books, I write about books. I also do a lot of reading and am pleased to recommend the LeGarde Mystery, Tremolo: cry of the loon, but more on that another time (I promise).
The heavy weight on my mind these days is that of the brick-and-mortar bookstore – and not just the small ones where you (used to) go to visit the owner as much as to buy books. The sad demise of the bookstore began long before the Amazon Kindle and the Sony Reader arrived on the scene. Who among us can remember the days when bookstores sold just books? Barnes & Noble stores didn’t always serve Starbucks, and Borders’ partnership with Seattle Coffee is relatively new (depending on your age).
Barely two weeks ago, Dutton’s Brentwood – possibly the most popular bookstore in Los Angeles – closed its doors. The building which housed Dutton’s belongs to Charles Munger, who plans to develop the property into something upscale, but Doug Dutton doesn’t fault Munger with the demise of the bookstore. It’s really about the industry in general.
As Dutton’s was closing, Borders unveiled its new marketing strategy when it opened the first Borders “concept store” in National City, California. The concept is not a total switch to e-reading and audio downloads (books as well as music), but an expansion of choice. The new concept stores will house a “digital center” where customers can do everything from publishing their own books to researching genealogy. (Don’t worry, the cappuccino will still be brewing!) The chainstore is in the process of selling off its international business and plans to open 14 of the digitally inclusive bookstores.
Obviously, you’ve got some electronic savvy – you’re reading a blog, after all! But is a “digital” bookstore within your reading comfort zone? Is an author interview via satellite as engaging as a bookstore reading? If you’re like me, you continue to lament the loss of your favorite independent stores as they gradually fall by the wayside, one sad closing after another. But with the tenuous new concept stores coming to a mall near you, what will happen to your reading and book shopping habits?
***
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Dark Well of Decision: Book Review
It's funny how we meet our online writing buddies. In the case of Anne Kimberly, she found me. She was interested in my agent's track record, and after discussing the pros and cons, we ended up being represented by the same lady for a while. During that time, we discovered a mutual passion for gardening, and Anne became my best online gardening buddy. Of course we helped edit each other's books, that was a natural progression. And even though young adult fantasy isn't my genre (you all know I'm a mystery buff!), I loved her story and would like to share my book review.
As an aside, Anne is an passionate kid and animal lover. She wrote this book for her granddaughter, Zoe. Anne lives in the Ohio countryside with her husband and huge dog Sophie, and has a gazillion chickens and all kinds of other fowl on her property. She also has redone her old farmhouse so beautifully - it ought to be in a magazine!
Anyway, without further ado, here's the review. Enjoy!
***
Title: Dark Well of Decision
Author: Anne Kimberly
Publisher: Highland Press
Genre: Young Adult, Christian fantasy
Publisher's Address:
ISBN-13: 978-0980035650
Price: $7.99
Publisher website address: http://www.highlandpress.org/
Dark Well of Decision
by Anne Kimberly
Review by Aaron Paul Lazar
Author of the LeGarde Mystery Series
Thirteen-year-old Zoe lives in the country on a beautiful farm and is kept company by her grandmother and two geese. When her chores are done, she’s given the freedom to roam the woods and fields and learns to love every aspect of nature. But Zoe doesn’t escape the usual trials of becoming a teenager. She questions her value as a young woman, feeling unattractive and comparing herself to the perfect and impossible standards seen on billboards and television. She tries hard to be a good person, helping her grandmother on the farm while her parents work hard at their respective jobs. Yet she can’t help question her grandmother’s unswerving faith.
Does God really exist? Does he know she’s suffering? Does he care?
Questions plaque the young lady at an alarming rate, in concert with the new hormones that race throughout her body, adding emotional highs and lows to her current state of confusion.
When she stops to peer down into an old well on her grandparents’ property, she sees a glimmer of something in the darkness that wasn’t there before. She looks harder, and harder… yet the vision isn’t clear. Finally, with all her concentration, she strains her eyes and focuses deep down in the well, and is immediately drawn through a tiny hole to the cold water at the bottom.
Crying out for God’s help after hours standing in the frigid water, Zoe almost gives up. No one hears her, and she fears all is lost. Yet after a particularly soulful plea to the Almighty, she spies a tiny balcony on the side of the well that she hadn’t seen earlier.
Thus begins Zoe’s magical adventure into the land of the Noachs, where she meets people from a miniature subterranean culture, including the kindly Kristo and Kitia and the lovable and brave guard dog, Areli. With their support, Zoe learns about their purpose in life and is granted an new respect for every tiny morsel nature prepares in the ground above. From a single currant berry to the soft down of a dandelion, her hosts use each gift from God with care and gratitude.
Zoe’s real test comes when faced with a “rescue” that swims before her eyes with great allure. A beautiful woman, a table laden with luscious feasts, the warmth of the sunshine, her grandparents’ farm…
But is it real? With great inner strength, Zoe recognizes the dangers of evil and restores her faith in God.
Anne Kimberly has written a magical tale that held the interest of this adult. Recommended as a book to read to young ones as well as perfectly suited for teenagers.
***
Aaron Paul Lazar lives on a ridge overlooking the Genesee Valley in upstate New York with his wife, mother-in-law, and cat. Recent "empty-nesters," Aaron and Dale have been fixing up their 1811 antique home after twenty-five years of kid and puppy wear. Daughters Jennifer, Melanie, and Allison live close by, and weekends now feature sleepover parties for grandsons Julian and Gordon.
Aaron works as an electrophotographic engineer at Eastman Kodak Company, in Rochester, New York, but his true passion lies in writing. While currently working on his thirteenth novel, he also enjoys gardening; cooking family feasts; photography, cross-country skiing, classical music, and French Impressionist art. Although he adored raising his delightful daughters, he finds grandfathering his “two little buddies” one of life's finest experiences.
In addition to receiving publishing contracts for Double Forte', Upstaged, Tremolo: cry of the loon, Mazurka, Healey's Cave, and One Potato, Blue Potato, Aaron writes "Seedlings," a monthly column featured in the Futures Mystery Anthology Magazine (FMAM) and the Mysteryfiction.net literary newsletter "Voice in the Dark.". His short articles on writing have appeared in Absolute Write,and his short essay, "Word Paintings" was included in the 2007 Bylines Writers' Desk Calendar. Check out the Great Mystery and Suspense Magazine for the flash fiction piece, "Follow the Leader" and visit his blogs at www.murderby4.blogspot.com and www.aaronlazar.blogspot.com. Aaron is the Saturday Writing Essential host on Gather.com.
Author: Anne Kimberly
Publisher: Highland Press
Genre: Young Adult, Christian fantasy
Publisher's Address:
ISBN-13: 978-0980035650
Price: $7.99
Publisher website address: http://www.highlandpress.org/
Dark Well of Decision
by Anne Kimberly
Review by Aaron Paul Lazar
Author of the LeGarde Mystery Series
Thirteen-year-old Zoe lives in the country on a beautiful farm and is kept company by her grandmother and two geese. When her chores are done, she’s given the freedom to roam the woods and fields and learns to love every aspect of nature. But Zoe doesn’t escape the usual trials of becoming a teenager. She questions her value as a young woman, feeling unattractive and comparing herself to the perfect and impossible standards seen on billboards and television. She tries hard to be a good person, helping her grandmother on the farm while her parents work hard at their respective jobs. Yet she can’t help question her grandmother’s unswerving faith.
Does God really exist? Does he know she’s suffering? Does he care?
Questions plaque the young lady at an alarming rate, in concert with the new hormones that race throughout her body, adding emotional highs and lows to her current state of confusion.
When she stops to peer down into an old well on her grandparents’ property, she sees a glimmer of something in the darkness that wasn’t there before. She looks harder, and harder… yet the vision isn’t clear. Finally, with all her concentration, she strains her eyes and focuses deep down in the well, and is immediately drawn through a tiny hole to the cold water at the bottom.
Crying out for God’s help after hours standing in the frigid water, Zoe almost gives up. No one hears her, and she fears all is lost. Yet after a particularly soulful plea to the Almighty, she spies a tiny balcony on the side of the well that she hadn’t seen earlier.
Thus begins Zoe’s magical adventure into the land of the Noachs, where she meets people from a miniature subterranean culture, including the kindly Kristo and Kitia and the lovable and brave guard dog, Areli. With their support, Zoe learns about their purpose in life and is granted an new respect for every tiny morsel nature prepares in the ground above. From a single currant berry to the soft down of a dandelion, her hosts use each gift from God with care and gratitude.
Zoe’s real test comes when faced with a “rescue” that swims before her eyes with great allure. A beautiful woman, a table laden with luscious feasts, the warmth of the sunshine, her grandparents’ farm…
But is it real? With great inner strength, Zoe recognizes the dangers of evil and restores her faith in God.
Anne Kimberly has written a magical tale that held the interest of this adult. Recommended as a book to read to young ones as well as perfectly suited for teenagers.
***
Aaron Paul Lazar lives on a ridge overlooking the Genesee Valley in upstate New York with his wife, mother-in-law, and cat. Recent "empty-nesters," Aaron and Dale have been fixing up their 1811 antique home after twenty-five years of kid and puppy wear. Daughters Jennifer, Melanie, and Allison live close by, and weekends now feature sleepover parties for grandsons Julian and Gordon.
Aaron works as an electrophotographic engineer at Eastman Kodak Company, in Rochester, New York, but his true passion lies in writing. While currently working on his thirteenth novel, he also enjoys gardening; cooking family feasts; photography, cross-country skiing, classical music, and French Impressionist art. Although he adored raising his delightful daughters, he finds grandfathering his “two little buddies” one of life's finest experiences.
In addition to receiving publishing contracts for Double Forte', Upstaged, Tremolo: cry of the loon, Mazurka, Healey's Cave, and One Potato, Blue Potato, Aaron writes "Seedlings," a monthly column featured in the Futures Mystery Anthology Magazine (FMAM) and the Mysteryfiction.net literary newsletter "Voice in the Dark.". His short articles on writing have appeared in Absolute Write,and his short essay, "Word Paintings" was included in the 2007 Bylines Writers' Desk Calendar. Check out the Great Mystery and Suspense Magazine for the flash fiction piece, "Follow the Leader" and visit his blogs at www.murderby4.blogspot.com and www.aaronlazar.blogspot.com. Aaron is the Saturday Writing Essential host on Gather.com.
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Life Begins at Sixty: Beating Time at its own Game
by Carolyn Howard Johnson
Sometimes the big barriers in life aren’t abject poverty, dreaded disease or death. Sometimes it’s the subtle ones set upon us by time and place. The ones that can’t be seen and can’t be acknowledged because we don’t know they are there. They creep up silently on padded feet and, if we sense them at all, we choose not to turn and face them. The decade of the 50s was a time when barriers like these faced those with dark skin, those who lived in closed religious communities, and those who were female.
When I applied for a job as a writer for Good Housekeeping (Hearst Corporation) in New York in 1961 I was required to take a typing test. I was piqued because I wasn’t applying for the typing-pool, I was applying for a post as an editorial assistant.
I was told, “No typing test, no interview.” I took the test and was offered a job in the ranks of those who could do 70-in-a-minute. I had to insist upon the interview I had been promised. I was only twenty and had no real skills in assertiveness. I am amazed I had the wherewithal to insist on anything.
The essentials of this anecdote lie in the fact that I was putout for the wrong reasons. My irritation was a reflection of hubris. However, that pride was probably what goaded me into speaking up so I guess pride is not always a bad thing to have.
It never occurred to me that this typing requirement was one that applied only to women, much less that I should be angry for the sake of my entire gender. Prejudice is sometimes like traveling on well-worn treads; you have no idea you’re in danger. It also feeds on the ignorance of its victims. They benignly accept their lot because they know no better.
Something similar was at work when I married and had children. I happily took a new direction to accommodate my husband’s career and the life the winds of the times presented to me. I left my writing with hardly a backward look. Back then -- in the days before women had been made aware -- the possibilities were not an open book to be denied or accepted. I just did what was expected by the entire culture.
Things are so much better now. I don’t think women younger than their mid-fifties have any idea how ignorant most women were to their own possibilities. That there was a time when we didn’t even know we had choices is not fiction.
I had always wanted to sit in a forest or an office or a newsroom with a pencil in my hand. I dreamed writing, lived writing and loved writing. I wanted to write the next Gone With The Wind only set in Utah, instead of the South. (I figured enough had been written about the South and hardly anyone knew anything about the unique culture I was raised in.) That was my plan but it was soon gone with the wind.
It was the 1950s and women in that time, and especially in that place, had a notion of who they should be, could be and, mostly, they got it from those around them because many of them couldn’t see the difference from society’s expectations and their own.
“You can’t be a nurse,” my mother said. “Your ankles aren’t sturdy enough.” I also was told I couldn’t be a doctor because that wasn’t a woman’s vocation.
“Be a teacher because you can be home the same hours as your children, but learn to type because every woman should be able to make a living somehow if their husband dies.”
Writing was not a consideration. It didn’t fit any of the requirements. So when I gave it up, it didn’t feel like I was giving up much.
When I began to put myself through college, I took the sound advice and studied education so I’d have a profession. I made 75 cents an hour (this was, after all, the 50s!) working as a staff writer at the Salt Lake Tribune. That I was making a living writing didn’t occur to me. I met a handsome young man and we were married. His career took precedence; that was simply how it was done back then. Then there were two children, carefully planned, because that was how it should be done. By the 70s we both yearned for careers with autonomy. We wanted to spend time with our children and be in command of our own lives.
My dream was a victim of the status quo. It never occurred to me to just strike out in my own direction when my husband and children needed me. The pain was there. I just didn’t recognize it so I could hardly address it and fix it.
My husband and I built a business. We raised a lawyer and a mathematician, grew in joy with a grandson, lived through floods and moves, enjoyed travel. For forty years I didn’t write and, during that time, there were changes. Women had more choices but more than that they had become more aware. The equipment, gears and pulleys were in place for a different view on life. In midlife I became aware that there was an empty hole where my children had been but also that the hole was more vast than the space vacated by them. I knew I not only would be able to write, I would need to write.
Then I read that, if those who live until they are fifty in these times may very likely see their hundredth year. That meant that I might have another entire lifetime before me -- plenty of time to do whatever I wanted. In fact, it’s my belief that women in their 50s might have more time for their second life because they won’t have to spend the first twenty years preparing for adulthood.
One day I sat down and began to write the “Great Utah Novel.” I thought it would be a lot easier than it was. I had majored in English Lit. Writing a novel should be pretty much second nature.
It wasn’t long before I realized that writing a novel wasn’t as easy as writing the news stories I had written as a young woman. There were certain skills I didn’t have. It was a discouraging time. I might not have to learn speech and motor skills and the ABCs but there sure was a lot I didn’t know about creative writing.
Somewhere after writing about 400 pages (easily a year’s work), I knew something major was wrong.
I took classes at UCLA in writing. I attended writers’ conferences. I read up on marketing. I updated computer skills that had been honed in the days of the Apple II. And all the while I wrote and revised and listened and revised again. THIS IS THE PLACE finally emerged.
It is about a young woman, Skylar Eccles, who is a half-breed. In Utah where she was born and raised, that meant that she was one-half Mormon and one-half any other religion. Skylar considers marrying a Mormon man in spite of her own internal longing for a career. By confronting her own history -- several generations of women who entered into mixed marriages -- and by experiencing a series of devastating events, she comes to see she must make her own way in the world, follow her own true north.
Much of what I wrote about is my own story. If my novel were a tapestry, the warp would be real but the woof would be the stuff of imagination—real fiction.
I think I bring a unique vision to my work. Utah has a beauty and wonder of its own. The Mormons are a mystery to many. I think I tell a story about Utah in the 50s that could only be told by someone who lived in that time and place and who was a part of the two cultures—the Mormon and the non-Mormon—that make it a whole.
I am proud that I wrote this book. I’m glad that I waited until I was sixty. I believe that forty years brought insight to the story in terms of the obstacles that women faced in those days and a gentler perspective of the culture in Utah.
I also really like being proof that a new life can start late—or that it is never too late to revive a dream.
Sometimes the big barriers in life aren’t abject poverty, dreaded disease or death. Sometimes it’s the subtle ones set upon us by time and place. The ones that can’t be seen and can’t be acknowledged because we don’t know they are there. They creep up silently on padded feet and, if we sense them at all, we choose not to turn and face them. The decade of the 50s was a time when barriers like these faced those with dark skin, those who lived in closed religious communities, and those who were female.
When I applied for a job as a writer for Good Housekeeping (Hearst Corporation) in New York in 1961 I was required to take a typing test. I was piqued because I wasn’t applying for the typing-pool, I was applying for a post as an editorial assistant.
I was told, “No typing test, no interview.” I took the test and was offered a job in the ranks of those who could do 70-in-a-minute. I had to insist upon the interview I had been promised. I was only twenty and had no real skills in assertiveness. I am amazed I had the wherewithal to insist on anything.
The essentials of this anecdote lie in the fact that I was putout for the wrong reasons. My irritation was a reflection of hubris. However, that pride was probably what goaded me into speaking up so I guess pride is not always a bad thing to have.
It never occurred to me that this typing requirement was one that applied only to women, much less that I should be angry for the sake of my entire gender. Prejudice is sometimes like traveling on well-worn treads; you have no idea you’re in danger. It also feeds on the ignorance of its victims. They benignly accept their lot because they know no better.
Something similar was at work when I married and had children. I happily took a new direction to accommodate my husband’s career and the life the winds of the times presented to me. I left my writing with hardly a backward look. Back then -- in the days before women had been made aware -- the possibilities were not an open book to be denied or accepted. I just did what was expected by the entire culture.
Things are so much better now. I don’t think women younger than their mid-fifties have any idea how ignorant most women were to their own possibilities. That there was a time when we didn’t even know we had choices is not fiction.
I had always wanted to sit in a forest or an office or a newsroom with a pencil in my hand. I dreamed writing, lived writing and loved writing. I wanted to write the next Gone With The Wind only set in Utah, instead of the South. (I figured enough had been written about the South and hardly anyone knew anything about the unique culture I was raised in.) That was my plan but it was soon gone with the wind.
It was the 1950s and women in that time, and especially in that place, had a notion of who they should be, could be and, mostly, they got it from those around them because many of them couldn’t see the difference from society’s expectations and their own.
“You can’t be a nurse,” my mother said. “Your ankles aren’t sturdy enough.” I also was told I couldn’t be a doctor because that wasn’t a woman’s vocation.
“Be a teacher because you can be home the same hours as your children, but learn to type because every woman should be able to make a living somehow if their husband dies.”
Writing was not a consideration. It didn’t fit any of the requirements. So when I gave it up, it didn’t feel like I was giving up much.
When I began to put myself through college, I took the sound advice and studied education so I’d have a profession. I made 75 cents an hour (this was, after all, the 50s!) working as a staff writer at the Salt Lake Tribune. That I was making a living writing didn’t occur to me. I met a handsome young man and we were married. His career took precedence; that was simply how it was done back then. Then there were two children, carefully planned, because that was how it should be done. By the 70s we both yearned for careers with autonomy. We wanted to spend time with our children and be in command of our own lives.
My dream was a victim of the status quo. It never occurred to me to just strike out in my own direction when my husband and children needed me. The pain was there. I just didn’t recognize it so I could hardly address it and fix it.
My husband and I built a business. We raised a lawyer and a mathematician, grew in joy with a grandson, lived through floods and moves, enjoyed travel. For forty years I didn’t write and, during that time, there were changes. Women had more choices but more than that they had become more aware. The equipment, gears and pulleys were in place for a different view on life. In midlife I became aware that there was an empty hole where my children had been but also that the hole was more vast than the space vacated by them. I knew I not only would be able to write, I would need to write.
Then I read that, if those who live until they are fifty in these times may very likely see their hundredth year. That meant that I might have another entire lifetime before me -- plenty of time to do whatever I wanted. In fact, it’s my belief that women in their 50s might have more time for their second life because they won’t have to spend the first twenty years preparing for adulthood.
One day I sat down and began to write the “Great Utah Novel.” I thought it would be a lot easier than it was. I had majored in English Lit. Writing a novel should be pretty much second nature.
It wasn’t long before I realized that writing a novel wasn’t as easy as writing the news stories I had written as a young woman. There were certain skills I didn’t have. It was a discouraging time. I might not have to learn speech and motor skills and the ABCs but there sure was a lot I didn’t know about creative writing.
Somewhere after writing about 400 pages (easily a year’s work), I knew something major was wrong.
I took classes at UCLA in writing. I attended writers’ conferences. I read up on marketing. I updated computer skills that had been honed in the days of the Apple II. And all the while I wrote and revised and listened and revised again. THIS IS THE PLACE finally emerged.
It is about a young woman, Skylar Eccles, who is a half-breed. In Utah where she was born and raised, that meant that she was one-half Mormon and one-half any other religion. Skylar considers marrying a Mormon man in spite of her own internal longing for a career. By confronting her own history -- several generations of women who entered into mixed marriages -- and by experiencing a series of devastating events, she comes to see she must make her own way in the world, follow her own true north.
Much of what I wrote about is my own story. If my novel were a tapestry, the warp would be real but the woof would be the stuff of imagination—real fiction.
I think I bring a unique vision to my work. Utah has a beauty and wonder of its own. The Mormons are a mystery to many. I think I tell a story about Utah in the 50s that could only be told by someone who lived in that time and place and who was a part of the two cultures—the Mormon and the non-Mormon—that make it a whole.
I am proud that I wrote this book. I’m glad that I waited until I was sixty. I believe that forty years brought insight to the story in terms of the obstacles that women faced in those days and a gentler perspective of the culture in Utah.
I also really like being proof that a new life can start late—or that it is never too late to revive a dream.
***
Carolyn Howard-Johnson's first novel, This Is the Place, and her creative nonfiction, Harkening: A Collection of Stories Remembered, are both award-winners. Her fiction, nonfiction and poems have appeared in national magazines, anthologies and review journals. She speaks on culture, tolerance, writing and promotion and has appeared on TV and hundreds of radio stations nationwide. She is an instructor for UCLA Extension's Writers' Program and has shared her expertise at venues like San Diego State's world renowned Writers' Conference and Call to Arts! EXPO. She was recently awarded Woman of the Year in Arts and Entertainment by the California Legislature and her city's Ethics award for her work on promoting tolerance. Her nitty gritty how-to book, THE FRUGAL BOOK PROMOTER won USA Book News' Best Professional Book 2004 and the Irwin Award and her THE FRUGAL EDITOR: PUT YOUR BEST BOOK FORWARD TO AVOID HUMILIATION AND ENSURE SUCCESS was also a USA News winner and a Reader Views Literary Award winner. Her chapbook of poetry, TRACINGS, won the Award of Excellence from the Military Writers' Society of America and was a Compulsive Reader Best Read. She loves to travel and has studied writing at Cambridge University in the United Kingdom, UK: Herzen University in St. Petersburg, RU; and Charles University in Prague.
You can read the first chapter of THIS IS THE PLACE free, by emailing: http://us.f387.mail.yahoo.com/ym/Compose?
To=carolynhowardjohnson@sendfree.com or learn more at http://carolynhowardjohnson.com/
Friday, May 9, 2008
Real, But Not Too Real
Fran Shaff is the author of more than a dozen published sweet romance and young peoples' novels. She has also had short stories published in such places as WOMAN'S WORLD magazine, and the Amazon Shorts program at Amazon.com. Look for her Award-Winning Article about Orphan Trains in RAILROADING THE PLAINS a book featuring the papers from the 39th Annual Dakota Conference published by The Center for Western Studies in Sioux Falls, SD.Awards Fran has won for her fiction and non-fiction writing include: 2007 EPPIE nomination for young peoples' literature, WRITE TOUCH READERS Award, MORE THAN MAGIC Award, HERBER W. BLAKELY Award, and more than a half dozen other awards and acknowledgments for her outstanding writing.
* * *
Reality in fiction is key to placing readers firmly into our stories. If characters don’t seem like flesh and blood human beings full of flaws, heartaches and joys, readers won’t care enough about our stories to continue reading our books.
Worse yet, our readers won’t be entertained. They’ll be frustrated, and we’ll be failures as writers. After all, our job is to see to it that readers are delightedly entertained whenever they open one of our books.
Our fiction needs to be real, but is it possible for a writer to make her fiction too real? Yes, it is.
Consider setting. Naturally, the setting of a story needs to be true to life, believable and historically accurate in order to place a reader securely into its location. However, a writer must take care to keep a reader grounded with what is familiar to him.
Even when writing fantasy a writer must make the reader comfortable in her surroundings.
For example, in my fantasy YA novel, LITTLE GREEK GODS, the gods, turned into human children, interact with other human beings throughout the book. While they journey through the countryside and live their everyday lives they experience things familiar to all people. With the readers being placed comfortably within what is familiar, they are ready to experience things which are unfamiliar. Like what it’s like to participate in bull dancing contests, fight off killer birds or find their way out of the Labyrinth.
Another way of making fictional things too real is by allowing unfamiliar conversation into the story. All areas of the world have a way of speaking that is specific to them. English spoken in England, Australia, Asia and the United States is not exactly the same English. Even within different parts of the US, language varies and so do expressions and colloquialisms. While the use of some native expressions goes a long way to making a setting more real, an overuse of unfamiliar local language will frustrate the reader and encourage him to close the book.
Different eras in history also mean different brands of the English language (or any other language). If one is writing a book to be published in the US which is set in Fourteenth-Century England, readers would be quite frustrated if the author wrote the conversation in a manner that was common speech of that time period. The English of that day was quite different from the English of the Twenty-first Century. The dialog in that Fourteenth-Century novel should sound like it is being spoken by people from centuries ago, but it should not read clumsily which it would if it were picture-perfectly accurate.
When writing historical fiction, it is important to setting to make the language, technology, history, locality, etc. true and accurate while at the same time using discretion and latitude in such a way that the author keeps the reader comfortable in her surroundings.
Keep it real (but not too real).
* * *
THE TRADING GAME
By Fran Shaff
Young People's Historical Novel
Create Space
ISBN: 978-1438201122
The Award-Winning Author of "A Partner's Promise" presents another wonderful story about young people facing impossible odds.
Orphaned and alone Lacey Masterson and her sister Gina struggle to make their way on the streets of the city.
Salina Fulbright wants adventure in her life, and she thinks Lacey just might be able to help her have it. Deception, street fights, bank robbers, stowaways----Is that enough adventure for you Salina?
Trade Paperback available at Amazon and Target Stores
By Fran Shaff
Young People's Historical Novel
Create Space
ISBN: 978-1438201122
The Award-Winning Author of "A Partner's Promise" presents another wonderful story about young people facing impossible odds.
Orphaned and alone Lacey Masterson and her sister Gina struggle to make their way on the streets of the city.
Salina Fulbright wants adventure in her life, and she thinks Lacey just might be able to help her have it. Deception, street fights, bank robbers, stowaways----Is that enough adventure for you Salina?
Trade Paperback available at Amazon and Target Stores
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
A spoof, for some Thursday fun
copyright Kim Smith 2008
The batch of fantastic shorts and excerpts coming from my colleagues has inspired me to hunt up something to post. I believe like so many others that stories are deep inside of us and like a well running beneath the surface of the land, only needs someone to dig in there and pull it out.
Here is my contribution.
It is an attempt to write a news article. Of course, it is a spoof, as I write so much humor, I find it hard to do elsewise. So imagine, if you will, what would happen if the rhyme, Jack and Jill, (Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water. Jack fell down and broke his crown, and Jill came tumbling after)
were turned into a news story.
___________________
From the AP…
Today, climbing champion Jack Stumble was found at the bottom of an embankment, the victim of an apparent murder/suicide.
His personal assistant, Jill Fine, had accompanied Stumble to the High, a popular nightspot on top of the bluffs, to meet with local wrestling celebrity, Pail O. Water. According to reports an argument broke out when Stumble tried to get Water to go somewhere with them. Water attacked Stumble causing him to fall to his death. Fine, distraught over the incident threw herself over the guard-rail after Stumble. Her body was found a few feet away.
At this time, police have Pail O. Water in custody but as of yet have not charged him.
Autopsies were called for on both Fine and Stumble.
The batch of fantastic shorts and excerpts coming from my colleagues has inspired me to hunt up something to post. I believe like so many others that stories are deep inside of us and like a well running beneath the surface of the land, only needs someone to dig in there and pull it out.
Here is my contribution.
It is an attempt to write a news article. Of course, it is a spoof, as I write so much humor, I find it hard to do elsewise. So imagine, if you will, what would happen if the rhyme, Jack and Jill, (Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water. Jack fell down and broke his crown, and Jill came tumbling after)
were turned into a news story.
___________________
From the AP…
Today, climbing champion Jack Stumble was found at the bottom of an embankment, the victim of an apparent murder/suicide.
His personal assistant, Jill Fine, had accompanied Stumble to the High, a popular nightspot on top of the bluffs, to meet with local wrestling celebrity, Pail O. Water. According to reports an argument broke out when Stumble tried to get Water to go somewhere with them. Water attacked Stumble causing him to fall to his death. Fine, distraught over the incident threw herself over the guard-rail after Stumble. Her body was found a few feet away.
At this time, police have Pail O. Water in custody but as of yet have not charged him.
Autopsies were called for on both Fine and Stumble.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
The Go Around
© Marta Stephens 2008 all rights reserved
Aaron's post on Sunday made me think of this short story. I wrote it a couple of years ago in a writers' group as an exercise/challenge to create a story without a line of narration. The challenge, of course, was to write dialogue in a way the reader would see the action. Yes, yes, it would be better with narration, but it was a challenge.
“I said I’m sorry.”
“You’re always sorry, but that’s as far as it goes. Never seems to stop you from being irresponsible and self-centered, does it? All you had to do was watch the dog for half an hour. I was at the market for half an hour. In that time, you’ve managed to wreck my clean kitchen, knock over my fern, and lose my dog. Some days I just can’t stand to be around you.”
“I mean it. I feel just awful. Slow down! I’m out of breath.”
“You should be ashamed. He’s deaf and out here all alone. For all you know, he’s probably lost by now. He wouldn’t know a car horn from a bullfrog. What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking of getting a glass of water when the dog plowed through the kitchen, slipped on your waxed floor, slid into your blasted fern and dumped dirt all over the room. He got scared. Who knew he could push the door open too? You act as if I let him out on purpose.”
“You might as well have. You were supposed to fix the latch on that storm door days ago. He’s a smart dog. Smarter than you, I might add.”
“Should've asked the dog to fix the latch. Look, I said I was sorry. Obviously that’s not good enough for you.”
“No. It’s not. Not any more. Words are cheap, especially as often as you pull out the apology card and think it will make everything better. That’s the story of your life. All you ever had to do was show mother those weepy brown eyes and she’d melt and let you off the hook. Every single time she let you off with a warning.”
“Oh, for the love of Mike.”
“You always got away with murder. And there I was, left behind to pick up the pieces. Usually the literal pieces of whatever you broke after I got the spanking you deserved. Well, Jonathan, it won’t work this time. Understand?”
“Oh please. I got my share of spankings – this pace is killing me, Agnes. My legs, would you please—”
“Not enough spankings as far as I’m concerned.”
“That’s not fair and you know it.”
“What’s not fair is that you’re a grown man and I still can’t count on you for anything. This time, there’s a real consequence to your actions and he’s out here roaming the streets with no idea how to get back home."
“Your feathers, as usual, are ruffled for no apparent reason."
"You’re not getting out of this one with a simple apology. Do you hear me?”
"Quit pointing that finger at me. It's liable to go off.”
“Where could he be? He’s never been gone this long before.”
“It’s only been an hour. He’s a hound for crying out loud. He’ll smell his way home in no time.”
“I don’t see him anywhere. I’ll never forgive you if anything happens to him—never. And where do you think you’re going?”
“I can see you’re not going to stop with the insults until Wilson comes home. I’m going to look for him in the other direction.”
“And well you should.”
“He's a smart dog. Probably knew you were on your way home--probably why he ran.”
"What did you say?"
"I said he's a smart dog. Probably knows his way home and I'll buy you a new plant."
“Hmf. Wipe that idiotic smirk off your face.”
“Alright, I’m going. It’s the least I can do, for his sake.”
“Jonathan, wait. Where’s your coat and hat? Do I have to remind you of everything? Your hair is blowing all over the place. You’ll catch your death of cold and guess who will have to nurse you back to health?”
“I’m quite capable of deciding for myself if I need a coat or my hat. Thank you. Wilson! Here Wilson. Come on boy.”
“Stop it. You’re such a twit. He can’t hear you.”
“Right, deaf. I forgot ... lucky dog.”
“You wouldn’t forget if you’d pay more attention to things around you.”
“I pay attention. And what do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m coming with you. No point in both you and the dog getting lost.”
“I can’t walk as fast as you. Would you please slow down? Can’t believe you’re so angry.”
“Darn right I’m angry. This rates up there with the time I planned your 35th birthday party. You do remember that one, don’t you?”
“Oh for crying out loud. That was over thirty years ago. How could I forget? You bring it up every chance you get. Hm. It’s colder out here than I thought. Should have brought a sweater.”
“What did you say?”
“I said my legs aren't feeling better. Wilson! Here boy.”
“Planned it for weeks—spent a fortune.”
“It cost you fifty dollars. I know—you told me that a million times too. Can’t believe you’re still holding it against me. My legs, Agnes, please ... slow down.”
“I cooked all day, had a houseful of your worthless friends waiting on you for hours, and you never bothered to show up.”
“The thought of turning 35 was depressing enough without being reminded of it. I didn’t need you to rub my nose in it. You never got that. Instead, you insisted it would make me feel better. So what did you do? You plowed right through with your plans in spite of my protests.”
“You would have had fun if you’d been there.”
“Tell you what, 35 looks pretty good now.”
“And if that wasn’t bad enough, there was the weekend trip to Charleston. Remember that little fiasco?”
“Here we go again. You’re not going to rehash that old thing, are you?”
“And why shouldn’t I? I suggested the trip to perk you up. Made all the plans, took a day off work, and even gave you the money for the plane tickets. All you had to do was buy two two-way tickets for us. But no. You couldn’t even do that much for me—your only sister.”
“My 35th birthday wasn’t the greatest, okay? I just wanted a few days alone—to think.”
“You could have told me before I made my plans. Warned me instead of letting me find out at the airport that you didn’t buy my ticket. And then you had the nerve, the very nerve to ask me to pick you up at the airport on your return. Why are you panting?”
“I asked ... asked you to ... slow down.”
“Stupid me. Should have left you stranded. My one chance in life to get rid of you and I didn’t take it. I can’t believe I actually picked you up. I’m such a softy.”
“Softy my asparagus. The truth of the matter is, if old Jonathan here wasn’t around, you wouldn’t have anyone to listen to your ranting. Just how many hours a day do you spend trying to figure out ways to stir the pot? Because that’s what you do, you know—inflate things out of proportion. Then if it’s broken, you can fix it and make yourself feel ever so much better by virtue of your boundless kindness.”
“You’re such a sarcastic fool. What a nasty little person you are.”
“I may be, but you know I’m right. Do you see him anywhere?”
“No. It’s getting too dark. Darn it, I swear I’m done with you.”
“Agnes, just what makes you think you’re so saintly anyway? When did you ever really think about me or anyone else for that matter?”
“I’ve always thought about you.”
“Only when there was something in it for you. Listen to yourself. It’s all about how much you’ve done and how unappreciated you feel. Who asked you to do anything for me? No one, that’s who. Never asked you for a damned thing.”
“Well of all the nerve. Quit cursing. I’m not listening to another word.”
"Yeah, you are. From the time you were able to open your mouth and spew out an opinionated syllable, you’ve been a committee of one. A bossy know-it-all. And when things didn’t go your way, it was automatically someone else’s fault. Sister, that is one twisted sense of kindness you have there. Hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s not polite to do things for other people and then throw it up in their faces over and over again?”
“I’ve never done that!”
“You just did! See, it’s so much a part of you; you don’t even know you’re doing it.”
“When have I ever been selfish? You’d be out on the street right now if it wasn’t for me.”
"My moving in with you was your idea, not mine. Shouldn’t have listened to you—should never have listened to you.”
“Wish you hadn’t.”
“But if I wasn’t around, you couldn’t go to church and tell your periwinkle hair lady friends how kind you are to me.”
“I really hate you, Jonathan. You know that?"
"You can't. It's a sin."
"As far as I’m concerned, you can pack up your… Oh! There he is! Here boy! Come on Wilson! Oh, good boy—I was so worried about you. There, there, where have you been?”
“Have you got him?”
“Yes, yes.”
“Good. I’m freezing my buns out here.”
“Well, don’t just stand there stomping your feet. Hand me the leash. I left all the groceries on the counter because of you. The frozen vegetables are probably thawed by now.”
“So. What’s for dinner, Aggie?”
“Thought I’d make some salmon steaks with white rice and peas.”
“I don’t like fish.”
“Of course you do.”
“No I don’t.”
“Yes, Jonathon, you do.”
“No, Agnes ... dear. Never have, never will.”
“Well, you’ll like these—paid a pretty penny for them. Lock the door behind you this time, will you? And do try to fix the latch on the storm door tomorrow.”
The End
Marta Stephens
SILENCED CRY (2007)
THE BLACK PEARL (2008)
The Magic of Stories
Universally and unquestionably, stories are the foundation of human culture. We have told each other stories since our ancestors learned to draw figures on cave walls with burnt sticks, and we will continue to tell each other stories until homo sapiens cease to exist. Every entertainment is a form of story: books, movies, music, television, sports . . . each holds an element of the fantastic. But what draws some of us to content ourselves with listening, through whatever medium we prefer; and others to become weavers of tales?
It is the only real magic we humans possess. A story can transport us somewhere that is not reality - the places we go may be better, or worse, or very much like our own reality; but wherever the story takes us, we feel something. The feelings that stories generate enrich our lives and amplify our existence.
I may claim to write for money, for the love of creation, for fans (ha!), or for a myriad reasons that are put forth by writers from every era and of every genre. However, the underlying reason - the only reason, really - is to evoke that magic, that transportation that is given to me through stories. I put everything into my craft, in the hopes that I can somehow translate that magic into words for others to use and shape into their own brand of magic.
I recently read a post on a writer's forum from a software programmer concerning this extraordinary effect of writing. He stated that programmers actually have a term for the period of transition between the world of story and the world of reality; that period of time when you're still there with the characters you've just visited (or walked in their lives), when you can't quite remember that you're really just a person reading a book, and not a boy wizard or a vampire hunter, a detective or a sleuth. Programmers call this transitory phase "context-switching," and will sometimes tell each other that before they can hold a conversation, they need a few minutes to "reboot their personality."
Stories are beautiful, powerful things, to have such an effect on us that sometimes we must make a conscious effort to leave them. I write because I want to draw people into that zone, and let them experience something different, something amazing.
In conclusion, I'll share with you a passage from a WIP that I'm not sure I will be able to finish any time soon. It is an opening that I hope proves transportive, at least for a moment.
-----------------
He stood behind a windblown tent flap in the dirty gray light of early morning, watching two women with bright blue slickers and sour expressions struggle against lashing rain to bring down a great banner that spanned tall poles. Circus of the Night. Startling Shows From Dusk Til Dawn. See The Infamous Freakstravaganza – The Largest Collection of Human Oddities Ever Assembled. Conquer Your Fears in the World-Renowned Rumble Room. Fortunes Told and Games of Chance.
And in ominous red letters across the bottom: No Children.
Children. He thought the word described him, though he recalled nothing before this moment. It was as though he’d sprung into existence here beside the tent, a slender boy of thirteen or so, his mind churning with fragmented knowledge and powerful emotions that didn’t belong to him. Wet to the bone, and hungry—but not for food.
Shouts peppered the air from various points on the grounds, mixing with the rain and the rumbling diesel engines of the rigs parked around the perimeter. The mélange of sounds beat back the confusion in his head. Gradually, he became aware of sensations outside the cold of his soaked skin. A hot, jagged sting stitched his chest and arms. His legs throbbed beneath him.
Anger dominated his heart, and fear. The fear was specific, but made no sense . . . a tall, scarred man. Clear purple stone. No memory attached itself to these objects.
He blinked rainwater from his eyes and watched the struggling women. They’d managed to release one side of the banner. Now it flapped and fluttered in the powerful wind like the tail of an angry rat.
He had no idea why he knew what a rat was, or how it moved when it was angry.
It is the only real magic we humans possess. A story can transport us somewhere that is not reality - the places we go may be better, or worse, or very much like our own reality; but wherever the story takes us, we feel something. The feelings that stories generate enrich our lives and amplify our existence.
I may claim to write for money, for the love of creation, for fans (ha!), or for a myriad reasons that are put forth by writers from every era and of every genre. However, the underlying reason - the only reason, really - is to evoke that magic, that transportation that is given to me through stories. I put everything into my craft, in the hopes that I can somehow translate that magic into words for others to use and shape into their own brand of magic.
I recently read a post on a writer's forum from a software programmer concerning this extraordinary effect of writing. He stated that programmers actually have a term for the period of transition between the world of story and the world of reality; that period of time when you're still there with the characters you've just visited (or walked in their lives), when you can't quite remember that you're really just a person reading a book, and not a boy wizard or a vampire hunter, a detective or a sleuth. Programmers call this transitory phase "context-switching," and will sometimes tell each other that before they can hold a conversation, they need a few minutes to "reboot their personality."
Stories are beautiful, powerful things, to have such an effect on us that sometimes we must make a conscious effort to leave them. I write because I want to draw people into that zone, and let them experience something different, something amazing.
In conclusion, I'll share with you a passage from a WIP that I'm not sure I will be able to finish any time soon. It is an opening that I hope proves transportive, at least for a moment.
-----------------
He stood behind a windblown tent flap in the dirty gray light of early morning, watching two women with bright blue slickers and sour expressions struggle against lashing rain to bring down a great banner that spanned tall poles. Circus of the Night. Startling Shows From Dusk Til Dawn. See The Infamous Freakstravaganza – The Largest Collection of Human Oddities Ever Assembled. Conquer Your Fears in the World-Renowned Rumble Room. Fortunes Told and Games of Chance.
And in ominous red letters across the bottom: No Children.
Children. He thought the word described him, though he recalled nothing before this moment. It was as though he’d sprung into existence here beside the tent, a slender boy of thirteen or so, his mind churning with fragmented knowledge and powerful emotions that didn’t belong to him. Wet to the bone, and hungry—but not for food.
Shouts peppered the air from various points on the grounds, mixing with the rain and the rumbling diesel engines of the rigs parked around the perimeter. The mélange of sounds beat back the confusion in his head. Gradually, he became aware of sensations outside the cold of his soaked skin. A hot, jagged sting stitched his chest and arms. His legs throbbed beneath him.
Anger dominated his heart, and fear. The fear was specific, but made no sense . . . a tall, scarred man. Clear purple stone. No memory attached itself to these objects.
He blinked rainwater from his eyes and watched the struggling women. They’d managed to release one side of the banner. Now it flapped and fluttered in the powerful wind like the tail of an angry rat.
He had no idea why he knew what a rat was, or how it moved when it was angry.
Sunday, May 4, 2008
The Escape
Aaron Lazar reading to guests at the Author's Tea, April 2008 in the Dansville Public LibraryThis piece was first published in the Great Mysteries and Suspense Magazine in 2007. It evolved from a flash fiction exercise I joined on the notorious Crabby Cows website. SW Vaughn will remember it and laugh - we both participated in writing exercises on that site on a regular basis. I'd rarely written anything but novels, but it was fun. Thought I'd share it with you today.
**
The Escape
©2008 Aaron Paul Lazar
Victor slumped on the metal café chair beside the canal. Muddy water eddied along the breakwall, propelling filmy bubbles of yellow pollen in tiny whirpools. A blue heron soared overhead. Without warning, envy sliced through him, insidious in its intensity. The bird disappeared over the treeline, descending into the swamp.
He’s free. Unlike me.
The thoughts hit him hard and then the blackness descended, pitching unquenchable desire.
I want out. I need out.
Tobias, his Secret Service agent, sweated bedside him and swatted at a fly buzzing persistantly around his face.
“Hot one,” he drawled, mopping at the perspiration with his shirt sleeve.
Victor shifted in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable. Something was about to happen. He could feel it. Trying hard to squelch the bizarre desire, his hand tightened on the glass of lemonade, shaking like palsey.
I can’t. I mustn’t.
Without warning, he splashed his drink against Tobias’s shirt front and onto his holster that sweated against his armpit like a hairy girth on a horse. The big man spluttered and stood suddenly, shocked out of his lethargy.
“You said you were hot,” Victor chuckled.
Tobias stripped off his hoster, threw it on the table, and began mopping at his shirt with a handful of paper napkins.
“Mr. President. Why in the world…”
Victor grabbed the gun. The agent hissed with annoyance and tried to grab it.
“Mr. President. Please.”
Victor laughed, pretended to relent, then smashed the weapon against Tobias’s temple.
Swaying, Tobias touched his forehead, palpating the cut with bloody fingers. He looked at his hand in disbelief, then back at the President. His eyes rolled in their sockets and in one lumbering crash, the behemoth agent toppled to the ground.
Victor’s eyes raked the property.
Had anyone been watching?
The rolling hills of the private sanitorium were green, fed with underground sprinklers that popped up each morning with monotonous regularity. In the distance, the buildings loomed. Gorgeous architecture festooned the porch and patios. Marble statues guarded the walkways lined with pop-up book yellow maples. Visitors oohed and ahhed over the trappings. But Victor abhorred the place, ever since he’d been incarcerated last year. That’s when the voices started. Freddie. Clive. Even Millie. They’d been relentless for the past ten years, rattling their chains and shaking their prison bars until he’d finally given in and let them out.
The sitting area near the canal was one of Victor’s favorite spots. Clusters of wrought iron glass-topped tables and chairs were carefully arranged to resemble normalcy. Errant clumps of buttercups defied the best intentions of the groundskeeper, popping up between the paving stones.
Usually he relaxed here, soaked in the sun, took comfort in being outdoors. But today he found no refuge. Something broke inside. He needed out. And fast. Freddie insisted, convincing Victor he needed to fly far away from the loonies. Away from the mammoth nurses with man-faces and bobbed hair. Away from the…rules.
He shaded his eyes against the strong August sun and peered down the length of the canal. A boat churned around the bend.
Without hesitation, he ran along the shore, waving his arms.
“Help!” he screamed. “Help us!”
He gestured wildly at Tobias’s prone body. The big man’s chest rose up and down. The fly landed on his hand, nestling into a patch of thick black hair. Blood had trickled down his temples and pooled on the ground, mixing with the carefully coiffed lawn. In the distance, the doors of the sanitorium burst open. Figures in white coats streamed toward him, legs pummeling and arms flapping.
The boat pilot spun the wheel in the direction of shore, pulling close to the bumpers on the dock. It was vintage. Wooden. Freshly painted. His ticket out.
Freddie urged him to put on his best campaign smile to lure the man closer.
Don’t forget to look worried. Frown a little.
Sandy-haired, about thirty, the sailor jumped over the side, secured his boat to a mooring, and raced to Victor’s side.
“What happened?” he asked. His eyes widened as he recognized Victor, darting rapidly between Tobias and the President. “Mr. President?”
Hiding the gun behind his back, Victor pointed to Tobias.
“Can you help him?” he asked.
The boater leaned down. Victor slammed the butt of the gun against the back of his neck. Instantly, the man crumpled atop the agent.
What a twit. Didn’t even see it coming.
With Freddie, Clive, and Millie shouting encouragement, Victor leapt over the bodies, dashed to the boat, freed it, and headed up the river just as three orderlies reached the shore. He shoved the throttle to high and saluted them. The craft roared to life, zigzagging along the canal as it sped toward freedom.
There was something he wanted. Something he remembered… but it eluded him, playing around the edges of his brain.
What was it?
Tea with the Russian Ambassador?
No. That wasn’t it. He pictured Yuri and chuckled. He sure was a stuffed shirt. The thoughts niggled at him again as he churned up the waterway.
Something to do with a dark-haired girl in a blue dress?
He shook his head. Nope. Wrong again.
A conference at Camp David?
Millie piped up, dwarfing the cacaphony of voices that screamed inside his head.
Fudge ripple. We want ice cream.
Victor smiled, relieved to have pinned the thought to his mental corkboard. Right. That’s it. Ice cream. Okay, troops, let’s go!
**
The Escape
©2008 Aaron Paul Lazar
Victor slumped on the metal café chair beside the canal. Muddy water eddied along the breakwall, propelling filmy bubbles of yellow pollen in tiny whirpools. A blue heron soared overhead. Without warning, envy sliced through him, insidious in its intensity. The bird disappeared over the treeline, descending into the swamp.
He’s free. Unlike me.
The thoughts hit him hard and then the blackness descended, pitching unquenchable desire.
I want out. I need out.
Tobias, his Secret Service agent, sweated bedside him and swatted at a fly buzzing persistantly around his face.
“Hot one,” he drawled, mopping at the perspiration with his shirt sleeve.
Victor shifted in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable. Something was about to happen. He could feel it. Trying hard to squelch the bizarre desire, his hand tightened on the glass of lemonade, shaking like palsey.
I can’t. I mustn’t.
Without warning, he splashed his drink against Tobias’s shirt front and onto his holster that sweated against his armpit like a hairy girth on a horse. The big man spluttered and stood suddenly, shocked out of his lethargy.
“You said you were hot,” Victor chuckled.
Tobias stripped off his hoster, threw it on the table, and began mopping at his shirt with a handful of paper napkins.
“Mr. President. Why in the world…”
Victor grabbed the gun. The agent hissed with annoyance and tried to grab it.
“Mr. President. Please.”
Victor laughed, pretended to relent, then smashed the weapon against Tobias’s temple.
Swaying, Tobias touched his forehead, palpating the cut with bloody fingers. He looked at his hand in disbelief, then back at the President. His eyes rolled in their sockets and in one lumbering crash, the behemoth agent toppled to the ground.
Victor’s eyes raked the property.
Had anyone been watching?
The rolling hills of the private sanitorium were green, fed with underground sprinklers that popped up each morning with monotonous regularity. In the distance, the buildings loomed. Gorgeous architecture festooned the porch and patios. Marble statues guarded the walkways lined with pop-up book yellow maples. Visitors oohed and ahhed over the trappings. But Victor abhorred the place, ever since he’d been incarcerated last year. That’s when the voices started. Freddie. Clive. Even Millie. They’d been relentless for the past ten years, rattling their chains and shaking their prison bars until he’d finally given in and let them out.
The sitting area near the canal was one of Victor’s favorite spots. Clusters of wrought iron glass-topped tables and chairs were carefully arranged to resemble normalcy. Errant clumps of buttercups defied the best intentions of the groundskeeper, popping up between the paving stones.
Usually he relaxed here, soaked in the sun, took comfort in being outdoors. But today he found no refuge. Something broke inside. He needed out. And fast. Freddie insisted, convincing Victor he needed to fly far away from the loonies. Away from the mammoth nurses with man-faces and bobbed hair. Away from the…rules.
He shaded his eyes against the strong August sun and peered down the length of the canal. A boat churned around the bend.
Without hesitation, he ran along the shore, waving his arms.
“Help!” he screamed. “Help us!”
He gestured wildly at Tobias’s prone body. The big man’s chest rose up and down. The fly landed on his hand, nestling into a patch of thick black hair. Blood had trickled down his temples and pooled on the ground, mixing with the carefully coiffed lawn. In the distance, the doors of the sanitorium burst open. Figures in white coats streamed toward him, legs pummeling and arms flapping.
The boat pilot spun the wheel in the direction of shore, pulling close to the bumpers on the dock. It was vintage. Wooden. Freshly painted. His ticket out.
Freddie urged him to put on his best campaign smile to lure the man closer.
Don’t forget to look worried. Frown a little.
Sandy-haired, about thirty, the sailor jumped over the side, secured his boat to a mooring, and raced to Victor’s side.
“What happened?” he asked. His eyes widened as he recognized Victor, darting rapidly between Tobias and the President. “Mr. President?”
Hiding the gun behind his back, Victor pointed to Tobias.
“Can you help him?” he asked.
The boater leaned down. Victor slammed the butt of the gun against the back of his neck. Instantly, the man crumpled atop the agent.
What a twit. Didn’t even see it coming.
With Freddie, Clive, and Millie shouting encouragement, Victor leapt over the bodies, dashed to the boat, freed it, and headed up the river just as three orderlies reached the shore. He shoved the throttle to high and saluted them. The craft roared to life, zigzagging along the canal as it sped toward freedom.
There was something he wanted. Something he remembered… but it eluded him, playing around the edges of his brain.
What was it?
Tea with the Russian Ambassador?
No. That wasn’t it. He pictured Yuri and chuckled. He sure was a stuffed shirt. The thoughts niggled at him again as he churned up the waterway.
Something to do with a dark-haired girl in a blue dress?
He shook his head. Nope. Wrong again.
A conference at Camp David?
Millie piped up, dwarfing the cacaphony of voices that screamed inside his head.
Fudge ripple. We want ice cream.
Victor smiled, relieved to have pinned the thought to his mental corkboard. Right. That’s it. Ice cream. Okay, troops, let’s go!
Friday, May 2, 2008
The Technology of Writing Your Novel
© Elizabeth Zelvin 2008 all rights reserved
Does anybody—or everybody—remember Mary Renault’s wonderful novels set in ancient Greece? One of them, THE PRAISE SINGER (1979), is about the poet Simonides, who in Renault’s imagined autobiography is a bard who has composed and memorized a wealth of poetry (his own and Homer’s, for example) and travels around Greece reciting it. In his old age he gets very crabby about his apprentice, a middle-aged nephew he calls “the boy,” who has started to rely on this newfangled invention, writing, carving his words onto a wax tablet with a stylus as he composes them. “How is the boy going to remember anything,” Simonides complains, “if he writes it on the wax?”
We’ve come a long way, for better or worse, in 2700 years. We haven’t quite lost the ability to remember what we create. At a songwriting workshop ten or twelve years ago, a group of us were given the assignment of going out on a beautiful day in a peaceful rural setting without any aids to memory and coming back in an hour with a song, which we would share with the group. I protested in vain, went out, and came back with a song, thus convincing myself that I can indeed remember what I write in my head, if necessary, for one full hour. Technology changes so fast these days that I have to point out that what we couldn’t bring to this exercise consisted of paper, pen or pencil, cassette tape recorder, music paper, or guitar or other musical instruments. No laptops, no PDAs, no digital recorders, no iPhones to leave reluctantly behind.
I’ve just launched my debut mystery, DEATH WILL GET YOU SOBER (St. Martin’s). I’m coming to the end of more than a month of virtual touring and am just embarking on my two-month tour of bookstores and libraries throughout the United States. I’m of a generation (born in the mid-1940s, just ahead of the true baby boomers) that approaches each new piece of high technology with caution and has to work hard to assimilate it. But I’m no Luddite. I have gradually come to depend on my laptop, my cell phone, my GPS bought specifically for finding bookstores on obscure streets in strange cities. Apart from writing, I even make a living on the Internet, providing online therapy and counseling to clients all over the world. It’s a mixed blessing, all this high tech stuff. It makes life so easy—but it can make life so hard when it fails to perform as expected.
I’m taking off across the country to meet booksellers and librarians and, I hope, readers in and with an awful lot of stuff that I don’t understand and can’t fix. First, my little red Toyota Corolla, Miz Scarlett. Then Sadie, my GPS, who can see the big picture from her satellite vantage point but has a tendency to argue with me about which route to take. My laptop. I’ve recently discovered that, while I’m not addicted to the Internet (and I would know: I’m an addiction specialist in my other life as a mental health professional), I do find it soothing after a drive of several hundred miles, on landing in a strange and sterile landscape (ie a room at a Holiday Inn or Econolodge), to turn on my email and check in with my world.
What else? A cell phone, for confirmations and changing plans and making sure my husband remembers who I am. A digital recorder, for when my protagonist, Bruce, a witty and sardonic recovering alcoholic whose biggest secret is he’s got a heart, starts coming out with one-liners in my head or telling me what perilous or awkward situation I’m going to put him in next. The recorder beats pencil and paper, because you can drive while using it. You can even sing into it, if you’re so inspired. An iPod—okay, an iPod clone—loaded with music to dance to when there’s nowhere (or no time) to go running and all those fries you get in the heartland start going to my sedentary writer’s rear.
Writers who have done it all say that touring is a lonely occupation, even if you’re well known or lucky enough to get a crowd at all your signings. The cell phone and the Internet connect me with my support system. The recorder and the laptop enable me to write wherever I am. The down side is the constant pressure to keep everything charged up and in working order—and the terror when one of these tools that have become essential fails to function. Then I get to projecting, as we shrinks say—in plain English, worrying about a future that may never happen. For example: what will we do in a post-nuclear Holocaust world when all the batteries run down, if nobody is left who knows how to make a battery? Luckily, since I write mystery rather than speculative fiction, I don’t have to know the answer.
Elizabeth Zelvin’s debut mystery, DEATH WILL GET YOU SOBER, is just out from St. Martin’s. One related story, “Death Will Clean Your Closet,” is nominated for an Agatha for Best Short Story. Another, “Death Will Tie Your Kangaroo Down,” received an honorable mention in the first annual CrimeSpace Short Story Competition. Liz is a New York City psychotherapist who currently does online therapy. You can learn more about her at http://www.elizabethzelvin.com/.
We’ve come a long way, for better or worse, in 2700 years. We haven’t quite lost the ability to remember what we create. At a songwriting workshop ten or twelve years ago, a group of us were given the assignment of going out on a beautiful day in a peaceful rural setting without any aids to memory and coming back in an hour with a song, which we would share with the group. I protested in vain, went out, and came back with a song, thus convincing myself that I can indeed remember what I write in my head, if necessary, for one full hour. Technology changes so fast these days that I have to point out that what we couldn’t bring to this exercise consisted of paper, pen or pencil, cassette tape recorder, music paper, or guitar or other musical instruments. No laptops, no PDAs, no digital recorders, no iPhones to leave reluctantly behind.
I’ve just launched my debut mystery, DEATH WILL GET YOU SOBER (St. Martin’s). I’m coming to the end of more than a month of virtual touring and am just embarking on my two-month tour of bookstores and libraries throughout the United States. I’m of a generation (born in the mid-1940s, just ahead of the true baby boomers) that approaches each new piece of high technology with caution and has to work hard to assimilate it. But I’m no Luddite. I have gradually come to depend on my laptop, my cell phone, my GPS bought specifically for finding bookstores on obscure streets in strange cities. Apart from writing, I even make a living on the Internet, providing online therapy and counseling to clients all over the world. It’s a mixed blessing, all this high tech stuff. It makes life so easy—but it can make life so hard when it fails to perform as expected.
I’m taking off across the country to meet booksellers and librarians and, I hope, readers in and with an awful lot of stuff that I don’t understand and can’t fix. First, my little red Toyota Corolla, Miz Scarlett. Then Sadie, my GPS, who can see the big picture from her satellite vantage point but has a tendency to argue with me about which route to take. My laptop. I’ve recently discovered that, while I’m not addicted to the Internet (and I would know: I’m an addiction specialist in my other life as a mental health professional), I do find it soothing after a drive of several hundred miles, on landing in a strange and sterile landscape (ie a room at a Holiday Inn or Econolodge), to turn on my email and check in with my world.
What else? A cell phone, for confirmations and changing plans and making sure my husband remembers who I am. A digital recorder, for when my protagonist, Bruce, a witty and sardonic recovering alcoholic whose biggest secret is he’s got a heart, starts coming out with one-liners in my head or telling me what perilous or awkward situation I’m going to put him in next. The recorder beats pencil and paper, because you can drive while using it. You can even sing into it, if you’re so inspired. An iPod—okay, an iPod clone—loaded with music to dance to when there’s nowhere (or no time) to go running and all those fries you get in the heartland start going to my sedentary writer’s rear.
Writers who have done it all say that touring is a lonely occupation, even if you’re well known or lucky enough to get a crowd at all your signings. The cell phone and the Internet connect me with my support system. The recorder and the laptop enable me to write wherever I am. The down side is the constant pressure to keep everything charged up and in working order—and the terror when one of these tools that have become essential fails to function. Then I get to projecting, as we shrinks say—in plain English, worrying about a future that may never happen. For example: what will we do in a post-nuclear Holocaust world when all the batteries run down, if nobody is left who knows how to make a battery? Luckily, since I write mystery rather than speculative fiction, I don’t have to know the answer.
Elizabeth Zelvin’s debut mystery, DEATH WILL GET YOU SOBER, is just out from St. Martin’s. One related story, “Death Will Clean Your Closet,” is nominated for an Agatha for Best Short Story. Another, “Death Will Tie Your Kangaroo Down,” received an honorable mention in the first annual CrimeSpace Short Story Competition. Liz is a New York City psychotherapist who currently does online therapy. You can learn more about her at http://www.elizabethzelvin.com/.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Unnecessary writing
Okay, so we Southerners are known for our love of language, and also our tendency to talk in long drawn out phrases. Well, this Southern gal has a tendency to do the same in my writing. I find sometimes (okay, especially first drafts!) that I include a lot of stuff in my scenes that is just plain not needed. For example, recently I wrote a scene where my characters were at a bar, and they didn't need to do anything but look for a certain villain, or his henchmen, but instead, I found myself writing a long conversation between them that was unnecessary.
Quite easy to do. My characters are Southerners and their life is full of drama. Sometimes that dialogue between them is really important to me as their creator, but not so much for the reader. Gotta go, says I, and the cutting began.
It is a good revision tool to go through your work and slash out all of the unnecessary dialogue, description, or other scene setting that doesn't move your story along.
Your readers will thank you.
Hmm...looking over this post, I see a few places where I could do some work. Take out a that here, and adjective there....
Until next time, happy snipping!
Quite easy to do. My characters are Southerners and their life is full of drama. Sometimes that dialogue between them is really important to me as their creator, but not so much for the reader. Gotta go, says I, and the cutting began.
It is a good revision tool to go through your work and slash out all of the unnecessary dialogue, description, or other scene setting that doesn't move your story along.
Your readers will thank you.
Hmm...looking over this post, I see a few places where I could do some work. Take out a that here, and adjective there....
Until next time, happy snipping!
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
And Now, A Word From My Sponsors
© Marta Stephens 2008 all rights reserved
Okay, I’m going to age myself, but I grew up during the pre cable days of television. Unless you were lucky to have a small privately own television station in your state like we did here in Indiana, the choice of channels were limited to the major networks; NBC, CBS, and ABC. Of course, I’m talking about the 1960s, the days when most households had one prized television set which meant that whatever mom and/or dad decided to watch, is what the family watch -- no exceptions. Some of my parents’ favorites (and consequently ours) were Bonanza, Ed Sullivan, Gun Smoke, Walt Disney, What's My Line, and Saturday night boxing.
Several times during the broadcast, the announcer would break in and say, "And now, a word from our sponsor." Sponsors were and still are the entities that pay to keep shows on the air. Of course, I’m referring to commercials. Granted most of us leave the room to get a snack or two and don’t watch them, but without those 60-second breaks, the average person wouldn't have been able to afford to watch television in the 60s if they would have had to pay for it.
So what do television and commercials have to do with writing? Quite a bit actually if your mind works like mine. To writers, our sponsors are readers, the folks who pump us up and keep us writing. They buy our books, read them, and give them away as gifts. They spread the word to their family and friends about a favorite character -- our creation -- often without us ever knowing about it. Each positive word of mouth from one of these treasured promoters is a potential book sale.
I always welcome e-mails from readers and revel in what they have to say about my writing--good, bad, or indifferent, it's all helpful. Shortly after SILENCED CRY was released, one student at our local college told me she bought two copies of my book; one to keep and read; the other she created a chain read for her friends around the world. She planned to send it to one of her friends who was studying in a different country with instructions to read it and send it to another friend, etc., etc. She recently wrote to say: “I am currently residing in Japan, and just received news that your book has traveled to Australia, New Zealand, India, China, Taiwan, Vienna, France, and actually returned to Japan twice!”
I'll admit I love discovering that a sponsor has stepped forward and posted a commercial, what we more commonly refer to as a review. SILENCED CRY has been blessed with a collection of glowing reviews from professional critics, but nothing warms my heart more than reading a review from someone who took the time to search for my book, buy it, read it, and was moved enough to write their comments. So if you will allow me, I’d like to say, “And now, a word from my sponsors.” These are the two latest reader comments posted on Amazon about SILENCED CRY.
TW Ervin (Ohio, USA)
"This book is filled with characters you enjoy following, or enjoy coming to despise (or at least I did). Maybe you'll see the end coming...but probably you'll end up thinking you've got it solved when a new clue or twist adds to the mystery.
It was a good, fast read for me--mostly because I wanted to get to the end. I was kind of bummed out when I got there. Not because of the ending; it made perfect sense, tying things up. But because the read was over. So, about a week later, I read it again, and enjoyed it all the same, but on a different level. Not many books can do that for me."
Intriguing characters; complicated & provocative plot
by Ann W. Barks (Louisiana)
“... The debut novel by Marta Stephens "Silenced Cry" is a well-plotted, complicated mystery peopled with characters who are solidly etched and equally complicated. Before long, we'll have the second Sam Harper mystery. I'm looking forward to it because this novel has made me a fan of this interesting character.
Sam Harper is a cop who has no problem with a bit of brute force. He's also a cop who remains troubled by the images of the dead baby, especially when he learns from the coroner just how savage her death was. Above all, he's a cop for the right reasons: because he believes in the oath of office he took to protect and serve...
... Where he shines is his work. He's honest, fearless and committed. Sam's ability to put a case together makes him one of the best detectives on the force, which becomes quite a concern to those he begins to track down through the twists and turns of his investigation to find not only the baby's killer but the truth about his partner, his father and his boss. In the end, he is left to question if there's anyone he knows who he can really trust.
Marta's ability to breathe life into the characters we meet makes this a novel that brings you into the plot once it gets racing because you begin to care about the people as much as solving the mystery. And what a mystery it is – it has so many nuances that even when you think you have figured it out, she's able to surprise you with elements you'd almost forgotten she'd raised earlier.
If you're looking for a solid crime mystery that will keep you guessing along the way and also want to read about some realistic, intriguing people whom you'll look forward to meeting up with again in the next novel this author has coming out later this year, I can heartily recommend "Silenced Cry" by Marta Stephens.”
So remember, no need to be shy. Next time you read a book you can't put down, contact the author (most will gladly respond!) and let him or her know that you liked it. I guarantee you'll make their day.
SILENCED CRY placed 4th in the novel/mystery division of the 2007 Preditors and Editors Readers Poll.
Okay, I’m going to age myself, but I grew up during the pre cable days of television. Unless you were lucky to have a small privately own television station in your state like we did here in Indiana, the choice of channels were limited to the major networks; NBC, CBS, and ABC. Of course, I’m talking about the 1960s, the days when most households had one prized television set which meant that whatever mom and/or dad decided to watch, is what the family watch -- no exceptions. Some of my parents’ favorites (and consequently ours) were Bonanza, Ed Sullivan, Gun Smoke, Walt Disney, What's My Line, and Saturday night boxing.
Several times during the broadcast, the announcer would break in and say, "And now, a word from our sponsor." Sponsors were and still are the entities that pay to keep shows on the air. Of course, I’m referring to commercials. Granted most of us leave the room to get a snack or two and don’t watch them, but without those 60-second breaks, the average person wouldn't have been able to afford to watch television in the 60s if they would have had to pay for it.
So what do television and commercials have to do with writing? Quite a bit actually if your mind works like mine. To writers, our sponsors are readers, the folks who pump us up and keep us writing. They buy our books, read them, and give them away as gifts. They spread the word to their family and friends about a favorite character -- our creation -- often without us ever knowing about it. Each positive word of mouth from one of these treasured promoters is a potential book sale.
I always welcome e-mails from readers and revel in what they have to say about my writing--good, bad, or indifferent, it's all helpful. Shortly after SILENCED CRY was released, one student at our local college told me she bought two copies of my book; one to keep and read; the other she created a chain read for her friends around the world. She planned to send it to one of her friends who was studying in a different country with instructions to read it and send it to another friend, etc., etc. She recently wrote to say: “I am currently residing in Japan, and just received news that your book has traveled to Australia, New Zealand, India, China, Taiwan, Vienna, France, and actually returned to Japan twice!”
I'll admit I love discovering that a sponsor has stepped forward and posted a commercial, what we more commonly refer to as a review. SILENCED CRY has been blessed with a collection of glowing reviews from professional critics, but nothing warms my heart more than reading a review from someone who took the time to search for my book, buy it, read it, and was moved enough to write their comments. So if you will allow me, I’d like to say, “And now, a word from my sponsors.” These are the two latest reader comments posted on Amazon about SILENCED CRY.
TW Ervin (Ohio, USA)
"This book is filled with characters you enjoy following, or enjoy coming to despise (or at least I did). Maybe you'll see the end coming...but probably you'll end up thinking you've got it solved when a new clue or twist adds to the mystery.
It was a good, fast read for me--mostly because I wanted to get to the end. I was kind of bummed out when I got there. Not because of the ending; it made perfect sense, tying things up. But because the read was over. So, about a week later, I read it again, and enjoyed it all the same, but on a different level. Not many books can do that for me."
Intriguing characters; complicated & provocative plot
by Ann W. Barks (Louisiana)
“... The debut novel by Marta Stephens "Silenced Cry" is a well-plotted, complicated mystery peopled with characters who are solidly etched and equally complicated. Before long, we'll have the second Sam Harper mystery. I'm looking forward to it because this novel has made me a fan of this interesting character.
Sam Harper is a cop who has no problem with a bit of brute force. He's also a cop who remains troubled by the images of the dead baby, especially when he learns from the coroner just how savage her death was. Above all, he's a cop for the right reasons: because he believes in the oath of office he took to protect and serve...
... Where he shines is his work. He's honest, fearless and committed. Sam's ability to put a case together makes him one of the best detectives on the force, which becomes quite a concern to those he begins to track down through the twists and turns of his investigation to find not only the baby's killer but the truth about his partner, his father and his boss. In the end, he is left to question if there's anyone he knows who he can really trust.
Marta's ability to breathe life into the characters we meet makes this a novel that brings you into the plot once it gets racing because you begin to care about the people as much as solving the mystery. And what a mystery it is – it has so many nuances that even when you think you have figured it out, she's able to surprise you with elements you'd almost forgotten she'd raised earlier.
If you're looking for a solid crime mystery that will keep you guessing along the way and also want to read about some realistic, intriguing people whom you'll look forward to meeting up with again in the next novel this author has coming out later this year, I can heartily recommend "Silenced Cry" by Marta Stephens.”
So remember, no need to be shy. Next time you read a book you can't put down, contact the author (most will gladly respond!) and let him or her know that you liked it. I guarantee you'll make their day.
You’ll find all the critical reviews and reader comments for SILENCED CRY in their entirety on my website under the links titled: Body of Evidence and Witnesses’ Statements.
Homicide Detective Sam Harper will be back later this year with a few new adversaries to arrest. Until then, thanks for reading SILENCED CRY and checking my website. I look forward to your comments!
SILENCED CRY placed 4th in the novel/mystery division of the 2007 Preditors and Editors Readers Poll.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
For all you brave writers
Many of us have fond memories of Miss Snark, the anonymous agent who dispensed excellent advice, lots of laughs, and contests that made us question her sanity when she slogged through and critiqued hundreds of entries for first pages, query letters, and more.
If you miss having your work savaged, there's a new blog in town:
Query Shark
Run by the wonderful and savvy Janet Reid, who is now an agent with Fine Print Literary Management, the intent of this blog is to help you craft a query letter that makes sense and will get an agent's attention. Ms. Reid doesn't pull any punches (she's awesome that way), but if you can take the heat, you'll have some very worthwhile insight into your query.
If you miss having your work savaged, there's a new blog in town:
Query Shark
Run by the wonderful and savvy Janet Reid, who is now an agent with Fine Print Literary Management, the intent of this blog is to help you craft a query letter that makes sense and will get an agent's attention. Ms. Reid doesn't pull any punches (she's awesome that way), but if you can take the heat, you'll have some very worthwhile insight into your query.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Addressing the Challenges of Writing Horror and Paranormal Suspense
© Ron Scala 2008 all rights reserved
Ronald Joseph Scala grew up in western Pennsylvania on “Poe” Drive, hence a lifelong interest in horror fiction.
The pivotal event that transformed him from an avid reader to an aspiring writer occurred in College. Ron came upon an abandoned barn littered with the remains of slaughtered animals and this became the focal point of his latest novel “Beckoned” now available from Wild Child Publishing.
Ron also has a collection of short horror stories called “The Long Hour Before Light,” available at http://www.etreasurespublishing.com/.
Ron makes ends meet with a day job as a Radiation Physicist in eastern Ohio where he lives with his wife and children. Like the Yin and Yang, Ron balances the rigorous logic of physics with the abstract, imaginary world of horror fiction
Sidebar: The fictional demon in “Beckoned,” Ouintan Mantua, has nothing to do with Ron’s current hometown of Mantua, Ohio. This is but a strange convergence.
***
When it comes to my writing career I like to draw inspiration from Michael Faraday. Mr. Faraday was a bookbinder in the nineteenth century. He began to read the physics and chemistry books that he was binding and learned the fields. Without formal scientific or rigorous mathematical education he nonetheless became one of the preeminent contributors to the fields of chemistry and electricity. When I confront my own lack of understanding in some aspect of writing, I remember this lesson from Mr. Faraday. The human spirit is bounded only by our own self-imposed barriers and any person can achieve anything if they persevere.
To specifics. In parallel with Michael Faraday, I am not classically trained in composition or literature and have had to adapt to my lack of certain fundamentals. Exasperating as this has been, in the long run, it has given me a perspective on writing that is somewhat different from many other authors. Below are my thoughts on the challenges writing horror and paranormal suspense, drawn from that point of view.
First, like almost any area in writing, the horror genre is highly competitive and populated by countless great and talented writers. Don’t be discouraged by this. Each had their beginning wrought with frustration, highlighted by disappointment and usually peppered with a measure of poverty. Stay in there.
Next, I want to emphasize the importance of writing. What I mean is this. Spend as much time as you can devoted to writing horror. Very soon you will find that, by necessity, you will be rationing that time, sharing it with the seemingly endless processes of researching markets and submitting queries and manuscripts. Once published, you will further dip into that well, expending precious time marketing your works, composing and commenting in blogs and fostering relationships with your prospective buyers. You’ll find that you have even less time to actually write. So, while you have the luxury of devoting most of your time to the pure art of the word, do it. Write!
To the mechanics of writing I want to say this. It is how I compartmentalize two very important elements of successful horror, namely “writing a good story” and “writing well”. There’s a difference. In an interview given at the end of his highly successful audio book, Bag of Bones, the penultimate horror author Stephan King related that faced with a choice between a poorly written book with a great story line and a poor story written very well, he preferred the great story written poorly. In agreement with King, I always concentrate on the story. I am in no way minimizing the need to present a professional work to your prospective publisher. For an aspiring author, this cannot be understated. If you submit a tale filled with poor grammar, and violations of language rules and literary prescription, you’ll do nothing more than add to your growing collection of rejection letters. The same holds true if your story is just no good. The difference is that a poorly written, but otherwise great story can be cleaned up. A bad story will always be a bad story. Write with abandon and worry about reworking the language rules later. Your writing will evolve so that with each work, you will get better at presenting and crafting proper and appealing word structure. Within their rejection letter many conscientious publishers will point out the areas to be worked on. And once you have an agreement to publish your editor will help as well. So let all that come on its own, and concentrate on the story.
Now to the heart of the matter, the horror story itself. So where do you get the idea for that next great story? If you are a horror writer, the ideas come from everywhere, all the time. Each of us has a vision of what good horror is, so ideas pop up all the time. The trick is not to let the vision smolder, spark and burst into flame only to be lost, forgotten. The goal is to capture them for a later harvest. What I do is always keep a mini notepad with me similar to what a police detective carries. If I am at a restaurant and an idea comes to mind, I pull out the notebook. If I am driving through a particularly dark and foreboding town and I imagine a good yarn, I stop and write down the idea. And I take time to write as much of the whole story, the plot, theme, and climax envisioned right then, as the story rushes through my mind. I write the words that I’ll need to rekindle the passion about that particular idea, what made it so exciting at the time, when I revisit the notebook a day, a week, or a month later. You might be in the middle of another writing project when the ideas come. When you have time and want to revive that idea, with all the enthusiasm of that first visit, your notebook will allow it to reawaken.
Lastly, take time to enjoy what you do, take delight in creating your works. If you think that goes without saying you are wrong. I know too many talented writers who, for want of success or sales or recognition, concentrate a disproportionate amount of time on the business of writing instead of the pleasure, the art. I am talking about allowing the selling and the marketing displace the creating. If you allow that to happen I think your writing, your creativity will suffer. As in human endeavor, if you don’t enjoy what you do, it will fall from its lofty station as a profession to one a chore, and you from an artist to a day laborer.
***
You'll find more of Ron Scala at:
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Obsessions and Blue Potatoes by Aaron Paul Lazar
My publisher just accepted the second book in the “green marble” series, entitled One Potato, Blue Potato. It’ll be my fourth book with Twilight Times Books, and I’m thrilled that the series has found a home. This one involves a peculiar green marble and a diabolical plot to blow up the President. Sam Moore’s job is to find his missing daughter, save the president, and naturally, tend his gardens. He’s recently retired, and I’m decidedly jealous of him.Gardens are the prime feature of this series, just as music, family, nature, and food are highlighted in the LeGarde mysteries. It’s the tenth book out of my even dozen. I had a ball writing it, but the title has been niggling at me. I want to dig up and pan-fry some blue potatoes. Now.
But it’s more than just potatoes. It’s a hunger for my garden. A lust for the soil, the sun. I ache to be up to my elbows in the soft dirt. This longing goes deep; it permeates my days and fills my dreams. I want to kneel in the freshly tilled earth and poke pink bean seeds into the ground, to pull a cluster of plump blueberries from the bush and eat them right on the spot, or to dig down deep in the ground and find golden globes of potatoes, like treasures waiting to be discovered. I’m aching to spy the first cherry tomato or ripe strawberry and run inside to offer them to my wife.
It happens just about this time every year. Come fall, I’m sick to death of the garden and am happy to walk away from it. For a little while, anyway. In spite of that, however, I always manage to write about it. Incessantly. My characters become gardeners whether they want to or not. Sam Moore is a possessed gardener. It’s what he aches to do. And even Gus LeGarde, music professor, finds time to tend the hollyhocks and plant corn.
But when spring beckons, when one day in early March offers surprising summery breezes, I am primed. It happened last Saturday. It hit seventy degrees here in upstate NY. I spent eight hours outside, moving 50 feet of raspberry bushes, cleaning out the barn, and taking in the Christmas decorations.
Then it went back down to the thirties and it felt downright… cold. Remember, I’m affectionately called “Nanuk of the North” because of my cold-hardy ways. I love the snow, thrive in the cold.But when the Stokes seeds arrive in the mail… I forget about winter. I’m poised. I’m ready. I yearn to be back in the furrows again, treading obediently behind my big orange Husqvarna tiller, attacking those rapacious weeds with vengeance.
What is it that makes me so different? Why don’t my friends drool over their gardening catalogues? Why don’t they fixate on the new raised bed that they might just build and impulsively order 50 strawberry plants, a nectarine tree, six black raspberry bushes, and red, blue, and Yukon Gold seed potatoes in one sitting at the PC? Am I that odd?
My wife thinks so. She thinks I’m obsessed. My kids affectionately tolerate my passion for the dirt and my colleagues laugh good-naturedly when I trundle into work with arms loaded with bags of summer squash, beets, and other goodies. I share because I plant far too much for my family. Probably enough for a small village.
Who else plants wide rows of beets eighty feet long? We’re talking hundreds and hundreds of beets, here, people. Who puts in eighty tomato plants? Well, I do fill the freezer with them, so it’s not completely irrational. But what about the twenty pumpkins that decorate my home around Halloween? After I’ve given some away to friends…
I never have enough. Veggies. Fruit trees. Flowers. The compulsion to add each year is strong. More trees. New berry bushes. Additional perennial gardens. Unique, bizarre shapes and sizes of vegetables. After all, how cool is it to grow Jostaberries and green cousa Middle Eastern squash? And what about that white mulberry I planted last year?
Maybe I inherited this compulsion? My grandparents accumulated French fashion dolls until their collection grew to the third largest in the States. This, from a depression era piano teacher with his wheelchair-bound wife. They also collected Victorian dollhouses. Dozens of them. With passion. And a very clever approach to trading up and managing the dollar. Sadly, I didn’t inherit that financial insight.
An analyst might suggest that it stems from those early years when I struck out on my own and struck out. Seriously struck out. I tried to “make it on my own,” when I was far too young and unlucky with work. I planned to support myself and save enough money to put myself through art school. Right. On a minimum wage job, in fact. No problem for a twenty-one-year-old kid.
Right?
Wrong.
After I was laid off for the third time in a year during the 1974 recession in the greater Boston area, I was hungry. Literally hungry, with only four bucks a week to buy food.
Well, maybe that’s it. Maybe it’s a deep-seated urge to collect food and fill the pantry until it overflows. I must say, I haven’t actually been hungry since I drove myself to get an engineering degree when the hiring was hot. So I’d have a good salary, a house, a place for my kids to run and play free. And plenty of food in the cupboards.
A more fanciful theory is that I’m Claude Monet, reincarnated.
Monet’s gardens in Giverny, France call to me. I’ve tried to recreate some of his gorgeous live paintings in my own yard. You know, the red poppies mixed with purple iris in masses of riotous hues? The tangerine and saffron nasturtiums that creep into the aisle ways, spreading carpets of color across the ground? Monet maintained six acres of sun-drenched explosions in color and even managed to include a pond dotted with water lilies and Japanese bridges. Sigh. I’m sure he had vegetable gardens, too. Did they have yellow tomatoes in his day?
I can’t totally agree with those who claim I’m unduly possessed by this need. I mean, it is healthy for me, isn’t it? Isn’t it okay to get up at 5:30 on a Saturday in May and spend all day outside, planting and tilling and weeding and … until 8:00 at night? And my little grandsons do spend the whole day, “helping” me. So I’m not isolated. I’m with my best buddies in the world. I do miss my wife, the “garden widow,” but I honestly try to make up for it in the evening when we spend quality time talking and watching movies.
I can’t totally agree with those who claim I’m unduly possessed by this need. I mean, it is healthy for me, isn’t it? Isn’t it okay to get up at 5:30 on a Saturday in May and spend all day outside, planting and tilling and weeding and … until 8:00 at night? And my little grandsons do spend the whole day, “helping” me. So I’m not isolated. I’m with my best buddies in the world. I do miss my wife, the “garden widow,” but I honestly try to make up for it in the evening when we spend quality time talking and watching movies.
Okay, enough explaining. It’s time to go price those blocks for the new raised bed. And maybe I’ll add another dozen blueberry bushes. I’d really like to have enough to freeze. The Pixwell pink gooseberries tasted great last year, but I only planted two bushes. Maybe just another four. Or six… Ought-oh. Here I go again. ;o)***
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Busting Through Writer's Block
© Marta Stephens, all rights reservedI’m often asked how or what I do when I begin to write a new book. As some know, the first three books in my Sam Harper Crime Mystery series began life as novellas. I’ll admit, during my early writing, I wrote what came to me without thinking about the process. A few years later when I rewrote (expanded) the first two books, SILENCED CRY (2007) and THE BLACK PEARL (Fall 2008) into novels, I didn't exactly starting from scratch. I had a plot, a set of decent characters, and a base of information from which to work with. So, when asked, what or how I managed it, I wondered if I should I discuss the original text or the end product?
This for me has been a difficult question to answer until now. While waiting for the next step in the publishing process of THE BLACK PEARL, I decided to dust off GRAVE WITNESS and give it a go. It is the shortest of the three novellas at a mere 20,000 words with a linear plot. Anyone who has read SILENCED CRY will attest that’s not my style and therein is the problem—where to find the sub plots.
Aside from cringing at my early writing attempt, I was stumped with the prospect of how I would expand this story into an 80-90,000 word manuscript. I needed sub plots, lots of them – mini plots that made perfect sense, add unexpected twists, and would ultimately draw the reader back to the main plot for a perfect conclusion. Easy, right? After a few repeated blows to the head from the proverbial brick wall, I found my answers in back stories.
In addition to homicide detective, Sam Harper, the stories bring back a host of regular characters. Each book also introduces the reader to several new characters; the antagonists as well as a handful of other colorful players. But before I can fully understand their motivation, I write brief back stories on each. I take that new characters back to a point in time, let them tell their stories. Then it’s my turn to ask what, where, when, how, and why and I keep asking those questions until there’s nowhere left to go. It’s amazing the discoveries I learn through this process. Thus far, I’ve introduced two new characters in GRAVE WITNESS. Each of their back stories has resulted in several plausible sub plots, but the most unexpected and exciting development is that one of them might turn into a new series character. Wow!!
Now I can answer that question and also offer a bit of advice. When you hit a road block in your writing, shove your story aside for a few days and concentrate on one of the primary characters. Write his or her story, find out who and what event(s) has influenced his or her life and prepare to be totally amazed.
Now the wheels are turning faster than I can type but that’s okay ‘cause there’s nothing better than an exhilarating joy ride.
To read an excerpt and/or purchase an autographed copy of SILENCED CRY please visit my website!
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Do ya FEEL me?
Like most authors, I work a day job.
It’s not terrible, but it’s not always fun. I’m a network administrator for a small remanufacturing company. In the course of a day, I work with sales, marketing, purchasing, and accounting (yes, that IS everyone). They don’t argue when I tell them what is wrong, but often don’t do as I say. I call them my “work children”. I do a ton of things for them, and with them, and if I am lucky, on some days, the time passes quickly. Ahem. Mostly, it doesn’t. Mostly I wanna be writing and sunning myself on a tropical isle. Oh, if only.
Anyway, most writers run into this situation (work life versus home i.e. writing life), and it’s something to consider, especially if you want to go this thing whole-hog. You know, if you are working on a writing “career”.
You will either be so good at what you do, or so weighed with commitments that you don’t know how you will ever manage to keep working to make that paycheck. Because it ain’t all about the writing sometimes. There is the promo stuff, too. Websites, blogs, and social sites will eat your time away, too.
But my day job is killing my writing time. That’s it, folks. Bare bottom line. I used to be able to sneak in writing time at work, but that has been killed since July of last year, when a lady at work had a motorcycle accident and some of her work-load got shifted to mine. I actually have written entire short stories at work in the past and now wonder if I ever will be that free again. Dadgumit, if other people can look at the ‘net or play games, I can at least write, right?
I do not know if there is a way out of my certain conundrum but I hope so. I hope maybe I have enough friends and fans to buy books and get me that dream of staying at home one day. Who knows? It could happen!
So, this is my “do ya feel me?” post of the week. I know I am not alone. In fact, all my buds here at MB4 have jobs, too.
Until we all say “I quit” – I hope you have a good one. Keep writing folks!
It’s not terrible, but it’s not always fun. I’m a network administrator for a small remanufacturing company. In the course of a day, I work with sales, marketing, purchasing, and accounting (yes, that IS everyone). They don’t argue when I tell them what is wrong, but often don’t do as I say. I call them my “work children”. I do a ton of things for them, and with them, and if I am lucky, on some days, the time passes quickly. Ahem. Mostly, it doesn’t. Mostly I wanna be writing and sunning myself on a tropical isle. Oh, if only.
Anyway, most writers run into this situation (work life versus home i.e. writing life), and it’s something to consider, especially if you want to go this thing whole-hog. You know, if you are working on a writing “career”.
You will either be so good at what you do, or so weighed with commitments that you don’t know how you will ever manage to keep working to make that paycheck. Because it ain’t all about the writing sometimes. There is the promo stuff, too. Websites, blogs, and social sites will eat your time away, too.
But my day job is killing my writing time. That’s it, folks. Bare bottom line. I used to be able to sneak in writing time at work, but that has been killed since July of last year, when a lady at work had a motorcycle accident and some of her work-load got shifted to mine. I actually have written entire short stories at work in the past and now wonder if I ever will be that free again. Dadgumit, if other people can look at the ‘net or play games, I can at least write, right?
I do not know if there is a way out of my certain conundrum but I hope so. I hope maybe I have enough friends and fans to buy books and get me that dream of staying at home one day. Who knows? It could happen!
So, this is my “do ya feel me?” post of the week. I know I am not alone. In fact, all my buds here at MB4 have jobs, too.
Until we all say “I quit” – I hope you have a good one. Keep writing folks!
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Developing Your Author’s Website
© Marta Stephens 2008 all rights reserved
I, like most of my fellow authors, work outside the home to earn a living and write to feed my soul. My background is in public relations with several years experience in project management and promotions in higher education. My experience has been in the area of campaign development, press releases, advertisement, graphic design, and event planning. Marketing my book took me into unknown territory, but being one who loves a challenge and is something of a risk taker, I embraced the opportunity. But even I had to admit that as my debut novel SILENCED CRY was about to be released in April 2007, I was a bit apprehensive. My hope is that in sharing my experiences with you, you’ll find some useful solutions to your marketing questions.
An average visit to a web page is 60 seconds or less. That’s your competition; time and why it is so critical to make sure that your site, particularly your home page, is visually pleasing and easy to navigate. Your website is your persona to the world. It should reflect your writing style, your genre, and carry a consistent theme throughout each page. It should be informative and entertaining. All the links must work and each page should have a link that navigates back to each of the other pages especially the home page.
Impossible? Not really.
The first thing to consider is your domain name. It can be purchased ahead of time to make sure you are able to secure the name you want. Purchase a domain name that identifies you. Make it short and easy to remember and identifiable.
Web design: Websites don’t have to cost a lot of money; in fact there are several free programs available. If you’ve never developed a site, you may want to play around with one of those before you make a costly investment of software. The down side to the free programs is that they have limited capabilities, but they can be just as effective in drawing in attention if done correctly. If you don’t feel comfortable developing your site, it’s worth the money to have someone’s help or let them do it for you. Check with your local college or university. Students studying web design are on top of the latest techniques and would welcome the experience to put on their resume and the extra cash in their pockets. Hiring a student will also be easy on your pocketbook as well.
You’ll want a site that looks clean and professional. Consider the layout. Will you display your menu across the top or on either margin? How many columns will you require? Whatever style or template you choose to use, you must use it throughout the site for visual consistency. Use only two easy to read fonts such as Arial, Times New Roman, or Verdana. Use the same font, font size, and color throughout the site for your text. The second font can be used for all the page titles and menu options.
Select an appropriate color scheme that reflects your writing. Develop a theme and run it through the entire site. Avoid using flashing or distracting images/borders/ or loud music that will divert the visitor’s attention from your writing. Nothing will turn viewers away faster than a site that is hard on the eyes and ears. Select the pictures you plan to use on your site and make sure they’re saved as JPGs.
Once you have decided on the layout and scheme, you’re ready to enter the information and start building your website. What should you include? A good start will include your book cover, author photo, bio, excerpt, reviews, events, book trailer, and reader comments. If you’ve received good press coverage, add links to those newspapers and/or magazines. Additional pages can always be added as ideas come to you.
Choosing a server. The selection is endless and their services vary as much as the costs. Again, if you don’t know what to purchase, ask someone you trust to help you. Start with an economy plan that allows you to secure the site and your domain name for a year or two. It is feasible to obtain a basic start up services for under $100. Initially you won’t need the amount of space the larger options offer. You’ll want to purchase the least expensive offer available to track traffic to your site. Take advantage of every free feature your server offers to help keep your site visible.
Once you have built and launched the site, you need to draw readers to it. Insert as many tags (key words) as possible within the code section of your site and install a web crawler to make your site accessible on search engines such as Google. Include your URL on EVERYTHING, e-mail signature lines, bookmarks, letterhead, blog signatures, articles, bios, flyers, post cards, etc. Cross promote your site. Set up a section on your site to list other authors’ links in return for them listing your link on theirs. Update your site and blog on a regular basis--at least once or twice a week, the more the better. Then promote that new article or feature on your blog posts.Check to see what type of traffic information is available from your server. My server allows me to generate all types of reports. One report shows me a list of "referrals." This indicates to me where readers are finding the link to my website. Let's say if you click on my website from ABC authors’ forum, the report will show the name of that forum. Why's that important? Because it shows which sites are active and that its members are interested in learning about my books. Therefore, those are the sites in which I’m going to continue to promote my work. To give you an idea of the type of information I have available, from the day I launched my site on March 12, 2007, through the present day, my web’s stats reflect:
10,773 visitors
13,183 unique visitors (new)
24,746 pages viewed
42,182 hits
Viewed by visitors from 97 countries. The countries with the highest number of visits include: The US, Sweden, Canada, United Kingdom Germany, China, France and the Russian Federation.
And the most popular viewing day? Mondays and Wednesday. Don’t ask me why, but there you have it.
The key is to not only continue to post and blog, but to make sure your posts and articles lead the readers back to your website.
Other things to remember:
- It’s not enough to get people to land on your site, make it entertaining; make it interactive. When you plan your site, consider creating 5-10 pages and as stated earlier, make sure each page includes links to all the others pages on your site so visitors don’t get “stuck” on one page and leave.
- There are a few key words to remember as your site evolves and you have more to offer visitors. One is “Sign-up.” Do you have a newsletter? Even if it’s free, make it worth the visitor’s time to sign-up on the first visit or you may lose them. A newsletter will be a constant reminder about you, your site, and your book.
- Don’t be shy about asking people to “Buy.” Set up a separate page with the links to all the online bookstores that sell your book. If your book is available on Amazon, sign up with Amazon Associates (free) and place their logo on your site. It will take the visitor directly to your page on Amazon and if you have enough referrals from your site, you could earn a small referral fee.
- Do you have anything “Free” to offer like bookmarks, signed nameplates, or other products promoting your book(s)? Who doesn’t like getting something for nothing?
One final word; have fun designing your website. But remember it’s your first step toward obtaining an Internet presence. Get them there and get them to stay!
Marta Stephens writes crime mystery/suspense http://www.martastphens-author.com/
SILENCED CRY (2007) autographed copies available via my web site.
THE BLACK PEARL (2008)
I, like most of my fellow authors, work outside the home to earn a living and write to feed my soul. My background is in public relations with several years experience in project management and promotions in higher education. My experience has been in the area of campaign development, press releases, advertisement, graphic design, and event planning. Marketing my book took me into unknown territory, but being one who loves a challenge and is something of a risk taker, I embraced the opportunity. But even I had to admit that as my debut novel SILENCED CRY was about to be released in April 2007, I was a bit apprehensive. My hope is that in sharing my experiences with you, you’ll find some useful solutions to your marketing questions.
An average visit to a web page is 60 seconds or less. That’s your competition; time and why it is so critical to make sure that your site, particularly your home page, is visually pleasing and easy to navigate. Your website is your persona to the world. It should reflect your writing style, your genre, and carry a consistent theme throughout each page. It should be informative and entertaining. All the links must work and each page should have a link that navigates back to each of the other pages especially the home page.
Impossible? Not really.
The first thing to consider is your domain name. It can be purchased ahead of time to make sure you are able to secure the name you want. Purchase a domain name that identifies you. Make it short and easy to remember and identifiable.
Web design: Websites don’t have to cost a lot of money; in fact there are several free programs available. If you’ve never developed a site, you may want to play around with one of those before you make a costly investment of software. The down side to the free programs is that they have limited capabilities, but they can be just as effective in drawing in attention if done correctly. If you don’t feel comfortable developing your site, it’s worth the money to have someone’s help or let them do it for you. Check with your local college or university. Students studying web design are on top of the latest techniques and would welcome the experience to put on their resume and the extra cash in their pockets. Hiring a student will also be easy on your pocketbook as well.
You’ll want a site that looks clean and professional. Consider the layout. Will you display your menu across the top or on either margin? How many columns will you require? Whatever style or template you choose to use, you must use it throughout the site for visual consistency. Use only two easy to read fonts such as Arial, Times New Roman, or Verdana. Use the same font, font size, and color throughout the site for your text. The second font can be used for all the page titles and menu options.
Select an appropriate color scheme that reflects your writing. Develop a theme and run it through the entire site. Avoid using flashing or distracting images/borders/ or loud music that will divert the visitor’s attention from your writing. Nothing will turn viewers away faster than a site that is hard on the eyes and ears. Select the pictures you plan to use on your site and make sure they’re saved as JPGs.
Once you have decided on the layout and scheme, you’re ready to enter the information and start building your website. What should you include? A good start will include your book cover, author photo, bio, excerpt, reviews, events, book trailer, and reader comments. If you’ve received good press coverage, add links to those newspapers and/or magazines. Additional pages can always be added as ideas come to you.
Choosing a server. The selection is endless and their services vary as much as the costs. Again, if you don’t know what to purchase, ask someone you trust to help you. Start with an economy plan that allows you to secure the site and your domain name for a year or two. It is feasible to obtain a basic start up services for under $100. Initially you won’t need the amount of space the larger options offer. You’ll want to purchase the least expensive offer available to track traffic to your site. Take advantage of every free feature your server offers to help keep your site visible.
Once you have built and launched the site, you need to draw readers to it. Insert as many tags (key words) as possible within the code section of your site and install a web crawler to make your site accessible on search engines such as Google. Include your URL on EVERYTHING, e-mail signature lines, bookmarks, letterhead, blog signatures, articles, bios, flyers, post cards, etc. Cross promote your site. Set up a section on your site to list other authors’ links in return for them listing your link on theirs. Update your site and blog on a regular basis--at least once or twice a week, the more the better. Then promote that new article or feature on your blog posts.Check to see what type of traffic information is available from your server. My server allows me to generate all types of reports. One report shows me a list of "referrals." This indicates to me where readers are finding the link to my website. Let's say if you click on my website from ABC authors’ forum, the report will show the name of that forum. Why's that important? Because it shows which sites are active and that its members are interested in learning about my books. Therefore, those are the sites in which I’m going to continue to promote my work. To give you an idea of the type of information I have available, from the day I launched my site on March 12, 2007, through the present day, my web’s stats reflect:
10,773 visitors
13,183 unique visitors (new)
24,746 pages viewed
42,182 hits
Viewed by visitors from 97 countries. The countries with the highest number of visits include: The US, Sweden, Canada, United Kingdom Germany, China, France and the Russian Federation.
And the most popular viewing day? Mondays and Wednesday. Don’t ask me why, but there you have it.
The key is to not only continue to post and blog, but to make sure your posts and articles lead the readers back to your website.
Other things to remember:
- It’s not enough to get people to land on your site, make it entertaining; make it interactive. When you plan your site, consider creating 5-10 pages and as stated earlier, make sure each page includes links to all the others pages on your site so visitors don’t get “stuck” on one page and leave.
- There are a few key words to remember as your site evolves and you have more to offer visitors. One is “Sign-up.” Do you have a newsletter? Even if it’s free, make it worth the visitor’s time to sign-up on the first visit or you may lose them. A newsletter will be a constant reminder about you, your site, and your book.
- Don’t be shy about asking people to “Buy.” Set up a separate page with the links to all the online bookstores that sell your book. If your book is available on Amazon, sign up with Amazon Associates (free) and place their logo on your site. It will take the visitor directly to your page on Amazon and if you have enough referrals from your site, you could earn a small referral fee.
- Do you have anything “Free” to offer like bookmarks, signed nameplates, or other products promoting your book(s)? Who doesn’t like getting something for nothing?
One final word; have fun designing your website. But remember it’s your first step toward obtaining an Internet presence. Get them there and get them to stay!
Marta Stephens writes crime mystery/suspense http://www.martastphens-author.com/
SILENCED CRY (2007) autographed copies available via my web site.
THE BLACK PEARL (2008)
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