Saturday, July 25, 2015

The Rest is Even Better Than the First

Another in my long running series on first lines (see here).

This one, the most recent, compliments of Lee Child and his thirteenth Reacher novel, is pretty gripping as far as first lines are concerned.

Suicide bombers are easy to spot. They give out all kinds of telltale signs. Mostly because they’re nervous. By definition they’re all first-timers.

Child, Lee - Gone Tomorrow

Who wouldn't want to know why Reacher is thinking about suicide bombers? Who wouldn't want to know what the signs are that lead him to spot one. Plus it has that bit of cryptic, dry humor that immediately puts the reader into the mind of the main character.

Gripping? Sure. Apropos description if you ask me. Best part about this first line? It presages a novel that is just as gripping and hosts just as much dry, crypticism and compelling interesting twists and turns.

Monday, July 13, 2015

Another Morning, this Time from Felix

I just finished Crossfire by Felix Francis and it wasn't too bad. Not as good as Dick Francis, but a solid try. 

All that being said, Felix is a typical writer in that he too falls for descriptions of the morning. Anyone who reads this blog should know by now that finding morning descriptions are a particular fondness of mine (see here). Felix provides his own offering below.

The sky was lightening in the east with a lovely display of blues, purples and reds. In spite of being completely at home in the dark, I had always loved the coming of the dawn, the start of a new day. 

The arrival of the sun, bringing light and warmth and driving away the cold and darkness of the night, was like a piece of daily magic, revered and worshipped by man and beast alike. How does it happen? And why? Let us just be thankful that it did. If the sun went out, we would all be in the poop, and no mistake. 

The rim of the fiery ball popped up over the horizon and flooded the hillside with an orange glow, banishing the gloom from beneath the bushes.

Francis, Dick; Francis, Felix - Crossfire

A little more than is common from what I find in other works, still just as prototypical. I'll probably keep reading Felix's stuff, even though I think "fiery ball" is a tad trite.

Thursday, July 9, 2015

On the TBR List

Yep, I'm adding The Centurions by Jean Larteguty to my To Be Read list (see here).

For just a moment I thought I was going to read about Devil's Guard (no, not The Devil's Brigade, but the book about the SS officers who run off to join the French Foreign Legion) when I began reading this WSJ article by James D. Hornfischer.

The anguish of the U.S. experience in Vietnam reverberates in some of our best fiction, from Philip Caputo’s “Indian Country” (1987) and Tim O’Brien’s “The Things They Carried” (1990) to Karl Marlantes’s “Matterhorn” (2009). But in literature, as in the war itself, the French got there first.

Now, I'd rather not get into my disdain for The Things They Carried, which I belive too many people like for the wrong reasons, but anyone who has read the out of print Devil's Guard can clearly see why I would have thought that's where the article was going. But No! Now I have a new book to read.

Devil's Guard was Holy Writ in our Ranger Platoon. We bought a copy for three hundred dollars back in 1996 and carried it around in a plastic bag from deployment to deployment and forced the new privates to read it and quote from it. Still, The Centurions sounds like a good companion as well, although it sounds like reading it might be a hard slog.

Though it has been heralded as the first novel to feature a “ticking time bomb” storyline, “The Centurions” was not built to satisfy readers looking for crisp plotting, suspense and action. With its extended speechifying, incomplete character arcs, female love interests cut from wet cardboard, and company of minor characters who march to little effect, Lart√©guy’s work is more symposium than thriller. When the Frenchmen aren’t holding forth on the sweep of history and the hinge of fate, they are writing long diary entries summing up many things that the reader already knows. Some of the monologues run for pages at a time. But the depth of the principals and the author’s sure sense of their complex torment bring the soldiers’ world vibrantly to life.

I don't know, after reading about "wet cardboard" love interests and "writing long diary entries" perhaps I'd be better off just reading my copy of Devil's Guard again.

Monday, July 6, 2015

Who Hasn't Started a Book with "Medic! Medic!"

Anyone who reads this blog knows that I love writing about and logging my first lines and paragraphs from books that I read. My most recent one is this one:

Medic! Medic!” 

I could see that my platoon sergeant was shouting, but strangely, the sound of his voice seemed muffled, as if I was in a neighboring room rather than out here in the open. 

I was lying on the dusty ground with my back up against a low bank so that I was actually half sitting. Sergeant O’Leary was kneeling beside me on my left.

Francis, Dick; Francis, Felix - Crossfire

It's not a bad start. And of course as anyone can guess the main character is the one who is severely hurt.

I've never read a Felix Francis book. I love his pop Dick, but Felix is new to me. So far, a few pages in, I'm quite happy with it. I'm looking forward to more. I'm seeing the difference. Dick Francis has a bit more sophistication to his writing, whereas Felix sounds like he's just trying to get the story out. But, it's not a bad book thus far.

Thursday, July 2, 2015

AVOID this Book at all Costs

Don't you hate when you're favorite authors fail to live up to expectations. Some do it over and over. They have a best seller out of the gate, then each book after is just mediocre. They never live up to that first. Others, have a slew of good to great then BOOM! you read one and it's rubbish.

The second one happened to me a few months back when I tried to read the new Vernor Vinge novel, The Children of the Sky (see here). I even gave him the benefit of the doubt and went a few chapters further than I would have. No dice. Horrid. Gave up. (Might try again though).

Just happened again with Lawrence Sanders.

I love Lawrence Sanders work, if you want the proof, just note the number of times he mentioned in this blog (see here). I love his works. Love em. Lately I've loved his 1970's stuff. Caper (see here) . . . left me wishing I'd never heard of him.


It started well, and for the first half it was a typical Lawrence Sanders. Great descriptions of the city, terrific analogies, sparkling writing. But then it turned jejune. It started to read more like a biography rather than novel, and worse it was a boring biography about a road trip. I wanted to give up on it but hung in there. Next time I will got with my initial reaction.

May not have ruined me for Sanders' novels, may not have even ruined me for his early work . . . but it sure ruined my week.

Wednesday, July 1, 2015

Cathartic Rationale

A couple of readers wrote to inquire about just what was the reason for the need for cathartic writing. Usually I'm in a pretty good place. Work . . . busy . . . check. Family . . . happy . . . check. Parents . . . alive . . . check. Check check check across the board . . . except for work. (well . . . there's one aspect of my life that isn't check . . . but we're discussing work today)

Basically there has been a significant churn at work. I am now a department of one. I understand the need for cost cutting, but laying off one, Kerry, a month or so ago was bad enough. He was a country song. Got married six months ago, kidney transplant so he needed the medical benefits. Hard worker and great to be around. The kicker was that he just bought a boat. So naturally it was time to let him go.

Follow that up with two or three more and it takes a toll on one's psyche. It made me think of that movie with George Clooney, Up in the Air (here). The main character flies around just letting people go. But unlike Clooney I am not so good looking that women flock to me, nor will I come close to passing my ten million mile mark for my frequest flier miles as he did in the film.

One good thing about laying off so many folks, it makes me think about my own vulnerability. For a while there I thought they were just waiting for me to complete my lay offs then they would come around and lay me off. Made me realize that I should keep in the writing habit if only cause there could come a time very soon when that might become a full time occupation. Which I would love.

Nevertheless, it helps to deal with the sudden loss of my department to write about it a bit.

Tuesday, June 30, 2015

Cathartic Writing

Something happened in the past few weeks which although outwardly isn't of great significance in my life, it has huge significance emotionally and internally. It has made me turn back to my writing. Sorry I've been away so long, but I'm back now. How long? Who knows . . . but for now I need to write.

That's what struggles do for me . . . they make me return to my writing. Right now I'm finishing up my third novel, the third draft, and completing the rough draft of what I feel might be my best novel yet. Strangely, this novel that I'm writing is far afield from what I've commonly written.

This novel that I'm presently writing is a story of a musician in New York and the problems he has in his love life and the love life's of those around him. Far far different than the two murder mysteries (here and here) and a third to come presently.

That being said I think it's incredibly fun to try new genre's. I've written and published those two mysteries, I have a rough draft of a techno-thriller, several miltiary thriller short stories that draw on my experiences in the Army, and now a romance cum literary fiction novel in the works. I know Kristi, struggles with genre alot. I love the experimentation and the ability to try whatever I want whenever I want. Doesn't have to be successful, just has to be something that helps me.

Keeping everything I've written above in mind, there is one word missing in that word map image above: cathartic. Now more than ever writing has become a cathartic experience for me. No longer is it a means to an end, it's an end in an of itself. It is what I turn to when I have struggles and need peace of mind.

Gotta love that it's always there when you need it.

Thursday, May 21, 2015

Another (Techno) Thrilling First Line

I'm onto a Clancy (sanctioned) techno-thriller. This time Threat Vector. It's a typical and expected beginning to a typical and expected Clancy novel.

The five Americans had been lying low in the decrepit hotel room for hours, waiting for nightfall. 

Sheets of warm rain rapped on the window, generating the majority of the sound in the dim room, as there was little talk among the men. This room had served as the base of operations for the team, though four of the five had stayed at other hotels throughout the city during their weeklong stay. Now that preparations were complete, those four had checked out of their quarters and consolidated their gear and themselves here with the fifth man in their group. 

Though they all were still as stones now, they had been a blur of activity over the past week. They had surveilled targets; developed op plans; established covers; memorized their primary, secondary, and tertiary exfiltration routes; and coordinated the logistics of the mission to come. 

But preparations were now complete, and there was nothing left to do but sit and wait for darkness.

Clancy, Tom; Greaney, Mark - Threat Vector

What I can never be sure of is, which first line to take? The prologue first line:

These were grim days for former operatives of the Jamahiriya Security Organization, the dreaded national intelligence service of Libya under Moammar Gaddafi. Those members of the JSO who had managed to survive the revolution in their home nation were now scattered and in hiding, fearing the day when their cruel and brutal past would catch up with them in a cruel and brutal way.

Or the first line from chapter 1. I chose chapter 1 if only cause the prologue one was so damn boring. I guess Greaney and Clancy split the difference. One on the "good first lines" list (here) and the other on the "bad first lines" list (here).

Monday, May 4, 2015

Joe's First Line is Great

I love cataloging first lines (see here and here) and I'm really looking forward to this next book, have been for some time now (see here and here), so I'm glad that The Forever War starts with such an intriguing first line:

‘Tonight we’re going to show you eight silent ways to kill a man.’ The guy who said that was a sergeant who didn’t look five years older than me. So if he’d ever killed a man in combat, silently or otherwise, he’d done it as an infant. 

I already knew eighty ways to kill people, but most of them were pretty noisy. I sat up straight in my chair and assumed a look of polite attention and fell asleep with my eyes open. So did most everybody else. We’d learned that they never scheduled anything important for these after-chop classes.

Haldeman, Joe - The Forever War

This reminds me of a shirt I almost bought. It said "I may look calm, but in my head I've killed you three times" (see here). When I told my wife about it she yelled that it was perfect for me. Whether due to my time in the military or thanks to my liking to write murder mysteries, I'm always thinking about how to kill people.

I'm glad to see that the character in my next book seems to think the same way.

Friday, May 1, 2015

Guest Post: Aimee Conner

My wonderful friend and accomplished author Aimee Conner has been mentioned on this blog several times (see here), wrote a fantastic psychological thriller, Scrapbook, that you can purchase here. Today's she has provided a post on the live of a writer. 

The first vivid memory I have of being a writer is of me, age 12, burying my first novel at the foot of an old Juniper tree that stood on the northwest corner of the 160 acres I grew up on. It was a defining moment because I knew then that nothing could stop me from being who I was born to be: not my abusive parents, my inherent loneliness or the fact I was growing up secluded on the wastelands of Central Oregon. Writing was my escape and salvation, my little secret that I guarded closely. There was the occasional poem I would share with the family to appease their curiosity. The novel, a slew of dark poems and my journals are lost forever. Under constant scrutiny and monitoring at the hands of my parents, I found ways to express myself on paper then destroy it before it could be discovered. I would burn some of my writings in the wood stove but my novel was too thick to dispose of quickly. That’s why I buried it during a nature walk, one of the few activities I was permitted to do alone.

Later on in life as I started defining myself as a writer, my identity went through the growing pains of bad and good advice, some of which came from best-selling authors. I threw myself into the machine, never shying from lengthy discussions with agents and publishers. I sustained the social discouragement of comments from ignorant people. A date’s quip during dinner tops the list of my favorites, “So what are you going to do after being a writer?”

Going through the writer’s fire I’ve learned one truth that keeps me focused and confident. In this short piece I have shared with you intimate details of where I’ve come from, who I am and a taste of my personality. It takes a certain amount of vulnerability to put it all out there but it’s worth it. Fiction or non-fiction, every writer has an opportunity to share their experiences and perspective and that is what connects you to your reader.That is the magic of writing for me. That is my truth, my rule, my strength in this craft. Now a published novelist and travel columnist, I’ve had the great honor of speaking with people from all over the world who have been impacted on a very personal level by my work. It is the greatest high in life for me to know someone read the words I wrote and felt something because of it.

A saying I once heard goes something like “There is no such thing as a former writer.” Fellow wordsmiths, we were born this way and we are here to stay.

Aimee draws upon her own experiences as well as stories she's heard along the way. She uses organic themes and relatable, flawed characters. She strives to provide a voice for victims of abuse and increase awareness. Her debut thriller 'Scrapbook' follows the life of Hannah Dormer, a young woman living in quiet desperation until a family of serial killers opens her eyes to her Shadow Self.
To discover Ms. Conner's lighter side as a travel columnist, visit to catch her latest ramblings from Walla Walla Washington. 

10% of 'Scrapbook' digital sales are donated toward helping victims of abuse and violence. 

Tuesday, April 28, 2015

More First Lines . . . This Time as "Scene-Setters"

As a follow up to yesterday's post on my own first lines (see here) as well as last week's first line on Frederick Forsyth's first line of The Veteran, I offer two more. I inadvertently stumbled into a nest of short stories. Didn't mean to. I was looking forward to a nice, long, British, spy-thriller. I got a series of shorties.

Still, the first lines of each help illustrate exactly what I was writing about yesterday. In both of the below cases the first lines act as scene-setters. I like reading the way Forsyth is able to produce a fantastic word picture of exactly where the reader is finding themselves in the story.


The rain came down. It fell in a slowly moving wall upon Hyde Park and, borne by a light westerly wind, drifted in grey curtains of falling water across Park Lane and through the narrow park of plane trees that divides the northbound and southbound lanes. A wet and gloomy man stood under the leafless trees and watched. 

The entrance to the Grosvenor House Hotel ballroom was brightly lit by several arc lights and the endless glare of camera flashes. Inside was warm, snug and dry. Under the awning before the door was an area of only damp pavement and here the uniformed commissionaires stood, gleaming umbrellas at the ready, as the limousines swept up, one by one. 

As each rain-lashed car drew up by the awning one of the men would run forward to shield the descending star or film celebrity for the two-yard dash, head down, from car to awning. There they could straighten up, plaster on the practised smile and face the cameras. 

The paparazzi were either side of the awning, skin-wet, shielding their precious equipment as best they could. Their cries came across the road to the man under the trees.

Forsyth, Frederick - The Veteran


The sun was a hammer in the sky. It beat down on the clustered roofs of the walled Tuscan city and the medieval tiles, some pink but mostly long baked to umber or ashen grey, shimmered in the heat. 

Shadows dark as night were cast along upper windows by the overhanging gutters; but where the sun could touch, the rendered walls and ancient bricks gleamed pale, and wooden sills cracked and peeled. In the deep and narrow cobbled alleys of the oldest quarter there were restful pools of further shade and here the occasional sleepy cat sought refuge. But of local humans there was no sign, for this was the day of the Palio. 

Down one such alley, lost in a maze of tiny cobbled ways, hardly wider than his own shoulders, the American tourist hurried, red as beef. Sweat trickled down to soak his short-sleeved cotton shirt, the tropical-weight jacket felt like a blanket dangling from his shoulder. Behind him his wife tottered painfully on unsuitable platform sandals. 

They had tried to book far too late for a hotel inside the city, in this of all seasons, and had finally settled for a room in Casole d’Elsa. The rented car had overheated on the road, they had eventually found a parking slot beyond the city walls and now scurried from the Porta Ovile towards their goal. 

They were soon lost in the labyrinth of alleys dating back five hundred years, stumbling on the hot cobbles, feet on fire. From time to time the Kansas cattleman cocked an ear towards the roar of the crowd and tried to head in that direction. His well-upholstered wife sought only to catch up and fan herself with a guidebook at the same time.

Forsyth, Frederick - The Veteran

I find it interesting that the first one is about rain coming down near Hyde Park, then the very next one is sun in Italy. The rain soaked start is for a revenge fantasy regarding a painting con. The sun is the first line for a story about a miracle. Forsyth is a good enough author where I think both of those are intentional.

Monday, April 27, 2015

First Lines? Just How Important are They?

I love my first line series (see here). I started it years ago because I read a book about the importance of first lines (see here) and since then there have been some doozies in the list. In preparing for this post I went back and read a bunch and there are some good ones out there in the past of this blog, and there are some real disappointments too.

Plus as a new writer, you hear so much about the need to hook the reader, to get them involved immediately in the story. But you know what I've found. It's not so much the first line, it's that first scene. It's like I said in my last post on the subject (see here), it's not so much that first line, it's the first scene, the writer's library and stock pile of good will with the reader, and the overall writing in general. A well written book will overcome a shotty first line. A back ground of great books will provide a lot of credibility to overcome a boring first line.

In terms of my own first lines, I have mixed reviews (see here). I'm happier with On the Edge in general than I am with Toe the Line, but I think the first line for On the Edge, and the opening scene is weaker than Toe the Line.

There is a specific fear, a state of panic really, that takes root within most people, parents particularly when they first discover that they've lost track of their child. It's the moment when a father loses sight of his son in a crowded food court, the second or two when a mother realizes that the little hand that belongs to her daughter that was holding her hand is no longer there. A flush of extreme anxiety with undertones of foreboding follow that first moment and are quickly replaced by hope. Hope that as the crowd parts he will see his son, or she will feel the little fingers reach up and wrap around her hand again. When that doesn't happen the panic becomes terror. My terror began half way into my Monday, six mile run. It was Georgia I missed first. 

The rest of the chapter is dedicated to the protagonist finding what happened to Georgia.

In Toe the Line, the first line is reminiscent of Max Shulman and his "Bang bang bang bang" opening (see here).

"Go to hell, Wheeler." As last words go they were hardly what one would call poignant.

Sadly, I don't think that either first line would land on any lists of "Great First Lines" nor even on "Good First Lines." More sadly is the fact that I don't have a library of goodwill built up with my "fan club." All I have, I hope, is decent writing in one of the books and passable writing in the other. To say it precisely I have the following reviews. For On the Edge I received a review that stated:

Dick Hannah has created one fantastic novel. Simply put- I love it. There were a lot of plates spinning & he didn't drop any. What I'd thought would be a simple mystery novel became multiple novels in one: family drama, thriller, a little romance, inspirational- you name it! Fingers are crossed for a sequel. Five stars straight through- brilliant!

For Toe the Line the most scathing review stated:

When I read the synopsis this sounded like my kind of book, intriguing plot with a mystery to be solved. While the book did have these characteristics, at times I felt like I was reading an assignment in a high school English class. The scenery that Mr. Hannah created with his use of imagery was amazing. I felt as though I was in the Pacific Northwest as I read the book. His character development was scattered, at best. I agree with the other reviewer, in that Wynn drove me crazy! His character had much potential but his obsession with triathlons became quite old quickly. He lacked depth and was flat, whereas his ex-fiancee's character was fiery. The extreme personalities frustrated me several times throughout the story. Also, a few of the secondary characters could have been developed more. It would have provided the insight needed for the conclusion. I felt the premise of the story was good; I wish Mr. Hannah had expanded his storyline. He only touched the surface of what could have been a 5 star novel.

Yikes, right? So again, no credibility provided through Toe the Line. But regarding that first line stuff, see this review:

When I read the first page I was hooked. Usually, if I can't get into a book by the third page then I know I'm not going to get into it at all. 'Toe The Line' was an exceptional read right through to the end. At one point I THOUGHT I had well and truly nabbed the murderer, but then it twisted so I was caught off guard - which stunned me because I can usually catch the killer before the story ends (hence I was a bit cross with myself but pleased for Mr Hannah for making me as the reader think differently).

So, like I said, a great first line isn't the end all beat all by any means. It can help, but mostly it's great writing that's going to get the writer over the hump of readers acceptance and love for the work. What have I learned? First, although the first line and first scene are important for my next work, Vapor Trail, it's not what's going to win the battle. Taking that "writing is a road march" idea from several weeks ago (see here) it reminds me of a thirty-miler that we took in Fort Ord, California. We had a briefing the night before and one of of the more senior squad leaders talked about the importance of keeping your feet dry and clean,  . . . fresh socks, good boots, . . . that sort of thing. Then the next morning, bright and early we start off. We are winding our way through some foot hill trails and there's a ford through a stream that stops us cold just a mile or two into the five hour ordeal. Imagine that. A platoon of Spec Ops, Ranger, Paratrooper Bad-Asses stopped in the midst of our thirty-mile mission by a team leader who took the foot hygiene class so seriously that he stopped at a three inch deep puddle from a small stream. 

Eventually the platoon sergeant came along, yelled at us all for being ridiculous and strode through that puddle making as many big splashes as he could just to show how much he cared about his own foot care and we were back off. Still, bad start but great content. I'd much rather have that the alternative of a great start with a poor finish. So, for Vapor Trail I'm going to focus on that first line, but more of my focus will be on the work as a whole than just on that first few lines. I have a bit of credibility built up with the readers, no need to undercut that now.

As long as we are talking about my reviews, my favorite has to be this one about On the Edge. 

At first I hated Joe and didn't know if I was going to make it through the book. He seemed to be such a douche. But as the story began to unfold, I found that some of the douchery was really his own anxieties taking hold. From that point forward I wanted to learn more about this guy and what makes him tick. The novel is full of twists and turns that keep the reader engaged. The story line is realistic and detailed. I am sure the author's military background made all the difference for me in the flashback scenes. Many times I will gloss over these types of things (military stories just aren't my cup o' tea) but Hannah truly painted a picture with his words that keep me intrigued.

There is a little bit of everything in this book. Suspense. Mystery. A little taste of romance. And pretty deep character development packed into a fairly short novel. It was a really good read and I recommend it to anyone who enjoys "who done it?" mystery/thriller books.

As I said before (here) . . . who can't help but love a positive review that includes the term "douchery."

Friday, April 24, 2015

Miss My Writing Bud

So it has come to my attention that I need to discuss a personal issue here. Generally I don't like to do that. I like to keep this forum for thoughts on writing and reading and try to keep the personal at arms length. But as savvy, long-time reader know, I do mix the fam in every now and then (see here and here). Still, I generally try and find a way to bring it back to writing and I'm sure I'll find a way to do that here as well. All that being said, Killian, my best friend for almost fifteen years, who has made his way into this blog a couple of times (see here), passed away on Wednesday morning.

There would be several novels that could be written from this experience. I've managed helping to put a dog to sleep, but this time. . . Killian's passing was unlike any of the others I've been a part of. Good and bad. From the unexpected and surprising warm hug on my doorstep from the vet as he left, one that I didn't know I needed but obviously he realized I did, to the complex and sometimes difficult dealings with close friends and family. There has to be a novel in there somewhere about how it's good to know who you got in your fox-hole.

Or there is the "Marley and Me" style novel that recounts the life of a great fellow like Killian. One that brings up his wonky, over-the-line disgusting bad deeds, to his warm-hearted and gentle great ones. Mostly I'm sure in a James Herriot kind of way I would bring up how he would thump heavily at my side as I typed away on my novels, always seeming to search me out like a latent, somewhat running-behind-schedule shadow. Or perhaps how he grunted and groaned with satisfaction as a writer's toe reached down to give his ear a scratch every now and then.

But I think the most startling novel would be the one regarding the reaction to his death of those who were closest to him. How the almost nine year old in the house, who I had to tell to set a good example, couldn't contain himself from rushing inside to see if Killian was still home, and let just a few tears slip when he finally realized the bad news, but who bucked himself up and matured what seemed like decades right before my eyse. How the five year old wailed with grief for over an hour, tragically and completely beside himself in his sadness when he heard the news that the companion who had been by his side his entire life would no longer be around for long walks or to help him go to sleep at night. And how the four year old, still not quite sure what was going on, retreated into his shell to wait out the difficulty he saw his big-brother hero going through.

Somewhere amid all of this is a novel just waiting to be set free. But for me, I'll just miss having the fellow around when I'm writing.

Thursday, April 23, 2015

First Came Miss Cooper

Perhaps I have fallen victim to a scam, but I went and bought an application that is suppossed to help me with key word and SEO analysis for my book.

A few weeks back Elizabeth Cooper wrote about getting the most out of SEO (see here). I realized that I do very little SEO for my little blog here. I count on word of mouth, on Google+ and other (even more) passive aspects of advertisement to get my blog out into the main stream of writing and publishing culture.

Then a friend of mine at work wrote to tell me that I "suck at SEO." This was a taunt that I just could not condone. Not from this (very best of all-time) friend.

Taking these two things into account I resolved to make the most of SEO, and that's where Kindle Samurai comes into the picture. Kindle Samurai promises "High Traffic Keywords" and "Keywords that have low Competition" among other things in order to help drive more sales of your books on Amazon and Kindle.

So far I have barely scratched the surface and I'm a tad worried I've been conned. So, in order to make lemonade out of the lemons I intend to give this audience a detailed look into the functionality and the capability and my results from using the application.

If any of you have any history with Kindle Samurai, I would love to hear how things when with you and get your thoughts. If you have no history, and want to know if it can be used to help tweak SEO for your books, . . . STAY TUNED!

Wednesday, April 22, 2015

The Efficasatiousness of Made Up Words

Other than the First and Last Lines series (see here and here) my favorite little series, and one that is neglected lately, is the Word Smith series (see here).

This series started when I started noticing that my kiddo's were experts at forcing the evolution of the English language. Where would society be without "Movie-ater" instead of theater . . . or "Jumpoline" instead of trampoline. And who could forget "Heli-hopter" for helicopter.

And yes, I understand that this is a pet project for me. So few people find what other folks kiddo's do as cute as the parent finds them. Not only that, but the picture of the Fiction Rule of Thumb that I show below (that I lifted from proves that there is very little success in using any of these in my writing. But yesterday I commented about my new friend Andy Goldman's post about indoctrinating his kiddos into the Star Wars world (see here), and it made me start thinking about my own kiddos.

Today I have two. First I have one from our little foster kiddo, A. The first time he was with us he couldn't speak. Now, he's a speaking fool! He's constantly saying things. He said something the other day that made me wonder how many pearls of word wizardry were in his little head that whole time he was quiet.

Dick: "You guys want to watch a movie?"

P and C: "YEAH!" (with A echoing his brother's sentiment just moment after)

Dick: "Which one?"

P and C: "Despicable Me Two!"

A: "YEAH! Pickle Me Too!"

The other one came from P who is almost nine. He was explaining to me his state testing and the types of questions he had to answer as a part of the test.

Dick: "So all you had to do was add numbers?"

P: "Yeah, it was simple."

Dick: "Seems too easy for a Math Wizard like you."

P: "Well we did have to multiplicate as well."

Who needs "multiply" and "multiplication" when you can use a word like "Multiplicate!" You heard it here first folks. Soon you'll hear it everywhere.

Tuesday, April 21, 2015

FLOTD (First Line of the Day)

I was all set to write about the first line of the book I'm reading now and was going to compare it to the first line in my own books, Toe the Line (here) and On the Edge (here) so went through my blog looking for the posts where I dissected my own first lines.

Couldn't find em.

May not have ever done it.

That's a problem. Here I have (what I think is) a wonderful series all about first lines (see here). It has shown me that first lines although important are perhaps not as important as many believe. I think it's proven to me that having a good quality product and reputation is more important than a super-fantastic first line. But without those other two qualities a first line that knocks the reader back a step can be a pretty good substitute.

All that being said, count on a post in the coming days and or weeks on my own first lines. What will be really interesting is reading the first line of my newest novel, Vapor Trail, to see if I've learned anything about first lines from this series.

I love reading Forsyth novels and he's had some doozy first lines (see here). This one . . . not so much.

It was the owner of the small convenience store on the corner who saw it all. At least, he said he did. 

He was inside the shop, but near the front window, rearranging his wares for better display, when he looked up and saw the man across the street. The man was quite unremarkable and the shopkeeper would have looked away but for the limp. He would testify later that there was no-one else on the street. 

The day was hot beneath a skim of grey cloud, the atmosphere close and muggy. The hysterically named Paradise Way was as bleak and shabby as ever, a shopping parade in the heart of one of those graffiti-daubed, exhausted, crime-destroyed housing estates that deface the landscape between Leyton, Edmonton, Dalston and Tottenham.

Forsyth, Frederick - The Veteran

Mostly scene setting. "He was inside the shop" . . . . "The man was quite unremarkable" . . . "The day was hot" . . . not really the type of thing that grabs the reader by the throat and compels them to know more. Saying "the day was hot beneath a skim of grey cloud," is hardly as profound as "The November sky over Manhattan was chain mail, raveling into steely rain." (see here).

This is what I meant by having a good quality product and a worthwhile library as a foundation. Forsyth certainly has the history. So far he's missed the first line and at the moment since the first part of the book reads like a particularly boring episode of Law and Order (the Ben Stone era, not the Jack McCoy era), he's taken two strikes and the next pitch is on the way.

Monday, April 20, 2015

The Power of the Writing Habit

There is a lot of great articles both on this blog (see here), and on other blogs (specifically here and here) that discuss ways to overcome writer's block.

This springs to mind because this blog's primary "field correspondent" Kristi Jones, is off at a writer's retreat and is kicking ass at knocking out her word count (see @authorkristi on Twitter for a play-by-play).

But I wanted to discuss habits.

 I read a book once called The Power of Habit by Charles Duhigg (see here and here). It was a great book, and invariably, like most non-fiction books I try to read, I failed to complete it. In the book,  Duhigg tells many many stories about how habit is more important in lifestyle than any other one thing. Not only that but breaking the habit that leads to poor choices is more important than stopping the poor choice cold turkey.

One of the more memorable stories was about an older gentleman who suffered a severe brain injury. He was left without the ability to function normally in life. He always had to have a nurse or care-taker after the injury occurred. He many have even been a university professor prior to the injury (I suppose a re-read is in order). Nevertheless, the old guy would go for walks every afternoon. He couldn't get out of bed by himself, or brush his teeth, or make coffee, or any of the daily ins and outs of regular life. But he would go out the door and walk around the block every day without fail.

It was a habit he had before the injury and it was one that he kept afterward. If he was stopped while on his walk and asked about why he had decided to go on a walk, he wouldn't even be able to tell you. As I recall he didn't even realize that he was on a walk. It was just something that he did cause it was habit. I have a dog that does the same thing. I will start Killian on a walk and he’ll just go on and walk around the block by himself and eventually find himself at our backdoor waiting to be let in. It’s autopilot.

Bully for Kristi for kicking ass at the writer’s retreat. And could this could be sour grapes if only cause I would love the chance to take off for a writer’s retreat (gotta love those “professional” writers), but I think my writing has more to do with habit than anything else.

I get into the habit of writing and that’s what keeps me writing. The more I write the more I think about my novel and the more I want to write. If I wake up on weekends and write, then I keep waking up on weekends to write. If I write at night then I keep writing at night. Whenever something gets in the way of that habit, be in baseball games for the kiddo, or an interesting show at night, then BOOM the chain is broken and the habit is lost. For me it’s that quick. I have to go back out there and re-establish the habit if I want it back.

It’s the quick fall off of the habit that is my Achilles heel. I don’t think I’m an addictive type of person. I smoked for a while as a kid, then I came home from Europe and I stopped. Just stopped. I dipped tobacco in the Army. When I got out of the Army I stopped dipping. I wanted to lose weight so I stopped eating meat and cheese and milk and eggs. I want to lose weight so I stop drinking. Stopping things is just that easy to me. I just stop.

I wish that I had a more addictive personality where I couldn't get away from my writing, even to watch a nine year old pitch for the first time in a baseball game. I have a novel that is two thirds the way done right now just waiting for me to get back into the habit of writing. Can you just imagine how terrific it would be to be like that walk around the block fella or Killian and just BOOM find yourself sitting in front of your computer knocking out your novel and not even realize your doing it. 

Still, I’m jealous of the writer’s retreat . . . that’s a habit I could get used to.

Friday, April 17, 2015

Guest Post: Your Book Cover Design by Michelle Rene Goodhew

Today’s guest blogger is Michelle Rene a freelance cover designer and illustrator from Northwest Washington. Michelle is published in six genres and allows her creative diversity shows in my various works. Some of her illustrations were previously published in Creative Review magazine, as well as a few of her cover designs. 

Your Book Cover Design

As a designer, my best advice is that you do not create your own book cover. Homemade book covers tend to look homemade. The result would most likely be an amateur cover with what the public will perceive as an amateur book. But if you are still interested in designing your own cover, I have included a list of the most helpful video tutorials at the end of this article.

When it comes to book covers, they are the first sales point of your book. You do not want to display a b-rated or homemade cover because it will suggest the value of your book. It is highly recommended that you find a professional designer. There are hundreds of cover designers out there, what you are looking for is a great portfolio full of unique designs.

The Basics

You can expect to pay a median range of $500 for your cover design, as high as $750 or as low as $200. Hiring an illustrator could cost you considerably more and then a designer will still need to arrange the layout and font design. A contract should be agreed upon and typically a down payment of 50% of the total design costs will need to be paid up-front.

• The Concept

Before you approach your designer you should create a brief that the designer can work from, and most professional designers will want to read your book in order to create your specific design. If they don’t, you may want to look somewhere else for your needs.

Before you get started on creating a brief for a cover design you need to decide on the message you want to send.

Ask yourself: What is the book’s single-minded value proposition?
What is the target audience of readers looking for – Inspiration and Aspiration, Success and Achievement, Knowledge and Power, Romance and Passion, Murder and Revenge?
Boiling it down to the motivation, incentive and emotion will help you generate tons of ideas or visual metaphors that determine the imagery, choice of color palette, typography, and layout that help your designer capture what the book is all about.

This is your chance to brainstorm and maybe make a collage of things that appeal to you.

• The Brief

You will need to provide a cover design brief. Take a look at what the designer needs to know.

Points to include:

1. The Concept

2. The style

There are, broadly, 3 types of cover to choose from:

3. You need to consider:

• The theme or key image from the book that you want to use on the cover.
• Is there a particular character or scene from your novel you would like to show on the cover?
• Should there be a dominant color?
• Are there any visual clues such as badges or colors that will identify the content?
• Is the book designed to be part of a series? Does it need to match existing books?

Please provide as full a brief as you can.

• The Design

Your designer should offer you two or three concepts to choose from.

The cover design should generate excitement. Grab attention. The main goal of every book cover is to generate excitement. The cover is one of the best tools in your marketing arsenal. That’s why you should create something that will stop people in their tracks and evoke interest. The book cover is the hook that will help you to promote your book.

So many books today have a repetitive design style, they are copies of other books in their genre and therefore have a hard time standing out in the crowd. A professional designer will invest time in their work for you and should provide you with something unique.

The book cover should show what genre the book is. A really good book cover “talks” to its readers through choice of typography, imagery and metaphor.


A great cover design engages the viewer by drawing them in with a design style that speaks for the story. Branding the author is imperative, the designer is responsible for presenting the books image as a first impression to the public, special thought and time should go into font, color scheme and layout.

Book Cover Design Tutorials

Create a Realistic Book Cover in Photoshop
How To Create a Retro Style Superman Book Cover - Visit this Photoshop tutorial to get some basic skills in book cover design.
How to Design a Book Cover in Photoshop - YouTube is full of different Photoshop tutorials. This one of the simplest but still useful.
Designing Book Covers Tutorial (Advanced) - This is advanced level video tutorial, but why not have a try?
Create Character Driven Book Cover Art Using Illustrator and Photoshop – Part 1 - Learn how to create the “Let’s Go To Monster School!” book cover.
Dirty Design: Create a Grungy Thriller Book Cover

About Michelle

My name is Michelle Rene and I am a freelance cover designer and illustrator from Northwest Washington. I also contract through several publishers as a cover designer and illustrator. I am published in six genres and my creative diversity shows in my various works. Some of my illustrations were previously published in Creative Review magazine, as well as a few of my cover designs. I am an artist and have a true passion for my work.

As a designer I feel that hearing the heart of the story from you, the author, the passion you express for your creation fuels my creativity and design process. I want my authors to feel that my illustration and design is the vision they hoped for in representing their work to the public. I want to pull potential readers in with the cover design. My design has to stand out from the rest as a unique work of art. As an illustrator and designer, I combine my services to create a unique look that only your book will have.

What are you currently working on and how can I be of service to you?

Come take a look at my artwork and designs, check out my variety of services offered on my pricing page, you will find my rates to be competitive. I also design social and website banners, posters for book tours, bookmarks, book teasers, and business cards, all for your book marketing efforts. Review my testimonials and discover some of the people I work with.

I look forward to hearing from you :-)

Michelle Rene Goodhew
Book Cover Designer & Illustrator
USA 360-854-8610


Thursday, April 16, 2015

Over Two Dozen Distinct Smells in Just the First Half of the Book

The other day Cronin Detzz provided a guest post on how to Turbo-Boost Your Writing (see here). In the introduction she states: Really get your character into his surroundings.  Immerse yourself in the scene – what do you see?  Smell?  Hear?  Remember?"


If one aspect of turbo-boosted writing is smell, then Nick Cutter who wrote The Troop (which I'm currently reading . . . see here and here) has hit the nitrous oxide on his writing and is speeding by all the competition.

Here is a sampling of the different smells his characters experience in just the first half of the novel.

All boys gave off a scent, Tim found— although it wasn’t solely an olfactory signature; in Tim’s mind it was a powerful emanation that enveloped his every sense. For instance, Bully-scent: acidic and adrenal, the sharp whiff you’d get off a pile of old green-fuzzed batteries. Or Jock-scent: groomed grass, crushed chalk, and the locker room funk wafting off a stack of exercise mats. Kent Jenks pumped out Jock-scent in waves. Other boys, like Max and Ephraim, were harder to define— Ephraim often gave off a live-wire smell, a power transformer exploding in a rainstorm. 

Shelley . . . Tim considered between sips of scotch and realized the boy gave off no smell at all— if anything the vaporous, untraceable scent of a sterilized room in a house long vacant of human life. 

Newton, though, stunk to high heaven of Nerd: an astringent and unmistakable aroma, a mingling of airless basements and dank library corners and tree forts built for solitary habitation, of dust smoldering inside personal computers, the licorice tang of asthma puffer mist and the vaguely narcotic smell of model glue— the ineffable scent of isolation and lonely forbearance. Over time a boy’s body changed, too: his shoulders stooped to make their owner less visible, the way defenseless animals alter their appearance to avoid predators, while their eyes took on a flinching, hunted cast.

The Troop (p. 12)

The man’s stink hit Tim flush in the nose. A high fruity reek with an ammoniac undernote. Ketosis. The man’s body was breaking down its fatty acids in a last-ditch effort to keep its vital organs functioning. When burnt, ketones released a sickly sweet smell— the desperate reek of a body consuming itself. The stench coming out of the man’s mouth was like a basket of peaches rotting in the sun.

The Troop (p. 23)

Max put a square in his hand. Tim dabbed away the warm ichor. The smell was horrible, like rancid grease. 

The Troop (p. 83)

Max saw brown grime slotted between his teeth. When he blew up the balloon, Max got a good whiff of him: rank sweat and something odder, scarier— a hint of shaved iron.

The Troop (p. 86)

The smell hit him like a ball-peen hammer. Sweetly fruity top notes, rancid decay lurking underneath.
The Troop (p. 102)

A wave of dizziness rocked the Scoutmaster. Gnatlike specks crowded his vision. His sinuses burnt with ozone: the same eye-watering sensation as if he’d jumped off the dock into the bay and salt water rocketed up his nose.

The Troop (p. 105)

It ended in this: Tim locked in a closet, alone with his thoughts. And his hunger. And the sick sweet stink of his body.

The Troop (p. 119)

Part of him— a shockingly large part— was okay being in here. Perhaps he was unfit for command. Fact: he was paralyzed with hunger. He kept catching whiffs of cotton candy from someplace.

The Troop (p. 121)

“You know what, Kent?” Shelley said. “Your breath stinks like shit. Like cotton candy that someone took a big piss on. Can’t you smell it?”

 The Troop (p. 139)

Ephraim barreled through into the cabin. The sickening sweetness hammered him in the face— the air inside a decayed beehive could smell much the same.

The Troop (p. 143)

This is just a few of the ones I've found and I'm only halfway through the story. I wonder if Nick Cutter is part bloodhound cause his olefactory senses must be off the charts compared to mine. Or for each scene he thought "What's it look like? What's the light like? What's the smell? What's it sound like? etc."

The best by far is the first one, about how all boys give off different scents. And Newton gave off a distinct nerd scent. As a reader it really helped me not just relate to the characters but also to differentiate between all of them.  

If you want to know what the entire island of Falstaff Island smells like, go read The Troop. By the same token if you want to read a very Stephen King-esque horror novel that will keep you guessing, entertained and feeling queasy, then again, this would be your book. Terrific recommendation. 

Wednesday, April 15, 2015

Another Two-Fer

A few weeks ago with The Fourth Deadly Sin I found a two-fer; two quotes about the morning in one or two paragraphs (see here). I ran into the same idiosyncrasy by twos again today with The Troop.

THE BOYS rose with the drowsy half-light of dawn. The moon hung in its western altar like the last melancholy guest at a dinner party, who was too lonely to leave.

Then a page later:

HOURS LATER, sunlight filtered through the sap-yellowed window, sparkling the dust motes that hung in the stagnant air.

Cutter, Nick - The Troop 

I still say that it's a phenomenon in literature that you can't find a novel where within there is not a description of the morning. So far I've cataloged quite a few without even really trying (see here). The Troop by Nick Cutter makes me think my theory is valid. There are so many descriptors on so many things (see tomorrow's post for more) that finding one on the morning was actually quite hard. It's there. It's always there. 

Tuesday, April 14, 2015

Guest Post: Turbo-Boost Your Writing! by Cronin Detzz

Today’s guest blogger is poet and book reviewer, Cronin Detzz.  We've had such a great response from readers of this space to Guest Posts (a phenomenon I'm not too sure how to feel about) that we're jumping ahead of our regular Thursday Guest Post schedule to host Cronin's thoughts today. Now that she is crafting her first novel, she’s been invited to share tips on weaving poetry into non-fiction.


How does a writer accomplish adding that special flair without falling into too much purple prose or too much detail?  It’s a tricky, subjective area, but if a writer adds a few flourishes, he take his writing to new heights.

Really get your character into his surroundings.  Immerse yourself in the scene – what do you see?  Smell?  Hear?  Remember?


Notice the opening lines of “Wool,” a fantastic series by Hugh Howey.  The only action that the main character accomplishes is climbing a set of stairs:

“The children were playing while Holston climbed to his death; he could hear them squealing as only happy children do. While they thundered about frantically above, Holston took his time, each step methodical and ponderous, as he wound his way around and around the spiral staircase, old boots ringing out on metal treads.”

“Old boots ringing out on metal treads” is Howey’s way of informing the reader that the main character, Holston, is walking up a staircase.  It’s an odd situation:  children are laughing while Holston walks to his death.  This opening paragraph is far superior to saying something like, “Holston climbed the stairs to his death.”  This is, indeed, what Howey is telling us – but he is telling us so much more, too.   Notice how sound is being used. The children weren’t just playing, they were squealing.  Holston’s boots were ringing out on metal treads.

Those stairs are integral to the Wool series, and they appear in all eleven books.  Read them, you’ll love it.


Katniss only does one thing in the opening paragraph of “Mockingjay” by Suzanne Collins – she looks down at her shoes:

“I stare down at my shoes, watching as a fine layer of ash settles on the worn leather. This is where the bed I shared with my sister, Prim, stood. Over there was the kitchen table. The bricks of the chimney, which collapsed in a charred heap, provide a point of reference for the rest of the house. How else could I orient myself in this sea of gray?”

In the simple action of looking at her shoes, Katniss tells us about the gray ash; you know something terrible has happened.  She remembers her bed, the kitchen table, the chimney.  Her home has been destroyed.  We don’t yet feel Katniss’s feelings, but we are set up for something dismal in the “sea of gray.”  Suzanne Collins is painting a picture for us.


Which words stand out to you from the first page of Carlos Ruiz Zafon’s “The Angel’s Game?”  Look for phrases that heighten your appreciation of this modern gothic novel:

“A writer never forgets the first time he accepted a few coins or a word of praise in exchange for a story. He will never forget the sweet poison of vanity in his blood …what he covets the most: his name printed on a miserable piece of paper that surely will outlive him. A writer is condemned to remember that moment, because from then on he is doomed and his soul has a price… I was seventeen and worked at The Voice of Industry, a newspaper that had seen better days and now languished in a barn of a building that had once housed a sulfuric acid factory. The walls still oozed the corrosive vapor that ate away at furniture and clothes, sapping the spirits, consuming even the soles of shoes. The newspaper's headquarters rose behind the forest of angels and crosses of the Pueblo Nuevo cemetery; from afar, its outline merged with the mausoleums silhouetted against the horizon — a skyline stabbed by hundreds of chimneys and factories that wove a perpetual twilight of scarlet and black above Barcelona.”

Turbo-boosted words and phrases:

Instead of pointing out a writer’s goal of being published, Zafon writes “sweet poison of vanity.”
The main character wants to be published. He calls it a “miserable piece of paper.”
An aging magazine business is said to be “languishing in a barn of a building.”
Barcelona is wonderfully described in Zafon’s novels.  In this example, he writes the skyline is “stabbed by hundreds of chimneys.”  By using a verb, “stabbed,” we subconsciously feel the violence and darkness of his “scarlet and black” city.

I look forward to reading excerpts of your own turbo-boosted manuscripts.  Study the masters and highlight phrases that you enjoy.  You can do this! – Keep writing and keep sharing, Cronin Detzz

Cronin Detzz has been writing poetry, lyrics, and short stories for over 30 years. Her works have been published in numerous online journals and anthologies.  Her latest books, “Supernatural Poetry” and “Poetry for Our Time,” are available at

Monday, April 13, 2015

Is It Wrong to Say I "Flirt with my Writing?"

I’ve been thinking a lot about reading vs. writing. And not so much “writing” writing, as habits with writing.

When my wife reads she reads in great big chunks of time. She’ll buy a book and start reading and in less than 48 hours she’s done. If it’s the weekend the time to finish is closer to twenty four hours. Years ago she started The Davinci Code on Friday night and was done by Saturday at noon. The only book that was able to break this pattern was Les Miserables, which was her “commitment book” (see here) in that it took her several months to complete.

I’m a bit of speedy reader too . . . well, if not speedy than greedy. I turn off most everything else that is going on and any spare time I find goes to reading. I’m not as fast as my wife, but I’m fairly dedicated.

When I was a part of a local writing club and worked with a local editor, they all proposed that I print out each chapter of my book and read it aloud to hear what it sounded like. This didn’t last long. Firstly, I don’t like reading out loud unless it is too my little sons. Secondly, I don’t read books aloud. Why should I read my own work aloud to see how it sounds when in every case (I feel quite certain) no one who buys my books (insert plug for my books here and here) will read it aloud.

What’s funny is that I read in great big chunks, so I naturally believe that I should write in great big chunks. I don’t. I don’t at all. Except for NaNo (see here), where I write fifty thousand words in a month (all of which seem to get rewritten in the following months and years) I usually barely write a chapter at a time. So my writing style and habit is the exact opposite of my reading styles and habits. I wonder how many other writers find this same disparity exists between their reading and their writing.

Just as I said in previous posts that writing a novel is a lot like road marching (see here), it’s also a lot like eating an elephant . . . the best way to do it is lots of little bites. I’m sure that there are many writers out there who can just churn out chapter after chapter after chapter in one big go, much like my wife reads. I find that I am a tinkerer, a bit of a flirty writer. I start here and work a bit, then I remember that I wanted to add something in that previous chapter so I dash over there for a bit, then I realize that I need to add a clue in chapter thirty-three, so I’m off to do that.

This latest novel that I’m writing, Vapor Trail, is the most flirty yet. I churned it out in NaNo, but since then I’ve thrown out the entire NaNo effort and have completely rewritten the entire novel. There are new characters, new settings, new plot lines. There isn’t a thing about that first draft that could be found in this final draft.

I used to read one book on the craft of writing for every four novels I read (see here). I may need to re-institute that rule. I’m curious if everyone writes in this or a similar manner, and whether this is the way it is if you’re a part time writer as I am or a full time writer. I imagine that those lucky few who are full timers are sitting at their desks just banging away all day. I don’t know if I could do that so for now I stick with flirty.

Thursday, April 9, 2015

Advice and Procrastination

Today's Guest Post Kay Kauffman, author of Tuesday Daydreams: A Journal in Verse and A Song for All Seasons: A Journal in Verse.


I love my bedroom.  The door has a rather impressive deadbolt on it, which allows me the necessary peace and quiet to get some writing done every once in a while.  And I’ve decided to make use of it.
See, I’m in the middle of rewriting a novel, and lately I find myself completely unable to block out the background noise of my life.  But I have writing that needs doing, so up to my room I go, rather like I used to do as a teenager.  In my room, I can lock out the world and tackle the task at hand.
But first I’d better change clothes.  It’s been a long day and I need to relax.  Like, for real – my calves and my shoulders are killing me.  I ought to rub them, but rubbing one’s own achy muscles just isn’t as satisfying as having someone else do it.
Of course, now that I’m halfway relaxed, my two toddlers’ voices have picked up a little bit in the volume department.  They’re supposed to be sleeping.  Oh, well – at least no one’s crying.  Yet.  Time to go bust ‘em.
And now, to get rid of the flashing blue notification light on my phone.  Guess I’ll be checking my email tonight after all.  Maybe there won’t be too many…If I can stay off Facebook, I’ll be fine.  My productivity can still be salvaged.
The wind’s picking up.  In my mind’s eye, I see a heavy curtain of silver mist descend over the countryside, flapping away in the crisp April breeze.  I could totally write a poem about that…
Hey!  That clock can’t possibly be right!  I just sat down *yawn* a few minutes ago – how can it be nearly midnight already?  And how many words did I get down?
Five?  Are you joking?  You can’t be serious.
Well, so much for writing, I guess.  At least there’s still tomorrow…
*studies page*
Well, what do you know?  Looks like I got this post written!  Yay productivity!  I might not have written what I set out to write, but sometimes when the words won’t flow, it helps to work on something else for a little while.  Sometimes it doesn’t, but you never know till you try.
Either way, you need to protect your writing time.  If you really want to write, you’ll make the time for it, so put it to good use when you’ve got it.  Whether that use is actually writing or just letting your ideas percolate, it doesn’t matter – both are important parts of the writing process.  At some point, you have to actually write, and maybe you won’t keep all of what you’ve written in your final draft, but that’s okay.  That’s what revision is for.
Finally, don’t be afraid to write tired.  Some of my best ideas have come when I’m tired.  The world looks a little different, and altogether more interesting, when your sight is dulled by exhaustion.

As a girl, Kay dreamed of being swept off her feet by her one true love. At the age of 24, it finally happened…and he’s never let her forget it. A mild-mannered secretary by day and a determined word-wrangler by night, she battles the twin evils of distraction and procrastination in order to write fantastical tales of wuv…twue wuv…with a few haiku thrown in for good measure.
The author of Tuesday Daydreams: A Journal in Verse and A Song for All Seasons: A Journal in Verse, Kay is currently hard at work on the first book in a fantasy trilogy. She resides in the midst of an Iowa corn field with her devoted husband and his mighty red pen; four crazy, cute kids; and an assortment of adorably small, furry animals.
Tuesday Daydreams captures the life and imagination of the author in vivid detail, touching on joy and loss, life’s everyday hassles, and the many faces of Mother Nature.  A Song for All Seasons paints vivid pictures of the Iowa landscape in all its glory, in addition to intimate portraits of family life.  From frost-covered windowpanes and snowy vistas to rolling green fields and bright blue skies, each poem is a peek into a fading world of untamed beauty.  If you’d like to pick up your own copy of Tuesday Daydreams or A Song for All Seasons, you can find them at Amazon, Amazon UK, Createspace, Smashwords, iBooks, Kobo, and Barnes & Noble.
Care to save her from the chaos? You can find Kay in the all the usual places:

At her blog, where she shares random pictures and silly poems; on Facebook, where she shares things about cats and books; on Twitter, where she shares whatever pops into her head; on Pinterest, where she shares delicious recipes and images from her fantasy world; on Instagram, where she shares pictures of pretty sunsets; and on Tumblr, where she shares all of the above.

First Line Today

You will know from yesterday's post that I had a hard decision to make. I put my reading life in the hands of Kristi and started reading The Troop by Nick Cutter. So far I'm glad I did.

EAT EAT EAT EAT The boat skipped over the waves, the drone of its motor trailing across the Gulf of Saint Lawrence. The moon was a bone fishhook in the clear October sky. 

The man was wet from the spray that kicked over the gunwale. The outline of his body was visible under his drenched clothes. He easily could have been mistaken for a scarecrow left carelessly unattended in a farmer’s field, stuffing torn out by scavenging animals. 

He’d stolen the boat from a dock at North Point, at the farthest tip of Prince Edward Island, reaching the dock in a truck he’d hotwired in a diner parking lot. 

Christ, he was hungry.

Cutter, Nick - The Troop

It's not a bad way to start. Who couldn't like a "The moon was a bone fishhook in the clear October sky." One thing to note however is that he actually starts with a news clipping that describes this fellow eating at a diner, but I see that as a prologue rather than the first line. 

Another thing I find neat. When I read my Kindle the page advances by wiping the screen then bringing up a new screen. It's an old school Kindle (see here) with the E-ink display that kinda flashes as it wipes and re-displays. Every chapter of this book has an image of a lightning bolt strike so when the page flashes it looks like a lightning bolt afterimage on the page. It's a nice touch for a Kindle reader who is reading a horror story. I wonder if they meant to do that or if it was just serendipity. 

Wednesday, April 8, 2015

Gonna Be a Hard Choice

I have a slate of books to be read now that I've finished Flashman and the Mountain of Light (see here).

First there is a book recommended by Kristi Jones (see here). A horror to be sure, so outside my norm, but I'm a horror fan historically, and I know Kristi has an excellent sense of taste and writing talent (see thinks I'm a good writer, need I say more), so there's a lot going for The Troop.

Some thrillers produce shivers, others trigger goose bumps; Cutter's graphic offering will have readers jumping out of their skins. Scoutmaster Dr. Tim Riggs takes his troop for their annual camping trip to Falstaff Island, an uninhabited area not far from their home on Prince Edward Island.

Then there is Mila 18, a "deep dish" or "commitment" novel from Leon Uris. I loved Armageddon (see here) and based on what Amazon says about Mila 18, I'm betting I'll love this one just as much. The question is am I ready for a commitment book.

Italian-American journalist Christopher de Monti finds himself in Nazi-controlled Warsaw before the outbreak of World War II. Though wined and dined by German officers eager for sympathetic coverage, de Monti’s nose for the real story soon leads him to discover the terrifying conditions of the Warsaw ghettos and the Nazis’ chilling plans for the ghettos’ inhabitants. He soon comes to know the Jewish resistance movement and joins their courageous—if doomed—last stand.

Next is a horror that I read about last week on a blog. Never heard of this, but the writer stated it was among his top ten more horrifyingly creepy, psyco-murder novels. How can you say no to that?

Lou Ford is the deputy sheriff of a small town in Texas.  The worst thing most people can say against him is that he's a little slow and a little boring.  But, then, most people don't know about the sickness--the sickness that almost got Lou put away when he was younger.  The sickness that is about to surface again.

Then there is the old standby, Frederick Forsyth. I've loved all of the Forsyth books I've read (see here), and I can't imagine The Veteran would be a disappointment.

On a grimy sidewalk in a defeated neighborhood, an old man is beaten to death. When a cop investigates, he finds two killers and a startling legacy of honor ... In a prestigious London art gallery an impoverished actor is swindled out of a fortune-until an eccentric appraiser hatches a delicious scheme for revenge... On an airplane high over war-torn Afghanistan, a passenger sends a note to the plane's captain, warning of suspicious behavior. But no one can guess who is really conspiring aboard the 747, or why... From the war-torn Italy to the Little Big Horn, from soldiers of fortune to victims of fate,The Veteran is a riveting experience in crime, heroism, and the kind of mano-a-mano duels-and surprising twists of fate-that are the hallmark of Frederick Forsyth at his very best.

Finally there is The Forever War. This was one I picked after following my way through this flowchart I found online through NPR (see here). Granted, the last Sci-Fi, by my favorite author no less, was a miserable failure since I gave up on Vernor Vinge's newest novel, but I'd be willing to try again.

The Earth's leaders have drawn a line in the interstellar sand--despite the fact that the fierce alien enemy they would oppose is inscrutable, unconquerable, and very far away. A reluctant conscript drafted into an elite Military unit, Private William Mandella has been propelled through space and time to fight in the distant thousand-year conflict; to perform his duties and do whatever it takes to survive the ordeal and return home. But "home" may be even more terrifying than battle, because, thanks to the time dilation caused by space travel, Mandella is aging months while the Earth he left behind is aging centuries...