Ginger Simpson's Blog, page 61

Round Robin Blog with Ginger Simpson #rndrobin0415

I missed a couple of months because of moving, but I'm in my new home and ready to post again.

This month, Rhobin's question for us is: What glues you to a story start to finish? And/Or what hooks do you use to capture your readers?

Hmmm, I just finished reviewing a book on Reader's Alley, Montana Man, and I have to say I was definitely glued to the story from the beginning.  The author used the hero to hook both me and the heroine.  Finding a unconscious man in repose by a rising river when a flash flood might occur makes you want to keep reading to see what happens.  I was hooked from the first page, and the pacing of the story was rapid and not filled with useless information that made me say "who cares."  All in all, there was just the right amount of everything in the story to keep my interest, and that doesn't happen all that often cause we authors tend to read with a very critical eye.

As for me, I've learned from experience with editors and releasing so many books, that unless you hook the reader from the "get go", you're bound to lose their interest and a sale.  I always thought there had to be lots of backstory to set the scene, so prologues were my thing, but they aren't any more.  I've since discovered writing is much more effective if you weave the backstory into the action and don't overwhelm the reader.

So...I guess in answer to the question, I personally try to create a situation at the beginning that draws
the interest of the reader and makes them curious enough to keep turning pages.  Here's one beginning I've written....this one from First Degree Innocence.  Does it hook you?

“Okay, Lang, strip!” The guard’s bark made Carrie’s stomach roil. She cowered in the corner of the women’s processing area, shivering under the blast of cold air from the ceiling vent.

Here's another from Sarah's Heart and Passion:

Sarah Collins struggled to open her eyes against the glare, but the pounding pain in her head urged her to keep them closed. She swept the tip of her tongue across cracked lips, her mouth as dry as the feathers in her pillow—yet she felt no downy softness beneath her, only an uncomfortable jabbing in her back. Her palms groped along something gritty. Where was she?













I personally would want to keep reading these stories to see how they unfolded...why is CarrieLang  in a women's processing area and why is she having to strip?  Why is Sarah Collins on the ground in pain, and how come she doesn't know where she is?  These are critical questions that need answering.  :)

As far as what glues me to a story...an author has to have a pace that moves along fast enough to keep my attention and a storyline that is realistic enough that I can connect and associate with the characters.  Just a tiny task once you've learned all the tricks...but did I mention that writing is a never-ending lesson?

If you would like to check out my work, the best place to see everything is on my Amazon page.  Check it out and see if I can hook you with something.  :)


Now...hop on over to the other authors who participate in this Round-Robin Blog and see what they have to say:

Beverley Bateman http://beverleybateman.blogspot.ca/
Diane Bator http://dbator.blogspot.ca/q
Skye Taylor  http://www.skye-writer.com/
Marci Baun  http://www.marcibaun.com/
Margaret Fieland http://www.margaretfieland.com/blog1/
Helena Fairfax  http://helenafairfax.com/
Anne Stenhouse  http://annestenhousenovelist.wordpress.com/
Fiona McGier http://www.fionamcgier.com/
Connie Vines http://connievines.blogspot.com/
Rachael Kosnski http://rachaelkosinski.weebly.com/
Victoria Chatham http://victoriachatham.webs.com/
Lynn Crain  http://www.awriterinvienna.blogspot.com
Rhobin Courtright http://www.rhobinleecourtright.com/

Friday Freebits with Ginger #frifreebits

After last week's guest post, I'm picking up where I left off with The Well, my latest release.

Harlee has just been rescued from the old well and was explaining her name to Logan...

This weeks Freebits:

She glanced around the property and gasped.  The house’s windows were shuttered, and the ground between the house and barn, once worn smooth by wagon wheels and walking back and forth to gather eggs and feed the stock now showed overgrowth.  The corral was empty, and wheel marks still etched the dusty ground beyond the yard and disappeared into an endless prairie. The barn doors squealed in protest against the wind and created an eerie, lonely sound.
She turned wide eyes on the stranger then lowered her chin to her chest and slowly shook her head.  “My family is supposed to be here.  I wondered why they never answered my cries for help.”
“How on earth did you end up in the well?”
 His apparent lack of concern for her missing family frustrated her.  How could he more more concerned about how an accident happened over an entire family gone?  She restrained screaming at him.
 His gaze drifted beyond her wet cloaking dress to her worn boots dangling past his arm.  “We’ll need to find you a change of clothes before you catch the ague.”
“Never mind my attire,” she spat.  “Put me down and I’ll prove this is my home.”
“First, answer my question.”  He held her firmly.
She leaned her head back and locked gazes with him. “All right. I fell.  Pa told me I needed to stretch out the amount of water left because of the long dry spell, so I leaned over to see how much remained in the well, and the old stone collapsed beneath me. I yelled for help, but no one came, and eventually someone covered the opening.  I can’t imagine why Ma, Pa or Hannah never checked on me.  I guess they figured I was dead and the well was my grave.  I was certain I was going to die until you came along.”

Her gaze drifted to a wet outline on his shoulder, where her head had rested.  “Oh Lord, I’m ruining your shirt.  You’d best put me down.”
The Well is available on amazon.

Greetings, Hobbies, and Plot Bunnies...Oh My! By Jamie Hill

Greetings everyone! I'm proud to begin my rotation on Dishin' It Out. Mondays and Thursdays will be my regularly scheduled days. I might pop in on the occasional Tuesday or Saturday if I have something fascinating to share. Today, in an effort to tell you a bit more about me, I thought I'd start talking about my hobbies.
A few years ago I told my tax preparer that writing was my hobby and he stopped me right there. "It's not  hobby if you're making money at it and spending money on it--that's a job." We went on to discuss what I could claim and deduct, man it's complicated. I've since realized (and not just for that reason) that no kidding, writing is not a hobby. It's a hard job, some days harder than others. 
Getting started is the only the first hurdle.


 *~*---*~*---*~*---*~*---*~*---*~*---*~*

*~*---*~*---*~*---*~*---*~*---*~*---*~*
Starting a story is time consuming for me because I need to have all the little things figured out. What kind of a car does my main character drive? Does he drink coffee, lattes, or mocha something or others? Does he wear expensive suits or off-the-rack styles? 
Once I've gone through all this with the main dude, I have to do it all again for the heroine. I can waste spend a solid week of writing time mulling this stuff over in my mind, making notes, and allowing the plot bunnies to hatch. (Should they be called 'plot chicks' in this case?)
The first few pages flow. Catchy opening, witty dialogue, I got this. Then we get to the meat of the story and the gut-wrenching part begins. I'm not one of those people who writes non-stop then goes back to edit later. My writing is clean from the beginning. I reread each page several times and self-edit as I go. Of course I don't catch all my own typos but I do write pretty dang clean. <--Hence the 'dang', LOL
Then the pencil rearranging begins. Netflix on my computer? Sweet! Which episode of Blue Bloods do I want to rewatch? All 100? Cool. Let's go.
I make deadlines to pretend I have some semblance of discipline, but I let myself off the hook with the thought that I need to be kind to 'me'. Followed by a Yasso Mint Chocolate Chip Greek Yogurt Bar and another episode of Blue Bloods. (Research for the cop books.)
At some point I turn the corner. I'll be brushing my teeth one morning and realize, "Hey, what if everyone thinks this guy is the killer but it's really that guy?" From that point on, I can't wait to get to my computer. When I do sit down, my fingers fly over the keyboard. I hate to stop to eat or go to bed. When I type "The End" it's such a satisfying feeling. I strut around my office like I'm high-fiving people on some red carpet somewhere. 
Then the real work begins. More on that later. 
Next Monday, I'll tell you about one of my actual hobbies, another type of 'greeting'. Until then, these are the people causing me to push pencils around these days:




Book 3 in my Witness Security series will be available later this year. Unless season five of Blue Bloods hits Netflix, then it might be a few weeks later. ;)
Find the first two books in the series and my other titles at my publisher, Books We Love. Books 1 and 2 are also available in print by request at a bookstore near you.
http://bookswelove.net/authors/hill-jamie/
See you next time!

A PAGE STRAIGHT FROM VICTORIA CHATHAM #apagestraightfrom

  Shell Shocked – The Buxton Chronicles Book 3  by Victoria Chatham


This couldn’t possibly be the news every household dreaded.The slow and steady drum of her pulse quickly speeded up to a fevered throb in her wrists and pounding in her temples until she thought her head would explode. Her vision wavered and she wrapped her arms around herself to ward off the chill racing up her spine. The movement caused her to breathe again, an exhale that rasped through her throat and deflated her lungs, causing her to gasp.She looked again into Jenkins’ face; saw the compassion in his soft brown eyes before he lowered his gaze against the intensity he no doubt saw in hers.She glanced once at the telegram lying in the centre of the tray. The incongruity of such a plain envelope being served in such a pretty fashion was not lost on her, but that thought evaporated as her hand, almost of its own volition, reached out. She had no sense of her brain sending a message to her fingers and watched in surprise as her almost disembodied arm hung woodenly in the air. Then her chilled fingers connected with the envelope.As reality crept back into her consciousness, she saw that one edge of the rain-speckled missive bore a smudged finger print. Could it be ink from the telegraph operator, or just the post boy’s grubby thumb? She picked up the telegram and turned it over in her fingers before lifting the flap and hesitantly removing the slip of paper it contained.
Holding her breath, she opened the single sheet and scanned the contents. Her searching gaze skimmed over the words ‘Priority’ and ‘Deeply regret’ until one word jumped out at her.
Buy Link at Amazon

I’LL BE SEEING YOU AROUND by Rita Karnopp

Well . . . it’s time to admit I need a break.  It’s been a blast blogging here on Dishin’ It Out . . . and I'll miss giving my ‘two cents worth.’  LOL

I’m not saying I’ll never be back . . . one never knows.  I’ve enjoyed the connections I’ve made blogging here. . . and who doesn’t love Ginger?  We were friends before ~ but a great sisterhood has developed between us in our blogging years. 
I’ll miss the articles and Ginger’s great sense of humor . . . but when I get lonely for the connection ~ heck no that won’t happen ~ I’ll just keep reading them from afar!
I’m hoping to stop in now and again to say ‘hi’ . . . maybe promote a book or two!  Time will tell.  Again . . . thank you all for your support, comments, and just friendship.  I’ll miss you all.

Put Your Best Tootsie Forward by Ginger Simpson

Writing is like every other job you hold in life.  You should always put your best foot forward (cliche).  I've learned that by judging people's posts on FB...those who misspell words, use the wrong phasing...even create those cute MEMEs with blatant errors... until I realized I'd become one of them and thought blaming my cell phone for my mistakes would suffice.

If I use my computer, I'm given an option to edit and correct mistakes I knowingly make...or if I use my phone.. I need to.take the time to proof read before I hit "post."  I'm not the only one, that's for sure, but I'm taking steps to change.

I posted on my FB page today about going to a hairdresser who looks like she just got out of bed.  Picture someone whose hair is a mess, clothes wrinkled, and make-up smeared or missing.  Would your first impression tell you this person cared if you came out looking like you hoped?  Probably not.  Most instances I've gone to someone who doesn't take time to do their own hair, I end up wishing I'd listened to my instincts and ran away.  The same rule of thumb applies to authors who show an amatuer side of their writing on social media.

If you post something that contains lots of errors or you've used "your" instead of "you're, "whose" instead of "who's," or it's instead of "its," then people aren't likely to want to waste money on buying a book they have concluded is fraught with mistakes.  Read your work with an editorial eye and make sure you can be proud of what others will read.

FRIDAY FREEBITS WITH DIANE SCOTT LEWIS #frifreebits

St. Nicholas Street was up ahead. Branek’s thoughts drifted again to the apothecary. He had a strange desire to stop in and see her, to hear her kind voice. His body heated for a moment. What was it that drew him to her? Their mutual plight, or their discontented marriages? But he didn’t need more accusations from Constable Chenery.
He passed one of the opes, a murky, snaking alley that connected to a back street or the river. Rustling sounded, and then a footstep. Branek turned to see a man in a long, dark coat. A few years back a man, scorned by his beloved, had committed suicide on this street. His ghost was said to still haunt the vicinity—if Branek believed in ghosts.
He hurried his pace, as this man could be a footpad. The stranger’s tread picked up as well. Thunder rumbled closer, the shadows grew murkier, the darkness complete. A few lamps flickered on the outside of residences. It began to drizzle, and their footfalls echoed on the damp cobbles.
Branek tensed and moved to the left so the man might pass him, but the stranger slowed too. With a prickle of unease, he walked on, and the other matched his footsteps to a place where the shadows deepened.
Branek whipped around to confront the person who’d now moved closer behind him. “What is your purpose, sir?” He waited for a confused apology, or a demand for money.

A click, a flash of fire and a shot exploded. He felt the punch in his left side, then the stink of gunpowder filled his nostrils. He collapsed against a building’s stone wall. Grasping his side, his hand came away, sticky with blood.
http://www.amazon.com/Apothecarys-Widow-Diane-Scott-Lewis-ebook/dp/B00UIQW7RU/ref=sr_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1426939745&sr=1-3&keywords=diane+scott+lewis

DON’T BE SCARED - WRITE THAT THRILLER BY RITA KARNOPP

Have you ever wanted to write a thriller, but the thought scared you?  Where do you begin?  You want to surprise, even shock your reader . . . it’s all so daunting!
Ask yourself, “What is the driving force for my story?”  For example:  One-by-one members of a gold expedition are dying?  Is it something they ate or have they all been exposed to a deadly virus  . . . or is there a killer among them? 
Give your character license to be good and bad . . . and remember we aren’t perfect – and neither should your characters.  They must make mistakes – and learn from them. 
“You’re looking for a character who’s got the absolute most at stake, and that’s the person who you want your story to be about.” Move your story along by developing your character, chasing the plot, and showing change, challenge, and growth.
Think of plot as a volcanic pit crater – which you drop your character – along with many strangers and/or old friends.  Once they’re inside you can’t have them simply climb out—you should have the mountain shake and cover the entrance with boulders so your character has to figure out how to help everyone safely escape.
Then ask yourself, “Who can my character trust?  Who might he develop a relationship with or even fall in love with?  Who is getting in his way?  Is there something unearthly down there?” . . . it goes on and on. 

Before you know  . . . there are more frightening things going on than you could have imagined!  If it’s scary to write – it’s scary to read!

A PAGE STRAIGHT FROM ROSEANNE DOWELL... #apagestraightfrom

Ring Around The Rosy byRoseanne Dowell
Georgie Porgie pudding and pie kissed the girls and made them cry — now it’s time to die.
He released his hands from the victim’s neck, and the lifeless body slumped to the ground. He stood back, and stared at it in disgust. “You thought you were so cool, didn’t you, George? Playing all the girls like that. You could’ve had anyone you wanted, but you weren’t satisfied with one. You wanted them all. Then you broke their hearts and left everyone else to pick up the pieces.” He stooped down, lifted George’s head, and propped it against a rock, then pulled a tube of lipstick from his pocket and smeared it across the victim’s mouth. How many times had he seen George wipe off his lips coming out of the locker room? “You won’t wipe it off this time, Buddy.”He stuffed a paper into George’s hand and tightened his fingers around it. “You don’t look too cool now.” He laughed and pulled a container of pudding and a strawberry pie out of his knapsack, opened them, and dumped them over George’s head. The gooey mixture ran down George’s face. He licked his lips. “You poor, pathetic bastard.”Gathering up his knapsack, he took one last look at the body, then turned and ran from the park. His job was done.

***
Susan propped the News Gazette on the counter and focused on the headline. ‘Georgie Porgie, Pudding and Die’ by Susan Weston, it blared at her. Her headline. Her story. She’d done it. Finally got her headline. She drummed her hands on the counter and did a little dance step. She swore if her grin got any wider her face would crack. .”Susan Weston, journalist!” she shouted. God, she wanted to shout it from the rooftops. The ringing phone startled her. “Who the heck is calling at this hour? “ She grabbed the phone. “Hello.” Bella rubbed against her legs, waiting to be fed. “Hello?” Susan grabbed the box of kitty food, filled the bowl, and set it on the floor.“Hello,” she repeated, ready to hang up if no one answered this time.The evil, raspy voice on the other end sent goose-bumps up her spine. “Who is this?” she whispered.The voice mumbled something she could barely hear. “Strawberries? What are you talking about?”“Just for you,” the garbled voice continued. “I can’t hear you. Who is this?” What kind of sick joke is this?She caught the words, “loved your headline,” more garbled words, and “Watch for Jack be nimble.” Then the phone line went dead.Susan grabbed the counter to steady herself. Her hand trembled, and she stared at the phone. She dropped the receiver back into its cradle as if it was on fire. But she couldn’t stop the trembling. Her stomach churned. Nausea filled her throat. What was wrong with her? Just someone playing a sick joke. This wasn’t her first crank call, why react like this? Maybe because none of the others had sounded like this.
Buy link: Amazon

::The Perils of Friendship:: by Jason Gracia

I wish to share the following from The Perils of Friendship - by Jason Gracia 

- It’s good advice and makes one think for sure.  Rita
============================================


One of my close friends has been trying to eat better. He's cut out the fat--most of it—cut down on those evil carbs, and drinks barrels of Diet Pepsi (two out of three isn't bad.)
Overall, he's making progress. His co-workers are not. They don't want to change. Fast food is their king; crispy chicken, loaded pizza, and hamburgers that ooze with every bite, their
queen.

The comments start as soon as he walks in with his homemade lunch. 'Uh oh, Mr. Healthy is here.  What is it today? One leaf of lettuce, or two?'

It grates on his nerves. Every now and then he wonders if it's worth it. 'It would be easier to
just eat with them.'

This scene paints a perfect picture of the problem. People want to fit in so badly that
they'll exchange their own ideas for those of the group.

They don't want to be booted from the tribe. So if your friends don't share your hopes, if they don't want to do or be the things you get excited about, that excitement may soon vanish.
We all want to belong; it's part of being human.  The question, then, is whether all of your
friends are worth belonging to.

If someone in your midst not only disagrees with what you want but also comments, nags, or criticizes, you may have to make a change.


Befriend people who share your interests, your needs, your wants. Your instinct to belong will still be there, but it will drive you forward, not hold you back.