Ginger Simpson's Blog, page 61

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.


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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
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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.

CHOCOLATE - POST BY JULIET WALDRON

  www.therealdr.com




candyaddict.comIt’s almost Easter—time for those delicious chocolate eggs and bunnies—so that’s what I’m going to talk about.
Chocolate has a long history. It has only been available to Europeans for 500 years, the commodity passed from the Aztecs to their Spanish Conquerors. In Spain, it was for the first time mixed with sugar, cinnamon, vanilla, cloves and allspice, which changed it from the bitter, hot pepper tonic beloved by the Indians, to a sweet treat. The royal court kept it to themselves for over a hundred years, but when a daughter of Philip of Spain married Louis XIII in 1615, she brought a chest of chocolate as part of her dowry.   Like all exotic substances, Europeans originally promoted the new drink as an aphrodisiac. 
It wasn’t until 1657 that London would see its first chocolate house. The fad moved in a big way to Austria, following the Habsburg royal court’s 1711 dynastic move from Madrid to Vienna. The production method remained laborious, and here I’ll quote the chocolate maker for Colonial Williamsburg:
The chocolate production process involves “roasting cocoa beans, shelling them, crushing them in a large mixing bowl and transferring them to a heated grinding stone. Using an iron rolling pin, the cocoa beans are ground into a liquid and sugar and spices are added.”  18th-century chocolate would taste bitter to us, and gritty, too, because it’s impossible to grind the particles sufficiently fine using by-hand processes. Each month the chocolate would have a slightly different texture and flavor, because the flavor profiles of the beans are always changing.
It’s the social aspect of the new drink that I find most interesting. Chocolate remained a luxury until the middle of the 19th Century. Lorenzo DaPonte, “poet” to Mozart, wrote a telling scene for the character “Despina” in their last collaboration, Cosi Fan Tutte. Despina—who is the definition of “saucy”--is on her way to her spoiled, silly mistresses’ room carrying a fragrant treat she has never tasted.
“There’s nothing more miserable than being a maid. From morning till night you’re busy, you’re sweating and slaving And then when you’re done, there’s nothing left for you.
I’ve been stirring this for half an hour: The chocolate’s ready and all I can do is stand here with my tongue hanging out! My dear young ladies, you get the substance And I get the smell! By God, I’m going to try it!”
She then drinks straight from the spout before exclaiming:
“Oh, how delicious it is!”
How glad I am that times have changed, and that Milton Hershey, the Henry Ford of the chocolate business, found a way to make this delightful treat available to everyone!

~~Juliet WaldronAmazon Author’s Page:http://www.amazon.com/Juliet-Waldron/e/B004HIX4GS/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1426536550&sr=1-2-ent
Mozart’s Wifehttp://amzn.com/B004XNZVXQNightingalehttp://amzn.com/B00D8MEL83

FRIDAY FREEBITS FROM TRICIA MCGILL

Blurb:Cosseted all her life, Lani Moore inherits a fortune, but yearns for a loving family. The chance to grab that arrives when two youngsters talk her into taking a flat in their house. Their father, Ryan, is enchanted by the air of intriguing melancholy about his new tenant. Will Lani’s lonely heart find the love she wants above all else? 


“If that’s the most exciting thrill you’ve gained from your life so far, then heaven forbid how boring your life must have been to date.” The soft sound he made was derisive.
Lani sat up straight. “My life has been far from boring.”
Suddenly he put the small dog to the floor and stood, towering above Lani so that she felt intimidated. “How I choose to bring up my children is my affair.” Steel was threaded through his tone. “Just keep out of it, all right?”That angry order really hurt, and for the first time ever Lani wanted to hit a man. This man needed to have some sense knocked into him. He walked to the top of the stairs and as he began to descend she called out, “Just because your wife preferred the company of her animals to her husband don’t take it out on your child!”
As if she’d sent an arrow flying after him, he stopped and turned to face her. “I beg your pardon?”“It says a lot for your charms if she had to find her enjoyment elsewhere.” What was she doing? Never in her life had her tongue run away with her like this. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, wishing the floor would open up and swallow her.



(Previously published as "A Lonely Heart")
Link to buy page:   http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00T2GNKIW