Ginger Simpson's Blog, page 72
October 21, 2014
A Page Straight From Anita Seymour #apagestraightfrom
The Rebel's Daughter
byAnita Seymour
The rebel soldier raised his musket slowly, but before he could take aim, Bayle lunged, both hands clamped round the man’s throat.
Helena gasped as together, they tumbled onto the road, with Bayle’s full weight on top of the soldier, who had no chance to cry out.
In the instant it took for his companion to register what was happening, without thinking, Helena leapt down from the cart and swept the second musket from the ground.
The soldier froze, both hands held up in surrender, his eyes going from her face to the gun and back again.
Aware she could never work out how to fire the weapon in time, even if it was loaded, anger and desperation gave her strength as she swung it in a wide arc, catching the butt on the side of his head.
The soldier hit the ground with a dull thump, and stayed there.
With no hand on the rein, the startled horses crabbed sideways, the rear wheels threatening to crush Bayle and the soldier beneath him.
Dropping the musket, Helena ran to the front of the cart and grabbed the reins, stilling the horses.
Bayle’s superior weight pinned the officer to the road, though he flailed uselessly with both arms. Bayle scrambled to his knees, pulled his arm back and punched the man squarely in the face. The flailing stopped as the man lost consciousness.
Torn between trying to help and keeping the cart still, Helena could only watch with growing horror as the soldier she had hit stumbled to his feet and pulled a knife from his belt. He must have still been stunned as he swayed, and staggered towards Helena.
She opened her mouth to shout, but just then Bayle yelled, “Helena, Move!”
Instinctively, she threw herself sideways away from the cart, hit the ground and lay still just as a shot echoed across the fields, sending up a flock of crows in a nearby tree, dying away quickly into the afternoon quiet.
She rolled over, in time to see the soldier’s eyes widen in shock. He crumpled to his knees as a crimson bloom spread over the front of his shirt. The knife fell from his hand and with a final grunt, he fell forwards onto the road.
Shaking, Helena scrambled to her feet and staggered toward the cart, grabbing at the reins just as the wheels began to turn again. A groan came from the man on the ground behind them. Helena was about to call out in warning, but in two strides, Bayle raised the musket he had just fired and brought the wooden butt down on the man’s temple with a sickening crack.
Helena thrust her fist into her mouth to muffle a scream, transfixed by the unnatural dent in the man’s skull. She looked down at her skirt, where spots of blood soaked into the fabric.
The metallic tang of blood filled the air. The horses snorted in panic and strained against the reins, taking all Helena’s strength to keep them from bolting. When she could bring herself to look, Bayle was dragging the shot soldier toward a deep ditch at the side of the road.
“There should have been six of them,” Bayle grunted as with a final heave, the body rolled into the ditch, flattening the long grass on the incline.
“Help me,” Bayle instructed, indicating the second man.
Her chest heaved and she widened her eyes in shock, but bracing herself, she gripped the end of the soldier’s long buff coat and with Bayle bearing most of the weight, they inched toward the ditch.
Helena closed her eyes as the body disappeared over the side, though it made no sound.
“They are visible if one stands here,” Bayle said, “Though I doubt they can be spotted by a casual observer from the road.
“How long before they find them, do you think?” Helena asked.
“The others, if there are any, could be back at any time.” Bayle jerked his head toward the road ahead. “They are always in packs, like dogs.” He collected the other musket and threw both guns in after them.
“What about their horses?” Helena nodded toward the docile animals grazing a few feet away.
“We’ll get rid of anything which marks them out as soldiers” mounts, then turn them out in that field over there.” Bayle nodded to a meadow beyond the hedge.
While Bayle removed the saddles, Helena grabbed the trooper’s hats, knapsacks and cooking utensils, which joined the bodies in the ditch.
By the time she had finished, her chest burned with the effort and the emotional toll of what they had done. What she had done.
The soldier’s knife lay where he had dropped it, but she couldn’t bring herself to return to the ditch, and instead, tucked it into the pocket of her skirt. A skirt with blood on it, which she intended to burn at her first opportunity.
Bayle helped her back onto her seat and climbed in beside her. ‘Now let’s go home.’
Helena nodded, her hands thrust between her knees to stop their shaking, her bottom lip gripped between her teeth, but she could not get the image of the dead soldier’s battered skull out of her head.
“We-we killed two men, Bayle.”
He flicked the reins against the flank of the nearest horse, his gaze straight ahead. “Forget them, and tell no one what happened today. Ever.”
Buy Link
http://tinyurl.com/mdkmskd
Blog Link http://tinyurl.com/mzfo3rt
Facebook Page Link
http://tinyurl.com/ktlmzvt
The rebel soldier raised his musket slowly, but before he could take aim, Bayle lunged, both hands clamped round the man’s throat.Helena gasped as together, they tumbled onto the road, with Bayle’s full weight on top of the soldier, who had no chance to cry out.
In the instant it took for his companion to register what was happening, without thinking, Helena leapt down from the cart and swept the second musket from the ground.
The soldier froze, both hands held up in surrender, his eyes going from her face to the gun and back again.
Aware she could never work out how to fire the weapon in time, even if it was loaded, anger and desperation gave her strength as she swung it in a wide arc, catching the butt on the side of his head.
The soldier hit the ground with a dull thump, and stayed there.
With no hand on the rein, the startled horses crabbed sideways, the rear wheels threatening to crush Bayle and the soldier beneath him.
Dropping the musket, Helena ran to the front of the cart and grabbed the reins, stilling the horses.
Bayle’s superior weight pinned the officer to the road, though he flailed uselessly with both arms. Bayle scrambled to his knees, pulled his arm back and punched the man squarely in the face. The flailing stopped as the man lost consciousness.
Torn between trying to help and keeping the cart still, Helena could only watch with growing horror as the soldier she had hit stumbled to his feet and pulled a knife from his belt. He must have still been stunned as he swayed, and staggered towards Helena.
She opened her mouth to shout, but just then Bayle yelled, “Helena, Move!”
Instinctively, she threw herself sideways away from the cart, hit the ground and lay still just as a shot echoed across the fields, sending up a flock of crows in a nearby tree, dying away quickly into the afternoon quiet.
She rolled over, in time to see the soldier’s eyes widen in shock. He crumpled to his knees as a crimson bloom spread over the front of his shirt. The knife fell from his hand and with a final grunt, he fell forwards onto the road.
Shaking, Helena scrambled to her feet and staggered toward the cart, grabbing at the reins just as the wheels began to turn again. A groan came from the man on the ground behind them. Helena was about to call out in warning, but in two strides, Bayle raised the musket he had just fired and brought the wooden butt down on the man’s temple with a sickening crack.
Helena thrust her fist into her mouth to muffle a scream, transfixed by the unnatural dent in the man’s skull. She looked down at her skirt, where spots of blood soaked into the fabric.
The metallic tang of blood filled the air. The horses snorted in panic and strained against the reins, taking all Helena’s strength to keep them from bolting. When she could bring herself to look, Bayle was dragging the shot soldier toward a deep ditch at the side of the road.
“There should have been six of them,” Bayle grunted as with a final heave, the body rolled into the ditch, flattening the long grass on the incline.
“Help me,” Bayle instructed, indicating the second man.
Her chest heaved and she widened her eyes in shock, but bracing herself, she gripped the end of the soldier’s long buff coat and with Bayle bearing most of the weight, they inched toward the ditch.
Helena closed her eyes as the body disappeared over the side, though it made no sound.
“They are visible if one stands here,” Bayle said, “Though I doubt they can be spotted by a casual observer from the road.
“How long before they find them, do you think?” Helena asked.
“The others, if there are any, could be back at any time.” Bayle jerked his head toward the road ahead. “They are always in packs, like dogs.” He collected the other musket and threw both guns in after them.
“What about their horses?” Helena nodded toward the docile animals grazing a few feet away.
“We’ll get rid of anything which marks them out as soldiers” mounts, then turn them out in that field over there.” Bayle nodded to a meadow beyond the hedge.
While Bayle removed the saddles, Helena grabbed the trooper’s hats, knapsacks and cooking utensils, which joined the bodies in the ditch.
By the time she had finished, her chest burned with the effort and the emotional toll of what they had done. What she had done.
The soldier’s knife lay where he had dropped it, but she couldn’t bring herself to return to the ditch, and instead, tucked it into the pocket of her skirt. A skirt with blood on it, which she intended to burn at her first opportunity.
Bayle helped her back onto her seat and climbed in beside her. ‘Now let’s go home.’
Helena nodded, her hands thrust between her knees to stop their shaking, her bottom lip gripped between her teeth, but she could not get the image of the dead soldier’s battered skull out of her head.
“We-we killed two men, Bayle.”
He flicked the reins against the flank of the nearest horse, his gaze straight ahead. “Forget them, and tell no one what happened today. Ever.”
Buy Link
http://tinyurl.com/mdkmskd
Blog Link http://tinyurl.com/mzfo3rt
Facebook Page Link
http://tinyurl.com/ktlmzvt
WHAT WRITERS NEED TO KNOW ABOUT COPYRIGHTS (FAQS) BY BRIAN KLEMS – FROM 2009 #blogjack #copyright
We’re back today with Brian Klems …. Rita
Follow me on Twitter: @BrianKlems
Check out my humor book, Oh Boy, You’re Having a Girl .
Sign up for his free weekly eNewsletter: WD Newsletter
How Do I Copyright My Manuscript?Q: I recently finished a novel and want to know what I can do to have it copyrighted. Is there a special process? –Sylvia R.A: Whenever you put something in a tangible format—written on paper, typed on computer, chiseled on stone tablets—it’s copyrighted and protected under U.S. copyright law. No tricks. No magic. It’s as simple as that.Of course, if someone steals your work and presents it as his own, the burden of proof falls on you to show that you created it first (and own the copyright). This, as you can imagine, can be tricky. To give yourself better protection you can also officially register your work with the United States Copyright Office. The downside is it’ll cost you roughly $35-45 per manuscript. The upside is that if anyone steals your work, you’ll not only have proof of copyright ownership, but also be able to sue for more money and damages.Now I’m not suggesting you officially register every story you’ve ever written, as that can get costly—that decision is up to you. But it’s certainly worth considering for any manuscript of great length and value to you.Brian A. Klems is the online managing editor of Writer’s Digest magazine
Can You Copyright a Pseudonym?
Q: Do I need to get a copyright for a pseudonym, or will a copyright for the book under my chosen pen name be sufficient?—Al de Araujo
A: The name H.G. Wells isn’t copyrighted. Neither is Michael Crichton. Why? Under U.S. law you can’t copyright a name, real or fictitious. Copyrights protect authorship, such as short stories, poems or novels.You can register a manuscript under a pen name at the copyright office ( www.copyright.gov ). You’ll have to provide some information, including your real address. But if you really want to keep your true identity under wraps, set up a post office box and have information from the office sent there.It’s important to get your pen name on record so the Copyright Office can acknowledge the proper life span of the copyright. Work created by authors not identified by the Copyright Office have a copyright life of only 95 years from publication or 120 years from the work’s creation—whichever comes first. If a writer identifies herself to the copyright office and registers her pen name, the copyright term for the work is the author’s life plus 70 years. Which means if I get hit by a bus tomorrow my work is still protected until 2078.It’s also important to check with the office first and do online searches to avoid using names of real people or names that have already been taken by other authors. While you can’t copyright a name, you can get sued for identity theft. Also, publishers can get pretty angry if you try to pass yourself off as someone famous like J.K. Rowling or Dean Koontz. Stick with something unique.
Brian A. Klems is the online managing editor of Writer’s Digest magazine
Follow me on Twitter: @BrianKlems
Check out my humor book, Oh Boy, You’re Having a Girl .
Sign up for his free weekly eNewsletter: WD Newsletter
How Do I Copyright My Manuscript?Q: I recently finished a novel and want to know what I can do to have it copyrighted. Is there a special process? –Sylvia R.A: Whenever you put something in a tangible format—written on paper, typed on computer, chiseled on stone tablets—it’s copyrighted and protected under U.S. copyright law. No tricks. No magic. It’s as simple as that.Of course, if someone steals your work and presents it as his own, the burden of proof falls on you to show that you created it first (and own the copyright). This, as you can imagine, can be tricky. To give yourself better protection you can also officially register your work with the United States Copyright Office. The downside is it’ll cost you roughly $35-45 per manuscript. The upside is that if anyone steals your work, you’ll not only have proof of copyright ownership, but also be able to sue for more money and damages.Now I’m not suggesting you officially register every story you’ve ever written, as that can get costly—that decision is up to you. But it’s certainly worth considering for any manuscript of great length and value to you.Brian A. Klems is the online managing editor of Writer’s Digest magazine
Can You Copyright a Pseudonym?
Q: Do I need to get a copyright for a pseudonym, or will a copyright for the book under my chosen pen name be sufficient?—Al de Araujo
A: The name H.G. Wells isn’t copyrighted. Neither is Michael Crichton. Why? Under U.S. law you can’t copyright a name, real or fictitious. Copyrights protect authorship, such as short stories, poems or novels.You can register a manuscript under a pen name at the copyright office ( www.copyright.gov ). You’ll have to provide some information, including your real address. But if you really want to keep your true identity under wraps, set up a post office box and have information from the office sent there.It’s important to get your pen name on record so the Copyright Office can acknowledge the proper life span of the copyright. Work created by authors not identified by the Copyright Office have a copyright life of only 95 years from publication or 120 years from the work’s creation—whichever comes first. If a writer identifies herself to the copyright office and registers her pen name, the copyright term for the work is the author’s life plus 70 years. Which means if I get hit by a bus tomorrow my work is still protected until 2078.It’s also important to check with the office first and do online searches to avoid using names of real people or names that have already been taken by other authors. While you can’t copyright a name, you can get sued for identity theft. Also, publishers can get pretty angry if you try to pass yourself off as someone famous like J.K. Rowling or Dean Koontz. Stick with something unique.
Brian A. Klems is the online managing editor of Writer’s Digest magazine
October 20, 2014
WHAT WRITERS NEED TO KNOW ABOUT COPYRIGHTS (FAQS) BY BRIAN KLEMS – FROM 2009 #blogjack #copyright
Once again, I’ve run across a saved blog by Brian Klems – that I found so worthwhile and a great once to share with you… so for my next couple of blogs – I’ll be sharing from Brian. I’m a big fan of his! Yes, I know it’s from 2009 – but some information is just worth reading…. Rita
Follow me on Twitter:
@BrianKlems
Check out my humor book, Oh Boy, You’re Having a Girl .
Sign up for his free weekly eNewsletter: WD Newsletter We’re writers, not legal experts—and yet, every time we put words down on paper a number of legal questions arise. How do I copyright my work? Do I need to? Am I allowed to quotes song lyrics? Can I use someone else’s character in my book? And that’s just the tip of the pencil. Here I’ve collected a writer’s set of FAQs about legal issues that will help you navigate the basics.
Can You Copyright an Idea?Q: I have a fantastic idea for a book. I’m unclear on copyright rules and I want to protect my idea from someone else copying it. What steps should a person take in order to protect an idea until it comes into print? –Brian
A: I hate to break the bad news, but you can’t copyright an idea. Nobody can. Section 102(b) of the Copyright Act specifically states: “In no case does copyright protection for an original work of authorship extend to any idea, procedure, process, system, method of operation, concept, principle or discovery, regardless of the form in which it is described, explained, illustrated or embodied in such work.“So if copyright law doesn’t protect an idea, what exactly does it protect?Copyrights cover “original works of authorship” that the author fixes in a tangible form (written on paper, typed on computer, scribbled by crayon on a napkin, etc.). In other words, it protects the specifics of your book after it’s written. No one can steal, reprint or profit from your work without your consent. Though, no matter how hard you try, you can’t safeguard the idea behind your story.
Think about it like this: No one directly copied William Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet word-for-word and slapped their name on it, but they have used his idea—a love story about two young people from rival families— over and over again. West Side Story fits the bill (two lovers from rival gangs). Even Disney’s High School Musical has the same plot (rival high school cliques).(
FREE DOWNLOAD: What is Plagiarism? – And other Copyright Law FAQs
)
Now before all you overachievers point out that Shakespeare’s work has out-lived its copyright protection and is now part of the public domain, remember this: both West Side Story and High School Musical are copyrighted, so no one can steal significant details from them. But, much like your idea, they can’t stop others from using the basic concept.
Follow me on Twitter:
@BrianKlems
Check out my humor book, Oh Boy, You’re Having a Girl .
Sign up for his free weekly eNewsletter: WD Newsletter We’re writers, not legal experts—and yet, every time we put words down on paper a number of legal questions arise. How do I copyright my work? Do I need to? Am I allowed to quotes song lyrics? Can I use someone else’s character in my book? And that’s just the tip of the pencil. Here I’ve collected a writer’s set of FAQs about legal issues that will help you navigate the basics.
Can You Copyright an Idea?Q: I have a fantastic idea for a book. I’m unclear on copyright rules and I want to protect my idea from someone else copying it. What steps should a person take in order to protect an idea until it comes into print? –Brian
A: I hate to break the bad news, but you can’t copyright an idea. Nobody can. Section 102(b) of the Copyright Act specifically states: “In no case does copyright protection for an original work of authorship extend to any idea, procedure, process, system, method of operation, concept, principle or discovery, regardless of the form in which it is described, explained, illustrated or embodied in such work.“So if copyright law doesn’t protect an idea, what exactly does it protect?Copyrights cover “original works of authorship” that the author fixes in a tangible form (written on paper, typed on computer, scribbled by crayon on a napkin, etc.). In other words, it protects the specifics of your book after it’s written. No one can steal, reprint or profit from your work without your consent. Though, no matter how hard you try, you can’t safeguard the idea behind your story.
Think about it like this: No one directly copied William Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet word-for-word and slapped their name on it, but they have used his idea—a love story about two young people from rival families— over and over again. West Side Story fits the bill (two lovers from rival gangs). Even Disney’s High School Musical has the same plot (rival high school cliques).(
FREE DOWNLOAD: What is Plagiarism? – And other Copyright Law FAQs
)Now before all you overachievers point out that Shakespeare’s work has out-lived its copyright protection and is now part of the public domain, remember this: both West Side Story and High School Musical are copyrighted, so no one can steal significant details from them. But, much like your idea, they can’t stop others from using the basic concept.
October 16, 2014
Friday Freebits with Ginger #frifreebits
Welcome to Friday...it's time for more of Destiny's Bride. Hope you enjoy the six I've selected this week. Remember, last week, Cecile got her first glimpse of Walt's Ranch...the place he plans as their home. Let's see what happens next:****
Walt was up before the sun the next morning, eager to get an early start. The cocky rooster crowed as Cecile dragged herself out of bed and slugged toward the kitchen. She’d never been an enthusiastic morning person. After pouring herself a cup of coffee from the pot Walt had brewed, she sat at the table, her head propped on her arm, while she willed her eyes to stay open. “Good morning, beautiful.”
“Umm hmm” she muttered, still dozing.
When he walked over in sock-clad feet and planted a kiss on her forehead, she looked up at him through half-lidded eyes. The truth dawned. He was leaving for Castroville. She squared her shoulders, determined not to make his departure any harder than it had to be, and began gathering food for his trip. While he pulled on his boots, she filled Aunt May’s basket full of biscuits, jam, and the last of the bacon.
Walt walked up behind Cecile and put his arms around her. “Cece, I hate leaving you here alone, but the sooner I go, the sooner I can get back.”
She stiffened at his mention of alone. “I know you have to go and that I have to stay here to take care of things, but that doesn’t make me feel any better. I’m miles from nowhere.” She hadn’t meant to add to his guilt for leaving, but her words spilled out before she thought.
****
Finally settled in their home, Walt has to go for winter supplies, but someone has to stay behind and tend the animals. You guessed it: Cecile, and she's not happy. In fact, she has no idea where she is and where he has to go.
Amazon Author's Page
WRITING THE MALE AND FEMALE CHARACTER – BY RITA KARNOPP #writingtips
We all get it - men and women are different. No surprise there, right? And let’s be honest if you’re a female writer – you write like a woman. If you’re a male writer – you write like a man. Well, let’s hope that’s not the case!The thing is - we’d like both males and females to read and like our books. Creating characters of the opposite sex can be tricky – and when we write – we need to constantly ask ourselves, “Would a guy say that? Or “Would a woman behave that way?” Learning the male/female ‘language’ can boost your success as an author.
I find having a ‘male’ review my books is a great tool – if I can get him to respond quickly. But that’s not always an option. What is an option is learning to understand how the male/female character thinks, acts, reacts, postulates, speaks, and even internalizes.
Consider Helen Fielding’s runaway hit Bridget Jones’s Diary. The name on the cover of the book is Holly Denham. Its real author is Bill Surie, who wrote so convincingly that readers had no problem believing the story had been written by a woman. J.K. Rowling is so good at transcending gender (and age) that her books are devoured by girls and boys (and women and men) by the millions.It’s important to consider the impact of your own gender when writing. You can do this by educating yourself about how men and women differ, which will help you understand what your opposite gender would truly say, behave, respond, and internalize.
It’s like the comment – talk the talk and walk the walk. It’s really true. If male and female characters talk, react, and behave the same, your reader will notice and most likely lose faith in the story. We never want that to happen. When I wrote my latest novel,
Thunder
, I watched a ton of wrestling interviews in hopes of capturing the male wrestler’s mentality, mannerisms, and language. Women and men see and feel things differently. For instance, “I’m sorry we’re so late. We were driving along and slid across back ice, and went into the ditch. I didn’t think we’d ever get out.” Or, “A damn patch of black ice sent me sailing across the road and slamming down into the ditch. I threw my Jeep into four-wheel and got us out in record time.” Same story – two different perspectives. I’ll bet I don’t have to ask which gender said what sentence.When writing the ‘male’ I keep in mind what he’s accomplished – like the fight he won, the child he saved, the bear he slayed. Women, however, focus on the relationship and emotions of the story. Who the fight affected, how the child changed the man, or how the bear got him the respect he needed in the tribe.
It’s important to keep in mind not all women and men think or behave the same way. How boring would it be if they did? The words from Edward Abbey always come to mind: “It is the difference between men and women, not the sameness, that creates the tension and the delight.”Read the
Writer’s Guide To Character Traits
By Dr. Linda Edelstein if you need a list of unusual traits, quirks, flaws and strengths to make your characters unique and lively? It’s a fabulous eye-opener!October 14, 2014
A Page Straight From Nancy Bell #apagestraightfrom
Laurel’s Quest
byNancy Bell
Laurel looked at Aisling, who had been strangely quiet through the whole conversation. Aisling was staring intently at the bottom right square of the rainy kitchen window. She narrowed her eyes trying to see what her friend was looking at. All Laurel could make out was the black rain running down the panes of glass like tears. Suddenly, Aisling sat up, and her face brightened. She jumped out of her chair and headed for the door into the back garden. Laurel looked around the room and met Sarie’s inscrutable gaze.
“Where are you going in such a hurry, Aisling child?” Sarie asked quietly.
“There’s someone in the garden I need to talk to,” Aisling said over her shoulder, as she opened the door on the wet windy night.
“Won’t you need a coat?” Laurel got to her feet and grabbed Emily’s heavy shawl from the back of a chair. She hesitated, uncertain whether she should follow. Aisling was already out of the door, leaving a waft of cool wet air in her wake as the door shut behind her.
Should I go out with Aisling, or is this something I have no right to interfere with? Sarie shrugged and raised her eyebrows. “Go if you like,” she said.
Laurel wrapped the shawl around her shoulders before she opened the door into the dark night. Just out of the patch of light from the big kitchen window, Aisling knelt on the wet grass. Her hair lay still and dry on her back, while Laurel’s was already wet and flying about in the wild wind.
Trepidation slowed her steps. This was too weird and way out of her league. Were all her new friends engaged in some kind of supernatural game? The light from the kitchen faded, and the air around Aisling shimmered with rainbow lights. She was only a couple of feet away from the girl, but the shimmer separated them, and somehow it kept the wild night away from Aisling and her secret friend. Laurel peered through the coruscating rainbow shimmer to see who it was Aisling spoke with. There was a twiggy-looking brown man about the size of a small child holding Aisling’s hand.
There was an impression of a tiny wrinkled face with a long sharp nose and bright black eyes. Her stomach jumped into her throat as those eyes fastened on hers, and the thin lips stretched into a smile. The small man made a funny gesture, and there was a sudden streak of lightening across the sky. Laurel blinked, and then there was only Aisling kneeling in the wet grass.
Nancy M Bell has publishing credits in poetry, fiction and non-fiction. Nancy has presented at the Surrey International Writers Conference and the Writers Guild of Alberta Conference. She is currently working on Book 3 of her series The Cornwall Adventures. Please visit her webpage http://www.nancymbell.ca You can find her on Facebook at http://facebook.com/NancyMBell
Follow on twitter: @emilypikkasso
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Laurel looked at Aisling, who had been strangely quiet through the whole conversation. Aisling was staring intently at the bottom right square of the rainy kitchen window. She narrowed her eyes trying to see what her friend was looking at. All Laurel could make out was the black rain running down the panes of glass like tears. Suddenly, Aisling sat up, and her face brightened. She jumped out of her chair and headed for the door into the back garden. Laurel looked around the room and met Sarie’s inscrutable gaze.
“Where are you going in such a hurry, Aisling child?” Sarie asked quietly.
“There’s someone in the garden I need to talk to,” Aisling said over her shoulder, as she opened the door on the wet windy night.
“Won’t you need a coat?” Laurel got to her feet and grabbed Emily’s heavy shawl from the back of a chair. She hesitated, uncertain whether she should follow. Aisling was already out of the door, leaving a waft of cool wet air in her wake as the door shut behind her.
Should I go out with Aisling, or is this something I have no right to interfere with? Sarie shrugged and raised her eyebrows. “Go if you like,” she said.
Laurel wrapped the shawl around her shoulders before she opened the door into the dark night. Just out of the patch of light from the big kitchen window, Aisling knelt on the wet grass. Her hair lay still and dry on her back, while Laurel’s was already wet and flying about in the wild wind.
Trepidation slowed her steps. This was too weird and way out of her league. Were all her new friends engaged in some kind of supernatural game? The light from the kitchen faded, and the air around Aisling shimmered with rainbow lights. She was only a couple of feet away from the girl, but the shimmer separated them, and somehow it kept the wild night away from Aisling and her secret friend. Laurel peered through the coruscating rainbow shimmer to see who it was Aisling spoke with. There was a twiggy-looking brown man about the size of a small child holding Aisling’s hand.
There was an impression of a tiny wrinkled face with a long sharp nose and bright black eyes. Her stomach jumped into her throat as those eyes fastened on hers, and the thin lips stretched into a smile. The small man made a funny gesture, and there was a sudden streak of lightening across the sky. Laurel blinked, and then there was only Aisling kneeling in the wet grass.
Nancy M Bell has publishing credits in poetry, fiction and non-fiction. Nancy has presented at the Surrey International Writers Conference and the Writers Guild of Alberta Conference. She is currently working on Book 3 of her series The Cornwall Adventures. Please visit her webpage http://www.nancymbell.ca You can find her on Facebook at http://facebook.com/NancyMBell
Follow on twitter: @emilypikkasso
JUST SAY IT BY RITA KARNOPP #newbies #writingtips
Dialogue – you might say I’m addicted to it. I’ll put more dialog in my book than internal thoughts and setting put together. Why? Because I believe ‘no one waits for the story to begin,’ and dialog gets a story going.Dialog is more than just speaking . . . it’s character, plot, and setting. You might ask, what? Here are a few starters from James Scott Bell, author of Circumstantial Evidence, Final Witness and Blind Justice:
CHARACTER· Who is saying this?· What does this character look like?· What is this character’s occupation?· Why would he/she say such a thing?· What is the dominant emotion this character is expressing?
PLOT· What just happened to cause this character to say the line?· Who did he/she say the line to?· Does this other character oppose the first character for some reason? What is it?· What are the objectives of the characters in this scene?
SETTING· Where is this dialogue taking place?· What are the smells?· What are the sounds?· What does the character see around him/her?· Why is he/she in this place at this time?· What does this setting tell us about the background of the character?
If you go through questions like this (and you can certainly add your own), you’ll have a nice core of material to work with. It may be that this is as far as you go. The story you see may not be one you’re interested in exploring further. That’s fine. Go find another line and do the exercise again. Write reams of dialogue. The best way to get good ideas is to get tons of them and then choose the best and throw the rest out.
These tips are excerpted from the lecture materials for the Writing Effective Dialogue course offered by WritersOnlineWorkshops.
October 13, 2014
10 Things You May Not Know About Christopher Columbus by Christopher Klein #chriscolombus
On October 12, 1492, Christopher Columbus set foot on the fine white sands of an island in the Bahamas, unfurled the Spanish royal standard and claimed the territory for King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella. Although Columbus thought he was in Asia, he had actually landed in the “New World.” History—for better and worse—would never be the same again. Here are 10 things you may not know about the famed explorer.1. Columbus didn’t set out to prove the earth was round. - Forget those myths perpetuated by everyone from Washington Irving to Bugs Bunny. There was no need for Columbus to debunk the flat-earthers—the ancient Greeks had already done so. As early as the sixth century B.C., the Greek mathematician Pythagoras surmised the world was round, and two centuries later Aristotle backed him up with astronomical observations. By 1492 most educated people knew the planet was not shaped like a pancake.2. Columbus was likely not the first European to cross the Atlantic Ocean.
That distinction is generally given to the Norse Viking Leif Eriksson, who is believed to have landed in present-day Newfoundland around 1000 A.D., almost five centuries before Columbus set sail. Some historians even claim that Ireland’s Saint Brendan or other Celtic people crossed the Atlantic before Eriksson. While the United States commemorates Columbus—even though he never set foot on the North American mainland—with parades and a federal holiday, Leif Eriksson Day on October 9 receives little fanfare.3. Three countries refused to back Columbus’ voyage. - For nearly a decade, Columbus lobbied European monarchies to bankroll his quest to discover a western sea route to Asia. In Portugal, England and France, the response was the same: no. The experts told Columbus his calculations were wrong and that the voyage would take much longer than he thought. Royal advisors in Spain raised similar concerns to King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella. Turns out the naysayers were right. Columbus dramatically underestimated the earth’s circumference and the size of the oceans. Luckily for him, he ran into the uncharted Americas.4. Nina and Pinta were not the actual names of two of Columbus’ three ships. - In 15th-century Spain, ships were traditionally named after saints. Salty sailors, however, bestowed less-than-sacred nicknames upon their vessels. Mariners dubbed one of the three ships on Columbus’s 1492 voyage the Pinta, Spanish for “the painted one” or “prostitute.” The Santa Clara, meanwhile, was nicknamed the Nina in honor of its owner, Juan Nino. Although the Santa Maria is called by its official name, its nickname was La Gallega, after the province of Galicia in which it was built.5. The Santa Maria wrecked on Columbus’ historic voyage. - On Christmas Eve of 1492, a cabin boy ran Columbus’s flagship into a coral reef on the northern coast of Hispaniola, near present-day Cap Haitien, Haiti. Its crew spent a very un-merry Christmas salvaging the Santa Maria’s cargo. Columbus returned to Spain aboard the Nina, but he had to leave nearly 40 crewmembers behind to start the first European settlement in the Americas—La Navidad. When Columbus returned to the settlement in the fall of 1493, none of the crew were found alive.6. Columbus made four voyages to the New World. - Although best known for his historic 1492 expedition, Columbus returned to the Americas three more times in the following decade. His voyages took him to Caribbean islands, South America and Central America.7. Columbus returned to Spain in chains in 1500. - Columbus’s governance of Hispaniola could be brutal and tyrannical. Native islanders who didn’t collect enough gold could have their hands cut off, and rebel Spanish colonists were executed at the gallows. Colonists complained to the monarchy about mismanagement, and a royal commissioner dispatched to Hispaniola arrested Columbus in August 1500 and brought him back to Spain in chains. Although Columbus was stripped of his governorship, King Ferdinand not only granted the explorer his freedom but subsidized a fourth voyage.8. A lunar eclipse may have saved Columbus. - In February 1504, a desperate Columbus was stranded in Jamaica, abandoned by half his crew and denied food by the islanders. The heavens that he relied on for navigation, however, would guide him safely once again. Knowing from his almanac that a lunar eclipse was coming on February 29, 1504, Columbus warned the islanders that his god was upset with their refusal of food and that the moon would “rise inflamed with wrath” as an expression of divine displeasure. On the appointed night, the eclipse darkened the moon and turned it red, and the terrified islanders offered provisions and beseeched Columbus to ask his god for mercy.9. Even in death, Columbus continued to cross the Atlantic. - Following his death in 1506, Columbus was buried in Valladolid, Spain, and then moved to Seville. At the request of his daughter-in-law, the bodies of Columbus and his son Diego were shipped across the Atlantic to Hispaniola and interred in a Santo Domingo cathedral. When the French captured the island in 1795, the Spanish dug up remains thought to be those of the explorer and moved them to Cuba before returning them to Seville after the Spanish-American War in 1898. However, a box with human remains and the explorer’s name was discovered inside the Santo Domingo cathedral in 1877. Did the Spaniards exhume the wrong body? DNA testing in 2006 found evidence that at least some of the remains in Seville are those of Columbus. The Dominican Republic has refused to let the other remains be tested. It could be possible that, aptly, pieces of Columbus are both in the New World and the Old World.
10. Heirs of Columbus and the Spanish monarchy were in litigation until 1790. - After the death of Columbus, his heirs waged a lengthy legal battle with the Spanish crown, claiming that the monarchy short-changed them on money and profits due the explorer. Most of the Columbian lawsuits were settled by 1536, but the legal proceedings nearly dragged on until the 300th anniversary of Columbus’ famous voyage.
October 11, 2014
Ginger's Asking for a Little Help
I don't usually enter contests that cost money, but I broke my own rule this time because being listed as one of 50 authors readers should know about appealed to me. I'm pretty sure there are people out there who recognize my name, but I want them to enjoy my work, so if you have a spare minute or two, I'm humbly asking you to visit the voting page, review the entrants, and vote your choice. I won't mind a bit if it happens to be me.BTW, Did you know that First Degree Innocence and Sarah's Heart and Passion are listed in the Ingrams Catalog? That means they are eligible for order and stocking, so there's another way you can help. If you like those stories and would like to have your own copy or a gift to give, please visit your local retailer and request they carry those two books. Yeah, yeah...I've already had Sister's in Time on a shelf in Walmart, but I smuggled it inside and took a snapshot. I don't think that counts since I had to smuggle it back out...and I didn't even get arrested. *lol*
Anyhow, back to my original plea...Here's the info on getting to the voting page:
http://www.wnbnetworkwest.com/WnbAuthorsShow50Writers2014-VotingPage.html
October 9, 2014
Friday Freebits with Ginger #frifreebits
It's Friday and more from
Destiny's Brid
e. Glad you came, and I hope you're telling your friends what a great time you have sharing teasers from my favorite book. So...on with my six paragraphs:****
They passed a lake at the foot of the rise, with water so inviting Cecile wished for a swim, and just beyond, the thick stand of trees Walt had talked of so many times. Her heart fluttered with excitement. They were finally home.
The team’s shoulder muscles bulged with effort to get the loaded wagon to the crest of the hill. Once there, Walt reined the horses. “Well, here we are.” His gaze trained on the buildings below.
Cecile blinked her eyes in disbelief. This couldn’t be it. There was no house, just a deserted shack with a terribly rundown barn. There had to be a mistake. She waited for Walt to put an end to his joke. He didn’t, just snapped the reins and set the wagon in motion, stopping in front of the ugliest structure Cecile had ever seen. She sat frozen to the wagon seat and looked around. Prairie grass had grown up to the doorway, and in place of glass windows, weather-beaten shutters barely hung on to the aging wood of what Walt called a house. The previous owner had added on a makeshift porch that tilted away from the house and looked unsafe. Her mind spun, remembering his description of his purchase. There were rolling hills in the distance, trees, and they did pass a small lake on the way in, but this couldn’t possibly be what he’d been so excited about. Tears burned the back of her eyes.
Walt jumped off the wagon and reached to help her down. He looked so happy, she prayed her disappointment didn‘t show. She fixed a smile on her face and leaned over into his waiting arms.
Despite her attempt at feigned pleasure, he must have detected something amiss.
****I guess you're surmised that Walt's description of his ranch doesn't exactly fit what his new bride expects. I can only imagine her shock. :)
Buy link: Amazon Author's Page.
