Anny Cook's Blog, page 56

Lessons From the Pros

In the past few weeks I've read several series by long-time favorite authors. All genres. All lengths. Old stories and new. Here are the things I've learned.

1) There's hope for the first-time author. Chances are our writing will improve. Heh. I re-read the first book by an author I truly love. I confess by the time I reached the last thirty pages I was tired of it. Tired. So I went to the last six pages just to make sure the murderer was caught. That book was interminable. Not so with the rest of them.

2) Series. It's not the number of books in a series that will kill it. It's the total lack of interest on the author's part. If you have to call it in to continue the series, don't bother. Really. You're doing your readers no favors.

3) Stories should have a point. What are you trying to say? Even erotic romance should have a purpose. If your sole purpose is to see how many positions you can use in the least number of pages, that's not romance. That's porn, whether two people are in the bed, or twelve.

4) Conversely, if you're dialing in the sex so you can meet the publisher's guidelines, don't bother. I read a really intriguing little story that was totally ruined by the sex scenes. They could have enhanced the story in so many ways. Instead, they were plodding, miserable interruptions to the story. No author should add an explicit sex scene to a book if the characters truly don't lead the story into the bedroom.

5) Same goes for violence, gunfights, fist fights, car chases, and other ways to stretch the story. Suspense does not equal action. Many times, suspense is much more effective than action. Think about the Hitchcock movies you've watched. He was the master at stretching out the suspense to the snapping point. The active parts were frequently short and sharp. Not interminable!

After all my reading I concluded there's still hope for me. I have a dental appointment today, but on Monday I'll dive back into the writing cave and persevere. Onward.

anny


 

Headlines

Crawled out of bed early this morning and went off to the doctor for my quarterly fasting bloodwork. Lost six pounds so the changes I've made in my "lifestyle" are working.

Came home, had a late breakfast and browsed the news pages on the Internet. Over and over, I noticed one thing. Exaggerated headlines.

Dozens killed in earthquake. Thousands in the dark. 8,500 year old murder mystery.

When you read the actual stories, you discover forty-eight people died in the earthquake. All deaths diminish the rest of us. Generalizing numbers somehow makes their deaths less important. To me, using a word like dozens takes away from the loss. Forty-eight. Forty-eight people died in a terrible earthquake.

Thousands in the dark. It doesn't sound nearly as urgent as 715,000 people waiting for power. Thousands...well, that could be any big number--right? And how can you tell if things are getting better unless you have an actual number? Now if tomorrow I read 610,000 people still waiting for power, then I know some people are no longer sitting in the dark and cold. Or maybe it's an accountability issue. What you don't know, you can't protest.

As for the 8,500 year-old murder mystery. A) They have no idea how the people died. B) Therefore, they have no idea whether they died accidentally, or on purpose. C) They have no clue how the people ended up in the bottom of a well. Blah, blah, blah. Sensationalism at its best.

I realize the purpose of a headline is to attract the reader's attention. Perhaps it's just my imagination. But I believe more and more headlines are creeping into the deceitful zone. And it just isn't the print/electronic media. Those little sound bytes on television frequently border on the "But wait! If you buy two..." territory. Often the reporter reminds me of a yapping terrier or poodle, desperate for attention. Is that what we've come to?

Maybe that's why so many people just tune it all out.

anny

Stones

Among our ancient ancestors, it was common to erect stones circles, cairns, pillers in remembrance of some important event, a sacred place, or a lost loved one. Now such stones are lost in the mist of time or puzzled over by curious scientists and scholars as they strive to decipher their meaning.
My entire life I've been fascinated by these signs from the past. What did they mean? Who raised them up and what significance did they hold for those long ago humans? Did they mark the passing of a leader or loved one? Where they raised in worship? Or did they mark a neutral place where warring tribes could gather in peace?
What compelled them to spend so much effort and time on gathering stones and transporting them, sometimes from distant places to their particular final resting place? Why this place rather than another?
We still raise our monuments to achievement, memorials, worship. I sometime ponder what our descendents will make of our "stones". Will they understand why we found our particular events important? Or will they, too, wonder at the time we spent building them? 
It's possible that our stones, like those from the past, will merely be enigmatic puzzles that occupy the curious as they search for the meaning and significance of our efforts. In the end, this too shall pass.
anny 

Fair or Not

When my daughter was about twelve, I remember her stomping into her bedroom, muttering, "That isn't fair!" Well, no, life in general isn't fair. I have a theory that the sooner a child learns that lesson, the more capable they are to manage their life.

My first experience with the total unfairness of life was the night my mother died in a car accident. I was ten. It was like taking a huge blow to the chest. How was I supposed to go on with life?

But I did. That night was over fifty years ago. We cope with the most appalling events and move on...because life is not fair. The sooner we stop expecting it to be fair, the better we are at dealing. That's the point where we look around us and say, "We'll be all right." No, not immediately. Not even next week or next month. But eventually, life will move on and we'll be stronger for it.

Paul the Apostle had some wise words he wrote in a thank you letter while incarcerated in a Roman jail. "I am not saying this because I am in need, for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether living in plenty or in want." Philippians 4: 11-12 Wise words.

I suspect that's the true secret to happiness. Contentment in all circumstances, whatever, wherever we might be. Fair or not, while we make our way forward to more settled times.

anny

Best Things

Things I'm grateful for today...

Electricity.

Water.

A safe place to lay my head and sleep.

A working gas station.

Food to eat and a place to cook it.

Friends and family who are safe.

Blessings on your day.

anny

Aftermath...

So Sandy's Surprise is almost gone. For the fortunate, the storm brought power outages and downed trees. For the less fortunate, for the totally devastated, life will never be the same. And no...if you've never been in that situation, you can not possibly understand.

What can you do? If you live far away, donate to the charity of your choice. Don't have much? That's okay. Every penny helps. We're going into winter, folks. A lot of people don't have anything except what they're wearing. Think about that. Think about INDIVIDUAL people with nothing to their names except the clothes they have on.

That's a different picture than downed ferris wheels and sandy roads. How would you cope?

And think about this--in many cases extended families all live in a close-knit area. What affects one, affects many. Frequently, there are no family members to turn to because they all are dealing with the same disaster.

When you're sitting in your warm houses, preparing for the various festivities over the next couple months, think about the folks who won't be doing that this year. They don't have to be Sandy's victims. They might be victims of a tornado, a blizzard, an earthquake, a tsunami. Too often, once the pictures are no longer shown on television, we forget.

This year? Let's remember and share our blessings. Take part in supporting your neighbors.

anny

Spear of Retribution

Release Day! At last the second book in the Tuatha Treasures series is available. What's it about???

Blurb:

Love between a white woman and a Cherokee warrior is forbidden in Virginia in the 1820s. After killing her brother in self-defense, Lyrissa Murphy escapes to the shelter of Crazy Woman Cave. When Gray Horse Redhand tracks her there, he realizes their survival depends on joining forces and traveling to the west. Before they have the chance to leave, their encounter with a dangerous enemy leads to the discovery of an ancient burial and a beautiful spear.

Fleeing deadly pursuit from her unbalanced father, Lyrissa and Gray enter a new, unknown world. There they face threatening encounters with vicious warriors and strange animals, discover a magical future, and fall deeply in love. Their shared desire sustains and encourages them as the mysterious, enchanted spear points the way to the Dragon Fort of the Tuatha where they finally accept their new, unexpected home in the heart of Cabhán Geal.

Excerpt:


Lyrissa shivered as she crouched next to the fire. After studying the strange beast, she was already alert for trouble.Darkness blanketed the canyon, and Gray still hadn’t returned to the camp. Hemmed in by the smothering night, Lyrissa kept a wary eye on the horses, confident they would sound the alarm at the first whiff of danger. The rustles of small beasts and rising insect songs reassured her that no predators stalked nearby.And still he did not come.Burgeoning fear crept into the clearing, seizing her breath with cruel talons. She crushed back the urgent need to stalk the canyon floor in search of the man who matched her soul and filled her heart. He was a man, a warrior, more than capable of surviving in this strange wilderness. Why, then, did her fear grow with every heartbeat?What preyed in the shadows, watching with hungry eyes, waiting for her to wander by? The small hairs on her spine rose in primal alarm. Without thought, she reached behind her, fumbling for the spear from the cave. Gray had shown her the repaired shaft when they moved their camp. In her grasp the spear took on a pale blue glow and thrummed with power. Judge growled, low and menacing, as he faced toward the trail leading up from the canyon floor, his hair bristling along his spine.Silence, pregnant with violent possibilities, spread in the woods. A lone, harsh cry echoed from the treetops. Standing at the edge of their tiny clearing, Lyrissa cocked her head, listening as a soft breeze ruffled the leaves. Off to the west, the muffled roar of the waterfall filled the quiet.Crouching, easing one step forward, Lyrissa inhaled, catching the scents carried on the breeze. Cinnamon, the spicy odor of crushed cedar, and the coppery smell of blood. Edging closer to the fire, facing the darkness with her back to the camp, she closed her eyes. There! The faintest hint of mint and tallow. Her fingers tightened on the smooth ash staff, gripping with terrified strength. Abruptly the spear spun within her grip, burning her palm, a low, hair-raising wail building until the cool night air vibrated with the shriek of the spear. Lyrissa’s fist opened, releasing the staff, and the spear flew through the trees, circling their camp faster and faster with a pale-blue tail of smoke in its wake. After one sharp, high-pitched bark, Judge dived into the willow shelter Gray had built for them to rest in. Cowering on the blankets, he whined in distress.Suddenly the spear shot off into the dark. Lyrissa raced headlong after it, heedless of the branches and roots blocking her way. With a keening moan, it flew up the wall to the edge of the cliff. Lyrissa rushed up the path in the spear’s wake in time to witness its plunge into the churned ground with an earthshaking thud as she burst onto the moonlit clearing at the top of the cliff. Sprawled dangerously near the edge, Gray still grasped his knife in one bloodstained hand. Two of the dark warriors lay dead nearby in a narrow shadow, tumbled like dirty laundry.She dropped to her knees next to him, crying out with relief when his eyes met hers. “Where are you hurt?” she demanded fiercely.With a weary grimace, he shook his head. “Everywhere. Help me up.”She grappled with his arms, struggling to hold on to the flesh that was slippery with blood and other things she was grateful she couldn’t identify. At last, when he was on his feet, she draped his arm over her shoulder and shoved the spear, butt down, in his other hand. “Did they cut you again?”He groaned as they shuffled down the trail to the narrow path to the hot pool. “I don’t know. Truly, I just fought to stay alive.”“You did well. They’re dead. You’re alive.” “One of them was a white man. He ran when the spear whistled up from the canyon.”“You’re sure?”“As I can be. He wore clothing like Neville. We have to leave.”“Not until you’re well enough.” They staggered back and forth, bouncing off rough tree trunks, cursing at thorny bushes they brushed against, as they made their way to the pool where she bathed him before they returned to camp.“It would please me exceedingly if you would cease returning to camp more battered than when you left,” she scolded as she sluiced him down with handfuls of warm water. “Our medicine is nearly gone. Our bandages are drying on the line. And my spear is possessed by a demon.”He cupped her chin in his palm and kissed her tenderly. “I’m sorry you were scared.”They stood in the moonlight, looking in each other’s eyes for a long moment. Then she said softly, “Well. Don’t do it again.”  
Want to know more? Click on the book cover!

anny

I Want to See!

WHY are the news stations going on and on and on, repeating the same coverage, updating things on a miniscule basis? Blame human nature. We want to see! Bad weather, car wrecks, arguments, fist fights... we stop and gawk.

Actually, the Weather Channel and news stations are providing a vital service. They're showing us up-to-the-minute coverage. Some people will watch it for hours. Others will check in occasionally. But, here's the thing...if we're at home watching the coverage, we're not out in the storm needing someone to rescue us. In a potentially dangerous situation, it's human nature to need to keep an eye on the approaching danger. The news media does this job for us.

Are they too hyper for words? Yeah. But I figure they're drinking coffee by the gallons, just to stay awake and perky. When they get too much to bear, we turn off the TV, shut down the computer, and find something else to do.

But when we can no longer resist, when our nerves stretch past bearing, they're still there, ready and willing to give us the latest news. So cut them a break. And be thankful they're willing to do a really dangerous, thankless job.

anny

Rush and Hush

Waiting. It's the hardest part of any storm. All the prep work is done. If necessary evacuations are in progress. And the rest of us sit and wait as anticipation mounts.

It doesn't have to be a hurricane. It could be a blizzard. I remember checking out the window every few minutes to catch those first snowflakes drifting down from a darkening sky.

Anticipation.

Everyone had a different way of dealing. Some read. Some watch the coming train wreck on the Weather Channel. Others bury their worries in sports. The nurturing types cook or bake or knit. Some of us write.

The anticipation and anxiety is normal. It's a human response to danger. Some respond by ignoring all warnings, as though by doing so they'll hold off the storm. They poo-poo the very idea that the storm will be that bad. Then at the last moment, they rush around, frustrated and angry and finally frightened, when storm supplies are sold out.

The sensible approach is to be prepared--always. But few bother with that approach. I suspect that preparedness might be too close to anticipation. It might actually draw the storm in our direction. Right?

Well, this storm is coming. And now we begin the wait. I've been busy making ready for it so now I'll take the opportunity to rest and write. Stories are waiting and writing is a wonderful way to fill time. Y'all be smart and safe.

anny

Calm Before the Storm

If you live on the east coast of the USA, you're probably aware of Sandy. If you're not, check out the weather ASAP. The hunk and I did all our preparations yesterday. Bought the batteries, filled the gas tank, packed a bug-out bag in case we have to evacuate. Today we're down to piddly stuff like moving things away from the windows and clearing off the balcony.

We have some murky sunshine out there with low clouds, no winds, and nice temps. And here's what I'm reading on Facebook/Twitter..."The weather's fine here. This is just more media hype..."

There's a reason "calm before the storm" is a cliche. Most big storms have a period of deep calm before they roar in to smack you. And that's a good thing. It allows time to prepare for the aftermath. Trust me, it is NOT a sign that the storm won't be bad.

For those who have survived bad storms, whether tornadoes, blizzards, ice storms or hurricanes, preparation is key to walking away with your life. If you haven't started, get busy. And don't be fooled by where Sandy's headed.  Check out your local recommendations and do what they say.

Here's what I don't understand. Actual preparation doesn't really take that much time. And it requires minimal money. So why wouldn't you be prepared? If everyone just did the minimum that's recommended, more people would live through these storms. Isn't your life worth that bit of time?

Heads up. Time is running out.

anny