C.W. Thomas's Blog, page 5

Studies Prove It: Daylight Saving Time Is Asinine

It's always been my personal belief that Daylight Saving Time is stupid. Turns out I was right. Turns out that aside from increasing risk of heart attack, providing adverse mental health in some people, screwing with national and international communication, mixing up global transportation patterns, frustrating farmers, complicating business transactions, and ruining my life twice a year, the only positive thing about DST is that at one point in history it didn't exist.

When The Dumb BeganDST has been used for about 100 years, although its genesis is credited to Benjamin Franklin, according to www.timeanddate.com . Franklin proposed the idea—although a little jokingly—to economize the use of candles by getting people out of bed earlier in the morning, making use of the natural morning light. The idea was never implemented in his lifetime because people didn't take it seriously.

It wasn't until 1895 that a New Zealand entomologist (bug-collector) by the name of George Vernon realized that his love affair with bugs could last longer every day if he had more daylight hours to play with. He proposed a two hour time shift instead of the one that we grudgingly endure today.

This idea was picked up by another genius, William Willett, whose motivation for lobbying DST was his growing aggravation that dusk kept cutting short his after hours game of golf.

That's right, folks. Golf.

It wasn't until World War I that this idea began to catch on. While Europe did its best to commit genocide the west thought DST would be a great way to save energy during war time. DST wasn't observed again until WWII and was officially adopted in the US in 1967.

The "Energy Conservation" MythEnergy conservation has long been touted as one of the many reasons for DST to remain in effect (though just how much energy it saves has never been proven), but even if DST did, at one point, help save energy, energy consumption has changed greatly since the days of coke stoves and steam engines. In a 24/7 global economy DST no longer serves its purpose.

Most modern studies of DST show little to no benefit and/or reason for it in regards to energy conservation.

What The Facts Show The National Research Council of Canada issued a report in 2008 that indicated fuel consumption actually rises during DST because "…with an extra hour of daylight in the evening people tend to go out more."
One of the major backers of legislation to keep DST in effect is 7-Eleven, ostensibly to allow the good children of America more time to go out and buy a torso-sized Slurpie. Obesity, folks. DST contributes to obesity.
When Indiana made DST mandatory in 2006, Dr. Matthew Kotchen examined several million monthly meter readings from a three year period. He found that having the entire state switch to DST each year, rather than remain on Standard Time, cost Indiana households an additional $8.6 million in electricity bills.
Arizona does not recognize DST. They tried it for one year in the 1960s, but there was so much negative reaction that they never tried it again. Some also said that without DST, the state still managed to save heating and cooling energy in the summer (northern hemisphere) months.
Kazakhstan abolished DST in 2005, citing negative health effects on more than 51 percent of its population.
Farmers, who must wake with the sun no matter what time the clock says, are greatly inconvenienced by having to change their schedules to market their crops to businesses observing DST and therefore generally oppose it. ( www.standardtime.com )
In 2008 The Wall Street Journal declared: "Daylight Saving Wastes Energy," and cited Dr. Kotchen's report as well as others.

The "Circadian Rhythm"Health therapist Shawn Kirby says the negative health repercussions of DST can last for weeks in some people. He says the human body's physical and mental behavioral swings caused by day/night changes and sleep patterns—known as the Circadian Rhythm—is essential to a person's mental health and balanced stress levels. This natural rhythm within our own bodies connects us to the world while DST routinely interrupts it.

"Suicides in men and heart attacks were both found to significantly spike with the 'Spring Forward,'" Kirby says.

In ClosingEven apart from the data, DST shows no reasons to exist. I mean, "time," as we know it, is an artificial construction, measured only by agreed-upon convention. The only purpose of measuring time with a clock is to coordinate action. The actual numbers on a clock don't matter; the clock says whatever we, as a society, agree that it should say. On a global scale observing DST completely destroys the original purpose for which time and the clock were created—some countries observe it; some don't. As a result world time becomes confusing. While observing DST, time zones get screwed up; all clocks and electronic devices must be changed, or programmed to run functions that cause the change. This massive, mostly-computerized switchover inconveniences millions of businesses and individuals every year. DST interrupts what is, otherwise, a smoothly operating convention of coordinating global actions.

Let's face it, DST is an outdated, onerous, ridiculous, asinine "illusion." It is unneeded, unwanted, and pointless. If you really need an extra hour of daylight to play gulf or hunt bugs, GET UP AN HOUR EARLIER!

Stop the madness of pointlessly changing time twice a year. End Daylight Saving Time! Sign the petition at www.standardtime.com .

Getting The Most Out Of Beta Readers

1. Be leery of people who love giving advice.
These people often just love to hear themselves talk. They might be thorough, but they'll also be super annoying. Recruit them at your own risk.

2. Send your manuscript strategically.
While there is no “right” way to send your manuscript to beta readers, I suggest doing it in “rounds.” A few people will receive the first draft. After you get their feedback and revise accordingly, you’ll send it out again to other beta readers who can give feedback based on the new revisions. That means you have a chance to organize who will see which draft.

I sent my first draft to a writing buddy that I've been friends with for many years. She's not an editor or a proofreader, but she IS a great gauge of storytelling, pacing, and character development. Her "bird's eye view" of my overall novel provided valuable insight for me during later revisions. More completed drafts of my manuscript I sent to people I knew would look at it more critically and from the point of view of general readers.

If your beta readers are the type of people who will buy your book and you get positive feedback, then you know you’re doing something right.

3. Be specific with your questions.
Ask your readers specific questions about the manuscript, like did the character’s motives make sense? Were there any scenes you felt were unnecessary? Were there words/phrases overused that seemed to distract from the story? Was the ending satisfying? Believable? Did the descriptions and emotions feel real to you? It will help them focus their thoughts and help you get the most out of their feedback.

I should have been more intentional about this with all of my beta readers because I got the best feedback when I did.

Using beta readers doesn’t have to be a scary process. In fact, they’re an important part of writing that can take your story to a whole new level!

"Where Serpents Strike" Sample Chapter

LIA
When Lia saw him, she froze, curiosity gripping her. She had never seen a man like him this far from Aberdour’s castle. Typically those clad in torn shirts and muddy brown slacks, like this man, were vagabonds of the city’s stone alleys or slaves to noblemen in their comfortable estates. Then she noticed the shackles on his ankles and the broken chain that once linked them dangling between his feet, and her curiosity melted into fear.

Lia gasped. The bucket of oats slipped from her small hand and spilled on the barn floor.
The man was distressed, his eyes wide and worried. He pressed a single dirty finger to his lips. “Quiet, little girl.”

Lia’s fear vanished. “I’m not a little girl,” she snapped. “I’m ten, and I’m—”

“I said shut up!”

From somewhere outside, a woman called Lia’s name. Her shape appeared, passing by the gaps in the barn boards.

The man pointed his finger at Lia. “Not a word!” he whispered, and then shuffled behind the hay bales.

The door creaked open and a lovely, wide-hipped woman with her brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, poked her head inside. Lia spun around, startled, kicking the spilled oats at her feet.

“Is everything all right?” the woman asked.

“I’m sorry, Abigail. I, uh…” Lia looked down at the mess. Kneeling she started to clean it up. “It just… slipped.”

Abigail made her way across the barn floor, her simple brown dress swaying around her ankles. She knelt next to Lia, holding her pregnant belly as she bent down.

“It’s all right,” she said. “Aggie won’t mind.” She looked up at a white and brown rouncey peering down at them from her stall. “Will you girl?”

The horse shook off a few flies.

Lia paid no mind to either Abigail or the horse. Her every thought was on the escaped prisoner hiding behind the hay bales. She considered grabbing Abigail and racing from the barn, but then her eyes fell on the woman’s belly and Lia knew she couldn’t do anything that would put the baby at risk.

Abigail looked up and exhaled in disappointment. “I hope this isn’t your new tunic,” she said. She brushed her hand along the front of Lia’s shirt, peeling away the layer of hay and dirt that had affixed itself to the dark green fabric, marring the pattern of branches and maple leaves.

“Uh,” was all Lia could say. She looked down at her baggy gray slacks, hoping she hadn’t dirtied them as well, but she had.

“Oh!” Abigail said, and her hand went to her stomach. “Lia, feel. She’s awake.”

Abigail took Lia’s tiny fingers and placed them over the spot where the baby was kicking. Even in the face of her fear, Lia couldn’t help but smile as the little life pushed against her palm.

“How do you know it’s a girl?” she asked.

Abigail smiled. “I don’t, but it’s fun to pretend that I do.” She leaned in close and lowered her voice. “And it confuses Thomas, but don’t tell him I said that.”

Lia forced out a chuckle, trying to sound relaxed.

“Are you all right?” Abigail asked as Lia finished picking up the spilled oats.

“Yes,” she answered. “Just, um, thinking about my school work.” She took the bucket over to the stall and dumped it in Aggie’s feed box. “I left without getting it done. Or my chores.”

Abigail frowned. “Honey, we’ve talked about this. I don’t want your mother getting mad at me.”

“I’m sorry. Some days it’s just nicer here. In fact, it’s always nicer here. Things are peaceful and…” She stopped, her eyes darting toward the hay pile.

“And what?” Abigail asked.

Lia cast the woman a forced smile. “Plus Aggie is far smarter than my dumb horse.”

“Aggie is also very old, but I’m glad you like it here.” The woman walked up to her and gave her a motherly embrace, stroking the straight brown hair cascading like a silky sheet down Lia’s back. “You’ve always been a good help to us, but it can’t be at the expense of your responsibilities at home. Understand?”

Lia pulled away and agreed.

Abigail started for the barn door. “Send your mother and father our love.”

“I will.”

“And come inside and get some breakfast before you leave.”

Lia watched Abigail exit the barn, her breath held in her chest.

The mysterious man emerged from behind the hay bales. He had a raw masculinity that enthralled and intimidated all at the same time.

Lia opened her mouth to speak, but he lifted his finger again and mouthed, “No.” She closed her mouth, not because he had said so, but because of the two other men who slipped into the barn behind him, chains clinking at their feet. One of them, husky and tall, had a murderous look in his bloodshot eyes. The other looked sprightly, with a scrawny torso and protuberant eyes in his bony face. He ducked into a nimble squat and wiped the perspiration from his brow with a tattered sleeve.

“They got a ride,” he said, pointing toward the packhorse, Aggie, as she peeked over her stall.

“One horse, moron,” Fatty said. “And there’s three of us, so don’t even think about it.”

“Shh!” said the first man to his companions.

The three men ignored Lia, their ears tilting up to the dusty brown rafters as though listening for some sound in the forest beyond.

Lia heard the gentle clomping of horse hooves on the rough road outside. The three men with their clinking chains hurried toward the barn wall to peer through the narrow slits between the clapboards.

“Is that ’im?” Sprightly asked in a gruff whisper.

No one answered.

Curiosity returned, and Lia drifted toward the barn wall where she pressed her eye up to a knothole. She imagined her mother scolding her for lingering in the presence of these three peculiar men. She half-smiled, knowing she would’ve ignored her mother anyway. She didn’t like playing it safe. She much preferred to gallivant through the woods by day and scale the castle’s bookshelves by night. A day in which she didn’t earn a few new scuffs on her palms or knees was a boring day indeed.

Her eye took in a picturesque country scene where an opening in the forest canopy spilled a wide swath of sunlight onto a stone cottage. Chickens pecked at the dirt near a trickling brook sided by reeds and croaking frogs while a pasture, barely visible through the trees, sat at the rear of the home.

A massive armored horse stomped up next to the cottage, marring the otherwise charming scene. The dark animal bore a tall rider in sinister black plate armor, his metal chest displaying a silver viper—the emblem of the high king. His ferocious appearance made Lia’s heart skip a beat. The large man swung his long leg over his ride’s hindquarters and dismounted. She guessed his height to be nearly seven feet. When he turned, a tremendous broadsword, almost twice as tall as Lia, swayed behind his back.

She noticed a contingent of mounted soldiers coming up over the rise in the road to join the tall man. Clad in black armor and fierce helms, the army carried flags bearing the high king’s crest. Lia’s eyes went wide with fright.

“Black vipers?” said Sprightly, astonished. “Khile, what they doin’ ’ere?”

The fat man shook his head. “Broods don’t come this far north.”

“They do now,” Khile said.

For the last three years Lia had heard rumors that one day the black vipers, soldiers of the new high king, would invade this part of the country, but she had never allowed herself to believe it would happen.

Lia had a sudden urge to be home, safe within the protective walls of Aberdour. Mentally she kicked herself for having snuck off in the morning before doing her schoolwork, for leaving the city without the protection of one of her father’s bodyguards.

The door to the cottage scraped open. Thomas appeared, a middle-aged man with graying brown hair and oafish arms defined from long days of axe wielding. He stepped outside while his wife, Abigail, remained in the doorway.

Lia sprang away from the peephole to run outside and warn Thomas when two strong hands clamped onto her shoulders and yanked her back. She tried to scream except one of the hands replanted itself across her mouth.

“Don’t make a sound!” said the man called Khile. He had firm but gentle hands, like her father’s.

“Why are broods coming after us for?” asked Fatty, his voice quivering.

“They’re not after us,” Khile answered.

Sprightly got up. “Well I’m not hanging around here.”

“You step outside and you’re a dead man,” Khile said.

His companion froze.

“What do you think they’re here to do, huh?” Khile moved toward the barn boards to peek outside. “This is an invasion.”

Lia heard voices outside. She squirmed out of Khile’s clutches and returned to the knothole. She saw Thomas inviting the big armored soldier to the water well. Abigail wiped remnants of the breakfast she was preparing on a mottled white apron and then stood silently in the doorway holding the bulge at her stomach. She looked as nervous as Lia felt.

Thomas raised a bucket of water from the well and offered a ladle to the soldier. The man drank, and said something to Thomas. Lia’s ears perked as she heard mention of Aberdour.

Thomas pointed east in the direction of the city.

The tall man dropped the ladle, removed a thick black dagger from his belt, and plunged it into Thomas’ stomach. Abigail screamed and rushed from the house, hurrying to her dying husband’s prone body.

“No!” The word rushed from Lia’s mouth so fast it surprised her. By the time she realized that she had screamed it loud enough for the soldiers to hear, she was halfway out of the barn. She sprinted up the narrow path to the house as fast as her little legs could move, tears on her cheeks, and hot rage in her stomach.

Abigail cried, cradling Thomas as the last bits of life quivered out of him.

Lia dropped to her knees next to Thomas, calling his name. Her hands reached for him, shaking as they cupped his paling face. He blinked, those beautiful sparkling blue pools, and smiled for one brief moment before death took him.

Lia heard a soldier stomping up next to them, but she ignored him, unable to pull her eyes from Thomas. Only when Abigail gasped did Lia glance up. The soldier yanked her head back and drew a silver blade across her throat, cutting a deep gash that spattered blood onto Lia’s clothes.

A second soldier reached down to grab Lia, but her quick feet were far too clever. She sprang away from the man and sprinted toward the big knight, anger washing through her blood. Her hands slipped from a small leather sleeve the knife her father had given her for her tenth birthday. She had never used it to slice anything other than a dead quail, a piece of rope, and some fabric, but, still, she kept it sharp. It slipped into the armored soldier’s thigh, right between the plates of his armor and deep into the skin. He growled, a sound wrought of pain and irritation. He spun and backhanded Lia across the face with his metal arm. She flew backward into the trampled leaves of the pockmarked road, the right side of her face exploding with pain.

Some of the soldiers laughed.

The armored man looked down at Lia, eyes steady and cool. Brown tangles of hair tumbled from his head, veiling his pale face, a stark contrast to his black uniform. He removed her dagger from his leg like a scholar withdraws a quill from an inkwell, and handed it back to her handle first.

“Would you care to try again?” he asked, his voice indifferent, cavernous and cold. “Go for the inside of the thigh this time. Twist the blade to open the wound.”

“I think you should keep her, sir,” one of the soldiers said. “Might make good sport later.”

Bellows of laughter followed.

The large armored man smiled wolfishly. “Kill her,” he said.

From the barn a horse neighed, beckoning the soldiers’ attention. Lia scurried away from them on her hands and knees until she glimpsed Khile bounding toward the house atop Aggie. He arrived at her side in a matter of seconds and pivoted the horse’s flanks to throw the closest soldiers off balance. He reached down and grabbed Lia by the arm. She gave an undignified yelp when he hoisted her onto his lap and urged the horse forward.

Aggie was afraid, Lia could tell, acting half on instinct and half at the commands of the stranger on her back. The horse rushed along the uneven road.

Lia watched the soldiers behind them ready their crossbows as Khile’s two companions stood at the entrance to the barn, looking after him in confusion. Sprightly took a short arrow through the face. Fatty ducked back into the barn as the soldiers moved in to claim his life.

Before Aggie descended the next crest in the road, Lia glimpsed the massive man in the black armor staring after her, calm as an oak tree in a gathering storm.

Lia squirmed to right herself, but Khile shouted at her, “Keep still!”

“I’m slipping!”

He hooked an arm around her small waist and pulled her up in front of him to straddle the animal’s bare back. The road ahead, with woods crowding up to both sides, rushed past in a blur before Lia’s wet eyes.

“Why did he kill them?” she asked. “They didn’t do anything.” Then she thought of the baby in Abigail’s stomach, that precious little girl, or boy. No one would ever know.

“That’s Sir Komor Raven, one of the high king’s marshals,” Khile answered. “He is the very extension of the Black King’s sword itself. He’s led the siege of almost all—”

“I know who he is,” Lia spat, her voice shaking with sorrow and rage. “Everyone knows The Raven.”

“Then you know to fear him.”

“I fear no one! And someday I’m going to kill him for what he did to them.” Lia knew how absurd she sounded. She knew ten-year-old girls didn’t kill soldiers clad in thick armor, but deep within her boiled a growing hate she had never felt before.

“That man will gut you like a fawn,” Khile said.

“I don’t care. I’m going to rip his heart out!”

Khile huffed. “You’re a feisty little thing. What’s your name?”

“Lia Falls.”

Khile’s body tensed. “Falls? Of Aberdour? You’re a princess?” It sounded like less of a question and more an exclamation of disbelief. “What are you doing out here all alone with no protection? Are you crazy?”

Lia didn’t answer. She only sobbed.

“You’re lucky I found you,” Khile said. “Those men would’ve killed you right along with that man and woman.”

“They were my friends,” Lia said, her voice cracking. She shut her eyes as images flooded her mind of Thomas teaching her how to ride, and Abigail helping her brush the coats of their mares. Years of memories flooded through her as tears washed down her cheeks.

“I don’t understand,” she cried. “Why did he kill them? They didn’t do anything?”

“This is the back road to Aberdour, yes?” Khile said. “And you know who Komor is, then surely you know what he’s doing.”

Lia knew the answer, but she didn’t want to say it. Maybe, if she didn’t say it, it wouldn’t be true. Maybe if she squeezed her eyes tight enough the nightmare would end and she would look up to see the post and beam ceiling of her bedroom in the castle, her violet drapes blowing in the crisp morning breeze, sunlight kissing her pale skin.

But this was no nightmare. The black vipers were real, and they were headed for Aberdour, which could only mean one thing: the invasion had finally arrived.

Aggie lurched over a log in the road, forcing Lia to latch onto Khile’s arm. He must have felt her grip, because he brought his arms in closer to her. He smelled of wood and earth.

“Do yourself a favor and forget about Komor The Raven,” Khile said. “Aberdour is about to fall, and that makes you and your brothers and sisters the most important people in the realm right now.”

As Khile pushed the horse hard over the rough road, Lia thought of her home lying not too far ahead. Aberdour. The last free city on Edhen. She wondered if she and Khile would arrive in time to warn the people. Perhaps they already knew. Perhaps the western towers had already spotted the Black King’s army on the crest of the Northern Road. The bells could be sounding throughout the city right now.

Lia longed for her father, Lord Kingsley. She longed for him to scoop her up in the safety of his arms, hold her tight against his barrel chest, and tell her everything was going to be all right. He was supposed to go hunting this morning with her brother Brayden. She wondered if they were out there now, creeping through the trees, bows at the ready, unaware that they were soon to be the prey.

Moving to Maui: Surviving the Dreaded DMV

The DMV sucks. Even in Maui. Like any government-run organization it just can't do things quickly, easily, efficiently, or without the hair-pulling frustration of the latest nonsensical Common Core Standards.

Seriously, what's the greatest innovation at the DMV in the last 40 years? A bench? A “Take a number” system? Great, the DMV has finally narrowed the gap with my local super market.

All kidding aside (I know I started the above paragraph with "Seriously..." but, seriously, I'm just kidding around here.)

Anyway, when you move to Hawaii there are a few interesting things to keep in mind when it comes to transferring your driver's license, registering your car, and buying insurance.

To help you avoid the clunky process we went through, here are the steps of how things should be done.

STEP 1: What NOT to doIf you sell your vehicle with the intention of buying a new one in Hawaii, don't be so quick to cancel your insurance. When you apply for new auto insurance there are discounts offered for being "previously insured." Have your old policy number handy when you're talking to an insurance rep.

STEP 2: Earning your driver's license... againFortunately the DMV in Maui isn't as scary as it is everywhere else in the universe. However it is a little strange. To get your Hawaii driver's license you'll need to take a 25 question multiple-choice written test, an eye test, get your photo taken, and your thumb and index finger printed. You'll need two forms of ID (i.e. old driver's license, passport, birth certificate) and two pieces of mail confirming your place of residence in Hawaii. It's cost you about $15.

STEP 3: Passing the safety inspectionAll cars in Hawaii two years old or older have to undergo a pretty strict environmental safety inspection. You will need to have proof of insurance, the vehicle's current registration (even if it's in the previous owners' name), and the title with you when you go to have this done.

STEP 4: Back to the DMV. Oh yay.Actually, like I just said in Step 2, they've got that "Aloha spirit" at the Hawaii DMV, so it's not that bad, even if the wait time is three hours. To register your car you will need a) proof of insurance, b) safety inspection certificate, c) title, d) screwdriver for applying/removing new/old plates, e) patience, f) approximately $16.

All of these steps in this order work as a kind of combination lock. Once completed you will be welcomed into the bosom of mother Maui with a flowery lei and a luau. Ok, not really, but it'll feel like this...

Beta Readers Aren't That Scary

There. I did it. For the first time ever I sent out a novel to a team of beta readers.

Scary? Check.
A test of patience? Check.
Invaluable? Check, check!

Beta reading has proven to be one of the most valuable assets in the indie authors stash of secret weapons. If you're scared about this or suffer from the dreaded "I can't let anyone read my work!" syndrome, you're not alone. But here's some truths about working with beta readers that might help put your mind at ease.

They're just as grateful as you areOk, first of all, they're all really nice. I hand picked my team to include a variety of people—a couple friends whose opinions I trusted, a few peers I knew professionally, and a few people I didn't know so well who I believed would give me an honest opinion. Not a single one of them was ungrateful to be given a free book to read.

Think about it, unless you're an all-around terrible person you're not going to spit all over a gift, and you're certainly not going to come down like a hammer on an innocent author looking for feedback. The truth is that most of your beta readers are going to be grateful to be a part of the process, and in return, they’ll be kind about their feedback.

There may be some a-holes, but we'll talk about them in a minute.

They're actually really encouragingMy readers gave me all kinds of constructive criticism, but every single one of them also gave me great words of encouragement. After reading an email from one of them I would always feel elated, like I'd just won a sort of mini lottery! I'd feel inspired to go write some more, which is the opposite of what I was expecting to feel.

They're going to strengthen your storyI've known many authors over the years who get a very high opinion of themselves and their work. Any changes made to their story not thought of by them are stupid changes. I argue that this kind of thinking is itself stupid.

Your beat readers are going to come back with suggestions about the plot, comments about where they were confused, remarks about what parts of the story that didn't make sense, and all of it, if you soak it in and weigh it against your artistic vision, can help improve your book. Obviously, you don't have to accept every suggestion your beta readers make—you don't have to accept any of them, in fact!—but changes are they're going to think of things that you have yet to consider. A writer so high-on-his-horse that he can't take this kind of feedback and turn it into something valuable is missing out on a massive opportunity to enrich his book.

Dealing with a nasty beta readerI didn't have any meanies in my group of beta readers, but I know they're out there. Negative Nancys. Debbie Downers. Jealous Johns. And my advice to you in this department is simple: scrap 'em.

Years ago I made the decision that I didn't want negative people in my life. Negative people attract negative energy and negative circumstances. It's true. I've seen it happen. Negative people live miserable lives and they often don't realize that the reason their lives are such a mess is because they're so miserable.

If a person can't offer constructive criticism I don't listen to them. Might they have had something valuable to say? Sure. But if in the process of listening to them it's going to raise my blood pressure, forget it. Cut them off.

It's not possible to cut out ALL negativity from your life. Let's face it, that's just life. But in the years since I've been making a more concentrated effort to attract and keep positivity I've found that the kind of energy around me and the kind of energy I'm able to put out is more creative, more fun, and more rewarding.

Other tips for getting the most out of your beta readers
1. Be leery of people who love giving advice.
These people often just love to hear themselves talk and they usually don't know as much as they think they do. They might be thorough, but they'll also be super annoying. Recruit them at your own risk.

2. Send your manuscript strategically.
While there is no “right” way to send your manuscript to beta readers, I suggest doing it in “rounds.” A few people will receive the first draft. After you get their feedback and revise accordingly, you’ll send it out again to other beta readers who can give feedback based on the new revisions. That means you have a chance to organize who will see which draft.

I sent my first draft to a writing buddy that I've been friends with for many years. She's not an editor or a proofreader, but she IS a great gauge of storytelling, pacing, and character development. Her "bird's eye view" of my overall novel provided valuable insight for me during later revisions. More completed drafts of my manuscript I sent to people I knew would look at it from different points of view.

If your beta readers are the type of people who will buy your book and you get positive feedback, then you know you’re doing something right.

3. Be specific with your questions.
Ask your readers specific questions about the manuscript, like did the character’s motives make sense? Were there any scenes you felt were unnecessary? Were there words/phrases overused that seemed to distract from the story? Was the ending satisfying? Believable? Did the descriptions and emotions feel real to you? Questions will help them focus their thoughts and help you get the most out of their feedback.

I should have been more intentional about this with all of my beta readers because I got the best feedback when I did.

Using beta readers doesn’t have to be a scary process. In fact, they should be an important part of writing that can take your story to a whole new level!

Beginning Our New Life In Maui

May wife, Danielle, loves the ocean. Like, seriously, if the ocean magically manifested into some tall handsome dude she'd probably leave me.

Her love for warm sun and sandy beaches is why in the winter of 2014 she asked me for a trip to Hawaii for Christmas. She claims she was "only joking," but after she mentioned this two other times I began to wonder just how jokey she was actually being.

I also started to get curious. How much would a vacation to Hawaii really cost? What sorts of things could you do there? How much will the airline industry rip us off for two tickets to Maui? (Because, really, what do the airlines ever do except charge ridiculous amounts of money for what is, essentially, a miserable travel experience coupled with molestations from the TSA?)

"Is this is a joke?" she asked when I gave her the tickets on Christmas Eve.

"If this is a joke it's one of the cruelest Christmas presents ever," I said.

It wasn't a joke. We were going to Maui.

I can always tell how excited she is about something by how quickly the news hits Facebook. In this case, I think she set a new record.

Why Hawaii?
The West Maui Mountains right behind
our apartment building in Kahului.We visited Hawaii in January of 2015. The moment we stepped off the plane there was this feeling of being home—the island time, the Aloha spirit, the mountains, the water, the palm trees. We belonged there.
After ten days of luaus, snorkeling, whale watching, volcano hiking, surfing, drinking, eating, and swimming our time in paradise came to an end.

Or so we thought.

For months afterward all we could talk about was how much we enjoyed Maui. Eventually we realized that other than our families there was really nothing tying us to our New England roots. We hated the winters. We were tired of the remoteness of everything, the small town life, and the summer allergies. As we considered what kind of a life we wanted to live and where we wanted to raise our kids everything about Maui just seemed to fit with the vision we were developing for our lives.

So finally said: "Let's just move there!"

Holy Crap–We Just Moved To Maui
In the summer of 2015 we closed on the sale of our house. We sold a lot of our possessions and put others in storage. We sold our cars, bought some plane tickets, packed four suitcases, and by January we were back in Maui—exactly a year after we visited.

Honestly, Hawaii was never on my radar of places to go. I've never been drawn to the tropics, but Hawaii is more beautiful and comfortable than I could have imagined. My allergies don't bother me, the heat isn't unbearable, and everyone here lives life slowly. In our culture of busyness and immediacy and deadlines, island life is—as our surf instructor would say—totally chill, bro. It's rare to find that quality of life in a community. I think if one can appreciate it, live it, and give it back to those around them, then it's a life worth living.

So I am now a resident of Maui, HI. We've been here four days. It's kind of surreal. I can't believe I left my whole life behind and came here. It was terrifying, and I'm still not one hundred percent certain that I didn't make a terrible mistake, but time will tell.

The Meaning of All This

I've talked a lot about fear on this blog—fear associated with writing—but I've learned that as I begin to conquer fear in other life situations, fear begins to play a less prominent role in all other areas of my life. Yes, it was terrifying to leave everything I've ever known and move 4,900 miles away, but I knew that if I chose to let fear control this decision I'd spend the rest of my life regretting the choice I didn't make. Personally, I'd rather get to the end of my life and say, "I gave it my best shot," instead of, "I wish I took the chance."

The Ever-Annoying Modifier

If you're one of the many writers asking, "What's so evil about modifiers anyway?" I don't blame you for not getting it. Too many of us have fallen victim to our culture's lazy standards of writing, perpetuated by the shorthand of social media and the explosion of self-published books that go unedited, unchecked, and are held unaccountable.

So what's the big deal about overusing modifiers? Well, let's see.

First: The ModifierEssentially, a modifier adds information to another element in a sentence. The man didn't just walk from the room, he walked from the room slowly. A modifier can be an adjective, an adverb, or a phrase or clause acting as an adjective or adverb.

Ok, so, modifiers are words that modify things. With me so far?

Second: The ProblemModifiers kill creative writing. Verbs should be a writer's best friend, not modifiers. Verbs lend action and speed and interest, but if you're not using the correct verbs you'll find yourself falling on too many modifiers to make up for your lazy verb selection. The end result is sloppy looking writing.

EXAMPLE
"The thief slipped stealthily into the room."

A writer who doesn't understand the misuse of modifiers won't see anything wrong with that sentence, but let's take a closer look at the problem.

The thief is the subject of this sentence. Slipped is the verb that describes his action. Stealthily is the modifier adding a descriptive element to the verb. The main problem with this example is that the modifier is unnecessary. Why is the modifier unnecessary? Because we have an inappropriate verb.

Slipped.

What does this even mean? Is the thief sliding along the floor here? Is there a banana peel in the dark? Is he disco dancing? This verb doesn't quite describe our scene. Slipped is something a stealthy thief would prefer NOT to do, I would imagine.

Let's try again.

"The thief snuck stealthily into the room."

Better. Snuck is a much better word for a stealthy thief than slipped. It could just as easily be crept or tiptoed or skulked, depending on what mood you're trying to set or your personal preference.

But now we have another problem. Remember our modifier Mr. Stealthily? He is now making the verb redundant since the word snuck implies stealth.

Let's try again... again.

"The thief snuck into the room."

Ahhh! There we go. And now we have a tightly written sentence. It's succinct. It conveys a good mental image. There are no redundant or unnecessary modifiers and the verb is strong, implying a specific action while still allowing the reader to use their imagination to conjure the scene. If you want to convey more information about the thief's movements or his demeanor, get creative!

"The thief snuck into the room, a shadow of menace and ill intent."

Ok, it's an elementary example, I admit, but hopefully this process shows you how cutting out modifiers forces a more creative use of proper verbs and can lead to stronger, more descriptive sentences.

An Example From My Own WorkIn Where Evil Abides, the second volume in my high fantasy series Children of the Falls, one of my heroes starts a fight. In the first draft, the sentence read like this:

"Merek jumped over the food table and overturned it, pushing the soldiers back, but only momentarily."

There are several things I didn't like about this sentence, but for the purposes of this article I'll deal with the modifier.

I realized that the word "momentarily"—a modifier—is a useless word. Is it worth it to emphasize that Merek's actions distracted the soldiers for only a moment? Doesn't the action in the next sentence imply the next moment? What does this modifier do except waste the reader's time?

I decided to get aggressive and axed everything after the comma.

"Merek vaulted over the food table and kicked it over, pushing the soldiers back."

Vaulted was a more appropriate verb to describe the specific action, while the verb "kicked" gave the sentence a little extra, well... kick.

As for the modifer? Gonzo!

Reality CheckAre modifiers NEVER supposed to be used? There are some purists out there who might think the first sentence about the slippery thief is an abomination. There are also some very lazy writers who look at some of today's top selling fiction, see lots of modifiers, and think it's no big deal.

I'm somewhere in the middle. I try not to use modifiers, but I'm also the kind of person who writes by feel. If I feel that a sentence flows better with a modifier as opposed to a verb, I might go with the modifier, but that's AFTER I've already assessed the sentence to see if there isn't a stronger verb that works for the scene.

Here's An ExerciseDo a search throughout your document of all words that end in "ly" and get rid of them. Nine times out of ten an "ly" word is a modifier. I guarantee that most of those modifiers can be deleted without changing the meaning of the sentence. In many cases you may have to hunt for a more descriptive verb, and in other instances you may need to rework your sentence entirely. You'll find your writing getting stronger and stronger the more modifiers you hack out.

So hack away!