K.C. Sprayberry's Blog, page 165

Pronoun Phobic

Do you have a phobia about using pronouns? Is your writing littered with Jane did this. A few minutes later, Jane did that. Jane was very happy with her work. Or John eyed the tall blonde beauty strutting past him. John’s eyes widened as he realized she was the girl he’d called uglier than sin back in high school. To John’s utter dismay, this beautiful woman in front of him was just the person John had been searching for all of his life.
A pronoun is a word that replaces a noun. It is most prevalent when names are used. In fact, it keeps our writing from sounding as if we’re back in third grade and just learning about pronouns. The rules governing pronoun use can be confusing, but there are ways to get around those rules and still make your story understandable.
Of course, there are also excuses why we don’t use pronouns. The biggest one is that we, as writers, are afraid our readers won’t understand who we’re referring to if we do drop a pronoun on them.
Let us first examine the different types of pronouns. There are three and they are simple to remember.
Subject pronouns: I, he, she, we, you, they, who, whoever—all the pronouns that identify the subject of the sentence.
Object pronouns: Me, him, her, us, them, whom, what, and you—these are the pronouns that are the direct or indirect object of the very, or the object of the preposition.
Possessive pronouns: Yours, mine, theirs, ours, hers, his, their, his, her, your—these pronouns indicate ownership.
Wow! You’re thinking right about now. That’s so simple. I can now use pronouns without thinking. Hold up there. There is one very important rule you should know about their use. A sentence must be written so that the reader isn’t confused as to whom you are referring.
For instance, a sentence such as Jane was very happy with her work. She perfected the new technique with hours—this is perfectly acceptable use of a pronoun.
This however, isn’t: Jane and Maria worked as a team to finish the job. She was happy with their work, knowing she would soon have the promotion she’d been after for years. Your reader won’t know who “she” belongs to in this sentence. Most will assume you mean Jane, but what if you meant Maria? How will they know.
A rule of thumb I learned many years ago, when I first began writing seriously is that you should use the  name of your main character at least once in each paragraph, followed by the appropriate pronoun, unless there is another character of the same gender that comes later in the paragraph. Then you can use the name more than once.
Pronouns are confusing to learn how to use. No one will argue about that. But writers evolve as they work with their craft. Learning how to construct your sentences so that they are clear and concise will soon be in your reach if you take a moment to discover all the uses for pronouns, and then insert them properly.

Teaser Tuesday ~ Ilena Holder ~ Nuclear: A Tale of Love and Radiation

Bio:
Ilena Holder is a multi-published author (books, Internet, magazines) who spent her four year Navy enlistment in Rota, Spain. Being stationed at the entrance to the Mediterranean gave her ample opportunities to explore Europe and Northern Africa during the mid-Seventies. After her enlistment ended, she used the G.I. Bill to further her education. She has been married forty years
Blurb: Billy Blue is weary of living in an all-female household. Fresh out of high school, he’s ready for his first job and he’s determined to get hired at Kalinde nuclear plant. With his father dead, he’s never had anybody to talk to him about being an adult.  When he’s on the construction project, he finds out what it means to be his own man, make decisions, and be pursued by a very determined Sugar Sparkles. Now that he’s earning his own way in life, he feels ready to set goals for himself. Will he stay at his entry-level job, or challenge himself by setting higher goals? Will he cave in to Sugar’s clingy demands or stay true to his chosen path?


Blurb:
Spend one year building a nuclear plant in Mississippi.  Experience life as a young twenty-something working construction, falling in and out of love, and earning your first paycheck.  It will be just like M*A*S*H builds a nuclear plant!



Excerpt: Billy Blue was settled in his room, listening to his radio.  The chatter of his sisters and his mother got on his nerves, and he didn’t feel like sitting around the television watching the Waltons television show and eating popcorn tonight.  Sugar had just called him and he had sat in the kitchen talking to her about half an hour.  Since they only had one phone in the house, he had kept his voice low.  He guessed she just called to gossip and he wasn’t far off the mark on that.  Tying up the phone line with silly chatter wasn’t really his thing, but he knew it was part of the dating ritual.
Sugar hadn’t said anything of any great importance, except to say that she found out through the grapevine that Luxora had gone to New Orleans to buy a dress for the Kalinde Christmas party.  Why a woman would want to buy a dress six months ahead of an event was puzzling to Billy, and he told Sugar as much.  Then she got huffed up at him for suggesting that the party was trivial.  By the time they hung up, he found out that Sugar was already also planning her dress for the party and he was expected to take her.  The whole thing almost made his head ache to think about probably having to buy a suit for the dumb thing.  He didn’t even know if he’d be alive six months from now.
Fiddling with the dial on his radio, he looked out the window.  Since tonight was a full moon, he could see quite a ways towards the Swandoo river.  Seeing something move slowly across the horizon, he went and got his field glasses his mother had given him as a graduation present.  Many times on nights like this he could spot wildlife walking around, plus bats and owls.  But the objects he saw were much larger than bats and owls.
Man oh man, it looked like the monthly Klan meeting!
They didn’t make any bones about being seen.  As he watched them through the glasses, they were suddenly backlit by a bonfire that one of them had started.  Oh great, now I can see them better!  Thinking back to the last full moon, Billy remembered that it had rained a mighty downpour that night and their meeting probably had been moved indoors to someone’s barn.
Men clad in white sheets and pointed hats assembled in a circle and paraded around the fire, carrying burning firebrands.  They walked around twice clockwise, then changed direction and went counter clockwise twice.  At this point, they all stopped and faced the fire.
Billy wished he could hear them, but even with his window open, the night outside was relatively soundless except for crickets and such.  He knew from the five o’clock weather report that there was a slight westerly wind, so that would mean he was upwind from them and no sounds probably would carry.  No mind, he couldn’t imagine much of anything coming from their monthly meeting except perhaps some chanting.
Everyone around Hog’s Holler knew the KKK existed, but they left them alone.  It was simpler just to pretend they didn’t exist.  If some of your kinfolks were in it, it wasn’t talked about openly.  And even if nobody was in it, you did the same.  It was just for the best and that’s how it had always been done.  Anyways, they didn’t have much of anything nowadays to march or holler about so both groups were pretty grateful for that.  Nobody had been shot or run off or had any crosses burned in their yards in many years.
While Billy was watching the robed figures amble about, doing whatever they did at a Klan meeting, a huge figure on horseback now appeared.  He swooped in quite elegantly and reined his horse to a stop.
Now this was getting interesting.  Some more wood was thrown on the fire and the flames leaped higher.  The horse and rider now were turned sideways so Billy could get a good view of their profile.
He propped up his elbows on his bedroom window sill.  Bursts of his sisters’ intermittent laughter came down the hall but Billy still remained disinterested in Ma and Pa Walton and their travails.  Something more intriguing was unfolding across the field.  He twisted the lenses of his glasses to try to bring them in clearer.  The larger fire now helped him out.  The reason the rider of the horse looked so huge was that he had a woman riding double behind him!  It was actually two people.
Though the horse was clad in the customary white gear, down to a suitable hood, his legs stuck out from beneath the too-short sheet.  The horse, though a dark color, had four white legs.  He could probably be easily identified by checking out the local pastures around the area, Billy thought.  He made a mental note of it.
But what was unusual was that the woman, who clung precariously to the man’s waist, was garbed in summer wear, T-shirt and cut off shorts.  Why wasn’t she wearing some kind of white gown?  Billy wasn’t sure if women were in the Klan, but maybe this one was an apprentice?  He would have to read up on them.  Maybe they were having a membership drive or starting to admit females now.  He wasn’t sure.  Now the horse and riders turned again and Billy saw the woman’s hair move and shake with the movement of the horse.  The bonfire was high enough now and threw out enough light that he could see more details of the gathering.  The woman’s hair was flame red and long.  Since the horse had stopped so the man could give some directions to his fellow members, she took her hand and brushed back the hair from her face.  He recognized the hand movement and gave a slight shudder.
But the next movement froze him to his bones.  The rider of the horse turned the animal around a quarter turn to face Billy’s house.  Forgetting that his bedroom light was on, Billy saw the man reach down to his chest and pull up on a strap.
Billy then hopped up from his window ledge to flip his overhead light off.  He hoped it wasn’t too late.  He then returned to the window and put the glasses back up to his eyes.  At this point, the man on the horse put a pair of field glasses up to his eyes and focused straight at Billy’s now dark window.  As Billy figured, it was Boomtown.

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Tweet and Block ~ A New Game on Twitter

Recently, I discovered people retweeting my tweets and then immediately blocking me. How did I discover this? I retweet everyone who tweets my postings daily, and I pay attention to who is tweeting me. It’s fun for me to be on Twitter. I enjoy the connections I make there, mostly. However, there are some people who are irritating to the extreme.
For example the hit and run blocker. For some reason this person has decided they don’t like your tweets. They don’t usually hang around long enough to tell you why, they just retweet one of your tweets, hit the block button, and run. You don’t even get a chance to ask them what the problem is. You cannot see their tweets, and they don’t see yours.
Now, that’s not entirely true. There was an instance of someone sending me a direct tweet to stop cluttering her wall. Since she didn’t follow me, I’m not sure what she meant, as she blocked me as soon as she sent that direct tweet. Of course, I saw it and investigated, but couldn’t see her wall. Oh well. It’s her wall. If she doesn’t want to see my tweets, her problem. Right?
The other type of blocker is the tweet and block runner. They’ll do a retweet and block you. No reason given. You probably don’t know this person. My experience recently has been this is the first time the person has retweeted one of my posts. I don’t recognize the name. Other than the irritation of a person not liking me for no reason at all, I move on. Why waste energy on someone who doesn’t want to know you.
Twitter is a wonderful place to make connections. It’s an especially important place for authors trying to get the word out about their books. The connections I’ve made on Twitter are special to me. I love direct tweeting with them while I’m working my tweets at night. We have very interesting conversations. Several even engage in harmless and fun games with words. I’m a writer, I love words. These games are a bit of comic relief at the end of a long day. It’s so much fun that I often find myself smiling and laughing despite being bone tired. That’s what Twitter is all about.
Remember this. If you are irritated with someone, message them. Ask them if they’d please stop doing what irritates you. Or, even better, don’t follow them. Ignore their tweets. But don’t Tweet and Block. It’s not nice.

Teaser Tuesday ~ EB Sullivan ~ Dance Fantasies

Bio
E.B. Sullivan is a clinical psychologist who loves to write fictional tales. She lives in California with her husband, dogs, cats, and horses. Elizabeth describes her life as a continuous and exciting adventure. E.B. Sullivan is the Solstice published author of novels Different Hearts, Bloom Forevermore, Grandfathers’ Bequest, Alaska Awakening,and novellas “Christmas Guardian Angel”, “Spotlighting Crime”, and “Visitor”.


Blurb
A tragic night shatters Ava’s dreams. Forty years later, she returns to her hometown searching for the man who stole her dance fantasies. During her quest, discoveries of hope, love, and romance abound.



  Teaser:
Dance Fantasiesby E.B. Sullivan
Prologue
Rough hands groped Ava’s youthful form.
She flinched, attempting to shrug off a nightmare.
Fleshy fingers stroked her skin. She struggled to open her eyes.
Within the moonlit room, a shadowy figure loomed above her. Impossible to recognize features she stared at a faceless silhouette.
Excessive weight held her down. Putrid sweat dripped on her forehead, slid down the bridge of her nose, and onto her chin. A stench of stale tobacco reminded her of Pastor Thomas.
The foul man pulled her pajama bottoms.
An inordinate fear choked her screams. Her legs flailed kicking, hitting nothing.
The sound of an approaching car offered hope. Its flashing lights flickered against the ceiling.
Her attacker eased his grasp.
Ava sucked in her breath and managed to crawl out from under his reach. She skid across the bed and rolled onto the carpeted floor. She stood and ran toward the door.
His tallness blocked her way. He grabbed her hair yanking her close.
She struggled to get free. As she twisted, she felt his hot breath skim her cheeks. She recoiled.
His arm squeezed her torso lifting her.
She gasped for air.
Lowering her, he reached under her T-shirt. His slobbering mouth sucked her right breast.
With all her might, she pushed away from him.
His great force leaned into her causing her to stumble. 
Her body grazed the open window. A slight breeze stirred the curtain. She felt the brush of soft fabric before falling down, down, down.
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Formatting Your Book

There’s a lot to be said about properly formatting a book. Many of us love to try out the different styles, fonts, and set up special paragraphing, to make our book look good. Looks are nice, but it’s the content that will keep your reader coming back for more.
Let’s talk about how your book should look before you submit it to a publisher. There are certain elements that should always be present.
We’ll start with the Page Layout tab in Word. Make sure your margins are set to 1” top and bottom, left and right side. Larger or smaller margins don’t impress anyone. Readers and the editor-in-chief want that inch of white space all around. It is a great frame for your words.
Next is the paragraph box in the Home tab. Open that up and make sure it appears just like this.
Indents and Spacing:Don’t add space between paragraphs of the same style is checked.
Spacing should be single.
Indentation section should be done like this, so that your paragraphs indent the proper amount of space when you touch the enter key. Mirror indents, no check. Special, first line. By, .5, Left and Right, move the down arrow once and then the up arrow once, so that you end up at zero.
Line and Page Breaks:
Widow/Orphan control unchecked.
Keep with next unchecked.
Keep lines together unchecked.
Page break before unchecked.
Suppress line numbers unchecked.
Don’t hyphenate checked.
Tight wrap none.
Still on the Home tab: Style should always be normal.
You are now ready to start writing your book. Except for one thing. Always do a cover page with your title and your name. Nothing else. You can center the information on the page, but there is no need to put down copyright information if you are submitting to a reputable publisher. They will not decline your book and then publish it under another name. That’s how reputations are lost, and they are in the business of being trusted based on their reputations.
Headers and Footers:
If you are inclined to add in information in a header and footer, make it simple. The header should contain only the title of the book centered, in the same font as your manuscript. The footer should have the page number centered. Don’t do special formatting, just use the standard numbering offered in the edit header or edit footer section in the Insert tab.
Font: always Times New Roman 12 point. Now is not the time to show the publisher how fancy you can get. A standard font is always the best way to go.
Once you have this done, you may start writing your novel. Remember, there is no need to add an extra space between paragraphs, unless you are showing a scene break or point of view (POV) shift. Then you add a single blank line, on the next line, center three asterisks (***) and then add another single blank line.
When you have finished writing your book, you may include The End, or To Be Continued if this is story is part of a series.

Teaser Tuesday ~ Bernard Foong ~ A Harem's Boy Saga

Author’s Bio


Young alias Bernard Foong is, first and foremost, a sensitivist. He finds nuance in everything. To experience the world he inhabits is an adventure which is mystical, childlike and refreshing. He has a rare ability to create beauty in a unique fashion. His palettes have been material, paint, words and human experiences.
By Christine Maynard (screenwriter and novelist).






A Harem Boy’s Saga; A Memoir Book 1 - INITIATION


This provocative story is about a young man who was initiated into a clandestine sexual society. He was spirited to the Middle East, from his UK boarding school. He attended the Bahriji School (Oasis,) in The United Arab Emirates in preparation for serving in Harems for the wealthy and elite.


It is also a love story between the young man and his ‘Valet’ who served as his chaperone and mentor during the boy’s Harem service.


Author’s note:
I had a privileged and unique upbringing in Malaysia, where I was known as a "sissy boy." Following in my brothers' footsteps, I was sent to an exclusive boarding school in England. It is there that I was inducted into a clandestine organization, E.R.O.S. The Enlightened Royal Oracle Society. For four years, unbeknownst to my family, I was willingly and happily part of a Harem.


My story has been kept under wraps for close to 45 years. The correct moment has arrived for me to make known my unique education.





A Harem Boy’s Saga: A Memoir Book 2 - Unbridled
Unbridled is the sequel to Initiation- A provocative story about a young man who was initiated into a clandestine sexual society. He was spirited to the Middle East, from his UK boarding school. He attended the Bahriji School (Oasis,) in The United Arab Emirates in preparation for serving in Harems for the wealthy and elite.


It is also a love story between the young man, his ‘Big Brother’ and his ‘Valet’ who served as his chaperones and mentors during the boy’s Harem services.


This book follows the teenagers’ erotic and exotic adventures and experiences at their 2nd Arab Household Harem, the Sekham. They were apprentices and models, for the household patriarch’s controversial photography project, “Sacred Sex in Sacred Places”.
The author's experiences present facts that are truthful. Though these truths, which are often demonized by contemporary societies that deem such behaviors inappropriate, the author hopes to dispel condemnations and negativity which relate to his experiences.

 





A Harem Boy’s Saga: A Memoir Book 3 - Debauchery


“Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.”
Lao Tzu


Debauchery is the triquel to A Harem Boy’s Saga , a provocative story about a young man who was initiated into a clandestine sexual society through his UK boarding school. From there, he was spirited to the Middle East to attend the Bahriji (Oasis) School in The United Arab Emirates in preparation for Harem services for the wealthy elite.


It is also a love story between the young man, his ‘Big Brother,’ and his ‘Valet,’ who served as his chaperones and mentors.


This book follows the teenagers’ erotic and exotic adventures and experiences at their third Arabian Household Harem, the Quwah. There, they became confidants to a prince, assistants in an international dance club venture, “Carousel,” and apprentices and models in a controversial photography project, “Sacred Sex in Sacred Places.”
This story is an account of the author's experiences. Though these truths, often demonized by contemporary societies that deem such behaviors inappropriate, the author hopes to dispel condemnation and negativity related to sexuality, love, and personal freedom.









No Distance Between Us


An Excerpt from A Harem Boy’s Saga Book 1 – Initiation; a memoir by Young






It is also a love story between the young man and his ‘Valet’ who served as his chaperone and mentor during the boy’s Harem service.


Author’s note:


I had a privileged and unique upbringing in Malaysia. Following in my brothers' footsteps, I was sent to an exclusive boarding school in England. It is there that I was inducted into a clandestine organization, E.R.O.S. The Enlightened Royal Oracle Society. For four years, unbeknownst to my family, I was willingly and happily part of a Harem.


My story has been kept under wraps for close to 45 years. The correct moment has arrived for me to make known my unique education.


There are 7 books to this series.





Teaser
The Little Ballerina


Ballet
While Daddy Foong was busy making babies with the vilified, vicious, vanquished Annie, Young Foong was busy with my gay (no pun intended) hands and happy feet. Dearest K. L. had enrolled her son in ballet class. This was my after school activity.
During her trips to London visiting Hal, Mummy would often catch The Royal Ballet and The Royal School of Ballet performances at Covent Garden, Royal Opera House or at The Royal Albert Hall where they danced Swan Lake, Giselle, Sleeping Beauty and The Nutcracker.
Mother adored watching the dancers’ grace, beauty and ease of movement during performances. Therefore, it came as no surprise that she wished her final child to acquire similar grace in everything he did. I was the only suitable candidate in our household to be initiated into the fine art of ballet. K. L.'s motherly intuition served her well; her little boy adored ballet.
I thoroughly enjoyed dance classes, and continued until grade four in ballet. When I was the only boy pirouetting in an ocean of twenty girls, I hung up my ballet shoes for good.


Dancing Queen
God bless Mummy Dearest Heart! K. L. loved to watch me dance. She was a proud mother when her young son danced, danced and danced some more. And dance I did! At home, I would practice plies, pas de chat, pas de deux, changement, battlement and much more.
After my regular school and homework, I'd switch on the gramophone, put in the black vinyl ballet record and away I would go! Sweet Mummy and Aunt Tai Yee would clap and cheer me on. The maids and servants stood on the sidelines smiling and swaying to the rhythm of the music.
It was a fun time until someone would hear Father's car drive up the driveway. Suddenly everything would stop. Maids and servants scrambled away as fast as their legs could carry them. Mummy and Tai Yee would switch off the gramophone and stash away the records while I made my great escape upstairs, untying my ballet shoes while disappearing into the study. I would sit at my desk pretending to do homework, in case Foong Senior walked in to inspect.


Daddy Poopy Doo-Doo!
There were a couple times when my team of staunch and enthralled supporters and I got caught red-handed. All hell broke loose! First, the maids and servants received a scolding for wasting time and not working at their never-ending domestic chores. Next, “Daddy Poopy Doo-Doo” would yell in a loud and condescending voice for Tai Yee to leave the living-turned-rehearsal room so he and Mother could have a “talk” about their “sissified” son.
There was a time when their 'talk' turned into fists of fury! The arguments turned into fights. Inquisitively, I would peer between the staircase railings, straining to hear and see what was happening below. Once, what I saw startled me. I never wanted to witness it again.
Mother was beating on Father's chest! She screamed obscenities at him while Tai Yee and our Filipino maid did their best to separate them. Our gardener, Ah Choi and Bakar, our Malay chauffeur, were both pulling Father away from K. L. The scene was wild, and too much for me as a 7-year-old to witness! I bolted into my bedroom, locked the door and cried in shock until the commotion below died down.
Yet, after my parent's disagreements, Mother continued to send me to ballet classes. Besides being the odd man out, the male “Lone Ranger” in ballet class, I was often teased by boys in my regular primary school. Other children called me “Sissy” or “Girly” or worse. They flung horrible names at me which were not nice to call anyone.


Swan Lake
In my third year at ballet school, the Australian Ballet Company performed in Kuala Lumpur. My sweet yet stern ballet teacher, Mrs. Mary Lee, wanted her students to experience a large-scale professional ballet performance. Since Mother was a patron of several Performing Arts organizations in Kuala Lumpur, she secured tickets.
The excitement on the day of the show was simply too much for my little heart to bear. It pounded and thumped in great expectation and anticipation! Although we were attending a matinee performance, to me it was like an opening night premiere. I had never experienced a live performance of Swan Lake and certainly had not experienced ballet on this scale. For this little aspiring 'ballerina' boy, it was an incredible experience!
As Bakar drove our car to the main entrance of Stadium Negara, we saw crowds of people trying to gain entrance. Mrs. K. L. Foong and her sissy boy son breezed through security into the open arms of other board members who were present to meet and greet guests in the stadium's foyer. Uniformed ushers guided us to our front row seats, just two rows from center stage. Mummy made a special request for these seats so I could have a perfect view of the dancers' movements, expressions and their body language.
As soon as the Swan Lake overture started, I sat mesmerized in my seat throughout the entire performance, even though I was dying to go to the boy's room to pee. I held it in because I didn't want to miss any part of this enchanting show. The gorgeous sets, the fabulous costumes, the beautiful orchestral music, the superb lighting and the perfect sound system took me into a fantasy world I didn't want to leave.
The male dancers’ performances were the best. They completely captured my imagination! I was engrossed in the world of ballet! When the curtains finally came down amidst a rain of red roses, bows were taken by the dancers. I sat in awe, clapping my tender palms till they were red and sore. I knew then and there, I wanted a career in ballet. Little did I realize then that life had a much different agenda for this little sissy boy.


Social Media Links A Harem Boy's Saga Amazon Sales site (E-books and Print books for Initiation, Unbridled, and Debauchery)  Amazon US 
Amazon UKNo Distance Between UsWebsite BlogFacebook Twitter Pinterest (Contains adult content)Tumblr (Contains adult content)Amazon Author Page Goodreads Book Trailer for all 3 A Harem's Boy Saga novels Book Trailer - Initiation - sensual Book Trailer - Unbridled - sensual Book Trailer - Debauchery - sensual  

Plot Devices ~ Description as Action

Did I really just say that? Do I mean you have to describe your characters as part of the action?
Yes, I did, and here’s why.
Have you ever been caught up in a book, breathlessly looking forward to the next action sequence, and along comes a new character. Suddenly, instead of the desired action, you’re plodding through a three paragraph long treatise about this character. You finally finish the description, now knowing the person from fruits to nuts, as the saying goes, and have lost any sense of what’s about to happen. Your eyes pop wide open as you discover this new character is very minor to the scene and you have to move backward in the book to understand what’s going on.
Let’s use a couple of examples of just how to put description into an action scene and how not to.
Scene 1:
The rumbling, quaking ground heaved upward. Jack and Mark froze in place.
“Earthquake?” Jack asked.
Mark opened his mouth to reply but before he could say a word, a girl burst out of the wooded area in front of them. Her arms pumped up and down as she ran. He stared at her, remembering this was Kat.
Kat was a totally cool girl, cheerleader, top of the class in grades. Her waist length black hair flew in all directions. She had bright green eyes he admired and legs that went on forever. She was the girl of his dreams, and oh what dreams those were. Of course, those dreams vanished into dust after a very bad and very short dating relationship with the girl of all of his dreams.
Mark gulped, thinking of the one date he’d managed to talk her into going on with him. First, he was twenty minutes late, due to a flat tire. He’d had to change it himself, and it was the only time he’d ever done that without his dad around to tell him when he was about to mess up. Then, when he got to Kat’s house, her brother challenged him to a game of one on one. Not wanting to appear the wimp, Mark had shot a few baskets. Well, make that more than a few. Kat was cool with it though. She was as good at hoops as any guy in the eleventh grade.
Once they got started on their date, they discovered they didn’t have a single thing in common. She was into sports, sure, but she also loved hanging at the mall, going to chick flicks, which he hated, and eating vegan, when he was a carnivore all the way. The date, if they could have called it that, ended in less than an hour, when they couldn’t agree where to grab a bite to eat before heading to a movie. He was sure they would have argued about that too.
Scene 2:
A crack snapped through the air. Jack stopped hiking toward the wooded area in front of them. They were midway through the meadow, and Mark figured they had about half an hour before they could investigate the noise.
“Wonder what that was?” Jack commented.
“We’ll find out soon enough.” Mark was more than ready to turn around.
This expedition into the forbidden woods had already gone wrong in so many ways. They’d been late starting. Jack was such a wuss when it came to getting out of bed before noon. Then they’d had to talk their way past a ranger determined to make them leave the park.
“Want to turn around.” Jack glanced at Mark.
“Nah. We’ll—”:
A loud rumbled inched toward them. All around the two seventeen-year-olds, the ground heaved up and down. Rocks thrust upward into massive monoliths, a harbinger of doom.
Jack gulped and backed away from their destination. Mark didn’t blame him. The stories about Hamrick’s Forest were legendary, but none of the legends spoke about anything like this.
The loud rumble moved closer and closer. A girl’s scream had both boys on edge, staring at the outer perimeter of the forest.
“Who was that?” Mark asked.
The voice sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place it. Before he could put a face to the screechy voice, Kat burst out of the woods. Her waist length black hair streamed behind her. She glanced over a shoulder once and then, arms pumping up and down, raced toward and then past them at the speed of light.
“Kat, wait!” Mark yelled and took off, never checking to see if Jack was behind him.
All Mark could think about was that wasn’t the Kat he adored. His Kat would never run from danger. Her bright green eyes would narrow with interest and she would pounce forward, determined to save an animal from what she called criminal hunters.
“Wait for me!” Jack’s shout faded into a loud gulp.
Mark could hear his heart thudding in his ears. He wished he’d listened to his dad, and not just about changing a flat tire. Girls totally mystified him, and Kat more than any other. Their one date ended in disaster when she wanted to try out a new vegan place and he was in the mood for a monster all meat pizza.
The movie would have sucked too. All she could talk about was chick flicks. Yuck!
A thud-thump, thud-thump, thud-thump invited Mark to stop and check out what was coming after them. He settled for a glance over his shoulder, and had to swallow hard to put his heart back where it belonged.
“What is that?”
A bellowing wail that promised all of his nightmares were coming true sent him racing after not only Kat but also Jack, who had somehow mustered the wind and enough fear to outpace all of them.
Scene 1 is an example of how most of us do description. We dump all the information into one section of the book and expect our reader to remember all of this later down the road. It just sits there with no purpose other than to give the reader everything they want to know about the person in one swallow.
Scene 2, on the other hand, incorporates action and description. The description is part of the action, with the action drawing the reader back into the tense moment before they get bored. The reader never loses the tension of the scene, nor do they have to wonder where they left off.
Remember, combining action and description is all about a sense of timing, of knowing what to put in when. Many of us draw up beautiful birth to moment of the story biographies of our characters. Those are nice to reference, but it’s not necessary to include every word once we introduce a character. Drop bits of information here and there, as necessary to move the plot along.

Plot Devices ~ Changing a Scene

Plot devices are good… sometimes. The most obvious “this is where the action is going” device might get rolled eyes from readers. It will get mentioned by a reviewer. But there are good plot devices, if you’re willing to take a chance with switching things up in a most unexpected way.
There is an expression that “good girls ask permission and bad girls ask forgiveness.” The same can be said about boys. It’s mostly true if you remember this one thing.
The forgiveness being asked for by the bad girl or boy is more of a fake apology. One that says “I’m sorry you’re offended/upset/mad.” It’s trite, clichéd, and yet we still see the antagonist using this device as a way to throw off the protagonist.
These kinds of devices create one dimensional characters. The reader can predict how everyone will react, what will soon happen, how the good girl or boy will soon overcome the bad girl or boy in a humiliating experience that everyone will cheer. And thus, by going in this direction, you have become like every other author, leaning heavily on clichéd actions and phrases to write your novel.
What if you switch things up? What if your main character isn’t as perfect as the world sees him or her? They then become human, more three dimensional, more like everyone you really know.
It’s easy to write the good girl/guy without many drawbacks, and those predictable. It’s neat. It’s clean. You don’t have to worry about people complaining that your good girl/guy is stepping out of character. You don’t have to drop hints leading up to this transformation. You can save those precious words for other, more important plot points.
And when you’re finished, you have a book like everyone else. Nothing about the characters makes them stand out, leap off the page, grab us by the throat, and say “stay on board for the ride of your life.”
Let’s examine two ways for the protagonist to handle a situation with the local mean girl. We’ll soon discover the second viewpoint might move our book into an all new methodology that might cause the action to take off in a way we never expected.
Scene 1:
Brooke stared at Melly, uncertain what she meant. “Why are you doing this to me?” Brooke asked.“Oh, I’m so sorry you’re mad.” Mellie flipped her shoulder length brown hair with a slender hand. “Did I hurt your feelings?”Saddened that she hadn’t made a difference, Brooke walked away. Mellie’s derisive laughter followed her down the hall.
Scene 2:
She stared at Mellie. Yeah, Brooke’s parents had told her to be nice, to always treat people like she wanted to be treated, but this loser was stepping all over her last nerve. Who did she think she was? “Ah, gee.” Brooke rolled her eyes. “Can’t you think of anything better to say?”“What? Like you’re a total loser.” Mellie glanced at her crowd, who laughed, but it was nervous laughter and they concentrated on Brooke. “Get a life.”“Oh, I’m so sorry that I offended you.” Brooke was anything but sorry. She wasn’t even scared of what her minister daddy would say once he heard of this. And he would hear of this, since more than half the school was witnessing the confrontation.“Say what?” Mellie pointed a perfectly manicured, obviously fake fingernail at her chest. “Did you just fake apologize to me? Are you that stupid?”“No.” Brooke slammed her locker door shut. “You are, if you think I’m going to play your game. Grow up.”Titters of laughter rang out. The students now focused on Mellie. Although Brooke felt like a worm, she walked away with her head high, certain this wasn’t the last time Mellie would harass her, but it was the last time the mean girl would take her on in front of witnesses.
The second scene is more in-depth. We see that Brooke is torn by her decision, but firm in her stance to stop someone from bullying her, even if she has to stoop to their level. Where does this scene go from here? If you used the first scenario, you’ll be struggling to maintain Brooke’s good girl persona, but the second scene offers a lot of confrontation, not only from Mellie, but from Brooke’s parents. This is what makes the difference from a book that tells a good story but seems flat to a book that offers solutions without being preachy.

How to Identify a Vanity Publisher

It’s been years since SFWA exposed Publish America as a vanity publisher, a company only interested in parting the aspiring author from their money and then holding onto the rights of their book for far too long. I was one of the millions of people who enjoyed reading the book “Atlanta Nights” that was probably one of the worst books I’ve ever read but was touted as the best science-fiction/fantasy novel to come along by PA… for a few months.
To say that the outing of PA as a vanity publisher changed how authors see the publishing world is an understatement. One would think that people would remember this debacle, the exposure of vanity publishers as companies more interested in charging an author to publish their book than attempting to make it the best book possible. Yet, as impossible as it seems, vanity publishers still saturate the marketplace, even PA remains but as America Star Books, in an attempt to draw the unknowing author looking for a publisher into their net.
There are two types of publishers, three if you count the authors who publish their books on their own. First is the vanity publisher. Their only objective is to earn money, no matter how they do it. Second is the traditional publisher. They will never charge their authors for anything. Anything means just that—formatting, editing, proofreading, cover art, and uploading the book to sales venues is all done before the publisher sees any earnings. A reputable publisher will also ensure their authors receive statements and royalty payments in a timely manner, unlike the horror stories I’ve heard about vanity publishers producing statements that indicate the author still owes money on their fees, some hidden from sight until it’s time to bring them out of the closet. The third type of publisher is the one encompassing the thousands of books uploaded daily to sales venues such as Amazon, Smashwords, and Barnes & Noble—the self-published author.
A self-published author may be an author who was once associated with a traditional publisher or even a vanity publisher but who has decided to strike out on their own. There are many good self-published authors but there are also many bad ones who need to re-examine their commitment to being an author and look into seeking help from professional editors. Self-published authors often tout their way of publishing as the best, but they don’t have what those who are traditionally published have, a built in team of people willing to assist you with marketing your book.
The vanity publisher, as mentioned previously, only looks at the bottom line—the money. They’re not interested in waiting on the royalties to roll in. More often than not, they offer a contract for every book that comes into their submissions system. Their editing and proofreading are poor to non-existent. They might even be a local printer, whose experience is more with banners, calendars, and sports programs. None of the authors I know well will ever consider this route to publication, as they feel it’s not the way to make their name.
The traditional publisher is what those not interested in self-publishing want. A traditional publisher, be it large or small, has a certain type of book they’re looking for. They want an author ready to market strongly but also be part of the larger group. A traditional publisher puts out the money to edit, proofread, format, and upload a book before they make anything on it. The benefits of being with a traditional publisher far outweigh any of the drawbacks.
In the world of vanity versus traditional publishing, the one way to notice if you are connecting with a vanity publisher is to read their website carefully. Is the home page nothing but the book covers they’ve recently released? Are their FAQs loaded with what seems to be a lot of information but really tells you nothing about them, and you’re stopping to stare at “a fee for  this” or “a fee for that” constantly? Do they guarantee instant fame and fortune? Are you left feeling like you need to shower off the sensation that someone has just picked your pocket? If you are having second thoughts about submitting to such a place, have third and fourth thoughts. Click off that website and continue your search for a publisher who will be more interested in making your book the best possible without charging you to do it.

The Writer’s Conference ~ How Not To Do One

I recently had the experience of being the main speaker at a writer’s conference. This was a first for me and I had no idea what to do. The individual in charge of the conference indicated she wanted me to talk about my job as editor-in-chief of Summer Solstice Publishing.
First, let me say that I love this job. It is perhaps the most frustrating, time consuming, challenging job that I have ever had, but I love it. This is a job that allows me to make dreams come true, to discover new authors and great books. I wouldn’t trade it for any other job in the world. Where else can I travel from a school, to spies chasing each other, to dragons terrorizing the land, to… well, to so many places with so many interesting people.
And I get paid to do this. Amazing.
Back to the writer’s conference. I have a reputation of not charging for my appearances when the library involved has a small to non-existent budget. This was the case for the conference where I was invited to speak. Not that I’m an amateur when it comes to writer’s conferences. I’ve been to more than a few myself. So, I knew what to expect. Or so I thought.
My first indicator this wasn’t the usual writer’s conference was in the communications with the person organizing the event. Our communications were spotty. She wasn’t very forthcoming about the actual line up, other speakers, or how long I was expected to speak. All she would indicate was that the conference would be built around me. To say that I was honored was an understatement, but I was also a little worried.
My worries increased when I arrived at the conference. First of all, I hadn’t been given directions to the library where the conference was being held. Even the mapping system we used wasn’t much help. Once we arrived in the small town, we were directed to a church. Thankfully, I’d done some homework on the area and knew the building we were looking for didn’t resemble the one we were in front of. Even more thankfully, one of my authors was appearing at the conference and knew where to go. Once she described the library and where it was located, we found it in minutes.
I arrived at about the same time as the conference coordinator/librarian. She was welcoming but still not forthcoming about the program. There was no listing of events. In fact, we were in the smallest library I’ve ever seen, and that includes the remains of libraries in ghost towns I’ve investigated. I won’t name the town or the person who coordinated this event. Needless to say, I will never go there again after my experience.
The conference was scheduled for two hours, with a thirty minute “meet the presenters” affair afterward. I was the first speaker up, and I soon discovered that my carefully planned presentation about being the editor-in-chief of an imprint of a small publisher wasn’t the most important thing on the agenda.
This wasn’t a conference in the true sense of the definition but rather a presentation about how the members of the writer’s group attending the event could use a local printing company to self-publish their books. My author and myself were pelted with questions about what our company charged our authors to ready their books for publication.
That angered me for one very good reason.
A traditional publisher such as the one I work for never charges the author a cent to publish their book. All costs, such as for editing, proofreading, cover art, formatting, and uploading the book to sales venues, are done for free to the author. I made that point very clear several times and managed to remain professional throughout the rest of the presentation.
After it was all over, I had lunch with my author. We talked about the event, about how the librarian used it to sell her own self-published book, and how we were nothing more than an example of how bad publishers are. Except we didn’t play into the “publishers are bad, use your local printer to publish your book” scheme. Our discussion was about how sad we were that this individual used the title “writer’s conference” to further her own self-published book and enjoin others to take the same route she did. The self-aggrandization this individual exhibited should have turned me off another writer’s conference, except for one thing—I know there are legitimate conferences out there needing speakers. If I am asked again to do this, I will accept willingly, but only after ensuring it is a true writer’s conference and that they pay speaker fees.
I don’t ask for a speaker’s fee because I’m greedy, but because I know a legitimate conference pays them to honor the person they’ve asked to do a presentation.