Judith Post's Blog, page 39

Drover’s Lane

Happy Book Birthday to Julia Donner’s DROVER’S LANE, released June 22!  I was lucky enough to get to read it early.  I enjoy her historical Western romances as much as I enjoy her Regency romances. 

I invited her to my blog to tell you a little about the book, her third in the Westward Bound series.  Some of the history interested me, so I asked her about that, too. 

Here’s Julia:

Thanks Judy!

1.  In each book in this series, a woman goes west to start a new life.  What prompted Lillian Flowers to settle in Drover’s Lane?

Pioneers left their homes for many reasons. In Lillian’s case, it wasn’t for adventure but for a complete change in her life. She’d been pushed into marriage by her father to an unfeeling man whose behaviors and personality revolted her profoundly. All she felt when her husband died was relief. A conversation overheard at his funeral about a cattle town in what was described as the middle of nowhere spurred her yearning for freedom and a way to put distance between herself and her late husband’s family. With her portion of her husband’s inheritance, she heads west. (In the past, widows couldn’t receive a spouse’s property unless he had no living relatives. There were state-by-state decisions as to how much a widow could inherit.)

2.  How did she meet and hook up with Millie to start a bakery and small restaurant?

Lillian knew her money wouldn’t last long and decided to make the little house she buys on the edge of town into a bakery and restaurant. Millie, aka Wang Mei Lí, showed up at the restaurant and sort of squatted. She’s come to the cattle town to escape a past that requires her to start a new life. Everyone in town thinks that Millie works for Lillian, but Millie is hiding the fact she’s wealthy. Everybody’s hiding something in this story.

3.  What was a cattle town like when Lillian lived there?

Not much, a few stores and taverns, one church, a bank and a single, wide. dirt road. A few residences on the right side–opposite the train tracks—of town. Everything revolves around the train depot where cattle can be driven to and corralled until shipped out for sale.

4.  Lillian makes a lot of townspeople angry when she gives food to hungry Indians who knock on her back door, asking for food.  Why?

There was little to no sympathy for any of the Plains tribes, certainly no guilt for the theft of stealing everything they had. The Native Americans have reason for calling whites “the takers” and had to be desperate to ask for help. The drive to destroy everything about their culture went beyond rounding up children to brainwash. When it came to the Nez Perse, they either slaughtered or bred inferior horses to the Appaloosa breed.

Now getting down from the soapbox, but you asked.

5.  She also helps a Negro family who stop, offering to work for food.  Stanton Lamoreaux hires them to work in his hotel, but when he leaves town for a while, they’re almost lynched.  Why?

Same as above. Working not to sound preachy but racism is a subtext and how Lillian, who has no understanding of racial hatred, gets into trouble. Especially in Millie’s case, who is careful not to raise the ire of the locals. Miscegenation was particularly enforced in the west when it came to Asians, especially if an Asian got involved with a Caucasian female. Western lore rarely typifies how Asians helped to “build” the West.

6.  Stanton is a man who’s used to getting what he wants.  Why does he decide to settle in a small town like Drover’s Lane?

Mainly because of Lillian. His fascination with her begets ideas on how to keep the town she has chosen alive and prospering. And he’s immensely rich. Plenty of cash to play with and put to good use.

7.  Is there anything else you’d like to tell us about this book or series?

The answers sound a bit preachy, but this is basically a romance with a little mystery thrown in to keep the story moving forward. It took so much courage to do what these characters do in the story, as it must have been so for people to migrate to places so different from where they lived. There must have been a lot of courage and grit going around back then. It’s time to celebrate that and how our ancestors, whether they were in the right or wrong, made the USA what it is today. We can be ashamed, admiring, or proud but should always look at our past with truth.

Thanks again, Judy, for this and all the support you give to other writers!

Here’s the link to Drover’s Lane:

Passive is Weak

I was working on a new chapter for my straight mystery and wrote two sentences close together with the word “were” and stopped myself. I went back to rearrange the words to make the verb active. Instead of “Deep grooves at the corners of her eyes were testaments to how much time she spent outdoors,” I wrote, “Deep grooves bore testament to how much….” Not a big difference, but that tiny change made the sentence a little more dynamic. When I first started writing, I didn’t see what the big deal was, but I get it now, Active adds muscle. Passive lies there, flat.

The same goes for characters. The harder a character works to overcome a problem or to achieve a goal, the more I engage with him. I recently read a mystery where everyone but the protagonist was finding clues, then telling her what they’d learned. She wrote them in a journal to add them up and discover the killer. That might have worked for Nero Wolfe, but Sherlock Holmes went out and about himself to find clues no one else noticed. It took me a minute to realize why I wasn’t as invested in the book as I should be, then I realized the protagonist was passive. How much did she care if she found who committed the crime? Not enough to leave her routine and question anybody.

On the flip side, it really irritates me when smart women do stupid things to find answers and put themselves in danger. And I’m not a fan of protagonists breaking and entering to dig for answers. Save that for P.I. novels. But I am saying that a protagonist has to act, not just react. In cozies, the mystery often gets jostled alongside the protagonist’s job, family, and friends. Since the protagonist is an amateur, investigating gets sandwiched between regular life, and I like that give and take. The trick is finding the right balance. Caring enough to keep searching for answers has to be a priority. Solving what happened has to keep moving forward, not just be incidental.

Verbs and protagonists need to be active to make a story strong.

I love “FREE”!

You probably already know that I’m a fan of Julia Donner’s Regency romances, so I’m happy to announce that A ROGUE FOR MISS PRIM is free, June 15-19.  This is one of my favorite books in her Friendship series.  The opening scene made me laugh, and the humor lasted through the entire book.  Gordon Treadwell has finally met his match, and he eventually discovers he’s not the scoundrel he thought he was.

Here’s my Q & A with Julia Donner:

Thanks for inviting me, Judy! Love your questions, especially one that gives me juicy ideas.

1.  Your heroine, Adele Primrose, is determined to be a spinster.  Will you tell us why?

She isn’t determined to stay unmarried as much as settling for the circumstances of her status in the ton. In a time when coming-out girls were ruthlessly outed as prime marriage material, Adele was never given the precedence of being seated at the “first bench” at assemblies and balls. This was a practice most cruelly used in Bath. Her aunt and guardian wasn’t eager to let the world know that Adele would inherit a fortune. Her aunt was quite content to utilize those monies that Adele would have no access to until many years older. Since the fortune could go to a husband if Adele married, the aunt tended to downplay and never enhance her niece’s best qualities. Adele settled for being looked over, but she didn’t settle when it came to her favorite charity. Her pin money wasn’t enough to cover those expenses. Being an observant girl, she noticed how sex sells and turned her need to support her charity into a lucrative income by writing, secretly of course, novels so smutty they have to be printed in France. She doesn’t discourage her Friday-faced reputation when out in society, but during the day, she visits the world of the demimonde for ideas.

2.  Gordon Treadwell has standards.  What bothers him about the wager he made when he was in his cups?

Even though a sporting man, a “buck about town” sort, he would never knowingly compromise a girl’s reputation. He also nourishes a deep respect and admiration for his father and dreads the thought of disappointing him more than he already has. His latest drunken wager to wed or deflower a respectable girl with the initials A.P. is the worst thing he’s ever done. The only way to regain his father’s favor and repair his self-respect is to place himself in the hands of the girl everyone calls Miss Prim and pray she shows him mercy.

3.  I know that a few readers have remarked on your book covers.  They love your books but think the covers don’t do them justice.  Yours don’t have an aristocratic male clutching a luscious female with a lot of bosom showing.  Why have you decided to choose something different?

The objectification of women is a well-justified clarion call of outraged females everywhere. Let’s be real. Covers with bare-chested men sell romance books, but IMHO it’s just another form of objectification in which guys get stuck with the unrealistic expectations. If women are fed up with being expected to look like runway models, the same understanding should be given to men. Don’t get me wrong. There’d have to be something wrong with me not to appreciate a nice looking bod, but all men cannot be expected to look like my hubby did without a shirt. I was just lucky a kindhearted, romantic soul came with it. That’s what really matters.

4.  Tell us a little about Lord Hayden. 

This question intrigues me, especially because Hayden exists mainly as a catalyst and the reason for Gordon’s predicament. Hhmm, you’ve got me thinking. As little as he’s mentioned, it appears that his lordship tweaked your imagination. Maybe there is a book there….

5.  How did you come up with such a wonderful servant as Showers?

There is no way to explain it other than a compassionate muse or my years in the theater. Characters come to me whole and Showers is REAL to me. My stories are filled with people who live inside my head and often “haunt” me until I get them on paper. I give full credit to the character when what I’m writing cracks me up.

6.  Anything else you’d like to tell us? 

Two things: It’s hard to find ways to thank a loyal readership, other than taking their requests to heart and inserting the suggestions in my books. Emails, comments and good reviews keep writers writing when times are discouraging. A reader’s kind words can make a writer’s day and fill us with encouragement and gratitude.

Secondly, we try not to have favorites when it comes to our children, and creating a book is a lot like birthing a baby. No joke. But out of thirty plus books, Adele and Gordon make it to the top of my favorites. I love that they’re both bullheaded, mad for each other, and unsure of so much, but that doesn’t stop them from soldiering on to reach their goals.

I’ve added an excerpt from A Rogue for Miss Prim at the end of this blog to lend light to the unusual relationship between manservant and master.

A Rogue for Miss Prim

Chapter 1

Gordon Treadwell woke to the sinking feeling that he’d done something terribly wrong. A curious weight lurked in his chest. He feared it might be guilt, an emotional condition he usually avoided with great success.

To look at him, no one would suppose he possessed a shred of conscience or any tenderness of feeling. Most people took him for the typical buck about town, a bit jaded with a history of hard drinking, heavy gaming, living the relentless pursuit of escape from boredom.

Appearances can and do deceive.

At the moment he didn’t give a bloody damn about anything but the restoration of his sore head. This kind of pain came from gin, lots of gin, not the sensible bottle or two of wine. He nourished ideas of enacting a protracted death for the lout who called himself friend and got him drinking the stuff. Mistakes, bad ones, were invariably made from large quantities of blue ruin.

Holding his head in both hands to keep it affixed to his shoulders, he carefully sat up in bed, hunched over, and partially opened an eye. An obscene amount of sunlight poured through the windows. Talking would cause too much pain, so he pointed at the drapes.

His valet removed his rotund self from his station at the foot of the bed, where the man always waited before Gordon awoke. Showers had an eerie talent for knowing exactly what was needed before Gordon knew he needed it. Except for this morning. Showers had allowed in that vicious blast of sunlight. Its brightness sent shards of pain through his skull.

Although Showers was as round as he was tall, the man moved with swift grace, wonderfully light on his feet. He didn’t merely walk across a room, he flitted and whirled, as if dancing, while somehow maintaining his dignity—a dignity that annoyed at present.

A plump hand with a tumbler of clear liquid appeared under Gordon’s nose. He shoved it away. “Christ, man. I can’t drink that.”

“Sir, it is not meant for drinking. It is merely water and extract of mint for the cleansing of the palette.”

Gordon squinted at the glass and the bowl held at the ready in his valet’s other hand. Showers had draped his thick wrist with an ironed towel. Its glaring white hurt when Showers gestured for him to drink up. After swishing the concoction, then getting rid of it in the basin, he did feel a bit more refreshed. As awareness increased, he noticed the state of his person and a foul smell polluting the bedchamber.

“Lud, Showers, what is that stench?”

“You, sir.”

“Me, you say? Bloody hell. You’re a better man than I to put up with this sort of abuse.” Grunting in agony, Gordon tugged the ends of his rumpled shirt from his breeches and complained in a raspy voice, “Let in some fresh air. And I need to bathe.”

“All is prepared, sir. If I may suggest, the airing of the room might be postponed until after your ablutions. The temperature is quite cool this afternoon.”

“Just get me there, Showers. And keep watch that I don’t drown myself, which is fast becoming a temptation. I woke to the hideous feeling that I’ve done something unaccountably stupid.”

Unconcerned, Showers replied, “It appears that you may have done.”

“And where the hell are my boots?”

“You allowed me to remove them and your coat last night before you collapsed on the bed. Come along, sir. After a bath and bracing cups of coffee, confronting the consequences of the morning after may not be as dreadful a pill to swallow.”

The bath did help. If nothing else, the soaking leached the stink of gin from his pores. Three cups of sweetened coffee cleared some of the cobwebs, but not the fierce pounding. He wasn’t quite to the point where he could broach a morning sirloin and half a bottle of wine. He feared he might never be up for whatever he’d done the night before. His valet hinted that he knew the details. Time to do the manly thing and face it down.

“Showers, it’s three in the afternoon. Whatever infamy I enacted must be all over town by now. If I am financially ruined or a laughingstock, is it fair that I am to be the last to know?”

Showers turned from his task of draping ironed neckwear over a dowel in preparation for the creation of a perfectly tied knot. “I have indeed ascertained the particulars, sir.”

“Out with it, man, and more importantly, does my father know?”

“I doubt Sir Charles has been made aware. He has not yet returned to town.”

Gordon reached for the crusty roll sent up with the coffee, then withdrew his hand. Not yet ready for food. Perhaps in another year or two. In the meantime, putting off the bad news would not make the hearing of it any easier. At thirty and four, he’d thought himself past the age for reckless gaming and silly pranks. Apparently he’d left a few wild seeds unsown.

“Spill it, Showers. Financially or morally ruined?”

“A bit of both, I would say.”

Gordon placed a hand across his brow and exhaled a groan. “Can I pay my way out of it?”

“You unfortunately wagered all of your ready money.”

“Which reminds me, when were you last paid, Showers?”

“Some months have passed, sir. We will come about. You always do.”

“But not this time?” Gordon hinted.

“Perhaps not this time, sir. Not without drastic measures.”

“Showers, I cannot do without you. Before you think to hand in your notice, there is a locked box in the lower drawer over there. You know where the key is. Take the ruby ring and see what you can fetch for it. Hopefully enough to cover your wages and keep us in food until the next quarter.”

“Very good, sir, and I took the liberty of canceling your appointment at Jackson’s. With the head you have today, I doubted you would wish to have it bashed about from fists like his.”

“Blast it but I’ve waited months for the chance to stand up with him in the ring. Crying off like this with Gentleman Jackson is damned irregular. Doubt it’s ever been done. One wouldn’t like for him to take offense.”

“He will take none. Knowing how long you have waited for the opportunity, I engaged in a prevarication when I passed along your regrets. You should be advised that a close family member has succumbed to a dreaded illness. I quite naturally omitted the fact you were the victim taken into decline.”

“Perhaps he’ll take me on again if you manufacture an actual death. Anyone in the family recently take up harp playing?”

Showers smiled, his ageless face wreathed with the perpetually expectant expression of readiness to serve. “Sadly, no one has obliged. Perhaps someone would consider doing so if they heard that the great Jackson has condescended to take you on. If I may say, sir, it’s been a matter of pride for me that I have an employer so handy with his fives. Would you care for more coffee or should we decide on your coat and knot for today?”

“I hear the scold under that request, and damn you, yes, I’ve been procrastinating. Who wants to hear their embarrassments repeated? But let’s have done with the business. Out with it. No blindfold, if you please. What did I do?”

“In no less than three clubs you signed wagers in tandem with Lord Hayden.”

“Not Hayden!” The outburst had him clutching his sore brow and lowering his tone to a mutter. “Bloody hell, I’m done for now. He hates me.”

“Apparently so. In a game of whist, you wagered all, and Hayden kept bidding. You had reached the low water mark, and Hayden refused to accept your vowels. You rashly pledged to take up whatever dare Lord Hayden proposed in lieu of the IOU.”

Gordon sank down on a chair, cradling his head in his hands. “And what did I vow in the betting books?”

“To win the affections of a spinster with the initials AP, specifically known only to you and Lord Hayden, and have it verified that you have either ruined her or will have married her within the fortnight.”

Thanks to the heavens and the angels that he hadn’t eaten anything. All he had left inside to cast up was the coffee. Silly things like pride and self-respect had already fled.

Wretched and resigned, he asked, “So it’s all over town by now, is it?”

“That is pretty much the case, sir. Will you have the brown cutaway or the navy redingote?”

“The brown to match my mood. Do you think any of it will be set down as a prank on my cousin’s door?”

“As much as you and Lord Byron share similarity of form and face, I doubt anyone will be fooled into thinking that he wrote your name instead of his own in the betting books. And there is the minor problem of his leaving the country a year ago.”

“Forgot about that. Gin’s rotted the brain box. We can only hope it isn’t permanent. Hand me a neckcloth, and for some reason that reminds me, the next time you shrink the buckskins, leave some space for my modesty.”

“As you wish, but allow me to say that a gentleman with your excellent figure should privilege the world with its beauty.”

“Lud, man, from the waist up, not the particulars of my nether anatomy. Something Byron would do, I’d wager, but not this fellow.”

“If I may be allowed to mention, there isn’t anything left to wager, sir.”

Showers extended his arm draped with neckwear. The scent of freshly starched linen rose from the rectangular strips. Gordon muttered curses as he focused on tying the linen with fingers that refused to work. He flung a failed attempt at a difficult knot on the chair.

Showers murmured, his face yet aglow with passive good cheer, “On the bright side, no one would think of accusing you of the ravishment of an innocent female.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I wouldn’t know, sir.”

Gordon squinted at his valet. “You and your damned bloody innuendoes. I’ve changed my mind. One could do better with a less officious manservant. I’m sending you off without a reference.”

“As you wish, sir, and a providential decision to make before I exchanged your great-aunt’s ring for filthy lucre.”

The banter continued, postponing the need to confront the fix he found himself in a while longer, which was no doubt his valet’s intent. He ruined the knotting attempt of the next neckcloth and the next, unable to focus. His gut ached from the gin and worry of how to alight on a plan to free himself from his present coil. Something most definitely had to be done before his father found out.

And who the hell was AP?

Thanks for stopping by!  And I hope to see you on my blog on June 22nd when your new Western historical romance, Drover’s Lane, is released.   Readers can find and pre-order it now if they can’t wait.

Hooks

I’ve been playing around with the idea of trying a serialized novel for Amazon’s new Kindle Vella program. If I try it, I’d put up one chapter a week for a Muddy River short novel. I used to post free chapters on my old Weebly site, but it got to be so much work, I had to give it up, even though I really enjoyed it. But I can only write so many words, and I ran out of time to post free pieces week after week and still finish novels in any decent length of time. I’ve already written nine chapters of SUMMER SOLSTICE RETRIBUTION, (my working title. It might change), so I’d have a little head start to give myself a safety net to meet a once a week deadline.

Writing a book, knowing it will be a week between one chapter and the next, has made me keenly aware of hooks and cliff hangers. I know that when you write ANY novel, you’re supposed to end each chapter with a hook, trying to entice the reader to start the next few pages in the next chapter, so that they never put the book down. I understand the concept, but the truth is, I read at the end of each day, and when the clock strikes midnight, I hardly ever have the energy to start a new chapter. But still, a great hook does make me more ready to pick up the book a little earlier the next night to see what happens. With a week between the chapters? I’m thinking I’d better have something decent to pull the reader back into the story. I’d better have good hooks and cliffhangers.

I have to admit that, in general, when I’m reading a series, I hate it when an author ends a book with a cliffhanger. It feels like a cheap gimmick to make me read the next book. It usually has the opposite effect for me. I no longer trust that author to deliver a satisfying ending on the new book either. I’m a no sale. But Vella is different. It’s ONE novel that’s serialized, so the ending should wrap up the story.

There’s no guarantee that Vella is going to be a success. There’s no certainty that readers will be attracted to Muddy River, but the idea appeals to me, so I think it’s worth a shot. I have an idea for a cover. If readers like it, Muddy River’s fun for me to write. So why not? I think Vella’s supposed to start this summer. I need to make up my mind whether to load my story or self-publish it as a regular short novel. Honestly, I’ve been so busy, I haven’t taken the time to decide. But I need to. In the meantime, I came up with two ideas for a cover. I’ve changed the title a little since I created them. Which do you like best? Or should I keep trying?

witch or no witch? Let me know what you think.

Your Second Book Is Probably Better

Every time I write a first book in a series (and I’m writing one now), it’s a rush. Everything’s exciting. New characters. New setting. Establishing a tone and voice, a certain “feel.” With Jazzi, I wanted the feel to be cozy and family, as much about the characters as the mystery. With Laurel, it’s more straightforward–Laurel and Nick trying to find a killer. The mystery takes center stage and the characters are supporting actors. But every fiber of my little writer brain is engaged when I write a first in a series. And I’m holding my breath to see if readers like it as much as I do. Even if I get everything right, though–and how many times does that happen?–I think that usually, the second book is better.

And I’m not just talking about my own books. I love reading series. I like revisiting the same characters that I grew fond of in the first novel, the same world, the same type of set-up with a new twist for the new book. Visiting the second or third time is almost always better. Why? It’s fun to see the characters grow, to watch them interact. I get to know them better. The setting feels like home. I’m settling in.

Meeting a person who might become a friend is nice, but getting to know them is better. And that’s what happens with a series. One of my favorites, ever, is Ilona Andrews’ Kate Daniels, but the first book didn’t wow me. It was good. I liked it, but I almost didn’t buy book two. I’m so glad I did. Every book got stronger until the ending was like…wow! A lot of series are like that.

There are always exceptions. Every once in a while a first book is so wonderful, it’s hard to keep that kind of momentum going. Patricia Brigg’s first Mercy Thompson shifter novel was a knock-out for me. So was Elizabeth George’s Great Deliverance. Those books were so good, sometimes–for me–it’s hard to keep hitting that high of a standard book after book.

I’m always happy when I read a review of my Jazzi cozies and someone says, “the books keep getting better.” It makes me feel good, like my characters are coming to life. Part of it, I’m sure, is that I know the characters better the longer I write them. I try to keep that in mind when I start a new series and the first book keeps me turning pages but I want more. I tell myself, “Read the next book.” And that’s often when the writer hits his or her stride.

In contrast, I think there are some advantages to writing a series with recurring characters, but where the author features new ones in each book. For example, my friend Julia Donner writes Regency romances–The Friendship series. They’re all tied together by a group of friends who are close to each other, but each book features a different couple, following the bumpy path that leads to their romance. Writing a series like that lets an author relax into a familiar groove but still enjoy a fresh storyline with each book. That’s how I wrote my Mill Pond romances, using the same setting but introducing a different couple in each novel. Of course, when an author does that, old and loved characters don’t get to grow like they do when those characters are the protagonists every time.

When Ilona Andrews wrote the Kate Daniels series, she featured Kate and Curran along with a cast of minor characters who stepped on the pages along the way. Those minor characters grew in number the longer the series went, and we grew more attached to them. She used an overall series’ story arc. The big question was posed in book one, and wasn’t resolved until the last page of the last book. In her new Hidden Legacy series, she’s come up with a different rhythm. So far, she’s shortened the story arcs to three books for each sister, but the arcs are all tied together because of the sisters’ family. Each sister has a different magic ability. The oldest meets her romantic interest in book one, and they end up together at the end of book three. Then the next sister’s story starts. She meets Alessandro, and they become a couple at the end of her third book. The next novel hasn’t come out yet, but I’m hoping the third sister meets…. well you get the picture. Is it easier trying to keep the romance arcs contained to three books? I’m guessing it might be. But do you lose the intense closeness I felt for Kate, Curran, and minor characters when I stayed with them for ten books and several short stories? You bet.

Is one better than the other? I don’t think so. The advantage of having the same protagonists in every book is that they grow and we become more attached to them. Using new protagonists in familiar settings has the advantage of keeping a series fresh. It doesn’t get stale. Ilona Andrews came up with a hybrid where she uses the same protagonists for three books, then switches to new ones in the same setting for three more, etc. They all work. Does one of them suit you? Are you a fan of one more than another? Or do you prefer standalones? Share your thoughts….

No Wonder People Don’t Plot

I love writing. I have to keep reminding myself of that. Sometimes, it’s a pain in the you-know-what. Some days, I don’t want to sit at my keyboard. Somedays, the words don’t flow. And before I start a new book, I always have to plot the darn thing . And right now, that’s making my brain tired.

Amazon announced a new thing they’re starting this summer–serialized novels. The idea appealed to me, because for a long time, when I used to have a weebly webpage, I posted free stories and books on it–one chapter at a time. It was always a little dicey, because every once in a while, I got behind and then had to come up with a chapter at the last minute. Probably not my best writing. But I finished novellas that way, then I took them down and polished them, and published them. That’s when I was having fun with the Babet and Prosper series under Judith Post. I posted a witch novel, foo, The Familiars, that way. I loved writing series, and those stories are what prompted me to write Muddy River. Every once in a while, I still crave a supernatural fix.

Now, when I used to read one of my supernatural fantasies to my writers’ group, I always got the same comments. “That was fun, and I’m sure someone wants to read it, but I never have. I’m not sure how to comment.” LOL. No surprise there. My group is pretty serious. Literary. Historical. Thrillers. Weighty novels. Alliteration and lyrical. Werewolves and witches? Not so much.

BUT…if Amazon is going to do serial novels, my mind immediately went to Muddy River. And…since my discipline isn’t what it should be…I have to try one. BUT, and this is the problem…l can’t make sure I have enough of a story without plot points. UGH!!! So I’ve been beating away on them for a week. A WEEK! And this is a short novel.

I admire Craig Boyack. He’s found a way to conjure story ideas with a storyboard. He’s written about it on Story Empire: Expanding on living documents | Story Empire (wordpress.com) I’ve tried it, and it works if I start WAY ahead and keep reminding myself to add to it. But unfortunately, I usually end up cussing and fretting, trying to write however points I need in a few days. Because I want to start the story, but I don’t want to go in the wrong direction. And that’s what I’ve been doing this week. A lot of fussing to come up with enough plot points to make a good story for a serial.

They trick you, you see. An idea springs into your mind and looks wonderful, like so much fun, you can’t NOT want to write it. So you start whipping out ideas for it, but the ideas begin to get harder and harder to come by, and how do you wrap them up? How do you make them build into a rhythm and crescendo at the right points and coalesce into a story? That’s when I start cussing. And finding things I have to do–like clip my toenails. Anything to avoid plot points. But if I stick with it, (and I try not to), I eventually end up with a halfway decent outline (of sorts) for a story.

Not everyone wants to bother with this. And I don’t blame them. Like I said. It’s a pain! But I need it. I’ve learned that the hard way. Some people can fly by the seats of their pants. Some people do journals. Or storyboards. Or humongous character studies. Whatever works for them. Me? I finally finished my plot points, and I’m going to go celebrate, because whenever I finish them, I feel like I’ve survived a tsunami. I’VE DONE IT! THEY’RE DONE. And life is good now. Until I have to start writing them and making them come to life. We’ll talk about that some other day…..

Are blue witches more appealing than green?

I invited Kyra Jacobs back to my blog to talk more about her book BLUE MANHATTAN. You see, she writes fantasy in between sweet romances to have a little creative fun. That’s why I write the Muddy River series. There’s nothing like a witch to perk things up a bit. My Hester is plenty powerful. So is Kyra’s Shay Tempest. But is she powerful enough to save herself and her sister from the erlking who wants Shay back? Have I mentioned that Shay is blue? And she purposely chose that color because Mauricio liked her better when she was green? Ah, well, I’ll let Kyra take it from here and tell you a little about the book herself:

Last month I released BLUE MANHATTAN, a fantasy romance and my tenth novel (wow, it still feels awesome to type that!) And while all my published books so far have centered around relationships and romance, BLUE MANHATTAN was a little different than the rest.

Ok, so it was a LOT different than the rest. But that was actually my intent.

See, instead of it being a sweet romance between the girl next door and the everyday great guy—which I also love to write—this time I wanted to have a little fun and see just how far my imagination could go. They say you’ve got to exercise muscles to keep them limber, right? Well, I think stretching your thinking and imagination is an important exercise as well. (So is dishing up your favorite flavor of ice cream, but I digress…) For this story, I decided to flip the everyday “meet cute” scene on its head. Literally.

In BLUE, the book opens in a bar whose patrons aren’t supposed to exist. At least, that’s what us humans have been led to believe. Goblins, witches, yetis, trolls, pixies, griffins—the list goes on. Let me tell you, I had so much fun researching mythical creatures for this book! But in the midst of all this supernatural “normalness”, who should come crashing in but a lowly human.

“We’ve got ourselves a crasher…”

Needless to say, Jamie Knight doesn’t initially believe what he’s seeing. In fact, he at first convinces himself that he’s stumbled into some ComicCon-type party with really legit costumes…until fighting breaks out, bones start cracking, and green goo starts flying.

Suddenly it’s every creature for themselves.

And who comes to his rescue? Shayla Tempest, the powerful blue bartender at McGronkle’s Supernatural Pub, planted smack dab in the center of all that chaos.

You see what I did there? Not only are humans at the disadvantage in this scenario, but I wrote in one helluva kickass heroine. I don’t generally write pushover heroines, mind you, but this one I wanted to empower with a little…more. And trust me—I gave her plenty of power. The struggle for Shay comes in learning to trust people again, something she’s got to conquer on the inside without her fancy magic.

Does she save the day instead of the hero at the end?

Guess you’ll just have to read it to find out. While you do that, I’ll be hanging out with the cast as I work on the next book in the Moonlight Mayhem series. Be sure to share your favorite mythical creature with me in the comments below, and happy reading, everyone!

BLUE MANHATTAN (Moonlight Mayhem, Book 1)

By Kyra Jacobs

Genre: Fantasy Romance

Length: 334 pages

Available on Amazon: bit.ly/BlueMZon21

Blurb:

Bartender Shayla Tempest wants nothing more than to stay out of trouble. Oh, and to kill the supernatural mob boss who’s stolen her sister. So, when Mauricio Hunter demands Shay deliver some “special package” in exchange for her sister’s life, this supe masquerading as a blue-skinned witch doesn’t hesitate to agree. Until, that is, she learns the package is one that’s completely off-limits for her kind: a human.

Computer programmer Jamie Knight just wants to finish debugging his latest app. But some douche bag named Mauricio has kidnapped his girlfriend, and now Jamie’s dodging dangerous mythical creatures in a race against time to pay her ransom. His only hope? One seriously stubborn witch who’s blue, scary powerful, and sexy as hell.

With an unexpected attraction brewing between them, this unlikely duo will break every rule in the supernatural underworld to complete their rescue mission. But something far more devious than kidnapping is on Mauricio’s true agenda, and the erlking will stop at nothing to get what he wants. Do Shay and Jamie have what it takes to thwart his plans without losing themselves—or each other—along the way?

Excerpt

Soap suds rose from the hot tub in the bar’s front corner, and distracted Shay from the fire water she’d been making. A lick of yellow bit her hand as she bobbled the glass, sending flames dancing across the bar top. Four nymphs sharing a nearby stool took wing to avoid the fiery cascade, a litany of curses filling the air. Shay cursed as well, reaching for a washrag to clean up her spill before it claimed any casualties.

“Dammit Floyd, what the hell are we paying you for?”

Their mile-high waste-of-fur bouncer perched beside the door bristled. “What’s your problem, Blue?”

Her cloth snagged on a crusty spot, and she lifted it to find a chunk of charred wing. Okay, strike that—claim any more casualties. She cast a dark look to the yeti. “You are. Thought you patted the water kelpies down when they were paying their cover?”

“I did.”

She tipped her head toward the growing mound of bubbles and Floyd’s gaze flicked toward the tub. With a muttered expletive, he slid off his personalized tree stump and strode toward the thickening scent of lavender. At ninety-five, the guy believed he was the best thing to come along since the invention of glamouring. Maybe in another hundred years, he’d lose the ego and Shay would be able to tolerate the pompous jerk.

No, probably not even then.

He had just made it to the kelpies when the front door burst open and a body stumbled through. A human body, judging by the way he was gasping for breath. Usually, they hit the wards and made an about-face. So far, this guy wasn’t that smart.

“We’ve got ourselves a crasher,” Milo crooned from a nearby booth, his scaly green lips drawing back to reveal teeth that desperately needed a good brushing. Like, a few decades ago.

The goblin slid his arm free of the drunken fae nestled beside him and started to rise. But a brawl was the last thing they needed tonight, especially with that package due to arrive from Mauri. Shay abandoned her washrag and strode forward, giving him a not-so-subtle shove down along the way.

“Keep your shirt on,” she said.

“But—”

“I said, keep your shirt on.”

She snapped her fingers, freezing the little bastard in place. Goblins—always trying to be the tough guys. Her spell wouldn’t hold him long, but it did allow her enough time to give their newcomer a onceover. He looked to be just over six feet tall, long and lean. Not overly muscular, but not an ounce of fat on the guy, either. Nothing she couldn’t handle if good old Floyd chickened out again. Why he got so nervous around humans was beyond her. This one’s dark hair was short on the sides and a little longer on top, just like all the pretty boys on posters in Time Square. As she stared, a pair of melted chocolate eyes began to scan the room.

Gods, he was repulsive.

“I’m looking for a woman.”

Snickering ensued as Shay continued forward, stopping before she emerged from the shadows. Best not to give him too big a fright, or their crasher would soon be a fainter. Fainters always made the griffins hungry, and she’d be damned if she was gonna jump in the middle of a herd of them to save clueless Joe Blow here.

“I think you’re lost, city boy,” she called. “Best turn around and head back to Upper Manhattan.”

He squinted in her direction and lifted one hand to shield his eyes from the entryway lights, a piece of crumpled paper in its grip. “Violet. I’m looking for Violet. They took her from me.”

His breathing was beginning to smooth; not a good sign. If he acclimated to the wards, he’d soon be able to see them all just as they were—a bar full of creatures he wasn’t supposed to know existed. Shay put a little more venom behind her words.

“Don’t know nothing about none of that. Now leave.”

The human unwadded the note in his hand. “No? Then how about a…Storm? She’s supposed to know where I can find her.”

Shay sucked in a sharp breath. Storm?

Oh, no. No, this guy could not be the package.

A human, Mauri? Are you out of your friggin’ mind?

“Ain’t got one of them neither,” she pushed. “Now scat.”

The newcomer squared his shoulders. “Well if they’re not here,” he said, voice rising above the bar’s standard bedlam, “then somebody better bring me that son of a bitch Mauricio Hunter. Right. Now.”

The entire tavern fell silent as every head turned to see what fool had said aloud the name of Antinomy’s most notorious mob boss. From the Barbie Dream House, cracking knuckles could be heard.

Then all hell broke loose.

Author Bio:

 Kyra Jacobs is an extroverted introvert who’s always called Indiana home, so she’s well-versed in fickle weather, pork tenderloins that don’t fit on a bun, and sarcasm. Putting her Indiana University degrees in Public Management to good use by day means Kyra does the bulk of her writing late into the night. Fueled by caffeine and funny memes, she weaves tales of love and relationships, including the humor and/or chaos both can bring. Kyra’s published novels range from sweet contemporary romance to romantic suspense and paranormal/fantasy.

When this Hoosier native isn’t at a keyboard, daydreaming through her fingertips, she’s likely outside, elbow-deep in snapdragons or on a sideline somewhere cheering (loudly) for her sporty sons. Kyra also loves to bowl, tries to golf, and is an avid college football fan. Be sure to stop by kyrajacobsbooks.com to learn more about her novels and ways to connect with Kyra on social media.

Connect with Kyra:

Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/KyraJacobsBooks

Twitter:  https://twitter.com/KyraJacobsBooks

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/kyrajacobs_author/

Website:  http://www.KyraJacobs.wordpress.com

Goodreads:  http://www.goodreads.com/Kyra_Jacobs

My Writers Group

I hosted our writers’ club at my house today for the last time. When Covid hit, we lost our meeting room at the library and floundered for a few months. I still wrote, because. . . that’s what I do. It’s hard for me NOT to write. I feel lost, out of sync. And after a few days, HH says, “Wouldn’t you like to spend the day at your computer?” LOL. I’m a better person when I write.

When I talked to my writer friends, though, most of them weren’t putting words on the page. They use Scribes as their motivation. If they volunteer to be readers, they have to produce something to share. But we were all being careful, not going many places, wearing masks when we did, and only getting together with a few people we knew were being careful, too. So I talked to my husband, and he said, “Why not?” Then I invited my group to meet here. Now, when we met at the library, when the meeting was over, we went to The Tower Bar and Grill to yak with each other, or sometimes in the summer, we went to the Deck at the Gas House downtown. No restaurants were open because of Covid, so I decided to make food for my group. too.

The sad truth is that it takes more motivation for me to dust my house than to cook. Some of the members thought I was being a nice, wonderful person, but the truth is, I love to cook and I love to entertain. I had a new group of people to use as guinea pigs for new recipes I wanted to try. And the second and fourth Wednesday of each month became a lot of fun for me. I got to see my friends, talk writing, and try out new things. I loved it. I just never expected it to last as long as it did. I made shrimp pizzas, Cuban sliders, chicken quesadillas, and lots and lots of soups and salads.

But the library is finally opening up and letting people use meeting rooms again. It’s time for us to go back to the norm, even though the “different” was actually a lot of fun, and it made Covid a lot easier to deal with. The good news? People are making headway on their books. And I get to hear that progress, one chapter at a time. I’ve gotten to read a few times from my new mystery, and I’ve gotten a lot of encouragement. Not just because I feed my critics either. They’re too honest to bribe:)

Life is starting to get back to normal for us, and for that, I’m grateful. But I’m also really grateful for my writers’ group. I’ve heard horror stories about bad ones. I know they exist. I’ve heard of groups that only pat each other on the back, too, but we want honest feedback. I treasure my fellow writers. We encourage each other without pandering to lackluster writing, always prodding each other to do better. I honestly think we’ve all become darned good writers. The thing we’re not as good at is marketing and networking, but we’ll have to work on that at another time. We survived Covid, and that’s enough for now.

Nothing lasts forever. Things change. So who knows what the future holds? But for now, I’m grateful for Scribes. And I’m celebrating our local libraries being open again.

Memorial Day

When I was a kid, growing up, my parents loaded the trunk of our car with pots of geraniums and we went to plant one at every grave at every cemetery a close relative was buried at. It took most of the day, since a few were in small towns close by instead of in town,, and while my dad dug holes for my mom to pl;ace the geraniums in, my sister and I would run around the cemetery, chasing each other and having fun. When the trunk was empty and every grave was decorated, then we’d head downtown to Coney Island to eat hot dogs for supper. I can’t say it was one of my favorite days. It got pretty long after a while. But Mom and Dad were so happy with what they’d done, and we got to eat out (which we hardly ever got to do), so it was a meaningful day that ended well.

Once I grew up and got married, HH and I didn’t decorate graves for Memorial Day. But we bought an old bungalow on a street that our community uses for their Memorial Day parade. Cop cars and fire trucks line up and turn on their sirens to start off the celebration at nine a.m. You can’t sleep through the noise. (Though one time I tried. I had the flu and was miserable and cussed the parade more than it deserved). People line the sidewalks with lawn chairs, laughing and calling to each other. Two school marching bands are interspersed between floats, vintage cars, tractors, and horses. They make their way down the street, and people throw candy to the kids watching on the sidelines. Neighbors wave at each other and stop to talk once the parade is finished. And we end up with lots of small American flags to line the walk to our front porch.

For a long time, I didn’t value any of it. I enjoyed seeing people at the parade, but grumbled that I couldn’t sleep in. I wasn’t fond of visiting graves. After all, nobody’s there, just a plot of earth and someone’s remains in a box or urn. But since I’ve gotten older, I like cemeteries–quiet places that hold memories. They even make me think about people I’ve never met. I read dates, like 1873-1875 and think about a small child who had a short life. Sometimes, five or six people in a family die near the same time, and I imagine there was a disease. I read the words “Loving mother” or “Taken Too Soon” and conjure stories and images to go with them. And I see the military gravestones of soldiers and think about which war they died in. (In old cemeteries, there are many, many of them).

I knew that Memorial Day was important to my parents, but I never fully understood why. Now, I do. I still don’t decorate graves, but now I visit them. And they help me see myself as part of a long line of history and people. And that feels good. I understand why people are interested in genealogy these days. It’s nice to feel that you’re part of something. It’s nice to know your roots. They help you understand yourself a bit better.

However you celebrate (or don’t celebrate) Memorial Day, I hope you have a nice one. Family, picnics, grilling out, relaxing…whatever. Enjoy the last day of May. And have a great June!

Fiction Book Reviews by Mae: A Cut Above by Judi Lynn @judypost, Lunar Boogie by C. S. Boyack @Virgilante #bookreviews

Mae Clair was kind enough to review A CUT ABOVE on her blog today. She writes for the Story Empire blog, too, and gives great writing advice there. I always enjoy her book reviews and end up adding more books to my TBR list. She’s also a wonderful writer. I’ve read many of her books, but her Hode’s Hill series is probably my favorite. I loved it.

From the Pen of Mae Clair

Thanks for joining me for another day of book reviews. I have two fantastic indie releases to share, each part of a series. The first is the debut release for the Karnie Cleaver series, while the second is book number four in the popular Lizzie and the Hat adventures. Obviously Karnie can be read as a standalone, since the series is just starting, but the Hat can as well. Mystery and adventure can be found in both camps!

BOOK BLURB:

Karnie works in her family’s butcher shop. When Donna Amick stalks to the meat display case and tries to pressure her to leave the family business to work for her, Karnie turns her down, flat. But Donna doesn’t like to take “no” for an answer. The next morning, Donna’s body is found behind A Cut Above with a meat cleaver embedded in the back of her head. Detective Carmichael’s top…

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