Tara Fox Hall's Blog, page 9
March 18, 2012
March 10, 2012
Starting Small...and please pray that my husband's wallet gets found
Want to know how I began writing? Check out a short excerpt from Starting Small at Women, Words, and Wisdom! :)
http://womenwordswisdom.wordpress.com...
To balance out this happy event of blogging was a horrible event: my husband Eric lost his wallet bag getting gas this afternoon. We cancelled the one credit card/ATM card and checks, but can't replace the wallet I made for him, the pictures in it, or a small notebook given to him by his now deceased father. We asked at the nearby shops, but no one had turned anything in. We also both drove the route he took home, and even went up on the highway to see if anyone had dumped the bag after pocketing the cards, but found nothing. If you believe in a deity, please say a few prayers that the wallet bag will be found. Thank you.
http://womenwordswisdom.wordpress.com...
To balance out this happy event of blogging was a horrible event: my husband Eric lost his wallet bag getting gas this afternoon. We cancelled the one credit card/ATM card and checks, but can't replace the wallet I made for him, the pictures in it, or a small notebook given to him by his now deceased father. We asked at the nearby shops, but no one had turned anything in. We also both drove the route he took home, and even went up on the highway to see if anyone had dumped the bag after pocketing the cards, but found nothing. If you believe in a deity, please say a few prayers that the wallet bag will be found. Thank you.
March 7, 2012
Long and Short Review Interview went live today!
My interview went live today at The Long and Short Review - please stop by and leave a comment, if you like :)
http://lasrmysteryguests.blogspot.com...
http://lasrmysteryguests.blogspot.com...
February 29, 2012
One Last Look: A Writer's Plea (To The Reviewer)
ONE LAST LOOK: A WRITER’S PLEA (TO THE REVIEWER)
It’s a given fact that all writers will get bad reviews in their lifetime. Some of those will be deserved; a work unpolished, a first effort not reworked sufficiently, or simply bad grammar, etc. But some of those won’t be. The crux hangs, of course, on the reviewer. It is their opinion which flavors the review, making it either praise or condemnation. That is as it should be. Yet I make this plea on behalf of all writers, everywhere: Take one last look, and make sure that you meant all that you said.
There is no age limit I know of to be a reviewer for most review sites. If you run your own blog, there is no criterion at all that must be met. Don’t misunderstand me; I’m not saying that blog sites are less than qualified to judge what books are worth reading, or that they aren’t entitled to speak their views. I’m saying that anyone and everyone can be a reviewer, or post a review. This is not a bad thing, in and of itself. The more reviews any item has, the more information those looking to buy have at their fingertips. But when anyone can say anything about anything with a few clicks, it makes for almost no responsibility on what is said, or the fallout that will follow because of the review that is written.
I admit to being guilty of “passionate reviews” in the past. I have read books that were awful; who hasn’t? I have been angry at writers that wasted my time, or led me up to a climax that fell flat. Not all books are of five star quality. Part of the reason I began writing was because I longed for a story that no current writer provided. But there is a fine line between being honest, and being cruel, just because you can. Please know the difference.
No writer I have thus met throws together a piece, and sends it off. Some writers spend years perfecting a novel, or just a short story. We attend workshops, we join critique groups, we do whatever we can to hone our talent, to make what we produce the best it can be. We are always trying to improve, to write a better story with each new idea. Why then, is there so little respect given to an author who has spend countless hours giving you that book you have spent, at most, several hours reading?
Publisher writers are not amateurs in any sense of the word. I haven’t chosen this often grueling career with the sole intent to get rich. My goal is to give you, the reader, a tale to hopefully make your life a little more exciting, a little more romantic, or a little more thrilling. If I disappoint in that lofty goal, I apologize. It certainly wasn’t my intention.
This is my plea, dear reviewer: take one last look, before you hit enter and seal my success or my doom with your words. Think about how you would feel as you read the words you have written, if they were aimed at your work. I’m not asking for you to give me a five star review, or change your opinion. Just give one last look. There are ways to critique that encourage, not discourage. If your goal is simply to warn potential readers concerning inadequacies in my work, push send. If your aim is to not only give your opinion, but also to motivate me to do better, then take one last look. Give me not just correction, but inspiration.
It’s a given fact that all writers will get bad reviews in their lifetime. Some of those will be deserved; a work unpolished, a first effort not reworked sufficiently, or simply bad grammar, etc. But some of those won’t be. The crux hangs, of course, on the reviewer. It is their opinion which flavors the review, making it either praise or condemnation. That is as it should be. Yet I make this plea on behalf of all writers, everywhere: Take one last look, and make sure that you meant all that you said.
There is no age limit I know of to be a reviewer for most review sites. If you run your own blog, there is no criterion at all that must be met. Don’t misunderstand me; I’m not saying that blog sites are less than qualified to judge what books are worth reading, or that they aren’t entitled to speak their views. I’m saying that anyone and everyone can be a reviewer, or post a review. This is not a bad thing, in and of itself. The more reviews any item has, the more information those looking to buy have at their fingertips. But when anyone can say anything about anything with a few clicks, it makes for almost no responsibility on what is said, or the fallout that will follow because of the review that is written.
I admit to being guilty of “passionate reviews” in the past. I have read books that were awful; who hasn’t? I have been angry at writers that wasted my time, or led me up to a climax that fell flat. Not all books are of five star quality. Part of the reason I began writing was because I longed for a story that no current writer provided. But there is a fine line between being honest, and being cruel, just because you can. Please know the difference.
No writer I have thus met throws together a piece, and sends it off. Some writers spend years perfecting a novel, or just a short story. We attend workshops, we join critique groups, we do whatever we can to hone our talent, to make what we produce the best it can be. We are always trying to improve, to write a better story with each new idea. Why then, is there so little respect given to an author who has spend countless hours giving you that book you have spent, at most, several hours reading?
Publisher writers are not amateurs in any sense of the word. I haven’t chosen this often grueling career with the sole intent to get rich. My goal is to give you, the reader, a tale to hopefully make your life a little more exciting, a little more romantic, or a little more thrilling. If I disappoint in that lofty goal, I apologize. It certainly wasn’t my intention.
This is my plea, dear reviewer: take one last look, before you hit enter and seal my success or my doom with your words. Think about how you would feel as you read the words you have written, if they were aimed at your work. I’m not asking for you to give me a five star review, or change your opinion. Just give one last look. There are ways to critique that encourage, not discourage. If your goal is simply to warn potential readers concerning inadequacies in my work, push send. If your aim is to not only give your opinion, but also to motivate me to do better, then take one last look. Give me not just correction, but inspiration.
February 26, 2012
February 25, 2012
The "Dead" Cat
The wind is howling outside. I cannot see the barn in the falling darkness, as the snow is sheeting sideways, almost perpendicular. The bare trees are shaking and swaying, making me wait for the tell-tale crack of broken limbs. In short, a day (and now, a night) to sit inside, and pray the power doesn't go off while I contemplate the next story. There is also the bonus presence of the "Dead" cat, Jess, close by.
Jess sleeps as if she was walking along and someone shot her with a tranquilizer dart. She slumps to one side, head sideways, paws slightly outflung, body limp. In short, she looks dead. Its so convincing that I often have to nudge her awake, because I'm afraid she really did die in her sleep. But as she chooses to "die" in the chair, in the cat bed, or on in front of the fire, I usually assume she's still alive. "Are you dead, Jess?" I ask morbidly, as I walk by. Sometimes, if she is deeply asleep, she won't answer; 14yrs has made her hard of hearing. Then I have to go over and pet her, saying "Jess? Jess!"
Usually, she'll wake up with a questioning purr, and I'll pet her. But sometimes, she just purrs very slightly, because its too much trouble to move. She's too happy and comfortable.
May you all be as happy and comfortable as "Dead" cats on this dark night. :)
Jess sleeps as if she was walking along and someone shot her with a tranquilizer dart. She slumps to one side, head sideways, paws slightly outflung, body limp. In short, she looks dead. Its so convincing that I often have to nudge her awake, because I'm afraid she really did die in her sleep. But as she chooses to "die" in the chair, in the cat bed, or on in front of the fire, I usually assume she's still alive. "Are you dead, Jess?" I ask morbidly, as I walk by. Sometimes, if she is deeply asleep, she won't answer; 14yrs has made her hard of hearing. Then I have to go over and pet her, saying "Jess? Jess!"
Usually, she'll wake up with a questioning purr, and I'll pet her. But sometimes, she just purrs very slightly, because its too much trouble to move. She's too happy and comfortable.
May you all be as happy and comfortable as "Dead" cats on this dark night. :)
February 18, 2012
Please Vote...even if not for me
Keeping in the spirit of the last few weeks posts, I'll continue with real life news, with some humor.
Having indulged in a buying spree recently of Rob Lowe Movies, I have spent the last week watching again some of my old favorites. Masquerade was much more understandable years later. Salen's Lot was just as wonderful as the first time. A Stroke of Midnight was very nice, though I lamented that Jennifer Grey got that nose job. Midnight Man was enjoyable, though I found I liked the villian better than Mr. Lowe. First Degree was excellent, though it joins the ranks of movies I'm turning off before the end, while a HEA still is possible.
The other development this week-- besides having some articles on writing post at both Book and Trailer Showcase, and at The Short Review :)-- was becoming a finalist at the Unwritten blogspot contest for best love at first sight scene. That my scene from LASH was picked was a shock, albeit a welcome one. My upcoming release is action/adventure, involving a weresnake and his adventures, beginning in 1921, when he is 16.
Blurb: Scarred from a childhood spent in perpetual indigence after being forced from their home in the Everglades, weresnake Trystan Valeras and his family make their way to the Case Hotel. When his wealthy gangster father arrives the summer he turns sixteen, Trystan’s dream of a better life, along with the lovely aristocrat Mara, is suddenly within his grasp. Instead of paradise, a series of devastating events unfold, leading Trystan to become the instrument of his dying father’s revenge. His violent reprisal instigates a backlash of murder and death, forcing Trystan to flee with the remains of his family to the sultry city of New Orleans where he sells himself into the service of the Vampire Lord Abraham. Becoming the assassin Lash to hide his identity, Trystan finds a measure of peace, even as his skill with killing heightens, bringing to him not only new allies, but also new adversaries.
Please consider voting for my entry Lash, if you have not already voted in Mysti's Blog contest!:
http://mystiparker.blogspot.com/p/vot...
Have a wonderful week! :)
Having indulged in a buying spree recently of Rob Lowe Movies, I have spent the last week watching again some of my old favorites. Masquerade was much more understandable years later. Salen's Lot was just as wonderful as the first time. A Stroke of Midnight was very nice, though I lamented that Jennifer Grey got that nose job. Midnight Man was enjoyable, though I found I liked the villian better than Mr. Lowe. First Degree was excellent, though it joins the ranks of movies I'm turning off before the end, while a HEA still is possible.
The other development this week-- besides having some articles on writing post at both Book and Trailer Showcase, and at The Short Review :)-- was becoming a finalist at the Unwritten blogspot contest for best love at first sight scene. That my scene from LASH was picked was a shock, albeit a welcome one. My upcoming release is action/adventure, involving a weresnake and his adventures, beginning in 1921, when he is 16.
Blurb: Scarred from a childhood spent in perpetual indigence after being forced from their home in the Everglades, weresnake Trystan Valeras and his family make their way to the Case Hotel. When his wealthy gangster father arrives the summer he turns sixteen, Trystan’s dream of a better life, along with the lovely aristocrat Mara, is suddenly within his grasp. Instead of paradise, a series of devastating events unfold, leading Trystan to become the instrument of his dying father’s revenge. His violent reprisal instigates a backlash of murder and death, forcing Trystan to flee with the remains of his family to the sultry city of New Orleans where he sells himself into the service of the Vampire Lord Abraham. Becoming the assassin Lash to hide his identity, Trystan finds a measure of peace, even as his skill with killing heightens, bringing to him not only new allies, but also new adversaries.
Please consider voting for my entry Lash, if you have not already voted in Mysti's Blog contest!:
http://mystiparker.blogspot.com/p/vot...
Have a wonderful week! :)
February 11, 2012
Ventures into FaceBook
"I can't get my picture to come up on my Facebook page," my mother said grumpily over dinner last night.
"You need a tutorial," my stepfather said.
"Come over tomorrow," I offered, bold with the happiness of inebriation. "I'll teach you."
Less sure of my skills this early am, I dutifully began teaching Mom the ins and outs of Facebook. While we were there, we tackled a few other things, too, like Googling, messaging, and bookmarks. She was excited yet hesitant, much as I must have been years ago when our roles were reversed. Carefully jotting down notes in a small paper notebook, she went through the different options slowly. A mutual friend in a far off city helped, giving her practice in liking posts and responding. "It's like you're there chatting back and forth," she said in amazement.
"Yes," I agreed. "Except that you can chat with many people at the same time, and everyone can see and join the conversation. See, she posted a response to you here, and down here."
"Aren't they the same thing? Why are there two places?"
"Down here is for chatting. She also sent you a reply to your post. All your posts are on your wall."
"What's that red thing?"
"That shows you there's some thing new on your page. It's called a notification."
She rolled here eyes at me, an annoyed expression forming. "This is hard."
"Keep playing with it," I encouraged. "It's not too bad once you get used to it."
By the end of two hours, we'd practiced posting and most all other acts on FB, including finding long lost friends, liking pages, messaging, loading pictures and links, and friending people. Then Mom looked down at her watch.
"That can't be right!" she exclaimed. "I've been here two hours!" Hurrying, she logged off, then packed up all her stuff.
With a quick hug, she was on her way.
As I watched her go, I wondered how long it would be before I was visiting someone younger to get my own tech update, because the world had outpaced my knowledge. Something tells me it won't be the few decades it was for her.
"You need a tutorial," my stepfather said.
"Come over tomorrow," I offered, bold with the happiness of inebriation. "I'll teach you."
Less sure of my skills this early am, I dutifully began teaching Mom the ins and outs of Facebook. While we were there, we tackled a few other things, too, like Googling, messaging, and bookmarks. She was excited yet hesitant, much as I must have been years ago when our roles were reversed. Carefully jotting down notes in a small paper notebook, she went through the different options slowly. A mutual friend in a far off city helped, giving her practice in liking posts and responding. "It's like you're there chatting back and forth," she said in amazement.
"Yes," I agreed. "Except that you can chat with many people at the same time, and everyone can see and join the conversation. See, she posted a response to you here, and down here."
"Aren't they the same thing? Why are there two places?"
"Down here is for chatting. She also sent you a reply to your post. All your posts are on your wall."
"What's that red thing?"
"That shows you there's some thing new on your page. It's called a notification."
She rolled here eyes at me, an annoyed expression forming. "This is hard."
"Keep playing with it," I encouraged. "It's not too bad once you get used to it."
By the end of two hours, we'd practiced posting and most all other acts on FB, including finding long lost friends, liking pages, messaging, loading pictures and links, and friending people. Then Mom looked down at her watch.
"That can't be right!" she exclaimed. "I've been here two hours!" Hurrying, she logged off, then packed up all her stuff.
With a quick hug, she was on her way.
As I watched her go, I wondered how long it would be before I was visiting someone younger to get my own tech update, because the world had outpaced my knowledge. Something tells me it won't be the few decades it was for her.
February 5, 2012
Just Shadows interview goes live 2-9-12!
Please visit me this week at Seriously Reviewed on Thursday, 2-9-12, when my interview there goes live!
http://www.seriouslyreviewed.blogspot...
http://www.seriouslyreviewed.blogspot...
January 28, 2012
The Treadmill Game
In winter, I tend to walk more on the treadmill than outside in the sometimes kneedeep snow. This almost always incites a round of the Treadmill Game.
The goal of the game is to get me to play fetch with my dogs, Tawny and Hunter for the entire 45 minutes I'm walking. Their plan of attack is two fold:
1) Sytematically hold toys just out of reach near the front, so I must lean over while walking to grasp them. If toys are not grasped in a reasonable amount of time, they are dropped, becoming hurdles to step over before they trip me up.
2) Attack the moving "floor" with paws, sometimes holding them in place against the rotating belt, effectively making a noise like the metal against grinding wheels in the fabrication shop where I work.
Needless to day, the plan of attack usually works :)
The goal of the game is to get me to play fetch with my dogs, Tawny and Hunter for the entire 45 minutes I'm walking. Their plan of attack is two fold:
1) Sytematically hold toys just out of reach near the front, so I must lean over while walking to grasp them. If toys are not grasped in a reasonable amount of time, they are dropped, becoming hurdles to step over before they trip me up.
2) Attack the moving "floor" with paws, sometimes holding them in place against the rotating belt, effectively making a noise like the metal against grinding wheels in the fabrication shop where I work.
Needless to day, the plan of attack usually works :)
