The Invisible multiplier

Michael W. Davis

Davisstories.com

Until I became published, in my novice mind, the process was simple: get accepted, turn the manuscript over and that’s that. Yeah, right. Like the iceberg, there’s a massive hulk under the surface that the reader never sees. Forget the promotional activities, forget dealing with the rewrites to satisfy the submission reviewers, forget the Errata reviews, etc. There’s an invisible multiplier to the quality of a finished novel that few would ever understand, unless they’ve had a great Content Editor (CE). I’m one of those lucky authors. I’m smart enough to recognize the quality of a story when I submit it now, and honest enough to admit the contribution made by my CE. It’s not the theme or sub plots. That’s there. It’s the molding, polishing, refining where the true talent of a CE shines through. I will admit; I’ve always had the same editor, Cindy Davis, primarily because I get down on my knees each time and beg my publisher. But I don’t have to work with a dozen different editors to recognize the contribution (and enjoyment) I experience with Cindy.

So what does she do? What she does appears simple on the surface, so simple in my first novel I kept hitting myself saying, “Why didn’t you see that, moron.” Then I realized, as an author, seeing the things a CE sees is not a talent I possess. I take pride in the realism of my stories, yet she is able to bring out the hidden possibility that lies beneath the surface. Here are a few examples.

1. Consistency – As an author creating fiction across 300 pages, sometimes you forget that you gave the heroine a black jeep on page 23 and changed it to a red Elantra on page 125, or the hero was born in Maine, then strangely admits he’s never set foot in New England. Yet the CE enforces that consistency across the story.

2. Perspective – What is a story without internal monologue, it’s boring. My CE can ask a simple question, “Did he really forget his wife that fast?” or “Doesn’t she think it’s suspicious that he just happened to have that in his pocket?” Your first response is, “Well sure, the reader knows that,” but when you think about it, no the reader doesn’t. As the author, the images in your mind tell the whole story, but you forget they’re not inside your head. I remember a particular scene in one of my recent novels where the hero is frantically searching for his wife, concerned that some really bad guys have taken her to get to him. In his search, he discovers a possible source by solving a rather obvious puzzle. Well, my CE asked, “Doesn’t he think it’s strange that after everything that’s happened, he was able to stumble upon this answer?” Well of course he does, dah.” Then I realized, she was right. The thoughts, twists, confusion, reluctance, fear that would be going on in his mind were not there and they were damn important to the story. In fact, it lead to an entire new scene I created to convey the hero consciously allowing himself to be trapped because it was the only way to get to the woman he loved. Afterward, both of us stood back and admitted, “damn that’s good” and it was, but it wouldn’t have been without her probing question.

3. Five senses/environment – A simple question to an author - “What was she smelling, what color was it, was there nothing on the walls, did the animal make a sound, etc.” Yes, indeed, such a straight forward question, yet so profound in the reflection of realism in the story. And again you fill like an idiot for not recognizing the void in the first place. Fact is, when you're creating the entwined storyline, you forget those special fine brush strokes that really make the story come to life and made the reader become absorbed in the story.

4. POV – Now, this is the killer for me. It’s my mega button above all others and Cindy knows it. She loves to hammer on that button. Out of respect from her insight, I do everything I can to conform to her strict “No POV switches, Mikey” posture. Except in the bedroom. That’s where we fight and argue. You see, I want to be in both the hero and heroine’s head because I am into the sensual elements (I’m a guy, if I’m going to reflect romance, got to be an intimacy side, cause that’s how us guys demonstrate love in our minds). I want to know what’s going on in both their minds, (after all, we boys and girls are such different creatures). So that’s were our battles occur, over and over again.

5. Fun factor – In 98% of the cases, I truly enjoy the interaction with my CE. She’s witty, smart, has a neat sense of humor, and can take my loving male jests with a fleer. Except for POV. Then I just sigh, shake my head, and attempt to comply in all but a few cases.

All and all, I really feel we work on a project as a team, and I consider myself lucky to have hit the jackpot on the first roll of the dice. I know the stories came out of my warped mind, but by the time we’re done, it’s our story, and I think she feels that way too, otherwise, how could she read it over and over so many times. I also sense that exposure to sure a talented person has allowed me to expand my horizons as an author. I find myself asking, “Given they just tried to kill him, wouldn’t the hero be seeing dragons behind even turn of the road?” Or, “no Mike, you started in Ryan’s head and he wouldn’t be thinking of himself as the young man.” But I also recognize, I have to be careful. Swell a woman’s head too much, and you’ll pay for it in the end.

So this round of brew is to you, Cindy, girl. And remember, you still own me lunch, although I honestly forgot what the bet was, but I didn’t forget I won.

See ya in four weeks.

Big Mike
Michael W. Davis (Davisstories.com)
Author of:

Blind Consent, “The answers are buried in the secrets of the past.”
Forgotten Children, “Only Sara knows the truth.”
Tainted Hero, “Sometimes good people do bad things.”
The Treasure, “A lonely heart can impair one’s judgment.”
Veil of Deception, “Sometimes the truth cuts deeper than a lie.”

February Writing Prompt - Heliconia

I used this photo as inspiration for a scene in Tavos' story (Tavos is my knife wielding vigilante in Invisible).

Here is the scene (the foul language - this IS Tavos' story - bleeped out)

"You changed your clothes." She frowned, glancing down, between them. Bare toes in some sort of sexy strappy shoes wiggled. He looked closer. Her toenails were a sparkling green. She had painted them to match his tie. F---.

"I knew I should have used the colors in the flowers." She shrugged. "I loved them by the way."

"Yeah?" He was pleased.

"Especially that interestingly shaped reddish-orange one."

He pictured the arrangement in his mind. "The Heliconia?" Blank look. She must know f--- all about flowers. "Called a lobster claw."

"Ohhh…," A nod. "Very clever. It does look like one."

"They're sweet. Hummingbirds suck them dry." As he wanted to do with her. He took Grace's hand, leading her to the formal dining room. "Did it look like this one?" He threw a hand out at the floral centerpiece, illuminated by candles on each side. He didn't normally use the dining room. Tonight for some f---in' reason, he had Marie break out the good dishes and silverware. F---in' classy. Like Grace.

$$$

I KNOW you can do better than that. Share your best story start.

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Tavos Santos is a character in Kimber Chin's novel Invisible. To read more and to enter to win her favorite romance eBook of the month, visit http://businessromance.com/

Winter Blues/The Dark Lighthouse

This is the cover of my suspense romance, which has nothing to do with the winter blues, except the lighthouse is on the California coast, where most of the story is set. I used to live in California and looking out at the snow banks over half-way up the lamp posts along Lakeshore Drive, I sort of wish I was still in the golden state. February ought to be the end of winter, with March spring, but that isn't
the case on the south shore of Lake Superior.
About The Dark Lighthouse:

Blurb: Lisa Womack searches for her father's past, hoping to understand what happened to him. In California she meets a man who seems to know her, though she has no clue who he is. When deadly danger stalks them both, will she realize in time it comes not from here past, but from the present?

Excerpt:
"Ms!" The brusque voice came from the car.
Lisa looked toward the sound, letting out her breath in a sigh of relief when she saw the op, turning toward the car and forcing a smile.
"I wouldn't walk here alone if I were you." The officer nodded to the dark trees less than a block away. "Not this near the park. Not after what's happened these last couple of months."
Lisa knew only too well what he meant. Four young women had been attacked in this section of the park since March and three of them had been raped and beaten. One so badly she died. Only the fortuitous arrival of a mounted patrolman had saved the fourth. Despite an intensive manhunt, the assailant was still at large.
"You could call a cab from the lobby of the Hudson Co-op," the officer suggested. "It’s around the corner to your right."
"Thank you," Lisa told him.
The radio in the squad car crackled. The driver listened, grunted, then revved the motor, screeched into a U- turn and roared away with his lights flashing. For a moment Lisa stood looking after the receding lights of the squad car before she turned and walked on,
As she neared the next cross street a cab eased around the corner and swung in her direction, a roaming gypsy prowling for business. The cab slowed, the driver glancing hopefully in Lisa's direction. When she shook her head he accelerated past her, leaving a wake of exhaust fumes to foul the cool May night.
From the street corner across from the park she looked to her right where the canopy of the Hudson Co-op extended over the sidewalk from the entrance of the converted nineteenth century mansion to Central Park West. A uniformed security guard stood vigil at the top of the steps with his hands clasped behind him.
After a moment's hesitation, Lisa straightened her shoulders and, raising her chin determinedly, crossed the street. As she stepped onto the far curb she heard a man's voice calling to her. Startled, she whirled around. The doorman, a square-faced man no older than she, had left his post and was waving to her from beneath the end of the canopy. "Lady, you ain't going into that park." It was more of a statement than a question.
"It's shorter this way," she told him.
He shook his head and, even from this distance she saw the concern on his face. She could well imagine what he was thinking: Why was such a vulnerable young woman here alone at this time of night? And why was she taking the risk of entering the dark and forbidding park?
"You from out of town, lady?" he asked.
Lisa almost smiled, knowing that, to a New Yorker, visitors were capable of untold acts of foolishness. She shook her head. "I live in the Village."
He turned from her with a shrug, the gesture saying he'd done his best so nobody could blame him for what might happen.
A path curved ahead of Lisa into the park, the way shrouded in darkness despite the feeble rays from a globed light a hundred feet ahead. Lisa walked purposefully past a bench but couldn't help glancing at the headline on a discarded Post that was all too clear even in the midnight gloom: NO CLUES IN PARK RAPIST HUNT.
No, she wouldn't think about the assailant who might be lurking in the park. Hiding in the midnight shadows of the trees. Waiting. Waiting for her. She refused to give in to the unease crawling along her spine, chilling her body with icy fingers of apprehension.
She shut away her fear as best she could and walked on. The glow from the great city surrounding the park reflected palely from clouds hovering overhead in the moonless sky but the light failed to penetrate to the path where Lisa walked beneath the over-reaching branches of trees and shrubs. This was an alien, rural world.
At least it was alien to her. She was a city person, much as her father had been. She loved the excitement of crowds, the pushing and shoving, the flowing masses of men and women rushing here and there. She reveled in the city's sounds, the strident clamor of taxi horns, the shouts of street vendors, the rumble of the subways. She enjoyed breathing the aromas of the metropolis, the sharp scents of food from the restaurants, even the fumes from the thousands of cars, trucks and buses.
Only when the wind came off the Atlantic and the tang of the eastern sea swept up the skyscraper-walled canyons did she feel an unease. It was then the haunting memory returned and again she saw the white blur of the lighthouse through the twilight fog while her father worked frantically to restart the boat's outboard motor. Beneath a glowering sky, the sea around them roiled into white-capped turmoil.
Lisa shook her head, impatient with herself. The past was over and done with. Pay attention to the here and now. The park wasn't really alien, it was a part of the city, a place where she'd played as a child, skating in the winter, riding along the bridle paths, feeding the pigeons. During the day. The only time she’d been here nights was sitting on the grass with many other New Yorkers at open air concerts during the summers. She’d never rowed on the lake, though, boats didn't appeal to her.
Tonight, though, was different. The path ahead of her darkened and she saw the next lamp was out. A low hill rose to her left, trees loomed on her right. Refusing to alter her steady pace, she walked on with the only sound in the warm night the distant murmur of city traffic. In the hush she became aware of the throbbing beat of her heart and the rasp of her breathing.
She heard footsteps behind her.

That's it for this time. Next month, March the Unpredictable, maybe I'll make a stab at being unpredictable as well. Jane

Coming in July!

I’m so anxious for July. Yes, I’m the first one to say all sorts of negative things when the world spins and the year speeds by but I’m so looking forward to July and I just can’t wait for it to arrive.

Why?

Well, for one thing my best girl friends and I will load up the ATVs, the truck and head for a week of fun and relaxation in Arkansas. PLUS I now have the new banana (AKA the new ATV) that is screaming at me to break it in.

But…
BETRAYING CHASE is due to release in July as well! I’m so excited about it and I just can’t wait for everyone to read Chase’s story.

For everyone keeping up Betraying Chase is the second book in my Gateway Guardians series. Chase Willett is the second in command of the DEA unit and he’s chomping at the bit to take down the evil drug lord Rivera.

Here’s the video book trailer: ENJOY!



Can you see why I’m looking forward to it releasing? I’m almost done with edits and then it’s off to wait for the days to drag by.

I should be writing book three, it’s already a third of the way written so maybe it will be completed soon…I hope!

I’d better get back to work. See you all again soon!

Hugz
Donica

THE TRUE WORTH OF A CRITIQUE GROUP

I’ve been writing seriously for over a dozen years and have had everything published, but I wouldn’t consider submitting a manuscript without putting it through the grind of a critique group. Not only do fresh eyes lend a new perspective to each labor of love, the joy of facing up to constructive criticism gives me the fortitude and determination to carry on. Moreso, the suggestions gleaned from the viewpoints of others can send me off in directions I hadn’t considered. Since I write by the seat of my pants, I’ve experienced adventure and romance not plotted out previously with my heroines and heroes.

But there’s a stipulation I must make. The group chosen must be one with high aspirations to help, not judge. Fortunately for me, I’ve been connected to warm-hearted, funny writers who are generous with their offerings, strict in their adherence to proper grammar and punctuation, and imaginative enough to see when my logistics aren’t er…logical.

To me, the true value of a critique group lies with each individual writer requiring the service. He/she must keep an open mind, reciprocate when called upon in like manner and, above all else, appreciate the time and effort others took to improve the work. Only then can the manuscript achieve wondrous things. Carol McPhee

Thursday Thirteen: The Downside of Staycation

I'm home from work this week because I forgot to book vacation time through 2008, and I have to use it up by the end of March. So here I sit 'cause I have nowhere to go. The rest of the family is busy with work and school. The cat and dog carry on as usual, napping the day away.

People say, "Great! You can get some rest, or you can do some writing, or catch up on those pesky tasks that have been ignored, etc."

As if.

Here are my reasons Staycation doesn't work for me:

1. Television Sucks in the Daytime. I have a gazillion digital channels plus HD. Do you think I can find a single television program I'd be interested in? I flip channels like a sniper and am inundated with reality shows, inane talk shows and courtroom dramas.

2. Too Many DVDs. The vast array of movies makes my brain turn to mush. I can't decide on one. I pluck a title from the rack, hit Play and five minutes later I'm bored so I yank it out and try another one.

3. The Internet. I surf endlessly and end up going full circle. How much useless information can I possibly absorb in one day - er, one week?

4. I Should Be Writing. But I'm not. My best writing time is after everyone has gone to bed. During the day, time slips by and suddenly it's time to pick up the boy from school. I have zero self-motivation.

5. Crappy Weather. I know I'm Canadian and a hockey fan and all that, but I am the first to admit that I really hate winter. If I was in California or Florida or Phoenix or Mexico, I'd at least get outside for sunshine and fresh air, but it's too damn cold, wet and slimy.

6. Guilt. I should be taking the dog for daily walks since I now have the time. See above for Crappy Weather.

7. Housework? I'm on Vacation! Who wants to catch up on six months of housework and laundry, or rearrange furniture when she is supposed to be having a fabulous vacation? I throw a couple of loads in the washer just to stave off the guilt.

8. Spending Time With Friends. What friends? They're all at work.

9. Home Improvement Shows remind me what a crap-hole my house really is.

10. Co-Workers. I try to hide, but they know where to find me.

11. Food. It's right there within arm's reach, taunting me. Calling to me. Screaming at me. 'Nuf said.

12. Drink. It's right there... well, you get the picture.

13. Time. It's all over too soon. Thank goodness my next staycation is in two more weeks!

Image: Brent Butt on Staycation courtesy of Corner Gas

Promotion Idea

Writers are always looking for ways to promote their books. We've all done the loop chats and contests giving away copies of our works. Readers and writers a like love to get a free book or prize.

So, how about giving away an excerpt cookbook? A group of writers, including myself, decided to put one together. Each excerpt is accompanied by a recipe that is somehow connected to that story. For example, my excerpt for Forever Faithful is accompanied by the recipe for Ruth's Chocolate Cake. It's made with Hershey bars and a special one in my family.

To this date, we have 12 participants and some have submitted excerpts and recipes for more than one book.

I'll keep you posted on our progress.

Linda

Writing the series

I just finished reading Stephanie Meyer’s Twilight series. Wonderful reads, all of them, which got me thinking about my own writing. I’ve never really contemplated writing a series of books. I have books which are loosely connected, my Native American novels Blackbird and Heart’s Bondage, but they’re not a rigid series because the same characters don’t appear in each book. They may be talked about, but none show their faces.

So I’ve been thinking about writing a series, particularly with my upcoming August 2009 historical release, Stranger In His Bed. Angus’ sister, Patience, is trouble waiting to happen, and I left her currently unattached. Yes, her story is just begging to be written. Then there’s my paranormal side. I have ideas for a range of werewolf brothers, all single and tormented, howling for me to write their stories.

But I wonder, too, if I’d get tired of the reoccurring characters needed for a series. I’m like that with most of my characters. By the time I’m finished with the novel I’m ready to create new characters, learn what makes them tick. So who knows? Maybe I’ll try my hand at the series. That’s what I love most about writing romance. Anything goes, as long as a happy ending’s guaranteed.

Thanks for reading.

~ Nancy
http://www.nancyhenderson.com
http://www.nancyhenderson.blogspot.com
http://www.myspace.com/nancyhenderson

A Valentine's Treat!

Today, I'd like to discuss how to write a terrific romance, just in time for Valentine's Day.

The trouble of course being that I have no idea how to write a romance to save myself.

So, in its place, you'll all have to settle for how to write a terrific villian, just in time for Valentine's Day...because what would love be without hate...and who would you love to hate more than a good villian?

So, my tips for writing good villians:

1. A good villian is never the most despicable character. Villians are people, too, and barring the sociopaths and psychotics that keep people awake at night, usually they really are trying to do the right thing. They just come at it from a different set of backgrounds.

As an example, in my second book, Friends in Deed, the main villian Elijah Cassus really wants to help Aston out because he feels guilty for something that happened long ago. The trouble is, Aston doesn't want the help he offers...but Elijah won't take no for an answer. In his mind, from his point of view, he's doing Aston a big favor. From Aston's point of view, though, all of Elijah's actions are evil. Trouble ensues, and the rest will have to wait for publication.

[Note: This also goes for heroes. Heroes may think they're doing the right thing every time, but it's all about the particular point of view.]

2. Villians (at least personified ones) are written best when they have a goal that any of us would have as well. Somewhat tied into #1, if a reader understands a villian, they become more real. One of the big things people fall into with this issue is that they think a villian should have a huge, lofty goal, or that the only goal should be to make the hero's life a living hell.

Nothing could be further from the truth. Huge, lofty goals leave the reader thinking ho-hum thoughts while the hero valiantly fights against the villian's efforts. Boring!

On the other hand, some of the best villians out there have had deeply personal goals, like trying to save an ailing child. When the reader is conflicted, not sure whether to root against the villian or for them, the reader becomes more entrenched in the story.

3. Be careful with how you handle your villian at the end of the story. A lot of this will depend on whether you plan a series or a standalone novel, whether you've written the villian as a lovable character or not. Sometimes a writer will want to kill off the villian. I know I did at the end of one of my novels...then come to find out I'd just killed off someone that the reader would want to read about again and again. He was actually an interesting character in his own right.

So, now I have a dead villian who really needs to come back to life. Oops.

So, although this is not an all-inclusive list by any means, hopefully it helps prod the writers amongst us along into making more real, more believable villians.

And hopefully everyone has a Happy Valentine's Day!

***

T. M. Hunter (posting under his ever-popular Aston West moniker) is the author of Heroes Die Young, the latest science-fiction (space opera) sensation from Champagne Books. His Aston West short stories have been featured in the e-mag Ray Gun Revival with his short story "Little White Truths" a top ten finisher in the 2007 Preditors and Editors Readers' Poll. Heroes Die Young is currently nominated for Best-Selling Novel of 2008 over at Champagne Books. He (and Aston) can often be found over at AstonWest.com.

Memorable Kisses

February inspires all sorts of romantic thoughts. I thought I'd entertain you with my most memorable kisses. No worries, this will be a g-rated post.

As an adolescent, I was rather awkward. I hated the way I looked and I was shy and reserved around the opposite sex, so believe it or not, I can count on both hands the number of men I've kissed in a romantic way. Ya, a bit of a wallflower. And now look at me, I write romance; probably due to an absence early on.

My very first romantic kiss occurred when I was fourteen (yep, a late bloomer, too). I signed up for a week at church camp or should I say, my parents signed me up. Either way, I was going alone, without friends as most of my church youth group had signed up for a different week. A very sweet group from Houston befriended me. Why? Because the preacher's son had developed a liking for me. His friend told me and our awkward romance began. I'll never forget him. Greg. He had thick auburn curls, freckles and the most engaging smile. And he liked me. We had a whirlwind courtship. After all, a week isn't very long. We became inseperable. Of course, like any courtship, we went through the beginning stages; eye contact, holding hands, hugging and on the second day, he asked me if he could kiss me. My toes curled and my gut twisted. I nodded. It was a chaste kiss as far as kisses go, but I still remember the sweetness of it. Funny thing, at the end of the week, we both parted without tears, regrets or even an exchange of addresses. Ah the folly of youth. I would so like to know what he's doing now.

My second kiss was a bit more heated in nature, though much shorter. In high school, I had all of three dates and no "steady boyfriends." But, I was very active. In my sophmore year, I attended a girl/boy campout at a Girlscout camp. Very fun. One of the boys there, Steve, flirted with all the girls and I think my entire troop developed a crush on him. I got his mailing address later, and we started a long distance love affair through nothing more than letters. The next year, our football team and his were pitted together in a playoff game. I was thrilled. Not about the game, but about the chance to see Steve. We met at half-time, talked through the entire band performances, then had to say goodbye so he could return to his side and his friends. He took me in his arms and kissed me. My first french kiss. I laugh now, but I remember jumping when I felt his tongue touch mine. I floated for weeks afterwards even though our team lost.

The third most memorable kiss came from "the one that got away." Our relationship started out as really good friends. We were in choir together so had a common bond in music. He was one of those tragic heroes, a man with tragic things in his background. I think we could have been an item, but his mom died that year and he'd just broken up with another of my friends. I content myself with the few dates we did have and the memory of a kiss that knocked my socks off.

My fourth kiss is really more humorous than romantic. I kissed the devil at midnight yell. Too funny. Aggies have a tradition called midnight yell practice. Thousands of students meet in the stadium the night prior to a game and go through a series of cheers and skits to pep everyone up. At midnight, they turn out the lights and you're supposed to kiss the person next to you if you want. My girlfriend and I arrived a bit late, found some seats, and started scoping out the crowd for potential kissers just in case. On the row below me, were a couple of guys dressed up for Halloween. One had on a devil mask. He turned to me and asked if I wanted to share a kiss when the lights went out. I know, in today's society you wouldn't be caught dead agreeing to kiss a total stranger, let alone one who's face was hidden but having little experience kissing and rather intrigued by the notion, I said yes. Egads. Anyway, when the lights went out, he removed his mask, turned and took me in his arms. Oh my, the devil kissed rather well. When he pulled away, I caught sight of a handsome face framed in blond hair. Yep, the devil also looked rather good too.

There were a few other memorable kisses like the one from an escort who taught me to C&W dance, but some kisses should remain guarded and not bandied about. I know, what a tease I am. I hope you will share your most memorable kiss. Inquiry minds would love to know.

The Truth About Valentine's Day

Since Saturday is Valentine’s Day, and many people will be exchanging objects declaring love and devotion, I thought a bit of history about that day might be in order. After all for me, “It’s All About Romance.”

As an author of historical romance, I find research often leads to some startling facts. For example, I recently had occasion to check some facts about Charles, Duke of Orleans.
In 1415, he was stuck in the tower of London following the battle of Agincourt. February 14th was recognized as a special feast day for a Saint Valentine, supposedly martyred for performing outlawed marriages for young Roman soldiers in the 3rd century. So, on that day and separated from his beloved wife, Charles sent her a “valentine” message telling her of his undying love. It is now in a British museum and recognized as the first official valentine.

The idea must have spread because Henry V hired someone to send a “valentine” message of his love to Catherine of Valois. By the 18th century all over England, people of all classes were exchanging little loving remembrances of the day. The settlers brought the idea with them when they came to the American continent and in the early 1700’s people on this side of the Atlantic were exchanging “valentine” messages.

In the middle of the 1800’s the first printed valentine card appeared, made from bits of lace and ribbons. The idea spread and sending a special note or card to someone you loved was no longer as expensive, because the cost of postage decreased considerably.

Today, the United States, United Kingdom, Mexico, Australia and Canada all celebrate Valentine’s Day. So if you think all those cards, candy and flowers are a modern tradition, think again. It all started with the Duke of Orleans, way back in 1415.

Why the Kindle is a Success ... and a Failure

The new version of the Kindle was announced today so I thought this would be an appropriate topic to blog about.

In many ways, the Kindle is a massive success. Demand far exceeded supply of the old version of this eReader and the new version is only better.

• It's easier to use. All reviews so far indicate that the Kindle is even easier to use than its predecessor, eliminating the accidental turning of page, the most common complaint.


• It's smaller, thinner, lighter, and more stylish. Gone is old retro 80's look of the original Kindle.


• It holds more books. The original held over 200 titles, the new one over 1,500.


• Battery life is better. You can now read for up to two weeks with the wireless access turned off on a single charge.


• Crisper display. The new Kindle has 16 shades of grey, 4 times as many as the original.


• It's faster. Page turns are 20% faster.

All of these things add to the core of what made the Kindle so successful the first time. It's easy to read in any light, the free wireless access lets Kindle users access books anywhere, anytime in less than 60 seconds, and it doesn't feel much different from holding an actual book.

However there is one major area where the Kindle fails. Price.

At $359, the Kindle is restricted to avid - and relatively affluent - readers. Admittedly these readers are the early adopters and eventually the price will come down but in the meantime millions of existing and potential readers are left in the cold.

As an author, I want to reach as many readers as possible. While I celebrate the success of the Kindle, I also mourn at its failure. In all likelihood those avid readers who own a Kindle would also be the readers most likely to purchase The Gender Divide.

The Kindle has advanced the future of eReaders but it hasn't done much for eBooks.

Posted by: David Boultbee

The Best and the Worst of Valentine's Day

If you’re married or in a relationship, Valentine’s Day can be a lovely holiday and provide the perfect opportunity to express unrequited love or just get a good roll between the sheets.

However, if you’re single and unattached, the day can be a real nightmare, and embarrassing, to boot.

I’ve decided to compile a few of the things I personally consider to be the best – and the worst – of Valentine’s Day through the ages.

Grade School
Best: Finding your cardboard ‘mailbox’ filled to overflowing with Peanuts cartoon cards showing Sally giving a homemade heart to Linus and boxes of conversation heart candies.
Worst: Opening your mailbox and finding only one card – and it’s from the teacher.

High School
Best: Getting a balloon and flower gram delivered to your home room class and being asked by the hunky football quarterback to the Friday night dance.
Worst: Being asked to deliver the balloon and flower grams because you aren’t going to get one anyway.

College
Best: Being asked to dinner at anywhere other than McDonald’s by the hunky guy who sits at the back of your Algebra 101 class. He even offers to pick you up in his car.
Worst: Your parents come to town so you’re not alone and take you to dinner in a restaurant where you are surrounded by couples making out between courses.

First Job
Best: Watching that huge bouquet of two dozen red roses get delivered along with a big, cuddly teddy bear and having the delivery person look at the attached card and loudly state your name so the entire office can hear.
Worst: Lunch the next day listening to your coworkers’ stories of the most romantic evening of their life while you munch a dry salad and attempt to sink beneath the cafeteria table.

Married Life
Best: Realizing that the honeymoon is not yet over when your husband surprises you with an out-of-town trip to a romantic bed & breakfast in the mountains. When you arrive, you find a bouquet of roses, a chilling bottle of champagne, and a private Jacuzzi tub – all of which get used for more than their original intention.
Worst: Husband coming home from work, plopping down in the front of the TV, and announcing, “Is it a holiday? Get me a beer.”

Ah yes, Valentine's Day. Gotta love it.
Candace Morehouse
www.candacemorehouse.com
www.romancesuspensenovels.com

Hook Em!

The clock is ticking. A potential customer just picked up your book. You have sixty seconds.

Sixty seconds. The time it takes a casual browser to scan your first page. Sixty seconds to make them want to read more, and for you to make a sale. Your cover and title did their work, and the back cover blurb piqued their interest. Now, in the first few paragraphs, you have to deliver the goods.

Sure, you have a lot of back story to generate in order to properly set the mood and pacing. Your story deserves preparation, and there is a lot to explain. Do it in the first page and you are finished. Your reader just moved on to the next book. You have just learned the cardinal rule – your reader’s expectations come first. Somehow, you have to deliver a scene that has impact and fits with your plot’s central theme, all without any prior setup for your character or story. Welcome to the “hook”.

A hook is just what it implies. It is a short scene designed solely to suck a reader in. Whether a prologue or first chapter, the first paragraph is the sharp point I use to jab a reader’s interest with. Then comes the barb in the following paragraphs to make them want to keep reading. While one can have a hook waiting at the end of a chapter to enhance the feeling of “I can’t put the book down.”, I am primarily going to talk about the hook at the very beginning.

Here are the general guidelines I use when crafting a hook:

1. It must be orientated toward action. This can be either physical action, or thought/dialog that raises enough alarm as to make the reader realize something is about to happen. In short, there must be drama. Too many new writers start out with their character in a safe situation – sometimes waking up in a warm bed. Oh yeah – that is really exciting stuff.
2. It must “show” more than “tell”. Nothing slows pacing like narrative and the information dumps they spawn. I try and keep narrative to a minimum, and concentrate more on showing an exciting setting rather than provide any background material. That can come later. This is another spot where new writers trip up. They are so eager to show this world they built, that the hapless reader is subjected to a long history lesson or grand tour of a land they have not had a chance to care about.
3. The scene and incident within it must conform to the general theme of the story. The reader will expect this. The last thing I want is for a reader to think that what they are reading has nothing to do with the title or back cover blurb that drew them in.
4. The scene must not appear to be contrived. Readers are smart enough to recognize that a scene is a red herring – placed there just to grab their interest. The opening scene, for me, should be the foundation upon which the rest of the story is built upon – not some incidental piece of fluff.
5. Building on both #3 and #4, a hook is not the place for me to show off my character. My intent is to show off my character through interaction with the story they are faced with. Taking the reader on a wild hunt just to show how good a hunter the character is means nothing for me if the hunt is not integral to the plot.
6. The hook is where you put your BEST writing foot forward. Perfect grammar. Perfect spelling. Excellent sentence construction. The works. First impressions are final impressions the moment the reader encounters sloppy work. Your entire pristine manuscript can be damned by one misstep at the beginning.
7. Never do flash backs into the past. Your hook must be in the present. Anything else is old news with no drama (your character obviously survived, right?).

So, there you are. Sometimes the hardest part of a story isn’t trying to find an ending, it is to find a suitable place for the beginning. Writers may find that their real story begins three chapters into the novel. So must their hook, which calls for some difficult decisions as you consign several chapters to the cutting room floor.

A word about prologues. Often, writers only think they need them. In many cases, the prologue is really the first chapter. The same rules for the hook apply if you do decide to have a prologue.

Lets see if I practice what I preach - the opening hook for Waiting Weapon:

---

Jaw sagging, Richard Pinn watched the woman drift out of the crumbling inner wall. The apparition was not human, but one of his own vanished race. She wore a white blouse whose sleeves were richly embroidered with tiny brown and green fish. Me’Aukin Totemic symbols, he realized. The woman’s diminutive slender figure was enhanced by a hip-hugging green skirt that swirled around matching evergreen trousers. She had shoulder-length black hair sweeping around a narrow nose and thin lips. Large doe-like eyes seemed to burn with an inner torment. “Jamie?” he whispered.

“Rick?” Andrea’s voice came from over his shoulder. The freckled archeologist walked next to him, dusting dirt off of her rumpled red plaid shirt. “Um...Jamie’s back up at Kenner’s Basin and you’re staring at a wall.”

“I’m looking at a Me’Aukin woman in her late thirties.” Rick blinked his eyes, but the vision didn’t go away. His hallucination turned, paused, and looked over her shoulder at him.

“Meora Co’Oden,” she whispered. “Tanee, th’repes me’oke, du’tene Weth.” Turning, the image vanished into the wall.

“She just said that her name’s Meora from the Family Tanee of Clan Weth.” He looked at Andrea’s widening eyes. Rick gave an uncertain laugh. “I think I just saw a ghost.”

“I think you’re getting out of here,” Andrea replied with a stricken look.

Rick put a gentle, yet firm, hand on her arm. He felt far more fascinated than terrified. “It’s all right.”

“All right?” She pointed down the hall with her light. “You stand there like you’re in a trance, and tell me it’s all right that you just saw a ghost?”

“I don’t know what the hell I saw,” he replied, moving down the hall after the specter. “I do know that she was heading toward the dome room. It could be a hologram.”

“That I couldn’t see or hear?” Anguish pulled at Andrea’s lips as she stepped in front of Rick and turned to block him. “This place is dead, Rick! No activity... nothing!” Her voice softened. “You so badly want to find them, don’t you?”

He took a deep breath. Andrea stabbed to the heart of his desire with her usual accuracy. “Ok, maybe that’s more of what’s going on here.”

“You think?” Andrea snorted. “Your race slaughtered all the humans trying to share this world with them, then ran off leaving you and Jamie stuffed in a jar for a few centuries. That’s enough to make anyone want to see things.”

Rick gave the wall a skeptical look. “Just the same, I’ve hardly got a history of hallucinating.”

“No, but you do have a history of empathic, and possibly even telepathic episodes.”

“Only in those experiments with Jamie back at the Institute...which I’d like to forget, thank you.”

Andrea nodded slowly. “Well that, at least, makes some sense to me. Ghosts don’t. Jamie’s not another world away now. This could be some sort of subconscious communication between you two. Something new that’s manifested since you two parted ways.”

He gave a thin smile. “The only thing communicating between us is how much we can’t stand each other’s company.” Rick gestured down the hall. “Let’s just head down to the dome room. That’s where she seemed to be headed.”

Investment of the Heart - pub date May 1, 2009

Taking the chance to love again can be the most courageous investment a heart can make.


Widow Hallie Barron wants to see her daughter happily married to a young rancher, raise her son, and continue with her uncomplicated existence. When Simon Cole enters her life, her heart and body remind her she’s a woman. She yearns for a love like she once had, but she fears putting her heart at risk.

Due to his conniving ex sister-in-law, Simon Cole is prejudiced against city women and doesn’t believe they belong on a working ranch. He’s set to prove his nephew’s fiancée is a mistake. Yet when he meets the young woman’s mother, he finds himself wishing there was a place for her in his life.

On a ranch in the Hill Country of Texas, love is recognized, lost, and found.

Excerpt:

Simon listened with half an ear, the sounds not much different from the ones of cowboys in the cattle pen, the lowing and whistling often interrupted by a bawling calf or upset heifer.

Draining his first beer, he scanned the gaudy room, taking in the familiar dark red, flocked wallpaper, white tablecloths, and heavy gold drapes pulled back with black tassels. The red velvet swing suspended from the stage was empty. He grinned. Damned if the place wasn’t decked out like an old west bordello, an expensive one. The décor notwithstanding, they served superb steaks.

He ordered another beer and glanced around the room. His gaze stopped at the attractive blonde sitting two tables away. Dressed in a wrinkled type skirt and a silky close-fitting knit top, she sat with her chin propped on her right hand. With her left, she drummed trimmed bare fingernails on the white linen tablecloth that ended almost at her lap. She sipped her iced tea as she surveyed the room, her attention returning to the maitre d’ near the entrance as if expecting him to walk someone to her table.

Yeah, yeah, I know how you feel, honey. It’s hell waiting on someone when you’ve better things to do.

Hell. He had business in town this afternoon. If the woman didn’t hurry up, he’d end up stuck in the city instead of returning to the ranch near Granite Springs. Not a pleasant prospect since he hated the beds in motels. He could call his cousin, Jo Beth. She’d be glad to see him, but her matchmaking was an aggravation he didn’t want to deal with tonight.

A flash of color jerked his attention back to the nearby table. The woman swiveled, swinging her arm over the back of the chair, pulling her silky top tight across lush curves. He caught his breath and almost choked on a mouthful of beer. Jaw length blond hair teased her cheek. Straight white teeth worried her rosy bottom lip. Oh, man. What a fine looking woman. Scanning the area behind her, she appeared to check the people at each table before moving on to the next. When she turned back around, her gaze locked on his.

The pretty blonde blinked as he studied her. Heat flushed her face. She didn’t back down and inspected him in return. His eyes crinkled with mischief, and his shoulders shook as he gave in to silent laughter. He held his beer bottle with both hand, thumbs stroking the neck as if it were a woman’s neck. Her eyes widened, and her jaw dropped as she observed his movements. When her gaze returned to his face, he grinned and winked. She gasped at his arrogance then she bit her lip to keep from laughing.

He watched as she picked up the napkin she’d dropped when she’d turned. For a minute he thought she’d use it for a fan to cool her still red face. But she stopped in mid motion and laid it across her lap.

Thanks for reading.

Linda

http://www.lindalaroque.com/

BOOK IDEA FILE

Although it looks like a mess, hand-written—'scuse me, scribbled words on wrinkled paper [wrinkled 'cause it was crammed into a too-full folder] this is really a very important file. The future of my writing, my career.

When I'm in the midst of a wip [work in progress] all too often a completely separate story idea pops into my head. And I can't write. At least not the story I'm working on. The new idea demands precedence. So the only way I can shut that voice up is by putting the words on paper as fast as I can, stuffing it in the appropriate hanging folder, and slamming the drawer shut. Now I'm free to return to the story on the computer.

Can you imagine the mess the manuscript would be in if the stories co-mingled?

I admit many of those filed pages may never see the light of day. But when I'm finished with one project, I know exactly where to go for a new idea. Or in the case of Noel, a request from my publisher for a Christmas novella brought it back out of the file. The scribbled page had been in there so long the paper was turning yellow. The only reason I searched in the file was to see if a book idea could be converted to a Christmas story.

Though it wasn't a romance—to date that's all I'd written—the story I'd completely forgotten about was perfect, no conversions needed. Two days ago I read Noel's first review, a wonderful review that compared my little lost story to a holiday Hallmark movie without the fluff. Movie? I nearly fell off the chair. A few hours later, the same review site, The Long and the Short of It, sent me an email that Noel was up for Review of the Week. I'll know by tomorrow morning if it won or not, thus far it's in 1st place. That it was even in the running when a few short months ago it was lost in a file is amazing to me. But there's more. On the 1st of every month, Champagne Books updates its website by announcing the top 5 best selling books from the previous month. Noel is on that list, in the number 4 position!

Moral of the story: Don't lose the ideas that can leave your mind as swiftly as it entered. Never know, it just might be a diamond in the rough.

***Update: Noel won Best Book of the Week at LASR
Thanks to everyone who voted. Muaaahh!

Rose Lerma
www.roselerma.com