Writing in My Car

Kindle Fire Department: The View from Here: Kindle Book of the Day for 3/6...

2012-03-06T07:10:00.000-08:00

Morning, Friends! If you haven't checked out Kindle Fire Department yet and you own a Kindle Fire, you are not human. I'm TELLING YOU -- go there now and learn about new, old, free, cheap apps for your Fire. They also feature great e-books... e-books like The View from Here!

Kindle Fire Department: The View from Here: Kindle Book of the Day for 3/6...: When we featured Rachel Howzell 's bestselling glimpse into the darker side of marriage, The View from Here, a few months ago, it was a huge...

Ink - A Handy-Dandy Guide

2012-03-05T09:27:00.001-08:00

To make a world realistic, writers have to learn about all kinds of crazy ish.

Are there birds that can fly backwards?

Play-Dough: why?

Which bugs are first to arrive at a dead body?

I write stories about city-living and the people who inhabit that world. Some of those people are gang members. Since I no longer personally know gang members, I turn to other resources for information. Which leads me to:

Tattoos!

Yes, there are meanings behind those tattoos and Gawker posted a story about the comprehensive document Canadian border officials keep on gang-related tats!

Eight-plus pages of goodness, from Crips to Russian gangs.

Click away, my friends, and read!

By the way, hummingbirds are the only birds that can fly backwards, Play-Dough was originally created to clean wallpaper, and blow flies come first.

Trust, It Ain't About the Money

2012-02-29T07:10:00.001-08:00

What ain't about money?

Writing.

Writers don't write to make lots of money.

Okay, I shouldn't generalize. It only takes one red car to kill the statement 'All cars are white.' Or one literary novelist makin' it rain up in the hizzouse to prove me wrong.

So: many writers, the writers I know, the writers I admire, the writers I friend on Facebook, the writers who still have day jobs, don't write just to make money.

Money is nice. A nice, "Wow, and I get this, too?!" Money is validation. Money is gravy ... and I like gravy. In a house with a mouse, in a car, near and far. I like gravy. But I made gravy, ahem, money, before selling novels. Doing discovery for ARCO. Stocking the Levi's wall at Miller's Outpost. Stuffing envelopes for almost every non-profit organization I've worked for. Anyone can make money. That dog that was in 'The Artist'? He's made a lot of money. Whitney Houston, rest her soul, has made more money in her death than I've made in my life. So, yeah: Dead People see Dead Benjamins.

So, if it ain't about the ends, why is it about?

I love words. I love story. I enjoy my disbelief when observing people and their actions and I want to share that disbelief through the best way I know how: with a pen and pad. I sing but I don't pen great songs like Bernie Taupin. I play piano but I don't compose like Gershwin. I write.

And I write because I must. Because I can. Because someone has to tell you, yes you, that there's a dead body (real or imagined) in that alley over there because you need to know so that we can all stop the monster who's doing scary s*&t to other citizens.

And books are my vehicle for doing that, a modern day, Here Thar Be Monsters!

I hope that makes sense.

And yes, this is a reactionary post.

And no, they didn't say nothin' 'bout my momma.

Great Review for NOKYH!!!

2012-02-18T15:17:00.000-08:00

Nina Sankovitch of Read All Day just posted an INCREDIBLE review for No One Knows You're Here. I was in tears as I read it. For real, though. I was. Here's is the part that really... whew.

Howzell is the Sue Grafton of her generation, with a bit more social conscience and street cred. Like Grafton’s Kinsey Milhone, Syeeda is determined to be her own woman, solving crimes and facing down danger, and protecting her own body — and heart — as ferociously as she hunts down bad guys. I hope to see more, much more of Syeeda (Ms. Howzell, you hear me?) and I look forward to reading another novel starring the scrappy, savvy, and stalwart Syeeda.

Read the rest of the review here.

A Library for the New World

2012-01-31T07:30:00.000-08:00

So NASA found a planet like Earth last month or whenever.

Yes, yes, yes! That means more closet space, more Starbucks and a new location to Facebook about. 'Rachel checked in at the AMC Theater on the south side of Kepler 22-B." Hopefully, Groupon will offer this as a Getaway Deal cuz my bags, they are PACKED!

Isn't she pretty?

But what will I read when I get there? Kepler-22B may not have WiFi capability so my Kindle will be useless since I read all the books loaded onto it once I awakened from hyper-sleep and had to read during the rest of the journey over. So: old-school books -- we have to send a capsule full of them for the first public library in New Los Angeles, Kepler-22B (Okay, and we'll have to have a write-in contest maybe sponsored by our new overlords to change that name. Sounds like something I should pour into my camshafts).

What should we stock?

Here are my ten picks:

1. The Bible (of course, cuz we need rules and poetry and stories about sex, redemption and salvation in this new world)
2. The Joy of Sex (I'm sure we'll lose a few space travelers so we'll need to repopulate) by Alex Comfort
3. Green Eggs and Ham by Dr. Seuss
4. The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein
5. The Odyssey by Homer
6. Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy
7. The Color Purple by Alice Walker
8. The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka
9. Don Quixote by Miguel Cervantes
10. Charlotte's Web by E.B. White

What other books should we stock?

To Ill or Not to Ill...

2012-01-31T07:19:00.001-08:00

So there's this awesome back-and-forth going on between the New York Times crossword editor and this freelance writer about the true definition of 'illin'.

From: Julieanne Smolinski
Date: Sat, Jan 7, 2012 at 5:05 PM
Subject: Crossword Puzzle Correction
To: nytnews@nytimes.com

Dear New York Times,

The clue for 28 down reads "Wack, in hip-hop," and the answer provided is "ILLIN." These are not the same things, at all!

Sincerely,

Julieanne Smolinski,
Not Even a Hip-Hop Expert

Click on over to Gawker for the magila!

And Now, I'll Have to Kill You...

2012-01-31T07:19:00.000-08:00

Writers have secrets. Oh yes, we do. We're just like the Masons and the Illuminati but in more comfortable shoes and moleskins in our back pockets.

Wanna know a few?

Okay!

Here's this great list I stumbled upon from a blog called Aliventures:

Secret #1: Writing is Hard

Writing is easy: All you do is sit staring at a blank sheet of paper until drops of blood form on your forehead. (Gene Fowler)

There’s a myth – not just in the writing world – that if you’re good at something, it’ll be easy. And established writers, me included, do have writing sessions where the words flow smoothly.

Read the rest here.

One secret of mine that didn't make the list: Writers have an obsession with writing supplies.

I'm a pen snob. And pad snob. Don't just throw me a Bic or a regular #2 pencil. I need Uniball Fine or Micro and those blue art pencils, Staedtler Mars Lumograph Lead H. I would enjoy a gift card to Office Depot rather than a card from Best Buy. New pens! Fresh legal pads. Notebooks of every size! I'm swooning now as I write.

Another secret: We're watching you.
Yeah, you. You, too. Where the hell do you think we get that character who picks their teeth with a matchbook cover and then eats whatever he finds? Or the character who wears some type of sequined article of clothing every day? Or the character with the verbal tick, the one who says, 'Right, right' as you talk? YOU that's who. A writer who says that you're not a part of the story is a writer who lies and whose writing probably sucks. (Or not.)

So you writers out there. What secrets do you have?

Free Tomorrow, Oh Yeah, Oh Yeah, It's Your Birthday

2012-01-27T20:07:00.000-08:00

Just a head's up, my reading friends. The View from Here goes free all day tomorrow on Amazon, January 28!!

I'm excited about the free thing. Does it show??

Bargain eBook Hunter

2012-01-26T07:25:00.000-08:00

The View from Here is the Book of the Day for this great site! Bargain eBook Hunter features incredible reads at low, low prices! Please go on over and make yourselves comfortable.

Kindle Fire Department: The View from Here: Book of the Day

2012-01-26T07:05:00.000-08:00

Kindle Fire Department: The View from Here: Book of the Day: We've got a great book of the day lined up for you in Rachel Howzell's The View from Here. Highly rated and highly gripping, this look at t...

The Writing Life with Deatri King-Bey

2012-01-24T07:20:00.000-08:00

I love the Internet. Sometimes. And I love Facebook. Sometimes. You meet a lot of awesome people on-line, and a lot of great writers.

I met writer Deatri King-Bey earlier this month and we thought we'd share each others writing life on our blogs.

Dee had great questions and I'd like to share my interview with you!

Here's one question:

When did you begin writing? I was a shy child and didn’t really share with anyone how I felt about things and kept all my angst and worry to myself. And then, my GAT (Gifted and Talented) teacher Ms. Anderson bought me a fabric-covered journal when I was in third grade. And that was that. I haven’t stopped writing since. My first story was called “Blue Monday” and I still have it! I was telling dark, sad stories even as a third-grader.

Please click on over to Dee's site and read the rest. Then, tour the rest of her site and check out her books! (I'm being bossy, aren't I? Telling you to do this and to do that? Can't help it -- I'm a wife and mother.) So, yes, her books, please check them out. She's also part of the writing team L.L. Reaper.

Thanks for inviting me over, Dee!

What I Saw...

2012-01-24T07:12:00.000-08:00

On Saturday, January 14 around noon, two signs during my bike ride (yes, I bought a bike, no, I hadn't been bike riding in 11 years, yes, my ass hurt like it had been stomped by trolls, no, I couldn't even relax on the couch later cuz my heart was beating so fast, yes, I'll do it again and no, not this weekend because it's too... too... bright?) from Playa del Rey to El Segundo with my daughter and husband.

So, yeah, it says Tsunami Hazard Zone. My seven-year old freaks out whenever we see these signs around Marina del Rey. And while we kind of talk her off the ledge, we know that anything's possible even tsunamis. And I like the No Stopping sign beneath it. Don't dilly-dally cuz a wave's a'comin'!

The next sign technically wasn't at the beach. It was afterwards, when we drove to Honeybaked Ham, the one by Big Lots and Winchell's in Culver City.

Okay, so the big sign isn't what made me take the picture. It's the sign that borders the top of the building.

It says Secret Pole Dance Studio.

...

What the heck does that mean?

I'd never noticed it until now, with my heart beating so fast.

So, I went to the Googles and lo! The Secret Pole Dance Studio is a Thing!

OH. EM. Awesome. Sounds like a field trip for me and my girls!

But then, will I get pole burn? Guess that will re-direct the pain from bike-butt-blues.

My take-away from The Secret Pole Dance Studio? They need a better sign. And maybe not next to the doughnut shop. I had to pretend not to hear my second-grader ask what is a pole and what do you do on it? That's a fourth grade question answered during that special assembly and you giggle and blush throughout the entire thirty minutes.

Right?

From One Geek to Another

2012-01-18T12:52:00.000-08:00

Ever wonder what a male swan is called?

Yeah, me neither.

Ever wonder why a writer writes what she writes?

All the time.

Wonder why I write what I write? What inspires me? Then, please pop over to Girls Gone Geeky to read my Guest Post.

All things inspire me – really, they do. Both the crime sections and the fluffy stories in the newspaper inspire me. I read everything. I’m such a book slut. Right now, I have in my nightstand stacks and Kindle a variety of things: a mystery by James Patterson, a book about e. coli bacteria, a true crime book about a murdered mother, and a book about an American family in Nazi Germany.

There's more! Oh, yes there is more. So please click on over. And if you're a Geek Girl like me, then you're OBLIGATED to check out this awesome site filled with geek things and book reviews and so on.

And a male swan is called a 'cob.'

The more you know, indeed.

Don't Tread on Me!

2012-01-18T07:16:00.000-08:00

We don't want no stinkin' SOPA (Stop On-line Piracy Act).

From the ACLU (my old bosses) website:

The bill is aimed at taking down sites that allow Internet users to acquire pirated versions of original artistic content online. At a recent hearing, the ACLU expressed opposition to the bill because it would allow for the takedown of non-infringing content along with infringing content, in violation of the First Amendment.

As a writer, can't have NOBODY messing 'round with my First Amendment rights (that's freedom of expression for those needing a rights refresher).

To find out what you can do to stop SOPA -- other than supporting the WIKI black-out, please visit here. And if you have some 'thing' against the ACLU, then go here.

Kindle Fire Department: Gigantic Blast: Today's Free App, Plus BOTD: No On...

2012-01-16T07:07:00.000-08:00

Kindle Fire Department, one of the most helpful sites ever for the Kindle Fire -- and some of the nicest, most helpful people I've ever met -- are featuring No One Knows You're Here along with its Free App of the Day:

Kindle Fire Department: Gigantic Blast: Today's Free App, Plus BOTD: No On...: Today's highly acclaimed book of the day comes to us from thriller author Rachel Howzell , who has been mentioned in O Magazine and Publishe...

This site is a MUST if you have a Fire. And there's a Facebook page, too, and any questions you have about the device? They answer them.

Really. Kindle Fire Department is awesome.

What I Saw...

2012-01-09T08:12:00.000-08:00

on December 20, 2011, at almost four in the afternoon, at the intersection of Bixel and that street whose name I can never remember but it runs east-west and you can hop onto the 110 South there. I sat at the red light in my car.

That's when my former co-worker Hal walked past me.

I sat up in my seat and said, "That's Hal."

But I didn't blow my horn and call out his name. Just wondered why he was walking in this part of town since I had heard he was working over on Sunset now.

Did he hear the crazy homeless man who panhandled at this light shouting at him?

He looked the same as he had when I saw him last, back in 2007. Thin. Too thin. Same style khakis. Same haircut. Hal.

If I blew my horn, would he remember me?

I look the same as I had back then, too. There is that single strand of gray hair in my bangs that wasn't there then...

Was I memorable enough?

Maybe. Maybe not.

And if he didn't recognize me, then that would be awkward.

And so I didn't blow my horn. Just watched him walk east until the light turned green and I drove past that street whose name I can never remember and into the crowd of car.

I think about Hal at least twice at week. The iris bulbs he gave me to plant almost ten years ago are always blooming.

A Little of This... A Little of That

2012-01-07T10:26:00.000-08:00

Wanna read a sample of No One Knows You're Here and from other talented writers? Then, check out Jake Bible's site Sample Saturday! So many words, so many stories...

What I Saw...

2012-01-05T14:21:00.000-08:00

on December 31, 2011, a little past two in the afternoon, on the corner of Bixel Avenue and Wilshire Boulevard as I waited in my car for the light to change from red to green, a man lay dead, his arms out like that and his legs twisted like an out-of-work mannequin. I couldn't see his face, just the back of his head and black hair. A small crowd had formed around him, not too close. The dead man wore a red plaid shirt, black pants and black, raggedy sneakers -- not the dress of someone working in a highrise, at a desk, or working at all.

I heard sirens coming from the west as I waited in my car at the light that knew not to change.

The sirens got closer and a black woman in braids and a postal worker's uniform stepped away from the huddle surrounding the dead man. She held out her arm, hailing the ambulance.

The red rig turned left and stopped at the curb.

Like Lazarus, the dead man came back to life. He was a white man -- I had not known that until he lifted and then, slightly turned his head. That side of his face, that side that had lain on the asphalt, resembled hamburger meat and the blood was almost too bloody to be believable in a city of Make Believe.

The EMT climbed out of the rig, in no hurry, la-la-la-la-la. His partner had already pulled out a slick red back-board from the cabin. Red rig, red board, red light, blood. So much red. Both paramedics looked too young to rescue anyone and that back-board resembled a sled named Rosebud.

The light turned green.

With great reluctance, I crossed Wilshire Boulevard.

I found my phone and called David.

He didn't answer.

I broke the cell-phone law and phone to ear, left him a rambling message about the dead-not-dead man just laying there, in the middle of the afternoon, can you believe it, call me back.

I ended the call and drove into the sun, onto the 110 Freeway, wondering...

Myst Noir

2012-01-01T10:12:00.000-08:00

In my inter web-journeys to share NOKYH, I discovered Myst Noir, a site managed by the lovely Angela Henry, that features African-American mysteries! Yes, I know! I was THRILLED. After clicking around, I contacted Angela and she graciously agreed to include NOKYH on her site. So please check out Myst Noir -- it's a great site featuring great novelists and mysteries. And here's a link just for you:

Featured Title for January: No One Knows You're Here By Rachel Howzell

It Just Didn't 'Happen'...

2011-12-28T10:32:00.000-08:00

Happy happy and merry merry!

Hope y'all are having a restful holiday. I am -- and it included laundry, dishes and pirates. Really, pirates.

Ever wonder what made me want to write about serial killers and dead hookers and betrayals and hot detectives?

Yeah?

Well, check out the interview I did with Hydra Publications!

One question was: Have you ever hated something you wrote? 

My response: I hate everything I write… until I read it later and realize, ‘Wow, that [scene, line, plot shift] was clever. Who wrote that? How can I do it again?’ It’s difficult for me to read my stories because the internal editor is always at her desk, tsking at something bad I’ve done.

To read the rest, pop on over to Hydra Publications. If you have a question that I didn't answer, leave a comment and I promise to get you the answer!

Frugal Find of the Day!

2011-12-22T09:41:00.000-08:00

No One Knows You're Here is today's Frugal Find of the Day. Pop on over and find this and other great deals on ebooks!

2011-12-21T08:09:00.000-08:00

Five Books that Influenced Me Most
by Chicki Brown

Thanks for inviting me to share with your readers, Rachel. If there’s one thing I love to talk about, it’s books. So when you asked me to talk about five books that have influenced me, I got all geeked!

Fifteen – Beverly Cleary
I must have been in the sixth or seventh grade when I read this book, my very first romance. I copied this description from Amazon.com because it explains why a 13-year-old would love it:

“It seems too good to be true. The most popular boy in school has asked Jane out -- and she's never even dated before. Stan is tall and good-looking, friendly and hardworking -- everything Jane ever dreamed of. But is she ready for this?

Suppose her parents won't let her go? What if she's nervous and makes a fool of herself? Maybe he'll think she's too young. If only she knew all the clever things to say. If only she were prettier. If only she were ready for this...”

Need I say more?

Left Behind Series – Jerry Jenkins & Tim LaHaye
Once I read the first book in this series, it put a chillingly realistic spin on what I already believed from the Bible. The events in the books come directly from biblical accounts but are embellished for fiction’s sake. This series is a wonderful yet terrifying modern account of Christian beliefs on the end times.

Milk in My Coffee – Eric Jerome Dickey
I had never read a romance written by a man before, and this contemporary interracial story made me a sold-out fan of Mr. Dickey’s work. The fact that it was written in first person with two points of view intrigued me and was partially responsible for my decision to write a few of my own novels in first person.

Topaz – Beverly Jenkins
Historical novels had never interested me on bit until a friend at Georgia Romance Writers insisted I read one of Ms. Jenkins’ black historical romances. In addition to writing emotional, sexy accounts, her attention to detail and research into actual African-American history, have made me a fan for life. The fact that Ms. Jenkins puts her research at the end of each book is just the icing on the cake.

Dark Lover – J. R. Ward
Until three years ago, I also had never read a paranormal romance. This is why Dark Lover was special and unique to me. I grew up watching Bela Lugosi’s Dracula on Creature Features as a kid, so vampires have always given me the creeps. But not the grown, sexy, urban males of Ward’s Black Dagger Brotherhood series. Once I read this first book, she had me by the throat (pun intended). Every book in this fabulous series is sitting on my keeper shelf.

Rachel says: Thanks for your list, Chicki! Beverly Cleary continues to be a favorite of mine -- I still have Ramona the Brave, the one I bought back in 1979 at the Scholastic Book Fair in my school's library. When she is old enough to fully appreciate it, I will gift it to my daughter.

Be on the look-out for Chicki's new releases on January 2. Until then, you can visit her at a few places:
Website: http://www.chicki663.webs.com
Personal Blog: http://sisterscribbler.blogspot.com
Twitter: http://twitter.com/@Chicki663
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/chicki.brown

What's on your list?

25 Things Every Writer Should Know

2011-12-20T10:32:00.000-08:00

Writers are usually smart people. The best of us read. And we read a lot. I mean, reading novels, matchboxes, the sides of buses... run away quickly if you meet a writer who doesn't read. There is no truth in him/her! Anyhoo...

Although we tend to be know-it-alls, we do not know it all. Gasp! And don't tell my husband I just wrote that because our sixteen-year relationship is built upon me knowing it all. But I don't, especially about my craft.

And I'm sure you don't. Don't be offended. You don't. And because we are all in this together, I'd like to share a post from a blog titled Terrible Minds that speaks gospel: 25 Things Every Writer Should Know.

My favorite is Number 13:

Cultivate Calluses

Put differently, harden the fuck up, soldier. (And beard the fuck on, while we’re at it.) The writing life is a tough one. Edits can be hard to get. Rejections, even worse. Not everybody respects what you do. Hell, a lot of people don’t even care. Build up that layer of blubber. Form a mighty exoskeleton. Expect to be pelted in the face with metaphorical (er, hopefully metaphorical) ice-balls. It’s a gauntlet. Still gotta walk it, though.

Are there other rules that you've discovered that aren't on this list?

Need Reviews for Your New Book?

2011-12-16T08:51:00.000-08:00

I've used this fabulous website to find potential reviewers for The View from Here and No One Knows You're Here.

As a special holiday gift pour vous, I thought I'd share it with you.

http://www.stepbystepselfpublishing.net/reviewer-list.html

Boom! You're welcome!

Oh, yeah. Buy my books. Did you know you can now gift books on Nook? Yes, you can.

And happy holidays!

The Definition of Love « Thought Catalog

2011-12-15T11:56:00.000-08:00

So, I stumbled upon StumbleUpon. I know, tardy to the party.

And I stumbled upon this incredible piece about what love is.

The Definition of Love « Thought Catalog

Sometimes, it's hard to show 'love' and not 'tell' love when creating a character. This helps getting 'unstuck.'

One of the best pieces about 'love' I've ever read.

Black Kindle - - - African American Books on the Kindle: 99 Cents Baby!!! Its only 99 Cents

2011-12-14T08:39:00.000-08:00

Interested in African-American Kindle reads that don't cost much? Please check out this blog I discovered while being Dr. Google this morning...

Black Kindle - - - African American Books on the Kindle: 99 Cents Baby!!! Its only 99 Cents: NUMBER 101 I know I’m behind. I got so much to do and it ain’t shopping for Christmas. My list is short, very short, my kid. I have an i...

If You Like Mysteries, Boy, Do I Have a Site For You!

2011-12-08T15:01:00.001-08:00

So not only do the good people over at Kindle Mystery Authors feature novelists that write mysteries, my favorite genre of ALL TIME, they are featuring me and No One Knows You're Here RIGHT NOW.

Please visit. Discover new writers. Discover great books. You'll be happy that you did!

2011-12-08T07:51:00.001-08:00

Five Books that Influenced Me
by Joel Arnold

In a way, every book I’ve ever read has had some influence on me – at least on a subconscious level. Even a poorly written book, one that barely engages the cerebral cortex (or the ‘little grey cells’ as Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot often says) at the very least makes you realize, “I can do better than that!”

So here is my list.

A House with a Clock in its Walls by John Bellairs
Not only did this children’s novel introduce me to horror literature, it also introduced me to artist Edward Gorey, whose illustrations were the perfect compliment to the novel.

Where the Red Fern Grows by Wilson Rawls
I read this in the third or fourth grade and remember how completely immersed I was in this story of Billy and his two dogs, Old Dan and Little Ann. It’s about struggle, survival, love, grief and acceptance – a lot of tough concepts for a kid, but the story is unforgettable. I hope I can write something half this powerful some day.

The Shining by Stephen King
Not only did this novel introduce me to Stephen King, it also taught me a lot about writing – about pacing and the rhythm of words and sentences. It also cemented my love for all things that go bump in the night.

Writing Down the Bones by Natalie Goldberg
Of all the books on writing I’ve read, I feel this one is the best for those beginning on their writing journey. It’s not so much about the writing craft as it is about freeing your mind up and letting the words flow, which is an important concept for those writers starting out, and is a great wake-up call for writers experiencing writers’ block.

Lonesome Dove by Larry McMurtry
I’m not even a fan of western novels, but this is probably one of my top three favorite novels of all time. The scope of this story is breathtaking and so well written and crafted, the characters so vivid and brilliant, I’m still in awe at this literary accomplishment. Its influence on me is simply that I wish to be able to write something as good as this someday.

Writing my own novel – Northwoods Deep – inspired me in that I felt like I was able to somewhat successfully write a horror novel with emotional depth, vivid settings and complex characters that – at least I hope – gives chills to those who read it. The novel itself was inspired (very loosely) by Hansel & Gretel as well as some Native American folklore and an early image I couldn’t shake out of my head of an old man creeping up the steps of a cellar, lifting a trap door and ascending into an old cabin in the woods. What exactly was he hiding?

Here’s the description of Northwoods Deep:
Deep in the north woods, two sisters become lost; one stalked by a murderous ex-husband, the other unable to rid herself of the leeches that appear mysteriously on her skin.

All are drawn to an old, dilapidated cabin.

Inside lives an old man with awful urges, accompanied by a Rottweiler possessed by something…unnatural.

But it’s what resides beneath the cabin that they should really be worried about.

Please join award-winning author Joel Arnold on a ride over the river and through the woods straight into terror in his newest novel, Northwoods Deep.

Kindle version:
http://www.amazon.com/Northwoods-Deep-ebook/dp/B003UHVXCE

For other ereaders:
www.smashwords.com/books/view/18433

Print version:
http://www.amazon.com/Northwoods-Deep-Joel-Arnold/dp/1463587686

My blog:
http://authorjoelarnold.blogspot.com/

Rachel says: Thanks for your list, Joel! The same happened for me with Lonesome Dove -- had never read or even liked Westerns, but this one... And then, I had to read all of McMurtry's writing! And Stephen King... can't say enough about how he's influenced me as a reader and writer.

What's on your list?

You Changed Me

2011-12-06T08:28:00.000-08:00

Books are powerful things. I don't say that cuz I write them. I don't say that cuz I read them.

Think about it.

The fatwa on Salman Rushdie.

The book burnings in Nazi Germany.

Influenced some of the greatest movies ever made including Dracula, No Country for Old Men and The Wizard of Oz.

America's banning of books by Judy Blume, Toni Morrison, Alice Walker, Mark Twain, Richard Wright, Aldous Huxley, Stephen King, Joseph Heller, R.L. Stine, J.K. Rowling, Maya Angelou, Truman Capote and on and on and on and on and on....

Books influence how I write, how I think about life and also informs me of how others view life. For the next few weeks, I'll be sharing with you books that have changed my life. Other writers will also share with you books that affected them as well as how a book they wrote changed them in some way. Feel free to comment on influential books in your life -- and if you're interested in writing your own post for Writing in My Car, send me an email at rhowzell@gmail.com!

Until then,here's my list (which I'll add to cuz THERE BE SO MANY, OMG!):

The Holy Bible
Lucky by Jackie Collins
Devil in a Blue Dress by Walter Mosley
Flowers in the Attic by V.C. Andrews
Are You There God, It's Me, Margaret? by Judy Blume
Forever by Judy Blume
It by Stephen King
Johnny Got His Gun by Dalton Trumbo
Sula by Toni Morrison
Waiting to Exhale by Terry McMillan
Mystic River by Dennis Lehane

What say you, book-lover?

A new iWay to get NOKYH

2011-12-01T20:11:00.001-08:00

No One Knows You're Here is now available on iTunes!!!

It's ALIVE!!!

2011-11-22T08:59:00.001-08:00

No One Knows You're Here is ALIVE!!!

You can buy it RIGHT NOW on Amazon or Smashwords. The Nook and Kobo versions will be available soon!

And please visit the book's Facebook page and 'like' it!

Do You Like to Read for Less?

2011-11-21T08:21:00.001-08:00

And do you like chatting cyber-ly with writers from everywhere?

Pop on over to Authors on the Cheap. I am one of five featured writers this week. You'll find good readin' over in them parts.

2011-11-16T08:39:00.001-08:00

Sooooo exciting!

Really, it is.

No One Knows You're Here now has a Facebook page.

Go visit it. Please?

There will be updates on the book, announcements about giveaways and such, interesting things.

For realz.

Let's Talk About Characters

2011-11-04T14:32:00.000-07:00

Characters shouldn't be perfect. Characters who are perfect are BORING. Snow White? Bitch is BORING. But the what's-her-face, Ursula from The Little Mermaid. Oh yeah, more of her. Vikki from One Life to Live was only interesting when she became Nikki. And Tyler Perry's version For Colored Girls? Which character did you want to watch? The social worker (played by beautiful Kerry Washington (hi, Kerry, please play Nicole if View ever becomes a movie. xoxx) - or The Ho' (played by gorgeous Thandie Newton - hi, Thandie, please play Leilani if View ever becomes a movie. xoxx)

Lionel Shriver recently wrote an article about this.

Because in real life, people are not always perfectly charming. I try to duplicate in fiction the complex, contradictory, and infuriating people I meet on the other side of my study door. When fiction works, readers can develop the same nuanced, conflicted relationships to characters that they have to their own friends and family. I’m less concerned that you love my characters than that you recognise them. Human beings have rough edges. Authors who write exclusively about ethical, admirable, likeable characters are not writing about real people.

In The View from Here, Nicole is a bit whiny, insecure, a bitch in many ways. I BET you know someone like that.

In A Quiet Storm, Stacy is self-deprecating and enables her sister, putting her husband second and running off to save her sister at all costs. Until she doesn't.

Ahem.

Who are your favorite flawed characters, in film, literature or television?

2011-11-04T09:27:00.000-07:00

Nathan Bransford shared this article from GigaOM about the death of book publishers:

Amazon executive Russell Grandinetti gave the most succinct comment about the new world that publishers find themselves in: a wakeup call that should be posted in giant letters in every publishing house and agency. In an interview about Amazon’s moves into signing authors directly, he told the New York Times:

[T]he only really necessary people in the publishing process now are the writer and reader. Everyone who stands between those two has both risk and opportunity.

New e-Novel a'Comin'

2011-11-03T08:35:00.000-07:00

I've been silent. Cuz I've been working. On what? you ask?

Drum roll, please.....

In collaboration with Beyond the Page Publishing, my new e-novel will be published in time for Thanksgiving.

Here's a little more about No One Knows You're Here:

Three weeks out of cancer surgery, crime reporter Syeeda McKay is in the pursuit of Los Angeles’ most active serial killer. Over the last twenty years, the Phantom Slayer has hunted African-American prostitutes working in one of the worst parts of South Los Angeles, killing eight victims in the alleys off Western Avenue, and then disappearing into the shadows. But Syeeda doesn’t know that the killer has turned his sights on her. Detective Adam Sherwood, a hotshot investigator with the Robbery-Homicide Division of the LAPD, has been handed the Phantom Slayer cases, and together, he and Syeeda must figure out who is doing the killing… before Syeeda becomes his next victim.

And here's the cover which was designed by my husband David Hall -- who also designed the cover for The View from Here. (Psst! Need a cover for your novel. Let me know -- I'll hook you up, man!)

I will keep you posted on all thing No One Knows You're Here aka NOKYH as well as other book-related news-es.

Yelping with Cormac McCarthy

2011-09-19T08:35:00.000-07:00

And I discovered this on Pajiba who discovered it from someplace else and I'm re-posting cuz I think it's awesome.Called Yelping with Cormac McCarthy. Here's a bit about 'his' trip to Ikea:I went to the damndest store I ever saw with my son and my daughter in law shortly after my granddaughter was born. Had to be the biggest furniture store in the world. Showroom floor with these little rooms all done up you could walk through. I felt like I was trespassing. My son and his wife were arguing about I don’t know what so I hung back a bit and before long I lost them. I ended up next to a wall of chairs. Maybe 30 chairs on shelves all lined up. I guess I stood there for a long time just looking at them. These entries are the clever work of EDW Lynch, and it's some of the funniest writing I've read.

Hello, Again, Hello

2011-09-19T08:23:00.000-07:00

As Ned Flanders would say, "Heidi-ho, neighborino!"I've been away for a long time, huh. According the Blogger, since March.I haven't been idle, though. Nope. Not in the least. Writing, writing, reading, writing some more, trip to Disneyworld, conference, writing and reading. And if you're into true crime, I've got some book recommendations for ya! Oh, yeah, my mind was filled with all kinds of unfortunate yet provocative stories. Next post. Promise!And! And I'll have exciting news about my next release No One Knows You're Here.For now, I'll leave you with a sign -- I won't tell you where I took it but I don't think it matters. It would be blech wherever it hung.

Writing in my Car... with Nicholas J. Ambrose

2011-03-28T08:12:00.000-07:00

Dialogue Dos and Don’ts

One of the things that I tend to struggle with is dialogue. Ironically, my trouble with dialogue doesn’t come from the dialogue itself – but the action that takes place around it. For a lot of writers, I suspect the problem is the same.

To write, I believe you have to be very adept at picturing things visually. When you’re in the middle of writing a scene, that scene should be playing out in your head. The same goes for anything you write – any piece of background or scenery, any of your characters, any action, and any dialogue. When I write, the scene plays like a movie in my mind.

That’s useful, because it means you can get everything down as you’re picturing it. As something happens in your mind, you can describe that action.

Enter dialogue, and with it, a problem.

My problem comes down to sometimes being too visual-minded. When I’m writing dialogue, I like to convey the action happening around it – and when I was newer to writing, still developing my style and voice, before I started to really hone the craft, I used to convey the action too much.

Cue many instances of dialogue brimming overfull with tags like ‘cried’ and ‘shouted’ and ‘yelled’ and ‘whispered’ and ‘muttered’ and so on ad infinitum. Cue even more instances of dialogue where each line is broken up by a snippet of meaningless action – someone turning to someone else, looking up sharply, swinging kicks, moving across rooms, staring into space. Conversation turned from conversation to something else entirely, the flow entirely broken to pieces.

This is something I still struggle with from time-to-time, although I am getting much better. Sometime after writing my first couple of novels, I began to read more, and started to pay attention to dialogue and conversation in books. Instead of ceaseless tags, a lot of dialogue is a perfect mix: subtle pieces of action peppered throughout, a scattering of tags to indicate the way someone is speaking (although you should try to use ‘said’ most, if you do, as it’s read but not consciously taken in), but mostly just solid dialogue. It was exactly what it should be: an exchange.

Think about what your characters are saying, rather than doing, when you write your dialogue. Try to turn that visual brain of yours down a notch, or you risk ruining the thing entirely. Remember that writing is art, and you should paint with subtle brush strokes and leave the rest to suggestion and imagination. Don’t insult your reader and spell every little thing out for them – let them put the picture together for themselves.

And if it doesn’t come out perfect? Well, no sweat – that’s what the second draft is for.

***

Nicholas, thanks so much for sharing all this. I love writing dialogue and I often eavesdrop on conversations between real people to get the flow down, the equivocations and half-lies, the hearing and not listening rhythm. Then, I read it aloud. Elmore Leonard is the KING of dialogue.

For you, Reader-Friend, please visit Nicholas at his blog, An Author's Journey and his site Regarding the Hive (pretty cool title, huh?). And. And! His book Progenitor is available at Amazon for only 99 cents. Check it out and tell him I sent you!

The View from Here Gets Italian Love!

2011-03-15T08:20:00.000-07:00

Recently, I cyber-chatted with lovely Italian blogger Serena Gobbo over at her site, Librini (little books). We covered writing, books, multitasking, all of it.

Please pop on over. Serena translated the interview just for you!

Rachel

Fun with Sign Language

2011-03-05T08:57:00.000-08:00

Well, not this time, not really. More like phone language. Specifically, auto-correct.

You will laugh.

Rachel Howzell – The View from Here

2011-03-05T08:56:00.000-08:00

Rachel Howzell – The View from Here is today's featured post on The Indie Spotlight.

How great is this?

Stop on over and read more about other great indie authors.

Rachel

The Frugal eReader: February's Ten Most Popular Frugal Finds!

2011-03-01T12:33:00.000-08:00

The Frugal eReader: February's Ten Most Popular Frugal Finds!: "Below are the Ten Most Popular Frugal Finds Under Nine* from The Frugal eReader for the month of February! 1 ~ The Secret Diary of..."

The View from Here is on the list! Hooray, and thanks to those who helped make this possible.

Rachel

Spalding's Racket: The View From Here by Rachel Howzell - General Fic...

2011-02-25T08:23:00.000-08:00

Spalding's Racket: The View From Here by Rachel Howzell - General Fic...: "Nicole Baxter has always tried to control every element of her life, but that control is slipping away. She has issues. Abandonment issues. ..."

Ah, Spalding's Racket: another awesome place to find awesome ebooks. Nick has four books listed today, including mine!

Rachel

The Frugal eReader: Presenting Today's Sponsor ~ Rachel Howzell

2011-02-25T08:20:00.000-08:00

The Frugal eReader: Presenting Today's Sponsor ~ Rachel Howzell: "Sponsored Post Rachel Howzell's Frugal Find Under Nine: Description:The View from Here focuses on the beauties and hardships of marriage; ..."

Please check out this site -- especially those who lovelovelove frugal finds like mine!

Rachel

Are You a Geek Who Likes Robots and Live Performances???

2011-02-23T08:27:00.000-08:00

My friend Pam Noles, mistress of And We Shall March, is sooooo freakin' awesome. Pam is a former cop reporter and graduate of the Clarion Writer's Workshop. She lives and writes in be-yoo-ti-ful Los Angeles.And she's continuing in that streak of awesomeness with a new project.

If you're a geek, or someone who likes storytelling, or someone who likes live theater or comedy, Pam has got something for you. Yes, you!

Drum roll, please....

! Death 40-Feet Tall ! is a one-hour live storytelling show about two best friends, giant robots and the quest to become your own Prime. It's a storytelling show, not a showcase, about one hour long and family friendly! Please visit the project page on Kickstarter for full details.

Also, stop by Pam's blog for all things geek. Tell her I said, 'Hey!'

A Novel Idea - the Life of a Chapter IV

2011-02-23T08:15:00.001-08:00

This will be ugly. In the last Life of a Chapter, I warned you that it would be ugly. No hyperbole. No belle of the ball is Chapter 8 right now. No tall drink of water. No foxy momma.

But when is editing and revision ever pretty, sterile or neat?

Never.

So. Don't be scuurred. I'm not anymore, now that it's all on page.

Here we go:

Page 1

Page 2

Page 3

Page 4

Page 5

Page 6

Page 7

Page 8

It WILL get better. Oh, yes it will. Because I've completed all these messy revisions and the chapter's clean... For now. But before I dirty it all up again, I will post them and I will bask in their cleanliness and ignore typos and still-clunky sentences and continuity lapses.

There is a light at the end of this tunnel.

Hopefully, it's not a train.

Two Great Posts on Two Great Sites

2011-02-10T08:07:00.000-08:00

Hey, ya!

The View from Here is all over the place today. Well, at least in two awesome places:

The Frugal eReader and Daily Cheap Reads.

If you like e-books, and you like saving money, then both of these sites will HOOK. YOU. UP. Swear.

Pop on over.

Another Great Review for The View from Here

2011-02-08T08:00:00.001-08:00

Syria, mistress of SyriaSays, one of the funniest blog/book review sites on the interwebs, just posted her review of The View from Here:

Storyline: Rachel, I don’t know HOWzell you did it! But, somehow you took a potentially depressing premise and made it both very entertaining and enjoyable.

And she says much, much more. Good stuff. Good, good stuff that made my tired heart SWELL.

Please pop on over to SyriaSays to read the rest of the review as well as other reviews and interviews (she also interviewed me). I'm a lucky gal.

A Novel Idea - the Life of a Chapter III

2011-02-02T08:13:00.001-08:00

Hey, hey! A Devil Within is growing and turning into a real book! Holla.

Now, this is my favorite part of writing. The second draft. Oh my, yes, yes, I do love me some second draft with all its errors and Times New Roman 12 and half-baked ideas and WTFdidImeanbythat and the all of it.

Because now! Now, I get to return to each sentence with a clearer understanding of my story, of the characters, of all the nitty-gritty and plot points and turns that I need to make. It is not pretty work, this second draft. No, second-drafting is not the Tai Chi of writing with all the grace notes and wit and stunning prose. No, second-drafting is sweaty, lifting tractor tires, bloody hands, endorphins running through your body kind of writing. Ooh-wee.

So, in the last Life of a Chapter, I shared pristine pages of prose transcribed from the handwritten version. My next step was to read the manuscript all the way through and make notes on the page. No correcting or adding, but adding 'Describe more' or possible directions to take. This is also where I notice all the 'I shook my head', 'she sighed' and 'he shook his head' wackness. This stuff I circle and underline to return to later with more clever actions and descriptions that first drafts don't allow.

So what's changed? The chapter number, for one. And I learned that Juliet Hill kept a diary -- this will play an integral part in the way I tell the story.

Ready? Here we go (remember to click on each page to enlarge):

Page 1

Page 2

Page 3

Page 4

Page 5

Page 6

Page 7

Stayed tune for the next episode of Life of a Chapter! It's about to get ugly up in here.

Writing In My Car... With SL Danielson

2011-02-02T08:13:00.000-08:00

Today, romance novelist SL Danielson is Writing In My Car. SL (government name: Stephanie) is the author of five novels, including Lust in London. What's this novel about, you ask? Young Alex had never left Kansas, much less flown across the pond to London. He arrives to study, but ends up getting involved in far more than he bargained for. He meets a charming salesman named Mason who beguiles him from the moment they lay eyes on each other. They start a romance, only for it to be put on hold while Mason travels and Alex attends school. Soon enough, they two are together again, but things are straining due to the distance between them. There are other obstacles as well including a secret admirer, and a jealous ex-lover. Will their relationship survive or fall prey to the London fog as only lust?

In her essay, Stephanie talks about her past dreams of becoming a writer and the challenges she faces now that she's published. Here's Stephanie!

My writing life has been something I’ve always wanted to do since I was a young girl in the mountains of the northeast. I’d written all these years and was finally inspired to attempt to publish something in 2007. I still remember the absolute euphoria at being accepted by someone! My little book would go out into the world and I’d be rich and famous, right? Well, not exactly. Things didn’t go as planned with that particular item; but it was a huge learning experience. Since then, I’ve penned 4 other books, some of which have sold into the hundreds (a huge amount to me)! For the first time in years, I am able to buy Christmas presents for my family thanks to my loyal fans, and them buying my books.

So where do all of these volumes come from? Are they welled up inside of me like a font? Kind of. I have stories that go back 20-23 years (which I plan on publishing in the coming years), but as for my overall inspiration? I’d say watching life and playing games and being a soap opera addict was a massive help! I would take what they were slowly drawing out and shorten it with my own dramatic twists. My first ‘real’ writings were when I was 12 and stuck on an incredibly long family vacation, where we had 5,000 miles to cover. It was just me, a pad of paper, and markers. The rest is history on that.

So now that I’m in this marvelous world of writing as an officially published author, what’s next? Well, let’s step back and see how I got here. There are fears and triumphs along the way. The first major fear I had? Acceptance! The genre I write (gay fiction) is not exactly a conversation starter; more a conversation ender! I rarely mention it and only last year did I ‘come out’ to my father with the truth about what I write. He read one of my books and called the characters ‘sick’, BUT, he did read it and was impressed with my storytelling style and ability. Have to get the ‘ol man credit there.

My triumphs? Being accepted in 2007 (though it turned out to be short-lived and rather empty in the end). I regret it now, and would never use the same format, company, or manner that I did. That said, my next triumph, REAL this time…was finding my friend Leiland Dale. He welcomed me onto his site in its early days and in that time I sold more books than ever in my life! My 2 best-sellers (Ranch Hands and Lust in London) finally started S. L. Danielson on the map and out of obscurity.

What’s next? Blogging, promotion, and all in-between graduate classes, working, and life. I have many more books to write, and only recently began signing with publishers again (did the self-pub thing for 3 of them). So therefore, let the games being, this author is ready!

Please take a moment and visit Stephanie's blog. You'll get an honest glimpse of the writing life. And there are also lots of guest posts by other authors.

Thanks for sharing, Stephanie!

Writing In My Car... With Patricia Sands

2011-01-25T08:28:00.000-08:00

Good morning, y'all!

In today's Writing in my Car, author Patricia Sands talks about starting her writing journey -- the surprises, the excitement, how you even change your schedule to make it a part of your life.

Patricia is the author of The Bridge Club. What is this novel about, you ask? For more than forty years, the mantra of the eight women in the Bridge Club has been "one for all and all for one." Beginning their monthly soiree in the psychedelic Sixties, unpredicted twists of fate weave through the good times and strong friendship they share as the years pass. The constant from one decade to the next is loyal and nonjudgmental support, even when agreeing to disagree is the final solution. From the exhilarating cultural changes of their early times together through the "zoomer" years, their connection never falters. As they celebrate turning sixty (give or take a year) at a group birthday weekend, each woman recalls a challenging time in her life when the Bridge Club came to the rescue. After tossing around ideas mixed with a generous helping of common sense and a large dose of laughter they decide to refer to that time as their "SOS".

Here's Patricia!

My first novel, The Bridge Club, was self-published in September through iUniverse and has received very positive feedback.

I’ve been a storyteller forever through photography and also in my career as an educator. One particular story had been simmering in my mind for years and five years ago I sat down to write it … just for fun. The story was about my “bridge club”, ten friends that have been together for over 40 years and some of the life experiences we shared.

As assorted people took a look at my writing, I was encouraged to consider approaching the story with a view to publishing. This suggestion created a shift in my perspective as I was not interested in publishing a memoir. Turning to fiction, the number of characters switched from ten to eight and although most of the issues in the story did occur, the details and circumstances in many of them have been altered. The characters became composites of real people.

Research was essential as I made certain my facts were correct. Hours were spent talking with people, listening to their stories and fabricating them into the novel I was crafting.

Never an early riser I found myself waking with a start at 6:30 in the morning, compelled to get to my computer and record the thoughts swirling through my mind. I became totally consumed by the story as it took on a life of its own. One of the great surprises of writing was to discover how characters actually began to direct my writing at times, taking me places I had not planned to go! I had heard other writers speak of this but never really believed it.

After four years I took a deep breath, decided I had completed a first draft, and handed the manuscript to my brother to read. He is an author and co-author of some amazing textbooks – used across Canada in high schools - and a proofreader extraordinaire … and I knew he would be brutally honest.

If you ask any writer, I believe most would confirm it is extremely difficult to declare a manuscript is finished, complete, needs no more work. There comes a time when you have to try to let go. Honestly, another aspect of this process is preparing yourself to let others read what you have written – I felt it was akin to taking my clothes off in public – and at my age, that’s particularly scary!

My brother took the manuscript on an Alaskan cruise he and his wife had planned. He said he wouldn’t contact me until they returned ten days later. On the day I knew I would hear from him I opened my e-mail with trepidation. What if he suggested I stick to photography? His subject line read “I loved it!” Whew!

From there I first followed the traditional query letter route. How I ended up self-publishing and that part of the journey is another 500 words – at least!

Thanks for stopping by, Patricia! Please visit Patricia over at her blog to read interviews and essays about the writing life.

Writting In My Car... With Adam Santo

2011-01-17T09:28:00.000-08:00

For many of us, sharing your art with the world can be a bit scary. Many creatives (myself included) are natural introverts, observing the world, then sneaking back to our notebooks to make something of what we've seen. We all handle this natural ability in different ways, and in today's Writing In My Car, novelist Adam Santo shares his experience.

Adam is the author of Temperature: Dead and Rising. What is this novel about, you ask? When Sally Mertill is driving a carload of her friends back to Green Mountain Falls after visiting Pike's Peak they'll careen off the side of the mountain. With no guardrails it's not surprising there are no survivors. And yet within two days a not altogether bad fellow named Bocnic Drewings will call upon the metal drawer where her body awaits autopsy, open it, and lead her on the adventure of a lifetime; well, that's if she'd have survived the accident. The powers that be have chosen Sally to become undead and she's the only other person time eternal who's been given the power to raise the dead; and control them. When leaders of rival undead clans find out, they either want to control or destroy her, which makes Sally staying undead a bit of a challenge.

The funny part about the writing experience, for me, is the shyness. It is fine to people-watch and to find ideas hidden in everyday life, however, does that come from being an introvert? Not wanting to interact with the ones around or the world at large? Could be. So many little things in life draw ideas up in each of us to use. Whether it is writing, drawing, making movies and shows, creating a bestselling toy for children, or the next presentation to the board of directors (ok, those last two might be stretching it) shows what we notice in the world without consciously knowing these strangers will one day become a part of your creative genius.

At some point in a person’s life they feel the need to write a book. Be it their own manuscript or fixing someone else’s novel to give it the added flare it apparently lacked. It’s not a bad thing to think writing would be easy – it is hard when you create a world these make-believe characters will live in. What is harder still? Publishing said work yourself.

Once the book was completed I felt I had done something great and I still do. What I did not know was how I could sell it. Sure, there are plenty of sites out there explaining how to sell it but for myself it meant stepping outside of the house to do it.

I have found out the hard way that writing ended up being the easy thing to do. It is the promoting that still kills me. I have never enjoyed standing before a crowd to speak, never mind having to “pimp” my novel at the same time. You want to know something? I had a hard time explaining the simple concept of my book to my wife and she was an audience of one!

I have been asked to be a guest columnist here (Thank you Rachel) to my utter reluctance expressed early on to her. Don’t take these words wrong. The reluctance came from writing outside my box; something not related to my manuscripts. This is the first time I have been asked to take on such an endeavor. The thing to remember is that you will fail at something given enough time and that’s alright. I think that last sentence summed it up about how I feel each time a letter on the keyboard is pressed.

My comfort zone at being a secluded gnome is broken. Because of this I have agreed to speak at book club meeting for Friends of the Library that meet once a month and invite authors as guest speakers, such as myself.

Adversity will be present at every turn if you let it. This is a mighty first step against it, which will lead to the speaking engagement scheduled for the end of February 2011. We will see how strong I am after that encounter. I am told it normally is a small crowd of six or eight people. All I can suggest to anyone is “just try it”. The reward comes from doing something you’re not used to instead of be concerned about failing before you start. Enjoy life with flare.

Thanks for sharing, Adam! Please pop over to Adam's blog for more of his musings and book reviews.

You Can't Make This Stuff Up

2011-01-11T19:35:00.000-08:00

Today from Gawker:

[Inquirer, mugshot via Philadelphia Inquirer]

An illiterate deaf man who knows no sign language being prosecuted in Pennsylvania. His linguistic deficit is either his biggest problem—particularly for participating in his own defense—or the greatest loophole in his criminal career, depending who you ask.

Juan Jose Gonzalez Luna's defense lawyer believes his client was raised in an isolated town in the Mexican state of Michoacán. Luna met few (if any) other deaf people, and did not learn to read or write. He uses ad-hoc pantomiming to communicate. Though Luna is intellectually competent, his public defense lawyer has "a really hard time" communicating "even the most basic things. To try to describe legal procedure to someone like that is virtually impossible."

Read more here.

Writing In My Car... With Kevin Klehr

2011-01-11T19:22:00.001-08:00

Sometimes, you have to return to your writing more than twice to get it right. In today's Writing in my Car, novelist Kevin Klehr shares his journey to publish his novel Drama Queens with Love Scenes.

What is this novel about, you ask? Close friends Allan and Warwick are dead. They're not crazy about the idea so to help them deal with this dilemma are Samantha, a blond bombshell from the 1950s, and Guy, an insecure angel. They are soon drawn into the world of theatre - Afterlife style, with all the bitchiness, back-stabbing and ego usually associated with the mortal world. Allan also has a secret. He has a romantic crush on his friend, Warwick, but shortly after confiding in his new angel pal, his love interest falls for the cock-sure playwright, Pedro. Not only does Allan have to win the heart of his companion, he also has to grapple with the faded memory of how he actually died.

Let's welcome novelist Kevin!

The first few years
About ten years ago I started writing a fantasy novel on Thursday nights, as that was the only free time I had (My partner, Warren, had started playing tennis on those nights).

It was handwritten in a journal and called Staging Life. I had written about five chapters when a friend bought me a 'How to Write' book for my birthday. (As an aside, writing was a passion of mine as a kid, so rediscovering it as a hobby in my 30s was a blessing)

The first paragraph of this How To book clearly told me that if I was writing without my plot being clearly laid out, to stop right away! I made a chapter by chapter story outline, but this totally killed the creative process. The journal was then left in the bottom drawer.

Several years later a young man captured our hearts (no, not in the way you're thinking). He was charming, charismatic, and just needed a little help in learning to love himself as a gay man. Warren secretly lent him my unfinished manuscript, which he returned to me enthusiastically. He demanded I finish it. So I did. Within months a novella was born.

The first draft was taken to an assessor who loved my style of writing, but pointed out some major flaws. Like the main character in The Great Gatsby, my protagonists watched drama unfold around them, but were not directly effected. Secondly, she thought that the love interest between my two main characters which happened out of the blue in the last chapter, should be the main focus of the whole novel.

Thirdly, she didn't like my first chapter. A fantasy telling of Warwick and Allan's life up to the point to which they die. She found two problems with this. Firstly, the real world was as fanciful as the Afterlife. No clear distinction between the two realities. Secondly, she made me realise that how they died should be one of the mysteries that should be told in flashback. Keep the audience guessing!

One thing she did like was the fact that my main character was sometimes inappropriate in social circumstances. She told me to make this his main personality flaw and pointed me toward Joe Keenan's My Blue Heaven. In her words she said 'turn up the 'tude'.' This was very good advice.

I kept using her as my assessor for two more drafts, finally taking the novella to novel length. Eight drafts later the book was finally born.

Along the way there were two mistakes I made that might be worth mentioning for young players. The first I didn't go through with, but it's so important to note.

One publisher was interested in my book. When I looked over the contract, one thing that stood out was my lack of control over my own copyright. I've worked in broadcast media, so copyright law is something I know a lot about. In this contract, not only did they want exclusive world rights, they also wanted me to write to them and seek their permission if I wanted to write anything in the future. Plus, only they would have the right to end the contract, even if I desperately wanted to.

A lawyer pointed out how their payment of royalties was far below the industry standard. Once I asked this publisher a few questions, then they dropped me straight away.

My second mistake was using a different assessor for one of my drafts. One publisher (in fact, many) loved my writing style but not the uncommercial nature of my book. They suggested a few ideas on making the plot more sellable, after only reading the first chapter. So I decided to use them to assess my novel (as a backdoor way of getting them to read the whole manuscript).

This is my mistake...I rewrote the book taking on their ideas, but they didn't really work in the context of the whole story. My partner suggested that I simply should have sent the most recent draft, but I was desperate for a publishing deal that I rewrote using their ideas. Never do this! Five hundred dollars later they criticized the novel in its new form, making me wish I'd listened to my husband.

Even my psychic (don't laugh, she's extremely good) looked at me sternly while we were talking about something completely different, and asked "What did I do with that woman!" She was referring to my original assessor. I said that I was just getting another opinion to which she replied "She understands what you're writing about!" This all happened before I got the book assessment from hell.

I shot and edited the Book Trailer in January, but finally, nine months later its out. It was suppose to be out back in May, but they had problems with my cover design. I'm just glad its finally available.

So if you're into love stories, the afterlife, theatre and film, characters from different time periods, bitchyness and comedy, please check out the book trailer and the first chapter from my profile. Enjoy!

A New Cyber-Friend

2011-01-06T08:19:00.000-08:00

Good morning!

Like Young Adult novels? Then, go on over and say 'hey there' to Karly Kirkpatrick, YA novelist at her blog.

New Feature: You Can't Make This Stuff Up

2011-01-04T18:48:00.000-08:00

I love stories that can't possibly be true but they ARE! And I love sharing those stories with friends and family. And I'd like to share them with you. So I shall.

First up:

This politician in the Philippines was assassinated on New's Years Day. The screw: he was taking a picture of his family at the time, and caught the assassin in his shot. THE MURDERER IS HOLDING UP A GUN IN THE FAMILY PHOTO!

Crazy. right? Chilling, isn't it?

Gawker has the full story and that creepy family photo.

Writing in My Car... With Deborah Brodie

2011-01-04T08:00:00.000-08:00

I've been asked several times what inspired me to write A Quiet Storm [and now, The View from Here. For each work, that source of inspiration differs while getting it down on paper and using it shape a story remains the challenge.

Today, novelist Deborah Brodie talks about inspiration and how it moves her through the machinations of novel-writing. So. let's welcome Deborah, author of The Path That Gets Brighter and the recent In His Love.

What is In His Love about, you ask? The book tells the story of Sarah, one of the youngest sisters of the congregation at Anchorage Place, a refuge for abandoned children. While running to the love of her Lord, she runs from the romance of a lover, fearful that she cannot love both equally. Sarah must contend with religion and surrender her fear before she can pursue love. The story reveals whether it is possible for Sarah to give into her desire for Daryl while giving her heart to the lover of her soul, and if her relationship with Jesus will survive as she wrestles with her faith. Will she ever be able to fully believe In His Love?

Here's Deborah!

I was excited when Rachel extended the opportunity for me to describe the process of my writing.

When any artist talks about their talent or craft, I believe it all begins with inspiration. One of the unique qualities of inspiration is it is different for everyone, and yet it is found everywhere and in virtually anything. For some, inspiration comes from a beautiful sunset, or perhaps a tranquil landscape. For others, they are inspired by other people’s accomplishments, and whatever obstacles they have endured and overcome.

For me, inspiration comes in the seasons of life; both good and bad. It is in the changing seasons of life that we learn most about ourselves, and others for that matter. These moments become my canvas. Hardships and obstacles battle it out through the characterization of heroes and villains. I become the author and architect of circumstances transforming the abstract to art; the subjective to objective.

Once I become inspired and a story unfolds, I begin to develop the characters and expand on the theme and plot by doing chapter and story outlines. This simply means transcribing my thoughts and ideas onto paper, and putting them in a chronological order I would like the story to follow…at this point.

My writing tends to be from start to finish and I always write on pad and paper before copying it into the computer. I have learned from experience that while this is burdensome it protects my work if technology fails me!

Believe it or not, this is the easy part of writing, because I have the opportunity to express my emotions while engaging my imagination to create a virtual reality of entertainment for others to experience.

Once the story is complete it goes off to meet the scrupulous eyes of the publisher where it holds the fate of being dissected and categorized.

For me, an editor can either be your best friend or your worst enemy. I have recently learned that there must be a balance in the maintaining of the integrity of your story, while having the flexibility to change, and adapt new ideas; especially if it comes from a marketing standpoint.

I am currently working on the sequel to my last novel, “In His Love.” It is a trilogy sequel series. While “In His Love,” is a romance, the first sequel to follow will be a mystery/suspense novel. The backdrop takes place in mystical Guatemala, and the climax will leave readers chomping at the bit for more!

We are all a creative people and I encourage you to let yourself be inspired today. Through inspiration you will find your creative outlet, whatever it may be. It is an expression of your inner self – the real you.

“If you can see yourself as an artist, and you can see that your life is your own creation, then why not create the most beautiful story for yourself?”
Don Miguel Ruiz – “The Voice of Knowledge”

Please visit Deborah at her blog -- and tell her Rachel sent you!

Strange Twisted and So True, She Says

2011-01-03T07:41:00.000-08:00

Awesome news!

Mega-reviewer Nina Sankovitch just posted an incredible review of The View from Here on her site Read All Day.

Because others' reviews are copyrighted, here is just a small excerpt of what Nina had to say:

The View From Here is Gaslight turned up a notch by modern life, including current anxieties about having it all (baby, career, husband, good sex, great vacations, big screen TVs). Whereas in the movie Gaslight, the woman can only rely on her own resources to fight off impending insanity, Nicole must free herself from the too-freely prescribed medications and proffered therapies, stripping down to the basics of who she is -- only then can she beat the demons at the door (and in her house).

Please visit Nina's site. And please, please, purchase a copy of The View from Here. You'll like it. I swear!

Cheers!
Rachel

Wacky Wednesdays!

2010-12-29T09:03:00.000-08:00

Hello, hello. The Rain -- She has returned.

To make it all better, Awesome Novelist Phillip Thomas Duck posted my interview for his Wacky Wednesday Series over on his blog Excuse Me, Miss. He asked really cool questions and I, hopefully, gave interesting answers.

Here's one of those question:

Phillip: What kind of candy represents your character? Why?

Me: A Sour Patch Kid. I can be a little cranky, a bit of a (socialized) hermit but after you get past the sour and the pucker, I’m actually really sweet and I have a tendency to stick around but just when that stickiness gets annoying, I melt away and become nothing but a sensational memory. At least that’s what this fortune cookie says.

(Note: Sometimes I forget I am not my character since I write in first-person. And so I answered in first-person without realizing that I had. Scary Writer Stuff, y'all.)

Pop over to Phillip's blog to read the rest!

The View from Here - Chapters 3 & 4

2010-12-29T08:50:00.000-08:00

3
I am not a science writer by training—I earned my degree in English and American Literature. After college, though, poems and novels could no longer answer my questions about life and love. Back then, I had applied for the assistant writer position at CelluTech, fifty miles north of Los Angeles because science never lied and never wavered. A molecule did this, and genes (even defective ones) did that. Sure: science often reinvented itself. For instance, quantum physics contradicts traditional physics; and some researchers believe that cancer stem cells exist while other researchers believe that there are no such things. But even in this chaos, science still followed hard-and-fast rules.

I had stayed with CelluTech since then because science always anticipated the discovery of a better life and a better cure. And psychically, I needed to belong to any effort that offered that much hope to the world.

As I left Dr. Tremaine’s office, though, I didn’t drive back to work, and I didn’t care about stem cells or quantum physics or belonging.

I had purchased tickets (third row, center) for Truman and me to see Wicked at the Pantages. I had made reservations at Providence for dinner afterward, and over lobster risotto for me and a rib-eye for him, we would talk to one another instead of throw words in the air in hopes that the other person captured them in their intended order and spirit. Because sentences like, “Will you pull in the trash cans after the trash man empties them?” were becoming interpreted as, “You don’t pull in the trash cans after the trash man empties them.”

In honor of tonight’s “date night” (Truman and I hadn’t been out together in months), my husband sent me a bouquet of white Casablanca lilies. The tiny card nestled in the fragrant bundle read, Can’t wait to get wicked with you after Wicked. I love you, babe! Tru. “I love you, too,” I said with a smile, then placed the vase on the dining room table.

In the soft golden candlelight of a restaurant, Truman would remember falling in love with me thirteen years ago. He would realize that he was damn lucky to still be married to me even though we no longer went out dancing or gave each other back rubs; or ate barbecued ribs like we used to every Monday night; even though the showers we used to take together had become solo endeavors. He used to tuck me in bed. We used to make love before he left the room. I used to fall asleep afterward, not waking until the morning.

If anything was haunting our house, it was the Ghost of Used To.

We couldn’t blame ear infections, or PTA meetings or soccer practices for our inability to communicate. We didn’t have children. We didn’t own a dog. Our recent bouts of bickering resulted from our failures to talk and listen to each other, husband to wife.

Now, instead of taking walks to the reservoir, cooking tacos together, or battling each other in rounds of Guitar Hero, I retreated alone to the upstairs den to watch The Simpsons. I’d sit there, pissed and uncomfortable about being pissed, waiting to hear the security panel ping and Truman shout, “Hey, babe! It’s me.” On many nights, The Simpsons melted into Jeopardy. Since his promotion to Executive Vice-President, Jeopardy melted into Lost or C.S.I. and then, the ten o’clock rerun of Seinfeld.

And it wasn’t as though I had nothing else to do in my life other than wait for him to come home. I had been active in my sorority. I had attended author readings at bookstores. I had worked late at my office on many nights. But I didn’t want to relax with my sorors. I didn’t aim to share a life with best-selling novelists and their fans. I had married for a reason.
Truman and I had argued about his insane schedule, and he had apologized, and he would come home at a reasonable hour to eat tacos and watch American Idol; or see a movie at The Grove; or hike up to the reservoir.

Until the next week.

But on this night, he had promised—promised—to show up.

I slipped a Jill Scott CD into the player, and sang as I showered, dressed and primped. I ignored the pipe’s strange rumblings as I pulled on a crimson silk dress that clung to my hips, caressed my thighs and boosted my cleavage. I looked hot. Smoking hot.

I sat at the dining room table, still and stiff to avoid shiny face, flat hair and sweaty underarms. I wanted to pop a Paxil, but I couldn’t. Not anymore. The positive ClearBlue Easy pregnancy tests had nixed my pill-popping. So, I stared at the vase of lilies in the table’s center, fantasized about standing in the lobby of the Pantages with Truman on my arm, and afterwards, eating lobster risotto and chocolate ganache cake.

I glanced at the clock in the telephone’s display: 7:33. The theater’s curtain rose at eight o’clock.

Where is he?

He hadn’t called, hadn’t e-mailed, hadn’t text-messaged.

I dialed his cell-phone number.

No answer.

I stomped to the living room and jabbed the stereo’s power button—Jill, then no Jill. I dialed his number again.

No answer.

I retreated to the kitchen and peered out the window to the driveway.

Just my Volvo.

Where was he? What was he doing? Are those his headlights zooming around the bend?

At 7:40, I stopped keeping watch at the window, and started pacing. Did he get in an accident? Did he get pulled over by the police? The telephone chirped and caller I.D. droned Baxter, Truman, Baxter, Truman. I grabbed the receiver, and shouted, “Where are you?”

“I’m still at the pool,” Truman said. “Trying to get in some extra dive time. I didn’t realize how late it was.”

I rubbed my temples—anger headache. “The show starts at eight.”

“I know, babe. I should’ve called earlier—”

“Yes, you should’ve.” I lurched to the living room. A tear rolled down my cheek, and my fingers picked at my lips, drying beneath coats of lipstick.

“I didn’t realize how late it was. When I got off work, we rushed down to the pool—”

“We?”

“Penelope and me,” he said.

Penelope Villagrana worked with Truman at FOX Sports Network. She partnered with him on climbs, dives and jumps. She was also single, had the body of an Amazon, and was rumored to be as adventurous in the bedroom as she was on the mountaintop.

“We got here late,” Truman was saying. “And Flex was pissed. You know how he is. He doesn’t care about anything else, and he doesn’t want his students to care about anything else, either. When you dive, you’re supposed to focus on being under.

“Plus, my allergies were bothering me, and my eyes were a little scratchy, and I couldn’t take a Sudafed, and so my mind was just… This was the first time I glanced at a clock. You won’t believe—”

“Are you coming or not?”

Truman paused, then said, “I can’t, Nic. I’m sorry. I just… I don’t want anything to go wrong when I’m a hundred feet under next week. And I know you don’t want that, either, right?”

I didn’t speak, angry that he had exploited my fears to justify his selfishness.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he said. “I promise.”

“I’ll add it to the list,” I said, hoping that he sensed my dissatisfaction.

He laughed, not sensing anything. “I’ll call when I’m on my way home. Love you.”

A dial tone told me that he had hung up.

I threw the telephone at the fireplace, but it didn’t shatter into billions of tiny pieces like I had wanted. Instead, the phone hit the brick with a thud, and landed on the floor with a crack. Anger unquenched, I buzzed around the room. My heart pounded so hard, I thought it would explode. My ears rang, and then, I couldn’t hear my heart anymore. It worked, though—knife blades were stabbing at it like freshly-sharpened Henckels in a rump roast. I grabbed my left arm and sipped air. Couldn’t breathe... Pain in my chest… I was suffocating and having a heart attack at the same time.

I squeezed my eyes shut, and took deep breaths. One… Two… Three…

Penelope Villagrana.

I kicked the coffee table, and yelped. Tears burned in my eyes as fire blazed from my toes up my calf.

The house laughed–I swear it laughed. Not the low groans of a settling foundation, but high-pitched pings. Hee. Hee. Hee.

If I didn’t leave, I would hurt myself again and destroy items more precious than magazines and telephones. Like the porcelain bowl from Paris. Or the delicate crystal picture frames from Tiffany. Or the black clay vase from Mazatlan. Exquisite, throwable things.

I limped to the breakfast bar and grabbed for my keys beneath the fruit bowl. Grabbed my purse from the pantry and stomped to the car.

Dark sky and distant stars hid behind thin, wispy clouds. Misty rain had thickened the musty smell of burnt chaparral, and in seconds, my hair lost all curl and lay flat against my head. My eyelashes clumped, the mascara liquefying into a thick, gooey paste. Melting. I’m melting. What a world, what a world.

I climbed into the car, and at the base of the hill, I grabbed my cell-phone and called Leilani. “What are you doing right now?”

Leilani chuckled. “You mean, who am I doing right now.”

In the background, a man laughed.

Leilani and I had shared a dorm room during our freshman year at UC Santa Cruz. Her working-class Pentecostal family lived in Cerritos, California. Her father, Douglas Baxter, worked in construction on the week days and as a head deacon on Sundays, and her mother Cassandra made casseroles and frittatas between prayer meetings, choir practices and world mission ministries. Leilani’s big brother, Truman, had forsaken the church and Cerritos to earn a math degree at M.I.T.

I frowned. “Okay. T.M.I. I’ll call you later.”

“It’s cool,” she said. “I’m done. He’s leaving. What’s up?”

“I need to talk or… or…”

She sighed. “What did Truman do this time?”

I bit my lip, not wanting to cry. “One guess.”

“Did you eat?”

“No.”

“And I sure as hell didn’t cook,” she said. “Let’s meet at Dan Tana’s. I’ll call Mo.”

4
Truman was climbing out of his car as I pulled back into the driveway. We didn’t speak as we entered the kitchen. We didn’t touch. Didn’t kiss. Just strangers sharing the mortgage payment.

The house was quiet and cold. The living room smelled of my perfume and the lilies sitting on the dining room table.

I retreated upstairs to the bedroom as Truman checked the locks and armed the security panel. I kicked off my heels, pulled off my dress, then grabbed shorts and a tank top from the drawer. In the bathroom, I scrubbed my face free of makeup, then wrapped my hair in a scarf—a nonverbal cue that I had no interest in “making up.”

Truman sat at the foot of the bed, staring at the hardwood floor. He looked pale sitting there, gazing at his blue Vans.

I hesitated in the bathroom doorway. “You okay?”

He didn’t answer at first, and continued to stare at the floor. “Tired,” he finally mumbled. “Been a long day.” He glanced at me, his brown eyes dark and troubled. Then, he stood, an abrupt and noisy motion in the quiet. “I have some work to do. You shouldn’t wait up.”

Alone again, I stood at the window and pushed aside the crimson curtains. I rested my forehead against the cold pane. Darkness and fog kept me from seeing much, and I glimpsed the meaty, red petals of my peonies on the edges of our stamp-sized back yard. Somewhere in the neighborhood, a German shepherd howled, ruining the quiet. I hated that dog, but his barks kept my mind from sifting through the tatters of the day.

“Hey.”

I glanced over my shoulder.

Truman stood in the doorway.

I crossed my arms. “Yes?”

“Where were you? Before you drove back home, I mean.”

I smirked, then said, “Out.”

His shoulders hunched at his ears and his nostrils flared. “Who were you out with?”

“Why does it matter? I wasn’t out with you like I was supposed to be.”

Truman glared at me, and said nothing.

“You haven’t even apologized for flaking on me… again,” I said. “Who the hell do you think you are, standing there, looking at me like that, being pissed?” I turned to glare out the window. “I’m the one who gets to be angry. Not you.”

“But I called—”

“Twenty minutes before the show started!”

Outside, the German shepherd’s barks turned shrill—at war with a raccoon.

“Who were you with?” he asked again.

I snorted, then placed my hands on my hips. “I had dinner with your sister and Mo. Is that okay with you? Wanna call them to confirm?”

Truman shook his head. “I apologize for my reaction. And I’m sorry for not showing up tonight, okay?”

Still angry, I muttered, “Yeah.”

“Great. See you in the morning.” Then, he retreated back down the hallway.

On the next morning, sunbeams pushed through the usual June gloom, and my bedroom blazed bright with light. I glanced at the clock on the nightstand—a little past eight o’clock. I should’ve been zooming off my freeway exit by now, but sandbags weighed down my arms and legs, and I struggled to leave the bed. Couldn’t tell whether Truman had slept beside me or not—the sheets were twisted around my hips, and the comforter had been kicked to the floor.

Morning sunshine filled the kitchen. Weird: in June, Los Angeles never saw the sun until late-afternoons.

Truman had cooked himself breakfast, the stink of eggs and burnt butter the only clues of his presence.

As I reached to open the refrigerator, I noticed that he had used words from my magnetic poetry journal to leave a message on the door.

Diamond goddess soars
Frantic turtle dreams
I worship magic
You twirl in purple
Use my sausage

Silliness as a peace offering.

Purchase your own e-copy of The View from Here at Amazon or Barnes & Noble.

My Writing Life

2010-12-27T14:14:00.001-08:00

Awesome blogstress Syria interviewed me over at her awesome blog, Syria Says. Check it out as I bare my soul with anyone who cares to see my bared soul.

Here's one of just several questions and thrilling answers!

Syria Says: What was your earliest attempt at writing?

Rachel Howzell: I wrote my first play in third grade -- “A Blue Monday” It offered a glimpse of my stories of the future. The heroine wakes up and everything goes wrong… I still have it and read it to my 6-year old daughter the other day. As a child and teen, I kept diaries (again, which I still have) and they provide a great source of background material for my novels.

Go now! Please.

Stand Up Straight and Stop Twirling Your Mustache!

2010-12-26T16:43:00.000-08:00

On Friday nights, I watch a DVD from either the Life or Planet Earth series.

In one very-special Planet Earth episode, walruses had to protect their babies from a hungry male polar bear. There was much roaring and gnashing of tusks and ripping of hides and blubber flying. In the end, the polar bear lost and the baby walruses survived. Music swelled and I cried because baby walruses are just so dang cute.

On another Friday, I watched a very-special Life episode that followed the hardships of a family of lions in the Namid Desert. So harsh out there, in the desert, and the lions were close to starvation. One cub died as the tribe hunted for food, another got separated from the tribe. Just when you were depressed and crying and packing a trunk of rib-eyes to send to the lions, the tribe came upon a watering hole fat with wildebeest. Glory, glory! The lions ate and their bellies filled and you didn't see their ribs and they found the lost lion club.

In one story, the hunter was the villain. In another story, the hunter was the hero.

Let's look at the second story about the lions.

The producers and writers of this particular episode wrote the narrative so that viewers would have sympathy for the meat-eaters. We wanted the lions to succeed, we understood that they were what they were -- meat-eaters -- and we wanted them to find food. The polar bear had the same needs, the same journey and as the viewer, you understood that, and it kinda sucked that the bear couldn't live off the snow, but we wanted the walrus to protect the babies.

As a novelist, you have to do that with your villains -- even if the character is the polar bear. I still FELT. I still CARED.

Gregory Maguire did the same thing in Wicked -- taking mega-villain Wicked Witch of the West and giving her the name Elphaba and making her a woman who has been wronged and discriminated against. You understood why she hated Glinda and people and on and on.

A writer must remember this:

The villain is the hero in his story. He has reasons for everything he does. The reader should care about him even if the reader doesn't care for him, dig?

Write a scene from your villain's point of view. Why is she trying to steal the MacGuffin? Why is she trying to kill the good guy? What happened to her that has made her so bitter and vindictive?

By doing this, you create a complex character, someone who isn't simply evil. The reader will feel for them even if they want the villain to lose.

Writing In My Car... With Thea Atkinson

2010-12-26T16:21:00.000-08:00

All writing is not the same. Sometimes, you try and you just can't cross genres. Yes, there are verbs and nouns and adverbs (not too many) but if you write suspense, it's very difficult to write romance. Just like it's difficult for a romance writer to pen a dark and edgy mystery.

Novelist Thea Atkinson knows what I'm talking about and she'd like to share her writing journey with all of us. So. let's welcome Thea, author of four novels, including the most recent Anomaly.

What is Anomaly about, you ask? J isn’t your run-of-the-mill, everyday kind of troubled GenXer. He’s a recovering addict who is more concerned about his encroaching gender relapse than his meth addiction. That is, until his best friend comes to visit and gives him worse things to worry about. Anomaly is a litfic tale of self-acceptance. Discover how one week can change a man for a lifetime.

Here's Thea!

I spent some time writing this up so I didn't forget it over the holidays. I hope it's something like what you were looking for. Let me know if it wasn't what you expected and I'll rewrite.

Alas, I'm no Jodi Picoult

I have a friend who keeps asking me to write a book for her. Let’s call her Alicia. Alicia keeps saying things to me like, "Write me a romance, Thea. Write a good relationship book with lots of romance. Write me a good love story."

I keep having to answer her back in ways she doesn’t want to hear. I keep saying things like, "That's not the style I write; I don't have a romantic bone in my body. I don't even remember my own wedding anniversary."

She's persistent. It's one of the things I like about her. So a few years ago, while I was bemoaning the fact that my agent hadn’t found a publisher who wanted to take a chance on a new literary writer, she piped up again: "You need to write a romance. A good story like Jodi Picoult."

I told her I would try a short story first, see if I could do it before investing the many months it took to write a novel. I was excited. Maybe if I tried hard enough, I could write something that people all over the world would want to read; no, would want to pay for.

I settled down to write, then filled my mind with Alicia’s encouraging words: "You’re a good writer, Thea. Surely you can write a love story."

I could. Of course, I could.

Imagine my discomfort a few days later when I had to admit to Alicia of the path that this little "romance" actually took. There I was, sipping tea, feeling sheepish as I confessed that the couple in the story were both octogenarians and that he accidentally broke a few of her bones while being romantic. Worse yet, that she ended up dying during the encounter.

I think Alicia might have blinked once or twice the way they do in cartoons when they've experienced a shock. I think I might have shrugged comically, helplessly.

I did try, after all. As much as I might like to believe that I could write a mass appeal novel and sell multiple copies, enough to buy me a new laptop, a brand-new thesaurus, and maybe a little trip to Petra, I have had to make my peace with the fact that I write dark literary fiction: a genre that by some descriptions is: that which does not sell.

Every now and then, Alicia still brings the subject up. She still persists, God bless her. She says I'm capable of writing the kind of story she loves to read and I feel so humbled every time she tries to support the writer in me by believing in me.

Now, I just remind her that the tale will end up in some very strange places. It won’t have mass appeal, it won’t sell a million copies, but despite the fact that I can’t write romance, it will be an honest-to-goodness Thea made story.

And then I ask her if she's ready to read that.
-30-

bio:
The first thing you should know about me is I'm a Canuck--and one from the Maritimes where the water means almost everything to the people who live here. It shows up in my fiction a lot.

I have a dog. I wish I had three or four. I love dogs.

Some of my earliest memories are my fondest: like when my older brother put snakes in my rubber boots and I felt them slithering up my ankle when I put one on to go outside to play. Or when my younger brother pilfered every bit of babysitting money I'd hidden until I discovered the only safe hiding place for money was in the pages of a book. Or when my baby brother somehow got into my Dad's wine and threw up in the bathtub. Ah. The life of a sister. Those boys have given me some memorable images to take with me into old age.

Can I help it then, if bits and pieces of these also characters show up in my fiction in some way or other?

I tend towards literary fiction--or at least I try to. My agent thinks I write dark, and one day we'll find the perfect match of story and darkness to make us both happy.

I've been fortunate enough to write for money, but I prefer writing for passion. I've published throughout the US, the UK, and my home country of Canada in various lit journals, but I'm a novelist at heart.

At present, 4 of my novels are available on Amazon.com and 3 are available from Smashwords. All offer free sampling if you have an ereader of some sort. You can also check me out on goodreads, or Facebook, or my blog.

http://www.amazon.com/Thea-Atkinson/e/B0046DIT0U/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1
http://www.amazon.com/Thea-Atkinson/e/B0046DIT0U/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Theas-Writing-Page/122231651163413
http://theaatkinson.wordpress.com/

Thanks for sharing, Thea!

Please stop by Thea Atkinson's blog. There, you will find more essays on writing, as well as posts on the life of a writer.

So...

2010-12-20T08:01:00.000-08:00

I wanted to post an essay about villains today but alas, I am SICK.

But not the bad sick.

The good sick. The kind of sick that comes from having the flu shot two weeks ago. And even though I'm coughing and hacking and trembling and my ribs hurt and my head feels tight, it's ALL GOOD. Cuz I have the Lesser Flu. A demon, not the Devil.

But!

Something may be up tomorrow -- it's all on a pink Post-It, just waiting... waiting...

Until then, have you bought your copy of The View from Here yet? It's getting great reviews over on Amazon...

Writing in My Car... with Steve Emmett

2010-12-20T07:46:00.001-08:00

I don't know about you, but I am always eager to learn about another writer's process. What inspires them. What they find interesting. Legal pad or straight to the computer. And so, I've reached out to writer-friends across the galaxy and they will be sharing their writing lives with you and me.

Let's welcome Steve Emmett, the author of Diavolino.

What is this novel about, you ask? The chance to build a dream home on a private island in Italy’s most beautiful lake offers architect Tom Lupton the fresh start he’s been yearning for. But when he arrives with his family on Diavolino, he finds the terrified locals dead set against his arrival. The island, whose very existence has been shrouded in secrecy for half a millennium, has a dark history that no one cares to remember, and as their opposition to Tom grows, so grows a brooding evil that will lead them to the very doors of hell…

Here's Steve!

To reach the age of fifty as the world implodes is not the greatest thing that can happen to anyone, yet that is precisely what started me off on my writing career. We had just celebrated my half-century at the charming Chateau de Camon near Carcassonne in south-west France and were driving eastwards towards Italy where we were living at the time. I turned on the car radio to hear that Lehman Brothers had collapsed. Prone to drama from an early age, I turned to my partner and said, “It’s the beginning of the end of life as we know it.” And it was.

I’d been in the real estate business for over twenty-years - the luxury second home market - and I knew that we were in for a rough time. We relied heavily on the UK and US markets and, as I expected, those buyers simply disappeared overnight. As it happened, I had grown tired of what I was doing. I was bored and derived no intellectual satisfaction from it. So I made the decision then to change. I’d fancied being a writer for a while and thought I’d try.

I have always believed in getting good advice when venturing into new territory, so I signed up for a novel writing course which I thoroughly enjoyed and completed in super-fast time. At the end of it I was about a third of the way through my novel. Over the coming months, as one life disintegrated another began to take shape. At times I thought I would never finish writing the novel but I pressed on. Rewriting, polishing, studying critiques from trusted readers. Eventually, I sent out a few queries and received the rejections back promptly.

Around this time we returned to England and I had to take a break from writing just to get organised. It was so hard to get back into the novel after weeks of doing mundane tasks. Fortunately, my partner pushed me. Approaching it with refreshed eyes I spotted what were, for me, weaknesses and set about a rewrite. God, it seemed endless!

The next round of submissions brought rejections. I could so easily have given up but I just had a feeling that I would find a publisher in time. I really believed in my novel. Another round of polishing until I could find nothing else to do with it. I sent out six queries and said, “If one of these doesn’t come in then I’ll have to put this novel aside and move on.”

The rest, as they say, is history. Diavolino, my supernatural thriller set in Italy, is published by Etopia Press. I’m now writing the sequel and it’s developing so well I may produce a trilogy. So, as I keep saying to aspiring authors - don’t give up.

Thanks for sharing, Steve!

Please stop by Steve Emmett's blog. There, you will find more essays on writing, as well as gorgeous pictures of Italy (and you will shake your fists at the rainy sky and the traffic and the noise).

A Novel Idea - the Life of a Chapter II

2010-12-15T06:55:00.001-08:00

I've been busy, busy, busy since the last la vida de chapter. Yes, yes, yes! You remember pitiful little Chapter 7, with its handwritten text and its blank lines and unformed ideas?

Well, Chapter 7 is now a grade-schooler with its missing front teeth, and ponytails and such. Still unformed and far from final but definitely not an infant.

Here it is now (click on each image to read):

So what's changed?

Well, first off, it is now Chapter 6, and it's transformed from pen to computer. A

And now, I have a working title: A Devil Within.

Also, I know my characters' names and I'm figuring out the roles they will play throughout the story.

Further, I decided to use the "We" point of view since the neighbors will try to figure out 'whodunnit.'

And I know now what the note says... For now...

I am still homing in on personalities, and I'm still quite short on environmental description and character actions. That will come in the next draft.

Stay tuned!

Amen to That!

2010-12-14T19:26:00.000-08:00

Writing is hard. Writing for an agent is even harder. Writing for an editor considering your book but wanting a rewrite first is like climbing Everest without a Sherpa in a snowstorm... and you have conjuctivitis and cramps and OfficeDepot has run out of pens... forever.

Sometimes, you succeed and you land a contract and it's awesome and you love everybody and wow, is that my book on the shelf at my favorite bookstore. Many times, too many times, you don't succeed and you have six reams worth of revisions that went nowhere, seven months of your life gone, your confidence mauled like a pillow by a Golden Retriever.

Author Natalie Whipple wrote an incredibly-thoughtful piece about this Great Disappointment over at her blog Between Fact and Fiction. Her essay, What Happens When It Is You" talks about being on submission and the journey she's experienced.

She writes:

Today is a serious day. I'm going to talk about things I've kept off this blog for about 15 months. I'm going to talk about being on submission—more specifically about what it's like to experience all those things writers dread happening.

Because, really, no writer wants to be that person. The one who has to go through hell just to get a book on the shelf. You hope with all your being that your journey won't be too horrible. And you should. Without that hope? I don't know how I'd be where I am, even if it's not entirely where I want to be.

But what happens when it is you? What happens when writers list off "horror stories" about their publishing journey and you realize you've basically been through all of them?

If you want to know, read on. If not, stop here and go eat a cupcake. Actually, everyone should eat a cupcake while reading this. It'll take the edge off.

Now, I told myself that I wouldn't talk about submissions on my blog when I was out. I didn't want editors to know how long I'd been out or if I was struggling. But after 15 months? Heck, I think I've earned a little bit of a right to talk about it. And what does it matter that anyone knows how long I've been out? Does it make me less of a writer? Do I suck because my book hasn't sold?

If you'd like to read more, please pop on over to Natalie's blog. Honest writing about... writing.

Thanks for letting me re-post, Natalie!

A Novelist’s Wish List for Santa Claus

2010-12-14T19:19:00.000-08:00

We writers don’t require much in life -- that’s why we’re writers and not actors or politicians or anthropologists. Pens, paper and maybe a computer loaded with Solitaire will suffice most times. But every year, we, too, wish upon the Christmas Star for cool things.

I’ve asked writer-friends from across the Interwebs what they’d like Santa to bring.

From writer-friends Yvonne, Teresa and Jennifer at Goodreads:

My book to be stocked at Barnes & Noble.

To win just a big enough lottery so that I could quit my day job and do nothing but read, research, write and publish and never have to spend time trying to promote.

For my novel's genre to be more popular. Paranormal romance? Yeah, sure, everyone wants that right now, but paranormal comedy? Not as easy to market, unfortunately.

From writer-friends Thumper, RJ Keller, terryr, victorine, Jennifer Erickson, Scott Neumyer, Mark Adair and sandynight over at Kindle Boards:

The gift of quick wit and an eloquence in putting it to virtual paper.

A pound or two of dark chocolate covered espresso beans.

Two hours of absolute silence (this includes cooperation from cats, telephoning teenage boy/girlfriends, and neighborhood horn honkers) once a week, for uninterrupted writing.
Another pound of dark chocolate covered espresso beans.

I'd settle for being able to pay my rent January 1st.

I want someone to read my book, enjoy it, then write a review. They don't even have to buy it. And I want $2000 for more coffee, tequila and chocolate!

Hitting that Top 10 Paid on Kindle would be awesome.

I'll settle for the top 100.

A brief mention by Oprah on her book club thing...yeah, that's it, Santa.

A doggie door, so all my mini-dachshunds can let themselves in and out instead of harassing me while I'm writing.

And from writer-friends VTWriter, Birol, Wayne K, storyteller 5, sonya bateman, milly, jallenecs, quicklime, gothicangel, RJK, maestrowork, idiotsrus, ASwimmerWrites, Jamesaritchie, dangerousbill, aimless lady, stormie, Frank Kelso, Nya RAyne, Esmeralda, benbradley, AlwaysJuly, Shadow Ferret, Eddyz Aquila, Etola, James D. MacDonald, MissAimee, Amrose, Kaiser-Kun, Hip-Hop-a-potamus, Stormhawk, ambri, Rachel Udin, Alyssalynne, Jessianodel and IrishWristWatch over at Absolute Write:

A case of Dom Perignon... because this is going to be the year.

Good coffee, preferably beans not grounds. A coffee cup warmer that plugs into the USB port of the computer.

Amazon gift certificates.

A gift certificate for a weekend a month in a cabin in the mountains somewhere to be alone...to write and edit and just take some time to breathe with my WIP

A signed, notarized affidavit from my Muse, swearing I'll only have one bad writing day a month for the next ten years

A copy of Strunk to replace the one I cannot seem to find....

The CWA Debut Dagger 2010.

Ability, Talent, Perseverance, Luck.

My very own spot (with my name on it) at the coffee shop with ample light, little traffic, a comfy chair and lots of power outlets. Oh yeah, and a seven-figure contract.

A log cabin in the garden for writing in. Must have kettle and fridge. No internet.

Someone to do the housework for me. Some proper bookcases in said log cabin. Big enough to actually hold all my books rather than have to pile them on the floor as currently. The confidence that I can continue to write passably well, rather than suffer that 'Ack! Gods! I loved the last book so much, who can I love this one/write this one any better? What if I've peaked?' feeling. An inexhaustible supply of pens. I buy them in their droves then the house eats them.

A roommate who is unerringly faithful to my writing cause and does things like make my meals, take my exams, and pay for my necessities. Oh, and it would be awesome if she was also a gifted beta reader crazy about my MSs.

Fountain pens and writing boxes. One of these, to be specific: http://www.hygra.com/wb/captain.htm

Two of me. One for surfing. One for writing.

A Macbook Air.

An I.O.U one contract offer from a well established agent. Enthusiasm that never dwindles.

Quick turnaround time from agents. And publishers. And a desire to never wake from that dream.

I would like the Montblanc Mark Twain fountain pen and a barrel of Wild Turkey rare breed because I'm a firm believer in the the credo, "Write drunk, edit sober."

A six figure contract on my first book, seven figure contract on my second book.

A housekeeper, a cook and a cozy office with a good view out the window would also be nice.

And I wouldn't say no to a ski machine/cross-trainer to get my blood pumping and my ideas churning.

On the twelfth day of Christmas my agent sent to me
Twelve author copies
Eleven copyedits
Ten award nominations
A nine-city book tour
Eight splendid blurb-quotes
Seven publishing offers
Six movie options
A five-figure advance
Four royalty checks
Three fan letters
Two swell reviews
And a pack with a new ARC

A big bag of Wine Gums... I like them when the writing is going slow.

An app for the iPad (I'd also like an iPad) where it looks like you're writing on loose-leaf with a stylus and as you're handwriting, the app is creating a Word (or comparable software) document with what you've handwritten including scratch outs.

Jim Butcher as my editor.

A machine that allows me to sync up my brain with my computer so I can just think at the computer and words come out, so I can get books done faster.

A 7 figure contract, with which I will:
1. Buy my own house again instead of renting.
2. Install a lovely garden shed in back with electric, heat, and internet.
3. A comfy spot in said garden shed to do my work, including desk, lots of bookshelves, and comfy armchair (oh, and a daybed for brainstorming and naps).
4. Travel, travel, travel! (I need to see these places I'm writing about to further kick butt in the description area).
That'll get me started.

To be a lifelong member of the Chocolate Of The Month club. Make that Chocolate Of the Day. (Need chocolate to sustain me while writing).

A box or two of my very favorite roller ball pens. An ipod and/ or gift card from iTunes, chocolate, coffee, wine to keep me going. Oh, and an agent would be nice.

I just want a killer high concept with a built-in story with beginning, middle and end that only I can write.

An oceanfront hotel suite in some quiet tropical paradise for a month so I can finish my novel without the distractions of obnoxious roommates.

An editor who thinks exactly like me. Or better yet, the ability to edit and fix up my book while I'm sleeping...and writing as that has kept me up many a night.

Hope.

So, Santa. Dude. Get to ho-ho-hoing and jingle-belling. If it wasn’t for writers, no one would know who you were. Recognize. Oh, and Merry Christmas.

Driving a Nitroglycerine Truck Can Help You Write That Novel!

2010-12-12T11:24:00.000-08:00

A few days ago, I visited one of my favorite sites, Poets & Writers. One discussion forum talked about good jobs for writers. I chimed in since I’m a little opinionated, and as I wrote my reply twice (the first reply disappeared into the ether), I thought I’d shared what I thought at Writing in my Car.

In my day-time life, I am a proposal writer at City of Hope, a national leader in cancer research and treatment. Doing this helps with writing fiction -- I take difficult, science-y stuff and make it into plain English for regular people so that they donate money to advance cancer research. Writing proposals and reports have helped me slow down in my writing, break language down into its simplest, be compelling while still sticking to the point, and not assume that the reader knows what I'm talking about.

Stephen King taught high school history.
Jack London was an oyster pirate.
Langston Hughes worked as a busboy at a hotel in D.C.
Dan Brown taught high school English.
J.K. Rowling taught English as a Second Language, and was on welfare when she wrote the first Harry Potter novel.
And Harlan Ellison was a short-order cook and a nitroglycerin truck driver.

I always fantasize about writing novels full-time. But working a day job, and being away from my personal writing, is truly a blessing and an inspiration.

What type of crack am I smoking, you ask? Have I gone around the bend and off the cliff? Drank the Kool-Aid about how awesome work is? (And FYI, they drank grape Flavor-Aid on that unfortunate day.)

Think about it.

Does your house feature as many 'characters' at the Widget Factory?

And are they as interesting as your widget-making colleagues -- the ones who look like they may be the shooter if lay-offs ever happened? The ones who use up all your coffee creamer and never say thanks? That woman who refuses to learn how to use the copier and so she comes to your office and asks for your help and you glare at her because you just helped her two days ago but she apologizes and says she just doesn't understand cuz there are just so many buttons?

And at home, you don't have stupid rules like 'No heating fish in the microwave' or require signs that say ‘Please wash your hands after using the toilet.’ If you ever become bug-eyed and shake your head and mutter, who are these people, that means you have great material for your book.

At one of my jobs, there had been a never-ending e-mail string about how to kill the mice in the building -- traps, bring in a cat, let them be? Attorneys, paralegals, fundraisers, support staff going on and on and on and on and on and on about killing mice.

Dude, you can't make this stuff up.

And really: why should you? It's RIGHT THERE, in that memo, in that boss, in the way you never hold the elevator for that creepy guy from Accounting cuz what's his deal and why does he look at you like that and you heard things about him and his wife but that couldn't have really happened, could it, OMG here he comes?

A writer needs all of these crazy and needlessly dramatic shenanigans to populate a story's world. So, pay attention and start carrying your moleskin and quill pen! Start looking around -- the break room, the bathroom, staff meetings, the elevator, the computer where crazy comes in emails about how many Christmas decorations you can have in your cubicle.

In the end, I'd say any job is a good job for a writer. Your character, your chapter, your plot twist may present itself between the business hours of nine and five.

Writing in my Car... with D.E. Sievers

2010-12-12T11:18:00.000-08:00

I don't know about you, but I am always eager to learn about another writer's process. What inspires them. What they find interesting. Legal pad or straight to the computer. And so, I've reached out to writer-friends across the galaxy and they will be sharing their writing lives with you and me.

Let's welcome D.E. Sievers, the author of The Trees in Winter.

What is this novel about, you ask? The Trees in Winter tells the story of Blake Thomas, aspiring jazz musician, who wants only to compose and play music--until he falls in love with Penny D'Arcy. As Blake settles down with Penny and the years unfurl, he comes to appreciate how choices made as a young man determine the kind of life he can have--and the kind he cannot. In sharp contrast to Blake's life is the life of his college friend, Benson Munro, a successful unmarried author whose interest in Blake's life--and wife--may exceed anything Blake could have imagined. The Trees in Winter is at once family saga, bildungsroman, and meditation on the restless nature of the creative impulse.

Here's D.E.!

Having the passion to write was never a problem for me. Making the time to write, however, was a challenge—but only until I made it a priority!

About three years ago, I began writing a novel. It was clear to me that, without committing myself to a daily writing regimen, I would never achieve my goal. So I began going to my regular job at 6:30 a.m. and leaving at 3:30 p.m. Fortunately, my job allowed me this flexibility. Between 3:30 p.m. and 6:30 p.m., my time was devoted to writing. And has been ever since.

I finished the novel. Then wrote a novella. And have now begun a non-fiction book about the remarkable artist who painted the cover art for my novel. Writing every day is important. It is what gets books written. It is what magnifies one's capabilities. It is what makes somebody a writer.

My writing method is this: I sit with a 9½ x 5⅜, 80-page, Cambridge notebook in my hand and, using a cheap ballpoint pen, scrawl nearly illegible words onto the yellow pages. I have done this in parks, hotel lobbies and lounges, coffee shops, my backyard—anyplace where I am free from people I know and other distractions—places where I can retreat into the private solitude of my own thoughts. Some days yield pages filled with words, other days a single sentence, and on the occasional unlucky day, a single word or not even that. What's important is that, for three hours every day, the pad and pen are in my hands, and the time is entirely theirs. I have learned that if I feed my writing passion the time it craves, it will pay me back with words, pages, books.

At some point, I face the necessary evil of transcribing my words from paper and ink to bits and bytes. I detest this chore, and sometimes defer it longer than is prudent.

When writing the novel, I began by writing no more than two or three chapters before transcribing; at some point, I switched to transcribing after I'd written ten chapters (my novel contains eighty chapters). When I wrote the novella, I didn't transcribe until I'd written the entire thing. When I have a good momentum going, all I want is to remain deeply submerged in the world of my story, and just keep on writing. At such times, I am more than happy to defer the transcribing. And because I am writing in a notebook, I can take my notebook and pen with me everywhere I go. I do not require a battery or a power source. I can whip out my notebook inconspicuously in mixed company, whether on a bus or in a department store or even during a boring lecture, and I can instantly transport my thoughts onto the page. Who knows when that flash of inspiration may come? Should I risk losing a valuable line of inspired dialogue because I chose to depend upon a machine, which may prove unreliable or inconvenient, or because I have allowed myself to believe that I can write in no other way than by means of a machine?

No, I say! I will depend upon nothing and no one but myself as I strive to perform this magical and capricious process known as writing. Nothing except my little notebook and my pen. And the machine that is my brain, which I carry with me wherever I go. And when I can no longer depend on that machine ... well, friends, that will be all she wrote.

Thanks for sharing! D.E. Sievers authors a blog called Enamored of Fiction. There, you can read more about the mechanics of writing (i.e., pen vs. keyboard), as well as view a series of author Lit-Vids and enjoy various fiction-related blog entries.

The Frugal eReader: The View from Here, Rachel Howzell ~ $3.99

2010-12-09T07:49:00.000-08:00

The Frugal eReader: The View from Here, Rachel Howzell ~ $3.99: "The View from Here focuses on the beauties and hardships of marriage; the betrayals and promises made between husbands and wives; and the gr..."

Writing in My Car: What Do You Mean, H.G. Wells Never Met a Martian?

2010-12-06T17:32:00.000-08:00

Writing in My Car: What Do You Mean, H.G. Wells Never Met a Martian?: "I know! Because he wrote about our encounter with those hostile aliens as through they were neighbors pissed off because Herbert's dog alway..."

Writing in my Car... with Sean Reardon

2010-12-06T17:06:00.000-08:00

I don't know about you, but I am always eager to learn about another writer's process. What inspires them. What they find interesting. Legal pad or straight to the computer. And so, I've reached out to writer-friends across the galaxy and they will be sharing their writing lives with you and me.

Let's welcome Sean Patrick Reardon, author of Mindjacker. What is this novel about, you ask? Well, when wealthy Russian mobsters contract L.A. psychologist Joel Fischer to develop a device to manipulate minds, the DreemWeever exceeds all expectations. Everything is on track for delivery and a big payday, until two adventurous stoners steal his Dodge Challenger that, unknown to them, contains the DreemWeever in its trunk. Fischer and his crew have two days to get it back or he dies.

Here's Sean!

If I had to identify a moment in time that totally changed both my outlook and approach to writing, it was in 2008 when I purchased and read Stephen King's On Writing . This book is often mentioned in writing circles and I would also highly recommend it to any aspiring writers. Like most writers, I'm very busy with work and family responsibilities.

Time to write is always at a premium. Taking Mr. King's advice, I write in the room above my garage almost every night between 9:00 pm and 1:00 am and try to come up with between 500 and 1000 words. It was tough at first, but after a couple weeks of doing this, things started to happen and I have stuck with it ever since.

The writer who inspired me to write I would have to say is F.Scott Fitzgerald. The "Great Gatsby" is my favorite novel and I love all of his short stories. I have studied Fitzgerald extensively and find him to be a fascinating person as well as a writer. Besides Stephen King, other contemporary writers I enjoy reading are Elmore Leonard, Chuck Palahniuk, Hunter S Thompson, Adrian McKinty, Declan Burke, and Stuart Neville.

Like a lot of writers, my stories start with a simple idea or situation and I just build on it. With my novel Mindjacker, I had written a short story that came in at about 4,500 words. For me at least, that is almost too long to ask a reader to stay with you for a short. I really felt like the story could be turned into something bigger, so I decided to try my hand at a novel length piece and I'm glad I did.

My favorite movie and novel genres are crime and thriller, especially the heist. I like stories about the bad guys, who can sometimes be good guys and it was only natural that I decided to write in that genre. Unless a cop is corrupt, I don’t enjoy reading or writing about them, plus that opens you up to a whole new world of research and reader scrutiny that I don't want to deal with. Research is hard enough as it is and I make good use of Google, especially for location and setting details.

I can only write on my laptop and use MS Word. I just can't seem to get anything done if I had to manually write anything, but I am always writing down any ideas that pop into my head. No matter where I am, I usually have access to a pen and something to write on, even if it is on my skin.

If you want to learn more about Sean and his writing, please visit him at his blog.

Thanks for sharing, Sean!

What Do You Mean, H.G. Wells Never Met a Martian?

2010-12-06T12:20:00.000-08:00

I know! Because he wrote about our encounter with those hostile aliens as through they were neighbors pissed off because Herbert's dog always barked in the middle of the night and because Herbert never picked up his newspapers from the lawn. But Herbert never met a Martian. (Not that I was there when he wrote War of the Worlds in 1898, but I'm almost certain.)

"Then, how did he write it then? Cuz that would be writing what you don't know."

Yep. That's what it is. And that make our job [writing] so damned cool.

Writers are naturally a curious bunch, always reading and wondering and imagining things. And if we only wrote about the stuff we knew about first-hand, then there would be a glut of stories involving Uniball pens, The World of Warcraft, The Writer's Journey and recaps of the final season of "The Wire."

When I wrote A Quiet Storm, I had not experienced bipolar disorder in my personal life, nor did I know anything about losing a husband to the Pacific like Nicole does in The View from Here. I've never painted a room purple one day only to paint it orange four days later. And I've never had an affair, and therefore, never lived with that type of guilt. I've popped Valium twice in my life (after Lasik surgery) but never enough of anything to start seeing the dead.

"How did you write about all that, then?" you ask.

Research. Reading. Talking to people who have experienced all that I'm curious about. Then, I read some more. And I read about subjects tangentially related to the original subject.

I do most of my research after the completion of my first draft -- while I'm writing that first draft, I don't know a lot about my story so I hold off on the Googles.

For instance, in the story I'm working on now, the heroine (I don't even know her name right now) started out as a cop. But as I wrote, I decided that I wanted her to be a claims investigator of an insurance company. Now, do I do any claims investigators? Nuh un. But my neighbor sells insurance and I'm sure he knows one, and so I will get a referral from him and email this person and pick her brain and then go to the Googles and learn so much stuff that every conversation I'll have thereafter will feature a tidbit about insurance.

So, you must read. You must read everything. You must become a Google whore.

Here are a few of my favorite information sites you may find handy:

The Quotations Page

How Stuff Works

Cliche Finder

Cop Seek

Beaucoup

Forensic Science Resources

Drug Watch

Absolute Write

Fun with Sign Language

2010-12-06T12:01:00.000-08:00

So, I went to Vegas this weekend to celebrate the birthday of one of my bestest friends in THE WORLD (Hey, Gigi!). We all stayed at the Hard Rock Hotel. Nice play to stay but wouldn't want to live there... unlike the Manadalay Bay. Oh boy, don't get me started on the loveliness of the Mandalay Bay.

Anyhoo... the Hard Rock Hotel has this little sign at the mini-bar. Click to enlarge.

Whoooo Are You? Who-who? Who-who?

2010-11-30T18:01:00.000-08:00

So, who are these people you're spending so much time with? Instead of doing the dishes, you're following this raven-haired vixen down dark alleyways. You're thinking about your square-jawed anti-hero while watching your kid play soccer. They hold your attention longer than Glee and Walking Dead combined (okay, maybe not Walking Dead cuz zombies are AWESOME).

Who are these people?

They are the characters in your story, Opus Magnus in the City: Hellzapoppin'.

You know them but how do you get them out of your head and onto the page? How do they sound when they talk? What do they believe? I'm not talking about those traits you're asked to consider when filling out those templates. You know those templates -- eye color, education, the type of coffee they drink. Yeah, that stuff's important but don't you want to know more?

What would your character do if someone cut her off on the freeway? Curse? Shrug? Follow dangerously close to the offender's bumper? Why would she do that? Write a scene about it.

What would your villain do if he came upon an abandoned toddler in a car? Walk on by? Call the police? Why? Write a scene about it.

Un mas.

What would your character do if they're in the middle of Nowhere, California with the girl he just broke up with, flat tire, full bladder and dying cell-phones? Write a scene about it.

Go on. Do it. I'll wait... It's okay, no one's gonna read it. Have at it...

Finished?

Didn't that feel good? Wasn't that fun? Yeah, it was.

Most likely, these scenes won't find their way into your novel. The point is, Friend, you know more about your characters in an environment. You're hearing them talk and reason, seeing them act in application and not in theory.

Many times, I discover who my characters really are by the end of the first draft. Again, it's application versus theory. Before finishing that draft, I thought Nicole Baxter from The View from Here was a chaste, honorable woman and she was -- until faced with a situation that forced her to make a choice that wasn't so honorable. But this discovery only happened because I had spent time with her, in her world.

So, damn the charts! Put your people in random situations. Listen to them. Raise the stakes. And then... write. Your dialogue will be truer. Their reactions more honest.

You owe it to yourself and to your characters. And eventually, readers of your great work, Opus Magnus in the City: Hellzapoppin'.

Fun with Sign Language

2010-11-29T07:53:00.000-08:00

So, the family went to the Phoenix Zoo on Black Friday. This sign greeted us at the entrance:

Concealed and non-concealed.

Wow.

Writing Opp - Director of Grants

2010-11-23T07:39:00.000-08:00

Director of Grants - GLAAD

The Director of Grants is responsible for assisting the Chief Development Officer in the expansion and diversification of grant opportunities from private and family foundations, including but not limited to corporations and institutional donors. The individual will work with the Chief Development Officer and the Senior Director of Programs to cultivate relationships with new and existing grant donors. The position works in a collaborative environment with the Development, Programs and Finance teams and is supported by the Corporate and Foundations Relations Associate.

With the support of the Chief Development Officer the Director of Grants will implement strategies to cultivate long-term, comprehensive relationships with all institutional grant-making organizations. The Director of Grants oversees all facets of the grant application process, which includes researching, editing and submitting grant proposals that are tracked via Raisers Edge. S/he will manage and grow a portfolio of corporate and foundation funders to ensure a diverse revenue stream for GLAAD. The individual is responsible for matching grant opportunities in accordance with GLAAD’s current programs and initiatives.

The Director of Grants will initiate and maintain communications with prospects and funders through in-person meetings, telephone exchanges and other methods of prospecting such as written correspondence via letters of inquiry, formal proposals and official visits to funders. The individual will work with staff members at all levels to ensure that application deadlines are met, proposals are of the highest quality and that grantors expectations are met. In conjunction with the Corporate and Foundations Relations Associate, the Director of Grants will meet with Programs staff to gather programmatic information to support grant application and also with the Finance team to assist in developing budgets which capture direct and in-direct costs associated with the grant.

The ideal candidate must have strong understanding of process improvement systems and change management, excellent interpersonal, communication, and managerial skills.

Duties and Standards:
Technical Competencies:
Assists in identifying and developing new funding strategies and matches grant opportunities to strengthen GLAAD’s programmatic endeavors, increase the endowment and operational support and expand GLAAD’s presence in major cities across the nation.

Works with the Development and Programs staff to tie grant opportunities with capital and program needs of the Center.

Identify and research public and private funding sources including corporations, private foundations.

Partner with the Programs team to extrapolate information to support proposal development.

Understands and observes funding requirements and guidelines and track the deadlines of potential funding sources.

Assists the Programs team in preparing and submitting programmatic reports as required to funding organizations.

Works in partnership with the Chief Development Officer to foster relationships with private funders to advance grant opportunities.

Maintains regular communication with contacts in the private funding arena through collateral materials developed by the Programs and Public Relations team.

General Responsibilities of the Position:

Identify grants opportunities in conjunction with the Development and Programs Teams.

Develop grant proposals, in close cooperation with Program, Operations and Finance colleagues.

Liaise and maintaining good relations with the representative offices of major donors and with national organization grants and program colleagues.

Responsible for full compliance with requirements and conditions in grant agreements and contracts, in close cooperation with colleagues in the Programs and Finance divisions.

With the support of the Programs and Finance teams, ensure accurate, transparent and timely financial and narrative reporting to donors.

Utilize Raisers Edge to maintain tracking systems, which includes processes, documentation, and data for effective grants management and tracking.

Education: Bachelor’s Degree. Interest and passion for LGBT issues. Demonstrated mastery of writing skills. 3 to 5 years of successful experience in the research, writing and securing of grants in the non-profit sector.

Preferred minimum of three to five years experience in supervision, administration, or management of grant process and related philanthropic duties. Knowledge of or willingness to be trained using Raised Edge.

Compensation
Salary is commensurate with experience. Benefits include: 403(b) retirement plan; escalating vacation beginning with three weeks+; Paid sick, personal days and holidays; and organization paid health benefits for employees including medical, dental, vision, flex spending accounts, flexible work arrangements, employee assistance program and life and long-term disability insurance.
Other Notes
• Applications MUST include resume, cover letter & salary requirements to be considered.
• GLAAD does not have the ability at this time to provide sponsorship for this position.
• GLAAD does not have the ability to provide relocation benefits to candidates.
• GLAAD is a business casual dress environment.
• Candidates MUST be able to pass both financial and criminal background check.
• The above statements are intended to describe the general nature and level of work performed by people assigned to this classification. They are not intended to be construed as an exhaustive list of all job duties performed by the personnel so classified. Management reserves the right to revise or amend duties at any time.
• This job description reflects management's assignment of essential functions; it does not prescribe or restrict the tasks that may be assigned. Critical features of this job are described under the headings below. They may be subject to change at any time due to reasonable accommodation or other reasons.
Contact
Human Resources (no phone calls, please)
Email: jobs@glaad.org
• Applications MUST include resume, cover letter & salary requirements to be considered.

Equal Opportunity Statement

GLAAD is committed to providing equal employment opportunity to all employees and applicants for employment without regard to their race, color, religious creed, sex, gender identity, age, national origin, ancestry, citizenship status, physical or mental disability, medical condition, pregnancy, marital or veteran status, sexual orientation, height and weight, or other personal characteristics as may be protected by applicable law.

This policy applies to all terms and conditions of employment, including, without limitation, hiring, placement, promotion, layoff, termination, transfer, leaves of absence and compensation; relationships with outside vendors and customers; use of contractors and consultants; and in dealing with the general public.

· Location: Mid-Wilshire / Miracle Mile

· Compensation: Salary is commensurate with experience. Benefits include: 403(b) retirement plan; escalating vacation beginning with three weeks+; Paid sick, personal days and holidays; and organization paid health benefits for employees including medical, dental, vision, flex spending accounts, flexible work arrangements, employee assistance program and life and long-term disability insurance.

· This is at a non-profit organization.

· Principals only. Recruiters, please don't contact this job poster.

· Please, no phone calls about this job!

· Please do not contact job poster about other services, products or commercial interests.

PostingID: 2074781938

Talking about the Life II

2010-11-23T07:28:00.000-08:00

Morning, morning, everybody!

Sleep well? Yeah? Me, too, until the LAPD helicopter started buzzing around the neighborhood at approximately 5:30. Other than that, I slept swell.

There's this writer-guy with the coolest name in the world. Kipp Poe, that's his name, and he gave me the opportunity to share my writing life and The View from Here on his blog.

So, go check it out as well as the entirety of Kipp's blog -- great interviews, great books. He, too, has a new book out. Die Already is available in Amazon's Kindle store.

A Novel Idea - the Life of a Chapter

2010-11-22T07:15:00.001-08:00

I'm working on something new, and I thought I would share my process with you -- the life of a chapter as it goes through edits and reversals, shuffling and poking.

I don't have a title for this book yet -- maybe I'll ask for suggestions as the story takes shape. Part of my process is writing a synopsis of each chapter. This is very loose, can change at any moment even between paragraphs. In the end, this chapter may not even make it into the novel.

Shall we begin?

Story tags: lies, a husband lies, friends find out, murder, everything's false, affair, awful discoveries. Narrator has no name, antagonist has no name yet but will call him C.H. because his wife's name is 'Cori' and he is her husband.

I've chosen Chapter 7. And here it is (click to make bigger):

Yeah. I'm old school -- paper and pen first.

So. This is Chapter 7 for now. Very short. Some specificity. Blanks and questions. Stay tuned -- it won't look this way next time.

New Ways to Get The View from Here [update]

2010-11-20T21:07:00.000-08:00

Wanna read The View from Here?

Don't have a Kindle?

The View from Here is now available in several electronic formats, including:
PDF, LRF (for Sony Readers), Palm, and HTML. The Nook version is also at BN.com! Still for the low-low price of $3.99.

Visit my page at Smashwords and download away!

Writing Opps

2010-11-19T07:23:00.000-08:00

So.

Are you interested in writing about how to diagnose ABS pump brakes? Or about the history of orchards in Colorado? Do you want a few credits to your name? Make $7.50 or $15.00 per article?

Then, I have a job for you, my friend.

Demand Studios is looking for writers to pen articles with random information. I've done it and it's cool. And they pay twice a week. And there's no pressure to do it every week. Just when you want to. Which is cool, too.

Oh. Another thing. Come closer... closer... So, yeah. I'm happy at my job right now. City of Hope? Yeah, they're cool people and what have you, but I heard you weren't happy with your place. It's cool, it's cool, I get it.

I know a guy. Yeah, cyber-ly. And he sends out these listings of jobs -- some are writing, all are non-profit cuz you know, that's how I roll. Yeah, so here's what I'm gonna do. I'm gonna post the writing-related ones cuz you're special to me. Nah - no problem, no charge. Just, you know, remember me when you get all hired and stuff. Again, I'm just posting. Here's one to get you started:

BEAUTY BUS FOUNDATION DEVELOPMENT AND PROGRAM ASSOCIATE

Beauty Bus Foundation

The Beauty Bus Foundation is a non-profit organization dedicated to enhancing the quality of life for chronically or terminally ill individuals and their caregivers by bringing beauty into their lives.

Beauty Bus provides in-home beauty and grooming treatments, free of charge, to men, women and children whose illness or condition prevents them from accessing a salon or spa.

Beauty Bus strives to empower our clients, help them maintain dignity and give them respite during difficult times.

Development and Program Associate

The Development and Program Associate must be a compassionate visionary and must embrace the challenge of working in a new non-profit organization. The Development and Program Associate will be responsible for coordination of development and program duties at Beauty Bus Foundation.

Primary Duties:

o Support development efforts, including grant writing, donor outreach, event coordination and related administrative tasks

o Coordinate public relations and outreach activities, including website, social media and newsletters

o Support Client and Volunteer coordination and outreach

Additional Duties:

Development

o Research Grant opportunities, draft grant proposals, submit grant reports and track grant information

o Coordinate donor contact, including letters

o Assist Founders and Program Manager with donor outreach, follow-up and implementation of donation programs

o Coordinate and assist with fundraising events

o Data entry of donation information and management of donor information via databases

Public Relations

o Draft and distribute newsletter

o Assist in Beauty Bus Foundation marketing communications, including materials development (e.g., brochures) , web marketing (Facebook, Twitter and Beauty Bus Blog) and website management/updates

Program

o Schedule client visits, including follow-up and attending client visits as needed

o Update volunteer and client information and keep contacts up to date

o Coordinate volunteer Salon/spa outreach and continuing education for volunteers

o Coordinate volunteer recognition event

o Assist Program Manager with volunteer coordination

o Assist with special events such as caregiver retreats, as appropriate

Ideal candidates will possess the following:

o Passion for Beauty Bus work and mission

o BA/BS required – Graduate Degree Preferred

o Prior experience in non-profits and fundraising

o Experience as a volunteer and preferably supervising volunteers

o 2 years of relevant work experience

o Strong interpersonal skills

o Excellent written and verbal communication skills and strong organizational skills

o Ability to satisfy deadlines with a high level of initiative, accuracy and attention to detail

o Ability to maintain accurate records and create reports as needed

o Computer skills including Microsoft Word, Excel, Power Point, Quickbooks, ACT

o Knowledge of social networking and marketing tools, including Facebook and Twitter

o Ability to work some evenings and weekends, when needed, for relevant events

Development and Program Associate reports daily to Program Manager and ultimately to Beauty Bus Founders.

Full-time position. Salary range $30,000 - $35,000 dependent on experience. Health care plan.

Please send a detailed cover letter, resume and references via mail, email or fax:

Beauty Bus Foundation

11301 W. Olympic Blvd #303

Los Angeles, California 90064

Phone: 310-287-1272

FAX: 310-287-1271

Email: beauty@beautybus.org

Talking about the Life

2010-11-19T07:19:00.000-08:00

Hey, hey, hey!

I talked with writer David Wisehart about The View from Here and the life of a writer over at his blog Kindle Author.

Interested? Then, click away!

And thanks, David! Enjoyed sharing.

OMG, Amazon!

2010-11-19T07:12:00.000-08:00

Guess what?

Amazon announced yesterday that you can now gift a Kindle book to anyone with an e-mail address. I know, right? Just in time for the holidays! From the press release:

Beginning today, just in time for the holiday season, customers can give Kindle Books as gifts to anyone with an e-mail address--no Kindle required. Kindle Books can be read on Kindle devices and free Kindle reading apps for iPad, iPod touch, iPhone, Mac, PC, BlackBerry and Android-based devices. For more information or to give a Kindle Book as a gift, go to www.amazon.com/givekindlebooks.

So, you know what that means? Yes! Exactly! You can give anyone with an e-mail a copy of The View from Here. All you have to do is go to the book's page (or any Kindle book's page) and select 'Give as a Gift.' Your loved one will get an e-mail announcing their Kindle book gift and they return to the Kindle store to read their book on one of the free Kindle applications (PC, Mac, iPhone, iTouch, Android or BlackBerry).

This is incredible news -- for readers and writers. Thanks, Amazon!

Thank You to Early Supporters!

2010-11-17T07:21:00.000-08:00

Hello, All!

So, I was writing in my car (while driving) the other day when an idea struck me!

Idea Fairy: You know, there were some folks who immediately stopped what they were doing AT THAT VERY MOMENT to purchase your new Kindle book, The View from Here .

Me: Yeah. That's pretty cool.

Idea Fairy: So, did you thank them?

Me: Of course. I believe in being gracious. And I tip my servers all the time -- even when they suck. You know the other day --

Idea Fairy: Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know about the lady at that place who did that thing. Not the point, Howzell. Why don't you thank them publicly?

Me: Ummm... Like a skywriter? Or -- ooh! A blimp? Yeah! Nothing says 'I love you' like a zeppelin.

Idea Fairy: Zeppelins are pretty cool, but I meant thanking them on your blog.

Me: [blinking].

I exited the 405 Freeway, then, and stopped to put air in my tire before picking up the girl. And then a whole bunch of other stuff happened, but I won't go into it (soccer cleats and Pop Tarts were involved).

Anyhoo, here's what the Idea Fairy wanted me to do:

A big THANK YOU and HUGS to:

David, Gretchen, Gigi, Stacey, Toni, Joe, Stephanie, Wess, Tasha, Dee, Debbie, Cloda, Norma, Tracy the Poet and Suzanne the Novelist.

If you bought a copy of The View from Here , and want to let me know, please do. David's pricing zeppelins right now so let me know before we have take-off!

Rachel

The View from Here - Excerpt

2010-11-15T09:28:00.000-08:00

1
I sat in the waiting room of Orleigh Tremaine Newman – a Whole Person Corporation. The space stank of old coffee, onions and lavender perfume. The receptionist—a Goth girl named Piper—sat at a messy desk and polished her nails shiny black as the ringing telephone rolled to voice-mail. Boxes of copy paper and toner towered near a dusty, plastic fichus. A crumpled Burger King bag sat atop an abandoned computer monitor.

This space was nothing like my former shrink’s clean, bright and clutter-free waiting room. There, Kimmy, the receptionist, answered the telephone after the first ring and never ate obnoxious foods at her desk. She had remembered each patient’s name and most important, each of our prescription needs.

Nervous, I kept my eyes on Angelina Jolie’s picture in People magazine because I didn’t want to chat with the other patients seated around me.

The blonde sitting across the room tore at a napkin until tiny bits of paper settled at her feet like snowflakes. A morbidly-obese pink-skinned man rocked back and forth in his chair. I didn’t know his problem, but I’m sure eating played a role. Another woman—a redhead—sat next to the fat man. She rubbed a blue satiny square cut from an old baby blanket.

I was the ordinary, always-anxious Black girl wearing antiqued Levis and Gucci loafers. I had a house, a husband, a Volvo, and a job writing about groundbreaking drug therapies developed by CelluTech, one of the leading biotechnology firms in the country. Unlike the blonde across from me, I tore my tiny bits of paper internally—mounds of confetti piled near my gallbladder. I never thought that at 37 years old, I’d still need therapy.

#

During the spring of my fifth grade year, my great-aunt Beryl had noticed that I had “retreated inside” of myself. No matter how many tablets of Vitamin C and St. John’s wort she forced me to take, I still wasn’t ‘actin’ right.’

“Your momma and daddy been dead for eight years,” she said. “Why you all strange now?”

I shrugged, then retreated to the pages of Anne of Green Gables. Strange? I had never talked much. Had always picked at my food. Preferred the company of fictional characters in books and on television over Aunt Beryl, her ten cats and her nosy church friends.

Out of ideas, she took me to see Simon Daniels, Ph.D. Once a week, I’d expressed my anguish through journal entries, word searches and collages made from cut-out pictures from Ebony magazine.

After Session 10, Aunt Beryl marched into Dr. Daniels’ office to say, “You still ain’t fixed her.”

Dr. Daniels cast a worried glance at me, then said, “Miss Porter, she’s lost both of her parents. That’s a painful ordeal, even for adults. There’s no pill for grief, and it doesn’t have a time-table. It doesn't show up like the Number 3 bus, rumbling at each stop—anger, denial, acceptance—until it reaches the terminal at the end of the day.”

Aunt Beryl clucked her tongue and hoisted her purse onto her lap.

“Nicole’s bus has just taken an eight-year journey,” Dr. Daniels explained. “It may be years before she reaches the end. She needs your patience and understanding. You are the only person she has left in the world.”

Aunt Beryl glanced at me, then, her brown eyes—Dad’s eyes, my eyes—softer than before. “You sure she don’t need to take nothing? I hear ginger root—”

“She’ll be fine,” Dr. Daniels had assured her. “She’s young. She’ll bounce back.”

I stopped seeing psychiatrists during college because college women often resisted advice from people with wrinkles and W-4 forms. We ignored The Man and embraced Oppression, stumbled around campus hung-over from weed or Boone’s Strawberry Hill, zoned out during French Lit, but incredibly alert back in the dorm for General Hospital. Angry, moody and high for four years—who had the time or the desire to see a shrink?

Besides, Doctors Daniels, Handler and Grinstein had fixed me. Yes: each had suggested that I continue seeing a psychiatrist throughout my life; but those had been “suggestions.” I’d suggest that all women consult a personal dietician and a genetics counselor, and to hire a maid. No harm if they didn’t. Merely a suggestion. And I considered therapy like that—an elective like Metals or Home Ec class.

Truman and I married, and all was fine until our 11th anniversary. As we spent less time together, I became more insecure and Truman became less communicative. Once we started bickering over trivial things—you didn’t put gas in the car, why didn’t you put gas in the car? — I thought, Maybe it’s me. Maybe I should get help.

I didn’t perform a comprehensive search for a psychiatrist. Instead, I called my HMO’s customer service line, and asked for an African-American woman who specialized in death, grief and marriage. Gayle Clark, M.D., a wee Black woman with a small gray Afro, made pots of hot peppermint tea at each of our sessions. She had listened, nodded and prodded me about my parents, my aunt, about my insecurities and abandonment issues, and how all of this was affecting my marriage. She had also prescribed Paxil to combat my anxiety, and Valium to help me sleep.

Truman knew about Dr. Clark, but he never asked what we talked about. Instead, he said, “Glad you’re talking to someone,” then returned to playing “World of Warcraft.”

“Someone” used to be him.

One afternoon, after discussing Truman’s late nights at work, and my sense of being ignored, Dr. Clark announced her departure. Her husband, an Adventist pastor, had agreed to build a church in Bolivia. Dr. Clark would follow him and provide family counseling for the soon-to-be-converted. She had already selected my rebound relationship. “Her name’s Lori Tremaine,” she had said. “And she is a jewel. A wonderful, warm human being.”

I studied Dr. Tremaine’s profile on the Find-a-Therapist, Inc. website. The white woman in the picture posed with a golden retriever beneath a giant oak. Her long auburn hair piled atop her head like autumn leaves. Do you feel detached from your life, from who you are? Do confusion and dread haunt you day-to-day? Are you exhausted by the secrets you keep? I can help you find inner peace.

2
As I entered the office, Lori Tremaine, Ph.D. stood from her high-backed leather chair to shake my hand. “Nice to meet you, Nicole. Glad you could come.”

I forced a smile and assessed the woman’s handshake: limp. And: glad you could come? As though she was hosting a Tupperware party. Or a wake.

She sported a pixie haircut now, and wore a denim Be-Dazzled blouse separated from the denim skirt by a wide snakeskin belt the color of mangoes. Her hazel eyes, rimmed with green liner, sparkled as though she had just finished a bottle of white Zinfandel. She looked more like Reba McEntire than a member of the American Psychiatric Association.

Her office smelled of cinnamon and chocolate-scented candles. A large cup of coffee sat near the computer keyboard, coral lipstick prints around its rim. Every flat surface hid beneath stacks of papers, elephant figurines and pictures of the doctor and her life-partner on their sailboat. There were no chaises like you see in movies and television sitcoms. Just regular leather chairs placed before her massive wood desk.

I settled into a guest chair.

Dr. Tremaine said, “Water?”

“No, thank you.” Out the picture window, I glimpsed a blue ribbon of ocean twinkling with sunshine.

“So, Nicole,” Dr. Tremaine said, sitting behind her desk. She opened a manila folder that contained two sheets of paper, then, glanced at me. “Why are we here today?”

“Well,” I said. “Umm… I thought Dr. Clark… You know… Did she, like, forward my file?”

“Let’s see...” The psychiatrist returned her attention to the folder’s contents. She pulled out the second sheet, then slipped on a pair of emerald-colored reading glasses. “It says here…” She read in silence for a few moments, then said, “Nothing much. Just a note that says, Talk about the house.” She peered at me over the top of her frames. “Does that mean anything to you?”

I shivered, then offered a curt nod.

Dr. Tremaine closed the folder, and said, “Don’t feel pressured to talk about that, though. We can discuss other issues first to become better acquainted. Tell me about your family life.”

“I’m here because of my family life.” I paused, then added, “Kind of. And it’s related to the house.” I scratched my nose and stared at the wrinkled lip prints on Dr. Tremaine’s cup. “Not just my family life now, but also my childhood… Not that my life now isn’t affected. Because it is. But my life then—that’s not the primary reason I’m here. Although…” Lost and nervous, my right foot bobbed up and down as though it generated electricity for the lights and computer.

“Okay.” The woman slipped off her glasses, then sat back in her chair.

She wasn’t taking notes. Why wasn’t she taking notes?

“We can talk about whatever you want.” She reached for her coffee cup and sipped.

“I’m not much for chatter,” I said, fighting the desire to slap the cup from the shrink’s hand because people in need of help don’t like seeing their care providers taking it easy like retirees on a Carnival cruise. “So, if you don’t mind, I’d like to start on the house. If you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind at—” Dr. Tremaine took another sip of coffee, but didn’t place the cup back on the desk. She smiled at me with coffee-stained teeth and lips uneven with color. “You start then.”

I nodded, then shifted my leg so that the other foot could pump. “This will sound weird out of context, but…” I swallowed, then said, “My house is haunted... I think.”

#

I think.

As though those two words of uncertainty negated the heretical “house is haunted.” Because hadn’t I learned in church? The dead can’t haunt. They lay in their graves, awaiting the return of Christ so that they could either be caught up in the clouds or banished to Hell. For the living know that they will die, but the dead know nothing. Nada. Zilch.

Truman and I had visited a so-called “haunted house”—an antebellum Victorian wasting away in the bayous of Louisiana. We had listened to the Cajun tour guide whisper about the souls of runaway slaves trapped there, and about cold spots and mysterious crying, about pictures that, when developed, came out as blurry spots. “Ghosts,” the Cajun had said with a certain nod. And we had shivered in those cold spots and had heard the crying of tortured slaves and had taken pictures of creepy Spanish moss hanging from moaning oaks and had glimpsed the empty bedrooms where little white children and their mothers had died from consumption, and we had had our film developed and had noticed the blurry spots in each shot.

“They’s ghosts,” Truman had said in a Southern accent. Then, we had laughed and had placed those photographs in our travel diary alongside pictures of the Eiffel Tower and the Mayan ruins.

Saying “haunted” to Dr. Tremaine discounted everything I religiously believed. Aunt Beryl had never wavered from her strict understanding about the Dead’s state, never telling me once that my Mom and Dad were watching over me in Heaven—even though the Heaven story could’ve offered a lonely child comfort, and kept her from visiting the dungeons of her imaginations. But my aunt didn’t play that. She had scolded me the one time I had joked, “My mom is rolling over in her grave.” And now, to utter this “haunted” heresy aloud, and to a stranger?

Aunt Beryl was probably rolling over in her grave.

In my profession, I showed restraint in the words I chose. Sorenifib may help prevent some kinds of kidney cancer. Because my writing had to remain hyperbole-free, my natural inclination to over-exaggerate and overstate eked out in other ways.

My house is haunted.

Not My house is noisy.

Not My house is too cold and makes strange sounds.

Again: not that I believed (religiously) in “haunted” anything. And no one had died in our house. The previous owners had suffered a huge loss once their dot.com fortune dwindled and the bank foreclosed. Their American Dream had died, but Carl hadn’t hung himself from a ceiling beam in the living room; and Yvette hadn’t slit her wrists in the master bathroom’s sunken tub. They had moved to Miami to teach graphic design to senior citizens.

But once we had moved in, I realized that the house was too big, and had too many hallways, doors and walls. My voice echoed in the quiet on one day, and on the next, it didn’t carry at all. The stale stink of cigarettes inhabited the guest bedroom even though neither Yvette nor Carl had smoked. Long shadows in the living room threatened to swallow me if I wandered too close. And the grumble of the foundation steadying itself on the hill sounded too deep—as though construction had originated in Hell.

A month after moving in, I walked back from the village coffee shop at the base of the canyon and stood before my new home. Why did my skin crawl? The house hadn’t done anything to me except… exist. And it didn’t resemble a jack-o-lantern or evil incarnate like Shirley Jackson’s Hill House. The two-story Mediterranean sat on a hillside in Beachwood Canyon, its façade partially-covered by pink bougainvillea. It boasted a flagstone walkway that meandered between bushes of fragrant wild rosemary. Harmless. Even… pleasant.

“Newsflash: houses make sounds and sometimes, they even smell weird,” Truman (a son of the suburbs) had said. “You’re used to living in apartments.”

He was right about that. After my parents’ deaths, I had moved into Aunt Beryl’s three-bedroom apartment condo in Culver City. Her house was never quiet. She owned 10 cats: Moonlight, Phinneas, LaLuz, Cooper, Sheldon, Olive, Peanut, Benito, Rambo and Orson Welles. Constant movement, constant mewing, the ever-present glow of amber-colored cat eyes in the dark.

Then, Truman and I married, and had lived in apartments where our neighbors blasted Wu Tang Clan at one-thirty in the morning; where the aromas of bok choi and garlic spirited through the corridors; where carpeted floors held the footprints of people we would never meet.

But in the canyons of the Hollywood Hills, the howls of coyotes and the wind rustling through chaparral drowned out a woman’s screams. The earth overpowered all man-made scents with its rotting sweetness, and I held my breath every time I stepped outside. Smelled like someone had dumped a hooker out there in the coarse grass. That stink just didn’t seem normal. Also not normal: opalescent mist creeping across the canyon’s face from sunrise to sunset. The thick aroma of evergreen sap drying on the asphalt, and in the soles of your shoes. Sharp wild sage scorched by past brush fires. Wildflowers that smelled like cinnamon, cheese and peppermint combined—nothing like their domesticated cousins in shops and stands, flowers that smelled like… flowers. The canyon’s version of nature seemed heavy, aggressive… primal.

For months, I had left most of the moving boxes packed and stacked in the guest room. I had restricted my living to my bedroom and to the upstairs den. The house didn’t want me there, just as Aunt Beryl hadn’t wanted my books and pens and childhood all over her (and the cats’) condo.

“What do you wanna do?” Truman had asked once. “Move?”

Yes, let’s get something smaller, something less isolated, I longed to say. But moving would have been impossible. The bank had given us the last honest home loan in Los Angeles, and we would have had to sell at a tremendous loss. And Truman doesn't lose. Also, I could not scientifically prove to my husband why the house gave me the heebie-jeebies. Not that I needed to produce a vat of phosphorescent ectoplasm, but it would’ve helped.

With nowhere to go, I swallowed my anxieties about the drafty cupola at the end of the hallway that shrank if I peeked out its window. I ignored my bedroom ceiling that lowered an inch every night as well as the slow-spinning ceiling fan that would, one day, chop me up as I slept. I reasoned away the weird scratching at the window screens, and disregarded the strange flashes of prismatic light in the sky right above the hilltop. I ignored all of this (unsuccessfully) because lint and spontaneous combustion, open metal cans and lockjaw, also freaked me out. I ignored all of this because my earliest childhood memories featured me nightmaring every time I closed my eyes, the Boogeyman, Satan and Dracula hiding beneath my bed, perching on my shoulder, and tapping at my window. For me, having the heebie-jeebies was as natural as having the hiccups.

And I was just a country mouse (in this case, a city mouse) unaccustomed to uninhabited bedrooms and chirping crickets and settling foundations and bubbling hot water tanks and the dark-dark night. And the cold. So cold in the canyon. So cold in the house.

The anxieties of a city girl. That’s all.

#

I think hung in the air, a cartoon arrow pointing at me, the woman God should strike dead. My left eye twitched so much that I closed them. My heart—a mini-rhinoceros ramming at my chest wall—boomboomboomed, and as I struggled to breathe, my eyes filled with tears. One drop, and then another, and then countless drops slipped down my cheeks. “Holy crap.” Why the hell am I crying?

Dr. Tremaine gasped and sat up in her chair: I was a premature ejaculator, and needed no foreplay to get worked up.

Embarrassed, I diverted my gaze to the walnut-sized jade elephant near the psychiatrist’s penholder. I swiped at my wet face, catching mucus and melting dignity in the palm of my hand. “May I have some tissue?” My stomach twisted, pissed that I had to ask, and also because I didn’t see a box of tissue anywhere. Weren’t all shrinks required to sit a box of tissue on their desks next to the Rorschach blots, the Rubik’s cube, and the dish of peppermints?

“Umm…” Dr. Tremaine gaped at her desk as though it had transformed into a rotisserie. “Just… Hold on.” She darted out of her office, and returned a moment later with a handful of paper towels.

Paper towels.

Not tissue.

I dabbed my face with the paper towels (industrial brand, and so it felt like bark scraping against my face) and pretended to pull myself together. I’d never talk to this woman about my life now. Not ever.

Over those remaining forty-five minutes, I didn’t mention my haunted house again. I didn’t talk about growing up with ten cats and Dracula at my window. Instead, I told the psychiatrist a fable about my mother Claire and my father Clifford. Before their deaths, Mom had practiced law, and Dad had delivered babies. Mom had favored rayon pantsuits. Dad had enjoyed chocolate pudding pops. They had competed in ballroom-dance competitions to keep their love alive. While they were out fox-trotting, I stayed with the Evans Family, our warm-hearted next-door neighbors.

Four minutes to three o’clock, Dr. Tremaine plucked a prescription pad from her desk drawer. “I’m glad to have context for our appointment next week. Did Dr. Clark give you some kind of activity to do between your chats?”

Chats?

I said, “I kept a journal.” And I had stopped writing in it after entry four. “She never read it. It was just to, you know… Get all my feelings out, I guess.”

Dr. Tremaine said, “Paxil and Valium, right?” She offered me two prescription slips and said, “I write in a journal, too. It’s a safe place to admit my fears, to open up and be honest with myself. I can write about things I could never say to anyone else. Not even my closest friends.”

I nodded, and slipped the prescriptions into my purse. Whatever, lady.

Dr. Tremaine stood from her desk. “So, same time next Wednesday?”

I smiled, and said, “Of course.”

Fun with Sign Language

2010-11-15T07:16:00.001-08:00

Don't know about you, but I love signs. Especially the ones with wacky punctuation. Here are two of my favorites:

This sign can be found on the big island of Hawaii, in a lovely almost-beachside cafe that sells delicious burger patties topped with a fried egg and brown gravy:

So "birds"? If they're not really birds, then what are they? And what's the little claxon-thingie in the upper right, next to the "birds"?

This sign can be found at the bumper cars at Circus Circus Las Vegas:

"Absolutely no"? So then, I can bring drinks and food in the bumper car line, since you told me 'no' about some previous question not indicated on this sign?

Do you have pictures of great signs? Send me an e-mail and I'll post them in "Fun with Sign Language".

So You Wanna Buy A Kindle Book...

2010-11-15T06:57:00.000-08:00

but you don't have the Kindle device.

Well!

You will not be given the bum's rush, dear ones! No, Jeff Bezos and Company embraces the idea that reading e-books should be everyone's joy. Okay? Okay.

For example, you can't wait to buy The View from Here but you have no fancy e-reader. Go to the book's page, and scroll mid-way down. On the right hand side, you will see "Read Books on your computer or other mobile devices." Other mobile devices include iPhone, BlackBerry and Android. There's also a PC and a Mac option. So, you're like, "Wow. I'd like to read on my iPhone and my PC. What now?"

First! Go to Apple's App store. Purchase the Kindle for iPhone app -- it's free! Or simply click on "Get Kindle for iPhone" on the book's page, and then click on the App store icon on the next page. This will upload the Kindle platform on to your phone. Then! Return to The View from Here at its Amazon page. And press "Buy Now!" It will then be sent to your phone. Amazing, right? It really is.

Say you want to read on a big screen, like your PC or Mac. It's also easy. Select "Get Kindle for PC (or Mac)" and after agreeing to stuff and clicking 'yes' and 'next' a few times, the Kindle platform will be uploaded onto your hard drive.

Books books everywhere. Enjoy!

The View from Here is out on Kindle, Nook and Smashwords!

2010-11-09T13:31:00.000-08:00

As the cliche goes: I am over the Moon! And! And! You don't even need the Kindle device to read it. Go to the book's page on Amazon, and select "Get Kindle for PC" or iPhone, BlackBerry or Android. Same goes for Barnes & Noble's Nook.

The View from Here focuses on the beauties and hardships of marriage; the betrayals and promises made between husbands and wives; and the grief of one woman haunted by secrets.

Nicole Baxter has always tried to control every element of her life, but that control is slipping away. She has issues. Abandonment issues. Marital issues. Conception issues. And she thinks her house in the hills is haunted. It doesn't help that her husband Truman spleunks and climbs, making her worry more with each adventure he takes. As the two grow apart, Nicole makes decisions that may ultimately shatter her fragile marriage.

Her life changes on the afternoon she receives a phone call from the harbor. During a scuba dive, Truman disappears. No one -- not his diving instructor, not the Coast Guard -- can find him. Is he still alive? Or is grief making her believe the impossible?

A Writer's Fears

2010-11-08T13:57:00.001-08:00

A writer is always scared. If one tells you that they aren't scared, point at them and shout, "You LIE!" As you write and eventually publish (or not) Opus Magnus in the City: Hellzapoppin'!, doubt and anguish swirls in that writer's belly like... like... And this is a fear -- not coming up with the right simile? Or is it metaphor? See how that works? Gah. What, you ask, would a writer, strong and true, be frightened of?

Fears While Writing Opus Magnus in the City: Hellzapoppin'
Is this narrative too smart for today's readers?
Is this narrative too dumb for today's readers?
Am I dumb?
Will Mom, Dad, Nana and the Bishop bristle at my sex scenes, all the cussing, that mention of a joint and a stripper named Skittles?
Is it long enough?
Courier or Times New Roman?
Where the hell did my plot go?
Is that reference from "The Goonies" too obscure?
Am I a writer yet?

Fears While Finding an Agent to Represent Opus Magnus in the City: Hellzapoppin'
Snail mail or e-mail?
Did she get my query letter?
Frances -- is that a man agent or a woman agent?
Will I get rejected?
How many times will I be rejected?
Did my e-mail go to Frances' spam folder?
Crap -- is that chicken grease on my query letter?
I see Inbox (1) -- is that a rejection?
Who'd want to rep me since my writing sucks?
Am I a writer now?

Fears After Finding an Agent Who Will Now Feed Opus Magnus in the City: Hellzapoppin' to Editors the World Over
Does this agent know what she's doing?
Why aren't editors responding?
Is all of New York closed for Hallo-Thanks-Hannu-mas-Kwanzaa?
What idiot would want to buy this story of mine?
Does this editor really like my work?
Will this editor have a job a year from now?
Why isn't the editor responding?
Why isn't my agent responding?
Has she (agent and/or editor) changed their mind and I didn't get the 'You're Fired' e-mail because of Gmail's robust spam filter?
Am I a writer now??

Fears After Finding an Agent Who Will Now Feed Opus Magnus in the City: Hellzapoppin' to Editors the World Over and It Sold and is Now Available for Purchase and Mockery
Is it me or does my cover suck?
Why isn't anyone here for my book signing?
Is that my name spelled wrong on the press release?
Do I own e-rights for Saskatchewan?
In perpetuity perpetuity?
Why isn't my editor calling me back?
Where is my agent?
Am I a writer now?

And.... repeat. Fear: it's what's for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

Spam of the Day

2010-11-05T09:15:00.000-07:00

"Meet christian singles today" " ChristianMingle.com - Meet Thy neighbor"

Oh, Snap! George Takei Uses the 'D' Word

2010-11-04T15:30:00.000-07:00

The It Gets Better campaign just gets better and better...

And now, George Takei addresses a bully in the form of Arkansas school board member Clint McCance.

And Mr. McCance? You, sir, are no Summer's Eve. I know Summer's Eve, and you, sir, don't even come close. No one feels fresher after being splashed in your Haterade.

Thanks to Jezebel for the link.

Ahoy- hoy!

2010-11-04T11:58:00.001-07:00

Hey!

It's been a long time. So much has happened since my last posting. Lindsay Lohan in and out of jail/rehab. T.I. in and out of jail/saving jumpers. The kimchi shortage in South Korea.

But!

I'm back, and will have oh-so-many interesting things to say and share. Trust.

Stay tuned, dear friends.

How Do You Know...???!???

2010-03-01T08:25:00.000-08:00

How do you know if you're a good writer?

It's all so subjective, isn't it?

And I struggle with this question at least... ummm... let's see... every hour.

See, I'm not only a novelist, I'm also a writer at City of Hope, a cancer research institution. My job is to take the hard sciencey like Stat3 genes and hematopoietic stem cell transplantation and DNA methylation and such and make it all easy for the ordinary person to understand, prompting them to send in money to support life-saving research. And I often wonder, Did I do my job? Did I really explain what a Nanodrop Spectrophotometer does?

Sometimes, it's easy to tell if I'm good.

My first novel, A Quiet Storm, was published by a big-big publisher.

A potential donor who read my proposal about some devastating disease sent in a big check.

But sometimes, there's silence. A lot of silence. Or rejection. Lots of rejection. And despite past successes, the niggling in the back of your mind becomes more nagging.

You're a hack.

Look at your participles, all dangling like that.

You can't even spell broccoli right the first time.

So. How do you know, right? I suggest asking yourself the following:

1. Can you string sentences together that make sense and offer a clear point of view?

2. Can you improve that sentence, taking suggestions from others, and go beyond what's already on the page to make it shine? In other words, are you open to critique, dear friend?

3. Are you a good reader? A whore of a reader who reads everything and pays attention to how that writer put down words?

4. Are you aware that your writer can always be improved?

5. Have you been professionally validated? Lots of readers, an agent, an editor, a publishing contract, high blog count, something???

6. Do you love the process of writing and even when it's painful, look forward to putting pen to paper or finger to keyboard every day?

If you can say 'yes' to all (or most) of these, I'm thinking you got something goin' on, dear one.

Wonder if Dennis Lehane ever has this problem...

A Face to Fall in Love With...

2010-02-18T13:33:00.000-08:00

A big 'Hey, thanks for this!' to The Rejectionist for sharing Romance Novel Yourself.

How Did They Know?!

2010-02-18T07:55:00.000-08:00

What the name "Rachel" means according to Urban Dictionary...

What does your name mean?

Another gem from Urban Dictionary:

Wordanista: A person who spends their life telling others what is or is not a word, based on what they have read in books.

It's like they're living in my head!

Lit-life Ladies

2010-02-18T07:18:00.000-08:00

So.

I'm working on a novel right now with a female protagonist that I really like. No, I think I love her. Yeah, I love her a lot.

Why, you ask?

She's fierce and vulnerable, enjoys all good things, insightful and sarcastic, a loner yet enjoys the company of others sometimes, will cry and afraid to cry, overcome some obstacles while avoiding others, and she doesn't take herself too seriously.

I posted earlier about the types of heroines that I love, and when I do, my mind automatically turns to the movies. Sigourney Weaver as Ellen Ripley in the Aliens series, Linda Hamilton as Sarah Connor in Terminator, Oprah Winfrey as Sophia in The Color Purple, Frances McDormand as Marge in Fargo, Jodie Foster as Clarice Starling in Silence of the Lambs, and Angela Bassett in totally-everything-she's-ever-been-in, even that sucky sci-fi film, Strange Days.

What about my first love: books?

How about...

Lucky Santangelo from Jackie Collins' Lucky Santangelo series. She's totally gangsta, beautiful and feared. Who can't appreciate that? (Man, I'm so glad my mother never censored my reading as a teen...)

Sula from the eponymous novel by Toni Morrison. She's misunderstood, strong, gives a damn about society's norms, a rabble-rouser.

Katherina from Shakespeare's The Taming of the Shrew (if you read it as a farce...)

Ramona from Beverly Cleary's Ramona series. One of the first characters I remember as a child. Still have Ramona the Brave I bought at school book fair.

Pippi Longstocking created by Astrid Lindgren. And I must admit, some of those movies from the 70s bleed into this. She outsmarts adults, seems to kinda live alone, tells great stories, can pick up her horse with one hand and has a monkey named Mr. Nilsson.

Who are you favorite literary ladies?

Lessons for your Novel

2009-12-14T06:54:00.000-08:00

The Rejectionist, one of the funniest writing-related blogs EVER, had a great post about how to write a story. The example used is from last summer's "Terminator: Salvation."

Here's a snippet.

1. You need a plot. You really, really do. A Good Idea ("What if it's the future! And robots are the boss of everything and this hot non-emotive dude has to find this kid who is actually his dad and send him back in time before the robots kill everyone!") is an excellent start, but a Good Idea is NOT sufficient to carry the entire vehicle of your novel. We don't care how highfalutin' your concept or your prose is; you leave out the plot and you are going to bore us out of our skull, and not because we are too stupid to comprehend the brilliance of your talent. You REALLY EXTRA-ESPECIALLY need a plot if you are working in genre fiction. Bonus points if your plot MAKES SENSE (see No. 2).

Click on over and laugh aloud.

Oh. One thing TR didn't mention: what's up with having a heart transplant surgery done in the middle post-apocalyptic Somewhere where everyone's fingernails are permanently dirty? We'll just give you a new heart and we can't sterilize anything but somehow you'll live and won't have a nasty staph infection even though there's dirt freakin-everywhere and not a bottle of Betadine in sight. As a viewer, I should suspend some sense of reality, but bacteria and open chest cavities will never... Oh, never mind.

Heroines to Believe In

2009-12-09T07:49:00.001-08:00

My 5-year old daughter is the perfect heroine.

I've always thought this, but on Saturday, she reminded me of the type of female characters I love seeing.

This was Maya in the morning:

And this was Maya in the evening:

A Soccer Rockstar and a Princess.

And that's the type of female characters I strive to write. A person interested in all parts of life--she can kick ass, then stick that same foot into a Manolo Blahnik heel like this:

What type of heroines do I enjoy?

The heroine who can diagram a sentence to death and knows all the capitals of the states; but sometimes stumbles on 'cinammon' or 'cinnamon.'

She is strong in public but still weeps watching "Terms of Endearment."

Isn't scared of blood... unless it's her, and then it's, oh crap, what the hell is this about?

Likes expensive rib-eyes steaks and grilled asparagus AND an In-N-Out burger animal style with fries and... a Diet Coke.

Sees past the obvious flaws in people and look for more meaningful ways they are jacked up. "He's a jerk" and "She's a snot" are just way too easy.

Enjoys watching "America's Next Top Model" and a documentary on... anything.

Doesn't go in the dark, creepy house and if she does, it's only because her beloved (mother, sister, cousin or Golden Retriever) is held captive there.

Knows that her happily-ever-after may not include a man. And if it doesn't, then, oh well.

Has her own s*#t yet shares well with others.

Only relies on her looks to get her information that she needs to advance a noble cause.

Is far from perfect but sometimes refuses to acknowledge that.

What do you look for in heroines?