MuseItUp Publishing

Dear Reporter: Why Write?

2012-01-30T05:40:00.001-05:00

We writers don’t write for the money.

We write because we have this need to write. Because there are voices in our heads that need to come out, to come out on the page, to work through things, to find out ‘what if’ and ‘and then what happened?’

We write because writing is necessary, like breathing. We get a physical urge to write. We write because we must. We must to go on, to cope with the day to day, to cope with the big stuff that happens. What if this happened? What if that? We write because we cannot do otherwise.

If we wrote for money, the hourly rate resulting from the calculation of the hundreds of hours of labor that go into a novel divided by the small amount of money (if any) we receive for our efforts would be an amount much smaller than one cent.

We write because this urge overwhelms us and we stop resisting. We follow it.

We must write.

And when others ask with their smug smiles when we’ll be published, or when we’ll be on the best seller lists, we respond with smiles that not all needs are obvious.

We write because life is better for it.

Addison James

Horror and Dark Fiction

2012-01-29T10:10:00.000-05:00

Talking about horror/dark fiction is akin to watching paint drying…you either love the genre or you want nothing to do with it. I can hear the old lines now…I’m not into slasher blood, I want there to be a story with real characters, not just random killing.

Horror or dark fiction is all about story and characters. These are the backbones of the thrill; the scare; the very reason we don’t want to look over our shoulders or turn off the lights. I’ll go further out on the limb and say these are genres that require even more dedication to story and character than any other genre.

Granted, some horror/dark fiction appears lax…on the surface…regarding these two vital story telling elements. However, when you dig deeper you will find the complexity of a finely tuned tale. Yes, even the movies “Halloween” “Friday the 13th” and “Nightmare on Elm Street” no matter which version.

And what would you say if I stated “Dracula” was a romance. A personal drama of one man turning away from his God only to spend eternity searching for redemption through a forgiving love.

In Mary Shelley’s “Frankenstein” who is the monster?

Lately, we have a whole new set of dark fiction/horror dreamboats…yes, The Twilight series. While not my cup of tea, this series has many debating: vampire or werewolf.

Where else but in dark fiction/horror do vampires and werewolves belong? They are creatures of the night. Elements of nightmares. Shadows moving in the dark recesses of our world glimpsed only from the corners of our eyes.

Dark fiction and horror create the same heart pounding, page turning, and edge of the seat anxiousness as every other genre does and should do. We happen to look under the bed, behind the door, in the closet, and down the cellar stairs knowing full well the bump you heard was someone…something.

We peel the layers of humanity…figuratively and literally…to delve deeper in the human mind…again, figuratively and literally. We want to know what makes a psycho’s brain tick…again, figu—you get the picture. There’s always something more, something around the corner waiting and we, dark fiction/horror readers and writers, need to know.

We don’t want to play it safe and comfortable. Our genre should never make you feel safe and comfortable, at least not until the end and even then we love leaving a creak, a door, a smile unanswered.

Dark fiction and horror allows us to escape the true horror and fears of everyday life; of reality. It is pure escapism. And in the end, at some point, the perfect horror story will have you laughing. Laughing because the cat pushed the door open, made the cellar step creak, and your loved one’s smile knew all this while you freaked out.

I want dark fiction. I want horror because reality is scary enough.

Chris (Steeves) Speakman
MuseItUp Publishing Editor/Author
Editors Call for Submissions
(submissions check here)

Santa's Bones by Julie Jansen

2012-01-28T08:15:00.002-05:00

Hello everyone! I’m JulieJansen. I write science fiction and horror usually with a comic twist.

Just beforeChristmas, Muse It Up! released my short holiday science fiction story, Santa’s Bones. And what a wonderful group of people at MuseIt Up! A big round of applause for allof you!

So here we are,almost in February, and I’m going to talk about Santa. Because any time of yearis good for Santa! We forget about the man for most of the year, right up untilBlack Friday, but he’s still there, lurking about the North Pole, at leastuntil the North Pole melts and Santa catches a strange tropical disease. That’swhat brought about Santa’s demise in my story anyway.

I’d never written aholiday story before Santa’s Bones.The idea came to me one day after reading an article on climate change: theoceans rising, new species surviving on parts of the planets they couldn’ttolerate before. It happened to be Christmastime. My little nieces were runningaround, excited about Santa coming and all the presents they’d find under thetree Christmas morning. My mother was complaining about beetles she’ddiscovered chewing away at the wood of her antique hutch. And we were allwondering whether my Mom’s ghost would make an appearance during our time ather house during the holidays (the ghost loves to play tricks at Christmas forsome reason).

Watching my nieces, Iremembered how excited I used to get as a kid, waiting for Santa. I’d watch forhim in the sky and swear the lights of planes or satellites were Rudolph andthe other reindeer pulling the sleigh. I tried to think about when I stoppedbelieving in Santa, the time for me that Santa “died.”

I couldn’t quitepinpoint a day I stopped believing in Santa Claus, but in all honesty, it mademe sad thinking about it.

I wanted to feel theexcitement my nieces felt. So I wrote Santa’sBones. And you know what? In writing that story, a little Christmas magiccame back.

Even though I kill Santain the story, he’s reborn (I think I gave away a little part). Because Santa’sChristmas spirit never really dies, even when we become adults and have to setour Barbies, GI Joes, and marbles aside to make room for retirement plans,mortgage payments, and dental bills. Santa’s always there, lurking about, andthat magic can grow if we open our hearts.

I don’t know if I’llwrite another Christmas story, but writing this blog made me start thinkingabout St. Valentine. Maybe a science fiction Valentine’s Day tale will be nextin the works!

Julie Jansen

Fate...or Fangs? The Decision is NOW!

2012-01-26T08:49:00.003-05:00

This is Victoria Welshire again, reminding the Fate and Fangs minions out there in virtual vampire land that now is the time to confirm your destiny.

You've slutted with my mother's sister Ann in Love, bemoaned with my mother Elizabeth herself in Struggle. We've delighted in that bitch Lilith getting the Punishment she deserved, and even I submitted my tale of woe to Professor James for Debauchery.

Cry with my brothers James and Gaston over their Lust and quote Humanity while ye may, for Mestiphles makes his return for Valentine's Day! Hee, I made a rhyme, take that Edward Cullen! We were here first, so suck on that, wimp. Really, you want a 700 year old sexy brooding, long and dark haired, one woman vampire man- not boy, pfft!- to do something romantic for his deadly feline lady and have it be PG-13? Get real chicas!

<sips from my goblet for a moment...>

I'll calm now. No real vampire of yore would be romantic, much less be kid friendly about it! Make no mistake, my rival from the Lilithan coven gets what she asked for in Resurrection.

Former Lilithan vampire and newly divorced scientist Stephanie can’t get over how much she misses being a vampire in this final tale from Professor James. After a harrowing car accident, Stephanie meets Mestiphles, the giver and taker of vampire power on both sides of the coven wars. His charm and seductive powers sweeten the demonic offer he extends, but will Stephanie accept his dark opportunities?

So...make your choice now, for soon it will be too late for hesitation. Ooo, I just had shades of Jim Morrison! No time to wallow indeed, for soon the wrinkles will appear, the hair goes gray. The waist is no longer svelte, the back hunched and crippled with the vice of life. But hurry! For the blood is being drained, the limbs are going cold. The eyesight is fleeing so say it now!! Do you accept the frailty of life and the hard cement of permanent death? Or will you let the dark, deep, red gifts flow?

Yes... or No?

Fate.... or... Fangs?

<sips from my goblet for a moment...>

Webmaster Kristin, insert those obligatory links, here. Fin.

http://vampfam.blogspot.com

http://jsnouff.com/kristin

http://kristin724.livejournal.com/

http://www.facebook.com/pages/The-Vampire-Family/157922293588

http://www.myspace.com/kristinbattestella

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/kristinbattestella/

http://www.facebook.com/kristin.battestella

Creeping Shadows in the Night

2012-01-25T05:00:00.000-05:00

If younever spent a day in bed shivering with chills while burning up with fever atthe same time, throat so swollen and sore it hurt to swallow, dry eyes burningand head feeling as though it was a baby's stuffed toy, how would you be ableto appreciate a day when you felt as though you could climb a mountain and haveenergy to spare?

If younever sat staring at a pile of overdue bills, your heart pounding out of fearyour house and car would be taken away by the bank, how could you appreciatelooking at a bank account balance of at least a few bucks after all bills hadbeen paid, including a bit into savings?

If younever laid in bed during the wee hours of the night, startled out of a deepsleep by some noise you couldn’t identify, watching the shadows move across thewalls while your skin literally felt as though it was crawling up your back,your heart racing like you’d been running, how could you appreciate a brightsunny day full of laughter and joy or a night filled with pleasant dreams?

Reading storiesthat scare us allow us to construct safety nets in our imagination so whensomething truly horrible occurs in our lives we can better deal with it, havingalready lived through something similar. Why do people watchReality Shows on television, hoping to see someone get injured or experiencehurt feelings? It makes the viewer feel like their mediocre life is moreexciting and worthwhile than they might otherwise have thought. We need heroes who will fight evil.

It’s longbeen known Middle Graders devour scary stories like candy. Look at the popularseries, like Goosebumps, with hundreds of books and some kids have read everysingle one. By reading about ‘the scary’ and seeing how someone experienced andsurvived it, kids discover they can deal with daily life, which is trulyfrightening at that age.

Horrorexplores and probes the shadows when we are afraid to do so in life. Battlingdemons or ghosts in a book is a lot easier when you know you will survive.Often making it all the way through a truly horrifying book or movie becomes a badge ofcourage. And the more terrifying the story, the braver you feel.

This samephenomena happens with teens and slasher films. Teens need to feel courageousand brave after being bullied at school or worrying about the haircut they justgot. By ‘surviving’ a slasher film, even though the heroine or hero does not,it provides that rush of adrenaline that builds bravery in a viewer’simagination. Whether they could actually be as courageous as they feel if thereal situation occurred is irrelevant.

The same goes for romanticizing evil creatures--make you think of the recent rash of Sexy Vampires? Can you imagine actually coming face to face with a traditional vampire? The ones seen in the scariest vampire movie I've ever seen--30 Days of Night? Who'd want to kiss one of them? But if the author makes the monster, whether it is a Werewolf, Big Foot or Vampire, into a desirable and sexy character, we can more easily face our fears of monsters. After all, don't we want there to be good in everyone, everything? And if we find that good, what does that make us? Super-Good.

As a writerof Dark Fantasy and Horror, my goal is to reveal through fiction the reality ofthe horrors which occur daily in our world. My fiction is only partlyimagination. All of my horror is based on actual news accounts which I then‘fill in the blanks’. My hope is when a reader finishes one of my stories theytake away from it some idea of how they can protect themselves in the realworld so nothing bad could happen to them. You can find out more about me and the books I write at Macabre Raconteur.

See what Imean when you read Don’t Make Marty Mad available as an eBook for only 99 cents.This story of a man who finally loses everything due to uncontrollable angerand jealousy is based on two news articles I read and blended into thecharacter of Marty. It'll knock your...um...socks off.

Amazon

MuseItUp

Dark Fantasy...From My Past To My Future

2012-01-24T12:13:00.000-05:00

Before I get to today's post I must apologize for my mistake. For some reason I thought January 14 was my day to post on the Muse blog. It wasn't, today is so I apologize for that mishap. I had all intention to post my second book excerpt today but I posted it on the 14th. That's all right, there is always a plan B so let's move on to that. What is plan B? I don't know, this is the third time I've attempted to write this post. Maybe the third time is the charm.

What would I bring you today? What morsel of information can I share with all of you that could, some how, cause you to think or even smile but for a moment? I have no idea. Perhaps by the end of this post something will shine like the sun. We shall find out together. If you browse through the earlier posts on this blog you will see that the theme for this week is Dark Fiction (or in my case Dark Fantasy). Why do I write Dark fantasy?

When you think of Dark Fantasy what comes to mind? Monsters, ghosts, ghouls, creatures, and things that go bump in the night? Vampires, werewolves, and witches? Freddy, Jason, or Micheal? All of these belong in Dark Fantasy. I suppose you could say the themes or ideas for Dark Fantasies have always been with me. I remember being scared of the dark so my two older brother turned off all the lights in the house and made me walk down the hall to the bathroom and back again. If I didn't they promised to give me a pretty good beating. Yea, it was the older brother style of tough love. I remember walking slowly down the hall pass each open doorway just knowing something was going to jump out and grab me. The silence was worse than any noise. All I heard was the crinkling of the plastic runner along the floor I was walking on. I made it to the bathroom and back again. It was a triumphant night because I was never scared of the dark again.

Horror movies are different though. I could not watch them as a child. If I did, the nightmares were relentless. Yes, it is a funny world we live in. I can now write Dark Fantasy novels but never could watch horror movies...go figure. Anyway, I'm a child of the 80's and with that came another avenue that impacted my writing and stories. Movies like Indiana Jones, Ghostbusters, Monster Squad, Goonies, and Fright Night really built the foundation for my interests in the realm of Dark Fantasy. I mean who can forget this line - "Wolfmen have nards!" If you have not seen Monster Squad you need to. That line is a whole lot funnier if you've seen the movie. It was these movies that started my friends and I talking about monster. If you remember, in a previous interview I talked about reading a lot of comics. These movies were before that time and actually pushed me to comic books. Yes as I grew older I began watching actual horror movies which turned the small flame of interest to a roaring fire. I watched everything that had to do with vampires and werewolves. I wasn't a big fan of zombies until The Walking Dead aired on AMC.

You might have noticed I've talked about movies a great deal in this posts. I know, this is supposed to be about books. To be honest, I did not start ready until I was much older. The scariest work I actually read was the works of Edger Allen Poe. Yes, he wrote some good ones. Movies, comics, books, and life experiences all played a role in me writing Dark Fantasy. I believe the big difference between Horror and Dark Fantasy is that in Dark Fantasy you have more freedom to include elements of mystery, adventure, and even romance all on the backdrop of darkness and malice. That is very intriguing and inviting to me. Dark Fantasy has a rawness to it that makes it all right not to have a happy ending...or at least a sun shining, everyone happy and alive type ending.

I never had any intention to write Dark Fantasy. I've said that before and most likely will say it again. But I felt compelled to do it. I looked around and saw what vampires had become in books and movies and knew that an attempt needed to be made to bring vampires back to their history. They needed to be re-established as the dark creature of the night that brutally did as they wished and took what they wanted. The intelligent, cunning monster that struck fear in the world for generations. From that thinking came The Blood Chronicles Series. This vampire is smart, regal, cunning, brutal, and deadly.

What does the future hold for SB Knight? What do I have in store for you? I plan to finish The Blood Chronicles Series. The novel I'm writing now has a dreadful creature in it, a man on the run and some unexpected plot twists. I have ideas and notes prepared for a new werewolf story that will be unique. I also have plans for a zombie story that I can promise you has never been done before. It's been close but I'm sure this will be original. I'm also working on the concept of a new trilogy. Here is a little hint about that one, the setting is mostly Purgatory and it has a guardian angel in it. Oh and the main character is a teen aged boy who can actually see his guardian angel. I can't tell you how he can...that would be giving away to much. Oh, one more hint, you would think the villain would be a demon....you would be wrong. Finally, there is a story in the works about teapots. As you can see, I plan on writing for a long time.

If you want to read more about my debut novel, check out book trailers and join my fanpage you can by clicking HERE.

Writing Vampires

2012-01-23T22:21:00.002-05:00

I’ve always been a fan of vampires. The darker and creepier, the better. There is something intriguing about their animalistic nature, the idea of how black a human’s soul can get.

I never really had a desire to write about vampires, especially after the popularity of the “nice” vampire. I didn’t like the new type. Vampires are an abomination, an affront to nature, they don’t get to be nice. You may be saying, “Hey, wait, what about Louie from Interview with the Vampire? He was nice.” He was nice-ish. He still fed on humans to survive. And his soul was tormented.

Actually, when I wrote “The History of My Wishes,” I drew a lot of inspiration from that character. What would be so tragic as to force someone into becoming undead? Would that “life” be better than the mortal one they were living? We know from Anne Rice’s story that “life” is not better. It’s still full of tragedy and heartache. So why go through with the transformation? Of course, hindsight is 20/20.

The beginning part of the story came from a dream I had. I don’t remember the specifics, but I do recall and vampire was granting wishes. I woke up and thought, “Whoa! That’s a great idea. How can I make it work?”

I wrote the first part down, then set the story aside. Literally, it sat for months. What tragedy could have befallen my heroine? There are a bazillion horrible things that happen daily, but none of them seemed to fit my needs. I needed something specific, but what? I didn’t know what I was looking for.

I found it one day at work. I read something, and immediately thought, “That’s it. That’s the tragedy.” When I got a moment, I started writing. But then I faced the issue of my hero’s tragedy. What could have happened to him? Love! Of course! The underlying factor for so many of our poor decisions. But it wasn’t love exactly. More like lust. But it’s very easy to get those two confused.

After being on hold for a very long time, I finally had my story finished. But I had my doubts. It was a vampire story, but not a “new” vampire story. My vampire comes across as nice, but he’s really not. Would readers like it? Would a publisher pick it up?

At least one of those questions was answered, but I still have yet to hear from the readers. With any luck, you will enjoy my story, “The History of My Wishes.” If you want to tell me your opinion, I can be reached at pembrokesinclair at hotmail dot com. I also have a Facebook page and a blog.

I thoroughly enjoy writing dark fiction, it gives me the chance to explore the dark side of human nature. I’m the type of person who is fascinated by serial killers and horror films. I’ve written stories about the Devil. What motivates these people to do what they do? Is that motivation something that exists in all of us? Are any of us capable of heinous acts? Dark fiction allows me to explore those things, to figure out how a character would act. There is a safety in exploring those ideas on paper.

If you’d like to check out some of my other dark stories, you can see a list on my blog, or go here or here.

Rosemary Morris's Path to Publication

2012-01-22T01:55:00.000-05:00

Many years ago I met an Indian palmist, who knew nothing about me. After he scrutinised my palm, he announced that I had an exceptional interest in literature. Then he predicted that, one day, I would be published. He was right about ‘my exceptional interest in literature’ and, for several decades, apart from publication of my historical fiction, everything else the gentleman forecast came true.

At nursery school I made up stories. I described visiting a foreign country, convincing a woman I had visited it. ‘But Rosemary’s never been there,’ my astonished mother said when the woman mentioned it. At primary and secondary school history and geography fascinated me and I loved reading tales about times past. I wept buckets over The Wide Wide World and lapped up Heidi, Anne of Green Gables, Little Women and all the sequels.
Later I read Geofrey Trease and Jeffrey Farnol before graduating to classical authors such as Sir Walter Scot, Thomas Hardy, Charlotte Bronte, and Charles Dickens. Amongst many other authors I discovered Margaret Mitchell, Georgette Heyer, Elizabeth Goudge, Jean Plaidy and Victoria Holt. I also enjoyed historical non-fiction.

In fact, since an early age my imaginary world was peopled with the Knights of the Round Table, 1066 and all that, Eleanor of Aquitaine and the world of courtly love, Tudor ladies dashing Cavaliers Regency gentlemen etc. Sometimes my fictional world seemed more real than my middle class life in which, without the slightest consideration of creature comforts, I yearned what I perceived as the romance of the past.

In my early twenties, while I lived in Kenya, two of my novels were accepted by prestigious publishing houses. Unfortunately, a date for publication was not included in either contract and the publishers reneged. Disillusioned while meeting the demands of my growing family I rarely wrote, but my ambition to become a published historical novelist never left me.

Years later, after leaving Kenya with our children, and living in an ashram with them, before I returned to England, my late husband encouraged me to write. Rejection after rejection of my novels followed, so I participated in writing courses and went on writers’ holidays. I joined a writers’ group that met once a week. When it closed, I joined another one and read books on How to Write. I also joined the Historical Novel Society and the Romantic Novelist’s New Writers’ Scheme to which I submitted a novel a year for a reader’s report. The feed back helped me to improve my submission and my writing skills.

In 2007 I was over the moon when a Canadian Press accepted my novel Tangled Hearts. Unfortunately the publisher went out of business. Nevertheless, I was still determined to succeed in spite of the set back.

In the United Kingdom many factors have had an adverse effect on authors and the publishing industry. Amongst them are the abolition of the publishers’ agreed retail price, the closure of small publishers or their amalgamation with larger publishers and the closure of independent bookshops. Another nail in the proverbial coffin was banged in when Borders closed. There are no longer any small bookshops in the town in which I live, and only two large bookshops, Waterstones and W.H.Smith. To make matters worse, charity shops that sell huge quantities of second hand books cut into author’s royalties. I have friends who used to earn enough to put jam on their bread and butter. They are now lucky to have margarine on their bread. To add to the gloom, supermarkets sell an ever increasing range of books as though they are commodities like bread and sugar.

Confronted with the various situations a new writer must face, I drew on my determination to succeed. Several agents liked my novels and offered good advice. I secured a prestigious literary agent but my novel did not find a publisher.

Eventually, I realised a ray of sunshine is the increasing popularity of electronically published books which can be read on Kindle and other devices. The sales are growing and there are a number of reputable on line publishers so I am delighted to have three new releases from MuseItUp which will be published this year.

Dear Reporter, I am L.J. Holmes

2012-01-21T07:00:00.003-05:00

Dear Reporter,

I began weaving stories in my mind when I was a kid. I'd trundle down the back yard...we had a BIG back yard, with my best friend, Heidi, the German Shepherd I raised from six weeks.

She'd stretch out beneath me, her warm body scented with familiarity and unconditional love, becoming my pillow, and I'd tell her stories about the clouds floating by above us. The clouds are alive with characters and scenic visions.

It was so much easier back then to be a storyteller. I had no responsibilities to pull me from my progressing tapestries until Heidi and I were ready to cool off by jumping into the swimming pool for some playful water time.

Today I find life gets in the way. I'm a mom...my primary role in life and one I would not give up ever, but I'm also a citizen of the world around me. Sometimes its hard to stay focused when health challenges me and my daughter Kat Holmes, herself a Muse It Up author. She lives with me (I am so lucky) but suffers from uncontrolled seizures along with many other spirit programmed health obstacles.

I think it helps I shut down my inner voice, except for brief excursions to amuse those around me, for well over ten years. Now that I have unlocked that voice, (nicknamed Nudge...since she nudges me quite a lot,) she has so much to say, and no obstacle is going to get in her way for very long.

Still, this is the real world and obstacles, like the dark stuff, happens. I just celebrated my sixtieth birthday. The body takes consistent pleasure in letting me know it has passed that double-over-the-hill mark, but the mind?...I still see myself as that young girl, my head nestled atop Heidi's warm, pleasingly scented body, spinning tales from my metaphoric clouds plassing by.

I see myself as the young mother I was when Kat was a toddler, and I possessed not one single wrinkle. I'm not her, but everything I write somehow takes me back to her and how she would have reacted, had she been confronted with the dilemmas I place her in.

Still, cannot escape the body...so, Dear Reporter, I accept there will be periods when the body requires me, like it or not, to crash for 36 to 48 hours. I accept there will be days when the hands are too swollen to flex enough to make my keyboard sing, but on the other days, I will let Nudge have free reign.

In the end I have thirteen stories contracted so far, ten of them released since 12/1/2010...

1. Santa is a Lady 12/2010
2. Forever With You 2/2011
3. The Pendulum Swings 3/2011
4. Twilight Comes 5/2011
5. In From The Cold 6/2011
6. This Time Forever 8/2011
7. Beyond Yesterday 9/2011
8. Suc-U 10/2011
9. Champagne Afternoon 11/2011
10. The Christmas War 12/2011
...and three scheduled for 2012
1. She's Gone 2/2012
2. Echoes From The Past 4/2012
3. Life's Journey 6/2012

One contracted I co-wrote with my daughter...Her Last Day is due out 4/2013

Five manuscripts are in the pipeline waiting for contracts...and two more are about to join them.

I have twelve blogs that somehow I manage to keep posting to on a very regular basis, and of course, these Muse Blogs too...

SOOOO, Dear Reporter, although it bothers me when the body shows my advancing age and weaknesses, Nudge is my inspiration and she has a LOT to say and loves saying it through Muse because it a-MUSE-s her.

She says, "Muse is what I am, and Muse is where I am? How can it ever get better?"

Gotta love a wise Nudge!

When Love Speaks

2012-01-20T21:10:00.001-05:00

Film mirrors real life. Writers of fiction and fact speak the truth through the words of their characters. The power of love. The power of the pen to write what is in men’s hearts when they fall…

She has 600 different smiles. They can light up your life. Make you laugh out loud, make you cry, just like that.
— When a Man Loves a Woman

When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.— When Harry Met Sally

The world is moved by love. We kneel before it in awe.
— The Village

We come to love not by finding a perfect person, but by learning to see an imperfect person perfectly.
— To Love and Be Loved

Love is the strongest thing. Nothing can touch it. Nothing comes close. If we love each other we're safe from it all ---Snow Falling on Cedars

I knew it the very first time I touched her. It was like coming home... I knew. It was like magic.— Sleepless in Seattle

Wherever she is, that's where my home is.— The Notebook

You make me want to be a better man —As Good as It Gets

I would rather share one lifetime with you than face all the ages of this world alone. — The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring

What is sacred? Of what is the spirit made? What is worth living for? What is worth dying for ?The answer to each: only love — Don Juan DeMarco

Truth & love has always won There may be tyrants and murderers and for a time they may seem invincible, but in the end, they always fail. --Gandhi

There are too many mediocre things in life to deal with and love shouldn't have to be one of them.— Dream for an Insomniac

"I want the last face you see in this world to be the face of love.… I'll be the face of love for you."— Dead Man Walking

I would rather have had one breath of her hair, one kiss from her mouth, one touch of her hand, than eternity without it.
— City of Angels

Known someone that could level you with her eyes... an angel on earth who could rescue you from the depths of hell. " — Good Will Hunting

It seems right now that all I've ever done in my life is making my way here to you."— The Bridges of Madison County

Yours has been the most important friendship of my life.— Sense and Sensibility

Christine London Author Romance With a Twist www.christinelondon.com

Dear Reporter

2012-01-20T09:11:00.001-05:00

I suppose the title for for this blog entry is less than original but there you have it. The question is what did you overcome to become a published author. The short answer is, a lot. The long answer is a little bit more complicated than that.

So you want to be a published author you're going to hear a lot about craft, about passion and while those things are true I have a little bit different take on things. For me it's all about perseverance and putting your work out there for people to see. Will you be rejected at first, well, odds are yes. Not many people are accepted the first time around. But there will be those of you who will, and there will be those of you who buck the system and go your own way and publish through Amazon or Smashwords. But everyone will know at some point in their career some sort of sense of frustration that things aren't moving as fast as they'd like.

What did I endure? Abuse at the hands of others of all kinds. A parent who doesn't recognize what I do as legitimate. And people who want me to feel bad for my success. Insecurity that I was not a good writer (I still wrestle with that one lol), insecurity that no one will buy my books, insecurity that I will never have any friends who want to celebrate with me.

I wish I could tell you this was some sort of glamorous road where happiness lay at the end of the path. Here are the facts, you want to be successful. In order to be happy in your success as a writer you will have to determine what that success will be on your own terms. Believe it or not I am very happy, 2011 was a very good year, 3 book contracts, a 2nd place finish in the Preditor and Editor Awards of 2011, and plans for a healthy online and RL book tour starting tonight at the Muse Chat at 9PM EST http://themuseonlinewritersconference.com/x7chat/index.php a booksigning at That Book Place next Saturday, a book fair in March http://www.thatbookplace.com/authors-fair/attending-authors-2012/ and an author fair in April in Kentucky.

Success doesn't just come up to you. You have to go out and get it. So what are you waiting for? Go out and get it.

Dear Reporter, What's it all about?

2012-01-19T07:31:00.003-05:00

Rejections? Yes, rejections. All authors have them. I could wallpaper a room with mine. Seriously, I really could and I've kept everyone.
I began writing seriously and submitting back in 2002. I submitted to publishers, I submitted to agents. Many big houses won't even look at a manuscript from an author, it has to come through an agent. Back then not too many publishers or agents accepted manscripts online, so I had to mail them.
That meant reading the submissions section carefully, printing the manuscript, and packing it (no staples) with a rubberband around it and then a trip to the postoffice.
Then the wait began. Of course, I didn't sit idly by and wait for the answer, nope, I got busy on my next story.
Let me tell you a little about my writing process. I'm what they call a panster. I write by the seat of my pants. I come up with an idea and I know how my story starts. At this point I have a pretty good idea of how I want it to end. What happens in the middle - well that's as much a surprise to me as it is to the reader. The next thing I do is fill out a character worksheet.
I want to know everything I possibly can about my character, besides just what they look like. I need to know when they're born, what their hobbies are, do they like chidlren, pets? Where do they live, how about their family? Brothers, sisters? Faults? - Oh yes, they have to have faults. No one is perfect and neither should they be.
I even talk to them. At least, I hope they'll talk to me, because if a character doesn't speak to you, you won't get far into the book. And then I start writing. Usually, the characters lead me. They go the way they want to go and they're the ones who throw the stumbling blocks into the story. I'm not concerned at this point how it sounds or what I'm writing, I just want to get the story down on paper.
Once my story is done, I put it away - in a computer file - I also send it to myself through email. I can always retrieve my email. If my computer crashes, I can't retrieve my files. I let it sit and forget about it and move on to something else. I try to write every day, at least for fifteen minutes, sometimes much much longer. It depends on my time and how much the characters are speaking to me. Sometimes, they don't speak at all and what I write is dreck (junk). Other times, I can't stop writing and even forget to eat. I love those days. If I get stalled because they won't speak at all and at least a couple of weeks has passed, I bring out the previous manuscript and begin my revisions. This is where I begin polishing my story, making sure I'm showing, not telling. Once I go through it, I set it aside again and move on to something else. I do this several times until I believe the story is the best it can be. Sometimes I'll go through it four or five times, sometimes more. I won't submit it until I'm satisfied with it.
I've learned a lot since I started submitting back in 2002. I read those stories now and see what I've missed and how they can be made better. I've learned how to show, not tell the story. So I'm in the process of going through all of those stories and submitting them again.
This time, I'm submitting to ebook publishers. I see this as the wave of the future. I've had much success at MuseItUp Publishing. Oh, I'm still getting rejections and have several that they've asked me to rewrite, but they've accepted several also. You can find my books at my Muse author's page.
You can find out more about me at my website website or my blog.

Alzheimer's Disease - Ruthless and Cruel

2012-01-18T09:19:00.004-05:00

Alzheimer’s Disease – Ruthless and Cruel

By Joanne Elder

Yesterday I was on Rogers Daytime, a local morning talk show, to promote my science fiction thriller SPECTRA, recently released by MuseItUp Publishing, and to promote the upcoming Authors Fight Alzheimer’s fundraiser taking place on January 30^th at the North York Central Library Auditorium in Toronto from 6:30 pm to 9:00 pm. When Jeff, one of the hosts on the show, asked about the fundraiser, it brought back a rush of memories of why I decided to organize such an enormous event. The answer…my father.

My father, William Cavendish Macneill, was my friend, my mentor and my inspiration. We shared a love of science and science fiction and I followed in his footsteps in becoming an engineer. He was never a writer, but I can write to keep his memory alive. When my father was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease, I looked into his eyes and saw the man who raised me, the man who was a WWII pilot, the man who was a successful engineer, the husband to my mother. I also saw confusion and fear. Shortly before he passed away, I looked into those same eyes and saw something I’d never seen before: his spark for life was gone. The disease had extinguished it. In a moment of clarity, he looked at me and said “This game has gone on far too long.” Those are words too painful to even think about. My mom presently suffers from Alzheimer’s disease, but when I visit she still manages to tell me she loves me. For those words I’m truly grateful.

After my dad passed away in 2008, I felt I had to do something to give meaning to his years of suffering with Alzheimer’s disease. I dedicated SPECTRA to him and decided to donate half my royalties to the Alzheimer’s Society. But that was not enough. I want people to have awareness of what my dad and millions of others go through with this terrible disease. And so Authors Fight Alzheimer’s was born…

This fundraising event has grown into a huge book signing event with 26 authors (some award winning) of many different genres. The authors will be signing their books that evening with the proceeds of sales going to fight Alzheimer’s disease. Dr. Sandra Black, a distinguished physician with Sunnybrook Hospital and Professor of Neurology at the University of Toronto, will talk about Alzheimer’s disease and the importance of keeping your mind active through reading as a defense against the disease. Thanks to our corporate sponsors, there will be great food and door prizes. I hope people will spread the word and attend this fantastic evening to meet the authors and stock up on some great winter reading.

My thanks goes out to all the MuseItUp authors attending the book signing with me (Kevin Craig, Sandra Clarke, Nancy Bell and Helene Provost), and to Lea Schizas and Litsa Kamateros for all their support. I must also thank all the other participating authors and the corporate sponsors for making this event a success. I final thank you must go to Deron Douglas with Double Dragon Publishing for publishing a commemorative book particularly for this event.

My compassion goes out to everyone who has had a loved one suffer with Alzheimer’s disease. Perhaps if we work together, we can make a difference for next generation.

Joanne Elder

Author of SPECTRA and ENTITY (May 2012), MuseItUp Publishing

Website www.sciencefictionthrillers.com

Facebook www.facebook.com/Spectra.Series

Twitter @JoanneElder

Dear Reporter—Then and Now.

2012-01-16T09:02:00.001-05:00

When I started writing my first novel, back when the world and I were young, I needed to research a great deal of history that most people, and myself, knew very imperfectly. I had decided upon an opus that dealt with the history of the Angles and Saxons who found their way to Roman Britain between 500 and 600AD and who found it ripe for the picking.

Research involved far different skills and activities then than they do today, and I intend to contrast the two eras here. The interest and pleasure I, as a writer of historical fiction, gained from my discoveries were somewhat equal to those I receive from learning some obscure new fact today. The satisfaction of inserting them into a narrative that may surprise and delight the reader is just as strong.

Even the stories of the change from Britanniae to Angle Land are much different today. Mallory’s “Morte d’Arthur’ was one of the few sources in the 1960s, even though it was a poem of dubious origin taken from earlier works that had been embellished to suit the chivalric traditions of the Middle Ages. There had been almost no archaeological study of the traces remaining on the ground. The British sources open to me were Nennius’ “History of the Britons” of 800AD and St Gildas’ “De Excidio et Conquestu Britannaie” of about 550AD. On the Saxon side there was little but King Alfred’s compilation of the “Anglo Saxon Chronicles” sometime around 850AD. The fact that the ‘Chronicle’ repeated the same actions under different dates and names didn’t inspire much confidence in historiography of the period.

Of course, the only name known to laymen and readers then was King Arthur—the gink with the Round Table. King Arthur was good enough for most writers and readers, so who was I to think of kicking him off the billboard? Well, I’ve never thought it worthwhile to write something that has already been written to death a hundred times. Arthur was a synthesis of characters from many other ancient stories, and never a real person. There—I’ve said it and romantics can cry their tears into a copy of Mallory.

My research did have its magic moments. I visited the British Museum to access some of the sources and in the old Reading Room of the British Library—yes, the circular room where Karl Marx, George Orwell, Bram Stoker, Mahatma Gandhi, Mark Twain and a thousand others had preceded me—I was allowed to read a translation of “De Excidio” printed in the 1500s. Wow! It was a thousand years newer than the original but still so old as to make me nervous how I opened the pages. The old Reading Room is not connected to the library today—which is in new, larger premises, but it is open again for special exhibits and even has some books. One more pleasure lost in the move to our mechanistic age.

What of the modern age? I’m now researching a nearer history—the Regency in Britain and finding almost all my answers online. What did the Isle of Dogs look like when my characters visited a shipyard on the Thames in 1814? Following links (and starting at Wikipedia) I found maps, info, paintings, and even modern London details that threw light on the earlier time. My stories involve shipbuilding and I have some good sources picked up over the years—books bought during visits to the actual ships, the SS Great Britain of 1843 and HMS Warrior of 1861, that have details on the salvage and restoration of the ships and on the original machinery and construction methods.

Many writers of historical romance use the popular artifice of having their couple united by an unconsummated marriage so they might tease the reader between outcomes of annulment or eventual true love. Sorry, but that’s a bunch of cods-wallop too. The requirements for divorce or annulment before the Marriage Act of 1857 didn’t care two hoots about whether the union was consummated or not—they were far more realistic and only cared whether there had been adultery committed by either party. There is a great deal of material on divorce, separation (a mensa et thoro) and requirements for becoming legally (and religiously) married once you start looking into the matter. All surprisingly fascinating---I’m thinking of becoming a non-marriage counsellor once this writing is finished.

Some writers dread researching, and others revel in it, but the reader can be cheated without it. Here’s to delving back as far and as thoroughly as one can...for, what are you doing, Dear Reporter, if not researching authors and how they feel about their writing?

Painting with Words by Grace DeLuca

2012-01-15T16:16:00.000-05:00

I love to write. In particular, I love writing fortweens, teens, and even kids who are all grown up. In the past I hadn’t askedmyself why I enjoy writing so much. But today, with a little analysis, myconclusion is simple…it’s probably in the genes. It’s certainly in the family. My cousin, Heather Haven, is a successful author who wrotethe Alvarez Family Murder Mystery Seriesand my aunt and son have also dabbled in writing.

Delvingback into childhood memories, I remember my father at holiday gatherings seatedin an armchair, a flock of kids gathered around him as he wove stories for them. Our favorite tales were his fictitiousadventures as the “Sheriff of Applesauce County.” For years all the youngsters in the family believed theywere the absolute truth and Grandpa had been a sheriff in the Old Wild West. When he died two of his adult grandsonscame to the funeral parlor with a toy sheriff’s badge and slipped it into hispocket.

I’doften amuse my own grandchildren with tales of a “pretend” land. Though I loved to read and never passeda day or night without spending some time with my nose in a book, it didn’t occurto me to put my make-believe stories into writing. I was an artist, busy with family, teaching, and using myfree time to paint or sketch.

However, little bylittle the urge to write grew and I began to study writing. It seems to me there’s a strong linkbetween visual and literary art. AuthorBrad Meltzer said he loved “to paint with the written word.” I believe writing is “painting with words” and at this time in my life I’m havinglots of fun “painting” in this way. I’m especially drawn to writing for youngsters. It seemed natural to elaborate on someof the stories I’d told to my grandchildren and to use them as a foundation fora book. The result was Betwixt and Between, a novella fortweens (ages 10 to 14), and my first published book. It is now available as an e-book and in print.

It’s the story ofMichael, a thirteen-year-old boy, whose guardian angel sends him on a spiritualQuest to find out who he truly is. He travels though a fantasy land of fun, adventure and… Danger! Among the friends he meets are a young French girlnamed Callie and super-intelligent Professor Nomolos. He also finds a strong enemy blocking his way. Blackjack opposes him at every turn. Will Michael overcome all obstacles tocomplete his Quest and return home? Will he discover who he truly is? I found the replies to these questions as I wrote, allowing Michael tolead the way.

I’mnow in the process of “painting” a sequel to Betwixt and Between entitled Aboveand Beyond, in which Michael’s daughters, Carly and Anna, will make theirown fantasy journey of self-discovery. I’ll be traveling with them. Wish us luck.

Grace DeLuca

gracedelwrite@gmail.com

gracedelbygrace.blogspot.com

The Young Knights

2012-01-15T00:01:00.034-05:00

“Hello?”
“Do you see anyone?”
“Shh!”
“Well, do ya?”
A head poked out from the open door. “No. There’s no one here.”
“Gavin, how could that be?” A red-headed boy followed the first out of the doorway.
“Do you think we’re late?” Another voice spoke from the doorway.
The boy called Gavin turned and spoke to the others. “Don’t think so. If anything, I figured we would be early.”
All three cautiously entered the room.
“Look here,” the red-headed boy pointed to the table and chairs. Sandwiches and a pitcher of water set on the table.
“Food and drink. We must be in the right place,” the third boy spoke.
“Our author just must be late,” the red-headed boy replied.
“I think you’re right, Bryan,” Gavin said. He slapped Bryan on the back. “Let’s sit down. I’m kinda hungry.”
Gavin and Bryan sat down.
“Come on, Philip.” Gavin motioned to the other boy still standing. “Join us. None of us has eaten since dawn. You must be hungry, too.”
Philip smiled and sat down.
For several moments no one spoke while they ate.
“Well...” Philip pushed away from the table. “What do you think they are going to ask us?”
“I thought that Cheryl said it would be about The King’s Ransom,” Gavin answered.
“She did. Remember she told us not to reveal any of the book’s secrets,” Bryan added.
“Should we go over what to say,” Philip asked. “I don’t want to say the wrong thing.”
“We could practice, I guess.” Gavin looked over at the door. “Doesn’t appear to be anyone close by.”
“When we introduce ourselves, should be use our titles?” Bryan asked.
“No bloody way!” Philip shook his head. “Only Prince Gavin. Ours would give away the ending of the story.”
“Okay. Then maybe Gavin could tell about the setting of the story,” Bryan offered.
“Right. I’ll tell how the book is set in Wales around the 5th century.”
“You can also tell them that St. David’s Head is a real place on the western coast,” Philip added.
“Yea, and be sure to tell them about Cardigan Bay. I may die there.” Bryan said.
“You’re not supposed to tell that!” Philip punched Bryan in the arm.
Gavin glared at each of them. “I’ll tell about those places, but first I have to let our readers know that my home Pembroke Castle and Manorbier Castle are also real and still standing today.”
Philip and Bryan nodded.
“Don’t tell them about the ghost at Manorbier Castle,” Philip reminded him.
“I won’t.”
“We have to tell about The Wild Man,” Bryan said.
“Just so we don’t tell too much about him,” Gavin said. “It’s okay to say that The Wild Man is our friend and accused of murder.”
“Yea, and we can tell how the three of us swear on the Knight’s Oath to help him,” Philip butted in.
“Right,” Gavin said.
“Can we tell about the witch?” Bryan asked.
Gavin and Philip both shook their heads.
“What about saying something about our author?” Bryan tried again.
“We could do that,” Gavin agreed.
“She must like King Arthur.” Philip explained. “We’re the second book she’s written that takes place during his time.”
“That’s right. She also wrote about Queen Guinevere when she was around our age.” Bryan added.
“It’s called Guinevere: On the Eve of Legend,” Gavin chimed in.

Philip walked over the to window. “Shouldn’t someone be here by now? I mean, after all, it’s supposed to be an interview.”
Gavin shrugged his shoulders. “I wonder if we got the day or the time wrong?”
“I don’t know, but it is getting dark outside. We need to think about getting home.” Philip pointed out the window.
“It’s not even supper time, the sun can’t be going down already, not in the spring!” Bryan joined Philip at the window.
“Unless it’s not spring.” Gavin came over also. “Look how low the sun is on the horizon. It’s not spring! It’s the middle of winter!”
“Well, no wonder no one’s here to interview us,” Philip stated. “We not supposed to be out until the spring. We are early.”
All three looked around uneasily.
“Do you think they’ll notice that some of the food and water is gone?” Bryan whispered.
“What do you think? Let’s get out of here while we still can,” Gavin led the way to the door they came in.
“What do we tell Cheryl?” Philip asked as they slipped through the doorway.
“Nothing!” Gavin and Bryan replied.

Sorry. My crew showed up early. Look for more from them this spring!

Cheryl Carpinello
Beyond Today Educator

A Little Bit of What, How and Why I Write

2012-01-14T13:04:00.000-05:00

If anyone had asked me five years ago whether I'd considered writing fiction for children, my answer would have been no. A career of writing business-related materials and an indulgent few years as an orchestral program annotator had led me down a comfortable nonfiction path. The research that writing nonfiction usually entails was a joy for me and often, frankly, a refuge from the far more difficult exercise of writing. Early attempts at fiction were quietly buried.

As a child I reveled in the bedtime stories my parents read to me. As an adult I rediscovered the same fascination reading to my own son when he was small. It seemed I had not lost my love of the escapism, innocence, imagination, and humor of children's literature and, after retirement, I discovered the magic of writing for children. I began tentatively with magazine articles, delighting in researching subjects that had nothing to do with business. A few were published in Stories for Children Magazine. Encouraged, I plunged into the online community of children's writers, devoured advice, joined a critique group or two - one of the best decisions I've ever made - and discovered that walking helped focus my "little grey cells" on my narrative.

I couldn't imagine writing an entire novel, but ideas for a couple of short stories came to me via news articles. It occurred to me that if I could write a few short stories, why not a collection of them - a novel? Of course a novel is far more than a collection of stories, but envisioned that way, novel writing seemed a lot less intimidating.

The idea for my first book, Dewi, the Red Dragon, came from my Welsh heritage. I've always wished Wales could find its place on the global awareness map to the same degree that Ireland and Scotland have. Perhaps I could create my own little bit of Welsh PR with a story set in Wales and a main character who represents a Welsh national symbol: the red dragon.

Ideas for my next story about Dewi sprung up in response to Dewi's talent for sleuthing and my concern about the dangers of genetically modified organisms (GMOs) that have found their way into most processed food in the United States. A weird combination you may well think, but that's the magic of children's literature: it's an extraordinarily flexible medium. Children will follow Dew's fast-paced adventures; parents will catch the underlying GMO issue, but all with large helpings of humor. At least that's the approach I tried to take because I love to see children reading books that make them laugh!

The two Dewi manuscripts received more than forty-nine rejections between them. I submitted mostly to agents because I didn't want to undermine agents' resources by going directly to publishers. Eventually knowonder! magazine surprised me by publishing the first Dewi in its entirety online, and when Dewi and the Seeds of Doom resonated with MuseItUp's reviewers, I took heart that dragons - at least Welsh dragons - can still light a fire in children's book publishing.

My penchant for writing about young male characters may come from memories of the fun I had as the mother of a youngster who enjoyed his boyhood. The idea for the plot of Vin and the Dorky Duet dropped out of nowhere. I only remember I wanted to try writing a book that paid a fleeting tribute to my love of music and was narrated by a twelve-year-old boy faced with a realistic challenge that he must meet using his wits - no magic allowed - because I love the challenges that approach poses. Vin received more than seventy-six rejections from agents before it was welcomed by MuseItUp, which will release the book in July.

The fast pace, simple point of view, humor, and what-happens-next? approach of my books is aimed at encouraging reluctant young readers to turn a few pages. I'm on tenterhooks to see if that happens.

Maggie Lyons
http://www.maggielyons.yolasite.com/
http://lyonseditorialservices.com/

Born of Blood - Book Excerpt Two

2012-01-14T08:00:00.001-05:00

March 23 is coming and with it the release of Born of Blood. My debut novel. In anticipation of the release and to curb my excitement I have prepared a second book excerpt. Welcome to a sneak peek of Book I of The Blood Chronicles Series. Enjoy!

The rider’s head swiveled as she searched the hillside for any sign of pursuit. Wet mud flew high in the air from her horse’s hoofs as they thundered down the rutted trail. She shifted her eyes for a split second to look at the bundle snugly bound against her midsection.
“Just a little further now,” she whispered.
The cold night air whistled past her ears, but sweat continued over her brow. The barren trees reached out with their finger-like limbs, threatening to rip her off her mount. At the last second, she swerved her horse down a side path. A glimmer of light in the distance called to her, and a burst of speed brought the weary rider to a ramshackle farmhouse with a single light glowing from a lone window.
The smoke from the fire was a welcoming sign of warmth as she approached the door. A soft knock, and it cracked opened. An old woman gazed beyond the traveler’s shoulder for a moment until she stepped aside and waved her in.
“You sure you weren’t followed girl?” a gray-haired man asked from a seat in the corner next to the fire.

The rider’s head swiveled as she searched the hillside for any sign of pursuit. Wet mud flew high in the air from her horse’s hoofs as they thundered down the rutted trail. She shifted her eyes for a split second to look at the bundle snugly bound against her midsection.
“Just a little further now,” she whispered.
The cold night air whistled past her ears, but sweat continued over her brow. The barren trees reached out with their finger-like limbs, threatening to rip her off her mount. At the last second, she swerved her horse down a side path. A glimmer of light in the distance called to her, and a burst of speed brought the weary rider to a ramshackle farmhouse with a single light glowing from a lone window.
The smoke from the fire was a welcoming sign of warmth as she approached the door. A soft knock, and it cracked opened. An old woman gazed beyond the traveler’s shoulder for a moment until she stepped aside and waved her in.
“You sure you weren’t followed girl?” a gray-haired man asked from a seat in the corner next to the fire.
“Yes, I’m sure,” the rider replied as she dropped her saddlebag on the table.
The old woman shut and latched the door. “Now, Pa, leave her be. She’s been on a long ride.”
“Well, if’n she was followed, it will be for naught.”
“I said I wasn’t followed.”
Pa stared at the girl for a moment and nodded before repacking his pipe with tobacco. “Then move over here to the fire and warm your bones.” He indicated the hearth.
Elizabeth stood close to it and absorbed the warmth into her stiff fingers. As she warmed, she removed her hat, scarf, and cloak, but the bundled blanket remained against her midsection. I hope I’m doing the right thing. She turned to the old couple.
“I know this is a burden on you. There are some supplies in the saddlebag. It’s not much, but it will last a few days.”
“That witch has done enough horror in these parts, so it’s the least we can do.” Pa spat.
“Well, let’s have a look,” requested Ma.
Elizabeth detached the bundle and handed it to her. With experienced hands, she pulled back a portion of the blanket. The angelic face of a sleeping baby girl greeted her.
“Oh, isn’t she darlin’.” Ma cooed at the babe. “Come look, Pa.”
Pa moved around the table and stared at the baby.
“I’d say that’s a baby, all right.” With that, he moved back to his seat.
“Never you mind him. I know him like my own hand, and he loves this little bundle already.”
Elizabeth gave a slight smile. “I knew she would do well here, but mind the countess will never stop looking for her once she figures things out.”
“You think she will?” Ma asked.
Elizabeth bundled up for the journey back. “I’m positive,” she exclaimed as she walked out into the night.

****

The elderly couple stood in the doorway with the baby and watched as Elizabeth disappeared down the darkened path.
“Did you see what that woman did to Elizabeth’s face?” Pa asked.
“You’ve heard the sayings, Pa. Now you know some are true. She’s a brave girl, doing what she did.”
“Yes, but it might cost her more then she wants to pay.”
The baby squirmed in her blanket, and their conversation shifted to her and keeping her safe.

* * * *

Elizabeth arrived back at the castle an hour before sunrise. It would be a long day, but if all went well, it would be worth it. She corralled the horse and crept to the kitchen through the back of the stable yard. With silent steps, she climbed the stairwell, ever mindful of other servants who, to find good favor, would notify the countess. Her door swung open on oiled hinges. With growing confidence, she stepped into the comforting darkness of her room, but her hand stopped on the sconce where the torch should have been. Panic began anew as she patted along the wall, fingers trembling.
“Looking for this?” A voice startled her as the torch came to life. The old gray stone walls dulled the red and orange glow from the flame.
Elizabeth straightened as she turned to face the countess. She dropped into a deep curtsy.
“Countess, I didn’t expect you up so early.”
The countess glared at the girl before a cold, heartless grin creased her face. “Oh, this is a special day,” she replied and moved to the window to gaze over the darkened countryside.
“Why is that, my lady?”
“Before we get to that, I would like to know why you took one of my horses out so late.”
Elizabeth froze as her mind raced for an excuse.
“I…uuummm…”
“Never mind. My newest addition is nowhere to be found on the same night you go for a joy ride. Isn’t that interesting?”
Tears ran down Elizabeth’s face. “Countess, I’m deeply sorry. I…”
The countess flew over from the window and stopped just as her nose touched Elizabeth’s.
“I have no time for a sniveling little whore like you,” she yelled.
She stepped back, took a deep breath and smoothed out her dress. “Look at me. You’ve got me all in a mess. You are right about one thing…you’ll be deeply sorry.”

Want more? Check out my site HERE.

What I Learned From My Characters

2012-01-13T12:01:00.000-05:00

What makes a good story or novel? I’ve been taught over and over, a good book makes a reader think. It must leave them with something burning in their thoughts long after they have closed the pages. And though I love a good story-line, to me the element that keeps me reminiscing about a book is a great, memorable character.

A character can make or break a story for me. I love a character I can bond with, identify with, empathize with and root for. And I want that character to grow and learn, teaching me as I read along. And so, as you can tell, I put a lot of emphasis on my characters as I write.

Last week, I had a question regarding characters posed in one of my writing groups…

Do you ever envision yourself as the hero or heroine in your novel?

I pondered this and found my answer to be a little surprising. Being as fond of my characters as I am, I was actually surprised to find that no, I’ve never actually envisioned myself as the character. Since most of my writing is directed toward Tweens/YA, my characters are younger, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t very near and dear friends to me. They are some of my very best friends. They unfold and evolve before me, exposing their strengths and weaknesses, letting me whisper in their heads and direct them into some very scary and intrusive situations. (And yes, like many authors, some of their worst situations, I have experienced personally myself.)

It’s funny to admit though, that my characters don’t always listen to me when it comes time to ‘handle’ the situation at hand. Many times, just like my birthed children, they choose to create their own path, whether right or wrong, they do it ‘their way.’

As I continued to ponder the question from my group, I was amazed as my characters revealed just how much they have taught me as I write! I have grown by watching them withstand their trials of their story and witnessing their perseverance and resolution.

One of my favorite characters is Tara Cummings. She is the 13 year-old main character from A Horse Called Trouble. She hasn’t had an easy life. Her mother abandoned her when she was seven and she’s been passed from foster home to foster home, not wanted by anyone. She is teased and put down until she withdraws into herself, putting up walls, trusting no one.

I did not intend to put so many obstacles in front of Tara. I could, however, empathize with some of her situations. Though I was not abandoned, I did grow up as the ‘un-cool’ kid in class, the one who wore hand-me-downs and was often teased for being ‘different.’ Because of this I became introverted and reserved, yet hungry for what the others had. It wasn’t until Tara opened up to me, and I let myself open up in return, that I realized how many of those feelings of hunger and desire I still craved, and yet how I still stood in my own way to get them.

Tara was forced to address her fears and weaknesses in order to save her beloved horse, Trouble, from sure death—the very horse who taught her to open up and love and trust again. In challenging the very things that kept her chained within, she freed herself to become the person she wanted to be. I found through watching Tara’s determination and resolve that I too began to walk taller, be more involved and confident and take action to become the writer I always wanted to be. Just like Tara, I began to take pride in my own worth and found personal strength I never knew I had. I also discovered there are many people out there who love me for me. Many more than I realized since I had stayed within my own imperfect walls far too long.

So with Tara’s help, I broke many walls down and opened myself up to accept what life would throw at me. Writing with Tara became therapeutic. Even though her torment was different than mine, it allowed me to write my feelings in an anonymous way, and directed me to an outcome pleasing and satisfying to both of us.

I hope my fellow writers have a character as instrumental to them as Tara was to me. And I hope my readers will open up and allow Tara to do her magic in showing them self-worth, dignity and pride come from within and we are so much stronger than we are ever aware of.

If you’d like to find out a little more about Tara and A Horse Called Trouble please visit my web site: http://www.ckvolnek.com/a-horse-called-trouble.html .
You can watch the book trailer at: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KyJ1J9wESEY

Another character I wrote about is Jack Dahlgren from Ghost Dog of Roanoke Island. It’s a ghost story with a twist of Native American folklore and based on the true mystery of the Lost Colony of Roanoke Island. Visit Jack’s website at: http://www.ckvolnek.com/ghost-dog-of-roanoke-island.html and watch his book trailer at: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RbJEF9TjZzo

Thank you for spending time with me as I discussed the importance great characters plays not only in the book, but in the life of the reader and/or writer.
C.K. Volnek

Why Are So Many People Reading Young Adult Novels?

2012-01-13T09:34:00.000-05:00

When I began writing my YA novel, If I Could Be Like Jennifer Taylor, I had a character in mind and a glimmer of a story. By the time I had finished it the story had increased and my character had grown. When I got to the end of my story I cried. Then every time I read that ending I cried. Though it appealed to me I wondered if anyone else would enjoy this story.

Oh, I had been critiqued and beta readers had told me how much they enjoyed it, but there is nothing like getting the reaction of real honest to goodness readers who have bought your book. They don't know you and they know nothing about the story. These readers are the reason I began to write. I wanted to tell a story and I wanted people to read it. The story is a combination of my own life and my daughter's life.

So when I got my first reviews after the book was published I was surprised that my book not only appealed to the age group for which I wrote it, but a lot of older women enjoyed reading it. I was really surprised when the men in my family enjoyed reading it. I gave it to my husband and he said he read it almost non-stop. My own brother who only reads occasionally and then only adventure and nonfiction books, loved it! One of my niece's friends who is in her twenties told me she read the first chapter and wanted to read more. So I started wondering why my book appealed to so many people.

My feeling is many people identify with the angst and chaos of being in high school and the feelings of being an adolescent. Reading about the experiences of my main character, who is bullied and then has to keep her bully's secret in order to become popular, hit a note of familiarity for everyone who has read it. Many people told me it brought them back to their own high school days. The situations were very familiar for some of my readers.

I have enjoyed reading a lot of young adult novels, since I decided I would write for this age, and I also enjoy reading about the experiences of teens and how they solve them. Teen aged problems are usually solved by the end of the book and they result, most of the time, in the character finding a better life for him or herself. Not all adult novels end like that. There is a sense of closure for most YA books at the end. Rarely do I finish an adult novel with that same feeling of closure. I have read through many novels only to come to the end and go, "Huh?" YA authors know their readers need that complete ending and that may be the reason so many people are now reading YA.

In my novel, If I Could Be Like Jennifer Taylor, Carolyn Samuels doesn't feel good about her body. She has been bullied by Jennifer Taylor, a girl who seems perfect in all ways with a great body and plans to be in the Olympics, but Jennifer has a terrible secret. Carolyn finds out about it and has to keep this secret or she will go back to being bullied and have no chance of becoming a cheerleader and being popular. Carolyn thinks she needs to change and be more like Jennifer, so she envies Jennifer. Adding to this, Carolyn has a crush on Brad Morrow, Jennifer's hot Junior quarterback boyfriend. What is a girl to do?

What makes YA so addictive to read? Maybe it's that the characters are teens and react to everything in their lives in a way most of us have forgotten. Things are blown out of proportion and you get caught up in this volatile world and remember when you walked the hallways of your own high school and you dealt with the people who you hoped would ignore you. Even if you were popular one of the stories in a YA book will have you identifying with it. YA books are like peanuts. Once you read one you are going to want to read another. How many people wouldn't want to find out what happens to a girl who is being blackmailed and forced to be friendly with the girl who bullied her?

You can find If I Could Be Like Jennifer Taylor in the MuseItUp Bookstore, Amazon for Kindle and as a paperback, on Barnes and Noble for Nook and paperback. Now go out and pick up a YA novel and see for yourself how much fun they are to read.:)

Inspiration Inspired

2012-01-12T12:00:00.000-05:00

Mark Twain once told a reporter he loved taking notes during dinner parties. Notes not of business ventures, directions, or financial advice, but of stories, gossip, and banter. From real life came Twain's inspiration. I think we'd have gotten along famously.

I write young adult and tween fiction because those are the people I spend most of my time with. I listen to their conversations as I chauffeur them from practice to game to friends' houses. Their lives become animated in the stories they tell of their school days and overnights. If that isn't enough to inspire the most fantastical fiction, their imaginations are. Simply asking a ten year old what type of adventure they'd like to take or what world would they make brings setting and plot inspiration in heaps.

Of course there's nothing like people watching to add creativity to one's characters. Last summer I spent four hours with a girl, no older than twenty, maybe twenty-two, as she tattooed my ankle. (That's a tale for another telling.) She talked about her gruff grandfather, a former naval officer, who thought colored tattoos where not of the same caliber as the old greenish ones. Her voice softened as she spoke of her mother and quickened when she mentioned her boyfriend. And the lack of any fatherly stories spoke volumes. She became the inspiration for a dystopian heroine in my current work in progress.

If all else fails, there's always the grocery store. So many characters, so many products with their miracle cures and what-if invoking promises that it would be hard not to find inspiration for someone, something, some adventure within. So where do I find the inspiration for my young adult fiction? By watching and listening and asking questions. Or as my husband would say, "No one and nothing is safe from [my] writing."

Where are your favorite places to people watch? At parties, do you prefer to tell the tales or listen to them? Where else do you find inspiration?

The Balm of Fantasy

2012-01-12T00:01:00.003-05:00

Pat McDermott here, posing a question about YA fantasy: Aren’t there enough troubling issues to write about for teenage readers without making stuff up?

Sure. That’s one reason why I write fantasy. Not only did I used to be a teenager, I also had two in the house for thirteen years or so. Their experiences gave me some knife-edged refreshers on what it’s like to be a teen. As if I could forget.

I recall my own teenage years well because I disliked them so much. Many teens do, for reasons ranging from embarrassing skin to curfews and cliques, STDs and mental health, body image, peer pressure, bullying, depression, drug abuse, and worse. Being a teenager is, and always has been, hard work.

Some teens find comfort reading about characters plagued by problems akin to theirs. Others prefer to bury themselves in rousing adventures that help relieve stress for a while. Those looming final exams don’t seem so desperate when vampires, werewolves, dragons, and aliens threaten the world.

During my teens, I often sought refuge in tales like Treasure Island, Great Expectations, the Hardy Boys mysteries, Peter Pan, and all sorts of fairy tales. Even better, I started creating my own escapes. I love to write and have three adventures coming soon from MuseItUp: the "Band of Roses" stories, alternate histories set in an Ireland that might have been. Glancing Through the Glimmer is the "prequel" to that trilogy.

Glimmer’s hero and heroine, Liam Boru and Janet Gleason, struggle to deal with their own teenage issues. Their problems fall by the wayside when the King of the Fairies decides he’d like to dance with Janet—for the next few centuries. Danger and magic shadow her and hinder her budding romance with Liam. What would you do if you were Janet? Or if you were Liam, could you fight fairy enchantment to save her? Can Janet save Liam when the Fairy King turns on him? (I sure hope so. I need them both for the sequel.)

Whether readers identify with a character, or whether they simply enjoy going along for the ride, fantasy offers a respite from the world’s afflictions, and not just for teens. I love all genres of YA—but I still like the fantasy best.

* * * * *

Pat’s Website
Put the Kettle On (Pat’s Blog)
Glancing Through the Glimmer’s Facebook Page

(Photo of Teen Reading Courtesy of Photobucket)

Here Comes Trouble!

2012-01-11T13:00:00.052-05:00

by Anne E. Johnson, author of Ebenezer's Locker,
paranormal mystery novel for tweens coming from MuseItUp in June, 2012

"Rhonda Zymler, will you please take your seat?"

This sort of warning comes at sixth-grader Rhonda many times during my novel Ebenezer's Locker. Rhonda always seems to be teetering on the edge of trouble, and often lands squarely in it. As I've been preparing this book for publication, I've been thinking about the appeal of trouble-maker characters.

There is something appealing about trouble-makers in fiction that is quite different from dealing with them in real life. As a teacher, I expect discipline, respect, and hard work from my students. But as an author, I am very happy to let my student-age characters disrupt the classroom and question authority.

A classic example of lovable hellions in children's literature is Pippi Longstocking. In Astrid Lindgren's enchanting books, the main character is the ultimate iconoclast. She simply can't behave the way people expect her to. She's not mean-spirited, just free-thinking. Adults in the story are appalled or baffled, but readers of all ages are completely charmed.

And it's significant that Pippi Longstocking is a girl. Boys who misbehave (like Huck Finn) are considered normal, but even today, rambunctiously clever girls are an exceptional breed.

Maybe that's why I made Rhonda Zymler into a trouble-maker. I was a perfectly-behaved child, and I think part of me longed to be Pippi Longstocking.

Fantasy World, Real World, or Both?

2012-01-11T00:00:00.171-05:00

Bad Spelling: A klutzy witch, a shaman's curse, a quest to save her family. Can Kat find her magic in time? Released October 2011 http://tinyurl.com/DasefBadSpelling
Midnight Oil: Shipwrecked on a legendary island, how can a witch rescue her boyfriend if she can’t even phone home? Releasing January 13th! http://tinyurl.com/6wswbsf
Scotch Broom: A magical trip to Stonehenge lands a witch in the Otherworld where an ancient goddess is up to no good. Releasing April 2012

The Characters:

The young witch Katrina, Kat to her friends, is the star of the series; slowly finding her magical abilities while she searches for her father's family in Siberia. Her brother, Rune, has a different father, a vampire living in the Carpathian Mountains. As half warlock and half vampire, he has a double dose of abilities. The magic of the warlock, and the speed and strength of the vampire. Kat is totally jealous.

Their mother, Ardyth, was hand-fasted with Kat's father, but he got himself frozen into a glacier soon after Kat was born. Because new blood is always needed in the community to avoid inbreeding, Ardyth travels to what she believes is another coven. The former witches and warlocks there have been turned to vampires, but Ardyth doesn't learn this until Rune's father attempts to have a "taste" of her blood. By then, she was already pregnant with her son.

Aunt Thordis is the head witch of the island. She handles all the community's administrative affairs with a somewhat iron hand.The other witches appreciate her abilities as both a powerful witch and highly competent administrator. In other words, nobody else wants the job.

Mordita prefers to be called a Sorceress and doesn't care to socialize with the others on Galdorheim. By chance, she becomes Kat's friend and a valuable ally. There's more to Mordita than meets the eye.

The Settings:

The Witches of Galdorheim series has both a real and fantasy world setting. Sometimes the fantasy world is hidden by magic within the real world: the witches' home island or the Hall of the Mountain King. Other settings are places of myth and legend: The Otherworld of Celtic myth or Atlantis of legend.

BAD SPELLING begins on an island in the Barents Sea, north of Norway. It's a small island populated by the descendants of witches who escaped from the Inquisition by heading north, and not stopping until the reached a deserted glacier-covered chunk of land to call their own. Galdr is an old Norse word for spell or incantation, heim is a common Germanic place name meaning home.

I created the witches' home in a very inhospitable part of the world. I also mention a couple other arctic islands to let the reader know that it wasn't Kvitoya or Svalbard, islands used in The Golden Compass series.

The witches use a sustained spell to maintain a dome over the village. Outside, a glacier running down to the sea helps keep out unwanted visitors. The dome can be seen by the witches, but mundanes (non-magical) people only see more glacier. By all appearances, a very inhospitable place.

The witches don't keep to themselves entirely. Every Spring, they send a small cargo hauler to the northern shores of Norway. They trade various slightly magical charms and potions for more practical items like DVDs for their 52" flat screen TV. They also keep in contact with witches and the troll nation the rest of the time by albatross mail.

Speaking of the troll nation, the Hall of the Mountain King is another magical place within the real world. Again, the magic realm is hidden from normal human eyes. King Ole reigns in the Norwegian troll kingdom. His brother, King Olaf, rules in another Hall on the eastern slopes of the Ural Mountains in Russia. Many years before Kat's aunt Thordis had a close relationship with King Ole. However, they decided it wasn't meant to be. Any non-troll living in the troll kingdom slowly turns into troll form. Thordis didn't care for the idea of changing her form and King Ole had a realm to run. They still hold great affection for each other.

In BAD SPELLING, the other important area is purely mundane. The Sami tribe of Siberia are Kat's father's side of the family. She wants to find them and, with the help of Rune, the trolls, a six-pack of werewolves, and a few others, she makes it to the northern end of the Ural Mountains.

In MIDNIGHT OIL, Rune visits the real island of Novaya Zemlya. During the Cold War, the Soviets tested nuclear devices on the island. In my book, I use that real fact to explain why the island has mutant Nenets tribesmen: Radiation!

In SCOTCH BROOM, the siblings end up in the real Scotland, but in the other-dimensional Otherworld of Celtic legend. The Otherworld is sort of located in the Highlands. I say 'sort of' because it's not a place you can see (unless you're a magical being). Over the centuries, many fey, kelpies, unicorns, and other arcane creatures of the world have entered the Otherworld to live their lives in peace away from human influences.

The Otherworld creatures can come and go as they please, but it takes a lot of runic spelling to enter if you're not a permanent resident. Be especially careful if you do stumble into the Otherworld. You can visit, but if you decide to stay, then somebody already in the realm has to die. It's the epitome of a 'nice place to visit, but I wouldn't want to live there.'

To mundanes, the Flow Country (within which the Otherworld exists, but in a different dimension) doesn't look very inviting. All to the benefit of the residents. They don't want a bunch of tourists stomping around their area. Would you go hiking in a place that looked like this? You could sink out of sight in the swampy land, before you could holler for help.

I hope you'll visit the Otherworld, but please do so from the comfort of your own home reading about the denizens with your copy of SCOTCH BROOM when it releases this Spring.

NOTE: Midnight Oil releases on Friday the 13th. Visit my blog at http://mgddasef.blogspot.com/ for the book tour schedule and additional information.

Fits Like a Glove

2012-01-10T14:03:00.001-05:00

Why do I write for the ten to fourteen year-old Tween market? Because it fits. I don’t think I set out to become a Tween/YA author, but I believe I have found a niche and have grown into this genre. When I get an idea or hear an interesting fact I think can be developed into a story, more often than not it develops in my head from the viewpoint of a kid or teenager. Writing in the Tween/YA seems to fit well with my writer voice, it fits like a glove.
In my MuseItYoung debut novel, THE YOUNGER DAYS, that is exactly how the process happened. The original idea came from a story told by a relative many years ago. He saw I was reading a book about the infamous outlaws, the Younger Brothers. He told me a family legend handed down from his old uncle, who grew up in the late1800’s on a southwest Missouri farm. According to the story, Cole and Jim Younger spent the night in their barn while on the run from Pinkerton detectives after the James-Younger gang robbed a bank. I immediately thought it would make a great story.
But, several false starts told from the adult POV flittered away to nothingness. Finally, I began to see things from a young boy’s POV and a story began to fall in place. The Younger brothers would be outlaw heroes of the boy main character while his parent’s would lead a life completely against anything to do with rebels or outlaws. The story grew feet and started to walk, but it was still a short story at best. Then, in church one day, the readings included the following:

“All from least to greatest shall know me says the Lord, for I will forgive their evildoing and remember their sin no more.” -Jeremiah 31:34.

Through this simple verse about redemption and forgiveness, the story took off. A whole back story began to grow of a secret past shared between the parents and the outlaws. A past intertwined with the atrocities of the Border War battle for “Bloody” Kansas with it's gangs of ruffians, Quantrill’s Raiders from Missouri and Doc Jennison’s Redlegs from Kansas. And from the POV of the young boy, who knows nothing of this hidden past, it sets up a very solid framework to build an interesting surprise visit by his heroes, the Youngers. With this setup in place, the ideas really began to flow and my novel was born.
The Tweener's energy, their innocence, and their rebellious attitude make this genre fun to write. The Tweener’s characteristic ability to know everything sans experience and to see the world through a fresh, clean lens opens the door to a world of possibility. That’s why I like reading and writing from the Tween perspective; why it appeals to me as a writer.

I am also interested in promoting boys as readers. This is an issue dear to my heart and an underlying force in my writing. As a father and former sports coach to high school aged boys, I’ve had a unique experience which helps me relate to this youth perspective. It also drives me to provide stories for this audience. With the young men I coached, we often had discussions about what books they were currently reading and dish out trash talk to the boys who refused to read for fun.

Maybe writing for Tweens wasn’t in the original plan for me as a writer. Fortunately, I eventually saw the light, listened to the voices in my head tell their stories, and realized this genre was a great fit for me. Thanks for stopping by and happy writing.

If interested in watching my first self-produced book trailer, click this title link for the THE YOUNGER DAYS book trailer.

Mike Hays is a husband, a father of three, a lifelong Kansan and works as a molecular microbiologist. His middle grade historical fiction book, THE YOUNGER DAYS, is signed for a February 2012 release from MuseItUp Publishing. Besides writing, he has been strength and conditioning coach, a football coach and a baseball coach. He is a member of the Catholic Writer's Guild, has published three football coaching articles, co-authored several scientific papers and is the co-inventor of two US patents.

Blog: www.coachhays.com
Twitter: @coachhays64
Facebook: www.facebook.com/pages/Mike-Hays/154175077989090

Writing with Teens in Juvenile Detention

2012-01-10T00:00:00.007-05:00

My name is Mindy Hardwick and my young adult, contemporary romance, WEAVING MAGIC is coming from MuseItUp in April 2012! I began my career as a seventh grade teacher, but soon discovered that my heart wasn’t in full-time teaching. It was in writing. But, when I left teaching, I realized how much I missed being around teens and tweens. A good friend was working with teens in juvenile detention in Seattle through a program called Pongo Publishing. She encouraged me to seek out the detention center closest to me.

When I contacted my local juvenile detention center, the program director was thrilled to have a volunteer writer, and I began running a weekly poetry workshop on Monday afternoons. Each week, after I cleared security, I was ushered through a series of locked doors and into a unit of twelve boys or girls wearing orange. The teens asked me, “Who are you? And why do you want to volunteer with us?” The same questions I would ask myself each week. Why did I want to volunteer with this group of kids? I could have easily gone to a local Boys and Girls Club or YMCA and facilitated an after-school writing workshop. And who was I? I was no longer a teacher, and yet, I didn’t really think I was a writer either. I was just beginning to publish articles and short stories, but I had yet to land that elusive book contract.

But, I kept showing up at the detention center. At times, it seemed like the only thing grounding me as I branched out on my own. Each week, I met with the teens, and asked them to write poetry about their life experiences. We read poetry written by other teens, and the “kids in orange” wrote from the heart about loss, addictions, and of course, love! And something began to happen to me in those poetry workshops. I began to find my voice as a writer.

I would listen to the kid’s poetry, and then go back home to write. And, slowly, a story started to form. It was a story based partially on my own experiences as a teen, and a story based partially on the kid’s experiences that I was privileged to hear each week. That story was WEAVING MAGIC.

The years passed, and I kept writing and running the poetry workshop. We began to get grants, and I added young adult literature and memoirs to our workshop. I moved the workshop to be a part of the school day, and we published four books of the youth’s poetry, and then, a blog. (www.denneypoetry.com)

And, at the same time, my own writing began to take off. Soon, I had a list of publishing credits from articles to short stories and I was teaching a lot of workshops. In April 2011, MuseItUp sent that long awaited for acceptance e-mail. WEAVING MAGIC had been accepted. I finally had that elusive book contract.

There is a scene in the book where main character Christopher sits in a juvenile detention poetry workshop and has an epiphany moment about his Father who is also in jail. As I wrote that scene, I felt like I’d had my own epiphany moment and could finally answer the questions the kids asked of me in those early workshops.

Who am I? I am a writer.

Why do I volunteer with kids in juvenile detention? They show me how to write honestly and courageously.

I hope you will visit the teen’s poems at www.denneypoetry.com

And stop by to visit my website at www.mindyhardwick.com or blog: www.mindyhardwick.wordpress.com

I'm a Kid at Heart

2012-01-09T00:30:00.000-05:00

I suppose being a kid at heart is why I loved writing Shortcomings, my YA novel offered here at Muse. Except for those unfortunate souls who suffer from some form of Dementia, I don't believe our brains age like our bodies. Why else would we have pulled muscles from continuing to try to do things we did when we were years younger? How often have you heard an older person say, I forget I'm not in my twenties anymore?

As I've gotten older, one thing for sure hasn't changed, and that's how we treat one another. We're trying to combat bullying, but it's been around as long as mankind. "Misery loves company," certainly explains a lot, doesn't it. No one who is unhappy wants to be in the midst of joyful people, so it's become human nature to drag others down into the miserable mire of life. Whether you're the person in pain or the one causing it, I'm hoping the tagline from my story will strike a familiar cord with some: Our shortcomings don't define us unless we let them.

I'm quite certain by now anyone who knows me is aware of my autistic grandson, Spencer. My fear of how he'll be treated by his peers in a few years was my true inspiration to write Shortcomings. The title truly describes him. He had no choice in the matter, and he deals with his disability as part of life, no grumbles, no complaints, but then he doesn't know how to be anything other than who he is. For now, his peers are forgiving, understanding, and love him in return. He's probably one of the most popular children in his school. Everyone loves Spencer.

But for how long? Children aren't the only bullies. Some adults need to take stock of themselves and the examples they set. Although some forms of autism steal a child's capability to love and be loved, his 'disease' seems to have intensified his emotions toward others. Grownups who sneer, cringe and back away from his attempts at a hug need a lesson in understanding. Wouldn't it be a better world if we could all love unconditionally, like my grandson? Of course, this doesn't apply to people with touch phobias. They fall into the same category as those who need understanding and patience. Education about differences is key, and I'm hoping each author who writes about "understanding" is furthering the cause.

Although I geared my story to tweens and teens, I believe those particular years are the time most social problems begin. I drove school bus for five years in another life, and the older the children, the more pronounced their patience with one another and differences. Sadly, in my high school years, I admit to being part of the problem instead of the solution. I recall two kids, brother and sister, who were always denied a seat on the bus by their peers. I remember always sitting with someone else so I didn't have to become a focus of their displeasure when other riders refused to scoot over and allow them space. If I could go back and have a do-over, I'd gladly share my seat and bear the burden of being a bigger person. I can only imagine how horrific facing the simple approach of a bus must have been for them. I can't change how I acted, but I can be proud of who I've become.

Although in Shortcomings, I don't mention a school bus, I hope my message is clear. People with differences often punish themselves enough. Luckily, that isn't the case with Spence, but do they really need us to remind them that they aren't the norm? Of course, we can't be the one to change a person's opinion of themselves...they have to feel it inside, BUT, we can help them find self-worth by not tearing down any progress they may make.

Here's a scene from my novel that shows my YA heroine, Cindy, doubting herself.

Cindy shed her backpack and stashed it atthe end of the couch. “Sorry. I should have let you know I’d be later thanusual. I did a little tutoring in the library.”

Her mother’s brow rose in a suspicious arc.“Does this have anything to do with the phone call you got the other night?”

“Actually, it does. Cory Neil needed helpwith his math and asked me to meet him after school. I’m going to tutor him onthe nights he doesn't have football practice. Is that all right?”

“Cory Neil, huh?” A teasing gleam sparkledin her eye. “I hear tell he’s the football team’s handsome quarterback.”

“Yes, Mother, it’s true, but don’tmake anything out of this. He needs help with his math, and that’s all.” How could Momma assume Cory would beinterested in a cripple.

“Well, he called you didn’t he? Besides, I heard while at the grocerystory there’s a big dance coming up soon. You never know—”

“Stop it, Momma! Cory can have his pick of any girl at school. Why in theworld would he want to be seen with me? For heaven sakes," her voice trembled. "I don’t even know howto dance. His interest in me is purely educational.” Tears of frustration filled Cindy’s eyes. She limpedoff to her bedroom and slammed the door behind her.

Within a few seconds, there was a lightknock. “Cindy, may I come in. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sorry.”

Cindy lay across the bed on her stomach. Sheswiped the moisture from her cheeks, sat, and pulled her feet up under her. “Comein.”

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I just—”

“I know. I’m okay. Honest.” Cindy blinkedback tears. “I grow so tired of being odd man out all the time. I know it isn'tyour fault, but why couldn't I have been born with both legs the same length,like everyone else?”

Her mother perched on the edge of the bedand put her arm around Cindy. “You’re so beautiful. Don’t you know that? Just look at yourself.” Reaching across to the dresser, her momsnatched the hand mirror and held it up to Cindy’s face. “Look at thosebeautiful blue eyes… and that long blonde hair. You don’t even have to worryabout curling it. Your skin is flawless… and my goodness, you have the mostbeautiful teeth in the family—so straight and white. Why can’t you see what Isee? Your defect doesn’t definewho you are. We all have our shortcomings.”

Cindy peered at the mirror.Shortcomings? What an appropriateword. Tears peppered her cheeks. She plucked a tissue from the box on hernightstand, dried her eyes and tried to focus on the things her motherdescribed. The deformity blurred her image. It didn’t matter what the glassreflected, it didn’t tell the whole story.

She pushed the looking glass aside and swallowed the lump inher throat. “Thanks, Momma. I'll be okay. I've just had a long day and I guessI’m tired. Really, I’m fine. Let’s go get dinner ready. Daddy will be home anyminute.”

Want to order your own copy of Shortcomings? Click on the postcard above and you'll find my buy page. Thanks for sharing my post today. Feel free to tweet the following with a cut and paste:

Shortcomings – YA - Our Shortcomings don’t define us unless we letthem. #musetag http://bit.ly/vrS87W

Hey...THIS IS A PARTY!!!!

2012-01-08T11:00:00.000-05:00

That's it...one foot forward...one foot upward...and I'll make sure the doc is waiting to revive you.

Come dance with me on my 54th birthday.

That's it. Let's go down memory lane with these songs.

Age is just a number

2012-01-08T08:58:00.001-05:00

Don't let a few gray hairs get you down. There's DYE!!!

hehehehe

Yes, I'm still not home but still partying my bday.

Make sure to check out the rest of the songs that appeared today.

And remember...

as Irene says...

TAKE YOUR PASSION AND SOAR!!

Let's TWIST AGAIN!

2012-01-08T04:20:00.002-05:00

Still have those party shoes on? You'll need it for this next song.

Happy Birthday, Lea!

2012-01-08T01:39:00.002-05:00

Hi Lea:

Happy Birthday!

I love Elvis, too and this is my favorite of his songs.

Hugs,

Rochelle http://www.rochelleweber.com

Yes, party continues without me

2012-01-08T01:12:00.001-05:00

Can you guess I"m an Elvis fan? Has nothing to do that I was born on the same day as him but more that his music was an inspiration to me.

Enjoy! Love you, Musers! Thank you for celebrating with me.

It's my BDAY! 54 AND LOVIN' IT! Party with me!

2012-01-08T00:08:00.000-05:00

As you may have guessed it's my birthday today and inviting everyone to party the whole day with me with a few of my favorite youtube songs. So get your party shoes on and dance your heart away.

I'll be done all day but wanted to have something to come back to and listen tonight and celebrate along with my friends.

Enjoy!

Good Golly....

2012-01-07T17:56:00.002-05:00

Wish I was home to see how many of you are actually dancing to this awesome blast from the past.

Now how many still have the endurance to move those hips without passing out? hehehehe

Enjoy!

It's All About The Cash

2012-01-07T07:00:00.002-05:00

Dear Reporter,

I gotta to tell you, Paris Hilton and Michelle Jackson were right; it ain’t easy being rich and famous. You never get any privacy with paparazzi constantly stalking you. If I turn my cell phone off more than three minutes, Stephen Spielberg starts banging on my door with a list of questions about the script. Oh, didn’t you hear? My New York Best Selling novel is being made into a movie. Johnny Depp is playing the main character, of course… Excuse me, I have to take this call, it’s my PR scheduling me for brunch with Oprah.

Dear Reporter,

Why does everyone assume all authors are rich and famous and brilliant? If I ask you what you do for a living and you say you work for Wal-Mart, I wouldn’t assume you meant you are the CEO of Wal-Mart. You lucky bastard, you must have money pouring out of your behind.

Oh sure, some of us get lucky. But there are about as many “lucky” authors as there are Wal-Mart CEO’s. The rest of us are just cashiers or greeters working 15 hours a day for less than minimum wage, no over-time, and no benefits. We don’t do this to get rich. Well, it might start out that way, but we don’t stay to get rich. We do it because we’re artist and you know the saying… “Starving artist”…it’s a lifestyle choice and not one that has anything to do with Paris Hilton…well…unless you’re an erotica author that likes the hands-on research. Just saying.

But honestly, my mom keeps asking when my thousand-dollar advance is going to come and the boyfriend constantly hounds me about getting a “real” job. Well they can all kiss my big fat booty because I’m doing what I love to do, what I want to do. I wake up every morning excited to get on the computer and write. I bet not even the CEO’s at Wal-Mart can say that.

Sincerely,

Danielle Ravencraft

www.RavencraftRomance.com

There's A Reason I Talk To Myself

2012-01-06T01:53:00.001-05:00

Well, now, let’s start over. Yup, wrote a whole bunch of words and ended up hearing someone’s voice stating…so, what makes you any different from anyone else. We all struggle with time frames, family/friend demands, and life. And then there’s the voice of those working from home…yeah, yeah, tell me something I don’t know.

Something different.

Ever have someone tell you all your work was good for was as a toss in the trash bag. That it was crap. Senseless. Boring. Childish. And this was from someone who was being helpful.

Ever have someone tell you your work was brilliant, flowing, a painting of magical inspiring words which floated off the page and through their senses?

Yup, same piece; different critique member.

Ever have someone tell you…huh, like it. That’s when I learned not to have hubby read my stuff. Love him, but yeah, not the most helpful. Yup, same piece.

So what happened to that piece? It’s back in the computer folder gathering cyber dust bunnies. Decided to take up challenge and write a romance.

I don’t do romance. I don’t mix well with romance. My first published short story is a romance. Go figure.

Writing is fickle. It’s explosive. It’s dawdling. It’s confusing. It’s boring. It’s time consuming. It’s insanity.

It’s what I do.

Writing is dreaming. It’s play. It’s giving life to whimsy. It’s delving deep into the dark corners and scaring yourself. It’s talking with dragons, vampires, and becoming werewolves.

It’s who I am.

Our ideas are fleeting. They race around our heads and battle to reach our fingers and keyboards before, poof, they’re gone. One second call; one millisecond knock can be enough to lose them. That one teeny idea could have been the result of hours of muddling through words, edits, staring out the window, doodling, talking to characters living only within our minds. But now it’s gone.

The following piece was my very first published non-fiction. I was on the right side of an emotional break. Hubby held the door to this writing world open and told me to walk through. He wasn’t my mom, my dad, my grandmother, or grandfather, he was (is) my life partner. His future was (is) tied to mine and he held the door to my true self. From that moment to now…published author, editor, reviewer, blogger…and I still have days like the day I wrote this, back in 1999.

Credit: Christine I Speakman, May 1999, published in FUTURES Magazine.

***

Today I gave up a dream. I guess there are worse things I could do. Today I said goodbye. Goodbye to part of me, perhaps it was to my soul or just to the truth in me. Today I conform. Today I push and tug my way into society's suit. Today I follow, instead of forging through on my own.

I am lost in this suit. I flounder my way through the day in every direction. Today I don't know who I am. Today I am sad and afraid.

Yesterday I flew. I was free. I was lost but knew where I was. My world was full of colour and laughter. There was fear and the strength to overcome. Yesterday I gave birth to worlds no one had ever known existed. Yesterday I was alive.

Can you see? Do you understand? Do I. There inside me is the truth of who I am. I dream of worlds never seen. I see inside the hearts of others, of you. I see the whys of our actions. I have no answers to give. All I have to give are words. They are my gift to you.

Today I dream. Today I do the best I was meant to do. Today I open my soul up to the world. Today I am true to myself.

***

I am a writer.

Christine Irene Steeves - Writer

An Open Letter from Ginger Simpson

2012-01-05T01:30:00.000-05:00

Dear Reporter:

I'd like to say this has been an easy journey, but it hasn't. Although finally rewarding, the road to where I'm at has been filled with bumps, ruts, disappointments, tears, but best of all, laughter. I've always used my humor to see me through the toughest times, and without it, I probably would have given up long ago. I'm glad I didn't because there's a great sense of accomplishment in seeing your name on a website other than your own, and holding an actual book you've created. Even more, knowing that people appreciate who you are and what you bring to the proverbial table.

I started seriously writing in 2000, and I enjoyed great success in having my work accepted and published. As the years passed, and more budding authors appeared on scene, the competition grew tougher, the editors more fierce, and I even encountered some dishonest publishers who tried to make a quick buck off of trusting folk. This is one ladder you never stop climbing, because the top is an elusive spot where most aspire to be.

People outside the industry may think we have cushy lives if we're able to sit at a computer all day, but there so much stress involved in being an author. Let me list a few for you:

* Honing a first draft into a real manuscript to submit. Deciding where to cut, where to add, what to correct, what to leave. It's all mind-boggling.

*Submitting and waiting for a response. You can only bite your nails so far down before they start to bleed. You want to think you've written a best-seller, but the news isn't always good. Rejection is part of this business, and if you're skin isn't thick enough, not only your cuticles suffer.

*Soliciting reviews. Part of this 'career' requires promoting your work, so you submit your story to reviewers for their opinions. Knowing your work will never be everyone's cup of tea is elementary, but it still doesn't numb the pin pricks of having someone crucify your work because it didn't fit into the neat little box they expected it would. Again, that thick skin is definitely a required part of your author's wardrobe.

*Remembering all the rules. For me, this has been perhaps the toughest. Not only remembering, but deciding which ones make most sense for my style of writing...which don't change my voice to something stiff and stilted. We're told a million things to remember, but if you go overboard with removing passive voice, omitting 'ly' words, avoiding gerunds, or trying to avoid 'was, it and all the shes and hes', you're likely to come away with a piece of crap that no one wants to read. Rules make sense, but you must use them wisely.

I could ramble on for days about the hardships, but I prefer to focus on the positive aspects of writing. I'm an author! I arrived the minute my book went up on Wings' Publishing site back in 2003. What's more, I've found my niche several times since then, and even the small recognitions are like getting an Oscar. If I knew everything then that I know now, would I do it all again? You betcha! The friends I've made, the moments of fleeting fame and the months of feeling accomplished, fulfilled, and proud are worth any of the fears, tears, and jeers. I love what I do, and I think it shows.

Regards,
Ginger Simpson

If you'd like to know more about me, please visit my website. All my muse books can be viewed on my author's page. If you'd like to interview me personally, I'm always up for being in the spotlight. :)

Dear Reporter, Writing Struggles

2012-01-04T07:47:00.001-05:00

The Writing Hurdles

Mike Hays

There are many hurdles writers deal with on a daily basis. In my struggle to be a writer, I have to find a way to recognize them and overcome them. The first hurdle is time. There is never enough of it. I am busy and everyone I know is busy, it is a part of modern life. As a husband, father, scientists, coach and writer, there is always a fight against the clock. I have to be patient and scribble a lot of notes and then stay disciplined enough to take advantage of the time I do have.

The second hurdle is doing the actual work. The level of effort and dedication it takes to be a writer is daunting. Writing is hard. Writing takes work; hard work. It takes focus and discipline to learn the technical basics, while at the same time cultivating the creative aspects. Like sports coaching, there is the need for constant work, consistent effort and a concerted focus to get better ever day. Butt in chair, one word at a time.

To paraphrase hall of fame Coach Tom Osborne, on cultivating work ethic in his University of Nebraska football program, "Everybody wants to win; it is human nature to want to win. The difference between winning and losing often falls to a willingness to put in the work and the sacrifice necessary to achieve the goal."

The third hurdle facing today’s writer is obscurity. Most of us are nobody’s. We arrive at the back door of publishing, as small, seemingly insignificant authors without the backing of publicity and marketing machines. We need to become door to door salesman, building one costumer at a time, moving forward day after day to develop a base of fans and followers. But, a silver lining in this electronic age is the great people in this business we get to meet along the way. The vast majority of us will probably never sell ten gazillion books, but I bet 100% of us will meet people along the way whose friendships and associations are worth a gazillion books’ weight in gold.
Fourth, and probably the most dangerous to a writer, is fear of failure. This fear can paralyze a writer and cause their creative work to be packed away safely on a dusty, dark shelf where no one will ever see it, or even worse, their work not ever being put to paper. Used as a motivator, though, fear of failure can be a transforming force for a writer. I try to use this fear of failure to produce the best work I can. Failure and rejection, as deflating as they may be, can be used in a positive manner to make the work better and to polish it up until it shines. I don’t like losing. Never have, never will. But, I know the only way to remedy a loss is to identify the mistakes, correct the errors, recharge the battery, then stage another attack.
Why do we do it? Why do we fight these monsters and wrestle these demons to write? Everyone is different and has their personal set of reasons. Here are my six reasons for writing I came up with last October for a national “Why I Write” day event.

Why I Write
1. There are stories and ideas rattling about my head that need to come out. Writing puts these into a logical form.
2. To exchange ideas. To learn things I don’t know and to pass along things I do know.
3. Creating a piece makes me happy. Seriously, it does. It also makes me happy to see people of all ages reading and it makes me REALLY happy when they read my stories.
4. The excitement, the fear, the anxiety and the hope I feel every time I post or submit a piece of work. Nothing like it.
5. There are an infinite number of stories out there, some written already and some waiting to be written. I want a few of those stories to be mine.
6. Everything flows through reading and writing. The world opens to the Narnias and the Middle Earths, it opens to dragons and little hungry caterpillars, the battles for good and evil and the nightmares on Elm Street to the Midsummer’s Night Dream. It is all out there waiting to be explored (or waiting to be written).

And never, ever forget the most important reasons to write: Because you enjoy it and it is fun!

Mike Hays is a husband, a father of three, a lifelong Kansan and works as a molecular microbiologist. His middle grade historical fiction book, THE YOUNGER DAYS, is scheduled for a February 2012 release from MuseItUp Publishing. Besides writing, he has been strength and conditioning coach, a football coach and a baseball coach. He is a member of the Catholic Writer's Guild, has published three football coaching articles, co-authored several scientific papers and is the co-inventor of two US patents.

Blog: www.coachhays.com

Twitter: @coachhays64
Mike Hays Facebook Page

Writing-a Joyful Agony

2012-01-03T03:00:00.001-05:00

Happy New Year! I’m Dianne Hartsock, one of the lucky authors here at MuseItUp. As I’m writing this, I’m thinking back to a year ago. I was probably sitting at the keyboard like I am now, chin on hand, debating whether or not to hit the send key and whisk Trials of a Lonely Specter off to Lea. I’m so glad I did. That was the first story of mine to be accepted.

Keep in mind, I’d never had anything published before, and my confidence wasn’t at its highest. But if I’d learned anything raising two energetic kids, it was patience and stubbornness. I was going to keep submitting and filing away those rejection letters until my hands were too arthritic to type. Then I’d probably hire someone to transcribe for me.

I wish I could tell you there was a magic formula to follow, do A then B then C, and you’ll be published. But it just doesn’t work that way. I’ve been submitting for years. This time last year I was putting the finishing touches to my paranormal/thriller novel ALEX before submitting to Solstice Publishing. The previous year, this same story was set to be released with another publishing house, but they filed for bankruptcy along with the many other small publishers we lost that year.

I have to admit I was heartbroken. I’d been trying for so long! I got the ‘dear John’ letter one month before the release date. I wanted to give up. But after a few days of grieving, I opened my computer and started looking for a new publisher to try. I found Solstice and several other places that accepted that genre, and my story now has a home.

Even as I dotted the last ‘i’ and mailed ALEX off, a scene kept playing over in my mind. At one point Alex is at an art festival in the park. He’s looking at some sketches from local artists when he glances up and meets a lovely set of amber eyes. He blinks as a jolt of electricity passes between them.

I sat up in my chair. Whoa! What just happened? There was something sensual about this exchange, a heat I’d only touched on before. I know I smiled as my first m/m erotic began to take shape in my mind. That story and several others have now been published with Breathless Press.

Do you see what I’m doing here? I didn’t stop with one story, working to get that one published. I write one and send it out. I write another and send it out. When one’s rejected, I go back over it, searching for what was missing. I rework it and try again.

I just sold an erotic fantasy to Etopia Press. Was it easy to do? No! They were the third publisher I tried and they rejected my first try. But I was lucky enough to have them point out where the story had fallen short. I rewrote the story, paying attention to their suggestions. I really had to push my imagination. But I resubmitted, and this time around it was taken.

So here I am at the beginning of 2012, with four stories and one novel published, and two romances coming out soon. Do you think I’m done? No way! I promote these stories EVERY DAY. I socialize with readers EVERY DAY. And I work on my current WIP, yes, every day. I’m also a full time floral designer with a husband and two college age children. The only way I’m managing is by using a day planner. I keep track of my blog tour dates and meet the deadlines for interviews/blogs. I meet the timelines set by my editors. And I priorities. Family first, creative writing second, promos third. And I’ve gotten very good at juggling!

But you know what, there’s nothing else I’d rather be doing with my time. I think the only way to survive as an author is to love what you do. And I’m head-over-heels. Seeing my name on a beautiful book cover is one of the most fulfilling things in my life.

Thanks for stopping by! Feel free to contact me with any questions.

Dianne Hartsock
Email: diannewrites2@hotmail.com
Blog: http://diannehartsock.wordpress.com/
FB: http://www.facebook.com/diannehartsock
Twitter: http://twitter.com/#!/diannehartsock
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4850270.Dianne_Hartsock

2012 The Sad and The Good

2012-01-02T03:22:00.000-05:00

One Year On

This time last year I was mourning the death of my mother at the age of one hundred. Although the last years of her life were impaired by macular vision and hearing loss, she remained mentally alert. When asked how she was, Mum always replied she was amongst life’s lucky ones because she had a lovely flat in a retirement home, good health compared to many others and sufficient money as well as a loving family. ‘Some people of my age,’ she said, ‘have no one and others have families who scarcely keep in touch.’

Mum’s last birthday was on Boxing Day, 2012. She enjoyed her party and took pleasure in her card from the Queen. On the night of the 28th she left her body in her sleep.

I still miss her very much but am not selfish enough to wish she had lived on suffering from ill health.

My nine year old grandson write this moving tribute to her, which the teacher did not dare to read to the class for fear she would cry.

Death

Why do people have to die?
Why can’t they stay with us forever?

When Mum and Dad told me Great Grandma had died
It felt as though all the happiness had been sucked out of the world by a giant black hole.
My heart had completely deflated.
No one can describe death.

If me and my dad and all the people who came for my great grandma could build a ladder to get her down
We really truly would.
Nobody can describe death.

In the church at the funeral, sadness on everyone’s faces,
My heart was in my boots,
It was like despair had taken over.
It was like the world was black.
Tears filled my eyes as people said all the kind things my great grandma had done.
I fought hard to keep them back.
But hearing all the good things she had done my heart filled like a champion weight lifter pushing it up.
Nobody can describe death.

Death creates a big black hole in you but you can fill it up with happy memories of the person that died.
But still…Nobody can describe death.

When he read it to me over the phone, tears welled up in my eyes, but I restrained my grief, remembering a quotation from the translation of The Bhagavad-Gita As It Is by A.C. Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada. “As the embodied soul continually passes, in this body, from boyhood to youth to old age, the soul similarly passes into another body at death.

This year I have achieved so much that my mother would have been pleased with. Three of my novels will be published in 2012. I have had two articles, first Baroness Orczy, and then The Scarlet Pimpernel, and a third, Samuel Pepys, will also be published in 2012 by Vintage Press.

I’m fortunate to be able to have children and grandchildren who I love dearly, to write historical fiction and articles and to garden organically. As Mum advised me, I’m counting my blessings.

My garden’s been very productive this year. From the time the rhubarb was ready to eat to now, when I have herbs and vegetables – Swiss chard, New Zealand Spinach, parsnips, turnips, red and green kale, brussel sprouts, – in the garden - carrots, marrows and pumpkins stored in the garden shed, and home grown veggies and fruit in the freezer, I have been at least 60% self-sufficient. The only disaster was the fate of 40 kilos of home grown potatoes stored in Hessian sacks in the garden shed which mice nibbled. They even nibbled the sacks!

Hopefully, 2012 will be happy for all of us, and I wish you all a healthy and prosperous New Year in which all your dreams come true.

Rosemary Morris
Historical Novelist

New releases from MuseItUp.
Tangled Love 27th January 2012.

Sunday’s Child June, 2012.
False Pretences, October 2012

http://www.rosemarymorris.co.uk

Dear Reporter: How Do They Do What They Do?

2012-01-02T00:01:00.006-05:00

Dear readers

It was a dark and stormy night...

A knock at the door interrupted. He lifted his hands from the Royal typewriter and looked to the frosted glass of his office door.
"Come in."
The door opened tentatively, blonde perfectly coiffed hair, sweet face peering in. Her lips the color of a ruby, manicured fingernails to match wrapped around the edge of the door. She questioned, "Mister Butler?"
"You got me doll." He leaned back in the oak swivel chair propping wing tipped shoes onto the desk. "You the author?"
"Yes."
"Come in. Make yourself comfortable." He swung his feet to the floor and rose half way to meet her, arm lifted in welcome.
She drifted in on a cloud of, what was it—cinnamon? creme brulee? She lowered her perfect heart shaped derriere into the tack button wingchair diagonal to his desk.
He dropped slowly back to his seat, eyes glued to the mint cambresine linen that hugged her curves like cling film.

"So Miss, uh..." damn if her name hadn't exited his brain along with his tact.
"London." She folded her hands in her lap. "Like the town."
"Bit more of a city isn't it?" He cringed. Brilliant.
She cleared her throat and smiled. Lord there was a God.
"So...Miss London."
"Christine. Please."
He tried to swallow the wad of cotton that wedged in his throat when she graced him with that life altering smile. "Christine." He forced his eyes to the desk, snagging steno pad and pencil.

"So...tell me." He prayed the blood would stop pounding in his ears. "What sacrifices, struggles, hardships, uh... negativity have you endured along your path to publication, you know...as an author?" Beads of sweat popped to his hairline and he sat like some sixth form boy in the headmaster's office.
She chuckled. "How long have you got?"

* * * *
Fast forward to reality.
99.9999% of authors are not celebrity or any closer to it than a gal waiting for the clerk to scan her copy of the Hollywood Intruder at check out.

We are ordinary folk that, for the most part, have day jobs, houses with big mortgages, apartments with rent to pay, kids to feed, and the million and one distractions common in the new age. The thing that makes us, well...'different', is that we have this little problem. We are drawn to putting words to page like addict to heroine. We can't NOT write. It's like the blood in our veins and the air we breathe.
Left for too many days without pen, paper or computer, we begin to shake, or at least become irritable— because we hear voices. Yes--our characters are in our heads clamoring to get out. Sometimes softly at first, but they have a story to tell and darn it, they will hound us until they tell it. Even if the telling is not always...easy?

'What sacrifices, struggles, hardships, negativity have I endured and how do I overcome?'
Since the first story flooded my mind one warm July day in 2005, I have spent every available free minute either thinking about, reading for, attending workshops, conventions, signings, panels and tapping away on the keyboard—all in support of this new skill I've unearthed. I think I always knew I could write. I wrote newsletters weekly as a kindergarten teacher, keeping parents abreast of their little darlin's. Won accolades for them. But never in my wildest dreams had I a notion of writing fiction. Fiction was something they required you to read in college Lit class, not something that real flesh and blood people actually did.
When lightning struck and I knew I had to write this story about a lonely mega star and an unlikely fan that saves him from himself. I typed into the wee hours for days, weeks, months. People began to wonder if I'd acquired some terminal disease that kept me isolated from the real world---certainly from them.
Three months later I had a 100,000 word manuscript ready to go...NOT! What did I know about writing fiction and what now? Google to the rescue. What was this story anyways? Man meets woman with lotsa complications but love prevails? Ahh...a romance. Never read one. Bet they are cool. This one sure was.(is)

Off to RWA I went. Romance Writers Of America saved my behind. At their monthly meetings and through the online discussion loop I learned the craft of riveting fiction. I read craft and publishing business 101 books. I rewrote. I wrote another book while doing so. An erotic romance (how fun!) Yeah...I can do that, I thought, after listening to a recording from the national RWA conference about writing a sexy novella. Sure, no prob.
Even had a blast producing a book cover for it with my webmistress and her professional photographer hubby.

Submissions? Learned how to do that to, and to whom and what to say. Zap. Fifteen months after first keystroke, untold rejections and challenges, sleepless nights, dreams of the dreamer, I was a contracted author.
I sold.
I cried when I opened that email. They wanted me...my work. Two percent of manuscripts that cross a publishers desk are requested to see more. Less than that are contracted. People write for years and never sell. I'd made it.
NOT. The 'fun' had just begun. Authors are not only NOT celebrities with pursuant personal assistants and publicists. They are now required to do the lion's share of their promotions, build a platform, name recognition, a readership—with no budget. Thing is--not even professional marketers know what is going to work in that regard. So we neophyte authors climb Mount Learning Curve and do whatever it takes to get to know our audience. We the mighty, the few, the proud, the brave--we sail the waters of authordom aboard the good ship Crowded. Crowded is a place of many, many such aspiring superstar authors all vying for reader attention.

And so we continue learning the ropes of marketing, promotions, social media, websites, blogs, loops, panels, signings ,riveting fiction, perfect word counts, perfect prose. In all the hustle and bustle of daily life, we fit in writing and promotions. Five minutes in the dentist's waiting room, ten minutes at coffee break, an hour before anyone is awake--even the sun, deep into the night. We write, we promote, we socialize, we network and if we are extraordinarily blessed we receive kudos from a reviewer or two--luckier if we receive an email or note from a reader. Oh my goodness.

To touch the life of a reader. To make a difference. To uplift, inspire, educate and entertain. That is akin to touching the face of God. Legacy and end of days. We, our words, the heart and soul behind our words shall live into the future. A future we can not imagine, eyes yet unborn, minds that may marvel at the world we saw through the vehicle of our words. The world they now share with us and potential untold readers. The magic of the imagination. Unlimited possibilities.
Why do I write. Why do I breathe? Why do I hope and love and dream? I want to touch the face of God.

Christine London
www.christinelondon.com
http://christinelondon.blogspot.com/

Kellan's Dragons

2012-01-01T15:55:00.000-05:00

Kellan's Dragons

Book One in the Dragon Wars series

Author: Antonia Tiranth

NOW AVAILABLE

Kellan Teague, an orphan, is whisked away from the boarding school for psions by Dr. Olivia Hutchins to take part in a military organization called The Program. She awakes to find that she has been Linked, psychically bonded to a dragon named Jericho. Jericho doesn't seem very happy to be Linked and does everything he can to push Kellan away. One of the few people to show her kindness is a guard known to her only as Drake. Kellan soon finds out that both Jericho and Drake have secrets, secrets that hold the key to her past.

Happy Holidays

2011-12-24T09:25:00.000-05:00

From all of us at MuseItUp Publishing

we'd like to wish everyone a safe and Happy Holiday Season.

Kick Starting the Muse

2011-12-18T07:44:00.000-05:00

Kick Starting the Muse

I would be a rich woman if I received a pound each time someone tells me, “I could write a novel.” I usually ask why don’t you write it. More often than not the reply is, “I don’t have time.”

Time is the factor which separates writers from would be writers. There is always something which beckons a writer whether it is a mundane task such as doing the laundry, which I should make a start on right now, or accepting an invitation.

I would be even richer if I received a pound each time someone asks, “Where do you get your ideas from?” When the writing is not going well I’m tempted to smile and reply, “From the supermarket.” Actually, that’s not quite as far fetched as it seems. I’ve often overheard partial conversations that trigger an idea or seen a face which seems to step out of a historical era, a Roman soldier, a Norman Knight, a Mediaeval lady, a Franciscan monk, a Cavalier etc.

Potential material to kick start the muse is all around me and in non fiction, biographies and autobiographies. I am a historical novelist so my muse responds to something I read about times past, which must then translate itself onto the computer.

Stephen King wrote. “Don’t wait for the muse. This isn’t an Ouija board or spirit world we are talking about here, but just another job – like laying pipe or driving long-haul trucks.”

So, how have I trained my muse? I have always understood the importance of having a place to write in which my muse and I can settle down. Once it was at a desk in the corner of the living room, today it is the smallest bedroom in the house which I have converted into an office.

After long hard battles my sometimes reluctant muse now understands that I have a regular writing routine. I rise early in the morning, deal with some e-mails, edit the last few pages of the previous day’s work in progress and then write until 10 or 11 a.m. Later in the day I work from 4 or 5 p.m. to 8 or 9 p.m., and sometimes my muse prompts me at night with an idea.

Anyone can establish a writing routine. The important thing is to write for set periods whether they are long or short. For example, if we write half a page a day we will have finished a novel by the end of the year. A bonus is that the muse will respect this and, as the saying goes, knuckle down to work.

My muse stays with me most of the time. When I’m doing housework, gardening or shopping Muse helps me to plot and plan. Recently, while at the health suite enjoying my time in the Jacuzzi, my muse and I have been considering the sequel to my novel, Sunday’s Child. We have been tossing ideas backwards and forwards, rejecting some and building on others. By the time we settle at the computer or the laptop we will have a plot and theme.

Regardless of whether we are published or unpublished, if we are determined, with the help of our muses, we will find the time and space to write.

Rosemary Morris
Historical Novelist

Publisher MuseItUp
Tangled Love January, 2012
Sunday’s Child June 2012
False Pretences October 2012

http://www.rosemarymorris.co.uk

Win One of our Author Bundles

2011-12-15T19:32:00.000-05:00

From today, until Wednesday, December 21, MuseItUp Publishing is spreading some holiday joy by offering 4 lucky winners their choice of our Author Bundles

How do you participate? Glad you asked.

All you have to do is join one or both of our readers groups from today until December 21, and your name goes into the draw for one of the four Author Bundles. That's it. Simple.

To join our mainstream readers club: MuseItUp Readers Club

To join our HOT readers club: MuseItHOT Readers Club

So, what are you waiting for? Come join our fun and interesting discussions.

Want to check out the bundles first? No problem. AUTHOR BUNDLES

Participation is easy. Discussions are fun. And the Author Bundle ebooks will entertain you this holiday season.

See you in our readers' group.

On Behalf of Killarney Sheffield

2011-12-15T12:09:00.001-05:00

Music Counts Charity Fundraiser

In honor of Canadian singer/song writer Lawrence Gowan, who loaned me such a beautiful piece of music for my debut book trailer for Guilty Kisses all proceeds from the sale from Dec 15th to Feb 15th will go to the Music Counts charity!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J41qLNKjrQA

http://museituppublishing.com/bookstore2/index.php?page=shop.product_details&flypage=flypage.tpl&product_id=136&category_id=42&option=com_virtuemart&Itemid=1

Thank you for supporting music in Canada!

A Love Like No Other

2011-12-14T20:05:00.000-05:00

A Love Like No Other

by Robbi Perna

Contemporary Romance

NOW AVAILABLE

Guiliana Domenico, a petite, red headed, thirty-year old divorcee with a volatile temper, is between jobs. One Friday night, she encounters a mysterious stranger who tells her to expect a call for an interview. She receives the call and agrees to an interview on Monday afternoon at a new agency in Washington D. C. The director, Giacomo Leoni, offers her a position but on a trial basis—which antagonizes her. Dr. Leoni, a handsome bachelor, is the only son of a Venetian Duke and an American mother. As the months pass, Guiliana discovers her physical attraction to him growing, despite her distrust of men . . . especially, Italian men. Although it’s difficult, she maintains her cool demeanor and Jake believes she has no interest in him—which pricks his male ego. The growing tension between them carries over into their professional relationship, straining Guiliana’s self-control. After two particularly stressful incidents, Guiliana again encounters the mysterious messenger and recognizes that they share an intense awareness of each other. As Christmas approaches, she realizes she’s in love with two different men: one she doesn’t completely trust; and the other who isn’t as he appears. On Christmas Eve Guiliana accepts her destiny.

Desert Fire YA Thriller

2011-12-09T21:15:00.000-05:00

Desert Fire

Young Adult Action/Adventure Thriller

by H. M. Prevost

NOW AVAILABLE

After Nick Chevalier stumbles across a plane crash in the middle of the desert, the dying pilot slips him military secrets that a ruthless terrorist is determined to possess.

A Little Melancholy, Mood, and Lust for Christmas!

2011-12-09T06:38:00.090-05:00

"Unfortunately, after five centuries or so, the comfortable vampire enchantment can, in fact, wane. Sometimes I think Catrina is longing for something more-just like her fooled admirers. I enjoy my music. I have to occupy myself with some post-war Goodman ‘Moonglow’ and Miller ‘Serenade in Blue’ in order to control my Welshire urges. These dark gifts cannot and shall not rule me. I will not succumb to animal anarchy the way Stephen does. For myself, I am content in my respectable role here until the next war comes calling. Can I admit to myself that I know Catrina is not content? How could she be? My voluptuous love has the predatory power of the wolf and all her fun feline charm. I enjoy watching her exude the dark magic allure as I play the music for her. Her exotic and spooky look brings the silver screen to life-curly black hair and white skin stamped with a perfectly deadly pout of red lips. I love her, I always have. I could not bring the vampiric gifts to anyone I did not love. I expected to spend the rest of my unnatural life with her. Although I don’t doubt Catrina loves me and will always have a space for me in her black heart still; deep down I know she intends to leave me for new vampire lusts..."

And so Lust, Book 5 in my ongoing Muse series Fate and Fangs: Tales from the Vampire Family is an unusual vampire tale in that can be a bit...depressing. Non-glitter, unhappy 900 year olds who don't brood at the local high school, Who knew?

I must say, I didn't really think much that Lust was going to be our December release in the set. The order of the stories was already planned chronologically. The sex and vampire speakeasy of James' 1955 tale naturally fell after the slavery of Victoria's Debauchery and the contemporary Humanity forthcoming in January from Gaston. It is amusing that Lust comes at what should be a reverent time, but let's face it. Unfortunately, our society is far more into the naughty than the nice, and that is exactly James' problem in Lust. His good guy vampire just can't compete against the new and upcoming hot stuff.

The Sundowner offers steamy Welshire vampires Jessica, Pamela, and Slava for underground vampire sex and biting fetishes in this mid-century tale from Professor James. Victoria’s twin brother James, however, is content with his gig as piano player at the club owned by their brother Stephen. James’ own love Catrina is the alluring singer at The Sundowner, but can he keep his longtime vampire companion away from the tempting, exciting young clientele?

I knew Lust was going to be a brooding turnaround after some of the fun and juicy heavy in the first two Fate and Fangs books, Love and Punishment, and this is probably why James is one of my favorite characters from my original The Vampire Family novel. We'd like to think we'd go all out and be heady, decadent vampires living the glorious moonlight high life. In actuality, however, we'd probably be much of the same, going along with the status quo, taking the screw from the man, and going through the unending darkness in our usual 9 to 5 monotony. 9 p.m. to 5 a.m.!

After guesting with several of my Muser Family, doing other blog posts, and answering tough interview questions, I realized then how fitting Lust actually is to Christmas and our December holiday season. We rush rush rush with all the buying, give unnecessary gifts to bosses or coworkers, sometimes people we don't even like!! We do the pretty paper and curl all the ribbons because it is expected of us. And really, we all know someone who becomes a Christmas bridezilla and flips out under the yuletide pressure!

In my newspaper work this week, I came across a note for a 'Blue Christmas' church service for those alone this season or in grief or suffering circumstances. Though such meetings are not unheard of, I was again reminded how many folks find Christmas as the most depressing time of the year. Doctors and scientists provide clinical explanations for the 'winter blues' and amid an entire street of ridiculous outdoor lights and blow up displays, we do always wonder about that one house that doesn't have one bulb upon it.

What has happened to what should be the soul of the season? Have we replaced it with shopping, sales, chaching? Can a vampire, a would be soulless evil thing, have a broken heart?

Damn! I've done depressed myself in realizing the connection! Here's a few links to my latest Fate and Fangs virtual visits. We have a little more fun with Roseanne and Margaret!!

http://roseannedowellauthor.blogspot.com/2011/12/welcome-kristin-battestella.html

http://margaret-paranormalromanceauthor.blogspot.com/2011/12/kirstin-battestella.html

And as always, you can find The Vampire Family causing more vampy conflict, trouble, decadence, and fun on facebook or friend, follow, RSS, feed, and whatnot at our blog

http://www.facebook.com/pages/The-Vampire-Family/157922293588

http://vampfam.blogspot.com/

You can beginning your Fate and Fangs shopping with Lust at our Muse bookstore page, too!

http://museituppublishing.com/bookstore2/index.php?page=shop.product_details&flypage=flypage.tpl&product_id=271&category_id=138&option=com_virtuemart&Itemid=1&vmcchk=1

3 Holiday Specials until Dec 15

2011-12-06T14:02:00.000-05:00

Our current Holiday Specials on sale until December 15 are:

Click on each banner for more information.

A sweet Christmas fantasy - with hot chocolate

2011-12-02T05:50:00.001-05:00

I wrote 'A Christmas Sleeping Beauty' as my take on a fairy story and as a piece of historical fantasy - which is where the hot chocolate comes in. (Hot chocolate, or rather cocoa, is my favourite Christmas drink.)

Today 'A Christmas Sleeping Beauty' is published by MuseItUp.

Handsome, confident, a touch arrogant, Prince Orlando thinks that now he has found Sleeping Beauty, his kiss will wake her at once. When it does not, he realizes he has much to learn about life, and love.

Princess Rosie, trapped in her enchanted sleep, dreams of a mysterious man. Is he a rescuer, or a nightmare? She must fight to recover herself, and all before Christmas, for time is running out.

Published by MuseItUp at $2.50

MuseItUp Publishing

To read an excerpt, please go here.

2011 HUGE congrats to one and all

2011-11-26T21:00:00.001-05:00

Litsa and I would like to take this opportunity to congratulate (and we will congratulate again and again until 2012 moves in) all of our authors, editors, and cover artists for the fantastic and amazing job they've done this year.

Our first year was truly a blessed one. Twenty-five awards in total, five finalists in the 2012 EPICon and Ariana Awards, several books entered in the Cybils Awards, and many other events that came about because of everyone's hard work.

Now we need to top Year One...Litsa and I are thinking...thinking...thinking...hehehehe

Have a wonderful Thanksgiving, and thank you once again for having faith in us.

Thoughts on Writing Historical Fiction

2011-11-26T06:31:00.000-05:00

Thoughts on Creating Believable Historical Characters

So far, I have only written historical novels set in England, but regardless of when and where a novel is set the characters must be believable.

Before I start writing a historical novel I name my characters. I find The Oxford Dictionary of English Christian Names invaluable.

Even then, I can go wrong. For example, in my work in progress set in Edward II of England’s reign I named the hero’s father, Marmaduke. Someone who critiques my chapters pointed out that Marmaduke is the name of a popular cartoon character in the U.S.A. To be on the safe side I checked in the Oxford Dictionary of English Christian Names and found out that Marmaduc was mentioned in the Assize Rolls in 1219 so I renamed my character.

It irritates me when, for example, a character is called Wendy prior to 1904 when J.M.Barry first used it in Peter Pan. It also causes me to lose faith it he author.

After I name my characters I create a detailed profile for each major character. Later, as I introduce other characters, I create a simple one for each minor character. This helps me to breathe life into each protagonist.

Amongst other things in the profiles, I describe the character’s physical appearance, background, and, if necessary, regional accent. In dialogue, I indicate the accent and try not overdo it. (I’ve noticed that some authors who set their novels in Scotland use words such as ‘aye’, ‘ye’ etc., so often that it is irritating and makes the dialogue difficult to read.)

Other considerations are financial circumstances, home life, education, and relatives who assist or obstruct my character.

Characters’ behaviour and attitudes need to be in accordance with the historical period that a novelist has chosen. In my opinion, and others may disagree, a novel in which the characters act like 21st century people transported back in time. Before I begin a novel I work my way through a pile of reference books in order to understand contemporary attitudes and beliefs.

I also need to understand the ramifications of class. For example, in my mediaeval novel an earl wants to dress his mistress in opulent clothes but obeys the law governing what different classes may wear. Status is another important consideration. The earl’s mistress (a villein) plans and plots ways to gain her freedom.

Another important consideration is the position of women in society. Other than widows, did they have any control over their property? Did they have any say in the way their children were brought up? What were the differences between women from different classes? Something a novelist needs to bear in mind is that throughout the ages, women have been controlled by men due to factors such as family ties, financial considerations and the law. If a woman chose to defy her father, legal guardian or husband, what would her situation be? Without masculine support, how would she survive? Another question that needs to be answered is how men regarded women.

A historical novelist needs to know how those in the chosen era regarded the world around them. What did they think of foreigners, other religions, education, war, etc? For example, depending on when the novel is set, and to name a few issues, what were the attitudes towards the Roman occupation, Wars of the Roses, the dissolution of the monasteries, the Roman Catholic Church, the British Empire and the 1st and 2nd world wars.

There are many other things to consider, including the clothes which were worn. I was very amused by a young woman in a novel who ran for a mile in spite of tightly laced stays stiffened with whalebone and full skirts and petticoats.

There are many traps for the unwary novelist but with careful research most of them can be overcome.

http://www.rosemarymorris.co.uk
http://rosemarymorris.blogspot.com

Exiled: Autumn's Peril On Special

2011-11-25T09:29:00.001-05:00

Exiled: Autumn's Peril

Book One in The Chronicles of Caleath Series

Rosalie Skinner

NOW ON SPECIAL FOR A LIMITED TIME

Hunted by off world assassins, haunted by ghosts, homesick for a planet light-years away, Caleath’s quest is to survive and escape.

Price: $5.95
NOW ONLY $3.99
You Save: $1.96

Just the Right Fit by Ginger Simpson

2011-11-24T09:59:00.001-05:00

NOW AVAILABLE

Just the Right Fit by Ginger Simpson

When Carolyn Sloane walks into her favorite shoe store, she’s pleased to see the display isn’t limited to sandals and pumps. The new, handsome salesman is a tantalizing addition for an older, single woman, and she’s bound and determined to catch his eye. Is he divorced, married, gay? Carolyn wants something besides a pair of shoes, but who’s the woman he’s escorting from the back room, and why does he have his arm so snugly around her waist?

Madeleine Grown Up by Mrs Robert Henrey

2011-11-19T12:56:00.000-05:00

I have finished re-reading Madeleine Grown Up. the sequel to The Little Madeleine in which the authoress, Madeleine aka Mrs Robert Henrey, writes of her life as a child in Montmartre and elsewhere in France. Madeleine Grown Up covers the period from 1928 to 1929 when she worked as a manicurist in the Savoy Hotel. Her observations of life in Stacey Street, where she shared a room with her mother, who continued to work as a dressmaker, are fascinating and so are those of the Savoy, her clients and members of staff.

For example, she writes movingly about Davy the page, who would stand with his back to the door while Madeleine and the other manicurists sewed or darned their stockings while singing No,No, Nanette, Lady Be Good or Yes We have No Bananas.

“Davy never stopped. When the bar was open customers would send him off for cocktails; others wanted cigarettes or theatre tickets. The cashier sent him to the A.B.C with a tumbler for her afternoon tea. Hew used to race back across the busy Strand holding the steaming glass in a serviette, dodging in and out of the traffic, diving under the nose of our tall commissionaire, then balancing his precious cargo on the tips of his fingers, push through the swing doors. We all liked him. Fifth or sixth of a very large family, he had a passion for a baby sister to whom for Christmas he had given her a perambulator, costing twenty-two shillings for her doll. He would have liked to buy a bed for the doll and he was saving his sixpences and shillings, but the Strand was full of temptations when he and Georgie” another page “ would glue their faces against the windows of bicycle shops, the shops that sold photographic apparatus and the postage stamps and all the other things dear to boys so that the money Davey had set aside for his little sister’s doll’s bed was broken into sometimes, and a conflict raged between brother and growing man.

“Both boys were tiny. Their delicate limbs and faces whitened by the slums were their chief asset in life, their charm, their stock-in-trade They looked like plants brought up in hot-houses….”

Mrs Robert Henrey’s books are alive with memorable people who populated her world.

She also makes her most mundane experiences interesting.

“As there was no cloak-room attached to the shop, my colleagues and I had the right to use the very luxurious one reserved for the famous grill-room. The woman who guarded this fortress did not arrive till eleven, so that all the morning, or at least for the best part of it, this palace of marble or white porcelain and tall mirrors with its Niagara of hot water was almost my own….The tall mirrors caught me, handing me from one to the other. My little black dress was poor, but my magnificent shock of blonde hair shone like a ball of fire under the myriad electric lights. ….Now for the wash basins with the gallons and gallons of hot water….was it not reasonable to wash my stockings? Soon, being of a practical nature, I washed my lingerie.”

Madeleine’s blonde hair, energy, enthusiasm and French accent attracted many admirers at the Savoy. Amongst them was a Hollywood film magnate who sent photos of her to the studio and arranged for her to go to America. However, she met Robert, her future husband at the Savoy. On the following evening he took her out to dinner and kissed her in the taxi. Madeleine chose love instead of Hollywood and, after a long illness when she fought against death in the Pyrenees, she returned to England hoping her mother was wrong when she said that Robert would have forgotten her.

While travelling by car in France, Madeleine and her companions passed through “…small white villages scorched by the sun. …one did not see anybody except an occasional little old woman all in black sitting on a cane chair, her feet in black stockings and black shoes on a footstool, a cat asleep behind geraniums on the window-sill, and hens pecking around her. How happy she must be! I seldom saw such a wizened old woman without thinking this, and hoping one day to be contented and happy… Yes, she (the old woman) must be happy! May I end my days with the orange cat, the geraniums and the pecking hens!”

Cured, Madeleine returned to England where Robert met her at the railway station. Before long they married in St Georges, Hanover Square.

Mrs Robert Henrey’s biographies and autobiographies fascinate me. I plan to read as many as possible and share some of them on my blog.

Rosemary Morris
Historical Novelist

www.rosemarymorris.co.uk

New releases from MuseItUp Publishing
Tangled Love set in England in Queen Anne's reign 1702-1714 27.01.2012
Sunday's Child set in the Regency era 06.2012

The Challenge of Writing Historical Fiction

2011-11-12T13:35:00.000-05:00

All the good advice given in books on how to write fiction is applicable to writing historical fiction.

Writers must enjoy writing even when they encounter obstacles. This is particularly true of writing historical fiction. Historical novelists require a profound interest in all things historical.

The historical novels that I read more than once sweep me into the activities and ‘mind sets’ in a way which I enjoy.

When writing historical novels I enjoy recreating times past and presenting plots and themes unique to the country and era that I present to my readers.

Thomas Carlyle 1795-1881 wrote: “No great man lives in vain. The history of the world is but the biography of great men.” (Today, he might have written: Great men and women.) To add veracity to my fictional characters I either mention or allow historical characters to play a part. In my forthcoming release Tangled Love Queen Anne, the Duke of Marlborough and his wife, Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough have their place. All too often, there is not as much information about less important people as a novelist would like. However, imagination is any novelist’s best friend, and a historical novelist can people novels with colourful but imaginary characters.

History, or Herstory, interests me and provides more ideas than I have time to develop; but what is history? One of the definitions in Collins English Dictionary is: “A record or account, often chronological in approach of past events, developments etc.” Thomas Carlyle wrote: “What is all knowledge too but recorded experience and a product of history; of which, therefore, reasoning and belief, no less than action and passion, are essential materials?” Yes, indeed, these are the heady ingredients which historical novelists can incorporate in novels.

For various reasons many people’s knowledge of history is scant. For example, Charles II, the merry monarch, is fairly well known but his niece Queen Anne is not. Yet most people are interested in the past even if history did not interest them at school and they chose to study – for example – computer studies, catering or modern languages. Programmes such as Dontown Abbey, the first two parts of which have been shown on television in the U.K., has attracted a vast audience. No doubt they will generate further interest in the era prior to and during the 1st World War. Undoubtedly, this interest will increase the sales of fiction and non fiction relevant to the period.

Last week, in my blog about Writing Historical Fiction, I referred to my dislike of novels in which history is ‘despoiled.’ Fiction must entertain, but it is also the author’s responsibility to reveal past times and interpret history as accurately as possible. There should be much more than dressing characters in costume and allowing them to act as though they are twenty-first century people. For example, when writing about countries in which Christianity predominated, religious conflict can provide a powerful theme but faith and attendance at church is often ignored.

When We Were Amazing

2011-11-10T18:19:00.001-05:00

There was a time, a few winters ago, when the fourteen hours of travel to fly down under was but a moment in time. Full summer Melbourne, warm breezy sun and a bouquet of wildflowers; the young man that greeted me at the airport radiated ebullient enthusiasm. Nervous? Were we not. The year and a half of emails and messages exchanged online had allowed us to know nearly everything about each other, yet nothing of true import.

So often I am asked if an author's fiction reflects true life. Whether it's a name, a scent remembered or a story lived, those who write can not help but include their experiences in their tales. From what else do we have to draw? What else would ring so true?

In the end it really does not matter where reality ends and fiction begins because a great story IS true whether or not it happened just that way,

or not.

You are cordially invited to come along on a journey of discovery. Can a young man barely out of university be convinced that there is worth in paying societies dues? Can a life-worn woman years his senior have what is truly important to offer or will the secrets she’s' so carefully guarded destroy his faith in her as a wonderful human being? I could tell you what real life dealt. You might suppose that most young men could not handle the complexities of an adult life filled with truths and tragedies lived in all its messy realism. You might be right? Or would you…

I invite you to experience one young man who has that ineffable something that separates him from the crowd—extraordinary tenacity, the willingness to grow and change even when he thinks his heart might shatter and the stuff that makes a true hero— a leap of faith toward love.

“Walk me home, Bryan.”

The smile slid from his face. Re-fastening the stud of his jeans, he turned to her. “What’s wrong, Carrie?”

“Nothing.”

“Look at me.” He hooked her chin with two fingers. “Why are you treating me like I’m suddenly a stranger?” Tilting her face up to his, he lowered his head to engage her eyes. She still had hers cast to the ground. “Come on. Did I say something wrong? I felt…it was…you were amazing.”

Her eyes scrolled in reluctance to his. “I don’t think I can do this.”

“What do you mean? You just did…and in the most incredible way.” He smiled, testing the waters of her reaction.

“It’s not you…You were perfect.” She leaned her head against his shoulder. “I don’t think I’m ready to talk about it.”

Clamping onto her shoulder he looked into her with intensity. “God damn it Carrie. Don’t start clamming up. We never did online. Why start now?”

“We never had sex online.”

He raised a dubious brow.

“Okay…so we wrote about sex. That doesn’t get you pregnant.”

“So you are worried.”

“No.”

“I should have waited to go to the chemist.” He shook his head in self-recrimination. “Should have had a condom.”

“No…I can’t.” She stiffened again in his arms.

“You can’t what?”

“I can’t get pregnant,” she spewed.

He felt his jaw drop. “You can’t…”

“Yeah. Can’t,” she reiterated in cold indifference, like a news reporter delivering a story.

He instinctively drew her to his chest, holding her body as though it might break. “I never dreamed…I think it’s…okay…”

She pulled away from him, engaging his eyes once more. “Yeah…I can tell it’s just what you had in mind.” Turning, she began to jog away from him in the direction of the high-rise hotels.

“Damn it, Carrie.” He took off after her. She quickened her pace. Shit she was fast. He broke into an all out sprint to catch her.

Hooking her arm, he twirled her about like a top. She spun into him, air knocked from her at the impact. “Let me go, Bryan,” she spouted in gasp.

“I don’t even know where you’re staying.”

“Why do you need to know? It was obviously a mistake coming here.”

He took her by the shoulders. “Listen to me Carrie. It’s you who’ve decided what’s important to me. I don’t give a rat’s arse if you can have kids.”

“Yeah…that’s why you’ve been talking about what a great dad you’re gonna be…how much you want to watch them grow up.”

She’d caught him. He had said those things when they’d exchanged hopes and dreams online. He tried to keep his expression even, but the look on his face sent her over the edge. The pain in her eyes was something he never wanted to see, never meant to cause. He knew he’d sent a knife to her heart.

She turned from him again and ran. He stood, arms hanging in impotence at his side and watched her disappear into the night, her figure reappearing in the lighting of the awning of the hotel closest.

It seemed an hour before he was able to move. His feet felt glued to the pavement; his mind reeled in self-loathing and regret. Why hadn’t he stopped her? What was wrong with him?

The chill of the night invaded him. He felt it press into his bones through the thin t-shirt he’d dragged over his head. He’d left his jacket behind under the trees where they’d...

“Damn.” The word shot from him sounding like it came from someone else. His chest ached with it. He turned toward the beach car park and walked numbly to his Rover.

****

She fell into the center of the billowing white comforter. Clothes sweaty, she shivered. The envelope of the duvet surrounded her like a comforting nest.

She lowered her head to her chest. His aftershave clung to her skin, rose around her as though he were with her again. “Damn it.” She struck the mattress with clenched fists. Why had she even brought it up? It shouldn’t matter. They were, after all, fast friends first. He was a young man. Of course he had dreams of home and family. But when he’d made love to her so tenderly, with such ardor, she’d melted. She could still feel the touch of his mouth on hers.

“God, you’re an idiot, Carrie.” Her words sounded hollow, disembodied. She grabbed the edge of the comforter and rolled herself in it like a cocoon. Sweat beaded at her forehead and a wave of nausea swept through her. She had to escape.

****

He drove through the night along the road toward Mornington, every curve and bank negotiated by rote. Taking the long way through the hills, he made a sharp turn into the overlook and skidded to a stop, tires sliding on the gravel. Pulling the emergency break, it felt as though it would fracture in his hand. The percussion of his shoulder into the door sent it flying open, recoiling back into him as he exited.

He tore into the forest, stumbling along the narrow overgrown pathway leading to the ridge. The trees thinned, and then opened onto the broad ledge of an overlook. The heels of his shoes scrapped the rock face as he came to a standstill. The only thing he could hear was the sound of his breathing straining under the demands of his descent. The town of Mornington lay below, asleep. Only the occasional porch light dotted the shadow of homes sprinkled along its perimeter. Above the sky glowed indigo into purple with impending day. It was still an hour away, but the turn of the earth allowed first light to seep into the blackness.

Eyes scrolling to the sky, he looked at the winking stars spread across the path of the Milky Way in artist’s stroke of genius. God, but he lived in a beautiful place. Why did it seem suddenly flat, cardboard? He drew the resinous air in through his nose expanding his lungs until they ached. Holding his breath for a moment, it burst out of him in a mirthless laugh. His shoulders shook with the violence of the emotion erupting from him. Abdomen contracting, he wiped at the corner of his mouth.

“God forgive me, Carrie.” The words tore from his chest. “I can’t.”

When We Were Amazing

A Novel by: Christine London

Genre: Contemporary Romance

Release: November 11, 2011

Editor: Fiona Young-Brown

Line editor: Antonia Tiranth

Cover artist: Delilah K. Stephans

Words: 79402

Pages: 218

ISBN: 978-1-927361-08-5

Buy Now through MuseItUp Publishing

Coming soon to Amazon.com

MuseItUp's Authors Gathering and Mega Book Signing- Montreal

2011-11-06T11:24:00.001-05:00

Friday Night November 4th, an international representation of Muse authors gathered for a welcome aboard to celebrate the first year in business of this exciting new company.

Publisher, Lea Schizas and Promotions Goddess, Litsa Kamateros set a splendid scene in a Montreal Greek restaurant. Every author had the opportunity to speak in personal introduction. Thank you gifts were given to Lea and Litsa as well as received from these two wonderful 'boss ladies' to each author.

Nancy Bell awards gifts to Lea and Litsa

A fun competition of dress up was played.

Karen Cote dresses Heather Haven

Sandra Clark dressed by Madeleine McLaughlin

Our colleague, Karen McGrath was remembered.

And authors from around Canada and the United states got to network with each other—up until now, faces only known from the internet.

(Oh yeah...and there were (real) cheesecakes...lol)

Saturday Afternoon a Mega book signing was held at Zellers Super Store in Pointe Claire. Each and every author was thrilled to be able to meet and greet the public. There shining faces and pride in their work showed…

Charles Mossop Christine London

Barbara Ehrenthreu

Barbara Ehrenthreu If I Could Be Like Jennifer Taylor Carolyn Samuels’ freshman year becomes a series of lies to cover Jennifer Taylor’s terrible secret in return for popularity.

Charles Mossop The Devil At My Heels A modern murder mystery with a historical twist.

Kevin Craig Summer On Fire Summer…fire, bodies, murder, enemies and lies. Is it too much for three friends to handle? The race is on…

Grace De Luca Betwixt and Between Suspended between two worlds, teenager Michael must set out on a Quest in order to return to Earth. The only way home is through a fantasy land of adventure, suspense, and incredible experiences-- the world of Betwixt and Between.

Heather Haven A Wedding To Die For PI Lee Alvarez knows better than anyone when Cupid’s wings start flapping, love and murder can’t be far behind.

Arlene Webb Ashes Lyle holds his murdered brother and wants his life to end too. When the unbelievable happens, he’ll sacrifice anything to avoid the final stage of grief, and comes to learn life is just beginning.

Madeleine McLaughlin The Mountain City Bronzes How far will a community go to protect the safety of their children when they start to disappear?

Karen Cote Erotic Deception Told she’d never have children…abracadabra, she’s pregnant. Would the man she loved disappear when he found out? (Adult Content)

H.M. Prevost Desert Fire After Nick Chevalier stumbles across a plane crash in the middle of the desert, the dying pilot slips him military secrets that a ruthless terrorist is determined to possess.

Richard Burns Sweet Chocolate’s First Taste A young white soldier’s first encounter with a woman, a black woman in the racially turbulent southern US in 1979...a hooker? (Adult Content)

Sarah Durham (left), and daughter (right) The Powers A woman with a wounded past is awakened by an ancient warrior angel to fulfill a destiny meted ages before man...

and Lycan Moon A cursed seventeenth century man’s life is turned upside down when a Seattle columnist comes to town in search of a legendary werewolf

Nancy Marie Bell Laurel’s Miracle YA FANTASY Laurel isn’t out to save the world, just her mom from cancer.

Editor Natisha La Pierre

Lea Schizas Autism Epidemic Shaking the System A helpful guide to sensitize people on autism.

The Halloween Dino Trip Jillian Waylan planned the perfect Halloween party until things go a bit...wacky?

Litsa Kamateros Autism Epidemic Shaking the System A helpful guide to sensitize people on autism.

Joanne Elder Spectra

What happens when the fragile line between genius and insanity is drawn with the blood of an entire species?

Christina Schizas Ahtabat: Man’s Extinction What if you were told you had to abandon your home, your friends, your loved ones, your career, your money, your dreams, and most importantly, your life? And not only temporarily but indefinitely?

Lisa Forget (left)

Deathly Quiet Moira Murphy encounters a terrifying stranger who forces a new existence upon her - one that is deathly and quiet.

Christine London (right) Shadows Steal The Light It’s love at first sight for rock star Colin Dunlow when he runs into sultry jazz singer, Jenna Lindstrom, with a few complications. The woman of his dreams hates rockers and there’s someone who wants him dead. (Adult Content)

Sandra “S. J.” Clarke Mind Over Matter A mother faces her worst nightmare when she discovers her missing daughter is scheduled to die in mere days.

Bonella made an appearance.

Our living avatar, Karen Cote

How I Write Historical Fiction

2011-11-06T02:54:00.000-05:00

How I Write Historical Fiction

Although there are books on the subject of How To Write Historical Fiction, which are useful, I am sure that novelists develop their own techniques.

I read history books and sooner or later something triggers my imagination. For example, I read that most of the English nobility disliked James II, his politics and his religion. After James fled to France, first his older daughter, Mary, and her husband and then her younger daughter Anne succeeded to the throne. Some peers refused to swear oaths of allegiance to James’s successors during his lifetime. Their refusal provided the historical trigger for my novel Tangled Love, first published as Tangled Hearts, which will be released on the 27th January, 2012.

After I decide on the period for a novel, I compile a chronological timeline with a narrow column on the left with the heading Date and two wide columns on the right with the headings National and International events.

Two of my dislikes when reading historical fiction about real or imaginary characters are historical inaccuracy, and characters who do not act in accordance with their time. Recently, I began a reader’s report on a historical romance. The first two chapters were so full of flaws that I returned it to the author with the comment that, although the plot is interesting, she needs to concentrate on research before rewriting it. I really don’t enjoy novels by authors who despoil history.

While I am working on a novel, I begin my research for the next one. I read about the economics, politics, social history, religion, clothes and everyday objects as well as reading fiction and poetry pertinent to the era. By the time I have finished a novel I have completed the groundwork for the next one in which I will use only a fraction of the information I have garnered. The advantage of such thorough preparation is showing the reader life as it was through my characters in an interesting way.

The more I research the more I realise how different modern day attitudes are to those of the past. However, even if attitudes and surroundings are different, we share the same emotions, love, ambitions, hope, hatred, envy, grief, hopelessness and misery.

As well as a difference in attitudes, there is also a difference in language which is a trap for the unwary author who should avoid sprinkling a novel with ‘la’, ‘methinks’ and ‘gazooks’ etc. In my novel, Sunday’s child, set in the Regency era, my well-born characters speak formally without contractions. In Tangled Love I use a few words such as oddsbodikins that give the flavour of speech in Queen Anne’s reign, and I avoid anachronisms.

I enjoy researching historical fiction through reading and visiting places of historical interest, including gardens, and also enjoy bringing the past and its people to life in my novels.

Bonella adieu Part One

2011-11-01T10:17:00.000-04:00

BONELLA: It seems Roseanne, Gail, and all the Musers have won this year. I humbly admit you are superior...this year. Apparently, mixing in your human and alien hosts with the undead played havoc on my brainwaves. Attacking my relationship with Slim Ribber was just the last straw...so...I most openly state...with no shame....

THAT IF YOU BELIEVE THAT CRAP ABOVE THEN YOU'RE ALL BLOODY NUTS!!

Slim is happily caged...locked...tied down in my crypt...safe out of your clutches, you witches of goodness.

And for your information...THIS IS MY LIFE!

BUTCH: Bonella, I do believe your opening statement is the true Bonella and the capital letters are only a side of confusion on your part.

BONELLA: BITE ME!

BUTCH: That can happen if you want.

POPS: Just bite the old hag already. She dragged me in a room full of bodies bumping into each other, swooning their butts and knocking me all over the place. Whatcha waiting for, Butch...bite the bony nothingness.

BUTCH: Pops, she didn't drag you in...noticed you grinning and walking in on your own.

BONELLA: Oh yeah!!! Up yours, puny critter...Now, since I have everyone's attention, I do have a few things to say before I depart to my comfy crypt. First...an exclusive interview with some of your Musers:

BONELLA: So Cyrus, it seems you finally released book two of your NADIA project...

CYRUS KEITH: Yes, I did, thank you for mentioning it.

BONELLA: I'm only mentioning it because you broke the FBI's code of disclosure...remember, dork, when you are under protective custody you're not supposed to be out in the open...CYRUS KEITH CAN BE LOCATED AT MUSEITUP PUBLISHING...HAND GRENADES AND MACHINE GUNS ARE MOST WELCOMED TO FLUSH HIM OUT...hehehehe....NEXT...

Miss Gail of the Witches Clan...you have tried along with your cohorts to nab and use sorcery on Slim Ribber...you out right admit it right here...

GAIL: yes, my gal pals and I used sorcery to nab your handsome man for ourselves.

BONELLA: Thank you for that confession...after close examination I have to remain calm and hold back my wrath only because it is now apparent that the physical description of 'a witch' is clear and true' because after looking at your ugly mugshots I do believe the Halloween masks out there now do no justice to the true creepy features of a true witch. You and your 'gal pals' all need to go to a museum that hosts examinations to determine the true age of artifacts because I believe all of you are like me...the walking dead and just don't know it. Take a look in the mirror and notice all that flab flaking off your ugliness...that, dear lady of the Witches Clan is DEAD SKIN...soon enough you'll be joining me in my crypt as a bag of bones as you so nicely refer to me...NEXT...

Ah...Roseanne Dowell...quick with the mouth, quick with the judgements, and quick to post before I had a chance to say ADIOS LOSERS...well for your information the wonderful WWW has offered me a chance to continue my connection with all of you here on the top side of this boring existence...oh yes, Miz Dowell, not only will you have my Twitter presence, but the crypt will be popping in...where? HAHAHAHAHAHAHA...seems to me you missed me, apparent from your blog post...so I decided to keep you company...

STAY TUNED....YOU HAVEN'T SEEN THE LAST OF ME!

Bonella Bombs

2011-10-31T23:48:00.002-04:00

I can't believe Bonella blew an opportunity to come after me. Guess she's not so tough after all. I sure hope someone found Butch, Pops and Jinx. I have a feeling Bonella did something with them.

Maybe now that October is over and she's going back underground, she'll release them.

I really expected more out of bag of bones this year. After all, she had a whole year to plan. Of course, she had a few more Musers to contend with this year. Gail for one. I think she realized she finally met her match.
Of course, she did threaten to kill me.

On the other hand, maybe Slim finally got through to her and sweet talked her into doing something special. After all the ladies gave him a few ideas. Maybe he took her away on a long vacation. Do creatures from below go on vacations?

Whatever happened to our bony friend, she seems to have fallen off the face of the earth. At least for this year.
Good bye, Bonella, we'll see you next year. I knew you wouldn't get the best of me.

2011-10-31T08:32:00.003-04:00

I didn't know if I'd be back in town in time to post but I made it! Today is Halloween and I thought it would be a good time to take a look at the TRUTH about witches before Bonella takes the floor for her evil roast later today:

The Truth About Witchcraft
Why Witches Are Considered Evil
By Bruce Jenvey
Author of Angela’s Coven

Please note, Angela’s Coven is NOT a book for ‘Pointyhats and Wannabes’ as Angela herself would say. This is based on Witchcraft as it was practiced in the dark ages. There are NO magic wands, no pointy hats, no spellbooks and no magic words. It’s chemistry, herbology, natural cures and what we would today call ‘home remedies.’ However, there was a time when these were very dangerous practices.

There’s a bit of history here, and while I personally LOVE history, I know there are others that don’t, so I promise to make it brief and as absolutely interesting and fascinating as I can. Now, while I tell you about this, picture yourself in this time, stuck in these unreasonable ruts created by people (yes, mostly men) who know far less than you do. It will frustrate you beyond belief!

When the Roman Empire collapsed near the end of the 3rd century, it left a tremendous power vacuum. After hundreds of years of authoritarian rule, suddenly, there was no one in charge. There were barbarians, disease, robber barons… it was literally the Dark Ages and it took a thousand years for us to lace some form of civilization back together (and we are STILL working on it!) In this dark and lawless time, the only organization that survived and had any kind of influence was the Roman Catholic Church. (Remember, the Roman Empire changed from Pagan Gods to Christianity around the year 300 under Constantine.) In a very short period of time, the Church began to call all the shots and set their own rules for society. And that’s the rub!

Back in those days, most of the healthcare givers (Healers) were Midwives. These were often older widows in small villages trying to support themselves and had learned about herbal cures and natural medicines from their mothers and grandmothers. They could not only deliver your baby, but they could treat festering wounds and unknown diseases.

Now, remember, there was a lot of fear in these times, if the barbarians didn’t get you, the plague or some form of it probably would! So the Church helped organize, and supported the training of what we have come to call DOCTORS. Now, to be a Doctor in this age meant not only a degree in medicine, but one in theology, too. It was required. And that meant compliance with the laws of the Church, especially those concerning decency. So Doctors literally had their hands tied. It also meant that you were most definitely a MAN. Higher education for a woman? Get real!

Doctors Vs Midwives

If you were sick enough to need a doctor, this probably meant you were bed-ridden and he would have to come to you. Under the laws of the Church, to gaze at you in your bed was not decent! So, as was the practice, the patient was in bed surrounded by bed curtains and would extend ONE ARM out from under the covers and between the curtains. THIS was all the Doctor got to examine. Your hand and your forearm… AND any treatment he provided he had to do in the same way which led to the practices of blood-letting and attaching leaches. That was about all they could do.

But Midwives were women. They were allowed behind the bed curtains and they could see things the Doctor never got to see like: “OMG! You have an arrow sticking out of your shoulder! That’s your problem! Here, I have some herbal salve that will draw out the infection.”

It didn’t take long for word to get around that if you were really sick or hurt, your odds of survival were MUCH better if you called a Midwife rather than a Doctor. This pissed off the men and they went to the Church asking to somehow level the playing field. In its infinite wisdom, the Church’s choice was not to allow more in-depth patient contact, but instead, to label Midwives as Witches, evil beings who were in league with the Devil. (Many lived on the fringe of the society and were still Pagans or Druids anyway.) If you allowed yourself to be treated by a Midwife, terrible things could happen to you now, and it could jeopardize your spot in the afterlife. I’m certain this was best for everyone and made all feel a lot better!

Keep An Eye On Those Witches!

Midwives (Witches) were often accused of killing babies among other atrocities. But remember, this was a time of high infant mortality. In reality, many considered it an act of kindness to quickly bury a stillborn child in the woods to spare the mother the agony, and this was something the midwife often did. “She killed our baby!” “Where is it?” “She… ate it!” (hence, the Hansel and Gretel fairytale). Or, “I saw her, she carried the baby as she flew off on her broom!” (Notice that so many women had brooms close at hand. Suspicious, eh?) “She must have taken it to some secret ritual in the forest where they did terrible things to the poor soul… probably naked and most likely involving public sex acts!” (Or anything else terrible the Church could think up… I think they were just wishful thinkers, myself!)

Things went downhill for the Midwives (Witches) from this point forward and it wasn’t long before they were being burned at the stake, drowned in lakes, or just hung in the town square. There was a book in circulation even in the early Renaissance Era that guided Witch Hunters in proper, Church-Approved procedures. One of the first directives was never to ask a woman IF she was a witch as certainly she would deny it. Instead, ask a woman HOW LONG she had been a witch! This was considered far more productive and saved a lot of time determining guilt. There was no way, once accused, that a woman had any hope of proving her innocence.

There was an instance of a town in what is now Germany, I believe it was the 1400s, when the Church Inquisitors came to town (they often roamed like a circuit court). They set up for an investigation that became trials and when they were done, every last female, EVERY FEMALE in town, regardless of age, had been hung! Then, the Inquisitors packed up and moved on confident they had done the right thing and saved these now, very lonely men.

Obviously, this drove the practices of herbology and natural healing underground (“Are you a witch?” “Not ME!”), where it has stayed for many, many years only now starting to resurface in this ‘dawn of new enlightenment’ we have endured since the 1960s. But the Witch is still a cultural icon we tend to celebrate at Halloween.

My Kinda Witchcraft, Reprise:

This is why, in MY books, The Cabbottown Witch Novels and Angela’s Coven, there are no magic wands, no pointy hats, no mystical spells or magic words… well… that anyone admits to anyway! I have taken the basic premise, mixed in a little of the strange and the bizarre that I have had the good fortune to experience, and then made a very important assumption: What if, while out of the public view, this skill, this science, continued to evolve and advance? What then might be possible? How would it be viewed?

Think of it this way: The very first time you saw a DVD player, did you think it was an impressive technical breakthrough? Or did you consider it the work of the Devil himself and try to burn the Best Buy guy at the stake?

So, as you celebrate this Halloween season, remember that green-skinned old ladies with warts and missing teeth who laugh in madly hysterical cackles, are only stereotypes some man wanted you to believe. The truth is, witches were the first healers and capable of what appeared then, to be magical miracles. They were, the most powerful women there could be. They are still among us today, the question is, who are they now? And what have they been up to?

Bruce Jenvey is the author of Angela’s Coven published by MuseItUp Publishing and available where ever quality E-Books are sold. You can also visit the author’s webpage at www.covenbooks.com.

A Halloween Tale - The Burberry Scare

2011-10-30T02:30:00.000-04:00

Happy Halloween!

I love a good ghost story. As a child I was the one everyone looked to as we sat around the campfire. Blessed with a most active imagination, I would spin a scary tale sure to keep everyone up all night.

As we prepare to celebrate yet another Halloween, I’ve written a short little tale, in hopes to shock and scare your muse and force you to check over your shoulder as you venture out to ‘trick or treat.’ Enjoy! And Happy Halloween.

The Burberry Scare
By C.K. Volnek

Eugene eased his make-shift hoe next to the large round pumpkin, careful not to snag anything he shouldn’t. He clipped the stray weed invading his patch and leaned back, his chest puffed out with pride, thumb hitched in the frayed rope he used as a belt. Any time now, the Governor was bound to drive by.

He spat at his hand and smoothed the greasy black shock of hair down against his head. “I must remember to thank Maeva for the special pumpkin seeds,” he said to himself, swiping a dirty hand across a mouth full of discolored teeth. “Josiah will be one jealous lout this year after I win the prize for the most bountiful pumpkin patch.”

Eugene could almost feel the jingle in his pocket—accolades from the Governor for tending his field so well. It was a bumper crop, thanks to Maeva. Five times as large and four times as many as last year. Yup, the Governor would be most pleased.

A scream cut through the still evening, followed by the crashing of tree limbs. Willow Harrison charged toward the patch like a scared rabbit, her eleven-year-old face white as a ghost, her long skirt billowing about her legs.

“No! Stop!” Eugene yelled and threw up his arms. She was rushing right toward his pumpkins. No telling what kind of damage she’d do.

Willow continued running, staring back into the trees lining the patch. She shrieked again, but her voice cut short as she crashed to the ground, her black boots entangled in the prickly pumpkin vines.

“You darn, fool brat,” Eugene raged, running down the narrow trail he’d maintained in the center of his crop, stepping gingerly through the creepers. He gasped as he gazed down at Willow, her elbow pierced right through the thick rind of a pumpkin. A thick orange liquid puddled on the ground next to her leg. Eugene’s mouth gaped open and closed like a mud-loving catfish, his face turning beet red. “Lookee here what you done! You dang no-good monster.”

Willow jerked to stare at Eugene. “What?” She pushed herself up, staring back at the woods. “But something is...” With a sickening crack, she stepped on a thick pumpkin vine, breaking it in two.

Eugene shrieked and grabbed her arm. “You’re gonna pay for that,” he sneered, pushing his face in front of her so their noses almost touched. “I done told you dang kids to stay outta my pumpkins. And now, you’re gonna pay. The Governor’s gonna to want his due.”

“I, I don’t have any money,” Willow croaked, trying to pull her arm free of Eugene’s vice-like grip, her eyes still flitting about the trees.

“Well, you’re gonna get it,” Eugene hissed. “You’ll get it or I’ll be takin’ in from your hide.”

A loud screech echoed in the dark trees and Willow’s eyes widened even more. “There’s a monster in there, Eugene.” She pointed a shaky finger the way she’d come. “It chased me clear from Nathanial’s”

Eugene stared up at the inky blackness within the heavy branches. He shook his head. Crazy fool kids. Just like their parents. What was it with the people of Burberry spinning all these crazy stories of some durn monster terrorizing the hills? They just wanted to make trouble for him, prevent him from providing the Governor with the best crop of pumpkins ever.

“You’re such a scaredy,” Eugene scoffed, waving a pointy finger at Willow. “It’s All Hallows Eve. Those fool boys are just playing a prank on you.” He rolled his eyes and pushed her to the edge of the patch. “Now, you git on home, and make sure you git me my money.”

Willow took one last look at the woods and dashed off, heaving through the tall grass and jumping over the small creek at the edge of the meadow.

Eugene watched her disappear around the bend in the dirt road, her long hair streaming behind her like a flag. “Stupid girl,” he spat and returned to his pumpkins, fussing over the crushed leaves, trying to splint the broken vines. It just wouldn’t do for the Governor to see this.

He raised a bushy eyebrow at the orange goop surrounding the broken pumpkin. At least she’d managed to destroy a spoiled pumpkin. He turned is so the Governor wouldn’t see.

Branches rustled from within the trees. Eugene looked up, expecting a gang of ruffian Burberry boys to come blaring out, a hooting and a cackling. No one appeared. Only the oak’s leaves quivered in the hush of the nearing dusk.

“Dang hoodlums.” He’d give them what-for. “Come out here, you durn kids,” he yelled at the trees, shaking his fist.

Still no one appeared.

The trees rustled again followed by heavy breathing. Eugene peered harder but the forest revealed nothing. Dread crept into his stomach. His heart pounded as a shiver raced down his back.

“George? Lucas?” he called, the hard edge gone from his voice.

A growl drifted out from the trees.

“Come on out, boys.” Eugene cleared his throat, trying to hide the shaky vibrato.

The talk of the townsfolk skittered through his head. A demon. Flying monster. Dragon. Eugene swallowed. It couldn’t be. There was no such thing. Was there?

The growl came again. Louder. Closer.

Eugene stepped back, cringing as he snapped a pumpkin vine with his heavy work-boot. The shadow shifted in the trees, even darker as the sun waned beyond the horizon, bathing the patch in an orangey glow. Red eyes appeared from within the trees, staring harshly at Eugene. The shadow moved again, the ground trembling. Eugene’s knees quaked and he leaned against his hoe to keep from falling.

Eugene jumped as a terrifying screech filled the evening air, like a thousand cats being skinned alive. The smell of sulfur and smoke stung his senses, singeing his nose and burning his eyes. He glanced about, but there was no place to hide. His shed stood a good quarter of a mile away. The only thing between him and safety was his pumpkins.

In a flash, he jumped behind the closest pumpkin. It hid him easily. As big as a cow, it was. Eugene peered over the top as the beast broke into the golden glow of twilight. It was horrid. Black and deformed. Shoulders like an elephant, claws like razors, wings like a giant bat, the tail of a lion, and its head…a grotesque square with red eyes, fangs and horns. As gross as it was, it was strangely familiar.

Eugene’s heart quickened. The monster was coming…straight toward him. He’d be sliced to ribbons and chewed up like a lamb chop. He rested a hand against the pumpkin to try and stop his trembling. Was he not to see his award for his pumpkins?

His pumpkins! He glanced back to the beast. It would easily crush his crop. And the Governor would pass him by again for Josiah. Eugene’s blood boiled at the thought. Gripping his hoe, he burst out from behind his pumpkin and charged toward the creature.

The beast screamed and reared up, raking at the air with sharp claws and flapping its massive wings. It gnashed its teeth, its red eyes glaring with hatred. For a second, fear clawed at Eugene’s belly again…until the beast slashed at the closest pumpkin, ripping it open, from top to bottom. That was all Eugene could take. He raised his hoe, and rushed the monster, swinging the sharp edge at the beast’s throat. The monster screamed as the blade connected with its neck, slicing the black skin, spattering dark purple blood across the pumpkins and vines. The creature staggered backward, swinging its grotesque head from side to side, its cry echoing into the growing night. With the sound of a tree falling, it collapsed at the edge of the pumpkin patch, the red glow fading from its eyes, frame stiffening to a hard gray.

Eugene watched the beast with disbelief. Inching toward it, he tapped its horrible head with the hoe, muscles poised to jerk back if it moved. The beast was dead. Turned to stone. He’d killed it. A warped grin spread across his face. The whole town was sure to profess him a hero! The Governor too. Smiling, he examined the monster’s head, searching his memory for where he knew it from. As if struck by lightning, it hit him. He’d seen this creature on top of the Magistrate’s. It was the stone gargoyle.

“But how could that be?” Eugene muttered to himself. How could the gargoyle come to life? And what was it doing in his pumpkin patch? He gazed at his prize pumpkins and made his way to the one the gargoyle had sliced open, wondering how he was going to hide this split from the Governor. A cracking sound filled the night and the pumpkin burst open. Eugene jumped back. More cracking erupted from all corners of the patch as more and more pumpkins shattered, opening to the full moon just cresting over the trees. In the soft silver glow, baby gargoyle heads rose up out of the pumpkins, red eyes staring at Eugene, fangs gnashing, screaming out their hunger...
The End.

If you liked The Burberry Scare, I hope you’ll check out my ghost story, Ghost Dog of Roanoke Island. It’s a tween ghost story with a twist of Native American folklore and based on the true life mystery of the Lost Colony of Roanoke Island. It’s available on Amazon, MIU Book Store, Smashwords and other fine on-line book stores.

Have a happy, and hauntingly great, Halloween!

C.K. Volnek
www.ckvolnek.com