Sparkle This!

Here Comes The Bribe

2008-07-03T10:04:00.000-07:00

Sherry's book Here Comes The Bribe is now available.

Andi pretends to be Cole's fiancee and a charming sexy read commences.Fun and sexy! Here Comes the Bribe is a charming tale. Cole is a hero you desire and enjoy. Andi is spunky and sweet. Ms. Davis has crafted an enjoyable summer read. I can't wait for more from this author.

Someone Found

2008-04-23T09:06:00.001-07:00

Christ, how she wanted the world to be fair just this one time, wanted fair to be more than another extraneous four-letter word thrown into the mix. She wanted it to be her turn at fair.

Tasha pulled in a deep breath, immediately regretted the effort then struggled to push it back out. It hurt – what the hell didn’t hurt? Pain radiated; white-hot pricks hammered her nerve endings as the anesthetizing effect of adrenaline from her fall wore off. Tiny breaths, then. She labor-panted and fought to stay conscious.

She couldn’t pass out. She had to hold on for the medics. If she lost her fight against the pressing blackness, she would lose the last of Demitri. Again. And this time felt like it would be forever. She closed her battered fingers into a fist and suffered through the pain, welcoming it as a sign that she was still here, still in control. Like a mantra, she used the anguish of her injuries to call out to him.

Little more than mist in her in mind, Demitri was ghostly visible but impossibly intangible. And yet, with the barest thought of him a sense of completeness filled her; somehow whole as though she’d been mended, healed through his very essence. His face was only a blur of angles, his smell antiseptically removed, even the sound of his voice faded. Elvira and her magical jumping had left this hole in her. Yet some tiny thread of remembrance needled Tasha, pricking and refusing to be still.

Sirens shrieking in the summer air ground to a halt with a squall of tires. The dull thud of doors clunked, bags popping against the cement, footsteps pounding on the pavement. Sounded like the medical cavalry had arrived.

A breeze, the poorest excuse for any air at all, brushed against her cheek, and sudden fire heated her skin. He was there in that touch, the warmth of his fingers, the surety of his caress, as though time had bent from one century to another, and he reached through for her.

“Demitri,” the plea whispered from her.

“I’m here, my love.”

Sensations rushed at her: sandalwood and cigars, the husky timbre of his voice, the warmth of his breath. Another caress feathered her skin, this one firmer, more real, and intently now. Tasha opened her eyes. Demitri’s beloved face filled her vision, close and concerned, the crisp press of an EMT uniform covering the width of his broad shoulders, the strength of his muscular thigh snug near her side. He was all things alive and wonderful.

“Are you real?” she breathed.

“Always.” His fingers gently soothed her cheek. “You needed only say no to Elvira, to willingly release the penance and make the choice for love. For us. The power has always been inside you to break the spell, sweetheart.”

“I will love you forever, Demitri,” she promised.

“And beyond.” He sealed his pledge with a single brush of his lips before he straightened and with professional efficiency popped the earpieces of a stethoscope into place. He warmed the metal disc with his breath before placing it against her heart. “Now, let’s make sure forever last an eternity.”

Someone Lost

2008-04-06T09:43:00.000-07:00

Her eyes became her only words.

Air rushed through her body and her words and thoughts disappeared. Where?

The woman’s body plummeted from the three-story balcony. She tucked her head to her chest and curled into a fetal position.

“Tasha!” A man screamed. Anguish fractured his voice and her heart. She collided with the unmoving concrete sidewalk. Bone cracked and shattered, the impact forcing air from her lungs.

She looked skyward, frantic to find him. She knew she had lost something. How could the woman survive the pain of such loss? Someone crucial, critical to her life – lost.

The agony of her heart tempted her to relinquish this body to the physical pain and imminent death. Darkness loomed above. She closed her eyes.

“Elvira, please. Please, save her.” The tormented plea whispered in her head and the wind.

A chilled hand touched her neck. “She’s got a pulse.” She opened her eyes to see a man dressed in the blue, a policeman. His lips thin and eyes tight with tension.

He flinched at her unexpected gaze then his face smoothed into a mask of reassurance. But pinpoint pupils suggested a frantic rush of adrenaline and reflected her face. She knew that person his brown eyes mirrored back. That was her, the real her.

She was Tasha Downey. And he wasn’t the one.

“Where?” She croaked.

“It’s okay, we got him. An ambulance is on the way.”

Sun high in a noonday sky heated the pavement. She smelled the man’s acrid sweat. The grime and debris on the sidewalk pressed into her flesh. Trapped once again in a dying body. Her own shattered and traumatized body.

A siren blared, carried on the wind as it raced across city streets. The policeman left, replaced by a new shadow. A woman with orange hair knelt at her side, bracelets jingled and clanked as she moved.
“Tasha,” she said softly. A smooth cool palm soothed her brow and brushed her hair back. “Hold on, honey. I’ll jump you into another while this your body heals. You don’t have to endure this pain.”

“Elvira,” she thought.

“That’s right baby, it’s me. I’ll take care of everything.”

“No.” Tasha said.

“Now there is no reason to struggle through the pain of healing. When you finish this next job you’ll be recovered.” Elvira took her hand and squeezed. “Ready?”

“No.”

Forehead wrinkled and eyes squinting, Elvira frowned. “Now listen to me, you have a penance to serve,” she scolded.

“No more. Where is he?”

“Who?” She checked her nails feigning ignorance and boredom.

Tasha’s squeezed Elvira’s hand. Her body wasn’t paralyzed, just damaged. She tightened her grip. Elvira winced and pulled her arm back. Her jewelry sparkled and flashed.

“Demitri. Don’t take away my reason to live. Don’t.” Tears blurred her vision and clogged her throat. "Don't."

The Fog

2008-03-27T21:29:00.000-07:00

The rug’s mosaic patterns lifted and took on light and shadows from the space below. Poppy’s shoes, mired in an invisible field stronger than any pull she’d known with her other jumps, became shackles she couldn’t slip free of. The charged heat slithered around her ankles and the awkward slope of her arch in the ridiculous shoes—the pain that had settled, almost unnoticed, evaporated. Her feet numbed.

Demitri looked down at her feet. His breath clipped out on a tide of growing panic. A desperation to assemble thoughts while the inevitable lurked. He clutched her shoulders.

“Tell me one thing you remember about your own life—the future you’re so desperately trying to return to.”

The deadening wave rolled up her legs, its capacity to steal the nerves as potent on her thoughts as the body she occupied. She tried to focus on his words, but she remained tied to the gravity of it all slipping away. Away from another penance. Away from him.

“Don’t you see? They’ve stolen everything. Every spirit you’ve become has taken away another part of yourself until you can’t claim anything as your own.” Demitri’s eyes blazed, wild and focused on reaching her. “I know, because it happened to me. I had to rely on journals my brother would send me each time I carried out a mission. It’s no way to live, Tasha. Reading about your life as if it were some theater production with nothing left in here.”

His touch skimmed down her arm. He took her hand in his own and pressed it against the internal, rapid-fire assault on her heart. The deadening fog overtook her clenched stomach.

Elvira squeezed between them, dwarfed beneath his substantial arm. “Listen to me, Cheeks. If you stay with Sir Screw-This-Up, the institute will find you in breach of contract. Your future will be gone and we…”

“We….What? What?” Tasha pleaded.

“If you relinquish that part of yourself in favor of mortality, we’ll never see each other again. Our thread will be severed. Forever. Or a mortal’s view of forever, that is.”

Tasha glanced down. The bond—the touch—linking Demitri to her was visible, but empty. Her breaths shifted into hyper speed, but she no longer owned them in her lungs.

As if he, too, could feel the ambush, his touch climbed higher. He threaded his strong fingers through the hairs at her neck and cradled her face as he would have an artifact he’d found on a jump he would relinquish his own life for.

“I’ll find you, again and again, until you see what this is doing to you. Until you remember me in each and every jump you make.” He lifted her hand to kiss it, but it could have been another’s. “They’ll never set you free. They’ll always be another. Stay with me and every memory we create is yours. Ours. Isn’t that true freedom?

The void scaled her neck. She closed her eyes and minted his touch in her mind, a reserve of something concrete and grounding, even as her pulse-point slipped away.

“Please. God, no.” Demitri’s voice fractured.

Tasha opened her eyes and found Elvira. For all the woman’s half-truths and deceptions, for every sting of sarcasm that eclipsed a tender heart, she stood as still as a statue and made no attempt to wield her magic, as if her daughter’s free will held the highest ground in the fairy realm. No time for words. Just the unguarded presence of a mother’s love for her child.

Demitri’s hands slipped away, not from her vision, but from the place that telegraphed to her heart. The paralyzing warmth stole her final capacity to reach out. Her lips parted to speak, but she’d become mute.

Her eyes became her only words.

What's In A Name?

2008-03-26T20:09:00.000-07:00

"Stop it, both of you." Tasha moved away from the bed and looked down. The only thing she had on was a transparent nightgown. She walked to the other side of the bed, grabbed her robe and discovered her wound had stopped hurting. Elvira ... her mother ... must have executed some of her fast healing magic.

Her mother. She stopped tying her robe and looked at the woman arguing with Bracken/Demitri. Who would've thought it? If she'd been younger, mabye it would've been more traumatic to discover who Elvira really was. But at this time in her life, Elvira was her friend and always would be.

She stared at the two warring dryads. Would they never stop arguing? "Hey everybody!" They both turned and stared. "I'm here to do a job and by god I'm going to do it. With the two of you or without you."

Bracken/Demitri spoke out. "But you must be told why that sorry excuse for a fairy godmother a.k.a.your mother has had you traveling through time and all over the world."

"She already knows," Elvira interrupted.

"That's enough." Tasha raised an open hand at the two adversaries. She glanced at Elvira and then at Demitri. Braken didn't exist, not for her, at least. "First we need to clean up this mess, then we'll talk."

"Honey, there's no need to talk to this interloper." Elvira stared at Demitri as if she stared hard enough, he'd disappear.

Demitri stared back for a moment and then softly whispered. "You wish."

To Tasha those two little whispered words sound almost like a threat. But threat of what?

Then he quickly turned to face Tasha. "What do you want me to do?" He grinned ... a very high voltage smile.

Tasha felt like a moth being drawn in by a flame. "Do?" It took all her control to keep herself from running directly into his arms. "Oh. Yes." She reluctantly turned away and moved toward the fireplace. "We need to get Bracken and Poppy married." Distance was good where that virile man was concerned. She sat down in a wing chair. "Then we have to find out who's trying to kill me, I mean Poppy. Or should it be vice versa?"

"I know who's trying to kill you?" Elvira moved toward her and plopped down on the twin of the wing chair facing Tasha and crossed her legs. She had a smug smile plastered on her over-made-up face.

"You do?" Tasha and Demitri spoke out in unison.

Demitri stalked toward Elvira. "So what's the reason you haven't said anything, old woman?" He leaned in and glared directly into her face. "Do you want Tasha to die the next time an attempt is made on her life?"

"Of course not." Eliva pushed back against the chair cushions as far away from Demitri as she could

He straightened. "Then what?"

"Tasha is very good at solving mysteries." Elvira appeared insulted by his attack. "I didn't want to rain on her parade."

"Please ... rain on it." Demitri enunciated each word.

"It's the step-father." Elvira fluffed up her unrully hair.

"I knew it!" Demitri turned and strolled toward Tasha. "It's that money grubbing bastard."

Tasha breathed in Demitri's eluisve scent and could almost feel his heat when he stopped beside her chair. It was as if he were guarding against anyone who'd dare try to harm her. It was sort of endearing.

"He didn't to it himself, of course," Elvira explained. "He hired someone to shove her into the lake."

"Then he didn't ie when he told me he was on the opposite side." Demitri gave Tasha a quick glance.

"But he put the arsenic in her tea all by himself." Elvira lifted her arm, stared at the multitude of bracelets decorating it and moved it so the costume jewelry would jangle. "He merely waited for the maid to step out of the room for a moment and put it in the teapot."

"Would you please stop with that infernal racket?"

Elvira stopped her arm movement and stared at Demitri as if he was crazy. "You've got a real problem, young man." But she slowly moved her arm toward the chair's armrest.

Tasha shook her head at Elvira's antics. She looked up at Demitri. "You're going to tell the Earl you know what he's done. That if he doesn't change his ways you're going to have him arrested. Then I want you to go to the city and pay off Lizzy's fiance', threaten with some bodily harm if he has any objections and set Lizzy free."

"I can do that." He smiled. Then we'll get married."

"Poppy and Bracken will be married." Tasha corrected him. She moved her gaze to Elvira. The man had too much sex appeal for her peace of mind. But it isn't your mind that's responding,a little voice corrected her.

"What do you want me to do?" Elvira fluffed up her hair.

"once Poppy dies ... of natural causes, of course, I want you to work your magic." She glanced up at Demitri. "Lizzy is to fall in love with Bracken and he with her."

Demitri leaned down to Tasha's ear and whispered, "I can love only you, my Tasha." His voice was so low Tasha knew only she had heard his declaration. He moved away much too quickly.

"What are you telling her?" Elvira leaned forward in her chair.

"Nothing that need concern you," Demitri quickly responded.

Elvira leaned back in her chair seemly satisfied with his answer. But a quick glance at Tasha's face and look of disapproval crossed her face at what she was witnessing.

Tasha could feel heat rise up her neck onto her face and cheeks. Damn it! She was blushing ... again. She watched Demitri walk away with a long legged stride that was more military than sexy. But it obviuosly didn't matter one smidgeion to her libido.

What was it about this man that just looking at him had her thinking of all kinds of scandalous cravings to satisfy on a rainy afternoon? Who was she kidding? Rainy afternoon? Hell! Day or night, any kind of weather, it truly didn't matter.

It took less than two days to get Poppy's life in order. They married in a quiet ceremony with only her step-father, Lizzy and the Duke of Claymoor, her godfather in attendance. Elvira set the spell on Lizzy and Bracken to activate six months after Poppy's passing, out of respect for the little-rich-girl. Just in case, they didn't want Lizzy or Bracken to experience any guilt for falling in love so soon after Poppy's death. After the wedding, the Earl of Rottingham, Poppy's step-father, was sent to one of Poppy's smaller estates to rusticate.

All was finally right with the world.

Almost.

"Tasha, I think I've been very patient." Demitri stood directly in front of Tasha. "Before you pop out of Poppy, I want you to know the truth."

Elvira quickly moved from behind Demitri toward Tasha. "Don't listen to him, honey." She had that imploring look on her face that Tasha had come to recognize. It was the look Elvira had when Tasha had taken care of the murderer of the latest victum and she'd visit Tasha to tell her what country and what year she'd go to next.

"All right, Elvira," Demitri directed. "Why don't you tell Tasha, she hasn't been doing all this jumping to correct a mistake she's made?" Demitri's hands clenched at his sides. "That fairy godmothers aren't capable of going back in time to erase a man's death that Detective Tasha Benton believes she caused when she wrongly accused him of murdering his girlfried?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Elvira turned and glared at him.

"Go ahead. Lie to her. Tell her I'm not the reason you've had her jumping all over the damn world and all over the fricking centuries for the last four years." Demitri's jaw clenched as he stared at Elvira's back. When he turned to Tasha his gaze softened.

"That's not true." Tasha couldn't believe what he was saying. "Elvira came to help me." She gazed at the apparent compassion in Demitri's eyes. "Tell him Elvira." He stood there as if carved out of granite, so unyielding. He had no idea of the bond she and Elvira shared. She'd been there ... always. Well ... almost always.

"Tell him he's wrong, honey." Elvira stared up at Tasha.

"Am I?" Demitri stared into Tasha's eyes, into her soul.

"It's in the contract I signed," Tasha tried to tell him. "Once I've done my penance and I catch the gulity parties in other women's murders, Elvira's going to go back and fix things. She's going to inform Jackson Allen that the police found the man who murdered his fiancee'." Tasha stared down at her friend ... her very own fairy godmother ... her mother.

But Elvira had suddenly found something very interesting in the pattern of the rug they were standing on. Tasha stared at Elvira's bent head and began to get a terrible feeling in her stomach. She recognized it. It was how she'd felt when she'd been told the murderer for Jackson Allen's girlfriend had confessed, twenty-four hours after Mr. Allen had committed suicide.

"Then ... everything ... will ... be ... like ... it ... was ... before." She spoke the words slowly, as if speaking them slowly, would make them true.

Tick-Tock the Murder Clock

2008-03-25T17:31:00.000-07:00

Marraige?
What about Poppy?
What about the murderer?
What about her completely screwed up life? Her real life? The one she wanted back?

She dropped the shard of glass with a thud against the Aubusson carpet beneath her. The rug's frayed edges protected a large portion of the planked wooden floor even as her heel dipped against the uneven surface. The carpet, like her fairy godmother, concealed more than it revealed.

Tasha flexed her hand and looked down to find the shard had left a confusing criss-cross indention on her skin. "I don't understand, Elvira. You're supposed to be my fairy god-mother. You're supposed to protect me."

"That's exactly what I've done." Elvira twisted her fingers together, her expression pleading for understanding.

"Is anything you told me the truth?"

"Tasha ..."

"She's not your fairy god-mother." Bracken-slash-Demitri wiped his hands against his coat before he straightened his lapels. "Will you tell her?" He turned to Elvira. "Or shall I?"

Elvira turned away.

"She's your mother." Bracken said more softly.

"I don't have a mother." She shook her head. "It was just Dad and me. I'd know if I had a mother--"

Bracken-slash-Demitri shook his head sadly.

She supposed there could be a chance Elvira was her mother. Even before her hellish first tumble of jumps, Elvira had been part of her life. First as an imaginary friend only she could see, usually at her birthday parties and holidays. Later, after her father died, as an inconstant companion. But, if Elvira was her mother ...

"She's not a fairy god-mother?"

"Of cou..." Elvira shrilled as her hair bounced in time with her temper. "Of course ..." She stilled, tested a breath and clamped her eyes closed for a brief moment. "Of course, I'm a fairy. Are you daft, girl?" She advanced, stretching herself on tip-toe until she was nose to nose with Tasha. "Your grandmother would be turning over in her grave to hear such a thing come out of your mouth."

"Does that mean ..."

"You're only half fairy." Demitri confirmed. "Which is why your magical potential has been shrouded. Our destiny is tied, Tasha." He touched her shoulder. "Let me help you. Together we can find Poppy's murderer and free ourselves from this fate."

"And find herself tied to the Fairy King?" Elvira pushed Demitri away. "If you continue to jump, you will eventually be free. If you marry Demitri, your fate will be tied to him forever."

"No!" Demitri's reply echoed off the glass window. "I mean to end it. Once my full power is restored, I will bestow them upon my brother and renounce the throne."

"Liar," Elvira spat.

The room grew quiet as Demitri and Elvira glared at each other. Tasha took a step back and rested against the bed. Could she trust him to keep his word? Forever was a long time. But how long could she stand to jump from one body to the next? When would it end? Would it end?

"Bind yourself to me, Tasha, and I swear I will make your days and nights memorable, for as long as we both live."

"Mortality? With the dethroned Fairy King?" Elvira stamped her foot. "I won't allow it!"

"You have manipulated the situation long enough, Elvira." Demitri stepped in front of the smaller woman, effectively blocking her from Tasha's view. "Listen to me, Tasha. Please. The choice is yours."

She looked from Demitri to Elvira and longed for the simplicity of Poppy's life. Things had been so much simpler when her only worry had been who was trying to murder her.

Soul Mates

2008-03-24T08:39:00.000-07:00

Bracken tightened his grip on the wrinkled old neck.
Elvira squeaked, “You’ll wed her over my dead body.”
“That’s the idea, old woman.”
Tasha tugged on Bracken’s arm. “Leave her alone.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that, dear. This war was waged century’s ago.”
What? Tasha had do something and fast. She grabbed a pitcher from the wash stand and threw it hard against the wall. Pieces flew across the room. The noise should have garnered their attention. But fairy godmother and Bracken remained deadlocked.
Tasha grabbed a large shard of glass and pressed it against her throat. “Everybody listen or the girl gets it!”
Bracken shifted his gaze to Tasha. “What the hell?”
“Let her go or I’ll end it for everybody.”
“You don’t know what you are asking…”
“I think I do. Now let her go.”
Bracken released Elvira. Gasping, the fairy godmother slid to the floor rubbing her neck. “Well, Demetri, you have found her at last, but you’ll not have her, I’ll see to that.”
Tasha stepped between them. “Whoa! Somebody explain what the hell is going on!”
Bracken folded his arms across his chest. “Have you ever wondered why you are continually zapped from one miserable body to the next? Has she ever given you a reasonable explanation?”
Tasha’s mouth flapped open but no words escaped.
Elvira stood. “I’ll tell you why, to keep you safe from the likes of him.”
“What tall, dark and handsome?”
“His real name is Demetrius Alexander. He comes from a long line of philanderers. When the fates matched your souls I vowed to keep you safe from this vile excuse of a man.”
“You mistake me for my father, Elvira.” Turning to Elvira, he pleaded, “Most of what she says is true. My father and his father and his father before him were no good scoundrels but that is their trait, not mine. I have followed you for centuries, always one step behind you.”
Bracken dropped to one knee. “Tasha, don’t you see. If we unite we can end this ludicrous jumping. We can lead a normal life, have children, grow old together, die together. Ours souls belong as one. Marry me Tasha.”

It's all in a name

2008-03-18T09:41:00.000-07:00

Bracken bolted up on the bed like a man who’d seen a ghost. He had – sorta. Elvira had that effect when people saw her the first time. Maybe it was her Mick Jagger styled hair; maybe it was the voluminous flower print moo-moo, or the bangled sets of large loop earrings and up-the-calf drawstring sandals. Bottom line, Tasha’s fairy godmother was a hold over from the 60s, the bad version of too much drugs, sex and rock and roll.

As Bracken climbed from the four-poster monstrosity, placing distance between the amorous tangle of their bodies, his glance never leaving Elvira's bad tangerine dye job, he seemed to think Tasha, er, Poppy needed his safe-keeping. With little more than a snag of his strong hands, he pulled her with him, securing her, tucking her behind his broad shoulders and standing between her and what had to be drop-your-drawers frightening for someone of the 19th century. “You know this . . . creature?”

Tasha had to give credit where credit was due. Bracken’s steady voice and quietly spoken question gave more than ample credence that he could hold up to a massive amount of shock. Either that or he was simply exercising good ole fashioned common sense and not startling what had to be a strange apparition to him. She didn’t fault his caution. Elvira could grimace with the best of them, and right now, she looked primed for reprisal.

But her trickster fairy godmother could just swallow a chill pill, and choke on it. “Elvira, can the smoldering eye routine . . . it’s way overdone. And that mountain of baby blue eyeshadow you’ve coated on kills the effect.” Tasha let her own aggravation color her tone, as she side-stepped from behind Bracken. She was fed up with the whole save the chick-routine-before-she’s-murdered-for-real anyway. The last four years of jumping had warn out her patience, not to mention been more than a little rough on her body. “On top of which, you’ll have a hell of a lot of explaining to do when the council finds out you showed up, unannounced, and in front of an innocent.”

“Immediate steps were necessary. There’s an emergency,” Elvira sassed, but she didn’t quite pull off a ‘what the hell’ look as though her actions wouldn’t have major repercussions.

Tasha knew the rules as well as any of the other jumpers. The institute’s five-thousand page instruction manual had seen to that mandatory wisdom. She eased over to the lady’s lounger and perched on the edge, as she considered her fairy godmother’s serious security breach.

“Tick tock. Time’s a wasting.” Elvira tapped her wrist, where a non-existent watch should have been – that is if the old gal believed in keeping any sort of schedule. “Of course, if you’re perfectly happy being stuck in this century then it shouldn’t make any difference if someone cuts your throat. Your real throat. . . back in your own world.”

Bracken reacted in an instant. With a single long stride toward Elvira, his hand closed around the fairy godmother’s wrinkled throat. “You dare threaten my bride.”

But it wasn’t a question, and his fingers which should be seared by the contact against the entity’s unearthly flesh tightened as Elvira’s face actually turned blue.

Tasha found her feet. This certainly wasn’t in the rule book. She was at Bracken’s side and tugging on his arm before she could draw a deep breath. “Tempting as it is to throttle the old broad, if you squeeze the stuffing out of her, Bracken, then I can’t get home.”

He didn’t relax his grip. “You are home, Tasha. I’ve waited a life-time for you.”

With a suddenness that had the world tilting, her knees shook and took on a bad rendition of the cha-cha. Like a poorly built Lego house, she lurched away from him and swayed toward the bed. Because whatever, she thought she knew, thought she understood about her purpose here in this time, suddenly everything crashed without warning. “You called me by name. By my name.”

Marry Me Before I Die

2008-03-16T12:48:00.000-07:00

Bracken took Poppy’s hand. He absently stoked her palm with his thumb. Turning his eyes from the study of their hands, he turned his focus to Tasha. His green eyes narrowed in concentration, tension lines tightened his lips.

Tasha saw a ghostly pale Poppy reflected in the large dark pupils. She pushed upright, wincing at the sharp pain across her stomach. Bracken helped ease her into a sitting position, his strong arm secured at her waist.

“Bracken, what's your first name?”

“Andrew.”

“Andrew. Earlier you planned to marry within the hour. This is the only way to protect Poppy and get you your money.”

“I have made clear I need your inheritance. You do me great service by marrying me,” he said stiffly. “I will protect you, Poppy. I promise I shall not shut you away to languish in an asylum.”

“Well that’s good then.” She licked her lips. “What do you need the money for anyway?” she wondered aloud.

Bracken tightened his hold on her. He glanced down at her cleavage then back to her face. Tasha licked her lips as his eyes dilated with desire. He raised his other hand to cradle her face. Their foreheads touched.

“I must tell you though. I have been ordered, compelled by another to marry you.”

“I don’t care.” Tasha didn’t care. Poppy would be dead when she left. Why was she fighting this attraction? Bracken needed the money and she needed to kiss him.

He parted his lips, waiting for her acquiescence. She wanted to kiss him. Started to kiss him, opened her mouth to take him. Footsteps hurried down the hall.

Tasha stopped. Bracken did not. He kissed her. Took her mouth. His tongue invaded, filling her with the heady taste of wine and desire. She angled her head to deepen the kiss. He smelled of sweat and leather. His palm slipped down to caress her throat. She clutched his shoulders.

She fell back on the pillows pulling Bracken on top of her. Her ears echoed with the sound of her heartbeat, birds twittering outside, their urgent breaths and a sharp rap on the door. “Damn,” he muttered into her mouth.

“Bracken,” hollered Jacob.

“Damn,” he said more vehemently.

“Great,” she answered sarcastically. Tasha tilted her head back and silently apologized to Poppy. She pushed at Bracken’s shoulders

“You are pissing me off!” Elvira squawked. Hands on her hips, Tasha’s fairy godmother stood next to the bed and Bracken. She stomped her foot. “I can’t keep your other body alive indefinitely. Would you get married already?”

The Plan

2008-03-13T08:35:00.000-07:00

“Completely out of the question.” Bracken adjusted the damp cloth on her forehead. “The blood shortage has reached your head. You’re not well enough.”

The compress, blissfully chilled from the morning air, eased the pulsing heat at her temples. Her body answered with a surge of excitement. “Don’t you see? The longer we put off the wedding, the more time we give the killer to succeed. The union will bind you to the money, forever putting at rest any futher claims to it.”

“You can barely stand up.”

“But I’m of sound mind. Any clergy will see that.”

“That remains to be seen,” Bracken muttered, the faintest smile playing at his lips. “No one can know about this, then.”

“You’re wrong. Everyone must know. We’ll shout it from the nearest spire. The gardens will be perfect.”

“For God’s sake, Poppy, isn’t two attempts on your life enough for one day?”

“Three. Don’t forget the near-drowning.” The cloth slipped in the wake of her animated gestures. She swiped it from her eyes. “We’ll set the stage and be ready.”

“It’s far too dangerous. An assassin could hide anywhere in those gardens.”

“Then I shall wear the chainmail from your study beneath my gown.”

His gaze detoured south and snagged somewhere between the hostile territory of her corset and the Valley of the Absurd. “I doubt much more shall fit between you and that dress.”

“We’ll think of something. Leave the wedding arrangements to me.” Tasha lifted the bell from her bedside table and shook it.

“We’ll need a sketch of the grounds and a handful of men you’d trust with your own life,” she whispered.

“I don’t know about this.”

“It’ll work. You’ll see. It’s the only way to stop this. The only way to ensure you’ll be—”

“A widow?”

“Protected.”

The light in his expression sobered, as if he’d come to an impasse only he could see. “Poppy, there’s something I have to tell—”

The maid who’d helped her dress earlier entered. “Yes, Miss?”

“Send for Nattie. Notify Lord and Lady Devonshire and everyone else you can think of. We have twelve hours to plan a wedding.”

The girl hurried from the room, her quicksteps as infectious as the prospect of snaring the killer and leaving Poppy’s insane world. But she remembered the damp cloth in her hand. The way Bracken held it to her skin as if he had the capacity to look past Poppy’s insanity to what lay underneath. The line between her and the insane girl she’d shared a body with was no longer clear. Had she given him back his fiancé or introduced him to a part of herself he’d never find again once the real Poppy returned?

“I’m sorry,” said Tasha. “You wanted to say something?”

Bracken cleared his throat and found an inordinate interest in studying his clenched hands. “I just wanted to tell you…”

Something Borrowed, Something Blue

2008-03-11T20:13:00.000-07:00

"Do you think my assassin would actually leave any kind of evidence that will help us identify him?" Tasha met Bracken's inflexible glance. She felt sure men of the 19th Century didn't change their minds when a mere woman voiced a different opinion than their own, but she'd try nonetheless. She truly wasn't up to traipsing in the grass in the cloth slippers women of this era called shoes. She was also more than a little sore from her encounter with her knight-in-shining-armor when he'd tackled her onto the floor. Not that she hadn't enjoyed the encounter.

"You'd be surprised what some fools can and do leave behind in the heat of battle." He motioned again toward the open doorway.

"All right, let's say we find the man who shot at me." Once again, Tasha felt a warmth come over her and began to perspire. She felt as if all her energy was draining out through her pores. "What about the poisoned tea? Do you believe the same person who tried to kill me and shot at me through the window also tried to poison me?" She wanted to stomp her foot and tell the much too handsome Bracken she didn't want to go out into the garden unless he was going to make passionate love to her. But truly all she wanted at this moment was to go to her room and and to her bed.

"Let's take one thing at a time, Poppy." Bracken stood none too patiently at the door.

With his straight dark hair combed away from his brow and the gleam in those dark eyes, Bracken reminded Tasha of a racehorse chomping at the bit in anticipation of the challenge to come. She moved toward the door and her pretend fiancee. Who knew? Maybe they'd find some clue to the indentity of the shooter. Once she found the identity of Poppy's murderer, she'd be on her way to another body and another mystery.

Tasha moved by the tall man and even in her tiredness she felt her heartbeat move up a notch. But she wasn't expecting the dizzy spell that followed. She moved a hand to her forehead. Her legs suddenly felt as if the bones had been removed and she staggered. She tried to regain her balance but it was no use, her legs wouldn't hold her up and she began to crumble toward the floor.

"Bloody hell." Bracken sounded more than a little peeved.

Tasha saw his arms move toward her to keep her upright. One of his large warm hands moved against her spine while his other pressed her lower chest pulling her into his solidness.

"I've got you Poppy." His tone had completely changed. His words were almost tender. "You're not going to fall."

Bracken's soothing words traveled straight to Tasha's love parched heart. But his comforting words were forgotten as the hand pressing near her abodomen became a hot piece of steel burning through her protective layers of clothing. It burned into her and into her unprotected midsection, boring a raw hole. A loud groan escaped Tasha's lips as a wave of indescribable pain hit her.

"Damn it, Poppy." Bracken looked down at his hand covered in blood. Poppy's blood. "You've been shot!"

Tasha awoke to see a pair of dark eyes filled with concern staring at her. "Hello." She smiled. She'd never in her entire life had anyone look at her in quite that way.

"We were worried about you." He continued to stare at her as if there was some bad news he didn't want to tell her. "Are you in pain?"

"Not much ... " She tried to move and realized it was a lie and amended her statement. "If I lay perfectly still." Would this be the first time she'd be unable to find out who'd killed her subject? It had to be about the money. Money and power brought out the worst in people. But who wanted it enough to kill for it. She gazed at Bracken's somber face. "Am I dying?"

"No ... no ..." He tried to smile but failed miserably. "I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong impression with my somber appearance. It's just that you've been unconscious for a good three hours. We were getting a little worried." He almost smiled this time. "It's not a serious wound as gunshot wounds go. A flesh wound, a glancing shot as it were. It merely grazed the skin. You've lost some blood but you're young and healthy. You'll survive. I'm hazarding a guess that all those layers of clothing you ladies wear most likely saved your life."

Tasha was light-headed with relief. She wasn't leaving him, umm, here ... not yet, at least. When she'd tried to move she realized she was wearing a nightgown beneath the bed covers. She felt like teasing him and removing some of that worry from his face. Her eyes widened in mock horror. "Do you realize this is the second time you've removed my clothing?"

"It was quite properly done. Your housekeeper assisted me. In fact, she has quite an apothecary. You're lucky to have her." He raised a dark brow in inquiry. "I think the next time I endeavor the task of removing your clothes, we should be alone. What do you think?"

As she gazed at the gleam in Bracken's eyes, Tasha suddenly pictured herself and the large muscular individual staring down at here, naked, disheveled and entangled in silk sheets. She saw a flash of white teeth. Could he read her mind? She felt the heat move up her neck and onto her cheeks. She was blushing. Blushing for goodness sake! She never blushed!

"I'll stop teasing you." Bracken smiled as he straightened and moved away from the bed. "You should began to feel better in a few days." He walked toward a large window and gazed out.

"Unless I'm poisoned before I improve." Tasha spoke her fears aloud. But she also wanted Bracken to be reminded she was still in danger. She had to find the killer before he succeeded ... again.

"Not if I have anything to do with it." He walked back toward the bed, lifted her hand and held it between his. "Do you trust that I'll help you find the person responsible?"

"Yes, I trust you." Tasha gazed into Bracken's eyes and knew she spoke the truth. She could count on one hand the people she'd trusted in her life. "And because I trust you, will you grant me a wish?"

"And what would that be?" Bracken smiled but it was a little hesitant.

"I want you to marry me. Now. Today." Tasha watched a look of pleased surprise light Bracken's face. She knew now what she'd been sent here to do.

Crazy For You

2008-03-09T17:10:00.000-07:00

“How insane?” Crazy was relative, considering I’d spent the last four years jump-frogging from one body to the next until I appeased whatever Magical Muckity-Muck I’d pissed off in my real life. Thanks to the curse, I’d seen a whole lot of crazy. Fainting spells and a few eccentricities, I could deal with.

“Pardon?”

“Exactly how crazy am I?” I pressed a hand to the radiating pain just under my rib cage. It was a twinge while I was on the floor. Now that I was standing, it had grown.

“You spent six months under a physician's care.”

“So, pretty crazy.”

“Bordering on the criminal.” He wore a puzzled expression. “Do you not remember the events of the last year?” Bracken cocked his head and didn’t bother to disguise his open suspicion.

“I don’t remember anything before waking up, soaking wet, downstairs.” The criminal part caught my attention.

“A year ago, you were Lady Poppy, only daughter of Earl Hatcher. Your mother pledged your hand to your brutish first cousin, Lord Hatcher. He inherited the title on your father’s death. It was considered a good match as the union would keep the title and the inheritance within the family blood line." He stopped. "Are you feeling well?"

"Is it hot in here?" The lack of air in the musty room made my head spin. I leaned against the window sill and sucked in a couple of breaths. "Please, go on."

"It was an elaborate ceremony well attended by the Ton. Your godfather, the Duke of Craymoor, gave the bride away.” He paced the room slowly, his attention flicking from me to the window and finally to the door. “Ring a bell?”

I shook my head. “Doesn’t sound like much of a match.”

“Apparently, your thoughts were the same at the time.” He stopped in front of me. “You killed Lord Hatcher on your wedding night."

Poppy was a murderer? Could this assignment get any worse?

"The only reason you have not been remanded to live out the rest of your days in a sanitorium is your connection to the Duke," he explained. "Duke Craymoor convinced the high court you had suffered one of your spells during the murder and could not possibly be responsible for your actions.”

Not personally responsible. The words didn’t seem to cover the kind of crazy Poppy obviously suffered. Still, it had me thinking. The guy in front of me must be very desperate to take his chances with a girl like Poppy.

“Aren’t you afraid, Bracken? What if Popp--, I mean, what if I have a relapse on our wedding night?” Although why a girl would want to put a halt to anything which involved a naked Bracken was more than I could fathom at the moment.

“I have considered the possibility." He quirked a brow as an unreadable emotion contorted his masculine features. "I am certain the rest of civilized society has also taken my personal risk into consideration and come to their own conclusions on the matter. No doubt they have calculated the measure of my debt, as well.” He clenched his jaw and looked out the window behind me. "Beggars cannot be choosers, my dear Poppy."

“You’re still willing to marry me?”

“Yes.” He paused to hold my gaze for a long moment before he crossed slowly to the door. “There is little choice for either of us on the matter. But let me assure you, at the first sign of murderous intent, I shall have no recourse but to have you committed to Bedlam Asylum for the rest of your days.”

“That’s so comforting. Really. I’m all warm and fuzzy inside.” God, why did Elvira put me in Poppy? It was clear the girl was better off dead. Wicked Stepfather. Brutish dead husband. No mother to guide her ... If she weren't already dead, I'd poison her myself. Except I was very much alive inside this dead crazy woman. And I wanted to stay that way.

The pain in my chest had dulled. There was heat and something sticky between me and the torturous corset. But the urge to confide in Bracken was gone. Whatever it was, it would have to wait until I reached the safety and privacy of my room.

“I’d like to go to my room, now.”

“All in good time, my dear.” Bracken opened the door and motioned for me to precede him. “First, we shall investigate the lawn. Perhaps we shall find a clue to bring us closer to who is intent on killing you.”

Who Is Poppy

2008-03-05T20:58:00.000-08:00

“So you’re convinced Stepfather is responsible for the attempt on Po--my life?”

Bracken stared down the hallway as he spoke. “He would gain the most money but there are those who would do it for pure pleasure.”

“Pleasure?” What kind of body did Elvira zap me in to?

My hero snapped his gaze to me tightening his jaw. “Surely you haven’t forgotten the circumstances of our agreement.”

I tried to focus on Bracken’s face as he spoke but the jackhammer banging away behind my eyes had apparently bored a hole in my vision. I pressed my fingers to my temples. The real Poppy was trying to emerge. The sensation was nothing new, the host soul usually tries to resurface at some point, but this host was unusually strong.

“Poppy?”

My cheek pressed against the cold wooden floor. I opened my eyes to find Bracken kneeling beside me. “I must have fallen...”
“You had another spell. Fortunately, I was able to contain you before you injured someone.”
I allowed Bracken to help me to the settee by the fireplace. “Bracken, I must have rattled my brain in the water this morning. What do you mean by spells?”

“Why darling, you are insane."

Shattered

2008-03-03T11:51:00.000-08:00

Granite-like sinew and muscle secured Tasha into a corner of floor and wall, holding her immobile, covering her, shielding her from the outside world. She sucked in air and caught a whiff of pure male – a little sweat, a little outdoors, and the hint of something infinitely more tempting. Okay, maybe being crushed under this virtual mass of man wasn’t all so bad.

As if sensing her breathing distress, Bracken shoved an elbow beneath his weight and opened a small chasm between them. “Are you hit? Injured?” His hand swept behind her head, gently probing underneath the ridiculously curled and coiffed bulk of Poppy’s hair. “I shoved you into the wall pretty hard.” More space opened between them. His brow furrowed, his intense look searing the length of her. “I don’t see blood. Although under this mess, you could be hiding a mortal wound.” His hand followed the path of his glance, brushing against the mounds of bunched ruffles and further displacing her clothing.

Who would have thought through all the layers that she would feel his touch? But like some twisted static-electric charge she absorbed a shocking connection between his fingertips and her nerve endings. His caress was positively lethal to her drought-laden sex life. No man had been this close in months. There was no one to trust – not anymore. Bracken’s fingers caught high on her thigh, tangling in the lace of one her of garters. An unquenchable need, a shiver she couldn’t control crashed through her. She could drink this man right through the pores of her skin.

“Did I hurt you?” Dark and dangerously seductive, his words whispered between them.

The urge to turn into his caress, to shed the ludicrous, confining clothing layers rose inside her. He’d barely touched her and she wanted him with a distracting need. He was close, shadowing her body, heating the very air between them. His pupils widened, darkening until she could read his matching desire there. As though sensing her thoughts, he lowered his head, his mouth a masterful invasion against hers. Flames of too-long denied need licked at her. She surged closer, deepening the kiss, given into her own tinder-box response. He shifted, rolling onto his back, taking her with him, carrying her to the shelter of his embrace. His hands seemed to be everywhere at once, soothing, igniting, caressing. Her world tilted as desire raced through her. His hands spanned her waist, gently clasping inch by higher inch as he worked his magic against her sides. Slowly, pressure parted and reality checked in. He was opening her damned corset. Correction – he was opening Poppy’s, his fiancée’s, corset.

Tasha lifted her head, breaking the kiss and ignoring the scream of her lustful self. Screw this! Her timing positively sucked. “I’d like nothing better than to strip you naked and go completely mindless with you.”

He raised an eyebrow at her words. “Interesting choice of words.”

His hands moved again, and this time the probing of his fingers ratcheted through her rattled senses. She’d thought the man was ready for a quick roll and tickle and he’d been examining her for injuries the whole time. Well, that was a splash of cold water.

“However . . . ” she shoved away from him, kicking the fluff of her petticoats out of the way, “Some maniac is taking pot-shots at me.” She stood then swayed, not too steady on her feet.

Instantly, he was beside her, placing the bulk of his size between her and the window. “Are you faint?”

Funny, now that he mentioned it, her head did feel like it wanted to take another swim. “Headache. Pounding one now that I’m vertical.”

“Sit.” He guided her, carefully away from the window, and to a lady’s lounger. He returned to the window, the crunch of crystal beneath his feet. Appearing unconcerned for his own safety, he stood in the open exposure for a few moments then seemed to signal to someone below before pulling the heavy damask drapes. Turning he caught her stare, and what had to be an astonished look on her face. “My men are scouring the countryside as we speak. If the culprit is within any near distance, they’ll flush him. Then, I’ll deal with him. And then, somebody, by God, will tell me how he got so close in the first place.”

There was a deadly seriousness about Poppy’s fiancé. The shudder hit Tasha unexpectedly. He apparently didn’t believe in losing his meal-ticket. She licked her lips, a sudden thirst rolling through her mouth. “Why assume the shooter was a him?”

He’d crossed to the teapot and poured some of the brew. Actually, it was more like he clanked the cup against the pot then managed to slosh a little from one to the other. Pouring tea didn’t seem to be his strong suit. “I don’t know many women proficient with firearms, do you?”

In this century or the next, she wanted to ask, but the thump behind her eyes didn’t make her feel like being chatty. However, she’d seen first-hand how vicious women could be, how devious in their desire to achieve success, the perfect marriage, hell, their daughter as a cheer-leader. Yeah, she’d seen female proficiency with a gun, a knife, a meat-cleaver. Gentler sex, hell, just try pissing off the wrong gal.

Returning to her side, Bracken held the cup near her lips. An almond scent struck her nose. The implication suddenly jarred into place. No wonder her head hurt. “God, all mighty, that’s poison.”

He immediately pulled the cup back and took a sniff, then moved the cup to his lips.

“No, don’t. That’s arsenic.”

Her warning went unheeded and he took a sip. An instant and thunderous expression settled on his face as he spat out the liquid. With lightning speed, he hurled the cup into the fireplace – the tinkle of shattering glass a second explosion on her nerves in a few short minutes. Striding to the door, he flung it open and bellowed down the hallway. Yep, that was a bellow if ever Tasha had heard one. People seemed to materialize from thin air. She couldn’t help but wonder that no one had come early, not when the gun sounded, not the breaking glass. It was as though while the lord and master had control of the room, no one dared enter without his permission. And this wasn’t even his house. That kind of control was more than a bit scary.

“Bring me fresh boiled water. Hot enough that I’d better see the steam rising when it gets here, understand? Several unpeeled cloves of garlic. Find a maid, and get Lady Hatcher’s bags packed immediately,” he grated out the instructions to the gapping servants. Answering nods met his demands, as two of the lesser house maids disappeared in a flurry of skirts. A familiar face appeared in the crowded doorway. “Jacob, find that louse of a stepfather and let him know we’ll be leaving the premises immediately. His daughter and I will wed within the hour.”

Where to Begin?

2008-02-24T13:51:00.000-08:00

Looking for the key. Looking for a clue. Looking for murdered Poppy’s killer. Where to begin?

Tasha straightened abruptly to face her cross-examiner. The heavy planked door remained shut. Bracken strolled into view. His broad hand shoved at his hip ready to delve into a non-existent pocket. He glanced down, rubbed his silk tie and fingered the heavily starched shirt.

“Jesus,” he muttered. His gaze returned to her, to Poppy.

“How did you get in here?” Tasha demanded.

“Through the door of course.”

“I didn’t hear it open.” The scent of pine blanketed the room. Tasha’s gaze moved from Bracken to the door to the pink and white brocade drapes framing the cloudy glass in the latched window. “I thought you had left. Why’d you come back?”

His green eyes darted from Tasha to the chest to the bed. “To have tea with you – sweetheart.”

The corset restricted her breathing, the scent of evergreens evaporated. Her pulse ratcheted higher. Now Tasha understood why Victorian ladies used fans, to fend off the sweltering heat caused by layers of stifling clothes. She plopped down on the trunk lid. Had his eyes been green?

“Sweetheart? I thought you only wanted her - my money.”

“Darling,” he drawled. He moved swiftly to kneel in front of her. Bracken grasped her pale hand and cradled it against his chest amidst the scratchy layers of his shirt. He pressed closer. Stubble scratched her cheek and a heated kiss caressed the corner of her mouth promising an elusive taste of rain.

“But you’re so beautiful. Red hair and blue eyes. What more could a man want?”

Stars danced across his face and filled her sight. Tasha fainted.

Tasha came to prone on the bed. A niggling thought scampered free of her subconscious into the murky daylight of her waking thoughts.

She peeked through squinted lids at the ugly green and pink bedspread. Poppy had terrible taste except for fiancés. Bracken sat next to her, his weight pulling her body into his gravitational field. Through slitted eyes she watched him study his voluminous cravat. He tugged at the knot and tossed the green swatch aside.

Tasha opened her eyes. “Water,” she croaked.

He rose and she flopped in the other direction. Poppy’s fortune hunting fiancé picked up the silver teapot from the tray now resting atop of the trunk. He inexpertly poured liquid in the porcelain cup splashing the sides. He sucked a drop from his finger and grimaced.

She struggled to sit, floundering in the mass of fabric and constricting undergarments. Tasha took the cup and drank. She wrinkled her nose. The brew smelled of almonds and tasted bitter. Mouth still dry, she forced herself to take another sip and returned the cup.

“Better?” He set the cup on the floor. “What happened?”

“I think my laces are too tight.” She pulled Poppy’s hair over her shoulder and shifted. The corset dug into her side. “Could you?”

He came to his knees and made quick work of her buttons and ties. Tasha took a deep breath, her lungs filled to capacity with oxygen.

Bracken traced the column of her spine with a broad finger. She clutched the dress to her and shivered.

“Cold?”

“Not hardly,” she mumbled. She swallowed, mouth dry, again and stared at him over her shoulder. “If you would just tie me back up – -"

A slight intake of air, his eyes widened. Bracken’s very green eyes. Eyes that had been more hazel when he had carried her up the stairs. She tore her gaze away and looked at the trunk. Tasha reminded herself she was here to find a murderer not to make wild monkey love to a dead woman’s fortune hunting fiancé.

“Please tie my gown back up, just not so tight.” As soon he finished she bunched up the skirt and scampered off the other side.

A sharp retort of a gun and glass shattered.

Tasha dropped to the floor. Bracken dove over the bed and covered her body. He rolled them against the wall.

Some one really wanted Poppy dead. Tasha wondered what would happen to her if they succeeded.

Secrets

2008-02-21T21:56:00.000-08:00

“Help me dress.” Tasha rustled through a dozen gowns, searching for anything that didn’t smack of the impracticality Poppy must have filled her days with. She couldn’t go all CSI with bows on her ass large enough to take flight. Assuming they could leverage the excess baggage.

“You really should be in bed, Miss.”

The slight woman, barely more than a child, set the tray on a sea-worthy chest Tasha had missed in the few moments alone she’d had to case the bedroom. An antique so out of place—so masculine amidst the nauseating plumes and tassels—she thought immediately of Bracken. He didn’t seem to fit in here any more than that trunk.

Tasha seized a sheer Empire gown and laid it across the bed. Immediately, the girl took command of countless undergarments and layers, fastening and cinching until all that remained was the final yellow muslin.

“Did we see each other this morning?”

“Miss?”

“I’m afraid I’ve lost a bit of memory.”

“You sent Nattie away. Said you’d rather have the stable boy fix your hair than the mess she was making of it.”

“I said that?”

“Yes, Miss. Cleared the halls, you did.” The girl turned Tasha around and swept the wrinkles from her skirt.

“Were there any visitors this morning?”

“Just Lord and Lady Devonshire.”

“Forgive me. I can’t seem to recall them at all.”

“Oh, Miss. Perhaps I should call the doctor again.” The maid frowned. “You’ve known Ellery since your days at the Abbey.”

“Sweet Jesus, I was a nun?”

“A volunteer, Miss.”

“Are they still here?”

“Nay. Lady Devonshire sprouted a nosebleed and they returned to the city.”

“What time was that?”

“Just before tea.” The girl collected Poppy's wrap Tasha had slipped into after her warm, but completely non-private bath. “Will there be anything else, Miss?”

“Tell Nattie I’m sorry.”

The maid hesitated, as if she’d witnessed Queen Anne, herself, break wind and she wasn’t sure if it were appropriate to acknowledge it. She bowed and scampered out the door.

Tasha crossed the room and placed the tray on the bed where Elvira had been. Her hands navigated the trunk’s hand-foraged iron lock, unlike any she’d ever seen. To discover Poppy's secrets was to find her killer.

“Looking for the key?” A rich, male voice resonated through the room.

The Plot Thickens

2008-02-17T17:58:00.000-08:00

Tasha snuggled back against the soft pillows and pulled the bedcovers to her waist. Maybe the good old days hadn't been all that bad. At least for the rich, she amended.

"I'll be right back with your hot tea, my lady." A maid curtsied at her bedside with another young woman almost like her shadow standing behind her, mimicking her actions. "If you need anything else, please ring the bell and we'll bring it straight away."

They were both so serious. Just as Bracken had exited the room, they had appeared as if by magic ... two young women in black and white maid's uniforms.

Despite Tasha's weak protests, she'd been divisted of her wet clothes, her body dried off with a soft towel, a lavendeer scented nightgown was slipped over her head and she'd then assisted to the fireplace where she'd sat on a stool to have her hair dried.

"Thank you." Tasha smiled at the young woman who now appeared suprised at the courtesy. Oops. Maybe royalty wasn't supposed to thank the help. She watched the two young maids give her a furtive glance as they walked out of the room.

"Elvira, get your butt in here." Tasha whispered the command afraid a servant might be lurking outside her door. "Right now." She examined the large opulent room as she waited for her fairy godmother to appear.

"I'm coming. I'm coming. Don't get your panties in a wad." The all too familiar voice resounded in Tasha's head as Elvira materialized sitting cross-legged on the bed. "How are you doing?"

"I don't know." Tasha straightened her spine against the pillows. "You tell me."

"You know the drill." Elvira stared at Tasha over her reading glasses. "Find out who's trying to kill you ... I mean her."

"And how am I going to do that?" Tasha raised her arms to encompass the room. "Remember you've dropped me into the nineteenth century." She tried to keep her voice steady when what she wanted to do was scream. "I don't think young women, even rich young women, are allowed to go traipsing around trying to find out who's trying to kill them."

"Need I remind you that I dislike whiners?" Elvira adusted her glasses.

"I need some help here," Tasha persisted. How was she going to get it across the Elvira that this was not something she'd be able to do alone.

"This is your assignment, not mine." Elvira pulled at a thread on the coverlet. "You're the one doing penance."

Tasha studied Elvira's bent head. Her fairy godmother needed to make an appointment with her hair stylists. Tasha could see white roots peeking through. The ladies in this century had no such options. She recalled the visegrip of the whalebones along her torso. "Have you ever worn a corset?"

Elvira glanced up in surprise. "Where did that come from?"

"Do you know why the ladies in this century were incessantly fainting?" She paused to see if Elvira would answer. When she saw a blank stare she continued. "They couldn't breath!"

"Okay. Where are you going with this?"

"Poppy is pretty much restricted." She took a deep breath in frustration and let the air out slowly, hoping her annoyance would exit along with the hot air. "She's an unmarried woman. How am I going to do any investigating if I can't go anywhere by myself."

"All right, Tasha. I get the message." Her fairy godmother gazed at her in disapproval. "Let's assume I'm aware of your problem. But for now let's get back to what you have to do. At this moment in time do you have any idea who the murderer could be?"

At this moment in time, Tasha wanted to wring Elvira's neck. She took several calming breaths and began to go over in her head what she'd heard and seen since she'd arrived. "Her stepfather. When she marries, Lady Hatchere takes her money with her. If she dies before she marries, he inherits it all."

"So you think he did it?" Elivra smiled with approval.

"I don't know. I've only met three people, not counting the maids. Prince Galahad ... I mean Bracken ... and his buddy Jacob." Tasha recalled Bracken carrying her up the stairs, breathing in his clean scent and wishing she really was Lady Hatcher. "I don't think Bracken would've saved me if he wanted me dead. Besides Poppy ... Poppy ... I woudn't give that name to my dog ... had agreed to marry him and the marriage will be financially benefically for him." A loveless marriage was something Tasha wouldn't wish on any woman.

"The stepfather's a start." Elvira stared up toward the very high ceiling. "You know. You don't have a deadline, as it were." She smiled at her own cleverness. "Unless someone tries to kill you again."

"I need some information on the lady," Tasha pleaded. "Besides her stepfather, who else would profit by her death or who hates her enough to kill her?"

Elvira stared at Tasha for a long moment. "All right," she relented. "I'll tell you what I know. There's another person who dislikes her enought to want her dead. A thwarted lover."

"She's had a lover?" Tasha had to smile. "Naughty Lady Hatcher."

"Not her lover, her stepsister's, Lady Elizabeth. They call her Lizzy. Neither her father nor Lady Hatcher provided Lizzy with a dowry. In spite of it, she fell in love with a young lieutenant and he with her. Even without a dowry, he was about to ask for her hand in marriage. But before he could do that, her dad accumulated large gambling debts with no way to pay them off. He had his honor to uphold. So Daddy used his own child to clear the debt. Lizzy is now engaged to a man twice her age.

"Why didn't Lady Hatcher's stepfather ask her for the money to pay off his debt instead of enslaving his daughter?"

"He did, to no avail. Lizzy also begged her step-sister to pay her father's debt. She refused. I believe the young lieutenant could have some motive to want Lady Hatcher dead. What do you think?"

"But he'd lose everything if he did that."

"Maybe he thinks he already has," Elvira answered.

"I have to find out where these people were when Poppy was was pushed into the water. How do I do that?"

A knock sounded on the bedroom door.

Tasha turned toward the sound. "Come in."

She turned back toward Elvira. Damn. She was gone. There wasn't even an indention on the bedcovers to show where she'd been sitting. She'd left without answering her question. Coward.

"I've brought your tea, my lady." The maid walked into the room holding a silver tea service.

The Game's Afoot!

2008-02-17T10:28:00.000-08:00

“Demme, girl. You gave me a fright.” The rotund newcomer blustered, his eyes nervous, his movements without grace as his knobby fingers loosened the pristine ascot secured around his excuse of a neck. “I see you’ve not lost your mother’s sharp tongue, God rest her soul.”

He moved to the couch where Tasha still leaned against her brawny rescuer. Bracken’s arm tightened around her shoulder as the man spoke.

“Saw her go in from the other side of the lake,” he wrung his hands. “Nothing I could do.” He looked from Bracken to Jason and back at Tasha. “You remember ‘bout my bad knee, don’t you poppet?”

“Oh, God. My name is Poppet?”

“Poppy,” Jason corrected. “Poppy Hatchamshire, Lady Hatcher, to be exact.”

“It was my bad knee that kept me from your side, Poppy.”

His excuse didn’t ring true in Tasha’s ears. Her spidey-sense kept up a steady stream of tingles she couldn’t entirely blame on the lies coming from this interloper.

“You saw me go in? Then you know who pushed me?” The sooner she solved this thing, the sooner her fairy god-mother could get her out of this body and back to her own.

The man recoiled, one hand pressed to his chest in an effeminant pose. “I saw no one.” His imploring gaze touched each of them. “I swear it, on my dead wife’s fortune.”

“My Lord,” Bracken’s loaded tones cut the tension in the air. “Sir Jason and I, too, would like get to the bottom of this mystery. But Lady Hatcher’s needs must be attended to first. Your step-daughter has suffered through quite an ordeal. I will carry her to her room. You will send for a physician, immediately.”

“A doctor?” The elder man’s heightened color eased as he backed from the room. “’Course, Your Grace.” He cleared his throat and gave a final glance in Tasha’s direction before he scurried from the room.

Tasha tugged on Bracken’s coat. “Who was that? And why did he call you ‘Your Grace’?”

His expression was one of puzzlement. “Lady Hatcher, do you not recognize your own step-father, the Earl of Rottingham?”

“No. But maybe that’s a good thing.” Tasha shook her head. Rottingham seemed an appropriate name for such a weasel. “What does he want from me?”

“Your fortune, of course,” the one called Jason answered with a snort. “If you die before you marry, he will inherit everything your mother left to you.”

“Dispicable,” Tasha let the word roll out. Thankful she wasn’t living out this era on a permanent basis.

“Dispicable, indeed,” Bracken stated, his attention on the task of picking up her form from the brocaded settee.

Tasha tamped down the butterflies cascading inside her ribcage as he levered her weight against his solid chest. His arms were secure and protective beneath her as their eyes met. Her chest constricted and she broke the contact, leaning her head against his broad shoulder.

He didn’t speak as he carried her from the room and up the grand staircase. The candle sconces on the wall lit up his granite features and accented the hollows of his cheeks. She felt warm all over, despite the draft and her still-damp clothing.

“Thank you, for saving my life.”
He inclined his head but didn’t speak. She assumed it was due to the effort it cost him to haul her none too slim figure up one helluva massive flight of stairs. There were some things about the past that were better left in the past. Like grand staircases. And corsets. She shifted in his arms and studied his expressionless features. She admitted to a twinge of envy for the girl she was supposed to be. Was Bracken in love with his Lady Hatcher?

“So, why me?”

“Pardon?”

“The engagement?” Her step-father had referred to Bracken with such deference. “You’re some kind of Duke, right? So, why Lady Hatcher? Why not some princess or duchess or something?”

“Do you always speak of yourself in third person?”

“Must be the lack of oxygen from the drowning.” She smiled and gave a shrug.

“You are the daughter of the late Earl of Hatchamshire. Your station makes you an acceptable alliance for a duke.” He glanced into her eyes. “Especially acceptable to a duke with an impoverished estate.”

“So, this is a business arrangement? You don’t love me?” She felt sorry for the girl whose body she inhabited. Drowning and finding out your fiancé didn’t love you on the same day sucked.

“You should be happy that I do not love you, my dear Poppy.” He kicked open a door, walked to the middle of the sumptuous boudoir and set her on her feet. “Dispicable fortune hunters. You said so yourself not ten minutes past. And I agreed. Yet, I must count myself among them. Be assured, I am no common fortune hunter, my lady.”

“No, of course not. I didn’t mean … I didn’t know …” She clamped her mouth closed. She’d never meant to insult him. He’d saved her life. She owed him. Besides, what did she care? She was going home as soon as she figured out who killed Poppy Hatchamshire.

“Others may profess their undying love but I would not tarnish our arrangement with lies.” Bracken’s impassioned words reached out to her. “I chose to confess my need for your fortune. After careful consideration, you graciously accepted my offer. To which, I am eternally grateful.” He turned and walked slowly away but stopped in the hallway outside her door where he turned his head to meet her gaze.

“Yes, I am after your fortune, my lady,” he spoke softly, his passion spent. “But your heart, you may keep or give as you will.” He lingered a moment longer before he made his way down the hall and out of her sight.

This job was going to be a lot harder than she thought. A twinge of doubt twisted inside her chest. When it was over, would she be ready to leave Bracken behind and go back to her real life?

TURNING

2008-02-12T19:07:00.000-08:00

AND SO ANOTHER STORY BEGINS. COME AND JOIN THE SPARKLERS ON THEIR NEXT WRITING ENDEAVOR WITH A LITTLE PRESENT, A LITTLE PAST AND THE PERFECT TOUCH OF MAGIC. . .

Artic cold swirled through her. Layers of heavy, seemingly impossible-to-escape cloth imprisoned her in icy frigidness. A hard shiver hit her then, coursing the length of her body. She struggled to breathe, more squeak than actual movement of air. Implacable hands gripped her shoulders, pulling her forward, the force slamming her against rigid bone and muscle. A man’s chest imprinted against her front. Fabric ripped and separated down her back. The edge of cold metal slithered the length of her garment, and then as though steel bands had been instantly peeled apart, the tight constraints crushing her chest and midsection eased. Someone pounded mercilessly against her back. Tasha fought for and finally dragged in a real breath. A violent cough took her, then another, as she spat out water. The malevolent taste gagging her, she struggled to simply keep breathing.

“Bloody hell, she’s alive.” A deep voice barked close to her ear. “Get me that blanket. Now.”

Tasha fought to open her eyes. Hazy images rolled slowly into focus. An expanse of skin, tanned and burnished from the sun blinked before her gaze. Thick corded muscles of a firm masculine neck appeared right beyond the tip of her nose. She blinked. A dream, surely this. The wrap of thick fabric surrounded her, folding her into warmth and closer against the man’s insulating heat. Definitely a dream. She let her eyes drift closed. Another shiver caught her, this one less shocking, less invasive, but her blanket buddy shifted suddenly.

“Out of these clothes before she catches the ague.” Unyielding hands returned to search beneath the covers, pulling and tugging against the sopping fabric that still trapped her limbs. “What madman thought to truss women up in these corsets? And these damned petticoats. No wonder she sunk like a stone. Pure luck I reached her when I did.” He spoke without interruption, without need for anything but her compliance and she was more than happy to ease the testy fabric from her body. One sodden layer after another evaporated away until only the thinnest of cloth separated her from the man’s heat.

“Have you gone daft, Bracken? Even you can’t strip a lady in the middle of the drawing room.”

Floating between layers of warmth and the strength of the magical firm fingers as they rubbed circulation back into her glacier skin, Tasha lazily considered a drawing-room stripping perfectly acceptable. She pulled in another breath and tried to focus on more than the man’s scent, the subtle strength she detected in his muscles, the careful soothing of her skin.

“You’d rather she die?” His baritone voice was caressingly soft against her hair, but his words were stark, harsh even. “Despite stiff-necked standards, I’d choose the lady to live rather than pass away because a proper maid couldn’t be procured in time. If it’s a choice between modesty and life, Jacob, I think even that presumptuously arrogant excuse for her old man would prefer she be among the breathing.”

Twinges of reality smacked against Tasha’s sluggish brain. Puzzle pieces clinked against each other, but the effort to align her scattered senses seemed to take forever. The man’s words slowly played again and again . . . die, drawing room, corsets and petticoats, her old man.

Kaleidoscope images flashed through her mind. She remembered. Icy tendrils of water had snaked around her legs, dragging her, heavy gown and all, further from the fleeting surface. For a long instant, she had thrashed to kick free only to have her vision blur as her lungs refused to hold the tiny bubble of air and her head thundered with ferocious intent. Finally, there had been looming blackness, and then nothing. She had been drowning.

Tasha snapped to attention, pulling back, shifting until she could peer at the man she’d pressed against like a day-old corsage. Her focus finally sharpened on his face. And what a face it was. “Sweet heaven, no wonder I thought you were a dream. You could be an ice-cream sundae any day of the week.”

He grinned – almost. More subtle tightening of his lips than true smile. “I’m not sure of the compliment, but if it’s from you Lady Hatcher then I’ll consider the dip in the water worth my trouble.”

The effort to recall the name he spoke made her brain pound again. What she wouldn’t give for a super-sized bottle of pain reliever. “I don’t know this Lady Hatcher,” she corrected him with the tiniest shake of her head. “But if you’re the Good Samaritan who jumped in to keep me from swimming with the fishes, then you’re my new best friend.”

“Perhaps it’s the bump on her head, Bracken. She sounds odd. Completely unlike herself.”

Slowly, Tasha shifted her gaze to the other voice in the room. Dressed for a vintage remake of old English films, she took in the man’s shortened pants, snug around the hip and closed with a button flap. Wouldn’t that be just the ticket today? No more baggy pants and blazing boxers to contend with. A long, fitted coat covered his upper torso, along with a healthy supply of ruffles. She’d seen fewer frills on bad bridesmaid dresses. Back close at hand, she regarded her water rescuer. He was similar dressed, but without the ruffles and his jacket seemed to just barely span the width of his impressive line-backer shoulders. The man could be considered definitely yummy in any flavor.

Light shifted through one of the mammoth windows and the responding thump in her head magnified. The knock on her skull was probably more than an Excedrin moment; this pain felt like the edge of a concussion. She pushed at the damp mass of hair against her neck, her fingers tangling in the strands. With a tug, she pulled a long lank into view. Red? Okay, auburn, but when had she dyed her hair? A slow burn of suspicion snaked through her belly. Not again. Surely, it hadn't happened again. It was too soon. She was promised time -- more time. Clutching the flaming auburn mass in her hand, she fought for reasonableness. “You two are actors, right? All this set-up is for a movie you’re filming?”

“I know nothing of this . . . movie you speak of, Lady Hatcher.” The one called Bracken leaned closer, tilting her chin up and branding her with his silver stare. “I fear Jacob’s assessment may be accurate. You do seem to have forgotten a few things.” A butterfly brush against her cheek and he soothed a single strand into place. “Rather important ones, too. As of this morning when your father accepted the contract for our marriage, I became your fiancé.”

Harsh dread, then anger exploded in Tasha’s stomach. No actors. No period furniture. Real people and she had a real problem.

The outer door banged open and a well-rounded man, complete with proper English dress, rushed through the entrance. “Blue blazes, someone had better have an explanation over what happened to my daughter.”

“Holy Mary,” Tasha swore as she flopped back against the couch, exposing her limited apparel. “That bitch of a fairy godmother has really outdone herself this time.”

The Pauper and the Power

2008-01-30T20:42:00.000-08:00

“Sarah?”

“Sarah?”

The wind weakened, barely enough to rearrange the hairs on my forearm. Cold air plummeted from the air conditioning vent overhead. At the next table, a woman’s demitasse cup clinked into a child-like saucer.

“Jesus, Sarah. You haven’t heard a word I’ve said.” Todd wiped a hand across his mouth as if he had the power to erase his diatribe. Or maybe the acne scars he hid beneath his Viking-red five o’clock shadow.

Through the elaborate iron gateway separating the dining room from the bar, a waiter carried a canyon-sized slice of something blazing with celebratory sparklers. Other servers gathered around a distant table, their French lyrics lost in the sibilance of water spilling from the Machiavelli-esque fountain at the room’s center.

“I’m sorry, Todd. I—”

“—May I entice you with something sweet tonight?” Tall man. Dark coat. A thousand ways of lost hidden in the subtle comma at his smile’s edge. He’d never flashed me that in the Suburban.

My gaze drifted past his large, tanned fingers stabilizing a luminescent tray. Somehow, holding a wagon-wheel of calories, whipped and tiered to absurd heights, took him firmly out of the “take-my-hand” realm into the “best-not-Miss. Your-ass-is-already-bigger-than-the-mural” reality.

“No. Thank you.” I put what I had into it, but Robert walked away. He’d been of another time. A time when he didn’t have to pander to the rich to fill his pockets and I didn’t blend into the fake greenery behind me. I lifted my unused spoon, lost in the reflection of the focus lighting above.

“As I was saying, the merger was a complete surprise to the shareholders. Acquisitions had a field day with the turnover…”

I glanced at the pauper slathered onto the mural beyond Todd’s reflective forehead. Snowy-white beard. Parchment in hand. Bible verses silenced behind a chipped patina. I wondered if it was the way others saw me. Did the woman with the after-dinner espresso see anything beyond my sensible brown loafers? My pleated slacks? The smudge on my right eyeglass lens? Was I to have the same fate as the old man? Shouting to be heard, but no one turns?

I bolted to my feet. Water crested a crystal goblet and dribbled onto the fine linen covering the table.

“Where are you going?” Todd’s fork clanked down between two vertical bones in his rack of lamb.

I flexed my right foot, the tug of my trouser socks enough for now, and said,"

Last line...chime in to finish this baby off :)

Paris, In the Springtime

2008-01-28T13:19:00.000-08:00

A look of relief appeared in Robert's eyes but his body didn't lose the fight-or-flight stance he'd had when I'd first seen him. "That's great. I'll wait for you." He spoke the words precisely as if he didn't speak nice, often.

I dug my fingers into the cold wet metal grating and stared at the man I'd felt such a connection to in the restaurant's bathroom. Could it have been merely hours ago? I began to scoot toward him, pushing down on the soles of my Doc Martens for traction. Cold wet drops of rain pelted my head, shoulders and any and all of my unprotected body parts. The rain was like an incessantly changing curtain where I played peek-a-boo with the man who held out an outstretched hand as if it would encourage me to speed up my journey toward him.

Could I trust this man who told me he knew my brother Joe? I licked at the cut on my bottom lip caused by the grating and tasted the metalic flavor of blood. One way or another I had to get off this bridge. Was he the right choice?

But he'd known the last words I'd spoken to my brother before I'd left him, I reminded myself. A seed of hope began to take root in my gut. If he was telling the truth, would Joe be able to get me off this non-stop merry-go-round, with every seat on the wheel, a new reality?

My hand suddenly slipped. "Damn." I only just managed to catch myself before I fell flat on my face ... again.

"Stay there Sarah." Robert began to move toward me. "I'll come get you."

"No, stay where you are," I commanded. "I'm fine."

"Have it your way." He spoke the words as if it wasn't an option he allowed too many people. But he did step back against the tower's outer railing.

I didn't want him to help me. I needed the next few seconds to get my thoughts together. Was I doing the right thing? This was the rest of my life I had to make a decison about. Could I trust this man? Was he telling me the truth?

I studied the tall man in the dark suit with his outstretched hand seeming to be there only to help me get to my brother. Would Joe be able to help me live a normal life again? I'd almost forgotten what normal was. To have one day dissolve into the next without any changes, except the ones I chose to make.

"Come on Sarah," Robert's voice interrupted my never-going-to-happen musings.

"What the hell." I could see his face much clearer as the rain began to let up and I inched closer toward him. Why had I felt such a strong attaction to the man when I'd looked into his eyes? I so needed to know. But for the present I had no choice but to trust him because I was putting my life in his hands ... literally.

"You've almost made it." Robert leaned out, an excitement in his voice he couldn't hide, one hand holding onto the railing and the other extended toward me. Another few inches and I'd be able to grab his hand.

Warmth suddenly invaded my body and a bright light caused me to glance upward. It was as if Paris was celebrating Bastille Day and a hundred bottle rockets had been set loose into the rain-drenched sky.

"No! No!" I screamed out my protest as Robert faded and disappeared.

Falling Up - Part 10

2008-01-27T13:10:00.000-08:00

Rain stung my cheeks as I opened my eyes. Unforgiving cold metal grate bit into my shoulder blades and the back of my head. I blinked but my vision of blanched sky didn't clear. I turned my head to find the towering spire of the Eiffel Tower the only reality I recognized. My fingers dug into the grate as I realized the nightmare of my situation. I'd materialized on a narrow expansion bridge connected to the tower. Judging by the strength of the wind, I was a couple hundred of feet above the ground. Maybe more.

I hated bridges. Something about them triggered the phase-stream's energy. My realities always began and ended with a bridge. The bigger the bridge--the bigger the shift. I repositioned my weight. One wrong move and I'd plummet to my next reality.

"Don't move," a masculine voice cut through my hazy synapses.

I twisted my head ever-so-slowly until I spotted Robert some ten feet away. He leaned against the outer safety railing of the tower, his position somewhat more stable than my own but still precarious. His clothes were soaked, his dark hair matted to his head.

"Surprised?" He blinked away the steady stream of rain. "Don't be. And the answer to your question is no. I'm not a jumper, like you." He wiped his face with his wet sleeve and held out a hand to me. "Let me help you."

Help? He'd hitched a ride on my stream of reality. Which begged the question. "What are you? And how did you follow me through the stream?"

He retracted his hand and pushed the hair out of his face. "Wouldn't it be a better idea to have this conversation on the ground? When we're both safe?"

"I'm safe enough." I'd managed to contort myself into a sitting position. My fingers clenched the grate on either side as the wind buffeted me from side to side. Over my shoulder, I could see the other end of the bridge. It was connected to a scaffold attached to the arm of a crane. A big bucket stretched into the sky like an offering to the gods. My options were down or sideways. It was a long, perilous trip either way. "Your partner, the girl in the hoodie who drives like a Nascar racer. Start with her."

"The girl you followed into the bathroom? She's a tracker."

"Which makes you?" I'd run into a couple of trackers in my day. None of them had been able to follow my jumps.

"A rider." He made a motion with his head I interpreted as concession.

"You mean a stowaway?" Rider implied there was some consent on both sides which there sure as Hell hadn't been.

"To be accurate," he agreed. "I'm here to help you, Sarah." He stretched out his hand for a second time. "Let me help you."

"Why should I trust you?" He'd already helped my too much, in my opinion.

"Because your brother sent me."

Impossible. My brother was safe in another reality--another stream where he'd never met that granite wall. Never spent three years in a rehab where my parents had all but forgotten his name. And he'd never had a sister named Sarah.

"You're a liar."

"Come with me and I'll prove it."

I shook my head, scooted my butt in the other direction. The wind caught my shoulder. My hand slipped on the wet surface. I went down hard on my face, the grate cutting into the soft flesh of my cheek. I grappled with the bridge for safe purchase. The ground below seemed to buck and spin until I righted myself. I took a deep breath. Tasted blood.

"Sarah!" Robert called out. "I know your brother in this reality. I know Joe. He's a scientist. He's found a way to control the jumps. I'll take you to him." He made a noise of frustration. "You can trust me."

Not likely. Control the jumps? I'd heard this before. I'd given myself over to an entire research facility full of doctors. They'd determined the only way to control the jumps was to stop the current running through my system. They hadn't given me a choice before they'd shocked my heart.

I died. Once. Twice. Three times. Each time I'd spontaneously resucitated. The doctors labeled my condition as latent electrical impulses and turned me into an lab rat. After a couple of months, I'd figured out how to override the electric locks and escaped.

One thing I knew for certain, scientist or not, my brother would never put me through that. He loved me. He knew the sacrifice I'd made to change his world.

"Tell whoever you work for I'm not interested." I levered my body a few inches toward the crane.

"London Bridge is falling up."

My fingers halted, twisted in pain with the effort to hold on and pull myself to the other side at the same time. "What did you say?"

"London Bridge is falling up," he offered. "Joe said you'd know what it meant."

I did. They were the last words I'd said to Joe before I'd jumped off the London Bridge and out of his reality.

"Sarah?"

"Stay there. I'm coming to you."

Tick Tock

2008-01-24T13:00:00.001-08:00

Christ, I’d never wanted this life. Had tried unbelievably hard to avoid any involvement in seeing the future, altering the future . . . even participating in the future, but our rapid approach to the Paris bridge signaled another end to what I wanted. Like a cat running through its nine lives, I wondered, as the SUV twisted around yet one more curve and I grabbed a bit tighter to my rescuer-slash-kidnapper’s hand, how many more I had stored up.

How had I ended up trapped in a reality not of my making?

I’d grown up a normal kid in an average town. Only wanting to keep up, to pull even, maybe even to race ahead on my fire-engine red rollerblades of my older brother. The slow-winding streets of Charleston had been our muggy summer days’ playground until one too sharp corner and an innocuous curb had catapulted my brother into unforgiving building granite. Then there was only the whish of machines as they breathed for him, the blip of heart monitors, and miles of tubing that kept him tied to this world.

If not for his accident, if not for the long days and even longer nights of waiting and hoping he’d open his eyes, I’d never have been tucked inside that hospital room with more electric circuitry than the Stars War's Death Star. One terrible storm, blown generators, grabbing for machines, and I’d seen light dance before my eyes, felt it course through my body, and reach into my soul – literally in a flash.

Now, ten years later, my life was still captured in a surreal down-draft spiral. I couldn’t change the past, hell, I was barely surviving my present, and was so terrified of the future that it was hard to breathe. But that wasn’t anyone’s fault, least of all this man who had stroked my fingers, warmed my palms and scared the paint of my toenails all in less than thirty minutes. I didn’t let passer-bys, or even government do-gooders get caught in the stream of my reality.

I glanced through the tinted glass. Our speed seemed to be increasing, and from more than the car’s massive engine. Of course, it was. The inescapable draught that always pulled me to the next crossing was accelerating.

“You should pass along the word . . . to your higher whatevers . . . what I do isn’t a gift,” I breathed the harsh warning to my bathroom-kidnapper. The Escalade squeaked past another tight curve, drawing closer to the dull gleam of the bridge’s cross-sections. “More like a curse, and certainly not worth owning.”

“Some say you’re a prophet.” His voice was rough, gravelly, as though he’d not wanted to issue the words.

“Only a fool would believe that.” The sudden whine beneath the SUVs mammoth tires heralded our entrance onto grooved pavement and the last stretch of road before the bridge. I opened my fingers, releasing my involuntary grasp on his hand. Tick-tock . . . time had run out. “You’ll want to let go now.”

“Not this time, Sarah.” His grip tightened, almost as though he were afraid I’d shake free. “This time I go with you.”

The car hit the bridge’s edge, and a rumbling – part earthquake, part heaven parting – rattled through the vehicle’s massive frame. Light splintered and spun, refracting in a million slivers of brilliance. In an instance of sanity and pure-good-old-gal determination, I wrenched free of his tight clasp.

This was my madness and I wouldn’t take anyone along. Not ever again.

The end is only the beginning

2008-01-22T19:06:00.000-08:00

I stared hard at his hand, considering if a man with a grip like an unbreakable lifeline could be dangerous. Rephrase. Obviously he was dangerous, he'd whisked me out of a populated restaurant against my will. But, was he dangerous to me?

"You won't believe it. Though you can trust me." His voice cut through the noise of the Escalade's engine revving in reverse, tires squealing with the loss of rubber around a too sharp turn. Paris was like that, full of narrow streets with ridiculous traffic and abrupt intersections. I was surprised the SUV hadn't been snarled in a honking mass of cabbies already.

Keeping an eye on passing landmarks --please, no bridges, I wasn't ready for that future yet-- I played obtuse, buying time, trying to define the situation along with my options. The zealot in the yellow coat had been sent for me, part of a fundamental brigade employed to squash heretic upstarts like myself.

"Trust you with what? Ruining a perfectly good evening?" He didn't need to know how even a bathroom abduction had improved my miserable date, sham that it was. Nobody who knew me, the real me, would ever expect me to date a man like Todd. Not even Todd.

"With the information you're carrying, Sarah." He rolled the vowels in my name with the soft cadence of a Carolina native. It pinged me with a sudden and unexpected homesickness. Huh. Funny that I would run into a fellow Tarheel in a Parisian men's room.

I snorted and Robert frowned, squeezing my hand. "Your ability to predict the future is a valuable asset to particular people in power. People with the resources to own you. Use you."

Tearing my gaze from his, I glimpsed the grand steel arches of a bridge in the distance. Hell. He knew. Too much. Too soon. My mission remained incomplete and here we were speeding toward the end. Of everything.

I guess hand holding time was over.

Artistic License

2008-01-19T21:16:00.000-08:00

Pep talk time. I am not neurotic. I am competent and in control. Okay, I’m a non-neurotic mutant artist. Out of my depth. What would my alter ego do? I had paper and pencil in my purse. I weighed scenarios of illustrating my escape. Why had I erased her spike heel boots and sketched Doc Martens? Why hadn’t I drawn stun bullets for the useless gun at my ankle?

I had escaped self-absorbed Todd. Followed a girl into the men’s room where she had disappeared, to where? Why would anyone be waiting for me in there?

If - no when - I got out of this, I’d draw Todd Davis with zits, a pudgy body and bad teeth, the traitorous bastard. The SUV sped past a two story mirrored building. Double damn it. Mirrors.

In the front seat, the still compellingly attractive, Mr. Blue Eyes flipped down the visor. His long fingers pulled open the vanity mirror and the deep ocean colored eyes watched me.

The driver slammed on the brakes, the Suburban fishtailing to a halt. A thin, disheveled man in a yellow trench coat stood in the road. The horn blared a warning but he did not budge.

“Move him,” ordered Blue Eyes.

“Just run him over,” snarled Goon Number Two on my right.

“No. Move him. Now.” He commanded, shooting a volcanic glare at the men.

They jumped out and I dove to my right but the door flew shut and the lock engaged. The driver honked again. I pushed my hair behind my ear. My fingers drifted to the brow stud. I hated piercings.

The goons trotted to the raggedy man. I gritted my teeth and jerked the stud out. Raggedy man's eyes flashed red. One of my captors dropped to the pavement, the other shrieked and convulsed, his body phasing in and out of time.

“What the hell?” The driver pushed his door open and evaporated. In his place sat Ms. Bleached Buzz Cut in a Hoodie. “Ready Robert?” she asked.

Blue Eyes nodded and she shifted into reverse. Using the rearview mirror to navigate we retraced our route. Robert reached back, pried the stud from my fingers and took my hand in his.

The Last Frame

2008-01-17T12:02:00.000-08:00

"Where are you taking me?”

The thoroughfare’s neon signs, muted through the Suburban’s darkened windows, slid the length of the interior like the cinematic reel of some clichéd B-movie.

“If this is about that parking ticket on the East end, I really intended to—”

The Suburban knifed a hard left. My shoulder slammed into the guy beside me, a fortress of gabardine wool, stone muscles and an even harder expression that crushed the remainder of my thought.

“This isn’t about my breech of contract, is it?”

The weight of the pretense became too much. I lapsed into the road noise rising from the floorboard to think. Someone had made the connection.

Todd.

Sixteen ways of bastard.

I flexed my right toe. The leather holster strapped around my calf shifted. Tucked a hand’s length down into my knee-high Doc Martens, it had become as requisite in my wardrobe as the 12-gauge stud in my right brow. Thank God I hadn’t yet transferred that detail to paper. Though I may have exaggerated the bust-line when I'd projected a part of myself into my kick ass Goth heroine, self-preservation had become sacred. The frame I'd completed at midnight still held secrets.

Skyscrapers dropped away, replaced by some secondary sense of the familiar I couldn’t pin. If it was happening again, there’d be a bridge tethered to the final station on the trans-city line. A man spouting Bible verses. Mirrors, everywhere.

I pulled in a deep breath, a tug of war between the compulsion to slip into relief that we were traveling out of the city, away from bridges and tracks and the book of Revelations, and hysteria-inducing odds.

Four men.

One slightly neurotic comic book artist who draws the future.

Caged Bird

2008-01-14T19:10:00.000-08:00

As we snaked our through the tables I looked for my way out of this mess--Todd Davis. I spied him bent over his plate hacking away at his cooked “so-that-a-good-vet-could-save-it” porterhouse. I opened my mouth to get his attention but before I could formulate sensible words, the goons closed in around me virtually enveloping my five foot four frame.

They ushered me through the door into the back seat of a revved and waiting non-descript black Suburban. Two of the goons squeezed in beside me, Blue Eyes climbed into the passenger seat in the front.

As soon as the doors slammed, Blue eyes spoke into his wrist. “The bird is in the cage. I repeat, the bird is in the cage. Rendez vous at twenty-thirty.

I checked my watch. In two hours, I would be facing a much grimmer fate than dinner with Todd, probably consisting of a few hours of agonizing torture, ending in a unbelievably painful death.

Fatal Attraction

2008-01-12T22:57:00.000-08:00

Sorry, not at liberty to give out that information, Ma’am,” Mr. Blue Eyes informed me. Just believe you’re not in any danger.”

He grabbed my upper arm and a slight electrical charge traveled up my arm causing me to jerk. He tightened his grip probably assuming I was trying to get away. I looked up and stared in blue turbulent pools. I took a short breath of air. Where had he been all my life?

I quickly turned away from the mesmerizing gaze and looked over my shoulder at the goons invading my space. What the hell was I thinking? Attracted to a thug who had me trapped in a men’s room? Obviously dating too many Beta men like Todd Davis had warped my judgment.

I turned back around. “Not in any danger?” I gave him the stare my students had come to dread when they came in with excuses about why they hadn’t turned in their homework. “And you think I’m going to believe you … why?”

“All right then let me put it another way.” His clinched his jaw his hands still holding onto my upper arms. “You either walk out on your own two feet or I’ll sling you over my shoulder. Either way we’re outa here.”

“I can walk.” I turned to look at the exit. How could I have felt any kind of attraction to this Neanderthal? And where were they taking me?

One of the men moved from behind us, walked to the door, peered outside and nodded once. He exited, held the door and Mr. Blue Eyes pulled me toward the hallway. The other two men quickly followed.

Posted by Delores

Another Direction

2008-01-09T12:16:00.000-08:00

I reached for the door, my fingers on the cool metal handle when blue eyes spoke.
"Are you following the girl?"

Girl? Oh, yeah. I'd followed the girl in the Abecrombie & Fitch hoodie. I looked around and realized she was nowhere to be seen.

"I guess so. Where'd she disappear to?" And how could I do the same?

"You saw her come in here?"

I nodded. The guys near the urinals had straightened. I noticed one of them touch his ear. The shadow of a curly wire hugged his neck and disappeared into the collar of his dark shirt. He spoke quietly to the guy beside him who nodded. A leather shoulder holster peeked from beneath his jacket. The three sober faced compadres now stood shoulder to shoulder, their attention on Mr. Blue Eyes. A state of waiting descended on the bathroom.

"What's going on here." I asked, not sure I really wanted to know.

"You'll have to come with us, miss."

"Go where?" They surrounded me like quarry in the desert.

Caught in a trap

2008-01-09T04:19:00.000-08:00

Three of the occupants immediately noticed the blundering intrusion. They greeted me with raised eyebrows and low volume snickers. The fourth, a short man with oily hair and a life beaten glint to his eyes, said: "Lady. You're in the wrong place."

Grimacing and trying to look aywhere but there, I blurted: "Whoops. Sorry," and backpedaled to the door intending to hide in the narrow hall behind the out-of-service payphone, but a word from the gentleman at the last urinal stopped me.

"Wait."

Not really wanting to raise my gaze back to someone who may or may not be conducting business, I did so regardless, compelled by the authority in his voice. And fell into an ocean of electric blue. His eyes paralyzed me, their color beautiful and mesmerizing, but terrifyingly intense. Suddenly, we were the only two people in the world and there was no place for me to hide. Not from Tim, and sure the Hell not from this man.

Short Story, Part I -The Great Escape

2008-01-06T16:29:00.000-08:00

I battled a tidal wave urge to ram the steak knife in my ear so I couldn’t hear the tripe spewing from the man across the table. My well-manicured fingernails gouged my palm so I wouldn’t be arrested for sticking a fork in his contact enhanced blue eye. And I suppressed an impulse to dump my salad on his head, croutons decorating salon highlights and balsamic vinaigrette dribbling down his perfect nose.

My purse slung across my shoulder and he still didn’t have a clue. Poised to make a controlled dash away from self-absorbed, boring, self-absorbed, what the heck had I been thinking saying yes? Todd Davis.

Both wood plaques at the Three Pigs Café looked the same. Poised to make my escape, I listened to him drone on and on and on. The plan: to hide in the ladies room until Todd left then take a taxi. I'd send someone to tell him I was in stomach distress, go without me. I wish I had someone to turn to for rescue or help but I was on my own.

I spied a cute girl coifed in a bleached buzz cut, clad in Abercrombie & Fitch jeans and a hoodie with a brown faux fur collar, heading to the restrooms. She turned to her left. Excusing myself (an ingrained habit), I pushed out of the chair. Walking in fast but controlled pace, okay I sprinted, after the girl through the door.

When what to my wondering eyes should appear? Three toilet stalls, six occupants and ... urinals. Ah hell.

Andrea Geist

Happy Holidays From Sparkle

2007-12-24T16:10:00.000-08:00

Wishing Everyone Joy, Peace, Love and Happiness this holiday season.

May the new year be prosperous.

Happy Holidays From Sparkle.

Neologism - Words are so fun

2007-12-09T10:43:00.000-08:00

Once again, The Washington Post has published the winning submissions to its yearly neologism contest, in which readers are asked to supply alternate meanings for common words.
The winners are:
1. Coffee (n.), the person upon whom one coughs.
2. Flabbergasted (adj.), appalled over how much weight you have gained.
3. Abdicate (v.), to give up all hope of ever having a flat stomach.
4. Esplanade (v.), to attempt an explanation while drunk
5. Willy-nilly (adj.), impotent.
6. Negligent (adj.), describes a condition in which you absentmindedly answer the door in your nightgown.
7. Lymph (v.), to walk with a lisp.
8. Gargoyle (n.), olive-flavoured mouthwash.
9. Flatulence (n.) emergency vehicle that picks you up after you are run over by a steamroller.
10. Balderdash (n.), a rapidly receding hairline.
11. Testicle (n.), a humorous question on an exam.
12. Rectitude (n.), the formal, dignified bearing adopted by proctologists.
13. Pokemon (n), a Rastafarian proctologist.
14. Oyster (n.), a person who sprinkles his conversation with Yiddishisms.
15. Frisbeetarianism (n.), (back by popular demand): The belief that, when you die, your Soul flies up onto the roof and gets stuck there.
16. Circumvent (n.), an opening in the front of boxer shorts worn by Jewish men

Words - thought for today

2007-11-18T18:41:00.000-08:00

If we take words and catch phrases out of our common history - what would they mean?
Today's example:
star-struck
–adjective
captivated by famous people or by fame itself.
[Origin: 1960–65]
Dictionary.com Unabridged (v 1.1)Based on the Random House Unabridged Dictionary, © Random House, Inc. 2006

New Definition from the Andrea's Brain and Strange Thought Processes Dictionary:
Struck by a star or star-struck.
verb - to strike with a star

noun - one who is struck by a star
Those individuals who are star-struck:
1. have a heck of a lawsuit (especially if the star struck when camera's were around)
2. stand to make some money selling the story
3. being punched, shot or run over with a car or horse by a sheriff - archaic
4. are dead.
"John walked through the cornfield and was star struck. Since nothing remains to be buried, a memorial service will be held Wednesday."

Disclaimer. Andrea's Brain and related thought processes cannot be reproduced or copied unless this is the sci-fi future or a William Gibson novel.

Sparkle Word Games

2007-11-11T06:50:00.001-08:00

I subscribe to Merriam-Webster's Word of the Day. The majority of time I know the word but the etymology still is intriguing. Today's word, the obscure ""commove" \kuh-MOOV\ verb
*1 : to move violently : agitate 2 : to rouse intense feeling in : excite to passion. Did you know? Eighteenth-century English lexicographer Samuel Johnson declared “commove” as being “not in use,” but the word had not really disappeared from the language; it was simply, at that time, popular primarily with Scottish writers."

While I believe this word should be retired, I love the idea of creating new words. http://www.merriam-webster.com/ has created an 'open dictionary' where new words can be submitted.

Example: "dyslexerciser (noun) : A person who continually moves left when everyone else is moving right, or is always on the wrong foot in an exercise class.
I don't want to stand near the dyslexerciser.
Submitted by: Diane Gibbs from Texas Nov. 10, 2007 11:55 "

Today's challenge, create a new word.

Or if you are feeling lazy - create a definition for:

Textolator

The Sparkle in What I'm Reading

2007-11-04T08:59:00.000-08:00

I'm reading Oblivion by Peter Abrahams. An online review of the book said "Great idea, pedestrian execution". Oh, so wrong. Abrahams takes a private detective/missing person case and adds what could have been a cliche' of brain cancer and memory loss. Instead the amnesia scenario is written with exemplary execution. As a crime novel it is an enjoyable read. Why I'm drawn to the book is the authors development of the character. Abrahams deftly examines the characters psyche and evokes sadness in the reader. Simple phrases: "...getting stronger all the time, nothing to worry about..." Oh to put words on the page stark and spare and captivate the reader. That is what sparkle is about.

Character Names II

2007-10-28T18:33:00.000-07:00

Did anyone read a fantastic book this week? I'd love to hear your recommendations. Did the names in the book work? Were they great? Why?

After a long work week and I am still focused on the topic of character names. See previous post. What if authors chose different names for the following works. Can you come up with a better name?

In my opinion the following names make a compelling case as to the impact of a well character moniker.

Huckleberry Finn

Catch 22's Yossarian.

Hester Prynne and Roger Chillingworth - The Scarlett Letter

Lennie and George - Of Mice and Men's

Sookie Stackhouse and Bill from Charlaine Harris' books

Thursday Next by Jasper Fforde

Now read A Midnight Clear by William Wharton. Every character has a great name and nickname, too. Or cheat a little and rent the DVD, the film is good too.

Till next week, "Same Sparkle Time. Same Sparkle Day."

Character Names

2007-10-21T06:50:00.000-07:00

In the TV Show Lost, his name is Sawyer. Rename him and see how that changes the character. Bad boy Ralph, the forbidden fruit she craved. The stubble on Timmy's strong jaw ...."

Names have power. Names need to fit the setting and the time period. Names put the reader in the character's shoes or pull them out of the story.

From my website andreageist.com: "I enjoy etymology. As a writer the meaning and history behind a word can add richness and depth and heck it's just plain interesting. My character in the short story Dreams of Summer is named Rayna Engel. If you know any German, Engel is easy = Angel. The origin and meaning of Rayna is varied. In Latin, from Regina, the name means Queen. In Yiddish the name is similar to Katherine, clean and pure. The website Thinkbabynames.com lists the origin as Scandinavian and Israeli meaning: counsel; song. My heroine sings . She always gets the words wrong (great fun rewriting lyrics) and she is a pure soul, a free spirit. I didn't want to name my character Aria or Carol, too transparent. Rayna is the perfect name."

Character names are important. Example, should your alpha male, sex-god, kick butt and take names hero be called Phillip, Irving, Chance, Billy, Pepe', Jack, Wally or Devon? Does this work?

"Wally's intense steel-gray eyes made her yearn for the forbidden." Now try a different name.

Good examples of character names:

Charlaine Harris's character Sookie Stackhouse wouldn't be the same if her name was Jane or Sophie.

Scout and Boo Radley are wonderful names in To Kill A Mockingbird.

Do you have examples of well-named characters?

Thrusters

2007-10-20T15:36:00.000-07:00

I picked up a great book on the craft of writing this week. Between the Lines by Jessica Page Morrell takes the writer through the more subtle aspects of fiction writing sometimes overshadowed by the heavy-weight topics of character and plot. Included in this 300 page Writer's Digest publication are topics ranging from epiphanies and foreshadowing to flashbacks and transitions.

While a cliffhanger is one kind of page-turning device most writers are familiar with, Morrell also delves into the broader category of what she calls "thrusters." These structural devices "push the story ahead, move the action forward, and raise questions or cause curiosity about unanswered issues or things to come." While cliffhangers interrupt the action, forcing the reader to forage ahead for a sense of completion, other thrusters can be more subtle.

Opening lines, if engaging as they should be to attract the reader's attention, can be thrusters. If action doesn't thunder on the page immediately, the writer can still hint at the promise of action to come and provide setting, exposition or something else to encourage the reader to continue. Other thrusters include scene breaks to change point of view so the reader will worry about the viewpoint character, jumping from place to place or mood to mood to keep the reader's curiosity actively engaged, chases, danger, emotional bombshells, surprises, flashbacks and interruptions. All of these tricks and more serve to deny the reader something in exchange for their unwavering interest in the story.

One last hint: Always start scenes with a provocative statement, moment or tease. View each new chapter and scene with the same critical eye you gave page one.

Here Comes the Bribe

2007-10-17T19:18:00.000-07:00

Just thought I'd take the opportunity to do a little blatant self-promo. My first romantic comedy is due out this Spring from The Wild Rose Press.

You can find me and my book by going to the "Coming Soon" section on the top right hand side of the page. HCB is in the General Contemporary division under its title.

Thanks!

Excerpt:

A single administrative assistant accepts her temporary boss’s offer to masquerade as his fiancée to keep his matchmaking grandmother out of his personal life and out of the way while he negotiates a high-profile merger for his family-owned company. In exchange, she’ll get the down payment for the loan she needs to keep her ex from selling her condo out from under her.

But neither of them counted on the lines blurring between real and pretend--or for the temporary arrangement to leave them both longing for something more permanent.

Oh our crazy laguage.

2007-10-15T20:39:00.000-07:00

Tonight’s Blog comes from Steven Pinker’s The Language Instinct. I learned something really interesting today. Pinker says, “All speech is an illusion. We hear speech as a string of separate words. But, in the speech sound wave one word runs into the next word seamlessly, there are no white spaces like in text. We hallucinate word boundaries when we reach the edge of a stretch of sound that matches some entry in our mental dictionary.” Crazy you say? So did I. But, think about hearing a foreign language. It is virtually impossible to distinguish one word from another, the words are not in your mental language. He also give some fun examples of sentences that should alike but have completely different meanings. These are called “oronyms”. Here’s a few examples.
The good can decay many ways.
The good candy came anyways.

The stuffy nose can lead to problems.
The stuff he knows can lead to problems.

I’m not sure what this has to do with making your writing sparkle but I thought it was interesting anyway.

What is the Sparkle?

2007-10-13T16:08:00.000-07:00

The Sparkle This Blog asks, "What's the sparkle that makes a manuscript publishable while another languishes in the slush pile for months on end only to receive a rejection?"

Today, instead of posting an article about writing, I'm asking the question.

What makes a story sparkle for you?

What books are 'keepers'? Tell me why they are your favorites.

The Ordinary World

2007-10-13T06:01:00.000-07:00

Unless you're writing a thriller or an action adventure that begins in the middle of the action, the Ordinary World is an important place to understand. Most writing philosophies and methods, including screenplays incorporate some kind of glimpse at the beginning of a character's journey. Here's why:

It's impossible to gain the full perspective of a character's arc without seeing where he/she came from, both physically and emotionally. Like a rainbow captured in fragments, we can appreciate its beauty, but can't grasp the full scope--the beginning and end--for the full effect. At the story's conclusion, we must know without doubt the character has developed and grown through the trials of the story. If we don't know his beginning, we cannot appreciate the fully -realized character at the end.

The Ordinary World is also important for staging the growth of the larger world surrounding the character. This gives the story higher stakes beyond that of the protagonist(s). Not every character has to save the world from a bomb, but audience want to know this character's growth will resonate beyond the micro-world of the story. Think of it as an arc for setting. Maybe, through the events of the story, the town evolves from one of hatred to acceptance or from a closed-mentality to a wider perspective. The larger world doesn't have to be a town. Any group of people defined throughout the story can show the impact of the character's journey beyond the protagonist. If the reader doesn't see the Ordinary World the hero(ine) occupies, the chance for a resonating message at the end is lost.

Most stories, especially romance, benefit from a less-explosive first scene because it allows us an emotional investment in the character before the inciting incident whisks them along.

Alicia Rasley teaches an amazing course on beginnings. Find her articles about craft on her website.

8 Female Archetype Examples and The Villains

2007-10-07T08:35:00.001-07:00

Continuing with archetype characterization from the book "Heroes and Heroines: 16 Master Archetypes," by Caro LeFever, Tami Cowden and Sue Viders, I have listed examples of the eight female archetypes. Do you agree?

My example of the Seductress is Scarlett O'Hara. Is she a heroine or a villain? If Gone With The Wind was Melanie's story, would Scarlett be a villain? Is Melanie a Nurturer or Waif?

The authors of "Heroes and Heroines: 16 Master Archetypes" also propose sixteen villains and I list them as part of the commentary on archetypes. However, I find the descriptions to be stereotypical instead of archetypal. And of course that is the point of characterization. Both the protagonist and the antagonist need to be fully realized.

Plot Lane Must Turn Right

2007-10-06T10:45:00.000-07:00

Turning points, both main and subplots, are on my mind today. Trying to find scenes that carries enough gravity to form the skeleton of a well-told story is never easy. According to Robin Perini, a successful turning point has all of the following elements:

1. deep character

2. a touchpoint of theme

3. braiding of internal and external conflict (intertwining of plot and character)

4. layering (multipurpose scenes and multi-dimensional characters)

5. surprise (the unexpected that keeps the reader turning the pages and reveals character)

A turning point must change the direction of your plot or subplot and contain conflict, action, emotion and surpise. This surprise can be an event or can merely be a surprise in how a character reacts emotionally, but it must surprise both the reader and the character.

Like all scenes in the story, the arc within the scene should be well-defined with characters exhibiting "different" behavior or opinions at the scene's conclusion than they had at the scene's opening. This is especially true with turning points. Think Robert McKee's postives and negatives--a literary litmus test to justify a scene's inclusion in the overall story.

How do your turning points match up?

To learn more about the power of turning points or her Discovering Story Magic seminars, visit Robin Perini's website.

Eight Female Archetypes - Part III

2007-09-30T07:38:00.000-07:00

Using the excellent book: "Heroes and Heroines: 16 Master Archetypes," by Caro LeFever, Tami Cowden and Sue Viders, today’s topic is female archetypes.

Why did I write about the 8 male archetypes first? As a female reader, I’m drawn to a certain type of hero, the hero I dream about. Well, we all need a hero but we need a heroine, too.

If the heroine is not fully developed, no matter how much I love the hero, the book isn’t a keeper. And nailing the female archetype is crucial when writing in first person.

It seems to me that many historical romances from the 1970’s featured The Waif, too often portrayed as TSL - too stupid to live. Characterization and archetype is not fully developed for the TSL heroine.
This damsel in distress is a strong woman. She endures the hardship of her circumstance.

I find The Spunky Kid and The Crusader easier to write. A valuable exercise would be to write out of your archetypal comfort zone. My most recent short story features The Free Spirit, not a natural choice for me. Writing about this archetype forced me to focus on characterization and motivation.

Which female archetype is the most difficult for you to write? Which heroine do you prefer to read, and why?

External and Internal Motivations

2007-09-29T10:06:00.000-07:00

Monday begins a workshop I'm very excited be a part of. Alicia Rasley, who has put so much positive writing karma into the atmosphere with her stellar articles on plot and character, is leading a two week intensive workshop on beginnings.

Beginnings had never been an issue for me until this work in progress. Maybe it's because The Night Caller doesn't have that explosive beginning I spend the rest of the novel trying to live up to. Maybe it's because this one is so much more character driven than plot driven, but I find myself having to know how much is enough to engage the reader. And the fact that she could be teaching how to write the yellow pages and I'd still learn from her expertise.

So here's a gem from her on an important distinction between INTERNAL and EXTERNAL character motivation:

EXTERNAL motivations tend to be universal. What will individualize your character is his/her INTERNAL motivations. Your goal as the writer is to gradually reveal the INTERNAL motivations through the events of the plot. The character is not always aware of all the motivations behind his/her actions. It is only through the story's journey the protagonist comes to a place of full enlightenment.

Here are the most common motivations in literature with the * indicating the most prevalent.

EXTERNAL

*self-preservation*

survival/safety

physical comfort/gluttony

pleasure/hedonism

dominance/tyranny

acquisitiveness/greed

curiosity

mastery/perfectionism

reproduction

INTERNAL

*self-protection*

autonomy/isolation

affiliation/conformity

love/lust/ownership

revenge/justice

guilt/denial of guilt

identity/self-centeredness

conflict avoidance

spirituality

growth

ambition/insecurity

vindication/rationalization

To find out more about Alicia Rasley and read her fantastic online articles, visit her links within the sff website.

No matter where you are in your current work, it's always great to remind yourself of your hero and heroine's motivations. List them here. We'd love to read them.

The Answer and Jungian Archetypes

2007-09-23T06:29:00.000-07:00

Here is the answer from last weeks match game.

Jenn got them all right!

L.A. picked Sawyer as the Bad Boy for extra credit.

Wade (Christian Bale) from 3:10 to Yuma - the Warrior.

George Clooney's character in O' Brother Where Art Thou was a toughie. The Charmer, a charismatic smooth talker.

Again, these 8 male archetypes are from "Heroes and Heroines: 16 Master Archetypes," by Caro LeFever, Tami Cowden and Sue Viders .

As writers we can use the universal theme of archetypes. Swiss psychiatrist Carl Jung submitted that archetypes were part of a collective unconscious. He believed archetypes were primordial or ingrained in our understanding and universal. His two primary categories of archetypes are characters and situations/symbols.

Characters:

The Hero
The Outcast
The Scapegoat
The Star-crossed Lovers
The Shrew

Situations/symbols:

The Task
The Quest
The Loss of Innocence
The Initiation
Water – A better term might be Rebirth. Jung believed Water is a symbol of rebirth of life.

Archetypal analysis is a form of literary analysis. Readers will recognize and respond to the universal ideas, patterns and symbols.

We still have the Eight Female Archetypes and the sixteen Villain Archetypes from "Heroes and Heroines: 16 Master Archetypes," Volger's archetypes and The Hero's Journey.

Same Sparkle Day. Stay Tuned.

The Well

2007-09-22T11:06:00.000-07:00

Writer's wells are filled with images, thoughts, associations and feelings that must be recharged like a stock-tank of inspiration. The more intense the writing, the more we draw from this inner reservoir and the faster we deplete its contents.

After spending two weeks in Fast Draft, I literally became a woman without words. In mid-sentence, words that fill my lexicon dozens of times a day evaporated in a misty cloud of "what was I going to say?" or stalled just before I found the right word--always out of reach. So this week, while I'm decompressing from such an intense writing sprint and catching up on the life that passed me by the past fourteen days, I'm learning how to refill the well for the marathon Meditation Draft ahead. Julia Cameron, in her inspirational book The Right to Write, suggests taking an "Artist Date".

The first rule of an artist date is to fly solo. According to Cameron, "You are romancing, wooing, courting your creative consciousness. This is something that requires you and your inner artist to spend time alone." Despite the solitary existence most of us live in the writing realm, we cannot allow other's thoughts or distractions into the sacred space of our creativity.

Yesterday, while shopping for ribbons to adorn a Halloween costume in a local fabric store, I had an impromptu date. Alone but for the sweet, elderly balding woman wielding sharpened scissors milling around nearby, my focus turned from fairy ribbon to fabrics and textures my heroine would wear. Row upon row of colors--a feast for the eye that brought to mind visions of mint juleps and lemon pie. Silky textures that brought to mind water flowing over the Colorado River Rock embedded into the setting of my story.

This week I also stumbled upon the announcement of an exhibition at the local art museum. Photography of the exact time period and subject matter as the villain in my novel. Artist's date: Monday.

More hints:

Sprinkle artist dates once or twice per week. Instead of gorging on them when a project comes to completion, find a way to fill the well before the inspiration becomes depleted.

Do something that can give you a full sensory experience.

Choose something that appeals to you, not just something you think will speak to your inner artist. If attending a NASCAR race and tasting the hot rubber inspires you, go for it.

Do not stand yourself up. This is a date and your inner creativity will feel cheated if you duck out to go grocery shopping.

Most importantly, don't write about what you experience. The time to fish from the well comes much later, with pen in hand or poised over a keyboard, when the delight of new images from this creative pool comes though, forgotten and fresh.

Here are some suggested dates from Cameron's book to get you started:

aquarium

plant store

jazz club

cathedral

gallery

map store

museum

go see a vintage film

botanical garden

Your turn: Add a suggested place for an "Artist's Date"

Creativity part II

2007-09-20T05:46:00.001-07:00

It's been a stretch of time since my last post (Hey, I was on vacation!), but as promised, here is part two of my lecture on creativity (and if you need a refresher on part one, go here):

Now that you have a goal firmly and clearly in mind, you have to really, really want it. Or at least pretend you do. Huh? What did she say? Just go with it, and it will make sense. Soon.

I think if you’ll engage in a little pretending--get damn excited about your project!--it will eventually be easier and easier to generate a level of excitement (adrenaline rush) allowing you to create. What I mean by pretending is acting. Act like you want to write your book. You believe in the project, so believe in the work that’s required to produce it. Act like you can do it. Pretend it’s fun. Pretend it’s exciting. Pretend like readers are beating down your door to read your new pages hot off the printer. Pretend as though this manuscript is going to earn you a six-digit advance. Do whatever you have to do to make yourself excited about the work!

And here's a little test to determine if you're really into the work:

Make a list right now. It’s important, trust me. Name it: Things that make me happy. Go crazy with it. Put anything on that list you want! It’s your list and nothing is too silly or too commercial or too small or too large.

OK. Read over your list. Is writing on there? Maybe under the dinners out with girlfriends? Or a great hockey game? Or how about new shoes? Is writing somewhere around shoes?

Uh oh. It’s not on your list, huh? Well, it wasn’t on mine either the first time. I quickly realized I needed to change that if I planned to sign on for the long haul. And once I decided I wanted to write, I wanted to do the work and it was exciting and rewarding, and I got a high while doing it!!, then it made my list. And that’s part of making it happen. It's part of sustaining a level of creativity and excitement to see your project all the way through to THE END.

Over time, this acting become belief (no more pretending) and the result is a good habit, positive thought and a good disposition or more basic, simply feeling good about what we’re doing. And feeling good has many advantages in other areas of your life as well. As I get a bit older, I understand the fleeting nature of actually feeling good and I treasure the times when I feel upbeat, confident and positive. And anticipating feeling good gets me excited, too. It probably will do it for you, too.

Visualizing the World

2007-09-19T16:42:00.000-07:00

In creating the world for my fantasy novel, Residuals: The Mender, I needed some visual clues to help me stay "in the world" of the protagonist. I was inspired by the very real region of Detroit known as Forgotten Detroit.
(www.forgottendetroit.com)

The owner of the website has taken an inspired photo-catalogue of the changing face of downtown detroit. I also used movie sets from several urban fantasies.

I realized very quickly how important these visual clues were to my creative mind. So when I finished the book, I started researching publishers and book covers. I ran across Juno Books and noticed the great covers! (Hey, let's face it, a book is judged by it's cover.)

The more I saw of Timothy Lantz's work, the more I was inspired by his incredibly artistic eye. He's also illustrated a deck of tarot cards for anyone interested.

So, since I'm completely addicted to this cover artist, I thought I'd pass on his URL. www.stygiandarkness.com.

Creating the Fiction World

2007-09-17T20:02:00.000-07:00

This is a very short entry, but hopefully you’ll find a few gems. We often hear how important it is to build our fiction worlds. We must know them so well that they become a natural part of our story. Including enough information for the reader to experience our setting without dumping information can be a precarious balancing act. Recently, I saw an interview with one of the masters, J.K. Rowling.
She discussed the depths of her world building. She meticulously planned every detail from Hogwartz and Diagon Alley to the house on Privet Drive and The Ministry of Magic before she wrote the books. It took her five years to write the first book. She amassed a huge amount of material for her world as she plotted the seven books. She wrote chapter one fifteen times before she managed to resist revealing the entire plot.
I was amazed when she showed a roster of every student in Harry’s year at Hogwartz. There were symbols by each name signifying what house they belonged to, how magical they were, and who their parents were. She sketched many of her characters and scenes which I’m sure helped her bring them to life on the page. (If I did that they would be one dimensional stick figures--not conducive to creating three dimensional characters!
The lesson for me, is to take your time plotting, setting up the world, and getting it right.
BTW if you’d like to see the interview, following my fellow sparklers advice, I found it on youtube. Search J.K.Rowling and it shows up in five parts. It’s about an hour long and well worth the watch. She discusses her fears of never being published and the excitement of getting the call. It’s not only informational it’s inspirational.
Happy writing.

Part II: Eight Male Archetypes

2007-09-16T14:45:00.000-07:00

A brief description of the 8 male archetypes as defined in “Heroes and Heroines: 16 Master Archetypes," by Caro LeFever, Tami Cowden and Sue Viders.

As promised, we have a matching game. Identify which character from film or fiction matches the archetype.

Nick Ziegler in "Crazy for You" by Jennifer Crusie
Ferris Bueller
John McClane in Die Hard
Angel in Buffy TVS
Jack in While you Were Sleeping
Data in Star Trek the Next Generation
Jack in Romancing the Stone
King Arthur

For extra credit, pick a character from film or fiction. What archetype is he? Why?

How about Sawyer acted by Josh Holloway in Lost, Wade acted by Christian Bale in 3:10 to Yuma or George Clooney's character in O' Brother Where Art Thou?

The Action of a Sentence

2007-09-15T05:49:00.000-07:00

Natalie Goldberg, in her amazing homage to the craft, Writing Down the Bones, includes a chapter on The Action of a Sentence. In it, she discloses one secret to unearthing strong verbs. Not something a writer should be concerned with while drafting, but in the revision process it helps to have words—especially verbs—pop within the confines of your character’s point of view.

I challenge you today to write two lists. First, write the occupation of the hero in your work in progress, then list fifteen verbs associated with that position. Do the same for your heroine. Post them here; use them in your revisions.

Happy writing!

Research: Better Writing through Social Anthropology and Psychology

2007-09-09T11:01:00.000-07:00

My horoscope for the day from Yahoo and astrology.com:
Research and planning is always a good idea, but you may be getting too caught up in the details of it all.

Scarily accurate. I was getting caught up in my research and here is the condensed version, Part One.

The use of myths and archetypes helps the writer create complex, believable characters and tell stories that echoes of the human psyche. The value in using archetypal characters in fiction is that the majority of our population unconsciously recognize the archetype and the character's motivations.

"The Writer's Journey: Mythic Structure For Writers" by Christopher Vogler, inspired by Joseph Campbell, "The Hero with a Thousand Faces" reveals the hero’s journey by identifying 12 steps seen in myths. The journey is a narrative archetype where the protagonist must overcome increasingly difficult obstacles before reaching the goal. Vogler identifies major character archetypes:

The Hero
Mentor
Trickster
Shadow
Herald
Ally
Shapeshifter

Maud Bodkin, "Archetypal Patterns in Poetry: Psychological Studies of Imagination", compared Jungian archetypes to poetry. Among the archetypal patterns: the “Oedipus complex,” the “rebirth archetype,” the “archetype of Heaven and Hell,” and “images of the Devil, the Hero, and God.

"Heroes and Heroines: 16 Master Archetypes," by Caro LeFever, Tami Cowden and Sue Viders is an exceptional resource for the writer. The authors define 8 male and 8 female archetypes.

The Eight Male Archetypes:

The Chief
The Bad Boy
The Best
The Charmer
The Lost Soul
The Professor
The Swashbuckler
The Warrior

The Eight Female Archetypes:

The Boss
The Seductress
The Spunky kid
The Free Spirit
The Waif
The Librarian
The Crusader
The Nurturer

Next week, Part Two: Defining the male archetypes and identifying a character from film or fiction for each category.

Oh wait – there’s more. Sixteen Villain Archetypes, Jungian archetypes, Volger’s archetypes and the Hero’s Journey. Coming soon to a blog near you

The Geometry of Characters

2007-09-08T08:39:00.000-07:00

Christopher Leland, in his book THE ART OF COMPELLING FICTION talks about the geometry of character and the writer’s ultimate pursuit to create characters that remain with the reader long after the story’s experience is over. This “geometric characterization” he divides into three categories: flat, angled and rounded.

A flat character is one who represents a single idea or quality. Always consistent, ever static. Stereotypical characters fall into this category, where their actions and reactions are predictable and clichéd. Leland goes on to say that flat characters are not necessarily unimportant or bad, as Charles Dickens proved with Uraiah Heep or Bob Crachit. Oscar Wilde’s Lady Bracknell in THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING EARNEST, is also considered by many to be flat. These characters have specific quirks that overwhelm all other elements of their personalities Even Tom Wolfe portrays his characters first and foremost as self-serving political sharks in BONFIRE OF THE VANITIES. Leland goes on to say that most of the characters in the modern entertainment world are flat, as well, using John Rambo as the perfect example of an iconic hero--one who hums along like a “well-tuned Chevrolet”--who stands for truth and justice with no self-doubt. Tempting to cheer for, but not the shade of realism we hope to capture in our pages.

Angled characters take on a complexity the flat characters do not have. These are characters, often major secondary characters, who show us more complex responses to stimuli or have a greater impact on the story’s protagonist than what a flat character would. These are characters that make an impression on the reader, for better or worse, and have enough substance to make their purpose in the story believable.

Rounded characters are the complete figures who populate some of the best literature ever written. They can hold two contradictory opinions at the same time. They’re colored with the rich hues of real people we know, show a range of emotions and are able to surprise the reader in a convincing way. Not always easy. As a writer, it’s difficult to surprise in a believable way, but in a way the reader could not have anticipated. One of the reader’s greatest joys should be to discover the layers of a character and delight in peeling them back to find the substance and truth. Holden Caulfield is a perfect example of a rounded character. The reader believes him to be an obnoxious ego-centric adolescent at the beginning, but he changes geometrical shapes into a vulnerable youth who makes a lasting impact that remain with the reader long past the final page. According to Leland, “the more rounded a character, the more shaded his personality, the more easily the reader sympathizes with him.”

What is the geometry of your protagonist? Your secondary characters?

Forward Momentum and Setting Reasonable Goals

2007-09-05T16:08:00.000-07:00

There's a lot of talk and interest in writing fast. We seem to be inundated with workshops that push us to set hard deadlines on the creative process: Book in a Week, Book in a Month, National Novel Writer's Month (NaNo), even Fast Draft. But which one is right for you? You're the only one who knows the answer to that question.

But before you sign on, take a moment to pick and choose your goals so you don't set yourself up for failure. Weigh your internal needs and external obligations before you commit to produce a given number of pages.

For instance, if you work full time and are the sole bread winner, you're likely to be exhausted when you come home after a hard day at work. Take time to recharge. Find a ritual to decompress and let go of the stresses of the day before you sit down to write. Shifting gears isn't as easy as it sounds, especially if it's a new concept.

Here are a few tips:

Establish rituals to writing.

Exercising is a great way to "sweat" out the stresses of the day. So is relaxing with a glass of wine or a tub full of bubbles. It may be something as simple as sitting in your special place, a fluffy robe around your shoulders or slipping into a comfy pair of shoes. For me, I walk a mile (or 3), do some push-ups(these are great for when I'm stuck in the process!) and then I light a candle. (I use a small votive with the idea as long as the flame burns I have to write.)Lighting is important for me, too. (Too bright and I can't concentrate.) I also have a quartz crystal I use to "transfer" all the unfinished business I didn't accomplish during the day. I put these "inside" the crystal and don't "pick them up" again until I turn off the computer. :) (Hey, it works for me.)

On days when I'm exhausted, I don't fight it. I set my alarm and take a nap. Sometimes thirty minutes will do. Other times, it takes a good couple of hours. But by then, the kids are in bed and asleep. I can get up when it's quiet, with no disruptions other than a pet, and write. On a good night, I've done 7 pages in an hour and a half. That's how important rest is to the creative mind.
Next, decide what you can reasonably accomplish on any given night and be sure to add in the worst case scenario.

Stuff happens.

But if you plan for "stuff" to go wrong, you're mentally prepared to deal with it (in the most efficient way possible or a stop-gap method until you can do a more thorough job) and move on.

Here's where forward momentum and reasonable goals can be your best friend.

If you normally write a page a day, then double your output for Fast Draft. Don't set an impossible goal. It's much easier to start out small and revise your goal to something larger. I know writers who use a timer. They set it for ten minutes and whatever happens, happens. For Fast Draft, set if for twenty.

If you're stuck at the desktop computer, it may free you up to take a spiral notebook and pen to another location. Or, if you write inside, go outside. If you write at night, try a stint in the morning. If you can't stand staring at the blank page, take some time after you turn off the computer to sketch out the next one (or three) scenes. You're certain to have plenty to write by the next day.

I personally found it very difficult to move from my last book into my next. I'd spent a lot of time revising the manuscript and now it was time to create new pages. I felt like I was sitting in an empty bathtub waiting for the water to come in--awkward to say the least.

Fast Draft helped me push through the "icky" part. And these programs are specifically great for pushing writers to kill off the internal editor and trust their inner muse. If that's you, then I encourage you to try it.

Don't expect to hit 20 pages the first day. Work up to it. There's no rule that says you have to stop Fast Draft when the two weeks are over. If you find a rhythm that works for you, keep it up.

And remember, if you find yourself unable to meet your goal, any amount of words on the page is forward momentum. Celebrate the small victories along with the big ones. Every day is another day closer to your publishing dream.

Happy (yet reasonable) Writing,

Sherry

2007-09-04T11:33:00.000-07:00

Joining us today at SPARKLE THIS! is first-time author Maya Reynolds. Maya’s debut novel, BAD GIRL, is being released today by New American Library, a division of Penguin. It’s an erotic romance. Frequent Barnes & Noble’s reviewer Harriet Klausner gave it five stars.

BAD GIRL is the story of Sandy Davis, a shy social worker who accidentally begins spying on her neighbors in the apartments across the street from hers. She quickly becomes addicted to observing the lives of others--a young couple who engages in kinky sex, an anorexic model, a frequently ill elderly woman and, of course, the man she calls “Mr. Dominant,” who engages in aggressive bondage games.

One night, Sandy receives a phone call from an anonymous male who says, “You’ve been a bad girl.” He calls himself “Justice,” and he has a pastime, too. Watching Sandy watch others. He has the photos to prove it. Now it’s his turn to play--by making Sandy pay the price in exchange for holding onto her naughty little secret.

As the sensual dance between two strangers begins, so does Sandy’s fear that she’s moving closer to the edge of extreme desire--and inescapable danger.

Two Lips Reviews gave it five lips and said, “This is a fast-paced, exceptionally engaging book. Add a suspenseful element of danger and an ending that keeps you on the edge of your seat, and you’ve got a phenomenal read.”

SD: Maya, let’s start with the question we always ask our guests. What makes a book really sparkle for you?

Thanks for inviting me here today.

When I read for relaxation or entertainment, I’m looking for a specific emotional experience. With a romance, I want the thrill of new love, that excitement that comes as people begin to share their intimate thoughts and feelings.

If, like me, you’re a big reader, after a while, plotlines seem to run together. There are no surprises. I’m always looking for that book that will catch me off guard, take me down a different path from the one I’m accustomed to traveling.

After all, when you read a romance, you know that it is going to have a happily-ever-after ending. It’s how you get there that makes you pick up the book.

SD: Since you’re at the beginning of your career, it might help our readers to know what you wish you’d known before you started out.

Although I’d sold short stories and articles over the years, I was really as ignorant as an egg when I began writing my first novel in 2003. There are three things I’ve learned since that I wish I’d known then:

First, get your critique partners early before your bad writing habits get set in stone. It’s a lot easier to fix problems while you’re writing the manuscript than having to overhaul it after the fact.

Second, begin networking early. I waited until 2005 to join RWA and Sisters-in-Crime. I spent nearly a year playing catch-up. If I’d joined at the same time I started writing, it would have been very helpful. After all, that’s how I met the Sparkle This! authors.

Third, learn everything you can about the publishing industry. Like any other business, there is a special language and unique practices. You need to understand terms like “basket accounting,” “sell-through percentages,” and “cooperative allowances.” You need to know what the differences are between hardback books, trade paperbacks and mass market paperbacks. I’ll give you a hint--it’s not just the book size or the kind of covers.

SD: Is there any special word of advice you'd like to give aspiring writers?

Yes, never give up, Never Give Up, NEVER GIVE UP.

Don’t regard rejections as the end of the line. Look at them as opportunities to learn. I sent my queries out in batches of six. At the same time, I kept seeking feedback everywhere I could get it--from published writers, from workshop instructors, and from writing manuals.

In the beginning, all I got were form rejections. I kept revising both my query and my first six pages. The day I got my first scribbled note of encouragement on a rejection letter, I celebrated. Shortly after that, I got a personalized letter from an agent with suggestions for that manuscript. Then I got a rejection letter that asked to see my next manuscript. I just kept writing and revising.

I clung to something Joe Konrath said:

“What do you call a writer who doesn’t give up?”

Published.

Good luck!

SD: Thank you, Maya. And thank you all for joining our guest blogger for the day.

You can find Maya at her blog MayaReynolds.blogspot.com or you can reach her by email at MayaReynoldswriter@sbcglobal.net.

Be sure to leave your questions or comments for Maya in the “Sparkling Comments” section. We love to hear from you!

Until then, Happy Writing!

Sherry

The Four Worlds of The Young Adult

2007-09-03T20:17:00.000-07:00

I’m taking a Young Adult Literature course as a prerequisite for my Masters degree. It’s a great class and I get to read wonderful books like Angus, Thongs, and Full Frontal Snogging, which if you haven’t read it you’re really missing something.

I have learned YA readers exist smack dab in the center of four worlds. First they are part of their “tribe” or “clique” and must adhere to the rules of the group. If Friday is ponytail day, they must wear their hair in a ponytail. If they buck the system consequences will ensue. In class we discussed some of the rules the students remembered following in high school. The rules ranged from wearing matching clothes to skipping school together and the punishments were almost always the same---rejection from the group. The disobedient member could be shunned for an hour, a day, or face permanent expulsion depending on the offense and the mood of the group.

The second world the teens live in is a broader definition of the “tribe”. It is the world of their peers. The tribe must conform, at least partially, with the greater society of peers. If the peer group does not approve or tolerate the tribe, the tribe must either change or face alienation.

The third world of the young adult is the world of adults or authority figures. This group includes teachers, parents, administrators--basically anybody who could make their life miserable and usually does.

The fourth and most difficult world is the point where the other three overlap. The teen is pulled in one direction by their tribe, in another by the larger peer group, and yet another by the authority figures in their lives. And they are in the center spinning plates on a stick to make it all work. All the while the teens are: a) coming of age, b)searching for their individual identity, and c) trying to identify the world around them. This is the area that makes them snarky one second, sweet the next, and completely off the wall the next. This reeks of conflict. This is where the story takes place.

As authors it is imperative for us to remember the four worlds they live in. We need to know the struggles they have with this precarious balancing act and then we need knock the plates off the stick and watch how they react. Of course the happy ending comes when they manage to get those plates spinning again.

Mood and Writing

2007-09-02T11:40:00.000-07:00

Today I wrote with enthusiasm, my imagination and characters skipping happily from page to page.

But then something happened. I disappointed a friend and colleague and was reprimanded. Now my innate nature makes me the poster child for self-castigation. My mood changed. I am angry with myself for failure to live up to expectations. I’m sad that I may have caused another pain or difficulty.

And the tone of my writing, my voice changed. Drastically. My heroine is so positive, she makes Pollyanna look bad. I was not able to write the story - instead my brain sent my fingers flying across the page in self-recrimination. I needed the return of euphoria and optimism to continue my WIP.

A revelation occurred. When I wrote the short story, A Kiss from a Rose, my feelings were of loneliness and unease. The tone of the story was dark, scary and hopeful. I can use my moods to help write certain aspects of my stories. Think of Edgar Allan Poe, what was his state of mind and emotions?

Perhaps others with even temperament won’t find this helpful. But now that I am cognizant of the impact my emotions have on my voice, I plan to use this to advantage. In One Demon at a Time, it was difficult for me to kill one of my characters. I knew he had to die but I anguished over the scene, rewriting and rewriting. If I had a healthy does of rage, I probably could have offed him with dispatch.

I plan to use my emotions to advantage in my stories. I’m moving on to a scene in ODAAT 2 where my heroine is floundering in self- recrimination, a result of a deadly mistake.

Using the emotion in writing is excellent therapy, too.

Does your storytelling voice change with your mood?

Roadside Assistance from Maude

2007-09-01T06:29:00.000-07:00

I have two writing secrets for you today. Play telephone to every writer you know.

Everyone has an internal editor. Mine was fashioned through years of wielding the red pen in the trenches of the fertile minds of our youth. I taught grammar gremlins and led writing workshops where I became the student's first editorial feedback. This internal editor, Maude, wields a sharp pointer and razor judgement and spouts, "you were an English teacher, for God's sake. Can't you do better than that?"

Over the years, I've heard many tricks to silence her. Believe me, I've tried all of them. Using ALL CAPS doesn't shut her up (that's supposed to work only with longhand writing). Even turning off the auto-edit feature in Word that produces those dreaded green grammar and red spelling error lines can't get past her shameful outcries.

Finally, I shut her off. As in punching the monitor's power button, black-out screen, nothing-for-her-to-comment-on kind of solution. In that initial draft, when she must be silenced completely and the gateway to true creativity means punching it far past the speed limit, the black screen becomes my empty canvas. Going back to fix anything is impossible. Sounds crazy, right? Almost like flying blind. But flying is the perfect metaphor for that discovery draft.

The second secret comes from Suzanne Brockman, and I suspect it is a secret many writers already know. She writes her entire story in a first-person point-of-view first draft, then converts it to third person in the revision stage. If you hate revisions like Maude, the task of converting POV can seem overwhelming, but the emotional payoff to deeper characters is more than worth it.

Two secrets. They may come out on the other end of the telephone game as "Maude pays off the punchy cop when she speeds through a black out" but I suspect you'll remember her as you're pulled to the side of the road on your next first draft.

What's your best trick for turning off your internal editor?

An unlikely hero . . .

2007-08-31T12:38:00.000-07:00

I just finished the movie Man of the Year, with Robin Williams. For those who haven’t seen: Robin Williams plays Tom Dobbs, a satirical, political comedian who ends up running for President of the United States and winning. The hitch – there was a computer glitch in the voting system (wow! Doesn’t that sound like real life?) and he wasn’t actually, legally, technically elected.

Tom Dobbs learns about the computer glitch from the head female computer programmer of the company hired to develop and oversee the voting machines. Can Tom Dobbs believe this woman who spouts technical information regarding his actual loss in the race? Is she crazy? On drugs, as voting machine company keeps inferring? Someone with an ulterior agenda? Or is she legit and he, as President-elect, the fraud?

Hence is born: an unlikely hero.

I’ll not tell you whether he accepts her truth as his truth. It is the dilemma of this movie that reminds every writer of our central purpose: CONFLICT!

Not just any simple-minded conflict, but the internal, tear-your-soul-out kind of conflict we must inflict on our characters. Without conflict, will a reader care what happens to our hero? Our heroine? Never.

Think back on great literature . . .
Sense & Sensibility – ah, certainly there are any number of heroes and heroines on these pages. But they weren’t unlikely choices. They did what I expected. Pride & Prejudice, same thing. Don’t get me wrong. I love these books. But these characters weren’t unlikely heroes. Only people who ultimately did the right thing.

Something I more recently read, however, fits the bill.
Claiming the Courtesan by Anna Campbell. Simple farm-girl Verity Ashton cashes in on her exceptional beauty by becoming London's most sought-after courtesan in order to save her younger siblings from starvation. Does she have a choice? Not really, not as the story unfolds, but through her struggle to entertain men and not lose her own inner identity, the reader sympathizes, empathizes and roots for Verity. When opportunity finally presents the chance to return to a simple way of life, Verity seizes it. Her stint into proper society doesn’t last as her most recently spurned lover tracks her down and destroys her image of propriety. Verity has every right to despise this man, but her innate sense of honor and dignity prevails once again. Instead of destroying him, she saves his very soul.

Hence is born: an unlikely hero. Or in this case an unlikely heroine.

The pay-off for this type of conflict is dramatic and satisfying. It isn’t about a character doing the right thing . . . or following what they’ve been brought up to believe. It’s deeper, darker, more painful and the suffering is shared with the reader, who not only want this character to survive, but to thrive.

Share it: story you love the best with an unlikely hero or heroine.

Until next time
~ Sandra

PS ** I have another book-signing at Barnes & Noble scheduled for September 6th, 2007 @ 7:30pm. I'll be signing HARM'S WAY.

Theme : It's Not A Dirty Word.

2007-08-29T20:07:00.000-07:00

When I first started writing, I didn't think about theme. I'm a plotter not a pantser. I could wade deep into a story before I realized there was an undertow of emotions wrapped around the characters, a central emotional element tugging them toward some intangible inner crisis.

It was not unusual for me to plot a whole book. Write the dang thing and still not quite grasp the theme.

I think I had a mental block. Theme implied those God-awful term papers in highschool that made my brain hurt and my eyes glaze over.

It wasn't until a few years ago that I opened an old file from a backup disk and started reading a story I loved but that had been rejected by a publishing house. There was a vague comment about the theme not being appropriate at this time. I'd submitted it the first week of September 2001. I received it back a mere six weeks later. A record breaking turn-around and rejection on a requested partial!

And of course, I realized the timing just stunk. Who could've guessed?

It was about a D.C. reporter who'd nearly been killed by a terrorist bomb in the capital. (Yeah. Spooky.) This life-changing moment put my hero's entire life in perspective in an instant. While recuperating, he decides to leave D.C. and return to his wife and two daughters he'd left behind to pursue his high-profile career. But before he can make good on his intentions, he receives a letter from his youngest daughter informing him she's getting a new daddy.

I realized within the first few pages that the theme of the novel was redemption. And through taking a thorough look at all the other books I'd written over the years, I realized that I went back to the same themes over and over.

Redemption. Second chances.

In the worlds I'd created, all my heroes and/or heroines were royal screw ups (in one form or another-either deliberately or because they allowed themselves to become blinded by something in their true nature). But when faced with right motivation and opportunity to redeem themselves, they did. Not only was I writing this theme over and over, I was also reading it. My keeper shelf was full of redemption stories. Even my DVD collection was weighted with underdogs trying to right a wrong they'd created for themselves.

Once I established this, I realized I was drawn to flawed characters, the more fatally flawed the better! Flaws give characters a rooting interest and make them interesting on multiple levels.

Some part of me recognized there were things in my own life I wanted a second-chance to get right--a do-over. It'll never happen because I live in reality. But there's a part of me that can still remember the sick pit in my stomach over missed opportunities, misguided loyalty or an impulsive overly critical remark.

So, if you're looking for the theme in your current wip, try looking in the mirror. And take an honest look.

What do you care about? What do you wish? What do you want more than anything? What is your least favorite/most favorite characteristic in others? In yourself? What are you most proud of? Most ashamed? Which emotion do you find hardest to deal with? In yourself? In others? (Ideally, write down 20 questions and answer them as quickly as possible. No editing! --yes, it may seem bleak or harsh when you go over it later. That's okay.)

Every answer is a universal theme; universal because they're shared by all of us at one time or another. Keep a list of the top five that draw you. Chances are, you'll find you use variations of the same theme or themes over and over. This isn't a bad thing. I think I've actually grown as a writer and as a person by analyzing not only my characters but why I'm drawn to these themes.

Finally, if you allow yourself a chance to connect with the themes in your real life, you'll have a far better handle on the themes that circulate in your work. And perhaps, like me, will find that theme is not a dirty word.

Sparkle on!

Guest Blogging -- Teresa Southwick

2007-08-28T07:33:00.000-07:00

Joining us today at SPARKLE THIS! is Teresa Southwick, author of 4 historical and over 25 contemporary romance novels. A two-time National Reader's Choice and one-time Rita finalist, she was also a Romantic Times Magazine Reviewer's Choice double nominee for Career Achievement and Best Series Romance for 2003. A native Californian, she recently relocated to Las Vegas where she is neglecting the casinos while working on her next book.

Teresa's most recent release, THE SHEIKH'S CONTRACT BRIDE was a June 2007 release from Harlequin Romance. This phenomenal read pits Sheikh Malik Hourani, a Crown Prince, against one very determined school teacher, Beth Farrah. Sheikh Malik understands duty and honor, and hates a liar. He is ready to fulfill his family obligation by marrying and producing heirs to the throne of Bha'Khar. Only one small problem stands in his way: the woman he's been betrothed to since birth will do anything to keep from marrying him -- even telling a whopper of a lie. For those who enjoy characters who leap off the page with their strong wills and sexual tension that singes the pages, then THE SHEIKH'S CONTRCT BRIDE is a must read.

Teresa graciously agreed to sit down and let us in on a few publishing hints. So slid into your comfy slippers and tell the kids to leave you alone, here's what Teresa said.

TS: I’m delighted at this invitation to guest blog for “Sparkle This.” Books have been a joy for me since learning to read and I think it’s a wonderful endeavor to analyze just why certain books earn a revered place on our “keeper” shelf. So, here goes.

SF: What makes a book sparkle for you?

TS: I’d have to say it’s the characters, and by extension, their dialogue—internal dialogue, too. If I’m going to spend precious time with these people, I want it to be fun, witty, and emotional. Make me laugh and cry. From a writer’s standpoint, in my own work I take a hard look at passages that have more that one page of character introspection. In my opinion, and it’s only mine, any more than a page of dense introspection slows story pacing. It’s important to look at what information can be revealed in dialogue between your main characters. Otherwise readers, and I’m one, will scan forward to look for where the characters finally talk to each other.

SF: What is the best advice you ever received?

TS: This tip is from Nora Roberts. Big surprise. I heard her speak at an Orange County RWA meeting and her advice was: you can fix bad writing, but you can’t do anything with a blank page. Subtext: keep writing. It’s deceptively simple and I recently figured out why it’s so profound.
While you “keep writing” you’re also learning what works and what doesn’t. You’re sending out your projects and figuring out how to negotiate the potholes and pitfalls of publishing. While you’re persevering, you’re developing your own character skills for longevity in the writing business. The first sale isn’t the end of the struggle, but the beginning. Careers have highs and lows and the same perseverance and fortitude that got you published will see you through all the trials and tribulations.

SF: Which of your books do you like best? Why?

TS: My favorite book is a December 2006 release from Harlequin Romance called CRAZY ABOUT THE BOSS. It’s part of a continuity series called The Brides of Bella Lucia that was designed to merge readers from Silhouette Romance into the new Harlequin Romance line.
Even though I was invited to participate in this project it came during a time of career crisis for me. For some reason I was having difficulty writing book proposals. I’d do one chapter and a twenty page synopsis and my editor was sending them back with revision suggestions—sometimes twice. I was both worried and embarrassed. Plus I felt bad. Editors are already overworked. The last thing they need is more to do. I wasn’t happy about it either; I’d much rather do it right the first time.
So I asked a couple writer friends to critique the chapter and discussed it in depth. Then I wrote and rewrote, edited and tightened. It paid off. Kim Young, Senior Editor of the Harlequin Romance line emailed to let me know that CRAZY ABOUT THE BOSS sold first in the UK, and first in the North American market. They also have something called a monitor panel, a sizeable group of UK readers who rank and comment on the books each month. My book also scored first with this panel and their comments were very positive. Kim wanted to know if I had a new proposal for her and was disappointed when I told her I’m currently working on a series for Special Edition. “Good for them, not for us,” was her reply. This was balm to my battered soul and proof that I hadn’t forgotten how to write. I keep a printout of her email tacked up on my bulletin board, right beside the friendship prayer.
Last, but not least, this book was a finalist in The National Readers Choice contest. It feels like the prodigal son—problematic in the beginning with an immensely satisfying outcome for all the hard work. It also reinforces what Nora said: Keep writing.

SF: Any final advice?

TS: I’ve often said that a writing career isn’t for wimps. It’s a huge commitment of time and emotion but there are so many rewards—including my “Sparkle This” friends. I had so much fun with you at the RWA conference in July and miss y’all more than I can say.

Happy writing everyone!
Terry

Teresa Southwick also writes for Silhouette Special Edition. She just finished an inline continuity book. PAGING DR. DADDY will be out in March 2008. In April her new series for the line—Men of Mercy Medical—will debut with THE MILLIONAIRE AND THE M.D.

On a personal note: It has been my pleasure to critique with (she does most of the critiquing of my work, I just occasionally make a suggestion on hers) for a number of years. Terry gives unselfishly of her publishing and writing knowledge to any who ask. On a book note: If you aren't reading Teresa Southwick -- you're missing a treat!

Thanks for joining our guest blogger. Be sure to leave your comments or questions for Terry in the 'Sparkling Comment' section. We love to hear from you.

Happy Writing
~ Sandra

4 Elements of a Logline - One line plot description

2007-08-26T10:22:00.000-07:00

Save The Cat by Blake Snyder, Summary of Chapter One – What Is It?

A log line is a movie/screen writing term for a one or two line description of the story. Snyder says screenwriters can sell their screen play if they have the following 4 elements.

1) Irony- A good story will have a twist.
Identify the conflict. Mention the protaganist (Hero/Heroine) and the antagonist to involve the readers emotions.
2) Target Market.
For the author of novels this would be the publisher and genre. Does the description provide an idea of the reader/market?
A bookstore is divided by genre to engage the target market. Readers that enjoy romance, young adult section, mystery, scifi, etc. head to the labeled section. A blurb on the back, though longer, tells the reader what the story is about.
3) Create a mental picture.
Does the description give the potential reader a visual idea of what the book/movie is about?
4) Killer Title.

Snyder says if the logline has these elements your pitch will be successful. Even better condense the movie for the marquee and – voila!

So we may not be screenwriters, but as authors if we heed Snyder’s advice we have a better chance of selling our book to the publisher and the reader.

What books do you think are good examples?

After sharing your good examples, I thought a look at some well known books would be interesting. I love all these books but if someone hadn't recommended Outlander I never would have read Gabaldon's work. What title and description would you give for any of the following?

Outlander, Diana Gabaldon
Twilight, Stephanie Meyer
To Kill A Mockingbird, Harper Lee
Fahrenheit 451, Ray Bradbury
Guilty Pleasures (Anita Blake Vampire Hunter), Laurell K. Hamilton

Isn't it Ironic?

2007-08-25T19:14:00.000-07:00

Irony: a contrast in which one facet of a story mocks another

Irony is a technique writers can use to hint at the complexity of an experience using an economy of words. By suggesting meaning without having to go into lengthy explanations, the writer can create a lasting impact on the reader. There are three kinds of irony in fiction:

1) Verbal

This kind of irony is the simplest and least impactful kind. When a character says something that has the opposite meaning from what he or she intended, it becomes a simple play on words. Verbal irony is often used for comedic effect.

2) Dramatic

Dramatic irony is a direct contrast between what a character says and what the reader knows to be true. An author can use this type of irony to plunge deeper into a character, as the said comment can reveal truths about the character's value system and core beliefs.

3) Irony of Situation

The most impactful kind on irony, this writer's tool presents a discrepancy between appearance and reality. Expectation and fulfillment. An example would be the hunter becoming the hunted.

Okay, your turn. Can you think of an example in film or fiction that uses one of the three types of irony to deepen the audience's experience?

Book-Signing Event

2007-08-24T07:07:00.000-07:00

Today is my turn at selfish self-promotion.

This Saturday, August 25th, 2007, from 2:00 until 4:00pm, I will be signing copies of my romantic suspense, HARM'S WAY, at the Barnes & Noble, located at 8525 Airport Freeway, N. Richland Hills, TX 76180. If you're familiar with the area, it's near NE Mall. You're all invited. Feel free to drop by for chocolate and a chance to win a nifty 'Be Good To Yourself' basket.

Here's an excerpt from HARM'S WAY:

Alex Harmon looked down at her, his gaze held at bay by mirrored sunglass. His fingers tightened their grip. “You’re trembling.”

“I was being silly.” Victoria tried to shrug and hold onto her smile, but it must have slipped. His entire body seemed to go on alert. She’d never felt this kind of tension roll from one person. It washed over her, past her almost as though he surrounded her with his strength. The tug was gentle, but he drew her closer as his gaze lifted above her head.

“What are you being silly about?” With his free hand, he reached beyond her to flip the garage light switch. The room remained suspiciously dark.

“I smelled ...” It sounded ridiculous to even repeat, but the scent didn’t belong in her garage. “I smelled a lemon cleaner.”

“And you don’t use one?” He was listening to her, hanging on every word.

“I don’t get a lot of cleaning done in the garage.”

“The smell is out of place?”

“I told you it was silly.”

His glance dropped to her face, and then quickly rose to scan the enclosed area. “When did the light work last?”

“I’m not sure. Depending on how late I leave the office, I park by the front porch.” She took a side step to ease out of his way.

The grip on her elbow crushed the fabric of her blouse and stilled her movement. “Don’t do that.”

Then she was certain. His stance wasn’t to keep her blocked in, but to keep the rest of the world, whoever that might be, blocked away from her.

What one reviewer said about HARM'S WAY:
HARM'S WAY is filled with suspense. With the end of every chapter comes the overwhelming desire to keep turning. . . . HARM'S WAY reminded this reader of Nora Robert's suspense books. It was so good, I had a hard time putting it down. . . .
Reviewed by: Judy Thomas, of THE LONG AND SHORT OF IT!
For the entire review, go to: The Long and Short of It!

To see more reviews, go to:
Lone Star Meanderings

Happy Reading
~ Sandra

Creativity. Get it. Use it.

2007-08-23T05:02:00.000-07:00

In order for our writing to Sparkle, I think we have to get in the zone, or in the mood. Whatever that right place is where we feel passion, feel our characters struggle, feel the angst, the happiness, the love--whatever. But a lot of times with busy schedules and only snippets of time to work, it's hard to achieve that certain state of mind. So what do we do? What do I do? Besides have a drink to relax? (Gin & tonic works very well, by the way. Totally relaxes me and shuts off the internal editor).

In my search for the answer, I thought hard about the creative process. How do I get it? And how do I use it? What the hell does it even mean--creativity?

I looked for definitions and found many, which are all true and relevant, but none really spoke to my personal definition of the word. So I came up with my own: Creativity is a natural adrenaline high that enables us to generate new ideas and concepts. By my own definition, I need adrenaline to write. I think we all do, because the best stories are the ones we feel the strongest about. It’s the stories we labor over, and ponder on, and rewrite and think about some more that are the best. The ones that get our blood pumping.

So how do we achieve an adrenaline high every time we sit down to write?

First of all, I think you have to be clear about what you want. Is it to write an outline, a rough draft of a novel, an article or simply a blog entry? Decide. Write it down and then hang it up where you can see it. This small clarification will allow the adrenaline to flow freely, pushing you to the end of your goal. I think if you don’t have a clear idea in mind, an end goal, then you’re going to lose passion, lose patience, lose the belief in yourself and your project (because the goal isn’t clear and you’re confused) and ultimately you will experience disappointment.

And disappoint KILLS creativity.

So for today, think about what you really, really want. Be crystal clear about it. Write it down. And then visit me again next week when I write about the second part of this process.

Setting

2007-08-22T20:10:00.000-07:00

I've loved all the Characterization topics this past week. Since my fellow bloggers have covered the subject most eloquently, I'll move onto another element closely linked and a subtle tool of every successful writer.

Setting as Character.

So many novels have memorable characters and a great plot but fall flat on the last element of a great novel: Setting.

You have to think of it as more than the place where the story happens, a backdrop or stage where all the action takes place. Setting must be elemental. It sets the tone or atmosphere and sets the reader's expectations.

Would Mary Shelley's Frankenstein have been quite so chilling if it hadn't taken place in a creepy casle laboratory?

Would Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice have been quite as romantic and evocative if it had taken place in present day, without the strictures and mores of 18th century England?

Would Harry Potter have been the same if it hadn't been set in a magical world?

No, no and no.
Each of these examples convey more than a senes of place. The writers instilled atmosphere, tone, depth, mood, symbolism and even stereotypes (**I hope you noted all these stimulate an emotion). Each of the settings were essential to the novel.

Just for a moment, think about looking at a picture. For this exercise, let's use a photograph. The central subject smiles for the camera (the facade/outer face acceptable to show the world). But within the background (setting) there are other objects. Maybe other people. Your gaze glances over the two-dimensional image and categorizies the contents. Perhaps your gaze lingers over two or three items.

These are markers (universal themes) your brain uses to tweak a memory or experience. You apply your experience to the object and the character. So be specific in where you draw the reader's attention. A little goes a long way. As readers, we don't want to be beaten up with your beautiful setting. But feel free to wow us.

For more on this subject, check out Setting by Jack Bickham from Writer's Digest Elements of Fiction Writing series.

Happy Writing,
Sherry

Melissa Kemp, Kevin Szymczak, Laura Wimpee, Callie Sparrow, Tyler "Chuck" Nivens

2007-08-20T19:50:00.000-07:00

Teen Panel

2007-08-20T19:40:00.000-07:00

I know I promised to write more about larger than life characters this week but I’ll have to put that aside for a week.

As a forty-something-year-old writing Young Adult, I was worried I was out of touch with teens. It seems most YA books depict the cheerleaders as sisters of Satan who rule the school spreading fear along with their legs. I don’t buy it. Maybe because my two daughters were cheerleaders... Anyway, I decided to go directly to the source. I gathered some teens in our neighborhood together and invited them to meet me at Starbucks--my treat of course.

I had a great time and I don’t think they thought it was too lame. In fact, they agreed to meet again!

Before, I get into my enlightenment; I’d like to share the demographics of my little group. Melissa, Callie, and Laura are juniors. Kevin is a senior and Tyler has just graduated and off to college. All of the kids live in Waxahachie and attend Waxahachie High school. In all fairness to the guys, they just happened to be at Starbucks and were roped into the conversation. They were great sports.

With cliques being such a big part of the high school experience, I asked about the groups in their school. Melissa and Laura are cheerleaders. Callie is the school mascot. So what stereotype does that conjurer? Self -centered, mean girls who rule the school? Right? Hardly.

Melissa and Laura also serve on the yearbook committee and Callie is involved with FFA (that’s Future Farmers of America for you city folk) and Advanced Theater. Hmm puts a little kink in the whole cheerleader vs. the rest of the school stereotype.

When I was in high school we called the cowboys ropers, or s--t kickers. Waxahachie is a fairly rural city, so it’s hard to separate the cowboys from everybody else. There is a group of guys who hang around their Ford F 250’s and try to avoid getting caught chewing tobacco. Those are known as red necks. But, again they are not an exclusive faction. The guys may also play football, march in the band, or serve as a class officer.

The band members good-naturedly call themselves “band nerds.” Again this does not limit their association. When my two daughters cheered in 2002-ish one of the members of their squad also marched with the band during half time.

Okay so the message is clear, not all cheerleaders are bad and not all band members are nerds. So what about the other groups?

Geeks still exist, so do jocks, and skaters. Have you heard of “emo”? Me either. Emo stands for emotional. These kids dress almost Goth, but with a twist. They are very emotional. The guys are often seen wearing girl’s jeans and they wear them really, really tight.

I had to ask about the mean girls. I know they exist, who are they? Not names just what group is an honest representation of them. According to my panel, “Mean girls think they are popular but really they’re just mean. They don’t rule the school.”

So clique-talk out of the way, here’s a list of questions and answers.
What are the hot T.V. shows?
Gilmore Girls-according to the guys Rory is totally hot!
One Tree Hill
Dirty Jobs
Mythbusters
Surprised about the last two? I was.

Favorite Movies:
Princess Bride
Big Fish
Pans Labyrinth
Men In Tights
Monty Python
Ever After
How to Lose a Guy in 10 days
John Tucker Must Die
So where are the latest movie? I was blown away that they chose older movies and I have to agree with most of them.

So you may be wondering if my brilliant cast reads. Well yes they do and often. Melissa and Laura have read many of the Gossip Girls series but are getting tired of the plots. They said they’re beginning to sound the same; they want something a little different. They have read The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants and loved it. And by the way if you haven’t read it, put it on your to do list. The current favorite is My Sisters Keeper.

I asked what was the assigned reading that was the biggest surprise in a good way. For Callie it was The Giver. The others agreed that it was a great book.

The kids were so open and fun to talk to. Currently, they are involved in a car chalk war with another group. It was a blast to sit back and listen to them talk. But I’ll save the war and dating for next time. I hope you learned something. I sure did. I will be meeting with them again in a couple of weeks, post your questions and I’ll ask them.

Until then, happy writing!

Why this is short - Character Names.

2007-08-19T12:35:00.000-07:00

I had planned to post about creating a great logline - best laid plans, etc. But I have a wonderful reason for altering my plan. I found a special needs puppy to care for and love. I haven't found his name yet.

So on the topic of naming and a perfect follow up to L.A.'s post on Standing Out In a Crowd-Characternyms, I have a blurb from my website about character names.

I enjoy etymology. As a writer the meaning and history behind a word can add richness and depth and heck it's just plain interesting.

My character in the short story Dreams of Summer is named Rayna Engel. If you know any German, Engel is easy = Angel. The origin and meaning of Rayna is varied. In Latin, from Regina, the name means Queen. In Yiddish the name is similar to Katherine, clean and pure. The website Thinkbabynames.com lists the origin as Scandinavian and Israeli meaning: counsel; song.

My heroine sings . She always gets the words wrong (great fun rewriting lyrics) and she is a pure soul. I didn't want to name my character Aria or Carol, too transparent. Rayna is the perfect name.

What examples of character names ring true for you?

Standing Out in a Crowd

2007-08-18T05:19:00.000-07:00

As a writer, it's your responsibility to distinguish one person populating your story world from another. Giving each character a distinctive trait or quirk is called "tagging" or labeling. Here's some tag types:

Characternyms: These are character names that reflect that character's role or personality in a story. In Peter Abraham's A PERFECT CRIME, he named one of the lead characters, a man who discovers his wife in the throes of adultery, Roger. This character, screwed over in the literal and figurative sense of the word, makes for wonderful symbolic characterization the reader can sink into when they're grasping for a foothold in a new story. Even "Jolly Roger," the sarcastic nickname by which another character refers to him on page five, begins to carve out the nature of his character. Remember to avoid using names that start with the same letter.

Recurring Speech Patterns: In addition to regional accents or speech impediments, you can utilize jargon related to the character's occupation or education level to make characters distinctive. Maybe your heroine's mother drops Italian like F-bombs in her speech. Have you ever known anyone who used malaprops--the wrong words--when trying to make a point? In THE CHERRY ORCHARD, the Russian playwright Chekhov created an old man named Gaev who would call out billiard shots in the midst of his speeches. Not only did this set him apart from the other characters, it carved out part of Gaev's backstory as a part of the lower-class society who gambled at billiards to make ends meet.

Recurring Action: Visual techniques also help the reader identify characters. What about a character that stumbles over everything or bites his fingernails (please, not the hero!). In BUILDING BELIEVABLE CHARACTERS, Marc McCutcheon compiled a fantastic list of personality/identity traits, including characters who: pick fights, forget their train of thought, shout at the TV, wear too much cologne, litter, fall asleep in his clothes, etc. Consider carefully what the action implies, as comedic tags may undercut the core of the character you wish to get across to the reader.

Clothing: A character who wears his military outfit long after his service years are over conveys something entirely different than someone who wears a black Sex Pistols shirt. Klinger wore a dress in M*A*S*H that spoke to his motivation. Carrie Bradshaw had Milono Blahniks. Sometimes even the smallest articles can divulge just the right amount of character.

Need more ideas? In your writer's journal, keep an ongoing list of observed behaviors or snippets of interesting slang or dialect. For clothing, keep an eye out for magazine or clothing sales ads featuring unique or eye catching outfits to store in a clip file.

What's the most ingenious way you've used to distinguish a character?

More than a box of crayons . . .

2007-08-17T10:51:00.000-07:00

I’m a rather visual person – I love color, bright shades, highlighted focal walls, coordinating tints. Yep, it’s all around my house. And I’m not alone. My family members, bless their little pointed hearts, have adopted the same thirst for color. One daughter painted her room vivid pink. Let me go on record and say I did try to motivate her toward a lighter, less vibrant shade, but she was absolutely certain it was the ‘perfect’ color. Four walls in this tint and the experience was like living inside a Pepto-Bismol bottle. (No, you can’t use that example; it’s already in my current romantic suspense, Trickle of Lies) The point is that color surrounds us in the real world, yet so often in print, writers languish over the same ‘boring’ words to describe shades.

Did you know that the first box of Crayons was released in 1903 and sold for a nickel a box? Cool trivia fact, save it for the next time you’re playing Trivial Pursuit. Only eight (8) colors were in the box: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, violet, brown, and black. In 1903 that might have been enough shades, but today’s writers need to get beyond the basics and expand the ‘color’ vocabulary.

Pulling a page from Crayola, writers can deepening the sensory perception of their readers by painting word images with the right colors.

What do these words bring to mind?
Cotton Candy
Deep Sea Blue
Purple Heart
Fire-engine Red
Tar
Head-light White
Sunshine Yellow

How many have never eaten Cotton Candy? Or at least been to a fair or a carnival and seen the sticky stuff? Word of caution: if the writing is destined for heavy distribution in overseas markets, not all of these words will work. For most readers, however, Cotton Candy is universal and provides instant color association. Even in a 95,000 work of fiction, no writer wants to spend ten words to produce color recognition, when one or two will do. Consider options when describing shades. Use personal history. Each of the above images belongs to my background. What shades come from your history?

Still grappling with sensory perception? Here are a few more examples to get started:

Purple: plum, violet, lavender, lilac, Purple Mountain Majesty (thanks to Crayola)

Pink: orchid, fuchsia, shrimp, carnation, rose, blush, salmon, Wild Strawberry (thanks to Crayola)

Gray: steel, slate, iron, dove, metallic, silver, Timberwolf (thanks to Crayola)

Blue: sky, aqua, Bluebonnet, navy, periwinkle, Denim (thanks to Crayola

Green: lime, sea-green, kiwi, celery, avocado, leaf, Granny Smith Apple (thanks to Crayola)

Yellow: sunshine, lemon, banana, mustard, dandelion, SunGlow (thanks to Crayola)

Red: crimson, blood, Christmas red, scarlet, apple, Brick Red (thanks to Crayola)

Black: coal, ebony, midnight, tar, ink, onxy, Outer Space (thanks to Crayola)

Share a few of your favorites.

~~SANDRA
HARM'S WAY

Larger Than Life Characters

2007-08-13T21:10:00.000-07:00

Well it's my day to blog, it's almost midnight, and I got...nothing. In my defense, I forgot. I hope forgetfulness has nothing to do with middle age and everything to do with the fact that I have been in the writing zone for the past 24 hours.

Have you been there? I know you have. It's when all of a sudden story magic happens. You're fingers fly across the keyboard barely keeping up with the story pouring forth. Since 8:00 pm yesterday I've written 50 new pages. For me, that's a new record.

So, on to my Sparkle entry:

I flipped through Writing the Breakout Novel by Donald Maass. I love what he says about making your characters larger than life. Here is a quick check list of what he says is important. Next week, I'll expand on this idea. Meanwhile how do your characters compare?

Larger Than Life Character Traits.

Strong - Scarlet O'Hara. She had principles- we may not agree with them but we can admire her grit.

Inner conflict - think Jason Bourne - as he regains his memory he had great internal struggles with the man he was and the man he strives to be

A sense of self-regard - emotions should matter to your character, even if the emotion is hate or anger. Think Sawyer.

Wit and Spontaneity - do things ordinary folk wouldn't. What can your characters do that will have your other characters talking about it? Stephanie Plumb (need I say more)

What characters can you think of that fit the list? Until next time, happy writing in the zone.

Description and Imagery

2007-08-12T09:23:00.000-07:00

Writers have an advantage over movie directors. While a camera’s lens can pick up dozens of details framed within a scene, the written word has the power to laser the reader’s focus on a precise object or the subtle nuance of a character’s behavior.

Vibrant, clear description is the first step to accessing the “reader’s eye”, that fully-realized state of total immersion in a story. The best descriptions consist of a few carefully chosen details that rise to the forefront of a scene as a representation of everything else. Descriptions should:

1. carry significance to the character or plot
2. contribute to the overall tone of the story
3. create a zone of authority—an imaginary contract of trust with the author where readers are eager to suspend disbelief though specific, accurate details

Description also allows the writer to control a story’s timing. Details bring a sense of importance to a scene. Major turning points, moments of emotional character growth or heightened conflict all benefit from the tension brought on by good description. Asking the reader to wait engages them on a far deeper level, provided the writer is able to walk the thin line between building suspense and tempting the reader to skip ahead.

Description and Character

Unless physical characteristics are vital to plot or characterization, descriptions of main characters should begin in the writer’s imagination, but finish in the reader’s. Some readers imagine themselves in the hero’s role, a magical connection to the story at risk when the writer repeatedly refers to physical characteristics completely different from those of the reader. Over-described protagonists freeze out the reader’s version. If the reader isn’t able to bring her experiences and ideals to the page, the main character remains at an emotional distance.

Minor characters, however, can benefit from more precise description. Writers don’t always have the story space to allow minor characters to become fully developed. Readers sorting through re-emerging periphery characters look for patterns of identifiable traits and behaviors. Descriptions of these characters are often more extreme and memorable because they’re not bound by the same codes of character the writer has established for the hero.

A character’s description should be in close proximity to his first introduction. A writer who delays physical details about a character risks tossing the reader out of the story world when he stumbles upon a description that reads nothing like what he envisioned for that character.

For more on how description translates into powerful imagery and practical tips on how to infuse your writing with sensory depth, read the rest of the article on my website.

_____________________________________________

How do you approach description?

I Love The Terminator, But Not the Tagline.

2007-08-11T19:04:00.000-07:00

Save the Cat (a fantastic book on screenwriting by Blake Snyder) asks the question - "What is the screenplay/movie about? Can you describe it to a studio executive in one line?" (I'll post about this book next week). I started thinking about which movies sang to me. What sparkled? Which movies can I watch again and again, which books do I read over and over?

I love The Terminator by James Cameron. When the movie was released in 1984 I had no plans to watch, nope – not for me. But the somewhat-significant-other rented the video, he wanted to watch it. So we did and I loved it! If the somewhat-significant-other hadn't been interested in gunfire, I may never have seen the movie.

Why? I searched movie databases. I discovered I wasn't the target audience. The producers and distributors promoted an action movie with the tagline(s), “In the Year of Darkness, 2029, the rulers of this planet devised the ultimate plan. They would reshape the Future by changing the Past. The plan required something that felt no pity. No pain. No fear. Something unstoppable. They created 'THE TERMINATOR'” The movie trailer introduces the movie with the phrase, “In the future a weapon….it feels no pain, no remorse.”

So, was it an action movie? Yes. Time Travel – definitely, and I love the paradox of time travel. Did it carry a warning about war and nuclear holocaust? Yes. Was the description of the movie accurate? Pretty much even though I could have tightened it to read - "Machines rule the planet. They have one goal, exterminate the human race. They have the technology. Can mankind survive?"

But I still think this movie was about something else, something enduring - love. The Terminator is a love story, first and foremost. The release was a success, surprising everyone. If the tagline for the movie had been different, would it have garnered as large an audience? A smaller one? Would it have languished on a dusty shelf in a video store? And did the men watching this movie realize they were in thrall of a romance?

All of the above brings me to the following questions:

1) What is the movie, story about? What one line plot description would you have used?

2) What if The Terminator had been marketed differently? How would you describe the movie? Should we look at the way we package the romance genre and would that increase the reader base to include more men? Our books are often filled with action, time travel and mystery.

3) What made this movie sparkle? Did the movie sparkle for you?

For me the sparkle was the timeless, undying love of Kyle for Sarah. The scene that sticks in my mind is when Kyle tells Sarah, “I came through time for you, Sarah. I love you. I always have.” The film's love scene wasn't graphic (the violence was, the sex wasn't) but this scene was powerful. A brillant flash of sparkle came in the close-up of the clenching of their hands.

Please, tell me what you think? I'm eager for discussion and I can't wait to read your one line plot descriptions.

Game Time . . .

2007-08-10T09:43:00.000-07:00

Verbs, at least strong verbs, should be a writer’s best friend.

To that end . . . let’s play a little verb game.

The following list contains two-verb pairs, which have similar meanings. The trick is to figure out the verbs. Why is that a trick? Because the first letter is missing from each pair of words.

And, hey, no cheating. Don't use word web or your friendly Thesaurus.

Feel free to leave your guesses under the comment section.

Oh, and I will post the correct answers, providing no one gets them all.

1) __mooth __ron

2) __hrow __itch

3) __lide __kate

4) __ack __leave

5) __avigate __aneuver

6) __inch __crimp

7) __urk __kulk

8) __ __ ow __ __ pand two letters are missing in each word.

Happy verbing!

~~Sandra
HARM'S WAY book-signing, August 25th, 2007
See Sandra’s blog for more information:

Lone Star Meanderings

Helpful hints for the writer

2007-08-09T21:33:00.000-07:00

No groaning. Yes, it's another post about a book I read. I mean, it is what I do, besides writing.

The book this week is: 265 Troubleshooting Strategies for Writing Non-fiction by Barbara Fine Clouse. Although it's for the non-fiction writer, it has good tips for fiction writers, too. Since I've been writing and publishing in nonfiction for a few years now, first as a reporter and later as a freelancer, I know most of these. But there were a few that caught my attention. Such as:

No. 39 Write on a daily schedule. This is really, really important. Writing won't get done by thinking about it. And once you develop a schedule, i.e., a habit, it should be easier to put words to page.

No. 41 Write for yourself instead of the reader. Okay. I have fun doing this and so should every writer out there. As I've learned over the years, the work is it's own reward.

No. 102. Identify two changes that will improve your draft. Make the changes and then reread and see if the draft isn't better. You'll be surprised.

No. 109. Construct a reader profile. I like this one. I took it to mean creating a list of reader wants from a book. For example, if the book is paranormal romance, what do I, the reader, want from this book and each and every book, really? Come up with a checklist. Here's one I made...

What I want from a paranormal romance:
I want it to be dark. Full of sexual tension. I want tortured protagonists and high character arcs -- almost unredeemable characters, especially the hero. I want thrills, suspense, a very hard otherworldly feel to the book. I want the characters to be larger than life, stronger than ordinary people with paranormal "issues." I want a series and I want a happy ending. But not necessarily a resolution.

No. 132 Write a postdraft outline. Clouse suggests you'll be able to see any holes in your plot or events out of order.

Finding the Right Agent, Part 2

2007-08-08T18:54:00.000-07:00

So, you've begun the search. You've sent out your initial round of queries to five or ten agents on your list. Now what?

Anything can happen once you put that parcel in the mail. It may be days. It could be months or even a year. Really. In any event, or for anything in between, you need to have a plan.

I'm talking about a business plan. Yes, I know you're a writer. But you're also Master of Your Own Destiny. No one has more to lose or gain than you do. If you haven't already written out a plan, now is the time to do so. It doesn't have to be incredibly detailed but it needs to lay out the next twelve months. Start thinking about the next five years, too.

I say this because you need to know the answers to these questions. (There will be a test!) You need to carefully consider the answers. Be realistic, but be honest. If you're set on becoming the next NYT Bestseller, you should be prepared with an agressive business plan. And you need to convey your plan to an agent. You need to be on the same page.

If you're very detailed, do some research on the publishing houses most likely to publish books like yours. Know who the senior editors are within the house and the authors they publish. You and your agent should be advocates for your book.

Here are some questions to ask an agent: Remember, this is an interview.
Do you use a contract?
What is your business style?
What's your communication style?
How many clients do you represent?
What genres do you represent?
What is your publishing background?
What kind of dissolution clause do you have?
What is the moratorium period should we decide to part ways?

There is also a great temptation, while waiting for "the call", to lose your mind. I'm convinced it's the constant state of anticipation. You've sent off what you consider a solid project and now find yourself euphoric at the possibilities. I recommend an attitude of cautious optimism. Dream big but remember, this is a business. Success doesn't happen overnight nor should it. Lest we, the great unwashed of publishing, decide you didn't earn it and send you to a time-out. (Just kidding.)

After you've laid out what you want to accomplish over the next twelve months, go back and pencil in "status checks" on the manuscript/s you've sent out. Make a chart of who/when/what. If it helps, use a poster board and color coded post-its or highlighters to help you keep track. Also set hard deadlines for the next round of queries. Yes, the NEXT round.

Agents have their own business plans. They have obligations to standing clients and deals to negotiate on projects waiting at publishing houses. Queries and partials from potential clients take a back seat. Yes, they're always looking for a new gem from the pile of submissions. But sales come first.

Here's where patience will come in handy. It's not unheard of for an EDITOR to take a year to review a submission. But for an agent to take a year? I think this practise is heinous. If you do too, then you need to set some rules for yourself. How long is too long? For a query? For a partial? For a full?

Yes, your dream agent takes 6 months. And you don't really mind waiting if it means representation. But if you send a status check email at six months and the agent ignores your request, do you really want to work with an agent that busy? How much of her time would you actually garner as the new kid on his/her block? Set yourself some rules and be prepared to move on.

And by moving on I mean sending out the next round of queries. Your plan should have hard deadlines for each new round. It could be thirty or sixty days for queries. Four to six months for partials. Six to eight months for a full. You decide.

If an agent asks for a full or an exclusive on a full, please be professional and upfront by letting them know if the full manuscript is at other agencies. It's way too early in your career to be burning any bridges. Who knows? You and your dream agent may not be so dreamy. Life happens. Plans change. Keep your options open.

Which takes us back to the 12-Month Plan. Never, never, never stop writing. By the end of your first year of submitting to agents, you should have another polished manuscript ready to be sent out.

In the event you still haven't procured representation (and I know plenty of great writers who took a couple or more years to find the right agent) then you will want to consider sitting down with an editor from your targeted publishing houses and pitching your book. Usually this means a conference.

There are two schools of thought on this (maybe more!). Agents want to be the one to submit work to editors. They've spent all this time establishing relationships. They know who's looking for what, etc. And it's hard to sell a manuscript that a writer has already shopped to every house in NY and been rejected.

But, if you've spent a year trying to find an agent, shown due dilegence without the payoff, there's no reason to let the manuscript gather dust if you can sell it yourself. Sometimes it's actually beneficial to finding an agent if they know your manuscript is sitting on an editors desk. You've already done some legwork. You're being pro-active in your career.

So, that's it for now on the topic. If you have any questions or would like more information, please contact me.

Until then . . . Sparkle on!

Sherry

How to write...Good

2007-08-06T07:08:00.000-07:00

A few years ago, my brother sent these writing tips. I have no idea who the author is. Enjoy.

1. Avoid alliteration. Always
2. Prepositions are not words to end sentences with.
3. Avoid cliches like the plague. (They're old hat.)
4. Employ the vernacular.
5. Eschew ampersands & abbreviations, etc.
6. Parenthetical remarks (however relevant) are unnecessary.
7. It is wrong to ever split an infinitive.
8. Contractions aren't necessary.
9. Foreign words and phrases are not apropos.
10. One should never generalize.
11. Eliminate quotations. As Ralph Waldo Emerson said, "i hate quotations. Tell me what you know."
12. Comparisons are as bad as cliches.
13. Don't be redundant: don't use more words than necessary; it's superfluous.
14. Be more or less specific.
15. Understatement is always best.
16. One-word sentences? Eliminate.
17. Analogies in writing are like feathers on a snake.
18. The passive voice is to be avoided.
19. Go around the barn at high noon to avoid colloquialisms
20. Even if a mixed metaphor sings, it should be derailed.

Reviewer's and Promotional Sites

2007-08-05T10:36:00.000-07:00

Since the release of my romantic suspense, HARM’S WAY, I’ve delved into the land of on-line promotions and review sites. The task can be time-consuming, but it’s crucial to making the most of this experience.

Do you have a book coming out soon?

Under contract?

Then you need to start the promotional parade now. Spend a portion of your limited Internet time finding and book-marking reviewer’s sites and promotional sites. These will be invaluable to you before and after your book is released.

Not every site will be right for your marketing approach or the genre of your book. Read the FAQ section of these sites to determine if this is the best place to advertise and promote your book.

I’ve included a few to get you started. I’ll be sure to pop back from time to time and update this list with more great review and promotional sites.

Take time and browse around these webpages. Several contain links to other locations that you may find writer friendly.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Night Owl Romance deals with the Romance and Erotic lines.

The Long & Short of It deals with long and short romance lines.

Cata Network reviews only Category Romance, but from this link access can be found to extension sites which deal with longer, or more specific genres.

Romantic Observer offers the opportunity to post excerpts and promotional material as well. Authors can also post other reviews on this site.

Romance At Heart offers review and promotional opportunities for many romance genres.

Insider Secrets

2007-08-04T06:37:00.000-07:00

Quick matching game to get us started today. Match the NY Times Bestselling authors below with their best sparkle tip:

1) Suzanne Brockman
2) James Patterson
3) Nora Roberts

a) write each chapter as if it's your first
b) write dialogue heavy in the first draft, with minimal stage direction, to ensure pacing and characters will be just right.
c) for deep point of view, write scenes initially in first person.

Too easy? Maybe. Here's some more sparkle from Sophia Nash and Kathryn Caskie's Tricks of the Trade: Insider Secrets to Getting Published workshop, in which they asked over twenty five bestselling authors what it takes to get published, write a bestseller and stay published:

When writing romance, it's important to give the love story a life or death depth all the way through. Strive to capture a little of the desperation we all felt when we first fell in love.

Don't underestimate the importance of the reveal. Be sure to give the reader hints along the way, but craft important, plot changing arcs with the most impactful moments of revelation.

Characters emerge best through dialogue. Write dialogue-heavy first drafts and be prepared to cut one third of it in revisions.

Settings cannot be stagnate. Reveal setting only as your character reacts with it.

Answers to matching found in comments section. . .

Story Structure

2007-08-02T23:50:00.000-07:00

Another insightful book I read in bits and pieces (mostly because it takes several passes before the information sinks in) is Robert McKee's Story. It's awesome. These are the things I've learned thus far about structure (taken straight from his book):

Book structure is a selection of events from the character's life, composed in strategic sequence to arouse emotion and express point of view.

A story event creates meaningful change in the life situation of the character and it is expressed in terms of a value.

Story values are the universal qualities of human experience that shift from positive to negative from one moment to the next. Such as life/death, love/hate, truth/lie, courage/cowardice, strength/wisdom, loyalty/betrayal, etc.

A story event creates meaningful change in the life of the characters through conflict. An event is measured by values and conflict forces the character to make a change.

You can have 40-60 or more story events in the book. These are the scenes.

In each scene, the writer has to decide what value is at stake in the character’s life? How is the value charged at the top of the scene? Positive or negative? If the value-charged condition of the character’s life stays the same from one end of the scene to the other, the scene is a nonevent and shouldn’t be there.

Mckee says: NO scene that doesn’t turn! Meaning: kill it, my darling.

A beat is an exchange of behavior couched in action/reaction. Beat by beat these changing behaviors shape the turning of a scene.

A sequence is a series of scenes – generally two to five – that culminate with a greater impact than any previous scene. The sequence has a greater value that overrides the values from the scenes.

Sequences turn in a more moderate, impactful way. A series of sequences builds the next larger structure, the act.

An act turns on a major reversal in the value charged condition of the character’s life. The difference between a scene, a scene that climaxes a sequence, and a scene that climaxes an act is the degree of change.

And finally, the story is simply one huge master event. The value charged condition of the character has changed at the end of the book, reversing the value charge from the beginning. The change is absolute and irreversible.

The story climax consists of a series of acts that build to the last act climax bringing about the irreversible change.

Finding The Right Agent

2007-08-01T18:18:00.000-07:00

You've completed the manuscript and decided which market best fits your project. So, how do you find an agent? Better, how do you find the right agent?

There are only a couple of hard and fast rules about agents. If you want reputable representation, look for the *golden* AAR beside their name. This is a national association which requires member agents to abide by a code of ethics. Namely, no reading fees. Full disclosure in their dealings with editors/publishers on your behalf. Fair trade percentiles and a host of other rules. I suggest you look it up and become familiar with the edicts.

Agents, just like people, run the gamut of personality types and tastes. You have the well-established "I only take previously published NYT Bestsellers" to "I'm new. Just finished my apprenticeship. Looking to build a stable of authors and build my name" and the somewhere in the middle "I've been doing this for a while. I have a growing client base. I have a business plan and I know how to use it". They also have varying degrees of interaction. Hands-on. Editorial. Cheerleader/Counselor. "Don't call me unless it's an emergency of if you're going to miss your deadline." The point is, find the agent-style that works best for you.

Now, on to finding that elusive agent.

1. Word of Mouth-- cost $free
Start by asking your friends who are already represented about their agent. Chances are, they'll give you not only the rundown on their specific agent but the agents in the same house. Most writers are generous. Don't be too shy to ask questions like: What characteristics do you like best about your agent? What's your agent's communication style? (Prompt? Procrastinator?) How many clients does your agent currently represent?

Most importantly, you need to find out if the agency represents what you're selling. If not, there's no reason to waste the postage. Most agents are interested in building a name in a certain genre/genres. They've worked hard to establish contacts with particular houses and editors. So do yourself and them a favor--if they say they don't want Westerns and that's what you have-- mark them off your list of potential agents (at least for now, until they see the error of their ways. It happens!).

You can usually amass a great pool of potential agents you can contact with a query letter referencing their client and the good things you've heard about them/the agency.

2. Publisher's Marketplace - Online cost: $20 per month
If you don't have a critique group or a chapter full of agented writers, the next best thing is to sign up for Publisher's Marketplace. The online mag lists deals, daily or weekly. Be sure and focus on the agents who are selling books in your genre. You can search that agent through the online system and turn up anything the agent or their clients have reported as sales in the last five years (I recommend searching the last 12 months.)
*There is a possibility all the sales won't be reported. But I ask you, only a lazy agent wouldn't want their sales reported in Publisher's Marketplace. This is a tool to grow their name recognition and their client's name recognition. Who wouldn't want that?

Here, you simply preface your query with the good sales report you read in Publisher's Marketplace and congratulate them on a job well done. Then pitch your stuff and why you think they're the best person to represent the project. (Please note: the manuscript is not your "baby". It's a product. You want to sell it by which you will make yourself and your prospective agent fabulously wealthy. Get it?)

3. Conferences -- cost: $--$$$
Whether big or small, most conferences will pay the expense to have at least one editor/agent or more attend their conference. Some conferences are hugely expensive but yeild the greatest number of face-to-face meetings with potential agents. The downside is your time is usually around 8-10 minutes. Smaller conferences have fewer agents to choose from but you may have more time with the agent, dragging them around for dinner, picking up from the airport, etc. You get the picture.

4. Virtual Conferences -- cost: $free
This is a new one for me. Blogs are rampant! They're also a great insight into conferences you can't attend but where agents may be clamoring for books just like yours. (Yes, clamoring is a word.)Most bloggers use the "labels" function at the bottom of their post. Just google a specific conference and see who's posting. I've found a couple of potential agents this way.

Here, you begin your query with the "great things you heard coming out of the conference" or whatever brilliant one liner you think up. Just be sure and mention you heard the information where the agent attended such-n-such conference and mentioned they were looking for genre-x. Which you just happen to have!

There, not so hard. Just always be certain you're focused on what the agent represents and doesn't represent. And sit back and wait. Start the next book. The first question an agent wants to know is what else you have written (both completed and works in progress.)

How to interview a potential agent and what to do while you're waiting for those contacts/calls would be a great topic for next week. So I'll save it for next Wednesday.

Until then,
Happy Writing
Sherry

Grabbing the Reader

2007-07-30T20:56:00.000-07:00

The first 100 words of your book are some of the most important words you will write. Those words should grab your reader and make them want to read more. According to The Writers Little Helper, the first 100 words set the tone, establish a point of view, set the scene and should smack the reader between the eyes with an element of "Oh wow!" I love to wander through bookstores grabbing books at random reading first paragraphs.

The Writers Little Helper list's great examples of opening scenes. I thought I'd share a few with you.

I didn't see him at first, I smelled him though... John Grisham' s The Street Lawyer

When I was little I wuld think of ways to kill my daddy. Kaye Gibbons book Ellen Foster

....much as I loved my son, I was glad to see him dissapear. Terry McMillan's How Stella Got Her Grove Back

What are some of your favorite openers?

Word Painting

2007-07-29T05:27:00.000-07:00

Since I'm pressed for time and falling behind, my post is about a book I read last year...Word Painting: A Guide to Writing More Descriptively by Rebecca McClanahan. I only finished part of the book, so I'm re-reading in anticipation of an upcoming project.

McClanahan advises going beyond the labeling prevalent in fiction. By labeling, she means those conventional terms we use to describe something. Such as lovely, gross, sweet, inspiring, depressing, etc. Those are conclusions. Don't do them. Approach description from the backend, first. Why is the object lovely? Gross? Sweet? Doing it this way is sure to help the writer avoid cliches, and come up with a vivid and original description.

In a very hippie kind of way, she suggests really looking at an object and letting it speak to you, whispering it attributes. So, I'm sitting in La Madeleine, reading this book, drinking French roast coffee with half and half. I tried to eat part of a spinach quiche, but all that crust was gross. (No, I'm not being overly descriptive here. You wouldn't want me to).

Okay. I decide to give it a try. For real. I look at the vase on the perfectly square table. It has two carnations. One red. One white. And some baby's breath. Here's what I wrote:

The white carnation has stiff white peaks much like beaten egg whites. It is surrounded by baby's breath that reminds me of a cluster of bright white stars on a cold winter's night. The carnation stem is a deep green, folding and rolling in on itself like carefully wrapped tissue paper.

Not great, but not horrid either. I think I see where the author is going with this and I think I can roll with it.

Try it! And leave a description of something on your desk...like say, your mouse!

Tear shaped and metallic blue with rubber bumpers, the Dynex mouse slid across the pad without the aid of the typical track ball.

Can You Juggle? Better Learn If You're Tackling Subplots

2007-07-28T14:58:00.000-07:00

Managing subplots is not easy. How many times have yours succumbed to a slow, quiet death? Taken over because the secondary characters became more riveting than the main characters? Do they follow the same rules of plotting as the primary plot?

At the recent RWA National Convention in Dallas, Rita-winner Alesia Holliday, who also writes as Alyssa Day, tackled some of the challenges facing writers, both plotters and pantsers, when juggling these mini-stories tucked inside our novels. The highlights:

1) Her golden rule: If a subplot scene doesn't deepen characterization or advance plot, cut it. Subplots can either support or antagonize the main plot, but they must have a purpose beyond trying to stretch word length. Make sure your conflict is as strong in the subplot as it is in the main plot.

2) When considering a Tertiary Plot (or 2nd subplot) consider the length and complexity of the main plot and 1st subplot. Will your main characters become lost? Are the characters populating your story so many that you've created "cardboard cutouts" instead of true, developed identities?

3) To determine how much subplot is too much, base the length on its impact to the story. Try ranking subplots in order to determine when to begin and end them and how many pages to devote. As a general guideline, all subplots together should be no more than half the length of your main plot.

4) Seasoned writers know the subplot must be resolved before the main plot, but options are not limited to the HEA ending found in the primary plot of novels in the romance genre. Subplots that show character growth can be equally satisfying emotionally. And what about a series book? What better way to leave your readers wanting more than to leave a few strands unresolved? One great tip is to make secondary characters with a point of view in your subplot become the hero/heroine of the next book.

5) When you feel your subplot is off balance, try:

*highlighting your manuscript using a distinct color for the subplot. Pluck those pages from the main stack and read through only that color for continuity.

*listing all scenes involved in your subplot. Sometimes seeing the scenes in a numerical context can let you know the ratio of the subplot to the main in terms of space.

*using spreadsheets, index cards, storyboards--anything you can to keep track of subplots. The writing-by-the-seat "pantsers" who cringe at the thought of organized writing can make use of these on the back end, once the first draft is written, to see the subplot's overall picture.

Lastly, if you're planning overarching series plots, keep volumes of notebooks at the beginning. It's far easier to plan subplots at this stage than to write yourself into an impossible corner when editors and readers come clamoring back wanting more.

Visit Alesia's website or online journal to find out more about her upcoming books.

How do you manage subplots?

Networking beyond conference . . .

2007-07-27T09:00:00.000-07:00

National conference was an exciting, learning, meet with editors/agents, and network with fellow writers time. Back home, the exulted high has finally passed; the real world has seeped in, so now what?

It’s time to network beyond conference.

Most pre-published writers bring business cards and established writers hand out their latest advertising bookmarks during conference. Are those laminated strips of paper simply more stuff to file away? Or something potentially useful?

Before you clear your desk or empty your conference bag into the nearest trash bin, take a closer look at those contacts.

While waiting for coffee or a pick-me-up soda, how many writers did you meet in the endless lines? Did you exchange cards? Bookmarks? Who sat at your lunch table? Cards exchanged? What about during those great seminars? Did you visit with the speaker for a moment? Introduce yourself to the moderator? All of these are contacts—important contacts to help further your career and can become a personal extended research group.

Pull out your stash of business cards, bookmarks, and conference booklet. Now’s the time to send a quick email. A few typed lines and you’ve established a new contact. The person on the other end of the email may become simply another writing ‘buddy’, and that in and of itself is a prized possession. Writing is a lonely job and only those who continually plant fanny to chair can understand the trials of this profession. Treasure writing contacts, and nurture them. Perhaps, your email will establish a relationship with a published writer, one who writes in your genre or a genre you’d like to try. Now, you’re network building. Who better to ask about market trends, publishing houses, successes with an agent than an individual already earning a living in the business? If a seminar was helpful, on-target, just ever-so-much fun, then send that speaker an email and let them know. To a person, conference speakers juggle already-full career schedules. They’ve put in effort and taken their time to provide a worthy learning environment. Everyone deserves a thank-you or job-well-done for their deeds. And again, smart networking writer that you are, you’re developing more contacts.

Wait!

Before you send those emails make sure your signature line is completely up-to-date. Do you have a website? MySpace? Blog Site? Are you a chapter officer? National officer? Do you have a new release? An upcoming release? Make sure all pertinent information is captured in your email signature. What’s pertinent? Anything and everything that advertises your seriousness about the business of writing.

Once the emails are winging their way through cyberspace, take a moment to jot a note on the back of the business cards—a reminder where and when you met this writing contact, then start a file. You’ve just began your mailing list for your first book release or your next release. Networking beyond conference is an opportunity to build new friendship and establish great contacts. It’s also a wonderful chance to spend a little more time with the folks who really ‘get’ your obsession with the writing world. Value your contacts.

Revisions

2007-07-25T17:11:00.000-07:00

My day to sparkle blog. :) I've been thinking about it all day, wondering what subject to take on. I've been deep in revisions for a while now. Determined to whip my three most marketable manuscripts into shape. I've reworked #1, a 60k romcom. It's circulating. I'm hitting #2, which is an unweildy beast of 100k. Making notes for #3.

Then it hit me. REVISIONS!! Duh. (Talk about writing what you know . . .)

I love it that Romance Writers of America offers a PRO status to every writer who's finished their first book and submitted it to an agent or editor. That's great. Really. But the magic doesn't happen until the revisions. Some manuscripts need more than others, as I'm finding out.

#2 has gone through a series of revisions. And I've asked myself: How many? The answer is: As many as it takes.

I'm past the "typo" and "bad grammar/sentence structure" phase. I've moved on to bigger issues like: does this plot thread serve the greater story question? Is this character's action fully motivated? Is this dialogue strong enough to be "tagless"? Do the plot lines intersect at the right place? Have I chosen the right word to convey tone? Have I made this book stand out? Does it have "sparkle"?

Tough questions, I know. But if I don't have the answer who does?

Each time I think the ms is clean and ready to hit the door, I print it out to take a continuity read. If I can revise on the page then I know I have to sit back down and do some work.

On the converse, I am so relieved and overjoyed when I can get through entire chunks of pages/chapters without changing or modifying a single word.

This is the real "writers life". If it doesn't sound appealing then don't jump in. On the other hand, if you're like me, revel in the puzzlemania of the story and the process as a whole, this is the career for you!

The best way I know how to take on revisions is one sentence at a time. Sorry, that's the answer(for now). If you have a better method, please shoot me an email. (please!).

Remember, writing that first draft is its own reward. But the magic happens in the revisions. :)

Happy Writing(and Revising)

Sherry

2007-07-23T19:11:00.000-07:00

Coming back from Nationals was like coming off a seven-day adrenaline rush. It was exciting, invigorating and I came home sure this year I was going to get "the call." The first night, when the phone rang I jumped, "Is this it?" By the second night the old adage "You must submit to sell" seeped back into my brain so I opened my computer and got back to work.
I was anxious to polish my manuscript. I read page after page hoping a misplaced comma here and there was all I needed to edit. What I found was rubbish, intertwined with pieces of the story I'd pitched to the editors and agents. A few thousand useless sentences can't stop me, this is my year! I rolled up my sleeves, grabbed an extra large cup of java and set to work. And work it has been.
I've brutally cut the fat, sparkled the dull spots and jacked-up the conflict. I've read through the first three chapters so many times my hero is exhausted from fighting the same battle. I began to doubt myself, my ability to write a good novel--a sparkle worthy novel. I wondered if I was like one of those pathetic contestants on American Idol who think they can sing, while the rest of the world is covering their ears.
Muscles ached as I sat hour after hour forcing my characters to bend to my will rather than letting them tell the story. Today, exhausted after six hours of grueling editing, I closed my computer and headed to Yoga.
We had a new instructor. He emphasized our breathing and stretching and then he added something--a gem to make our practice sparkle. He said, "Don't muscle into your poses, let the stretch happen." I was contorted in a half-pigeon, my least favorite pose. My hips were screaming to be freed from the torture. Again, he reminded us to let it happen. He said, "You think you've gone as deep as you can but there is always more. Let it happen, breath, relax, let your muscles do what comes naturally. I breathed, I concentrated on relaxing and it happened. The muscles in my legs seemed to melt allowing my hips to open up dropping me further to the ground. While trying to muffle the little voice of doubt worrying about how I was going to find my way out of the pose, I thought about my book.
I'd left my heroine in a precarious situation. I saw her suspended from a tree wondering when I would return and get her out of her predicament. The instructor’s words echoed in my head. "Let it happen."
As I stretched and breathed I let my mind take the journey. My hero appeared right on cue and saved the day. I could feel myself feeling anxious about getting home to write the scene before it slipped to the abyss of "pure genius scenes" never to be seen again. But true to his character, my hero gave me the okay signal and I knew he would return when I needed him.
Driving home from class, I thought about how we sometimes try to muscle our way through adding and deleting scenes, Page after page, we cut, paste, and add until tension builds and our minds are blocked. Sometimes we need to relax, breath and let our imaginations stretch, we need to trust our creativity and let our characters do what comes naturally. I think we’ll find we can go deeper and sparkle brighter.

The Perfect Hero and Heroine

2007-07-22T20:51:00.000-07:00

“That’s not very heroic,” is an ongoing comment during critique or in contest judging. But the hero hasn’t tortured animals or kidnapped anyone. He isn’t unheroic. He just has certain traits that need to be plucked like a stray eyebrow lash or a challenge that will bring out his best attributes.

Does the perfect hero mean our male protagonist is flawless? Must he embody all the attributes of the ideal alpha male to make the readers love him?

So, I ask, should our heroes be perfect?

Going against the prevailing philosophy, I say “no” and no again. How boring.

I want to see growth (character arc). Though larger than life and facing extraordinary circumstances, I need to see a semblance of a real person on the page. At the start of a book with a hero that is the embodiment of all that is good, noble and sexy, I’m bored. I can’t relate. Why? For me this epitome of heroism is not an archetype but a stereotype. And of course it follows that the man or women is physical perfection with varying shades of hair, eye and skin color. Gag me.

This doesn’t mean the protagonist should have a disgusting habit or committed a grievous sin. If the main character is controlling or curses or doesn’t go to church… will the reader through your novel across the room in disgust?

I agree wholeheartedly that some unheroic actions or characteristics are unpalatable if not taboo. I don’t want to see the hero pick his nose. I don’t want him to have committed a grievous sin. Many years ago on the recommendation of a friend, I read the start of a series and never finished the first book. The ‘hero’ raped someone. I asked my friend why in the hell would I like this book? Her answer was as the series progresses, he must make redemption. Sorry, he was not redeemable in my eyes. Rape or murder is not an accident. And while this character was not repentant initially (though that wouldn’t have made me like him or care about him either.) His change of attitude made no difference to me. He wasn’t a hero, he was scum.

Therefore it appears that some sins are unforgivable but less than heroic traits are acceptable, in my view. That is why I like Beauty and The Beast. The story was not just about looking past the physical, The Beast wasn’t very heroic at the start of the story. Another example that comes to mind is Laurell K. Hamilton’s Anita Blake. The heroine isn’t always likable, she is prejudiced and unyielding. But as Anita grows she learns to become more accepting. She grows as a person. She’s still tough.

Vicki Pettersson’s Joanna Archer, from The Sign of Zodiac series, has both Shadow and Light sides. She seeks revenge and makes poor decisions. But this is a heroine to embrace as she learns and grows. Rachel Caine’s Joanne Baldwin of the Weather Warden series is vain. This heroine sets out to use a djinn to take the Demon Mark (a parasite) from her. She thinks of the djinn as things, not people. But as she learns, her heroism rises to the top.

These are my examples of the less than heroic but infinitely more appealing, entertaining and intriguing heroic characters. Must our hero or heroine have only heroic personas? I’d like to know what you think.

The Origins of Sparkle . . .

2007-07-21T14:34:00.000-07:00

Sparkle This??? What kind of title is Sparkle This? What's it mean?

Well, here's a little history on the blog, if you're the curious sort.

About seven (or so) months ago, we were meandering among the books at a popular chain bookstore near our homes, discussing the offerings on the shelves and the publishing industry in general. At the time, we were all unpubbed. And so it was only natural to pose the question, what do these books have that our manuscripts lack? What's the sparkle that makes a manuscript publishable while another languishes in the slush pile for months on end only to receive a rejection?

We decided some research was in order. So we started having "Sparkle" meetings. Our first assignment was to go through our keeper shelf and decipher the ingredients which made the book stand out, or sparkle.

Our first meeting was a huge success! Seven of us, coming at the subject from a different angle, with seven different projects was amazing. So, we decided we should continue.

Over the months, we've had several "Sparkle" meetings on different topics. Each has driven us to dig deeper into our writer's toolkit in our own endeavors. Our production increased as our knowledge of the intangibles and tangibles grew. So, Shannon suggested we take our sparle online and set up a blog to aid any and all interested in our findings (or the publishing industry in general).

So, now that your curiosity has been sated, what do you think makes a book sparkle?

If You Build It, They Will Come

2007-07-21T06:47:00.000-07:00

Justin Knupp, president and chief designer at Stonecreek Media, has this to say about creating a writer's professional-looking website:

1. Keep in mind your target audience. If you're unpublished, direct your content to agents and editors. Excerpts, awards, projects, professional associations should all be included. Plaster your email address everywhere. At this stage, you're selling yourself as a secondary product, so the content is geared as much toward the writer as the writing. If you're published, the focus shifts to readers and potential readers. Involve them in what you're working on now and next. Be sure to include speaking engagements, press kits, both low and high resolution photos, bio, short blurbs and extended blurbs. Marjorie M. Liu posts deleted scenes from her fantastic books on her website. Create something your readers can't get anywhere else.

2. Don't forget to protect yourself. Copyright information should be visible and updated each year. Be sure to password protect any excerpts. This also goes for blog content.

3. Rule of three. No more than three fonts, colors or random design patterns. Use clear snapshots. Make sure all pages have the same look and feel to ensure smooth web page transition for the audience and create a cohesive author brand.

4. Social and Viral Networks are great for drawing potential readers. MySpace won't sell your books, but if you play nice and make friends, the traffic to your website and links to ALL booksellers can grow exponentially. YouTube trailers, if done well, not only add a great visual to your blogs and websites, but reach visually-oriented consumers in a way that reviews and other print advertisement cannot.

5. Both pre-published and published authors should have a way to gather a database of names and contact information. Newsletters deliver your message to reader's inboxes and urge them to return to your website and blog, thereby increasing traffic and re-enforcing your author brand. Yahoogroups serve the same purpose, but some visitors won't like the extra steps necessary to sign up. Contest tie-ins, book giveaways and other freebies are all great ways to build a visitor's list, just make sure you let them know and find opt-in, opt-out software for user friendliness.

6. Want to be higher on Google? As of January, Google has again changed the way it tracks website content. Make sure your site navigation, along with interactive buttons, is in text form on every page, key words and descriptions are used in text form on your homepage and all metatags are in place.

According to Mr. Knupp, immersive media websites are the next wave of book promotion. He recommended the websites of J.K. Rowling, Alison Brennan and Sherrilyn Kenyon as great examples of this.

His position? Always go for a professional, of course. Stonecreek Media will put together a basic, 5 page, no blog website for around $525.

My latest AH HA! moment

2007-07-19T06:55:00.000-07:00

Hands down, the best workshop I attened at the RWA National conference was Michael Hague's "From Identity to Essence: Love Stories and Transformation." Brilliant. It made so much sense, my brain was on fire trying to listen to the lecture and plot a new book at the same time. I'll go over a bit of what he discussed, but trust me, you'll want to buy his books or CDs, I really cannot do justice to his lecture. And if you can go and take one of his classes, do it!

He broke down the basic esstentials of story:
1. character - vehicle for reader emotion
2. desire - drives the story forward
3. conflict - creates emotion

Listed the four basic desires (in Hollywood movies):
1. to escape - something or someone
2. to retrieve - treasure hunting plots
3. to stop - something bad from happening like murder, war, etc.
4. to win - sports stories, and love stories

Provided key components to making your protagonist great:

1. how will the reader empathize with the character?
a. through sympathy
b. by putting the character in jeopardy
c. making the character likable
d. making the character funny
e. or making the character powerful and really good at what he/she does

2. Ask your protagonist what he/she longs for?

3. What is the protagonist's wound, the source of his/her continuing pain?

4. What is the protagonist's belief as a result of this wound?

5. What is the protagonist's fear?

6. What is the protagonist's identity? That false front they show the world?

7. What is the protagonist's need?

8. And finally, what is the hero/heroine's essence? The real person they become at the end of the story?

Hague defined the four categories of character:
1. hero
2. nemesis - stand in way of goal
3. reflection - side kick, best friend
4. romance character - love interest

And this point, right here, is worth gold:

The biggest weakness with most love stories, particularly the ones that fail, is that there is no logical reason for the two characters to fall in love. The romance character must see beneath the identity (false front) of the hero and accept him/her for their essence (the person they will become) when no one else does.

AH HA!!!

RWA National - Wahoo!

2007-07-12T13:13:00.000-07:00

The Romance Writers of America national conference is THE place to be if you want to be a writer. I cannot begin to describe how supportive and creative every member is. My muse is buzzing, my spirits soaring and my feet ache. Ah, well. And they are all here to celebrate the romance genre, learn, network and help others improve their craft. Three years ago I was a fortunate recipient of a scholarship to the national conferene. A dear friend and author, Juliet Burns, submitted my name to Jill Barnett. Jill devotes a great deal of her time, money and heart to helping new writers. Her books are gems and her heart is gold. http://www.jillbarnett.com/

That is what Sparkle This is about, too. We believe in love, writing, books and helping others. We want to share the gems we find and watch the gleam - right now I'm a "garnet" type of sparkle (wink, wink).

Along with the talented group of Sparkle This women, the RWA has well know authors contributing to the conference blog each day - so take a peak.
http://www.rwanational.org/cs/rwa_annual_conference/rwa_conference_blog

Today the keynote speaker at lunch was Lisa Kleypas. She gave a witty and poignant speech about why we should write and read romance. . . it had something to do with armadillos, women deserving and getting respect, living life, having dreams and above all - love.

Yesterday RWA sponsored a 400 + author signing benefiting literacy. The ballroom was packed and THE place to buy books and meet favorite authors. I am always amazed at the graciousness of the phenomenal Nora Roberts, Linda Lael Miller, Susan Elizabeth Phillips et. al.

Thank you for stopping by.

Welcome!

2007-07-11T07:20:00.001-07:00

Just a quick howdy before I head out for the Romance Writers of America annual conference. The Sparkle gang will attempt to dish about the happenings at RWA, and include for your viewing pleasure...photos.