Saturday, February 28, 2009

Looking for Help

I have my query and synopsis up on my other blog, anyone willing to read them and let me know what they think, so I can start querying again next week?

Friday, February 27, 2009

If You Give a Girl a Pen

Some girlfriends and I started a fun writing blog. We decided to have exercises in creative writing, post on learning the industry, learning how to market, and much more. I hope to get a few guest bloggers on Saturdays.
Please come visit us at If You Give a Girl a Pen!

Have a great day!

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

Picture Short Story

Goal: Take a picture and tell the story behind it. (And No, not the actual story. That I don't know.)

Today's picture and story.

Logan cupped his hands in front of his face and blew. The heat from his lungs warmed his fingers before becoming tiny shards of ice.

"No one should have to be this cold," he said to his older brother Tyson.

Tyson wrapped Logan in his arms, sharing his winter coat. "It won't last forever. Someone will come."

Involuntary shivers soon turned to tremors, as the two brothers huddled together for warmth. They had survived for two days without food and shelter, and Logan doubted they would make it a third night. All the survival skills known to man couldn't help you if your only shelter stood lone and tall and had prickly needles on all sides. The boys had managed to cut sections of the cactus for food and water, but it offered little more.

"Why would they leave us out here?" Logan asked, although he knew Tyson had no answers.

"Maybe they didn't know. Maybe they thought we'd find our way back. Maybe..." he sighed. "Maybe they wanted us dead."

"Please don't say that. She loves us. She does," Logan insisted when Tyson rolled his eyes. "They'll come back. You'll see Ty. They'll come back for us. Mom's never let one of her boyfriends leave us behind for long."

Friday, February 20, 2009

Inspiration through song

My sis in law and I did an exercise this morning, writing from a line of lyrics. Here's the line and what I wrote.
Anyone Is welcome to take the pictures or songs and write their own stories in the comments. I'd love to hear what you pick up from each.

the lyrics are by Breaking Benjamin. The song, Rain.

Take a photograph,
It'll be the last,
Not a dollar or a crowd could ever keep me here.

Jason sat on his bed and stared at the picture of Callie in her emerald green velvet Victorian prom dress. Her hair in purple and blue spikes, her eyes outlined in black. Goth prom girl. That’s what she’d called herself.

He let out a heavy sigh. What was he supposed to do now? Get up and go to school? Act as if nothing had happened?

How could he? No one would ever let him forget. Would they? He’d never let himself forget. Her last words formed in a scream. “Jason! Watch out!”

He hadn’t been able to believe his luck, when his best friend since third grade, and the girl he had secretly crushed on since eighth, had asked to go to Senior prom with him.

“Come on, Jas. You have to go with me. Why would I want to share this with anyone else,” Callie had said.

“I don’t dance.”

She’d punched his arm and said, “Pretend. Gah, Jas. You’re good at pretending. Can’t you, just for one night, pretend I’m a girl and not your best friend. Can’t you pretend that you like me?”

Jason’s face broke into the dorkiest grin he had ever smiled. “Oh, yeah. I can pretend I like you.”

But now, the fantasy had shattered.

Callie was gone.

The drunk driver had swerved into their lane, but Jason’s attention was on his date. He hadn’t even seen the rusted Ford F-150.

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

Picture Short Story

Goal: Take a picture and tell the story behind it. (And No, not the actual story. That I don't know.)

Today's picture and story.


Aree crept closer to the men gathered in the woods. She knew their secrets, their thoughts, their desires--everything anyone would ever want to know about Micia, Arwin, and Sirus.

"The ring is nearly complete," Arwin said, as he clasped arms with his companions.

Micia stood two hands taller than the other men, and held the most power. His head fell forward, in an almost reverent bow. Had Aree not known better, she would have sworn his prayer went to the God of Death. But his thoughts gave him away.

Dear God of Plenty, the turmoil I have fallen into is great. I need thy guidance to show me the way out. How do I defeat these two men without destroying their good families?

Love swelled in Aree's heart as she listened to her brother cry out for help. He had loved Arwin and Sirus like brothers, and they had betrayed the village, and all who loved them. If the sixth ring of fire completed its rotation, the waters of Favon would dry up and their village would be forced to move.

Micia, I am here, Aree whispered in his mind. I have the words.

Without a movement, Micia responded, send them to me.

Waters of life, bind fires of death.

Thank you, Aree.

Aree repeated the words in her mind, as Micia said them in his. Just as the last ring should have reached completion, a hand of water rose from the great lake and swiped it into oblivion.

Arwin cried out in anguish. He had failed. Aree knew that this would cost him his life. The pact he had made with Queen Lavina demanded the destruction of the village of Valuor, or of Arwin.

It is done. Our role is finished. We must leave them. Queen Lavina will poison their blood through her magic. We can not stay nearby, Aree told her brother. We must keep them here.

Micia prayed again, Dear God of Plenty, keep my fallen friends so they will not harm others, and have mercy on their souls.

Monday, February 16, 2009

I won a contest!

Okay, I have a site that I love! Book, Boys, Buzz...
They had contest all week, and I won Saturday's. :)
I'm excited to start reading these books, and I'll write a review.

SHRINK TO FIT is by Dona Sarkar-Mishra

PERFECT CHEMISTRY is by Simone Elkeles

Thanks ladies at Books, Boys, and Buzz... for making Valentine's more fun!

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

Video Fun


Buy a Book!

Snow flutters in the breeze trying to decide if it wants to stick to anything. Chill seeps in through the windows.
I’m ready for Spring!
But I give the cold one point of good. I have no desire to go outside and so I write.
I’m always trying to look for silver linings to dark clouds, and so even with losing over six chapters of edits Sunday, I’ve found one. The new edits are better, and I found a few things I’d missed before.
Now, of course, I will email myself every night, regardless of how tired I am. Lesson learned.
I’ve also enjoyed other great writing blogs and have learned much there. The publishing world is in turmoil, go figure, along with the rest of the world, but I do not despair. I have faith in books. I love books and buy them as often as I can, just ask my husband.  And I know many out there how share my love of the written word.
So do something good today. Go buy a book. Paper or ebook. Just spread the love that way.

Sunday, February 8, 2009

I Need HELP!

Okay, every night I email myself my revisions of my MS. Except last night. I accidentally saved an earlier copy over my latest one from last night today. Can I undo it?
I've lost 6 chapters of edits from yesterday.
Please, someone tell me I can fix this! And how!

Friday, February 6, 2009

Art work by Michael Broadway

My friend Michael not only writes beautifully, he's a brilliant artist!

In my novel, LEGEND OF THE PROTECTORS, wolves play a large roll, hence the beautiful wolf painting. :)

Here is the link to Michael Broadway's art gallery. Please, go visit it.

Also go here and see his artwork as stamps.

Tuesday, February 3, 2009

God Bless Our Military, and Our Freedom

This is an email I received, and it says it all. God bless the men and women who fight for all our freedoms!

The average age of the military man is 19 years.
He is a short haired, tight-muscled kid who,
under normal circumstances is considered by
society as half man, half boy. Not yet dry behind
the ears, not old enough to buy a beer, but old
enough to die for his country. He never really
cared much for work and he would rather wax
his own car than wash his father's, but he has
never collected unemployment either.
He's a recent High School graduate; he was probably an average student, pursued some form of sport
activities, drives a ten year old jalopy, and has a
steady girlfriend that either broke up with him when
he left, or swears to be waiting when he returns from half a world away. He listens to rock and roll or hip-hop or rap or jazz or swing and a 155mm howitzer.

He is 10 or 15 pounds lighter now than when he
was at home because he is working or fighting
from before dawn to well after dusk. He has
trouble spelling, thus letter writing is a pain for him,
but he can field strip a rifle in 30 seconds and
reassemble it in less time in the dark. He can recite
to you the nomenclature of a machine gun or grenade launcher and use either one effectively if he must.

He digs foxholes and latrines and can apply first aid like a professional.

He can march until he is told to stop,
or stop until he is told to march.

He obeys orders instantly and without hesitation,
but he is not without spirit or individual dignity.
He is self-sufficient.

He has two sets of fatigues: he washes one and wears the other. He keeps his canteens full and his feet dry.

He sometimes forgets to brush his teeth, but never
to clean his rifle. He can cook his own meals, mend
his own clothes, and fix his own hurts.

If you're thirsty, he'll share his water with you; if you
are hungry, his food. He'll even split his ammunition
with you in the midst of battle when you run low.

He has learned to use his hands like weapons
and weapons like they were his hands.

He can save your life - or take it, because that is his job.

He will often do twice the work of a civilian, draw half the pay, and still find ironic humor in it all.

He has seen more suffering and death than he should have in his short lifetime.
He has wept in public and in private, for friends
who have fallen in combat and is unashamed.

He feels every note of the National Anthem
vibrate through his body while at rigid attention, while tempering the burning desire to 'square-away ' those around him who haven't bothered to stand,
remove their hat, or even stop talking.

In an odd twist, day in and day out, far from
home, he defends their right to be disrespectful.

Just as did his Father, Grandfather, and Great-grandfather, he is paying the price for our freedom. Beardless or not, he is not a boy.
He is the American Fighting Man that has
kept this country free for over 200 years.
He has asked nothing in return, except
our friendship and understanding.
Remember him, always, for he has earned our respect and admiration with his blood.

And now we even have women over there in
danger, doing their part in this tradition of going to War when our nation calls us to do so.

As you go to bed tonight, remember this shot. . .

A short lull, a little shade and a picture of
loved ones in their helmets.