Beginnings, Endings, Betas and the SPCA

Wow. What a year. Many significant milestones: a 75th birthday, a couple of 50s; and a 30th wedding anniversary. Throw in a couple of out-of-town concerts and work-related travel, and we were gone more than we were here, which meant for a lot of fun visits with family and friends. Toss in a couple of hospital stays for me, and it was a well-rounded year, that's for sure.

On the writing front, I sent one manuscript off to an editor, and another out to Beta Readers. Sadly, none of the Betas got back to me (which does a real number to one's confidence. Fortunately, I've been in this business long enough to learn to soldier on). The editor, on the other hand, did a great job, and I've been reworking MS with her insights in mind, with a mind to publishing this year. I also want to get the sequel out (and in a twist of fortuitous fate, just yesterday I had an offer from two people willing to Beta read, so I sent it off to them today. Fingers crossed!), so that is my work-toward for 2018.

When not completing final polish or revisions, I'll be completing the third book in the above series, My Forever Love, featuring Maggie and Joe. I'll also be researching cover artists (or Photoshop) and developing a publishing plan and schedule, among other businessey things. I'm looking forward to it, to stretching my wings and expanding my knowledge and skill-set.

In the old days (pre-Amazon), writers working towards publication finished manuscripts and mailed query letters to editors and agents, seeking someone willing to take them, and their work on. It could take months, if not years, to find an agent or editor willing to take on a new writer, and more months if not years for that book (or a different one if the first failed) to actually make it to print. That's still true for many writers. For others, those who choose to self-publish, it's quicker.

Self-publishing offers a certain freedom traditional publishing does not. It's also brutally challenging.

Trad published writers have, as part of their royalty-paid publishing contract, no upfront costs to have in-house editors scar up their manuscripts; copy-editors proof the final version; proof-readers ensure the first few rounds of edits and copy-edits missed nothing; cover artists to create covers to House specifications; publicity arms to market the book; distributors to get it into the hands of readers. Self-published authors can get all that help, too. Provided they can afford it.

That is the biggest challenge self-pubbed authors face: upfront costs. Which is why Beta Readers are so valuable.

Having a few sets of different eyes on a manuscript before it goes off to an editor means an author has an opportunity to work out the worst of the kinks and confusion, before having to pay a professional editor to slash, dice, and dissect a manuscript. The less work an editor, and then copy-editor, has to do, the less expensive it is for the author. Betas are Golden. They see the manuscript in its fledgling form; their opinions/initial impressions/keen eyes and bewildered "huh?"s offer authors a chance to see the book as others see it. Not as the author sees it.

By the time I'm ready to send a manuscript to a reader, I've stopped seeing the problems. Otherwise I wouldn't send it. I'm too close to the story, to the characters, to the structure. I can't see the forest for the trees. I'm like the Crazy Cat Lady who doesn't notice the litter box odor permeating the house or cat hair festooning every level surface; I see only my precious kitties. Beta readers are the SPCA.

They come in, and wrinkle their nose, mutter "yuck" as they step on and around fresh and dried hairballs; collect saucers of hardened wet food and sour milk to be disposed of. They notice the big Tom lounging in the fruit bowl and skittish kitten squirmed between the fridge and wall. They see the fleas hopping in the carpet, and yellow stains on the wall where that big Tom cat marked his territory. They're the first line of defense in Cat Justice. Editors are the prosecutors. Readers the Judge. And Jury. The End, is just the beginning of a manuscript's journey. Just as 2018 is a new journey for all of us.

Whatever 2017 was like for you, may 2018 be better. May you put into action a plan to achieve whatever your heart dreams of. May good people fill your life. May you be a good people in other people's lives. May you dream a dream, and make that dream happen.

Dream.

Plan.

Execute.

Achieve.

Be who you know you're meant to be.

Be awesome.

Deborah

There is no advancement to him who stands trembling because he cannot see the end from the beginning. ~E.J. Klemme

Insulted

I read an article today by a woman who slammed Indie writers. She stated self-publishing was "an insult to the written word". This breaks my heart. For her.

Writing is a lonely enough job. It does not serve to isolate yourself further by denigrating a huge--and hugely successful--group of individuals, all of whom share the same interest: the written word.

Self, Trad...however a book makes it to readers is less important than how readers react to the book. Lord knows the "less-than" books are quickly picked apart, their writers insulted and criticized, some quite cruelly. As far as I'm concerned, it needs to stop. Just stop.

I despise fat on my steak. I go to great lengths to cut it off, and ensure very little ever crosses my lips. It makes me gag. My husband, OTOH, loves fat on his steak and prime rib. As far as he's concerned, it's the closest thing to Heaven as he wants to get right now. Same fat. Different reactions to it. Neither reaction is right. Or wrong. They just are.
Books are the same. Some you love. Some you, "eh". Some you toss before you get three pages in. It's subjective. Selective. Personal.

I used to groan, and kvetch when reading a novel loaded with back story, or erratic POV switches. Now I simply close the book, remind myself to watch for these types of issues in my writing, and move on to a book I enjoy. What I don't do, is go on Goodreads, or Amazon, or Twitter and beat the hell out of some poor author for his/her rookie--or not--mistakes (some seasoned--BESTSELLING--authors make very good money committing such blasphemy). Who cares?

Writing is hard work. And yes, as the author of the aforementioned article stated, it does take years to hone the craft. But that doesn't mean you have to be middle-aged or doddering, or traditionally published, before you can reap the reward of seeing your story in print.

Some children take to reading/writing from the moment they're handed a pencil, and Dr. Seuss book. They love reading. They love writing. They excel at it. And by the time they're in their teens or twenties, they're quite competent. And in this era, quite tech savvy, too. Other writers come to their craft late, in their thirties, or forties, fifties and sixties. Should they all have to toil decades receiving rejections before ever seeing something they've labored over into print? As far as I'm concerned, no.

Amazon and other "Indie" publish options have opened doors certain "gate keepers" would like to see slammed shut. Good. Not all gate keepers are good gate keepers.

Some gatekeepers are overwhelmed and hitting the R button out of pure survival instinct. Others have a fixed mindset as to what types of books readers want and are committed to permitting only that formula to venture past the iron fence. Some gatekeepers like fat on their steak. Some hate it. Some love fat, but can't find anyone else willing to eat it. The steak remains on the plate untouched. Should it sit there indefinitely? In my opinion, No.

When an author takes the time to pour heart and soul into something that means something to him/her, let him/her publish. Who are they hurting, really? You don't have to read it. Heaven knows there are a gazillion choices; choose the ones that make you happy. And if you feel like letting the author know you enjoyed their book, go ahead. There isn't a person alive that doesn't appreciate a little praise every now and again. If the book makes you gag, put it down. Find something more to your taste, and feed your soul. But please, don't suck the soul out of someone else. No one wants, or needs, anymore poison in an already toxic world.

Deborah
*stepping off soap box*

Those who are lifting the world upward and onward are those who encourage more than criticize. ~Elizabeth Harrison

Nobody's Perfect...

The Editor Devil (@fairchild01) posed the question on Twitter:

#authors & #writers how do YOU deliver description for the POV character when they are alone? Avoiding the cliché mirror...

One response was: NOT; characters focused on personal appearance were either creepy, or vapid. And that got me thinking...Characters are people, too.

How many of us have stood in front of mirror fussing over the fit of jeans? Blouse? Sweated in a change room trying to struggle in/out of sports bra? Bathing suit? Sat in a stylist's chair and said, "Fix me" (like there was something inherently wrong with our straight/curly/red/gray/brown/long/short hair). Does that make us creepy? Vapid? I don't think so. I think it makes us human. And it makes sense that at some point in a story, a human POV character is going to experience some instance of self-awareness, while alone.

A Plus-size character trying to squeeze into a 0-size charter airplane seat. A petite character struggling to see over the steering wheel and reach the accelerator in her brother's sports car. A dyed-blonde fussing over her reverse-skunk look when she bumps into the guy she likes at the Supermarket. The overweight police chief struggling to buckle his holster. The mature woman slathering on face cream containing Retinol in a vain attempt to redirect her straying husband's attention back to her. The teen boy locked in the bathroom with his mother's seamstress tape measuring his biceps to see if his week at the gym made him "swoll" enough to interest the girl he's crushed on since grade five. And that's how POV self-image is best conveyed: indirectly.

It is a definite challenge to convey a POV character's appearance via the character without the easy mirror, but it is doable. Creatively. Carefully. Skillfully. It's not taboo. Tricky, and when done well, effective.

Here's a quick, not necessarily done well, example, purely for illustration purposes:

Damn. She'd grabbed the wrong shoes. These had to be Celeste's shoes. They were at least two-sizes too small. Ginny yanked the shiny satin pump off her toe, and glared inside it.

Nope. Four sizes too small. She'd have better luck stuffing French loaves in a set of thimbles, as shove her duck feet in these shoes. She dropped the pump back in the box with its mate.

Gad. Wasn't that going to be the theme of this wedding? Her the ribbed French loaf, Celeste and Noemi the shiny thimbles. What in hell was Laurel thinking, asking her, Hulkette, to be a bridesmaid alongside them? Ginny sucked in her stomach, glanced down.

Nope. Not even if she mastered the art of holding her breath without dying could she hope to display a quarter of the cleavage of the other two. She exhaled, bit her lip.

A pink-satin draped Stop sign tacked on the end of a triplet of hourglasses. How could Laurel be so cruel?

No, no, no. Laurel was not being cruel. Pink was her favorite color. Had been her favorite color since the first time they had watched Grease together, back in high school. She could hardly help that it was the least flattering color for someone with brick red hair and freckles. If anything, she should be grateful she had managed to sway Laurel toward a softer pink, instead of the fluorescent pink she'd wanted. Gad. What a disaster that would have been. She already stood a good six inches taller than most men. She didn't need to advertise it like a flashing neon sign. Ginny bowed her face to her palms.

Oh, God. What was she going to do? She couldn't be in this wedding. She was too tall, too flat, too red, too awkward—and what if James showed up? What would she say? What could she say? Sorry I stomped on your foot the other night. Hope I didn't break any toes--

"Ginny? Ginny? I think you have my shoes. We need to switch. Quick. The limo's here. We're all ready to go."

Drawing a deep breath, Ginny stifled a groan and pushed up off the toilet. She paused long enough to glance in the mirror and ensure none of the springy curls the stylist had so skilfully constrained in a neat chignon had escaped, smooth the wrinkles from the "Candy Floss Pink" gown and slip a hand inside it to adjust the push-up bra so it was more up, than push, and then retrieving the shoes off the floor, she unlocked the door.

"Oh, there you are. I figured these were yours." Celeste arched a golden eyebrow and smiled as she dangled Ginny's shoes with the tips of her long pink-lacquered fingernails, like she was holding out a pair of dead hens, instead of a pair of size elevens. Her ample cleavage, like her dimpled cheeks, glimmered with body shimmer.

Ginny forced a bright smile. "Yes. Can't imagine how we mixed that up."

"Is everything all right, Ginny? You're a little flushed." Laurel was ethereal in white, her creamy brown skin boasting a dewy glow seemingly reserved for brides, and new mothers, her dark eyes lit with a sparkle brighter than the flashes of light off the Hershey's Kisses-sized diamond drops dangling from her earlobes. Behind her, Noemi was primping in front of the hall mirror, applying yet another layer of lip gloss. 

"Everything is perfect," Ginny said, and smiled as she grasped her shoes, one in each hand, like a pair of pistols. "Absolutely perfect. You are the absolutely, most perfectly stunning and beautiful bride, I could ever hope to attend."

It was Laurel's turn to flush. "Thank you," she said. "Now, get those shoes on girl, and let's go. I'm getting MARRIED today!"

***

Do you have a picture of Ginny in your mind? Yes, I slipped in the mirror at the end to add texture detail to her hair. Mostly I imparted her physical description through her emotional distress. Her self-image.

Sure, Ginny needs to work on learning to embrace, and celebrate what makes her unique and beautiful, like we all do. But that could well be her character arc, the growth she experiences, through the course of the story. James could help, or hinder her with that. That's at the author's discretion. As is a choice of methodology/focus in imparting character/scene description.

Writing is not like Math. There are no hard and fast rules. If you want to convey some aspect of your POV character's appearance via that character, do. If you can do so via action, or emotion, even better.

Just like no one likes to watch another person primp and preen in front of a mirror--taking obvious pleasure, or dismay, in one's appearance is still a cultural no-no--readers prefer not to receive a menu-order of character description. Mix it up. Dole out some aspects of character's physical description through other characters, some through the character. Going back to Ginny, in an earlier time:

"Hey, Red, how's it going up there?"

"Take a hike, James."

"Ooooh, hear that boys? Ginny wants me to take a hike. How about I hike you, Ginny? Scale you like Mount Everest."

James's companions laughed. Ginny clung to her backpack and stared straight ahead.

Why? Why, why, why did she have to look like Dad? Why couldn't she be five-foot nothing and blonde like Mom? But noooo...she had to get Dad's NBA genes, while her "big" brother would be lucky if he topped out at five-six and made the wrestling team--

"What's the matter, Carrot-Top? Cat got your tongue--" Carl's head snapped back and blood gushed from his nose a second later.

"Leave my sister, alone, freak--"

"Michael." Ginny grasped his arm. "Don't. You'll get expelled--" Ginny pitched forward, and managed to get a hand up to brace herself against the seat in front, as the bus ground to a halt.

"Mr. Gilbert," the driver called. "This is where you get off."

***

However you decide to get necessary aspects of your characters' appearance across to the reader, have fun with it. And remember, no character is perfect. Or entirely flawed. Just as there is good and bad in all of us, so too is there in our characters. Enjoy them. And be kind to yourself.

Deborah

Happiness, that grand mistress of the ceremonies in the dance of life, impels us through all its mazes and meanderings, but leads none of us by the same route. ~ Charles Caleb Colton

A Writer's Best Friend is...

...another writer. Really. 

This hit home for me today as I was lunching with a friend who is also a writer. After sharing our adventures in parenting and everyday life, we moved on to shop talk: Current and future projects, industry successes and not-so-successes, personal goals and yes, challenges. I do not remember exactly what she said, but it prompted a dark confession from me:

I had finished, but not shopped a couple of manuscripts because they felt "too familiar" to me, as in: I feared I had written a stories similar to books I had read at some point in my past, though I could not recall titles, authors, or even when I might have read these other books though it would have been prior to the 1990s. I had even Googled premises and read dozens and dozens of back cover blurbs of similar era, similar set books to see if my fear was valid. To date it had not proved out, still I worried. She very kindly did not laugh aloud.

What she did do was reassure me that this is normal. I probably had read the books before—during the many phases of writing, revisions, and edits on my stories. 

After reading some passages multiple times, and the manuscript in its entirety twice—or fifty times—it would begin to feel distinctly familiar, and that unless I had literally propped someone else's book in front of me from which to transcribe whole sentences and passages, I need not fear plagiarizing anything.

"There are limited tropes, limited inciting incidents, limited combinations of relationships"...When writing about people, you just might have a sister, cousin, mother, father, brother, or uncle, etc. acting as either compatriot or antagonist to a protagonist and doing similar stuff in similar locations as other novelists, but what matters is your voice and execution. In short: You can't worry about that stuff. 

I do.

The Melania-Michelle fiasco is a prime example of how one should not copy someone else's stuff if one wants to be taken seriously. And I want to be taken seriously, hence my interest in clean writing, and heightened appreciation for good people who offer sage advice when it's needed. 

Good writers, good people, offer support, and the occasional gentle knock-up-side-the-head when necessary (Thank you, Roxanne!). Not so good writers attempt to pass other writers' work off as their own. I am grateful to enjoy the company of the former and every time I sit at the computer to work I strive to earn my place among them, because at the end of the day, it is why I write: to tell my stories, not someone else's. 

Deborah

Great is the road I climb, but…the garland offered by an easier route is not worth the gathering. ~Propertius

Priceless Tidbits

When you live in a small rural town with an even smaller library, the Internet is often extremely helpful, if only to help narrow the focus to one or two excellent resources the librarian can have brought in, or one can order online. And every now and then, you come across a priceless tidbit that requires no pre-ordering, as I did today.

What was I looking for?

The name of a ship that traveled from New York to the UK in late September or very early October 1914. As Britain was at war by this time (WWI having begun less than two months prior) passenger ships were few and far between (many having been confined to port due to threat of German U-Boats, or converted to troop ships to transport soldiers to the Front). But lo and behold, through a circuitous route of webpages, I stumbled upon something better than a ship's manifest (that simply lists passenger names, or ports of call), I found a diary kept by someone who actually completed the very journey my character would have had to take was she truly alive in the day.

The ship's name?

RMS Olympic, first of the three sister-ocean liners launched by White Star Line (the other two being the ill-fated Titanic, and Britannic).  And the real person? Clarence V. Mitchell, who traveled to Britain, and on to France to join the Military Ambulance during the early months of WWI. Learn more about him and his experience, here.

There is a place for the Internet in research. Hopefully you won't spend hours scrolling and clicking to find a single name as I did, but sometimes you might. Such is the craft of writing.

Deborah

Diligence is the mother of good luck, and God gives all things to industry. ~Benjamin Franklin

The Hard Way

My first novel, Everything That Matters, is in the competent hands of a BETA reader, but that does not mean I am resting on my laurels, or lounging by the pool (if I had one) sipping Electric Lemonade (mix me one?). No, I am hard at work on ETM's sequel, All That Matters, and when I say hard, I mean the last few writing sessions have been, shall we say, excruciating? (imagine solving a rubix cube while wearing a blindfold).

That's the problem with resuming a partially completed draft some two years after you set it aside; you've lost the flow. It's kind of like coming into the theater half-way through a movie--you don't have a solid grasp of the story-line, or clear understanding of the characters' motivation. So you have to rewind, which in novel-writing means you print off what you have and read it in its entirety, figure out where the holes are, and decide how best to fill them. This is easier said than done.

At least for me.

I am, usually, a linear writer. This means I start at the beginning and write chapter by chapter to The End. But with All That Matters, for some reason, about part way through I started writing chunks(actually, I know why I started writing in chunks--I was working full-time at a day job; with family and other obligations, I had very little free time after work to write, so I squeezed it in at work before my shift (and after if I had to wait on my car-pool partner) or during my lunch hour, but I did not have the MS at work, so I wrote whatever scenes popped in my head and emailed them home to paste into the main body), which means...

I have a number of out-of-sequence scenes that require bridging. Bridging? Connecting scenes to tie the chunks to the rest of the story in what will eventually be--hopefully--a coherent and seamless story. Some people, like Diana Gabaldon, are adept at doing this. I am not.

I'm a ladder climber, not a rock climber. I prefer moving ahead one rung at a time, not feeling my way along a rock face looking for hand and foot holds, yet that is, metaphorically, what I am doing. So I am moving slower than normal, and I have to pause periodically to figure out where I am in relation to where I have to go, so I can determine the best--not necessarily the quickest--route to the next anchor to tie off my line. Fortunately, today was a good day and the bridging scene not as difficult to write, unless you count the tears when I wrote a particularly emotional section (love those moments!). More importantly, I am happy.

I love a challenge. I love writing. And ATM allows me to delight in both.

What about you? If you're a writer, are you linear, or chunk? And if a reader, can you tell when you read a story if the author wrote it in chunks, or a straight go? No? Me neither. And I hope when ATM is all said and done, no one (except you of course) will know it wasn't as smooth to write, as it should be to read.

I welcome your comments!

Deborah

I wanted a perfect ending. Now I've learned, the hard way, that some poems don't rhyme, and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it without knowing what's going to happen next. ~Gilda Radner

Celebrate the Small Things Friday

Another great week and wonderful things to celebrate…

 

1)      I am half-way through the initial review pass of ALL THAT MATTERS, and I cried too many times to count; I even had to walk away from the edits because I was so emotional. This is definitely worth celebrating. It's also kind of surreal.

2)      I bought three new novels last week, and started reading the first, THE MARRYING SEASON by Candace Camp, a delightful—so far—read. Up next are Stuart Woods's STRATEGIC MOVES, and Dan Brown's INFERNO.

3)      I already received two RSVPs for daughter's bridal shower.

4)      I had another showing last week, as did my mother (we both have our homes listed for sale); no offers yet, though the feedback was positive.

5)      Sons' third-term report cards arrived—both boys have As and Bs.

6)      I learned how to "optimize" Search Engines by adding a plug-in to my new website and adding keywords to help make it easier to "find" on the web.

7)      Daughter and soon-to-be son-in-law popped in for surprise visit.

8)      Daughter starts her new job Monday!

9)      Eldest got to go shopping for a new fridge this week after his old fridge expired (always look for the silver-lining!).

10)  Had a good phone chat with an out-of-town friend (who will be an in-town friend once I get moved!)

11)  Enjoyed a coffee date with a current in-town friend.

12)  Everyone I know is safe and their homes intact. My prayers to the people of Oklahoma.

13)  Youngest child's visits to Chiropractor seem to have helped.

14)  Received information on an employment contract I'm considering.

15)  The last load of laundry is in the washer.

16)  Oh, and the sun shone today, after a two-day deluge.

I truly appreciate this Celebrate the Small Things Friday routine. It's an inspiring way to end a week—by reviewing and recounting the good things, no matter how small, instead of rueing the bad. If you're a blogger and interested in participating, check out VikLit's blog. If you're a reader, you can play along at home—all you need is a notepad and pen. J And if you're of a mind, please share in the comments what you're celebrating this week.

Take care and stay safe,

Deborah

Stop worrying about the potholes in the road and celebrate the journey! ~Barbara Hoffman

Friday Round Up

Well, it's been a busy week. And a good week. I created more pages on my website, and I started reviewing (and editing, of course, because I can't read without fixing) the sequel to Everything That Matters.

All That Matters is about 3/4 complete (245 pages or so) and I haven't looked at it in a few years. Amazing what a few years can do to one's perspective.

The over-writing is glaring and obvious. And much as I'd like to skim the story to figure out where I left the reins dangling, I have to clean as I go. I'm that way with housework, too.

I start in the kitchen, but on the way to the bedroom to put away the folded laundry left on the counter, I end up clearing the dresser top. And making the bed. Then running the half-full laundry basket downstairs to top up the washer load. Back upstairs, I leave the hamper in the hall as I reroute to the kitchen and resume tidying. At some point, I'll return the hamper to its proper place and while I'm in the bedroom, I'll probably clean the closet, or realize the en-suite mirrors need a spritz and swipe. This is how I work. Circuitous, yet methodical.

I see a mess, or something out of place, I must tidy it or put it away, before moving on to the next thing. The same is true with writing.

I must clean (edit) what I encounter so I can move on to the next thing.

What about you? Are you stack and sort later kind of person, or do you need to put things away as you go? If you're a writer, are you able to skim the existing story on the way to the holes that need filling aware you'll come back and edit later, or do you edit as you go?

Please share. I welcome comments!

Deborah

Without the aid of prejudice and custom, I should not be able to find my way across the room. ~William Hazlitt

Y is for Yippee! and You

Second to last day of the A to Z Challenge, and I am almost all lettered out. And totally chuffed.

I decided to sign up for A to Z to challenge myself—no, to prove to myself, that I was better. Healed. Well enough to pick up the stiff, dry and cracked reins of my authorial dreams, get back in the saddle, and regain my balance, rebuild the strength and suppleness of mind and creativity atrophied after a couple of painful years, literally and figuratively. And Yippee! I am.

This is my twenty-fifth post for the month of April. Tomorrow will be the last post of this challenge, but not the last post of this blog. More importantly, I have proven to myself that I am able, I am capable, and I can find the time/space necessary to write, even if it's only a 500-word blog post. Now it's time to take off the kid-gloves and get busy polishing my MS for the editors that requested it.

I hope said editors forgive me delaying submission; I needed to ensure I was physically capable of managing time and writing requirements should I receive a positive response to my manuscript. No sense applying for a job I am physically incapable of performing, and these opportunities are too precious to squander (haste, often makes waste). So, it is with a light heart that I look forward to May, and another Yippee! when I have a shiny MS to submit. There is only one other stop my MS needs to make before it goes to the editors…you.

Yes. You, aka Beta Reader. Someone who loves to read, in particular romance, and is willing to read and offer constructive criticism, i.e. "Your heroine started out strong in the first chapter, but by chapter three she devolved in a sobbing patsy, see pg () and her reaction to []." Or, "I just can't buy into the hero. He's too nice/nasty/geeky/vague/cliché/standoffish. For example…" Or, "Your heroine's father has multiple personalities; he went by George in the second chapter, Gary in the eighth, and Rufus in the final chapter. ;)", or, "You seriously need to work on homonyms, she prayed for peace, not piece!" (Okay, maybe not _that_ critical. Writers are tender-hearted folks; a simple highlighting of misspelled or grammatically incorrect words will do. J).

So, if you're interested in reading the finished manuscript and providing feedback on the story, characters, spelling/grammar, etc., and can do so in a timely manner (two-to-three-week turn-a-round would be great), please email me (forgive the long form address (but not the spammers that make it necessary)):

debaanderson at gmail dot com

Thank you.

Deborah

The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph. What we obtain too cheaply, we esteem too lightly; 'tis dearness only that gives everything its value. ~Thomas Paine

 

X is for Xenophobia

So close to the end of the A to Z Challenge...letter X today...

Xenophobia = Chauvinism, intolerance, racism, prejudice; it makes or breaks character, and fiction. 

Martin Luther King Jr., Oprah Winfrey, Norma Ray, the suffragettes, gay men and women...past and present examples of real-life individuals and groups fighting for recognition, respect, and the same rights persons of other colors, genders, or marital status, enjoy. And whether we like it or not, xenophobia is necessary to certain types of fiction, in particular historical.

The men and women of earlier eras did not think and behave, or experience the same privileges we do now. In Canada, women have had the right to vote in federal elections for less than one hundred years. 1918 was the year the Canadian Government passed the Women's Franchise Act. American women had to wait a little a longer--August 26, 1920 to be exact. In Britain, women gained a partial victory when women over thirty-years-of-age who met minimum property qualifications were granted the right to vote; their younger, and less affluent brethren had to wait another ten years to achieve the same entitlement. And though it's unlikely any of the women old enough to cast a vote in those initial election years are still alive, their victory is relatively recent when measured against centuries of recorded human history; and antique privilege when held up against the existing fight for gay marriage and against racism and religious persecution.

So, when writing fiction, whether historical or contemporary, do your homework. And don't always play nice.

Good fiction, especially historical fiction, contains elements of bad behavior and politically incorrect policy; don't be afraid to write it like it was. When reading historical fiction, please, resist the urge to judge character behavior, thought, and language against today's standards. What we value now was not necessarily valued then, just as our accomplishments and failures of today will no doubt be some future writer or reader's head-shaking research of bygone days. And if you want to read excellent fiction where historical fact is seamlessly weaved into great story, check out Diana Gabaldon. She's truly one of the masters of historical fiction.

Deborah

Our ignorance of history makes us libel to our own times. People have always been like this. ~ Gustave Flaubert (1860-1880)

W is for Wow! Words.

A to Z Challenge nearing the end. It's letter W, or Wow! Words.

Wow. An odd word. A palindrome. What's a palindrome? A word, phrase, or sentence that spells the same backwards and forwards, like tot, bob, peep, pop, damm'it I'm mad, etc. I know. Cool.

And fun.

Words are fun. My favorite games as a child were hangman and word jumbles. I still love jumbles. And hangman if I can find someone willing to play. Sure, I could play online--everyone plays online these days--but I prefer human interaction, the thrill of competing against another person, not a machine. I think that is one reason I prefer to read hard copy.

Computers are excellent for writing--truly; I would be buried under a tonne of paper wads by now if not for my computer--but when it comes to reading, I prefer the 3-D tangibility of printed paper, the solidity of a book; the three-inch heft of blood, sweat, and tears that is visual confirmation of an author's hard work. Swiping pages on a screen is not the same, anymore than driving a virtual race car in an arcade compares to sliding into the leather seat of a rumbling Camaro and gunning it around a paved oval. Touch, taste, smell...so important in fiction, and to me, so important in the fiction experience.

What about you? Are you a word wizard? Do you write, or play word games? And when you read books, do you prefer paper or e-book? Please share in the comments what wows! you about words.

Deborah

I knew I had no lyrical quality, a small vocabulary, a little gift of metaphor. The original and striking simile never occurred to me. Poetic flights...were beyond my powers. On the other hand, I had an acute power of observation, and it seemed to me that I could see a great many things that other people missed. I could put down in clear terms what I saw...I knew that I should never write as well as I could wish, but I thought, with pains, that I could arrive at writing as well as my natural defects allowed. ~W. Somerset Maugham

T is for Trends and Target Market

A to Z Challenge letter T...

Vampires. Cowboys. Shape shifters. Shape-shifting cowboys and vampires. Sweet. Sexy. Erotic. Down-home and jet-setting; traditional, e-pub, and Indie. The latest trend in Romance novels is…everything, and anything.

Traditional publishing rules—whereby editors and Houses decide what readers want and then publish accordingly—no longer apply, not in a tech-savvy world where readers can choose from an endless array of content, and, bonus, via online-downloads, pay 1/10^th what they might for hard copy from a bricks and mortar retailer. And choose they are.

50 Shades of Grey is one example. Author Amanda Hocking, another. E-books have turned publishing trends on their proverbial ears.

Cheaper and quicker access—costs varying from free to $0.99 or $4.99 on an e-book that is immediately downloadable to a Kindle, iPad, or Kobo—translates to readers with shorter attention spans, and conversely, greater willingness to try something different, venture out and take a risk on a new author. So what does this mean for writers?

It means there has never been a better time to saddle up and ride west into the New Frontier. There's gold in them thar hills! Just remember...your target market.

Just because trends are exploding like dynamite in a gold mine, doesn't mean an author can toss all caution to the wind. One must prepare appropriately, the way pioneers consulted maps no matter how crude, and followed signposts, to their intended destination. For an author, the target market is the book's destination, so to speak.

A cowpuncher with a thousand head of cattle to sell does not drive the herd to a sheep auction, any more than an author of erotica attempts to sell a novel to Bethany House. So, once an author has typed The End, and completed all editorial updates on a manuscript, the next step is to determine the Target Market—who buys this type of book—and either query like-minded agents/editors, or, if going the self-pub route, package and promote the book to catch the interest of intended readers.

My novel, Everything That Matters is intended for the same market that snaps up Debbie Macomber and Linda Lael-Miller novels; mainly female readers aged 18 to 98 who enjoy emotional, family-orientated reads heavy on tradition, light on "heat" (intensity/detail of sex scenes). It is not intended for Young Adult Fantasy readers, or fans of Michael Slade.

If you're a writer, forget trends and know your target market. Write the story that speaks to you, and then look in the mirror and at the books similar to yours. Who are you, and where do your books belong? Now find an agent/editor/or self-pub niche that will best get your book to the people like you that read books like yours—your target market.

If you're a reader, do you stick to the tried and true, or venture into new territory (Fantasy vs. Romance vs. Horror vs. True Crime, etc.)? Do you read traditional hard copy, or e-books, and do you choose your reads by trend, time-period, author, or whatever looks interesting in the rack at the checkout? Please share!

I look forward to comments.

Deborah

You cannot dream yourself into a character; you must hammer and forge one for yourself. ~James A. Froude

 

 

 

 

R is for Rating Rejection

End of week three of the A to Z Challenge and we're on letter R, for Rating Rejection.

Because I'm traveling, and access to wi-fi spotty, I decided to reissue an old post, which adds to yesterday's discussion on reentering the query gauntlet...

There is such a thing as rejection excellence. Or an excellent rejection.

What makes a rejection excellent? Well, it's not the refusal, that's for sure. But when it comes to rejections, there is a hierarchy.

A non-response? Well, IMHO (In My Humble Opinion) that's just plain mean. A minus grade on the agent's report card. It takes like two heartbeats to fire off a form rejection. And that's at the bottom of the hierarchy. A zero. Gum on the bottom of the shoe. Get nothing but those, and you need to stop, peel away the crap, shine it up good, and resume querying. Don't know sidewalk gunk from penthouse polish? Janet Reid is tops in chewing up and spitting out query-doo. Even better, she explains why it belongs in the gutter. Okay, back to rejection hierarchy.

 Next up from a form rejection, is a personal rejection. 1-star. One directed to your name, not Dear Author, that (possibly) mentions your manuscript title, and says, interesting premise, but we're not currently accepting unpublished authors. Nothing wrong with this. The agent thought enough of you and your plot line to address you personally. You're moving up.

Third rung on the ladder or 2-star is a form rejection following a request for a partial, or full. This happens. And it does not mean your work sucks. It may not be what the agent envisioned from the query letter. Or the agent has another story too similar on her list. Or she accepted a new position on American Idol. Or, if the writing is truly awful (someone helped you write your query letter but not your novel), the agent is trying to send a message: needs work.

 Fourth rung and 3-stars is the personalized rejection letter after a partial/full request. This one is addressed to you, not Dear Author, probably mentions the manuscript title, and essentially says thanks, but not a good fit. This may well be true. Or, the manuscript needs work. You're getting there, but you have to figure out what changes are necessary to get you there.

Rung number five is so close to Yes, you can taste it. A 4-star rejection, it comes after a partial/full request, is personally addressed, mentions your manuscript title, and provides FEEDBACK on how the agent LOVED your writing and premise, and WHY the agent is, after careful consideration, declining. Maybe no specifics are mentioned, but if you have some experience, you can go back over the manuscript and find the problem areas and, if you're a professional and trust the agent is too, you FIX, and query on. With the improvements you made, you will hopefully advance the next rung on the ladder, the 5-star reply.
 
And of course a 5-star reply is not a rejection, at all.

It's an offer of representation.

D.

Dream lofty dreams, and as you dream, so shall you become. Your vision is the promise of what you shall at last unveil. ~John Ruskin
 

Q is for Queries and Queens

Q-day in the A to Z Challenge and today, the theme is Queries and Queens.

Yesterday I mentioned the complexities of human behavior and emotions, how motivation is different for different people, how different people cope with similar situations, how novelists strive to write engaging—saleable—books. Today I share how one woman helped me cope when I finished my first novel and started to query.

A query is a letter, a business letter, in which the author pitches his/her work to an editor/agent in hopes of garnering enough interest to prompt a request for a look at part, or all, of the novel. Simple, right?

No.

Not really.

It's an odd paradox, but often the same author that writes 400 pages of compelling, heart-warming or pulse-pounding storyline, is paralyzed by the thought of tapping out a 400-word, one-page letter that condenses not only the entire novel to a one or two-sentence prevue, but promotes the author's credentials. Say what?

For the multi-published photo-journalist who's authored a novel featuring a photo-journalist caught up in international intrigue, or the criminal defense attorney whose main character is a defense attorney framed for murder, well, selling the creds is not as big a stretch as for, say, the stay-at-home mom whose novel shares the trials and tribulations of a Regency-era heroine forced to marry her nemesis in order to prevent him bankrupting her father. Or is it?

In truth, the only credentials a fiction author needs are good grammar, great characters, proficient execution, distinct style, persistence, and most importantly, positive attitude, belief in one's self, good friends, and thick skin. Without the latter qualities, the former are moot.

If writing a novel is hard, and crafting query letters daunting, receiving rejections to said query letters is absolutely demoralizing. That is where the positive attitude, belief in one's self, good friends, and thick skin comes in.

For the most part, I have a positive attitude. I believe in myself, and my writing. And I'm developing a hide a rhinoceros would envy, in part, because of a good friend who anointed me Queen, Rejection Queen.

To ease the unease and torment of sending query letters and receiving rejections, a friend and fellow writer in the the throes of querying challenged me to a contest, the Rejection Queen contest.

Rejection letters were no longer symbols of failure, but evidence of success—we were putting ourselves out there, tallying up the proof that we were serious about, and dedicated to, our craft. And that simple twist turned what could have been a traumatic venture, into an extraordinary adventure.

That friend, kc dyer went on to publication, and I to the paid workforce where I temporarily—okay, for ten years—abandoned my publication quest. But as I haul out my novels, finished and conceived, and prepare to resume my quest, I find I am better armored, with experience, and the strength of good friends, one who would name me Queen.

 

The elusive, estimable, and intrepid kc dyer. Photo by Deborah

D.


The emotions are not always subject to reason...but they are always subject to action. When thoughts do not neutralize an undesirable emotion, action will. ~William James

P is for Pickle Jar

My first day in Crim 105, otherwise known as Psychological Explanations of Crime, the professor asked us to describe our "profile" of a criminal, in particular, a murderer.

The descriptions varied from tattooed gangster, to child molester, assaultive stepfather, car-jackin' junkie, and accident-causing drunk driver. Our professor smiled and nodded with each—predictable—presumption, and then she told us a story.

She told us a story about a quiet, retired working professional, a man known for his placating behavior. A calm man. A nice man. A patient man. A good neighbor; a man well-liked in the community, and how he killed his wife with a pickle jar.  

Seems the wife was…vociferous. And the man seemingly unperturbed by her…persistent form of communication. Yes dear, no dear, here's the salt dear, and twenty-years into the marriage—wham! Here's your @#$% pickles, dear!

What?

Seems the man's placid exterior hid a deep-rooted antipathy.

While on the outside he nodded, and quietly went about his business, on the inside he was seething, a purportedly dormant volcano stirring a pot of molten fury deep beneath the surface. A man tightly capped. Only one day, the lid flew off, and while his wife's blood, co-mingled with pickle juice, seeped into the dining room carpet and her body was rolled and zipped into a coroner's bag, the man was led away in handcuffs. And so began our initiation into the complex, and fascinating world of human behavior.

I loved that class, perhaps because I love people; I love discovering what compels one person to serial murder, and another to obstetrics, especially when both are raised in the same family, with the same parents, in the same house, in the same small town or big city. And I love that motivation is as intricate as it is basic.

Emotions are complex, the impetus for action, simple. Most people act, or react, for one of few reasons: love, money, self-interest, and pride. But when these quantifiers are again broken down, they distill to one common denominator: fear.

Fear of loss, fear of rejection, fear of responsibility, fear of God, the devil, parental disapproval, adult relationships...the list is as large and varied as there are diverse people in the world.

In the case of the Pickle Jar man, I can only surmise he was afraid of one more day of verbal, and mental emasculation, but even more terrified of speaking his truth, of staking his personal ground in the relationship. Instead, he let the emotional wounds fester until he was so toxic with hurt and resentment, he snapped, and committed an act far more heinous, grievous, and permanent than booking an appointment with a counselor, signing up for Toast Masters, or telling his wife to get off her behind and get the pickles herself if she wanted them that badly.

And it is this convoluted, problematical equation of interpersonal relationships Romance authors attempt to navigate as they weave knotty storylines balancing muddled feelings, thwarted wants, and defined needs within a mutable romantic landscape. They're like FBI profilers, but where the FBI agent starts with a result and works backward, deconstructing the actions and people involved to arrive at plausible motivation and, hopefully, a satisfactory ending—in which they identify and catch the perpetrator—the romance novelist starts with an intended result—the satisfactory ending—and from there constructs the characters, motivation, and plausibility toward their ultimate goal—engaging the hearts and minds of readers. And even that desired outcome is fraught with ambivalence; the dismal prospect of failure balanced against the equally terrifying potential of success.

What about you...is there something you want as much as you fear it? Please share in the comments, if you're of a mind.

D.

We live in an epoch in which the solid ground of our preconceived ideas shakes daily under our certain feet.  ~Barbara Ward

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

O is for October (and Opportunity)

It's Letter O day in the A to Z Challenge (and I bet, because I'm so late posting, you thought I forgot. I didn't, just a busy, away from home kind of day.) Now, on to today's O-word, October!

Why October when it's almost six months away? Because October means, Surrey International Writers' Conference!

The Surrey International Writers' Conference, or SiWC as it's more fondly known, is the first writers' conference I attended. It's where I met amazing people who, like I, loved words, all sorts of words, including O-words like omniscient, obstreperous, obstacle, obstinate, ochre, origami, orga—you get the idea. It's where I met Diana Gabaldon, and from her, learned that the only way to write a novel was to write it. No magic wand, no faery dust, no Oz behind the curtain, just bum glue.

Bum glue?

The stuff that sticks your bottom in the chair so you can write. Don't worry if it's not perfect. Don't agonize over what your mother/father/sister/aunt/neighbor might think if you right _that_, just write. No excuses. No need to set aside large chunks of time. Twenty minutes in the car waiting for the school to let out, thirty minutes at swim lessons, ten minutes before the dryer buzzer sounds—the words accumulate, and eventually scenes form, chapters manifest, and eventually, a full-fledged book takes shape. Considering she had three young children and a full-time job as a university professor and still managed to finish the 300,000 word novel that started it all (Outlander for those of you unfamiliar with her fantastic books), I had to believe she was on to something. So I went home, put aside my excuses, stopped revising the same seventy-pages I had fussed over for over a year, and in the next year, pounded out a thousand pages. A thousand, messy, beautiful, amazing pages, hard evidence of what I already knew in my heart—I was an author.

Not, I wanted to be an author. Not, one day I was going to be an author. But, I _was_ an author. If the damned thing never saw the inside of a publishing house or bookstore, I was an author. I had authored a book. Me. Little ol' me had written beginning to end and the burgeoning middle that connected the two. I was an author. And I owed it all to October, SiWC, Diana Gabaldon, my husband (who kept four kids amused when I was otherwise occupied) and me.

So, here's to October, and here's to SiWC. Here's to Diana, persistence, and to husbands that love without condition. Here's to writers, and books, and the people that read books. Here's to O, and the Opportunity to give credit where credit is due.

And for you writers out there, SiWC's writing contest recently opened to submissions. Fiction is judged and the significant cash prize awarded by Diana Gabaldon herself, and the amazing, and multi-talented Jack Whyte. Details on the conference here.

D.

It is the essence of genius to make use of the simplest ideas. ~Charles Peguy

N for New York

It's week 3 of the A to Z Challenge, and for those following along, today's letter is N, and the topic, another place on my must-see list: New York, New York.

I am sure you'd be hard-pressed to find anyone in the developed world that has not heard of New York. It is one of the largest, and most iconic cities, in the world. It is also the setting of two of my favorite TV dramas--Blue Bloods and CSI NY--and my favorite morning talk show, Live with Kelly and Michael. New York also plays a large role in my novel, Everything That Matters, as it is the port of entry to America for my heroine, Dianna, and the gritty urban landscape where she completes her transformation from exiled daughter, to self-sufficient woman.

Dianna disembarks the Carpathia at Pier 54 in New York on the night of April 18, 1912. She left Southampton in the care of a childless couple who offered her sanctuary in exchange for her unborn child; she lands on American soil destitute, and the self-appointed caregiver of her abruptly widowed and penniless benefactress who's a non-responsive after her husband and the entirety of their fortune went down with the Titanic. Below is a little excerpt sharing Dianna's arrival in New York...

Excerpt, Everything That Matters, 2013 copyrighted material...

 

Dianna shivered and brushed dribbles of water from her eyes.
 

            Her cloak and hood were soaked, heavy and clammy through her shirtwaist, and her face and gloved hands numb from the damp cold, but she, like the hundreds of others pressed to the ship's rail, was determined to brave the foul weather and watch the city emerge from the veil of darkness and rain.  

 

The Carpathia had toiled for hours, delicately navigating a treacherous web of icebergs to pluck her and the other half-frozen survivors that had found refuge in lifeboats--the finally tally at just over seven-hundred, and those mostly women and children--from the close to two-thousand on board the Titanic when it started to go down. The rescue ship's crew also brought aboard what few bodies they managed to find floating amidst the icy flotsam, and when there were no more people, living or dead, to be recovered, the rescue ship idled for a brief memorial, and then turned southwest. Two days later they were finally steaming into New York's busy port and Maggie had yet to utter a sensible word. Another tremor rocked Dianna.

She prayed the Carpathia's physician who had examined Maggie was right, and she was suffering temporary shock and would soon snap out of it. The alternative was…too complicated to consider.

Dianna turned her face skyward and let the rain pound her closed eyelids, imagined it washing away her fearful thoughts. She left England in the Stewarts' care, but now the roles were reversed, and she found herself Maggie's nursemaid and entirely unprepared for it.  Squaring her head on her shoulders, she opened her eyes, and surprisingly, her agitation abated. 

Land. Solid land, so close she could almost reach out and touch it. Even more reassuring, someone waited for her and Maggie, more than some survivors could claim. She frowned.

What if he was not there? What if he had already returned to Texas, or never came to New York in the first place? And how did she even know he was a he?

Heaven. She knew nothing of the cousin, not a name, not gender…fool. She was a fool.  So consumed with what lay behind her, she never bothered to request details of what lie ahead, foolishly trusting the Stewarts to manage everything for her. Her anxiety spiking once more, Dianna pushed on tiptoe to study the crowd gathered on shore.

Rain and darkness obscured the mass as a whole, but here and there light from the windows of surrounding buildings and the gas lamps lining the streets illuminated clusters of moving figures, so the entire assemblage seemed to move without changing location, like the heaving sides of a nocturnal beast crouched in the moon dappled shadows of a forest glade. The effect was exacerbated by the agitated hum of voices filtering from the group, indistinct, but clearly gaining momentum as the ship prepared to dock, escalation from a deep-chested warning growl to imminent attack. She inhaled a shaky breath.

Somewhere in that teeming mass of humanity turned out to receive the Carpathia's wounded and widowed was her opportunity to reclaim what belonged to her. But only if she walked through, her head up and eyes forward, to a destination of her choosing; she had to stop leaving it to others to decide her path for her. But first, she must see Maggie safe into the care of…someone.

*End Excerpt*


Author note: As I mentioned in an earlier post, my mother's true-life story was the inspiration for this fictional one; my mother was sent by ferry to Vancouver Island to work as a housekeeper until she was too ungainly to manage the required tasks. She was then returned to the mainland to a Home for Unwed Mothers where she remained until she gave birth. For the purposes of my story, I re-imagined my mother's initial journey on a more epic scale. *cough*

D.

The history of all times, and of today especially, teaches that...women will be forgotten if they forget to think about themselves. ~Louise Otto

J is for James Lee Burke

Today's A to Z Challenge letter is J, and today's topic, James Lee Burke.

By far, one of my most revered authors is James Lee Burke. His talent is unmatched. His novels poetic. His characters memorable.

I don't recall how I stumbled upon his work, I am only glad I did. If you've not read his work, please do. I promise; you will not be disappointed.

Here's a brief excerpt from his biography found on his webpage:

Before becoming a full-time novelist, Burke earned a MA and a BA in English, and "worked as a landman for Sinclair Oil Company, pipeliner, land surveyor, newspaper reporter, college English professor, social worker on Skid Row in Los Angeles, clerk for the Louisiana Employment Service, and instructor in the U. S. Job Corps."

A remarkable writer, hard-working man, and a fabulous role-model.

D.

The most important single influence in the life of a person is another person…who is worthy of emulation. ~Paul D. Shafer

 

The "I" has It.

Today's A to Z Challenge letter is I. And today's I-words: Inspiration, Invention, and Imagination; critical tools in a writer's toolbox.

Inspiration is that Idea moment. You wake up, like VickiPettersson did, from a dream about a woman killing a man with the heel of a stiletto, and after you muse "what the ?" you decide to sit down and write the scene from your dream. And from it, and Imagination, you Invent a kick-ass, emotionally damaged heroine who is less human, and more important to humanity, than she knows, and from there you secure a publishing contract that results in a six-book series.

Or, if you're Diana Gabaldon, you watch a Dr. Who episode featuring an attractive young man in a kilt. You like men in kilts. You decide to Invent one, and because men in kilts are commonly Scottish, and kilts were more common day-wear a few centuries ago, you Imagine an 18^th-century hero in a kilt, and well, from there, go on to become one of America's most-beloved best-selling authors whose eighth book in the Outlander series will be out later this year.

And if you're me, you find your Inspiration in your mother's story, a young, unmarried woman exiled by her mother to a Home for Unwed Mothers and forced to give her firstborn up for adoption, only you re-Imagine the outcome, Invent a character with the voice and courage that your mother did not discover until she was much, much older, and write the fairy-tale ending your mother deserved.

D.

Imagination has always had powers of resurrection that no science can match. ~Ingrid Bengis

 

 

  

 

H is for Horses

Day 8 of A to Z Challenge, which is, if you're alphabetically aware, the letter H, which means...

HORSES!!

My step dad bought me my first horse, and that first pony began my long, and enduring love affair with the horse. I think one of the reasons I chose to write a turn-of-the-20th-century novel was so I could ride horses--er, so my characters could ride horses. Rangy roans, sturdy bays, gracious greys, Clydes, Quarter Horses...they're all found somewhere in the story.

Sometimes I miss owning a horse so much it's a physical ache, an itch my dear husband kindly scratched on a recent anniversary.

Me. Photo by my husband.

In honor of the noble horse, a small excerpt from my novel, Everything That Matters (remember, copyright!)


Excerpt:

He found her in the horse barn. Her eyes glimmering with unshed tears, she was rubbing Sonny's face and mumbling softly. The breeze must have carried his scent, because Sonny and four other equines turned their heads as far their ropes allowed, and offered a throaty welcome. Miss Marshall immediately stepped away from Sonny, stared at Jake with the wild eyes of a cornered rabbit. By rights, he should have turned around, relieved her fear by removing its source. Instead, he grasped the handles of the wooden barrow by the door and wheeled it forward.

"Don’t run away," he said when she attempted to sidle past him. "I mean no harm. In fact, I brought you something to eat." He lowered his kit to the ground, the contents clinking merrily as the bag settled on the hard-packed dirt floor like a broody hen on a nest of eggs. 

Her hands balled at her sides, she tilted her chin at him, a tiny quivering spear warning him to stay back. "I never said you would."

He hesitated, and finally realizing what she referred to, he said, "Not in so many words."

"Not in any words," she exclaimed.

"There's more than one way to get a message across, Miss Marshall," he said. "Take Sonny here—" He moved to massage the gelding's neck. "He doesn’t speak any English, but we understand each other just fine."

She took two steps back, crossed her arms. "You mean you interpret his behavior."

"And physical cues. Even the most subtle. It's the oldest language not recorded, Miss Marshall. And much more reliable than words. For instance, right now, you're scared, closed off." He copied her posture.

She lowered her arms, and then her lashes, rubbed a section of her black skirt between her fingers.

"You're still scared," he said. "And furious. With me. Only you're afraid to tell me, scared I'll retaliate, do something to hurt you more than I already have."

 She jerked her head up, eyes wide. "I—I never claimed you hurt me."

"Not in any way that leaves physical marks. But I have hurt you, and for that I'm sorry."

Her lips parted.

"You're not used to hearing those words, are you?" he asked gently. "Probably not used to hearing someone admit he's the underside of a mule's tail, either."

** End Excerpt.**

Where there is great love, there are always wishes. ~Willa Cather