Victoria Distracts Writer

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This is my friend Darlene Jones. We are both writers. When I visited her in Victoria, we had a lovely time, but she tells me she has a problem. She can’t knuckle down to work. Here’s why, and she tells it in her own words:

Victoria, BC is a very dangerous city. We moved here a year ago and it’s a wonder I get any writing done. The view of The Gorge from our living room and the mild weather lure me outside. The beautiful historic buildings in a downtown that’s always bustling with tourists and entertainment and food trucks—impossible to resist and we can get there by water taxi. Is there a better way to travel for a leisurely Saturday lunch and afternoon of fun?

Then there’s the list of attractions demanding to be explored: Craigdarroch Castle, Point Ellice House, Fort Rodd, Ross Bay Villa, Fisherman’s Wharf (with the lovely houseboats and an assortment of restaurants and seals to feed), Chinatown (the second largest in North America)  …

point ellice house.

And the list of natural sights to be enjoyed: Beacon Hill Park, Ogden Point (where the cruise ships dock), Mount Tolmie offering a panoramic view of the city, Dallas Road following the ocean shore, the Butchart Gardens ….

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And the list of restaurants enticing us with their varied menus: Glo, Milestones, Green Leaf Vietnamese Bistro, La Taquisa ….

How to fit all of that in and still find time to write and market my books? Somehow I manage, and a new book will soon be ready for publication.

Meanwhile, the first novel of my Em and Yves Series, EMBATTLED, is available free. And, the second can be yours free too when you subscribe to my newsletter. For more information go to:

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www.emandyves.com

Work in Progress

Renee

Renee Rivers

Renee Rivers has tagged me to participate in a “Work in Progress” blog tour. Renee is almost finished writing a book that I can’t wait to read. Find out about it by clicking her link here: unpacked writer.com

The “Work in Progress” blog tour rules:

Link back to the post of the person who nominated you.

Write a little about and give the first sentence of the first three chapters of your current work-in-progress. Some writers give more than the first sentences, and I like that idea, too.

Nominate some other writers to do the same.

My nominations are:

Patricia Sands at http://patriciasandsauthor.com/

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Patricia Sands

Patricia Sands lives in Toronto, Canada, when she isn’t somewhere else.  An admitted travel fanatic, she can pack a bag in a flash and be ready to go anywhere … particularly the south of France, for her annual visit.

As of January, 2015, along with being a proud indie author, Patricia is also delighted to be under contract with Lake Union Publishing for her Love In Provence series. This is the women’s fiction arm of Amazon Publishing.

With a focus on travel, women’s issues and ageing, her stories celebrate the feminine spirit and the power of friendship. Encouraging women of all ages to stare down the fear factor and embrace change, Patricia has heard from readers (men too!) ages 20 to 83.

Her award-winning debut novel The Bridge Club was published in 2010 and the audiobook, read by Patricia, will be ready by December 2014.

*****

Darlene Jones at https://emandyves.wordpress.com

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Darlene Jones

Darlene says:

A long time ago, I lived in Mali. Every single day, I wished I could wave a magic wand to relieve the heart-wrenching poverty. The story line of my books reflects my desire to wave that wand and make the world a better place. If only wishes could come true. And of course, every novel needs its love story, so along with the sci-fi magic, I’ve added the requisite romance.
I’ve always believed we can’t be the only beings existing in the vastness of the universe. There must be others “out there somewhere” and I brought some of them along for the ride.The setting stays, for the most part, within the realities of our world, but I’ve found that I love the magic the sci-fi element of other beings can bring to the story.

*****

I was thrilled that these accomplished writers have agreed to take part in this work-in-progress blog tour. Please stop by their sites and get to know them and their work.

*****

Anneli[7]

Anneli Purchase

And then there’s me. I live on Vancouver Island, where I write and work as a freelance copy-editor. I have always loved animals and the outdoors, so much of my writing reflects that. I have three novels published and am working on my fourth.

My “work in progress” is just that — in progress. I have finished the first draft but still have a lot of work to do before it’s ready for publishing. In a way, it feels wrong even to “publish” anything about it on my blog, but as long as you understand that there are still big changes underway, I don’t mind sharing some of my first efforts.

The story is a sequel to The Wind Weeps. It is meant to continue that novel and resolve some issues that were purposely left unfinished.

My main character, Andrea, is no longer as naive as she was, and is making better decisions in the sequel. She is still trying to avoid being found by the husband she ran away from. It is difficult to tell much about the sequel without spoiling the first book, so suffice it to say that the sequel continues where the first book stopped, and resolves the situations that developed in both novels.

Here are short samples of “not polished” beginnings of the first three chapters of my WIP.

Chapter 1

Setting – St. Paul’s Hospital, Vancouver.

“Nurse!” I screamed. “Nurse, come back!”

Robert’s smile vanished. He advanced and tossed the three orchids onto the foot of my bed.

I twisted around grasping for the call button. “Get away from me!” I hit the button frantically.

Robert lunged for the cord. “No, Andrea. Don’t!” He ripped the cord away from me. I pulled my fist back to punch him, but he was quick and caught my wrist in an iron grip. His eyes narrowed into slits.

Chapter 2

Setting – St. Paul’s Hospital

The next day I woke up feeling groggy, struggling to make my brain work, struggling to remember where I was and why I was in bed with sunlight streaming in through the window. Why wasn’t I up and … doing what? Where was I anyway? Flashes of memory formed in my scrambled mind—hospital. Why was I here anyway? I was running away…. Robert—Robert! I lifted my head off the pillow with a cry.

My eyes quickly took inventory of the room. Oh my God! There he was! Behind the curtain, I could see his legs sprawling out from a chair in the corner near the foot of my bed. He must have heard me. He was getting up. I opened my mouth to call for the nurse again when I heard him say, “Sh-sh-sh, Andrea. It’s okay. You’re safe.”

Chapter 3

Setting – In the parking lot outside the hospital

I must have dozed off for a few minutes. Stupid to fall asleep. I might have missed them. I’d give it five more minutes and if they didn’t show I’d go back in and look around.

Hah! There they were, him all huddled over her in case she fell. What a namby-pamby. He looked stupider than usual without his glasses. I took care of those all right. Bloody four-eyed freak. Can’t figure what she sees in him. Ah, piss on it. What did I care? Let him look after her until her leg got better. She wasn’t much use to me until she had two working legs anyway. I could always grab her in a few weeks when she was stronger and could do a good day’s work around the place. Building a cabin was going to be a bit of a grunt and she could damn well help me. After all, it was her fault the cabin burned down. She shouldn’t have made me so mad. And anyway, she was my wife.

*****

While I’m working on the sequel, you may want to read the first book. Click on the link to order The Wind Weeps.

The Wind Weeps

To find out more about The Wind Weeps, click on:  amazon.com

Hooked? – 5

Here are three more books and their opening lines.

Assuming the book is in a genre that might interest you, do you want to continue reading after the first lines? The authors hope so. What do you think? Are you interested enough to turn the page? These books probably target women more than men, but we appreciate all opinions.

1. Wedlocked by Bonnie Trachtenberg

I used to think the term “temporary insanity” was just a dubious courtroom plea. I found out the hard way that I was wrong.

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Amazon

2. Orion’s Gift by Anneli Purchase

They say ignorance is bliss. I can vouch for that. My life was humming along just fine until I received that letter. Afterwards, nothing was the same.

Orion's Gift

 amazon.com

 3. Embraced by Darlene Jones

Abby propped the microphone above the bowl of Rice Krispies, turned the recorder on, and poured milk over the cereal.

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Amazon

Hooked? – 3

Here are three more books and their opening lines.

Assuming the book is in a genre that might interest you, do you want to continue reading after the first lines? The authors hope so. What do you think? Are you interested enough to turn the page?

1. Embattled by Darlene Jones

She turned her hands over and over. No sign of a wound. No pain. So, where had the blood come from?

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Website: www.emandyves.com 

Amazon: http://ow.ly/HZ6am

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2. The Mount Hope Explorers Club in Madagascar by Pooben Narayanen (Youth Fiction)

Madagascar!” Omkara, better known as Om, said as the Air Mauritius A319 touched down on the runway. He bumped fists with Ételle, his cousin, and Aditya, his best friend.

“The Mount Hope Explorers Club is in Madagascar,” Dr. Gail said. “Excited?”

“Yes!” Ételle said.

“I can’t believe we’re here!” Aditya stared outside.

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amazon.com

*****************************

3. A Shadow in the Past by Melanie Robertson-King

Sarah lay on her bed, a pillow bunched up under her chest. In her hands, she gripped a photo of Blair and herself taken in front of the Mercat Cross in Aberdeen the previous summer. A mascara-stained tear dripped off her cheek and splattered on the picture.

A-Shadow-in-the-Past-by-Melanie-Robertson-King 300 dpi

Amazon.com
Amazon.co.uk 

 

Writing Groups

My guest today is Darlene Jones, author of five “must read” books. Darlene is an excellent critic and editor for those who need advice in the structure of their novels. Please feel free to contact her through her web page which is listed at the bottom of the page.

For the writers out there who don’t belong to a writing group, Darlene has offered to share her thoughts to help you decide whether you should join one. Each group is slightly different with its own strengths and weaknesses, but after reading this, you may have a better idea of what to look for in a writing group.

Here is Darlene.Darlene - beach [1][2]

Why join a writing group?

Chances are, if you’re a newcomer to writing, you won’t be admitted to a group of experienced writers. They are looking for colleagues who are equally experienced and talented to help them hone their writing skills.

Your only option then, is to join a group of fellow beginners. They may know a little more than you. Then again they may not. So what’s the benefit?

I joined one such group early in my writing career. We were all eager to write that blockbuster novel. With initial guidance from the leader of another group that had been operating for some time, we set the parameters of our monthly meetings.

  • Each member would read two to three pages of their work in progress. The others would take notes and then, one at a time, make their comments. Once they had spoken, they were to remain silent.
  • The one who read was also held to a vow of silence. They were not expected to comment or try to defend what they had written. They were to take note of the comments and accept or reject as they chose. The final decision on their writing was theirs alone.

How could a bunch of amateurs be of any help in the above described scenario? Amazingly we all learned a tremendous amount. After all, we were avid lifelong readers. We knew what we liked, what flowed smoothly, what jarred. A couple of members were conversant with proper grammar and punctuation and willingly helped with that aspect of our writing. A bonus with this particular group was that every member genuinely wanted to help the others and that desire shone through as honest comments were made with no malice.

With the second group I joined, each member emailed their piece of writing ahead of time so that we could print it out, read it, and make notes. At the meeting the author read his or her piece before we critiqued. Listening often afforded a new perspective on the piece and we added more notes. Then we each commented verbally and passed our copies to the author.

The method worked well, but this group wasn’t quite so pleasant. Some members asked pertinent and insightful questions and offered constructive criticism. A couple of members were spiteful, making harsh comments. One, who was far from being a professional writer, told me I wasn’t learning. That was my last evening with that group.

I’ve moved on to work with a writing partner, but would happily join another critiquing group. Why? A group forces you to write to have something ready for the meeting, and to polish what you have written to present your best possible work. A group offers insights that you don’t see yourself as you are too close to the work.

And, most importantly, a group offers encouragement and camaraderie in this quest for the blockbuster that will hopefully come one day.

*****

 If you want a treat, check out these books by Darlene Jones:

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Find out more about Darlene at http://www.emandyves.com

Why not tell us about your experiences with a writing group. Was it a good thing? Tell us how? Does your group do anything special you’d like to share? Please leave a comment and tell us.

 

Inspiration

Guest post by Darlene Jones.Goils 201

Genius is one percent inspiration and ninety-nine percent perspiration.

Thomas A. Edison

Edison may very well have been right, but what good is the ninety-nine percent perspiration without the inspiration?

Where do our stories come from? Daydreams, life experiences, the people we meet, nightmares, what we hear, see, read, and imagine? The answer, for me, is all of the above. Every author will have a response unique to their life experience and their interests.

We listen to the news, read the paper, and build in current events. We laugh with friends and build in camaraderie for our characters. We yearn for love and romance and give it to our hero and heroine. The adventures we longed for belong now to our players. The lives we’ve led, or wish we’d led are, in part, imbued in our characters and plot lines.

But there is another aspect to inspiration that is often unforeseen. As we write, our stories take on a life of their own. Characters develop and lead us in directions we hadn’t anticipated or planned. A minor character creeps in and takes over. We try to contain him, but he has a mind of his own and insists on playing his part.

The hero’s friend becomes our friend. The heroine’s fight becomes our fight. As we edit and polish and rework our novel, we worry about our characters, love them, perhaps hate them, and can’t leave them behind. They become as much a part of our lives as the people around us. They are our inspiration.

Books by Darlene Jones:

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My apologies for the intrusion on my blog by advertising that is out of my control. Do not click on the underlined words (books, friends, and edit), as they have been given hyperlinks AFTER I posted this. However, the amazon links are ones that I have put on and will lead you to Darlene Jones’s books.

 

Mali

 

Find them on amazon.com and smashwords.com

Christmas Interview – Dan O’Brien

My guest today is Dan O’Brien, the author of many books. He enjoys writing dystopian novels – stories of weird situations that we probably hope will never really happen on Earth. Still, after you read them, you won’t be able to stop thinking about them.

Welcome, Dan.

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1. Do you celebrate Christmas?

I do indeed. I am thinking of moving closer to my family once again so my wife and I could spend more time with them.

2. Have you ever spent Christmas alone?

I did a few times when I was in my late teens and early twenties. It was kind of a sad affair.

3. Have you ever had a non-traditional Christmas dinner? What did you have?

I’m not really sure what a non-traditional dinner would entail. We sometimes spend the holidays with friends if we are unable to be with family.

4. What are your thoughts on gift giving?

I prefer giving gifts that are made instead of purchased. I am personally not a fan of gift-giving during the holidays because of the forced necessity. I like to give smaller gifts throughout the year.

5. What was the most fun activity you’ve done at Christmas?

Play games with my family during a holiday break. Great part of my year, every year.

6. Do you have stockings either at Christmas, or on St. Nicholas Day?

I do not. We don’t have a fireplace and I feel like one is required in order for proper stockings.

7. What was the best gift you ever received at Christmas?

Simply the gift of family.

8. What do you do with gifts you don’t like?

I will generally give them to pledge drives or for needy families.

9. Have you ever given a homemade gift? Tell about it.

I write books for living.

10. What would you change about Christmas?

Nothing. Christmas is personal. The holidays are about family. I don’t really care how anyone else spends it.

11. What is your favourite Christmas music or song?

Silent Night perhaps?

12. What do you like best about Christmas?

Family time, for sure.

Water

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00FUR5NT6

Water – A B-Sides Story

I want to thank you for having me on your blog to promote the release of my latest publication. Water is a novella in the B-Sides universe, which follows people in a post-apocalyptic world. While each story is a standalone adverture, together they form a deeply intricate web of action, drama, and hope. Here is a brief summary of the novella:
The next installment in the B-Sides series follows a father and son living out a quiet life in northern Arizona. A strange occurrence at the border, and a series of events that turns the world upside down, plunges society into a spiral from which it might not be able to recover. Having to flee from their home with a band of unlikely friends in tow, the open road beckons. 

Can they survive? 

And here be an excerpt for your enjoyment:
Tuesday
His phone vibrated as it slowly ventured toward the edge of his nightstand. Shaking and spinning, it was a ballet of electronic futility. James had left it behind; it wasn’t even an afterthought as he neared the valley of sand and heat that he had passed through only the night before. There were two reasons to live in the desert: sunsets and sunrises.
This particular morning was no exception.
The valley was formed of a crimson pastel rock that from a distance looked like the mountains at the entrance to some unknown world. But in the morning and just before the wisps of night grab a hold and smother the day, there was an explosion of colors. It was a beautiful cornucopia of blistering and beautiful art.
The sun crawled just above the sand dunes, flooding the valley in sunshine. The splashing light tumbled across the rock formations, and iridescent stones ignited the walls of the basin.
This was the part of the day James loved the most.
This was when his life felt less worthless.
There was purpose here.
The sun came into the valley each day to create this beautiful marvel, and each day he was here to witness it. The twisting serpent of the road wove in and out of the majesty of nature, until the paved parking lot of his daily grind came into view.
A grotesque sign was perched just off the road.
It read: Our Stuff.
The door of the jeep creaked as James closed it. He pulled his red vest over his black t-shirt and ran a hand through his short hair.
The parking lot was mostly empty.
A beat-up Buick had been parked there since the late 90s and had never moved. By this time, it was a makeshift homeless shelter for local transients. It was an important component of his duties for the day, driving off the homeless when they panhandled in front of the store.
Silence permeated the morning––a rare treat James relished in the early mornings. She walked in from the other side of the parking lot. A blue Honda with a dented door and missing hubcaps was parked some distance away. She was his dream girl, of a sort. She was married to––or had been, it was a strange situation to be sure––a local drunk and abuser.
Light brown hair to her chin: It was often combed over one eye, mirroring a childhood memory. There was too much eye shadow to hide indiscretions, long shirts to hide bruises.
She was a broken doll.
“Hey Violet,” James mumbled as he got closer, chancing an awkward wave.
She rarely looked up and when she did, all he was struck by was the wide eyes that looked at him in gratitude for recognizing her existence. This day, she smiled weakly. Dimples in her cheeks deepened as he got closer.
“Hello, James,” she whispered back, her voice small.
He felt protective of her.
As he neared, he smiled widely, invitingly.
“Did you bring Julie with you today?”
Julie was her eight-year old daughter who often frequented work with her mother when her father was away on a binge, or more violent than usual. James felt defensive of her as well, much to his detriment.
She shook her head. Most of the time she wore an over-sized coat with a faux fur lining and hood that was often the barrier of her hidden face.
“Her father took her today.”
James nodded absently, as he could not imagine what that man could do with a child. He could barely take care of himself. Too often, he would barrel into the store––half-drunk and yelling––and would have to be dragged out by the police. The automatic doors at the front of the store did not open as they approached.
Reaching out, James pulled them open and gestured for Violet to go first. She bowed her head, making an already smaller person even more diminutive. The interior of the store was still dark. The echo of the speakers played elevator music, water-downed versions of songs no one wanted to hear. As Violet disappeared into the aisles of the store, James turned and shut the front doors and locked them.
“See you later,” he spoke, trailing off at the end.
*
The morning passed as it often did.
The sun rose.
Heat sweltered in the desert and the fringe humanity of Miranda sought air-conditioned shelter. James was a walker, a transient employee who sauntered through the store. Seeking out customers who required help, he sometimes cleaned the bathrooms. Often, he attended to those duties that fell between the cracks of other employees. As the morning gave way to the afternoon, there was a palpable tension in the air.
Customers were more curt than usual.
People left angry.
It was not until James had the distinct pleasure of interacting with a deranged desert degenerate that he began to understand what it was about that day that was enraging people so.
“Nametag.”
James did not register the cruel tone at first.
“Nametag,” he repeated, this time drawing James’ attention. “Nametag, I’m talking to you. Turn around.”
James turned, his grimace dissipating into an even line.
It was his best attempt at a smile.
The man was a caricature of a person. His chin disappeared into his pocked neck and his bulging brown eyes seemed to be of two different sizes. Crooked teeth were revealed as he opened his mouth to speak once more.
“Hey, what about customer service? C’mon, nametag.”
“What can I help you with, sir?” mustered James.
The man’s face twisted into a sneer.
He was wearing a shirt three sizes too small, his hairy belly exposed from just beneath the dirty white shirt. Putrid breath radiated from the man. It was an odor that could have risen from a trash heap in the Mojave Desert. “Attitude? You giving me attitude now, nametag? Time like this, in a crisis and what not.”
“I’m sorry that you feel I am being discourteous…”
The man sneered again. His voice, though masculine, broke as he spoke again. “Using big words on me now, college dropout. You think you’re hot shit, selling commodities to us lower folk.”
James looked at the man in disbelief, his behavior was deplorable. “Perhaps if you can just calm down, I can help you find whatever it is you are looking for.”
The man moved in closer, the scent of body odor was overpowering. “You some kind of wise guy? Why do you think I’m here? You retarded? Don’t you listen to the news? Don’t you know what’s going on?”
James looked at him, bewildered.
“Sir, I…”
“Water,” the man spoke clearly. “Water, I need water.”
“Bottled water? Is this about the Hernandez thing? The border?” queried James, making a connection slowly, though uncertainly. “Are they peddling hysteria already?”
“Hysteria, boy, you must be living under a rock. It’s coming. That border thing’s old news. Poison is in Texas now, parts of New Mexico. They’re talking about rationing and sanctions on tap water. You believe that shit?”
James looked around the store. “I really don’t.”
It had evaded him previously.
The scampering populace of Miranda bustled about the store, arms full of plastic water bottles and greater containers. One woman had another by the hair, dragging her away from the last water bottles on the shelf. People screamed at each other, pointing accusing fingers, claiming water as their own.
“It would appear you aren’t the only one looking,” replied James, as he pointed to the pandemonium. “Best of luck to you.”
The man glowered at him as he passed by, but James could not believe his eyes. Lines were backed up, people nearly climbing over each other to get water and carry it away in the heat of the day, to survive.
He stalked over to the throng of people who had begun to congregate around the empty shelves. As he approached, the masses turned as one. Their bleary eyes and angry words were upon him before he could even speak.
“Where is the water?” one cried.
“Is there more?” queried an elderly woman shakily.
“What do we do?” screamed another.
James held up his hands, trying to calm them.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, but they continued to bicker. Each voice rose above the others. Some shoved those smaller than themselves, like a rabid mob. He raised his voice. Some mumbles remained, but most had directed their attention at him. “Let’s all calm down for a moment. I will go in the back and see what we have.”
He moved away from them, not giving them time to object or grow ever angrier. The store was packed. Never in his eighteen months there had he seen such a rush on the store. He wondered what it was he had missed to which everyone else was reacting so intensely. Pushing open the double doors that led into the warehouse, James sighed.
The madness was tangible.
It permeated the air, made it thin.
Other employees had congregated in the back, seeking shelter from the madness. Two of them talked loudly with each other. One he knew, the other was a new employee or perhaps someone with whom he had never crossed paths. The first was dressed in a style that could only be described as early fuckup. The other was the kind of person who you would not give another look, as average as they come.
An unevenly mounted nose ring, jagged teeth, and a tone that was filled with ignorance: The younger man James did not know spoke in an overbearing tone.
“This is epic. All these fucking hillbillies running around like the skies are falling in. I’m surprised the fat ones aren’t screaming Chicken Little. Epic.” He held his hands up demonstratively. “Epic.”
Average Bob watched the less-than-eloquent fellow employee with a listless gaze. “The news said it was serious though…”
“The news? You can’t trust the news, man. They are trying to pull some bullshit over our eyes. Always, trying to force your hand,” he continued to rant.
James moved past, making sure not to make eye contact, as he did not wish to engage them in some kind of rhetorical conversation. As he moved out of earshot, he could not help but shake his head at the redundant movie references that took the place of grammar and syntax. There was only the replacement of actual thought with recycled thought. It had become the repetition and regurgitation of the words of another. He was not necessarily bitter toward fan worship, but was simply irritated by the lack of thought most other people his age seemed to show. They were more content in the safety of what other people thought––more concerned with their small shell of a world and not the greater picture.
His face twisted into a scowl as he moved past racks and racks of brown boxes marked in black permanent marker with various numbers designating position, quantity, and retail-related mediocrity. As he reached the back, where normally there were pallets upon pallets of shrink-wrapped water cases, he swore.
Reaching down, he picked up the wayward bunched band of plastic that had once held the pallet in place. There were seven empty pallets, the entire back stock of what the store carried.
Where had he been?
How had he not seen this?
The voice startled him. “Pretty intense, huh?”
James rose slowly, turning to face Violet. “Yeah, wild. How did I not notice all of this water going out?”
She moved next to him, folding her arms across her chest. “You’ve been in a daze lately, moving around as if you didn’t notice anything, anybody.”
They lingered like this for a moment.
Neither spoke––nor breathed really––except in fractured, shallow breaths. Finally, letting out a burst of air and licking his lips, James shifted his feet and ran a hand through his hair. “I should check on those people out there. They were acting like fucking animals.”
Violet nodded, tucking her hands inside her sleeves.
“Yeah, my break is almost over. I should be getting back.”
James nodded again, awkwardly.
Turning away, he disappeared into the racks once more, leaving Violet to her thoughts. He shook his head and mumbled to himself in mock anger. Whenever there was a moment when he and Violet seemed to connect, they both froze, neither making a move. She was scared, but was looking for a way out.
He knew that.
He could be there for her.
Smacking a hand against his forehead, he whispered to himself angrily. “Stupid.”
A psychologist, author, editor, philosopher, martial artist, and skeptic, he has published several novels and currently has many in print, including: The End of the World Playlist, Bitten, The Journey, The Ocean and the Hourglass, The Path of the Fallen, The Portent, and Cerulean Dreams. Follow him on Twitter (@AuthorDanOBrien) or visit his blog http://thedanobrienproject.blogspot.com. He recently started a consultation business. You can find more information about it here: http://www.amalgamconsulting.com/.

Writing Styles – Part 11 – Embroiled

Embroiled is the last of a series of four novels about an amazing woman. You’ve met her as Em, or Miracle Madame in Embattled. She was Jasmine in Empowered, and Abby in Embraced. Em’s latest reincarnation will have you turning pages to find out why she is so obsessed with getting out of this world. No, she doesn’t want to die, but something or someone is drawing her like a magnet and she is finding the pull hard to resist.

IMG_1077Author Darlene Jones will share with us some snippets of her setting, character, and a scene ending from this amazing novel.

EMBROILED

 CHARACTER: Hypnosis! Emily slammed a pot on the counter. She hated cooking, but she had to eat. She didn’t need hypnosis. She remembered it all. Every single damn obsession.

SETTING: “I’m driving home from the conference when the slough catches my eye. I’m mesmerized by the damn thing. I feel an insane urge to walk on the thin fall ice, to explore the fishing holes, to lie spread-eagled to distribute my weight. I know full well I’ll break through and drown, but I’ll be warm and taken care of. What I find down there will make it worthwhile.” Emily felt her chest tighten. Each time she came to David’s office, each time she spoke of her greatest fears, she felt the strings to sanity loosening. Am I crazy, Doc?

SCENE ENDING SENTENCE: What is holding you back from loving and being loved?”

Emily sucked in air. “Whatever is under that ice,” she whispered. “That’s what.”

 ?????????????????????????????????????????????For more information about this fascinating series, please visit Darlene Jones’ webpage:

http://www.emandyves.com

Writing Styles – Part 9

EMBRACED is the third book in a series of four by Darlene Jones.

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Em, the heroine of the series, has been reincarnated as Abby, a high school teacher who hears clicking in her teeth. Can you imagine if your teeth made clicks that sounded like Morse Code? Wouldn’t you worry that people would think you were crazy if you told them about it? But what is causing this clicking?

In this part of Writing Styles, we’ll be treated to a sample of Darlene Jones’s writing taken from her book “Embraced.”

CHARACTER: “God, I’m stupid. Whatever made me think Rice Krispies would lead me to an answer?” She sighed. Yet another failed attempt to identify the sounds. She dumped out the cereal, rinsed the bowl, and left it on the counter for morning.

SETTING: The play of clouds and moonlight over the water and mountains beyond calmed her. She licked her lips and tasted salt. From the heavily laden sea air or from tears? A few notes of music echoing across the water caught her attention. A bagpipe of all things.

SCENE ENDING SENTENCE: I don’t know why I think they’re messages from outer space.

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Find out more about Darlene Jones and her novels on her website  www.emandyves.com

Her books are available on amazon.com and smashwords.com