Saturday, October 25, 2014

Saturday's Blurbs - Books By Linda Hall #MFRWauthor

Night Watch

Desolate Maine shores... Murder... And peace slipping away on the outgoing tide... 

For yacht delivery captain, Em Ridge, having a billionaire's daughter go overboard on her first captaining job is not a good beginning. The sailboat is new, state of the art, her crew on this trip include two close sailing friends. But an unknown fourth, who can't even tie a bowline, and the unruly owner's daughter turn the idlyic trip into an adventure not wanted. 

Two years ago Em buried her husband, her soulmate, her sailing buddy, and with him buried a secret. As hours on the open seas slide by, secrets are resurrected that tie Em's past to a present, awash with murder and deception. 

Will Em's career go overboard? Will the investigating detective help her or hurt her? Any why does the best boat delivery captain on the east coast pull at her heart strings? 

The oft foggy coast of Maine holds secrets it does not want to give up, and a lot of bodies can be hidden in The Pine Tree State's largest city. 



Strange Faces

A touch of mystery, a hint of horror and a dash of magic

From experienced and award winning author Linda Hall comes Strange Faces, a collection of seven stories that will take you to a place where killers can linger in your backyard but where magic can sometimes change everything. The voyage begins with Pickers and Choosers, and with a group of young dumpster foragers who witness a murder. Or do they? And why now, after twenty-seven years is the terrible memory resurfacing? In A Nice Cup of Something Hot we meet Mrs. Wilkers, a divorced woman obsessed with her ex-husband, his new wife, and ultimately with death and murder. 

The connection between siblings plays a key role in two of the stories. We Are Brothers is about very different twins. Weather Ladies attempts to answer the question, what do you do when you find out your sister is a murderer? Mad Scientist is all about revenge. How far can someone be provoked? Far enough to murder? On the lighter side, The Hockey Bag features a young man, who through no fault of his own, gets caught up in a rather gruesome bag of tricks. You will smile, or tear up, with A Small Season of Magic. It’s a story of a girl, of bullying, and what happens when a small bit of magic intervenes. 

Hall’s writing has been described as “crisp, intense, filled with suspense and intriguing characters” and writing which has the ability to “keep you on the edge of your seat until the end.” 


-  -
Steal Away

What took Ellen away from her famous husband yearly, to the cold windy coast of Maine? Piecing together the life of an unhappy minister's wife, private investigator Teri Blake-Addison trails the wreckage to a remote Canadian island. When murder rocks the community, she realizes the puzzle may not be as simple as it had seemed. Book One in the Teri Blake-Addison private investigator series







Island of Refuge

The lives of five homeless people living in a church on an island are shattered when one of them is murdered. Meanwhile, two states over, another investigation is begun, a seeming unrelated one. But what is discovered shatters the island dwellers to the very core and intertwines the lives of the island dwellers as they seek to make peace with themselves, their lives, and God.






Katheryn's Secret

Mystery writer Sharon Colebrook finds herself the unexpected recipient of her deceased Aunt Katie's papers, and hopes to learn about a murder Katie had hinted at years before. But as Sharon and her husband Jeff head from the west coast of Canada to the east coast of Maine to begin to investigate, the carefully kept facade of her strict religious family begins to crumble. Secrets, long buried, begin to surface, and only God's grace can put this family back together again.




Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/71000


   






























http://writerhall.com
http://facebook.com/writerhall
@Writerhall

Friday, October 24, 2014

Friday's Guest - Linda Hall talking about Heroes, Heroines and Villains #MFRWauthor


1. Do you write a single genre or do your fingers flow over the keys creating tales in many forms? Does your reading choices reflect your writing choices? Are there genres you wouldn’t attempt?

I started off this life as a mystery reader. Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys were my companions. When I grew up it would be natural that I would be a mystery writer. Deep down and to my core that's what I am. Mysteries are still my reading of choice.  I tried, briefly, to write romance, since it's so popular, but my poor romances kept being populated by dead bodies. Of course, that's not to say my books don't have romance. They most certainly do!  I have a weird theory about romance: I think that every book - even literary and poetic - must include an element of romance. Night Watch, my full length mystery novel—Book One of a new series—is out now, and this past spring I released a book of short stories. I love this new Indie publishing revolution, because I can experiment with lengths - full length, novellas and short stories. I love reading short mysteries and enjoy writing them. 

What wouldn't I attempt? I'm not really sure. I think it's important for writers to write what they like to read. The idea of fantasy frightens me, but I do have a ghost story that I wrote for a past NaNoWriMo that I want to bring out and have another look at.


2. Heroes, Heroines, Villains. Which are your favorite to write? Does one of these come easy and why?

I think most authors find villains the easiest to write. I don't know what that says about us as writers,  but it's something that seems to be true across the board. Maybe we can work out all of our pent up emotions when we get into the head of a villain! It's quite fun, actually to come up with villains and crimes.

3. Heroes. How do you find them? Do pictures, real life or plain imagination create the man you want every reader to love? Do they come before the plot or after you have the idea for the story?

I usually start a story with either a bit of a plot idea, setting or character. But no matter where I start, the characters are the most important part of the story. I don't know where the actual people come from - parts of people that I know or have met, pictures that I see, and my imagination. Mostly my imagination. I'm not one of those writers who finds online pictures of people and copies them onto a desk top for reference. I just don't do that. I guess my characters are mostly composites.

4. Heroines. How do you find them? Do pictures, real life or imagination create the woman you want the reader to root for? Do they appear before the plot or after you have the idea for the story?

I love boats and sailing and have long wanted to write about a strong female character who has her boat delivery captain's license. Her name is Em Ridge and her job is mainly delivering boats from Point A to Point B  - but of course mystery ensues, along with romance. Poor Em is kind of an alter ego for me. I love sailing, but I'm not very brave. Em, on the other hand is brave and capable and strong.

5. Villains or villainesses or an antagonist, since they don’t always have to be the bad guy or girl. They can be a person opposed to the hero’s or heroine’s obtaining their goal. How do you choose one? How do you make them human?

When writing a villain it's important to understand that we are not machines. Every villain came from a mother. Every villain has his or her own story and the reasons why she is the way she is. I think it's important to get those stories out there, too. A long time ago I read that every villain needs a soft spot. So, in my first book I gave the bad guy a pet hamster. It can be as simple as that.

6. What is your latest release? Who is the hero, heroine and or the villain?

Night Watch is my newest release and is Book One in the new Em Ridge mystery series that I'm quite excited to write! Recently widowed Em Ridge has just been given her first ever captaining job and she wants desperately to succeed. She and her crew are to deliver a billionaire's luxury yacht from Canada to Bermuda and then on down to the Bahamas. But there is one catch, the billionaire's rather unruly 21 year old daughter is to come along. Her father rules his family like he rules his corporations and feels his daughter needs a bit of an "outward bound" experience.

As for who is the hero and villain, well, you'll have to read the book to find out! No spoilers here.

7. What are you working on now?

Right now I'm working on writing down the bones, the skeleton, if you will, of The Bitter End, Book Two in my series. In November I'll be writing that book as part of NaNoWriMo

8. How can people find you?
            Website
writerhall.com


            Blog


            Twitter
@writerhall


            Facebook

https://www.facebook.com/WriterHall

Thursday, October 23, 2014

Thursday's Hero - Ivor From The Amber Cage by Janet Lane Walters #MFRWauthor #BooksWeLove

The wailing notes of the bagpipes lingered in the air. Ivor, Crown Prince of Rivand gasped deep breaths. He grinned. “Did I pass?” He squeezed the words out.

The old man smiled. “You have. Shame you can’t pursue what could be a brilliant career as a master of music.”

Ivor bowed his head. His passion for music overshadowed the duty his birth order dictated. Alas, the spotlight wasn’t for him.

The bells of the town clock chimed ten times. Ivor scowled. “I’ll be late for my morning meeting with my twin.” He dashed from the music room and ran through the halls of the palace to the salle.
Moments later, he donned the protective gear and drew his sword from the sheath. Time to face his brother in another senseless match. He had no taste for the fighting life his twin savored.

Andros raised his sword. “Ready to lose again?”

The glee in his twin’s voice rasped Ivor’s nerves. He hated these forced encounters. As crown prince martial arts must be mastered so he could lead the troops of Rivand if the country came under attack by one of the neighboring princedoms.

He had learned the movements of the dance of the sword and had practiced until they had become automatic. Fighting was alien to his nature. He feared suffering an injury to hands able to play any instrument. He shuddered as other the possibilities arose. A head injury could destroy the melodies waiting to emerge. What if a lucky blow harmed his throat to make singing impossible?
Andros attacked. Ivor defended. His twin was a master or the blade, excelled in strategy and was a superb negotiator. Andros embodied every skill a crown prince needed.

Ivor scowled. Had they been switched during the hectic moments following their birth?

The shout accompanying Andros’ lunge pulled Ivor into the present. He tried to turn the duel into a real fight. His brother’s blade neared his chest. Ivor froze. His sword flew through the air.

Andros laughed. “My win.”

Ivor nodded. “As usual.”

“Ivor!”

His body tensed. He stared toward the observation area overlooking the salle. Why was his father present during every defeat? He knelt with his head bowed.

“To my study now,” Prince Gregori shouted.

Ivor retrieved his sword and slid the blade into the sheath. His twin’s mocking laughter grated. Ivor’s hands clenched. He faced an angry tirade when all he wanted was to return to the music chamber and work on his latest composition, Lament for the Lost Princes.

The solstice was but three days away. On that date he would join the ranks of the vanished. Even now the moon moved toward full. Being lost seemed better than being the next ruler of Rivand.
He entered his father’s study and knelt at the feet of the ruling prince. He waited for the angry comments focusing on the qualities for his position as crown prince he lacked.

“Was there ever a time when you defeated Andros in a friendly match? You are Crown Prince. You must be first in all important matters.”

Ivor drew a shuddering breath. “What does how I perform matter? The solstice looms. The moon will be full. I will soon vanish like the other lost princes.”

Gregori scowled. “Your door will be guarded so there will be no chance you will leave. On the morning of the summer solstice you will marry. Your bride arrives tomorrow.” He lifted a stack of papers. “These will burn.”

Ivor recognized his compositions. “No!” Anger he couldn’t express tightened his throat. To speak would fire his father’s temper. Already his back burned with memories of floggings received for his failures to learn the skills needed by a crown prince. Acid rushed into his throat. He swallowed to keep from spewing.

“I rule here until I die. Then you will have your turn.” Prince Gregori shoved the papers into the fireplace and lit them with a glowing candle. “Tonight your instruments will burn. Rivand needs no music-performing fool as a ruler.”

“Let Andros be your heir. He’s better suited. Perhaps the midwife forgot which of us arrived first on the day we were born.”

“Do not think to escape your duty. You are dismissed.”

Ivor bowed. “I hear.” He backed from the room. Rebellion stirred. How could he see the musical instruments that brought him pleasure be destroyed?

He scurried to the music chamber. His teacher stood with his hands to his head. “I couldn’t stop him.”

“I know. ‘Twas not your fault.” Ivor pulled the most valuable lutes, fiddles and lap harps from the shelves. He added a few reeds and brass horns to the collection. “Give these to your most promising students, the ones who can’t afford the best. My father plans to destroy them tonight.”

“Why?”

“To rule I must forsake music.” Ivor slid his favorite flute into the sheath with his sword, taking care not to scratch the silver on the gemmed hilt. “Go quickly.” He pushed a wheeled hand cart to the rear door.

The moment the teacher left Ivor opened the door into the hall. His twin pushed past him. “What have you done?”

“Gave some gifts to the worthy.”

“Father said all the instruments are to be destroyed.

Ivor glared. “Go tell him what I’ve done. Don’t fear. You will have my place.”

“What do you mean?”

“The lost princes. Remember the tales our nurse told us. They are true. Already I feel a need to leave the palace. I’ll be glad to be gone. Without music Rivand is no place for me.”

Andros smiled. “I pray your words are true. I won’t report what you’ve done.”


Wednesday, October 22, 2014

Wednesday's Writer's Tip - Continuing with Writing the Fiction Series by Karen Wiesner #MFRWauthor


More things to consider when writing a series and there are many. This book is a trove of good information gathered together by Karen Wiesner.

Promises. When writing a series a writer should keep the promises to the reader. Leaving things dangling can draw a reader to select the next book in the series but leaving too many of these threads dangling can really upset readers. Proposing a single question that is the main one can carry over but all those little questions can be solved book by book and new ones created.

Killing Characters - Unless you have a good reason, don't kill one of the main characters in a series. The reader will become upset since they have invested a lot in said character. Sherlock Holmes was killed off in that series but he miraculously returned to be in other stories. If you're going to kill off a character during the course of a series establish this character and show the potential for death during one or more of the stories. Of course in the end, killing the villain or villainess is fine and can make a grand ending to a story.

Turning the Bad Guy into a Good Guy. - This can trouble a reader, especially if they really hated the bad guy. There are ways to do this if you really want to make this change. Showing a bit of what makes him the bad guy in the story and you have already given him or her a reason to change. In The Amber Chronicles, Emme starts out as the bad one and immediately you hear why she is being sent away for she has lessons to learn about love. In the end she is redeemed but her road to growth becomes a quest for her. I have a villain from a story I would like to redeem, if I ever find time to plot the story out.

Preparing For The next Book. A series needs more than one book and two doesn't do it. Three or more books are needed and when you're nearing the end of book one, two, or more you need to plant the seeds for the next book. This can be done in many ways but needs to be done. In one series, the chance for the trilogy is set up by mentioning the two gods and one goddess of the ancient Egypt I've created. This means there will be three possible stories. Bast's Warrior, Horu's Chosen and Toth's Priest. Some of the characters who will be in the other books are either present in some way in the other books. The preparation for the next book should be somehow made clear in the current one.

Tuesday, October 21, 2014

Tuesday's Inspiration - There Is No Muse, There's You . I wa. #MFRWauthor


When you sit down to write, you need to have a goal. I do remember those days when I began and my writing was sporadic. I sat with pen in hand or in front of the typewriter and stared at the blank page waiting for the inspiration. Needless to say very little words ever reached the page. I was waiting for the Muse, something other writers said they had. Reading books on writing, I searched for ways to find this muse. Never found her or him. What I found was the words were inside myself waiting for me to find a plot, a character, a need to tell a story. What I also learned was to do this I couldn't stare at the blank pages, I had to set goals.

Goals in my book seemed to be the number or words I wrote each day. I set my goal as one I thought I could accomplish. An organization I belong to has set this goal so low it's ridiculous. 18 words a day for 365 days and one has 6667 words at the end of the year. My goal was one I believed I could reach. One page a day. At the end of this time I would have 365 pages of a story. There are books this long but not that many these days. I wasn't writing War and Peace or some other time. I was looking in the 50,000 to 80,000 word book. In those days publishers looked at page count, not word count. Times have changed and so have my writing stints. I'm no longer satisfied with 250 words a day or one page.

My writing goals gradually increased and I learned something else. Those words you first put on paper had to be revised. No one writes the perfect story on the first draft. Maybe you could if you followed the 18 words a day but I know I would be bored with the story before I reached the three year goal of 20,000 words and had a novella. Now I have two goals and they alternate. Being a draft writer, when I begin a story I do a rough work that is little more than a plot outline with characters and all their quirks thrown in and scenes that may have one or ten words. When I reach the end I'll have a kind of outline and the words will be a mess with plot holes beyond plot holes. This is written at 1000 words a day. When I'll be away, I write ahead. I also don't stop when the 1000 words for the day end and I'm still going hot. The other goal is during re-writing that means 2000 words a day and when revising I do 3000 to 4000 words a day.

The real thing here is to set yourself an obtainable goal and write every day or if this can't be done, write ahead. And remember the muse for writing in yourself and your own determination.

Monday, October 20, 2014

Meandering on Monday with Janet Lane Walters #MFRWauthor


Meander 1 - I'm going to make some people angry with what I'm about to say but something in the new stuff from RWA (Romance Writers of America) really got to me. It's about what's considered a professional writer. When I heard 20,000 words, I thought every year this is a good place to start. But I was wrong. A writer to consider themself a professional writer it's 20,000 words in 3 (three Years) Excuse me. Being someone whose goal is 1000 words a day if the material is new and 3000 to 4000 thousand words a day when revising I had to look at what this means and how many words this will be written yearly, monthly, weekly and daily. Pulling out my trusty calculator I began.

20,000 words in 3 years comes down to 6667 words a year. How many people can meet this qualification. Probably most of them. Then we come down to the monthly quota. By dividing the 6667 by 12 the total becomes 556 every month. Again, if not paralyzed anyone can hit that quota unless they have no hands but then they could dictate the words to one of those voice programs. The total shrinks if one goes to the weekly amount. Taking the yearly total and dividing it by 52 and the writer only has to write 128 words every week. Hard to reach. I don't think so, Now we come to the daily total needed. Divide 6667 by 365, ignoring leap year since that will make the total less. The answer is 18. Eighteen words a day makes one a professional writer? I don't think so.

Even if a person wrote 100 words a day, all of them new they would come up with 36500 words and be at least half way to writing a  73000 word book. Add another and the book could be over  a hundred thousand words/

I like the idea that qualifying as a writer is not based on money earned every year. I have books released in 1998 that are still earning a decent amount of money every year. So moving money from the decision to call a writer a writer is good but dumbing down the number of words written every day is ridiculous. To me 20,000 words a year is the way to determine who is and who isn't a writer determined to become published. Though there are other issues brought up about a tiered group and who can vote and hold offices. So I leave this wrod of advice. To be considered a professional in the world I'm speaking about just keep track of those 18 new words you write every day.

Meander 2 - The New Jersey Romance Writer's conference was really great. The speakers were inspirational and the workshops were fun. Meeting other writers and people who want to become writers was great.

Meander 3 - Came home from the conference. Arrived around 11 AM. After unfreezing my brain from being over stimulated by great conversation, I sat down and wrote my 1000 words for the day and also managed to revise about the same number of words along with making dinner, watching television from 9 PM to !! Pm and realizing if I was aiming for 18 words a day I wouldn't have to write for 56 days. Write on.

Thursday, October 16, 2014

Thursday's Hero From My new Release Horu's Chosen by Janet Lane Walters #MFRWauthor #BooksWeLove

Horu's Chosen (An Alternate Egypt Book 2)

    It's here today. The second book of the alternate ancient Egypt fantasy is here as of today
    Seth, an undercover cop has been betrayed by his handler. To escape he calls a number on a flyer and is transported to an ancient Egypt he doesn’t understand. He must rescue the Daughter from the evil priests of Aken Re. Merin is the Daughter....
    amazon.com

A low voice whispered in his ear. Seth struggled to makes sense of the words. At first the rhythm and pattern of the sounds seemed wrong. Finally as though a key clicked open a lock in his head the words made sense.
“You are Horu’s Chosen. His temple has been corrupted by worshippers of a god alien to the Two Lands.”
Seth struggled to sit up. What was going on?
“You are here to rescue the Daughter and find the jewelry given to the first queen by the goddess and two gods.”
What the hell? Was he trapped in a dream where a disembodied voice spoke?
“Failure can bring death or slavery. During the days spent together you must remain apart from the Daughter. A hawk will come. A hawk will help.”
Weird. Seth stretched his hand in an attempt to grab the speaker and demand an explanation. No one was there. His hand dropped. He winced when it rapped a hard surface. Cautiously he opened his eyes to study his surroundings. Nothing seemed familiar. He squeezed his eyelids tight. Where was he?
A second glance added to the confusion. Was he trapped in a drug-induced dream? How could that be? He didn’t do drugs. He ran his hands along his body. All the parts were there but he was naked. He frowned. Sleeping in clothes was a habit. Being prepared for a quick escape was essential.
Strange aromas increased his puzzlement. He turned on his side and saw a row of naked men. Seth pushed into a sitting position. Nothing changed. He tamped a gush of panic. There must be an explanation.
Slowly memories rose. Disjointed like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Betrayal. The center. A flyer. Amara. Tira. Father Joe. Ramos. Coffee shop. Brownstone. Bob Tolena. Horoscope. Leo. Pieces clicked together. Seth remembered who he was and what had happened until the moment the wheel turned. Had he really entered another time and place?
“Will you go?”
“You will be given a task.”
Failure could mean death."
His breath escaped in a rush. Whatever the women had done, he was here. Who was Horu? Who was the Daughter? Where was he?
He rose. There were no windows, only narrow openings high on the walls. A curtain of strings with beads, shells and stones hung in the doorway. No chance of sneaking out unnoticed. If he could leave here he had no idea where he’d landed. He had to draw on his undercover skills and play the situation cautiously.
The curtain jangled. Three men entered. One wore a red robe. A short obese man with a metal collar carried a flail. The third, a muscular man, had a knife sheathed on his belt. Must be a guard.
The guard and the fat man were bald. The other man’s straight dark hair was cut to shoulder length.
Seth touched his head and exhaled. Hair remained long but tangled.
“Up, slaves.”
Seth’s mouth gaped. He understood but the words were in no language he recognized. This meant he’d been displaced in time and place.
Seth looked for clothes and saw none. He followed the other men from the room into a stone-paved courtyard. The walls looked like unpainted adobe.
A woman pointed to some kind of paste in a pottery jar. Her appraisal of his body made him want to turn his back. When the other men smeared this over their bodies, Seth did the same.
Leather buckets of water were poured over his head and flowed over his body. Seth caught a cloth and scrubbed including his head. After a second dousing, towels of thin material unlike the terry ones he used at home were provided. With water dripping from his hair Seth lined with the other men to receive a long strip of cloth. He watched the way the other men wrapped the linen into a loin cloth. He imitated the process.
A chunk of bread spread with cheese and topped with a thick slice of onion and a mug of liquid constituted breakfast. He ate the bread and washed it down with warm beer. His nose wrinkled. Sure would have liked an iced cold brew but a steaming cup of coffee would have been better.
“Come,” the fat man said.
Seth glanced at his companions. “Where are we going?”
“To the market square where we’ll be sold. You’re new. When did you arrive?”
And a stranger, Seth thought. “During the night. Don’t remember much until I woke.” His hands curled into fists. He hadn’t been warned about slavery. How long must he continue to stay one? He had his orders. He had to find the Daughter.
A frown wrinkled his brow. At home he’d been a slave to duty. Was his predicament any different here? Until he had more information he would continue where he’d been dumped. Definitely an interesting introduction to this strange world.
He marched with the other men to the market square. Seth stared at the booths and the people. Heaps of onions and melons waited to be purchased. Tantalizing aromas of cooking meats made his gut rumble. The line of men reached a clear space. He was directed to stand on a low platform. The morning sun made him sweat.
He turned to the man he’d spoken to before. “Don’t they feed us more than that small bite?”
“If you aren’t purchased by midday, you’ll return to the compound for cooked lentils and barley bread.”
Seth made a face. What he wanted was two eggs over easy, sausage and pancakes with a carafe of coffee. Wistful thinking. Good thing hunger whetted the appetite. “To drink.”
“Sweet water or beer.”
Seth’s shoulders slumped. The guard rapped his back. “Stand straight.” He pointed to the obese man. “He can order a flailing.”
With a nod Seth came to attention. Across the square he saw a young man and another of those red robes approaching. The obese man bowed to them. After a conversation with the fat man the pair strode along the line. He pointed to Seth and three others. A dialogue with the slave seller began. Money exchanged hands.
“You a fighter?” the young man asked Seth.
He shrugged. What did he know about the weapons of this land? “Unarmed combat. Can use a knife and can learn others.” He figured being a fighter would be better than doing some kind of slave labor. He thought of the documentaries he’d seen showing men pulling large block of stone to build pyramids.
“Mace, bow, spear?”
Seth closed his eyes. “Probably a mace and a spear. I’ve never shot a bow.”
The young man touched Seth’s arm. “Head shaved or a braid.”
“Braid.”
“A warrior’s choice.”
Before long Seth and the three others were bound in a line and ordered to follow the palanquin bearing the priest and the young man. They trudged along a narrow road of hard packed earth. In the distance, Seth saw a wall.
“The one wearing the red robe, who is he?” Seth asked one of his fellows.

“A priest of Aken Re.”