Friday's How She Does It featuring Rita Karnopp #amlearning

We all know there are six elements in writing fiction Who, What, Where, When, Why and How. I believe the first five lead to the sixth which for me is the Plot. What's your take on this?




I so agree. A plot must be original, challenge the reader, be exciting, paced so the reader has a chance to breathe, not too complex or shallow, add that suspension of disbelief, create just enough subplots, have logical sequence, the premise should be compelling, and finally make that conclusion satisfying.



1.How do you create your characters? Do you have a special system? I love this question, because without exciting, complex and even flawed characters – you don’t have a story. I start by thinking about a plot, since this is the driving force of any book. I think about what characters would manipulate, influence, and even motivate the plot best. What hero and heroine can I create that are total opposites in this scenario and how can I put them together, even if they hate each other, to pull together for a common cause? Soon – my story takes off – the characters start reacting . . . and soon my conflict it driving the story forward . . . next thing I know . . . I’m typing, ‘the end.’







2. Do your characters come before your plot? Do you sketch out your plot or do you let your characters develop the route to the end? I’ve kind of answered that in the above question, but let me say this, both have to be exciting and fresh. You might consider an old plot – but the characters and situation must be updated and twisted so it reads as new and inspiring. It’s rare that I have characters first . . . but just recently I did think about a heroine that just haunted me . . . and I wondered how I could develop a plot she would work in . . . which I have. Most times I will have my plot first and develop my characters to handle the plot.







As for the second part of this question, I do sketch-out parts of the plot. I have an idea where the beginning, middle and end are. But it’s rare I stick to it . . . because my characters have minds of their own – and they write the dialog and their actions. I just type! My endings develop . . . and most times even surprise me. When writing Kidnapped, I was typing the court scene at the end . . . I had tears running down my face – because I felt the couple’s desperation . . . the ending wrote itself . . . and I have to say . . . my characters didn’t disappoint me.







3. Do you know how the story will end before you begin? In a general or a specific way? I’m always stepping on the toes of the question above. I have a good idea of what I want my ending to be . . . but getting there surprises me! I want nothing more than to make it exciting and twisting enough to either surprise the reader . . . or make sure it’s more than just satisfying. If you’re not moved when writing those last few pages . . . set it aside and re-read it in a few days … and … rewrite it until it’s moving. I can’t truly say that has happened to me . . . but the writer MUST find the ending surprising and satisfying . . . or your reader will never feel it either.







4. Do you choose settings you know or do you have books of settings and plans of houses on your book shelf? I choose settings when the inspiration hits me. I never steer clear of any given setting or subject – if I’m inspired – I know I can create a gripping or moving story around it. I have a basket that I toss ideas into as they come to me. To be honest, I have more ideas than I have time to write. Seems like as I’m writing a book – or series – an idea for my next work comes to me and starts intruding into my current work in progress. It’s annoying – but it keeps me excited and writing. I have to be honest, I have never dipped into my ‘ideas basket’ . . . because I always come up with a plot before it’s time to start a new book. I can’t imagine what it would be like to – wonder what my next book is going to be about.







5. Where do you do your research? From books you won, the library or the internet? I love stretching myself and going outside my comfort zone. I just finished my Tango of Death series, taking place in 1943 Poland/Germany involving the gypsies during the Holocaust. White Berry on the Red Willow takes place in the future – but goes back to the old ways of the Native American, and then I have my 1800s Native American historicals, plus my thrillers taking place at ghost towns in Montana. I have an incredible library … dog-eared to be sure – of books about the 1800s. I have many books on the Gypsies, plus a library of books and documentaries about the Holocaust. And now we are blessed with endless information available online. I tap into it all.







6. Are you a draft writer or do you revise as you go along? My very first book I did a color-coded index card plotting – draft of the book. It showed me pacing and the even-distribution of the hero/heroine/villain. It was a lot of work . . . but helped me develop a feel for the flow of a book. . After that first book, I never went there again. I now have an idea for the beginning – middle – and end . . . and start writing . . . and keep it going until I type ‘the end.’

Just a Few Lines featuring Deadly Consequences by Jude Pittman

A Few Lines From Deadly Consequences by Jude Pittman




A shot rang out from the direction of the stables. Kelly

leapt out of his chair, grabbed the gun out of his jacket pocket and slapped

the screen door open.



“What the damn hell?” He yelled as he raced towards the

brood barn, where Jake, alerted by the gunshot, stood in front of the closed

doors barking like a beast gone rabid.



“Easy boy,” Kelly said, approaching the door with his weapon

drawn. “Gilly, you okay in there?” Kelly reached the door and pulled the

handle. It held fast. Someone had apparently locked it from inside.



“Gillian?” Kelly called in a voice laced with fear and Jake

once again started his frantic barking.



“Okay. Stand down.” Kelly spoke to the dog, then placed his

ear against the door and listened.



From inside came the sounds of sobbing.



“Gillian.” Kelly yelled again. “For God’s sake, open the

door.”



http://www.amazon.com/Deadly-Consequences-Kelly-McWinter-ebook/dp/B008ZQTPK2/



Stop back next week for a few lines from Jamie Hill.

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Thursday;s Opening Scene,- The Doctor's Dilemma by Janet Lane Walters

Chapter 1



Streams of people eddied around Nora Harte, the pile of luggage and the double stroller. She scanned the faces of the crowd. A babble of voices filled the air.

Where was he?

He knew the flight number and the time of arrival. The plane had landed on time. Since Thursdays were almost a universal doctor's day off, the trip had been scheduled for today.

She groaned. This simple baby run had become anything but easy.

The loudspeaker crackled. "Would passenger Nora Harte pick up one of the courtesy phones?" She looked around.

The second time the words blared, with a start, Nora realized the message was for her. "Yeah, right." She stared at the four suitcases, two diaper bags, and the pair of car seats. She'd need a multitude of New York minutes and the arms of an octopus to fulfill the request. What had kept Dr. McKay from the meet?

One of the twins puckered his mouth and added his screams to the cacophony in the baggage claim area of the Dallas airport. Nora crouched and stroked the baby's cheek. "We'll be out of here soon, honey." At least, she thought they would. "It's just a short delay."

The strident voice issued the command again. "How?" she asked. The logistics of the move defeated her. She couldn't abandon the twins and the luggage to search for a phone. She'd been deputized to deliver Molly and Tod Jamison to their guardian and she took this duty seriously.

The sight of a man in a gray uniform pushing an empty baggage cart solved the problem. "Sky cap, over here." She used the voice that had parted crowds on busy New York sidewalks. The one she hadn't used since she had moved upstate. "Take these bags and the infants."

"Don't load babies on the cart, ma'am."

"I know that. I meant the infant seats. I have to answer the phone."

"Excuse me." He stared and his expression projected the idea he thought she'd flipped.

Maybe she had. "The page. Nora Harte. That's me."

He nodded and pointed to the far wall. "It's over there. The blue phone."

"Thanks." Nora gripped the stroller handle. She pushed through the crowd like a subway rider aiming for the last seat. The noise level made her wonder if she'd be able to hear the message.

An easy trip, she thought. A way to add to her dream house account. Just fly to Dallas and deliver the babies to their guardian.

So far nothing about the trip had been a snap. Why had she thought her experience as a nurse would make the mission a breeze? A three month tour of duty in a busy city hospital nursery hadn't prepared her for the reality of caring for twins.

She hadn't counted on the surround-sound screams the twins had raised in protest of being airborne. Or of juggling two infants in the compact airplane bathroom. Not finding their guardian at the airport had been the final episode in her nightmare of the week.

She lifted the courtesy phone receiver. "Nora Harte speaking. I believe you have a message for me."

The voice on the other end of the line explained that Dr. McKay had been unavoidably detained. Nora was to proceed to the car rental desk to pick up a car and the directions to the doctor's house in Prairie, Texas.

She gritted her teeth. The deviation from her agenda added another problem she should have expected. Why had she believed anything about this trip would work?

A touch of anger rose. If Dr. McKay had attended his foster sister's funeral, this disaster would have been avoided. He could have taken custody and faced the journey from hell on his own.

She waved to the sky cap. "Where's the car rental desk?"

"This way, ma'am."

He pushed the cart with the finesse of an obstacle course champion. Nora threaded the stroller through the gaps he opened. Tod's cries changed to gurgles. Molly's began.

Nora patted the infant. "Please, honey, no more tears."

She groaned. Now she sounded like a commercial, but life had no easy solutions like the ones found in an ad campaign.

The sky cap halted in front of a counter. "Want me to wait?"

Nora nodded. "Until I learn where to find the car."

He grinned. "You sure have cute babies and they sure favor you, what with that yellow hair and them big blue eyes. Their daddy sure must be proud of them. Bet he can't wait to see you all."

Right, Nora thought. "They're not -- I'm not --" She closed her mouth. She was only a courier on this baby run but there was no need to explain this to a stranger.

She stooped and wiped Molly's tears. In coloring, the babies did resemble her. What if -- An ache of longing filled her chest. She shook her head. Not these babies. Someday, she'd find a man who wanted the same things she did -- a family, a home, roots. As yet, she hadn't found a man who made her heart rate accelerate or one who brought dreams of forever.

She gave her name, driver's license and credit card to the clerk behind the counter and received the keys to a four door sedan and a detailed set of directions. Prairie, here we come. Dr. McKay had better be waiting. Her plans called for her to be in Santa Fe by tomorrow.

The sky cap pushed the baggage cart outside. Nora and the twins followed. A breath of hot air seared her lungs. In New York, the temperature had been in the seventies. Here, it must be near ninety.

Once the luggage had been stowed in the trunk and the car seats in place, Nora looked at her watch. Before starting the trip, the twins needed to be changed and fed. She pushed the stroller inside and found the nearest rest room.

She picked up Molly, changed and cradled the little girl. Then she did the same with Tod.

Adorable, sweet, loveable. She sighed. She couldn't let these babies steal her heart. In two hours, she'd be in Prairie and on her way out of their lives. She pushed them to the door.

Thirty minutes later, Nora strapped the twins in their seats. She studied the map. Seems like a straight shot south and west, she thought. Maybe something about this trip would go right. She backed out of the parking space. "Babies, we're on our way."

Wednesday's Writer's Tip - Motivation and Reaction

Took me a long time to understand this bit from Techniques of a Selling Writer by Dwight V Swain. It's not that I didn't use this technique when writing my stories. This was one of the books I read early on in my writing career and I always regretted coming to the fiction world when I was a wife and mother and never had a chance to attend a course given by the author of this book on writing. Years later I'm still using what's taught in this book but now it's become rather automatic and while reading this again, I really had to think.

We all know characters are motivated by many things. Some of them stem back to their early days. When I first began to write I looked at motivation as belonging to the large picture. Why did they choose a particular goal? What motivated a character to act in a certain way? I selected a motive for each of the major characters in the story and went on from there, not bothering to look at what motivated them to react to each small thing to enter their environment. This worked early on but then there are the small reactions that add meat to the story.

What I read in this great book taught me how to look at each reaction to some stimuli. Then what I was writing became confusing since I'd forgotten one thing. Each scene in the story has a focus character. I was doing this for every main character in a scene and muddied the waters. While reading this section of Techniques of the Selling Writer, I realized that while two or more of the main characters were in a scene, only one could be the focus character for that scene. So here goes what I learned to steer me into making the right choices for the action.

The first sentence in the sequence does not have the focus character's name, description, or any element of them. For example - A shot rang out. Tamara slid to the floor.  Or something like this - Jim's mouth made promises. Sally's body trembled as she wondered if she wanted to accept. These simple sentences can be broken apart into showing the sequence step by step and enhancing the story. Doing this often enough and mastery happens. Suddenly what was muddy becomes clear and the reader will learn a lot about the focus character. Move to the next scene and choose another character for the focus of that scene. The story builds and the emotional impact increases.

Tuesday's Inspiration from an essay by Dorothy Unhak #aminspired

I share something with Dorothy Unhak. While taking a time out from writing to work as a nurse, I did what she did. Here's the quote. "The writer in me was compilling events, feelings, atmosphere, emotions, situations for future use."

Upon reading this essay, I realized the years I worked as a nurse did the above for me. Not that I copied anything I had experienced as a nurse in a complete fashion, bits and pieces crept into my stories. Watching my patients and their families experience emotions from grief, anger to hope and success, I had a wealth of emotions. The events I watched unfold at times formed bits and pieces of what I was writing about. The first stories were about nurses and doctors but then I began enlarging my writing world and turned to fashioning fantasy stories but the emotions I watched and sometimes experienced during the years of working in a hospital and home care situations found their way into writing about other times and places.

In many ways, a writer is a sponge soaking up all the things they witness, see, taste, smell, hear and touch become part of what they become as a writer. The moral of this little bit of inspiration is while working in other areas, just absorb what you experience. File these things away for the days when you're able to write. While working as a nurse, I wrote little but then I returned to writing a richer person, able to put some of the things I'd compilled into words on paper. Everything a writer experiences can become the seeds for a story at some future date.

Meandering on Monday with Janet Lane Walters

Been away from the computer for nearly 5 days. Now, I'm back.

Meander 1 Today is Memorial Day and I've seen a lot of them. Remember when it was always on May 30th no matter what day of the week. Now the day fluctuates. Today I'm remembering my uncle who was in the Navy during the Second World War. He was my favorite uncle. I can remember how handsome he looked in his uniform and how I hated to see him leave. He died during the war and my life became a little less happy then. but his memory will survive.

Meander 2 Spend days in Florida for a high school graduation. Third grandchild to finish high school. Since he has no idea what career he wishes to pursue, he has decided to enlist in the air force with two of his buddies. The only thing I can say is this was the longest graduation I've sat through recently. Only about 130 graduates and this went on nearly two hours. A lot of speeches and some were rambling.

Meander 3. Did not write for the four days I was gone, hope the momentum hasn't been lost toward completing Shattered Dreams. Was within one and a half chapters of finishing the 6th draft which is the one where I try to find all the little places where I've backed off from realizing a scene. Will be back to work today.

Just a Few Sentences from Jewish Soul by Rita Karnopp

A Few Lines From. . . Rita Karnopp




A few lines from JEWISH SOUL – Book #3 of the Tango of Death Series



By Rita Karnopp

http://www.amazon.com/Jewish-Soul-Tango-Death-ebook/dp/B00CS7TCPM







Mayla watched the girls head for the bushes. She turned toward the men. “If nothing else, everything will be worth it if we manage to save their lives. If any of us is captured, we must die before breathing a word about the twins.”

She stretched out her hand and Chester placed his on top and Stane placed his below. “In the midst of all this evil . . . this is our one good.” Mayla smiled as they nodded in agreement.















Find out more about Rita Karnopp’s books at: www.ritakarnopp.com



Make sure to visit next week for a few lines from Jude Pittman

Wednesday's Writer's Tip - Emotions and Actions

Characters react to situations, to spoken words or the actions of others whether they be large or small. Their emotions must engage in a meaningful way. Another character says something or does something. The focus character sees or hears something, Even tastes, touches,or smells something and they react. Thses reactions are emotional and they need to be geared to the character's nature. Whatever event triggers this reaction, it should be  significant and reasonable and in tune with the character's nature and development. In other words, the character's reaction needs to be in character.

I'm sure we've all read stories where we end up wondering why the character acted in a particular manner to some stimulus. We may never find the reason. This sets up a disappointment in the reader's mind. If a character is going to react to something in a way the reader doesn't believe, the reader is lost. The best way to handle this is to know the character.

When writing the fifth Katherine Miller mystery, my critique group was split on believing the main character's actions to a particular stimulus. Those who didn't know the character and hadn't read the previous books thought her actions were strange and not right. Those who had followed the character's development believed her reactions were in character.  What I had to do was throw in a little background showing the character's nature to bring her reactions to the stimuli to show this was her nature. The central nature of the character was protectiveness of those who were near and dear to her.

So look at what you are using as stimuli for the character to react to and make sure the reaction is true to their nature and is properly motivated.

Tuesday's Inspiration - Evan Hunter - Outlining

While reading this essay by Evan Hunter - About That Novel, He mentions Outlining. Now his idea of outlining isn't what you learned in school. He speaks about starting the story, getting involved with the characters, finding the right tone for the story and seeing where the story might go. He talks about looking ahead to see where the story could go and what the pitfalls might be.

I'm a Plotter and that doesn't mean I rigidly follow what I've written in the outline. During the writing of a story though there may be a plan, sometimes, things happen but I do have a plan and do take time to explore sidetracks to see if my goals fit the characters. Every writer has a goal when they begin a story and things do happen while writing to change the outcome that have not been planned for. Once I have a feel for my characters, I then look at where I'm going. I may have written a chapter or I may have done all the learning in my head. That's when I sit down and look at a chapter outline.

The chapter outline is my telling the story. Some chapters have just one subject. Murder occurs. They make Love. The villain appears. Some are longer with me telling what will happen and why.

So if you're just starting to write, doing a summary or an outline of a story may help you when you sit down to show the story rather than tell.

Meandering on Monday with Janet Lane Walters

First meander is about not being here to have posts posted. There will be none on Thursday, Friday and Saturday. Hopefully there will be one on Sunday if I'm not brain-fried from an early morning flight. The reason is the high school graduation of third grandchild. So proud of him and he's my favorite fan of the YA fantasies I've written. Soa great congratulations to Justin.

Second meander is about guests to the blog. Mae Clair is one of the best. The reason is that she does what blog guests should do and that is to read the comments people make and respond to them. I've ad guests before and they let the comments go uncommented. Building a rapport between people who read the posts can lead to sales. Not doing this means no connection.

Third meander is about helping others become published authors. This week I was able to send another writer to one of my publishers Books We Love and to have her story accepted. Congratulations Claire.

:ast meander is my progress on Shattered Dreams. Am nearing the end of the draft that takes me to the final read through. Hope to finish it this week and that means writing in an airport while waiting for a flight and then in the chaos that will surround the visit to Florida. Hopefully I'll be able to finish there and not lose the momentum of this final writing draft where all the small problems except for the read through are complete. I'm wishing myself luck.

3 Blog Visit Sunday discoveries by Janet Lane Walters

http://sarahballance.wordpress.com/2013/05/16/jenna-jaxon-medieval-pastimes-betrothal-blog-tour-giveaway/

http://juliekenner.com/2013/05/susan-patterson-plus-a-5-amazon-gift-card/

http://bwlpp.blogspot.com/

Saturday's Excerpt Weathering Rock by Mae Clair

WEATHERING ROCK


Excerpt

By Mae Clair



That strange luminescent glow glinted on the surface of his eyes, flaring

pure silver when he looked at her. “I was studying the moon.”

She wasn’t certain she wanted to venture in that direction. Moonlight and a

handsome man were a notoriously fatal combination. “I’ve always thought full moons

were magical.”


He gave a skeptical snort. “It’s not full, it only looks that way. It’s already started

to wane. You just can’t tell by the naked eye.” He tugged at his collar. Sweat clung to his

cheeks, prompting him to thumb open another button on his shirt.


The inky material gaped on his chest. A traitorous part of her mind wondered

what it would be like to free the remaining buttons. She could almost feel the heated

touch of his flesh beneath her fingertips as she slowly worked her way to his waist.

Disturbed, she jerked her hand from his. A hot flush crept up her neck.


“You can tell the difference?” She shot a doubtful glance at the moon. It made her

think of long-ago legends: fairy glades, nameless winged creatures and werewolves.


“The moon and I are well acquainted.”


He leaned into the banister, his leg casually brushing hers. She tensed at the

informal contact, surprised when it streaked through her like a bolt of lightning. Weak-kneed

and stunned, she tried to retreat.


“Annie, don’t go--” Caleb caught her hand.

“Don’t call me that.”

“It suits you.” Towering over her, he stepped closer, his eyes mirroring the smoky

blue of the night-dusted sky. “I think we were supposed to meet.” His voice grew low and

husky, sending a shivery chill up her spine.


She wet her lips, trying to retain her composure. It was impossible to think

straight when he stood so near, his presence engulfing her in a sizzling wall of heat.

“Caleb…”


He bent closer and threaded his hand into her hair, his fingertips lightly pressing

her scalp. A dizzying shiver of sensation cascaded through her. She barely had time to

register the feeling before his mouth closed over hers, possessive and eager, leaving her

breathless.



Tag & Blurb:

Drawn together across centuries, will their love be strong enough to defeat an ancient curse?



Colonel Caleb DeCardian was fighting America’s Civil War on the side of the Union when a freak shower of ball lightning transported him to the present, along with rival and former friend, Seth Reilly. Adapting to the 21st century is hard enough for the colonel, but he also has to find Seth, who cursed him to life as a werewolf. The last thing on Caleb’s mind is romance. Then fetching Arianna Hart nearly runs him down with her car. He can’t deny his attraction to the outspoken schoolteacher, but knows he should forget her.



Arianna finds Caleb bewildering, yet intriguing: courtly manners, smoldering sensuality and eyes that glow silver at night? When she sees Civil War photographs featuring a Union officer who looks exactly like Caleb, she begins to understand the man she is falling in love with harbors multiple secrets--some of which threaten the possibility of their happiness.



Finding a decent guy who'll commit is hard enough. How can she expect Caleb to forsake his own century to be with her?



You can find Mae Clair at the following haunts:

Website

Blog

Twitter (@MaeClair1)

Facebook Author Page

Lyrical Press Author Page

Amazon Author Page

Goodreads



Buy WEATHERING ROCK at:

Amazon

Barnes and Noble

Kobo

Lyrical Press

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View Book Trailer for WEATHERING ROCK

Friday's How She Does It featuring Mae Clair

.How do you create your characters? Do you have a special system?

They tend to pop in my head on their own, usually vague and shadowy, demanding to be fleshed out in greater detail. It’s hard to say what initially sparks their conception. I studiously avoid patterning characters after anyone I know, so they certainly don’t germinate from life experiences!

Usually, once I have that initial ghost of character life, I create backstory and motivation, and then begin constructing relationships with other characters. That eventually leads me into the playground of plot.

2. Do your characters come before your plot? Do you sketch out your plot or do you let your characters develop the route to the end?

Definitely characters before plot. They control the reins, leading me into the plot as we work along. I generally have a vague idea of where we’re headed when I start writing, but the twists and turns along the way are often unexpected and lead to threads I hadn’t anticipated.

3. Do you know how the story will end before you begin? In a general or a specific way?

Hmm. I seem to be leading into your questions with my previous answers. J I rarely know the end of a story when I start, other than wanting it to have an HEA with the hero and heroine ending up together - -after much conflict and many hurdles, of course! That’s about as specific as I get when I start a new novel.

4. Do you choose settings you know or do you have books of settings and plans of houses on your book shelf?

A little of both. For the most part, I sculpt settings from areas I know. I live in Pennsylvania and so set the majority of my books there. But I’m also extremely comfortable with eastern coastal settings and will frequently pull from that familiarity. I’ve travelled a bit across the country and will occasionally reference an area I’ve visited as well. For the last 20+ years, I’ve worked in the real estate industry and have toured properties that range from cottages to historical homes, B&Bs and multi-million dollar mansions. That background has been wonderful in creating diverse home settings!

5. Where do you do your research? From books you won, the library or the internet?

I rarely venture to the library these days. Most of my research is done online but I have several favored books on my shelf, I reference for historical and myth-related topics.

6. Are you a draft writer or do you revise as you go along?

I’ve never developed the knack for being a draft writer. I’m constantly revising as I go along so by the time I reach the end, the book is pretty polished. That’s not to say I don’t do several more read-throughs for tightening and editing before calling it finished.



Thanks for having me as a guest today, Janet. I enjoyed answering your questions!


Mae Clair

Author of WEATHERING ROCK

Available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, iBooks & Lyrical Press



Author of TWELFTH SUN

Coming August 2013



Website
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Just a Few Lines - Exposure - by Lisabet Sarai

The back door, I discover, is unlocked. I’m one hundred percent certain I didn’t leave it that way. Carefully, keeping my body behind the door, I scan the yard. The light filtering from the kitchen windows is bright enough for me to see that there is no one in my little square of turf. It also shows me crushed tomato plants and bean vines torn from their trellises, clearly marking the intruder’s escape route.


At that point, my rage finally overwhelms my fear. I pour myself a finger of scotch and sit at the kitchen table, simmering in helpless anger and vowing some kind of revenge.

Then a horrible thought crosses my mind. Jimmy knew I would be out tonight. He was the only one who knew. Was it possible that he was involved in all this, somehow? Is it possible that smiling Jimmy might have betrayed me?

The balance shifts again. Shudders shake my body. Sitting alone under the fluorescent lights, gripping my drink, I am paralyzed by the realization that I don’t know who I can trust. If anyone.









Exposure - An erotic thriller by Lisabet Sarai



http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00BGTQS14





Visit Lisabet's Fantasy Factory: http://www.lisabetsarai.com

Venture Beyond Romance: http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com



Please come back next week for A Few Lines From. . . Rita Karnopp. Lisabet Sarai

Thursday's Opening Scene - Lines of Fire by Janet Lane Walters

Chapter 1


The challenge match had lasted longer than Alric thought possible. His opponent, one of the desert riders, had been chosen by his clan for the duel. Only one man could win. If Alric bested the other fighter, the local farmers would be spared raids on their crops and herds by the nomad band comprised of rebels against the laws of Investia. If he lost the raids would continue until another patrol arrived. Alric concentrated on the lines of fire flowing over the other man’s skin.

The younger man was agile and talented with the sword and knife. His hair, bleached by the sun, shone red-gold in the morning light. The lines flowed in changing scarlet patterns over his arms and bare chest.

Alric’s opponent’s quick responses to each move made him believe the young man read the lines, too. Someone had to make a mistake before they collapsed.

Sweat coated Alric’s skin. An occasional droplet stung his eyes and blurred his vision. The desert rider showed the same physical reactions. Exhaustion threatened Alric’s control. Then he found an opening. The lines of fire on the younger man’s sword hand faltered.

Alric lunged and caught the other sword sending the blade sailing through the air. He followed with a sweep of his leg. The desert rider sprawled on the ground. Alric pressed his knife against the man’s pulsing neck vein.

“Yield,” he demanded.

“Yielded.” The young man grinned. “Good fight. I’m Jens.”

“Alric.”

Jens turned to the gathered clansmen and the crowd of cheering farmers. “Trade is good unless you try to cheat. We have wool, silver, gold, some gemstones, herbs and spices. We need grain, produce, honey and beer.”

“Do you have salt among the spices?” a man asked.

“We do.”

Moments later someone tapped a keg of beer. Alric opted for a mug of water. Once the formalities ended he searched the crowd for his current bondmate. Before he found her, Jens beckoned. They drew apart from the celebrating clan and villagers.

“I gather you see the lines of fire,” Jens said.

Alric glanced around to make sure no one stood close enough to hear. “It is said only those who are heart bound can see them. Among the Defenders I do not speak of my ability to anyone other than those I trust.”

“Why? I have no bondmate and my friends know of my ability. That’s why I’m chosen for these duels. You’re my first loss.”

Alric moved further from the celebration. “Seeing the lines is one of the reasons our forefathers used the mists to come to this land. Sorcerers sought to use their talents for evil.”

“An old wives’ tale I’ve often heard from the elderly riders.”

“Perhaps. I’m a Defender as I promised my father I would become. I believe what he told me when I was growing up.”

Jens frowned. “How fortunate to have known your father. As a small child I lived in the Defenders Hall. My mother died so I was fostered to a shepherd’s family when I was three. Soon as I could I ran. A penned life isn’t for me.”

Alric swallowed. “Did you have a sister?”

Jens shrugged. “My memories of the Defenders Hall are poor. What I remember is a tall man dragging me away and riding with him for days.”

Alric wished the younger man had more memories but he feared he would never know if this young man was his lost brother. “You might consider coming with our patrol. Though you’re older than most of the trainees, your skill would let you advance rapidly.”

Jens laughed. “You could leave the Defenders behind and join this clan of riders. We would welcome a man with your skills. You and I could be invincible as a team at the games.”

Alric studied the ground. There were times when he dreamed of leaving the Defenders. Some of the twelve years hadn’t been pleasant, especially when the leader placed obstacles in his way. He’d leaped over those stumbling blocks and succeeded. The promise he’d made to his father ruled his life.

Alric turned away and saw his bondmate waving. “I must go. Good riding and successful dueling.”

“Same.”

When Alric strode away from the younger man he scowled. The connection to Jens had been deeper than usual. Though the younger man had no memories of the past, he could be one of the missing sibs. In an instant Alric decided when he returned to the Hall he would search the Archives to see if the records held any information about his family.

His bondmate led him away from the crowd. “Where is the rest of the patrol?” he asked.

“I told them to head out and you would catch up.”

She wore no bracelet. A groan rumbled from his gut. Bracelets meant the bonding between mates stood. Since she had removed hers, that meant he’d been twice rejected. Once more and he would be banished from the Defenders. He opened the clasp on the brass one he wore.

“Seeks you won’t be returning with me.”

She stared at the ground. “I never wanted to be a Defender. I wanted to exchange bracelets with my childhood sweetheart. He’s here and wears no bracelet.”

With his thumbs, Alric tilted her head to see her expression. Though her decision was right for her, sadness shrouded his thoughts. “I wish you happiness.” He dropped the bracelet she had clasped on his wrist during the bonding ceremony into her hand. “Here’s your price.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want you to pay the fine. I never tried to see if our bond could last.”

“Neither did I.”

“You could have forced me to unite with you.”

Alric grimaced. “I wasn’t raised to grab what I wasn’t offered.”

“What will you do?” she asked.

“The patrol has finished the rounds of the southern sector of Investia. The Day of Ingathering for the returning patrols is just weeks away. I’ll ride to the Defenders Hall and choose another mate.”

“I wish you luck."
Alric walked away. He touched the bracelet hidden beneath his shirt. His father had given him the unique piece just before his death. Perhaps this time he would find his heart bound mate.

Wednesday's Writer's Tip - Focusing your story

First let me say this is one of the best books I've read on writing and I've used it since I began writing. The first copy of this book was loaned to someone who never returned it so I bought a new one. I learned so much about writing from the book and also from the editors who, years ago, made comments on my stories and sent me back to re-write.


There is a little thing I've used when writing gleaned from this book. For me it usually comes after the rough draft is completed or when I try several first chapters that go no-where. What this technique does is allows you to see the focus of the story and that starts with deciding which character is the focus of the story. Sometimes this is easy but often in writing romance both the hero and the heroine seem to be the focus characters. This isn't necessarily so. Here's a look at how I find my way before too much is lost. The technique was found in Techniques of the Selling Writer by Dwight V. Swain.

It is a statement followed by a question and sums up the entire book to keep me on track. So I'll show you how it works for me since it's being used in a story I'm currently writing.

When Rafe Marshall returns to take the position as Director of Nursing at Fern Lake General, he encounters Manon Lockley MD, the girl he deserted on the night of their senior prom because of threats voiced by her father. Will he be able to convince Manon that he loves her when she believes the lies she has been told?

Here we have the focus character Rafe and the situation. At first, I thought Manon was the focus character, but this wasn't working. Then the reason hit me. Rafe has the most to lose and to gain in the story. The situation is addressed by his return and the why of his return is given. The goal or objective is stated and the opponent is named. Also the potential for disaster is named. Once I had this down the story has moved ahead rapidly.









I've been using things gleaned from this book for my weekly tips and have sort of jumped ahead but wanted to share what put me on track.

Tuesday's Inspiration - A repeat - About Novels - Evan Hunter

Since last week this never made it to my tribes, I thought I'd repost this week. The quote struck me as important to writers.

I'm re-reading a book with essays from writers past and present and found one by Evan Hunter and his advice was rather short and easy. "If you haven't got an idea for one, forget it."










The idea is usually the jumping off point for my stories. Something read in the newspaper, on the internet, in a book. Sometimes the idea comes from observing other people and the way they interact. The idea is like a small germ that sits in your thoughts and abrades the process until suddenly the idea sprouts and blooms into a flower you must show to the world.









I remember quite clearly how the idea for Murder and Mint Tea came about. "And so we walk on eggshells." The abrading began and slowly other things began to form. Why were we walking on eggshells? Who was doing the walking? The first germ was a murder and the second became the character of Katherine Miller. She's stayed with me for five books and the possibility of a sixth. Each of the following stories started with the grain that abraded. Characters introduced in the first story joined with characters in the next stories. Some in small ways and some in large ways. But the idea was the thing.









The grain for Code Blue was different. I love medical suspense, but they all seemed to me to follow a pattern. An evil doctor or other medical professional made decisions that resulted in harm for other people. What if a patient, a patient's relative was the one doing in the medical personel. That was the idea that rubbed and rubbed until the characters were born. Then the fun began. The first murder was truly a murder but I wanted others not to seem like then. The first was an impulse kill. The others were planned. As the idea expanded, only then did I begin to write. Most of the exploration was in my head.









So it's been with every story I've written. The idea came, often like a shock, followed by what if. Then I sat back and let the ingredients for. So to repeat. "If you haven't got an idea, forget it."



How about you? Does the idea happen and then nag until a form is born?

Meandering on Monday with Janet Lane Walters #amqeiring #amreading #amMFRW

The first meander is about helping other writers. I helped a friend so a very simple query for Bllos We Love Publishers. Another friend joined me in recommending her to the company that is one of our publishers. The manuscript was asked for. That makes me feel happy. Now would I recommend anyone whose work I don't know. Probably not. I feel helping other writers is some place where authors sometimes fail. I often wonder why this is. Part is because they may be worried that this person has gone further with their career than they have. I've critiqued many authors and some of them have gone on to great success. This makes me feel good. I think of myself as their mother in writing. This kind of help was given to me when I returned to writing after a ten year hiatus of working as a nurse with all the emotional impact that career has on a person. Paying forward is my goal and writing stories that become better and better as each one progresses. What about you? Do you extend your hand to other writers and feel good when they succeed?

The second meander is about visiting old friends. These friends aren't necessarily in the flesh. I re-read books and have been doing this for years. Not every book I purchase belongs to this category and they are an interesting collection of stories. I've read War and Peace twice. Anna Karenina has been re-read several times, each time with new insight. Pride and Predjudice has been read at least 19 times but the Arts and Entertainment lengthy production has taken over my reading of this book. I'm now re-reading the Foreigner series by Cherryh and finding so many new things that I didn't quite remember about the stories. And while I'm reading, I'm learning about mixing action with non-action, Maybe not learning but remembering.

The third meander is about progress. For several months I toyed with writing more than one book and I had three on the computer. But they were progressing slowly and not making the plung to completion. This isn't really the way I work but occasionally one flounders and has to find their way. I'm now concentrating on Shattered Dreams and once that's done will look at the second book in the series. As I was messing around with this story. Actually had six chapters in rough draft, I realized that though the characters had internal dilemman, there was no outer conflict that would help bring them together. Slowly this has emerged and that means tossing those six chapters aside. For the better, I believe.

3 Blog Visit Sunday discoveries by Janet Lane Walters

http://nielsenhayden.com/makinglight/archives/004772.html

http://www.petitfoursandhottamales.com/2013/05/10/off-the-beaten-path-mackinac-island-michigan-by-juliette-martini/

http://bwlauthors.blogspot.com/2013/05/romantic-times-2013-observations.html

Saturday's Chapter By Victoria Chatham

CHAPTER 9


Lucius situated himself at the back of the entrance hall in Countess Esterhazy’s house. Light glittered from hundreds of candles set in wall sconces, candelabras and chandeliers. Footmen stood guard on both sides of the front door. Servants took cloaks, shawls, hats and canes from the early arrivals.

Waiting impatiently, he wanted to see and talk to only one person. He avoided several acquaintances, all of whom would be thoroughly shocked had they known of his infatuation.

Yes, infatuation, he told himself. It could surely not be anything else. She was pretty; no, he corrected himself, make that beautiful. Witty; no, a sharp tongued shrew who would probably never give a husband a moment’s peace. But, he told himself, this woman would never be a bore, could also be his friend as well as his lover if he chose to indulge that fantasy.

His attention focused on the front door. What would she be wearing? Would she see him? Could he stop himself from stepping out and sweeping her into his arms? The thought stunned him. That was a road he did not want to travel.

He fought to keep his warring emotions firmly under control but, when Emmaline at last made her entrance he joined in the collective gasp of admiration from those standing around the foyer.

Sheathed in a simple white satin gown that showed her figure to its fullest advantage, she walked with a grace that quite simply enchanted him. He stepped back behind a colonnade, not wanting his pleasure in seeing her to be seen.

He watched heads turn as gentlemen frankly admired her slim figure. Lucius fumed inwardly at their impertinence, amazing himself with the strength of his reaction. Why should the way other men look at her matter to him? Her exotic good looks could not but delight any eye.

The ladies cast envious glances her way, whispering about the design of the seed pearls stitched to her low cut neckline and the quality of the silver lace stole draped over her arms. Dowagers gasped as her satin skirts clung to her long, shapely legs. Clearly disapproving, some lifted fans to hide their faces while they made comments to their neighbours.

Her determination to combat the openly curious stares directed her way was evident in the tilt of her chin, her ramrod straight back. He watched her return stare for stare, nodding her head and smiling graciously at people as if she knew them. He moved closer and still Emmaline had not seen him. As she turned to speak to her chaperone, Countess Esterhazy appeared and swept her into a warm embrace.

“So good of you to come, my dear,” he heard the Countess say. “Our meeting at Almack’s was fortuitous but all too brief. I look forward to a longer conversation with you later this evening.”

“It was kind of you to send a carriage and chaperone for me,” Emmaline replied.

“My pleasure, my dear.” The Countess took her arm. “Now I must introduce you to some friends of mine.”

Unable to refuse, Emmaline found herself swept along on a tide of bon hommie, being introduced to one group of people after another, until the Countess stopped in front of Lucius.

“And I don’t believe I need introduce you two, n’est pas?” A little trill of laughter bubbled up from inside her as she patted Emmaline’s hand and walked away.

Fury at the subterfuge boiled in Emmaline’s veins. She raised her glance only to see humour lurking in Lucius’ steady gaze. She tightened her fists and would dearly loved to have hit him.

“Not my doing, Miss Devereux, I do assure you,” he said, putting up his hands as if in defeat. ”Although I can’t say I’m sorry. You look quite charming this evening.”

“I should do after all the effort that went into it,” Emmaline replied through gritted teeth.

“I see.” A ghost of a smile played across his face. “You would perhaps be happier in the country wearing homespun and half boots?”

“Much.”

“And why would that be?”

“I prefer the simple honesty of country life to the so called manners of people in Town, my Lord.”

“Really? Pray educate me.”

Dazed at finding herself so close to him again, Emmaline allowed Lucius to take her elbow and steer her to a seat in a window embrasure. When she saw where he led her, she glanced around but her chaperone was close by. Composing herself as best she could, she took the proffered seat.

“Now, you were going to educate me in the ways of honest country life and ill mannered Town people, were you not?”

For a moment Emmaline thought she detected mockery in his voice. She dared to look at him, but saw nothing other than interest in his face.

“As master of Avondale Park, I am sure you are well acquainted with country life and need no instruction from me.”

“To an extent that may be true, but I am not sure how best to respond to your argument. Pray enlighten me.”

“Why, my Lord, do your horses not bite at one end and kick at the other? Do your dogs not steal scraps from your table, the cat get into the cream or the foxes ravage your chickens?”

“And there is honesty in that?”

“But of course, for they are simply being themselves.”

“And in Town we are not?”

“Of course not.” The look Emmaline gave him was beyond scathing. “Countess Esterhazy very clearly arranged to put us together this evening. Mamas scheme to marry their daughters off to the richest man possible every Season, regardless of how they may feel about each other. You only have to consider Lord and Lady Fletcher to see that.”

“How so?”

“Miss Stephanie Howard’s parents married her off to Lord Fletcher for his fortune and his estates but she is now carrying Lord Burrough’s child. Tell me, what is honest about that?”

“How the devil did you know about Lady Fletcher?” asked Lucius, clearly astonished.

“It doesn’t matter.” Emmaline shook her head.

“And what of you, Miss Devereux, are you honest?”

Emmaline’s stomach turned upside down and she quaked in her white satin slippers. Oh, how much she wanted to tell him the truth, to trust that he would not turn away from her. But it was impossible. She steeled herself and dared to look directly into his eyes.

“At this moment, my Lord, no I am not.”

Her response surprised and intrigued him but before he could question her further, a buzz of conversation stirred in the crowd. People pressed back to clear the centre of the room. Lucius stood up as they heard the murmur of anticipation.

“It is the Prince Regent himself,” the chaperone whispered with awe.

Emmaline left her chair and stood beside Lucius, hoping to remain at the back of the crowd. To her horror Countess Esterhazy was forming a reception line and she quickly found herself at the forefront.

The Prince, with his entourage behind him, slowly made his way down the line. Emmaline looked down and bit her lip, hoping that he would pass by her but the Countess and the Prince Regent stopped in front of her.

“Miss Devereux, delighted to make your acquaintance again.” In the ensuing silence she heard the creak of his stays as he bent towards her.

“Your Royal Highness is too kind.” She dropped a deep curtsy and bowed her head.

“Nonsense.” The Prince lifted her hand to his lips. “England salutes you. And how is your grandfather and your army of wounded warriors, hmm?”

“As well as can be expected, your Highness,” Emmaline assured him, but the Countess had already moved on.

“Escorting Miss Devereux this evening, Avondale?” the Prince asked as the Countess introduced them. “If you ain’t, I might have to snaffle this pretty little thing out from under your nose.”

There were snorts of laughter and protestations from those around them and the Prince continued down the line, a fat chuckle emanating from his lips.

Lucius took two glasses of champagne from the salver presented by a footman and gave one to a still dazed Emmaline. She took the glass without a word, but turned with everyone else when Count Esterhazy proposed a toast to the Prince.

“So how come you’re acquainted with Prinny?” Lucius asked quietly once the Prince’s party moved on to take their seats in readiness for Catalani’s performance.

“I met him just once at a military function when in the company of my grandfather.” Emmaline sipped on her champagne.

“So why would England salute you?”

Emmaline sipped on her champagne and swallowed it slowly. Here was the core of her problem. She sipped thoughtfully on the champagne again. How could she possibly tell him anything without having to tell him all? There was no way at all. She recklessly tossed back the remainder of her champagne and placed her empty flute on a passing servant’s tray. Lucius stood close behind her. She sensed the heat in his hard muscled body. Her heart leapt, skipped a beat as he moved closer still. Her skin burnt as the backs of his fingers pressed lightly against her arm. She took a deep breath to compose herself and wished she had not drunk her champagne so quickly. Her head spun a little as she turned to Lucius.

“His Highness simply referred to the work my grandfather took upon himself to repatriate wounded soldiers. You must know they were shockingly neglected.”

“I have heard something of the sort, but I do believe there is more to it than that.”

Emmaline moved away a little and looked up at him. “But without calling me a liar, which would be most ungentlemanly of you, you will have to accept it will you not?”

“No, minx. I will not.”

Lucius leaned in towards her. His breath on her neck made her stiffen. Little licks of heat danced down her veins, twirled her pulse into a rapid tattoo. She tried to keep her back straight and to look ahead while all she wanted was to close her eyes and drop her head onto his shoulder. How could her body betray her so? She gave herself a mental shake and lifted her chin.

“I wish . . “ she began.

“What do you wish, Emmaline?”

She inhaled deeply. His words must have ridden on the cloud of her breath and detached themselves in her brain for she could not possibly have heard them.

“I mean, I want . . “

“What?” His lips were close to her ear. “Tell me what you want.”

He stood so close. She knew that if she leaned back she would feel the hard wall of his chest. She took a step away, but he moved beside her. She felt the firmness of his thigh against her hip. Shocked at the instant tremor this elicited in her, she moved away again. His whisper, soft and low and surely not heard by anyone but her, tickled the delicate shell of her ear.

“What I want is you in my bed.”

Emmaline gasped. This was wrong. She could not have heard him correctly. She blinked and looked up at him. The longing she saw in his eyes matched the longing in her heart and nearly overturned her resolve, but she lifted her chin even more and tried to smile.

“Ah, a jest to set the tone for the evening,” she said as glibly as she could

“I do not jest, I assure you, but I believe we should take our seats in readiness for the performance.”

In stunned silence, Emmaline took the arm he offered her. Lucius escorted her into the already darkened drawing room in which the evening’s entertainment was to take place. He procured seats for them, just as the performer made her entrance.

Catalani’s dark eyes swept her audience and commanded immediate quiet. She held them spellbound. Her audience waited. Her rich soprano voice began to fill the room and Emmaline felt a slight pressure on her hand. She glanced down to see Lucius’ hand resting gently on hers.

Her heart soared. Her pulse thumped as the soprano’s voice effortlessly rose and fell from one octave to another. Eyes closed, Emmaline remained motionless. She prayed that Lucius would not remove his hand and revelled in the warmth that radiated through the thin kidskin barrier of her gloves.

Her mind drifted. What if there were no barriers between them? What if she could remove his coat, his shirt? What if he slipped her gown off her shoulder? She shivered with pleasure at the image of his skin against hers.

Lucius turned her hand over and she felt the light pressure of his finger as he began to prescribe lazy circles in the palm of her hand. She gasped in shocked delight and, as that exploring finger travelled to the inside of her wrist and began to caress, felt a tremor run through her body.

Lulled by the melodies that washed over her, aflame from the sensations he stirred in her, she gave in. Relished the heat that emanated from Lucius’ hand and warmed her entire body. Wished the moment could last forever. When the song was at an end she reluctantly pulled her hand loose, rose from her chair and joined the audience in applauding the performance.

“She is magnificent, is she not?” Emmaline whispered to Lucius.

“Yes, you are,” he whispered back.

Suddenly breathless, Emmaline quickly sat down and folded her hands together in her lap to prevent them trembling. She peeped at Miss Stevens, hoping that she had not heard Lucius but her chaperone was still on her feet applauding. Catalani hushed the audience and sang two more pieces before making her exit amidst thunderous applause.

“However they managed it, the Esterhazy’s have outdone themselves,” Lucius said as the room began to empty. He held Emmaline’s chair as she stood up. “Were you perhaps invited to dine at Lady Darnley’s this evening?”

She nodded, unable to find words with which to reply.

“May I escort you?”

Fighting to control her breathing, she desperately hoped he did not notice her hesitation. “You do not have your own carriage this evening?”

“Yes, but it can follow.”

“And keep your horses waiting?”

A smile broke the lean face that loomed so close to hers. “There are times when it does not hurt them. Tonight is one of those times.”

Lucius beckoned to a footman and asked that his carriage be re-directed to Lady Darnley’s residence. He offered Emmaline his arm. She placed her hand in the crook of his elbow.

It felt so right, so good, as if it had always been so as she stepped out with him to her carriage. He had not said he loved her, had not asked for her hand in marriage, but his whispered words rang in her mind.

He wanted her.

Just a Few Lines via Gail Roughton from The Color of Seven

The Dark Series: The Color of Seven




He walked up to a little backwoods Alabama black Church. Seven

Cedars Baptist. It stood right outside Seven Cedars, Alabama. He laughed. “Be you de sebbenth son of a sebbenth son,

boy?” Well, maybe he was, maybe he wasn’t. Sounded good, though. He went

inside to join the ongoing service. Within a month, he’d collected a group of

ten or so of the black community’s finest young men. He met with them down by the

banks of Seven Cedar Creek.



“My name be Cain,” he announced. “An’ my color be sebben.”



http://gailroughton.blogspot.com

http://bookswelove.net/roughton.php

https://www.facebook.com/GailRoughton





Amazon

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Please join us again on May 17 for a few lines from Lisabet Sarai!

Friday's How She Does It featurning Victoria Chatham

Thank you Janet! This is a new and exciting venture for me. Here are my answers and attached pdf file. The chapter is quite innocuous and suitable for general reading as requested. I hope this works but if you need anything else please let me know. Thanks again. Victoria C.






We all know there are six elements in writing fiction Who, What, Where, When,Why and How. I believe the first five lead to the sixth which for me is the Plot. What's your take on this?



I quite agree with you. I think it was Rudyard Kipling who first coined the five W’s in his poem The Elephant’s Child. It’s the most concise way of encapsulating the bones of a story and the most basic framework from which to work. ‘Who’ is your cast of characters. ‘Where’ is the world, or setting, in which you place them. ‘When’ is the time period whether it’s historical or contemporary. ‘What’, ‘Why’ and ‘How’ is all the stuff that happens along the way to the conclusion, the story arc if you will.



1.How do you create your characters? Do you have a special system?



I don’t think I have ever consciously created my characters. They come to me in their own good time. Sometimes singly, sometimes in a rush. I write them all down and promise them I’ll get to them eventually. When that time comes, I create a profile for each character. I determine their birthday and build their strengths and weaknesses based on their astrological sign. I create their personal timeline to further confirm why they are the way they are, influences from parents and siblings, school and profession, and for my Regency, the mores of the era. Then I have material to draw on when I start putting them in situations they are not expecting.



2. Do your characters come before your plot? Do you sketch out your plot or do you let your characters develop the route to the end?



My characters definitely come before my plot. Once I have my cast of characters, then I create a rough one page outline in bullet form of what happens to them and up the ante once I start writing.



3. Do you know how the story will end before you begin? In a general or a specific way?



Not always, but because I write romance there has to be a HEA so that’s what I try to build up to through all the problems my characters have to overcome.



4. Do you choose settings you know or do you have books of settings and plans of houses on your book shelf?



I love placing my characters in settings I know, or create a setting to suit my story based on settings I know. That might be places I have actually lived or visited, or even pictures from magazines that catch my eye. My home up until I was five years old was my grandmother’s Georgian house. I used the sitting room in that house for a scene in His Dark Enchantress. I made Sidmouth, Devon the home for my heroine in that book, based on what I remembered from visits there as a child. If I want to use a setting to which I have never been, I Google it and, if at all possible, visit it.. God bless Google! As for houses, I’m blessed with a knack for ‘seeing’ the homes my characters live in and usually draft them before I start writing so I know where rooms, hallways, stairways and doorways are. It’s just a rough sketch that works for me a bit like a road map. If I’m creating a village or town, that gets drawn out too. I like to know where I’m going, so if I can see it then I don’t have my characters getting lost. I’m a very visual person so this helps me to get what I see into words on the page and hopefully create a better flow for my reader to follow.



5. Where do you do your research? From books you won, the library or the internet?



I love research! It can easily draw me away from the writing. In an early writing class the tutor told me to forget the research, write the damn book and fill in where I needed to later. I have a magpie mind and tend to recall the most obscure facts. First and foremost I use the internet, but for the best research I love talking to people. If I really need something specific then I will go to a professional or an organization. Once I was stuck on not being able to see the roofline for the house I’d created for a particular story. I picked an architect out of Yellow Pages and spent a very enjoyable and informative two hours with him. For another story I needed to know what life was like in Montreal in 1939 just before WW2. For that I approached a local seniors organization and consequently spent a most delightful afternoon with a very charming lady who gave me the most wonderful insight of her life back then. Her record of how she and her sisters washed their hair is in that book. That’s the kind of detail I look for as I think it creates a very human touch. I do use the library but I’m a much slower reader these days so I like to have books for my own shelves so I can pick at them as and when I’m ready.



6. Are you a draft writer or do you revise as you go along?



I revise as I go. I have the most wonderful critique partner in A.M. Westerling so when I’ve got a few chapters under my belt I send them to her. I just keep writing, but when I get her critique back I revise the returned chapters and I know I’m pretty well done with them. Sometimes a thread gets changed and, of course, there is always the final read through. I want to make sure all the plot points are satisfactorily concluded and I have achieved that HEA that all romance readers expect.

Thursday's Opening Scene from Lines of Fire by Janet Lane Walters #MFRW #amwriting

Chapter 1




The challenge match had lasted longer than Alric thought possible. His opponent, one of the desert riders, had been chosen by his clan for the duel. Only one man could win. If Alric bested the other fighter, the local farmers would be spared raids on their crops and herds by the nomad band comprised of rebels against the laws of Investia. If he lost the raids would continue until another patrol arrived. Alric concentrated on the lines of fire flowing over the other man’s skin.

The younger man was agile and talented with the sword and knife. His hair, bleached by the sun, shone red-gold in the morning light. The lines flowed in changing scarlet patterns over his arms and bare chest.

Alric’s opponent’s quick responses to each move made him believe the young man read the lines, too. Someone had to make a mistake before they collapsed.

Sweat coated Alric’s skin. An occasional droplet stung his eyes and blurred his vision. The desert rider showed the same physical reactions. Exhaustion threatened Alric’s control. Then he found an opening. The lines of fire on the younger man’s sword hand faltered.

Alric lunged and caught the other sword sending the blade sailing through the air. He followed with a sweep of his leg. The desert rider sprawled on the ground. Alric pressed his knife against the man’s pulsing neck vein.

“Yield,” he demanded.

“Yielded.” The young man grinned. “Good fight. I’m Jens.”

“Alric.”

Jens turned to the gathered clansmen and the crowd of cheering farmers. “Trade is good unless you try to cheat. We have wool, silver, gold, some gemstones, herbs and spices. We need grain, produce, honey and beer.”

“Do you have salt among the spices?” a man asked.

“We do.”

Moments later someone tapped a keg of beer. Alric opted for a mug of water. Once the formalities ended he searched the crowd for his current bondmate. Before he found her, Jens beckoned. They drew apart from the celebrating clan and villagers.

“I gather you see the lines of fire,” Jens said.

Alric glanced around to make sure no one stood close enough to hear. “It is said only those who are heart bound can see them. Among the Defenders I do not speak of my ability to anyone other than those I trust.”

“Why? I have no bondmate and my friends know of my ability. That’s why I’m chosen for these duels. You’re my first loss.”

Alric moved further from the celebration. “Seeing the lines is one of the reasons our forefathers used the mists to come to this land. Sorcerers sought to use their talents for evil.”

“An old wives’ tale I’ve often heard from the elderly riders.”

“Perhaps. I’m a Defender as I promised my father I would become. I believe what he told me when I was growing up.”

Jens frowned. “How fortunate to have known your father. As a small child I lived in the Defenders Hall. My mother died so I was fostered to a shepherd’s family when I was three. Soon as I could I ran. A penned life isn’t for me.”

Alric swallowed. “Did you have a sister?”

Jens shrugged. “My memories of the Defenders Hall are poor. What I remember is a tall man dragging me away and riding with him for days.”

Alric wished the younger man had more memories but he feared he would never know if this young man was his lost brother. “You might consider coming with our patrol. Though you’re older than most of the trainees, your skill would let you advance rapidly.”

Jens laughed. “You could leave the Defenders behind and join this clan of riders. We would welcome a man with your skills. You and I could be invincible as a team at the games.”

Alric studied the ground. There were times when he dreamed of leaving the Defenders. Some of the twelve years hadn’t been pleasant, especially when the leader placed obstacles in his way. He’d leaped over those stumbling blocks and succeeded. The promise he’d made to his father ruled his life.

Alric turned away and saw his bondmate waving. “I must go. Good riding and successful dueling.”

“Same.”

When Alric strode away from the younger man he scowled. The connection to Jens had been deeper than usual. Though the younger man had no memories of the past, he could be one of the missing sibs. In an instant Alric decided when he returned to the Hall he would search the Archives to see if the records held any information about his family.

His bondmate led him away from the crowd. “Where is the rest of the patrol?” he asked.

“I told them to head out and you would catch up.”

She wore no bracelet. A groan rumbled from his gut. Bracelets meant the bonding between mates stood. Since she had removed hers, that meant he’d been twice rejected. Once more and he would be banished from the Defenders. He opened the clasp on the brass one he wore.

“Seeks you won’t be returning with me.”

She stared at the ground. “I never wanted to be a Defender. I wanted to exchange bracelets with my childhood sweetheart. He’s here and wears no bracelet.”

With his thumbs, Alric tilted her head to see her expression. Though her decision was right for her, sadness shrouded his thoughts. “I wish you happiness.” He dropped the bracelet she had clasped on his wrist during the bonding ceremony into her hand. “Here’s your price.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want you to pay the fine. I never tried to see if our bond could last.”

“Neither did I.”

“You could have forced me to unite with you.”

Alric grimaced. “I wasn’t raised to grab what I wasn’t offered.”

“What will you do?” she asked.

“The patrol has finished the rounds of the southern sector of Investia. The Day of Ingathering for the returning patrols is just weeks away. I’ll ride to the Defenders Hall and choose another mate.”

“I wish you luck.”

Alric walked away. He touched the bracelet hidden beneath his shirt. His father had given him the unique piece just before his death. Perhaps this time he would find his heart bound mate.

Wednesday's Writer's Tip - Found in Techniques of the Selling Writer by Dwight V. Swain

First let me say this is one of the best books I've read on writing and I've used it since I began writing. The first copy of this book was loaned to someone who never returned it so I bought a new one. I learned so much about writing from the book and also from the editors who, years ago, made comments on my stories and sent me back to re-write.

There is a little thing I've used when writing gleaned from this book. For me it usually comes after the rough draft is completed or when I try several first chapters that go no-where.

It is a statement followed by a question and sums up the entire book to keep me on track. So I'll show you how it works for me since it's being used in a story I'm currently writing.

When Rafe Marshall returns to take the position as Director of Nursing at Fern Lake General, he encounters Manon Lockley MD, the girl he deserted  on the night of their senior prom because of threats voiced by her father. Will he be able to convince Manon that he loves her when she believes the lies she has been told?

Here we have the focus character Rafe and the situation. At first, I thought Manon was the focus character, but this wasn't working. Then the reason hit me. Rafe has the most to lose and to gain in the story. The situation is addressed by his return and the why of his return is given.  The goal or objective is stated and the opponent is named.  Also the potential for disaster is named. Once I had this down the story has moved ahead rapidly.

I've been using things gleaned from this book for my weekly tips and have sort of jumped ahead but wanted to share what put me on track.

Tuesday's Inspiration - Evan Hunter - About Novels

I'm re-reading a book with essays from writers past and present and found one by Evan Hunter and his advice was rather short and easy. "If you haven't got an idea for one, forget it."

The idea is usually the jumping off point for my stories. Something read in the newspaper, on the internet, in a book. Sometimes the idea comes from observing other people and the way they interact. The idea is like a small germ that sits in your thoughts and abrades the process until suddenly the idea sprouts and blooms into a flower you must show to the world.

I remember quite clearly how the idea for Murder and Mint Tea came about. "And so we walk on eggshells." The abrading began and slowly other things began to form. Why were we walking on eggshells? Who was doing the walking? The first germ was a murder and the second became the character of Katherine Miller. She's stayed with me for five books and the possibility of a sixth. Each of the following stories started with the grain that abraded. Characters introduced in the first story joined with characters in the next stories. Some in small ways and some in large ways. But the idea was the thing.

The grain for Code Blue was different. I love medical suspense, but they all seemed to me to follow a pattern. An evil doctor or other medical professional made decisions that resulted in harm for other people. What if a patient, a patient's relative was the one doing in the medical personel. That was the idea that rubbed and rubbed until the characters were born. Then the fun began. The first murder was truly a murder but I wanted others not to seem like then. The first was an impulse kill. The others were planned. As the idea expanded, only then did I begin to write.  Most of the exploration was in my head.

So it's been with every story I've written. The idea came, often like a shock, followed by what if. Then I sat back and let the ingredients for. So to repeat. "If you haven't got an idea, forget it."
How about you? Does the idea happen and then nag until a form is born?

Meandering on Monday with Janet Lane Walters #MFRW #amwriting

Today's meander is about Conflict. Also about Beautiful Writing.

First is conflict. Without Conflict between characters or between the characters and the environment or the society, there really is no story. I know when writing romance, the author wants to have a story with a happy ending and somehow they have to deal with problems on the way. If the character must face no conflict, of what use is the story. The characters must come up against obstacles or the story becomes boring. This is not to say this kind of story isn't published. I've read some and when reading, I come across some where after the initial problem, everything goes smoothly for the character. I become bored and I also find places where a bit of conflict would make what is a small story into one that really pits the hero or heroine against some reason they have to fight for their happiness at the end. Now this sort of scenario could occur in other genres and can in literary stories, but I want to know why and how the focus character fights to gain the happy ending.

Second is Beautiful Writing. There are some writers who amaze me with their wonderful prose. The writing pulls me along from word to word. Sometimes during the writing my mind wanders off. Is there such a thing as the writing being too lush and the use of language too smooth. For me this can happen. There are several writers in my past who write with this beautiful flowing, highly descriptive language who have never gone far in their careers. They may have been published once, twice or three times, but their sales don't allow a publisher to continue them beyond. So what's the difference in the literary language of those who are successful and those who merely write beautiful prose.

What I have seen is when the two styles come together. No conflict but beautiful writing and I'm bored.

As to my own writing. Shattered Dreams has reached the stage where I'm concerned with language and making sure the conflict is strong. Part of the way I do this is to do a statement that lays out what will happen to the focus character and a question that states the problem. Once this is done, I'll start Shadowed Dreams again. Finally decided which character has the most to lose or gain.

3 Blog Visit Sunday discoveries by Janet Lane Walters

http://tinagayle.blogspot.com/2007/03/avoiding-second-punch-of-time-monster.html

http://katheryn-lane.blogspot.com/2013/05/why-i-love-strong-female-characters-by.html

http://anitaphilmar.blogspot.com/2013/05/career-suicide.html

Saturday's Chapter - Erotic Deception by Karen Cote #MFRW

Chapter One


Lily slammed on the brakes. The car fishtailed as the bumper flirted with the weed-edged road before a yank on the steering wheel righted the momentum and she screeched to a halt.

Protective instinct drove her hand to blanket her stomach as tiny beads of sweat heated her forehead like splintering glass. Her heart drummed in her chest from the near miss as Lily glanced down at her hand covering her abdomen.

A ridiculous reaction.

Her womb was empty and had been for years. It always would be.

But that was a different time. A different car. A different driver. Even if the old memory held eternal consequences.

Lily slapped away the self-pity and peeked over the hood of her car. Where had that damned deer come from? One minute there was nothing and then whamo, right there in front of her. Like Harry-freaking-Houdini.

She didn’t have time for this. She had to hide. To plan.

However, with her teeth chattering and knees knocking, Lily was in dire need of some composure especially if she wanted to make it to the lake cabin tonight. She focused on a gas station sign ahead, easing her foot off the brake and back onto the accelerator.

After taking the specified exit, Lily had to go an additional half mile and she didn’t miss the irony of Jake’s Oasis posted above the country store.

Pulling up to the old-fashioned pay-inside fuel pumps, she cast a wary glance at the dirt-covered windows of the adjacent store. With more grit than sense, she opened the car door and reeled back at the oven-like humidity. Somehow her keys fell out of her hand and ended up on the ground in a billowing cloud of dust.

“Damn!” She bent down to retrieve them.

“Afternoon.”

Lily jumped and cursed again when her head smacked against the inside door handle. A husky man in grease-covered overalls grinned through a wet wad of tobacco.

“Mighty fine car you got there. Needin’ some gas?”

Lily pushed her hair out of her face and encountered a friendly glance. Too friendly.

Without conceit, she hadn’t reached the age of twenty-nine before becoming aware that green eyes, long, blonde hair, and well-endowed, but slender, curved women got more than their fair-share of attention. Wanted or not. In this case, definitely not.

With a firm grasp on her keys, Lily grabbed her purse and stepped out of the car.

“Could you fill it up please?”

She didn’t wait for his answer before heading toward the entrance to the store. Her t-shirt clung in the heat and Lily self-consciously pulled the material away from her breasts.

The air inside wasn’t much cooler despite the air conditioner propped haphazardly in the window.

Another man stood at the cash register similar in stature to the first man. Lily acknowledged him with a nod and made her way to the freestanding aisles in the cramped room.

With little to choose from in the snack department, she settled on a candy bar. The diet soda from the refrigerated section was surprisingly cold. She carried both items to the cash register and placed them among the knick-knacks crowding the counter. The stench of smoke curled from a cigarette keeping company with about a gazillion others butts in a dirty ashtray. Lily stepped back to avoid it.

“Anything else you need?”

The same country drawl echoed the one from the man pumping her gas.

How far out of the city am I?

The man’s interest zoned in on her t-shirt and Lily instinctively hunched her shoulders and adjusted her arms to cut off his view.

“Just the gas,” she replied noting the nametag of Jake on his pocket. The owner?

A smile spread the man’s large nose to reveal twin-barrels of hair.

“Earl’s coming in now,” he said.

Relieved and eager to be on her way, Lily pulled out a bunch of bills.

Earl strolled toward them saying, “I cleaned the windshield, do you want me to check the oil?”

With a hasty shake of her head, Lily paid for the gas and the items on the counter. After giving a tip to a surprised Earl she didn’t have to look back to know they were watching her all the way to her car. She sent up a silent thanks when the Lexus purred at the first touch and without effort accelerated onto the semi-paved highway.

Goosebumps skipped along her arms. Where are the tourists? They definitely aren’t visiting Jake’s Oasis.

In her opinion, there was too much farmland and too little civilization here for her comfort level.

Turning back onto the main road put her more at ease and Lily reached for the diet soda and sighed. Where else can I go?

The police had been a mistake. It had only ended with an altercation with a fatheaded police officer who hadn’t believed her claims.

I have no intentions of filing a complaint against the fine District Attorney. He’d said.

Sudden tears blurred the Missouri afternoon scenery. For six months, pain had plagued Lily at the loss of her brother. The sole person left to her in the world…gone forever.

The cops said accidental overdose. Claimed a man who’d founded a successful drug rehabilitation center had put a needle to his own arm. Their report was blown to hell two nights ago.

If Lily did nothing else in this life, she would clear Jerry’s name. She owed him that much.

Taking a drink from the carbonated refreshment, Lily glanced around at the woods and wildlife. Nature in this part of the country was earthy, beautiful, and uncomplicated. At least that’s the way Jerry had described it. Frankly, it was unnerving to be in a place where the only inhabitants possessed four legs and played chicken with cars. She snorted. Of course, there was the bush-nosed Jake and his buddy back at the Oasis.

Rolling her eyes, Lily she sat her drink in the cup holder and reached for the candy bar. It took only a second’s glance away from the road, but enough to surprise her at the sudden appearance of a wide moving obstruction ahead. She braked to avoid slamming into two large rounded bales of hay.

What the heck? The large wagon forced her speed to a crawl and she tossed a cursory glance at the numerous signs labeled No Passing Zone. Should she risk it? It wasn’t as if the road was crowded with cars. She steered her car to the left, but the upcoming curve gave credence to the appropriate sign markings.

“Great,” she grumbled. “Old MacDonald had a farm and I’m his newest resident.”

Feeling mean, Lily relaxed her grip on the steering wheel and stretched her back to lessen the fatigue. But damn it, she’d been driving at least five hours.

Remembering the candy, she held it up, asking, “Would you like to energize my crappy disposition?”

She slid one-half of the candy from its twin. With an abstract look, she raised the piece to her mouth and paused midway. Huh? At first, confusion didn’t connect the object to her brain. Absolute horror struck as the squirming worm jutting up at her amid chocolate and coconut.

Lily’s scream punctuated her violent jerk on the wheel. Gagging and disgust careened her car into the opposite lane…and into the path of an oncoming vehicle.

A quick reflex from the other driver prevented a head-on collision, but not the side clipping to her car.

Lily’s head jerked as if it belonged on a rag doll seconds before her air bag deployed. The explosion slapped her into disorientation. Smacked hard in the chin simultaneous to the stench of powdery smoke, instinct skid the vehicle to a stop. The car missed the ditch by mere inches.

Dazed by the accident and stinging numbness to her jaw, Lily peered over her shoulder as the other driver was pulling out of a tailspin. Just when it appeared the vehicle was under control, one of the tires hit the jagged edge of the rough pavement. The deep gouge and momentum flipped the car over and as the scene took on a dream-like fashion; the vehicle slid on its top a few yards before coming to a halt.

Oh no! Lily released her seat belt and fought her way out of the airbag, shoving at the door. The acrid smell of burnt rubber permeated the air as she jumped out and raced to the other car. She crouched down, impervious to the rough pavement and broken glass digging into her palms and knees.

“Are you alright?”

Lily gratefully sent up a prayer at the man conscious and moving. He braced himself against the roof of the car, battling his own airbag to unlatch his seatbelt.

“Mister,” she appealed again.

“Get back,” he growled, his voice strained by his efforts.

With a helpless gesture, she sought for some way to assist when sudden doom slammed into her mid-section.

This… couldn’t…be… happening. Trying not to freak out, she pleaded; now almost in tears, “Please, let me do something.”

“I said to get back,” he gritted, although muffled, no less forceful. “There could be a gas leak. Don’t you see the smoke?”

“Miss, are you alright?”

At the anxious voice, Lily turned her upper body around to an old man in grey coveralls and khaki shirt. This must be the Old MacDonald she’d been following. Hollowed and resigned, Lily rose to her feet already knowing what she’d see.

Yep, right there it was, written upside down. Sheriff. However, the floating mangle of cords and equipment inside along with a teed-off uniformed figure had been the big tip-off.

“Miss?”

She brought her attention back to the old man and although heart-heavy with the implications, Lily managed to nod. He bent down to the wrecked car.

“Jet,” the old man said. “Are you okay, boy? Give me your hand.”

“I’ve got it, Pete. Is she alright? What about you?” he demanded.

“We’re both okay,” he assured. “But we need to get you outta there.”

“Just get her away from here in case this thing blows,” he ordered.

The old man hesitated before rising to his feet. “Come on, Miss. Let’s stand over here.”

Torn between concern and guilty responsibility, her meek demeanor bespoke Lily’s desire to obey orders. She went with the older man to stand next to her car just a few yards away.

The sheriff inched out, crawling on his stomach through broken glass and twisted metal. Curses wafted out as he fought with the second airbag before finally exiting through the passenger’s side window. Lily released the breath she’d been holding.

“Looks like the sheriff’s hurt!” the old man said. “Miss, you stay here.” Bowed legs propelled him to the merging figure. “You’re hurt Jet!”

Once clear of the car, the sheriff pushed to his feet. He adjusted the heavy belt around his waist and checked the security of the weapon attached. Lily noticed one hand was indeed bleeding and blood was running down his arm. The badge and his previous order to keep away kept her feet planted where she was.

He removed a handkerchief from his pocket and deftly tied it around the injured hand. Seemingly satisfied to have stopped the immediate flow of blood, he waved aside the old man’s concern.

“I’ll verify where the smoke is coming from but it doesn’t appear as bad as I first thought. Why don’t you wait over there just in case Pete?” He gestured without looking toward Lily before muttering, “I think enough lives have been jeopardized today.”

Pete still hesitated. “If you’re sure, Jet.” He glanced doubtfully at the wave of smoke but at the shake of the other man’s head, Pete ambled back to Lily.

Upright, Lily mused in amazement how such a big man had crawled through the damaged window. How tall is he? He looks well over six feet.

Regardless, his lean and muscular body moved easily around the car, smooth and graceful. Watching all that muscle moving together in liquid motion caused Lily’s mouth to go dry. With wide shoulders and narrow hips, an image of a football player came into view but without the padding.

Glossy black hair brushed the back of his collar and a sleek lock fell forward to arch over his forehead. With cool efficiency, he searched the origin of the smoke. The brown stripe of his pants creased at the knee as he squatted down to peer through the grill. The smoke appeared localized to the radiator section with no apparent threat of fire or immediate danger. He rose to his feet and flinched. Lily’s conscience took on more guilt at the torn material near his knee and the dark stain seeping around it.

Long lean fingers pushed his hair back as he made his way toward them. He stopped for a cursory perusal of her car before coming to stand in front of her. He tucked a thumb in the front of his belt allowing his injured hand to hang loose at his side. Lily’s first view at his face shifted the pavement beneath her.

Whoa! Despite her recent encounters with the police in Kansas City, there were appreciative benefits to this particular one. Beneath an attractive patrician nose, a five o-clock shadow darkened the already tanned cheeks, but oh dear. His mouth? Mmm. Made hers water. Sensuous and firm, the slightly fuller bottom lip spoke its own persuasion to slow a woman down…and not just while driving.

The shocks didn’t stop there as glancing up; Lily fell into deep, blue eyes emphasized by thick, dark lashes. Did the man have any flaws?

“Did you hear me?” His impatient bark penetrated Lily’s gaping fascination. At her blank look his nostrils flared, “Is your chin the only injury?”

Mortified by her uncharacteristic-like response to the opposite sex, Lily’s answer was subdued.

“Yes, I think so.”

“Do you need medical attention?”

She raised a hand to her chin and opened her mouth, flexing her jaw back and forth.

“No, it was just the airbag. I’m fine.” She threw a feeble gesture at his injuries. “But you’re not.”

He ignored her last comment and reached out with his good hand to raise her chin up for a closer view. His gentle touch caught Lily off guard, but not near as much as its effect. The heat consumed her breath as it wielded its way down her neck and coursed through her chest to pool deep into her stomach.

The hollowed cavern of her consciousness barely heard his distracted voice.

“Airbags can cause serious damage.”

He must’ve decided this wasn’t one of those times as he released her. The tingling numbness remained, however, and its lingering effects were mindboggling. Strange. She’d never experienced anything like this before.

His shift of attention was a relief.

“Pete, your truck didn’t appear to get hit, but are you sure you’re all right?”

“Just shook up a bit that’s all,” Pete replied. “Looks like you and the little lady are the only ones with damaged property.”

The reference shifted attention to Lily’s car. Other than the damaged bumper, a dent buckling the front-end panel on the driver’s side and torn grill, the Lexus appeared to have escaped extensive harm. Following his gaze Lily noted the distinct comparison to his car. In an expression of grim resolve, he reached down with his good hand to retrieve a cell phone from his leather utility belt.

After punching in some numbers, his deep baritone was sharp and professional.

“This is Sheriff Jet Walker with the Windom Hills Sheriff’s Department. I’ve been involved in an accident and need a State Trooper on the scene.”

Lily gasped. A State Trooper? “Wait!”

She realized her mistake when the sheriff’s gaze sharpened into suspicion. He didn’t remove his focus on her as he spoke again into the phone.

“We’re a mile down from Junction 77 on Double D Road.” He listened for a few more moments and then said in a clipped tone, “No problem. Make the appropriate notations.”

Lily groaned in dismay at the involvement of more law enforcement. The added exposure to her whereabouts ticked up her nervousness multiple notches.

Of course, every nuance of emotion crossing her face was being scrutinized.

In a soft voice, albeit no less dangerous, he said, “I think it’s time we start with your driver’s license, registration, and insurance.”

Lily swallowed the huge rock in her throat. “Of course.”

She moved around him, intent on the driver’s side of her car, but in one smooth motion, he blocked her path. She tilted her head up in question.

“I don’t have them on me, they’re in my car,” she said.

Peering down from his superior height, he asked, “Other than your car, do you have any other weapons I need to be concerned about?”

The sarcasm gave Lily pause as his first flaw began to emerge. However, she acknowledged his attitude justified and set aside the hostility.

“No, there are no weapons in the car.”

A further few seconds of unrelenting scrutiny made her self-conscious of the clinging t-shirt and short yellow jean skirt. Her face aflame, Lily seriously wished she’d worn something different today. By the time he moved aside, her usual confident demeanor had bubbled with the hot-tarred pavement.

Reaching the car, she opened the door and drew back at the smell from the airbag. She grimaced at the spilled diet soda and stained dashboard before shivering at the memory of the candy bar. She peeked around for the blasted worm responsible for this mess but saw no signs of it.

Her purse had fallen to the floorboard on the passenger’s side and, no mystery here, the contents were scattered. Lily braced one knee on the seat and stretched across to retrieve her wallet while tugging on her skirt. Her position became even more precarious and she had to balance to access the glove box.

* * * *

Outside, Pete swallowed hard, dragging a gnarled hand over his gray whiskers. He turned to Jet in an obvious attempt to capture his reaction to the display. Jet glanced over, a tick in his cheek, blue eyes flickering. Without a word, his gaze hardened and his lips tightened to an ominous line.

* * * *

Inside the car, Lily retrieved the items and backed out muttering, “Why not put an ad in the paper announcing to Anthony where you are, Lily?”

It would’ve saved everyone a lot less hassle. Especially the man whose car she’d flipped over.

Imminent disaster trailed her steps as she walked the registration, insurance, and wallet to the silent waiting man. When he didn’t take them, she looked up with a bewildering tilt of her head.

“Would you remove the driver’s license from your wallet please?” he asked.

Uh-oh. Had his disposition worsened? Great. Lily complied.

He took the items and as he walked away, Lily met Pete’s sympathetic look.

“You may be in some trouble, Missy.”

She nodded her awareness to the repercussions. “Why did he have to call a State Trooper?”

Even to Lily, her voice sounded pitiful. The old man must’ve felt sorry for her as he came over and put an awkward, but compassionate hand on her shoulder.

“I think he’s supposed to when it’s him involved in the accident. But don’t worry; he’ll take care of things. He’s used to dealing with situations like this.” He shot a glance at the overturned car. “Well, maybe not quite like this.”

Joining his attention, Lily conceded the disturbing sight of the gold star insignia in crumpled surroundings. It brought her attention to the sheriff’s one-sided conversation.

“Thanks, Denie. I’ll hold while you run it. Has Mark returned?” The person named Denie must have made some positive response because the sheriff responded, “After you call the body shop, tell him to get the Blazer and follow Walter out here.” He paused again before replying, “My car’s been involved in an accident.” He listened again and then shook his head. “I’ll be handling this on my own for now. With the Sedalia State Fair and a major spill from a jack-knifed big rig, all the State Troopers are tied up. I told them I could handle it.”

The air restricting Lily’s lungs eased...a little. Thank goodness for small favors.

“I’ll explain it all later,” he replied and even Lily could hear his impatience. “Right now I just need you to run the numbers.”

A new wave of anxiety stole the short reprieve and Lily chewed on her lower lip. Would her driver’s license show anything? Maybe that police officer in Kansas City hadn’t written anything up. The memory of his anger, however, made that assumption improbable.

What seemed hours provided the answer, as she became the focus of a sharp piercing glance. Her stomach lurched when his expression darkened. By the time the sheriff finished his call and sauntered back over, Lily’s nerve endings were a frayed mess.

“This isn’t your first encounter with the law now is it, Miss Delaney?” he asked.

“Dr. Delaney,” she corrected, needing the steady formality of the title. She then glanced at his injuries and hastily added, “Therapeutic, not medical.”

The ascension of a dark brow was his only response.

Lily’s chin lifted. “That cop in Kansas City deserved more than my bad attitude.”

He tossed a cursory glance at his car before bouncing it back to her.

“Do you make it a habit assaulting law enforcement officials?”

The inference was unmistakable. “Today was an accident! And I didn’t physically assault that police officer in Kansas City.” Although some people might’ve taken her insult as an attack. But shoot, the man probably did shop in the small condom section of a pharmacy.

Penetrating cerulean steel peered down at her. “What about the restraining order the Kansas City District Attorney filed against you?"

Lily's jaw dropped. “What?”

“You have a restraining order against you,” he repeated. “It’s usually filed when one person has proven to pose a threat against another.”

His explanation was a little condescending, but Lily was barely listening. Had Anthony filed a complaint of her accusation of murdering Jerry? That’s crazy. Besides, it might merit a charge of slander, but a restraining order?

Then realization dawned as Anthony's thought process slammed into her. If the police stopped her for even a minor infraction, he or she might feel compelled to notify the court, if not the District Attorney himself. Anthony must be desperate if he’s stooping that low.

“It’s a mistake,” she said, her voice flat. “I’m the one who needs protection from him.”

Mild skepticism appeared briefly between his narrowed dark lashes.

“It’s true,” she frowned. “He’s my ex-fiancé with serious psychosis issues.”

His enigmatic stare gave a moment’s study before he replied.

“Dr. Delaney, the restraining order implicates you as the threat.”

She adamantly shook her head. “I’m the one being threatened!” Experience warned not to mention he also killed her brother.

“You’ll need to take that up with the courts,” was his infuriating response.

“And play right into his hands,” she said bitterly and then muttered under her breath. “You’re all as crooked as he is.”

The rearing back of his head indicated he’d heard her, but at this point Lily didn’t care. She was tired, scared, and tired of being scared. Screw them all.

“Then allow me to at least pretend to care about justice and get back to the three lives almost taken today?” he suggested in a soft dangerous tone.

Heat rose up the back of Lily’s neck and her momentary apathy awoke to shame. In this, she was entirely to blame.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that,” she said, pressing her index fingers into her temples and rubbing in simultaneous circular motion.

“Forget it,” was his clipped response. “Why don’t you tell me what happened today?”

Despite his command to forget it, his abrupt demeanor assured Lily that he, at least, hadn’t. But the damage was done and there was little she could do.

She started to answer, but the explanation of the worm now seemed more ludicrous than before. Her gaze fell on the mounds of hay on the big truck.

“Isn’t there a minimum speed limit here?”

“Excuse me?”

“Well,” she licked her lips. “To be perfectly honest, the fault isn't entirely mine, if you think about it.” She noted the warning light appearing in his eyes and knew she was only making things worse for herself. Apparently, however, she was on a suicide mission as she trudged on.

“That truck was barely moving. Isn’t there a minimum speed limit here?”

“You're inferring this was Pete’s fault?” he asked with an underlying threat.

Shame pushed her lips together, but for some reason, it didn’t stop the flow of diarrhea.

“Well, he was driving as if his only intent was to race a turtle,” she said and cast a guilty glance toward the shocked older man. She stammered on, “A-And by you allowing that kind of obstruction makes us all responsible, don’t you think?”

Have I lost my mind? It was obvious the man before her thought so.

“Now you’re encompassing me as a responsible party?”

“It’s possible,” she said weakly.

“Are you under the influence of any drugs or alcohol?” he asked.

She checked the hysterical laugh bubbling up. She could use something right now.

‘No,” she replied.

“Are you in the habit of always blaming others for your problems?”

Hot tears burned.

“No,” she answered again.

“Would you mind giving an honest answer as to why you tried to pass in a zone clearly marked do not pass?”

“I wasn’t trying to pass,” she responded in a flat voice.

“No?” He asked. “What were you doing? Playing Peak-A-Boo with your car?”

“No,” she gritted. “I don’t consider driving a car as playing a game.”

“Yet I remind you once again, several lives were put in jeopardy today,” he stated.

Lily rubbed shaking hands over her face in defeat. “I know and I’m sorry, but I was distracted by a worm in my candy bar and-”

“A what?” he cut her off.

Exactly. She repeated it anyway. “A worm.”

“You put worms in your candy bar?”

“What,” she frowned and then shook her head. “No, I don’t put worms in my candy bar. I bought it from a store a few miles back.”

“They sell worms in candy bars?” he asked and Lily couldn’t tell if his sardonic disbelief was real or not.

“No,” she responded again, feeling her patience start to thin. “I suppose the candy was old.”

He cocked his head to the side. “Alright, let’s presume you’re not making this up—”

This time Lily cut him off. ‘Who in their right mind would make up a story like that?’

“Good question,” the sheriff concurred in derision, “I’m guessing next you’re going to tell me the worm was driving?”

Lily’s mouth tightened. “Listen, Sheriff. I’m sorry I wrecked your car, but it was an accident. And as I mentioned, if the truck in front of me hadn’t been going so slow this wouldn’t have happened.”

His lip curled. “I thought we were blaming the worm now.”

Nearing the end of her tether and not sure why she continued to argue the very-moot point, the last thing Lily needed was his belligerent sarcasm.

“Can we wrap this up?”

Ice-blue chips reflected his less than appreciative response to her attitude.

“Where are you headed today?”

Her lips twisted. “Here.”

“Where exactly is here?”

She suppressed a caustic response. “Windom Hills Lake Resort.”

“Are you renting a cabin?”

“I believe it’s a house.”

His eyes traveled over her curves, down to her long legs and back up again.

“Why Windom Hills? It’s not exactly Club Med.”

Dismay over her predicament, coupled with his insulting remark and perusal made her own response less than respectful.

“That's none of your business, Sheriff.”

With a menacing step, he leaned in and whispered, “Lady, you've made everything about you my business today.”

It was the final straw. First, she’d had to endure the loss of her brother. Then she’d found out the man she was going to marry had killed him and threatened to do the same to her. With the horror of a worm, whose very existence was in question, followed by an accident she’d certainly caused, and the impending legal ramifications which would bring about the imminent discovery of her whereabouts, she now had to endure this man’s relentless aggression? All rationale and common sense disintegrated.

“Which goes back to my earlier question,” she challenged. “Why aren’t you monitoring the roads better instead of being in everyone’s business?” In her need to lash out at someone, she took enormous satisfaction at catching him off guard. “If you’d been doing your job instead of driving around with your thumb up your ass, I wouldn’t have been stuck behind that monstrous contraption for what seemed an eternity and you wouldn’t have wrecked your vehicle.”

Pete’s mouth dropped, but Lily was too far gone and incensed to care.

“Now it’s my fault again?” Disbelief made the sheriff’s voice rise to match hers.

“Well, I’m glad to see you’re finally taking some responsibility,” she announced irrationally.

“Things are beginning to make sense,” he gritted through his teeth, reaching behind him. “You’re not only dangerous, you’re nuts. Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”

Not taking into account he’d arrest her, Lily backed up in wide-eyed horror.

“You’re going to handcuff me?” she asked aghast.

An anxious Pete stepped in, “Now hold on a minute, Jet. There ain’t no cause for that.”

Ignoring Pete, the sheriff advanced toward Lily, his lip curling.

“Maybe you want to coerce me against it by hiking up your skirt again.”

“By hiking up my skirt…” she asked, thrown off by confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“Are you going to deny trying to make things easier on yourself by wiggling your assets in your car earlier? Exhibitionism is against the law in this county, Ma’am.”

She sucked in a breath. “You’re the one that’s crazy,” she choked out in rage. “I wasn’t wiggling anything.”

“What would you call it? Soliciting an ad for yellow underwear?”

Her green eyes blazed before she allowed her lips to curve sweetly in pent-up hysteria.

“For your information, Sheriff, my underwear is not yellow. Where’d you get your investigative skills, Detectives for Dummies?”

Dead silence fell like a thick fog. Somewhere in the back of Lily’s hysterical frame of mind, she realized she’d just insulted an officer of the law over her underwear.

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