Tuesday, December 31, 2019

Tuesday's Writer's Tip - Creating the Heroine #MFRWAuthor #BWLAuthor #Writing #Tip #Heroine

The time has come to look at the heroine. When developing her, there are two things to avoid. You don't want to make your heroine one of those Too Stupid To Live kind of gals. I'm sure we've all read books when you've wanted to slap the heroine and shout, "Get it together." The other kind of heroine to avoid is the abrasive, bully type. No reader would feel sympathy for this type of heroine

Developing the heroine means you need to have a handle on what she wants out of life and the reason she wants this.  Like the hero, there are things you need to know when you're developing your heroine.

. 1. Name – To me this is important since I can’t write about a nameless character.
2. Physical description – I need to have a good idea of the height, weight, hair and eye color.
3. Emotional nature – Are they quick tempered, are they maddeningly calm. How would they react to various stimuli.
4. What is their background – family life, birth order, career choice, education, social standing of them or their family.
5. How do they come across to other people. This can be different with each of your major characters and their interactions with others. Heroine might think he’s arrogant. His best friend considers him a great guy. The villain might think of him as a snob. All these things effect your characters.

6. I discover their secret. This is something they don’t want anyone to know.

The one thing I do with every new heroine is to look at her Sun sign, her rising sign and her Moon sign. Doing this allows me to determine what's important to her and how she feels about incidents that happen during the writing of the story.

Monday, December 30, 2019

Meandering on Monday with Janet Lane Walters #MFRWAuthor #BWLAuthor #Poem #First Meeting #Not Great Christmas #Writing

Meander 1 -- Poem -- First Meeting --

You reached to me. Laughter coated you like
The surface os earth on a mountain slope.
I saw your earth skin shroud crack and forth
And from your depths an avalanche of loneliness,
A rolling wave of rocks and stones rushing
Rock over rock down tumbling toward me.
Thus brutal crushing, crueling thread, steady
Surge of loneliness pins me poised. Alarmed
And terrified, I curl myself upon
Myself, protective womb retreat. My hands
About myself in tight embrace, I hide.
Between us rings a haunting why. This pain
and loneliness is part of us. Never
A touch to still our fear but we cry as
Rocks and stones and sheets of earth reverberate
From our curl closed bodies coiled embrace.

Meander 2 - Not a Great Christmas in Part - My husband was to come home from the nursign home on Christmas Eve. Instead he ended in the hospital CCU with difficulty breathing, low blood pressure and a urinary infection. Instead of a festive meal, I had to cook the turkey since it had defrosted. For a short time the grandchildren popped in and that was fun but the sadness lingered then. My son and I ate a bit of the meal together, visited the hospital. Let's hope he can at least go to the nursing home soon.

Meander 3 - Writing - Am working on the new book but not as rapidly as I hoped. This is the rough draft and it's all over the place. Once all this is down, I'll be able to go back and start turning it into a book and hopefully a great story.

Sunday, December 29, 2019

Sunday's Book Searches Affinities Book 3 #MFRWAuthor #BWLAuthor #Fantasy #YA

Searches (Affinities Book 3 - Young Adult Fantasy, Books We Love)

Having found a safe place in a tower fortress, the four and their companions set out to find what they need to defeat Dom Senet and He Who Walks With Evil. They divide into three groups. The first group seeks the focus stones that enhance their affinities. The second group looks for the remaining artifacts, the swords, the staffs, the flutes and the scrying bowls. The third group sets out to find those with their affinities to round the groups to four of earth, four water, four air and four fire. Their strength will be needed in the final battle.

Saturday, December 28, 2019

Saturday's Blurbs Featuring Books by Karla Stover #MFRWAuthor #BWLAuthor

Wynters Way

Wynter’s Way and Murder: When One isn’t Enough were both published by BWL and are available through the company. I’m also reachable through them. All the books are, of course, available through Amazon and, in you live in Tacoma, Washington, at the Tacoma Historical society store and museum and the Northwest Shop. I love hearing from people so ‘message” me through Facebook if you want.

This is the opening to Wynters Way. I started the book in the 1990s, after a trip to Great Britain and finished it about 20 years later. I really wanted to write a gothic novel set somewhere in England but any kind of realistic dialect was beyond me. According to Google (and would it lie?) there are at least 37. The result was a vaguely rural setting in some English-speaking country.

Spirals of mist coiled up off the cobblestones and disappeared. Though barely dawn, the sun, hovered on the horizon, seeming not to want to come up. Perhaps it was tired from making August such an unusually hot month. A team of fresh horses stood patiently while a boy harnessed them and a I stood in the shade of shedding oak tree be the side of Crooked Billet Inn while my older brother, Thomas, talked to the coach driver. I had pleaded with my parents not to come and see me off but Father insisted that if they weren’t there than my brother would be.
     “All set, Jane,” Thomas said. Apparently satisfied that the coachman would watch out for me, he began handing my luggage up to be loaded on top. My soon-to-be fellow passengers—two men and a woman—came out of the inn and stood at varying distances.
     I hugged my brother. “Thomas, please go home now.” But he set his lips in the stubborn way I knew.
     “You don’t have to do this,” he said.
     “I know I don’t have to but I want to.”
     We stepped out of the way to let the others board first and I hugged Thomas. “I need this; I need to find my place.”
     “Your place is at home.”
     I ignored the remark and took the coachman’s hand. He helped me to a seat across from the woman while the leather thorough braces supporting the carriage’s body protest. After closing the carriage’s door, he hauled himself onto the seat while a guard with a chronometer waited. I smiled and waved at Thomas as we drove out of the yard.
     No sooner had we done so than I became painfully away that the vehicle’s springs were well-used. I wiggled to get comfortable and glanced at my fellow travelers. Two young men sat opposite each other each with a newspaper sheet that they spent the morning trading back and forth. A middle-aged lady sat next to one of the men and smiled and nodded at me. The men wore dusty suits and heavy boots. Neither had removed their hats. The woman had on a green straw bonnet with an abundance of ribbons, feathers and flowers, and neatly-darned gloves. Her bright blue eyes twinkled above plump, rosy cheeks. I wondered if she lived near Wynters Way.
This is an excerpt from one of my favorite chapters in A Feather for a Fan, and one I had a lot of fun writing. As I mentioned in yesterday’s Blog, I aim to be as factual as possible and Mr. & Mrs. Money had a stationary store on the wharf in Tacoma where they also did printing for the local offices of the Northern Pacific Railroad, printed their own newspaper, and raised birds to sell to the sailors. Dr. Spinning left a short memoir where he talked about sitting on people while he pulled teeth with either a key or a bullet mold.

. . . . the store’s front door opened and short, balding man carrying a medical bag came in. Before he could say a word, Mr. Money hailed him.
     “Doc, doc, you gotta do something about this here tooth. I’m in a pain that even whiskey can’t cure.”
     “Well, that is bad, then, isn’t it?” said the doctor with a twinkle in his eye. He put his medical bag on the counter, opened it, and took something out. “I’m just going to get right to work and I’ll have that tooth out quick as you can say John Jacob Jingleheimerschmidt.”
     Mr. Money eyed the shiny object Dr. Spinning held with mistrust. “What’s that, Doc?”
     “It’s a dental key. Now, sir, stay where you are and open wide so I can see what miscreant molar is causing you pain.”
     Mr. Money’s eyes, wide as saucers, never left Dr. Spinning’s face, and after a few muttered ‘ums’ and ‘I sees’ the doctor tapped a tooth. Mr. Money gave a howl and sat bolt upright.
     “Holy crawdad, Doc, that hurt,” he said and tears poured down his cheeks.
     “I imagine it does. That there is as rotten a gnasher as I’ve ever seen. But I’ll have it out lickety-split.” He started rooting in the dental bag again and Mr. Money explored the offending tooth with his tongue.
     “Well, now, mebbe it ain’t so bad after all,” he said.
     “Nonsense man, the tooth’s got to come out. It’s probably septic already. Ah,” he fished out a peculiar-looking metal instrument. “Here it is.”
     “What’s that?”      
     “It’s called a mouth gag.” Dr. Spinning turned it around in the light. “It’s mostly for lockjaw patients, holds their mouths open so I can get some food down em, but I use it for extractions, too.” He held the mouth gag where Mr. Money could see it and Hildy saw him gulp. Proud of the instrument and oblivious to Mr. Money’s horror, Dr. Spinning continued, “see the thread of the screw is reversed at its center so that when I turn the fixed wing nuts, it opens or closes both handles at the same time. I’ll just insert it in your mouth and you won’t accidently bite me. I can tell you, this has saved my fingers more times than I can count.”
     He set it down and returned to his medical bag. “And this is a dental forceps.” Dr. Spinning found yet another tool and squeezed and released its handle a few times. “It’s old,” he said, “came from Italy. See how the jaws look just like an animal’s head?  Quite the jokers are those Eye-ties. Now, sir, I suggest you lie down here on the floor where I can get at you. Don’t worry, won’t take but a minute—if we’re lucky.” He gave a little laugh. “Don’t like to think about it if we’re not.”
     Mr. Money continued to sit in his chair, as if frozen and Mrs. Money hurried to his side. “Come on, now, dear.” She took hold of one arm. “The doctor hasn’t got all day. You’ll feel much better and I’ll make you a nice buttery sops.”
     For a minute after Mr. Money lay down, it looked as if he wouldn’t open his mouth. But with practiced hands, the doctor pinched the man’s nose shut and grabbed his chin. Unable to breathe, Mr. Money had to open wide, whereupon Dr. Spinning shoved the mouth gag in place. Then he straddled his patient’s chest and applied the forceps. “Did this very same procedure just last week using a bullet mold,” he said, putting pressure on the offending tooth. Mr. Money made a gargling noise and then the molar was out. The doctor grinned with pleasure. “Nasty looking thing as I’ve seen lately.” He held the bloody tooth up for them all to see. Mrs. Money blanched and Hildy felt a little light-headed, but Mr. Money had passed out.
     “Oh, dear,” said Mrs. Money, “I’ll just get some sal volatile,” but the doctor stopped her.
     “Best let him as is; he won’t like this next part any better.”
     He retrieved his medical bag from the counter and took out a glass tube. Then he opened a jar and fished around in it. “You ever see one of these, young lady?” He held up something black and slimy that moved between his fingers. Before Hildy could answer, the doctor said, “It’s a Dalmatian bloodsucker. Best kind there is. Now, look here, I’m going to put the little guy in this tube. Mrs. Money, you’d better get down and help me.”
     Mrs. Money knelt on the floor next to her husband and Dr. Spinning handed her the tube. “You just hold this right there on the gums where they’re all red and nasty looking and the leech will eat all that bad tissue away.”
     “For how long?” Mrs. Money looked pale.
     “I’d say about twenty maybe thirty minutes. I’m going to hustle on down to Blackwell’s and see if Jacob Mann will give me a drink, and then I’ll be back and check up on the job.”
     He wiped off his tools, put them back in the bag, and pushed open the door whistling. He stopped long enough to add, “hold on as best you can to the tube, leeches love to make a run for it right down the throat.”
     “Oh.” Hildy bent over to let some blood flow back into her head. “Mrs. Money,” she said in a muffled voice, “I think I’ll go home.”
     “I’d leave, too, if I could,” Mrs. Money said grimly.

From the late 1950s until my father’s death last year, we spent a lot of time on Hood Canal near a three-building town called Tayuya, not only swimming, water skiing, digging for geoducks, and fishing, but also exploring the lakes and woods. When I wanted to write a second mystery, I set it on the Canal because there were so many places for action, i.e. the Indian Hole, the old Dewatto school house, and the logging camps and flume down to the water. I wanted to call the book Tahuya Daze but the BWL editor thought that would confuse people. Tahuya, by the way, is pronounced, Ta Who Ya. Tee-shirts sold there read, ‘What’s it Tahuya?’ A pun, get it? So the book became, Murder: When One isn’t Enough. In this chapter, the protagonist has gotten tired of her own company and headed to a spaghetti dinner at the Tahuya church.

     A little before five, I changed into khakis, a navy blue tank top and a pair of jelly shoes. On the off chance the church would be cold, I grabbed a magenta, D&D Sloan cotton-velvet jacket and then remembered some Rubik’s cube earrings in my purse and added them. I turned the radio on for Jose, and replenished Porch Cat’s kibbles and water dishes. Rufus was going with me. I hadn’t the heart to leave him behind.
     A five-minute drive took us to the church parking lot, a grassy field across a dead end road. The most convenient places were taken so I chose a spot under some trees away from the other cars but where the car would be cool for the dog, although that wasn’t a problem. The clouds hadn’t completely given up their load as their ominous appearance indicated. I opened the windows to give Rufus air and walked carefully across the uneven turf, dodging puddles and mole holes.
     The ticket line straggled along the porch. I joined the crowd and just as I reached the cashier a voice behind me said, softly, “Pretend you’re my date and neither of us will have to sit by the bathroom.”
     “Ssh. Just go along with it.
     Before I could respond, the whisperer handed over his money and said to me, “Pony up, honey. You know we agreed.”
     I handed the cashier a ten dollar bill and smiled. “I make a lot more money than he does.”
     My unknown “date” made a funny noise and followed me down a flight of stairs.
     Church members had done a good job in making the basement look festive. Red and white checkered, plastic cloths covered rows of folding tables. A large red, white and green flag—the flag of Italy—was mounted on one wall, and posters of Italian scenes were taped on others. The room’s corners had braided ropes of garlic hanging down. A man in a barbeque apron was seating people. His apron had a giant crab stamped on the front along with the words,” To Know Me is to Love Me.”
     “Two in the middle okay?”
     “Just fine,” said my date. “Come on, Sugar, shake a leg.”
     He showed us to a table midway down the room. Four people saw us coming and took the best seats leaving us sitting across from each other and each of us next to a cement wall. One false move and my elbow is done for. Under the pretext of getting my book out of my purse, I took a look at my date and our companions.
     My date was a thin man about forty. He had a scar on his chin, a nose that looked as if it had once been broken and a bushy head of brown hair. He wore a clean but threadbare, flannel shirt and had a leather jacket on the back of his chair. He saw my glance and grinned, his face falling into well-used laugh lines. Next to me were Lorraine and Babe, both wearing jeans and sweatshirts and across from them were the yachting couple, Herb and Betty. The four were still chuckling as the man who had seated us delivered their salads. He wiped his hands on his apron and turned to me.
     “Did I just hear you say that your name was Armand and you’ll be our server tonight?” I asked him.
     “No, I’m Bob, Armand’s better-looking brother, and you heard me asking, ‘what kind of dressing do you want on your salad?’”
     “Creamy pesto?”
     “That’s what I meant to say.”
     From the looks of the gleaming perspiration on his mostly-bald head, I guessed he’d already had quite a night of it. The others gave him their preference; my date was asking for Italian dressing when I heard Lorraine say, “What did you think about Alice Thorndyke? Wasn’t that something?”
     “We were flabbergasted.” Betty elbowed her spouse. “Weren’t we, Herb?” He had just taken a bit of salad and could only nod so she continued. “How in the world could she have fallen in Hood Canal, for heaven’s sake? She lived up back of Dewatto.”
     “Our niece, Nancy, was on duty when they brought her in. There was a nasty head wound but I guess she died from drowning. She apparently hit her head on something and fell in.”
     “Or was hit on the head and pushed in.” Bob brought two baskets of garlic bread and Lorraine took a piece, tore off the end and used it to wipe salad dressing off her empty plate.
      “She was an old woman. Who in the world would want her dead?” Betty was plainly freaked out.
     “Did your niece say if she was raped?”  Babe asked.
     The other three made various exclamations of horror. “Don’t be crude, Babe,” his wife said.
     “Nothing crude about it. It’s the way things are, these days. No one’s safe, especially the elderly.
     While they considered his words, Bob brought my salad and another waiter filled our coffee cups.
     “Just like Rasputin,” said Lorraine after the two men moved on to other tables.
     “You know, Rasputin. That mad Russian monk who was buddy-buddy with the Czarina. He was bludgeoned to death and his body thrown into a river.”
     “Poisoned and shot,” I said.
     The four looked at me as realizing, for the first time, there were other people at the table.
     “Pardon?” Lorraine asked.
     “He was poisoned and shot.” I sipped my coffee. “Rasputin was given little cakes filled with cyanide and when they didn’t do the trick, the Czar’s nephew, Prince Yusupov, shot him. Even then he didn’t die so after kicking him a few times, the prince and his cohorts loaded him a carriage and drove to the Neva River. They found a hole in the ice and tossed the body in. An autopsy showed he died from drowning.”
      I smiled at the four and took a bite of salad. Across the table the brown-haired man looked back and forth from me to them with sleepy-looking eyes set a little too close together. He looked a little Robin Williams.
     “My God.” Betty looked startled. The other three remained silent.
     “I just felt it was something that needed to be clarified.”

Friday, December 27, 2019

Friday Karla Stover is Visiting and talking about Being a Panster or a Plotter #BWLAuthor @MFRWAuthor #Plotter #Panster

1.      Are you a panster or a plotter or perhaps a bit of both?

I have had 7 books published, so far, one stand-alone, and six with Tacoma, Washington, my hometown, as the locale. To do this, I read old newspapers. In the case of fiction, I try to decide how I can work my characters into what happened during the appropriate time period. I call this Forest Gumping. The book I’m currently editing has street brawls, buggy accidents, the attempted kidnapping of a Chinese woman’s and many other things that the Tacoma Daily Ledger covered in the early 1880s. I can create a dialogue by having people talk about what they saw. However, right now, I need to give fiction a rest, so I’m working on a proposal for a third local history book. For this, I subscribe to Genealogybank which gives me access to a number of newspapers for research. The company wants the book to feature Tacoma’s crooks, crime, and general mayhem. So, in answer to the question, I guess I’m a bit of both.

2.      Which comes first - characters or plot for you?

In fiction, the character. One reason I stopped (at least, for now) my mystery series is that I didn’t think readers liked the heroine. I want my protagonists to be as sweet and loveable as Anne (of Green Gables) Shirley or Betsy (Betsy, Tacy and Tib) Ray but I didn’t think that was happening.

3.      What are you working on now? Is this a book in a current series or something totally new?

Image result for emoji writer"The book I’ve been editing is a sequel to A Feather for a Fan, (and tomorrow I will provide a sample of my favorite chapter in that book.) It was set in Tacoma circa 1878. Now, though, all the characters are older and so are interested in other things—more adult things, because back then, the concept of teenagers wasn’t recognized, per se. It was childhood and then adulthood. My fictional characters are supported by the people who actually settled, lived, and worked in Tacoma. I consider them friends and they think I’m wonderful and never argue with me. 

4.      Do you have some kind of object or place that figures in most of your books? I use gems a lot, hospitals and caves.

Until the Klondike Gold rush in the 1890s, when Seattle over took us, Tacoma, known as The City of Destiny, was THE city to be reckoned with on Puget Sound. That means, everything on Commencement Bay is grist for my writing mill. The book I’m editing (and struggling to find a title for) includes Steilacoom, Washington, a potlatch on the Puyallup Reservation, and a neighborhood currently called Old Town or Old Tacoma. Back then, there were three separate communities here, Old Tacoma, New Tacoma and the Wharf. And yes, I know, I did end a sentence with a preposition. My bad.

4.      Do you write everyday or just when the spirit hits?

Pretty much every day but not always on my things. I write for my garden club, too.

5.      Where can we find you?

Just deleting unwanted emails takes way too long, so, Facebook is best, or at bwlauthors.blogspot.com. Having a lot of social media sites to check takes me away from writing, not to mention cleaning, cooking, gardening, and hiking—life in general. Today, for example, I discovered the reason my dog hasn’t been eating his own food is because he’s been eating the cats’ kibbles. Also, I have a cat who throws herself at me if she wants something, and then we play a game I call “Guess What Sally Wants?”

Thursday, December 26, 2019

Thursday's Fifth Scene - Havens Affinities Book 2 #MFRWAuthor #BWLAuthor #YA #Fantasy #Earth #Air #Water #Fire


Ky listened to the even breathing of her siblings.  The aromatic aroma of the fir needles had grown faint.  She slid from her sleep saque and added another fire brick and more of the needles.  After pulling on her boots and poncho she crawled from the tangle.  Had Dom Senet and the guards arrived at the hut or had Ash imagined the evil man was near?  Ky drew a deep breath of the chill air.  She had to know.
     What did the dom plan?  Did he suspect she and her siblings were near?  Snow swirled in the air but the fall was lighter than it had been when they’d sought refuge here.  With care, Ky made her way through the forest to the log house.
     A spiral of smoke rose from the chimney.  As she drew nearer she saw the brush barrier someone had erected.  She peered into the enclosure and saw five war steeds and a courser.  She edged past.  Other than a restless pawing and some snorts the beasts ignored her.  She slid around the side of the building.  A shame there were no windows but there were places where the clay had fallen from between the logs.
     She crouched beside a large hole that allowed her a view of the inside of the hut.  Two men were seated at the table and others slept on the bunks.  One of the seated men rose and went to the door.          He hoisted a sack.  “Guren, help me feed the beasts.”
     The other man stretched.  “We going to make rounds?”
     “I’m not bucking the dom’s orders.  He thought he sensed watchers in the forest.  This place has been used recently though he couldn’t tell by whom.  Maybe was even used today.”
     “Foresters come for the logs is my guess.  You saw how many were gone and there were sled tracks.”
     The voices sounded louder.  Ky panicked.  What if they found her?  She couldn’t face Dom Senet again.  She dashed into the trees.  When her sides ached and she had trouble catching her breath she halted.  Where was she?  The snow, the dark trees and the sullen sky where neither of the moons or the stars gave light made everything look the same and totally unfamiliar.  She was lost.
     For a moment she shook with fear.  She decided to retrace her steps.  Surely the men had gone inside.  She turned and stared.  Her tracks had vanished.  Fighting tears, she clung to a tree.  What could she do?  Her thoughts tumbled in a panicked jumble.  She drew a deep breath.  Jay.  Though he would fuss about her impulsive behavior, she could wake him and follow his voice on the twin bond.
A groaning noise startled her.  Had it been a growl?  Maybe the weight of the snow caused the trees to make a noise.   She heard a second cry.  With caution, she crept forward.
     A figure appeared.  When she moved closer, she saw a war steed.  Did the beast belong to one of the guards?  She saw the steed stood over a fallen figure.  As she peered through the swirling snow, she recognized the man on the ground.  Dragen.  She held her hand toward the steed.  “I’m Ky.  I rode on you once.  Dragen’s my friend.  I want to help him.”
     The animal seemed to understand and moved away.  Ky ran to Dragen.  “Wake up.  I’m Ky.  She saw the jagged and broken tree limb, the blood on the snow and on his breeches.
     He groaned.  “What are you doing here?”
     “Hiding from Dom Senet.”
     “Me, too.  Was so busy hiding from him and the guards I was knocked from my steed and landed on that branch.  Hit my head, too.”  He frowned.  “Did you get lost?  You should have arrived at my sister’s days ago.  When I didn’t find you there I figured you had other plans.”
     Ky bowed her head.  “The storms slowed our travel.  Then Ash fell into a pond and got wet.  We found a hut but the dom arrived and we hid.  Can you get on your steed?  I’ll take you to Bran.  He can fix your leg.”
     “I can manage.”  Dragen tapped the war steed’s leg and the beast knelt.  He crawled into the saddle.  “Lass, if you can sit behind me, we’ll go.”
     Ky climbed on and the steed rose.  She sought Jay on the twin bond.  Wake up.  I need you to think at me.  I have Dragen.  He’s hurt.
     What are you doing out there?
     Went spying.  Just guide me.  You can fuss later.  And wake Bran.  Dragen is hurt.
     With Jay’s thoughts as a guide, Ky directed Dragen through the forest to the tangle.  Once there, the steed knelt.  Ky and her brothers helped Dragen into the shelter.  She returned to obscure their trail and to tend to the steed.  The animal had moved to a sheltered spot behind the brush.  Ky fed him some of the grain they usually cooked for their morning meal and returned to the shelter with the saddle and Dragen’s pack.
     She found Bran just binding the wound on Dragen’s thigh.  Ky dropped Dragen’s things on the ground.
     The older man struggled to sit up.  “You shouldn’t have done that.  I must be on my way.  I’ve left Alizand alone for too long.”
     Bran handed him a mug.  “Drink this and stay for the rest of the night.  You lost blood and might not be strong enough to make the trip to Cedris.  You could fall again or run into the dom and the patrol.”
     “Definitely don’t want either of those things to happen.”  Dragen drained the cup.  “I’ll stay.”  He wrapped in his blanket and found a place beside the sled.
     Ash began to cough.  Bran gave her a cup of herbal tea.  She drank and lifted her flute.  The notes of the hiding song sounded.  A paroxysm of coughing halted her efforts.
     Dragen rose on one elbow.  “You need to take the lass to my sister.  The house lies due north, perhaps two or three days on foot.  Though the house looks small, it’s built into a hill thus hiding the number of rooms.  Jandia will keep you safe.”
     “I would like to go there.”  Ky curled beside Dragen.  “I’m glad we found you.  Is Zand all right?”
 “As far as I know.  Everyone at the palace is aware of his affinity for Fire.  I left him there and came to find a way to extract him from Cedris.  Since Senet touched Alizand’s gem, the dom can discover him anywhere.”
     “He has to die,”  Ash said.
     “In a manner.  By spring he’ll be safe.”
     Dragen slept through the night and for most of the next day.  Though they tried to persuade him to stay another night, he refused.  “I’m five days ride from Cedris.  Senet is already a day ahead of me.”
     “Tell Zand we think about him a lot,”  Ky said.
     “I will.  The bunch of you need to hurry to Jandia’s.  Ashlea needs her help.”
     Ky looked at her brothers and saw the stubborn set of their chins.  They were going to ignore the advice.
     Dragen mounted his steed.  As he rode off, he turned and waved.  “Take care.  Go to my sister.”
     “I think not,”  Bran said.
     “Why?”  Ky asked.
     “I can help Ash.”  Bran grasped Ky’s arm.  “You and Jay need to go to the hut and see if the dom has left.  Ash needs better shelter.”
     “For tonight,”  Ky said.
     Bran ignored her statement.  Ky knew she would have to argue.  Just because he was older didn’t mean he was right.
     She and Jay set out and soon reached the hut.  The coursers and steed were gone.  Ky pushed the door open.  A few embers glowed on the hearth.  “They sure were careless.”
     “No reason for them to be otherwise,”  Jay said.  “Let us get Bran and Ash.”
     “For tonight.  We need to find Doma Jandia.  Dragen said she could help Ash get better.”
     Jay frowned.  “I think we need to listen to Bran.  He believes he can cure her.  Besides, I’m not sure we can take the risk.  She’s a doma and could be allied with the bad ones.”
     Ky made a face.  “Mama was a doma and Papa a dom.  Were they bad?”
     “No, but how can we be sure she’s good?”
     “She’s Dragen’s sister.  He’s good.”
     Jay walked away.  “Maybe, but Zand’s his first responsibility.  He might harm us to save Zand.”
     Ky shook her head.  “I believe we should go to her.  When we get close enough, Bran can read her emotions.  If he doesn’t like what he senses we could choose another direction.”
     “Is that wise?  She could fool him and send someone after us.  Let us take Ash to the hut and talk about this with Bran.”
     “Fine.”  Ky picked up the pace.  She didn’t understand her twin.  She would wait a day or two and see if Ash improved before beginning her campaign.

Wednesday, December 25, 2019

Wednesday Christmas Greetings #MFRWAuthor #BWLAuthor

Just wanted to say to all who honor Christmas, I hope your day is wonderful. May you find peace and happiness with your family, either with you or away.

Tuesday, December 24, 2019

Tuesday's Writer's Tip - Developing Your Hero #MFRWAuthor #BWLAuthor #Hero #Development

Not to begin a bit about the major characters. They are hero, heroine and iften the villain. Let's start with the Hero.

The hero in the story must be strong but not overpowering since he will be facing one or two strong characters. If the hero isn't a strong one the reader will wonder why the heroine fell for the wimp or why the villain so easily over powers the hero. Of course, there are many things you need to know about your hero before you begin but not necessarily do you have to know all right away. Characters develop during the story especially when they are faced with incidents and other people.

Let's look at the general things you need to know.

. 1. Name – To me this is important since I can’t write about a nameless character. I have occasionally renamed hero while writing the story but there has to be a good reason.
2. Physical description – I need to have a good idea of the height, weight, hair and eye color.
3. Emotional nature – Are they quick tempered, are they maddeningly calm. How would they react to various stimuli.
4. What is their background – family life, birth order, career choice, education, social standing of them or their family.
5. How do they come across to other people. This can be different with each of your major characters and their interactions with others. Heroine might think he’s arrogant. His best friend considers him a great guy. The villain might think of him as a snob. All these things effect your characters.
6. I discover their secret. This is something they don’t want anyone to know.

Now I do something a bit different when finding a general profile for my major characters. I semi-cast their Horoscopes. What do I mean be semi? I choose their Sun Sign, their Ascendant or Rising Sign and their Moon Sign. This gives me a general picture to work with.
The Sun sign gives their inner nature and this is usually where their secret arises. The Ascendant shows the picture they present to the world. The Moon shows their emotional nature. With 12 units in each of my chosen area, I have myriad ways of casting a character to make them individuals.

So when developing the hero make him the strongest you can and give him real problems both internal and external. Make sure his goal is one a hero would want.

Monday, December 23, 2019

Meandering on Monday with Janet Lane Walters #MFRWAuthor #BWLAuthor #Poem #Christmas #Writing

Meander 1 -- Poem -- Hazards --

I'm not looking for Prince Charming.
He's dangerous to my health.
Love strikes with viral suddenness
And grips you in the gut.
There's lassitude when he's gone
Plus loss of appetite.
Fever by night and chills by day.
The price is very high.
Another big discovery
Is when you find the prince
You kiss him and he changes fast
Into a slimy frog.
Who wants to be responsible
For metamorphosis.
From prince to frog or frog to prince
I'll let him change himself.

Meander 2 Christmas -- On Wednesday Christmas will come again. This time the day will be a quiet one. Just three of us. The Nanuet grandchildren will visit but they won't be having dinner with us. In a way that means I don't have to cook as much but i do enjoy having a full table. The Florida grandchildren will call and we;ll talk to them. Ashley is headed south. he's had a hefty schedule with school this semester. One daughter and husband will appear after Christmas so that will be nice. The other daughter and husband will come then, too. Be good to see them all. So though quiet, the day will be good.

Meander 3 Writing _ The rough draft is progressing slowly but it is progressing with all that comes at this time of the year. Am blocking in the third chapter with nine to go. I'm falling in love with the characters, Janine and Nate and Davy. Still this book will be ahrd to write on an emotional level.

Sunday, December 22, 2019

Sunday's Book Havens Affinities Book 2 #MFRWAuthor #BWLAuthor #Fantasy #YA #Adventure #Magic

Havens (Affinities Book 2 - Young Adult fantasy, Books We Love)

The four teens, led by the mysterious birds they believe are their parents seek a place of safety where they can learn to control their affinities. They find a place of refuge with Doma Jandia, grandmother of their friend Zand. The doma plans to take them to the highlands but news of the capture of two of their friends by Dom Senet, sends them on a rescue mission. Their powers are not strong enough to defeat the evil dom. They must find a way to succeed or their friends will be corrupted forever.

Reviewed in the United States on March 8, 2014
Format: Kindle EditionVerified Purchase
Do not miss this exciting and dynamic series. An escape for young adults as well as adults with a passion for fantasy. Janet Lane Walters creates world like no other writer I know.

Saturday, December 21, 2019

Saturday's Blurbs Feature 3 Books by Diane Scott Lewis #MFRWAuthor #BWLAuthor #Historical #Romance

Her Vanquished Land

Her Vanquished Land:
In 1780, Rowena Marsh decodes messages for the British during the American Revolution. When the rebels overrun her home state of Pennsylvania, she flees with her family. Are the people loyal to England welcome anywhere in the burgeoning United States? Rowena struggles with possible defeat and permanent exile, plus her growing love for an enigmatic Welshman who may have little need for affection. Will the war destroy both their lives?

On a Stormy Primeval Shore: In 1784, Englishwoman Amelia Latimer sails to New Brunswick to marry a man chosen by her father. Amelia is repulsed and refuses the marriage. She is attracted to a handsome Acadian, Gilbert, a man beneath her. Gilbert fights the incursion of Loyalists from the American war to hold onto his heritage. Will they find love when events seek to tear them apart?

Escape the Revolution: Forced from France on the eve of the French Revolution, Countess Bettina Jonquiere must deliver an important package. In England, she discovers the package is full of blank papers, the address false and she’s penniless. Stranded in a Cornish village, Bettina toils in a bawdy tavern and falls in love with a man who may have murdered his unfaithful wife. Tracked by revolutionaries, she must uncover the truth about her lover’s guilt while her life is threatened.

Friday, December 20, 2019

Friday. Diane Scott Lewis is Visiting and talking about Who She Was Before #MFRWAuthor #BWLAuthor #Historical fiction

Day 1
1. What were you before you became an author? Did this influence your choices as a writer?
I’ve been an author since age five, but I worked as a radioman in the navy and in admin for the navy in civil service.

2. Are you genre specific or general? I don’t mean major genres but subdivisions or romance, mystery or paranormal.
I prefer historical fiction, but I’ve written a mystery and a paranormal: both historical of course. Most of my novels are what you’d call historical fiction with romantic elements. I’ve set the majority of them in the later eighteenth century.

3. What is your latest release? A historical set during the American Revolution, Her Vanquished Land. But my story is told from the loyalist point of view, the people who sided with the British. Rowena decodes messages for the British, but the rebels are winning, and her world is about to be destroyed. And what of her attraction to the mysterious Welshman who runs the spy ring?

4. What are you working on now? A story set in Greece, A Spark to Ashes. I recently re-visited there for a navy reunion, and it’s where I met my husband. I thought of creating a Mary Stewart type romantic suspense set in the 1950s.

5. Do your reading choices influence your choice of a writing career?
Not at first. I’m an eclectic reader. I used to read true crime stories and Hollywood biographies. Now I do read more historical fiction to hone my craft.

6. Where can we find you?