Wednesday's Writer's Tip - Patterns in Action

Action doesn't mean just fights and car chases and other scenes with physical action being the focus. Action is what moves the story forward. Action isn't just a series of scenes that are connected. When I first began writing I thought I knew what I was doing. After many wonderful rejections where the editors kindly wrote about one thing I was doing wrong. I remember one that I read. "If you start with a bomb or a riot where the hero and heroine are threatened with death, what are you going to write next that pulls the reader along." This hit me that action is a progression. No matter what kind of story you're writing each action in the story must lead to the next one and must increase the stakes for the characters.

Action builds tension and gains momentum in a story. This requires pacing. A fellow writer once read my sort of 'Medical suspense" Obsessions and remarked on a look we both belonged to. "Janet is a master at pacing." This totally surprised me because I wasn't sure what he meant. I did a whole lot of study about what pacing meant. This story starts with the unnamed villain watching the hospital parking lot and failing to achieve his goal. Not much later, the heroine discovers the body of a nat so nice fellow worker in the "orthopedic" storage room. This is the triggering situation and the deaths begin. Each one comes closer to the heroine and so the tension builds. Especially when the heroine receives gifts left my an unnamed admirer. These gifts are the typical ones one mught see in a courtship. This added another layer of tension, yet these scenes weren't physically active.

So as you write each scene think about what the scene contributes to the building finale of the story. If a scene doesn't really add to the tension, take it out or change it until you can feel the tentsion rising. Sort of like Slowly he walked and so forth. Build a pattern and make sure each scene advances not only the story but also the tension. Don't give away too much too soon and don't delay too long. Actions show the pattern of cause and effect.

How The Story Emerged - Obsessions

Still striving to create a title for this story and this is the latest. There will be a giveaway here of an autographed copy of Obsessions to a US or Canada person who makes a comment and leaves me a way to reach them.

Today Heart Throb is available for free on Amazon Kindle. http://www.amazon.com/Heart-Throb-ebook/dp/B0057AGQ4W/ref=sr_1_3?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1330001699&sr=1-3

Now for the story of Obsessions. Many years ago I read Michael Palmer's Sisterhood and really liked the book I thought perhaps I could write a medical suspense so I read many others in the subgenre and found that I couldn't write ones like those. Somehow I couldn't devise an evil mad scientist as the doctor of the piece so I put the idea aside. Then a series of events gave me the way to work this out, in my own way. I was still working as a nurse and trying to get in an hour or so a day writing. There was a Code and the patient didn't live. The family was hysterical. Then one of my colleagues who had a long standing relationship with one of the doctors found the affair had ended. A young nurse had just begun a flirtation with a doctor and during narcotics count one a pill seemed to be missing and we had a grand search to find where it had gone. Thus the seeds for Obsessions was found.

This is a story where the doctors and nurses are the ones who are being killed in what seem like accidents at first. Except, one of the nurses receives gifts after each death. Also those who die have obsessions with different things. The heroine is obsessed with not getting involved with a man who will want to control her life like her dead husband. Two of the victims are obsessed with a particular person. One is obsessed with drugs. The list of victims and the possible killers grow shorter. The heroine must face her own death on a winter night near Christmas and a chase through the streets of her tow,

The ending, and I won't tell you what it is freaked out many of my critique partners but I knew the heroine and stuck with the ending. So there you have the genesis of the story. The villain in the story remains as one of my favorites.

My Writing Life October 18

Sometimes I think it takes forever to write a book. Perhaps that's because I finished blocking in the last segment of The Henge Betrayed Confrontations and realized I had to rearrange the I suppose one could call them chapters. I knew where I wanted to end the story and how but the getting there has been a battle. I now know what has to be done and someday I can write finis on this.

Other neat things. My daughter read my suspense novel Obsessions on her phone and she really enjoyed the book. The ending that some people tried to talk me out of to her seemed absolutely right. What is the ending, you'll have to read it and learn.

Also learned that Shortcut To Love my tongue in cheek nurse doctor/nurse romance is now available in a number of places. Loved writing this story but keeping the tone light and amusing was hard and different from my usual kind of story. Written on a challenge to see if I could turn a man who seemed to be a Lothario into a real hero. I think I managed.
http://www.vanillaheartbooksandauthors.com/Instant_Downloads.html
Another plus is my newest publisher Vanilla Heart Press has put my books up on this site and it looks good. Granddaughter is reading The Warrior of Bast. Soon Mistress of the Moons will be out in print.

Was a good week in some respects and a slow one in another.

Obsessions part 2

This segment of Obsessions is sort of a demonstration of how to get the reader to turn to the next page.

At ten fifteen, Susan pushed the med cart into the nurses' station. "If anyone wants me, I'll be in the back." Her feet ached. She needed the lift a cup of coffee would bring.

When the unit secretary turned in her chair, her red hair swirled like a matador's cape. "Bad news," Kit Carbonari said. "When I got back from break, I found a note about an admission. Guess who has the empty bed? It's a seventy-year-old with a fractured hip."

"Murphy's Law," Susan mumbled. No break tonight. The next half-hour would be spent with the new patient. She abandoned the med cart in the middle of the nurses' lounge, strode to the lounge and opened the door.

"Barbara, let's go. We're getting an admission."

No strident voice answered. No acrid aroma of cigarette smoke tainted the air. Where was the practical?

As she retraced her steps to the nurses' station, her shoes slapped against the dark green carpet. She paused at the desk. "Has anyone seen Barbara?"

Kit shook her head. "She didn't take break with us. Acted like she had a hot date."

"Guess it's gossip rounds tonight." One of the practicals giggled. "Think of all the juicy stories she'll have when she gets back."

"And the ones about us she'll spread." Trish reached for another chart. "Someone should plug her mouth."

Julie turned in the chair at the doctors' desk where she sat beside De Witt. "Is there a problem?" she asked. "Can I help?"

"Just an admission and no Barbara." On her way to the clean utility room, Susan paused beside the younger nurse.

De Witt captured Julie's hand the way a lion grasps its prey. "Don't be late." As he rose, he smoothed his ash blond hair and slung a black leather jacket over his shoulder. He strode down the hall.

"Go get the equipment," Julie said. "As soon as I finish this chart, I'll meet you in the patient's room."

Moments later, Susan entered the semi-private room and dropped an eggcrate mattress on the foot of the bed next to the door. Leaving the hospital at eleven thirty had become an impossible dream.

"I knew it was too good to last." The patient by the window raised the head of her bed. "Sure hope she doesn't snore."

"You'll soon know."

"What's wrong with her?"

"You know I can't tell you. After she arrives, you can share tales of your adventures."

"Maybe she'll be as jolly as my last roommate."

The traction apparatus from the former patient remained in place. Susan moved the weight bar from the right to the left. As she worked, she mentally listed the equipment she'd need. A foam Buck's boot, weights, ropes, elastic bandages, Barbara's help.

The clot of anger she had hidden from the other nurses loosened. The moment she saw the practical, Susan knew she would explode. Barbara had been away from the unit for more than an hour. Had she been the one to take the message about the admission? How typical of Barbara to leave without preparing the bed.

Susan pulled the sheets to the bottom of the bed. She lifted the foam mattress.

"I'll do that," Julie said. "Get the weights and stuff. Kit's calling around for Barbara."

"By the time she returns, the work will be done."

"Does that surprise you?" Julie asked. "You can always report her for being off the unit so long."

Susan sighed. She could, but would anything be done? The practical had been reported more times than the rest of the evening staff combined. She had never been warned let alone disciplined.

With quick steps, she headed for the storage room. To her surprise, the door was locked. "Why? Had Kit forgotten to open the door after the day shift left? Susan pulled the large ring of keys from her pocket. She unlocked the door and flipped on the lights.

The disorder made her groan. Why had the orthopedic cart been left in the middle of the room? The stench of urine assaulted her. Who had left a dirty bedpan behind?

The cart blocked the path to the shelves at the end of the room where most of the supplies she needed were stored. She pushed the cart toward the wall. The wheels caught on an obstacle. She tried a different angle with the same result. With a jerk, she yanked the cart toward the door and edged around it.

Her eyes widened. A harsh gasp escaped. "Barbara!" Guilt over her earlier anger warred with fear. She stepped closer. "Oh God!"

The streak of red on the practical's white uniform spoke of violence. Susan had seen death many times, but never like this. A soundless scream reverberated in her thoughts. Who had done this and why? She stared at Barbara's battered head and face and fought the need to flee.

Several minutes passed before the scattered hundred dollar bills registered. Susan blinked but the money remained. Who had given Barbara the money? Had it been her killer?

She inhaled. She had to do something. Like a robot programmed to perform a series of tasks, she knelt beside her co-worker. She pressed the bell of her stethoscope against Barbara's chest and stared at the sweep second hand on her watch. One minute passed. Then two. She heard nothing.

With a shudder, she rose. Questions fomented in her thoughts. The desire to bolt grew stronger. The clutter in the room impeded her escape. Step by step, she backed around the ortho cart. Three more steps took her into the hall. She held back the fear-generated sobs that threatened to burst free and hurried to the nurses' station.

There for stability, she grasped the counter of the U-shaped desk. She swallowed convulsively.

Kit held the phone to her ear. The two practicals sat at the long section of the desk. Trish lounged in the med room doorway. The mundane scene failed to erase the bizarre picture in the storage room.

"In...in..." The words emerged as a harsh whisper. She gulped a breath.

Julie stepped out of the semi-private room across from the desk. "What took you... Susan, what's wrong?"

"In...in..." Susan couldn't force her frozen tongue to form the words.

Trish strode across the green carpet. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Susan cleared her throat. Her knees buckled. Only her grasp on the counter kept her erect. "In the storage room... Barbara..."

Excerpt 1 Obsessions

Obsessions has one of my favorite villains and this story is a medical suspense with a difference. No mad doctors. The doctors and nurses are the ones who are being killed. This book was an EPICaward finalist.

He crouched in the cemetery that embraced three sides of the hillside parking lot across from Bradley Memorial Hospital. A massive family marker shielded him from view, yet allowed him a clear view of the steps, the street and the door of the Emergency Room. Dark clouds slid across the surface of the moon. Lights, set high on poles around the perimeter of the lot sent finger shadows groping among the cars.

The watcher straightened and edged from behind the granite marker. White puffs of vapor from the shallow, rapid breaths he took coalesced around his face. He held his body as rigid as a tombstone. As he waited for the evening nurses to end their tour of duty and hurry across the street to their cars, his narrowed eyes focused on the brightly-lit hospital entrance. Every night for a week, he had watched while excitement and anticipation had circled like a swarm of hornets. Would she come tonight?

"I'll never leave you." When he was eight, Mommy had said the words that had become his litany. That broken promise had brought him here.

He stared at the steps. When would Susan come?

When Mommy was a patient, Susan had been her favorite nurse. He had liked Susan, too, but she hadn't stopped those other people from hurting Mommy. His shoulders tensed.

"I'll never leave you. They'll have to kill me first."

The night Mommy had died was etched into his memories. On that dreadful night, he had begun his plan to make them pay.

Mommy would be unhappy about what he meant to do. To her, nurses were special and Susan more wonderful than the rest.

He rocked from his heels to his toes. The last time he had disobeyed, Mommy had threatened to tell everyone how bad he was. He had promised her he would be good. His hands curled into fists. Sometimes he wanted to feel the heat of accomplishment so much he felt sick.

He gulped a breath. Tonight the heat would blossom and he would feel powerful again.

Susan was like Mommy. She would tell. He chewed on his lower lip. Her death would free him to still the people who had hurt Mommy on that dreadful night.

His smile became a grimace.

He had trusted Susan but she had failed to keep Mommy safe. Though he wished to see the others dead, Susan had to be first. He had laid his plans carefully, and while he had considered all the things that could go wrong, days had become weeks and then months.

The bright lights across the street caught his attention and stirred his hopes. She had to come tonight. He wanted to be free.

His hand brushed Mommy's tombstone. He pressed his fingers against the engraved letters of her name. He cocked his head and listened to the whisper of the wind.

"Nurses give so much to others. Someone should take care of them."

Mommy's husky voice thrummed in a corner of his mind. Her face appeared. Tears spilled from her eyes. He shook his head. Why should he listen to her when she had left him?

Sometimes at night when he slept in her bed, he caught a glimmer of her presence. For fleeting moments, the scent of her perfume brought her to him.

He squared his shoulders. Since he was eight and Daddy died, Mommy had watched him carefully. One day, her vigilance had wavered. The neighborhood bully had fallen from a tree and broken his neck. That awful boy shouldn't have torn up Mommy's flower garden.

Mommy had liked the candy and the other presents he had given her every time he disobeyed. He groaned. Who would like his presents now?

Where was Susan? Waiting made him anxious. She had to come so she would be just like Mommy.

He saw her. Hazel eyes, sad eyes, Susan's eyes, Mommy's eyes. Brown hair swirled to hide her siren smile. He reached for her, but she vanished into the darkness of the night.

The chill November wind flowed across his nape. He jammed his hands into the pockets of his black leather jacket and touched the weapon he had brought.

The sound of leather scuffling against asphalt caused him to turn and scan the parking lot. When he saw no one, his gaze returned to the hospital entrance.

Someone dashed across the street. A flash of white showed beneath the woman's dark coat. He held his breath. Susan had come. It had to be her. A rush of anticipation built to a peak. She was here. The nurse ran up the steps beside the cemetery.

A darting shadow startled him. With stealthy movements, a dark-clad figure edged between the cars. The nurse paused beside a battered tan sedan. A hand stretched to grasp the purse that dangled from her shoulder.

"Susan, watch out." A bellow proclaimed his rage. If she was attacked, he should be the attacker.

Mommy wouldn't like that. "A good boy never hurts a woman." She had never guessed what he had done, not even when he had given her the tri-colored bracelet she had always worn.

"No," he shouted.

The dark figure fled and nearly tripped over the single strand of chain that separated the parking lot from the cemetery.

The watcher smiled. Mommy would be proud of him. He couldn't wait to go home and tell her what he had done tonight.

A shrill scream rose. From her? From him? He bit his lower lip and clenched his hands. He stared at the woman he had thought was Susan. She wasn't, but she had been in Mommy's room the night she died. Intent on completing what the mugger had begun, he stepped toward the chain. What was he thinking about? He couldn't, not tonight. Susan had to be the first. He returned to Mommy's grave. Her voice rode on the wind.

"What will become of you when I'm not here to look after you? I'll never leave you. They'll have to kill me first."

But she was dead and they had killed her.

"Mommy, don't leave me. You promised you would never go."

The nurse ran to the steps. She shouted and waved to the group of women who hurried across the street. He slid deeper into the shadows. Car doors slammed. Engines roared. He waited until most of the cars had left the parking lot before he went to his own. As he drove home, he wondered why Susan hadn't come.