Friday's How She Does It featuring Clare Dargin

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

    I guess I'm unconventional.  Because when I write, I always start with who, then where, what, why and how.   I believe it aids in the flow when I'm creating the story.  However when we turn the tables and look at it from an audience standpoint. The characters at the very least must interesting if not compelling.  If they are, we as readers want to find out more about what they are doing and why they are doing it.  Then, the whens, wheres and hows add efficacy of the plot. In other words, they provide believability, without which the reader would become frustrated and not finish the book.

1.      How do you create your characters? Do you have a specific method?

 I start with an image of a type of man or woman I'd like to write about.  Then, I try to discover their personalities, quirks, likes, dislikes, where do they live, what do they do for a living, how do they dress etc...

2. Do your characters come before the plot?

 Most definitely!

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

   Yes, I have to know where I'm going.  I always no the end.  I just have no idea how I'm going to get there.

4. Do you choose settings you know or do you have books of settings and plans of houses sitting around?

 Both.  Most of it is for inspiration.  Some of it is for guidance. I mix it up between what I know and don't know.  If I don't know it, then I do a ton of research.

5. Where do you do your research? On line or from books?

 I do most of my research on line.  Though for the Cold Warriors series, I ordered a ton of books on arctic expeditions during the golden age of exploration.

6. Are you a draft writer or do you revise as you go along and why? Do you sketch out your plot or do you let the characters develop the route to the end?

I am a draft writer.  Draft 1 to 101 if need be.  That's why it takes me so long!  I tried sketching out my plot and every single time, I abandon it.  So I let the characters, the dramatic tension or the general development of the story be my guide.  

Thursday"s Hero - Sieper from Moon Summoned by Janet Lane Walters #MFRWauthor

A moan of pleasure escaped the lips of the woman named Ashiera. As Sieper found his release, his arms tightened around her. He rolled to his side and held her against his chest. His lips brushed her honey-colored hair. He inhaled the fragrance of the herbs she used as a rinse. As always, her amber eyes were devoid of expression.

Sunshine streamed through the windows of the sleeping chamber, clothing them in colored light. Chips of multi-hued crystals embedded in the headboard of the massive bed splashed bright tints on the sheets.

He stroked her smooth skin. “The Cabal and his mind mages named you as an undead. Thus I claimed you as my reward for their use of my ship for their cargoes.” His jaw clenched for the service hadn’t been a willing gift but one demanded. No man of Keltoi dared to refuse the orders of the priests of the Lord of Shadows.

She pressed her lips against his chest. For years, he’d carried her image in his heart, but he’d never believed she would be his for more than the single night they’d once shared. Since then, his life had changed again and again. From deck hand to officer and then to ship owner.

He thought of the day he and the Wind Skimmer had sailed into Zandara. The holds had been filled with exotic goods from the other nomes and, he’d had hopes of enough profit to outfit a second ship. Alas, those dreams had come to naught. The priests had seized control of Keltoi. Since the defeat of the Mistress, the gray robes and their minions had ruled the nome. Their taxes had eaten most of his profits and for nearly thirteen years he’d sailed at their bidding.

His hands curled into fists. “I’ve worked hard and dreamed of a fleet of ships, but these hopes slip further from my grasp.” He stared into Ashiera’s empty amber eyes. “Why do I tell you these things? Do you even hear me?”

For an instant, he thought he saw a flicker of awareness in her eyes. A foolish thought. Under the Cabal’s torture, her mind had fled.

Gently he stroked her face and traced her lips. Nineteen years ago she’d been his for a night. He’d been the one she’d chosen for her passage from maiden to woman. Their joining, hot and urgent, had created a dream of forever with her.

He caressed her breasts. Her nipples tightened and she moved against him. Though her mind had fled, her body remembered the ways of passion. He wanted to hear his name on her lips, but since the day he’d claimed her from the pens, she hadn’t spoken.

He kissed her. Regret that he’d begun what there wasn’t time to finish filled his voice. “My love, we must leave soon. The Wind Skimmer sails on the evening tide. Until I return you will bide with Maran’s wife.” He pulled her to her feet. “Remember, you are mine.”

Was that a flash of denial he saw in her eyes? Her forehead wrinkled and she opened her mouth. A croaking sound emerged. He waited. Would she speak?

After long moments of silence, he walked with her to the bathing room where a glass dome filled the room with light and heated the pool. Like a child, she played in the water, but she uttered no happy sounds, not did the placid expression on her beautiful face change.

He dressed her in a shimmering spidersilk gown. The iridescent fabric reminded him of the gown she’d worn the night she’d walked in the garden of the Mistress and had taken his hand. He pulled on trousers and a shirt that laced at the sides.

“Come, we must eat.” With his hand at her waist, he steered her to the garden room.

A wall of glass bricks let in light and distorted the lush growth outside. The table, set for two, stood near the wide door leading into the yard. A maid checked the clothes hanging on the line. Her spouse leaned against the wall and watched her work. In these days, no woman walked through town unguarded lest she be taken by the priests. Even in their homes, there was little safety if a priest wanted new women for the pens.

“Ashiera,” Sieper whispered.

She stared. “Who is Ashiera?”

“You are and you are mine.”

As though a black curtain had been torn, her expression changed. “No.” She backed away.

He went to her. “What do you remember?”

Her eyes reflected myriad emotions. “Dying, yet I live. Heated winds searing my head. Falling into darkness. I am Ashiera, but I don’t remember taking vows with you.”

“Much has changed in Keltoi. The Lord of Shadows has placed his shroud over the people. The Mistress and her servants are gone.”

“Gone! Who protects the land and makes sure the seasons follow their proper courses?” She bowed her head. “Once I sat on the seat of judgment. Once I knew the lore and the legends. I solved disputes and made prophecies for those who asked for sight.”

He caressed her shoulders in an attempt to leach the tension from her taut muscles. “Those days are no more.”

She looked up. “All is gone.”

His thumbs brushed her cheeks. “Alas, ‘tis the truth. Since you are now aware, I can’t leave you in Zandara. You must come with me, for you are mine.”

Wednesday's Writer's Tip - Story and Series #MFRWauthor

Whether a series is planned or just happens, there's such a thing as a road map to follow. Having done a series where the map was present from the first word in the first story to having the series suddenly become a series either by reader request, author decision or editor suggestion. I've done them all.

While reading Writing The Fiction Series by Karen Wiesner I realized series somehow do have some kind of map. While this map may suddenly appear often times there are events in the story that have been placed there almost by magic and they call for another story and perhaps another and another.

Another thing to consider with series is the story a complete stand alone and yet part of the series or does each story end with some kind of cliff hanger that compels the reader to want the next book. That is a good question. Each story has a kind of map or what some writers call a story arc taking the story from beginning through the middle to the end. A series must have the same kind of map but the map may not have been discovered by the writer until the second or third book in the series.

My own Affinities series before I came upon each story plan had an over all series plan stumbled on in an odd way. While working as a nurse, I did little to no writing and every night had trouble falling asleep. I started to tell myself a story and the next day I would write out my bedtime story. Somewhere after nearly a hundred pages, I had the series map. Then I had to go back and break this into stories. I'd been aiming for a trilogy but ended up with four books.

The Katherine Miller cozy mysteries were a different sort of thing. I had fans and readers asking for another story. So each story is a completely stand along yet there are references through continuing characters to the previous stories. The stories also build a romance between Katherine and an old friend. He was barely mentioned in the first two stories but suddenly in book three there was a romance but this was seeded in the first two stories and triggered by my need to have the heroine leave the comfort zone of the Hudson River town where she lived.

The third kind of series for me came about when an editor wondered why the ending of the first story was kind of open ended. I really had no idea until the reason hit me. This was a trilogy in the making. Kind of jumped at me. The series map never managed to come, For me though some of the characters are present in the second book and all are present in the third book for me each was building on the story presented before.

So there are many ways of planning a series but at some point in the development as well as a story map, the writer needs a series map. Early or lately developed this is a must.

Tuesday's Inspiration - A Story Is... #MFRWauthor

Continuing with the quotes from Dwight V. Swain's Techniques of the Selling Writer. "A story is people given life on paper."

Without characters the story wouldn't be more than words on paper. I once wrote a story with a park bench as the main character. This was for a class I was taking. The reaction was an interesting one from others. For the park bench could tell the story but what interested the teacher and others was the people who visited the bench and what was happening in their lives. Needless to say, this story never went further for it was more a series of sketches since the park bench couldn't observe the people in the story for more than a few moments.

To have a story, the reader needs to see these characters as real at least momentarily. The characters need to have lives with goals and problems. They need interactions with other characters. If you have a strong hero, you need a strong heroine and a strong villain. To have unequal characters competing with the reader for attention, the strong one will always be remembered, The weak ones will make the reader yawn.

Give your characters a past but don't get so involved in showing the past to the readers that you forget the character is living in their present. Little hints about the past will give the reader bits to think about. Show the reader what is happening to the character that will lead to an ending that can be happy or sad but must be one to satisfy the reader. So work to bring your character to life. Without life the story will fall flat.

Meandering On Monday with Janet Lane Walters #MFRWauthor #BWLauthor

Meander 1 _ I was about th start in August a new feature on the blog but there were 2 July days to fill. When I put out the call to fill those spots suddenly I had 6 people wanting to take a chance on being featured. So it looks like September before I change what happens on Friday and Saturday around the blog.

Meander 2 - Trying to remember how something was done can be a challenge. I need to fill out a form for a bit of promo and so much is needed that I can't figure out how I've done this in the past. I will prevail somehow and get this done so I can get the post Summer Heroes up to a site that's having an anniversary. Will work on finishing this today.

Meander 3 - Toth's Priest is moving forward and I'm almost finished with the draft that fills in those missing bits like love scenes and fight scenes. Then it will be a constant bit of research to finish the book by the end of next month. Sure hope I can make the limit. Have a mid September blog scheduled to showcase the trilogy set in an Alternate Ancient Egypt.

Sunday - My Series - Katherine Miller Mysteries

The series began as one story first titled So We Walk On Eggshells. Somewhere along the way the book was retitled by me called Murder and Mint Tea. I didn't expect this to become a series. Actually, the book was inspired by a neighbor who was not very nice and I wanted to kill her. Knowing this wasn't the thing to do, I planned the book. I sent it out to a few places and ran into a snag. Seems publishers were looking for series and I had no intention of writing one. I put it in a book in the basement and returned to work as a nurse.The neighbor moved and I still didn't like her. I was cleaning the basement and found the book and thought this isn't a bad story but it needs help. The story was told in the first person and I did what a lot of first person writers do. That's going off on tangents that may have much to say about the character ut nothing to do with the book.

I rewrote the book and then found the publishing world had changed so I sent it to an electronic publisher and the book really sold well in the days of floppy discs. It's still selling. Was nominated for an award but didn't win. That's okay since it was a finalists. Garnered a lot of reviews and was made into an audio book. Made a lot of money there.

The book became a series when people kept asking me to write another. So here's a bit about Murder and Mint Tea. The story introduces a number of characters who come into other books of the series but the main one is Robespierre Katherine's Maine Coon cat who was a real cat who lived with this writer for fifteen years.

A trip across the street during a winter snow storm and Katherine misses a curb ending with a broken leg. While she is in the hospital, her son rents the first floor apartment in her house. Katherine lives on the second floor since she can see the Hudson River from there. This tenant, Rachel begins to annoy many of the neighbors who are Katherine's friends. She even puts the make on Katherine's son. When Katherine finds Rachel's body in her yard and sees the weapon, she realizes the fancy knife was a Christmas present from a neighbor to all her near and dear. Katherine removes the weapon and throws it in the river. Then she must discover the murderer and pray it isn't one of her friends or family member.

Saturday's Excerpt from The Diva and the Duke by Jackson D'Lynne

Book Blurb:

The Diva and the Duke – Book One of The Three Goddesses Series

When a 21st century diva...

Haven Edwards is a sensual, intelligent, 21st century diva with an “exotic” career. Wanting nothing more than to move past her ugly divorce, she attends an adults only Carnal-val where she’s compelled to steal a strangely glowing pocket watch. Overcome with its power, she winds it. A portal opens beneath her feet, hurtling her back through time to 1817 where she crashes into the life of the very proper, very sexy, Logan Dunham. A duke with a deep distrust of beautiful women, Logan can’t understand his staggering desire for the woman with the quick wit, and jade green eyes—the woman who haunted his dreams long before they met.

…meets a 19th century duke…

Haven is determined to find a way home, but she can’t shake her hunger for the dark, brooding duke. He’s a duke, he’s out of her league, right? So why does her heart beat a little faster whenever he is near? Why does her mind conjure images of happily ever after?

One touch, and they are consumed by their desire. But before they can untangle their feelings for one another, a sociopath with a god complex and a knife fetish sets his evil intents on Haven. In order to save her life, Logan must destroy the demons of his past, and learn to trust a power he doesn’t understand. What happens when he arrives too late? Will the time-swept diva be lost forever, or will the diva get her duke?

…the sparks fly, tempers and passions flare, and two souls touch across time.

The Diva and the Duke is a time-travel, paranormal, Regency suspense filled to the brim with spicy wit, fiery romance, hot sex, humor, and a villain you have to read to believe.

Excerpt – THE DIVA AND THE DUKE – © 2014 JACKSON D’LYNNE

Haven hid behind the bed curtain when the maid brought in a very late dinner, and fought back nervous giggles at the utter craziness of the situation. Not only had she just made earth shattering love to a 19th century duke for the third time, she was ducking behind a silken curtain in order to keep their “indiscretion” a secret from his household staff. If they were in 2013, there wouldn’t be a need for the secrecy—they’d be uncaring about who knew about their intimacies. In 2013, no one cared, it wasn’t their business, everyone had sex, right? In 1817, sex outside of marriage was juicy gossip that could literally turn an entire society on its head. As if no one had affairs. She’d read enough Regency era romance novels to know better.

Struck again by the overwhelming disparities in their times and cultures, she blew a pent up breath. When the bedroom door clicked shut, she let her legs fall from their bunched position behind the curtain.

Logan set the tray of food on a footstool, made his way to the bed, removed his dressing gown, and climbed in.

“God, Haven, your legs are so long, luscious, and as smooth as silk. I can't help but touch them. How are your legs are so sleek?”

A rush of blood through her brain buzzed behind her ears. She couldn’t concentrate on his words when his hands slowly caressed her bare leg.

Smooth? Sleek? She tilted her head, and blinked. It took her a moment to figure out what he meant. When she realized he meant hairless, a loud laugh burst from her. “You mean why aren't they covered in a layer of prickly hair?”

He raised an eyebrow at her, and hesitated before answering. “Covered in hair, yes.”

Women's razors, Nair, cosmetic wax, and other hair removal beauty treatments were commonplace in the 21st century. In 1817, women didn't have the luxury of electrolysis, so unlike the historical romance novel portrayals of sexy, bare legged heroines, realistically, women in Regency England had gams that could double as cacti in stockings.

“Well, in 2013, a woman can go to a dermatologist, a skin doctor, or a special oasis for stressed out women called a spa. At the spa, or dermatologist, you can get a procedure called electrolysis. Using a laser, a beam of concentrated light, they burn out the root of the hair along a targeted area. I had the procedure on my legs. They will never grow hair again.”

Eyes wide, he murmured, “That sounds painful.”

“It’s totally safe, I didn’t feel a thing, but afterward I did get a terrible rash at the top of my right thigh.” She shuddered in pleasure when his hand slid its way from her calf to the very top of her inner thigh.

“Now that’s a shame, but I do appreciate the results,” he drawled low.

Her tummy did a flip-flop when a sexy smile lit up his face. God, this man was too damn gorgeous. “So, how do you still have all your teeth? And they’re pearly white and gleaming clean to boot.” Seemingly inspired by her words, he nipped the sensitive area beneath her right ear which sent delicious shivers through her. He smiled again when his actions elicited a moan.

He furrowed his brow in puzzlement. “Why wouldn't I have all of my teeth, and why wouldn't I take care to keep them clean?”

She giggled. “When you've seen as many photos of Europeans in history books as I have, you'd know the answer.” Laughing again, she smiled. “The running joke in America is that men and women in England are a smile's worst enemy. They don’t care about their oral hygiene, so their teeth are crooked, tinted shades of brown, or missing altogether. Hence my surprise at your perfect teeth. They are white, clean, straight, and all there.”

The smile in question appeared and commenced the stomach flip flops. “That isn’t a fair assumption. That observation cannot possibly be true of all Britons. While I haven't examined my aunt's teeth as I would a horse I was eying at Tattersall’s, I do believe her teeth are still there. She snaps them at me often enough.”

She threw her head back on the pillow and laughed. Rising over her, he looked down at her, his eyes burning black, desire and want etched into every feature.

“I love your laugh. You don’t do it often enough.” His husky voice sent shivers over her quickly warming skin.

Her playful smile transitioned into one of sensual appreciation. How could this man say something so innocuous, and still turn her inside out?

After a long, deep, body humming kiss, Logan’s expression turned contemplative. Was his pensive face ever a good face? Bracing for a sour turn in their sweet interlude, she waited for him to speak.

“Haven, the night of the dinner party, after I’d...ahem...accused you of slashing my mother’s portrait, you said something that didn’t stir my mind until now.”

A low flutter beat against her stomach. “What?” She took a fortifying breath.

“I believe you said you hadn’t “asked to be spied on and creeped out”. What does ‘creeped out’ mean, and who was spying on you?”

She let her breath out with a rush, the flutters in her stomach dying away. Squeezing the bridge of her nose, she paused, unsure of where to start she explained. “Creeped out means I felt uncomfortable, uneasy, because I thought someone was standing outside the powder room waiting for me.” Thinking back to their earlier confrontation over the misplaced, or rather purposely placed glove, she continued, “Apparently, I was right. My glove didn’t get up and walk into the gallery by itself. Someone followed me to the powder room, waited for me to go in, stole my glove, shredded the painting, and then left my glove there as planted evidence.” Fury furled through her like a slow burning blaze. “Who in the hell would do that? What could they possibly gain from framing me? I am nothing, no one.”

Especially to you...

She looked over at him. He sat silently, a quizzical look drawing his brows together.

“Why didn’t you tell me this immediately?” He sounded affronted.

She huffed in frustration. “I tried! When you get on your high horse and are hell bent on cramming someone’s guilt down their throats, there’s no getting through to you. Although, you must have heard some of what I said.”

Chagrin flooded his expression. “I do hear you, Haven,” he said smoothly. When she pinched her expression in disbelief he amended, “I heard you. The words just didn’t fully form in my mind until the heat of the situation cooled.”

She laughed. Their current situation was much hotter than that of their earlier argument.

Much hotter.

Trying to get her mind out of the gutter where it swam amongst debris shaped like rock hard cocks, she bit her lip. When the sharp pain focused her mind, she asked, “Who’d want to slash a painting of your mother, and then blame me? Who would have motive?”

Throwing his legs over the side of the bed, he made to stand up, but turned to her instead. “Honestly, I do not know. My mother didn’t have an enemy in the world. As per her wishes, everyone loved her, would do anything for her, and she thrived on the attention. She would do anything for the adoration.” His voice hitched as the last words rumbled passed his lips. His face darkened, and his eyes turned a smoldering black. A bitter, inky black.

She should tread lightly, change the subject and let the cards fall where they may, but where had that gotten her so far? In a sweltering, loveless hell, that’s where. She wanted out. She wanted to pull out the sledgehammer and smash through the walls he’d erected around his heart, and show him he didn’t have to be bound by the shadows of his past.

So, she swung the hammer. “So you can’t think of anyone who would want to destroy your mother’s portrait? Maybe someone she’d wronged? She can’t have been a saint, no one is.”

“No,” he ground out, “not a saint.”

His voice flattened, and his expression blanked. “She tried to kill me.”

Friday's How She Does It featuring Jackson D'Lynne

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

I totally agree! A plot is shaped by who (characters), what (crisis/romance), when (time/era/epoch/epic), where (setting), why (drive/background/desires/hopes/dreams), and how (how do all of the pieces fit together to create a story the reader will actually want to read). Without the six elements of fiction to shape your story, you’d end up with the drive thru menu of a fast food restaurant.

1.   

   How do you create your characters? Do you have a specific method?

My characters create themselves. I’ll hear a voice in my head, and after some time of reflection, the character begins to come into view. Sometimes, it will take several chapters for their whole character to develop, but most of the time, I have their physical and emotional attributes solidified before I even begin to write. It’s their backgrounds and history that develops with the story.

2. 

     Do your characters come before the plot?

Sometimes. There are times when I dream a plot, and then wake up the next day to write it down. Those times, I have no idea who the characters will be, but they begin to develop when I sit down with my OneNote note book open and scribble the info down as it flashes through my mind. That’s what I did with the time-travel pirate series I’ll be working on.  I dreamt about a pirate, and when I woke up the next day, I fleshed the idea for the story and the series out on paper.

3.   

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

Not at all. With THE DIVA AND THE DUKE, all I knew were the H/H characters, the plot device, and a few of the random pieces of story. The ending didn’t come to me until I’d reached the midpoint of the story. This is the first book in the series, and I still have no idea how the other two books will end. 

4.   

   Do you choose settings you know or do you have books of settings and plans of houses sitting around?

I write whatever the Muse wants. I’ve never left the country, but THE DIVA AND THE DUKE takes place in Philly, and in the English countryside in 1817! If I don’t already know information about the location, I will do the necessary research to make sure the story is historically, and factually accurate.

5.   

   Where do you do your research? On line or from books?

Both. I dedicate an entire browser folder to the links for research on my current WIP, but I also have a growing library of paper books I hide away in my bedroom—far away from my small children and toothy White German Shepherd Dog.

6.  

    Are you a draft writer or do you revise as you go along and why? Do you sketch out your plot or do you let the characters develop the route to the end?

I revise as I go along, but I usually write large chunks at a time. I use Scrivener writing software, which allows me to write whichever scene comes to mind, and then I can go back through each separate scene and revise if needed. I sketch out all the initial information, general physical attributes and such, but I have to sit down and literally let the characters speak to me so I learn their background stories, their dreams, what drives them, and even if they like North Carolina BBQ. 

Jackson D'Lynne

Thursday's Hero - Alric from Lines of Fire by Janet Lane Walters #MFRWauthor

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.

“Seems 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 Tips - Series Types Continued #MFRWauthor

There are 2 other types of series. The first one I found made me wonder if the books are really a series These are ones based on a premise or a plot.  These series may or may not be written by the same person. I'm still kind of skeptical, but in Writing the Fiction they are classified as being series. Sometimes there are artifacts involved. Other times these are a specific kind of story like medical suspense. The characters are different in each story and usually the setting. What connects the story is the plot.

Then there is the series based on a setting.  There is often a town, a country, even a world where different characters live out different lives and many times they have very different types of stories. One could be a mystery, a second about ghosts. Often there are two books using the same characters or even trilogies or more that occur among the other stories taking place on that world.

The one thing to remember is when you're choosing the kind of series you are writing that the types can be combined in the same story but one of the elements is stronger than the others.