http://spaldings-racket.blogspot.com/ Of interest to those with indie publishers.
http://sweetheartsofthewest.blogspot.com/ For those who love western romance.
http://adarkandstormyblog.blogspot.com/ A bit about writing. Found a bit on the remaking of Conan interesting
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Saturday, March 19, 2011
1st Chapter Saturday - Whispers Out Of Yesteryear.
Not really the complete first chapter but the opening scene. This is a reincarnation novel triggered by a vision I experienced many years ago that scared me a lot. Finally was able to take that and turn it into a novel. The rest of the first chapter will come next week.
Janet Lane Walters
Whispers Out of Yesteryear
DiskUs Publishing
ISBN: 1-58495-281-4
Whispers Out of Yesteryear
Chapter 1
July 1755
Willow Who Bends stood at the entrance of the Long House and stared at the sky. Though the sun shone brightly, to the west dark clouds gathered and carried the threat of a storm like the one she felt inside.
She knelt beside the father of her spirit. Corn Dreamer had raised her and taught her the ways of healing. She prayed he would wake but feared he wouldn’t. Sorrow rode the beats of her heart and threatened to spill in a rain of tears.
"Corn Dreamer, must you travel to the spirit world and leave this one behind?" Her voice cracked and she caught a breath to still the ache in her throat. "The men have taken the warriors’ path in answer to Waraghuyagey’s call. The-Man-Who-Understands-Great-Things speaks for the redcoats, those men who want our help. What have we to do with the ones who fail to live in harmony with the land?
Not all the pale-skinned men, she thought. A smile crossed her face. There was one who often stayed in the village and sat at Corn Dreamer’s feet to learn.
Near a moon ago, a message had come for Hair of Fire. He had left the Long House and journeyed west. A shiver crawled her spine. Was he safe? In these days, danger rode the currents of the air the way carrion birds circled a kill.
She returned to her teacher’s side and pressed her fingers against his wrist. What had made him fall into sleep yet not sleep? Why did his heart flutter like humming bird wings and then slow. She wished for a way to rouse him for he would know the answer.
"Corn Dreamer, spirit father, medicine man, this woman is not ready for you to leave. What can this one do to help?"
She closed her eyes and sought among the things he had taught her. An answer arose. "This one must go into the forest to gather fresh leaves and bark."
From her sleeping place, she lifted a bark basket by the carrying strap and left the Long House. As she stepped outside, she heard the children’s laughter and the voices of the women raised in the growing chant. The sound chased her sorrow.
Across the clearing, her sister sat with the ones too young to work with the women. Though born of the same mother and on the same day, she and Willow by the Stream had been raised at different fires. On the outside, they wore a single face as reflected in a still pond, but their inner natures were different. As the first born, Willow Who Bends had been given to Corn Dreamer to learn about the ways of medicine and the spirit world. Her sister had been raised as a woman of the clan.
She drank in the sight of her sister. Soon Willow by the Stream would take a husband. That was good and right, but the change would further separate their lives.
Willow Who Bends sighed. We are alike and not alike. This one has been trained to stand alone. Willow by the Stream needed someone to care for her.
The small ones giggled. Willow Who Bends waited until her sister finished the story of the fox and the bear. Then she approached the group.
"Corn Dreamer is no better. This one must go into the forest to gather fresh medicines."
"A gift for you." Willow by the Stream presented a small deerskin pouch. On one side dyed porcupine quills formed an image of the sun, and on the other precious trade beads patterned the Three Sisters -- Corn, Squash and Beans.
"Are you not afraid to go into the forest alone?"
"Who would harm a medicine woman?"
"The enemy. Those despoilers and their pale friends move along the trails like weasels seeking prey."
"They were seen to the south and west a moon ago. This one will go north and east to the place where the willows grow beside the stream. Since you fear for me, listen with the ear that opens between us. If this one finds danger, she will cry a warning."
"This woman will listen."
At the edge of the trees, Willow Who Bends paused, and for a short time watched the people of the Long House. Her foster mother and the mother who had given her life worked side by side in the garden. Four nearly-grown boys practiced with their bows under the eyes of the warriors who had remained to protect the clan. With a wave, she stepped into the shadows cast by the forest.
As she moved among the trees, she stopped to gather medicines -- birch leaves, bloodroot, ginseng, bee balm. Slowly, she made her way to the stream where chill waters swept down the hill to join other streams and form a river.
The leaves of the willows had darkened from pale spring green to the darker hues of summer. All the catkins had dropped away. She pressed her hands against the largest of the cluster.
"Sister Tree, one who shares your name has need of your bark. Will you let me cut your skin?" She pressed her forehead against the tree and waited for an answer.
The scream that sounded in her head caused her to stagger. Her legs refused to hold her erect. She slid to the ground. With a terror that matched her sister’s, through the link between them, she witnessed the destruction of the Long House. The faces of the enemy burned into her head.
"Not the children!" The scream caused the earth beneath her body to shudder.
Janet Lane Walters
Whispers Out of Yesteryear
DiskUs Publishing
ISBN: 1-58495-281-4
Whispers Out of Yesteryear
Chapter 1
July 1755
Willow Who Bends stood at the entrance of the Long House and stared at the sky. Though the sun shone brightly, to the west dark clouds gathered and carried the threat of a storm like the one she felt inside.
She knelt beside the father of her spirit. Corn Dreamer had raised her and taught her the ways of healing. She prayed he would wake but feared he wouldn’t. Sorrow rode the beats of her heart and threatened to spill in a rain of tears.
"Corn Dreamer, must you travel to the spirit world and leave this one behind?" Her voice cracked and she caught a breath to still the ache in her throat. "The men have taken the warriors’ path in answer to Waraghuyagey’s call. The-Man-Who-Understands-Great-Things speaks for the redcoats, those men who want our help. What have we to do with the ones who fail to live in harmony with the land?
Not all the pale-skinned men, she thought. A smile crossed her face. There was one who often stayed in the village and sat at Corn Dreamer’s feet to learn.
Near a moon ago, a message had come for Hair of Fire. He had left the Long House and journeyed west. A shiver crawled her spine. Was he safe? In these days, danger rode the currents of the air the way carrion birds circled a kill.
She returned to her teacher’s side and pressed her fingers against his wrist. What had made him fall into sleep yet not sleep? Why did his heart flutter like humming bird wings and then slow. She wished for a way to rouse him for he would know the answer.
"Corn Dreamer, spirit father, medicine man, this woman is not ready for you to leave. What can this one do to help?"
She closed her eyes and sought among the things he had taught her. An answer arose. "This one must go into the forest to gather fresh leaves and bark."
From her sleeping place, she lifted a bark basket by the carrying strap and left the Long House. As she stepped outside, she heard the children’s laughter and the voices of the women raised in the growing chant. The sound chased her sorrow.
Across the clearing, her sister sat with the ones too young to work with the women. Though born of the same mother and on the same day, she and Willow by the Stream had been raised at different fires. On the outside, they wore a single face as reflected in a still pond, but their inner natures were different. As the first born, Willow Who Bends had been given to Corn Dreamer to learn about the ways of medicine and the spirit world. Her sister had been raised as a woman of the clan.
She drank in the sight of her sister. Soon Willow by the Stream would take a husband. That was good and right, but the change would further separate their lives.
Willow Who Bends sighed. We are alike and not alike. This one has been trained to stand alone. Willow by the Stream needed someone to care for her.
The small ones giggled. Willow Who Bends waited until her sister finished the story of the fox and the bear. Then she approached the group.
"Corn Dreamer is no better. This one must go into the forest to gather fresh medicines."
"A gift for you." Willow by the Stream presented a small deerskin pouch. On one side dyed porcupine quills formed an image of the sun, and on the other precious trade beads patterned the Three Sisters -- Corn, Squash and Beans.
"Are you not afraid to go into the forest alone?"
"Who would harm a medicine woman?"
"The enemy. Those despoilers and their pale friends move along the trails like weasels seeking prey."
"They were seen to the south and west a moon ago. This one will go north and east to the place where the willows grow beside the stream. Since you fear for me, listen with the ear that opens between us. If this one finds danger, she will cry a warning."
"This woman will listen."
At the edge of the trees, Willow Who Bends paused, and for a short time watched the people of the Long House. Her foster mother and the mother who had given her life worked side by side in the garden. Four nearly-grown boys practiced with their bows under the eyes of the warriors who had remained to protect the clan. With a wave, she stepped into the shadows cast by the forest.
As she moved among the trees, she stopped to gather medicines -- birch leaves, bloodroot, ginseng, bee balm. Slowly, she made her way to the stream where chill waters swept down the hill to join other streams and form a river.
The leaves of the willows had darkened from pale spring green to the darker hues of summer. All the catkins had dropped away. She pressed her hands against the largest of the cluster.
"Sister Tree, one who shares your name has need of your bark. Will you let me cut your skin?" She pressed her forehead against the tree and waited for an answer.
The scream that sounded in her head caused her to stagger. Her legs refused to hold her erect. She slid to the ground. With a terror that matched her sister’s, through the link between them, she witnessed the destruction of the Long House. The faces of the enemy burned into her head.
"Not the children!" The scream caused the earth beneath her body to shudder.
Friday, March 18, 2011
Inspired by Becoming Your Own Critique Partner - Theme, Symbols and Writer's Voice, Thanks Debra Dixon
Many of us have taken lit classes in high school and in college. Find the Theme is a game the instructors like to play. When they come to a conclusion, are they right or is theme something else? Last week I heard Debra Dixon speak on Voice and one of those ding ding moments occurred to me. Authors are always striving to find their voice as a writer. Voice is part of who you are. So is theme and I realized theme is part of voice.
Themes are often written in cliches and that's because they're universal. They can be a single word like love, hate, revenge, obsession. I'm not sure when I write I deliberately choose a theme, except once. Yet there are themes in many of my books. Good wins in the end. Love finds a way. Always dark before the dawn.
But while listening to what Debra said about a Writer's Voice and that moment I realized there were some perhaps not themes but symbols in my writing that were part of my voice as well as part of the themes in my books. I often use caves or other dark places in various ways. They can mean fear, despair or beauty. Jewels are another of the things I use and these jewels are used in different ways. I'll probably be spending a lot of time deciding what these underlying symbols mean to me as a writer and what do the themes have to do with my voice. Debra, thanks for giving me another way to look at what I do.
How about you? Are there themes and symbols that are found in most of the things you write? Do these themes and symbols impact your Voice as a writer.
Themes are often written in cliches and that's because they're universal. They can be a single word like love, hate, revenge, obsession. I'm not sure when I write I deliberately choose a theme, except once. Yet there are themes in many of my books. Good wins in the end. Love finds a way. Always dark before the dawn.
But while listening to what Debra said about a Writer's Voice and that moment I realized there were some perhaps not themes but symbols in my writing that were part of my voice as well as part of the themes in my books. I often use caves or other dark places in various ways. They can mean fear, despair or beauty. Jewels are another of the things I use and these jewels are used in different ways. I'll probably be spending a lot of time deciding what these underlying symbols mean to me as a writer and what do the themes have to do with my voice. Debra, thanks for giving me another way to look at what I do.
How about you? Are there themes and symbols that are found in most of the things you write? Do these themes and symbols impact your Voice as a writer.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Regina Andrews -- Interview
Regina is a soon to be member of Jewels of the Quill. Though we haven't met, the group alsays brings new and interesting internet acquaintances. Welcome Regina. She aslo shares my non-desire to write horror.
1. What's your genre or do you write in more than one?
I write good old-fashioned Inspirational Romances, mostly contemporary but one was set in WWII.
2. Did you choose your genre or did it choose you?
What a great question. It totally chose me. When I wrote non-inspirationals, I think they were okay technically but my heart wasn't fired up about it. What I love about inspirationals is they give me the voice to be able to share a mission of God's love through writing uplifting, inspiring books in His honor. It's so basic, to me -- to gladden people through reading, and to bring the Word of God to their lives in another way, and to reinforce the love of God in their hearts.How come there's so much unhappiness? It seems like there's a vast expanse waiting to be brightened!
3. Is there any genre you'd like to try? Or is there one you wouldn't?
Well, I'd love to try both SciFi and Fantasy if I ever have a chance to research them a bit ! lol I probably wouldn't touch horror.
4. What fiction do you read for pleasure?
I really enjoy Barbara Delinsky, Maeve Binchy, Candace Bushnell, Danielle Steele, Jennifer Weiner and love turning to my classic friends -- Dickens, Dumas and Defoe
5. Tell me a bit about yourself and how long you've been writing,
My mother read to me early on and instilled a love of reading in me that eventually led me to start writing, I think; after all, I still had a story to tell, even if there was no one around and the 'real' story I had been reading was finished! She sparked my imagination and guided me beautifully, and I am very thankful for that.
I live in Providence, RI, and grew up in nearby Barrington. After graduating from Providence College I attended the University of Delaware and eventually earned my Master’s Degree in American Civilization from Brown University. I love nature although I am a complete klutz and not at all athletic! I dream of having a weekend cottage where my husband and I could escape. We really enjoy visiting nearby Cape Cod.
My hobbies include Travel, Museums, Theater, Classical Music, Choral Singing, Stargazing and Gardening. For over twelve years I have been a radio host for In-Sight, an association dedicated to providing services to the visually impaired of all ages. My partner Andy and I (yes, we are known as 'Andy and Andrews') have a live show where we read the news, banter back and forth, discuss current events and take calls from listeners. Fun!
6. Which of your characters is your favorite?
Janet, I can't believe you asked me that! Of course, I honestly love all my characters. But just this week I am completely crazy for my newest heroine, Maryanne Lynch of "Angels of the Heart", book two in the Sterling Lakes Series. Before, I would have said Haley Hawthorne and Aaron Carrier from 'In Good Faith' who are still near and dear to my heart. But Maryanne lost her faith long ago and has just experienced a beautiful reconnection with God. I wasn't sure that was going to happen, and I'm so happy for her that she opened her heart and let it occur.
7. Are there villains in your books and how were they created?
There is a shady group of hoods in 'In Good Faith', and of course there are many villains in 'Spotlight on Love', the WWII romance but no one specifically integral to the plot. The hoods are archetypal crooked businessmen.
Personal demons, but no villains in 'Destiny's Designs' and catty, jealous co-workers in 'The Perfect Proposal' but they are not villains.
The Sterling Lakes Series has the elements of man's inhumanity to man, and unkindness, rather than traditional villains.
8. What are you working on now?
Right now I am doing "Angels of the Heart", book two in the Sterling Lakes Series. The ms is due April 1st and the book will release in August.
9. What's your latest release and how did the idea arrive? (see below, please)
10. Tell me about your latest book and how it came about. Enclose the opening of the book around 400 words.
Thank you for asking, Janet! My newest book is "Light of the Hart" and it just released on Tuesday March 1st from Desert Breeze Publishing
It is centered around a stained-glass artist based in Boston, Cascade Preston, whose world is a kaleidoscope of color and beauty. She has overcome a dark childhood in of Sterling Lakes, deeply shadowed by domestic violence. When she is approached to design new windows for a refurbished church in Sterling Lakes, she ignores the request. But when the no-nonsense Project Manager Dan McQuay appears looking for the window plans, the project takes on a whole new light. Will Cascade be able to keep the dark, protective cocoon she has built around herself intact, or will McQuay break through and shine new light into her heart? Is it possible that God’s plan for Cascade will lead her to forgive the town that ignored the situation her family?
Excerpt from “Light of the Heart” by Regina Andrews
Cascade's heels clicked efficiently with her every crisp step, and she made sure to shuttle as closely as possible alongside the beefy guard who escorted her from the holding room. Getting into her Corolla, she whispered a prayer. "I don't think I'm doing any good here, Lord, but I feel you telling me to stick with it. So I will. Maybe this is the kind of thing that saved my mother." She tried to block the images of her mother's bruises from her mind, but they wouldn't go away. They never did.
The drive back into Boston passed by quickly, without too much traffic. "Lean on Me" blasted from her audio system, and she sang along with all her heart. At twenty-seven, she knew it was technically an oldie, but to her, it was fresh and filled with meaning. Cascade wondered as she sang what it would feel like to have someone to lean on, because she had always been alone.
"There's only one thing that could make tonight perfect," she mused as she pulled into the parking area for her condo complex, "and that's not going to happen, for sure."
Images of her long-gone fiancé, Kevin, came into her mind and heart. Where was he this fine June evening? More importantly, why were things so much better for him without her in his life?
A form crossing her path brought her back to reality. Her eyes narrowed as she noticed someone walking towards her car. A guy -- a big guy she did not recognize.
She shaded her eyes from the late day sun. Dark hair and outdoorsy looks. Work boots. "Nope,” she murmured to herself, “I don't know him."
Hopping from her car, she said, "Can I help you?"
"If you're Cascade Preston, you sure can."
He folded his arms across his chest. With all those muscles moving, Cascade could only imagine the stress put on the seams of his light blue cotton shirt.
"And you are..."
"Dan McQuay." He extended his arm towards her. "From the site."
"Hi." Cascade pumped his strong hand, lost in his sky blue eyes. "What site?"
He tilted his head. "The construction site."
"I'm not following you."
He looked at her steadily. "I'm project manager for the retrofit on the church in Sterling Lakes. The one that you're doing the windows for."
Cascade’s heartbeat quickened. Just hearing the name of the town where she grew up made her anxious and tense. "It seems there's been a misunderstanding. No way am I working on anything in Sterling Lakes." She started to bustle past him. "Now if you'll excuse me?"
"Don't run away, Ms. Preston. There's a problem here."
1. What's your genre or do you write in more than one?
I write good old-fashioned Inspirational Romances, mostly contemporary but one was set in WWII.
2. Did you choose your genre or did it choose you?
What a great question. It totally chose me. When I wrote non-inspirationals, I think they were okay technically but my heart wasn't fired up about it. What I love about inspirationals is they give me the voice to be able to share a mission of God's love through writing uplifting, inspiring books in His honor. It's so basic, to me -- to gladden people through reading, and to bring the Word of God to their lives in another way, and to reinforce the love of God in their hearts.How come there's so much unhappiness? It seems like there's a vast expanse waiting to be brightened!
3. Is there any genre you'd like to try? Or is there one you wouldn't?
Well, I'd love to try both SciFi and Fantasy if I ever have a chance to research them a bit ! lol I probably wouldn't touch horror.
4. What fiction do you read for pleasure?
I really enjoy Barbara Delinsky, Maeve Binchy, Candace Bushnell, Danielle Steele, Jennifer Weiner and love turning to my classic friends -- Dickens, Dumas and Defoe
5. Tell me a bit about yourself and how long you've been writing,
My mother read to me early on and instilled a love of reading in me that eventually led me to start writing, I think; after all, I still had a story to tell, even if there was no one around and the 'real' story I had been reading was finished! She sparked my imagination and guided me beautifully, and I am very thankful for that.
I live in Providence, RI, and grew up in nearby Barrington. After graduating from Providence College I attended the University of Delaware and eventually earned my Master’s Degree in American Civilization from Brown University. I love nature although I am a complete klutz and not at all athletic! I dream of having a weekend cottage where my husband and I could escape. We really enjoy visiting nearby Cape Cod.
My hobbies include Travel, Museums, Theater, Classical Music, Choral Singing, Stargazing and Gardening. For over twelve years I have been a radio host for In-Sight, an association dedicated to providing services to the visually impaired of all ages. My partner Andy and I (yes, we are known as 'Andy and Andrews') have a live show where we read the news, banter back and forth, discuss current events and take calls from listeners. Fun!
6. Which of your characters is your favorite?
Janet, I can't believe you asked me that! Of course, I honestly love all my characters. But just this week I am completely crazy for my newest heroine, Maryanne Lynch of "Angels of the Heart", book two in the Sterling Lakes Series. Before, I would have said Haley Hawthorne and Aaron Carrier from 'In Good Faith' who are still near and dear to my heart. But Maryanne lost her faith long ago and has just experienced a beautiful reconnection with God. I wasn't sure that was going to happen, and I'm so happy for her that she opened her heart and let it occur.
7. Are there villains in your books and how were they created?
There is a shady group of hoods in 'In Good Faith', and of course there are many villains in 'Spotlight on Love', the WWII romance but no one specifically integral to the plot. The hoods are archetypal crooked businessmen.
Personal demons, but no villains in 'Destiny's Designs' and catty, jealous co-workers in 'The Perfect Proposal' but they are not villains.
The Sterling Lakes Series has the elements of man's inhumanity to man, and unkindness, rather than traditional villains.
8. What are you working on now?
Right now I am doing "Angels of the Heart", book two in the Sterling Lakes Series. The ms is due April 1st and the book will release in August.
9. What's your latest release and how did the idea arrive? (see below, please)
10. Tell me about your latest book and how it came about. Enclose the opening of the book around 400 words.
Thank you for asking, Janet! My newest book is "Light of the Hart" and it just released on Tuesday March 1st from Desert Breeze Publishing
It is centered around a stained-glass artist based in Boston, Cascade Preston, whose world is a kaleidoscope of color and beauty. She has overcome a dark childhood in of Sterling Lakes, deeply shadowed by domestic violence. When she is approached to design new windows for a refurbished church in Sterling Lakes, she ignores the request. But when the no-nonsense Project Manager Dan McQuay appears looking for the window plans, the project takes on a whole new light. Will Cascade be able to keep the dark, protective cocoon she has built around herself intact, or will McQuay break through and shine new light into her heart? Is it possible that God’s plan for Cascade will lead her to forgive the town that ignored the situation her family?
Excerpt from “Light of the Heart” by Regina Andrews
Cascade's heels clicked efficiently with her every crisp step, and she made sure to shuttle as closely as possible alongside the beefy guard who escorted her from the holding room. Getting into her Corolla, she whispered a prayer. "I don't think I'm doing any good here, Lord, but I feel you telling me to stick with it. So I will. Maybe this is the kind of thing that saved my mother." She tried to block the images of her mother's bruises from her mind, but they wouldn't go away. They never did.
The drive back into Boston passed by quickly, without too much traffic. "Lean on Me" blasted from her audio system, and she sang along with all her heart. At twenty-seven, she knew it was technically an oldie, but to her, it was fresh and filled with meaning. Cascade wondered as she sang what it would feel like to have someone to lean on, because she had always been alone.
"There's only one thing that could make tonight perfect," she mused as she pulled into the parking area for her condo complex, "and that's not going to happen, for sure."
Images of her long-gone fiancé, Kevin, came into her mind and heart. Where was he this fine June evening? More importantly, why were things so much better for him without her in his life?
A form crossing her path brought her back to reality. Her eyes narrowed as she noticed someone walking towards her car. A guy -- a big guy she did not recognize.
She shaded her eyes from the late day sun. Dark hair and outdoorsy looks. Work boots. "Nope,” she murmured to herself, “I don't know him."
Hopping from her car, she said, "Can I help you?"
"If you're Cascade Preston, you sure can."
He folded his arms across his chest. With all those muscles moving, Cascade could only imagine the stress put on the seams of his light blue cotton shirt.
"And you are..."
"Dan McQuay." He extended his arm towards her. "From the site."
"Hi." Cascade pumped his strong hand, lost in his sky blue eyes. "What site?"
He tilted his head. "The construction site."
"I'm not following you."
He looked at her steadily. "I'm project manager for the retrofit on the church in Sterling Lakes. The one that you're doing the windows for."
Cascade’s heartbeat quickened. Just hearing the name of the town where she grew up made her anxious and tense. "It seems there's been a misunderstanding. No way am I working on anything in Sterling Lakes." She started to bustle past him. "Now if you'll excuse me?"
"Don't run away, Ms. Preston. There's a problem here."
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
3 Places to Start Your Story -- Plotting
After analyzing and discovering this is indeed a story for you to tell one has to know how to begin. The opening few pages are what catches a reader's or an editor's eyes. So where to begin? There are three places. The reason for a story is because of a change occurring in a character's life. This change can be in environment, in social life or in the interior life.
1. A moment before the change occurs. One problem with starting here is the desire to put the whole back story in before the event occurs. Long passages of prose tend to turn a reader off; One has to quickly establish the character. Sort of like this.
The final words of the minister sounded. "I now pronounce you man and wife." Lars turne and kissed me. At last, I thought. I turned to face the members of the congregation and frowned. Where was Molly? My best friend had promised she would be here. Without waiting for Lars I dashed down the aisle and headed for a phone.
2. In the middle of the action. Problems here is to get the when and where into the action without again, large blocks of prose.
Bullets slammed into the wall above Jane's head. Who and why? The streets of the small town had always been safe. She rubbed her arms against the chill sunless November day. There had to be an escape.
3. A moment after the event. Here, telling a bit about the event that triggers the story can once more evolve into long passages of prose and back story.
Susan stood on the balcony of her new apartment and stared at the river. Her life had changed. A bit scary but thinking of the new challenges excited her. She went inside to finish packing.
These are sort of done off the top of my head but they give an idea of what is meant. More on the important opening pages of a story next week.
1. A moment before the change occurs. One problem with starting here is the desire to put the whole back story in before the event occurs. Long passages of prose tend to turn a reader off; One has to quickly establish the character. Sort of like this.
The final words of the minister sounded. "I now pronounce you man and wife." Lars turne and kissed me. At last, I thought. I turned to face the members of the congregation and frowned. Where was Molly? My best friend had promised she would be here. Without waiting for Lars I dashed down the aisle and headed for a phone.
2. In the middle of the action. Problems here is to get the when and where into the action without again, large blocks of prose.
Bullets slammed into the wall above Jane's head. Who and why? The streets of the small town had always been safe. She rubbed her arms against the chill sunless November day. There had to be an escape.
3. A moment after the event. Here, telling a bit about the event that triggers the story can once more evolve into long passages of prose and back story.
Susan stood on the balcony of her new apartment and stared at the river. Her life had changed. A bit scary but thinking of the new challenges excited her. She went inside to finish packing.
These are sort of done off the top of my head but they give an idea of what is meant. More on the important opening pages of a story next week.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Inspired by Bird By Bird -- False Starts
This week, I sort of got blindsided when reading this bit from Bird By Bird. I often do the start of my book many times when beginning the story. After re-reading the segment on False Starts, I sort of slapped my head. What she meant by false starts was not knowing our characters before beginning the story. There's a bit about paying attention to one aspect of the character and not looking at the others.
Take the physical. A number of writers concentrate on getting the character's physical description out there. Editors have been known to want more details about the character's physical attributes. Perhaps this is one on my downfall areas but I'm much more interested in a characters actions and reactions than I am about what they look like. I don't cut out pictures of men and women and base my characters on them. Am I wring? I want my readers to expand their imaginations. I also get bored by reading long paragraphs describing the hero or heroine.
My false starts may be drafts long. I don't really know my characters until I've spent time with them and watched them interact with other characters. I don't look on these as false starts but as getting-to-know you explorations.
How well do you know your characters before you begin the story? Do you spend hours writing up descriptions or do you explore them during the unfolding of the story? As a draft writer I explore. I;m not the kind of writer who has to perfect each paragraph before I go to the next. For me this is boring but isn't it wonderful that everyone develops their own system for creating a story?
Take the physical. A number of writers concentrate on getting the character's physical description out there. Editors have been known to want more details about the character's physical attributes. Perhaps this is one on my downfall areas but I'm much more interested in a characters actions and reactions than I am about what they look like. I don't cut out pictures of men and women and base my characters on them. Am I wring? I want my readers to expand their imaginations. I also get bored by reading long paragraphs describing the hero or heroine.
My false starts may be drafts long. I don't really know my characters until I've spent time with them and watched them interact with other characters. I don't look on these as false starts but as getting-to-know you explorations.
How well do you know your characters before you begin the story? Do you spend hours writing up descriptions or do you explore them during the unfolding of the story? As a draft writer I explore. I;m not the kind of writer who has to perfect each paragraph before I go to the next. For me this is boring but isn't it wonderful that everyone develops their own system for creating a story?
Monday, March 14, 2011
14 March = Week behind and week ahead
Just back from EPICon and what a lot I learned there. Heard a speaker from the Copyright Alliance who spoke about the importance of copyright for all artists and especially for authors. The second thing that really struck me was the conference binder came on a CD. No more bulky note book with more pages that you cared to see. The only paper I had to carry was a single sheet with the schedule and one with a map of the facility. That was necessary since there was a bit of walking to do. Heard several great speakers and met old friends and made new ones. Putting faces to the names of those you see on the different group digests is great. Got to see some interesting belly dancers at the banquet and managed to present the two awards I was presenting to people who were there to receive them. Both were friendly acquaintances I've met at other conventions of the group. Heard a lot about promotion and talked to other people about what they were doing. I may have some ideas and again I may not.
Came to this conclusion, If you're published electronically you should be an EPIC member. The group is professional - writers, editors, publishers, promotional people. Almost all the members are published. Those who aren't are intimately involved in the industry. Also it costs less than many professional organizations.
As to writing -- little done last week. This week I will do better.
WHAT'S COMING -- Tomorrow - more inspired by Bird by Bird, Wednesday - Getting into Plot, Thursday's interview will be wit Regina Andrews. Friday Becoming Your Own Critique Partner writer's hints, Saturday Ist chapter of one of my books and Sunday, more blog visits.
Came to this conclusion, If you're published electronically you should be an EPIC member. The group is professional - writers, editors, publishers, promotional people. Almost all the members are published. Those who aren't are intimately involved in the industry. Also it costs less than many professional organizations.
As to writing -- little done last week. This week I will do better.
WHAT'S COMING -- Tomorrow - more inspired by Bird by Bird, Wednesday - Getting into Plot, Thursday's interview will be wit Regina Andrews. Friday Becoming Your Own Critique Partner writer's hints, Saturday Ist chapter of one of my books and Sunday, more blog visits.
Sunday, March 13, 2011
3 Blog visit Sunday
http://myfoolishwisdom.blogspot.com/ Here we have reviews and interviews plus some contests.
http://bobbyeterry.blogspot.com/ A bit about mysteries and interviews
http://cavewriter.blogspot.com/ Other things as well as 6 steps to doing an internew video
http://bobbyeterry.blogspot.com/ A bit about mysteries and interviews
http://cavewriter.blogspot.com/ Other things as well as 6 steps to doing an internew video
Saturday, March 12, 2011
1st Chapter Saturday -- Prescription For Love
As Promised here's the first chapter of Prescription for Love.
Chapter One
Two years later
Ginny stepped from the shower and briskly dried herself. The hot water had washed away the remnants of sleep, but a knot of anticipation remained coiled in her stomach. As she dressed in a white uniform, the feeling that her life was about to take another turn persisted.
Not now, she thought. Not when her life rolled smoothly along the road she'd mapped at eighteen.
At nineteen, she had encountered the first roadblock. Then two years later, she had sped around a corner and met a barrier she had deftly steered around. Pride straightened her spine. This time, she'd avoid a detour, but first, she had to discover why she felt edgy.
She smoothed the hand-made blue and green quilt that covered the large brass bed and shoved a small purse in her pocket. Pride was the driving force of her life. Pride in who she was and what she'd accomplished made her strong. She couldn't allow vague feelings to weaken her resolve.
Before heading downstairs, she paused in the doorway of the girls' room. Light cast by the early morning sun shone through the orange, yellow and brown print curtains. The September day promised to be beautiful.
Two year old Manda slept face down with her rear in the air. She clutched the well-worn teddy bear Ginny had found in the paper bag Joey had left.
Ginny chuckled. Eight year old Honor, clad in a short nightie and blue socks, as always, had pushed her covers on the floor. Ginny blew a pair of kisses and pushed away a desire to grab the girls and run.
Foolishness, she thought. She slid her hand along the smooth wood of the banister and walked downstairs. She had no reason to worry, not with her position as Patient Care Coordinator of the orthopedic unit at Hudson View General Hospital.
Though there were ruts to be smoothed, she enjoyed the challenge. The job had allowed her to fulfill so many of her dreams. Escape from the city and the means to raise the girls in a safer environment. The chance to be a home owner instead of a tenant in a fourth floor walk-up. The opportunity to implement the educational program for nurses and patients she had developed.
"Girl, if you don't get the lead out, we're going to be late." Annette stood beside the stairs.
Ginny swallowed a gasp. "Like the hair but next time, tip the ends with bells. I could use a warning." The aroma of coffee filtered into the hall. "Why are you so early?"
"Your alarm broke, right? Mama and I've been here a good twenty minutes. It's twenty-five to seven."
"I got caught up in my thoughts." Ginny followed her friend to the kitchen.
"You do too much of that. Doesn't pay to plan every breath you take."
Ginny wasn't sure Annette was right. Without plans, life would be chaotic. Sure surprises happened, but if the possibilities weren't considered, a person could be thrown off balance by events.
She entered the kitchen and smiled at Miss Nellie. "Good morning."
Black hair, liberally sprinkled with white, framed the older woman's round face. "Morning." She handed Ginny a glass of juice and a slice of toast. "No sense making a proper breakfast when you don't get down here on time. Child, you could stand a bit of fattening up."
"How come you never say that to me." Annette headed to the door.
"Honey, I can't remember you ever missing a meal." Miss Nellie pointed to Ginny. "Eat."
"Yes, ma'am." Ginny chewed the toast and washed it down with juice. "Honor's lunch money's on the table."
Miss Nellie's hands rested on her plump hips. "How are you going to be sure that child's getting the proper nourishing? She's nothing but skin and bones."
Annette grinned. "Just like her mama." She opened the door. "Let's go, boss lady. Maybe you can stroll in late, but I've got a date with a time clock."
Ginny closed the door and followed her friend across the yard. How fortunate she'd been to find a duplex and that there'd been an opening at Hudson View for Annette. Ginny slid behind the wheel and started the ancient station wagon.
"What's got you acting like you're crawling across a bed of nails?" Annette asked.
Ginny backed into the street. "Just a feeling things are about to fall apart, You know what happened the other times I've felt this way?"
"Nate and Joey."
Ginny thought of the night she'd told Honor's father about the pregnancy. Her joy had shattered when he'd informed her he was married and his wife expected his first child in seven months. Ginny hadn't known he was married. She'd believed his declaration. His desertion had nearly wrecked her plans to escape the slums.
"You survived the rat and have a daughter who's beautiful inside and out," Annette said. "You've given your niece a wonderful home and lots of love."
"You're right, but --"
"Don't go looking for trouble. Who knows, the change might be a good one." Annette leaned back in the seat. "Dr. Marshall's son arrives today."
"What does that have to do with me?"
"Just changing the subject before you worry yourself gray. What's the scoop on the good doctor's plans? The rumor mills are grinding a new story a minute."
"When I stopped by yesterday, he said he'd be released soon, but he played dumb when I asked him when he'd be back to work."
"Let's hope he doesn't retire. He's the glue that holds that bunch of prima donna orthopods together."
Ginny had a hard time imagining the blue-eyed Chief of Orthopedics as a blob of glue. He was more like a teddy bear -- or a father. Something she'd never known.
"The surgeons aren't that bad...most of them."
"Some are okay, but what about Simon?" Annette asked.
Ginny nodded. "You're right. Greg Simon has an attitude problem."
"Maybe young Dr. Marshall will be as nice as his dad."
"We can only hope." Ginny stopped at the parking lot gate and inserted her card. "Except he's fresh out of a residency at 'Old Joints and Bones' and you know how those guys are. I think they have a course titled 'Disdain and Arrogance -- How to Project the Proper Hauteur."
Annette laughed. The beads on her multitude of braids clicked together. "Girl, you got to stop prying under every rock looking for trouble. There are enough problems floating around."
Ginny pulled the station wagon into a parking space. "I believe in looking ahead." She and Annette joined the scattered groups of nurses headed to the red brick, T-shaped building.
Inside, Annette ducked into the hall where the time clocks were kept. Ginny continued to the elevator. Before she reached her office on the third floor, she stopped in the nurses' lounge for a cup of coffee. In her office, she sat at the gray metal desk and stared through the window that provided a view of the hall. Today was one of the times she wished her office looked into the world so she could see the sky and sunshine.
Stop fussing and get to work, she told herself. Quickly, she sorted through the notes in the wire basket on the corner of the desk and stuffed the requests for days off in a folder. She read the report of an incident that had occurred on Saturday and made a note to thank Kathy Grant. Her vigilance had probably saved the hospital from a lawsuit.
Rounds, she thought. She rose and paused in the office doorway to wait until the couple ahead of her turned the corner. This morning, she couldn't face Dr. Greg Simon's sneering condensation or Lisa Kingsley's rudeness. The dark-haired surgeon and the blonde nurse were a perfect match, at least in their attitudes.
Once the pair vanished, Ginny headed to day surgery. Of the seven patients scheduled for orthopedic procedures, two had arrived and were being prepared for surgery.
"Hey, Ginny," a red-haired nurse called. "Any news about Dr. Marshall?"
"Which one?" another woman asked.
"The father. The son's an unknown."
How true, Ginny thought. She reported her latest visit and received reactions similar to Annette's.
A short time later, Ginny strode to the acute care area where fresh post-ops and those patients who needed special care were admitted. She stopped at the desk and studied the patient board.
Two of the nurses stopped talking. Lisa Kingsley smiled, but the blonde's smile wasn't friendly. Ginny looked for Betty Tawser, the third member of the trio who opposed every change on the unit.
With a nod to Lisa, Ginny left the desk and made patient rounds. When she finished, she starred several names of those who could be moved to make room for patients from the ER, ICU or the OR.
This done, she made rounds on the rehabilitation section of the unit and called Admitting. For the first time in weeks, there was no overflow of orthopedic patients on any of the medical or surgical units.
Wait until winter, she thought. But by that time, the nurses would have completed the educational program and the efficiency of the unit would improve.
She headed to her office. Her life was on schedule, so why was the knot of anticipation expanding?
A rap on the window broke into her reverie. A grinning Annette peered through the glass. "Girl, quit your dawdling. Young Dr. Marshall has arrived." She pressed a hand to her chest. "He's a man for every woman's fantasy."
Ginny shook her head. She pictured the older Dr. Marshall, subtracted years and added hair. Pleasant. Maybe cute, but hardly fantasy material. She rose. "I'm on my way. Wouldn't want him to accuse me of ignoring him."
"Won't happen. He seems as nice as his dad. Run, don't walk. Rescue him before Val drowns him in sweetness."
Ginny frowned. Val -- Sweet -- impossible. The unit's secretary was a mistress of the rude put-down.
When Ginny turned the corner, she stopped short. A barely contained urge to run in the opposite direction caused her to approach the desk with slow, measured steps. Young Dr. Marshall was tall, handsome -- and black. He was also the resident who two years ago had questioned her nursing judgment. Though she had been vindicated, a patient had suffered needless pain.
Her hands curled into fists. Dr. Marshall laughed at something Val said and then turned to Lisa. The knot in Ginny's abdomen swelled into her chest. No way, she thought. She wouldn't allow this man or anyone to detour her from her chosen road. She plastered a smile on her face that she knew didn't match the hostility she felt.
"Dr. Marshall, I'm Ms. Barr, Patient Care Coordinator for the unit. Welcome to Hudson View."
Lisa strolled away. "See you around, Dr. Marshall. You'll soon discover Hudson View is nothing like the University for interesting and exciting cases."
Ginny stiffened. Why did Lisa constantly bad mouth the hospital? If she felt bored, she should have stayed at the University.
A slow smile curved Dr. Marshall's lips. His dark brown eyes appraised Ginny with the intensity of a scientist peering through a microscope. He held out a hand. She resisted the desire to thrust her hands behind her back. Instead, she held her arms stiffly at her sides.
"Ms. Barr, Blake Marshall. My father speaks highly of you." He rested the hand she had refused to touch on the counter that separated the nurses' station from the hall.
"Then I must thank him. He has been eagerly awaiting your arrival."
She held back a groan. Stilted conversation had never been her forte, but this morning and with this man, she'd become an expert. The knot edged into her throat. She gulped a breath. Why did the air between them smell of ozone as though a bolt of lightning had struck nearby?
She saw a question in his eyes and wondered if he remembered the night they'd met. She had called him twice and the third time had demanded he come to assess a patient. She would never forget because that had been the night Joey had left Manda. Angry thoughts swept her into the past.
"I insist you come immediately." She gripped the phone and listened to the sleep-fogged voice question her about the patient. "I won't hesitate to go over your head. It's been a half hour since my last call and an hour since the first. The patient's pain is constant and excruciating. I've elevated his leg and applied ice. A possible compartment syndrome is no joke."
Five minutes later, he strode into the patient's room. His rumpled, green scrubs didn't disguise his muscular physique. His dark eyes had flashed with anger. He eyed her nametag. "An agency nurse. What do you know about orthopedics?"
She bit back an angry response. She could have told him she had worked in orthopedics for five years and that in three semesters, she would have a Masters as a nurse practitioner with a focus on orthopedics. But she wouldn't. His question didn't deserve an answer."
"Just check the patient," she said.
Once he examined the young man's leg and discovered she'd been right, she had expected an apology. He'd given none, just split the cast, made a note on the chart and strode away.
Her memory of the past faded. She couldn't allow that incident to influence her. "Would you like a tour of the unit? The renovations were completed in May just before I took over."
"Would be my pleasure."
His voice reminded her of velvet, smooth, lush and sensual. She swallowed and headed for day surgery. "Your father has an arthroscopy on the schedule. I thought you might be involved."
Was that her voice? The tight, clipped tones sounded foreign to her ears.
"Greg took the case. As of tomorrow, I'll be taking Dad's cases until he returns."
"Don't you intend to join the practice?"
He shrugged. "I'm not sure of my plans."
The hint of arrogance in his voice was no surprise, but the anger it stirred shocked her. The senior Dr. Marshall had spoken of his son's return with eagerness and pride. "Your father will be disappointed if you leave."
"Not for long. Dad's always encouraged me to pursue my own goals."
"How fortunate for you, but don't you think --" She stopped herself. Arguing would do no good. Didn't he think he owed his father anything?
As they passed through the rehab section, she spotted Annette and Mike, the orthopedic orderly. Annette grinned.
It's not what you think, Ginny wanted to shout. This man pushed her buttons and produced discordant emotions. She glanced at him. He raised an eyebrow. Her cheeks burned.
Blake turned his head to hide a grin. So Ms. Prim and Professional was human after all. The stain of color that darkened her brown skin pleased him. She seemed every bit as aware of him as he was of her.
Maybe he should tell her he had no intention of leaving Hudson View, but he wanted to see if he could break through her stiff exterior. Ms. Ginny Barr was one fine woman. He inhaled her subtle perfume. In the past, he'd met and dated beautiful women and had appreciated them the way any man would. His intense and potent reaction to Ginny Barr surprised him.
He frowned. Some vague memory of having seen her before arose. No way, he thought. If he'd met her, he would have pursued the acquaintance. He planned to do just that, but not today. Her wariness intrigued him; her coldness presented a challenge.
After they returned to the nurses' station, he smiled. "Thanks for the tour. I'm looking forward to our next meeting."
Frost gathered in her eyes. She walked away. Instead of leaving, he leaned against the counter and watched the sway of her hips. Once she vanished, he headed to the elevators. Before going to the office and a meeting with his father's partners, he wanted to stop in Coronary Care.
Four days ago, the call from Mrs. Connor, the family's housekeeper, had accelerated his plans to leave the university. Though he would have welcomed another year as part of a prestigious team, his father's heart attack had made Blake realize he and his father needed each other.
Blake had been an infant when the Marshalls had adopted him. He'd grown up in a white home. As for his birth parents, he'd never asked questions or entertained curiosity about them. His adoptive parents had given him love, security and education. Unlike so many adopted children, he had never rebelled.
Not like Susan, and she hadn't had adoption as an excuse. From infancy, his blonde, green-eyed sister had fought every rule and restriction. When their mother died, Blake had been in his last year of medical school and too involved in building his career to have time for Susan. She'd chosen the wrong friends and the wrong activities. Three years ago, she'd become a runaway and a year later had died. For months, Blake's guilt had been a hot flame. Even now, the remains lay like embers waiting to flare again.
He paused outside the door of the cardiac unit and calmed his emotions. His father had never blamed anyone but himself for not being there for Susan, and Charles Marshall had understood Blake's need to immerse himself in surgery.
After pushing the door open, he strode past the desk and stopped in the doorway of his father's room. How old and drawn he looked, Blake thought. Funny how he'd always imagined his father as ageless.
Charles Marshall opened his eyes. "I thought you'd be in surgery. I had a knee on this morning's schedule."
"Greg suggested I take today to look things over and settle in." Blake recalled the hint of anger in Greg's voice when he heard Blake's plans to remain in Hudson View. "Tomorrow, there's a knee replacement and a hip pinning. I'll scrub on them."
"What do you think of the ortho unit?"
"She's nice."
Charles Marshall laughed and the patina of age vanished from his face. "The unit, not the coordinator."
"It works." Blake stared at the wall. What had that woman done to him?
The older man leaned back against the pillows. "Speaking of Ginny Barr. Didn't I tell you she was the best thing to happen at Hudson View for ages?"
"She seems to be in control of the unit." The blatant admiration in his father's voice alarmed Blake. Just what was going on?
"Is that all you're going to say. Ginny's bright and she's gutsy. She's risen through the ranks and has a number of projects in the works for improving patient care. Since I'm knocked out of action, I hope you'll lend her your support." He winked. "She's a lovely woman."
A protest rose in Blake's thoughts. Then he saw the grin on his father's face. Blake shook his head. There was no way he would let his father play matchmaker. He could handle the situation on his own. For some reason, the prim Ms. Barr didn't like him, but she offered a challenge he couldn't resist.
Chapter One
Two years later
Ginny stepped from the shower and briskly dried herself. The hot water had washed away the remnants of sleep, but a knot of anticipation remained coiled in her stomach. As she dressed in a white uniform, the feeling that her life was about to take another turn persisted.
Not now, she thought. Not when her life rolled smoothly along the road she'd mapped at eighteen.
At nineteen, she had encountered the first roadblock. Then two years later, she had sped around a corner and met a barrier she had deftly steered around. Pride straightened her spine. This time, she'd avoid a detour, but first, she had to discover why she felt edgy.
She smoothed the hand-made blue and green quilt that covered the large brass bed and shoved a small purse in her pocket. Pride was the driving force of her life. Pride in who she was and what she'd accomplished made her strong. She couldn't allow vague feelings to weaken her resolve.
Before heading downstairs, she paused in the doorway of the girls' room. Light cast by the early morning sun shone through the orange, yellow and brown print curtains. The September day promised to be beautiful.
Two year old Manda slept face down with her rear in the air. She clutched the well-worn teddy bear Ginny had found in the paper bag Joey had left.
Ginny chuckled. Eight year old Honor, clad in a short nightie and blue socks, as always, had pushed her covers on the floor. Ginny blew a pair of kisses and pushed away a desire to grab the girls and run.
Foolishness, she thought. She slid her hand along the smooth wood of the banister and walked downstairs. She had no reason to worry, not with her position as Patient Care Coordinator of the orthopedic unit at Hudson View General Hospital.
Though there were ruts to be smoothed, she enjoyed the challenge. The job had allowed her to fulfill so many of her dreams. Escape from the city and the means to raise the girls in a safer environment. The chance to be a home owner instead of a tenant in a fourth floor walk-up. The opportunity to implement the educational program for nurses and patients she had developed.
"Girl, if you don't get the lead out, we're going to be late." Annette stood beside the stairs.
Ginny swallowed a gasp. "Like the hair but next time, tip the ends with bells. I could use a warning." The aroma of coffee filtered into the hall. "Why are you so early?"
"Your alarm broke, right? Mama and I've been here a good twenty minutes. It's twenty-five to seven."
"I got caught up in my thoughts." Ginny followed her friend to the kitchen.
"You do too much of that. Doesn't pay to plan every breath you take."
Ginny wasn't sure Annette was right. Without plans, life would be chaotic. Sure surprises happened, but if the possibilities weren't considered, a person could be thrown off balance by events.
She entered the kitchen and smiled at Miss Nellie. "Good morning."
Black hair, liberally sprinkled with white, framed the older woman's round face. "Morning." She handed Ginny a glass of juice and a slice of toast. "No sense making a proper breakfast when you don't get down here on time. Child, you could stand a bit of fattening up."
"How come you never say that to me." Annette headed to the door.
"Honey, I can't remember you ever missing a meal." Miss Nellie pointed to Ginny. "Eat."
"Yes, ma'am." Ginny chewed the toast and washed it down with juice. "Honor's lunch money's on the table."
Miss Nellie's hands rested on her plump hips. "How are you going to be sure that child's getting the proper nourishing? She's nothing but skin and bones."
Annette grinned. "Just like her mama." She opened the door. "Let's go, boss lady. Maybe you can stroll in late, but I've got a date with a time clock."
Ginny closed the door and followed her friend across the yard. How fortunate she'd been to find a duplex and that there'd been an opening at Hudson View for Annette. Ginny slid behind the wheel and started the ancient station wagon.
"What's got you acting like you're crawling across a bed of nails?" Annette asked.
Ginny backed into the street. "Just a feeling things are about to fall apart, You know what happened the other times I've felt this way?"
"Nate and Joey."
Ginny thought of the night she'd told Honor's father about the pregnancy. Her joy had shattered when he'd informed her he was married and his wife expected his first child in seven months. Ginny hadn't known he was married. She'd believed his declaration. His desertion had nearly wrecked her plans to escape the slums.
"You survived the rat and have a daughter who's beautiful inside and out," Annette said. "You've given your niece a wonderful home and lots of love."
"You're right, but --"
"Don't go looking for trouble. Who knows, the change might be a good one." Annette leaned back in the seat. "Dr. Marshall's son arrives today."
"What does that have to do with me?"
"Just changing the subject before you worry yourself gray. What's the scoop on the good doctor's plans? The rumor mills are grinding a new story a minute."
"When I stopped by yesterday, he said he'd be released soon, but he played dumb when I asked him when he'd be back to work."
"Let's hope he doesn't retire. He's the glue that holds that bunch of prima donna orthopods together."
Ginny had a hard time imagining the blue-eyed Chief of Orthopedics as a blob of glue. He was more like a teddy bear -- or a father. Something she'd never known.
"The surgeons aren't that bad...most of them."
"Some are okay, but what about Simon?" Annette asked.
Ginny nodded. "You're right. Greg Simon has an attitude problem."
"Maybe young Dr. Marshall will be as nice as his dad."
"We can only hope." Ginny stopped at the parking lot gate and inserted her card. "Except he's fresh out of a residency at 'Old Joints and Bones' and you know how those guys are. I think they have a course titled 'Disdain and Arrogance -- How to Project the Proper Hauteur."
Annette laughed. The beads on her multitude of braids clicked together. "Girl, you got to stop prying under every rock looking for trouble. There are enough problems floating around."
Ginny pulled the station wagon into a parking space. "I believe in looking ahead." She and Annette joined the scattered groups of nurses headed to the red brick, T-shaped building.
Inside, Annette ducked into the hall where the time clocks were kept. Ginny continued to the elevator. Before she reached her office on the third floor, she stopped in the nurses' lounge for a cup of coffee. In her office, she sat at the gray metal desk and stared through the window that provided a view of the hall. Today was one of the times she wished her office looked into the world so she could see the sky and sunshine.
Stop fussing and get to work, she told herself. Quickly, she sorted through the notes in the wire basket on the corner of the desk and stuffed the requests for days off in a folder. She read the report of an incident that had occurred on Saturday and made a note to thank Kathy Grant. Her vigilance had probably saved the hospital from a lawsuit.
Rounds, she thought. She rose and paused in the office doorway to wait until the couple ahead of her turned the corner. This morning, she couldn't face Dr. Greg Simon's sneering condensation or Lisa Kingsley's rudeness. The dark-haired surgeon and the blonde nurse were a perfect match, at least in their attitudes.
Once the pair vanished, Ginny headed to day surgery. Of the seven patients scheduled for orthopedic procedures, two had arrived and were being prepared for surgery.
"Hey, Ginny," a red-haired nurse called. "Any news about Dr. Marshall?"
"Which one?" another woman asked.
"The father. The son's an unknown."
How true, Ginny thought. She reported her latest visit and received reactions similar to Annette's.
A short time later, Ginny strode to the acute care area where fresh post-ops and those patients who needed special care were admitted. She stopped at the desk and studied the patient board.
Two of the nurses stopped talking. Lisa Kingsley smiled, but the blonde's smile wasn't friendly. Ginny looked for Betty Tawser, the third member of the trio who opposed every change on the unit.
With a nod to Lisa, Ginny left the desk and made patient rounds. When she finished, she starred several names of those who could be moved to make room for patients from the ER, ICU or the OR.
This done, she made rounds on the rehabilitation section of the unit and called Admitting. For the first time in weeks, there was no overflow of orthopedic patients on any of the medical or surgical units.
Wait until winter, she thought. But by that time, the nurses would have completed the educational program and the efficiency of the unit would improve.
She headed to her office. Her life was on schedule, so why was the knot of anticipation expanding?
A rap on the window broke into her reverie. A grinning Annette peered through the glass. "Girl, quit your dawdling. Young Dr. Marshall has arrived." She pressed a hand to her chest. "He's a man for every woman's fantasy."
Ginny shook her head. She pictured the older Dr. Marshall, subtracted years and added hair. Pleasant. Maybe cute, but hardly fantasy material. She rose. "I'm on my way. Wouldn't want him to accuse me of ignoring him."
"Won't happen. He seems as nice as his dad. Run, don't walk. Rescue him before Val drowns him in sweetness."
Ginny frowned. Val -- Sweet -- impossible. The unit's secretary was a mistress of the rude put-down.
When Ginny turned the corner, she stopped short. A barely contained urge to run in the opposite direction caused her to approach the desk with slow, measured steps. Young Dr. Marshall was tall, handsome -- and black. He was also the resident who two years ago had questioned her nursing judgment. Though she had been vindicated, a patient had suffered needless pain.
Her hands curled into fists. Dr. Marshall laughed at something Val said and then turned to Lisa. The knot in Ginny's abdomen swelled into her chest. No way, she thought. She wouldn't allow this man or anyone to detour her from her chosen road. She plastered a smile on her face that she knew didn't match the hostility she felt.
"Dr. Marshall, I'm Ms. Barr, Patient Care Coordinator for the unit. Welcome to Hudson View."
Lisa strolled away. "See you around, Dr. Marshall. You'll soon discover Hudson View is nothing like the University for interesting and exciting cases."
Ginny stiffened. Why did Lisa constantly bad mouth the hospital? If she felt bored, she should have stayed at the University.
A slow smile curved Dr. Marshall's lips. His dark brown eyes appraised Ginny with the intensity of a scientist peering through a microscope. He held out a hand. She resisted the desire to thrust her hands behind her back. Instead, she held her arms stiffly at her sides.
"Ms. Barr, Blake Marshall. My father speaks highly of you." He rested the hand she had refused to touch on the counter that separated the nurses' station from the hall.
"Then I must thank him. He has been eagerly awaiting your arrival."
She held back a groan. Stilted conversation had never been her forte, but this morning and with this man, she'd become an expert. The knot edged into her throat. She gulped a breath. Why did the air between them smell of ozone as though a bolt of lightning had struck nearby?
She saw a question in his eyes and wondered if he remembered the night they'd met. She had called him twice and the third time had demanded he come to assess a patient. She would never forget because that had been the night Joey had left Manda. Angry thoughts swept her into the past.
"I insist you come immediately." She gripped the phone and listened to the sleep-fogged voice question her about the patient. "I won't hesitate to go over your head. It's been a half hour since my last call and an hour since the first. The patient's pain is constant and excruciating. I've elevated his leg and applied ice. A possible compartment syndrome is no joke."
Five minutes later, he strode into the patient's room. His rumpled, green scrubs didn't disguise his muscular physique. His dark eyes had flashed with anger. He eyed her nametag. "An agency nurse. What do you know about orthopedics?"
She bit back an angry response. She could have told him she had worked in orthopedics for five years and that in three semesters, she would have a Masters as a nurse practitioner with a focus on orthopedics. But she wouldn't. His question didn't deserve an answer."
"Just check the patient," she said.
Once he examined the young man's leg and discovered she'd been right, she had expected an apology. He'd given none, just split the cast, made a note on the chart and strode away.
Her memory of the past faded. She couldn't allow that incident to influence her. "Would you like a tour of the unit? The renovations were completed in May just before I took over."
"Would be my pleasure."
His voice reminded her of velvet, smooth, lush and sensual. She swallowed and headed for day surgery. "Your father has an arthroscopy on the schedule. I thought you might be involved."
Was that her voice? The tight, clipped tones sounded foreign to her ears.
"Greg took the case. As of tomorrow, I'll be taking Dad's cases until he returns."
"Don't you intend to join the practice?"
He shrugged. "I'm not sure of my plans."
The hint of arrogance in his voice was no surprise, but the anger it stirred shocked her. The senior Dr. Marshall had spoken of his son's return with eagerness and pride. "Your father will be disappointed if you leave."
"Not for long. Dad's always encouraged me to pursue my own goals."
"How fortunate for you, but don't you think --" She stopped herself. Arguing would do no good. Didn't he think he owed his father anything?
As they passed through the rehab section, she spotted Annette and Mike, the orthopedic orderly. Annette grinned.
It's not what you think, Ginny wanted to shout. This man pushed her buttons and produced discordant emotions. She glanced at him. He raised an eyebrow. Her cheeks burned.
Blake turned his head to hide a grin. So Ms. Prim and Professional was human after all. The stain of color that darkened her brown skin pleased him. She seemed every bit as aware of him as he was of her.
Maybe he should tell her he had no intention of leaving Hudson View, but he wanted to see if he could break through her stiff exterior. Ms. Ginny Barr was one fine woman. He inhaled her subtle perfume. In the past, he'd met and dated beautiful women and had appreciated them the way any man would. His intense and potent reaction to Ginny Barr surprised him.
He frowned. Some vague memory of having seen her before arose. No way, he thought. If he'd met her, he would have pursued the acquaintance. He planned to do just that, but not today. Her wariness intrigued him; her coldness presented a challenge.
After they returned to the nurses' station, he smiled. "Thanks for the tour. I'm looking forward to our next meeting."
Frost gathered in her eyes. She walked away. Instead of leaving, he leaned against the counter and watched the sway of her hips. Once she vanished, he headed to the elevators. Before going to the office and a meeting with his father's partners, he wanted to stop in Coronary Care.
Four days ago, the call from Mrs. Connor, the family's housekeeper, had accelerated his plans to leave the university. Though he would have welcomed another year as part of a prestigious team, his father's heart attack had made Blake realize he and his father needed each other.
Blake had been an infant when the Marshalls had adopted him. He'd grown up in a white home. As for his birth parents, he'd never asked questions or entertained curiosity about them. His adoptive parents had given him love, security and education. Unlike so many adopted children, he had never rebelled.
Not like Susan, and she hadn't had adoption as an excuse. From infancy, his blonde, green-eyed sister had fought every rule and restriction. When their mother died, Blake had been in his last year of medical school and too involved in building his career to have time for Susan. She'd chosen the wrong friends and the wrong activities. Three years ago, she'd become a runaway and a year later had died. For months, Blake's guilt had been a hot flame. Even now, the remains lay like embers waiting to flare again.
He paused outside the door of the cardiac unit and calmed his emotions. His father had never blamed anyone but himself for not being there for Susan, and Charles Marshall had understood Blake's need to immerse himself in surgery.
After pushing the door open, he strode past the desk and stopped in the doorway of his father's room. How old and drawn he looked, Blake thought. Funny how he'd always imagined his father as ageless.
Charles Marshall opened his eyes. "I thought you'd be in surgery. I had a knee on this morning's schedule."
"Greg suggested I take today to look things over and settle in." Blake recalled the hint of anger in Greg's voice when he heard Blake's plans to remain in Hudson View. "Tomorrow, there's a knee replacement and a hip pinning. I'll scrub on them."
"What do you think of the ortho unit?"
"She's nice."
Charles Marshall laughed and the patina of age vanished from his face. "The unit, not the coordinator."
"It works." Blake stared at the wall. What had that woman done to him?
The older man leaned back against the pillows. "Speaking of Ginny Barr. Didn't I tell you she was the best thing to happen at Hudson View for ages?"
"She seems to be in control of the unit." The blatant admiration in his father's voice alarmed Blake. Just what was going on?
"Is that all you're going to say. Ginny's bright and she's gutsy. She's risen through the ranks and has a number of projects in the works for improving patient care. Since I'm knocked out of action, I hope you'll lend her your support." He winked. "She's a lovely woman."
A protest rose in Blake's thoughts. Then he saw the grin on his father's face. Blake shook his head. There was no way he would let his father play matchmaker. He could handle the situation on his own. For some reason, the prim Ms. Barr didn't like him, but she offered a challenge he couldn't resist.
Friday, March 11, 2011
4 ways to set the mood of a book - Inspired by Becoming Your Own Critique Partner
Just what is the mood of the book. Several times I've been disappointed when what I thought was going to be a funny story suddenly turned dark or even the reverse. Or what started out suspensful turned into a bit of melodrama of the worst kind.
How does one maintain a not of humor, drama or even melodrama when the scene could be very different, It's a matter of word choice.
When developing the mood or tone of a story there is form. Comedy, Drama, melodrama.
Then comes atmosphere. The writer can choose light or dark.
There are hundreds of emotions the writer wants to bring to the reader. Laughter, poignancy, threat. More than I care to name.
The fourth is expression - masculine (just the facts) or feminine (using description.
The one thing about mood is sustaining the one the writer has chosen throughout the book. The answer lies in word choice and showing, not telling.
How does one maintain a not of humor, drama or even melodrama when the scene could be very different, It's a matter of word choice.
When developing the mood or tone of a story there is form. Comedy, Drama, melodrama.
Then comes atmosphere. The writer can choose light or dark.
There are hundreds of emotions the writer wants to bring to the reader. Laughter, poignancy, threat. More than I care to name.
The fourth is expression - masculine (just the facts) or feminine (using description.
The one thing about mood is sustaining the one the writer has chosen throughout the book. The answer lies in word choice and showing, not telling.
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