An editor? When you need one.

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Writers make rough editors. We clean out our mistakes from a manuscript, and write in whole new batches of them. Another writer looking at your work, puts in their version of your story. It is >your< world.

So you think you need a professional editor. Five cents a word. Not bad… but you have one-hundred thousand words. That gets expensive. So you stick it out. It’s not so bad, right?

Then you have something you have found a flaw?  The more you clean it up, the more errors you find.

When you are about to give up, you resign yourself to keep it on the back burner.  It eats at the back of your brain.  You see the flaws, but those that are your family pat you on the head and tell you “Everybody dreams.”

Some people you come across say they can take a look. Then run a spellcheck on it and say it’s perfect.

Um… no, it’s not.

Slowly, as a writer, you fix a few things, but you know you are blind to the flaws. Mom says this is good and is excited.

Then, maybe, fortune wanders into your library of “Someday could be’s.”

The person asks “Can I take a look?”

Sure. You and 20 other people.

Only this one.  This person they find a flaw and tell you..then another. They pronounce it good, but would you send them the composition and they would look at it.

What the heck. Shrug. Go for it.  What few flaws you can find, if you catch the ones I have given up on.

And the list grows. (Insert boggle here)

This person makes you excited again.  You still need to write and you do.  But this person makes it a happy thing and you begin to obsess.

“Let’s get it done!”

This editor makes you more proud of what you have created than any time in the past.  You begin to think there might be a living at this!  Maybe get a professional editor!

Then you find out that the editor that works on your books, they are indeed an English Lit major and is days from getting a degree.

An awesome twist of fate, no?

Well it goes on now.

I would like to introduce you to the editor, CEO and degree holding (She goes for her official graduation in May) She shares a soul, pulls no punches, is honest and fast. Another author friend of Poffpublishing here in WP world also takes of this young woman’s skills and spirit.

If you need a manuscript to be looked over.  To have a person with increasing skills.  She will polish your manuscript and improve your satisfaction.  She’ll cover a broad range of issues.

Contact L. Barnhill here on
lbarnhill556@gmail.com

A good soul, she holds her degree and we have cheered (Poffpublishing and myself) her on.  Now so is a degree holding editor who is gaining confidence, along with her friendship. I recommend her for your budget editing needs.

Use her schooling, her skills and her frustratingly accurate comments of “Huh?” .

So be warned.  She pulls no punches. But she coats it with love.

Email her with an inquiry as soon as possible. Be part of her growing tree of clients because she is soon in demand by many people.

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Musings from the WordForge.

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With the hammer of imagination, the fires of language skills (Sometimes I think I lack, or at least have low quality fuel) writers often come up with new words.

Sometimes they create a portmanteau of words.  Motel (Motor Hotel) for example.  The person that thought that up probably did not realize a whole new word that would be entered in the dictionary after that.

The accepted shortest words “I” “a” that are used as the words.  “A bird” for example.

Then out of the length of accepted word list. The longest word “Antidisestablishmentarianism” is the longest non-coined word that is generally accepted.

But, we are at the forge. To coin a term for use in our novels is as important sometimes as the creation of the world itself.  Tolkien was good for that, but he was a language creator and professor of language and literature.  (But y’all knew that.) so maybe not a good example.

OH! There is a current creator of fantasy and loved by many. Ms. J. K. Rowling and Harry’s world.  But..she is also educated in Classics… Hm..do we see a pattern here?

Still, both these well-educated people stood at the forge and with the hammer of imagination on the anvil of the soul, we create story, novel and whimsy.

So, what could be a need to create a word?

A person who infiltrates the society of  Antidisestablishmentarianism, they do not really support the society, so are they a “Pseudoantidisestablismentarinism” spy? or do is there a counter-spy?

So a “Counterpseudoantidisestablishmentarinism” agent? (this was difficult to type, not counting how to read it).  The point is, when you write, WHY you write, HOW you write. Nothing is out-of-bounds.

Creation of worlds, creation of words this is your canvas, you soul that lives, loves and stands in the WordSmith shop at the wordforge.

Pound out your stories, when someone reads it and says “Huh?” you can establish the meaning of it.  If your person wears a bandolier (bandoller, bandoleer) look up the pictures of the ammo-belt and write it in! It is your hammer, your skills grow with each stroke of the key and research for your story–you do research, right?– each paragraph you build.

The story evolves.  Perhaps you had a dream of a tsunami of walnuts in your house? When you finish the story, maybe it was a medical thriller of mass poisoning of bad food by a corrupt corporation. (Okay, been done, but I am just using it as an example) Evolution of the story, the building of the world is yours and yours alone.  Many people may not understand it in the beginning.

The term Orc brings up an image.  Professor Tolkien based the word on Orcus (orkus) the god retribution of broken promises and oaths.  They were corrupt.

In another story I know of, an Orc was a judge and law-keeper. you have a complaint or conflict, the Orc-Judge had his or her law-book and followed the law. Rulings were binding. Wars avoided. It was a good story. But no one knew that an Orc could be a “good-guy” prior to this. Many still don’t.

So when someone looks at your work and is confused, do not be crushed, do not hit delete. Let it evolve!  Explain, establish, and tell your story.  JK Rowling created Avada Kedavra as a killing spell. Well..where could this have evolved from? Abracadabra? No..really. Could be? She took a known word and at the forge in her mind came up with a term I hear children at Halloween waving sticks at each other in tiny wizard duels. (I am Merlin, I catch and I eat the spells when they head my direction)

The world you build is always fun. Use the Technicolor of your mind to paint the glory of your story.

Be awesome! Be creative!

Be a writer.

~ your favorite cheerleader and future best-selling author,

Dash

Married by Mistake Chapter 53. Singapore

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Chapter 53. Singapore

After he left Hiroshima, Japan, Tom’s plane traveled over the expansive eastern Pacific Ocean, the early day was clear and broken clouds. The Pacific Wizard’s upgraded twin engines operated so smooth and so well-balanced, one would hardly know they pushed the big plan at hundreds of miles-per-hour as he wandered around the open expanse of the big jet alone.

Tom walked the length of the plane, using the restroom. At his designated altitude, he still flew slow compared to the commercial airliners.

Not meant for blistering speed, his craft and home was a yacht, after all, a flying boat. And even with the upgrades in the engines, it still traveled at a sedate speed of a little less than six-hundred kilometers-per-hour, about thirty-percent slower compared to commercial passenger jet.

But, it was his home.

He passed over the water, the autopilot followed the path programmed in the flight computer. The Japanese were sticklers about accuracy and with the unusual private jet, made good and sure that he had the proper data set logged into the computer.

He stood behind the pilot’s seat, he did not sit back down, just stood there and watched the machine fly on itself with the automatic guidance system engaged. He had spent a lot of time in the plane in recent weeks. Although his arm was no longer oozing blood, he kept applying new, clean dressings, if the air-pressure changes caused some unexpected problems. The last thing he wanted, to lose the use of his injured arm.

It would have a scar for some time that would be impressive to show off. But for now it was an angry line that crossed his forearm, as if someone hit him with an ax.

It was quite impressive to the unprepared, if he could show it off. But there was no one to show it to while being on the Pacific Wizard in mid-flight.

Tom took a deep breath and let it out in a controlled slow exhale, it felt so good, he stretched a second time before he went to his desk and picked up the tablet computer. It was the one he used so often to write on and sat back in the pilot seat, where he could keep an eye on the displays.

Radar indicated several aircraft above and below, a heavy jet was passing over him going the same direction. He read the display and looked the specs up on his computer and shook his head at the numbers it displayed on the size and speed of the larger plane.

Laughing, the engines on the passenger jet was larger by far than the two that powered the Wizard. Even with the engine upgrades when he purchased the big jet through his company, the specs made him a tiny bit envious.

If he could get another upgrade and put those on his yacht.

Laughing out loud again, he realized he would have to have the engines out on longer stalks or have divots pounded into the fuselage of the plane to fit the big fan-powered blowtorches.

A man could stand up inside the big airliner’s engines if he had a mind to.

He could spend all day in the air with Kaylee if he had the plane like those. Except for the cost, some twenty-five thousand US dollars per hour!

She would have to paint a lot to sell her creations to help offset the cost of flying a privately owned seven-eight-seven.

*Even if it is just a fantasy.* Tom shook his head. *There was no way to buy one of those wide-bodied birds.*

The memory of the woman echoed in his head.

His shoulders sagged. He had spent almost the last two hours not thinking of that raven-haired artist.

She had made him laugh, and even if she had not intended to do so, she had hurt him to the core of his heart.

More than he would ever admit to anyone except himself. It was important to him that she kept her promise to… He forgot the other man’s name except he was a congressional aide of some kind.

Shaking his head, he returned to his writing, trying to keep Leonard the Leafy Sea Dragon and his friend Weeds, on a child’s level of understanding. This story had become one about keeping promises.

“A promise kept, makes a person’s word valued.” He typed on the screen in the word bubble of Wendel, the Weedy Sea Dragon.

Still, as he wrote the adventures of Leonard and Weeds his mind drifted to the mote of loneliness in his mind.

The autopilot computer chimed, it was time to make radio contact with Singapore and begin his descent.

Checking his fuel, he was still had a third of his operational fuel left. Traveling the way he had of late, the service techs in San Francisco had fitted his yacht with fuel cells and turned the luxury jet into a virtual gas-can with wings.

Tom, hopped from one city to the next from book-con to comic-con for signing of books and traveled alone, he had flown the great circle route with no one to talk to in the big plane.

Still, he had the computers and could video chat with anyone he chose. But he had no one to call. So he followed his schedule, his eyes settling on a the event that he had attended after Dr. Manga’s installation, the event where the sponsor set him up with a date-for-hire.

He laughed sadly at his perception of the date, that woman came from a company the organizer hired at the Frankfurt comic-con to escort him so that he would look even better with the beautiful woman on his arm.

Tom laughed as the night had progressed and the escort was in fact, more than an escort. With a Master’s Degree in biology and organic chemistry. She was wonderful to talk with an ability to see both sides of an argument, a quick wit and the ability to shut down the probing questions on her relationship with Tom.

Even when one person tried to prove that she was some gold-digger with no brains.

‟I hoped you would slap down that SOB from the vomit-rag tabloid, but jeeze!” Tom commented when they were alone and he laughed. The sight of the tabloid reporter made to look like an imbecile tickled him. “That was beyond good!”

She called herself Krystal with a slight Saxony-German accent, and Tom immediately doubted that was her real name. As far as her education, he could not prove she lied about a Master’s Degree, and she could talk with anyone about nearly any subject. Even the most recent journals of learned circles of chemistry.

When Tom started to talk to her the next morning, she picked up the phone called someone, then told him to get dressed.

‟We are going to breakfast.” She smiled. Taking him by the hand and led him out the door of the hotel.

‟Sorry about last night, I have a lot of things…”

‟Shhh… Mister Harte. Things happen, sometimes they don’t. You are awesome and you did a lot of public interaction at that event. In total, I am very impressed with your work.”

‟You have read my books?”

‟I’ll read the rest tonight, but I read all the children’s books while you slept.” She tapped her phone.

‟Wow. That’s a lot of books, I’ve written for a quite a few years now.”

‟I can read two-thousand words per minute. That’s measured, sir.” She smiled. ‟I can type one-hundred words-a-minute, and I speak five languages, there is little that gets by me.”

‟Anything else? Why are you with me, why not at your own convention?”

‟I’m still in debt for school and a chance compete for a place on the Olympic Archery team.” She said as they stepped into the elevator, alone. “I need to purchase some equipment to keep up with the other competitors.”

Tom laughed, then she kissed him deeply.

‟That’s for being wonderful.” She said softly, coughing with a guilty sound.

‟You said you couldn’t kiss me last night.”

‟Yes, I broke the rule. Sue me.” She chuckled as the doors opened. No one was there to snap pictures or talk to them. She knew the way around the crowded hotel.

‟You are good.” Tom said, looking around. They had come out of an elevator facing away from the foyer and walked out a side door.

‟Logistics and protection. Part of the job.” Only then did Tom notice that Krystal’s eyes were quick to take in everything.

‟We can walk out now. We have reservations at the Meadow. It is where we will meet some of your cohorts in crime.”

‟My cohort… What?” Tom looked sideways at her.

‟The other authors. Each one has an escort to get them there and on time.”

‟So you are a babysitter?”

Krystal laughed. It was a musical sound.

‟I am an escort, but our company requires special skills that is beyond the typecast Hollywood version.” She said softly. As they got into a dark-windowed limousine. ‟I am here to make you look good and to keep you safe.”

Tom boggled.

‟And I thought you were just smart.”

‟Not bad for a call girl?” Crystal said. ‟Don’t worry about my emotional state. I am well compensated to keep you safe.”

‟Who would want to hurt me? I’m just a storyteller.”

‟You don’t know?” Her face became serious, no longer a tall, Nordic beauty that graced the floor, but a military-esque hard look of a bodyguard. ‟There was a threat to the convention. Because of your novel and movie, it is felt that you are a high-value target.”

‟Oh crap…” Tom boggled. “So you are a bodyguard? But just not armed.”

“Oh yes, sir I am.”

“Please for the thousandth time? Call me Tom.” He said.

“Yes, Tom, I’m armed. I carry devices always within reach.” She slid up her skirt, where he could see she carried four knives and two small pistols with silencers in thigh holsters. “Point two-two caliber with sound suppressors. Power is not as important as placement.”

Tom could not get his mind off what was under her skirt for the rest of the trip in .

That was over a week ago. Today he stood inside the Wizard far above the eastern edge of the Pacific Ocean descending into Singapore. Here, he was to meet with a local publisher and distributor for children’s books and he received an invitation to stay at a high-mountain villa. He would to try to get his stories published in the island country. A fresh market for him.

The autopilot chimed and returned control to the human pilot and Tom guided the big jet down into the approach lane.

Slow descent and a perfect touch down with mild weather, the Wizard rumbled down the taxiway to where the crews indicated with their long, bright-colored batons.

The engines powered down with the typical sound of jets and Tom stood out of his seat. Opening the door, and stepped out into the sunshine of the beautiful southeast Asia day.

A few hours later, Tom would wish to never see such a day again.

Looking for Writing Help?

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I seriously need help in this department.  I am so reading this, I’d say it is a good idea for y’all too! OM originally reshared and he has good taste, too.  So thank him for finding this gem.

 

Check out this link! Note: Comments disabled here. -OM

Source: Looking for Writing Help?

Married by Mistake Chapter 26. Papers

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Chapter 26. Papers

Kaylee left the medical center after they settled Tom back his room. He had been in a bit of pain as the nurses bathed him and gave medications to help him sleep.

She walked across the macadam surface of the airport to the hangar where the Flying Sea Dragon sat, she could barely keep from sobbing the trip from the hospital.

It hurt so much to even think of those papers that sat somewhere inside the plane, waiting.

She rode in silence in a taxi she caught at random to the airport, she did not want to ride with anyone who knew Tom, knew of Tom or had even heard about his books.

She had a serious need to sit and drink wine and smoke a bowl with her sister and talk.

She missed the afternoons with Melanie like they had in their teens. They had barely graduated from high school, but as the best of friends and the worst of enemies, they would be in a furious scream-fest fight for minutes, then would be the best of friends as they settled down for a toke.

But no outsider dare make either of them cry.

Woe be unto the person that faced the wrath of the Grant sisters. It would make for an epic bad day when both sisters would turn on the offending person with fury that only sisters, family, and those of the same heart and soul have.

As they grew older, and although they took different classes and their lives were on different paths, they became closer still.

Opening the door of the big jet, she looked down at the broken glass that still lay on the floor.

And blood! Everywhere, large black clots that cemented fibers of the carpet into a mat with choking copper-smell. It surprised her the amount that soaked into the carpet on the floor. A body-trail in the glass where he crawled to the door and yelled for help at the plane’s technicans and engineers.

She stepped past the gore and glass that almost ended Tom’s life and perhaps did end his life as a writer.

She sat at the chair and looked where the papers in the manila envelope waited, filed in the cubby-hole that Tom told her about.

She thought of Melanie and all the fights they had while she sat in the Flying Sea Dragon and held the annulment papers in her hands.

*Tom said I just had to sign on the lines in the document and mail it with…*

With…

She slumped in the chair and a wept.

*It’s strange, this is just what I wanted four-weeks ago! Now I have a serious temptation to put it in the washing machine, somewhere on the plane. Except, damn, I’m not sure where it is, hidden behind some cabinet door.* Kaylee took a heavy breath, *I’m not sure if this is wise.*

Her hands trembled when she found the place to sign in the back of the document.

She slipped the papers into the manilla envelope they were paper-clipped to, she closed and sealed the package and walked out the door of the big flying yacht.

*The Flying Sea Dragon is not as big as the Pacific Wizard is inside, it’s more cluttered with furniture, bulky items to make it feel close. Still, a comfortable plane to live in.*

*A flying yacht.* She reminded herself as she walked across the airport to the main offices.

She nearly didn’t get to mail it, the woman behind the counter almost gave it back because of Kaylee ’s facial expressions and the slumped-sad way she carried herself.

“Miss, I don’t know what you have in this, and it’s not my place to say. But do you really want to send this?” She looked as if she might have known Ben Franklin when she started for the post-office. Not a trace of color in the great-grandmotherly hair.

With the postage stamped on the envelope, the woman gave Kaylee one more look, a last chance to change her mind, then slowly it into the slot behind her and it was in the US mail with a required a signature on delivery at the court.

Once the clerk of the court received and signed for the papers, in the eyes of the government, it never happened.

It would be as if she was never married.

While Kaylee walked out to the sidewalk she dialed the number on the business card that the Chauffeur Kaikane had given her and told her to call anytime she needed a ride. This time it would be to the hospital. She would tell Tom that she signed the papers, but she was not sure about how she felt.

After breaking the line with Kaikane and his peaceful voice, she hit speed-dial and called Melanie .

‟KAY!” Melanie was always excited to hear from her sister. ‟Where are you?”

‟San Francisco. Tom has had a good run of luck with the doctors since his accident.”

‟You need to come home quick as you can. Glenn is here and he has asked for you, he said it’s important.” Melanie said in a conspiratorial tone. ‟I think he is going to ask the question.”

‟Oh.” Her heart finished the phrase. *Damn.*

‟You don’t sound excited.” Melanie became quiet, shocked at the response. “This is what you have waited for since you were kids.”

‟I just signed the papers and sent them off to Nevada. I stop being married and never was according to the state once the papers arrive.”

‟Oh sis. But this is what you want, right?”

‟I don’t know. Tom needs me.” Kaylee was quiet as she waited for the limo. “You should see his eyes. Mellie, he is a good man, he cares for so many things and he’s in pain because of me.”

‟But he was alone before he met you, and it’s only been a month.” Melanie said helpfully. ‟And you said he nearly crashed the plane with you in it.”

‟He showed the wine country off to me from the plane.” She was defensive all of a sudden. “Melanie , it was beautiful, right up until we hit the birds, scared me so bad I think I nearly peed myself.”

At the other end, her best friend and sister laughed, knowing Kaylee the way she did, for her to say something like that was funny.

They talked as sisters do over the phone. Switching to video chat while she waited for the contract limousine to pick her up.

‟Why don’t you take a cab?” Melanie asked as Kaylee sat on a bench and waited in the shade of a tree.

‟No. If this is my last limo ride I don’t have to pay for, I want to enjoy it as much as I can. Besides, there is a hot Hawaiian that drives it. You’d love him. Surfer type, intelligent as any professor, knows more about sensemilla than a DEA cop.”

Melanie laughed so hard she snorted, then held her hand over the lens while she composed herself.

‟Stringbean? You know I can still hear you.” Kaylee took her turn of laughter, using the nickname that they worked out as children. This only made Melanie laugh that much harder.

Melanie Grant was the only person in the world that could make Kaylee laugh when things were at their darkest.

Kaylee hated her for that…

Which made her laugh all the harder, she loved her sister more than anyone else in her generation. They were, after all…

Sisters.

Married by Mistake Chapter 23. Realization

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Chapter 23. Realization

She sat in the window seat while Tom slept. It was a strange emotion. She felt empowered, Kaylee looked out the window while Tom slept. He was unaware of the conflict that had just happened between her and the publisher, she needed to tell him that his agent came in and she chased the woman and her broom out of the hospital.

Kaylee ’s heart raced with the adrenalin rush of the collision between her and the business woman who drove Tom to write while in bed and at all waking hours.

Between the machines that beeped and sterile smells, she realized that Tom would not come home from the hospital in time to sign the annulment, she would be married when she went home in the next two weeks.

*Maybe.* She shook her head. *Drat!*

*Why is it, it seems that the world wants me with Tom?* She bit her nails for a moment. Falling back on a bad habit. *In my dreams, I’ve always painted a life with Glenn, I imagined it with all the glitter and hues of happiness. A life of birds, forests, even nights were adventures. Now it is going to pieces faster than I can think, this past three weeks has been fun, but it has been a blur. I don’t know what else to do.*

She ran the memories through her head like a movie, looking for something that she had done right for a change.

All of the memories ended in a rough landing in a river, then Tom’s injury while he carried a large piece of glass out of the plane, alone like a foolish human male when service crews surrounded him after she left and went back to Ocean Bay. It became apparent that he was fortunate that people were there. If he had been alone?

*I could be his widow.* She blocked that out. *I don’t want to think about that.*

As soon as she found about his accident, she felt compelled to come be by his side, to answer questions and sign papers and protect him, this man who lived his life as a bachelor-hermit and would-be-hero.

She laughed even though she felt tears in hear heart. He was a hero.

All from that Friday. That one day that was the domino that caused other pieces to fall in a pattern that now made her focus on how she walked through her life.

Cut tires on her car, those could not be avoided and if it were not for Tom, her tires would still be flat. Then the attack on the beach later that same day.

*Then! OMG! That professor!* If ever she wanted to have a list of people she wanted to break, he was number one.

Kaylee longed for some peace and quiet.

*I just want to paint and have time to sculpt. This is a summer that tops all summers, even when I hitchhiked across Europe and lived in those hostels when I could afford it.*

That was a summer of adventure and excitement that she had sought out, this summer, all the adventure and craziness came at her.

Now, she sat in a hospital room with someone who was her husband with a serious injury, a man she did not know just a few weeks before.

And she was protective of him.

*Like a wife.*

That word again. Wife.

It haunted her, maybe even make her re-think her use of pharmaceuticals and mixing them all to party with people. Sometimes she did not know who she partied with.

She needed to finish college, that much was certain, two years left to go, plus grad school if dad would pay… At least part… of it.

Melanie , her sister and confidant would to go to school at the same time and their parents were always on the verge of not paying the bills. Tuition for school was expensive with the costs of two apartments, they groaned under the costs while running their businesses.

But as a wife, this would have consequences that she could not even dream of. Tom might help, he was that kind of person. But even if his hair was not gray, he was still older than she would normally date.

Covering her eyes in a flash of almost-laughing.

*Date? I’m was married to the man.*

He could even be a wife-beater like the tabloids said.

*No.* She shook her head. *If anything he is the most kind, gentle and generous person that ever tapped a keyboard. Tom is a man who someone could care about.*

He was someone who walked alone after the death of his family, some would say the his experiences broke him, but Tom healed with the writing children books and the novels of passion for the adults.

If anything Tom had, it was heart.

And a good one at that. Kaylee smiled softly to herself.

Slowly stroking his hand, Randy the Nurse came in and checked the pump next to Tom’s bed.

“Tom’s temperature has gone up a little, the Doctor has ordered an antibiotic in his IV pump.” Randy said it as if he it tickled him to do his job. “We got the pizza by the way, everyone did! It was amazing to see so many deliveries at the same time. Tom, thank you.”

Tom, heavily dosed a half-hour earlier mumbled then drifted away again into his narcotic dream world.

Randy leaned over to Kaylee .

“Would you like a slice of pizza? Mister Harte is sleeping, I’ll slip you some before he wakes up.”

“Pissa?” A mumbled voice from the bed. “I sshmeell peet- sa.”

“Shhh, Tom.” Kaylee whispered to his ear. “You need to rest.”

“Oh bull! Someone has pizza!” he was more awake now. “You are sneaky, I thought you were nice.”

“I have a permanent spot on Santa’s naughty list.”

Tom laughed, then moaned.

“Please, no jokes, it hurts when I laugh.”

Kaylee took her turn to laugh and left to get a slice of pizza.

“How long did it take to get here?” Tom asked Randy as the nurse tinkered around the room, setting up the IV pump on a strange-looking pole with wheels. Resembling a metal spider at the bottom with the eight-wheeled suspension that held up the chrome-plated T-topped pole.

“It took a little while, the pizza store called to verify that it was really you. A couple of hours after that, it took five delivery guys nearly an hour to bring it all in. They had to make ten trips!”

“More than 30 minutes, it’s free.” Tom tried to laugh, and groaned in pain again as he moved his wounded arm.

“I don’t think this counts.” Randy laughed as he went about his job.

“Can Tom have a slice of pizza?” Kaylee asked as she came back into the room.

“Yes, no problem about that, he has technically been eating since yesterday.” Randy nodded, a bit of marinara sauce on his upper lip, while he chewed. “Technically, I’m not supposed to eat outside of the back-room, but the Doctor insisted that we get this piggyback set up.”

“I’d buy him a pizza, too. Say, what is his office’s address?” Tom asked.

“They are closed by now, try it tomorrow if you like.” Randy said. “I”ll be back, I have to go to attend to another room.”

“Hey, naughty girl, would you give me a bite or three of that pizza slice?” Tom smiled, he was getting stronger, despite the drugs.

Not for the first time, as Kaylee chewed her pizza slice, Tom made her smile.

Naughty girl?

When the doctor released him, she would show him a new definition of naughty.

Married by Mistake Chapter 6. Monday Morning

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Chapter 6. Monday Morning  

Kaylee woke on that Monday morning, against the broad back of Thomas Harte.

Her hand was resting on a nice curve of a hip, slightly fuzzy and warm.

She squeezed… and smiled.

This man, officially her husband, lay with his back to her while she spooned to him after another night of exploration of their bodies.

She lay with her face almost in his hair, her right leg over his, she slowly caressed his ribs, hip and backside, bare as he was also sleeping naked next to her, she slid her hand down the graceful S-curve of his spine. The cheek of his bottom fit in the her hand perfectly, nearly as firm as a soccer ball and just as round.

A sound invaded her happy cuddle moments, some kind of… tapping?

Did he snore? She had never slept next to anyone other than Mel that snored. (This caused her the nickname “Mel Monster” or just “Monster” in their childhood.)

No… he was awake and wrote with the plastic stylus on his notebook while he lay in her – Their – bed.

His bed actually, she had not left the flying boat all weekend, nor had she put on any clothes as she had none here. The only clothing she wore were his t-shirts when she walked on the top of the plane during the day. It had been the longest time she had ever been out of her clothes, even her underwear, than she could remember.

And it pleased her on many levels.

*This is what being a married is about.* She made a soft smile.

But the noise started to disturb her.

“Tom, what are you doing?” She asked when he scratched some more on the surface of his electronic device.

“Writing. I have a deadline in ten days. I need to finish this installment of Leonard the Leafy Sea Dragon”

“Leonard… The what?” She laughed sleepily and crawled on his shoulders, pinning him slightly so she could see what he was writing.

“The leafy sea dragon. A children’s book.” Thomas groaned as she pinned him while he composed. “He has a friend, Wendel the Weedy Dragon that he calls “Weeds” that shows up now and again. It’s a series that follows some of their adventures they have together. It’s sold mainly in Australia, but it is catching on in the USA.”

He rolled over, letting her get comfortable on his chest and showed her some of what he had written. “I have been to Australia and shot a bunch of photos of the sea dragons in their native habitat.”

“Ooh! I have never been to Australia, I’d like to visit there someday!” She smiled. “Maybe we can tour together, I could be hired as your assistant?”

“It would be fun, but we’d need to spend a long time in the air and turn this bird into a flying gas can. Plus, we would spend almost eighteen hours in the air. You might become a little stir crazy.” Thomas chuckled. “I did.”

“You went alone?” She arched her neck and kisses the angle of his jaw, blowing on the damp spot, causing a chill on his skin.

“Yes.” Tom nodded, laughing softly as she teased him with her tongue. “I was going for research and it was the first long-range test of this jet. I did it, however I earned a lecture that it was not the smartest move to do. If I had a problem, there was no one for a backup.“

She pressed her body to his. He was an attentive lover, and until they got the papers to dissolve with the binding contract that was their marriage license, she would do her best to ruin him for any other woman who would wish they were in her place.

“Well, let’s motivate. I need to stop at my place to find some clothes or I’d always be naked on board this floaty flying plane…”

“Flying boat.”

“Yeah, that.” She giggled. “IF you won’t bring out my clothes, I’d just be stuck here.”

“You can wear your dress home or to your car, I’d bet it’s still parked in your apartment’s garage.”

“You went there?”

“Yup, first night! You don’t remember?” Tom gave a soft sigh. “You wanted to leave your car there and a note of where we were going and who you went with. I even had to sign my name and put both hands on your bathroom mirror.” He demonstrated with holding his hands out with fingers splayed.

“Oh. Smart me.” Kaylee laughed. “Well, at least the car is safe!”

A sudden thought, what he said finally sunk in.

“You have my dress? You said I dropped it in the ocean.” Kaylee looked at him.

“I saved it. I put it in the washer-dryer.”

“A dryer? On an airplane?”

“Yup, a jet-dryer!” Tom’s eyes twinkled at the joke. “It goes with the shower and other amenities. I can do minor loads of laundry. The sheets and so forth. The blankets however… I’ll need to send those out for cleaning.” He said as they got up and stepped out of the bedroom.

Pulling on a panel in the small room to the side and exposed an electric all-in-one washer/dryer.

Kaylee sat on the edge of the bed, looked around and laughed, they had wrecked his room.

*Our room.* She reminded herself.

“This plane will never be the same again.” Kaylee said as he brought her dress back, clean and dry.

“Not this room.” Thomas laughed with her. “I’ll save manuscript on the cloud and then we will take the water taxi to shore. I’ll rent a car and we can swing by your place so you can pick up what you need.”

“No, we can ride to shore together, but I need to head to college and meet a professor so I can earn credit for finals. I had such a horrid day last Friday and I’m need to meet with him to arrange to retake the art finals test. I had made a deal to meet with him to earn credit and beg if I need. I will be in his office in the next two hours.”

“What kind of deal did you accept?” Tom asked.

“I didn’t set anything in stone, but, I need to make sure it’s extra credit for art. He asked me if I would agree to pose for a class.”

“But, you said finals? Doesn’t that mean classes have ended?”

Kaylee paused for a moment.

“He teaches on the side too, so probably what it is.”

“Maybe.” Thomas pulled on his chin. “You may be thinking about annulment of this marriage, but until then, I’m sworn in as your hero and protector.”

“The vows didn’t say that.” Kaylee said and grinned. “But, thank you. That makes me feel like you want to be a hero. That makes me feel good.”

“No, the vows don’t say that, but it’s implied.” He said with a wink. “And yes, being your hero kind of inspires my muse, too.”

Kaylee gave a small laugh, reminded of what caused her first conversation with her husband, then this — the worst that could happen.

But it pleased her that he still took his job as husband seriously and worried about her without expecting the same in return.

*Hah! My friends said “It’s complicated.” They have no clue how complicated it could become!* This tickled her soul.

Tom went to the front of the flying boat to enter his notes in on a computer that he built into a desk.

A connection to his ongoing life and a connection to an area that she was clueless to what he did with his notes.

She was an artist, he was a writer and, she had to admit, an artist with his words.

*Odd isn’t it?* She the question rattled in her head.

They were both Virgo in the Zodiac and she needed to read up on their compatible nature.

 

Married by Mistake Rewrite: Critical Name changes and alteration of audience.

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After reading and re-reading the novel, I have changed the name of two (perhaps three, we will see when we get to her) protagonists.  

Softening some of the love scenes, where the couple do things that married folks do. 

This will be the, really, the third iteration of this novel for your perusal. I had planned to have this published by now, but I became insecure after I found a few mistakes. (Speaking of “Mistake”) 

The names of the sisters are changed at request of a couple of gung-ho young ladies that became excited to have me write, so that the names flow better.  Their mom was also involved in the 4-way roundtable discussion while we ate chocolate ice cream with walnuts and marshmallows and mom is in agreement.

So to that end, over the next few weeks, (there are 60-ish chapters) I’ll post up to TWO a day, along with the quality postings I find to share. (There are many more, but I just cannot share that many. I’d get no writing done!) 

I know I have many started, only a few finished.  Those voices have gone out to lunch, making adventures with and love to each other. 

In Married by Mistake, Sandy and Barbara have become Melanie and Kaylee.  Melanie is the younger, but is taller than her older sister, so poor Kaylee gets Mel’s “Hand-me-ups” to some chagrin.

So, this ride will go to the end, we have all been to the end.  Still… Keep an eye on it, not all “The end”‘s stay the same.  It is part of that uncertainty principle.

Like the weapon of the Storm God that defeated the Drought God in antiquity (even if only a temporary victory), it is always an “if”. 

And as a child, I liked “What if”. 

So, let’s see what happens starting tomorrow.  I’ll try to keep up with TWO chapters per day. Right now, I am doing less than one. 

Wish us luck.  November is coming, I’ll be doing the NaNoWriMo then. 

Howabout you?

Dash

When the expectant niece asks a question…

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She asks in the digital Facebook, “Any last-minute advice?”

My comment, assuming there is not a gender restriction, although I can admit that it sounded like she aimed for those mom’s that have gone through it before, “Don’t get pregnant in the first place? Passing a bowling ball through your eye socket would be less painful.”

Her friends called me the awkward uncle.

Well. No. Just wise. I have delivered 17 babies, most on mountain roads with drive times still greater than half-hour.  I have observed the pain women-folk go through – and I have seen the men-folk panic, and even faint. (I  found out later that one of these passed-out pops played as captain of the football team and was “used to pain.”)

I can speak Awkward, and a few other languages. Gibberish, Klingon, Confusion. Political gives me trouble. I still don’t understand that doublespeak tripe, especially if they say something akin “What is good for me is over your head, so we will take it from you.”

Heh, I still think they should just open a brothel (for men and women) in the capital building so they can get enough of screwing people to get down to real business.

But I digress. Sorry.

Anyway, by the time anyone delivers a baby, they get to a point where they crush the husband/boyfriend/significant other’s fingers (Or mine when I was green-ish, it only happened once – I learned quick) and utter a 3 word demand.

“I want DRUGS!”

(Laugh allowed at this point and the mom’s out there can nod heads with a knowing smile)

But no matter what you say. Any part of the family of phrases “I won’t want to do this anymore.” Has been said since before recorded history, because the baby is coming and you are on a non-stop ride.

Unless c-section intervention, but that is another ball-game.

So ladies, no offense, but those that have one child and don’t learn? Then go ahead and have another? Then another?

You all remind me of George of the Jungle.

“Watch out for that Tree… oOoH.”

Then you get on that vine again and swing for it.

“Watch out for that Tree… That’s gotta hurt.”

Then…

“Watch … never mind.” I’ll just go sit in the backyard with my bow, laptop to write and seltzer water in the shade.

keep telling myself: “Ain’t my circus. I’m just the Awkward Uncle.”

Now off to do compose some fiction.  I have a bunch of voices pop up last night in my sleep, a few were frightening.

I hope to get you a chapter in something.

I’ll have it posted in five hours.

Dash

The Stone and the Plan

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Well, back home 200 miles later. A trip to the ER after I logged off last night.

I was in agony, no place or position was comfortable, on the floor, feet up, sitting, draped over the foot stool (Yes I tried that position in as many ways as I could bend).

I was wishing I could vomit, do a major colon cleanse– anything.

So at midnight plus 30 – Being as I was at my sister’s house – I sought to unlock a door and drive myself to the emergency room before the food poisoning – which I originally wished it as food poisioning – would just hit instead of having everything ache and inflict such suffering.

My sister (“SIster Sledgehammer” The one that dented the car with her body three years ago, you can read about it in “2 Seconds…”) Would not hear of me getting in my car and driving myself to the Emergency Department at the hospital. So she got up and drove me.

Probably a good thing, I might have taken my four-wheel-drive for a booney-crash fun time in the trip to the hospital.

But the pain does make for irrational thoughts. “I Can” would turn into a disaster of “no you can’t”.

So a Computer Tomography Scan, a sonogram, a few pokes and prods.

Yours truly has a kidney stone.

Blech, I would rather have a moderate case of food poisoning!

Mainly because now I have to come clean and apologize to the restaurant (even though I had not named them last night – I think it was my suspicion it was – indeed – a kidney stone.

Pain on palpation on the flank etc.  I have been in medicine long enough to recognize the symptoms. I just– REALLY just not wanted to have a K-stone.

Is this where I say “FML”:?

Anyway…

I went to the Emergency Department and after the CT?

Yeah, a stone.

Omy it hurt so bad.

Doctor how big is this boulder?

“One millimeter.” Doctor said.

“One…” My jaw hit the floor.

A piece of sand?

Yup.  I was brought to my knees and unable to write because of a grain of sand 1.0 mm in size.

Tonight, I hurt mildly in different areas.

Why do my shoulders hurt? It’s not like I shot a thousand arrows (Figure six hours for that) in a day. Chest? Yeah, aches. Tummy? oh yeah.

Hungry? no, not really. But I did eat some cheese, a few bits of a baguette and dipped it in olive oil and balsamic vinegar – oh and one glass of white wine.

Funny, how I was not hungry, but as soon as I sat near some of my favorite foods, yeah I ate them.

Still, I have flank pain. Will I sleep tonight or will I make a return trip to the Emergency Dept? We’ll see.

A grain of sand. The size of a pinhead?

I am such a wimp. Lightweight.  Wuss. heh.

If a woman can push something the size of a bowling ball through an orifice the size of her eye and then smile afterwards, I should be able to pass a grain of sand.

But Nuuuu… I needed drugs to be able to think rationally.

Unlocking the back door and trying to sneak out the front door that I cannot lock to drive myself to a hospital in the distance and not have anyone know where I was going?

That’s not rational. That’s just pain and panic thinking.

I did talk to my nieces, they and their mom (Sister Sledgehammer) are willing to have their names as sisters in “Married by Mistake” so the other names will be removed and the nieces put in their place.

Anyway – I still carry the stone, I can feel it. it hurts, but I am better than i was, but it still hurts. We’ll see for tonight.

Now… Let me see if I can get a chapter of fiction written for you all in three hours.

Give me a vote by purchasing one of my kindle novels. And a little feedback, privately if you don’t want to

I would like to see if Zela’s artist, J. P. might be interested in making a cover for an anthology. 😉

I hope that is not an irrational thought.

Well, back to fiction!

your favorite up-and-coming author.

Dash

 

What? Ohmygod Awesome! Oh, wait… nope.

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It is a dream, a fantasy in the wildest dreams that someone who has “made it” and with great talent that might look into Amazon, bookshelves of a library, or watches (or one of their employees watches) the titles and blog sites for new and good stories to produce.

To this end when you have that moment of receiving an email from someone with a name of James Cameron, Ron Howard, Stephen Spielberg, you get excited for a moment.

Such like happened to me. I got the notice on my phone while loading groceries into my 17-year-old, squeaky, leaky, quarter-million-mile (PLUS) Dodge that wears the edges of tires out faster than the rest of the tire (Front end needs to be rebuilt) and puffs smoke when climbing some steep hills, I did not read it, just who sent it.

At first the name did not register until I drove to the street when the light bulb lit.

“Oh!” When recognition of the name hit, it nearly hurt.

By the time I got home, I had already repaved the driveway (The only 4wd driveway in the neighborhood. A removed tree’s roots have collapsed and caused a cave-in on one side of the concrete)  bought a new car (Tesla, Model S or Model X) and – nearly – forgot to bring the groceries in on a day so hot that it could melt the stripes off a tabby-cat.

Even the birds were panting on the wires. (Beaks open, tongues sticking out, no chirping) Heh.

So, dancing like a child on Xmas eve, or putting on his (or her) costume on October 29th in anticipation to find such good things waiting for them….

I opened the email on my laptop…stupid thing boots soooo slow. “Faster faster!  Dag-nab you!” I am so getting a new one to replace this 10-year-old lappy, with dead pixels and broken hinge (thank you dogs, who knocked it off the table while chasing each other).

So! At last! Email open! Downloading… 120 Likes on WordPress! Normally open those all (good for my fragile ego. I still get questioned by Mrs Dash if it will ever amount to anything) but I need to open the famous named one and print it out to hand to Mrs D and show her that I have achieved attention of someone never dreamed of.

Then only to have the heart fall. Checking the source of the email, yes, it is a famous name… but not their fault that parents named them the same first name as the famous movie maker/producer/director.

Seriously, not even the correct gender.

I am so pleased with myself I did not brag to Mrs Dash I had someone of notoriety then have to eat those words. She would have gotten: 1. A laugh. 2. Grounded me from writing as it is non-productive 3. sent me out to do more gardening or yard-work.

*sigh*

I think I will shoot my bow at the tiny bottle caps I have out in the yard that dance, spin and swing on strings. I seem to have better skills doing that than writing a proper work of fiction.

But no. then I cannot feed my core need to tell stories, to answer the voices that live in different worlds and want out. To have you all laugh, nod and maybe weep at the words I post here. Even if it is a mix of horror, sci-fi, historical fiction, romance and adventure (Not in the same story– yet anyway). To have you like what I have posted tickle my heart.

Anyway.  To the Ronnie Howards, the Georgia Lucas’, the Jamie Camerons and the Stephanie Spielbergs thank you for your compliments, keep them coming.

And If I answer with an odd excitement, just realize I am not always the sharpest tool in the box (Akin to a rolling-pin?) and I’ll get the clue by the next email.

But dreams are good.

Laughing at myself,

Dash

How fatigued do you get to write?

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Looking at the screen, my eyes cannot keep open – and yet it is just before lunch.

No urge to shoot the bow, I did string it. But I opened the door and it was like a sauna outside already in the morning. Not sure what it is.  Perhaps it is the worry and coming down off the rage of sticking my finger into the eye of fate and yelling a profanity.

It started when driving the (nearly) 3 hours back from Sister Sledge’s house.

So now I write.  How do you write when the fatigue sets in? Am I lazy? Or is it my imagination has blown a circuit breaker and needs to be reset?

All the words I put down are … middle school failure level…

I mean I can spell and understand pseudopolypharmecutical (Fake multiple medications) but I have trouble with philatelist? or … what was the other? Subsumed? I don’t recall.  I ended up doing more reading than writing. *sigh*

I do not know what I can bring to the table for your pleasure. I am writing an anthology of horror, I love the use of a mirror in horror.  Dracula could not see his reflection.  So if you think you have someone who is sweet, sexy, seductive and he is standing behind you copping a feel, and you look at your reflection in a mirror/window/chrome teapot and you are alone? Um… you just graduated into a ghost story.

So now I work on ask you.

How do you get around being fatigued?

Discharged! Hospital in the Rear View mirror.

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At 5:45 in the morning, I woke alone in the room. Light was subdued by heavy drapes in the room. The Inn at the hospital was comfortable and quiet. But excitement was the ruler of the morning, Three days, count’em! THREE!

An “In and out” surgical procedure. Problems arose, along with bleeding. But the patient, a tough old bird that has had a bumpy year, health-wise has survived the tribulation and both his attitude and strength is returning.

Somewhat tired, but so motivated to get the hell out of the hospital, when the morning came, he was nearly as excited as I was.

So we laughed, talked and waited. harassed nurses (In good humor)   7:00 hour rolled by.. 8:00… 9 AM… Breakfast arrives, chocolate milk. We share the milk in our coffee, father and son drinking side by each. The Great King and the Imitation of the man. one who sits on his own throne.

No doctor.  The Nurse practitioner kept promising the discharge was in the bag.

Yeah, 3 days burned on that note.  So When does the doctor come in?

TEN O’clock…

Papa Dash and I looked at each other.

“I need to go check out of the Inn. I can always check back in and checkout time is 11:00.” And off I went.

10:30 rolls around.  I return, no doctor.

ELEVEN. A.M.  Nurses are starting to hide from me.  If I have to check back in at the Inn, I’m going to start making a spectacle of myself.

Noon.  No doctor.  Papa Dash is now dressed in his street clothes and pawing at the ground like a bull ready to charge. Lunch arrives, pudding, chocolate milk. Carrot soup.

Quarter past noon, I head over to the nurses station.

“Is the doctor in surgery?”

“He has surgery on the schedule for 1:00.” She looks at me. “I will call the Nurse Practitioner.”

Okay.  So I return to the room where an impatient and tired Papa Dash sits.

Brother-In-Law appears, sister is in same hospital and is having a scheduled surgery for trauma from three years ago. She is in the hospital at the same time as Papa Dash.

But Sister Sledge-hammer is as hard and strong as they come. More on her later.

Finally!  At half-past the hour, the doctor comes in. Nods, shakes hands, “make an appointment with me next week.” and walks out.

We are FREE!

Two signatures later, we aer SO outta there. Shake hands with Brother In Law, hugs all around.

Papa Dash does not even want to wait for me to bring the car around. He is all like “#$%@ that! Let’s go!” walks out without the wheelchair.

So a hike of a half-mile to the car, after 4 days of enforced bed rest, bleeding, post surgery, dehydration, no real food (Pudding, coffee, chocolate milk) and he made it. Although, he was glad to sit down.

The old guy rolled the window down and stuck his head out the window for the first two blocks just to feel the wind in his face.

“Damn, I missed that.” With laughter. “Drive young’un!”

Now for sister:

She is in the hospital for at least TWO days. If the math works out like Papa Dash’s, we are looking at least a week, but Brother in Law says it went pretty well.

The steel plate they put on her ribs to hold her together showed signs of infection and the surgical team took a biopsy to send to the CDC to identify the source.  If it comes back with bad news, an alternative plan that includes more surgery is in the works.

If good news?  She comes home. At which point I evaluate my position here.

Maybe a day longer to see if she can function and have her control of the children and family, if so? I go home. If she needs me to be the legs she needs, I’ll hang out for a few days, do archery with my nieces, tell stories on Grampa.  The younger niece has all but kidnapped me. We had tea with dolls, watched Cloudy with Meatballs 2, How to Train your Dragon and several games on Xbox.

I do not own an Xbox nor do I know how to play it. Maybe I can distract the kids as the favorite weird uncle that does things outside besides writing stories.

Maybe roast a few S’mores…

Tell a few fireside stories I make up as I go along.

More on that later. 😉

For now,

Dash McCallen, your fave up and coming author signing off.

Good night.

I love to tell stories, I laugh how they change. How do yours evolve?

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In the Steel Gardens, once again, the DragonMaster University school is on hiatus. Kolo and Jona are still developing their relationship.

The vigilante group with electronic revenge on their minds is also out on the patio sipping their fancy teas and coffees, waiting to have their turn on stage again.

In the meantime, two horror short stories need to be developed and will be part of an anthology book with at least three other authors.

How does your mind work? Do you have multiple stories clamoring to come out? Do they leap out, screaming at you while you sleep or when you are mowing the lawn? Driving down the highway (Being followed by the local police) and unable to pick up the phone to give a verbal notation of the idea that is dancing in your mind is a pain in the ….neck.

Then by the time you get to a point where you can make a note, you can’t remember the body of it, maybe not even the characters.

Ah well, we are writers! Sit for a few minutes, stare out the window or at the screen with your hands behind your head and let the images form behind your eyes..

Then the next day, George becomes Jona, or Ralf becomes Honey.

In this case, I was writing on Steel Gardens.  I have chosen to evolve each Generation as a sub-book, I’ll return to the chapters so to subdivide the Generations. This means a lot of backstory is opened. I just don’t know how far, or if I will just go forward from where I stand in the world I have kludged together.

I may go forward from where Fae and Thea are in the story. But now will be chapters, starting in this chapter.  Generation 2. Chapter 2. Gen 2. will not be mentioned.

How does your story evolve?

Reading back on this, I will post it as is, I have consumed way to much coffee today. 0.0 And I am about to write a three-thousand word babble.  Back to the story…

 

A note from your writer. An Author’s Moment.

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Greetings and salivations:

 

Yeah, that’s no typo, but it got you to smile, I hope.  As of yesterday, the first edit of “Shock and Awe” came to a close. There is a third in the offing but it will be a couple months before I revisit it. The good police need to have their points of view told.

Plus, I started a romance in it, if anyone noticed.

Radio Check and his team will return in an expanded story, cleaned up and more intense. No technology was used in the story that does not exist. … Well… mostly.  I expanded on some things. heh.

In the next few days we pick up on another story. Perhaps dragons, perhaps cell phones.

A few other threads of stories.

I sit now and ponder my next moments. A French Pressed coffee and a new coffee cup that was a gift of father’s day.  A small model of “Red Jacket”, a clipper ship of the 19th century.

In a steampunk kind of twist, features of the ship will appear in the next story of the stolen children who returned home in the first book.  “Hellions” is in evolution.

In the last few days, we have had a minor heat wave, so in temperatures hot enough to make tar on the street soft? Honey the honey-colored dog goes out into the middle of the yard and naps in full sunlight.

“Recharging her solar power.” I laugh at her.

It makes for a desire to write her into the story. So keep an eye for the broad-headed dog that loves her humans, but with jaws strong enough to crack a coconut. (it took a few hours, but she got it. I lost that bet, after all, coconuts are HARD.)

Looking for some beta readers, we have multiple authors with some very awesome story types looking for an honest reveiw so that the story may achieve its grace and beauty that the author intends for it to be.

If you are interested in being a beta reader/critique officer, send me a private message on Google Plus and we’ll get you squared away and you too can be a part of something larger than large. 😀 Imagine being the JK Rowlings beta reader for the first book in her wizarding fantasy book. Kinda dorky, different from anything that came before, but interesting and constantly busy. How much would that raw, unpublished work be worth to your grandchildren and their grandchildren (assuming she let you keep it) as the beta manuscript before publishing?

I have a couple, over the years. As fate would have it? The unpublished words in a beta reader book are unsearchable in all of the internet. But I will keep the 1980’s version of the manuscript books for the sake of interest.

But I have drifted off point.  Giving ice-cubes to the overheated dogs after they ran in the back yard and barked, protecting their home from someone, so they now have ice-cube treats.  They love their ice cubes. (AND those treats are cheap.)

So questions for you writers:

When you are stuck, as someone has said “Blocked” what do you do when this happens? What do you do to break through?

In my case, walk away, roll around on the floor with a “Who pins who” match between Honey the Dog and myself, shoot some archery.

So far, a note to you, my followers and readers. Keep reading! I’ll keep writing.

For now, Live, laugh, love, let the adventures begin- again.

 

Dash

 

The Dark Place of Writing.

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In the last 72 hours, I have found how the clouds can move over once again. Noticed it when editing a story that a good gent critiqued.  Good honest crit.

As I write this the honey colored dog, Honey, is head-butting my arm.  She’s not the strongest dog in the world, but she has a forklift for a head. She does pretty well on tipping me over.

Back to the here and now, I have not been writing which annoys me. Instead I’m overheated  (that time of year anyway) during the day and stripping paint of the door that Hershey the dog from abject panic of firecrackers in the area and no humans home to calm her.  Now I am on a mission to strip this door of at least six layers of paint, perhaps as much as fifty-years worth of paint. So care must be made to lock the paint in a plastic bag and reduce dust to zero.

This means no electric sanding, and hand-sanding with fluid surfactants to entrap the dust- and all done outside.

But, it also means I am not writing. Not like I need. I like to have stories mapped out (if not written, I’m ahead in my head.)  days ahead of the cycle, and I know I am late in the day.  Most of the studies I read say I should post in the morning of the United States.

Blech, I don’t do that. Midnight? Yeah. Often.

Tonight at midnight? Hardly.  You get a journal entry only, no fiction.  I don’t have a muse to write with. The muses are in the showers cleaning off paint-crud and paint stripper.

I would paint it all again, but Mrs Dash wants it stained, and it appears to be nice wood underneath. At least one filler, it seems that someone moved the door knob from one side to the other.

And yet, I feel lost.  Is it the drug of writing?

I prowl the kitchen without reason, aimless wandering and looking to poach something.  Peanut butter and chocolate? Ugh..then I sit down to the keyboard… then jump up and run outside again to scrape paint off the door. Again.

I daydream out there. Need to launch an arrow or two

The imagination calls, to watch the hero save the day?

Does the heroine save him, only to find out he is gay and married to a wonderful man?

Does the hero watch his hearts love walk away? Superman watching Lois Lane marry someone who is better for her than he ever could be?

Heh, I missed all those in the last few days. The glory of creating. Or editing? That is fear.

I fear to make it worse. From exploding phones in the hands of bad guys to a steampunk journey to a romance that is as chaotic as they come.

But as Hemingway said, first drafts are all crap. (Well, paraphrased there.)

I will dig up another chapter, edit it a little, clean up some things and post it here, but is it truly writing?  It doesn’t feel like it.

Sometimes, I hear the laughter in my soul that is not there. The doubts. I am no writer, I am just… someone who thinks he is.

Who am I?

Odd question.

I am a writer, an author. I will make you cry or laugh.

I am Dash. Bradach Ard Ri.