The old television show with the two adopted boys living a new fancy life came to mind the other day. “Whatyoutalkingabout?” was the catch phrase of the show. I almost let that phrase slip between my lips in answer to a question about how I could write for adults as well as children.

Different strokes for different folks. In other words, considering an audience’s reading level is key before telling any kind of story. If you’re a parent and you’ve read countless children’s books to your kids at night as I have to my son—a bedtime ritual that creates life-long readers, by the way—and then read yourself to sleep with a book of your own choosing, you can easily see the what I mean. They are all stories. Different, yet the same in many respects.

First, the obvious differences: length, plot complication, pictures (or lack thereof), details, subject matter, and ease of reading all come to mind when I review my son’s bookshelf and the stack of books beside my bed. Yet there are similarities. There are a few central characters, there’s a plot, there’s an arc of action and resolution, and in many of the books we read in this house, there’s an element of humor.

If a story contains similar traits, what difference does it make if it’s for children or adults? It just makes sense that a good story is a good story, regardless of the audience.

Read any good children’s books lately? Here are a few what I would call “cross over” books—well written and able to hold the attention of adults as well as advanced children readers. Add to the list as you will. I’d love to hear your suggestions.
1. Ted Bell’s books, Nick of Time and Time Pirate
2. Anthony Horowitz’s masterful spy books, the Alex Rider series
3. Walter R. Brooks’ classics, the Freddy the Pig series
4. Jenny Nimmo’s Charlie Bone series

Learn more about Laura’s newest works at her website, www.laurawhartonbooks.com or her blog, http://laurawharton.blogspot.com.

I was going to talk about the fact that some people have an encouraging online aura, others a humorous aura, and others still, an aura that’s sexy, cute or funky.  Some of my online friends have a bitter, cynical aura. Some come across as being crabby, complaining and whiny. Some have a faithful aura out of which shines a love for God and their fellow man. What kind of silent vibes do you transmit over the internet? Does your online aura personify the kind of person you are in real life, or do you use the internet as an opportunity to set your alter-ego free? If you met an online friend in real life, would they immediately recognize you?

Your words and the things you post, twitter, share and like, all make a statement about who you are – what’s important to you. In cyber space, all we have are words. Make each one count! Let your words shine with the essence of you!

If the subject of internet romance / relationship fascinates you like it does me, get a copy of my first book, Night and Day, and find out how a chance online meeting when it’s midnight in Minnesota and daybreak in Denmark transforms the lives of Jensen Marie Christiansen and Anders Westerlund.

My goal this morning was to write a blog that made me sound perky and pleasant… the kind of person you’d want to buy a book from. Instead, I probably sound exhausted – because I am! (But in the best way possible.) Keep smiling.

 Below is an example of a “short story” – a really short story – discovered in a classified ad in a local press. I gave it a title and added a few words. Otherwise, it’s exactly as written. Read it and smile – or weep.

Title:

You Are Cordially Invited…

(the world’s shortest short story)

Classified ad (with one or two modifications) recently appearing in a metropolitan weekly newspaper

4 Sale

Wedding Dress – Size 6, pink, flowered slip; garment never worn, still in box ($500 when new; sell for $10). If customer buys gown, a man’s 14 karat gold wedding band is included at a give-away price; it, too, never worn. If interested, call 406-789 and leave a message. Will return call upon regaining balance or when able to smile again. Be patient.

 ”Had to vamp out, huh?” Margo said calmly.

Kirk nodded once more. Scott told her what he’d seen. Having been unconscious for most of the fight, he didn’t tell her about that. Seeing the bruises disappearing on Kirk’s face, she reached her own conclusions.

“The elevator isn’t working,” Sandra said, touching the cut on Scott’s brow.

“Then we take the stairs,”Margo replied.

“It’s sixty-seven stories!” Sandra exclaimed.

“Did you try the freight elevator?” Kirk asked.

“Is there one?” Scott queried.

“Place this size, has to be. Rich people don’t want to see the hired help. Probably this way.” He pointed down the hallway.

“Have you been here before?”

Kirk shrugged, shaking his head. “Nope. Acoustics are different down that hallway.”

“And you saw the sign,” Margo said with a smirk, pointing to the freight elevator sign on the wall.

Kirk winked. “Of course, but where’s the fun if I spoil it for you?”

Fortunately, the freight elevator was working. Unfortunately, it stopped at nearly every floor. Fortunately, there was no one in the parking garage. Unfortunately, Kirk’s rental car and the unmarked police car were both heavily damaged.

“How did they know which is yours?” Sandra asked.

Kirk tapped his rather impressive looking nose. “Superior sense of smell.”

“That, and the Barr Nunne brochures on the front seat. Kirk, quite trying to out vamp us!” Sandra said with a grin. She punched his arm playfully.

“Seriously, even without that, there’s a faint odor of Margo’s perfume and my cologne that would alert them to the right car.”

“So, we’re dealing with vampires here?” Sandra was stunned. “I thought they were vampire hunters—humans?”

“We were wrong,” Kirk said. “This must be the work of a rival coven.”

                And then there is the phenomenon of losing oneself in a project.  Is that the same thing as Focus?  

                I think it is.  I’ve noticed those times when I’ve lost myself in my writing, where nothing else enters my mind but the story and the characters, where I am transported to the world of the story and it is all so very real that time vanishes and it’s as though I’ve broken through into another dimension.  During those times I can create freely and easily reach my writing goals.

                Actually I think of it more as a possession.  The writing possesses me.  The story possesses me.  I keep the story in my mind through the day.  It is always churning and growing in my head like a living thing that’s trying to be born.  It shows up in my dreams, it’s the first thing I think about when I wake up, it nags at me until I throw the words at the paper.  It is with me while I’m driving, shopping, working, running errands, doing dishes.

                When a story possesses me , that is how I Focus.  It becomes very important and won’t just go away.   Focus for me, is what my mind dwells upon throughout the day and night.  Sometimes I don’t even know the story is talking to me until I sit down and start to type.

                How many times have you sat down to write and thought: I don’t know what I’m going to write about?  Suddenly the first word comes, then the second and pretty soon you’ve written a page and can go on and on for hours?  I think that is Focus.  How do you Focus?

Nancy A. Niles is the author of: Vendetta: A Deadly Win and Lethal Echoes.

The same goes for pieces of candy or cupcakes or crochet stitches. I better not see six bottles of Seagram’s Escapes in my refrigerator, either. I’d have to bring that number down. Thirteen pairs of socks? Oh, no, no, no.

I don’t have a problem with intangible sixes or thirteens.  I don’t cower inside on Friday the Thirteenth. If my grocery list contains six items, I don’t have to write another down because of the number. Well, mainly because I know it’s rare for me to go to the store and stick to my list.

If I see a black cat, I don’t look the other way. If a black cat crosses my path, I wish it well on its journey with an Irish blessing to counteract its curse. Same thing with an owl. When I hear or see an owl, I don’t automatically believe he is the harbinger of my death. Maybe he’s foretelling the demise of the rodent he spotted for dinner.

The power of broken mirrors can be neutralized by putting as many pieces together as possible and looking into the reflection seven times before chunking it in the trash. Breaking the handle of a coffee cup isn’t a forecast of lost money as long as you break the entire cup. The number of pieces it breaks into is the amount of money you’ll see soon.  Not such a big thing when you find the lucky amount in pennies, though.

Speaking of pennies, if you find a lone copper, pick it up and drop it for good luck. Find more than one, keep them all and the bad luck turns into good. Spilled salt? The old standby of tossing it over your shoulder works every time. Yell, “Salt!” first, though, so you don’t hit someone standing behind you in the face (I did that twice. Luckily, he forgave me both times).

Good luck, bad luck, it’s all in what you believe. However, good and bad luck in the written word is tricky. Actions create a ripple of reactions. Cause and effect signal the signs of a good tale. The domino syndrome mimics real life.

Overuse of bad luck takes strength away from a good story. Two of my favorite television shows, Southland and Person of Interest, had the same scene this week where a bad guy was being chased by a good guy. Unluckily for the bad guy, he didn’t look both ways before crossing the street and was hit by a fast moving truck.

After I saw the same scene a second time on a different show, my BS radar blinked on. Instead of developing the character of the bad guy and adding strength to the script, the writers got rid of him with a snarky remark about looking both ways before crossing the street. I think it was the same truck making crossover appearances. Both shows used the same quip. Both shows are very different, on different networks, and written by different writers.

I believe it was bad luck that the writers used the theme of losing a potential case-breaker to add tension to the episode. The storyline fell apart for me at that point. The fast-moving truck that makes the bad guy a hood ornament was too convenient. The ten-second scene brought me out of the world I was a part of while watching the show and back to reality with an “Oh, no, I know you didn’t just do that” feeling.

The same thing can (and does) happen in books. While it’s easier to get rid of a troublesome character by having him do a Frogger than it is to develop him, as a reader this type of kill-off leaves me feeling robbed. A number of times I’ve read about the sudden demise of an antagonist and I feel cheated out of getting to know what made the bad man tick.

Bad luck and good luck exist if you believe it. My personal good and bad luck quirks have become more habit than belief. Bad and good luck for characters is very real since we, the writers of books and scripts, control their fortunes.

I don’t like mannequins in a storyline. To me, every character counts. Good and bad characters need to feel real. I want to get to know them before pianos are dropped on their heads or owls call out their final exits.

J J Dare is the author of two published books, several short stories and thirty-plus works-in-progress.

Current enthusiasm is sharpening intangible knives and co-authoring at Rubicon Ranch

Facebook addiction

Storyboarding chapters is a tool to create logical flow after you have determined what your book is about, and why you are writing it. It can be used in support of a plot outline, but I tend to use it in place of an outline for my mystery thrillers. That being said, many genres of books would be virtually impossible to write without an outline.

For example, I just finished reading Uprising by Dean Urdahl. It is a novel set in Minnesota in 1862 during the Civil War, and is centered on the Sioux Uprising. Urdahl partners fictional characters and events with historical facts. It is organized, wonderfully written, and must have required detailed outlining.

To create a storyboard, take a sheet of paper and draw twelve boxes–three rows of four, or four rows of three. In the first box, write down the question the book asks. In the last box, write the answer to that question. The other boxes are the plot points–the tools you are using–that lead to the eventual answer at the end. In fiction, particularly in the mystery genre, the author uses the points to build suspense until the final crisis, or climax, near the end of the book.

I spoke to a group of fourth graders on writing and brought along a white board with twelve blank boxes to use at the end of my talk. After I explained how we could use a storyboard to write a book together, ideas flowed from those young minds, and their hands shot up. Within minutes, they had a main character–a rabbit–and created a rather wild tale of a his adventures in Alaska. It was not only fun for them, but also served as a good visual illustration of a way to map out a book.

Have any of you ever used a storyboard when planning your book? What other tools have you used? I’d love to hear about them.

Christine Husom is the author of Murder in Winnebago County, Buried in Wolf Lake, and An Altar by the River.

This past Monday, I needed to find a new book so I wouldn’t have an excuse to skip my afternoon stint on the bike. Lately I’ve been having pretty good luck buying and downloading books to read on my Kindle. So, I logged onto Amazon to search through the bestseller lists. As I browsed through the titles and reviews, I decided I was in the mood for a story with a little atmosphere, set in either an unusual location or a long ago time. A murder mystery by an English author caught my attention. The protagonist is an archaeologist who lives on the edge of the Saltmarsh near Norfolk in Great Britain, the site of real excavations of mysterious mummified bodies from the Iron Age in Europe. I read a few of the online reviews to see what readers thought about the author and her book. I quickly discovered a repeating theme in the opinions. Readers seemed to like the setting and main character, but several were put off by the fact that it was written in present tense. One reviewer even said that he wouldn’t have bought the book if he had read the sample on Amazon first.

I went ahead and downloaded the book. I’ve been reading it and regularly pedaling for a couple of days now. I find that I am enjoying the atmosphere and the rather surly protagonist is a hoot, but there is something about the present tense style that does bother me. I’m not sure why exactly. Maybe it’s just not what I’m used to reading. To me, telling a story usually involves describing something that happened or could have happened. It doesn’t have to start with “once upon a time,” but I do seem to expect past tense verbs. Present tense makes me think more of someone telling a joke. You know, like, “This kangaroo hops into a bar and …”

With the current novel, I’m getting used to the style and have continued reading, but it leaves me wondering why the author made that choice. I remember reading an opinion somewhere that present tense can be used to add “immediacy” to the story. The reader feels like the action is happening right then. I guess I can see that reasoning, but in this particular story it doesn’t seem to really accomplish that. In fact specific past dates (1998 and 1999) are mentioned in the plot. To me the present tense narrative just feels slightly awkward and meandering. And “she says” somehow tends to jump out at me more than “she said.” Other than that, I can’t seem to put my finger on exactly why this style of story-telling doesn’t work as well as past tense for me. Judging by the numerous complaints among the book’s reviewers, I don’t seem to be alone in this.

There may well be certain circumstances where making things happen in current time is more appropriate than describing past events. Any thoughts?

Norm Brown is the author of the suspense novel Carpet Ride, published by Secondwind Publishing, LLC.

Soon Available

January 18, 2012: T minus 26 days.

I’ve found little in life as gratifying as arranging words on a blank screen—orchestrating the lives of my alter egos and writing the happily ever after ending that has, thus far (after several false starts), eluded me, even as recent events have conspired to give me renewed hope.

Typing The End after spending the better part of a year locked in a short-term love affair with a story is bitter sweet. Completing a first draft is but the first step in the long process of writing a novel. It is, for me, the easiest and most pleasurable step: creation in its purest form. I give myself permission to go anywhere my imagination takes me, a sort of stream of consciousness that would make Jack Kerouac proud.

On January 2, 2012, I completed 500 Miles to Go, my seventh novel. In a few weeks I’ll read it, cover-to-cover, for the first time, going over it with a critical eye for pacing, continuity, character development and relationships between characters, believability, and more. I’ll correct typos I may have missed and, much to Kerouac’s chagrin (he would accuse me of self-censorship), I’ll also polish text, add scenes and perhaps delete others that may not add to the story. This last part is difficult for me, but I understand that cutting a scene I may love is necessary in order to improve the whole.

Before I start on my second draft of 500 Miles to Go, I’ll work on my fifth draft of A Retrospect in Death, which I completed last January. When I finished ARiD, I felt it was my best work to date; before that, I felt The Cobb Legacy was my best work, and before that, Backstop. Now I have to say 500 Miles to Go is my best. Which, perhaps, is as it should be.

I’ve often cited the wit and wisdom of Raymond Chandler, but I find I must tip my hat to him yet again: “Everything a writer learns about the art or craft of fiction takes just a little away from his need or desire to write at all. In the end he knows all the tricks and has nothing to say.”

I’m still learning my art and each new novel reflects that, as I take my work to ever higher levels. In short, I still have plenty to say.

All of which brings me to my next major project. I’m in no hurry to commence, considering I have two projects in revision; but I have a couple ideas I’m kicking around—neither one is, at this point, demanding me to sit down and put fingers to keyboard. But, I have a new lady love in my life to whom I must give credit for both these ideas. I suggested we co-write one of them, but her idea of co-writing differs from mine: “You mean I’d actually have to do some work?” she asked. “You do if you want your name to share the cover with mine,” I replied. “Otherwise you get a ‘based on an idea by’ reference on the ‘thanks to’ page.”

She and I started corresponding on Facebook one Saturday evening in early December, although I’d friended her two years previously (hmm, I thought at the time, she’s adorable, even though I considered her to be way out of my league in a totally different sport), at a time when she was going through a divorce. She’d pop up on my wall from time to time, responding to some silly comment I made—nothing flirtatious. But it wasn’t until I posted one about a Kay Jewelers commercial—you know the one: “Every kiss begins at Kay”—that we really connected. I referenced the commercial in a post and wrote something about staying single if I had to buy a bauble every time I wanted a kiss from a girl.

She took a chance, later claiming that she gave into a little voice inside her head telling her to “go for it,” and commented on my post, accusing me of watching too much TV, a charge I didn’t deny, confessing to living alone (a fishing expedition that netted me a nibble—yes, she, too, was spending her Saturday evening alone). A few more wall posts with this utterly charming woman left me enchanted and so we took our correspondence off my wall and into email, exchanged phone numbers, and have been talking nearly every day for the past six weeks and change.

My dad told me, when I was teenager, that there were three topics a young man never discussed with a young woman on a first date: politics, religion and sex. Well, we’ve already discussed all three of these topics, as well as many others, and we’ve yet to have our first date.

Timing is everything in romance, that much I’ve learned over the years, and it was my good fortune that I’d just bundled my phone and Internet services with my cable, resulting in unlimited free long distance calling. I’m now four years out of my last relationship and her divorce is two years behind her, so neither one of us is on the rebound.

The 739 miles between us has forced us to go slowly and focus on friendship before romance. It’s important, we both agree, that we like each other before committing to love. During the first week, we agreed again that we knew only enough about each other to say we didn’t not like the other. A week later we concluded that what we knew about the other we liked. And our feelings have been growing ever since. I love what I know about her, and I love how she makes me feel: young and prone to acts of foolishness.

I’m amazed because I thought young love was a thing of the past for me. That notion was a mixed bag because on the one hand I thought, good riddance, I’m too old to be chasing a woman’s car while in my skivvies, begging her not to abandon me; yet on the other hand, I missed feeling, saying and giving in to random acts of foolishness, even if such foolishness is rooted in the wisdom of middle age.

The distance between us has prohibited us from meeting face-to-face, although we have exchanged photographs. She’s beautiful—inside and out—is creative, witty, intelligent, and makes me laugh harder and more often than I have in years, and so we’ve made plans to meet next month for three days in a neutral city. Beyond that, well, I might be looking for a new job in a new city—one which won’t require me to bring my snow shovel with me. Neither of us is willing to consider any other outcome—which feels kind of strange for me because in recent years I’ve become a glass seven-eighths empty kind of guy.

Anyway, I digress.

This terrific woman suggested a short time ago that I write a novel based on recent events in my own life—to say more would be to risk someone stealing the idea; but think Fatal Attraction with a twenty-first century slant. As I turn this seed over and over in my mind in anticipation of it taking root, it occurs to me I would be a fool not to go forward with it when the time comes. Which is precisely how I feel about my ’Bama baby. And that’s not foolish thinking.

Stay tuned for an update next month—not only on my first date in a strange city with a woman I’ve yet to meet, but also on my next project …

To promote the launch of January’s Thaw, leave a comment and I’ll select one to receive copies of the January triology, January’s Pardigm, One Hot January and January’s Thaw.

 Scott made up his mind. Holstering his weapon, he backed away from the downed vampire. “Do it.”

Kirk’s fangs extended again. He leaned over the vampire, his fangs brushing the other’s throat. “It’s very painful,” he whispered hoarsely. “It burns as you change. Like your insides are on fire.”

“Y-you said eu-euphoria.”

“I lied!” His teeth sank into the other vampire’s throat.

A scream echoed in the bathroom. Kirk did not begin to feed. He let the other feel his fangs, letting him think about it.

“Okay!” The young vampire whimpered. “Okay, I’ll tell you!”

The fangs receded. The dual holes closed slowly. Kirk kept the other man pinned to the floor.

“Where have they gone?” Scott demanded, weapon trained on the downed vamp.

“There’s this house—more like a castle—outside the city. It’s way out in the middle of BFE….”

The police officer and Kirk exchanged a look.

“Specifics,” Scott demanded.

The vampire babbled several minutes, telling them everything he knew. When he was done, Kirk nodded. Before rising, he broke the vampire’s neck. Rising, he dusted his hands. Scott eyed him warily.

“Why did you kill him? I could have cuffed him, arrested him.”

“Your cuffs won’t hold us. Having him in the car would have been deadly for us both. Now he can’t call anyone and tell them—can he?”

Scott shook his head. “Just not the way I like to do things.”

Kirk washed his hands and put on his tie and jacket. “Me either, but it had to be done.”

“Shall I call it in?”

“No need.”

Black spots appeared on the vampire’s body. Suddenly, he fell to dust which disappeared with a soft poof. Nothing was left, not even a hint of what had happened. Scott shuddered.

“That’s disturbing.”

“Somewhat,” Kirk added with a disdainful sniff. “Shall we get the others?”

“Lead on.” What Scott didn’t say was that he didn’t want Kirk behind him. He’d held it together because the vampire wasn’t against him. However, he’d feel better where he could keep his eye on Kirk.

Kirk understood the other man’s concern. He didn’t say anything, but was careful how he moved, making no threatening gestures.

They found the women near the elevator. For some reason, it wasn’t working. Sandy frowned. Margo bit her lip, drawing blood. Kirk staggered at the sight and smell of the drop of fluid on her pale chin. He reached out to taste it.

Margo knocked his hand away, slapping him. Scrabbling with something in her pocket, she extracted a vial of pills. Taking one, she forced Kirk’s lips apart and put it under his tongue. Clamping his lips shut, she encouraged him to swallow.

Closing his eyes, Kirk let the pill partially dissolve before swallowing it. Inhaling slowly, he nodded his thanks.