Pat's Plethora of Poetic Prose

A Writer’s Dilemma

2012-02-17T06:25:00.002-08:00

What to keep and what to toss?

Of all the inner battles a writer has to wage, this one gives me the most grief. Early in my career, I felt obligated to toss everything into my opening chapter, including the kitchen sink. Of course, my first editor knew better and counseled me to go for brevity. Actually, a lot of brevity. Taught me the value of the truth that less is more.

Perhaps the main reason I told too much was fear of the dreaded hook. We all know it is vital to hook our readers from the very first sentence, but, gosh how are they going to be hooked if they don’t know the entire history of the main character? Stuff like that. Sorry. That was my feeble attempt at humor. Actually there are all manner of hooks, and the experienced writer loads them into her/his bag of tricks. Hooks are not my subject of choice today but would make a good subject for a future post. Now to get down to it.

Along the way, I had a chance for a few weeks of mentoring by a NYT best-selling author, and she taught me a lot. Interestingly enough, her advice was for me to gather all sorts of peripheral data to flesh out my protagonist before I wrote word one. At her insistence, I went shopping and picked out the kind of pen I’d find on her desk, the style notebook she kept handy, items in her home that she would kill to keep, etc.

I thought at first my mentor was daft. Why did I need to pick the china in her buffet, the clothes in her closet, the time of day she was most vulnerable to a case of the blues. On and on. By the time I’d complied with her instructions, the course was nearly over, and I felt cheated.

But, and this is a dandy, I sifted through all that stuff and, you know what? I suddenly saw my character as human, a person with strengths and weaknesses, passions, hungers, foibles, and aversions, to wit; a real living breathing, suffering, imperfect but lovable person I could write about.

I wrote the book. The final story won’t be written on that book in my lifetime, since I have no way of knowing how it will fare in the competitive world of fiction writing. But I wrote the doggone book and I’m proud of it, one of my best ever.

Now, back to my question. How much of all that periphery did I include? Not very much in terms of straightforward narrative, though understanding what kind of blouse she would wear for a certain occasion, or her favorite song, made her come alive in the pages of my book. So, my advice to fellow authors is, compile a book on your main characters. Don’t be shy, and don’t undershoot. This is your chance for that kitchen sink array.

You’ll ultimately, perhaps with the aid of a good editor, hone it down to the essence of what it is to be alive on God’s green earth. And, no doubt, your editor will give you a sharp paring knife to bring it into shape. I’ve included a partial list below, of the items I catalogued in developing Sera Moreland for my mystery novel, TOCCATA.

Happy reading, all.

Pat Dale

Partial List for Sera Moreland, heroine of Toccata:

Leather-bound stationery cover

Grandma Nadine’s silver piano shaped music box that plays Pavanne for a Dead Princess

Grandma’s French set of porcelain China, Festivite by Raynaud of Limoges that had been left to Sera on Nadine’s passing

Favorite colors for shirts and blouses, and sweaters: aqua, pastel pink, lavender

Business suits: charcoal and medium gray

Likes: all shades of blue

Dislikes: red (other than her Ferrari)

Extravagances: Luxury autos, Aston-Martin DBS and Ferrari, and Bosendorfer piano

Favorite music: French Impressionists, Debussy and Ravel

Lifestyle: Spartan. No house staff.

Sera is comfortable living alone, her only insecurity a repetitive nightmare stemming from an adolescent sexual encounter.

Editing Comparisons

2012-02-10T07:55:00.001-08:00

Yesterday, I posted a blog on the Muse It Up Blogsite, talking about mystery writing and giving a bit of a teaser for the first of my St. Louis Blues Mystery series, TOCCATA, debuting in April.

After it was posted and I'd gotten a few responses, I received my line edits for the book. I'm extracting one example to give you an idea of the difference a few words can make. I am NOT trying to embarrass my editor. I appreciate all she and my other editors have done to further my writing. But I think, when you read this, you'll agree that one's voice can be seriously modified with even a minor shift in verbiage.

There's a reason my blog is titled Pat's Plethora of Poetic Prose. That is what I write, or attempt to write. Because there's a bit of the poet in me, I tend to allow the occasional flow of fancy in my wording. Also, as a life-long musician, rhythm is extremely important to me. Words are made up of syllables, and I use them to create rhythmic prose. Not all the time; that would be boring and eventually cloying.

The first example is the edited version. After posting this, I might have started with the original, so if you want to scroll down, you can read it first. Either way, I think you'll get the point after comparing the two.

Edited

Sera felt him deep in the heart of her, pressing them relentlessly onward as their spirits merged. The music pulsed, and he urged, then held her back. It was she who worked, he who set the pace, created the nuance, the power...the exultation!

She sensed their mutual climax approaching as her body trembled with excitement. She could only allow her soul to lift to meet it. Embrace it.

Revel in it!

Her fingers hammered out the final chords of Toccata, and the audience jumped to their feet, applauding wildly. When the piano’s strings had echoed into silence, she stood and faced the standing ovation. Her fantasy lover’s music had triumphed again. Debussy’s music and Sera’s performance — what a sweet coupling!

The crowd vacated Sheldon Concert Hall, she floated to her dressing room, her senses thrumming in the afterglow. Excellent performances were always this way. Wispy images drifted across her mind, much as her musical amour’s Clouds would have floated through a lazy nineteenth-century French summer sky. Music! What an aphrodisiac!

Original

Sera felt him deep in the heart of her, pressing them relentlessly onward as their spirits merged... The music pulsed, and he urged, then held her back. It was she who worked, but he who set the pace, he who created the nuance, the power...the exultation!

She sensed their mutual climax approaching as her body trembled with excitement. She could only allow her soul to lift to meet it. Embrace it.

Revel in it!

Her fingers hammered out the final chords of Toccata, and the audience jumped to its collective feet, applauding wildly. When the piano’s strings had echoed into silence, she stood away from the instrument and faced the standing ovation. Her fantasy lover’s music had triumphed again. Debussy’s music and Sera’s performance — what a sweet coupling!

The crowd called her back to the stage three times before the cacophonous chatter died away. As they vacated Sheldon Concert Hall, she floated to her dressing room, her senses thrumming in the afterglow. Excellent performances were always this way. Wispy images drifted across her mind, much as her musical amour’s Clouds would have floated through a lazy nineteenth-century French summer sky. Music! What an aphrodisiac!

***

Lest you think the only changes made were the words in blue, I took out about thirty other words that were marked for deletion. If you're having trouble seeing the difference, read the original again, out loud. The speaking voice will bring out the exact rhythm I strove to create.

Again, I do not wish to leave the impression that I'm criticizing my editor. I merely use this as a visual and (if you spoke it aloud) auditory aid in examining just how words can be made mundane or memorable with only minor changes. Multiply this by a dozen or so passages and, even in a major novel approaching one hundred thousand words, the writer's voice can be destroyed. Brevity is to be admired, but not at the cost of all the elements a good novel must contain.

I dare say, if one is only after brevity, then one should by all means, write a poem. That is the essence of the art of brevity; making the most of indelible images with the least number of words. But, just as with the spectrum of light, there is room for poetry in huge long works of the language art, as well as in the briefest of poems.

I'll get off my soapbox now, having no doubt ruffled more than a few feathers in places where they need not be ruffled. And in a few where, no doubt, they should. See, I can't allow everything to be a mere academic discussion. It's my damn Irish temperament. I know! I should stow my temper in my teapot.

Thanks for stopping by, and I'd appreciate any comments you have. Cheers,

Patrick Dale

A World with no Good Guys

2012-01-29T12:09:00.001-08:00

What do you think that would be like? More to the point, what does that question mean to you? Nothing? Just another day at the office? Armageddon? What?

Because, that's exactly the world we live in. We like to pretend we're all good guys (by now you know I don't mean 'guys' in a gender sense). In some ways, we are, but we're also all bad guys. Note that I've not used the term evil in this context. This is not necessarily a case of Good and Evil, but merely of good and bad.

Take my protagonist, Adam Watson, from my newest release, The Evil Within. He is essentially a good guy who comes home to recover from some very bad experiences on the battlefield. All he wants is to go hunting in the little Eden he'd grown up in, and to be left alone.

With a reputation as a local good guy, he steps up to the plate when some clearly bad guys threaten a young woman in his presence. Little does he know they're there because of something a member of his family has done, and they're not the type to back off. One thing leads to another until all hell breaks loose. Literally.

Adam is back in a shooting war, right on his home town's main street. On the path from uncomfortable to unlivable, his eyes are opened to the reality that nobody he knows is free of the evil he'd tried so hard to avoid. When the smoke clears, he's left with a remnant of his family, an old girlfriend, and a lot of cleaning up to be done.

The Evil Within, offered by MuseItUpPublishing, is available as an eBook download at: www.tinyurl.com/7z9m97c and will soon be available for Kindle readers at Amazon.com or for Nook readers at Barnes and Noble.com

Search for Pat Dale, author at either site. caution: You are entering a no-win zone, rife with gritty, vulgar, violent scenes not for the faint of heart. Adult content, with a message you're not likely to forget.

Read THE EVIL WITHIN if you dare.

A Writer's Universe: Inside or Outside

2012-01-22T13:39:00.001-08:00

I've been relegated to observer status of late. A serious leg injury has necessitated my inactivity, so I've had lots of time to think. That's a dangerous thing for a writer. An idle mind is the devil's workshop, my grandfather once told me. Or was it, an idol mind? Hmm.

Many an author these days creates amazing outer worlds, with non-human characters, places, intrigue, etc. Fascinating for readers, especially those inclined to science fiction/fantasy. I even took one fanciful line and twisted it into an erotic fantasy, Blue Streaks. In the end, however, I couldn't help doing an unconventional twist into an all too true, down to earth, climax.

On the other hand, I find that the world which teases and tempts me the most is the one on the inside. How a character thinks and feels is more important than the derring do's and heaving ho's of life's little adventures. For the most part, my readers will find flawed heroes who demonstrate redeemable characteristics, more seriously flawed villains with little to redeem them, and strong women who follow or lead their heroes through thick and thin. No weak women for me, for I've never found that they exist. Strong women gone wrong, now that's a different tune, one I'll pipe all day and all night.

All of which leads me to the reason for this post. Fanfare, if you please, maestro! The Evil Within will be released on Friday, January 27, 2012. In Evil, you'll find a flawed hero, Adam Watson, who demonstrates a tendency all too many men will find uncomfortably familiar. He thinks of himself as a good guy.

Well, he is a good guy. Problem is, he's also human, which means he's got some inside plumbing in need of a good cleaning. Not physical plumbing, but spiritual. Before this saga is done, Adam learns more about his family, his community, and himself than is comfortable. Sorry, Adam, that's the way it goes in my book.

We also have not one but a plethora (there's that word again) of strong women, all with character flaws, but with the feminine wherewithal to hold life's little drama together when the seams pop. There is Sarah Reynolds, Adam's married sister, whose application for sainthood is on hold. Kelly Samples, a girl older than her years by a coon's age, and Amanda Moore, Adam's high school sweetheart, who turns out to be full of heart, but not so sweet.

Have I got a villain for you to hate? In spades, I do, and his name is Ramos. He does not deserve a last name and doesn't get one. What he does get in the end is something for you to wonder about. Oh, and the end is anything but happy for all concerned. Hint: keep a box of hankies handy when you read the last portion of this one.

Is this some kind of irreverent code, I'm blathering here? Could be, but you won't know if you don't read the book. Caution: it is not for the faint of heart, or those with tender feelings easily hurt. This is an adult novel in the manner of a Steinbeck, Hemingway, Lewis, or, dare I say, a Twain. In my view, we can still learn a thing or two from the classic writers of old.

What's inside your favorite character? Your favorite villain? Your own head? Look out. I may be lurking nearby, hoping for a little insight into what makes you tick.

Fair warning!

Pat Dale

Music: A Muse Builder

2011-12-11T06:44:00.000-08:00

Have you ever tried writing while some good mood music plays in the background? I have, and it often helps me keep going when, otherwise, I might dawdle over some detail. I’m not talking pop music here. Each generation has its own favorites when it comes to pop stuff, but they often fade into the distant past within a few months or years.

What I’m talking about is ‘classical’ music; music for the ages. Just as each generation provides a handful of ‘classics’ that linger, so does the music of the masters. Only, with the masters, their music will be here for centuries, providing a continuum for music lovers worldwide. How will their music help keep your muse amused? Let me show you what I mean.

For instance, say you’re a writer of romances. You have to write a love scene and you want it to be sensuous, but not blatantly graphic. There are two pieces I like to use at a time like this. The more sensual is Rachmaninoff’s Second Symphony, Movement Three; the slow movement. If you’ve heard it, I don’t need to embellish its languid seduction of the listener. If you haven’t, you owe it to yourself to treat yourself to some of the most sensual sounds ever penned.

It begins with a poignant theme that repeats over and over, but not monotonously. As it builds, you can almost see two lovers who kiss, separate, kiss again as they entwine themselves in a buildup to an irrepressible climax. Then they settle into a few moments where you can sense the lovers enjoying the afterglow, before they're overwhelmed with the need to couple again, this time more slowly but rising to an even higher peak than the first. And, finally, a peaceful settling into the classic ‘love-death’. A word of caution here; if you listen to this for love scene inspiration, stop the recording immediately at the end, because the final movement begins with a bang.

The other piece mention is Gustav Mahler’s slow movement in his Fifth Symphony. It is less sensual than Rachmaninoff’s, but somewhat more extended. Also, it fires up the muse in a most romantic way. I’ve used both of these as I write the love scenes in my romances, and I highly recommend them to you. (Hint: They also are excellent to play in the background if you want to create a proper setting when romancing your own mate.)

There are many other examples of music that 'lights your fire', sensually speaking, of course. Debussy penned dozens of short and medium length compositions that can lull you into a world where your muse goes wild. Also Ravel as well as Frederick Delius wrote similar ethereal music.

Alas, the contemporary music world bombards us with such cacophony that Don Juan couldn't get it up for one of his conquests. Fortunately, thanks to modern technology, we are not captive to live performances. We can go down the street, waking or driving, with some midget device crammed into our ear, and enjoy the music of the ages. For me, the greatest thrill is to listen as I write yet another story.

My advice; try it. You might like it. Cheers, and happy listening.

Pat Dale

Pump Up Your Blog

2011-12-07T07:34:00.000-08:00

AUTHOR INTERVIEW

Hi folks. Our guest today is Frank Scully. We’ll be discussing his Muse novel, EMPTY TIME. Welcome, Frank. Before we get into the nuts and bolts of your story, can you give us a thumbnail of the novel’s background universe? Oh, and tell us a bit about your protagonist.

James Lang is like so many people today. He works in mid-management in a large corporation, Intelligent, competent and hard working. Loyal to the company. A vital cog in the wheel, yet always slightly afraid of losing his job so he bends to the whims of the corporate leadership. Divorced twice, alone, estranged from any family, his whole existence is tied up in the company. Like a serf tied to the land and the lord of the castle.

Corporate titans today are much like the feudal lords of times past. They fight and scheme their way up a ladder of prestige, wealth, power and privilege. The major difference is the lack of a belief in a coherent code of conduct or moral precepts. Chivalry is dead. Working on a global scale beyond governments and borders, these new aristocrats are almost untouchable. The only rule they obey is greed. They are willing to employ any methods necessary to win. The prize is enormous wealth. CEO’s are paid huge salaries to bring in the numbers. How they do it is not questioned. The ultimate prize for a CEO is to take the corporation private and own it so they have complete control. Then they become icons to the rest of the corporate titans.

Many corporations today have more wealth than some countries. For a CEO who owns his own large corporation it is almost the same as being the dictator of a country. And it is far easier to take over a corporation than a country and less dangerous. In addition, there are more corporations. You don’t even have to own the corporation. Often, all you have to do is control the board of directors. CEO’s of large publically owned corporations today can get paid hundreds of millions of dollars a year even when the corporation is losing money.

James Lang isn’t thinking about any of that. All he wants to do is get through each day and hang on to his job. To not lose his place on the corporate ladder, maybe to move up a rung or two. So he will do the bidding of his masters even when he knows there is something wrong. He may have in the back of his mind a realization that there should be more to life than this but like so many wage slaves he is a prisoner to what passes for reality and success in the culture that surrounds him.

To take over a large leading-edge technology corporation three top executives are willing to commit murder and fraud to manipulate the stock market and the international currency exchange market. To divert attention and provide a patsy they set up Jim Lang to take the blame before he is to be killed and disappear. Disappear he does, die he doesn’t. He survives and discovers through the sacrifice of another that in order for life to have meaning he must be willing to give it up for something. To save the people he loves he must put his life on the line to turn the tables on his former colleagues.

That’s a pretty amazing scenario, Frank, but one we can easily recognize from the corporate world’s recent headlines. As far-fetched as it sounds, this world does exist and I suspect that many of us would relish a hero who rises to the challenge of bringing at least one or two of those corporate moguls to justice.

To some this may sound far-fetched. Unfortunately, after working in a variety of large corporations for almost 40 years, I have to say it is not. This exact story line may not have happened, but executives of corporations have manipulated their stock with impunity many times, colluded with government agencies for nefarious purposes, cheated to obtain lucrative contracts, and employed people or other corporations to get around the law or intimidate others. Now they have the right to spend unlimited amounts of money in elections. The Robber Barons of the late 19^th century and the feudal lords of the middle ages would be jealous of the power wielded by the corporate titans of today.

I simply use this as high concept backdrop for the story of James Lang, a man who finds his way out of the morass of empty time. Through good fortune and the help and sacrifice of others he learns that life has no meaning unless you are willing to give it up for something.

Well, I’m sure we’ll cheer James Lang on as we read your fascinating book. My guess is this one, with its worldwide scenario, was not easy to accomplish.

It was a fun book to write. It required considerable research, but that was part of the enjoyment, particularly learning about the waterways of Europe and those who work and live on them. That specific aspect is an essential part of the story. The waterways of Europe have been used for commerce for hundreds of years and still are. Boats of varying sizes haul goods all over Europe on these waterways. There are also boats that take tourists throughout Europe on the inland waterways. Many people live on their boats and do not have a permanent address. It is into this world that Lang disappears after the attempt on his life.

How in the world did you come up with such an engaging story?

I can’t honestly say how this story line came into my head. Ideas simply pop in and I follow them. Some are discarded if I don’t like where they go. Others I develop because I like where they go and enjoy the characters. What happens usually is a general theme or story line will come to me. Sometimes it comes with a set of characters, sometimes without. I write it down and start developing it. What theme or message is it trying to express? Who are the characters and what is their backstory? What is the crime and how does it play out? Without a crime how can it be a mystery/thriller? I may spend a few months ruminating over a variety of story lines before any of them make it to the stage where I am ready to settle on one to be the next book. I may be writing one while I am thinking about the plots for several to follow.

You certainly have raised lots of intriguing questions here. Would you elucidate your writing process for us?

Once it makes it past the initial stage, I will start doing more detailed notes on the characters, place, crime, time lime, and other aspects of the story. However, I do not do an outline. The prime things I want to know before I sit down at the computer are the characters, the crime, the setting and a general idea where I want to end up. Once I am comfortable with that, I work on the first few paragraphs. Developing that hook is the hardest part. So much rides on capturing the reader in the first few paragraphs.

Once I am past the first chapter, the book tends to flow. I allow the characters to come to life in my mind. It is almost like a movie starts to run in my head and my job is to get it down on paper. As the characters and the story move along I have at times found that the story and the characters will take different directions than what I originally had intended.

I don’t wait till I complete the first draft for re-write and edit. Each day, as I start to write, I go back and review what I wrote the previous session and do some editing as well as checking for consistency in the character and the story. Once I am done, I set it aside while I work on something else. I need to let it get out of my head for a while so I can approach it with a more open mind for the final editing and re-write.

Sounds like a pretty complicated process, but one that yields very satisfying results for certain. I’ve read your other novels so I don’t have to ask whether this is your first. How many books have you done now, Frank?

I have now completed six novels and am working on my seventh. EMPTY TIME is the third one published by MuseItUp Publishing. RESURRECTION GARDEN was the first, DEAD MAN’S GAMBIT was the second, and BLOOD SINS, the fourth, will be coming soon. All are part of what I call the Decade Mystery Series. I am writing at least one novel set in each decade from the beginning of the 20th century to the current time set in different locales with both continuing and new characters in each one. There is something unique in each decade that marks it as separate from what went before or what follows. I explore aspects of what is unique as it is expressed in the locale chosen and how it affects the culture, characters and the tenor of the times and yet also see the common humanity that never changes.

All are available from Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Smashwords and other online eBook retailers as well as the publisher’s bookstore at: https://museituppublishing.com/bookstore2/

Well, Frank, I’d like to thank you for dropping by to visit with us today. You’ve shared a bit of your book and your writing regimen. I feel we know you a little better now, and I’m also sure we’ll want to visit a site where we can pick up a copy of EMPTY TIME and cheer James Lang on. Best wishes for a successful career as a novelist.

About the author:

Frank Scully was born and raised in a small town in North Dakota and received a Bachelor’s degree in History with Phi Beta Kappa Honors and a Juris Doctor degree in Law from the University of North Dakota. He then served more than five years as a Judge Advocate General Corps Officer in the U. S. Army in the U. S., Vietnam, and Thailand. After that he attended the prestigious Thunderbird School and received a Masters in Business Administration with honors. In his professional career he has worked as an executive with large aerospace and defense manufacturers and also owned his own small business.

Depending on the vagaries of the universe he has been well off at times and broke, but never broken, at other times. Blessed with an understanding wife who gave him twin sons, he has remained through it all a dreamer whose passion is writing stories.

Website: www.frankjscully.com

Thanks for dropping by. Please leave a comment if you can. Happy reading! Pat Dale

Hot Flash

2011-11-11T08:28:00.001-08:00

Did that get your attention? I hope it did. I've got a new release that can be found in Muse It Hot because it is adult rated content. This one is a real flier for me. Based on a series of nightmares, it fantasizes a nocturnal journey to inner space.

Want to know what inner space is? Read Blue Streaks to find out. Warning: for all you IT types out there, this may cause you to hesitate any time you feel inclined to hit the escape button on your machine. And fair warning for those of you who have a tendency to nit-pick your mate. Do not let him lure you to the keyboard at four in the afternoon, whatever else you do.

That's all I'm saying about this one. Except that I'd love to hear from you readers after you've read Blue Streaks. Let me know how you like the ending. Hint: it is not what you expected, is it?

HE HE, HA HA, HO HO! They're coming to take me away, HO HO!

Hollow Wollow (what the heck is that?)

2011-10-10T09:29:00.000-07:00

Did that one catch you by surprise? It shouldn't have. By my calendar, it is still three weeks to Halloween, yet we've had a number of our peers wallowing in Halloweeny stuff since the middle of September. To each his/her own, I suppose.

I've looked forward to fall each and every one of my considerable years. Now, though, because some of us can't wait for one particular little bit of the whole scheme of things, the absolute beauty of fall in the northern hemisphere, along with the celebration of a new school year and its concordant games, and in our region a gorgeous Indian summer, is trampled. Run down by gobledygook spookism.

I love Halloween, don't get me wrong. The end of summer for Celtic civilizations, and the beginning of winter. Spiritually speaking, the Church has celebrated All Souls Day and All Saints Day for centuries. Trick or treating for kids, spooky costumes, gaily decorated parties; all are a part of the upcoming holiday.

Yet I cannot get past the concern that we're trying to rush right past a most delightful time of the year to get to that holiday. I'll stop with this because I don't want this to become a rant. So, for those of you who can't wait, go for it. As for me, I'll take my fall color drives and rake my leaves, cheer my favorite football team on, and remember all the good fall times in my past.

Alright, I know some of you are chomping at the bit, to read me out good and proper, burn my butt, tell me off. Go for it! Turn the comment column into a malevolent firestorm.

Just remember, some of us make serious charges with our tongues firmly in our cheeks. Ha! You didn't see that coming, did you? Mainly, I just want to get somebody fired up to respond to my blog.

While we're here, I'd like to invite you to go to Sharon Donovan's blog tomorrow to read a new short story I wrote for the season. Not too scary, but don't stop before you get to the end of it.

You can find her at: http://sharondonovan.blogspot.com Log onto her site today and read another author's really scary story.

Also, you can go to karenfindoutaboutnewbooks or longandshortreviews for my latest promos. I'm celebrating this fall with a continuation of promos of my romance and romantic suspense novels. I hope you've read one or more of them, but if you haven't, I invite you to pick one up and read it. Then, like it or not, comment so I can get your feedback. I truly value what you think of my work.

Empath-Fact or Fiction?

2011-10-02T11:32:00.001-07:00

I'm in a quandary. As I work on my current wip, I've come up with a new slant for one of my protagonists. The problem is, because I've shown empathic tendencies throughout my life, some of it comes eerily close to real experiences. It's only recently that I realized my life has been so affected by this 'power'. Some of you will no doubt scoff at my claim. I accept that; in fact, there are times when I wish I didn't have it.

But it's there. It's been there forever, as far as I can remember. Now, for what I need from you, my readers. If you've ever experienced the strange notion that you know something is going to happen before there's any indication of it, how did you handle it? Or, if you know exactly what someone is going to say before they open their mouth, did you try to short-circuit the conversation by going on to the next phase of the discussion?

Are there other manifestations of empathy you've experienced? I really want to expand this conversation to include any and all who've had such experiences, as well as those who've written empathic scenes in their novels. For those of you who do not believe such powers exist, I'll also welcome your pov. I can only say that my life has been enhanced and sometimes debilitated because I've responded without realizing what is happening until too late. I could give examples but they are embarrassingly personal.

On the other hand, I have to say it is reassuring to know that I can, almost without fail, know what is in another person's heart when they talk to me. If you have no clue what the heck I'm talking about here, let me know and I'll try to explain it. LOL

I'm declaring this EMPATH DAY on Pat's Plethora. Here's a call to all EMPATHS, come out, come out, whoever you are. I want to play.

Happy mindreading day!

Pat Dale

The Perfect Stranger

2011-09-28T12:00:00.000-07:00

Have you ever been captivated by some stranger in a public place? Looked into that stranger's eyes and seen your destiny pass in review? Well, that's what happens to Frank Malone when he spies Cindy Robbins for the first time. My latest romantic suspense novel, THE PERFECT STRANGER was released by Mundania Publications today, and I invite you to log on, check it out, and let me know what you think about it.

Set in Lincoln, Nebraska, with an extended trip to Colorado high country, you'll find out why Frank was mesmerized at his first glimpse of the young mother and her darling little boy, Quentin. All is not as it seems, though, and Frank finds himself deep in the middle of someone else's misery. By that time, he's hopelessly in love with Cindy and vows to go through hell if that's what it takes to free her and her son. When all is done, Frank has reclaimed his hold on life, Cindy has been reunited with her family, and Quentin has a real father to help him grow to manhood.

THE PERFECT STRANGER by Pat Dale

available at: http://www.mundania.com/book.php?title=The-Perfect-Stranger

Excerpt One:

Frank’s eyes drifted across the aisle to the young woman staring at him. Her smile spoke of softness and refinement, yet held such a hint of sadness it touched him deeply. With jet black hair combed back from her oval face, she could have been the product of an artist’s imagination. And her eyes! Incredible cobalt orbs under perfect long lashes, eyebrows trimmed to a fault. Mouth suddenly dry, he swallowed hard and turned away.

Like a cat drawn to catnip, he had to look again. As he inventoried the woman from head to toe, she smiled, sending a flood of heat through his body. And a rush of blood to his head. He attempted to return her smile before dropping his gaze and closing his eyes.

Avoiding her stare did no good. He’d been smitten by her visual image and sat for long moments cataloging her features. Summer sun had brushed what might have been pure ivory skin into a creamy golden tan. A dark blue sports bra gave sanctuary to her petite bosom. Her smooth tanned midriff swept to an inviting waistline, bare to just below her navel, and a pair of faded threadbare jeans; the lone dissonance in this enticing image of femininity.

His focus dropped to leather sandal-clad feet with polished nails that completed the portrait of the perfect stranger across the aisle. Frank gave her a shy smile when her eyes lifted and locked on his, unleashing an electric charge that surged through his body.

Unaccustomed to focusing on anyone, he could not break visual contact with the woman. Not a word spoken but communication loud and clear, pleading, ‘Help me.’

Her eyes drilled that simple message to the depths of his being. Why would this gorgeous creature need help from anyone? Especially Frank Malone. But he couldn’t shake the notion that she was in need of help and he’d been chosen to render it.

With a shy nod, she blinked once and looked to her side, releasing his focus to travel to her companion, a small boy seated next to her. He looked to be near the age of Frank’s late son. The avid curiosity in this boy’s eyes made him choke on the memory of Josh’s zest for life, the way he’d always loved to come here to eat, the...

Excerpt Two:

Thirty feet from the door waited Frank’s CTS. Twenty paces and he’d be on the way to the rest of his life. Ten seconds later, he still stood frozen at the curb, his feet unwilling to move.

When they came out, the little boy whimpered, “Hungwy, Mommy.” The woman picked him up and kissed him on the cheek. “Sorry, baby. I can’t feed you yet.” Showing surprise to see Frank standing there, she mumbled, “Oh, hi.”

He said, “Hi, again.” Her face lit up in a smile that slowly faded as she stared at him.

His mouth took over before she had a chance to turn away. “I’m Frank Malone and I’d like to know the name of Quentin’s mother, if you don’t mind.”

She took his offered hand, physical contact causing his body to tingle. The feel of her fingers so smooth, but with a grip so firm told him more than her eyes had; eyes that didn’t quite focus on his at the moment. Even as every fiber of his being urged him to pursue this lady, a sense of foreboding cautioned from the deep recesses of his mind.

In a melodic voice, she said, “I’m pleased to meet you, Frank Malone. My name is Lucinda but most people just call me Cindy.”

He said, “Nice meeting you, Cindy. You must be awfully hungry by now. Did someone stand you up for dinner?”

“You could call it that. We’re okay.” Her eyes went on guard as she shifted her weight from foot to foot. “But thanks for your concern.”

Something inside screamed for him to get the hell out of there, but his mouth had gone out of control. “I’d really like to take you and Quentin to get something to eat. What do you say?”

“Why would you want to do that? You don’t even know who we are.”

“It doesn’t take that much to see a mother in distress. To tell you the truth, you’re the first person I’ve talked to other than work and Jenny,” he pointed to the restaurant, “since the accident.” He fought down a lump in his throat. “Truth is, I’m lonesome as hell.”

There was a filmy gleam in her eyes as they gently teased his. “And you think you want to spend time with me?”

“Yes, I think I do. You and your charming son.”

Her smooth cheeks wrinkled into something close to a smile. “In that case, Frank Malone, I’m starved. Could we take Quentin to the place where they give kids those cardboard crowns? He just loves them.”

“You mean Burger King? You’ve got it.”

He led her to his Cadillac. While holding the door, he looked back to see Jenny looking out at them, grinning like a monkey.

Excerpt Three:

“Why don’t you call and tell them you’re going to take the day off? Maybe several days. When’s the last time you took time away from work?”

“I can’t remember.”

“How about vacations? You do take those, don’t you?”

He remembered the last fight he’d had with Marianne. A year ago he’d cancelled his vacation when a new client needed his attention, or so he’d thought at the time. The room blurred before his eyes as he recalled blowing his last opportunity to spend quality time with his family. Or any time at all.

She saw the hideous expression on his face. “Oh, no. I’ve done it again, haven’t I?”

He fought for control. “No, it’s okay. But you’re right. I need to take some time off.”

His machine perfect, well-disciplined robotic world flashed through his mind. Utterly, totally, absolutely D-U-L-L! “You’re right. I’m going to go to the office just long enough to reassign the work. Then I’m coming home for a few days. For that matter, I can do much of the work from here on my computer or my Blackberry.”

“Working at home doesn’t sound like much of a holiday to me.”

“Right again. I need a change of scenery. Cindy, are you doing anything really important this week?”

“Like standing on the street waiting for a handout?”

“No.” The look on her face made him blush with guilt. “I’m sorry. What I was trying to say was, would you like to go somewhere with me? Someplace where we can have fun. We can relax and show Quentin a good time.”

Her eyes flashed with excitement. “You want us to go on a holiday with you?”

“Yes. Why not?”

“You mean here in Lincoln?”

“I mean anywhere you’d like to go. Name it and we’re there.”

“I’m going to say yes before you come to your senses.”

He kissed her on the cheek. Sharp electric current ran through his body at the touch of her soft skin, the aroma of her perfume intoxicating him to a level he’d not approached in years.

“I’m not used to that kind of kiss, Frank. Tenderness comes dearly, doesn’t it?”

He nodded and beat a path for the stairs before his tenderness had a chance to morph into something that would probably be much more familiar to her. Once in his bedroom, he dropped his clothes on the bed and climbed into a cooler than usual shower.

When he stepped buck-naked out of the enclosure, Cindy was in the room making the bed. After she left, red-faced, he toweled off, grabbed his clothes from the chair where she’d moved them, and climbed back into them. Headed for the door, he suddenly stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of Marianne’s photo on the dresser.

What the hell am I doing? This is crazy.

Shrugging off his misgivings, he stuck the Blackberry in his dresser and headed for the stairs, smiling again as he recalled the thrill of looking into Cindy’s eyes moments earlier. And seeing a chance to give Quentin a taste of real life. HeFrank grabbed his car keys in the entry hall and shouted, “I’ll be back in two hours. Be ready.”

****

He could have been gone no more than thirty seconds when she dialed the hall phone, accessing an answering machine. “Hey Jenny. Our plan worked. Frank brought me home. The number on this phone is 555-9204. He wants me to do housework for him but I’ll call later in the week to tell you more. We’re going off on some kind of holiday now.”

After hesitating, she pulled her cell phone out of her purse and made another call, this one answered live. She got right to the point, her words harsh and raw. “It’s me, Lowell. I’m in. Whatever the hell you do, don’t you dare call me on Frank’s phone. I have your number so I’ll call you when I get what you want.”

Cindy held her breath, waiting for his response.

Thus begins the rugged twisty saga of THE PERFECT STRANGER.

Gone to the Dogs

2011-09-18T11:22:00.000-07:00

My last post, I introduced you to my dogs, Teddy and Bear. It seems fitting that I continue in that venue, giving you a pictorial view of Warrensburg, Missouri. If you've ever wondered where the phrase, "man's best friend" came from, I'm about to answer that. In an unlikely era for such sentimentality, a dog lost his life and in the ensuing legal battles gave birth to the above recognition.

It all started with a feud between members of a Johnson County family. One owned a yellow lab named Old Drum. His cousin claimed the dog was killing his sheep and shot the dog to death. In the final trial, that upheld a $50 award to the dog's owner, George Graham Vest gave an impassioned summation that moved all who heard it to tears.

If you'd like to know more about the men involved in the trial, including those who would rise to governorships, and national congressional halls, Google Old Drum. I've included a photo of the 1958 statue of the dog and a couple of the original courthouse where the trial took place.

Speaking of dogs, I've already told you a bit about Teddy, my 160 lb. Pyrenees/Malamute. Now he's about to be launched as the protagonist/narrator in my wip MUST LOVE LARGE DOGS. It's a zany romantic comedy, set in The Hamptons on Long Island.

Teddy plays himself, and is fair disposed to such a role, believe me. Last week on our weekly dog tour, he face-planted my wife on a patch of blacktop, ruined her eyeglasses, and gave her a shiner that had her fellow workers questioning my abuse of her. Didn't happen. I quit abusing my wife years ago. Really. He'd been startled by a bumble bee, and galloped off full tilt; that was, until the leash dragged her kicking and screaming onto the pavement.

There's not a mean bone in Teddy's body, and he dearly loves Patricia. More than she can stand, sometimes. A comic moment comes when he climbs onto our oversize sofa and tries to cuddle with her, his basketball sized head in her lap. When he was a fifteen pound pup, he'd do that, only back then he fit on her lap. All of him. He just turned two and still doesn't realize how big he is. Frankly, I hope he never does. I can walk him a short distance, but if he ever panicked like he did last week, I'd be down the tubes faster than you can flush. LOL

So, I've gone to the dogs this week. If you're ever in the area, stop by Warrensburg and see the monument to a faithful dog that met an undeserved fate. Cheers all, and happy reading!

Pat Dale

Three Dog Day

2011-09-04T12:30:00.000-07:00

It's Sunday again, and time to meander the neighboring hills and valleys. I've included a photo of me with my dogs, Bear and Teddy. Bear's the little one (90lbs.). Teddy's still growing, three weeks before his second birthday, and already 160lbs. I love large dogs!
This week we're going to visit Truman Lake and its dam, in Warsaw, Missouri. The observation center towers above the huge bluff overlooking this mammoth lake, and is home to exhibits of various creatures that inhabited this part of the earth in the distant past. The dam incorporates a hydro-electric plant, and the lee below the dam provides refuge for thousands of huge fish; catfish, carp, and sturgeon six feet or longer. Throw a biscuit in and the water rolls with them as they go into a frenzy.
This lake is fed by the Osage River, which in turn feeds into the Lake of the Ozarks, which, in turn, begins just at the other side of Warsaw and proceeds for over ninety miles of continuous shoreline. Mid-Missouri is among the best of land-locked states when it comes to water sports.
If you're ever coming up or down Highway 65 and get to Warsaw, turn off and enjoy a respite at the observation point. Go downtown where you'll find antiques and collectibles galore. Not to mention a cafe or two that will fill you up for a modest sum. It's a quaint little town in a quaint part of the Show-Me State.
Finally, I'm trumpeting the release of my 'tween novel, Zach's Amazing Dream Machine. It's written for middle graders, from a boy's POV, and tells how a young genius invents a new machine that portrays whatever the wearer's dream thoughts are. His folks and peers are amazed by his invention, but he is disappointed because he'd wanted to make something that would prove his grandfather's stories to be true. He learns that truth turns out to be what you want it to be, and a little bit about human nature in the bargain. Lots of fun to read, with a message underlying the text.
Next week will be time for remembrance of a hideous act of violence from ten years ago. For now, let's remember to give thanks that we reside in the safest, most free, nation man has ever known, and that we have to guard those freedoms jealously. Cheers,
Pat Dale

Welcome to Missouriana - 3

2011-08-28T13:31:00.000-07:00

As promised, today I want to take you to an unknown little town with one product that's known world-wide. But first, I would be remiss if I didn't add my concern for all those in the path of Irene. She's been a bad girl, raising cain from all those little island paradises all the way to Canada. Saying it could have been worse seems pretty trite, especially if you're one of those whose lives has been impacted by the storm. You have my full sympathy if you've suffered damage.

I debated whether to forego this post for a week, but felt it best to keep on carrying on. I carry on well, too, as my wife will attest if need be. We just returned from our weekend excursion to a nearby state park with our dogs. They look forward to the trip to Knob Noster State Park, where they often get to see deer, rabbits, squirrels, and lots of birds. People, too, mostly with their dogs. Its a great place to experience Missouri outdoors, with lots of walking trails as well as camping sites galore. For a tiny little park, it offers more than its share of outdoor living at its best.

Located a few blocks from Knob Noster, a tiny little town that has only one thing going for it other than the park, Whiteman AFB is the home of the B-2 bomber, the stealth bomber that has gained a world-wide reputation in recent years. You've probably never heard of Knob Noster before today, and I doubt you knew of this neat little park. But I daresay, if you've kept up with any of our war news, you have heard of this one-of-a-kind aircraft. There are other goings on at Whiteman, but if I told you about them, I'd have to hunt you down and kill you. LOL Suffice it to say that what goes on here affects our war efforts on a daily basis.

Hunting is not permitted at KNSP, either. You can fish in the lakes, walk the trails, camp and cook, walk your dogs. But leave your guns at home.

I'm posting some photos of the area for your enjoyment. The last one is not related to the park or the air base, but its that time of year, folks. This is when I cease being a benevolent purveyor of all things good and true, and turn to my 'real' identity. Have a look at my 'Nebras-kat'. Yep, I'm one of those pesky Husker fans who inhabit Husker World. We may not win every game, but we always exhibit the qualities of a winner. Don't ask how my little white kitty got those red eyes, though. I could tell you, but I'd have to hunt you down and kill you. LOL (again)

Missouriana Sunday:Week Two

2011-08-21T13:29:00.000-07:00

Welcome back to all of you who were with me last week when we visited Blackwater, Missouri, and a hearty welcome to you who are visiting this site for the first time. This week, we're going to drive a few miles closer to the Missouri River, to a small village that boasted a thousand inhabitants in the middle of the nineteenth century. Now, a modest home of less than a hundred, it is still one of the more famous tourists stops in mid-Missouri. We're going to visit Arrow Rock, originally named Philadelphia but renamed almost immediately for its most famous treasure; a river bluff comprised almost entirely of flint rock that has been used for the making of tools and weapons for a millennium.

Sitting above the Missouri River at a spot where the Arrow Rock Ferry used to carry Santa Fe Trail passengers across the big muddy, today's town is all about bed and breakfast lodging, antique and collectible bartering, and tourist traffic. The entire village has been on the National Registry of Historic Sites since the early nineteen sixties.

Shortly after that, it was used as the setting for the filming of Mark Twain's popular book, Tom Sawyer. The home that sported the white picket fence the protagonist schemed to get whitewashed still stands in the middle of the town, though that fence is now state of the art plastic. I guess nobody is gullible enough to volunteer to whitewash it these days.

Drive further down the main street and, on the left a block away, you'll see the most famous attraction in Arrow Rock; the Lyceum Theater. The Lyceum is the only professional playhouse between St. Louis and Kansas City, giving a five month season of productions by prominent actors and crews every year. The house seats just over four hundred patrons and is booked solid play after play, year after year. Quite an accomplishment for a village of only forty five full time residents, with another thirty three who live there part of the year.

I hope you enjoy the photos we've taken of some of the houses in town. And if you're ever in mid-Missouri, you might want to drive down Highway 41 and spend a little time in Arrow Rock. One word of caution; When you drive down the main street, be careful if you turn off onto a side street. There are rock-lined ditches that make the transition a bumpy one. Maybe that's where some of that flint ended up. LOL

Next week, we're going to take my dogs for a walk in a tiny but scenic State Park. Meanwhile, happy reading, everybody.

Pat Dale

A New Direction

2011-08-14T15:45:00.001-07:00

I'm all smiles. The heat has finally broken here, and the weather the last few days is more than welcome. Sorry, for those of you who are still suffering from the summer blahs. While taking our dogs for their customary weekend treks to some of our state parks, it hit me how very fortunate I am to live in the midst of scenic beauty that has withstood the test of time.
While contemplating my good fortune, I recalled an idea I had several years ago. There are many little spots here that draw tourists year after year, but also some that are not on the beaten trail. A few, known mostly by those who live nearby, deserve a bit of attention.
So, in the days and weeks ahead, I'm dedicating this blog to a combination of photos and narrative that will introduce you to my world. I ask you to bear with me, as this is my first attempt to mix photos and text on this blog; an adventure in progress. LOL
My first trek is to a town by a seldom used railroad, a meandering river, and the ghosts of glory days past; Blackwater, Missouri. There are buildings left there that echo those ghosts, but also a few hardy souls remain to handle the constant influx of wanderers, who mostly arrive (and leave) in the summer. The old Iron Horse Hotel still accomodates folks, operating as a bed and breakfast these days. It's called Iron Horse because it sits beside the train station at the edge of town. Once an establishment where my wife and I dined on fine cuisine, it is another reminder of days past.

Speaking of my wife, Patricia's dad once was Blackwater's town marshall. The fact that he was six feet six, and weighed a hefty three hundred pounds of pure muscle probably factored in the town's decision to let him ride herd on the rowdy crowd that filled the town night after night. I'm told things quieted down a lot after Red Stoecker laid the law down; and I have it on good authority that he laid a few of those rowdies right on their skinny bottoms, too. (good thing he and I got along well, huh?)

Oh, yeah. That meandering river is the Blackwater, and it still gives the locals fits when it floods. Good thing Blackwater (the town) is on the high side of Blackwater (the river). So, if you're ever coming down I-70 in western Missouri, look for the Blackwater turnoff. It's a few miles west of Pilot Grove, and an easy three miles north. For those of you who fancy antiques, that is the major industry of quaint, colorful, but almost left behind Blackwater, Missouri.

That's it for this time around. Next week, a visit to a town that has been the setting for a movie, and not just any movie, but a film recreation of Missouri's most famous author. Stay tuned. PD

RISK GETTING BURNED

2011-07-30T14:24:00.000-07:00

There are many ways of getting burned; stick your hand into a fire, buy a piece of inferior merchandise without guarantee, commit to a relationship with an unstable partner. But the one I reference has nothing to do with those kinds of activities. My book, DANCE WITH THE DEVIL, tells the story of how a good man finds himself at odds with devilish forces. Buddy Wilson contends with evil men and evil spirits as he tries valiantly to save the young woman who's captured his heart. Robin Blaik is the woman, and she has her own moment where she faces eternity, helpless to do anything about it.
One of the visitors to our author roast and toast yesterday, urged me to submit a second excerpt of the book. It was not possible to do that, but I promised I would release one today, and what follows should give the reader a sense of why I named the book as I did. DANCE has moments of fun and gaiety, but in its heart, is a deeply troubling vignette of what happens when kids dabble in Satanism. Based in part on true facts from a quarter century ago, the story deepens to the point where some die, some are maimed, and none escape unscathed.
One caution: the excerpt is graphic and violent and not suitable for youngsters to read. Or, if you are easily frightened.

Excerpt:
Late at night the bad bunch came back into the barn. She could tell by their slurred speech they’d been drinking a lot. This could be a good thing or it could turn out very bad. If they passed out, it would give Buddy time to find her. If they didn’t, there was no way to know what this gang would do next.
Several of them disappeared for a few minutes, and then came back carrying a live goat. She could do nothing but watch as they tethered it to the table in front of her; then moved back when Greg took the sword and stood over the hapless animal.
He grinned at Robin and brought the sword down sharply. The goat’s head bounced off the table and landed by the altar rail with the hapless animal’s blood spurting everywhere. This time he took the bowl and shared it with all the others.
While they were drinking from the bowl, Greg came over and placed the bloody blade to her throat. “What do you think now, bitch?”
“I think you’re sick and need serious help. You going to kill me or will you let me go?”
“Oh, yeah. I’m going to let you go for sure. You’re getting a one way trip to hell.” He turned to the others. “Okay, my brothers. It’s time for our special offering.”
His words froze her heart. What did he mean? Surely not what it seemed. Even crazed as he was, he wouldn’t do that, would he? She fought to avoid passing out. Several pairs of rough hands freed her from the rope and straps, groping her as they did.
She’d been restrained so long her muscles wouldn’t respond when she tried to resist. After thoroughly feeling her up, they lifted her and laid her on her back in the pool of goat’s blood. Before she could cry out, someone slapped a strip of tape over her mouth. Within seconds, she was tied down, spread-eagled, and staring up into Greg’s wild eyes. He stood over her with the sword held high just as he’d done with the goat. Terror squeezed the breath from her body as she watched him poised and ready to strike.

The story doesn't end here, but it gets worse before it gets better, if you can decipher that. I hope you'll have a chance to read DANCE WITH THE DEVIL for yourself. You can see how the story comes out, and hopefully enjoy a saga that reminds us that even in modern times, we are not that much removed from the pioneers who settled the land where the story takes place. Life, indeed, does repeat itself. Viva life!

DANCE WITH THE DEVIL is available at: http://www.museituppublishing.com
Or you can find it at Barnes and Noble, and at Amazon.com and other fine booksellers.

A Devil of a Dance

2011-07-15T07:38:00.001-07:00

DANCE WITH THE DEVIL is available now at: http://www.museituppublishing.com
A romantic family saga, the story is set in scenic but remote northern Nebraska, where the natural beauty belies an ugly underbelly where infidelity, incest, and illegitimacy are the local norm.
Rather than give you the typical blurb and excerpt, I want to talk about a time in our recent history when Satanism reared its evil head in our public schools. My tale stems from a couple of decades ago around the time several school shootings occurred, done by seemingly normal kids without motive or logic. The events were shocking and deadly, and left us wondering what had taken over those kids' minds. I can answer that with one word--devil worship. Well, I guess that is two words.
As a teacher in a small community, I witnessed similar events in my school, though our kids did not kill anyone. Rumors spread for months about strange cattle mutilations and small animal sacrifices. Then one day, the rumor mill gave out the word that a baby was to be kidnapped and sacrificed. The child was from a family who feuded regularly with another, and that one had a teen boy who turned out to be the leader of all the evil stuff that had been going on.
Unlike many towns where nobody acted until too late, the leaders of our town acted swiftly, if not wisely, and made such a stink it destroyed the supposed kidnapper-to-be's reputation. And his family's, as well. But it was the end of an ugly little game those kids had been playing; one that almost gave the devil victory.
My book is a work of fiction and absolutely nobody in it actually lived through the pages of the book in real life. Some of the deeds in the book did, in fact, happen, and I'd unwittingly walked my two 'virgin' daughters into the midst of this crowd. We escaped unharmed, though shaken by the events that unfolded.
If you find this chilling, my effort has not been in vain. In an era when self-indulgence has gone amuck, and when children are allowed and encouraged to feel that they are the 'center of the universe', casual acceptance of cute tendencies is a formula for disaster. Be not deceived; all it takes for evil to abound is for good people to do nothing to prevent it. If DANCE WITH THE DEVIL gets that message out, it will have been worth the effort and the twenty year wait to release this story.
I can't close this blog without encouraging you to read my book for reasons other than what I've just revealed about it. It tells the tale of modern times in a wonderful part of America, and how its inhabitants face some of the same uncertainty that their pioneer ancenstors did a century earlier.

I also want to invite you to visit the Muse website listed above, where you can now get your copy of my earlier mid-life romance, SLEEPING WITH HER ENEMY, at a 20% discount. Read about Ana Henry and her struggle to find love after it seemed she had nothing left to live for. Meanwhile, happy reading!
Pat Dale

Character Chat and Contest

2011-05-01T11:04:00.000-07:00

ATTENTION ALL READERS: Who wants to join in some scavenger hunt mayhem and fun for the month of May? Learn more about your favorite authors, their work and their wonderful characters in our Character Interview Blog Bash! Great prizes to be won, as well!

Hi gang, I've got an exciting new contest to introduce to you today! Whimsical Publications is putting on a scavenger hunt, with some great prizes for all who enter the contest. To participate, please send an email to: promorobyn@gmail.com
Robyn White will give each entrant a list of questions you must try to answer. The contest is fot the month of May and you'll have plenty of time to find the answers. At the end of the month, a drawing will be held from all correct entries for several prize baskets.
As for my part of the hunt, I'm sharing a recent chat I had with one of my main characters from my first Whimsical Publication; A GIRL'S BEST FRIEND. Somewhere in the chat, you'll find the answer to my question that will win you a point on Robyn's scorecard.

Character Chat

Hi, folks. I’ve got a man here with me today who’s been there and done that, wherever and whatever. As a former deep cover spy, he’s led a double and sometimes triple life few people experience, much less imagine. For purposes of security, I’ll call him Laz. His cover name was Hayward Lazarus and he’d been traveling around the world as a diplomat representing a philanthropic foundation, Hands Round the Globe. I doubt he’ll kill me for revealing that HRTG was really a CIA front (similar to Air America) that did good work for children in need all over the world. Anyway, thanks for coming by. I hope you enjoy the session.
Pat Dale

PD: Good day, Laz, and welcome. Thanks for dropping by for a chat.
LZ: My pleasure, Pat. Especially since you ended my tale the way you did.
PD: Uh, wait! That’s classified.
LZ: (laughs sarcastically) Isn’t that ironic? I’m the spy but you pull that classified material stunt on me. Pretty funny.
PD: (blushes) Well, I guess I can see the irony in that. I just didn’t want you giving the end away in case our audience hasn’t read A GIRL’S BEST FRIEND yet. I mean, as a man who decided he had to die to save his agency and maybe his country; you gave your all in the cause.
LZ: Yeah. I gave at the office, you could say. Including giving up the most glamorous woman I’d ever met in the bargain. How in the world did you come up with an amazing character like Laura?
PD: Oh that? It was easy, my man. A member of my family was involved in the TV jewelry industry, so that gave me an idea for what she’d be doing. Also, how she’d ever cross paths with a man as elusive as you. The rest was basically simple benign lust.
LZ: Lust? Come on, Pat, how can you lust for a character in a book?
PD: (chuckles) Hey, pal! Readers do that all the time. You mean, you’ve never picked up a book and found a character in it that you dreamed about for days or weeks?
LZ: (nods head) Oh. Yeah. I see what you’re getting at.
PD: Not really. I’m just putting you on, Laz. Actually, I had a friend who resembled the lady I created to appear with you in the book.
LZ: You mean you knew a real life Laura?
PD: Yep. Oh, I changed some of her features to protect my friend. You can do that kind of thing if you’re a writer, you know.
LZ: Lucky you. Really, lucky me! I-
PD: Watch it! You almost did it again. I thought you were a master spy. Surely, you know how to keep a secret.
LZ: (blushes) Yeah, I do. It’s just that being around a gorgeous babe like Laura kind of ties your tongue in knots. You dig?
PD: (laughs) I do indeed. Okay, I’ve got a question for you. Looking back on your adventure, is there anything you’d have done differently if you’d been the one writing the book?
LZ: Hmm. That’s a serious question that deserves a serious answer. Let me think about it for a moment. (pauses, closes eyes)
LZ: (scowls at Pat, smiling ruefully) I’m not sure I could have put Laura through the sexually charged ordeal you got her into in Amsterdam.
PD: Come on, man. You’re a man of the world, experienced and well traveled. No doubt, before you met Laura, you’d had lots of incidents with gorgeous sexy women. Maybe even some events similar to her entanglement.
LZ: (eyes blazing) You implying something about Flame and me?
PD: Hey, my friend, don’t get in a huff. I realize you had no idea at the time what a conniving bitch she turned out to be. Anyway, I got Laura out of it didn’t I?
LZ: Yeah, you did. Good thing, too, or I’d have searched you out and done what I did with my old pal Jeffrey. I’ve got to hand it to you, you created a real bastard there.
PD: If Jeff was a bastard, what would you call Heiny?
LZ: (looks around the room for a sign) Is this show PG rated?
PD: Yes. So?
LZ: So, I can’t use the words in my mind to describe him. You know, looking back on it, I’m not sure but what Laura had a tougher time in your novel than I did.
PD: (bows gracefully) That must mean I was successful in writing a double helix. I wanted to develop two separate storylines moving in parallel, gently twisting them together into one. Hence my tagline; glamour gal and slippery spy ratchet between agony and ecstasy as they search for a way to be together. I think we’d best stop now and let our audience learn for itself if Laz and Laura found a happy ever after.
LZ: (big grin) Yeah! Hey, Pat, it’s been fun. I’d hoped I would have a chance to meet you in ‘real’ life someday. You sure gave me hell in A GIRL’S BEST FRIEND, but what the heck. It makes for a fantastic read. No wonder it’s been highly rated. Stay well, my author friend.
PD: And you, too, my favorite spy! (high fives and fist butts with Laz)
PD: (turns to audience) Thanks to all of you for coming by our chat.

http://www.patdalesblog.blogspot.com
http://www.whimsicalpublications.com

Well, that's it for now. Be sure to contact Robyn to get your scoresheet and good luck. By the way, there are eighteen authors who are participating in the contest and Robyn's scorsheet will supply all the blog addresses you'll need to win. Good luck!

Three Prayers

2011-04-28T09:03:00.000-07:00

In honor of this poetry month of April, I'd originally planned to offer my opening and closing poems from one of my novels. Today, after witnessing the recurrent rath of our natural planet, I'm moved to offer three prayers. Also, I'm reminded once again that we're all stowaways on a rogue spaceship, helpless to plot a course much less determine our personal or collective destinies.
My first prayer is one of thanks for those souls who met their own destiny in the horrendous storms that have swept across the land. No matter how short their span was in human terms, one and all had a life and made an impact on those who knew and loved them.
My second prayer is for the survivors who've been left behind to pick up the pieces of their lives and strive for something approaching normalcy once the shock of loss has diminished somewhat.
My third prayer is for the rest of us to do whatever we can to reach out to those victims. Some of us have physical strength and tools that will help clear away the debris and restore a modicum of order. Some of us have money, and that will surely be needed in massive amounts even to begin to replace what's been lost. Some of us have neither strength nor money, but we can pray to whatever supreme being we ascribe to. We've witnessed enormous natural disasters recently that have taken, not hundreds, but hundreds of thousands of lives, leaving the survivors destitute in goods and in spirit. I beseach you to avoid placing the blame for our misfortunes on your personal God or on any God. Bad things happen to good people just as good things happen to bad people. It's how we deal with the hand we're dealt that counts in the end.
And now for those poems. The first is an expression of my take on the flow of life on this planet.

SPRINGFLOW

Bubbling burbliing brook,
The sound of wishing, swishing water
Rounding, bounding over boulders and pebbles,
The tremolo of ever present, already gone droplets of time.
Now joyful, then wistfull; finally mournful.
Opportunity coming-here-lost.
More promised; always coming,
Blink and they're gone.
The sound, the ripple,
The rhytym of life.

The second is an expression of my take on our journey through the universe, the final couplet being my requested epitaph.

THE ETERNAL ELLIPSE

As rise the lofty mountain peaks, seeming eternal in granite reality,
Upward too we mortals stretch, miming creation in stubborn certainty.

Man presumes too much from far too little,
Living but a jot as he spans the portal.

We expand within our rigid cage, bursting with pride in our endeavor
To break free of this self-made prison, seeking instead the great forever.

Eve, rib of Adam, ever Genesis of man's future soul,
Incomplete in herself, needing him to fulfill her role.

If we could watch from distant skies, earth's clocklike ebb and flow,
Mountains melt before our eyes, Eve reborn in the plains below.

Rain-delivered to earthly womb, form devolved but guaranteed,
The eternal ellipse at last is run, ever changing; forever indeed.

In our desire to stay the same, we miss the meaning of our claim.
Dust to dust, our earthly core; released to fly, our spirits soar!

May the God each of you prays to comfort and strengthen you to endure, to comprehend, and ultimately to triumph over your personal trials. Until we meet again...

A bit of Nostalgia

2011-04-26T10:51:00.000-07:00

Easter has come and gone, and with it, a rare visit with my family. While my children for the most part take me for granted, my grandkids do not, and for that I am grateful. I remember my fascination with my grand parents and understand perfectly. Nevertheless it's gratifying to have a grand daugter come up and ask for my recollections of my childhood.
Needless to say, I have no hesitation about telling her lots of 'very' true tales of my youth. I've written several of them down and she's read them. Now she wants more. Who am I to deny her?
I'm feeling pretty mellow today, having survived a stress-free holiday. I just had one of my favorite books released by Muse Publishing and have another to come out next week. Ten years ago, I despaired that my work would never see the light of day. I needn't have worried. By springtime next year, I'll have eleven books out in either print, eBook, or both. Got to get writing again!
SLEEPING WITH HER ENEMY came out this month and I know I need to promote it. As I said above, it's one of my favorites. One reason is that I was able in this book to immortalize my dog Molly. She's been gone now for a year and a half, yet she still comes up on my desktop every day as part of a rotating wallpaper. I hope you read Sleeping and get to know her.
Molly was a German Shorthair, and had such a 'can-do' spirit, she amazed everybody who met her. Fast as a Whippet, sharp as a tack, and a true sweetheart, she was my Unsinkable Brown Molly. In the book, she plays a vital role in the storyline and displays her real-life personality. Do dogs have personality? I think they do. I know my dogs do, each with its own unique way of approachinig life on a daily basis.
I mentioned nostalgia. In the book I've utilized several real life characters, changing only their names and enough vital info that they'll not be found out. One such is the woman pastor of the canyon church. Jessie actually did just that, only her name was not Jessie. She was an amazing lady, rich in spiritual values, and just the kind of problem solver my fictitional pastor was. One value of living a rich and varied life is having contact with so many fantastic human beings. After a lifetime of experiences, it makes a writer's work easier. And more fun!
I could go on and on, but I think you get the point. SLEEPING WITH HER ENEMY is available at www.museituppublishing.com or on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and other eBook outlets. I urge you to take the plunge and give it a go. I think you'll enjoy the story. If you are truly disappointed, let me know and I'll refund your money.
And just think; how else will you ever be able to get acquainted with my Molly?!
Happy reading, everybody. This is my take. What's yours?
Pat Dale

Confession, Question, Promise, and a Change of Pace

2011-04-15T09:06:00.000-07:00

First, my confession; as a promoter of my writing, I suck! There you have it in a nutshell. It seems that no matter what I do, it's either not enough, too much, or just boring as hell. Why am I in a snit? My upbringing and my training leads me to be respectful of your time and sensitivities. I don't want to offend anyone so I'm reluctant to take an 'in your face' posture in my writing. (That does not include some of my characters, who do on a regular basis things I'd die before attempting.) I just went through the release of another book and tried for six weeks to leave little snippets that would make you curious enough you'd want to check SLEEPING WITH HER ENEMY out. I even offered a free book and a series of free reads. Response: Zero. I'm told that our 'new' social media is the way to go and I'd better get on Facebook, Twitter, etc. ad nauseum if I want to attract a large readership. Oh, really? Does anybody remember MySpace? When it was all the rage, the same things were said of it. Then the 'wave' moved on to each new entity as it ballyhooed its way onto the world stage. Well, I've tried some of these, and I also suck at them. Now for my question. Will somebody, anybody, please check out at least one of my books? I can't help thinking my best advertisement is my work. Read a book and tell someone about it. If you like my writing, tell your friends about it and/or write a review. If you don't like it, please use my email address or my blog address and tell me why you find fault with it. In fact, if you really don't like it, I'll refund your money, subject to my financial abilities. The promise: I will read what you tell me and, if I'm really off, I promise to heed your words. The absolute worst thing I can think of is to feel like I'm talking to myself in a closet somewhere. I want to introduce a change of pace today. Years ago, I fancied myself something of a budding poet. Most of what I put down on paper has long since (mercifully) vanished. But my love affair with words has grown through my maturity and now I write novel-length fiction. I recently pulled up a couple of my oldies, however. After dusting them off, I'd like to share them with you. The first is a poem I wrote during the era of Sputnik. Written in 1959, it foretold the demise of the Soviet Union and their early lead in the race to space.

THE SPHERE

There spins that shiny top, plaything of man’s creation. It goes unnoticed now by those who pulled the string.

They planed, they worked, the keyword was progress

Which they seemed to make with gallant stride.

But the fate that awaits those who walk, gaze held high,

Pulled them in as it lay at their stumbling feet.

Fly on, O Golden Calf, but as you sail through space,

You are but a speck, a splinter, in all the universe.

The second is an early attempt at expressing humility. Imagine my shock and surprise when a number of my peers charged that I had an overinflated ego and a lot of gall. Perhaps its my use of the word god, but please notice I spell it two ways. Could it be that I was trying to express my spiritual nature? I'll let you be the judge. Let me know what you think. Please?

CREDO Oh that it were, that the god in me, Were somewhere out in space; To be seen by those who, with searching gaze, See little of God in me.

TODAY'S THE DAY!

2011-04-08T12:16:00.000-07:00

Hi folks,
Yep, this is the day SLEEPING WITH HER ENEMY is available at: http://www.museituppublishing.com or on Barnes & Noble, Amazon.com, Smashwords, or other eBook distrubutors. I urge you to get your copy and enjoy.
Meanwhile, I'm guesting on Lois Winston's blogspot today at: http://www.anastasiapollack.blogspot.com and I hope you'll drop by there as well. I have a contest on there but it's not the same one I've got going here. So, without further ado, I'm going to give you the last of the six excerpts I promised. Remember they are not in chronological order and the contest is for you to try to determine what the correct order of the six should be. Send your answers to: patdale@charter.net and the first correct entry wins a free book from me. Also, every entry will get back by email a free read from my newest romantic comedy. Now, here's the excerpt I promised. After the excerpt, I'll give a hint as to how to win.

She stared into his gorgeous eyes for an eternity that lasted at least five seconds. Then she grabbed his head and brought their lips together with a ferocity that startled him. Startled, but did not put him off.
Kissing, they somehow made their way into the living room. When the sofa bumped against the back of her knees, she dropped onto its soft surface, pulling him down with her. He followed gracefully, landing on the sofa but not on her.
They cuddled for long moments, their kisses tender and intimate while his hands explored under her robe. It would be so easy to make love to him. That was, once she overcame the persistent image of the petite blonde hanging above them. The idea of mating with Dan was right, but the timing was up for grabs.
She was about to bring that question up when they heard a voice from the top of the stairs. “Daddy? Did Ana go home?”
He jumped to his feet, his face a study in panic, as she struggled to get the robe pulled tight. “No, honey,” he answered, “we’re down here talking. Did we wake you?”
“No. I just wanted to tell her how happy I am she’s here with us. She wasn’t in her room.”
Ana spoke up. “That’s sweet of you, Sherry. I’m glad you like me.”
“Can I come down for a while? I’m not sleepy.”
Dan’s agonized expression made Ana giggle quietly. “I don’t think so, sweetheart. It’s late and you still need a lot of rest to get well. We’ll all have a super time tomorrow,” he called up to her.
“Okay. Goodnight, Daddy. Goodnight, Ana. I love you both very much.”
Ana said, “We love you, too, sugar. Goodnight.”
After waiting several minutes, he shrugged. “Do you think she came down here and saw us kissing?”
“I don’t think so. I hope not. Surely if she had she wouldn’t have gone back upstairs to call to us. Would she?”
“Nope. You’re right. But that was close.”
“What if she had?”
“Oh my gosh, I hate to think about it.”
Her spirit shrank as she watched the lusty man who’d melted her heart turn into a frightened pansy. She realized it could have been embarrassing, but if it were right, how much different would it be than if a child walked in on her parents during intimacy?
“If we’re going to do anything like this again, we have to consider the possibility your daughter will find out sooner or later. If that bothers you, we have a problem.”
The look in his eyes confirmed it. They had a problem. He tried to answer but stuttered nonsense. “Okay,” she said. “That answers that. We’re not out of the woods yet. Not by a long shot if your face is any indication. Maybe we’d better keep our distance until you can work this out in your mind.”
“Me? In my mind? Come on, Ana, you’re having trouble with this, too.”
“Not the same way you are, apparently. When I commit, I commit for better or worse. I’m not into casual petting, even with the most adorable man I’ve ever known.”
“You think I’m adorable?”
“Among other things. And the most frustrating at the moment.” She paused to give him a pained smile. “But we’ll have to work on it. If you were serious earlier.”
“I was.”
“I can handle that.”
“Ana, I don’t know how this happened but I do know one thing. I love you. I never had an inkling of wanting to be with another woman since Peg. What we just did may have been indiscreet, but it was wonderful.”
She kissed him on the cheek. “Yes. It was. Wonderful.”
“But?”
“But what?”
“There was a question at the end of your words, Ana.”
“I was stuck on the word indiscreet. What we did was wonderful, but it was not indiscreet. It was our timing that was questionable.”
“Oh,” he said. “Uh, we didn’t go too far, did we?”
“Oh, we went too far all right.”
“Oh.”
She giggled. “Not in the way you’re thinking, apparently.”
“Huh?”
“You don’t have to worry about kissing me, Dan.”
“I don’t?”
“No. It was just the timing.”
“We’ve already established that.”
“I mean, the timing for us to make love.”
“Oh.”
She giggled again. “You say that word a lot.”
“I do?”
“Yes, you do.”
“Oh.”
This time they both broke out in soft laughter. He grabbed her into his arms and kissed her again. She responded instinctively. She could tell his body was ready, indelibly ready, to move forward. But his mind wasn’t. Until he resolved her place in the scheme of things, this would be nothing more than an exercise in lust.

Now then, all you have to do is go back to my previous posts and look at the six excerpts. Figure out what order they come in, in the book, and send the number to me in an email to my above address. First one with the right answer gets a print copy of my romantic suspense A GIRL'S BEST FRIEND. Everybody gets a free read from my new romantic comedy THE LAST COWBOY IN TEXAS. I guarantee you'll enjoy reading both of them as well as SLEEPING WITH HER ENEMY. And next month, watch for my psychological suspense thriller CROSSED LINES. It's a book you probably won't want to read late at night, but one in which the lady protagonist gets exactly what she wants.
Read, enjoy, enter the contests, and have a great weekend, all.
Pat Dale

Surprise Guest Blog

2011-04-01T08:08:00.000-07:00

Well, hello. You’re probably a little surprised to have me here today. Pat asked if I would fill in for him and I was happy to oblige. My name is Anika Henry, call me Ana, and thanks to Pat, my story will be out next week. Oh my God, what a relief!
I’ve been crammed into this guy’s brain for all this time and had begun to wonder if I’d ever see the light of day again. Let me tell you, there are some strange characters creeping around in that man’s head. Some you don’t dare turn your back on, if you know what I mean. Oh, some nice ones too. Don’t get me wrong, I know Pat’s no pervert. Just saying…
Anyway, he asked me to fill you in on what happened in my life before this adventure began. Hmm, that covers a lot of territory since I’m nearly forty. I married the boy of my dreams when he graduated from the Air Force Academy. J.P. (John Paul) and I had known each other since grade school and I watched him grow up into a fine specimen of a man.
I was so proud of him in his dress uniform. Tall and wiry, he was built perfectly for his Air Force mission, flying fighter planes. I’d gone through nursing school and become a registered nurse but since he got transferred quite often, I never worked that much at nursing. Did I love him? Oh yes, I did. I adored watching the boy I’d teased in school grow up to become a manly hero.
Was our marriage idyllic? No, I have to confess it was anything but, but not because I didn’t love J.P. with all my heart. Then, when he was killed in a silly flightline accident, I was left with our son Paul Joseph. I called P.J. Joey and he became the center of my universe. But I still remember the long nights when I’d have given anything to have had a man sleeping beside me.
We’d lived in Arizona when J.P. shipped off to war one time too many, but when he was gone I couldn’t stand the sound of those planes taking off and landing. We moved to Colorado, to Ft. Collins and my first real nurse’s position. It was a lovely place and I thought I’d solved our problems.
Wrong! That’s when my problems really began.
My job at Front Range Hospital was wonderful. Check that. It should have been wonderful. I was assigned to the children’s ward and worked the night shift. It became a way of life to bring a little cheer into the lives of all those kids who found themselves in a strange place at a very bad time in their lives. Within a short time, I’d gained a reputation as the kids’ smiling nurse.
Joey was not so happy. He’d had to leave his friends at the Air Base and at eight, with no school experience in the new town yet, he had no friends. He nagged me into getting him a puppy so he’d have some companionship. Molly is a little German Shorthair pup with such a positive air about her, it’s impossible to be around her and not smile. Now. After she led him out into the street where he was hit and killed by a car, I wished her dead for awhile.
God, thinking back on that gives me shudders! As I already said, he’d become the center of my universe and, with him gone just like that, I had no one to turn to; no place to go. I honestly considered ending it all. But I didn’t follow through. Oh, there was one time later I almost did it again, but that’s part of the story and Pat just came back in and threatened to do bodily damage if I spoil my, uh, his story.
Anyway, now you know something of what happened to me before SLEEPING WITH HER ENEMY begins. Enjoy the story; I’m sure you will. Pat may be a taskmaster but he’s one heck of a storyteller as you’ll find out next Friday, April 8th, when Muse Publishing releases ‘our’ story. Happy reading, all!

Hello, folks. I hope you enjoyed hearing from a truly gutsy gal. You're going to love her, I'm sure. Now for the fifth installment of excerpts. Remember, after next week and the sixth one, there will be a CONTEST to see who can guess the correct order of them. Don't worry if you've missed one or two. I've got a hint next Friday that will get you caught up. The winner gets a free paperback copy of my romantic suspense novel, A GIRL'S BEST FRIEND. And everybody who enters will get a free online 'unedited' chapter of a new romantic comedy I'm finishing now. Here's the ex:

Ana was about to step out of the shed when she looked back. The windshield was smudged on the right side. She wedged herself past the side of the car so she could get a better look at the front of it. On the right side, the molded headlight was cracked and there were tiny dark flecks on the fender. When she bent to get a closer look, her breath caught in her throat. Blood!
Old and dried, black with oxidation, but it was definitely blood. On Dan’s car. With a broken headlight. And a slight indentation in the hood above the light.
The combination of the headlight, the blood, and the dent were too much. Her mind rewound the horrible accident where Joey’s body would surely have done this kind of damage as he bounced off the speeding car that killed him. The shed shimmered and went dark.
“Ana! Ana! Please wake up. You’re scaring me!”
She sensed rather than saw the little blonde girl leaning over her where she’d passed out. When her eyes opened, she tried to smile but couldn’t. “I’m sorry, Sherry. The damage on the car reminded me of something.”
“It must have been pretty awful, the way you screamed.”
“I screamed?”
“Enough to scare the elk in the meadow clear to the other side of the mountains. What scared you?”
“Nothing, really. I’m okay now.”
Sherry shook her head. “I don’t think so. You’re white. Are you sick?”
“No, honey. I’m fine. Really. I’ll tell you what it was that scared me, but I’d rather your father be here when I do.”
“Okay. Can we go back outside and play with Molly now?”
“That’s a good idea. You go on and play and I’ll close up the shed.”
She waited until Sherry was out of sight and glanced at the car again, sure it was identical to the one she remembered. But there’s no way it could actually be the car. Could it...

Now if that doesn't get you wondering, nothing will. As you might guess, this is the jumping off place where Ana's life really goes into the tank. 'Nuff for now. Cheers everybody, and happy reading!
Pat Dale

KNOW YOUR CHARACTERS

2011-03-26T14:14:00.000-07:00

As most of you can testify, I usually don't write in caps. This time, I did. Why? Because it's important to me that you get my message this week. After a decade and a half of writing and struggling to become a published author, I've come to the conclusion that there are a few things a writer can do that will make her/him successful. Looking back, this is chief among them.
To write a character into the imaginary world you create, you must be 'in the skin' of your person. That means you have to know how they think, how they feel, how they will respond to things that go wrong in their lives. What will they do when their plan goes awry, when they fail at whatever they've tried to succeed at, when their best friend betrays them?
Remember, it's when things go wrong that a drama takes flight. All's well is so ho hum, though a bunch of it is necessary to keep the drama from becoing frenetic. But when things go bad, your hero goes into action. Knowing what that action will be is key to the success of your most ardent plotting. How does it feel to love a man and walk into a room to find him making love to your worst enemy? To count on a woman to bail you out of a serious situation, only to learn that she's the one who put you there?
My advice; write the 'book' on each main character. Go to school on them and take copious notes. Then, DO NOT (note the caps again) under any circumstances turn what you've learned into an info dump in the middle of your novel! Use what you need, as you need it, and save the rest for your memoirs. Know more than your reader needs to know about your character and you have the makingss of a great hero.
That's my take on it. What's yours?

Today, I want to share another of my character chats with you. Then I hope you will stick around for the fourth excerpt from my upcoming book: SLEEPING WITH HER ENEMY.

It’s the guys turn so we have Dan Morrison (Sleeping with her Enemy), Laz (A Girl’s Best Friend) also known as Rick Diamond, and Matt Riley (Don’t Bet On It). All three had to overcome negative reputations to win out in their stories. Fortunately, all are strong men with plenty of guts and determination. Dan, Rick, and Matt visit with Pat Dale, and give him a bit of a hard time.

Pat: Welcome, gentlemen. Thanks for dropping by to chat with me today.
Dan: Glad to be here, though I should be upset. You darn near got me sent to prison. Why did you do that?
Pat: Sorry, Dan. I didn’t originally plan to, but when I realized Ana had to find your car in that old shed, I was stuck. I could have let you off easy, I suppose. What then might have been because Ana was cheated out of the truth of what happened to her little boy? Would that have been more fair?
Dan: I guess not. Oh well, all’s well that ends well. And I am thankful for the end you came up with.
Pat: (puts finger to lips) Shhh. Don’t give it away. SLEEPING WITH HER ENEMY is not due to be released by Muse Publishing for two more weeks.
Dan: Oh, sorry.
Matt: What about my storybook ending? I don’t mind admitting it came out a lot better for me than I’d envisioned when I dived into the flaming water to save that crazy Bud. Even while I was pulling him out of that fire and into Howie’s boat, part of me wanted to knock him in the head and let him burn.
Pat: Wow! He must have got to you more than I realized when I created that scene where he went bonkers.
Matt: Are you nuts? I know my character profile called for me to be cool and calm, but I was anything but that. Especially when he abducted Casssie and I thought he might kill her before I caught him.
Laz: Hey! You sound like you should have been in my line of work.
Matt: What line was that, Laz?
Laz: Deep cover spook service, courtesy of a C.I.A. brainstorm, or C.Y.A. as I called them. I played the part of a diplomat traveling all over the globe, collecting intelligence data for my country. And occasionally mixing it up with various enemy agents.
Pat: (laughs, but hesitates when the others just stare at him) What? You guys jealous that Laz got all the glory for solving the mystery I set up for him?
Dan: Jealous! He just about got himself fried on that damn boat. And then blown to bits in that old Mustang. Why would a sane man be jealous of that?
Matt: I agree. Compared to what you made him go through, I guess I can’t complain about the tough duty you gave me.
Laz: Hold on, mate. You call romancing a sexy doll like Cassie tough duty?
Matt: Well…
Pat: Whoa, you guys. I gave all three of you gorgeous ladies to protect. That’s the 'real' tough duty my heroes have to live up to if they’re to make it into one of my stories. Fighting for your life is one thing, but to stand up to a strong woman? That's hazardous duty in any man's language.
(all three laugh and pass fist butts around)
Matt: Granted, Pat. Cassie is the Alpha and Omega of my days left on Earth.
Pat: Earth?
Matt: Your version of Earth, I concede. And the kids, Candy and Bobby, are awesome! We're going to be a fantastic family.
Dan: Matt, you just made me think. For Sherry and myself, Ana's the dawning of a whole new existence. Thanks, Pat. My story could have turned out a whole lot worse!
Laz: Okay, guys. At the risk of turning this into a campfire session, I have to admit something. With an angel like Laura blessing my life, how can I ever complain? Answer, I can’t. So thanks, Pat. I'll quit my bitching now. (gives Pat a high five, followed by fist-butts all around)
Pat: (looking embarrassed) Hey, you three! You all did just fine, following what had to be the hard way to find your way into the ladies’ hearts the way you all did. I appreciate your willingness to take action as I worked it out. And you all faced possible death to do what had to be done. That’s why I call each of you true heroes that your lady readers will fantasize over. Just don’t tell your girls you've got your women readers panting, will you?
(all laugh again and shake Pat's hand.)
Pat: Well, folks, I guess that’s a wrap for today's chat. Thanks for coming by and listening to these three hunks mix it up. If you’d like to know more about what they went through in saving their damsels in distress, I hoope you'll read their books.

Now for that excert. Remember this is three from the end, so I'm initiating a count-down today. This one is THREE!

Why did I think moving to Colorado would help? The disturbing question reverberated in Ana’s mind as she trudged down the hall, staring at the glimmering nightscape across Fort Collins. From the window of the children’s ward in Front Range Hospital she could see dozens of tiny flickering lights mimicking the stars in the night sky. A wonderful sight for those into wonder, but a curse for Ana who no longer wondered about much of anything.
It was past time to worry about why she’d come here so she wrenched free of her depressing thoughts. Get on with it, Ana. Finish your rounds and get out of here. She walked into Kim Jones’ room and “got on with it” as she had for more than two months since…
“Hi, Kim. How are we doing tonight?”
The girl tried to smile but was in obvious pain. “Okay. I shouldn’t complain.”
“Why not? Sweetheart, this is the perfect place to complain. I have your meds.”
The girl took the capsule and water with a grimace. “This stuff always makes my stomach hurt.”
“I know. But it helps your muscle cramps, and we don’t want those, do we?”
Wrinkling her nose, Kim swallowed and lay back with a hint of a smile. “Thanks, Ana. I know you’re just doing what I need. If I’d been smart enough to stay off that dumb skateboard, I wouldn’t be here with a broken ankle, making problems for you.”
“Honey, if the sky were filled with all the what-ifs, there wouldn’t be room for the stars. You’re not a problem.” She patted the twelve-year-old’s shoulder. “You go back to sleep. We’ll check in on you later.”
Back in the hall, her mind exploded. She was a good one to talk about what-ifs. They circumscribed her entire world, and the blue funk was back. To make it worse, her next stop was the one she dreaded.
The boy was eight. Joey had been eight. This boy’s dark brown curly hair and blue eyes reminded her so much of her late son. She sucked in a deep breath and went through the door.

Don't forget my contest. I've released excerpts that give a heads-up into the book. When all six are available, you can enter a chance to receive a free book by giving the correct book-order of the six excerpts. They're being released in jumbled order. The first answer, sent to my email, indicating the correct order will win the book. And all of you who enter will receive a free read; the first chapter of my new romantic comedy, THE LAST COWBOY IN TEXAS.
SLEEPING WITH HER ENEMY, to be released April 8, 2011 as an eBook by MuseItUp Publishing, features Dan and Ana, along with his daughter Sherry and Ana’s dog Molly. It will be available at MuseItUp Publishing, Barnes and Noble, Amazon, and several other outlets.
DON'T BET ON IT is available as an eBook from Red Rose Publishing and can be found at Amazon, Smashwords, and other outlets.
A GIRL’S BEST FRIEND is available as a trade paperback from Whimsical Publications and can be found in paperback or eBook at Barnes & Noble, Amazon, Smashwords, and other outlets.

So, get out your Nooks, Kindles, Sony Readers, or other eReaders and load up these three fun reads. Thanks again and happy reading, everybody! Pat Dale

Media; social or anti-social / Warning: may be caustic

2011-03-18T07:46:00.000-07:00

I've been trying to sort my thoughts on the subject of social media and what it can mean for the aspiring authors among us. After following trend after trend for a time, I'm not sure but what it's a conspiracy to trap all us wannabees while leaving the true path clear for cany writers who know better.
Let me explain my position. Several years ago I joined an up and coming online group. Early on, they had a couple hundred members and were growing as so-called chick lit gained popularity. Within a year they'd grown to over eight hundred and still going up.
It seemed to be the place for those of us who dared challenge Bridget Jones' Diary or one of the few successful stories of that season. And there were many challengers! A few of whom could actually write. The 'genre' was deluged with wannabees and the whole thing began to show signs of cracking. Hence, "Is chick-lit dead?" became the question of the day.
I noted during the 'rise and fall of chick-lit' that many writers more or less disappeared from the scene. Later, after the online group changed its name and its membership shrank to a workable number, many of those who'd gone awol began to show up again. On the cover of books they'd written while the rest were still scrambling over one another for attention. I'm pleased to say the group is still going strong, though now mostly a posting site for accomplishments and serious writerly questions.
On to facebook, twitter, pitter-patter, and so on as nauseum. Nowadays, we have a crowd of wannabees who swarm whatever media presents a modicum of success in attracting 'readers'.
I remember well what happened in my high school, enough years ago it would shock you, when we all wanted to stand out but we wanted to do it together. Talk about tempest in a teapot! Ah, but there is yet beauty in the beast. Just ask those 'chick-litters' who spent their time writing rather than 'connecting' and are now reaping the reward of their quiet industry.
Wonder why most/all true writers tend to be somewhat anti-social? Loners? Willing to wall themselves away from everybody for days or weeks at a time? To go without declared 'success' for years? To put aside worries about being popular as they craft their reader-grabbing tales?
Remember, the media we most need is in the promotion of our efforts to: wait for it! READERS!
That's my take. What's yours?
Now for the weekly excerpt from SLEEPING WITH HER ENEMY:

After a night of fitful sleep, Ana awoke to one certainty. She had to know for sure whether Dan was innocent or guilty. He meant too much to her to cut their relationship off like this. And as for Sherry, there was no way she could leave the girl wondering if her father had done something so terrible.
The Larimer County Sheriff’s office would be the place to start. It had happened in the city but since she’d found the car in the county, she dialed that number. Before the call was answered, she considered putting the phone down, but didn’t. What if he were innocent? What if he were guilty? Surely they would find a good explanation.
The dispatcher listened patiently while she explained what she’d found and why it might be relevant. After a long wait on hold, the sheriff came online. “This is Sheriff Clayton, Mrs. Henry. You think you found the car that ran over your son?”
“I don’t know. I hope I’m wrong, but the damage is right where it would have been and the car is identical to the one I saw that day.”
“Well, there are a lot of cars on the front range that probably match the car in question. Any thing in particular that makes this one stand out?”
“You mean, like flecks of dried blood on the car beside the destroyed headlight?”
“How can you be sure it’s blood?”
“Sheriff, I’m an experienced RN. I know blood when I see it, even months old dried blood.”
“Okay, lady. Sorry, but I had to ask. Guess it won’t hurt to check it out.”
“I’m not at all sure it won’t hurt. The owner of the car is a good friend of mine, a very good friend.” Her words made her want to cry. “Well, he has been until now.”
“Let me run this by the Fort Collins people that worked the case and I’ll get back to you. What is your number at home?”
She repeated it for him. “You’ll call today? I have to work second shift at the hospital tonight.”
“I’ll call back within the hour. If you’re right, we may be able to put one of our cold cases to rest.”
The man’s brusque manner didn’t set well with Ana. “I’ll expect your call.” She hung up just before her sobs of anguish echoed off the walls of her home.
Thirty minutes later, she was still sitting at the desk when the phone rang. The sheriff said, “Okay, Mrs. Henry. I’ve got the file in front of me now. We’re going up there to check out this car. Will there be anyone up there, do you know?”
“I don’t think so. Dan—Mr. Morrison works in Wellington and his daughter spends the day with her babysitter.”
“Would you like to be there when we check it out?”
It was an unusual request, she knew. Cops notoriously did not want civilians getting in the way. “Are you sure you want me there?”
He chuckled. “Actually, it’s the Fort Collins detective that worked the case who wants you there. You must have made quite an impression on him.”
She remembered the big bulldog who’d shepherded her through the torture of her son’s death. He was gruff but also a decent man. “You mean Detective Albers? Will he be there?”
“Yes. The city and county work together as much as possible on cases like this. What do you think?”
“I think wild horses couldn’t keep me away. Should I drive myself?”
“That—or we could pick you up and take you.”
“I think I’d like that. Don’t think me flighty or emotional, but if it is the car that killed my son, I’m not sure I could drive back down those curves safely.”
The trip up the canyon had been fast. Too fast, but Ana realized these guys were accustomed to the territory. The familiar detective, who’d been standing beside his car waiting for them, recognized her and waved when they pulled up.
“Hi, Mrs. Henry. How are you?”
“I’m fine, Bill. I guess. This business has me pretty rattled.” She preferred not to say how rattled.
“How in the world did you come upon the car?”
“It’s a long story. Wild coincidence, really. The man who lives here brought his daughter into the hospital for treatment one night recently. I got acquainted with them and he invited me to visit. While I was up here, his daughter showed it to me.”
Sheriff Clayton cleared his throat. “Where’s the car, ma’am?”
She led them around to the shed and pulled the door open, and reached in for the light switch. The car was there, just as it had been the day before, but when the men worked their way to the front, the metal was clean and shiny. Clayton spoke. “I see the broken headlight and the dent in the hood. Where’s the blood, ma’am?”
“I—I don’t know. Isn’t it there? It was definitely there yesterday.”
“Where?”
She scooted up and pointed to the area where the flecks had been. Obviously, Dan had cleaned it up before heading for work. “I’m sorry. I guess he washed it off.”
Albers laughed. “I’ll bet he did, especially if this is the perp’s car that did the deed. Washing it won’t do him any good.”
“Really?”
“Yep. Forensics will find it if it was there.”
She gawked at his smiling face. “But it’s gone.”
Clayton interrupted. “Not really. Let’s get out of the way while our people work.”
Fifteen minutes later, the forensics team emerged from the shed, smiling. “We got it,” the blonde woman said, holding up a swab that glistened red.
“What did I tell you?” Bill Albers patted her on the shoulder. “Now, we’ll have to take the evidence in to compare it with our files. If it’s a match to your boy, this guy’s in serious trouble.”

There you have it, folks. Three in the can and three to go. I hope reading these will whet your appetite for the book, which is to be released in three weeks time. Til next week, happy reading!
Pat Dale

Shaking it up

2011-03-11T07:49:00.000-08:00

I'd planned to write about another aspect of fiction writing but this is not a day for that. The major earthquake in Japanl, with its accompanying tsunami, is the talk of the day. For good reason.
Again, we are reminded just how puny we humans are as we cling to the globe we were fated to populate. My prayers go out to those who found themselves in the path of nataure's fury this day. Nobody planned for this to happen, nobody wanted this to happen, and nobody is to blame for it. We sometimes forget that we are survivors here; that, no matter what we'd like to believe, we survive or succumb at the whim of natural forces so great we can do nothing about them.
Perhaps that is over-reaching the point. We have done something that helps a bit. Our devices that warn us of impending disaster are able now to help some avoid the worst of a natural disaster, and I'm thankful for that. But my point is that we can do nothing to avoid the event itself and can only stand prepared to take shelter or evasive action.
Let me attempt to focus this on our writing. We can and should learn everything about our craft. We can and should strive for excellence in each and every page we allow others to see. We can and should edit, rewrite, remove, revisit, and edit some more before we call our effort complete. Even then, we must be ready to accept a good editor's criticism in order for our 'baby' to be born with any chance of survival.
Then, when it's out there, we have to stand by with prayer in our heart for it to find traction and live on its own. That is the hardesst part, especially when the new book is only one of many 'babies' born at a given moment. There are things we can do to help it along, but for the most part, it has to take root in the hearts of readers before it has any chance for longevity. Some will die, stillborn. Others will expire of whatever dread disease we could not have forseen or, even if we could, we could not avoid.
So, today, I'm offering up a prayer that your best literary efforts are successful. And we would be remiss if we did not offer any help we can give to those on our planet who just suffered once again from natural disaster (I refuse to call this 'mother' nature.)
The second in the series of excerpts from my upcoming novel SLEEPING WITH HER ENEMY is below. Be sure to read my previous blog for details of my contest. Cheers from sunny mid-Missouri.
Pat Dale

excerpt:

“Mr. Morrison, you got a visitor, a Sue Stansworth. Says she’s your sister, down from Chadron.”
“Sue’s here?” Dan stared at the deputy and grimaced. His family must have learned of his problem. Well, sure they did since he’d asked for them to be contacted to take care of Sherry. “Can I see her?”
“Yep. We have a visitor’s room and I’ll put her in there. The guard’ll bring you in and you two can make whatever plans you need to.” The guard added with a grin, “Other than breaking out of here.”
When he was led into the room, he found his sister nursing a cup of coffee. “Hi, Sue. Sorry to cause you to come all the way out here.”
“Dan? What in hell has happened to you?”
“It’s all a big mix-up. Peg’s car somehow got used in a hit and run accident that killed a little boy and they think I was the driver.”
“Good grief! That’s awful. Were you?”
“What do you mean, was I? Of course not! Sue, you know I could never do anything like that. If I had hit someone, don’t you think I’d at least stop to do what I could for them?”
She smiled sadly. “The brother I knew would have. Unless you’ve become a different person, I don’t see how you could possibly have done this.”
He scowled. “Well, thank you for small favors, sister of mine. I haven’t changed. But they have blood evidence that Peg’s convertible was the one that did it.”
She took his hand and squeezed it. “Sounds like you need a good lawyer.”
“Now that’s something I have. His name is Patrick and he’s the best around these parts. It’ll take some time, though, and that’s why I need to talk to you. Sherry needs a home until I can get out of here.”
“How is she taking it?”
“Not well, if I know my daughter. Can you believe she actually wanted to stay with the woman who blew the whistle on me?”
“You’re kidding. Who is the woman?”
He hesitated. It would be trickier explaining his romantic entanglement to his sister than he’d thought in advance. Maybe if he skirted the issue it would work. “The nurse who attended Sherry when she was in the hospital.”
Sue said, “Whoa! Sherry was in the hospital? What happened to her?”
“She got an infection and was running a fever. I panicked and took her in, but they got her back on her feet in a couple of days. In the process, I met Ana Henry, her nurse, and we spent some time together.” His flaming face was a dead giveaway.
“Ana, huh? Sounds pretty uppity to me.” Sue smirked. “Quality time, Dan, or sack time? Sounds like the nurse did a little more than just be a professional caregiver.”
Blushing, he admitted, “A little more.” He didn’t want to confess how much more, at least not yet. Sue was his closest ally right now, but even she might balk at his taking a new lover. “Uh, she came up to the house to help Sherry learn how to clean her feminine area. That’s what caused the infection that made her sick.”
“Oh. I see.” It was clear to him that she didn’t see.
“There’s a little more to it than that, but for now that’s enough. Anyway, while Ana and Sherry were walking around up there, Ana found the car in the old shed. When she looked at it, she realized it had been in an accident.”
“So how does that make a friendly nurse suspect that your car hurt someone?”
“Not hurt. Killed. The little boy died.”
“Oh my God! They’re accusing you of killing an innocent child?”
He dropped his head. “In a nutshell, you could say that.”
“Dan, this may be a real mess before it’s over.”
“Tell me about it. Now you know why I need a place for Sherry to stay. It may go into the school year and I don’t want her living with strangers.”
“I can understand that. And yes, she can stay with me while you unravel this thing.”
Sue was married, but she and her husband had never had children. In her forties, his sister had given up on motherhood. Maybe this could at least give her a chance to develop mothering skills. Dan hoped so.
Sue frowned at him. “You still didn’t answer my question. How did this Ana figure into the scheme of things? Enough to call in the law?”
He groaned. This was the tough part. “It was her son that got killed.”
She stared at him, unbelieving. “The nurse your daughter was assigned at the hospital, had a son killed by a hit and run driver. Turned out, it was your car that hit him. And you took her to your home to help your daughter. Lord, have mercy!”

Be sure to log in next week for the third excerpt. Please let me know what you think.

My, now things have changed!

2011-03-05T07:32:00.000-08:00

I remember it well. I'd had a satisfying career in music performance and a frustrating one in teaching. I'd spent a few years in the world of business (lucrative but dull). Now I would set the world of literature on fire by becoming the latest "famous" fiction author. Yeah, right. Uh-huh.
Writing was no problem for me. I'd held my college profs spellbound with my imaginitave short stories. This would be a piece of cake. All I had to do was sit down and whip off a novel or two and send them off to various publishers, breathless to grab my manuscript and turn it into gold.
Oh yes, how I remember that. If you can stop giggling, I'll go on with this. I'm not about to turn this into a gripe column so you needn't worry about that. I'm thankful the world of publishing has made such sweeping changes while I've continued to hone my craft. But, back to my story...
I wrote a 130,000 word masterpiece in a short three months and it was good. Very good. Only thing was, I could not get my muse to shut up so I could whisk the gem off to an editor. Little did I understand that a book is only done when it says its done; after countless hours of editing and rewriting, cutting and pasting, sleep time when my brain could reload and come back with fresh eyes.
After turning to a professional writing course with a real live mentor, I realized that the idea of "whipping" anything off and getting it published was a myth. At my mentor's suggestion, I wrote a new book while she looked over my shoulder and gave me countless tips on how to do the many things a real author does. It was better in many respects, but my original effort contained so many things I wanted to say, I could not scrap it. So I wrote another, and another.
Fifteen years ago, I had several choices when I felt my MS was finally ready to consider becoming a published novel. I could solicit an agent, who would take my precious baby and sell it to the best publisher. Or, I could try to get it in the hands of a competent editor myself. In the late nineties, I had a choice of at least half a dozen major publishers and a spectrum of minor ones. All print media; paperback, hardback, but all inscribed on the side of a lot of trees.
I'd just finished my fifth novel when my late brother tried to talk me into e-publishing. It was a brand new way to get published and virtually all of my professional writing group contacts poo-pooed the idea, saying it was only another way to self publish and would get no respect even if it found an audience. I made a furtive effort and got a response from one of the first e-publishers. The editor loved it and after I met her at a writing conference I was assured it would be one of her high priority projects. Two months later, she got a better offer elsewhere and the new editor hated my book. End of story. Well, not quite. But that's how it went.
Meanwhile, I kept writing. And submitting. And piling up rejection letters, enough to build a huge stack in the corner of my office. And then something else happened. Something I'm still not quite able to unravel. The publishing world went through a series of seismic events and when the earth finally stilled, there were far fewer print publishers, large or small. And the ones who'd survived had developed an even nastier attitude against novice authors. "Be famous and write a tell-all and we'll shower millions on you," seemed to be the watchword of the day.
All the while, I was filling my quiver with sharper and truer arrows. And the e-publishers had largely avoided the pitfalls of print media. The advent of efficient and relatively inexpensive reading devices have put the final block into place and now we have a new problem as authors. Which e-publisher do we offer our books to? Many of us have made wrong choices and felt the sting of having one or more of our novels caught in limbo when a publisher went belly up. Including me. Well, friend, its no different than any other life event. Pick yourself up, dust your book off, find a better publisher and do it all over again.
One thing I can assure you of; each time you have to go over your manuscript to resubmit it, you'll be able to improve it. And that's why I'm thankful things have made such a change over the last decade and a half, and especially why I'm happy to have been caught up in it. The future never looked brighter in my estimation. And, among other things, why I'm looking forward to the release of my new "last chance romance", SLEEPING WITH HER ENEMY next month by MuseItUp Publishing.
Now, as I promised last week, here is one of six excerpts from the book. Remember, the six will not be released in their chronological order from the book. After you've been able to read all six, you'll have a chance to enter my CONTEST by picking the correct order of the excerpts as they appear in the book. The first entry with the correct order will win a copy of SWHE, or if youve already bought it, any of my other published books. All entries will receive a free read from me; namely a chapter of a new romantic comedy I'm finishing as we speak. THE LAST COWBOY IN TEXAS is one of the funniest books I've written to date. The entire book will be released in chapter by chapter free reads as future contests evolve. Now, without further ado, here's that excerpt:

Ana was standing over Sherry, checking her temperature, when a harried-looking man came in. “Hello.” Pointing to the girl, he asked, “How is she?”
“Asleep.” She shushed him with a finger to her lips and motioned him into the hall. “You must be Sherry’s father. I’m Ana Henry and I’ll be her nurse tonight.”
“My name is Dan. Dan Morrison.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Morrison. Her temperature has dropped a bit but it’s still high. She’s a sick little girl.”
“I know.” He clearly didn’t want to emote, but couldn’t hide the gleam of tears she saw in his eyes. “I shouldn’t be so emotional about this. Sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry for. You love your daughter.”
That was the moment she let her guard down. She rarely looked into anyone’s eyes anymore but this time she did. Sea mist green and so full of pain.
“You’re very kind, Miss...I’m sorry. I’ve forgotten your name already.”
“Actually it’s Mrs. Henry. I’m a widow.” Why did I tell him that?
He stared into her eyes. “I’m sorry. You’re so young and—”
“My husband,” she cut in, “was a pilot in the Air Force. He died while fighting in Afghanistan.”
“Oh. I’m so sorry.”
She winced at the man’s reaction. Every time people learned what happened, they began walking on egg shells. She’d been down this road so many times she wanted to scream. “It’s okay. It’s been a few years and I’m over it now.” That’s a lie. I’m not close to over it.
“I didn’t mean to pry, Mrs. Henry. Actually, it’s curious that we share such an experience. My wife died of cancer two years ago, right here in this hospital. I think I’ve finally got it behind me, and then something like this happens and I realize I haven’t. Sherry’s all I have of Peggy now and I can’t stand the thought of losing my child.”
Tell me about it. She forced herself to focus on him. “I was about to take a break when they called me to get Sherry settled in, Mr. Morrison. Care to join me? We can go to the cafeteria for coffee if you want.”
“I’d like that, if you don’t mind spending time with a blubbering fool. Talking to you is helping me get my nerves back under control. This has been a jolt.”
“I don’t mind at all. In fact, I’d enjoy your company.”
In the nearly deserted cafeteria, they got coffee and rolls and headed for a clean table. She noticed his clothing for the first time, faded jeans and a dark blue short sleeve jersey with a Denver Broncos logo emblazoned on it. “I see you’re a Broncos fan.”
“Yes. I have season tickets.”
“Wow. You must be one of the lucky ones. I’ve heard their waiting list is long.”
“It is. We waited seven years for ours. And then after we got them, we’d only been to five games wh...” He disintegrated into a shaking husk of a man.
She reached out to touch his arm. “I’m sorry, Mr. Morrison. I didn’t mean to bring back old memories.”
“I wish I could stop it, but with Peggy gone and now Sherry sick...”
“It’s okay. You won’t lose Sherry. She’ll be fine in a few days.”
“I hope you’re right. If anything happened to her, I don’t think I could make it.”
Don’t I know about that? Joey was my security blanket and when his life was snuffed out, I lost it big-time. “Dan—do you mind if I call you by your first name?”
“Not at all.”
“Do you have any close friends you can talk to?”
“I have friends, yes. Peg and I had a group of friends from church. Why?”
“I won’t pretend to be a professional counselor, but a few years ago I faced a similar situation. One thing I learned was to talk to friends about my late husband. Sounds maudlin, but it helped. After a while, I could talk about JP without losing it. Once I passed that threshold, my life got better. Still not great, but better.”
“I haven’t been able to talk to anyone. At first I would have, but our friends were so afraid of saying anything wrong they avoided me. I’m sorry to say I took comfort in my isolation. But I did talk to Sherry. A lot.”
“I can well imagine. Your daughter became your confidant. That’s good in a way, but it can lead to other problems. I had the same experience with Joey, but I found I needed more. There are some things you just can’t tell your kids.”
“Yeah.” From his expression, he was waiting for her to explain who Joey was. Keep your mouth shut, Ana. You’ve already said too much.

Be sure to check my blog out next week for the next excerpt. And, please, leave a comment on here or at my email address to let me know what you think. Happy writing and reading, everybody!
Pat Dale

Upcoming book release: Sleeping with her Enemy

2011-02-26T09:01:00.000-08:00

Well, folks, here we are in mid-Missouri with another wintry day on our hands. We had a touch of spring last week and we're all spoiled now. But the nice days are just around the corner, and so is my latest novel, SLEEPING WITH HER ENEMY, due out from Muse Publishing in April. I've got several things planned to celebrate another new book release, and this is the first of them. But before we get on with my character chat, I'll explain some of what I've planned.
Beginning next week, I will release an excerpt from Ana's story each week for six weeks, culminating with the actual release of the book by Muse Publishing. The six excerpts will not be in correct chronological sequence and readers can post what they think is the correct order of the excerpts as they appear in the book. EX: not 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, but maybe 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 Send in as many entries as you want. (HINT) If you read the book when it comes out, you'll get it right. The first one I receive that is correct will derive a free copy of the new e-book. Or, if you've already purchased it, any of my other published books. And all entries will net you a free read: a new romantic comedy I'm working on called THE LAST COWBOY IN TEXAS. It's about the funniest thing I've written to date. Each time I do the excerpt thing with a new release, I'll give all of you a new chapter of the book to read. If you stay with it, you'll be able to read the entire book for free. I guarandamntee it will make you laugh.
More about that next week, when the first excerpt of Sleeping will come out for your perusal. Now, on to the main item for this blog.; Pat Dale's Character Chat.

(Camera focuses on three women; light blonde, pale blue-eyed Ana Henry Morrison, of Fort Collins, Colorado; honey blonde, azure blue-eyed Lucy Fox Hillen, of Sweetcreek Kansas-near Kansas City; fiery redheaded, cerulean blue-eyed Hattie McCall Trimble. )

Ana: "Hi, you two. I've heard so much about both of you from Pat. It's good to be able to put faces and names together."
Hattie: "It sure is. So you're Ana, the famous nurse from the Rockies. I hope you don't get homesick down here in flat old Misssouri."
Ana: (chuckles) "Not at all, and from what I've seen so far, the show-me state is anything but flat. Not like Ft. Collins, but it's really very scenic down here."
Lucy: "Did you bring Sherry with you?"
Ana: "No. She had school and Dan had to work, but I'm sure Becky will take good care of both of them."
Lucy: "Becky? She the girl you and Dan more or less adopted?"
Ana: "Yes, but she's not really adopted. Just lives with us and works in my med clinic up in Poudre Canyon."
Lucy: "That girl went through hell, didn't she?"
Ana: "And then some. Just imagine that some creep has made you pregnant and then threatens to kill you if you blab about the terrible thing he did."
Hattie: "That would be hard to take. I think I'd be tempted to knock his block off."
Ana: "Maybe. But Eddie was a really mean kind of kid. Becky was scared to death of him, so much so that she tried to OD just to end things."
Lucy: "Gruesome end for him, but poetic. Pat really did a job on that dirtbag."
Hattie: "He sure did. Hey, guys, want a fresh cup of coffee. I brewed some up before we got together."
Ana: "Sounds good."
Lucy: "Me, too. So, Hattie, you live on the other side of the state?"
Hattie: "Yep. Brad and I moved to Farmville after I sold the Leadburg Mercantile to Pinchpenny Wilson. Brad's the editor of the newspaper there and I teach high school English. Oh, and I also run the New Mercantile we built after moving down there."
Ana: "You guys are really industrious. Are all Missourians this energetic?"
Hattie: "You kidding?" (she laughs) "Some of us are go-getters I guess, but thte pace is a lot slower over where we live than some places. What about Colorado?"
Ana: "It's pretty much a rat race out there. Oh, some folks are still laid back and easy going, but all the easterners that moved there are busy trying to recreate what they just escaped from."
Lucy: "That's human nature for you. Hey, Ana, when Pat asked us to get together, I dreamed up some questions for you."
Ana: "Let 'em fly, Lucy."
Lucy: "What if Dan hadn't been able to prove his innocence after he was arrested and accused of running over Joey?"
Ana: (sighs) "Oh! Well, I'm not sure about that. It chills me to think how close he came to paying for that damn Eddie's crime. I guess if Jessie were here, she'd say God had it all in His hands. It would have turned out okay in the end. Really, I don't know. I'm just glad I didn't have to find out. That was scary!"
Hattie: "Speaking of the lady pastor, Jessie Everett I think her name is, do you guys still go to church up there in that canyon?"
Ana: "We sure do. It's close to home and convenient. Besides, Jessie helped us all so much, I'd never think of going anywhere else to worship. I have to confess, before I met Dan and Sherry, I'd avoided church like the plague."
Hattie: "I know what you mean. We still go back up to the church in Leadburg because it was our families' church ever since I was a little girl."
Lucy: "Little girl? Hattie, no offense, but you're still a little girl. What are you, five two?"
Hattie: "You nailed it." (grins) "You know dynamite comes in small packages." (she begins singing) "Five foot two, eyes of blue, but oh what those five feet can do!" (all three break out in laughter)
(Pat Dale enters room)
Pat: "Hey, looks like you gals are having a great time. Glad to hear the laughter. Sorry I'm late. My editor posted the final edits for DANCE WITH THE DEVIL and I had to get them back."
Ana: "No problem. After the story you put me through, I realize how tough it is to put down just the right words so your characters don't have to suffer...(makes face at Pat)...NOT!"
Lucy: (laughs again) "That is so NOT true, Ana. I can't speak for your story but this jerk put me thorugh my paces. I almost lost Thom before he finally got his head out of his-uh, ot of the bag he'd pulled over it." (chuckles) "Did you know our esteemed author made him go all the way out to Reno just to make sure that mean old Sherry really got a divorce while she was out there?"
Hattie: "Yeah, I read that. But then he let you fly out there to get married. You didn't mind that, did you?"
Lucy: "No. Even pregnant, it was a thrill to fly over the mountains to meet the man of my dreams. Okay, Pat, I guess Hattie put me in my place."
Pat: "Lucy, Lucy, I love you. Didn't you know that? The purpose of that whole story was to let you avoid growing old without ever experiencing true love."
Ana: (tears in her eyes) "And Pat wrote mine so I could get back to the land of the living. Living and loving. I was about to end it all before the story came to life."
Lucy: (turns to Hattie) "Speaking of pregnant, do you and Brad have any plans for adding to your family?"
Hattie: (blushes) "Well, (pats her tummy) we've got a little girl in the oven right now. She'll be born in about four more months."
Lucy and Ana: "Oh, that's wonderful!"
Ana: "Brad sounds like a really neat guy. He'll be a good father too, I'm sure."
Hattie: "How about you, Ana? Any storks flying around Poudre Canyon where you live?"
Ana: (blushes) "Storks! Hattie, really, that's not where babies come from."
Hattie: "I know, but that's the way we talk about things over where I come from. So?"
Ana: "Okay, okay. I didn't want to talk about it but we've decided to put all our efforts into helping Becky get on her feet as a young adult. At forty, I'm old enough to be her mother. And Sherry needs my love and attention. So, no, we're not having any babies of our own."
Pat: "Maybe I can add something here. Ana and Dan have talked about becoming a foster family. When Becky goes off to college, they plan to bring in a young boy or girl so Sherry will have someone to shepherd. They have a great place for kids to grow up."
Hattie: "Yeah. Hey, Ana, you said something about Missouri being scenic, but I'd love to live up in the mountains where you do."
Ana: (takes Hattie's hand and squeezes it) "It is kind of a mountain heaven, I admit."
Pat: (turns to camera) "Well, folks, that's about it for now. We've got to wrap this up but we'll be back from time to time with other character chats. Hope you've enjoyed this one with three of my favorite characters. (as camera fades to black, all three ladies converge on the author, hugging and kissing one another.)

Thanks for dropping by, everyone. Oh, for those who don't know these ladies, Lucy is the heroine of my romantic comedy GOLDIE'S BEAR and Hattie plays that role in FOR THE LOVE OF HATTIE. Both books are available at Red Rose Publications, along with DON'T BET ON IT, featuring Cassandra Sizemore, from whom you'll hear more in the recent future.
Happy readin' and 'ritin',
Pat Dale

A good snowy day read

2011-02-06T11:26:00.000-08:00

Hello again. After a raft of interruptions due to weather, schedules, and my usual winter blahs, I'm back with a review of the book I read yesterday. It's a doozy and I wanted to share my thoughts with you. Thanks for stopping by. Let me know what you think, as always. Pat Dale

I’ve just finished reading Muse Publishing’s RESURRECTION GARDEN by Frank Scully and I have to say it’s a novel well worth your time, especially if you like an occasional stroll into yesteryear. Scully has skillfully woven a story that draws you back to the beginning of the last century, where battle-scarred Jake Turner hunts down local criminals, endures the elements (always a consideration in the northern high plains), and struggles with the war going on inside himself.
An Army veteran with enough accumulated guilt to sink a ship, Turner has given his life over to a part time job of deputy sheriff. For a sparse room to lay his head, he battles bad guys for a boss who’s more into personal politics than getting the job done. Jake loves to make things grow and helps local farmers with their fields and crops when he’s not chasing one fugitive or another. With a perhaps undeserved reputation as ‘the executioner’, his lack of self-worth is painful to watch as he holds his friends at arm’s length.
He rescues a runaway boy, Andrew, but fails to respond to the boy’s adulation of him. Even after his best friend Isaac’s sister Alice comes west, encouraged by a series of letters Jake has exchanged with her, his self-doubt prevents him from seizing an opportunity to settle into a normal lifestyle. Only after he’s apparently run away from everything he loves, does the reader realize that Jake Turner has a plan. In the end, complete with a hideous secret revealed, he gets the scum he’s chased all over God’s creation and the story resolves.
Written in a style somewhat reminiscent of Zane Grey, RESURRECTION GARDEN gathers momentum like an old steam train, until you reach a point where you can’t put it down without finishing it. Yes, the author tells the story rather than showing it, but he is a storyteller and his style fits this mesmerizing saga. As a published author, voracious reader, and one who experienced life through two thirds of the twentieth century firsthand, I can appreciate the ways of the world the author draws us into.
While I wish he’d not thrown in an occasional grocery list as he describes life as it was back then, these little quirks do not take away from the depth of Jake Turner’s story. Overall, I’d say kudos to Mr. Scully for a story well written. And thanks for showing us that, on a clear day in that amazing part of the world, one can indeed see forever. I anxiously await Mr. Scully’s next offering. My rating: Four Stars

Wishing you much good reading, I heartily recommend this book.
Dale Thompson (aka Pat Dale)

Comments?

Musings on the death of a princess

2011-01-09T08:37:00.000-08:00

I'm sitting here staring at my brand new 23" widescreen LG monitor, in something of a stupor. The tragic shootings yesterday in Arizona have wiped away all cogent thoughts regarding fiction writing. Earlier this morning, I watched an interview with the mother of that sweet nine year old girl who was shot down along with a congresswoman, a judge, and over a dozen more innocent victims. Her mother was clearly heartbroken, as was the interviewer.
Yet, they were able to talk about the girl and how their (and her) faith would carry them through this tragedy. Unable to focus on more aspects of the event, I turned the TV off and went to a Sirius sattelite classic music channel for comfort. What were they playing when I tuned in? Ravel's Pavanne for a Dead Princess. Mrs. Green had just called her deceased daughter a Princess. I couldn't speak for minutes after the last poignant note died away.
I have a grand daughter who is nine. Thoughts about what would happen if it were my Maren who had been standing there when that deranged monster began firing crossed my mind. Would I have the strength to answer questions and share my heart with the world at large?
I'd like to think so. We all would, I'm sure. But my grand daughter has been prevented from being able to choose whether she wants to go through life with faith in a living God because her father and mother have fallen prey to the incoherent rantings of countless professors and an amoral media who believe, fools that they are, that they are too intelligent to fall for religion.
My daughter had no such restrictions as a child, and accepted Christ early in her life. Sadly, she apparently does not remember the time when, as a first grader in Catholic school, she fell down a flight of concrete stairs. One of the sisters went to her and began praying to Mary. She told the sister to pray to Jesus because He was the one to pray to, not His mother. She also witnessed miraculous healing events that took place in our family and other clear evidence that God exists.
Sadly, as an adult she now 'believes' there is no god and her parents are fools for continuing to believe. How would she handle this if it were her daughter who'd been shot by that madman? I don't know, but my prayers in addition to the victims of the shootings and their families are for her and her bull-headed husband to reconsider the matter of faith. If we're all basically just overgrown monkeys, what's the difference anyway?

I have many other thoughts on different aspects of the brutal crime that was committed in Tucson but they'll have to wait for another day. Today, I thank my God that more people were not slaughtered by that poor fool and pray for Him to watch over the survivors, giving strength and recovery to each one of them and their families. If you would like to comment, please do so but I ask you not to bring up political considerations at this time. Just remember, people kill people, not guns. Or knives, or clubs, or any other inanimate things. Bad things happen to good people all the time; conversely, good things happen to bad people all the time. And one of the risks of our great form of government is that bad people will commit this kind of crime. An open and free nation depends on our being able to walk freely and speak freely. If we close our doors and our mouths, living in fear that someone will do this to us, we've already lost. They don't need to fire a single shot to shut us down. Shortly after that happens, we'll no longer have a democracy to enjoy.
My thoughts on a sad, sad day in America.
Dale

Concept of Renewal

2010-10-25T07:18:00.000-07:00

When something in your life gets stale, can you find a way to renew it? Over the past few days, I've learned something about renewal. I hesitate to tell you all how ancient I really am, but my body had been stiffening to the point I needed help to get to my feet. I thought I was staring eternity in the face. One of our two dogs has been having a similar problem and I assumed he was nearing his demise as well.
My wife had been looking for something to give the poor creature to ease his pain and, when she read that condroitin and glucosamine might ease his joint pain, got an idea about me. We found that human products were a fraction of the cost of the animal equilivant and only missing a proprietary ingredient the drug makers put in to make their product exclusive. She got it at a dollar store for less than most discount stores charge and I took my first dose, not expecting much of a change. The very next day I moved my limbs freely and pain free for the first time in a long time. Wow, what a difference!
It's been three days and I feel ten years younger. I did more yesterday than I could have done in a week before. Doggie had his first dose yesterday, and this morning jumped to his feet and came running. This is a eureka moment for the two of us. Don't know if fate has been put off a bit longer but I can enjoy what time there is left. I know, sounds a bit dour, but forget that. I'm ready to go for what's in front of me and not worry about my inevitable demise. Yeah, babe!
On another front, my writing had begun to slip into that stale category, too. I'm doing my pre-planning for NaNoWriMo and last week put down enough back story that I'm ready to begin writing, plot and character arcs well in hand. This has happened before, several times, but I manage to forget how I renew my writing verve, over and over again. It's back and I'm ready for it! That also makes me feel ten years younger.
How about you? Has your prose gotten weary on its feet and stiff in the joints? Sometimes a little pill called inspiration can get you jumping to your literary feet just as one of those things I'm taking got me jumping to my physical feet. My literary inspiration?? It will be revealed in due time. Stand by for a super story that will be born standing on its feet and ready to run!
Cheers,
Pat Dale

Genealogy anybody?

2010-10-17T17:01:00.000-07:00

One of my daughters is fervently involved in recreating our family ancestry. I've often wondered about certain members of my family but I always put off researching the subject. Now, though, I can see why she might be concerned.
Lecia is almost forty and starting to have some health issues. She's asked a lot of questions which I always try to answer as completely as possible. She is not willing to take enough for enough and has instituted a search into the past. It turns out, my maternal grandfather was cursed with atrial fibrilation and it was a contributing factor to his death at age sixty-six. That woke me up. You see, I've been troubled with the same heart condition for at least a decade. My father had the malady but it didn't contribute to his death. An accident during abdominal surgery caused the cancer in his bladder to spread rapidly.
So I've got this crazy jazz-like rhythm going on in my heart because of genetics. And all this time, I thought it stemmed from my love of the music I played for years. My answer is much more poetic, don't you think? But no, I got it coming and going; both sides of the family. We also share a blood idiiosyncrasy known as 'factor five'.
That explains in part why at least two of my daughters have had health issues related to that wayward factor. And why I should give a darn about genealogy. Turns out, it's fascinating. When I go online to research members of my family, I usually spend at least an hour and often more.
I've seen the death certificates of a number of ancestors; a bit chilling but also instructive to know that they could write and spell a century or two before I landed on the planet.
How many of you have developed your family tree? Any notable citizens turn out to be related to you? Any infamous ones?
Hmmm...
Lots of questions here, and just maybe fodder for new storylines. Just what a writer needs, especially a fiction writer. As we all know, fiction is truer than fact in most cases. Well, we do, don't we?
TMWYT (tell me what you think)
Pat Dale

Are you happy with your writing?

2010-10-04T07:13:00.000-07:00

Not as simple a question as it seems at first glance, is it? Actually, I'm less concerned with true happiness than with how my state of emotional well-being affects my creative output. On the one hand, I can't afford to be too pleased with my WIP if I expect it to achieve acclaim and acceptance. On the other, too much nit-picking and frustration lead to stagnation, and that ain't good either.
Let's break this thing down a bit. I have to admit it's nice to sit in a comfortable office, clacking away at my keyboard, immersed in all the trappings a successful author could hope for. Pleasant music in the background, temp and humidity optimal, a good meal in my tummy, and my dogs at my feet to field my outbursts of temper or elation. What could be better? If this does not make me happy, what will?
Maybe best seller status for my latest release? Maybe a three book contract sold on a mere sampling of the first two books? Perhaps, a national TV book tour, including all the major networks?
Would I be happy if I never sold a single book, but neither did I have a single rejection letter staring me in the face? When is a project truly finished? Finally, does it matter if my characters come to life in my head but never see the light of day?
Lots of questions and a myriad of answers, all correct and none false; at least not to the one who gives her answers to this forum. I'm truly curious--strike that; I'm ravenously anxious to hear what all of you have to say about what makes you happy in your writing.
I must close this post with an apology for the hiatus of the last two weeks due to illness; my own one week and my dog the next. I had a short term flu bug that made a most unwelcome return engagement week before last. Then last week, my one year old pup tried to eat an acorn. He'd swallowed linoleum, plastic, metal, shoes; you name it and he'd eat it. But not the little acorn he gobbled up while on a run in a local park. Darn dog nearly died on me. Can't have that happening; he's the inspiration for my NaNoWriMo output next month. Oh yeah, I'm doing it again. I just sold the book I wrote in that exercise two years ago, and I've got this idea for a truly funny story centered around a large dog who thinks he's people.
Let me know what you think about happiness in writing. Meanwhile, may the creative bug bite you in the, uh, spot that gets you slamming words into your chosen method of writing. Cheers, Pat Dale

How old are you-really?

2010-09-14T13:42:00.000-07:00

Hi all. Here I am with my regular Sunday evening blog, right on time as usual. NOT! Sorry for the delay, but personal circumstances intervened.
Last week's topic seemed to strike a chord with a number of you. I really appreciated all the comments, which ranged from an affirmation of my own to some rather disparate views; all valid and succinct. Thank you all.
This week I'd picked a topic and Craig Buck's comment from last week affirmed it; the question of age. I'm going to put my own take on this right up front this time. My spiritual age (or, if you prefer, creative age) has nothing to do with the degree of degradation my physical body has endured. After saying that, let me hasten to say that I believe there are factors that do age one, creatively.
After ruining one perfectly good marriage, I jumped right into another, totally ignoring psychologists' advice. We're still together forty two years later. Not that there haven't been bumps along the way; there have. Some serious ones and some not so serious. Because I believe that the totality of my existence is what feeds my creative mind, I'm certain that the disparity in ages between my mate and myself accounts in some measure for my ability to still sound relevant after all the chronological years I've accumulated.
My wife is sixteen years younger than me. Yes, I was one of those dastardly college profs who married his student. It cost me a career and put my sweetheart at a distinct disadvantage for years, but out of it has come a romance that could well be a successful novel, and two bright beautiful daughters who continue to make us proud. Beyond that, I can still relate to younger people, though that is fading and I'm near the end of my creative value as a fiction writer. Well, maybe not, but the world is changing so fast it's hard to keep up any more.
So I'm a septogenarian with a creative drive that's late fifties and a spirit that knows no age limitation. When I was five, I looked up into the night sky at all the twinkling stars and thought, 'somewhere up there is my real father.' Don't get me wrong; I had wonderful parents that I loved and I knew I was their progeny, physically. But I had this 'knowing' inside that my inner being belonged somewhere beyond Earth's bounds; a heady thought for a five year old.
Do any of you recall having mature thoughts while you were still children? My guess is that you did, even if you don't remember it. Now I'd best get this posted before my aging body refuses to leave my comfy chair. So, how old are you?

Who is a professional writer?

2010-09-06T19:32:00.000-07:00

In my college training to become a professional teacher, I was reminded by a professor that a true professional is something like a hired gun. Paid to bring understanding and edification to a group, a professional teacher, using his own skills, must teach what he's being paid to teach.
Using that standard, a professional writer would be paid to write what readers demand, would he not? Employing all the skills and devices at his command, the writer would write cozy mysteries if that was most in demand; or historical romance if that the hot button of the day.
Where then, does that leave the writer who knows what's in his head and his heart to write, regardless of whether it is popular or not? Assuming that writer uses equal skill and devices, would his work not be the equal of the other?
This is not rhetorical. I honestly do not know the answer. In fact, I was never able to blithely accept that professor's assertion at face value. When I was active in the field, I often found myself challenged by local citizens who wanted my band to play nothing but Sousa marches, or sports addicts who insisted my band play only pop tunes 'everybody' would appreciate. Where, I asked myself, did the musical education of my students enter that picture?
In much the same way, I find myself tempted now to fill a burgeoning market; one I've been assured will bring me more sales and spread my reputation as a fiction author. Therein lies the rub--that the reputation I want spread is that I have something significant to say to my reader. If I'm only a diversion, a few hours of distraction from the cares of the world, why should I care?
Chime in here. Tell me if you think I'm going wrong. I read and consider every comment that comes my way and I appreciate those of you who have shared your thoughts. I hope you'll continue to do so.
Cheers,
Pat Dale

Day Late and...

2010-08-30T10:48:00.000-07:00

Actually, I'm only eighteen hours late. Sorry, but it's football season and I got caught up watching one of my old favorites beat the stuffing out of one of my old unfavorites.
Well, I'm a man. Don't you expect me to go bannanas over football? My wife does; been bracing herself for this since last month. Didn't help. But she was able to comandeer the TV for an hour to watch the new design star Emily on HGTV. I think Emily's going to be a hit.
I have a question for you, an eggs in the basket kind of question. Is it better for an author to pick one publisher and stay with that one through thick and thin? Or would you spread your goodies around to several publishers? These are not trick questions and I don't have the answer. I really want to know what you think, either way.
I have three books with one publisher but, when my editor there decided to start up her own company, I knew I wanted to follow her and now have three more books in process there. In the meantime, I'd submitted several other books to various publishers and have one about to go into editing with one of them. Also, I have my first print book, out since last month, and another submitted to that publisher.
It looks like I've chosen the 'don't keep the eggs in one basket' camp. I haven't; at least not yet. In the publishing world of today, I'm not sure about much of anything except the fact that the day of nice advances on genre books is coming to an end. Since I see no way to gain sufficient notoriety to secure those top-end contracts, I want to choose publishers I think will not go under before my books have a chance to find an audience.
If you don't agree, tell me where I'm going wrong. Meanwhile, happy writing!

Dale

Hurry up and wait!

2010-08-22T16:46:00.000-07:00

Years ago when I was in the military, hurry up and wait was a phrase in common use. It was the military way to do things. Now I find myself hurrying and waiting as my writing career develops.
First, I want to report on our friend, Sharon Donovan. All I really know at this moment is that she is recovering from heart surgery and is scheduled to enter rehab this week. I'll share more as I learn it. Let's all continue to keep her in our prayers.
Now, as for this week's theme, I've hurried edits and then waited months as my 'baby' glaciers its way to publication. I've met 'hurry up' deadlines to get a manuscript into the hands of editors and then I wait months to learn whether it will be accepted or rejected. There are several steps in the publication process where the author feels hurried but fears upsetting the powers that be.
It happens. That, I can accept. I also realize that there are times when nothing can be done about it. I can accept that, too. What I have a hard time accepting is when the other party seems not to care that I'm on pins and needles as I wait, in the dark and worrying that I've done something wrong, or that a simple message keeping me in the loop takes little time or effort but would mean a lot to me.
How do you feel about the times you're left in that 'no communication window' similar to what NASA experienced as a shuttle re-enters Earth's atmosphere?
What do you do while you wait? Wait! I know! Keep writing, right? That's the conventional wisdom anyway. Once I got used to the accordioning that goes on in the writing world, I began to work on multiple manuscripts, doing preliminary work on a future project, hammering away the final passages of my WIP, and editing finished projects.
Once in a while, I have a story that gets under my skin, representing some truth or value that has personal meaning for me. Those are the ones where I die a thousand deaths as I wait. And those are the ones that become a nightmare for my writing muse. I've been on the planet too long for it to affect me this way, and yet it does.
Of course, all those supposedly knotty problems work out in their own good time. Afterward, I can look back and laugh at my insecurity. Having lived this cycle several times, one might think I could remember the outcome and not worry about it. Ha!
Am I the only one who is like this?
Let me know your thoughts and feelings on this or any other subject. Your writing pal,
Dale

When Fate Calls

2010-08-15T17:11:00.000-07:00

I had planned to sound off about another aspect of writing, but something happened to a dear friend this week. Since Sharon Donovan had her heart attack and subsequent heart surgery, I've been contemplating the capricious nature of life on this planet. We're all train wrecks happening in slow motion. We know we're going to crash one day and we can do nothing about it other than try to live safe and healthy. Sometimes even that isn't enough.
One of my favorite authors, Robert B. Parker, died earlier this summer. I didn't know him but loved his books and assumed from his photos that he was pretty healthy. One day, he just died. His illustrious career was over; his race run. Was he in the middle of his next Jesse Stone mystery? If he was, will anybody step up to finish the work on it? Could anybody do that in a way that doesn't seem artificial?
And there's my dilemma. It's not Sharon's writing I worry about at this point, nor is it Robert's. I have four novels sitting on my desktop, waiting for me to offer them to a publisher. All they need is a contract and an editor's help in bringing them to fruition. In addition, I have three more in progress but not complete. If that conductor in the sky janks my chain and I come crashing into the curve and off life's track, who will finish them for me? Can anybody do justice to them?
About now, some cynic in our midst is asking, "Who cares?" Actually, that's a very good question. What does it matter if a composer hasn't finished his last symphony, or an artist his latest canvas? Or an author, his next blockbuster novel? Why should any of it matter?
What I have come away from all this introspection with, is that creative artists in any medium are sharing a part of themselves with the world. Unlike most people, we are willing to bare our souls in public. But we usually do it in code. I'm convinced that we can read any good author's work and deduce who that author is at her/his heart. I know I let my hair down in my books. I could tell you what to look for and you'd have no trouble finding me in the pages and the 'hearts' of my characters. That, however, would not be fair and so, if you want to know what matters most to me, you'll have to read my work and discover my codes.
Just a little something to tease you with, my theme is constant and it's pretty simple at its heart. If my readers come away with that theme, my work has succeeded whether I'm still around or not. And whether my last book is finished or not. When the great archangel sounds his trumpet and I answer the call from eternity, my work here will be done. I find great solace in that.
Till next time, your friend and author.
Pat Dale

That was the week that was. Or TW3 redoux

2010-08-08T16:48:00.001-07:00

Fifteen minutes of--what? Fame, that's what! Local fame, at least.
Yeah, I got the royal treatment from my local press last week. My international romantic suspense A GIRL'S BEST FRIEND came out in trade paperback last month so I told a nice reporter about it. Next thing I knew, she had me come in for an interview and a photographeer took my picture.
Forty eight hours later, guess what? My ugly mug and a very nice article appeared on the Saturday edition of the Sedalia Democrat. Front page, no less. Now I'm notorious. It won't last. Nothing around here lasts very long. But it was an ego boost when I needed one, and I had a number of people comment favorably on it.
I have a book signing at Sedalia Book and Toy on August 27th, and this will help that as well. Funny how you work for years among friends, family, and acquaintances with nary a mention of any special talents you might have. Then, something like this happens.
Well, enough of that. The fifteen minutes are up and I'm not sure I got my three wishes in. Oh wait, that's a different fable. Now that things are back to normal, I've been thinking more about the amazing changes rocking the publishing world. As I understand it, Dorchester is throwing in the towel on mass paperback traditional print publications. They want to 'pioneer' in the burgeoning electronic publication market. Pioneer? Where the heck have they been for the last decade and a half?
For those of us who still prefer a processed tree in our hands to a melted lump of plastic, print books are not going away any time soon. On the other hand, for anyone who wants to take her/his entire library along on a vacation without overloading the car or plane, e-books are the answer. I've waited a long time to see my creative efforts in a form I can hold in my hand, sign my autograph for those who want it, and point to on my book shelf. Now it's here and I can revel in it for awhile.
Really, though, the idea of having my book available for years at the touch of a button is just as intoxicating. Maybe more. POD makes that possible for print books. Electronic download makes all books available until they are withdrawn by publisher or author. Meanwhile, traditional print novels are available for a month to three months in most cases. Longer, if the author achieves a significant level of fame, though that is not guaranteed.
Nobody has a crystal clear handle on where all this will lead, but we can deduce a few facts that can act reliably as markers for the future. A quick analysis of sales figures and it doesn't take a genius to see that e-sales are up and typical print sales are down. The day of significant advances is drawing to a close, so now we write; we publish; and then, maybe, we're paid for our effort.
The maybe in that last sentence is like the proverbial back-breaking straw.
If we write for money, it's all a roll of the dice. If we write for that 'fifteen minutes', it's still a roll of the dice. If, as I do, we write fiction stories because we can't not write them. what does it matter?
I've always been an optomist, so why stop now? Write for the love of the story. Put unforgetable characters on the pages of your fiction and your readership will grow, whether they prefer to read your story from a piece of paper or the screen on a reader or computer. Put your heart into it and write like your fame depends on it. Because it does.
Cheers from hot mid-Missouri!
Pat Dale

Fifteen minutes of--what?

2010-08-08T16:48:00.000-07:00

He's Baaaaack!

2010-08-04T16:08:00.000-07:00

Hi guys! For a pretty good writer, I'm just about the dumbest dodo on the planet when it comes to navigating blogs and websites. It took my genius wife (don't tell her I said this-please?) to sort all this out so I could get back on here to begin my regular blogs again.
Short hiatus--only seven months!
Today, I've been a guest on Sharon Donovan's blogspot, where she interviewed me for my new print release A GIRL'S BEST FRIEND. We had lots of visitors, many interesting questions. and it took me most of the day to be able to answer our commentors. Ah well, Rome wasn't built in a day. But neither was the internet, whatever that means. LOL
I'm going to make this one short because it was unplanned, and because my ten month old hundred pound Pyrenee/Malamute puppy is demanding my attention. Believe me, when he talks, people listen!
Seriously, I'll be on here from now on every Sunday evening with a weekly post. I've got lots to talk about, starting with MuseItUp Publishing. More about them and what they're up to Sunday.
Cheers,
Pat Dale

Things to do on a snowy Sunday

2009-12-27T10:40:00.000-08:00

Better late than never. At least that's the conventional wisdom. So here goes, my first blog.
I've got two romance novels available at Red Rose Press with a third due out in two weeks. I had a psychological suspense novel published by another press, now defunct. Guess you'd have to say, things are looking up. Whimsical Publications will be releasing a romantic suspense in a few months and Awe-struck Publications has just contracted for another romantic suspense. I'm turning into an overnight success after only fourteen years of writing and learning the fiction business. LOL
Meanwhile, it's Sunday again and this one is snowy--really snowy. I've been around the planet long enough to know better than to go for a drive on the highways on a day like this. Especially on this day of 'we got to grandma's just fine so now let's try to get home in one piece' traffic nightmare.
When I was a kid, you would have found me outside building a snowman, a snow fortress, having a snowball fight with anyone willing to exchange volleys of snowballs with me. Those days are gone forever, thankfully. I emerged from that with my eyesight intact, notwithstanding an occasional onslaught of rock-laden ice-balls.
Then there were the days of sledding down Shepherd Mountain through my home-town of Ironton, Missouri and across the railroad tracks some five blocks from the hillside. Those days are also gone forever and I still have two legs, two arms, and one head (though the latter only works part time).
I could go on through this melancholy meander down memory lane but I think you get my drift. Nowadays, my industry is given over to writing characters into situations they'd rather not be in. So, on most Sundays, snowy or not, you can find me at my computer pounding away on my latest effort. Oh, and I find Sunday a perfect time to blog so I'll be doing this each week.
I invite you to come see the tangles my 'virtual' family gets into by logging onto my website at: http://www.patdale.net Check out what's happening in my world. Thanks for dropping by. Come back any time and stay as long as you like.
Cheers,
Pat Dale

P.S. Leave a comment if you have time. Tell me some of the things you've done on snowy days. They may spur me on to write them into one of my stories. And maybe they'll do the same for you.