A Writer's Universe: Inside or Outside

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

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

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

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.