Showing posts with label writers blog. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writers blog. Show all posts

Wednesday, February 28, 2018

Book Excerpt #1 - Intensification - Pen Pals and Serial Killers Story Three

Happy Wednesday, everyone! Today, I'm scheduled to give you all an excerpt of my WIP, Intensification. Warning: It's not for the feint of heart. This excerpt will introduce you to both main characters, Detective Hank Reynolds and Claude. I hope you enjoy it! As a side note, Provocation is with the proofreader, and a release date will be coming at you soon! If you missed the first two excerpts from that book, check them out here and here. Grab your coffee, or tea, and let's get going!

First, a little about the book:

Title: Intensification - Pen Pals and Serial Killers - Story Three
Author: Jo Michaels
Genre: Psychological Thriller
Length: Looking like it'll be around 70k
Release Date: TBD (Spring 2018 for sure)

Blurb:
Detective Hank Reynolds has just been handed the case of a lifetime. Another reality TV star has gone missing, and it’s up to the Atlanta police department to find her before it’s too late. While he’s digging around, he discovers there have been nearly twenty similar kidnappings in the surrounding areas over the last twenty years, and while trying to find out more—and a witness that’s still alive—he’s dragged into a past he wishes he could erase. His dreams become nightmares about the women, and his sanity unravels. Even his eyes begin to play tricks on him, but no hallucinations are as devious as the antics of the killer—who’s always one breath away—waiting for the chance to strike again.

Now for the excerpt!



Chapter One
Claude

Rolling over, Claude’s eyes fell on the clock. Ten p.m. He grinned. That would give him plenty of time to do the things he wanted to do and still be back before it was time to get up and get moving for the day.
His feet made no noise as he padded down the hall to the garage, and he disabled the alarm system before opening the door. Careful not to knock anything over, he made his way in the dark to the table on the other side of the room and slid it to one side. A few wrenches hanging from pegs banged together, but there was no noise otherwise. Every night he went out, he was more grateful he’d thought to put the rollers on the legs. Once the table was slid aside, he stuck his pinky finger through a hole in the sheetrock and pulled.
It swung forward easily, the hole the only indication there was anything there. Inside were the articles he’d worn every night: A gray coverall, high boots, and a baseball cap with his favorite team’s logo emblazoned on the front.
He chuckled as he pulled it on, the NY turned toward the back. F--- the Red Sox and the horse they rode in on, he’d be a Yankees fan until the day he died.
Carefully, he folded the pajamas he’d been wearing before and put them in the hidey-hole, closing the door softly. His boots were in his hand, and he waited until he was safely in the alcove of the side door before slipping them on his feet. It wouldn’t do to leave prints from boots he wasn’t supposed to have anywhere inside.
Hands in his pockets, he stepped to the sidewalk, casting his gaze both directions before turning left and scurrying down three blocks then going right. His house was the fourth one on the left in the cul-de-sac, a large Tudor with an impressive privacy fence, a high gate, and only a few lights on inside that backed up to a large, wooded area. Before he went up to the door, he grabbed the mail out of the box, snickered at the fliers inviting him to shop at one store or another—they really didn’t want him anywhere near their establishments—and threw everything in the neighbor’s recycling bin.
It had been nearly a week since he’d been able to come home, and he could almost hear his beauties calling out to him. His hand shook as he put the key in the lock and turned, the excitement he was feeling threatening to boil over and consume him whole.
Claude dashed in and spun to engage the deadbolt, also sliding the long chain into place. Once it was locked, he allowed himself to relax. He peeled off the hat and boots, leaving them near the door, and the next to go was his coveralls. No clothing was required in his home, but he preferred to keep the boxer-briefs on. Sitting on chairs in the nude just made his balls sweaty, and he wasn’t about to suffer the discomfort.
As he walked through the kitchen, he swatted Alice on the ass and whispered in her ear, “I’ll be back in a few minutes. I have something to take care of first.”
She giggled in response, and he checked her wires to make sure she was secure before moving on to Nadine.
“How are you tonight, my love?” he asked, caressing her beautiful, brown face.
“I’m excellent, Claude. How are you?” Her sweet voice was like milk and honey to his ears, and he kissed her on the tip of her nose.
“Wonderful. Glad to be home.” After checking her wires as well, he ignored the other ladies and went for the door to the basement. He glanced around to be sure no one was watching and pulled his key out of its hiding place under the plant nearby.
Door finally unlocked, he gave it a hard tug, enjoying the cool hiss of air as the seal broke. He stepped through and pulled the door shut all the way, re-engaging the locks, before hitting the switch to turn on the light. The LEDs nearly blinded him, and as soon as they came to full strength, she started screaming.
Again.
There was no need to run or get angry, so he whistled as he made his way down the steps to her cage, laughing to himself the whole time.
When he rounded the corner, something whizzed past his head, and he ducked back.
“Easy now. You sure you want to throw things at me, madame?” He’d been working on his French accent, and it was nearly perfect.
“F--- you! Let me the f--- out of here, you f---ing psycho!” Her cage bars rattled.
“That’s not a nice way to speak to me, cherie. I saved you.”
“F--- that!” Her voice was so shrill, it echoed off the soundproof walls and bounced around like a pinball.
He winced and leaned out a bit so he could see her. There was nothing else nearby for her to throw, and her hands were empty, so he stepped all the way out and smiled at her. “Cherie, I’ve missed you.”
She backed away from his side of the cage, flattening her body to the back bars, her eyes wide and fixed on his approaching form.
That was the reaction that made him feel most powerful—when they moved away as though they could sense there was something dark inside him.
“I recognize you. You were that guy on the news, huh?”
“No. That wasn’t me.”
“Then your twin brother? I don’t understand how you two can be so diff—”
He launched himself at the bars. “Shut. Up.”
Laughter sprung up and out of her.
“Don’t you dare talk about things you have no knowledge of, or I’ll end your life right now.”
“That’s what you plan to do anyway, right? So why should I give a sh-t if you care what I’m saying or not?”
“Because what you say is the line drawn between whether you enjoy your death or have a really f---ing hard time of it, bitch.” He snarled as the last word dripped from his lips and smiled when she flinched.
As he tracked a path around the outside of the cage, she moved, too, keeping her body on the side farthest away from him. The way her muscles moved under the skin of her thighs made his c-ck hard, and he wiped drool off his chin. Her breasts were magnificent creatures, rising and falling every time she panted. Though she could use a washing, she was still the most alluring one he’d taken.
“You are so beautiful,” he whispered as he moved.
“F--- you!” she screamed.
“I can’t wait to add you to my collection. You’ll be my prized possession. I already have a room made up for you, and it’s just like something you’d pick for yourself. I can hear you thanking me now.” He lifted his voice a few octaves as he mimicked her. “‘Oh, Claude, I love every part of it so very much! You’re the best ever.’ And then maybe you’ll give me a kiss.”
“You know nothing about me, and there’s no way I’m ever going to kiss you.”
“Oh, but I do, Sharon. I do. I watched you for months on television, and then I followed you, always in the shadows where you couldn’t see me. That prick you were dating wasn’t worthy of you, darling.” His hand snaked out and caught her hair, and he pulled her to the bars closest to him. “You’ll never have to worry about not having the right man again, because I promise to take care of you for all time.”
“Killing someone isn’t taking care of them.” Tears were streaming down her face then, and her shoulders sagged. “Please, Claude. Please. Let me go?”
Pulling her head back, he yanked on her hair so the skin on her throat grew tight, the pulse banging away just under the surface. His teeth ached to sink into the supple flesh, tear at it, but he knew if he did, her corpse would be ruined, and he wanted her in his collection very badly.
He inhaled, savoring her perfume.
“Please,” she whispered.
“No.” It was a simple answer, and he watched her to see how she might react. That always told him the most about the women—how they responded when they didn’t get something they’d begged for.
Rather than grow angry, she softened, and her shoulders shook.
“Weak. Just as I expected.” His fingers opened, and he dropped her, letting her sink to the floor. “Tomorrow, mon cherie. Tomorrow!”
After bringing her some food that he left on a paper plate near the cage, he replenished her supply of water bottles then whistled his way back upstairs.
His ladies were waiting, and he had big plans for the evening.
He locked the door and stowed the key after making sure none of the women were watching, and then he went to join Ginger on the couch. “Mind if I have the remote?” he asked.
“Not at all, Claude.”
Taking it from her hand, he was careful not to knock around the supporting wire and damage the limb again like he’d done the week prior. It had been a bitch to repair, and he just didn’t have the time to dick around with it.
With a click of the red power button, the television came on, and he activated the DVR, looking for the latest episodes of She Wants to Marry Him.
Carefully, he put one arm around Ginger and pulled her close, moving her head so it rested on his shoulder. He kissed her blonde hair and laughed when the photos of the women on the show scrolled across the screen, their names emblazoned underneath. “Remember when you were on this show?”
Hand in her hair, he moved her head up and down.
“I bet you do. That d-ckless wonder didn’t know what he had in you, did he?”
Her head moved left and right.
“Let’s see what happens tonight.”
For two hours, he caught up on episodes he’d missed, using the notebook on the coffee table to write down details he thought might be important later on.
He tossed the pad back on the table, turned the television off, stood, and adjusted Ginger so she looked like she did when he arrived, caressing her chin with his thumb. “You’re so beautiful. It’s a shame you didn’t win that one, but it was probably because you’re so stupid.”
Returning to the kitchen and Alice, he wrapped his arms around her from behind and pressed himself to her back and rear. She was still firm, and he liked it. Her roundness made him ache with desire. He buried his face in her hair but pulled back when he got a whiff of something unpleasant.
Moving her hair to one side, he examined her neck, and found a small patch of skin had peeled back, revealing the stuffing he’d packed her with. A little more digging in the hole found the culprit of the horrendous smell. It was a tiny patch of mildew. She’d been near the sink too long and needed to dry out.
“Alice, darling. You’re positively rotting from the inside out. I’ll need to move you, okay?”
Her head moved up and down.
“Perhaps Hailey would like to take your place. I’ll just go ask her. Be right back.” He sprinted up the stairs, flipping on the light at the landing, and making a hard right into the master bedroom. There, he found Hailey lying on the bed with Juniper lying nearby, one hand covering one of Hailey’s breasts. “Get up, ladies! I need Hailey dressed and downstairs to take Alice’s place. You want to do that, sweetheart?”
“Of course, Claude. Anything for you,” she answered.
He dug a pretty dress out of the closet and helped Hailey into it, and then he lifted her over his shoulder and carried her down, careful not to bang her head on anything.
Alice was unhooked from the wires, the dry sponge taken from her hand, and she was placed on the floor nearby. Hailey was buckled in, the sponge put in her right hand, and a clean plate fixed to her left with some Velcro strips he kept in a nearby drawer.
After carrying Alice upstairs, stripping her naked, and arranging her in the bed with Juniper, he pressed his back to the wall to admire his handiwork, deciding quickly that her hand was too high. He adjusted it so it was between Alice’s legs and sighed.
Perfect.
Again, he backed up to the wall and peered at them. His ---- immediately as he watched them play with one another, giggling, kissing, and rolling on the bed, but he shook it off. There was no time for that right then. He had to get back before his time expired. Kissing each lady on the head, he scurried out and down the steps, his hard-on dropping the moment he stepped off the last one.
“Well, my lovelies, I’ll see you all tomorrow! We’ll have a splendid party soon! I’ll bring champagne, and you can welcome Sharon with open arms when I finally bring her up.”
They cheered.
He quickly dressed and hurried out the door, being sure to lock it behind himself, before jogging back the way he’d come.
Quickly and quietly, he snuck through the garage door, changed, rearmed the alarm system, and slipped back into bed.

Hank

At six a.m. sharp, the alarm sounded, jolting Hank out of a deep sleep. He rolled onto his back, one hand absently slapping at the offending noise. Finally, it stopped, and he groaned. It was like he hadn’t slept in weeks, and it was starting to take a toll on him. A decision was made then and there that the sleeping pills the doctor had prescribed would be taken that night. Just one night of rest was all he needed to trudge on through another few weeks of restlessness.
He peeled himself out of bed, pressed the button on the coffee pot, and headed for the shower. Music poured out of his mouth, and he took the detachable sprayer and held it in front of his lips, filling the small space with crescendos and a strong, natural vibrato. It was his favorite time of day, before dealing with the people from the office, before having to get into it with victims calling about some bullshit that may or may not have happened in the middle of the night; in that moment, he was just a man with music in his soul and warm spray from his shower microphone.
Once he was clean, he stepped out and toweled off, going to the kitchen to pour a huge cup of the coffee he could smell from the shower. He gulped at it, loving the way it burned as it made its way to his stomach. A sigh tore out of him. Perfection.
His routine was firmly established, and the next half hour was spoken for as he trimmed his beard, brushed his teeth, and dressed for the day in slacks and a button down, strapping his gun belt to his waist. He always grabbed was his wallet and badge as he left the bedroom, and those went in his back pockets. Then, he filled his travel cup with coffee and left for the day. On the drive to the precinct, he checked his voicemail. There were three calls: One from his ex-girlfriend inviting him for drinks—delete, another from his partner about the upcoming softball game—save, and a third from someone he didn’t know asking about the rich girl kidnapping—delete.
He sighed and threw the phone on the passenger’s seat, leaning back with two hands on the wheel, and finished driving to work while yelling at other drivers to pay attention to what they were freaking doing before they killed someone.
Pulling into the lot, he parked in his designated spot and got out, coffee in hand, to go up to his office. His partner was already there.
“Morning,” Hank said.
“Dude. Phones are blowing up over that rich girl model that went missing. Cap says we need to nail this bastard soon.” Tony thumped the desk with his forehead. “Sorry. Good morning to you, too.”
“Do we have any new information?”
“No. That’s the thing. There have been a million and one ‘hot tips,’ but none of them check out, ya know?”
Falling into a rolling chair behind a desk facing Tony’s, Hank shook his head as his anger bubbled. “Don’t know what Cap wants us to do about it if we don’t have any damned leads. The guys snatching these women might as well be g--damned ghosts!”
“I know. You’re preaching to the choir, man.”
“I’m just so f---ing frustrated with it all.”
“Well, what do you want to do today? Beat the streets?”
“We’re gonna have to.” Frustrated, he pulled the file folder over and flipped it open. A pretty brunette smiled out of the photograph. Missing nearly a week, she’d disappeared while grocery shopping at a local store, one with no exterior cameras. He read over the report once again, but the only thing that stuck out to him was that she’d been on TV on some reality show about marriage. There had been a couple of similar cases over the previous two years, and he assumed it was a pattern. He wondered if anyone else had put that together.
Their captain stuck his head out the door and barked at them to “get in his office. Now.”
With a sigh, Tony and Hank rose and went through the glass door.
“Take a seat, boys.”
They did, neither of them saying a word, Hank still clutching the file.
“I need you two on top of your game. This f---er has everyone terrified to take a step outside.”
He held up a hand. “Whoa. Hold on a sec, Cap. I’m thinking maybe this isn’t random and isn’t linked with those other two snatch-and-grab jobs from Fulton County. It struck me a few minutes ago that four young women who’ve been on one reality TV show or another have gone missing over the last few years. That suggests a pattern, right? I’m not sure Jane the Wife has anything to be afraid of—as long as she doesn’t live in Fulton.”
“Right. Suggests. There’s no way to be sure of that, Reynolds. If they’d all gone missing after being part of one show, we’d have something.”
Truer words were never spoken, and he knew it; he just didn’t really like it all that much. A kidnapper had to be established a number of years, and have a definitive pattern, but the cases they were working had no links between all the victims, only four out of six. It also seemed their realty perp only been active a little while. If Hank’s suspicions were correct, the guy had already snatched the three other women who were in the public eye, but lesser known than the most recent.
“My gut tells me we’ll catch someone soon, so I want you boys looking into everything you can think of, okay? Get out there and get me some answers. I need to assure people that my guys aren’t complete morons.” Cap crushed his cigarette in the ashtray and waved his hands. “Get!”
Tony and Hank got up and left, neither of them with a spring in their step.
“Let’s go, big guy,” Tony said.
“Wait a sec. I’m gonna grab another cup.” Hank refilled his travel thermos and capped it. “Okay. Ready. Let’s do this sh-t.”
They got into Tony’s car, a black Impala, and pulled out, headed for the last known address of the missing girl and the grocery store she’d gone missing from.

~~~~~
I hope you enjoyed that! EEP!

What do you think? Is Claude's house weird or what?

Well, that's all for today, folks! Until next time, WRITE ON!

Jo

Thursday, January 18, 2018

Author Life ABC's - A

Happy Thursday, everyone! Welcome to my new, twice-a-month Thursday feature, Author Life ABC's. Obviously, since this is the first, we're on the letter A. I thought about this one for a while, and I've decided to go with Achieve. Ready? Grab your coffee or tea, get comfy, and let's get going!

As authors, we're always trying to achieve something, make something happen, get into a good place with our writing.

I think it's important to bring up goals when talking about achievements. If you have nothing you're striving for, you can't achieve hitting a milestone, right? Right.

For the folks who've been around the blog a while, you're aware that I usually set my goals low because I like to celebrate the small achievements in my career. Those are usually gateways to bigger things, stuff I don't let myself dream about because I'm an easy one to fall off the wagon if I can't see a positive end to my journey. But that's just me. I dream small and try to do more than my goal.

When I started writing, my definition of success was set very low (in my eyes): I wanted to change the life of one person, make them look at the world in a new way, or have such a massive impact on them that they went out and did something amazing.

After all, this was never about money for me. While selling books is lovely, and reviews are awesome, I never expected to get rich and/or famous for the things I was writing. Still don't.

I wanted to change a life. Simple.

Back in 2014, I achieved that goal. I'm not going to say how or when it happened, but I will tell you that one incident changed the way I looked at my career from then on. There was no longer a burning need inside me to create words that changed minds. Instead, from those books emerged my true author self. I found my voice.

I now write to entertain and educate while still examining the human condition however I can. Characters are put in impossible situations and area asked to make a choice. It's fun and so very rewarding.

My achievement in one area of my career led to new, exciting things for me.

Over the years, I've had other goals, and still do, but the biggest one was met, and I consider myself a success. No matter what happens from here on out, I have that to hold on to.

Sure, there are other things I'd like to achieve, but nothing will ever compare to that one thing, and nothing will ever replace it. It's my most cherished achievement.

In order to be successful, you first have to define that for yourself, in whatever way you choose. Writing is your career, and you need to feel as though you're doing whatever you set out to do, achieving those goals, no matter how simple, or silly, they may seem to other people.

That's what I'll leave you with today. Go define success for yourself.

If you've already achieved that goal, drop a comment below telling me when and how it changed your life.

Well, that's all for today, folks! Until next time, WRITE ON!

Jo

Tuesday, January 16, 2018

Living in the Authorverse

Happy Tuesday, good people of the blogosphere! Is it Friday yet? Ha! Just kidding. We have four whole days of awesome ahead of us; keep it up! You're going to do great things this week! While you're here, why not read through my rambling post for a few minutes? I'm gonna talk about living in the authorverse; you know, that realm where all the writers dwell, silently waiting for their chance to jump into the spotlight in some way or another. These are things I've learned over the past six years. Ready? Grab a blankie, and let's get going!

1. Authors are a Rare Breed
Seriously, if you've never met one of these formidable creatures in real life, you're missing out. One minute they're shy and hiding in a corner, and the next minute they're blowing your mind with their knowledge base, talking to you like you've been chummy forever, and breaking out their (usually pretty bad) dance moves from the 80s. Of course, that outgoing behavior may be alcohol related, which brings me to my next item.

2. Authors are Prone to Drinking Massive Quantities
This is something I didn't know was a thing until I attended my first author conference. These ladies finally get out of the house, sans kids and husbands, and go all out. I watched someone literally fall all over herself (and the floor) that year. It's related to a taste of freedom, which brings me to my next item.

3. Authors are Chained to Their Laptops
I'm not kidding. Getting an author away from the computer is like prying a lollipop out of the hand of a toddler. Whoever referred to something easy by saying it's "like taking candy from a baby" has obviously never tried to take candy from a baby. Authors are the same way. Threaten their computer, and you may just get stabbed. This is because our laptops are literally the surrogate mothers of our children, the bearers of our blood, sweat, tears, and time stolen from our human families, which leads into item four.

4. Authors Treat Their Books like Babies
You've probably heard the term "My Book Baby," but did you ever wonder why people say that? Well, it takes nine months to grow a baby, and it takes nearly the same amount of time to write and publish a book (for most people). You care for it and feed it as it grows, clean it up, dress it properly, and then thrust it into the public eye for criticism. Can you imagine if someone took one look at your actual baby, turned to the crowd, and announced that it was the ugliest kid they'd ever seen? You'd be crushed. This is how a one-star review can feel, and it leads to item two on the list above. But when said author has nothing but three stars and up, it sometimes leads to item five, however, I've found that lots of praise isn't necessary to create this mindset.

5. Authors are Divas
Duh. They have to be. They're required to sing their own praises from dawn to dusk. No one is going to buy a book the author says sucks. I mean, if all authors were self-depreciating, this authorverse would be a very bleak place, indeed. So, we're a little stuck-up and demanding sometimes. You can't be told that you have to sing your own praises every day online but then must behave humbly in person. It doesn't work that way. I've never met an author who sold a book by calling themselves crappy writers. Just saying.

6. Authors are Spacey
Yeah, we really are. We blank out on people. Not because we want to be rude, see, but it's because we're all about the stories, and sometimes, inspiration or ideas hit us when we least expect them to. We're not ignoring you; we're plotting (yes, sometimes, it's your death as a character in the book, but it's fiction! Remember that. We don't really kill people [or do we?]) what will happen next in the story. Real life is hard on us, but we can interact! You just need a little patience (or some booze--see item two). You won't find spacey characters in our books, usually, because we like to write what we don't live. This leads me to the final item, number seven.

7. Authors are Normal People with Imaaaaaaaginations
Darn good imaginations! No, we didn't really fly a spaceship to Mars or engage in a threesome with the neighbor; but if we write it well enough so you believe we did, we've done our job! We're here to entertain you and make you feel as though what we wrote is believable and could actually happen. Don't assume we've done the things we've written about in our books or that our brains even work that way. Remember, we're stepping into the character's shoes for our novels, and we see and experience the world as they would if they were real. We don't have to actually take part in something to understand what it might be like.

So, if you meet an author in the wild, approach with a smile, tell them how excited you are to know about their books, excuse any blank outs or crazy behavior, don't assume our lives are the stories we tell, and try to remember that we're showing you, and talking about, our cherished children. We'd love it if you didn't call them trolls. With a megaphone. On national television.

This, my friends, is living in the authorverse. Know the rules. Be the exception!

Do you have anything to add?

Well, that's all for today, folks! Until next time, WRITE ON!

Jo

Monday, February 1, 2016

News Post #4 2016 - Instagram: Author Life Month

Happy Monday! Today, I'm giving you the news from Instagram! Let's rock! By the way, you can follow me on IG here. Yeah, username WriteJoMichaels. Original, right? LOL

So, there's this cool challenge over on IG this month that was started by missdahlelama. Check it out below and join in!


Here's my first IG post ever. Breaking this in the right way ;)

What do you think? Will you participate? Comment with your IG handles!!

Well, that's all for today, folks! Until next time, WRITE ON!

Jo

Friday, November 6, 2015

Reaching Out - Why Author Buds Matter

Happy Friday, good people of the blogosphere! Today, I'm talking about author circles. You know, those folks you rely on to help you through the good times, bad times, and times in between. Grab a cup of Jo, and let's get going!

I have two circles of authors I talk to: Online - those folks I communicate with primarily via Facebook, Twitter, Skype, and e-mail, and Offline - people I see in person.

I think it's equally important to have both.

Why?

Because, the first kind, the online folks, are easy to reach out to and ask questions or get advice. I never have to worry if one of my author friends online have my back, because I know they'll be there if I need an ear. It gives me a safe place to vent frustrations, get encouragement, and find knowledge. In return, they know I'm there, too.

But the second kind, the offline authors, are the ones who force me to get out of the house, see and interact with people, and actually use my voice. We swap author war stories, opinions, and advice on all things authorly. These are the ones I know on sight, and these are the ones I hug each and every time I see them.

We schedule get-togethers because we realize the importance of interacting on a larger scale. Oh, and the place we go has amazing coffee. Because all writers need fuel.


I always leave my coffee days with a new burst of energy and tons of ideas on marketing, plots, and other things. There's a spot on my calendar every month with a giant X over top of it. This means I don't schedule anything else on that day. It's my day off to spend with people who are in the same line of work as I am, and those folks I can bounce ideas off of.

I went all the way to Utopia (400 miles) to meet them the first time, but it was worth every minute in the car.

So, I urge you to reach out. Find those people nearby that you can get out of your writing cave with and have some human time.

It matters. You'll have a whole new sense of self afterward. My group of ladies are the best, and I wish you luck in finding a small tribe that means as much to you.

Do you have a nearby tribe of writers? Have you considered looking for them?

Well, that's all for today, folks! Until next time, WRITE ON!

Jo

Friday, September 4, 2015

Stealing Plots

Happy Friday, good people of the blogosphere! I hope you all had a fantastic week and are looking forward to the long weekend. Perhaps you want to use that time to craft new book ideas. Well, you've come to the right place! Today, I'm going over how you can steal plots from real life to craft novels. Intrigued? Then grab those pens and notebooks and let's get going!


If you remember the posts I did on plot ideas (part one and part two), you'll know I'm a huge advocate of using things you see/read/hear to inspire you. Well, let's look at life for some inspiration and see exactly how that works.

Situation one: You're sitting, watching the news, and a story comes on about terrorists on a train and three heroes who leap in and save the day (anyone remember this?). That's an awesome story, right? Those men have been talked about often since that day.

Situation two: Friend one calls you, sobbing. Her husband was part of the Ashley Madison scandal, and your friend has discovered he's had multiple affairs. Her life is ruined, and she tells you all the warning signs she saw but ignored as you try to make her feel better.

Let's break down and re-work both situations for awesome plot ideas, shall we?

Situation one: What if the terrorists were vampires and the heroes were slayers? Or, what if they were all women instead of men? What would've happened if it were some kind of plot to get rid of a different terrorist who was planning to bomb the train, and the men sent to stop it were thwarted by the "heroes" who thought they were doing something good?

Situation two: What if the husband wasn't cheating, but he'd been doing some kind of recon mission for the CIA or some secret organization? All the "warning" signs weren't what they seemed, but the wife has no way of knowing because she doesn't know he's a spy/assassin. That's a whole different story.

It's not the situation that matters; it's the details you want to store away in your brain for the book you can write with these ideas that are important.

What caused those men to react? What were they thinking? What did they see?

What were those "warning" signs your friend is talking about? How did her husband act? What excuses did he use to get out of the house and meet up with those women?

All these questions can be answered by watching interviews or asking questions. Be the sleuth. Be creative. Bend the world to fit the story you want to read, and write it.

Whether you're a paranormal, contemporary, fantasy, dystopian, contemporary, murder mystery, or other genre author, you can make your story and characters feel more real to your reader when you use real-life situations as the basis.

So, this weekend, my challenge to you is to take something you see on television or hear on the news and turn it into a plot for a novel in your genre.

Post them below! Let's see how creative you can be!

Well, that's all for today, folks. Until next time, WRITE ON!

Jo

Thursday, August 27, 2015

Character Bios - Visually

Happy Thursday, everyone! Today, I'm going to give you a tip to help you keep those characters you're writing about straight (and maybe even the places they live). This is gonna change the way you write forever
I hope. It's a way to keep your characters (and their details) visible so you never have to stop writing and look something up. Ready? Grab those pens and notebooks and let's get going!

If you've been here before, I'm going to assume you've downloaded my free PDF on Novel creation. If you haven't, get it here. There's a wonderful section in the back that'll help you create a character bio. This is what you need right now. My PDF is free to download, print, and redistribute as you see fit, but please, do not sell it. It's meant to be a free tool for authors.

I tend to write character-driven fiction, so my buddies in the story are key to making things feel real to my readers. There's a requirement that I know those folks inside and out.

So, once I've decided on some details, how do I keep them straight without going back to that document every single time I want to give some goodies to the reader?

Well, this is where Google and a color printer are your friend! Do a search for your character (brown haired male with blue eyes, for example), and put it in a Word document. Size the image so it takes up most of the top. Beneath it, type out the character's height, weight, birthday, location, parents' names, and any other nuggets of fun you think you'll want to reference. Make those details BIG and BOLD.

Click print.

Create one for each character, and print those reference sheets out.

Tack them on the wall behind your desk so you can see them!

Now, go do the same for locations (these can be general or scene-specific).

Boom! All that pretty info is right there for you. All you have to do is look up!

Here's an example of one of mine (for the upcoming novel I'm writing with the Fractured Glass ladies):

Doesn't that make it so freaking easy?

Because you aren't redistributing the images, you don't have to purchase them. These are for YOU, not the world. Even if they have a watermark on them, you can see the details well enough. If you decide to use the photo for something else, please, PLEASE be sure and purchase the full sized image and correct rights.

Same goes for location scenes.

If you take the time to do this, you'll never have an inconsistency issue, and your work will gain a ton of momentum!

Have you ever done anything like this? What do you use? Discuss!

Well, that's all for today, folks! Until next time, WRITE ON!

Jo