Meet My Latest Guest Paul Kane!

I want to welcome Paul Kane. First I’d love for you to introduce yourself.

Thanks for having me on the site! I’ve been writing professionally for almost twenty years now, fiction and non-fiction, which I’m celebrating next year with a new collection from SST – Shadow Casting – but I’m probably best known for my Hooded Man novels which are part of Abaddon’s Afterblight Chronicles; mine detail the adventures of a post-apocalyptic Robin Hood in Arrowhead, Broken Arrow and Arrowland – gathered together in the sellout Hooded Man omnibus. I’m also known for my association with Clive Barker and his work, especially the Hellraiser mythos: I wrote The Hellraiser Films and Their Legacy and co-edited Hellbound Hearts with my wife, the author Marie O’Regan. But people can find out much more about me at my website (http://www.shadow-writer.co.uk).

Tell us about your latest release.

I have two or three books out at the moment, including the collection Monsters from the award-winning Alchemy Press (http://www.amazon.co.uk/Monsters-Paul-Kane/dp/0992980976/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1434630189&sr=8-1&keywords=paul+kane+monsters), which has cover art from Clive Barker and an introduction by Nicholas Vince (Chatterer Cenobite from Hellraiser), plus the more comic horror book Dalton Quayle and the Bric-a-Brac Man from Pendragon (http://www.pendragonpress.net/books/dalton-quayle-and-the-bric-a-brac-man-by-paul-kane/). But there’s also the novella Flaming Arrow (available to buy at http://www.amazon.co.uk/Flaming-Arrow-Afterblight-Chronicles-Trilogy-ebook/dp/B00XPIBTCW/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1433166685&sr=8-1&keywords=flaming+arrow and http://rebellionstore.com/products/flaming_arrow) which marks the return of my version of Robin Hood after five years. It takes place quite a while after the last installment, where we find my Hood as an older character, thinking of retiring and handing over control of his peace-keeping force ‘The Rangers’ to his adopted son Mark. But, of course, things don’t go anywhere near according to plan and there’s not only chaos brewing at home in Britain, but a trap waiting for him during a tour of Ranger outposts abroad.   

Now I have a few questions for you – I have found readers do like to know fun things about us writers.

1.) Who is your favorite villain – it can be from a book (even one of yours), movie or TV show. And why?

I’d have to say the Sheriff of Nottingham here, just because of the kind of fiction I’m best known for. My answer to the Sheriff, De Falaise, is a proper old school type villain inspired by the likes of Nickolas Grace – from my favourite interpretation, Richard Carpenter’s Robin of Sherwood – Alan Rickman and Keith Allen. That’s why I like the character so much. I’ve said this before in interviews, but I think Robin Hood was one of the first superheroes and there are decided parallels to Batman in there – so, I’m going to have to say The Joker for me is also on a par with the Sheriff. He’s just so complex and OTT. I would have chosen Pinhead, but to me he isn’t really a villain – he’s just massively misunderstood. ;-)

2.) Who is your favorite character out of your books? Why?

Now, that is definitely Robert Stokes – my version of Hood. Again, I’ve written about this a lot of late (in particular an essay I did for Sci-Fi Bulletin called ‘A Hero’s Journey’ http://scifibulletin.com/books/fantasy/feature-a-heros-journey/) but I feel like I’ve grown with Robert as I’ve told his adventures over the years. He started off quite a damaged character, after the loss of his wife and child to the A-B Virus in Arrowhead, but he found a purpose battling evil and y’know what? He’s very good at it. He’s the kind of hero I’d like to be in alternate life: fiercely loyal, moral and incredibly badass.

3.) What genre do you write? What made you pick that one?

The Hooded Man tales are technically SF, or a sub-genre of that, but I’m a horror writer really at heart. That’s probably why I throw Satanic cults, witches and cannibals into the mix when writing these stories. Flaming Arrow even has a new set of genetically modified human monsters because I love monsters so much – I did mention my collection, right? ;-) I think you probably end up writing what you enjoyed watching and reading when growing up, and although I read widely back then – and still do – I kept returning to horror time and again. I do think it’s the most flexible of all genres, in that it can incorporate other genres and their tropes. Therefore you can have an SF Horror, a Comedy Horror, a Crime Horror – like my own Gemini Factor – which allows you to explore other areas you might be a fan of. I guess that’s one of the main reasons why I chose to write so much in that field, although I am known for others as well. I’ve even written YA fiction with The Rainbow Man, though that has a dark side as well.   

4.) What are you working on now?

At the moment I’m working on a few graphic novel scripts for SST, who – as well as bringing out Shadow Casting – are also publishing my follow-up to RED, Blood RED: a horror reworking of Little Red Riding Hood. One of those graphic novels will be an adaptation of my novel Lunar, which is being turned into a movie as well. I’m also doing research at the moment for another mass market novel, which is a bit of a dream come true project – but I can’t say much more about that one at this time.

5.) What got you to start writing?

I think I’ve always had stories inside me trying to get out, even when I was very little and used to make up elaborate scenarios to play out with my action figures. My dad used to buy me comics from the local newsagents and I tried to copy the artwork from those, making up my own strips – I wanted to be a comic book artist growing up, in fact. Then, when I discovered SF, Fantasy, Crime and Horror novels, I devoured pretty much everything, and that led to me having a go at some of my own amateur tales, bashed out on my mum’s old typewriter. I still have some of them around; ooh, they’re so bad… But authors inspired me to start writing, really. People like Stephen King, Poppy Z. Brite, Chris Fowler, Frank and James Herbert, Anne Rice, Ramsey Campbell – but especially Clive. Reading his Books of Blood was a revelation for me – if you’ll pardon the pun – and I’ve never looked back since!

6.) Where do you get your ideas from?

Ideas are everywhere. They’re not the hard part of writing; for me, the writing is the hard part of writing. I get dozens of ideas every day, which I jot down in little hardback notebooks – hardback, so you can write them down if you happen to be out and about and don’t have anything to lean on. It might be a newspaper or magazine article, a snatch of overheard conversation, a song or TV program… anything can spark an idea off really. Then it’s just down to you how you extrapolate it. Some will naturally be short stories, some will have more meat and turn out to be novel-length, some are in-between and end up being novellas or novelettes, but that length should suggest itself to you before you start. For something like Hooded Man, it was a case of working within the Afterblight universe but trying to carve something of my own out in it. So I figured if 90% of the world’s population died out, things would probably go back to how they were in Hood’s time originally, with the strong preying on the weak. I grew up not far away from Sherwood Forrest and used to get taken there very often by my parents, so there was that inspiration as well, drawing on trips there. And things just thankfully fell into place, allowing me to do my own reworking of the mythos featuring a character who knows it’s happening – that events are replaying themselves – but he can’t do a damned thing about it.

7.) What would people who read your work be surprised to find out about you?

People tend to think of the life of a writer as being glamorous, and I suppose photos of myself and Marie at various events meeting quite famous folk do make it appear that way. But probably 99% of what being a writer is all about is being sat at a desk, bashing out the words on the computer – then editing them over and over. So I think people might be quite surprised that a lot of our life is taken up just with hard graft.

8.) Do you have any special talents?

Not that I could mention on a public forum… Both my thumbs bend back quite far, probably the consequence of both of them being trapped in car doors when I was a kid – at different times. The nails fell off and everything, it was really painful.  

9.) What was the one piece of advice you received when you were an aspiring author that has stuck with you? Why?

When I first started writing for the small presses I got a couple of really good pieces of advice. The first was from John B. Ford, who accepted my first short story for Terror Tales, ‘The Cave of Lost Souls’. He suggested the scattershot method of sending out stories, doing lots of them and sending out to lots of magazines to build a reputation – which I eventually did. The second was from bestselling author Simon Clark – he of Night of the Triffids fame – at one of the early events I went to. He told me that you’ve got to be in this game for the love of it – you can earn a decent living writing, but you can probably earn a much better living more easily doing a lot of other jobs. He also told me that if you got your head down, put the work in and took small steps, you’ll look round at some point and see just how far you’ve come – and he was absolutely right. It’s a kind of snowball effect. The more effort you put in, the more you get out of this profession essentially.

10.) If you could talk to any famous figure (present, past or fictional) who would it be and what would you talk about?

Probably either Bella Lugosi or Boris Karloff, as I’d love to know how they felt playing two of the most iconic monsters of all time – being associated with them so much – and what the pros and cons of that were.

11.) What song would you say describes your life?

The Verve’s ‘Lucky Man’, I’d say. I’ve been lucky in my personal life, in that I’ve got a lovely wife and kids. Plus I’ve been lucky enough to do something I love for a living and to get much further than I ever thought I would with it. I’ve been lucky enough to meet a lot of my heroes, including Clive who became a wonderful friend, so I’ve no complaints.

12.) If you could come back as any animal – what would it be?

Has to be a wolf. I’ve written so many stories featuring them recently, from my novelette The Curse of the Wolf – which traces the lineage of a werewolf bite back through the ages (http://www.amazon.co.uk/Curse-Wolf-2-Cursed/dp/1503231755/ref=sr_1_6?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1434631596&sr=1-6&keywords=curse+of+the+wolf) – to completing the ‘Life Cycle’ trilogy of stories for Monsters with a new novelette ‘Lifetime’, and the aforementioned sequel to RED, all of which are actually tied together in a new kind of mythology. I’ve had to put myself in the mindset of a wolf, and werewolf, so I guess that would be the easiest animal to slip into as I feel like I know the score now.

Paul Kane is the award-winning, bestselling author and editor of over fifty books – including the Arrowhead trilogy (gathered together in the sellout Hooded Man omnibus, revolving around a post-apocalyptic version of Robin Hood), The Butterfly Man and Other Stories, Hellbound Hearts and The Mammoth Book of Body Horror. His non-fiction books include The Hellraiser Films and Their Legacy and Voices in the Dark, and his genre journalism has appeared in the likes of SFX, Dreamwatch and DeathRay. He has been a Guest at Alt.Fiction five times, was a Guest at the first SFX Weekender, at Thought Bubble in 2011, Derbyshire Literary Festival, Off the Shelf in 2012, Monster Mash and Event Horizon in 2013, plus Edge-Lit in 2014, as well as being a panellist at FantasyCon and the World Fantasy Convention. His work has been optioned and adapted for the big and small screen, including for network US television, and his latest novels are Lunar (set to be turned into a feature film) and the Y.A. story The Rainbow Man (as P.B. Kane). He lives in Derbyshire , UK , with his wife Marie O’Regan, his family and a black cat called Mina. Find out more at his site www.shadow-writer.co.uk which has featured Guest Writers such as Stephen King, Neil Gaiman, Charlaine Harris, Dean Koontz and Guillermo del Toro.

Flaming Arrow

Prologue

Once, a long time ago, this was a world. A living, breathing world.

Now it’s just a shell, a shadow of what it once was. Not that Mouse could remember the time before; he was far too young. This was the only world he’d ever known, the one he’d grown up in. Alone, more or less, since he was very little. He had vague recollections of a family, parents maybe—or at the very least people who had looked after him... to begin with. But they weren’t around for very long. He couldn’t remember exactly why: one minute they were there, the next they were gone. Anything could have happened to them really; as much as it was a dead world, it was also a dangerous one.

It hadn’t always been that way. Somehow, Mouse knew that. Perhaps the people who’d been around during the first few years of his life had told him so. There had been peace... of a kind. Some sort of order, at any rate. It was all he did know, as he hadn’t come across anyone who could tell him more. Not that he’d ask. It wasn’t wise—you only fell for that once. Trust was a hard thing to come by in this day and age, so it was best just to not get involved.

He’d been scavenging all this time, and had become incredibly good at it. Hunger was a pretty good motivator, even when you were very small—not that he was much bigger now—and fear kept you safe. Mostly. It was a combination that had worked well enough up to this point. It had also seen him travel a lot, moving on if a place had already been picked over—or he’d found all he could. Flitting from one burnt-out town to another, just as he was doing today. Sometimes you got lucky, like when he’d found that untouched basement with the tinned goods in. Tins were his best friends, they survived anything.

More often than not, there were days like this, when he found nothing. Mouse took one last look over his shoulder, at the scarred remains of the structures he’d been searching. The latest city he’d entered, which looked pretty much like all the others he’d ever come across. Except it wasn’t like all the rest, he felt. And there was a sadness he couldn’t explain as his eyes took in the rubble that filled the streets, the caved-in walls of buildings, bricks sticking out like broken teeth.

He shrugged, hitching up his backpack and leaving. It was time to head off somewhere else, somewhere that held more promise than this.

Time to hit the road again.

Mouse hadn’t been walking for very long down that road when he came across a curious sight in the distance.

He was used to seeing blackened stretches of land; there was little else sometimes, between the towns and cities. What remained of that living, breathing world he had never seen. But the landscape here was slightly different. It was uneven, rising and falling around him. As Mouse drew closer, he saw that it was littered with short, squat columns, fixed into the ground. He crouched and peered at one of them, running a finger over the surface, then wiping off the ash that covered it. Beneath were rings, lots of them: larger on the outside, then progressively smaller the closer to the centre they came.

There were lots of the strange objects here, all of differing sizes and shapes.

“It used to be how you could tell the age,” came a voice from behind him.

Mouse jumped, whipping out the piece of jagged metal he used as a weapon. How anyone had crept up on him was a mystery; Mouse was the quiet one, the sneaker—though someone was obviously much better. But the speaker wasn’t as close as he’d sounded. He sat on one of the odd columns, his cloak hanging down over the sides. He was leaning on something long and twisted, two hands clutching it for support. His white hair and beard rippled in the breeze passing through this place, and his skin was as wrinkled as old leather. Mouse had never seen anyone as old as him, in fact. The man looked older than time itself.

Mouse was simultaneously terrified and intrigued, fixed to the spot. But standing here out in the open like this, gawping, was a good way to get yourself killed. Perhaps it was a trap, and any moment now he’d be attacked from other angles, his backpack snatched from him as he was kicked and stomped into the ground.

He made a concerted effort to move forward, placing one foot in front of the other. “You... You stay where you are,” warned Mouse, looking about him all the while as he covered the distance between them, expecting at any moment to have to defend himself.

But the attack never came.

The man laughed softly. “You have nothing to fear from me, I assure you.” His voice was rough, but kindly. His breathing was laboured, though, as if it was an effort for him to speak at all. “I am quite alone.”

Still cautious, Mouse took another few steps. Out of habit, he looked the man over for anything that he might be able to steal. Wasn’t the usual way he did things, he preferred not to get his hands dirty, but when the opportunity presented itself he would grab it with both hands. The man shifted his position, took one of his owns hands off the twisted thing in front of him, and held it up.

At first Mouse thought he was commanding him to halt, then realised he was showing that he had nothing of worth about his person. Just his clothes, by the looks of things; no belts or pouches, certainly no food or drink. Mouse’s eyes flicked sideways again to the oddly-shaped thing the man was still gripping with his other hand.

“You like this?” the old fellow asked, laughing softly again. “I bet you’ve never seen anything like it before, have you?”

In spite of himself, Mouse shook his head.

“Or like this...” Now the old man tapped the thing he was sitting upon. “Most forests were completely obliterated, but, well, this one is a little bit special.” He sighed. “Only the stumps remain, however. All that’s left of the trees.”

Mouse frowned. “Trees?” He had no idea what the word meant, nor what a stump was. Or a forest, for that matter.

“Yes. There used to be trees here, so many of them. Huge, tall trees that reached into the sky.” He craned his head back and without even realising it, Mouse did the same. When he looked down again the man was patting the thing he was leaning upon. “These grew from the sides, they were called branches. It’s called a staff; it helps me to walk.”

Trees, branches, staffs... It was like gibberish to Mouse’s ears.

“So you see, I cannot give it to you—much as I’d like. And I have nothing else to offer a... collector such as yourself.” That much Mouse had figured out already. “Oh, wait. Except, perhaps...”

Mouse held his breath, waiting for the man to continue.

“...a story.”

A story? Mouse let out the breath again. He needed something to eat, or maybe even items to trade for food. What did he need with a story, with words? You couldn’t—shouldn’t—trade them. He shouldn’t even be here talking to this old fool, had lingered too long in the one spot as it was.

“A story about the old days,” the man clarified.

That made Mouse pause. The time before? Had this man lived through those times? He was old—ancient—that was for sure, but still... And how would Mouse know if he was telling the truth or not? Might be more nonsense like the thing with the trees, the branches. Yet there were the... what had he called them? Stumps? Mouse had never seen anything like those things before, with their rings for telling ages. He shook his head again.

“Are you sure? I would imagine someone like you would be very interested in those times. In what happened here in the past, back when this really was a forest.” The old man grinned, revealing a mouth almost devoid of teeth. “It’s a tale about good and evil and everything in-between. Heroes and villains, battles and wars.”

Mouse edged just that little bit closer.

“In the beginning, there was a great plague,” the storyteller told him. “It killed all but a handful of people with a certain kind of blood. And there was a man who survived, who was almost driven crazy by the death of his wife and child. He sought refuge out here in the wilderness, where he lived alone. Where he hunted with his bow and his arrows. Until he was needed, that was. Until he was called on to stand up for those who could not stand up for themselves. Who were being bullied by a lunatic who wanted to take over the world.”

Without even realising what he was doing, Mouse had sat down opposite the storyteller on a nearby stump. He listened, head cocked, transfixed by what the old man was saying.

“He had help, of course, this man. This hooded man. There was a gruff farmer... Oh, a farmer is someone who used to grow food in the ground.” He laughed at Mouse’s reaction to that one; nothing could possibly grow in the earth that surrounded them now. “There was a priest, a holy man—you probably don’t know what religion is, either, do you?” Mouse’s silence was answer enough. “Anyway, that man believed in an almighty power called God, who created us all. Who created the world and watched over us, guiding events. The priest always thought that Hood had been sent to them by God... Then there was a giant of a man, Hood’s trusted second-in-command. They were like brothers, those two. Fought side by side so many times. And there was a woman Hood met who taught him the true meaning of love.” When the storyteller noticed Mouse frowning again, he explained: “That feeling of connecting with someone. Of trusting someone. Of wanting to look after them. No?”

Mouse shook his head yet again, this time much more emphatically. Maybe those people he could hardly remember had... had loved him. They’d tried to look after him, at any rate. But—whether it was through choice or not—they’d left him alone to fend for himself. Which is what he’d done; it was what he was still doing.

The storyteller shrugged, then carried on. “Ah yes, that’s right. There was a young lad as well, about your age when he first encountered Hood.” Now he really did have Mouse’s attention. “Together they fought a number of foes, building up their own army in the process. A peace-keeping force like no other.

“Their enemies included a witch and a man who thought he was a dragon... Oh, that’s a mythical creature, one with wings who could breathe fire.” The storyteller realised he was going off subject and got on track again. “Not to mention other armies from different places, one a group who worshipped the opposite number of that priest’s God.”

Mouse pulled his legs up and folded his arms around his knees, his jagged metal weapon still in his fist, though he had loosened his grip slightly. The more the old man talked, the more Mouse wanted him to. There was something, not just about his tone of voice, but the story itself.

A story, the man continued, of what had once been this forest, of the city Mouse had just come from. Back when it had still been standing, back when it had contained something called a castle.

“So,” said the storyteller, “should I go on?”

Mouse nodded, just as emphatically as he’d shaken his head before. Real or not, he was hooked.

“All right then. Well, this particular story takes place after the others, but is no less important. Indeed, it might just be the most important of all the stories concerning the legendary Hooded Man...”

© Rebellion Publishing

Welcome Beverley Bateman to my blog again!

Hi all,

I want to make you aware that I;m having some internet issues that I hope to have resolved within a day - I wasn't able to activate all the links and I do apologize - hopefully I can fix this pretty quickly

Barb:)

I want to welcome Beverley Bateman. First I’d love you to introduce yourself.

I’m young, cute, great personality and a fantastic writer. Oh, you want to know about the real me.

Okay, I live in the Okanagan valley of British Columbia among the orchards, wineries, beaches and lakes.

And I can sit on my balcony on the lake and drink great wine while I write.

Tell us about your latest release.

My latest release is Don’t Go. It’s a romantic suspense, but a little darker than I normally write.

I have a few questions for you – I have found readers do like to know fun things about us writers.

1.) Who is your favorite author? Do you feel you write like them?

J.D. Robb and no I don’t feel I write like her. I wish I did. She develops strong characters and great plots. I try to do that. I love all her books and have read every one.

2.) What was your favorite book growing up?

There were a lot, but I think my favorite was the three book series - Mary Poppins.  I got it from the library and loved the fantasy of Mary Poppins and her magical talents. I’m sure I read it at least five or six times.

3.) Are you a plotter or a pantser and why did you choose that method?

I’m mostly a pantser and you don’t choose it. It’s just how you write. I get an idea and start writing and hope it comes together as the words it the page.

4.) Do you consider writing a career or a hobby? Why?

 Actually it’s a passion, but if it has to be career versus hobby, it would be a career.

To me, a hobby is something you enjoy doing. You try to find time but don’t worry if you don’t. Writing is not always enjoyable. It’s hard work, or can be. You have to do it every day, just like going to work.

5.) What are you working on now?

I’m editing Targeted, and excited about starting a new book. My next one is going to be set in Canada. A Canadian author said to me why haven’t you set any of your books in Canada? And I thought - she’s right. I should set a novel in Canada. Jane Wolf, a crime reporter in Calgary, Alberta, who has been replaced by a younger, male reporter. She decides to buy a motor home and drive across Alberta and British Columbia, where she finds a few crimes to solve along the way

6.) What one piece of advice would you like to pass on to an up and coming author?

Write every day. I think that’s what every writer says and tries to do. It’s how to learn your craft and improve on it. And as Nora says – you can’t edit a blank page.

7.) If you had the ability to time travel and your first visit was to see a younger version of yourself what would you say to that younger self?

Wow, what a great question. I’d try to impart some of the knowledge I’ve accumulate over the years to make “me” become a better person. Never be afraid to take a risk, it’s the only way you learn. Don’t put things off. Be confident in your personal and life decisions. Laugh every day, be happy and enjoy life.

8.) You just got a million dollars, whether it’s from an inheritance, the lottery, or a sweet book deal doesn’t matter. What would be the first thing you would buy for yourself?

Oh my, so many things come to mind. Just one thing? Well, while I’d like to use the money to publish and promote my books, I think I’d go to Kenya and take a safari. Being among all the animals in their natural home would be so cool.

9) If you could un-invent one thing in the world what would it be?

Barbara, you have some very interesting questions. It’s the genetic modifying of foods. Genetically modified foods are foods produced from organisms that have had specific changes introduced into their DNA using the methods of genetic engineering. These techniques allow for the introduction of new traits as well as greater control over traits than previous methods

The first sale of a GMO food was 1994 and was a delayed-ripening tomato. Since then it’s mostly high demand cash crops like soybean, corn, canola and cotton seed oil. These have been engineered for resistance to pathogens and herbicides and for better nutrient profiles. GM livestock have been developed, although as of November 2013 none were on the market.

I know many people think there’s nothing wrong with that, but I don’t believe you can change DNA without some side effects, and there are studies that link GMO’s to cancer

10.) What is your favorite movie/TV Show? Why?

Hmm TV show Castle or Bones – Bones. Why?  I like the main characters and the supporting characters and even if Bones and Seeley Booth marry and have a child and some of the supporting characters change, it’s always good. The plots help too.

Movie – Heart of Darkness with Marlin Brando. It had a great message.

Blurb:

Washoe County Sheriff’s Office Detective and a member of Crimes Against Children, Samantha Brennan, a rape victim as a child,  is a dedicated to finding pedophiles who stalk their teenage victims online. She’s a strong, dedicated detective whose specialty is the internet chatrooms and stopping young girls from becoming potential rape victims.

Reno Police Department Lieutenant Devlin O’Reilly is a loose cannon who works alone, a renegade cop who prefers to work undercover and catch bad guys. A gun in the perp’s mouth gives him a real rush. Off duty he likes to drink and pick up surgically enhanced, brainless bimbos, so he’s always in control. A relationship to him is a long weekend.

Forced to work together when a fourteen year old girl leaves home to meet a ‘boy’ from a chat room, Sam and Devlin have to overcome many of their personal feelings. They both know that the girl is not going to find a peer who understands her, but a man who will terrorize and rape her. 

Will they catch him in time? Is there a future for Sam and Dev?

Excerpt:

RENO - WEDNESDAY, MAY 25th

“No! It can’t be happening again. Not again. I’m supposed to protect these girls.” Detective Sam Brennan stood and paced the room in a circle.

“What’s up, Sam?” The heavy set woman at the computer next to her asked while rolled her chair back.

“One of the girls is missing from my chatroom, Kerensa.”

“Hey, we can’t keep track of them all.”

“That’s my job. That’s why I transferred to this unit, to protect girls so they didn’t go through the hell that can follow a rape.” She stopped in front of her computer, her fists clenched at her side. A tear drifted down her face. “She has no idea what she’s doing.”

“You got that right. Look, we can only do our best. Other people, like parents and teachers, should take some responsibility for the kids.”

“I know. But parents don’t do a great job. I know.”

“I can’t imagine what you went through, but you do a good job.”

“Not good enough, not if she’s gone to meet him.”

“Look girlfriend, I know you live and breathe this job, but maybe you need to learn to step back. It’s not good for you to relive your life through these kids. The Washoe County sheriff’s office is just a job.”

“Not for me. But you’re right. I can’t help it.” Sam flopped into her computer chair. “The truth is, I hate it when one of these young girls goes into the chatrooms, then falls prey to the pervs who hang out there. Drives me crazy. I want to catch all those bastards and put them behind bars.”

“You catch a lot. I bet you have one of the best records in the country.”

“I don’t give a damn about records. I wish we could figure out a better way to keep the pervs off the internet for a very long time.”

“You got it. Maybe one day. Can I do anything?”

Sam glanced up as her fingers moved the mouse around. “No, I’m going to start re-checking last night’s chats and see what I’ve missed.”

“Okay then, I’m on a break. Back in ten. I need sustenance.” Kerensa stood, glancing across at her. “You sure you don’t need help?”

Sam stared at the screen.

“Don’t beat yourself up, hon. You’ll find her. You sure you don’t want a coffee or anything?”

“No, I’m good. I hope you’re right.”

“I won’t be long.” Detective Kerensa Washington bounced her well-padded body out the door and into the squad room.

Sam didn’t hear the door close as she scanned through the messages posted in the chat room. She squeezed her eyes shut, clenching and unclenching her fists.

Damn these guys. She’d like to get one of them in an alley--just once. She reached into the bottom drawer of her desk for a chunk of dark chocolate.

“Damn it. Where the hell is she?” She popped the chocolate in her mouth and chewed slowly, moving her mouse around the Washoe County mouse pad. She scanned the cyber-chat room one more time. “Damn. I can’t lose another one. She has to be here somewhere.”

Sam leaned forward, lips pursed, eyebrows crinkled. “Come on; come on, ‘Invisible-Melissa’, check in, please. Don’t go to meet him. He’s not who you think. You have no idea what he can do to you. Please baby, don’t go.”

Desperation wrapped around her like an iron boa and squeezed so she could barely breathe. Another tear trickled down her cheek.

With a few more clicks she scanned the names of those in the online chatroom. ‘Searching- for-You’ hadn’t checked in since last night either.

 “Damn. That’s probably who she’s gone to meet. How did I miss it? Don’t these kids know you never go meet some stranger you’ve only talked to online? They should have learned that back in the sandbox.”

She leaned back in her chair. Her forehead squeezed against her skull, shooting barbs of pain to her eyes. The chocolate hadn’t helped the stress.

“How did I miss this one?” She punched her fist into her palm. Insidious memories crept from the dark corners of her subconscious, spun a cocoon around her and dragged her back into the dark, tangled web of her own past.

The sickening sweet smell of overpowering aftershave snaked up her nostrils; fat, sweaty palms grasped at her thighs. She knew what was going to happen. She was unable to scream, unable to escape…no one to help her.

The images crashed over her, scattering years of counseling like broken shells on a beach, covering her soul with the spray of desperation and anger.

Sam scrubbed at a tear drifting down her cheek, and forced the images back into the darkness, back into the locked box.

It’s not about me. It’s about this girl and another predator creep.

With clenched fists she white-knuckled the arms of the chair to keep from throwing the damn computer against the wall.

“Find anything?” Kerensa strolled back into the computer room, a partially eaten sugar donut in her fingers. A faint white trail drifted behind her. “They got a whole box of these out there if you want to grab one before the other detectives get back and scarf them all.”

“Damn it! I should have seen it coming. Where the hell are they?” Sam kicked her chair away from the computer and stood. “No thanks. Those things can kill you. I’d have to work out an extra hour tonight.”

“Hey, they’re no worse than that stash of chocolate you hide in your bottom drawer.”

“A girl has to have something to combat the frustration. Besides, dark chocolate is good for you.”

“Right, if you say so. You know, girlfriend, you need to learn to relax, enjoy life, and find a man who likes his woman well-padded.” Kerensa patted the green uniform shirt stretched across her protruding belly. A safety pin protected a button from popping off.

“Like Tim?” Sam allowed a faint smile to tug at the corners of her mouth. “You’re lucky. Chocolate is my replacement for men. Chocolate won’t screw with me.”

“Too bad, ‘cause being a natural blonde with a great bod, you could probably get any man you wanted.”

 “Yeah, right.” Sam shook her head and walked toward the door. “I’m taking a break, but not to get donuts. I need to think.”

“Take your time, girl. Hey, if there’s any of those donuts left, bring one back for me, will ya?”

Sam nodded. She rubbed her temples with her fingers, trying to exorcise the images of what the girl would go through if she met that damn creep. A sigh slithered out into the squad room as she headed toward the pot holding the day-old coffee.

“You okay?” Pete Sandusky nodded in her direction.

The acrid, slightly burnt odor of chicory and rancid coffee beans made her wrinkle her nose before she even reached the coffee maker.

She shook her head, poured a half cup of the sludge, and rested her butt against the table beside the box of sugar donuts. “No. Not really.”

With her mug clutched in both hands, she stared across at Pete. He was a good cop. He’d been there about twenty years and looked every day of it. Gray fringe around a shiny pate; round, gold-rimmed glasses perched on a short, flat, boxer-type nose, and an inner tube that had settled around his waist under the dark green uniform.

“It’s a feeling I’ve got.” After a quick sip of the disgusting liquid she stuck out her tongue. “Yech. Why doesn’t someone throw this crap out?”

Pete shrugged. “What doesn’t feel right?”

“I think I’ve lost one of the kids from the chatroom. She’s not online.”

“Sure her parents haven’t cut off her computer privileges?”

“No, I don’t think so. She’s been saying the usual teenage girl crap. She doesn’t fit in, doesn’t have any friends and all the typical teen angst about her parents not understanding her. Then there’s this other guy, who says he’s sixteen, but is probably at least thirty, who keeps saying he understands, and is going through the same problems at home and school. The bastard has been playing to her weaknesses, and at the same time building up her ego, leading her on, trying to get her to meet him.”

“It doesn’t mean she will.”

“I know, but I’m afraid he might have convinced her to do it. She’s been off line since last night. I’m guessing she’s on her way to meet him as we speak, if she’s not already there. Damn it. I should have seen it coming.”

“You’re not a mind reader, Sam.”

“I should have picked up on this one.”

 “Know who the kid is?”

“No. I can trace her, but it will take awhile. I should have done that before, but most of the time they don’t actually go to meet the bastards. Has anyone reported a fourteen year old girl missing?”

“Not that I’ve heard.”

“Parents probably don’t even know she’s gone yet. It’s pretty sad when I can figure it out before the parents do, but then a lot of parents fail to protect their kids on the internet--and in other places.” She stared out the window and tried to visualize where the girl might be going. Heading toward a man, probably a pedophile, she didn’t know and thought was a boy; heading toward a life changing experience. Maybe one she wouldn’t survive.

“It’s not always the parents’ fault, Sam. Sometimes they don’t understand, or don’t know what to do.”

“Yeah, maybe. Or they’re embarrassed because they failed their kid and want to cover up their own failures. Best case scenario for this girl is she meets the guy for coffee and decides to come back home. That happens with the majority of the cases.”

“So don’t beat yourself up. She may be home by dinner tonight.”

“Thanks Pete. I hope so. The worst case scenario involves the hard core pedophiles. If he was one of those…”

“Don’t go there, Sam. Think positive.”

“That’s not my strong point, but I’ll try.”

Dark, clouds hung low over the Washoe County training center, adding to an already depressing day. The radio said more showers tonight.

 Pete moved across the room beside her. “Your shift is almost over, Sam. Shut it down for the night. See if she’s there in the morning, and if not, then trace her. You don’t even know if she’s local.” Pete reached up and patted her lightly on the shoulder.

She didn’t flinch at his touch. Thanks to this job she’d learned to control her immediate impulse to jerk away. At least she’d learned a few coping skills over the years. No thanks to the damn counselors.

“She’s local. Most of the chatrooms I surf are the Reno ones. We have a better chance of catching pedophiles that are local. If she is missing…”

“Don’t take it personal. You can’t save them all.”

“I always take it personally, Pete. I can’t help it. I’ve been there. I know what happens. I know the feelings that flood over you afterwards and the memories that will shape your life.”

“You’re darn good at catching those creeps and protecting a lot of kids. How many have you caught so far--forty?”

“Forty-two. But we catch them and put them away and the damn system sends them right back out in a couple of years to do it again. Dammit, sometimes they’re out in a few months. The courts don’t get the dangers associated with computers these days.”

And where the hell were the parents?

She headed back toward the pot holding the day-old coffee.

“Maybe, but you’re educating them, slowly. The abused kid’s stats in this area would be a lot higher if it weren’t for you.” Pete shuffled back to his desk. “Still, until someone reports this kid missing, you can’t do anything. What are you going to say--we need to start an investigation because I think someone is missing, but I don’t have a name or address and no one has reported her missing?”

“You’re right. But it doesn’t make it any easier. I feel so damn helpless. It makes me angry, frustrated, and depressed all at once.”

“You’re too close, Sam. Maybe you should work out in the field for awhile?”

Her lungs squeezed out another sigh, carrying her pain with it.

“Yeah, maybe.”

She picked up a donut, wrapped it in a napkin and carried her coffee back into the computer room. She closed the door and leaned against the wall.

“I don’t know about you, but I find working for the Internet Crimes Against Children Task Force always feels a little like walking on a tightrope.”

Kerensa rolled her chair around to face her. “You got that right, girlfriend. Even though the main focus is to catch pedophiles, we try to keep those girls from taking off with them.”

“Here,” she handed Kerensa the wrapped donut.

“You are a doll. I owe you.” Kerensa unwrapped the donut and took a big bite, and allowed the sugar to drift down the front of her uniform.

“Usually I pick up on the cues. If it looks like the girl might go to meet someone, I post don’t go and warn against the risks of meeting strangers. You and Hank do the same  thing.”

“Hey, I try to make what happens to them sound as scary as possible.” Kerensa licked the sugar off her lips.

“Yeah, you even scare me sometimes. I post articles on cases and stats I suggest the girls read.”

“Hey, your way or mine, it works most of the time. I like to scare the shit out of them.” Kerensa grinned, showing sparkling white teeth.

Sam dropped into her chair and rolled in front of the screen. “I’m going to scan the chatrooms one more time, see if I can start an identity search and then pack it in for the night. What about you?”

“I’ve got two more hours left on my shift until Hank comes in. Then I’m meeting Tim. We’re going to a monster truck thing.”

“I’ll be here for a while. I have to check in with my twelve pedophiles in their twelve chatrooms right now. That’s going to take me more than a few minutes.”

 “You amaze me. I have enough trouble keeping my personalities straight with eight perps and chatrooms.”

“Kerensa, I’ve been working ICAC a lot longer than you. I still use notes to help.”

“What I don’t get is why these creeps expect us to always be online whenever they want to chat. If you’re not there, you have to make excuses, like you’d been grounded by your parents, or you lose them.”

Sam shrugged. “I don’t get that either. Almost done, maybe I can still fit in a karate workout.”

“Sounds good--for you, not for me. Go, girl. It’ll all be here tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I guess. Maybe I’ll wash this disgusting mug and head out.” Sam trudged back into the squad room.

“Man, it’s chilly out there for May.” Detective Jerry Prado breezed in and waved in her direction. “Hey Brennan, how come you haven’t blown the joint by now? Isn’t your shift over?”

“I’m just heading out, Jerry. You look like you had a good day.” She edged her way carefully past his six foot something muscular frame, in an attempt to avoid physical contact with him.

She rinsed her mug and left it to dry on the tray.

“It was good, yeah. Caught me a bad guy and that leaves his lovely lady free and available for this evening.” Jerry waggled his dark, eyebrows suggestively.

“You’re kidding.” She shook her head. “No. I know you’re not.”

Trust Jerry.

He was part of the Consolidated Narcotics Unit, divorced, with an I-don’t-give-a-damn attitude. Felt he was god’s gift to women, and the Washoe County Sheriff’s office.

She could understand why women might be turned on when they first met him with his football player physique, dark hair, and sexy Latino eyes. When he flashed his pearly whites, he looked damn near irresistible.

However, you’d think his obnoxious, self-centered personality would get to them after the first date. And if they missed the defective personality you’d think they’d notice the taste, or lack of it, in clothing. Today he wore a brown striped suit with an orange shirt and a green and yellow tie with a cartoon dog on it.

Who wore crap like that?

She turned away. “Have a fun evening.”

“Thanks, babe, I always do.”

Sam wound her way back the computer room. She glanced over her shoulder at Pete before disappearing into her room. “Thanks for listening.”

“Least I can do. Let’s hope she shows up by morning.”

“Yeah, let’s hope.”

In the computer room she slumped into her chair and anchored her feet so the chair didn’t slide back.

“I thought you were going to leave. Remember? Everything will still be here tomorrow.” Kerensa frowned at Sam.

“In a few minutes. I thought of something.” Sam grabbed the mouse, and moved it so the website flashed back onto the screen. She clicked through the latest posts in the chatroom where Melissa and Searching-for-You had been seen last. She hunted for the familiar names.

 “Did you hear Jerry’s going to take a perp’s girl out tonight?”

“No kiddin’? Doesn’t surprise me. Man has no taste. Now go home, girlfriend.”

Nope, ‘Invisible-Melissa’ still wasn’t there.

“Yeah, you’re right.” She powered down her computer and grabbed her gym bag. “A karate workout will feel good. It might relieve some of my frustration. See you tomorrow. Say ‘hi’ to Hank for me.”

She made it halfway through the squad room before turning back.

“Now what, girl? You’re on your way to karate.”

“I can at least finish getting the identities of the two missing people. That’s a start. It looks like the parents aren’t going to report her missing. If I can find the perv it’ll give me an advantage if the parents ever get around to reporting the girl missing.”

Kerensa shook her head. “Girl, you are something else. You need to get a life.”

“I know. People keep telling me that. One day--maybe.”

The screen flipped through the websites. The phone rang. She grabbed it. Maybe someone had spotted the girl and picked her up.

“Detective Brennan.”

Buy Links:

Amazon - http://amzn.to/1whWek8

Kobo http://store.kobobooks.com/en-CA/ebook/don-t-go-3

Google Play https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Beverley_Bateman_Don_t_Go?id=akbdBAAAQBAJ&hl=en or  http://bit.ly/10g0BT6

itunes https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/dont-go/id931554378?mt=11

Nook http://bit.ly/1tG0jBB

And you can find me on:

Facebook Authorpage - http://www.facebook.com/AuthorBeverleyBateman?ref=hl

Twitter @kelownawriter 

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BLOG - http://beverleybateman.blogspot.ca/

Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/beverley.bateman.18

Goodreads https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7052567.Beverley_Bateman

LinkedIn - babateman@shaw.ca

tsu -https://www.tsu.co/darkwriter 

Writing Down the Bones: Story Construction and Evaluation The Romance Novel Pt 5 - Scenes

Hi All!

I'm back with another segment of the wonderful handout that I've been working off of. This section on scenes is definitely for the romance genre. I hope you can still glean some good information even if you don't write romance.

This is part of Section II.

Scenes:

1.) Are the hero and heroine together whenever possible? If not can your scene be rewritten so make sure they are?*

"In romances the hero and heroine should meet rather quickly - I remember when I was learning my craft I was told within the first five pages and I have tried to stick to that as much as possible.

2.) Is there enough conflict to carry your scene? If not can you cut it down and put it in a line or two of dialogue?

3.) Does the scene build in tension?

4.) Are you using one point of view throughout the scene? Whose point of view will tell it best? Your Hero's or your heroine's? Which will give your reader the best emotional response?

and here is a few of my own...

5.) Does the scene move the overall plot of your story along? Does it move the relationship of your hero and heroine along? Is this the right time for this scene or would it work better later or earlier in your manuscript?

6.) Does your scene paint a picture that draws your reader in or is a data dump? Can you make it more three dimensional and add movement to the scene to still relay what needs to be given without it coming across as a data dump?

Well, that's it for this week. Next week we'll be talking about chapters...

Meet My Latest Guest - Janis Susan May/Janis Patterson

I want to welcome Janis Susan May, also known as Janis Patterson. First I’d love you to introduce yourself.

Hello, everyone. I’m a writer, though I prefer to tell people, when they ask what I do, that I kill people. It’s so funny to see their reactions until I relent and tell them I’m a mystery writer. I’m a seventh-generation Texan who lived off and on in Mexico for a few years. I’m an enthusiastic amateur Egyptologist. The Husband and I met through our mutual interest in Egyptology. The North Texas Chapter of the American Research Center in Egypt was begun in my den; I began, published and edited the NT/ARCE Newsletter (now retitled Menhedj) and for the nine years of my reign (word chosen deliberately) was the only monthly publication for ARCE in the world. I also got it catalogued as a scholarly journal in universities and museums around the globe. I sold my first novel in 1979. I am one of the original 40 or so women who founded RWA in 1980 and have maintained my charter membership. I sit on the Southwest Region board of MWA, and am a member of Author’s Guild, Sisters in Crime and NINC. The Husband and I share our Texas home with a varying number of rescued furbabies.

Tell us about your latest release.

I’ve just released a tasty traditional Gothic romance called CURSE OF THE EXILE. It’s set primarily in Scotland during the 1860s. Angelina Barstow had a varied and generally unloved growing up, finally creating a niche for herself as her father’s assistant. A librarian with a wandering eye, her father is content to let her do most of the work while he plays around. They go to a moldering castle in Scotland where there are two very attractive brothers, an unscrupulous mushroom of a cit who wants to buy the castle, a family legend of a ghost and… ah, but I don’t want to tell too much. It’s a great romp, and one lovely reviewer compared me to Victoria Holt and Virginia Coffman. This was written as Janis Susan May.

Janis Patterson has a new release in about three weeks – a cozy mystery called MURDER AND MISS WRIGHT. It’s a contemporary set at a scholarly Egyptololgy conference. There’s antiquity smuggling, three murders, an ancient piece of jewelry… simply delicious!

Now I have a few questions for you – I have found readers do like to know fun things about us writers.

1.) Who is your favorite villain – it can be from a book (even one of yours), movie or TV show. And why?

Can he be from real life? In my long-ago wild single days, I dated this perfectly lovely Turkish man. He was fun and exciting and was the quintessential bad boy. There was an air of danger about him and it was sexier than any cologne you could think of. I didn’t know what he did, but he either had plenty of money to burn or was so flat broke I had to feed him. I was young and stupid and thought that exciting. He was a fascinating creature – we would talk almost every night over the phone for hours. He had been just about everywhere in the world and had the gift of telling stories that lived so much you felt you had been there yourself. I knew he wasn’t a keeper, but he was a very thrilling ‘right for now.’ Then one day he came by the house in a dreadful hurry and asked me if I had any money. I was poor, but had about a hundred dollars, which I gave him. He then kissed me and would have gone, but I held on to him and demanded to know what was going on. It seemed he had killed a man and the police were after him. He had to leave the country. I found out later it wasn’t just one man – my sweet and very charming bad boy was an international hit man.

Ideally I never would have seen him again, but fate intervened and on one of my trips to the Middle East (with my mother, no less!) we met again. It was a disaster. He was now fat and bourgeois and as much of a dead bore as I could imagine. We were in the same town for two days, but my mother’s and his wife’s presences made any intimacy impossible. We did have a lovely dinner, the four of us, and we two did get to have a sweet private conversation while we took a tour of the harbor on his boat, and he did put his car (a top of the line Mercedes, no less – very impressive, though I have always preferred BMWs) and driver at our disposal while we were in town, but he wasn’t the interesting bad boy I remembered and had sort of loved. On the other hand, I would never want him mad at me.

2.) Who is your favorite character out of your books? Why?

Unfair! You might as well ask which is your favorite child.  I can’t answer that one.

3.) What do genre do you write? What made you pick that one?

One? One?? I write romance, horror and few other things as Janis Susan May, cozy mysteries as Janis Patterson, children’s as Janis Susan Patterson and nonfiction and scholarly as J. S. M. Patterson. I can no more imagine writing in just one genre than I could imagine sprouting blue feathers from my arms and flying off the roof. I bore too easily, and the world is too full of variety. Just one genre? I would die.

4.) What are you working on now?

Several things. Most to the forefront is a cozy mystery called A KILLING AT EL KAB. El Kab is a fascinating archaeological site in Upper Egypt, between Luxor and Aswan. This spring we were fortunate when my dear friend Dr. Dirk Huyge, director of the site, asked The Husband and me to come stay at the dig house for a couple of days. Dirk and I had been talking about a mystery set at the dig house, and he said I couldn’t write about it unless I saw it. Believe me, civilians are NEVER invited to stay at dig houses, so we went! The book is going well – about one-third done – and I’m having a wonderful time with it.

As I believe in always having at least three projects going, I have another cozy mystery set in 1916 New Orleans called A KILLING ON BASIN STREET. And… another cozy mystery about a free-lance researcher set in contemporary Dallas called A WELL-MANNERED MURDER.

All three of the above are written as Janis Patterson; under the Janis Susan May name I’m almost finished with a contemporary Gothic romance called THE MASTER OF MORECOMBE HALL.

5.) What got you to start writing?

Genetics. Both my grandmothers were teachers – one of English, one of history. One grandfather was the publisher of a small town newspaper when small town newspapers were a force to be reckoned with. My mother was an English teacher, a play producer, a magazine columnist and an advertising agent. My father started as a printer’s devil in his father’s paper when he was nine; he was editor/publisher for several small newspapers across Texas, taught journalism at Texas A&M (and made journalism a separate discipline from the English department and, as it was during WWII, got the mascot Reveille into the K-9 corps), wrote radios dramas and, with my mother started an advertising agency which for 16 of its 17 years of existence was one of the top 300 in the nation as rated by AADA. With all this behind me, I didn’t have a snowball’s chance of being anything but a wordsmith of some stripe. When I was nine I started work in the ad agency as a stripper (no, not that – I took apart ad boards and saved the artwork etc that could be used again) and by the age of twelve was writing copy. That too was a bore. There’s nothing exciting at all in extolling industrial washers and dryers or commercial auctions.

6.) Where do you get your ideas from?

Everywhere! I defy anyone to sit still for five minutes and watch what’s going on around them and not come up with a minimum of half-a-dozen ideas. The thing about ideas, though is that you need more than one. You need hundreds, and they all have to intermesh with each other to form a coherent plot. That can sometimes be a little tricky, because some ideas are just so delicious that they lead you away from the core of your book, and it’s hard to know if you should ignore them or follow them.

The best way, for me at least, to come up with ideas is the old ‘what if’ game. Suppose I’m sitting in a coffee shop and I see a middle-aged, somewhat seedy looking man sitting alone at a table, nursing a small plain coffee. He keeps looking first at his watch, and then at the door. What is he waiting for? What if he is a thief or terrorist, waiting to meet a conspirator who is late? What if he is hoping to see his ex-wife – for good or for ill? What if he is here to interview for a much-needed job? The list of possibilities is endless. Now what if the barista is really a secret agent sent to keep an eye on this guy? What if he is going to blow up the coffee shop if his ransom demands aren’t met? What if he’s newly divorced and waiting for his first date in over a quarter of a century? Yes, I do have a melodramatic mind, but they are all viable ideas, all culled from the single visual of a shabby man checking his watch in a coffee shop.

7.) What would people who read your work be surprised to find out about you?

I have no idea. I’m really rather boring, and most of my professional life is out there already. My private life is – save for a few seminal moments, such as being proposed to in the gardens of the Mena Hotel across the street from the Giza Pyramids – is private. Hmmm…. The more I think about this, the more I wonder if I do have anything surprising about me. I married for the first time at 54. I’m a seventh generation Texan, and if there hadn’t been a disastrous fire in a Tennessee country courthouse in the 1880s I would be a member of both the DAR and Colonial Dames. My brother and I were both only children. Nothing much exciting.

8.) Do you have any special talents?

Special talents… I don’t know how you define talent. I pick up languages easily – and without regular use tend to lose them just as easily. I used to be an operatic coloratura soprano. I make absolutely killer jewelry. Animals love me (and I most definitely do not, as The Husband has suggested on occasion, rub my ankles with hamburger to get their attention.)

9.) What was the one piece of advice you received when you were an aspiring author that has stuck with you? Why?

Hmmm. From my earliest infancy my parents stressed on me that whatever I did I was to do it well and to the best of my ability.  They weren’t talking about writing, particularly, but it fits not only writing, but just about everything in life. For writing specifically, it was something Nora Roberts said – “Finish the book, even if its garbage. You can fix garbage, but you can’t fix a blank page.” I also like to quote “Writing is easy – all you do is stare at a blank screen until drops of blood appear on your forehead.”

10.) If you could talk to any famous figure (present, past or fictional) who would it be and what would you talk about?

Oh, my… who wouldn’t I want to talk to! I would love to talk to Hatshepsut, the woman pharaoh of Ancient Egypt. I’d love to hear what she could tell me about life then, and how she got and held onto the position of the most powerful person in the world when she was a woman and pharaohs were always men. I’d love to talk to Augustus Caesar and both Napoleon Bonaparte and the Duke of Wellington. Since I find abnormal psychology fascinating I would like talking with Adolf Hitler and Henry VIII. On the literary side, Charlotte Bronte and Henry Fielding and Marie Corelli. I’m sure there are lots more, but this blog is already much too long.

11.) What song would you say describes your life?

Gracious, I don’t know. I’ve had so many ‘lives’, so many changes of direction and career and everything it might take an opera to cover it all. If you want just one song, though, perhaps ‘Send In The Clowns’ might fit.

12.) If you could come back as any animal – what would it be?

That’s easy – one of my pets. They’re all spoilt and pampered, even to the extent of having their own rooms, though the two kitties do have to share.

“CURSE OF THE EXILE is a traditional Gothic mystery reminiscent of the best of Victoria Holt and Virginia Coffman that no lover of Gothics should miss. A courageous heroine, 1860s Scotland, two handsome brothers, a moldering castle, an unknown villain bent on a horrid vengeance… delicious! A perfect book for curling up with for a long enjoyable trip to the past.”

Carla Renard, The Literary Lady

Blurb:

After an unhappy childhood and a cruelly broken romance, Angelina Barstow has found a kind of respectable life working as a librarian with her charming but womanizing father. In 1860 they come to the Scottish castle called Merlon Motte, where the owner and his much younger brother are sharply divided on the necessity of selling the place. An ancient sword is stuck into the ceiling of the Great Hall and family legend says it was put there by a long-ago exiled son, who promised to curse anyone who endangers the castle. Angelina regards this as just a charming family story until the prospective buyer is murdered, the Sword of the Exile driven through his heart.

In spite of herself, Angelina has fallen in love, but though she loves one and sincerely likes the other she doesn’t know which of the brothers is the murderer. She thinks things can get no worse, but then there is another, more shocking death when her father is found drowned and the prospective buyer’s friend, the same man who tried to dishonor her years before, says he intends to make her his mistress by force if necessary. Two more long held secrets threaten Angelina and her beloved before the Curse of the Exile is finally lifted.

Excerpt:

Once the project was actually under way working at Petter’s Subscription Library was not so bad. We obtained rooms most reasonably within a few minutes’ walk and there were several inexpensive chop houses in the neighborhood. The area could not have been what it was when Miss Petter opened her establishment, but it still held on to a sort of respectability, which meant I could go and come alone without fear. As usual Pappa spent the first two days with me, directing, arranging, making a great number of his beloved notes and generally getting in the way before he finally decided that he had a ‘few little things’ to see to and left me to it.

I had never before worked in a shop – closed or open – and although the experience was different, it was by no means frightening. In fact the bustle of people outside the shrouded windows, the clatter of carts and wagons and carriages and horses over the cobbles outside was stimulating. I had no fear of being there alone, as I was neither of an age nor a station to be noticed by anyone and the shop was perfectly safe. Or so I thought until the afternoon Nairn MacTaggert entered and after that nothing in my life was ever the same.

Seduced by the sunny summer afternoon I had opened the shades and the door and pulled my table into one of the yellow spills of light. From that lapse of discipline it was easy to slip even further; before I knew it I was curled comfortably on the splitting leather divan, lost in the pages of a book and far, far away from Bath. It was unlikely I should be caught, as in all the days there I had never been disturbed. Doubtless all the denizens of the city seemed to know that Petter’s Subscription Library had died with the late Miss Petter, so when a large shadow fell across the page the surprise jerked me back into the present with a start.

The sun was behind him and for a moment all I could see was a large, indubitably masculine silhouette. Unnerved more by my unaccustomed rush of fear than by his sudden appearance I quickly stood and straightened up to my full height – a maneuver which had seldom failed to intimidate both males and females. In this case it was utterly wasted. He still topped me by several inches.

“May I help you?” I asked in arctic tones.

“What a great number of books!”

He had stepped out of the direct glare, giving me a chance to see him. I tried not to stare, but it was difficult. I had never seen such a handsome man. My heart, painfully schooled to being nothing but a working organ, gave a fluttery little jump as if I had been nothing but an impressionable schoolgirl. Even my memories of Myles paled in comparison.

His skin was burnished to a golden bronze by a sun that had never touched this clime. His curly hair was thick and richly chestnut-colored, while his eyes were remarkable, being the same brilliant turquoise of a dimly remembered Mediterranean Ocean. His body was lithe, but with an unquestioned look of strength. Only a rugged cast to his features and a nose that seemed to have taken a fair amount of abuse over time kept him from being downright pretty.

No, that wasn’t quite right. On closer inspection there was a harshness about his face, a hint of ruthlessness in the eyes that would make one cautious about crossing him. Despite the heat in the stuffy little shop a tiny shiver danced on my spine.

“Well,” he asked, “am I acceptable as a customer?”

“I’m sorry, sir, but the library is closed.” Embarrassed both at being caught in a dereliction of duty as well as scrutinizing him so openly, I spoke more coldly than usual.

“But your door is wide open.”

“I did not make myself clear. The library is permanently closed and has been since Miss Petter’s death. I am a librarian here to compile an inventory for the heir.”

He did not seem surprised. “And do you like being a librarian?”

“What an extraordinary question!”

“Quite right. I apologize.” He smiled and a flash like summer lightning shot from his eyes. My knees trembled. “But it is the most extraordinary luck, too.”

“I do not understand.”

“Because I am seeking a librarian.”

“A librarian?” I repeated stupidly, mesmerized by those glowing eyes. Seldom had I seen a man who appeared less likely to need the services of a librarian. “But why?”

“To take home with me, of course. Home to Scotland.”

Buy links for Curse of the Exile

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Writing Down the Bones: Story Construction and Evaluation The Romance Novel pt 4 Story structure

So I'm back to the flyer - I know you're mentally saying finally. Since it has been a while I want to remind everyone that this came from a hand out written by Janice Bennett. The writing the popular novel handout is from the mid eighties to early nineties.

This section is about Story Structure...

1.) Does your story possess at least three separate plot threads? One for your your heroine's goal, one for your hero's and one for the romance?

2.) Is each of the plot threads believable? Does the order of the incidents follow logically? Is there a cause and effect?

3.) Is the resolution emotionally satisfying?

4.) Is the Story worth telling?

This one is almost word per word - Janice said it right and I couldn't see how my updating it could make it any better.

Meet my Next Guest Sharon S. Hartley!

I want to welcome Sharon S. Hartley. First I’d love you to introduce yourself. 

Hi!  Thanks for having me.  I live in Miami, Florida with my husband and a Jack Russell Terrorist named Rocket. I love telling romantic tales, and have way too many hobbies, including orchids, leading bird walks, and volunteering at a local museum.  

Tell us about your latest release.

 “Her Cop Protector” is available June 1^st from Harlequin Superromance.  This is my third Super.  The story involves a subject I’m passionate about, the protection of wild birds.  My heroine, June Latham, is a bird activist, which occasionally gets her into trouble.  It’s how she meets, the hero, Detective Dean Hammer. June has a troubled background, and Dean unravels an old family mystery for her.

Now I have a few questions for you – I have found readers do like to know fun things about us writers.

1.) Who is your favorite villain – it can be from a book (even one of yours), movie or TV show. And why?  

Right now my favorite villain is Black Jack Randall from the Outlander books by Diana Gabaldon and television series on Starz.  I absolutely despise/loathe/hate Jack Randall, but am in awe of the acting skills of Tobias Menzies, the actor who plays the part on the T.V. series.  Black Jack is a sadist who enjoys the pain of others.  It doesn’t matter if you haven’t read Gabaldon’s brilliant books, you’ll enjoy the way the story is portrayed on Starz. 

2.) Who is your favorite character out of your books? Why?

Gosh, this is hard, because I love all my characters.  But I’m going to have to say Whacky Taki from “The South Beach Search.”  Taki is a yoga teacher who attempts to live a truly yogic way of life, which is nearly impossible in our modern world.  She really does try, but keeps running off course, especially once she meets Reese, the hero, who is a federal prosecutor.  Taki changes her name and turns her back on her family’s money because she thinks it’s tainted and bad karma.  (I’m pretty sure I couldn’t do that!)

3.) What do genre do you write? What made you pick that one?

I write romantic suspense because I’m fascinated by mysteries and the mystery of love.  I enjoy telling stories about cops and the dangerous bad guys that inhabit their world.  (Research can be such fun)  Police officers have a high suicide and divorce rate because of the stress in their lives. I treat them sympathetically, but definitely show their flaws.  I’ve taken every citizens’ police academy I can get into, including the FBI’s.  But I could never be a cop.  I’m probably duck for cover the first time I heard a gun.

4.) What are you working on now? 

The working title is “The Journal”, but in my mind I call it “Claudia’s Story.”  Claudia is a minor character from “The South Beach Search,” an important witness in a trial against a domestic terrorist that the hero is prosecuting. Claudia doesn’t trust the government to protect her and goes into hiding.  So now the feds and the bad guys are looking for her – although for different reasons.  I’m having a lot of fun telling this story.  It’s another Harlequin Super and will be released some time in 2016.

5.) What got you to start writing?

Maybe because I’m an avid reader.  Or maybe because I have an active fantasy life J  I’ve kept a journal since I was 13 years old and had attempted fiction over the years, but what I wrote was always, well, dreadful.  My sister decided to write a romance novel, challenged me to do the same, and that’s what started me on a path of studying the craft of writing.  I got hooked and ended up with an MFA in Creative Writing from Florida International University.

6.) Where do you get your ideas from?

I worked as a court reporter for thirty years, and a lot of my ideas come from that career.  Federal grand jury sessions, where I was sworn not to reveal the secret testimony I heard, provided a lot of inspiration.  I play “what if”, and the plots come from that.  So do some of the characters – although changed a bit so no one can recognize the victims or criminals.  Merlene, the heroine in “To Trust a Cop,” was based in part on a private investigator I deposed in a divorce case.

7.) What would people who read your work be surprised to find out about you?

Because I write about crime and criminals, I think people would be surprised to learn I’m a yoga teacher.  Perhaps yoga calms me from my writing sessions.  I get a lot of satisfaction from sharing my knowledge and love of this ancient practice with students. I urge everyone to try at least one beginner’s class from reputable yoga studio.  You’ll love savasana, the deep relaxation at the end, and come back again and again.

8.) Do you have any special talents?

I grow orchids.  I’m not sure if that’s a talent or an obsession since I now have close to a thousand plants.  I enjoy buying seedlings and nurturing them until they bloom.  I also conduct tours for visitors in a historic house museum in Miami.

9.) What was the one piece of advice you received when you were an aspiring author that has stuck with you? Why?

To write every single day for at least an hour.  Writers write. 

10.) If you could talk to any famous figure (present, past or fictional) who would it be and what would you talk about?

Buddha.  I’m certain he could teach me about patience and how to live in the present moment.  I’d love to hear what he says about enlightenment.  I have a lot of lessons to learn!

11.) What song would you say describes your life?

The Long and Winding Road.  It’s also my ring tone.

12.) If you could come back as any animal – what would it be?

A parrot.  Parrots are very, very smart (being called a bird brain, believe it or not, is quite the compliment), long lived, and wouldn’t you just love to fly?

Thanks!

Blurb:

One Hot Miami Mystery

Homicide Detective Dean Hammer has two dead bodies on his hands and just one connection:  a pretty activist named June Latham.  She swears her only concern is rescuing the tropical birds she loves, but something isn’t adding up.  As Dean begins to unravel the mystery of June’s troubled family, he realizes she’s in danger. 

Excerpt:

             "I looked you up last night. Guess what I discovered?"

            "That I've never been married?"

            "No, that you --" June paused as his words sunk in.  "You've never been married?"

            "Wouldn’t want to make any woman a widow.  So, what startling thing did you learn about me?"  

            She shook her head.  Once again the man had thrown her off balance.  How could he possibly know she'd tried to determine his marital status?  "Forget it."

            "Maybe I don't want to forget it.  Whatever it was sure ruffled your feathers."  He grinned, obviously amused by his bird reference. 

            "Ha-ha," she said, not finding him funny.

            "Hey.  I seem to remember you inviting me on this little jaunt.  Did I misunderstand?"

            She sighed.  "No.  I thought you would enjoy yourself.  That was before I knew you preferred to hunt birds with that high-powered rifle you're so damned good with."

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