Random thoughts and babbles while having allergies

Well last night wasn’t fun. Like so many I have allergies. Woke up in the morning with congestion which moved on to a half head of pressure, then pain, nausea, light and sound sensitivity and lethargy. Made me not want to do much. Then when I finally gave in and took an allergy pill before bed, while the mind would not shut down! Lots of very weird and funky stuff would not stop till I got up and wrote them down. Here is what goes on in the mind of the Mad Writer when she can’t sleep.


First a really bad poem

sniffles abound
Alergies to what
Everything it seems

Can’t sleep
sun up too long
missing long cool nights
Can’t wait for fall

Lying in bed
pain in my head
tasting alergies
go to sleep you said

Wishing it was easy
only slightly less weezy
meds aren’t even helping
making me too cheesy


Then this dribble

Bloody Annoying

I told him back off, leave me alone. If he had listened then I wouldn’t be watching as his blood pooled beneath him. Never say I am doing nothing and to make you a sandwich when I am writing. Really, just get up and do it yourself, stupid. Sorry dear.


Then some various story ideas. From this one I am gonna call Zombies, Viruses and Mad Men


It’s been ten years since everything collapsed. The old world ended pretty messily.
There were monsters of mankind’s making, both living and dead. Things were pretty bad for a long time, but nothing can last forever.

While the big cities had turned into wastelands or war zones, there were still places out in the world that were barely touched by the madness that had descended. Places that had been hidden so well that they looked like a part of the natural world around them. There were pocket valleys high in the mountains or small islands shrouded by mist on the big lakes. Small enclaves deep into the desserts where few went and even underground caverns that held groups who knew how to hide.

When what ever it was that animated the dead ran out, bodies covered the streets and fields where humanity used to be the thickest. Then came the year of disease. Those who had not succumbed to the viruses let loose by the governments and those thinking they would overthrow those governments changed. There were good, bad and truly evil left, but the numbers of humans dropped from seven billion to just under a million world wide.

I imagine there were places never touched by the plagues, places that the militias hadn’t risen or that the mafias hadn’t taken. I was young when it all went down, a mere child if you want the truth. Recounting how I survived the city after my mother had hidden me away before she had been taken by the gang is another tale, one I try not to remember. It took me a long few weeks to get past the men with guns during the day and the monsters at night.

Before it collapsed there were all kinds of theories. The most popular was of course the whole zombie/virus thing. So many thought they could just blow the heads off and they would survive.


To the beginnings of a possible YA story


I wanted to be a good daughter and support my parents, but the idea of switching school into a private academy one hundred miles from all my friends was bad enough. Being forced into wearing a uniform with knee socks and a little skirt? Well let me tell you I argued with my parents.

“Mom, come one! This is ridiculous!”

My mom just smile and shook her head. “It isn’t ridiculous persay, sweet heart.”

I tolled my eyes as I tried to tug the skirt down to show less leg. “Really, Mom? You would have never wore this…this!”

My mother chuckled even more before reaching behind me. “Well, I wouldn’t know about that.” She opened what I thought was just some boring old book and turned it toward me. “Open up to page 65, Sara.”

Out of curiosity I did and I swear my eyes near popped out of my head. There in living color was a picture of a much younger version of my mother dressed in the same uniform. She wore it with more style than I thought she had. I mean come on this is my mom. She usually was found dressed in jeans and a tshirt, yet she made that uniform look like something straight out of my favorite manga.


You never know what might come out of my head at night. There was another bit but I dont share erotic content. Nope I write it down and sell it! Now here is hoping one of those two story bits turns into something more than a few paragraphs in a folder. Back to the salt mines



Getting stuck

Every writer goes through times when we get stuck. Some call it writer’s block and stop writing. Others move on to something different. We are all different and all have ways to cope.

Generally I move back and forth between things when I get stuck. If one character won’t tell me where the story is supposed to go I move onto another. Problem is that for the past month I seem to be stuck period.

I am hoping that things will loosen up again. I have some story things moving around in my head. A set of two different new characters and stories that might go somewhere but just not sure where.

Now this tiny bit is part of a post end of the world tale. Most of the stuff I have been watching seems to take place right after the world crashes. This is obviously from much later.


It’s been ten years since everything collapsed. The old world ended pretty messily.
There were monsters of mankind’s making, both living and dead. Things were pretty bad for a long time, but nothing can last forever.

While the big cities had turned into wastelands or war zones, there were still places out in the world that were barely touched by the madness that had descended. Places that had been hidden so well that they looked like a part of the natural world around them.


Now this one I actually have six pages of but here is the first two paragraphs of a new urban fantasy tale with an elder protagonist.


They say that the talent for magic appears at puberty. That the strongest practitioners would show signs from birth that they will be great and powerful. They tell you that if you have not shown ability by the time you graduate high school that you might as well just become an accountant.

I showed no sign of that gift. At puberty I was too busy helping to care for my younger siblings to even take the tests. When I graduated high school it was decided that I should marry and pass on my genes to another generation. So I started having babies, one every two years till I had six children to care for, all girls. A regular stay at home wife and mother and expected to stay that way.


Just two little bits from my most current WIPs.  Now hopefully I can get them to move on.

Oh what a difference time makes

Last week I blogged about doing new stories for the collections I am working on. This week  I thought I would comment about the older stories that I am editing for those collections.

Yesterday I sat back and worked on getting things formatted. While doing that I realized that I really needed to update The Knight Protector.  For those of you who have not read that tale yet, it is the first of the Mythos of Love stories and was originally published  back in 1999 in my long lost collection of poetry and tales titled, Inside Dreams – Outside of Reality. Yes, I was published under a different names, Lisa Prior, and the book was filled with a lot of work that desperately needed editing.

Well I started on that  yesterday. Let’s just say I cringed at all the errors. I will probably pull down the copy that is up for sale, once I get the collection updated, that is how bad it is! Fifteen years ago I thought it was a masterpiece of course. A novella length story that had heroes, villains, a damsel in distress, evil monsters, gods, magic and mayhem. Everything that a good old fashioned fantasy needed.

Now it isn’t a bad tale, just that in those fifteen years since it first came out I have learned a lot about my craft.  So hopefully I will get it all edited up nice and clean so that I can move onto a totally new piece for the collection. You will see the evolution of me as a writer in this collection for sure.  Here is an excerpt from where I started to fix the flaws:


Hargon stood looking out over the parapets. The storm whipped his long white hair around his face, but he did little to restrain it. He reveled in the ferocity of the storm and raised his arms to embrace the storm. As the storm’s power lessened he dropped his arms and pounded a fist on the stonework’s before him. “I shall have my revenge! By all that is unholy I will have the soul of the one named Yasha!”




The protector walked into the crowded room. People were at tables and couches talking about many things. He looked about for any faces he recognized. There were a few friends and he went over and gave each a smile and a few words.


He found himself drawn toward a different place though. With a smile he walked out the door and into a small orchard of blooming apple tree. Sitting under one was a small woman playing a sad aire on a simple harp. He listened quietly from the shadows as she started to sing. Her voice brought a tear to his eye, the song was so clearly full of longing.


From the shadows he spoke to her in a gentle voice, “Why the sad song, lady?”


She looked up, startled. “Who?” Then she slowly smiled a sad smile as she spotted his form in the shadows. “Oh, hello. It is nothing, kind sir.”


He could see some pain hiding in her eyes. His heart went out to her. He walked out of the shadows and squatted down in front of her. “Are you sure?” The concern in his voice was clear in his tone.


She closed her eyes a moment and sighed. “Yes, I am sure. You don’t need my troubles.” She opened her green eyes and stood. “Thank you, though.” Her face cleared some. She looked around at the orchard and tried to change the subject. “It is lovely out here tonight.”


Not taking his eyes from her face he spoke again. “Yes, it is,” he smiled down at her. He recognized her now. She was one the ladies he had danced with in the past. Though she looked very different tonight. Dressed in simple leggings and a tunic she reminded him of someone else. After a moment he realized that he had been sparring with her off and on for a week. She was a good fighter but she had a soft side. She could be faked out by a cry of pain. He smiled, “Would you like to dance?” He held out a hand to her.


She looked confused for a moment until she heard the faint strains of music coming out the doors leading to the orchard. “Yes,” she murmured, “that would be nice.” She took his hand and stepped up to him.


He put his arms loosely about her and smiled, looking down. Her hair glowed with silver highlights in the moonlight. She moved lightly in his arms, like a dream. They flowed to the quiet strains of music and she rested her head against his chest with a sigh. He could feel her tremble in his arms. Concern crossed his features. She was holding something inside, showing him a pleasant smile. He gently took her chin in his hand and raised her face to look into her eyes. He could see tears standing in them. She tried to blink them away but one spilled over and down her cheek. He caught it on his thumb. “Tell me what’s wrong.” He tightened his arm about her, drawing her closer.


She closed her eyes and stopped dancing. “I truly can’t tell you, my lord.” She tried to turn away but he held her still.


“Is there no way I can help?” His protective urges where strong around this woman for some reason. It could have something to do with her gentle nature or the fact that she seemed to take care of those around her, much the way he did.


“Truly, no. It is something I must deal with myself.” She would not meet his eyes. “I am sorry, Yasha. I am truly not good company this evening.”


“That’s all right Elinor. I don’t mind. Come, let us finish our dance at least.”


With a sigh she moved back into his arms and let the music take her away. It was pleasant here, sheltered in a man’s arms. No need to be strong. She shook her head slightly. “No thinking like that girl. That’s what started the whole mess.” She smiled weakly up into his deep brown eyes. He was so handsome and she knew his reputation as the Knight Protector. Any damsel in distress had only to whisper his name in the air and he would appear. She was sure it was mostly the tittering of the fanciful young women who looked longingly on him when he walked into a room. Though there was some truth to the rumors. He had been involved in many rescues of maidens in the past. But then she was no dewy young maiden without a thought in her pretty head. She was a fully trained bard and she could hold her own in a battle. But she didn’t feel strong this night. Her troubles were not the kind that magic or a solid blow from a staff could fix. She had made her bed and now she had to sleep in it. Lonely bed or no. Her mind without willing it thought back on the events of a month ago.



As you can see, this is a fantasy romance. Sweet and fun to write even.  I plan on adding at least one more tale to the ones all ready in this group before I release the collection.  Here is an excerpt from Singer of the Blood Song:


Sitting in the quiet darkness, her eyes just a dark pool watching him. Just him. Silently supporting his talent with her presence, one true fan of the new voice. She mouthed each word as he sang, as he spoke and she held her breath for the endless moment before the applause began. She drank in the pleasure that lit his face and smiled when his searching eyes found hers. Only two souls knew whom the songs were sung for, who inspired the words. And only two understood the pain and deep love those words called forth.


As the crowd cheered and the stage door Jills moved toward his perch on the stage, she moved back and deeper in the shadows. She didn’t watch the young lovelies press against him nor did she listen to the promises they made. The women tried to play the age-old game but none of them would be going home with him this night.


Only she would be.   She stepped out of the club and turned to walk around the side. Her car was parked in the back. Where he could slip out and not be followed by his new fans. They had done this many times. Playing the small clubs across the northeastern states had been both a joy and a learning experience for them both.




Ohanko sighed with relief as the doors shut behind him. He found the night’s performance had pulled more out of him than he expected. Looking about he smiled when he spotted the sleek, black car, idling just a few feet away.


He picked up his guitar and headed toward it. Inside he knew would be Kiele, his island flower. She was delicate and loving, she was always there, waiting for him. As he slid into the soft leather interior of their one luxury he rested his head back and smiled. “As always,” he leaned over and kissed her waiting lips.


She lifted her soft hand and gently caressed his tired face. “Tough night, wasn’t it?”


He nodded, his eyes closed. “They were cold, you saw how long it took for them to warm to the music. I don’t know what Rogers was thinking, booking me into that place.” He ran a hand through his shoulder length black hair and shivered a little with the chill of the late night air.


Noticing his chill, Kiele turned on the heat and pulled away from the club. “Me either. Those people were as dead inside as last Sunday’s pot roast. The place should be left to the wannabes and the sinking.”


Ohanko lifted just the corner of his mouth in a smile. “Well, maybe he thought he would give them a treat. A little excitement in their tired lives and it was only one night. I think I can take a night of energy draining listeners. Besides they really perked up near the end. I think the SONG got their blood moving.”

”You should not have to. You have paid your dues.” She paused for a moment as she negotiated around a truck that was double-parked. She darted a look out of the corner of her eyes at his face. “And you definitely don’t need those young things all over you.”


He repressed the smile that wanted to spring across his face. He had detected just the hint of jealousy in that comment. He knew she was nervous of the attention the younger women showed him. “Ah, but they are so full of juice,” he teased her.


”Juice?” She lifted one slender brow, her fingers tightening on the steering wheel.

He smiled then and trailed his fingers up the inside of her leg to the hem of the leather mini she had worn. “Yes juice. But that is all they are full of.” He trailed his fingers a little higher and she gasped. “I prefer my women filled with blood and passion,” he whispered.


”Stop that,” she mock growled and slapped at his hand before he could distract her more from her driving. He could feel her relaxing and he pulled back his fingers, after one more quick caress of her inner thigh.


”Let’s head home.”


So if you like romance and fantasy mixed together, this collection will be for you for sure. Expect me to finish it up by Valentine’s day 2015 (I hope!) All depends on if I can get my modern writer’s head wrapped around my old writer’s head.

You too can have too many works in progress or oh wow, never knew i had done so much

Yup, I decided to try and organize all the folders and work that i have been doing. Two days later I know how many completed pieces I have, how many words i wrote and published, how many series i have, how far the collections have come and thanks to most of today, how many works in progress I have.

While I have published approximately 840K words so far, I have 394K of partially written stories sitting in the many folders I have.  That is 110 titles with 52 I haven’t put into a series yet. Never mind the few that I haven’t had time to take from the old html files or txt or wps files and translate. Yup that is a lot of tales waiting to be completed.

Now I have said before and I will continue to say, Keep everything you write. Be it a paragraph you jotted down to a full blow chapter you wrote but never got more of. The reason is you will go back to those files and go…hey this is a great start! Yup, I have done that. In the folders I have bits and pieces going back thirty years.  Yup I said thirty!

At the ripe age of fifty I am a lot more relaxed and I think, a lot better writer. Things that I could not express at eighteen I can now write fully and completely at fifty.

And for those of you who might be interested in what I have I can give you excerpts from things going all the way back. From terrible horrible OMG what were you thinking stories to more modern stories that I haven’t decided what to do with them. So here you go.


Firstly…something horrible:

Battles Lost and Won


Through this land travel 3 young women. These women are far from ordinary. Besides having to learn to survive by themselves in the wilderness, these women were changed by the fallout caused by the blast.

The leader of the group is called Lara; she is the defender of the other two. She rides in the lead. She and her mount are armed for battle. On what can be seen beneath her cloak, we see a variety of weapons. On her body daggers are strapped to legs and arm. We also see a bullwhip and a strange looking revolver. On the right side of her saddle is a rifle and a jewel-hilted sword. On the other side, there is a longbow and its quiver of arrows. Her face cannot be seen because the hood of her cloak is pulled down low over her eyes. There is a long scar on her left thigh. She is basically a quiet person.

The middle rider is a young, cheerful person. Her name is Kari. She is the smallest of the group, and is looked after by the other two. She has long, thick flowing brown hair and flashing eyes. She is wearing a riding skirt and carries no weapons. She is in charge of cooking for the group; and in the winter teaches children. She holds the reins to the pack horse. This beast is carrying the party’s supplies; cooking and sleeping gear, but also books and instruments. These three hunt for books during the warm months so they can teach the village children.

The last rider’s name is Rael. She is a thief and sorceress, and the youngest of the group. Getting books and artifacts is her job. She is fair- haired and talented. She carries daggers and a crossbow. She also carries a bullwhip, and sometimes fights alongside Lara.

There is light chit-chat going on between Kari and Rael. Lara looks for a place to camp and watches the front for danger. At the same time, Rael keeps an eye on their rear.

“Rael, are you listening?” Rael returned her gaze to Kari.

“Of course; just checking our trail, can’t be too careful, you know.”

“I know. Sometimes I miss the simplicity of the old days.”

“Yah, but what can we do?”

“Lara, have you spotted a site yet?” asked Kari.


As you can see tenses all mixed up, past and present. Spelling, grammar, pacing, flow..all HORRIBLE.. and that is just the first page! Yes, I have learned so much over the years. Enough I think to save this horrible story even.

Next we have Thorns of the Rose Clan…something I was working on with a friend in the 90s:


Thorns of the Rose Clan


A dark feminine figure leapt nimbly from branch to branch in the lush forest, her quarry several meters ahead of her, she was known simply as Wisp. As she steadily closed the distance between herself and her prey she thought back to the events from earlier in the day.




She knelt before the lord of her country. He was known by all as Kaneda. He hadn’t told her much about her mission but she understood that he wished for her to capture the Sprite of Wind, the others were being pursued as she was following her commandment. He had told her they were causing an imbalance in the world and it would be disastrous if not caught.


For some reason though he wanted them brought back unharmed, other than that information the Emperor had not told her anything else. She had heard from some of her contacts in the royal army that the sprite of Earth had been captured, but the cost was high. Afterwards was when she was called in by Kaneda, he told her that her unique abilities would make it much easier for a lone human to capture these dangerous fey. Overconfident after the Lord’s accolade of her prowess made her careless, she had aided in the capture of the sprite of fire but at the cost of some pain and a massive blow to her ego. Its tiny size lulled her into a false sense of victory and she figured it would pose very little threat. She used the illusions of the wind to hide her presence but the tiny creature saw her regardless of her family magic. It sent waves of flame after her and only by sheer luck had she avoided being permanently marred. She received a few harsh burns due to her mistake in judgment. Afterwards she swore she’d never misjudge an opponent by mere appearances again.




She finally cornered the Sprite by the bank of a river, from what she had learned and from the period of study in the palace library and from folk lore and legend, the sprite didn’t have very powerful offensive spells and used illusionary and defensive spells. But none the less she refused to take any unnecessary chances, she was on the defensive the moment she got within its range.


She readied her staff and stood before the smaller being.


“I am Wisp, servant to his lordship Kaneda Makaze, surrender and I swear I shall do you no harm,” Her green eyes narrowed from behind her mask to make her seem a bit more menacing.


The sprite gave her a sad glance, as if she had no idea what was truly going on, its slim figure floating gently on some unseen breeze the silver toned wings glistening in the moonlight.


“My name is Tatsumaki, I understand you are seeking me but I have no intention of fighting with you or surrendering. Your Emperor has upset the balance by capturing my sister and brother. I cannot allow you to capture me as well.” The sprite said quietly as he landed on the bank, a soft glow enveloping him which steadily grew brighter forcing Wisp to narrow her eyes for fear of being blinded, she continued watching through hooded eyes as the light expanded briefly then subsided. There where the tiny creature of only moments before stood a young boy, he stared at her, his clothing flapping in the wind.


Wisp looked the boy over cautiously, his words were most likely a tool, the texts said he would be an excellent trickster.


Not so bad right? Could use a lot of polish to make a gem here though right? Then there is this excerpt from Life of Blades:

The market was busy. People coming and going. Sonya stood in front of the fruit sellers, checking out the merchandise. This market was an amazing concept. An entirely indoor market. The air and light inside was provided by magic. The giant fans in the ceiling were stupendous. As she wandered through the stalls she saw items for sale from as far away as the Stigar Sea. She saw silks from the east and oils from the deep south. Gems from the far north and exotic woods from the great forests.

But her wanderings had a purpose. She had been sent on a quest to find a missing brother. The last report from the near village was that Marcus had come to this market, called in on a healing mission. A young child had fallen from one of the upper galleries. He had been trained in special healing techniques and could probably save the child’s leg. He had arrived, according to the people here, but he had disappeared after dealing with the child.

The crowd was starting to thin out as Sonya stopped to buy a flagon of clear water. As she leaned against a nearby wall she noticed a disturbance coming her way. It seemed that she attracted the attention of someone. She sipped the water and eased one of her many blades into her sleeve. Being of the Blade kindred, she was always prepared for trouble. Many people wanted the secrets of her clan.

Down the aisle came one of the largest men she had ever seen. Flanked by his lieutenants, this could only be Lord Sharpfails. His was the sign on the message sending for Marcus. She had asked to see him when she first arrived here but had been put off. Now her danger sense was pinging loudly. There was no reason for the children that had been playing to break off and hide if this was just a normal walk through. Letting her hair cover her face, she look up from under her brows as the lord came toward her

He was a big man. Dressed in studded leather, even inside his domain. He carried himself like a man accustomed to being obeyed. He was flanked by two men dressed in matching black leather armor. He stopped in front Sonya and looked her up and down.

“Woman.” His voice was deep and rough. At one time he must have had a powerful voice but the slash scar she could just see was proof he had been sliced across the throat in the past. “Woman, why are you here?’

Taking a small drink from her flagon, Sonya was silent a moment before answering. “I’m looking for a friend.”

“Blades have no friends,” quipped the guard on the left.

“Hush, Neman.” Sharpfails’ voice cracked out at his man. “There are no other Blades in my lands, woman.”

Sonya continued to scan the men in front of her. They seemed anxious. Sharpfails especially. “A Blade was here just a few days ago. He was called in to care for an injured child. He was to have returned yesterday.”

Sharpfails face broke into a smile. “Yes, I know the Blade you mention. Scalpel Marcus left here three days ago. He was finished with his duties and continued on.” As he spoke his brushed a hand against something and it caught her eye. Hanging from Sharpfails’ belt was a special leather case. She knew that there was no other like it in the outer lands. It was a Scalpel’s blade kit. A surgeon’s tools would be inside. No Scalpel would surrender his kit willingly.

Pushing off the wall, Sonja stood ready. “Interesting case you have there, My Lord. Mind if I examine it?”

Sharpfails’ face became crafty as he looked down at the mentioned case. “What this old thing? Be my guest, Blade.” He pulled it off his belt and handed it to the much smaller woman before him.

Sonya carefully took the case and eased the zipper open. Inside there were the special blades that only those of her family’s medical teams carried on the entire face of Panmeno. She closed her eyes for a moment and sent out a tendril. This was Marcus’s case. It held his signature. She opened her eyes and closed the case. “So, my lord, where is the owner now?”

“I have no idea what you are babbling about woman. I have had that case for years.” He reached for the kit but she put it into her own kit bag.

“Lord Sharpfails, we should continue this conversation somewhere else.”

He laughed, long and loud. “Why, woman? What could you have to say to me that can’t be said here, in front of my people?”

Sonya grimaced. He was in his full power here. It was too open for her liking. If she had been of the Sword kind or the Scythe kindred she would have felt more comfortable here. But she was of the Daggerkin. Her kind normally worked in the dark and secret ways. “I would talk to you of the where abouts of the owner of the case, Lord. He needs to be returned to his family.”

“I told him, three days ago, that I had no intention of allowing a Blade to wander my lands. He disagreed with me.” He buffed his nails on his armor. “I had my men explain my wishes to him.” The look in the eyes of the man Neman told her all she needed to know. Marcus had never left this building. What she needed to know was if he was still alive and worth a rescue. Or if vengeance was called for.

“Scalpel Marcus is needed back in home. If you could have your men tell me where he is, we will leave your lands.” Sonya knew that Marcus no longer lived but she needed to have these animals admit his death before she could do anything. There were restrictions on her actions. Codes of honor that no outsider would understand but that she would adhere to until her own death.

“The woman seems very dense, my lord.”

Sharpfails’ smiled. “She isn’t dense, Decur, she needs an answer. So give it to her.”

The second man looked at his lord and then down at the much smaller woman. “Your friend is feeding the worms.”


Again not too bad. These three are fantasies that I have on hold while I decide where to put them, if they should be novels or novellas. I have tales in fantasy, science fiction, urban fantasy and more.  They are all waiting to strike me and say FINISH ME…You never know what you might find in your old files and what they may become.

The difference between a snippet and an excerpt and why commenting can hurt a writer

A lot of yo out there realize that writers need feed back.  We need to know if something has an issue with flow or style, if we missed a plot hole or in my case those dreaded commas.  Recently on the writing boards we have started sharing bits and pieces of our work.  Now when we do that it is for encouragement.

You see most writers have a real lack of confidence.  Rightly or wrongly we rarely believe what we are doing is good enough.  Like many artists we edit and tweak our work over and over. So when we share a snippet, or a small section of our work in progress we hope to have people tell us that it works or doesn’t quite work.  A snippet is from that work in progress and is usually fresh and raw with little to no editing done on it.  When someone reads a snippet the author is looking for a comment about is this a good direction to go and not OMG you spelled this and that wrong and where are your punctuations!

An excerpt on the other hand is generally from a completed work.  Like a book they have out to pre-readers.  In an excerpt a little punctuation help is a good thing as is telling them if they have the dreaded plot hole.  But the important thing to be remembered is that comments on either of these should not be a review or critique.  They should be constructive and not destructive.

Now i post a lot of snippets, excerpts and other little bits of my work all over the web.  Generally I am more than willing to listen to what a person has to say about them.  I have wisely learned not to send back snippy comments because in most cases the person sending me a comment believes they are being helpful.  I will generally look at what they have to say and then decide if it is helpful or useful for the piece in question.  I have had people tell me to remove important parts of a story because they did not like the decent into darkness that a certain scene or character death entailed.  Yes I can be considered hard on my characters and no I don’t write light and fun stuff.  I have considered writing both a children’s story and a YA story but they will take a lot of changes in my style to do them justice.

Commenting on a work by and author before it is complete should be helpful if that writer is to continue to grow.  I have commented on a lot of fiction over the past two years.  From help with flow, to plot points, to word choices, I do my best to constructively and positively help other writers.  When it comes to reviews I rarely leave a review that is negative.  Yes I have done a few two star reviews but it takes a lot to get me to do that.  I give reviews on finished work for how well the writer engaged me as the reader, if there is some reason, even the smallest, that I will root for the character and if it is complete.

While many have gotten into the habit of saying that writers need tough skins and if they can’t stand the heat then they should not be writing I disagree.  Telling a writer, an artist, a singer, musician or anyone who is creating that they should not is wrong.  In this world we take way too much away.  We are told we have to succeed, make huge amounts of money and be famous.  If we do not have that drive to be rich then we should go back to the kitchen, the cash register, fast food job and let others who have drive win.  Even if we are just a bit of practice away from being amazing.

So if you can be nice when commenting on a writer’s outpouring.  They are putting the children of their minds out there for the world to see.  They might not be perfect examples of what you have seen before but I bet they have a new take and a new vision that just might teach you a thing about life, love and the world around you.

So many ideas floating in the ether of my head.

Part of the problem of being a writer with an odd imagination is how many ideas you get at one time.   Odd little tales are of course what I write and so having new bits is good.  Like this bit from Four Dragons Valley (working title)


Benjamin brought his eyes up from her unconsciously exposed cleavage to her face.  She hadn’t noticed which was a good thing for him.  He thanked her softly as she placed the tray across his lap.  The food reminded him that he had been living on short rations for a long time.  for a moment he just looked t the food, long enoug htat Yvette spoke up.

“You aren’t a vegetarian are you?”  one hand went to cover her mouth and his eyes were drawn to the long boned fingers with short cut nails.  They were hands that hand been cared for but he could see calluses.

“No, this is perfect.”  HE took a deep breath and dug right in.  While he did Yvette moved about the room.


As you can see this is totally raw.  No editing done or rewriting but it is part of an ongoing tale.  Then  I got slapped with this angry character.


“NO!  I refuse!”

Death stood with a lifted brow.  Most wanted to move on but became stuck.  A simple nudge helped them move past and onward.  This woman was one of the angry ones.  “Why”” he asked, his oddly hollow voice echoing in the dark room.

She turned the long fan of ark hair floating around her.  “I am not supposed to be here.  That butch stole my form, forced me out.”  The anger crackled in the dim space that they stood in.  Her eyes held the glow of the righteous.  Something Death had seen many times over the years.


A story with more of Death than my usual Death Walks through.  A spirit who should not be in his realm would make him very angry.  I thought I would work on that and then it romantic scene smacked me upside the head.


Gentle black clad arms held her till the world stopped spinning.   The room as dark and close and Lydia shuddered as she took a slow deep breath.  Last thing she remembered was the wind in her hair as she drover her convertible through the Berkshires.  The scent of the trees filled her senses one minute and the next she was here, where ever here was.

She took a series of slow breaths, trying to clear her head.  “Lydia?: The deep voice caressed her skin and helped her focus.  She flet she should know that voice but placing it was hard.  She looked down, surprised that she was dressed in all white.  Fur, Feathers and leather cover her arms and beneath her harms she focused on his hands.  They were strong looking with long fingers.  She kept looking at those hands, almost afraid to look up.  “What happened?” she was surprised at the quaver in her voice.


Three new bits to three different tales.  One is definitely from a new Death Walks Through tale and the other two i believe will be part of my Mythos of Love series.  Who know?  but it is what I am doing now.  Working through my notes and finding gems.  All part of writing