Scraps of a Book Part 4 - Secret Sauce Not Included

To this point we have covered a lot of ground in a short period. A world has been born, characters are on the hunt for adventure, and banter is rampant amongst them. Whether the story ends with a bang or a soft good bye; it has to stop somewhere. But, is the first story of your career complete?

No. Not even close.

Over the course of building a story errors will be made to the overall manuscript. Your first draft is done, but edits are inevitable. I don't know of a single author that doesn't have to rewrite something or fix a scene for continuity. This is where my fourth and final post in the series will end. A few things must be considered before tackling such a beast. READ what was written before putting chapter after chapter on the chopping block like an execution, because this is the first step in editing. Skimming through some of those chapters might find them new homes somewhere deeper in the story where they fit better and others might need small tweaks to stay where they are. Reading it again helps you see where continuity of the story went awry. All of this brings the story closer to completion.

Finished? Good, because you just got started.The time has come for a second draft.

 Magic begins here. Words are clay in your hands as you continue to mold the story into a beautifully shaped vase. Step two is actually editing everything (rewriting a manuscript for a second draft). That is accomplished by removing useless words or grammar as you read it thoroughly. I prefer to print out my manuscript for this process; however, you may wish to save paper and edit directly from whichever word processing program you use.

Changes are done, the story flows in a constant timeline that makes sense. What next? I would hand (email) a copy to friends and/or family willing to sit a spell and read it. Feedback at this point will help mold the story further - a second pair of eyes to critique your manuscript won't hurt. Joining a writing community online or in your home town is a good place for feedback too. It is actually in your best interest to hear early on what others think before committing to a physical print of your work. The next step is coming soon. Take of they tell you and sculpt it into your masterpiece.

Step three is revisions. Listening to feedback and altering scenes becomes a multi step process. Don't rush! Your exquisitely crafted vase comes with patience and perseverance. Rework scenes to be more descriptive, add dialogue to explain confusing actions, and above all else check for a smooth flow from chapter to chapter. Once everything detail has been corrected, it is time for a professional to take over.

 Step four might be the most important beside writing a good novel. Hire an editor. There is an abundance of editors/proofreaders out there to choose from. Look to fellow writers for recommendations or use the editing services of an indie publisher for final polishing of your manuscript. Editing isn't always perfect the first time. What comes back from an editor are more than just grammatical corrections, new suggestions for plot or fleshing (developing) out a particular character are a few things to expect.

Some companies charge for each round of edits. Whenever you change major parts of a story more edits will have to be done, hence the charge for each round. Do as much editing as you can through online writing communities before leaping in with both feet. Don't in debt because you bought too many editing packages; use the free resources available to you first. You are now ready for beta readers to test drive the vivid world and charismatic people you've created. Take their feedback, revise, repeat - so is the life of a writer.

Well, by this point you've completed the not-so-impossible: writing a novel. Congratulations! Sitting on your desk is a finely crafted vase made of neatly stacked paper and ink ready for shipment to a large publishing house or awaiting a final coat of paint (cover art and a back cover blurb). We've had a wonderful time together trapping those ideas to paper. Now get to work. Stop dillydallying over pictures of kittens or how to win a Sudoku game, because readers, like me, are waiting for the next great novel.

Good luck becoming an author. I wish you luck in converting what started out as a hobby into a career.

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Payout Excerpt

Here is a short excerpt one another novel I'm working on. Pending title is 'Payout'. No cover for it yet:

Chapter 1

“Stop!” a voice cried out. Flashlights blared to life behind him in pursuit.

Fat chance, he wanted to say, except he had to save his breath for running.

Multiple bursts of light brightened the night sky briefly making him turn to see if a car followed so soon. Shadows played havoc with his eyes as he ran away. Projectiles shot out from the doorway the man just left straight at him. A Burning sensation across his back was the only warning he got before ducking at the last minute, letting the red and yellow warmth from the missile’s propellant singe hair up the back of his neck. The missile exploded unlike anything he had ever witnessed on TV or in person. The impact melted the brick after a ferocious flash, lightning without thunder. The man, too scared to do anything else, picked up his feet and ran faster for the alley ahead.

The alley’s normally narrow pathway, fitting a single dump truck or passenger car down its trash-filled roads with not much room to spare gave little cover for him. Puddles splashed underfoot from the recent rainfall. Not every place the light touched asphalt reflected his image in the wet patches or with shadows cast by the full moon. Trash and empty cardboard boxes made it hard to stay in the building’s shadowy embrace. He had nowhere to hide. The man moved between the inky silhouettes cast by the ambient glow of upper apartment windows, in hopes he was wrong about finding somewhere to conceal himself. What a mess this turned out to be, he battered himself thinking. If he lived he wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

It all went back to the only time he chose to live life on a single impulse, which he never did and would not again. News came down the grapevine about a big job coming up that could set him up for life. It originated from an unknown source, but the guy passing it on he knew and trusted. A simple snatch-and-grab was the way his buddy put it.

# # #

“I tell you Joe, it sounds fishy, but my source is as good as any out there. Never steered me wrong,” Sam said in hushed tones keeping the conversation between them as much as the bar allowed.

Joe scratched his head wondering if it could be as legit as Sam said it was. “Do I know the guy?”

“No. He and I go way back, I can trust him. Names weren’t given for who’s fronting the money, however, he did tell me it came from a high roller,” he searched the room skittishly from the sound of water glasses crashing to the floor by a clumsy busboy before turning back. The look Sam had spooked him a little.  He wasn’t so sure Sam was being forthcoming with all the details.

Reconsidering, almost feeling pulled forward to the decision, “I’ll take your word for it. Send back that I’ll do it.” He couldn’t reason out why the words rolled off his tongue so easily. He was not known to be this spontaneous. But that’s how it all started.

# # #

He should have kept to himself, working the sure bets instead of taking the job tonight. He always took extra care to check out the jobs before signing on as a precaution to his well-being. He never got the chance. The night air held promise of a heavy down pour. He hated working under the cover of rain; always leaves a wet trail for anyone to follow in the dry confines of a heist.

Joe came to loathe the idea of doing this job. Repeated calls from the employer, hassles from the “partners” about not stepping here or there without giving up why they knew this, and waiting for someone else’s timetable became unbearable. Keeping the employer’s name in the dark was just good business. It bothered Joe to no end still not knowing his or her name this far into the game. In his line of work knowing who was flipping the bill meant getting a callback for another job or jail time from working with an undercover agent. Not the best scenario for getting the job done.

Another reason stood out, two other people got hired on. There would be partners joining and no room for negotiation. He worked alone most of the time, limiting the hands digging in his pockets for a cut. Plus, alarms tended to get tripped when too many feet were involved. These partners of his were said to be knowledgeable about the item they needed to find. Joe wanted to know what the object looked like. That would help, he thought. His employer refused to describe it over the phone. Just rely on your help for that, his boss told him. Unlikely, but where was the choice.

The location was not given until the last minute. Nothing went his way after the first meeting. They were going in for an object kept at random locations for safe keeping. Again he wasn’t given a choice, not even on how to complete the job. Had he been in control, everything might have went smoother.

They just had to break into the store and snatch the pocket-sized object, removed some other items to cover up what was really taken, and hightail it. Simple, except not knowing beforehand what the layout looked like. Everything had been orchestrated on the onset with phone conversations replacing face-to-face contact. Joe still didn’t really know who he worked for after a few meetings. Phone numbers used by Joe’s employer all came up untraceable. He wished he never heard of the mysterious object, let alone the job. Now he ran, the enlightened pair his employer brought in never made it past the door of the store.

An unassuming enough looking necklace sat tucked in his pocket as he ran. What happened back there did not seem natural. No laser light show he knew of could do the things he witnessed. Their flesh seared away by inches at a time when they tried to get away. The bluish flash that came with it didn’t seem right either. It all made no sense to him. Scared him so bad he didn’t look back until clearing the doorjamb. He wished he hadn’t now. What happened to those poor guys won’t ever leave his memory now. There wasn’t any looking back now.

Skirting across the pools of light with the smallest parts of him breaking the invisible plane between light and dark should have helped Joe evade the people from the store; his pursuers’ were still hot on the trail. Flashlights flared down the alley after him shining off brick walls in jagged movements. Headlights flashed past the entrance of the alley less than fifty feet away. If he could make it clear into the street Joe might lose them in the crowded sidewalks.

Burning sensations ran down his leg where the necklace rested, feeling nearly white hot against his skin. He was too afraid to look down, wasting valuable time and possibly tripping over any unseen objects by doing it. Right when his feet touched the sidewalk a voice called to him. Joe Brinston.

It said his name, intense pain growing from the necklace forgotten. No one on this job knew his real name just in case someone was caught in the act and ratted the accomplices out to the cops. The people behind him surely couldn’t know it.

Joe.

An odd feeling came over him to turn back, turn around from where he just came from. It was so strong Joe almost listened to the siren’s calling. He was pretty sure not a single one of them was female, but the voice he heard could be no other.

Joe.

Momentarily distracted by the sounds of a woman calling might have been the intent of the people chasing him. Maybe one of them had a high-pitched voice mimicking a woman to cause him pause. That didn’t explain his name being called out. Rolling fear taking over he bolted from the alley into a sea of people. The theater had just let out giving him cover one could only wish for.  Cover at last and her voice stopped calling to him.

Joe didn’t waste any time thinking. He dove for the next unlit alley a few streets down and ran the center of it as fast as he could. If it had not rained earlier he might have been able to run faster, so staying on the side of caution Joe kept to a jogging pace praying it was fast enough to lose them. Slowing to a walk Joe took the chance to look back feeling safe of further pursuit. Sure enough, the chase was over. This street he’d cut back to had less businesses tailored to the night crowd as the other street had been.

Doubling back now might bring him face-to-face with the people he had swiped the necklace from. Better to continue cutting down alleys, sidestepping the main streets, before heading back to the car. Joe took the good fortune of being the driver tonight for what it was worth. If one of the others drove, walking would be the only alternative and it was a long way to go. There wasn’t anyone he trusted enough to call for a pickup.

Now, more than any other night, left Joe disbelieving he could trust a soul with what happened; not even his closest friends. The necklace nagged at him from the interior of the pocket. Such a big payout for a chain with some kind of ridiculous pendant hanging on it, Joe didn’t dare pull it out to inspect it. Here in the open where anyone could see it and possibly remember him carrying it so close to where he stole it. Thoughts drifted in and out as he walked slowly down the street. The car was up ahead parked out of reach of any street lamp keeping the car mostly in darkness, secluded from other cars parked in the security of light.

Joe fished out his keys with a watchful eye scanning the curbside for anyone following. His hand brushed up against the necklace searching for them sending a cold blast up his forearm. Chills raced throughout his body. That infernal pendant, Joe hissed in his head at the pain.

Joe’s steps staggered as he tried to control the shivering that necklace caused. First it got so hot he thought it would burn right out of the pocket and now Antarctica would be a warm place compared to touching this thing again. Without knowing what it was Joe could see why the payout was so much. There was something unique about the necklace making it seem priceless no matter the simplicity of the design. Unlocking the car door while shaking from the cold left by the necklace’s touch, he dropped into the seat and cranked the engine up before getting the door closed. Putting the heater on high didn’t seem enough to ward off the cold. At the same moment he thought about the cold, the point under the necklace touching skin carried warmth now. He took the chance to retrieve the pendant and immediately dumped it in the glove box. At least there wouldn’t be any more of those freaky happenings if he couldn’t touch it.

More relieved to be rid of the thing, thoughts wandered back to what happened at the store. Throwing his head back against the headrest and closing his eyes to the world, Joe tried to recall what happened from the safety of the car. It’s not something I want to remember but what I saw must not have been real, his head reeled from seeing again the blue flash of light disintegrate his partners.

Everything was moving so fast adrenaline spiked in him at the mere thought of how close he came to being like the others. That stuff came out of nowhere like magic. It was hard to believe! After they entered the room where the necklace had been, a search for surveillance equipment gave them nothing at all. Nothing on the property had the slightest appearance of high-tech besides the magnetic alarm strips set on the windows and doors. Even a first time thief knew how to pull a heist this simple, but Joe had missed something. Security cameras tucked away or motion sensors must have been hidden from sight.

How else do you explain a quick lockdown of the premises as it happened there? Joe began to feel exposed sitting in the car still too close to the building he just robbed. Turning the keys in the ignition with a satisfying rumble from the engine, he checked the street for flashlights before pulling away. Put the past behind him he always said. Forget what went on and focus on the prize. Joe would make the call in the morning to the contact to exchange the pendant for cash. It was all that was left.

Joe.

The voice came back. He sat in a car driving with the windows rolled up. This day just gets better, Joe repeated to himself several times.

Faint streamers of light emitted from the glove box as he heard the woman again, Joe.

The disembodied voice echoed through his head. Refusing to enter the highway while some woman called out his name, he pulled up to the curb under the overpass. Hands shook when he let go of the steering wheel. The events of the day just got worse. He was delusional. Joe hoped to God this job paid out like he was told. How could he continue if melting walls, disintegrated bodies, and phantom voices plagued him?

From the outside of the car, the inside looked like an overhead light was turned on to read a map. Inside the car Joe pulled on the door handle until it broke off, windows didn’t roll down. He screamed at the top of his lungs. He knew the end must be near.

A sampling of a New Book

Excerpt from Temperature: Bitter Cold (Title Pending)

(Visit http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/temperature/an-effort-to-publish to find out more.)

Gold had a way of locking memories away when used to restrain the undead. Sally had learned firsthand this truth when Bo had cuffed her in the motel room so long ago. He had forgotten to keep an eye on the setting sun before it was too late and Sally’s first taste of what effects sundown could have on her took over. That night had been a whirlwind of emotional turmoil tucked in with a deep sensual vibe to seduce, and a flock of unbidden memories not belonging to her as it drove her after Bo for release. Where was her friend, Bocnic Drewings? She could only hope he was not far behind to save her yet again. Thinking of her own past cleared the fog out of her mind to comprehend her present situation better. The Cross had her now.

“I see the small struggles you are having with the restraints. I assure you they are for our protection as much as they are for your own,” Sally watched his mouth curl up into a half-hearted smile when he finish. “As time passes we will consider removing them, but for now – please do try to find them comfortable.

“Where are my manners today; I never introduced myself. My name is Demric. I already know you, Sally, because we tried finding you earlier before those decrepit creatures muddled your mind up with lies,” He looked at her with saddened eyes, nearly bringing his lips to form a pout. Sally was already sick of hearing his voice but without any way to escape she sat through his treacherous speech.

Words crackled dry from her throat as she spoke, “Why did you chase us?” If Sally had enough juices to form spittle it would have ended up in Demric’s face. Thinking it over she was glad not to have any or her actions might have made things worse.

“Isn’t it the way of law enforcement in your country to pursue the criminals with some amount of force? My men were only trying to do the same thing by saving you from a fate God only knows would have happened. I was not there; however, my men had reports you would be going to trial and we wished to intervene. The spells around the area kept us from making it in time,” Demric paused to catch his breath before continuing and stopped her from interrupting with a wave of his hand. “I would have preferred to scoop you up from such disaster had I the ability. It seems we reacted too hastily as you made it out alive. That culprit was with you when my men spotted movement near the road. They had to act fast or fend off the creature protecting you.”

Anger touched her words emphasized by the disappearing dryness that plagued her throat as she worked to moisten her mouth, “He is not some kind of creature! That man did his best to save me when the chips were down. He even offered up his own life to protect me during the trial.”

“There, there. No need to get hysterical over the minor trial. We know all about that and more,” Demric flashed a quick smile, for reassurance she thought.

Her disgusted look she gave him did not perturb Demric from continuing, “It was set up to bring you to us. A way to guarantee safe passage from those cursed lands they inhabit to us. We wanted you safe and sound…”

“Bullshit.”

“Such language from a pretty girl. I know it’s hard to believe right now, but I already told you our efforts you think were to kill you had been directed to the one keeping you from us.” Demric shook his head for emphasis, “I wish you would see the facts clearly. Sally, our goal is not to convince you through torture; however, we will if it is what helps you to see the light.”

“You’re all crazy! How is that kind of treatment going to make me think any differently about the church’s motives? By the way, don’t call me girl again,” Sally said the last part almost too quietly for them to hear. She realized the threat would be laughed at. At least until she got free – she could be patient she hoped.

A chuckle escaped Demric’s lips as he spoke, “No, we just use time-tested methods that have worked repeatedly. Nothing against you, but your mind has been corrupted by otherworldly forces and we are going to help straighten you out.” He squinted at her curiously for a moment, “It won’t take long unless they made the influence burrow deep down into your subconscious. That might pose a problem, but you’ll live through anything we’ll do to you since meeting the afterlife means nothing to the undead.”

Sally stared in disbelief. How could someone become so twisted in their beliefs to accept such hogwash as he was spouting. It made her unable to reply. What the hell, she thought as the fear of what might come next covered her like a blanket; I have to get away from these freaks now.

As she struggled in vain against her bonds Demric called out to the man closest to Sally, “Knock her out for now. We’ll start in an hour.”

Shock fell over her face as the bulking man standing next to her lifted his rifle to strike her with the butt of his rifle. A voice from out of her view was Demric yelling, “Not like that…” but she never heard the rest of it as everything faded to black.

Zombies and the Histories Behind Temperature: Dead and Rising - Part 1

This was a long time coming and I have no clue why I waited to write this at all. I am about to shell out how the myth of zombies (related to the novel Temperature: Dead and Rising) came to be. What I mean to say is some of the secrets behind the undead will be left for the sequel so I can limit how many spoilers are written here. The very idea on the undead walking among us unnoticed intrigued me enough to write the first of the trilogy. Why would the undead not be seen for what they are? Rotting corpses stick out like a sore thumb if you ask me. The idea started out simple and grew complex. I hope to keep the facts in order as I retell some of the story and make up the rest.
The word "zombie" will only be used as a reference point for you, the reader, as I recount the history of the undead with some of the lines blacked out to protect the innocent or of possible spoiler alerts being manufactured. We all know what a zombie is or could be, a flesh-eating monster craving brains without ever getting smarter from eating those brains. Likewise, their flesh is always falling off but never to the extent of becoming a pile of bones. Can't have bones walking around without overlapping muscle and ligaments to hold them together, now could we.
There is where I always have an issue with zombies - chomping on the living and never falling apart; however, the undead can blend into the crowd and look like you and I on our better days. You are probably asking yourself, "Why would that be?" and you have the right to ask (Yes, we all talk properly in our own heads). The undead were created by the Powers-That-Be to work for them in the mortal realm. To whom are these godly being connected to? Good question - that's why they're unnamed. Did I answer your question? No, didn't think so.
Him, Her, They, or It (if you prefer) helped create what we call Earth as our home. Good and Evil shared in shaping and creating this world to its current state. Chaos for the most part ruled us, but peace could be around the corner. At first, each would take turns developing an animal. The other would make one to devour the first. These challenges they played against each other made them realize neither could win. What did change the outcome was a new rule put in place and agreed by all - let what they had created grow on their own to determine the final endgame. Some of the creatures brought to life are now stories we tell children at night to keep them from venturing too far from the warm sheets they snuggle in bed with. Boogie Men, Werewolves, Succubus, Sleeping Giants, and the like became myths as did the undead I speak of here. These supernatural creatures lacked vital proteins once the gods abandoned them. Most of the supernatural hybrids died off, too weak to continue from lack of real food - that being the yet born humans. Although this new food source would prove difficult to catch.
Differences between Good and Evil created a distinct line between them as the creatures of the Earth grew and multiplied into free-thinking beings; keeping the two opposing sides at arm's length from interfering to influence the newly evolving creatures being born. From the first among the creatures to have individual thought each side agreed to introduce themselves and let the growing populous decide for themselves whom to follow. Grunts were made by the yet-to-be cavemen and decisions made. No matter how enticing the corrupted gods tried to make them sound better, good still won out. It was decreed one last meddling in the world of man would take place. A champion for each side would be born to guide humanity along. The side of Good chose what had passed could be renewed (giving us the undead), while the side of Evil gave rise to a single demon that could raise his own disciples.
From there on, the power-that-Be took a backseat in guiding the world they made to see what happened next. The undead grew at a steady rate of only a few a century and the demon made leaps and bound to gather followers. Each champion would spread the word of his or her ethereal being to worship and take unheard guidance from. Most of the supernatural beings that came about first joined the ranks of corruption, even some of those born for the righteous gods. Soon Good found less of a foothold on earth.
It was time The side of Good brought their champions into play. Unbeknownst to the rulers of chaos was the undead could not die. Evil had nothing to fight back with. No matter how many times it's forces tore the undead apart they would just pull back together and fight on. The balance was brought back to normal and the scales even again between rivaling sides. The eldest fighting for Evil died; leaving behind less knowledgeable siblings. As time passed the reason of where they came from died also.
The undead became the guardians of balance for both sides. The eldest of them taking refuge in caves as they had before becoming undead. Those that knew the truth kept it to themselves because knowledge is power and the complexities surging from man's own misguided thoughts hid the biggest secret the world would know. Even the single demon chosen to champion the ways of Evil saw how hiding the truth could serve a higher purpose. Such as misleading the number of religions and making them doubt what they believed. Easy to do when the people didn't know what they believed in or worshiped.
I'll stop here. Tomorrow night will be part two because it is after midnight and the blog is exceeding long. Someone might not make it to this line to find out I have more to say. Some of you might and I thank you for bearing with me.

Zombies and the Histories Behind Temperature: Dead and Rising - Part 2

Now where was I? Oh, the early starts of religion and how they twisted under the corruption enveloped the world views. That should be easy to explain. Right. Like I want to touch on that with great detail even in the fictional world. I'll let the first novel unravel religion about a third into the storyline. Religion (not just the ones we follow today) is so large it could fill a whole series of War and Peace size novels. Nope, going the easy route today. Sticking with the concept of zombies (undead).
In the novel Temperature: Dead and Rising I explained how cemeteries put the undead into a near complete death-like state. There is a reason behind it I didn't mention in the first novel. That part of religion came from believing in what was right and good. The correlation between the two ran parallel, which gave a resting place for the weary undead to seek refuge. When a need for them was great they broke free from the soil to protect the hallowed ground or return balance once more. This bit of history helped grow a fear of graveyards in general. Besides ghost taking over your body while in a cemetery at midnight, who wants dead body reaching up to grab ankles. Nowadays the undead use abandoned graveyards resting next to forgotten churches as supernatural prisons.
For lesser crimes, one of the undead might be buried for years based on the crime against the undead (the only crime they care to judge on). Heinous crimes would call for dismembering a body and placing each piece in separate graveyards to keep follower from digging up the convicted person and setting him or her free. By now you get the picture of how the undead cannot die. Now I'll answer the question for the rotting, putrid flesh issue.
The 'Deadman's Drink'.
Corny name to be sure but the undead try not to mince words too often and call things what they are. This elixir made of exotic plants and other minerals make up the mystical concoction that keep an undead body looking young and whole. A smell still lingers like that of decaying flesh, which has to be masked by a spell so others (humans) don't know what they are. Good way to hide from most humans, not so much from supernatural creatures. The drink is taken every forty years or so to keep up appearances. Some of the undead use this skill to enter into public office or start a career as a celebrity. Would you believe me if I told you Elvis was one? Why else are there so many sightings have he's been declared dead so long ago.
Moving on, Spell casting is a tricky mess for some and nonexistent for all humans. Supernatural beings have the innate ability to cast magic around. It draws on what some might call a soul. For this very reason humans cannot weave spells or cast curses. Mixed breeds like the witches can do a little hocus pocus but it can drain them immensely. Witches are considered the redheaded stepchildren of the supernatural world. That said, they carry big sticks filled with ancient knowledge shared only between other witches. None care to offend a witch for she may come back with a vengeance.
Other supernatural creatures have long life expectancies with some regenerative powers to compensate, although, in the end magic will kill them if they draw too deeply. However, the undead have a battery like the energizer bunny. They will get depleted, but can recover without the fear of dying. Another reason they were built by the side of righteousness.
To be honest - there is more to tell about the undead and what they can do. I believe telling more might give away what comes next in the following two novels I have planned. For now, I hope you have enjoyed my tale of fictional history. Please leave comments below.