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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The Art of Lying

There are two thruths we take for granted -
1. All our life we are told not to lie.
2. Most books of fiction are believably fabricated lies with a dash of truth thrown in to hold the story together.

Why does that matter to you? Writers of fiction make a living as being resourceful liars. Good examples of this are things that go bump in the night like zombies and witches. They are real, really! I'll try to explain these two twisted truths to the best of my ability so it all becomes clear. We'll start with an obvious choice: witches.

Witches are dotted throughout history as an important pillar of authority as a sort of spiritual guide and a medicine man. High priest, shaman, and voodoo priests are all varying titles for the same job, which is typically refered to as a tribal healer: a lofty position held primarily by both women and men. Most often, herbs were used to heal the sick in a very elaborate way to make tribal members think magic was the root cause for their miraculous recoveries. Because of flashy dances and rudimentary slight of hand, the practice of shamanic ways lost traction as Christianity gained momentum. Shamans and their ilk became feared and their ceremonial practices were looked at as barbaric.
This way of thinking sprouted inaccurate tales of people summoning demons and placing curses of unsuspecting folk. Here is were witches and their less talked about counterpart, warlocks, find a comfy home buried beneath the rubble of lies that created their myth. Truth is something others see to fit a particular problem, an ugly truth no one wishes to admit to. Nowadays, writers toy with the built-up mythology surrounding witches to fulfill mystical enchantments other creature cannot do or brew concoctions to fill a need like a love potion.

Did someone say zombie apocalypse? Yes, it is time to move on to an undead subject. Zombie have found a way into the hearts and (clearing throat) minds of people. Where did it all being? It all started in the African and Haitian nations by a little religion called Voodoo. I can't find the video clip I'd seen years ago explaining this phenomenon of zombie making, but I do remember the news anchor talking about an indigenous plant as the main ingredient to create a zombie. Witch doctors would use this plant to drug clients and essentially make them appear dead. Afterwords, when professional doctors proclaimed them dead, those under the drugs influence would rise up again and unconsciously do the witch doctor's bidding. Again, over time we deformed the myth of zombies into what we now know of them.

Gettong back to what I originally started with, writers take something true and spins it until only a fraction of the orignal tale exists to keep his or her story based in reality. Some of what I told you above are loose interpretations of how each creature got its start to emphasize how truth begets a lie. Fibbing makes a writer money, rooting a story of fiction with real situations creates a good book. Its all in how you look at things. When Americans first created their flag did they keep the same colors as the United Kingdom's Union Jack as a slap in the face when proclaimed independence? I don't know, but it sounds good.

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.