New Books and Complications by Janet Lane Walters #BWLAuthor #MFRWAuthor #Writing #complications

 My next book now has five hundred words completed Plus all the words from the directions. I keep hoping I'll follow all perfectly. But we all know there are no books that are perfect                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        The Horror Writer" Demise is a mystery. The heroine trips over the body and falls on the porch. As his identity is unknown. Talk about what you know.  The Horror Writer's demise has mystery after mystery and in discovery he finally becomes more complex.  The publisher has his social security number and The detectives wonder if the dead man is in Witness Protection. With luck, they find at least the SS no is but not the man. Finding out what happened becomes a real puzzle. The heroine using her researching skills and a program aides a hand. What will they fine when they reach the end?

Figuring how to follow the clues that aren't overt was a fun trip. Will the killer be unmasked? What trouble will Val and Kyle encounter? While this is a mystery series, there will also be a romance. During the stories left to tell, the hero and heroine will journey from attraction to love.

The heroine Valentina Hartley goes to the Writer's House to attend a seminar. With a name like hers, she should write a romance.

Running Behind by Janet Lane Walters #BWLAuthor #MFRWAuthor #writing #Holidays #Release in December #Plotting new Book

 

Suddenly I realized it was my day to post on the blog. For some reason I've been runing a day behid for weeks. No excuses, really. As one ages, days seem to run into each other. So for the past few weeks, I've been pushing myself. Whatwith? First there's the December release of Seppal. I've been doing much promotion of the book. Trying something new with this one. I'll know if it works. That's Excuse no.1

Excuse number 2 is Christmas stockings. This year I have 17 to fill for an expanding fmily. The real problem is they must go out after Thanksgiving to make sure they arrive on time. Most of them will be sent out of state.

Excuse Number 3 is I've started plotting the last of the Moon Rising series - Keltoi and when I'm in that zone I lose hours and hours. The plot goes to bed with me and I often wake up with scenes ready to fit into the story. Once the plot is in line and it's almost done, I'll begin writing the story. That's the part I love, too. Next month I'll be back to my orderly self.

 

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Finding a story...by Sheila Claydon

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I'm often asked about writing a book. Do I plan it chapter by chapter? How do I develop my characters? Do I ever use real people? Do I ever suffer from writers block? Do I suffer from deadline stress? Yet strangely, the one thing I am rarely asked is what triggers a story? Yet to me that is the most interesting part of writing.

I can pinpoint the taking off point for every story I write, and it can sometimes be something that happened months or even years before that has been quietly sitting and waiting for its chance to shine. At other times it is almost instant. Take Reluctant Date for example. It is set mainly in an (anonymised) place where I had such a wonderful holiday that much of its geography and ambience is lifted directly from that experience. It didn't take me long to decide to find a heroine either. She more or less leapt at me from a magazine article about dating websites. I find that once I am focused on a story everything else seems to fall into place. I'm not sure if it's because I am looking or whether the characters are just out there waiting until I decide to tell their story!!

In Kissing Maggie Silver it was the photo of an interesting looking girl in an advertisement that started it. That, and yet another holiday where a countryside ranger took us on a trek. I just put them together.  Whereas  Mending Jodie's Heart was triggered by a house, a horse, and a bridle path!

As they say, every picture tells a story. And I can remember why I wrote every single one of my books just by looking at the cover. A sepia photo for Remembering Rose, a cruise from NewZealand to Australia for Cabin Fever, a magazine article for Finding Bella Blue, and so on and so on. 

Now, however, it is time to write a new book but one that is part of a trilogy, a follow-on from Remembering Rose and Loving Ellen. This makes it a little more difficult as part of the story is already there so whatever my trigger is, it has to fit with the previous two books. And that's where old ideas come in. The ones I've had on the back burner waiting until I'm ready. And this time the trigger is another photo, but not of a person. It is of an old and derelict watermill. 

The mill is at least 600 years old. I came upon it unexpectedly a few years ago when I was walking my dog in woodland, and I was so intrigued by the fact that none of the local people seemed to know anything about its history, that I took several photos and stored them away for future use. And now seems to be the right time for it to take its place in my next book. Those who have read the first two books in the trilogy will already know quite a lot about the village of Mapleby. What they won't know, however, is how times are changing for the villagers, and the old mill has quite a lot to do with that.

It's half written. It hasn't got a title yet, and it won't be published until June next year, but without the old mill it might not have happened at all. So here's to story triggers and to the writers who recognise them and store them until the time is right. In the meantime, I have to get back to my writing.

Writing What You No? by Vanessa C. Hawkins

 

 Vanessa Hawkins Author Page

Is it the ninth again? A month goes by fast when you're doing jack! Well... maybe not Jack but certainly his young brother Zilch. As I scratch my head wondering what to write about, I suddenly remember that I have published another book! 

Well, maybe not JUST published, but it came out a few months ago. Unlike Ballroom Riot--which has damsels and dragons and romance and as many F Bombs as a small army barracks--my other book, A Child to Cry Over, is about a young, eight year old girl who is convicted of the murder of a two year old boy. 

Yeah... it's a bit heavy!  

Ballroom Riot= Light as a lady's fart
A Child to Cry Over= Heavy as the solid stuff!

I wrote it a little while ago actually. Before I had my daughter and when I was a callous young woman with no heart or soul and who had tons of time to sleep or brush their hair and could go to the bathroom by herself without a tiny human having to attend every single time. 

Every. Single. Time.

But regardless of whether I could write such a book now that I am a mother, I did write this one, and I set it right dab in the middle of my hometown in rural New Brunswick, Canada. Which had... more than it's fair share of unsexy results. 

See, my little pee-brained, not-yet-famous-but-maybe-one-day author voice told me it was a good idea to write what you know. Write a book about a little girl who grows up in rural NB and jot down all her observations about the place in which she lives. The local people will love it! Until some aspects don't paint the town in a great light... then watch out.

Let me tell you, I got my fair share of critics! As well as some great accolades, mind you, but some people were under the impression I was bashing my home town! Nooooooo! Not at all...

Okay maybe some, but not really. If I didn't love Not Here, New Brunswick, I certainly wouldn't be living there, right? Right. 

Honestly though, it's a nice place.

But despite my sentiments, I did get some flack. I also got a lot of local interviews and newspaper articles so... I mean, no regrets! Writing what you know works! But it also meant that people knew who I was. I got private FB messages, texts, calls! so people could tell me what they thought. Which IS pretty cool but also hella awkward depending on the situation. And it's not to say I never got those kinds of things from family and friends before... but its just... now I got it from people I didn't know... 

 

You read my book and live close to me and want
to talk about it?! Oh. God. No.

Which was an experience to say the least... And Mostly good. 

Mostly...

But it has certainly opened my eyes in regards to writing in a real setting. You're not going to please everyone, so please yourself I guess. Which is funny considering my next book is an erotica.

My puns are funny to me at least...

Wait, what was the point of this blog post? Oh yeah. Writers beware! Oo~ooh! Writing about your hometown and not having the good sense to change any or most of the names in that hometown may be baa~ad! Oo~ooh! And if you do it anyway? Be prepared for lots of messages and  .....*&(#%@( . Oo~oh! 

Or not. I mean, maybe no one wants to read your drivel anyway. 

I want to read your stuff George! Don't cry... 
You just need to write it before the sun explodes.

I'm Back!!

It's been a while since I've posted. I needed a break. It's difficult writing every day (or trying to) and doing a blog once a month. Plus we moved - that was a good thing. I love our new house - well it's hardly new 50 years old, but new to us.
It needed a lot of work before we could even move in and we only had a little over a week to do it. Thank God for kids. The house was filthy. I don't think there was a room that didn't have food on the walls. Seriously. I don't know if they had food fights or what, but we had to wash them before we could paint them Did I say wash? Scrub is more like it.
And the bathroom needed gutted. Believe it or not there was a big hole in the tub right by the drain. We had the house inspected before we bought it. We noticed the black spot in the tub. Just figured the enamel was chipped. The tub was disgustingly dirty. Talk about scum.  Anyway, the inspector obviously didn't notice the hole either.  He ran the water for almost 15 minutes to make sure it drained. Oh it drained alright. Right under the tub,  We didn't notice it until I was done scrubbing the tub with bleach. My poor hands were red from scrubbing.
So, my son ordered us a new tub, and tried to save the tile, but that didn't work, so we got new tile around the tub and drywall in the rest of the bathroom.  Apparently a pipe broke at some point and the bottom of the vanity was warped. So that had to go also. The only thing we kept was the toilet.  Not that I mind, I love it.
I teased my son about putting in just a shower. Now I wish we had. I haven't taken a bath in several years, so a walk in shower would have been so much nicer. Oh well, live and learn. - Oh, that's the title of the 4th book in the Family Affair series, I've been working on, or trying to at least. Aunt Beatrice Lulu isn't cooperating too well. I guess she's upset because Ethel is writing it and not her.
Everything's not about Beatrice Lulu after all. Of course you'd never convince her of that. Her sweet husband, Ed, doesn't help matters. He worships the ground she walks on. At least most of the time.
If you've read the three previous books, you'll know how much trouble Beatrice Lulu gets into, and usually drags Ethel and Lottie with her. Ethel especially, because Lottie is busy babysitting grandchildren. I guess Ethel will never learn either, because she goes along with Beatrice Lulu's crazy adventures.
All in the Family, Book 1 in the series, introduces Aunt Beatrice Lulu, even though the book isn't about her. Here's an  excerpt:

Usually Callie enjoyed dinner with her grandmother. The judge never ceased to amaze her. She kept a busy schedule, yet still managed to keep house and entertain regularly. Where or how she found the time to clean, cook, and bake was beyond Callie. Lately, though, Gram had been getting on Callie’s case almost as bad as her mother and sister about getting married.

She pulled into Gram’s drive and groaned. Not only would she have to deal with her grandmother, mother, and sister, Aunt Beatrice Lulu was here. Not her favorite person. She eased out of the car. May as well face the music.

Callie’s grandmother greeted her at the door. “How’s the new Police Chief?” Gram’s smile beamed with pride. One thing she’d give Gram credit for, she was proud of her children and grandchildren.

“I’m doing well.” Callie hugged and kissed her. “How are you?”

“Ah, you know how it is. Busy. Jim Landry thinks I should retire.”

“Maybe you should. Take life easy. You’ve certainly earned it.” Callie suppressed a grin. Truth be known, Jim Landry was sweet on Gram.

“And just what would I do with my time?” Gram put her hands on her hips and frowned at Callie. “You young people think everything is solved by retiring.”

“Well, you could travel. Or you could spend more time with Jim.”

Gram waved her hand, but Callie caught the blush on her cheeks before she turned away. “Posh. What makes you think I need to spend more time with Jim?”

 “Well you’re always telling me I should get married. Maybe you should consider it.”

“I was married, remember? And to a very good man. No way could I replace him. Get married, the very idea.”

“Gramps has been gone a long time, Gram. And Jim’s every bit as good. He’s sweet on you, you know.”

Commotion from the other room saved Gram from answering. Callie followed her grandmother into the living room.

Aunt Beatrice Lulu sat in the middle of the floor. Everyone stared open mouthed, looking scared to speak.

“What in the hell are you doing on the floor?” Gram covered her mouth to keep from laughing. “Are you okay? Do I need to call 911?”

“No. You don’t need to call 911. Help me up, for God’s sake.”

“What the hell are you doing on the floor to begin with?”

“I fell. What does it look like?” Aunt Beatrice Lulu took the hand Gram offered.

“I can see that. But what happened?”

At that moment, Aunt Beatrice Lulu spotted Callie. Oh boy, here it came. Her nasally voice grated on Callie’s nerves. Okay, it wasn’t her fault, adenoids or something caused it, but it was still annoying. Sometimes Callie thought her aunt exaggerated it. Maybe she didn’t, but right now it sounded worse than usual, and Callie wasn’t in the mood to listen to her, even if she sounded normal.

Why couldn’t everyone just let her live her life? What made them think they could tell her what to do? Aunt Beatrice Lulu wasn’t the only one. Oh no, Callie’s mother, her sister, heck even Jim Landry weighed in on what she should do with her life or what man she should meet. Everyone was always setting her up with blind dates.

Beatrice Lulu. What kind of name was that anyway? And don’t anyone dare shorten it to Aunt Bea or Aunt Beatrice. Oh, no. It had to be the whole name, or everyone would catch what for.

Callie remembered when she was little-she called her Aunt Bea once. Wasn’t that what Opie Taylor on Andy Griffith reruns called his aunt? Callie thought it was cute. Lord above, you’d of thought she’d put a curse on her aunt or something. She thought she’d never hear the end of it.

That woman ranted and raved for almost an hour about how her name was Beatrice Lulu, not Bea, not Beatrice. It was the name she was born with, the name she was christened, and the name she’d die with. It’s the name she expected people to use. Obviously she was proud of her name, but did she have to go on so? Callie never made that mistake again. No, ma’am. From then on she used her whole name and so did everyone else. All except Uncle Ed, that is.

Callie would never forget when her aunt met Uncle Ed. She about fell out of her chair laughing. Aunt Beatrice Lulu stood there staring at him like she wanted to bash him over the head or something.

Uncle Ed is a big man.  Big--like six feet six or more. Most people are overwhelmed by his height. A giant of a man, he towered over everyone and his shoulders, lord above, they were almost as wide as the doorway. And he had this loud, bellowing voice that vibrated off the walls and back at you. His black curly hair fell in a curl on his forehead, and bushy dark eyebrows sat above the roundest, darkest blue eyes Callie’d ever seen. His straight nose, mustache, square jaw, and creases at the corner of his eyes, as well as his tan, gave him a rugged appearance. Sexy. Ruggedly handsome. Magnum PI or the Marlboro Man. 

Aunt Beatrice Lulu didn’t look impressed. Not that Uncle Ed noticed. He just walked right up to her. “Well, aren’t you a pretty little thing?” he said. “Bet you got a pretty name to match.”

Callie’d never heard anyone refer to her aunt as pretty before. Or little. Nothing about her aunt was little. Okay, she wasn’t huge, but suffice to say she had some added bulk. Nothing Callie’d call pretty about her. Aunt Beatrice Lulu’s nose was too big for her face, her lips too small, and her squinty dark brown, almost black eyes looked beady at best. She pulled her mousy brown hair so tight into a bun on top of her head-Callie swore it pulled every wrinkle out of her face. She usually sat with her arms crossed over her ample bosom and resting on her paunchy stomach. Nope, nothing pretty about her. Portly, but not pretty. Obviously, Uncle Ed thought differently. 

You can read more about the books at: BWL Publishing

Meet Beatrice Lulu Eberhardt by Roseanne Dowell

I’m Beatrice Lulu Eberhardt. Some of you know me from my niece, Callie Johnson. Callie’s the new Chief of Police of our little town. I first appeared in her book, All in the Family.

Callie doesn’t know it, but she’s my favorite. She got annoyed with me sometimes because I tried to fix her up with a nice young man, well several nice young men. I didn’t want her ending up an old maid like I almost was. If Ed hadn’t come along – well I shudder to think what my life would have been like. Callie didn’t much care for any of the men I introduced her to. Praise God, she finally met a nice young man on her own.

But that’s neither here nor there. This story isn’t about Callie. It’s about me. That’s right, me and pretty much no one else. I’m a bit of a sleuth. Some call me nosy or a busy body, but honestly, I’m only trying to help. I don’t mean to interfere.

It all started when Ed and I bought a cabin. It’s a beautiful place with its own lake, Ed loves to fish. We thought it would be fun to have a place just for us, away from everyone. You may not remember I’m from a large, crazy family. Crazy in a fun-loving way, of course. So Ed and I wanted a place to relax. Not that it’s turned out that way, we’re seldom alone. Guess it’s because we genuinely like people. So now days when we go up there, someone always comes along, usually Ethel and her husband, Greg. Ethel’s my sister, by the way. I have two other sisters, also – Charlotte – we call her Lottie – and Lillian. Lillian is Callie’s mother, and we have a brother, Clyde, but we don’t see him as often.

Anyway, we bought the cabin, and Ed and I went up there to clean it up. No one had been in it for years. Cobwebs filled more than the corners I’ll tell you that. I could have spray painted them for Halloween. It was going to take days, if not weeks, to clean it. But Ed promised we could fix it up, and Ed never breaks a promise. That’s one of the things I love about him.

So there we were looking around, figuring out where to start, and Ed decided to build a fire to take the chill and damp out of the air. The place smelled musty, the way empty houses smell after being locked up for a long time.

Well there I was, thinking about where to start when I heard a strange clattering noise. I thought Ed fell or something. I turned around and much to my distress, an arm was lying on the fireplace hearth  – well what was left of the arm, bones and tattered flannel from a shirt I assume. Although I’ve been told never to assume anything.

If you want to know what happens next you’ll have to read about it in All’s Well That Ends Well soon to be released from  Books We Love.

If you haven’t read All in the Family – Book 1 of the Family Affair series - you can find it at Books We Love. Just click on the book and it’ll take you to the buy page. It's on sale for 99 cents.