Tell M A Story by Janet Lane Walters #BWLAuthor #MFRWAuthor #amwriting #stories

 

I probably drove my parents and grandparets crazy when I was a child. I had a grandfather with a great Cockney accent. He bgfan reading to me when I was an infant. Around the age of four I discovered library andgot my first card. Then I could read for myself. My cry became, Tell me a story. Of the adults in my life, my grandfather and father were the ones who were best at this. Then I grew up and decided to begin writing my own stories.

Each one of us has their own way of writing, a method that works for us. This became evident on Saturday at our writer's meeting. I watched my friends who read for critique frantically searching through their pages to add notes as well as accept those ones we wrote for them to take home. Most of them said when they arrived hom, said they would immediately rewrite the scene. I shook my head. 

What I had read was rough draft and I said so. One of them made a remark about wishing her rough drafts made sense. All I could think about was they must be pansters. There are also plotters. I don't fit any of these categories. I am a planner. I always ahve my blurb written before I write a word of the book. every night when I go to sleep, I hone in on my world and ilently i shout, Tell me a story.  My characters don't even have names or descriptions. When I do is dream of their adventures whether it's what they do, what's happening and slowly the story unfolds.

Then I write a chapter synopsis. I never now how long a book will be when I begin. My dreams at night tell me what the next event will be. Then I start writing focusing mostly on plot. There are two more written drafts after scribbling notes all over the printed out what ever draft I'm on. After the plot draft, I head to the setting draft and then the character draft. Then comes the final revision and the book is done.

Works for my but it's taken fifty plus eyars of writing to get this down to a system.

My Places

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Buy Mark

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Full Moons have names by J. S. Marlo

 

J. S. Marlo's BWL Books

On October 31, 2020, we saw something we hadn't seen since March 31, 2018. A Blue Moon. 

A Blue Moon is not blue in color. It's the second Full Moon of a  calendar month. Since the  lunar cycle is roughly 29.5 days, a Blue Moon doesn't occur very often, thus the idiom, Once in a blue moon.

 

At 28 or 29 days, February is a special month. It can't have two Full Moons, and about once every 19 years, it doesn't even have one Full Moon. When there is no Full Moon in a month, we call it a Black Moon.  The last Black Moon occurred in February 2018, when there were two Full Moons in January and March, also known as a double Blue Moon. The next Black Moon will occur in 2037.

 

The Blue Moon isn't the only Full Moon with a name. For millennia, people across Europe, as well as Native American tribes, named the months after features they associated with the seasons in the Northern Hemisphere, and many of these names are very similar or identical. Some Native names are often attributed to tribes who lived in a vast area stretching from New England to Lake Superior, and whose languages are related.

 

All the Full Moons have names--many names. Here are some of them:

 

January -> Wolf Moon  named after howling wolves. Other names are Moon After Yule, Old Moon, or Ice Moon.

 

February -> Snow Moon named after the snowy conditions. Other names are Storm Moon, or Hunger Moon due to the scarce food sources during mid-winter.

 

March -> Worm Moon named after the earthworms that come out at the end of winter. Other names are Crow Moon, Crust Moon, Sap Moon, Sugar Moon, Death Moon, or Chaste Moon.

 

April -> Pink Moon named after the pink flowers – phlox – that bloom in the early spring. Other names are Sprouting Grass Moon, Fish Moon, Egg Moon, or Paschal Moon because it is used to calculate the date for Easter.

 

May -> Flower Moon named after the flowers that bloom during this month. Other names are Corn Planting Moon, Hare Moon, or Milk Moon.

 

June -> Strawberry Moon named after these little red berries ripen at this time. Other names are Hot Moon, Mead Moon, or Rose Moon.

 

July -> Buck Moon to signify the new antlers that emerge on deer buck's foreheads around this time. Other names are Thunder Moon, Wort Moon, or Hay Moon

 

August -> Sturgeon Moon named after the large number of fish in the lakes where the Algonquin tribes fished. Other names are Green Corn Moon, Barley Moon, Fruit Moon, Grain Moon, or Red Moon.

September -> Harvest Moon if the September Full Moon is the closest full moon to the September Equinox (around Sept 22). Other names are Corn Moon, Full Corn Moon, or  Barley Moon.

 

October -> Harvest Moon if the October Full Moon is the closest full moon to the September Equinox (around Sept 22). Other names are Hunter’s Moon, Dying Grass Moon,  Blood Moon, or Sanguine Moon.

 

November -> Beaver Moon named after beavers who become active while preparing for the winter.  Other names are Frosty Moon, or Mourning Moon if it is the last full moon before the winter solstice,

 

December -> Cold Moon to signify the beginning of winter. Other names are Moon Before Yule, Long Night Moon, or Oak Moon.

 

To be honest, until today, I'd only heard of a few of them, but there are so many interesting names. Now I'm thinking I need a full moon in my next story--but which one?

Next month, I'll present my new novel, Mishandled Conviction. Until then Happy Reading & Stay safe.

Many hugs!

JS

 

J. S. Marlo's Website

A Christmas Story -- Janet Lane Walters #MFRWAuthor #BWLAuthor #Christmas Story #Children

I wrote this story many years ago. At that time my children were young and I was into reading stories to them. They always asked me to write them a story and so I did.

 

The Urn of Fate

Pedro tossed a stone down the hill and sighed. He felt a tugging at his woolen scarf and turned to stroke Blanca, his pet merino sheep.

“Si, Blanca, soon it will be time to go down but I must think now. Jaime’s coming for a few days. Can you imagine, he’s to be my special friend until next Christmas?”

Pedro put his arm around Blanca and she settled beside him. Christmas hadn’t been good this year. Pedro frowned as he remembered how excited he’d been when his grandmother, Abuela, had picked up the Urn of Fate and started to draw names. Pedro had held his breath.

Last year, Tio Carlos had been his special friend. Tio Carlos had given him Blanca and had taught him many things about being a shepherd.

This year, Abuela had drawn Jaime’s name to be Pedro’s special friend. Pedro wondered what Jaime would give him. Jaime always had his nose in a book.

Pedro had been so disappointed he had run from the room, saying he had to feed Blanca and the chickens. His eyes had burned with tears. Abuela had planned the whole thing but it wouldn’t work. He and Jamie could never be special friends.

“Pedro, Pedro, come quickly,” his mother called.

Pedro rose slowly and untied Blanca’s rope. “We must go, little one.” He and Blanca made their way cautiously down the hill. Blanca was going to lamb soon and Pedro took special care of her. She was his future. Someday, he would have the largest flock of sheep in Spain.

“Pedro, I want you to take some eggs to Abuela.”

“Si, Mamacita,” said Pedro. “First, I must put Blanca in her pen.”

“Let Jaime do that while you gather the eggs.”

Pedro hadn’t noticed Jaime standing in the doorway. “Hello, Jaime,” he said. “I’ll get the eggs and you put Blanca in her pen. Be sure the door is shut.”

“May I pet her?” asked Jaime.

“Sure.”

As the boys started down the hill to their grandmother’s, Jaime said. “Blanca is a merino. I read they produce fine wool.”

Pedro grinned. Maybe Jaime wouldn’t be so bad after all.

When they reached their grandmother’s house, Pedro carried the eggs in. Jaime followed him.

“Good day, Abuela,” said Jaime.

Abuela took the eggs. “Thank you,” she said. “I’m glad Jaime could visit you. It will do you good to be outdoors more, Jaime.”

“Si Abuela,” Jaime said.

“And you, Pedro, Jaime can interest you in books. The schoolmaster has been talking to me.”

“I don’t need books. I’m going to be a shepherd.”

“Some knowledge might help.”

“Si, Abuela,” said Pedro. “Come, Jaime, Mamacita will have supper ready.”

The sky was growing dark and the wind had begun to blow.

“Hurry, Jaime,” said Pedro. “It’s going to snow and Tio Carlos said Blanca might have her lamb any time. I want to be with her.”

“Can you only think of that smelly sheep,” said Jaime. “Tio Carlos always smells like sheep.”

“So will I. I’m going to be a shepherd.”

“And I’m going to be a school teacher.”

When they reached home, Jaime went to the house but Pedro headed for Blanca’s pen. A few minutes alter, he burst into the house. “Blanca’s gone! It’s all your fault, Jaime. The door wasn’t closed tight.” He ran out.

“Pedro, wait for me,” called Jaime. “I’ll help you.” He pulled on his coat and tried to tuck the loose ends of his scarf in as he ran after Jaime. “I’m sorry I didn’t do it right.”

“I should have done it myself,” said Pedro. “Blanca, Blanca!” He tried to follow the tracks Blanca had left.

The wind began to blow and snow swirled through the air. Finally, Pedro stopped and slumped to the ground.

“It’s no use. The wind has hidden her tracks.”

“Pedro,” called Jaime. “Here’s a bit of wool on this bush. We must search like the American Indians do. I studied them in English class. We’ll find her.”

Pedro stumbled after Jaime. Each time Jaime found a new sign of Blanca’s travels, Pedro was amazed. The storm was so thick he could hardly see Jaime.

“I must rest,” Jaime said.

“But look, there’s a big lump in front of those bushes over there.”

Pedro ran forward. “We’ve found her. Oh, Blanca, why did you run away?”

He knelt beside Blanca on the ground.  His eyes widened when he saw the two lambs nestled against her. “Jaime, come quickly. Blanca has two lambs. We must get them home.”

“Pedro,” Jaime screamed.

Pedro turned and saw Jaime lying on the ground. He ran over.

“I tripped on a tree root,” said Jaime. “My ankle hurts. I can’t stand. Now we’ll never get Blanca and her two lambs home.”

“You found Blanca and I will get us home,” said Pedro.

Pedro found some stout branches and put one on either side of Jaime’s injured leg. He tied them with his and Jaime’s scarves. Then he carried Blanca and the lambs to Jaime.

“Put the lambs in your coat to keep them warm while I try to make some kind of sled with some of these pine branches. I’m glad you didn’t take Blanca’s rope off. We can use that.”

After Pedro wove the branches together, he put Jaime and Blanca on the makeshift sled. He tugged on the short rope and started down the hill. The sled bounced over the uneven ground and Pedro thought it might fall apart before they got far. He hoped he could find some shelter for Jaime and Blanca so he could continue home for help.

“Pedro,” said Jaime. “Sheep are soft. Can we be friends?”

“Didn’t the Urn of Fate choose us?” said Pedro. “Maybe you can find me some books about sheep.”

“Pedro, look. There are some lights moving up the hill.”

Pedro looked up. Mamacita must have called men from the village to look for us. We’re almost home, my Blanca, my two lambs and my special friend. Here we are,” he shouted.

The End

Hearing Your Book

Hearing Your Story

 

Recently my book Murder and Mint Tea came out in an audio version. Now I’m the kind or writer who sits and reads out loud the final draft of the mss to make sure there are no awkward places. The problem is that while I’ve been reading aloud, I haven’t been listening to more than pacing and flow. I also have trained to read my words loudly and without expression.

Hearing the book read by a professional reader was a surprising treat. There were times when I wondered if I’d really written those words. Several times I had to look in the print copy and those words were there but somehow they took on a different meaning. Sometimes the meaning was more sinister than I thought and sometimes showing an undertone I hadn’t realized was there.

Many thanks to Virginia Ferguson for her reading skills. Now I’m hoping for more reviews like the one that’s already there from one of the prior editions of the book.

Can too much research kill a story? by J. S. Marlo

J. S. Marlo BWL Author Page

I started writing a new series Unraveling the Past, and as the name suggests, it takes place in the past. The first book of the series Misguided Honor takes place in Nova Scotia in 1941. It’s the first time I write an historical novel...or a ghost.

When I lived in Nova Scotia decades ago, I heard the legend of a ghost haunting a special building. Back then the legend fascinated me, so I thought one day I’ll write a story around it. Well, that day has finally come.

Before I begin writing, I searched for the origin of that legend. Well, not only didn’t I find any reference to it, but the facts I gleaned about the building differ substantially from the legend. To my great disappointment, I was forced to admit to myself that there might not be much truth behind that legend and that reality check made me pause.

The story I had in mind no longer held any grip with history, so where do I go from there? Do I still use the real building in the real town in Nova Scotia or do I create a fictional town? While the later gives me more artistic freedom, it also changes the impact of the story as this little town in Nova Scotia is full of history, just not the history I was hoping to delve into.

I wrote the first chapter last week then life happened and I had to take a few days off. I opted for the real town, but I’m not convinced yet it was the right choice. Once I reread it, I’ll decide if I like the feel of it, but regardless of my decision, I will write that story. The research, though contradicting, didn’t kill my story, but it made me rethink it.

Misguided Honor might not turn out exactly how I had planned, but in the end, I like to believe it will make it that much better. Still, I can see how research can send a muse for a spin, making her dizzy and confused.

I hope my muse will eventually forgive me.

JS

 J. S. Marlo's Website

Using the Senses When We Write - Blogjacked from Julie Spence

courtesy of www.frisco-tx-homes.com

See. Smell. Hear. Taste. Touch. We all know the five senses, experience them in our everyday lives. But do you have them layered throughout your story? If so, do you have too many? Not enough? And did you know that one sense can trigger another?

Imagine walking into the grocery store and the first thing you notice is the aroma of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies lingering in the air. What happens next? Your mouth begins to water in anticipation of warm, gooey chocolate melting on your tongue. Your fingers can feel the texture of the cookie, the stickiness of the chocolate chips.

What about when you look at a painting? I have one depicting three American Indians riding their ponies through the snow-packed woods. When I look at them, I can hear the quiet plodding of their horses hooves, feel the dampness of a bleak day and taste the cold on my lips.

When writing, the five senses are all necessary to the story. Readers want to relate to characters. Through description, they want to see what the characters see, hear what the characters hear. More importantly, they want to be smack-dab in the middle of the action. They want their hearts to melt at a tender moment and their stomach to clench when danger rears. Most importantly, they want the feel-good emotion of a happy ending to linger long after they’ve read the last words.

courtesy of www.polyvore.com

Sight is perhaps the easiest to put into words; bright blue eyes, hair the color of straw, over-sized furniture crowded into a dark room. Smell is also easy; chicken roasting in the oven, digging holes in fresh dirt, riding through a cow pasture. Each of these allows your reader to see what your character sees and get a whiff of his/her surroundings. And when you add sounds―the shrill whistle of a train, the whiny of a horse, the murmur of voices inside a dimly lit saloon―the reader is even more immersed in the scene.

courtesy of pixhip.com

Taste and touch are even better ways for a reader to relate to characters. I wrote a scene where the hero uncovers a plate of ham and grimaces. With those few words, it's clear he can't stomach the taste of ham. How about something he does like? His mouth watered at the aroma of apple pie wafting through the eatery. And what about things he touches? Soft hair, the coarse fibers of a rope, the prickly husk of a pineapple; the right adjective is sure to conjure a response in the reader's mind, maybe even in her fingertips.

There is another aspect to touch―what a character feels inwardly. Whether it’s matters of the heart or a shock to the system, it’s always best to show what the character feels rather than to tell it. Putting a word or a group of words in italics emphasizes emotion and internal thought, to include disbelief, sarcasm, surprise and fear. Using body language allows the reader to experience firsthand what the character is experiencing―a flutter in her heart, coldness pricking her spine, knees wobbling―and allows for a better connection to the character and the story.

courtesy of www.wizardofdraws.com

As you hone your skills, you'll find you can use one or two sentences to invoke a variety of senses. Ex: Jack walked into the crowded restaurant. His stomach grumbled at the delicious aroma of pumpkin pie wafting from the kitchen… and his heart skidded to a stop when his gaze settled on a familiar face seated at the back table. Or, Beneath a hot sun, Jack crested the hill and reined in his mustang, dragged a gloved hand across his brow and stared long and hard at the neat farm house below. A woman stepped onto the porch and his pulse began to pound. Tall, with long, ebony hair curling around her waist, the last time their paths had crossed, she’d run him off her land from behind the barrel of a shotgun.

   

Be creative when layering the senses, but don't use the same descriptions throughout the story. And don't over-burden the reader with description. Good narrative and a few well-placed words and she’ll feel as though she’s right in the middle of the action.