Folks will sometimes ask writers where they get the ideas for their stories.  The answers can be as varied as the people who give them.  Whether it be news stories, articles, or personal experiences, anything can spark an idea.  I like to misquote Dante:  “I am, therefore I think.”

The real challenge is coming up with stories other people want to read.  Now it’s true that the best writing can be something the author would like to read, and authors are people, too (gasp!).  But how do you determine if a story has momentum or you’ve just grown close to it because the characters have become your imaginary friends?

(Confession:  I have lots of those.)

Multi-culturalism and genre-blending are the trends these days, but the constant that remains in good story telling is creating a conflict that draws readers in and keeps them wanting to find out what happens next.

The point of contention doesn’t have to always be a life-or-death scenario.  If the characters become imaginary friends to the readers, you’ve developed another incentive to keep them turning the pages (or swiping the screen).  Internal conflict is something we can all identify with, while outsmarting aliens is a bit foreign to most of us.

Would others want to read your story?  Back away from your creation and contemplate it as someone just passing through, looking for something to intrigue them.  If somebody else wrote this, would you still want to read it?

Yes, it’s a subjective exercise, which is why you hear accounts of best-selling authors getting rejected up-teen times before some publisher realizes that manuscript is gold.  Of course, if we could all agree on what we like and dislike, that would probably just make it easier for the aliens to dominate us.

If you should decide, “Hmm, that might not really fly,” don’t give up.  Maybe it would work in combination with another idea.  Maybe it can still provide a seed for a completely different story.  As long as you’re capable of cooking up aliens as imaginary friends (or worst enemies?), you can always serve up a story.

With a tightened throat and knotted stomach, Dooley sat astride his smoky black steed and gazed at the charred debris of the retirement home.  He told himself he should have taken a different route home, but he came this way because it was most familiar to him, and he’d been distracted with unsettled thoughts.

Like many other buildings in town, the scorched rubble was piled among the jagged walls.  Earlier that day, when he’d first ridden into the city limits, the acrid reek and shattered structures caused a chill to ripple through him.  It wasn’t difficult to determine how their destruction must have come about, prompting him to offer invocatory pleas as he headed to this location earlier today.

A natural gas line ran through the town.  Odds were the disaster that collapsed the electrical grid four days ago set off a power surge that ignited the fuel.  And the retirement home was on that line.

He’d come here to get his dad and return home.

Taking a hard swallow and then a deep breath, Dooley swung his attention back to the road littered with defunct vehicles.  Many of them were damaged by the explosions, and any pumps at surviving gas stations were inoperative anyway.

A second horse, an aging buckskin mare with an empty saddle and a lead rope secured to his back rigging, followed in close formation.  His final companion was a black, mixed-mutt hound with a white striped face.  She patrolled back and forth and around him according to what scent stirred her interest, but she also provided part of his security.

Before he left home a day and a half ago, Dooley and his wife discussed if he should make it obvious that he was armed while making this trek.  Perhaps his tall frame, broad shoulders and two-day stubble might make him look more formidable than he considered himself, but he wouldn’t want to bet on it.

He decided against attempting to conceal the varmint rifle wedged in a scabbard near his knee.  It might intimidate potential combatants and wouldn’t make any difference to snipers.

Yet despite all his planning, he was returning home with the goal unfulfilled.  He didn’t dare mourn until he was settled in for the night, when vision blurred by tears wouldn’t be so large a handicap.

Earlier, when he asked around town about the welfare of the home’s residents in his hope against hope Dad had escaped that devastation, he could sense the simmering distrust from some of the locals.  Leastways, he preferred it be wariness and not scheming.  He made it a point not to divulge any travel details.

The dog wandered closer to the retirement home than he could tolerate.  “Virgie!  Come along!”

Before twilight he veered his entourage into a patch of forest where no fence barred the way nor was any house in sight from the road.  But he still pushed beyond the crest of the hill and set up a cold camp in the hollow between it and the next ridge.  A vacant pasture lay nearby, so Dooley hobbled the horses after removing their tack and allowed them to graze while he finished establishing his hobo estate.

As dusk approached he sat on a fallen log and rubbed the hound’s ears while he waited to see if the phenomenon that had been occurring since the disaster would make its appearance again.

It did.

Like an ethereal curtain, the shimmering glow of green and red materialized in the heavens.  In over forty years he’d seen the northern lights twice.  Both times it had been nothing more than a hazy, red glow in the sky, which was normal when it made an appearance in the Ozarks.  Now the display was incredibly beautiful … and just as ominous.

For the aurora borealis to dazzle this far south, the solar eruption that collided with the Earth’s magnetic shield must have been a real humdinger.  According to the news stories he heard before the electricity went out, the effects had been happening throughout the globe.

When the lights went out here also, he was glad to have warning the event was large enough that plans needed to be made accordingly.  His wife agreed with him that he should go and get his father out of the retirement home to live with them on the farm.  But the news also spooked plenty of people, which made his journey more dangerous than it would have otherwise been.

Virgie straightened and gazed toward the direction of the road.  Dooley placed his hand on the rifle beside him.

The world had gotten scarier, not that it had been dripping with bunnies and butterflies to begin with.  But other people were cognizant that more hard times were ahead, and some of them would use that knowledge to justify major violations.

Something moved at the crest of the hill, and he tightened his clasp on the gun.  Virgie hopped to her feet, but he gripped her collar with his other hand.  She whined with anticipation.

To his relief, he realized it was a raccoon.  The intruder didn’t return the sentiment.  It froze for a couple of seconds before springing away in the direction it had come.  Virgie tugged against her collar with a yip, but he commanded her to sit.

The aurora’s brightness had enabled him to see their brief visitor, and Dooley pondered the irony of the situation.  The day was ending and night was beginning, yet the dimming that usually descended at this time was restrained by the celestial lightshow.  But he knew the incident causing that light would plunge this world into darkness beyond visual perception.

As he pulled the hound closer and crooked an arm around her neck, he drew a deep breath to quiet the persistent trembling in his stomach.  Yes, deep gloom was in store for them, but as always it had to end when the sun rose and light returned.

He just had focus on making it through the night by remembering dawn would return one way or another.  And when that happened, it would bring the promise that home always did lie ahead.

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It wasn’t my intention to do this, but when I learned the prompt word for this month’s #BlogBattle was Dusk, it got me thinking about impending darkness and transitions.  So a side story to my book Darkness upon the Land came to mind.

Don’t worry, I won’t write book-related stories every month!

I try to keep these blogs as brief as possible.

The End

P.S.  Storytelling shouldn’t be sacrificed in the name of brevity.  The length can ebb and wane as it gets perfected.  For instance, during the draft I might write something like this:

The dog was mean.

Brief and to the point, huh?  It’s also imprecise and unimaginative.  So on the first rewrite it could wind up re-rendered into something like this:

The dog lunged against its chain and foam spewed from its mouth as it snarled at any people who passed by.

Now you can form a mental image.  But this version is still rough around the edges and could use some improvement.  Further rewriting could make it wind up as this:

Foam spewed from the Pekingese’s mouth as it lunged against the chain to hurl yaps at passersby.

Not only is the sentence more concise, but your imagery just got upended, huh?

While we’re on the topic of keeping it brief, the next post is going to be a short story I’m submitting for this month’s #BlogBattle.  It’s been a while since I’ve written fiction with fewer than 80,000 words, so this could prove interesting.

Maybe I’ll title it The Dog Was Mean.  Or maybe not….

For any Smashwords readers (or those who would like to become one), the two books of the End of an Age series that are currently available are being offered at a discount during their Read an Ebook Week sale.

Until March 9, the first volume, Darkness upon the Land, will be available for FREE.  The second volume, Wail of the Tempest, will be 50% off.

Don’t miss out on this limited time offer!

Click the button below to get started:

One evening while tagging along with hubby on a conference, we were visiting with the other people at our dinner table when it came up that I was a writer.

“Oh?”  One gentleman perked up.  “Our daughter writes books, too.”

“Really?”  I wondered if this was anybody I’d read or would like to read.  “What books has she written?”

“We don’t know.  She won’t tell us.”

The gears in my mind started to slip.  “You can’t find them by her name?”

“She uses a pseudonym and she won’t tell us what it is.”

The gears slid even more.  “Do you know what kind of books she writes?”

“Yeah, they’re romance novels.”

“Oh.”  I smiled as the gears got traction again.  “That’s a lucrative market to write for.”

I did NOT say, “I get it now.  She writes bodice-rippers and she’s embarrassed to have her parents read them.”

Writers are familiar with the mantra “Show, don’t tell,” but how much showing is too much?  Obviously some genres will dictate those parameters, but other genres will give the author more wiggle room.  At that point, considering what your audience wants is beneficial, but your personal preference will also come into play.

In the years of honing my craft, I’ve written something pertaining to every genre out there.  But upon deciding to get serious about publishing, one matter I made up my mind on was that I wouldn’t produce anything that would make my mother blush.  That meant when I wrote Darkness upon the Land, the first book in the End of an Age series, I had to get creative.

A coronal mass ejection causes electrical grid (and everything related) failure that plunges society into chaos.  That means rioters and raiders use foul language and blood gets spilt.

My protagonists don’t cuss (although the hero will occasionally let one fly, but only in appropriate occasions), so I was able to use them as a filter for the language.  By techniques such as describing someone’s dialogue referencing indiscriminate carnal relations, the point gets across without using the actual words.

The physical conflicts needed description, but going into detail on all the organic sounds and smells weren’t necessary (I also don’t want to make Mom gag).  Shots were fired, the blood landed somewhere, and the characters dropped in certain ways.  ‘Nuff said.

Sometimes in writing, less can be more.  Striking that perfect balance is mental gymnastics that can feel like wrestling with inner demons.  On the other hand, creative crafting can be quite fun.

Or, Drafting is not a Linear Process

Every time I draft a book it feels like battling the Law of Entropy.  Words are not domestic creatures.  They are wild and spurious and prone to scattering like leaves on a blustery day.  The drafting procedure is like trying to capture those words and lay them out in an organized manner that’s intelligible to others, yet the wind continues to gust.

Hmm, maybe that’s why it’s called a draft….

Writers can run the gamut of pantser (make it up as you go) to planner (get those ducks in a row) and everything in between (poet and didn’t know it).  My process involves taking notes and a timeline and weaving it all into a story.  Yet in spite of that timeline, I find myself jumping back and forth in writing the draft:

Oh yeah, I forgot to include the crucial detail that sets up this event.  You know, the villain’s attack would be more ominous if I foreshadow it first.  And while I’m here I’ll clean up this nearby scene.  Now my research tells me it’s bigger on the inside!

(For the record, I’m not writing any Dr. Who stuff.  But in my End of an Age quadrilogy [trying to coin a new word!] I decided to make reference a couple of times to entrenched sci-fi series.  In Darkness upon the Land it was Star Wars.  Wail of the Tempest had Star Trek.  I will use Whovian comments in the fourth book.  But for the one I’m drafting now?)

Hmm … sounds like a topic for another blog.

Speaking of which, this one looks a lot like a draft.  Disorganized.  Rambling.  Something I should be ashamed to show others.  One genius (I wish I could remember who) once made the observation that first drafts aren’t meant for human consumption.

But I’m putting this mess out there precisely because it represents what we’re talking about.  And some other time, in a more organized fashion, rewriting can be a topic worth visiting.

In the meantime, it’s still drafty in here.

Ever hear of the adage about how writing is ten percent inspiration and ninety percent perspiration?  While the perspiration does help to build compositional muscle, inspiration can actually be spurred by taking certain actions.

Attending conferences helps a lot of people.  Visiting a locale related to one’s muse is useful to some people.  People-watching can spark incentives for other people.

While I have the necessary drive to churn out books, I tend to view blogging as a scenic (AKA filled with potholes) side road that detracts from the journey’s destination.  At the risk of sounding trite, life is a journey.  Potholes and side roads and other hazards are standard features of any trip.

But with the right attitude, they also make the trip more, well, exciting.

A workshop I attended the other night fired up some inspiration for the ol’ blog post.  The presenter, Melanie Peters, is a dynamic individual who has made part of her life’s purpose helping others reach their goals in life.  Her enthusiasm is as genuine as it is contagious.

Want to experience some positive energy?  Go check out her blog at intentergy.

There’s no reason to assume that just because inspiration is only ten percent of the formula, you need to wait for it to fall out of the sky.  Spur it on.  Do something.  And when you discover your zeal becomes infectious and spreads to others, you’ll notice that certain contrary element in your life wasn’t so bad after all.

Wow, this is an amazing pothole….

And Happy Valentine’s Day!

Here’s a thought experiment:

Any writer knows the crux of any plot demands conflict.  And conflict usually means one or more of the characters are going to suffer on some level.  If characters undergo emotional and/or physical turmoil that could potentially leave them blubbering in the corner on the bathroom floor (assuming they survive), it is one aspect of how they might reach the level known as the Christ Figure.

Okay, so using Darth Vader as an example is a bit of a stretch.  Those who have been around long enough first came to know him as the ultimate bad guy, and the Christ Figure is usually associated with the likes of Frodo or Harry Potter.  But authors like to experiment with archetypes, and the best antagonists also have depth.  Tennessee Williams and Flannery O’Conner were writers with a knack for giving that element to detestable characters.

It’s easy to see why protagonists do get most of the limelight.  After all, there is usually the element of sacrificing oneself for the good of others, and people who are wicked aren’t inclined to that sort of thing.  If, however, the villain is more misguided rather than evil, the Christ Figure could possibly apply.

Even an egotistical motive could come into play.  In one of my books, Wail of the Tempest, a malicious character winds up dying in the course of an unexpectedly noble act.  There was no revelation or change of heart involved, but the heroine of the story nonetheless recognizes – and appreciates – the unintended sacrifice.

So the Christ Figure can have a myriad of uses, even on characters that are not so Christ-like.  It doesn’t even have to be limited to the main actors of the tale, but can also be scattered around in various doses on the supporting cast.  The corner of the bathroom has looked (or will look) appealing to most of us at one time or another, so we can identify with those characters.

Regardless of one’s religious predilection, this is a pretty powerful component in story telling that will be around as long as there are stories to tell.

The second installment of the four-part End of an Age series is here!  The e-book is available for preorder at the book retailer of your choice.  The paperback version will be available at Amazon by October 18, 2018.

As a treat to the early birds, all preorders or purchases made before October 25 will get the special introductory price of $1.99.  The paperback version will also be offered at a discounted price until that date.

Are you new to the series or eager to find out how the next book begins?  Then click on the link to chapter one located below the cover.  Hope you enjoy it!

Chapter 1

And don’t forget about part one, Darkness upon the Land.  Thank you to all for your interest!

The following is an article from a six-part series that explores aspects of creating the storyline for the End of an Age quadrilogy (yes, that’s a made-up word).

Research, research, research….

You can’t tell a tale about a young woman with kinetic and other powers evading conspirators during the devastating effects of a coronal mass ejection without doing the research.

All good lies have seeds of truth, so stories with elements of the fantastic need a little science behind them to help with the suspension of disbelief.  As the main character, Alexia needed biological and neurological explanations for why she could do what she did.  Reuben, the male protagonist, has an exemplary memory but can’t read.  Their brains worked differently, and I had to figure out how.

There was more work involved in discovering exactly what the effects of a coronal mass ejection would be like.  Because there is difference between it and an electromagnetic pulse (which you hear more about), I had to be sure to get those facts straight.

And then there are all the other details:  cultural expressions, survival skills, religious beliefs, military tactics, future trends, conspiratorial elements….  Anything I didn’t know already had to be researched.  I’m convinced Amazon, Google and the library all have me on some kind of “Watch” list because of my perusals!

There was more than reading involved, too.  Some skills I practiced to confirm their feasibility and/or understand them in more depth.  I also tend to plan family vacations around research (shh … don’t tell the kids).  It’s the details that tend to add dimension.

Hopefully you enjoyed this series.  The second book, Wail of the Tempest, is in the final stages of preparation and should be available for preorder in a matter of weeks.  Please feel free to check out Part One, Darkness upon the Land, at your favorite e-book retailer.  A paperback copy is available at Amazon.

It was a pleasure sharing this information.  Good wishes to all you readers and writers out there and keep those creative juices flowing.