S.K. McCauley's Blog
January 23, 2015
New Book!
Looking for readers who will critique the new novel, AFTER the DRY SPELL, as I wade my way through the first draft. There are about 50 pages so far. Let me know if you're interested!
January 13, 2015
Quote
“The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars.”
― Jack Kerouac, On the Road
― Jack Kerouac, On the Road
October 27, 2014
Help?!
Friends, family, and avid readers,
If you have the time, I'd love some feedback on this opening chapter. I.E. Would you read on, is the main character likeable, is the 'tone' too dark, etc. All helpful feedback is welcome. Here goes...
Sometimes people snap. It’s not something you plan. Just like you don’t plan a car accident. It simply happens. Then you have to assess the damage to see if there’s anything worth salvaging. Most of the time, though, you find yourself alone in a room saying, “What the fuck just happened?” And the corridor is either filled with blood, lawyers or mental health workers. -KATHERINE’S ELEVENTH PSYCHIC
“She predicted this you know?” Katherine said, clenching her hands in her lap.
“Who did, Katherine?” Dr. Marsha asked; her pen poised above the file she’d started on Katherine month’s prior.
“My psychic. She said I’d snap.” Katherine chewed her lip.
“With what you’ve been through, it could have been worse.”
“Worse?” Katherine stopped rocking. “I straddled him and smashed his head with my cell phone until it shattered.”
“He’d had a knife to your throat four times earlier in the day. Why didn’t you snap then?”
“That was different. He was just being playful.” Candles danced in the reflection of the window, reminding her of the last time they made love. Jasmine candles, lavender oil, champagne, hands, mouths, skin, kneading, writhing. God they were good together. “You know Mae West?”
Her therapist nodded and shifted in her chair.
“She used to say, ‘When I’m good I’m very, very good. And when I’m bad… I’m better’.”
“And you’re saying this because?”
“That was us… our love life. The sex was always very, very good. But when he was ‘bad’ it was…” Katherine smiled and felt the familiar ache of wanting him.
“And was he ‘bad’ that night?”
Katherine wondered where this was going. “Why do you ask?”
“Did you climax?”
Katherine made eye contact with Dr. Marsha. “I beg your pardon?”
“I’m wondering about your state of mind during aggressive sex. What were you thinking about and did it help you to achieve orgasm?”
Katherine crossed her legs and laced her fingers around her knee. “That feels way too personal.”
“You aren’t ashamed to talk about sex, but rather your thoughts during it?”
I’m ashamed of my past. “No, I…” Deflect, Katherine. Never talk about them. “He grabbed me by the wrists that night.”
“And how did that make you feel?”
“Trapped. Helpless.”
“Think back. Do you remember feeling that way before?”
“Not me.” Katherine thought about her mother, just before she died. Her mind had eaten itself teaspoon by teaspoon for twenty-four years before her body showed signs of aging. But then, she fell— at least that what her father said— and spent the next few months strapped to an in-home hospital bed, leg propped up in a sling, restraints on her wrists, being force-fed liquid meals. “I remember her mewing.”
“Sorry?” Dr. Marsha wrote something down.
Lightheaded, Katherine put both feet on the ground and breathed in to the count of four, out to the count of eight. “When my mother was dying.... I should be more specific— about a year before she died, she was strapped down. Even though she hadn’t spoken in years, she never sounded like that before. Her eyes were wild. Scared. And she sounded like an animal dying in a trap.”
“And your father; how did he seem at the end?”
“His ‘end’ or hers?”
“Either. Both.”
Katherine went back in time to consider her father’s expressions, or lack thereof. “Like an engineer.”
Dr. Marsha nearly smiled. “And your definition of engineers?”
“Robotic, humorless, lacking compassion.” Katherine knew how Dr. Marsha would respond: “Not all… “ Sometimes being intuitive sucked. Made seem people dull and life predictable.
“Not all engineers could be described that way.”
Yawn. “You get to decide what’s important here: defending the image of engineers around the world, or getting into my head. I have no patience for righteous P.C. corrections, especially from a person who gets paid as much by the minute as most people do by the hour.”
Dr. Marsha removed her reading glasses. “Do you feel as if I was defending your father by humanizing engineers?”
For fucks sake. “This has suddenly become the most tedious conversation of my life.”
“What would you rather talk about?”
Nothing. At all. Ever. “Going back in time. Fixing everything.”
“Where would you start, back in time?”
Katherine smiled. “Before we ever met. When my kids were home from college for winter break.”
“Would you want to meet him again?”
The question seemed ridiculous. If it weren’t for the kids she would have added heroin to her list of addictions when he left. “That’s like asking Willy Wonka if he’d tour the chocolate factory again. “
“So he was your fantasy man?”
Katherine huffed. “More than that. I couldn’t have made him up, and I certainly never believed that I deserved to feel that kind of love in this lifetime. ‘God’ would allow me: money, healthy children, and good friends, but I was… am… too fucked up for the gift of love.”
“Fucked up people deserve love too. Besides, you didn’t do it to yourself.” Dr. Marsha put her glasses back on and picked up her pen.
Katherine took a deep breath, knowing a doozie of a question was coming.
“Do you believe that your children deserve love?”
“Of course. Everyone does.”
“Everyone, except you.” Dr. Marsha looked over the top of her glasses.
“I…” Katherine was at a loss for words.
“Everyone thinks that love is this big beautiful thing and once you have it every day will be filled with sunshine and background music. In reality, it can be painful, confusing and, in your case, a gift and a curse. The very things that attracted you to him also trigger buried emotions and forgotten memories. Healing isn’t easy and it certainly isn’t tidy.”
Katherine remembered that night. “Yeah. But it shouldn’t involve bloodshed.”
Dr. Marsha leaned forward. “I know you don’t have many conscious memories of your childhood, but I believe he set off a survival trigger— which are nearly impossible to eradicate— and you reacted the same way you did, or wanted to, when the original trauma took place. That’s why it’s important to analyze exactly how you felt right as you…”
“Snapped.“ Katherine closed her eyes and tried to remember. “It was dark and we were in bed, about to go to sleep, then he started looking through my phone.”
“Why?”
“We both have trust issues. I think he was looking for some sort of evidence that I was cheating.”
“How did that make you feel?”
“I didn’t mind at first, because I had nothing to hide, but then he wouldn’t give it back.”
“He pursued his needs despite your request to stop?”
“He just held tighter to the phone. I tried to grab it and he jerked it back. Next thing I know we’re fighting, he grabbed me by the wrists and I couldn’t move.”
“He didn’t respect your boundaries, then overpowered you.”
His needs, no boundaries, overpowered. The image of a dim room with a medical table entered Katherine’s consciousness. Her heart began to race. “Is it hot in here? It feels really hot in here.”
“Are you remembering something, Katherine?”
Katherine pulled at the collar of her shirt. “There’s no air in the air.”
“It’s okay, Katherine. You’re safe here. What you’re experiencing is in the past. It can’t hurt you now.”
Katherine tucked her feet under herself. “He’s going to strap her down.”
“Tell me what you’re seeing, Katherine.”
“Nobody calls me that.” Katherine’s voice was high and tight, nearly childlike. “It’s Katie. Everybody calls me Katie. Except him.” Katherine nearly snarled. “He won’t say my name in here.”
“In where?”
“The room with the Plexiglas window.”
“Can you describe the man?”
Katherine closed her eyes. “I can’t see anything.”
“Is something covering your face?”
Katherine started to shake. “He’ll cut out my eyes if I open them.”
“You’re safe here. He can’t hurt you now.”
“He’ll always hurt me, even in death.” Katherine remembered the night she snapped. She opened her eyes and looked at Dr. Marsha. “They did this. They don’t want me to be happy with anyone else.”
“They?”
Dr. Marsha looked at Katherine with a compassion she’d never seen before. It rattled her. “Jesus, what the hell is happening?”
“Remembering your past is going to be hard, but it’s the only way to heal.”
“Heal? I just want to stop the nightmares. ” Katherine stood to leave.
Staying seated Dr. Marsha said, “He… they, can’t control you anymore. You have the freedom and the strength to understand your past. Only then will you truly be able to leave it there.”
“How do I even know it’s even my history?”
Dr. Marsha stood to face her. “What do you mean?”
This is going to be dicey. “As if you didn’t think I was crazy enough already…”
“I don’t think you’re crazy, I think you’re complicated.”
“Sometimes this ‘gift’ makes it hard to separate my reality—and my past— from other people’s. ”
“I’ve read about some psychic protect techniques that may help. ”
“Yeah, I know: the Bubble, the Mummy, the Burning Flame. None of it works.” Katherine looked at the clock. “Time’s up.” Opening her wallet, she removed a twenty-dollar bill. “I’m pressed for time. Mail me a co-pay receipt?”
Dr. Marsha looked over her glasses and weighed each word. “I’ll prepare it for your next session. Same time next week?”
Katherine turned toward the door. “I’ll only come back, if you promise to fix us.” She realized the statement could be taken two ways and turned around. “By ‘us’ I meant my love life, not some sort of personality integration.”
There was a light in Dr. Marsha’s eyes. “I knew what you meant. But, I’m open to integration too… should that arise.”
“If you could just pull time travel out of your…” Katherine walked through the door.
“If I could, I’d be happy to beam you back to winter break.”
The door snapped closed behind her and Katherine walked toward the elevator. An older man caught site of her and said, “Going down?”
“Actually,” Katherine removed lip-gloss from her purse. “I’m going back.”
He cocked his head.
“Sorry. Therapy joke gone bad.” She dabbed her middle finger to the pot and mindlessly traced the shape of her lips.
No response.
Katherine looked up at the man. He seemed transfixed by her mouth— and thoughts of how he’d use it. She stopped mid lower lip and screwed the lid back on. I could break your neck, leave you in the parking lot and still have time to pick up Chinese.
The elevator dinged. “Ladies first,” the man said, holding the door.
“Actually, I’ll take the stairs. I hear they’re better for your health.”
“Are you sure?” He smiled and made the mistake of glancing at Katherine’s breasts.
“Trust me. It’s better for both of us.”
He stepped into the elevator, turned around and caught the door. “Will I see you around here again? “
The small diamonds of his wedding band shimmered under florescence. “Not if I see you first.”
His eyes went flat. “Maybe you should up the therapy.”
“Maybe you should stop fucking around on your wife.” Life was so much easier before she was psychic.
“I, I, don’t…”
The names of the women he’d cheated with played across Katherine’s mind like screen credits. “Then she wouldn’t mind knowing about Barbara, Marta, Gail…”
He turned ashen. “Who are you?”
If I knew, I wouldn’t be in therapy. “Just someone you shouldn’t fuck with.”
He glanced back at the door Katherine came from. “Then I’ll be sure not to be here at this time next week.”
“That’s an excellent idea.”
He let go of the door.
Once closed, Katherine removed her heels, descended eleven flights of stairs, thought about the only man she ever loved and muttered, “Just take me back, God. I promise not to screw it up this time.”
If you have the time, I'd love some feedback on this opening chapter. I.E. Would you read on, is the main character likeable, is the 'tone' too dark, etc. All helpful feedback is welcome. Here goes...
Sometimes people snap. It’s not something you plan. Just like you don’t plan a car accident. It simply happens. Then you have to assess the damage to see if there’s anything worth salvaging. Most of the time, though, you find yourself alone in a room saying, “What the fuck just happened?” And the corridor is either filled with blood, lawyers or mental health workers. -KATHERINE’S ELEVENTH PSYCHIC
“She predicted this you know?” Katherine said, clenching her hands in her lap.
“Who did, Katherine?” Dr. Marsha asked; her pen poised above the file she’d started on Katherine month’s prior.
“My psychic. She said I’d snap.” Katherine chewed her lip.
“With what you’ve been through, it could have been worse.”
“Worse?” Katherine stopped rocking. “I straddled him and smashed his head with my cell phone until it shattered.”
“He’d had a knife to your throat four times earlier in the day. Why didn’t you snap then?”
“That was different. He was just being playful.” Candles danced in the reflection of the window, reminding her of the last time they made love. Jasmine candles, lavender oil, champagne, hands, mouths, skin, kneading, writhing. God they were good together. “You know Mae West?”
Her therapist nodded and shifted in her chair.
“She used to say, ‘When I’m good I’m very, very good. And when I’m bad… I’m better’.”
“And you’re saying this because?”
“That was us… our love life. The sex was always very, very good. But when he was ‘bad’ it was…” Katherine smiled and felt the familiar ache of wanting him.
“And was he ‘bad’ that night?”
Katherine wondered where this was going. “Why do you ask?”
“Did you climax?”
Katherine made eye contact with Dr. Marsha. “I beg your pardon?”
“I’m wondering about your state of mind during aggressive sex. What were you thinking about and did it help you to achieve orgasm?”
Katherine crossed her legs and laced her fingers around her knee. “That feels way too personal.”
“You aren’t ashamed to talk about sex, but rather your thoughts during it?”
I’m ashamed of my past. “No, I…” Deflect, Katherine. Never talk about them. “He grabbed me by the wrists that night.”
“And how did that make you feel?”
“Trapped. Helpless.”
“Think back. Do you remember feeling that way before?”
“Not me.” Katherine thought about her mother, just before she died. Her mind had eaten itself teaspoon by teaspoon for twenty-four years before her body showed signs of aging. But then, she fell— at least that what her father said— and spent the next few months strapped to an in-home hospital bed, leg propped up in a sling, restraints on her wrists, being force-fed liquid meals. “I remember her mewing.”
“Sorry?” Dr. Marsha wrote something down.
Lightheaded, Katherine put both feet on the ground and breathed in to the count of four, out to the count of eight. “When my mother was dying.... I should be more specific— about a year before she died, she was strapped down. Even though she hadn’t spoken in years, she never sounded like that before. Her eyes were wild. Scared. And she sounded like an animal dying in a trap.”
“And your father; how did he seem at the end?”
“His ‘end’ or hers?”
“Either. Both.”
Katherine went back in time to consider her father’s expressions, or lack thereof. “Like an engineer.”
Dr. Marsha nearly smiled. “And your definition of engineers?”
“Robotic, humorless, lacking compassion.” Katherine knew how Dr. Marsha would respond: “Not all… “ Sometimes being intuitive sucked. Made seem people dull and life predictable.
“Not all engineers could be described that way.”
Yawn. “You get to decide what’s important here: defending the image of engineers around the world, or getting into my head. I have no patience for righteous P.C. corrections, especially from a person who gets paid as much by the minute as most people do by the hour.”
Dr. Marsha removed her reading glasses. “Do you feel as if I was defending your father by humanizing engineers?”
For fucks sake. “This has suddenly become the most tedious conversation of my life.”
“What would you rather talk about?”
Nothing. At all. Ever. “Going back in time. Fixing everything.”
“Where would you start, back in time?”
Katherine smiled. “Before we ever met. When my kids were home from college for winter break.”
“Would you want to meet him again?”
The question seemed ridiculous. If it weren’t for the kids she would have added heroin to her list of addictions when he left. “That’s like asking Willy Wonka if he’d tour the chocolate factory again. “
“So he was your fantasy man?”
Katherine huffed. “More than that. I couldn’t have made him up, and I certainly never believed that I deserved to feel that kind of love in this lifetime. ‘God’ would allow me: money, healthy children, and good friends, but I was… am… too fucked up for the gift of love.”
“Fucked up people deserve love too. Besides, you didn’t do it to yourself.” Dr. Marsha put her glasses back on and picked up her pen.
Katherine took a deep breath, knowing a doozie of a question was coming.
“Do you believe that your children deserve love?”
“Of course. Everyone does.”
“Everyone, except you.” Dr. Marsha looked over the top of her glasses.
“I…” Katherine was at a loss for words.
“Everyone thinks that love is this big beautiful thing and once you have it every day will be filled with sunshine and background music. In reality, it can be painful, confusing and, in your case, a gift and a curse. The very things that attracted you to him also trigger buried emotions and forgotten memories. Healing isn’t easy and it certainly isn’t tidy.”
Katherine remembered that night. “Yeah. But it shouldn’t involve bloodshed.”
Dr. Marsha leaned forward. “I know you don’t have many conscious memories of your childhood, but I believe he set off a survival trigger— which are nearly impossible to eradicate— and you reacted the same way you did, or wanted to, when the original trauma took place. That’s why it’s important to analyze exactly how you felt right as you…”
“Snapped.“ Katherine closed her eyes and tried to remember. “It was dark and we were in bed, about to go to sleep, then he started looking through my phone.”
“Why?”
“We both have trust issues. I think he was looking for some sort of evidence that I was cheating.”
“How did that make you feel?”
“I didn’t mind at first, because I had nothing to hide, but then he wouldn’t give it back.”
“He pursued his needs despite your request to stop?”
“He just held tighter to the phone. I tried to grab it and he jerked it back. Next thing I know we’re fighting, he grabbed me by the wrists and I couldn’t move.”
“He didn’t respect your boundaries, then overpowered you.”
His needs, no boundaries, overpowered. The image of a dim room with a medical table entered Katherine’s consciousness. Her heart began to race. “Is it hot in here? It feels really hot in here.”
“Are you remembering something, Katherine?”
Katherine pulled at the collar of her shirt. “There’s no air in the air.”
“It’s okay, Katherine. You’re safe here. What you’re experiencing is in the past. It can’t hurt you now.”
Katherine tucked her feet under herself. “He’s going to strap her down.”
“Tell me what you’re seeing, Katherine.”
“Nobody calls me that.” Katherine’s voice was high and tight, nearly childlike. “It’s Katie. Everybody calls me Katie. Except him.” Katherine nearly snarled. “He won’t say my name in here.”
“In where?”
“The room with the Plexiglas window.”
“Can you describe the man?”
Katherine closed her eyes. “I can’t see anything.”
“Is something covering your face?”
Katherine started to shake. “He’ll cut out my eyes if I open them.”
“You’re safe here. He can’t hurt you now.”
“He’ll always hurt me, even in death.” Katherine remembered the night she snapped. She opened her eyes and looked at Dr. Marsha. “They did this. They don’t want me to be happy with anyone else.”
“They?”
Dr. Marsha looked at Katherine with a compassion she’d never seen before. It rattled her. “Jesus, what the hell is happening?”
“Remembering your past is going to be hard, but it’s the only way to heal.”
“Heal? I just want to stop the nightmares. ” Katherine stood to leave.
Staying seated Dr. Marsha said, “He… they, can’t control you anymore. You have the freedom and the strength to understand your past. Only then will you truly be able to leave it there.”
“How do I even know it’s even my history?”
Dr. Marsha stood to face her. “What do you mean?”
This is going to be dicey. “As if you didn’t think I was crazy enough already…”
“I don’t think you’re crazy, I think you’re complicated.”
“Sometimes this ‘gift’ makes it hard to separate my reality—and my past— from other people’s. ”
“I’ve read about some psychic protect techniques that may help. ”
“Yeah, I know: the Bubble, the Mummy, the Burning Flame. None of it works.” Katherine looked at the clock. “Time’s up.” Opening her wallet, she removed a twenty-dollar bill. “I’m pressed for time. Mail me a co-pay receipt?”
Dr. Marsha looked over her glasses and weighed each word. “I’ll prepare it for your next session. Same time next week?”
Katherine turned toward the door. “I’ll only come back, if you promise to fix us.” She realized the statement could be taken two ways and turned around. “By ‘us’ I meant my love life, not some sort of personality integration.”
There was a light in Dr. Marsha’s eyes. “I knew what you meant. But, I’m open to integration too… should that arise.”
“If you could just pull time travel out of your…” Katherine walked through the door.
“If I could, I’d be happy to beam you back to winter break.”
The door snapped closed behind her and Katherine walked toward the elevator. An older man caught site of her and said, “Going down?”
“Actually,” Katherine removed lip-gloss from her purse. “I’m going back.”
He cocked his head.
“Sorry. Therapy joke gone bad.” She dabbed her middle finger to the pot and mindlessly traced the shape of her lips.
No response.
Katherine looked up at the man. He seemed transfixed by her mouth— and thoughts of how he’d use it. She stopped mid lower lip and screwed the lid back on. I could break your neck, leave you in the parking lot and still have time to pick up Chinese.
The elevator dinged. “Ladies first,” the man said, holding the door.
“Actually, I’ll take the stairs. I hear they’re better for your health.”
“Are you sure?” He smiled and made the mistake of glancing at Katherine’s breasts.
“Trust me. It’s better for both of us.”
He stepped into the elevator, turned around and caught the door. “Will I see you around here again? “
The small diamonds of his wedding band shimmered under florescence. “Not if I see you first.”
His eyes went flat. “Maybe you should up the therapy.”
“Maybe you should stop fucking around on your wife.” Life was so much easier before she was psychic.
“I, I, don’t…”
The names of the women he’d cheated with played across Katherine’s mind like screen credits. “Then she wouldn’t mind knowing about Barbara, Marta, Gail…”
He turned ashen. “Who are you?”
If I knew, I wouldn’t be in therapy. “Just someone you shouldn’t fuck with.”
He glanced back at the door Katherine came from. “Then I’ll be sure not to be here at this time next week.”
“That’s an excellent idea.”
He let go of the door.
Once closed, Katherine removed her heels, descended eleven flights of stairs, thought about the only man she ever loved and muttered, “Just take me back, God. I promise not to screw it up this time.”
June 26, 2014
Book Promotion sites-
As a good friend and fellow writer once said, "Self promotion is the hardest part for any artist." So true. But, it's got to be done. The question for most writers is, how? Or more accurately, where?
I learned the hard way NOT to wait until you've finished your novel to become familiar with the sites I'll list over the next few days/weeks/months. In fact, it's in the best interest of your career (and that almighty word 'Platform') to start now. Not only will it alleviate the pressure of being thrown in the deep end without knowing how to swim, but your future fans will get to know your voice based on the comments/reviews you leave.
But, it's never to late in the process-- even if you've completed several novels-- to try something new.
Let's begin with "FanFiction."
If you've heard of, or read "Fifty Shades of Grey," then you may know EL James got her start on FanFiction writing as a follower of "Twilight."
Is the site confusing? in a word, yes. Especially if you're over forty.
Technically you're supposed to select a popular book or movie and then write your version using the characters from said story. Or... you can "cheat" and post parts of all of your writing if it contains similar elements.
For example, I'm posting parts of the novel I'm writing-- AFTER THE DRY SPELL (ATDS)-- as a fan of Fifty Shades of Grey.
Why? Because ATDS is a tortured love story that contains lots of sex.
In one of the two comments that were posted about ATDS, a woman wrote: "FictionPress (which I'll go into later) might be a better fit for you, as your story has nothing to do with the characters from 'Shades'."
True. It doesn't. However, in the last 10 days 382 people have read ATDS on FanFiction and only 12 people checked it out on FictionPress.
Something to keep in mind as you post, smaller is better--1,200 words or so seems to be the average. Why? Several reasons. A) Everyone is busy. Anything much longer than that will make readers scroll to the next piece. B) New posts arrive at and average speed of 4-5 every sixty seconds, which means your post is on the "Just In" page for about 3 minutes. C) If you leave them hanging, readers will come back for more, and if your lucky, you'll have fans that follow you. D) If you're writing a new novel your fans hold you accountable. This is a great motivator to write consistently and post a couple of times a week.
So... check it out today at www.fanfiction.net, but be prepared to scratch your head the first few times you're in there. It may be wise to use my mothers advice: Comment only if your words contribute. Remember, your future fans will only buy your work if they fall in love with you and your writing before it's in print.
I learned the hard way NOT to wait until you've finished your novel to become familiar with the sites I'll list over the next few days/weeks/months. In fact, it's in the best interest of your career (and that almighty word 'Platform') to start now. Not only will it alleviate the pressure of being thrown in the deep end without knowing how to swim, but your future fans will get to know your voice based on the comments/reviews you leave.
But, it's never to late in the process-- even if you've completed several novels-- to try something new.
Let's begin with "FanFiction."
If you've heard of, or read "Fifty Shades of Grey," then you may know EL James got her start on FanFiction writing as a follower of "Twilight."
Is the site confusing? in a word, yes. Especially if you're over forty.
Technically you're supposed to select a popular book or movie and then write your version using the characters from said story. Or... you can "cheat" and post parts of all of your writing if it contains similar elements.
For example, I'm posting parts of the novel I'm writing-- AFTER THE DRY SPELL (ATDS)-- as a fan of Fifty Shades of Grey.
Why? Because ATDS is a tortured love story that contains lots of sex.
In one of the two comments that were posted about ATDS, a woman wrote: "FictionPress (which I'll go into later) might be a better fit for you, as your story has nothing to do with the characters from 'Shades'."
True. It doesn't. However, in the last 10 days 382 people have read ATDS on FanFiction and only 12 people checked it out on FictionPress.
Something to keep in mind as you post, smaller is better--1,200 words or so seems to be the average. Why? Several reasons. A) Everyone is busy. Anything much longer than that will make readers scroll to the next piece. B) New posts arrive at and average speed of 4-5 every sixty seconds, which means your post is on the "Just In" page for about 3 minutes. C) If you leave them hanging, readers will come back for more, and if your lucky, you'll have fans that follow you. D) If you're writing a new novel your fans hold you accountable. This is a great motivator to write consistently and post a couple of times a week.
So... check it out today at www.fanfiction.net, but be prepared to scratch your head the first few times you're in there. It may be wise to use my mothers advice: Comment only if your words contribute. Remember, your future fans will only buy your work if they fall in love with you and your writing before it's in print.
June 16, 2014
AFTER THE DRY SPELL- Day 3
Red lights illuminated on several cameras.
Think Katherine. Think. “You must be unaware of the paralyzing affect you have on people, Mr. Parkinson.” What a stupid thing to say. So insensitive.
He smiled and walked toward her. “I’m just as in awe of you, as you seem to be of me, Ms. Flannery.” He held out his hands. “My wife has not only given me permission to greet you warmly, but directed me to do so.” Parky squeezed her shoulders and kissed each cheek. “We just might be your greatest fans.”
Katherine shook her head in disbelief. “Just when I thought life couldn’t get more surreal… I’m completely humbled, Mr Parkinson. Thank you for having me.”
“Please, call me Parky. Come, sit down.” He gestured toward a staged lounge area. Walking together, he continued as the cameras followed them. “I have about a million questions for you— mostly from your readers— and only a few thousand or so of mine. If you had the time, I’d keep you here the better part of the day.”
Katherine tried to ignore the cameras, but wondered how she’d look on TV. No one her age should be seen in High Definition, especially with the size of the big screens available today. Vanity, thy name is woman.
Parky waited until Katherine was seated before sitting himself. He waved over a different PA and then addressed Katherine. “As you know, we’re not live and you’ll have final approval on what is aired.”
The PA approached. “How can I help, Mr. Parkinson?”
“Hot tea for me, and Ms. Flannery will have…”
“I don’t suppose you have a Diet Soda?”
“ Not a bother,” The PA said, “I’ll have to put in in a coffee mug, if that’s alright. Wouldn’t want to upset any of the advertisers.”
“No problem.” Katherine looked around the set; tried to focus on her manger. But, the secrets of the people around her kept jumping to the fore: one of the camera men thinks his wife is having an affair. She is. With his sister. The mother of PA she ran past is dying of pancreatic cancer. She’ll lose the battle before Halloween. The young woman who fitted her with the microphone wants to have a baby. She’ll have to adopt— later. With a different man. Chlamydia damaged her reproductive system, and her boyfriend knew he was infected when they started having relations.
The PA returned with their drinks. “Anything else I can do for either of you?” He put the mugs down on a table between them.
Katherine shook her head, then thought better of it. “Just one thing…I’d like to speak with Lydia when we’re done here, if it’s convenient for her.”
Think Katherine. Think. “You must be unaware of the paralyzing affect you have on people, Mr. Parkinson.” What a stupid thing to say. So insensitive.
He smiled and walked toward her. “I’m just as in awe of you, as you seem to be of me, Ms. Flannery.” He held out his hands. “My wife has not only given me permission to greet you warmly, but directed me to do so.” Parky squeezed her shoulders and kissed each cheek. “We just might be your greatest fans.”
Katherine shook her head in disbelief. “Just when I thought life couldn’t get more surreal… I’m completely humbled, Mr Parkinson. Thank you for having me.”
“Please, call me Parky. Come, sit down.” He gestured toward a staged lounge area. Walking together, he continued as the cameras followed them. “I have about a million questions for you— mostly from your readers— and only a few thousand or so of mine. If you had the time, I’d keep you here the better part of the day.”
Katherine tried to ignore the cameras, but wondered how she’d look on TV. No one her age should be seen in High Definition, especially with the size of the big screens available today. Vanity, thy name is woman.
Parky waited until Katherine was seated before sitting himself. He waved over a different PA and then addressed Katherine. “As you know, we’re not live and you’ll have final approval on what is aired.”
The PA approached. “How can I help, Mr. Parkinson?”
“Hot tea for me, and Ms. Flannery will have…”
“I don’t suppose you have a Diet Soda?”
“ Not a bother,” The PA said, “I’ll have to put in in a coffee mug, if that’s alright. Wouldn’t want to upset any of the advertisers.”
“No problem.” Katherine looked around the set; tried to focus on her manger. But, the secrets of the people around her kept jumping to the fore: one of the camera men thinks his wife is having an affair. She is. With his sister. The mother of PA she ran past is dying of pancreatic cancer. She’ll lose the battle before Halloween. The young woman who fitted her with the microphone wants to have a baby. She’ll have to adopt— later. With a different man. Chlamydia damaged her reproductive system, and her boyfriend knew he was infected when they started having relations.
The PA returned with their drinks. “Anything else I can do for either of you?” He put the mugs down on a table between them.
Katherine shook her head, then thought better of it. “Just one thing…I’d like to speak with Lydia when we’re done here, if it’s convenient for her.”
AFTER THE DRY SPELL- Day 2
A production assistant entered. “She’s ready for you, Ms. Flannery. Follow me.”
Katherine addressed the young woman. “Thank you for your help… I’m sorry. I forgot to ask you name.”
“Lydia.”
“You’re absolutely lovely, Lydia.”
“That’s a real compliment coming from you, Ms. Flannery. Cheers.”
As Katherine followed the PA, she felt her manager fall in line behind her.
“What happened back there?”
The depth and resonance of his voice, the charm of his accent made her feel inappropriate things. “What do you mean?”
“You were nearly in tears. What did she say to you?”
Katherine couldn’t hide anything from him. He’d been tuned in from the day they met. It was his job, he said, to watch her with the same vigilance that she watched everyone else. “She didn’t say anything. It was her perfume. That’s what Ali used to wear.”
He stopped Katherine; made her look at him. “Are you okay?”
She nodded. “Let’s just get through this. I’m already nervous enough knowing how personal he gets in his interviews. I don’t want to be a wreck going in.”
He got that look in his eye. “Milkshakes, puppies, balloons, long walks on the beach.”
She smiled. “Are you actually listing a few of my favorite things?”
He put out a hand. “Movie reference, lead character, actress that played her. Right now.”
“Sound of Music, Fraulein Maria, Julie Andrews.” Katherine smacked his palm.
The PA turned back. “You have exactly 23 seconds to have your arse in the chair. I suggest you…”
Katherine and her manager locked eyes.
He said, “I reckon he doesn’t know how fast you can run.”
She raised an eyebrow. “It’s on, Mister.” She pushed her manager back and sprinted past the PA onto the stage.
Her playfulness screeched to a halt as soon as she saw the interviewer. For weeks she’d been waiting for this to sink in. It wasn’t until now that she believed it. Michael “Parky” Parkinson. The legendary British talk show host— who’d interviewed the likes of John Lennon, Nelson Mandela and Mohammad Ali— wanted her as a guest? In Katherine’s view, she was nothing more than a middle-aged, American writer with a “complex” mind and unique set of circumstances.
She stared at Parky, nearly gap-mouthed.
He looked up from the papers on his lap, removed reading glasses and smiled. “Ms. Flannery. Such a pleasure.” He stood to greet her.
“I uh…” Just seconds ago she was running, but now her legs betrayed her. She thought of a song from “Santa Claus is Coming to Town:” put one foot in front of the other…
Parky cocked his head. “You alright?”
A stage hand called out “We’re rolling in 3,2,1…”
Katherine addressed the young woman. “Thank you for your help… I’m sorry. I forgot to ask you name.”
“Lydia.”
“You’re absolutely lovely, Lydia.”
“That’s a real compliment coming from you, Ms. Flannery. Cheers.”
As Katherine followed the PA, she felt her manager fall in line behind her.
“What happened back there?”
The depth and resonance of his voice, the charm of his accent made her feel inappropriate things. “What do you mean?”
“You were nearly in tears. What did she say to you?”
Katherine couldn’t hide anything from him. He’d been tuned in from the day they met. It was his job, he said, to watch her with the same vigilance that she watched everyone else. “She didn’t say anything. It was her perfume. That’s what Ali used to wear.”
He stopped Katherine; made her look at him. “Are you okay?”
She nodded. “Let’s just get through this. I’m already nervous enough knowing how personal he gets in his interviews. I don’t want to be a wreck going in.”
He got that look in his eye. “Milkshakes, puppies, balloons, long walks on the beach.”
She smiled. “Are you actually listing a few of my favorite things?”
He put out a hand. “Movie reference, lead character, actress that played her. Right now.”
“Sound of Music, Fraulein Maria, Julie Andrews.” Katherine smacked his palm.
The PA turned back. “You have exactly 23 seconds to have your arse in the chair. I suggest you…”
Katherine and her manager locked eyes.
He said, “I reckon he doesn’t know how fast you can run.”
She raised an eyebrow. “It’s on, Mister.” She pushed her manager back and sprinted past the PA onto the stage.
Her playfulness screeched to a halt as soon as she saw the interviewer. For weeks she’d been waiting for this to sink in. It wasn’t until now that she believed it. Michael “Parky” Parkinson. The legendary British talk show host— who’d interviewed the likes of John Lennon, Nelson Mandela and Mohammad Ali— wanted her as a guest? In Katherine’s view, she was nothing more than a middle-aged, American writer with a “complex” mind and unique set of circumstances.
She stared at Parky, nearly gap-mouthed.
He looked up from the papers on his lap, removed reading glasses and smiled. “Ms. Flannery. Such a pleasure.” He stood to greet her.
“I uh…” Just seconds ago she was running, but now her legs betrayed her. She thought of a song from “Santa Claus is Coming to Town:” put one foot in front of the other…
Parky cocked his head. “You alright?”
A stage hand called out “We’re rolling in 3,2,1…”
AFTER THE DRY SPELL
Started my new novel and will post my daily progress...just to keep me accountable and moving forward. Don't feel obligated to read, but if you do and have any questions, comments, or concerns let me know. Thanks for your support!
Day 1-
The Interview
“I’ll just have to raise your blouse a bit, Ms. Flannery,” the young woman said as she fitted the back of Katherine’s skirt with a transmitter.
Katherine smiled with mischief. “That’s exactly what my husband said this morning.”
“I’m sure.” The young woman glanced toward the wings of the stage. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”
Katherine followed her line of sight then winked winked at the man in the wings. “Him? That’s not my husband. He’s my manager.”
The young woman leaned a little closer, and whispered, “I don’t mean to be cheeky Ms. Flannery…”
Katherine recognized her accent as being from Northern England. “Please… the cheekier, the better.”
“He might be your manager, but he looks at you like he’s starving and you’re a carvery.”
Katherine laughed. “Luckily, his hunger isn’t my responsibility at present.”
“You’re right. It’s a big day for you. We should focus on the matter at hand.” The young woman picked up a small microphone. “Would you prefer the lavaliere on the collar of your shirt or sweater?”
“Which would be better? I haven’t done this before.”
“I’d go with the sweater. Shirt collars tend to sag about halfway through the interview.”
As the young woman clipped on the mic and ran the cord to the transmitter, Katherine noted her perfume. Alien. The same scent her daughter wore. Without thinking she muttered, “My daughter would have been about your age…”
The young woman stopped and touched Katharine’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry for your loss.” She glanced at the floor as if looking for the right words to appear at her feet. “I’ve read your book, you know. Losing her seemed to be an absolutely crushing blow. I don’t know how you managed.”
Katherine fought back tears. “How about we change the subject.” She took a deep breath. “We don’t want to ruin the makeup man’s artistry, now do we?”
“Quite right.” The young woman smiled, but the light of her eyes was still dim.
Katherine noticed little things like that. Always had. She told herself she’d developed the skill for her writing— one must notice the details. But that wasn’t the reason. She’d watched people her whole life; learned as a child that some of them can be dangerous. Even people… no, especially people who are closet to you.
Day 1-
The Interview
“I’ll just have to raise your blouse a bit, Ms. Flannery,” the young woman said as she fitted the back of Katherine’s skirt with a transmitter.
Katherine smiled with mischief. “That’s exactly what my husband said this morning.”
“I’m sure.” The young woman glanced toward the wings of the stage. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”
Katherine followed her line of sight then winked winked at the man in the wings. “Him? That’s not my husband. He’s my manager.”
The young woman leaned a little closer, and whispered, “I don’t mean to be cheeky Ms. Flannery…”
Katherine recognized her accent as being from Northern England. “Please… the cheekier, the better.”
“He might be your manager, but he looks at you like he’s starving and you’re a carvery.”
Katherine laughed. “Luckily, his hunger isn’t my responsibility at present.”
“You’re right. It’s a big day for you. We should focus on the matter at hand.” The young woman picked up a small microphone. “Would you prefer the lavaliere on the collar of your shirt or sweater?”
“Which would be better? I haven’t done this before.”
“I’d go with the sweater. Shirt collars tend to sag about halfway through the interview.”
As the young woman clipped on the mic and ran the cord to the transmitter, Katherine noted her perfume. Alien. The same scent her daughter wore. Without thinking she muttered, “My daughter would have been about your age…”
The young woman stopped and touched Katharine’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry for your loss.” She glanced at the floor as if looking for the right words to appear at her feet. “I’ve read your book, you know. Losing her seemed to be an absolutely crushing blow. I don’t know how you managed.”
Katherine fought back tears. “How about we change the subject.” She took a deep breath. “We don’t want to ruin the makeup man’s artistry, now do we?”
“Quite right.” The young woman smiled, but the light of her eyes was still dim.
Katherine noticed little things like that. Always had. She told herself she’d developed the skill for her writing— one must notice the details. But that wasn’t the reason. She’d watched people her whole life; learned as a child that some of them can be dangerous. Even people… no, especially people who are closet to you.
