Her Book Self

You know how when you watch a TV series and the last episode left off with a cliffhanger, the new show starts with "Previously on..."?  Well, for those that missed it, click here for  "Previously on Her Book Self". Welcome back, J.C. Phelps!


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I finally settled on submitting a scene I have written. It may or may not be used in an upcoming book.

To set the scene: Alex and Will’s relationship has grown stronger and Will has invited her to tour the Naval carrier he will be deployed to. After the tour, the two of them decide to make an evening of it and do some bar hopping.

To begin the night inside my comfort zone we went to the Skylight first. I’d done my fair share of partying in the past but I’d only been to a few select bars.

“I see Anthony is working.” Will pointed out my one and only ex-boyfriend.

“How do you know Anthony?”

“Rick told me all about your history,” Will said.

“Do you two make it a habit of talking about my past?” The thought was both flattering and embarrassing.

“No. There’s not much past to talk about. I think we covered it all in one or two conversations.” Will winked. “Let’s go say hi. Rick also told me a few things about Anthony that I bet you don’t even know.” Will raised his eyebrows in a challenge that I left unanswered. I was too engrossed in my thoughts anyway.

As usual, Anthony came right to me. “Wow. I thought you’d moved. I haven’t seen you forever. How long has it been? A year?” He was doing his best to show off his severely lacking biceps by imitating ‘The Thinker’. Actually, they didn’t look half bad but I knew he didn’t know how to use them, so they didn’t count.

“Nope. Didn’t move. Can you get me a coke and…” I turned to get Will’s order but Anthony cut in.

“I’m glad you came to see me. I’m currently between girlfriends,” he waggled his eyebrows at me.

Oh, the ego. I hadn’t even considered Anthony might still be working here when Will and I decided to come to The Skylight. “I’m currently taken.” I didn’t expect what happened next. Will cleared his throat and Anthony noticed him for the first time.

Anthony's normally tanned skin had become pale. “Ssss... Sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. Please tell Malone not to… not to…”

Will’s ominous look changed to a grin. “Don’t worry, Anthony. She’s on my arm tonight, not my brother’s. Can you please get the lady her coke and add a beer and two shots of whiskey.”

“On the house.” Anthony quickly filled our order and moved away.

“What was that all about?” I asked as we moved away from the bar.

“Rick told me about a visit he paid to Anthony a while ago. Good to know he hasn’t forgotten.”

“When did -- What did he do?” Will ignored me and led me to a table near the dance floor.

We each had a couple of drinks and made our way to the dance floor twice before we decided it was time to move onto the next bar. By the time we were leaving the third bar on the list I was ready to call it a night. However, Will was still warming up. I didn’t want to ruin his fun, but I told him I had to slow down on the drinking. He complied by ordering me only one shot at bar number four. But, that still was number seven and I was surprised I could even count that high by then. It had been months since I’d had any alcohol and I’d never been able to handle it well anyway.

Bar number five could have been The Rave as far as I was concerned. It was definitely a dance club. The deep tones radiating through my body sent me to places I hadn’t been for a long time.

I closed my eyes. The heady music, the close bodies and the various smells pushed all thoughts from my brain.

Eventually, a very distinctive aroma snuck in on my consciousness and brought me back to reality. I opened my eyes and searched for the source. As I turned around I was met with White, not more than a few inches from me.

“What are you doing here?” Having to yell didn’t help mask the slur in my voice.

White hiked his head toward Will.

I threw an accusatory look at Will.

He shrugged. “I’m out of money and can’t pay for a cab to get us home.”

“I have money. You didn’t have to call him.” I yelled at Will.

“I’m not asking a girl to pay on a date.” I could tell by the look on his face this was unthinkable.

I looked at White for support on this but he just mimicked Will’s previous shrug.

I leaned in to talk in Will’s ear. “I thought you wanted to give the guys something to talk about.” I’d been looking forward to making White wonder if Will and I got along extra well, and now I didn’t know how to go about it without actually doing something drastic.

“Oh, they’ve already started,” he answered.

His voice in my ear gave me chills and made me giggle like a girl. I’m sure the alcohol helped.

“Ready?” I heard White yell from directly behind me.

“Not yet,” Will hollered over the music and gave me a wink.

It didn’t take me long to get lost in the music again. Strangely enough it was even easier to lose myself with White directly behind me. I knew I’d be safe with these two men near me and I was able to relax.

The music finally released its hold long enough for me to realize I’d backed up enough to feel White’s body heat against my back. I don’t know how long I’d been that close to him but I knew how it was affecting me. It was time to go home. I turned my head just enough to get a glimpse of White’s face. He was in bodyguard mode, scanning the entire building. It didn’t take him long to glance down at me with his undecipherable look. I mouthed the words, “Are you ready to go?” He answered with a nod.

I poked Will in the ribs and asked him the same thing in a shout. He also nodded his agreement.

I sat in the back of White’s black Mustang, though the seat was extremely uncomfortable. I figured I’d be left out of the conversation on the way home if I did and they didn’t let me down. I’d definitely had too much to drink and didn’t need to emphasize that fact with my slurred speech.

Will generously helped me navigate my way out of the vehicle once we’d parked in the garage of White and Associates. I held my own quite well after I got to my feet and Will and White let me lead the way into the lobby where I was greeted by all of my partners. Green and Black wore disapproving looks, but Red, Blue and especially Brown all smiled broadly.

“Pay up,” Will said to Brown as he stumbled up to him with his hand out.

“I want proof first. So, Ms. Grey. Did you have a good time tonight?”

I gave him a tight-lipped smile and muttered, “Mmm hmm.”

Suddenly, he took a swing at me. I had him on the floor instantly and just as quickly I lost my balance and found myself on top of him. Brown lifted me easily as he rose from the floor and set me upright.

“Okay. Here you go.” He laughed as he pulled out a wad of cash.

Money was being exchanged between everyone and I had no idea what was going on.

White was the only one not handing out or receiving cash. I gave him a questioning look. “What’s going on?”

“Will bet the guys he could take you out and get you drunk.”

“What?” White gave me his evil grin, the one that tied me in knots.

I stammered, “I didn’t mean to get drunk.” It took me being drunk, but I realized I preferred to be one of the guys instead of the girl in the company. I wondered why it had taken a prank like this to make me recognize that.

“I’ll take you home,” White offered but was instantly swarmed by the rest of the men with Brown up front.

“Oh no you don’t! You, Black and Blue are the only guys that have been around her when her tongue has been loosened by spirits. The rest of us want to get to know our partner like we know each other.” Brown grabbed my arm.

“No, no, no. I think White’s right and I should go home.” I tried to free myself as Brown towed me toward the elevator. I looked back at White for help but he was lost in the sea of men following us.

Everyone piled into the elevator and I felt a little claustrophobic. The feeling came mostly from everyone poking fun at me rather than the closeness of the bodies. As soon as the doors opened I pushed my way out to a floor I’d never been on before.

“Where are we?” I asked as Red pushed past me.

“Welcome to my abode.” He opened up the door and showcased the interior with a flourish of his arm.

I walked in and was overwhelmed with the feel of it.

“Now this is exactly what I thought White’s apartment would look like.” The black and red accents made me think of Gigi’s, the strip joint that Colin had me working at before the Dimitri hit. The apartment screamed bachelor on the hunt.

Black let out a chuckle as he followed me inside.

All of the partners’ apartments were the same floor plan but we each had a room that we used for our personal touch. White’s housed C.I.C. Mine was still used for storage. Black’s housed plants and all kinds of non-bachelor items, and Red’s was set up as a game room. He had a bar in one corner, a pool table, a dart board, and those tall tables that only seated a couple of people. However, he did have a couple of larger tables that would allow us all to sit together.

Blue stepped behind the bar and started lining up shot glasses like a pro. There was one for everyone but I didn’t get a chance to object until he brought over my usual shot of whiskey with a coke back.

“I can’t drink this,” I said as I pushed the shot away.

“Gonna be sick?” Brown mocked me with an exaggerated pout.

“Not yet, but I might soon,” I countered, weakly.

“Oh, come on. You’re home now. Who cares if you get sick. Just as long as you make it to the bathroom,” Red added.

“I promise to hold your hair,” Brown teased.

****
For more of J.C.'s writing check out The Alexis Stanton Chronicles.  Color Me Grey (book one) is my current favorite KinDEAL (at present it's free from Amazon).

Though September is here, I'm holding onto the last dregs of summer for as long as possible so my Indie in Summer feature of spotlighting independent authors isn't quite done.  Joining me for a two-part guest post on this lovely labor day weekend is J.C. Phelps author of the Alexis Stanton Chronicles (Color Me Grey, Shades of Grey, and Reflections of Grey)!

***
I want to start this post with a big thank you to Lisa for allowing me to post here. Her Book Self is a blog that I have followed for quite a long time and this is a great honor.

Though I run a blog of my own, I mostly post about other authors and their books. I love letting my readers know how diverse and great the writing world has become. But when I’m not posting about other authors I’ll post something more personal such as pictures of my garden, books I’ve recently read or want to read, and every once in a while I post recipes I’ve recently tried.

Since you can find all that at my blog I decided I needed something different for this post. I could write a post about my writing process. A lot of authors might be interested in something like that and maybe even some readers. Let me tell you, my writing process, if I were a hermit living in a cave, would be nothing to talk about. However, with three kids…

Just let me give you an example the things I go through after the writing bug has passed and I rejoin the real world.

The other day I finally had an idea and started to type it up on the computer. I wasn’t involved in my writing for very long before I had to pull myself away and yell at the three-year-old to get out of the kitchen. She loves to get into everything, including the cleaning supplies. I can’t have that!

Later, after I’d made sure she remained in my sights for the majority of the day, I made a journey into the kitchen for coffee or something else equally mundane. I about fell on my butt.

In the course of the couple of minutes she had spent in the kitchen earlier that day, the three-year-old had managed to get butter out of the refrigerator and spread it all over the floor in front of the refrigerator AND she had washed the floor in front of the sink with nothing but dish soap. Butter AND dish soap on linoleum creates a slippery situation.

These are the kinds of things I must deal with whenever I stick my head into my computer for more than just a few seconds. Even though I could write an entire book on the antics of my three-year-old and how she affects my writing process, I decided I didn’t want that to be the main topic of my post. So what should I write about, I wondered.

The next thing on my list was talking about my self-published status and why I chose that route. Again, this would be something that could be interesting to other authors, but the general reader really just doesn’t care that I didn’t submit to agents or publishers because I have no patience and I’m afraid of deadlines. The general reader doesn’t care about the business of writing and how I think it’s best to have your books out there, gathering readers and making money rather than sitting in the drawer gathering dust. So, cross that off the list and move onto…

What are some of the questions people have asked me after reading my books?

Well, the most frequently asked questions are, “Are you going to write another book? When is it coming out?”

The answers to these questions are as elusive to me as they are to the reader. Let me just say I am working on a fourth book. But because of my writing process and my fear of deadlines I have no idea if I can ever finish it or give a release date until it is complete.

So, I finally settled on submitting a scene I have written. It may or may not be used in an upcoming book.

*****

Stay tuned tomorrow for the scene that J.C. Phelps wrote for us!

Many of you know that along with this blog, I'm a four time NaNoWriMo winner.  Some people claim that makes me a "writer" but I've never really owned that title and have no dreams of publishing my work.  So why did I spend the past four Novembers spewing out over two hundred thousand words of stories?  Simple answer: because I felt like it.   To me, writing is enjoyable.  I like the challenge of inventing a story and I like the goal of completing a 50K word work in 30 days.  The frenetic pace inspires me and despite what other people may think, I find novel writing - even really bad writing - extremely fun.

With this in mind, I'm pleased to present a guest post on the subject of writing and storytelling.   Earlier this year I read and reviewed Vessel: The Advent, book I in her series and she joined me for a great interview and giveaway.  As Indie in Summer continues please join me in welcoming back, author Tominda Adkins!


I don't know why you write. Only you know that.

All I know is that when I write, I don't do it to highlight what words are capable of, nor what I am capable of making them do at will. I don't write to create beauty. I don't write to change writing. I don't write to alter lives. I don't write to save literature. I write simply because these stories have built themselves in my brain, and writing is the only satisfactory way I've found to pass them on to other brains.

In short, I tell stories. I aspire to nothing else.

Many of us start out with a well-meaning but false reverence to the so-called 'artistic' aspect of writing. Too often, our commitment is such that we make failure inevitable. We sabotage ourselves. We hold our work up to ridiculous standards and aim to make statements that are beyond our own scope of experience. And just what is art, anyway, in terms of prose? I sure didn't know, but looking for it used to make me do all sorts of foolish things, like emulate Dave Eggers or write about the deeper observations of young white Americans. What steered me away from that nonsense? I got fired up about a long-neglected story, and just like that, my writing improved. To be honest, I was initially embarrassed that the story in question was akin to urban fantasy (how low!), and yet I was emotionally invested in it beyond control. The characters became people. The story progressed. And lo, there was my art.

So if you are writing, take a moment. What did you set out to do? Are you showing the reader how you write, or are you telling a story that must come out? If you are striving for some certain aesthetic, or trying to sound as crisp and soulful as your favorite obscure genius, then it sounds to me like you're either getting in the way of your story or you're taking a floundering stab at literary fiction. Trust me: if you spend every other second at the keyboard wondering what your MFA friends will think (and they will secretly hate your work no matter what), then you will never accomplish anything true. Move on. The best you can do is read a lot. Write a lot. Write some more. Tell the story, tell the story, tell the story. Do it until the way you tell it sounds about right, then get to the next scene. It's still art. I promise. Art for art's sake is a pretension. Art for the artist's sake is art.

As Stephen King says it in On Writing: "Practice the art, always reminding yourself that your job is to say what you see, and then to get on with your story." Tell it, brother. Write the truth. Write the book that is driving you mad, inside and out, not the book that will bowl the world over--no matter what it is. We can't all be Vonnegut or Plath, and if you still want to keep pounding away at the manuscript of your Great American Novel, hiding it from the light of day until every sentence flows like a polished little pearl straight out of Hemmingway's salty old prostate--go for it. Just know that in the meantime, some of us can still delight, entertain, and yes, even inspire, by telling a damn good story. That's enough for me, and that's why I write.

*****

What do you think about Tominda's thoughts on writing?  Should I own up to the title and consider myself "a writer"?  Do you call yourself a writer?  What do you write and what are your main motivations for writing?

Tominda Adkins can be found online at the Vessel website or her author blog.  Vessel: The Advent is available now in paperback or eBook format!

What makes a ‘good book’?

Go ahead, take a moment and try to come up with your answer. I will wait for you here.

[whistle…]

Still here? Seriously, think about it. I won’t go anywhere.

[whistle…whistle…]

Done? Good, welcome back.

Now, if you have an answer, that is great. Hold onto it for a little while. If you were unable to come up with an idea, no worries, I promise that at the end of this article, I will reveal the correct answer. You might wonder how – with such a subjective question – could there be a ‘correct’ answer? Maybe not. Nevertheless, I think there is one that is as correct as any other is.

Now, if you asked a thousand different people that exact question, you might get a thousand different answers. As I am not any of those people, I cannot guess as to what their response might be. So, along with some help from a few esteemed authors, let me tell you what my convoluted answer is and why I have done my damnedest to write what I consider a ‘good book.’


Rare is the author who can create a story that is timeless. It is a tall mountain to try to climb.

Even the most enduring tales of all time, at their heart, are nothing more than a deep examination of the human condition on one level or another. Genre, plot, setting, style, theme all take a backseat to the characters and their journey.

Authors like J.R.R. Tolkien, Ernest Hemingway, Charles Dickens, C.S. Lewis, Jane Austen, Ken Follett, and others of their ilk all have or had the inspired ability to both grasp and elucidate what stokes the furnace within an individual and examine how that fire either gently toasts or violently chars the people they touch in their life. The characters they create have stories we wish we could continue to follow even when the book stops.

However, we cannot all hope to be as succinct and surgically precise as these great writers who have created uniquely fantastic characters while weaving a grand tale for them to traipse through. Some of us must simply strive for a good read, crafting something that makes the reader excited, hopeful or anxious as they turn that next page.

With every bit of fiction I put out, I want the reader to be looking forward to discovering the next phase of the tale. Regardless of time, place, or reality, I endeavor to guide the reader along a path that, when the story/book ends, the reader’s immediate response is a disappointed and frustrated, “Damn…but I want to know what happens next…”

“You know you've read a good book when you turn the last page and feel a little as if you have lost a friend.” 

-Paul Sweeney

Now, I could see how you might read my last words and think to yourself, “That’s sort of a sick, vindictive approach for an author to take.” In a sense, you might be right. But, please, try to understand things from my point of view. When I write something, rarely is it for my sole consumption. The words I write are meant to be read by you. I want to make a connection with you; draw you in and make you feel invested in the story. You should love or hate the characters. You should root for or against them. You should demand to know what happens and be happy or mad as events play out. Ultimately, you should care.

When I write, I strive for stories that leave the reader longing for more when the last word on the last page is consumed. I do this for the purely selfish reason that I want that reader to come back the next time I publish something. Without readers, an author is a madman having a conversation with a brick wall.

When you close a book, I want you to be satisfied, but a little sad the tale is over. I want you to feel like you have just said farewell to a good friend whom you will not see for a long time.

Why?

Imagine how excited you will be when the next work comes out. It will be like a grand reunion.


I like to read and write books that require the reader to invest themselves in the tale. Novels that can be read on a lazy, Sunday afternoon are not my cup of tea.

I like – no, I love – books that demand my attention. I adore stories that draw me in and force me to connect the dots. I worship authors that leave little, hidden nuggets for me to find as I read. I long for novels that make me immediately want to read the book again, only moments after completing the first pass, just so I can catch the little intricacies that I missed.

When I write, I leave those same bread crumbs I savor for my readers. Some are readily apparent, others…well, wait a book or two in the series for the ‘ah-hah!’ moment. I promise, it is coming. Really.

Every author worth his or her salt wants to write a ‘good book.’ I certainly set out on my journey as a writer to do so. Hopefully, I have succeeded.

However, the ultimate judgment as to if I have achieved my goal is not up to me. That is your job.

Now, for that ‘correct’ answer to the opening question: Do you want to know what makes a ‘good book’?

“'Tis the good reader that makes the good book.” 

-Ralph Waldo Emerson

I think that is as good an answer as any.

Good days ahead.
~~~~

And good memories behind!
(So goes the greeting and response in Terrene.)


For those who want to check out more of R.T. Kaelin's writing (and for those who love epic fantasy) be sure to check out his website!  As I hinted at above, coming this week will be a review of Merchant (the first short story bundle from The Terrene Chronicels) as well as a giveaway of Progeny!  One paperback copy will be up for grabs (US or Canada only) with up to ten entries per person.  I won't reveal all the ways to enter just yet, but two of them do include leaving a meaningful comment on this post (include an email address) and following R.T. Kaelin on Twitter.  Good luck and check back later this week for more details!