Critique Groups: A Slice of Life

   I have been part of the same critique group for several years now, and while the core members have stayed fairly consistent, the number of people who come and go is amazing. It's fascinating to me how such a small group can reflect society as a whole so well. We've had folks from all over the world, different religious beliefs, young and old, male and female, and rich or poor.
   Unfortunately, as in any group of people, sometimes you experience personality conflicts or extreme differences of opinion. Ofttimes, those can be worked out, but when someone shows up with an ego or attitude a mile wide, you just have to make it clear they don't fit in this group.
   Sometimes I have to smile at the new writers who come to our group, obviously having just read a 'Rules for Writing' book and are ready to fix all our writing problems. If they are willing to stick around after the shock of discovering their 'rules' are only guidelines, we will try and gently steer them in the right direction to develop their own voice while remaining aware of the guidelines. Other times they are so offended by our total disregard for the sanctity of 'The Rules', they never come back.
   I just shake my head at the ones who show up with their fancy business cards and bookmarks with pictures of all the books they have published without any help from anyone. The problem was always the fact that none of their books were selling. I honestly don't know if they were looking for critique or hoping to impress us and generate some sales. Every time we would critique what they had submitted, and pointed out the areas that could be improved, you could tell they were upset by the criticism and never returned.
   Not all critique groups are created equal, and are only as good as the people who make up the core of the group. As with anything in life, you only get out of it what you are willing to put in. Fortunately, I feel that we have a solid and diverse core that has kept this group going for a long time and will continue to do so.
   I can't stress enough how important this group has been in the development of my writing. I feel a good critique group is an essential part of your writing process and would be a benefit to you to join one. As I've told others, if you can't find a group that fits you, start your own and you will draw other like minded people to you.
   Thanks for reading!

A Silver Lining

   As a writer, I understand not everyone is going to enjoy what I write, and the possibility of a negative review is always there. Fortunately, other than the rare comment from someone that says, "This book is garbage", if a reader feels compelled to write a review they will include what they enjoyed along with what they disliked. The ability to accept the small bits of praise for what they are, and to learn from what didn't appeal to the reader is what's important.
   I recently had someone read my first book and post an honest review on their blog. It was an excellent review even though the story didn't work for them. Honestly, I never expected them to like the book because I'm familiar with their preferences and they are not part of my target audience. However, I was interested in what they might have to say.
   I thought it was telling that the reasons they cited for the story not working for them were exactly the same reasons given by those readers who thought the story was an enjoyable read. It's all about preconceptions and expectation. It was rewarding to me that the reviewer perceived the story exactly how I had intended. I write lighthearted, easy to read and understand fantasy that focuses on the characters and their relationships.
   I know this type of story isn't very popular right now, but I refuse to write grim-dark, or stories where the characters are constantly beaten to a pulp and then given insurmountable obstacles to succeed. At my age, I've experienced enough of that in my own life and the lives of family members. I have no desire to revisit those memories or emotions.
   Bottom line is I will continue to write the kind of story I enjoy reading knowing that some will like them and some won't.
   Thanks for reading.

It's My Story And I'm Sticking To It

   I have spent quite a bit of time lately pondering the reasons why I write and how my writing changed over the last year. When I first started a little over three years ago, it was strictly for my own pleasure and I enjoyed creating something new. Writing for others never entered my mind.
   I've written about this before how after my friends and family convinced me to get serious and learn how to write to sell, I completely changed my focus. I became obsessed with learning everything I could about writing correctly with the intent to lure the reader. Being a perfectionist didn't help as I was determined to use every new rule of writing I discovered.
   Unfortunately, this took away any enjoyment I had originally found in writing, and it became a chore just to get anything down on paper. I would over-think every sentence or word I wrote down. Was that the right word? Is the sentence structure correct? Could I have written this a better way? Folks told me I had to find a way to turn off the inner editor monster I'd created and only bring him out when ready to edit. This has proved almost impossible.
   Last week, several online friends challenged me to write a story mixing genres. It had to include a cowboy, a mermaid and be somewhat historically accurate. A complete story instantly filled my mind, but I tried to ignore it as I'm desperately trying to finish my first full length novel. I finally gave up on Sunday and just sat down with a fresh notebook and wrote the words as they appeared. It took me the better part of the day, but when I finished, I had over two thousand words. I haven't done that in over a year. I had finally written something again the way I used to without worrying about grammar, word choice, etc. It remains to be seen if I can now apply this to writing my WIP, but at least I now have the confidence that I can still write the way I used to and enjoy it.
   If you are interested in what I wrote, here is a link:

https://plus.google.com/u/0/+RolandBoykin/posts/jQTCmc9E4QG

Thanks for reading.

What Works For Me

   I'm still mulling over the revelation from last week when I learned that not everyone can visualize in their mind what they are reading or writing. The thought that others don't see things as I do never entered my mind. This explains so many things I've had a problem understanding.
   It makes sense now why some readers complained that there wasn't enough description in my story while others thought there was too much. They each visualized the scene differently, therefore needing more or less detail to complete the vision. This seems to apply not only to sight, but sounds and smell also.
   I brought this up at the last meeting with my close writing partners and it cleared up some confusion for all of us. Two of the writers can only experience one thing at a time as they're writing so several complete re-writes are necessary to add another dimension to the story with each pass. The other pictures her characters talking to her, telling their story and she writes what they tell her. For me, it's like I'm in the middle of the scene along with my characters and I can see, hear and smell everything.
   I think this has been the cause of my difficulty with writing over the last year. Many of the "How To" books on writing seem contradictory, and like I said before, it confused me when some readers loved what I wrote and others didn't. I was trying to find a process that matched the way others recommended and that pleased all the readers all the time.
   I've finally accepted the fact that I can't write that way. The only way I can be productive is to write the way that works for me. It used to bother me when other writers said they had written several thousand words in a day until I understood that those words might get thrown away or changed during the second or third drafts.It might take me several days to write five hundred words, but once they're on paper, they usually stay. I don't re-write or have multiple drafts. I will replay the scene in my head hundreds of times, rejecting or accepting new characters or situations as they appear. When I'm familiar with every sight, sound, smell and emotion, that's when it gets put down on paper and submitted to others for critique. I may change a few words or add to the scene based on their comments, but other than that I'm done.
   I've included a scene that took me four days to write. Not a single word has been changed since I put it on paper. When I submitted it to my local critique group and to my writing partners, everyone loved it and wouldn't change a thing. I know it'll need a line edit, but other than that this is final. What do you think?
   Thanks for reading.


         Nestled up against the base of Mount Baltok, where the capital of Kiplar had originally set down its roots, sat an old non-descript inn. Known as the place for late night meetings between discreet lovers and those whose actions were best kept hidden, the innkeeper never lacked for money. No one remembered the inn’s original name, but based on the faded sign above the door that supposedly sported the likeness of the first Queen of Dahlian with two pints of ale pictured below, the name “The Queen’s Jugs” had stuck. Only the innkeeper was aware of the irony of the name considering the identity of one of his patrons.

In a dark corner farthest from the door, two hooded figures sat in a booth, apparently in a lovers embrace. The pain of long buried memories resurfacing threatened to overwhelm the Queen as she softly kissed the lips of the old arms-master and gently traced the scars on his cheek with her fingers. The face of a young guardsman hovered before her as the past overcame the present and she lost herself to the feelings she had buried for so long. He reached up to cover her hand with his as she pulled back, the flickering candlelight revealing a sad smile on his face.

“The memory of your soft lips has never left me even after all these years. Please believe me when I say I never stopped loving you, Olivia. I used to curse the Eyes for the position we found ourselves in until I realized I could protect you better from the shadows then by your side.”

“Oh Malcom, I’ve missed you so,” she murmured while resting her head on his shoulder. “What happened to our love, my handsome young protector, and why have you chosen to re-kindle that love?”

The arms-master stiffened at her question and then let out a sigh heavy with regret. “The Deluti happened. It is also one of the reasons I needed to meet with you like this. The story I have to tell may not be easy for you to hear.”

It was Olivia’s turn to stiffen as she lifted her head and stared at him, the eyes of a Queen replacing those of a young princess in love. “I’m listening.”

Malcom paused to gulp down the rest of his ale and signaled for another round, which gave him the time to order his thoughts before answering. “On the day Sofia was born, I felt compelled to guard the door to your rooms. After everyone had left to allow you and the baby a chance to rest, a Deluti spirit appeared and had me under its spell before I could react.”

He shivered as the memory of that night returned and he felt caught up in its grip once again. “It was like time had come to a standstill and only the two of us existed. The spirit told me that soon the five Deluti Amulets of Focus would return to the world of men and that they had chosen a number of human children who would receive a portion of Deluti blood mixed with their own. Sofia is one of those chosen. The spirit then charged me with keeping that secret and to protect her with my life until she left to be on her own.”

He watched in admiration as the intelligent woman he knew and loved, calmly sipped her wine while processing the information he’d just given her. It didn’t take long before she leaned back, closed her eyes and blindly reached for his hand.

“Well, that explains a lot, particularly why you distanced yourself from me after Sofia was born, and why you insisted on training her in secret when she was old enough. It’s also clear to me that you wouldn’t be telling me this unless something has happened to her.” At which point she squeezed his hand. “Please tell me she is safe.”

“Olivia, the repercussions from what has happened will ripple through both our countries and the resulting consequences are too numerous for me to fathom. That Sofia is still alive I can almost guarantee, but whether or not she is safe, that remains to be seen.”

Her only reaction was to open her eyes and narrow them in concentration. He then proceeded to relay everything young Gilfor had passed on the night before. He also assured her that men and wagons were already on their way to the ambush site to retrieve the bodies of the guards and to bury the attackers where they lay.

“So my daughter has the power of a Deluti inside of her?”

“Yes, and she has already begun to use those powers even if she isn’t aware of it yet. With Ronald at her side, I believe they will be able to take care of themselves. What worries me is how are the rumors going to affect our people, and what the reaction will be from the King of Marlinor is anybody’s guess.”

The Queen set down her glass of wine and pulled him close, a coy smile dancing across her lips. “Those problems will still be there on the morrow. Right now I need you to remind me how much you love me.”

Malcom returned her smile with one of his own. “As my Lady commands.”

A New Opportunity

 
   We have a large, well established mall in our county, but since I can't afford to get out much, I rarely go there. Several weeks ago, however, my wife asked me to go to the mall and buy something for our grand-daughter's birthday from a store she liked there. The place was no longer in business and had been replaced by what you might call a bazaar for local artists and craftsmen. Out of curiosity, I decided to check it out.
   The store was filled with beautiful works of art, hand made jewelry, pottery, racks of embroidery and sweaters, but no books. Well, writers are artists also, right? I approached the owner and asked about the possibility of selling books written by local authors. She loved the idea. For what I thought was a reasonable monthly fee, she would set up a display just inside the front door that would be the first thing people saw when they entered.
   Since I know a large number of local authors, I soon had enough people interested so that each person's share of the rental is only $5. Even if we only sell a few copies, the potential of getting our names and titles out in front of thousands of readers for that price will be worth it.
   I will get the books and money to her by Friday. She'll set up the display on Saturday and it will be ready for the first of the month on Sunday. At the end of May, I'll post the results of our first month in the mall and any positive (or negative) issues that came about.

I don't know if anyone reads the scenes I try to post every week, since no one comments, but here's another. Navon and his companion, Moonlight, (a large, female mountain wolf) step through a portal, unaware of what awaits them on the other side.

Hope you enjoy and thanks for reading.

Navon, Moonlight at his side, stepped through the first arch as the last words of the Deluti spirit followed him. “Remember, young Navon, others will look at the world with a different eye than yours, but it does not mean they are without honor.”

The world they entered resembled nothing he had ever seen before. Rolling hills of grass as far as the eye could see, with scattered stands of short bush like trees. At this distance it was impossible to tell what kind of leaves they had if any. The sun shone directly overhead in a cloudless blue sky so expansive, Navon suddenly felt very insignificant.

Sweat formed on his brow and he could feel beads of moisture trickle down his spine as Moonlight’s tongue hung out. A sweltering wind at their backs brought with it a sound like a blacksmith’s forge combined with a stampede of cattle. Navon spun around to be confronted by the source of the noise. Fire! A wall of flame over ten feet in height stretched in both directions as far as he could see. In front of that wall were hundreds of animals of all shapes and sizes running for their lives.

His legs had already reacted to the sight and started pumping before Moonlight’s mental image of running burst inside his mind. The faster animals pulled alongside and passed them by. Moonlight stubbornly stayed by his side even after several attempts to send her a command to run ahead and save herself. Not used to running in this kind of heat, Navon could already feel himself slowing down.

His lungs struggled to keep up and his legs felt like burning stumps. Mixed in with the sound of the fire were the screams of the animals not fast enough to outrun the flames. The temptation to look behind was not enough to overcome the fear of what he might see, until Moonlight sent him a mental warning.

He took a chance and craned his neck around to look. Not far behind, a beast, larger than any bull back at the keep, bore down on Navon. He also saw that they were losing the race to the fire. The skin of the beast blistered and turned black as he watched. Somewhere he found the strength for another burst of speed or did the ground begin to slope downward? Ahead of them appeared a solid line of dense vegetation with animals bunched up against it trying to force their way through.

The sound of screaming animals as they clawed at each other and at the barrier, combined with the roar of the flames behind him, threatened to overwhelm his mind. He could not think. Was this the end? If it hadn’t been for Moonlight, Navon would have stopped and given up right there, but her constant mental encouragement kept him going. Maybe he could find a way to climb over the top without being trampled by the frantic animals trapped there. The forgotten beast behind him had a different idea. Just before they reached the hedge, the beast’s nose appeared between Navon’s legs and with a powerful thrust of his head, propelled Navon over the barrier to land in water.

A Small Success

   First of all, I would like to thank everyone who shared my posts announcing the countdown deal I decided to run, and especially the folks who decided to take a chance and actually purchase my story. Not only did I sell some books at the $.99 level but also a number sold during the $1.99 price point.
   Now comes the waiting to see if my writing is good (or bad) enough to illicit any reviews or comments. I have no problem with constructive feedback, either in an e-mail or a comment on my blog, as I'm always striving to improve as a writer.
   On a different note, our in-home critique group that I talked about in previous posts, is working out great. It's refreshing to be able to spend the extra time to explain not only what bothered us about a particular section of a story, but also why. The casual atmosphere of meeting in a home and since there are just the four of us, if we get off on a tangent for awhile, that's okay. We have known each other for quite a while so it's easier to share personal feelings and jab a little fun at each other during the meeting that might not be comfortable for newer members in our larger monthly public group.
   I was unable to post a blog last week because I had to deal with closing the estate of a relative who I didn't get along with. Old emotions resurfaced that needed to be addressed. That chapter in my story is now over so I can go on with my life.
   I'm sharing another short scene from my novella this week that I hope you will enjoy.
   Thanks for reading!


                        Chapter Ten ~When Darkness Falls

The sun continued on its path towards the horizon, indifferent to the plight of the companions as they hurried along the road in search of shelter for the night. The untended farmland fell behind when the road entered a sparsely wooded area unlike the dense and lush forest at the beginning of their journey.

Long skeletal fingers stretched for the sky from the tops of the stunted trees as if begging for rescue from the brackish water they were drowning in. Sickly vegetation covered their roots and spread its yellow-green leaves over the water, providing shelter for the inhabitants of the bog.

Swarms of insects formed a dark mist that flowed back and forth across the road. The companions were forced to cover their mouths and noses with cloth while attempting to swat the hordes away from their eyes. Fortunately, Aldan had recovered enough strength in his arm to hold a cloth with one hand and swat with the other.

The smell of decay and the flying denizens vanished as quickly as they had appeared as the road began a slow ascent and the land around them changed once again. Undulating hills dotted with rocks and the occasional ancient oak provided grazing for a small number of horses and cattle. A large house and barn could be seen in the distance but no trace of wood smoke rose from the chimneys.

Aldan lay in the wagon, eyes closed, tired of seeing nothing but clouds and sky. The threat of the goblins was a welcomed distraction from the other thoughts that plagued him. What must the Princess think of him now after his bonehead actions during the fight with the outlaws? How could he have been so careless? Granted, he’d never been in a fight like that before but the first thing his old master had taught him was a defensive spell to protect himself.

Attuned to the feel of power, he could sense the lingering signature of the magic used to heal him. Even now, the accelerated healing was sending short bursts of pain through his chest and then itched as the flesh mended. The feel of the magic was like nothing he had ever sensed before and that worried him. He was afraid the Princess had discovered a new source of power and would decide she no longer needed him.

Unable to lie still any longer, Aldan rolled over on his side and struggled to sit up. Odessa reached over to help him and then made room so he could lean against the sacks next to her.

“I feel like such a fool,” he muttered.

She glanced at him a moment and then continued to stare at the road behind. “What you did was foolish but you are never a fool. What really happened?”

“When I saw your life being threatened by those men, I panicked and reacted without thinking,” he confessed. “The thought of protecting myself never entered my mind.”

Regardless of what she believed, he was beginning to have serious doubts. “You and the men would probably be better off without me. You seem to be perfectly capable of taking care of yourselves.”

This time, Odessa not only turned to face him, she grabbed his head and forced him to look into her eyes. “Now you listen to me, Aldan Beaverson. We would not have made it this far without you. The only way I’ll be able to win back my kingdom is to have a mage at my side.” She paused, searching his eyes before continuing. “Don’t ever leave me. I have already lost two very special men in my life and I can’t bear the thought of losing a third.”

“Derek is coming back,” Jon called softly over his shoulder, hating the need to interrupt them. “I think he may have found something.”

Held captive by the intensity in her dark green eyes, Aldan finally tore free and moved over to lean against the side of the wagon, thinking, ‘now I feel doubly the fool’. He had spent his life in books and study, never as someone special. The idea was a little scary, but yet oddly comforting.

Short but Sweet

   It's late and I'm tired from working on the car all day, so this will be short.
   Our first official in-home critique meeting went really well last night even though one of our group was sick and couldn't make it. It's wonderful how much more in-depth our critiques are when we have more time and can discuss issues that encompass more than a single scene. Plus it feels like everyone is more relaxed with this informal setting instead of our normal meeting in a public area. As with anything new, there will be a learning curve at work here but I don't think it will take long to settle in.
   In other exciting news, at least for me, I've received another wonderful 4-star review on Amazon for my book, and I've gotten e-mails from two other folks who are half way through reading and loving it. They said they would post a review also when done. Those made my day.
   Today I thought I would post the prologue to my WIP, "Eyes of the Deluti".
   Hope you enjoy and thanks for reading.


  

                                Prologue~ End of an Age

Now was the time to finish this. Only Demitrios, the last surviving Deluti High Lord, had the power to locate and if possible, destroy the Dark Lord.  He rode at the forefront of the Army of the North, an alliance he had forged between Northern Ogre, Mountain Wolves, the light-shifters of the Elintria and Humans. That alliance proved to be the turning point in a war that had lasted for decades. The Dark Lord of the South refused to acknowledge the intelligence and fighting abilities of the non-humans. For that reason, his entire army was comprised of humans, whom he treated little better than slaves.

The Army advanced steadily across the Plain of Sarglon and approached the Stagwood Forest. Ahead of them stretched an ancient, densely packed wood where the Dark Lord had established his final defensive line to protect his fortress at Bryhom. At the High Lord’s signal, the army positioned itself for attack with archers and mages to the front, followed by ogres, wolves and human swordsmen. The horsemen were positioned as rear guard due to their disadvantage in the thick forest.

As the first volley of arrows darkened the sky and fireballs launched by the human mages sped towards the forest, lightning strikes sent by the Dark Lord’s sorcerers began falling among the archers. Holding position, the mages and archers continued to provide covering fire until the wolves, ogres and Elintria assassins reached the edge of the forest. The swordsmen then followed to sweep through the forest in the wake of the non-humans. Riding among them, Demitrios provided as much protection as he dared but every death added to the burden of sorrow weighing on his heart.

His personal shield protected him from attack but did not block out the pungent odor of ozone and the sickly sweet stench of burning flesh. They had left behind a plain littered with the bodies of human and animal, but in the forest, Demitrios knew they would have the advantage. The wolves and ogre were formidable forest predators and the Elintria would quickly eliminate anyone attempting to hide in the trees.

 A sudden immense gathering of power alerted him to the presence of his enemy and the shocked realization of the terrible mistake he had made. The forest was a trap. With the last of his energy he sent out a powerful mental command to the entire army to abandon the forest immediately.  Face buried in the mane of his horse to keep from being swept off, they careened through the forest with the roar of an inferno pursuing them. Tendrils of smoke trailed from the burnt ends of the horse’s tail as they escaped through the western edge of the forest and ascended to a rock strewn meadow. The horse, lathered and trembling, stopped a few paces away from the body of a man slumped against the side of a large boulder. Demitrios fell from his saddle and stumbled over to his brother. The face of his twin was beyond recognition.

Compassion overwhelmed all other emotions as he gazed at the burnt and blackened body before him.

“Why have you done this to us Scorpios?” he cried. “Your lust for power has destroyed the last members of our race. The Council of Five gave up their lives by forging their spirits into the five Amulets of Focus that are now scattered throughout both continents. The Deluti are no more. You have placed the future of this world in the hands of the humans.”

The body of his brother convulsed, one eye cracked open and a hiss escaped through burnt and blistered lips.

“Kill me.”

“I can not. Regardless of what you have become, you are still my brother.”

Anger invoked by the senseless destruction and death his brother was responsible for rekindled the power of a Deluti High Lord in him. He rose to his feet and stood straight and tall.

“However, since you attempted to kill us all and took in more power than your body was able to control, I sentence you to live and suffer from those injuries and the knowledge of what you have done to our people.”

Demitrios walked over to stand next to his horse and stared at the smoking ruin that had once been the Stagwood Forest. With a faraway look in his eyes, he continued.

     “Many generations from now, the blood of the Deluti will return through the line of humans even stronger than before and our time on this world will come to an end. I have foreseen it.”

Back in the saddle, he turned his horse away from the broken body on the ground and whispered, “Goodbye my brother.”  He never looked back.