Do your readers allow you to grow?

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I never write the same story twice.  I feel it is a cheat that authors use when they have an idea or plot that sells, they keep writing the same story just interchanging the character’s names.  I can’t.  I have too many wonderful people in my head with their own individual tales. But there is a backlash.  If a reader “discovers” one of your books, they often expect every book to be that way, This is why many authors use Psuedos. My pseudo is my pseudo.

Here is this week’s author question.

Do your readers allow you to grow? Recently, I received a harsh review because my new book was nothing like my last.  The reviewer said she was “disappointed.”  

How do you grow as a writer without becoming formulaic?

2.0 out of 5 stars I was very disappointed in this book I pre ordered this book with …,October 13, 2014

Verified Purchase(What’s this?)
This review is from: Loving Words (The Davonshire Series Book 2) (Kindle Edition)
I was very disappointed in this book I pre ordered this book with great anticipation but was sorely sorry ….the love scene came very late in the book after reading Thursdays in Savannah Miss Gaines cannot seem to measure up.

Finally, a Reason to Love Thursdays

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Now Available for Pre-Order on Amazon

Jesse Orison knew he was on borrowed time, but he had a plan. Savannah was set to marry another guy in year. Experience had taught him that a man could make a lot of things happen in 12 months.

His first priority starting next week, was to make her fall in love with him.

He would begin his methodical plan by paying her a visit on Thursday.

Savannah Niden had everything a girl could want, a nice condo, a great job and a fiancé. The only problem was the maintenance man, Jesse.

Jesse started coming over on Thursdays and he liked to stay all night.

Savannah’s primary problem, she was learning to love Thursdays and Jesse a whole lot.

Paperback is now available for pre-order on Amazon.

Coming May 23, 2014

Taking a Lazy Day

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It is a wonderful Sunday. The sun is bright outside and daylight savings time has occurred today springing me forward and allowing me to sleep one hour past the time I should have arisen. It is because of this, that I got a late start on my day. I then gave some real consideration to why and I always in a hurry.

I get up with my feet hitting thee floor starting the race through a self-imposed maze that I call my life. Today, I am holding on to the cheese and taking a seat in the big chair, popping some corn, and taking control of the remote. Mama is having a lazy day.

For those of you who are unfamiliar, a lazy day is one of those wonderfully, beautiful, eloquent days where you turn off the phone, stock pile the munchies from the cabinet and your neurotic hiding places, and do absolutely nothing. Yes, I said neurotic hiding place. You know, the spot behind the cookie jar where you stash that Snickers, or the mini Moon Pie, or that last oatmeal raisin cookie for just so emergencies. Emergencies like my co-worker got on my nerves today. I love my child who is getting on my nerves. My husband, God bless his soul, is getting on my last M*&^%$ing nerve, where is my oatmeal raisin cookie so I can feel better?

215px-Fire_Down_Below I have my Moon Pie in the arm of the recliner, Steven Segal and Marg Helgenberger are in some movie about rednecks that live in the mountains, I have a nice cup of tea and all is right with world. It is a really bad movie. The one on before it in black and white about a dumb cowboy out for revenge was worse. I turned to SyFy and they seem to be on auto play with Resident Evil. I am watching these because they inspire me.

Oh, I thought about reading a book. Lord knows next week I need to start writing a new one, but today, I am inspired by the flawed story. There are gaffs in these movies a mile wide and I can sit and watch and be entertained. I can even ponder plausible plot synopsis to make these movies better.

It is my lazy day and I can do anything I want. Dinner was the same thing as lunch, a tuna sandwich and an apple. I had a Moon Pie for dessert. Maybe later, I will even take a shower. Because it is my lazy day, maybe I won’t.

Don’t hate, ameliorate.

Crazy, Twisty, Good Writing

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0404-casts-greys-scandal-private_obI have fallen, but I am trying to get back up.  I was the last one on board and may be the first one to hop off the Gladiator train to crazy town where Scandal docks its engine. Please do not misunderstand this recap, because I am a total fan of Shonda Rimes.  If I could still breed, I would volunteer to have her little creative writing baby; she is that good at what she does.  But dear Lord on High, that woman is making me tired.

If you tuned in last night to see Mrs. Smith Goes to Washington, you can understand my feelings.  By the end of the episode I was fit to be tied, tired and felt as if I needed therapy. Here’s the skinny:  A mom from the Midwest hires Pope & Associates to help her get some answers on her son’s death.  It was very suspicious, because she wrote Olivia a check for the exact dollar amount she had in her savings account. The dear sweet mom then heads over to her congressman’s office with a bomb strapped to her chest.  She wants some answers, “I know in my heart my son wasn’t a terrorist!”

She is right, he wasn’t.  According to the President, he wasn’t either, but for the safety of his fellow Americans, this woman’s son was labeled as a traitor.  They are still holding his body and she can’t even bury her child. I am frowning at this point. She can never know the truth.  His file was redacted. Here is where the crazy train picks up speed.

Olivia Pope, played by Carrie Washington, heads over to the Congressman’s office and climbs right in the middle of the chaos. She finds out the President is spearheading, “kill the crazy lady with the bomb” campaign, and Ms. Pope makes herself the go between.  She insinuates her people behind the FBI lines, she becomes the spokesperson for Angry Mom of the year, and in the end, nothing really changes. The Mom is led to believe her son was a terrorist.  She still was not able to bring his body home, and she still blew herself the F*ck up! Wait, grab the Oh Sh*t bar on your screen, because the crazy train is building momentum to get up the next two inclines.

  • The wacko nut job, Huck, which works for her and was trained by Ms. Pope’s father to be a killer for the government, is having some issues.  Huck learns that Eli Pope, Olivia’s daddy, is still pulling his strings.
  • The guy Olivia had a tryst with, Jake Ballard, who was also trained by her father, was returned to Olivia, dirty, bruised and still in love with her.  Eli Pope is still pulling his strings too.
  • Olivia, in this episode, yells at, and hangs up on the President at least three times, and in the end, courtesy of his wife, he realizes that Olivia is pulling his strings. FLOTUS, or Millie the Monster, as many refer to her, is happy Olivia wasn’t killed, because she can still use her husband’s mistress as power to also pull his strings.
  • Eli Pope is sitting in his car, calling his daughter Olivia, for whatever reason, and is unable to reach her, which frustrates him.  He is very frustrated because he is unable to control his little girl, who is now sitting on the couch with Jake Ballard, realizing her daddy is pulling her strings.

I feel like the damned puppet here.

That dang gone Shonda Rimes has me on a yoke and is pulling my strings, yanking my cord, and making me bob up and down like a marionette. It is so crazy, twisty, good, it is driving me bonkers! I want off this ride! Wait, can I get the T-shirt first?


Challenging Your Writing Skills

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Each week on my Facebook Page, I put out weekly writing challenges.  Some of the challenges have a great deal of guidelines, but most are an opportunity to think outside of the box.  I would like to introduce you to Kennedy Taylor.  This writer has no box.

Here is the assignment: Let us write today. I would like to see your first paragraph about a man named Tim, whose car has broken down on a dark road. A good first paragraph is 5-12 sentences.

Here is his response.

Kennedy Taylor: “You’re late, Tim,” said the voice on the cell. “Where are you?” Tim sat behind the wheel of his ford Bronco II. The engine cut out and he coasted to a stop. He couldn’t see more than a few feet down the dark road, but he could now hear the ocean, the waves crashing along the beach. He could see a seagull trying to balance itself on a half-deflated volley ball
“I’m at the beach. My car just died. There’s a seagull.”
“I don’t know,” said Tim. “It’s just here flapping around.”
“Hey, asshole,” said the Voice. “I meant the car. What’s wrong with the car? I don’t care about some bird playing with a volleyball.” Tim began to sweat. They can see me? He looked around, but could only see darkness.
“Where are you?” said Tim.
“Now, Tim, we’ve been through this already. You don’t get to make demands. I have what you want, remember? Now, the car. Tell me about the car.”
“I don’t know. It just died. I was driving and it just died.” Tim pounded the steering wheel.
“You were driving and the engine died,” said the Voice. “Ok, that’s not bad. Might be the fuel injector. Look to your left” Tim complied. Now that his eyes were adjusted to the darkness he could make out the faint shape of someone wearing a coat and hat on the other side of the street. Tim let out a breath. This was it. It was about to happen, what the Voice told him HAD to happen. The coat-wearing figure began walking toward him. The figure didn’t have to look for traffic; there was none. Tim had a fleeting thought of abandoning the plan. “Ok, I don’t want to do this anymore. It’s too risky.”
“Too late,” said the Voice and ended the call. The figure stopped several feet from Tim’s car. “Get out.”
“We don’t have to do this,” said Tim, almost pleading.
“It wasn’t a request, Tim.” 
Tim got out of the car. He was wearing swim trucks and a tee-shirt. “Take that shirt off,” said the figure. Again, Tim complied. The figure walked toward him. Without thinking, Tim backed towards the car, bumping against the door. Before he could say another word, the figure reached for him and….embraced him. They passionately kissed as Tim removed the hat to reveal the face of his beautiful wife. “You’re such a scaredy-cat, Tim” she said, a twinkle in her eyes. She threw off her coat revealing a two-piece bikini underneath. “And you know I hate crowds. Come on. Let’s go” They ran towards the beach scaring away the seagull.
“Hey, Nia, take that top off, ” said Tim.
“Hey, asshole, I already told you. You don’t get to make demands, “said Nia. She kissed him again. “I love you.”
“And I love you, always,” said Tim.


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