Dani Erickson is a hereditary demon hunter. The seventh child of a seventh child, she was born to battle the nasty monsters she sees infesting her small Colorado town. With the help of her best friend Allie and her sensei Wick, she’s getting into fighting trim — just in time for her first day of high school.

*~*~*

I hope you’ll enjoy meeting Dani. She and I have some interesting commonalities. We’re both the youngest kids of large families, and both the only girls! However, I only have FIVE older brothers, so no extraordinary demon fighting skills for me *lol* Not to mention that I’m lots more like Allie than I am like Dani. I totally fell for the “act like a girl! We’ve got enough boys in this family” admonition, so it’s been fun watching Dani rebel

I’ve really enjoyed imagining Dani’s world in these two stories, but boy is she going to get in lots of trouble in the novel I have planned. Watch out Dani! The demons are out to get you … literally.

In this second volume of the Sorcha’s Children series, shifter siblings Brandubh and Morag take flight. Brandubh travels to King Leofric’s court to discover if his destiny lies in the human realm, but his visit is marred by the news that dragons have destroyed a human village. King Leofric charges the dragon-shifter with seeking out and subduing the renegades, but the stakes increase when Brandubh meets a fascinating female dragon … who considers humans vermin to be exterminated.

Meanwhile, Morag shows no interest in life among the humans, preferring to live life on the wing. But can she convince the male dragon of her choice that she is the bond mate he has been waiting for? Only time will tell if these dragons will succeed in mating flights.

This is the book I never thought I’d get to write. I was contracted for it with my former publisher, but Sorcha’s Heart and Dragons’ Choice sold so poorly for that press that we decided not to pursue the last two books *sigh* Who would’ve guessed that the series would take off when I Indie published on Amazon? Here’s hoping Dragons’ Flight sells as well as–or better than!–Dragons’ Choice!

Limited Time Offer: I have a 20% off coupon going at Smashwords – now until April 1st!
Coupon Code: FG45K

Dani’s family is unusual. She’s the youngest–and only girl–of seven. Being the lone female, her family would like her to be all girly and sweet like her best friend Allie. But Dani is a tomboy born and bred, and on her fourteenth birthday she discovers why.

Life is about to get decidedly strange!

I’ve been having a terrible time deciding where to start my latest Deb Logan novel. Should I begin with Dani’s discovery that she’s a demon hunter? Or should I start with an action-packed battle sequence … one where she obviously already knows who and what she it?

DEMON DAZE solved the dilemma! This short story tells of Dani’s advent: her discovery that she’s not a too-tall, gawky imitation of her very feminine best friend, but exactly who and what she needs to be

Now, as my father used to say, “Let’s get on with the fighting!”

I’m always over ambitious, and for some, that would be a downer, but not for me. I mean, why be safe and set goals I won’t have to stretch for? I figure if I don’t aim high, I’ll never know if I can soar. I didn’t meet all of my 2012 goals, but I met enough that I’m very pleased with my progress. 2012 has been a very good year. I expect 2013 to be even better!

This year, I’ve discovered a new guide to my goal planning. Dean Wesley Smith is doing a blog series on getting ready for the new year. He starts with a retrospective of publishing changes in 2012 and then moves into goal planning, so be sure to look at the first three posts that he references. I’m currently taking an online class from Dean and learning a ton about publishing and my own strengths and deficits, so taking his advice is a foregone conclusion for me at the moment.

For 2013 I’m planning to follow Heinlein’s Rules as closely as I can:

1. You must WRITE.
2. You must FINISH what you write.
3. You must NOT REWRITE unless to editorial demand. (That means an editor who’s paying you, not one you hire. Fixing typos / mistakes is acceptable.)
4. You must put your work on the MARKET.
5. You must LEAVE your work on the market.

I’m also setting a word-count goal: 3,000 words/week for 50 weeks, totaling 150,000 words for the year. Dean suggested 250,000 words for the year, but 150,000 will be enough of a stretch for me! That’s NEW words, by the way. He’s not counting revision and editing work (which I shouldn’t be doing since it violates Rule #3), nor time spent on covers and layout and publishing work.

So, depending on how my year works out, I should have a new novel and quite a few short stories, or perhaps two new novels by the end of 2013!

Onward and Upward!!

*~*~*

Last week I discovered yet another interesting (frightening? disturbing?) effect of the aging process: PVDs

To quote the literature my doctor sent home with me:

A posterior vitreous detachment (PVD) is a rather dramatic event in the normal aging process of the eye. The vitreous is a clear gel like substance that fills most of the back cavity of the eye. The vitreous gel has normal attachments to the retina, the all-important nerve layer in the back of the eye. Normally with age, after trauma, or commonly in highly nearsighted eyes, these attachments often pull loose. As a result, these attachments can tug on the retina, or pull loose from the retina, causing transient flashes of light, usually in the outer periphery of the eye and cause a sudden increase in annoying objects floating in front of the eye. The sudden symptoms of a PVD require immediate examination.

I experienced one of these “dramatic events” last week and it was not pleasant. No trauma was involved, just aging, nearsighted eyes.

Imagine sitting at lunch with your best friend having a pleasant conversation, when suddenly a blood-red blob appears in front of your friend’s face. You glance around the room and as your eye moves, so does the blob, remaining in the same quadrant of your vision.

As the day progresses, the blob changes from red to gray-black, but it remains a barrier between you and what you’re attempting to focus on. Occasionally, you manage to look past it enough to become absorbed in your work only to glance away and be reminded that you have a desperate need to clean your glasses or swat a bug crawling on your desktop.

Unfortunately, no amount of cleaning will rid you of the offending detritus. It’s not your glasses. It’s not a bug. It’s your eye.

You visit the doctor the first thing the next morning. The good news: it’s not serious enough to warrant surgery. Hooray!! The bad news: the resulting floater is right in the center of your field of vision, and there’s nothing to be done about it. It’ll probably go away … in several months.

In the meantime, you adapt. *sigh*

I’m still in the adaptation phase. The floaters are new enough that it takes a good deal of work to look past them. Consequently, I’m stressed and headachy, but this too will pass. I still have my eyesight. I’m not facing surgery. I will learn to ignore the lacy black amoeba floating smack dab in the middle of my field of vision.

But at the moment, THIS SUCKS!

Anyway, in honor of the new arrival, I thought I’d share a children’s story with you this week. Deirdre’s Dragon was my very first sale, and the basis for my young adult novel Faery Unexpected. I hope you enjoy meeting Deirdre and Roddy!

Deirdre’s Dragon

by Deb Logan

Deirdre rubbed her eyes, and then stared open-mouthed at the dragon squished onto the window seat. He was shiny, golden, and too big to be believed.

The dragon oozed off the cushion onto the hardwood floor. He yawned and stretched, reminding Deirdre of a really big (make that gigantic!) cat.

She stood perfectly still, heart pounding so hard her fingers and toes felt like they might explode. She wondered if the dragon was hungry, but mostly she wondered what dragons ate.

“Caviar,” the dragon rumbled, licking his lips. “You know, little black fish eggs, but I’ll settle for peanut butter and jelly on rye.”

“You, uhh, you talked! Where did you come from? Wait a minute. I didn’t say that out loud.” Words gushed from Deirdre’s mouth. She was standing in the library of Gran’s Scottish mansion talking to a dragon, and all she could do was ask stupid questions.

“Of course I talk,” said the dragon, “and I hear your thoughts, too.” He lifted his lip in what Deirdre hoped was a dragon smile. “As to where I came from, why, you called me.”

“I did? I didn’t mean to. I mean, I’m sure you’re a very nice dragon and all …” her words trailed off. She took a deep breath and tried again. “How did I call you?”

“You touched that silver medal, and on your twelfth birthday, too.” A wisp of smoke escaped his nostrils.

Deirdre hoped he didn’t belch up a flame. With all these books, she’d be toast in a heartbeat! Oh, yeah, the medal. She glanced at the ornament clutched in her sweaty palm. The bright disk boasted a tiny picture of a dragon in mid-flight.

“I am bound to the females of your bloodline,” the dragon continued, “but you must be twelve before I’m allowed to show myself.” He lowered his head and looked straight into her eyes. “Happy birthday, Deirdre.”

“Thank you.” Mom would be pleased. Even with her mind in a whirl, Deirdre remembered her manners. Mom. Aha! “Does my mother know about you?”

“Of course.” He turned his jewel-bright eyes away from Deirdre and glanced around the room. “She’s heard all your Gran’s stories, just as you have.”

“No!” Deirdre cried, stamping her foot. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it.” She decided to be more specific. “Does my mother think you’re real? Has she ever talked to you?”

The dragon ambled to the hearth and curled up in front of the extinct fire. “No.” He yawned and nestled his triangular head onto his front feet. Claws flashed, and then retracted, rescuing the hearthrug from certain destruction.

“Why not?”

“The enchantment skips a generation. You won’t be ready to give me up when your daughter turns twelve.” His eyes sparkled, laughter dancing in their depths. “But when your granddaughter comes of age, well, that will be another bowl of caviar.”

“Well … what if I don’t have a daughter? Or a granddaughter?”

His head jerked up, his eyes round as saucers. “No granddaughter? But you have to have a granddaughter!”

“No, I don’t,” Deirdre said, her heart skipped a beat. Arguing with a dragon might be dangerous, but this was important. “Mom says I can be anything I want.” She planted her fists squarely on her hips and stared up into the dragon’s glittering eyes. “Dad says so, too. I’m going to be an astronaut and discover new planets.”

The dragon stared at her. His huge eyes whirled, and the spiky tip of his golden tail beat a rapid rhythm on the hearthrug. “Maybe you could have a daughter before you go exploring?”

She relaxed a little and considered his suggestion. “Maybe, but I might be too busy training. You might have to wait until I get back from my new planet.”

He looked so disappointed. She wanted to ease the sting. “Maybe I’ll name my first planet after you. Say, what is your name?”

He stood proudly on all four feet, wings furled tightly against his back and made a noise that sounded like chewing up rocks and gargling the slurry.

“Oh.” She cleared her throat — it hurt just listening to that name – and said, “well, maybe I’d better just take you along when I go exploring.” She paused, thought about that terrible noise, and asked, “I don’t suppose you have a nickname?”

He grinned his toothy grin and said, “You may call me Roddy.”

Voices in the hall interrupted them. Deirdre turned from the dragon to stare at the closed door. A moment later, it burst open and Dad stepped into the room.

“Hi, Dad,” she said, stuffing the medal into the back pocket of her jeans. She glanced over her shoulder at Roddy.

The majestic beast was gone. In his place lay Gran’s favorite toy — the dragon she’d told all her stories about.

*~*~*

Late that night, Deirdre snuggled under the covers of the huge bed in Gran’s guest room. The old mansion whispered and creaked around her. Another night she might have been frightened, but not tonight.

Tonight Roddy lay stretched across the length of the bedroom floor. His huge bulk protected her from the unaccustomed night sounds.

“What if Mom comes in?” she whispered.

“She’ll see a toy on the floor,” he replied. “Go to sleep, Deirdre, you’re safe with me.”

She closed her eyes and thought about home. What was she going to do with a dragon in Denver?

“Have the time of your life,” came the nearly silent answer. “We’ll have wonderful adventures. Just wait and see.”

I’m really proud of myself because I’ve done all the work with open source software. I’d love to work with InDesign, but it’s just not in the budget at this point in my career. Instead, I used Scribus, and it seems to have done the job. My initial review of the two required pdf files (interior and cover) came back that the book was printable, but that there were a couple of problems I should look at…

1. On the interior layout, I needed an extra blank page, because the text of the story was starting on a left-hand page instead of the right. Now that was downright weird since I’d carefully proofed my pdf to make sure the pages were in the correct layout, but evidently something changes when it goes through CreateSpace’s process. So, I redid the interior file, making sure ALL of my chapters started on the right-hand page. Which meant that in Word and the pdf, they all showed on the LEFT-hand page. Talk about counter-intuitive! But it worked. When I uploaded the revised file, everything lined up perfectly
2. My cover was a total disaster! Yep. It met their printing standards, but the font had morphed and looked like some Cyrillic alphabet. Totally unreadable *sigh* Also, it warned that the images weren’t high enough DPI and might pixilate when printed. So…back to the drawing board on the cover. Except, I had to recalculate the size because I’d added pages to the interior layout, and while the numbers hadn’t changed a lot, they had changed. The domino effect was at work. I did the new math (thank heavens for a little ebook I bought… Create Book Covers with Scribus …it has a website that does all those calculations for you ), changed my fonts to Arial (because it’s so standard) and uploaded the new pdf for review.

This morning the book passed review, and this time it looks great on their digital reviewer. Now to see what it looks like when I hold it in my hot little hands!

If the proof looks good, Thunderbird will be available in print in the near future! If not…well, this first book is all about the learning curve

Because the upcoming day has me thinking of friends and family, I thought I’d share a short narrative nonfiction tale with you. Yes, I know it’s a surprise, but I can write something besides fantasy. I just don’t do it very often…

And so, without further ado, let me introduce you to one of the best pups I’ve ever known:

Angus MacDubh

by Debbie Mumford

Instead of a normal post (whatever that is *lol*), let me introduce you to Janine and Justin Prentiss, the Native American twins who must protect and defend a thunderbird hatchling from the demigod of chaos while lost in Montana’s Absaroka wilderness. Their story makes up my middle grade fantasy novel, Thunderbird.

Thunderbird
by
Deb Logan

ONE

The Prentiss Twins

Janine

Life is so not fair. I mean, Dad tells me all the time how lucky I am. How he knows lots of kids who dream about dinosaurs and would give anything to go to a real live paleontology field camp. Yeah. Whatever. Those kids don’t have a paleontologist for a father and a full-blood Crow shaman for a grandfather.

I’ve spent my entire life around fossils — the rock kind and the legendary kind — and I’m tired of messing around with dead dinosaurs and nonexistent thunderbirds. I don’t care if the Museum of the Rockies is world famous for its dinosaur finds, or if our clan of the Crow tribe thinks it holds the special blessing of the thunderbird. I want to be a normal girl and play with live things for a change. I want to go to cheerleading camp.

Unfortunately, Dad doesn’t think cheerleading qualifies as a legitimate use of my time or his resources. A stance my shaman grandfather supports completely.

“Please, Dad?” I pleaded, resisting the urge to bat my eyelashes. I settled for twirling a lock of straight black hair around my index finger. “Think how good this camp will look on my application when it’s time for college. I mean, cheerleading is an actual sport these days.”

“Invalid argument,” he countered without looking up from his packing. Dad is so organized he could give lessons to a neat freak. “Paleontology Field Camp is a far more impressive credential.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve already been to a million field camps,” I said, sifting through my brain for a new angle. “I need to…diversify. My app will look better if I do more things, show them I’m not just a fossil geek. Besides, cheerleading is a team building experience.”

Dad stopped rolling socks into tight little knots, straightened, and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He scowled at me. “I am not paying an arm and a leg for you to run off with a bunch of hyperactive preteens for the summer. I have no idea how well supervised that camp is, but the whole idea gives me a headache.”

“Come on, Dad,” I tried not to wheedle, but my voice cracked under the strain. “Sandra’s letting Haeley go.”

“And that’s another thing; I don’t like you calling your friends’ mothers by their given names. It’s disrespectful.”

“Mrs. Jessup asked me to call her Sandra,” I countered. Haeley’s mom was the coolest. She stayed home, cooked delicious meals, braided Haeley’s hair, made sure everyone in the family had everything they needed, and she liked me. Let me call her Sandra. If Mom had lived, she would’ve been just like Sandra. They would’ve been best friends, just like me and Haels.

“And don’t change the subject. You know Mrs. Jessup wouldn’t let Haeley go if it wasn’t safe. Really, Dad, cheerleading will show what a well-rounded person I am.”

Good one, I thought, folding my arms across my chest and swallowing the smile that threatened to creep across my face. Too soon to celebrate.

“No daughter of mine is going to prance around in a skimpy outfit just so she can show off how well-rounded she is!”

“Dad!” I squealed, shocked out of my shoes. I mean, hello! I’m twelve years old, flat as a board, and just as straight up and down. My cheeks flamed and tears blurred my vision. I turned and ran for the door. “That is so unfair,” I yelled over my shoulder. “I wish Mom were alive. She’d understand about being a girl.”

* * *

Justin

Who in their right mind would want to play around with pom-poms all summer when they could be tromping through the mountains with almost no adult supervision?

Justin shook his head in amazement at his twin sister’s idiocy and then flattened himself against the wall outside Dad’s door as she raced past, tears streaming down her face. Girls — especially sisters, just didn’t recognize a good thing when they had it in their hands.

Personally, Justin lived for summers at the paleontology field camps. Lots of dirt and rocks, the excited buzz of the community when an important fossil was discovered, no chores, food he didn’t have to help cook. Fresh air, sunshine, and adults too busy with their own pursuits to care what he was doing as long as he showed up for meals and bedtime. Yep, field camp was a twelve-year-old boy’s dream vacation. He just hoped Janine hadn’t ruined everything by arguing with Dad.

He rolled his eyes at her stupidity and peeked around the door jamb at Dad. The paleontology professor stared out the second story window, hands on hips, jaw muscles twitching. Before Justin could decide whether or not to go in, Dad whirled to the bed, grabbed a pile of tee-shirts and slammed them into his duffle bag.

Justin swallowed hard and crept away from the door. He’d ask Dad about that air rifle later. Getting one was a long shot, but with Dad pissed “no” would be automatic. Besides, if he played his cards right — and Dad was in a good mood, he might convert a refusal into a new super soaker. He grinned. Yeah. A super soaker would be cool.

He bolted down the stairs in search of Janny. He’d need his sister calm if he was to have any chance at finding Dad in a good mood before they left for the mountains. How to pacify Janny? He sure couldn’t get her a trip to cheerleading camp — Gag! Who’d want to? — but there had to be something he could do to cheer her up.

Skidding to a halt in the middle of the kitchen, a brain wave hit him. Oh yeah. Was he brilliant, or what?

“Hey, Janny,” he called, scouting the kitchen and breakfast nook. Not there. He moved on to the great room. “Janine! You in here?”

When only silence answered him, Justin trotted over to the sliding patio door and stared into the backyard. Empty cedar deck, no movement in the garden plot, but he couldn’t tell about the treehouse, not with the oak in full leaf. Scanning the great room one more time, he opened the slider and jogged to the foot of the oak.

“You up there, sis?”

Floorboards creaked and Janine’s tear-stained face appeared above the window sill. “What do you want?”

Justin shaded his eyes and peered up at her. “I heard you and Dad yelling. Want some company?”

“Not really.”

“Okay. You stay there and sulk and I’ll keep my idea to myself.”

She cocked her head, eyebrow raised. “What idea?”

“I’m not talking to a tree. You want me to come up, or are you coming down?”

The rope ladder unrolled to hang in front of him. Justin grinned and grabbed hold. “Thanks, Janny.” He scrambled up the rungs and pulled himself onto the smooth sanded floor.

Janine sat cross-legged against the far side of the treehouse. She wiped her face on the hem of her tee-shirt and then folded her hands in her lap.

“Sorry about cheerleading camp,” he said, working hard to keep a straight face. Girls!

“You heard, huh?”

He allowed a tiny smile to slip past and tug at his lips. “Kind of hard not to. You and Dad weren’t exactly being quiet.”

She shrugged. “So what’s your idea?”

“Well, I know I can’t change Dad’s mind, but what if you could spend the next couple of days with Haeley? I mean, I’m sure she’d invite you over, and if I volunteer to do all your chores and make sure you’re packed, Dad wouldn’t have any reason to say no, now would he?”

Janine’s eyes lit and she sat up a little straighter, but then she narrowed her eyes and studied him. “Why would you agree to do all my chores? What’s in it for you?”

“Busted,” he said with a sigh, but smiled inwardly. They weren’t twins for nothing. Janine knew him, just not quite as well as she thought she did. “Look. I want to ask Dad for an air rifle and there’s no way I’ve got even a glimmer of a chance if he’s not in a good mood. What do you think the odds are of him feeling chipper if you’re moping and whining at him all day?”

“I don’t mope and I don’t whine.”

“Do too.”

“Do not.”

“All right. Fine. I’ve still got a better chance if you’re out of my way.”

“Dad’s not going to buy you an air rifle,” she said, the whisper of a smile in her voice.

“Yeah, well, that’s my problem, not yours. Do we have a deal?”

She considered a moment and then stuck out her hand. “Deal.”

“Great. You go call Haeley and get yourself invited. I’ll deal with Dad.”

To continue reading, buy Thunderbird now.

*~*~*

Heart’s Chalice
by
Thomma Lyn Grindstaff

Destiny rarely gives a woman a second chance at love, especially not with a man who died twenty years ago.
 
As a young woman, Laurel misinterpreted a psychic vision, causing the death of her first and only love. She has lived with guilt ever since. Two decades later, struggling to free herself from a toxic marriage, she’s pulled to an alternate reality where her beloved still lives. There, she’s the dead one, and he and their children are grieving for her. When she tries to contact them, they think she’s a ghost or a product of their wishful thinking.
 
She desperately wants to remain in her family’s reality and connect with them. By enjoying a long, happy life with the man she loves, she can rectify her mistake and free herself from her guilt. But she’s running out of time. Every shift between realities damages her body further. And her soon-to-be-ex will stop at nothing to shackle her to a life she despises.

*~*~*

Welcome, TL! I’m thrilled you could join us. Now, something I’ve been curious about for a while, how did you get started writing fiction? Was it a childhood dream?

I started writing fiction when I was a little girl, and yes, it was a childhood dream. I started reading at a very young age. The wonderful stories I read delighted me and swept me away. I longed to write stories that would sweep other people away.

Do you classify your writing as fantasy, paranormal, or magical realism? Why did you choose that genre?

It depends on the book. Heart’s Chalice is dark, edgy women’s fiction / magical realism. Mirror Blue, my debut novel, is classified by its publisher, Black Lyon, as a literary love story. Patchwork Stained Glass, another of my novels, is mainstream fiction with romantic elements. As a writer, I tend toward genre-bending. My #1 consideration is telling a good story; genre/classification comes second.

Are you comfortable being categorized as a women’s fiction / magical realism writer?

Sure.  I’m comfortable being called a writer of women’s fiction, magical realism, romance, literary love stories, mainstream fiction, literary fiction… however readers experience my fiction is A-OK by me. One recent reader of Heart’s Chalice classified it as a hybrid of fantasy, sci-fi, and mystery! Um, did I mention I tend to be a genre-bender?

Where do you get your inspiration?

All sorts of places. In a word: life. One of my biggies is what I think of as the Magic Mountain. I live near a network of gorgeous mountain trails, and I hike every opportunity I get.  The mountain, with its forest and waterfalls, directly inspired Heart’s Chalice: characters, story, and setting. Another tremendous source of inspiration is music, another of my lifelong passions. I’m a classically-trained pianist and I compose songs and instrumental pieces.

What’s your greatest obstacle to writing? What gets your through it?

I’d have to say my greatest obstacle to writing is getting in my own way. When I let the story flow, unimpeded by anxiety, that’s when I’m at my best. When I feel blocked, I spend time at my piano, go for a hike on the mountain, or enjoy a peaceful meditation. One of my mantras is “Let go and let be.” In the context of my writing, “Let go and let be” means to strive for excellence, but to let go of outcomes and write joyfully, in the moment.

Who are your favorite authors?

Here are just a few: Haruki Murakami, Isak Dinesen, Madeleine L’Engle, William Styron, Amy Tan, Khaled Hosseini, Carl Sagan, Dorothy Parker, Charles Frazier, Alan Watts, Pema Chodron, Sherman Alexie, Cormac McCarthy, Jodi Picoult, the Bronte sisters, Joyce Carol Oates, Flannery O’Connor, Carson McCullers, A.S. Byatt, Dōgen… oh, I could go on and on.

What can readers look forward to next?

My next novel will be a time-travel love story called Maestro. Like Heart’s Chalice, it’s a wild ride. And my hero, a hunky concert pianist (for whom the novel is titled), is quite a hottie, even if I do say so myself.

I, for one, can’t wait to read Maestro! Bring on the hunkie concert pianists *lol*

If you’d like to know more about Thomma Lyn, be sure to friend her on Facebook, follow her on Twitter, or check out her website!

Would you believe my very first novel began in a tree house on the slopes of Mt Rainier? It’s true. I kid you not.

Dear Husband’s sister and her hubby were visiting the Pacific Northwest from their home in Colorado and had arranged for a stay in a tree house. They kindly invited DH and me along for the experience.

There must have been something magical in that mountain air, because my muse broke free and gifted me with dreams of druids and dragons.

I snuggled in a hammock and imagined characters and plot. Mind you, I didn’t have a clue about story or craft, but ignorance is indeed bliss. If I’d known just how clueless I really was, I’d never have had the courage to begin this journey!

Less than a decade later I’ve published several novels and novellas, had my short fiction included in anthologies, attracted the attention of a NY agent, and started my own publishing company. Not a bad track record…and I’m just getting started.

Of course, the story I dreamed that day in the tree house has never seen the light of day—totally clueless writing rarely does. However, my muse and I have developed an awesome relationship and I’m delighted she decided to come out and play.

So what about you? Where were you when your muse broke free?

First, let’s talk about S.M.A.R.T. goals. You know, the realistic kind. The ones you have control over. Writing, revising, submitting…those are all controllable goals. Getting an agent, being offered a multi-book contract…those are in someone else’s court. They’re great ambitions, but they’re not goals. The S.M.A.R.T. acronym is a great goal test:

• Specific: Goals need to be specific, not some loose, vague, impossible to quantify statement. “I will write better this year″ is not a specific goal. “I will write 2 pages a day” qualifies.
• Measurable: Goals need to be measurable. Again, a concrete goal is far better than an amorphous wish. You need to know whether or not you achieved it! “I will write for 45 minutes a day” is a measurable goal.
• Achievable: Goals need to be reasonable and achievable. Don’t set yourself up for failure by shooting for the moon. “I will complete the first draft of my 90,000 word novel in 6 months″ is much more achievable than “I will write a 90,000 word novel in January.” Also, as I mentioned above, make sure your goals are within your control. “I will write the first draft of my novel” is achievable and within your control. “I will secure the services of Dream Agent” is not.
• Realistic: Goals need to be realistic. Evaluate your time and your lifestyle. Be honest with yourself. Set goals that are specific, measurable, achievable, and realistic for who you are and how you live.
• Time-Bound: Goals need to have a time frame. Lots of people dream of writing a novel…someday. But without a deadline, a time pressure, there’s no reason to do anything today. Put a date on your goal and then get started on it today. When you reach that date, you’ll know whether or not you accomplished your goal.

Now that you’ve designed your S.M.A.R.T. goals, you need an action plan. I like to use a calendar for this part.

Pull out a calendar (mine is a word processed document…I don’t write with a pen unless forced *LOL*) and think about your work and family commitments. The first thing I did was to go through and cross off major holidays and family events that require my time and attention (birthdays, anniversaries, family reunions, etc.)

Next I looked at my goals, made arbitrary decisions as to anticipated page counts (Young Adult = 180 pages, Single Title = 375 pages…your mileage may vary) and tried to anticipate how much time would be required for revision and polishing drafts. For planning purposes I chose a goal of 5 pages a day, 5 days a week. Then I simply plugged my numbers into my calendar.

I made notes in an empty cell as to how many pages I expect to write each month on each project with running totals in another cell. Leaving time for polishing the first draft, sending it out to my beta readers, and then tweaking it per their comments, I figure I can write one YA and two single titles this year.

Now, we all know that nothing in life goes according to plan, but it’s also true that if you don’t know where you’re going, you won’t know when you arrive. So…I’m planning to write three books this year. If something wonderful (like an unbelievable multi-book contract) comes along and knocks my plans askew, I’ll adjust. But for now, I have goals and an action plan in place and I’m ready to shine!

How about you?

• Historical romance demands not only believable chemistry between the would-be lovers, but also accuracy in the details of world they inhabit.
• How successful would a detective story be if the author bungled the descriptions of police procedure?
• Even contemporary literary fiction depends on the often unconscious world building of its author.

What is world-building? It is the details of setting that an author chooses to include which flavor the narrative and make it possible for the reader to understand the place and time in which the story takes place.

If you’re writing a story in contemporary America, you may not think you are world-building, but you are. You are making conscious and unconscious decisions regarding your setting. Choosing which details to reveal and which to ignore, relying instead on your common experience with your assumed reader.

Think about it. How does your reader know your story is set in the Pacific Northwest and not smack in the middle of the Great Plains? What setting details do you write automatically which place your characters in the United States rather than in China, Russia, or even Canada?

World-building is the concern of every writer. It’s just that some of us have a head start because we’re relying on the common understanding of our readers when we write in a contemporary American setting.

Now, when we set that common understanding aside, world-building becomes not only necessary, but exciting…your opportunity to be the god/dess of a new world!

Before I get into the specifics of world-building, I’d like to take a minute to discuss record keeping. Once you decide on elements of your world, how will you keep track of them? And you must keep track in order to maintain consistency, especially if you end up writing more than one book in a given world. Here are a few possibilities:

• Spreadsheets: great if you’re a spreadsheet kind of person, I know many who aren’t.
• Looseleaf notebook: wonderful if you write by hand; I don’t.
• Jeannie Ruesch’s WIP NoteBook
• Liquid Story Binder
• Scrivener: My personal favorite! (LOVE this program )

All right. Now that you know where you’re going to keep track of your ideas, what are the elements of world-building that need to be addressed when you set out to create a unique and new universe for your characters to inhabit?

SFWA (Science Fiction & Fantasy Writers of America) has an excellent article on the subject by Patricia Wrede. She breaks her article down into the following segments:

• The world: basics like laws of nature and physics, whether the planet is earth-like or not
• Physical and historical features:
  • Climate & geography (terrain and map)
  • Natural resources
  • World history
  • Specific history of the country
• Peoples and customs:
  • Customs
  • Eating
  • Greeting and meeting
  • Gestures
  • Visits (rules of hospitality and what they entail)
  • Language
  • Ethics and values
  • Religion and gods
  • Population
• Social organization:
  • Government
  • Politics
  • Crime and legal system
  • Foreign relations
  • Systems of war
  • Weapons
• Commerce, Trade, and Public Life:
  • Business & industry
  • Science & technology
  • Medicine
  • Arts & entertainment
  • Architecture
  • Urban factors
  • Rural factors
• Daily life:
  • Fashion & dress
  • Manners
  • Diet
  • Education
  • Calendar

Finally, if you’re writing fantasy, you have an extra dimension of world-building to explore—magic. Stephanie Cottrell Bryant has posted an excellent article, Magical World Builder’s Guide on her website. I recommend reading it.

As you’re designing your world, you’ll need to consider the source of magic, the system that supports it—does it require an education in spells and potions ala Harry Potter, or is it an inborn gift that each user must learn to control individually? What is the cost of the magic? Are there species of magical creatures? Decide on your rules—they can be anything—and be internally consistent.

Consistency is key with all world-building elements.

Now, when you start thinking about all of these areas, you might have a tendency to throw up your hands and say, “But I’m just writing a love story here! A simple boy-meets-girl tale that happens to take place on a spaceship. Surely I don’t need to explain the technology and political climate that allowed that ship to exist!”

And you’d be right…to a certain extent. You won’t put all your world-building in your story—that would be an info dump of gigantic proportions! But the fact that you’ve taken the time to think about these issues and make some rudimentary decisions will influence the details you do choose to include. Your world-building will inform your word choices and will give your work a solidity that will pull your reader in and allow them to settle in your world.

So, the next question is one that Holly Lisle asks, “How Much of My World Do I Build?” Holly’s answer is, “Build only what you need; imply the rest.” Her summation is a great close to this conversation:

“Do the best you can with it, research when you have to, but remember that the point of worldbuilding is not to build a world — it’s to create interesting, consistent backdrops in front of which your characters can play out their tale. Your aim is primarily to entertain, secondarily (and not always) to instruct, and as long as you can do that without your readers stumbling over gross inconsistencies or errors of fact, you’ll be okay. So have some fun with it, and don’t sweat the small stuff.”

Enjoy your foray into godhood! Create an intriguing, internally consistent world and we’ll all be reading your novels.

I wanted to imagine my own worlds, and I wanted them to be perfect. Consequently, I avoided conflict. As one critique partner put it, I wrote nice stories about nice people who had nice things happen to them. In short, my stories were nice, which quickly translated to boring.

Now, I’m not saying that you can’t write stories about nice people or that you can’t have happy endings, but conflict is a necessity. Your characters have to struggle. They need to earn that happy ending.

Let me quote Kay’s excellent article:

If you’re ambivalent about conflict, let me urge you: get over it! Without tension and conflict a story is boring and your readers will abandon it. Without a collision of wills, your characters will appear flat.This is one of the most intriguing intersections in fiction: the outer drama of conflict reveals deep character. Conversely, it is character that makes action meaningful: why does she do what she does? How will he find the understanding or strength to do what is needed? Don’t create a cardboard hero, then, who is pure at the beginning and remains so. Rather, make her a compelling personality who is not yet wise enough to overcome opposition. But who will be.

I love the last part of that quote. I don’t want a cardboard hero who is pure at the beginning and remains so. I want a compelling personality who is not yet wise enough to overcome the conflict I’m going to throw in her path, but who will grow and learn and ultimately make wise choices.

I think that’s one of the reasons readers read … to be reassured that if my character can grow in wisdom and learn to make the tough choices, so can they.

Give your readers what they want. Show them that opposition can be overcome, that nice people can become better and that conflict can be faced with dignity and grace.

Onward and upward.

A very interesting, thought-provoking read, especially coming on the heels of a short motivational piece by Ralph Marston about how my time use highlights what I really want, as opposed to what I say I want.

I want to be a full-time writer. If that’s true then my choices, what I do with my time on a daily basis, will reflect that desire. If I allow my emotions to get between me and my keyboard, I’m shooting my dreams in the foot. So emotional intelligence becomes an issue I need to be aware of. Not that I shouldn’t honor my emotions and acknowledge my feelings. Far from it. I need to channel them into my writing instead of allowing them to deflect me from my work.

I think a better term is emotional discipline. Intelligence works as far as informing me that the potential roadblock exits, but it’s discipline that will get me around (or more likely over) the blockade.

Feeling like a fraud, like my writing sucks? Write a story or an essay.
Feeling depressed and miserable? Write a story.
Feeling angry and upset? Write a story and allow the characters to act on those emotions … and witness the carnage I’ve avoided in my real life.

Whatever emotion I’m experiencing, I must deal with it, soothe it, put it away with honor, and get my butt in my chair and my hands on my keyboard.

Why? Because I want to be a full-time writer and my time use needs to reflect that desire.

The world around me is a constant source of inspiration, though I rarely stay in the here-and-now for more than a few pages. I’ve published a few contemporary romance short stories, but they were flash fiction (1,000 words or less). If they’d been any longer, I’m positive something “unusual” would’ve crept in. So far, my longer fiction has always been fantasy or paranormal in nature.

I have a collection of short stories titled Red’s Magick that began on a cold winter day when the glass in the front door at my office fogged up. You could actually read a sign that had been removed as much as a decade earlier. The phrase “ghost in the glass” popped into my mind and simmered until I was asked to write those stories, and voila! Red was born.

Another question I’ve been asked regards whether my ideas begin as a vague idea or arrive fully formed, needing only to be transcribed and polished. In all honesty, my stories usually start from a seed—a phrase or a picture that intrigues me. The seed will germinate in my subconscious until it’s ready to work itself out through my fingers and onto the screen. I rarely know what I’m going to write until I’m actually in the process of typing. That’s part of the fascination for me—discovering what happens next!

Several of my published short stories began as writing exercises: Take three unrelated words and write for fifteen minutes with the goal of using all three words. Opening Her Eyes began as dragon-rickshaw-bifocals, though you’d never know it to read the final version!

One of my current works-in-process was born during a drive with my husband to admire the fall foliage. A tree sprite popped into my head and asked what would happen if she married a human and they had a daughter? Because of that question I imagined Nimue—a feisty teenage girl who is stuck between worlds. She’s definitely not human, but she’s not quite Fae either. As if those teenage years aren’t hard enough…

Finally, there’s my novella, The Silver Casket, a story created by my fascination with my own Scots heritage. What would happen if a lonely, contemporary American woman were transported back in time to 15th century Scotland? I’ll never tell—you’ll have to read the novella to find out, but it was a blast to write!

So…Where do you find your inspiration?

So where do you fit in your family? Are you a first-born—responsible, helping your folks keep track of the younger rug-rats; a middle-kid—occasionally feeling lost in the shuffle; the baby—sometimes spoiled, sometimes resentful that everyone treats you like an infant; or are you an only child?

If you’re the one and only, do you wish you had sibs?

If you have brothers and sisters, do you find yourself wishing you had your folks to yourself?

Well, I’m in a unique position to tell you there are pros and cons to both sides of the question. I’m an only child…with five brothers. No, seriously, that’s my actual position in my nuclear family. I have five sibs (all guys), but I was raised as a one and only due to the extreme difference in our ages. (I have a nephew just a few months my junior.) It’s an odd alignment, but it’s the only one I’ve ever known.

So, depending on how you look at it, I’m the baby of six, or I’m an only child. Bizarre, huh?

Like the heroine of one of my short stories, I was blessed (cursed?) with a mom who was wise to the ways of kids. By the time I was old enough to pull shenanigans, I knew I’d have to be very crafty to put anything past Mom. Fortunately, I’m smart…and female. Mom was accustomed to dealing with boys, so I managed to elude the parental units on a number of occasions.

Of course, I also had a bad case of youngest child syndrome—the need to please. Everyone else had already made their mark. What was left for me to excel in? Not much time for rule-breaking when you’re trying to measure up to (and surpass if possible) five excellent brothers!

So what effects have you noticed on your tough-as-iron yet delicate-as-a-butterfly’s-wing psyche that you can chalk up to birth order and the presence or absence of sibs?