A.J. Maguire

Tag: fiction

  • Abandoning or Embracing Cliché’s

    I love high stakes stories.

    I love when the heroes have to battle against all odds and sacrifice all of themselves to reach the end goal. And I love when that end goal is “life as we know it” or Armageddon.

    And I love the hero who is plucky and normal but housing some extraordinary power. The “chosen one” or the “you were born to be this” trope. I eat that stuff up when it’s done well.

    Sometimes even when it’s done poorly. We can call them popcorn novels for me – great fun but not a lot of substance to them.

    The problem is, as a writer, I know it’s cliché.

    I know the moment my character reaches a height that she couldn’t possibly have reached on her own, that I’ve crossed into the “chosen one” trope, and while every single fiber of my being is buzzing with delight because I LOVE those stories, I have to yank myself back. Or at least tailor things to try to disguise this trope.

    Trenna in my Sedition series – and in that first book particularly – was a chosen one trope. I tried to disguise it with magic amnesia and the fact that she was the General of an army, but it’s there if you look hard enough.

    Elsie Delgora in my Witch-Born duology was clearly a chosen one trope – especially in the final novel – but I tried to disguise it with birthrights. This was likely not as well disguised as I’d hoped, but I do still love that first novel… probably because I love the cliché.

    And today I’m staring at the final chapters of Darkside of Bright, struggling with the desire to make poor Nora Grayson more than an empath counselor. There are things to like with both versions of the character, and in truth there is a path that I can take where her story becomes a series and more is revealed about her origins with each book, but the writer in me is still conflicted.

    What’s so wrong with letting her just be Nora? Draw on the empath, on her ability to read and understand relationships and their complexities, and I get a story about relationships and how they shape us as people.

    Let her be more, and I can still get that story about relationships while also opening an adventure that drives into the heart of Fairy. BUT, I fall into the trope hard. So hard it will undoubtedly be mentioned by reviewers. Not that I should permit reviewers to dictate what and how I write, but that’s a whole different conversation. Suffice, even my own inner critic would be on top of this one, sneering at the “unoriginal” “just like all the other books on the shelf” plotline.

    At this moment, I am reminded of Stephen King. In his book On Writing, he admits that many people criticized him for writing horror. They asked him why he would waste his talent on that genre, and yet, here he is still writing horror. Because that’s what he loves.

    I’m certainly not in the same league as Stephen King, so please don’t think I’m comparing myself to him. But you know what? Even cliché’s and character tropes are a part of a writer’s toolbox. They only go wrong if you’re not paying attention to crafting your novel.

    So I’m going to take that trope and play with it. We’ll see where it leads. Maybe only people like me will love it, or maybe I’ll nail it. Either way, it’ll be fun to write.

  • Wrapping up Camp Nano 2021

    Why yes, I did technically win Camp Nano this year. But the novel is not quite done.

    I do have a few scenes left to write, so the forward motion continues. However, the breakneck speed to reach 50k is going to taper off.

    There are obvious pros and cons to participating in NaNoWriMo, and as someone who has done this multiple times a year for many years now, I feel comfortable admitting them.

    #1 – Pro – Nano offers a great deal of encouragement to writers. They are an undeniable cheerleader that helps keep you focused and moving forward.

    #2 – Con – Writing for the sake of getting words on the page is not the same as writing to tell a good story. It does require massive editing after the book is done. (At least for me it does.)

    #3 – Pro – Even if you miss the deadline and you don’t make those 50k words, you showed up to the screen/notebook/typewriter and that is ALWAYS a win.

    #4 – Pro/Con – Most books are more than 50k words and therefore most books require writing beyond the given 30 days. However, given that the lovely people at the National Novel Writing Month’s headquarters grant multiple “camps” like this one in addition to the normal November WriMo, you have multiple opportunities to get it done.

    I listed this last one as both a Pro and a Con because it can be extremely difficult to find the drive to finish a novel if you have put it away for a couple months while waiting for the next WriMo. I do recommend finishing the work to completion, then using the next WriMo for a full rewrite/edit if you need to.

    I’m sure there are more I could list, but those are the mains and you can see that the pro’s definitely outweigh the con’s in here. I have enjoyed using Writing Months since the first year I found them (2007 or 2008, I’m not sure) and I will continue to use them as long as I have tales to tell.

    For now, however, I have a book to get back to.

  • Week 3 – Camp Nano 2021

    The joy of Pinterest, and the pitfalls!

    Whenever I’ve gotten stuck in the past few days regarding the WIP, I have flown to my Pinterest page where I have selected certain faces to help “cast” or represent the characters in the novel. This has been great fun.

    So much fun.

    Probably too much fun.

    I have a ten-minute sandglass timer that I regularly blow through whilst I am Pinteresting. (Is that a word? Let’s make that a word.)

    However, I can say that the garments, the settings, and the faces I have chosen all help me delve just a little bit deeper into the novel, which makes the scenes clearer in my mind as I try to write them. Which, regardless of how many times I’ve blown through that timer, has added productivity to the point that I am now ahead of schedule.

    So my little experiment this year has been a success so far.

    I admit that I have never cast faces for my novels before. I have, in retrospect, seen an actor on the screen and gone — Oh, that’s totally Nelek! (Tom Hiddleston, if anyone’s wondering.)

    But that was long after the novel was finished. And it made me love the movie Thor so terribly much I re-watched it a dozen times. I’ll re-watch it again this summer whilst my son and I do a Marvel Extravaganza too, because we’re nerds like that.

    In any case, having the faces has been remarkably helpful for the rough draft. I will likely refine the character in the next draft, divert from their chosen faces just a little to make them their own people, but having the “place marker” helps me visualize their reactions on the page.

    If you’re interested, you can visit that Pinterest page here.

    If you’re not, it’s no skin off my nose. The page is for creative brainstorming anyway. It’s just one of those weird “peek behind the curtain” things.

    And with that, I’m off to write some more! To those of you Nano-ing this month, happy writing! To those of you just writing your regular schedule, happy writing!

    To everyone else, have a lovely day!

  • Week 2 – Camp Nano 2021

    Well, I did say I normally hit a slump right around week two and I wasn’t wrong. However, my Pinterest/Reading/Netflix plan did work! I took several hours off yesterday doing other things and in the evening I was able to get words on the page.

    This isn’t to say that this process will work for everyone, but it certainly did the trick for me. So if you’re in a slump, don’t beat yourself up!

    Instead, step back, breathe in someone else’s creativity for a little while, and then sit back down to work.

    And because I still want to win Camp Nano this year, I’ll end the post with a super rough snippet of the current work so that I can get back to writing.

    Seizing me by the shoulders, Cade gave a little shake, his mouth grim as he bit out the words; “Think, Nora! You’re one of two outsiders here! Who are they going to blame?”

    Alright, so maybe my senses weren’t totally back in working order yet, but they were making the attempt. Meredith’s voice continued to cry murder, and there was a commotion coming from the direction of the manor. No doubt every wolf on the property would be hunting in seconds, and they weren’t likely to ask many questions when riled.

    Cade took my hand, gentler this time. Glancing around the forest, he listened intently for the space of two heartbeats before launching us down a different direction. I struggled to keep up, my little boots barely protecting me from spraining an ankle on many gnarled roots and rocks scattered across the forest floor. My lungs strained and my already shaky legs began to flag, but Cade wasn’t stopping.

    Howls pierced the night, so close I could swear they were on our heels.

    They probably were.

  • Killing Darlings

    I’m not certain who first coined the phrase that writers must “kill their darlings” but I find myself staring down the barrel of my proverbial gun today. With my shelter book finally completed – yes, that only took me all of COVID and then some to finish – I am on to the next project!

    Or, projects, really.

    For the entire month of May I have opted to work on Story Bibles, Outlines, and World Building for the Werewolf Wedding novel and Tango Five, the third installment of the Tapped Series.

    For my dear, lovely readers who have showered me with their love of Enemy Souls, I thank you. And I am deeply grateful that the book delivered a satisfactory story! This was the second installment of the Tapped Series and I am excited to be working in the science fiction realm again, preparing for the third novel. And, as I often do, I have begun reading the series from the first book onward, taking notes to reference technology and character development.

    I do already have a vague story bible written in respects to the Tapped series, but I have found that nothing prepares me better for writing the next book, than reading the ones that came before. I’m not sure how other authors who work with series of novels handle this portion of the process, but this is what works for me. Even if I do cringe sometimes, recognizing that I have learned so much more about the craft of writing since the first book was published.

    Available at Barnes & Nobles and Amazon!

    So where does Killing Darlings come into all this?

    Well, for the Werewolf Wedding novel, if you must know. For fans who have been following along this whole time – by the way, I love you all and I hope you keep reading and adventuring and reading some more – you will remember a novel by the title Melody of Bones. Also known as my dragon novel.

    After a great deal of debate, I have decided to kill this novel. It is, in fact, a little darling.

    A two-plus-year darling that I have nursed and attempted to sell and simply gotten no where with. But the really cool elements of the novel fit perfectly into the story I am telling with Nora Grayson, and I know that both stories will be told better by doing a Dr. Frankenstein move and piecing them together.

    Does it hurt?

    Yes.

    Egads, yes.

    I love Prudence Alturas and her tragic tale as an exiled dragon.

    But if I do this right, I’ll get to tell her story better than my first attempt.

    So here is me, pulling the official trigger and killing off a darling. I hope to have a new draft completed by the end of July, with several more novels waiting to step up to the plate.

    For my fellow authors out there, I hate to say it but… they saying is right. Sometimes we really do have to kill our darlings.

  • The Courage It Takes

    Writing is not for the faint of heart.

    When I started this whole writing thing, I was a child who thought it was great fun. One assignment from a teacher in the sixth grade opened the world of fiction to me and I played around with all the fantasy, making shallow stories that grazed through fluffy adventures without digging into the scary stuff.

    Dragons were scary enough for my 12-year-old mind.

    It is only now, sitting some thirty years later, that I have come to understand the perils of a writer’s life. Nevermind the hours of labor that go into every story, that is an expected price every author must pay for quality work. Nevermind the outlines that get trashed, or the characters who drive the story in an unexpected direction, or the false starts. Nevermind the criticism bound to find us, or the false praise we must learn to ignore. These are all part of the job.

    The true peril of a writer’s life is exposing truth. We must be honest with ourselves about who we are, about the world we live in, and about humanity in general.

    In the movie Shadows in the Sun, a young man is sent after an author who wrote one novel and then produced nothing more for many years. When confronted with why he had not written anything else, his response was something along the lines of; “I had nothing more to say.”

    This has stuck with me.

    I do understand that some novels are meant for fun. There is nothing inherently wrong with fluffy adventures. If I want to stay in the shallows and play there, I am welcome to do so. And so is everyone else, for that matter.

    But I have found that each novel I have written has drifted further and further from those shallows. Maybe this is due to age, or maybe it’s a natural progression that every author encounters as they produce new novels. Either way, I have come to a novel that is drastically different from anything I have written before.

    This past month I have retreated from this novel, because the coward in me doesn’t want to go through it. I am confronted with the choice to turn the novel toward the fluff, or to brace myself and continue on its current path.

    Do I want the novel to say something?

    Am I brave enough?

    To my fellow authors who have been where I am sitting today, I salute you. And I hope you will meet me on the other side of this thing, because whether or not I am brave enough, it seems that I am diving in.

    For those of you who are currently fighting with their novels, trying to decide if they too are brave enough to make this dive, I cannot make that choice for you. But remember that there is nothing wrong with playing in the shallows if that is what you enjoy most. When you’re ready, the depths will be waiting for you too.

  • Casting the Book

    Recently I began reading a new book from one of my favorite authors. I had been looking forward to this book because it was revisiting 1800’s London and the author had done a beautiful job describing that time period. I also love the fantastical elements of the world she created. Urban fantasy is fascinating to me and I am attempting to write within that subgenre (unsuccessfully at present) so anything I can learn from novels like this is welcome.

    But…

    I began reading this novel several months ago and have yet to finish. Normally I consume these books in a day or two, so I had to sit back and as myself what was going on.

    After careful inspection, I have to say that the novel is too full.

    Too many personalities on the page.

    Or rather, too may point of view (POV) characters to follow. The original books were full of personalities, but the selection of POV characters was more narrow, and thus less overwhelming. It’s not that I’m lazy as a reader and want the selection smaller because I can’t keep them straight, it’s because I grow frustrated when the POV only skims the surface of a character’s problems and then moves off to the next scene.

    I have seen the question “How many characters is too many” within writer groups a lot, and I have to admit that I never paid it much mind. The world is full of people, after all, and it seems silly to limit the number of personalities in a book. However, I would submit that you should always, always cast your point of view characters with care.

    I think it was Dan Wells of the Writing Excuses podcast (and a brilliant novelist in his own right) who said that you choose your point of view character for any scene as the character who is in the most pain. But there’s a pretext to this – the character has to already be established as a POV within the novel.

    Meaning that if we’ve never been in Susie’s POV before, but suddenly we are because she had her leg broken, then that is generally not acceptable. Instead, you go to the next best POV character who has already been established in the narrative. Example – Susie’s mother was established early on as a POV character, and seeing her daughter in pain would be an acceptable alternative to leaping into a character whose voice hasn’t been heard in the novel before.

    I know that there are novels out there with numerous point of view characters. And without getting into the difference of third person limited versus third person omniscient, I would like to point out that my issue with the current novel I am reading is more geared toward a feeling of being rushed.

    The scenes do not delve deep.

    They do not allow me to settle into the skin of the point of view character long enough to enjoy them.

    And part of me can’t help feeling that the reason behind this shallow characterization is because the author was stretched thin between their cast.

  • August Round Robin – Travel Teasers



    This month we’re sharing excerpts of our work that relate to travel or vacation. And because I’m in the middle of a new work, you get a tiny taste of One Big Werewolf Wedding.

    The title is obviously in the works.

    And thanks to my stepmother, who requested I visit steampunk again, I have opted to exchange modern-day Boston/New York with an 1800’s steampunk version. I’m actually enjoying this change a good deal more, even if I am still struggling with the first person POV.

    One Big Werewolf Wedding – Excerpt

    Boston South Central hummed with activity, human and supernatural creatures alike making their way to individual train cars, politely keeping to themselves. There were many top hats and business suits to be seen, including those of my abductors, who were having a time blending with the crowd. They were all too large, and most had blunt noses from too many fights. Except, of course, for picture-perfect Derrick King.

    Maker help me, that man needed a flaw.

    Aside from the whole abduction business.

    Really, the abduction business should have made him less attractive, even if he was trying to save his mother. But he’d chosen to shave before we left the seedy motel, and that blasted aviator jacket did far too many nice things to his shoulders.

    Smug, whose name I’d learned was Mark, kept a brisk pace and blocked my view and I realized I’d been staring. Fighting a blush, I scowled at him, all too pleased to see his cut lip and taped nose. “Tell me why we aren’t driving again? I know the Leslies can afford autmotives.”

    “The train shaves an hour off our travel time,” Mark said. “Which I think is a waste of money, but our fearless leader made the call.”

    He looked particularly moody, and not just because of the battered state of his face. There was a sheen of sweat at his widow-peaked hairline and he had a white-knuckle grip on his bag. For that matter, the rest of our troupe were in varied states of distress, each with hunched shoulders and scowls, and I began to suspect that werewolves did not like to ride the train.

    My suspicions were confirmed when we reached the train car’s steps and Mark’s coloring had gone an alarming grey. Only Derrick seemed unperturbed by our situation, confidently handing out tickets and ushering wolves toward the waiting conductor. There were grunts and mutters from the group, but none of them made eye contact with Derrick as they passed.

     “Trust me, you would not have wanted to be stuck in an automotive for four hours with this bunch,” Derrick said as he reached me.

    Eyeing the brown paper ticket he was holding out I said, “I don’t want to be with this bunch at all.”

    His jaw flexed and he gave me a tolerant look. I thought about screaming, making an awful scene and calling humans to attention, but there was the rune stone in my hand and dammitall if I didn’t need him. And, if I was honest with myself, there was the matter of his mother to contend with. I couldn’t really walk away, not with the knowledge that another woman might be harmed in my stead.

    Still, I wasn’t about to let him off the hook. The fact that he was a Constable and allowing this to happen was an unspeakable breach of trust.  I scowled and Derrick’s eyebrow rose in question. He opened his mouth to speak but I cut him off by snatching the ticket, marching to the conductor with angry strides that I hoped made my point for me.

    The conductor smiled and it was only after a moment that I realized she was making eyes at Derrick, which was unprofessional to the extreme. Irritated, I kept going, trusting that the brute would be right behind me, and he was. He stayed on my heels as we entered the train and squeezed through the tight space.

    My seat was beside Mark, who had already stowed his bag and was bouncing his knee so hard I feared his foot might go through the floor. By the time I was buckled and slouched against the annoyingly tight seat, Mark had discarded the emergency instruction pamphlet in favor of the barf bag. For a heart-stopping moment I thought he meant to use it right then, but he just clutched it in his hands and exhaled through his mouth.

    I stared at him. “Really? We haven’t even left the station.”

    “Shut up,” he said and closed his eyes.

    His Adam’s apple bobbed heavy under his skin and I unbuckled. There was no way I was going to sit next to a motion-sick werewolf for however long this ride might be. Ignoring the hushed protests of fellow passengers, I made my way to Derrick, intent on making him switch seats with me. He looked up when I reached his aisle, concern and surprise on his face, and glanced back at where Mark was leaning over his bag.

    Most of the passengers were loaded and I nodded at the seat beside Derrick; “Is anyone sitting here?”

    “I wouldn’t…”

    “I don’t care what you wouldn’t do, Mr. King,” I said and sat down. “I refuse to deal with Mark throwing up on me.”

    Derrick cringed as I settled in. “I didn’t realize they would have such a bad reaction to the ride,” he said, but his gaze was fastened on my lap. “I really don’t think you want to sit there.”

    “Of course, I don’t,” I said, lowering my voice a fraction. “We both know I have no desire to be sitting here at all.”

    The conductor began welcoming everyone to the train and the car jostled into movement.  It was then that I realized something was wrong with my seat. I could feel a wetness under me, seeping into my pants, and when I looked back at Derrick he was openly cringing.

    As calmly as I could, I met his gaze and asked; “Why is my seat wet?”

    “I tried to warn you,” he said. “That’s supposed to be my seat, but I smelled it and shifted over.”

    “Smelled… it?” I asked weakly, wishing for all the world that I had the sense of a werewolf. Then again, I’m not sure smelling it would have helped.

    “I fear the previous passenger may have…”

    I cut him off with a hand; “Don’t say it. Please don’t say it.”

    He stopped talking and I closed my eyes, frozen for a full twenty seconds as reality pounded into me.

    I was sitting in pee.

    Skin crawling, I fumbled with my purse, desperate to get up, but the train accelerated, pushing me back. Derrick’s hand covered mine in an iron grip and he leaned over to murmur; “You can’t get up yet, you’ll hurt yourself.”

    “You’re not the one sitting in pee,” I said through my teeth.

    His fingers tightened on me and I met his gaze. There was a hint of laughter in his eyes and I glared up at him as he said; “I sympathize, I do. But you need to wait. We’ll get this sorted once we’re moving properly.”

    “You think this is funny!”

    He shrugged but didn’t deny the accusation. “I did try to warn you.”

    “Try harder next time!” I snapped and then, because the cool wetness was soaking into my undergarments and I knew what it was, I gagged.

    Derrick had the barf bag out and in my hands within seconds, but I wasn’t going to throw up. At least, I hoped I wasn’t.

    There was the stomach-dropping moment when the whole train jerked into forward motion, and I nearly did utilize the bag, but after several seconds of breathing exercises I was able to gain a semblance of control. Derrick kept hold of me, keeping me seated in someone else’s pee as the train chugged faster, still jerking and jostling as it tried to reach its top speed.  

    Several aisles behind us, I could hear Mark losing his breakfast into his barf bag and I shuddered. If sitting in urine wasn’t already gag-inducing, that sound was sure to get me, so I tried to distract myself with Derrick.

    “Why aren’t you a nervous traveler?” I asked.

    “Who says I’m not?”

    I slanted a glare at him. “I don’t see you clutching a barf bag.”

    He gave a shrug and glanced at the fasten seatbelt sign. “I suppose I’m just used to it,” he said. “I did have to travel to America.”

    “Nothing can inoculate you better than several days on a boat?”

    He smirked at me. “Something like that.”

    There was a mellow ping and I realized the train was as smooth as it was going to get. Derrick released my hand and I unbuckled, ejecting from my seat with enough speed to knock into the headrest in front of me. Murmuring my apologies, I slipped into the aisle and hurried for the nearest restroom. I ignored passengers who glanced at me as I hurried by, including Mark who I thought might have been scowling but with the uncomfortable cooling sensation happening around my backside I couldn’t be bothered to care.

    I ducked into the first restroom and locked myself in. It was difficult in the cramped space, but I managed to strip my skirts and underwear off and squished them against the corner with a toe. Splashing a bit of soap and water on a paper towel, I did my best to clean the offending area and tried desperately not to think about what stranger I was having such an intimate affair with. And then I realized I was half naked in a tiny train bathroom with nothing else to wear.

    I was going to have to put the pee clothes back on.

    Groaning in despair, I fell forward, letting my head rest against the mirror. “Why is this happening to me?”

    There was a knock on the door and Derrick’s rumbling voice; “Nora?”

    Feeling awkwardly exposed despite the closed door, I scowled. “This is all your fault.”

    “Yes, you’ve made me quite aware of that,” he said. “Could you open the door?”

    I glanced down at my bare legs and snorted an unladylike laugh; “Not on your life.”

    There was a beat and then; “I have some clean clothes, if you’re interested.”

    “I couldn’t possibly fit in any of your things,” I said, which was an insane argument because what else was I going to do?

    “Well, no,” Derrick said, and I could imagine him leaning into the door because his voice was easier to hear. “But I sent the lads to get some things from your home before we left so these should definitely fit.”

    I sat stunned for a second, half furious that a group of wolves invaded my home and rifled through my private life. The other half of me was staring at pee-soaked skirts, shivering because it was blasted cold in the little room. And there was something else too, a niggling in my gut that might have been guilt.

    Derrick didn’t want to be in this situation any more than I did, but he’d taken the time to see to my comfort, even with all my snark and sniping. Granted, I would have preferred if he’d been the one to gather my things. The very idea of Mark poking around my underwear drawer was enough to make me want to punch him in the nose.

    Practicality won in the end.

    I unlocked the door and opened it just enough to squeeze one hand through. I felt my clothes thrust at me and yanked it all inside, latching the lock once more. Since my blouse still had coffee stains on the sleeve – curse that ivory color, it always does this to me – I was pleased to find that Derrick had included a shirt. Even if that shirt was plain blue cotton that did not at all match the black skirt he’d delivered, at least it was clean and stain free.

    Getting dressed inside a train car restroom was a unique challenge. I managed to stub my big toe twice, bash my head against the sink and then the opposite wall like a pinball, and ram my elbow into the toilet-paper dispenser so hard I lost feeling in my fingers. I’m quite certain I heard concerned murmurs outside but ignored it in favor of locating my boots. These at least were easy to put on, sliding up and over my ankles with their faux-fur fringe.

    I looked ridiculous but urine-free, so I counted it a win and opened the door.

    Derrick was there, his expression highly amused, and I glared at him because that seemed to be my default today.

    “I don’t even care how stupid I look,” I told him. “I’m dry and that’s what counts.”

    “You’ll get no argument from me,” he said and held out a paper bag. “I didn’t imagine you’d want to touch them again until they were washed.”

    Realizing he meant my discarded clothes, I glanced back into the restroom. Of course my purple-polka dot underwear would be right on top and I cringed, feeling the flush as it raced up my neck to bloom in my face. It did not escape me that he’d already handled my clean underwear, which sported turquoise hearts and a frilly waistline, but somehow this was worse. I could dissect the reasons for that later, though.

    “I thought we’d just burn them,” I said.

    Derrick snorted a laugh. “They frown on burning things when the train is in motion.”

    “Drat,” I said and took the paper bag.

    I managed to get the soiled garments into the bag and rolled the top securely. When I turned back around, Derrick was still there. He flashed a faint smile and reached for the bag, which I was more than willing to part with.

    The train dipped left and shuddered. I stumbled and might have bashed my head again if Derrick hadn’t grabbed me. His hands clasped my elbows, drawing me close enough I could feel his breath on my cheek. My eyes fastened on the hallow of his throat and I was washed in the scent of fresh detergent and soap. I hiccupped a breath, stiffening because some part of me wanted to lean into him, to feel if he was as solid to the touch as he appeared.

    “Are you all right?” he asked.

    My hand was on his side and yes, he was solid. I withdrew, flustered.

    “Nora?”

    “Yes, fine, just,” I scrambled for an apology but what came out was; “You smell good. I hadn’t expected…”

    “For wolves to bathe?” he asked, with no small amount of amusement.

    Mortified at my own words, I opened my mouth to apologize again, but hadn’t I just proven I couldn’t trust myself? I shut my mouth and pivoted away, praying I could make it through the rest of the trip without saying anything more. Just to be safe, I sat beside Mark and kept my eyes on my folded hands as Derrick went back to his seat.  

    Maker help me, I needed to get home.  

    Check out some excerpts from my fellow authors!

    Diane Bator http://dbator.blogspot.ca/
    Marie Laval http://marielaval.blogspot.co.uk/
    Skye Taylor http://www.skye-writer.com/blogging_by_the_sea
    Victoria Chatham http://www.victoriachatham.com
    Judith Copek http://lynx-sis.blogspot.com/
    Anne Stenhouse  http://annestenhousenovelist.wordpress.com/
    Helena Fairfax http://www.helenafairfax.com/blog
    A.J. Maguire  https://ajmaguire.wordpress.com/ ( YOU ARE HERE )
    Beverley Bateman http://beverleybateman.blogspot.ca/
    Dr. Bob Rich https://wp.me/p3Xihq-1GK
    Connie Vines http://mizging.blogspot.com/
    Rhobin L Courtright http://www.rhobincourtright.com



  • Wherein I Forecast 2019 (Writing-wise, of course)

    Last week I noted the things that I managed to complete in 2018 – which was a lot and I’m still patting myself on the back for a good year. I recognize that only die-hard fans really care about this stuff, and for those of you out there who count yourselves among this rare breed of reader, let it be known that I love you all and pray you never change.

    For those who watch the blog for the writing class updates and other content, this might not be the post for you. And that’s OK!

    If, for reasons neither of us can fully explain, the idea of peeking inside an author’s deadline calendar entices you, then I fully welcome you to read on. Otherwise, this is mostly to keep my head on straight through the year.

    So, what do I want to accomplish in 2019?

    • A short story every month. These stories will vary in theme and substance and, hopefully, will find their way into the market. Others may find their way onto this site for FREE content.
    • 2nd and 3rd drafts of The Castle of Three Kings completed. And then, of course, start submitting this MG/YA story to places.
    • 2nd and 3rd drafts of The 13th Month completed. Also with the submission process in full swing.
    • Record Enemy Souls into audio to be released in segments for FREE. The hard copy will be available for sale if people don’t want to wait a week to find out what happens.
    • Release the Fact vs. Fiction edition of Tapped at the same time as Enemy Souls.
    • Inmate rough draft. (Camp Nano)
    • Warpath rough draft. (Nano)
    • City of Cemeteries rough draft.

    I am sure I’ll get sidetracked by something and replace stuff and/or scrap a project, but for now I’m sticking with this list. I look forward to seeing how much of this I can get done and I hope everyone else has fun in the coming year.

  • NaNoWriMo 2018 Results

    Even with a holiday visiting my mother – on the other side of the nation, I might add –  I managed to make it passed the 50k mark and win NaNoWriMo. The rest of the year will be spent finishing this novel about ghouls and goblins and dragons. It has been great fun to write Pru’s story, though I did have to drift away from hand writing and start typing the thing.

    Wrist cramps are a thing. And sometimes my fingers get sore when I’ve spent too much time writing by hand.

    That being said, I am pleased with the results for this year. As soon as I have the entire book completed (which should happen on the 31st of December, if not before) then it will be tucked away until April.

    Also this year I had my son participate. While his goal was not 50,000 words, he was assigned to write 200 words a day and for the first half of the month he did this beautifully. But then the laptop died and with it, his means of typing.

    It was a joy to watch him work. Around the third or fourth day that he came to me, wide-eyed, and said; “I get why you like writing now. Anything can happen!”

    My heart swelled with so much pride in that moment, I feared it would burst. I look forward to including him in future National Novel Writing projects when I’ve secured a personal laptop for him.

    To those of you who participated and made your goals, I applaud you. Imaginary confetti is dusting your shoulders as you read this.

    To those of you who participated but missed the mark, I still applaud you. Writing is a frightfully dangerous endeavor. As my son says; “Anything can happen!” The fact that you braved the blank page and started to fill it tells me you’re the courageous sort and I truly believe you’ll finish that story no matter what.