Tag I'm It!

I've been tagged! Amazing author April W Gardner challenged me to:

1. Go to page 77 of my manuscript.

2. Go to line 7.

3. Copy the next 7 lines/paragraphs.

4. Tag 7 other writers to do the same.

All We See or Seem page 77, line 7, 7 paragraphs:

Aaron fought the impulse to smile in recognition of his effect on the doctor. “Stems,” he repeated. “As in stem cells?”

“Precisely.”

It was difficult to tame his desire to continue in the adolescent vein by pressing the issue, and though he suppressed the urge to say it, he was still thinking, So, clones. Since the doctor was already visibly agitated, playing it safe seemed the better option.

Getting straight answers from this man was going to take some doing. Most of what Dr. Admatha had said sounded like a commercial for EROMI. And very little of it offered any more than what Aaron had already discovered through his own research. These doctors were well versed in how to paint the magnificent abstract masterpiece without any details whatsoever.

“Tell me about the stems, Dr. Admatha. Do they know?”

“No. They know only the reality we have built for them. They are content enough and, compared to most of the rest of the world, they live comfortable, healthy, and fulfilling lives. Part of your job is to keep it that way.

“Major, they are genetically engineered facsimiles. They are human-like only because their DNA is copied from humans. The stems themselves are soulless creatures. They exist only by my design and for my purpose.

My seven tags:

Lori Lapekes

Lisa Orchard

Iris Blobel

Rachel Van Dyken

Nancy Brandt

Lindsay Downs

Meg Mims

Be sure to leave me your link so I can read your excerpts too. :)

Sweet Saturday: Stowaway

Sleep eluded Elias the rest of the night. Thoughts of Jaime tantalized him, forcing him to make the decision to leave sooner rather than later. When the first light of day trickled through the small window of his quarters, Elias was packed and ready to leave.

Seigneur Pepiot would have no time to entreat him to escort his daughter to Paris, and Elias could put as much space between him and the source of his torture as possible. Though guilt harangued him at the thought of leaving her to the fate of marrying the old gluttonous nobleman, he reasoned many women have survived much worse.

She is just a woman, after all. But even as the thought flashed through his mind, his heart convicted him. Jaime was more, and he knew it. There was nothing he could do about it, however, and Elias was convinced his best course of action was to leave and get her out of his mind.

When his carriage was ready, Elias left a note to thank Seigneur Pepiot for his hospitality and to leave his regrets that he must make haste to Paris to meet his associate. Then he boarded the coach and signaled the driver to depart.

Grudgingly the horses jerked forward under the weight of their burden, and it wasn’t until the carriage was rattling down the rough road to Paris that Elias allowed himself to breathe again. He sighed in a mixture of relief and regret as he struggled to turn his thoughts from the enchanting Jaime and her dismal future.

A dark heaviness descended on him, and he closed his eyes. He didn’t want to leave her, but what choice did he have? To stay would only be placing himself willfully into the grasp of temptation he knew he couldn’t withstand.

The jostling of the carriage made sleep difficult, though he was exhausted from the restless night. He kept his eyes closed; hoping sleep would overtake him, allowing the constant rhythm of the carriage rumbling over the ruts in the road to lull him.

A deep pothole trounced the coach, causing Elias to bash his head against the wall. His own cry of pain was brief, and under it he heard a gasp of breath which wasn’t his. A voiceless shriek coming from under the seat beneath him, where typically the blankets and extra supplies were kept. He rubbed his bruised head and leaned far forward, hanging over the edge of the seat to peer at what or whom was hidden there.

There, peeking out behind the layers of wool blankets, were two big brown eyes with golden flecks, blinking back tears.

“Mademoiselle?” Elias stammered in disbelief.

“Oui,” came the timid reply.

Three Favorites

I have always loved reading, but I am far from voracious. For one thing, I am kinda slow at reading. I'm told it's because I read every single word. I can't help it. If I skip something, it bothers me and I have to go back to make sure I didn't miss anything.

I know. OCD much? We'll just put that on the resume' as attention to detail. ;)

Anyway, I like a variety of genres. It comes in handy when teaching middle school kids, when I have to suggest books to people with a variety of tastes. Here are some of my favorites:

Ender's Game (this is a series, and each subsequent book is better than the last) by Orson Scott Card. This is the first science fiction book I ever read. My English professor when I was a junior in college suggested it to me. I love the way the author builds the future world in need of  a hero, a hero who is only six years old.

Here's the blurb:

Andrew "Ender" Wiggin thinks he is playing computer simulated war games; he is, in fact, engaged in something far more desperate. The result of genetic experimentation, Ender may be the military genius Earth desperately needs in a war against an alien enemy seeking to destroy all human life. The only way to find out is to throw Ender into ever harsher training, to chip away and find the diamond inside, or destroy him utterly. Ender Wiggin is six years old when it begins. He will grow up fast.

But Ender is not the only result of the experiment. The war with the Buggers has been raging for a hundred years, and the quest for the perfect general has been underway almost as long. Ender's two older siblings, Peter and Valentine, are every bit as unusual as he is, but in very different ways. While Peter was too uncontrollably violent, Valentine very nearly lacks the capability for violence altogether. Neither was found suitable for the military's purpose. But they are driven by their jealousy of Ender, and by their inbred drive for power. Peter seeks to control the political process, to become a ruler. Valentine's abilities turn more toward the subtle control of the beliefs of commoner and elite alike, through powerfully convincing essays. Hiding their youth and identities behind the anonymity of the computer networks, these two begin working together to shape the destiny of Earth-an Earth that has no future at all if their brother Ender fails.

Redeeming Love by Francine Rivers is another of my favorite books. An Old West rendition of the Book of Hosea in the Bible, this love story has meanings on multiple levels. Francine Rivers is an amazing writer.

Here's the blurb: 

California’s gold country, 1850. A time when men sold their souls for a bag of gold and women sold their bodies for a place to sleep. 

Angel expects nothing from men but betrayal. Sold into prostitution as a child, she survives by keeping her hatred alive. And what she hates most are the men who use her, leaving her empty and dead inside. 

Then she meets Michael Hosea, a man who seeks his Father’s heart in everything. Michael obeys God’s call to marry Angel and to love her unconditionally. Slowly, day by day, he defies Angel’s every bitter expectation, until despite her resistance, her frozen heart begins to thaw. 

But with her unexpected softening comes overwhelming feelings of unworthiness and fear. And so Angel runs. Back to the darkness, away from her husband’s pursuing love, terrified of the truth she no longer can deny: Her final healing must come from the One who loves her even more than Michael does…the One who will never let her go.

Breath of Angel by Karyn Henley is one of the books I have read recently that I just fell in love with (and while I'm on the subject, the second one in the Angeleon Circle series is amazing as well). Henley's storytelling, characters, and the development of the setting create a thing of beauty. Love this!

Here's the blurb: 

The stranger’s cloak had fallen back, and with it, a long, white, blood-stained wing.

When Melaia, a young priestess, witnesses the gruesome murder of a stranger in the temple courtyard, age-old legends recited in song suddenly come to life. She discovers wings on the stranger, and the murderer takes the shape of both a hawk and a man.

Angels. Shape-shifters. Myths and stories—until now.

Melaia finds herself in the middle of a blood feud between two immortal brothers who destroyed the stairway to heaven, stranding angels in the earthly realm. When Melaia becomes a target, she finds refuge with a band of angels attempting to restore the stairway. But the restoration is impossible without settling an ancient debt—the “breath of angel, blood of man,” a payment that involves Melaia’s heart, soul, and destiny.

Thanks for letting me share some of my favorites with you! I would love to know about your favorite reads. Anything you recommend as can't miss?

The Perfect Word

Probably one of the most overused phrases writers hear from their editors is "Show, don't tell." I've heard it a million times. I've said it a million times. Sometimes it just makes you want to throw something across the room.

I do this lesson with my students on choosing the best word in their writing in order to improve their understanding of that trite, overused phrase. It teaches them the difference between the denotation and the connotation of a word and the powerful effect one word can have on the tone of any communication.

For example, the words smell, odor, and aroma have the same basic denotation. They mean smell (as a noun). But if someone walks into the room and says, "What is that odor?" you know he or she probably walked into 8th period, because those students just came from P.E. It reeks; somebody open a window!

If someone walks into the room and says, "What is that aroma?" you know he or she is enjoying the fragrance (oooo! Another good connotation word!). Mmmmm! Did Mrs. Johnson bring in chocolate chip cookies again?

If someone walks into the room and says, "What is that smell?" well, the meaning can only be determined by assessing the body language and voice inflection, those pesky nonverbal cues that are so difficult to capture in writing. Why? Because he or she didn't choose the word that best captured the essence of the intended meaning.

As writers, it is important that we select the words we use for their connotation. They should offer the most complete picture of what we want the reader to sense.

This goes for verbs too. In fact, the use of strong verbs is one of the most important things for a writer to implement. Strong verbs create rich imagery. The man didn't just walk out the door... that captures nothing of his attitude, his physical or emotional state. SHOW how he did it. And there's no need to adverb that. Use a strong, visual verb.

The man stalked out the door.

The man sauntered out the door.

The man hobbled out the door.

The man swaggered out the door.

The man strolled out the door.

The man ambled out the door.

The man stormed out the door.

The man slipped out the door.

I could go on, but I think you get the picture. And that's really the point, isn't it?

You want your readers to "get the picture"? Show them. Don't tell.

Meet & Greet: Anthony Benson

Anthony Benson

Viscount Maddox

By chance, Anthony was born second, but only by mere minutes. He grew up with his best friend and twin brother, Ambrose. They were boys full of mischief, and they never quite grew out of that. In spite of that propensity, somehow they ended up as well-respected gentlemen and the two most eligible bachelors of the ton.

While his brother can be serious at times, Anthony takes life in stride. Everything is a game to be won. Anything can be made into a challenge. If things begin to run towards the mundane, Anthony will find a way to make it interesting. Whether it be through challenging his brother to re-invent a shunned wallflower, or to undertake to win the only woman in society who would spurn his own advances.

He is not completely without scruples, however. For instance, his compassion runs deep for those who have been made outcasts through no fault of their own (though he prefers people to think his motivations are selfish—he does have his reputation to think about, after all).

At the age of seven, Anthony suffered a traumatizing experience involving strawberries. He hasn’t been able to stand them since.

While at Eton, Anthony and Ambrose met Colin Wilde. The three met with an instant camaraderie based on their mutual affinity for mischief, and spent the rest of their educational career perpetuating all sorts of practical jokes and outlandish challenges...again, something they never outgrew.

Anthony's natural confidence draws women like flies, old and young alike. Every Season he has to fight them off with a stick (some more strenuously than others). This, of course, serves only to add a smack of hubris to his already healthy ego.

In spite of his arrogant exterior, Anthony is a romantic at heart and has always fancied himself a knight in shining armor, riding in on his white horse to rescue a fair maiden from a fate worse than death. But in this fantasy, he never once imagined the damsel would despise him.

Sweet Saturday: Strawberry, Milady?

Before she knew what was happening, Anthony had stood, pulled her to her feet along with him, whisked her into his arms, and planted a firm kiss right on her open mouth. Memories of their stolen kisses came flooding back of their own accord. His lips were smooth and tasted of cinnamon.

Shock hindered her from reacting. But Anthony seemed to know exactly what he was doing and took full advantage of her state of mind.

Her good sense came rushing back, filling her with fierce indignation. She pressed both palms firmly against his chest and shoved with all her might, thrusting him away from her.

The rakish grin he wore drove her mind into a fury, and she reared back to deliver a swing that would possess the very real possibility of knocking the rogue quite firmly into the middle of next Sunday.

With all her might she aimed her closed fist at his perfect aristocratic cheekbone, but when he grabbed her wrist, absorbing all her power, and rendering the assault useless, Bridget very nearly lost her mind with rage. With a roar, she wrenched her hand free of his grasp and stepped back, scouring the room for a weapon that would prove fatal to the arrogant sod.

She lunged madly for the teapot, thinking to send it crashing straight through his thick skull, but Francis was too quick and rescued the teapot from her reach.

The silver!

Her gaze raked the table for a sharp utensil. Only spoons!

Blast! Where were all the knives?

Francis must have seen her eyeing the teaspoons, because he deftly removed them from her vicinity without so much as twitch in his perfectly deadpan butler expression.

“Give me something, Francis!” she bellowed in exasperation.

Without a moment’s hesitation, the taciturn butler gracefully lifted the fruit bowl in one hand as if he were serving the royal table.

“Strawberry, milady?”

She could feel the wide evil grin spreading across her lips, as she leveled her gaze on Anthony, who seemed to shrink into himself in terror like a frightened turtle.

“Why thank you, Francis. I don’t mind if I do,” Bridget replied, as she wrapped her fingers around an enormous handful of brilliant red ammunition.

~ Beguiling Bridget: Waltzing with the Wallflower Book 2

Sweet Saturday: He Who Wears the Pants

Aunt Latissia had played her hand well. By the time Bridget and her sponsors arrived at the ball, the gossip buzzing in everyone’s ears was Anthony’s interest in footmen.

Bridget scanned the room for the viscount, eventually locating him in her customary hiding place behind the potted plants.

“There you are, my lord,” she said as she joined him. “Hiding?”

“Not at all. I am simply enjoying the beauty of our host’s lovely greenery. It’s not often I have time for such activities.”

“I see. Yes, they are lovely.” She glanced about him on the right and left, then asked with a smirk, “Where is your footman this evening? Home with the children?”

His vengeful glower brought a smile to her lips. And then a playful glint danced in Anthony’s eyes.

“No. In fact, I believe he’s nigh at hand. No doubt sharpening his rapier in case it is needed to defend my honor from anyone who would wish to steal away my virtue.”

“Surely he has nothing to fear in me, my lord. I assure you, my intentions are as pure as the driven snow.”

“Now that is a pity,” Anthony answered, sidling closer.

Bridget could feel her heart leap within her and set off at a hot pace, causing her breath to catch in her chest.

“Would you care to dance, Lady Bridget?” he asked, his gaze boring into her very soul.

“I don’t know if that’s quite the thing, Lord Maddox. After all, you are rather the scandal this evening. And a girl cannot be too careful in situations such as this.”

“I suppose that is true enough, however, somehow I believe your attention can only help us both.”

“Both of us? Correct me if I’m wrong, my lord, but it is not my reputation being mucked about amongst the pigs this night.”

Anthony looked past her with a mischievous grin. “Perhaps you are right, sweeting. It is just as well.”

She regarded him with humorous suspicion. “Oh? And why is that, oh great Adonis?” The nickname seemed to take him off guard for a moment and his gaze returned to meet hers, then dropping the short distance to her mouth. Her lips seemed to warm in anticipation at his mere look.

“You’re not wearing breeches,” he said with a roguish wink. “Ask anyone here. Unless you’re in breeches, you are of no interest to me whatsoever.”

“Is that so? In that case I’m certain Lady Latissia will be only too happy to give up her skirts for you.”

“Of that there is no doubt. But the very thought is enough to put me off completely.” A shiver seemed to run through him. “Which brings us back to the beginning. Since I am no longer chasing footmen, I find myself in dire need of a fair maiden with whom to dance in order to expunge my soiled reputation.”

“And you wish for me to rescue you?”

He took her hand and hooked it around his arm, gazing into her eyes as he did so. “I am desperate for it,” he whispered and led her onto the dance floor.

~ Beguiling Bridget: Waltzing With the Wallflower Book 2