Blaze is talking to me again

As some of you may know, I've had a pretty hard time writing one of my current WIPs. Not only did I lose a massive amount of the story that I'd written, but I found that after starting another series, I had a hard time refocusing on my delectable Guardians again. Throughout this week, I've felt that spark of life in my Guardians again. Where there backs have been turned to me for not making backups of my backups of my backups, they're at least starting to peer at me from over those shoulders, and my main hero in this novel has finally started talking to me again. So, below is a section of Blaze's story. For anyone who has read the story so far, the end of this section may sound familiar...only from a different view. I hope you enjoy, and no I haven't paid much attention to editing, so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

No flippin’ way. There was a body. She walked right up to it and snapped a few pictures from different angles, narrowing her eyes at the strange elongation of the guy’s face, and the dark bluish-black liquid that ran off his body and pooled in the snow. What the heck was that, oil?

“Campbell.”

Sophie cringed at the familiar, gruff voice and turned, seeing Detective Harris stalk toward her. “Harris,” she greeted. Dammit, she’d thought she’d be here longer than a few minutes before the jerk saw her.

“What are you doing here? You know you can’t get this close.” He lifted his hands up as though he was going to herd her like some sort of cow back to the police line.

“Freedom of the press.” She shrugged, lifting her chin a degree. She refused to back up a single step. She was not a heffer, thank you very much.

“Freedom, my ass—” 

“I’ll handle it from here,” another officer said. 

She turned toward the newcomer and smiled as Harris’s partner strolled up to them with a shake of his head that was directed at her. 

“Detective Larkin. Nice to see you.” She lifted her camera again and snapped a picture at Elongo-Face without even looking through the viewfinder. No need. She was pretty sure she nailed it.

He cocked an eyebrow at her, though she knew damn well he found her charming. Why wouldn’t he? “Right. Listen, you’re disrupting a crime scene and we’re pushing everyone back anyway.”

“Disrupting? Me? Nuh uh, I’m just minding my own business. I promise, I haven’t even approached any dead bodies that have cops around them. Just this guy so far, and he was all alone over here.”

Larkin shook his head warningly. “Sophie. I’ve known you a long time. Your Dad and I—”

“Nuh uh, not tonight, Larkin.” She shook her head, not wanting to hear about how close he and her dad had been when her dad was still alive. They’d been partners in crime, keeping the good city of Newark safe behind their shiny badges. She reached into her bag and extracted her voice recorder. “Can you give me a report on what’s going on here?”

“No more than what I’m sure you heard on your radio. Put that thing away.” He reached for it and pushed it down as Detective Harris sauntered off to speak with other police officers, all of which were tense as they kept guns trained on the house. Even Larkin kept his hand on his gun, even though it was still holstered. It was then that she noticed that he kept himself between her and the house. “Listen. This isn’t some quick story that I can help you out with. This is serious, Sophie. And if I let you get in harm’s way I wouldn’t be living up to the promise I made on your dad’s headstone.”

Sighing, she clicked off the recorder and dropped it into her purse again. “I’m just really trying, you know? I’m up for a promotion.”

“I know,” he smiled kindly, but with an air that he was still keeping an eye-and-a-half on the house. “I heard you were up for it. Put in a good recommendation for you too.”

That was a surprise. “What’s going on? Off the record.”

He eyed her silently for a minute before he released a slow breath. “I can’t say.”

“Come on. Don’t make me sit here all night.”

“Stubborn as your old man.” A sympathetic smile appeared. “Off the record, we haven’t gone in yet, but we have a team on the way. There were…violent sounds inside. It’s gone silent since then, but we have no idea if it could be a hostage situation.”

“Another one?” Jack-freaking-pot.

“Yeah.” He wasn’t nearly as enthused. Not that she was enthused. She hated violence. But this could be just what she needed for a certain promotion and, even better, raise. 

“Have you gotten out the xylophone—”

“Megaphone.”

Yep, as soon as she’d said it, she knew she’d called it the wrong thing. Damn, she needed another shot of Buzz-Be-Gone. “Whatever. You know what I mean.”

“No, we haven’t. We’re working on getting a visual. If you’ll just go back to the street and stay on the other side of the tape, I’ll get statements together and I promise I will talk to you if I get clearance. I just need you to go where it’s safe.”

Larkin looked exhausted. No doubt this new development was nerve-wracking, especially after what happened at the Children's Hospital in Newark. The police had been cautious then as well, and an even bigger disaster had struck, which had rocked the entire state of New Jersey. Investigations were still going on, and a lot of families mourned those lost, hoping and waiting for some kind of answer. 

“Deal. Just give me two minutes.” Sophie stepped around him, heading toward the house. She couldn’t help but take a few more pictures of another body that was in front of the home, despite the detective’s attempt to stop her. From this view she had a nice angle of the house as well, with two windows behind the body—one of which was broken. Holding the viewfinder to her eye, she snapped one picture, then another. 

Something moved in the background as her camera snapped a picture. She quickly zoomed in for a better look, focusing on the windows. She snapped another pic without even realizing she’d moved her finger. Sophie lowered the camera, unable to rip her gaze from the unbroken window. 

There'd been a man peering through a gap in the curtains. In that split second of seeing him as her flash went off, she'd noted black and blue, spiked hair, and wide frame. And if she wasn’t mistaken, she’d seen blood on his face before he’d dodged out of her view.

Detective Larkin stood next her, so close that her shoulder brushed his arm. “What’s wrong?” 

Her eyes never left the window, even though she couldn’t see that deadly apparition anymore. “There are definitely people inside. Or, at least one person.”

“You saw someone? Where?”

“In that window. He’s gone now.” Hitting the view button on her camera, she pulled up the last picture she’d taken, holding it for Larkin to see. Yep, right there. The man’s eyes reflected back at her in the picture. Coupled with his large build, spiky hair, and blood streaked face, he looked a good deal more than merely frightening.

Detective Larkin cursed under his breath and gripped the radio at his shoulder. Speaking into it, he informed the station that there was confirmation on people inside. The crunch of snow under his boots alerted her that he’d hustled over to other cops, where he told them to watch for movement in the windows. 

Sophie pulled the memory card out of her camera. There was no way in hell was she giving that up if they seized her camera. She removed the card and stuck it in her pocket, all while keeping her eyes trained on that window. 

She willed the man to return to the window so she could catch another peek. It hadn’t been his hair or the blood that smeared his face that had captivated her. There was something in his eyes that took her breath away, that made her feel as though she’d never forget the way they looked. His eyes hadn’t just reflected back at her in that picture. They’d been that way when she’d seen him in the window, when there’d been no flash at all.

It was almost as if they glowed.

© Copyright Katalyn Sage

Man's Best Friend

We are each writing a short story this month to change things up a bit. I wrote this story about two years ago when I gave myself a challenge to write a "children's" story one afternoon, while also mourning the loss of my own beloved dog. I love this story. It is far from perfect and I want to someday make it better. For now, it will do. It is my Ode to Dogs, if you will. Because dogs are awesome.

The Lewis’s loved their giant dog Boomer. He was raised right along with their three children, Jesse, Olivia, and Andy. They grew up playing fetch, lying against his long shaggy coat in the summer sunshine, being pulled on sleds in the winter time, and getting the occasional horse-y ride on his back. As the kids grew older, so did Boomer, but he aged much quicker than them. He had a hard time keeping up with their fast paced lives. When the youngest, Andy, turned 10, the Lewis’s decided to get a new puppy to keep Boomer company during the day while they were away with their bustling lives.

Skippy was small and adorable, and he had a small tuft of wiry fur that stood straight up in the middle of his head that made the whole family laugh. Skippy’s enthusiasm for everything was contagious, but as with all puppies, he had a lot to learn. Boomer knew it was his job to teach Skippy the ways of the Lewis family and how to be a true dog.

“Now listen here little one,” said Boomer, laying in the shade of the big oak tree out back, as Skippy ran circles around him, biting at tufts of Boomer’s fur. “You are a part of this family now, you need to learn to act like a real dog should.”

This brought Skippy to a halt, he cocked his head to the side and said, “But I AM acting like a real dog.”

Boomer chuckled, “Yes, you are, but sometimes it is easy to get caught up in having fun and forget our duties to our family.”

Skippy rolled onto his back with all four feet sticking in the air, “They love when I do this! Plus, then they scratch my belly.”

Boomer chuckled again. “Its loyalty and devotion that will get you an even better reward than a belly rub.”

“Pah! What do you know old man? All you do is sit at their feet and lay in the shade. I can run, and jump and fetch faster than you. Plus, I’m cute. They love me!”

Boomer just nodded his head, “Careful, cuteness only gets you so far, little one. You will see in time.”

Skippy bounded off to chase a butterfly.

As the weeks went on, Skippy’s cuteness did wear thin. Especially on Mama Lewis’s patience when she would come home to a kitchen full of garbage from a tipped over trashcan. Or when Papa Lewis would get mad at Skippy for jumping and begging at the table for a scrap. Or when Jesse stepped in a wet spot in the middle of the night. Or when Skippy stole a pair of underwear from Olivia’s room and brought it out in front of all her friends. Or when Andy found his favorite action figure chewed to bits. 

Skippy found himself banned to the crate when he wasn’t “behaving”, which was no fun at all. “No!” or “bad dog!” were the only words he seemed to hear these days. How could this be? HE was the cute one. HE was the entertaining one. HE was much more fun than big ol’ boring Boomer. Forlornly, he watched from his crate, as the family lovingly doted on Boomer. 

During dinner Boomer would sit at Papa Lewis’s feet and do nothing, but every now and then Papa Lewis would sneak him a piece of meat when Mama Lewis wasn’t watching. Mama Lewis would be baking in the kitchen and despite all of her reprimands to Papa and the kids, she would sneak him a piece of cheese when no one else was around. Jesse, the oldest boy, would throw a baseball in the back yard for Boomer to fetch. Even though he was slow, he always brought it back and earned himself a long belly rub for only one fetch! Skippy would have just chased the ball and torn it to pieces, because that was definitely more fun. 

Olivia came home from school crying one day. Skippy wanted to play and jump on her to tell her how excited he was to see her, but after she pushed him away four times and finally yelled, “GO AWAY SKIPPY!” He gave up and went to find something else to do. A few minutes later, he went back to see if she had changed her mind; because what was more fun than playing with him? Skippy found Olivia hugging Boomer tightly as she poured out her problems of the day. Boomer sat silently listening, as his heavy coat soaked up her tears and he licked her hand in soft comfort. Skippy loved playing with Andy, but sometimes Skippy got too excited while running around and he would bite at Andy’s shoes. That usually meant a brief stay in the crate. Everyday, whether it was a blizzard or the sweltering summer heat, Boomer met Andy at the bus stop and walked home with him. After a particularly rough day of having to be in the crate from chewing up the remote, Skippy went to find Boomer in his usual resting place in the shade of the big oak tree in the back yard. 

“Boomer, why do you always leave so early just to walk home with Andy? It takes almost your whole afternoon just to walk there and back. And you seem so tired afterward.”

Boomer slowly shifted from lying on his side, up onto his chest so he could face Skippy. “Well, Andy is very small for his age, and a few years ago, some bigger kids would tease him and make fun of him. So now I walk everyday to the bus stop and then we walk home together. The bullies don’t bother him, at least not while I am around.”

Skippy nodded. “Oh. What about the other day, when Olivia was so sad, you just sat there and let her cry. I thought she would be happy if she would just go outside and play with me, but she got mad at me instead.”

“The boy Olivia had a crush on, asked another girl to the school dance, she was heartbroken. Now, to you and me, that seems silly, but to her, it was a really big deal. To her, it was like when you get sent to your crate while the family eats dinner.” Skippy's eyes widened, knowing the exact feeling. 

Boomer continued, “It is our job as her dog to comfort her, and at that moment, playing was not the solution. She just wanted someone to listen and to love her.” 

Skippy sat silently thinking. Boomer adjusted his legs and proceeded, “Jesse on the other hand, he likes to go out and do something to get his mind off homework and college applications, but he doesn’t like it when you take off with the ball and ruin it.” Skippy sheepishly looked down. “You are such a good dog Boomer. I want to be a good dog just like you, I really do. Sometimes, I just can’t help it though, I like to have fun.”

“You are a good dog, and you will learn. I promise you, little one, the more you love your family; the more they will love you back. They don’t call us man’s best friend because we play all the time. It is because we learn to loyally love and serve our masters and they give us the love and attention we need. Sometimes we have to sacrifice what is most precious to us, in order make them happy, but that is what we are here for, to take care of them.” Boomer rolled back over onto his side, “Now, I am going to get some more rest before I have to leave for Andy.”  He instantly started snoring.

Skippy spent the rest of the day thinking a lot about what it meant to be man’s best friend and following Boomer’s example. He wanted to prove to Boomer and the family that he could be a good dog. He went to find Boomer to tell him the good news. Boomer had to be back from getting Andy by now. He checked the backyard under the tree, and when he couldn’t find him there, he checked the garage, the kitchen, the study, and every other room in the house, but Boomer was nowhere to be found and something didn’t feel right.

Skippy found Jesse sitting at the kitchen table with his head in his hands. Skippy could tell he was sad, so he softly whimpered to get his attention and gently pawed at his leg. Jesse looked down with red eyes. “Oh buddy,” he said as he knelt down to pet Skippy. “They took him to the vet, he is gonna be okay. He was so brave and Andy is safe.” Skippy knew Jesse was talking about Boomer and he knew what the vet meant. The vet meant you were either sick, or you were going to get poked with needles. Skippy mustered all his strength to be still and let Jesse hold and hug him. He even licked Jesse's hand to show him he was trying.

Suddenly the phone rang and Jesse ran to answer it. Skippy couldn’t tell what was said, but Jesse grabbed his keys and rushed out of the house. Hours lingered on and on and on. It grew dark outside while Skippy just sat at home waiting for everyone’s return. He drifted off to sleep and the next thing he knew the back door was opening. Even though he was overjoyed with excitement to finally see the family, he could tell from their bowed heads, sniffling, and red, puffy eyes, that this was no time for excitement. Andy was the last to come through the door clutched to Mama Lewis’s side. He had a scrape on his head and some bandages on his arms, but otherwise seemed okay. Skippy stood in the doorway looking into the garage waiting for Boomer to come up the steps. Skippy’s tail wagged in excitement to finally tell Boomer about how well he had done earlier when Jesse was sad. But Boomer wasn’t there. The garage was empty. Then something slowly dawned on him, Boomer wasn’t coming home. He didn’t know how he knew, and he didn’t know why, but he just did. His tail slowly stopped wagging and he turned to look at the family. They were all holding each other and crying. He felt a deep sorrow in the loss of his friend and teacher, but he had a job to do now, this was his family and they needed to be comforted. He made his way over to the family and let them hold him tight and let their tears stain his fur. This is what being a good dog is all about.

The next day, the Lewis’s had a memorial service for Boomer in the shade under the oak tree. Skippy learned that while Boomer was walking home with Andy, a car turned the corner too sharply and Boomer jumped in front of the car so it would not hit Andy. In his attempt to protect Andy, Boomer’s injuries were too much for his old body and he couldn’t recover. Skippy listened patiently, while the family shared fond memories of the big shaggy dog. They told stories of his bravery, loyalty and silliness. They even told stories of when Boomer was young and ripped up a whole sprinkling system in the back yard. Skippy couldn’t help but wag his tail; Boomer hadn’t always been perfect, but he had loved his family, and they had loved him back. Skippy finally understood what it meant to be Man’s Best Friend, but more importantly he felt what it was like to be a part of a family.

Copyright Hannah Wardle 2014

You can write

As I think back over the last few years, I realize that a lot has changed, and a lot hasn't. I may have a few more books under my belt now, but I'm just as unsure of myself as the day I did my first pitch to an agent. Today, I'd like to talk about our fears as authors.

Self-Doubt
I'm not good enough. Seriously. It doesn't matter what I've written or the epic stories that are currently  whirring around inside my brain, waiting to be typed up... I'm just not good enough. Now, I know, I know, some of my friends that are reading this right now are getting ready to give me that kick in the pants they're so awesome at doing, but I just have to say that it's true. I think this just comes with the territory. I don't know a single author who doesn't fret over what they've written. The key is to just try and believe in yourself.

What If's will kill you
I, for one, am a worry wart. I'm a nutcase - never being able to make decisions and always wondering "what if?". Should I write so-and-so's story now, or someone else's? Should I write my story in first or third person - or both? Should I have long chapters or short? I can't tell you how many times I've written entire chapters in two different ways so that I could figure out what felt right. There really isn't a fix I can give you for those of us who just can't seem to decide what to do. All I can say is: just let your characters roll with it. It's your job to write what they give you. If a certain character is motivating you today, write about him/her. If a different character is pushing you tomorrow, give that one the spotlight. Very rarely will you get anywhere by trying to force a story out of someone who isn't ready to tell it.

Your story will never EVER be perfect
This is true. You will finish your book and go through X number of edits before you might feel like it's ready to submit to a publisher (or self-publish if that's your route). You'll probably have read the words "The End" at least five times, and you might even hate your story by the time you're ready for that next step. I've been there. I've done that. And then I've sent off my query letter, synopsis, and (in some cases), the full  manuscript. As soon as you hit that send button, those doubts fill you and you think, "Crap, did I change this? And did I ever change that his eyes were blue instead of green? Or, did I write enough detail, or did I head hop, or did I..."
You get my point.

My suggestion is to make notes as you think of those problems. If you've already sent off that full manuscript, at least you'll have a chance to make those changes during the editing process. If you've only sent off your query and synopsis, then I'd sleep on it (again, take notes as you think of fixes) and go back in after at least a day to make those changes. You might hate your book by the time it's published, and you might feel like everyone will hate it as much as you do at the moment (we authors can have a love/hate relationship with our book sometimes). Don't worry though, it'll turn into full-on love again after you've gotten a break from it.

Full of What If's, self doubt, and a story that may or may not suck? Here are my notes:

• As I just mentioned, make notes. Whether it's tweaks you need to make to the story line or to details within the story, or maybe it's mistakes you make over and over again, make a "BEFORE YOU SUBMIT" list, and follow it every time. Spell check, double spaces, formatting, etc.
• Ever heard of the phrase: Two sets of eyes are better than one? Yeah, there's a reason that's a saying. Find someone you can trust to read and critique your work. Chances are, you're like me, and your brain auto-corrects words/sentences, so you could have really jacked up somewhere. A critique partner will help you catch those. 
• Read it out loud. I know, that sounds weird, and it can feel uncomfortable. If you can find some alone time, read your book out loud. This can help you improve flow, and sometimes you'll even catch those pesky mistypes I just mentioned. Chances are, if it reads well when you speak it, then you've nailed it.
• Don't write for someone else. Write for your characters. Write for you. Some people will like your book, some will hate it. Don't focus on those haters. For one, some people thrive by making others feel bad (aka: bullies). For another, you shouldn't waste a single breath on them because there are other, more important people to focus on: the people who love your book, those whose lives were changed by merely losing themselves in the story you brought to life.

And finally...
You can write. Your characters chose you, because you rock that much. Anyone who tells you otherwise can bite you.

First Time

I often have people tell me that they wish they could write a book. This always makes me laugh because I never thought that I'd be able to. That got me thinking about the first time I decided to sit down and write. I was sitting in my car listening to music and I got the strange feeling that I was being watched. I looked around and no one was there, but that got me thinking. Who would be watching me? Why would they be watching me? How would they go about watching me? When and where would they watch me?

I started piecing together a story in my head by asking the most essential questions (who, what, why, where, when, and how) and making up my own answers, or so I thought. One thing I've learned in my adventures with my characters is that they are very, very selfish. They desperately want to have their story told and as long as you are willing to listen and let them tell it they will give you all the details. It wasn't me coming up with the answers, I was just listening patiently and taking the time to write down what they told me.

So, I have a question and some advice. My question is, what was your experience the first time you started writing? My advice is very simple. If you want to write, shut up and listen!