Posted in contest

Contest Alert!

Trent Harrell blames himself for his best friend’s death.

Contest Alert! I need your help. If you are a poet or song writer, would you like your work to be featured in my novel? Trent Harrell is a song writer and the main character in Trent’s Melody.

Brief synopsis: Trent is a down-on-his-luck singer/song writer. His band almost made it but lost it all when their band mate overdosed. Trent blames himself for his friend’s death. They were both in love with the same woman. He walked away from Melodie, the band and the promise of his music career.

The author of the song or poem that best fits the story will win a $25 gift card and will be named in the book credits and I will also add in their links.

Send your submissions to the link below with your name and email address. Finalists will be chosen April 24th, 2022.

Not a poet but still want to help me with Trent’s Melody? How are you at naming TV shows? Trent and his brother, Cole are competing in a reality renovation show competition against the all-female construction crew 3Ms of Melodie, Maddie and Morgan, in a men versus women renovation of Main Street, Leeward. They will each have to renovate two stores to help bring good publicity to the town after all the bad news.

$5 gift card, named in book credits and if applicable, a link in my book matter.

To submit your show name, just click on the link below, don’t forget your name and email. Finalists will be chosen April 10th. You can submit as many times as you like but only one title per submission.

Posted in event, inspiration, Thoughts, writing inspiration, Writing tips

Combating Writer’s Block

Writer’s Block

I hosted a Writer’s Block Meet Up on RWA’s virtual conference. It was a great, small meet up group that allowed us to discuss different subjects. Although the main focus was writer’s block, the discussion made me realize that there are a lot of things that can cause writer’s block.

How has Covid effected your writing? Are you in quarantine writing more or are you like me, working and feeling exhausted? My writing has suffered during the virus. I’m considered an essential worker. I manage a liquor store. People are working from home or are staying at home. But it wasn’t just the increase in sales but the worry and concern over what this virus could do to me or to my family. Working with the public, having extra responsibilities to keep us safe, fear of bringing it home, all of this made it difficult for me to write. I finished Janie’s Secrets during Covid, it was nearly a month later than I’d planned but I did finish it. Unfortunately, that put me behind on other things I wanted to write like the novella for the Heart of Carolina and The New Romance Café. Covid has just zapped me.   

What do you think is the biggest cause of writer’s block? I rarely have trouble thinking of things to write. I have trouble finding time to write. This year has been difficult with the extra stress, work and grief. I have a large family, a home, a mother who depends on me, a husband who’d like a little attention occasionally, and then there is the marketing and promoting that also takes time.

The worst time I had with writer’s block was after we lost our home to fire followed by losing my dad the next year, then Hurricane Irene destroying my mother’s home, and she falling and breaking her hip. I had a difficult time getting back into the swing of writing. Chrome Pink took several years to get written, but writing it was what helped me out of my writer’s block. One of the first things I did to help with my own writer’s block was take online classes. I also attended a local writer’s conference. I began my own writer’s group. I pushed through the block and just started writing. I wrote less than 500 words a day at that time and not every day then. Making it a habit, as often as I can a daily habit, pushing myself to write more, competing in Book in a Week and NaNoWriMo has also helped fight through the writer’s block.

Do you have any hacks to help you combat writer’s block? Normal writer’s block, i.e. fatigue, stress, lack of time, I fight in a variety of ways.

Exercise:

I love to dance. Sometimes a little music and movement can shake something loose in the muse.

A walk. My town is the inspiration for my series, a walk around town puts me in touch with my muse. I often take photos which I use on social media, so my walk is a two-for, or three-for as it’s also good for me.

Playing with my grandchildren, two of my grands live next door and whenever they call for grandma, I can’t say no. I mean, who could say no to two adorable little boys?

Write:

Write something different.

Try poetry. Write a poem or song, try writing it from your character’s POV.

Write an interview with your characters. Ask them the hard questions.

Write an article, blog post, advertisement, or synopsis.

Write until you have a breakthrough.

Read:

Maybe you need to read over what you’ve written and see where you’ve gone off the rails.

Rethink, replot, or rewrite until you see your way out of your schlump.

Read a craft book to help you write better.

Read and relax.

Listen: this was suggested in our discussion this morning and I cannot believe I didn’t think of it because I do this.

Audio-dramas or books: listen to your favorite performances or authors and pay attention to how they write or put words together; or listening to craft books on writing.

YouTube videos or podcasts: there are several tutorials on the craft and business of writing. They can inspire you to write better or give you new ideas.

I’d love to hear how you combat writer’s block. Share your tricks and hacks.

Posted in inspiration, Thoughts

Where does the music take you?

During this time of upheaval music is a balm for the soul. I find myself singing old gospel songs to comfort myself. Weird songs pop into my head and strange moments. This has always been a problem for me, it’s like I have my own playlist in the background of my life.

Has anyone seen the new television show “Zoey’s Extraordinary Playlist?” I’ve not seen it yet but often think, this could be my life. As a kid, and even as an adult, it was not unusual to be talking to someone and their words, or even my own, would trigger a musical response. I have a couple of daughters-in-law who understand this and can even have conversations laced with songs.

Music has always been a large part of my life. I sang in church as a little girl. I was the loudest, not necessarily the best one in the crowd. Years of smoking damaged my voice but I still belt one out either for my own pleasure, exercise or when I get the chance, in church. I still love to sing. My mom and I often sing while traveling.

When my children were small and we had to go places we would sing or play games, this was before iPhones and computers were popular. My older grandchildren also grew-up singing with grandma. They have also influenced the playlist in my head.

When I think of songs that reflect my mood they run the gamut of old gospel, rock and country but interspersed amid these oldies are also some newer songs, songs my children and grandchildren have gifted me with.

This week I’ve tried to write. It has come in fits and starts but a conversation with my oldest son, my granddaughter’s birthday and a determination to keep my chin up and count my blessings has me on the computer this morning. I’d like to challenge each of you to send me your playlist. What songs lift you up when you are down? What songs make you feel sexy, silly, sad, nostalgic? What songs remind you of your spouse, your best friend, your parent? Share your songs and a little story. Let’s get through Covid-19 together. Let’s lift each other up with our stories and songs. Send a smiley face emoji or GIF, send a card, make a phone call, whatever you can do, let others know you care. God Bless and I hope this is over soon!

Posted in audio books, Book Review

Audiobook Reveiw It’s a Long Story

It’s a Long Story by Willie Nelson and David Ritz,

Narrated by Christopher Ryan Grant

(Audible)

Willie, Waylon and the boys…in 2015, having just turned 80, Willie shares an in-depth look at the good and bad the comprised his life, so far. While the story is narrated by Christopher Ryan Grant, he does a fabulous job of letting you hear Willie’s voice. This autobiography is told in the same style of Willie’s songs, often the words of his songs are shared amid the story. It feels like you are sitting on the porch listening to a good friend tell you about his life. Isn’t that why we love Willie Nelson, his songs, while simple in design have layers of truth that resonates with each of us.

From his boyhood in Texas, through his tumultuous marriages, his family, his songs, his battles with the law and the IRS, Willie unashamedly bares it all. If I didn’t already love him, this autobiography would make me a fan.

Posted in inspiration, Thoughts, writing inspiration

Electric Guitars and The Blues

The Pamlico Writers’ Group hosts a monthly, one-thousand word challenge. The month of April, the picture was donated by photographer, Tammy Cooper, a night over the water, drenched in blue. I enjoy attempting to write a story to match the pictures. For me, the challenge offers an opportunity to experiment with my writing. This story is a play on words, using poetry to help me create emotion and tell a story. I’d appreciate your feedback. What do you think? What do you feel? If you’d like to try your hand at the 1K challenge, check out http://www.pamlicowritersgroup.org/writingchallenge.

The sky aglow with azure light. Millions of stars shining in a velvet night, sparkle in the reflection of the river below. His face blurs in the ripples of the water, a truer portrait than the image in his mirror.

Sounds of waves and cicadas fill the night with song. People lost in their own stories, pass him on the boardwalk, oblivious to the pain, the shame, the blues pouring out of his soul as he strums his guitar. Fingers pluck the truth from the strings, giving sound to the words he cannot speak. The apologies he cannot make. The song, deep, and dark and blue, shimmers on the tip of starlight, a fragile bubble against the wind.

His eyes, dry, the tears long past, he strums his guitar as the stars wink out. One by one they fade into the darkening sky as he sings the words that mock his pain. Lost in the music that fills the night, a troubadour on the crowded streets. Couples stop to listen, arms entwined they allow the music to bathe their senses. A coin, a dollar, dropped in his guitar case, the price of a bottle, the price of a dream. He collects their pity and packs away his pain, tomorrow is another day, but for tonight the demons rest.

Alone, he turns his collar up against the cold, the wind off the river chills his soul, and portents a future dark and bleak. Shuffling down city streets, dingy and gray in the fading light, his eyes roam neither left nor right. Head down, he counts the foot falls to the faded door. He’s not been here since before. With hands trembling, he fumbles the brass from his pocket. The key jambs in the lock, he jiggles it until the door opens. The hinges creak as he shoves it past the debris and memories gathered behind.

Air blows through the broken glass, swirling leaves and dirt about him in a cyclone of emotions. Faded memories dance in the moonlight, picking their way in the teasing nimbus. Oppressive darkness descends, suffocating, as clouds cover the moon. His feet move of their own volition, familiar with the path, filled with contrition. Stumbling over years of detritus, he visits each room, haunted by his former life.

The laughter and warmth filter through dust covered walls. Long forgotten songs mingle with scenes from the past. In the distance a dog howls, a saxophone lifts its mournful tune, a truck passes loose panes rattle, each sound a reminder this is his reality, now. A present bereft of their song.

Closing eyes, itchy and dry, his tears have all been shed. He leans against the door jamb, his portal to the past. Their room, the master, their haven from children and strife, the place they loved, and where they dreamed their arms and thoughts entwined. He yearns once more to step into time, a time before, when dreams could still come true. An old familiar love song tickles his memories, the sound so sweet he can almost taste the salt upon her skin. Her laughter and Bulgari Rose, teases and beckons to him. He hungers to go, aches to know, the touch and taste and feel of loving her again. With eyes wide open, he thrusts, futilely against the wooden barrier, swollen by time and damp. Aching shoulders sag, once more defeated he turns to go. A rush of wind, powerful and true chills him in his place. A pop of sound, a whoosh of air, like the releasing of a break, the door swings open, on hinges heavy with rust.

The room is a temple. The altar, her dresser shrouded in dust. The vessels and urns, powders and perfumes lay scattered upon the surface. A photo, faded and stained with time, of the two of them, arms entangled, a vacation somewhere, he cannot recall. A time before it all, lay derelict and lost.

His memories all gather, crowded into one. Too many to name, they jumble, like people on a bus. He cannot divine their story from the others in his mind. Only their last night together, plays clear and strong. Her anger, his teasing, her pleas, his promise. They’d stayed too long, the party too wild. It was past the time to retrieve their youngest child. They battled over who would drive. He was high–on life, on booze, on her. “It’ll be okay,” he promised. His last words a lie. How he wishes he could retrieve them, shove them back into his mouth. How he wishes he’d not betrayed her with his music and his lies.

Vanity, man’s vanity, his masculinity and desire. Shoving away the people who give his world measure, for meaningless money and fame. A terrible husband, and negligent father, convinced and conceited, he toiled in strife, to give his family a better life. Life, better or worse is all they wanted. One more moment to treasure, one more laugh, one more song.

“Daddy? Why are you here?”

The child, so like her mother, had forgiven him all. A boon he did not deserve or desire. Her love and kindness, salt to a wound.

“What are you doing here? Come home.”

“I am home,” he whispers, holding onto the memories, holding fast to the pain.

Blinking back tears, she nods. “She’s gone pops.”

He sighs and shakes his head. “Not when I’m here.”

Patting his arm, she leads him from the house, the mausoleum. From their old life, to the new. There is nothing left but ghosts here. Specters and regrets, they follow him, a constant reminder of the promise he failed to keep.

The moon pushes through the clouds, electric and blue, as a guitar strums a final tune. The old man whispers, “I’ll be joining you soon.”

Posted in Thoughts

A Note of Encouragement

Some play by ear, others by note but to make the music beautiful you must have passion and you must practice. Like any art, some have a natural talent while others have to learn the mechanics. As a friend was encouraging me to continue my writing despite several set backs and heart breaks, he told me a story. His mother played piano, she could hear a piece one time and go home and pick it out on the piano. Any time she had a free moment she was at the piano playing and practicing. She played for friends and for her church, the piano was her joy, her passion. As an adult my friend decided to buy a piano and learn to play. Unlike his mother he did not have the gift of music, he could not hear a song and played it. He had to learn the notes. Learning all the notes takes time but he finally managed it, now he can play anything he wants as long as he has the notes. His talent isn’t the same as his mother’s who made it look so easy but hard work and a passionate drive to succeed gave him the joy of music. While each of us have different talents, passions and muse, we can all improve by practice and learning.

My friend doesn’t play his music for friends or at church, his music is for his own pleasure. As a member of several writers groups I have learned that not everyone wishes to publish, they just enjoy writing. As I struggle to get published, I sometimes forget that it is the love of writing, the joy it gives me and the release of passion that is it’s own success. No matter how you express yourself, remember their are different degrees of success, do not measure yourself by others works but by your own truth.

Posted in Thoughts

Song Inspiration

Are you inspired by music? Do you listen to the radio or down load certain songs while writing? Brigid Kremerer has a song list at the back of her Elemental books. The songs inspire her characters and her writing.

I love to listen to music when I write and some songs really inspire my characters, their emotions or actions or get me in the mood for certain scenes.

I used the country love song “51-50” in my Southern Romantic Thriller to show my hero’s reaction to the heroine. I began thinking of other love songs I could use to set the tone of my small town series. Love songs that came to mind were “I Fell In Love in the Back of a Cop Car” and “I Want to Check You for Ticks”.

One of my all time favorite rock ballads is “She’s My Cherry Pie”, “Pour Some Sugar on Me” and “When I See You Smile” make me think of my heroines Rae Lynne Grimes from Chrome Pink and Jane Harrell from Plain Janie.

What do you use for inspiration? What kind of music does your characters listen to? What gets you in the mood to write?