The thing about editing...

I know, I know-- I talk about editing a lot. Could be because I'm an editor, could be because it's so important. I fully acknowledge that I'm OCD about it. I cannot turn off the inner editor and too many times that ruins what might be a perfectly fine story for me. Little things like a miss-used word, too many adverbs or a lack of "flow" send me into howls of despair. And more often than not, result in me not finishing the story or book or novella. I just can't do it. I like to think I'm not the only one who has this problem. It might be genetic because my sister and my kids pick up on it too.

But I'm fully ready to admit that I do not know everything. (Well, no one KNOWS everything, even those who like to think they do.) And I too, can benefit from editing. I know this. My critique partner points it out. And if I hadn't already know it, it was recently proven to me. A facebook friend took my Friday flash, "A Whore Named Josie" and edited it for me. He managed to cut out those 150 words that I thought were absolutely essential. Did I agree with all of it? No, of course not. But I did agree with most of it and even learned a thing or three. He did what good editors do-- he took my story and made it shine. I liked it so much that I sent him another story of mine to edit and he sent me one of his. (Because the writing world should totally operate on a bartering for services basis, if you ask me.) This time? I liked most of it, rewrote the story and we were both happy with the outcome.

That's how your relationship with a good editor should work. They aren't out to rewrite your story themselves (hell, I do NOT have time for that!), they want to make suggestions and help you rewrite your story into one you are both proud to have worked on. They will find your diamond in the rough and help you polish it. Please remember this when hiring or dealing with an editor.

Sure I know that's money you could spend on other things. But working with an editor before you publish should not be optional. I just told you that even editors (who are trained to catch mistakes, plot holes and sloppy writing) need editors. No one can catch all of their own mistakes. And beta readers are great, but they are not a substitute for an editor. I'm always amazed at the things that beta readers did not catch. Publishing your book with a clean, mistake free, polished manuscript will gain you respect from your readers and other writers. Hurriedly putting something out just because you can too often results in your book not being all that it can be. You will lose readers and respect. No one wants that. And no one wants that for you.

So barter the services, spend the money or beg-- but get that book, story, novella-- edited. Because you're worth it. And so is your manuscript.

♥Stacey

PS- if an editor sends you a request for a rewrite on a submission or suggested editorial changes, try to realize that we are doing our job, not judging your work or being mean or insulting you. We want the same thing you do-- for your work to shine.

#Friday Flash- A Whore Named Josie

I'm going to admit right up front that I cheated a bit on this one. My story is 1150 words, 150 words over the 1000 word limit. Sorry. But Josie's story demanded the extra words and it's not like it's 500 or anything. So maybe if you like the story- you can forgive me. Once again, I followed the theme of the Vamplit Blog, this is "grotesque love" month and this week was "grotesque love in a brothel". Once again, I'm having trouble with the grotesque part. *shrugs shoulders* Head over to Vamplit's Blog to read the other entries. It's a good time and they're free.

A Whore Named Josie

It is a universal fact that everyone wants love. From the toughest outlaw to the lonesome law provider- all are in want of love. The worst demeanor stems from love or the lack thereof. Josie was no different from any other person on the planet- she wanted love, craved it with a burning desire matched only by her unwavering hunger for revenge.

Josie was a whore, oh we could call it a painted lady or something pretty, but we all know that a whore is a whore regardless of euphemism. Sadly, the fact that she had no legs put most men off. She could have felt sorry for herself, but she’d realized long ago that got her nowhere. So she plied her trade with an enthusiasm and cheerfulness not often encountered in The Golden Spur. She was so sweet that the other girls took pity on her more often than not, and shared what they had with her.

The night that Josie got exactly what she wanted on both counts started off the same as most nights at the saloon/brothel usually did. The cowboys and thieves, gamblers and farmers all started rolling in about seven, and by nine o’clock things were in full swing. Josie’s one saving grace was that she had a beautiful voice and so Vince, the owner, often let her sit by the piano player and attempt to entertain the customers. Josie loved to sing because she could lose herself in the music and forget her dreary circumstances. This night, she looked particularly lovely, from the waist up of course, and she was enjoying herself immensely. Her joy shone on her face.

A newcomer had been standing by the bar for the last hour or so, watching her sing while slinging down whiskey, and she was feeling incredibly hopeful. Finally, as she took a break, he walked over to the stage.

“How’ do Ma’am?” He asked.

Josie smiled her megawatt smile and tilted her head to the side in a manner that might have been called flirtatious. “I do alright. How ‘bout you?”

“Just fine. I do just fine. You got a name?”

“Josie,” she answered.

“Just Josie?” he asked.

“Just Josie. Indians took my whole family and my legs too.” She indicated her lower half where it was plain that her legs ended just past her hips.

It didn’t seem to daunt her would be suitor. “Would you like to have a drink with me?” he asked.

“I thought you’d never ask,” Josie replied. He scooped her up from the stage and retrieved his bottle of whiskey before proceeding up the stairs. Josie indicated her room on the right side of the hall and he entered the room and sat her carefully on the bed.

No man had ever treated Josie so sweetly and she was already half in love with him before he said another word. The fact that he then made love to her so gently and delicately, in ways Josie had never experienced with the rough men of this small town, sealed the deal. Afterwards, they lay sated in each other’s arms and talked for hours. Josie knew that he would leave her, men never stayed once their lust was slaked, but she would hold this memory to her heart forever and it would be enough.

It was then that he asked her the familiar question. “How did you lose your legs, my sweet?”

“I don’t remember much. I was only four at the time. But I’m told it was an Indian raid. They killed my Ma and Pa and all our hands. Then they cut my legs off and left me there to die. I guess I got lucky, because the next thing that happened was me waking up in a doctor’s office with no legs, but still alive.”

“Have you ever heard of vampires, my love?” he asked next, his head turned away.

“You mean blood suckers? Them things that live off the blood of humans and sneak around in the night? Them what’s cursed by God?”

“Yes, them.”

“I’ve done more than heard of them. I’ve seen them. They might say it was Indians, but I was there.” Josie pushed herself up so that she was sitting against the pillows.

“So was I.” The stranger who’d won her heart turned around, his fangs catching the light, his eyes twin pools of sorrow. “It was a rogue group that killed your parents and maimed you. I got there too late for your parents, but I saved your life and deposited you with the doctor.”

“Why? Why didn’t they drain me like they did my folks? Why didn’t you?”

“Vampires don’t drain small children. Their souls are so clean and unblemished that the blood curdles in our mouths. And there are natural laws against turning children, even should you find one with a blackened soul. So they cut off your legs in hopes that you’d exsanguinate.” He shuddered. “I got there too late, but I couldn’t let you lie there and die. I did the best thing I could for you. And I’ve checked up on you ever since, to be sure you were okay.”

“Were you part of their group?”

“Hell no!” He looked truly anguished and her heart went out to him. “I was hunting them. I will feel forever guilty for not getting there in time. But as I’ve watched you grow, I’ve come to love you. I waited until you were old enough, hoping you might feel something for me once we met. I can turn you now, tonight, and you can be whole again. Once a vampire, your legs will regenerate and we will have eternity for me to make it up to you.”

He looked at her, his eyes shining with love and Josie felt the pull of her heart strings. The love she’d only dreamed about had been hers all along. She opened her arms to him. He rushed to her and engulfed her in his arms. She could feel her heart breaking, as she pulled the stake from beneath her pillow and thrust it into his unsuspecting chest.

“Really?” she said, looking deep into his eyes. “You son of a bitch! How dare you save me so that I could lead this crappy ass existence for the last sixteen years of my life! You should have let me die! I didn’t ask for this shit, you noble fucking bastard. No one would ask for this!”

His body shriveled and turned to dust. Josie pushed the dust onto the floor and brushed at the front of her bodice. “Come be a disgusting bloodsucker Josie, it’ll be great.” She sighed. “Stupid fucking vampires.”

Just then a knock on her door sounded and Sally entered her room. “Came to fetch you back downstairs to sing. Where’s the fella?”

Josie indicated the pile of dust on the floor.

“Oh hell. Another one?”

 Honestly, this is one of my favorite flashes I've done. And unfortunately, you who read my #friday flashes on a regular basis will notice that the little shop of Eccentricities is not mentioned in this one. I could not find a way to connect it, but I'm sure they'll be back next week.

Love it or Hate it- leave me a comment.

♥Stacey

Picture is from www.gothicarts.com

Meet Sam Williams

I met Sam Williams through email. I edited his new short story collection, Tales from The Swollen Corpse. It was a great experience. Sam was easy to work with and he's very talented. You can read my review of his book over at See Spot Read. For those of you who enjoy short story collections I highly recommend this one. And it's currently priced at 99 cents. So worth it!

Now, about Sam~

1.)    How long have you been writing?
A long time but only the last two years seriously with the desire to put it out there for everyone to see.

2.)    Do you write full time or do you have another job? If so, what is it?
I wish. During my 9 to5 I work in customer service/sales for a major prosthetic manufacturer, specializing in lower limb prosthesis. Also my wife and I are the proud parents of a rambunctious three year old, which is a full time job in itself.

3.)    Is this your first published collection?
Yes and hopefully not the last.

4.)    What made you decide to go the Indie route?
A few things: Short stories have the limited market of genre mags and anthologies with multiple authors. I have had some luck getting into both but wanted my own collection and to be a no name and have a collection you pretty much need to go indy. Also I am big fan of the indy movement. The abundance of new fresh voices was what converted me from the closed minded (if it’s not paper it’s not a book) person I used to be. Now I understand (and preach) eBooks are an addition to your reading diet and any good diet should have variety. And like the indy music stores I spent so much time in in my youth, if your are up for the task of digging you’re bound to find something that blows your mind.

5.)     What is it you like about writing short stories? What would you say the challenges with this form are?
I like the freedom, the freedom to be more abstract and leave a little more to the imagination, which is very important to horror. The challenges like conveying a lot with little, is part of the fun for me.

6.)    What scares you personally? Do you have any silly phobias?
Anything that would jeopardize the health or safety of my son. I think becoming a parent puts priorities and fears in a broader selfless prospective.

7.)    What is your writing routine?
Late at night in front of my old desk top, door closed, kid in bed and headphones on listening to two songs (always the same two) on repeat.

8.)    Have you always been a fan of horror?
Oh yeah and that’s where the love for it comes from, it’s a form of nostalgia. Horror at its core is about fear. As an adult you know real fears and they are not entertainment. But in a scary story you are trying to recapture those feelings you got watching the midnight movie as a kid, that weird mix of excitement and mystery. 

9.)    What other authors inspire you?
The guys that everyone mentions (and deserve it so): King, Barker, Lovecraft. I also love and read a lot of horror comics from writers like Steve Niles. And I love cult classic lit like Hunter Thompson and Jack Kerouac.  A huge inspiration from childhood are the stories and are in the three original “Scary stories to tell in the dark” by Alvin Schwartz and illustrated by Stephen Gammell.

10.) What advice would you give to newbie writers out there?
Always appreciate criticism it’s invaluable. But be aware of where it comes from. It should be a tool for improvement but criticism that’s negative for the sake of being negative as well as overly positive is useless.
Oh and get a good editor.

BIO:

A little back-story on me and TSC
I grew up reading and watching the creature feature. I loved reading things like Scary stories to tell after dark, the old EC/creepy comics, and magazines like Monsters Attack. Of course my tastes grew as I did but I never lost love for these types of stories.
In October 2010 after having a hard time (outside of comics) finding the pulp horror stories I craved, I started writing my own. I created a blog called Theswollencorpse.blogspot.com
 The stories found in it are for grownups and range from lighthearted to very dark. 
Tales from the swollen corpse can be found at:
Kindle: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005BE43RQ

Nook: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/tales-from-the-swollen-corpse-sam-williams/1104270029

Paperback: http://www.lulu.com/product/paperback/tales-from-the-swollen-corpse/16350940

And on iTunes.

Blog http://theswollencorpse.blogspot.com

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/pages/The-Swollen-Corpse/111357002276607

Hope you enjoyed meeting Sam as much as I have.
♥Stacey

#Friday Flash- The Silver Locket

The Silver Locket

Beth sat crying, her head buried on her knees, her back against the rough bark of the old oak that stood in the middle of Raven Town Cemetery. The sound of her sobs was heart wrenching against the backdrop of silence. The sun was setting and had Beth looked up, she would have been stuck by the peculiar beauty of the gray headstones set against the scarlet of the sky. But Beth didn’t look up. She continued sobbing until the sky had faded, the scarlet given way to blues and purples.

When she finally lifted her head and scrubbed a hand across her face, the first stars were just beginning to wink into life in the night sky. She grasped the locket that hung from her neck and wished upon the first one she saw.

“Starlight, star bright, first star I see tonight. I wish…I wish…I wish I had a true love.” She felt silly saying the words aloud, but it really was her one wish. Growing up in foster care, she’d never really felt loved. Her penchants for graveyards and horror movies hadn’t made her many friends at the small town high school she now attended. She didn’t have any friends, let alone boyfriends. And she was tired of being alone. The final straw had come today, when she’d visited Eccentricities, her favorite store. The little old couple that ran the place had always been nice to her when she was there. Today, the woman had told her that she had something special she though Beth might like. It was a beautiful silver locket. When she opened it up, there was a picture of a man inside. He was the most handsome man Beth had ever seen.

Mrs. Bienhoff, the woman who owned the store, had told her the story behind the locket. Beth didn’t know if it was true or not, but it was beautiful. And all she wanted was for someone to love her that much.

The man in the picture was Captain James McCord. He’d lived in 1888, and had been the Captain of a big sailing vessel that traveled the world. All the women in the seaside town where he lived were madly in love with him. But he only had eyes for Elizabeth Tucker. They were engaged to be wed, but first he had one more voyage. He was having a beautiful house built on a cliff overlooking the town and the ocean as a gift for his beloved Elizabeth. Everyday Elizabeth would walk up the road to their future home sight to look for James’ ship. While he was away a terrible storm blew in, the worst the state had seen in over a decade. Many of the ships from the town were lost and a good number of their men perished that day. Elizabeth told herself that James’ vessel was far from here and so he was safe.

After weeks of waiting, word came that the ship had gone down, all hands aboard. Elizabeth was inconsolable. That night, she snuck from her parent’s home to the site where her house was being built and threw herself from the cliff, not wanting to live without James. James’ ship had indeed gone down, but James and a handful of his crew had been able to survive in the sea until they were rescued. When he returned to town he was told of Elizabeth’s death. James never sailed again. He moved inland, here to Illinois and bought some land. He died a recluse, alone and unloved.

Beth thought the story was the most romantic and tragic thing she’d ever heard. She wanted nothing more than to be loved like that.

She snapped out of her reverie when she heard someone approaching.  She didn’t know whether to run or hide. No one was supposed to be in the graveyard at night. She couldn’t decide, so she just froze. Whoever was coming was not scared, in fact they were whistling. Beth thought it a lovely tune, but not one she’d heard before. The next thing she knew, a man was standing in front of her. He stopped whistling and stared at her.

Beth smoothed back her hair and set up straighter. She knew her eyes were probably puffy from crying and there wasn’t much she could do about it.

“Is this seat taken?” the man asked, indicating the spot of ground next to her.

Beth shook her head. The man sat down next to her and didn’t say anything at first. Beth squirmed, uncomfortable with his nearness and wondering what he wanted.

“I heard you crying.” He said.

“Oh. I’m sorry.”


“No. I’m sorry. It must be something very bad to bring such heart felt misery. Did you lose a loved one?”

Beth shook her head again. “You have to have someone to love before you can lose them.”

“This is true.” He said. “So that’s why you were crying? Because you don’t have a lover?”

“I don’t know,” Beth answered. “I guess that was part of it. I also heard a very sad story today and I guess I was just empathizing with the people too. They had a love that lasted. For their lifetimes anyway. But things didn’t go so well for them.”

“I know something about tragic love stories,” he said. “I know they say ‘better to have loved and lost than never to have loved’. But I’m not sure that’s true.”

“I’d like to find out.” Beth sighed. They talked for hours. Reluctantly Beth finally headed home. She didn’t even know his name. In the morning she realized the locket was missing. She cut school to find it and once at the graveyard she searched all around the tree to no avail. As she was about to give up, the sun glinted off of a nearby tombstone and Beth hurried over. Hanging from the corner was her locket. But what shocked her more was the name on the stone: James Edward McCord, 1850-1920.

Hope you enjoyed it! This month is Grotesque Love month, the theme for this week- "Love in a Graveyard". I know I missed the 'grotesque' part by a mile, but well, this is what came to me. You should definitely check out the Vamplit Publishing Blog for all the other really great flashes for this week! And if you like them? Do the author a favor and leave a comment. We live for comments.

♥Stacey

Meet S. Alini

I met author S. Alini through email. And I decided to review his Young Adult fiction book, The Strange Journal of the Boy Henry. You can read my review over at See Spot Read. Please do. I can wait...

Back? Awesome. You totally want to read it now, don't you? You should. You'll enjoy it! Okay, on with the questions because enquiring minds want to know, right?


1)How long have you been writing novels?

Hard to say because I’ve also done cartoons and screenplays over the past seventeen years.But I think I’ve written children’s books for eight years now.

2.)   Do you write full time or do you have a day job?

I trade stocks when I’m sufficiently foolish and gullible.

3.)   Is this your first published novel?

No,I’ve published four others:

Aaaack the Duck
Tired of mistreatment by humans, a feisty little duckling named Aaaack decides he’s going to become a Lawyer so he can set things right.

Aaaack in School: Book2
In this, the second in the series, Aaaack makes his way to school to fulfill his dream.

Effie the Magician
Seven year old Effie just can’t keep from getting into trouble. When she finds herGrandmother’s Secret Book of Magic and a Wand, things really get nutty.

SuperBurger
Eight year old Isaac saves up and buys a SuperBurger. Then goes to incredible lengths to hide it so he doesn’t have to share with his family.


4.)   What made you decide to go the Indie route?

I realized, early on, that I was too good for the big traditional publishers. I kid. No, they decided they were too good for me. Actually I came real close twice. Editors at Random and Harper got excited about two different books. Then each found reason to decline. But I’m glad now, because I get a bigger percentage of sales and I own all rights.

5.)   What made you decide to write middle grade novels?

I’m passionate about kids reading, and felt it was important to write stories that amuse and entertain them.

6.)   What scares you personally? Do you have any silly phobias?

Snakes. Sshhhhhh… they might be listening.

7.)   What is your writing routine?

I have no routine. I write when I feel passionate about a particular story or situation. I don’t force it because I don’t like the result when it’s forced.

8.)   What genre would you classify your writing?

Not sure. My writing is generally humorous. Even in The Strange Journal of The Boy Henry, which is a suspenseful, scary kind of story, I have funny characters.

9.)   What other authors inspire you?

JudyBlume, Louis Sachar, Mark Twain, Akhil Sharma, Irvine Welsh.

10.)What advice would you give to newbie writers out there?

You’re never gonna make it so just quit. I don’t need the competition. No, I’d say keep at it. Electronic publishing has opened up the world for writers. We can reach readers another timezone away. The possibilities are endless. So keep reading and keep writing.

Bio

I live in Atlanta, Ga. I like it because it’s the greenest (as in trees and grass) city I’ve ever been in. Also it seems to have cultural activities every weekend. I’ve written various things for many years. Started off with short stories, moved to cartoons, then screenplays (which got me an agent), then eventually children’s books. I spend my time swimming, playing soccer or watching independent films.

Blog: www.alinibooks.blogspot.com
Twitter: @SanAlini
Facebook: San Alini

The Strange Journal of the Boy Henry can be purchased on the Amazon Kindle:

http://www.amazon.com/Strange-Journal-Boy-Henry-ebook/dp/B004XJ5ZNG/ref=ntt_at_ep_dpi_2

Hope you enjoyed meeting San Alini. I did. And look forward to more books in the future!

♥Stacey