Showing posts with label Action. Show all posts

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Writing By The Seat Of Your Pants with Richard Parry @TactualRain #Fantasy #WriteTip

Posted on Friday, June 13, 2014

No plan survives contact with the enemy, but plans are really useful anyway.
The thing is, my writing tends to be pretty organic.  The conversations my characters have aren’t manufactured through some formula.  The path the story takes?  It’s not set in stone.  I tend to outline just enough to give me a path to follow, maybe some high points to hit, and then write.
The outlines I write are more detailed at the start of the story, and less so at the end — often having a single outline point like, “Hero saves the world.”  I mean, that’s enough: it says everything it needs to say.
Making characters real means you need to allow them some flex in their interactions.  If you need John to get that cat out of the tree, but it’s more fun or interesting to have the cat escape from him instead, you’re kind of screwed if your whole story revolves around him returning to Andy with the cat.
The better writing gets lost in service to the outline you’ve drafted, and that’s not okay.
Different writers have different views on this, and I think that’s great.  I’m not trying to tell people that there’s only one way to tell a story — I’m saying that when I write stories, I try and make sure there’s room for my characters to grow through that story.  After you’ve spent 100,000 words with someone, they’re a lot more real than they were on page one, right?
When I wrote Night’s Favour, the basic outline — hand drawn in blue pen — was on a page of my notebook, and some supplementary pages for specific scenes.  Writing Upgrade, a more complex story, I’ve needed to bust out Scapple to do a quick A4 on the moving parts.  There’s lines everywhere.
Funny thing is, both stories diverged from the originally planned ending.  It’s meant more work for me in terms of the writing, but it makes me happier with the end result.  I’d rather the end show a believable outcome for my characters than keeping to an outline that was started months — if not years — ago.
Outlines are great, but like the rest of what I write, they’re disposable in favour of the better story.  To make things better, you sometimes need to throw your initial thoughts into the trash.

Valentine’s an ordinary guy with ordinary problems. His boss is an asshole. He’s an alcoholic. And he’s getting that middle age spread just a bit too early. One night — the one night he can’t remember — changes everything. What happened at the popular downtown bar, The Elephant Blues? Why is Biomne, the largest pharmaceutical company in the world, so interested in him — and the virus he carries? How is he getting stronger, faster, and more fit? And what’s the connection between Valentine and the criminally insane Russian, Volk?
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Genre – Action, Thriller, Urban Fantasy
Rating – R16
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@KSterlingWriter's Dog Doesn’t Want Him to Write (or So She Thinks) #Suspense #Mystery

Posted on Thursday, April 10, 2014

If you’ve read my author bio somewhere on the Web, you know that I live on a mountain ranch in Colorado and have a rather spirited Golden Retriever named Shelby. She follows me everywhere and wouldn’t give me a moment of solitude if I didn’t periodically assert my rights to be an independent being and do things like going to bathroom by myself. But I also have a wife who enjoys kanoodling with me from time to time, and it isn’t very romantic if a Golden Retriever is simultaneously licking your face. Fortunately, the young lady has her own, comfy bed on the floor. That would be the dog, by the way, not my wife.
As a writer, I clearly spend a lot of time at my desk, and Shelby is always nearby. She spends most of her time in the media room adjacent to my study staring out the French doors, monitoring our property for the multitudes of deer who frequently chow down on our landscaping. If I hear Shelby whining or barking in there, I know exactly what’s going on, and I’ll jump from my desk to let her out so she can chase them away. When she returns, she usually opens the door to let herself in and trots into the study looking like she had just saved the world from a nuclear holocaust.
You would think, since pushing down the door lever is a piece of cake for her, she’d also let herself OUT, but she doesn’t quite have the knack of pulling the door open yet. It’s so much easier to push from the outside. Then I have to get up and close the door again.
But Shelby’s favorite little caper is to come into the study periodically throughout the day and stare at me with a very clear message in her eyes: “Dad, I don’t know what you’re doing in here, but it’s quite boring, and I need you to stop it. Let’s go outside and do something far more entertaining like barking at things that don’t exist.”
These visits happen more frequently as the day goes on since we’re getting closer and closer to “quitting time” (or at least dinner time if I plan to return to work afterwards). Usually, after I spin around in my chair and see her staring me down, I’ll call her over and spend a couple of minutes giving her vigorous petties. That will pacify her for some indefinite period of time, after which she comes back for an encore performance, clearly hoping I’ll listen to reason this time.
I’m not saying we don’t take occasional breaks during the day to play, take a hike, exercise, or go for a ride in the car. We do all that. But I still adhere to a regimented work day, which means no less than 8 hours (and often 10 or more) at my desk, and that’s a lot of sedentary time for a dog to endure. Sometimes she’ll goof around outside without me for a while, especially if chipmunks or other nefarious creatures are in need of chasing around. But in no time she’s back at the study, and I need to get up and close the door, hopefully before those dastardly chipmunks scurry inside.
Oh, if you’re wondering why I harbor such contempt for chipmunks, just check out my author blog at GoodReads.com and read about our cutting-edge chipmunk relocation program. Then you’ll understand.
So it’s safe to say that Shelby has no understanding of why I fiddle with a four-screen computer workstation all day (I trade stocks, too), and I’m sure she thinks we’d both be better off if I did something else for a living. But my former career was in structured finance, which often entailed 60 to 80-hour work weeks with barely enough time outside the office to eat and sleep. If I went back THAT life, she would hardly ever get to see me, and I doubt that’s what she has in mind.
Sometimes puppy dogs just don’t think things through.

lazar

"James Bond Meets Fifty Shades of Grey"

Immerse yourself in the world class novels that combine action, mystery & suspense with tantalizing and tastefully written erotica. You’ll find all your sensibilities roused at once with Kevin Sterling’s ultra-sexy, action-packed Jack Lazar Series.

In this fourth action-packed thriller, Jack travels to Denmark for a business venture, but what seems to be a textbook transaction turns into a nightmare after he gets involved with Katarina, a vivacious Danish girl who apparently lacks a moral compass, not to mention an off button. After naively believing their liaison was just a random encounter, Jack discovers she’s connected to his business deal, and there’s a dangerous political group with skin in the game, too.
Katarina makes a convincing case of being a victim, not part of the conspiracy, but can Jack really trust her?
The firestorm gets out of control as Jack digs deeper, unearths the convoluted plot behind it all, and discovers that innocent people are being heartlessly killed. He’s not only horrified by the reason why it’s happening, but how it’s being done, and there appears to be no way to stop it from occurring again.
Then the scheme’s real objective emerges, launching Jack into action with intelligence operatives to prevent it. But that’s not so easy with assassins on Jack’s tail, forcing him to struggle for survival while trying to prevent Katarina from getting caught in the crossfire.
Buy Now @ Amazon
Genre – Action, Mystery, Suspense
Rating – R
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Christopher Grey's "Will Shakespeare and the Ships of Solomon" @greyauthor #Adventure #Book

Posted on Monday, March 3, 2014

Dorothy took a mouthful of seawater as her head bumped against a stalactite. The water level was pushing her neckline, and just then the treasure hunter next to her lost his torch in the water. Keeping above water was becoming more and more difficult as the cavern ceiling pressed down upon him. She wanted to cuss out the companion next to her, but it would do no good, and she couldn’t say she would have behaved any differently. Her complete lack of French stopped her communicating with him at all anyway.
It began to dawn on her that they may not get out of this. A cold feeling rose up in her stomach, and it wasn’t the decreasing temperature of the chamber but the horror of realization. Casting thoughts around in her head, she had a difficult time settling on any one comforting place. Instead, panic rose, and she found herself pounding the ceiling of the cavern as the water level lapped against her chin. The French-Canadian fell beneath and gasped next to her, howling as he saw the air above him disappear.
Suddenly Will splashed out and crashed into the ceiling, apparently startled by how quickly it had filled. Spitting out water, he coughed for a moment.
“Gun,” he gasped. “I need your gun.” Shaking his head, he tried in French, “J’ai besoin du pistolet.”
The French-Canadian didn’t hesitate. He passed the weapon to Will, his face pale and panicked. Dorothy felt a bit more at ease upon seeing him. She didn’t know him well, but she saw a mission written across his face. He had calm blue eyes and a dedicated expression. He disappeared beneath the water, and for a moment they heard nothing. The moment turned into several, and now their heads were pinned at the ceiling, only their mouths and noses above the water.
Dorothy lost sight of the treasure hunter. Water consumed her, and she fought to keep it out of her lungs. The torch went out, and it was completely dark. Sloshing water and currents roared around her. Chills spun up her spine, and her breath began to fail.
So this is it ...
A blast echoed from beneath her, followed by a distant but profound creaking. Suddenly, the water dropped beneath her, and she was sucked under.
WILL SHAKESPEARE AND THE SHIPS OF SOLOMON
In the fall of 1947, Will Shakespeare saw the world collapse around him. Shakespeare, a secret soldier for the Knights Templar, barely escapes the slaughter of his entire knighthood at the hands of a rogue militant arm of the Vatican in a small Montreal church. With orders to escort Templar business associate Dorothy Wilkinson back to her home in Bermuda, Will must locate and rescue the most important secret treasure in human history before it is devoured by a hurricane in the watery caves beneath her father's property. The spiraling quest sends Will and Dorothy into uncovering dark secrets that make up the origins of the knighthood as they confront the traps and puzzles that masterfully protect the world's most coveted treasure.
Buy Now @ Amazon
Genre – Action, Adventure
Rating – PG
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Connect with Christopher Grey on Google+ & Twitter

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#AmReading #Excerpt "The Sovereign Order of Monte Cristo" by Holy Ghost Writer @SultanOfSalem

Posted on Monday, February 10, 2014

After the much-needed bath, Dantes puts on his dressing gown and lies down on his old bed, which he finds deeply comforting. He has played and traveled hard over the past few busy years, and he knows it has worn on him; there is more silver in his hair than before. He hopes to slow down soon, for he loves his new home with his family close by and misses them terribly. The sweet, baby faces of his daughters loom in the darkness of his closed eyes. How blessed he is! He resolves to enjoy Paris while he is here, though. He wants to go to the opera while he is in town and also visit a few of his favorite haunts. Finally, he falls fast asleep, only to awaken to a servant telling him the meal is nearly ready.

The servant helps Dantes dress and leads him to the dining room.

“The table looks divine,” Dantes says, thinking how nice it is to be out of his traveling clothes and into something more refined. He looks at the spread before him—fresh fruit and vegetables, as well as two huge pheasants with mint jelly. The yeasty smell of homemade bread fills the air and makes his mouth water.

“I hope this pleases you, sir,” Valentine tells him. “I know the food in America is quite different. Perhaps you have become too accustomed to their fare to appreciate ours.”

“Oh, nothing can compare to a good French meal, although American food has its own charms. When the baby is old enough to travel, you will all have to visit my estate in Georgia. It’s a different world, but one I believe you will enjoy,” Dantes tells them.

Just then, he hears the creak of a wheelchair. In comes M. Noirtier. Dantes rushes over to him and bids him hello.

“My old friend!” he says. “My heart fills with joy to see you—let us enjoy this magnificent feast as well as one another’s company.”

The next morning, Dantes plans to visit more of his old friends, at least those who still reside in Paris. A carriage awaits him in the hazy light of dawn, and he is flooded with memories as he drives through the streets. He wishes Mercedes and Haydee could be at his side, but knows his daughters are far too young for such travel; it would exhaust them.

Holy Ghost Writer
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Genre – Action, Adventure
Rating – PG-15
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Quality Reads UK Book Club Disclosure: Author interview / guest post has been submitted by the author and previously used on other sites.

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#Suspense #Excerpt from The King of Sunday Morning by J.B. McCauley @MccauleyJay

Posted on Sunday, January 12, 2014

Top of The Pops
1989

How long ago did he take it? He knew it depended on weight and metabolism but he didn’t know for sure. It wasn’t an exact science. He had always banged the scotch down and smoked a lot of hash but this was different. This was the real deal. He’d heard it on the grapevine. These new pills from New York and Amsterdam were changing the social fabric of London. It used to be beer and punch-ups and now it was pills and loved-up. Arrests for unsocial behaviour were down and more importantly, the establishment was scared. It had been justly challenged with punk and then the gay abandonment and sexual ambiguity of Boy George et al nearly tore the nation asunder. But ironically Boy George then turned into every grandmothers’ favourite bingo partner and the urban landscape returned to its safe, apathetic roots and bland normality.

Then the people of the night tipped the world on its end. Space cadet record execs were bringing these pills back from New York. These little portents of love were apparently amazing. They took you elsewhere, gave you love in abundance and made the girls love you back. The summer of love, Woodstock itself, was being re-invented right in front of everyone’s eyes. The Sun and The Daily Mirror revealed the shocking threat to the nation and he believed the propaganda until his cousin told him to stop being daft.

He was nineteen and it was about time that he jumped onto the hedonistic bandwagon. He had missed out on punk and ska. There was hardly any rebellion in the 80’s. It was make-up and silly love songs. What had started out with the Sex Pistols and The Clash dived headlong into the rapture of Spandau Ballet and Duran Duran. There was no class struggle. Greed was good according to Margaret Thatcher and Reaganomics ruled the roost. Live now pay later. Ostentatious displays of wealth, cocktails and the word ‘yuppie’ were the order of the day. And guess what? The young had just about had enough.

The corporatisation of the weekend. The theme pub. The Saturday night super club. Big burly bouncers telling you, ‘Wrong shoes mate’, or ‘Wrong shirt’, even, ‘Sorry mate, just don’t fit the image’. Enough was enough!

Free parties were on the rise. Dance music was exploding. Warehouses were being taken over by huge sound systems and the kids and the drugs were everywhere. It was 1989 and the great British party massive had started.

They were in Slough, West of London. Slough was one of those peculiar afterthoughts of British planning. Pronounced ‘slau’, its name sounded ugly and its streets were much the same. A post Second World War new town. Pebble-dashed terraced houses built cheaply, without imagination and without soul. The only reason you went to Slough was because it was on the way to somewhere else. The English equivalent of Belgium.

It was one of the biggest holes he had ever been to but tonight it was his paradise. It was his conversion on the road to Damascus. For tonight he would experience the roller coaster ride that was MDMA and witness the world’s best on the wheels of steel. A warehouse. A laser. A bass bin. Tonight he would turn away from the beer soaked ravages of a football bender and become enveloped in the rush and the beautiful shiver of the white dove. Tonight he would be Top of The Pops.

King of Sunday Morning
Buy Now @ Amazon
Genre – Thriller, Action, Suspense, Gangster, Crime, Music
Rating – PG-18
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