Thursday, February 11, 2016

This was my attempt to write something in the style of Tolstoy for a literature class I facilitated at Writers Village University:

Marooned

As I look around the white sand beach I wonder how I got here. Aside from a few pieces of wood, there's nothing here, no boat, no luggage, no other people. Ripples of aquamarine lap the shoreline, the only sound besides the beating of my own heart. There is nothing inland either or rather the island is much too small to hide anything, more a sandbar than a true island. Yes, there are three trees around to my left, orange trees if I'm not mistaken, trees with green leaves and orange fruits hanging from the low branches.

I'm wet. Why didn't I notice before that my shirt and pants were wet, and my shoes and socks are wet, too? I conclude I was in the water since my wet clothing smells salty and so does my skin. I take off the shirt and spread it out on the white sand to dry although it'll be stiff with salt when it does. At least it won't be wet.

I have no other clothes so unless I want to walk around naked, my white skin reddening quickly with the sun, I'll have to let everything else dry on me.

I look to the horizon on all sides of my island but no boats are in sight. An orange tree beckons and I walk toward it, my shoes squishing as they sink into the soft white sand. I see oranges as my breakfast, lunch and dinner for some time to come.



Thursday, January 14, 2016

This is another post-apocalyptic story I'm working on that begins with that apocalypse. It's called Train to Nowhere Somewhere. In this first chapter, I introduce you to some of the main characters.

Chapter 1. Before the Event

Geoff

“Geoff, don't let Ben wander off exploring.” Mom repeated the same thing she'd told me at least twice a day since she'd agreed to send us on our own to the grandparents' place. She lifted my six-year-old sister, Franny, from the train station platform for one last kiss.

As the oldest at sixteen, I'd be in charge for the three day train trip, and probably even after we arrived in Heartville. The Grands had a tendency to spoil my brother and sister. Still, all I'd only have to keep Ben corralled and make sure Franny ate her meals. I tried not to think what that would entail, because I was already nervous.

Mom and Dad claim to be Anglophiles, so they named me Geoffrey and actually pronounced it Jofry. And Ben is really Benedict. Then they really got fancy and went Spanish; Franny is short for Francesca.

Ben, who'd never been on a train before, must consider our trip an adventure. Who knew what he'd find fascinating? It certainly wouldn't be anything that could awe me and it might easily get him into trouble.

He ran toward us, followed more sedately by Dad. “Guess what? I can sleep in the upper bunk bed, Dad said so.” That just proved my point about what he'd be excited about. I'd much rather have the larger, lower bed. At least he should be safe. But then where would Franny sleep?

Mom and Dad helped the three of us onto the train. Dad stowed our large suitcase on the lower level, and we marched single file up the narrow, winding stairs to the corridor above. We each carried a backpack filled with a change of clothes, toiletries, and whatever else we thought was essential for survival. Our bedroom for the expedition was the first one we came to. The compartment was too small for all five of us to fit, even with my bed folded into a couch, so Mom took Franny inside first, settled her on the chair in a corner of the room and kissed her. Our parents said goodbye to Ben and me out in the hall.

“The attendant will tell you when you should go for dinner.” Mom smiled, then disappeared down the stairway. Were those tears in her eyes?

Dad handed me some three twenty dollar bills. “You might need this before you get to my parents' place.” Then he, too, was gone.

Ben entered the room before me. “Where's my bunk bed?”

“I think they only open it at night. For now we can sit on this couch thing.”

“Geoff, when will Mom be back?” Franny clutched her stuffed bunny to her. How she could stand the sour smell of Floppy I'll never know. She'd never let it out of her hands long enough for Mom to run it through the washer.

“Franny, remember? This year, we're going to the Grands on our own for three weeks and then Mom and Dad will come to get us.” Would she ask for Mom every other minute? I hoped she'd stop soon.

“But where are we going to eat? I'm hungry.” She pouted. When my sister pouts her lower lip doubles in size so you can see the inside of it and her forehead wrinkles like an old lady.

I didn't know the answer. “What kind of snacks did you bring?” Mom told us each to throw something in.

She dug through the backpack at her feet. “I have raisins, but if I eat 'em, what'll I eat later?”

Ben piped up “Yeah, Geoff, what did Mom mean about an attendant?”

“I think there's a restaurant or something.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “They'll tell us when and where we can go for supper.” Why were they so concerned about food already? We had lunch with Mom and Dad before we drove to the train station.

Ben's attention shifted. “We're moving!”

“Yeah, train's move.” I rolled my eyes.

“No, I mean we're leaving the station. This is awesome!”

Franny pressed her nose against the window next to her seat. “I can still see Mom and Dad.” She waved. “Bye, Mom and Dad. See you soon.”

“They can't hear you.”

Franny turned and frowned at me, then buried her face in Floppy's smelly fur.

Oh, great. Now I made her cry. How could I make her stop?

A woman slid open the door to our room and poked her head in. Medium height and slim, she wore a uniform. “Hi. You three are traveling alone, right?”

I nodded. “I'm Geoff, and I'm in charge of my brother and sister.”

She smiled in a friendly fashion. “I'm Marlene. I'm the attendant for this car. You're scheduled for dinner at...” she looked at a sheet in her hand “...five.”

“Thanks. Ben and Franny were asking about sup...dinner. Which way is the restaurant?”

“The dining car is four cars down. Go through the door next to the stairway and go through the next two sleeping cars. You'll come to the observation lounge. The next car after that is the dining car.” She focused on Franny. “Can I get you anything before then? We have juice and water.”

Franny studied her, glanced at me for permission, and then said, “Orange juice, please.”

“Sure sweetie.”

“My name's Franny.” She wiped her cheek with the sleeve of her sweater. “Francesca.”

“That's a pretty name.” Marlene turned to me and Ben. “Do you boys want anything?”

Before Ben could ask for something outrageous, I replied, “Bring us both bottles of water.”

“I'll go get your drinks. I hope you know where the toilet is.” She waved a hand to the space behind the tiny sink. “And it's also the shower.”

“Really? Both in the same space?” Ben had to go check it out. “Cool! But what happens if someone wants to shower when someone else is using the toilet?”

“We'll worry about that when the time comes.” I was curious about that, too, but it wouldn't be mature to say so.

Marlene smiled at us. “I'll knock on your door when it's your time for dinner.”

Just then, all the lights went out.



Marlene

Franny cried out, but before I could comfort her, as quickly as they went out, the lights came back on.

Geoff rested a hand on her shoulder. “We went through a tunnel, Franny. That's all. It's OK. We'll go through a few more. Remember when we made this trip in the car with Mom and Dad and we drove into tunnels under the rivers and through the mountains?”

“I think so. Was it like that?” Her pretty little face scrunched up.

“Yes.”

“Now, settle in and I'll be right back with your drinks. And I'll call you in about an hour for dinner, OK?” I looked at each of their faces to make sure they were all right. When I returned with their juice and water, Ben was engrossed in a video game and Franny stared out the window, clutching her stuffed animal.

Knowing they were fine, I continued on to check on the other passengers in the five other bedrooms in the car.

Two men and two women played cards in the second room. They told me their names as I checked them against the list I had, Eddie Tyler and Josh Vega, who shared the room, and Mimi LeBlanc and Abby Block, who shared the next room.

“I work with these two clowns,” Mimi told me, pointing to the two men. “We're headed to a conference in Denver. Josh's girlfriend, Abby, is along for the ride. Josh is such a wuss, he hates to fly, so Eddie and I agreed to travel by train with him.”

Eddie smirked. “Next you'll be telling her our life stories.”

Sarah and Charles Bailey, an older couple, sat side by side on the couch in the fourth room. Sarah twisted a linen handkerchief in her gnarled hands. “Maybe during this trip my husband will be able to see some of the scenery instead of staring straight ahead at the pavement like he did when he drove. I say 'maybe' because my husband's failing eyesight forced him to give up driving.”

I winked at her. “Then the train is a good choice.”

“As fast as the train is going, it's all a blur anyway.” He patted her hands.

In the next room, Patricia Malone read a fashion magazine. Her blond hair and makeup were as finished as the model on the cover. Her teenage daughter Jessica's head tilted forward as she tapped out message after message pn her phone.

“Is Internet service as spotty on the train as my friends tell me?” Jessica stopped long enough to look up at me.

“It depends on the line. This one has some dead spots, but most of the way the reception is pretty good.”

Patricia smiled. “We're on our way west to check out colleges before Jessica starts her senior year in high school.”

I wondered whether they'd intended the trip as an opportunity to spend time together. Had they run out of things to say to each other before they even left the train station? Because, as I left, Patricia went back to her magazine and Jessica to her phone.

A single passenger sat with eyes closed in the last car. He was listed on the manifest as Dr. Reginald Wainwright, Ret. I think that meant retired.

I didn't want to disturb him so I pushed his door open slowly, but he opened his eyes. “Dr. Wainwright, may I bring you something to drink? Tea or coffee, or perhaps some water?”

“Why, tea would be lovely. Thank you, my dear.” He spoke with a clipped British accent and had a salt and pepper mustache and a full head of matching hair. A proper English gentleman. We didn't see many of those on the train from Chicago to L.A. He smoothed his mustache. “You will let me know when I'm to go to dinner, won't you?”

“Yes. Of course.”

Tuesday, January 5, 2016

A new year has started, and with it, so many resolutions, mostly to finish everything I started in 2015, including the assorted series of blog posts. Among them are interviews of other writers and readers, 'pictures' of places in The Crimson Orb, and postings of scenes from my stories.

I'll start with the last. Today I'll post the beginning of a YA novel I began in 2015 and hope to finish in 2016. The title is Addie's Exile.

Chapter 1. Banishment

I didn't do it!” My cheeks burnt. “Why do you keep asking me where it is? How many times do I have to tell you?” I faced Ms. Lee across the scarred wooden desk in the tiny office she occupied as the secondary school principal.
Now, see here, Adina. I jes wanna be sure. Tha's all.” Her voice was placating, but she wasn't smiling.
I sat down heavily on the straight-backed chair, crossing my arms to hold myself together. “I didn't do it.” The bare ground visible through her grimy window caught my eye. It hadn't responded to the futile attempts by my classmates to coax vegetation. Not surprising when rain couldn't penetrate the glass dome enclosing our village. Only a few fruit trees remained here.
Well, someone did. Six hoes don' disappear. If you din' take 'em, who did?”
I lifted one shoulder. “I don't know. You always blame me whenever anything wrong happens. Everyone does.” I couldn't keep from raising my voice, or from wondering how someone so illiterate could be heading the school.
Don' be such a smarty pants. And it's never you?” The old woman's earlier gentle manner was gone. “You 'spect me to believe that?” She glared at me.
Yes, I do.” I felt like cringing but instead I stood again and faced her, arms folded over my chest, my voice became shriller with each sentence. “I didn't take Mrs. Stern's watch. It showed up in her drawer. I didn't break Mr. Tortino's window. Stell admitted doing that. I didn't send nasty messages to Lurie Mills.”
The woman shook her gray head. “You're a troublesome chile, Addy Hinger.”
No, I'm not. Not on purpose.” So why did everyone make me feel like I was?
What, it's all accidents? You know we can't tol'rate even accidents in here.”
Things happen and you all blame me. Why? What do you all have against me?” Ever since my father was exiled and Mama passed, they never let up.
Don't know what we should do with you this time.” She tsked tsked.
I swallowed hard.

Well, c'mon. Commander Kenly won't wait forever.”

Tuesday, December 8, 2015

November's gone and with it another NaNoWriMo project completed. The 50,550 words will be added to the almost 11,000 previous written for Train to Nowhere Somewhere. Now I have to edit, add, rearrange and otherwise revise what I have. It's a story about a disaster that seems at first to be confined to a railway bridge explosion, but turns out to extend way beyond that. Mostly it's about how the survivors from the train cope with the changes this brings to their lives.

Meanwhile, I have half a dozen other stories to work on, all at different stages in the revision process.

If you attempted NaNo this year, how did you do? What kind of story did you write?

Monday, October 5, 2015

 Interview with Kathy Wagoner, who also writes under the name Cate Macabe





1. What genre(s) do you write in and why? Do you write flash fiction, short stories, novellas and/or novels? If you do multiple genres and/or lengths, which do you prefer? Have you ever written any poetry?

My favorite genres to write in are science fiction and fantasy. I love to escape into the other worlds I find in books, as much now as when I was young. I have written all lengths of fiction: flash, short stories, novellas, and novels, but I don’t have a preference for any one length. I let the story unfold as it will, and it ends up as long as it’s supposed to be. I did publish a memoir for a friend in 2012 titled This New Mountain. That project was an extreme departure and a stretch for me. As far as poetry goes, I have to be in a certain frame of mind to write it—usually one of deep emotion or introspection. Poetry has helped me express my feelings in an immediate, satisfying way. As opposed to taking a topic like dealing with grief and having it play out across hundreds of pages.

2. How do you pick character names?

Character names usually speak to me from the story. I don’t go through any one process to pick them. Sometimes the name has to do with a character’s profession, sometimes it has a sound to it that appeals to me or that I think embodies the character.

3. How long have you been writing?

I’ve been writing, off and on, nearly all my life. I took a long break in my 20s and 30s to raise a family, but I never stopped imagining characters and their sci fi or fantasy environments.

4. What kind of support do you get from your family and friends?

My family and friends are very supportive, especially my husband. He gives me the time and space I need to write. But they all want me to do what makes me happy and to see me succeed. And they’re anxious for me to publish my sff stories.

5. What social media do you use to spread awareness of your work?

Right now I have two websites—one for memoir (that I’m not too active on right now) and one for speculative fiction that I’m still trying to decide what direction to take with it. Do I gear it toward readers or writers? I haven’t figured it out yet. I’ll eventually get active on Facebook (and maybe Twitter), but not until I get into a better writing routine. I hope to devote more time to writing once I give up other time-sucking responsibilities at the end of the year. And then there’s Pinterest. I like the visual aspect of it, but I don’t have boards yet that focus on my writing projects.

6. If you had unlimited funds, how would you advertise your work?

It would be great to produce trailers and get them onto the web. I would also travel around the country (or the world!) to conventions. Maybe make up a bunch of t-shirts to give out, with pithy or clever sayings and awesome graphics that would make people want to go check out my books. I would probably also hire someone to help with social media and promotion.

7. What are you working on now?

I’m currently working on a short story fantasy collection set in the same world as my main work-in-progress. I’m itching to get back to that dark fantasy novel and finally finish it. I also have a sci fi novel, a space opera novella, and a thriller in draft form.

8. Have you self-published anything? What was your experience like?

I’ve never self-published, but I like the idea of having more control of the process and pricing, and having a say in the book cover design, as well a taking the lion’s share of every sale. I’m thinking of indie publishing one or two short story collections, possibly next year.

9. Do you have an agent and/or publisher? How did you find them?

The publisher of This New Mountain is Casa de Snapdragon, a small, traditional publisher located in Albuquerque, New Mexico (just a few blocks from my house—very convenient!). I actually worked in the same office with the Editor in Chief before she opened the publishing house. She knew I was writing the memoir and told me to submit it to her when I was ready.

10. Have you sold your work at book fairs or conventions? What kind of experience did you have?

I have attended book fairs and tried to sell the memoir but wasn’t very successful. I’m not outgoing and end up plugging other books, because I feel better about promoting someone else besides myself. I know this is something I’ll have to get over to succeed in the business.

11. If you had it to do over again, would you have started writing sooner?

I definitely would have started sooner, or at least returned to writing sooner. But that would mean I would have realized I could be a writer and have the confidence to step out. And to do that, I would have been a different person twenty years ago—someone who wasn’t afraid to pursue her dreams.

12. Which do you find hardest: coming up with a story idea, writing, revising, or marketing?

Number one is marketing (see my answer to #11 in reference to promoting myself). But revising is also hard for me. I have to go through many cycles of critiquing, rewriting, and revising. It is difficult for me to know if or when a piece is done and ready, and then push the “send” button.

13. Are you a plotter or a pantser or a hybrid of the two?

I’m a complete pantser when I write short stories and a pantser for the first 2-3 chapters of a novel. After writing a few chapters I know how the story will end. Then I start doing a rough, flexible outline of the next few chapters, and pants the story as I go. I do make notes on my rough outlines of things I know I’ll need to go back and fix (like plot holes or consistency issues), so when I’m ready to edit, I save some time. Pantsers still have to go through much of what plotters do before they write, they just do it after the draft is done.

14. What are the hardest kinds of scenes for you to write? Romantic? Sex? The death of a character? Fight scenes? Others?

I love to write fight scenes. I see them play out in my head, and they tumble down onto the page for me. Romance is something I haven’t included in my stories except for a hint now and then. My characters seem to be more interested in staying alive than forming a romantic bond. And sex scenes? No way. I think if I tried, they would just come out dorky.

15. What's your solution to writers' block?

For me, writers’ block happens when I don’t know how to continue, such as how to convey a character’s emotional arc. I keep a file of story ideas and jump into writing something else when I get blocked. Continuing to write is my way of breaking through. By the time I get back to the story that had me stumped, I have the answer of how to proceed.

16. How much time do you spend on research for your writing?

It’s hard to tell because so far I haven’t set aside specific blocks of time for research. I’ll add notes to my outline of things I need to find out about later. I try not to stop writing to surf for answers. Or I’ll buy a reference book about something like poisons or medieval living and dive in. But in general, I do research in spurts.

17. Your character decides to go a different way than you planned. What do you do?

My characters often take a different path from what I first intended. When they do, I let them go for it. I can always go back if the story hits a wall or figure out a way to fix things. Usually when a character does this, she’s trying to tell me something or take me to a place I had no idea existed. I’ll often learn something really nifty about the setting or the society, or gain an awesome plot twist. I love when these things happen.

18. Have you ever used weather or setting as a character?

I’ve used both weather and setting as characters, sometimes both in the same story. I don’t set out to do this on purpose. But looking back after I’m done, I can see my subconscious at work in the writing.

Links:

KL Wagoner website http://klwagoner.com/

This New Mountain http://thisnewmountain.com/blog/



Friday, September 18, 2015

The Bus Station

I'll return to interviews next week, but this Friday I thought I'd post a piece of flash fiction I wrote for a recent class:

Bus Station

The child sat on the long wooden bench in the shabby old bus station, her legs dangling four inches above the ground. Her right hand clutched the worn handle of the battered brown suitcase, and her eyes stared straight ahead. The soft round face was as expressionless as a China doll, the only movement a slight quiver of her bottom lip.

The old woman looked around for a place to sit. Her tired back and legs wouldn't endure for long if she had to stand, but her bus wasn't due for another forty-five minutes. “Someone sitting here?” she asked the child, pointing to the empty end seat beside her.

The little girl looked up into her weathered face and shook her head.


The woman settled into the seat with a sigh, glancing at the clock, willing the time to fly by. “Are you traveling alone?” The child looked so small to her. “You were probably told not to talk to strangers. Believe you me, I don't usual talk to them either, but you shouldn't be traveling alone. What are you? Seven? Eight?” Even that elicited no response. “I'm going to St. Louis. Haven't been there in close to thirty years. I imagine the place has changed. Hasn't everything?”

The little girl stared at her, the start of curiosity entering her eyes.

“I'm Mildred, and don't you dare call me Millie. What's your name?”

No response.

“When I was your age, my mama used to take me to St. Louis and Joplin, all over the state. We had relations in every city, every hamlet from here to Chicago. Now all that's left is me and a cousin in Peoria, but he's a no-account I'd avoid even if he lived next door.” She continued her monologue, as if the sound of her own voice was preferable to silence. “Bet you're wondering why I'm going to St. Louis now. There's doctors in St. Louis. Better than here, I'll tell you.”

A slight nod from the girl was the first sign that she understood English.

“You off to visit your grandma? Or maybe that's where you're coming from.”

The eyes looked down to study the tops of scuffed sneakers. A hole near the big toe of the right one threatened to expand. The muttered 'no' barely reached the old woman's ears.

“No? You're not running away, are you?” Mildred asked.

The silky, fine blond hair swung as the girl indicated she wasn't. But what else could this be?

Mildred tried to think of a question that might get her to open up. She'd been singularly unsuccessful so far. But she was afraid that if she was silent, the slight progress she'd made would fade. “This bench is so hard.” She wriggled against the scarred backrest. “I don't know who designed the first bus terminal, and then convinced others to build them all the same.” She pointed to the tiny refreshment stand. “Would you like a soda? Or perhaps chocolate milk? I wouldn't trust much else they sell.”

The child looked up, her eyes straying to the stand. “Chocolate milk, please.”

“You watch my things, and I'll get us both a drink.” Mildred left her coat on the seat and her suitcase on the floor as she stood and strode to the food vendor. She was back in moments carrying two plastic cups.

The child hadn't moved except to put her free hand on the woman's coat. “Thanks.” She finally let go of her suitcase handle and took the drink carefully in two hands.

“I brought us both straws.” Mildred opened one and inserted it in the lid of the kid's drink.

Watching the woman, the girl took a long sip of milk, then another. She'd finished half of it before she came up for air.

“You must have been thirsty.”

The child sucked in her lower lip, then went back to drinking.

“Feel better?” Mildred asked.

She nodded. “Thank you.”

Nothing added up about the kid. Who left her at the bus station? And where was she going? “I bet whoever you're going to see will give you plenty of chocolate milk.”

The quiver was back and the child's eyes filled with tears before seeking the double doors, then they returned to her drink cup.

A disembodied voice came over the loud speaker. “Four thirty to St. Louis and points east now boarding.”

“That's our bus.” Mildred stood, grabbed her coat and suitcase, and took two steps. “Aren't you coming?”

The girl shook her head. “I'm not going.”

Exasperated, Mildred asked, “Then why are you here?” She looked around at all the other passengers streaming toward the doors and the bus on the other side. None paid attention to the woman and the child. Mildred sat down again. The doctors would have to wait.

Friday, September 4, 2015

This week I'm interviewing Margaret Fieland, author of science fiction novels and novellas as well as poetry.


1. What genre(s) do you write in and why? Do you write flash fiction, short stories, novellas and/or novels? If you do multiple genres and/or lengths, which do you prefer? Have you ever written any poetry?

I started off writing poetry, actually. I wrote poetry for years without being at all serious about it. I would write the poems down in notebooks which ended up in my attiec. Then one day I wrote a poem I wanted to keep. Because I work as a computer software engineer, I had more than one computer in my life, and the latest version of this poem always seemed to be on the one I wasn't on. I ended up finding an online poetry site. One thing led to another. I discovered an online writing conference and hooked up with Linda Barnett Johnson. She ran some online writers groups, but she required everyone to participate in both the short story and poetry forums. I started writing short stories – I started out writing for children under the mistaken impression that it was easier – and got hooked.

I still write lots of poetry, but now I'm also writing fiction, mostly science fiction and fantasy. I have three science fiction novels published with a third coming out later this year. A children's chapter book is due out later this year as well.
I didn't start out intending to write sci fi. I am a way-back sci fi fan, though, but up until 2010 I had never written any. In fact, I had a bit of a phobia about taking on the world building. I decided to participate in the 2010 NaNoWriMo, a crazy event in which slightly insane writers attempt to commit 50,000 words of a novel to paper, erm, keyboard, in a month. This was about the middle of September, and I spent most of the next six weeks in world building rather than in plotting out my novel. I had about a page of plot notes. I wrote the first draft .in a month. Then I had to edit it


  1. What writers do you admire? What are you currently reading?
    For sci fi writers, my biggest influence is probably Robert A. Heinlein. I've ready pretty much everything he's written. I'm also a big Isaac Asimov fan. Octavia Butler, Marion Zimmer Bradley, Samuel Delany, Cordwainer Smith are also favorites of mine.
  1. How do you pick character names?
    Mostly rather randomly, but for the Novels of Aleyne I started using a Persian/Farsi/Arabic name generator and then modifying the names. I wanted names that were a bit exotic but not unpronouncable, and these ended up fitting the bill. I also “borrowed” and modified the names of some of my foreign-born co-workers.
4. How long have you been writing?
I've written poetry since High School, and I've been writing with an eye to publication since around 2005.

5-7: no answers
  1. What are you working on now?
Edits for the fourth Aleyne novel and finishing up the first draft of another.

  1. Have you self-published anything? What was your experience like?
    I wrote a book of persona poems, “Sand in the Desert,” to go with the first Aleyne novel, “Relocated,” and I self-published them. One of the reasons for that was that I'd dragged my feet about submitting them to a publisher and another was some difficulties with the publisher of a poetry anthology. I did all the formatting myself. I was going to do the cover as well, but the layout, color choices, etc, turned out to be more time consuming than I'd bargained for, and I ended up having a friend do it. I did, however, have a pretty good idea of what I wanted the cover to look like. I also self-published the print edition of “Relocated,” and I hired someone to do the cover.
10.Do you have an agent and/or publisher? How did you find them?
No agent, but I do have two publishers I'm working with now , one ebook publisher for the science fiction novels and another small-press publisher for the chapter book (print) that's due out later this year. As to how I 'met' them, it was through an online writers conference.

11.Have you sold your work at book fairs or conventions? What kind of experience did you have?


No, I haven't, but if I were ever lucky and rich enough, I would.

12.What's the one piece of advice that has helped you, and where did you get it? What advice would you give a beginning writer?

13.If you had it to do over again, would you have started writing sooner?
I wish I could say I would, but in truth, I probably wouldn't. The biggest thing hotlding me back from writing seriously was the notion (mine) that I c ould and that I wanted to. I started writing poetry, and without the nudge that Linda Barnet Johnson gave me, I doubt I ever would have.

14.What are some review remarks that stick in your head?

Nothing much sticks in my head. That's one of the reasons I write :-).

15.Which do you find hardest: coming up with a story idea, writing, revising, or marketing?

Marketing. First of all, I don't know what to do, and second of all, when I do get some notions, I get all tangled up in how to go about it. I'd much rather be writing.

16.Are you a plotter or a pantser or a hybrid of the two?

I'm a hybrid. I almost always have the main characters, the setting, the dramatic concept, the start, finish, first plot point, and most major plot points after that. I may or may not have a rough idea of the scenes from the beginning to the first plot point. But I can' t plot in detail for the simple reason that I may not solid grasp of what the whole book is about until I'm done writing it. Some things are only revealed to me as I write them. For example, in “Broken Bonds,” I knew how I wanted the ( spoiler here) treason trial of the main character to come out, but I had no idea how it was going to come about until I wrote it.
17.What are the hardest kinds of scenes for you to write? Romantic? Sex? The death of a character? Fight scenes? Others?

Fight scenes. I have to go look up what's supposed to happen, say by reading a real account of a fight similar to the one I'm trying to write about.

18.What's your solution to writers' block?
hi
Write something else or go do housework or go walk my dogs. I find something fairly mindless – like raking leaves, washing dishes, or ironing, will result in my concentrating on the task, freeing up some part of my brain to figure out the story.

19.How much time do you spend on research for your writing?

That depends on what it is and how much I don't know about it. When I wrote my chapter book I ended up doing a lot of research on fires, the effects of smoke inhalation, fire-related injuries, how fast a fire spreads, etc, etc, and then I ended up starting the story AFTER the fire itself.
20.Your character decides to go a different way than you planned. What do you do?

Go with it.

21.Have you ever used weather or setting as a character?


I have a partially-finished fantasy set in a future ice age that has setting as a character.

Blurb:
How far would you go to keep your love? 
When Major Brad Reynolds is assigned to head the Terran Federation base on planet Aleyne, the last thing he expects to find is love, and certainly not with one of the alien Aleyni. How can he keep his lover, in the face of political maneuvering and of Ardaval's feelings for his former partners -- and theirs for him?




Links:
Publisher's website:
http://museituppublishing.com/bookstore/index.php/new-releases/broken-bonds-detail



Amazon:
http://www.amazon.com/Broken-Bonds-Novels-Aleyne-ebook/dp/B00E5SGVSS/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1374851946&sr=1-1



Barnes and Noble:
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/broken-bonds-margaret-fieland/1116214695?ean=2940148784913
Bookstrand: http://www.bookstrand.com/broken-bonds



Where to find me on the web:



Pinterest: http://pinterest.com/margaretfieland/
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/margaret.fielandAuthor
twitter: http://www.twitter.com/madcapmaggie
goodreads:   http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4417476.Margaret_Fieland

Bio:
Born and raised in New York City, Margaret Fieland has lived in the Boston area since 1978.  She is an avid science fiction fan, and selected Robert A. Heinlein's “Farmer in the Sky” for her tenth birthday, now long past. In spite of earning her living as a computer software engineer, she turned to one of her sons to put up the first version of her website, a clear indication of the computer generation gap. Thanks to her father's relentless hounding, she can still recite the rules for pronoun agreement in both English and French. She can also write backwards and wiggle her ears. Her poems have appeared in journals such as Melusine, Front Range Review, and All Rights Reserved.  She is one of the Poetic Muselings. Their poetry anthology, Lifelines, was published by Inkspotter Publishing in November, 2011.  She is the author of  Relocated, Geek Games, and Broken Bonds,  published by MuseItUp Publishing, and of Sand in the Desert, a collection of science fiction persona poems.  A chapter book and another science fiction novel are due out later this year.