Is your story in time or out-of-step?

I watched a film the other night that was, by all accounts, a remarkably close adaptation of a book written by a very famous historical novelist who shall, in the interests of not incurring a libel action, remain nameless.

Why I mention it here is that, of its many plot holes, the worst (in my very humble opinion) were the numerous and very blatant ones relating to the passage of time. I don't mean the silly anachronisms such as seeing a plane flying over while watching Heathcliff doing his Jack Torrance impersonation (read The Shining) or the inevitable nerdy IMDB comment such as 'in the bathroom scene, the tube of toothpaste in the jar referred to a brand that didn't appear until 3 years later’. No, what I'm referring to is the way in which time is concertinaed for one party and then stretched for another.

A simple example. Let's look at the opposite of the well-known film, Home Alone which concentrated on the antics of the child left behind after his family flew to France for vacation. Suppose, instead, we remake the film about the holiday and ignore the child’s perspective. After an hour and a half of Francophonic antics, the family returns home to find the forgotten child sitting on the sofa watching telly. The End.

Wait! What does the kid do for a couple of weeks? How does he cope? What does he eat? What if Social Services or the Police find out he's there on his own?

This is a pretty obvious case but it does happen as proven by my film from the other night. Story forks (where principal characters go off and do different things for a significant period of time) make for interesting reading – they’re a valuable device for widening a book’s backdrop. However, they must be handled properly and the only way to avoid falling into a time-warp is to carefully consider every character and their situations. Can you account for what happens to them during the period of the fork?

I faced a similar situation in my novel, The Road. The book spans 9 years and has a number of principal characters, each of whom has their own perspective and experiences during this period. I didn't want to get into the situation where there were contradictions in my story so I put all the main data onto a spreadsheet. The far left-hand column contained the names of the characters and the subsequent columns the years and their seasons - one column per season.

I then went through and wrote the chapter numbers where a particularly character appeared in the appropriate cells. At the end, I had a map of the book which showed the progression of the protagonists through the 9-year period. Perhaps not surprisingly, there were a few minor anomalies. I went back, rewrote the affected chapters and then updated my timeline. At the end, I had a complex tale that spanned nearly a decade but which I knew with complete confidence would hold water if challenged.

There's a definite argument for either creating such a spreadsheet as you write or even in advance of typing the first word. Personally I find that trying to pre-empt the book cramps my style and I'd far rather 'get things down' than get bogged down with trying to avoid reinventing the Tardis. That’s just my preference.

Ultimately you should leave the plot holes to Hollywood (they do them so well). Your book needs to be perfect so take time out to create that timeline.

Clive West is co-owner of indie publisher Any Subject Books and you can see more about them on their website or on Facebook. He has written a full-length novel called The Road and also a collection of short stories called Hobson's Choice. Both are available in Kindle format and the anthology is also published in paperback format.

Clive West Book Tour Dates

As many of you may have noticed, we have a new contributing author here at All Things Writing----Mr. Clive West! His Thursday blog posts have been informative and insightful about the world of writing.  Here is a little more about him:

Clive West was born in the West Country of England in the early 60's. He was educated at a traditional English public school before going on to university to study civil engineering. Over the years, he has worked as a civil engineer, tutor of maths and science, schools quiz-master, employment agency boss, and writer.

His work includes a collection of short stories with twists called Hobson's Choice (also available in print), a full-length novel called 'The Road' about the consequences of corruption on ordinary people and an accessible job hunting interview guide (based on his years of experience as the boss of an employment agency).

He has also written a book about lymphedema. This is a disfiguring, life-threatening and incurable disease he now suffers from and which his experience shows that most fellow patients have (like him) been abandoned by their respective health services.

Clive now lives in a rebuilt farmhouse in the Umbrian region of Italy along with Damaris, his writer wife of 22 years and their three rescue dogs. Apart from his fictional work, Clive also writes commercial non-fiction on a variety of topics but especially relating to business and employment. He and Damaris run an indie publishers called Any Subject Books Ltd – www.anysubject.com

You can also follow Any Subject Books on Facebook – www.facebook.com/anysubject

Clive is now disabled but, aside from his writing, he also enjoys playing the keyboard, listening to music and reading.

Contact details: books@anysubject.com

I've recently started reading Clive's novel, The Road and so far, I am loving it. One of the things I'm excited to promote on this blog is Clive's upcoming book tour through Virtual Book Cafe. Here is the link to that website so that you can check out his tour stops and other musings on writing.

Virtual Book Tour Cafe

Wisteria by Bisi Leyton---A Review

As I munched away on my Turduken this Thanksgiving, I started reading the novel, Wisteria which is making a stop today as part of a tour for Innovative Online Book Tours. I thought it was an appropriate read for this time of year, as it is a zombie book and the zombies are called biters. As I chewed away on the turkey leg, I couldn't help but see the irony there. What follows is my review of Wisteria. Enjoy!--Mary Ann

Book Title: Wisteria
Author Name: Bisi Leyton
Author Location (for press releases) London , England
Name of series and book number in series: Wisteria Series Book 1
Total Book in the Series: 3 so far
Genre: Young Adult Paranormal Romance
Date of Publication: Aug 2012
ISBN: Paperback: 9781291114898
ASIN: B008XRI3BA
Number of pages: 275
Word Count: 90,000
Formats available: PDF and Mobi/prc
Cover Artist: Olivia Smith

Here is the blurb:

Sixteen year old Wisteria Kuti has two options—track the infected around the Isle of Smythe or leave the only known safe haven and face a world infested with flesh eating biters. But even with well-armed trackers, things go wrong and Wisteria ends up alone facing certain death, until she is rescued by the mysterious Bach. Uninfected, Bach is able to survive among the hordes of living dead.
Eighteen year old Bach, from a race known as The Family, has no interest in human affairs. He was sent here to complete his Great Walk and return home as a man—as a Sen Son. The Family regard humans as Dirt People, but Bach is drawn to this Terran girl, whom he has never seen before, but somehow knows.
 
Hunted by flesh eaters, cannibals, and the mysterious blood thirsty group called Red Phoenix, Wisteria and Bach make their way back to the Isle of Smythe, a community built on secrets and lies.



I felt like this author had a marvelous idea that was exciting and fun to read. She had some character development going with Wisteria who comes off as being a nice mixture of strength under pressure and vulnerability when it comes to the heart. I also really liked the idea of the alien race looking down on us as our planet is being destroyed by zombies due to the Nero virus. The end of the book hints at all sorts of possibilities as to the origin of the virus and the possible implications of it for Wisteria's family.

So lots of good ideas here....

But....

This book needed a good edit. There were lots of beginning writer mistakes which needed to be corrected. At times, the writing felt rushed, and at other times, very slow. The dialogue, in particular, was often frustrating for me because it was stilted and mechanical. I also think pieces of the story should have been introduced earlier and that the world of The Family/Bach should have been clearer. I think there is a great storyline with that particular group, too, but as it was written, I had trouble understanding who they were and why they were important. Bach comes off as a robot with PMS: one minute he's all worked up over Wisteria and two lines later, he's cold as ice. When that happens once or twice, a reader chalks it up as an odd character trait, but when it happens in every scene....well, then it's overused and makes the reader not like the character, which is too bad since he's supposed to be the hero and love interest of the story.

Sound a bit harsh? It is, I admit. But this writer has so much potential! All it would take to be truly great with this story and its sequels, is to make a few tweaks in the editing department. I would still recommend checking this book out and seeing what you think for yourself!

Here is the Kindle Buy Link: WISTERIA KINDLE

Below is the author info and the links to her book, along with an excerpt.

Author bio:

Bisi Leyton was born in East London in 1978. She grew up in London, Nigeria and the States, listening to the stories life and love from aunts, cousins and big sisters.

She lives in London, but has worked around Europe including France, Germany, Ireland, Belgium and the Czech Republic. She has a fondness for reading graphic novels.

* Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/Wisteriabooks
* Current Blog: http://bisileyton.blogspot.com/
* Old Blog: http://bisileyton.wordpress.com/
* Twitter: @bisileyton
* Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/Bisileyton


Wisteria Excerpt:

Excerpt:

As she walked back to the ridge of the roof, Bach’s heart went with her. Someone had tried to hurt her. Tried to damage what belonged to him, and who he belonged to.

He started to feel dizzy from the volumes of strangle weed planted in the front of her house.

“Thank you so much for coming and for the guitar. It’s perfect.” She gave it back to him.

“No, it is yours, Wisteria.” He refused to take it. “Do you not like it?”

“No, I love it. It’s so beautiful.”

“Then keep it.” He kissed her neck. Knowing—hoping—his touch would soothe her pain, but he hadn’t come here to comfort her.

“Bach.” She used her instrument as a shield as she moved away from him. “It’s a bad idea. You won’t understand.”

“You are right. I do not get why you would refuse something you apparently love,” he whispered while rubbing her forearms and taking in her scent.

“If I accept your kindness, then I’ll have to face the consequences. I don’t know if I can face those.”

“You cannot face accepting my kindness, or is it accepting me that you cannot face?”

“Um…?”

“Tell me that you do not feel the same,” he whispered. “That the moment you first saw me that I did not get inside your head. Tell me that you do not think about me all of the time when we are not together?”

The dark-eyed girl did not answer.

Wishing he could will her to speak, he pressed her against his chest. Briefly, he noticed a black spot at the base of her neck, where he had kissed her, and then it was gone. “Okay, Wisteria. Then tell me that you want me to leave, and that you do not care if you never ever see me again.” He felt like someone else was speaking for him, once again. The questions became pointless as he found himself still planting kisses along her neck and the sides of her face.

“I can’t tell you that, Bach,” she replied softly, her voice breaking. “Because it’s not true.” She wrapped her arms around him and held him tightly.

Desperately wanting to kiss her luscious-looking lips, he leaned into her.

Wisteria reached up to him, tugging his head down as she stood on the very tips of her toes, seemingly just as eager to taste his lips.

“Wisteria, I cannot.” He broke away before it happened. “I do not want this.”

* * * * *

Wrapping her arms around herself, she moved away from him. Once again, humiliated and feeling foolish. “Goodnight, Bach!” She strode angrily to the side of the roof in order to climb down.

He grabbed her and held her back

The guy came here just to tease her, yet again! Didn’t he know he was hurting her? Didn’t he care? “I’m tired of all this nonsense. I’m actually tired and need some sleep. I’m done with this. All of this!” She should’ve left the roof when she saw him appear. “Let go, so I can go.”

“Wisteria, it is not that.” Exhaling heavily, he released her. “My people could kill you if they knew I wanted you.”

This wasn’t at all what she’d expected him to say. “What?”

“I am in love with you. I do not know why, but I am. And it is selfish, because I just want you for myself.” Sadness filled his eyes as he spoke.

“Why would they do that to me?”

“Because you are human and because we see humans as Terran, or dirt people.”

“And you believe that too? So why are you here, living among us, if we’re so disgusting?”

“You are not disgusting. You are beautiful.” Rubbing his temples, he seemed troubled and bewildered. “I came to Terra as a rite of passage. To be considered a man, to take a journey and experience the wild.”

“The wild?”

“I chose Terra, or Earth, because I came here as a child. Your people treated me so badly in the past. When I learned about the Nero disease, I wanted to see your world.” He paused. “You were right when you said there was something wrong with me.”

“Bach, it cannot be that bad.” Stepping up to him, she stroked her fingers along his biceps.

The sweet motion made him smile at her, but he still looked distressed.

“Like about Garfield, you let him live with you. And now you’re here with me.”

“You are not like the rest.”

“Neither are you. You’re not so cold and cruel like Enric or patronizing like Felip. They think they’re better than us. You just hate people because you’re a jerk, Bach.”

“Ha.” Bach laughed. “A jerk?”

“You’re a big jerk.” As the final word rolled from her lips, he kissed her.

She was stunned for a second. His lips tasted like a strange, tantalizing spice.

He squeezed her against his larger frame and rested his right hand on the small of her back.

She fidgeted, unsure about what to do with her hands. She tried to kiss him back, but she struggled because she was so short.

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Black Friday Tribute--Stealing Jesus

Today is what we call Black Friday! If you are reading this early in the morning, I'm probably out and about looking for deals. I have a great deal for you: A free copy of Bayou Myth awaits your Kindle today and tomorrow at the link below and here is one of my favorite short stories: Stealing Jesus. It's a Thanksgiving tale of redneck debauchery and Black Friday shopping gone bad. This story was first published for me by the good folks at Red Fez.  Enjoy!

BAYOU MYTH FREE FOR YOUR KINDLE

 

 

STEALING JESUS by Mary Ann Loesch

 

            Stealing Jesus was not my idea.  I could never think up anything so heinous on my own. No, Aunt Lynn is the one to blame.

            Aunt Lynn never cared for Aunt Sherry, calling her a Loretta Lynn wannabe with fat brown sausage curls and blue sparkle eye shadow.  Uncle Edward introduced Sherry to us on Christmas Eve when I was five years old. I still remember the way she looked that evening, decked out in a long red, glittering dress as if she was about to sing on the stage of the Grand Ole Opry. Sherry was a Yankee and when I asked what that meant, my mother whispered, “It means she’s from up North and doesn’t have any manners, Maisy.”

            Something about Sherry—her Yankee ways, the loudness of her voice, her inability to cook with season salt, the domineering attitude she treated us with at family functions—got under Aunt Lynn’s tough Texas skin. So when Lynn suggested we steal Baby Jesus from Sherry’s yard one Christmas season, we weren’t surprised. Jesus had been a running joke in our family for years. The plastic one, I mean. See, Sherry lived in the country and when she and Uncle Edward originally moved to the property, they’d had to dig their own septic tank. The endeavor created a small hill and every year Sherry displayed her beloved and worn plastic light up Nativity scene on top of it where it shined brighter than a lighthouse beacon and could be seen by neighbors in two counties.

             We often wondered what Jesus would have thought about living on top of the septic tank.

Our Lord and Savior was only a small portion of Sherry’s overall lawn décor. Never one to be light on Christmas spirit, she decorated every inch of her place with holiday crap—Santa on a motorcycle, reindeer that played music, penguins popping out of present boxes, oversized Stars of David’s (although we were rednecks, not Jews).

“It looks like Christmas vomited all over Sherry’s lawn,” Aunt Lynn said every year.

            The kidnapping of Baby Jesus set into motion one of the most turbulent times in our family history. Sherry, deep in the throes of a midlife crisis, decided to throw herself a new wedding. Here it was twenty-five years later and she couldn’t be content with just a simple renewal of the vows. No, she just had to do the whole thing over, complete with the original wedding party, which meant the involvement of Aunt Lynn and myself.

            “Now, Maisy, you will have to get a new dress. You’ve gotten taller in twenty-five years and definitely won’t fit into your flower girl dress. You used to be so cute, too! But Lynn, I bet if you worked out at the gym for a few months, you’d still be able to fit into your bridesmaid dress,” Sherry told us, casting an appraising look at Aunt Lynn’s already rail thin physique. “Of course, you have aged a little…maybe you could buy some new makeup.”

            Lynn and I were not thrilled to be recreating the moment evil came into our lives, and Sherry, who had more blackness in her soul than I realized, took it to far, committing the cardinal sin of all time, the sin that brought me to the dark side, the sin that made it okay to steal one plastic Baby Jesus off of her septic tank hill. She scheduled the wedding rehearsal the morning after Thanksgiving.

            To some, that may not make any sense. Why would that matter? But if you are a hardcore purist like myself, the significance of that day needs no explanation. Black Friday. It’s the day the mall opens at 6:00am and widely considered by shoppers to be the most wonderful day of the year. The whole world is on sale or else free stuff is being given away.

            My family has participated in this rite of passage for years. We train for it, mentally prepping and honing our ability to snag free things. Three days out from the big day, Aunt Lynn will stake out the mall, getting the layout of things so we can hit the stores quickly and efficiently. A few years ago we really got organized and now have walkie-talkies in order to inform each other of ETAs (estimated times of arrival) and current location. We fan out in the mall, seeing what the deals are, reporting to each other in coded lingo hoping to confuse nearby shoppers. But the most important thing we do is determine which entrances of JCPenny’s we can enter to grab the free Christmas ornament they put out every year. The challenge is to get at least three ornaments per person as keepsakes.

             We all have our own technique for accomplishing this mission. My father likes to pull the confused man card, feigning befuddlement over where the ornaments are. Some kind sales person will send him in the right direction and before you know it, he has a coat pocket full of ornaments. No one plays confusion like dad. Personally, I find wearing a coat with big pockets especially effective. I can stuff about four ornaments in each side pocket without being detected.

            It was at my Grandmother’s birthday party that Aunt Sherry announced her intention to have her second wedding on Black Friday. She might as well have set a bomb off in the room. Shouts of horror, cries of dismay, profanity from Uncle Todd—it echoed around the room. Sherry listened, big crocodile tears welling in her eyes. She turned to Uncle Edward, put her head on his shoulder and said, “See, baby, I knew it would be like this. They don’t want us to be happy.”

            Edward glared at us. A Vietnam vet, he used to tell my cousins and me that he could gut us all with his hunting knife in ten seconds if we didn’t behave. One Christmas he informed cousin Leonard that he’d shot one of Santa’s reindeer in the haunch and that’s why Leonard would not be getting any presents.

            “Now, c’mon ya’ll,” Edward said, pushing his tobacco chaw down into his lip where it stuck out like a bee sting. “Sherry wants a nice ceremony with the family. I don’t think it’s too much to ask ya’ll to attend and help out a little. There will be other shopping days but only one twenty fifth anniversary.”

            For my Uncle Edward, that little speech was the equivalent of Mel Gibson rallying the troops in Braveheart. We were moved by it, just as those men fighting under William Wallace’s command were moved, and just like those men, we began thinking in terms of war.

             War against Aunt Sherry.

            We shut up, minded our business, and did as we were told because that’s the kind of family we are, though fear of being gutted by Uncle Edward was a factor in my compliance. When Thanksgiving arrived, anticipation was in the air. Sherry gave us strange looks as we sullenly munched on turkey and cranberry sauce. No doubt she was worried we were acquiescing to her plans too easily, probably having some anxiety that we would spoil everything as we perused the morning paper, which was heavily laden with advertisements for shopping deals that would not be ours.

 The following morning, Sherry furthered our disgruntlement by showing up late to the wedding rehearsal. Scheduled for 8:00am, it was another thorn in our side. Why did we have practice the wedding? It isn’t that hard to walk down the aisle. It’s a straight line for crying out loud! To top if off, we were dressed in our formal clothes so we could take pictures that morning instead of that night at the real ceremony. When Sherry swept in, a smug smile on her Yankee face, it only confirmed to us that evil lived deep in her heart.

It was the last straw for Aunt Lynn.

After indulging in five glasses of cheap champagne at the reception, Aunt Lynn revealed her plan. We were going to hit Sherry where she lived, taking one of her most prized and loved Christmas possessions—Baby Jesus. We were to kidnap him from the septic tank, take lurid photographs of him, and mail them to Sherry before demanding a ransom.

            “She doesn’t get Jesus back unless she collects ten of the Thanksgiving Day ornaments from JCPenny’s that we missed out on,” Lynn said.

            “Oh and they were so cute this year! Did ya’ll see? Little snowmen in a snow globe with cute hats on,” my mother said, her heart genuinely yearning for that lost ornament.

            “Ten? Where is she going to get ten? JCPenny’s will be out of stock by now,” Uncle Todd said.

            “Who cares? If she doesn’t get the ten, we keep Jesus.” Lynn splashed her glass in my direction. “You still got that car seat, Maisy?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Good. We’re gonna need it to take ransom pictures in,” Lynn slurred. “The whole mission goes down this weekend. I heard her say that tomorrow night Edward has to pull all the lawn decorations from storage, so that means the septic tank will be graced with the presence of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. I say we go in and take the damn kid after midnight.”

            We nodded our heads, caught up in the moment, in the thrill of doing something totally despicable. As if one, we turned and looked at Sherry who danced with Uncle Edward. She glanced our way, little creases of worry crinkling her forehead as we raised our champagne glasses to her.

            “To the happy couple,” Lynn called out, a sentiment we graciously echoed.

            The next evening found Lynn, Todd, and myself at the septic tank, dressed in military fatigues. Sure enough, Baby Jesus was there, smiling adoringly up at his plastic mother and father. With shaking hands, Todd pulled him free from the manger and hurried through the maze of lawn blow-ups to Lynn’s jeep. Back at my house, we put Jesus in my daughter’s old car seat and photographed him with an old Polaroid camera I had.

             The next day the first photo was sent.

            Help…was all it said at the bottom of the picture, which showed Baby Jesus with his eyes covered by a blindfold and propped up in the car seat. The second note sent a day later indicated he would lose his plastic baby head if we didn’t receive the ransom listed in a timely fashion. The third letter contained a small piece of one plastic finger just to show our seriousness. It also mentioned that when the ransom was exchanged, Jesus would be returned.         

            We didn’t believe for one minute Sherry would have our ornaments. How could she? The stores usually ran out by 7:00am the day after Thanksgiving anyway. No. Jesus would find a new life in one of our yards, away from the bright lights of the septic tank. 

            December twenty-third was our exchange day with the location being at Cluck in the Bucket, the greasiest chicken place in town and totally despised by Sherry. The fourth ransom note had required Sherry to lay all ten ornaments out in the alley behind the restaurant’s dumpster. As the moment of the drop off arrived, I was shocked to see Sherry’s big white Oldsmobile pull into the parking lot and cruise to the alley entrance. Hunkered down in my recently acquired black minivan with Lynn and Todd, the smell of greasy chicken tempting our nervous bellies, we observed Sherry look around cautiously before entering the alley. A few minutes later she emerged grim faced and drove off, tires squealing behind her. Todd got out of the van and headed into the alley.

            He jogged back, a funny look on his face. In his hands were the ornaments and something else, which fluttered against his shirt. He flung open the van’s heavy side door, dropped the ornaments on the floor, and said, “Look at this!”

            It was a picture of Aunt Sherry. She held all the ornaments in her arms like a glass bouquet but somehow she’d managed to lift the middle fingers of both her hands in the time-honored salute of telling someone to go to Hell. Her tongue stuck out and as Todd turned the photo over, I noticed the writing on the back.

             Bring Jesus home, bitches!

            We stared in amazement at the little ornaments, wondering how she’d managed to scrounge up ten of them. She must have had to search everywhere, make deals, ask for favors—all for her beloved plastic Jesus.  Todd shook his head in disbelief and got in the passenger seat of the van. We prepared to take Jesus back, shocked we’d gotten our ornaments and even starting to feel a little guilty about the kidnapping.

            Well, maybe not all of us.

 A loud clatter outside the van caused Todd and I to look over at the open side door of the mini van. Baby Jesus lay cracked open on the pavement, his head a mess of weather worn plastic. The vicious, twisted look on Lynn’s face and her right foot still in kicking position, told us what had happened.

            “Oops,” she said without a drop of remorse.

            “Oh shit,” I groaned. “Get the duct tape.”

            “Lots of it,” Todd agreed and got out to root through my toolbox, where among other things, I had gray duct tape. After collecting the arm and leg of Jesus, which had also broken off, I scraped up as much of his head as I could. Under the fluorescent lights of Cluck in a Bucket’s parking lot, Todd performed emergency surgery. The end result was pretty horrific. Unless there was a miracle, Jesus would never light up again.

            We drove to Sherry’s house where the three of us begrudgingly put the maimed baby back in the manger and tried to quietly creep away. Lynn made a stealthy exit difficult by giving a parting kick to every lawn ornament in our way. When we got to the van, a photo fluttered at us from under the windshield wiper where it had been tucked. Someone had been waiting for our arrival. It was another picture of Sherry holding the ornaments but in this one she stood next to a worn out salesgirl in front of a small display table marked JCPenny. Propped up on the table was a newspaper dated the day after Thanksgiving. Pure, concentrated evil beamed from Sherry’s smile and we realized she’d outsmarted us. No wonder she had been late to the wedding rehearsal. That bitch had been out shopping. The humiliation, the anger, the defeat—it smothered us as did the knowledge that Sherry was rubbing our noses in it.

            Wild, maniacal laughter soared through the air. I turned to see Sherry on the septic tank, silhouetted by the glow coming from Mary and Joseph. She reached down, picked up Jesus, and held him high over her head.

            “The wicked will be punished!” Sherry shouted.

            A portion of Jesus’ duct taped skull fell off, hitting her right in the head. The arm slipped free from its tape restraint and before we knew it, the whole plastic baby broke apart in her hands, silencing the hellish laughter.

            “You bet your ass the wicked will be punished,” Aunt Lynn called. “It’s a friggin’ Christmas miracle!”

            The giggle built inside of us, bursting out, tinged with hysteria. Sherry headed towards us and knowing better than to stick around, we scooted into my van.  As I pealed away, a loud thump came from the back of the vehicle. Sherry had thrown Jesus at us and his remains bounced off the mini van, leaving a sprinkling of plastic all over the street.  We didn’t care. My family was good and right with the world.

            I knew Jesus would forgive us.

 

           

Compiling a commercial writing bid

If you're getting into commercial writing as a way of making money, you won't get far unless you have a strategy regarding the compiling of your bids. Don’t worry, though, because I've got some suggestions that will boost your chances of being successful. I'm making one assumption and that is you've already signed up with one of the main freelancer sites.

Before we begin, I need you to completely accept that the PRIMARY objective is to win work, not reduce the time you spend putting bids together (although I will help you avoid wasting time).

My first rule is that all jobs are not created equal – some are fantastic, some are mediocre and some are <insert expletive of your choice>. Having used the freelancer website’s screening facility, go through each of the projects that you feel able to take on and make an assessment of:

• How much the job interests you
• What the total payment's likely to be
• The track record of the client
• Whether there's likely to be more work from the client

If you want to be mathematical, set up a scoring system but here's what I'm looking for:

How much the job interests you

You want job satisfaction and you'll be alone with this writing for a long time.

What the total payment's likely to be

It takes just as much time and effort getting started on a small job as a big one and most clients won't expect to pay you for this set up cost. Consequently you get a better return on your initial time investment if it's a bigger project.

The track record of the client

See how many invoices they've paid, how much they add up to and how long they made the freelancers wait. Look at their disputes record. Do they have a 'tame' writer? If so, why aren't they using them? Is your price just a stick to beat the regular guy with? What reviews have they given out and what did the jobs relate to?

Whether there's likely to be more work

If you can get to be that tame freelancer, you’ll be in the enviable position of being able to negotiate future work or even just get it 'on the nod'.

Having established the above, stream the bids into 3 categories along the following lines:

1. Professional client, good track record, interesting job, good return.
2. New client, OK job, reasonable return.
3. New client, not very appealing job, moderate to low return.

Tackle all the 'A' jobs then the 'B' ones and only do the 'C' ones if you've time and if the number of bids you are limited to by the freelancer website permits. If you're heavily restricted in this respect, don't waste bids on Category C jobs.

It's very important to learn that it's far better to send out half a dozen properly targeted bids than a hundred or more 'one size fits all' quotes. If the client has to make guesses about you, they just won't bother. It's very simple.

Now the bid itself.

If you were to pretend to be a client (I'd never suggest such a thing) and put up an imaginary job, you'd get a number of responses, most of which would be:

• Badly written
• Generic (i.e. they're just a copy and paste affair)
• Irrelevant
• Confusing regarding the price

Would you choose someone who does that?

Consequently, you need to make sure that your bid:

• Comes well written, is grammar and spelling checked, is lucid and properly set out.
• Demonstrates to the client that you have actually read and understood what will be required.
• Establishes that you are capable of carrying out the project to a good standard.
• States the price in an unequivocal manner.

This may seem obvious but, in the heat of the moment, it's so easy to forget. Create a checklist, just like pilots use when they're taking off, and stick to it religiously
.
The bid needs to answer the following questions:

• Who are you?
• Why do you believe you are capable of doing the job to a high standard?
• What do you charge?
• Can you prove what you say?

Obviously each of these needs to be carefully thought through. For example, if you're bidding to write a non-fiction book, your knowledge of the subject matter is paramount. On the other hand, if it's fiction, then describing your writing experience is going to be more likely to succeed.

Always address the job. Even in the most clear-cut of bids, find some snippet of the project briefing that you can mention in your tender just to prove that you've read the job description. Most of your competitors will only have scan-read it at best so this simple act immediately makes you stand out from the crowd.

Isolate the client's core requirement and state how you have the experience and knowledge to tackle it. Leave them in no doubt that they’d be in good hands if they chose you.

By targeting your quote you can leave out irrelevant rates. Thus, if the bid is for editing, why include your hourly rate for cover design? If your bid is accepted, it IS a good idea to include your other rates on the contract that you will be required to draw up however don't confuse the client with all this now - stick to just quoting for what they've asked.

If you can, send 3 to 6 samples of your work. Make sure that these are as relevant as possible and that each bears your name - ideally as a footer and as a watermark <Format, Background, Printed Watermark in Word>. You should then turn the samples into pdf's before sending. Unless you are acquainted with a client, for all you know, they could be just collecting writing samples that they can use themselves.

Beware of sending a former client copies of items you wrote for them because that might be deemed breach of their copyright or distribution rights and you may be putting your head in a noose.

And the best way of assessing your bid (apart from the price)? Pretend you're the client and your bid has just come through by email – if the price was right, would you give you the job?

Clive West spent 16 years as an estimator in the highly-competitive construction industry. In that time, he literally submitted thousands of tenders and drew up countless hundreds of contracts. Since then, he has gone on to become a very successful and sought-after commercial writer.

He is also co-owner of indie publisher Any Subject Books and you can see more about them on their website or on Facebook.

Click on the link to see a complete list of the books published by Any Subject Books Ltd.

3 Reasons A Book Giveaway Can Help the Indie Author

Someone asked me why book giveaways are important. After all, aren't I losing money by giving away free copies? Sure, I am. But on the other hand, I could be gaining something even more valuable--readers and fans. It's basically the same concept writers are using to present their books for free in Kindle's Top 100 Free list. Here are several reasons writers participate in giveaways.

1. Giveaways create fans--it's all about the readers! A great way to begin building your fan base is by getting your name out there. There are so many ways to do this, but giving a reader a free copy of your book is one of the best. You're putting the your words directly into their hands and hoping they like it, will want more, and spread the word to their friends!

2. It helps generate reviews. Ever wonder how writers get reviews? We don't all have a NY Times critic in our back pocket! Many of us have to rely on readers posting their thoughts about the work on the web or places like Goodreads. It's another way to get the word out.

3. Giveaways can actually boost sales. If a reader likes your work, it's possible they'll want to check out what else you 've written and this time pay for it!

I think giveaways also help you show your fans and readers that you care, that you get that times are tough, and they don't want to spend money on something they may or may not like. It shows confidence in your work, too, displaying that you feel it's good enough to draw people in and perhaps influence them to check out your other novels.

I've done several giveaways and been pleased with the results every time. I especially like it when people are so excited about winning that they take the time to email me and let me know what they want their signed copy to say. It really is fun for me, too.

Have you done book giveaways? What have the results been for you? What worked? What didn't?

Black Friday Freebies

As Black Friday approaches, I get a little tingle in my toes. My brain starts mapping out the best way to get through the mall and my husband starts hiding my debit card.

Okay, maybe Black Friday brings out the worst in me. I do come from a family of dedicated Black Friday shoppers though. We've been doing this for years and have our own strategy about how to get the best deals and more importantly, the best freebies. Sadly, in recent years, the freebie thing has trickled away.

I guess the shops are on to us.

As a little Thanksgiving treat, I wanted to let you know that some things are still free on Black Friday. For example, I will be offering my book, Bayou Myth, for the free at Amazon both Friday and Saturday of this week.

I'll also be posting a little story close to my heart that is all about the Black Friday mythos and one family's dedication to it called Stealing Jesus. That will be on Friday's blog post here at All Things Writing. I hope you enjoy it!

Happy Thanksgiving! Eat lots of turkey on Thursday!

How Dark Will You Walk by Matthew Bryant

We welcome back Matthew Bryant to All Things Writing!

A buddy and I were discussing movies the other day, mostly about Disney buying out LucasFilms and taking over the Star Wars franchise, but then it sidetracked to one of my favorite subjects, horror.  Surprisingly enough, we both agreed on which movie scared us the most when we were growing up – Event Horizon.

The amusing thing is that typically, I wouldn't credit science fiction as being an effective mixture with horror.  It's too unbelievable.  But Event Horizon did something right, something all writers and film-makers strive for.  It pushed the grungy envelope just far enough to the sweet spot, that razor's edge of balance that puts the audience outside of their comfort zone without disgusting them (Yes, I'm looking at YOU, Human Centipede)

Every writer's familiar with the timeless advice that you write best what you know.  This is true, which is what makes horror such a tricky subject.  Anybody can throw on a mask and leap from the shadows, making their sibling, parent, spouse or child squeal in terror for a moment, but making a full-grown adult pull their covers over their head and twitch at every creak of a settling house takes practice.

Any jerk can write about chopping up babies or severing limbs, describe a creature as big and nasty, even throw in a bit of mucus and dripping blood as icing on the cake, but where does the real fear come in?  The answer is this: distorting the known.

There are things we as civilized people don't want to think about.  What do you do when the passenger door of your car swings open while you're stuck at a red light and a strange man slides in, closing the door behind him?  Why are all of your windows open when you wake up shivering at 3am?  Who could have come in and spilled knives all across the kitchen floor... and are there any missing?  These are questions that protagonists should be asked.  Sure you can show them the gore, throw dead babies at them until they're beaten into a concussion, but wouldn't you rather have your readers putting the book down to check all the door locks before rushing back to see what happens next?

Back to Event Horizon, sure it took place on a space ship that (spoiler alert) had literally been through hell and back, but that wasn't the scary part.  The scariness was the boy who willingly opened the air lock and released himself to deep space because he was so terrified.  Sam Neil's hallucinations remembering his wife's suicide as she joins him in the tub before the images drive him completely bonkers.  Anybody else freeze-frame the ship's log to see people strung up by hooks or tearing out their own eyes?  Yup, disturbing!  But somehow it seems less grotesque than super-gluing a skinhead to the seat of a car and forcing him to detach himself from his own flesh to pull a lever. 

So to my fellow horror writers – please remember, your duty as a writer is to make your audience squirm, heighten their senses with adrenaline, not send them screaming to the nearest porcelain god to relieve a stomach-load of their favorite lounge-time snacks in prayer-like offering.

-Matt

Matthew Bryant is the author of the recently released thriller, Towers.  He lives in Dallas with his wife and three children and works as an English/Math tutor in the evenings.  For more information, visit him at http://matthewbryant.webs.com or follow him on Twitter - @MattBryantDFW.

Ghostwriting for would-be wraiths, banshees and poltergeists

No more spectral jokes - promise.

Go to any of the numerous freelancer sites and you'll find plenty of jobs advertising 'ghostwriter required'. This service can be quite lucrative and it’s certainly a definite step up from living on a combination of air and hope. That said, ghostwriting jobs are not without their share of 'issues' and I'd like to look at some of those now.

Just to be clear, ghostwriting is the act of turning someone else's ideas (which may be a complete plot, a partially-written book or a simple idea) into a 'finished quality' piece of writing for which the ghostwriter receives no credit or acknowledgement beyond the payment of their agreed fees. From a ghostwriter's perspective, the job is without risk - they get paid even if the book bombs - but, if the book goes on to become a bestseller, there's no kudos either.

Don't consider ghostwriting if you can't accept that because otherwise it will seriously get you down.

The first thing to understand is that it(usually) costs nothing for people to post their jobs. This invariably means that every dreamer who's ever romanticized about being an author will be putting forward their ideas in the hope that they can turn their vision into a bestseller. With so many of these people clogging up the freelance sites, it's easy to waste lots of time putting in bid after bid and then never hearing a word back.

You can, however, save time and give yourself a better chance of being successful by a little judicious screening. Here are some things to look out for.

Spinning

This is the act of turning someone else’s work into another ‘original’ by replacing proper nouns, adverbs and verbs to make the new book seem different. Two things to consider here – can your morals stand the notion that you are plagiarizing another author and, since the client is placing minimal importance on the talent of a writer, can you accept that the remuneration is likely to be very, very low? And I mean LOW.

 

Incoherent ideas

A client needs to have figured out the finished book’s length and its subject matter in order to have arrived at a realistic budget figure. If the project briefing then leaves you in doubt as to what you will be engaged to write about, you will almost certainly end up spending hours on SKYPE attempting fruitlessly (probably) to extract this information from the client. Later, if and when it goes wrong, you’ll be the resident villain of the piece and you may struggle to get paid.

 

My story needs telling

It’s fair to say a large number of published autobiographies are only on sale because the ‘author’ is a famous personality, and it’s also true that being famous does not guarantee your story is a ‘good read’. Stories of the famous are, however, definitely commercial since people always want to read about the lives of the stars. In the likely event that your particular customer isn’t one of the glitterati, does their autobiography inspire you? Is there enough material to fill a book? Don’t forget that your work will involve dragging lots of details out of your client – work that they probably won’t expect to be charged for.

 

I’ve written something which needs polishing

This sort of client probably requires you to act as an editor but you’ll also be expected to fill in the missing pieces, sort out the plot holes, make the dialogue more realistic etc. It’s quite difficult picking up a story like this and it will involve a number of readings through before you start, along with considerable note-taking. You need to allow for this when quoting. Again, it’s quite likely that the client won’t expect to pay.

Obviously there are some people who’ve got a good idea for a story but don’t have the confidence, time or experience to write it themselves. These are the best jobs to go for but, before you put in a bid, look and see what they’ve given as an expected budget (most freelancer sites require clients to have a stab at the final bill figure). A typical novel that has been written by a native English-speaking ghostwriter will cost between $2,000 and $3,000. Thus, if the budget is ‘$500 or under’, there’s a good chance that either they don’t have any idea of final cost (and thus probably won’t go ahead with it) or that they’re only interested in getting the content written at the cheapest price possible and without regard for its quality.

Ghostwriting is an excellent way of making money and keeping your hand in but it’s easy to waste time on bad clients or thankless jobs. As you’ll see in my next blog, you can grapeshot every job you come across or you can ignore the lower grade jobs and concentrate on the better ones.

Clive West is co-owner of indie publisher Any Subject Books and you can see more about them on their website or on Facebook. For details of their book submission criteria, see their writers wanted page.