Want to be someone else? Read fiction, A Guest Post from Alicia Butcher Ehrhardt

Fiction is uniquely positioned to develop and increase empathy, because it provides a way around and under and through the barriers most people put up around their hearts and minds.

Humans think in stories. Why? Because we spend our lives learning the rules that ensure our survival.

Our brains are wired to learn in two ways: first, by direct personal experience - a hard way to learn some rules. Our feelings then cement the lessons, make them unforgettable.

And second, by empathy - acquiring knowledge through the experience of others.

For this, reading fiction is the best way to learn. The rub is the experience has to feel real for it to serve that purpose, exactly as if it happened to us. And the way we do that is through our emotions, which are engaged when the experience is ours.

Fiction is better than facts: facts have no emotional component to make them stick. We store them away, hope to remember them when we need them. Going on a hike across the desert? Bring water. Check.

Fiction is better than non-fiction: reports of the experience, say, of crossing the Antarctic in the middle of winter, are both entertaining and raise in us sympathy for the sufferings of the explorers. Poor guys!

And reading fiction is much better than video input for one simple reason: we can’t pretend video is happening to us when it is so clearly happening to someone else. Sympathy, not empathy.

And that’s the key: reading fiction is the best way we have to feel the emotions created by experiencing something as directly as possible without it happening to us. Because, as we read, we have to put in the effort to create, out of black marks on a page, the actual experience in our minds.

Listening to stories works almost as well, but requires a storyteller, and the emotional component is affected by that teller.

Reading is just you and the book.

Oh, and the author.

Most fiction invokes the sympathetic response in the reader - the entertainment value hooks the reader, and we’re off on an adventure. There is absolutely nothing wrong with this, because we need entertainment to relax after our own lives, however crazy or calm. Lots of entertainment.

But the best fiction aims deeper: to ‘grab the jugular.’ To ‘feel like a punch in the gut.’ Or the dreaded, to make you think. Which is really to make you experience, to fully engage your empathy, to make you feel as if it happened to you. To teach you. To change you.

Here is where another of the rules of life comes into play: humans hate being preached to. The preaching is an overt attempt to change the reader or the listener, via logic backed up with emotion. Usually negative emotion, fear: you are bad, you will go to hell, you must change! You are bad, you will destroy the Earth, you must change! If you touch the stove, you will get burned, don’t!

So the author without the moral authority of the preacher or the physical authority of the dictator has to be sneaky. Covert. Tease and wheedle rather than command. Better still: make you complicit in your own change. Make you want to change.

And how does the author do that? By pulling you in with superior entertainment value (remember, we need lots of stories) up front, and by layering the experience which creates the empathy for the new experience under that. Great stories, story moral picked up by the reader from being the character, having the story happen directly to him.

We then come full circle to Show, Don’t Tell. Show the character having the divorce or being attacked by terrorists or marrying the prince. If you have your parameters right, if you’re telling the story the right way, the reader has identified with the character, and the reader is getting divorced. The reader has to escape the terrorists to save the President. The reader walking down the aisle just realized the rest of her life is proscribed by royal protocol.

The author’s power is very real.

Authors don’t always use this power to its fullest, because there is a final step: choosing the purpose of the empathy, choosing the change for a higher aim: the good of humanity.

Sounds horribly preachy, doesn’t it? 

What prompted this post is that I don’t like a recent way this power is being used, to push an agenda which makes me sick to my stomach: the proposal, supported by carefully crafted stories, that people who are defective/handicapped/ill should remove themselves from the world because they are a burden to other people, and that this frees the other people to go on to something better.

Disabled people already face an uphill battle in many areas of their lives. Having society go back to an earlier model of disability which says that ‘they’ are a burden to other people, and therefore don’t have the right to the same hopes and aspirations as the ‘normals,’ is a huge step backward. To encourage them to consider removing themselves is a further abuse against their rights to live and to love.

As an author of fiction, I have the following tools:
I know how to create sympathy and empathy.
I know how to appeal to men and women.
I know how to entertain.
I know how to bury something deep in the fabric of a story.
I know how to make you identify with a character.
I know how to create situations that test the limits of character and privilege.
I know how to manipulate your emotions.
And I know that ‘disability porn’ - using disabled people to be ‘inspirational’ - is roundly despised by disabled people everywhere.

By picking the right story to tell, I believe I can make you buy my premise that disability is not the end of life as you know it.

Now that I’ve revealed many of my secrets, you still have to decide whether you’re going to let me try. And then decide if I know what the heck I’m talking about.
——
Alicia Butcher Ehrhardt is the author of Pride’s Children: PURGATORY, the first book in the trilogy, and is hard at work on the second and third.

Get your copy from Amazon US or Amazon UK.

The Truth is Stranger than Fiction, a Guest Post from Melissa MacVicar

The truth is stranger than fiction. We hear this saying all the time. A story will run on the national news or Facebook or even in your hometown that seems completely impossible. But, it’s not impossible because it’s true. Crazy right?  Whether these are tragedies or feel good stories, we all look at them and say, unbelievable.

As a career, I teach writing to seventh graders at a public school. Twelve and thirteen year old human beings are some of the most fascinating life forms on the planet, trust me. I have been spending my days with them for the last nine years, and I swear they have taught me more lessons about life than I have taught them.

At the end of 7th grade, my students and I complete a six week debate unit. One part of a comprehensive unit of study in 2017 is something called essential questions. In case you aren’t up on the latest education lingo, an essential question is one that doesn’t have one set answer and is supposed to lead you to asking more questions.  Two of the essential questions I asked this year during the debate unit were: Are there any truths that are absolute or definite? and How does a person go about discovering the truth?

The students had some interesting answers. Most said that yes, indeed, there are facts that are absolutely true, and of course, they said you find them by Googling. 

What I didn’t discuss with my students, however, is something that I find fascinating and often touch on in my writing— to what extent do we spin our own truths or create our own versions of reality to suit our needs? 

As someone with a masters in clinical social work, I know all about the ways humans, myself included, protect our precious egos from assault. When we do something wrong, even if we know it is wrong, we usually have a good reason.  I once worked with someone who got arrested for drunk driving and when I saw him a few days later, I told him I was sorry to hear what happened. He said, “You know I’m really not a bad person, right?” For some reason, this has always stuck with me, perhaps because, indeed, I did know him to be a decent person. A decent person who made a bad decision, and luckily, no one got hurt. There have been times I’ve found myself wanting to say the exact same thing when I’ve ticked someone off or been the source of trouble for them.

In my latest novel, One Broken Day, the main character, Lizzie, changes her identity and moves to Nantucket Island to escape her tragic past. She believes she has good reasons for lying and hiding the truth about who she is, but eventually, she finds out that the best intentions do not always matter.  The story is filled with ironic touches about the different personas we all create for ourselves even when we aren’t in dire circumstances like Lizzie. 

The truth has long been the subject of literary pondering, political diatribes, and heartfelt prayers, and I suspect it always will be. In the end, the truth is all we have. Our truth. The life we have lived. May it always be stranger than fiction in all the best ways possible. 

******

Melissa MacVicar was born and mostly raised on Nantucket Island, and she currently lives there with her husband and two teenage children. When not being a wife and mother and teaching writing to seventh graders, she enjoys binge watching shows like Big Little Lies, House of Cards, and Outlander. Despite the rumors to the contrary, she does not actually wish she was a teenager again.

Get Melissa's latest book, One Broken Day, from Amazon US or Amazon UK.

Guest post from @FernRonay, author of Better in the Morning

Talk to yourself. It’s okay.

If I were not a writer, but say, a normal person, trying to write a clever guest post about writing, I’d start with this: Writers are weird. Everyone knows that. So, it must come as no surprise that we tend to talk to ourselves. I don’t mean while walking down the street or while doing dishes. I mean in front of our computers and in different voices. If you want to blackmail me, forget the sex tape. Record me writing.

Hardy har har.

I can do better than that.

What the hell are ya talking to yourself for? Losing your marbles? You didn’t even eat lunch yet. Why don’t you stop acting crazing in front that, what is that thing? That thing! That weird looking typewriter? They don’t make typewriters like they used to. Not like they made ‘em back in my day. I typed eighty-eight words a minute. Did you know that? Eighty-eight words a minute. Isn’t that something else? A what? A lap-what? Oh it’s a computer? A computer, ya don’t say. Hmm. It’s so small. Well, anyhow, now go eat. Then you can go back to typing and talking in strange voices in front of that, what do you call it, lapbottom. Oh laptop. Yeah yeah, your laptop. Go. Eat.

That’s Grandma Ant. She’s a character in Better in the Morning. And, yes, she’s a character. She’s also dead. She died at a ripe old age and still talks and walks and acts like she did when the protagonist Veronica knew her when she was still alive: old and funny in the way old people are so adorably funny sometimes.

She doesn’t talk like me, the author, a young (relatively!) educated lawyer from the east coast now living in Los Angeles. She talks like Grandma Ant. So, I have to talk like Grandma Ant. Yes, I have to get into character. Yes, I would have said that even if I weren’t living in La La Land. I’m not that affected!

When the voices have gone silent

Every writer fears the blank page but what if your character who won’t talk to you? You’re staring at a blank page in silence, which can feel awfully lonely. Hey, that may be the best time to be caught on tape ‘writing,’ not such a great time for writing itself. In these situations, I sometimes turn to YouTube and search a character’s attributes: Old Italian lady (for grandparents) or lawyer explains judgment process (bitchy coworker) or Kathy Bates (who I picture as the snarky boss). You can’t and would never take direct quotes but it’s not even about the words they’re using. It’s about getting an essence and running with it. I mean, writing with it. It’s okay to imitate that person (by yourself in front of your computer like the weirdo you are) enough to start talking like them and then getting it all on the page as quickly as possible.

When the voices won’t shut up

The flip side of course is this.

Husband’s friend: My daughter just turned two. Here, look, this was her at her party yesterday.

Me: Aw! She’s so beautiful. Gah bless her.

Husband: Did you just say “God bless her?”

Me: I actually said “Gah bless her” but yes, it’s a side effect of the book I’m writing. What’d ya want from me?
Doh!

Some of the vernacular of your characters may slip into yours. It happens. It’ll go away. Eventually. I’m told.

It’s okay

If your loved ones think you’ve gone mad, it’s okay. If your YouTube search history is rather suspect, it’s okay. If you start talking like an old person, it’s okay. As long as you get out on paper the book you were meant to write, it’s okay.

Now, go eat something.

Get your copy of Fern Ronay’s book, Better in the Morning here:

Kindle US      Kindle UK     Paperback 

Guest Post: Alessandra Harris, author of Blaming The Wind @AlessandraH17

The Journey Without a Map: Writing By The Seat of Your Pants

Where do story ideas come from? It’s a question writers are commonly asked and one that leaves me completely stumped.  Some writers create complex character sketches then rigorously outline their novels, knowing exactly who will do what and when. But then there are writers like myself who fly by the seat of our pants, meaning we sit down and let the story unfold. Leaving me to wonder, where exactly do my ideas originate?

Part of my style of writing can be attributed to my background.  One of my duties when freelance writing for an online publication was to interview people.  I always started with a list of questions that I wanted to ask, but the direction and end result of the interview depended greatly on the person being interviewed. I’d learn more about them, they had their own agenda, and an article would result.

That method of journalism has translated into my fiction writing. I start with a skeletal outline of what I think the story is about, but the fun comes when the characters show up and start running the show. It’s through writing that I learn about the characters, their backstory, and how they react in a given situation. This knowledge propels the twists and turns in the story, and I can honestly say that none of my stories have ever ended the way I originally thought they would.  Only through writing am I able to understand the story I am telling, and later revisions help to mold and structure the story further.

When I first had the idea for Blaming the Wind, all I knew is that I wanted to explore the lives of two married couples.  I had no outline whatsoever, but I had a general sense of the characters: an unemployed, pregnant newlywed, a mom who is the breadwinner of her family, a sports agent, and a stay-at-home dad.  I let these characters occupy space in my thoughts and researched their professions until I felt compelled to put fingers on keyboard and start writing.  

As I wrote, I grew fascinated with these characters that were coming alive on the page. Instead of forcing them to act according to an outline, I got into the head of each character.  What would she do in this situation?  How would he think to rectify his mistake?  And when writing like that, you have to be open to where the characters take you.

Of course, writing without an outline has its challenges. Knowing your characters and having a general idea of the story are great for the big picture.  But it’s easy to stall in the middle of the story.  Often I’ll get to the halfway point and think, what the heck happens now?  I start wishing I had an outline to guide me.  So, I’ll do just that.  I’ll spend time brainstorming what exactly the characters want then plot ways to complicate their paths to getting there. I’ll flesh out supporting characters and add subplots.  Then, with enough material ahead of me, I start writing again.

Outline-less writing creates a solid first draft, but then the real fun begins after I let the story sit for a while then return to edit.  Since I hadn’t spent a lot of time beforehand thinking about plot and character arcs, the different acts, and story beats, this all comes into play during editing. My go-to guide is Revision and Self-Editing by James Scott Bell.  So, while creativity writes the first draft, structure shapes that draft into something that resembles an actual novel.

So where do ideas come from?  I still have no idea.  It’s kind of like a dream. The story originates from you – past experiences, people you’ve known, what you’ve read, ideas for the future- yet it takes shape as a completely separate entity.

Get your copy of Alessandra Harris’ book, Blaming the Wind here:

Kindle US 

Kindle UK 

Paperback 

Guest Post from Channing Turner, author of Jonathan’s Shield

I got the idea for Jonathan’s Shield several years ago when I stumbled onto the story In 1^st Samuel. It’s a little remembered incident where Prince Jonathan, accompanied only by his loyal shield bearer, climbs a hill and routs a Philistine outpost to win the battle for Israel. That shield bearer was never named nor heard from again. I thought he at least deserved a name. Beral. Beral then watches and tells the subsequent story of David and Jonathan to its conclusion. My intent was to fill this biblical tale with real people—people like us, with flaws and shortcomings who occasionally display instances of noble behavior. After all, when you look beneath the dry wording of stories in the Bible, you see some pretty dramatic stuff. It’s better than reality television.

When you write a novel like this, you can’t help but come to like—maybe love—some of your characters. Of course, it’s easy to like Beral. After all he’s the main guy, and he’s conflicted because he’s a good and loyal man. But I also have a warm spot for Zelig, the gruff old warrior with many of those same traits. However, Zelig is older and wiser. He already knows about the weaknesses of men and women. He sees his role as mentor to young Beral. Then there’s King Saul. He is paranoid and losing his grip so at this stage in his life so it’s hard to like him. I tried to hint at the character of the man he used to be when Yahweh chose him to be the first king of Israel. I don’t know if I succeeded at that. Probably not.

Anyone writing a historical novel has to do some research. I suppose how much depends on how true to life you want to be. Fortunately for me, I enjoy history. I read a lot of books and articles about the setting and time of this story. Sometimes I would start reading about some particular subject and forget I was supposed to be writing instead. I can’t say all of it was fun, but there is a certain amount of satisfaction you get when you complete a project like this. I only hope readers find it to their liking too.

To learn more please visit Channing Turner’s website. 

You can pick up his novel here:   Kindle US   Kindle UK    Paperback

Just in case you missed Pal Judi Moore’s review for Jonathan’s Shield last Friday, here is the link to her review.

About the author: A son of the South, Channing Turner grew up in Arkansas and Louisiana before graduating from Louisiana State University in Psychology. He did graduate work in marine biology and became an estuarine biologist along the Texas coast. After retiring from the petrochemical industry where he worked in Louisiana and Montana as a laboratory analyst, he managed the 2010 US Census in Montana and northern Wyoming. He now lives in eastern Washington with his wife, Barb.

Channing served in the army and was discharged as an Armor captain. Reading and writing are his sedentary pursuits, but he also enjoys riding his Tennessee Walker in the Blue Mountains of Washington and Oregon.

Guest Post:Time Travel…Fascinating Concept, by John Rasor

Ever since I first saw George Pal’s epic movie The Time Machine in 1960, at the tender age of twelve, I have been fascinated by the concept of time travel. Not actually traveling – since that is not empirically possible in the universe in which we dwell – but writing about it. I find the concept of time travel to be one of the most evocative of fictional devices – the great literary “what if”. Who hasn’t thought: If only I could have a do-over on that one, my life would be so much better?

Having written for twenty-plus years now, it has been the story I’ve always wanted to write. There are many wonderful time travel stories, cleverly written and fascinating to consider, whether book, movie or television show. One of my all-time favorites is the motion picture Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home, in which the main crew of the USS Enterprise must take a pilfered Klingon ship back in time to 1986. This action is taken in order to bring back two Humpback whales, thereby perpetuating the species in order to save Earth, and ensure the future of mankind. Pretty lofty goal, eh?

Time travel stories challenge the imagination. They offer up the impossible, and sometimes make us believe it. And why is time travel impossible, anyway? I believe it’s because November 22^nd 1963 – the instant JFK was shot – for example, is not what we can consider an actual “place”, even though the location in question, Dealey Plaza in Dallas, Texas, is. It’s a conceptual problem. Our memories tell us that this moment in time is real and must still be there somewhere, because we can clearly see it in pictures and captured on live-action film, or video. But time is simply a measurement of how quickly or slowly things happen, and what we’re seeing is no longer there – or anywhere. So, quite simply, if it doesn’t exist – or no longer exists – we cannot go there.

The fact that time travel cannot be an actuality did not stop me from wanting to write about it, so I finally did it. I came up with my time travel story, and I believe it’s the best thing I’ve written to date. Time travel is, of course, science fiction, and requires some basis in scientific fact. The creator must defend his concept in a plausible manner. He must tell a believable story, but how does he explain the impossible? “Impossible” is a word much like “pregnant”. You can’t be “a little” pregnant, and something cannot be “nearly” impossible – if it’s nearly impossible, it’s just extremely unlikely, but possible.

I think the thing that fascinates me the most about time travel is all of the effort that has gone into explaining it over the years – the rules, so to speak. But if it is impossible, then it cannot actually have rules, can it? And yet as a literary device, it does have rules, as do all fictional stories – the catch being that the writer(s) make the rules for their story, or series of stories, and then must abide by them. The reader can suspend disbelief, but only if the writer does a good job of obeying the rules he has created for his specific universe. So things like The Butterfly Effect and Paradoxes are not really rules, merely conjecture – conceived by some pretty great minds, I’ll grant you, but conjecture nonetheless.

Déjà Voodoo is my “take” on the possibility of time travel. It is about a man, born in the mid-20^th century, who comes to realize as he grows older that he remembers being here and doing all this before. He does his best to reason out his situation, asking questions like Can I change things? If I can change things, how will the universe – or God, if He exists – react to it? How much can I change, and at what price? Is this simply the way it is, and am I the first person to experience it in this way? Do we have souls, and if so, how do they function in the grand scheme of things?

Time travel. As Mr. Spock would say…“Fascinating…”

You can get John's latest book, Deja Voodoo, right now from Amazon US or Amazon UK. BigAl's review of the book will be happening early next week and John will be hosting a giveaway of the book on this blog on 2/16 and 2/17 that you'll want to be sure to check out.

A Challenge

We all like a challenge, don't we? As the new year begins, whether you're a resolution making person or not, it is often a time to take stock of where we are and where we'd like to go. If you explore the interwebs you'll find several reading “challenges.” Goodreads has one that is popular, asking you to set a goal to read X books in 2015 with you picking a value for X. There are several others.

I've got one I'm going to recommend. The Indies Unlimited 2016 ReadingChallenge. Why? Beyond the obvious reasons (that I'm pimping for IU) I like this challenge because it challenges the reader to expand what they read. If you accept and complete this challenge, odds are good that you'll expand the books you're willing to try just a touch. Not enough to take you too far out of your comfort zone, but enough to stretch that zone. Having done that myself since starting Books and Pals, I've discovered that books I'd have not given a second glance before due to genre are now among my favorites. It's been a positive in many ways including the obvious cliche about spice and variety. Yet it shouldn't stretch you too far. For example, Keith Nixon could complete the challenge without reading even one book in the romance genre. (No one thinks that would be a good idea except ?wazithinkin.)

Wrapped in Human Clothing, a Guest post from E.M. Prazeman, contributing author to "Asylum: a collection of short fiction"

In the great television series Castle, character Teddy Farrow in the episode “Inventing the Girl” (third episode, second season) declares that “fashion is what separates us from animals.” He goes on to compare fashion to civilization. Without the delivery and context, it loses a lot of power. If you’re curious, watch the episode. It’s worth your time.

In the hands of another actor, and if it had been written by another writer, they both might have been tempted to use those lines as proof of a fashion designer’s myopic vision of the world and aggrandizement of what is, compared to murder and suffering, a trivial pursuit. Instead, at least to me, it resonated very deeply. It tells a truth about humanity that parades before our eyes every day, though we seldom notice it for what it is except perhaps to mock it when it trips on a catwalk.

Writers rather famously write in pajamas, as they work at home and there seems to be little reason to dress up unless they plan to venture to the grocery store or set aside an hour or two at a fitness club. If they dress differently than when they write at home, that is an admission that social rules matter. Or, if they do show up in pajamas, slippers and a robe, it’s an admission that they don’t care. Or maybe they’re depressed. In an uncaring, gray world, where it’s an effort to brush your teeth, to get out of bed, to keep breathing, changing clothes to suit a social sensibility that doesn’t serve you and may even seem to actively destroy you makes no sense whatsoever.

Perhaps, then, dressing up would be a sign that things are looking up. Or maybe dressing up is that person fighting the good fight against the depression that’s destroying their will to live and be a part of the world. Even if dressing up isn’t that big of an effort, there are both conscious and unconscious elements to what we choose to wear.

Just as dressing up can be something more than practical protection against sun, freezing or windburn, dressing down can be an act of defiance. As much vitriol as sagging attracts, it’s also a symbol of cultural freedom. The cavaliers with their fancy collars laid down across their coats and vests shocked society by showing their necks and refusing to starch the fabric to the point that it stood up to follow a specific form. They embraced controlled chaos, making beauty from a riot of colors and reshaping garments to flow with the human body instead of forcing it into a sometimes bizarre (though often exquisite) collection of geometric shapes. Oh those cavaliers with their notions of free expression, scientific inquiry, never mind their conflicting religious views! Shocking indeed.

Yet today we look at their 17^th century portraits and see them as poised, flowery and perhaps a bit stuffy.

They were the saggers of their age, full of defiance and rich with cultural power. Meanwhile the Puritans, who shared the streets with the Cavaliers, also defined themselves with fashion. They wore drab colors as a symbol of their moral superiority.

Yes, fashion matters. It matters personally, socially, and culturally. It doesn’t just matter to the waiter trying to seat people at a fancy restaurant. It matters to the person being seated. Do they fit in? Do they want to fit in? Is their status such that they could be seated at a black tie restaurant in jeans and a dirty t-shirt? Would they do it to prove that they could, or because they didn’t care, or because they actively hated those who took offense at them and wanted to spit in their beholders’ eyes? Or perhaps some famous people make an effort because they don’t want to flaunt their power, or disrespect the public that has given them their wealth, or fear their fame might be transient or taken away from them if they misbehave.

Then there’s the dress up. It’s not just for Halloween. The right clothes, the right shoes, the right makeup can help boost floundering confidence. It might open doors otherwise shut to us, and prove that we’re willing to go out of our way to be a part of a community or workplace. Clothes can also make us invisible, if we choose. We can dress up to blend in, though we might secretly long to wear some flamboyant concoction that reminds us of a carnival, or something that would fit with this excerpt from the brilliant poem by Jenny Joseph:

When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn’t go, and doesn’t suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we’ve no money for butter.

Women who dress up to go out sometimes complain that men suddenly feel free to ogle and make comments or even proposition them. Some men counter with, “well, why did you dress up, then?” That’s a disingenuous question at best, because although it’s implied there isn’t just one answer. Women dress up to impress their dates, or to feel good about themselves, or as a power play to ‘punk out’ or dominate over other women in their group by appearing more desirable. They, therefore, may not necessarily be dressing up to encourage every man who notices them to flirt or drool over them. Any notice outside their intended target group may just be a side effect of their true intention, and is often considered a bother rather than a win. The context matters. The clothing may have layers of meaning as well as fabric, but it’s not that complicated. Those that pay attention to the roles played by fashion understand and can function in more social situations than those who don’t observe and practice.

Fashion isn’t just practical, artful, and socially expressive. It can be magical.

In Impro by Keith Johnstone, the author goes on at length about how masks and costumes can change not only how we’re perceived, but how we perceive ourselves. Clothing can change how we feel, what we think we know, even who we are.

So how could I stop myself from making masks, and clothes, and costumes so important to my characters that it really did matter whether a jester’s makeup was smudged or if his hat matched his mask or if he had time to shave twice a day to maintain the illusion of youth? How could I resist turning clothes and masks into a form of magic?

The answer is, I couldn’t.

Get your copy of Asylum, the anthology of short fiction which includes works by E.M. Prazeman and others from Amazon US or Amazon UK.

You might also be interested in one of E.M. Prazeman's books. Series start Masks would be the logical place to start. Available from Amazon US or Amazon UK.

Guest Post from Jessica Dall, author or Raining Embers

I think part of the reason I became a writer is because I’m fascinated by people. While plots, of course, are important to storytelling, I always have been much more drawn to how people think and why they act the way they do. It’s why some of my favorite novels include ones with strongly internal conflicts—people dealing with finding their place in the world, mental illness, losing their faith, things that might seem small in the grand scheme of things but are what people go through in life.

With my latest move out of romance and into historical fantasy, I’ve found that interest in the “little” conflicts makes me a bit of an aberration. Sure, there are plenty of great fantasy novels with amazingly deep characters, but fantasy—especially historical fantasy—is often called epic fantasy for a reason. They follow grand journeys through a fantastical world with magic powers and swords flying about. While my most recent novel, Raining Embers, does have those moments—including a large final battle with plenty of swords and sorcery—the characters are definitely the backbone of the story more than the plot.

So, what does a character-driven fantasy novel look like? A bit like a plot-drive one, but with character growth and those little conflicts playing a bigger role than perhaps is often seen in the epic fantasy genre. Under all the magic and gods and battles, Raining Embers is a story about two characters who are still trying to figure out who they are in the world—and being quite literally different from everyone else doesn’t make that any easier.

Does being that inwardly focused at times work for an historical fantasy novel? I suppose that is something each reader will have to decide for his or herself, but I try to write the stories I’d like to read, and Raining Embers certainly is that. It’s a story that is part magic and wonder and partly grounded in reality. Because, as one of the main characters puts it: “I think everyone feels odd. It’s called being human.”

The characters’ “odd” just happens to go to a fantastic level.

Get your copy of Jessica's latest book, Raining Embers, from Amazon US (paper or ebook), Amazon UK (paper or ebook), or Barnes & Noble.

Guest Post from Nicholas Conley, author of Pale Highway

My novel Pale Highway was inspired by my experiences working with Alzheimer’s patients in a nursing home, a time which redefined everything I thought I knew about dementia, human relationships, aging, and death. I started working in healthcare over four years ago. At first, it was terrifying. Walking into a building full of people who constantly needed my help—the whole experience changed me. My heart opened itself. Since then, I’ve experienced more life changing moments than I can possibly count. I’ve fought for people’s rights. I’ve held the hands of people as they died. I’ve caught people before they could fall.

There are a lot of moments I go back to, but one in particular that sticks out right now.

Working second shift in a nursing home, the last half hour is when exhaustion finally sets in. After eight hours—or often in my case, sixteen hours—of working with all of the residents, racing from call bell to call bell, and getting everybody comfortably settled in bed, this is the point where the workers can finally sit down for a moment and finish documenting about the events of the day. It’s also the moment where the body’s aches and strains finally make themselves apparent. The lights are off, most of the residents are asleep, and everyone is getting ready for the overnight crew to come in with bags under their eyes, and tall cups of gas station coffee gripped in shaky hands.

Second shift was my shift, for a long time, and the end of the shift was always the time where I finally got a chance to breathe, do my paperwork, and process everything that had happened.

This one particular night was at an early point in my career, not too long after I first started. Alzheimer’s was still new to me. I was passionate about what I was doing, but every day brought new challenges, new surprises, new situations that I never could’ve prepared for until they happened. On this night, it was about 10:30pm, just thirty minutes until shift change. I’d finally sat down, gulped down a hot coffee, and cracked open my paperwork, when a call light started glowing in the hallway.

Obviously, I can’t tell you much about this resident—his personal details are his, not mine—but for the sake of this post, I’ll call him Mr. Z.

So, Mr. Z had a terrible condition that kept him awake at night. He often got in and out of bed. He was mostly deaf, and he spoke so loudly that his every statement sounded like a thunderous declaration. Though Mr. Z did have dementia, this hearing problem often made him appear more confused than he actually was. When people spoke to him, he would smile and nod; he was too friendly to ask them to repeat themselves.

As I went into the room, I was immediately greeted by the sound of him shouting at the door. “Hey!”

I crouched next to him, and he looked at me with a sad expression. I waved hello, and then moved to help him out of bed, the usual nightly routine. He stopped me. “No,” he said, more quietly than usual. “I just want some company.”

I looked at the clock. I hadn’t even started my paperwork yet. But seeing the deep creases in his face, the sadness and hope intermingling in those 90-year-old eyes, I knew that I had to be there for him. So I sat down next to his bed, smiled and shook his hand. “Okay, I’m here.”

He nodded, pretending to hear what I was saying. His cracked cheeks turned upward. “Thanks!” He grinned.

We stared at each other—openly, transparently. I wanted to talk to him, but I didn’t know how. There had to be some way to communicate with him. I hated the barrier. I hated that he was stuck in a world without language or understanding. Then, something occurred to me. I took out a pen and paper. I wrote a simple message, in big letters—CAN YOU READ THIS?—and I showed it to him. He nodded. I wrote again, just to test: READ THIS OUT LOUD.

“Read this out loud!” he shouted.

And so, for the next half-hour, we communicated this way. I wrote, he spoke, we went back and forth. We discussed his family. His grandkids. His time in the military. Eventually, he started to drift off to sleep, but before he did, I wrote one last message: IT’S TRULY AN HONOR TO KNOW YOU.

He smiled at me, and shook my hand again. “You’re a good kid,” he said, in his usual booming voice. “Glad that you’re here!”

That night, I drove home like usual. But something had changed in me.

Learning to take care of others is a gradual process, a jigsaw puzzle that is built from many small pieces which, once put together, collectively transform a regular person into a caregiver. Some of these moments still come back to me every day, whereas others have dimmed; it’s all too easy to dwell on one’s failures, to look back on the times wherein one feels they could’ve done more. But that night, the night where I first really talked with Mr. Z, has never left me, because I was there for him, right when he needed me.

People with Alzheimer’s, traumatic brain injuries, and other disabilities aren’t just patients: they’re people. They have needs, wants and personal histories that define them. Throughout their lives, they’ve loved, laughed and cried. They’ve experienced joy and heartbreak.

We should never forget that.

Get your copy of Nicholas' book, Pale Highway, from Amazon US, Amazon UK, or Barnes & Noble.

Love Your Work a Little Less, A Guest post from Traci Borum, author of Seeking the Star

Recently, I was talking to my creative writing students about the challenges of the editing process (both on my own and with my editors’ help). I told the students that, for me, editing requires a strong, conscious shift in perspective. When I edit, I have to change how I view my book, my characters, my storylines. I have to try and stand back, away from the heart of the story, to be as objective as possible. In many ways, I have to treat myself as an outsider of the writing process, not an intimate, creative part of it.

There are three specific methods/reminders that always help me, when I feel myself getting “too close” or too protective of my own work during edits:

1) I listen to my gut, to my “inner” editor. Most of us, if we’re honest with ourselves, know exactly when our work is authentic and when it isn’t. We know when our writing has reached a higher standard or when it hasn’t. We need to pay attention to our writer’s gut, telling us when we’ve hit the mark or when we’ve missed it by a mile. And sometimes, that means some gut-wrenching choices. Cutting, revamping, trimming, removing. Sometimes, precious paragraphs, even chapters or minor characters, get put on the editing chopping block. Recently, I wrote a scene that I knew wasn’t working. It was flat, and the plot didn’t make any progress within the scene. The minute I finished writing it, I knew for sure. And so, I scrapped it. I removed it entirely and wrote a different scene—one with heart and soul, one that propelled the story forward, one I knew I could be proud of. And my gut told me the truth once again. The new scene had worked. And although I’d lost a couple of hours writing that other scene, I’m glad I listened to my inner editor and made the change. Because it made all the difference.

2) Always remember the bottom line. “Do what’s best for the overall book.” The editing process can be incredibly tedious, especially line edits. But they’re necessary. They make the book tighter and better. And that’s really the whole point of editing—to make your book the very best it can be. Edits help the book, as a whole, feel polished and completed and finished. When I feel discouraged or weary during an editing process, I always try and step back to remind myself, “This is making the book better. These edits benefit the book as a whole.”

3) Love your own work a little less. We writers are usually guilty of putting our hearts and souls into our writing, through our characters and through the stories we tell. And even if we’re not “in love” with our writing (writers are notoriously hard on themselves), we at least feel protective of it. That book’s concept is our own creation. We’ve birthed it, nurtured it, watched it grow into a full novel. So, changing words, never mind entire paragraphs or chapters, can be excruciating. But forcing ourselves to be more objective, to love our characters, our plots, a little bit less, can help during the editing process. We have to look at our own work from a distance. If we look at our work through a reader’s eye, fresh, we can see the flaws and know what needs to be fixed. And, what doesn’t. But if we’re too in love with our own prose, too attached to our plotlines or characters, we can lose our objectivity. We have to learn to let go a little, in order for the editing process to succeed.

Author Anne Lamott has a fabulous quote about the challenges of being objective during the editing process. I think she says it best: “Writing is about hypnotizing yourself into believing in yourself, getting some work done, then un-hypnotizing yourself and going over the material coldly.”

Get Traci's latest book, Seeking the Star from Amazon US (paper or ebook), Amazon UK (paper or ebook), or Barnes & Noble.

Guest Post from Erica Lucke Dean, author of Splintered Souls

When I found out I would be guest blogging for Big Al, and on Halloween of all days, I knew my post had to be brilliant. I mean, nothing less would do. But every time I sat down to write, I found myself staring at a blank screen, day after day, waiting for that brilliant inspiration to hit. Should I write something about my brand new urban fantasy/paranormal romance, Splintered Souls? Should I write about my crazy farm (for those of you not in the know, I live on a working farm, but I do very little of the actual work)? Or maybe I should list my all-time favorite scary movies and the perfect candy to accompany each one (you’re dying to read that list, aren’t you?) But at 10pm on the night my post is due, I’m still staring at that blank screen.

I know what you’re thinking, and yes, I may have waited too long to get started. Why? Well, I’d like to say I’ve just been too busy to write, what with a new litter of piglets to photograph in every possible pose imaginable, a sequel in the works, and karaoke to sing, but the sad truth is I’m a writer, and therefore, a master of procrastination. In fact, my procrastination skills are legendary. Case in point, with the clock ticking down on my deadline, was I hard at work at my desk (i.e. comfy chair and laptop parked directly in front of the widescreen TV)? Um, no. I was in the kitchen whipping up a pumpkin pie—from scratch!—and cooking an epic dutch-oven dinner. I even have a third degree burn on my finger to prove it. And if you knew me, you’d know I don’t cook (because I tend to injure myself or others in the process.) And yet, my need to procrastinate supersedes self-preservation. I totally need an intervention before I procrastinate again. Or worse. Like burn the whole house down. And trust me, that’s a real possibility. I once flooded my stove. With water. Yes, the stove. It’s a long story. But I digress…

Blog post. Right. Here goes. Step one in beating the procrastination demon…

My new book is chocked full of suspense, romance, and time travel. Check out Splintered Souls.

I have eleven brand new stinking cute piglets down on the farm, and if it wasn’t a life-threatening undertaking to snatch one from its mother, I would totally have done it by now.

The original Halloween with a whole bag of candy corn.

And drop the mic. Blog post complete!

A great big thank you to Big Al for inviting me to hang out and talk nonsense for a little while. Let’s do it again, soon. :) 

Pick up your copy of Erica's latest book, Splintered Souls, from Amazon US, Amazon UK, or Barnes & Noble. Amazon also has piglets you can order. That's why it is called The Everything Store.

Thanks to Erica for the piglet pictures as proof.(All porcine pictures (c) 2015 Erica Lucke Dean for you picture rustlers.)