Working a Book Scene - #AfricanAmericanromance #Blackwomenauthors #readingblack @LaylaWritesLove

By Lyndell Williams (Guest Blogger)

Original post: Layla Writes Love

Scene troubles may involve persistent issues with the plot's structure, or they may be thematic and restricted to one manuscript.

Author Achilles Heels

Narrative building in genre fiction is more than writing words. Generating a story idea and its execution involves applying numerous literary tools, following conventions (which differs between genres), and knowing when to break them. Some plot points may be easier for authors to draft.

A writer may fly through the beginning of the plot structure only to consistently stall in the middle. A weak middle can cause some execution stress when writing chapters and scenes. It's called sagging middle syndrome for a reason. Tension building can be arduous and traumatic, which is not good. The characters should be getting all flustered from drama, not the author.

Giving characters a satisfying resolution may be a problem in every project. Characters achieving their story's goal is only part of providing a gratifying end. I often read authors expressing that they don't want the story to end because they are so in love with the characters. The infatuation is sweet and common, but come on. Readers want an ending scene where those lovable protagonists find some level of equilibrium and contentment (or not), and antagonists get their comeuppance. It is the stuff that makes storytelling great.

Authors may have no trouble with the mayhem and solutions. For them, reaching the inciting incident and climax is a problem. Exposition is critical to grabbing readers and getting them vested in the characters. The opening scene needs to have a balance of description, characterization, and exposition that pulls readers in and hooks them into turning those pages or swiping that screen—not an easy feat.

Theme Issues

There are millions of journals and computer files with story ideas left unfinished for want of a scene that eludes or traps an author. The characters of my first (attempt at a) story are still in a damn hotel room. I tried to get them out, but no. They are just sitting there.

Maybe I will liberate them one day. Today is not that day. Authors get stuck in a scene for many reasons. Part of a story may not be flowing. The execution—getting the characters to do and say what you want—could be off. The scene's subject may be difficult to address.

Love scenes baffle a lot of writers, mainly the level of intimacy and description. My readers know I have no problem with turning up the heat.—

If the content is new or something that makes a writer uncomfortable (i.e., violence, abuse, etc.), it will affect the ability to write a scene. I had the hardest time with a domestic abuse scene in one of the Brothers in Law manuscripts. I was a little too comfortable describing the violence and heartache from the victim's point of view. I kept reining myself in for fear of being too graphic, and my writing faltered as I struggled between what I expected readers to handle and the character's experience.

I also had to tackle with my visceral responses to the pain and trauma. Scenes involving Toni and Marcus Kent’s struggle with infertility in my new release, Sweet Love, Bitter Fruit were very challenging, especially when Marcus had to carry Toni into the emergency room after a bad reaction to the in vitro medication. I shared his heartbreak. Check out an excerpt of the scene below.

If an author doesn't have any while they are writing, then there is something wrong. On top of the mental blocks I set up, I had to contend with shaky hands and a racing heart.

Struggling with scene content is more than writer's block. The writer may know what to write—the words and tools are all there—but the emotional toll may prevent completion. Talking it out and recognizing the reason that the keyboard remains silent for a particular scene helps.

Story writing is ripe with challenges, but none of them are insurmountable. So, stretch, grab a water bottle and dig in to give readers one.

Sweet Love, Bitter Fruit

By Lyndell Williams

Available at Amazon

Blurb

Harlem lawyer Marcus Kent fights for justice while preserving a stable, passionate marriage with wife, Toni. Smart and confident, he has it all together—that is until his world turns upside down.

Not only is someone stalking his sister, but an intern at work is also getting too close for comfort.

On top of all of that, Toni’s renewed infertility obsession causes them to continually argue, adding more strain and cooling off their steamy union.

Struggling with insecurities and yearning to have a child, successful psychologist Toni Kent looks to her husband for support. Unfortunately, relentless distraction and stubbornness prevent Marcus from being there when she needs him the most and jeopardizes their happy home.

After multiple failed in vitro attempts, Toni is ready to try again, but Marcus is done. He doesn’t want another headache or more heartache.

Excerpt

"Hi"—Marcus hovered over the nurse panting—“my wife is very sick,” he said over the sound of gurneys rushing behind him. He tightened his grip around Toni’s waist, his muscles burning as he strained to keep her from crumpling to the floor. He hefted her up further against his body, her head rolling against his chest. The emergency room sliding doors ground closed, drowning out her soft moan. “It’s gonna be okay, Sweetness.” He barely got the words out of his closed throat. They hadn’t been okay since the morning.

Toni had begun the day getting out of the bed and vomiting. He went for his run and returned to sounds of her retching over the toilet. She assured him it was a passing thing and insisted that he go to work. Her clammy skin and cold hands told him otherwise, but he left and spent the morning worrying and blowing up her phone. When she hadn’t answered a string of calls, he headed home and found her lying on the bathroom floor.

Her arms fell away from his neck and her body started jerking. “Oh, no,” he groaned. She couldn’t possibly be vomiting again. He pushed back the wet tendrils from her forehead and cupped her chin. Her mouth opened, releasing a rancid smell that reminded him of putrid meat. The drugs were rotting her away from the inside. He met the nurse’s stoic gaze. “Please, help her. She’s on fertility medication.”

“All right, just calm down.” She passed him a clipboard. A blank stare fixed behind her leopard print glasses, red lipstick on her thin lips made a thin line across her pale face. “Have a seat and fill these out.” She turned in her chair and started talking to the security guard standing over her.

He took it, resisting the urge to hurl it across the room, and struggled with Toni along a row of vinyl seats, mumbling “excuse me” as they bumped their way through outstretched legs. The scent of tobacco, alcohol and vomit sent his stomach reeling. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to be throwing up next. He flopped down and tugged her pants up her hips before pulling her onto his lap. There was nothing left that really fit her after weeks of weight loss. “I got you,” he grunted and shifted on the padded seat. The corner of the chair’s arm dug into the elbow he propped on it for support. He widened his legs and sank into the chair. Her staggering breath rushed against his neck. His head throbbed in rhythm with his pounding heart. Things were the worst they had ever been.

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Three Reasons to Write a Book About the U.S. Navy - #Navy #Romance #Duty

By Dee S. Knight (Guest Blogger)

I was raised as a Navy brat. That's the long and short of it right there. My dad loved the Navy!! When he left home as a teenager, the Navy became his home and he wasn't shy about letting people know how proud he was to serve. He didn't have an easy job—he was a boiler tender, one of the men who worked in the bowels of the ship and worked with the giant boilers used to power the ship. Lots of noise, heat, and (we found out later) asbestos everywhere, used as fire retardant. He was gone at least eight months out of every year, except for his two tours of shore duty, a total of 6 years out of the 24 he served. It wasn't an easy life, but still he loved it. The reasons why are part of why I wrote Naval Maneuvers. I really wanted to highlight these three factors about military life, and especially about the Navy.

1. Military service isn't only hard on the men and women who leave their families, it's hard on the families. When a spouse is gone for months at a time, the person at home is responsible for the children, the home, the vehicles, their own jobs (because pay in the military is often not enough to support children, homes, and vehicles by itself), and everything that stuff involves. On the one hand, it's an honor to represent the service member, but on the other hand, it's like having a fist fight with one arm tied behind your back. Then, after handling everything for months by yourself, your service member comes home and expects to take back have the responsibility. That is very hard! It's difficult to hold a relationship together and those who do deserve a lot of credit and respect.

I highlighted the family situation especially in “Weighing Anchor”, when Mel Crandall refused to fall in love with a serviceman because of her childhood memories. Her father seemed to miss all of the important events in her life because he was away. Yup, that really happens. My dad missed holidays, birthdays, and my mom's serious illness.

2. The military isn't just a job, it's a lifestyle. On our block in Virginia Beach, only one neighbor was not in the Navy. So a certain camaraderie developed. We all knew when ships had to be met or farewells had to be made. A wife at home had support from others who went through the same trials. It wasn't the same as having the spouse at home, but every wife (or now, husband) knew there was a lifeline of sorts in others experiencing the same thing.

I highlighted this in “Weighing Anchor”, also. Mel's mom reminds her of the "family" they had in the service families they had around them.

3. Someone has to do the dirty job of keeping the nation safe. This has been a truth since countries first had boundaries and armies and navies to defend them. I wanted to highlight that service members are not social misfits who can't do anything else so they entered the service. Unfortunately, that is a view held by a lot of people—that if you can't get into college or learn anything else, you can always go into the service. In each Naval Maneuvers story—“Weighing Anchor”, “Dropping Anchor”, and “Anchor Home”—I wanted to show that whatever you do in whichever service you join, the job is an important one. A necessary one for the existence of a sovereign nation. If not our service members—and in Naval Maneuvers, obviously, our Navy—where would we be?

Now, I know that every serviceman or woman isn’t a saint. The military is, after all, a microcosm of the general population. But I also know the sacrifices members make to go to foreign lands to guard and protect our interests, and I know through experience the difficulties their families go through while they’re away. While I tried to make the book fun to read, and yes, sexy (because after all, that's fun!), I also wanted to show the three points made above.

I am unashamedly patriotic and pro-military, despite its problems and shortcomings. I was raised in the service and married a man who also was raised in the service. And, yes, I'm proud of that fact.

Blurb

Men and women of the armed forces experience desire and love pretty much like everyone else. Except, well, there is that uniform. And the hard-to-resist attraction of "duty, honor, service" as a man might apply them to a woman's pleasure. All things considered, romance among the military is a pretty sexy, compelling force for which you'd better be armed, whether weighing anchor and moving forward into desire, dropping anchor and staying put for passion, or setting a course for renewed love with anchor home.

Buy Link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B079V62PT3/

Available in ebook and print!

Excerpt

"And what is your name, pretty?" Mel Crandall addressed the dinosaur bones in an undertone, bending nearly to face level. The skeleton displayed an open mouth and rows of fierce, sharp teeth.

"Roger," a man standing next to her said in a low voice. Startled, she looked up. Up being the operative word. She stood a decent five feet ten inches, and he beat her by a good half foot. She studied him. He ignored her.

The guy had a solid profile, strong chin, chiseled cheekbones, and a straight back with muscular shoulders. Short brown hair. He wore glasses and stared straight ahead, but glasses couldn't disguise the laugh lines that radiated from the corners of his eyes. His posture was near perfect and he was not overweight, as evidenced by the trim fit of his jeans and red polo shirt that clung enough to give evidence of a low body/mass index number.

As a doctor, she immediately noticed body characteristics before actual looks. But with this guy, examination in lieu of admiration was hard. Men were often put off by the fact that she paid attention to whether they looked sallow or flushed, or if their hands were cold or warm before she "saw" them. She noticed if a man's eyes were dilated or glittered with fever before she registered eye color. Dates started with mini examinations before she relaxed enough to enjoy personalities, but that's just the way she was. Men had to take it or leave it. Sadly, most left it. Which was why she talked to dinosaurs at the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History all on her own.

Mel moved on to the next exhibit, a shorter built specimen but still tall and with a nasty spiked tail. "I wonder what you looked like," she murmured. "What color were you, what did you eat, and what's your name?" She bent to read the exhibit information.

"Gray. Grass." That same guy had followed her. Rather than having a strong profile, she was beginning to think he was a weirdo. "Annnd, roger."

Quickly, Mel moved to the next exhibit. "And you are–"

"Roger."

He stood beside her again! Mel started to look for a museum guard but saw none. Great. Planting her hands on her hips, she turned to him. "Stop following me," she said loudly enough that people in the general area turned to see what was happening.

The guy said, "Hold it."

Hold it? Hold it, as in "Wait a minute, little lady?" She opened her mouth to lay into him when he turned and removed his glasses, showing her the richest, most chocolatey brown eyes she'd ever seen. The words stuck in her mouth.

"I'm sorry, what?"

In a lower voice she said, "You're following me from exhibit to exhibit and talking to me. I want you to stop."

"I didn't realize…" He wiggled the glasses at her. "I'm working here and I'm afraid I didn't notice you."

Well. What was worse, that he was a pervert following her place to place, or that he wasn't a perv and hadn't even noticed her?

His brow furrowed while he studied her. "Yes. Yes." Then he shook his head. "Roger."

Again with that Roger.

"Gotta go. Later." Then he smiled at her. "Just a minute, okay?" He folded the glasses and put them first in a protective case. Squatting, he placed a briefcase on the floor and opened it. He stored the glass case inside a pocket. Then he removed something from his right ear—an earbud?—protected it and also put it in the case.

Mel watched all of this with curiosity. He expected her to wait for him? What arrogance. And yet, wait she did. When he stood, holding the case in his left hand and smiled once more, her heart stuttered. The guy was drop dead gorgeous—at least to her understanding of the word. Normally, she appreciated the male form, mostly from a medical viewpoint. This man she enjoyed with pure pleasure.

And Good God. He hadn't been talking to her, he'd been talking to whoever was on the other end of that earbud. Embarrassment flooded her.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I thought you were…" She slid her hand between the two of them and then to the exhibits.

"No," he said. "I apologize. I shouldn't be testing this stuff around people. The last time I did it a kid thought I was calling him Roger." His voice had a soft drawl to it. Western Virginia or North Carolina, maybe? Somewhere in the mountains. It felt like a cool stream as it ran over a body hot and tired from hiking: refreshing and invigorating, at the same time soothing and relaxing. She wanted him to talk more.

Stop that! She laughed. "I thought you were naming each dinosaur." He smiled and dimples indented his cheeks. His eyes crinkled and Mel's breath caught. This guy should come with a warning label. Approach with caution. Could bring on lustful intentions and ultimately, broken hearts. Take only in small doses and in public places.

He held out his hand. "David Stimson."

She took it gingerly, half expecting lightning to bolt between them. Nope. Nothing. So much for romance novels. He had a nice hand, large and warm with healthy pink nails, and she grasped it firmly. "Melissa Crandall."

"Nice to meet you. Do you mind if I wander along with you?" Grasping the briefcase with his left hand, he deftly, he moved to the left of her.

"No, please. It's a free country." She walked to the next dinosaur re-creation. "And this one is…" She half waited for his pronouncement.

"Not Roger," he said, stopping her heart with that killer smile again. He leaned over to read the information. "Torosaurus latus. It says here that these bones were dug up in North Dakota, but that the Torosaurus roamed from Canada to Texas, and that he had the biggest head of any land mammal."

"Well, I guess that's something to be proud of," Mel responded. David laughed and she found herself smiling back. When she moved to the next exhibit, he strolled along with her, hands behind his back.

He pointed to the next specimen. "Poor guy. Starved to death."

"Oh, yeah? How do you know?"

"Can't you tell? He's all bones."

About Dee

A few years ago, Dee S. Knight began writing, making getting up in the morning fun. During the day, her characters killed people, fell in love, became drunk with power, or sober with responsibility. And they had sex, lots of sex. Writing was so much fun Dee decided to keep at it. That's how she spends her days. Her nights? Well, she's lucky that her dream man, childhood sweetheart, and long-time hubby are all the same guy, and nights are their secret.

Find her at:

https://nomadauthors.com

Twitter.com/DeeSKnight

https://www.linkedin.com/in/DeeSKnight/

https://www.amazon.com/Dee-S.-Knight/e/B079BGZNDN

Building a whole new world -- #fantasy #map #giveaway

By Sylvie Grayson (Guest Blogger)

Writing a sci-fi/fantasy series was new for me as a writer. The first think I realized as Book One developed, was that I needed a map. I started out with a couple of countries but that quickly grew and the map kept me straight on where I was in the story—literally. Now I publish it in the front of each book because readers say it has been very helpful. My daughter has drawn it for me and it grows depending on where I get in the next book.

The next thing I worked on was a list of name. many people have noted the names in my books are unique in that they often reflect the character’s occupation. That has been fun, it it’s still hard to keep track of all thes people in a whole new world.

The third thing is new words. Again, I began to develop a list, just to keep the words and definitions straight to ensure I use it the sameway each time. All of this information is in my Last War bible. Each new book adds characters, towns and villages, words. It’s been a lot of fun.

Prince of Jiran, The Last War: Book Five

Blurb

A Penrhy prince caught between duty and desire. Can he win the impending battle?

Shandro, Prince of the Penrhy tribe of Jiran, has been sent on a mission across the mountains into Khandarken to bring back Princess Chinata, a bride for Emperor Carlton’s Advisor.

In exchange, Jiran and the Penrhy tribe are given a peace agreement, protection against invasion by the Emperor’s troops. This seems a good trade, as Carlton is hovering on their borders with his need for more land. However, not far into the journey, it becomes apparent someone is not adhering to the terms of the peace accord. Near the tribal border, Shandro and his troops have come under direct attack from unknown forces.

He digs deeper into Chinata’s background to find strong ties to the New Empire. Is it too dangerous to bring Princess Chinata into Jiran? Or as her escort, does Shandro become her defender against the Emperor’s troops?

Excerpt

It had begun to snow again and the flakes were coming thicker, a steady silent fall that muffled sound and blinded them as they rode. The air was icy against China’s skin. Soon the wind picked up and it looked like another blizzard setting in. She watched Prince Shandro ride ahead to consult with his commander, then rein in and wait for Haggskyll and Boz to catch up. She studied him as he talked with the men, first gesturing toward the women and then ahead to the trail leading through the trees.

He was a handsome man in a very physical way with his broad muscled shoulders, lean frame and golden-brown skin. The attraction to him only got stronger as the days passed.  

What would she do when they arrived at their destination? How to concentrate on being bride of the ancient Judson Lanser when this virile young man had guarded her through the mountains, and looked at her with such focussed attention her breath caught in her throat?

There was a muffled shout up ahead, then a sharp bang. The men halted immediately, all attention focussed on the trail before them. More loud roars, and the guards were galvanized into action. Everyone rushed to pull weapons from their harnesses or behind their saddles, and crowd in around the women as others galloped forward into the blinding snow. Shandro moved quickly, riding in her direction and waving at his men.

“Go back,” he yelled. “We don’t know what’s ahead.”

The men were milling in a circle now, trying to herd the women back the way they’d come. Horses neighed and reared in the confusion. China grabbed her reins in one hand and the saddle horn in the other as her mount sidestepped swiftly and plunged into the mount beside her.

Suddenly new riders appeared on both sides of the churning group. They materialised out of the trees, riding low in the saddle, weapons in hand.

Mass confusion ensued. One of the guards grabbed her bridle, dragging China’s horse around to go back down the trail the way they’d come, and she clung desperately to the horn as she swayed in the saddle. There were more sharp sounds, what must be the firing of weapons although it seemed muffled by the falling snow, and in the milling of bodies she couldn’t see where they were.

Then something hit her, knocking her sideways in the saddle. She reached for the horn but her hand didn’t work. The pain arrived in an overwhelming wave and she cried out low, unheard in the rush around her. Looking down, she saw blood bloom on her cloak and ripple in a slow wave down her arm.

She was falling and someone was bellowing in surprise or rage, a wild cry that followed her down.

About the Author

Sylvie Grayson loves to write about suspense, romance and murder and has published contemporary romantic suspense novels, all about strong women who meet with dangerous odds, stories of tension and attraction. She has also written The Last War series, a sci fi/fantasy adventure, the fifth book, Prince of Jiran, newly released.

She has lived most of her life in British Columbia, Canada, in spots ranging from Vancouver Island on the west coast to the North Peace River country and the Kootenays in the beautiful interior. She lived for a year in Japan. She has been an English language instructor, a nightclub manager, an auto shop bookkeeper and a lawyer. She lives in southern British Columbia with her husband on a small piece of land near the Pacific Ocean.

Sylvie loves to hear from her readers. You can reach her at sylviegraysonauthor [at] gmail [dot] com, on her website at www.sylviegrayson.com or on facebook.

Giveaway!

Leave me a comment with your email, and I’ll enter you into a drawing for free copy of Prince of Jiran.