By Susan Mac Nicol (Guest Blogger)
Authors
are always being given advice. By beta readers, by other authors, by
grammar Nazis, by readers, fans, bloggers, editors, publishers-the
list is endless. Most of it is well-meant, qualified advice which can
go a long way to making your book better- or worse. It depends on how
you, as the writer of said story, see things.
Take
me for example. I recently submitted a book to one of my very good
and trusted beta readers. As a good beta reader, it’s her
prerogative to point out a few things that I might like to think
about, in case I want to shake things up. One of them was the use of
adverbs. Now, I have defended the poor misunderstood adverb on many
an occasion, simply because I like them. I understand the whole ‘show
not tell’ thing but honestly, if adverbs were undesirable, they
wouldn’t be in the Oxford Dictionary would be, waiting there for
the right moment to slyly jump out and say ‘Hi there, reader!’
(See what I did there?)
Anyhoo,
she mentioned that I might like to review my MS and check I wanted
these little buggers in there. To which I said, ‘You betcha.’ I
don’t believe I overuse them (if I do, I’m sorry but as I said, I
like ‘em) and I do feel they have a place in writing. That’s my
prerogative as the writer. I see so many do’s and don’ts when it
comes to writing that quite frankly, keeping track of them and
people’s preference is exhausting. Good grammar -absolutely.
Nit-picky issues- meh, not so much.
One
of my books had the two MC’s using pet names for each other- Some
readers loved it, others hated it. I’m careful how I do this, not
over using them, and sometimes it works fine for their story.
This
brilliant beta reader also said that recently there had been some
forum discussion about the use of message or text speak in stories.
You know, this sort of thing…
SusieWrites: Bring
me chocolates home please.
I’m having a
bad day.
SusiesSpouse: No
way. You eat too
much of that already.
Apparently
there is the view that it brings the reader out of the story and
doesn’t add much and people don’t like it. Hmm, okay. See, again,
I like this sort of thing in a story when I read, as long as it
doesn’t go on for ages (like Mr Grey and whatsherface via email).
If it’s being used at the right place, to tell the reader something
he or she needs to know, then okie-dokie. So my short bit of message
speak will be staying. Unless my editor decides it has to go and
gives me a very valid reason. I will argue the toss though.
Of
course there are places where I do listen to people (my
husband just fell over flat on his back at that concession). One
reviewer said I used the word ‘bloody’ too much in one of my
books. I checked and yeah, maybe I had. So now I watch the use of
this word. If something you are doing is blatantly wrong or
grammatically incorrect rather than simply being a preference – it
will be fixed. Readers expect a story to be the best it can be and as
writers, we have an obligation to ensure it is.
So
as a final thought on this subject- write what you want to write, in
whatever way you feel is right for your story. As long as you’re
comfortable with it, and thinks it adds value or says what you want
to say, it’s probably right for you and your book.
Blurb
Tragedy
and horror shaped Jackson Grady's life, leaving him orphaned and
scarred. At eighteen he's ready to claim his future, but who could
love his disfigured face and damaged soul? Definitely not a big,
burly, beautiful Irish Traveller who is entirely the stuff of dreams.
Dare
Rowan didn't mean to become obsessed with the blue-eyed man he first
saw across a field, but that porcelain skin and innocent air demanded
another meeting. Jax has the face of a wounded angel, and the rest of
the young man is as heart-breakingly perfect. Jax is beautiful in
every way and teaching him about love and life will be something Dare
will embrace. Like unwrapping and savouring the candy at the shop
where he works, Dare will show this young man everything Jax desired
but never thought he'd have, and take Jax to new highs while he holds
him through the lows. Between them, they’ll find out just how sweet
life can be.
Excerpt
“Who’s
there?” he called out. Jax hated the slight quaver in his voice,
not wanting to appear defenceless to a potential burglar. “I can
hear you, so no use hiding. Just tell me what you want here. Or get
the fuck out of my home.”
He
wouldn’t tip his hand, telling the burglar he had a weapon. Let the
bastard find out for himself, he thought grimly. The scuffling noise
stopped and now all Jax could hear was someone’s steady breathing.
Jax
stood straight and tall, hoping he looked intimidating in the dim
light, where no one could see he wasn’t superhero material.
A
quiet voice echoed from the darkness. “I’m not here to rob you or
hurt anyone. I hope I didn’t scare you.” The voice sounded
familiar and Jax frowned, trying to place it.
“I’m
not scared.” Jax gripped the poker tighter. “Who the hell are you
and what are you doing here?” He let out the breath he hadn’t
known he was holding and scowled, reaching down to fumble for the
table lamp. He switched it on and the room flooded with warm light.
Jax momentarily closed his eyes, trying to adjust to it. When he
opened them, a large, blurred figure stood by the door to the
hallway. It was half open and Jax guessed the man had been trying to
make a clean break away from whatever he’d been doing in the house.
Jax
stepped around the huddled blanket on the floor and made his way
closer to the other man.
If
he was going to hurt me, he’d have done it already.
“Are
you going to tell me what the hell you’re doing in this house?”
he demanded. Something propelled him forward; he didn’t feel
nervous anymore, simply curious. As Jax got closer, he squinted at
the stranger, trying to see him more clearly.
“I
came to return something.” The other man’s even tone sent a
shiver through Jax’s body. “Something that was taken from you
that didn’t belong where it was.”
Now
Jax was sure he knew the person behind the voice. It surely couldn’t
be who he thought it was, could it?He moved, closing the distance
until he could see more clearly. The sight that greeted his eyes took
his breath away.
God,
it is Dare from the mall. Crap, he’s one sexy beast. Even if he
might be a serial killer.
Jax
waved the poker at Dare. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
Dare
huffed. “It’s a long story.” He eyed the poker dubiously.
“Really, a poker? That’s your weapon of choice?”
Jax
snorted. “I can clobber you with it if you try anything. Come on,
dude. Tell me what the hell is going on. Are you that desperate to
have coffee with me?”
Dare
laughed, a little shakily. “‘Dude?’ You love that word. It’s
pretty cute when you say it. And yes, I’m defi-nitely partial to
having coffee with you one way or another. But this wasn’t quite
what I had planned.”
Jax
blinked. His eyes felt gritty and sore and he had gunk bunging up one
corner of his left eye. He reached up and rubbed it away softly. “How
do you know I use the word ‘dude’ often?”
Dare
gave a deep, indrawn breath. There was silence. Jax got the
impression Dare had revealed something he wasn’t supposed to.
Jax
grew impatient. “Are you going to tell me anything anytime soon?
Because if not, I’ll call out for the own-er of the house and he
can call the cops, then we’ll get the story—”
“No,
no police.” For the first time Dare sounded panicked. “God,
you’re so damn feisty.”
Jax
got the impression that wasn’t a problem for this man from his
admiring tone. Jax’s groin warmed more. Now his dick was standing
at half-mast and it was the last thing he needed if he did have to
call on Randy.
I’m
getting a hard-on for someone who broke into the house. Could shit
get any weirder?
“So,
what’s the story, Mr Dark and Sexy? Do you actually have one or are
you just an opportunistic burglar making something up?”
The
chuckle that emanated from Dare’s mouth was low, and yes, still
damn sexy.
“Really?
You think I’m dark and sexy?” Dare’s face twisted into a grin.
“I’m flattered. You’re something your-self.”
Jax
went on the offensive. “Do you always hit on people whose houses
you break into? What are you, like, the Flirty Burglar or something?”
Really?
This god of a man thinks I’m something? And honestly—the Flirty
Burglar. Face palm.
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Bio
Susan
Mac
Nicol
is
a
self-confessed
bookaholic,
an
avid
watcher
of
videos
of
sexy
pole
dancing
men,
geek
and
nerd
and
in
love
with
her
Smartphone.
This
little
treasure
is
called
'the
boyfriend'
by
her
long
suffering
husband,
who
says
if
it
vibrated,
there'd
be
no
need
for
him.
Susan
hasn't
had
the
heart
to
tell
him
there's
an
app
for
that...
She
is
never
happier
than
when
sitting
in
the
confines
of
her
living
room/study/on
a
cold
station
platform
scribbling
down
words
and
making
two
men
fall
in
love.
She
is
a
romantic
at
heart
and
believes
that
everything
happens
(for
the
most
part)
for
a
reason.
She
likes
to
think
of
herself
as
a
'half
full'
kinda
gal,
although
sometimes
that
philosophy
is
sorely
tested.
In
an
ideal
world,
Susan
Mac
Nicol
would
be
Queen
of
England
and
banish
all
the
bad
people
to
the
Never
Never
Lands
of
Wherever
-Who
Cares.
As
that's
never
going
to
happen,
she
contents
herself
with
writing
her
HEA
stories
and
pretending,
that
just
for
a
little
while,
good
things
happen
to
good
people.
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I'm
not beautiful. Never have been. I've got a long face (a “horse
face”, some would call it) and I'm so myopic I've worn coke-bottle
glasses since I was seven years old. For most of my life I've been
plumper than what is currently fashionable. Throughout childhood and
my teen years I was awkward and socially inept, the shy, smart girl
whom most guys avoided, either out of disinterest or feelings of
inadequacy.
