July 3 question – What are your favorite writing processing (e.g. Word, Scrivener, yWriter, Dabble), writing apps, software, and tools? Why do you recommend them? And which one is your all time favorite that you cannot live without and use daily or at least whenever you write?
The answer to this question is far easier than last months. The only writing program I use is WORD. I have the latest version and have it updated regularly. I find it easy to work with my decuments and format WORDXP files for Amazon,the only publishing platform I use. In addtion to keying in my stories, I use the grammar and spelling aid and the listening function to hear what I’ve written. It’s an easy way to find the mistake the brain misses interpreting what is there as what should be. All in all, while the occasional upgrades frustrate me until I figure them out, I’m quite happy with the program.
I also use good old fashion paper and pencil to keep track of character names, descriptions, chapter size, and POV in a story to avoid headhopping. By knowing whose head I’m supposed to be in, I can make sure that I don’t stray. I know established writers don’t worry about such things, but I do. I’m also concerned about keeping my chapters more or less equal in size, usually between 4200 and 4900 words. I do most of my plotting in my head–pantser here– but I will occasionally write some down and of course, I keep hard copies of any research I’ve done and used for a story. That’s it.
Wow! Here we are in July! To the Canadians who celebrated yesterday, Happy Canada Day! To the American’s celebrating on Thursday, Happy Independence Day! It’s been a wild summer so far. Our Tuesday Tales word prompt this week is COMMON, but there’s nothing common about the path the story’s about to take. I’m continuing with Listen to the Stones.
James laughed. “Build? You truly believe a primitive tribe built this? As I suspected, you’ve fallen into the tourist trap like so many others. Which theory will you espouse? Some claim that none of it could’ve existed without the help of aliens—the Pyramids, the Aztec temples, the great cities in Peru. And don’t forget that according to local legend, the Standing Stones and menhirs are people turned to stone by a powerful Christian mage for refusing to follow the teachings of Christ and scattered across the Outer Hebrides.” He shrugged. “If St Patrick could rid Ireland of snakes, why not have someone who could turn living flesh into dead rock? Of course, those who practice witchcraft and druidism have their own theories. It’s amazing the common drivel some people believe.”
Marina scowled. There was something about the cavalier way he spoke that grated on her nerves, reminding her of the haughty man he’d been when Jerome had arrived at the Hall. As well, he was mixing paganism with Christianity again, as if it was all beneath his contempt.
“I don’t recall my minister telling us about sorcerers who doubled as missionaries.” He couldn’t miss her sarcasm. “Still, a mystery is a mystery. Is it so wrong to want to believe in something greater than yourself?”
Shaking his head, he shrugged. “Marina, I’m not belittling this, I simply don’t see why it’s of importance to so many—like Na Fir Chlis. What others believe is of no interest to me, as long as they don’t try to foist their ridiculous ideologies on me. These stones are nothing more than high quality metamorphic rock. They could’ve been heaved up by the earth during an earthquake after the ice age ended, and their pattern is random. They’re strong, durable, and excellent building materials, but sacred? Hardly. I’m sorry if I’ve burst your bubble as they say, but facts are facts.”
She chuckled. “You really know how to take the fun out of it, don’t you? First, you consider the Aurora Borealis no better than a fancy fart set afire by the atmosphere and now these colossal monuments are nothing but glacial debris.”
“I told you. I’m a realist. You would do well to remember that and forget all this nonsense about the supernatural, the prophecy, and your destiny.”
She stopped walking. “I beg your pardon? I’m not sure I understand what you’re trying to tell me.”
James led her to a bench along the path and sat, pulling her down beside him. His lips were pursed, his eyes cold but determined.
That’s it. Come back next week for more. Don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales.
Well, here we are, officially halfway through 2024. For many Canadians including me, Canada Day marks the official start of summer. Schools out, the weather is sunny and warm–well, at least most of the time, and people plan their time, and that includes their Canada Day Celebrations.
When our children were younger, it meant trips to places like downtown Ottawa to participate in the activities, or to the trailer for a few weeks. It also meant fireworks and all other kinds of activities.
Once we moved to Cornwall, and the kids got older, the day-long activities changed, but things always ended in fireworks.
When the grandkids were younger, it involved camping or a day at the beach, and you guessed it, fireworks.
But life goes on, things change, kids grow up and have obligations of their own that take them away from family for a while, so how and where we celebrate has changed as well.
Will we go down to the park to see the fireworks? Not sure. With my arthritis acting up badly, anything involving walking and standing isn’t a good idea. But it’s early. Who knows what the day will bring?
One thing hasn’t changed, and that’s the love and pride I have for my country. In my opinion, it’s a great place to live, raise children, work, and grow old. So many other women in the world don’t have the rights and privileges I do, and that my daughter and grand-daughters have.
So, no matter what else I’ll do today, I’ll be grateful to live, love, and play Canadian.
Welcome to the end of June. 2024 is halfway completed. Where did the time go? This week, the Tuesday Tales crew is writing to the word prompt SEEDS. I’m continuing with Listen to the Stones.
Marina nodded, unable to speak with the various emotions, most predominant of which was a sense of confusion, clogging her throat. Now that she knew the truth about Jerome, she seemed no longer attracted to the man. In fact, the resemblance between him and James that she’d found so compelling was slight at best.
“Yes. I’m sorry that you couldn’t join me. It was fascinating.”
“I do apologize for that,” James added. “I really didn’t expect it would take so long. That man is a colleague. We’ve had trouble connecting so it was a real stroke of luck to find him here. We’re looking for a witness … I shouldn’t have said that. The last thing I want to do is fill your head with sordid crime statistics, especially when you were upset by the report of Bronagh’s death. Have you seen enough? If so, we can go below. They have a gift shop with books and stuff, the usual gewgaws that attract the tourists and bring in a few pounds. Perhaps there’ll be a trinket or two to amuse you and serve as a reminder of your first visit here. I can see by your smile that you’ll come again.”
Finding no fault in his explanation, she nodded. With James by her side now, the vision, or whatever it had been, wouldn’t return even if he did look like the man in it.
“Most definitely. My mind is bursting with the seeds of ideas and questions about the origins of the place. I may even try to sketch it the way my father did.”
He led her away from the Neolithic monument. Once she could drive herself, she would come back and check out the stones again, the price of admission a pittance in the scope of things.
“The Standing Stones of Calanais have worked their magic on you, have they?”
“Magic? I thought you didn’t believe in such nonsense, but they are magnificent.” She made no attempt to hide the awe in her voice. “I’m anxious to see the ones on Fraser land. I understand that they aren’t as grand as these, but having something like this within walking distance is fantastic. I can’t believe neither my grandfather nor my great-uncle registered them. I’m sure they would draw the tourists, and since I plan to expand the inn, a drawing card like this would be a bonus.”
That’s it. Come back next week for more. Don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales.
So far, summer has been promising with heat, sun, and the occasional shower, but not everyone is experiencing good weather and my thoughts are with those who struggle with the heat, the rain, and storms. This week, the authors of Tuesday Tales are writing to the prompt GREEN. I’m continuing with Listen to the Stones as Marina gets her first look at the Standing Stones.
Returning to the circle, she spent a few extra minutes studying the central stone and the prone one at its base. A memory danced on the far reaches of her mind, but before she could focus on it, it vanished. The excavated opening in front of the central stone raised even more questions, especially when she felt more energy than ever coming from it. She wanted to step down into it, but not now, not with all these witnesses. As she inspected each stone, it was remarkable to see the striations on them that gave them human-like faces. There were tiny patterns in the rock face, each one distinct from the other. Some resembled flowers, others geometric designs, but one thing was clear. There was an energy here, and yet it came not just from the stones but from the very earth surrounding them.
Moving from stone to stone, she soon found the one that resembled the mitten, the one in front of which her parents had posed. It was taller than she’d thought and wider by far as if the man frozen in place here had been overly fond of his meat and mead.
Licking her lips, she turned her back to it and leaned against it to look out at what her parents had seen.
Heat filled her, and as she watched, the barren landscape in front of her became a lush, green forest similar to the one depicted by the wallpaper in her bedroom. Over on the far right, a whitewashed cottage with a thatch roof waited invitingly for its owners. Hanging from a tripod over a fire was a large iron kettle. In the distance, a man in a white tunic, his face bearded, his long, red hair billowing over his shoulders, played with two young boys. Was that a cat sitting on the doorstep? It turned to her as if it sensed her watching it, reminding her of Raven.
“Sorry about that. I didn’t expect to be occupied for so long. Are you enjoying your visit?”
James draped his arm around her shoulders, shattering the vision, and yanking her back.
She blinked, but the lush forest was gone, replaced by the grass-covered hills and moors once more, its only occupants the sheep grazing in the distance.
She thought again about what the woman had said. It was easy to let one’s imagination run wild here, but the man she’d imagined bore a definite likeness to the one by her side.
That’s it. Come back next week for more. Don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales.
Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales. Our prompt is FLIMSY. I’m continuing with Listen to the Stones. Once again I’m about 20 words over. Sorry.
Moving swiftly along the sidewalk, Jerome reached the door and knocked. It swung open as if made of flimsy particle board and not the heavy oak once used to build the Viking ships that had traded with the island.
“Halo?”
He pushed the door open wider and stopped, stunned to see the level of destruction inside what he would’ve expected to be a strangely decorated but somewhat tidy abode.
Nothing was burned, but there were scorch marks everywhere. Anything made of glass was no longer recognizable, smashed into hundreds of pieces, but those shards were fused together in multicolored lumps.
What could possibly have wreaked such destruction? His level of anxiety rose as he looked around the main room where the sorceress would’ve greeted her customers. He inhaled, the aroma of sulfur strong as if the Gates of Hell had opened inside the place and shut again.
“Bronagh?” he called, eying the mess before him, but there was no answer.
He shut the door behind him and stepped toward the doorway of one of the two rooms off the main one. Looking around what would’ve been the kitchen, he noted the same level of destruction, the plates, bowls, cups, and saucers all smashed.
Bending down, he picked up a spoon, the metal twisted and distorted in a way he’d never seen. The pots on what had to have been the stove suggested she’d been making a meal, but given the rancid odor coming from the floor, it would’ve been a few days ago.
“Bronagh? It’s Jerome Morrison. You knew my mother. She brought me here once, I’m sure of it.”
Silence. His gut tightened. Moving out of the kitchen, he went into the third room in the house, expecting to find a simple bedroom with perhaps a bath. Like the other rooms, the destruction in here was total, every stick of furniture blasted into bits the size of matchsticks. The far wall was gone, revealing what must’ve been Bronagh’s work area.
In the center of the room lay an octagonal iron box, the only item not destroyed. It had two side pieces attached to it, but their purpose was lost on him. The entire thing appeared to be no more than six inches long. He bent to pick it up, yanking his hand away. The box was colder than anything he’d ever touched, and his fingertips showed signs of frostbite.
The mark on his chest throbbed.
That’s it. Come back next week for more. Don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales.
Good morning! The neighbor’s cat has found an unusual place to take a nap this morning. The birds aren’t thrilled, and you can hear them chittering in the background, but she doesn’t care. Cats sleep wherever they like.
Well, after a less than spectacular start to spring with an April snowstorm, it seems as if it’s allowing summer to move in early. At the start of the week, we had temperatures in the 90 degree range with our first official heat warning, followed by thunderstorm watches, that were little more than rain showers. The temperatures are cooler this weekkend, but we’ll be back in the high seventies and eighties by mid-week. We’ve got one more week of spring and then, come June 20, it’ll be summer. Days are longer and warmer, we see the sun more often and while it still rains, it’s good for the flowers and the grass.
While it took spring a long time to arrive, when it did, it did so with a vengeance. My perennials aren’t usually this lush at this time of the year. The problem with that is that early growth means they’ll probably all be done by August. A couple of years ago, I made the decision not to plant annuals in the ground but to leave them in pots and place them around the perrenials. These pictures were taken two weeks ago. As you can see, the ferns, hostas, and other greenery are quite healthy. I sincerely hope they last the summer.
My health hasn’t been the best lately since the arthritis has flared up, but I’m not going to let it ruin my summer. My granddaughter, Georgia, helped with clearing away the bulk of the weeds while I planted my pots.
And speaking of doing the best I can, I’m getting ready to go on a short vacation later this month. It’s a bus tour down east. We’ll stop in New Brunswick, Prince Edward Island, and take a five-hour ferry over to Les Iles de la Madeleine, an archipelago in the province of Quebec, and spend our last night in Quebec City, one of my favorite destinations.
I will eat fresh seafood to my heart’s content. While I’ve been to the Maritimes before, including Newfoundland with a side trip to the French islands of St Pierre and Miquelon, this will be the first time visiting the archipelago. The weather won’t be warm, with the temperature hovering just below 60F, but it’s expected to be sunny. here’s what I plan to see. Here’s a taste of what I hope to see for you to enjoy.
Finally, I’m trying a new cover for Tequila Sunrise, the first book in my Cocktails for You series. For some reason, I can’t seem to hit on a marketing strategy for these books, and the new cover is an attempt to generate interest. I lowered the price of the ebook, it’s in KU so it’s availbale that way, too. I added a subtitle, Tequila Sunrise: A playful second chance at love beachfront romance (Cocktails For You) and redid the blurb.
Kelly Winters, a recreational spaces designer, gets her big break when she’s chosen to represent her firm on Conway Enterprise’s latest resort construction. The problem is the job’s in Mexico, and she’s terrified of flying.
While her plane is delayed, she discovers that Liam Conway, a man she met ten years ago and left without an explanation, will be her seatmate. Can things get any worse, especially when she falls asleep and drools all over him?
But Liam is willing to forget the past and leaves her with a blazing kiss at the airport and a promise to keep in touch.
The last thing she expects is to have him come to her rescue in a Mexican restaurant when she makes the wrong food choice and her throat and mouth are on fire.
Her imagination soars with visions of sun, fun, and sex with her savior, the sexiest man alive, but it all comes to a crashing halt when she realizes Liam is also her new boss.
A little tequila leads to more than dancing, but will their second chance office romance sizzle or fizzle when the job is done? Here’s hoping this will improve sales.
Each book in the series is based onthe name of a particular cocktail, some better known than others. I started the series during COVID wanting to work on something light that would make people laugh. Anyone who’s read the books has enjoyed them. I just need to figure out how to attarct a larger audience.
Well, that’s all I have to share with you this week. Hopefully, the weather won’t be as unsettled and we can all enjoy our last week of spring and look forward to the summer months.
June 5 question – In this constantly evolving industry, what kind of offering/service do you think the IWSG should consider offering to members?
To be honest, I’m not sure how to answer this question. I suppose I use the IWSG simply as a means of reaching other authors struggling to make a name for themselves. I usually visit only once a month to post a comment on the month’s question, check out other authors’ posts, and comment on the comments I get on mine.
With that said, before I recommend ideas, I’ll make a point of visiting the site more often and reading what’s available. Today I read about opening lines and paragraphs, something I found informative. Thank you for being here and giving me a voice.
Welcome to June and this week’s Tuesday Tales where a small group of authors share excerpts from their works in progress with you. Our word prompt this week is GUT and I’m continuing with Listen to the Stones. Apologies since I’m a few words over. Enjoy!
Turning off the taps, Jerome toweled dry, the strange sensation persisting, as if he didn’t belong in his own skin. He shook his head. This line of thought was absurd. No doubt, it was the result of not getting enough sleep. It couldn’t have anything to do with Na Fir Chlis last night.
He’d been to the stones several times when the aurora had danced across the sky and fed them. Was that the problem? He didn’t recall ever absorbing as many rays as he had last night. Frowning, he tied the towel around his waist. Would Marina feel off kilter today, too? She’d absorbed a great deal of energy last night. In his mind’s eye, he saw her glittering before him, her body a mass of minute star fragments pulsing with energy. Everything had seemed perfect until … The kiss … if only he could’ve held on to his self-control a few minutes longer. Had he ruined the fragile relationship they’d forged?
Don’t apologize.
Her words echoed inside his head once more, just as they had followed him down the hallway until he’d returned to his room.
Stepping over to the basin, he stood in front of the mirror to shave and gasped. In the center of his chest, covering his heart and the site of the pain he’d experienced earlier was a pentagram. Drawn in black ink, within its center stood a slight, circular red mark, roughly the size of a one-pound coin, that seemed to get lighter as he stared at it, until it disappeared, leaving only the surrounding image of the five-pointed star in its wake.
He massaged his temples, his gut tightening as he tried to make sense of what he saw. He’d never wanted a tattoo, but had he decided to get one, this most certainly was not the one he would’ve chosen. Looking at it more closely, he realized that the ink wasn’t fresh as if the tattoo were old and had always been there, which made even less sense. Was he seeing things? Was he losing his mind? Perhaps he was still dreaming?
Knowing it was a futile act but needing to try, he grabbed the loofah he used in the shower, covered it with soap, and scrubbed at the design on his chest. As he’d suspected, nothing happened. If this strange mark was permanent, who had put it there and how had they done so?
That’s it. Come back next week for more. Don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales.
I broke a wine glass last night. It was one of my favorites, a perfect match to the one on the left, and I loved it. Woe is me! It was also half-full of white wine and ice. It didn’t simply break at the stem. No, the glass shattered into at least twenty pieces, some large, others mere shards. It doesn’t help that the family room where the television is located is in the basement. Beneath the flooring is a good, old-fashioned cement floor.
Why did I break the glass? It certainly wasn’t because I wanted to or that I was angry. It wasn’t because I’d had too much to drink or wasn’t paying attention. It was simply an accident, one of many I’ve had in the last couple of years as my arthritis gets worse.
Could I have prevented this? I don’t know, but since both of my parents had it, it’s doubtful. Have I waited too long to seek medical attention? Maybe, not because it costs me anything, but because, with COVID 19 and my mother’s failing health, I wanted to avoid exposure to others and the long waits to see the doctor. Now that the virus is more or less under control and my mother is gone, I had no excuse.
With an appointment, I waited an hour, and by noon, I’d had a number of X-rays, blood tests, urine tests, and an EKG. Pretty efficient I’d say. The blood work is in, and there’s nothing of great concern. Now, I wait for the other results.
So, what happened last night? I reached for the bowl of the glass with my hot little hand, but my thumb, the digit that supposedly sets me apart from the other animals on this planet, refused to do its job and securely clasp the glass. What good is an opposable thumb if the damn thing doesn’t work?
According to the Museum of Natural History, opposable thumbs are a charactetistic shared by all primates, but the human hand is unique. The human opposable thumb is longer, compared to finger length, than any other primate thumb. This long thumb and its ability to easily touch the other fingers allow humans to firmly grasp and manipulate objects of many different shapes. Right!
Sadly, mine no longer works properly. In the picture on the right, my hand is open as wide as it gets. If I join the tip of my thumb to the tip of my index finger, I get a lovely D, not the O that indicates a healthy thumb. Note the way my wrist is also swollen. It’s also loaded with arthritis, as are every major joint in my body. Believe me. This is not something I hoped for since there’s no cure. Does it hurt? All the time, but some days are worse than others. Luckily, I’ve adapted the way I use the computer to meet this disability, so its impact on my writing is minimal, but the rest of my lifestyle is about to undergo major changes. Am I happy about it? No, since each minor accident, like last night’s glass, reminds me that sooner or later, I could end up unable to travel or do many of the things I enjoy.
In the meantime, what can I do, beyond accepting my situation? I can adapt and compromise, the other qualities sentient beings have that sets them apart from the animals. I now carry a cane when I leave the house, both for balance and security. I limit the distance I walk, having gone from a minimum of 10,000 steps a day only three years go to something more manageable that doesn’t leave me in agony. Some days, I’ll come close to those 10,000 steps; on others, I’ll be lucky to manage 2,500. I’ve given up trying to do my own housework, except laundry, and pay someone to come in every two weeks. With just the two of us here, the house doesn’t get all that dirty. I’ve exchanged my fluffy slippers for sturdy indoor shoes that keep my feet, knees, and legs resonably straight and invested in new slip-on Sketchers. My old sandals have been replaced, and I’ve waived bye-bye to all of my heels. I also make a point of getting up from my desk and moving around every time my Smart watch tells me to do so. If I don’t, I stiffen up and that’s far from pleasant.
My granddaughter came over last weekend and helped me get my flowerbeds ready. While she weeded, I sat and took care of my many planters–easier to put a flower pot among the perrenials than plant in the ground. In July, my bathroom is being renovated to include a walk-in therapeutic tub, comfort level toilet, and a new basin and cabinets. If I want to stay in my home, in time I may need to considerer a stair-glide, but I can still see the scene from Gremlins when the old lady flew out the window, so that makes me a touch nervous. In a few weeks, I’ll have a handicap sticker for the car, too.
There are other things to consider. I’m extremely careful when using the stove, limiting myself to my smallest, lightest pots. The cast-iron pans were given away years ago. I replaced my bone china with lightweight dishwasher safe dishes, and this morning I ordered unbreakable wine glasses. Everything I buy from front-closure bras to underwear needs to be purchased with an “how difficult will it be to put this on?” attitude. No more wrestling with pantyhose. If I can’t go bare-legged, I’ll wear slacks.
I may be getting old and crippled, but I’m damn stubborn, too, and far from ready to give up traveling and having fun. Will I be going bungy-jumping? No, but a Caribbean cruise next summer sounds lovely.
