CHERYL'S BOOK COVERS

FIRE EYES:

Fire Eyes is always going to be the “book of my heart”—most special to me for several reasons. By the end of my writing career, it may not be said that it’s my best work, but it will always remain the most memorable, because it was my first one.

I know e-books are the wave of the future, but I’m old fashioned. I love to hold a real book in my hands and read from paper. And when that first box of print books arrived at my doorstep, I was elated. I can’t tell you how long I sat and fondled the books as I took them out of the box. BEAUTIFUL!

Nicola Martinez was my cover artist and she really captured the flavor of the book. A funny story about this cover: The heroine’s name is Jessica, the same as my daughter’s. My daughter has dark eyes and is a brunette, and without fail, people believe that the picture on the book is my daughter. Even people we know and relatives have asked me, “Where did that picture of Jessica come from?” LOL

Fire Eyes is available at AMAZON:

http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_ss_b?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=Fire+Eyes+by+Cheryl+Pierson

or at THE WILD ROSE PRESS:
http://www.thewildrosepress.com/fire-eyes-p-1259.html

TIME PLAINS DRIFTER:

Time Plains Drifter is special to me because it’s the first project my daughter, Jessica, and I have had the chance to work on together. She designed the cover art. I absolutely LOVE what she did. She is a really talented artist and this cover launched her promotional and cover art business, Yellow Bird Promotional Company.

Time Plains Drifter was the recipient of The Reviewer’s Top Pick Award by Karen M. Nutt, PNR reviews. It also received a 4.5 star review from Romantic Times Magazine. I was selected as the recipient of the Honorable Mention—Best New Author category in PNR’s PEARL Awards this past month (March 2010), based on Time Plains Drifter.

Unfortunately, I am between publishers with it right now, but my feeling is that it’s better to have it with a larger company that has promotional opportunities than a small company that depends solely on the author for every piece of promotion. Print books are important to me, although I understand that e-publishing is growing by leaps and bounds. I’m sure that in time, Time Plains Drifter will find the perfect home, especially now with a sequel in the works.

A NIGHT FOR MIRACLES:
This cover was also done by Nicola Martinez, and I love it because Nicola took such pains to incorporate elements that were important to the story. A Night For Miracles is a novella about a true miracle that happens on Christmas Eve between a lonely widow and a man who has nothing to live for, or so he thinks. It's available at The Wild Rose Press.

SWEET DANGER:
When undercover cop Jesse Nightwalker enters Silverman’s Deli, he doesn't expect to find himself at the mercy of Tabor Hardin, a sadistic murderer he helped put in prison five years earlier. Now, Hardin’s escaped, and he’s out for more blood—Jesse’s.

Lindy Oliver has had her eye on her handsome neighbor for several months. Fate provides the opportunity for them to finally meet when they both choose the same deli for breakfast. Becoming a hostage was not in Lindy’s plans when she sat down to share a pastry with Jesse, but neither was the hot kiss he gave her when bullets began to fly. That kiss seals both their fates, binding them to one another with the certainty of a vow.

But Jesse’s got some hard-hitting secrets. With both their lives at stake, Lindy has a plan that just might save them—if Hardin takes the bait. Will they find unending love in the midst of Sweet Danger?

AVAILABLE OCTOBER 1, 2010 through THE WILD ROSE PRESS!!!

SWEET DANGER was originally called THE SUGAR RING, because it takes place in a deli. I was asked to change the name of it, and really had trouble coming up with something that “fit.” This is my first romantic suspense, and I have been really nervous about getting it out there, every step of the way. I love the cover. Angela Anderson did a wonderful job of capturing the dark feel of the book, and the sexy undertones. I can’t wait for October 1!!! I will leave you with an excerpt—hope you enjoy!

EXCERPT FROM SWEET DANGER:

This excerpt takes place in the first chapter. Jesse Nightwalker, an undercover cop, runs into his neighbor, Lindy Oliver, in the local deli. Though they've never met, they are very aware of one another. The deli owner introduces them officially and points them toward the only available booth. But their Friday morning takes a quick nosedive in the next few minutes. Here's what happens.

Jesse looked past her, his smile fading rapidly. As the flash of worry entered his expression, Lindy became aware of a sudden lull in the noisy racket of the deli.
Jesse’s dark gaze was locked on the front door, a scowl twisting his features.
“Damn it,” he swore, reaching for her hand. “Get down! Under the table, Lindy…”

But she hesitated a second too long, not understanding what was happening. In the next instant, the sound of semi-automatic gunfire and shattering glass filled the air.

Lindy reflexively ducked, covering her head. The breath of a bullet fanned her cheek as Jesse dragged her down beneath the sparse cover of the small table. He shielded her, his hard body crushing against her, on top of her, pushing her to the floor. The breath rushed out of her, and she felt the hard bulge of the shoulder holster he wore beneath the denim jacket as it pressed against her back.

Her heart pounded wildly, realization of their situation flooding through her. A robbery! But why, at this hour of the morning when the take would be so low? The gunfire stopped as abruptly as it had started. From somewhere near the counter, a man shouted, “Come out and you won’t be hurt! Come out—now!”

Lindy looked up into Jesse’s face, scant inches from her own. What would he do? They were somewhat concealed here at the back of the deli, but these men were sporting semi-automatic weapons.

“There’s a back door,” Jesse whispered raggedly. “Get the hell out of here. I’m gonna be your diversion.” She didn’t answer; couldn’t answer. He was likely to be killed, helping her go free. He gave her a slight shake. “Okay?”

An interminable moment passed between them before she finally nodded. “Get going as soon as I get their attention.” He reached to brush a strand of hair out of her eyes, his own gaze softening as he leaned toward her and closed the gap between them. “Take care of yourself, Lindy,” he whispered, just before his mouth closed over hers.

The instant their lips met shook her solidly. Every coherent thought fled, leaving nothing but the smoldering touch of his lips on hers, burning like wildfire through her mind. Soft, yet firm. Insistent and insolent. His teeth skimmed her lower lip, followed by his tongue, as he tasted her. Then, he pulled away from her, their eyes connecting for a heart-wrenching second.

“Safe passage,” he whispered.

Lindy didn’t answer, more stunned by the sudden sweet kiss than by the madness surrounding them. Jesse pushed himself out from under the table and stood up, directly in front of where Lindy crouched. Only then did she hear his muted groan of pain, his sharp, hissing intake of breath. The blossoming red stain of crimson contrasted starkly with the pale blue of his faded denim jacket as his blood sprang from the bullet wound, soaking the material.

He’d been shot!

Lindy gasped softly at the realization. How could she leave him now?

A NIGHT FOR MIRACLES

Christmas has always been a miraculous time for me. It still is.

When I was younger, it was because of the presents, and the anticipation that came with the season. My parents were not wealthy, but we had the necessities and a few of the luxuries. My mom was a great manager. She could make the smallest thing seem of the greatest value. She could transform our house into a marvelous Christmas haven with her decorations, wonderful cooking and a few well-wrapped packages. When I became an adult, the torch was passed, but the anticipation merely shifted. The excitement I felt was not for myself, but for my children–the joy I could bring to them.

Once I had written A Night for Miracles, I began to think about my heroine, Angela Bentley, and how I might have reacted had I been in her place. I would like to think that I would have done what she did–transformed her small cabin into a memorable Christmas castle that none of the children would ever forget, simply through a good meal, a warm fire, and a gift. But it was all of these things that made Angela’s “gift” — the gift of her heart — special. She put herself out on a limb, having been emotionally wounded before.

I thought about the old legend–that Christmas Eve is a “night for miracles” to happen. Angela was not a rich person by any means, but she gave what she had, freely. She took in the stranger and the three children from the cold, gave them warm beds and fed them. But then she went even further. She gave her heart to them, although it was a huge risk. She comes through with physical gifts, but the true giving was in her spirit. And that leads to a miracle.

A Night For Miracles is one of those short stories that I didn’t want to end. I love a happy ending, and this is one of the happiest of all, for everyone in the story.

BLURB FOR A NIGHT FOR MIRACLES
Legend says that miracles happen on Christmas Eve. Can a chance encounter between a gunfighter and a lonely widow herald a new beginning for them both? On this special night, they take a gamble that anything is possible–if they only believe! Available now with THE WILD ROSE PRESS!

EXCERPT FROM A NIGHT FOR MIRACLES:

Angela placed the whiskey-damp cloth against the jagged wound. The man flinched, but held himself hard against the pain. Finally, he opened his eyes. She looked into his sun-bronzed face, his deep blue gaze burning with a startling, compelling intensity as he watched her. He moistened his lips, reminding Angela that she should give him a drink. She laid the cloth in a bowl and turned to pour the water into the cup she’d brought.

He spoke first. “What…what’s your name?” His voice was raspy with pain, but held an underlying tone of gentleness. As if he were apologizing for putting her to this trouble, she thought. The sound of it comforted her. She didn’t know why, and she didn’t want to think about it. He’d be leaving soon.

“Angela.” She lifted his head and gently pressed the metal cup to his lips. “Angela Bentley.”

He took two deep swallows of the water. “Angel,” he said, as she drew the cup away and set it on the nightstand. “It fits.”

She looked down, unsure of the compliment and suddenly nervous. She walked to the low oak chest to retrieve the bandaging and dishpan. “And you are…”

“Nick Dalton, ma’am.” His eyes slid shut as she whirled to face him. A cynical smile touched his lips. “I see…you’ve heard of me.”

A killer. A gunfighter. A ruthless mercenary. What was he doing with these children? She’d heard of him, all right, bits and pieces, whispers at the back fence. Gossip, mainly. And the stories consisted of such variation there was no telling what was true and what wasn’t.

She’d heard. She just hadn’t expected him to be so handsome. Hadn’t expected to see kindness in his eyes. Hadn’t expected to have him show up on her doorstep carrying a piece of lead in him, and with three children in tow. She forced herself to respond through stiff lips. “Heard of you? Who hasn’t?”

He met her challenging stare. “I mean you no harm.”

She remained silent, and he closed his eyes once more. His hands rested on the edge of the sheet, and Angela noticed the traces of blood on his left thumb and index finger. He’d tried to stem the blood flow from his right side as he rode. “I’m only human, it seems, after all,” he muttered huskily. “Not a legend tonight. Just a man.”

He was too badly injured to be a threat, and somehow, looking into his face, shefound herself trusting him despite his fearsome reputation. She kept her expression blank and approached the bed with the dishpan and the bandaging tucked beneath her arm. She fought off the wave of compassion that threatened to engulf her. It was too dangerous. When she spoke, her tone was curt. “A soldier of fortune, from what I hear.”

He gave a faint smile. “Things aren’t always what they seem, Miss Bentley.
A Night For Miracles is available at The Wild Rose Press.

I also have another Christmas short story, a FREE READ, available there, Until the Last Star Burns Out http://www.thewildrosepress.com/until-the-last-star-burns-out-p-1065.html

To find out more about my other books and short stories, you can read about many of them here on the blog or at my other blog, http://www.westwindsromance.blogspot.com.

VIST MY WEBSITE FOR MORE INFORMATION ABOUT ALL MY WRITING: http://www.cherylpierson.com

TRAVELING IN OUR WRITING

When we write a short story or a novel, that work is a “journey” from beginning to end in many ways.

Hopefully, our main characters will learn something about themselves and grow emotionally and in their personal values of not only each other, but the world around them. They must become more aware of their place in the world as individuals to be able to give of themselves to another person, the hero to the heroine, and visa versa.

The main conflict of the story brings this about in a myriad of ways, through smaller, more personal conflicts and through the main thrust of the “big picture” dilemma. I always like to use Gone With the Wind by Margaret Mitchell as a prime example of this, because the States’ War was the catalyst for everything that followed, but it also remained the backdrop throughout the book. This generated all of the personal losses and gains that Scarlett and Rhett made individually, so if the War hadn’t been the backdrop, the main original conflict, their personal stories would have taken very different routes and their love story quite possibly would have never happened.

No matter what kind of story we are trying to weave, we have to have movement throughout—not just of the characters’ growth, but of the setting and circumstances that surround them.

Have you ever thought about how important it is to have travel in your writing? No, it doesn’t have to be lengthy travel, although that’s a great possibility, too. Even a short trip allows things to happen physically to the characters, as well as providing some avenue for emotional growth and development among them.

One of my favorite examples of the importance of travel is the short story by Ernest Haycox, “Last Stage to Lordsburg.” You might know it better as the John Ford movie adaptation, “Stagecoach,” starring a very handsome young newbie…John Wayne. A varied group of people are traveling on a stagecoach that is attacked by Indians, including John Wayne, (a seriously good-looking young outlaw by the name of Johnny Ringo) who is being transported to prison. The dire circumstances these passengers find themselves in make a huge difference in the way they treat each other—including their hesitant acceptance of a fallen woman and the outlaw.

If your characters are going somewhere, things are bound to happen—even if they’re just going to the store, as in the short story “The Mist,” by Stephen King. Briefly, a man goes to the grocery store and is trapped inside with many other people by a malevolent fog that surrounds the store and tries to come inside. Eventually, he makes the decision to leave rather than wait for it to get inside and kill them all. He thinks he can make it to the pickup just outside in the parking lot. A woman that he really doesn’t know says she will go with him. By making this conscious decision, not only are they leaving behind their own families (he has a wife and son) that they know they’ll never see again, but if they make it to the vehicle and survive, they will be starting a new chapter of their lives together. It’s a great concept in my opinion—virtual strangers, being forced to make this kind of life-or-death decision in the blink of an eye, leaving everything they know behind, when all they had wanted to do was pick up a few groceries.

In all of my stories, there is some kind of travel involved. In Fire Eyes, although Jessica doesn’t travel during the story, she has had to travel to get to the place where it all takes place. And Kaed is brought to her, then travels away from her when he is well enough. Will he come back? That’s a huge conflict for them. He might be killed, where he’s going, but it’s his duty. He can’t turn away from that. After what has happened to him in his past, he has a lot of mixed feelings about settling down and trying again with a family, and with love.

One of my professors once stated, “There are only two things that happen in a story, basically. 1. A stranger comes to town. Or, 2. A character leaves town.” Pretty simplistic, and I think what she was trying to tell us was that travel is a great way to get the conflict and plot of a story moving in the right direction. I always think of “Shane” when I think of “a stranger coming to town” because that is just such a super example of how the entire story is resolved by a conflicted character, that no one ever really gets to know. Yet, although he may have a checkered past, he steps in and makes things right for the Staretts, and the rest of the community.

In my upcoming release, Time Plains Drifter, a totally different kind of travel is involved—time travel. The hero is thrown forward sixteen years from the date he died (yes, he’s a very reluctant angel) and the heroine is flung backward one hundred fifteen years by a comet that has rearranged the bands of time on earth. They come together in 1895 in the middle of Indian Territory. But the time travel is just a means to bring them together for the real conflict, and that is the case with most of the stories we write. We aren’t writing to look at the scenery/history: we want to see the conflict, and the travel is just a way to get that to happen.

How do you use travel in your writing? Do you have any tips that might make it easier to describe the actual travel sequences? I find that is the hardest thing sometimes, for me.

Here’s a short excerpt from Time Plains Drifter. Rafe and Jenni have just met, and there’s a definite attraction! Hope you enjoy!

FROM TIME PLAINS DRIFTER—RELEASE DATE DEC. 1, 2009

For the first time, Rafe began to wonder what—and who—she might have left back there in her own time. Two thousand-five. Was there a mother and father? What about siblings? Was she as close to someone as he and Cris had been? Was she…married? Did she leave children of her own?

She was a school teacher, and he took comfort in that thought. In his own time, school teachers were usually women who were not yet married.

Suddenly, the question burned in his mind. Was she married? Did she have someone waiting for her? Hell, what difference does it make? He sighed. You’re dead, Rafe. Remember? Dead. All a mistake. Beck’s sure sorry, but—

If he was dead, why did his leg ache? He felt the pinch of the cramped nerve endings in his left calf just as he had always suffered from when he held this position too long. Was it real? Or did he just anticipate that pain, where it had always been when he was alive? He hadn’t imagined the raging hard-on he’d gotten earlier, holding Jenni Dalton in his arms. That had been real enough.

He stood up slowly with a grimace, and his fingers went to the small of his back automatically for an instant before he bent to massage his leg, then walk a few steps to ease the strain of the muscles. The twinges faded, but Rafe knew he hadn’t imagined either of them.

If I’m dead, how can I hurt? Was this part of what Beck had tried to explain to him earlier, about giving in to the “human” side of himself? Those “bodily urges?” Beck had seemed horrified that Rafe even entertained the thought of wanting to live again—in a normal, human state.

But he did, God help him. He did. And five minutes with Miss Jenni Dalton was all it had taken to reaffirm that conviction to the fullest measure.

There was something about her; something strong, yet, so vulnerable. Her eyes captivated him, her lips seductively beckoned to be kissed—but what if she knew she was kissing a ghost? A dead man?

His glance strayed to Jenni once more as she stood up, and he controlled the urge to go after young Kody Everett and choke the life from his body for his deceit.

Jenni came toward Rafe stiffly, her back held ramrod straight. Without conscious thought, he opened his arms to her, and she kept right on walking, right into his embrace, until he closed the gates of safety across her back and held her to him, protected inside his fortress.

She didn’t cry, and Rafe knew it was because she was too exhausted. They stood that way for a long moment, breathing the night air. He wanted to give her what she needed—shelter, safety, and…togetherness. She wasn’t alone any more, and he wanted her to know it.

He felt her take a shuddering breath of bone-deep weariness. Who was waiting for her in her own time, to comfort her like this when she returned?

“Jen?”

“Hmm?” Her voice was a contented purr.

He smiled. “Where you come from, are you, uh—married, or—”

“Huh-uh. No husband. No kids. Nobody at all.”

“No—betrothed?” He searched for a word they might still use a hundred and ten years from now, and by the way she smiled against his shirt, he knew he had sounded old-fashioned to her. “Okay, what’s your word for it?”

“Boyfriend. Fiance. Lover—”

“Lover!”

She drew back at his indignation, looking him in the face. “It’s—It’s just a word,” she stammered. “It really doesn’t mean—”

“Don’t say that one,” Rafe growled. He shook his head to clear it. “What I mean is—you wouldn’t want to say that around anyone. They’d take you for a—loose woman.”

She looked up earnestly into his gaze, liquefying his bones with her piercing green eyes, her lips full and sensual, the tangle of copper hair blowing in the breeze. “Would you think I was ‘loose’ if I asked you to—to just lie down beside me? It’s not that I’m afraid,” she hastened to add. “I just feel—kind of shaken up.”

TYING YOUR BACKSTORY TO SETTING

We’ve talked some in the past about backstory, but I thought it would be interesting to look at why we choose the backstory we do to create our “front story”—or what the main thrust of the novel is about. A backstory does lots of things for our setting, plot and characters.

Why do we choose the particular backstory we decide to use to create our setting? For me, the backstory must bring the setting to life to show why the characters were so affected by what has happened in their pasts.

A male character, our protagonist, that is “tall, dark, and handsome,” could be one of any type of characters in any time period—until we create his backstory. Of course, the backstory shapes his character in the plot of the book, but the setting is such an integral part of the equation that it would be hard to say what’s more important to your character’s development: where he came from, or where he’s going.

Let me show you what I mean. In my novel, Fire Eyes, the hero, Kaed Turner, has been denied a family by one twist of fate or another since he was a small boy. His parents were killed when he was eight by the Apache, and though he was kept with his sister and brother by first the Apache, then the Choctaw, they were so much younger than he that they quickly forgot what he felt compelled to remember—the deaths of their parents, and their lives before.

He loses his young Choctaw wife and their two children, ironically, to a group of white men who don’t want Indians to settle in the community where he’s built his house.

So, there is no room in his heart to totally embrace the ways of the Indians, but he is being shown physically that he is unwelcome now in the white world. This is further illustrated when Fallon’s band captures him and tries to kill him, but he is saved by the Choctaws. Where does he belong?

Could Fire Eyes have happened the way it did if Kaed’s backstory hadn’t included these incidents? No. The entire feel of the character would have been changed if he had not had these experiences. And to show his growth in the frontstory, we have to show what happened to him before. The setting is indispensable in shaping all the other elements of the story, in this case. Kaed has come from rough beginnings due to the things that happened to him that were beyond his control. Now, what kind of man will it make him?

Could these things have happened to him in any other setting? No. When we begin to delve into the history that is pertinent to a particular area and/or time period, there are certain events that have happened that are unique to both time and place. Just as the events of history shape the setting your story takes place in, those same happenings also shape your characters both directly and indirectly.


How much description of the setting do we need in the backstory to set the scene? And how do we deliver it?

In Fire Eyes, we know none of the facts about Kaed’s upbringing at the beginning of the story. In chapter one, when he sees he must give himself up to save the two Choctaw girls, we begin to realize that he knows them, and therefore, has an affiliation with the Choctaws. It isn’t until later, even after the Choctaws rescue him, that it comes out as to why he knows Standing Bear, the chief, and what happened to him as a child. Even later in the story, we learn of the tragedy that happened to his own young family ten years past.

In creating a world we are not familiar with, such as in science fiction or fantasy writing, more of the backstory must be told in the beginning. The stage must be set, and in order to let us know about the world that has been created, more description has to be given toward the front part of the book rather than waiting.

Frank Herbert’s “Dune” series would have made no sense without some description of the world and customs, the people and landscape he created. The same with Tolkien’s world, and even the Harry Potter books, which are a mix of a created world and one we are familiar with.

Letting the setting affect your character is easier than you might think—it’s really inevitable. Even if your novel is set in contemporary times, the city, state or country and even the matter of picking a rural or urban setting will make a huge difference in your characters and your story overall. Was your hero raised on a ranch or was he a city boy? This will definitely determine his reactions the first time his new love interest suggests they go riding next weekend.

How much should your reader know? Not as much as you, the author, does. The art of backstory and description of the setting is in doing it interestingly and seamlessly. Dumping all the information on the reader at once will prove overwhelming.

The saying goes, “The devil is in the details.” Blending your setting, characters, and plot successfully in the backstory of your novel proves the truth of that statement!

In the excerpt below, Kaed talks to Jessica about what happened to his parents and his brother and sister. He is showing us why he feels like he does now, his fears at trying to hold on to family of any kind, after what happened. What we don’t know yet, is the rest of the story about what happened ten years ago, to his wife and children. This is a kind of turning point for Kaed. Will he let events, the setting of his life in the past, shape him? Or will he try again—will he be strong enough to risk everything one more time and shape the setting that is yet to come, the future?

FROM FIRE EYES:

“Family seems to be a hard thing for me to hold on to.” He shifted, and Jessica moved to lay her head on his shoulder. Her long hair trailed across his bare chest, and he felt her breathe slowly, relaxing in his embrace. “I lost my parents when I was eight.”

“It still hurts, doesn’t it?” Jessica laid her hand across his side, tracing his ribs.

He drew a long breath, and spoke quietly. “Yeah. I guess it does.”

“What happened?”

“My father was determined to have some bottom land to farm. Never mind that the place he selected was unprotected, away from the rest of the small settlement there in Cale Switch. The land was good, and it was what he wanted. But the Apache saw an easy target. They came in the night and took us. My younger brother, Kevin; my sister, Marissa; and me.”

“They killed your parents?” Her voice was hesitant, and Kaed was silent for a moment before he responded.

“My father tried to stop them. He just couldn’t defend us against so many. They killed him, then my mother, and took their scalps.”

At her sharp intake of breath, Kaed stroked Jessica’s long hair. “Barbaric?” he asked, reading her thoughts easily.

She nodded her head against him. “I’ve been afraid of the Indians ever since we came here.”

Kaed smiled at this admission. “Standing Bear won’t hurt you, sweetheart. The Choctaws aren’t as—”

“Cruel?”

“Taking scalps was a practice the Indians learned from the Europeans, Jess. Barbaric, cruel—yes. But remember, they only fought back using the methods the white men used first.” He cupped her chin and she raised her eyes to his. “You can trust Standing Bear.”

“That’s what he told me about you.”

Kaed grinned. “He knows me pretty well. After the Apache had had us for a year or so, he bartered for the three of us. We lived with the Choctaw after that. I left when I was seventeen. Kevin and Marissa were so young, the way of the People is all they knew.”

“They stayed with the tribe? Even when they had a choice?”

“It’s how they were raised. Kevin was only five when we were taken; Marissa was two.” He was silent a moment. “I was the only one old enough to remember.”

“Do you ever see them?”

“I walk in both worlds, Jessi. I come and go freely in the Choctaw camp. Kevin and Marissa are married and have families. They’re both more Choctaw than white by the way they’ve been raised. I lost them to a way of life I couldn’t fully embrace. I guess it’s harder for me, because I remember our parents, our home.” He shook his head and felt her fingers moving gently, absently, over his bronze skin.

“I wondered how he knew you. Standing Bear, I mean.” Jessica lifted her head and met his eyes. “You’re like a son to him, aren’t you?”

“I’ll never think of him as my father, but he saved us from the Apache.” He smiled caustically. “They’re a pretty rough bunch. The Choctaws are reasonable, at least. I owe him for what he did. Can’t ever repay that.”

“He’s a good man. He raised a good man.” She kissed his side. “Whether you want to think of him as your father or not, it seems he did what he could to do right for you.”

THE ROMANCE OF A ROOM ADDITION

What is the most romantic room in a home? In our romance stories, it’s quite often the bedroom where the romance actually physically happens. Other rooms in our characters’ homes are romantic and meaningful to the hero and heroine for various reasons as well.

The room I think of as most romantic is one that doesn’t exist yet: the room addition.

How can adding on a room be romantic? Okay, first of all, let’s remember this IS make- believe! In real life, home construction or remodeling projects will cause the topic of divorce to be introduced into the loving couple’s conversation at some point. Over and over.

Two short rollers and a can of paint in a bathroom can break a marriage faster than an overdrawn bank account. But come with me to the world of fiction—historical fiction—where women are heroines and men are heroes…and the announcement of “needing another room” is a joyous occasion, and not just another “honey-do.”

The addition of a room most generally heralds the impending arrival of a baby, or the growth of the young family in some way. Because cabins were so small and were generally put up as quickly as possible to provide a more permanent shelter for a family, improvements often had to wait until time, weather, or supplies permitted.

In our historical romances, our heroes are always eager to do whatever is necessary to provide the best possible quarters for their families. You’ll never hear them say, “I’ll do it when the playoffs are over.”

All joking aside, I believe we find the room addition romantic for several reasons, the most obvious one being that our heroine is pregnant and there needs to be a room for the little one the couple has created. Most women can relate to that maternal instinct of preparing a safe, warm place for their baby to sleep.

The second reason a room addition is romantic, is that the hero is actually building something with his skill, knowledge and love to provide for his growing family. It’s his answer to the heroine’s maternal need. Generally, the delivery of the news that a baby is on the way and discussion of the room addition is a shock to the hero, but not an unwelcome one. It transitions him from “husband” to “family man” and gives him the opportunity to “show his stuff.” He proves himself by his reaction to the news. The action he takes toward following through with the reality of building on shows the heroine (and the reader) that he is our “dream man.”

The family unit, complete, is probably the most romantic reason of all. The room addition shows the reader that the heroine and hero have matured, grown in their love for one another and are able to look toward the future as a family unit now. In the child to come, they will see themselves and one another, and will risk everything for the safety, comfort and protection of that child.

And it all starts with…the addition of the extra bedroom for the new life they’ve created.

In the following excerpt from FIRE EYES, Jessica gives Kaed the news that they’re going to be needing a nursery. This is an especially poignant moment because of Kaed’s past, and what it means to him personally. He’s being given a second chance—one he wasn’t sure he wanted, but now is desperate to hold onto.

FROM FIRE EYES:

“Looks like we gave up our bed.” Kaed’s gaze rested on Frank and the two girls. Nineteen. God, he looked so young, like a boy, as he slept, all the lines of worry around his eyes erased. Nineteen. I remember nineteen. Just didn’t understand until now how young it really is.

“Twice now.” Jessica’s voice called him from his thoughts. She grinned and nodded toward where Tom lay talking to Harv. “Maybe by this time tomorrow morning we’ll get lucky,” she whispered, reaching up to kiss his cheek.

“Neither one of us is going to ‘get lucky,’ in any respect, until everyone’s gone,” he grumbled softly, letting go a frustrated sigh. “One thing’s for sure. When everything settles down around here, I’m gonna add on a bedroom. With a door that shuts.”

Jessica was quiet for a moment, then very softly she said, “Better make that two.”

“Two bedrooms?”

“Uh-huh. Ours, and a nursery.”

Kaed nodded. “For Lexi.”

“And the new baby.”

His gaze arrowed to hers.

“Our baby, Kaed.”

The blood rushed through his ears, pounding at his temples. Nothing existed but the woman standing in his strong embrace, her love washing over him in warm waves as her eyes sparkled into his.

“Jessi.” The words he’d spoken to her the day he left came back to haunt him. I just hope that maybe we got lucky. Maybe it didn’t take.
But it had. And damn if he didn’t feel like the luckiest man alive. A baby. He read the unasked question in her expression, and he bent to kiss her. To reassure her. To let her know a family was what he needed and wanted. He felt her relax beneath his hands.

“I told you I was working my way through it, Jess,” he whispered against her cheek. “I’ll be a good father.”

Tears rose in her eyes. She nodded, her hair soft against his stubbled beard. “You’ll be the best.”

“Better than I was before, that’s for sure.” The words slipped out before he could stop them. He took a deep, jagged breath as Jessica finally dared to meet his eyes. He looked away, his gaze wandering about the small cabin, finally returning to lock with Jessica’s.

“I can appreciate what I’ve got this time, Jessi. I took it for granted the first time, and I lost it. I won’t let that happen again.”
Jessica shook her head. “Promise—” she began, but he tilted her face up, putting his lips to hers once more in a gentle, reassuring kiss.

“I’ll never let you go, Jessi. And I’ll never hurt you. I want what we talked about, the family, the farm, maybe a ranch.” He stopped and moistened his lips that had suddenly gone dry. “But most of all, I want you.” He glanced across the room at Tom, who gave him a fleeting grin. After a moment, he returned his gaze to the fathomless pools of Jessica’s eyes. “None of it means anything without the woman I love, Jessica. You. Yes, I promise, sweetheart. I promise everything.”

Travis leaned against the kitchen doorjamb, fresh coffee in hand. “Guess we’d better start beating the bushes for a preacher-man, boys. Get it done up legal and right for Miss Jessi while Kaed’s in this mood. I never seen him like this. Never heard him talk so serious.” He took a drink of his coffee, his green eyes mischievous above the rim of his cup. “I do believe he means it, Miss Jessi.”

THE NAME GAME--NAMING OUR MEN

I am a collector of names. Have been, ever since I was a kid. Probably because I always wished for a different one, myself. Mine wasn’t really exotic, but it was…different. Cheryl. My parents decided on the pronunciation of “Chair-yl” rather than the more common way of saying it. The way a million other people sad it…with a “SH” sound, “Sheryl,” rather than the hard “CH” sound.

So when I began writing, I knew my characters had to have ‘good’ names—names that fit. Names that weren’t too strange, but not too common. Names that were appropriate for the time period, the setting, and the culture.

The hero, of course, had to have a name that was also something that could be whispered by the heroine in the throes of passion, yet something that would be tough enough on the villain’s lips to strike a modicum of fear in his heart, just by uttering it.

Because I was writing historical western romance, I decided to pull up a chart that would give me an accurate “slice of life”—possible names for my heroes. According to US Social Security records, the top ten names for men in 1880 were: John, William, James, Charles, George, Frank, Joseph, Thomas, Henry, and Robert.

Okay, I could maybe work with the top four. In fact, the first book I ever wrote was about a gunslinger of this time period called ‘Johnny Starr.’

And William could be shortened to ‘Will’—still masculine; but never ‘Willie.’ James—very masculine, and unwittingly, calls up the rest of the line—‘Bond. James Bond.’ At least, it does for me. I could even go with Jamie. Charles is pushing it. George, Frank, and Joe are names I have and would use for a minor character, but I’d never use those for my hero. They’re somehow just too ordinary. Thomas? Again, a great secondary character name, but not a show-stopper. Henry…eh. And Robert is just ‘okay.’

I fast-forwarded a hundred years to 1980. Here are the top 10: Michael, Christopher, Jason, David, James, Matthew, Joshua, John, Robert, and Joseph. Four of the same names were there, though not in the same poll position. By 2008, only William remained in the top 10. John had fallen to #20, James to #17, Joseph to #13. The others had been replaced, not all by modern names, but most in the top 10 were surprisingly “old fashioned.”

2008: Jacob, Michael, Ethan, Joshua, Daniel, Alexander, Anthony, William, Christopher, Matthew.

This told me something. If you aren’t too wild with the names you choose, you have quite a lot of choices! We know that Jacob, Michael, Joshua, Daniel, and Matthew were Biblical names. Just because they weren’t on the “top 10” list in 1880 doesn’t mean they weren’t being used—a lot!

Another source of names for that time period is family records. If you go back through old family documents, it’s amazing to find some of the odd names that cropped up.

Still maybe not ‘protagonist’ material, but your secondary characters could benefit. And who knows? You may find the perfect ‘hero’ name!

No matter what you choose, remember these rules, too:

1. Sound and compatibility—Say your character’s name aloud. Does the first name go well with the last name you’re using? Be careful about running the name together—“Alan Nickerson” or “Jed Dooly” aren’t good choices. Avoid rhyming names such as “Wayne Payne”—and try to stay away from cutesy names that might make your hero the focus of ridicule.

2. Uniqueness—I’m sure my parents were only trying to be ‘unique’ by pronouncing my name differently than the other 99.9% of the people in the world would automatically say it, but you don’t want your hero to have such an odd name that readers trip over it every time they come to it. Louis L’Amour was a master at coming up with ‘different’ names that were simple. Hondo Lane, Ring Sackett, Shalako, Conagher…and the list goes on.

3. Genealogy—Does it play into your characters’ storyline? If so, you may want to come up with a neat twist somehow on a common name. In my first manuscript, the gunfighter, Johnny Starr, is named for his father, but the names are reversed. His father was Thomas Jonathan Brandon. He is known as Thomas in the story. Johnny was named Jonathan Thomas Brandon. He goes by Johnny. This keeps a theme alive in my story of the ‘fathers and sons’ of this family, and their relationships. It weighs heavily, because Thomas is dying, but Johnny doesn’t know it. They’ve been estranged for many years.

When Johnny’s own son is born, his wife, Katie, changes the name they’ve decided on just before the birth. She makes Johnny promise to name him after himself and his father, Thomas Jonathan, bringing the circle around once more, and also completing the forgiveness between Johnny and his dying father.

4. Meaning—This might somehow play into your story and is good to keep track of. What do your characters’ names mean? This is a great tool to have at your disposal when you are writing—it can be a great conversation piece somewhere, or explain why your villain is so evil.

5. Nicknames and initials—this can be more important than you think. You may need to have your hero sign something or initial something. Don’t make him be embarrassed to write his initials and don’t give him a name that might be shortened to an embarrassing nickname.

In my book, Fire Eyes, the protagonist has an odd name—Kaedon Turner. I gave him an unusual first name to go with a common last name. I learned later that Caden, shortened to Cade, though not common for the time was not unheard of. Kaedon, shortened to Kaed, was just a different variation. It sets him apart from the other marshals, and emphasizes his unique past in a subtle way.

Below are some excerpts from Fire Eyes, available now through TWRP, Amazon, and Barnes and Noble. I hope you enjoy!

EXCERPTS FROM FIRE EYES:

Marshal Kaed Turner has just been delivered to Jessica’s doorstep, wounded and unconscious by the Choctaw Indians. This is part of their first conversation, Kaed’s introduction.

“Just pull.” Her patient moistened his lips. “Straight up. That’s how it went in.”
She wanted to weep at the steel in his voice, wanted to comfort him, to tell him she’d make it quick. But, of course, quick would never be fast enough to be painless. And how could she offer comfort when she didn’t even know what to call him, other than Turner?

“You waitin’ on a…invitation?” A faint smile touched his battered mouth. “I’m fresh out.”

Jessica reached for the tin star. Her fingers closed around the uneven edges of it. No. She couldn’t wait any longer. “What’s your name?” Her voice came out jagged, like the metal she touched.

His bruised eyes slitted as he studied her a moment. “Turner. Kaedon Turner.”
Jessica sighed. “Well, Kaedon Turner, you’ve probably been a lot better places in your life than this. Take a deep breath and try not to move.”
He gave a wry chuckle, letting his eyes drift completely closed. “Do it fast. I’ll be okay.”

She nodded, even though she knew he couldn’t see her. “Ready?”

“Go ahead.”

*******

From Kaed’s POV—Finding out his “angel’s” name!

“I need to stop the bleeding. You were lucky.”

“One lucky sonofabitch.”

“I meant, because it went all the way through. So we don’t have to…to dig it out.” There was that hesitation again, but he already knew what it was she didn’t want to have to say to him. He said it instead.

“All we have to do is burn it.”

She let her breath out in a rush, as if she’d been holding it, dreading just how she was going to tell him. “Right. Sounds like the voice of experience.”

“Yeah.”

She touched his good arm and he reached up for her, his warm, bronze hand swallowing her smaller one. Her fingers were cold, and he could tell she was afraid, no matter how indifferent she tried to act.

“You’ve got one on me,” he muttered.

“What’s that?”

“Your name. Or, do I just call you angel?”

He felt the smile again, knew he had embarrassed her a little, but had pleased her as well.

“Jessica Monroe, at your service, Mr. Turner.”

“Don’t go all formal on me.” He paused, collecting his scattering, hard-to-hold thoughts. “I like Kaed better.”

“Better than Mr. Turner?”

He opened his eyes a crack and watched as she gave him a measuring look, her cinnamon gaze holding his probing stare for a moment. “What you’re doin’ for me warrants a little more intimacy, don’t’cha think, Jessica?”

She glanced back down at the seeping wound, worrying her lower lip between even, white teeth. Her auburn hair did its best to escape its bun.

Kaed’s thoughts jumped and swirled as he tried to focus on her, wondering disjointedly how she’d look if she let her hair tumble free and unbound. And her eyes. Beautiful. A man could get lost in the secrets of her eyes.

Maybe he should’ve used a word other than intimacy.

TAMAHA TALES

I was writing another blog about what to do with our ideas once we get them when it dawned on me that I should talk about Tamaha, Oklahoma for my Cheryl Pierson Books blog today.

Though there’s very little to say about the actual town of Tamaha as it exists today, I used it in my story, Fire Eyes, due for release on May 29. (SEE FOLLOWING EXCERPT)

There’s an odd thing that happened that made me include Tamaha in my book. I’d been working on it, and had come to the part where the villain and his gang needed to reference a landmark. But which one? I try to stay as historically accurate in my writing as possible, and this story takes place in the eastern part of the state, toward the Arkansas/Oklahoma border. I must admit, I’m not as familiar with that part of the state as I am with the central part, since that’s where I was born and raised. A lot of these smaller towns don’t even dot the map, and I had never heard of Tamaha.

Until one day in May, 2005. I’d just spoken with a lifelong friend, DaNel Jennings, who now lives in a town in that eastern area of the state. In the course of the conversation, she mentioned that she and her husband were doing some genealogical research and she had learned she had some relatives buried in a small cemetery in Tamaha. Now, the intriguing part of this was that her relatives bore the same last name as my maiden name, “Moss.”

“Wouldn’t it be funny if we really WERE related?” she asked. We’d always secretly hoped we were, and pretended that we were, when we were kids.

“Yes,” I responded with a laugh, “but where in the HECK is Tamaha?” (As if I would know.) She began trying to tell me where it was, and I said, “Never mind. It’s a good thing Jeff knows where he’s going. Let me know what you find.”

I hung up, wistfully wishing that I could go with her—but that was a three-hour drive and they were leaving the next day. No way I could take off and drive down there on the spur of the moment, with family obligations.

A couple of hours later, my sister Karen called. “Cheryl, I need you to come down this weekend,” she said. I was really intrigued, because she is my “much older” sister—10 years older—and never much “needed” me for anything before.

“What’s going on?”

“I promised Mr. Borin I would take him to visit the graves of his parents and siblings for Memorial Day, and two of his brothers are buried in a cemetery in Tamaha—”

I never heard the rest of her sentence. I was sure I had misunderstood. “Where?”

“Tamaha. And the others—”

I interrupted her. “Wait, I have to tell you something.” I couldn’t believe it. I’d never heard of this place before, and now, within the space of 2 hours, two people who were very close to me had told me they were going to be going to the cemetery there!

Chills raced through my body. This was no mere “coincidence.” I promised her I would be there—no matter what—Friday afternoon. We would be going on Saturday morning.

I would never have found the place on my own. I doubt that Mapquest even has it on their site. But Mr. Borin, an older gentleman my sister had befriended in years past, knew exactly where to go. Once we got there, I stepped out and found the headstones for the “Moss” family. It was amazing to think that my best friend, DaNel, whom I had not seen in over a year, had been standing where I was just a few days earlier—a place neither of us had been before. There was an incredible sense of connection.

As the three of us, Karen, Mr. Borin, and I stood in the quiet peacefulness of the old cemetery, a man made his way toward us. “Can I help you?” he asked. We explained why we were there. “Let me show you the historical side of Tamaha while you’re here,” he said cheerfully.

The cemetery is on a bluff overlooking the Arkansas River. “Right down there is where the J.R. Williams was sunk. She was a Confederate ship, but the Union seized her and changed the name to the J.R. Williams. But Stand Watie and his men seized her back.”(June 15, 1864) He chuckled at the thought.

“Come on, I’ll show you the largest black oak tree in Oklahoma—and the oldest.” Sure enough, it stood towering over one of the first buildings of the settlement of Tamaha, dating back to the 1800’s.

Next, we visited the town jail, the oldest jail in Oklahoma, built in 1886. We were able to walk right into it and take pictures. “We’re trying to get money up to preserve it,” he said. It stood in the middle of an overgrown field. “Watch out for snakes, hon,” he told me.

When we left, I knew I had my landmarks that I needed for my book. I had seen it, and my imagination took over. It was the “jog” I needed to get on with the writing, but I will never believe for one minute that it was coincidence.

Have any of you ever experienced anything like this? Some kind of remarkable occurrence that has affected your writing in some way? Share it, if you have—I know I can’t be the only one!

Below is an excerpt from FIRE EYES. I hope you enjoy it!

EXCERPT FROM FIRE EYES:

THE SET UP: A stranger has shown up at Jessica’s door in the evening. She is reluctant to let him inside, even though good manners would dictate that she find him a meal and a place to bed down. There is something about him she doesn’t like—and with good reason, as we find out.

“Evenin’, ma’am.”

The stranger looked down the business end of Jessica’s Henry repeater. It was cocked and ready for action.

She drew a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. She stood just inside the cabin door, the muzzle of the rifle gleaming in the lamplight that spilled around her from the interior.

He raised his hands and gave her a sheepish grin. “Don’t mean to startle you. Just hopin’ for a meal. Settlers are few and far between in these here parts.”

“Where’s your horse?” She didn’t lower the gun.

“Well, funny thing. I kinda hate to admit it.” He rubbed the back of his neck and looked away. “I, uh, lost him. Playin’ poker.”

“Where?”

“Over to Tamaha.”

“You’re quite a ways from Tamaha,” she said. “Even farther from where I expect you call home.”

He gave a slow, white grin. “More recently, I hail from the Republic of Texas.”

Jessica raised her chin a notch. It was almost as if this man invited dissension. She disliked the cool, unperturbed way he said it. The Republic of Texas. “Texas is a state, Mister. Has been for over twenty years.”

“Well, now,” he said, placing his booted foot on the bottom porch step. “I guess that all depends on who you’re talkin’ to.”

Her eyes narrowed, and she stepped back to shut the door. “I think you better—”

“Ma’am, I’m awful hungry. I’d be glad for any crumb you could spare.”

“What did you say your name was?” Her voice shook, and she cleared her throat to cover her nervousness. Most people had better manners than to show up right at dark.

“I didn’t. But, it’s Freeman. Andy Freeman.”

“Are you related to Dave Freeman?”

“He’s my brother.” He gave her a sincere look. “Look, ma’am, I’d sure feel a heap better talkin’ to you if I wasn’t lookin’ at you through that repeater. I been lookin’ for Dave.” There was an excited hopefulness in his tone. “You seen him? Ma, she sent me up here after him. She’s just a-hankerin’ for news of him. He ain’t real good about letter-writin’.”

Jessica sighed and lowered the rifle. “Come on in, Mr. Freeman. I’ll see what I can find for you to eat, and give you what news I have of your brother.”

“Thank you, Ma’am. I sure do appreciate your hospitality.”

INTRODUCING UNFORGETTABLE CHARACTERS--WITH FLAIR

Last month, we talked about where our writing ideas come from: Dreams, historical events, poetry or movies, or even from our own life experiences, to name a few. We looked at how our characters can be drawn from people we've known in our lives, whether we admire or despise them.

Characters, we said, can also come from unusual places--such as song lyrics, and can be based upon historical figures of the past. Characters can be born in our own imaginations completely--not based upon any actual person we ever knew or studied in a history book. If you write futuristic stories, your alien creatures must be created entirely within your own flights of fancy. If paranormal writing is your bailiwick, you must create your otherworldly characters from legends, lore, and once again, your own imaginings.

Let's look at what makes up a character's basic framework, beginning with the external elements. These will include all the components that have made our character who he or she is, from the most elementary choices of physical appearance to the limits of cultural and societal dictates that have been imposed upon the character.

One good option is to design your own "character chart" for each character, assigning basics such as hair and eye color, and delving into as much detail as you want. Age, birthday, even astrological signs can be included. Did your character lose a parent? Is he an only child, or the eldest of ten children? Every detail you can assign is like the stroke of a paintbrush. You are an artist, creating the picture of this person for your reader. If you don't allow us to see the details of the character, we can't know them deep down. We learn through your description, your inference, or through the observations of your other characters.

This leads us to the internal process of your characters' lives. Again, as in the physical description, you must delve into the characters' minds and decide what you will allow your readers to know. Your characters' emotions, reactions, yearnings, and thoughts are all an integral part of developing them into people we are going to remember. Will we like them? Empathize with them? Root against the villain? Most importantly, will we care--one way or the other?

Defining your characters' motives and feelings must be detailed, leaving nothing to assumption. This is a key element in creating believability.

But physical and emotional character creation is only a part of the whole "ball of wax." Your characters have to have a world to live in--a plot to carry out. These components include the conflict (what makes the story exciting and why do we care?) and the point of view. Point of view (POV) is extremely important, because this is the character who will be telling the story. The setting can be a huge factor as well, at times, becoming a character in its own right.
How do you introduce your characters with enough flair to make them interesting and to make your reader emotionally invested in them?

Think about books you've read with memorable character introductions. Can anyone forget their first glimpse of fiery Scarlett O'Hara? Or of the handsome scoundrel, Rhett Butler? Grab a copy of "Gone With the Wind" and study the way Margaret Mitchell introduces her characters. Her physical descriptions are matchless. Interestingly enough, she doesn't delve into deep point of view as much as she lets us learn things about the characters through their dialogue and what others say/think about them.

Another example of an unforgettable character entrance is Jack Schaefer's "Shane." Written in the late 1940's, it remains a classic today. This is an example of how very important the viewpoint character can be. Though the story is about Shane, a mystery man who shows up and helps the homesteaders out of a jam against the most powerful landowner in the valley, seeing it through the eyes of young Bobby Starett gives us a poignant understanding of the other characters--Shane in particular. Telling the story through Bobby lets the tension build to a climax that would be unattainable through any other character's "voice."

Another way of introducing a character is through dialogue. Giving the reader a titillating bit of conversation that leads us to
a) the storyline, or
b) discovery about the character's personality or circumstances
is a sure-fire way to garner interest in the character who delivers the line.

Circumstances can also be the means to provide the introduction of a character who is unforgettable. In Thomas Eidson's "St. Agnes' Stand", the main character, Nat Swanson, is in a dire predicament. He's been shot, and is being pursued by two men whose friend he killed in avenging a woman's honor--a woman he barely knew. He just wants to be left alone, to make it to California where a ranch he won with the turn of a card awaits--along with a new life. However, he comes upon a group of orphans and nuns who are sure to be captured and killed by a band of Apaches if he doesn't intervene--and he can't walk away. Again, he steps in to do the right thing--and it may be the death of him.

I hope this has given you a few ideas as to the different ways we have of introducing unforgettable characters--with flair!

If you haven't read these books, I highly recommend them. I teach fiction writing classes in Oklahoma City, and have a fabulous reading list I use in those classes if anyone is interested.

Below is an excerpt from my new release, FIRE EYES, when the heroine "meets" the hero for the first time. Here's what happens.

FROM FIRE EYES:

The man’s warm blood trickled across Jessica Monroe’s bare feet. The band of Choctaws had ridden up into her yard moments ago and slid him off a horse onto her front porch. She forced herself to stand still while Standing Bear spoke. Too much movement would appear rude.

“Will you care for him, Fire Eyes?” The direct question took her off guard. The Indians had insisted on giving her a name—Fire Eyes. They had brought her, on two occasions now, wounded men to care for. The last one had died.

Still, they saw her as a healer. Sometimes she felt they were trying to include her in their civilization now that she was virtually alone. But their infrequent visitation was a small price to pay them to leave her in peace. Relatively speaking. She gave an inward sigh, wondering if she would ever feel truly at peace in the world again. Nonetheless, she would care for the injured man. What other choice did she have?

She nodded. “Yes, Standing Bear. I’ll do what I can for him.” She looked down as the unconscious stranger rolled onto his back, even farther across her feet. He was tall and broad-shouldered, and his dark hair was matted with blood, his face bruised and swollen from the beating he’d taken. The late afternoon sun glinted across the metal badge pinned on the tattered remains of his shirt. A lawman. She stepped back.

Standing Bear made a motion, and four of the eight warriors accompanying him jumped to the ground and approached the wooden porch where Jessica stood.

She took another step back, her heart pounding in her throat even as her mind directed her to be calm. They meant her no harm. Ignoring her, they lifted the beaten, bleeding lawman, and carried him through her doorway straight to her bed.
“Not—” Jessica began.

They roughly deposited him right in the middle of the white and blue quilt Jessica’s grandmother had made for her as a wedding gift.

One of the braves gave her a harsh look, and she forced a smile. “Fine. That’s just fine.”

The muscular, bare-chested Choctaws brushed past her as they came back across the threshold. Jessica looked up once more at the chief, and could have sworn, for a moment, she saw amusement in his coal-black eyes.

“Marshal Turner is a friend.” He nodded toward the front door. “He will not harm you, Fire Eyes. He can be trusted.” Standing Bear paused. “We will not harm you, either.” His gaze flicked over her, and she knew he had seen her momentary fear.

“I-I know, Sir.” Jessica’s feet were sticky with the lawman’s drying blood. “You’ve been good to me—” She hesitated. “I just get anxious sometimes.” Her gaze drifted past him to the two warriors who were returning from the barn where they had stabled the marshal’s horse. One of them carried Turner’s saddlebags, which he laid at her bloody feet before swinging onto his own mount’s back.

Standing Bear nodded, turning his horse to go. “We will come again in three days. Do not allow him to die.” He said it imperiously, as if by his command, it would be so, and the man would live, regardless of his injuries.

Jessica’s mouth tightened in silent rebellion as, without a backward glance, the warriors melted into the nearby trees.

What had she done?

DREAMS AND FLASHBACKS--TO USE OR NOT TO USE?

Have you ever tried to write a dream sequence or a flashback in your novels? What did you think of it when you were finished? Were you happy with the end result, or did it leave you feeling a little flat when you read back over it?

The school of thought on dreams and flashbacks is divided. Some believe that the use of these devices exhibit the writer's immature efforts at crafting backstory and plugging it in, resulting in an amateurish debut into the literary world.

If not done well, this could prove true.

But why pick on flashbacks and dreams? Even plain storytelling without the use of these literary devices can sometimes result in what dissolves into, at best, a "freshman effort." It's not necessarily due to using these tools, though some critics may call upon this as their "rule of thumb" to judge by.

Another argument against flashbacks and dreams is that they lead the reader out of the actual moment of the story, and may somehow "confuse the reader."

Oh, come on.

The only bit of confusion that might occur is not the result of the dream or flashback itself; rather, the inability of the writer to make his meaning clear--again, resulting in an immature presentation.

Yes, flashbacks and dreams are sometimes tough to transition to and from, and make that transition "work." But they can be invaluable tools in creating your backstory.

What are the advantages of dream sequences? They can foreshadow events to come, or provide information about events that the dreamer witnessed.

In my book, Fire Eyes, U.S. Marshal Kaed Turner is being tortured by a band of renegades, so he isn't paying attention to some of the details of events and conversation that is taking place around him at the time. (SEE EXCERPT BELOW) But later, when he's safely recovering, he dreams about what happened to him. This dream does two things for the reader:

1.) It lets us know what, exactly, was being done to Kaed through the conversation and actions of the participants. We see and hear what is happening, as if we are there, in the moment, without Kaed having to re-tell it to someone.

2.) It allows Kaed (and the reader) to seize upon a very important piece of information that's pertinent to the plot.
He was not aware of it consciously, but his subconscious thoughts had picked it up, and it was revealed in the dream.

If you are writing a story with psychic or paranormal happenings, dreams could be a shared link between characters. This device is used often in novels that include time travel, as well.

One thing to consider when writing a dream sequence is the way your character sees life, and what his or her culture is. Make your dreams and flashbacks reflect this appropriately. In Native American culture, an owl is a symbol of impending death--not wisdom. It might mean different things to people from other cultures. Yet, a raven will probably hold much the same symbolism for everyone.

Your characters can solve problems in their dreams. This happens in reality--it can happen in fiction.

Remember, like the presentation of a gourmet meal, a seamless story is in the telling, or the writing. Backstory is sometimes essential, as are clues to the story that might not be able to be presented any other way. Make your transitions to the past, or in and out of the dream state, as flawless as possible.

If you do this, your readers won't be confused, and you'll hold them spellbound as they see the story unfold along with your characters.

Do you use dreams and flashbacks in your writing? I'd love to hear your comments and thoughts on this. I personally love both dreams and flashbacks, and use both quite frequently in my writing. Let me hear from you!

DREAM EXCERPT FROM FIRE EYES:

Finally, he fell into a deep sleep, giving himself up to the blackness, then the dreams that he could not stop, or change.
****
He had been here before. Waiting. The mists swirled and parted. Dreams were not always kind, but could be a powerful tool to search for clues that the mind kept veiled. From where he waited in the dense underbrush he could see and hear everything—all over again.

“Maybe we oughtta let ‘em go,” Abe Moseley suggested. “Bein’ as who they are.” He shot Fish Edwards a dark look.

“Hell,” Fish mumbled. “I didn’t know they was related to any chief when I took ‘em.”
Fallon stood up and eyed Edwards shrewdly. “It sure puts us in a hell of a place.” He walked slowly toward one of the tall cottonwoods and leaned against it. “Standing Bear will stop at nothing to get them back.”

Mosely hung his head. “I won’t never do that again—screw the merchandise, I mean. I’m awful sorry.”

Fallon shook his head slowly. “We don’t have a buyer anymore, and now we have Standing Bear to deal with.” He came slowly toward Mosely, halting just in front of him. “What should I do, Abe?”

“Hell, General, I know I made a mistake. But I hadn’t had any for so long, an’—”

“A mistake!” Fallon gave him an incredulous stare. “You cost us, Mosely. You and Thomas and Connors. Pritchard is paying us for virgins!”

Pritchard! Kaed’s mind seized on the valuable piece of information he had missed the first time. Pritchard. The Honorable George Pritchard—the Federal judge in Dodge City?

The rest of this was unimportant, but he couldn’t seem to manage to shake off the sleep, wake himself up. He was on fire; burning—and he couldn’t do a damn thing. Everything blurred, and once again he felt the rough hands seizing him, tying him. There was a sudden hiss of burning flesh, the smell of it searing his nostrils, and just as the pain washed over him, he realized it was his own skin.

A mountain of a man stood beside him, his leering gap-toothed grin filled with malicious intent. Kaed felt him take his right arm in his huge ham fists. It seemed as if he stood that way for an eternity, both hands locked on opposite sides of Kaed’s arm.

At Fallon’s grinning nod, the man tightened his grip and began to slowly twist in opposite directions. The bone snapped and crunched as it broke under the ponderous pressure. An excruciating blast of agony shot through Kaed’s entire body as the jagged shards of bone cut through his skin from the inside out, until the ends protruded completely.

Blood spurted across his twisted face and corded neck, soaking into his shirt in spatters. It flowed freely in the next moment, turning the ragged edge of chambray sleeve into a crimson flag of agony.

He cursed himself for the guttural, half-conscious sound he made in the back of his throat. Only by sheer force of will did he choke back the animalistic screams that threatened to tear apart the bloodthirsty air of this hideous night.

“Felt that, didn’t you, Turner?” Fallon leered at Kaed. “Where do you reckon ol’ Standing Bear is right now?”

Kaed remained silent, his puffy eyes slitted murderously in the flickering light of the campfire.

“Well, let’s see. I know one place he’s not, Marshal Turner. He’s not here rescuin’ you, now, is he?” Fallon’s blade arced wickedly across Kaed’s belly, and he gritted his teeth at the slashing fire. He could almost feel his shoulders separating from the rest of his body.

“Is he, Marshal? Now, I ast you a question, boy, and I want a true lawman answer.”

Kaed tried to speak, to tell Fallon to go fuck himself, but it wouldn’t come. His throat was dry and rusty, aching with the effort he’d made to keep any sound back.

“What?” Fallon asked, his grin widening hellishly. He leaned closer in mock concern. “I think the marshal’s tryin’ to talk, boys. Go ‘head, Turner. Ol’ Standing Bear ain’t much of anything to be afraid of, cause he sure hasn’t shown his cowardly, red ass around here.” He winked. “Don’t believe he’s comin’ to help you.”

“He…will,” Kaed gritted.

At the certain tone of Kaed’s response, some of the men hooted and whistled. Seconds later, the first arrow caught Bodie Johns in the throat. The other men turned, running, scrambling for guns, cover and horses.

All except Andrew Fallon. Drawing his revolver, he pointed it at Kaed’s head. “Now, you die, Marshal.”

As Kaed watched Fallon’s eager finger ease the trigger back, he felt a strong vibration in the ropes at his wrists, heard the accompanying whine of the well-placed arrow. He dropped to the ground as the rope unraveled, sliced in two.

Fallon’s gun exploded, and once more, Kaed felt the hot streak of fire at his side.

As he hit the ground and rolled, the blackness took him.

THE "WHAT-IF" GAME--IDEAS AND WHAT WE DO WITH THEM

Have you ever been asked, "Where do you get your ideas?" Ever thought
about that question?

Where do your ideas for writing fiction come from, and what makes them
worthy of the time, effort, and creative energy we expend to bring that
idea to full fruition--to craft a well-written story from it?

One source of story ideas is from real-life experience. Whether we are
retelling a chapter of our own life, or something that happened to
someone else, we must have come to the conclusion that that idea was
worthwhile and that others would be interested in it, as well.

I want to talk a little bit about why we have to be careful when we
glean ideas from actual happenings. For many years, I taught a series
of classes on "writing your life story." You can't imagine how popular
those classes have remained, especially with the older generation. The
idea that one's life is unique or different suddenly takes on new
meaning when others say, "You should write that down!" It comes to
mean, "Your life has been fantastic!" It may well have been fantastic
but when you stop to think about it, many, many people have had unusual,
one-of-a-kind experiences at one time or another. What would make a
person believe that their life story would be the one people would rush
to Barnes and Noble to pluck from the shelves and lay down a twenty
dollar bill to buy?

Many times, we as writers can draw from our life experiences as a bank
of ideas for our fiction, but to write our own life story in full
would generally prove to be a project that might prove to be a
disappointing failure in the end.

Characters we've met in our lives also give us ideas for the characters
we create. Although we might not think of our sourpuss Aunt Betty as
a "character" in real life, once we begin to write the fictional story
we've been plotting, we might see one of the secondary characters begin
to take on attributes of Aunt Betty--someone we haven't been around for
the past five years. People we've met casually, or known in a family
context, can firmly insert themselves into our stories--much to our surprise.

Books, poetry or movies that might have influenced our thinking during our
lives also can have an impact on our ideas. I once read a book based
on a song that was popular in the early 1970s about a young woman who
was in love with a sea captain.

Other forms of mass media can also add to our treasure trove of ideas.
Articles we've read in magazines or newspapers spark ideas. True
stories that are fictionalized have become one of the most popular genres
ever created. Truman Capote's best seller "In Cold Blood" was the book that
was the catalyst and set the standard for this type of fictionalized
reality.

Historical events from the past can also provide us with ideas that can
either stay fairly true to history or take a wide turn around the actual
events. Alternate history is a new up-and-coming genre that encompasses all types
of fiction writing, from science fiction to historicals,
including certain genres of romance, mainstream, and political fiction.

Now that we've talked a bit about where some of our ideas might come from,
we need to look at how we know whether an idea is "story-worthy" or not.
Have you ever started writing on a manuscript that you loved the idea
for, but suddenly the plot fizzles? Maybe you get to a certain point
and don't know where to go next. Does that mean your idea is no good?
Or does it mean you are just in need of some brainstorming to re-direct
your plot, punch it up, and keep the middle from "sagging"?

Someone once said, you can wash garbage, but it's still garbage. Learning
what is garbage and what is salvageable is the most important thing you need
to know. If you begin with an idea that you love, chances are, there'll
be someone else out there who'll love it, too! Your readers! If you
have an idea that's "sort of" good, the question is, will you care enough,
as a writer, to see it through to the end?

Of course, everyone who has ever written anything for pleasure has had
self-doubt. Remember Miss Smith's third grade class? If the assignment
was to write an essay, or a short story, you didn't dare let that smirk
of anticipation cross your face. What would your friends think of you
if they knew you were looking forward to actually writing a paper? While
everyone else wrote a paragraph, you couldn't help yourself: you wrote
two whole pages! And the secret was out. Self-doubt set in the very moment one of your
classmates asked, "Gosh, why'd you write so much?"

So, you see, self-doubt has been instilled in us since we were in Miss
Smith's class. It will never leave us. We have to practice introducing
ourselves in the bathroom mirror: "Hi. I'm (insert your name here.) I'm
a writer."

One of the best idea-getters is the "what-if" game (one of my favorites.)
What if there was a man and he had a beautiful daughter. What if
he fell in love with a woman who had two daughters of her own. What if
they married. But, what if the woman wasn't what the man had believed
her to be? What if she hated his daughter and was jealous of her?
CINDERELLA!!!

I love this game because it leads to all sorts of possibilities. Our
stories can take flight in directions we never imagined, becoming a
joyous surprise even to ourselves, the authors!

Though we must battle our self-doubt on two fronts (a, will the story idea be interesting and good, and (b, will I be able to write it, finish it, bring it to
fruition through publication) reminding ourselves every day that we are
professional writers and that our ideas are worthy is one way to combat
that doubt. I'm not a fan of critique groups normally, but finding
other writers who are supportive through other venues is a great
confidence booster.

Something to think about: The greatest "what-if"? What if I wasn't a
writer? My story would never be written!

There are a lot of "what ifs" in my novel, Fire Eyes. Below is an excerpt of my villain, Andrew Fallon, speaking with his brother. In the course of the conversation, Fallon learns a piece of information that had come up in casual conversation between his brother, Dave, and my heroine, Jessica. It's enough to turn the entire purpose of his character, since revenge is his great motivator where Kaed Turner is concerned. Here's what happens:

FROM FIRE EYES:

Dave Fallon shuddered. “Yes, I’ve heard all about Fallon’s Brigade. You made quite a reputation for yourself. Not a good one, either.” He shook his head. “After Pa died, we heard some awful hard things about what you done, Drew. It broke Mama’s heart. I promised her I’d make it right again.”

“Just how do you intend to do that, brother?”

“I promised Mama I’d see you came home to Texas to make a new start. You keep goin’ like you are, you’re gonna die young. You’ve got a passel of lawmen after you, boy, an’ I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout amateurs.”

Fallon’s brows shot up. “Really, dear brother? Do tell.”

Dave Fallon leaned over the pommel of his saddle, a scowl on his face. “You take this lightly. That’s pure arrogance outta you. Just like everything.”

“Who are they, Dave? That’s all I need from you.”

Dave sighed. “Tom Sellers, for one. He’s a tough one, and he hates you after, after what happened at Honey Springs.”

“Heard about that, did you?”

“Yes, I heard, dammit! And so did Mama and Pa and Eddie. Seemed like ever’body in Fort Worth heard about it.”

Drew Fallon lowered his eyes for a moment, a smile touching his lips. “Ah, yes. Eddie. How is our middle brother?”

“Dead.” Dave said succinctly. “Shot in the back by a man who’s son and grandson you killed.”

“Hmm. I’m afraid I don’t remember them.”

“Drew—”

Fallon cut him off. “You said there were others, besides Tom Sellers. How do you know?”

Dave’s features were grim. “I stopped off in Fort Smith to see Jack Eaton.”

“Why in God’s name would you do that?”

“He and I served together for a short time in the War, before what happened at Honey Springs. I thought maybe he might’ve heard—well, Christ, we didn’t know if you were dead or alive.”

“Alive, brother. Very much…alive.”

Tom Sellers wouldn’t be alone, Fallon knew, and he’d be out for blood after Turner’s murder. “Who’s after me, Dave, besides Sellers?”

“Eaton, Harv Jenkins, and two young ones, Morgan and Hayes, according to the office there in Fort Smith. But Kaed Turner’s leading the pack.”

At that, Fallon’s pulse leapt. “Turner? You sure about that?”

Dave smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

Fallon slapped his gloved hand against his thigh with a curse. “Turner. I was sure he wouldn’t make it. I beat him bloody.” He turned to look at his brother. “What makes you so certain?”

“I talked to his wife. Pretty little thing. She claimed she didn’t know where they were headed, but I’d already found that out for myself in Ft. Smith.”

“His wife?”

“Yeah. Jessica Turner. Lives just off the west branch of Clear Boggy Creek. Got a nice little cabin there.”

Andrew Fallon began to laugh. His body shook until finally he dabbed a corner of his gloved finger to first one eye, then the other. “This is so rich.”

“Enlighten me,” Dave said dryly.

“I killed that woman’s first husband, Billy Monroe.” He smiled. “We needed to commandeer supplies and he was most uncooperative. A traitor, you might say. He cried like a baby before we finished with him. Yelled for her to come save him.” He gave a snort of laughter. “Course, we was miles from that cabin by then. Wasn’t no way she coulda heard him bawlin’, even loud as he was. We went back the next day where we’d left him. Thought maybe we oughtta do the right thing, drop him at her doorstep. But someone else already beat us to it. That damn Standing Bear, I figure.” He sniffed. “Kaed Turner would be dead right now, too, if that damned Injun hadn’t interfered, again.” He shook his head. “Evidently, Turner’s got more grit than Mr. Monroe had. But that woman, Jessica, she’s the one I should’ve gotten rid of. Once that’s done, I can take any of the benefits of the land that we need for our army.” He laughed again. “Mrs. Kaedon Turner, huh? Well. I can fix that.”

Cheryl

THE MINDSET OF WRITING: ARE YOU TOUGH ENOUGH?

When I first began writing seriously, it never entered my mind that it
would be a painful process. But it is.

From the very beginnings of our imaginings as writers, the first
stirrings of creativity that we feel compelled to share with the world
by transferring our thoughts to paper (or computer), we are "putting
ourselves out there" for the world to look at--and judge. Self-doubt
is inevitable.

When you wrote your first essay in grammar school--think back--"How I
Spent My Summer Vacation"--that was the beginning. You most likely had
to stand up and read it for the class, to be snickered at by your
classmates if you hadn't had some kind of fantastic summer experience
to write about--good or bad.

Your retelling of a wonderful vacation to Disneyland could be trumped
by a classmate who’d visited relatives that lived near Billy Bob's Crocodile Farm.
Never, never could we slip into mediocrity by writing about a boring
summer of "just staying home."

Without our realizing it, this was the beginning of the rest of our
lives as writers--and the judgment of the rest of the world. By what
we wrote for those long-ago class assignments, we unwittingly took
the first steps on our journeys into the world of writing successes
to come. How our classmates reacted, even at age eight or nine, would
affect the rest of our lives in ways we didn't imagine then.

Think of it this way: Miss Smith's third grade class was our first
experience with peers who critiqued our work. And some of those peers
could be downright snide, despite Miss Smith's admonishments to mind
their manners!

Kids are cruel, but so are adults. Our school years were the proving
ground for obstacles we face in the adult world in many areas, but did
you ever think of your third-grade classmates as your first panel of
reviewers?

Just as we longed for acceptance then, we wish for it now. Those
of us who are writers hope to be embraced by a fan base of some
size--even if it's small.

Miss Smith was the next hurdle, representing an elevated level of
criticism. She gave you "the grade" for your paper--evaluating not
only the grammar and punctuation, but the content and creativity.

Dealing with teachers and curriculum in school is much like dealing
with a literary agent and the governing “rules of writing” in our adult
lives. The comparison is striking.

We have to "make the grade" to land an agent. But, like teachers, not
all agents are alike. Some tend to give more advice, push harder for
the sale, or spend more time networking. Ultimately, your agent
is your personal "gatekeeper," making the sale for your work--or not.
Miss Smith in third grade, along with countless others like her,
represent the first broker for your writing. Did you pass or fail?
Were you creative? Did you meet your word count?

Much of the outcome depends on you. Have you been "tough enough"
through the years? How do you handle the rejection that comes as an
inevitable, integral part of a writer's life? Have you ever thought
that you might have started your adult writing career sooner had you
had a bit of encouragement in those early years?

Realize that you are here, at last, and having made it this far, you
are on the road to success. It might not come tomorrow, or next week,
but it is out there, waiting. Much of our success as writers depends
on luck, or "being in the right place at the right time." Having that
teacher, mentor or friend at some point who gave us a small piece of
encouragement is sometimes what can "make or break" us.

But learning to be tough and stay constant, to keep from being
disillusioned and disheartened, and to be our own source of inner
comfort and strength during this journey is the key to success.

Join me next time when we take a look at having faith in
your story, your ideas, your talents--and what to do if doubt sets in
once you've begun to write.

Until then, remember, even if you haven't sold anything yet,
you've written it. And that's a success story in itself.

Completing a manuscript of any kind means you were tough enough to
"tell it" and it's only a matter of time now until you sell it!

IS YOUR SETTING ANOTHER CHARACTER?

Location. Setting. Why is it so important to our story?

It seems obvious in some cases. In others, there could be a 'hidden' agenda. It can actually become another character.

Let's take a look, first, at the importance of setting to our genre, or sub-genre.

Fifty years ago, the choices were limited. Regencies and Westerns were prevalent sub-genres in the historical category, and mysteries and detective stories captivated the 'contemporary' nook. Science fiction was still relatively uncharted.
The setting of a novel was a definitive device, separating the genres as clearly as any other element of writing.

The glittering ballrooms and colorful gowns and jewels whisked historical romance readers away to faraway, exotic locales. Sagebrush, cactus, and danger awaited heroes of the western genre, a male-dominated readership.

But something odd happened as time went by. The lines blurred. Rosemary Rogers combined the romance of exotic places with the danger of an action plot, and an unforgettable hero in Steve Morgan that, had a man picked up 'Sweet Savage Love' and read it, he certainly could have identified with.

By the same token, the male-oriented scenery accompanied by the stiff, stylized form of western writers such as Owen Wister (The Virginian) and Zane Grey (Riders of the Purple Sage, The Last Trail) gave way to Louis L'Amour (Conagher, the Sackett series) and Jack Schaefer (Shane, Monte Walsh).

Why is the evolving change in description of location so important? In older writings, many times the location of a novel was just where the story happened to take place. Often, the plot of the story dictated the setting, rather than the two forming any kind of 'partnership.'

But with the stories that came along later, that partnership was strengthened, and in some cases, location became almost another character in the plot.

Take, for example, Louis L'Amour's 'Conagher.' As he describes the heroine's (Evie) dismal hopelessness at the land her husband (Jacob) has brought her to, we wonder how she will survive. Yet, Jacob has plans, sees the possibilities that Evie cannot, or will not see. The underlying message is, "The land is what we make of it."

As the story continues, she begins to appreciate the beauty of the prairie, while acknowledging the solitary loneliness of her existence. She plants a garden, nurturing the plants, and gradually she sees the farm being shaped into a good home from the ramshackle place she'd first laid eyes on.

The land is beautiful, but unforgiving. Her husband is killed in a freak accident, and for months she doesn't know what has happened to him. She faces the responsibility of raising his two children from a previous marriage alone.
In her loneliness, she begins to write notes describing her feelings and ties them to tumbleweeds. The wind scatters the notes and tumbleweeds across the prairie. Conagher, a loner, begins to wonder who could be writing them, and slowly comes to believe that whomever it is, these notes are meant for him.

At one point, visitors come from back East. One of them says to Evie something to the effect of "I don't know how you can stand it here."

This is Evie's response to her:

"I love it here," she said suddenly. "I think there is something here, something more than all you see and feel…it's in the wind.

"Oh, it is very hard!" she went on. "I miss women to talk to, I miss the things we had back East–the band concerts, the dances. The only time when we see anyone is like now, when the stage comes. But you do not know what music is until you have heard the wind in the cedars, or the far-off wind in the pines. Someday I am going to get on a horse and ride out there"–she pointed toward the wide grass before them–"until I can see the other side…if there is another side."

The land, at first her nemesis, has become not only a friend, but a soulmate. If that's not romance, I don't know what is.

Think of your own writing projects. What importance do you give setting in your description, plot, even characterization? Within 40 pages of 'Conagher', we understand that the land, with all its wild beauty and dangers has become enmeshed in Evie's character. She can't leave it, and it will never leave her.