#WriteTip - Is SAID Dead? by M.S. Kaye (@MSKosciuszko), with a #CoverReveal for ONCE

/

Have you ever seen authors/editors geek out over dialogue tags? It's a sight to behold. Anyway, I've invited M.S. Kaye over to explain the debate over the most controversial of all tags--"said."

Is Said Dead? by M.S. Kaye

I recently saw a Facebook post that claimed “said is dead.” It went on to list all the other “better” options to use, along with the emotion that correlates to each word.

I do agree that sometimes yelled, demanded, or murmured are the best words for the job, showing how the dialogue is being said, especially if it’s difficult to show the emotion through the particular dialogue. However, most of the time, “said” is exactly what I want.

Said is dead, huh? Of course it is. That’s the whole point!

Readers barely even notice it. It serves its purpose of clarifying the speaker and then shuts up and stands in the corner like it’s supposed to. Dialogue tags remind the reader of the author’s presence, so when you have to use a tag, why not use the one that’s almost invisible?

 

Once

Book One

by M.S. Kaye

Her first and also her once.

Jonathan and Rebecca’s paths cross at exactly the right moment, when each most needs to hear what the other has to say.

But Jonathan is three days from entering the priesthood, and Rebecca leaves him to his peace. But he is unable to find peace.

Without each other’s comfort and strength, they must each struggle to forge a new path, with only memories of the one day that changed everything.

But are they able to forget and let go?

Releases July 2, 2016 from Inkspell Publishing. 
Pre-order on Amazon or Kobo, and add to your Goodreads TBR list today! 

Excerpt

“What’s the answer?”

He paused. “A switchblade.”

With my fingertips, I reached out and traced the scar across his cheek. “Did you win?”

He removed my hand and closed his eyes. “Yes.”

I slid his Book back to him. “This says we can find forgiveness.”

His eyes still closed, his jaw clenched. He bowed his head. “It also says ‘Thou shalt not kill.’”

I took his hand in both of mine, petted his rough skin, and then brought it to my lips. He had a talent for guiding invisibly, but I didn’t know how to do that.

He watched me again. His eyes were intense, like the black of the night sky, and his forehead was furrowed, as if his emotions were scattered, as if he was shocked at my reaction, as if he had been sure his answer would drive me away. But I knew him. Already, I knew him.

“You’re still a good person,” I said.

His jaw clenched. “I’ve been trying to believe that.”

“I have faith in you.”

He continued to watch me. His forehead never smoothed, as if he was fighting for strength, but his eyes softened. He slid around the booth, closer to me.

I didn’t move, not sure what to do, what was right, what he wanted.

He leaned closer.

I only watched him.

He touched his lips to my cheek, the faintest pressure. I struggled to sit still, to keep my hands in my lap, not to grab hold of him. And then his lips were gone, such brief contact that I couldn’t be sure if he had actually kissed my cheek or if I wanted his contact so much that I’d imagined it.

He spoke in my ear. “You must be some kind of final test.”

My heart pounded into my ribs, against the point of the blade. “Are you going to pass?”

His lips brushed against my jaw. “I don’t know.”

He trailed to my neck, his mouth softly pressing. My hand curled into his hair, the other on his shoulder, holding, clutching. His mouth found mine, barely touching. His warmth invaded my head.

“God give me strength,” he murmured.

The door slid open, and the compartment filled with laughter.

He closed his eyes. Then he slid away from me.

About M.S. Kaye

M.S. Kaye has several published books under her black belt. A transplant from Ohio, she resides with her husband Corey in Jacksonville, Florida, where she tries not to melt in the sun. Find suspense and the unusual at www.BooksByMSK.com.

To receive news on upcoming releases, sign up for email updates on her website.

Facebook  |  Twitter  |  Google+  |  Goodreads  |  Amazon  |  TSU  |  Pinterest  |  LinkedIn

#WriteTip - Try a Bit of Everything by @MerrynDexter, spotlighting her @DecadentPub #shifter #romance

/

As a relative newbie author myself, I'm in total agreement with this advice from my pub-buddy Merryn Dexter. She's got a brand new release out for Decadent Publishing's smoking hot Black Hills Wolves series, a shared world lovingly curated by Rebecca Royce. More details on this yummy paranormal romance follows our brief writing tip break. 

Try a Bit of Everything

by Merryn Dexter


As a relative new comer to this writing game, it's hard to know which advice to follow from the myriad resources available. My key tip would be to try a bit of everything. Try timed sprinting, try setting a daily schedule, find music that inspires you. Write by hand, write on your phone, write notes. Outlines, detailed plotting, chapter bullet points you want to hit. There are so many different ways to do this and not all will work for you, but some will.

The most important thing is to write about what you love and to keep writing. The more you practice, the better you will get. Writing a book is a learned skill, you will not be an expert for quite a long time. With a handful of contracts under my belt, I'm still wobbling along with my training wheels. But I'm better than I was six months ago, and I am excited to see where I will be in six months and a year from now. 

A Mate’s Redeeming Touch

Black Hills Wolves

By Merryn Dexter

Ven Thorne is a lone wolf with a bad attitude caused by his difficult childhood. Forced to return to pack life, he is tasked with rebuilding the gas station on the outskirts of Los Lobos. Ven works for Ryker, the pack enforcer, and will act as sentinel and lookout when the station reopens. 

Caitlyn Burrows has recently returned to Los Lobos with her family. A victim of Magnum Tao, the pack’s evil ex-Alpha, she is terrified of men and her natural omega nature is making it hard for her to make friends. Her family is determined to see Caitlyn happy. 

A chance encounter between Ven and Caitlyn reveals they are mates, something that neither of them is happy about! He’s mean and angry; she’s timid and shy. Can two such opposites find common ground? 

Caitlyn decides it is past time to take control of her life and is determined to prove to Ven that she is the mate that he needs. Can she make him see that the Fates are right and that their only chance of happiness is together or will the ghosts from the past keep them apart forever? 

Excerpt

“I said, what do you want?” Ven sounded furious as he took a step towards her and Caitlyn shrank back, dropping the cooler as she raised her hands as though trying to ward him off. The box tipped over, spilling its contents across the scruffy lot and the man swore again. He stepped around the mess of food and drinks, advancing rapidly and she caught his scent, amber and dark wood beneath a layer of fresh sweat. Her wolf, normally so quiet, surged forward and she realized in terror that she was practically toe-to-toe with her mate. And he was mean and angry.

Knowing what it was to suffer at the hands of a cruel man, she turned tail and ran as fast as she could. She plunged towards the relatively safety of the trees, kicking off her shoes and dragging her clothes free as she fled.

Her wolf was whining at her to stop, but she pushed on into the heavy brush. Pausing to shed her jeans, she crouched, letting the shift take her over but making sure she retained enough control to force the wolf to keep running. The wolf howled, desperate to turn back, to catch again the glorious scent of her mate and offer her throat in submission to his dominant presence.

A heavy crash behind had her doubling her efforts and her paws scrabbled over the soft ground, seeking purchase as she ran as though the hounds of hell were on her heels. She risked a glance over her shoulder and an involuntary yip of fright loosed from her throat. An enormous gray wolf was gaining on her with every stride, the snarl on his face more terrifying than the scowl he’d worn in his human form.

She put on another burst of speed, her wolf suddenly in accordance that escape rather than submission was the best idea. Dodging around a massive pine tree, trunk broader than her back, she pulled up short at the remains of another fallen trunk that suddenly blocked her path. A snarl set her in motion again and her claws scratched at the bark as she desperately tried to clamber over the downed tree. The wood was soft, rotten in places and her front legs slid from under her as a huge set of jaws clamped around the thick fur at the back of her neck.

About Merryn Dexter

Merryn Dexter is a military spouse who, after a varied employment career (from selling sandals to old ladies with bunions to being a health and safety coordinator for a construction company), is thrilled to be pursuing her dream career as a romance writer. She likes The Winchesters, Spike, Hotch, Loki and watching complicated European Noir. Her hobbies include crying at books, crying at movies, crying at tv serials (there’s a theme!) and believes all stories should have a Happy Ending.  

Facebook | Facebook Author Page | Blog | Twitter | Pinterest | Email | Amazon Author Page

#WriteTip - Got Pacing? by @TDHassettauthor, spotlighting her #rockstar #romance Isabel's Awakening

/

Gone are the days when I wrote by the seat of my pants. I miss the rush, the thrill of discovering my characters as words appear on the page. What I don't miss is having to trunk manuscripts half-way through, or backtrack and painstakingly rewrite large chunks of the story because of a decision I later made.

I consider myself a recovering pantser. I try my best to map out tales, and I use Scrivener somewhat religiously. However, more often than not, I tend to veer from plans already made. Luckily, since I write pretty short, I can get away with it. 

T.D. Hassett does not have that luxury. Since writing in the 60-90,000 range is one of my goals, I've invited her over to give me pointers on pacing. Afterwards, we take a closer look at her rockstar romance, Isabel's Awakening. 

Got Pacing? Four things I needed to know but didn't.

by T.D. Hassett

My very first book was written literally by the seat of my pants. As in I sat on the back deck drinking after work cocktails and typing away. I didn't know anything about formats, point of view or pacing. It was total luck that a couple of publishers offered contract on that bookand even luckier for me that one of those publishers had a special class for writers who needed fine tuning. I've now written five books and each one became easier to put together. So what were my big take a ways?

If you have too many points of view your story will be confusing! It seems that number is based on a book's length. A book in the 60-90,000 word zone should have three points of view; the hero, the heroine and possibly the villain to add a darkness to the telling.

Panstering versus plotting?  I am becoming more of a plotter with a panster attitude.  Not outlining or using a pacing guide can mean you have unfinished stories. Good stories that wind up stuck in a quagmire because you can’t bring them to conclusion without re-organizing what’s been written. I sincerely believe that my current work in progress would be abandoned by now if I hadn’t spent time using the plotting paradigms to get my ideas organized. Know how it will all come together before you get too far.

Make sure you are dividing up your story into stages to keep that pacing under control. Introduce your H/H by the first third of the story otherwise your reader may lose interest. The next stage should contain the key conflict: What makes this potential happily ever after seem to be doomed? The final section has to tie up all the loose ends. Leaving a few strands hanging is frustrating to the reader. Okay this last part is a personal pet peeve, as I really don't like cliffhanger books.

Finally, the epilogue should be detailed enough to satisfy your reader. My original ending to Isabel's Awakening had a big kiss at the end and that was it. Fortunately I was given some good advice and created an epilogue to show the readers that the happy couple was thriving and truly settled.

I hope these basic tips help in your writing.

Isabel's Awakening

by T.D. Hassett

Who didn’t know the biggest rock band in the world?

  Singer and front man Thomas Morgan was destroyed by the loss of his brother and total destruction of his marriage.  To avoid entanglements with others, even his young son, Thomas focused on promoting his music and newly formed record label. He thought he had everything at a safe distance, at least until Isabel literally slammed into his life.

High school teacher Isabel Warren finds herself falling head over heels in love with the sexy-as-sin singer for the rock band Becket. Soon Isabel’s orderly world of lesson plans, thesis writing, and student loan debt is competing against desire, passion, and her vulnerable heart.

As the sex sizzles, the two lovers will have to decide which parts of their dreams they will sacrifice for their fledgling relationship.

Excerpt

Thomas Becket Morgan was cranky and bored with this place already. His band was playing two shows in this tiny state over the coming weekend, and the small city lacked decent lodgings for the first night’s engagement, so the tour manager had set them up in this suburban hotel from hell.

The town appeared to be a bedroom community, ritzy houses set in quiet neighborhoods and one main road crowded with shopping malls, gas stations, high-end eateries, and designer outlet stores. Drive six miles down the road, and the view became tenement houses just like those in the depression-era book a photographer he admired named Riis had put out. This place was reasonably close to New York City—its one redeeming value—and had he known how close it was in advance, he would have commuted here for the show from his flat in the city.

Gordon, or Gordy as Thomas preferred to call him, acted as both babysitter and tour assistant. He stood in a ridiculously long line at the Five Guys burger place while Thomas looked for something to read. He was sick of hotel food and just wanted bangers and mash but would settle for a decent burger and fries. It had been dreary and raining all day, and they couldn’t even set up and do sound checks at the stadium until Friday morning. Today had been a wasted day.

He envied Rick, the bassist. Fucker. He was staying in his own home with his wife and children and just showing up to do the area shows. That bloke had brains and talent.

Thomas’ most prized possession, a 1963 Fender Telecaster custom guitar, had traveled with him to thirty-two states and twelve countries over the last twenty-four months, and he was sick of it all. He missed his boy and his house, which was now owned by his ex-wife, Sasha, the cheating coke-whore bitch. Thinking about Sasha left a bad taste in his mouth. At this point he even wondered if crazy should be added to the litany of insults against her. He had been receiving odd postcards mentioning his personal skeletons and offering to keep quiet in exchange for joining the sender in “making a real family.” She’d been just unhinged enough since the divorce to try mess with his head and send him that kind of shit.

He’d slept on the plane from Toronto today for too long and woken up with a kink in his neck and an urge to read the next book in a series he’d started reading some years back. Thomas didn’t know why he loved Herbert’s Dune series. Maybe it was the made-for-television movies they’d done on two of the books but whatever. All the desert scenes made him want to visit the Sahara or some big sandy place and ride a camel or some such foolery. Besides, for the rest of the East Coast portion of Becket’s tour, he would be stuck on buses with hours of boring highway scenery with few days off in between shows.

He grabbed a couple of books off the shelf and read the backs to kill time; he was already holding what he’d planned to buy.

The place was quiet; some soft pop canned music played over the store speakers. Sounded like a fucking Justin Bieber song. The walls were the standard beige with framed prints of famous books and movies scattered about. The DVD section had the largest number of shoppers, so the section with the science fiction novels was all his, although he thought he should buy some movies since hotel selections could be trying. He wouldn’t mind picking up the director’s cut of THX.

Just as he switched books, he saw a young woman walking toward his area. She was tall, early twenties or maybe late teens trying to look older, with wet hair hanging out of what he thought must have been a bun-sort of updo, that or one of those new styles. She looked so distracted in her wet blouse and severe long brown skirt. He idly wondered if she would bug him for an autograph and gush like so many of the others her age did. For the first time in forever, he actually hoped she would. It was not something he usually liked; he detested fan meet and greets. But this girl… She just looked yummy.

Her breasts were full. They were practically falling out of her bra through the thin, wet shirt, and her hips were what his granddad would have called “good breeding hips” in his day. She wasn’t all stick shaped and harsh angles like his ex; this girl was curvy and feminine. Her mouth was overfull, with lips that most women would have had to pay a surgeon to pump full of silicone, but somehow, he just knew they were natural. He didn’t think she was wearing makeup, and her skin looked so milk-pale and flawless. Absently, he wondered if she realized that the long, tight skirt down to her ankles made men think more about what was underneath than if she had been wearing a tight mini with fishnet stockings. He watched her like some sort of stalker while pretending to decide between two books.

She walked down the aisle, coming closer to him, and the whole thing was like an auto accident in slow motion. He knew she was going to fall but couldn’t believe she didn’t see the librarians’ step stool in front of her. One, two, three, and down she went, barreling into his chest as he reached forward to try to stop her headfirst descent. She landed in a partial kneel, breasts—oh those breasts—plastered right onto his stomach. He grasped her upper arm and elbow and tried to bring her back level. He slid her body up his shirt and felt hard nipples through the fabric of their clothes. As she stepped back and righted herself, he could see why. Her soaked shirt clearly showed her tits as if the shirt wasn’t even there. Her bra must have been ripped because her nipples were swollen and visible in all their pink glory. Oh, how he loved the pale girls. Such lovely contrasts they had.

She spoke, fast and nervous, but with a young voice. He couldn’t help but feel bad for her; he could tell she was mortified. Thomas pushed her back to her feet gently. He really would have preferred to keep those tits pressed to his chest a bit longer, but instead, he gave her the polite response his mum would expect. Twelve years of all this rock-and-roll shit and a whore-bag of an ex hadn’t left him totally jaded, just mostly.

She spoke, but it took his head a minute to let the words sink in. He couldn’t take his eyes off her face. This girl didn’t need cosmetics. Adding anything more to such kissable lips would be fatal to mankind. They shared a couple more inane comments and…

Oh fuck, she’s going.

He didn’t want her to go. Why had she come down this aisle anyway? Books, yes, books. Ask her about the books, his distracted brain hinted.

Well, fuck me, he muttered silently. She reads Herbert.

About T.D. Hassett

T.D. Hassett grew up reading the romance greats, Jackie Collins, Julie Garwood and Judith McNaught. She was certain that life should be like a romance novel, lots of passion, some incredible adventures and a guaranteed happily ever after. She attended college in New England earning a B.A. in history and a M.S. degree in clinical psychology before changing her mind again and studying education. Currently Ms. Hassett lives in Connecticut with her very patient husband and two young children. Her rambunctious family shares their home with 3 crazy cats and a darling Beta fish named Dorothy. Her eccentric relatives and their quest to make her feel like the only normal nut in the family tree inspire her writing. She also writes under the pen name of Tiffany Dawn. Visit her at www.naughtyandniceofromance.com or facebook/tdhassett/author