Write about what happens when a little boy
finds a secret hiding spot in his grandmothers house. What happens when
he accidentally locks himself inside?
Enter a land where creativity dwells! Writing tips and advice for the creative writer! Author interviews and writing challenges! Free web series, Tainted Warrior and Enchanted Winter © All rights reserved.
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
A Low-Town Walk- A Poem by Guest Shane Hogan
A Low-Town Walk
Shane Hogan
A Low-town Walk
I see the sun
Above the sky so handsome
It shines all day down upon my face
As I look above
With all the power of my being
I have to sit down
Just to embrace my day
It shines all day down upon my face
As I look above
With all the power of my being
I have to sit down
Just to embrace my day
I kick a stone
At rolls and it does tumble
A tired rock
That takes all in its day
As it starts to stop
As if it was never moving
The dust starts to settle
At rolls and it does tumble
A tired rock
That takes all in its day
As it starts to stop
As if it was never moving
The dust starts to settle
It has found its place to lay
Just to save our souls
Our spirits are freed
from our body's
Just to have a say
Our spirits are freed
from our body's
Just to have a say
We sometimes cannot speak
When we walk along
We can hold our hands together
We can look at death to understand our life's
I feel the grass
The blades that grow so freely
A breath of green
The blades that grow so freely
A breath of green
That does not rue my lungs
I taste the start
As it was in the beginning
The free grass grows
Around the land it loves
I taste the start
As it was in the beginning
The free grass grows
Around the land it loves
I take my time
Not to be ignorant and notice
That the road is stable to my feet
That the world and i knew
If it means noting
I'll be a thought to you
To think about one day
Not to be ignorant and notice
That the road is stable to my feet
That the world and i knew
If it means noting
I'll be a thought to you
To think about one day
For More On Shane Hogan:
Monday, April 29, 2013
A Grisly Scene- A Poem
A Grisly Scene
K.N. Lee
A grisly scene
Blood, bone, and mush
Teeth were scattered
Crinkled fur
Black eyes looked up
No soul
Just glazed
Just blurred
Tire tracks
A screech
And a squeal
Poor little kitty
Poor little road kill
Fogged Mirror- By guest poet Shane Hogan!!
Fogged Mirror
Shane Hogan
I do remember I was in love.
There was an easy breeze
There was an easy breeze
That blew through all of those days.
Sight spawned from Naivety
Sight spawned from Naivety
Allowed me to live in short spells
Of what I idealized.
Your word and scent was my addiction.
I arrived home drunk many nights
On thoughts of tomorrow.
Of what I idealized.
Your word and scent was my addiction.
I arrived home drunk many nights
On thoughts of tomorrow.
Buzz.Buzz.Buzz
You were my plant
And I was your bee.
Then one day change came.
I did not understand how
But did not think, i was still drunk.
I believed the easy breeze would return.
I did not understand how
But did not think, i was still drunk.
I believed the easy breeze would return.
It did not.
As my whole being entered withdrawal,
What was idealized started to crumble.
I was not the bee who found his plant.
I was the bee who was fooled by the jam jar
And only realized as i started to sink.
What was idealized started to crumble.
I was not the bee who found his plant.
I was the bee who was fooled by the jam jar
And only realized as i started to sink.
I could never have known
That ones beauty could so easily corrupt.
Inflicted with a disability i still care,
For a person who does not dwell within.
For my love was a one horse race,
That proved to be a very weak glue.
Although it is sabotage
I ponder on former actions.
It is treacherous to be a long since
Faded memory to someone,
When they are not to you.
I remember.
That ones beauty could so easily corrupt.
Inflicted with a disability i still care,
For a person who does not dwell within.
For my love was a one horse race,
That proved to be a very weak glue.
Although it is sabotage
I ponder on former actions.
It is treacherous to be a long since
Faded memory to someone,
When they are not to you.
I remember.
I have loved.
For More On Shane Hogan:
Sunday, April 28, 2013
The Promotion- Writing Prompt
Today is your big day! You're up for a promotion. You and your assistant are called into the bosses office and you learn that your assistant is given the job you wanted. What do you do?
The Prophet- A Poem
The Prophet
K.N. Lee
Sticky situations
Arise in this land
He has the right weapons
But he has no hands
He thinks clearly
Yet runs with his heart
Disciplined
And worthy
Yet too afraid to start
The journey to discover
Who he who has brought the tide
This man is a prophet
Who has been to the other side
His face is fresh and young
Shielded in iron and gold
The sun shines
The moon glows
He was mine
And he knows
What futures were foretold
Shielded in iron and gold
The sun shines
The moon glows
He was mine
And he knows
What futures were foretold
 |
| Image by, Brandon Graham |
Writing Challenge With Author, Ksenia Anske!!
In 3000 words or less, write about a girl, or boy, that discovers an abandoned house in the forest. What is inside the house? Is there danger, or a surprise? Perhaps it is a gateway to another world...
If you took the wrong turn off the main forest trail, chances were, you could get lost. Anyone knew that.
Dylan knew that too, but the need to go see what kinds of berries hung on that bush just a few paces away fromthe trail overrode his rational thinking. And who knows how to think rationally when you're ten and only had a couple hard-boiled eggs for breakfast?
Pine needles crunched under his feet as he stepped in between roots and, avoiding racoon holes, finally made his way to what looked like a blackberry bush. But the berries weren't blackberries. Number one, they were golden in color. Orange, almost. Number two, they were shaped a bit differently, rounder, as opposed to a conical in shape.
Dylan knew that too, but the need to go see what kinds of berries hung on that bush just a few paces away fromthe trail overrode his rational thinking. And who knows how to think rationally when you're ten and only had a couple hard-boiled eggs for breakfast?
Pine needles crunched under his feet as he stepped in between roots and, avoiding racoon holes, finally made his way to what looked like a blackberry bush. But the berries weren't blackberries. Number one, they were golden in color. Orange, almost. Number two, they were shaped a bit differently, rounder, as opposed to a conical in shape.
He reached out for one and promptly plopped it in his mouth. A burst of tart sweetness tickled his taste buds and he proceeded at grabbing another one, and another, and another.
"Dylan, where are you?" Angie's voice pulled him to a halt. He froze with yet another berry barely touching his lips. His freckled face grimaced in exasperation, summer sun dancing across his cheeks.
"I'm coming! Just a minute! I need to pee!" Lying was easy, as always, and Dylan hoped that his sister would let this fly. After all, it was not his idea to go search for mushrooms, and he was tired of being a sidekick to her and her obnoxious friends.
She dragged him with her only because she had to look after him while mom and dad were gone shopping. And, of course, on mom's insistence, she had to get him outside "to get fresh air and not be stuck all day long in front of computer." He hated these trips, always either serving as a punching bag for her soon-to-be-boyfriend or a repository for their jokes, starting from his red hair and ending with his jumpy gait.
She dragged him with her only because she had to look after him while mom and dad were gone shopping. And, of course, on mom's insistence, she had to get him outside "to get fresh air and not be stuck all day long in front of computer." He hated these trips, always either serving as a punching bag for her soon-to-be-boyfriend or a repository for their jokes, starting from his red hair and ending with his jumpy gait.
"Well, make it quick then and get your ass over here. Got it?" Angie called. "Catch up, we're not waiting for you." A few choked laughs followed this.
"Sure!" That was directed towards Angie in a bright cheerful voice of a smaller agreeable sibling. "You can suck it." He added under his breath, and ventured further away, to the next bush.
It took less than a minute for Dylan to clear both of them, since there weren't many berries to begin with, but when he looked a bit beyond, there was another cluster of bushes in the grove, beckoning him. He shrugged his shoulders and decided that it won't do any harm if he quickly ventured out there.
In a few minutes he was in front of them, grabbing at berries greedily. He took another step and saw a small incline lead to the base of the hill and continue into a clearing of sorts, with something dark standing hidden under the overgrown vines and more golden berry bushes. A hill? No, it was definitely not a hill, but a manmade structure covered with green.
In a few minutes he was in front of them, grabbing at berries greedily. He took another step and saw a small incline lead to the base of the hill and continue into a clearing of sorts, with something dark standing hidden under the overgrown vines and more golden berry bushes. A hill? No, it was definitely not a hill, but a manmade structure covered with green.
"Whoa!" Dylan exclaimed and promptly forgot about his sister. "I think it's a house." His curiosity took over and he sprinted down, falling once and rolling on the grass, picking himself up and making his way to the object in question. The closer he got, the more certain he was it was, indeed, a house. A cabin, perhaps, or a shack, very small, maybe ten feet by ten feet by ten feet...
"Wait, it's a cube. Its roof is flat." He stood an arm length away from one of the walls, lush with greenery and completely hidden under a latticework of twisted vine twigs. He was afraid to touch it, afraid to push the leaves apart and see if it was made of wood or of metal, and if there is a door or a window in this wall.
Instead, he circled the shack, carefully stepping around, in between what seemed to be a tree wall planted by someone. They grew to close to each other and too close to the shack, leaving only a corridor of about six feet between themselves and the structure. On all four sides.
Instead, he circled the shack, carefully stepping around, in between what seemed to be a tree wall planted by someone. They grew to close to each other and too close to the shack, leaving only a corridor of about six feet between themselves and the structure. On all four sides.
On the third circle Dylan worked up his courage and came up closer to one of the walls, to where he supposed a door might be, because it was facing the clearing from where he came, so it seemed a logical place to start.
He slowly raised his arm, and, trembling, poked a finger quickly and retracted it. Nothing happened. He then pulled the leaves apart and saw that it is indeed made of wood, some old oak or pine, and painted orange and looking old, very old.
He slowly raised his arm, and, trembling, poked a finger quickly and retracted it. Nothing happened. He then pulled the leaves apart and saw that it is indeed made of wood, some old oak or pine, and painted orange and looking old, very old.
"This is so cool..." He muttered and looked back briefly, suddenly wanting the company of Angie and her friends like never before. "I'm not a coward, I don't need you." He turned back his head and licked his lips. "You will see. I can do it myself. I will find the door, look inside, and then I will run back and tell you what I found. All alone. You just wait."
Continuing to mutter, perhaps more for his own comfort, Dylan gently hovered the palm of his right hand over the blanket over vines. Growing bolder, he tore at a couple of them, exposing wood, orange painted wood. The paint job was ancient, peeling off and hardly looking like orange anymore.
Dylan's heartbeat spiked to double the usual speed, pounding in his ears. His mouth has gone dry, and still he couldn't tear himself away from the place. A little bit above the line of his eye sight, to the left, he saw what looked like a gap. Sure enough, when he traced it with his finger, right about the height of his waist, he found a door knob, rough to touch. He grabbed it and turned.
Dylan's heartbeat spiked to double the usual speed, pounding in his ears. His mouth has gone dry, and still he couldn't tear himself away from the place. A little bit above the line of his eye sight, to the left, he saw what looked like a gap. Sure enough, when he traced it with his finger, right about the height of his waist, he found a door knob, rough to touch. He grabbed it and turned.
"What the hell am I doing?" The hinges creaked its rusty song and the door opened an inch, held back together by the vegetation. A smell of berries hit Dylan's nose. No, it was better than berries, it smelled like berry pie. He expected a dunk odor of mold and old wood, so this delighted him and he broke into a smile.
"I'll only take a quick peak..." He said, and stuck his face close to the gap, simultaneously thinking back to all the R.L. Stine's Goosebumps stories and feeling his spine turn to ice at the idea that someone, worse, something, might grab his nose right this minute and...
He shrieked and without having taken a peak inside fell on his butt and proceeded to crab-walk on all fours, in an inverted fashion, suddenly terrified of the place. The door stood ajar, as if waiting for him to proceed, and the smell became stronger.
Dylan waited a minute. No scary monster poked his head out of the shack, no undead being stumbled out, and Dylan's breathing returned to normal. He sat and brushed his dirty hands on his blue jeans, then licked the right one and smoothed his unruly red hair.
Dylan waited a minute. No scary monster poked his head out of the shack, no undead being stumbled out, and Dylan's breathing returned to normal. He sat and brushed his dirty hands on his blue jeans, then licked the right one and smoothed his unruly red hair.
"Okay, okay, it's just a fig-ment of my imagination." Dylan loved new words and this was the perfect occasion to use the word figment which he learned from reading the other day. "I'm in a park. It's not even a real forest, so nothing creepy can happen here. Nothing." The insatiable need to know what smelled to deliciously inside got him on his feet and poking his nose inside again.
He took a deep breath and let it out, disappointed, grabbing the door and pulling it open half-way.
"That's it?"
Inside it was dark, but sheets of light broke in between the wooden slats of the walls and the ceiling, which wasn't so much a ceiling as it was a top side of a cube, because the interior was perfectly square in any way you looked at it. In the middle of the wooden floor lay a small colorful cube.
"What the hell is that? It can't be this thing smelling, can it?" Without thinking, Dylan took a step in and kneeled next to the object.
"A Rubik's cube!" He exclaimed and picked it up. "A scented one. Weird. I've never seen one like that before." The cube smelled deliciously, a fragrance that suggested it might be made out of the berries he just ate as opposed to plastic. And it was hopelessly scrambled.
"Whoever left it here, didn't know nothing about solving Rubik's cubes. But I do, ha!" Dylan said, without any premonition about how right he was saying it just this very moment, and how wrong he was saying it just this very moment. Because the next moment, he turned it this way and that, then fixed his stare on what he decided will be the top, with yellow center, and twisted the side that had an orange center.
The cube's orange face pivoted, and for a second Dylan felt like the floor moved, but he ignored it, too concentrated on the puzzle at hand. He clicked the whole side in place, and simultaneously the same click, but amplified tenfold, emanated from behind his back. By the time he turned his head around and realized what was happening, the entire wall behind him, the one that was painted orange and had a door, shifted, rotated, and locked itself in a new position, door shut.
The cube's orange face pivoted, and for a second Dylan felt like the floor moved, but he ignored it, too concentrated on the puzzle at hand. He clicked the whole side in place, and simultaneously the same click, but amplified tenfold, emanated from behind his back. By the time he turned his head around and realized what was happening, the entire wall behind him, the one that was painted orange and had a door, shifted, rotated, and locked itself in a new position, door shut.
"NO!" He screamed, dropped the cube and run up to the door. There was no door. In fact, the walls ceased to be wooden, they were plastic now, solid, with strangle colored light oozing from each of them, all mixed up. Red, orange, yellow, blue, green, and white.
"Let me out! Let me out! LET ME OUT! ANGIE!!!" Dylan pounded on the walls, screaming his head off and finding himself on the throes of panic, his legs feeling weak, his knees growing soft, his eyes filling with water and spilling on his face in angry tears. "I said, let me out! Please! I don't want to die!"
He pounded on each wall in turn, to no avail. The only effect was dull sounding thuds produced by his fists and his face smeared with snot as he tried to wipe off his face. Finally, he lifted his t-shirt, blew his nose into it and decided to think straight for a second.
He pounded on each wall in turn, to no avail. The only effect was dull sounding thuds produced by his fists and his face smeared with snot as he tried to wipe off his face. Finally, he lifted his t-shirt, blew his nose into it and decided to think straight for a second.
"I don't want to die. I don't want to die..." He sniffled, involuntarily picking up the cube and turning it in his hands. "Wait a second. Is this..."
Understanding downed on him, and he looked around to confirm it, pointing at each wall and calling out its color, ending on the ceiling. "They're Rubik's cube sides, and I'm inside! So maybe all I have to do is solve it and it will let me out. Will you?" He asked out loud.
Understanding downed on him, and he looked around to confirm it, pointing at each wall and calling out its color, ending on the ceiling. "They're Rubik's cube sides, and I'm inside! So maybe all I have to do is solve it and it will let me out. Will you?" He asked out loud.
Silence greeted him. Dylan sat on the floor, cube in his hand, paralyzed, his eyes open wide in fear, multiple colors of light playing on his pale skin. His hands shook and his face got covered with a sheen of cold sweat. "If it's a joke, it's stupid." He said, thinking back to Angie and wishing with all his might to turn back the time and never venture out for those berries. "All right then. Let's see here."
He sniffed once more and set to trying to solve the riddle. Each time he turned the face of the cube, a wall shifted and he got thrown around to it, because gravity shifted and whatever wall corresponded to the face he was pivoting, became the floor. At first he shrieked, but after a few of these tumbles he got used to them and didn't even mind hitting his head on the walls.
After all, they appeared to be made of plastic and didn't hurt that much. Puzzle solving frenzy took over him, especially because his father bought him one recently and he was spending all his free time reading tricks online and watching YouTube videos on how to solve one. The toughest part was the last layer, and it took him what seemed like an eternity. At last, exhausted yet exhilarated, Dylan clicked the bottom face in place, and the floor shook him off to the neighboring wall, opening up into a door.
After all, they appeared to be made of plastic and didn't hurt that much. Puzzle solving frenzy took over him, especially because his father bought him one recently and he was spending all his free time reading tricks online and watching YouTube videos on how to solve one. The toughest part was the last layer, and it took him what seemed like an eternity. At last, exhausted yet exhilarated, Dylan clicked the bottom face in place, and the floor shook him off to the neighboring wall, opening up into a door.
Fresh summer air gushed through it, and Dylan, beside himself, tossed the cube away and crawled out of the shack on all fours, crying and sobbing and continuing forward until he made it about ten feet away from the grove of trees at the bottom of the clearing. Then, and only then, did he turn his head back.
The woods looked at him, wondering what exactly was he staring at. The shack simply wasn't there. In fact, the trees that grew in a strange fence-like manner weren't there either, replaced by an irregular growth of furs.
Dylan gasped, but was unable to say anything, was unable to even call Angie for help, wondering if it was maybe the next day, because the sun was as high as when it was at ten in the morning, when he and his sister with her friends took off into the woods from the parking lot. His tongue simply wouldn't move, and in this state he proceeded to crawl until he made it to the bushes with fragrantly smelling golden berries on top of the incline.
Dylan gasped, but was unable to say anything, was unable to even call Angie for help, wondering if it was maybe the next day, because the sun was as high as when it was at ten in the morning, when he and his sister with her friends took off into the woods from the parking lot. His tongue simply wouldn't move, and in this state he proceeded to crawl until he made it to the bushes with fragrantly smelling golden berries on top of the incline.
"Dylan! Dylan!" Multiple calls echoed around and somebody nearly tripped over him. He could only turn around and lay down on his back.
"Dylan, Christ, are you out of your mind? Where the hell were you when I was calling? Jesus!" Angie leaned over him, her face contorted in a genuine mask of concern. "Are you all right?" She added, her voice scared now.
"Angie-doll, did you find him?" Matt, her soon-to-be-boyfriend stepped out from behind her back. "Guys, over here!" He shouted.
"What happened? What--" Angie started.
"I... berries." Dylan said, pointing at the bush above, quickly weaving a story in his mind.
"You ate those??? Are you crazy? What if they're poisonous!" Angie exclaimed and proceeded to give out her botanical knowledge of all things weeds, which wasn't much.
Dylan tuned her out and turned his head to the left, his gaze tracing all the way across the clearing. He thought that maybe for a moment he saw the cube-house and the grove of trees around it. He blinked and it was gone.
I'll come here again. I'll tell Max and we'll come here together.
"Dylan, are you listening to me?" Angie's voice brought him back.
"Yeah, sorry." Dylan said. "But those berries were good. Very sweet. And so... orange. I wonder if... I wonder if there are red ones on the other side, and maybe blue ones that way..."
For More On Ksenia:
My picture and bio: http://www.kseniaanske.com/bio/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/kseniaanske
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ksenia.anske
Pinterest: http://pinterest.com/kseniaanske/
Instagram: http://instagram.com/kseniaanske/
Saturday, April 27, 2013
The Hike of No Return- Writing Prompt
You reach the top of a mountain after a long hike. You see a huge wave come from the ocean and cover the city. What is your next move?
Friday, April 26, 2013
Red Glasses- A Poem
Red Glasses
K.N. Lee
He wore red glasses
K.N. Lee
He wore red glasses
Wide brimmed and stylish
Newspaper in hand
And smirk on his lips as he gazed down at comics
He dare not look my way
For I might swoon
Could a man be so beautiful?
Could a day be so bleak?
The rain splattered his glasses
I laughed
Opened my umbrella
"You can join me...
If you'd like..."
His eyes met mine
That smile on his lips
Is for me
Thursday, April 25, 2013
An Interview With Author Sam Sackett!
Where are you from?
I was born in Redlands, CA, but have moved around a lot over the western half of the country. I'm living now in Canton, OK, which is an hour southeast of Woodward, an hour southwest of Enid, an hour west of Kingfisher, an hour northeast of Weatherford, an hour northwest of Clinton, and an hour east of the end of the world.
Are you a full-time or part-time writer? How does that affect your writing?
Right now I'm a full-time writer, but for reasons of age and health that means I can put in about three hours a day. The only way that affects my writing is that it makes me more impatient to get to it.
What are some day jobs that you have held? If any of them impacted your writing, share an example.
After I got my master's, I taught for two years at Hastings College in Hastings, NE. Then I went to UCLA for a doctorate, which took me off the market for three years. With all the class work done and only the dissertation to write, I went to what is now Fort Hays State University in Hays, KS, for 23 years, where I burned out on teaching. I wrote full time for a year and made some money, but not enough to live on, so I was dean of Salt City Business College in Hutchinson, KS, for a year. When the college folded, I went to Clinton, OK, to work as a reporter for a weekly newspaper; then I was hired away by an advertising agency in Weatherford, OK. When the agency went bust, I went to a public relations agency in Oklahoma City. After two years I was fired for incompetence and ran my own agency in OKC for two years until I was hired by my biggest client, a career management firm, full time. I went from there to another career management firm and then to the OKC office of Bernard Haldane Associates, where I stayed for 12 years until retirement.
Do you have any children? How do you balance family life with your writing life?
I have two sons, but they are both grown. I am, in fact, a great-grandfather.
How long have you been writing?
I started writing when I was in kindergarten and never stopped.
Have you ever been to a writing conference, class, of critique group? How was that experience?
I took creative writing classes in college and also have taught them myself. Looking back, I'm not convinced that they were useful.
What genre do you prefer to write in?
I am a historical novelist, though I think my books are more like fictional biographies. I've also written some science fiction.
How many books have you written? Which is your favorite, or which characters are your favorites?
What inspired you to write your latest book?
What books have most influenced your life?
What book are you reading now?
Are there any new authors that have grasped your interest?
What are your current projects?
Do you recall how your interest in writing originated?
Is there anything you find particularly challenging in your writing?
Who is your favorite author and what is it that really strikes you about their work?
Did you learn anything from writing your book and what was it?
How do you feel about ebooks vs. print books and alternative vs. conventional publishing?
What do you think is the future of reading/writing?
Do you have any advice for other writers?
Do you have anything specific that you want to say to your readers?
If you could live anywhere, where would that be?
I've written or collaborated in 16 published books, both fiction and nonfiction. I have no favorites.
What inspired you to write your latest book?
The book I'm working on now is Rabbi Yeshua: The Human Side of Jesus. What inspired me was Jesus Christ Superstar. It gave what Jesus did, but it gave no clue as to why he did it, what he thought in his own mind he was trying to accomplish.
How long did it take you to write the book?
I've been working at it off and on since 1976, writing and rewriting and doing research. I hope to see it published in August or September of this year.
What books have most influenced your life?
I've got to say that the one book that has most influenced my life was The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, by L. Frank Baum. Another very influential one was Becoming a Person, by Carl Rogers. And I also have to list the books I consider the greatest: The History of Tom Jones, by Henry Fielding; Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, by Mark Twain; Don Quixote de la Mancha, by Miguel de Cervantes; and The Brothers Karamazov, by Fyodor Dostoyevsky. Oh, and I can't forget The Greek Passion, by Nikos Kazantzakis.
What book are you reading now?
Right now I'm reading American Pastoral, by Philip Roth, and I'm bored stiff with it. I'm 100 pages into it and I'm wondering when the story is going to start. I keep going in the hope it will get better.
Are there any new authors that have grasped your interest?
I haven't read any "new authors."
What are your current projects?
My current project is Rabbi Yeshua. I think when I get that done I'll quit.
Do you recall how your interest in writing originated?
My interest in writing began when my mother bought me my first book, before I was in kindergarten. I enjoyed that so much that I wanted to do something like that myself.
Is there anything you find particularly challenging in your writing?
Particularly challenging? I write fast, and I find that I have to go back and fill things in that I've left out.
Who is your favorite author and what is it that really strikes you about their work?
My favorite author is Henry Fielding. I am attracted to his personality, as revealed in his books, and he looks at life pretty much as I do.
Did you learn anything from writing your book and what was it?
One thing I have learned is that I get a great idea for starting a book, and I am pretty good at letting the idea work itself out, but then I need a strong ending and have trouble with that.
How do you feel about ebooks vs. print books and alternative vs. conventional publishing?
I'm too old fashioned to be comfortable with e-books, but I think they're fine for the people who like them. It's better to read an e-book than not to read a book at all. In general, I'm distrustful of technology; a lot of it is just a fad and doesn't last. I remember when records were wax disks at 78 rpm, then vinyl disks at 33 and 45 rpm came in, and then there were 8-track tapes and cassettes, and then CD's. I wonder when somebody will come up with something that makes e-books obsolete.
What do you think is the future of reading/writing?
The future of reading/writing? I've read too much science fiction to predict the future; I know what science-fiction writers in 1953 thought 2013 would be like, and they were all wrong.
What process did you go through to get your book published?
I'm grateful for the trend toward self-publishing. I've had too many of my books turned down by publishers who never even read them.
Do you have any advice for other writers?
My advice to other writers: read. You will find somebody that you'd like to be like. So try to be that person. Sooner or later you will find out how you are different from him or her, and from that you will discover who you are. Once you know who you are, be yourself.
Do you have anything specific that you want to say to your readers?
What I want to say to my readers is what I've said in my books. In Sweet Betsy from Pike I've told young women not to trust romantic men; women don't need men to take care of them, they can take care of themselves. In The Robin Hood Chronicles I've told them what I think Robin Hood was really like. In Adolf Hitler in Oz I've told readers that goodness and love will always beat out evil and hate and that nobody is so bad that he cannot be redeemed. Huckleberry Finn Grows Up is full of things I'm telling readers.
If you could live anywhere, where would that be?
If I could live anywhere, I'd live in The Netherlands. I like the food and the people, and I don't know of a place on earth that values freedom as much as The Netherlands does -- including the U.S.
If you could have any superpower, what would it be?
I don't want any superpower. Given my age and health, I'd like to have back the powers I had when I was younger. On second thought, I think I would like the superpower of being able to go back and re-live some parts of my life when I made the wrong decision, but still have the knowledge of where that decision leads so that I could avoid making it again.
For More On Sam Sackett:
The Woodland Girl- Writing Prompt
You find a little girl in the woods. She looks as though she lives in the wild. She asks you to follow her. What happens when you go with the girl?
The Hunted Ones- Chapter 1
How could I know I was going to die at eighteen? How could I know...my best friend was going to be the one to kill me?
Hayley was my best friend. Since middle school, we did everything together. Sleepovers were a weekly occurrence, and we even planned matching outfits for school. Sure, things changed when we entered high school together. We hung in different groups, but when the last bell rang each day, we always came back together. I like to think of Hayley as my...soulmate.
At eighteen, we were both ready to be free from our childhood homes, and planned to embark on an adventure.
It was summer, and I had money to spend. Who cares that it was the money my mom had been saving from my Dad's death.
It's my money now. I wanted a motorcycle, and I always get what I want.
Let me start by saying, I'm not your typical girl. I wasn't a cheerleader. I hate those girls! Except Hayley, of course. I didn't paint my nails pink and write my name in hearts with a boys in my notebook. I like to consider myself...a rebel.
Oh boy. That sounds so lame.
Moving on. I like to play the guitar and collect comic books. I like adventure. Danger. I enjoy being different.
Out of everything I like on this planet, there is one thing I absolutely love more than anything. That just happens to be my best friend...Hayley. She doesn't know it, but I plan on telling her on our little camping trip.
So, I bought the motorcycle. Hayley and I packed a bag and hopped on, ready for adventure. The plan was to drive out to Charleston and camp out on the beach.
Mom doesn't care. She works as an ER doctor at the hospital. I never see her. Like I mentioned before, Dad is dead.
It's okay. I didn't know him. He died when I was eight months old. Killed by a thief who tried to steal his car.
Hayley's mom...well, she drinks a lot. I don't think she even knows that Hayley is gone half the time. Hayley pretty much lives with me. We eat dinner together. We share a bed. I get to fall asleep staring at her pretty blonde hair. It's the kind of blonde that has just a hint of bronze. She snores, but I don't mind.
Life is good.
"Gwen," Hayley shouts in my ear as we race down the highway, cutting in and out of traffic, without a care in the world.
I enjoy the feel of her arms wrapped around my waist. I've been smiling for an hour now. My cheeks hurt.
"What's up?"
"Can we stop? I have to pee."
I nod. "Sure."
I notice a sign that says that there is a rest area coming up and veer into the far right lane. As the sun begins to set and as we approach a small town called, Fort Mill, there isn't much traffic anymore. I exit the highway and pull into a parking spot at the rest area.
Hayley hops off and stretches her legs. It hasn't been but an hour since we drove out of Concord, North Carolina, but she looks cramped already.
I watch her stretch her legs and pull my helmet off. Black hair falls free and softly brushes my elbows. Hayley makes a face and smirks as she looks at me.
I raise an eyebrow. "What?"
She giggles. Oh how I love her giggle.
"You know, you look kind of badass right now?"
I try to play it cool and suppress my beaming smile. Instead, I shrug. "Tell my mom that sometime. She thinks the piercings make me look like a juvenile delinquent."
Hayley laughed. "Oh my gosh. Did she really say that?"
I nod. "Yes. Like we live in some 90's movie or something."
She laughs again and looks past me at the one story building that housed the public restrooms and vending machines.
"I'm just going to run and pee. I'll be right back."
I nod and lean against my shiny, new, Harley. "Don't sit on the seat!" I shout over my shoulder. I suppose my moms germa phobia has rubbed off on me over the years.
It's quiet as I stare out at the large empty parking lot. It's surprising that no one is there. I put my earbud back in my ear and turn my iPod back on. Flogging Molly shouts in my ears. Irish music always gets me pumped.
I check the time, and cry out as someone hits me in the head and I fall, face first, into the asphalt...
(More next week...)- K.N. Lee
Pushing Forward- New Novel Checklist Part 2
I have one chapter of my new project, The Last Morai, completed and it feels good! I love the fresh faces of my new characters Asha and Viktor, and can't wait to see how their relationship develops. It is always exciting at the beginning of a book...
One thing that I will do differently this time around is push forward. I will try...and it will be hard...but I will not go back and edit and revise until the book is finished!
Tell me, do you guys have that problem as well?
I know I do. I always go back and go through every line, seeking perfection. This takes a lot of time! Imagine how quickly I could have been done with Rise of the Flame! Instead of two years, perhaps I could have been done in one. I think it is important to get the story out quickly, while its still fresh in the forefront of your mind.
Going back, stalls the creative process. It is difficult, but it can be done. I finished The Chronicles of Koa in six months...because I didn't let myself work backwards. Let's see how this technique works on The Last Morai.
Remember, writing is less of a science, and more of an art. Do what works for you!
Coffin Mystery- Writing Prompt
Who is in the coffin? Why do you have to protect it and make sure no one ever opens it?
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
Running-A Poem
Running
K.N. Lee
Running free through trails and meadows
Fleeing from the pursuit of shadows
With quick feet
And a clever mind
I'll escape the past
And the guilt that binds
Fleeing from the pursuit of shadows
With quick feet
And a clever mind
I'll escape the past
And the guilt that binds
Wicked Wizard- Writing Prompt
It's been a long, hard, journey to make it back to your village. When you return, the villagers are oddly quiet and fearful. It seems an evil wizard has been forcing them to give him their first born children! How do you stop this wicked wizard?
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
I'm Writing- A Poem
Spreading joy on clouds of gold
Sprinkling laughter into the folds
Of each crisp page
And each bright screen
I'm writing
Simply writing
Like therapy for the soul
To share my voice
Is my goal
Monday, April 22, 2013
When the Gun Clicks- A Poem
When the Gun Clicks
K.N. Lee
Heart beats thump
Blood clumps
He stands there
She's quite aware
Throat dries
Large blue eyes
Flicker up
With terror and surprise
Face pales
Skin tightens
Tiny blonde hairs stand on end
She's been found
And so it begins
Warnings scream
Inside her head
She should run
She should flee
He wants her dead...
He wants her to see
Her love is tainted
Her eyes too seductive
Her face too painted
He wants her to see
She's better off bound
It would soothe his nerves
If she could not be found
If she could not be found
If he knew she were safely buried
Kept safe from other men
This
Is
What
He
Needs
To
Happen
Is
What
He
Needs
To
Happen
In order to quiet the voices
And quench his desire
He wants to capture her
And watch the red fire
Lick her ankles
And creep up her thighs
Ripping the flesh as her screams rise
This is his goal
She knows it too well
So when the gun clicks once
She sends him to Hell