Saturday Snippet – May 25, 2013

The following is a sneak peek from my new, soon-to-be-released book “The Legend of Stuckey’s Bridge.”  It is a work of Historical Fiction, but as you’ll see in a moment, it could easily be classified as a Thriller.

Set up: 1900, a foggy night in Mississippi. Old Man Stuckey has opened an inn on the river, and when visitors are unfortunate enough to take him up on his offer of a hot meal and a soft bed, they are often never seen again. On this particular evening, there are two boys staying with him. They were passing through on their way home from selling a load of cotton downriver. They have a lot of money on them, and Old Man Stuckey would like to relieve them of it. They have retired for the night, and Old Man Stuckey has set out to find the loot. If they remain in their beds, it will be a simple task, but in Old Man Stuckey’s world, things are never quite so easy.

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He staggered down to the river to inspect the boat, carrying an ax in one hand and a lantern in the other. He realized as he walked that he may have consumed one too many swigs of whiskey, for he didn’t remember the path being this difficult to navigate, and he giggled to himself as he stumbled toward the bank. The cool mist of the fog felt good on his face, but the lack of visibility made him feel a little disoriented. He wasn’t sure if the feeling was caused by the fog or the whiskey.

He reached the river, placed the lamp on the ground next to the boat, and crawled aboard. He searched around the deck, under the seats, and down in the hole, but he found nothing.

“Damn. Why do they always keep the money on them?” he mumbled.

“Hey! What are you doing there?” called the skinny boy as he unexpectedly appeared and neared the boat.

“I was just making sure your boat was tied up securely.” The words ‘sure’ and ‘securely’ came out in a slur, but he ignored them as he climbed out of the boat, back onto the bank. He still held the rusty ax in his hand.

“Why do you need an ax to check on the boat?”

“Oh,” he looked down at the ax, “Just in case I run into something out in the woods. You can never be too careful out here, you know?”

“Don’t you have a gun?”

“Well, yes,” he said as he neared the boy, “But guns make noise.”

Before the boy had a chance to comprehend the meaning behind the words, he swung the ax high into the air and brought it down squarely on the boy’s head, splitting it like a watermelon. The boy collapsed into a mound at his feet, dragging the blade of the ax down with him. He tugged on the ax, trying to pull it free, but it wouldn’t dislodge. He pulled the handle again, but to no avail. He sighed in aggravation as he placed his muddy boot on the boy’s shoulder for leverage and yanked as hard as he could. It suddenly released with a slurping sound, sending him toppling backwards, nearly into the water.

When he regained his balance, he growled at the boy, “Why can’t you people just stay where you’re supposed to? Now, I’m going to have to walk all the way back to the barn to get the shovel to bury you—oh, and kill your freckled friend.”

He heard something rustle in the trees in front of him and looked up. He caught a glimpse of the freckled boy backing into the woods. The boy turned and ran.

“You aren’t going to make me chase you, are you, Freckles?”

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The boy couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of him, but he ran as fast as he could, feeling tree branches whipping at his face. He tripped on a fallen log, lunged forward, and nearly hit a tree head-on, but he caught his balance with his hands on the large tree trunk. He swung around behind it, leaning his back into it. He put his hand to his mouth to quiet his panting and felt the stickiness of sap from the tree trunk. He tried to wipe it off his face with his other hand, but that one was full of sap, too. He breathed slowly through his nose and listened for his pursuer. He didn’t hear anything. He was shaking uncontrollably and couldn’t stop himself. He clenched his jaw so his teeth wouldn’t chatter. Maybe he had lost the murderer. Maybe he was dreaming. Maybe this was all a nightmare. Maybe he didn’t just witness an ax splitting his friend’s head wide open. He looked up into the black arms of the tree branches but couldn’t see anything but haunted shadows. He glanced around in every direction, not being able to see more than a few feet in front of him. Where should he go? He didn’t know where he was or how long he would have to run to find safety. The nearest person could be miles and miles away. He didn’t see any place to hide. He would have to keep running. Surely the man wouldn’t follow him all night. He just needed to stay in front of him. He held his breath and listened. He heard nothing. Which way? His breathing had begun to return to normal when suddenly a twig snapped loudly behind him. He gasped.

“You can’t hide forever, Freckles,” came a sing-song voice. “Come out and let’s talk about this.”

Run! He bolted in the direction opposite the voice, straight into the dense fog, running as fast as his feet would carry him. Vines and barbs grabbed at his legs and branches scratched his arms like the claws of an unknown creature trying to rip off small bits of his skin. He ignored them. Run faster!

He instantly stopped dead in his tracks as he felt an immense pain on his forehead, but he knew it couldn’t possibly be the ax of his pursuer. The murderer was way behind him. He reached up to his face and felt something metal—something with a wooden handle. What is this? The thick fog had severely limited his visibility. The sticky, warm wetness dripping into his eyes completely blinded him. He felt his face covered in warmth. Is this blood? He moved his hands over the object stuck in his forehead. A rake? Where did a rake come from? And how did it hit him squarely in the forehead? Confused, frightened, and in pain, he dropped to his knees, and an agonizing scream involuntarily escaped his lips as the long, wooden handle of the rake reached the ground before his knees did. The tines jerked upward, ripping off the top half of his scalp. The last thing he felt was the ax on the back of his head.

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Stuckey's cover_webThe Legend of Stuckey’s Bridge” by Lori Crane

Available June 2013 at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and other online retailers.

Wednesday Writer’s Corner – May 22, 2013

Wednesday Writer’s Corner has been cancelled for this week. I apologize for any inconvenience. 😛

It’s actually my editor’s fault, not that she edits my blogs, but my new book was supposed to go to her on June 10, and she had a sudden cancellation, so it’s going to her on May 30. You wouldn’t think eleven days would make that big a difference, but HOLY COW!

I’m also recording the voice-over for the video trailer tonight and taking everyone involved out for Mexican to celebrate.

Oh…here’s the cover, designed by my fabulous designer, who also happens to be my trophy husband. I ♥ it! I added the blurb in case you’d like to see what it’s about. So excited! Okay, enough playing around…BACK TO WORK! Wish me luck.

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In 1901, the Virginia Bridge & Iron Company began re-building a fifty-year-old Mississippi bridge. In the middle of the project, they began discovering bodies buried on the banks of the river.

Legend has it, he was so evil, he was even thrown out of the notorious Dalton Gang. Years later, he opened an inn near the river, and on foggy nights, boatmen witnessed him pacing back and forth across the bridge, waving his lantern, offering travelers a hot meal and a soft bed.

Those unfortunate enough to take him up on his hospitality were often never seen again.

To this day, eerie experiences are still reported around the bridge that now bears his name. If you travel down to Stuckey’s Bridge, be careful, for not much else is known about the man locals refer to as Old Man Stuckey…until now.

“The Legend of Stuckey’s Bridge” coming June 2013 to Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and other online retailers.

Saturday Snippet – May 18, 2013

Saturday Snippet – May 18, 2013

Writing an intense action scene with cowboys, a drunk man, and no offensive language was a challenge, but here it is. This is part of a scene from my book, “An Orphan’s Heart.”

Set up – Alabama 1875. Ellen has hitched a ride across the state with two moonshine-hauling wagons. The four men have been gentlemen for the previous five days, but tonight is a different story. Apparently Floyd has been sampling the product.

Cast of characters:

Ellen Rodgers – twenty-five-year-old girl who hitched a ride

Floyd – old wagon driver

Earl – cook

Buck – sharpshooter

Luke – Buck’s teenage son who drives the second wagon

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“What are you whishpering ovah there? Are you trying to keep that pretty little girl all to yourshelf?” Floyd has risen to his feet, with more than a little difficulty, and is staggering toward us. He stops for a moment in the middle of the campfire clearing, and guzzles from the jug, throwing his head all the way back. I think he may fall backward, and I wonder if he will break open his skull if that happens.

Earl doesn’t move from his spot next to me. He sits in a relaxed pose, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, with a half-whittled piece of wood in one hand and a knife in the other.

“That’s enough, Floyd! Go sleep it off.” His stern voice doesn’t match his calm body language, but when I see his eyes squinting in Floyd’s direction and his jaw throb with anger, I think Floyd should do as he is told.

“Don’t tell me what to do, Earl. I wanna talk to the pretty girl, too.”

I don’t move. I don’t even think I’m breathing. I have never seen a person in this condition before, and I’m not sure if he’s dangerous or if he’s going to fall down at any moment.

Earl slowly rises to his feet, moves in front of me, and lowers his voice. “You’re not going to do any such thing. The lady doesn’t need to speak with you when you’re drunk.”

Floyd wildly takes a swing at Earl and hits him right in the jaw, causing Earl to hit the ground with a thud. He is out cold. Luke throws his guitar down on the dirt, runs around the outside of the circle, and grabs for my hand, but Floyd beats him to it. Before I realize what is happening, Floyd spins me around and I find myself facing Luke, pinned in Floyd’s arms.

“That’sh better, pretty lady,” Floyd slobbers. The rancid odor of whiskey and rotting teeth invades my nostrils.

Luke freezes and pushes his hands toward the ground in an attempt to calm Floyd down. “Look, Floyd, you don’t want to do this.”

“How do you know what I wanna do?” He spits down my neck as he speaks, wobbling back and forth. The motion and the smell are making me sick to my stomach.

Luke looks past me, over my shoulder. He nods, then there is a sudden noise behind me. When Floyd turns toward the noise, Luke grabs my hand and says, “Come on!”

“Hey!” Floyd hollers at us as we pull away.

“That’s enough, Floyd!” Buck yells, appearing from the woods behind us.

Floyd turns toward Buck, and moves faster than his inebriated body should be able to. Luke yanks me toward the wagon and shoves me in. Buck grabs Floyd by his outstretched arm, spins him around, and puts the knife up to Floyd’s throat. Floyd curses, demanding Buck to let him go. I assume Buck refused, for they’re soon having an all-out brawl. I hear the jug hit the ground, but I don’t know if Floyd threw it or dropped it. I also hear fists making contact with flesh. I can’t imagine Floyd is in any shape to fight off a man like Buck.

I jump when I hear a gunshot. Everything is abruptly silent. The bullfrogs stop croaking, and it seems as if time is standing still. I look wide-eyed at Luke, wondering if Floyd has been shot.

“It’s all right,” he says, shaking his head in answer to my unspoken question.

“Are you sure?” I whisper.

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“An Orphan’s Heart” is available in Kindle, Nook, and paperback.

Wednesday Writer’s Corner – May 15, 20something

Wednesday Writer’s Corner

Disclaimer:

I’m a little bitchy today, so I’m standing on my soapbox with a noose around my neck.

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Here are my favorite questions from self-published authors on an ebook forum:

How do I get reviews? Why isn’t my book selling? How do I get paid? What should I charge for my book? How can I get a bad review removed? How long will it take to get an agent to notice me?

Are you kidding?

I’ll just be blunt. You have not done your homework. You should stop writing immediately, sell your computer, and take up needlepoint. How many books have you bought on self-publishing? Have you had anyone proofread your blurb? How many articles have you read on marketing? Formatting? Cover Design? Let me guess. Zero.

All right…I’ll give you the short soapbox answers:

How do I get reviews? Sell books.

Why isn’t my book selling? You have no reviews.

How do I get paid? Get a real job.

What should I charge for my book? Doesn’t matter, no one’s buying it anyway.

How can I get a bad review removed? I thought you wanted reviews.

How long will it take to get an agent to notice me? Forever. Like I said, get a real job.

Saturday Snippet – May 11, 2013

The following is a snippet from my book “An Orphan’s Heart.” It is the second in the Okatibbee Creek Series and is the true story of Ellen Rodgers, an orphan who grows up in search of the only thing that matters to her…love.

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Set up: 1884 Texas. While Ellen visits her brother Willie in Texas, she meets and falls in love with his brother-in-law, Sam Meek. They have been staying at Sam’s house for weeks following the death of his mother, but now it’s time to go back to Willie’s, which is nine days away by wagon, and she is sadly forced to leave Sam behind.

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While the sun rises, I help Mollie pack the rest of the girls’ belongings into the wagon. When I return to the house for my bag, I stand in the middle of the parlor, looking around for the last time. This is a beautiful home, and strangely, I will miss this place more than any other I have known.

When Sam enters the back door, everything stops. I stare down at the floor and will myself not to cry. This is not my first loss. I am a big girl. I will get over it. I will get over him.

I look up and see in his face the same pain I feel in my heart. I can’t bear it. I want to pull him to me and take away his sorrow, but that will only cause us both more pain, so I simply say, “Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Meek. I hope to see you again.” I nod and turn to walk out the front door. I climb up onto the wagon and tell Willie I’m ready to go. The girls start chatting excitedly, and the horses pull away.

With every mile, my resolve is crumbling into little pieces. I reach up and hold the golden heart around my neck. I have finally found the love I was looking for, and with every moment, I’m getting farther away from it. My chest is aching. I take a deep breath and vow that I will never care about anyone ever again—not that I could. When you love someone as much as I love that man, no other love can ever fill your heart.

After an hour of staring at the horizon, I swear my body is going to fall apart from the pain. I don’t know how I’ll get through the rest of the day, much less the rest of my life. I think I hear someone call my name, but over the horses’ clomping, the wagon’s creaking, and the chattering of the girls, I know I’m just hearing things.

A few moments later, however, a black stallion gallops past us and cuts off our horses. Willie yells, “Whoa!” and yanks back on the reins as we narrowly avoid a collision with the stallion and its rider.

It’s Sam!

He jumps down from the steed, apologizes for stopping us, and runs around to my side of the wagon.

“Ellen! I can’t let you go. Please don’t leave.”

I burst into tears.

Willie stands up in his driver’s seat. “Sam, you know it’s not acceptable for her to stay with you. She is a proper woman and you are a single man.”

“Then I shall fix that.” He backs up a couple steps and kneels down on one knee. He removes his hat and places it over his heart. “Ellen, will you please do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

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An Orphan’s Heart” is available in Kindle, Nook, and paperback.

Wednesday Writer’s Corner – Concept to Self-Published

Wednesday Writer’s Corner

Want to self-publish? Here’s how to write a novel and publish it.

Concept – You need a story—a beginning, a middle, an end. By beginning I don’t mean, “She was born on a stormy night in a small hamlet in Germany.” Yeah, we were all born. I hope you have something better than that. By beginning I mean, set up your story/problem/drama in the first fifty pages. Get my interest.

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Outline – Amateur writers LOVE to skip this step. They like to give the story the freedom to wander where it wants. Their finished product always ends up reading exactly like that—a jumbled mess of confusion. Draw a definitive line in the sand. Write an outline. Who are your characters? Full names. Ages. Physical features. Personality. Vocation. What town do they live in? In what year? How does the story start? What are the key elements you need to include to make the ending make sense? Even if you never mention the heroine’s middle name in the book, at least you have a solid concept of who she is before you even start writing. Write a mock Table of Contents and a sentence or two describing what will happen in each chapter. Of course you can and will change it as your story develops. I always end up adding chapters when I realize I can’t get there from here, but at least I’m not starting with a jumbled mess and ending with worse.

Rough Draft – Some writers like to add the five senses and character development as they go. That makes for a long time to finish the rough draft. Whatever works for you is fine. Personally, I don’t have that kind of patience. I like to get the story down on paper—beginning to end. I go back later and add all the details.

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Rewrite – No matter how complete your rough draft is, your story will change as you write, so you have to go back to the beginning and adjust the details. Did attitudes change? Did ages change? Does it make more sense to have her hair blowing in the tornado-like wind during the dramatic climax, or does the happy, sunny day still work? 

Revisions – Use this time to make sure the scenes and characters match the movie playing in your head. Little things like ‘he yelled,’ ‘he bellowed,’ or ‘he barked,’ make all the difference. Did spittle fly from his mouth? Was his forehead wrinkled? Revise, revise, and revise some more.

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Beta readers – Find a couple friends/writers/teachers to read your story. You don’t want to know about grammar and typos, only about the story line. If they have questions about why or how something happened, then your story is wrong. Period. Anything that pulls the reader out of the moment is wrong. Ask them to write down any place they got lost or anything they did not understand. Give them a time frame for completion. Tell them you need their feedback within two weeks.  (I know it’s hard to allow people to read unfinished work, but this is a necessary step.)

More Revisions – If your reader got lost at any point, fix it. You did not relate the story well enough at that point. If your reader gives you advice on anything, look at it with a critical eye. They may be right or wrong. If they thought something specific about the story, so will hundreds of other people. You don’t necessarily have to jump on every suggestion. You may like the way the main character got lost in Chapter 6. At least you can make a conscious decision about it, so when someone gives you 1-star review because your character got lost in Chapter 6, you can hold your head up high, knowing you made the decision for a specific reason. You wanted to leave her lost in Chapter 6–on purpose. It’s a lot easier to shrug off a bad review over a decision you made than to cry over a bad review about your storytelling abilities.

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Editor – DON’T SKIP THIS STEP. Get a professional editor, and know in your heart she is going to make you change Chapter 6. Her red pen is your friend. It’s hard to see her comments, but it’s harder to face 1-star reviews. And, yes, you can afford her. Financial example: If you make a profit of $2 per book and your editor charges you $800, you will need to sell 400 books to break even. If your book is good (and you have a strong author platform – discussed below), you will achieve that within a short amount of time. Then for the rest of your life, you have the potential to sell a good book to a lot of people. If you don’t get a professional editor, you will NEVER sell 400 books to anyone. The first and only review will be a 1-star complaining that you should have hired an editor. Now, you’re dead in the water. Editors are worth their weight in gold. Pay them. Listen to them. They know what they are doing. Stephen King has an editor. You should too!

Proofread – Now you have a finished manuscript with a good story line and solid grammar and sentence structure. Proof it!! If your editor is a fabulous professional, you will not find many typos in your edited manuscript. It’s tough to proof yourself, because you will be tired of working on the story at this point, but even if you have someone else do it, you still have to go through it one more time—for your own sanity. It’s your name on the finished product.

Self-Publishing – There are a few things you need to do to self-publish:

1) Build an author platform – What is an author platform? Basically, it’s a number. It’s the number of people you can reach today to tell them about your new book. Goodreads, Facebook, Pinterest, Twitter, blog, LinkedIn, website, etc. Find the ones you’re comfortable with and use them. Don’t say, “Hey, buy my book.” Nobody cares about your book, they only care about you. If you only try to sell something, your audience will turn you off instantly. Talk about your genre, your characters, your expertise, your love of dogs. Write about your writing/researching/publishing experience/anything else to connect. If you were on Stephen King’s webpage and everyday he posted a link to his book on Amazon, you wouldn’t go to his page anymore. You want to TALK to him. People want to TALK to you.

2) Learn how to format—KDP, Smashwordspaperback, and others have different formats. It’s not hard to learn. If you can work Microsoft Word even a little bit, you can go to the above sites and find step-by-step tutorials. It will take you a few hours, a pot of coffee, and a lot of patience to learn it, but once you’ve mastered it, you can format a book for all of the above in less than an hour.

3) Create a great cover and title—A majority of your work will be sold through online outlets, and some pretty covers don’t necessarily transfer to those little thumbnail-sized pictures. If you are not graphic design/Photoshop savvy, hire someone. Choose a title with five words or less. Google your title ideas before you choose one. “Gone with the Wind” is probably not a good title. Run ideas through the search box on Amazon. Make sure there aren’t ten other books with the same name. If people can’t find your book, they can’t buy your book. Look through other covers in your genre. What do they all have in common? Look through the best sellers. Anything sticking out to you? Do that! Make your cover tell the story–with a clear font. A pretty font is not your friend. If you have not been professionally trained to create designs, hire someone. Your cover is your first impression. An amateur cover means an amateur book to buyers.

4) Read everything possible about self-publishing. There are books and blogs out there on formatting, marketing, covers, blurbs. (Blurb hint: Write two or three paragraphs in past tense on what your book is about. Now delete all the adjectives. There! Good blurb. Don’t bore me with flowery bullshit, just tell me what the book is about.) Read everything you can about how to market yourself and your book. You can have the best book in the whole world, but if no one knows it’s out there, no one will buy it. Nobody cares about your book more than you do, so YOU have to do the marketing. If you’re not willing to do the work, then take up painting or something.

Now, go finish writing your book.

Lori Crane is the self-published, bestselling, award-winning author of the Okatibbee Creek Series, the Stuckey’s Bridge Trilogy, and the Culpepper Saga. 

Saturday Snippet – May 4, 2013

Here’s a snippet from my AWARD-WINNING book “Okatibbee Creek.” Haha. Yes, award winning! It was recently named the bronze medal winner in the 2013 eLit Book Awards in Literary Fiction. That’s funny, because I’m sure it was entered as Historical Fiction, but whatev. An award is an award. We take ’em any way we can get ’em! 😛

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Set up – January 1863 Mississippi. The Civil War is in full swing. Mary Ann Carpenter owns an old general store in town where the war’s casualty lists are periodically posted. Four of her brothers and her husband, Rice, are off fighting in the war, and she has not heard from any of them in a while and is understandably worried.

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Martha Jane yells up the stairs, “Mary, there’s a gentleman here. He says he has to see you.”

I return to my room to get my day cap. I smooth down my wrinkled dress and head downstairs.

When I reach the bottom of the stairs, I see him. I do not recognize his face, but I recognize his clothing. He is a Confederate soldier. He is standing in the open doorway of the store with the gray, cloudy sky at his back. He is dressed in a wrinkled gray uniform with a dirty yellow cummerbund. His trousers have holes in them, with mud caked around the bottoms of his pant legs. His jacket is missing some buttons, and he looks quite thin and weary. He is wearing shoes that are covered in red Mississippi mud and probably have no soles on the bottom. He is holding his tattered hat and a piece of paper in his dirty hands.

“Hello, sir, what can I do for you?” I ask as I approach.

“Hello, ma’am.” He nods. “Are you Mrs. Carpenter?”

“Yes, I am. And who are you, may I ask?”

“Private Joseph Brown, ma’am. Captain asked me to deliver the latest casualty list to you in person.” He holds the folded piece of paper toward me and looks down at the floor, like a child in trouble for doing something wrong.

“Why are you delivering this? It usually comes by a mail carrier,” I ask as I reach for the paper. I look at the boy’s face. He nervously avoids my eyes and keeps staring at the floor.

“Why are you delivering this to me?” I repeat.

“I promised I would. I’m sorry, ma’am. Goodbye, ma’am,” he murmurs, and backs out the open door.

I look at the piece of paper in my hand for a long time, wondering if I can open it. I don’t know whose names are on this paper, but I suspect the worst, and I don’t want to read it. My eyes sting with tears as I dread a simple piece of paper. I try to unfold it, but my hands are shaking, so I stop and hold it to my chest. I take a deep breath.

Martha Jane stands behind me, not saying a word or making a sound.

“Martha Jane, will you please go upstairs and mind the children for a few minutes?” I ask her.

She nods and quietly heads up the stairs.

I walk outside across the wooden porch and down the two stone steps onto the ground. I walk across the dirt road that is now filled with puddles of red mud from the rain. I keep walking straight ahead. I walk into the overgrown field across the road. I walk with purpose, with determination, like I have somewhere important to go. I want to run. I want to run away and never come back. I keep walking.

In the middle of the field, the thunder sounds above my head. I stop and look up at the ominous clouds that are almost as threatening as the piece of paper I hold in my hand. My hands are shaking as I slowly unfold it and smooth it open. My stomach feels like it has a hole in it. My eyes fill with tears. My hands are now trembling so violently, I almost can’t read it. The name at the top is the only name I see.

“Carpenter, Rice Benjamin: killed in battle 31 December, 41st Mississippi Infantry, Co C.”

Drops of water fall onto the page, but I can’t tell if they are raindrops or teardrops. Even God Himself is crying.

All I’ve wanted the last seven months is for my husband to come home and hold me and tell me everything will be all right. All I’ve done for the last seven months is managed the store and the family, and I’ve waited—waited for Rice to come home. I’ve waited and I’ve prayed and I’ve done everything possible in preparation for him to come home to me.

I’ve dreamed of his homecoming. I’ve dreamed of taking up our lives where we left off. I’ve imagined us having more children. I’ve wished for his arms around me. I’ve seen his blue eyes in my dreams so often and heard his laughter ringing in my head over and over. I’ve pictured his beautiful Carpenter smile as he runs up the road and takes me in his arms. My heart always feels like bursting at the thought of seeing him again. I’ve imagined our happy reunion hundreds of times.

Now what?

There will be no homecoming. There will be no funeral. There will be no body. There will be no goodbye. It’s just over. My heart is ripping out of my chest in a pain I can’t even try to describe. My future is gone. My past is gone. My present is gone. Everything is gone. It all died with Rice.

I stand in the middle of the field in a blinding thunderstorm, holding a wet piece of paper that is all that is left of my husband, and I scream at the top of my lungs.

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“Okatibbee Creek” is available in Kindle and paperback at Amazon, and Nook and paperback at Barnes & Noble.  Also in ebook at Sony and Kobo.

Lunch and Literature in 1812

Tomorrow I’m having lunch at the Sawyer House.

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The property is located in Monroe, Michigan. There have been two homes built on the property. The original house was built by Francois Navarre on land given to him by the Potawatomi Tribe. The house is named after one of its residents, Dr. Alfred Sawyer, who lived there from 1859-1870. The original house was demolished and a new one built in 1873. Dr. Sawyer never lived in the current house, but it remained in his family until his daughter donated it to the city of Monroe in 1973.

Following lunch, my ladies from the United States Daughters of 1812 are having a bench dedication at the River Raisin National Battlefield, commemorating the bicentennial of the War of 1812.

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My 1812 soldier is Hays Rodgers.

While I was writing this little blurb, my phone rang and a lady told me my book “Okatibbee Creek” won the bronze medal in Literary Fiction at the 2012 eLit Book Awards. Check the book out on Amazon. The book is about Hays Rodgers’s daughter. “Wow, that’s a weird coincidence,” said the award-winning author. 🙂

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A to Z Challenge – G is for Ghost Stories

Blogging from A to Z April 2013 Challenge

G is for Ghost Stories 

I am delighted and overjoyed to announce the best collaboration in the history of publishing—well, in my little world anyway.

I am currently finishing a ghost story/Mississippi legend called “The Legend of Stuckey’s Bridge” and the foreword will be penned by none other than Mr. Ghost Story himself, Pat Fitzhugh, the author of “Ghostly Cries from Dixie” and “The Bell Witch: The Full Account.” I have been a long-time admirer of Mr. Fitzhugh and his ghost stories and am excited to share this story with you through his eyes as well as mine.

In his words, “Lori and I share a passion for Southern history and legends, and our works complement each other nicely. Lori writes about the people, places, and events that made history. I write about the spiritual residue they left behind. Our collaboration comes naturally.”

~ or supernaturally ~ hehe.

Click on the links above to visit Stuckey’s facebook page and like it to stay up to date, and to visit Mr. Fitzhugh’s blog and book pages. Tell him Stuckey sent you.

Stuckey's cover_web“The Legend of Stuckey’s Bridge” coming June 2013 to Amazon.

A to Z Challenge – F is for Formatting

Blogging from A to Z April 2013 Challenge

F is for Formatting 

In the publishing world – formatting is the Devil.

The following is a story of aggravation, so my indie author friends can point and laugh.

When I self-published “Okatibbee Creek,” I knew I would need someone to format it for me. There were two reasons. A) It had a lot of photographs and documents that needed to be included. B) I didn’t know squat about formatting. So, I paid a reputable (insert shitty) company to do the grunt work. I was told it was a six-week process, beginning with a mock-up, followed by a full format, followed by a paperback proof, followed by the finished product. The six weeks included the week-long time to incorporate any changes I would make at each stage of the process.

I requested a few specific things upfront: 1) I wanted the chapter titles to be the same font as the cover, 2) I wanted drop caps at the beginning of each chapter, 3) I wanted fleurons (the little fancy squiggles separating times or at the end of a chapter), and 4) there were letters included in the story, so I wanted those indented and a different font, perhaps something in the neighborhood of handwriting.

The first week became twelve days, and the mock up contained ZERO items on my above wish list.

Back to the drawing board.

The revisions (insert starting over from scratch) were supposed to take a week, and ended up taking another ten days, but the mock up came back perfect, except I didn’t get a sample of the indented, handwriting font for the letters, nor did I see one fleuron. Oh, well, take what you get at this point. We’re now well into November and I’d like to get this book out before the holidays.

The completed full format, supposedly a 10-day process, took another couple weeks, and it looked good…until the last 50 pages. Photos were in the wrong places with the wrong captions, single lines were left lonely at the bottom of a page when they obviously should have been at the top of the next page. One page actually had a paragraph in a totally unrelated font in a strange size just looming there for no reason at all. Apparently the formatter grew tired after lunch, or got into a fight with her boyfriend, or needed a Pepsi, or was anxious to get out the door and go on her Thanksgiving break.

I emailed the corrections – which would take another week (but probably more because of Thanksgiving).

After two weeks, I called them because I hadn’t heard back. Apparently, someone over there didn’t click the right button, and my file was hanging in limbo with no one working on it. They were sorry. How nice.

After another week, I received a paperback copy in the mail. It only needed two or three minor changes. Would they let me request those over the phone or by email and call it good? No. They needed me to download the full format, make the changes on the document, email it back to them, and they would incorporate the changes, and send me yet another paperback copy. Another ten days of waiting.

Finally, after ten weeks, it was finished. Of course it would take another week or so for it to appear on any of the online retailer’s sites. Being too late for holiday sales, I guess it didn’t really matter at this point. Sigh.

I received an email from them a month later asking me to fill out a survey about their services. Well, you can imagine what I wrote. Actually, I was very nice (insert a little bitchy) and told them specifically where things had fallen apart.

Here’s the rub. I got an email back, telling me I was WRONG. It explained that they were well within the six-week time frame they initially told me. They said I uploaded my manuscript on Oct 12, 2012, and they published the finished product on Dec 21, 2012. I don’t know how they figure that was six weeks. They must be using that Mayan calendar.

The moral of the story: I’ve spent the last three months learning how to format for paperback, Kindle, and Smashwords. I finished the formatting for my next book for all mediums in five days. 🙂