Celebrating a Special Day with a #Snippet

Writers are quirky. Every year I observe the birthday of a particular person who doesn't exist...except in my mind. When she first took shape on the page, her birthday was in the future. Now time has marched on and that date has come and gone.

My character would be (and now was) born in 2012.

She turned six years old yesterday, on 09/09/18.

Her tale begins in 2039, now just 21 short years into our future.

Her story is titled The Outer Planets.

This is the first introduction to Lissa Bruce, in a place and time where she is forced to face a horrendous truth by doing the one thing she never thought she'd do. It reveals her vulnerabilities and weaknesses, but it also showcases her inner strengths, her defiance, her anger, and her determination not to be destroyed by forces and circumstances entirely beyond her control. 

17 April 2039

“Hello, bitch,” Lissa Bruce whispered.

Outside the portal, a leviathan floated in all her gloating glory . Running lights on full, insignias glowing, silver carbon skin stretched tight over her multi-deck carcass. Damned ship had been nothing but heartache. The research vessel too tough to die.

Seated in a flight couch, Lissa gazed across space while the pilot maneuvered the ten-passenger shuttle along the starboard flank of the big ship, lining up with the docking bay. When the upper hull of the giant blotted out the sun, three-story high letters emblazoned on her side stood out in bold relief:

NSS ROBERT BRADLEY

Lissa’s gut tightened. The vessel had been re-christened in honor of its original skipper. The 45-year-old general officer, an icon murdered in his prime, had left her a widow. Except she hadn’t technically been married, he hadn’t really been murdered, and her identity had been changed to protect the not-so-innocent.

She could imagine him gazing at his ship, arms crossed and feet planted, glancing her way with smug satisfaction.

The definition of irony: When a ship you despise becomes your only safe haven.

Soon after, Lissa must face someone who has played a major role in her life. Neither friend, foe nor love interest, this formidable man may, nonetheless, hold the key to her future--if she has one.

The shuttle made a smooth union with the airlock and green lights activated on the cabin panel. “Dock integrity confirmed,” a voice said on the speaker.

Lissa gathered her two bags from the bin and moved to the hatch. Now for the tough part. Facing Daniel.

The pilot motioned to the com-con switch on the bulkhead to the right of the hatch. Lissa pressed it. “Crewmember Lissa Bruce, requesting permission to come aboard.”

She waited while soft space static played on the speakers.

“The NSS Robert Bradley welcomes you, Ms. Bruce,” a deep and familiar voice answered. “Permission granted.”

“That’s the old man himself,” the pilot whispered. “Captain Storing.”

“In the flesh,” Lissa acknowledged, squaring her shoulders and raising her chin. Daniel wasn’t going to make the most congenial greeting party, but she owed him her trust, her complete and unquestioning support. He had his own cross to bear in proving himself to both Mission Control and his crew.

The hatch hissed open. Lissa nodded her thanks to the pilot and carried her bags into the airlock. The rush of intermingling atmospheres brushed her face and lifted the hair off her shoulders, bringing a sad smile to her lips. So like a desert breeze on a cool spring day. Something she wouldn’t experience again for a long, long time.

The pressure equalized, and the inner hatch popped. Lissa squinted when the Bradley’s interior lighting flooded the small chamber. In the glare stood an imposing man wearing full naval dress uniform and no trace of a smile.

Willing her legs forward, Lissa stepped onto the deck of Captain Daniel Storing’s ship. Behind her, the hatch to the docking bay closed with a clack, followed by a low rumble as the airlock depressurized.

Escape route sealed. Point of no return.

She looked into the commanding blue eyes of the man before her. The eyes of Zeus, as an awestricken friend had once described them. He studied her, neither relief nor anger evident in his gaze, his face molded into its usual professional scowl.

“Welcome aboard, Ms. Bruce.”

As a civilian, no salute was in order. “Thank you, Captain.”

He stepped forward to shake her hand, and she dropped her bags to the deck. His fair hair was cut in a standard military chop, though there’d been no gray at his temples the last time she’d seen him. She waited for his reaction to her new look. None came.

“It’s good to be onboard,” she said, cursing the slight quaver in her voice. So much for keeping emotions in check; Daniel knew her too well, and he wasn’t easily fooled. He must’ve known that stepping onto this ship was like walking into the jaws of hell—but a far safer hell than the one lying in wait for her back on Earth.

Daniel turned aside and spoke to a subordinate standing behind him. “Lieutenant, alert Mission Control our crew roster is complete.”

  

Now that you've you've met her, you can bet she's in for the ride of her life.

Happy Birthday, Lissa Bruce.

May your birthday present next year be 

that your story is being shared with the world.

The Tower of Voices: A Somber Memorial

This week also has the far more sobering anniversary of one of the most horrific events in American history. Tomorrow is 9/11. It's been 17 years since that fateful morning when a nation reeled in disbelief at what was unfolding before their eyes. I was one of them, watching as the first tower of the World Trade Center fell on live television. This country suddenly felt a lot more helpless, and a lot less safe as thousands of innocent people paid with their lives at the hands of a group of indiscriminate terrorists.  

Yesterday, I saw a brief news story on a special memorial that's being built to honor the Hero Flight, and the brave passengers who made the difficult decision that day to fight back against the evil men who had hijacked United Flight 93, which many believe was intended to strike our nation's capital and which, in spite of the brave passengers' efforts to take back the plane, crashed in a field near Shanksville, Pennsylvania, killing everyone onboard.

This memorial was dedicated yesterday. It includes a monument built on the site of the crash which is now called "Sacred Ground," a visitor center that tells the story of the passengers, and a memorial called the Tower of Voices. The 93-foot-tall structure will, when completely finished, hold 40 wind chimes, one for the voice of each passenger that perished that day.

Here's a brief video from Sunday Morning program titled Voices in the Wind, that shows the memorial and the music from some of the first chimes added, along with more of the story about the sacrifices made by the passengers of what has come to be known as the Hero Flight.

  

May we never forget.

Thanks for joining me. Have a great week.

THE STORY IS JUST THE BEGINNING

One thing my late brother Reg taught me was that a story must have a beginning, a middle and an end. Reg was an entertaining storyteller, whether he was recounting tales of the manipulating “Dragon Lady” that ruled the town in Viet Nam where he was posted, or of the celebrated frontier Indian fighter that was our distant ancestor. He learned his skill at the knees of our Appalachian relatives, and was sure to include all the gory details, pregnant pauses, humor and suspense that kept folks listening. He never failed to leave his audience howling with laughter or shaking their heads over the blockheadedness of some hapless fool once the story was done.

I learned how to tell a good story the same way. In fact, in my family, storytelling is a competitive art, with folks vying to top each other with a good tale. Even so, I do my best work on the page. I’ve learned, over the years, that telling a story via the written word is very different from telling it live and in person. Just because your friends and neighbors say you’re a great storyteller doesn’t mean you can write the Great American Novel.

Take the “beginning, middle and end” rule, for example. Listeners will really appreciate that you start at the beginning and go through to the end. But that approach can be dry as dust in a book. Sometimes it’s fun to start at the end, then go back to the beginning. Or jump in the middle and let the reader figure things out as you go along. Just as long as you have all the elements, and you’re skillful at applying them, the written word allows more flexibility.

A book of fiction should never be just a recitation of the “facts.” First this happened, then this, then that, THE END. (I would argue that the best books of nonfiction are not constructed this way either.) Believe it or not, I’ve encountered a couple of novels lately that fit this pattern. Their authors had clearly been told they were great “storytellers.” The plots were full of incidents. Things happened with frequency, all in sequential order. But long before I reached THE END, I got bored and bailed. 

Not only did these books lack any kind of structural interest, they lacked any of the other elements that make for a great story: those gory details, pregnant pauses, humor, suspense and, most of all, character nuances. A family storyteller can usually sidestep the character question by simply naming his protagonist. Everyone knows Uncle Joe was a dunce or Great-Grandma Irene liked the corn likker a little too much. 

An author writing for an unknown audience must make her characters as life-like as those well-loved family members. A storyteller can depend on tone of voice and active body language to sell the story. A writer has to season the stew with vivid settings, sensitive timing, snappy dialogue, sexy attraction between hero and heroine, the right word, the right image. 

The story is just the beginning. It takes a skilled writer to carry the reader through that sticky middle all the way to THE END.

Cheers, Donna

Star Wars Thrawn: Alliances

I'm a huge Thrawn fan - have been since Timothy Zahn created him to fill the void after Return of the Jedi ran at the last theatre near you. So yes, of course I read his new Thrawn book, simply entitled Thrawn, which tells the story of Thrawn's rise to the rank of Grand Admiral. And naturally I preordered Thrawn: Alliances. Here's the blurb:

Grand Admiral Thrawn and Darth Vader team up against a threat to the Empire in this thrilling novel from bestselling author Timothy Zahn.

“I have sensed a disturbance in the Force.”

Ominous words under any circumstances, but all the more so when uttered by Emperor Palpatine. On Batuu, at the edges of the Unknown Regions, a threat to the Empire is taking root—its existence little more than a glimmer, its consequences as yet unknowable. But it is troubling enough to the Imperial leader to warrant investigation by his most powerful agents: ruthless enforcer Lord Darth Vader and brilliant strategist Grand Admiral Thrawn. Fierce rivals for the emperor’s favor, and outspoken adversaries on Imperial affairs—including the Death Star project—the formidable pair seem unlikely partners for such a crucial mission. But the Emperor knows it’s not the first time Vader and Thrawn have joined forces. And there’s more behind his royal command than either man suspects.

In what seems like a lifetime ago, General Anakin Skywalker of the Galactic Republic, and Commander Mitth’raw’nuruodo, officer of the Chiss Ascendancy, crossed paths for the first time. One on a desperate personal quest, the other with motives unknown . . . and undisclosed. But facing a gauntlet of dangers on a far-flung world, they forged an uneasy alliance—neither remotely aware of what their futures held in store.

Now, thrust together once more, they find themselves bound again for the planet where they once fought side by side. There they will be doubly challenged—by a test of their allegiance to the Empire . . . and an enemy that threatens even their combined might.

I've just finished reading the book and feel the need to read it again. It's one of those dense plots where one tends to miss important details. And there are plenty of those. Zahn tends to write his books as if they're movie scripts and though, obviously, Thrawn/Mitth’raw’nuruodo and Lord Vader/Anakin Skywalker get the bulk of the action, Padme Amidala is a very important secondary character, and there are a few others in pivotal military positions who also get their own POV.

We move from the present to the past where Anakin and Thrawn first meet. Anakin is looking for his wife, who went off to meet a friend/agent who has uncovered a threat, and disappeared.Thrawn happens to be there for reasons undisclosed. What's interesting is Anakin's relationship with his wife and also how he copes with Thrawn, who is much more competent at strategy. Even then, Anakin tended to react without much thought.

Vader isn't written as a sympathetic character but perhaps Zahn has rounded him out a bit more. (I know that was the purpose of the 3 prequels - I'd rather ignore them.) Here we have two very different, very powerful men forced to work together despite their completely different methods of operating. Needless to say, despite Vader's mantra that "General Skywalker is dead", Thrawn knows the truth - although he never admits to it. The byplay between Padme and Anakin is also interesting, showing the impulsiveness of the man which will finally lead to his fall.


I particularly enjoyed the stand-off between Thrawn and Vader because Vader has to be persuaded to agree to Thrawn's plans. That's not easy when you're dealing with a Sith Lord with an itchy light sabre. But Thrawn also acknowledges Vader's abilities and uses them to accomplish more than one victory.

Zahn has written a number of stories where he focuses on a storm trooper unit. He incorporates some of that into this story, including the POV of a storm trooper commander in the 501st legion. He also includes the POV of Commodore Faro, who is captain of Thrawn's flagship Chimaera. These two bring in a nice comparison of their feelings towards the men they work for - once again, making it all a little more real.

It's always fun watching how Thrawn works out his moves, teaches others, and outwits the opposition. I'm sure if one wanted to, one could pick holes in the reasoning. But I never bother, I just enjoy the show.

All in all, if you're a Star Wars fan, you'll enjoy this book.

Why 2018 was an Endless Summer

Happy Labor Day!

Labor Day marks the "official" end of summer, though the season will linger on for a few more weeks, at least according to the calendar, as will the barbecues, shorts, sandals, and outdoor activities.

But for many it's a time when the kids go back to school and we start gearing down for the chillier days and nights ahead. Winter is, indeed, coming.

Labor Day is also a time of reflection, as another Season of the Sun passes out of our lives. For me, Summer 2018 was a summer of change, of reflection, of fielding curve balls, of re-determining direction, of a win or two, but many, many losses. Some that are still lingering with me.

Where summers are usually fleeting and bright, 2018 was an Endless Summer, and sadly, not in a positive way. I've made promises to get more books out. It didn't happen. I made commitments to do certain things and go certain places. I didn't do those things or go those places. I sometimes felt so completely defeated and heart-heavy, I didn't know if I could -- or if I wanted to -- continue to do this author thing.

Maybe it will be simpler if I just recap:

Summer 2018: What I Thought Would Happen

I'd publish three more books
I'd invest a good percentage of time promoting those books
Inherit the Stars (the filly we bred and raised) would start her racing career
I'd attend RWA for the first time in six years
I'd get to meet peers in Denver who had long been online friends
I'd start working on my next major release--the "Book of my Heart" *sigh*
It would be a fabulous, productive summer!


Summer 2018: What Really Happened (or The Real Life Version)

In late April, we lost our Lab Misty to cancer. We'd had her since she was 6 weeks old.
Grief ensued. It was a herald of the summer to come.

Also in April, we sent our fabulous mare Blaze to be bred to a promising young stallion. Her full sister produced a running champion in 2017. We had high hopes!
In May, our homebred 3YO Stars was diagnosed with an as yet undetected breathing disorder.
After rejecting an optional risky surgery, Stars was retired without running a single race.
What looked to be a very promising career was never going to happen.
Much sadness followed.
Also in May, "Cockygate" erupted in the publishing industry.
Much angst and teeth-knashing followed for many weeks.
There was a lashback -- a lot of bad blood arose among writers.
Conversely, a rush of authors attempted to trademark common phrases.
Most indies were furious, disillusioned, shaking in their boots, or all three.
I was one of them.
A hearing on June 24 was the beginning of the end of Cockygate.
[In case you somehow missed the drama, Google it or read this summary]
On the heels of Cockygate, authors were struggling with other issues:
Click-farms. Disappearing page reads. Mystifying closures of accounts by a big vendor.
And in most cases, a complete lack of response, recourse or re-compensation.
Many authors announced they were quitting--too many bads; too few goods.
I was one of the authors who seriously considered doing the same.
In late June, our mare Blaze returned from the breeding farm, not in foal and in very bad shape.
Blaze spent over five weeks in our vet's care, but continued to decline.
Blaze's vet expenses required me to cancel my trip to RWA 2018 in Denver.
I lost the chance to meet the Brigade RWA group I'd been chatting with for months.
I forfeited my hefty registration fee.
Meanwhile, RWA members reacted to RWA's summary on the state of the Golden Heart.
They talked about why the competition was so important to so many unpublished authors.

They talked about how the experience couldn't be replaced.
In late July, the RWA board announced the 2019 Golden Heart would be the last.
I was crushed. I can't begin to explain what this loss meant. The Golden Heart did so much for me, both career and confidence-wise, and I gained many peers because of it.
It will be the very sad end of a wonderful era for authors-to-be.
On August 5 we visited Blaze one last time, and it was clear she was losing her battle.
On August 6: Rest in Peace, Blaze. It was cancer.
Our wonderful, successful, beautiful Blaze was gone.

More heart-wrenching grief ensued.
On August 8, we sold Stars to a young barrel racer.
We couldn't give her the second career she deserved, but we found someone who would.
Goodbye to our baby, Stars. :'(

End result of this summer of strife...
I couldn't summon the emotional focus to write or publish anything.
Not just excuses. Just life.

Since I opted out of Pets in Space 3 this year (in hindsight, probably a good thing for my mental health), I also realized that although I've published something new every year since my debut in 2015, because of the nature of the Pets in Space collections being limited releases, my 2016 and 2017 books are no longer available -- Poof! Zap! -- as if they were never there at all. As if I hadn't published anything since 2015.

And I was painfully aware that slowly...and certainly...my author name was fading from the readers' collective consciousness.

These long (endless) months of turmoil and loss and depression resulted in a mental struggle for me, deciding if I wanted to continue as an author at all. Is it worth all the time and effort and aggravation and grief and stress that happens as a result of the actions of others, algorithms gone seriously awry or what feels like the cruel whimsy of the industry....all while coping with just plain life? Could I weather the horrendous time-sucking learning curve required to continue as an indie author?

It isn't the first time I'd been here, but it was definitely the longest I'd mulled and pondered, and the closest I'd ever come to throwing in the towel for good.

But...

I was born a writer. I will always write. And I'd really like to share my stories, as difficult as the current industry makes that for small indie authors. But maybe, I thought, I could just write for me. Only write for fun and post it to my blog or to a free site like Wattpad. Yet doing so would, firstly, narrow my audience to a handful of readers, and secondly, expose my work to the high risk of being ripped off and published as someone else's work. (As if my books weren't already being pirated--frequently and relentlessly.)

Did any of that even matter anymore?

I continued the soul-searching of why I write. Or more accurately, why I want to continue. For money? Ha! Truly, a joke. I'm lucky to cover expenses. For fame? Hahahahahaha. No. I am a single face in a sea of millions, one quiet voice in a noisy multitude. And in truth, I never feel comfortable in the limelight. I don't want the equivalent of a Hollywood Star of Fame.

The reason I write is that writing brings me joy. Creating worlds and people and characters and conflict is a method of expressing myself. It centers me and allows me to communicate in a way and at a level that isn't otherwise available to me. And if I keep these stories to myself, there's no communication. I want to share them. Because there are others out there that my books might speak to, others who may need a chance to escape -- Escape to the Stars -- for a few hours of their lives.

What really matters to me is that someone finishes one of my books and thinks to themselves, "Wow. That was a great story!" or "Holy cow. That really made me think." Or that my stories or characters or worlds gave them hope, or will linger on inside them as a part of their life experiences or fond memories.

With that realization, my choice was made. I must keep writing. I still have so many more stories inside me. So many worlds that have long existed within my head and been a part of my life. For me, it's personal.

But most of all because I love -- and have always loved -- to write. It's who I am. And I won't let this heartless industry take that away from me.

Going forward, I will allow myself concessions. I'll tell my stories in my own time and at my own pace. I'll give myself the latitude I need to tell them in the way I see fit and let go of the pressure of expectations and writing "inside the box" as well as dates and schedules and timelines.  I'll continue to write and publish as long as my mind and health and mental state allow me to do so. Quietly. And without a lot of broadcasting and hoopla. Head down. Hands on keyboard. Butt in chair. Ignoring the negatives. Embracing the positives. Reminding myself, daily, why I do it.

It's Labor Day 2018, and it's been an Endless Summer. But I'm still here.

See you next week.