Thursday, January 18, 2024
January ~ The Month with Two Faces
Saturday, November 18, 2023
The Place that Held You by Nancy M Bell
Somme
Sleep
Crouched and ready we wait,
Dawn is late in coming
And when it does it is shrouded
In mist and fog
It is more than the damp and wet
That sends the shivers over our skin
Anticipation and fear war with each other
Where are the tanks that are supposed to
support us?
Stitched together by mizzle and mist
Yards away, across the trampled earth
The enemy crouch and wait as we do
Where are the tanks? The support?
Whispers and rumours run up and down the line
Then—suddenly the wait is over
“Over the top, boys,” the sergeant yells
Surging out of our earthen burrows
Running, firing blind, blinking in the fog
No time to think, only to run and fire
Ducking bullets whining by our ears
Then—it stops
I open my mouth and spit mud
Blood, hot and cold runs through my fingers
The old guys were right
There is no pain when it happens
Just a mixed sensation of disbelief
And relief…
Even if I die right here in the mud
It’s over:
The fear;
the wet;
the lice;
the killing.
Somewhere my mates are yelling and shots echo
But around me there is an odd silence
A separation from the man-made hell
One hand clutching my gut,
the other somehow still wrapped around my rifle
I let the lark song sing me to sleep.
Monday, September 18, 2023
New News and All by Nancy M Bell
Friday, August 18, 2023
Two Bits of Exciting News to Share with You by Nancy M Bell
Tuesday, July 18, 2023
Where it all Began by Nancy M Bell
To find out more about Nancy's books please click on the cover above.
Laurel's Quest was originally published by a now defunct Canadian publishing house in 2010. It was re-published in 2014 by BWL Publishing Inc. updated as Laurel's Quest with a new cover and some new text. It is my first published novel and is very dear to my heart. Laurel's Quest is currently being offered for free (as an ebook) at Amazon.com and .ca. I am thrilled to offer readers the chance to step into the magical world that exists just a step sideways from the World as We Know It. A world filled with magic and wonder and a few scary moments as well. Cornish Piskies, selkies, Morgrawr the sea monster along with a cast of intrepid friends who follow the clues to solve a riddle that may save a life. The story starts in southern Alberta but soon moves to Cornwall UK. Set against the beautiful and rugged country of the southwest Laurel's search takes her along the Michael and Mary earth energy lines that cross the country from Carn les Boels, an old hill fort in Cornwall, to East Anglia. Laurel's journey takes her Glastonbury Tor not once but twice before she comes face to face with Gwyn ap Nudd beneath the Tor in the crystal caves where Arthur is rumoured to be sleeping. Laurel's Quest is the first book in the Cornwall Adventures, A Step Beyond is the second and here we pick up one of the secondary character's story. Gort is one of Laurel's gang of seekers and in the second books follows his own journey of coming of age. The third book is Go Gently where we finally meet Laurel's Gramma Bella whose letters figure in Laurel's Quest. We get to know Laurel's father Colt better in Go Gently and understand better why his estranged from his mother, Laurel's beloved Gramma Bella.
I am currently working on Laurel's Choice which is a stand alone book, but you can be sure the usual suspects will show up. Gramma Bella, Vear Du the selkie, her group of friends from her quest and there might even be a wedding in the future...you just never know. Below is an excerpt from Laurel's Quest.
This is where Laurel's get the first clue from the 'Obby 'Orse in Padstow on May Day. If you want to learn more about this age old tradition just google it. It's fascinating stuff.
From Chapter Six The 'Obby 'Orse Clue Laurel's Quest Copyright 2015
“How am I going to know where to look for the clue once we
get to Padstow?” Laurel frowned.
“Did the Lady give any indication where you would find the
clue?” Aisling asked.
“I don’t think so.”
“Think harder,” Coll growled.
“I am.”
“What did she say again? I don’t remember exactly,” Gort
broke in quietly.
“She just said I would get the first clue on May Day in
Padstow. She talked about the filly that wasn’t born yet and holding death in
my hand.”
“So do we have to find a pregnant mare somewhere in Padstow?
That’ll be easy,” Coll snorted.
“Quit being so negative,” Aisling admonished Coll. “I don’t
think we’ll have to look too far. I think the clue will find us.”
“So we just go to Padstow, join in the festival, and wait
and see what happens?” Gort asked.
“I think that’s best.” Aisling nodded.
“What about what I think?” Laurel broke in.
Coll sighed. “What do you think we should do, then?”
“I don’t know. I just feel like I should have a plan of some
kind.” Her frustration was plain in her tone.
“Let’s just wait and see. Maybe we’ll come up with something
before we get there,” Aisling said.
The bright, clear May Day morning found their small group
looking for a parking spot in Padstow. The town was crowded with tourists and
locals, all vying for the best place to see the festivities. Those who weren’t
actively involved in the festivities jostled for space on the edges of the
narrow streets. Soon the ‘Oss would start his journey. Laurel was no closer to
figuring out how to find the clue than she had been the night they talked about
it in Emily’s parlor. She just hoped with all her heart she would recognize the
clue when it was in front of her.
Sarie’s friend emerged through her back gate just as they
parked in the tiny spot behind her cottage. Aisling greeted her Aunt Jane and
introduced Laurel. The woman led them down a narrow back alley to emerge onto
the main thoroughfare. The voice of the crowd swelled to a new level as the
‘Obby ‘Oss began to make his way through the narrow street. The girls craned
their necks trying to catch their first glimpse of the ‘Obby ‘Oss in his bizarre
costume.
The crowd hemmed them in. Sarie held tight to Laurel’s hand
as the crowd vibrated with excitement as the ‘Obby ‘Oss drew near. She lifted
herself up on her tiptoes as high as she could in order to catch a glimpse of
the alien-looking creature with its large hoop depicting the head of a horse,
and a scraggy tail hanging from the rear of it.
The traditional song rang high and loud as thousands of
voices joined in celebration:
“Unite and Unite. Let
us all unite. For summer is a cummin today, and wither we are going, we will
all unite, in the merry morning of May.”
Periodically the ‘Obby ‘Oss lunged into the crowd and
captured a young woman, prompting good-natured jesting and howls of laughter. At
intervals the ‘Obby ‘Oss would falter, stagger and fall to the street where he
lay motionless for a moment, when this happened the joyous song changed to a
sad dirge. As soon as the ‘Obby ‘Oss rose and danced again, the song spun back
to its joyous celebration. Laurel didn’t know where to look first; this was all
so different than anything she ever experienced. Even Stampede in Calgary
wasn’t this crazy. The song filled the air and rose from the stones of the
street under her feet. It vibrated in her bones and eardrums.
There was a sudden break in the crowd; the ‘Obby ‘Oss was
right in front of them. She watched entranced, as the ‘Oss made an exaggerated
grab for Sarie, who waved him off, laughing. The strange hooped face of the creature
paused, his painted eyes looked straight at her and the sound of the
celebrations faded. It seemed only Laurel and the strange beast existed in a
world somehow one step sideways from the world she knew. She couldn’t even feel
Sarie’s hand on hers, and the words of the song, though faint still echoed in
her ears.
The ‘Obby ‘Oss regarded her for a long minute before a voice
echoed in her head. It was both soft and deep, young and old, gentle and
intimidating, all at once and yet none of them at all. A part of her was
afraid, but another part was braver than she would ever have imagined and
allowed her to listen to the message.
“Greetings, child who
searches for answers. On this May Day, the ‘Obby ‘Oss grants you a boon.
Neither husband nor child will I give you, but the answer to part of the
mystery you seek to achieve your heart’s desire.”
Laurel started as the voice took on a deeper tone; she could
hear the ringing of great brass bells underlying it as if they rung from the
depths of the ocean.
“Find the great lizard as it emerges from the foam and
follow its path to the secret caverns of the crystal guardians. You must
remember…to gain entrance, you and your companions must be found worthy, and so
I tell you that it takes not the courage of a man, but the selfless sorrow of a
woman for the Selkie guardian to admit you.”
“Thank you,” Laurel whispered.
Suddenly, the world came back into focus. Although Laurel
felt like a lot of time had passed, it seemed only a tiny second elapsed to all
those around her. Sarie was still waving the ‘Obby ‘Oss away and giggling like
a girl.
“Go on with you, I’m too old, and she’s too young.”
The ‘Obby ‘Oss shook his hooped head at Sarie and bowed
before he continued on his way. The May Song rose high and strong over the
throng and slowed to the awful dirge as the ‘Oss stumbled and fell once more.
“Why does he do that?”
Sarie smiled. “Don’t let it bother you, girl. It symbolizes
the death of winter and the birth of the spring. If winter doesn’t come, the
summer never ends, and there can be no spring. It also mirrors mankind’s cycle
of life: we are born, we die, but we live on in our children and our children’s
children.”
Laurel doubted if her
mom was comforted by the thought of her daughter going on without her.
“Come on you lot, let’s go find some market stalls and some
goodies to stuff your gobs with,” Sarie invited.
They shouted their agreement. The ‘Obby ‘Oss leaped to his
feet again and cavorted down the street out of sight, though his song continued
to echo in the air.
As the group made their way to the market stalls, Coll
dropped back. “What happened back there? You looked all mazed for a minute,
like you could see something the rest of us couldn’t.”
“The ‘Obby ‘Oss spoke to me,” she said.
“It never,” Coll exclaimed. “It’s not supposed to speak to
anyone.”
“I don’t think it was the man inside the costume who talked
to me. It sounded deep, like it was inside my head, but faraway at the same
time. It was spooky.”
“Bloody Hell,” Coll exclaimed loudly.
“You mind your tongue, young man!” Sarie said over her
shoulder. “You’ll have your Gramma down my throat for allowing you to behave
like a ruffian.” Jane and Emily laughed
at her words.
“Sorry, Sarie,” Coll said, and then spoke in a quieter
voice. “What did it say? Why couldn’t the rest of us hear it?”
“I don’t know why you couldn’t. I wish you were all there
with me. It was creepy,”
“What do you mean there with you; you didn’t go anywhere. I
was still hanging on to you and so was Sarie.” Coll looked confused.
“It was weird,” she paused, trying to find a way to describe
it, “as if I took a step sideways or something. Like I was apart from
everything somehow. All the noise faded, I couldn’t feel you or Sarie. All I
could see was the painted face of the ‘Obby ‘Oss and hear that voice. But I
could still hear the May Song faintly, all I could make out was unite, unite. It was freaking weird.”
“What did it say?” Coll asked impatiently. “Who would have guessed
the ’Obby ‘Oss would talk to you!”
“Weird stuff, all in riddles. You know those stories your
Gramma and Sarie tell at night in front of the fire where the faeries or
piskies or whatever give the person the information they need, but they never
tell it right out. The people in the story have to figure it out for themselves
if they want to finish their quest or get out of the faery hill, or whatever.”
Coll danced a jig of delight on the cobbled street. “This is
great, isn’t it just? We get to go questing like King Arthur’s knights. Gort’s
going to be beside himself.”
“You don’t think I’m crazy, or making it up?”
“Naw, I believe you. We knew you were going to get a message
here. You even had that faery struck look on your face for a moment when the
‘Oss stopped in front of you. You know, the one Sarie always makes as she
describes how the person in the story would look.” Coll stopped talking long
enough to make sure Sarie and the others weren’t too far ahead. “What did the
bloody thing say,” he asked plaintively.
Laurel giggled at his tone. “Something about lizard tails
and paths.” She trailed off and her eyes unfocused for a second. “In order to
find the answer to my heart’s desire, I have to find the great lizard as it emerges from the foam and follow its path
to the secret caverns of the crystal guardians.” She shook her head. “I
don’t have any idea what it means.”
“Anything else?” Coll vibrated with excitement.
“There was something about gaining entrance to the secret
caverns. Me and my companions have to be acceptable, I think he said ‘worthy,’
so the Selkie guardian will admit us. What the heck is a Selkie?” she asked
crossly. “How am I supposed to figure this out when I don’t even know what the
stupid things are?”
“That’s why you have companions. A Selkie is some magic kind
of seal man.” Coll grinned. “Do you remember anything else?”
Laurel pushed aside her resentment and frustration at the
riddles to try to remember the last piece of the riddle.
“He said it takes not
the courage of a man, but the selfless sorrow of a woman to gain entrance.”
She kicked at piece of litter. “I haven’t the slightest idea what that means
either.”
Coll grabbed her hand and pulled her through the crowd. They
could just see the top of Sarie’s head in front of them.
“Hurry up, we don’t want to get lost,” Coll said over his
shoulder and then in a louder voice, “Sarie, Gramma, wait for us!”
Panting slightly, they caught up with their group just at
the edge of the market stalls. Aisling and Gort looked at them questioningly;
Coll winked at them.
“Just wait ‘til you hear the story we have to tell you later
when we’re by ownselves.” Coll grinned at Gort. “You’re going to either love
this, or think we’re bleedin’ kitey.”
“As long as it doesn’t involve anything illegal.” Gort muttered.
Sunday, June 18, 2023
Sneak Peek! Manitoba Canadian Historical Mystery ~ Discarded by Nancy M Bell
Chapter One
“Marguerite, you must go to him. Etienne needs medicine, the
fever is eating him up,” Marie Anne urged her sister.
The younger woman shook her head, wringing out a cloth in
cold water to soothe her child. “How can I? The English woman, she is there
now, I doubt Miles will even speak to me.”
“He must, Etienne is his son!” Marie-Anne insisted.
“No longer.” The words were bitter. “He has disowned the bebe
and me, discarded us like so much offal. Now that his fancy English lady
has arrived.”
“Still, Marguerite, you must go and ask. I will come with
you. Together we will convince your Miles to either send the British doctor or
give us money for the medicine.” Anne Marie pulled the dripping cloth from
Marguerite’s hand and threw it on the pounded earth floor. “Look at him! You
cannot just let him die. If you won’t go yourself, I will go in your stead.”
Marie-Anne whirled around, grabbing two thin shawls from the
back of a chair, and wrapping them around her shoulders. She planted her hands
on her hips and glared at her sister. “Are you coming?”
“Yes, oui, of course. I know you are right. It is
just my pride that stops me. For how long was I his wife in every sense of the
word? If not for me, and you, and others like us, those soft Englishmen would
never have survived their first winter. It was our relatives who brought them
buffalo and other provisions to see them through, and us who cared for them,
chopped wood, carried the water, bore their children…” Marguerite broke off,
her throat closing in frustration and sorrow for all that they’d lost. Angrily,
she swiped the moisture from her cheeks and straightened her back. “Come, we
go. Alexandre! Come watch your brother while I go to your father to ask for
help.”
The older boy poked the dying fire one more time before
crossing the small room. He picked the sodden cloth up from the floor and wrung
it out. After rinsing it with some water from the bucket by the bed, he wiped
his little brother’s face.
“Maman, he’s burning up.” Alex looked up at her.
“Will Papa come and take him to the doctor? Why hasn’t he come to see us
lately?”
“Your papa will not be coming, nor will he take Etienne to
the doctor. The best we can hope for is that he will send the doctor or at
least make provision for the apothecary to give me some medicine for him. I
have tried the best I can with the willow bark, but it isn’t enough.”
“Will Eitienne die like Elizabeth?” Alex glanced at the
empty cradle still sitting by the hearth.
“Not if I can help it,” Anne Marie promised. She took
Marguerite’s arm and pulled her toward the door. “Put this on against the
cold.” She thrust a Hudson’s Bay blanket into the other woman’s arms.
“Oui, yes, we must go. You are right.” Marguerite
wrapped the woolen blanket tightly around her, and after one last look at her
children, followed her sister out into the bitter wind blowing down the Red
River, howling around the eaves of the small buildings and sending snow flying
into their faces.
Alex’s last words echoed in Marguerite’s head as she
shouldered her way against the wind. “Tell Papa I miss him.” She snorted, as if
Miles cared about them anymore. Even little Elizabeth, dead at six months of
age, hadn’t moved him to contribute to her burial. It was the English woman’s
fault. She was the one who turned Miles against them. Charlotte Windfield, what
sort of name was Charlotte anyway? Grief stabbed her for a moment, not
Windfield anymore, oh no. Miles married her in the church two
weeks ago. So now she was Charlotte Ashmore. Lady Ashmore.
“Marguerite, come on, hurry up.” Anne Marie looked over her
shoulder and waited for her sister to catch up.
“Sorry, the wind is stealing my breath.”
“Here, take my arm. It’s only a little way more. Surely
Miles will ask us in and let us get warm before we go on.”
The walk from the Metis community to the more substantial
homes of the British and Scottish population was a long one on a good day, for
the two women walking into the teeth of the northwest wind it seemed
interminable. Marguerite pulled Anne Marie to a halt in the lee of the church.
“A moment, I need to catch my breath,” she said, also
needing to strengthen her resolve not to do damage to either Lord Ashmore, her
erstwhile husband, or the English woman now ensconced in the fancy
house just up the street.
“A moment, then. But we mustn’t waste time. Come.” Anne
Marie grasped her arm and towed her sister out of the lee of the building into
the wind once more.
Marguerite led the way up the path to the front door,
pausing before the two steps up to the porch to take a deep breath and
straighten the blanket around her shoulders. Head held high, she mounted the
steps and rapped loudly on the door. Anne Marie hovered at her side; shoulders
hunched against the wind.
“Yes?” Lord Ashmore’s man servant opened the door.
“I need to speak with Miles. Immediately.” Marguerite
blinked in light spilling over the man’s shoulder.
“I’m afraid that is impossible. You should know better than
to come here where you are not welcome.” He made disapproving noises with his
tongue and made to shut the door, his strong London East End accent making it
difficult for her to understand him.
“No!” Anne Marie thrust forward and stuck her foot in the
door. “A child’s life is at stake. We must speak with Lord Ashmore.”
“Who is it, Gregory?” Light footsteps and the clicking of
heels on the polished wooden floor proceeded the voice.
“Nothing for you to worry about, m’am.” He moved to block
the woman’s view of the porch.
“I need to speak with Miles,” Marguerite shouted. “His son
is very ill.”
“Oh!” Charlotte Ashmore topped in her tracks and took a step
back. “My husband has no son. I’m afraid you are mistaken. Now leave this place
immediately.”
Thursday, May 18, 2023
Cover Reveal for Laurel's Choice by Nancy M Bell
Tuesday, April 18, 2023
April is Poetry Month! by Nancy M Bell
Spring
Snow
Nancy
M Bell
The storm demons are howling rabidly across the sky
Dragging
their icy talons against the window glass
Screeching
their defiance through the hydro wires
Buffeting
the house with their fists of wind
Shrieking they the fall upon the exposed prairie
Vomiting
great gouts of snow to cover the earth
They
hurl handfuls of icy pellets in my face
As I
struggle to let the stock into the barn
Mean
spiritedly they snatch the door from my frozen fingers
Slamming
it open and popping one of the hinges
I
bare my teeth at them and wrestle the door from their grasp
Hold
it steady as the horses troop in out of the angry storm
The
bale of hay spills its summer scent in the frigid air
A
sunlit meadow song to battle the storm raging outside
The
storm demons grab me in their teeth and shake me
As I
blindly make my way back to the house
Power
and fury personified; they scream their defiance
Their
voices howling through the wind in my ears
Reluctant
to exchange the winds of winter
For the thunderheads of summer
Bitter Ashes
The taste of bitter ashes on my tongue
All
the more potent for their age
The
things I should have said
Coiled
about the things I did say
Time slides by in endless flood
Bearing
my choices out of reach
Things
I can’t change
Things
I wouldn’t change
That
line from an old Kristofferson song:
“I’d
rather be sorry for something I’ve done,
Then
for something that I didn’t do.”
Oh,
the things I didn’t do!
Choices
that affected other’s lives
More
compassion here, more forgiveness there
The
phone calls I didn’t make
The words
I didn’t say
The
taste of bitter ashes on my tongue
More
potent for their age
All
I Want
All I want is to walk in Grace
To
live my life under the wide sky
With
a good horse under me
And
endless country in front of me
All
I want is to make each day count
For
something; no matter how small
I
fed a stray dog the rest of my sandwich
I
put seed out for the birds and food for the feral cats
All
I want is to be happy in my skin
To
know I’ve done the best I can
With
what I had to work with today
And
know that I will try to do the same tomorrow
All
I want is the wide sky sweet with dawn
And
the morning breeze on my face
Followed
by the burning blue
With
the sun at its zenith
All
I want is the golden sky of sunset
And
the dry prairie wind hot on my neck
The
softness of evening gilding the range
As
the gold melts into the royal blue of night
All
I want is the silver of moonlight
To
throw shadows across my bed
While
the song of the coyote rides through the night
To
know that all is right with my world
Till next month, be well, be happy.
Saturday, February 18, 2023
I'm excited by Nancy M Bell
To learn more about Nancy and her books please click on Kayla's cover.
I'm excited because I am about to embark on my very first author tour! Jude Pittman, publisher of BWL Publishing and I will just be back from a whirlwind tour of Nova Scotia, Newfoundland, and New Brunswick when you read this. Currently, the date is February 7, 2023 and I am in the middle of preparing for the departure.
I've only been to Nova Scotia before and it was a quick visit, although I did get to Peggy's Cove and the best lobster roll ever! This time, we will be promoting the new audio books of the Canadian Historical Brides collection. SInce Jude is the co-author of Pillars of Avalon (Newfoundland) and I'm co-author of On a Stormy Primeval Shore (New Brunswick) we are covering as much of the Maritimes as possible in a short period of time. We will also be meeting with some BWL authors who live in the area, so doing double duty in that respect. It will be so great to meet with everyone and enjoy talking about books and writing.
Hopefully, the weather will co-operate as we're busing it and taking an overnight ferry from North Sydney, NS to Port aux Basques NFLD and then returning the same day via overnight ferry to North Sydney. Should be quite the adventure.
See you next month, until then stay safe, stay warm.
Wednesday, January 18, 2023
One of My Favourite Hobbies by Nancy M Bell
I have a few hobbies, anyone who knows me will know horses are a huge part of my life. They have been my sanity, my salvation and my love from a very young age. I also am involved in animal rescue and fostering for a Calgary animal rescue. But on top of that I love to do cross stitch. I have a pile of framed cross stitch projects as a result of the Covid winters. There's something so engrossing about matching the pattern to the threads and seeing the picture come to life in all that glorious colour. It takes my mind off any problems that may be occurring in my life or stresses that are so much a part of everyday life in this day and age. While my husband watches TV shows or sports I can sit happily and listen with one ear while still paying total attention to the project taking shape on my embroidery hoop.
My subject matter is varied, sometimes Celtic knot patterns, horses, bunnies an tulips, some poppies and even a red dragon. Currently, I am almost finished with a fawn standing in tangled grasses under autumn trees. Once that is done I am hoping to embark on a huge project, much more complicated than what I've done before. It's a standing stone with a raven sitting on top which measures 21.64 inches by 28.57 inches and involves many colours that are very similar to each other. A challenge for sure. Wish me luck!
This is the start of a Wysoki pattern Frederick the Literate
Sunday, December 18, 2022
The Things We No Longer Do by Nancy M Bell
Thursday, August 18, 2022
Field of Ghosts by Nancy M Bell
Monday, July 18, 2022
Kayla's Cowboy, another Longview Romance by Nancy M Bell
She’d just finished taking the bridle apart and was dropping
the bridoon bit and the curb into a pail of warm water when the curtained stall
door opened a bit.
“Anybody here?” A male voice asked.
“Get out of there, Chetwynd,” another voice cautioned.
What the hell? Kayla pulled the door all the way open
and fisted her hands on her hips. “What do you want?” she demanded. “Who the
hell are you?”
“Aw, c’mon now, pretty lady. I was just wantin’ to say hello
and admire your horse.” The tall cowboy pushed his hat back on his head and
grinned down at her. His gaze swept her up and down, lingering on the swell of
her breast below the gapping neck of her old sweatshirt.
“I asked what your name was,” she repeated. “And I don’t
appreciate you just inviting yourself into my tack room. There was something
interesting about the man, his jeans snugged against his lean hips, broad
shoulders filling out his western shirt. There was some kind of advertising
emblazoned all over the red shirt but she couldn’t make it all out. The cowboy
just continued to grin at her in appreciation.
“I’m sorry, m’am. I’m Cody, Cody Butters and I apologize for
my partner here, he’s a little short on manners.” The second man elbowed in
front of his friend.
“Hell fire, man. She should know who I am,” the first man
said belligerently.
Kayla’s temper flared and she glared over Cody’s shoulder at
the cowboy. “I haven’t a clue who you are, and I could care less. Why don’t you
go back under the rock you crawled out of?”
“He don’t mean no harm, m’am. He’s just a mite uncivilized,
is all,” Cody intervened. This idiot, is Rob Chetwynd, the reigning Bull Riding
Champion.”
“At your service,” Rob swept his hat off and made a deep
bow.
Kayla sighed in exasperation. “What do you want? I have
things to do.”
“Just wanted to say hello and say how much we enjoyed your
riding,” Cody said with a meaningful glance at his friend.
“Actually, I wanted to see if your little behind was as cute
out of the arena as in it,” Rob said, lifting one eyebrow.
“That’s enough.” Kayla grabbed a stable broom from the
corner of the stall and smacked him with it. “Get out! Get out now, before I
call security.”
“Now, now, there ain’t no call to do that.” Cody grabbed his
friend by the back of his belt and started to drag him out of the stall.
“What’s going on here?” Anna demanded, coming to a halt with
Wellington in tow.
“These two yahoos invited themselves into our tack room and
made themselves very unwelcome,” Kayla told her, still brandishing the broom.
Cody turned and let go of Rob’s belt as Anna came up. “Man,
that’s a nice piece of horse flesh,” he said, eyes running over the 17.3 hand
gelding in appreciation.
“Yes, he is, and I’d thank you to not touch him and take
your…companion…and leave.” Kayla glared at the two men. “Now.”
“Sorry, yeah. I gotta apologize for my friend here. He’s
maybe had a bit too much celebratin’, if you catch my drift,” Cody said.
“That’s not excuse for being an ass,” Kayla shot back.
“Yes, m’am.” Cody ran his eyes over Wellington again,
stopping when Anna stepped out from behind the big horse into his line of
vision. Interest flashed across his face before he dragged Rob away.
“What was all that about?” Anna asked, her gaze on the red
headed cowboy. “What did he say his name was?”
“Which one?” Kayla stripped the cooler off Wellington and
picked up a brush from the tack box just inside the tack room door.
“The red headed one, not the other one,” Anna said folding
the cooler up.
“I don’t know…Cam, Cale, Cody…maybe…why?” She glanced up
from her work. “You can’t seriously be interested, can you?”
“Maybe,” Anna dragged the word out. “He seemed nice, I mean,
nicer than his friend. And he sure filled out those jeans…” She winked at
Kayla.
“Oh, you,” Kayla snorted. “You’d date the devil himself if
he had a nice ass.”
Saturday, June 18, 2022
Working With An Editor by Nancy M Bell
Do you need an editor? In a word ~ yes. Everyone needs an editor.
Why you need an editor.
As authors we know our story inside out, what may
be blatantly obvious to us may not be so obvious to your reader.
We read what we ‘think’ we wrote not always what
is actually on the page. It’s easy to skip over words like ‘the’, ‘a’ etc which
may be missing from the text.
The difference between content edits and line/copy
edits.
A content editor looks at the over- all structure
of the story. Does it make sense; is it following the plot in the correct
timeline; are facts correct; over use of words i.e. that, then, given names;
passive voice vs active voice; does the plot move at a good pace or does it
drag; does it make sense or are you confusing your reader; are the names of
characters, places etc. consistent. The list goes on.
A copy/line editor looks at things on a more
granular level. This is a check missing or reversed quotation marks, missing
punctuation over all, formatting issues, grammar errors etc.
Choosing an editor.
If you are traditionally published the publishing
house will assign you an editor, often two, one for contents and one for lines,
this depends solely on the house and your experience. In this case you have
little say in the choice of editor.
If you are self-publishing you will have to search
out an editor for yourself. You can look at trade publications [like Quill and
Quire in Canada or Writers Digest (US)] where you will find free-lance editors
advertising for clients. If you are a member of your provincial guild there
will be listings on their website- Writers Guild of Alberta. You can also look
at The Writers Union of Canada site and there are numerous other places. You
want to ask for references and titles of books they have edited, do your due
diligence before committing yourself.
What if you hate your editor?
This is a two sided question as well. If you are
with a traditional publisher your only recourse would be to contact the
publisher and explain the problem. Depending on the house and the nature of
your complaints, they may or may not be willing to mediate for you or assign a
different editor.
If you are self-published and have entered into an
agreement with a free-lance editor it may well depend on the agreement you
signed or verbally agreed to. If there is no opt out clause, you can of course
fire your editor but that may mean you have no way to get any monies already
paid back. To protect myself when I free-lance I ask for half of the agreed fee
up front with the remainder payable upon completion of the project to the
author’s satisfaction.
Open Dialogue and Open Mind are key.
Your editor has your best interests at heart. They
want to help you polish your work and show it in the best possible light. If
you are a new unpublished author (and this has nothing to do with chronological
age) be prepared to approach the experience with an open mind. You are not
always going to like what the editor says. Remember, if you confuse your editor
with aspects of your plot then you will also confuse your reader and the last
thing you want is for them to put the book down and never buy anything else
you’ve written.
Conversely, don’t be afraid to defend elements of the
plot that may be essential to something that happens further on in the story,
or in subsequent books if you’re writing a sequel. It is important to feel
comfortable discussing things with your editor. At the end of the day it is
your name on the cover.
Resolving Conflicts
This is hand and glove with what we just talked
about. Keep a cool head and your temper under check. Flaming your editor is not
conducive to a good working relationship. On the other hand, if you’ve not been
careful with your choice you may find yourself with an editor who refuses to
compromise.
In most cases the editor should explain why they
think something should be different than what you’ve written. The editor should
be familiar with the genre you’re working in and they will know the market much
better than you, in most cases it will be in your best interest to listen to
their advice. Very often compromises can be reached. If I encounter an empasse,
I state my case and then let the author make the final call. There are always
exceptions to the rule, of course.
The difference between a beta reader and an
editor.
A beta reader is NOT an editor and should not be
used as such. A beta reader is usually a friend or acquaintance who is willing
to read your rough draft and offer comments or ask for clarifications in places
where your plot may be weak or suffering from plot holes.
We’ve already discussed earlier what an editor is.
If you’re self-published ~ how much is too much
dollar wise
Be sure you know what you’re paying for.
Know what you are agreeing to and set a mutually
agreed upon timeframe for the completion of your project.
Until next month, stay well stay happy and keep writing.
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