My Characters Get By With Murder

Last night, after I had spent a long day with a stubborn geriatric convalescent, I opened my work in progress and began to get back into the story. I hadn’t written anything new all day and I was in some major withdrawal. My fingers itched to tap out more riveting plot. As I sat down and opened my Mac, it smacked me right between the eyes. I still hadn’t decided who my villain was and the obvious choice had literally been right at my fingertips all along. I should have sighed with relief, but I had a big problem. I had written this character too nice. Yeah, that’s right. The villain had too many redeeming character traits. So what’s a writer to do? Of course, I had to go back and scan my manuscript looking for places where I needed to nasty him up. After that, the plot began to shine with the sparkle of suspense that had been lacking.

Don’t get me wrong. I often let my characters get by with murder. Literally. A lot of them have killed at least one person, maybe more. But I like to add a little depth to my villains. I love to give them just one redeeming quality so they aren’t so one dimensional. To make them a little more, you know, human. But this guy? He was just way too nice and understanding and helpful. Something had to give. So you know what I did? I gave him a gun. Yep. That changed him into a detestable SOB pretty fast. Once he had the weapon in his hand, he didn’t hesitate to draw it on my heroine. Ah, did the universe just realign into proper balance? I think it did.

I’m a pantser. I decide where my story begins and where it ends when I start a manuscript. But after that? I fly by the seat of my pants. Or rather sit at my makeshift desk, which is really just my coffee table pushed up close to my sofa. My “office”. Since I quit that horrid day job the living room has become my favorite place to play…um…I mean work. Anyway, I digress.

Here’s my long-winded point… In between the beginning and the end, I allow my characters to develop their own personalities and character as the story progresses. I allow the action of the plot to proceed according to what my characters would do next based on their personalities. The story feeds my characterization. My characterization feeds my story. They feed each other. A symbiotic relationship. So I let my characters get by with a lot, even murder.

Can you can imagine how a story could get all janked up if one of the characters isn’t fulfilling his or her proper role? Heroes should be heroes, albeit sometimes a wee tad flawed. Heroines should be heroines, even if they have one or two character flaws they need to work on. I love letting my characters decide how they want to act and who they want to be, but sometimes I have to smack one around and make him (or her) play nasty.

So if you want to read what kind of nasty my villains can get into, check out Crisis of Identity, a story with numerous villains written in varying shades of nasty.


Weekend Writing Warrior 04.21.13 #8Sunday #WeWriWa

It's a Sunday thing...

Each Sunday, Weekend Writing Warriors hosts a fun new meme. Link to their list at http://www.wewriwa.com/ and post eight sentences from a published or unpublished work to your blog on Sunday.

I'm sharing 8 from my book, Crisis of IdentityHere's the setup...

Tess sent her ex-boyfriend's sister, Allison, to South Carolina to stay with Tess' sister, Tawny. For Allison's safety. The trouble? Tess' sister and her boyfriend are druggies. When Tawny can't pay up on her debt to her drug dealer, Tawny sells Allison to him.

When Tess senses that Allison is in trouble she heads to South Carolina to find out what's going on. In this scene, Tess has managed to rescue Allison from the clutches of the drug dealer. This is Tess' reply when Allison asks her what she's been up to the last few months.

I wasn’t ready to tell her about Shelby Coleman, so I dissimilated a bit. “Okay, maybe I did steal a man’s car…and his cash…oh, and yeah, his cell phone. And I broke into someone’s condo, but I didn’t find what I was looking for. It’s okay, because she’s dead. But that’s all.” I bit my lower lip. It sounded bad when you listed all my instances of larceny like that.

“That’s all?”

Here's the blurb...

Tess Copeland is an operator. Her motto? Necessity is the mother of a good con. When Hurricane Irving slams into the Texas Gulf coast, Tess seizes the opportunity to escape her past by hijacking a dead woman’s life, but Shelby Coleman’s was the wrong identity to steal. And the cop that trails her? He’s a U.S. Marshall with the Fugitive Task Force for the northern district of Illinois. Tess left Chicago because the criminal justice system gave her no choice. Now she’s on the run from ghosts of misdeeds past—both hers and Shelby’s.

Enter Trevor Smith, a pseudo-cowboy from Houston, Texas, with good looks, a quick tongue, and testosterone poisoning. Will Tess succumb to his questionable charms and become his damsel in distress? She doesn’t have to faint at his feet—she’s capable of handling just about anything. But will she choose to let Trevor be the man? When Tess kidnaps her niece, her life changes. She must make some hard decisions. Does she trust the lawman that promises her redemption, or does she trust the cowboy that promises her nothing but himself?

Want to read more?

Crisis of Identity can be purchased through the following sites:


Weekend Writing Warrior - 04.14.13 #8Sunday #WeWriWa

It's a Sunday thing...

Each Sunday, Weekend Writing Warriors hosts a fun new meme. Link to their list at http://www.wewriwa.com/ and post eight sentences from a published or unpublished work to your blog on Sunday.

Today I'd like to share 8 sentences from my novella, An Impostor in Town, coming soon from The Wild Rose Press. 

Her skin throbbed from the abuse in the shower. She grabbed a bottle from the nightstand and smoothed on lotion to soothe the chafing. With a weary sigh, she gazed out the window. The nearby mountains rose in the distance, but the scene’s usual therapy provided no comfort. Jake's picture beckoned her to take another look.
Thoughts of her baby snatched at her heart. She wiped a stray tear from the surface of the photo. Everything she did, she did for him—to hide him and protect him from the evil men that would destroy her by destroying him.

Here's the blurb:

Peyton Chandler has done everything to protect her son Jake from the evil men that would destroy her by destroying him. For years, she has allowed another woman to raise her son, kept herself apart from him, and hidden behind her dead sister’s identity, never allowing herself to get close to anyone—not even Sheriff Brian Parker, the one man whose love and respect she craves. When Brian receives a note claiming there’s an impostor in town, he doesn’t know where to start his investigation. Peyton fears she will lose the man she loves if he discovers she’s not the woman she claims to be.

Hope you enjoyed the excerpt and the blurb. Please leave a comment!


Characters Acting Badly and #MyMuse That Contributes to Their Delinquency

Sometimes the life of a full time writer can be…well, lonely. I mean, when I’m writing, the only company I have are my characters. If they started talking to me, I mean verbally, I think I’d freak.

My muse whispers in my ear in the middle of the night, but that’s something else entirely. There is no accounting for what she might say or do. If you doubt it, check out these posts.

Here is what I think my muse might look like…

Picture in public domain. Courtesy wiki commons.

Sometimes my characters are sort of like real people, you know. Today one of them just wouldn’t cooperate with me. I wanted her to do one thing and she hauled off and did another. This one has a mind of her own. I gave her a good talking to but she wouldn’t listen. Had to have it her way. It amuses me for a while to argue with them, but it’s not the same as talking with a living, breathing individual. I think she forgets she’s fictional. Am I going to have to restrain her?

Maybe this device would work…

Drawing in public domain. Courtesy wiki commons.

Do you think that would keep her in line? I mean, my characters should be careful not to annoy me. I just bought this coffee mug…

Mug can be purchased at cafepress.com

This mug means what I say and says what I mean, you know what I mean? I’ve done some nasty things to my characters. I even impaled one bad guy on a dead tree before it caught on fire and fell over the side of cliff into a deep gorge. My characters should quiver in fear of my fast tapping fingers. And my muse should stop leading them down the path toward destruction. When I tell my heroine to call my hero and make up with him, that's exactly what she should do!


The Only Constant is Change

Who said it? The only constant in life is change. Okay, I Googled it. My paraphrase is a variation on a quote by Heraclitus, a philosopher who lived a bazillion years ago. He was right. I’ve lived long enough to understand the validity of his assertion.

Photo in Public Domain courtesy of Wiki Commons.

It seems after being in a happy state of equilibrium for nearly three decades my life has been in transition for several years now. First, I lost my father a few years ago. When I was young, he seemed like such a permanent fixture. Sometimes he was more in my life than I wanted. Now, I wish he was here to interfere. Funny, how time and change can change your perspective.

My husband had been with the same employer forever. The company made noises for years about closing the location where he worked. We didn’t even know if he’d be employed long enough to make it to retirement. He was so close. We didn’t know if he’d be able to find another job at his age. Another major change took place—transitioning from living under the shadow of his former employer for thirty years to my husband being both retired and employed with another company at the same time. That transition kept us in limbo for several years. I’m glad we are on the other side of that big change.

When I was young, I got a degree in accounting. I’ve always said I learned accounting as a skill to make some money so I could support my creative habits. My habits morphed into my passion. For several years, I was an accountant by day and a writer of romantic suspense by night. One of the happiest days of my life was signing my first publishing contract. But change has stirred the constants in this area of my life as well. An even larger publisher acquired my first publisher. During that transition, my life was in turmoil for a week or so until my status was settled with the new publisher. Now, I can happily say I’ve signed three publishing contracts with The Wild Rose Press and I am looking forward to my association with them.

Two weeks ago, I gave notice to my employer. Yesterday was my last day as an accountant. I’ve wanted to disappear from the workforce for several years so I could write full time. Over the years, it has been difficult dividing my energies between what I felt I had to do and what I felt compelled to do. Circumstances have allowed me the opportunity and given me the motivation to give being a stay at home writer my best effort.

Not all the changes in my life over the last few years have given me cause to happy dance, but life has a way of working around to the inevitable, so that I’ve settled into another state of equilibrium. I think Heraclitus is right. The only constant in life is change…and maybe that’s a good thing. It keeps life from becoming stale and boring. My life certainly hasn’t been boring, and I’ve learned not to expect my happy equilibrium to remain that way forever.


Happy #ReleaseDay - Lisa J. Hobman - Bridge Over the Atlantic - #5PP

Happy release day to my fellow 5 Prince Publishing author Lisa J. Hobman!

Lisa is a happily married Mum of one with two crazy dogs.  She especially enjoys being creative; has worked as a singer and now runs her own little craft business where she makes hanging signs and decorations for the home. Lisa and her family recently relocated from Yorkshire, England to their beloved Scotland; a place of happy holidays and memories for them. 
Writing has always been something Lisa has enjoyed, although in the past it has centered on poetry and song lyrics.  The story in her debut novel has been building in her mind for a long while but until the relocation, she never had the time to put it down in black and white; working full time as a High School Science Learning Mentor and studying swallowed up any spare time she had.  Making the move north of the border has given Lisa the opportunity to spread her wings and fulfill her dream.  Writing is now a deep passion and she has enjoyed every minute of working towards being published.  Novels two and three are works in progress so watch this space!

You find Lisa at the following places:


Check our her book entitled Bridge Over the Atlantic.

Mallory Westerman is a full-figured, successful, young business woman living in Yorkshire, England. Though very career minded, she is extremely self-conscious about her ample curves and so her love life tends to pay the price. Concentrating solely on her business, she has almost given up on finding someone to love.  That is until she literally trips into the arms of a stranger who becomes her Knight in shining armour.
The immediate sexual and romantic spark that blossoms into love and the events that follow, irrevocably change Mallory’s life-path and self-image forever, but only go to prove that the road to true love is never smooth and that things don’t always turn out how you expect…
Bridge Over the Atlantic can be purchased at: www.5princebooks.com/buy.htm
Here's an excerpt from Bridge Over the Atlantic.
January 2011

“You can NOT be serious?!” Mallory Westerman recoiled. It wasn’t a habit of hers, to inadvertently quote 1980’s sports stars. But even she was surprised when she heard John McEnroe’s words fall from her lips.
Thankfully, her fiancĂ©, whilst obviously bemused at her reaction and frustrated by her lack of enthusiasm, didn’t really notice the similarities between her and the wiry haired tennis supremo. He was much too busy stroking the print-out in front of him, on the table, as if ironing out the creases would make his suggestion a more viable proposition.
“Honey, imagine the life we could have there right now,” he pleaded. “The open spaces, the fresh air-…”
“The midge bites, the lack of internet connection, no other civilisation for miles.” She rudely interrupted. She immediately felt guilty when Sam’s eyes took on the appearance of a scolded puppy dog. She slid her arms around his neck caressing the sides of his beautiful face. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I just don’t see me…either of us, really, taking to a permanent life out in the middle of goodness knows where at this point in our lives, surrounded by sheep and wearing wellies and Tweeds!”
“Now you are being terribly stereotypical and insulting to all things countryside, Mallory,” Sam chastised in his Canadian drawl. “And besides, I think you’d look very fetching in wellies….just wellies that is, nothing else.” He grabbed her playfully and squeezed her. His green eyes flashed with a mischievousness Mallory had come to adore. She giggled and gazed up at him, lovingly recalling the first time she had found herself utterly mesmerised by him.


December 2009
Mallory had lived in Yorkshire all the twenty-eight years of her life. Since dropping out of her PR course at Uni, through sheer laziness, she had endured a run of soulless jobs. Nothing ever really pushed her buttons. That was until an inheritance from her dear Aunt Sylvia had given her the opportunity to do the one thing she truly wanted to do.
Her little gift emporium, Le Petit Cadeau.
It had been the brain child of her Aunt many years before, when Mallory had taken to making her own Christmas gifts one year when, as was the case on more than one dreadful occasion, unemployment occurred on the brink of the festive season.
She had sobbed and sobbed when the solicitor informed her that her Aunt had left her the large sum of money under strict conditions that she was to, ‘get off her backside and do something fulfilling for once!.’ She remembered almost laughing aloud at the point when the solicitor had uttered the quote directly as her Aunt had written it. Even in death, feisty Sylvia knew how to draw a chuckle from her beloved niece.
It was a fairly quiet early December Wednesday in Leeds, well perhaps quiet was not the right way to put it. The city centre was the usual bustling metropolis, but the Victoria Quarter was, ostensibly, being given a somewhat brief reprieve from the usual barrage of festive shoppers. Mallory huffed as she watched a swooning couple canoodling whilst browsing in the window of the lingerie boutique opposite.
“Sod this for a game of soldiers. I think I need a break,” she informed one of the cute, jointed, stiff teddy bears sitting, looking pensive on the shelf next to where she perched. “I reckon there is a tall, caramel macchiato with my name on it somewhere!”
Grabbing her oversized bag she chalked Back in 20 mins on her very own, handmade door sign. Once she had dropped the latch she headed out into the sea of suited business people and Christmas shoppers. She smirked at the vast number of pre-school children who were sporting cheap red Santa hats lovingly procured for them, she guessed, by harassed parents as bribery for good behaviour.
The paved precinct area was buzzing. Mallory loved Leeds City Centre with its designer boutiques and quirky shops. At this time of year, however, there was something transcendent about the atmosphere. Maybe it was the twinkling lights strung from building to building or the way that each and every shop was decked in sparkling silvers and gregarious gold. The myriad Christmas songs, being played in numerous outlets all out of synch with one another, were an assault on the senses. The stalls all laid out, down the centre of the precinct, were vying for the attention of passers-by with their brightly coloured gifts and trinkets. A delicious aroma of roast chestnuts wafted through the chilled air and into Mallory’s nostrils making her tummy grumble.
She rounded the corner heading for her favourite coffee shop when suddenly she involuntarily lurched forward. Her stiletto heel had become lodged in between two paving slabs, sending her and her belongings, hurtling into the arms of a passing stranger.
“Whoaaaa there!” The startled man grabbed for Mallory, in a bid to stop her inevitable collision with the pavement. “We haven’t been formally introduced and yet here you are throwing yourself at me!” He laughed. His accent was noticeably of the North American variety.

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