Four Ways a Family Game Can Help Improve Your Writing

Quite often I talk about family traditions in my blog. One that I don’t believe I covered yet is bocce.

bocce playing — By Immanuel Giel (Own work) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

The word “bocce” is a pluralized form of the Italian word “boccia” which means “bowl,” so it’s probably not surprising that, in the United States, bocce is often referred to as lawn bowling. That makes me chuckle because (1) while there is ball rolling, there are no pins to knock down, and (2) most non-Italians who know about the game play it on the beach, not their yard.

Bocce is played with eight heavy balls (bocce) around the size of a softball and one smaller ball (jack) called the pallino which is about the size of a golf ball. It can be played one-on-one, or in teams of two, three, or four.

To begin, someone rolls the pallino down the court (or beach, or lawn). Then that person bowls first, or rolls their bocce ball, trying to come as close to the pallino as possible. Then the person from the opposite team does the same. Whichever team is further from the pallino has to continue playing. Players have the option of trying to get their ball in closer than their opponent or trying to knock the pallino and the opponent ball away from each other (and hopefully get the pallino closer to one of their own bocce balls). After all the balls have been rolled down the court, one point is awarded for each ball closer to the pallino than the opponent’s closest ball within range. Scoring is pretty similar to horseshoes, but there are no “ringer” points; whether touching the pallino or near it, one point is awarded. Then the whole process starts again until one team has accrued a set number of points. In regular rules, the game goes to twelve, fifteen or twenty-one points, but you can determine what number you want to play to.

In our hometown (Vandergrift, Pennsylvania), the local Sons of Italy club had bocce courts on their property for years. The men would gather and play. For a while, leagues were formed, but that gave way to just friendly pick-ups. It was a chance for the men to get together and play a game from their heritage while enjoying the company of their friends. When we moved to Ohio, we joined the Sons of Italy there, and they had leagues that included women. We moved away before we got to participate, however, but the game was quite popular there. When we lived in Michigan, there was actually a restaurant with many indoor courts. They catered to league play, but when the leagues weren’t competing, anyone could take a court and play a game or two. We were happy to see that when we moved there; it was a way our family (our kids were little then) could all get together and do something fun.

My husband’s family takes bocce pretty seriously. My father-in-law travels with his own set of bocce balls, he wipes them clean between each toss, and he keeps a tape measure with his kit in case there is a discrepancy among players as to whose ball is closer. My husband loves the game so much, he built a court in our backyard. My kids also loved the game until they had to shovel tons of rock and gravel to complete our court. You would think they’d like to enjoy the fruits of their labors, but they only play if friends or grandparents visit. (They all get pretty competitive. I like a slightly more relaxed game.)

So why am I babbling on about bocce? Well, for three reasons.

One—no one who comes to my house knows what the court is for or what the game is, so I thought I’d offer an explanation to those of you who don’t know.

Two—it’s just another opportunity to share Italian traditions with you, so you understand more about me.

Three—there’s a lot that can be learned from the game, personally and professionally.

Personally, bocce (and any sport or game) teaches patience, hand-eye coordination, and hopefully good sportsmanship. It’s an easy enough game that young children can play (keeping them involved with family instead of alone playing their own games), intricate enough that adults can get competitive, and gentle enough that even the elderly or infirm can participate. It truly is an all-inclusive game, and if we had more activities like these, our physical and emotional health could only improve. It’s a lot better than four people in four different rooms of the house watching television or playing video games.

Professionally there are lessons to be learned, too. I’m a writer, and I’ve learned a lot that I can apply to my craft from analyzing the game.

One—practice makes perfect. Just like the first ball you roll won’t be nearly as good as one you roll after one hundred games, the first draft of something you write won’t be nearly as good as something you’ve revised. Also, the first book you write won’t go nearly as smoothly as the tenth book you write. They say you need 10,000 hours to master a task; get writing! You can fake a lot until you make it, but you can’t fake experience.

Two—sometimes you have to change strategy. In bocce, you can roll until your wrists are sore, but if a ball is blocking you, you need to shoot it out of the way. In writing, sometimes even carefully crafted plots for some reason don’t work. When that happens, the best course of action is to abandon the plan and try to take things in a different direction. Listen to what your characters are telling you. They know best what they need to do, and if they aren’t following your plan, there’s probably something better for them to do.

Three—don’t get cocky. In bocce, just because the score is 10-2 doesn’t mean you have the game in the bag. Three good turns by the other team could have them in the lead. In writing, you can’t take anything for granted. You might have a solid story and a rock-star agent, but that doesn’t mean anything. Even once you get the contract and the advance, your work isn’t over. There’s marketing to do, and you have to keep producing or the ride is over.

Four—in bocce, whether winning or losing, be a good sport. You don’t want to be the person no one wants to play with because of your attitude. In the publishing industry, always be gracious, even to someone giving you a bad critique; you don’t know who your words will reach, and you never want to have a bad reputation.

So, bocce is a fun Italian game the whole family can enjoy. The next time you see people rolling colored balls down a beach or in their yard, you’ll know what they’re doing. Take the time to watch and learn, maybe even join in. You’ll have a blast. And don’t forget to take some lessons away from the game.

What games did your family play growing up? Did you learn anything from them? Why don’t you share in the comments?

Times Change — Embracing New Traditions

We celebrated Independence Day this past week. In addition to the swimming and the picnic food, we set off fireworks. That’s one of my son’s favorite things to do. I think it has something to do with the power of the explosives and the exhilaration the display causes everyone who’s watching. The ones we set off this year were pretty good, for backyard fireworks.

labradors — Excited Casey and
Scared Max

My family enjoyed them. One of my dogs did. The other was frightened, to the point he made himself sick. Maybe next year he’ll adapt better and enjoy the show like his brother does.

My nephew, when he was young, called it a “spectacular extravaganza in the sky.” It’s cuter if you hear it coming from the lispy voice of a two year old. He’s twenty-five now, but I’m pretty sure he still likes fireworks. I don’t know anyone (my youngest dog excluded) who doesn’t like them.

Growing up, Independence Day was spent at the local festival in my hometown. There were food stands, game booths, and live bands for days. Fireworks started around 9:00 on the fourth and lasted for about an hour, culminating in a grand finale that left us all breathless. Most people stayed at the festival to watch the show, but my family always went to my grandparents’ house. Their backyard faced the field where the fireworks were set off.

Those are some of my fondest memories of childhood.

There were the years when I was very young and quite frightened that the embers would land on me. I stood on the porch under the roof and peaked out at the ones that were above my head. There were the years when I was older and stood as close to the field I could, eagerly anticipating the next explosion, and the next, and the next.

We stopped going when my grandfather passed away. My grandmother’s heart wasn’t in it anymore, and if she wasn’t celebrating, it seemed wrong to enjoy the show without her.

As the years went on, I started dating the boy who became my husband. We’d watch the fireworks from his parents’ backyard. It always left me nostalgic for my younger years, but it was nice being with the boy I loved.

Samantha/Seth toddlers — My Kids as Toddlers Ready for Summer Fun with Family

When we were married and had kids, we’d bring them to the festival and then to my in-laws’ house. They had a blast, and so did we. But time marches on, and things change. We moved away, and getting back for the festival became harder and harder. Finally we stopped going home for the festival, and now we live so far away and our kids’ schedules are so full, we couldn’t go home if we wanted to.

Not that it matters.

My town stopped having the Fourth of July Festival years ago, choosing instead to have only the church festival in August.

What’s the point of this story, you ask?

It’s so you understand that time marches on. Things change, people change, and you should embrace every opportunity that comes your way. Before long, loved ones will be gone, events will have changed or ceased to exist, and you might have to start your own traditions just to have any connection with your past. And connections with your past forge the person you are today.

backyard fireworks tradition — My grown son preparing our fireworks display.
Traditions change, but the emotions behind them remain.

My husband and I do what we can to keep family traditions alive for our kids—even when we have to change things to keep the traditions alive. Do you still keep old traditions alive for your family? Why don’t you share some traditions in the comments section below?

And writers, in addition to the family matters discussed above, consider how to apply these principles to your WIPs. Do you have family traditions that you can work into your characters’ lives? Have those traditions changed over the years? If so, for the better or worse? How do these traditions impact your characters? Don’t forget to include setting, senses, and character reactions. Maybe you could discuss a tradition you’re incorporating into your WIP in the comments section.

Four Words of Wisdom for the Graduate, or the Writer

My daughter graduated middle school this past week. Just putting my age in perspective, when I was in school, you didn’t graduate middle school, you just moved on to the next grade. Kids today celebrate every milestone. In some ways, I kind of think that’s the problem with the younger generation. They get participation trophies instead of earning their awards, no child is left behind (even if the child should be), and then when they become adults, they wonder why no one is handing them things anymore. They’re completely unprepared for the realities of life.

On the other hand, I say why not celebrate every accomplishment you can? Before too long, people will be looking for reasons to knock you down and climb over you on their way up the ladder of success. Might as well enjoy the successes while you have them and people are willing to celebrate with you.

As a parent, I know I’ll always be a cheerleader for my kids, no matter how old they are, no matter what they accomplish. My kids are quite successful, but don’t worry—I’m not going to use this as a forum to brag. Instead, I’m going to take some words of wisdom I picked up from the guidance counselor at the awards assembly. He said some things that I think apply to everyday living, and to the writer’s career as well.

1) Some people get older; some people grow up.

In life, that’s easy enough to explain. Some of the kids are getting older, but no more mature. His point is that it’s time to stop acting like a child and start being responsible. We all know that fifty year old who thinks it’s funny to burn rubber in the parking lot and is always causing trouble at work. That person didn’t grow up. Don’t be that person.
In a writer’s career, that’s also appropriate. Some writers never mature in their writing because they don’t put the time and effort in. You can say you’re a writer for years, working on that one manuscript that no one ever sees (and that honestly, you only dabble in once a month), but to become an expert, you must write often, and you must study the craft. Read books, attend conferences, work with critique partners, submit your work for publication. Only then can you, as a writer, mature.

2) The better we handle the word “no,” the more often we hear the word “yes.”

That, too, is self-explanatory as a life-lesson. People who have temper tantrums and negative responses to a refused request will not be looked upon favorably, and that will result in another “no” when a second request is made. A responsible reaction to a rejection leaves a positive image, and therefore requests are more likely to be answered with a “yes” in the future.
In writing, rejection can come in the form of negative reviews, bad critiques, or actual rejections from agents, editors, or publishers. Written or verbal replies to these rejections that are negative (or even worse, sarcastic or scathing) show the writer to be difficult to work with and unprofessional. Why burn bridges? Sometimes the rejections come with nothing but good intentions, offering ways to make your writing better. Other times, a no is a no. But in any case, you always want to leave people with a positive impression. That “yes” could be one submission away. And don’t forget—people in the industry talk. You don’t want your name being circulated for the wrong reasons.

3) When we forget life is short, we treat it like it’s not.

Don’t leave things for another time, only to find out that time was taken from you. People move on, sometimes permanently, and you may not have a chance to say or do something you mean to.
In writing, sometimes we get career-obsessed. I have to make word count today. I need to send more tweets. I’m seventeen likes away from one-thousand followers on Facebook. Yes, writing and platforming are crucial steps in becoming successful. But life is short. Take the time to actually live,too, or all of your hard work will have been for nothing.

4) There’s never a right time to do the wrong thing, and never a wrong time to do the right thing.

If you live your life by a set of high moral standards, you’ll feel better about yourself. You won’t ever get into trouble. And, in the grand scheme of things, you’ll come out ahead, even if you don’t get every small reward you think you deserve along the way.
In writing, the thing that keeps the plot moving is conflict. If a character isn’t faced with a choice or a dilemma, then there isn’t anything happening. The rule is for the heroes to always do right and the villains to always do wrong. Here’s the caveat: there are no rules in fiction that can’t be broken. Have your hero make a bad choice. Have your villain do something nice. It’s the choices that people make—and the reasons they make them—that make them rich, interesting characters to read about. It’s okay, even interesting, to get your hero in trouble, as long as you make things right in the end.

So, those were just some of the words of wisdom we heard at the awards ceremony. I batted back a few tears, shared some smiles and laughter, and applauded with the rest of the crowd when the kids got their awards. I can’t believe both of my kids are now officially in high school. Where did the time go? I think I need to work on number three. Life is short, and I want to embrace every second of it.

What words of wisdom do you have to share, for both life and writing?

First Friday Fiction Feature — Just Say Utah

It’s the first Friday of the month. Time for another fiction installment.

A link to this story, and all prior stories, can always be found under the “My Work—Freebies” tab.

Just Say Utah

“Oh, it is so on!” Patty said, glaring at her brother and his two friends.

The boys stood in the dining room, arms crossed over their chests, smug smiles on their barely adult faces.

Patty grabbed Dana’s hand and said, “Chelsea, come on!” She yanked on Dana’s arm so hard, the shoulder joint jerked in the socket. The girls followed Patty as she stalked to the den and grabbed a game off the shelf.

“Oh, come on,” Dana moaned. “I hate Trivial Pursuit.”

“Yeah, P. That’s lame,” Chelsea said.

“Did you hear them? They think that because they go to Carnegie Mellon they’re so much smarter than we are.”

“Um, Patty. I go to Carnegie Mellon, too,” Chelsea said.

“Yeah, but they’re seniors and you’re just a freshman.” It was winter break, and they were all home from their respective schools until spring semester started. Joey had been tormenting his sister mercilessly about going to a state school, while he and his friends went to an elite private school. She was obviously desperate, again, to prove to him that she was just as smart as he was, if not smarter. It was an argument that occurred between the two of them at least once a week when they were together. She somehow always lost.

“Patty Ann, it just snowed. We can pelt them with snowballs and then go sledding. I bet your mom will make cocoa. Or mine will.” Dana hated Trivial Pursuit with a passion.

Patty took the box and headed for the dining room. “Girls against… the dumber sex. And may the best team win.”

She plunked the box on the table and grinned at the boys. “Or are you chicken?”

“Against the three of you?” Joey laughed while Troy and Mike snorted and elbowed each other. “We’ll take our chances. We’ll even give you a handicap. How many chips do you want us to spot you?”

“We don’t need a handicap, thank you very much.” Patty set up the game and grimaced at her brother and his friends.

“Come on,” Mike said. “State school versus private? What chance do you have?”

“I go to the same school you do!” Chelsea said.

“Really?” Mike asked. “How’d you ever get in?”

Chelsea lunged at him, and Patty pulled her back. The two of them had disliked each other since grade school. Mike had looked up the skirt of her uniform from under the bleachers at a school assembly and taken a photo, and then he got suspended for it. He blamed her for his suspension although she wasn’t the one who told on him. Patty saw the game getting ugly before it even started.

“Let’s keep it civil, okay?” she said, looking right at Mike. “Team meeting before we start.” She gathered the girls together.

“What’s the plan?” Dana asked.

“We each need to focus on our strengths,” Patty said. “Chelsea, you’re a writing major, so literature is you. And maybe entertainment.”

“We should all be good at entertainment,” she answered, “if the questions are new enough.”

“They aren’t. This is the first edition. My mom knows half the answers.”

Chelsea and Dana both groaned.

“Okay,” Patty continued, ignoring the girls. “I finally got into my core classes this term, so I had two sciences in addition to my teaching courses. I’ll take responsibility there.”

“Sounds fair,” Chelsea said. “I just finished two world history courses, so hopefully I’ll remember something. And if the questions are more about sports and less about leisure, we should be good between the two of us.”

“Agreed,” Patty answered. Both girls loved and followed many professional sports, so she felt confident between the two of them. Then she looked at Dana, who wasn’t even paying attention any longer. Dana was a Philosophy major. What did Philosophy majors even study, anyway? She turned back to Chelsea. “How are you at Geography?”

“I suck. You?”

“No better. I guess that’s Dana’s area, then.”

“Huh?” Dana said.

“Forget that,” Chelsea said. “She can’t find her way across the street without a map, and then she can’t read it. We’ll just have to hope for an easy chip question then.”

“Okay, I guess we’re ready,” Patty said.

“Let’s play,” Chelsea said.

Patty nudged Dana and they turned to the boys and the board. “Roll to see who’s first.”

The game consisted of more trash talk and less civility than a trivia game would have on a winter break in someone’s home. Occasionally someone ran to the kitchen for drinks or snacks, but mostly the six students stayed glued to the table, riveted by the board and the cards. After three hours, the girls were up by one chip and had landed on the Geography triangle.

“Blue for the chip!” Patty said.

“Crap,” Chelsea said so only Patty could hear. “It’s Geography.”

“We’ll be fine. Listen to the question.”

Joey read the card. “What’s the only state in America to end with the letter K?”

“End in K. What state ends in K?” Patty yelled.

“Stop yelling,” Dana said.

“Don’t tell me not to yell!” Patty yelled, waving her fists in the air. “It’s for a chip!”

“Okay, so we’ll guess the answer,” she said, and munched on a pretzel.

“Guess the answer! You haven’t guessed one answer right all day! And we’re winning! We could go ahead by two. By two! And this is geography. Geography!” Patty said.

“So guess Utah.”

Patty and Chelsea both stared at her. Joey’s eyes bulged, Mike covered his mouth and Troy turned some noise into a cough. Patty suspected it was laughter, but she was too flummoxed to address it at the moment.

“I’m sorry, what? Did you say Utah?”

“Yeah. Utah.”

Mike also began coughing.

Chelsea said, “You heard them say ‘K’ didn’t you? The state ends in K.”

“Yeah, I heard.”

Patty looked at Chelsea, whose eyes were growing wider by the second. Chelsea shook her head to clear it, like she was clearing an Etch-a-Sketch screen.

Patty said, “Okay. Let’s start at the top and work our way down. Maine, New Hampshire, Vermont, New York, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, Connecticut, New Jersey, Pennsylvania—”

“I’m telling you, it’s Utah.”

“Are you kidding me?” Patty said.

A snort burst out of Joey.

“Just say Utah.”

“Let’s start over,” Chelsea said. “Maine, New Hampshire, Vermont.”

“New York, Massachusetts, Rhode Island,” Patty continued.

“Just say Utah. It’s Utah.”

“Oh my God! What is wrong with you?” Chelsea asked.

“It’s Utah.”

“It. Is. Not. UTAH!” Patty said.

All three of the guys laughed at Patty’s outburst, but there was nothing she could say. It was ridiculous. If she heard ‘Utah’ one more time, she might shove the blue pie piece up Dana’s nose.

“Maybe if we did it alphabetically?” Chelsea said.

“Alaska, Alabama,” Patty said.

“You’re already out of order, genius,” Joey said.

“Shut up, Joe. At least I have a real major. I don’t just blow into a horn all day long.”

“Being a music major at CMU is harder than being an education major where you go, so blow on that,” he said.

“Well, I go to CMU, and I have a real major, so you both can shut up,” Chelsea said. Turning to Patty, she said, “I can’t do it alphabetically. There’s Alaska, Arkansas… too many Ks. Let’s start at the top again.”

“There’s Maine, New Hampshire,” Patty said.

“Vermont, New York, Massachusetts,” Chelsea said.

“Utah,” Dana’s soft voice chimed in.

Chelsea threw her head down on the table.

“I’m going to kill you,” Patty said.

“What?” Dana asked. Patty wasn’t sure if the innocence in her voice was true or if she was mocking her.

“Why in God’s name do you think it’s Utah?” Chelsea asked. “There isn’t a single K in the entire word.”

“It’s only four letters long,” Dana said.

Patty glared at her. “The question isn’t ‘What’s the only state with four letters?’ And by the way, Utah isn’t the only state with four letters, there’s also Ohio, so what is your obsession with Utah?”

“H is close to K. So I figured it’s probably a trick question, and the answer is Utah.”

“You think it’s a trick question?” Chelsea asked.

“There are trick questions sometimes.”

“And if this is a trick question, the answer isn’t going to be that there aren’t any states that end in K,” Patty said. “The answer will be Utah, because H is near K in the alphabet.”

“Well, when you say it like that it just sounds stupid.”

“You think?” Patty said.

“Now you’re just being mean,” Dana said.

“Shut up.”

The guys were laughing so hard that they had red faces and tears in their eyes. Patty ignored them. She and Chelsea went through all fifty states, including Utah, at least three times, but neither of them could figure out which one ended in K. It didn’t help that Dana was sitting there muttering “Just say Utah” under her breath as they recited state names.

After about twenty minutes passed, Joey said, “I realize there’s no time limit, but at some point you really need to take a guess.”

Patty refused to include Dana in the decision, but she looked at Chelsea, who shrugged. “I haven’t got a single idea. We’ve been through them all. We’ve been through the territories. I don’t know.”

Dana didn’t say any words, but she hummed four syllables that sounded like, “Just say Utah” in Patty’s head. Patty refused to acknowledge her. “Chels, what do you want to guess?”

“Your game, your call.”

Patty banged her head down on the table so her hair covered her face. She mumbled something unintelligible.

“Sorry, sis, we didn’t catch that,” Joey said.

“Utah!”

The guy hooted and hollered for a full five minutes before they informed the girls the answer was New York.

Patty was livid. Had Dana been quiet, they would have gotten it right. They had mentioned New York at least six times, but never heard it because of her ‘Just Say Utah’ mantra.

The girls never got another chip. The guys beat them within the hour.

Then the girls lured them outside and creamed them in a snowball battle. Patty might have hit Dana with one or two when she wasn’t looking.

Truth is Stranger Than Fiction

My husband is responsible for hundreds of people at the plant where he works. I won’t tell you his title. For one reason, it’s long and convoluted. For another, most of the words won’t mean anything to laypeople. And most importantly, I need to look it up to get it exactly right. It’s easier to say he’s the assistant plant manager, but really, it’s more complicated than that. On a good day, he has to make sure everything is on schedule, running efficiently, and up to code so there are no health violations. On a bad day, well, we don’t like to think about the bad days.

When the phone rings in the middle of the night, you know it’s a family emergency or a work emergency. You know it’s never a good thing. The phone rang a few nights ago, and it was a work emergency. All he told me before rushing out was that there was an accident on the docks. I knew it wasn’t family. And I knew it wasn’t good.

How do you comfort someone you love when you don’t even know what you’re comforting them for?

Hours later, he tried to sneak into bed, but I was awake, worrying for him and the unnamed victim of the accident. I asked him what happened.

A maintenance worker, whose uniform is dark blue, was working alone on the docks. The docks are dark despite the lights, and very noisy. It’s against the rules to be there alone, but he was there by himself. He had his back turned and was standing against the wall, working against the building. When the truck backed in, the driver couldn’t see him, and the maintenance worker didn’t see or hear the truck. He was pinned against the wall.

When my husband got the call, he was certain the worker had been killed.

But a series of unrelated circumstances resulted in a different outcome.

A different driver was supposed to be there, but this driver was waved into the property first.
The truck had a damaged bumper, and it was bent in right where the worker was pinned.
The worker’s arms were above him when he was pinned, and he was able to reach his radio and call for help.

The worker sustained only bruising. No internal bleeding, no broken bones. By all rights, he should have been killed, but fate, divine intervention, luck… whatever you want to call it spared him.

The driver of the truck was sick over the whole thing. My husband didn’t look too good after he got the call, and honestly, he looked shell-shocked when he got home. I was torn between laughing and crying, but just settled on thanking God for his intercession.

The thing is, from the writer’s perspective, they say write what you know, but sometimes you just can’t. Sometimes life just isn’t believable.

No one would ever believe that you could be pinned by a semi and live to tell about it. There are too many coincidences that worked in the maintenance man’s favor to help him survive, especially after he was alone, in the dark, in dark clothes on a noisy dock.

Writing what you know sometimes isn’t believable.

When my husband’s grandfather died (his father’s father), his mother’s two sisters missed the funeral, and we wondered where they were. They showed up at the wake to tell us that they were with their uncle who had just died. We had no sooner buried one family member, we were going to have to bury another. After his wake, we were decompressing at my brother-in-law’s house when we got a call that my father-in-law’s uncle had passed. That made three. Now, I grant you, that was two on one side of the family and one on the other, but that made three for us, back to back. We weren’t even able to grieve any longer. We were completely empty, void of tears, unable to even process the emotions.

If I wrote a scenario like that into a book, no one would believe it.

Truth is stranger than fiction.

So, draw on your experiences. Use your emotions. But choose expeditiously. A little reality goes a long, long way.

Do you have any “truth is stranger than fiction” moments that inspired a story? Care to share them, or how you changed them, in the comments below?

ABCs of Mystery Heir

Some writing friends recently participated in an alphabet blog challenge where every day for twenty-six days they wrote a post corresponding to a particular letter, each entry having to do with a work-in-progress or a recently released work. I didn’t participate; I figure one, maybe two posts a week is plenty. But I thought the premise was pretty cool. So here is my abridged take on the alphabetized postings. I have a mystery novel coming out soon. It’s a departure from my usual romance work, but it’s still heavy on family and relationships, so it’s not too big a stretch for me. In any event, I thought this might be a good way to introduce it to you. It’s called Mystery Heir.

Aaron Fields
His presence humanizes the lead character and leads to a break in the case.
Baseball Cards
A clue for both the police and the lead sleuth in the book.
Centerville
The setting. The town seems to be haunted. Bad things keep happening there.
Daddy Issues
The original title of the book and a recurring theme throughout the novel.
Everett Kerr
Mayor of Centerville and someone who keeps popping up in Naomi’s life.
Food
Healthy necessity or decadent indulgence, what girl doesn’t love to snack?
Grant Family
One of the key families at the heart of the mystery.
Harbaugh Family
Another family at the center of it all. The patriarch is the victim.
Incarcerate
Who ends up in jail? Why? Is it justified?
Johnson Family
How many families are tangled in this mess, anyway?
Kaolin
Fancy little mineral. Wonder what it has to do with the murder of a councilman?
Lockwood Family
Another family?
Myer Lake
Centerville is a big town with a lot of regions. The lake area is just one part of the town.
Naomi Dotson
The main character. She tends to stick her nose in where it doesn’t belong.
Oktoberfest
Lovely start to a novel. Too bad the party couldn’t last.
Penelope Dotson
Naomi’s twin. They aren’t that much alike.
Quest
Naomi is on a quest to solve a mystery. Someone else is on a quest to stop her.
Rothschild Law Office
Where all the fun begins. If you consider a robbery and a high strung lawyer fun.
Shoes
Penelope has a thing for shoes. It’s kind of important.
Tae kwon do
Both girls are talented martial artists. It’s a handy skill.
Undaunted
Naomi won’t be deterred from getting answers. Sometimes at great cost.
Valuable
A lot of people have a lot to lose in this book.
Will
That’s probably why the will is so important. (Hint, hint.)
Xerox copies
Naomi provides the police with important copies of evidence. They tend to ignore her.
Yoga
Things get pretty stressful. Yoga can be relaxing in times of tension.
Zeal
In the end, it’s Naomi’s zeal that puts the pieces together and solves the crime.

Okay, admittedly, some of the letters were difficult. But when you read the book, and I hope you do, you’ll understand that some of the letters could have had ten entries and others I had to reach for one. I’ll keep you updated as Mystery Heir comes closer to its release date. I don’t have any specifics yet; this is just something small to whet your appetites until the big day draws nearer.

Until then, think about your WIPs. Can you come up with ABCs for all of them? Let us know how easy it was for you.

Four Ways to Turn Weekend Negatives into Writing Positives

Wow, what a weekend. It started with snow. In May. In Arkansas. I ask you, what’s a die hard northerner to look forward to in the south if not nice weather? We’ve already opened our pool, for Pete’s sake. And now we have snow! It couldn’t have come at a worse time—it was the first tennis tournament of the season. So here I was, missing a writing conference that I’d love to attend because of my kids’ sporting events, and the weather was not cooperating. I had planned for sun and heat and instead I was worrying about precipitation and wind chill factors. Not the weekend we had planned.

It was not a good weekend for us. On Friday, as I said, we woke up to snow. I was too cold to even get out of the car to take a proper photo of it. The tennis matches were all backed up and rescheduled, as well as operating under amended scoring protocols. By the time my son was used to the tournament and thoroughly warmed up, his match was over. Sadly, he lost, which isn’t unexpected for the first match ever, but he took it hard. By the time we ate and went home, the Penguin game had started. Luckily, we recorded it. Sadly, they lost too. It was a bad day for us all around.

Saturday started out as wet and cold as Friday. Tennis was still on amended schedules. My daughter’s match was delayed several hours, and they didn’t even bother telling us, so we just hung around for, oh, I don’t know, ever, until our turn. She made it into the semifinals, so we thought things we looking up. We were wrong.

Sunday dawned warmer and partly sunny. After Mass, we headed over to the courts and I checked in my daughter while my husband left with my son to go get some practice time in before his match. Everything was looking up, right? Wrong. They took my daughter ahead of schedule, so my husband missed the beginning of her match. He didn’t miss much. She lost. My son played a couple of hours later. He had a great match, but he also lost. We decided to grab something to eat and call it a day.

We headed out to a Mexican restaurant. I usually cook a special Mexican meal for Cinco de Mayo, but we weren’t home for me to make it, so we were at the mercy of the restaurant. The first piece of bad news: we walk in and the television above the bar has the hockey score on. No point in watching the game now. At least we won. Then the waitress who took our drink order never came back, so we were abandoned for a while. The good news was that we ended up with a really good waiter when he figured out that we weren’t being served. The meal wasn’t that good because they were super busy and using a modified menu, but we were together, so that’s all that really matters. I’ll just make our “real” meal later in the week.

So what’s the take away from this weekend?

They don’t cancel tennis tournaments for snow.
The kids are resilient when they lose in tennis matches.
It doesn’t matter whether my kids (and my pro sports teams) win.
Only four more years until I can make it to the writing conference in May.

And how these things impact fiction writing?

Sometimes weather is inappropriate for the season.
We’ve all seen storms thrown into stories, or cowboys riding into sunsets, but consider the weather as part of the setting when it’s not traditional—like snow in the summer, or a heat wave at Christmas. How can that impact your characters and your story?
How characters handle adversity defines them.
My kids didn’t make it into the finals this weekend, but they left the tournament as champions because of how they handled themselves. There were no McEnroe-sized temper tantrums, there were no tears. There were no blaming bad calls. There were no varsity limps. My kids shook hands with their competitors and held their heads high as they walked off the courts. How your characters handle losses helps readers know who they are.
Heroes can’t always win and villains can’t always lose.
There’s something to be said for the successful villain or the down-on-his-luck hero. If the hero is always on top, he’s going to be boring. He needs to face adversity and not always win. If the villain doesn’t score a success or two, he may succumb to new lows of depravity and evil, but he’ll be one dimensional. No one loses all the time. Mixing it up makes it more real.
Writing conferences will help you improve your writing.
There are times that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. This weekend, the first weekend in May, is always our first tennis tournament. It’s also the OWFI Conference. I can’t do both, and my family needs my support more than I need to go to the conference. There are other conferences, and in a few more years, I’ll be free to attend this conference, too. That doesn’t mean that I don’t find conferences important. I do, and I suggest writers find a conference and attend it. In fact, I found my agent at a conference, so I can’t say enough good things about them. Do your research, prepare, and attend. It’s a great way to network in addition to learn about your craft.

So no, this wasn’t the best weekend the Troilo family has spent in recent history. But we took our lemons and made limoncello out of them. (We’re Italian, what else would we make?) I hope you had a better weekend than we did, but if you didn’t, hopefully you found a way to get the positives out of the negatives. Good weekend or bad, why not share it with us below? Especially if you have a tip for a fellow writer.

Intriguing Series for YA Paranormal Romance Fans

You know me, I love to help out my fellow writers. And today, I’m giving a shout-out to fellow writer Stacy Claflin, who has written two books in a series called The Transformed. Today I’m posting a review of Betrayal, the second in the series, but I highly recommend you check out Deception, the first of the series as well. And when Forgotten, book three in the series, comes out, I recommend you grab that one, too. I know I’ll be getting a copy. Now, without further ado, my review of Betrayal.

Betrayal by Stacy Claflin is a Contemporary Young Adult Paranormal Romance. While I both read and write paranormal romances, I don’t typically choose YA novels for my own reading pleasure. I have been known to read them on occasion because I still screen my daughter’s reading choices. I read Claflin’s first book, Deception, because I thought it was something my daughter would enjoy. Betrayal is book two in The Transformed series, and I read it of my own volition because the storyline is captivating and the characters are compelling. If you like teen romances and paranormal thrillers, you’ll love Betrayal.

Betrayal begins where Deception left off. The novel is a self-contained story, but it really would be beneficial if you read part one first. Alexis has been reunited with her family, she has come fully into her powers, and she has learned more about the world she was born into. She goes back to school knowing it won’t be long until she is reunited with her birth parents and can resume the life she was destined to lead as the Sonnast. But she learns that enemies of her parents (who happen to be her parents’ advisors and not coincidentally the parents of her fiancé) are conspiring to wage war against them, and a new teacher at school with an unnatural interest in her seems to be involved in the plot. Complicating matters, vying for her affections is an old boyfriend who is also eligible to marry her and rule at her side.

Before matters grow unmanageable, her parents call her away to be with them. They introduce a third party into the mix, turning her complicated love triangle into a convoluted square. She is both attracted to him and repulsed by his vile nature. Her emotions are a tangled mess, and her mind is trying to make a decision that will avoid a war. She ultimately takes action, thinking she will seal her fate, and that of her people. All these actions lead to a surprise ending, setting up an exciting beginning for book three.

Here is a truncated excerpt from Betrayal:

Cliff looked at me as though I had betrayed him. If he thought that was bad, I dreaded his reaction to the news that was yet to come…

I was afraid to look at Cliff, but knew that I had to. He looked furious. I’d never seen him so angry. Not even after I told him that I’d kissed Tanner. I thought he might hurt someone. He glared at me.

Did you know about the true meaning of the Sonnast? I gulped. I found out when I was in Europe. Like I said, I only want you…

In The Transformed Series, Claflin created a world in Deception that has expanded in Betrayal. The characters are growing and maturing, and in addition to that, we are being introduced to not only new characters but new species of characters. We are being taken out of the main character’s hometown and exploring other areas of the world, all of which are in this realm, but some of which are magical and extraordinary. The whole lexicon is expanding and shifting, creating a rich and diverse mythology that is setting up an epic battle in the third book. The plot of this book, like the first one, is self-contained, but there is a cliff-hanger ending leading into the next installment. I can’t wait to see what happens, and this isn’t even my preferred genre.

There were a few typos, but those are easily overlooked, because you’ll be absorbed in the action. Fans of YA Paranormal Romance will want to read this series.

How Everyday Life Becomes Fodder for Writing

Today’s blog post almost didn’t happen. I just ran out of time. I always reserve my weekends for spending time with my family. But Sundays always play out pretty much the same way: get up, go to Mass, (if it’s football season, watch the Steelers), prepare my blog, make sure laundry is done, make sure homework is done, and just generally hang out with each other until we’re tired and go to bed (or in my case, until I go to bed, because it seems I’m always tired).

Yesterday’s schedule was completely busted from the very beginning. I should have known the night before that it was going to be an issue and just written the blog then.

My daughter has a career-prep class this term, so she has to job-shadow someone who works in a profession that interests her. She chose her tennis coach, because she thinks (this week) she might want to do that for a living. She had to spend the whole day on the court with him, so we had to go to an earlier Mass than we usually do. Fine. I rushed the whole household through their morning routines, and we made it out the door (late) and didn’t quite manage to feed the dogs. No problem, I thought. We were earlier than usual, so they could eat when we got home and they’d just be a little behind schedule.

We attended a different church than we usually do (because we needed a different Mass time) and got a long-winded priest. That also put us behind schedule. I didn’t mind that much, because his homily was actually quite good, but he ended Mass with a plea for us to return for an additional Mass that day to witness the Confirmation class receive their Sacrament. I love the Confirmation Mass, but, really? We snuck out during the recessional hymn. We had to get our daughter fed and to the court.

We figured a dash into Steak ‘n Shake would get us a quick breakfast and then we’d be on the road. Our Steak ‘n Shake is never crowded and always fast. We entered a time warp. The food just never came. My husband finally left and took my daughter—foodless—to the tennis court, while my son and I stayed at the restaurant and waited.

While my son and I were waiting, a girl he knew from school came in. They exchanged a few words and she and her family were seated by us. In fact, she and my son were back to back. They could have kept talking, but except to say how miserable they were, what would have been the point? She was probably eavesdropping on our conversation anyway. It had devolved into a ridiculous one about the merits of haircuts with the Flowbee®. We were laughing pretty hard when we started doing our own version of the infomercial. (We do things like that far too often when we’re bored.)

Our food finally came and my husband finally came back. All told, we were there for about ninety minutes. At a Steak n’ Shake! And we didn’t even get shakes. There’s something not right with that.

When we got home, we finally fed the poor dogs and I started laundry. We’re perpetually low on towels, especially now that we’ve opened the pool. Once I had that going, we went outside and began working on repairing our hot tub. I don’t know if the man in your house is successful at home repairs, but mine usually is. Of course, there could be parts left over afterward. And it usually takes twice as long as it should. But the end result is usually success, so I can’t complain. We spent most of the afternoon out there. It probably could have gone faster, but we had to keep dragging the dogs out of the pool and there was a chunk of time where we had to chase a frog so the dogs didn’t eat it. However, the end result is that the hot tub now works. Of course, I forgot to finish the laundry and the towels are wrinkled in the dryer. Which beats them being mildewed in the washer, I guess.

Around this time, I came in to get dinner ready and my husband went to get my daughter. After we all were gathered around the table and shared stories about tennis and the hot tub, there was the usual battle of kitchen chores and then the evening rush to gather items for Monday’s classes. My daughter will be starting high school tennis practices, so that required extra preparation on her part for some reason. I don’t miss being a teenager.

I went to bed exhausted. So did my husband.

I had completely forgotten about preparing my blog.

I opened my eyes this morning, not slowly with bleary dread but immediately with disbelief and panic. How could I have missed my blogging day?

So after my usual rush to get the kids to school and my husband off to work, I sat down to write this apology to you, and to turn it into something useful. The topic I had planned on writing could wait. This is more important.

Yesterday was one of those days that got away from me. We all have them. More than we’d like, I’m sure. So let’s mine them for the gold that they are and turn them into writing treasure.

There was a comedy of errors that made us late for Mass. There’s a story in what happened in my house before we even walked out the door.
A Mass (or any religious service) is a good topic for a story, if you can put a twist on it that hasn’t been done before.
Restaurants make excellent backdrops for stories (especially if you’re trapped in one because your ride left and you don’t have your wallet with you).
Home improvement stories can be humorous (they made a sitcom out of them, duh) or angst-ridden or convey any emotion you want.
Animals and swimming pools? Need I say more?
Family dinners? Need I say more?

So, there you go. I didn’t get my blog done yesterday, but I ended up with six writing prompts, probably more if I really massaged things a bit. For example, the girl my son bumped into at the restaurant could become a teen love story.

We’re surrounded everyday with writing prompts. We just need to take the time to look at them. What did you do yesterday that might make a good story? I’d love to hear about it in the comments.

First Friday Fiction Feature — Real Estate Realities

It’s the first Friday of the month. Time for another fiction installment.

A link to this story, and all prior stories, can always be found under the “My Work—Freebies” tab.

Real Estate Realities

“It says ‘A cozy one bedroom vintage bungalow. Mature landscaping. Rustic charm.’ This has to be it. Carol should be here soon, and we’ll check out the inside.”

He had stopped the car in front of a ramshackle old diner. White paint peeled off the clapboard siding. Faded black stripes with white letters advertised:

CALIFORNIA LUNCH ROOM

SNACKS

CANDY

TOBACCO

GLOVES

CAPS

It was a generic laundry list of days gone by, when pathetic patrons could stop in for a number of items ranging from greasy food to cancer sticks to outerwear. She couldn’t dream who would frequent such a place, but she had no trouble imagining why it closed. The overgrown pine in the corner only helped hide its embarrassment to the world. The dead potted plant at the doorway cemented her resolve.

“I’m not going in there, Justin.”

“How else are we going to know if we like it?”

“I already know. I hate it.”

“Come on, Sara. Look at the hidden potential. The front is almost entirely all windows. Think of the natural light.”

“So we can see the filth?”

He ignored her. “And it was a restaurant, so it should have a large kitchen.”

“And an inch thick layer of grease.”

“Here’s Carol. Let’s go check it out.”

Their real estate agent offered Justin a handful of papers. “I have the comps. Now that you aren’t looking at the coastal area of San Diego, I think you’ll find the properties more affordable.” She led them inside.

“This area was the patron space of the café. It can easily be converted to your main living space by removing the booths and tables. I’d replace the windows and doors, of course, and wall this area off to make the master bedroom.” She gestured to a recessed area of the interior.

“You mean there isn’t a separate bedroom?” Sara asked.

“None of the reno is done yet. That’s why this place is a steal.” Turning toward the bar, Carol continued. “This would have to go, but you could put your own eating bar in, and open this area up to your kitchen. It, like the bathroom, is fully functional, but would need to be redone.”

“Let’s check them out,” Justin said.

They walked through the kitchen and bathroom and walked back out again, trying not to touch anything.

“What about a bathtub?” Sara asked.

“When you redo the bathroom, the plumber can install one for you.”

“This is so not what I want,” Sara said.

Justin pulled her aside. “This is really all we can afford. We can renovate, install hardwood, granite countertops, stainless steel appliances. We’ll make it work.”

Carol approached. “I can show you something in the barrio, perhaps?”

Justin looked at Sara and raised his eyebrows.

Sara said, “I guess we’ll take this one.” She looked out the door through rusted security bars at the dead potted plant and wondered how long it would be before she too withered and faded.