If you grew up without television, you’d probably think watching chubby red ants bringing treasures home to their anthills was loads of fun too. Luckily, we had tons of anthills to scope out on our Arizona ranch. If I stood or squatted on a rock beside the mounds and...
These days, it’s popular to think of oneself as a “Rule Breaker” … a “Rebel;” and, to some extent, that’s fun and exciting. Truthfully, where can we as writers hedge and when must the rules be doggedly followed in order to be...
Don’t Come Into My Backyard “Write in your own backyard!” seemed to be the cry of the masses when I was shifting from being a non-fiction business writer, journalist, and essayist to a fiction writer eight years ago. Yet, my heart and mind...
A journalism and corporate writing background conditioned me into thinking I was ready to swim out to the Island of Non-Fiction and string up a nice hammock between two palms. I’d drop a lobster trap off the rocky side of the island, carefully keep my matches dry, and...
No running water, no inside plumbing, no way to run to the store for bread, meat, or butter. The name of the game was survival. In our current world, it’s hard to conceive of what it’s like to feed a lot of mouths when you have empty pockets and no...
In the movie “Smoke Signals,” the main characters, Thomas and Victor, hitch a ride off the Coeur D’Alene Indian Reservation with a young woman who drives her car around the Rez all day in reverse because that’s the only direction the car will go in. I...
Unique Challenges Historic novel writing presents many unique challenges. Foremost, the writer didn’t personally live during that time era, or he/she lived in New York but loved writing about the Old West. Slick documentaries and photos often don’t go far enough...
If ever an Ellipsis were to run for President, what would be the platform? No more dot-to-space-ratio lawlessness, of course! Yet, enforcing the Ellipses Laws may be trickier than a politician practicing magic tricks. The underground world of ellipses No punctuation...
*All grammatical errors intentional* 1933. December 24, 7:30 p.m. If I wanted Doodles to sleep warm as buttered biscuits, I’d have to do some more quilt tucking. I pressed it in good and tight all along her side and under her chin. There. Now she wouldn’t shiver in...
Right off the bat, I need to let you know that I haven’t conducted a Gallup Poll about who does and doesn’t read romance novels. I’m not basing my opinion on any audience measurement, or public-opinion tallies or anything else quite so snooty-wooty. My theory evolved...
