Catch Me If You Can!

~~Kristina Fugate is hosting the Catch Me If You Can blogfest March 7 & 8. Be sure and check it out.

~~Also catch my fellow crusaders in the three groups I'm in by checking out my new page button. All of them are great blogs.

First Crusade Challenge

~~Rachael gave us a great first Crusader Challenge, didn’t she? Check out the info HERE.

~~I love words. Any words. All words. My most used bookmark is the One Look Dictionary Search. Check it out HERE. I can spend hours going down the rabbit hole of looking up words one after the other. All those who claim the blogosphere is just a vast way for us to bloviate have it all wrong. What’s not to love when wordsmiths do their best to entertain and inform. Though the challenge added a new one—fuliguline. Sea Ducks? I looked at that one and headed you know where. ; ) I guess I’ll have to make do with the Canadian geese flying overhead going home since I’m six hours from any sea or ocean.

~~I’m named for my daddy’s fifth grade girlfriend. Zan isn’t short for anything. Marie came from Momma. She didn’t want to use it, but it sounded good. I use both names since Zan is usually seen as male. I guess the unusual name is a magnet for nicknames as well—Jamboree and Zana Banana and high school added my favorite one of all—Zanimo-Mechanimo.

~~My lips turn up at the corners naturally so many people can’t tell when I’m sad or mad. That is until I open my mouth. It’s defused a lot of tense situations, so I’m not complaining. Unfortunately, gravity is starting to turn them down.

~~If I could take a blade to my bad character traits, I’d do it in a heartbeat, but I can’t dwell on others’ negative tendencies at all. I always look for the good in others. There is good in everyone, right? Must be. So why do I have a villain in my wip with absolutely no redeeming value at all?

~~There's a fact here that's not strictly true. Do you know which one it is?

Where To Begin

~~Writers are told to begin their stories with a hook or in media res (Latin for “in the middle of things”). I’ve read that we should write our novels and then cut off the first four chapters. This is attributed to Chekov, but I haven’t been able to find the reference. If all this advice is giving you an attack of nerves, I’m with you.


~~There’s something to it though. I recently read a novel by a best-selling author and I was stunned to realize that the story didn’t really begin until a quarter of the way in. Everything before that was backstory that should have been sprinkled in like salt. I almost put the book down. Almost. But I couldn’t quite do it. The story was good and the characters intriguing…and I’m a bit obsessive. ; ) Why would the author of over sixty titles make this mistake? I imagine she thought we needed all of the backstory to fully appreciate the plot.

~~Two different sources finally made the advice hit home for me. One is an article by Victoria Mixon on “Four Mistakes of Fiction Writers” and number two addresses just this issue—“Misplaced Backstory.” Here’s a bit of Victoria’s advice:

Unfortunately, we don’t read in a chronological world. We read for excitement. We read for the thrill of our blood pressure being inflated, soothed, then inflated again. We read for the roller coaster ride. (emphasis—Victoria Mixon)

Check this LINK for the full article.

The other great advice comes from Beth at the Forum. She has a great blog post that describe gangplanks, doors, and bridges. Gangplanks are for writers to help them get into the scene and they should be ditched later. Doors are for readers and bridges are to let readers make transitions between scenes. Check out Beth’s entire post at this LINK.

~~All this thinking about where to begin has made me reassess the starts of two of my works-in-progress. FRIENDLY FIRE begins when Laura Grace first sees Samantha, an abused foster child and that’s the right place because it puts into motion everything else in the plot. If I’d begun a year earlier at the funeral of Laura Grace’s husband, Tom, I would have spent pages telling you about her slide into depression, day by day, and you’d rightfully put the book down, bored to tears.

~~THE DAWN AND THE LION, my SciFi work-in-progress, is another story altogether. The many handwritten pages I have squirreled away on this story are largely backstory, and I’ve got to cut them severely to make the beginning hook you into the story. I will use all the info I’ve learned, but as sparing detail to flesh out main character Canda as she negotiates Patria with its very different culture and mores. Susan Edwards, one of my writing buddies, has always said I started THE DAWN AND THE LION in the wrong place. You know what, Susan, you’re absolutely right! It took me reading a book by someone else to really internalize the advice.

~~So here’s to finding the right place to begin. May you all find it easily. But, then, when was writing ever easy. Enjoy the hunt!

Second Writers' Platform-Building Crusade

~~To all my followers: We are going to connect across the web to help each other out when agents and editors ask if we have platforms to promote our writing. So follow this link to Rach Writes for more info.

And Now--Something New in the Shade

~~Just when you thought you understood how this blogging stuff works, you learn something new. It was only last month that I figured out how to change my template for a updated look. I still love it, by the way. Though I have tried on a few more for size, this one suits me for now. Then my Forum buddy, Tara, added the neatest page to her blog--My Writings. Check her out at Feel of Something New or use the blog roll on the side. I tried to think through every possible way to do it and nearly gave up. Then it hit me--just ask Tara! And it's easy. By the way, Tara's a great writer!

~~Here's how you do it--When you start a new post, check out the tab that says Edit Pages and voila there is an easy to use box to create up to ten free standing pages. As many blogs as I've seen with these nifty additions and it takes me until my seventieth post to see the tab before my eyes...You have to wonder about my powers of observation. ; )

~~Armed with Tara's helpful and clear directions, I've added four new pages to my blog in the last week. So check them out. I included:
My Books--descriptions and background about my two devotionals and a little about the two church histories
Works In Progress--about the three novels I'm actively working on--Friendly Fire, Line of Fire, and The Dawn and the Lion. The first is on the front burner, but sneaky little scenes and ideas for the other two slip in here and there. There is a devotional gestating as well, but I'm not far enough along to describe it yet.
About--Which includes a brief Bio, Awards, Events, and Articles
Photos--Which is what you think--photos of events and etc. from my journey as a writer

~~The Shade of the Cherry Tree is like a mini website all by itself now. So check the new pages out and let me know what you think. And let me thank Tara one more time. ; )

No Fear Finalist!

No Fear Blogfest
Writes of Passage
NO FEAR FINALIST!!!!

~~Really! I'm not kidding. Go to Dominic de Matteo's blog--Writes of Passage--for the announcement. I'm one of the six finalists in the "No Fear Blogfest." My entry is the first half of the climax of FRIENDLY FIRE. You can read it HERE.

~~The voting on the finalists is open to all at Dominic's blog. Be sure to check it out and read all the entries. There were some amazing stories among the finalists. And you can vote. ; ) The deadline for voting is Saturday Feburary 6 at midnight GMT.

No Fear! Yeah, Right

No Fear Blogfest
Writes of Passage
~~There's a neat contest going on at Dominic de Mattos' Writes of Passage. The challenge is to post a snip of your MC at the point of greatest bravery. So here goes.
~~The MC is Laura Grace Chandler, a retired teacher and adoptive mother in her late fifties. She is attacked by the abusers from her daughter's past and has to summon deep reserves of bravery to meet the challenge. This snip has been posted in earlier forms on the Compuserve Books and Writers Forum.

FRIENDLY FIRE copyright 2010 Zan Marie Steadham

Mack or Manny had been here nearly every day since we learned about Craig’s release date, and Bob Thomas had stepped up the patrols of Cherry Hill’s finest in the neighborhood. It was like living in an armed camp. It might actually be an armed camp if Mack had a concealed carry permit. I didn’t want to know. The memory of that gun in my daughter’s hands chilled me. And yet, none of the precautions changed the feeling of eyes on the back of my neck when we were out.

So far, Samantha had not asked me about what was bothering the men, why they were here all the time. Maybe she thought we were concerned about Dale showing up. We were, but Manny’s visit had been a couple of weeks after she’d told me about seeing Dale.

“Did you do your homework?” I glanced up in time to see the fleeting look of guilt among the curls. “Samantha, what’s your first job every afternoon?”

Her jaw tightened as she looked away from me. “My first job is school and all assignments my teacher give me.”

It was a rote, dead-on imitation of me. I arched a brow and began to sort through my usual responses, but stopped cold. Her eyes weren’t defiant. No. That was fear. “Angel, what’s wrong?”

Rounding the table I was by her in a moment and gathered her in my arms as her lip began to tremble. My slight rocking began by instinct, just as it had every time she was afraid. Like every night the nightmares came.

Her voice was small, barely above a whisper. “I n-need poster board. For biology. Cell m-mito-s-sis-mitosis—”

“So we go get it. How are your markers? They’re fairly new.”

The wide blue eyes were my only answer.

“Get your coat, angel.” I gave her a tight hug then released her toward the coat closet.

She was rooted. “But…” The small voice shook. “It’s nearly dark.”

“Then let’s go fast.” Dark. And Dale lurking. Yes, we needed to go fast, but it wouldn’t take twenty minutes.

#

Stepping out into the chill February night, I aimed the remote key through the breezeway toward the car and clicked lock. What I’d give for an attached garage was astronomical, but this was the house Tom and I had bought shortly after signing our first teaching contracts. The stiff north wind whistled around the corner of the house and I pulled my head down into the collar of my sweater. It wasn’t enough for this wind. Thank goodness a cup of tea waited by my chair.

Turning back to the door, I froze. Streetlights glinted on the neighbors’ cars except for the ratty Ford in front of the Talley house. Frowning, I stepped further onto the porch to see it better. Rosemary wouldn’t have let one of the boys buy a car like that, but it was the same one I had noticed outside the school yesterday. I shrugged.

A hand covered my mouth. As I grabbed for it, an arm like iron pinned my arms to my sides. Sour male sweat swamped my nose and my stomach churned as I struggled against the man’s clasp. The rasping voice in my ear rode on a gust of rancid chewing tobacco. “I won’t hurt you, old woman, if I get what I want.”

The man jerked me back into the house and flung me against the wall. As my head bounced against it, I sat down hard. Pain lanced up my leg as my head throbbed. My vision’s focus went in and out with the beat of my heart. Adrenalin flooded my veins with its pulse.

The man standing over me grinned. Lank, greasy hair hung over his thin face bulging with tobacco. He laughed as another man stepped in the door. A younger version of the short, wiry man stepped over my legs. I shook my head to clear my eyes.

“Where’s the little bitch? She’s mine, you know.” The older man looked down the hall. “I made her mine when she was seven.”

Bile threatened to choke me as sick realization hit the pit of my stomach—Craig Ellis. I looked at his companion. He had to be Dale. My heart rammed my ribs. They wanted Samantha and I was the only one here who could stop them. I was all she had. “She—she’s not here.” My voice was strangled with fear. I cleared my throat. Dear Lord, let me convince them. “Samantha isn’t here.” My voice had settled and was loud enough to carry to her room. “She’s spending the night with a friend. Who are you?”

Craig punched me and my lip spilt, blood spattering the wall. “Try again.”

As my stomach clenched tighter, the sweet and rancid smell of chewing tobacco gagged me. A stream of hot, brown juice landed beside me on the carpet.

Craig looked around the room. “Did Sam tell you about her dear, old step-dad?” He nodded toward the entertainment center. “Dale, see if any of that’ll sell. I don’t think this old bitch will need much more persuading.” The younger man stared at me for moment before he turned. Craig’s gaze raked me. Revulsion twisted my stomach. “She’s here. No one’s left since you two got back.” His feral glare threatened to turn out the contents of my stomach. “Anyway, she’ll want to see me.”

A lamp shattered against the hearth. I jumped. Dale pulled the TV out of the cabinet. “TV’d sell. So would the DVD and CD changer.”

Dale grinned. “Seems like Sam found a sweet ride. We’ll get that after our little reunion.” He leered. “Be good to see how much she’s learned.”

Taking a deep breath, my mind raced through all the options I had. Didn’t take long. Could I bribe him to leave? Lord knows, I couldn’t stop them physically. “You can have all that and my credit cards if you leave now.” I held my breath.

He shook his head. “I’ve already got that.” His hand picked up my purse from the table near the door. “All I lack is Sam.” He looked down the hall. “Come on, Sam. Come to daddy. Haven’t you missed me? I know Dale’s missed you. Even though he’s heard those tall tales you’ve told on us. Think you owe us of us some payback, girl.”

Shock rocketed through me. I might not be much of a threat, but I would not let them have Samantha. I’d do anything to protect her from this molester and keep her from being murdered like Tammy Smith. My ankle screamed with pain as I struggled to get up. I didn’t have time to deal with that now. “I won’t let you hurt her again.” The steel in my voice surprised me. “Samantha, go out the window now!”

Dale grabbed me by the throat and a knife pressed against it. I froze. I hadn’t seen him come back across the room. His hard eyes pinned me as much as his knife did. The fog of his rank sweat surrounded me. “Not until I screw that little bitch one more time. You aren’t going to stop me.”

Craig’s eyes traveled up and down my upholstered body. My goose bumps rose and fell with his gaze. “How about you? Think you’d like some, too? Bet an old broad like you’ve never had a man.”

My face flamed and my eyes rolled to Tom’s picture on the mantle before I could stop them. My mouth followed suit. “I have. But you aren’t a man.” I bit my lip. This was not the time to allow my revulsion to get in the way of protecting Samantha.

Craig’s face hardened as Dale shifted the knife just enough to nick my skin. Nerves flared along my neck as he spat a stream of tobacco against the wall to join the blood. “Shit. Who’d want this?”

“Had worse.” Craig’s voice softened. “Come on, Sam. Come out. I’ll let the old woman go.”

Light glinted on Samantha’s golden curls as she stepped into the room. “I’m here, Craig.” My heart sank and tears rolled down my cheeks at the sight of her. She had not abandoned me to their violence. Her hand trembling slightly, she placed the phone on the breakfast bar. Her voice was calm and her eyes bright. “Let her go, and I’ll do whatever you want.” Her cheeks flamed as she stared at him.

“Thought you would.” Craig’s eyes traveled up and down her figure. “Damn. Dale’s right. You did grow up good. Shit, girl! You were pretty as a little ‘un. But now—”

“Tell Dale to let Laura Grace go, Craig, or I’ll call the cops.” Her hand floated over the phone.

“No you don’t.” Craig gestured toward me. “Put your knife up, Dale.”

The young man grunted. “Why? Might be fun to screw Sam in front of her and I don’t think she’ll sit still for it.” Cringing, I watched Dale. His eyes smoldered as he watch Samantha come closer.

“Let her leave, Craig,” Samantha said.

I bit my lip to keep from screaming, no. God help me.

“No yet, kid. I mean to have my fun after nearly seven years in prison. Your fault, remember. Tammy deserved every blow.” His eyes hardened. “Should have killed you, too. I’ll fix that after I have you.”

A fine trembling raced through Dale and his grip on my throat tightened. I had failed her.

“Let me hug my momma one more time. Then I’ll do whatever you want, Craig.” She reached out a hand toward me where I was pinned in Dale’s grip.

Craig’s chuckle caught me off guard. He shrugged. “Why not? Is she as good as Tammy?” Samantha’s eyes widened as she turned toward him. “Didn’t know I knew she turned to you after our scraps, did you? Hell, I enjoyed watching.” His sneer cut through my fear.

Dale’s hand loosened and the knife shifted away from my neck. He shoved me off balance as he stabbed at Samantha. “You bitch! You made them take Daddy away.”

I wrapped my arms around him as I fell. The knife sliced into my arm.

Craig stepped closer. “Old woman, you’re done for now.” His voice was low and husky with venom and his eyes burned with anger.

“Stop right there, Craig.” My voice rang with certainty as I knelt on Dale’s chest with the knife pressed against his throat. “I’ll kill him if you touch me or Samantha.”

Dale’s eyes flickered up at Craig. Tears welled up, trickling over his temples into his ears. Blood from my arm dappled his shirt. I looked back at Craig in time to see Samantha race out the door behind him and relief surged through me.

Craig lunged toward me, pulling a knife that looked twice as large as the one I held clamped to Dale’s neck. My heart thudded as I watched him approach. “Bitch! I’ll kill you!”

“Freeze, Ellis.” A booming voice roared from the door where a huge policeman loomed, gun drawn.

Craig swung about, knife held chest high.

I jerked as the gun’s retort echoed along the ceiling, but didn’t move from Dale’s straining chest. He wasn’t getting up no matter how he whimpered under my knees. I watched his wide eyes for any attempt to throw me off.

Blood, hot and thick, showered me as Craig fell. A scream from the porch pierced the air, but I couldn’t turn from Dale. I would not let him get Samantha.

Two more officers came in the door, guns raised. Glancing at them and the muzzles like cannon mouths, didn’t distract me. Dale was pinned and I intended for him to stay that way.

The first officer towered over me as the radio on his shoulder crackled. Touching the call button, he said, “Cortman. Craig Ellis is down. Send EMTs.” He looked at my blood spattered form. “Send two ambulances.” Grinning he nodded at me. “Mrs. Chandler has Dale Ellis pinned.”

A vague sense of recognition stirred as I stared at his heavy frame and sandy hair.

He knelt beside me as the other officers surrounded Craig, muttering curses. The officer’s blue eyes crinkled with smile lines. “It’s okay, Mrs. Chandler. It’s over. Hand me the knife.”

I shook my head as tremors ran up my arm. “I-I can’t let him have Samantha.” My voice was a husk. I couldn’t move until I knew my daughter was all right.

He slowly raised his hand and took the one I had clenched on the knife. “Harrison, get Dale’s arms.” His eyes never left mine.

The other officer came from Craig’s side and leaned in to hold Dale.

“Cortman?” Reading the first officer’s badge made my mind click. “Nathan Cortman?”

His grinned widened. “Yep. That’s me. Let me have the knife. We have him. He can’t hurt you or your daughter anymore.” His eyes traveled over me and a small frown line puckered his brow.

Stylish Blogger Award!

~~Thanks to Deniz for my Stylish Blogger Award!



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~~Things about me you might not know:
     1. I'm named for my daddy's fifth grade girlfriend.

     2. After being Momma to seven cats for over forty-three years, I'm now the momma of two toy poodles.

     3. My picture is in the newspaper for the third time in a month.

     4. I've been married for thirty-three years and John, my love, is a six foot four inch blond with Jamie Fraser blue eyes.

     5. In the last three months I've added 33,372 words to my official rough draft file for FRIENDLY FIRE.

     6. I've written new words for five different works in progress in the last three months.

     7. I no longer drink Diet Coke--Don't you dare touch my hot tea!

     8. There is an actual cherry tree in my yard.

~~Try these great blogs--all of them are Stylish!

     L'Aussie Writing

     All the World's Our Page

     A Day in the Life of Me

     Feel of Something New

     Nietzsche I'm Not

     San Diego Writing Women

     My Outlander Purgatory