Banana Trees in Alabama

When my siblings and I were young, my dad and uncle used to tell us they were flying down into the woods and would bring back bananas.  Of course, we weren't allow to follow them. 

A red clay dirt road split the woods and a neighboring pasture.  They'd take off running down the dirt road, flapping their arms as if they'd take to flight.  They returned about fifteen minutes later with a bunch of bananas.  Being under seven years old, we believed they were really doing this until finally, my oldest brother told us what they had done.

About thirty minutes beforehand, after they left the grocery store, they drove up the dirt road, put the bananas in the woods, and then they drove back around the loop and entered our driveway, as if they had come straight home.  Since they were practical jokers, they got a kick out of tricking us.  Even though it was a joke, this stirred our imaginations.  Other similar events sparked our imaginations as well.  I miss those days.

My Stomping Grounds

Growing up in DeKalb County, AL, was perhaps the best place I could have been raised.  I had the good fortune of living near a large woods, which wasn't too far from steep bluffs and a couple of small caves.  From the time I was seven years old, perhaps a bit younger, I spent a lot of time exploring those woods, the open fields and pastures, and ever expanding my imagination.

Living in a suburban area now is difficult.  I miss the nature walks, the quiet mornings where all you can hear are the birds and insects, and the absence of heavy traffic.  I miss being able to go outside and not be quartered into a small yard with houses on every side of me.  I also miss seeing the stars.  I would have never thought that all the street lights would have such a negative impact on stargazing, but they do obscure the view.

Now, if I wish to do either, I have to drive about forty minutes or more to find the luxury of nature and all she offers.  I hope to soon be able to find a house nearer to the countryside again.

My Efforts Ignored

I whole-heartedly set out to make a difference for something dear to me by offering 50% of all my royalties to aid my high school's library after the EF-5 destruction.  I thought the media would help awareness for the tornado damage to my high school, but only the two newspapers in DeKalb County, Alabama, let others know.  I contacted the Huntsville Times (twice), Chattanooga Times, Gadsden Times, Birmingham News, and The Weather Channel as well.  None of these ever contacted me back.

There's only a couple weeks left, and I truly hoped a bigger interest than what it's at currently.  I guess if I were Steven King, this would be news worthy.  Of course, if I had the bankroll King has, all I'd have to do is write a check.

I guess the other question is "Why not 100%?"  Simply put, I've been looking for an outside job for the past two years.  My resume is posted through three different agencies.  There just aren't many jobs where I live.  And I apply for those that do become available.  So that's why I can't go 100%, though I'd love to.

Here's from my July post: Giving Back to my Alma Mater:

As previously mentioned in a blog, Plainview High School (my Alma Mater) was hit and partially destroyed by an EF-5 Tornado on April 27th, 2011.  In an effort to help raise money for the school library I'm donating 50% of my royalties for the next six weeks.

Currently all Kindle versions of my novels are priced @ $2.99 each and will remain as such for the next six weeks.  Nook versions are also $2.99 each.  All new paperback novels under my publishing imprint, Deimosweb Publishing, are available via Amazon, Barnes & Noble, or through your local book store.


For those of you who'd be so kind as to share this with your friends on Facebook, Twitter, Myspace, or your blog, I'd be forever grateful.


Blessings to you all!

Lights, Camera, ACTION!

Novels don't have a visual effect like a movie, so an author has to invite readers into a world developed on the page without lights and without dramatic sounds pacing the story along.

One reason I love to write and read thrillers is the building of action that makes you turn the pages.  When effective done, a reader will keep reading with such intensity that they don't even think about turning the pages, and they lose track of time.  I've had readers who have told me that they stayed up most the night to finish one of my novels because they simply couldn't put it down.  Those are comments any author loves to hear.

But for action to be effective, the characters have to be three-dimensional and people that the readers care about.  If readers cannot connect or identify with the characters, most won't finish the book.

One way action can be packed into a novel is for the end of a chapter to compel the reader to begin the next.  Leave a tidbit of mystery or suspense as the chapter concludes.  This entices a person to see what's going to happen next or say, "I'll read just one more page."  Doing this keeps readers reading.

Banshees and Ghost Tales

My grandfather passed away in 1984, and along with his passing were the tales he used to tell us.

Where I grew up in Alabama there was a woods behind our house.  Thick with trees and a small dark swamp I often thought it was a spooky place when I was young.  My grandfather often spoke of a woman with long, stringy white hair and long fingernails.  She was stooped over and if ever we encountered her, certain doom would befall us.  If she screamed and we heard no sound, death was our destiny.

While this was certainly a frightening story for us as kids, he had other stories of the supernatural that he swore to be true.  One such tale was about the time when he was a young boy.  He was walking home before dusk when he saw a friend of his running down the dirt road.  He called out to his friend, but his friend ignored him, crossed between the barbwire fence and ran across the field to get home.  He found out the next day that his friend had died (drowning, I think) not long before he saw his friend on the dirt road.  A ghost?  He believed so.

As a child you never realize the importance of the tales your grandparents tell, until you're older and often too late to ask them.  I wish I could sit and listen to him tell those tales now.  It's no wonder why I have a vivid imagination.

Photographs and Memories

Etched in my mind are images of my past that present themselves to me periodically.  I have memories of my youth so clear that even my late mother was astounded when I asked, "Do you remember when . . ."

It's odd that these memory bursts come when I hear certain songs, encounter different smells (like rain on a plowed field or wet leaves in the fall), the shape of a tree as I'm driving down the highway, or simply when I allow my mind to drift back through time.

Did you ever watch Kung Fu with David Carradine?  He allowed his mind to carry him back to when he was a child.  Now, I don't have a Shaolin Master to visit while in meditation, but I do vividly recall events of my past with clarity.

My brother and I found an injured water crane hiding in our thick grapevines when we were kids.  This bird had a huge, long beak and legs so tall that it was almost my height.  My brother, David, noticed its wing was broken.  "It needs our help," he said.  "Let's catch it."

Catch it?  This thing was huge!  To me, at least.  He grabbed the crane and held its legs together while I held its beak because we were afraid it would peck us.  We took the bird to the house and showed my mother.  Being kids, I guess we convinced her it needed our help.

We kept the crane in our house for several days.  My dad fed it bologna, which it enjoyed eating.  But, the bird was in worse shape than we thought and died a few days later.

Fast forward:  A few years before my mother passed away, she was telling some family members about the crane SHE caught.  I quickly corrected her, but she argued that it was her that brought the bird home.  But, I remember my fear while holding its beak all the way across the yard to the house.  That's not something you forget.

Then, not long after while visiting dad, he said, "You remember that crane I caught when you and David were little?"

I said, "No, I remember the one we caught.  You were at work when we caught it."  Which was the case.

My guess is that both of them had told the tale to others about how they caught the crane for so long that they actually believed they had.  My brother and I know differently.

Writing in Layers

As artists paint on canvas, writers have to paint pictures with words.  But I often write in layers as painters will do touch ups on their pictures to make the colors blend better.  The same goes in adding detail to a scene or a character by returning to read and revise previous text.

The other day, I went back several chapters to revise.  Here and there, I added this, condensed that, but slowly the scenes became clearer.  By the time I finished, I had added two more pages to the novel while fleshing it out.

While I never write out an outline beforehand, I often find that the first run through is like the skeleton of the story.  As I go back, time after time, more clarity and direction unfold until the skeleton becomes its own person with a unique identity.  Exactly how this occurs is still a mystery for me, but that's my process and it works.  Believe me, there are days when I don't think it will work, but I keep plugging away.