Showing posts with label novel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label novel. Show all posts

Sunday, October 2, 2016

The Story Behind Call Me Daddy by Kelly Stone Gamble

I'm excited to have author Kelly Stone Gamble on my blog, with the story of how she came up with the ideas for her second novel,  Call Me Daddy, which is available for pre-order on Amazon and due to be released this, the first week of October. Here it is in her own words:

In the past two years, I have had the opportunity to reconnect with cousins that I haven't been around since childhood. Like most families, we are an interesting bunch, each with our own oddities, all with strong opinions, and none with the luxury of saying we had 'easy childhoods'. But what has bound us together is our understanding of the challenges we each faced, in part because of our parents choices: their successes and their mistakes.

As children, we never truly know our parents as individuals, and I would say that even as we get older, we sometimes have a difficult time thinking about them as young adults, making choices, living their lives as individuals, not necessarily as parents. But the choices parents make for their own lives can and do affect their children and sometimes, those effects aren't exactly pleasant. 

In my novel, Call Me Daddy, I wanted to explore the idea of how the actions of parents can weigh heavily on their children, long after the parent is gone. 

Cass Adams is pregnant, and she fears passing along the mental illness that she and her mother suffer from to her baby. The father of her child, Clay, has his own issues, as he tries to come to grips with the recent return of his father, who left when Clay was five years old, and is now in need of his help. Each must find a way to accept who they are and further make a commitment to raise their child in the best way they can---without damaging her/him too much.

My cast of characters are a zany bunch, each with their own Mommy/Daddy issues, who will hopefully make readers laugh and will certainly make them think. Call Me Daddy is a story of family, the secrets they keep, and to what lengths someone would go to protect them. It is a sequel to my first novel, They Call Me Crazy, but can be read as a standalone novel.

As for the cousins and me, we all turned out just fine, because of, or despite our parents, depending on how you look at it. We get together as often as we can now and have decided we are going to be a family. We laugh together, we support each other, and we don't dwell on the past. And hopefully, we aren't damaging our own children too much.


Kelly Stone Gamble is an Instructor at Southeastern Oklahoma State University and her work has appeared in a variety of publications. Her interests are as diverse as her writing. She is at home fishing on a river, riding horses in the mountains, reading on a beach, hiking through the desert or playing pirate with her friends.







Sunday, August 14, 2016

The Radio Murders by Kelly Marshall

Attention crime readers. Here's an author whose books you might want to get to know, including The Radio Murders, which has just been re-released. Here is her story behind the story.

Writing is a lonely profession. We authors often sit up late in the night while our spouses, children and, in my case, grandchild have all gone to bed. Frequently tired after a day full of activity, it’s the quiet time when we can think, imagine, and write without interruption. It was my desire to connect with my reader that prompted me to start a blog. I fought the idea for some time. I kept thinking, how in the world will I ever find the time to add one more thing to my exploding schedule? My decision to write a blog was prompted by that need to reach out and connect with those individuals who inspire me and share their thoughts with me—just like they did on my radio shows.

It’s been a few years since I sat at a microphone and communicated with listeners on my radio show Lights Out in Seattle. Back then I worked for KLSY for several years. Another radio station wined and dined me and wooed me away, and I went to work for Warm 106.9, also in Seattle. Management named my new show Love Songs. I thoroughly enjoyed the magic of nighttime radio. The lights in the studio would be soft and low; I could look through my studio windows and see the city lights sparkling in the dark waters of Puget Sound. The real magic though was the conversations with my listeners. I treasured their stories of love and devotion and yes, even their tales of painful losses. One conversation sticks in my mind with crystal clarity. The caller was from Vancouver, BC. Her family had been in a horrific car accident that night and she was waiting to hear whether they were going to live or die. She called my show to ask for support from my Lights Out listeners. I was humbled that she thought of us to help her through her desperation.

I left radio in 2002 and decided to get a “real” job. You know, one of those with fantastic benefits. It was a difficult transition because I missed the heartfelt sharing I had in radio. I decided to write in my spare time to ease some of the boredom I felt with the job that paid my bills. From the time I could barely read, I had a feeling I would communicate in the world with the written word. I started writing and haven’t stopped. I have written four novels: Black Phoenix, an apocalyptic thriller, The Chair, a sweet romance for the mature set, The Radio Murders, the first in a series of crime mysteries set in Seattle, and 6 White Roses, the second in that series. Currently, I am very close to finishing the third Seattle murder mystery, Kiss the Girls and Make Them Die.

I recently changed publishers and am very pleased to announce that I am now with White Bird Publishing. The transition from one publisher to another can be complicated, so all of my books had to be taken off the Internet and reformatted. The freshly edited, new edition of The Radio Murders debuts August 16th.

Kelly's Bio:
I always thought I would communicate in the world as a writer. As a child I was a voracious reader, and knew someday I would pen a great novel. It was my calling. But life sometimes takes left turns and I went to broadcasting school instead of a four-year college.  I did spent thirty years having fun, spinning records, interviewing people, doing love song dedications. I had a ball until…Congress passed a law in 1996 allowing broadcast corporations to own multiple radio stations in one market. Well, the gobbling began and soon behemoths corporations ate up radio stations like locusts in a wheat field. Radio announcers like me were axed on bloody Fridays with surgical precision. I left radio, went to work for the US Federal Government, and in my private hours, began doing what I really loved doing—writing.  
Thank you for the gift of your time. I look forward to hearing from you.

Here's the link to Amazon and click here for Kelly's blog.

Friday, April 29, 2016

Is it Really Necessary to Create an Outline for Your Novel?

James Patterson, most successful author of our time is so struck on outlines that he devotes two chapters to them in his online writing class.

The problem is, I'm a pantser. I write by the seat of my pants. In other words, I sit down at a computer and start writing, and the characters tell me the story.

I do not plot and I do not outline.

But James Patterson. He's not someone one should ignore, right? After listening to what he had to say, I went back to my novel, Virgo's Vice,  which was in the editing phase with my publisher, and created a belated outline. Surprisingly (to me), it helped me see more than one flaw with my story and I was able to make big improvements.

I stopped working on the next novel, Scorpio's Sting, which was in my pre-submission editing phase, and went back and created an outline. It helped me to see several problem areas. In particular, the timeline. The outline made it easy to find events that were in the wrong order.  It also helped me to identify (and delete) chapters that did not move the story forward, because we all know every chapter must do that or it isn't needed.

Next, I started writing "Fat Girls Rock," the fourth book in my Redneck P.I. Mystery Series. I tried to start with an outline. I swear I gave it a lot of thought, but nothing came. No inspiration. Zilch. It stayed unwritten. I ended up writing a one-page synopsis, and allowed myself to start writing the story. The lack of an outline nagged at me, and the writing dragged. The dreaded unmentionable thing loomed. Writer's Block.

This past Monday I had some time on my hands and I told myself "To hell with it, I'm just gonna write." And guess what? The story was all there in my head and today, Friday, the entire first draft is completed. Now I can create an outline.

I guess we're all different and what works for one, just doesn't do anything for another. That's what I tell myself, anyhow.

Here's the rough draft of my first few paragraphs. I still have to go back and make changes, add more emotion, and enhance the descriptions, but it is such a blast to write this kind of stuff.

Trish Jackson


Big Bart stomped his feet on the mat and strode in through the door with his brindle Pitbull, Sadie, and Benjamin, the dog he rescued from the dog fighting ring. He wore leathers, and a red, white and blue bandanna wrapped around his head. His biker boots made a loud clipping sound on the old wooden floors.
Several of his biker gang members trudged in behind him, all wearing their leather jackets with 'Justice Enforcers' on the back. They nodded at us and headed for the bar.

My dog Stretch stood up from under my legs, stretched, and stuck his nose into Sadie's ass.
Bart stopped at our table. "Well, if it ain't the fat girls' club." He clamped an oversized hand on my shoulder and I stared at the cut-off black leather glove before I glared at him through narrowed eyes.
"Who are you calling fat? I'm not fat, and neither is LaMercy or Ena." Fat is a word that's always made me bristle, and if it was anyone other than Bart, I would probably have done something physical to him.
He held up his hands, palms facing me. "Oh, no. Don’t get me wrong, Twila. Fat is good. What man doesn't like a little padding? I meant it in a good way." His gaze strayed from my boobs, to Ena's and then to LaMercy's. "You ladies all got curves where women are supposed to have 'em," he growled in his deep bass voice. "Fat girls rock, man."
I was at a loss for words. Luckily, Stretch took the attention away from us when Sadie snapped at him and he whined and licked her face.
"Yeah, good girl. You don’t need anyone sticking their cold nose there, do you?" Bart rasped. He turned toward the bar. "What's a man got to do to get a drink around here?" he said to Gasser, who was standing behind the counter serving the others, with an annoying grin on his face.
"Coming right up," he said, and slid a 24 oz glass of draft beer across the pitted wooden counter top. Bart grabbed it and swallowed half of it down in one gulp. 
As usual, Jimmie Lewis, the town drunk stood in the corner propping up the bar, and Lilly Belle Groat, the town mattress, who looks like the back side of a bus, sat beside him.
"Maybe we have put on some pounds," LaMercy, always the practical one said. She was staring at me.
"Yeah, but fat. That's a big word," Ena said. 
I took a hard look at my two companions. They actually had put on some weight, and I hadn't really noticed before.
We all stared at Bart's ass as he crossed the room to join the others at the pool tables.
"That is one heck of a man," Ena, the only one of us who was truly single said. "No fat there."
I knew LaMercy was thinking it too, and so was I. He was one hell of a piece of male flesh.
Gasser, with his coffee-colored skin and dreads stepped around from behind the bar, pulled out a chair at our table, and dropped into it. He still had that irritating grin on his face that meant one of two things. Either he had just farted or he thought something was amusing.
I sniffed, and didn’t detect anything. "What do you think is so funny?" I asked.
"Fat girls' club," he glanced across at Bart to make certain he couldn't hear, and burst out laughing.