IF Knight's Curse were to become a movie...

You know how sometimes you daydream about how you'd cast a book for a major motion picture? Sometimes, while writing a book, I'll imagine specific actors or actresses playing the roles of the characters. I do that while reading others' books as well. So for shnits and giggles I thought I'd have some fun and look up photos of actors to play my characters in KNIGHT'S CURSE.

Please keep in mind this is totally hypothetical, no movie offers for the book are being considered at this time. I'm just having fun. :)

I adore the show Vampire Diaries and have seen Nina Dobrev perform enough times to get a good idea of how she might work in the the role of Chalice. I think she fits the part very well indeed.

Ian Somerhalder would make the perfect Aydin Berkant, don't you think so? He just happens to play one of the lead roles in Vampire Diaries, and just happens to be Nina's very significant other in real life. Coincidence? I think not. They're both destined to play the main characters in KNIGHT'S CURSE. Bwahahaha.

What better actor to play the villain Gavin Heinrich than the amazing Alan Rickman. I swear I hear Professor Snape's voice whenever I read Gavin's dialogue in my book. Chills.

Zee (Zeppelin), the villainess in KNIGHT'S CURSE, can be no one other than Kathy Bates. Such an awesome talent. Her skill would really breathe life into dastardly Zee, huh?

Daniel Radcliffe is all grown up now and I love the look! Yet his calm disposition is ideal for playing angel whisperer Quin Dee.

I can't forget my loveable, grumpy old elf, Elmo. Give Peter Dinklage white hair and he totally fits the part.

I have to admit I had a crush on Barachiel as I was writing him, so matching him up with my actor crush on David Boreanaz seemed ideal. Such a hotty!

Alexandra Napoleone would make a lovely Saint Geraldine, even though the character is a mummified head in the story. But she has an important speaking part, and you get to see more of her in DARKEST KNIGHT (pun intended).






Shui and Shojin, respectively. These two just need really, a really good make-up artist. Shojin looks a lot like a gryphon except that he has bat wings.

Art by https://www.facebook.com/stanleymorrisongallery




So that's my cast for KNIGHT'S CURSE the (wannabe) movie. What do you think?

New Cover for an Older Book

Old Cover

One of my earlier books was a romantic suspense called DESERT GUARDIAN published by The Wild Rose Press. It did okay, in spite of the large number of books this small publisher released each week, and I was pleased by the positive reviews. I received my rights back a few years ago and, like many authors these days, I've decided to self-publish it.

All I've done so far is redesign the cover. I'll format the text when I'm not buried under other projects. The publisher allowed me to design my first cover (without pay, of course), and though I gave them three designs to choose from, they picked this one. I like it, but it doesn't really say "romantic suspense" to me.

The story is about a cult intervention specialist who helps the heroine rescue her brother from a suicide cult in the California desert.

Now I've come up with a new cover design I like, but I'm not so sure about the image of the hero. I kissed a lot of "frogs" in the stock images pool of male models--there are some truly fugly men in there--but these two fit the tone and personality of my hero the best. However, I'm torn between them. Which one do you like best? One of my concerns is that I've learned that both these models have appeared on the cover of several self-published books already, and though it doesn't bother me, does it bother you?

Miracle in the Sky

Skydiving is an exhilarating sport. It's exciting, challenging, and a bit risky. Faulty parachutes, mid-air collisions, hard landings… I know because I jumped out of airplanes on the weekends during my freshman year of college. And in those days... I'm talking the late seventies... there was no such think as "tandem" jumps. Tandem jumps are for pussies. All 60 of my jumps were done solo and without a monkey on my back.

I looked death in the face every time I stepped onto the strut, the heavy chute strapped to my back pulling me out of the plane, the icy wind thousands of feet above Earth blowing my screams into silence. I wasn't screaming in terror. I screamed in triumph. Young and invincible, I dared anything bad to happen while I was having such a good time.

Mornings made the best time to jump because that's when the winds were calm. I'd lie back on the grass beside the airstrip, my head propped against my packed chute, my hands shielding my eyes as I stared upward to watch my fellow divers fall from the jump plane. They looked like specs of sand that grew into small pebbles the closer they got to the ground. Sometimes they'd join hands to form circles in the sky, then shoot away from each other, their parachutes billowing off their backs and jerking them to a brief stop before floating them gently to Earth. A sky ballet without the music.

Parachute landings may look easy, but for me they rarely were. I've suffered bruises and broken bones from landing in trees, sugar cane fields, muddy cow pastures, and the center lane of a busy highway. But nothing can beat the day I landed on the beach.

It had rained early that morning and low clouds forced our plane to sit on the runway longer than usual. Leaning back against the bare metal sides of the Cessna, I closed my eyes and listened to the engine roar and the props spin, my heart quickening when we finally began our taxi down the airstrip. The plane's wheels bumped over cracks in the tarmac, making the metal floor vibrate beneath me until we were airborne.

Our take-off was no different than any other.

A flash of red crumpled cloth interrupted the darkness behind my eyelids and I jerked my eyes open. Everything looked the same. The plane's floor was bare, the passenger seats removed to accommodate jumpers, though it was only my jumpmaster, Byron, and me on this flight. The pilot and our spotter occupied the two seats up front. I blinked and breathed out a sigh.

"You all right?" Byron shouted above the engine's roar.

I nodded, my helmet heavy on my head. "Thought I saw something," I yelled back.

"What?"

I grinned. "I don't know. It was just…" He must have thought I was an idiot. "Never mind. It was nothing."

Byron, an ex-marine with the demeanor of Santa Claus, quirked an eyebrow before leaning back to enjoy the ride.

We needed to climb to an altitude of 15,000 feet to allow enough time for a thirty-second freefall. It took a while for the dense clouds above us to part and let us through. Excitement and anxiety warred inside me, but I felt comforted in knowing my jumpmaster would dive with me today.

The pilot nodded at the spotter, who opened the door. A blast of frigid air pushed me firmly into the wall at my back. The spotter hung his head outside to peer down at the miniature landscape below. He held up a thumb. The pilot cut the engine.

Time for us to go.

I climbed out onto the strut and faced forward with both hands gripping the wing. It wobbled slightly as the pilot glided the plane like a kite. I let go and arched my back, staring up at the plane that seemed to fly away from me, only it was me flying away. Falling away. Byron dived out to join me.

My body remained stable, belly toward the ground, as I plummeted at a velocity of 130 miles per hour. Byron's strong hands grabbed my ankles and turned me around to face him, his gloved fingers now gripping my forearms. The wind pulled and pushed his face out of shape, his cheeks flapping like fish gills. He pointed at the altimeter mounted on the packed reserve chute strapped to my chest, then let me go.

I stared below me, not at the ground, but at the ocean. We had strayed off course.

Arching my back again, I yanked my ripcord free and the parachute popped from my back, caught the wind, and snapped open. The jerk was like slamming on the brakes. I gazed up at the full canopy of black, red and gold, and scanned the horizon for my jumpmaster. His red parachute, now a rumpled ball of nylon, landed in the blue water far below. Byron floated down after it, the circle of a white reserve parachute carrying him gently out to sea. A boat was already speeding out to greet him.

His main chute must have malfunctioned, but he seemed to be okay. I'd pulled my cord higher than usual, meaning I still had a ways to go before reaching the ground. While watching Byron, I'd neglected to pay attention to my own location. I saw water below, a strip of beach next to that, then the rooftops of houses beside a band of highway lined by a ribbon of power lines. The drop zone was miles out of reach.

I tapped the silent radio on my chest. Nothing. As a novice jumper, I depended on the ground crew to talk me down. Not a word came through the tiny speaker and I floated closer to the ground every second. The rooftops looked flat enough to land on, but if I missed I could get tangled in a power line. If I veered too far to the right I'd get dunked in the sea.

"Head for the beach."

I heard the voice clearly and exhaled in relief. The ground crew. My saviors.

I steered my parachute toward the slim line of beach and touched down within minutes. I could have easily made the wrong choice, but the guardian angel who spoke through my radio had guided me in the right direction.

I tapped the radio again, listening for someone to say they'd come get me soon. Silence. I detached the radio from my reserve pack to give it a shake and was surprised by how light it felt. Flipping open the back, I checked the batteries. There were no batteries. The compartment was completely empty.

I stared at the nylon canopy spread across the sand. What had just happened? No batteries means no radio communication, yet I had clearly heard a voice tell me to head for the beach. Was it the wind? Or had I suddenly become schizophrenic? Whatever it was, it had possibly saved my life.

I never told anyone at the drop zone about my experience, least of all Byron. He arrived back at the airstrip with his bundle of soggy red parachute in his arms and a Santa Claus smile on his face.

"So how was it?" he asked me.

I frowned for a second as I tried to think of the best way to answer. Finally I grinned and said, "Miraculous."

I Fought the Law and the Law Won

Well, to be honest, I didn't fight the law because it already won. I spent the day in jail only because I had no other choice. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

This is an actual event from my past, one of those powerful memories that stick with you for a lifetime. It's odd how you don't appreciate your freedom until it's taken from you, if only for a single day and night. It was a scared-straight moment for me, but I wasn't really crooked. I was a victim of circumstance. Honest.

Flip the calendar back by about 30 years and you'll arrive at a time in my life when I didn't always make the best choices. I was young, newly married, and naive as hell. My new husband and I were taking a trip on his big bad motorcycle from Denver to Nevada for a weekend on his friend's boat at Lake McConaughy. And he planned to do a bit of target practice with his handgun while we were there.

He thought it would be cool to strap a holster to his handlebars so he'd look like a badass with his pistol showing. Ass being the optimal word here. We weren't on the freeway long, hadn't even made it out of the city, when a motorcycle cop pulled us over. My then-husband (now ex) got the bright idea to slip the gun into my purse.

The cop pulled out his gun and instructed us to put our hands up. I couldn't take my eyes off the weapon in his shaking hand that was pointed straight at me. I don't think he'd been on the force long. His finger on the trigger was white at the knuckle and I wanted to cover my ears to block the loud shot I expected at any second. Lucky for me, the gun didn't go off.

The cop instructed me to hand over my purse, which I did. Practically threw it him. My husband didn't say a word. The cop called for back up and within minutes two black and white police cars pulled up to the curb. Needless to say we made quite a spectacle and passersby craned their necks to get a better look at the take-down of a couple of crooks.

I was frisked and handcuffed, then unceremoniously pushed onto the backseat. Those handcuffs really do hurt, especially when your hands are cuffed behind your back shoved against a car seat.

I was arrested for carrying a concealed weapon.

My husband was arrested, too, because the cop had pulled us over when he saw the gun strapped to the handlebars. Apparently there'd been a burglary at a convenience store in the area and my husband and I matched the description of the perpetrators.

So I spent the day and night and part of the next day in jail while waiting for a friend to bail us out. The Denver County jail was not what I expected. They took the rubberbands from my hair and the shoelaces out of my shoes, and confiscated my belongings, which included the novel I'd brought along. Even back then I never went anywhere without a book to read. I asked if I could please have my book back and was told this is jail, not a hotel. No, I could not have my book, but they did let me have my cigarettes, of which I was running low (I quit smoking over a decade ago). And a bible. The Book of Ruth is actually quite good.

I had a cell to myself and I remember it quite vividly. Gray brick, a bright orange door with a tiny window at the center of it, a metal bunk with a blanket, and a matching metal toilet and sink. Lovely. All I had to listen to was my own breathing and the occasional shouts from my fellow inmates. There was a window covered with metal mesh that looked out to the street beyond. I loved that window and spent a lot of time staring out and wishing I was on the other side of it.

I felt lonely, betrayed, and scared shitless. I cried a lot, and not just because I was bored to tears. Being forcefully contained against my will, especially for a crime I didn't commit, made me feel more helpless than I'd ever felt in my life. I was only 21 years old. What would my mother say when she found out? And I felt sick to my stomach the entire time I was in there.

Most of the other girls with me were prostitutes. We didn't talk much. Meals were served in a community cafeteria on metal trays with enormous spoons for eating utensils. I even remember what we had for dinner that first night: chicken chowmein from a can. Breakfast the next day was lukewarm oatmeal. Coffee, yes. Cream and sugar, no.

It's not an experience I'd want to repeat, but like most experiences I've had over the years, good and bad, it's grist for the story mill. If I want to convey a sense of loneliness and despair for one of my characters, I just harken back to this memory. It feels like it happened only yesterday.

We got out of jail the next day, and returned to appear in front of a judge a few weeks later, where we were found innocent of all charges. They kept that awful gun, though, much to my husband's severe disappointment. He never did apologize for getting me put in jail, as if it were my duty as his wife to take the rap. I think not. That event was probably the first nail in the coffin of our soon-to-be dead marriage.

I tease my oldest daughter that she'd spent some time in jail, too. Turns out the reason I felt sick while I was in there was because I had morning sickness. Who knew?

Have you ever spent time in jail? If so, have you ever used the experience in your writing?

Research Pros and Cons

I mostly love doing research for a new book. The more material I find on the subject I'm researching, the more ideas I get for enriching the plot, subplots, and characters. It's great fun.

However...

There are drawbacks. The first and most obvious one is that it takes time away from actually writing. It's easy to get sucked in by research, especially if it's a topic with lots of information, and more so if that information comes in conflicting forms because so much of it is based on hypothesis. And opinion. Everybody has one. As a writer you have to make the hypothetical information you choose to work with right for your book.

At the end of the day you end up with mountains of data, reports, statistics, etc. It can be overwhelming.

This is on my mind right now as I research solar storms for my next story. There's so much speculation that it boggles the mind. And some of this stuff is downright scary! Did you know UV radiation can alter human DNA? Did you know space weather has an effect on the position of Earth's magnetic poles? Did you know our solar system has an equator of it's own that's moving and we're right in its path? This stuff boggles the mind. And did I mention that it's scary?

Of course I don't have to use all the science I find, but I need facts to support my plot. What are the dangers of a solar storm? Far more than one would think. The potential danger of a really big one could destroy the planet in less literal ways than, say, a nuclear war. It's fascinating. And awe-inspiring.

This is how I spent most of last week, and my research isn't finished yet. I'm really excited about what I discovered. This book is going to be super fun to write.

Memorable Moments You'd Like to Forget

I'm talking about those moments in our lives that have us laughing now, but we may not have been so amused at the time. My friend Tawna calls them TSTL (Too Stupid to Live) moments, and her blog post the other day brought some of my own TSTL moments flooding through my mind. I've had more than a few.

The best and worst happened during my teen years. That was a long time ago, but some memories are made to last. Unfortunately. And just for grins, I'm gonna share one with you

Do you remember your first date? I do. It was a group date because that's all my mom would allow. And to be honest, I wasn't all that crazy about the boy I went out with. In fact, as I recall, I didn't even like him. But it was a date! And my very first one! Can you see where I'm going with this?

The other couple on this date was my sister and some guy she liked, who was probably a friend of my date and the reason I was asked to come along in the first place. That's why my mom even allowed this little outing. Big sister chaperone. Picture me rolling my eyes.

We went bowling. I suck at bowling, but I didn't really care. Did I mention how excited I was to go out on my very first date?

I remember exactly what I wore, too. This was the seventies and bell bottoms were still quite popular. I should have worn jeans, but instead I chose a pair of black and white floral print pants that were a wee bit too tight around my lower region. After many washings they'd become soft and comfortable. They were cotton and long enough to cover my flip flops. Heaven forbid you let your toes show from beneath your bells. Ahem.

Being forced to wear bowling shoes bruised my sense of fashion, but I bucked up and stepped up to the lane with bowling ball in hand. I eyed the pins as I'd seen others in the alley do, bent my knees, stepped up to the line with arm cocked back, and did an expert deep knee bend as I released the ball to roll quickly toward its intended target.

That's when I heard the rip. And I'm not the only one who heard it, either.

I split my pants from waistband to crotch. I'm proud to say, however, that I scored a spare for my trouble.

I wore a white peasant blouse that was almost long enough to cover the rip. Thank goodness I'd brought the sweater my mom had forced on me, because I was able to wrap it around my waist to hide the tear in my britches.

I think I sat out the rest of the game, I don't really remember. I just remember counting the minutes until it was time to go home. My date pretended he hadn't noticed, but I knew he did. I saw him and his friend chuckling about it. My sister... well, she was no help. She just laughed.

Lesson learned: Prior to a date, make wise wardrobe choices. Did I learn from this? Not really. I always was a slave to fashion, even when the apparel I chose wasn't appropriate to the event. It's how I rolled back then. Now? Not so much. I'm not sure I even know what fashion is anymore.

Care to share any embarrassing moments from your youth? Misery loves company. :)

Why I like Judging Writing Contests

I truly enjoy judging writing contests. I'd love to do more of them, but I tend to spend exorbitant amounts of time making comments and suggestions on each entry. Therefore, I must limit the number of contests and entries I judge.

One thing that strikes me in a positive way about contest entries is that a writer had the courage to put him or herself out there, warts and all, for the benefit of their own work. At least I believe most of them do. I imagine a rare few could be looking for praise, which is well-deserved to some degree (see above comment about courage), but everyone must take the sweet with the sour. That's the only way to improve your craft.

The subject of contests is fresh in my mind because I just finished judging one and I'll soon receive entries from the Sandy. Next up will be the Colorado Gold Contest, so I'm sharpening my pencil... uhm, well, I used to use a pencil. I guess now I'm priming my keyboard. :)

Sometimes I see a pattern in a wave of entries that share similar weaknesses. The last contest, however, showed a myriad array of strengths and things that made me go "hm..." I'd have to say the hm factor was probably the biggest issue.

So for the benefit of those considering entering a writing contest in the future, especially the Colorado Gold (because it opens April 1, 2012), there are a few things you want to look out for before clicking the send button.

1. Backstory and character ruminations - Many new writers, and even some veterans, feel it's necessary to relay information about events leading up to where the story begins. If those points are important to understanding what's going on, spread them out and weave them into the action or dialogue. If readers don't know who they're reading about, they're not going to care what happened to them in the past.

2. Solid action without reaction - Oh, dear. A tumble of intense action verbs fill the first few pages and the characters doing them appear rather flat without insight into how they're feeling. Of course you want to keep things moving, but this method of action on top of action actually slows things down because readers don't know what's happening inside the characters' heads. This could be the result of watching too many action movies. I think the writer knows how the characters are feeling, but he or she just forgets to put it on the page.

3. Open ended scenes - A really helpful guideline for writing an effective scene is to give the viewpoint character a goal, and then an obstacle that either prevents him from reaching that goal or changes the outcome. I find a lot of contest entries entertain a slice of life scenario, where the writer indulges in portraying the character in a situation that doesn't really lead anywhere. I think these scenarios can be valuable to the writer as a way to understand the character, but it's not something you share with readers unless it affects the direction of the plot, or a decision the character must make before moving on to the next scene. Make it count.

4. Contrivance - This is a tough one and not always apparent to the writer, who's so enmeshed with his story that he believes he's acting in the character's best interest. But what happens is that in order to force the character in a direction the writer wants him to take, it becomes obvious that the decision or behavior is not the character's; it's the writer's. And therefore, it is contrived. Always be true to your characters. Yes, you're the writer who creates the characters, but the story belongs to them.

5. Nonsensical Plot Resolutions - This comes through in the synopsis. It's true that most of us dislike writing the synopsis (I'm raising my hand), but it's a valuable tool that will show you what is and isn't working in your novel. If you have your character doing a job he has no business doing because there's nothing motivating him to do it, or if you have an ending where the murderer doesn't even make an appearance until the end of the book, or if you leave the story open with no ending at all, I'm afraid you've committed a major story fail. I've given high marks on manuscripts that had the potential to final until the writer committed a story faux pas with their synopsis. Learn to write a good synopsis. It's how you sell books.

I'll admit that I'm a tough judge when it comes to writing contests, but believe me, it's for your own good and the good of your manuscript. I really, really want you to do well. I want more great books to read! :) And I'm also one to recommend a writer to my agent if a contest entry impresses me.

Are you planning to enter a writing contest? What do you hope to gain if you do? What are your expectations?

City of Lost Angels

Here's a sample of my virtual world photography with Photoshop. Shoots like this help me come up with new story ideas, which I have to do this weekend. I'm very visual with my writing, so inventing a setting like this inspires my creativity. The image tells a story all on its own.

Do you see a story in this picture?

My Taped Television Interview

Well... at last. It only took over 4 months for me to get this loaded on youtube.com. Haha! I got the DVD from the television studio, but it wasn't in a format I could upload. So I had to get permission from the studio to use it. Then I had to have someone convert the file. Then I had to clip the file down using iMovie to show only my segment rather than the whole show. THEN I could upload it.

I'll be on the show again on March 23, the day DARKEST KNIGHT releases. And now that I know how, I'll get that clip up much sooner.