My lunch apple today was just gorgeous, glowing and powerful, so much that I had to just stare at it before I could cut into it. I am surrounded by beauty.
I have this theory about sensory detail and reading. Since normal intake of our world reaches our brains through our five senses, if a writer can describe things clearly enough that a reader sees, smells, hears, tastes and feels them, then the words on the page have co-opted the brain. It’s a polite form of mind… Continue reading
My novel is dedicated in memory of my father, Thomond R. O’Brien, Sr., who served honorably as a cryptanalyst in the United States Army in Germany in the 1950’s. On this Veterans Day, I’d like to honor my dad, and all our veterans and the active military personnel who now serve our country. We would not be here today without you, and I’m grateful.
I’ve been invited to speak in the Eaton-Dimock-King Authors Series at the Tolland Public Library tonight, November 10th, at 7:30. The event is free, but space is limited, so please call to register if you’d like to come. 860-871-3620.
I’m a seat-of-the-pantser. I’ve done books using an outline before when I plotted out romances in ten chapters (major intimacy in Chapter 7) so I know it’s possible, but that is not how I wrote Birthmarked, and it is not working for the sequels. The main problem is that I have to be in the scene, imagining it, in order to live where it’s going with Gaia. Since she can’t see into the future, neither can I. If the reader is to be surprised, I… Continue reading
(This is a continuation of the fairy tale started here on November 1st.)
Years passed, and the farmer, who had learned a cruel lesson, made a point of reaching out to her neighbors and fellow farmers. She begged them all not to tell Artemis about her lost twin, and in time, many of them even forgot Salma had ever been born. All learned to love and care for young Artemis, who grew into a strong, smart, peaceful girl with flowing blond hair and sharp aim with her bow.… Continue reading
Here’s one of the fairy tales from Wharfton and the Enclave.
Once upon a time, at the edge of the dead forest, a pig farmer gave birth to twin girls. Her husband was ecstatic, and sent word around to all their friends and relatives that soon they’d have a christening.
“It can only be a simple celebration,” the farmer said. “We’re very poor.”
“I know,” her husband said, but while his wife nursed the babies, he decided to slaughter one of the pigs for a roast.
“Big mistake,”… Continue reading