Decided to try and become a novelist

[hoosierarcher]

I have published short stories and poems in magazines and anthologies. I posted a serial story on a website and got a lot of comments that I was a good story teller and that I should write a book. With my prolonged unemployment I went and took a test that is supposed to help you determine what you'd be happiest doing. Of the several careers the test indicated for me writer of fiction was one. I wonder if anyone here likes to read fiction. If so would you like to read an excerpt from a chapter I have already finished and give me a critique?

[Beo]

Really Cool, I have a novel published, it can be great fun and rewarding.
Good Luck bro,

[RangerXanatos]

By all means, do share a chapter. And I'm sure none of us would mind if you shared more than that.

[Beo]

Put a chapter or two in your blogs and let us know, shoot me your email in a pm and I'll email you my publishing info, maybe it'll help. Or start a social group on here for writers.
what kinda fiction do you write?
Anything I can do to help you let me know.

Beo,

[Rick]

I've written a half dozen books, HA and published 0 so I'm either no good or just haven't enticed the right agent. Be prepared for rejections. Lots and lots of rejections. Lots and lots and lots of rejections. JK Rowling said she could wall paper her apartment with all the rejections she received before someone finally took a chance.

Check the library in your area. We have writers groups that get together regularly at our local library. Perhaps there's one in your town. It's a great way to bounce ideas off other folks, get ideas and see what's successful and what isn't in the publishing world. You can also learn which agents to avoid.

Post the chapters in your blog if you like. I, for one, would like to read them.

EDIT: Check your local Barnes and Nobles, too. We had a group that met there for a while.

[Beo]

Very true Rick, good info. I didn't use an agent but that depends on who you wanna publish through and waht kinda fiction or genre you want to be in.
Also Writers Digest is a great mag that has alot of great articles on publishing, agents, what to do and not to do, and the all important Query Letter.
Here's a lonk to great agent site through Writers Digest.
http://www.writersdigest.com/article...your-work-2009

[rebel]

Good luck H.A.!

[Beo]

Also try meetup.com I got with a group there: Cincinnati Fiction Writers

[Rick]

I've used the crap out of this site and many of the agents that are listed.

http://www.writers.net/agents.html

Do a search on the agents after you find one you are considering sending a manuscript to. Just like everywhere else there are shysters in the literary world. You can usually find them by doing a search on their name. NEVER pay to have a manuscript read. That's the first clue they are not legit.

[rwc1969]

Let it roll! HA

[hoosierarcher]

The book I'm currently writing is a thriller. Several side stories and interconnected stories. The main story is from a killer's POV in fact part of it is the killer's untracable blog. Here is one blog entry at random.
"A boy, looking to be around 8 years old, is running across a field. He has a baseball bat in his right hand and is holding a ball glove by the back strap. He looks carefree and happy, maybe running home for lunch. Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, a medium sized light brown wire haired terrier leaped up and viciously bit into and held on to the boys chest. It shook viciously as dogs do when they are trying to cause as much damage as they can. The boy screamed, dropped the glove from his left hand and grabbed the dogs collar with it. The dogs vicious shaking caused its teeth to rip through the boys flesh and lose its grip on him. White hot pain shot through the boy and the expression on his face drastically changed, almost instantly, from fear and pain to outright rage. The boy remembered the bat in his right hand and still holding the dogs collar with his left he raised the bat and brought it down onto the dog's head with all the force he could muster. There was a terrible cracking sound and the dog went limp; but the boy kept swinging the bat over and over. He let go of the dog's collar and renewed his swings now with both hands. His swung and swung and swung. Blood flew and splattered all over the ground and the boy. When fatigue final caused the blows to stop the boy took a few steps back and wiped his face with a hankerchief from his back pocket. He didn't cry as one might expect. He was now eerily calm. He picked up his glove and walked home. When he walked in the house his mother was shocked and appalled at the sight of him, shirt ripped, blood pouring from his wounded chest and covered in more blood from head to toe. "What happened?", she screamed. "A dog bit me.", he said; and now the tears started. She pulled him to the sink and began to wash him off. She tried to see how bad his wounds were and the boy looked into her eyes and told her that most of the blood was the dog's. "Good!", she said in an angry voice and she got her purse and told him to hold the clean towel she had handed him to his wound. She removed her keys from the purse and told her oldest son to call the doctor and tell them they were on the way in with a nasty dog bite to be treated. She then took the younger boy by his free hand and led him to the station wagon in the driveway and headed to the doctor's office. 57 stitches inside and outside were needed to close the ragged massive wound the dog had made. He was perscribed anti-biotics against infection and the police were called to collect the dog so it could be tested for rabies.
When they returned home they found the police waiting along with one of their neighbors. They weren't there, as his mother suspected to find the dog. They were there to arrest the boy for killing the dog. However when the police saw the boy's wound they declined to arrest him and took the dog's remains to be tested for rabies. The man started yelling at the boy's mother and once again the boy's face changed from fear to rage and he pushed and pushed at the man and told him in a stern cold voice,"Get away from my mommy or I'll get my bat, mister."
Suddenly I awoke from the alarm clock catterwalling. The dream was recurring. It was the first time "The Beast" as my mother called it had erupted from deep inside me.
I went to the head, then into the kitchen and turned on the coffee maker. I showered, shaved, brushed my teeth then dressed. The coffee was done a little before I was. I poured myself a cup, took an much appreciated sip and made a breakfast of fresh blueberries, bananas and musli with soy milk. Then logged on to this website from my secure laptop.The people who own this house are apparently fairly health conscious. They are gone for a long weekend and will return to find it a smoldering pile of charred remains and ashes. The fire caused by an apparent electrical short in a coffee maker left on by accident. The coffee maker being old and without an auto shut off feature it's perfect for this purpose. I don't feel like painstakingly cleaning up after myself to eliminate all trace of my presence. My latest kill made with this house as my base of operations was particularly taxing. This one was one of the ring leaders and needed to be shown the full measure of my rage. I have patiently held it in check for 18 years. Believe me when I tell you that he completely understood how dissatisfied I was with his behavior all those years ago. I give him kudos however because he never begged for death. Even after the worst of it he still only said, "Please don't kill me." Who would think that the Air Force had such courageous fellows in it. I mean how much guts does it take to drop bombs on anonymous targets from 50,000 feet? I killed him anyway. I mean that is the whole point to the exercise. All the stuff before the death blow is just whipped cream and a cherry on top of it. I don't usually allow myself extras like that; but this time I had not only the inclination but the time. One stupendous bonus of this kill, he had a Cayman Islands bank account that no one knew about. So I added to my own Cayman account from his. I had to transfer the money around the world a few times and back through strawman accounts,to cover my tracks. That was what was so taxing, two days of little sleep, monitoring all the financial transactions. Well I have the fire to get ready, so I'll log off now. The woman of this house has made it so easy. There is a can of bacon grease right next to the coffee maker and candles everywhere throughout the house. They will fuel the simple electrical fire very well, thank you. Until next time boys and girls."

[Rick]

Some observations...

You might want to be a tad more descriptive in your opening.

"A boy, looking to be around 8 years old, is running across a field." might become something like.

A dark headed boy in tattered jeans and dusty tennis shoes is running across a field of late summer wild flowers. He leaves a wake of golden pollen and white seed fluff suspended in the air. I watch him as he leaps over imaginary dragons and snakes as only an eight year old boy can do.

You want your reader to see what you see much like a movie playing in their mind.

Avoid adverbs whenever possible. Limit yourself to one or two per page. words ending in ly are generally adverbs.

"Suddenly I awoke from the alarm clock caterwalling." might become

I was startled and quite pi&&ed when the caterwauling of the alarm clock jolted me awake from a deep sleep. I felt anger at having been awakened and, at the same time, relieved that I had been rescued from the recurring dream...."

Here's a list of adverbs for you:

http://www.paulnoll.com/Books/Clear-...h-adverbs.html

Those are just some quick thoughts. Word it however you want but look for ways to describe in detail what you are thinking.

Also, I don't mean to be critical but helpful.

[hoosierarcher]

Rick do you think I would like style points from a guy that previously posted, " I've written a half dozen books, HA and published 0"
Just saying






Seriously, Thanks.

[Rick]

Hey, I've got experience. No success, but experience.

[Beo]

Many persons have written of their lives and happenings, with a view of seeing only their lives and not the lives of those around them. I must confess that in part that is also my motive, but I do wish to testify to the readers of my life’s journal, the care and protection of the Creator in bringing me through my trials and tribulations.The early passages of my life are nothing remarkable in mine own eyes, so I shall therefore not take notice of them until later in my life, during what the white man has termed the French & Indian War in the so called New World along the colonial frontier of North America. And so without further adieu, I begin the journal of my memoirs and adventures as a Ghost Walker in the Lenni Lenape Tribe.It was now that I found myself outside the fort town of Oswego in the northern part of the colony the English call New York. Here I am with my companions, my family, after finding no entry was being given to the fort this night I made my way through town until I espied what I was looking for. I looked at my two companions, handed one my flintlock rifle and made a sign in the air, the younger of the two nodding no, so I just pointed across the road sternly and the young man bowed his head and caught up with the other.I came here years ago, from the east, from Pennsylvania on the east side of Triple Creek in the wilderness miles above Philadelphia up the Schuylkill River. I came to this place on foot, leading the two others that always followed me. It was early in the evening and the, blacksmith’s, tanners, coopers, and tradesmen were already closed for the night and the street was empty except for a few colonials moving about. It was a hot summer night in mid August but I had a linen open front hunting frock tossed over my shoulders, and I drew stares. I had stopped in front of the Gilded Pony Tavern, stood for a long moment listening to the patrons within, as was to be expected at this hour it was full of people laughing and joking, singing and dancing.I did not enter the tavern but walked forty yards further down the dusty street to another tavern, a smaller one, called “The Long Knife.” I knew it didn’t have the best of reputations and it would be almost empty.As I entered, the door opened with an eerie creaking and the barkeep raised his head from a bowl of steaming, bad smelling stew that permeated the air and he measured me with his eyes. I, still in my linen frock, walked up and stood stiffly in front of the aged wooden counter, motionless and quiet.“What’s it you want?” “Ale,” I said in an unpleasant tone.The barkeep wiped his mouth on the back of his dirty sleeve and filled a pewter mug from a wooden keg. I am no Indian but my hair is cut into a scalplock with turkey feathers tied in the back. Beneath my frock I wore a white linen shirt. As I took off my frock those around me noticed that I carried a tomahawk and large knife, not something unusual in itself, nearly every man on the frontier carried a weapon, but no one carried a knife like mine and strapped horizontally in the small of their back.I did not sit at the table with the few other men in the tavern, I remained standing at the counter, piercing the barkeep with an icy cold stare, a stare that he said looked like that of one of the great gray wolves he had seen prowling in the forests. I took a sip from the mug and lowered it to the counter. “I need a room.”“There’s none to be had.” The barkeep grumbled, looking at my well worn and dusty moccasins and leggings over the counter. “Try the Gilded Pony down the road.” “I would stay here.”“There is no rooms to be had.” The barkeep grumbled, finally he recognized my accent and weapons. I am a Tschipey-uxwe; it is Lanapi for Spirit Hunter. “I’ll pay good coin,” I repeated, a scar faced thick set man who, from the time I had entered the tavern had not taken his glassy drunken eyes from me, got up and walked to the counter. Two of his drinking companions arose behind him by not more than two steps.“There’s no room to be had, you injun loving Tschipey-uxwe savage,” growled the scar faced man, standing right next to me. “We don’t need or want trash like you at Oswego. We hold our own here!” I took my mug and moved away, startling the trio of men. I glanced at the barkeep, who avoided my gaze, it didn’t even occur to him to defend me, after all, who liked Indian lovers?”“All you injun’s is scum and thieves,” the scar faced man said, his breath smelling most rank and foul, and angered. “Do you hear me, injun lover?” “He ain’t hear you, his ears is full of ****e,” said one of his ale strengthened friends laughing.“Pay and leave!” Yelled the scar faced man. Only now did I look at him, eyes calm and cool, voice relaxed. “I’m having a drink.” “You’ll leave,” the scar faced man growled and slapped the mug from my hand and grabbed my collarbone gripping it tightly. One of the men behind him raised his balled fist to strike, I rolled to the opposite side throwing the scar faced man off balance as the other swung his fist and hit the scar faced man in the side of the head who reeled in pain and turned to his friend. “Idiot buckskinner!”And my knife flashed from its sheath and my tomahawk slid from my belt, the silver knife glinted briefly in the dim light, I was a quick blur and a woman screamed, and one of the few remaining customers tumbled quickly towards the door. A chair fell with a crash and wooden bowls and plates thudded hollowly against the floor. The barkeep, trembling, looked on in terror as the scar faced man, who was clinging to the counter, held his gashed throat and slowly slid from sight. The other two were lying on the floor, one motionless in a pool of spreading blood, the other in a heap as I pulled my tomahawk from the man’s clavicle. A woman’s scream ripped through the air again, piercing the ears of everyone, the barkeep shuddered, heaved and then vomited. I moved to place my back to the wall, tense and alert, holding my knife and tomahawk in my hands and circled them in the air, no one moved. Cold terror streaked their faces, paralyzing them and stopping their breath. Three of the British soldiers, from the 51st of Foot by their uniform markings, and no doubt on guard, rushed into the tavern with the clinking and clanging of equipment, they must have been on rounds walking by. They had their flintlocks crossed in front of them, but at the sight of the dead men they leveled them at me, I pressed my back to the wall and brought my weapons up crossed in front of me in a guard position.“Drop those, now!” One of the guards yelled with a trembling voice. “Throw them down, murderer! You’re under arrest!”A second guard tossed aside a table between himself and me.“Get the men, Pettis!” He shouted to the third soldier, who stayed closer to the door. “No need for them,” I said, lowering my weapons. “I’ll come with you myself.”“You’ll go to the gallows, you murdering savage!” Yelled the frightened soldier. “Throw down your knife and hatchet! Or I’ll blow a hole in your chest!”I tried not to smile at the man’s bravado, so I straightened and quickly sheathed my knife and made a gesture of signs in the air, light flashed between us and the soldiers tried to shield their eyes from its brightness, drew back and one of the customers darted for the door and the woman screamed again. “I’ll come by myself,” said I, in a husky growling voice. “And you’ll lead me, take me to Fort Oswego and Colonel Pepperell, I have urgent news.”“Yes, sir,” mumbled the guard, dropping his head and turning for the door, the other two walked out quickly in front of him. I followed behind them placing my tomahawk back in my belt, as we passed the other customers they hid their faces or turned away from this most dangerous savage.

[Beo]

Kinda sucks because the site runs everything to gether. Hope it helps
Beo,

[hoosierarcher]

Some observations...

You might want to be a tad more descriptive in your opening.

"A boy, looking to be around 8 years old, is running across a field." might become something like.

A dark headed boy in tattered jeans and dusty tennis shoes is running across a field of late summer wild flowers. He leaves a wake of golden pollen and white seed fluff suspended in the air. I watch him as he leaps over imaginary dragons and snakes as only an eight year old boy can do.

You want your reader to see what you see much like a movie playing in their mind.

Avoid adverbs whenever possible. Limit yourself to one or two per page. words ending in ly are generally adverbs.

"Suddenly I awoke from the alarm clock caterwalling." might become

I was startled and quite pi&&ed when the caterwauling of the alarm clock jolted me awake from a deep sleep. I felt anger at having been awakened and, at the same time, relieved that I had been rescued from the recurring dream...."

Here's a list of adverbs for you:

http://www.paulnoll.com/Books/Clear-...h-adverbs.html

Those are just some quick thoughts. Word it however you want but look for ways to describe in detail what you are thinking.

Also, I don't mean to be critical but helpful.

Keep in mind that this is a blog/twitteresque entry in the book, not the way the rest of the book is written. I'll post some of that soon.

[hoosierarcher]

Kinda sucks because the site runs everything to gether. Hope it helps
Beo,

Beo, take my nick just as it's spelled and put @yahoo.com after it and you've got my primary e-mail addy.

[rwc1969]

Sounds good. A little more description would be nice, but like you said it's supposed to be a blog entry from the psycho dude so it makes sense.

[mcgyver]

HoosierArcher,
I'm no publisher, or writing pro, but I do love to read.
I can tell you that I read your offering yesterday, and have thought about your story ever since. So much so, that I brought it up for the Wife to read as well. We both agree you tell a good tale. If you get this one published, let us know.
You already have one sold.