Wednesday, October 30, 2013

October "Haunting" Blog Fest






 Hello all, here is my post for the Haunting Blog Fest. I hope you enjoy the "condensed" version of the first chapter of my novel, Evangeline's Miracle. Cutting it to size (1000 words) was a challenge, but a good one and I learned something while doing it, which is always good. Please check out the other participants by clicking on the link under this photo. So, on to the story...

The first time I saw the ghost, I wasn’t dreaming. I wasn’t even asleep. I’d had no premonition that my life was about to change forever, and no wonder; I’m not prone to having premonitions. It happened the evening my husband Christian and I attended a piano concert. Such a normal thing to do.
I took my seat while Christian played at being the socialite. I closed my eyes and tried to relax while I listened to the patter of voices, the dull scrape of shoes on carpet, the creak of a seat. At home we had a small parlor grand, which Christian played after work and on weekends. The music helped him unwind from the drudge of his engineering job, the job he kept to provide for us.
 The lights dimmed, and Christian slid into the seat beside me. He took my hand and laid it over his forearm. In the near-darkness of the hushed auditorium, the stage lights illumined the pianist as he crossed the stage, stood beside the piano bench, and gave a slight bow. Applause leaped into the air as he seated himself before the piano. Hands poised over the keyboard, the applause diminished into silence. His back arched for an instant before his hands met the keys.
The music, Mussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition, should have been easy to lose myself in, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the previous night. Sharp words had passed between Christian and me and rang with a resounding clarity in my head.
“Babies! Children! You talk of nothing else now.”
“And why not, Evie? We’ve been married three years—”
 “I’m not ready yet!”
“When will you be ready, Evangeline? When?”
I still winced when I thought of the look on his face, of hurt more than anger, but no matter how I tried to change, the idea of being a mother terrified me.
With eyes closed, I attempted to clear my thoughts. The piano’s joyful sound caressed, flowed into my ears. I opened my eyes, wanting not only to hear but to see the performance. Behind the pianist, a shimmering vision of a woman appeared. I gasped. I glanced at Christian. He paid no heed to the apparition. Her golden dress reminded me of another time, perhaps the late eighteen hundreds or even earlier. Her appearance made no sense.
Cover of Evangeline's Miracle
Yet she stood there, her eyes downcast, her face sad yet serene, as if she too were lost in the music and its magic. I watched her unwavering form until the soft stage lighting caught and sparkled upon a single tear on her cheek.
Pity welled within me. This woman was a wonderful actress. She portrayed someone bereft of hope, yet hoping still. Her sad countenance held all the misery of love unrequited, the ravages of demanding the impossible of oneself, and the triumph of never giving up, no matter that all was lost.
When the pianist played the last note before intermission, I couldn’t breathe. As his fingers left the keyboard the woman disappeared. She did not walk off the stage. Whoever had conceived this idea had done a brilliant job. I turned to Christian and said, “I’ve never seen anything like this.”
“Seen? What do you mean, Evie?”
“What did you think of the woman?”
“What woman?”
Shocked, I stared at him. He had no idea what I meant.
“I think I’d like a drink.” I followed him out to one of the beverage counters. Christian, my Frenchman, and love of my life, leaned closer.
“Are you well, mon aimée?”
He always called me his beloved. I tried to smile, to reassure him, if not myself. “I’m fine. A little thirsty, that’s all.”
“What would you like?”
“Water would be perfect, but first I’ll go to the restroom.”
I took the stairs, eager to get to the restroom and ask if anyone else had seen the woman. All that anyone had seen or heard was the pianist. No shimmering, beautiful lady dressed in grief.
I wasn’t sure if I could watch the second half of the concert. The apparition had unsettled me, and I felt like a fool. Why had no one else seen her?
When I rejoined Christian, he searched my face and handed me a glass of water. I smiled, drank my water, and told myself over and over to breathe. I shivered as the lights dimmed, announcing the second half of the program. Christian guided me back into the auditorium, his warm hand on the small of my back.
As we sat down, my head swam; my palms felt damp. I didn’t want to see the ghostly lady again or feel her desperate anguish. “Christian, can we go?”
“Now, Evangeline?” Christian looked at me as if I’d lost my mind. He was right, of course. My reaction to the woman was beyond silly.
“No, of course not.”
The bright lights dimmed. The pianist returned, repeated the bow and took his seat. I closed my eyes, determined only to listen. The music enthralled me, and I drank it in as though it could slake my unease. Apprehension faded. I smiled for the first time since I’d seen the lady. She could be nothing but a fanciful hallucination.
I dared not open my eyes; but I did. She was there. Spellbound now, caught in the trap of her quiet pain, I couldn’t drag my eyes away. A deep pity welled within me. Who was she? Why could no one else see her?
I had no answers, and probably never would. She was a figment of my imagination brought on by the enchanting music. She never moved but only listened, as did the rest of us, to the magic.
When the last note sounded, I stared at her. I held my breath as the pianist rose. The ghostly woman abruptly opened her eyes, stared into mine, and revealed the hell of the damned as she whispered in my head, demanding, “Come to me, Evangeline. Come to me!”

Tuesday, October 29, 2013

Editors and Authors



Last year I met a professional editor at the Florida Writer’s Association Conference which is held every year in Lake Mary, Florida. Her name is Linda Ellis of http://editingplace.com/ (I wrote about her here previously). Over the course of this year she performed a full edit on my novel Evangeline’s Miracle. I, of course, went back through it to make the changes she deemed necessary. (Before Linda I’d actually had another editor go over it as well, but a copy edit, not a complete edit)
Why is a professional editor so necessary to an Indy published author? The first and most important thing I learned is that I really needed to have an editor like her go over my words with a fine-tuned eye before it ever hit the proverbial shelves. This is why. When I look back through the original version I put out into the universe for people to buy, or even the second version, I cringe. I hate myself for being so naive. But it did afford me the lesson I am now sharing with you. No “traditionally” published author is EVER published without an editor going through their work. EVER. They are ALL edited prior to being released to the public. Why should Indy-published authors be any different? Because of money that’s why. It is the only reason I did what I did. I was foolish enough to believe that I was as good as a traditionally published author without thinking of the fact that they are ALL edited before being shown to the world. I never considered that a traditionally published author’s work is never released BEFORE it is edited. Maybe their work is better than mine even before editing, but that editor is still an integral part of an author’s ultimate success.
I will now, and for as long as I am independently published, pay an editor to be my gateway to better writing.  I will do this because I am investing in my career, my future as an author. On goodreads, https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5081429.Lisa_Buie_Collard I have some very good reviews in spite of my errors, but one thing is clear. The story is great, the writing not so much. And a plus is that using an editor has improved my writing drastically because I learn from what they do with my words.  
I will NEVER again put a novel out before it is edited by someone other than myself, professionally edited. I am building my name, my readers, my livelihood and my future. The writing must be the best it can be, especially nowadays, in this market. I will further the cause by saying, if EVERY Indy published writer would/could pay to have their work professionally edited, we would all (or at least most of us) have a much better reputation. Those that refuse (or are unable) to do this will inevitably keep our Indy published “reputations” down. Even though there are “best selling” Indy published authors out there, I’ll bet you they used an editor before releasing their work of art for sale. I read a lot of Indy published authors. Not only to support them, but to learn from them as well. I have a few that I consider truly great reads and I will read those authors whenever they publish more.  I leave reviews for those authors online. I will NOT leave a review if I didn’t enjoy the book. That’s just the way I am. I will not publicly put a book down by an Indy author. I just won’t buy their books anymore or review or recommend them.
Think about this as you go into the abyss of the ever-changing publishing world. Think about how you want to be viewed and read. Write the best that you can, then have someone else help you make it the book you envision. I think of it like this: When I put up drywall (yes, I do that!), I do the best that I can to make sure the seams are even, that it is screwed in properly, that it is as close to the plank next to it as I can make it. Then I have someone else, a professional, come in and mud it up, sand and smooth it out so that when I put on that final coat of paint, my work looks as good as the effort it took to make it that way cost. I want that pro to make my work shine.
To end this very long post, Evangeline’s Miracle has not only a new inside, but a new cover as well and is available once again on Amazon.com and Smashwords.com. If you read the novel before, thank you. If you choose to tell others about it because you liked it, I hope you will try and read it again, even if only the first chapter. The story remains the same, but the writing is what it should have been in the beginning. The journey is long, but well worth it. I am proud of Evangeline’s Miracle now in a way I never was before.
Images from:

Monday, October 28, 2013

A New Musician Coming Your Way

I don't usually, as you know, publish something like this, however, I'm willing to try anything (almost!) at least once. I'm helping a young artist spread the word about his music and desire to record his first CD. Please check out the link below and watch his video. If you like it, share the link with everyone you know. Even if you can't contribute, if you will share the link with all your friends and family, it can't hurt and will only help. "Word of mouth" is always the best way to get noticed... right? Right! So go for it. I hope you enjoy his video and what he wants to accomplish as much as I do. As a writer, I can feel/imagine what he wants to create...

http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/tristanmusiconline/tristans-first-album?ref=live











Images from: http://tristanmusic.com/
 

Thursday, October 03, 2013

A Day To Remember



I realized at eleven tonight that today was an important day and I almost missed it! I am traveling. I have had my head submerged in my wip, and so lost track of time. But I remembered that today is Wednesday, the first one of this new month and even though I'm writing this on my phone and it isn't the best post on the world, I am here. I am thinking of my fellow IWSG people and how much I appreciate knowing there are others that are out there thinking, as I am, about those that we count on to be there for us on our sometimes lonely trek to fame and wishful fortune.  I appreciate this group. I appreciate this community, though I am fairly new to it. So that is my theme for today, gratitude. Thank you all for letting me be a part of your writing world.