tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23875212594976622102024-02-20T12:50:03.864-08:00diannehartsockdiannehartsockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15874628384426574320noreply@blogger.comBlogger40125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2387521259497662210.post-48144666787173184902010-11-07T15:09:00.000-08:002010-11-07T15:10:40.795-08:00Change of AddressHi everyone!<br />I'm now blogging at <a href="http://diannehartsock.wordpress.com/">http://diannehartsock.wordpress.com/</a><br />See you there. :)diannehartsockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15874628384426574320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2387521259497662210.post-1596625439255640152010-10-21T17:41:00.000-07:002010-10-21T17:54:25.956-07:00I Actually Won a Contest!I did it! I've never won a contest in my life. Well, that's not quite true. I did win a raffle given by my brother when I was ten years old, the cutest little stuffed dinosaur... But that's another story.<br />Anyway, I won the contest given by Kai Strand on her website <a href="http://cleanwriter.livejournal.com/59615.html">http://cleanwriter.livejournal.com/59615.html</a> where she did a fabulous interview with Soda(John J. Clements) about his book 'The Wizard of Odd'. Fun book! And if you get the chance, read the interview, also very fun.<br />As for the contest, I tweeted the most about the interview and won a copy of the book. Yeah! Nothing better than free books from talented authors.<br />I won, I won, I won...!diannehartsockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15874628384426574320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2387521259497662210.post-6934155765212618362010-10-11T18:23:00.000-07:002010-10-11T18:31:50.465-07:00Welcome to My Blog!I was going to write something clever and whitty for this week, but as usual, I've overbooked my time.<br /><br /><br />Take a look around, read my posts, get to know me on Facebook <a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=1092858985">http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=1092858985</a><br /><br />and MySpace <a href="http://www.myspace.com/missdianneo">http://www.myspace.com/missdianneo</a><br /><br /><br />And if you have a minute, write a sentence or two on my round-about story <a href="http://diannehartsock3.livejournal.com/713.html">http://diannehartsock3.livejournal.com/713.html</a><br /><br /><br /><br />Enjoy!diannehartsockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15874628384426574320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2387521259497662210.post-7740484231242739172010-08-30T21:00:00.000-07:002010-09-27T20:22:03.205-07:00Erotica-Not as Easy as it Looks!Just ask my editor. I have the most difficult time writing a simple love scene. I feel all flushed and uncomfortable and can't write with anyone else in the room. She has to pull the lines of the scene from me one by one like pulling teeth.<br />So now I've set myself the ultimate challenge. To write a short story, a la erotica. Heavens, my mouth goes dry just thinking of it. And honestly, there's just some words I cannot say let alone write down on paper. Did the temperature in the room just go up?<br />But like any phobia, maybe if I immerse myself in satin sheets and feather pillows then maybe the next love scene I write can be done with less embarrassment and more gentleness.<br />I wonder what magazine I should send the story too...diannehartsockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15874628384426574320noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2387521259497662210.post-71855985492574845302010-07-04T13:42:00.000-07:002010-07-04T13:52:33.712-07:00Hard labor and birth of a difficult scene.I don’t know about you, but sometimes for me writing a scene can be as arduous as giving birth. I have the characters’ emotions, the setting and where I want everyone placed, all jumbled inside me, and it’s almost a painful process to peel them from my mind one by one and place them on the paper. Then to go back time and again until the scene reads exactly how I first conceived it leaves me exhausted.<br /><br />For example, this is a scene from ‘Alex’ as I first wrote it…<br /><br /><em>He heard Janie’s laughter on the patio and he looked out the screen. She and the doctor were relaxing in the shade, and when Jane saw him she waved him out with a bright smile. Alex’s heart swelled. She wanted him there! He chewed his lips, feeling suddenly shy, but he went out anyway. He hitched himself up on the short stone wall between the patio and garden and kicked his heels as he ate a sandwich. They talked softly and drank lemon-aide, and Alex had begun to relax when Adam put his glass down and moved to his side. Alex looked at him warily.<br />"I’d like to examine your scars now, Alex. I didn’t have time the other night."<br />"Why?" Alex’s lips settled stubbornly.<br />"Because I think they hurt you, and maybe I can help with that."<br />Alex sent Jane a quick glance and there was a desperate sadness in his eyes as he removed his shirt. Janie had seen his scars before; she knew how ugly he was. His dreams had been absurdities.<br />The bright sun wasn’t kind. Adam had to clench his teeth against the cry that rose in his throat. The familiar patterns of a leather belt and metal coat-hanger crisscrossed the boy’s chest and back, but there were puncture marks that made him wince and burn patches too numerous to count. He ran gentle fingers over the deep furrows on Alex’s breast. He could feel the pounding of the young man’s heart.<br />"How did you get these, Alex?"<br />Alex’s breath was a hiss. "Mama often took me to the garage and used whatever was at hand." A violent shudder passed through him. Adam looked up but the boy’s face was averted.<br />"Show him your legs, Alex." Janie’s voice was expressionless and Alex gave a small cry of distress, but pulled the cuffs of his shorts back.<br />"My poor boy," Adam exclaimed and Alex lifted a startled face. Compassion filled the doctor’s grey eyes for the little boy who’d suffered so cruelly. The tip of the hot iron had scorched the fair skin in several places on each thigh. The pain must have been excruciating. He touched the dead skin with a soft murmur of pity.<br />"Why, Alex?" The doctor had to swallow. "Why would she do this?"<br />"I was a bad boy," Alex whispered hoarsely and his tears dropped on his tortured chest.<br />"Alex!" Jane sprang to her feet and her voice shook with anger. "That’s not true! Your mother was---" She broke off at the doctor’s quick motion. Alex had jerked as if she’d struck him, and now he covered his face to stifle his sobs.<br />"Alex?" Adam took his hands and looked in the boy’s anguished eyes. "Won’t you tell me?"<br />"Mama," Alex stopped and struggled, and then went on as if he couldn’t lie to himself anymore, "She hated me." The heartbreak in his voice made them wince.<br />"No, Alex," Adam soothed. "She wasn’t well. There was something wrong in her mind. It was never your fault."<br />Alex shrugged, and suddenly he snatched up his shirt and jumped from the wall and disappeared into the garden.<br /><br /></em>A hard enough scene to write the first time through. Then comes the questions. Why is this scene necessary to the story? How strong or weak do I want Alex to appear? How is he coping? What is the doctor’s interest, outside his professional one? Alex doesn’t yet know how Jane feels about him. How much do I want to reveal?<br />To answer these questions I had to sit with Alex on the patio. What would it be like to be questioned about something you’d prefer to forget? What if the person you loved was listening? How do I show this scene in a way that will arouse the sympathy I’m looking for yet not make Alex appear pathetic? I had to answer all these questions before I could continue.<br />After an agonizing afternoon, this is what I came up with…<br /><br /><em>Troubled, he followed Beckett into the empty kitchen, only to hear Jane’s laughter coming from outside. Looking through the French doors, he saw her sitting with Beckett in the shade on the patio. He frowned, not liking how close the doctor had pulled his chair to hers.<br />He suddenly questioned the doctor’s motives for coming out to the house. He wasn’t that sick. He studied the man’s profile, noting with chagrin that he was both handsome and confident. He shook his head. Just when he began to think he had a chance with her, here was another man ready to step in.<br />He ran a hand over his face, knowing he wasn’t dealing with his jealousy very well. He looked wistfully at Jane, wishing she would give him some hope.<br />She caught his eye and waved. Seeing no alternative but to join them, he went out to the patio. He hitched himself up on the short stone wall around the garden and took the plate of eggs and cheese Jane handed him.<br />After a few minutes of idle conversation about the weather and how pretty the garden looked, Beckett put his coffee down. “I’d like to take a closer look at those scars, Alex. I was busy with other patients at the hospital and couldn’t take the time before.”<br />Alex took a defensive posture. “Why do you want to?”<br />“Because I think they bother you. There’s a new silicone cream that could help with that, if the damage isn’t too severe.”<br />Alex sent Jane a quick glance, and he removed his shirt with a desperate melancholy in his heart. She already knew how unsightly they were, but it hurt to be so blatantly exposed in front of her. Creg had it right. His recent hopes that there could be something between them were absurd.<br />The sun wasn’t kind. The patterns of a leather belt and metal coat hanger crisscrossed his chest and back. There were also puncture marks that made Beckett wince and burn patches too numerous to count.<br />Alex jumped when the doctor touched the deep furrows across his breast. “How did you get these?”<br />He lifted his shoulders. “Mama took me into the garage a lot and used whatever she had on hand.”<br />“But why?”<br />“She said I was a bad kid,” Alex whispered.<br />Jane leaned forward, “It wasn’t true. Your mother was cruel and abusive.”<br />He averted his face, not wanting to hear anything negative about his mother.<br />“Alex,” Beckett said. “Why do you think she called you a bad kid?”<br />“Mama . . .” He struggled for the words but couldn’t find the appropriate ones. There was no sense trying to sugar-coat it. He couldn’t lie to himself all the time. “She hated me.”<br />“No,” Beckett countered. “She probably wasn’t well. There must have been something wrong with her mind. It wasn’t your fault she was that way.”<br />He shrugged, overwhelmed by emotions he’d long ago suppressed. Unable to face Beckett and Jane any longer, he snatched up his shirt and jumped from the wall. He followed one of the paths into the garden until a screen of forsythia hid him from their view, then he dropped onto a stone bench. He groaned into his hands, trying to regain control of the frantic boy inside, the part of himself that still cowered from Mama’s cruel mistreatment.<br /></em>(‘Alex’, copyright 2009 by Dianne Hartsock)<br /><br />My editor sent me a note on this final version. ‘Well done. Now let’s move on to the scene with Alex in the garden.’<br />I stared at the screen a minute, wrung out and shaking, then quietly turned off the computer and took my kids out for ice cream and laughter and the joy of a happy life.diannehartsockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15874628384426574320noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2387521259497662210.post-46879653133909325142010-05-28T22:14:00.000-07:002010-05-28T22:15:47.098-07:00Confessions of a Query AddictI admit it, freely and without embarrassment. I’m a query-addict. I spend hours perusing the lists at the ‘Writer’s Market’ and ‘P&E’, trying to find that perfect fit for my manuscript. Then I find it. Eagerly I read over the submission guidelines. I sweat over my query letter, synopsis, and sample chapters for the umpteenth time. When everything is in order I tap the ‘send’ key with a wish for luck.<br /> I wait for the reply with trembling hope. I check my ‘inbox’ two, three times a day, knowing, absolutely, that the website said 5-8 weeks for a reply. Then comes that glorious, frightening day when I receive a letter. I stare at the bracketed (1), heart pounding. Is this the one? Will my dreams be answered by this most wonderful publisher? Do they want MY book?<br /> Nothing beats that rush of excitement when I open the letter and start to read. Though the replies have been mostly rejections, kindly put, there’s still that chance that the next letter will be the ONE! So I sit at my computer and browse websites and continue to send out my queries, anticipating the next reply.diannehartsockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15874628384426574320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2387521259497662210.post-76300922157302352792010-04-21T07:50:00.000-07:002010-04-21T08:05:26.816-07:00You're the substance of his wishes, and the sum of his courage.'...they would ride out simply to see the winter and to hear what Tristen would say of it, how he would wonder at things men simply failed to look at, past their childhoods.<br /> But, oh, how precious those things were! To look at the sky, breathe the cold wind, have fingers nipped by chill and skin stung red and heart stirred to life, gods, he had been dead until Tristen arrived and asked him the first vexing question, and posed him the first insoluble puzzle, and marveled at hailstones and mourned over falling leaves. What miracles there were, all around, when Tristen was beside him...'<br /><br />Lines to get your heart beating!<br /><br /> "Mauryl Summoned me," he said to those on either hand, "but it went amiss. Or did it? Was his wizardry not greater than his working? And didn't things go as he wished, in spite of his wishes?"<br /> <br /> "- As he wished, in spite of his wishes...all of that, you are, young lord. You're the substance of his wishes, and the sum of his courage. He let you free. He didn't Shape you. He left that to the world and this age. He left you to Shape yourself, young lord, and Tristen he named you, and Tristen you are. Think of it. Think of it, where you go. Never let that go."<br /><br />I've been reading the wonderful 'Fortress' series by C.J. Cherryh. Books to fill you with joy and longing and wonder and magic... The perfect escape.diannehartsockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15874628384426574320noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2387521259497662210.post-70973805363916528872010-03-24T07:26:00.000-07:002010-03-24T07:43:49.915-07:00Bad DreamsI just woke up from one of the most horrible dreams of my life. I'd woken up a few minutes before the alarm with that happy, fifteen more minutes!, feeling. I lay there drowsy and dreamy in my warm snuggly blankets. Then the dratted radio made that whirling sound it does before it goes off. I was dragging my protesting mind back to consciousness when a voice out of the blue whispers in my ear, 'Jennie's passed away'. <br />You can bet I was awake then! Heart pounding, chest so tight I could hardly catch my breath. 'It's not true. It's just a dream,' I assured myself. No, I didn't rush to call her to make sure, though I desperately wanted to. I'm not superstitious, but I do believe in self-fullfilling prophesy. Besides, someone would have called me if my daughter had caught a cold, let alone anything more serious.<br />And sure enough, she calls and lets me know she's having a great time and will see me later today.<br />Seriously, though, give your kids an extra hug before they leave the house today. Tell them you love them. Life can change in a single breath.diannehartsockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15874628384426574320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2387521259497662210.post-1686480308560822112010-03-08T21:46:00.000-08:002010-03-08T21:49:44.849-08:00My Beautiful Sister MaryMom’s surgery goes well. We sit in her room laughing and teasing each other. We’re quiet when she’s napping; saying things to make her smile when she’s awake.<br /><br /> She has a rough night. She wakes up at 11p.m., anxious and scared. Mary sits on the floor beside her bed, holding her hand, reassuring her that she’s not alone. Saying the words we say to comfort a child awake with nightmares. At one point Mom tells Mary she just needs to be held. Mary carefully climbs on the bed and holds her in her arms until she feels better. Sometime around 2a.m. they sleep.<br /><br /> Mom’s awake at 4:30a.m., frightened. She’s reacting to the medicine they gave her to sleep. She tries to climb from the bed and Mary has to physically hold her down, reassure her that she’s okay. That nothing’s wrong. Mom struggles and says she feels like she might throw-up. Mary buzzes for the nurse. Someone comes in carrying a bucket. Mary sends him off to get some real help.<br /><br /> No one comes. So Mary, my hero, calls the Family Emergency Crisis number to be used only when a patient needs help NOW. Within minutes Mom’s room is full of doctors and nurses and everyone Mom could possibly need.<br /><br /> I can think of no words eloquent or grand enough to thank Mary for the gentleness, resolve and courage with which she is taking care of my Mom. She’s doing it out of love for Mom, but I feel I owe her a debt of gratitude that I will gladly hold the rest of my life.diannehartsockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15874628384426574320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2387521259497662210.post-53248717215789301242010-03-07T21:07:00.000-08:002010-03-07T21:57:15.310-08:00The Waiting RoomThe three most wonderful words to hear... "He's (she's) doing fine. " I'm sitting in the waiting room Friday afternoon, hands tight in my lap, Mom five hours into her surgery, listening to the soft conversations going on around me. The lines from a Death Cab song run in my head. "...there's no comfort in the waiting room. Just nervious faces bracing for bad news. Then the nurse comes 'round, and everyone lifts their head..."<br />The doctor comes in and calls a man's name. His family replies and the doctor takes a seat by them. The first words from his mouth are, "He's doing fine." Dear God! The relief and gladness and joy and tears that pour from these people are overwhelming. I have to leave the room and stare out a window in the hallway for a few minutes. Cherrie blossoms and pink azaleas blur in my sight.<br />Our good news comes a little differently. Mary's standing in the hallway and turns excitedly to us. "They're bringing her down the hall!" Luckily they turn down another hallway before they reach us. We would have smothered her! But we got to see her in the ICU for a few minutes to say goodnight soon after that. It was wonderful.diannehartsockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15874628384426574320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2387521259497662210.post-24598690582653770602010-02-27T22:10:00.000-08:002010-02-27T22:49:53.683-08:00The joy and agony of writingIt’s true. I absolutely and completely love writing. From the minute I turn on the computer and open my latest document to the last second I’ve waited to tear myself from the keyboard, I’m enchanted. I’m lost in a world of dreams and words and emotions that are not quite my own and not solely theirs. My characters take me to places and times I’d never have the courage to go to in reality. There are days when the story spills from me in thousands of words, and others when a single scene is written painfully in tattered phrases and broken sentences. Where the emotions start in my stomach and press on my heart and dance in illusive words in my brain till my stumbling fingers give birth to them on a page I have to blink the tears from my eyes to read. God, I love it. Thank you for this gift.diannehartsockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15874628384426574320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2387521259497662210.post-56463650910419383032010-01-31T16:30:00.000-08:002010-01-31T16:33:04.801-08:00Alex's Interview with Officer Mandelpart 6<br /><br />Brad stared at Alex, thoroughly confused. “What do you mean? I thought you and her…”<br /><br />Alex’s head shot up. “I won’t discuss that,” he said angrily, glaring from him to Haden. He looked ready to bolt and Brad straightened, moving behind his desk.<br /><br />“Should we break for lunch?” he asked the chief, reaching for the phone. Haden grimaced sourly at the abrupt change of conversation, but inclined his head.<br /><br />Alex looked baffled, then the anger left his face and he sank into his chair, folding his arms on his chest.<br /><br />“Jane was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen,” he said into the quiet room. Brad replaced the receiver in its cradle, watching Alex’s expressive face. The boy took a breath. “I was fourteen, and lonely. She was kind to me.” A fleeting smile touched his lips. “I didn’t even know what love was.”<br /><br />He looked at them without embarrassment. “Sean Elson was a good man. A better father than I deserved. I was backward and stupid, afraid of my own shadow. His patience still amazes me. He set it up so I wouldn’t have to go to school, and when he couldn’t be there, Jane made sure I did my lessons.”<br /><br />He turned suddenly to Ben. “I wanted to do something big with my life, to thank him, but he died…”<br /><br />Haden’s craggy face softened at the distress in his voice. “Don’t worry, son. He’d be proud of you.”<br /><br />Brad noisily picked up the phone in the awkward pause that followed Ben’s words. “So, sandwiches all right with everyone?”<br /><br />Alex laughed as the tension eased in his chest. “Sure.”diannehartsockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15874628384426574320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2387521259497662210.post-85955645273590185412010-01-31T11:12:00.000-08:002010-02-01T07:21:00.056-08:00One Crazy WeekGood golly Miss Molly! (insert any expletives you'd like here, they all work) What a crazy emotional week I've had. Two weeks ago I was given a release date for my book 'Alex'. I thought, 'Wow! I made it!' As with any publishing company, there's always the chance of having a release date pushed back several months, but I was sure I'd passed that hurdle.<br />So! I asked for some Saturdays off work (never easy) to do promotional stuff. I met with the organizer of our local Saturday Market about spending weekends at their writers' bookshop. Such a nice person! I visited with the founder of one of our local charities to discuss donations. Lovely woman. I even made a list of bookstores to discuss booksignings with.<br />Then comes the polite letter Wednesday saying my book has been pushed back until September. Nothing like plunging from the heights of happiness to the depths of despair (exaggeration). But I have a little more understanding and sympathy for bi-polar sufferers. The fall is shattering.<br />On the bright side, I've talked with the publishers some more, and they may be able to push my release date to earlier in the summer. I should have a date tomorrow.<br />Life is never dull, anyway. Bye for now!diannehartsockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15874628384426574320noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2387521259497662210.post-70325412312690156732009-12-28T09:02:00.000-08:002009-12-28T09:10:51.611-08:00Alex's Interview with Officer Mandel'Alex' coming March, 2010 <a href="http://www.mountainlandpublishing.com/">http://www.mountainlandpublishing.com/</a><br />part 5<br /><br /><br />Brad settled back against his desk when the chief abruptly cleared his throat, flicking him an irritated glance as he reached over and put a hand on Alex’s shoulder.<br /><br />“Sean Elson found you in the basement.” He waited until Alex looked at him, then gave him an encouraging nod. “I also read the report, but can you tell us what happened in your own words?”<br /><br />Alex rubbed his hands on his jeans, then clasped them together to hold them still. “I’ll try.”<br /><br /><br />Brad watched Alex’s tapping foot, wishing there was a way to make things easier on the boy. He glanced up and met the young man’s eyes.<br /><br />Alex dropped his gaze to the floor, breathing hard. “I don’t remember very much,” he confessed grudgingly. “Mama had me down there a long time. I hadn’t eaten anything, and when I said I was thirsty she made me drink out of her bottle. It made her angry when I threw it back up.”<br /><br />He continued with a small laugh, “Anyway, the noise from the fire confused me. I didn’t know what it was, and it was a while before I smelled the smoke. It scared me and I rolled off the mattress and squirmed towards the hall. That’s when a fireman came rushing down the stairs.”<br /><br /><br />“That was Sean?” Ben asked.<br /><br />“Yes, sir.” Alex shrugged and moved in his chair, uncomfortable. He glanced at Brad then quickly away. “He scared me worse than the fire. You see, I hadn’t met very many people, and he was in full gear…”<br /><br /><br />“That would have scared the crap out of me,” Brad murmured.<br /><br />Alex gave him a grateful look. He sat up and squared his shoulders. “I was fourteen, but in most ways I was younger than that. Mr. Elson carried me upstairs and through the fire…the heat and stench and noise…God.”<br /><br />He brushed the sweat from his forehead with a shaking hand. Brad handed him bottled water and they waited while he composed himself.<br /><br />He carefully screwed the cap back on the bottle, intent on the task. “It was worse outside. I was given to the medics, who poked at me and asked questions I couldn’t answer. I felt confused and scared and the neighbors stared at me.” A shudder ran through him. “I hated the pity in their eyes.”<br /><br />Brad shifted his gaze across the room, noting the bright sunshine outside the window. He absently watched a bird hop across the sill as Alex continued his narrative.<br /><br />“I was terrified when they put me in their truck and drove away from home. I didn’t know where I was going or what would happen to me. I spent a month at the hospital, frightened and alone. Every day people would come and ask me questions. I felt like a monkey on display. That’s when Mr. Elson rescued me and took me to his house.” Alex drew a hard breath. “In a way, that was worse.”<br /><br />“For heaven’s sake, why?” Brad looked at the young man’s bent head.<br /><br />Alex shrugged. “Jane was there.”diannehartsockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15874628384426574320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2387521259497662210.post-25826649662102716012009-12-20T22:46:00.000-08:002009-12-20T22:49:15.104-08:00Alex's Interview with Officer Mandelpart 4<br /><br />“You’re mother died in a house fire. Do you want to start there?” Haden prompted when Alex remained silent.<br /><br />Alex nervously chewed a corner of his lip. “What do you want to know, exactly?”<br /><br />Brad exchanged a look with the police chief. “You said something about a dirty mattress. Is that what caught fire?”<br /><br />Alex’s lips thinned in anger. “You read the report, Brad. You know as well as I do that she passed out on the couch and dropped her cigarette.” He folded his arms across his chest. “God, you must really think I’m a fool.”<br /><br />“I don’t. But damn it, Alex, you’re not being overly cooperative, are you?”<br /><br />Alex shrugged ruefully. “I guess not, it’s just very hard to talk about. I thought I’d left it all behind me when I moved out of that house.” He absently rubbed the ragged scars at his wrists. “I’ll never escape, will I?”<br /><br />Haden shifted impatiently in his chair. “If you mean your past, then no, none of us can do that. But we can help with your future.”<br /><br />Alex straightened in his chair. “Thank you.”<br /><br />Brad met his glance when he turned to him, ready to stop the narrative if it grew too painful for the young man. He wasn’t out to torture the boy.<br /><br />Alex swallowed. “It wasn’t the mattress that caught fire, though it easily could have been. Mama smoked all the time we were down there, and after she’d spilled her bottle on the mattress I thought she’d burn us both alive. I think she went upstairs that last time to get another bottle of something.”<br /><br />“Why were you down there?” Brad asked, then swore, disgusted with himself. “I’m sorry. Don’t answer that question.”<br /><br />Alex gave him a fleeting smile. “It’s all right. I don’t remember what I’d done that particular time. Something to make her furious. I was a clumsy child. She liked the basement. It was more comfortable than the garage.”<br /><br />“Anyway,” he picked up the story, leaving Brad as much in the dark as before. “I tried to sleep while she was gone. She never let me sleep very much, down there. I remember wondering where she was, and dreading the answer. Her surprises were terrible.”<br /><br />His voice dropped to a husky whisper, drawing Brad closer. “That’s when I smelled the smoke. I tried to reach her, I swear! But my feet were taped, you see…” His face twisted with pain. “I hear her screaming in my dreams. She’s calling my name but I can’t help her.”<br /><br />At his desperate words Brad rose to his feet and jabbed a finger at the open file on his desk. “It’s not true, Alex. The coroner stated that she died of smoke inhalation. She was dead long before the fire reached her.”<br /><br />“I don’t know that for sure.”<br /><br />“You can’t blame yourself,” Brad said, incredulous.<br /><br />Alex covered his eyes. “If I’d been a better child we wouldn’t have been in the basement. I could have helped her.”<br /><br />“Alex! It’s not your fault your mother drank till she passed out with a lit cigarette in her hand. Alex?”<br /><br />Brad slammed a fist on the desktop when he didn’t answer.diannehartsockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15874628384426574320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2387521259497662210.post-54214708268119295792009-12-13T15:47:00.000-08:002009-12-13T15:51:28.851-08:00Alex's Interview with Officer Mandelpart 3<br /><br />Brad stepped quickly from behind his desk as the chief entered the room, slightly ashamed of his relief to move away from Alex.<br /><br />Haden glanced from him to where Alex sat hunched in his chair. “What’s going on?”<br /><br />Brad shrugged. “I’m sorry, Chief. I’m just not good with him when he gets like this.”<br /><br />Ben Haden let out a discouraged breath. “I thought he was doing better.” He crossed the room and pulled a chair closer to Alex. A fringe of black hair hid the boy’s eyes and most of his face. He seemed asleep. Ben frowned. “What were you discussing?”<br /><br />Brad sat on the edge of his desk. “We were talking about his mother.”<br /><br />Ben snorted. “That would do it.” He put a hand on Alex’s shoulder, shaking him a little. “Alex?”<br /><br />Alex moaned low in his throat and Brad clenched a hand, forcing himself to sit still though his body had tensed at the sound.<br /><br />Haden shook Alex again. “What’s going on?”<br /><br />Alex gave a ragged, desperate laugh. “She has me in the basement again. I hate it down here. The mattress smells.” His voice turned vague. “I smell smoke…”<br /><br />He drew a sudden sharp breath and scrambled upright in his chair, coming fully awake. He looked at them in confusion, then reddened at their scrutiny. “Sorry about that,” he muttered, breathing hard. He looked at the police chief. “I feel like an idiot. How long have you been here?”<br /><br />“Not that long. What was that about?”<br /><br />Alex rubbed the sleepiness from his face. “Nothing. Just a bad memory.”<br /><br />Brad cleared his throat. “Do you want to talk about it?”<br /><br />Alex flicked him a look. “Why?”<br /><br />Brad threw up his hands but Haden stopped his outburst with a quick shake of his head.<br /><br />“We want to help you,” Ben said forcefully, “But I think the only way to do that is to understand your ‘gift’. Anything you can tell us may be useful.”<br /><br />Alex raised a doubtful brow. “If you think so,” he said after a moment. He carefully folded his hands and Brad glanced away as his expression turned bleak.diannehartsockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15874628384426574320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2387521259497662210.post-90242554186571695102009-12-06T16:24:00.000-08:002009-12-06T22:09:57.170-08:00Alex's Interview with Officer Mandel (a chapter cut in the final edits)part 2<br /><br />The officer closed the file cover with a disgusted snort. “You’re right. There’s nothing here to help…”<br /><br />“Help what, Brad?” Alex interrupted, his blue eyes dark with emotion. “You mean it wouldn’t help for people to know that my mother was a schizo that my father married one drunken night, and abandoned as soon as she was pregnant? How wouldn’t that help my case?”<br /><br />“Alex!” Brad rose to his feet in dismay but Alex flung from his chair and paced the office, distraught. He stopped by the open window and Brad saw a shiver pass through his spare frame.<br />Alex covered his face with shaking hands. “God, this is intolerable.”<br /><br />“Damn it,” Brad muttered and hit a button on the phone at his desk.<br /><br />“Haden"<br /><br />“Chief, can you come in here a minute?”<br /><br />“What’s the problem?”<br /><br />“It’s the interview. I’m screwing it up.”<br /><br />There was a brief pause on the line, then Haden cleared his throat. “I’ll be there in a moment.”<br /><br />Brad stared at the red light on the phone until it winked off, then glanced at Alex. The young man still looked out the window and Brad ran a hand through his crisp hair, slightly irritated. Nothing ever went smoothly when it involved the boy.<br /><br />“Alex, please resume your seat,” he said more sharply than he’d intended. Startled, Alex turned to him and Brad regretted the panic on his face.<br /><br />He motioned to the chair opposite the desk. “Please, just sit down. The Chief will be here in a minute.”<br /><br />“Okay.” Alex sat in the chair, his gaze on the tips of his shoes.<br /><br />Brad coughed softly to get his attention. “I’m not your enemy.”<br /><br />The boy had grown still and Brad darted an anxious glance at the door. “Alex?”<br /><br />The young man stirred and raised his face and his unfocused gaze filled Brad with dread.<br /><br />“Alex?” he repeated, and looked again at the closed door, wishing to God that Haden would arrive.<br /><br />Alex remained silent, shivering, his fear easy to read. Brad leaned closer, searching the bewildered eyes across from him.<br /><br />“What is it?” he asked, not sure he wanted the answer. “Alex, what do you see?”<br /><br />“I don’t know,” Alex said, his voice slurred.<br /><br />Brad jumped when the door to the office suddenly opened…diannehartsockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15874628384426574320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2387521259497662210.post-8334376038123677962009-12-02T20:26:00.000-08:002009-12-02T20:37:13.349-08:00Up in Arms for 'was'!I keep hearing how 'was' is a bad word in writing. Yet if you pick up any book published within the last year, and I'm talking respected authors!, you'll find the word used over and over again. What gives? Who started this misleading rumour? Sure, any word can be over-used, but in reality, using 'was' often keeps the tempo flowing in a paragragh and saves it from sounding stilted. So I say, three cheers to the word 'was'!!diannehartsockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15874628384426574320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2387521259497662210.post-38312663331505318852009-11-29T21:46:00.000-08:002009-11-29T21:53:30.615-08:00Alex's interview with Officer Mandel (a chapter cut in the final edits)part 1<br /><br />Brad impatiently tapped the open file on his desk. “You have to give me something here, Alex. Kramer’s just dying to implicate you.”<br /><br />He scowled as the young man kept his eyes lowered to his clasped hands, the knuckles showing white as he fought some strong emotion.<br /><br />Brad leaned across his desk. “Tell me,” he urged. He referred to the top sheet of the file. “It says here that Maggie Jonsan grew up in an isolated farmhouse outside of Oakton, Colorado. She was an intelligent enough child, but given to violent emotions and psychotic episodes. Her parents were able to keep this hidden for years by home-schooling her and limiting her exposure to other children.”<br /><br />The officer glanced at Alex’s averted face. “Is this true? Is this the same Maggie Jonsan who was your mother?”<br /><br />Alex finally looked at him, clearly rattled. “What does it matter? What does she have to do with any of this?”<br /><br />“If we can show undue stress…” his voice trailed off as Alex sat back in his chair, shocked. Brad turned to the paper in his hand, discomfited. His expression darkened as he read the next line in the file...diannehartsockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15874628384426574320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2387521259497662210.post-10584061347163829622009-11-12T17:01:00.000-08:002009-11-12T17:04:29.971-08:00WasGreat writing tip from a friend. 'Was' is a weak word. Use it sparingly!diannehartsockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15874628384426574320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2387521259497662210.post-31742009788609269112009-11-11T20:32:00.000-08:002009-11-11T20:38:08.478-08:00Mountainland PublishingWooHoo!! My friend Jennifer Nicole Cox just had her book '500 Things That Make Dogs Happy' released by Mountainland Publishing, Inc. Congratulations Jennifer!! Looks like that perfect stocking-stuffer for all our animal-loving friends. You can buy her book and and other fantastic stories at <a href="http://www.mountainlandpublishing.com/catalog.html">http://www.mountainlandpublishing.com/catalog.html</a> and through Amazon.com.<br />Way to go, girl!diannehartsockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15874628384426574320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2387521259497662210.post-84757350355959441952009-11-10T07:31:00.000-08:002009-11-10T07:50:44.130-08:00Writing ExcitementI know I'm on the right track when the book I'm writing is more exciting to me than the book I'm reading by a favorite author.<br />I usually come home for lunch anticipating a good half-hour to read, but the last few days I've been coming home thinking, yeah! I can finish up the scene with Russal at the graveside of his family. Bittersweet, but gives us insight into his motivations.<br />I absolutely love writing.diannehartsockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15874628384426574320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2387521259497662210.post-76130846051908312532009-11-08T10:41:00.000-08:002009-11-08T10:49:38.334-08:00Quality vs. QuantitySometimes, one well written page that moves a story forward is better than thousands of words that have to be edited out later. (In defense of those who have to snatch minutes here and there to do their writing.)diannehartsockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15874628384426574320noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2387521259497662210.post-21793199655244168072009-11-05T09:04:00.000-08:002009-11-05T09:07:17.735-08:00Alex<em>'You should be very excited for your book. We are in the review stages with it and will be sending you some edits shortly.'<br /><br />Regards,</em><br /><em>Michael Combe</em><br /><em>Managing Editor</em><br /><em>Mountainland Publishing, Inc.</em><br /><em></em><br />Yeah!! It's not just a dream.diannehartsockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15874628384426574320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2387521259497662210.post-75250894107147620402009-11-03T18:29:00.000-08:002009-11-03T18:44:26.156-08:00addicted to queriesI know that sounds strange after all the years of rejection letters. But! That excited, happy feeling of having someone request an entire manuscript, and then to have that story accepted... It's a joy that cannot be denied. ('Alex', out in print March, 2010 from Mountainland Publishing. <a href="http://www.mountainlandpublishing.com/">http://www.mountainlandpublishing.com/</a> )<br />I want that feeling again! I'm pushing myself to finish my fantasy story just to feel that excitement of sending out queries, waiting for replies, wondering if this publishing house will be the one...<br />Sure, rejections are heartbreaking, but that only makes acceptance that much sweeter. So keep sending out those queries!<br />Bye for now.diannehartsockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15874628384426574320noreply@blogger.com0