Deleted scene two

Here's the practice piece when I was still playing with POV and whatnot.
Written in the third person.

Here you go:

She left on her way to the market to get everything on her list, which her mother had written and she had added to. It read: Milk, eggs, bread, butter, sliced ham, tomatoes; she had added milk as her mother had forgotten it. She walked quickly, arms by her side, although it was windy and cold and she felt like crossing her arms , she wouldn’t, if no one would love her, she wouldn’t love herself either. The flat leather souls of her boots clacked lightly on the cobblestone sidewalk as she made her way to the village center. First she passed the book store with its large window displays of all the recent books, then she took a right by the village church with its massive clock tower that seemed a mile high. Around the church is where the local venues would set out their tables and their goods and yell out their specials of the day. She walked over to the dairy stand, a local farmer who had milk, eggs and cheese. He was on the short side with a white head of hair and beard, he donned a friendly yet stern smile, as though to say “I want to help you but I mean business”. She shivered a bit while she stood before his booth and fished the folded list out of her black jacket pocket. “Good day” he said and nodded. “Hello sir…” she looked at him briefly and then quickly down at her list. “What can I get for you today, miss?” he asked kindly, his voice a bit raspy. She imagined he may be a smoker, possibly a pipe smoker; he looked like he may enjoy a nice pipe in the evening s with a glass of scotch or something of the sorts. “Um, I need a gallon of milk, a pound of aged cheese and also a pound of creamed butter please, sir.”

Deleted Scene

Sometimes You just have to cut something you've written.
I thought the girls might want to read this before it gets thrown into my desk top's recycle bin.

This takes place after Olive is at her grandmothers (gimmy) house, and is going on an adventure with Raven, Coyotes (gimmy's friend) son.

Here you go, enjoy:

“Hello, Olive.” Said Coyote. “This is my son Chogan.” His son looked about my age. He was also tall, like his father but his shoulders weren’t quite as broad. His skin looked smooth and tight, wrapped around his muscles. For a brief moment I felt my heart rate excite a little. Then gimmy came up from behind me “Coyote and Raven! You came to get my dear Olive.” She said with pleasure. I looked at her blankly “Get me for what?”
“Oh, Coyote brought Raven to take you to town to show you around, so you know where to go if you need to run errands.”
“Yes, I will gladly show you around” Said Chogan, with a beaming smile. His teeth were so white, I was taken back. His English was also far better than his Father’s.
“Fetch your Jacket dear, Coyote will stay here and keep me company. I’ll watch your little dog too.” I did as gimmy said and put my coat on. We stepped out into the brisk morning air. The air was heavy and moist and smelled of rain. Great, I saw the horses again.
“So, we wont be walking there?” I asked sarcastically.
“Not if you want to get there and back today.” He shot back at me.
“What’s wrong, you don’t like riding?”
“No, not particularly. I hardly had to ride a horse in San Francisco.” Realizing this sounded a bit prissy, after I had said it.
“Don’t worry, I’ll help you up.” He said in a teasing manner.
“No, I don’t need your help, thank you.” He helped me up anyway, and laughed as he put his hand on my behind.
“What are you laughing at?”
“Nothing. White women are funny, that’s all.” He laughed again. I resented that and didn’t smile in return. I think he realized he had maddened me because he trailed quite a ways in front of me.
“Why does grandma call you “Raven?” I shouted. He slowed his horse and waited for me to catch up.
“She used to call me “Little Raven”, then I got tall and now she just calls me “Raven”. He said proudly.
“Yes, you’re quite tall.”
“Chogan is Indian for Raven. She was teaching us English and kept calling me Raven and my father Coyote, those are our English names.”
“Well, I like your name. I like ravens.” I said a bit awkward. He smiled at me, causing my heart to skip a beat. I thought maybe I had fallen ill.
He smiled at me as he pet the neck of my horse. For a moment I did feel protected and safe. And I secretly hoped our friendship would continue.
After a few turns down the dirt road we made it to town. We got off our horses and tied them up in front of the Saloon.
“You can tie your horse here when you come to town by yourself.” He said. I was so used to doing everything by myself, but now I found myself hoping he would come with me on my future trips to town.
“Follow me and I’ll show you where to go.” I followed him past the saloon. As we walked past the Apothecary and Bank I could feel the heat of his body next to mine.
“Are you cold?” He asked.
“I’m all right. I have my gloves and my coat.” I said while I lifted my hands to show him my gloves. For a brief moment in my mind I imagined saying “Yes, I’m so cold” and him pulling me closer, wrapping his arms around me, kissing my neck and warming my hands in his. The look in his eyes said that he would be more than willing. Instead I had just said “I’m all right.” And now we walked past the Apothecary.
“This is where you can buy white man’s medicine.” And he pointed at the Apothecary.
“And down here you can buy your meat at the butcher.” We walked past the butcher, and I looked inside, seeing a large man wearing a black apron.

3 am thoughts

Ok, I'm awake now. I'm hungry. Screw it, I'm not getting up now. I'll drink some water. I should go on an all tuna diet. Wait, those guys that went on the all sushi diet got poisoned. What's that stuff in tuna that makes you sick? Lithium? No, that's in batteries. Titanium? Wait that's a different metal. It is some kind of metal right? Sodium's salt, so that's not it. Shit, I'm going back to sleep!

Writing ritual

I've read on many message boards, people asking if authors and writers have their own ritual for writing. All of them have said no.

I'm somewhat embarrassed to say that I'm one of those writers who actually does have a ritual!
Now, can I write anywhere? Yes.
But, I can totally write better in a certain environment.
My best writing is done in my sunny bedroom (it has sky light). I have one of those alarm clocks that has different "soothing" settings, like "rain forest" and "waterfall", I'll usually turn it on to "rain forest" to hear the birdies chirp.
Then I like to get all the pillows in the right position, for back and neck support. Usually I'll light a good smelling candle or incense, and then it's time to get to work!
Simple but effective. Nonetheless, I have quite a lot of my ideas come to me when I'm out at the beach or in the car or even at 4am. So, no, I don't go running home and set up my laptop in my perfectly situated bedroom, I pull out my notebook, jot down the idea and come back to it later.
It seems to work well for me, as for other writers, well, I have no idea!

Great new site for writers

I wanted to share with you all, a great new site for writers, publishers and agents.
It's called Writer's advance.

It has articles, groups, forums, agent lists and more. A lot of support for writers! Check it by CLICKING HERE.

Chicken soup

The homemade chicken soup tasted exactly like riding on a horse, through the forest and on the beach, in the rain.

It's true you can find characters everywhere and anywhere

For Valentine's day my husband and I went to our favorite local pub to enjoy some beer on tap.
Once we were seated we could see one of the bartender/waitress ladies wearing a latex glove on her left hand.
We could see one finger was wrapped in bandages. It was kind of hard to miss, and not surprisingly the lady next to us at the bar asked "What did you do to your finger?" The bartender lady was more than eager to share, "I axed it off last night!"
We all gasped in horror, but she went on as if it wasn't anything out of the ordinary, "I was chopping wood and chopped right through my finger tip, clear through my nail."
"That's not real!" I exclaimed, but she assured me it was real and went on to say; "My boyfriend went out to look for the piece but he couldn't find it. So, I just cleaned it and wrapped it up." The lady next to us looked on in horror and asked;"Didn't you go to the hospital?"
"No, there aint nothin the doctors can do for me."
"Ok, stop, I believe you!" Said the lady, not wanting to hear more.
I had had my ear's full myself and after that my french fries didn't seem so appetizing.
This just goes to show, that it's true, you can find characters anywhere you go. These are the kind of things we can draw on as fiction writers.

The word count is on

You see it out of the corner of your eye and can't help looking at it every few minutes, that's right it's the word count!
"What does this word count mean?" you ask.
So lets break it down:

(This given to us by: Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America)

7,500 words is a short story
7,500 to 17,500 word is a Novelette
17,500 to 40,000 words is a Novella
and over 40,000 words is considered a Novel

So now we both know!

Researching location

As a fiction writer, or most any writer for that matter, research is usually a large part of the process.
In this case I had to research San Fransisco CA and New Era OR in the 1800's.
Here's some interesting info on New Era, found at this website. It's interesting stuff. And as a fiction writer you can add your own twist on history too.
"The New Era Spiritual Society, a religious group settled on a hill above Parrott Creek flowing into the Willamette River above the falls, was the source of the name for the settlement beginning to form a short distance away. As the town began to grow, so did the name New Era as an appropriate name for the town. The rich soil was ideal for farming and potato was the crop of choice. Shipments were made by wagon to Oregon City, transferred to boats below the falls and on to Portland. After a system of locks was built, boats could put in at New Era and after the arrival of the railroad, the produce was shipped by train. There are structures still intact in New Era. SUBMITTED BY: Henry Chenoweth

UPDATE: The origin of the name of New Era is incorrect. Although more research is needed to verify the history, the Spiritualist Camp was founded after the name “New Era” was used. Taken from Clackamas County Historic Survey records regarding the Spiritualist Camp:

“Communities sprang up along streams where water power allowed industrial development. A post office was established in the early 1850s (original name unknown at this time), at the confluence of Beaver and Parrot creeks, now known as New Era. The New Era Rolling Mill was established in 1868, continuing operation until 1935. The origin of the name New Era is unclear, however, some inaccurately relate it to the Spiritualist Camp, founded in 1873, located near the mill site. James Washington Offield, a child when his family arrived via the Barlow Road in 1850, stated that he named "New Era" when he built a commission warehouse circa 1860 at the same site where his mother's oxen died en-route to their Donation Land Claim in the Macksburg area years earlier.” Submitted by: Peggy Sigler"

The search for an editor

If you're lucky your manuscript looks amazing, and an agent readily takes it on and pitches it to a publisher who then in turn edits and publishes your book. However, writing an amazing manuscript isn't so easy, and hiring your own editor at that stage is ideal. Some charge by the hour, some by the page. They also offer other services such as proofreading. I found a page of local Seattle editors that do freelance work by doing a search on a site called Biznik Click here, and got in contact with a local editor Lori Zue, hopefully to be my future editor, if all works out.

Olive

I'm currently working on my newest project, "Olive". I hope to turn it into a novel of around 300 pages. Hopefully I'll be finished in about 6months. My ideal situation would be to have a publishing house publish the book, but if that doesn't happen I will be self publishing.

Olive is 22 in 1890, she struggles with her opium addicted mother in San Fransisco and is sent off to care for her grandmother in New Era Oregon.
She learns about her heritage, encounters ghosts and falls in love for the first time and is faced with a mystery to solve all while meeting a cast of interesting characters.