Breaking Writing Rules and a Climate Apocalypse

 By Thomas Kies

I teach creative writing and mentor a writing critique group.  At the beginning of the first class, I tell the attendees that I’ll outline what the rules of writing are.  And then I’ll let them know, there really aren’t any rules.

For example, Cormac McCarthy and his strange use, or nonuse, of punctuation. He didn’t use quotation marks, used commas sparingly, and rarely included apostrophes.  His dialogue and narration flow forced the reader to pay close attention to his writing. His sentence structure was often unusual with strange cadences.  He was difficult to read but my God, what a writer. 

I’m currently reading a book by Stephen Markley called The Deluge that also breaks a lot of rules.  For example, a few months ago, I wrote a blog about head hopping.  That is writing in the third person and then abruptly shifting gears and writing in the first person point of view. 

Changing a POV in the same paragraph is still verboten.  I don’t like it if a writer shifts POV within the same chapter. And I’m iffy when it comes to using it at all within the same book. 

But Stephen Markley changes his POV from chapter to chapter depending on the multitude of characters he’s written.  First person, third person….even writing about a character who is an opioid addict in the second person.  

And it works.  

I picked up this book because it takes a damning view of what happens to the world when we allow climate change to continue unabated.  Which we’re doing.  If you’ve read my fourth book, Shadow Hill, you’ll know that I’m deeply concerned about what we’re doing to our planet.  I have four grandchildren, and I’m worried that they’re going to inherit an apocalypse that we helped create.

Next rule broken.  There is a wide range of characters to follow.  

Are there too many characters in this book?  In a story written for the LA Review of Books, Markley said, “The climate crisis is such an enormous problem [that] you can’t, to me, tell it through the one-character point of view—the I, I, I would be a little navel-gazey or overwhelming in a way,” he said. “I knew it needed to be a range of characters, and obviously they had to be different and come at the issue from different angles and different parts of society, from different races, classes, genders, etc. It always had to be like this to me, and it was a matter of finding what voices fit into this world.”

I’m about a third of the way through the book.  It’s nearly 900 pages long.

He breaks another rule I wrote about last month.  How long should a novel be? 

Let me go back to Cormac McCarthy who said, “The indulgent, 800-page books that were written a hundred years ago are just not going to be written anymore and people need to get used to that. If you think you’re going to write something like The Brothers Karamazov or Moby Dick, go ahead. Nobody will read it. I don’t care how good it is, or how smart the readers are. Their intentions, their brains are different.” 

Is the book too long? It’s a big topic and he’s covering a lot of ground. The novel begins in 2013 and ends in 2039.  Right now, I’m reading what happens, politically, in 2027, and if we continue on the trajectory we’re on now, I think the author is going to be dead on. 

Yes, Mr. Markley broke a bunch of rules when he wrote the Deluge, but as I say at the beginning of my class, rules are meant to be broken 

The Suspense is Kinda Killing Me

Hello, Friend!

Shelley Burbank here, author of the Olivia Lively, P.I. Mystery Series and currently couch surfer extraordinaire.

At the Atlanta Botanical Garden

I’m writing today from Atlanta, and it seems to be my lot to end up in places without internet on the days I have a Type M blog due. While in Maine, I visit certain people who do not subscribe to any internet service providers, period. To work when I’m there, I drive 15 minutes or so to the small public library where I take over the children’s area table to plug in my Chromebook and log onto their server.

The librarians are kindly older ladies. They don’t seem to mind my being there for hours at a time. I’m grateful.

Here in Atlanta, the internet went down in the whole building last night. It’s a big apartment complex in a nice part of town. So now, a veteran of lost connections and travel, I’m typing this on my phone and will find some way to post. There’s a library branch nearby. The weather is nice. A walk will do me good, plus I’m curious to visit.*

Thank goodness for public libraries!

I tend to take technology/connectivity for granted these days; I bet most of us do. We notice how intertwined we are with the ‘net only when it stops working. It feels like a lost limb. It feels untethered.

In a way, it feels free.

I’m old enough to remember the time before Netscape Navigator and the World Wide Web. When we wrote papers and stories on electric typewriters and listened to music on the radio via airwaves, not streaming. Was life better then? Is it better now? Who can say?

Publishing changed dramatically after the internet and the ebook and Amazon. There are pros and cons. Pro: It’s easier than ever to produce a book and list it for sale, bypassing gatekeepers, and keeping a greater percentage of profits. Con: It’s TOO easy. Everyone is doing it. We have a glut of books. A surfeit of stories. An excess of content. Only a few writers can make a living, ‘cuz capitalism, baby. Supply has vastly outstripped demand to the point a 100k novel is worth less than a Dunkin.

It’s disheartening.

I’ve been thinking about this state of publishing, figuring out my place in the literary ecosystem, wondering whether it’s worth doing anymore. Have I given it my best shot? I haven’t yet put my indie novella project up for sale. I’m reluctant. It’s not the book biz I wanted to be in when I started, back when trad publishing was viable for someone who worked hard and had some talent.

But now I realize that era—roughly mid-20th century to 2010–was a unique period in publishing history. Before the 1900s, authors usually paid to print their own books. Writing itself was time-consuming work, too. No word processors. No spellcheck. Can you imagine hand-writing multiple manuscripts? (On the other hand, newspapers serialized novels and magazine actually paid for stories, so…it’s all relative.)

In some ways, the writing lifestyle we see now is a RETURN of an older way, not a new-fangled situation at all. The tools have changed, that’s all.

(For much more on this, please read The Untold Story of Books by Michael Castleman. It's an excellent history of publishing over the last 600 years. I've read it three times.)

What happens, though, when authorpreneurship depends on the internet working rather than on typesetting by hand and steam-driven printers? What happens when the tools are increasingly held in the hostage-grip of big tech companies? When , at the end of the day, we are “content creators” for the machine?

I wish I had a clear vision of what MAY come beyond this era. I don’t have a crystal ball. However, something like an idea is beginning to form. It’s nebulous. It’s the opposite of rapid release and BookTok. It’s not traditional publishing with the Big Five, either.

It's about being an artisan and creating beautiful pieces that will hold their value over time. Read: don't count on the money. 

In a way, I suppose, my attitude reflects a loss of faith in the literary economy of that earlier era in which I grew up, the 70s, 80s, and 90s, when writers like Stephen King and Danielle Steel could fumble around at first, earn their break, and then go on to establish long, fruitful careers publishing one or two books a year. (Steel now pumps them out every couple of months. Her readers—myself included—don’t seem to mind. Still, she established herself as a name brand back in the 20th century and what we call traditional publishing.)

Back then, mid-list writers who did not become household names like King and Steel still managed to earn a basic living from solid advances and a long tail of backlist royalties—if they stuck it out for a couple decades.

Can't see around the next bend. Can you? 

Those days are over. Something new is ahead. What’s coming? I don’t know, but I can feel it. The hairs on the back of my neck are rising. It could be good. It could be devastating. We’ll know when we know.

The suspense is kinda killing me.
____
*The internet came back before I left the building, so I am now finishing up from the comfort of the couch. I might still walk down to the library just to take a peek.

How to use DUH! Time to your creative advantage.

by Steve Pease / Michael Chandos

This is a hurry-up-and-wait world. Waiting rooms are the archetype: bus stations, dentist, doctor, license plates, busy restaurants at lunchtime.  People interested in the same few service points, coiled up or sitting on benches or plastic chairs. High humidity from anxious body heat. Confusion. Anger. Ethnic divides. Age issues. Attendants and staff limited by the System. Security gates at airports, ouch!

Wait a minute. Massive human diversity. External stressors making some people hyperactive, others zoning out. 

We write stories, about humans. About real humans, not robots or idealized stereotypes. The more human your characters, the better. But they have to look real, act real. Where do you get experience in Humans? Why, in these unmade jigsaw piles of humans in waiting rooms, of course. Where else will you get them in this kind of lab experiment? Don't nap, read, stare blankly, or go to the bar. Look at all these fiction character guinea pigs! Don't be a zombie, use this DUH! time to your advantage, assuming your imagination is connected to your senses.

This is a typical Chicago airport gate. I know O'Hare Airport well. I worked in Colorado, but many of the Government offices I interfaced with were in the Washington DC area. Video teleconferences, of course, but there's nothing like being there, for side conversations, lunches, biz card trading, and chances to sell your opinion and to solicit commitments. O'Hare was the transfer point.

I write mystery, suspense and Science Fiction short stories. My stories are getting longer because there's more to write about. Novels are percolating. I was sitting in a three-hour layover in Chicago, trying to read a little, but it was lulling me to sleep. I got up for a stretch and commenced to people watch. There was Sully Sullenberger (landed the airliner in Long Island sound) quietly waiting for the flight to board. 

I was sitting in an alcove that serviced gates to four Heavies, big planes ready to board hundreds of humans. I looked at the lines. Passengers holding all sorts of carry-ons, businessmen, soldiers, kids. Mom & Pop on vacation. My vision transformed them from sweaty humans in Chicago to passengers boarding orbital shuttles, suborbital to India and Japan, and orbital shuttles to the Moon. It all made sense now. There even was a lady in a colorful sari obviously rocketing to Dehli. All the languages!

The scene is a loop in my head still, with smells, noise, sights.  I'll use it in a future story, I am sure.  Well-used DUH! time.

I was absent two weeks ago when my article should have been here. I was at the wedding of my oldest granddaughter, outside (50 degrees and going down), but decent wind, a lovely Victorian house and grounds, and pretty good diet-busting food. Massive Social DUH! time.

Except the human pickings were good. The new mother-in-law has been married 8 times! I expected a femme fatale, but got an experienced wedding manager, like it or not. The groom had to tell her to back off a bit. Her current husband was a Texas businessman, pickup, cowboy boots, jeans, pearl button plaid shirt and a I don't want to be here attitude. He wanted to be on his phone. Slouched in his chair. Several 45-50-year-old men appeared, three of them, all "Uncles", I was told. Well-made tweed sport coats, Very properly dressed, tidy haircuts, not a muscle between them, slack handshakes, but good to talk to. Lots of young women with weird hair (to this 60s-70s man), purple, piercings, tattoos, ENERGY.  Good human character models.

Happily married. He's a study, too.

December Traditions

 Here it is, December again. Just this morning I was telling Don that we have reached the age of Warp Speed. When you’re young, time moves like molasses. It takes forEVER for your birthday to come, or the holidays. But as you get older, time picks up speed with every year, until as you near the end, days/months/years pass so quickly it all becomes a blur.

In my family, we’ve always seen the year out with a bang. My mother’s birthday was Dec. 6, my sister Dec. 7, Then Christmas. December 16 was always the traditional day for decorating the Christmas tree when I was a kid. It was my parents’ wedding anniversary, and it didn’t seem odd to us youngsters that the folks spent their anniversary buying and decorating their Christmas tree instead of foisting us off on some relative and going out on the town. December 16 may seem late to be putting up your tree these days, but back in the day we bought big old live trees, and you didn’t want them turning into dried up firetraps before the season was over.

Don resisted buying an artificial tree for the first untold number of years of our marriage, but when he got sick in 2008 and couldn’t go tree shopping, I put up a little fake tree that I had used in my Scottish shop. (Yes, I used to import tchotchkes from Scotland, Ireland, and Wales and sell them in a shop.) A couple of years later I bought a pretty little fake tree that we have used ever since. It doesn’t smell the same, but I don’t have to sweep up needles every day, either.

My plan was to finish with my WIP by the end of the year. Fortunately I didn't specify which year. Still, I like the way the book is turning out, so I guess that's something.

And then my birthday is at the end of the month. I’d tell you which one, but sometimes I can’t believe it myself. It’s all such a blur…

In two weeks, I'll post a great Christmas cookie recipe my sister-in-law used to make - wildly easy, no bake, and delicious. 

Have a happy December, and enjoy you're latest great read!

A Busy Season

by Catherine Dilts

Monday was the book release day for The Body in the Hayloft, book three in the Rose Creek Mystery series. I experienced many frustrating delays getting this novel to readers. But finally, here it is! I’m excited to present the next adventure for the Rose Creek Reads book club amateur sleuths.

When I’m asked whether I’m working or retired, I hesitate. Technically, I’m retired. That’s the box to check on soulless forms. But retirement doesn’t mean I’m not working! Can I get an “amen” from my fellow authors?

Wooly mammoth - extinct or not? Hmm.

Most of us who are retired, or who don’t work a “day job,” stay plenty busy. Volunteer work. Family care (of elders or children). Sports. Our own health challenges.

Writers? We have a small business to run.

I took a day off before Thanksgiving to go on a family outing. Several of us met up at the Denver Museum of Nature and Science to see the Lego exhibit.

Me visiting Brick Planet

We all viewed the Brick Planet Lego exhibit, and then the Secret World of Elephants exhibit. I annoyed the grandchildren by calling them “oliphaunts” like Samwise Gamgee in the Lord of the Rings. After seeing the two temporary exhibits, our group split up and headed for different regions inside the museum. Space or Prehistoric Journey?  

A few nights later, we attended a dance recital at the Broadmoor. The ballroom is elegant. Merida Bass (my daughter and co-author) and her husband dazzled with a cha cha, while our youngest grandchild looked far too grown-up at age fifteen in her flashy costumes. Dazzling, but Grandma wasn’t quite ready to see the baby of the family looking so spicy.

Merida and Ron looking sharp at the Broadmoor

We took a year off from Thanksgiving. Our daughters were at other family gatherings. We’re hosting a party later in December. While we were invited to multiple dinners, we opted to stay home. We just plain wanted a quiet day.

The rest of the year will be busy with book releases (yes, two) and a book signing event. Not to mention the holidays! A day off here and there is necessary. 

I hope your holidays are merry, not maddening, and your plans are fun, not frenetic. 

Words of the Year 2025 So Far

 by Sybil Johnson

It’s that time of year. I don’t mean Thanksgiving, though it is tomorrow here in the U.S. I mean the time when the words of the year start rolling in. Here’s what’s going on so far.

• Collins, a British dictionary, has been selecting a woty since 2013. Its 2025 word of the year is vibe coding defined as “an emerging software development that turns natural language into computer code using AI”. Lots of shortlisted words. You can find them here. 
  
  
•  Cambridge, another British dictionary, has been choosing its woty since 2015. Its 2025 word of the year is parasocial defined as “involving or relating to a connection that someone feels between themselves and a famous person they do not know, a character in a book, film, TV series, etc., or an artificial intelligence.” 
  
  I find it interesting that AI is included in this. We had a Garmin GPS device (before we had smartphones) that we called “Jill”. We used to love confusing her. Mostly to get back at the snarky "recalculating" we constantly heard.. So,yeah, I shouldn’t be all that surprised about the AI part. https://dictionary.cambridge.org/us/editorial/word-of-the-year
   
• Macquarie, an Australian dictionary, has been choosing a woty since 2006. Its 2025 word of the year is AI slop which refers to “low-quality content created by generative AI which often contains errors and is not requested by the user.” Yep, seen that. Didn’t know it had a name. https://www.abc.net.au/news/2025-11-25/ai-slop-named-macquarie-dictionary-word-of-the-year-2025/106047682
  
  
• dictionary.com has been choosing a woty since 2010. Its word of the year is 67 (pronounced “six-seven”) Never pronounce it as sixty-seven. That just shows your ignorance and age.
  
  This one makes me feel old. I obviously have not been hanging around people of the right age group because I have never heard of this. Apparently searches for “67” dramatically rose in the summer of 2025. Perhaps everyone trying to figure out what those kids are saying? After reading this article, I’m still a little mystified about its meaning. Perhaps it means “so-so” or “maybe this, maybe that.” Seems like it’s hard to define. Sounds like young’uns just wanting to annoy the adults in their lives. Lots of other words were on the shortlist. You can read about them here.

The following dictionaries/organizations have yet to select their words of the year.

• Merriam-Webster usually announces its selection the end of November/beginning of December. 
• Oxford – Voting is now open for the Oxford word of the year. Contenders are aura farming, biohack, rage bait You can vote here: https://corp.oup.com/word-of-the-year/
• American Dialect Society – The society doesn’t choose its woty until its meeting in January. 

What would you choose as the word of the year for 2025?

An Apology of Sorts

I missed my previous turn to post and for this I apologize. Last month I was in Oceanside, CA, to attend the ceremony for the International Latino Book Awards. Not knowing what my travel schedule was going to be, I had written my blog ahead of time and all I had to do was logon, give it a last-minute read, and hit publish. Problem was, I couldn't logon. When my account needs verification, I usually get a code sent either to my phone or another email account. This time, Google verification sent the code to my tablet, which I seldom use and I'd left back in Colorado. I tried all sorts of work-arounds, to no avail as the verification kept defaulting to the tablet. 

 If you ever find yourself stranded, there are far worse places than Oceanside.  

I was here because the anthology, Ramas y Raíces, I edited for CALMA--Colorado Alliance of Latino Mentors and Authors--had been selected as a finalist in the 2025 International Latino Book Awards. Curiously, though there were over ninety categories (children's, YA, memoir, novels, best cover, poetry collection, etc.,), there was none for anthology, and so we opted for The Dolores Huerta Best Cultural and Community Themed Book - Spanish. 

The awards are truly international in scope with authors and publishers from all over the US, plus Puerto Rico, Mexico, Guatemala, Peru, Colombia, Argentina, Cuba (via Canada), Brazil, and Portugal. The ceremony venue was Miracosta College. 

With so many awardees, only those who won Gold were given the opportunity to express their thanks at the podium, and even then, were cautioned to keep their words short. No more than 20 seconds. I did have a speech ready, but as circumstances turned out, we got Bronze. However, if you have a chance to hold one of these medals, it is an impressive hunk of quality metal--I don't think the Olympics gives anything this fancy--so no regrets at coming in third. Besides, having judged many literary contests, choosing the best from a field of great competitors is purely subjective. 

 

Considering this was a gathering of Latinos, no surprise that we chowed down on tacos. 

 

No Reeboks for Caesar

 Donis here. I've about reached the middle of my new WIP, the spot where everything changes for the protagonist, and now I'm neck deep in historical research as she moves to San Francisco in 1886 and starts a new life. 

Now, the 12 books I've had published are all historical mysteries set in the United States. This new MS is not a mystery, really, but it is historical, and like every other historical fiction author, I do about ten times more research than shows up on in the pages of my books. I try for as authentic a depiction of my characters lives in their place and time as humanly possible. What is their daily life like? In pre-20th century America it wouldn't be realistic for a fictional amateur sleuth could just run off and chase clues whenever they want. She has to fix dinner, do the laundry, weed the garden. He has to plow the north 40, take care of the horses, go to work at the bank/land office/mercantile. It's a much more physically demanding life than most of us post 20th century denizens have to live.

When I write a historical, I want the reader to feel like my character is a real real person who has a life that matters, to care about her. I dearly want to create her world and make the reader believe in it.

Thus, the tremendous amounts of research. When it comes to historical mysteries, you really have to be careful not to make egregious mistakes about the time period - events, language, clothing tools, conveyances. What mystery-solving methods were available to your sleuth during his time period? Sometimes recent past mysteries are more difficult to get right than distant past mysteries. When did smart phones become widely available? No Reeboks for Caesar - that's easy. But what about Reeboks for your character who is on his way to Woodstock in 1969? How about Oxydol Detergent for your housewife in 1930? Levis jeans for a farmer in Oklahoma in 1918? (Note: Levis were available, but not so much in Oklahoma. I know this because the official historian for the Levi Strauss Company told me so.)

It's a tightrope. An author wants to create as realistic a world as she can, but the whole point is to engage the reader in the story, not to write a history book. Strive to at least be accurate enough not to alert the anachronism police!

Only a very small percent of the research I do for each book finds its way onto the page. It's amazing how little it takes to add just that perfect touch of authenticity to a story.

Why, then, spend so much time learning everything you can about the times, lives, and mores of your characters when you know you're not going to use most of it? Because your own familiarity with the world you're writing about is going to show without your having to make a big deal of it. The characters are going to move naturally through their world without thinking about it, just like we do in our own world.

One single sentence in a book may represent an hour of research and quite an education for the author, yet the information may or may not ever be used again. But sometimes one perfect little detail can trigger a mental image for the reader and put her in a country kitchen early one spring morning in 1915.

Are You a Curler or a Magpie?

by Catherine Dilts

I have a “birdbath” on my deck. It’s actually a clay flower pot base set on the railing. Birds like getting a drink there.

I have a theory that being elevated and open makes the birdbath appealing as a safe place to satisfy their thirst and wash their feathers. They can see what’s coming.

Neither my husband nor I are bird watchers. Our identification skills are limited. I know flickers, robins, magpies, jays, hummingbirds, owls, and redtail hawks. Everything else falls into vague categories of those little brown birds, medium-sized black birds, and oh look, that one has yellow feathers mixed in with the brown.

Our fall season has been painfully dry. We’re anxious to receive moisture. Even the snow-averse souls wouldn’t mind some frozen precipitation at this point. The birdbath has been in steady use.

Today I noticed birds lined up on the railing. They weren’t politely taking turns. They were fighting over the birdbath. Diving, feigning attack, flapping wings, and jabbing beaks in threat.

I wanted to tell them we’d refill the container even if they drank it all. We humans have a magical spigot from which we obtain endless quantities of the precious fluid. They would just fly away in a panic if I stepped onto the deck. So I let them fight.

The Battle of the Birdbath made me think about human competitiveness. Some is good. My husband and I have become fans of curling, which is an Olympic sport. We have yet to try our hands at the sport. Maybe we never will. But we’ve become fascinated with watching people push a heavy, round stone across the ice. Then teammates scramble to brush at the ice with little brooms in attempts to affect speed, and to direct the stone a certain route.

The stakes are high. We watched the finals to decide which team goes on to the Olympics. A sport doesn’t get much more high-stakes than deciding who will represent their country in front of the entire planet. Yet curling seems so . . . civilized. The team chatter is polite. There is no physical contact.

Curling athletes behave better than the birds on my deck.

Any sport could have a dark underbelly, I suppose. I examine the competitiveness of elite dressage and jumping equestrians in book three of my Rose Creek Mystery series, The Body in the Hayloft (available December 1^st). My research led me down a path examining potential drugging of show horses. What drugs are used? Is this prevalent or rare?

What can drive a human to be so competitive that they become deadly? Even the birds clamoring over their precious water source only bluff and bluster. There are no feathered bodies on the deck.

I’m afraid I do behave like a sparrow fighting for a place at the bird bath at times. I would like to be more like a curler athlete. Steady. Focused. Kind.

I'll get started on my self-improvement project, right after I refill the birdbath. 

Scams Targeting Writers

 by Thomas Kies

I was introduced to a new scam the other day. One that I came very near to falling for.  An email came to me out of the blue claiming to be from the organizer of a large book club (nearly 700 members).  He said they wanted to “feature” my book Random Road and he gave it, and me, effusive compliments. The entire club would be reading and discussing my novel.  

“Featuring your book with us provides direct engagement with a dedicated community of readers who love to discuss and recommend books, increased visibility among literary enthusiasts who value discovery and thoughtful conversation, and the opportunity for your work to become a memorable part of a month-long reading experience. Our meetings are always relaxed, thoughtful, and filled with conversations that remind us why we love books in the first place.”

I was so enthused I offered to fly out to meet with his book club.  He said that was not necessary.

I did some due diligence and looked the book club up online.  Yup, there it is.  Seems legit.

But then, the organizer sent me a tiered price list of how they wanted to feature my book.  That was a red flag.  I’ve spoken and interacted with dozens of book clubs.  Not one of them has asked me for money. 

I dug a little further online and found some complaints from writers who had also been approached and had fallen for it. Scam!  This email came from someone who had nothing to do with the actual book club.

Writers are dreamers.  If you’re an aspiring author, you’re hoping for that big break in a business that’s notoriously difficult to navigate.  If you’re a published author, your creativity is on the bookshelf and you’re looking for a way to break through a very competitive marketplace. Scammers know this. We’re red meat for predators. What are some other scams?

-Vanity presses who pass themselves off as traditional publishers. They flatter you, offer you a contract and then you get the fees…editing, marketing packages, printing costs, distribution fees, fees for reviews.  Traditional publishers don’t charge you. They pay you. 

The red flags here are they accept your manuscript suspiciously fast, they ask for an upfront payment, and their website makes vague promises without giving real titles they’ve produced. 

-Fake literary agents.  Real agents are selective….very, very selective. They don’t chase unpublished authors.  Fraudulent agents charge “reading fees” or “editing services” or promise access to publishers they really don’t have a relationship with. A legitimate agent never charges reading or submission fees. 

- Fraudulent contests or awards.  Writing contests can be a wonderful chance to showcase your work, but they can also be an opportunity for scammers to cheat you out of money. Some contests exist solely to collect entry fees and email addresses. Others give out hundreds of meaningless “awards,” then push overpriced trophies, certificates, or anthologies. Do your research.  Look up past winners and check out the organization’s past and reputation.  

- “Your book will make a great movie” scam. It usually starts with a flattering email claiming your book is “being considered by major film producers.” That will get your heart pumping. Who doesn't want to see their book turned into a movie?  Or a Netflix series? What the scammers really mean is: buy our expensive marketing package and we’ll pretend to pitch your book in Hollywood. Real film scouts do not cold-email indie authors. 

- Overpriced, overpromising marketing services. I see this one a lot! Marketing is an important part of being an author, but it’s easy to fall for false promises. Some companies sell “press releases,” “book trailers,” “social media placement,” “reviews “or “Amazon optimization” that do little or nothing.

In short, research the companies who claim they want to work with you. Talk with other writers. Trust your instincts. Unsolicited offers are a red flag. If it sounds too good to be true, it is! 

Be a Squirrel

 

Dear Lovely Reader:

I must apologize, first of all, for missing my essay slot two weeks ago. I was, as usual, experiencing technical difficulties, this time with my Google account. I'd changed my password . . . and that set off a chain of reactions that included my phone, my calendars, my contacts, and my email. Things are working again--but I don't feel totally secure. This has always been a seamless process in the past. We are told to regularly change our passwords, after all. But this time . . .

Anyway, much anguish later, and I'm back to work. I think I've finished formatting Strawberry Moon Mystery using the Atticus software. It was quite easy to manipulate, so the test will be how it works with KDP/Amazon. First, though, I want to print out a copy for my proofreader. And I still need to create the full print book cover. That was dependent on formatted pages, so this is the next step. 

So, I will give you both an essay AND a micro-fiction this week. 

***

BE A SQUIRREL

Last week I bought a large bag of bird seed. When I opened it, I almost wanted to dig into it myself. With nuts and seeds galore, it smelled like an earthy granola. It was pricey, too. But I wanted to attract the cardinals and bluejays and woodpeckers along with nuthatches, chickadees, and tufted titmice. 

It worked, but the bounty also attracted the bane of my Maine home existence, the gray squirrels. 

They are so fat, the three of them. I think they are a family: a mom and two grown babies. That's just the feeling I get watching their behavior. They hang upside down from the top of the feeder and feast on the nuts and seeds. 

When I tap the window, they stare at me. Then they go back to eating. If I go outside onto my porch, they may or may not scurry to the lilac tree. It's only when I approach that they will scamper across the lawn to one of several trees. 

Ten minutes later, they are back.

They are tenacious little buggers. 

Lately I've seen a lot of "let's get real about publishing" messaging on blogs and Substacks and podcasts. The general mood seems to be dour and/or resigned. The phrase, "It's okay to subsidize your writing with a day job" is EVERYWHERE. It's coming from agents. It's coming from editors. It's coming from book coaches. 

If I can't laugh about this, I will cry. 

Here's the thing: these people are not wrong. Publishing right now is harder than ever. The trades are tightening their belts. Everyone wants a Sure Thing. For every Taylor Jenkins Reid who hits the jackpot with an $8M/book deal there are countless small and indie and midlist authors begging for scraps from the pubs, desperately trying to carve out a niche in the market, or quietly quitting. 

So what are our choices? Simple. Quit or keep going. 

I've decided to be a squirrel. The market might tap on my window. The market might chase me away from the feeder. I'll scamper to my desk, write the next book or story, and I'll hop back over to the trough to pick up a seed or two. 

I've decided to let go of my expectations. 

By this I mean, I'm not even going to take outcomes into consideration any more. I won't EXPECT to make money on any project. I won't EXPECT, well, anything! 

I've built a lean system around me so I'm not spending a ton of money on my endeavors, probably less than some spend on hobbies like golfing, skiing, snowmobiling, or even fancy cooking! I spend much more on my reading hobby, aka books, than I do on my writing now. I'm a lean, mean, writing machine. A slow one, sure, but pared down to the basics, I think I can do this for the remainder of my days. 

If I gather a readership, wonderful. If I make a little back, lovely. But if I don't, that's okay. I'm gonna be a squirrel and keep reaching for those nuts, baby. 

***

Halloween Story--It's still okay to read one a couple weeks later. Hope you like it. 

Halloween Story

Eloise was the kind of woman who believed in fir swags and twinkle lights at Christmas, forsythia and lilac for spring, red-white-and-blue bunting on the 4th of July.

But for Halloween she went truly bonkers.

The entryway of her ground floor condominium elicited delighted exclamations from her neighbors’ children every year. She hung billowy white sheer curtains that floated eerily in the autumn breeze. She attached bat decals around the door to send shivers up the spine. She piled pumpkins in front of pots holding bare branches which she hung with little sachets of birdseed to attract the local crows whose dark, glossy feathers gleamed in the slanted sunlight of the season.

There was something ghostly about Eloise, herself. Her fair skin and silvery fair hair, her long, thin legs and arms, the ballerina flats that made no sound as she floated past the neighbor’s doors. Nobody knew much about her, other than she’d once been a dancer, maybe even famous, and now she lived quietly alone in their apartment complex in a small city north of Boston, a cold New England place in the winter months but spectacular in the fall with its brilliant foliage and clear blue skies.

One day nearing Halloween, Eloise replaced a bulb in the entryway light, and a crow thwapped from one of the branches and landed on her shoulder. He pecked at the shiny silver hoop in her ear. He whispered, “Suet and peanuts and pumpkinseedfloss; tell me your secrets of heartache and loss.”

Eloise turned a shade paler, if that was possible, and brushed the crow from her shoulder. ”I’ll give you your suets and your seeds,” she said. “But I keep my secrets. Be gone now.”

The next day, when Eloise placed a pot of glorious, deep red chrysanthemums near the front door, the crow landed on Eloise’s shoulder and whispered the same words. Eloise sighed and thought about her lost love, the ending of her career due to an injury, the death of her mother. She shook her head. “Go away. Those are my secrets to keep.”

On the third day, Eloise carved a jack o’lantern, for it was All Hallow’s Eve. She stuck a candle in the grinning gourd as twilight fell. In the flickering glow, two black beady eyes glittered from behind the chrysanthemum pot. The crow cawed softly and whispered his demand for the third time.

A rush of feeling swept through Eloise, and she trembled with sorrow and loss. For a moment she was tempted to give the spirit what it wanted, for of course she knew the crow’s true nature. He craved her sadness and her tears. But then she heard the delighted laughter and chattering voices of the neighbor’s children. They ran to her front porch dressed as pirates and princesses and scarecrows and some cartoon characters she didn’t recognize.

Her heart lifted as they gathered at her doorstep. “Trick or treat!” they yelled in unison. Eloise laughed and the crow was so frightened, he flew away, never to return.

Have a Spooky Day!

XOXO Shelley Burbank

Bartz v. Anthropic

 by Sybil Johnson

I’m sure a lot of you have heard of the Bartz v. Anthropic lawsuit. Of the dozens of lawsuits about unauthorized use of works for AI training, this is the only one so far that has reached a settlement. Sort of. I’ll get to that later, but first, here are the basics. 

Before I continue let me note that I am not a lawyer nor do I know much about the law. So I’m not an expert in this. This is my take on the subject.

Awhile back several authors sued Anthropic over the use of their works for AI training. From Writer Beware: “...AI company Anthropic over its creation of an enormous library of digitized books to train its Claude LLMs. In addition to purchasing and scanning physical books (a la Google for its Google Books project), Anthropic also downloaded thousands of books that had been illegally uploaded to pirate sites, copying them multiple times for use in AI training.” This became a class action suit at some point in time.

Getting back to my “sort of” comment. There are two parts to this lawsuit. One is the unauthorized use of works for AI training and one has to do with copyright infringement. The judge threw out the AI training portion, deeming it fair use. (I don’t really agree with that.) The other part was settled by Anthropic, a $1.5B settlement. That comes out to about $3,000 per book. That is split between the author and the publisher. If the author publishes their own books, they get the entire amount. The authors who started the suit and, of course, the lawyers get more. After all litigation is closed, Anthropic will destroy the pirated databases LibGen and PiLiMi. Current estimate on finalization is April 2026 with no payouts until then.

The two databases have about 7 million books in them. Only 500,000 are included in the settlement. That’s because only those books that have an ISBN or ASIN and have been registered with the US Copyright office qualify. The registration must have occurred before Anthropic downloaded them and within 5 years of publication.

Turns out, authors are discovering that their books were not registered with the copyright office even though it was part of their contract that the publisher take care of that. This even applies to big publishers. Lesson here: If the publisher is supposed to register, check that they have. It’s easy to do. https://publicrecords.copyright.gov/

This is all of particular interest to me because turns out 3 of my books were used. I’ve done all the things required to be part of the settlement. We’ll see what happens. I’ll be sharing the money with my publisher since they are still publishing those books.

A new post on WriterBeware alerted me to a new twist. Apparently there are law firms encouraging authors to opt out of the settlement so they can be part of a different lawsuit and potentially get more money. ClaimsHero is one of these. It’s not guaranteed that an author would get more money or even that a new class action lawsuit would be certified by the court. 

Here are some posts you might find interesting:

Authors Guild post on lawsuit and what authors need to know: https://authorsguild.org/advocacy/artificial-intelligence/what-authors-need-to-know-about-the-anthropic-settlement/ 

Writers Beware post: https://writerbeware.blog/2025/10/31/the-anthropic-class-action-settlement-what-you-need-to-know-right-now/

AI is here to stay. As far as I’m concerned, it’s a tool. Like any other tool, it’s how you use it that is important. I do believe, though, that AI companies should get an author’s permission before using their works. 

What do you all think of this?

Some Enchanted Evening

 by Charlotte Hinger

What a thrill! And I was definitely surprised. My historical novel, Mary's Place won the Will Rogers Gold Medallion. The award was all the sweeter because my daughter, Michele, was able to attend. The event was held in Tulsa, Oklahoma. Next year it will move to its permanent location, Claremore Oklahoma. 

This book was published by the University of Nebraska Press. The staff did a bang up job of sending copies out for reviews and submitting Mary's Place for awards. 

This event is definitely on a roll. The attendance grows every year. I had the pleasure of a long talk with Michael and Kathy Gear, two of my favorite people in the writing community. AND they know everything about publishing. 

The Gears tell me that the whole publishing industry is in an upheaval right now. Which means it's in its usual state. 

Boiling Ideas Needed

by Steve Pease/Michael Chandos 

Writing is hard, concentrated work. You "stare at your typewriter until your forehead bleeds", wrote one writer. I haven't had the concentration recently. Why?  Life.

- My wife embroiders with a room full of expensive Babylock machines. Beautiful work: 75,000 stitches, towels, aprons etc. She sells on ETSY and her website. And at primal human tribal events called "craft shows." We used to hit the outdoor events under an expensive awning tent. Our deal breaker was a serious Rocky Mountain hail and wind storm of epic proportions. Pummeled. Drenched. No more outdoor shows. Indoor only.

This year, there have been just two major indoor events, at a high school and a local event, the semiannual Black Forest Arts Guild, a four-day show. Considerable family energy goes into these two (sometimes three) events. Ended Today!  Hooray!

- The first granddaughter wedding is this following Saturday. A big family event. Unfortunately hosted 150 miles away and we can't afford days away. So it's an early drive up and a late drive back. And two dogs in the house tasked to deliver the ultimate in bladder control. The wedding takes the place of a third major craft show, a semi-hooray in itself. But a week of wedding-clothing-choice anxiety replaces it.

These events involve months of preparation and family hustle, which eats away at my available concentration. I mentally cling to ideas, make notes and scribble quick scenes, but there is no attempt at organized, formatted writing.

Of course, Thanksgiving and Christmas are coming and they will fill the rest of November and December, but my soul is screaming for writing.  Discipline is the answer. Meaning, I will set a time for writing and the world will have to make a space for that.

There's a writing tip there. Make a set time for writing and keep to it. Your mind and body will become accustomed to the rhythm and will produce at those times. This will also activate the subconscious idea generator every writer's mind needs. I need to resume carrying a notebook for those rare and brief moments of brilliance. 

I was reading a 1950's vintage PI short story, a Joe Puma story by William Campbell Gault. The story was ok and moving along. My eyes snagged on a line. My reading skidded to a stop. What did I see? A possible title? Yes! I read back up the page a little. It was merely a short phrase in a line of exposition. A title possibility: "The Lost Found". My mind quickly invented an SF trilogy of "The Lost", "The Lost Found", "The Lost Future". Move over Issac Asimov!

Yeah, that's the action I need. The idea generator snagging on interesting phrases accompanied with rapid-fire images, scenes, characters.

Bah Humbug and forget the turkey! I need some of this back and boiling.

A Piece of Cake, a Bowl of Jello

Donis here. What wonderful entries my blog mates have offered lately. I love reading about the little things that make a novel real and relatable, like having animals as characters and keeping the action tight. One thing that has always interested me in any story, even noir-ish thrillers, is food. How a character relates to food tells me a lot about them. It also tells me a lot about the times in which the novel is set.  I had just started writing my very first Alafair Tucker novel when I realized about ten pages in I was going to have to write a whole lot about food. That series is set in farm country in the early 20th century and features a mother of a lot of children. What was her daily life like? It revolved around food – growing or raising it, harvesting, butchering, preserving, planning, cooking. Feeding a dozen people three times a day every day until the end of time. No Safeway, no running water, no electricity. 

I made a cake from scratch recently. I used one of my mother's recipes that really couldn't be done with mix. When I finished, I was hot from having the automatic oven on and tired from beating the batter by hand. What a bunch of wussies we modern cooks have become.

My grandmothers were both expert at American-style scratch cooking, which is what I write about. My mother was no slouch at scratch cooking herself. But when I was growing up in the 1950s and 1960s, scratch cooking was considered oh-so-old-fashioned. The modern Mid-Century American Housewife as encouraged by all the smartest lady's magazines to utilize the latest time-saving canned and packaged foods to save herself needless hours in the kitchen, presumably so she could put on her shirtwaist dress and pearls and meet her man at the door with a dry martini and a delicious meal on the table when he came home from work.

Since my poor young suburban '50s mother wanted nothing more than to be hip to the times, that's the kind of food I was raised with. I shudder to remember what we grew up eating. But even though it wasn't health food, it was delicious.

How I occasionally long for a nice sit dish of Uncle Ben's instant white rice mixed with a can of undiluted Campbell's cream of celery soup to go along with my Hamburger Helper goulash. My aunt was particularly fond of magazine recipes. Every had a mayonnaise cake? How about a Coca-Cola cake? One of my mother's specialties was Ambrosia. Drain a can of fruit cocktail (those little chunks of peach and pear, tine green grapes, unnaturally red cherry) and dump it into a tub of Kool-Whip. Mix it up nice, maybe with some packaged shredded coconut, and scarf it down.

There are so many thing you could do with Jello that I don't have the room to go into them all, so I'll just hit the highlights: Emerald salad (lime jello, cottage cheese, mayonnaise, maybe some grated cucumber), broken glass pie, made with two or three bright colors of Jello, set and cut into jagged pieces, mixed with Kool-Whip and maybe a can of evaporated milk, poured into a graham character christ and chilled. How about an orange Jello salad filled with grated carrot and a served with a glop of mayo? Lemon Jello with crushed pineapple and little marshmallows.

One of our party staples in the 1960s was lime punch. Dump a quart of lime sherbet in a punch bowl and pour quarts of ginger ale or 7-Up over it. When I was old enough to throw my own parties, I went through a stage of making tiny cheese ball appetizers out of grated cheddar mixed with cream cheese and rolled in crushed Doritos.

And now if you'll excuse me, I think I'll go rummage around in the cabinet and see if I can find a box of Jello.

Dogs in story

Steve posted last week about creating character in stories and the way character influences behaviour and reactions. No need for a lengthy list of adjectives -- shy, fearful, arrogant -- just show us! He then described the very different behaviour of his two dogs. Being the owner of two dogs, I can relate! Furthermore, how people react to dogs tells a lot about their character, so they are a useful, not to mention heart-warming, addition to a story. 

In all three of my series, my protagonist has a dog. Inspector Green has a large, lumbering rescue of indeterminate lineage who likes to sleep on his feet, and Amanda Doucette has a playful, resourceful Duck Toller who acts as her unofficial therapy dog, making her laugh when she is struggling with PTSD. I've owned five Duck Tollers, and currently have two, so it's easy to imagine them in scenes. Cedric O'Toole had a Border Collie (ish) mutt.

In all three cases, the dog brings out the character of my main character. Green is an obsessive detective who is often so focussed on his goal that he forgets the people around him. His dog, acquired accidentally, forces him to care about someone else. Scenes between Green and his dog Modo reveal Green's softer, nurturing side, and in return, she brings him an unexpected tranquillity when his job feels overwhelming. Their late night walks allow him to think through a case in peace.

How other characters in the story react to a dog also reveals character. Are they fearful? Does an angry teenager light up with joy? Do they exhibit tenderness, patience, dominance?

Many writers I know have a pet or two in their lives, often our closest and most patient companion who doesn't insist on conversation, (except when necessary, but who is usually at our feet as we work (or in my case, on the sofa beside me), reminding us we are not alone. Often they end up in our books and help to engage the reader. But we all know the cardinal rule -- kill as many people as you like, but never kill a cat or dog.

Forest Fairy Surprise

by Catherine Dilts

There is delight in seeing something you didn’t expect. Don’t warn me ahead of time. I want to be surprised.

We visited my husband’s best friend in Boise, Idaho, last month. He took us on walking trails he regularly uses. The trek was a reminder of how we tend to become dulled to our familiar surroundings.

I stopped several times to marvel at the scenery. The bridge over the river. Mushrooms. Colorful fall leaves.

The random fairy village by the side of the trail. 

Our host grasped for the purpose of leaving painted rocks, fairies, animal figurines, and even a tiny Jesus, on a fallen tree beside the trail. I tried to explain my own hobby: painted rocks. You release them into the world, not knowing whether anyone will see them. Hoping to bring a smile to a stranger’s face.

“Love,” I said. “They do this for love.”

Back home again, I’m looking at my surroundings with fresh eyes. Am I appreciating my familiar world? I’m also pondering the amount of energy I put into my fiction writing.

Why do we write? The vast majority of us will never hit significant best-seller lists. Whether we want fame or not, it likely will remain elusive. Forget about fortune. At this stage of publishing, most authors are grasping to not lose money.

The fairy village has multiple purposes, I’m sure. There may be a genuine effort to attract the little winged people, making them feel welcome. It could be an expression of love for the children and adults strolling by. Or that peculiar human trait of wanting to create beauty and art on a blank canvas.

For writers, there is an element of exorcising inner pain. Or expressing joy. Trying to make sense of our life experiences. Wanting to share the meaning we’ve found.

Our audiences can feel as anonymous as the hiker pausing to admire a fairy village in the forest. Somewhere in your brain, you know a reader discovered a nugget in your novel or short story. A crumb of sustenance nourishing them for their own real-life battles.

Have faith that your creative contributions have rippling impacts on the world far more significant than your original act.

How Long Should Your Novel Be?

 by Thomas Kies

I’ve been reading the effusive reviews for a novel called Tom’s Crossing by Mark Z. Danielewski. The critics are ecstatic. The book was just released this month and clocks in at 1,232 pages. 

Let me repeat that.  1, 234 pages.  This isn’t official, but my rough estimate for the word count for Tom’s Crossing is 360,000.  

That’s unusual. 

When I talk with book clubs or when I teach a creative writing class, I’m often asked how long a novel should be?  The correct answer to that is a novel is as long as it needs to be to tell the story.

However, publishing is a business, and most publishers would balk at a book that stretches out over 1200 pages.  So, are there any guidelines that a writer should consider?

In traditional publishing, length is measured by word count, not page count. While pages vary depending on formatting and font, word count provides a universal yardstick.

Here’s a general breakdown for mysteries and thrillers:

• Mystery novels: 70,000–90,000 words

• Thrillers: 80,000–100,000 words

• Cozy mysteries: 65,000–80,000 words

• Police procedurals: 90,000–110,000 words

From everything I’ve read, if you’re writing your first novel, staying in the 75,000–90,000 range seems to be the sweet spot. That’s long enough to develop characters and plot twists, but short enough to keep the tension going.

The true “optimal length” of a mystery or thriller depends less on the number of words and more on the control of pacing.

A mystery builds tension like a slow burn. You want to reveal just enough information to keep readers guessing. Each chapter should add a new clue, deepen character motivation, or raise the stakes. If a scene doesn’t do one of those things, it doesn’t belong—no matter how well-written it is.

Thrillers, however, should feel like a rollercoaster ride, with moments of intense action followed by short pauses that allow readers to catch their breath. The pace dictates how long the novel feels, even more than the actual word count. A 100,000-word thriller can feel taut and fast-paced if it’s tightly constructed, while a 75,000-word story can drag if it meanders.

Readers of mysteries and thrillers have certain expectations. They know the conventions of the genre: somebody's murdered,  the sleuth digs in, the danger grows, and the climax delivers the twist or reveal. Every scene should serve a purpose—reveal character, plant a clue, or move the story forward.

I think publishers recognize this. An overly long manuscript can raise a red flag that the pacing is off or the plot needs trimming. For debut authors, staying within industry norms can make your work more marketable. Once you’re established, you earn the freedom to stretch those boundaries. Like Mark Z Danielewski.

Now, if you’re self-publishing or writing digitally, you have more leeway. Readers of e-books are often open to shorter works—novellas (30,000–50,000 words) or serialized thrillers that come out in installments. These can build a loyal audience hungry for the next episode. Still, even in the indie world, readers expect professional pacing and structure.

So, what’s the right length of a mystery or thriller?

My advice is shoot for 75,000 to 95,000 words. Ultimately, the best measure of your story’s length is whether it feels right. Does every chapter move the reader forward? Does every twist earn its place? Does the ending deliver a payoff worthy of the buildup?

If the answer is yes, then your mystery or thriller is exactly as long as it needs to be.

By the way, the longest novel ever published, according to Google, who wouldn't lie to me, is In Search of Lost Time written by Marcel Proust and printed in seven volumes clocking in at 1.3 million words. 

It's Spooky Season!

 by Sybil Johnson

I don’t remember hearing the term “Spooky Season” much before this year. I suspect I have not been paying attention. I rather like it. According to Google, there are instances of the term being used in newspapers in the early 1900s referring to a season when mysterious events happened. But our current use of it as the time around Halloween dates to the 1990s or so and became more common after 2000. Although, like I said I don’t really remember hearing the term until fairly recently.

I’m seeing a lot of people decorating with skeletons in my neighborhood. Really, really tall figures seem to be quite popular this year. 

I thought this Dead and Breakfast sign quite clever. Nope, not staying there! 

 

And I found this creepy doll in a CVS fairly recently. Not letting that into my house! 

 

I hope you all have a good Spooky Season!