Writer Spotlight – Featuring Jeff Suwak

Every once in a while I come across a new talent that makes me stop and consider my self, my writing style, and my writing goals.  Many in the business of writing, unfortunately, see fellow writers as competition.  While that is a partial truth, most view competition as an opposing force or something to overcome.  I see it as a motivator, inspiration and a fulcrum lever to help me lift my dreams off the ground.

I’m in a valley at the moment.  Last year, I released three books and went on a whirlwind book tour and then in January fell into exhaustion and a much needed rest.  For the past four months, I’ve… drifted.  I’ve allowed myself to become distracted, but not deterred.  I’ve been busy …learning new writing styles and dabbling in short stories, erotica and poetry.

During my down time, I’ve taken a breath and looked around me. I can now enjoy the beauty and wonder of the talented writers in my life.  I’ve come across many new writers these past four months… and not being “on” (being fully in marketing mode), I’ve been able to enjoy the fruit of their gifts, and it’s amazing.  However, I’ve also been resting, but it’s time to go back to work.

Over the next couple of months, as I immerse myself back into the foray of what is writing/publishing/marketing/etc, I will feature some of these new writers I’ve become blessed to know… and today, I start with writer Jeff Suwak.

By day, Jeff is a technical writer for the U.S. Geological Survey in Tacoma, WA, but by passion,  he is a very talented, very determined and very dedicated writer. One of his favorite literary influences is Cormac McCarthy.  As a former Army Ranger, Jeff is no stranger to discipline when it comes to his work, and it’s very evident in every piece of his writing I’ve read.

Here are some current and upcoming publications of Mr. Suwak.  Please check them out and leave a comment when you can.  Upcoming writers need all the encouragement and support we can give them in this literary journey. I’m very proud to know Jeff Suwak, and to be able to call him my friend.

The Ride - http://www.efictionmag.com/ehorror/ - a horror short story to be published in eFiction Magazine – eHorror in June 2013.

Night Terrors - http://www.innersins.com/innersins_110.htm - a horror short story published in Inner Sins Magazine – issue #9 – May 2013.

The Big Showhttps://sites.google.com/site/thespeculativeedge/home - a science fiction short story published in the Speculative Edge Magazine issue #8 – April 2013

Till next time,
~T.L. Gray
http://www.tlgray.net

Categories: Inspirational, Writing | Tags: , , | Leave a comment

Meeting the Black – Tom Piccirilli Review

Meeting the Black – Tom Piccirilli Review

As published in the West Georgia Living Magazine – May/June 2013 Edition

 meetingtheblackweb
Author: Tom Piccirilli
Publisher: Crossroad Press & Macabre Ink Digital; Crossroad Press First Digital edition
Release Date: November 16, 2012
Pages/Genre: 17/Memoir
 tom-piccirilli
Bio: Tom Piccirilli is an American novelist and short story writer. He has sold over 150 stories in the mystery, thriller, horror, erotica, and science fiction fields. Piccirilli is a two-time winner of the International Thriller Writers Award for “Best Paperback Original” (2008, 2010). He is a four-time winner of the Bram Stoker Award. He was also a finalist for the 2009 Edgar Allan Poe Award given by the Mystery Writers of America, a final nominee for the Fantasy Award, and he won the first Bram Stoker Award given in the category of “Best Poetry Collection”.
Book Description:
Publication Date: November 16, 2012
Meeting the BlackMeeting the Black is a powerful and emotional piece written by Tom Piccirilli describing what he was going through, both mentally and physically, before and after his recent operation. 100% of the sales amounts of this and his other Crossroad Press titles, both eBook and audiobook, will continue to go to Tom to assist with his medical bills associated with his cancer treatment.

Review:

Wow! I’m familiar with musings, having written a few, and this one was honest, raw and beautiful. My eyes are filled, not with tears of sadness, but of hope.

There’s a lot to be said for a great opening line.  Some of the greatest works in literature have memorable starts.  “It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife,” Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austin.  “Call me Ishmael,” Moby Dick by Herman Melville.  Now I have another opening line that captured my attention.  “Noir truth,” Meeting the Black by Tom Piccirilli.

My French may be rusty, but I know my colors very well, and instantly my mind interpreted the opening line of this memoir to say ‘black truth’.  This made me instantly go to a dark place and wonder what could possibly be so black, void, or dark.  Instantly a mood was set and Piccirilli was faithful to deliver.

The second line proved to be as powerful as the first, straight to the point, no holds bar.  “What I know:  I’ve got a tumor in my head that’s halfway between the size of a golf-ball and a tennis-ball, according to the neurosurgeon.” Wow.  I can’t even imagine what this author is going through, but I’m definitely hooked to find out.

From his presence in the literary world, it seems Mr. Piccirilli has so far enjoyed a very successful writing career, having published over twenty-two (22) novels since 1990, two (2) series, four (4) novellas, more than thirty (30) anthologies, two (2) non-fiction works, and four (4) time winner of the Bram Stroker Award, and two (2) time winner of the International Thriller Writer’s Award, literally a writer’s dream come true.  Some in this field would say he was a very lucky man, indeed.  But in life, tragedy doesn’t look at a writing resume or care how much success someone might enjoy.

Being a fellow author, his story touches my heart, and many times he echoed some of my own fears in this memoir.  One of the most touching paragraphs states:  “What I know:  Things aren’t right.  I’m not myself.  I’m often in a fog lately.  I can’t see, I can’t think clearly, I haven’t been writing much.  And there it is.  When everything else runs out on me, I can always count on the writing.  It’s always there.  And now, it’s slipping through my fingers, too.  Jesus, not that, take the rest of it, but not that.  What if I can’t write? I’m not me.  I’m not the person I’m supposed to be.”  Many, many times these are the very same words that I mutter in the middle of my fear.  So, I instantly related to Mr. Piccirilli, and he stole my heart.

As his story progresses, Mr. Piccirilli talks about the love between him and his brother, the loss of a mother, father and step father to cancer, and we begin to see a picture of man who has in one way or another fought against cancer his whole life.  Now, it is his life he must battle this horrible disease.

I can’t imagine the fear and the struggle this author must go through on a daily basis, but one of the best illustrations of his fight for hope is when he was given the advice to speak to his cells, to encourage them to fight, because he had not the strength to do it on his own.

What I really want to say to my cells:  ‘Look, blame me if you want, okay.  I did you wrong.  I ate bad shit. I smoked cigars for a while.  I’ve never been trim and fit.  Hold the grudge, but don’t give up the good fight now.  We’re, what, halfway through the race? Come on, you can hold on for longer than that, can’t you?  Besides, who are you really hurting, huh? Me? You’re gonna go in the ground with me, f**kers.  Lars is going to yank you out of my brain and throw you on the floor.  Cells, get in line, get back into formation, hup one, two, all that, start doing your jobs again.  Besides, it’s all just energy, there are no coincidences.”

After a successful surgery and a trip to the lab, Mr. Piccirilli receives the bad news; Noir truth …his tumor is cancerous.  Anytime anyone is faced with such a stark, bold, and life changing truth, one of the stages of grief, even though still living, is the self blame, self analysis and self reflection.  My heart breaks as this talented author goes through this analysis and shares his vulnerable thoughts with us: “Consciously or unconsciously, for the price of a dark dream, you have brought about your own doom.  I didn’t go after the wrong woman, I didn’t mouth off to a bad cop, I didn’t push a  gun into a the ribs of the mob boss, I didn’t shove the old lady down the stairs in her wheelchair.  I’m a lousy noir character.

Facing a terminal illness changes priorities.  This writer of mostly horror and thrillers transforms into a love guru, telling everyone with every chance he gets how much he loves and appreciates them as he ponders his own mortality.  He comes to another phase in his journey where his thoughts turn deep in his understanding of noir truths.  There are so many quotes that have such a deep meaning that I want to write them all down separately and place throughout my house to remind me of them daily.  Words of noir truth such as: “You can lose the fight, but you have to lose it fairly.  You can’t cheat in the last reel.  You take it on the chin or in the gut or in the back of the head, but you stand tall doing it.  No blinking, no last minute wincing.  You play your string out to the end.”

We all hold onto hope when we face tragedy.  We try to look for the positive amongst the terrible things that come into our lives.  I wept when I read the final passage in this short memoir, where Mr. Piccirilli is told that his cancer is aggressive and terminal, as I’m sure some of you will as well.  So, I leave you with his words, because he says them better than I ever could.

“Noir truth: I’ll be fighting it for the rest of my life and it’ll probably do me in one of these days.  I keep picturing a feathery, fluffy, black growth trying to take over the pure, snowy, gleeful thoughts already there.  The pure-driven snow personality is me.  The black rot, what is it? The death wish? My noir heart?

“Cells?”

“Yo!”

“We still rockin’?”

“A-OK, babe.”

“You keep doing your thing and I’ll keep doing mine.”

“Let’s call it a plan of action.”

“Right on.”

So what’s left?  Skull bones, titanium steel plates, fruiting bodies of toadstools, and a million more stories? 

What I know:  I’m scared and will always be scared.  I’m still here among the living.  I fight because when you get down to it, you have no choice.  You suck air, you focus will, you dream, you fight past your demons and shadows and enemy cells.  Thanks to all of you –“

Mr. Piccirilli continues to fight his cancer, and my heart and prayers go with him and his family.  Crossroads Press, the publisher of Mr. Piccirilli’s work, has designated all proceeds, funds and sales for any and all titles, including this memoir, directly to the him and his family in an effort to help him in his fight against cancer. I’m not only a huge fan of this author’s work, but I’m now a huge admirer of his heart.

This is the hardest review I’ve had to give to date, but it’s also the one I believe in most.  So, if you get a chance, please pick up one of Tom Piccirilli’s titles today, send him a note of encouragement on his Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/tompiccirilli) page, or say a prayer for him and his family.

Latest update:  March 29, 2013: “Hello everyone, this is Michelle. Tom had his MRI on Monday this week and today we had appointments at two different doctor’s offices and he had blood test done. His MRI came back clean with no sign of cancer. This is the forth MRI in a row since his surgery and radiation that has come back clean. Tom’s oncologist told us that he is now in REMISSION.”

.

Till next time,

~T.L. Gray

Categories: Book Review, Inspirational, Review, Writing | Tags: , , , , | 1 Comment

The Greeting of Equinox

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I once fell in love with a tree. I celebrated its beauty, dancing among the brilliant colors of gold, green, yellow and red of its leaves, when the first snowflake fell. I took no note of the gathering gray clouds. Though I shivered, I ignored the cold.  Dancing made my heart beat faster, adrenaline rush through my veins, and endorphins brought a sense of euphoria; a semblance of happiness.   The snowflake landed on my lashes, melted from my body heat and ran down my cheek; the first of many tears to follow.

The air grew frigid, the skies darkened, and I watched as the leaves fell from the beautiful tree, the object of my desire, the tall glorious symbol of my admiration.  Helpless to stop the winter storm, I became lost in despair, numb because the pain overwhelmed me, and frozen in fear as a statue.  Before the last of my body crystallized into ice, I watched the last leaf fall, flutter through the air as if carefree, and come to rest on the cold, hard ground.  As it touched the earth, my heart stopped beating as I entered winter.

The snow fell and its accumulation slowly buried me with my gaze locked onto my tree, for it no longer bore any fruit. Surrounding it, stood other lifeless, fruitless, leafless trees, and my tree reveled in their company.  Its bony limbs served as a constant reminder of the loss of its glorious leaves. Though I knew my tree, it no longer resembled the beauty it once exuded. My mind’s eye remembered, and a small hope remained my tree would return to me. But as the fierce winter winds blew, my fractured heart remained frozen; broken.  

Believing the winter would never end, I finally forced my eyelids closed and the vision of my tree disappeared with one last icicled tear. I tuned out all feeling, all sound, all senses, and embraced the darkness; I died inside.

~

A warm wind blew, bringing a soft musical note with it, disturbing my cold, silent grave. My ears followed the sound, though distant, muffled, and strange.  Desolation sharpened my ears, and a desperate need to hear again filled me. Too afraid to open my eyes and gaze upon my tree, I feared the notes came from it, but it did not, they resounded all around me. Some came from the left, some from the right, many from behind, their notes soft, beautiful and full of hope.

I tried to shut them out, but they kept playing their song, one after another, sometimes blended together, and sometimes all at once.  I felt the ice that covered me begin to crackle and split, and I heard the constant drip, drip, drip below me, adding tempo to the melody. Then I silently screamed in pain as my heart shuddered and let out the first beat.

I felt the shards of ice fall away from my eyes and as fear rushed through me, I opened my statue eyes.  There stood my tree, its bare limbs full of new buds, ready to bloom, surrounded by dozens of others ready to dance before its beauty.  My heart skipped a beat at the possibility of greatness my tree could be, but only one beat.

Something else grabbed my attention – a song, a familiar sound, a beautiful melody.  My eyes unfocused on the tree and with great effort, I turned my gaze away, and shook out of my icy shell.  Flying all around me were song birds of spring, reveling in the warm sun shining down upon me.  Their harmonies and melodies filled my heart and for the first time, after a long winter, with the greeting of the equinox, I smiled. 

My song birds called to me, their music mending me, filling me with new life, and healing the hole of my despair. I glanced back over my shoulder at the tree and released one last tear.  As I wiped it away from my cheek, I turned away, and once again began to dance.

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Review: Sea Scoundrel by Annette Blair

*As published in West Georgia Living Magazine March/April 2013 issue.

 

“Falling in Love with romance all over again with …”

 

2013-02-24 10.44.19

 

Review by T.L. Gray

 Sea Scoundrel Cover

 

Author: Annette Blair

Publisher: ABA LLC; 2nd edition Expected Release Date: May 10, 2012

Pages/Genre: 267/Romance

 

Bio: A New York Times best-selling author, Annette Blair left her job as a Development Director and Journalism Advisor at a private New England prep school to become a full time writer. At forty books and counting, she added cozy mysteries and bewitching romantic comedies to her award-winning historical romances. She also stepped into the amazing world of self-publishing.
Awards:
1997 RWA Golden Heart Finalist
1991 A Heart of the Rockies Award
1991 A Dallas Area Romance Authors

 

Book Description:

Publication Date: May 10, 2012

SEA SCOUNDREL, Knave of Hearts, One of Four

–Lady Patience Kendall crossed the sea to marry, but her intended died before she arrived. Penniless and stranded, she found only one way to get home: Bring rich American Misses to England to find them titled husbands. At the ship, she realized their mothers expected each to wed the Marquess of Andover. She’d have to seek an introduction. On the journey, Captain Grant St. Benedict was anything but friendly. Just because her girls caused a few mishaps? Grant had never met a woman more irritating, or more desirable, than the Lady Patience Kendall. But however dangerous his interest, he couldn’t resist teaching the delicious distraction that independence was nothing to passion.

Review:

I’m not much of romance reader, preferring most often the heart-felt coming of age young adult stories, the mystery and magic of historical fiction, or getting lost among the adventure often spread over a series in an epic fantasy.  Not since I was a teenager have I delved into a good, old-fashioned romance.  What is a good, old-fashioned romance?  I’m not sure, but it sounded virtuous to declare it as such.  My idea of romance is Jane Austen’s Price and Prejudice, and for many years believed that the historical beauty simply set the bar too high, and no other romance would be able to compare, so why bother reading them.  I’m glad I reconsidered after all this time to give a romance novel a chance, or at least a little glance.  I’m so glad I did, and have since filled my Kindle full of Annette Blair’s lovely stories.

 

In the mood for a sea adventure, working on my own epic fantasy based upon the rolling waters of the open sea, I came across a copy of Sea Scoundrel by Annette Blair.  It sat unopened, unconsidered and very much neglected in my eReader for a few weeks, mostly due to my romance bias.  But, one Saturday, with a free afternoon, and a sense to do something out of my comfortable box, I scrolled across the title and opened my mind, and heart, into the world of Lady Patience Kindall and Captain Grant St. Benedict.

 

From the moment when the young, vibrant, determined Lady Patience tripped and found herself sprawled out in an un-ladylike fashion on the docks for the entire world to see her in her humiliation, I was baited.  Then, when the hand of a gruff sailor reached out to help her, I saw the writing on the wall.  My heart instantly latched onto the seaman and never let go for one moment throughout the rest of the story.  I fell hard very rapidly, so quickly, in fact, I questioned whether I carried enough objectivity to read and give an unbiased review.  I smile when I say, with all confidence I am, and tout my quick affections to the effective, powerful and excellent writing of the author Annette Blair.

 

I spent the afternoon lost among witty banter, embarrassing situations, and lots of moments of passionate outbursts, prejudices, and pride built from steel.  Though not quite as epic as Austen’s ingenuity, it held its own and sailed right into my heart.  The quest:  Lady Patience is to escort a handful of rich young American ladies to the English gentry in an effort to secure them a wealthy and connected family. Of course, no journey ever ends as was intended, and each of our characters, especially the young Lady Patience and the dashing Captain St. Benedict, discover who they truly are, what their personal strengths and weaknesses may be, and then making the choice to be what makes them happy.  I’m all for a Happily Ever After.  In our fast-paced world, a little character development is much needed.  This is a clean read, not filled with sex and violence, and one I found that really pulls on the heartstrings.

 

However, this tale doesn’t stand alone on its own, but is part of a Knave of Hearts, a band of unruly boys from the Zebulon Fishkill Academy in 1805, who make a bond, to swear an oath, to be there for one another, to call on each other in times of trouble, whatever life hands them.  Knowing about this pact from these young boys, who all grew up and become dashing romantic men, always stayed in the back of my mind as I read this adventure.  And so compelling of a writer was Annette Blair, I found myself instantly downloading and jumping right into the next story, the next part of the Knave of Hearts and haven’t even given a glance backwards.

 

So, am I now a hopeless romantic?  Perhaps I’ve always been a romantic, but I’ve found a work of art that has the power to sweep me away for a few hours and allow me to go on an adventure that is not only romantic, but filled with intrigue, humor and witty banter.

 

I highly recommend this series, or any book or series from Annette Blair (having now devoured most of her publication list) for any reader who wants to take a light-hearted adventure.

 

Till next time,

~T.L. Gray

 

Reviewed By:

Reviewer:  T.L. Gray is a local author from Temple, Georgia.  She has five publications including: The Blood of Cain, Keezy’s 10 Awesome Rules for Teenaged Dating, Milledgeville Misfit, The Arcainians and A Kid in the Park as part of the anthology, Triumph Over Tragedy: Anthology to help Hurricane Sandy victims.   Ms. Gray works as a full-time novelist, editor, writing tutor, social media specialist and website manager.  She is an active Member of the Carrollton Creative Writer’s and Atlanta Writer’s Club, contributing writer to Impact Times Magazine and The West Georgia Living Magazine.  T.L. Gray is a 2012 Nominee for GAYA (Georgia Author of the Year Award), a NaNoWriMo 2012 Winner, and panelist in the upcoming Friends of the Library Literary Festival in Carrollton and the 2013 Georgia Literary Festival in Milledgeville.  www.tlgray.net

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Rejection

heart

Every writer, no matter at what level – neophyte to best-selling author – deals with the concept of rejection.  We get rejected by agents, publishers, reviewers, and fans.  It never feels good, but it can either build a stronger character within us, or cause us to break.  I’ve seen many writers rise above the challenge and go on to and become confident and successful authors.

 

In our personal lives, rejection is much more damaging.  We walk through the day with our masks in place, hiding the fact we bleed inside.  We smile, we exist, but inside we die a little bit every day.  We cry in our cars in the middle of a rain storm.  In secret, we pour our hearts into black font, but never let anyone see.

 

For all those lovers out there, ready to celebrate Valentine’s, enjoy your day.  Don’t take it for granted, because there’s enough hearts out there …alone, rejected.  I’ve learned lately how to write poetry.  Never really cared for it before, but I guess it’s hard to appreciate something meant to feel when you’re comfortably numb.

 

I woke up.

I wanted to believe.

I wanted to believe love was for me, too.

I wanted to feel wanted.

I wanted to feel desired.

I wanted to be needed.

I wanted to be cherished.

I wanted to be someone’s first thought.

I wanted to be someone’s good night.

I wanted the idea of you.

I wanted your kisses.

I wanted someone to place their heart into my hands.

Instead I hold onto my broken, rejected one.

I want to sleep.

 

 

Till next time,

~T.L. Gray

Categories: Inspirational, Spiritual, Writing | Tags: , , , | 2 Comments

Pure Notes

I’ve been inspired lately by my Muse to write a few pieces of flash fiction …and this is one of the results.  I highly encourage everyone to dabble a little in all forms of writing, regardless of your preferred genre, style, etc.

I believe that if you only surround yourself with like people or like influences …you will lose your individuality and become like -.

Image

The winding path beneath my feet is not made of yellow brick or paved asphalt, but earthen clay covered in autumn leaves.  Tumultuous shadows loom behind me, and bare limbs reach out to grab me; to entangle, to ensnare. Chilled winds of uncertainty nip at me, making me shiver.

Bits of sunshine cut through the thick canopy above me, dotting the road, baptizing me in its glory and praise, but its warmth is fleeting. One step away …once again in shadow, two …more sun, three …more shadow, but never sustaining, never sure.

Whispers echo through the pines, those evergreens, always in season, always the same in a forest of changing colors and varying scents. “Come, come,” they call, offering a home among the woodland, the accepted majority, kings and queens of their kind. The path is narrow; the limbs push and pull, defining familiar trails.

Into the foggy haze before me, a part of the road lay hidden in the unknown, cloaked in obscurity, and masked with uncertainty, I hear a soft melody. Its rich tone entices me, pulls me, and seduces me with each pure note. My Piper sings to me, “Come, come!”  I long to obey, to fall under his spell.

The Pines, the Piper. A raging storm ensues. The Pines, the Piper. Calling, drawing, making me dizzy, and twisting me in knots. “Come, come,” they implore. Spinning me round and around, entangling bits of my hair, ripping parts of clothes, slicing into my skin, till I’m nothing but a ragdoll.

I fall.  “Come, come,” I whisper through swollen, cracked lips. “You’ve taken all I have …sans my heart.”  Hot tears shimmer down my cheeks. “Come, come, if you dare. Who will save me?”

The Pines remain quiet, stiff in their pride, but in the distant a single, pure note weaves through the forest. My Piper comes. He appears out of the fog, followed by a gay crew of revelers. He stands before me, holds out his hand, a smile tugging on the edge of his lips, and says, “Come, come, my Lady, let’s dance.”

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Beyond Borders

Beyond Borders

Learning the complexities of writing is a never-ending process.  For those who think they’ve obtained knowledge of all they need to know about their craft …think again.

 

While I’ve learned a lot about the technical aspects of writing, became educated and experienced on the marketing of a published novel, and have a good grip on the whole process from concept to implementation, I’m learning there’s still a lot more wisdom to acquire.  Well, I actually already knew that lesson, but this new phase I’m entering has me learning to step outside my comfort zone.

 

I hope I can explain this in simple turns.  I don’t mean being able to move forward and succeed when I find myself outside said comfort zone.  But, to make the choice to actually step into the unknown with a hunger to learn more, experience more, and fill my repertoire of knowledge with new, strange and complex knowledge, thereby expanding wisdom.  Have I lost you, yet?

 

In stepping into the unfamiliar, I’m learning a lot more about myself as a writer and as a woman.  I like what I’m discovering.  Perhaps not everyone will like the new, emerging me, so it’s a good thing I live, write and love FOR me, not anyone else.  I’m falling madly in love with the woman I’m discovering, and am enjoying new skills, new talents and a new style of writing.

 

If I could part any kind of wisdom today, it would be to keep your mind wide open and never stop learning.

 

Till next time,

~T.L. Gray

 

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Triumph Over Tragedy: Anthology Release

Okay, it is finally released! Triumph Over Tragedy: Anthology

Please, please buy this book and help support Hurricane Sandy victims in the process. Spread the word and tell everybody you know to do the same.

Book Description

Publication Date: January 7, 2013
In the days immediately following Hurricane Sandy, I found myself both awed and saddened by the devastation I saw on the news. In the past, I’ve donated money for various relief efforts, but the gesture always felt somewhat hollow to me. Disasters have ripped apart people’s lives and homes, and here I am, sitting on my couch in my nice, warm living room, donating a measly fifty bucks.

I wanted to do more, to give more, but my familial obligations precluded me from physically going to help while economic constraints prevented me from giving more.

That’s when inspiration struck.

I’m an indie author (at the moment) and have enjoyed some relative success. In recent years, I’ve attended a few conventions as an author and made some wonderful professional connections. I reached out to a number of authors I knew, inquiring if they would like to donate a short story to an anthology, the proceeds of which would all go to Sandy relief.

A bunch said yes, emailed their contacts, and…well, things sort of took off after that. Turns out, people like helping people.

This anthology is our collective way of helping. We hope you enjoy.

Authors included: Elizabeth Bear, Marion Zimmer Bradley, Mark Lawrence, Robert Silverberg, Michael Stackpole, Timothy Zahn, Philip Athans , Tobias S. Buckell, Bradley P. Beaulieu, Adrian Tchaikovsky, Michael J. Sullivan, R.T. Kaelin, Maxwell Alexander Drake, Tim Marquitz, Alex Bledsoe, Erik Scott de Bie, Ari Marmell, Jean Rabe, Rick Novy, Bryan Young, Gregory Wilson, Elisabeth Waters, Donald J. Bingle, C.S. Marks, SM Blooding, Jaym Gates, Stephen D. Sullivan, T.L. Gray, Marian Allen, Sarah Hans, Bryan Thomas Schmidt, C.J. Henderson, Steven Saus, Addie King, Doris Stever, Matt Bone, Rob Rogers, Janine Spendlove, Tracy Chowdhury, Vicki Johnson-Steger, and Alex Shvartsman

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Online Critique Groups

Are they beneficial and helpful, or stressful and frustrating?  Both!

Several years ago, when the idea of writing my first novel was conceived into my soul, I joined an online writing group called CritiqueCircle.com.  I was excited to be in a group of like-minded individuals, where most understood me.  Having no other writers in my family, most not even casual readers, I felt odd, alone and most often without a voice.  Explaining something creative in a room full of pragmatists is frustrating and fruitless; beautiful words bouncing off empty walls.

CC

Watching how the critique process flowed, I began to offer my own opinions, suggestions and edits to those bravely submitted story chapters.  It didn’t take long, before I gained the courage to submit a sample of my own work – offering it like a sacrificial lamb to be slaughtered, mutilated, dissected, inspected, judged and criticized.  That takes a lot of courage, because submitted work is part of the author’s imagination; part of their soul; their interpretation of life around them, displayed in artistic form with black-lettered font.  It was brutal.  It was bloody.  It hurt.

If you want to see an example of courage, faith and determination, visit an online critique group.  Because it’s filled with people who set themselves up to get knocked down as a form of training, and choose to get back up, shake the dust off, make adjustments, and then offer themselves up once again.  The weak will cave to the pressure.  The stubborn will break or leave.  The determined will persevere.  The arrogant will be humbled.  The student will become the teacher.

The best thing that ever happened to my writing ability, was subjecting it to criticism.  I learned from my mistakes, edits, suggestions, and critiques. I also learned to trust my instincts and hold to my convictions.  I trained my critical mind to work in conjunction with my creative mind.  Mostly, I learned that trial and error is the best training tool.

It’s been years since I’ve been fully involved in an online critique group, because since publication, I’ve focused on marketing; building my writing career and moving it forward.  However, this past week I delved once again in an online group called Scribophile, and discovered critical creative muscles were a little out of shape.  It didn’t take me but a few days to get back into the swing of things.  I can’t express how fulfilling it felt. It not only offered me an opportunity to sow some of what I’ve learned over the past few years into budding writers, but allowed me to feel the excitement of learning.  Being around a bunch of excited new writers, filled with hope, dreams and expectation, is exhilarating.  Much better than being in a room full of literary elites who forgot writing started as a dream.

Scribophile

For published alumni who wish to sharpen their skills, or dreamers who want to develop them, visit an online critique group.

Till next time,

~T.L. Gray

Categories: Inspirational, Instructional, Writing | Tags: , , , | 2 Comments

Christmas – Bah-Humbug!

Bah Humbug

Now that my family is growing older, my kids are now all adults, I find I miss some of the things that used to be so special to us when they were younger, even when I was younger.  It’s not just my kids changing, but the world around us.  While I enjoy some of the changes, I don’t like what’s happening to Christmas.  I really miss the holiday I fell in love with and was excited to see every year.

 

When my kids were younger, one of our favorite things to do during the Christmas holiday (from the day after Thanksgiving through New Year’s) was load the car and drive through the neighborhoods, looking at all the decorated houses.   Perhaps part of my trepidation these past few years is bottled in the fact that there just aren’t many houses decorated anymore.  When I was a kid in the mid-70’s through the mid-80’s, you might have found one or two houses that were not covered in Christmas lights and decorations, but the rest seemed to try and outdo their neighbors, which of course was to our (the viewers) benefit.  The town’s main strips were covered with lighted displays, with garland wrapped around their posts, and storefront window were decorated with decals, feaux snow and Christmas trees.  Usually in the center of town, or at one of the larger shops, stood huge a community-centered decorated Christmas tree, where there was a big celebration at the lighting.  Throughout the holiday season, one could see choirs gathered at malls, churches, on street corners and outside venues, and you’d find Santas outside store fronts or the mall, with huge lines of kids waiting to sit upon his lap and tell him their fondest wishes.  In the 90’s, there seemed to be a huge decline in decorated houses, perhaps one in ten, and the city decorations went from overwhelming to a few, and parades, lighting ceremonies, carolers and choirs, became far and few between.

 

I daydreamed as a child of being able to share this fantasy Christmas experiences with my own children, because of how much excitement, happiness and joy they brought me.  Perhaps coming from an abusive home, this dream meant a bit more to me than most.  This holiday symbolized all that I hoped for in a family.  Now, there are no more street-filled neighborhoods of decorated houses.  In my own subdivision, you might find one house out of twenty-five, with minimal decorations.  While our city puts up lighted decorations on a few of the street lights, the shops along Main Street are void of any adornments, and there’s no central town Christmas Tree or lighting ceremony, no carolers, no choirs and no Santa Claus.

 

Where has Christmas gone?

 

I understand there’s a war on Christmas, attacking the ‘religious’ aspect of the holiday in the name of Political Correctness. These idiots don’t want Christmas trees in, around, or on government property, Santa at schools, students attending Christmas plays, city decorations, carolers, or choirs (if they mention Christ).  Shame on them!  When I was a child, I had NO religious affiliation, I didn’t attend church or synagogue, yet I LOVED Christmas.  I loved the feel of the joy, the compassion of the community, the sense of excitement, the celebration, and the love. I LOVED the lights and decorations.  I had heard the Christmas story about the baby in the manger, but thought of it no more than the story of Santa and his reindeer.  Now we (the community) have no stories, no lights, no celebration and therefore, no joy, no peace, no love and no Christmas spirit.    The only reference to Christmas (though most call it “Holiday”) I hear are what sales are being held on the countless commercials, what gifts to buy, and where are the best places to get the best bargains.  If not for the bombardment of Hallmark, Lifetime and ABC Family Christmas movies, I wouldn’t even know the holidays were here.  I find them sad to watch, because in the world in which I live, the ideals and celebrations in those movies are not present in my community.  They’re as much fantasy as Santa.

 

Where has Christmas gone?

 

Do I buy presents just to buy presents?  Do I shop, just to get a deal?  Do I visit relatives just because it’s the thing to do?  I do these things throughout the year, so why should Christmas be any different?  I didn’t love Christmas for those things, I LOVED it for the celebration, the bringing together of our community, and the displayed expression from my fellow neighbor.  Those are the things now missing.

 

I hope the PC police have a Happy Holiday, because they’ve done a great job stealing my Merry Christmas.  Bah-Humbug!

Till next time,

~T.L. Gray

Categories: Inspirational, Writing | Tags: , , , | Leave a comment

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