Lou Paduano | Urban Fantasy Novels | Sci-Fi Crime Series

The Medusa Coin Early Reviews

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When it comes to The Medusa Coin, you’ve heard enough from me over the last few months. You’ve read the pitch, seen the cover, and listened to me rant and rave about how much the project means to me. How about some early reviews from your fellow readers?

Praise for The Medusa Coin

Another book I just couldn’t put down. Following on from Signs of Portents, and no less enthralling. I absolutely love this kind of book. Demons & humans battling one another. Another author added to my must read list. Highly recommended. If you liked Signs of Portents then this is a definite read, you won’t be disappointed. – Silver Surfer (Goodreads review)

Dark and foreboding, much like the city of Portents itself, The Medusa Coin will keep you on the edge of your seat and reading well into the night. If paranormal thrillers are your thing, you can’t go wrong with a read by Lou Paduano. – TE (Goodreads review)

This book starts out leading the reader through a series of twists and turns……..Into the the darkness and into the unknown………… Thrilling and exciting..This writer will surprise you you and keep you on the edge of your seat until the end …. or is it? – Paula (Goodreads review)

Portents sure is an incredible place to visit and I am glad that I get to do it on a regular basis… All fans of Portents will eat The Medusa Coin right up! – Debra

Best book yet! – Louise (family gatherings)

Your favorite – LINKS!

early reviews

The Medusa Coin arrives on Tuesday. Help spread the word through social media, at the local PTA meeting, or even in the middle of a church reading or two this weekend. Only $0.99 digitally!

            

The shadows are growing in Portents…

A friend recently asked me if I knew all along where the series was going. Honestly, I didn’t have a clue. When putting together Signs of Portents the first time, I thought I would drop by Portents for a quick visit and then say goodbye to Loren and Soriya.

Their world refused to let me go.

And I am all the better because of them and readers like you and those who have enjoyed the journey. There are dark times ahead, sacrifices to be made, and not everyone will see the light at the end of the path.

Take the next step with me, won’t you?

The Medusa Coin Sneak Peek Part 2

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Last time I showed you the prologues to The Medusa Coin. Opening with a glimpse of Loren’s world as well as Soriya’s always appealed to me from a story perspective. I was happy to keep up the “tradition.”

This sneak peek offers a glimpse at the other side of the equation in The Medusa Coin. The threats. Both seen and unseen. Enjoy!

Chapter One

A storm was coming. Rushing wind crashed, sending shutters slamming against the faded veneer of the old home. Neglected over the last few years, the Victorian-style domicile on the Upper East Side of Portents stood in complete shadow apart from the neighborhood. Overgrowth from trees surrounding the property kept it hidden from the world.

Perfect for Henry’s needs.

He coughed, blood mixing with spittle against his clenched fist. The candle, the only light down the long second floor hallway, shook in his grasp. He tried to find his balance, the blood and saliva mixture spreading against the wall from outstretched fingers. His vision blurred from the sweat dripping off his brow.

He was getting worse, the old feelings of pain and sickness filling him from head to toe. Time grew short. His world was collapsing and had been for the last three years, since his first fall.

It came at work. Long hours and intense study were the excuses of the day but it was more than that. He pressed on until his body demanded an answer to its screams. When he fell outside his office, there was little choice but to find out the truth.

Doctors poked and prodded. Appointments stretched weeks and months, tests never explained unless the questions were direct and thorough, something he prided himself on being, thankfully. Unfortunately, the answers didn’t work in his favor, joining the uncomfortable looks and apologies every time a health community member entered the room.

“Henry,” they would say, always staring at a computer screen or clipboard. Never catching his wary eyes. “I’m sorry to have to…”

Their apologies ended his listening. Apologies amounted to nothing but a waste of time. The test results spoke for themselves. They gave their statement on his life, on his existence culminating in a final diagnosis confirmed with a single word by dozens of professionals in lab coats.

Terminal.

The first time he heard it, Henry wept for a week straight. He had controlled every aspect of his life. His relationships. His professionalism. Every piece of his world was finely tuned, from his place of residence to his selection of careers. Everything lined up for him. He controlled it all and everything served the greater good; his legacy, his contributions to the world.

All washed away in a single word.

Terminal.

“How long?” Henry asked after a time, when emotions were lost and apologies faded behind cold, hard truth.

Each professional mumbled their reply, always looking away, their focus never on the patient before them. “There’s no way to know for certain. Some patients—”

“How. Long.”

“Six months. Maybe a year.”

Always the same response, with the disease so virulent throughout his system. He felt it with each breath, with each sudden movement, the striking pain rising up his legs and into his chest. He could have collapsed at the diagnosis, the timeline set by men seemingly smarter than him. For a time he did, all sense lost in that single word.

He dropped everything and left his job. He cut himself off from the world and devoted every waking moment to curing the illness within. Chemo left him weak, his body aging decades in only three short years, two and a half more than anyone predicted at the start. Pain, once sudden and sharp, became a way of life. Doctor appointments riddled his schedule, his own time little more than sleep on top of naps on top of light meals that ended up vacating one way or the other. His once controlled world was no longer his anymore.

Everything was taken from him.

All for nothing.

Treatments failed. One by one, all avenues toward any form of cure dissolved, evaporated with the middle-aged man’s every hope and dream. Holistic solutions came and went more than traditional methods, failing at every turn.

The less traveled roads became the only ones left. As a younger man, Henry learned of them all. He saw things uniquely, his mind open to different possibilities. He filled his waking hours, which were becoming fewer and fewer, with tomes seldom seen. He shopped on the Internet, spending every last cent earned over a lifetime of study and perseverance. Another thing lost—his financial security joining the rest of his life. All went toward one goal.

Survival.

His need outweighed all sacrifices, fighting against all pain and the ravage waste that had become his body. All proving futile, the books and alternative solutions proving every bit as useless as the rest.

Until one presented itself.

Henry Erikson woke from a deep dream, one plaguing his thoughts for days. A woman in a blue dress with hair as black as night. She danced along his thoughts until her smile turned to screams.

The sudden shift startled him awake. Most nights this led to tossing and turning but tonight was different.

Something was waiting for him under the dim light of his nightstand lamp. A single sheet of paper and a round object resting upon it.

A coin.

Confused and uncertain, Henry’s withered hand reached for it. It slipped between his fingers, jolting him awake with its touch. Shivers raced through his body, feeling and sensation long since abandoned due to the raging disease. His breathing did not cause sharp pains in his chest.

Creaking wood alerted him to another presence—a shadow in the doorway. Henry held up the coin, the ghoulish face on its front sneering at him.

“What is this?” he called into the darkness.

The shadow chuckled. “An opportunity.”

Henry understood it as something more. A miracle.

Overnight, blurred vision and failing function turned around. Henry rushed from his bed able to stand and walk and even dance as if the illness had been nothing more than a dream. A three-year nightmare that ripped the world from him. That took control from him.

Never again.

“Full remission,” the doctors said, flummoxed. Henry held tight to the coin and smiled at each question the doctors asked. No answers would come their way, the same as they shared with him for so long. Except to their final inquiry before returning Henry to the world at large. “What are you going to do now?”

“Live.”

Forever.

The truth of the coin unwrapped itself in the manuscripts accumulated during his frantic search. He used the knowledge to reclaim his old position, to start again, though his worldview had shifted. Still, the coin remained a priority. He took his time to study it, examining every last word, and every last instance of the coin in history.

Until time began to run out once more.

The initial effects, while staggering and life altering, began to fade. To lessen. To dissipate.

His illness was returning, the disease ripping through him even more fiercely.

Leading him to this moment.

The candle continued to flicker as he closed the door to his private study, tucked from view from the rest of the home. His bloodied hand ran along his side, staining his already discolored shirt. The room came to light from the thin flame. In the center was a circle, more candles placed around the chalk marring the floorboards.

It was time to reclaim his life, to fully control his destiny for the first time in years. And never relinquish it again. The coin sat in the center of the circle, the list of names beneath. Weeks of inquiry, of bribes with the last of his funds, had made the meaning behind the list clear.

As well as its purpose to what lay ahead.

Henry entered the circle and sat before the coin. He lit the candles around him then blew out the thin wick of the first. Slipping his hand into his pocket, it returned with a small knife. He took the coin into his other hand and nicked the end of his finger. Blood dropped on the coin’s surface, the sneering face obstructed.

Until the coin absorbed the blood.

Henry closed his eyes and breathed deep, pain filling his lungs. He recalled the words, studied them and recited them for days in preparation. He feared the result, the consequences of his actions, what would be unleashed by his request.

Survival won out.

“Σας καλούν. Λάβουν σοβαρά υπόψη την έκκλησή μου.”

The words were soft but carried along the wind, a growing maelstrom emulating the storm outside the Victorian style domicile. They grew in the telling, like the legend behind the coin, the power it held over the creature being summoned. The creature that would save Henry from fate, placing it back where it belonged: under his control. Forever.

“Σας καλούν. Λάβουν σοβαρά υπόψη την έκκλησή μου.” Louder now, the wind swirling in the study. The candles went out, dropping the room into darkness. More than that, the shadows appeared to grow in the corner. They gained shape and form, reaching from the darkness of some other space.

Announcing the arrival of the beast.

“Σας καλούν. Λάβουν σοβαρά υπόψη την έκκλησή μου.”

It exited the shadows, howling at the words, screeching at the coin in the man’s hand. Henry tried to look away, drawn to the sight of the monster. Black tangles of hair escaped the cloak covering most of its enlarged form. The hair cascaded over the beast’s desiccated face, unable to block the hollowed-out sockets where eyes once lay. Oversized arms protruded from the cloak, fingers of bone and sinew stretching out and ripping the air. Unable to penetrate the circle. Unable to fight against the coin held tight in Henry’s grasp.

The creature cowered before the coin. This was not the path Henry chose, not the one he wanted after a lifetime of study and hard work, of sacrifice and patience, of control. It was, however, life he was after. And life he would attain once more.

Forever.

He held the list before the creature’s sightless face, the power of the coin pulsating through him. He knew what was to come, the price to be paid. A small price for the reward to come.

“There is work to be done.”

Lessons learned…

Something that has come up since the release of Signs of Portents is the seeming lack of depth from the villain’s perspective. And I completely agree. Nathaniel Evans was meant to be pure evil, wanting and taking everything he believed he deserved.

Henry, I hope, balances the scales a little bit, offering a more conflicted side to the villain’s role. I’m curious to know what you think.

ONLY ONE MORE WEEK!

Thanks for reading!

The Medusa Coin Sneak Peek Part 1

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We’re only 2 weeks out from the release of The Medusa Coin! I’m sitting here looking over the latest proofs amazed how things have changed in the last year. Greystone was an inkling of a thought not that long ago and now book three is coming out! I really get in gear I thought a sneak peek would set the mood:

Below are the opening prologues for the novel. Two of them, just like in Signs, to focus on each of our main leads. If you remember from Signs of Portents, the novel ends with Soriya summoning the lightning to end a vampiric threat – just another day at the office.

Not so much…

Prologue One

The lightning struck.

Fast and free, splitting the sky, it shattered the windows of the apartment, careening for its target. The ravenous beast, lusting for innocent blood roared, its end reflected in the single bolt of electricity. Her victim raced for the door, trying to escape an unforgettable nightmare. The lightning was justice. Pure. Simple. Controlled.

The vampire shrieked, her final moment met with nothing more than terror. One instant present and the next vaporized in the aftermath of the directed storm. The perfect climax to Soriya Greystone’s first night back on the job. Life continued in the city of Portents with her protector back on the streets. Until the lightning struck.

Then everything changed.

There was no control in the blast. The lightning, once channeled to perfection through the rune cast on the Greystone’s face, hit with such terrible fury that the room exploded with the force of a thousand shockwaves. The creature of the night felt nothing in the instant of her death. Soriya, however, took the brunt of the aftermath, ejected from the room by the lightning.

She felt weightless. Wind whipped around her, the seconds lost in confusion and fear. The city blurred, the lights below blinding. Instinct took over. Seven floors up, there was little time for decision making. Even less time for her better judgment, not that it had a role in anything anymore.

For Soriya, only survival mattered. The ribbons of Kali shot out from her left arm, catching the railing on a fourth floor balcony across the street. Her body jerked, reeled in by the gift of the Hindu death goddess. The arc was steep, her momentum from both the blast and the change in direction too quick to maintain.

She landed hard in the street, her breath leaving her at once. The ribbons retracted, snapping back to her skin. Soriya rolled from the impact, skirting two lanes of highway.

Bright lights beamed through closed eyelids. Headlights bearing down on her. Horns blared. Shouts from aggressive drivers and delivery trucks worried about accident reports more than the life of the woman crumpled on the road. Soriya tucked down, rolling between vehicles, watching the rush of traffic speed over her compressed frame before she inched meticulously to the roadside.

Blood coated her knees and elbows. Standing was agony but Soriya found her footing with the help of the corner mailbox. Screams continued to ring out and she worried that more cars headed her way, that the danger had yet to pass.

She was only half right.

The screams echoed, not from the dizzying evening traffic, but from the apartment building across the street. Screams that melded into the blaring alarms. The symphony created by the fire consumed the southeast corner of the ten-story structure.

“No,” Soriya muttered. She fell to the sidewalk, the orange and red flames filling her wide eyes.

Sirens blared, flashing lights coming from all directions. Dozens of people flooded the street, onlookers curious about the destruction. Those who came from the building itself wore looks of worry and devastation. Their lives had changed in an instant.

Firefighters set to work immediately. Exits were opened on all ends, families escorted out with trails of smoke close behind. The flames already consumed three floors of the building, and were spreading mercilessly to the rest. If not the heat, then the smoke, filling every hall, clouding every window.

The victims, their homes destroyed, cried out from down the block. Their safety meant little to the losses suffered.

Because of a single act.

A few onlookers moved to help, lending a hand to those in need. Jackets offered due to the cool night air. A smile and a friend. Emergency crews did the rest, rushing into the devastation to help where they could while others contained the spreading flames.

Soriya Greystone did nothing but watch it all unfold. Her breath caught in her throat, her heart unable to calm. The stone rested in her palms, the light upon its surface long since gone.

What have I done?

The young woman settled into the shadows, the sorrow of the innocent ringing in her ears. Innocence the stone should have protected. That she should have kept safe. Their cries followed her fleeing steps, carrying her broken frame deeper into the night.

 

Prologue Two

Loren quit drinking a year ago. Thirty-six years old now and he hadn’t tasted a drop of alcohol in the last twelve months. In fact, he had never cared for the stuff. It was the convenience of the product, the idea of its effectiveness in pulling one out of the doldrums, out of life itself and making the world more acceptable for a time.

Until nothing was acceptable. Not the drink. And not Loren. Drinking never brought out feelings of joy or created a distance between reality and fantasy. It simply made Loren angrier, a gift passed down from his father.

That much was fact from the moment of his first drink. Seventeen and his neighborhood friend, Cliff—he wanted to change his name to Logan like the hairy guy from X-Men—handed him his first beer. Swill was an understatement. The stuff was poison wrapped in aluminum and something Loren downed with four more of its brethren, not that he noticed the count after the second. All he remembered was blood on his fist and Cliff crying very un-Logan-like tears. Whatever the argument mattered little in the long haul, much like their future friendship (of which none existed after that night). Loren quit drinking after that, his first attempt of many over the years, but everything eventually circled around and it did the same for him.

When Beth fell. Only at the end of the day it was Loren that fell, lost in anger and mistakes.

Which made his entrance to McDuffie’s Pub that much more peculiar. He slipped inside the dive bar tucked in the shadow of Evans Tower, shifting between patrons celebrating the approaching summer season with drinks and smokes on the patio.

Damn, I miss smoking.

Loren slipped a stick of gum from his pocket then tucked it away. His latest nasty habit could wait. He needed to celebrate and McDuffie’s was the place he remembered. Not exactly the best of memories considering what followed—his brawl with Standish and subsequent suspension from the force.

Loren took a seat at the bar, fighting for comfort on the stool. Small glances flitted his way, but Loren ignored them. He reached into his pocket and removed the small metallic item behind the need for some celebration.

His badge.

The meeting with Ruiz went very well, beyond his own expectations. His sister continued to avoid his calls, the “I told you so” mentality spanning the silence between them, though Loren knew this was the smart move. Portents never faded into the background as he had hoped with his departure. Those were the dreams of a man looking to run away and keep running. They were the words of a kid unable to control a situation. He was an adult and it was time to face the world rather than ignore it.

No matter the bridges burned and the pain endured.

Or the mysteries left open.

“I’ve seen that look before.” A shadow fell over the badge resting on the bar in front of Loren and a voice pulled him from his musings. The man behind the deep voice smiled, his teeth unnaturally white against his dark skin. He ran a rag over a pint glass. “Usually with someone a little younger. No offense. But definitely that look.”

“Which one is that?”

The bartender put the glass down and pointed to the badge. “Awestruck. Like finding a jewel at the bottom of the ocean by chance.”

Loren nodded. “That’s not far off, actually.”

“Late bloomer?”

“Reinstatement,” Loren said, clearing his throat. He picked up the badge and ran his thumb along the embossed shield at its center. “And a long story.”

“Any way you spin it, sounds like there should be some celebrating involved.” The bartender lifted the glass and tilted it to Loren, waiting for a reply.

Loren waved the glass down. “I don’t drink. Not anymore.”

“Strange place to plant yourself then.”

“Familiar ground,” Loren replied.

The bartender nodded, looking around. “Comforting.”

“Instinct.”

The man left and returned, Loren following his movements. There were a number of patrons waiting for refills but all deferred to the tall black man behind the bar. When the bartender came back, a glass settled on a coaster in front of the detective.

“Water for the man in blue,” he said with a smile. “Always on the house.”

Loren lifted the glass. “Water? How generous.”

“I am a kind-hearted soul.” Reaching beneath the bar, the man retrieved his own glass of water and held it up. “To new beginnings.”

“Cheers.” Loren took a long sip, every drop satisfying him.

“Can I get a table set for you?” the man asked, looking around for space. “How many are joining you?”

Loren hesitated, the satisfaction of the moment fleeting. He looked around at the strangers in the bar. Dozens of people he had never seen before tonight and would never see again. None were alone; all were with some companionship for the night. Laughing. Loving. Together.

“I’ll be fine.”

The bartender read his face, and knocked on the bar. “Congrats again.”

Loren held up the water. “And thanks again—”

“Dominic.” The man extended his hand. Loren took it and gave a hard shake. “Here every day.”

“Living the dream.”

Dominic smiled, heading to a group of waiting customers. “Aren’t we all?”

Loren stared at the badge on the bar. He certainly could not argue against the sentiment. As Dominic left for the far end of the bar, Loren sipped at his drink, thinking over the events leading to this night. Nathaniel Evans. The loss of Mentor. Soriya and the Greystone. The Night of the Lights.

Portents was changing.

More than he wanted to admit, it seemed. Watching Dominic pour a pitcher for the waiting customers, he realized the bartender wore an unseasonably thick sweater over a shirt with a high collar. Surrounded by young men in shorts and women in considerably less than socially accepted outfits, Dominic stood out as the odd man in the room.

Then he saw them. Tucked under the collar, pulled low by the man’s sweater, small slits ran up the bartender’s neck. After handing the pitcher to the group, Dominic downed his glass of water, then filled another before swiftly dispatching it without pause. The small slits flared along his neck, like tiny lips cooing with contentment.

Gills.

Dominic caught the detective’s stare, finding the sunken point on the collar and fixing it expediently. He grinned to the man at the center of the bar, a finger to his lips. Loren nodded, half astonished.

Portents was changing and he sat right in the middle of it all now. Right where he asked to be. The hidden city out in plain sight. Everywhere around them.

Loren laughed, finishing his water.

Outside, sirens blared. Emergency vehicles including fire and ambulances rushed down Evans heading west. Trouble. But not his. Not tonight.

He was celebrating.

Loren peered around the room at the strangers among him. None glanced over. Not at the flashing lights or the city’s booming noise. And not at the lone man in the center of the room. They were lost in their own lives, content in the moment.

The city was changing but some things stayed the same.

Loren turned back to the bar, a fresh water in front of him. Alone. He lifted the glass, eyes on the badge. His fresh start. His new beginning.

“Bottoms up.”

Start your engines…

A brief glimpse into the worlds of Soriya and Loren to set the stage for what is to come. In the next sneak peek you’ll be introduced to the threat(s) and a crucial hint for what is to come in later installments…

Thanks for reading.

The Medusa Coin Primer

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It is time to get ready for the next installment in the Greystone series! The Medusa Coin arrives on September 12th!

the medusa coin

Previously in Greystone:

What do you need to know to dive right into The Medusa Coin? For me it is all about character. Events happened in the past, that’s going to be true for any novel, any series, anything. If I met you on the street I would know nothing of your past, only of the moment and everything preceding it would come later – or not. You don’t HAVE to tell me everything. I won’t get upset.

But when it comes to Greystone it all boils down to Greg Loren and Soriya Greystone.

Greg Loren is a broken man. He’s lost his wife, the circumstances of her death a mystery he has been unable to solve over the last four years. He can’t move out of the past despite his efforts to forget everyone and everything. And now that he is back in Portents, the past surrounds him on all sides.

And his dreams are getting worse. Beth calls to him, her fate tied to his future but in what way he still has no idea.

Yet.

Soriya Greystone lost her previous life in the burning wreck of a van at the age of four. Her parents, her very identity were stripped from her in that instant. The man known to her only as Mentor found her and offered her a new path, a new life.

Forged through endless study and struggle, Soriya learned the truth about the city of Portents and its need for a protector. Wielding the enigmatic Greystone and using its power over nature she stands as the last line of defense against the dark creatures of myth and legend that infect the city.

When Mentor fell his stone merged with her own, the secrets of the weapon hidden from her. Her true purpose and that of the object at rest tucked under the heart of Portents, the Bypass, a mystery that keeps her from fulfilling her destiny.

But all secrets come to light.

Nathaniel Evans’ plan to raze Portents to the ground and begin again failed. In its wake, however, new threats have been awoken. New plans put into motion.

The ultimate test for Greg Loren and Soriya Greystone is about to begin.

And it starts with The Medusa Coin…

The lightning struck…

For those who have finished Signs of Portents you know how it ended. The crashing of thunder, the lightning strike of justice ending another threat in Soriya’s city.

That moment changes everything.

You’ll see what I mean next time as a sneak peek into the latest novel.

Thanks for reading.

Remember…

You can pre-order your copy of The Medusa Coin now!

            

 

 

 

Writing Update – August 24, 2017

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I was away on Monday. It’s a rare thing and I took advantage of the time after a crazy summer of writing. I also learned a bit about myself in the process. I suck at down time.

It’s something I need. I recognize that fact. At this point in the game, however, I seem to be missing the capacity to handle such things. So what did I do?

I remodeled a bedroom. Spackle, paint, new shoe moulding. Fun stuff.

Writing-wise? I outlined two new series. That is the very definition of the OPPOSITE of down time. Stupid brain…

They’re pretty cool ideas too, some trippy futuristic sci-fi action and a YA Horror series. I don’t mind letting my mind work on things like that. My frustration comes from not being able to write them out from the word GO. Both of these will sit on the backburner until my schedule opens up (hmmm, 2019 maybe?).

Now, that is just a fact of life. There are only so many hours in the day and I have a commitment to the projects already on the slate. That’s the way it is and has to be or I’d never move forward on ANYTHING. I get that, I do. Most of the time. But yeah, down time and my brain have yet to reach the same page. For now…

Greystone

If you’re on my newsletter you already know, but if not I’m glad to repeat it as often as possible:

The Medusa Coin comes out in LESS THAN 3 weeks! I originally considered leaving it at the full price of $2.99 but as the days inched closer I realized that really takes the fun out of promoting it to you and all of my exceptional readers.

So I’ve brought the price down to $0.99 for a limited time launch offer! The book hits digital shelves on September 12th so order your copy today!

            

 

Paperbacks won’t be available until the 12th but if you order one through Amazon it will be part of the Kindle Matchbook program. What is the Matchbook program? It means if you buy a paperback you can also purchase the Kindle version of The Medusa Coin FOR FREE. I love this program and absolutely try to utilize it with every published work.

Pathways in the Dark

You’ll be reading much more about this project in the coming months but I am happy to say it is off to my editor for the next month. I’m happy to see it take the next step to completion. I think this collection went far smoother than I thought it would.

When I was putting down my ideas for where the characters should be, what beats they need to hit to propel them forward to the final book in this arc, they really took shape. Binding them with this theme of finding your way through the darkness of Portents really strengthened the project as a whole.

I’m excited to share more about what’s inside starting next month!

Book Five!

THE DRAFT IS DONE!

Knowing this will be the final Greystone novel for some time and the conclusion of quite a bit built up since Signs of Portents, it was tough to say goodbye to so many wonderful characters. The action is intense in this one, the threat larger than anything we’ve seen so far in the series.

There are some heartbreaking moments in the book, some revelations I didn’t see coming when I started down this road.

I start the self-editing process in a couple weeks. Each character gets a moment, each thread stretched through the first four books comes into play here. It’s the largest story I’ve ever conceived and it is going to surprise you where things go.

Reading? What’s that?

I keep thinking there will be more time for reading now that drafting is done. Guess what? Not so much.

I am planning on putting together a Fall Reading List as things fall off the schedule. Hopefully by next update when I take another crack at some down time. (HA.)

Until then, thanks for reading!

Handling Criticism

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Handling criticism is crucial to success in everything we do. I hate to admit that. Opinions are a fact of life and everyone (unfortunately) has them – and enjoys sharing them.

How we handle criticism is the difference between a solitary career of writing missives no one wants to read or enjoys reading and a successful life as an author.

Giving Criticism

The Write Life had an amazing article on this subject recently. I’ll try not to overlap it too heavily but all stems from the same place:

Being constructive and not overbearing.

There are two ways to look at giving feedback: Your way. And the author’s way.

Not everything you see is the way the world works. Especially when it is the author’s world and we are simply guests to their narrative.

My uncle once made a comment to me about a book he was reading. He believed the author was incorrect with his conclusion because my uncle would never have followed the chain of events as described. But my uncle was not the main characters, and while some acts defy belief and SHOULD be questioned, most follow the rules set up either through character or plot.

Questioning the underlying reason for those rules is where constructive criticism comes to play.

I recently attended a writers retreat where this was put to the test. I constantly worry that my comments won’t help another author strengthen their work – as I’m sure most people do when they are asked for feedback. But in one particular case I believe I did as the right question.

It had to do with a character’s motivation. For twenty pages we followed this man as he condemned the world around him, choosing to live an isolated life. Then suddenly, when confronted with a woman being assaulted in an alley this same character comes to her aid.

By questioning that I was able to offer the author insight into not necessarily a flaw in the storytelling but an omission needed to explain the actions of the main character.

That was helpful. That was constructive.

Offering solutions

The question is a good first step but taking it further with options to strengthen the work is always welcome. Opening up possibilities gives an author avenues of exploration.

Will they be accepted and adopted? Maybe. But that isn’t the point. Don’t be upset when a change you suggested seems ignored. You don’t see the whole picture as the author would, but offering them that choice, showing them a different path to the same point might spark a third idea that is stronger than anything discussed.

It isn’t about stroking your ego. It’s about making the work the best it can be.

Handling criticism

The other end of the equation is handling criticism offered. May it be other authors, your readers, or your dear old mother, learning how to listen to the questions being asked about your pride and joy manuscript is key to its final success.

Arguments are bound to happen. But understanding the question is the first step to seeing potential pitfalls of your narrative. Beyond grammar, beyond your love of the semi-colon, it is about story logic, character motivation or their overall arc.

Everything is fair game when asking for reader feedback.

At the retreat I shared a piece I am hoping to draft next year. In the opening scene a female officer is arrested under suspicion of murder. The cops who arrest her are incredibly harsh at their handling of the situation, something that struck my fellow authors as odd.

And they were right.

I might have known where the story was heading and why it made sense to me, but as a new reader this pulled them right out of the scene. By asking that question I know I need to return to that exchange and rework the dialogue or the situation as a whole.

To make the work better.

What we all want with our work.

Criticism is necessary and should always be looked at as a benefit not the slap in the face it might feel like at the time. I write this as much for myself as for you, as I find it to be one of the most difficult aspects of the writing process.

And absolutely one of the most important.

Thanks for reading.

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