Writing Update

Here I am! I have been working on revisions for THREE CROSSES every waking moment not already dedicated to something else. I found several grammar mistakes and a couple of editorial mistakes. But I reread THREE CROSSES. It's been a while since I have actually read the story. I liked it. I am pleased with it and am glad that I have taken the time to fix the problems so I can repost without them. So after this weekend I will be able to get back to the final part of FACT OR FICTION? It's written - I just need to tweak the last few sentences. And then after that - I will return to Mackenzie. There have been quite a few requests for the Mackenzie story and I love that people are enjoying it.
Now to making the corrections in the publishing version of THREE CROSSES.

Fact or Fiction? Part 3

          She felt absurd as she scrolled through the list of links, but it was the first time since she turned on her computer that she felt a spark of recognition. But how silly was that? She was no psychic by any means. If she were, she would certainly make better choices in life, starting with a better job. She chuckled as she clicked on one of the links. Seconds later she was completely engrossed in a story that someone had submitted to the open forum site about her possible experiences in the psychic world. The storyteller was not convinced that she was psychic but had so many brief encounters with the unknown that she felt compelled to ask the question – are my hallucinations a result of a psychic experience?

            Chloe spent the rest of the afternoon reading similar accounts and time and time again came across stories similar to hers. Not necessarily bodies smashing into windshields, but people who saw things that weren’t really there. On occasion she would read of someone having the same hallucination more than once but in most of the cases she read, the hallucinations would abruptly end with no rhyme or reason. A few of them however described the hallucinations coming to fruition.

            “Oh my God,” she whispered. Then her low battery warning gave her two seconds before her computer shut down. She sat there not even considering getting the power cord. She didn’t want to read more. Was there going to be an accident? Was she going to hit a biker while she was driving? She could spend the rest of her life in jail.

            “This is ridiculous,” she told herself and decided to redirect her attention to an air conditioned bedroom. The cold air was refreshing and slightly shocking. Nap time! She slept better than she had in days. When she woke, it was getting dark outside. She looked at her alarm clock. Almost four hours! She stretched and with her arms exposed, realized that it was way too cold. She stood, wrapping a loose blanket around her shoulders and turned the air conditioner down. She patted the top of it and said, “good girl. You did a good job.”

            Back in the living room, she shed the blanket. It wasn’t as oppressive as it had been, but still a world of difference from the bedroom. She glanced at her computer and thoughts of the psychic hallucinations bounced in her mind. Quite silly now that she had put time between her and the accounts of psychic or possible psychic experiences. She didn’t really believe in that kind of nonsense anyway, did she? It was all hocus pocus and she made up her mind that if she experienced any other similar hallucinations that she would call her doctor. But considering she just slept for four hours, it was pretty safe to say that she had been suffering from sleep deprivation. Now perhaps she was caught up on her sleep and would even sleep better that night. So tomorrow would be a better day. One with no bodies flinging off her windshield. It was perfect timing to reevaluate her life and habits. Perhaps she would cut down on the coffee. Two cups rather than three during the day. More sleep. And yes, she would start running again. Maybe drag her bicycle out of storage.

            She was struck with a horrifying thought. What if the images she were seeing were actually a prediction of herself being hit by a car? That’s it. She would dig out her old running sneakers and leave her bike in storage. She was smart enough to know that she was not a psychic having predictions but she was smarter still not to chance the possibility that she was given some kind of cosmic warning. Running shoes it was. She rolled a piece of cheese into a slice of bologna (she’d have to evaluate her eating habits another time, when there was more selection in the fridge) and changed into running clothes.

C.L.LeMay discusses THREE CROSSES

I have been asked a few times recently to give a quick synopsis of THREE CROSSES. 

 

Here goes:

 

THREE CROSSES is a story is about a young man, Simon Madison, about to inherit the family business - Mad Bros. Renaissance Faire. He wants nothing to do with it nor life for that matter. His father died 5 years previous in the clutches of the show's main attraction - Ginger the tiger. It's only when Amanda Moon, the show's new young fortune teller, arrives, does Simon start to feel a desire to partipate in his own life. What he doesn't bargain for is the twist of events that leads him to believe that his father's accident was truly a murder. And when a young classmate and Faire employee turns up mutilated in the swamps behind the family home, Simon and Amanda are propelled towards a deadly secret - they cannot trust anyone. They have to figure out who the murderer is before they become his next victim.

 

Fact or Fiction? - Part 2

           Chloe took another couple of minutes to gather her wits before reversing out of her parking spot. The remainder of the day was uneventful and she soon dismissed the incident as something akin to a hallucination brought on by the oppressive heat and humidity. But as she lay in her bed that night, bedroom windows wide opened to the much needed breeze that had picked up, she wondered how it was that her hallucination had been so very real. It was unnerving what she witnessed but the reality was that she had not witnessed anything. After replaying the scenario several times in her head, she finally found sleep.

            The next morning she was awoke with damp sweaty hair. The air was thick and her sheets were clammy. Another awful day. It wasn’t even 7 am and the day was shaping up to be a horrendous one. At least she had the day off. She was scheduled to work Saturday and in an effort to keep overtime hours down, her boss had given her the day off. She was determined to find a window unit air conditioner that day. She had visited multiple stores the last two weekends but they were sold out everywhere. Maybe today she would have luck. It was a Wednesday after all. Not everyone could be out shopping. She took a quick shower, and changed into shorts, a tank, and a pair of flipflops. Bad driving shoes, but they were all she had for the weather. It was too hot for sneakers and socks. She drove left out of her side street and headed for Wal-Mart. Certainly they would have new arrivals and they were opened early. Maybe she would beat all the other weather whithered folk.

            She had all but forgotten about the hallucination from the previous day until she approached a bus stop. She slowed as she gazed over, compelled by some instinct not of her will. As she looked back, she flinched as she watched her windshield splinter into dozens of jagged cracks. Another body slammed across the glass and more metal, perhaps from a bike, went flying. Chloe didn’t close her eyes but her foot did move towards the brake. Just as quickly as she saw the horrible impact, all evidence of it was gone. Like it had never happened. She heard her breath come in shallow gulps and knew she was on the verge of a panic attack. She looked to her right. No on coming traffic so she pulled over. She managed to keep calm enough to put the car into park. What was going on? Was she losing her mind? Should she call her doctor? But that scared her almost as much as the hallucinations. A doctor might diagnose her as truly crazy. Maybe she had experienced a heat stroke. But that didn’t make sense. Aside from the hallucinations, she felt fine. Well, except for the heat. It was pretty close to unbearable. She slowed her rapid breathing to normal before she pulled back into the traffic that was starting to pick up.

            The rest of the day was all about air conditioning. She bought one, a small one for her bedroom, but it was good enough especially for the money. It was light enough that she could install it herself. She closed the shades in her bedroom and pulled the door closed. She went to the living room thinking she would better appreciate the cool bedroom if it was like a surprise to her. She turned on her laptop and searched the internet for any topic that closely related to her hallucinations.

            Schizophrenia? Almost every sponsored link had the word in it. She scrolled down. Sleep deprivation. That was more of a possibility than schizophrenia – she hoped. The search continued. Too much caffeine. Bipolar disorder. And on and on it went. Nothing struck her as her situation. It was hours of reading and researching and dismissing before she came across a reference to hallucinations and psychic experiences.

THREE CROSSES on sale for $2.99 - limited time offer!

Just a reminder that you do not have to own the Kindle or NOOK to purchase THREE CROSSES from either Amazon.com or Barnes and Noble (BN.com). You can download their application onto your computer, your smartphone, your ipad, etc. and then download the book.

The price is temporarily slashed to $2.99 because my editor (that would be me) left a notation to the author (that would be me) in the manuscript. It is an imperfect copy of the book but the mistake(s) does not effect the storyline.

I am working on the corrections but I cannot just go to my book online and correct. I actually have to correct on my end. Take the book off the Amazon and BN bookshelf and repost the corrected manuscript. This means the book will not be available for sale for a couple of days and that stinks. Unless there is someway to circumvent this process that I am not aware of, I am not looking forward to taking it off their bookshelf.

Please see the links below to purchase your copy of THREE CROSSES.

http://search.barnesandnoble.com/THREE-CROSSES/CL-LeMay/e/2940012256027/?itm=1&USRI=c.l.lemay

http://www.amazon.com/THREE-CROSSES-ebook/dp/B004Q7CMCW/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1305372977&sr=8-1

I have been getting phenomenal feedback from readers who are looking for the next book and have declared that this book would make a great movie. To say the least, I am flying high with these reports.

Also, want to share that BN.com's rating has been fixed. It had gone to 3 1/2 stars although the ratings all looked good. This morning it was back to 5 stars, but here's the kicker - there used to be 8 reviews and 15 ratings. There are now 8 reviews and 11 ratings. Were those other 4 ratings bogus? I am very pleased with the 5 star rating, but why were there ratings that brought my rating way down and where did they go? Did BN recognize them as inappropriate? Was it a clitch in the system? Or did someone have a guilty conscious and delete bad ratings? Hmmm...a feel a story brewing. Well if you did purposefully give me a bad rating, thank you for deleting them (assuming you did and not BN).

Ok, I must run. I have another addition of Fact or Fiction? to post before the day's end and I am plugging away on the corrections to THREE CROSSES - truly a daunting task. I am reviewing it backwards so I can more easily find a mistake without focusing on the story itself. Any offers to proofread for me? Anyone? Haha! Enjoy your weekend:)

Fact or Fiction? Part 1

            The drive to work wasn’t long in miles but the distance might as well be across the continent. The back roads were treacherous in the wintry months and congested in the warmer months with endless red lights, cross roads, and bumper to bumper travelers seeking refuge in another locale, any locale other than the one they had just left. But for Chloe it was just another work day. The air conditioning in her aged boxy navy blue Toyota Camry was the first thing to die shortly after she had scrounged the $1200 together to buy it. Steamy humid air laid on her like a lead blanket. Less than two miles until the final turn.

            She approached the set of lights at the Star Market, easing down on her brake as she anticipated the inevitable change from green to yellow. It was her luck. There was no escaping it. She could only succumb to it. Bam! Her head snapped back, her eyes closed tight, and both feet slammed the brakes to a screeching halt. Oh God! Was that a biker? A pedestrian? What just hit her windshield? Who just hit her windshield? She couldn’t bare to open her eyes, but when the car horns started to blare, she knew she had to look. She braced herself to see blood smeared across her glass. Her heart pounded as she peeked through slit lids. Nothing. She opened them further. Still nothing. Not a drop of blood. Not a crack across the glass. She looked around for the poor mangled soul but all she saw were a few people at a bus stop looking at her like she had lost her mind.

            “Move it, lady!” The driver behind her yelled.

She reacted and pulled into the market parking lot. Her fingers gripped the steering wheel and she wasn’t sure she could pry them away to put the car into park. She sat in drive, foot on brake and hands clasping the wheel for a full minute before she could do anything. And then it was only because a man approached her from the bus stop. He bent down to look into the open driver’s window.

“You ok?” He asked, looking a tad concerned with his face twisted in an expression that could have been just concern or concern and fear.

“Did you see what happened?” Chloe’s voice was shaky.

“Yeah. You slammed on your brakes. The guy behind you was an inch away from slamming into you. You’re lucky he didn’t hit you.”

“No, I mean…you know…the person on the bike that hit my windshield.”

The bus stop man took a step back from Chloe’s car. Who knew? Maybe insanity was contagious. “Nobody hit your windshield.”

Chloe shook her head. Was she hallucinating? “I swear I saw something hit my windshield. A person on a bike or something.”

“Ma’am maybe you should get some water or something. It’s real hot out.” He turned at the sound of the diesel bus approaching. “You going to be ok?” He asked but not really waiting for an answer as he backed away and then turned across the grass to the bus stop. He looked at Chloe one more time as he boarded and gave her a half hearted wave. She nodded but only as an acknowledgement.

It had been so real. She saw it as clear as she saw the man get on the bus.

Saying Hello!

I am alive, just been very busy restructuring my approach to marketing and book business. I have tiptoed around ABR, Mackenzie book, and some short stories. Currently I am working on the corrections for THREE CROSSES so I can repost without the issues. Put it this way - I have employed an assistant to help me because I have soooo much to do. Reading this morning about how other authors are utilizing Facebook in their marketing strategy. Have a work project due tomorrow that I need to focus on tonight if I am to get it done. Etc, etc. My short-term goal is to get onto a schedule so that all writing stuff has a daily place in the ...blah blah blah. I am actually bored with this post. I have voicemail messages I haven't listened to. Hundreds of emails I need to weed through. Laundry to put away but first need to move winter stuff away to make room for warmer weather clothes. Hmmm...will I ever be a successful published author? Yes. I will continue on and find my beat. Despite the fact that this post probably sounds depressing - I am not. I actually feel confidant that it will all work out. I will touch base again soon.:)

ABR excerpt

A note regarding the below post - this is an alternate beginning I wrote once upon a time for Along Black River. It is NOT the actual beginning that I use. But I wanted to give you a writing sample and I actually like this excerpt, just not for this particular book. So I decided this was a place to share it.

        Somewhere in the deep trenches of her brain, Jackie knew she was dying. She was aware of the lull that had only seconds before been barking commands, squels of rubber soles on waxed floors, and beeps - lots and lots of electric beeps. But the trenches of her brain didn't matter anymore. She just knew. Just like that, she knew. She saw it all but not with her eyes. It was just knowledge. Everything was a vibrating energy. Her energy pulsated at a different rhythm, which was why she was aware of all those people around what used to be her body. It lay there on the table, chest exposed. A man's hands doubled up between her breast, attempting to resurrect her still heart. Another person, a female, yelled, "clear!" Paddles filled the limp heart with electrical current. Electricity. It was the life force. No wonder Mary Shelley explored the phenomenon. It was the giver of life-it was life-it was all and everything. It all pulsated to electrical current.
        "Clear!"

     Jackie didn't open her eyes. She knew where she was and why she was there. There was little haziness. She knew that a nurse checked her vitals every five minutes, not because she was in critical condition anymore, but because the doctors had fully expected her to be conscience by now. Was she comatose? Her vitals said no. Her heart beat had returned and was strong considering the blood loss and the physical trauma her body had sustained. And considering she was clinically dead for almost two whole minutes, well it was a wonder that she had survived. Perhaps there was undetected brain loss. Jackie heard the nurse when she said, "she must have really wanted to live." The unspoken response was, "so why did she try to kill herself?"
        Jackie kept her eyes closed, responded only to those tests that her reflexes controlled. She made no sound or twitched. Yet she was alert. She didn't want to return. She wanted to be gone. Living was just too damn hard. It was like there was always a pillow over her face anyway. She struggled to breathe and to make sense of the why of life. She didn't feel like trying anymore. Why did they bring her back? Obviously she wanted to be gone, to be dead. She held back the urge to touch the fresh wounds. She felt the bandage wrapped around her left wrist. She did it with one quick incision-not like the time before where there were several cuts-most minor. She hadn't died back then. She hadn't even passed out.
        And now twelve years later, her second attempt at suicide was debunked by professionals who did their jobs all too well.

I will pick this up again later and continue with this excerpt....

Writing Updates

I am tempted to post some of ABR (Along Black River). It took a while to locate what I have on it but unfortunately a lot of my writing is lost. I had a flood in my basement last year that wiped out everything that was in the bottom shelf of my file cabinet. I also have stuff saved on floppy discs - remember those? I actually have a floppy disk drive that I can connect to my computer. I tried going through them this weekend because there are a dozen or so books and/short stories on them. It took me a while to realize that the reason they weren't working was because the discs were Macintosh formatted! It has been years and years since I had an Apple. So anyway - I finally found some hard copies of ABR and wow! I fell in love with the story again. I am trying to decide where to focus my attention. I really would like to work on ABR. Maybe I will post a few pages and see what kind of reaction I get. I haven't forgotten about A Miracle for Mackenzie. It's just that when I have time to write, I am more of a mystery/suspense author. I love writing the Mackenzie story. I wish I could conjure more time to write. I suppose if I stop sleeping, I could. Oh the dilema. Happy Monday (almost - it's Sunday night as I write this.) and I will get back on track. I just need to make up my mind and sometimes that isn't the easiest thing when it comes to my writing. Writing is something I could do for hours and hours every single day and when I am limited with time, I get confused as to which story I should be working on. I'm taking suggestions - feel free to comment.