Posts Tagged ‘how to’

Hi guys

 

I’ve been hard at and I am busy. With a visit from my Mum and the impending release has me finishing my work. I now have a beta reader and I love her for the help she has given me, she is awesome.

I am so excited about this, the things I have planned for this is immense and i really cant wait to show you what I am going to be making. The cover release will happen so and I know that it will be awesome as always, Rue is a genius when it come to covers and I love every single one she has done for us.

I also have some fun planned for Halloween. I’m always in a cave when writing and it sucks because I’m cut off from anything, I hate not being near my computer while the writing urge has me in it’s grips.

Six weeks until release day, six weeks, I still have to pinch myself when I see my books on out TARDIS coffee table and I really hope that I can continue to release books people want to read, I am working hard on several projects to get me into the minds of readers and I have some videos planned that will use my training and my liking of horror to take my YouTube channel into a few new directions. I really can’t wait. Just working on a few things I need to do before I can share but these next two months are going to be busy for me.

Have an awesome week

 

Simone

Hello Readers

The weekend is here and it’s time to have fun, relax and read a book. **Hint Hint**

Shameless plug done now to get to the reason for this post. I was given the chance to beta read a fellow Vamptasy Publishing Author Carmilla Voiez book Basement Beauty before it was published. She also asked me to review the book for her, so here it is.

Basement Beauty follows the life of a young woman, Amalthea, who works in a bar at night and writs during the day. With the arrival of a young poet, David, who reads during Poetry night and a woman searching for David, Eva. The tale flips from Amalthea, David and Eva. As things with the three heat up with David becoming obsessed with Amalthea, Eva’s need to find him and Amalthea being caught in the middle. Added to that there is a killer on the lose. The tale takes some unexpected twists and turns that keeps you guessing.

I loved the fact that I never knew what was coming next. It kept me on my toes and when I started reading the three main characters made an impression and I was surprised when what I first thought they were they were not. It was a tale that messed with your head and kept you interested.

I love the authors work and I am currently working through the recently re-released Starblood Trilogy, in one volume not three, and I’ll be doing a review of that in due time.

I would say that Basement Beauty is well worth a read.

Click here for Starblood
Click here for Basement Beauty

Head over to her facebook, link above and have a look at what she’s up to. She’s busy with podcasts, YouTube video’s, and working on other projects. If you look at the previous posts it has some teasing exerts from Basement Beauty, there’s also other links for Twitter etc.

Happy Reading and Writing

Have a brilliant weekend.

Simone

Hi Readers,

Finally it’s done, completely done.

Please enjoy and let me know if you spot any errors I will be happy to change them.

Two Dead Boys

Preface

My name is Darryl and I am writing this account of the last few months while my memory is still fresh. I believe it happened despite everyone saying otherwise. I know it happened. I have the scar and death certificate to prove it.

You may think this a little fantastical and downright unbelievable but it is a one hundred per cent true.

I know.

I lived through it.

My doctors tell me it is my way of dealing with what happened, what they say happened, a nuclear station meltdown, but it is not. I escaped before the explosion. I had to. I had to tell others what happened but they think I am mad.

I will keep this detailed account safe and add to the paperwork I have and one day I will prove that I am in fact a walking dead man.

It is true. I have the proof.


Chapter One: The first weird thing

It all began during my senior year. We were two weeks in and everyone was already stressing about prom, graduation and exams.

Josh and I were raised together and always lived next door to each other. We were more like brothers than friends. We went to school together and our school was two towns over from the little collection of houses where we lived.

We lived on a small cluster of houses surrounded by farmland. Farmland our fathers worked on. Between the two families the houses held nearly twenty people including ailing relatives, parents, children, grandchildren and farm hands.

That day, the Tuesday, was the first day something strange happened.

On the farm there was an old storm/bomb shelter and the walls were nearly nine inch think for protection. This is, word for word, what my dad told us when we got home school.

“The donkey, dumb ass, was acting all strange like it had been bitten and the poison was slowly poisoning the body it was starting to go lame. Your Uncle Bill was trying to help, though he was soon pretty much blind as the ass knocked off his glasses. While we were trying to move the retched donkey it kicked out and caught your Uncle Bill right in the eye, and propelled him right through the storm shelter wall. By the time we got to him he was gone.” He relayed, fighting back the emotion, my father was the stoic type. “The doctor said he drowned from the blood in his lungs that had gotten there due to the damage caused by the fall.” He told us in horrific detail.

My father was always adamant that he would never hide anything from us no matter how horrific much to both our mother’s dismay.

“What about the donkey?” I enquired.

“Put down,” he replied, his face stern and stoic. “It had been bitten, it was the best thing for him. He was old.” Dad explained and left the room, leaving Josh and I to digest what we had be en told.

The workmen were hard at it fixing the storm shelter but yet there was an odd quietness hanging over the farm.

It didn’t occur to us then how strange Uncle Bill’s death was. Not by a long shot.

Even the next two events didn’t cause us to think, our town was still smarting from the death too much to even think about it.


Chapter Two: Two Freaky Scenes

Luckily the next event didn’t involve a death but it was, shall we say, pretty damn strange.

At the school Josh and I went to there was a few, for want of a better word, handicapped students. Among them was a blind boy and a dumb girl. They were from a family that lived just down the dirt road from us and we often gave them a lift.

One day, around a week after Uncle Bills death, Josh and I decided to do a few tricks on our skate boards but needed a referee. So we, I know it sounds strange, asked them to help us out. Julie, the dumb girl, agreed and Paul, her blind brother told us he would tell us what she was saying. They were twins which was always a source of amusement to us both.

Although she was mute Julie was incredibly pretty and the fact she didn’t speak was a plus for most of the guys at school, if you get what I’m saying.

Though she was pretty she was a thick as a post, she was also very, well, slow. She was in a special needs group but we didn’t hold that against her. She was a good laugh regardless of her shortcomings.

She watched as we did our tricks and her and her brother sat in deep though and an odd type of conversation. After around ten minutes of showing off she told us, via Paul, that Josh was better than I. As I was about to ask her why, though I knew it was because she fancied him, their father passed by. He was also dumb, a mute, never spoken once in his life.

Paul told me that I was good from what he heard but josh was just that little bit better.

As their father reached us he surprised us all by screaming “hooray,” at the top of his voice. It shocked us as we had always been told that he was physically incapable of speech.

My dad was close by and he heard it too, it shocked him too. He came running over and asked us what had gone on.

When we explained the whole thing to him he just walked away and giggled as he went.

Paul and Julie left with their father. Between then and the explosion their father never said another word.


Chapter Three: Huhh?

The third event yet for from the strangest happened two days after we showed off for Paul and Julie. It also didn’t involve any horrific and twisted death but oddly strange none the less though it does involve an accidental death or two.

Josh and I had been driving around our semi-rural town, having a bit of fun and we ended up in our counties over grown cemetery near an old abandoned church and we started acting out battles we read about in history. Much like when we were younger.

For hours we played, pretending to shoot at each other, fighting and being typical teenagers. It was Saturday and unbeknown to us at the time the church was no longer abandoned. A new priest had moved in that week and he had, stupidly, called the police.

When the officer arrived we were shocked, we tried to explain, yet he completely ignored us. It was as though he couldn’t hear what we were saying.

Once we arrived at the police station, petrified of our parents finding out. We were processed and put into cells next to each other. We sat on the makeshift beds and we could hear the officer’s talking as the station wasn’t that big. One of the officers enquired, “Peter, why’d you arrest ‘em, they were only playin’. The priest is new in town. If they’d ‘ave known they’d ‘ave gone elsewere’s.” His drawl evident in every shortened word yet our arresting officer didn’t even register that he was being spoken too, he just continued writing up our arrest. “Peter, are you even listening to me?” he asked, his voice raised, nothing registered.

Another, more senior officer, one level under Chief of Police, joined the conversation and got the officers attention. “Peter, you can’t hear anything, can you?” Peter realised he was being spoken to yet his face showed he was completely puzzled.

The senior officer then told one of the others to take Peter to the hospital to get checked out and then released us with a stern warning to stay clear of the old church.

Driving home we knew we had a lucky escape and we were glad it wasn’t going on our permanent record with college so close.

Smiling we turned up the stereo and drove back to the farm. Driving the long, stretched out road was dull and boring and the day started to take its toll and I started to fall asleep, Josh was already asleep next to me, snoring loudly.

I jerked myself awake but it was too late. We were about to collide with a two foot wide fern tree. I had no chance of stopping the car as we were going too fast.

I saw the tree speeding towards me at over ninety miles an hour. The last thing I remember before a prolonged darkness was the tree in front of my face, so close that I could smell the sap and the muddy bark. Then there was just complete blackness and emptiness.


Chapter Four: Resurrection and realisation

The next thing I remember is waking up. I was in a coffin, I had been buried alive, that was the only answer, and it had to have been. I managed to bang my way out, pulling my way up and out. Once out I looked to my left and noticed a slightly banged up Josh next to me.

We looked at each other. A few cuts and marks but nothing to serious.

Then I saw the stiches visible under his dishevelled top and the look on his face told me I had them to. Looking closer I realised that it was in fact a Y incision, the type you see on the chests of the dead bodies on these crime dramas.

We had died in the accident! We were dead! Why the hell were we back? We weren’t zombies, we had to much control and awareness to be a zombie.

We headed to the farm. If anyone could help us figure it out, Dad could.

When the door was opened we were initially greeted by a continuous flow of women screaming and fainting. After they calmed down they hugged us and we sat down and we noticed a lack of appetite and I didn’t want to dwell on the reasons why.

We looked over at my dad who had looked as though he was expecting to see us and had been giggling the whole time the others were screaming

When the others, the family, went back to bed Dad began to explain what was humouring him.

“It’s all like that rhyme that you boys used to sing when you were kids.” He began, His face still showing an odd smirk. “Two dead boys got up to fight.” He reminded us. I recalled it instantly as did Josh. I looked at him and he looked at me and instantly realisation hit.

Everything that happened in the rhyme has happened with two exceptions, the first verse and the last line.

“That rhyme is about us! What happens if we complete it?” I ask, worried and concerned about the possible implications.

“I have no idea son,” Dad replied, his face contorted in worry, “The best thing is to complete it and see what happens.” He advises us. I had to say it made sense. He went to bed still chuckling to himself.

We thought about it and discussed it at length that night and saw no other way of ending this whole sorry affair.

Leaving the farm the following morning we grabbed two Civil War swords that grandpa had collected and two of Uncle Bills pistols while Dad when to get Paul, the blind witness. All the while the women of our little family were hysterical and worried about the plan. They knew there was no way around it.

Chapter Five: First verse

We stood in the freshly ploughed cornfield. Swords glistening in the morning sun and pistols heavy. With one weapon in each hand we faced each other then flipped back to back.

Talking ten paces it dawned on me that I was about to hurt my best friend, my brother, not by blood but he was my brother none the less. How could I bring myself to do that?

I knew I had to. I knew it was necessary but it was still hard and painful to do.

As I finished my paces I turned around as fast as I could and emptied the old pistol into him as he did me.

There was no pain, no blood, there was just a gaping, puss riddled hole. It was as though we were still dead and out young attractive bodies were decomposing from under us.

Nothing happened. At first!!!!

Josh and I collected all the paperwork pertaining to out deaths and put them in a safe yet faraway place.

We started to go back to a normal life. Our bodies stopped decomposing and started going back to normal after we had our organs taking out of the bag they were in and put in their normal place.

Two months after one of the girls at school started acting strange almost as though she was no longer alive. She was vacant, emotionless and then came the biting.

The ‘infection’ spread through our close network of towns like a wild forest fire. It infected men, women and children. They were all turned into brainless, emotionless creatures. They were adamant on making more.

At first we were worried that we had caused it but we couldn’t be sure. We talked about it. Our joined family had been turned and we were trapped in the nearby cattle pen. The barn seemed to obvious and had to many entrance’s in it.

The CDC wrote the area off as a biohazard and the governments did the unthinkable and sent in a small yield nuclear missile and ‘sanitised’ the area blaming it on a meltdown at the local power station.


Chapter Six: Escape

What they didn’t know was that I escaped to a nearby infection free city.

My body was almost back to normal. The only thing that was missing was a beating heart.

I couldn’t let things be and started to tell anyone who would listen what happened and soon got myself committed to this hell hole mental asylum.

I am no longer living yet not yet dead. The doctors could not explain my lack of a pulse. Whenever they asked me I told them the story and they labelled me paranoid.

I was committed as they were sure I was completely insane, mental, mad, and barmy, they pretty much wrote me off.

None of the meds they have given me have had any effect on me what so ever. None

I know Josh was vaporised when the bomb hit. Everyone and everything was gone.

After a few months in this hell hole I began to notice signs of the infection in the hospital. It was just a few and could be wrong and they could have been heavily medicated but if I’m right then we have a problem.

I don’t want to die but if me living causes other people to die and not stay dead what right do I have to say my existence out weights theirs. If I spread the infection then I need to sort something out, but what? How can something no longer living actually die?

I have a lot to think about and this place is perfect I just wish they would leave me alone and stop telling me that I am crazy.

Only time will tell if I’m going to spread the infection until then I’ll hide here.

My blind witness, Paul, is still alive too. He was sent to a hospital two states over to get some rest bite and surgery before the explosion. Though he is now orphaned he is glad to be alive.

Before the ‘duel’ I asked my Dad what was wrong with Peter, the deaf police officer, the night Josh and I died. My Dad told me, “He had accidently discharged his weapon in the police cruiser and burst both of his ear drums making him completely deaf.

The rhyme had come true. I’m still living as it Paul, though for how long I don’t quite know.

* * * * * * * *


Chapter Seven: Dr’s analysis of Darryl Dorkings

Subject is paranoid and delusional.

His paranoia is based on his assumption that if anyone gets close to him they will contact some mystery illness that will turn them into zombie like cannibals.

His delusion is based around the idea that he is the walking dead, that him and his best friend came back from the dead to complete a child’s rhyme that is in fact a prophecy. He also claims his town and several near it were’ sanitized ‘ by the government in order to prevent the spread of this mysterious infection.

Noteworthy Information

The subject has no pulse, needs no food or water and any/all drugs/poisons do not have any effect on him. He has no blood and feels no pain, heat or cold.

Experimental Outcomes

Cells show signs of infection with the same virus that killed his home town and resulted in their deaths. The virus is unique and holds the key to creating the world’s most perfect army and/or and ideal weapon in biological warfare.

Subject is oblivious to the experiments we are running using the virus he is carrying nor is aware that he is the subject of an intense biological study.

Subject with remain committed until such time as he and the other test subjects are no longer needed. At which point the area and those in it will be ‘sanitised’.

As for the link to the rhyme ; yes it is there I see it when he explains it in sessions. It puts a whole new spin on rhymes and poems and those that write them.

Personal note.

The subject is a walking petri dish and possibly slightly insane but I am drawn to him. I can’t explain it. I want to touch him so much it hurts and I don’t care if I get infected. I sometimes struggle to stop myself. I am not the only one. Several female staff and patients have voiced the same urge.

Dr Annetta Jones

BSc, Ma, PhD, Md

Psychiatrist, Molecular Biologist, Epidemiologist

Here’s a reminder of the version I used for the above tale. There are severally different versions out there.

One fine day in the middle of the night,
Two dead boys got up to fight,
Back to back they faced each other,
Drew their swords and shot each other,

One was blind and the other couldn’t, see
So they chose a dummy for a referee.
A blind man went to see fair play,
A dumb man went to shout “hooray!”

A paralysed donkey passing by,
Kicked the blind man in the eye,
Knocked him through a nine inch wall,
Into a dry ditch and drowned them all,

A deaf policeman heard the noise,
And came to arrest the two dead boys,
If you don’t believe this story’s true,
Ask the blind man he saw it too!

Hope you liked it.

Happy writing

Simone

Hello,

I don’t usually do this so please indulge me on this one. As most of you may be aware I have dyslexia. I am lucky as I am on the lower end of the scale however I still struggle. Especially when I’m tired, when I have high pain levels (which is often with my medical conditions) and, most of all, when I’m under stress.

It is still not as well treated or recognised in the schools as it should be and though some are discovered early, others, like myself, were not diagnosed and identified until later on. Mine was identified when I was eighteen when I told my college tutor my mother was dyslexic. That was when the penny dropped so to speak for the education system.

Work does need to be done about helping others with this so that they don’t think they are stupid or thick and that they need to rapidly restructure and reassess the way they deal with it. I’ve found a list of celebs and famous people with dyslexia. Some of which might surprise you. I already knew about Tom Cruise, Albert Einstien and Richard Branson but I didn’t know about Jamie Oliver, James Martin Keira Knightly and so many other the other.

Dyslexia does not mean you are stupid or thick. Actually it is the opposite. With my Dyslexia my IQ is 132 however if I wasn’t dyslexic it would be 20 point higher. The average mark for IQ is 80-110 and if I was three points higher I would be at MENSA level yet I hate crosswords and Sudoku. I have no patience for them.

A person’s IQ changes throughout life and those with high IQ’s are not always socially graceful. Other people’s brilliance shows in other ways and you do not need to have an high IQ to be smart.

Just remember that if you are dyslexic you are not thick, you are not stupid and you have gifts that others may not have.

Writers that have had or had dyslexia are Agatha Christie, Hans Christian Anderson, Henry Winkler, Leonardo Da Vinci, Whoopie Goldberg and french author Gustave Flaubert to name but a few. So, yes you can be a writer even if you are dyslexic. There is nothing stoping you I did it and so can u.

Hope this has given you food for thought my fellow writers, thank you for indulging me.

Happy Writing

Simone

Hello.

Have you ever found that when you follow the rules to the letter put your pronouns and nouns in the right place along with your comma’s and apostrophes it gets in the way of the flow of the story. I know you need to know the rules and know how to break them but not all writers know each individual rules by heart and nor can their brain store that information.

When I write I write from the heart and my brain just allows the words to flow and the rules only come into account during the proofreading and editing stage. It physically and emotionally hurts when I do the proof reading and editing as it is my baby that is getting edited.

Am I the only one that feels this way?

How do I try to survive my book being torn apart?

The wedding is next week some I’ll probably be quite for a while then, with luck, should be back in earnest. xx

Happy Writing

Simone

Hello,

I’m back at college after another week off and what a week it has been. Just over a month ago I lost my great uncle who I loved very much then sunday just gone a close friend of ours lost thier father.

Its been a strange week. a very strange week. I have managed to do some writing as well as spending sometime with my friends of the wonderful world of EQ2.

Heres a little snippit of something from the project I’m working on a college.

Samantha tore her strained eyes from the passing green wall of tall trees lining the road and looked in the rear view mirror and locked eyes with her father for a fraction of a second. Her face changed. It shifted from happiness to blind panic. Within seconds of the brief eye contact the car was filled with the hysterical cries of the six year old child. She screamed, cried and yelled. Repeating the word, “No!” Over and over again. She kicked the back of her mothers chair and banged on the glass window.

 

Paul and Jessica both sighed and Paul pulled over onto the grassy bank that flanked the busy interstate road. Jessica, worried, jumped out of the passenger seat and quickly opened the back door to her hysterical and panic riddled child. Samantha jumped into her mothers arms as her father sighed once more banging his head on the steering wheel muttering, “Not again. Not now.”

Hope you like

Feedback welcomed

Happy Writing

Simone

Hello writers,

As promised here’s a few tips on character development. The more you know about your character the better but do not get bogged dow with the intimate details of all major and minor characters. The best thing to do is not name the minor characters unless you have to. But you need know as much as you can about you main characters as possible.

Again we will use my blog story (I know, I will repost chapter one soon, really soon) “Teenage Visions”. All the main characters are introduced in a manner in the first chapter.

Main character: Jennifer Jennings

Best Friend: Laurie Legger

Father: Peter Jenning

Mother: Martha Jenning

Stepmother: Sara Jenning

Half brother: Seth Jenning

Creative Writing Teacher: Mr Sholts

Nurse: Samantha White.

Now all these characters are important as the tale develops, even the dead mother . All other characters are refered to in a descriptive manner such as “Jock boy” or “Skiny Girl” etc. This is so the reader gets and idea of their look and behaviour and develop it in their own mind.

Now back to the character you names, these are the ones you need to know the best. I do have a character analysis work sheet however I can not post it as it i found it in a book so it will infringe upon copyright laws. I have found this one however,    http://www.eclectics.com/articles/character.html. Yes you really do need to know all this about your characters this is for two reasons.

1/ continuity: if you write in the character chart that they are introvert and shy. you will have a reminder and will reframe from putting that character at the centre of attention it is also things such as eye colour, hair colour, etc.

2/ It help’s you understand them, write them and gage their reactions better and their interactions. People are not 2 dimensional, we are complicated. Fictional people are also. They have a history, bad memories, etc.

Before you fill in the character sheet you have to make a few decisions namely, what they look like. A lot of authors, me included, use the faces of famous people. Shockingly true. Stephanie Meyer did it when she write the “Twilight Saga”. The case she envisioned was different from the one in the films with one exception, I believe, Jordelle Ferland, who was cast in the role of Bree Tanner. A small character that, some how, developed a life of its own. Something they often do.

I use actor, singer, people in the public eye, others we people they know people just imagine them and stick to that mental picture. Which ever way is best for you. Do it. It will only help in the long run.

Once you have your plan (covered in a previous post) and your characters sheet, you are ready.

Happy Writing

Simone

Hello,

Here is a little bit of fiction for you. Enjoy.

Drip, drip, drip, drip. The water leaked through the small hole in the roff, dripping loudly in the pan. A drip that echoed throughout the large house.

Paula, internally cursed her self for the open plan of the house. She knew in id moments she would be fast asleep and the drip would no longer be heard by her young ears.

As the drugs took effect she slowly drifted to sleep the pain, forgotten, the drip, forgotten. She slumbered with a smile on her face.

She was out, her medication, strong enough to knock her out, completely, racing through her small, crumpled pain ridden body. So deep in sleep she was when the equally youthful man climbed through the window and sat at the edge of her bed. His face scared from glass or possibly acne. He held her hand, his hands clad in leather gloves.

He checked her out. Her limbs still covered in bandages from the burns and cuts . Her torso wrapped up like a child on Christmas morning in Alaska. The burn where every where except her beautiful face.

A tear fell down his face as he shifted his gaze to the pill bottles and boxes on the side table. Pain meds, antibiotics, antivirals, antidepressants, sleeping, vitamin tablets, tablets for everything.

“I am so sorry,” he suddenly whispers to her, “I should never have taken you out when I was drunk.”

He looked down at her perfectly shaped face, her heart-shaped lips and his eyes leaked, one more.

Dropping her hand he felt he was being watched. he feared her father. As he stood and turned in the same move he froze, his face filled and frozen with terror. She stood before him.

No burns, no bandages, no pain filling her beautiful ocean blue eyes. The eyes instead, were filled with anger so intense he could feel it from the impossible figure in front of him and her sleeping body to his right.

His face, controlled with terror, refusing to move as she walked forward until she was a mere inch away from him. He heard her voice, though neither set of lips move. “I have been waiting for your visit. You couldn’t stay away. You caused this, you caused my body to be battered and bruised.” Smiling she knew he knew that sorry is clearly not enough. He began to flex his left hand and then, seconds later the right hand-held the left arm.

His face, still holding the terror, now controlled in pain as he dropped to his knees, he looked up at his beautiful girl friend who conscious apparitions face was twisted into a vindictive smile. On he his knees, gripping his chest he tried to call out with no joy. Nothing left no voice or oxygen, she stood and watched as the life slowly drained from the heart attack ridden body. Her smile twisting her beautiful face into a twisted  version of itself.

She looked at her own sleeping body and within moments the machine to its right beeped marking the death of the young girl. Her father came rushing in and tried, in vain, to bring her back but he soon gave up. He knew she didn’t want to suffer any more.

He only found the body of the man responsable  at the other side of the bed several moments mater.

A smile spread across his face, his grief momentarily forgotten as he said to himself, “That’s my girl,” he said out loud, giggling slightly as he did.

She had her vengeance and now she would rest in peace. She always loved, disappearing, even though she was not visible to her father, her spirit never walked those floors again. She was happy, she died with a smile on her face.

Never again would someone drink drive again in the area. She became  a warning, drink drive and you will see her and feel her wrath.

Happy Writing

Simone

Hello fellow writers hope the day has treated you well and that you are in the valentines spirit.

I myself am postponing the day as we have spent to much this month in the process of planing a wedding. All costs. We have a plan though.

Monday was eventful. I spent it writing by hand as we had an electrician in fixing a temperamental light so I did a bit of work of mirror image. It’s coming along nicely and although it seams the big reveal has happened it hasn’t there is more to come but I also have a pile of corrections to do on it. I plan to work on twisted on Thursday as I have an appointment at the other side of town today and Wednesday job centre, mind and my dear dear friends Sandra and Nigel for tea.

No college this week. It’s half term. so I’ll have the house to myself all day as the inlaws will be looking after my nephew. Might work on it then to finish it then to see the Hogwarts express on Saturday me thinks.

So that two whole days of writing this week.

Will update you on wordcount and how far I am.

I have drafted the bits that needed rewriting so with a bit of look that will be it. Cross fingers. I hope it gets snapped up and printed would love to see it in print.

Happy writing.

Simone

Hello,

I know another post, so soon, shocker.

I am at college and my teacher has gone through with me another way of planning. It works and I always thought it would be contricting but it doesn’t feel that way. I can still add things and make things different but it helps me stay on target and get all information where needed.

Its quite nice, and freeing almost. It helps you also figure where the area of research are and where you need to have long sittings and short ones and which chapers are well packed and which need a little more surport. Will post details, where possible.

Happing Writing

Simone