Last night I was working on my presentation for the Pikes Peak writers conference scheduled for May. My oldest daughter, the Redhead, was on the couch with her laptop, miraculously inserting the slides as they popped up on my screen at the same time. In addition, she was adding bits of period music here and there in real time.

Kids can do this, even the ones who are now 38 and the mother of two. Technology ain’t my friend, and I’m counting all the ways My Road to Publication and Other Great Disasters presentation can screw up with an electronic hiccup.

At some point in this program, and I never know when because I kinda wander around without notes (which is going to be a problem with slides in and music in a specific order), I reach a point where I discuss the thousands, nay, the millions of rejection notices I received through the years from editors and agents alike.

I wish I’d kept them all, but in a fit of self-pity just before my first novel was accepted, I threw two paper boxes full of them into the dumpster. Okay, it wasn’t millions, but it was a lot.

Some were so faded you couldn’t read the faint blue letters because they were cheap mimeographed notices that said, “Thanks for your submission, but they do not meet our needs at this time.”

Of course the first thing I did after opening the envelope, each and every time, was sniff the mimeograph paper as all kids did back when we were in school. I still try it today. Back then, the whole class did it as one, and it became so iconic, Fast Times at Ridgemont High created that same scene. Lordy, we were probably high ten seconds after all that methanol and isopropyl alcohol hit our lungs.

The teachers were probably buzzed pretty good themselves after returning from the workroom with their own lungs full of those same vapors, and nerves jangling with enough nicotine and caffeine to jolt a dead elephant back to life.

On top of all that, if you were a good kid (me), you got to sometimes make those copies for them back there, inhaling the heady aroma of chemicals and second-hand smoke.

What a time to be alive.

However, back to the rejection notices. Many of them were mimeographed boilerplate blowoffs, and I soon learned it by heart.

Thank you for your submission. Unfortunately it doesn’t meet our needs at this time.

As the years progressed, the letters became more formal, probably because I wasn’t hand-writing them and had graduated to typing. Some were form letters, but others were hammered out by the literary agents or editors themselves.

In one personally written rejection, the agent dismissed my submission with a clear and cutting declaration . “This manuscript has trees in it. I don’t do trees.”

Somewhere around two thousand, I’d reached a point in my attempts to sell a novel and was done and the box was gone that afternoon.

I immediately regretted it.

Desperate for some kind of positive affirmation, I decided to cold call Joe R. Lansdale and ask if he’d suffered the same continual stream of No Thanks. He answered his land line, I told him who I was and how I was a fan, but despite success as a newspaper columnist and magazine writer, I was done.

He didn’t know me from Adam, or even Eve, but he spent nearly an hour on the line, talking me out of stepping off the ledge.

Only weeks letter, I received an email from my starter agent accepting my first manuscript and I quit second-guessing myself.

Rejection letters are a guaranteed stumbling block for all authors.

Stephen King’s first novel, Carrie, received 30 rejections.

Animal Farm was rejected and the editor wrote, “it’s impossible to sell animal stories in the USA.”

Tell that to James Herriott (All Creatures Great and Small series) and Watership Down (Richard Adams).

Even Lord of the Flies was turned down a number of times and one editor declared the manuscript was “absurd and uninteresting.”

J.K. Rowling’s original manuscript for Harry Potter was rejected by 12 different publishing houses. One literary agent warned, “You do realize, you will never make a fortune out of writing children’s books?”

John Steinbeck, well –––.

The secret is to grow a thicker skin and keep working. Neil Gaiman, English author of short fiction, novels, comic books, audio theatre, and screenplays, suggests that rejection slips will always arrive, and, if you get published, you can pretty much guarantee that bad reviews will follow as well. Just learn how to shrug and keep going or “you stop, and get a real job.”

Let’s end with this quote.

“Starting when I was fifteen I began to send short stories to magazines like Esquire, and they, very promptly, sent them back two days before they got them! I have several walls in several rooms of my house covered with the snowstorm of rejections, but they didn’t realize what a strong person I was; I persevered and wrote a thousand more dreadful short stories, which were rejected in turn. Then, during the late forties, I actually began to sell short stories and accomplished some sort of deliverance from snowstorms in my fourth decade. But even today, my latest books of short stories contain at least seven stories that were rejected by every magazine in the United States and also in Sweden! So, dear Snoopy, take heart from this. The blizzard doesn’t last forever; it just seems so.” — Ray Bradbury

So how many rejection notices have you received? Dozens? Boxes delivered via dolly? Or is there one drawer in your desk that is the Dead Zone?

No matter. Keep at it and never give up

“I have this whole book in my head.” Beth (Beth’s fake name) leaned closer to make herself heard over an animated crowd in the hotel bar. “It’s like a movie I can see, all the way down to characters, plot, and even conversations.”

Authors tend to gather at the bar like wildebeests to a watering hole in the Serengeti to discuss writing and the literary world. Folks who spend months alone with their imaginary friends are always looking for conversation.

My new acquaintance at the writers conference drew a long, deep breath to maintain her hold on her our exchange. “There’s this one scene when my main character gives the story an entirely different twist, and that’s where the music in my head starts playing.”

As an author, I’d heard this one before, years ago, from myself. “Have you finished it?”

She rolled her eyes. “I haven’t started yet. That’s why I’m at this conference, to get an agent or someone interested in it.”

“They’ll be more interested in the actual book itself.”

“My husband thinks I’m crazy, especially after I told him about the character who–––.” She looked over her shoulder. “–––is really Merlin.”

“Are you looking for someone?”

“I don’t want anyone to overhear. They might steal my idea.”

“You can’t hear a chainsaw in this crowd. Don’t worry about that.”

“You won’t write this, will you?”

“I want you to do it.” I held up my little finger. “Pinky swear.”

Surprising me, she hooked her pinky with mine. “I just need time to get started.”

“You have this whole conference. Lock yourself in your room and pound out twenty or thirty pages. Go do it now while I get another drink. Talking about it won’t get the book done.”

“I don’t know where to start.”

“At the most compelling scene.”

“That’s when my characters meet on dark night in a hotel lobby while it’s raining. That’s the setup and introduces all the characters at one time.”

“I’d start somewhere else, with some kind of action. What’s your genre?”

“I don’t know. I’m not much of a reader. I prefer movies.”

Before I could respond, she waved. “Oh, look. There’s my new friend. Bill, come over here. This is Reavis. Tell him about your book.”

I caught the bartender’s eye and held up my empty glass. The nice man brought me a double.

Stepping up close, Bill crossed his arms. “Well, I haven’t started it yet, but it’ll be a memoir.”

He looked to be about twenty-two years old. Personally, I figured he needed more life experiences, and a reason for writing memoirs.

“You must have a great story to tell.” I’d hoped to hear he’d been in special forces, the entertainment industry, or law enforcement, or maybe someone who’d grown up under witness protection. You know, not a boring an entertaining story.

“It starts with my uncle. He’s a great character and his stories will become mine.”

He and I had different ideas of memoirs. I hoped his uncle was famous, maybe a singer. “Have I ever heard of him?”

“I doubt anyone has ever heard of Uncle Albert.”

“Then, I’m confused.”

“I’ll use his stories, he’s really funny, and hang some of my own experiences on them.”

“What’s your background?” Still hopeful.

“Well, I grew up with some interesting people in Crouchhop Arkansas, and graduated high school four years ago and worked for Dad roofing houses, then I left to see the country.”

“Oh.” My interest piqued. “Did you hike, or hitch?”

“No, I used Dad’s clunker Mercedes and drove to California. I’m thinking of all the coffee shops and people I met on the way.”

Returning my attention to the Beth, I gave her a grin. “I’d suggest you start writing tonight. Consider it a job and put your rear in the seat every day for a year, for at least half an hour each time, or long enough write a page per day. And Bill, good luck with your memoir. I hope you can find an agent to represent whatever it is when you’re finished, but both of you remember, these have to be killer books. A year ago, I read that around three hundred thousand books are released each month in this country.

“If you figure thousands of books hit the market each day, you’ll have to work hard to get noticed. Find your writing voice, and a subject or genre you want to shoot for, then start building your brand. Do you guys have any knowledge of social media, or a presence with followers?”

Beth nodded. “I have a Facebook account with a hundred friends.”

“Work harder. Establish a brand specifically for your and your books. Find a hook to get people interested.”

“Won’t my agent do all that for me?”

“Agents represent authors when they’re accepted, and they help with editing your manuscripts, to a point.” I could have sworn I heard someone fire up a chainsaw, probably to clear away from a similar conversation. “Their job is to connect authors with publishers. They negotiate contracts and other legal issues. They’re a buffer between authors and publishers. They aren’t PR folks, unless it comes to promoting you with interested publishers.”

Bill raised a finger to get my attention. “That’s why I’m going to self-publish.”

“Then you’ll do all that yourself…after you finish your manuscript. There are a few other steps that follow, too.”

“Can you help us, then?”

“Sure. Go write your book in your own voice, keep at it until you finish and don’t use television as a research source, and then come see me here next year.”

Faithful readers, I’m sure you’ve all found yourselves in similar situations, do you have variations on these conversations?

So let’s beat on this dead horse some more.

Many faithful readers here on Killzone Blog know my opinion of passive sentences, and just as nauseating, adverbs, but there are thousands of would-be writers out there who haven’t read anything we’ve discussed on this site.

To them, and others, please read Stephen King’s excellent book, On Writing, and David Morrell’s Lessons from a Lifetime of Writing. Full disclosure, I get nothing from the sales of these books, but it was these two volumes that taught me more than I ever imagined about the art of writing fiction.

Finding passive sentences in a novel, yours or someone else’s work, is nothing new. I have thousands of volumes in my home, in hardback, trade paperback, and the now stupidly abandoned defunct format, mass market paperback. Many of the books on my shelves are first editions by authors I enjoyed and admired through the years, but that has no bearing on the sins these mainstream writers committed through the years.

For example, at one period in my life, I loved science fiction, fantasy, and sword and sorcery. At an antique store not too long ago, I picked up a 1999 first edition volume of a familiar old sci-fi series and looked forward to settling into my chair for a frosty winter afternoon of reading.

The first page furrowed my brow. Was this the same guy? I checked his photo and byline. Yep. It was him, so I read on (to page 2) until coming to his passage where the protagonist and his girlfriend escape from a high-security area with stolen crypto-currency.

“The engine roared forcefully, the air rushed by swiftly, and we held hands compassionately as our transport of delight soared skyward.”

This ly-ing, tail-wagging pack of adverbs made my stomach roll.

If I’d been reading this as a judge, this backsliding famous and influential author would have been on the naughty list in a flash.

But the dialogue is even worse.

“Robot policemen!” I chortled. “Therefore, we don’t have to hold back and spare their lives. Because they have no lives! To the junkyard with the lot!”

Please take a moment to absorb that short paragraph.

I wept.

Let’s continue.

(The narrator continues)

We were vastly outnumbered and outgunned.

“And running out of ammo,” Angelina said, echoing my own thoughts.”

In this case, the protagonist hadn’t offered his internal thoughts. This was a statement of fact, and the unnatural, clunky dialogue in both examples is stilted and unrealistic.

My literary senses are tuned to a high level these days, because I’m judging a nation-wide contest. Some of the entries are brilliant, and my list of winners will reflect the authors’ writing skills.

However, more than half are weasel-filled, adverb-laden passive sentences that were probably inspired by watching too much HGTV.

“The outdated kitchen was completely gutted, and an open-concept layout was created to maximize space. At the same time, the walls were painted a bright white to add light, and the old carpet was ripped up to reveal original hardwood floors.”

I’m wondering if some of those who submitted novels learned their writing skills from those scripted “reality shows.”

In one novel I threw against the wall, “Jack introduced them and greetings were exchanged.”

I wonder why the editor didn’t suggest a re-write of that sentence. Sparkling dialogue provides necessary information about characters and the two (as yet) unidentified walk-ons might provide much needed tension at some point, or maybe that they became immediate friends.

Of course, we don’t need, “Hello,” he said.

She replied, “Good morning.”

But “greetings were exchanged,” is lazy writing.

Five pages later in this same submission, “Ellen watched Davy stride determinedly to the hen house with the basket in hand. When he entered the hen house, she went into the kitchen and began the ingredients for chocolate cake.”

She began the ingredients.

Let’s pause here so you can absorb this scene and write it a different way.

To wrap this discussion, here’s a brief list from the first fifty pages that put this novel into the junk pile.

“James amazingly didn’t object.” (I hate the word amazing, and even more so if it becomes an adverb)

“The headlights bounced erratically as it (not they) slowly traversed the rough course. I expected it (them?) to keep coming our present location, but it stopped at the old site. The headlights were dimmed and the engine killed.”

By whom?

And the kicker for me was the following sentence in a novel set around 1910 in rural Idaho. “The sheriff read him his rights.”

This lack of research did it for me. Back then, no one was Mirandized. “You’re under arrest,” was probably the closest the western or rural accused would come to hearing their rights.

I admit, I’m not without fault when it comes to adverbs and passive sentences. They crop up in my works all the time, and it’s shocking when I find these nauseating weasels in something I’ve written and edited half a dozen times.

We can all do better. I know, because I’ve been the victim of memory lapse before when it came to researching certain rifle calibers. We’ve all experienced that problem, and readers always point them out, along with a reference to our intelligence or maternal history.

Now, another book I had to chunk was full of head-hopping scenes without any kind of transition, but that’s a subject for another time.

The truth is, mistakes were made. Try not to let that happen to you.

Last night I spoke to a book club in a very exclusive Dallas neighborhood.

I arrived early, because that’s the way I am. Half an hour early is almost late.

The host lived in a stunning midcentury house nestled under spreading live oaks. Since I had a tiny bit of time, I drove around the neighborhood, enjoying the architecture from a time period I loved.

In college, I pursued a degree in residential architecture before deciding that leaning over a drafting board for the rest of my life wasn’t my idea of a career. However, I had a grand old time arguing with my professor over house styles. This was 1972, and he insisted on one style of home, those new boxes everyone is remodeling now days, while I insisted on Frank Lloyd Wright style homes with huge windows and lots of open space.

By the end of the year, he promised not to fail me if I promised not to take the second half of his course. Maybe that’s the real reason I bailed on architecture.

College was a problem in many ways, not because the drinking age was eighteen, but because I had to drop out of several career opportunities such as paleontology, and geology. Being colorblind was a serious problem.

But anyway, there I was later that evening, standing in front of the fireplace in this glorious house, surrounded by more than sixty folks my age. I love talking with readers who understand what a typewriter is, or who remember the days of carbon paper, Whiteout, the Dewey Decimal System, card catalogues, and the U.S. Postal service.

That last subject comes up in our discussion of the old days when would-be authors mailed query letters and manuscripts, along with postage, or self-addressed stamped envelopes for publishing houses or editors to send the materials back, or to send back rejection notices.

I’ve probably talked with hundreds of book clubs ,organizations, or attendees at book signings about books and writing, and weave humor throughout these presentations, along with history, industry information, and the craft of writing. Panels and book signings require the same attention to audience needs.

Having done these so many times, I’ve developed a sense of timing, allowing for laughs, surprise, and for people to take a moment to realize what I’m talking about. The slow-burning fuse until they get my point. This group of folks my age was the most attentive I’ve ever encountered, reminding me of kindergartners watching a magician.

In that grand old house, my audience sat there like mannequins, some offering vague smiles, but little else. In my mind, I was falling flat. Reading the room, I changed directions on the fly, discussing how our industry has eliminated mass market paperbacks, the shrinking of shelf space, and the number of books published each month, resulting a firehose of reading opportunities for customers.

The crickets outside applauded with their chirps. I wrapped up, and opened the floor for questions or points of discussion.

A couple of people bestirred themselves.

A hand went up. “Do you outline?”

AHA! Now I knew what they wanted, and launched into my own writing process. Finished, I offered the floor for more questions and comments.

Crickets again.

A tentative hand went up. “Can you discuss how much research it takes to produce a book like Comancheria?”

That’s why I was there, and during my presentation spent a considerable amount of time discussing plot, characters, and the source of this first book in the Hollow Frontier series. The question was a breath of fresh air, and I explained my love of history, reading, and how I absorbed volumes of history before writing my books.

Our hostess finally stood at the exact time she’d previously told me the meeting would end. “Let’s thank Mister Wortham for his time and books.”

The room rose in a standing ovation. Stunned by their response, I stepped aside as the hostess finished some organization duties and the meeting was over. For the next fifteen minutes, I shook hands and accepted gracious comments thanking me for a “wonderful presentation,” and “exceptional discussion on the craft of writing and publishing,” and “for keeping us completely entertained throughout the evening.”

On the way home, I realized this group of retirees exhibited the behavior drilled into Baby Boomers way back in elementary school. Our teachers back then hammered us with “pay attention” and “be polite while the speaker has the floor.”

Tentative or inexperienced authors might have stumbled or trailed off early in their talk, but I’d seen this before. It’s all part of being a speaker, and entertainer.

The next time might be a boisterous crowd, like a wine-tasting book club I spoke to in East Texas. They were the rowdiest group I’d ever seen, and I could have read the phone book to their great enthusiasm.

The wine helped.

Other groups offer polite applause as I sit down, but then book sales might be more than anyone would have anticipated.

It’s all part of the package. Write. Publish. Promote. Speak…speak…speak.

Good luck with that.

Good morning to you all!

Today’s post is a little different than usual. The link below will take you to Saddlebag Dispatches Magazine and an article I co-wrote with Roan and Weatherford publisher, Casey Cowan. He called me one day several months ago and asked if I’d work with him on an article about westerns and their survival as viable genre. Of course I jumped at the chance.

We reached out to other authors such as Marc Cameron, Craig Johnson, and the creator of Rambo, David Morrell who are writing modern westerns today, bringing in different viewpoints about these books that once entertained, and eventually brought many authors into the writing world.

This is the result.

Enjoy!

https://issuu.com/oghmacreative/docs/saddlebag_dispatches-january_2026/s/152135644

P.S.

Here’s the link to the entire January issue of this fine magazine, where you can find an in-depth interview with David Morrell, fascinating articles on the new and old west, and my ongoing column, along and much, much more.

https://issuu.com/…/docs/saddlebag_dispatches-january_2026

We shook things up at Casa Wortham this week. We’ve lived here for about seven years in what we call the new house, and felt the kitchen needed a change not long after the Bride’s oven sparked, gagged, and filled the house with the heady aroma of burned chemicals.

But this isn’t about major appliances. Remember when you first moved into your place and beheld empty drawers in the kitchen?

One question always comes up. Where does the silverware go? (In Texas, daily eating utensils are silverware, even though the real silver ((plate)) is in a wooden case stuffed back in a cabinet or under a bed and only comes out on Thanksgiving or when someone dies).

Then there are wooden spoons, cup towels, oversize forks and spoons, tongs, measuring cups and spoons, vegetable peelers, graters, garlic presses, thermometers, kitchen scales, bottle openers, corn cob holders.

They need a home in the shallow drawers.

What’s the proper dispersal method?

And while we’re at it, there’s the (ominous music) junk drawer. Where will that one be, because we know for certain that a drawer will devolve into one of these chaotic black holes that scientists with pocket protectors in their shirts discuss in hushed tones.

I’m sure you have one of these sacred disorganized repositories of migratory odds and ends nestled in a bed of bread ties, old rubber bands, thick blue rubber bands off celery stalks, nuts, bolts, mysterious batters that might or might not be dead (but you can’t throw them out until you know), and mysterious keys you’ve never seen before in your life. Wait. How the hell did my razor get in there? Was someone shaving carrots?

On moving day in the new house, we unloaded boxes marked KITCHEN into random drawers that were probably open and waiting, and have lived with those spur of the moment decisions since.

But there have been problems. The silverware drawer is between the oven and stove. That’s our serving area when we don’t have sit-down meals, which is 95% of the time. And there are usually a lot of people in line.

If someone is filling a plate, they’re in the way of spoons, forks, and knives, which we usually forget. Then we go back and excuse ourselves to open the drawer, or cut in line, which can be deadly with sons-in-law and hungry teens.

On Wednesday of this week, the Bride came home with a couple of classy bamboo dividers to help separate some of the more aggressive utensils. I was between writing projects, and the next thing I knew, we’d emptied all the drawers onto the countertops and forced significant changes in implement and gadget placement.

Now it all makes sense, to a small degree, but here’s the problem. We keep returning to the wrong places for wooden spoons, measuring cups, and the scissors which reside in the junk drawer. We’re on a learning curve, and I sent our daughters and sons-in-law a thirty-second video preparing them the new organization.

They were aghast.

The Redhead, mother of two, sent an eye-rolling emoji, and Taz, the youngest and mother of three kids, was verbally displeased. But then again, she even hates it when the Bride replaces accent pillows with new, fresh additions.

But I explained. “Change is good. Remembering where everything is in their new locations is exercise for the brain.”

With that, I needed proof to counter verbal attacks when the all come over Sunday night for out weekly get together.

An exhausting thirty second search on medical databases provided this agreement. “Positive change and new experiences are excellent for the brain, promoting neuroplasticity (the brain’s ability to form new connections), boosting cognitive function, improving mood (via dopamine, that’s why it’s called dope, according to my dad) and building mental resilience, even though the brain’s amygdala might initially perceive change as a threat. Varying routines, learning new skills, exploring new places, and engaging in diverse activities build cognitive reserve, helping you adapt and maintain long-term brain health.” 

Now I have to make this relevant to my writing blog post.

With that in mind, I looked up “neuroplasticity and amygdala” before diving into another search to find that it’s beneficial for authors to change genres, or write short stories, or nonfiction articles or books. In other words, shake it up.

While reading those confusing medical evaluations and articles for another fifteen minutes, I learned that changing genres or writing styles introduces new narrative tools, breaks writer’s block (which I don’t believe in), fosters artistic growth, and offers fresh perspectives, though it requires extra time.

Switching genres challenges an individual to think differently, find new solutions, and prevents creative stagnation, leading to broader skills and more diverse ideas that can even enrich their primary genre. 

But wait! Getting out of your writing lane is commonly considered a bad idea in literary circles. One article I read explored and supported Stephen Kings change from his traditional horror novels to write an alternate history with 11/22/63, or Cormac McCarthy’s shift to his post-apocalyptic The Road. I’ve been told only bestselling authors should take those chances.

Some say we should stick to our writing lanes and do what our fans come to expect.

Fine, wait a while after you write something different before submitting it, but there’s nothing wrong with taking a break from your WIP and writing a science fiction or post-apocalyptic short story if only for personal satisfaction.

This mental exercise is a great way to get out of a rut.

When you do that, find a different place to write for a day or two. Such a change just might inspire something different. Many authors write in one location, and edit in another.

You don’t have to sell those new works today, or tomorrow. You can put them in a figurative junk drawer (see the unplanned connection here? I love the subconscious author.) and dust it off sometime in the future when you need it.

I did that way back in 2012, when my first novel was published and my editors wanted the next book. I’d written a three-thousand-word short story in 1986 that sat in my file all that time, but when I needed an idea, I re-read that old experiment and found the foundation of the second novel in my Red River series, Burrows, which was truly a horror story.

Or maybe you’ve read a non-fiction article in a magazine and thought, “I know that much.” Give it a try.

For several years I wrote “hook and bullet” stories for several outdoor magazines. More than one took awards from the Outdoor Writers of America and the Texas Outdoor Writers Association. I’m proud of those stories and the framed acknowledgments from my peers.

One was an informative history of the longbow, and with liberal applications of scotch, the article was quirky and funny.

I’d exercised my creativity and different writing skills, because I like to try different things.

Like moving the silverware drawer.

In Science Explores News, an article about Dr. Nathan Spreng, a neuroscientist at Cornell University, explored how the brain changes as we learn. Much of the article concentrates on new physical tasks, such as hitting a baseball, but a deeper idea comes from pianists who can play complicated musical scores without thinking about where their fingers go. Their minds can wander, and that opens up even more neural pathways.

So if we get out of our writing lane and try something different, can authors open new creative paths to follow?

Some doctors think it does.

Try a short story, or an article, or start a new chapter in a different kind of novel just to see if that old excitement is there, or if a different way of thinking helps your writing. No one has to see it but you.

Today’s deadline slipped up on me, because of the holidays. So instead of a typical blog post, here’s a newspaper column I wrote some years ago. It borders on the absurd, but Faithful Followers always enjoy my Outdoor Detective. Hope you enjoy this White Elephant present, originally titled:

The Presence of Presents

I was filing my nails at my desk when the door burst open.

“You’re gonna have to fix that,” I told Wrong Willie.

“Replacement doors are cheap. Why are you filing nails?”

I glanced down at the pile of freshly sharpened ten-penny nails. “They were dull, and I need to build a doghouse.”

“You don’t have a dog.”

“It’s for me. I’ve been so busy lately I haven’t done my Christmas shopping. The Bride is a little irritated.”

He frowned. “With Christmas?”

“With me.”

“Well, you’re gonna get busy now, because I need the Outdoor Detective.”

“At your service.”

“I know.”

Mellow saxophone music filled the room. We still don’t know where it comes from.

Willie dug a folded piece of paper out of his pocket. When he found it, he threw down the shovel and put his tattered pants back on. “I need Christmas gifts for the Hunting Club, and I don’t have any idea of what to buy.”

“Stuff.” I smiled, because it was an excellent answer.

Willie agreed. “Good one, the problem –––.”

I took over, because that’s what I do. “–––is that as experienced and innovative outdoorsmen, we buy what we want when we need it, thus leaving few, if any, ideas for gifts.”

“You read my mind.”

“No, I’m reading your list.” I held it up. “That’s what you wrote at the top.”

We shared our bond with a handshake. “Next time let’s hug.”

“No. So, Outdoor Detective, do you have any ideas?”

“A few. We should go on vacation, and I think it’s good if you threw a party Friday night., but try this in answer to your quewstion.” I whipped a tarp off a four-foot high stack beside my desk.

The tarp lay there and glared, not understanding why it had been whipped.

Wrong Willie’s eyes widened. “What’s that?”

“Christmas catalogues.”

He whistled. It was Dixie. “You must have been collecting them for months.”

“These came in the mail yesterday. It’s that time of the season.”

“They must be full of ideas.”

“Yep, but we need to get busy, pronto!”

Pronto stepped forward and picked up a double handful. He’s been a help these past few weeks on other cases. The last was a case of beer.

“I’ll get right on it. Thanks for hiring me, boss.”

He left to peruse the catalogues.

I shouted through the broken door. “Come back!”

Willie returned and twiddled his thumbs. “Now what?”

“We need to talk about what you should to buy for the guys.”

He sat back down. “I forgot about them.”

“I know you did.”

“How?”

“Because I did, too, and I don’t have a clue.”

“Pure poetry.” Willie brightened before handing me a Clue board game.

I put on my sunglasses at his glow. “Speak.”

“Arf. How about buying them camo?”

“We’ve always used it when we hunt.”

“Good.”

“A camo wallet for Doc.” I made a note. It was an A flat.

“Like the one you lost the last time we were deer hunting?”

“Yes. I dropped it in the grass and we never found it.”

Willie held up a finger. It wasn’t his. “Perfect.”

“No, it wasn’t, and you should give that back to whoever it belongs to. But that wallet was worn on the edges and the stitching was coming undone.”

“Right. Now, what about Jerry Wayne.”

“He’s a large guy, likes long walks in the evenings–––.”

“What I meant was, what do you want to get him for Christmas?”

I considered that question. “A present.”

“Yes.”

We were pleased with our progress. I had another thought. “And Woodrow?”

“Large also. Bearded.”

“A present for him, too.”

Willie agreed. “Of course.”

I held out a photograph. “Is this them?”

Wrong Willie took the likeness and examined it closely. He finally glanced up from the magnifying glass and put it back into his pocket. “It looks like them, but this could be digital manipulation.”

“Get your digits off of it and give it back.”

He stopped manipulating the photo and returned it.

I nailed the picture back to the wall. “Well, that about does it.”

We smiled in satisfaction at my office. Willie stood. “Well, thanks for your help.”

“It was nothing.”

“Yes, it was.”

He left and I opened a catalog, suddenly recalling that I still hadn’t completed my own Christmas shopping. I made a list.

1. Go shopping.
2. Buy presents.
3. Wrap presents.

Satisfied with the day’s achievements I lit a cigarette, then it stubbed it out in the ashtray because I don’t smoke. I sat back and relaxed, enjoying the soft saxophone music that always fills the air once I put on my Outdoor Detective fedora.

It’s good to be good.

Merry Christmas, y’all!

Over the years, I’ve judged several writing contests, local and nationwide. It’s an enjoyable way to give back to those organizations and the reading community, exposes me to new writers, and is an eye-opening experience. Today I’d like to briefly discuss what makes an award-winning novel.

It has to be outstanding, towering over the other submissions.

It should be simple, but barely five pages into any book, I can tell if it’s a quality publication, or one that falls short. You’re on your way if I’m engaged after the first five pages, but grab me on page one. Think Stephen King, the man who can catch me within the first paragraph, or James Lee Burke, whose writing voice is as smooth as a glass of good whiskey.

To help you along, here are a few suggestions.

• First, find your writing Voice, and try to make it unique. This has been discussed ad nauseum here on the Killzone Blog, so do a search and read what the Masters have offered.
• Please, please, I beg you, please avoid as many adverbs as possible. Yep, we’ve plowed that ground before, but really, “He peered around the bush sneakily.”

Good Lord. Just read that again. Her peered around the bush sneakily. Makes me want to throw up in my mouth a little. Or this one, “he crossed the tarmac staggeringly,” is going to charge up my Crap Meter and if there are many more of these stinking piles, it goes into the “Nope” box after it bounces off the wall.

• Let’s get this out of the way, too. At this stage in the evolution of AI, I can almost always (99%) of the time tell if it was written by a program and not a real person. For understanding, refer to those horrible emails you likely get each week that tries to extract money from your bank account by offering to promote your novel for mere pennies on the dollar.

“Dear Reavis, your book, The Texas Job is an excellent example of western noir, but it’s languishing in an unread desert like a tumbleweed in a western ghost town, but we can help with that. Let’s get this tumbleweed rolling toward potential readers….”

Or “I hope you’re doing well. I’m Natashia Smith and represent  Hagia, organiser at The Best Writers Life, a vibrant community of 1,500+ passionate readers, writers, and creators who love immersive historical fiction, powerful characters, and richly detailed frontier stories….”

I’m afraid AI will someday learn to cloak itself, but right now this style is as obvious as a Texas twister on the windswept plains…sorry about that.

But back to contest entries.

• Find the proper starting point of your novel.

Many authors (and I was guilty of this as well way back when) begin with a Prologue, a device which used to work back in the days of John Saul, but hasn’t aged well. Though it’s possible to weave it properly, it can, and does work sometimes, but not often. Prologues are usually designed to bring tension and/or excitement at the outset, likely knowing in the back of the authors mind that the true beginning is slow.

Dig back into you manuscript and find where a scene truly grabs your readers attention without resorting to devices. Start there at the moment where action or tension arises.

And to build on that theme, your first sentence or paragraph should grab the reader by the throat!

Charlaine Harris opened Dead Until Dark like this. “I’d been waiting for the vampire for years when he walked into the bar.”

“The morning burned so August-hot, the marsh’s moist breath hung the oaks and pines with fog.” Delia Owens, Where the Crawdads Sing.

“All this happened, more or less.” Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five

Yep, that’ll get my attention. Why do I bring that up? Because as contest entries trickle in at the beginning, I’ll have time to sit back and hope the author will develop the plot and characters without wasting any more time, even though the beginning is rough. By the time the deadline rolls around, entries arrive at my doorstep in droves, and with the judges’ deadline looming, the book has to capture my attention, and that of the other judges, as soon as we open it up.

• Give me something I haven’t seen a hundred times.
• I need strong pacing and clean prose. For a Masters Course in both categories, read Texas author James Wade. He’s pushing Cormac McCarthy and Larry McMurtry out the back door.

• Dialogue should be crisp, and mean something. I don’t need pages of two characters chatting each other up over tea and cookies about last night’s dinner party, unless it is the jumping off point of the novel. Save that for real life. Let’s get to the meat of the plot to keep me engaged.
• No three-page info dumps or looooong descriptions of characters features and clothes. Scatter that necessary information throughout the novel so that it blends in and doesn’t stand out.
• Less is more, when it comes to those same descriptions. John GIlstrap is the man to copy when it comes to his protagonist Jonathan Graves. He doesn’t give us details, but I know what the guy looks. like and would recognize him at an airport…along with Boxers. (Read his books to meet those guys.)
• How about a fresh angle on a familiar genre. Tooting my own horn here, but I hope when Comancheria is in the hands of judges next year, they’ll see a different kind of western.

• Judges will remember how a book makes them feel.

That last bullet point brings us to the aforementioned Cormac McCarthy who wrote Blood Meridian. I had to take a shower after the last page.

Florida Roadkill by Tim Dorsey left me reeling because of the plot, twists, and pure fun. It is one of the few books I immediately dove back into after The End. The second was Jeffery Deaver’s The October List. They both made me feel like I’d experienced something special and because they were so good, I almost raced through them too fast. I had to go back to truly absorb the brilliance of those two novels.

• Lift your vocabulary. I don’t mean keep a thesaurus open on your computer or desk, but avoid common words. See above for the word “read.” Yep, I read those books, but found a different way to say it. I “experienced” them, “absorbed them,” and “raced through the stories because the action and pacing were perfect.
• If sentences sound awkward, re-structure them.
• Go line by line and delete or re-write every passive sentence you can find. “The tiles are delivered and the backsplash will be finished by this evening.” Or, “Safety glasses are worn by the entire crew to minimize the risk of injury.”

How about: The tiles arrived just in time to finish the backsplash by sundown.

Or: The crew wears safety glasses at all times while on the job.

Where did those two examples come from? Most HGTV programs. Listening to the narrator on many of these series is a crash course in passive sentences.

And finally, highlight the following.

• The entry should be polished to excess, with no typos or layout problems.

That sounds simple, and typos get through in even the most carefully edited novels, but you’d be surprised how many times published works contain “their” or “there” for “they are.” Some say typos have no bearing on the quality of the story, but it’s the entire package an author should be concerned with, and run-on or misspelled words shriek a message of laziness and disrespect for the reader and their hard-earned cash.

Pure typos or misplaced apostrophes leap out at the reader. Sometimes I feel as if the author finished his or her manuscript without doing much more than a quick read then sent it on to be self-published. No fault if you want to go that route, many successful authors are self published, but find and pay an experience d editor to clean up your work.

These are just a few of the problems I’ve seen.

• One additional note (and it has nothing to do with the quality of the novel itself), but the cover is my first introduction to your submission. If it looks like a second grader used clip art to wrap your novel, it won’t make a good impression. I know, that sounds bad, but it’s true. I speak from experience. Just look at this one of my own, which I’m afraid still hasn’t overcome that first impression. I argued with my publishers until I turned blue. They finally gave me an ultimatum, and I caved, but I wouldn’t do it again. When that publishing company was absorbed by another, the CEO, in a huge staff meeting, pointed at his cover on the screen and asked, “What the fudge were you thinking?”

Only she didn’t say fudge.

Would you pick up these familiar titles if this cover was the first time you saw them?

Probably not, and with that, good luck and may the best book win.

When I was a kid, the historical aspect of Six Flags over Texas was an absolute treat. I was a history buff even back in elementary school and absorbed everything I could find about Davy Crockett, Daniel Boone, and of course, local history. By the time seventh grade rolled around and I found myself in the mandatory Texas History class, I’d read everything about the settlers, the Alamo, and Texas independence.

The Six Flags theme park was based on the six nations that have governed the territory of Texas, starting with Spain, France, Mexico, the Republic of Texas, the Confederate States of American and the United states. When it opened in 1961, the six nations of historical influence had their own specific areas that reflected those past cultures.

As the years passed, the park’s theme shifted in focus from historical accuracy to pure family entertainment, though the different regions still remain in place and the architecture and sense of place still remain. Until recently, a few of the original rides remained, particularly the Log Ride and the Runaway Mine train.

It was my favorite ride until I became afflicted by vertigo.

Maybe you remember View-Masters, children’s stereoscopes that were popular in the 1960s. When you were in one of the many Six Flags souvenir shops designed to separate visitors from even more their money, you could buy a set of the discs with photos of the rides.

We were in one of those shops filled with the delicious aroma of leather in the late 60s and I picked up one of the sample viewers on display. After flicking the side lever a couple of times with a forefinger, I came across a photo of my family on the ride a couple of years earlier. Unfortunately, the Old Man wouldn’t buy the set, but I remember how cool it was to know we were “famous.”

The Runaway Mine train was a small version of the popular giant rollercoaster rides at the fair, but it was an experience on steroids. While big rollercoasters’ pacing was a long, slow ride to the first big drop, the mine train started much faster, and after the initial dive, it became manic.

The turns and drops were incessant, snapping riders back and forth. We barely had time to catch our breath before something else happened. An abrupt twist, drop, sudden neck-snapping elevation to a quick, short, breathtaking plunge until, finally, it leveled off to take passengers through an “abandoned” old west town.

This gave riders a break in order to catch our hearts slow down, dizziness to pass, and to catch our breath. The train cars went through a haunted saloon, complete with cowboy skeletons playing cards and a few leaning against the bar. Humor designed to give the passengers a rest.

Then came an abrupt, steep drop, a bend, another turn, up, down, and finally, the long, slow level track to our starting point. A quick internet search revealed the ride was only one minute and fifty seconds. And for that, we stood in line upwards to two hours.

The ride was all about thrills, and pacing, which brings us (finally) to my topic of the day, pacing, or the speed at which a story unfolds. You, the author, are in control of your reader’s experience, be if fast or slow.

I prefer fast-paced books, but that’s today. Back in the Olden Days–––

When was that, Grandpa?

––– in the 1960s and 70s, when I was reading Robert Ruark (1950s-early 60s releases), K.B. Gildner’s Hurry Sundown (1964), any James Michner (1960s-80s). Those old classics didn’t develop quickly, and readers waded through a hundred pages of setup and backstory before the plot accelerated.

Times and tastes have changed, and today’s authors are in a gunfight for attention due to the enormous volume of releases each month, so we need to advance our pacing. That comes through structural choices such as the length of scenes and sentence structure, and of course, timing.

Many authors begin their novels in the wrong place, as has been discussed at length in forum. Too much setup at the outset can lose readers faster than a toddler will get lost in Walmart.

We can increase pacing through dialogue. Read Elmore Leonard for tutorials on past-paced action scenes and snappy dialogue. Think about it, when you see pages of long, long paragraphs, you mind natural slows you down. With quick dialogue and lots of white space and a page visually less dense, the eye blazes across the written field and soon the reader is absorbed into the exchange that feels as if we’re there in the room with those characters.

This is a perfect time for character development.

The first sentence sets the tone, (that first breath-taking drop on the runaway mine train). Start your story in the middle of the action to hook the reader. Imagine you’re standing in a bookstore and pick up a Michner novel (and I love the guy, so not taking any shots here) and a modern thriller. Micher has a long setup. Today’s authors start with a gunshot, or in the case of a C.J. Box novel, two rednecks and a rocket launcher.

Boom. There it is.

After that, the rhythm and flow pulls us into the narrative. A quick burst of action is followed by narrative, character interaction, and the chapter(s) which establish the storyline. Now we’re on that runaway mine ride.

Another drop, something exciting happens, and our protagonist is thrust into danger, or a dangerous situation. Tension rises, (another expectation of acceleration as the chain rattles beneath the mine train on the lift hill) dialogue brings us backstory and the characters’ motivation. A character arc rises, and readers become engaged in the plot and motivation.

We’re almost to the top of the crest.

If the pace slows too much there, be careful, or you’ll lose your reader engagement.

Another breath-stealing drop. An action-packed scene, and quick-moving plot points create urgency and excitement. This is a great time for humor to give us a rest, not unlike the abovementioned haunted saloon. (Please attempt humor only if you’re good at it).

The story builds again, another rise, (we look forward to see nothing but sky on the next lift hill) and we know another stomach-rising drop is coming soon.

The second act is always a challenge to write, so authors build even more tension here and find reasons to push the protagonist forward. The use of longer, descriptive scenes builds tension (anticipating the next downhill plunge) and more character development leads to an increasingly hair raising emotional impact.

Then, comes the third act and the final build toward the huge acceleration that should be followed by a sharp turn, or twist.

It is there that my own chapters shorten, a trick I learned from my first editor. Short chapters increase the pacing and keeps the reader turning the pages. You wouldn’t believe how many readers tell me they stay up late with my novels, thinking they’ll read just one more chapter and then realize it goes by so fast they want to read just one more.

Then another

Then another.

It’s like eating potato chips, the chapters are quick and satisfying.

Short sentences. Fast dialogue. Action packed scenes. Here there’s no relief! No long smooth track through the ghost town. We’re on the downhill nose-dive, folks, and we need the payoff now!

Then the reward. The final descent. For those of you who like casinos, think the slot machine rattling silver dollars into a metal catch pan designed to amplify the noise. Check the clock. Midnight? Wait! Only two more extremely short chapters!!!??? I can finish it tonight!

Sigh. Close the book. Put it on the nightstand. Click off the light. Ahhhh. Relief and satisfaction.

Here, there be rest.

I had three secretaries in the twenty-five years I worked in school district administration. My starter secretary was a Texas wife, mother, and grandmother, who spoke with the slow drawl we all recognize here in the Lone Star state.

My second was from New Jersey. She had little accent until someone angered her, or when talking with her family, and especially her mother. That’s when Jersey came out thick and nasal, dropping her “r”s. You know it as “buttah” for butter, and the “a” sound changed in words like “towk” for “talk” or “dowg” for “dog.”

I tried to write “or” as “oa,” but that didn’t work in the above sentence. It does now, though.

Here we pronounce dawg.

She also took great delight in correcting my pronunciation of “pen.” Where I come from, we say “pin” and for the word “aunt,” “aint.” We also put those abandoned Jersy “r”s in words such as “worsh” for “wash,” and “winder” for “window,” and finally, “piller” for “pillow.”

“Open the winder and hang that piller case out to dry. Someone left a wet warsh rag on it all night.”

Thinking about her pronunciations this morning (and my own) brought up a trail of thoughts about how hard it is read someone’s work when they hammer us with local dialogue for an entire novel or short story. I recently read a story so filled with a character’s regional dialogue that reading became a 6,000-word burden.

Note to authors: You’re not Mark Twain writing Huckleberry Finn. I love that book, but the dialogue simply wears me out. Use it early in the story to give us that local flavor, or to identify a character, then use it sparingly throughout the book. I don’t need to be hit over the head with it until my skull is misshapen.

Here’s an example of Jim talking to Huck. “Pooty soon I’ll be a-shout’n’ for joy, en I’ll say, it’s all on accounts o’ Huck; I’s a free man, en I couldn’t ever ben free ef it hadn’ ben for Huck; Huck done it. Jim won’t ever forgit you, Huck; you’s de bes’ fren’ Jim’s ever had; en you’s de ONLY fren’ ole Jim’s got now.”

That’s all I need. Now, give me something easier to read.

But back to “pehns,” and writing instruments.

Authors of a certain age began with big fat pencils designed for little elementary school hands.

We progressed to clear, cheap Bic pens which became the norm, but for a period of time, refillable cartridge pens were all the rage in my elementary. I had one of those, but most of the ink went directly from the nib and into highly absorbent Kleenex tissues, which bloomed nice and blue while Miss Russell droned on and on about diagraming sentences.

Because of those psychadelic blooms, and a distinct lack of interest, I still can’t diagram a sentence.

My writing output began with a Smith Corona portable typewriter, though the volume of work between 1970 and 1988 was dismal at best. I made beer money with it, though, typing term papers and reports all during college.

It was a 286 computer that finally set me free, and I haven’t looked back since. They keyboard is my friend, and I’m danged fast on this thing. I used to write newspaper columns on yellow legal pads (when I should have been listening in meetings…do you sense a pattern here?), and typed them into a floppy disk to print out on a tractor drive.

Those were the days.

I can’t write longhand anymore. My handwriting is somewhat akin to that of a doctor with alcoholic shakes, and I can’t make out what I scribbled.

So all I do is make hundreds of notes on small pieces of paper, which I forget or lose until months later. Sometimes those notes make no sense, and I have to wonder what idea had been rattling around at that time.

Others are great, and I’ll find somewhere to plug them in on this WIP. If you can’t read the top scribble, it says, “square-headed cowboy,” and the second is a possible book title, “The Dead Don’t Smile.”

I know authors who write longhand. Bestselling author Marc Cameron, of Arliss Cutter and Tom Clancy fame, and I were at an in-conversation signing a couple of weeks ago and he discussed his method of getting the first draft down with a box of Blackwing 602 pencils and a stack of legal pads. When he’s finished, he types it up and gives the pencil stubs away to fans.

All I would have is a stack of pads full of hieroglyphic scrawls that I couldn’t read no matter how hard I squinted at them with one eye.

But then I got to thinking about signing pens. That’s kind of a big deal to some folks, and here’s a question for the hive mind (and truly the point of today’s post).

What pen is best for signing copies of my work?

Some authors prefer old-school fountain pens, but I can’t keep them flowing. I’ll leave them on the desk for a couple of weeks and then have to soak the ink away. That’s irritating, though I love the looks of those instruments both in hand, and the way they write.

I have half a dozen pen sets that were given to me over the years. One set came from my mother when I graduated college. Now an antique, the pen and mechanical pencil is hand-turned walnut, and I used it for so long the oil from my fingers has stained the wood so deep it glows with a soft polish.

I don’t use it though, because I’d leave it laying somewhere. Note: Now I’m of the age I can’t find things. I went to get them for a photo to use here, and can’t remember where I put them so they wouldn’t get lost.

Sigh.

To make signatures special in my mind, I use pens (pehns) from the 21 Club in New York City. It was the haunt of my original writing mentor, Robert Ruark, (who passed in 1964). The las time I was there, they gave me half a dozen of those black pins (Texas for pens), with gold lettering, and sometimes fans notice when I’m signing and ask about them. That’s fun.

You can’t get them today, though. Covid killed the pre-prohibition club that had been open for over 90 years.

I’ve used a variety of rolling balls, and many almost skidded off the page. I loved them all, but as I said, I lost them and can’t remember which ones were the best.

I do not like signing with Sharpies. Period.

So, to all the authors out there, which do you use as your “signing pehn,” and where do I get one to try out?

It won’t be this one, though. It’s a scary weapon, I think.