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.

Memory fails, and I think I might have discussed awards sometime back, but I recently had a discussion with another well-known author about contests, and the mega-selling New York Times writer made a couple of good points.

“I like awards because I’m a little selfish. I enjoy seeing my work recognized and the truth is, they look good on my wall and in my office. They go hand in hand with the satisfaction of a job well done, and that’s exhibited by my body of work itself.”

I agree completely.

Neither he nor I came from the Participation Trophy world, and value well-earned recognition. It’s the inspiration that feeds souls.

I was a baby-teacher way back in the late 1970s when that idea of Trophies for Everyone was announced in a staff meeting.

“Each child who participates will get a trophy,” said my moronic starter principal. I worked under several great educators, but this guy phoned it in with two tin cans and a string. Though I have to admit, participation trophies weren’t his idea, but I wouldn’t have put it past him. “It’ll make the kids feel better to take something home for their effort, and will build their self-esteem. There will be no losers.”

Even though it was a faculty meeting, and I was an adult, I raised a hand as I was taught back in elementary school. “No one will try as hard if everyone gets a trophy.”

“The winner’s trophy will be a little bigger.”

“If everyone wins, no one wins. Let em put it this way, once they get out in the real world, they won’t be handing out trophies for a job well done. They’ll distribute paychecks, and there will be no reason to try harder than others, if everyone gets the same amount.”

He blinked once. “You can put your hand down now. Any other questions?”

“Yep. Why did Nixon get us in bed with Communist China?”

“You’ll have to ask the government teacher over there. Now, moving on, some of you are backing into your parking spaces, and that gives our parents the wrong idea that you’re in a hurry to leave school once the day is done…”

All right, I come from a generation who likes to win. I was once cheated out of a first place ribbon in an elementary school three-legged race when the binding came untied after my partner and I crossed the finish line, but I don’t hold that against Coach Mankin (I really do).

One of my grandsons was cheated out of first place in a rodeo mutton busting contest last year. He held on for the full eight seconds, but another competitor took home the buckle because her parents were part of a prominent local family. I knew we’d lost when I saw they were all in their Sunday best and were already lining up for a photo even before the winner was announced.

But back to awards for writing, my friend was right. For authors struggling for recognition in a crowded and confusing landscape, awards offer credibility and a somewhat elevated status for others to see. With 11,000 books releasing every month in this country, these nods toward hard work and creativity help us gain recognition in a firehose output of new books.

I’ll be at the Will Rogers Medallion Award ceremony this time next week, and I’ll find out where my novels The Broken Truth and The Journey South fall as a finalists in Western Modern Fiction, and Western Traditional Fiction categories, respectively.

The awards won’t be accompanied by a check, only by the satisfaction that they were deemed worthy by my peers. That’s what I’m after.

There are two Spur Awards on my wall from the Western Writers of America association. Many of the traditional westerns I read as a kid proudly proclaimed they were Spur winners. As an adult I looked for that recognition on the covers of their books.

I wanted one of my own.

I count six Will Rogers Medallions in my office, and no matter if the above-mentioned novels win Gold, Silver, or Bronze, two more will look good in this collection, in my opinion.

I was also honored with a Benjamin Franklin for my first novel, The Rock Hole, and John Gilstrap and I learned a few years ago that we’d won the Kops-Fetherling International Book Award for our work. I still don’t know what that one is, but the gold award seal is nice.

I once took first place in a photographic competition. The photo was a silhouette of my cousin leading his horse into a barn. I had to wake him up late that morning after he’d been out all partying all night, and simply getting him to walk in a straight line was a challenge. The horse cooperated and only required a couple of carrots.

By the way, that barn, the hallway they’re in, and the often patched tack room on the right figured in more than one novel through the years.

Winning that little contest helped spur me on to an extremely successful side career in photography. It lit a fuse that still glows from time to time.

I now have my sights set on a Bram Stoker Award for Comancheria next year. If I win, great. If I don’t, I’ll know that I was in the company of great authors. That’s enough, but I don’t want a participation trophy. Only the real thing, because…

…a respected book award reaches out to both online and store browsers saying, “This is a great book, and worthy of your time and money.” It helps readers weed through the thousands of books that figuratively sag the shelves every year.

It also builds personal self-esteem in an extremely competitive business, and are a way to let other authors know that people out there value your work. Awards come with a word of caution, though.

Some entries require a submission fee. This often comes out of the writers’ pockets, but many times publishers accept that responsibility.

Just because you win first place or gold, doesn’t mean your book will sell any better. There are no guarantees in this business. However, it’ll look good on a resume.

Judges are human. They might see something different in your book, be it good or bad. I’ve judged a number of contests, and when my list was compared to other judges’ opinions, they might not have been the same.

So why bother in the first place?

Personal validation is the best reason I know of. If you see it as that, and no more, you won’t be disappointed.

Sitting in the back of our unairconditioned classroom one hot Friday morning, I couldn’t take my eyes off my high school English teacher, Miss Adams, as Led Zeppelin’s Whole Lotta Love echoed through my empty, echoing head.

She was splendid, and everything a sophomore boy could wish for.

Redheaded Rick Schaefer looked at me from across the aisle and raised his eyebrows in a Groucho expression. We felt the same about Miss Adams and we’d discussed her that morning while sitting in his van, listening to the radio. I figured he’d graduate and marry her, because the guy looked like he was in his late twenties when we were in junior high.

And then she made me love her more, taking my mind off losing her to Rick. “I’ll need a two-page paper fromn everyone on Monday morning.”

Groans filled the room as I considered endless possibilities. I knew I was a great writer, because I’d already been moved from reporter to photographer on our school’s newspaper staff. For some reason, evil Mrs. Pickles said I editorialized too much.

In her desk at the front of the room, Lucy, the teacher’s pet, raised her hand. “On what?”

“Anything you want to write about.”

Lucy raised her hand again. “I can’t think of anything.”

“You will. Just write down a few words–––.”

Lucy’s pale hand shot up again, but before she could voice another question, Miss Adams caught my eye and spoke directly to me in the back of the room. “Just write down a few words, and then more words will follow. Write anything you want.”

An experienced camouflage expert, I’d chosen the farthest desk from the front, and beside the window, hoping for a stray breeze, but she saw me anyway, and I’ve been thankful for that moment ever since.

I think of that bit of wisdom from a 22-year-old teacher every time I sit down to hammer out my weekly newspaper column, and it hasn’t failed me since I began writing it in 1988.

These past couple of weeks have been busy, and what with developmental edits on one manuscript, line edits on another, and finally finishing the edits on an upcoming anthology of short stories, I’d forgotten that today is the deadline for my Killzone blog.

So I put my fingers on the keyboard and started with the first sentence at the top of this page, searching for a topic. That led me to the calendar on my desk, and the realization that by the time you read this post, my 20^th novel will have been on the shelves since October 21.

Comancheria is the first in the weird western Hollow Frontier series, that has already stretched to three volumes. The Sound of a Dead Man’s Laugh, and What We Owe the Dead, will drop in October of 2026 and the same month in 2027, respectively. I’m already itching to get into the next one, but I have to finish my 10^th novel in the Red River series.

It’ll go quickly, because John Gilstrap and I hammered out the premise over several bottles of wine in a thousand-year-old French mansion.

My western horror novel came to me in a dream during the Covid shutdown. No, I wasn’t worried about getting sick and nothing was bothering me at the time. In fact, my stress level was way down, since we couldn’t get out of the house and all my honey-do chores were finished.

Maybe I’d figuratively and subconsciously put my fingers on the keyboard in my sleep that night.

After intense online research lasting a full fifteen seconds, I found that doctors in white lab coats proclaim that dreams typically last from 5-20 minutes, however, they can vary from a few seconds to possibly two hours. According to those guys with pocket protectors full of pens and probably a Slim Jim or two, we can have up to three or four dreams per night.

Well, that night I watched an entire movie in my head, complete with a clear plot, characters, details, a subplot, twists, and even dialogue. My eyes snapped open when it came to an end at 3:00 AM, and it wasn’t because I had to go to the bathroom.

That usually happens at 4:00 AM.

The Bride’s eyes snapped open when I woke up. I swear she’s some kind of harmless vampire. Truthfully, I can open one eye and look at her in the dark and both of her gray/green orbs will snap open as well. I don’t think the woman ever sleeps at all.

Honestly, I don’t know what color they are, because I’m colorblind, and I’m afraid to ask now. I’ll have to look at her drivers license the next time she goes for a walk.

I slipped out of bed. “I have to write.”

“Okay.” She returned to her dormant state of nighttime existence, probably adding to her mental honey-do list.

My office is just outside our bedroom door, so I closed her in and settled down at the desk.

Fingers on the keyboard, I typed the first line.

Miss Hattie Long’s husband died on their fifty-fifth anniversary and she lost much of her mind not long after.

Those words led me into a complicated plot set on the Llano Estacado in 1874. Texas Ranger Buck Dallas appeared on my computer screen, along with his good friend Ranger Lane Newsome. I didn’t have to come up with their names. They were part of the absurdely detailed dream that led to Buck’s torture, death, and a curse to walk the earth forever from a Comanche puha, Twisted Root.

Yeah, the word puha, (medicine man) was in that dream.

Here’s where the curse part comes in. Buck rises every morning with the sun, and falls dead at sunset. People tend to bury the dead, and Buck always claws his way back to the surface, pissed off and digging dirt from his eyes and ears. However, he’s a walking dead man, with a snake growing inside of his body that tends to argue with him whenever he’s in the grave.

He and Lane, after some serious discussion about Buck not staying dead as decent people should, are joined by three strange characters protecting a pregnant woman who is drawn by Miss Hattie to a magic spring in the heart of Comancheria.

By eight the next morning, I was thirty pages into the story that was the movie my subconscious created. I finished in six weeks of virtually nonstop typing.

As usual, writing is the easy part. Getting it published became a journey unto itself. After being turned down by two publishers who thought it was a strange idea, it was picked up by a western house––– that crawfished on the deal a week later.

But life has a way of leading us where we need to go. Last year I attended a panel of publishers at a writers conference (one was the crawfish) and became interested in what a gentleman from Roan and Weatherford had to say about publishing and gender-bending.

Later, he and I met in the bar, of course, (where good things happen at conferences) and in casual conversation, he asked if I had a manuscript he could look at. A week later, R&N agreed to publish Comancheria and gave me an unlimited series featuring my Rangers.

It is our hope that the blending of horror and westerns will draw the interest of younger folks, who aren’t typically readers of traditional westerns. With the death of mass market paperbacks, westerns will struggle. I believe older readers will welcome something different, quirky westerns that are outside of the William W. Johnston, Louis L’Amour, and Zane Grey estates.

Comancheria is a new idea, and I hope that Covid dream is the start of something big.

For your perusal, here’s an excellent article from Jeffrey J. Mariotte that appeared in the Western Writers of America’s Roundup Magazine a couple of years ago, providing even information on this mind-bending genre. I hope this link works. It did for me.

aug20-weirdwesterns

Oh, and thanks once again to Miss Adams, on helping me get started on this paper…uh, post.

Ringggg!

Actually, it was more of a buzz in my back pocket that at first made me think my leg was going to sleep. I didn’t recognize the number on the screen, but that day I was in a mood.

“What?”

“Uh, well, hello. Is iss Rabees?” His accent was so thick I could barely understand the words. I’ll let you select the suitable accent as we progress.

“How can I help you?”

“This is Jake–––.”

“From State Farm?”

“What. No.” I could tell he was going back to his script. “This is Jake–––.”

“Jake who?”

“Uh, This is Jake Wilson and I’m calling about your recent publication, The Broken Truth…A Novel.”

“That’s The Broken Truth. The word novel isn’t part of the title.”

A loooonggggg pause.

“Are you there, Jake?”

“Yes, it is I. One of our scouts––––.”

“Crockett or Boone.”

“Excuse me. This is Jake.”

“Forgive me Jake, neither of those guys were scouts, but Kit Carson was.”

“Um. One of our scouts came across your book, The Broken Truth–––.”

“Don’t say the novel part.”

“Um.” Back to the script. “One of our book scouts came across your book (he almost said it again) and recommended it to us. Your book is cinematic in scope–––.”

“Thank you for that. I was my intention. I write as if I’m seeing a movie and try to bring that to my pages.”

“Yes. Thank you. Your book is cinematic in scope, and we feel that it is a perfect candidate for inclusion between you and Lions Gate–––.” He said it as two distinct words.

“Thanks, but you’ll have to talk with my agent.”

“Agent?”

“Literary agent.”

“You have a literary agent?” I imagined him flipping through pages on his computer, looking for that thread.

“You didn’t think I had one, did you? Miss that one in training?”

“Does this agent receive money–––“

“Money comes in. It doesn’t go out, that’s a true and honest statement, and you’re likely going to ask me for some type of payment for this remarkable opportunity How much?”

“Well, we have several levels.”

“Figured. Adios.”

*

There are many times I don’t want to answer, or fool with those bottom feeders. Here are a few voicemails I held onto for this enlightening occasion. Mistakes included.

“Bro truth Brew truth, Redis, your boo came highly recommended and we’re truly impressed by a cinematic potential. We’d love to explore a collaboration by connecting you directly with movie producers or directors either in person or via (who uses that word while speaking) Zoom to discuss the exciting possibility of adapting your story into the feature film or TV series.”

That one was from Nebraska. I wish I’d answered to get the caller to describe the town and where his office was located. If you don’t know, these scam artists bounce the calls around the country to make you think they’re legitimate and not from some unairconditioned warehouse far, far away.

How about this one allegedly from Fresno, California. Transcribed and somewhat translated. “Hi, Revis, is Roland from Lion Leash, I am a TV coordinator for Spotlight network, I am calling to extend an invitation for Emmy Award-winning director Logan Crawford would like to showcase your book. I am a TV coordinator. I’m reaching out regarding your book. Please call me back at 599-60….”

This one’s a favorite from Winfield, MO. “Hi, Ribs, my name is Johnester, and I’m calling for Ribs. (He was kinda making me hungry) Ribs Withem, and the reason I’m calling is I want to verify if you’re the author of The Texas Joe. If you are the author, please call me back at this number because your book caught our attention and I’d love the chance to speak with you shortly.”

Another from California. “Hi, Rellis, this is Paige senior executive book editor calling from Paige Chronicles, (I think that’s what she said. It’s hard to understand through all the crackling, which made me wonder if it’s coming through some transatlantic cable) because we would like to interview you about book scouts and specialist who highly recommended it from your feature to represent your book.”

“Hi, good day, this is Ava from Beach Chronicles a premium partner with Amazon once you have received this voicemail to call me back on thees number that works in order for us to discuss some important matters about your book The Broken Truth, a Thriller or thrillers (that’s not part of the title!!!). Thank you, and have a good one.”

*

And now I’m inundated with AI generated emails from Ellen B. Trumbull, or Christina William Brown, or Alison Malcha, Cecilia Marks II, and probably others, trying to separate me from my money. Here are a couple I cut and pasted, complete with the emojis they included.

Reavis,

You’ve been called the “genuine article” by Craig Johnson, Kirkus compared your mysteries to Harper Lee and Joe Lansdale, and the New York Times praised your writing as a sleeper that deserves wider attention. You’ve penned Westerns, mysteries, and even 2,500+ articles. That’s one hell of a trail of words.

Now here comes The Only Saloon in Town bank robberies, scalp hunters, corrupt marshals, and Cap Whitlatch trying to keep the whole town from blowing sky-high. It’s cinematic, bloody, and gritty exactly what readers of Westerns crave.

But then I checked Amazon. 30 reviews. Thirty. (Note: I think there are more on that and Goodreads, but I don’t pay any attention to them.) That’s barely a bar fight in Angel Fire. A story with scalp hunters and marauding devils has fewer reviews than a $20 desk lamp. That’s just wrong.

I run a private community of 2,000+ dedicated readers who don’t just leave “Good book 👍” but dive in, analyze, and post thoughtful reviews that give books the credibility they deserve. They love supporting seasoned authors who already have a strong voice but need that extra boost of reader firepower.

So, Reavis should we let Cap Whitlatch keep drinking alone in a half-empty saloon of 30 reviews, or should we pack the place, light the lamps, and give this book the kind of attention even C.J. Box would raise a glass to? 🍺📖

Best,

I didn’t answer, so she tried again:

Hi Reavis,

Just circling back 30 reviews for The Only Saloon in Town doesn’t match the grit and firepower of your story. A book that is cinematic deserves a full house, not a half-empty saloon.

That’s exactly where my private community of 2,000+ engaged readers comes in. They love Westerns and mysteries, and they leave the kind of thoughtful reviews that boost credibility and visibility.

Would you like me to send you a quick 2-minute outline of how we can get Cap Whitlatch the packed saloon he deserves?

Best,

Then this one arrived. Same style, AI generated, and with still another hometown girl name (I wonder why they’re all women in these emails?).

Reavis, you’ve got gangsters rolling into East Texas, a crooked sheriff “crooked as a dog’s hind leg,” counterfeit bills floating around, a psychic kid dreaming doom, and a climax that reads like a Shakespearean showdown with cowboy boots on. Basically, Vengeance is Mine has more action than a Vegas card table on payday. 🎰💥

(Note: This one released in 2014. I’m not sure why they latched onto this particular title. Now, we continue.)

And yet… Amazon still thinks your book belongs in the quiet corner with dusty paperbacks and forgotten romance novellas. 182 reviews? For a modern western listed in True West’s Top 5? (At least AI got that part right) That’s like parking a Mustang on the prairie and calling it “just another horse.” 🐎😂

Here’s where I tip my hat. 🤠 I’m not a PR firm, not some slick “book marketing guru,” and I don’t have a website, LinkedIn, or a TikTok where I dance holding novels (you’re welcome). It’s just me and my private crew of 2,000+ readers who live for mysteries, thrillers, and western grit. We don’t skim and slap stars   we actually read, argue about characters, and drop reviews that Amazon’s cranky algorithm can’t ignore.

So, Reavis, do you want Vengeance is Mine to keep sittin’ pretty in the shade like a cowboy at siesta, or do you want me to send in readers who’ll make it gallop loud enough for the whole algorithmic rodeo to notice? 🐂📚🔥

Best

I haven’t returned either of these emails, but they came in right on top of each other this week. Then I opened this one that’s cut and pasted.

Hi  Reavis Wortham,

I hope this message finds you in great spirits.

My name is Allyson, and I’m reaching out on behalf of Books Discovery Group, a team of literary scouts and creative development agents passionate about discovering compelling stories with real market potential. While quietly evaluating promising works across the literary landscape, your book, “The Broken Truth: A Thriller (Tucker Snow Thrillers),” stood out for its powerful message, literary merit, and commercial viability.

We believe your manuscript (for crying out loud, people, it’s a book now, not a manuscript!!!) holds exceptional potential—not just for traditional publishing but also for adaptation into film or television. In today’s evolving storytelling ecosystem, producers are actively seeking fresh, impactful narratives like yours. With the right representation and positioning, your work could open doors to wide distribution and enduring cultural relevance across multiple platforms.

At Books Discovery Group, we work exclusively on a commission-based model, meaning we only succeed when you do. Our full focus is on securing the best possible publishing and screen adaptation opportunities for authors like you. You retain creative control—we handle the connections, negotiations, and positioning that help your work shine in competitive markets.

Before proceeding, may I ask if you are currently represented by another literary agent? If not, it would be an absolute honor to represent you and introduce your work to our trusted network of traditional publishers and media producers.

I’d welcome the opportunity to speak with you directly and explore what’s next. Please feel free to contact me at (347) 669-1975 at your convenience.

Thank you for creating a story worth discovering. I look forward to the possibility of working together and championing your book to a broader audience.

Warm regards,

When I didn’t answer, their algorithm tried again on, with a slightly different ending on The Broken Truth:

For The Broken Truth, a 10–20 reader push could seriously shake up its visibility and give Tucker the posse he deserves. I can even share a peek at how my readers discuss books you’ll see right away it’s real, passionate, and powerful.

What do you say want me to unleash a squad of die-hard thriller fans to ride with Tucker Snow and get this book seen by the readers it deserves? 🤠📚✨

Cecilia

*

So what is all this? Folks trying to drum up business? Author scams? I won’t say for sure, to avoid litigation, but I have my suspicions.

Scams targeting authors often involve an advance fee, where individuals or companies masquerading as agents or publishers request upfront payments for publishing or marketing services. Other scams include unrealistic royalties or a large book advance for a fee, claims of having “discovered” a previously unknown book, and requests for various fees to revitalize or market an older work.

Pros and beginners alike should be wary of these unsolicited offers, especially those promising huge returns, and avoid paying upfront fees for publishing services. Legitimate agents and publishers do not ask for such payments.

These people hoping to dig into your bank account might pose as a literary agent or publisher with misleading offers. They might contact you about an older book they just “discovered,” saying they can increase sales.

A new tact is claiming false affiliation with entities like Amazon, or a famous director they they might be able to put you in touch with. The Lionsgate scam with famous names has been making the rounds lately.

Be skeptical of unsolicited offers, never pay upfront fees, do your due diligence. If you think a call might be legit, find their website and use that number to check. They’ll likely tell you it was a con.

Research through The Authors Guild, or the Society of Authors to name a couple for alerts on scams targeting authors.

As Sonny and Cher once reported, “The Beat Goes On”….and on…and on…and on. I’m cynical, but many ground-level and even experienced authors can be taken by these scam artists. There are many online articles about these individuals, and more. Here are a couple that might be of interest. Writer Beware.

https://authorsguild.org/resource/publishing-scam-alerts/

https://writerbeware.blog/scam-archive/

Oh, and if any of the above contacts are truly legitimate, I’m sorry, and please reach out to me again so we can do the deal.

I just returned from Boucheron in New Orleans. The first time I was there in 1975, Mardis Gras was in full swing and most folks were juiced to the gills. I say most, because I only remember bits and pieces of that six-day trip. Today, people still drink there, heavily, and not just at night. As the sun lowers in the thick, humid air, neon still shines bright, reflected in puddles of fluids I don’t care to ponder.

But back to Bouchercon. This mystery thriller gathering of writers and fans is likely the largest in North America. There were panels, presentations, and lots of authors. Many of them drinking. Other than going out for meals (and they were all splendid) I spent most of the time in the bar, talking with other attendees, who may or may not have been partaking of spirits and club soda.

If you’ve never been to any writers conference, the bar is where business takes place. No matter if you drink or not, it’s like a Serengeti  watering hole and almost everyone gathers there at one time or another in the evenings.

For some of us, it’s early afternoon.

Besides networking as we call it, I was on a panel along with four other excellent authors who shared their thoughts on “setting.” as a character. We’re all nice people, and everyone agreed that settings can  become a character that can, and will, drive a story.

If you don’t think so, read Fear in a Handful of Dust by John Ives, the pseudonym of a prolific author, Brian Garfield.

I picked that title up back when it was released in 1978 and was blown away by Ives/Garfield’s gritty dialogue and the reality of people struggling to survive in the desert. The cast is limited to essentially five characters, an insane mental patient, and four doctors.

The sixth character is the Mojave Desert.

But that’s not what this blog is about…sorry.

It’s also not about making sure your microphone is turned off. One of the panelists almost said something that would have followed her for years. Remember. All mikes are hot, whether they’re turned on or not. And now, finally, back to my original subject.

During the course of our panel discussion that wandered nearly as much as this blog, fellow participants mentioned that in one of his own novels, a troll emerged at an earlier conference to bring up what that individual thought was an important mistake in let’s say, Mr. Smith’s novel.

“At one point in your latest work, you write that it rained on May 25, 1964. Well, that’s incorrect. I looked it up through Goggle, ChatGap, and an old man who siad he was there, but I’m not sure, because he’d been at a conference and couldn’t remember much about what happened, but the point is, through rabbit holes and research, I discovered that it in fact didn’t rain that day like you said. Did you realize that?”

Personally, I would have suggested that the troll kiss my…

However, Mr. Smith was shaken by that point. He shouldn’t have been.

He should have said in a loud, firm voice, “It’s fiction, you moron!!! Take it as entertainment and not nonfiction.”

So maybe Mr. Smith wanted it to rain that day in his book in order to accomplish some plot point, mood, or setting. Who’s to say a tiny little cloud didn’t pop up in Nebraska and drop an inch of rain in about an hour.

Case in point. Here in the Dallas/Ft. Worth metroplex, the National Weather Service office is at the DFW airport. That’s where records and airplanes are kept, but Texas is such a strange animal that it has rained at my house only thirty miles away while not a drop fell at the airport.

Therefore it was recorded as a rain-free day.

When I was a kid playing softball at my uncle’s house in the country, a cousin knocked a fly ball over the roof and into the front yard…where it was raining, though not a drop fell in the back yard. So we all ran around to the other side to get soaked, much to our mother’s pleasure.

And while I’m rambling around here on several subjects, let me point out to everyone that the thermometer at DFW is surrounded by concrete! It’s hotter there than at my house where we have trees and grass, so in my humble opinion (and that’s the only one that counts right this moment, in my opinion), the days when we reach that magic (gasp) number of 100 only counts in the middle of all that concrete!

Envision me shouting this fact like Sam Kinison.

So with that, please return to your writing. Be accurate with real places (one way vs. two-way streets for example), tell your fictional story (maybe change the name of your town so your streets can run the way you want them to), and don’t worry about the minutiae!!!

Pronounced muh-NOO-shee-ee, it refers to the small, precise, and often useless details or trifling matters of something, often in a literal sense.

Sam Kinison again, worrying about these things will only give you an ulcer!!!!

I’ve been an outdoorsman all my life, and camping has always been an integral part of those experiences. I’ve slept on the ground with nothing but a blanket over me and an ocean of stars stretching from horizon to horizon. I was sick that frosty night in South Dakota, and full of fever, which limited movement to only my eyeballs. Everything else hurt. Propped up against a fallen log, I could do nothing but watch the Milky Way.

I think it healed me in a way no drugs could have touched.

I’ve slept in the back of a pickup truck, wrapped in a sleeping bag, and in a canvas tent so hot the July humidity drove me out onto a concrete picnic table that felt better than any five star hotel bed. One night beside a gurgling stream, I retreated to save my life, chased there by a million mosquitoes determined so suck every drop of blood from my body. As the sun settled below the pine treetops, I peeked out the door flap and realized it wasn’t as dark as I thought. The yellow nylon was so thick with those little winged vampires, the sunset in reality was a living horde of insects.

As the years passed, we owned pop-up trailers, small campers, Class C campers, bumper pull campers, and 36-foot fifty-wheel that was larger than my first apartment. They’ve all been a learning experience, and the memories we’ve shared in those shelters still come up in pleasant recollections.

The Bride and I have pulled off into national forest campgrounds and spent both hot and cold nights in the back of our conversion van. We’ve cooked over hardwood fires, charcoal, small pump-up backpacking stoves, Coleman stoves, and even over the heat of a homemade stove made from a tin can.

It’s been so cold, that our water froze in the tent with us, so humid the breeze from a passing hummingbird felt good, and so hot we couldn’t rest. There was one sultry night in East Texas where we lay in pools of sweat, laughing at the symphony of tiny frogs that sang until an agreed-upon moment when they paused for a buffalo-size bullfrog to croke one deep bass note, and then the music continued.

So why are you telling us all this on a writer’s blog?

Because writing is much the same. You’ve found what you like doing, and that’s creating worlds that either don’t exist, or are based on a character you developed from firing synapses.

Many writers search for that magic formula to help them get words on paper and create the Great American Novel. It’s the same as what I described above, experiments and experiences that finally solidify into your own personal recipe. We all have, or had, our idea of what a writer’s life might be like, and it usually isn’t what we’ve seen on television or in the movies.

On Thursday night, the Bride and I attended a wine tasting fundraiser for my old alma mater, and I was introduced to a former Texas senator who has donated a gamebird research facility to determine while bobwhite quail numbers have dropped to alarming numbers in the past thirty or forty years. They’re working hard to bring them back to our state, and as I discussed my recent visit to the Lyon Center for Gamebird Research, he asked about being an author.

“Do you get up and write every morning?”

How many times have we heard that? “I try to write at least five pages every day. It sometimes comes early, at noon, or whenever I can find the right time to sit down and work.”

I didn’t tell him it was because I found what works for me, and what I enjoy.

A few months ago I had a long talk with a fellow bestselling author who hit the market like dynamite with her first novel. As our conversation meandered down unfamiliar trails or the same old paths authors follow when they get together, we discussed how far our manuscripts progressed in a single day. She was awed by my output, see above, and shook her head.

“I do good to write a single paragraph in a day. Sometimes I lock up on a single word and it takes forever to find the right one.”

Fine, then. That’s her working day, but like the camping discussion above (see, here’s that page a day thing), everyone is different. The only truth is that we all aspects of this world in different ways, and in terms of writing, we all have different goals. Just be inspired.

I’ve written newspaper columns on a yellow legal pad in front of a tent as lightning moved across the valley below. My best day of writing so far was one day in a 36’ fifth-wheel as rain thundered on the roof and it was impossible to go outside. It’s not where or how I produced my books, it’s the fact that I found a comfort zone somewhere that spoke to me.

There are hundreds of books on how to be a successful author out there. Read them if you want, but find the process speaks to you and follow that unexplored road, just the way the Bride and I experimented with camping, be it good or bad.

Find your comfortable place and get that first draft finished. At least put down page a day, but even that’s not for everyone. Then agonize over the post production, if you want or need to, in a figurative four-star hotel somewhere.

Quit talking about it, and over-thinking the process, and write.

Deadlines.

Brrrr.

A line not to be crossed without consequences.

All writers bow to them, and for some, looming deadlines are also an electric jolt to get authors off the stick and in front of the keyboard. I confess. I do my best work right up against deadlines.

The dreaded word originated during the Civil War, referencing a defined line around prison camps that prisoners weren’t allowed to cross under the guarantee of being shot by guards. Some sources say it began at Andersonville, a Confederate prison camp notorious for its horrific conditions and high death rate among Union prisoners.

“Before noon, we were turned into the pen which is merely enclosed by a ditch and the dirt taken from the ditch thrown up on the outside, making a sort of breastwork. The ditch serves as a dead line, and no prisoners must go near the ditch. ­–––Robert Ransom, Diary of Robert Ransom, Nov, 22, 1863.

You get the picture.

Over time, as memories faded, the term softened and shifted from a literal physical boundary to a time limit. In the early 1900s, newspapers used the word to indicate the last possible moment for submitting copy for publication. Meeting a deadline is the mark of a professional, or one who refuses to be late.

Now, to soften that a bit, some writing deadlines are fluid. Life can get in the way of meeting those obligations, and most editors and publishers understand, to a point. Your family, health, and all those insane troubles that sometimes swirl around us like tweeting birds circling a cartoon character’s head should take precedence.

Simply missing a specific date because you can’t get off the stick is unforgivable and sets back a publisher’s schedule. Titles are lined up on the calendar for print and missing those dates might put your manuscript back at the end of the line, or pulled completely, damaging the writer’s reputation, and also that of their agent.

Other things happen, too. I got a little lazy in writing my fourth novel, Dark Places, and my agent took me to task, setting back my delivery date.

“Rev, I love the manuscript, but you missed an entire plot line.”

“What!!!???”

“Pepper ran away from home, and you didn’t follow her. She’s almost forgotten until the end.”

“But….”

“Follow her.”

I did, and it gave the book an entirely different quality. However, I missed that deadline in the sense that we had to ask for more time. The publisher gave me a month, but my subconscious, knowing I’d become lazy, had already written the material and the story poured out in only two weeks.

Besides the book deadlines mentioned above, (and I’m free of those for the first time in several years because I’ve turned in three novels in my new series and have some breathing room), I still have a weekly newspaper column and magazine columns…plus this blog.

Book deadlines, short story deadlines, column and magazine articles, blog posts, well-established newsletters, and paid Substack posts all require razor sharp attention. If you sign either a physical, agreed upon contract, or a personal goal to get your work on a particular date or day, they should all be met.

It’s your professional reputation that’s on the line.