Tag Archive for: House of Rose

Roses are Stealthy by T. K. Thorne

/in /by

 

 Writer, humanist,
          dog-mom, horse servant and cat-slave,
       Lover of solitude
          and the company of good friends,
        New places, new ideas
           and old wisdom.

Roses are following me around. 

In my first mystery/thriller/crime/urban fantasy, I named my police officer-witch, “Rose.” 

Names are a funny thing. When you give one to a character, it can instantly color them and lead to interesting places.  I don’t know why that name popped into my head at the critical moment of creation. I’ve tried to figure it out:

Was it a subconscious play on my last name, “Thorne”? 

Was I thinking of my grandmother whose name was “Rose”? 

Or was it just that it was fun, because as Rose herself says, 

“‘Rose’ is a difficult name. For one thing, it made me a target throughout childhood for “smells the same” taunts. For another, it sets up an assumption that fails to describe any part of my nature, conjuring an image of a tiny gray-haired woman. I am neither tiny—standing barefoot at 5’8”—nor gray-haired—dark curls minimally tamed per Birmingham police uniform regulations—and I’m more prickly thorns than soft petals.”

A one-armed man gave me the climbing rose in my yard (not that one-armed man, if you are of an age to have watched “The Fugitive”). It is in full bloom as we speak. That rose bush taught me valuable lessons (See “The Rose Wars.”)

Rose (the police-witch) got this for a cover:

 

All sorts of roses seem to show up in my life—a painting from a friend, a favorite scarf I never noticed had a black-and-white rose pattern, the two dozen long-stemmed roses my ex-husband (#2) sent me when he wanted to make up. That last one may be cheating since it was long ago. If my current husband sent me roses, I would definitely freak out (you have to read House of Rose to know why.)

Book two of the Magic City series is finally making its debut as House of Stone.

 

Just want to be clear, that is a red diamond in there—in case the universe wants to do that “Law of Attraction” thing, I’m good with it!

Here’s a  promo moment for the new novel:

Witches and warlocks abide in Birmingham, Alabama in three ancient
Houses—Rose, Iron and Stone. They arrived over a century ago to draw their
powers from the abundant ores beneath Red Mountain. Rose Brighton, a Birmingham
police detective, is the last witch of House of Rose and possibly the most
dangerous thing since the hydrogen bomb. A terrifying encounter with House of
Iron has mentally crippled Becca, her best friend. While Becca struggles to
find herself, Rose battles to control her own abilities and the supernatural
attraction that pulls her to a mysterious, handsome warlock.

 

When magic kicks in at the scene of her first homicide, she learns
that her partner—the mentor and friend she depends on—is lying to her, and she
is on her own. Unraveling the murder entwines Rose in a web of greed and profit
involving a promising new medicine. Someone is willing to kill to keep a cheap
drug from the market. Not only do countless lives depend on Rose’s skills as a
detective, the fate of a unique race of people facing extinction also rests on
her shoulders . . . and some of them are determined to kill her.

 

Praise

“Thorne delivers a spellbinding thriller, an
enthralling blend of real-world policing and other-world magic. It’s a wild
ride of high stakes that pits the warm humanity of Rose and her friends against
chilling powers of darkness in a battle that is both ages old and totally of
today.”

—Barbara Kyle, author of The Traitor’s Daughter

“A deftly crafted and riveting read by an author with
an impressively deft ability to hold the reader’s rapt attention with her original
fantasy novel “House of Rose.” Readers new to her will look eagerly forward to
the next title in her new Magic City Stories series. While very highly
recommended for personal and community library Contemporary Fantasy Fiction
collections, it should be noted that “House of Rose” is also available in a
digital book format.”

—Midwest Reviews

“Rookie cop Rose Brighton never imagined that a simple
suspect chase into an alley would lead her into dark passages where she would
question her definition of reality, her own identity, and whether she was pawn
or prey. HOUSE OF ROSE is a gem.”

— DP Lyle,
award-winning author of the Jake Longly thriller series

“The life of Birmingham, Ala., rookie cop Rose
Brighton, the narrator of this promising paranormal series launch from Thorne (Noah’s
Wife), veers into the extraordinary one night. . . . Thorne, a retired
captain in the Birmingham PD, grounds the fantasy with authentic procedural
details and loving descriptions of the city and its lore. Readers will look
forward to Rose’s further adventures.”

—Publishers Weekly

“T.K. Thorne is an authentic, new voice in the world
of fantasy and mystery. THE HOUSE OF ROSE blends the realistic details of
police work with magic. The result is an explosive story that will keep you on
the edge of your seat as Rose learns of her true heritage…and the dangerous
powers that are her birthright. Pick up this story—you’ll thank yourself over
and over again.”

—Carolyn Haines,
USA Today bestselling author of the Sarah Booth Delaney, Pluto’s Snitch, and
Trouble the black cat detective mystery series.

“Although
“House of Rose” is speculative fiction, a kind of fantasy, T.K. Thorne is so
knowledgeable about Birmingham and law enforcement that it is also, truly, a
police procedural and a thriller—something for everyone. House of Rose” is the
first of a series which should be a hit.”

—Don Nobles,
reviewer for Alabama Public Radio

T.K. is a retired police captain who writes Books, which, like this blog, go wherever her interest and imagination take her.  More at TKThorne.com

Breaking the Code of Silence—by T.K. Thorne

/in /by

Writer, humanist,
          dog-mom, horse servant and cat-slave,
       Lover of solitude
          and the company of good friends,
        New places, new ideas
           and old wisdom.

We are living History, a moment of angst and hope, of isolation and involvement, a time to look deep.

In the beginning of my novel, House of Rose,
my police officer heroine shoots a man in the back. I deliberately
placed Rose in that situation, because it put her in trauma, and that is
how character is built. I wanted readers to experience that from her
perspective, to be uncomfortable. Having to pull the trigger is not a
comfortable place. I am a former police officer, and, like my fellows, I
always dreaded having to make such a decision and having to live with
it—right or wrong.

My fictional shooting is a circumstance very far from the blatant
lynching of George Floyd, which—along with a dark cloud of other racial
encounters and shootings—have stained the badge that so many wear
proudly and with honor. For the first time in my memory, law enforcement
officers have broken their “code of silence” and stepped forward to
voice their outrage, some to walk and pray with protesters.

I am proud of those voices, but I understand they do not make black people feel safe.

I am not black and not trying to imply I understand what it feels
like to be, but I am listening and trying to imagine that and to relate
it to my own experiences. I am Jewish.

Recently, I watched a documentary on the growth of anti-Semitism in
the world, including the U.S., and it awoke in me something that I try to ignore in my daily life, an underlying fear of being different
and what might happen to me or those I love because of who I am and
what I believe. The outpouring of sympathy and expressions of horror at
the Tree of Life massacre did not make me feel safe either.

How are we not beyond this? I yearn for there to be no need
for police to have to make awful decisions or even to be armed, only to
perform their highest calling—solving problems, protecting and helping
people. I yearn for soldiers to put down their weapons and say, “Ain’t
gonna study war no more.”

I also research and write about history and know we have moved the
needle significantly from the past, but we have not left the darkness
behind. It is a chasm looming before us. I fear we are on a precipice as
a country and world.

What can I do?

I am a writer, so I am doing what I do—writing about my pain,
confusion, my passion for justice. Sometimes I do that through my
characters, but sometimes I just have to struggle for the words in my
own voice.

T.K. is a retired police captain who writes books,
which, like this blog, roam wherever her interest and imagination take
her.  Want a heads up on news about her writing and adventures (and
receive two free short stories)? Click on image below.  Thanks for
stopping by!

https://tkthorne.com/signup/

When Crime Meets Magic–by T.K. Thorne

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   Writer, humanist,
          dog-mom, horse servant and cat-slave,
       Lover of solitude
          and the company of good friends,
        New places, new ideas
           and old wisdom.

The first thing most people say to me when they learn I was a career cop is, “Oh. You don’t look like a policeman.”
This is a good thing because I’m a woman.
Perhaps at 5’3”, I don’t fit the stereotype in their minds. That’s not worrisome to my self-image because during my 20+ years in the Birmingham Police Department, it never occurred to me that I was too small . . . other than the annoying fact that my hands couldn’t fit properly around a gun. Not only did I have to figure out an alternate way to shoot, there were other challenges. In those early Academy days, we had to carry the fifty bullets needed for the firearms qualification tests in our pants pocket and dig them out to reload with one hand (the other held the gun). Tight time constraints for firing and reloading were in place to try to replicate some of the stress of being under fire.
If I pulled more than six bullets at a time out of my pocket, it overwhelmed my small hand’s capacity to manipulate them into position to reload. Bullets tumbled to the ground, making it impossible to reload in time. With practice, I developed the ability to blindly grab exactly six bullets at a time. I’m still proud of that skill, though I’ve yet to find a good use for it.
Since Joseph Wambaugh’s controversial Choir Boys appeared in 1975, the number of law enforcement authors has grown, but they’re still an anomaly, and so I get to surprise with the double whammy of being a retired cop and a writer. I’ve learned to deal with the “You don’t look like a policeman,” reaction with a smile and a simple, “Thank you.” And when I explain my latest novel is about a young police woman in Birmingham, Alabama who discovers she’s a witch, I get an even more fun reaction—“Is it autobiographical?”
Seriously, yes, I get this.  At first, I was too stunned by the question to respond, but now, I immediately shoot back with a straight face, “Totally.”
Even though I don’t claim to be a witch, I did pull on my police background to give authenticity to the story. Challenges lurked, even so. It has been a while since I wore blue, so I had to update department polices and equipment to those of current day, such as putting a body camera on my patrol officers and computers in the cars, but these were minor items. The most critical element was attitude, knowing how people in law enforcement who risk their lives on a daily basis think and react. That said, I certainly don’t espouse writing only “what you know” in that sense. If I did, I’d have a problem dabbling a little magic in with murder and mayhem!
My character, Rose Brighton, is a police officer in the city of Birmingham, Alabama. She’s taller than I am and has no problem holding a gun properly, but Rose has other challenges. Her first clue that her life is about to get complicated comes when she’s chasing a suspect down an alley and he appears to divide into two men, the real suspect, frozen in time, and a shadow version with a gun. From here things go south. She shoots a man in the back, the nightmare of every cop, and can’t explain what really happened. Unraveling that and the mystery of who she really is becomes a high-stakes struggle for survival.

Weaving magic “realistically” into a crime story was a bit like learning to pull exactly six from a pocket full of bullets.  It seemed improbable at first, but maybe learning that skill was not such worthless endeavor after all. Maybe it was a reminder that anything is possible. 

Even a police-witch.

T.K. Thorne’s childhood passion for storytelling deepened when she became a police officer in Birmingham, Alabama.  “It was a crash course in life and what motivated and mattered to people.” In her newest novel, HOUSE OF ROSE, murder and mayhem mix with a little magic when a police officer discovers she’s a witch. 

Both her award-winning debut historical novels, NOAH’S WIFE and ANGELS AT THE GATE, tell the stories of unknown women in famous biblical tales—the wife of Noah and the wife of Lot. Her first non-fiction book, LAST CHANCE FOR JUSTICE, the inside story of the investigation and trials of the 1963 Birmingham church bombing, was featured on the New York Post’s “Books You Should Be Reading” list. 

T.K. loves traveling and speaking about her books and life lessons. She writes at her mountaintop home near Birmingham, often with two dogs and a cat vying for her lap. 

 More info at TKThorne.com. Join her private newsletter email list and receive a two free short stories at “TK’s Korner.”

An Unexpected Dream Come True–by T.K. Thorne

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  Writer, humanist,
          dog-mom, horse servant and cat-slave,
       Lover of solitude
          and the company of good friends,
        New places, new ideas
           and old wisdom.

It’s not something I talk much about, but for many years I was in the closet as a writer. I collected so many rejections, I could have wallpapered my house with them, or at least, my bedroom. Everyone said short stories were the way to break in, but my stories kept getting turned down.  If I dared admit I was a writer to anyone, their next question dashed me down—”Oh, what have you published?” I could only imagine what it would be like to be a real author, signing books for my fans, having a best seller.  I felt like a failure, but I’m pretty stubborn, and I just kept writing and submitting. I wrote five novels before one was published.

When I held that first book in my hands, I cried tears of joy.
My fourth book recently came out and it was still exciting to open that box and hold it in my hand.

Then a few days later, it made its debut at an elegant downtown Victorian mansion. I signed copies read fromg the book, and shared my big night with friends. A dream come true.


While I was signing books, something else was on my mind. Earlier that day, I had taught a creative writing class (as a volunteer) at Maranathan Academy, a non-profit school that takes “critically at-risk students from a variety of challenging circumstancess—bullying and abuse victims, juvenile offenders, poor academic performers, and the health challenged/chronically ill. Students enter Maranathan wounded and looking for a place to belong.” [website] 

I started the class three months prior, nervous, afraid I’d just taken on something else to fail at, and that I had nothing to offer these kids. I’d never taught poetry, never taught youth, let alone students with the kind of challenges these faced. That first day was hell, and I almost quit. But something made me go back. The students had no idea how to express themselves or even how to sit still. Every class was a struggle, but, gradually, the students started listening and participating.  


Something amazing had happened in class the day of my signing. The students had written poems that touched on their deepest pain, something I could not have imagined them doing when I started.  Nor, I believe, could they have imagined doing so, much less sharing it with the other students and faculty. Not only had they learned to write poetry, but they felt safe enough to open the door to their true selves.
It was wonderful to be at my long-planned book launch party, don’t get me wrong, but my mind kept drifting back to the classroom and those kids.  Then I looked up and saw three members of the school faculty in line with books and one of my students!  I jumped up and hugged her.  “You’re my inspiration,” she whispered in my ear.

That gave me more joy than signing my books or making a best seller list or winning writing awards. That was a dream come true that I hadn’t even known to dream.
Chinese proverb:
“If you want happiness for an hour, take a nap. If you want happiness for a day, go fishing. If you want happiness for a year, inherit a fortune. If you want happiness for a lifetime, help somebody.”

T.K. Thorne’s childhood passion for storytelling deepened when she became a police officer in Birmingham, Alabama.  “It was a crash course in life and what motivated and mattered to people.” In her newest novel, HOUSE OF ROSE, murder and mayhem mix with a little magic when a police officer discovers she’s a witch. 

Both her award-winning debut historical novels, NOAH’S WIFE and ANGELS AT THE GATE, tell the stories of unknown women in famous biblical tales—the wife of Noah and the wife of Lot. Her first non-fiction book, LAST CHANCE FOR JUSTICE, the inside story of the investigation and trials of the 1963 Birmingham church bombing, was featured on the New York Post’s “Books You Should Be Reading” list. 

T.K. loves traveling and speaking about her books and life lessons. She writes at her mountaintop home near Birmingham, often with two dogs and a cat vying for her lap. 

 More info at TKThorne.com. Join her private newsletter email list and receive a two free short stories at “TK’s Korner.”

Stiletto Heels, a Witch and a Deadly Dinner–TK Thorne

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   Writer, humanist,
          dog-mom, horse servant and cat-slave,
       Lover of solitude
          and the company of good friends,
        New places, new ideas
           and old wisdom.

I love the idea of vicariously wearing stiletto
heels because that is the only way that will ever happen!  What Rose Brighton discovers, however, is
they might very well be good for something else.

Rose is a police officer who discovers she’s a
witch of House of Rose. She’s received an invitation to dinner from a
devastatingly handsome man, a warlock of another House of Iron. All she knows
is that someone from his House has been trying to kill her and wipe out her
family.

So, of course, she goes—

The Club (pronounced with emphasis on “The”) is a private
dinner club atop Red Mountain overlooking the city. Very posh. I wear my black
dress and a pair of heels I bought, which are killing me. How do women walk in
these things? I let the valet park the car, because I don’t think I could make
it all the way across the parking lot.
In spite of the fact that she is dead, I can hear Aunt Alice
in my head protesting how dangerous it is to meet Jason Blackwell anywhere. I
wonder if any of my family members were prone to do dangerous or impulsive
things. If so, I inherited it, and it’s not my fault, right? Besides, I’ve got
to have info, and I’m not going to get any sitting on my butt.
So, for the sake of gaining intelligence about House of
Iron, which I know nothing about, I am practically standing on my toes trying
not to fall on my face. My sympathies to the Chinese girls whose feet were
bound in ancient times to keep them small for the aesthetic taste of Chinese
men. Thinking about that horrid practice makes me angry. Why am I torturing
myself on these stilts for the pleasure of men?
By the time I make it to the private dining room, I’m
scowling.
“Ciao, Rose!”
Jason Blackwell greets me, rising from his chair at a table by the expansive
window. “You are beautiful even when you look ready to eat the first person in
your path.”
“I look like that?”
“Indeed.”
“It’s the shoes.”
“Ah.” He pulls out my chair, and I sit . . . gratefully.
A bottle of wine chills in a bowl on a small stand by the
table. I’ve seen setups like this in movies, but this is way out of my comfort
zone. Jason gestures at the wine. “I took the liberty of ordering. It’s a fine
year. Would you like to try it?”
“Yes.”
He lifts a finger and a waiter I didn’t even see glides to
our table and opens the bottle, pouring a small amount in Jason’s glass. It
would be nice to have a touch of James Bond sophistication with wine at this
point, but I can see it’s a French white from the label, and that’s about the
extent of my wine knowledge. Fortunately, Jason seems at home with the
requirements and takes a sip, savoring it on his tongue for a moment before
nodding assent at the waiter, who pours my glass first, then his. I watch all
this with fascination, and because I am afraid to look at my date. He almost
hurts the eyes.
Suddenly Becca’s voice is in my head: Oh my God, Rose. Does he have a brother?
That breaks the spell and I smile. Thank you, Becca.
“So, has anyone tried to kill you lately?” Jason asks,
turning his attention to me.
I laugh and chastise myself for being so easily charmed.
This man, I remind myself, may have lived a lot longer than I, despite his
youthful looks.
“Actually, I have managed to outwit a sniper since we last
saw each other.”
His face, which I am now watching carefully, hardens. “I didn’t
know that. He missed, I assume.”
“How do you know it was a ‘he’?”
Now it is his turn to laugh. “Be easy, detective. I do not
know that. It was a chauvinistic guess.”
The waiter sets down a basket that smells heavenly. Jason
folds back the white linen to reveal the warm breads inside. “You must try an
orange roll, house specialty.”
I bite into it and close my eyes. After I swallow, my tongue
finds the bits of crystalized sugar on my lips.
Jason clears his throat. “I’m not sure if I wish to eat or simply
watch you eat.”
I open my eyes, my earlobes burning, and snatch at the menu.
I order fish, and he orders lamb. Appropriate. I feel like a
lamb stalked by a wolf and wonder if I used enough deodorant to last through
dinner.
Jason’s gaze drifts to the huge window that looks down into
the valley. “It is a beautiful view, isn’t it?” Below us, the lights gleam like
multicolored gems.
“It is.”
“Sometimes,” Jason says, “when I cannot sleep, I look down
on this from my bedroom window.”
Warning bells ding in my head. This personal revelation is a
bit of intimacy meant to make himself appear more human, a little bait thrown
out to gain my sympathy.
 I can play the game
as long as I know there is a hook beneath the bait . . . right?
“You have trouble sleeping?” I ask.
“More often than I’d like.”
I wonder what his
nightmares are about.
I take another swallow of wine and decide it is time to stop
flitting around. “I have a question.”
He arches a brow.
“Who is trying to kill me?” I ask.
For a swiftly passing moment, his face tightens. Anger? Then
the lines smooth and he considers me.
“I do not know.”
“You have no idea?”
“No.”
Was there the slightest hesitation before that answer? He
takes my hand and lightly rubs a thumb down the inside of my wrist. My pulse
jumps. ‘Jump’ is the wrong word, more like catapults.
. . . I take a deep swallow of wine and feel it burning into
my chest. “Are we going to have an honest discussion?”
His mouth crooks again. “That would be novel.”
“Answer the question,” I demand.
“Yes. Yes, we are going to have an honest discussion.” He is
amused again, which is irritating.
“You know more about who might have tried to kill me than
you are telling me.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I’m a detective, remember?”
“I think you are prejudiced against the House of Iron.”
“Maybe.”
He leans back. “I honestly don’t know. At times I’ve thought
it could be someone in my House, but I’ve no proof of any kind. Most of my
youth was spent in Italy where my father had a villa and a mistress. After his
death, I remained there. It is still my primary residence.”
“So who comes to mind when you think that?”
“Let us not play this game. I have no knowledge that my
family is involved. If I ever have, I will tell you. I find I have a desire to
keep you alive.  Frutti proibiti sono i più dolci.”
“Which means?”
“Forbidden fruit is the sweetest.”
My ears burn again. “Is that a promise, Mr. Blackwell?”
“It is a promise.” He smiles. “Enough of that. Now, let’s
talk about you.”
My defenses rear up. “What about me?”
“I take it you are not a social butterfly.”
“Was it the shoes thing?”
He laughs. “In part. You are intriguing, Miss Brighton,
though forbidden fruit.”
I sip my own wine. “Forbidden? In what way?”
“House of Iron and House of Rose never . . . intermingle.”
“Really? Why is that?”
“Let us call it a strong cultural tradition. Both Houses must
marry outsiders.”
His reaction makes me suspect this prohibition is more along
the lines of prejudice, and my jaw tightens. “Them” and “us” exist even among
the witches and warlocks.
. . .Our food comes at that moment. It is beautifully
presented, with a small sprig of cilantro and a lemon wedge cut artfully in a
spiral design, and I realize I’m starving. While he talks, I eat, feeling his
eyes on me again. I want to believe he had nothing to do with my family’s
murder. I can’t explain why. I just do. Maybe because his eyes are so blue.
When our plates are whisked away, I excuse myself from the
table to powder my nose and wobble my way down the hall. “If I ever try to wear
heels again, just shoot me,” I mumble aloud.
A platinum-haired lady exiting the women’s restroom gives me
an odd glance. I smile and point to my ear. She sniffs in disapproval of the
concept of people talking on invisible phones in public and walks on with her
nose in the air.
Once inside, the first thing I do is kick off the shoes, sit
on the toilet seat and rub my arches. I linger just long enough to give my feet
a reprieve, wash my hands, and reapply lip gloss. Lipstick requires far too
much aim and control. My hair is curling wildly from the moisture outside, but there’s
not much I can do about that. I wash my hands and dry them in the curls, a
temporary taming technique. Reluctantly, I slip the heels back on.
In the hall, a girl with freckled skin and bony elbows steps
carefully around the corner, balancing a tray of glasses. Unbeckoned, a surge
of living-green sweeps into me. The girl freezes, and a shadow girl steps ahead
of her, slightly out of focus, moving in my direction. I am seeing the future,
moments from now.
A portly shadow man exits the men’s room, which is next to
the women’s room where I stand, and bumps into the girl, spilling her tray. He
turns on her, angry and wobbly, probably drunk. I can’t hear anything he says
to her, but it isn’t necessary. The slump of her shoulders reflects his abuse.
The whole thing fades, and the girl in my universe or time-line resumes walking
toward me.
Without thinking about it, I step to the men’s room and lean
against the door. Someone on the other side pushes to get out, but I set my
weight into it.
“What the hell?” he slurs from inside.
When the waitress is safely past, I move away from the door,
and it bursts open. The man staggers out like carbonated foam pent up in a can.
At that moment, the headache that seems associated with seeing into the future
hits me, and I just happen to step on his foot with my heel. “Oh, I am so
sorry,” I say and leave him cursing and limping in a circle.
These shoes might be good for something, after all.

Click HERE to preorder on Amazon
Click HERE to preorder on BarnesandNoble.com

A retired police captain, T.K. has written two award-winning historical novels, NOAH’S WIFE and ANGELS AT THE GATE, filling in the untold backstories of extraordinary, yet unnamed women—the wives of Noah and Lot—in two of the world’s most famous sagas. The New York Post’s “Books You Should Be Reading” list featured her first non-fiction book, LAST CHANCE FOR JUSTICE, which details the investigators’ behind-the-scenes stories of the 1963 Birmingham church bombing case. Coming in November: HOUSE OF ROSE, the first of a trilogy in the paranormal-crime genre. 

She loves traveling and speaking about her books and life lessons. T.K. writes at her mountaintop home near Birmingham, Alabama, often with two dogs and a cat vying for her lap. More info at TKThorne.com. Join her private newsletter email list and receive a two free short stories at “TK’s Korner.”



How Much is Too Much? The Art of Subtly –by T.K. Thorne

/in /by


 

      Writer, humanist,
          dog-mom, horse servant and cat-slave,
       Lover of solitude
          and the company of good friends,
        New places, new ideas
           and old wisdom.

“Don’t give too
much information” is one of the tenets of “good” fiction writing, i.e., writing
that avoids the slush pile. A positive way to phrase this is—write subtly.



According to Noah
Lakeman, author of The First Five Pages:
A Writer’s Guide to Staying Out of the Rejection Pile:
•    An unsubtle MS will have an inflated
feel—inflated with superfluous words, phrases, dialogue, and scenes that are
far too long.
•    Less is more; Leave some things
unsaid; be a minimalist.
•    If you underestimate your reader, you
alienate him/her.
•    Discipline yourself to withhold
information.
•    Embrace confusion; leave a little mystery.
But now we are back to the dilemma—how
much is too much and how do you know when to stop? For some people, that skill
comes naturally, but others struggle with it. Recently, I was reading over my
latest novel manuscript and decided I wanted to drop some back story in the
first chapter of book three of a trilogy. Backstory is always risky because too
much can pull the reader out of the story world. They “hear” the author
“filling them in.”
Setup: Rose, a police detective, responds
to a homicide scene where a construction worker has fallen seven stories to his
death. She looks at the body and hopes she isn’t going to get sick. 


I inserted:
“The only time I’ve been sick at the sight of a dead body was the night I had
my first vision, a glimpse of the future that made me fire two bullets into a
man’s back.”
Works. 
Why? 
1. It’s relevant and fits the context.
It’s a natural thought proceeding from her hope that she won’t get sick.
2. It doesn’t give too much information. It
leaves the reader with questions—Why did she shoot a man in the back? Why
wasn’t she fired or convicted of murder?
3. It adds to plot or character. We now know
that Rose had a traumatic incident in her past and that bodies don’t usually
make her nauseous. Important stuff.
What if Rose looked at the body and
thought instead: “This reminds me of the time when I had a few drinks with
Harry and got sick all over the floor.”
It’s shorter, so “too much” is not about
question of how many words you use. This version also flows from her thinking
about getting sick, but it is too much information, because–who cares if she got
sick drinking with Henry? It is not important to the story and adds nothing to
the plot or character development. Unless it is an important part of her
character that her mind wanders willy-nilly, it pulls the reader out of the
story narrative.
Not every piece of narrative has to do
all three of these things, but if you have a suspicious piece of writing,
analyze it to make sure it is (1) relevant and in context, (2) leaves questions
open, and/or (3) adds to the plot and character.
P.S.  HOUSE OF ROSE, a paranormal mystery/thriller and the first book in a trilogy is coming out in November.  Rose is a Birmingham police officer who discovers she’s a witch of an ancient House, the prey of a powerful enemy and the pawn of another.  I’ve had such fun writing this!  Sign up for my newsletter to stay in the loop and receive two free short stories.



T.K. has written two award-winning
historical novels, NOAH’S WIFE and ANGELS AT THE GATE, filling in the untold
backstories of extraordinary unnamed women—the wives of Noah and Lot—in two of
the world’s most famous sagas. The New
York Post’s “Books You Should Be Reading” list featured her first
non-fiction book, LAST CHANCE FOR JUSTICE, which details the investigators’
behind-the-scenes stories of the 1963 Birmingham church bombing case. Her next
project is HOUSE OF ROSE, the first of a trilogy in the paranormal-crime genre.
She loves traveling and speaking about her books and life lessons. T.K. writes
at her mountaintop home near Birmingham, Alabama, often with two dogs and a cat
vying for her lap. She blogs about “What Moves Me” on her website, TKThorne.com.  Join her private newsletter email list and
receive a two free short stories at “TK’s Korner.”

What We Really Write About–by T.K. Thorne

/in /by

T.K. Thorne

      

        Writer, humanist,
           dog-mom, horse servant and cat-slave,
       Lover of solitude
           and the company of good friends,
        New places, new ideas
           and old wisdom.

  

       


Hi ya’ll!

 

With my first two words as a new member of the Stiletto Gang, I have given away that I am a Southern girl. Okay, I am . . . um . . . a bit past the dictionary definition of “girl,” but where I’m from, we are still girls no matter our age.


I never thought I’d be a member of a Stiletto Gang, as I never met a pair of high heels I didn’t run from, but here I am. There is much in my life I never thought I would be or do, such as becoming a police officer after graduating college. Actually, it was an accident (that lasted over two decades), but that is a post for another day. Today, I am introducing myself.


So here are some “fun facts” about me:

  • I’m a 4th degree black belt in the martial art of Aikido.


  • At age 8, I won a ribbon for being stubborn.


  • I dove the Great Blue Hole in Belize, the largest sea hole in the world.


  • As a rookie police officer, I had to devise a different way to hold a gun because my hands were too small.

  • 
I once had an M-16 rifle pointed at me while researching a book.


  • Frogs make me smile.


For as long as I can remember, I wanted to have adventures. I blame my Granny for inspiring that desire. She read Tom Sawyer and The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn to me long before I could read them for myself. For many years I decided the biggest adventure ev-er would be to meet aliens (the kind from outer space). Every night I checked out the back window to see if the spaceship had arrived to pick me up. I guess that is why, after life had twisted my path a few times, I picked up a gun and badge.


As you can imagine, being a police officer provided plenty of adventures and enriched my writing. I never met aliens, but I did encounter lots of strange people. Another way to say that—my experiences exposed me to a side of humanity I would never have otherwise encountered and deepened my understanding of human nature. And that, I truly believe, regardless of the genre, is the real essence of what we all write about—what it means to be human.

 


T.K. has written two award-winning historical novels, NOAH’S WIFE and ANGELS AT THE GATE, filling in the untold backstories of extraordinary unnamed women—the wives of Noah and Lot—in two of the world’s most famous sagas. The New York Post’s “Books You Should Be Reading” list featured her first non-fiction book, LAST CHANCE FOR JUSTICE, which details the investigators’ behind-the-scenes stories of the 1963 Birmingham church bombing case. Her next project is HOUSE OF ROSE, the first novel of a trilogy in the paranormal-crime genre. She loves traveling and speaking about her books and life lessons. T.K. writes at her mountaintop home near Birmingham, Alabama, often with two dogs and a cat vying for her lap. She blogs about “What Moves Me” on her website, TKThorne.com. Join her private newsletter email list and receive two free short stories at “TK’s Korner.”

 

P.S. After the holidays, my normal day to post will be the 4th Friday of each month. See y’all then!