Category Archives: books

Writing in Chaos

Do you need quiet to write? Do you have a playlist you listen to while writing? Do you have a special place? Is it isolated or in the thick of things? Is the TV blasting distracting news or great dialogue? Action or love scenes? What works best for you? I bet you have multiple answers depending on the scene and what stage you’re at in the book.

Chaos. In the midst of a family of seven, I’ve figured out how to write a first draft. Concepts and ideas fill my creative cup while I’m talking to my kids or friends, making dinner or folding clothes. The story is in my head at all times ready for a new twist or the next conflict.

I can even edit the first draft in chaos. But when it comes to making certain the i’s are dotted and the t’s are crossed, I need solitude. Complete and utter focus. Grammar and punctuation checks are not what I’m talking about. What I need uninterrupted time to final edit for are these things…the essentials I hope to one day master in my first draft:

  1. are my characters behaving in character?
  2. do they have a goal, motivation, and conflict?
  3. am I staying in point of view?
  4. is the opening grabbing the reader?
  5. is the pace working?
  6. am I including hooks to the next scene?
  7. is there motivation, conflict, and a goal in each scene?
  8. is each sentence structured clearly?
  9. am I overusing adjectives, adverbs, names, dialogue tags, phrases,
  10. am I using redundancies–repeating words, sentence structure, or ideas unnecessarily?

Each of us has our own way or working through the writing process. We also have writing issues we repeat in each book. I check for those problems first, noting there are fewer in the second draft than there used to be. The more you write, the more cognizant you’ll become of your style, your voice. The pace of the story and the style eventually will become embedded in your work. The more you write, the sooner it will happen. Sooner or later, you’ll find your place to write, with or without chaos, with or without a playlist, with or without silence. What you’ll find is a way to focus on what the story needs instead of what you need. Numbers one through ten will fall into place like a marching band, marching in formation while they make music and designs. You’ll have your unique voice, your work will have a unique style that defines it, you’ll have a process of creating your work in a way that works for you.

I’ve tried several approaches. Some work with non-fiction, some with fiction. Some work with short stories but not with longer books. Some work with individual novels but not with series or serialized books. Different strokes for different folks pertains to bodies of work as well as temperaments. My memory isn’t what it was. I make notes now. Thank goodness for my iPhone. I keep it with me always…well, not in the shower…but it’s in the room–TMI?).

I dictate and write myself notes or just write down a word or phrase to jar my memory later when I have a chance to mull it over. We each have our own  creative needs and style of getting from A to Z.  Figure out your method and don’t be discouraged if you have to make tweaks or adjustments as you grow. I’m going to bare my soul. The second few edited paragraph segments from my first book, Hot Highland Fling, looked like this.

* * *

“Ah, Scotland,” Ailsa sighed into her cell phone. “The untamed highlands, the rugged moors, the burly men, and their kilts!”  The cell phone coverage was good as she checked in with her senior editor. None of that, Can you hear me now? stuff, going on up here.

“Katie, why do you live in London with those conservative people when you could be here?”

I know the only reason you took this assignment was to check out the native men. Besides, the magazine has a silly requirement that their senior editor reside near the publishing house, and if you must know, I prefer civilization to the wilds.”

* * *

I have to thank my first editor, Scarlet Senior Editor, Diana Carlile.at the Wild Rose Press for not only taking a chance on a newbie, but also for being an awesome editor. If I could I’d be rewording and editing it again. You have to know when enough is enough. (Most of us never learn that.)

The first red blob is cutting out a dialogue tag. Now there is narrative action instead of he said-she said.

The next change is a clarification of the first part of the sentence without going into too much unnecessary detail.

The next is a format situation. The editor clarified the idea with italics and punctuation.

Then I changed a word from one that I didn’t think fit as well.

The final edit in this section did a few things. This is the opening of the book. The heroine said several things that hint about the genre. The title of course is pretty suggestive. But Ailsa sighs. Then she sets the mood with her dialogue. “The untamed highlands, the rugged moors, the burly men, and their kilts!” A little excitement, a romantic lilt, sexy and fun. This sentence establishes a promise to the reader. You also get that sarcastic humor reinforced with her internal thought about the cell phone coverage. Can you hear me now? stuff…

We find out that Ailsa is questioning conservative reasoning. What’s she up to?

Ailsa’s editor confirms her motives. “I know the only reason you took this assignment was to check out the native men.” Ah! Ailsa has an ulterior motive. Do we want to read about it? Do we like her enough to be curious? We hardly know her at all. Is the subject something we’re interested in?

The book is short on plot–it’s very short anyway. But it does contain many sex scenes because this is a woman’s journey of sexual discovery, an awakening of sorts, and she has very little time to invest. Not everyone will be interested in a book of this length or genre, but no matter, there should be purpose to every words you choose to put on the page. I hope this helps you move from chaos to peace of mind.

Here is the blurb: Hot Highland Fling

Erotic Contemporary Romance
Erotic Romance

Free lance writer, Ailsa Jackson is finished dating executives. She’s looking for hot sexual fantasies with a man who fits her needs… “All muscle, stamina and no commitment.” The assignment in the UK sounds perfect when she’s assigned to interview an American CEO who recently inherited lands and a title in Scotland.

She tosses her inhibitions aside for the first Highlander she encounters–prepared to research all the myths about brawny Highlanders and answer the age old, burning question: What does a Scotsman wear beneath his kilt?

Colin Fitzgerald knows it’s wrong to deceive Ailsa, but he can’t risk her discovering his true identity before he seduces her. Unfortunately, he is everything Ailsa hates. Yet if he can become the lover she adores, perhaps he can convince her they’re perfect for each other.

He has one night to prove he’s no stuffed shirt and three weeks to become everything she desires in a lusty lover. His adventurous lass is imaginative and willing. But can lust turn to love so quickly? And will they be ready for more than a Hot Highland Fling when their time together draws to an end?

Recommended Reading

MAXIMUM IMPACT – Writing Short: Say More With Less: Condense the Essence & Leave ’em Satisfied Kindle Edition

Fae Myths of the Gemini

the-gemini-prophecy-final-copyThe Gemini Prophecy: Psychics and profilers all over the world are being killed. Who or more precisely what is targeting them, and why? 

Before the Power of the Light, a modern fantasy suspense and the first book in the Gemini series, there is a long history of life, love, death, and destruction. Without retelling all the ancient tales, this prequel will give you some background into what came before Graeme met Morgan.

Coming this spring.
~~With the completion of the convocation, the fae queen began… “Each Gemini is entrusted with a gift to be shared and passed down throughout the ages, until one day, reborn together, the Gemini will forge the power of the light, the sea, the earth, and the air. I command you to return the elements to the Stone of Fal, lift the Veil, and reopen the portals between fae and earth. This is the promise of the Covenant.” copyright Eliza March, 2009.

As you can see, this series has been a long time coming. each book is a stand alone story, but each tells part of the story about the eventual battle between the Gemini and the Dark Mystics.

Everything begins here, in the ancient past where the breaking of sacred vows to the gods leads to the destruction of the peace between the fae Seelie and unseelie and where mortal’s lives are endangered by those who hunt the Gemini, descendents of the royal fae and ancient druid priests.

Sign up here to get special unpublished excerpts from me and a chance to win a FREE ecopy of the book when it is published.

Meet Morgan and Brianna: 

From her place beside the willow in the world beyond the Veil, the white witch Tapestry, weaver of souls, watched the girls run to the top of the hill, heading to the ancient cemetery beyond the old pagan stone circle. Brianna’s red hair reflected sparks of gold as she ran like a rabbit caught-up in the chase, zigzagging, aiming haphazardly for the field beyond. Her coloring reminded her of a druid priestess who one night stood on this same knoll calling down the power of fire and fertility from the gods. The ancient unconsecrated ground held mystery for the girls, but not so for her. After a millennia of existence, the woman knew well the magic here.

Morgan, the raven haired beauty shouted out to her friend, with her head thrown back and her arms open wide, twirling. “Brianna, this is my favorite place in the world.”

Tapestry could barely suppress a cry of delight when she heard the girl claim this place in her heart. Except for her slanted eyes which belied her fae ancestry, Morgan looked so like her druid forefather, her heart almost burst with longing for her own lost love. She sighed as her lips curved into a contented smile.

Ah beloved gods of old , the mortal child has accepted her place here on sacred pagan soil where all her mortal ancestors’ souls lie waiting—here in this long forgotten cemetery—here where it all began.

This old resting place, nestled far behind the new cemetery, was the burial ground accepted by Morgan and her family for generations upon end. They’d avoided the one most recently consecrated by the proud bishop, and fenced beside the church. Her druid forefathers favored the family’s traditional pagan cemetery where they believed the old spirits still danced by moonlight. Here is where Morgan’s father laid to rest, the last druid priestess, his wife, ten years before.

Tapestry hid, concealed in the overgrown vines. Although the limestone church, affectionately known to locals as the Kirk by the Sea, had been recently whitewashed, mildew still raised its grungy head, poking through the white paint, taking hold, thriving from the constant damp of the ocean mist and the rain. The wet season seemed to last most of the year up here on the cliffs. Through eons upon eons of time, this place remained sacred to many races of people. For here in the tumbling stone circle was the last open portal between the mortal world and the Otherworld. Here on the cliff, more than one set of slanted, fae eyes watched from behind the Veil this day as the preordained events of the prophecy resumed. The fate of all the Worlds rested on the shoulders of this child of the Gemini, one in a long line of gifted offspring of the forbidden love between the fae and the druids.

Morgan collapsed to the damp grass, smiling, taking a series of deep breaths, and recounted the cemetery’s importance to Brianna. “This is where I come to be with my family since Mum passed. The old ones are all here as well. Me Mum always said their spirits listened, waiting to be called upon when I had need of them.” She tossed her black mane and gave a quick look back at the church. “And having Jesus, Mary and Joseph right over there in the church, does’na hurt either.” She grinned wide.

Brianna giggled at the heretical remark before she caught herself. Her mouth dropped open in shock when she realized her sin. “Blasphemy. How could you, Morgan?”  Quickly, she shushed her friend, tracing the sign of the cross over her torso.

Morgan flopped to her back, laughing, her eyes gazing up into the light streaming through the trees as Brianna pulled the oilcloth covered tome from a crevice in the stone and with slow methodical precision that nearly drove her to distraction, she unwrapped it.

“Go on now Bri, please stop stalling and get on with it. You promised to finish telling me the story of the fae and the prophecy. The day and the place for the telling are perfect.” She snatched at the book and scooted beside Brianna, sitting closer on the grass so she could see the illustrations in the book. But Bri slapped at her hands and backed up.

“I’ll not tell you anything if you don’t show a bit of patience.”

“Come now, let’s have a look. You know how I’ve come to enjoy the pictures.” Morgan seemed to love the description of the fae. “…so breathtakingly beautiful that to look upon them hurt a mere mortal’s eyes’. Ah, I long to see such beauty. ”

Tapestry knew about the dreams and about the boy…the fair beauty of the boy who came to her in dreams, with his pale hair, golden skin, and silver eyes. 

Morgan ran her hand over the picture of such a boy in the ancient book and sighed.

Brianna smiled back with an accusatory glance at her friend who usually pooh-poohed romance and took life too seriously.

“Ah, I’ve caught you. Is this a romantic streak I glimpse? Have you one, after all? It seems you do, and now I know your taste runs to fae love tales with tragic endings.”

“Go on with you, I was just looking.” Morgan stiffened and glanced away, but not for  long.

Brianna held the tome of ancient myths the girls discovered under the sacrificial stone the previous month. She put on her lecture face and began translating the old language.

“Here in the land of mortals, we sometimes forget there are other planes of existence. But at one time all the Worlds shared doors that opened between them. Anyone who wanted could venture into other realms through these portals. The fae lived in the Otherworld, and they were called the Sidhe, the people of the tuatha da danaan. They held all the powers of the elements, protected and kept them safe in the Sacred Stone of Fal.”

Gemini copyright Eliza March, 2009  No reproduction without the author’s permission.

I hope you are enjoying the little teaser. Now one for the first book in the series.

POWER OF THE LIGHT  coming December 2017

“Should the Traighon achieve his final goal and the Dark Mystics succeed in their ultimate quest, the sun will not rise and the rains will not fall and the flowers will not bloom again. All the Worlds on every plane will cease to exist—all will be lost to the blue-green planet.”

There’d been a time when Graeme could have walked the path from the mailboxes to the entrance blindfolded. Closing his eyes, he visualized the area in his head. For a minute he let himself imagine a twelve-year-old Sharon waiting for him on the fence with her legs wrapped around the post, her saucy grin taunting him, and her pale blonde pigtails covered with her red bandana. He tried to get his bearings, then reopened his eyes and started walking. Intuition? Who was he kidding? He wasn’t ready to share his ability with the FBI, but it was more than intuition. His abilities, the ones he never admitted to, were often his best tools. 

Suddenly, a familiar flowery fragrance wafted in the air, interrupting his thoughts. A hint of her perfume. Dense fibrous vegetation crisscrossed the old path. Sharon had pushed through somewhere near this spot. A small break in the bushes indicated she made her way past the densest weeds. He followed through the same opening into a clearing on the other side. From there the old path was only a thin visible line in the tall grass.

Trust your instincts,” the soft voice, not Sharon’s, murmured softly in his mind.

Focusing on Sharon, all he heard was the sound of a beating heart pounding wildly in his ears. Where are you?  his mind screamed. 

The link they usually shared remained cold. A deadly chill crept up his spine. He needed their old mental link to find her.

“Stop making yourself crazy. Relax.” The familiar female voice in his head was back. At times, he couldn’t separate his thoughts from hers. Mental images from this woman often intruded his own. She’d been his imaginary friend. The Irish girl he’d called Morgan. What had suddenly made him think of her? And why now?

In any case, her presence in his mind strengthened him and forced him to focus. He pulled himself together.

“Track the signs with your heightened sense of sight and smell.” On the right track now, he increased his pace. Observation and evidence, in contrast to instinct, was hard to dispute.

“Do not deny your instincts.” The female voice roared in his mind. “Together, your instincts and observation make you the quality investigator you are!”

Graeme wanted to curse, pausing only when he came to a downed tree blocking the path. Instead, he didn’t waste time analyzing anything. He put both hands on the limb and vaulted over. When his collar tightened around his throat practically choking him., he unbuttoned the top button on his shirt and tore off his tie, picking up his pace.

Despite the sweat forming on his forehead and upper lip, another shiver slid up his back. The shadows and something else in the deep woods kept the air cool.

“Hurry!”

A startled covey of birds flew from a nearby bush. “Damn!” He flailed his arms in surprise, shouting at himself or at them, he wasn’t sure. Graeme repeated the low trembling curse and gathered his fear around him, closed his eyes, and instinctively sensed her path. 

A blood curdling scream pierced the quiet forest like a soul-wrenching insult. 

“SHAAAARRROOOOONNN!” The cry resonating in his head hurt his ears—but even worse, there was no answering reply. Barely able to catch his breath, his heart pounded harder. His fear slowed his thinking. He took off running, tearing through the dense underbrush, jumping over downed limbs, pushing aside wide branches as if none were there.

“Sharon. Sharon. Sharon.” The drum-beat of her name repeated silently on his lips, a prayer. He chanted the mantra as he fought his way to the cave.

His lungs burned, and every muscle coiled tighter as he ran. His arms pumped like pistons for added speed. But before he rounded the path to the yawning mouth of the cave, the world shifted beneath his feet. Somehow he knew. His best friend was gone. He sensed her life force drain from him and a light went out.

“Too late…” The sympathetic voice ended with a mental sob. 

Then Graeme saw Sharon on the ground.

A muscular young man wearing jeans and a black T-shirt kneeled over her body. Blood covered the intricately carved handle of the dagger in his hand, and the rest of the scene played out, frame by sick frame, in slow motion. When he leered at Graeme, his image rippled, warped, and faded, morphing into someone—no, some thing else. A fiend. A daemon. A monster of epic, nightmare proportions.

In the afternoon light, the killer’s skin appeared blue. The image in front of him looked to be well over seven feet of solid, naked blue muscle covered in swirling tattoos. Graeme shook his head and blinked his eyes trying to focus.

The monster’s eyes flashed red. Not blood-shot. The whites were white. It was his irises that were red, blood-red. 

Like any rational-thinking man, Graeme’s first reaction was denial. Caught in the illusion, he forced himself to play out the scene and stay in the moment. His mind staggered at the prospect.

The killer smiled. Fangs flashed inside his mouth before they lengthened and he bent over Sharon’s limp body, sank his teeth deep into her neck, draining what blood was left. When he lifted his head, fangs dripping, he opened his mouth over hers and inhaled.

A pale golden light rose from Sharon’s body as the monster took her essence into his own. The daemon turned, leered at him, and tossed the blood-drenched dagger. The blade flipped end-over-end as droplets of Sharon’s blood flew through the air like red mist.

Graeme instinctively reached up and caught the knife, then flipped it into his right hand, and rolled his shoulders. Tempted to let his emotions run wild, his cold professional habits forced him to control his actions. Spreading his feet wide for balance, he flexed his arms in front of him, and tensed for the attack. The muscles in his legs bunched as he assumed the defensive stance.

Gemini copyright Eliza March, 2009  No reproduction without the author’s permission.

Writing when it’s impossible to keep your focus.

Expand your methods of upping the word count:

display-dummy-915135__180In a world where breaking news flashes seem to appear hourly, interfering with those of us whose job it is to create worlds where you readers can escape, we must learn to shut it out. We build places for you to escape to when things get too out of hand in reality–places where you can find a way to shut out the noise.

Often I feel like a warrior guardian protecting the gates to the fortress of my fantasy world from the onslaught of unemployment, and ignorance, and health care issues. No matter the story, my job is the same, suspend reality, and help the reader settle into a new world, with new people and situations, and stay until he discovers a satisfactory solution to the fictional crisis and conflicts.

Our stories begin in an ordinary world just as something is about to change. (that could be every twenty minutes on a Monday if I turn on the TV, radio, or read the news.) So my first rule of writing is the writer has to escape to write the story. Before the reader can jump in and disappear into the new world of adventure, or love, or intrigue of his choice…you the writer must create the story–beginning to satisfying ending.

My solution to writing, for now in this changing environment, (fyi – we are preparing to  sell out house) is to write in short sprints to deal with distraction. I’ve never been a sprinter, in real life or otherwise – including writing, but it seems to be working. On days when I’d just as soon give up on a single written word, I can write for ten minutes or for as long as the thought keeps me going. Something is better than nothing. It’s not as if I have writers’ block either, I have plenty of story and plenty of action and characters to write about, but I usually write sequentially and this life of mine isn’t going to allow that to happen for awhile. Having an alternative method of writing when the old way isn’t working is a miraculous solution. This time I wrote the beginning and what I thought was the second act. After getting myself into a corner I backed out and did a story board with an outline. Now as ideas come to me I write the,  Scenes get written  as I’m inspired. I make notes I need tsbo add, ideas I might want to use later. I keep note cards everywhere. All I have to do now is figure out how to get more organized.

No matter what, I’m adding the good, the bad, and the ugly to my word count daily.  I’ve also cut some early concepts and story that won’t work. There was a time I couldn’t do that…or wouldn’t. Now I don’t even save it to my old “golden words” file. It’s time to realize I can write what I need to when the scene is necessary and the words are only golden if they move the plot forward.

So stop being so hard n yourself. Zero words is not failure if you think about your WIP. It’s better to jot down a short sentence or two on a note card and keep it for later so you don’t forget. And…that sentence or phrase counts toward your word count. Hmm 22 words is at least a positive number. During editing I’ve managed to keep a positive flow on my word count, but when you rewrite 12,000 words and end up with 12, 001 it is disheartening.  yet still better than  11, 999.

Use a plotting method  or storyboard. It is one way of forcing your outlined, laid-out story to grow just because the scenes and needs are there. The ideas already exist, and you just have to fill in the blanks. (You can be artistic and literary later after you get some words on the page.) Go look up some methods. There are a million different ways to research this and increase your word count. Good luck. If you find anything unique, please leave me a link in the comments below.

Join The Release Party and Giveaway Valentine’s Day

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Hi all my friends. I’ll be hosting this party at 7 P.M.on February 14th, so don’t forget to stop by for some fantastic opportunities to win. I’ll be participating in the Amazon Gift card giveaway and have a few of my own.

Valentine’s Day Party with ton’s of authors click Here

Playboy brewery owner … driven saleswoman … sultry brewer … the craft beer world sizzles like no other in Liz Crowe’s new novel!

TAPPED: The Brewing Passion Series Book 

Release date: 2/14/17  Pre-order here:  https://www.totallybound.com/book/tapped

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Tapped-Brewing-Passion-Book-1-ebook/dp/B01N0XLM0E/

Blurb:

When wealthy brewery owner Austin Fitzgerald meets sexy saleswoman Evelyn Benedict, angry sparks fly. They seem destined to clash, until a hot hookup in a cold beer cooler changes everything.

For Austin, it’s a life-altering moment that sets him on a path away from his birthright, while Evelyn must face her fears about committing to a man considered the playboy of the micro-brewing world.

The power of preconceived notions nearly tears them apart—until they meet up with brew master Ross, who opens their eyes to a deeper, even more erotic connection. But three strong personalities don’t always make for the best emotional mix and when a simple misunderstanding causes chaos, it’s up to Ross to repair the tattered shreds of their relationship.

READ A SHORT EXCERPT

Excerpt 1:

Sensing the heat of Evelyn’s fury as he finalized another large order, he excused himself and made his way toward the restroom. The tuning-fork sensation had morphed into a dull ache centered in his gut, which steadily made its way down to his balls.

When he emerged—after splashing water on his face enough times to calm the hardening in his jeans—he almost plowed straight into her. He gripped her arms to keep her from falling and the impulses that had bounced around in his brain since the morning nearly brought him to his knees. He dropped his hands and looked away, swallowing back the urge to say something, anything, to convince her he wasn’t such a bad guy.

“Sorry.”

Her voice was flat. He took a step back, stopped only when his butt hit the wall. The space between them filled with near-visible silence, but he didn’t move.

“I don’t know how I’m doing it, but the longer we work together, the more sales I make, and the more you hate me. Clue me in here, Benedict. I thought sales were the goal of the day.” He crossed his arms, holding them close to his chest so she couldn’t gauge how shaky his hands had gotten.

She swallowed, and he watched the exquisite warm peach hue of her skin redden. Admiring the line of her neck, her jaw, the plump fullness of her lower lip as she bit it, a nervous tic he’d love to come to love, if she’d let him, Austin sensed himself falling deeper into a very scary hole. Her ongoing silence took on a life of its own.

“Well? I left my secret-sales-goal decoder ring at home. You obviously have a different agenda for today. I get it. ‘Prove to the rich boy he doesn’t have what it takes’ is fine, but we could have saved some time if you’d just told me first.”

She opened her lips, then pressed them together and shouldered past him. He watched, fascinated, as his hand reached out of its own accord and snagged her arm. She stopped, stared at it, then up at him. When he realized the blue of her eyes was brighter because of tears, he hesitated. Female tears always unnerved him, but his chest tightened in a thoroughly alarming way at the thought of having caused her unhappiness.

He let go. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

In a split second, her beautiful face was within inches of his. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m just pissed off. You’ve had that effect on me since I first laid eyes on you, so yeah, I guess I set you up. But apparently, all your country-club, private-school time has been worth it. Bullshitting comes naturally to you. And that’s all this job is. A whole barrel of bullshit.”

She stomped away before he could speak or, even better, grab her and kiss her. The space she vacated quivered with anger. But her crisp perfume stayed in his nose and he had to clench his hands into fists to keep from shoving her up against the wall and kissing her until she saw it his way.

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As the Chair Turns by Eliza March

Coming this fall, will be the first book in my paranormal series revolving around Luna de la Marrainbow_stage_spotlights_vector_background_529094-copy, the exclusive salon and spa in south Florida where Adelaide Belaquoise and Frankie deWolf, along with a hilarious cast of paranormal and magical characters, mingle with the rich and famous. But who knew werewolves and vampires and fairies existed?  Just Del, and that’s the way it will stay if the magical community plans to remain intact. Several authors with a talent for snark are adding their own books and characters to the series. Follow me for more news as the series grows and click on the link for signing up for as the Beauty Tips from As the Chair Turns Newsletter   and we’ll have some great fun!