Thursday, March 25, 2010

Recent Release by Annette & Update Your Status!

Updated 3/26/10

Dear Readers,

As a reminder, if any of our "followers" have a book published, we'd be happy to post the good news here! One thing that is unique about Precision Editing Group is that all of our editors are published writers. So we really understand the challenges of writing, editing, and publishing.

Congrats to Annette Lyon (PEG Editor) who has a new book out: Band of Sisters

Daron Fraley, one of our readers, just had a new book released: The Thorn. (Thanks for letting us know!) Congrats, Daron!

So what is everyone working on this month? Writing? Editing? Submitting?

Friday, March 12, 2010

Songs About Writer's/Writing

By Josi S. Kilpack

Thanks for all the great suggestions on movies about writers last week, I was reminded of some I'd forgotten and made aware of other's I had never heard of. It got me thinking about another topic--songs about writers/writing. Here's what I came up with, please add others you know:

Unwritten by Natasha Beddingfield
Paperback Writer by The Beatles
Dancing in the Dark by Bruce Springsteen
Everyday I Write the Book by Elvis Costello
Shadow Stabbing by Cake
Lady Writer by Dire Straits
She's not Just a Pretty Face by Shania Twain (okay, that one's a stretch, but she does say Romance Novelist in it :-) 

Monday, March 8, 2010

Monday Mania--First Page

One of our readers submitted a first page for critique. A first page of a manuscript must hook an agent or editor. Feel free to make comments, but please keep them constructive.

Critique Archive 0037:

Maren sat on the bathroom floor often.

She liked to feel the cold floor through the fabric of her clothes and hear the quiet echo of closed in noises bouncing off the hard tile walls. Sometimes she even liked to turn the shower on, to hide the sound of her crying.

But today isn't a day of turning on the shower; She doesn't want the sound to go down the drain with the wasted water.

All she wants is to be alone. Just Maren and the razor.

The small sharp piece of metal gleamed invitingly on the white tile as she stared at the back of the shut door. The wood's grain patterns she'd memorized seemed a dull place to being focusing on and she felt tears come as she realizing what she was about to do.

Then she criticized herself for being a coward picked the small blade up, grasping it firmly between her forefingers and thumb and immediately brought it down and across the thin layers of skin stretched over her left wrist.

The flesh opened and spewed up life, blood, and she hissed, dropping the blade to the ground.

The gash burned harsh and hard like a fire consuming her nerves, making her writhe in pain.
“Ah. Ah. Ah.” she panted, her eyes wide. But slowly the burning faded out and she felt herself relax.

She knew it was coming, the release, and she welcomed the growing wooziness as she felt herself become weaker and weaker.

She took one last look through droopy eyes at the enlarging scarlet puddle covering the stark white tile.

“Mine...” She mumbled, watching her blood spreading outward until she could no longer hold onto consciousness and she slumped down, sprawled over the wet floor.

Friday, March 5, 2010

Movies About Writers

By Josi S. Kilpack

I was pondering this week on the many movies where the plot revolves around writers and was surprised at just how many I could come up with, and yet I know there are some I've missed. So, I'm going to present my list, and I'd love for you to fill in the ones I missed.

Stranger than Fiction

The Secret Window


Romancing the Stone

Jewel of the Nile

Martian Child

Finding Neverland


Finding Forrester

The Shining

So, what did I miss?

Monday, March 1, 2010

Monday Mania--First Page

One of our readers submitted a first page for critique. A first page of a manuscript must hook an agent or editor. Feel free to make comments, but please keep them constructive.

Critique Archive 0036:

Anxiety. It started with anxiety. I’m twenty-four years old, but in the mornings, I feel anxiety when I’m alone. But only on the mornings when it’s early enough to still be dark outside. Darkness like a suffocating murderer waiting to creep inside, slip under the bathroom door like smoke, surround my vulnerable throat and twist and choke until it’s over. I get scared in the shower, when I start to hear the noises and sense a stranger coming into my house and breaking down the bathroom door so he can do what he wants.

When I was in junior high, my mom and stepdad would leave at 6 a.m. some mornings, and I would be alone in the house, in the bathroom getting ready, while the darkness was getting closer. I talked to a counselor about it, about my anxiety. He told me to write down what I felt. All I could write was that I was scared, and I didn’t know why. I wasn’t ready to know why. The counselor told me I had to talk myself out of thinking that way, I had to calm myself down. He tried to put me on Prozac because a pill will solve anything. But not what’s inside of me. I tried two different counselors and then gave up on “therapy.”

The little girl didn’t talk to me then. Or maybe I just wasn’t listening. I didn’t know she even existed.

Panic. He had a beard. I hate beards. They brought him over so I could hang out with him. I had to go out with this guy, my brother-in-law’s brother, but I didn’t want to. I’d had one boyfriend before for about a month, but I didn’t like dating much. I could like a guy until he liked me, and then I was done. My sister really wanted me to go out with this guy, she wanted me to get out more. I started to panic, said I had homework. I didn’t freak out until after they left. My mom asked why I didn’t go.

She started yelling, “I don’t want to go! They were making me. I’m scared. I don’t want to go. I’m scared. I’m scared.” Over and over. She cried. Hard and long. She sobbed. She hid in my bedroom. She curled up into a ball, and I rocked her back and forth, back and forth. She could only speak tears. I felt her fear. She was so scared. She rocked and cried.

Mom said it was a panic attack and started to really worry about me.