What is the date you began writing this piece of fiction and the date when you completely finished the piece of fiction? I wrote the opening scene of what would become Blood Mark back in August 2015. I didn’t touch it again until I’d completed another series I was writing. When I next picked up Blood Mark, it was late 2018. I finished the final edits in May 2021, and it was published in October 2021.
Where did you do most of your writing for this fiction work? And please describe in detail. And can you please include a photo? I write in three places, two of them are seated positions, and one is a standing position. I switch between all three positions most days.
I am at my most creative when I’m seated in my comfy office chair in the dining room. The chair faces the ocean view and sits beside my secretary desk that holds my reference material. My laptop sits on a laptop table in my lap and my feet are either squarely on the floor or propped up on an ottoman.
Over the years, I’ve learned that I must switch up my position from time to time or I’ll suffer back pain. So, after I’ve been writing for a few hours, I’ll move to my standing position, which is in the same room, at a bar that is the perfect height for typing (BELOW.)
When I’m wearing my marketing hat, or checking up on social media, I’m usually writing in an ergonomic chair in the living room. It’s a very comfortable chair, and the attached tray holds my laptop.
Interestingly, I don’t use a desk, table, or our home office for creative writing. I never have. I prefer to be sitting in front of the view of the water.
What were your writing habits while writing this work- did you drink something as you wrote, listen to music, write in pen and paper, directly on laptop; specific time of day? I’m not a fast writer. My goal is to write one scene a day, the bridging to the next scene, and notes to start from on the following day. That’s about a thousand words and means I only write one book a year.
Though I keep a pencil and notebook by my side to keep track of random thoughts and references, I type the manuscript on a PC laptop, in Word.
I prefer to do my creative writing in the morning. In fact, I can get more words written between seven and ten in the morning than I can write in an entire afternoon. I also find that if I can avoid emails, the news, or social media, before I start, my creativity is much better.
I envy the writers who can get words down in ten-minute sprints between looking after their kids and Zoom meetings. I need larger chunks of time, one hour at a minimum, and minimal distractions.
Coffee is not a distraction. In the mornings, I’ll have my trusty mug beside me when I write, but I switch to tea in the afternoons.
Though I find inspiration in music, I can’t listen to lyrics when I write. It’s too distracting. I’ll either write in silence or listen to instrumental music. Guitar Music for Small Rooms is one of my favourites, as is Vivaldi’s Four Seasons.
Please include just one excerpt and include page numbers as reference. This one excerpt can be as short or as long as you prefer. This excerpt is pages 1 thru 4 and the first two chapters of the book. I chose this excerpt because it sets up the main characters in the book. Jane is the protagonist, Sadie is her roommate, Ethan is her love interest, and Rick is the protagonist.
1 | Jane
August 8
Jane Walker might have been the only person in Vancouver not afraid to be in a downtown alley at half-past midnight. Shadows clung to fissures and corners, morphing into nightmare shapes as she passed. A warm breeze stirred the scent of rotting garbage along with her gag reflex. Rescuing Sadie was getting old. One of these nights, Sadie’s unique way of punishing herself would be the death of them both. And maybe Jane’s bike.
She parked next to Ethan’s Fat Boy in the hopes his reputation would spill over and protect her cherished Honda 500. But the caged bulb above the back door worried her. It bled a weak circle of light that pooled near the bikes. It was a toss-up whether it would draw attention or act as a deterrent. She said a prayer for the latter and removed her helmet. A slamming door punctuated a heated argument drifting down from a nearby apartment. She raked her long hair forward to hide the worst of the birthmark on her face then walked around the corner, bypassing the dregs of Riptide’s nightly queue.
A bouncer she knew manned the door. His steady gaze slid sideways at her approach. Boos from the lineup he held at bay prompted him to inhale, emphasizing the girth of his chest. He flexed biceps larger than her thighs, tipped his chin, and let her pass.
She nodded her thanks and stepped inside. A cocktail of perfume and stale sweat assaulted her. Thumping music reverberated in her chest as she scanned the bar for Ethan Bryce and found him pouring shots. A seasoned bartender, he worked the room like a ringside bookie at an illegal fight, smiling with one eye and watching for trouble with the other.
“Thanks for calling,” Jane said, pressing into the bar. “Where is she?”
Ethan held her gaze a moment longer than necessary then swiped his head to the left. Jane followed his line of sight to the dance floor, where her roommate swayed out of step with the music. Sadie had gone with tasteful tonight, wearing her LBD, as she called her little black dress. Her client must have been a high roller—unlike the ’roided-up jockstrap now keeping Sadie upright with a hand on her ass and a sure-bet smile on his face.
Jane strode through the dancers and stopped short of her. “Sadie?” she shouted over the music.
Sadie lifted her head from Jockstrap’s shoulder and struggled to focus. “Narc?” She blew at a stray blonde curl. Jane winced at the nick-name Sadie rarely used in public.
“You know her?” Jockstrap asked.
“Shurr. Tim, meet Narc. Dance with us.” Sadie reached for Jane. Her mascara had smudged, leaving charcoal shadows under her eyes. It’s what two lines of coke and a few too many vodka chasers looked like.
Jane took her hand. “Let’s go home.”
“She’s with me tonight, honey,” Jockstrap said, tugging Sadie’s arm away from Jane. He looked down to Sadie with a smarmy smile. “Aren’t you, baby?”
Sadie squinted up at him. When she looked back at Jane, sparks of awareness surfaced. She pushed against his chest. “I gotta go.”
“You don’t gotta go,” he said, dragging her back. “Stay with me, baby. We’re having fun, aren’t we?”
“How about I bring her back tomorrow?” Jane said. “When she’s not wasted.”
Sadie stumbled as Jockstrap twisted to put himself between the two women. “I’ve made an investment here.”
Charming, Jane thought, recoiling from his stale-beer spittle. She was quick in a fight and had the advantage of being sober, but Jockstrap had a hundred pounds on her and a hard-on with a destination.
She knew Ethan wouldn’t tolerate her pulling a knife in Riptide, so she’d have to dissuade Jockstrap some other way. She looked to the floor. For Sadie, she’d expose her marks. Only for Sadie. An eyeful of ugly often gave her a split-second advantage. He was already wobbling—shouldn’t be too hard to knock him on his ass.
She shifted the grip on her helmet, widened her stance, and drew in a calming breath. Then, in one swift motion, she swung the curtain of hair away from her face. “She’s going home,” Jane said, pressing upward into Jockstrap’s personal space to ensure he got a good look at the thick blood-red birthmark that slashed an angle from her forehead to her temple. It looked like the work of a medieval battle-axe.
He shrunk back with a familiar snarl of revulsion. Already primed, Jane was ready to launch when a firm hand landed on her shoulder, halting her.
“Everything all right here?” Ethan asked, squeezing harder than he needed to. Jane felt a pinch of resentment at his interference.
Jockstrap’s gaze darted to the figure standing behind Jane. Ethan wasn’t big, but his reputation was. You didn’t cross him unless you had generous sick-leave benefits.
Jockstrap’s nostrils flared. He pinched his lips. Neither man moved. Long seconds later, Jockstrap faltered and blew out a deflating breath. His bravado and sure-bet attitude faded along with his hopes of getting laid. He released Sadie with a little shove. “Go on then,” he said. “Take out the trash.” He stalked away and called over his shoulder, “And it’s Tom, not fuckin’ Tim.”
“Yeah,” Jane mumbled, “not fuckin’ Tom, either.” With a shake of her head, Jane settled her hair back into place. She wrapped a steadying arm around Sadie’s shoulder and turned her around, bumping into Ethan, who stood in their path.
“You okay?” he said, but his expression was a warning. She’d forced his hand and he didn’t like that.
“Yeah. Watch my ride? I’ll come by in the morning to pick her up.”
“Jimmy’ll keep an eye on her,” Ethan said, before he swaggered back to the bar.
Ethan’s faith in the stubble-faced panhandler who hung around the bar was a mystery to Jane.
She opened Sadie’s purse and fished out her keys.
2 | Rick
Rick Atkins kept his back to the dance floor and gazed at Sadie’s reflection in the mirror behind the bar. Not that Sadie would recognize him in glasses and a full beard, but vigilance had served him well to this point. He wouldn’t tempt fate when he was so close to his endgame.
He watched the woman who called herself Jane flash her markings like a blowfish in the face of the predator shark who groped at Sadie. Jane had no inkling of the damage she was capable of inflicting. But not for long. Rick downed his beer and slinked out the door.
Why is this excerpt so emotional for you as a writer to write? And can you describe your own emotional experience of writing this specific excerpt? This excerpt was emotional to write because it cuts to the quick of the characters, exposing their flaws. I grow very close to my characters when I’m writing, so it’s painful to have to expose them like that.
But doing so is critical to the story. If a reader can’t connect or relate to my characters, they won’t care about them. Without that fundamental connection to character, any emotion I try to bring to my writing will be lost on an indifferent audience.
The piece I chose to share is where I build the initial connection or relatability to the characters. Readers get a good idea of who Jane is, her obstacles, her heart. We learn about Sadie’s obstacles and the close relationship she has with Jane. We also learn there is a threat very close by that neither of them is aware of.
That groundwork is what makes readers what to continue reading—they care enough to want to find out what happens. And if I’ve done my job, by the end of this excerpt, the reader is already emotionally invested in these characters.
Were there any deletions from this excerpt that you can share with us? And can you please include a photo of your marked up rough drafts of this excerpt. I’ve included a pdf comparison of a 2019 version of this opening excerpt vs what was published. You’ll see that the opening scene changed its starting point, and the wording was heavily edited.
J.P. Mclean Biography: The “J” is for Jo-Anne, a name I’ve answered to for years. So why the change? I’m not offended when my name is mispronounced Jo-Annie, or shortened to Jo, and I’m not put off when my name is spelled Joanne, JoAnn, or some other combination. But Internet search engines aren’t quite as forgiving. That pesky hyphen and the variety of available spellings make finding me online a frustrating prospect, which isn’t good for an author or her books. To simplify things, I decided to adopt my initials.
My love of reading started early. I have memories of sitting in my father’s lap with a picture book from the library and dragging my finger along the page under words that Dad would help me sound out. I wonder if he remembers that? I’ll have to ask him.
My love of writing started somewhat later but ignited when I began writing what I loved: supernatural thrillers. Some call it urban fantasy, paranormal, or magical realism. The definitions overlap somewhat but the thing they have in common is a fantastical element that forces you to suspend reality and ask the question, What if that were possible?
A bit of background
Toronto is the place I called home growing up. Our family had a cottage on the Manitouwabing River in the Muskokas, as did my paternal grandfather, my maternal grandmother and a great aunt. My family now live there, and I visit as often as I can.
When the opportunity arose to attend the University of British Columbia, I traded winter snow for winter rain and moved to Vancouver. I fell in love with the west coast. Where else can you ski world-class mountains in the morning, and while away the afternoon on a sailboat or a sunny beach?
Though I consider myself a homebody, I’ve had the great fortune to live in many interesting cities. Calgary, Alberta was home one particularly cold winter; La Colorada in Durango State, Mexico, was home for a year; the Mexican Baja was home for a season; and Tucson, Arizona was home for three years. I’ve visited too many cities to list, and still haven’t seen much of this world, but where ever I go, eating local or traditional food is my favourite thing to do and grocery stores and markets are my go-to places.
I also enjoy scuba diving, snorkelling and swimming—pretty much anything in the water as long as the water is warm. Caribbean warm. Something else I’ve come to love are those padded beach loungers with the little flags on one corner that I can raise to garner the attention of a server. If that lounger is under a big umbrella, I can settle in for the day.
Where I call home today
My husband and I now make our home on Denman Island. It’s one of the northern gulf islands nestled between the coast of British Columbia and Vancouver Island. When I’m not writing, you can find me in the garden, where I grow spectacular weeds, or in the kitchen, where I dirty a lot of pots and pans (or so I’m told).
I love to hear from readers. Please connect with me here or on any of my social media sites. Join my mailing list to receive a series of free short stories. And if you’ve read and enjoyed one of my books, I’d be grateful if you’d leave a review for it where you bought it or borrowed it, or even here.
Most of the INSIDE THE EMOTION OF FICTION links can be found at the very end of the below feature: http://chrisricecooper.blogspot.com/2021/03/stephenson-holts-arranged-marriage-is.html