LJH

THE LESSON My son, you once asked me what values I had learned in life, and I could not answer. Now, memory is not what it used to be, and before it fades completely, I would like to answer that question. As a young soldier during the 1970's, I was sent to a remote camp in what was then known as South West Africa. It was the rainy season. In the camp was a gravel landing strip dangerously close to the rising waters of the Chobe River. One evening I stood guard beside two Dakota's when seve

@ Anyta...beautifully observed...and your observation brings me to another quirky fact in the tale. Keegs had the accident at age 15. He is now 22. Alex died at the age 22 at 7 years to that and he is now 29. So he could not have celebrated a 25th....thank you for that. Right throughout the first 7 or 8 c hapters there are cryptic lines that suggest all is not as it seems with Alex and you noticed that. Of-course it's a subtle build up. Take a look at that beautiful build up to the antagonist's madness in The Shining...only Steven King has got it down pat. I also tried to be subtle spiritually. One doesn't expect Alex to break down in parayer but it is inevitable that he will...I played with a few endings, and when it comae down to actually writing it, it just flowed out. My cvharacters didn't stop, and I hop[e they're not one dimensional, instead, they became dynamic entities that wrote the story themselves. Thank you for enjoying it. @ Neph...You are Alex's number one fan...he told me he wants to meet with you to tell you a few things about himself. He says he's not lost, but if he was, he'd love to be lost with you. Both you and Anyta have been such wonderful inspirations to me because I have enjoyed reading your stories so much too. And Neph, forgive me if I don't comment on the vamp stuff, but I'll get to it. I promise. Thank you both for your thoughts and sharing hugs

I hope you enjoy it...i think its boring...and im not writing at the moment...need a break sigh...

Flat roofed buildings spread from a point that became an entire continent. Michael smiled at Charlie as they surveyed the scene. An angry mountain roared at them as they rounded the bay. To the far right, Devils Peak stretched a long neck towards the sky. Table Mountain, like some ghostly apparition, filled the horizon. Clipper ships, tall masts and bloated sails, steamers and fishing boats, all packed with dark people wearing vests, cotton trousers and hats. The liner sailed into the harbour,

The room had four bunks and most of their possessions, strewn across the unused bunk, needed washing. Gordon and John played dominoes as Peter feverishly penned a business plan. His concentration had been undisturbed for several hours, finally he put the pen down and read the document out. They did not understand the wordy, technical jargon of the law as well as Peter Sheffield did. Phrases stood out dealing with their respective shares of the profit, and so they signed on the dotted line with

thank you Cheryl. I know you love Alex, but for both of us it's time to say goodbye. maybe I'll write the sequel by the end of the year. All the characters are now safely tucked away and waiting for my decision...

I walk between the graves, my torch guiding the way, noting the names and dates and reading inscriptions on thick sheets of granite. It’s earie, walking amongst tombstones in the middle of the night. The light from my torch catches a silhouette. His hand rests on the headstone. His head bowed as if in prayer. His legs are slightly parted and he's wearing nothing more than a loose fitting white t-shirt, worn jeans and sandals. His face is wet from the rain. I hear his words, they resonate with p

To my surprise the gate is open and the padlock is on the ground. Patrick stoops to retrieve it. I head on up the steps and knock on the door. ‘Who is it?’ A dry, solemn voice reaches me. ‘Erm…Hi. Is Alex in?’ There is no movement from within. Silence for a few moments. Patrick comes up behind me. The door unlocks and opens. The old man has thick silver hair, parted on the side, hair that matches his thin eyebrows and brown eyes set deep into sagging sockets. ‘Alex?’ I

You are a brilliant writer. Hooked, hell yes from the first sentence. You build the story and you don't let up and that's a point, raising left index finger and stroking the air. You've given Jake a light, airy, adventurous nature, and Rob Ellis beautifully paints his story. But then again, you are passionate about giving your characters soul, your plot a life, and reinventing style. You have steered clear from the stereotypical gay meets gay scenario and made yours different and consuming, I love the way they meet and then reintroduce themselves. They click. You rock ... Love this Notice how many times I have raised left index finger and stroked the air

Is it progress if a cannibal uses a fork? Stanislaw J Lee The promises of authors are like the vows of lovers. Samuel Johnson Write or copy this as your promise to your reader: I, NAME, undertake to fulfill your expectations on both an emotional and intellectual level. I will begin with this promise and I will try to overcome all obstacles in a satisfying, meaningful way through the middle of my book until I can discharge myside of the contract. I guarantee that in the end you will have either gaines new insights, have your dreams confirmed or spent a thrilling vicarious journey with my characters.... By doing this, you have enetered into an agreement on two levels... 1. The emotional...Providing entertainment... 2. The intellectual...Gives the reader insight, a new outlook and takes him on a journey into another world, be it internal or external. The BEGINNING shows the intent. It shows the main character's objective. The MIDDLE is an escallating action arising from the intent. The reversal of desires and ambitions cuases conflicts within the character and with others in the story. The END should contain a climax. It is the LOGICAL resolution of the intent and the conflicts. Don't tack on a surprise ending unless its brilliant. The final conflict should come as cklose to the end as possible. Wrap it up and get out. To increase tension and expectation, the action must constantly raise the stakes. Try to intorduce a SNOWBALL effect. The reader should not be able to put the book down. Every scene, description action and conversation should ADVANCE the plot. Each character should be MOTIVATED to move forward. Nothing, no matter how exciting should be left in your book if it does not SERVE the plot. If it does not perform a specific function...CUT IT OUT. PROLOGUES Use prologues when the opening scene of your novel: 1.Occurs long before the main story or, 2.In the ending of your story, making the entire novel a flashback or 3.Is written from a completely different point of view or 4.Is a real document or 5.Is integral to the whole story but is not immediately obvious. PROLOGUES must contian a strong promise to your reader. If the prologue takes anything away from your opening scene you should leave it out. Both prologue and opening scene must stand alone. Work equally hard on both. BEGINNINGS You hook the reader with an immediate action and reaction. Leave out how you got there. The beginning of your book shouold start with conflict because the heat is on from the very first line that you write. THE HOOK You want to get your reader interested. In today's IMMEDIATE GRATIFICATION SOCIETY you want to get the reader VERY interested. VERY FAST. You want to get the reader oriented. Where are we? What's going on? Who is involvedreaders who feel confused and disoriented usually go somewhere else more comfortable. NEVER describe. NEVER look back. BEGIN in the ,oment of stress, crisis or threat. The point of crisis is the best way to start your story. The threat could be: 1. Real or imagined 2.Internal or external 3.Positive or negative. The importance of threat is that it creates a situation that has to be dealt with. Threat is exciting, stimulating and absorbing, especially if its vicarious. Think of all the major life stressors, including marriage, death, divorce, childbirth, emigration or leaving home. They can be happy or sad but they never fail to frighten us because all of them require CHANGE. MIDDLES In the middle the reader wants to understand and live the story. This is the longest and most difficult part. You have to have a strong plot, strong characters, strong scenes and a strong, flowing style to kweep the reader's attention. Check to see that you are sticking to the primary motivation of your promise at the beginning of this post: 1. If it's meant to amuse, does it? 2. If it's meant to thrill or chill, does it? 3. If it's meant to romance, does it? Each chapter must have a PURPOSE and a major plot / crisis point. It must also have a HOOK, DEVBELOPMENT and a HANGER that pushes us into the next chapter. IF YOU ARE STUCK IN THE MIDDLE: 1.Write a chronological sequence of events in point form. 2.Dramatise incidents. 3.Increase conflicts. 4.Use dialogue. 5.Raise the stakes. 6.Put forces into place for the finale. 7.Always move the story forward. ENDINGS THE ENDING MUST ANSWER THE CONFLICT OR QUESTION THAT STARTED THE STORY... 1.Your ending must satisfy the audience 2.You have to make good on your promise. 3.The climax must deliver emotion and relief - are your characters real enough to withstand the ending? 4.Your reader must care. 5.You can have a twist in the tale, but surprise endings are out. 6.The climax must be in proprtion to the length of your story, in a novel this should take One chapter of no more than three pages. Well, that puts paid to that. Your beliefs may be differnt from these college notes, and if so, that's just fine. These tips are not cast in stone. As I always say, write the best way for you, but beware, if you don't have a hook, this reader will probably trash the story and never visit you again....LOL Joking....

There are aspects of this piece that really hit an emotional high note and as a reader I must be drawn into that emotion and care for the characters. You managed to lump my throat and gain a fan. The first sentence really hooked me, and from there it was easy sailing through the rest of the story. I love the way Chris stands up for his friend, regardless of the consequences. The violence you describe is a real problem in many cases of coming out and the father's reaction is, i think, more due to his homophobia rather than just shock. I enjoyed the read, and the writing is tight and economical. If there is one criticism I would suggest that you lengthen the scene where he tells his mother via dialogue or narrative, but preferably dialogue, because, as you well know, dialogue has the magic abilty of moving the story, any story, along. Well done. I hope to see more of your writing. Hugs Louis J

What part of writing do you find most difficult?/Why? Or are you a writing God? Hey hope you well...hmmmm, you pose some interesting aspects here. I don't see myself as a writing god, maybe fanatical about certain aspects of writing but not all. But here are my thoughts and answers to your questions... The most difficult part for me is seeing my characters faces. I can describe them and maybe make the reader see them, but to me they are like shadows. Truth, I swear. I've tried cutting pictures of characters and tacking them to my puter and I actually did that when I first started out writing. I guess trhis is why I always look for a description of the protagonist and antagonist within the first three chapters of anything I read. I would love to say that it is any one of your suggestions, it would be easier, much easier to overcome any given problem in writing, but to not see my character's face irks me. Another thing that fills me with angst is whether or not the intricate plot ideas I come up with, will work. I first create them in short story form, maybe a 20 page story, that's how I started my published novel, and built it over three years from that single short story. I've maybe done that to two stories. If the idea fails as a short story, I trash it. That's what? Maybe two weeks of consistent thinking and weaving and ducking and diving. Interruptions. Help...I've even hung a sign on my study door saying STOP WRITER AT WORK UNLESS THE HOUSE IS ON FIRE DON'T INTERRUPT! OR CALL OR KNOCK LEST THE WRATH OF A PAINED WRITER RAIN UPON YOU FOR ALL ETERNITY LOL.... that says it all I guess. Oh, maybe one more thing, what I really fear about writing, is not being able to write at all....

Welcome Jamie...hope you enjoy it here. The members are really fun and write across a whole spectrum of genres and subjects...but that aside, it's soooooooo cool to see you on GA...have fun bro...

Dinner was a three-piece affair in a curtained section of the dining room. Michael and Charlie entered the huge room and stood still for a moment at the top of the staircase that led into the dining hall. Pink walls and low, slithered crystal chandeliers, lamps and embroidered table-clothes, imported china and the wealthiest of the wealthy, Michael could not tell the difference. The plates and cutlery advertised the ship’s initials, GB. Framed paintings of different liners graced the walls and

“Tell me how it is you know him?” Charlie’s voice came from behind Michael. “Charlie!” He exclaimed gleefully, throwing his arms about him and repeating his name as though he had been gone a lifetime. Kissing his face all over, Michael told him it was Peter Sheffield. Charlie stopped him at once. “Not here, not in this place.” Michael stepped back. “I came here as a student. This Inn is for people like us. We appreciate the male within us, even those

Journey London’s fog lifted only after noon and then the rain came. The mist rolled in and filled the Thames. Michael enjoyed the hustle and bustle of dock life, where everyone seemed to be doing something, including buying tickets to board the Anthony Gibbs and Son Liner, The Great Britain. A steam and sail ship with the sleekest of lines and a single funnel headed for Australia via the Cape of Good Hope. This would be her last voyage before renovations would demote her to purely a

Patrick's voice is solemn. 'Are you okay? Where are you?' 'At the airport. Can you...can you pick me up?' 'Sure, I'll be there in twenty minutes.' I'm standing outside one of the exits at O R Tambo International. I'm exhausted. I'm not in the mood for team company. I'm not in the mood for anything. I just want to get home and sleep. This entire affair has been a disappointing nightmare. From the moment I met him I should have kept my distance and refused

I glare at Alex. Then back at the cell phone. I glance at him again and although my hands are trembling, I manage to back off a few steps. 'What's up, Keegs? It looks like you've just seen a ghost.' I hold up my hand, stopping his advance. 'Keegs? You want to talk about this?' I shake my head several times. 'Okay. Then I can't help you with this.' I manage to splutter a few words, 'That was Jean. Here, you want t

The library in Johannesburg is part of her cultural heritage, it's a large building in the centre of the city situated in a park. It's quiet, sophisticated, with a graceful staircase and mezzanin levels, sepia.The rooms were large and the research chamber, situated downstairs, was quiet. Jean paged through the archives and came across very little of an accident happening in the Outeniqua Mountains on the 28th December, 2003. She checked the obituary pages for that day and the day after. She ente

The house seemed to be deserted. It stood stark, with facebrick lines, burglar bars, an electric fence, and a remote controlled front gate. He needed to get into the house, but he decided it would be too risky, the electric fence was a fine detterent. It would be impossible to negotiate the fence. He knew nothing about the technical details that governed electric fences and he wasn't about to find out by experience. Patrick waited in his car, parked two houses away. Watched, and waited and thoug

He's not answering his cell phone. He's not texting as he said he will. I managed twelve messages, not one has been answered. My concentration, that lust to win has all but left me. He promised. Maybe promises are there to be broken? Maybe a promise is something that easily turns to nothing? If he can't get here, he should have phoned. An hour to go before the race. I fear that I will never see him again and a lump forms in my throat. Damn it! Why did I confide in thi

The Council of Elders informed him he would have special powers on the earthly plain. One, with a grey eye and a blue eye, told him to use them wisely. Another elder, a bald, androgenous creation, understood the human condition, a recently departed soul had much to learn, he said. But, Alex's situation was different, the council of elders concurred. He stood in the middle of the auditorium, in the centre of a circle with a black outline, listening to their arguments as to whether he should go ba

Jean turned into Patrick's driveway and hooted. His dogs, a labrador and a scottish terrier dashed to the front, barking and yelping for attention. He met her halfway up the steps, and leaned in to hug her but she pulled away, flicking the loose hair off her eyes. 'What's up?' He said, leading her into the double storey house. She took his hand and led him to the balustrade lining the front patio. 'Something's bothering me. I don't know why, but to me, Alex...well,

...And reappeared in the gardens of the The Green and Gold Sports Club. His untucked white shirt glistened in the afternoon sunshine. His blue jeans pulled down to just below the cut of his abs. His pitch black hair fell over his face, waving slightly in the afternoon breeze matching the colour of his eyes. The smile that had loved Keegan was no more. The soft aura of his being was no more. His soul had been laid to dust and now he had work to do. His mission; to dea

Alex stood in the doorway with a look of abject horror on his face. Broken windows, tables, chairs and picture frames met him as he entered. The TV and hifi system, thrown against the far wall, lay shattered on the floor. In the bedroom, his clothes had been ripped to shreds and strewn across the floor. The cupboards flipped over in both bedrooms, and in the kitchen, every cup, dinner plate and saucer had deliberately been broken. The note he'd found on the car's windscreen had been copied in hu