Sex is Apalling, Killing is Okay

Below, is a review posted on Amazon regarding my book, Achilles Forjan. As with the previous post about reviews of Unbearable Lightness of Being UNBEARABLE, it seems there is a tendency for people not to pay attention to what they buy. I added my comment on Amazon below her review... 

3.0 out of 5 stars Should have been warned, May 4, 2010
By Rachel B. Beard
This review is from: Achilles Forjan (Paperback)
My grandson wants to be a firefighter. He is a High school junior so I gave him this book for Easter. No where did I read it was 'sexually explicit"....he was facinated and I was appalled that I gave it to him!!

COMMENT: My apologies to Rachel Beard--but when shopping for a book for a grandson, note that Achilles Forjan was not listed in the Young Adult section...it's a book that includes the presence and activities of a serial killer, (among other things) yet, she was worried about sex content? Sex is a natural, healthy part of our lives, but being a killer isn't. I hope she will read the description more carefully, or else purchase something from the YA genre next time.

I would be glad to send Rachel a copy of my mainstream book, Baggage, as it is a family saga that is suitable for anyone who prefers stories about relationships and family, without anything sexually explicit. She might actually enjoy that one.

As for the Young Adult genre, I highly recommend James Patterson's Maximum Ride series. And for a YA interested in becoming a firefighter, why not set up a visit to local fire stations? He can then speak to those who do the job every day, and that would be a much more helpful set of information.
Best,
Kelli Jae Baeli

Sex is Apalling, Killing is Okay

Characters: Names & Numbers

I have noticed this issue with seasoned and novice writers alike: a tendency to not only confuse the reader with changing character names and designations, but to use too many characters when it's not necessary.

When you introduce characters, it's okay to use their full names, but at some point you should try to settle on one name by which to refer to them. Otherwise your reader will be confused and might have to page back to the previous pages to hunt for who it is. This is not something you want your readers to have to do. I know that as a reader myself, I certainly don't want to do it.

When you mention a character for a second time, and it's been a while since the first time or the last time, give the reader some cue, like, "John, ever the nutty professor, joined them." --assuming of course that John is a professor, and has been known to be nutty.

This caveat about character names and clues should be used with even more attention when you have more characters, as it becomes harder and harder for your reader to keep them clear in her mind. Some books do seem to require quite a few characters to tell the story, however. My first few novels had only two to four characters and the rest were peripheral or nameless (i.e., the "waitress"). --a definite indication of my greenness as a writer back then. Probably wise, though, to start those projects with only a few main characters, until I learned how to handle them better, and with more discernment. But I have come to recognize that more complicated plots require more characters, (not always, but usually), and likewise, more characters can help you create that sort of plot. Now, this is from my viewpoint of being an organic type of writer. I don't plot out all my books down to the last detail. I feel that sucks most of the joy right out of it. So, keeping this in mind, that organic process tends to take root when you have different characters playing off each other. Sometimes the solution for being stuck in where your story is going, can be solved by some interesting juxtaposition in two or more characters, or by just allowing them to converse, until something pops up that offers you a solution.

In my novel, Achilles Forjan, I think there were about 33 characters, even though some were tertiary, and some were talked about, but no longer present in the story--they were victims of a killer. But all those characters were necessary to the plot, and I was careful to remind my reader in subtle ways, who they were when they were out of the picture for a while.

Another method I used to great success in Baggage, was to try to go to a different character in each chapter until I established them all, and then allow them to merge in chapters as their relationships intertwined. I learned this little trick from one of my favorite authors, Dean Koontz. (see blog entry on the Koontz Dangle).

No matter how you handle the characters in your books, just be certain that they are there for a tangible reason, and it's clear which one is in the scene, and in relation to what other character or situation. No need to confuse things for the reader.

Characters: Names & Numbers

Word of the Day: Scurf

I looked this word up again and got a slightly different definition than the one i had when i used it in one of my books...

scurf

1. Thin dry scales or scabs upon the body; especially, thin scales exfoliated from the cuticle, particularly of the scalp; dandruff.

2. Hence, the foul remains of anything adherent. "The scurf is worn away of each committed crime." (Dryden)

3. Anything like flakes or scales adhering to a surface. "There stood a hill not far, whose grisly top Belched fire and rolling smoke; the rest entire Shone with a glossy scurf." (Milton)

4. Minute membranous scales on the surface of some leaves, as in the goosefoot.

My previous understanding of the word came from someone in the medical field--who was, perhaps, off the mark. I used it to describe the sleep that appears in your eyes when you're awake (ironically). Other names I considered: Sleepy Dirt. Croutons. Eye Boogers (the moniker I dislike the most). Some things are just gross. I can say that knowing i wrote an entire post about that special time of the month-- (Behorned Cleated Demon & The Exxon Valdez).

More recently, it has been called Rheum.

I happen to be a factory for the stuff. Not sure why. Do i cry in my sleep? Do little tiny creatures come and place it there in the night, and then steal away, giggling? Mine is sort of like rock salt. When I rub my eyes, the little sleepy-salt scratches the sensitive skin there, and then i feel like I have cuts at the corners of my eyes. I've learned to use a warm compress first.

But when i was writing Achilles Forjan, I needed a new way to say it, and i ended up posting to some medical terminology site and was informed that the word I sought was, Scurf.

To look at it, I thought it could also be a new version of a popular water sport, ala,

"Sweeping the country's oceans--Scurfing. Instead of using a surfboard, you use a scarf."
Many have died.

Word of the Day: Scurf

Achilles Forjan (mainstream novel excerpt)

Achilles Forjan
(mainstream novel)
(c)Kelli Jae Baeli

REVIEWS

Another great book by Kelli Jae Baeli!


This is the third of Ms. Baeli's books I've read and I plan to read more of them. She is an absolute MASTER of characterization! After I read her books, I catch myself wondering about the characters as if they were real people. And, no, this is not a sign I need to be in a mental ward somewhere; rather, it is a testament to how authentic her characters are. This authenticity extends to her plots as well. I can especially speak to the authenticity of the plot and characters in this particular book because I work in the emergency services field myself. This book in it's entirety, down to the smallest of details, is real enough to be based on people whom I know and work with daily.

One final big plus!... more often than not, I can guess "who done it" before the ending of a murder mystery and that just ruins the whole book for me. I also view it as a weakness in the writer's talent. However, not so in this gem of a psycho-thriller/murder mystery! I was totally and happily surprised! Reading this one was time well spent!

~Tanya Gotcher,
Little Rock, AR

"We believe this is a marketable story. It has all of the necessary elements: good characterization; interesting (and well-described) settings; authentic-sounding dialogue. What’s more, Baeli is a superb writer! This is some of the best work we’ve ever seen here at KIWI!"

--KIWI Club Reviews

"Baeli has outdone herself with the new offering of Achilles Forjan. Prepare for an quickly paced, psychological thriller that captivates the reader with dynamic characters and sleight-of-hand clues covering a gamut of genres. This witch's brew of medical, legal, psychological, and mystery motifs, is rendered more tasty by the pinch of romance Baeli adds. The result is a potpourri of all things found in the news, too strangely absurd to be fiction. Achilles Forjan is a modern day, forensic packed who-done-it that will tug you by your hair through each scenario. I was left with a lingering taste for more as the dichotomy of Amy Jane Spenser engaged all my senses."

~ Justice Harlow
    author of The Recipe & Shall We Consummate?

"Achilles Forjan was a quick read and maintained my interest. I felt many different emotions, especially through Amy's character--sadness, regret, concern, happiness...I really wanted her to be okay. The story kept me on the edge, and it was an attention grabber. When I wasn't reading the book, I was thinking about it. Kelli Jae Baeli's novels are easy to get interested in, and hard to put down. They always have an unpredictable but happy ending. This ending was a big surprise- I was very pleased with it. I'll be looking for the sequel!"

~Shell Smith
Truman AR

"Enjoyed the story very much and did have trouble putting it down when I had to. Had that 'want to read more by this author' feeling when I reached the end. I was actually hoping Baeli would include a preview at the end, with an excerpt from one of her other books there. I also felt that the ending came too soon; I wasn't quite ready to be done with Amy and her friends. That's a good thing!

The plotting and pacing is excellent. Love her characters and the tension/conflicts revolving around them--very three-dimensional. Spicy details tastefully employed. Well done! The setting was great, too--fit her story perfectly.

Overall, "recommended." Say, four outa five stars? Baeli spins an engrossing tale, moves it right along, and mixes things up splendidly. Any sex she included was used to further the plot, without being offensive or prurient. She's a good, solid writer who deserves to be published. That's my take on it."

~Jim Bessey
Fairport, NY

Burlington, Vermont was a city known for its near-nonexistent murder rate. So when bodies begin to appear along with a mysterious note and a humiliating gesture from the killer, local authorities scramble to discover who is responsible.

A complicated series of events points to Amy Jane Spenser as the prime suspect. She is troubled by sleep deprivation and frequent memory lapses. Her job as a paramedic feeds her compulsion to help people, but ultimately only renders her a crippled witness to the human condition. Amy struggles with doubt over her own mysterious behavior, and is left with no alibi for any of the murders.

Her friend, Karma, uses her degree in Criminal Psychology and a gift for psychometry to search for clues to Amy's innocence, in spite of a persistent detective. The suspense builds as lives intertwine, and destinies dangle precariously over an abyss of secrets and suppositions, until nothing can ever be the same again.


EXCERPT:

Ashleigh knew it was him. His gruff, slurring baritone voice. His fat fist against the door. He'd be waking the neighbors, and they'd be calling the cops. She was still too weak from her trip to the emergency room three days ago, and didn't have the strength to deal with this. She stayed with Jeremy because it was easier than staying with Leonard Huff. Safer.

Jeremy had offered Ashleigh a ride home from work seven months ago, and she had told him she didn't want to go back to her father's house. He suggested they go to his apartment and get high instead, and she agreed. It wasn't long before Ashleigh was spending the night at Jeremy's Southside apartment. The choice between a sweet guy who provided a good high, and a raving, nasty, controlling drunk, was an easy one. She didn't even call him 'Dad' anymore, but 'Leonard.' His all-nighters and recently, his affiliation with a group of bikers, was a pain in the ass; and although she had vivid memories of his hands on her when she was a little girl, he had stopped pursuing her for his need to touch innocence.

This didn't stop his biker-buddies from crossing the line, though. At a nubile eighteen, she was now a young woman, and considered ripe for the picking. When one of the leather-clad animals came by the house and put his hands on her tits, she packed her stuff and went to Jeremy's. That's when she decided that Jeremy had his flaws, but at least he wasn't violent. He'd never hit her, even when she'd smoked the last of their weed. If she kept him smoking, she could pretty much do what she wanted. He didn't make much money as a night shift stocker at Handy's Grocery, but she didn't make much as a cashier there, either. She didn't really do without anything, and the rent was only $350 a month. A few days ago, Jeremy got extra pot from his dealer so they could make a little cash, because Ashleigh needed time off to recuperate from her fall down the stairs.

With the pounding outside growing louder, she snatched the door open and Leonard Huff barreled in, headed straight for Jeremy, who was finishing the removal of marijuana seeds from the marred glass coffee table, sweeping them onto a metal serving tray and shoving it under the ratty Goodwill sofa.

She put herself between the two men, hoping to prevent anything that might have cops snooping around. The last thing she needed was to go to jail for possession.

Leonard Huff pushed her out of the way, and she fell into the glass top of the coffee table.

* * *

Roy peered in the window, and saw the boy hovering near the kitchen, saw the girl sitting on the chair with blood on her arm. With one last glance at the street, hoping to see the police cruiser, he knocked on the door. "EMS!" he called.

Jeremy opened the door, and Roy stepped in first, carrying his jump bag fully stocked with an intubation roll, already assessing the damage to Jeremy's face. Amy came along behind him, trying not to look at Jeremy; all she could see now was him beating off to kiddie porn.

Ashleigh was sitting on the chair across from Huff, still in a robe and on medication from her recent trip to the hospital. Now, she had one hand pressed to her bleeding elbow. Amy knew the girl would need sutures. Ashleigh looked up at her with a mixture of embarrassment and relief. Embarrassment, that the nice female paramedic she had poured her heart out to was coming to the rescue again; and relief, that somehow everything would be taken care of and some semblance of normalcy would return.

Even before the staircase fall at the apartment a few days ago, Amy and Roy had been to the Huff house to patch up Mrs. Huff when Leonard directed his anger at her. Police had escorted her to the Battered Women's Shelter that night, and it was unclear whether or not she was still residing there.

Perhaps it was why Leonard Huff was at the apartment now. His anger needed a target, and he couldn't get to his wife. He had pounded his beefy fist into the young man's face and made a real mess of the living room of their tiny apartment. He was at the end of a nasty binge, having burned up the fuel of whiskey, and was sitting on the sofa nearing a nap. Amy stepped over the fallen ashtray and remnants of potato chips dotting the floor, and sent up a prayer that he would not find any reserve tank in his body before they got the job done, or at least not until the cops arrived to stand sentry.

The ashtray, along with two smoldering cigarettes, lay on the dirt-colored carpet, amid shards of glass. Amy picked them up and tossed them in the tray to be safe.

Roy saw that Jeremy was lucky not to have a broken nose. He might get away with some butterfly bandages on the cut above his eye, but the rest of his injuries were the usual contusions when a fist contacts the skin. He had the young man sit at the kitchen table while he set to work on him.

As the two medics donned surgical gloves to cleanse wounds and apply compresses, Huff muttered expletives and warned Jeremy that he was not even close to being finished with him. "She'll never be clean again," he said. "You made her dirty."

"You're not worried about me, Leonard," Ashleigh hissed. "Look what you did to my arm!" She held up the lacerated elbow, causing Amy to drop the gauze roll and forcing her to gather it and start winding it around again.

Huff lit a cigarette awkwardly and let it dangle precariously from his inebriated lips. "You brought that on yourself, little girl," he said around the cigarette. "You need to learn when to stay the hell outa the way."

Jeremy leaned away from Roy's cotton swab and snarled at Huff, "You're fuckin' going to jail."

"Oh yeah? What for?"

"Assault and battery. You're a sorry-ass excuse for a father. It's a good thing Ashleigh met me."

"Wors' thing ever happened to her." The glowing ash fell off Huff's cigarette and landed on his blue shirt, stained with sweat and booze. A wet spot doused the cherry, making a sizzing sound. Amy was afraid he would burst into flames.

"You're goin' to jail, you sorry piece a shit!"

"Be still-" Roy reprimanded, pressing the last butterfly bandage on the boy's head, anxious for he and Amy to get out of there.

"You're goin' to jail," Jeremy repeated.

Amy wanted to scream, You belong in jail, too, you sick pedophile! She knew she'd have to bite her tongue until they finished the call. This situation had become too personalized to her, now that Ashleigh had spilled her guts. She didn't want that kind of investment in her patients. It was hard enough without that.

Huff tried to push himself up, but rocked back, and had to scoot to the edge of the sofa before he could manage to stand. "I ain't goin' to jail if I ain't here when the cops get here-"

"Sit down," Roy ordered him in his best authoritative voice.

Huff paused, considering him, then staggered over. Roy got up to prepare for evasive action, when Huff took the cigarette from his mouth and threw it at Roy.

Roy held up a warning finger. "Now you just behave yourself. You've caused enough trouble."

"You ain't seen trouble yet, boy." Huff lurched forward and pushed Roy aside, reaching for Jeremy, who bear-crawled away, scattering the top-most contents of Roy's jump bag. Angry that the young man had scampered out of reach, Huff grabbed Roy again.

Amy tapped on the big man's shoulder, and he turned around unsteadily. "Could you do me a favor, sir?"

Frowning, he swayed slightly. "What?"

"Your hand looks terrible. Could you go over to the sofa and sit down so I can take a look at it? It looks like it hurts."

Still holding Roy's shirt at the shoulder, he looked at his free right hand. His knuckles were red. "Yeah. My hand needs some nursin'." He released Roy and went to the sofa, sitting and holding his hand out to her.

Roy blinked rapidly like some cartoon character, and Amy tried not to smile. There was little she could do for the sore knuckles, but she made a production of wrapping gauze around them, hoping to stall long enough for their cop friends to arrive.

Roy kept a close eye on Huff as he gathered the items that had been knocked out of his bag.

Finally, the police arrived. Sergeant Kenneth Branch and his Rookie, Jimmy Tackett assessed the situation quickly. They were also familiar with this family and their various degrees of in-fighting.

A glint of morning sunlight reflected off Branch's bald head. Before taking a razor to his hair after losing a bet, Kenneth Branch never fully appreciated the creative genius of eyebrows. They were crucial to keeping sweat out of the eyes, and in his line of work, vision was sometimes the only thing between you and a bullet. He even fancied the idea of God as a bald entity. A tall, muscular man with thick arms and legs, Branch was intimidating; a comfort to have around if you needed help, and a frightening presence if you were in trouble with the law.

Tackett was short and boyish-looking, and ripe for a bullet from some street thug. Tackett's best chance for survival was to be partnered with Branch. The contrast of the two was almost comical. Like Batman and Robin. Not much older than Jeremy, Tackett was the mirror image of the young man cowering in the kitchen, with slight alterations based on the application of free will. Two young men who took different paths. It only took one wrong turn to create that kind of polarity.

"What can we do to help out, here, folks?" Branch asked.

Huff was suddenly aware of where the new voice came from, and got up, knocking Amy back to her rump on the floor. He gestured angrily, the end of the gauze around his knuckles dangling in the air. "Don't nobody touch me, goddammit." He gestured at Ashleigh. "Come on over here, girl. I'm taking you home."

"Now hang on-don't I know you? What's your name, sir?"

The big man turned around, his comb-over flailing upright. "Name's Huff. I come to take my little girl home!"

"I'm not goin' anywhere with you!" Ashleigh shouted.

Jeremy moved over to Ashleigh in a show of support, and she moved away, almost imperceptibly.

Branch met Ashleigh's eyes. "Is he here with your permission?"

"Well I didn't know he was gonna try to kill Jeremy!"

To Jeremy: "Do you intend to press charges?"

"Hell yes."

Tackett asked Ashleigh for her ID. He turned to Branch. "She's eighteen."

Branch held up both his hands to Huff. "Now, Mr. Huff, your daughter is at the age of consent, so you can't force her to-"

"I don' care what consent she is, she's comin' home!"

The sergeant swiveled his right hip so that his firearm was out of the man's reach, and planted his feet as if he was about to perform a Jackie Chan movement. "Mr. Huff, let's do this the easy way, okay? Please turn around and put your hands behind your back."

He shook his head. "Nope. I ain't goin'."

"Sir, I'm not asking you. I'm telling you. Turn around and-"

Huff swung an arm at Branch, but he leaned back and the blow missed. Branch snatched the wrist and twisted it behind Huff's back as he spun him, pushing him toward the sofa. Tackett was beside his partner and in a few swift seconds, they had his face in the cushions, and were handcuffing him.

Officer Branch had just celebrated 10 years on the force; nine of them in New York, and had transferred to the Burlington P.D. to hedge his bets. He considered himself lucky: lucky to have lived. That luck was now bolstered by the low rate of violent crime in Vermont. Still, Branch was looking forward to his training as a Detective. He intended to spend the last ten years on the force wearing his own clothes, and sitting at a desk rather than in a squad car.

"Am I under arrest?" Huff bellowed into the smelly foam.

"Yes you are, sir. Drunk and disorderly, assault and battery, attempted assault of a police officer, for now. You have the right to remain silent--"

"I ain't gonna be silent!" he shouted.

Branch continued to Mirandize him as he and Tackett half-dragged, half-led him to the door, the drunk man's flailings managing to knock Amy off balance and onto her rump again.

As Tackett returned with the forms for Jeremy and Ashleigh to fill out, Roy pulled off his surgical gloves and tossed them in a Ziploc bag for later disposal. Moving over to Amy, he looked down at his partner, who was still seated on the floor. He plucked a jerky strip from a pen protector in his breast pocket and popped the end in his mouth. "No sitting down on the job, Spenser," he cracked.

Achilles Forjan (mainstream novel excerpt)